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THE     KAATERSKILL     EDITION 


OF 


WASHINGTON  IRVING, 


EMBRACING  THE  FOLLOWING  VOLUMES  OF  HIS  WORKS  : 


THE      SKETCH-BOOK.— THE     ALHAMBRA.— THE      CONQUEST    OF     GRANADA. 

LEGENDS    OF    THE    CONQUEST   OF    SPAIN— TALES    OF    A     TRAVELLER.— 

BRACEBRIDGE  HALL.— KNICKERBOCKER'S   HISTORY  OF  NEW    YORK.— 

VOYAGES     AND      DISCOVERIES     OF      THE      COMPANIONS      OF 

COLUMBUS.— SAL.MAGUNDI— A  CHRONICLE  OF  VVOLFERT'S 

ROOST.    SLEEPY  HOLLOW.  AND  OTHER  MISCELLANIES 

CONTRIBUTED  TO  THE  KNICKERBOCKER  MAGAZINE. 


PRINTED    FROM    THE    ORIGINAL    AND    EARLY  ISSUES, 


COMPLETE   AND    UNABRIDGED. 


WITH  AN  ORIGINAL  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  PREPARED  EXPRESSLY  FOR   THIS   EDITION 


By     RICHARD     HENRY     STODDARD. 


NEW     YORK: 
POLLARD    &    MOSS,    PUBLISHERS, 

47     JOHN     STREET. 
1880. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1S79,  by 

POLLARD   &   MOSS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


%U^    ^^    4<.2t^ 


The  paper  has  been  manufactured  from 
specially  selecicd  and  prepared  stock,  ex- 
pressly for  this  edition,  by  the  "  Hart  Lot. 
Paper  Co."  represented  by 

John  J.  Murphy, 

47  John  St.,  New  York. 


EDWARD   0.    JENKINS, 
PRINTER   AND   STEREOTYPER, 

to   NOnTH   WILUAM   ST.,    N.   r. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


Angler,  The 86 

A  Royal  Poet 21 

Art  of  Book-Making 19 

Boar's  Head  Tavern,  Eastcheap   29 

Broken  Heart,  The l8 

Christmas 47 

(Christmas  Day 54 

Christmas  Dinner,  The  ....   58 

C'hristmas  Eve 51 

Country  Church,  The 25 

English  Writers  on  America 13 

John  Bull 80 

Little  Britain .  62 

Mutability  of  Literature 32 

Philip  of  Pokanoket "5  1 


Pride  of  the  Village 83 

Rip  Van  Winkle 8 

Roscoe 4 

Rural  Funeral,  The ...  36 

Rural  Life  in  England 16 

Sleepy  Hollow,  The  Legend  of S9 

Spectre  Bridegroom,  The 39 

Stage-Coach,  The 49 

Stratford-on-Avon 67 

The  Inn  Kitchen 39 

The  Wife 6 

The  Voyage 2 

Traits  of  Indian  Character 72 

Westminster  Abbey 44 

Widow  and  her  Son,  The 27 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 

A   SERIES   OF   TALES   AND   SKETCHES   OF  THE   MOORS   AND 

SPANIARDS. 


Alhambra,  The,  by  Moonlight . . . 

Inhabitants  of 

Interior  of  the 

Finisher  of  the 

Founder  of  the 

Government  of  the 

Visitors  to  the 

A  Ramble  Among  the  Hills 

Boabdil  El  Chico 

Governor  Manco  and  the  Soldier 

lusef  Abul  Hagias,   the  Finisher  of  the  Alham- 
bra   

Legend  of  the  Arabian  Astrologer 

"       of  the  Moor's  Legacy 

"       of  the  Page  and  the  Ger-Falcon 

"       of  Prince  Ahmed  El  Kamel 

'        of  the  Rose  of  the  Alhambra 

"       of  the  Three  Beautiful  Princesses 


114 
"5 
106 
170 
168 
105 
142 
n8 
122 
15S 

170 
124 
136 
152 
143 
152 
129 


Legend  of  the  Two  Discreet  Statues 163 

Local  Traditions  135 

Mahamad  Aben  Alahmar,  the  Founder  of  the  Al- 
hambra   168 

Reflections  on  the  Moslem  Domination  in  Spain,   no 

The  Adventure  of  the  Mason 117 

The  Author's  Chamber 113 

The  Balcony 116 

The  Court  of  Lions 1 20 

The  Governor  and  the  Notary 156 

The  House  and  the  Weather-cock 124 

The  Household ■.    iii 

The  Journey loi 

The  Pilgrim  of  Love 143 

The  Tower  of  Comares 108 

The  Tower  of  Las  Infantas 124 

The  Truant 112 

The  Veteran 156 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


ER  PAGE 

I. — Of  the  Kingdom  of  Granada,  and  the 
tribute  which  it  paid  to  the  Castil- 

ian  crown 173 

II. — How  the  Catholic  sovereigns  sent  to 
demand  arrears  of  tribute  of  the 
Moor,  and  how  the  Moor  replied.   174 
III. — How  the  Moor  determined  to  strike 

the  first  blow  in  the  war 175 


CHAPTER 

IV. 


Expedition  of  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
against  the  fortress  of  Zahara. . . .   176 
V. — Expedition  of  the  Marques  of  Cadiz 

against  Alhama 177 

VI. — How  the  people  of  Granada  were  af- 
fected on  hearing  of  the  capture  of 
Alhama ;  and  how  the  Moorish 
King  sallied  forth  to  regain  it [79 


ivi209357 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

VII. — How  the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia, 
and  the  Chivalry  of  Andalusia, 
hastened  to  the  relief  of  Alhama. .    i8l 

VIII. — Sequel  of  the  events  at  Alhama 182 

IX. — Events  at  Granada,  and  rise  of  the 

Moorish  King  Boabdil  El  Chico..   184 

X. — Royal  expedition  against  Loxa 185 

XI. — How  Muley  Aben  Hassan   made  a 
foray   into   the   lands   of    Medina 
Sidonia,  and  how  he  was  received.  187 
XII. — Foray  of  Spanish  cavaliers  among 

the  mountains  of  Malaga 189 

XIII. — Effects  of  the   disasters  among  the 

mountains  of  Malaga 192 

XIV. — How  King  Boabdil  El  Chico  marched 

over  the  borders 193 

XV. — How  the  Count  De  Cabra  sallied  forth 
from  his  castle,  in  quest  of  King 

Boabdil 194 

XVI.— The  battle  of  Lucena 195 

XVII. — Lamentations  of  the  Moors  for  the 

battle  of  Lucena ...     197 

XVIII. — How   Muley  Aben  Hassan  profited 
by    the    misfortunes    of    his   son 

Boabdil 198 

XIX. — Captivity  of  Boabdil  El  Chico 199 

XX. — Of  the  treatment  of  Boabdil  by  the 

Castilian  sovereigns 200 

XXI. — Return  of  Boabdil  from  captivity..   201 
XXII. — Foray  of  the  Moorish  Alcaydes  and 

battle  of  Lopera 202 

XXIIL— Retreat  of  Hamet  El  Zegri,  Alcayde 

of  Ronda 204 

XXIV. — Of    the    reception   at  court   of  the 
Count  De  Cambra  and  the  Alcayde 

De  Los  Donzeles 205 

XXV. — How   the     Marques   of   Cadiz   con- 
certed to  surprise  Zahara,  and  the 

result  of  his  enterprise 206 

XXVI. — Of  the  fortress  of  Alhama,  and  how 
wisely  it    was    governed   by  the 

Count  De  Tendilla 208 

XXVII. — Foray  of  Christian  knights  into  the 

territory  of  the  Moors 209 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVIII. — Attempt    of   El    Zagal   to   surprise 

Boabdil  in  Almeria 211 

XXIX. — How  King  Ferdinand  commenced 
another  campp.ign  against  the 
Moors,  and  how  he  laid  siege  to 

Coin  and  Cartama 212 

XXX.— Siege  of  Ronda 213 

XXXI. — How  the  people  of  Granada  invited 
El  Zagal  to  the  throne,  and  how 

he  marched  to  the  capital 214 

XXXII.— How  the  Count  De  Cabra  attempted 
to  capture  another  King,  and  how 

he  fared  in  his  attempt 2lh 

XXXIII. — Expedition  against    the    castles    of 

Cambil  and  Albahar 217 

XXXIV.— Enterprise  of  the  Knights  of  Cala- 

trava  against  Zaiea 219 

XXXV.— Death  of  Muley  Aben  Hassan  ....  220 
XXXVI. — Of  the    Christian    army    which    as- 
sembled at  the  city  of  Cordova..   221 
XXXVII. — How   fresh    commotions  broke    out 
in    Granada,  and  how  the  people 

undertook  to  allay  them 223 

XXXVIII.— How  King  Ferdinand  held  a  council 

of  war  at  the  Rock  of  the  Lovers.   224 
XXXIX. — How   the  royal  army  appeared  be- 
fore the    city  of  Loxa,  and  how  it 
was  received ;  and  of  the  doughty 
achievements  of  the  English   Earl  225 
XL. — Conclusion  of  the  siege  of  Loxa. . . .  226 

XLI.— Capture  of  Illora 227 

XLII. — Of  the  arrival  of  Queen  Isabella  at 
the  camp  before  Moclin  ;  and  of  the 
pleasant  sayings  of  the  English  Earl  227 
XLI  1 1. — How  King  Ferdinand  attacked  Moc- 
lin,  and    of    the    strange  events 

that  attended  its  capture 229 

XLIV. — How  King  Ferdinand  foraged  the 
Vega ;  and  of  the  battle  of  the 
Bridge  of  Pinos,  and  the  fate  of 

the  two  Moorish  brothers 23c 

XLV. — Attempt  of  El  Zagal  upon  the  life 
of  Boabdil,  and  how  the  latter  was 
roused  to  action 231 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


VOLUME   SECOND. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — How  Boabdil   returned    secretly   to 

Granada,  and  how  he  was  received  232 
II. — How  King  Ferdinand  laid  siege  to 

Velez  Malaga 233 

III. — How  King  Ferdinand  and  his  army 
were  exposed  to  imminent  peril  be- 
fore Velez  Malaga 235 

IV. — Result  of  the  stratagem  of  El  Zagal 

to  surprise  King  Ferdinand 237 

V. — How  the  people  of  Granada  rewarded 

the  valor  of  El  Zagal 238 

VI. — Surrender  of  Velez  Malaga  and  other 

places 238 

VII. — Of  the  city  of  Malaga  and  its  inhabit- 
ants   239 

VIII. — Advance  of  King  Ferdinand  against 

Malaga 241 

IX.— Siege  of  Malaga 242 

X. — Siege  of  Malaga  continued,  obstinacy 

of  Hamet  El  Zegri 242 

XI. — Attack  of  the  Marques  of  Cadiz  upon 

Gibralfaro 243 

XII. — Siege  of  Malaga  continued,  strata- 
gems of  various  kinds 244 


CHAPTER  PACE 

XIII. — Sufferings  of  the  people  of  Malaga. .   245 

XIV. — How  a  Moorish  Santon  undertook 
to  deliver  the  city  of  Malaga  from 

the  power  of  its  enemies 246 

XV. — How  Hamet  El  Zegri  was  hardened 
in  his  obstinacy  by  the  arts  of  a 
Moorish  astrologer 247 

XVI. — Siege  of  Malaga  continued,  destruc- 
tion of  a  tower  by  Francisco  Ra- 
mirez De  Madrid ...  248 

XVII. — How  the  people  of  Malaga  expostu- 
lated with  Hamet  El  Zegri 249 

XVIII.— How  Hamet  El  Zegri  sallied  forth 
with  the  sacred  banner,  to  attack 
the  Christian  camp 249 

XIX. — How  the  city  of  Malaga  capitulated  251 
XX. — Fulfilment  of  the  prophecy  of    the 

dervise — Fate  of  Hamet  El  Zegri  252 

XXI. — How  the  Castilian  sovereigns  took 
possession  of  the  city  of  Malaga, 
and  how  King  Ferdinand  signal- 
ized himself  by  his  skill  in  bargain- 
ing with  the  inhabitants  for  their 
ransom 252 


CONTENTS. 


VII 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII. — How  King  Ferdinand  prepared  to 
carry  the  war  into  a  different  part 

of  the  territories  of  the  Moor^ 254 

XXIII. — How  King  Ferdinand  invaded  the 
eastern  side  of  the  kingdom  of 
Granada,  and  how  he  was  received 

by  El  Zagal 255 

XXIV. — How  the  Moors  made  various  enter- 

pri.ses  against  the  Cliristians 256 

XXV. — How  King  Ferdinand  prepared  to  be- 
siege the  City  of  Baza,  and  hovr 

the  city  prepared  for  defence 257 

XXVI.— The  Battle  of   the   Gardens   before 

Baza 259 

XXVII. — Siege  of  Baza — Embarrassments  of 

the  army 260 

XXVIII. — Siege  of  Baza  continued — How  King 
Ferdinand  completely  invested  the 

city 260 

XXIX.— Exploit  of  Hernando  Perez  Del  Pul- 

gar  and  other  cavaliers 261 

XXX. — Continuation  of  the  siege  of  Baza. . .   262 
XXXI. — How   two  friars  arrived  at  the  camp 
and  how  they  came  from  the  Holy 

Land " 263 

XXXII. — How  Queen  Isabella  devised  means 
to  supply  the  army  with  provis- 
ions     264 

XXXIII.— Of  the  disasters  that  befell  the  camp  265 
XXXIV. — Encounters  between  the  Christians 
and  Moors  before  Baza ;  and  the 
devotion  of  the  inhabitants  to  the 

defence  of  their  city 266 

XXXV. — How  Queen  Isabella  arrived  at  the 
camp,  and  the  consequences  of  her 

arrival 267 

XXXVI.— Surrender  of  Baza 268 

XXXVII. — Submission  of  El  Zagal  to  the  Cas- 

tilian  sovereigns 269 

XXXVIII. — Events  at  Granada  subsequent  to  the 

submission  of  El  Zagal 270 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXXIX. — How  King  Ferdinand  turned  his  hos- 
tilities against  the  city  of  Granada  272 
XL. — The  fate  of  the  Castle  of  Roma   ...   273 
XLI.— How    Bobadil    El    Chico    took   the 
field  ;  and  his  expedition   against 

Alhendin 274 

XLII.— Exploit  of  the  Count  De  Tendilla..   275 
XLIII. — Expedition    of    Boabdil    El     Chico 
against     Salobrefia  — ■  Exploit     of 

Hernando  Perez  Del  Pulgar 276 

XLIV, — How  King  Ferdinand  treated  the 
people  of  Guadix,  and  how  El  Za- 
gal finished  his  regal  career 277 

XLV. — Preparations  of  Granada  for  a  des- 
perate defence 278 

XLVI. — How  King  Ferdinand  conducted  the 
siege  cautiously  ;  and  how  Queen 

Isabella  arrived  at  the  camp 280 

XLVII. — Of  the  insolent  defiance  of  Yarfe, 
the  Moor,  and  the  daring  exploit 
of  Hernando  Perez  Del  Pulgar. .  280 
XLVII  I. — How  Queen  Isabella  took  n.  view  of 
the  city  of  Granada,  and  how  her 
curiosity  cost   the  lives  of    many 

Christians  and  Moors 281 

XLIX. — Conflagration  of  the  Christian  camp  283 
L. — The  last  ravage  before  Granada. . .  .   283 
LI. — Building  of  the  City  of  Sante  Fe— 

Despair  of  the  Moors 284 

LII. — Capitulation  of  Granada 285 

LIII. — Commotions  in  Granada 286 

LIV. — Surrender  of  Granada  287 

LV. — How  the  Castilian  sovereigns  took 

possession  of  Granada 288 

APPENDIX. 

Fate  of  Boabdil  El  Chico 289 

Death  of  the  Marques  of  Cadiz 290 

The  legend  of    the  death  of    Don   Alonzo   De 

Aguilar 291 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  SPAIN. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — Of  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  Spain 

Of  the  misrule  of  Witiza  the  Wicked  295 
II. — The  rise  of  Don  Roderick — His  gov- 
ernment    297 

III. — Of  the  loves  of  Don  Roderick  and 

the  Princess  Elyata 298 

IV. — Of  Count  Julian 299 

V. — The  story  of  Florinda 299 

VI. — Don  Roderick  receives   an  extraor- 
dinary embassy 301 

VII. — Story  of  the  marvellous  and  portent- 
ous tower 302 

VIII. — Count  Julian — His  fortunes  in  Africa 

—He  hears  of  the  dishonor  of  his 

child — His  conduct  thereupon. . . .  304 

IX. — Secret  visit  of  Count  Julian   to   the 

Arab   camp — First   expedition    Of 

Taric   El  Tuerto 305 

X. — Letter  of  Muza  to  the  Caliph — Sec- 
ond expedition  of  Taric  El  Tuerto  306 
XI. — Measures  of  Don  Roderick  on  hear- 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

ing  of  the  invasion — Expedition  of 

Ataulpho — Vision  of  Taric 307 

XII.— Battle  of  Calpe— Fate  of  Ataulpho.   308 
XIII. — Terror   of    the    country  —  Roderick 

rouses  himself  to  arms 310 

XIV. — March  of  the  Gothic  army — Encamp- 
ment on  the  banks  of  the  Guada- 
lete — Mysterious  predictions  of  a 
Palmer — Conduct  of  Pelistes  there- 
upon  3n 

XV. — Skirmishing  of  the  armies — Pelistes 
and    his    son  —  Pelistes    and  the 

bishop 312 

XVI. — Traitorous  message  of  Count  Julian  31J 

XVII. — Last  day  of  the  battle 313 

XVIII.— The  field  of  battle  after  the  defeat— 

The  fate  of  Roderick 315 

APPENDIX. 
Illustrations  of  the  foregoing  legend — The  tomb 

of  Roderick 316 

The  cave  of  Hercules 316 


vm 


CONTENTS. 


LEGENDS  OF  THE  SUBJUGATION  OF  SPAIN. 


CHAPTER  PACE 

I. — Consternation  of  Spain — Conduct  of  the 
Conquerors— Missives   between   Taric 

and  Muza 31S 

II. — Capture  of  Granada — Subjugation  of  the 

Alpuxarra  Mountains 319 

III. — Expedition  of  Magued  against  Cordova — 

Defence  of  the  patriot  Pelistes 320 

IV. — Defence  of  the  Convent  of  St.  George  by 

Pelistes 321 

V. — Meeting  between  the  patriot  Pelistes  and 

the  traitor  Julian 322 

VI. — How  Taric  El  Tuerto  captured  the  city 
of  Toledo  through  the  aid  of  the  Jews, 
and  how  he  found  the   famous   talis- 

manic  table  of  Solomon 323 

VII. — Muza  Ben  Nozier's  entrance  into  Spain 

and  capture  of  Carmona 324 

VIII. — Muza  marches  against  the  city  of  Seville,  325 
IX. — Mu2a  besieges  the  city  of  Merida 325 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

X. — Expedition  of  Abdalasis  against  Seville 

and  the  "land  of  Tadmir" 327 

XI.— Muza  arrives  at  Toledo — Interview  be- 
tween him  and  Taric 329 

XII. — Muza  prosecutes  the  scheme  of  conquest 
— Siege  of  Saragossa — Complete  subju- 
gation of  Spain 330 

XIII. — Feud  between  the  Arab  Generals — They 
are  summoned  to  appear  before  the 
Caliph    at    Damascus  —  Reception   of 

Taric 331 

XIV. — Muza  arrives  at  Damascus — His  inter- 
view with  the  Caliph — The  Table   of 

Solomon — A  rigorous  sentence 332 

XV. — Conduct  of  Abdalasis  as  Emir  of  Spain. .   333 

XVI. — Loves  of  Abdalasis  and  Exilona 333 

XVII.—  Fate  of  Abdalasis  and  Exilona — Death  of 

Muza 334 

LEGEND    OF   COUNT    JULIAN    AND    HIS 
FAMILY 336 


TALES  OF  A   TRAVELLER. 


PART      FIRST. 
STRANGE   STORIES   BY  A   NERVOUS   GENTLEMAN. 


A  Hunting  Dinner 341 

The  Adventure  of  my  Aunt 346 

The  Adventure  of  the  Mysterious  Picture 350 

The  Adventure  of  tlie  Mysterious  Stranger 353 


The  Adventure  of  my  Uncle 343 

The  Adventure  of  my  Grandfather 348 

The  Bold  Dragoon 348 

The  Story  of  the  Young  Italian 355 


PART     SECOND. 
BUCKTHORNE    AND    HIS    FRIENDS. 


A  Literary  Dinner 364 

Buckthorne;  or,  the  Young  Man  of  Great  Expec- 
tations    372 

Grave  Reflections  of  a  Disappointed  Man 385 

Literary  Life 363 


The  Booby  Squire 386 

The  Club  of  Queer  Fellows 365 

The  Poor  Devil  Author 367 

The  Strolling  Manager 388 


PART     THIRD. 
THE     ITALIAN     BANDITTI, 


The  Adventure  of  the  Little  Antiquary 395 

The  Adventure  of  the  Popkins  Family 397 

The  Inn  at  Terracina 392 


The  Painter's  Adventure 399 

The  Story  of  the  Bandit  Chieftain 401 

The  Story  of  the  Young  Robber 405 


PART      FOURTH. 
THE      MONEY-DIGGERS, 


Hell  Gate 410 

Kidd  the  Pirate 411 

The  Devil  and  Tom  Walker 412 


The  Adventure  of  Sam,  the  Black  Fisherman, 

commonly  denominated  Mud  Sara 423 

Wolfert  Webber  ;  or  Golden  Dreams 416 


CONTENTS. 


iz 


BRACEBRIDGE  HALL;    OR,  THE  HUMOURISTS. 


A  Bachelor's  Confessions 4S8 

A  Literary  Antiquity 452 

An  Old  Soldier 441 

Annette  Delarbre 502 

A  Stage-Coach  Romance 447 

A  Village  Politician 496 

Bachelors 445 

Dolph  Heyliger 518 

English  Country  Gentleman 486 

English  Gravity 489 

Falconry .  456 

Family  Misfortunes 514 

Family  Reliques 440 

Family  Servants 436 

Forest  Trees 450 

Fortune-Telling 462 

Gentility 461 

Gipsies 490 

Hawking 457 

Horsemanship 454 

Love-Charms 463 

Love  Symptoms 455 

Lover's  Troubles 515 

May-Day  Customs 492 

May-Day 499 

Popular  Superstitions 510 


Ready-Money  Jack 443 

St.  Mark's  Eve 459 

Story-Telling 447 

The  Author's  Farewell 539 

The  Busy  Man 435 

The  Culprit 512 

The  Farm-House 453 

The  Hall    434 

The  Haunted  House 517 

The  Historian 516 

The  Library 464 

The  Lovers 439 

The  Manuscript 501 

The  Rookery 497 

The  School 495 

The  Schoolmaster 493 

The  Storm-Ship 529 

The  Stout  Gentleman 447 

The  Student  of  Salamanca 465 

The  Wedding 536 

The  Widow's  Retinue 442 

The  Widow 438 

Travelling 508 

Wives 445 

Village  Worthies 493 


KNICKERBOCKER'S  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 

VOLUME    ONE. 


Account  of  the  Author 541 

Address  to  the  Public 544 

BOOK    L 

CONTAINING   DIVERS   INGENIOUS   THEORIES  AND  PHILO- 
SOPHIC   SPECULATIONS,    CONCERNING    THE   CREATION 
AND    POPULATION    OF    THE  WORLD,   AS    CONNECTED 
WITH   THE  HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 
CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — Description  of  the  World 546 

H. — Cosmogony,  or  Creation  of  the  World  ; 
with  a  multitude  of  excellent  theories, 
by  which  the  creation  of  a  world  is 
shown  to  be  no  such  difficult  matter  as 

common  folk  would  imagine 547 

IIL — How  that  famous  navigator,  Noah,  was 
shamefully  nicknamed ;  and  how  he 
committed  an  unpardonable  oversight, 
in  not  having  four  sons.  With  the 
great  trouble  of  philosophers  caused 
thereby,  and  the  discovery  of  America.  549 
IV. — Showing  the  great  difficulty  philosophers 
have  had  in  peopling  America — and 
how  the  Aborigines  came  to  be  begot- 
ten by  accident^to  the  great  relief  and 

satisfaction  of  the  Author 551 

V. — In  which  the  Author  puts  a  mighty  ques- 
tion to  the  rout,  by  the  assistance  of 
the  Man  in  the  Moon — which  not  only 
delivers  thousands  of  people  from  great 
embarrassment,  but  likewise  concludes 
this  introductory  book 552 

BOOK  n. 

TREATING  OF  THE  FIRST    SETTLEMENT  OF  THE  PROV- 
INCE OF   NIEUW-NEDERLANDTS. 
CHAPTER  PAGE 

L — In  which  are  contained  divers  reasons 
why  a  man  should  not  write  in  a  hurry. 
Also,  of  Master  Hendrick  Hudson,  his 


CHAPTER  PAGE 
discovery  of  a   strange   country — and 
how  he  was  magnificently  rewarded  by 
the  munificence  of  their  High  Mighti- 
nesses     556 

II. — Containing  an  account  of  a  mighty  Ark, 
which  floated,  under  the  protection  of 
St.  Nicholas,  from  Holland  to  Gibbet 
Island — the  descent  of  the  strange  Ani- 
mals therefrom — a  great  victory,  and 
a  description  of  the  ancient  village  of 
Communipaw 559 

III. — In  which  is  set  forth  the  true  art  of  mak- 
ing a  bargain — together  with  the  mi- 
raculous escape  of  a  great  Metropolis 
in  a  fog — and  the  biography  of  certain 
Heroes  of  Communipaw 560 

IV. — H  o w  the  H  eroes  of  Communipaw  voyaged 
to  Hell-Gate,  and  how  they  were  re- 
ceived there 562 

V. — How  the  Heroes  of  Communipaw  re- 
turned somewhat  wiser  than  they  went 
— and  how  the  sage  Oloffe  dreamed  a 
dream — and  the  dream  that  he  dreamed  565 

VI. — Containing  an  attempt  at  etymology — 
and  of  the  founding  of  the  great  city  of 

New-Amsterdam 566 

VII. — How  the  city  of  New-Amsterdam  waxed 
great,  under  the  protection  of  Oloffe 
the  Dreamer 567 

BOOK  in. 

IN  WHICH  IS  RECORDED  THE  GOLDEN  REIGN  OF 
WOUTER  VAN  TWILLER. 
I. — Of  the  renowned  Walter  Van  Twiller,  his 
unparalleled  virtues — and  likewise  his 
unutterable  wisdom  in  the  lawcase  of 
Wandle  Schoonhoven  and  Barent 
Bleecker — and  the  great  admiration  of 
the  public  thereat 560 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

II. — Containing  some  account  of  tlie  grand 
council  of  New-Amsterdam,  as  also 
divers  especial  good  philosophical  rea- 
sons why  an  alderman  should  be  fat — 
with    other    particulars    touching    the 

state  of  the  province   571 

in. — How  the  town  of  New-Amsterdam  arose 
out  of  mud,  and  came  to  be  marvel- 
lously polished  and  polite — together 
with  a  picture  of  the  manners  of  our 

great-great-grandfathers 573 

IV. — Containing  further  particulars  of  the 
Golden  Age,  and  what  constituted  a 
fine   Lady  and  Gentleman  in  the  days 

of  Walter  the  Doubter 575 

V. — In  which  the  reader  is  beguiled  into  a  de- 
lectable walk,  which  ends  very  differ- 
ently from  what  it  commenced 57^ 

VI. — Faithfully  describing  the  ingenious  peo- 
pl**  of  Connecticut  and  thereabouts — 
Sh  )wing,  moreover,  the  true  meaning 
of  liberty  of  conscience,  and  a  curious 
device  among  these  sturdy  barbarians, 
to  keep  up  a  harmony  of  intercourse, 

and  promote  population 577 

VII. — How  these  singular  barbarians  turned 
out  to  be  notorious  squatters — how  they 
built  air  castles,  and  attempted  to 
initiate  the  Nederlanders  in  the  mys- 
tery of  bundling 579 

VIII. — How  the  Fort  Goed  Hoop  was  fearfully 
beleaguered — how  the  renowned  Wou- 
ter  fell  into  a  profound  doubt,  and  how 
he  finally  evaporated 580 

BOOK   IV. 

CONTAINING  THE   CHRONICLES  OF  THE  REIGN   OF  WIL- 
LIAM   THE   TESTY. 

I. — Showing  the  nature  of  history  in  general; 
containing   furthermore   the   universal 


( CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  acquirements    of    William   the    Testy, 

and  how  a  man  may  learn  so  much  as 
to  render  himself  good  for  nothing.  .  5S1 
II. — In  which  are  recorded  the  sage  projects 
of  a  ruler  of  universal  genius — the  art 
of  fighting  by  proclamation — and  how 
that  the  valiant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet 
came  to  be  foully  dishonoured  at  Fort 

Goed  Hoop 5^4 

III. — Containing  the  fearful  wrath  of  William 
the  Testy,  and  the  great  dolour  of  the 
New-Amsterdammers,  because  of  the 
affair  of  Fort  Goed  Hoop — and,  more- 
over, how  William  the  Testy  did  strong- 
ly fortify  the  city — together  with  the 

exploits  of  Stoffel  Brinkerhoff   586 

IV. — Philosophical  refl'ections  on  the  folly  of 
being  happy  in  times  of  prosperity — 
Sundry  troubles  on  the  southern  fron- 
tiers— How  William  the  Testy  had  well- 
nigh  ruined  the  province  through  a 
cabalistic  word — As  also  the  secret  ex- 
pedition of  Jan  Jansen  Alpendam,  and 

his  astonishing  reward 587 

V. — How  William  the  Testy  enriched  the 
province  by  a  multitude  of  laws,  and 
came  to  be  the  patron  of  lawyers  and 
bum-bailiffs — and  how  the  people  be- 
came exceedingly  enlightened  and  un- 
happy under  his  instructions 589 

VI. — Of  the  great  pipe  plot — and  of  the  dolor 
ous  perplexities  into  which  William  the 
Testy  was  thrown,   by   reason   of   his 

having  enlightened  the  multitude 591 

VII. — Containing  divers  fearful  accounts  of 
Border  Wars,  and  the  flagrant  outrages 
of  the  Mosstroopers  of  Connecticut — 
with  the  rise  of  the  great  Amphyctionic 
Council  of  the  east,  and  the  decline  of 

William  the  Testy 593 

J 


KNICKERBOCKER'S  HISTORY  OF  NEW-YORK. 

VOLUME  TWO. 


BOOK  V. 

CONTAINING  THE  FIRST  PART  OF  THE  REIGN  OF  PETER 
STUYVESANT,  AND  HIS  TROUBLES  WITH  THE  AM- 
PHYCTIONIC  COUNCIL. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — In  which  the  death  of  a  great  man  i« 
shown  to  be  no  very  inconsolable 
matter  of  sorrow — and  how  Peter 
Stuyvesant  acquired  a  great  name 
from   the   uncommon  strength  of 

his.head 595 

II. — Showing  how  Peter  the  Headstrong 
bestirred  himself  among  the  rats 
and  cobwebs  on  entering  into 
office— and  the  perilous  mistake  he 
was  guilty  of  in  his  dealings  with 

the  Amphyctions 597 

III. — Containing  divers  speculations  on 
war  and  negotiations — showing  that 
a  treaty  of  peace  is  a  great  national 

eyil 598 

IV, — How  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  greatly 
belied  by  his  adversaries,  the  Moss- 
troopers— and  his  conduct  there- 
upon     600 

V. — How  the  New-Amsterdammers  be- 
came groat  in    arms,   and   of  the 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

direful  catastrophe  of  a  mighty 
army — together  with  Peter  Stuves- 
ant's  measures  to  fortify  the  city, 
and    how    he    was    the    original 

founder  of  the  Battery 602 

VI. — How  the  people  of  the  east  country 
were  suddenly  afflicted  with  a  dia- 
bolical evil,  and  their  judicious 
measures  for  the  extirpation  there- 
of     603 

VII. — Which  records  the  rise  and  renown 
of  a  valiant  commander,  showing 
that  a  man,  like  a  bladder,  may  be 
puffed  up  to  greatness  and  impor- 
tance by  mere  wind 605 

BOOK  VI. 

CONTAINING  THE  SECOND  PART  OF  THE  REIGN  OF 
PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG,  AND  HIS  GALLANT  ACHIEVE- 
MENTS   ON   THE   DELAWARE. 

I. — In  which  is  exhibited  a  warlike  portrait 
of  the  great  Peter — and  how  General 
Van  Poffenburgh  distinguished  himself 

at  Fort  Casimir 607 

II. — Showing  how  profound  secrets  are  often 
brought  to  light ;  with  the  proceedings 
of  Peter  the  Headstrong  when  he  heard 


CONTENTS. 


XI 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

of  the  misfortunes  of  General  Van  Pof- 

fenburgh    609 

III. — Containing  Peter  Stuyvesant's  voyage  up 
tlie  Hudson,  and  the  wonders  and  de- 
lights of  that  renowned  river 611 

IV. — Describing  the  powerful  army  that  as- 
sembled at  the  City  of  New  Amsterdam 
— together  with  the  interview  between 
Peter  the  Headstrong  and  General  Van 
Poffenburgh,    and    Peter's   sentiments 

touching  unfortunate  great  men 613 

V. — In  which  the  author  discourses  very  in- 
genuously of  himself — after  which  is  to 
be  found  much  interesting  history  about 
Peter  the  Headstrong  and  his  fol- 
lowers     615 

VI. — Showing  the  great  advantage  that  the 
author  has  over  his  reader  in  time  of 
battle — together  with  divers  portentous 
movements,  which  betoken  that  some- 
thing terrible  is  about  to  happen 617 

VII. — Containing  the  most  horrible  battle  ever 
recorded  in  poetry  or  prose — with  the 
admirable  exploits  of  Peter  the  Head- 
strong     618 

VIII. — In  which  the  author  and  the  reader,  while 
reposing  after  the  battle,  fall  into  a 
very  grave  discourse — after  which  is 
recorded  the  conduct  of  Peter  Stuyves- 
ant  after  his  victory   621 

BOOK   VII. 

CO.MTAINING  THE  THIRD  PART  OF  THE  REIGN  OF 
PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG — HIS  TROUBLES  WITH  THE 
BRITISH  NATION,  AND  THE  DECLINE  AND  FALL  OF 
THE   DUTCH   DYNASTY. 

I. — How  Peter  Stuyvesant  relieved  the  sover- 
eign people  from  the  burthen  of  taking 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

care  of  the  nation — with  sundry  partic- 
ulars of  his  conduct  in  time  of  peace.   623 

II. — How  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  much  mo- 
lested by  the  Mosstroopers  of  the  East, 
and  the  Giants  of  Merryland — and  how 
a  dark  and  horrid  conspiracy  was  car- 
ried on  in  the  British  Cabinet  against 
the  prosperity  of  the  Manhattoes 626 

III. — Of  Peter  Stuyvesant's  expedition  into  the 
East  Country — showing  that,  though 
an  old  bird,  he  did  not  understand 
trap 628 

IV. — How  the  people  of  New-Amsterdam  were 
thrown  into  a  great  panic  by  the  news 
of  a  threatened  invasion,  and  the 
manner  in  which  they  fortified  them- 
selves     630 

V. — Showing  how  the  grand  Council  of  the 
New-Netherlands  came  to  be  miracu- 
lously gifted  with  long  tongues — to- 
gether with  a  great  triumph  of  Econ- 
omy    631 

VI. — In  which  the  troubles  of  New-Amsterdam 
appear  to  thicken — showing  the  bravery 
in  time  of  peril  of  a  people  who  de- 
fend themselves  by  resolutions 632 

VII. — Containing  a  doleful  disaster  of  Antony 
the  Trumpeter — and  how  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant, like  a  second  Cromwell,  sud- 
denly dissolved  a  rump  Parliament...  634 
VIII. — How  Peter  Stuyvesant  defended  the  city 
of  New-Amsterdam,  for  several  days, 
by  dint  of  the  strength  of  his  head ....   636 

IX. — Containing  the  dignified  retirement,  and 
mortal  surrender,  of  Peter  the  Head- 
strong     638 

X. — The  Author's  reflections  upon  what  h  as 

been  said 639 


SALMAGUNDI; 

OR,    THE 

WHIM-WHAMS  AND  OPINIONS  OF  LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,  Esq.,  AND 

OTHERS. 

VOLUME    ONE. 


NO.  PAGE 

I. — Editor's  advertisement 641 

Publisher's  notice 641 

Introduction  to  the  work 642 

Theatrics— by  Will  Wizard 643 

New  York  Assembly — by  A.  Evergreen .  644 
II. — Launcelot    Langstaff's    account    of     his 

friends ^45 

Mr.  Wilson's  concert— by  A.  Evergreen  646 
Pindar  Cockloft  to  Launcelot  Langstaff.   648 
III. — Account   of   Mustapha    Rub-a-dub    Keli 

Khan 649 

Letter  from    Mustapha   Rub-a-dub    Keli 

Khan  to  Asem  Hacchem 650 

Fashions — by  A.  Evergreen 651 

Fashionable  morning-dress  for  walking. .   651 

The  progress  of  Salmagundi 652 

Poetical  proclamation  from  the  mill   of 

Pindar  Cockloft,  Esq 653 

IV. — Some    account  of  Jeremy   Cockloft   the 

younger ■ . .  ■   653 

Memorandums  for  a  tour  to  be  entitled 
"The  Stranger  in  New  Jersey;  or. 
Cockney  travelling  " — by  Jeremy  Cock- 
loft the  younger 654 

V. — Introduction  to  a  letter  from   Mustapha 

Rub-a-dub  Keli  Khan 656 


NO.  PAGE 

Letter  from  Mustapha  to  Abdallah  Eb'n 
al  Rahab 656 

Account  of  Will  Wizard's  expedition  to  a 
modern  ball — by  A.   Evergreen   658 

Poetical  epistle  to  the  ladies — from  the 

mill  of  Pindar  Cockloft,  Esq 660 

VI. — Account  of  the  family  of  the  Cocklofts. .   660 

Theatrics — by  William  Wizard,  Esq....  663 
VII. — Letter   from    Mustapha   Rub-a-dub    Keli 

Khan  to  Asem  Hacchem 665 

Poetical  account  of  ancient  times — from 
the  mill  of  Pindar  Cockloft,  Esq. 668 

Notes  on  the  above,  by  W.  Wizard,  Esq.  668 
VIII.— Anthony    Evergreen's    account    of    his 

friend  Langstaff 66g 

On  style — by  William  Wizard,  Esq 671 

The  editors  and  the  public 673 

IX. — Account  of  Miss  Charity  Cockloft 674 

From  the  elbow-chair  of  the  author 675 

Letter   from    Rub-a-dub    Keli    Khan    to 
Asem  Hacchem 676 

Poetry,   from   the  mill  of  Pindar  Cock- 
loft, Esq • 678 

X. — Introduction  to  the  number 679 

Letter  from  Demi  Semiquaver  to  Launce- 
lot Langstaff,  Esq 679 

Note  by  the  publisher 681 


Zll 


CONTENTS. 


SALMAGUNDI; 

OR,   THE 

WHIM-WHAMS  AND  OPINIONS  OF  LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,  Esq., 

AND  OTHERS. 

VOLUMETWO. 


NO.  PAGE 

XI. — Letter   from  Mustapha   Rub-a-dub  Keli 

Khan  to  Asem  Hacchem 682 

Account  of  "  mine  uncle  John  " 684 

XII. — Christopher  Cockloft's  company 686 

The   Stranger  at  Home  ;  or,  a  tour  in 
Broadway — by    Jeremy   Cockloft    the 

younger 689 

Introduction  to  Pindar  Cockloft's  poem . .   691 
A  poem,  from  the  mill  of  Pindar  Cock- 
loft, Esq 691 

XIII. — Introduction   to   Will  Wizard's  plan  for 

defending  our  harbor 692 

"  Plans  for  defending  our  Harbor,"  by 

William  Wizard,  Esq 693 

A  Retrospect  ;  or,  "  W/iat yoit  will" . .  ■ .   695 

To  readers  and  correspondents 697 

XIV. — Letter  from   Mustapha   Rub-a-dub   Keli 

Khan  to  Asem  Hacchem 698 

Cockloft  Hall— by  L.  Langstaff 700 

Theatrical  Intelligence — by  William  Wiz- 
ard, Esq 702 

XV. — Sketches  from  Nature — by  A.  Evergreen, 

gent 704 

On  Greatness— by  L.  Langstaff,  Esq 705 


NO.  PAGE 

XVI.— Style  at  Ballston— by  W.  Wizard,  Esq..   708 
From  Mustapha  Rub-a-dub  Keli  Khan  to 

Asem  Hacchem 709 

XVII. — Autumnal     Reflections  —  by    Launcelot 

Langstaff,   Esq 7^2 

Description   of    the   library   at   Cockloft 

Hall— by  L.  Langstaff 713 

Chap.  CIX.  of  the  Chronicles  of  the  re- 
nowned and  ancient  City  of  Gotham. .   714 
XVIII— The  little   man  in    black — by  Launcelot 

Langstaff,  Esq 716 

Letter    from   Mustapha  Rub-a-dub    Keli 

Khan  to  Asem  Hacchem   718 

XIX. — Introduction  to  the  number 720 

Letter   from    Rub-a-dub    Keli    Khan   to 

Muley  Helim  al  Raggi 720 

Anthony  Evergreen's  introduction  to  the 

"  winter  campaign  " 723 

Tea,  a  poem,  from  the  mill   of   Pindar 

Cockloft,  Esq 724 

XX.— On  the  new  year 725 

To  the  ladies — from  A.  Evergreen,  gent  727 
Farewell  address 7^9 


VOYAGES   AND    DISCOVERIES 

OF  THE 

COMPANIONS   OF   COLUMBUS. 
ALONZO  DE  OJEDA. 

HIS   FIRST   VOYAGE,    IN   WHICH   HE  WAS   ACCOMPANIED   BY   AMERIGO   VESPUCCI. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — Some  account  of  Ojeda — of  Juan  De  La 
Cosa  —  of  Amerigo  Vespucci.  —  Prep- 
arations for  the  voyage  (1499) 732 

II. — Departure   from    Spain — Arrival  on   the 

coast  of  Pada — Customs  of  the  natives  733 
III. — Coasting  off  Terra  Firma — -Military  ex- 
pedition of  Ojeda 734 

IV. — Discovery  of   the   Gulf   of   Venezuela — 
Transactions  there — Ojeda  explores  the 

Gulf— Penetrates  to  Maracaibo 735 

V. — Prosecution  of  the  voyage  and  return  to 

Spain 736 

Pedro  Alonzo  Nino  (1499) 736 

Christoval  Guerra  (1499). . . , 736 

Vicente  Yanez  Pinzon  (1499) 737 

Diego  De  Lepe  (1500) 739 

Rodrigo  De  Bastides  (1500) 739 

Second  voyage  of  Alonzo  De  Ojeda  (1502) 740 

THIRD   VOYAGE  OF  ALONZO   DE   OJEDA. 

I. — Ojeda  applies  for  a  command — Has  a 
rival  candidate  in  Diego  De  Nicuesa — 
His  success 741 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

II. — Feud  between  the  rival  governors,  Ojeda 

and  Nicuesa — A  challenge  (1509) 743 

III. — Exploits  and  disasters  of  Ojeda  on  the 
coast  of  Carthagena — Fate  of  the  vete- 
ran Juan  De  La  Cosa  (1509) 744 

IV. — Arrival  of  Nicuesa — Vengeance  taken  on 

the  Indians 745 

V. — Ojeda  founds  the  colony  of  San  Sebastian 

— Beleaguered  by  the  Indians 746 

VI. — Ojeda  supposed  by  the  savages  to  have  a 
'     charmed  life — Their  experiment  to  try 

the  fact  747 

VII. — Arrival  of  a  strange  ship  at  San  Sebastian .   747 
VIII. — Factions   in   the   colony — A   convention 

made 748 

IX. — Disastrous  voyage  of  Ojeda  in  the  pirate 

ship 749 

X. — Toilsome  march  of  Ojeda  and  his  com- 
panions through  the  morasses  of  Cuba  749 
XL — Ojeda  performs  his  vow  to  the  Virgin  . .   750 
XII. — Arrival  of  Ojeda  at  Jamaica — His  recep- 
tion by  Juan  De  Esquibel 750 

XIII. — Arrival  of  Ojeda  at  San  Domingo — Con- 
clusion of  his  story 751 


CONTENTS. 


xiu 


THE  VOYAGE  OF  DIEGO  DE  NICUESA. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — Nicuesa  sails  to  the  westward  ;  his  ship- 

wreclc  and  subsequent  disasters   752 

II. — Nicuesa    and    his    men    on   a  desolate 

island   753 

III. — Arrival  o£  a  boat— Conduct  of  Lope  De 

Olano 753 

IV. — Nicuesa  rejoins  his  crews 754 

V. — Sufferings  of  Nicuesa  and  his  men  on  the 

coast  of  the  Isthmus 754 

VI. — Expedition  of  the  Bachelor  Enciso  in 
search  of  the  seat  of  government  of 
Ojeda  (1510) 755 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

VII. — The  Bachelor  hears  unwelcome  tidings  of 

his  destined  jurisdiction 756 

VIII. — Crusade  of  the  Bachelor  Enciso  against 

the  sepulchres  of  Zenu 756 

IX. — The  Bachelor  arrives  at  San  Sebastian — 
his  disasters  there,  and  subsequent  ex- 
ploits at  Darien 757 

X. — The    Bachelor   Enciso    undertakes    the 

command — Hisdownfall 758 

XI. — Perplexities    at   the   colony — Arrival   of 

Colmenares 758 

XII. — Colmenares  goes  in  quest  of  Nicuesa. . .    758 
XIII. — Catastrophe  of  the  unfortunate  Nicuesa.    759 


VASCO  NUNEZ  DE  BALBOA, 

DISCOVERER  OF  THE  PACIFIC  OCEAN. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — Factions  at  Darien — Vasco  Nufiez  elected 

to  the  command 760 

II. — Expedition  to  Coyba — Vasco  Nunez  re- 
ceives the  daughter  of   a   Cacique   as 

hostage 761 

III. — Vasco  Nufiez  hears  of  a  sea  beyond  the 

mountains 762 

IV. — Expedition   of  Vasco  Nunez  in   quest  of 

the  golden  temple  of  Dobayba  (1512).   763 
V. — Disaster   on    the    Black    River — Indian 

plot  against  Darien 765 

VI. — Further  factions  in  the  colony — Arro- 
gance of  Alonzo  Perez  and  the  Bachelor 

Corral  (1512) 765 

VII. — Vasco  Nunez  determines  to  seek  the  sea 

beyond  the  mountains  (1513) 766 

VIII. — Expedition  in  quest  of  the   Southern  Sea  767 

IX. — Discovery  of  the  Pacific  Ocean 768 

X. — Vasco   Nunez  marches  to  the  shores  of 

the  South  Sea 769 

XI. — Adventures    of     Vasco    Nunez    on    the 

borders  of  the  Pacific  Ocean 770 

XII. — The  same  continued 771 

XIII. — Vasco  Nunez  sets  out  on  his  return 
across    the    mountains — His    contests 

with  the  savages .    772 

XIV. — Enterprise  against  Tubanama,  the  war- 
like Cacique  of  the  mountains  —  Re- 
turn to  Darien 773 

XV. — Transactions  in  Spain  —  Pedrarias  Da- 
vila  appointed  to  the  command  of  Da- 
rien— Tidings  received  in  Spain  of  the 
discovery  of  the  Pacific  Ocean 774 


CHAPTER                                                                                            PACK 
XVI. — Arrival  and  grand  entry  of  Don  Pedra- 
rias Davila  into  Darien 776 

XVII. — Perfidious  conduct  of   Don  Pedrarias 

towards  Vasco  Nuiiez 777 

XVIII. — Calamities  of  the  Spanish  cavaliers  at 

Darien -j-j-j 

XIX. — Fruitless  expedition  of  Pedrarias 778 

XX. — Second  Expedition  of  Vasco  Nuiiez  in 

quest  of  the  Gold  Temple  of  Dobayba  779 
XXI. — Letters  from  the  king  in  favor  of  Vasco 
Nunez — Arrival  of  Garabito — Arrest 

of  Vasco  Nunez  (1515) 779 

XXII. — Expedition  of  Morales  and  Pizarro  to 
the  shores  of  the  Pacific  Ocean — 
Their  visit  to  the  Pearl  Islands — 
Their  disastrous   return   across   the 

mountains 

XXIII. — Unfortunate  enterprises  of  the  officers 
of  Pedrarias — Matrimonial  compact 
between    the   Governor    and   Vasco 

Nufiez 782 

XXIV. — Vasco  Nufiez  transports   ships   across 

the  mountains  to  the  Pacific  Ocean. .   7S3 
XXV. — Cruise  of  Vasco  Nunez  in  the  Southern 

Sea — Rumors  from  Ada 784 

XXVI. — Stratagem  of  Pedrarias  to  entrap  Vasco 

Nufiez 784 

XXVII. — Vasco  Nunez  and  the  astrologer — His 

return  to  Ada 785 

XXVIII.— Trial  of  Vasco  Nunez 786 

XXIX. — Execution  of  Vasco  Nunez  (1517) 787 

The  Fortunes  of  Valdivia  and  his  companions  . . .   787 
Micer  Codro,  the  Astrologer 790 


JUAN    PONCE    DE    LEON, 

CONQUEROR  OF  PORTO  RICO  AND  DISCOVERER  OF  FLORIDA. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — Reconnoitering  Expedition  to  the  Island 

of  Boriquen  (1508) 791 

11. — Juan  Ponce  aspires  to  the  government  of 

Porto  Rico  (1509) 791 

III. — Exasperation  of  the  Indians — Their  ex- 
periment to  prove  whether  the  Span- 
iards were  mortal 792 

IV. — Conspiracy  of  the  Caciques — The  fate  of 

Sotomayor 793 

■  V. — War  of  Juan   Ponce  with  the   Cacique 

Agueybana 793 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

VI. — Juan  Ponce  hears  of  a  wonderful  country 

and  Miraculous  Fountain 795 

VII. — Cruise   of   Juan  Ponce  in  search  of   the 

Fountain  of  Youth  (1512) 795 

VIII. — Expedition   of   Juan    Ponce   against   the 

Caribs — His  death  (1514) 79^ 

« 

APPENDIX. 

A  Visit  to  Palos 797 

Manifesto  of  Alonzo  De  Ojeda 80a 


XIV 


CONTENTS. 


MISCELLANIES, 

CONTRIBUTED  TO  THE  KNICKERBOCKER  MAGAZINE 
BY  GEOFFREY  CRAYON. 


A  Chronicle  of  Wolfert's  Roost 805 

A  Legend  of  Communipaw 836 

A  Legend  of  St.  Brandan 821 

A  Shaksperian  Research 840 

Birds  of  Spring 815 

Communipaw   832 

Conspiracy  of  the  Cocked  Hats 834 

Desultory  Thoughts  on  Criticism 828 

Enchanted  Island   821 

Guests  from  Gibbet-Island 836 

Legend  of  IJon  Munio  Sancho  De  Hinojosa 830 

Legend  of  the  Engulphed  Convent. . .    851 

National  Nomenclature 826 


Pelayo  and  the  Merchant's  Daughter , 843 

Recollections  of  the  Alhambra 816 

Sleepy  Hollow 811 

Spanish  Romance 829 

The  Abencerrage.     A  Spanish  Tale 817 

The  Adelantado  of  the  Seven  Cities 821 

The  Bermudas 840 

The  Count  Van  Horn 852 

The  Grand  Prior  of  Minorca.     A  veritable  ghost 

story 847 

The  Knight  of  Malta 846 

The  Three  Kings  of  Bermuda 842 

Wolfert's  Roost 805 


LIFE  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


BY 


RICHARD   HENRY  STODDARD. 


The  life  of  Washington  Irving  was  one  of  the 
brightest  ever  led  by  an  author.  He  discovered 
his  genius  at  an  early  age  ;  was  graciously  wel- 
comed by  his  countrymen  ;  answered  the  literary 
condition  of  the  period  when  he  appeared ;  won 
easily,  and  as  easily  kept,  a  distinguished  place 
in  the  republic  of  letters ;  was  generously  re- 
warded for  his  work  ;  charmed  his  contempora- 
ries by  his  amiability  and  modesty;  lived  long, 
wisely,  happily,  and  died  at  a  ripe  old  age,  in  the 
fullness  of  his  powers  and  his  fame.  He  never 
learned  the  mournful  truth  which  the  lives  of  so 
many  authors  force  upon  us : 

Slow  rises  worth,  by  poverty  depressed  ;  " 

he  never  felt  the  ills  which  so  often  assail  the 
souls  of  scholars : 

"  Toil,  envy,  want,  the  patron  and  the  jail ; " 

he  never  wrote  for  his  bread  like  Johnson  and 
Goldsmith,  and  never  hungered  like  Otway  and 
Chatterton  ;  but  lived  in  learned  ease,  surrounded 
by  friends,  master  of  himself  and  his  time— a 
prosperous  gentleman.  Born  under  a  lucky  star, 
all  good  things  sought  him  out,  and  were  turned 
by  him  to  delightful  uses.  He  made  the  world 
happier  by  his  gifts,  and  the  world  honors  his 
memory. 

The  ancestry  of  Washington  Irving  reaches 
back  to  the  days  of  Robert  Bruce,  who,  when  a 
fugitive  from  the  court  of  Edward  I.,  concealed 
himself  in  the  house  of  William  De  Irwin,  his 
secretary  and  sword-bearer.  William  De  Irwin 
followed  the  changing  fortunes  of  his  royal 
master;  was  with  him  when  he  was  routed  at 
Methven  ;  shared  his  subsequent  dangers  ;  and 
was  one  of  the  seven  who  were  hidden  with  him 
in  a  copse  of  holly  when  his  pursuers  passed  by. 
When  Bruce  came  to  his  own  again  he  made  him 
Master  of  the  Rolls,  and  ten  years  after  the  battle 
of  Bannockburn,  gave  him  in  free  barony  the 
forest  of  Drum,  near  Aberdeen.  He  also  permit- 
ted him  to  use  his  private  badge  of  three  holly 
leaves,  with  the  motto.  Sub  sole  sub  umbra  virens, 
which  are  still  the  arms  of  the  Irving  family.  Our 


concern,  however,  is  not  with  the  ancestors  of 
Irving,  but  with  his  father,  William  Irving,  who 
was  from  Shapinsha,  one  of  the  Orkney  Islands, 
and  who,  on  the  death  of  his  mother,  determined 
to  follow  the  sea.  He  was  bom  in  1731,  a  year 
before  Washington,  and  when  his  biographers 
find  him,  was  a  petty  officer  on  board  of  an 
armed  packet-ship  in  the  service  of  his  British 
Majesty,  plying  between  Falmouth  and  New 
York.  At  the  former  port  he  met  and  became 
enamored  of  Sarah  Sanders,  a  beautiful  girl 
about  two  years  younger  than  himself,  the  only 
daughter  of  John  and  Anna  Sanders,  and  grand- 
daughter of  an  English  curate  named  Kent.  They 
were  married  at  Falmouth,  on  the  i8th  of  May, 
1761,  and  two  years  and  two  months  later  em- 
barked for  New  York,  leaving  the  body  of  their 
first  child  in  an  English  grave-yard.  William 
Irving  now  abandoned  the  sea,  and  entering  iato 
trade,  was  prospering  in  a  small  way  when  the 
Revolution  broke  out.  His  house  was  under  the 
guns  of  the  English  ships  of  war  in  the  harbor,  so 
he  concluded  to  remove  to  the  country,  and  took 
refuge  with  his  family  in  Rahway,  New  Jersey.  He 
was  safer,  perhaps,  than  he  would  have  been  in 
New  York  ;  but  business  was  at  an  end.  He  was 
pointed  out  as  a  rebel,  and  British  troops  were 
billeted  in  his  best  rooms,  while  the  family  was 
banished  to  the  garret,  so  he  made  up  his  mind  to 
return  to  New  York.  He  was  still  a  rebel,  as  well 
as  his  wife,  who  supplied  prisoners  with  food  from 
her  own  table,  visited  them  in  prison  v/hen  they 
were  ill,  and  furnished  them  with  clothes,  blank- 
ets, and  the  like.  "  I'd  rather  you'd  send  them  a 
rope,  Mrs.  Irving,"  said  the  brutal  Cunningham, 
who,  nevertheless,  allowed  her  charities  to  pass 
through  his  hands. 

Washington  Irving,  the  youngest  of  eleven 
children,  and  the  eighth  son  of  William  and 
Sarah  Irving,  was  born  toward  the  close  of  these 
troublous  times  in  New  York,  on  April  3d,  1783. 
The  house  in  which  he  was  born,  a  plain,  two- 
story  dwelling  in  William  Street  (131),  between 
Fulton  and  John,  has  long  since  disappeared,  aa 
well  as  the  house  on  the  opposite  side  of   the 

(XV) 


r^ 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


same  street  (128)  to  which  the  family  moved 
within  a  year  after  his  birth.  If  the  boy  differed 
in  any  respect  from  tlie  average  boy,  the  particu- 
lars have  not  reached  us.  The  earliest  recorded 
anecdote  in  which  he  figures  connects  him 
with  the  illustrious  name  of  Washington,  who  en- 
tered the  city  with  his  army  not  many  months 
after  his  birth.  The  enthusiasm  which  greeted 
the  great  man  was  showed  by  a  young  Scotch 
maid-servant  of  the  family,  who  followed  him  one 
morning  into  a  shop,  and  showing  him  the  lad, 
said :  "  Please,  your  honor,  here's  a  bairn  was 
named  after  you."  He  placed  his  hand  on  the 
head  of  his  little  namesake  and  blessed  him. 

Master  Irving  was  not  a  prodigy ;  for  at  the 
first  school,  kept  by  a  woman,  to  which  he  was 
sent  in  his  fourth  year,  and  where  he  remained 
upwards  of  two  years,  he  learned  little  beyond 
his  alphabet;  and  at  the  second,  where 'boys 
and  girls  were  taught,  and  where  he  remained 
until  he  was  fourteen,  he  was  more  noted  for 
his  truth-telling  than  for  his  scholarship.  He 
distinguished  himself  while  at  school  by  playing 
the  part  of  Juba  in  Addison's  Cato,  at  a  public 
exhibition,  and  by  amusing  the  audience  by 
struggling  at  the  same  time  with  a  mass  of 
honey-cake  which  he  was  munching  behind  the 
scenes,  when  he  was  suddenly  summoned  upon 
the  stage.  The  first  book  he  is  known  to  have 
read  with  pleasure  was  Hoole's  translation  of 
"  Orlando  Furioso,"  which  fired  him  to  emulate 
the  feats  of  its  heroes,  by  combatting  his  play- 
mates with  a  wooden  sword  in  the  yard  of  his 
father's  house.  His  next  literary  favorites  were 
"  Robinson  Crusoe  "  and  "  Sinbad  the  Sailor," 
and  a  collection  of  voyages  and  travels,  entitled 
"  The  World  Displayed,"  which  he  used  to  read 
at  night  by  the  glimmer  of  secreted  candles  after 
he  had  retired  to  bed,  and  which  begot  in  him 
a  desire  to  go  to  sea — a  strong  desire  that  by 
the  time  he  left  school  almost  ripened  into  a 
determination  to  run  away  from  home  and  be  a 
sailor.  It  led  him,  at  any  rate,  to  try  to  eat  salt 
pork,  which  he  abominated,  and  to  lie  on  the 
hard  floor,  which,  of  course,  was  distasteful  to 
him.  These  preliminary  hardships  proved  too 
much  for  his  heroism,  so  the  notion  of  becoming 
a  gallant  tar  was  reluctantly  abandoned. 

Irving's  first  known  attempt  at  original  com- 
position was  a  couplet  levelled  against  a  larger 
school-fellow,  who  was  attentive  to  the  servant- 
girl  of  his  master,  and  who  was  so  enraged  at  the 
fun  it  occasioned,  that  he  gave  the  writer  a  severe 
threslung.  The  young  poet  was  discouraged  in 
his  personalities,  but  not  his  art;  for  he  contrib- 
uted metrical  effusions  to  the  Weekly  Museum,  a 
little  periodical  of  four  pages,  published  in  Peck 
Slip,  to  which  he  also  contributed  moral  essays. 
At  the  age  of  thirteen  he  wrote  a  play,  whicli  was 
represented  at  the  house  of  a  friend,  and  stim- 
ulated his  boyish  fondness  for   the   stage.     He 


was  abetted  in  his  dramatic  passion  by  James  K. 
Paulding,  who  was  betv^een  four  and  five  years  his 
senior,  and  was  residing  with  his  brother  William 
Irving,  who  had  married  his  sister.  The  theater 
was  situated  in  John  Street,  between  Broadway 
and  Nassau,  not  far  from  his  father's  house,  from 
which  he  used  to  steal  to  see  the  play,  returning 
in  time  for  the  evening  prayer,  after  which  he 
would  pretend  to  retire  for  the  night  to  his  own  ' 
room  in  the  second  story,  whence  he  would  climb 
out  of  the  window  on  a  woodshed,  and  so  get 
back  to  the  theater,  and  the  enjoyment  of  the 
after-piece.  These  youthful  escapades,  if  detected, 
would  no  doubt  have  subjected  him  to  a  severe 
lecture  from  his  father,  who  was  a  strict.  God- 
fearing man,  and  to  tender  reproaches  from  his 
mother.  "  Oh,  Washington  !  "  sighed  the  old 
lady,  "  if  you  were  only  good  ! " 

After  a  year  or  two  more  of  school-life,  during 
which  he  acquired  the  rudiments  of  a  classical 
education,  he  concluded  to  study  law,  a  profes- 
sion to  which  his  brother  John  had  devoted  him- 
self, and  accordingly  entered  the  office  of  Henry 
Masterton,  with  whom  he  remained  until  the 
summer  of  1801,  when  he  transferred  his  services 
to  Brockholst  Livingston,  and,  on  that  gentle- 
man being  called  to  the  bench  of  the  Supreme 
Court  of  the  State  in  the  following  January,  he 
continued  his  legal  pursuits  in  the  office  of  Josiah 
Ogden  Hoffman.  Why  Irving  conceived  that  he 
had  the  makings  of  a  lawyer  in  him,  we  are  not 
told  ;  nor  why  his  father,  who  was  averse  to  law, 
should  have  permitted  him  to  mistake  his  tal- 
ents. It  was  not  a  very  dangerous  mistake,  how- 
ever, for  he  soon  awoke  from  it ;  nor  was  it  sedu- 
lously indulged  in  while  it  lasted ;  for  when  not 
employed,  like  Cowper  before  him,  in  giggling 
and  making  giggle,  he  passed  his  days  in  reading 
the  belle-lcttre  literature  of  England,  and  such 
literature  as  America  then  possessed,  which  was 
not  much,  nor  worth  dwelling  upon  now.  He 
found  his  vocation  in  his  nineteenth  year,  in  the 
beginning  of  December,  1802,  or  it  was  found  for 
him,  by  his  brother  Peter,  who,  a  couple  of 
months  before,  had  started  a  daily  paper  in  New 
York,  under  the  title  of  the  Morning  Chroniele, 
of  which  he  was  the  editor  and  proprietor,  and 
in  which  he  persuaded  his  clever  young  brother 
to  assist  him.  He  furnished  a  series  of  essays 
over  the  signature  of  "  Jonathan  Oldstyle,"  which 
betrayed  the  bent  of  his  mind  and  his  early  read- 
ing, and  which  were  generally  of  a  humorous 
character.  They  were  so  much  superior  to  the 
newspaper  writings  of  the  period  that  they  at- 
tracted great  attention,  and  in  spite  of  their  local 
and  temporary  interest,  were  copied  into  the 
journals  of  other  cities.  Among  those  who  were 
struck  by  their  talent  was  Charles  Brockden 
Brown,  who  was  the  first  American  that  made 
literature  a  profession,  and  who  had  already  pub- 
lih^hed  four  or  five  novels,  remarkable  both  fortheii 


LIFE    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


xvu 


extravagance  and  their  power.  He  was  a  con- 
tributor to  the  periodicals  of  the  day — such  as 
they  were — of  which  the  best,  perhaps,  was  The 
Monthly  Magazine  and  American  Register,  of 
which  he  was  the  proprietor.  It  soon  died, 
and  was  followed  by  The  Literary  Magazine  and 
American  Register,  of  which  he  was  also  the 
proprietor,  and  it  was  in  this  latter  capacity, 
rather  than  as  the  first  American  author,  that  he 
visited  Irving,  and  besought  him  to  aid  him  in  his 
new  enterprise.  He  was  not  successful,  for, 
whatever  may  have  been-  his  inclinations,  "  Mr. 
Jonathan  Oldstyle "  had  not  yet  decided  upon 
being  an  author. 

Irving's  love  of  adventure,  which  had  been 
stimulated  by  the  reading  of  voyages  and  travels, 
and  which  would  have  led  him  to  follow  a  mari- 
time life,  if  he  could  have  gratified  his  inclina- 
tions, expended  itself  in  long  rambles  about  the 
rural  neighborhoods  of  the  city,  which  he  knew 
by  heart,  and  in  more  distant  excursions  into  th'^ 
country.  He  spent  a  holiday  in  Westchester 
County  in  his  fifteenth  year,  and  explored  the 
recesses  of  Sleepy  Hollow ;  and,  in  his  seven- 
teenth year,  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson,  the 
beauties  of  which,  as  Bryant  has  pointed  out,  he 
was  the  first  to  describe.  He  was  greatly  im- 
pressed by  the  sight  of  the  Highlands,  crowned 
with  forests,  with  eagles  sailing  and  screaming 
around  them,  and  unseen  streams  dashing  down 
their  precipices ;  and  was  fairly  bewitched  by  the 
Kaatskill  Mountains.  "  Never  shall  I  forget,"  he 
wrote,  "  the  effect  upon  me  of  the  first  view  of  them 
predominating  over  a  wide  extent  of  country, 
part  wild,  woody,  and  rugged,  part  softened  away 
into  all  the  graces  of  cultivation.  As  we  slowly 
floated  along,  I  lay  on  the  deck  and  watched 
them  through  a  long  summer's  day  ;  undergoing 
a  thousand  mutations  under  the  magical  effects 
of  atmosphere  ;  sometimes  seeming  to  approach, 
at  other  times  to  recede ;  now  almost  melting 
into  hazy  distance,  now  burnished  by  the  setting 
sun,  until,  in  the  evening,  they  printed  them- 
selves against  the,  glowing  sky  in  the  deep  purple 
of  an  Italian  landscape."  In  his  twentieth  year 
he  made  a  visit  to  Johnstown,  the  residence  of 
his  eldest  sister,  which  he  reached  in  a  wagon, 
after  a  voyage  by  sloop  to  Albany.  This  visit 
seems  to  have  been  undertaken  on  account  of  his 
health,  for  he  was  troubled  with  a  constant  pain 
in  his  breast,  and  a  harassing  cough  at  night.  "  I 
have  been  unwell  almost  all  the  time  I  have  been 
up  here,"  he  wrote  to  a  friend.  "  I  am  too  weak 
to  take  any  exercise,  and  too  low-spirited  half 
the  time  to  enjoy  company."  "  Was  that  young 
Irving,"  asked  Judge  Kent  of  his  brother-in-law, 
"  who  slept  in  the  room  next  to  me,  and  kept 
up  such  an  incessant  cough  during  the  night  ?  " 
"  It  was."  "  He  is  not  long  for  this  world." 
This  lugubrious  judgment  of  the  great  jurist  was 
shared  by  the  family  of  Irving,  who  determined 


to  send  him  to  Europe.  The  expense  was  mainly 
borne  by  his  brother  William,  who  told  him, 
speaking  in  behalf  of  his  relatives,  that  one  of 
their  greatest  sources  of  happiness  was  that  for- 
tune put  it  in  their  power  to  add  to  the  comfort 
and  happiness  of  one  so  dear  to  them.  They  ac- 
cordingly secured  a  passage  for  him  to  Bordeaux, 
for  which  he  started  on  the  19th  of  Mav,  1804. 
"  There's  a  chap,"  said  the  captain,  "  who  will 
go  overboard  before  we  get  across." 

The  first  European  visit  of  an  American  was  a 
greater  event  seventy  years  ago  than  it  is  to-day. 
It  was  less  common,  at  any  rate,  and  was  attended 
with  dangers  which  no  longer  exist.  What  it 
was  to  Irving  we  gather  from  his  letters,  which 
may  still  be  read  with  pleasure,  though  nothing 
like  the  pleasure  they  afforded  his  friends,  who 
were  more  interested  in  his  itinerary  than  it  is 
possible  for  us  to  be.  He  reached  Bordeaux  after 
what  the  sailors  call  "  a  lady's  voyage,"  much  im- 
proved in  health,  and  enough  of  a  sailor  to  climb 
to  the  masthead,  and  go  out  on  the  main  topsail 
yard.  He  remained  at  Bordeaux  about  six  weeks, 
seeing  what  there  was  to  see,  and  studying  to  im- 
prove himself  in  the  language.  From  Bordeaux 
he  proceeded  to  Marseilles  by  diligence,  accom- 
panied by  an  eccentric  American  doctor,  who 
pretended  that  Irving  was  an  English  prisoner, 
whom  a  young  French  officer  that  was  with 
them  had  in  custody,  much  to  the  regret  of 
some  girls  at  Tonneins,  who  pitied  "  le  pauvre 
garden,"  and  his  prospect  of  losing  his  head,  and 
supplied  him  with  a  bottle  of  wine,  for  which 
they  would  not  take  any  recompense.  At  Nismes 
he  began  to  have  misgivings  about  his  passports, 
of  which  he  had  two,  neither  accurate,  his  eyes 
being  described  as  blue  in  one,  and  gray  in  the 
other.  He  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  with  his 
passports,  first  and  last,  but  he  worried  through 
it,  with  considerable  loss  of  temper,  and,  after  a 
detention  at  Nice,  finally  set  sail  in  a  felucca  for 
Genoa.  From  Genoa,  where  he  resided  up- 
wards of  two  months,  he  started  for  Messina, 
falling  in  with  a  privateer,  or  pirate,  on  the  way, 
who  frightened  the  captain  and  crew,  and  relieved 
them  of  about  half  their  provisions,  besides  some 
of  their  furniture,  and  a  watch  and  some  clothes 
otit  of  the  trunks  of  the  passengers.  From 
Genoa  he  proceeded  to  Syracuse,  where  he  ex- 
plored the  celebrated  Ear  of  Dionysius,  and  set 
out  with  a  party  for  Catania,  and  thence  to  Pa- 
lermo, where  he  arrived  at  the  latter  end  of  the 
Carnival.  He  reached  Naples  on  March  7,  1805, 
and  after  resting  a  few  days,  made  a  night  ascent 
of  Mount  Vesuvius,  where  he  had  a  tremendous 
view  of  the  crater,  that  poured  out  a  stream  of  red- 
hot  lava,  the  sulphurous  smoke  of  which  stifled 
him,  so  much  so,  that  but  for  the  shifting  of  the 
wind  he  might  have  shared  the  fate  of  Pliny. 
Twenty  days  later  he  entered  Rome  by  the  Lat- 
eran  Gate.    Here  he  met  a  fellow-countryman. 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


in  the  person  of  Washington  Alston,  who  was 
about  four  years  his  elder,  whose  taste  for  art  had 
been  awakened  at  Newport  by  his  association  with 
Malbone,  the  famous  miniature  painter,  and  who 
was  already  more  than  a  painter  of  promise.  "  I 
do  not  think,"  Irving  wrote  years  after,  "  that  I 
have  ever  been  more  completely  captivated  on 
a  first  acquaintance.  He  was  of  a  light  and 
graceful  form,  with  large,  blue  eyes,  and  black, 
silken  hair,  waving  and  curling  round  a  pale,  ex- 
pressive countenance.  Everything  about  him 
bespoke  the  man  of  intellect  and  refinement. 
His  conversation  was  copious,  animated,  and 
highly  graphic,  warmed  by  genial  sensibility  and 
benevolence,  and  enlivened  by  chaste  and  gentle 
humor." 

Irving  and  Alston  fraternized,  and  spent  the 
twenty-second  birthday  of  the  former  in  seeing 
some  of  the  finest  collections  of  paintings  in 
Rome,  the  painter  teaching  the  traveller  how  to 
visit  them  to  the  most  advantage,  leading  him  al- 
ways to  the  masterpieces,  and  passing  the  others 
without  notice.  They  rambled  in  company 
around  the  Eternal  City  and  its  environs,  and 
Irving  contrasted  their  different  pursuits  and 
prospects,  favoring  as  he  did  so  those  of  Alston, 
who  was  to  reside  amid  the  delightful  scenes 
among  which  they  were,  surrounded  by  famous 
works  of  art  and  classic  and  historic  monu- 
ments, and  by  men  of  congenial  tastes,  while  he 
was  to  return  home  to  the  dry  study  of  the  law, 
for  which  he  had  no  relish,  and,  as  he  feared,  no 
talent.  "Why  might  I  not  remain  here,  and  be 
a  painter .'  "  he  thought,  and  he  mentioned  the 
idea  to  his  friend,  who  caught  at  it  with  eager- 
ness. They  would  take  an  apartment  together, 
and  he  would  give  him  all  the  instruction  and 
assistance  in  his  power.  But  it  was  not  to  be ; 
their  lots  in  life  were  differently  cast.  So  Irving 
resigned  the  transient,  but  delightful,  prospect  of 
becoming  a  painter.  During  his  sojourn  in  Rome 
he  attended  the  conversaziones  of  Torlonia,  the 
banker,  who  treated  him  with  great  distinction, 
and,  calling  him  aside  when  he  came  to  make  his 
adieu,  asked  him,  in  French,  if  he  was  not  a  rela- 
tive of  General  Washington .'  He  was  also  intro- 
duced to  the  Baron  de  Humboldt,  Minister  of 
Prussia  to  the  Court  of  Rome,  and  brother  to 
the  celebrated  traveller  and  savant,  and  to  Madam 
de  Staiil,  who  astounded  him  by  the  amazing  flow 
of  her  conversation,  and  the  multitude  of  ques- 
tions with  which  she  plied  him. 

Irving  started  for  Paris  on  the  nth  of  April, 
and  reached  it  on  the  24th  of  May.  His  stay  in 
Paris,  which  extended  over  four  months,  was  a 
round  of  sight-seeing  and  amusement.  One 
night  he  went  to  the  Theatre  Montansier,  where 
the  acting  was  humorous,  but  rather  gross  ;  an- 
other night  he  went  to  the  Imperial  Academy  of 
Music,  where  he  saw  the  opera  of  "  Alceste  "  ;  a 
third  night  he  went  to  the  theatre  of  Jeunes 


Artistes, where  boys  acted  plays;  and  a  fourth  to 
the  theatre  of  Port  St.  Martin.  He  made  the 
acquaintance  at  this  time  of  another  American 
painter,  Vanderlyn,  a  man  of  genius,  in  whom  he 
was  much  interested,  and  who  made  a  sketch  of 
him  in  crayons.  His  mental  improvement  was 
not  neglected  in  the  gay  capital,  for  he  bought  a 
botanical  dictionary,  and  took  two  months'  tui- 
tion in  French. 

Irving  arrived  in  London  on  the  8th  of  Octo- 
ber, after  a  tour  through  the  Netherlands.  He 
found  lodgings  to  his  liking  in  Norfolk  Street, 
Strand,  not  far  from  the  city,  and  being  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  theatres,  he  devoted  most  of  his 
evenings  to  visiting  them.  Three  great  actors 
were  then  playing — ^John  Kemble,  Cooke,  and 
Mrs.  Siddons,  and  in  his  correspondence  with  his 
brother  William  he  described  the  impression  they 
made  on  him.  Kemble  was  a  very  studied  actor, 
he  thought.  His  performances  were  correct  and 
highly-finished  paintings,  but  much  labored.  He 
never  led  the  spectators  to  forget  him  in  "Othello;" 
it  was  Kemble  they  saw  throughout,  not  the  jeal- 
ous Moor.  He  was  cold,  artificial,  and  unequal, 
and  he  wanted  mellowness  in  the  tender  scenes. 
He  was  fine  in  passages  when  he  played  "  Jaffier," 
but  great  only  in  Zanga,  whom,  for  the  moment, 
he  fancied  himself.  Cooke  was  next  to  him, 
though  rather  confined  in  his  range.  His  lago 
was  admirable ;  his  Richard,  he  was  told,  was 
equally  good  ;  and  in  Sir  Pertinax  Mc  Sycophant 
he  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  But  Mrs.  Siddons — 
if  he  wrote  what  he  thought  of  her,  his  praises 
would  be  thought  exaggerated.  "  Her  looks,  her 
voice,  her  gestures  delighted  me.  She  penetrated 
in  a  moment  to  my  heart.  She  froze  and  melted  it 
by  turns.  A  glance  of  her  eye,  a  start,  an  excla- 
mation, thrilled  through  my  very  frame.  The 
more  I  see  her,  the  more  I  admire  her.  I  hardly 
breathe  while  she  in  on  the  stage.  She  works 
up  my  feelings  till  I  am  like  a  mere  child." 

Irving  set  out  from  Gravcscnd  on  the  iStli  of 
January,  1806,  and  reached  New  York  after  a 
stormy  passage  of  sixty-four  days.  He  had  contra- 
dicted the  prophecy  of  the  captain  with  whom  he 
originally  sailed — that  he  would  go  overboard  be- 
fore he  got  across ;  and  of  Judge  Kent,  who  de- 
clared he  was  not  long  for  this  world.  He  re- 
turned in  good  health,  and  resumed  his  legal 
studies,which  were  advanced  enough  to  enable  him 
to  pass  an  examination  in  the  ensuing  Novem- 
ber, which  ended  in  his  admission  to  the  bar.  He 
entered  the  office  of  his  brother  John,  at  No.  3 
Wall  Street,  and  while  waiting  for  clients  who 
never  came,  he  turned  his  attention  to  literature 
more  seriously  than  he  had  ever  done  before. 
There  was  more  room  in  it  than  in  the  over- 
crowded profession  of  the  law ;  so  much  room, 
indeed,  that  a  young  man  of  his  talents  might  do 
almost  anything  that  he  chose.  There  was  no 
fear  of  competitors,  at  any  rate  ;  for  authorship. 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


xu 


as  a  craft,  had  no  followers,  except  Charles  Brock- 
den  Brown,  who  was  still  editing  the  Literary 
Magazine,  and  perhaps  John  Dennie,  whose  rep- 
utation, such  as  it  was,  rested  on  his  Lay  Preacher, 
and  who  was  editing  the  Port  Folio.  The  few 
poets  of  which  America  boasted  were  silent. 
Trumbull,  the  author  of  "  McFingal,"  which  was 
published  the  year  before  Irving's  birth,  was  a 
Judge  of  the  Superior  Court;  Dwight,  whose 
"  Conquest  of  Canaan  "  was  published  three  years 
later,  was  merely  the  President  of  Yale  College ; 
Barlow,  whose  "Vision  of  Columbus"  was 
published  two  years  later  still,  and  who  had  re- 
turned to  this  country  after  shining  abroad  as  a 
diplomatist,  was  living  in  splendor  on  the  banks 
of  the  Potomac,  and  brooding  over  that  unread- 
able poem  which  he  expanded  into  the  epic  of 
"  The  Columbiad  " ;  and  Freneau,  by  all  odds  the 
best  of  our  earlier  versifiers,  who  had  published 
a  collection  of  his  effusions  in  1795,  had  aban- 
doned the  Muses,  and  was  sailing  a  sloop  between 
Savannah,  Charleston,  and  the  West  Indies. 
Pierpont,  who  was  two  years  younger  than  Irving, 
was  a  private  tutor  in  South  Carolina;  Dana  was 
a  student  at  Harvard,  and  Brj^ant,  a  youth  of 
twelve,  at  Cumraington,  was  scribbling  juvenile 
poems,  which  were  being  published  in  a  news- 
paper at  Northampton. 

The  library  of  Irving's  father  was  rich  in  Eliza- 
bethan writers,  among  whom  Chaucer  and  Spen- 
ser were  his  early  favorites,  and  it  contained 
the  classics  of  the  eighteenth  century,  in  verse 
and  prose,  not  forgetting  the  Spectator  and  7a/- 
ler  and  Rambler,  and  the  works  of  the  ingenious 
Dr.  Goldsmith.  Everybody  who  read  fiction  was 
familiar  with  the  novels  of  Fielding  and  Smol- 
lett, and  lovers  of  political  literature  were 
familiar  with  the  speeches  of  Burke  and  the 
letters  of  Junius.  Everybody  read  (or  could 
read)  the  poetical  works  of  Cowper  and  Bums, 
Campbell's  "  Pleasures  of  Hope,"  and  Scott's 
"  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,"  and  whatever  else 
in  the  shape  of  verse  American  publishers 
thought  it  worth  their  while  to  reprint  for  them ; 
for  then,  as  now,  they  were  willing  to  enlighten 
their  countrymen  at  the  expense  of  British 
authors. 

Equipped  with  a  liberal  education,  which  he 
had  imbibed  from  English  literature,  and  with 
the  practice  which  he  had  gained  in  writing  for 
the  paper  of  his  brother  Peter,  which  was  dis- 
continued shortly  before  his  return  to  America, 
Irving  cast  about  for  a  field  of  authorship  in 
which  he  might  safely  venture.  His  inclination 
was  toward  the  writing  of  essays,  in  which  he 
had  had  considerable  experience,  and  the  taste 
of  his  friend  Paulding,  who  was  still  living 
under  the  roof  of  his  brother  William,  was  in 
the  same  direction.  They  put  their  heads  to- 
gether, and  sketched  out  a  plan  of  publication, 
in  which  they  might  have  their  fling  at  men  and 


things,  and  which  should  come  out  in  numbers 
whenever  it  suited  their  pleasure  and  conven- 
ience. The  title  that  they  selected  was  "  Salma- 
gundi," which  is  derived  from  the  French  word 
salmigondis,  which  is  made  up  of  two  Latin 
words  salgama  and  condita,  signifying  preser\'ed 
pickles.  Johnson  defines  the  word  as  "  a  mixture 
of  chopped  meat  and  pickled  herring  with  oil, 
vinegar,  pepper,  and  onions,"  which,  no  doubt,  is 
an  appetizing  dish  when  one  has  become  accus- 
tomed to  it.  Irving  and  Paulding  were  joined 
by  William  Irving,  and  the  three  resolved  them- 
selves into  what  the  Spaniards  call  a  junta, — i.  e. 
Launcelot  Langstaff,  Anthony  Evergreen,  and 
William  Wizard.  The  first  number  of  "  Salma- 
gundi "  was  issued  on  January  24th,  1807,  the 
last  on  January  25th,  1808,  the  twenty  numbers 
of  which  it  consisted  covering  just  the  true-love 
epoch  of  the  old  ballads,  "  A  twelvemonth  and 
a  day."  The  time,  which  was  ripe  for  almost 
anything  in  the  shape  of  American  literature, 
was  so  propitious  for  a  periodical  of  this  kind, 
that  the  success  of  the  first  number  was  decisive. 
There  was  no  home  literature  then  to  speak  of, 
as  I  have  already  hinted,  and  the  city  in  which 
this  bright  venture  appeared  was  a  mere  town 
compared  with  the  Babel  of  to-day,  scarcely 
numbering  80,000  inhabitants.  It  was  not  difficult 
to  make  a  sensation  in  a  place  of  that  size,  in  a 
barren  literary  period,  and  "  Salmagundi  "  cer- 
tainly made  a  great  one.  Everybody  talked 
about  it,  and  wondered  who  its  writers  could 
be,  and  nobody  was  much  the  wiser  for  his 
wonderment,  for  the  secret  was  well  kept.  It 
would  be  idle  now  to  attempt  to  distinguish  the 
share  of  the  different  writers,  for,  as  Paulding 
wrote  afterward,  in  the  uniform  edition  of  his 
works,  in  which  it  was  included,  "  The  thoughts 
of  the  authors  were  often  so  mingled  together  in 
these  essays,  and  they  were  so  literally  joint  pro- 
ductions, that  it  would  be  difficult  as  well  as  use- 
less to  assign  each  his  exact  share." 

Authors,  there  were  none  in  New  York,  with 
the  exception  of  the  authors  of  "  Salmagundi," 
though  there  was  no  lack  of  writers,  so  called, 
among  whom  figured  Samuel  Latham  Mitchill, 
practicer  in  physic  (like  Johnson's  friend  Levett), 
lawyer  and  retired  Indian  commissioner,  member 
of  Congress,  and  of  various  learned  societies, 
and  editor  of  the  Medical  Repository.  This  gen- 
tleman, who  wrote  largely,  and  was  a  butt  to  the 
wits  of  the  day,  had  lately  published  a  "Picture 
of  New  York,"  which,  if  not  funny  itself,  was  a 
source  of  fun  to  others,  particularly  to  Irving 
and  his  brother  Peter,  who  determined  to  bur- 
lesque it.  With  this  object  in  view  they  made 
many  notes,  and  not  to  be  behind  its  erudite 
author,  who  began  his  work  with  an  account  of 
the  aborigines,  they  began  theirs  with  the 
creation  of  the  world.  Started  shortly  after  the 
publication  of  "  Salmagundi,"  it  proceeded  slowly 


IJFE   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


and  with  many  interruptions,  until  the  following 
January,  when  Peter  Irving  departed  for  Liver- 
pool on  urgent  business.  Left  to  himself,  his 
forsaken  collaborateur  changed  the  whole  plan  of 
the  work,  condensing  the  great  mass  of  notes 
which  they  had  accumulated  into  five  introduc- 
tory chapters,  and  commencing  at  a  considerably 
later  period,  the  new  Genesis  being  the  dynasty 
of  the  Dutch  in  New  York.  Laid  aside  for  a 
time,  he  resumed  it  in  the  summer,  at  a  country 
house,  at  Ravenswood,  near  Hellgate,  whither  he 
had  retired  in  order  to  prepare  it  for  the  press. 
A  stupendous  hoax,  it  was  launched  with  a  series 
of  small  hoaxes,  the  first  of  which  appeared  in 
the  Evening  Post  of  October  25th,  1809,  in  the 
shape  of  a  paragraph  narrating  the  disappearance 
from  his  lodging  of  a  small  elderly  gentleman, 
by  the  name  of  Knickerbocker.  He  was  stated 
to  be  dressed  in  an  old  black  coat  and  a  cocked  hat, 
and  it  was  intimated  that  there  were  some 
reasons  for  believing  that  he  was  not  in  his  right 
mind.  Great  anxiety  was  felt,  and  any  informa- 
tion concerning  him  would  be  thankfully  re- 
ceived at  the  Columbian  Hotel,  Mulberry  street, 
or  at  the  office  of  the  paper.  This  feeler  was  fol- 
lowed in  a  week  or  two  by  a  communication 
from  "A  Traveller,"  who  professed  to  have  seen 
him  some  weeks  before  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
a  little  above  Kingsbridge.  "  He  had  in  his  hands 
a  small  bundle,  tied  in  a  red  bandanna  handker- 
chief; he  appeared  to  be  travelling  northward, 
and  was  very  much  fatigued  and  exhausted." 
Ten  days  later  (November  6th),  Mr.  Seth  Han- 
daside,  landlord  of  the  Independent  Columbian 
Hotel,  inserted  a  card  in  the  same  paper,  in 
which  he  declared  that  there  had  been  found  in 
the  room  of  the  missing  man,  Mr.  Diedrich 
Knickerbocker,  a  curious  kind  of  a  written  book,  in 
his  own  handwriting;  and  he  wished  the  editor 
to  notify  him,  if  he  was  alive,  that  if  he  did  not 
return  and  pay  off  his  bill  for  board,  he  would 
have  to  dispose  of  his  book  to  satisfy  him  for 
the  same.  The  bait  took,  so  much  so  that  one 
of  the  city  authorities  actually  waited  upon 
Irving's  brother,  John,  and  consulted  him  on 
the  propriety  of  offering  a  reward  for  the  mythi- 
cal Diedrich  ! 

To  these  "puffs  preliminary"  was  added  the 
precaution  of  having  the  manuscript  set  up  in 
Philadelphia,  which  lessened  the  danger  of  the 
real  character  of  the  work  being  discovered  be- 
fore its  appearance. 

The  "  History  of  New  York,"  which  was  pub- 
lished in  this  city  on  the  6th  of  December,  1S09, 
was  a  success  in  more  ways  than  one.  Its  whim 
and  satire  amused  the  lovers  of  wit  and  humor, 
and  its  irreverence  towards  the  early  Dutch  set- 
tlers of  the  State  annoyed  and  angered  their 
descendants.  Between  these  two  classes  of  read- 
ers it  was  much  talked  about,  and  largely  circula- 
ted.    The  Monthly  Anthology,  the  forerunner  of 


the  North  American  Review,  pronounced  it  the 
wittiest  book  our  press  had  ever  produced  ;  and 
Scott,  to  whom  a  copy  of  the  second  edition  was 
sent  by  Irving's  friend,  Henry  Brevort,  and  upon 
whom,  from  his  ignorance  of  American  parties 
and  politics,  much  of  its  concealed  satire  was 
lost,  owned,  that  looking  at  its  simple  and 
obvious  meaning  only,  he  had  never  read  any- 
thing so  closely  resembling  the  style  of  Dean 
Swift  as  the  annals  of  Diedrich  Knickerbocker. 
Bryant,  who  was  a  youth  at  college  when  it  came 
out,  committed  a  portion  of  it  to  memory  to  re- 
peat as  a  declamation  before  his  class,  but  was 
so  overcome  with  laughter  when  he  appeared  on 
the  floor,  that  he  was  unable  to  proceed,  and 
drew  upon  himself  the  rebuke  of  his  tutor. 
Fifty  years  later,  when  he  delivered  a  discourse 
on  the  life,  character,  and  genius  of  Irving,  his 
admiration  had  not  subsided.  "  When  I  com- 
pare it  with  other  works  of  wit  and  humor  of  a 
similar  length,"  he  said, "  I  find  that,  unlike  most 
of  them,  it  carries  the  reader  to  the  conclusion 
without  weariness  or  satiety,  so  unsought,  spon- 
taneous, self-suggested  are  the  wit  and  the 
humor.  The  author  makes  us  laugh,  because  he 
can  no  more  help  it  than  we  can  help  laughing." 
He  refers  to  the  opinion  of  Scott,  already  quoted, 
and  remarks  that  the  rich  vein  of  Irving  was  of 
a  quality  quite  distinct  from  the  dry  drollery  of 
Swift,  and  he  detects  the  influence  of  his  read- 
ing. "  I  find  in  this  work  more  traces  than  in  his 
other  writings,  of  what  Irving  owed  to  the 
earlier  authors  in  our  language.  The  quaint 
poetic  coloring,  and  often  the  phraseology,  be- 
tray the  disciple  of  Chaucer  and  Spenser. 
We  are  conscious  of  a  flavor  of  the  olden  time, 
as  of  a  racy  wine  of  some  rich  vintage — 

'  Cooled  a  long  age  in  the  deep-delvfej  earth.' 

I  will  not  say  that  there  are  no  passages  in  this 
work  which  are  not  worthy  of  their  context ; 
that  we  do  not  sometimes  meet  with  phraseology 
which  w-e  could  wish  changed ;  that  the  wit 
does  not  sometimes  run  wild,  and  drop  here  and 
there  a  jest  which  we  could  willingly  spare.  We 
forgive,  we  overlook,  we  forget  all  this  as  we 
read,  in  consideration  of  the  entertainment  we 
have  enjoyed,  and  of  that  which  beckons  us  for- 
ward in  the  next  page.  Of  all  mock-heroic 
works,  Knickerbocker's  'History  of  New  York' 
is  the  gayest,  the  airiest,  and  the  least  tiresome." 
Irving's  next  literary  labor  was  the  editorship 
of  a  monthly  publication,  which  had  been  estab- 
lished in  Philadelphia,  and  which,  from  its  title, 
Select  Reviews,  would  appear  to  have  been  of  an 
eclectic  character.  Its  name  was  changed  to  the 
Analectic  Magazine  during  his  management, 
which  extended  through  the  years  1813  and  1814, 
and  it  bade  fair  to  be  successful,  until  its  propri- 
etor was  ruined  by  the  failure  of  the  New  York 
publishers  of  "Salmagundi."     Irving's  contribu- 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


xsi 


tions  to  this  dead  and  gone  old  periodical  con- 
sisted of  critical  notices  of  new  works  by  En- 
glish and  American  authors  ;  among  others  one 
by  his  friend  Paulding,  who  had  dropped  into 
poetry  with  a  "  Lay  of  the  Scottish  Fiddle  ";  of  a 
series  of  biographies  of  the  naval  heroes  of  our 
second  war  with  England ;  and  of  a  revised 
and  enlarged  memoir  of  the  poet  Campbell, 
which  he  had  written  at  the  request  of  his 
brother  a  year  or  two  before,  to  accompany  an 
American  edition  of  his*  poetical  works.  Irving 
signed  off  what  was  owing  to  him,  and  peace 
with  England  being  declared  shortly  after,  he 
departed  for  Europe  for  the  second  time  on  the 
3Sth  of  May,  1815.  He  was  a  partner  in  a  mer- 
cantile house,  which  his  brothers  Peter  and 
Ebenezer  had  started  in  Liverpool,  and  it  was 
quite  as  much  to  assist  the  former,  who  was  in 
ill-health,  as  to  divert  himself,  that  he  undertook 
the  journey.  He  remained  at  Liverpool  for  some 
time,  examining  the  affairs  of  "  P.  &  E.  Irving  & 
Co.,"  which  had  fallen  into  confusion  on  account 
of  the  sickness  of  his  brother  and  the  death  of 
his  principal  clerk,  mastering  details,  and  learn- 
ing book-keeping,  in  order  to  straighten  out 
their  books.  The  business  of  the  Irving  brothers 
ended  in  failure,  owing  to  a  variety  of  causes, 
which  there  is  no  occasion  to  specify  now,  and 
the  literary  member  of  the  firm  turned  his  at- 
tention again  to  the  only  business  for  which  he 
was  really  fitted.  He  had  renewed  his  acquaint- 
ance with  Alston,  who  was  now  residing  in  Lon- 
don, and  had  met  Leslie,  the  artist,  both  of  whom 
were  making  designs  for  a  new  edition  of  his 
"  History  of  New  York." 

The  summer  of  181 7  found  Irving  in  London, 
whence  he  paid  a  visit  to  Sydenham  to  Camp- 
bell, who  was  simmering  over  his  "  Specimens 
of  the  English  Poets,"  and  where  he  dined  with 
Murray,  the  bookseller,  who  showed  him  a  long 
letter  from  Byron,  who  was  ;n  Italy,  and  was 
engaged  on  the  fourth  canto  of  "Childe  Harold," 
and  who  had  told  him  "  that  he  was  much  hap- 
pier after  breaking  with  Lady  Byron — he  hated 
this  still,  quiet  life."  From  London  he  proceeded 
to  Edinburgh,  whence  he  walked  out  to  a  man- 
sion, which  had  been  taken  by  Jeffrey,  with  v.'hom 
he  dined,  after  which  he  rattled  off  by  the  mail 
coach  to  Selkirk,  and  by  chaise  to  Melrpse.  On 
his  way  to  the  latter  place  he  stopped  at  the  gate 
at  Abbotsford,  and  sent  in  his  letter  of  introduc- 
tion to  Scott.  The  glorious  old  minstrel  him- 
self came  hobbling  to  the  gate,  and  took  him  by 
the  hand  in  a  way  that  made  him  feel  as  if  they 
were  old  friends  ;  in  a  moment  he  was  seated  at 
his  hospitable  board  among  his  charming  family. 
He  passed  two  days  at  Abbotsford,  rambling 
about  the  hills  with  his  host,  and  visiting  the 
haunts  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  and  other  spots 
rendered  classic  by  border  tale  and  song,  in  a 
kind  of  dream.    He  was  delighted  with  the  char- 


acter and  manners  of  the  great  man,  nnd  it  was 
a  constant  source  of  pleasure  to  him  to  watch 
his  deportment  toward  his  family,  his  neigh- 
bors, his  domestics,  his  very  dogs  and  cats.  "  It 
is  a  perfect  picture  to  see  Scott  and  his  house- 
hold assembled  of  an  evening — the  dogs 
stretched  before  the  fire,  the  cat  perched  on  a 
chair,  Mrs.  Scott  and  the  girls  sewing,  and  Scott 
either  reading  out  of  some  old  romance,  or  tell- 
ing border  stories.  Our  amusements  were  oc- 
casionally diversified  by  a  border  song  from 
Sophia,  who  is  as  well  versed  in  border  min- 
strelsy as  her  father."  This  pilgrimage  to  Ab- 
botsford, which  is  described  at  length  in  the  fifth 
volume  of  Lockhart's  "Life  of  Scott,"  was 
brought  about  by  Campbell.  "  When  you  see 
Tom  Campbell,"  Scott  wrote  to  one  of  his 
friends,  "tell  him,  with  my  best  love,  that  I  have 
to  thank  him  for  making  me  known  to  Mr. 
Washington  Irving,  who  is  one  of  the  best  and 
pleasantest  acquaintances  I  have  made  this  many 
a  day." 

The  house  of  the  Irving  brothers  succeeded  so 
ill  in  England  that  the  two  resident  partners, 
Peter  and  Washington,  finally  made  up  their 
minds  to  go  into  bankruptcy.  The  necessary 
proceedings  occupied  some  months,  during 
which  time  the  latter  shut  himself  up  from 
society,  and  studied  German  day  and  night,  partly 
in  the  hope  that  it  would  be  some  service 
to  him,  and  partly  to  keep  off  uncomfortable 
thoughts.  His  brother  William,  who  was  in 
Congress,  had  exerted  himself  to  have  him  made 
Secretary  of  Legation  at  the  Court  of  St.  James, 
but  in  vain  ;  and  his  friend.  Commodore  Decatur, 
had  kept  a  place  for  him  in  the  Navy  Board,  the 
salary  of  which  would  enable  him  to  live  in 
Washington  like  a  prince.  He  concluded  not  to 
accept  it,  however,  greatly  to  the  chagrin  of  his 
brothers,  but  to  remain  abroad,  and  battle  with 
fortune  on  his  own  account.  So  he  went  up  to 
London  again  in  the  summer  of  1818,  to  see  if 
he  could  not  live  by  his  pen. 

Nearly  nine  years  had  elapsed  since  the  pub- 
lication of  the  "  History  of  New  York,"  and  with 
the  exception  of  his  reviews  and  biographies  in 
the  Analectic  Magazine,  he  had  written  nothing. 
His  mercantile  connection  with  his  brothers  had 
proved  disastrous  to  them  as  well  as  to  himself, 
and  he  was  now  dependent  on  his  own  exertions. 
If  there  is  anything  in  experience  that  fits  one 
for  literature,  he  was  better  fitted  for  it  than  ever 
before.  He  had  passed  through  troubles  which 
had  deepened  his  knowledge  of  life,  having  lost 
his  father,  who  died  shortly  before  the  completion 
of  "  Salmagundi,"  and  his  mother,  who  died 
about  ten  years  later,  and  whose  death  was 
still  fresh  in  his  memory.  Between  these  two 
sorrows  came  the  tragedy  which  darkened  his 
young  manhood,  and  was  never  forgotten — the 
death  of  Matilda  Hoffman,  the   young  lady  to 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


whom  he  was  attached,  who  closed  her  brief  ex- 
istence at  the  age  of  eighteen,  while  he  was  com- 
f)Osing  the  amusing  annals  of  Mr.  Diedrich 
Knickerbocker.  He  was  a  bold  American  who 
would  dare  to  attempt  at  that  time  to  live  by 
authorship  in  his  own  country,  which  had  known 
but  one  professional  author,  Charles  Brockden 
Brown,  who  had  died  about  eight  years  before, 
at  the  early  age  of  thirty-nine  ;  but  he  was  a 
bolder  American  who  would  dare  to  attempt  the 
same  hazardous  feat  in  England.  Such  a  man 
was  Irving,  who  settled  down  in  London  in  his 
thirty-sixth  year,  to  see  if  he  could  earn  his 
living  by  his  pen.  His  capital  was  the  practice 
he  already  possessed,  and  some  unfinished 
sketches,  upon  which  he  had  been  engaged,  pre- 
cisely when,  or  where,  we  are  not  told.  He  set 
to  work  on  these  sketches,  with  the  intention  of 
issuing  them  in  numbers  as  a  periodical  publica- 
tion, and  when  he  had  finished  enough  to  make 
the  first  number  he  dispatched  the  manuscript 
across  the  Atlantic  to  his  brother  Ebenezer,  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1 819.  It  was  put  to  press  under  the  title 
"  The  Sketch-Book  of  Geoffrey  Crayon,"  and 
published  in  May,  simultaneously  in  New  York, 
Boston,  Philadelphia  and  Baltimore.  It  con- 
tained six  papers,  or  sketches,  of  which  the  per- 
ennial Rip  Van  Winkle  soon  became  a  general 
favorite.  There  was  an  immediate  demand  for 
"  The  Sketch-Book,"  for  as  one  of  Irving's  critics 
observed,  the  honor  of  our  national  literature 
was  so  associated  with  his  name,  that  the  pride 
as  well  as  the  better  feelings  of  his  countrymen, 
were  interested  in  accumulating  the  gifts  of  his 
genius.  He  was  congratulated  on  resuming  the 
pen,  in  the  Analectic,  by  his  friend  Gulian  C. 
Verplanck  (who,  by  the  way,  had  not  taken  kindly 
to  his  Knickerbocker),  who  saw  in  every  page  his 
rich,  and  sometimes  extravagant  humor,  his  gay 
and  graceful  fancy,  his  peculiar  choice  and 
felicity  of  original  expression,  as  well  as  the 
pure  and  fine  moral  feeling  which  imperceptibly 
pervaded  every  thought  and  image.  The  second 
number,  which  was  finished  before  the  publica- 
tion of  the  first,  was  enriched  by  the  exquisite 
paper  on  Rural  Life  in  England,  and  the  pathetic 
story  of  The  Broken  Heart.  Mr.  Richard  Henry 
Dana  wrote  of  the  former,  in  the  North  American 
Review,  that  it  left  its  readers  as  restored  and 
cheerful  as  if  they  had  been  passing  an  hour 
or  two  in  the  very  fields  and  woods  themselves ; 
and  that  his  scenery  was  so  true,  so  full  of  little 
beautiful  particulars,  and  so  varied,  and  yet  so 
connected  in  character,  that  the  distant  was 
brought  nigh,  and  the  whole  was  seen  and  felt 
like  a  delightful  reality.  A  copy  of  this  number 
was  placed  by  one  of  Irving's  friends  in  the  hands 
of  William  Godwin,  the  famous  author  of  "  Caleb 
Williams,"  who  found  everywhere  in  it  the  marks 
of  a  mind  of  the  utmost  elegance  and  refinement 
(a  thing,  you  know,  that  he  was  not  exactly  pre- 


pared to  look  for  in  an  American),  and  he  was 
pleased  to  say  that  he  scarcely  knew  an  English- 
man who  could  have  written  it.  Another  English- 
man was  of  the  same  gracious  opinion  as  this 
illustrious  novelist— Mr.  William  Jerdan,  the  ed- 
itor of  the  London  Literary  Gazette,  who  began  to 
reprint  the  first  number  of  "  The  Sketch-Book  "  in 
his  periodical,  which  was  somehow  regarded  as 
an  authority  in  literature.  A  copy  of  the  third 
number,  which  was  published  in  America  in  Sep- 
tember, reached  England,  and  came  into  the 
possession  of  a  London  publisher,  who  was  con- 
sidering the  propriety  of  bringing  out  the 
whole  work.  This  determined  Irving  to  revise 
the  numbers  that  he  had  already  published,  that 
they  might,  at  least,  come  before  the  English 
public  correctly,  and  he  accordingly  took  them 
to  Murray,  with  whom  he  left  them  for  examina- 
tion, stating  that  he  had  materials  on  hand  for 
a  second  volume.  The  great  man  declined  to 
engage  in  their  publication,  because  he  did  not  see 
"that  scope  in  the  nature  of  it  to  make  satisfac- 
tory accounts  "  between  them  ;  but  he  offered  to 
do  what  he  could  to  promote  their  circulation,  and 
was  ready  to  attend  to  any  future  plan  of  his. 
Irving  then  bethought  himself  of  Scott,  to  whom 
he  sent  the  printed  numbers,  with  a  letter,  in 
which  he  observed  that  a  reverse  had  taken  place 
in  his  affairs  since  he  had  the  pleasure  of  en- 
joying his  hospitality,  which  made  the  exercise 
of  his  pen  important  to  him.  He  soon  received 
a  reply  from  Scott,  who  spoke  very  highly  of  his 
talents,  and  offered  him  the  editorship  of  an 
Anti-Jacobin  periodical,  which  had  been  pro- 
jected at  Edinburgh,  the  salary  of  which  would 
be  ^500  a  year  certain,  with  the  reasonable  pros- 
pect of  further  advantages.  When  the  parcel 
reached  him,  as  it  did  at  Edinburgh,  he  added, 
in  a  postscript,  "  I  am  just  here,  and  have  glanced 
over  the  Sketch-Book  ;  it  is  positively  beautiful, 
and  increases  my  desire  to  crimp  you  if  possible." 
Irving  immediately  declined  the  editorship  pro- 
posed to  him,  feeling  peculiarly  unfitted  for  the 
post,  and  being  as  useless  for  regular  service  as 
one  of  his  country  Indians  or  a  Don  Cossack. 
Having  by  this  time  concluded  to  print  the  book 
at  his  own  risk,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  finding 
a  publisher,  who  was  unlucky  enough  to  fail  just 
as  it  was  getting  into  fair  circulation.  Scott 
came  up  to  London  at  this  juncture,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  receiving  his  baronetcy,  and  he  called 
upon  Murray,  who  now  saw  "that  scope  in  the 
nature  "  of  the  Sketch-Book  which  it  had  lacked 
before,  and  who  printed  an  edition  of  the  first 
volume,  and  put  the  second  volume  to  press, 
and  so  became  Irving's  publisher. 

The  "  Sketch-Book  "  put  four  hundred  pounds 
in  the  pocket  of  Irving,  and  made  him  famous. 
Jeffrey  wrote  of  it  in  the  Edinburgh  Review, 
that  he  had  seldom  seen  a  work  that  gave  him 
a  more  pleasing  impression  of  the  writer's  char- 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


acter,  or  a  more  favorable  one  of  his  judgment 
and  taste  ;  Lockhart  declared  in  Blackwood  that 
"  Mr.  Washington  Irving  is  one  of  our  first  favor- 
ites among  the  English  writers  of  this  age,  and 
he  is  not  a  bit  the  less  so  for  being  born  in 
America;"  and  Mrs.  Siddons  gave  it  the  seal  of 
her  authority,  and  intimidated  Irving,  when  he 
was  introduced  to  her,  by  saying,  in  her  most 
tragic  way,  "  You've  made  me  weep."  Byron, 
who  read  all  the  new  works  of  the  time  with 
avidity,  wrote  to  his  and  Irving's  publisher,  Mur- 
ray, "  Crayon  is  very  good  ;"  and  shortly  before 
his  death  waxed  eloquent  in  his  praise  to  a  young 
American,  who  had  called  upon  him,  and  who, 
at  his  request,  had  brought  him  a  copy  of  the 
"  Sketch-Book."  "  I  handed  it  to  him,  when,  seiz- 
ing it  with  enthusiasm,  he  turned  to  the  '  Broken 
Heart.'  'That,'  said  he,  'is  one  of  the  finest 
things  ever  written  on  earth,  and  I  want  to 
hear  an  American  read  it.  But  stay — do  you 
know  Irving .'' '  I  replied  that  I  had  never  seen 
him.  '  God  bless  him ! '  exclaimed  Byron :  '  He 
is  a  genius ;  and  he  has  something  better  than 
genius — a  heart.  I  wish  I  could  see  him,  but  I 
fear  I  never  shall.  Well,  read  the  "  Broken 
Heart"-^yes,  the  "  Broken  Heart."  What  a  word  ! ' 
In  closing  the  first  paragraph,  I  said,  '  Shall  I 
confess  it  ?  I  do  believe  in  broken  hearts.'  '  Yes,' 
exclaimed  Byron,  'and  so  do  I,  and  so  does 
everj'body  but  philosophers  and  fools  ? '  While 
I  was  reading  one  of  the  most  touching  portions 
of  that  mournful  piece,  I  observed  that  Byron 
wept.  He  turned  his  eyes  upon  me,  and  said, 
'You  see  me  weep,  sir.  Irving  himself  never 
wrote  that  story  without  weeping ;  nor  can  I  hear 
it  without  tears.  I  have  not  wept  much  in  this 
world,  for  trouble  never  brings  tears  to  my  eyes, 
but  I  always  have  tears  for  the  "  Broken  Heart." ' 
He  concluded  by  praising  the  verses  of  Moore  at 
the  end  of  the  stoiy,  and  asking  if  there  were 
many  such  men  as  Irving  in  America.'  'God 
don't  send  many  such  spirits  into  this  world.'  " 

The  lives  of  authors  are  not  often  interesting, 
apart  from  the  light  which  they  shed  upon 
their  writings,  and  the  life  of  Irving  was  not,  I 
think,  an  exception  to  the  rule.  What  it  was 
hitherto  we  have  seen,  and  what  it  was  hereafter 
I  shall  show,  though  not  in  its  details,  which 
were  neither  striking  nor  important.  Five  years 
had  now  elapsed  since  he  left  America,  and 
twelve  more  years  were  to  elapse  before  he  re- 
turned to  it.  He  had  published  his  third  book, 
and  had  made  a  name  for  himself  in  England ; 
in  other  words,  he  had  found  his  true  vocation, 
and  it  would  be  his  own  fault  if  he  did  not 
pursue  it  with  honor  and  profit.  The  summer 
of  1820  found  hyn  in  Paris  with  his  brother 
Peter,  and  before  the  close  of  the  year  he  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Moore,  the  poet,  who 
was  sporting  in  exile  in  France,  while  his  friends 
were  trying  to  settle  a  claim  which  the  English 


Government  had  against  him,  on  account  of  the 
defalcation  of  the  deputy  who  had  filled,  in  his 
place,  the  office  of  Registrar  of  the  Admiralty 
Court  of  Bermuda,  to  which  he  had  been  appoint 
ed  about  seventeen  years  before.  Moore  jotted 
down  in  his  Diary  that  they  met  at  the  table 
d'hote,  at  Meurice's  (the  most  expensive  hotel  in 
Paris),  and  that  the  successful  author  was  "a 
good-looking  and  intelligent-mannered  man." 
Seven  days  later  they  met  at  Moore's  cottage  in 
the  Champs  Elysees,  and  scarcely  a  day  passed 
without  their  seeing  each  other.  Moore  was 
trying  to  work,  now  on  his  Life  of  Sheridan,  and 
now  on  an  Egyptian  romance,  but  it  was  the 
merest  pretence,  as  his  Diary  bears  witness ;  for 
he  notes,  in  one  entry,  that  he  had  been  no  less 
than  five  weeks  in  writing  one  hundred  and 
ninety-two  lines  of  verse ;  and  in  another,  when 
he  thought  he  had  been  more  industrious,  that 
he  had  written  nearly  fifty  lines  in  a  week.  The 
fertility  of  Irving,  who  wrote  with  ease,  when  he 
could  write  at  all,  astonished  him.  "  Irving 
called  near  dinner  time,"  he  wrote  on  March 
19th,  1821 ;  "asked  him  to  stay  and  share  our 
roast  chicken  with  us,  which  he  did.  He  has 
been  hard  at  work  writing  lately ;  in  the  course 
of  ten  days  he  has  written  about  one  hundred 
and  thirty  pages  of  the  size  of  those  in  the  'Sketch- 
Book  ;'  this  is  amazing  rapidity." 

Another  writer  was  in  exile  in  France  at  this 
time,  a  fellow  townsman  of  Irving,  John  Howard 
Payne,  who  had  taken  the  critics  of  New  York 
by  storm  when  he  played  Young  Nerval  at  the 
Park  Theatre  ;  who  had  gone  to  England  about 
two  years  before  Irving,  where  he  became  a 
dramatic  author,  with  some  success,  and  a 
manager,  with  none  at  all ;  and  who  is  now 
chiefly  remembered  by  the  song  of  "  Home, 
Sweet  Home."  London  growing  too  small  for  him, 
he  escaped  to  Paris,  where  Irving  breakfasted 
with  him,  after  which  they  paid  a  visit  to  Talma 
together. 

A  whim  for  travelling,  which  frequently  seized 
him,  sent  Irving  back  to  London  in  the  summer 
of  1821,  with  no  definite  object  in  view,  unless  it 
was  to  see  his  friends,  and  the  approaching 
coronation  of  George  the  Fourth.  He  was 
fortunate  enough  to  witness  the  procession  from 
a  stand  on  the  outside  of  Westminster  Abbey, 
and  to  meet  with  Scott,  who  told  him  that  he 
should  have  seen  it  from  within  the  Abbey, 
which  he  might  easily  have  done,  as  his  name 
would  have  got  him  in  anywhere.  He  brought 
over  with  him  a  petite  comedy  of  Payne's,  with 
the  ominous  title  of  "  The  Borrower,"  and  made 
a  fruitless  attempt  to  have  it  produced  on  the 
stage.  He  also  brought  over  the  manuscript  of 
a  new  book,  his  speed  in  writing  which  had  so 
amazed  Moore,  and  worked  upon  it  when  he  was 
in  the  humor.  When  it  was  finished,  which  was 
not  until  the  following  winter,  he  was  waited 


XXIV 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


upon  by  Colburn,  the  publisher,  with  a  letter  of 
introduction  from  Campbell,  and  an  ofier  of  a 
thousand  guineas.  He  was  not  inclined  to  leave 
Murray,  who  had  treated  him  very  handsomely, 
and  was  anxious  to  publish  another  book  for 
him.  Irving  named  the  price  he  wished — fifteen 
hundred  guineas,  which  rather  staggered  the 
prince  of  booksellers.  "  If  you  had  said  a  thou- 
sand guineas,"  he  began.  "  You  shall  have  it  for 
a  thousand  guineas,"  replied  Irving,  and  the 
bargain  was  completed. 

Concerning  Irving 's  fourth  book,  "  Bracebridge 
Hall,"  which  was  published  in  England  and 
America  in  May,  1832,  critical  opinions  differed. 
The  North  American  Review  for  July,  speaking 
in  the  person  of  Mr.  Edward  Everett,  its  editor, 
had  no  hesitation  in  pronouncing  it  equal  to  any- 
thing which  the  then  age  of  English  literature 
had  produced  in  the  department  of  essay- 
writing,  and  praised  it  for  its  admirable  sketches 
of  life  and  manners,  highly  curious  in  them- 
selves, and  rendered  almost  important  by  the 
good-natured  mock  gravity,  the  ironical  rever- 
ence, and  lively  wit  with  which  they  were  de- 
scribed. Jeffrey  recognized  the  singular  sweet- 
ness of  the  composition,  and  the  mildness  of  the 
sentiments,  but  thought  the  rhythm  and  melody 
of  the  sentences  excessive,  in  that  they  wore  an 
air  of  mannerism,  and  created  an  impression  of 
the  labor  that  must  have  been  bestowed  upon 
what  was  but  a  secondary  attribute  of  good 
writing. 

Wearied  by  his  London  life,  Irving  started  on 
a  tour  on  the  Continent,  which  lasted  about  a 
month,  and  which  finally  brought  up  at  Paris. 
He  was  not  in  trim  for  composition  when  he 
settled  down  again,  but  was  haunted  by  the 
dread  of  future  failure,  a  kind  of  nervous  horror 
which  frequently  overpowered  him.  His  poetic 
friend,  Moore,  had  returned  to  England,  where 
he  had  been  delivered  of  his  "  Loves  of  the 
Angels,"  but  his  dramatic  friend,  Payne,  was  still 
an  exile  in  Paris,  and  was  the  tenant  of  two 
residences,  one  of  which,  in  the  Rue  Richelieu, 
he  rented  to  Irving.  He  succeeded  in  persuad- 
ing Irving  to  join  him  in  his  dramatic  under- 
takings, one  of  which,  already  far  advanced, 
was  "Lajeunesse  de  Richelieu,"  a  French  play, 
which  had  been  acted  about  thirty  years  before. 
They  were  to  divide  the  profits,  if  there  were 
any,  and  Irving's  share  in  the  projected  manufac- 
tures was  to  be  kept  secret.  They  must  have 
worked  with  great  rapidity,  for  in  addition  to 
the  play  just  nientioned  they  completed  a  trans- 
lation of  another,  entitled  "  Azendai,"  which  was 
intended  to  be  set  to  music ;  besides  two  others, 
"  Belles  and  Bailiffs,"  and  "  Married  and  Single," 
not  forgetting  "  Abul  Hassan,"  a  German  opera, 
which  Irving  had  done  into  English  at  Dresden. 
Laden  with  these  productions,  Payne  set  off  pri- 
vately for  London,  from  which  he  was  debarred  by 


his  creditors,  and  put  himself  in  communication 
with  Charles  Kemble.  While  he  was  under- 
going the  delay  incident  to  acceptance  or  rejec- 
tion, Irving  transmitted  to  him  the  manuscript 
of  "Charles  II.,  or  the  Merry  Monarch,"  a  three 
act  comedy,  from  the  French  of  "La  Jcunesse  de 
Henri  V.,"  of  which,  as  far  as  I  can  understand, 
he  was  nearly,  if  not  quite,  the  sole  author,  or 
adapter.  It  was  sold  by  Payne  to  Covent  Garden 
Theatre  for  two  hundred  guineas,  together  with 
"  La  Jeunesse  de  Richelieu,"  and  was  produced 
in  the  following  spring  (May,  1824)  with  great 
success.  "  La  Jeunesse  de  Richelieu  "  was  pro- 
duced nearly  two  years  later,  and  withdrawn 
after  a  few  nights. 

Literary  activity  returned  to  Irving  during  this 
curious  dramatic  episode  in  his  career,  stimula- 
ted, no  doubt,  by  a  letter  from  Murray,  who 
asked  him  what  he  might  expect  from  him  in 
the  course  of  the  winter.  He  replied  that  he 
should  probably  have  two  more  volumes  of  the 
"  Sketch-Book  "  ready  by  spring,  and  began  to 
write  the  story  of  Wolfert  Webber,  which  he 
soon  laid  aside.  His  journal  chronicles  the 
progress  of  his  labor,  which  proceeded  at  a  rapid 
rate,  in  spite  of  his  dinings  out,  hastened,  per- 
haps, by  the  title  which  he  found  for  his  new 
work,  "  Tales  of  a  Traveller,"  and  by  Murray's 
offering  twelve  hundred  guineas  for  it,  without 
seeing  the  manuscript.  When  it  was  finished 
he  took  it  over  to  London,  where  he  met  Murray, 
"who  behaved  like  a  gentleman,"  i.  e.,  gave  him 
fifteen  hundred  guineas  for  it,  as  well  as  several 
celebrities,  including  William  Spencer,  Proctor, 
Rogers,  and  Moore,  the  last  of  whom  went  with 
him  to  Bowood,  the  seat  of  Lord  Lansdowne. 
He  was  not  brilliant  as  a  conversationist  at  this 
time,  whatever  he  may  have  been  later,  for 
Moore  notes  in  his  Diary  that  at  two  dinners 
which  he  mentions,  he  was  sleepy,  and  did  not 
open  his  mouth,  and  adds,  curtly,  "  Not  strong  as 
a  lion,  but  delightful  as  a  domestic  animal." 

The  "  Tales  of  a  Traveller  "  appeared  in  two 
volumes  in  England,  and  in  America  in  four 
parts.  It  sold  well  in  the  former  country  ;  but  it 
can  hardly  be  said  to  have  been  a  literary  suc- 
cess in  either,  especially  in  the  latter,  where  the 
press  were  hostile  to  it.  Wilson,  speaking 
through  the  mouth  of  Timothy  Tickler,  in 
Blackwood,  said,  "  I  have  been  terribly  disap- 
pointed in  the  '  Tales  of  a  Traveller ; '  "  and  the 
reviewer  of  the  London  Quarterly,  though  he 
praises  the  story  of  Buckthorne,  from  which  he 
thought  it  probable  that  he  might,  as  a  novelist, 
prove  no  contemptible  rival  to  Goldsmith,  warns 
him  that  he  must  in  future  be  true  to  his  own 
reputation  throughout,  and  correct  the  habits 
of  indolence,  which  so  considerable  a  part  of  the 
work  evince. 

Irving's  next  intellectual  labor  after  his  return 
to  France,  was  the  planning  of  a  series  of  papers. 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


the  proper  execution  of  which  demanded,  I 
think,  a  weightier  pen  than  he  possessed,  con- 
sisting, as  it  did,  of  serious  essays  upon  American 
Manners,  National  Life,  Public  Prosperity, 
Probity  of  Dealings,  Education  of  Youth,  and 
such  like  grave  and  momentous  problems.  He 
was  interrupted  in  the  writing  by  a  letter  from 
Mr.  Alexander  H.  Everett,  Minister  Plenipoten- 
tiary of  the  United  States  at  Madrid,  whom  he 
had  previously  met  at  Paris,  and  who  had,  at  his 
request,  attached  him  to  the  embassy.  This 
letter  contained  his  passport,  and  a  proposition 
from  Mr.  Everett  that  he  should  translate  Navar- 
rete's  "  Voyages  of  Columbus,"  which  was  then 
in  the  press.  It  was  compiled  by  this  accom- 
plished scholar  from  the  papers  of  Columbus, 
as  preserved  by  the  famous  Bishop  Las  Casas, 
and  of  extracts  from  his  journal ;  and  it  con- 
tained, as  Irving  found  shortly  after  his  arrival 
at  Madrid,  many  documents  hitherto  unknown, 
which  threw  additional  light  on  the  discovery  of 
the  New  World ;  but  was  defective  as  a  whole 
(at  any  rate  for  his  purpose),  in  that  it  was  rather 
a  rich  mass  for  history,  than  history  itself.  He 
abandoned,  therefore,  the  idea  of  translating  it, 
and  began  to  institute  fresh  researches  on  his 
own  account,  examining  manuscripts,  an  d  taking 
voluminous  notes  for  a  regular  Life  of  the  great 
navigator. 

Irving  commenced  his  task  in  February,  1826, 
and  labored  upon  it  unceasingly  for  six  months, 
sometimes  writing  all  day,  and  until  twelve  at 
night.  His  attention  was  diverted  from  it  in 
August  by  the  "  Conquest  of  Granada,"  which  so 
interested  him  that  he  devoted  himself  to  it  till 
November,  when  he  threw  aside  the  rough  draft, 
and  returned  to  his  greater  work,  which  was  not 
ready  for  the  press  until  July  of  the  following 
year.  Leslie  had  sounded  Murray  about  the  letter 
before  it  was  begun,  but  the  wiiy  publisher  fought 
shy  at  first.  "  He  would  gladly,"  he  says,  "  re- 
ceive anything  from  you  of  original  matter, 
which  he  considers  certain  of  success,  whatever 
it  might  be ;  but  with  regard  to  the  Voyages  of 
Columbus,  he  can  not  form  any  opinion  at 
present."  When  the  manuscript  was  finished 
Irving  sent  it  to  England,  to  the  care  of  his 
friend.  Colonel  Aspinwall,  American  Consul  at 
London,  whom  he  made  his  agent  in  the  dis- 
posal of  it,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Murray,  in 
which  he  stated  the  sum  he  wanted  for  it — three 
thousand  guineas  ;  but  also  stated  that  he  would 
be  willing  to  publish  on  shares.  Colonel  As- 
pinwall played  his  cards  so  well  that  Murray  con- 
cluded not  to  publish  it  on  shares,  but  to  pay  the 
three  thousand  guineas  out  and  out.  The  manu- 
script was  shown  to  Southcy,  who  pronounced 
the  most  unqualified  praise  of  it,  both  as  to 
matter  and  manner;  and  Murray  himself  said 
it  was  beautiful,  beautiful — the  best  thing  that 
Irving  had  ever  written. 


By  the  publication  of  "  The  Life  and  Voyages 
of  Columbus,"  in  1828,  the  popularity  of  Irving, 
which  had  waned  somewhat  since  the  day  when 
he  first  burst  upon  the  world  of  English  readers 
in  his  "  Sketch-Book,"  rose  anew,  and  shone 
with  greater  lustre.  The  importance  of  the  work 
was  recognized  on  both  sides  of  the  water,  as 
well  as  the  brilliancy  of  its  execution.  Jeffrey, 
who  reviewed  it  in  the  Edinburgh,  declared  that 
it  was  not  only  excellent,  but  that  it  v/ould  en- 
dure. "For  we  mean,"  he  explained,  "not  merely 
that  the  book  will  be  known  and  referred  to 
twenty  or  thirty  years  hence,  and  will  pass  in 
solid  binding  into  every  considerable  collection  ; 
but  that  it^will  supersede  all  former  works  on  the 
same  subject,  and  never  be  itself  superseded." 
Not  less  enthusiastic  was  the  carefully  considered 
opinion  of  Irving's  friend,  Everett,  who  origi- 
nally suggested  the  translation  from  Navarrete 
out  of  which  it  had  grown,  and  who  pronounced 
it,  in  the  North  American  Review,  one  of  the 
few  books  which  are  at  once  the  delight  of  read- 
ers and  the  despair  of  critics.  "  It  is  as  nearly 
perfect  as  any  work  can  be;  and  there  is  little 
or  nothing  left  for  the  reviewer  but  to  write  at 
the  bottom  of  every  page,  as  Voltaire  said  he 
would  be  obliged  to  do  if  he  published  a  com- 
mentary on  Racine,  ' Pulchre !  bene!  optitne!' 
He  has  at  length  filled  up  the  void  that  before 
existed  in  this  respect,  in  the  literature  of  the 
world,  and  produced  a  work  which  will  fully 
satisfy  the  public,  abd  supersede  the  necessity  of 
any  future  labors  in  the  same  field.  While  we 
venture  to  predict  that  the  adventures  of  Co- 
lumbus will  hereafter  be  read  only  in  the  work  of 
Mr.  Irving,  we  can  not  but  think  it  a  beautiful  co- 
incidence that  the  task  of  duly  celebrating  the 
achievements  of  the  discoverer  of  our  continent 
should  have  been  reserved  for  one  of  its.  inhabit- 
ants ;  and  that  the  earliest  professed  author  of  first- 
rate  talent  who  appeared  among  us  should  have 
devoted  one  of  his  most  important  and  finished 
works  to  this  pious  purpose. 

*  Such  honors  Ilion  to  her  hero  paid, 
And  peaceful  slept  the  mighty  Hector's  shade.' 

For  the.  particular  kind  of  historical  writing  in 
which  Mr.  Irving  is  fitted  to  labor  and  excel,  the 
'  Life  of  Columbus'  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  very 
best^-perhaps  we  might  say,  without  fear  of  any 
mistake,  the  very  best— subject  afforded  by  the 
annals  of  the  world." 

The  magnitude  of  the  task  which  he  had  com- 
pleted so  satisfactorily,  left  Irving  leisure  to 
make  a  tour  which  he  had  planned  with  his 
brother  Peter,  but  the  ill-health  of  that  gentle- 
man, who  now  returned  by  slow  stages  to  Paris, 
compelled  him  to  forego  the  pleasure  of  his  com- 
pany, and  to  replace  it  by  the  company  of  two  Rus- 
sian diplomatists,  with  whom  he  set  out  on  March 
1st,  by  the  diligence  for  Cordova.     They  reached 


tzvi 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


Granada  in  safety,  notwithstanding  the  robbers 
who  were  said  to  beset  the  roads,  and  spent  several 
days  in  traversing  the  city  and  itsenvirons.  From 
Granada  the  travelers  proceeded  to  Malaga,  and 
thence  by  a  circuitous  route  to  Gibraltar,  after 
which  they  started  for  Cadiz,  where  Irving  left 
his  companions,  being  impatient  to  get  to  Seville, 
and  to  correct  and  complete  the  rough  draft  of 
the  manuscript  of  the  "  Conquest  of  Granada," 
which  diverted  his  attention  for  upwards  of 
three  months  at  Madrid,  while  he  was  engaged 
upon  his  "  Life  of  Columbus." 

The  summer  heat  being  overpowering  at 
Seville,  Irving  removed  to  a  little  country-seat 
on  a  hill,  about  eight  miles  from  Cadiz,  of  which 
and  its  beautiful  bay,  it  commanded  a  view  on 
one  side,  while  another  embraced  the  distant 
mountains  of  Ronda.  Here  he  dispatched  to 
England  half  the  first  volume  of  the  "  Conquest 
of  Granada,"  as  a  fair  sample  of  the  whole,  and 
authorized  Colonel  Aspinwall  to  dispose  of  it  to 
Murray,  or  any  other  leading  and  respectable 
bookseller,  for  two  thousand  guineas,  or  as  near 
that  sum  as  he  could  get.  Before  a  month  was 
over  he  received  a  letter  from  Murray,  who  was 
waiting  for  the  corrected  copy  of  Columbus,  in 
order  to  issue  a  new  edition,  and  who  had  pur- 
chased from  Wilkie  a  sketch  that  he  had  made 
of  Irving's  likeness,  which  he  meant  to  prefix 
to  it.  A  second  letter  from  Murray  contained 
what  Irving  considered  the  best  critique  that  he 
had  ever  had  as  to  his  general  reputation  with 
the  public.  It  was  in  relation  to  a  monthly 
magazine  which  Murray  was  about  to  set  up,  on 
a  purely  literary  and  scientific  basis,  and  which 
he  offered  Irving  a  thousand  pounds  a  year  to 
edit,  besides  paying  him  liberally  for  any  articles 
which  he  might  contribute.  In  fact,  the  salary, 
with  other  offers  for  casual  writing,  would  insure 
him  at  least  seven  thousand  dollars  a  year. 

Irving  declined  Murray's  proposal,  as  he  had 
declined  a  similar  one  from  Scott  nine  years  be- 
fore, partly  because  it  would  oblige  him  to  fix 
his  residence  out  of  America,  and  partly  because 
he  was  unwilling  to  shackle  himself  with  any 
periodical  labor.  Murray  concluded  to  purchase 
his  new  book  at  the  price  which  he  had  demand- 
ed— two  thousand  guineas — and  published  it 
early  in  1829,  under  the  title  of  "A  Chronicle  of 
the  Conquest  of  Granada,"  not  as  from  the 
manuscript  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  a  noni  de 
guerre,  which  Irving  had  adopted,  but  as  by 
Irving  himself  —  an  unwarrantable  liberty,  he 
thought,  in  that  it  made  him,  gravely,  in  his 
own  name,  tell  many  round  untruths,  and  made 
him,  also,  responsible  as  an  author,  for  the  exist- 
ence of  the  manuscript  of  Agapida.  Coleridge  re- 
garded the  work  as  a  masterpiece  of  romantic  nar- 
rative ;  Prescott  believed  that  Irving  availed  him- 
self of  all  the  picturesque  and  animating  move- 
ments of  the  period  which  he  had  treated,  and 


that  he  was  not  seduced  from  historical  accu- 
racy by  the  poetical  aspect  of  his  subject ;  and 
Brj'ant,  a  fine  Spanish  scholar,  as  well  as  an  ad- 
mirable literary  critic,  maintained  that  it  was  one 
of  the  most  delightful  of  his  works -an  exact  his- 
tory', for  such  it  is  admitted  to  be  by  those  who 
have  searched  most  carefully  the  ancient  records 
of  Spain — ^yet  so  full  of  personal  incident,  so 
diversified  with  surprising  turns  of  fortune,  and 
these  wrought  up  with  such  picturesque  effect, 
that,  to  use  an  expression  of  Pope,  a  young 
lady  might  read  it  by  mistake  for  a  romance.  It 
is  a  pleasant  thing  for  an  author  to  win  approba- 
tion from  members  of  his  own  craft — much 
pleasanter,  on  the  whole,  perhaps,  than  to  win 
the  less  intelligent  approbation  of  the  public ; 
but  unfortunately  for  his  ambition  and  his 
pocket,  it  is  only  the  last  which  is  of  substantial 
benefit  to  him.  It  was  now  withheld  from 
Irvijig,  for  the  "Conquest  of  Granada"  did  not 
sell.  Before  it  saw  the  light  of  publication 
Irving  had  returned  to  the  line  of  biographic 
studies,  which  its  composition  had  interrupted, 
and  was  busy  in  tracing  out  the  Voyages  of  the 
Companions  of  Columbus,  and  had  in  contem- 
plation a  series  of  Legends  connected  with  the 
Moorish  domination  in  Spain,  upon  which  he 
wrote  from  time  to  time  as  the  spirit  moved  him. 
He  made  a  second  visit  to  Granada  in  May,  1829, 
and  lodged  in  the  Alhambra,  over  whose  halls 
and  courts  he  rambled  at  all  hours  of  the  day 
and  night.  While  he  was  residing  in  tliis  ro- 
mantic old  Moorish  palace,  he  was  appointed 
Secretary  of  Legation  to  London,  whither  he 
repaired  in  October.  Here  two  honors  awaited 
him  :  the  first  being  a  gold  medal,  of  the  value  of 
fifty  guineas,  which  was  adjudged,  to  him  by  the 
Council  of  the  Royal  Society  of  Literature,  the 
other,  the  degree  of  LL.D.,  which  was  conferred 
upon  him  by  the  University  of  Oxford.  Notwith- 
standing these  honers,  of  which  any  man  of  let- 
ters might  well  be  proud,  and  of  the  personal 
esteem  and  affection  with  which  he  was  regard- 
ed, there  can  be  no  doubt  that  his  reputation 
had  lessened  since  the  publication  of  the  "Sketch- 
Book,"  in  1820,  and  of  the  "  Life  and  Voyages  of 
Columbus,"  in  1828.  Whether  his  intermediate 
and  later  works  were  of  a  lower  order  of  liter- 
ary excellence  than  these  were  admitted  to 
possess,  or  whether  that  many-headed  beast, 
the  public,  was  weary  of  them,  is  a  question 
I  do  not  feel  called  upon  to  decide.  It  is 
enough  to  note  here  that  his  popularity  was 
so  greatly  on  the  wane .  that  he  parted  with  the 
"Voyages  of  the  Companions  of  Columbus  "to 
Murray  for  only  five  hundred  guineas ;  and  that 
his  sharp  business  friend,  Colonel  Aspinwall, 
could  only  obtain  a  thousand  guineas  for  his  next 
work,  "  The  Alhambra,"  and  this  not  from  Mur- 
ray, but  from  Colburn  and  Bentley.  Of  the 
reception  of  these  characteristic  studies  of  old 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


xxvu 


Spain  and  the  old  voyagers,  I  have  no  knowledge, 
except,  that  Mr.  Edward  Everett  wrote  concern- 
ing the  last,  in  the  North  American  Review,  that 
it  was  equal,  in  literary  value,  to  any  other  of 
the  same  class,  with  the  exception  of  the  "  Sketch- 
Book,"  and  that  he  should  not  be  surprised  if  it 
were  read  as  extensively  as  even  that  very  popu- 
lar production  ;  and  that  Prescott,  the  historian, 
characterized  it  in  his  "  History  of  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella,"  as  the  "beautiful  Spanish  Sketch-Book." 
Of  Irving's  diplomatic  life,  his  presentation  at 
court,  etc.,  I  shall  not  speak,  nor  of  the  celebri- 
ties whom  he  met,  only  one  of  whom  is  likely  to 
interest  now.  It  was  Scott,  who  was  then  in 
London,  a  broken-down  old  man,  on  his  way  to 
Italy,  and  whom  he  met  again  at  a  family  din- 
ner, at  which  he  was  the  only  stranger  present. 
"  Ah,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Scott,  who  was  seated 
as  he  entered,  "  time  has  dealt  lightly  with  you 
since  last  we  met."  The  mind  of  the  great  ma- 
gician flickered  fitfully  during  the  dinner ;  now 
and  then  he  struck  up  a  story  in  his  old  way,  but 
the  light  soon  died  out,  his  head  sank,  and  his 
countenance  fell,  when  he  saw  that  he  had  failed 
to  bring  out  his  points.  When  the  ladies  went 
up-stairs  after  dinner,  Lockhart  said  to  his 
guest,  "  Irving,  give  Scott  your  arm."  The  grand 
old  man,  mournful  in  ruin,  took  the  arm  that 
was  offered  him,  and  grasping  his  cane  with  the 
other  hand,  said,  "  Ah,  the  times  are  changed, 
my  good  fellow,  since  we  went  over  the  Eildon 
hills  together.  It  is  all  nonsense  to  tell  a  man 
that  his  mind  is  not  affected  when  his  body  is  in 
this  state."  They  never  met  again ;  for  the 
mighty  minstrel  died  the  next  year,  and  Irving 
returned  to  America  after  an  absence  of  seven- 
teen years,  lacking  four  days. 

Irving's  arrival  was  anticipated  by  his  friends, 
who  received  him  with  the  greatest  cordiality, 
and  gave  him  a  public  dinner  at  the  City  Hotel, 
which  was  presided  over  by  his  early  friend. 
Chancellor  Kent,  who  had  so  promptly  dismissed 
him  to  the  world  of  shades  thirty  years  before. 
The  ordeal  was  a  trying  one  to  the  modest  man 
of  letters,  who  had  a  nervous  horror  of  personal 
publicity,  but  he  acquitted  himself  creditably,  as 
the  newspapers  of  that  day  testify.  It  was,  of 
course,  the  happiest  moment  of  his  life,  and  was 
rendered  more  so  because  it  proved  that  the 
misgivings  which  had  haunted  him,  that  his 
countrymen  believed  he  was  alienated  from  them, 
were  groundless.  He  spoke  of  the  changes 
which  had  come  over  New  York  during  his  ab- 
sence, the  emotions  which  he  had  experienced 
when  he  beheld  it,  as  he  sailed  up  the  harbor, 
seated  in  the  midst  of  its  watery  domain,  with 
the  sunshine  lighting  up  its  domes,  and  the  forest 
of  masts  at  its  piers  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach ; 
and  how  his  heart  throbbed  with  joy  and  pride 
as  he  felt  he  had  a  birthright  in  the  brilliant 
scene    before  him.    "  I  am  asked  how  long    I 


mean  to  remain  here  ?  They  know  but  little  ot 
my  heart  or  my  feelings  who  can  ask  me  this 
question.  I  answer,  as  long  as  I  live."  Here 
the  roof  rang  with  bravos,  handkerchiefs  were 
waved,  cheers  were  given  over  and  over  again, 
and  he  finally  sat  down,  satisfied  that  he  had 
done  better  than  he  expected.  Shortly  after  this 
dinner  Irving  repaired  to  Washington,  to  settle 
his  accounts  with  the  Government,  and  to  meet 
the  friends  of  his  earlier  years — Mr.  Louis 
McLane,  late  Minister  to  England,  Henry  Clay, 
General  Jackson,  and  others.  Returning  to  New 
York,  he  made  a  trip  up  the  Hudson  as  far  as 
Tarrytown,  and  thence  to  Saratoga  and  Trenton 
Falls.  He  meditated  a  tour  in  the  western  part 
of  New  York,  Ohio,  Kentucky,  and  Tennessee, 
but  he  changed  his  plan,  and  joined  an  expedition 
to  the  far  West,  in  company  with  three  commis- 
sioners appointed  to  treat  with  deputations  of 
the  different  tribes  of  Indians.  He  started  from 
Cincinnati  on  September  3d,  reached  Independ- 
ence, Missouri,  on  the  24th  of  that  month.  Fort 
Gibson,  Arkansas,  on  October  9th,  and  Mont- 
gomery Point,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Arkansas, 
early  in  November.  A  voyage  by  steamboat 
down  the  Mississippi  to  New  Orleans,  and  thence 
to  Washington,  and  so  back  to  New  York,  com- 
pleted the  tour.  The  ground  over  which  he  had 
traversed,  which  was  then  but  little  known  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  more  civilized  portions  of 
the  United  States,  and  the  incidents  and  experi- 
ences of  travel  with  which  it  was  surrounded, 
determined  him  to  turn  them  to  account.  He 
set  about  a  narrative  of  what  he  had  seen  and 
undergone,  in  the  midst  of  other  avocations, 
and  writing  leisurely,  completed  it  by  the  end  of 
the  following  year.  It  was  entitled,  "A  Tour  on 
the  Prairies,"  and  was  published  in  London,  in 
1835,  by  Murray,  from  whom  Colonel  Aspinwall 
succeeded  in  obtaining  four  hundred  pounds  for 
it.  What  reception  it  met  with  in  England,  I 
know  not.  It  was  welcomed  here,  and  by  none 
more  warmly  than  Edward  Everett,  in  the  North 
American  Review.  "To  what  class  of  compo- 
sitions the  present  work  belongs,"  he  wrote, 
"  we  are  hardly  able  to  say.  It  can  scarcely  be 
called  a  book  of  travels,  for  there  is  too  much 
painting  of  manners  and  scenery,  and  too  little 
statistics ;  it  is  not  a  novel,  for  there  is  no  story  ; 
and  it  is  not  a  romance,  for  it  is  all  true.  It  is 
a  sort  of  sentimental  journey,  a  romantic  excur- 
sion, in  which  nearly  all  the  elements  of  several 
different  kindsof  writing  are  beautifully  and  gayly 
blended  into  a  production  almost  sui  generis." 
He  then  expressed  his  pride  in  Irving's  sketches  of 
English  life,  and  the  gorgeous  canvas  upon  which 
he  had  gathered  in  so  much  of  the  glowing 
imagery  of  Moorish  times,  but  was  more  pleased 
to  see  him  come  back  laden  with  the  poetical 
treasures  of  the  primitive  wilderness,  and  with 
spoils  from  the  uninhabited  desert.    "  We  thank 


XXTlll 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


him  for  turning  these  poor,  barbarous  steppes  into 
dassical  land,  and  joining  his  inspiration  to  that 
of  Cooper  in  breathing  life  and  fire  into  a  circle 
of  imagery,  which  was  not  known  before  to  ex- 
ist, for  the  purposes  of  the  imagination."  To 
revive,  perhaps,  the  nom  de  plume,  by  which  he 
had  become  best  known  among  English-reading 
people,  Irving  published  "A  Tour  on  the 
Prairies"  as  the  first  number  of  the  Crayon 
Miscellany.  It  was  followed  in  the  course  of 
two  or  three  months  by  a  second  number,  en- 
titled, "  Abbotsford  and  Newstead  Abbey,"  for 
which  Colonel  Aspinwall  obtained  from  Murray 
the  sum  of  four  hundred  pounds,  with  a  promise 
of  two  hundred  pounds  more  when  a  second 
edition  should  be  reached.  It  appears  to  have 
been  successful,  for  Colonel  Aspinwall  wrote  to 
Irving,  "  Murray  says  Abbotsford  delights  every- 
body, especially  the  Lockharts."  The  third  num- 
ber of  the  Crayon  Miscellany,  "  Legends  of 
Spain,"  was  sent  about  six  weeks  later  to  the 
same  publisher,  who  declined  it  at  the  price  de- 
manded, but  put  it  to  press  on  the  author's  ac- 
count, whereby  Irving  realized  only  one  hundred 
pounds. 

Not  long  after  his  return  to  the  United  States, 
Irving  was  applied  to  by  Mr.  John  Jacob  Astor,  to 
yfnte  about  his  settlement  of  Astoria  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Columbia  River.  He  declined  the 
undertaking,  being  engrossed  with  other  plans,  but 
recommended  his  nephew,  Mr.  Pierre  Munro 
Irving,  as  one  who  might  aid  him  in  preparing 
the  materials,  in  wliich  case  he  would  have  no 
objection  in  putting  the  finishing  hand  to  the 
work.  Mr.  Astor  caught  at  the  idea,  and  Mr. 
Pierre  Irving,  who  was  then  in  Illinois,  came  to 
New  York,  at  the  request  of  his  uncle,  and  the 
pair  commenced  their  joint  labors  at  a  country 
house,  belonging  to  Mr.  Astor,  at  Hellgate.  He 
paid  his  authors  liberally,  the  younger  for  his 
industry  as  a  compiler,  the  elder  for  his  skill  as  a 
literary  artist  and  the  use  of  his  name,  and  was 
fully  satisfied  with  their  endeavors  to  hand  him 
down  to  posterity  as  a  colonist  as  well  as  a  mil- 
lienaire.  "Astoria"  was  published  in  1836.  Mr. 
Edward  Everett,  speaking,  as  usual,  through  the 
North  American,  saw  in  it,  as  a  whole,  the  im- 
press of  Irving's  taste,  and  sketches  of  life  and 
character  worthy  of  the  pen  of  Geoffrey  Crayon  ; 
and  an  anonymous  writer  in  the  London  Specta- 
tor, considered  it  the  most  finished  narrative  of 
such  a  series  of  adventures  that  was  ever  written. 
While  Irving  was  residing  at  the  country  seat  of 
Mr.  Astor,  where  he  had  for  companions  the 
f)oet  Halleck,  and  Charles  Astor  Bristed,  then  a 
lad  of  fourteen,  he  met  Captain  Bonneville,  of 
the  United  States  army,  a  type  of  man  not  un- 
common at  the  time,  who  had  engrafted  the 
hunter  and  the  trapper  upon  the  soldier,  and  in 
whom  he  was  much  interested.  He  met  this 
gentleman    again    in    the    following   winter  ,at 


Washington,  where  he  was  engaged  in  re-writing 
and  extending  his  travelling  notes,  and  making 
maps  of  the  regions  he  had  explored,  and  he 
purchased  his  materials,  out  of  which,  together 
with  other  facts  and  details  gathered  from  differ- 
ent sources,  conversations,  journals  of  the  cap- 
tain's contemporaries,  and  the  like,  he  wrought 
a  volume  of  frontier  life,  which  was  published 
in  1837,  as  the  "Adventures  of  Captain  Bonne- 
ville," and  for  which  Bcntley  paid  him  nine  hun- 
dred pounds  for  an  English  edition,  which  was 
four  hundred  pounds  more  than  he  had  paid  for 
"  Astoria." 

In  the  course  of  his  home-travels,  shortly  after 
his  return  to  America,  Irving  saw  a  rural  site 
at  Tarrytown,  on  the  Hudson,  not  far  from  the 
residence  of  his  nephew,  Oscar,  which  struck  his 
fancy.  It  consisted  in  ten  acres,  when  he  pur- 
chased it  in  the  summer  of  1835,  and  contained 
a  cottage  about  a  century  old,  which  he  conclu- 
ded to  rebuild  into  a  little  rookery  in  the  old 
Dutch  style.  He  accordingly  sent  up  an  architect 
and  workmen,  who  between  them  built  him  a 
stone  house  at  considerable  cost,  in  which,  sur- 
rounded with  Christmas  greens,  he  was  settled 
with  his  brother  Peter,  in  January,  1837.  In  this 
cosy  mansion,  which  he  at  first  christened 
"  Wolfert's  Roost,"  and  afterwards  "  Sunny  Side," 
he  finished  the  "  Adventures  of  Captain  Bonne- 
ville," and,  his  mind  still  running  on  the  might 
of  Old  Spain,  which  he  had  illustrated  so  bril- 
liantly in  his  "  Life  of  Columbus,"  he  commenced 
what  promised  to  be  a  greater  work  than  that, 
and  which  like  that  was  to  concern  itself  with 
Castilian  domination  in  the  New  World — the 
"History  of  the  Spanish  Conquest  of  Mexico." 
When  he  had  made  a  rough  draft  of  the  ground- 
work of  the  first  volume,  he  came  down  to  the 
city  to  consult  authorities  in  the  New  York  Soci- 
ety Library,  where  he  met  Mr.  Joseph  G.  Cogs- 
well, whom  he  knew,  and  who  asked  him  what 
new  work  he  had  in  hand,  sounding  him  in  the 
interest  of  Prescott,  who  had  lately  published 
his  "History  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella."  "Is 
Mr.  Prescott  engaged  upon  an  Ameiican  sub- 
ject ? "  inquired  Irving.  He  was  told  that  he 
was,  and  that  it  was  the  "  Conquest  of  Mexico." 
With  a  generosity,  of  which  few  men  could  have 
been  capable,  Irving  then  and  there  abandoned 
his  plan,  and  desired  Mr.  Cogswell  to  say  as  much 
to  Prescott,  whose  claim  to  it  (supposing  he  had 
any)  was  certainly  less  than  his  own,  in  that  he 
had  merely  collected  materials  for  it.  Prescott 
acknowledged  his  courtesy  in  a  grateful  letter, 
in  which  he  dwelt  upon  the  mortification  he 
would  have  felt  if  he  found  him  occupying  the 
ground,  and  expressed  a  fear  that  the  public 
would  not  be  so  well  pleased  as  himself  by 
Irving's  liberal  conduct,  of  which  he  was  not 
sure  that  he  should  have  a  right  in  their  eyes  to 
avail  himself.     The  giving  up  of  this  great  task. 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


XXIS 


which  occupied  Prescott  five  years,  left  Irving  at 
leisure  to  renew  his  early  acquaintance  with  the 
British  Essayists,  and  to  revise  a  biographical 
study  which  he  had  executed  some  lifteen  years 
before.  This  was  a  "Life  of  Goldsmith,"  which 
he  had  prepared  at  Paris,  for  Galignani,  for  a  col- 
lection of  British  Authors,  that  he  undertook 
to  edit,  and  which  he  now  re-wrote  for  the 
"  Family  Library,"  of  which  the  Harpers  were  the 
publishers.  This  was  followed  by  a  second  and 
a  much  less  important  biographical  study,  a  "  Life 
of  Margaret  Davidson,"  the  younger  of  two 
American  sisters,  who  had  a  childish  talent  for 
writing  verse,  which  her  friends  called  poetry, 
and  who  had  died  of  consumption  in  her  six- 
teenth year. 

Two  political  honors  were  offered  Irving  in  his 
fifty-fifth  year,  one  being  an  unanimous  nomina- 
tion as  Mayor  of  New  York,  from  Tammany 
Hall,  the  other  the  appointment  of  Secretary 
of  the  Navy,  from  President  Van  Buren.  He 
accepted  neither,  wisely  preferring  to  the  doubt- 
ful distinction  they  might  have  bestowed  upon 
him,  the  peaceful  security  of  his  cottage  and  the 
society  of  his  relatives.  The  relinquishment  of 
the  "  Conquest  of  Mexico,"  left  him  at  leisure 
for  lesser  undertakings,  which  he  found  in 
writing  a  series  of  papers  for  the  Knickerbocker 
Magazine,  his  connection  with  which  lasted  from 
March,  1839,10  March,  1841.  Before  the  latter 
date  (February  loth)  he  received  what  he  called 
"the  crowning  honor  of  his  life."  It  came  in  the 
shape  of  the  appointment  of  Minister  to  Spain, 
which  was  forwarded  to  him  by  Daniel  Webster, 
who  remarked,  when  sufficient  time  had  elapsed 
for  the  nev/s  to  reach  him,  "  Washington  Irving 
is  the  most  astonished  man  in  New  York."  Hard 
upon  his  appointment  the  new  minister  was 
called  on  to  attend  the  dinner  which  the  citizens 
of  New  York  gave  Dickens,  at  which  it  was  de- 
cided that  he  must  preside,  and  where  he  did 
preside,  with  much  trepidation,  making  one  of 
the  shortest  dinner  speeches  on  record.  "  There," 
he  said,  as  he  concluded  his  broken  sentences  by 
proposing  the  health  of  Dickens,  as  the  guest  of 
the  nation,  "  There !  I  told  you  I  should  break 
down,  and  I've  done  it." 

Irving  embarked  for  Europe  for  the  third  time, 
on  April  loth,  1841.  He  soon  reached  London, 
where  he  waited  upon  his  friend,  Edward  Everett, 
then  American  Minister,  who  presented  him  to 
Queen  Victoria,  at  the  levee,  where  he  met  sev- 
eral of  his  old  acquaintances,  among  them  the 
ministers.  Lord  Aberdeen,  Sir  Robert  Peel,  etc., 
who  were  cordial  in  their  recognitions.  He  also 
met,  at  a  dinner  party  at  Mr.  Everett's,  the  vete- 
ran poet  and  wii,  Rogers,  who  took  him  in  his 
arms  in  a  paternal  manner ;  and  at  an  anniver- 
sary dinner  of  the  Literary  Fund,  he  met  Moore, 
upon  whom  the  cares  of  the  world  were  thicken- 
ing, and  to  whom  he  declared  his  intention  of 


not  speaking ;  "  that  Dickens  dinner,"  as  he  ex- 
plained to  the  more  glib-tongued  poet,  still 
haunting  his  imagination  with  the  memory  of 
his  break-down.  Irving  hardly  filled  the  charac- 
ter of  an  ambassador,  as  defined  by  Sir  Henry 
Wotton,  /.  e.,  "  one  sent  to  lie  abroad  for  the  good 
of  his  country;"  for,  setting  aside  his  natural 
incapacity  for  mendacity,  the  good  of  hi's  coun- 
try demanded  nothing  of  the  kind  from  him, 
whatever  it  may  have  done  from  our  Minister  to 
England,  who  had  the  Oregon  affair  upon  his 
hands.  The  diplomatic  life  of  Irving,  which  oc- 
cupied four  years,  need  not  detain  us  long. 
From  London  he  proceeded  to  Paris,  where,  as 
in  duty  bound,  he  called  upon  General  Cass,  our 
Minister  to  France,  who  drove  out  with  him  one 
evening  to  Neuilly,  and  presented  him  to  Louis 
Philippe,  his  queen,  and  his  sister,  Madame  Ade- 
laide, all  of  whom  took  occasion  to  say  some- 
thing complimentary  about  his  writings.  He 
arrived  at  Madrid  on  July  25th,  and  installed 
himself  in  the  appartments  of  his  predecessor  in 
the  hotel  of  the  Duke  of  San  Lorenzo.  Six  days 
later  he  had  an  audience  of  the  Regent,  Espar- 
tero,  Duke  of  Victoria.  He  was  then  driven  to 
the  royal  palace,  and  presented  to  the  little 
queen,  a  child  of  twelve,  a  puppet  in  the  hands 
of  intriguing  statesmen,  who  went  through  the 
part  assigned  to  her  with  childish  dignity. 
Irving's  letters  to  his  relatives  are  largely  made 
up  of  accounts  of  the  politics  of  the  country  to 
which  he  was  accredited,  and  which  are  mildly  de- 
scribed by  the  word  stormy.  The  Regent,  Espar- 
tero,  for  example,  was  speedily  overthrown,  and 
the  child  queen  was  in  the  hands  of  Narvaez  and 
his  adherents,  who  issued  juntas,  proiiunciamen- 
tos,  and  what  not  in  the  way  of  sounding  pub- 
lic documents.  He  was  a  sagacious  observer 
who  could  understand,  and  a  rapid  penman  who 
could  narrate,  the  events  which  Irving  witnessed 
during  his  residence  in  Spain,  and  which  it  was 
his  ambassadorial  duty  to  communicate  to  his 
government.  The  amount  of  diplomatic  busi- 
ness which  now  devolved  upon  him  left  him  no 
time  to  perform  a  task  which  was  near  his  heart, 
and  upon  which  he  had  hoped  to  labor  diligently. 
This  was  a  Life  of  Washington,  which  had  been 
proposed  to  him  by  Constable,  the  publisher,  in 
1825,  while  he  was  residing  at  Pans,  and  which 
he  declined  at  that  time  from  a  modest  diffi- 
dence of  his  powers.  "  I  stand  in  too  great  mje 
of  it,"  he  wrote.  Long  brooded  over,  and  fairly 
begun,  at  "  Wolfert's  Roost,"  he  made  but  little 
progress  with  it  at  Madrid.  His  post  finally 
grew  so  irksome  to  him  that  he  resigned  it  in 
December,  1845,  and  impatiently  awaited  his  suc- 
cessor, who  appeared  during  the  following  sum- 
mer, in  the  person  of  Gen.  Romulus  M.  Saunders, 
of  North  Carolina.  Irving  turned  his  back  on 
the  Old  World  for  the  last  time  in  London,  early 
in  September,  1846,  and  on  the   19th  of   that 


XXX 


LIFE   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


month  was  at  home  once  more  in  his  beloved 
"  Sunny  Side." 

The  last  years  of  Irving's  life  were  passed  in 
the  enjoyment  of  the  leisure  and  the  honors  that 
he  had  earned.  His  chief  residence  was  at 
"  Sunny  Side,"  though  he  made  occasional  jour- 
neys, as  in  his  early  days,  and  his  chief  employ- 
ment was  the  task  upon  which  he  had  long  set  his 
heart — the  Life  of  Washington — and  the  collec- 
tion and  revision  of  a  complete  edition  of  his 
works,  many  of  which  were  by  this  time  out  of 
print.  This  edition,  which  was  commenced  in 
the  summer  of  1848,  contained,  in  addition  to 
the  list  of  Irving's  writings  in  the  preceding 
pages,  three  later  publications,  "  Oliver  Gold- 
smith" (1849),  "Mahomet  and  his  Successors" 
(1850),  and  "Wolfert's  Roost"  (1855).  The  first 
was  a  subject  which  had  engaged  his  attention 
twice  before,  and  to  which  he  was  led  to  return 
by  the  appearance  of  Forster's  "  Life  of  Gold- 
smith," which  his  publisher  thought  of  reprint- 
ing. This  charming  book  so  freshened  the 
memory  of  his  favorite  author,  and  stimulated 
his  power  of  work,  that  in  less  than  two  months 
the  sheets  of  his  third  biographical  study  were 
in  the  printer's  hands.  "  Mahomet  and  his 
Successors,"  the  last  of  the  series  of  writings  which 
he  had  projected  during  his  first  residence  in 
Madrid,  illustrative  of  the  Moorish  domination 
in  Spain,  was  originally  prepared  for  Murray's 
"  Family  Library  "  in  1831,  but  circumstances  pre- 
venting its  publication  at  the  time,  it  was  thrown 
aside  for  years.  The  neglected  manuscript  was 
found  by  Minister  Irving  among  his  papers  dur- 
ing his  last  residence  in  Spain,  where  he  be- 
guiled the  tediousness  of  illness  by  revising  it, 
profiting,  as  he  did,  so  by  the  light  which  later 
w'riters  had  shed  upon  the  subject,  particularly 
Dr.  Gustav  Weil,  librarian  of  the  University  of 
Heidelburg,  who  is  still  an  authority  among  the 
biographers  of  the  great  Arabian  prophet. 
These  additions  to  the  body  of  his  writings,  excel- 
lent as  they  were  in  themselves,  and  important 
as  they  would  have  been  in  the  life  of  a  lesser 
author,  were  merely  diversions  from  the  labor 
which  constantly  occupied  his  mind  and  his  pen 
as  they  slowly,  but  surely,  proceeded  with  his 
"  Life  of  Washington,"  the  first  volume  of  which 
was  published  shortly  after  "  Wolfert's  Roost," 
in  1855,  the  fifth  and  last  volume  in  1859,  a  few 
months  before  his  death. 

Irving  died  on  the  night  of  November  28th, 
1S59,  and  all  that  was  mortal  of  him  was  buried 


on  the  1st  of  December,  at  Tarrytown.  It  was 
a  beautiful  winter  day,  clear  and  sunny,  radiant 
with  the  still  lingering  Indian  summer,  which 
shed  a  soft  and  melancholy  light  over  the 
solemn  scene.  "  It  was  one  of  his  own  days," 
said  the  mourners,  as  they  rode  from  "  Sunny 
Side  "  to  Christ  Church,  where  the  funeral  serv- 
ices were  held,  and  thence  to  the  cemetery,  about 
a  mile  distant,  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  with  a  view 
of  the  Hudson  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  of 
the  valley  of  Sleepy  Hollow — classic  ground, 
which  the  genius  of  Irving  has  made  immortal. 

"  His  youth  was  innocent  ;  his  riper  age 

Marked  with  some  act  of  goodness  every  day  ; 
And  watched  by  eyes  that  loved  him,  calm  and  sage, 

Faded  his  late  declining  years  away. 
Meekly  he  gave  his  being  up,  and  went 
To  share  the  holy  rest  that  waits  a  life  well  spent.   , 

"  That  life  was  happy  ;  every  day  he  gave 

Thanks  for  the  fair  existence  that  was  his  ; 
For  a  sick  fancy  made  him  not  his  slave. 

To  mock  him  with  his  phantom  miseries. 
No  chronic  tortures  racked  his  aged  limb, 
For  luxury  and  sloth  had  nourished  none  for  him. 

"  And  I  am  glad  that  he  has  lived  thus  long, 

And  glad  that  he  has  gone  to  his  reward  ; 
Nor  can  I  deem  that  Nature  did  him  wrong, 

Softly  to  disengage  the  vital  cord. 
For  when  his  hand  grew  palsied,  and  his  eye 
Faint  with  the  marks  of  age,  it  was  his  time  to  die.** 

So  sang  the  greatest  of  our  poets,  Bryant,  in 
his  early  manhood,  in  "  The  Old  Man's  Funeral," 
a  touching  poem  in  which  he  celebrated  a  blame- 
less life  like  that  of  Irving ;  and  in  his  Oration 
in  memory  of  the  latter,  a  few  months  after  his 
death,  he  addressed  his  departed  friend  in  the 
following  eloquent  words :  "  Farewell !  thou  who 
hast  entered  into  the  rest  prepared,  from  the 
foundation  of  the  world,  for  serene  and  gentle 
spirits  like  thine.  Farewell!  happy  in  thy  life, 
happy  in  thy  death,  happier  in  the  reward  to 
which  that  death  was  the  assured  passage  ;  fortu- 
nate in  attracting  the  admiration  of  the  world  to 
thy  beautiful  writings,  still  more  fortunate  in 
having  written  nothing  which  did  not  tend  to 
promote  the  range  of  magnanimous  forbearance 
and  generous  sympathies  among  thy  fellow-men ; 
the  lightness  of  that  enduring  fame  which  thou 
hast  won  on  earth  is  but  a  shadowy  symbol  of 
the  glory  to  which  thou  art  admitted  in  the 
world  beyond  the  grave.  Thy  errand  upon  earth 
was  an  errand  of  peace  and  good-will  to  men,  and 
thou  art  in  a  region  where  hatred  and  strife 
never  enter,  and  where  the  harmonious  activity 
of  those  who  inhabit  it  acknowledges  no  impulse 
less  noble  or  less  holy  than  that  of  love." 


The  Sketch-Book  of  Geoffrey  Crayon,  Gent. 


"  I  have  no  wife  nor  children,  good  or  bad,  to  provide  for.  A  mere  spectator  of  other 
men's  fortunes  and  adventures,  and  how  they  play  their  parts ;  which,  methinks,  are 
diversely  presented  unto  me,  as  from  a  common  theatre  or  scene."— Bc'rton. 


TO 

Sir  WALTER  SCOTT,  Bart., 

THIS  WORK  IS  DEDICATED,  IN  TESTIMONY 

OF  THE 

ADMIRATION  AND  AFFECTION 

OF 

THE  AUTHOR. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO  THE 

FIRST  AMERICAN   EDITION. 

The  following  writings  are  published  on  experi- 
ment; should  they  ple.ise,  they  may  be  followed  by 
others.  The  writer  will  have  to  contend  with  some 
disadvant.iges.  He  is  unsettled  in  his  abode,  subject 
to  interruptions,  and  has  his  share  of  cares  and  vicis- 
situdes. He  cannot,  therefore,  promise  a  regular 
plan,  nor  regular  periods  of  publication.  Should  he 
be  encour.igcd  to  proceed,  much  time  may  elapse  be- 
tween the  appearance  of  his  numbers;  and  their  size 
will  depend  on  the  materials  he  may  have  on  hand. 
His  writings  will  partake  of  the  fluctuations  of  his  own 
thoughts  and  feelings;  sometimes  treating  of  scenes 
before  him,  sometiines  of  others  purely  imaginary,  and 
sometimes  wandering  baclc  witli  his  recollections  to 
his  native  country.  He  will  not  be  able  to  give  them 
that  tranquil  attention  necessary  to  finished  composi- 
tion ;  and  as  they  must  be  transmitted  across  the  At- 
lantic for  publication,  he  will  have  to  trust  to  others 
to  correct  the  frequent  errors  of  the  press.  Should  his 
writings,  however,  with  all  their  imperfections,  be  well 
received,  he  cannot  conceal  that  it  would  be  a  source 
of  the  purest  gratification  ;  for  though  he  does  not  as- 
pire to  those  high  honours  which  are  the  rewards  of 
loftier  intellects  ;  yet  it  is  the  dearest  wish  of  his  heart 
to  have  a  secure  and  cherished,  though  humble  corner 
in  the  good  opinions  and  kind  feelings  of  his  country- 
men. 

London,  iSig. 


ADVERTISEMENT 

TO  THE 

FIRST  ENGLISH   EDITION. 

The  following  desultory  papers  are  part  of  a  series 
written  in  this  country,  but  published  in  America.  The 
author  is  aware  of  the  austerity  with  which  the  writings 
of  his  countrymen  have  hitherto  been  treated  by  Brit- 
ish critics;  he  is  conscious,  too.  that  much  of  the  con- 
tents of  his  papers  can  be  interesting  only  in  the  eyes 
of  American  readers.  It  was  not  his  intention,  there- 
fore, to  have  them  reprinted  in  this  country.  He  has, 
however,  observed  several  of  them  from  time  to  time 
inserted  in  periodical  works  of  merit,  and  has  under- 
stood, that  it  was  probable  they  would  be  republished 
in  a  collective  form.  He  has  been  induced,  therefore, 
to  revise  and  bring  them  forward  himself,  that  they 
may  at  least  come  correctly  before  the  public.     Should 


they  be  deemed  of  sufficient  importance  to  attract  the 
attention  of  critics,  he  solicits  for  them  that  courtesy 
and  candour  which  a  stranger  has  some  right  to  claim 
who  presents  himself  at  the  threshold  of  a  hospitable 
nation. 

February,  1820. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  ACCOUNT  OF   HIMSELF. 

I  am  of  this  mind  with  Homer,  that  as  the  snaile  that  crept  out 
of  her  shel  was  turned  eftsoones  into  a  toad,  and  thereby  was  forced 
to  make  a  Steele  to  sit  on;  so  the  traveller  that  stragleth  from  his 
owne  country  is  in  a  short  time  transformed  into  so  monstrous  a 
snape,  that  he  is  faine  to  alter  his  mansion  with  his  manners,  and 
to  live  where  he  can,  not  where  he  vio\i\A.—Lyly^s  Euphues. 

I  WAS  alw.ays  fond  of  visiting  new  scenes,  and  ob- 
serving  strange  characters  and  manners.  Even  when 
a  mere  child  1  began  my  travels,  and  made  many  tours 
of  discovery  into  foreign  parts  and  unknown  regions 
of  my  native  city,  to  the  frequent  alarm  of  my  parents, 
and  the  emolument  of  the  town  crier.  As  I  grew  into 
boyhood,  I  extended  the  range  of  my  observations. 
My  holiday  afternoons  were  spent  in  rambles  about 
the  surrounding  country-.  I  made  myself  familiar  with 
all  its  places  famous  in  history  or  fable.  I  knew  every 
spot  where  a  murder  or  robbery  had  been  committed, 
or  a  ghost  seen.  I  visited  the  neighbouring  villages, 
and  added  greatly  to  my  stock  of  knowledge,  by  not- 
ing their  habits  and  customs,  and  conversing  with 
their  sages  and  great  men.  I  even  journeyed  one  long 
summer's  day  to  the  summit  of  the  most  distant  hill, 
from,  whence  I  stretched  my  eye  over  many  a  mile  of 
terra  incognita,  and  was  astonished  to  find  how  vast  a 
globe  I  inhabited. 

This  rambling  propensity  strengthened  with  my 
years.  Books  of  voyages  and  travels  became  my 
passion,  and  in  devouring  their  contents,  I  neglected 
the  regular  exercises  of  the  school.  How  wistfully 
would  I  wander  about  the  pier  heads  in  fine  weather, 
and  watch  the  parting  ships,  bound  to  distant  climes — 
with  what  longing  eyes  would  I  gaze  after  their  lessen- 
ing sails,  and  waft  myself  in  imagination  to  the  ends 
of  the  earth  ! 

Farther  reading  and  thinking,  though  they  brought 
this  vague  inclination  into  more  reasonable  bounds, 
only  served  to  make  it  more  decided.  I  visited  va- 
rious parts  of  my  own  country  ;  and  had  I  been  merely 
influenced  by  a  love  of  fine  scenery,  I  should  have  felt 
little  desire  to  seek  elsewhere  its  gratification  :  for  on 
no  country  have  the  charms  of  nature  been  more  prod- 
igally lavished.  Her  mighiy  lakes,  like  oceans  of 
liquid  silver;  her  mountains,  with  their  bright  aerial 
tints;  her  valleys,  teeming  with  wild  fertility;  her 
tremendous  cataracts,  thundering  in  their  solitudes; 
her  boundless  plains,  waving  with  spontaneous  verd- 
ure ;  her  broad  deep  rivers,  rolling  in  solemn  silence 
to  the  ocean  ;  her  trackless  forests,  where  vegetation 
puts  forth  all  its  magnificence;  her  skies,  kindling 
with  the  magic  ol  summer  clouds  and  glorious  sun- 
shine:— no,  never  need  an  American  looli  beyond  his 
own  country  for  the  sublime  and  beautiful  of  natural 
scenery. 
But  Europe  held  forth  all  the  charms  of  storied  and 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


poetical  association.  There  were  to  be  seen  the  mas- 
terpieces of  art,  the  refinements  of  highly  cultivated 
societ}-,  the  quaint  peculiarities  of  ancient  and  local 
custom.  My  native  country  was  full  of  youthful 
promise  ;  Europe  was  rich  in  the  accumulated  treas- 
ures of  age.  Her  very  ruins  told  the  history  of  times 
gone  by,  and  every  mouldering  stone  was  a  chronicle. 
I  longed  to  wander  over  the  scenes  of  renowned 
achievement — to  tread,  as  it  were,  in  tlie  footsteps  of 
antiquity — to  loiter  about  the  ruined  castle — to  medi- 
tate on  tlie  falling  tower — to  escape,  in  short,  from  the 
commonplace  realities  of  the  present,  and  lose  myself 
among  the  shadowy  grandeurs  of  the  past. 

I  had,  beside  all  this,  an  earnest  desire  to  see  the 
great  men  of  the  earth.  We  have,  it  is  true,  our  great 
men  in  America:  not  a  city  but  has  an  ample  share 
ot  them.  I  have  mingled  among  them  in  my  time,  and 
been  almost  withered  by  the  shade  into  which  they 
cast  me;  for  there  is  nothing  so  baleful  to  a  small  man 
as  the  shade  of  a  great  one,  particularly  the  great  man 
of  a  city.  But  I  was  anxious  to  see  the  great  men  of 
Europe  ;  for  I  had  read  in  the  works  of  various  phi- 
losophers, that  all  animals  degenerated  in  America, 
and  man  among  the  number.  A  great  man  of  Europe, 
thought  I,  must  therefore  be  as  superior  to  a  great 
man  of  America,  as  a  peak  of  the  Alps  to  a  highland 
of  the  Hudson;,  and  in  this  idea  I  was  confirmed,  by 
observing  the  comparative  importance  and  swelling 
magnitude  of  many  English  travellers  among  us,  who, 
I  was  assured,  were   very  little   people   in   their  own 


country.  I  will  visit  this  land  of  wonders,  thought  I, 
and  see  the  gigantic  race  from  which  I  am  degenerated. 
It  has  been  either  my  good  or  evil  lot  to  have  my 
roving  passion  gratified.  I  have  wandered  through 
dilTerent  countries,  and  witnessed  many  of  the  sliifting 
scenes  of  life.  I  cannot  say  that  I  have  studied  them 
with  the  eye  of  a  philosopher,  but  rather  with  the  saun- 
tering gaze  with  which  humble  lovers  of  the  pictur- 
esque stroll  from  the  window  of  one  print-shop  lo 
another;  caught  sometimes  by  the  delineations  of 
beauty,  sometimes  by  the  distortions  of  caricature, 
and  sometimes  by  the  loveliness  of  landscape.  As  it 
is  the  fashion  for  modern  tourists  to  travel  pencil  in 
hand,  and  bring  home  their  portfolios  filled  with 
sketclies,  I  am  disposed  to  get  up  a  few  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  my  friends.  Wlien,  however,  I  look  over 
the  hints  and  memorandums  I  have  taken  down  for 
the  purpose,  my  heart  almost  fails  me,  at  finding  how 
my  idle  humour  has  led  me  aside  from  the  great  ob- 
jects studied  by  every  regular  traveller  who  would 
make  a  book.  I  fear  I  shall  give  equal  disappoint- 
ment with  an  unlucky  landscape-painter,  who  had 
travelled  on  the  continent,  but  following  the  bent  of 
his  v.agrant  inclination,  had  sketched  in  nooks,  and 
corners,  and  by-places.  His  sketch-book  was  accord- 
ingly crowded  with  cottages,  and  landscapes,  and  ob- 
scure ruins  ;  but  he  had  neglected  to  paint  St.  Peter's, 
or  the  Coliseum;  the  cascade  of  Terni,  or  the  bay  of 
Naples  ;  and  had  not  a  single  glacier  or  volcano  in 
his  whole  collection. 


THE  VOYAGE. 


Ships,  ships,  I  will  descrie  you 

Amidst  the  main, 
I  will  come  and  trj'  you. 
What  you  are  protecting, 
And  projecting. 
What's  your  end  and  aim. 
One  goes  abroaa  for  merchandise  and  trading. 
Another  stays  to  keep  his  country  from  invading, 
A  third  is  coming  home  with  rich  and  wealthy  lading, 
Hallo  1  my  fancie,  whither  wilt  thou  go  ? 

Old  Poem. 

To  an  American  visiting  Europe,  the  long  voyage 
he  has  to  make  is  an  excellent  preparative.  The 
temporary  absence  of  worldly  scenes  and  employ- 
ments produces  a  state  of  mind  peculiarly  fitted  to 
receive  new  and  vivid  impressions.  The  vast  space 
of  waters  that  separates  the  hetiiispheres  is  like  a 
blank  page  in  existence.  There  is  no  gradual  tran- 
sition by  which,  as  in  Europe,  the  features  and  pop- 
ulation of  one  country  blend  almost  imperceptibly 
with  those  of  another.  From  the  moment  you  lose 
sight  of  the  land  you  have  left,  all  is  vacancy,  until 
you  step  on  the  opposite  shore,  and  are  launched  at 
once  into  the  bustle  And  novelties  of  another  world. 

In  travelling  by  land  there  is  a  continuity  of  scene, 
and  a  connected  succession  of  persons  and  incidents, 
that  carry  on  the  story  of  life,  and  lessen  the  effect 
of  absence  and  separation.  We  drag,  it  is  true,  "  a 
lengthening  chain  "  at  each  remove  of  our  pilgrim- 
age ;  but  the  chain  is  unbroken  ;  we  can  trace  it 
back  link  by  link  ;  and  we  feel  that  the  last  of  them 
still  grapples  us  to  home.  But  a  wide  sea  voyage 
severs  us  at  once.  It  tnakes  us  conscious  of  being 
cast  loose  from  the  secure  anchorage  of  settled  life, 
and  sent  adrift  upon  a  doubtful  world.  It  interposes 
a  gulf,  not  merely  imaginary,  but  real,  between  us 
and  our  homes— a  gulf,  subject  to  tempest,  and  fear, 
and  uncertainty,  that  makes  distance  palpable,  and 
return  precarious. 

Such,  at  least,  was  the  case  with  myself.  As  I 
saw  the  last  blue  line  of  my  native  land  fade  away 


like  a  cloud  in  the  horizon,  it  seemed  as  if  I  had 
closed  one  volume  of  the  world  and  its  concerns, 
and  had  time  for  meditation,  before  I  opened  another. 
That  land,  too,  now  vanishing  from  my  view,  which 
contained  all  that  was  most  dear  to  me  in  life  ;  what 
vicissitudes  might  occur  in  it — ^what  changes  might 
take  place  in  me,  before  I  should  visit  it  again  !  Who 
can  tell,  when  he  sets  forth  to  wander,  whither  he 
may  be  driven  by  the  uncertain  currents  of  exist- 
ence ;  or  when  he  may  return ;  or  whether  it  may 
be  ever  his  lot  to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  childhood .' 

I  said,  that  at  sea  all  is  vacancy  ;  I  should  correct 
the  expression.  To  one  given  to  day  dreaming, 
and  fond  of  losing  himself  in  reveries,  a  sea  voyage 
is  full  of  subjects  for  meditation  ;  but  then  they  are 
the  wonders  of  the  deep  and  of  the  air,  and  rather 
tend  to  abstract  the  mind  from  worldly  theines.  I 
delighted  to  loll  over  the  quarter-railing  or  climb  to 
the  inain-top,  of  a  calm  day,  and  muse  for  hours  to- 
gether on  the  tranquil  bosom  of  a  summer's  sea ; — 
to  gaze  upon  the  piles  of  golden  clouds  just  peering 
above  the  horizon  ;  fancy  them  some  fairy  realms, 
and  people  them  with  a  creation  of  my  own;— to 
watch  the  gentle  undulating  billows,  rolling  their 
silver  volumes,  as  if  to  die  away  on  those  happy 
shores. 

There  was  a  delicious  sensation  of  mingled  secu- 
rity and  awe  with  which  I  looked  down,  from  my 
giddy  height,  on  the  monsters  of  the  deep  at  their 
uncouth  gambols:  shoals  of  porpoises  tumbling  about 
the  bow  of  the  ship ;  the  grampus,  slowly  heaving 
his  huge  form  above  the  surface ;  or  the  ravenous 
shark,  darting,  like  a  spectre,  through  the  blue 
waters.  My  imagination  would  conjure  up  all  that  I 
had  heard  or  read  of  the  watery  world  beneath  me  : 
of  the  finny  herds  that  roam  its  fathomless  valleys; 
of  the  shapeless  monsters  that  lurk  among  the  very 
foundations  of  the  earth,  and  of  those  wild  phantasms 
that  swell  the  tales  of  fishermen  and  sailors. 

Sometimes  a  distant  sail,  gliding  along  the  edge  of 
the  ocean,  would  be  another  theme  of  idle  specula- 
tion.     How  interesting  this  fragment  of  a  world. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


hastening  to  rejoin  the  great  mass  of  existence  !  What 
a  glorious  monument  of  human  invention  ;  that  has 
thus  triumphed  over  wind  and  tvave ;  has  brought  the 
ends  of  the  world  into  communion  ;  has  established 
an  interchange  of  blessings,  pouring  into  the  steril 
regions  of  the  north  all  the  luxuries  of  the  south  ;  has 
diffused  the  light  of  knowledge,  and  the  charities  of 
cultivated  life ;  and  has  thus  bound  together  those 
scattered  portions  of  the  human  race,  between  which 
nature  seemed  to  have  thrown  an  insurmountable 
barrier. 

We  one  dav  descried  some  shapeless  object  drift- 
ing at  a  distance.  At  sea,  every  thing  that  breaks  the 
monotony  of  the  surrounding  expanse  attracts  at- 
tention. It  proved  to  be  the  mast  of  a  ship  that  must 
have  been  completely  wrecked ;  for  there  were  the 
remains  of  handkerchiefs,  by  which  some  of  the  crew 
had  fastened  themselves  to  this  spar,  to  prevent  their 
being  washed  off  by  the  waves.  There  was  no  trace 
by  which  the  name  of  the  ship  could  be  ascertained. 
The  wreck  had  evidently  drifted  about  for  many 
months  ;  clusters  of  shell-fish  had  fastened  about  it, 
and  long  sea-weeds  flaunted  at  its  sides.  But  where, 
thought  I,  is  the  crew  ?  Their  struggle  has  long 
been  over — they  have  gone  down  amidst  the  roar  of 
the  tempest — their  bones  lie  whitening  among  the 
caverns  of  the  deep.  Silence,  oblivion,  like  the 
waves,  have  closed  over  them,  and  no  one  can  tell 
the  story  of  their  end.  What  sighs  have  been  wafted 
after  that  ship ;  what  prayers  offered  up  at  the  de- 
serted fireside  of  home  !  How  often  has  the  mistress, 
the  wife,  the  mother,  pored  over  the  daily  news,  to 
catch  some  casual  intelligence  of  this  rover  of  the 
deep!  How  has  expectation  darkened  into  anxiety 
—anxiety  into  dread — and  dread  into  despair  !  Alas  ! 
not  one  memento  shall  ever  return  for  love  to 
cherish.  All  that  shall  ever  be  known,  is,  that  she 
sailed  from  her  port,  "  and  was  never  heard  of  more  ! " 

The  sight  of  this  wreck,  as  usual,  gave  rise  to 
many  dismal  anecdotes.  This  was  particularly  the 
case  in  the  evening,  when  the  weather,  which  had 
hitherto  been  fair,  began  to  look  wild  and  threaten- 
ing, and  gave  indications  of  one  of  those  sudden 
storms  that  will  sometimes  break  in  upon  the  serenity 
of  a  summer  voyage.  As  we  sat  round  the  dull  light 
of  a  lamp,  in  the  cabin,  that  made  the  gloom  more 
ghastly,  every  one  had  his  tale  of  shipwreck  and  dis- 
aster. I  was  particularly  struck  with  a  short  one 
related  by  the  captain  : 

"  As  I  was  once  sailing,"  said  he,  "  in  a  fine,  stout 
ship,  across  the  banks  of  Newfoundland,  one  of  those 
hea\vfogs  that  prevail  in  those  parts  rendered  it  im 
possible  for  us  to  see  far  a-head,  even  in  the  daytime  ; 
but  at  night  the  weather  was  so  thick  that  we  could 
not  distinguish  any  object  at  twice  the  length  ot  the 
ship.  I  kept  lights  at  the  mast-head,  and  a  constant 
watch  forward  to  look  out  for  fishing  smacks,  which 
are  accustomed  to  lie  at  anchor  on  the  banks.  The 
wind  was  blowing  a  smacking  breeze,  and  we  were 
going  at  a  great  rate  through  the  water.  Suddenly 
the  watch  gave  the  alarm  of  '  a  sail  a-head  !  '—it  was 
scarcely  uttered  before  we  were  upon  her.  She  was 
a  small  schooner,  at  anchor,  with  a  broadside  toward 
us.  The  crew  were  all  asleep,  and  had  neglected  to 
hoist  a  light.  We  struck  her  just  a-mid-ships.  The 
force,  the  size,  the  weight  of  our  vessel,  bore  her 
down  below  the  waves  ;  we  passed  over  her  and 
were  hurried  on  our  course.  As  the  crashing  wreck 
was  sinking  beneath  us,  I  had  a  glimpse  of  two  or 
three  half-naked  wretches,  rushing  from  her  cabin  ; 
they  just  started  from  their  beds  to  be  swallowed 
shrieking  by  the  waves.  I  heard  their  drowning  cry 
mingling  with  the  wind.  The  blast  that  bore  it  to 
our  ears,  swept  us  out  of  all  farther  hearing.  I  shall 
never  forget  that  cry !     It  was  some  time  before  we 


could  put  the  ship  about,  she  was  under  such  head- 
way. We  returned  as  nearly  as  we  could  guess,  to 
the  place  where  the  smack  had  anchored.  We 
cruised  about  for  several  hours  in  the  dense  fog. 
We  fired  signal-guns,  and  listened  if  we  might  hear 
the  halloo  of  any  survivors ;  but  all  was  silent — we 
never  saw  or  heard  any  thing  of  them  more." 

I  confess  these  stories,  for  a  time,  put  an  end  to 
all  my  fine  fancies.  The  storm  increased  with  the 
night.  The  sea  was  lashed  into  tremendous  confu- 
sion. There  was  a  fearful,  sullen  sound  of  rushing 
waves  and  broken  surges.  Deep  called  unto  deep. 
At  times  the  black  volume  of  clouds  overhead  seemed 
rent  asunder  by  flashes  of  lightning  that  quivered 
along  the  foaming  billows,  and  made  the  succeeding 
darkness  doubly  terrible.  The  thunders  bellowed 
over  the  wild  waste  of  waters,  and  were  echoed  and 
prolonged  by  the  mountain  waves.  As  I  saw  the 
ship  staggering  and  plunging  among  these  roaring 
caverns,  it  seemed  miraculous  that  she  regained  her 
balance,  or  preserved  her  buoyancy.  Her  yards 
would  dip  into  the  water ;  her  bow  was  almost 
buried  beneath  the  waves.  Sometimes  an  impend- 
ing surge  appeared  ready  to  overwhelm  her,  and 
nothing  but  a  dexterous  movement  of  the  helm  pre- 
served her  froin  the  shock. 

When  I  retired  to  my  cabin,  the  awful  scene  still 
followed  me.  The  whistling  of  the  wind  through  the 
rigging  sounded  like  funereal  wailings.  The  creak- 
ing of  the  masts  ;  the  straining  and  groaning  of  bulk- 
heads, as  the  ship  laboured  in  the  weltering  sea,  were 
frightful.  As  I  heard  the  waves  rushing  along  the 
side  of  the  ship,  and  roaring  in  my  very  ear,  it  seemed 
as  if  Death  were  raging  round  this  floating  prison, 
seeking  for  his  prey  :  the  mere  starting  of  a  nail,  the 
yawning  of  a  seam,  might  give  him  entrance. 

A  fine  day,  however,  with  a  tranquil  sea  and  favour- 
ing breeze,  soon  put  all  these  dismal  reflections  to 
flight.  It  is  impossible  to  resist  the  gladdening  in- 
fluence of  fine  weather  and  fair  wind  at  sea.  When 
the  ship  is  decked  out  in  all  her  canvas,  every  sail 
swelled,  and  careering  gaily  over  the  curling  waves, 
how  lofty,  how  gallant,  she  appears — how  she  seems 
to  lord  it  over  the  deep  I  I  might  fill  a  volume  with 
the  reveries  of  a  sea  voyage  ;  for  with  me  it  is  almost 
a  continual  reverie — but  it  is  time  to  get  to  shore. 

It  was  a  fine  sunny  morning  when  trie  thrilling  cry 
of  "land!  "was  given  from  the  mast-head.  None 
but  those  who  have  experienced  it  can  form  an  idea 
of  the  delicious  throng  of  sensations  which  rush  into 
an  American's  bosom  when  he  first  comes  in  sight  of 
Europe.  There  is  a  volume  of  associations  with  the 
very  name.  It  is  the  land  of  promise,  teeming  with 
everything  of  which  his  childhood  has  heard,  or  on 
which  his  studious  years  have  pondered. 

From  that  time,  until  the  moment  of  arrival,  it  was 
all  feverish  excitement.  The  ships  of  war,  that 
prowled  like  guardian  giants  along  the  coast ;  the 
headlands  of  Ireland,  stretching  out  into  the  channel ; 
the  Welsh  mountains,  towering  into  the  clouds  ;  all 
were  objects  of  intense  interest.  As  we  sailed  up 
the  Mersey,  1  reconnoitred  the  shores  with  a  tele- 
scope. My  eye  dwelt  with  delight  on  neat  cottages, 
with  their  trim  shrubberies  and  green  grass-plots.  I 
saw  the  mouldering  ruin  of  an  abbey  overrun  wilh 
ivy,  and  the  taper  spire  of  a  village  church  rising  from 
the  brow  of  a  neighbouring  hill — all  were  characteris- 
ticof  England. 

The  tide  and  wind  were  so  favourable,  that  the  ship 
was  enabled  to  come  at  once  to  the  pier.  It  was 
thronged  with  people  ;  some  idle  lookers-cn,  others 
eager  expectants  of  friends  or  relatives.  I  could  dis- 
tinguish the  merchant  to  whom  the  ship  was  con- 
signed. I  knew  him  by  his  calculating  brow  and 
restless  air.   His  hands  were  thrust  into  his  pockets ; 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


he  was  whistling  thoughtfully,  and  walking  to  and 
fro,  a  small  space  having  been  accorded  him  by  the 
crowd,  in  deference  to  his  temporary  importance. 
There  were  repeated  cheerings  and  salutations  in- 
terchanged between  the  shore  and  the  ship,  as  friends 
happened  to  recognize  each  other.  I  particularly 
noticed  one  young  woman  of  humble  dress,  but  in- 
teresting demeanour.  She  was  leaning  forward  from 
among  the  crowd  ;  her  eye  hurried  over  the  ship  as 
it  nearcd  the  shore,  to  catch  some  wished-for  coun- 
tenance. She  seemed  disappointed  and  agitated ; 
when  I  heard  a  faint  voice  call  her  name. — It  was 
from  a  poor  sailor  who  had  been  ill  all  the  voyage, 
and  had  excited  the  sympathy  of  every  one  on  board. 
When  the  weather  was  fine,  his  messmates  had 
spread  a  mattress  for  him  on  deck  in  the  shade,  but 
of  late  his  illness  had  so  increased  that  he  had  taken 
to  his  hammock,  and  only  breathed  a  wish  that  he 
inight  see  his  wife  before  he  died.  He  had  been 
helped  on  deck  as  we  came  up  the  river,  and  was 
now  leaning  against  the  shrouds,  with  a  countenance 
so  wasted,  so  pale,  so  ghastly,  that  it  was  no  wonder 
even  the  eye  of  affection  did  not  recognize  him.  But 
at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  her  eye  darted  on  his 
features ;  it  read,  at  once,  a  whole  volume  of  sorrow ; 
she  clasped  her  hands,  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and 
stood  wringing  them  in  silent  agony. 

All  now  was  hurry  and  bustle.  The  meetings  of 
acquaintances— the  greetings  of  friends — the  consul- 
tations of  men  of  business.  I  alone  was  solitar)'  and 
idle.  I  had  no  friend  to  meet,  no  cheering  to  receive. 
I  stepped  upon  the  land  of  my  forefathers — but  felt 
that  1  was  a  stranger  in  the  land. 


ROSCOE. 


In  the  service  of  mankind  to  be 

A  guardian  eod  below ;  still  to  employ 
The  mind's  brave  ardour  in  heroic  aims, 
Such  as  may  raise  us  o'er  the  grovelling  heid, 
And  make  us  shine  for  ever— that  is  life. 

Thomson. 

One  of  the  first  places  to  which  a  stranger  is  taken 
in  Liverpool,  is  the  Athenasum.  It  is  established  on 
a  liberal  and  judicious  plan ;  it  contains  a  good  li- 
brary, and  spacious  reading-room,  and  is  the  great 
literary  resort  of  the  place.  Go  there  at  what  hour 
you  may,  you  are  sure  to  find  it  filled  with  grave- 
looking  personages,  deeply  absorbed  in  the  study  of 
newspapers. 

As  I  was  once  visiting  this  haunt  of  the  learned, 
my  attention  was  attracted  to  a  person  just  entering 
the  room.  He  was  advanced  in  life,  tall,  and  of  a 
form  that  might  once  have  been  commanding,  but  it 
/  was  a  little  bowed  by  time — perhaps  by  care.  He 
had  a  noble  Roman  style  of  countenance ;  a  head 
that  would  have  pleased  a  painter ;  and  though  some 
slight  furrows  on  his  brow  showed  that  wasting 
thought  had  been  busy  there,  yet  his  eye  still  beamed 
with  the  fire  of  a  poetic  soul.  There  was  something 
in  his  whole  appearance  that  indicated  a  being  of  a 
different  order  from  the  bustling  race  around  him. 

I  inquired  his  name,  and  was  informed  that  it  was 
RoscOE.  I  drew  back  with  an  involuntary  feeling 
of  veneration.  This,  then,  was  an  author  of  celeb- 
rity ;  this  was  one  of  those  men  whose  voices  have 
gone  forth  to  the  ends  of  the  earth ;  with  whose 
minds  1  have  communed  even  in  the  solitudes  of 
America.  Accustomed,  as  we  are  in  our  country, 
to  know  European  writers  only  by  their  works,  we 
cannot  conceive  of  thein,  as  of  other  men,  engrossed 


by  trivial  or  sordid  pursuits,  and  jostling  with  the 
crowd  of  common  minds  in  the  dusty  paths  of  life. 
They  pass  before  our  imaginations  like  superior 
beings,  radiant  with  the  emanations  of  their  own 
genius,  and  surrounded  by  a  halo  of  literary  glory. 

To  find,  therefore,  the  elegant  historian  of  the  Me- 
dici mingling  among  the  busy  sons  of  traffic,  at  first 
shocked  my  poetical  ideas  ;  but  it  is  from  the  very 
circumstances  and  situation  in  which  he  has  been 
placed,  that  Mr.  Roscoe  derives  his  highest  claims 
to  admiration.  It  is  interesting  to  notice  how  some 
minds  seem  almost  to  create  themselves  ;  springing 
up  under  every  disadvantage,  and  working  their 
solitary  but  irresistible  way  through  a  thousand  ob- 
stacles. Nature  seems  to  delight  in  disappointing 
the  assiduities  of  art,  with  which  it  would  rear  legit- 
imate dulness  to  maturity  ;  and  to  glory  in  the  vigour 
and  luxuriance  ot  her  chance  productions.  She  scat- 
ters the  seeds  of  genius  to  the  winds,  and  though 
some  may  perish  among  the  stony  places  of  the 
world,  and  some  be  choked  by  the  thorns  and  bram- 
bles of  early  adversity,  yet  others  will  now  and  tlien 
strike  root  even  in  the  clefts  of  the  rock,  struggle 
bravely  up  into  sunshine,  and  spread  over  their  steril 
birth-place  all  the  beauties  of  vegetation. 

Such  has  been  the  case  with  Mr.  Roscoe.  Born 
in  a  place  apparently  ungenial  to  the  growth  of  liter- 
ary talent ;  in  the  very  market-place  of  trade  ;  with- 
out fortune,  family  connections,  or  patronage  ;  self- 
prompted,  self-sustained,  and  almost  self-taught,  he 
has  conquered  every  obstacle,  achieved  his  way  to 
eminence,  and  having  become  one  of  the  ornaments 
of  the  nation,  has  turned  the  whole  force  of  his  tal- 
ents and  influence  to  advance  and  embellish  his  na- 
tive town. 

Indeed,  it  is  this  last  trait  in  his  character  which 
has  given  him  the  greatest  interest  in  my  eyes,  and 
induced  me  particularly  to  point  him  out  to  my  coun- 
trymen. Eminent  as  are  his  literary  merits,  he  is  but 
one  among  the  many  distinguished  authors  of  this 
intellectual  nation.  They,  however,  in  general,  live 
but  for  their  own  fame,  or  their  own  pleasures. 
Their  private  history  presents  no  lesson  to  the  world, 
or,  perhaps,  a  humiliating  one  of  human  frailty  and 
inconsistency.  At  best,  they  are  prone  to  steal  away 
from  the  bustle  and  commonplace  of  busy  existence  ; 
to  indulge  in  the  selfishness  of  lettered  ease ;  and  to 
revel  in  scenes  of  mental,  but  exclusive  enjoyment. 

Mr.  Roscoe,  on  the  contrary,  has  claimed  none  of 
the  accorded  privileges  of  talent.  He  has  shut  him- 
self up  in  no  garden  of  thought,  nor  elysiuni  of 
fancy;  but  has  gone  forth  into  the  highways  and 
thoroughfares  of  life,  he  has  planted  bowers  by  the 
way-side,  for  the  refreshment  of  the  pilgrim  and  the 
sojourner,  and  has  opened  pure  fountains,  where  the 
labouring  man  may  turn  aside  from  the  dust  and  heat 
of  the  day,  and  drink  of  the  living  streams  of  knowl- 
edge. There  is  a  "  daily  beauty  in  his  life,"  on  which 
mankind  may  meditate,  and  grow  better.  It  exhibits 
no  lofty  and  almost  useless,  because  inimitable,  ex- 
ample of  excellence  ;  but  presents  a  picture  of  active, 
yet  simple  and  imitable  virtues,  which  are  within 
every  man's  reach,  but  which,  unfortunately,  are  not 
exercised  by  many,  or  this  world  would  be  a  para- 
dise. 

But  his  private  life  is  peculiarly  worthy  the  atten- 
tion of  the  citizens  of  our  young  and  busy  country, 
where  literature  and  the  elegant  arts  must  grow  up 
side  by  side  with  the  coarser  plants  of  daily  necessity ; 
and  must  depend  for  their  culture,  not  on  the  exclu- 
sive devotion  of  time  and  wealth  ;  nor  the  quickening 
rays  of  titled  patronage  ;  but  on  hours  and  seasons 
snatched  from  the  pursuit  of  worldly  interests,  by 
intelligent  and  public-spirited  individuals. 

He  has  shown  how  much  may  be  done  for  a  place 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


in  hours  of  leisure  by  one  master  spirit,  and  how 
completely  it  can  give  its  own  impress  to  surrounding 
objects.  Like  his  own  Lorenzo  De  Medici,  on  whom 
he  seems  to  have  fixed  his  eye,  as  on  a  pure  model  of 
antiquity,  he  has  interwoven  the  history  of  his  life 
with  the  history  of  his  native  town,  and  has  made  the 
foundations  of  its  fame  the  monuments  of  his  virtues. 
Wherever  you  go,  in  Liverpool,  you  perceive  traces 
of  his  footsteps  in  all  that  is  elegant  and  liberal.  He 
found  the  tide  of  wealth  tiowing  merely  in  the  chan- 
nels of  traffic ;  he  has  diverted  from  it  invigorating 
rills  to  refresh  the  gardens  of  literature.  By  his  own 
example  and  constant  exertions,  he  has  effected  that 
union  of  commerce  and  the  intellectual  pursuits,  so 
eloquently  recommended  in  one  of  his  latest  writings;* 
and  has  practically  proved  how  beautifully  they  may 
be  brought  to  harmonize,  and  to  benefit  each  other. 
The  noble  institutions  for  literary  and  scientific  pur- 
poses, which  reflect  such  credit  on  Liverpool,  and 
are  giving  such  an  impulse  to  the  public  mind,  have 
mostly  been  originated,  and  have  all  been  effectively 
promoted,  by  Mr.  Roscoe  :  and  when  we  consider  the 
rapidly  increasing  opulence  and  magnitude  of  that 
town,  which  promises  to  vie  in  commercial  importance 
with  the  metropolis,  it  will  be  perceived  that  in 
awakening  an  ambition  of  mental  improvement 
among  its  inhabitants,  he  has  effected  a  great  benefit 
to  the  cause  of  British  literature. 

In  America,  we  know  Mr.  Roscoe  only  as  the 
author — in  Liverpool,  he  is  spoken  of  as  the  banker ; 
and  I  was  told  of  his  having  been  unfortunate  in  busi- 
ness. 1  could  not  pity  him,  as  I  heard  some  rich 
men  do.  1  considered  him  far  above  the  reach  of 
my  pity.  Those  who  live  only  for  the  world,  and  in 
the  world,  may  be  cast  down  by  the  frowns  of  ad- 
versity ;  but  a  man  like  Roscoe  is  not  to  be  overcome 
by  the  reverses  of  fortune.  They  do  but  drive  him 
in  upon  the  resources  of  his  own  mind  ;  to  the  supe- 
rior society  of  his  own  thoughts  ;  which  the  best  of 
men  are  apt  sometimes  to  neglect,  and  to  roam 
abroad  in  search  of  less  worthy  associates.  He  is 
independent  of  the  world  around  him.  He  lives  with 
antiquity,  and  with  posterity :  with  antiquity,  in  the 
sweet  communion  of  studious  retirement  ;  and  with 
posterity,  in  the  generous  aspirings  after  future  re- 
nown. The  solitude  of  such  a  mind  is  its  state  of 
highest  enjoyment.  It  is  then  visited  by  those  ele- 
vated meditations  which  are  the  proper  aliment  of 
noble  souls,  and  are,  like  manna,  sent  from  heaven, 
in  the  wilderness  of  this  world. 

While  my  feelings  were  yet  alive  on  the  subject, 
it  was  my  fortune  to  light  on  farther  traces  of  Mr. 
Roscoe.  I  was  riding  out  with  a  gentleman,  to  view 
the  environs  of  Liverpool,  when  he  turned  off, 
through  a  gate,  into  some  ornamented  grounds.  After 
riding  a  short  distance,  we  came  to  a  spacious  man- 
sion of  freestone,  built  in  the  Grecian  style.  It  was  not 
in  the  purest  taste,  yet  it  had  an  air  of  elegance;  and 
the  situation  was  delightful.  A  fine  lawn  sloped  away 
from  it,  studded  with  clumps  of  trees,  so  disposed  as 
to  break  a  soft  fertile  country  into  a  variety  of  land- 
scapes. The  Mersey  was  seen  winding  a  broad  quiet 
sheet  of  water  through  an  expanse  of  green  meadow 
land  ;  while  the  Welsh  mountains,  blending  with 
clouds,  and  melting  into  distance,  bordered  the 
horizon. 

This  was  Roscoe's  favourite  residence  during  the 
days  of  his  prosperity.  It  had  been  the  seat  of  ele- 
gant hospitality  and  literary  refinement.  The  house 
was  now  silent  and  deserted.  I  saw  the  windows  of 
the  study,  which  looked  out  upon  the  soft  scenery  I 
have  mentioned.  The  windows  were  closed — the 
library  was  gone.     Two  or  three  ill-favoured  beings 


♦Address  en  the  opening  of  the  Liverpool  Institution. 


were  loitering  about  the  place,  whom  my  fancy  pict- 
ured into  retainers  of  the  law.  It  was  like  visiting 
some  classic  fountain  that  had  once  welled  its  pure 
waters  in  a  sacred  shade,  but  finding  it  dry  and  dusty, 
with  the  lizard  and  the  toad  brooding  over  the  shat- 
tered marbles. 

I  inquired  after  the  fate  of  Mr.  Roscoe's  library, 
which  had  consisted  of  scarce  and  foreign  books, 
from  many  of  which  he  had  drawn  the  materials  for 
his  Italian  histories.  It  had  passed  under  the  ham- 
mer of  the  auctioneer,  and  was  dispersed  about  the 
country. 

The  good  people  of  the  vicinity  thronged  like 
wreckers  to  get  some  part  of  the  noble  vessel  that 
had  been  driven  on  shore.  Did  such  a  scene  admit 
of  ludicrous  associations,  we  might  imagine  some- 
thing whimsical  in  this  strange  irruption  into  the  re- 
gions of  learning.  Pigmies  rummaging  the  armoury 
of  a  giant,  and  contending  for  the  possession  of 
weapons  which  they  could  not  wield.  We  might 
picture  to  ourselves  some  knot  of  speculators,  debat- 
ing with  calculating  brow  over  the  quaint  binding 
and  illuminated  margin  of  an  obsolete  author  ;  or 
the  air  of  intense,  but  baffied  sagacity,  with  which 
some  successful  purchaser  attempted  to  dive  into  the 
black-letter  bargain  he  had  secured. 

It  is  a  beautiful  incident  in  the  story  of  Mr.  Ros- 
coe's misfortunes,  and  one  which  cannot  fail  to  in- 
terest the  studious  mind,  that  the  parting  with  his 
books  seems  to  have  touched  upon  his  tenderest  feel- 
ings, and  to  have  been  the  only  circumstance  that 
could  provoke  the  notice  of  his  muse.  The  scholar 
only  knows  how  dear  these  silent,  yet  eloquent,  com- 
panions of  pure  thoughts  and  innocent  hours  become 
in  the  season  of  adversity.  When  all  that  is  worldly 
turns  to  dross  around  us,  these  only  retain  "their 
steady  value.  When  friends  grow  cold,  and  the  con- 
verse of  intimates  languishes  into  vapid  civility  and 
commonplace,  these  only  continue  the  unaltered 
countenance  of  happier  days,  and  cheer  us  with  that 
true  friendship  which  never  deceived  hope,  nor  de- 
serted sorrow. 

I  do  not  wish  to  censure ;  but,  surely,  if  the  peo- 
ple of  Liverpool  had  been  properly  sensible  of  what 
was  due  to  Mr.  Roscoe  and  to  themselves,  his  library 
would  never  have  been  sold.  Good  worldly  reasons 
may,  doubtless,  be  given  for  the  circumstance,  which 
it  would  be  difficult  to  combat  with  others  that  might 
seem  merely  fanciful ;  but  it  certainly  appears  to  me 
such  an  opportunity  as  seldom  occurs,  of  cheering  a 
noble  mind  struggling  under  misfortunes  by  one  of 
the  most  delicate,  but  most  expressive  tokens  of 
public  sympathy.  It  is  difficult,  however,  to  estimate 
a  man  of  genius  properly  who  is  daily  before  our 
eyes.  He  becomes  mingled  and  confounded  with 
other  men.  His  great  qualities  lose  their  novelty, 
and  we  become  too  familiar  with  the  common  mate- 
rials which  form  the  basis  even  of  the  loftiest  char- 
acter. Some  of  Mr.  Roscoe's  townsmen  may  regard 
him  merely  as  a  man  of  business ;  others  as  a  poli- 
tician ;  all  find  him  engaged  like  themselves  in  ordi- 
nary occupations,  and  surpassed,  perhaps,  by  them- 
selves on  some  points  of  worldly  wisdom.  Even  that 
amiable  and  unostentatious  simplicity  of  character, 
which  gives  the  name  less  grace  to  real  excellence, 
may  cause  him  to  be  undervalued  by  some  coarse 
minds,  who  do  not  know  that  true  worth  is  always 
void  of  glare  and  pretension.  But  the  man  of  letters 
who  speaks  of  Liverpool,  speaks  of  it  as  the  resi- 
dence of  Roscoe. — The  intelligent  traveller  who  vis- 
its it,  inquires  where  Roscoe  is  to  be  seen. — He  is 
the  literary  landmark  of  the  place,  indicating  its  ex- 
istence to  the  distant  scholar. — He  is  like  Pompey's 
column  at  Alexandria,  towering  alone  in  classic 
dignity. 


6 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


The  following  sonnet,  addressed  by  Mr.  Roscoe  to 
his  books,  on  parting-  with  them,  is  alluded  to  in  the 
preceding  article.  If  any  thing  can  add  effect  to  the 
pure  feeling  and  elevated  thought  here  displayed, 
it  is  the  conviction,  that  the  whole  is  no  effusion 
of  fancy,  but  a  faithful  transcript  from  the  writer's 
heart : 

TO  MY  BOOKS. 

As  one,  who,  destined  from  his  friends  to  part, 
Regrets  his  loss,  but  hopes  again  erewhile 
To  share  their  converse,  and  enjoy  their  smile. 

And  tempers,  as  he  may,  affliction's  dart ; 

Thus,  loved  associates,  chiefs  of  elder  art, 

Teachers  of  wisdom,  who  could  once  beguile 
My  tedious  hours,  and  lighten  every  toil, 

I  now  resign  you  ;  nor  with  fainting  heart ; 

For  pass  a  few  short  years,  or  days,  or  hours. 
And  happier  seasons  may  their  dawn  unfold, 
And  all  your  sacred  fellowship  restore  ; 
When  freed  from  earth,  unlimited  its  powers, 

Mind  shall  with  mind  direct  communion  hold, 
And  kindred  spirits  meet  to  part  no  more. 


THE  WIFE. 


The  treasures  of  the  deep  are  not  so  precious 
As  are  the  concealed  comforts  of  a  man 
Lock'd  up  in  woman's  love.     I  scent  the  air 
Of  blessings,  when  I  come  but  near  the  house. 
What  a  delicious  breath  marriage  sends  forth — 
The  violet  bed  's  not  sweeter  ! 

MiDDLETON. 

I  HAVE  often  had  occasion  to  remark  the  fortitude 
with  which  women  sustain  the  most  overwhelming 
reverses  of  fortune.  Those  disasters  which  break 
down  the  spirit  of  a  man,  and  prostrate  him  in  the 
dust,  seem  to  call  forth  all  the  energies  of  the  softer 
sex,  and  give  such  intrepidity  and  elevation  to  their 
character,  that  at  times  it  approaches  to  sublimity. 
Nothing  can  be  more  touching,  than  to  behold  a  soft 
and  tender  female,  who  had  been  all  weakness  and 
dependence,  and  alive  to  every  trivial  roughness, 
while  threading  the  prosperous  paths  of  life,  suddenly 
rising  in  mental  force  to  be  the  comforter  and  sup- 
porter of  her  husband  under  misfortune,  and  abiding, 
with  unshrinking  firmness,  the  bitterest  blasts  of 
adversity. 

As  the  vine,  which  has  long  twined  its  graceful 
foliage  about  the  oak,  and  been  lifted  by  it  into  sun- 
shine, will,  when  the  hardy  plant  is  rifted  by  the 
thunderbolt,  cling  round  it  with  its  caressing  tendrils, 
and  bind  up  its  shattered  boughs ;  so  is  it  beautifully 
ordered  by  Providence,  that  woman,  who  is  the  mere 
dependant  and  ornament  of  man  in  his  happier  hours, 
should  be  his  stay  and  solace  when  smitten  with  sud- 
den calamity ;  winding  herself  into  the  rugged  re- 
cesses of  his  nature,  tenderly  supporting  the  droop- 
ing head,  and  binding  up  the  broken  heart. 

I  was  once  congratulating  a  friend,  who  had  around 
him  a  blooming  family,  knit  together  in  the  strongest 
affection.  "  I  can  wish  you  no  better  lot,"  said  he, 
with  enthusiasm,  "  than  to  have  a  wife  and  children. 
]f  you  are  prosperous,  there  they  are  to  share  your 
])rosperity ;  if  otherwise,  there  they  are  to  comfort 
you."  And,  indeed,  I  have  observed  that  a  married 
man  falling  into  misfortune,  is  more  apt  to  retrieve 
his  situation  in  the  world  than  a  single  one ;  partly, 
because  he  is  more  stimulated  to  exertion  by  the  ne- 
cessities of  the  helpless  and  beloved  beings  who  de- 
pend upon  him  for  subsistence  ;  but  chiefly,  because 
his  spirits  are  soothed  and  relieved  by  domestic  en- 
dearments, and  his  self-respect  kept  alive  by  finding, 
that  though  all  abroad  is  darkness  and  humiliation, 
yet  there  is  still  a  Httle  world  of  love  at  home,  of 


which  he  is  the  monarch.  Whereas,  a  single  man  is 
apt  to  run  to  waste  and  self-neglect ;  to  fancy  him- 
self lonely  and  abandoned,  and  his  heart  to  fall  to 
ruin,  like  some  deserted  mansion,  for  want  of  an  in- 
habitant. 

These  observations  call  to  mind  a  little  domestic 
story,  of  which  I  was  once  a  witness.  My  intimate 
friend,  Leslie,  had  married  a  beautiful  and  accom- 
plished girl,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  the  midst 
of  fashionable  life.  She  had,  it  is  true,  no  fortune, 
but  that  of  my  friend  was  ample  ;  and  he  delighted 
in  the  anticipation  of  indulging  her  in  every  elegant 
pursuit,  and  administering  to  those  delicate  tastes 
and  fancies  that  spread  a  kind  of  witchery  about  the 
sex. — "  Her  life,"  said  he,  "  shall  be  like  a  fairy  tale.' 

The  very  difference  in  their  characters  produced 
a  harmonious  combination  ;  he  was  of  a  romantic, 
and  somewhat  serious  cast ;  she  was  all  life  and 
gladness.  I  have  often  noticed  the  mute  rapture 
with  which  he  would  gaze  upon  her  in  company,  of 
which  her  sprightly  powers  made  her  the  delight ; 
and  how,  in  the  midst  of  applause,  her  eye  would 
still  turn  to  him,  as  if  there  alone  she  sought  favour 
and  acceptance.  When  leaning  on  his  arm,  her 
slender  form  contrasted  finely  with  his  tall,  manly 
person.  The  fond  confiding  air  with  which  she 
looked  up  to  him  seemed  to  call  forth  a  flush  of  tri- 
umphant pride  and  cherishing  tenderness,  as  if  he 
doated  on  his  lovely  burthen  for  its  very  helplessness. 
Never  did  a  couple  set  forward  on  the  flowery  path 
of  early  and  well-suited  marriage  with  a  fairer  pros- 
pect of  felicity. 

It  was  the  misfortune  of  my  friend,  however,  to 
have  embarked  his  property  in  large  speculations ; 
and  he  had  not  been  married  many  months,  when, 
by  a  succession  of  sudden  disasters  it  was  swept 
from  him,  and  he  found  himself  reduced  to  almost 
penury.  For  a  time  he  kept  his  situation  to  himself, 
and  went  about  with  a  haggard  countenance,  and  a 
breaking  heart.  His  life  was  but  a  protracted  agony  ; 
and  what  rendered  it  more  insujjportable  was  the 
necessity  of  keeping  up  a  smile  in  the  presence  of  his 
wife ;  for  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  overwhelm 
her  with  the  news.  She  saw,  however,  with  the 
quick  eyes  of  affection,  that  all  was  not  well  with 
him.  She  marked  his  altered  looks  and  stifled  sighs, 
and  was  not  to  be  deceived  by  his  sickly  and  vapid 
attempts  at  cheerfulness.  She  tasked  all  her  sprightly 
powers  and  tender  blandishments  to  win  him  back 
to  happiness ;  but  she  only  drove  the  arrow  deeper 
into  his  soul.  The  more  he  .saw  cause  to  love  her, 
the  more  torturing  was  the  thought  that  he  was  soon 
to  make  her  wretched.  A  little  while,  thought  he, 
and  the  smile  will  vanish  from  that  cheek — the  song 
will  die  away  from  those  lips — the  lustre  of  those 
eyes  will  be  quenched  with  sorrow — and  the  happy 
heart  which  now  beats  lightly  in  that  bosom,  will  be 
weighed  down,  like  mine,  by  the  cares  and  miseries 
of  the  world. 

At  length  he  came  to  me  one  day,  and  related  his 
whole  situation  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  despair. 
When  I  had  heard  him  through,  I  inquired,  "  Does 
your  wife  know  all  this?  "  At  the  question  he  burst 
into  an  agony  of  tears.  "  For  God's  sake  !  "  cried 
he,  "if  you  have  any  pity  on  me,  don't  inention  my 
wife  ;  It  is  the  thought  of  her  that  drives  me  almost 
to  madness  !  " 

"And  why  not?"  said  I.  "She  must  know  it 
sooner  or  later  :  you  cannot  keep  it  long  from  her, 
and  the  intelligence  may  break  upon  her  in  a  more 
startling  manner  than  if  imparted  by  yourself;  for 
the  accents  of  those  we  love  soften  the  harshest 
tidings.  Besides,  you  are  depriving  yourself  of  the 
comforts  of  her  sympathy  ;  and  not  merely  that,  but 
also  endangering  the  only  bond  that  can  keep  hearts 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


tog'ether — an  unreserved  community  of  thought  and 
feeling'.  She  will  soon  perceive  that  something  is 
secretly  preying  upon  your  mind  ;  and  true  love  will 
not  brook  reserve:  it  feels  undervalued  and  outraged, 
when  even  the  sorrows  of  those  it  loves  are  con- 
cealed from  it." 

"  Oh,  but  my  friend  !  to  think  what  a  blow  I  am 
to  give  to  all  her  future  prospects— how  I  am  to 
strike  her  very  soul  to  the  earth,  by  telling  her  that 
her  husband  is  a  beggar  ! — that  she  is  to  forego  all 
the  elegancies  of  life — all  the  pleasures  of  society — 
to  shrink  with  me  into  indigence  and  obscurity  !  To 
tell  her  that  1  have  dragged  her  down  from  the 
sphere  in  which  slie  might  have  continued  to  move 
in  constant  brightness — the  light  of  every  eye — the 
admiration  of  every  heart ! — ^Hovv  can  she  bear  pov- 
erty.' She  has  been  brought  up  in  all  the  refine- 
ments of  opulence.  How  can  she  bear  neglect  ? 
She  has  been  the  idol  of  society.  Oh,  it  will  break 
her  heart — it  will  break  her  heart !  " 

1  saw  his  grief  was  eloquent,  and  I  let  it  have  its 
flow ;  for  sorrow  relieves  itself  by  words.  When  his 
paro.xysm  had  subsided,  and  he  had  relapsed  into 
moody  silence,  I  resumed  the  subject  gently,  and 
urged  him  to  break  his  situation  at  once  to  his  wife. 
He  shook  his  head  mournfully,  but  positively. 

"But  how  are  you  to  keep  it  from  her?  It  is 
necessary  she  should  know  it,  that  you  may  take  the 
steps  proper  to  the  alteration  of  your  circumstances. 
You  must  change  your  style  of  living — nay,"  observ- 
ing a  pang  to  pass  across  his  countenance,  "  don't 
let  that  afflict  you.  I  am  sure  you  have  never  placed 
your  happiness  in  outward  show  —  you  have  yet 
friends,  warm  friends,  who  will  not  think  the  worse 
of  you  for  being  less  splendidly  lodged  :  and  surely  it 
does  not  require  a  palace  to  be  happy  with  Mary—" 
"  I  could  be  happy  with  her,"  cried  he,  convulsively, 
"  in  a  hovel ! — I  could  go  down  with  her  into  poverty 
and  the  dust ! — 1  could — I  could — God  bless  her ! — 
God  bless  her ! "  cried  he,  bursting  into  a  transport 
of  grief  and  tenderness. 

"And  believe  me,  my  friend,"  said  I,  stepping  up, 
and  grasping  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  "  believe  me, 
she  can  be  the  same  with  you.  Ay,  more :  it  will 
be  a  source  of  pride  and  triumph  to  her — it  will 
call  forth  all  the  laterit  energies  and  fervent  sympa- 
thies of  her  nature  ;  for  she  will  rejoice  to  prove  that 
she  loves  you  for  yourself  There  is  in  every  true 
woman's  heart  a  spark  of  heavenly  fire,  which  lies 
dormant  in  the  broad  daylight  of  prosperity ;  but 
which  kindles  up,  and  beams  and  blazes  in  the  dark 
hour  of  adversity.  No  man  knows  what  the  wife  of 
his  bosom  is — no  man  knows  what  a  ministering 
angel  she  is — until  he  has  gone  with  her  through  the 
fiery  trials  of  this  world." 

There  was  something  in  the  earnestness  of  my 
manner,  and  the  figurative  style  of  my  language,  that 
caught  the  excited  imagination  of  Leslie.  I  knew 
the  auditor  I  had  to  deal  with  ;  and  following  up  the 
impression  I  had  made,  I  finished  by  persuading  him 
to  go  home  and  unburthen  his  sad  heart  to  his  wife. 

1  must  confess,  notwithstanding  all  I  had  said,  I 
felt  some  little  solicitude  for  the  result.  Who  can 
calculate  on  the  fortitude  of  one  whose  whole  life  has 
been  a  round  of  pleasures  ?  Her  gay  spirits  might 
revolt  at  the  dark,  downward  path  of  low  humility, 
suddenly  pointed  out  before  her,  and  might  cling  to 
the  sunny  regions  in  which  they  had  hitherto  revelled. 
Besides,  ruin  in  fashionable  life  is  accompanied  by 
so  many  galling  mortifications,  to  which,  in  other 
ranks,  it  is  a  stranger. — In  short,  I  could  not  meet 
Leslie,  the  next  morning,  without  trepidation.  He 
had  made  the  disclosure. 

"  And  how  did  she  bear  it  ?  " 

"  Like  an  angel !     It  seemed  rather  to  be  a  relief 


to  her  mind,  for  she  threw  her  arms  round  my  neck, 
and  asked  if  this  was  all  that  had  lately  made  me 
unhappy. — But,  poor  girl,"  added  he,  "she  cannot 
realize  the  change  we  must  undergo.  She  has  no 
idea  of  poverty  but  in  the  abstract :  she  has  only 
read  of  it  in  poetry,  where  it  is  allied  to  love.  She 
feels  as  yet  no  privation  :  she  suffers  no  loss  of  ac- 
customed conveniences  nor  elegancies.  When  we 
come  practically  to  experience  its  sordid  cares,  its 
paltry  wants,  its  petty  humiliations — then  will  be  the 
real  trial." 

"But,"  said  I,  "now  that  you  have  got  over  the 
severest  task,  that  of  breaking  it  to  her,  the  sooner 
you  let  the  world  into  the  secret  the  better.  The 
disclosure  maybe  mortifying ;  but  then  it  is  a  single 
misery,  and  soon  over ;  whereas  you  otherwise  suffer 
it,  in  anticipation,  every  hour  in  the  day.  It  is  not 
poverty,  so  much  as  pretence,  that  harasses  a  ruined 
man — the  struggle  between  a  proud  mind  and  an 
empty  purse — the  keeping  up  a  hollow  show  that 
must  soon  come  to  an  end.  Have  the  courage  to  ap- 
pear poor,  and  you  disarm  poverty  of  its  sharpest 
sting."  On  this  point  I  found  Leslie  perfectly  pre- 
pared. He  had  no  false  pride  himself,  and  as  to 
his  wife,  she  was  only  anxious  to  conform  to  their 
altered  fortunes. 

Some  days  afterwards,  he  called  upon  me  in  the 
evening.  He  had  disposed  of  his  dwelling-house, 
and  taken  a  small  cottage  in  the  country,  a  few  miles 
from  town.  He  had  been  busied  all  day  in  sending 
out  furniture.  The  new  establishment  required  few 
articles,  and  those  of  the  simplest  kind.  All  the 
splendid  furniture  of  his  late  residence  had  been  sold, 
excepting  his  wife's  harp.  That,  he  said,  was  too 
closely  associated  with  the  idea  of  herself;  it  be- 
longed to  the  little  story  of  their  loves ;  for  some  of 
the  sweetest  moments  of  their  courtship  were  those 
when  he  had  leaned  over  that  instrument,  and 
listened  to  the  melting  tones  of  her  voice.  I  could 
not  but  smile  at  this  instance  of  romantic  gallantry 
in  a  doating  husband. 

He  was  now  going  out  to  the  cottage,  where  his 
wife  had  been  all  day,  superintending  its  arrange- 
ment. My  feelings  had  become  strongly  interested  in 
the  progress  of  this  family  story,  and  as  it  was  a  fine 
evening,  1  offered  to  accompany  him. 

He  was  wearied  with  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  and 
as  we  walked  out,  fell  into  a  fit  of  gloomy  musing. 

"  Poor  Mary  !  "  at  length  broke,  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
from  his  lips. 

"  And  what  of  her,"  asked  I,  "  has  any  thing  hap- 
pened to  her.'  " 

"  What,"  said  he,  darting  an  impatient  glance,  "  is 
it  nothing  to  be  reduced  to  this  paltry  situation — to 
be  caged  in  a  miserable  cottage — to  be  obliged  to 
toil  almost  in  the  menial  concerns  of  her  wretched 
habitation .'  " 

"  Has  she  then  repined  at  the  change  ?  " 

"  Repined  !  she  has  been  nothing  but  sweetness 
and  good  humour.  Indeed,  she  seems  in  better 
spirits  than  I  have  ever  known  her ;  she  has  been  to 
me  all  love,  and  tenderness,  and  comfort ! " 

"  Admirable  girl ! "  exclaimed  1.  "  You  call  your- 
self poor,  my  friend  ;  you  never  were  so  rich — you 
never  knew  the  boundless  treasures  of  excellence  you 
possessed  in  that  woman." 

"  Oh  !  but  my  friend,  if  this  first  meeting  at  the 
cottage  were  over,  1  think  I  could  then  be  comfort- 
able. But  this  is  her  first  day  of  real  experience : 
she  has  been  introduced  into  an  humble  dwelling — • 
she  has  been  employed  all  day  in  arranging  its  mis- 
erable equipments — she  has  for  the  first  time  known 
the  fatigues  of  domestic  employment — she  has  for 
the  first  time  looked  around  her  on  a  home  destitute 
of  every  thing  elegant — almost  of  every  thing  con- 


8 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


venient ;  and  may  now  be  sitting  clown,  exhausted 
and  spiritless,  brooding  over  a  prospect  of  future 
poverty." 

There  was  a  degree  of  probability  in  this  picture 
that  I  could  not  gainsay,  so  we  walked  on  in  silence. 

After  turning  from  the  main  road,  up  a  narrow 
lane,  so  thickly  shaded  by  forest  trees  as  to  give  it  a 
complete  air  of  seclusion,  we  came  in  sight  of  the 
cottage.  It  was  humble  enough  in  its  appearance 
for  the  most  pastoral  poet ;  and  yet  it  had  a  pleasing 
rural  look.  A  wild  vine  had  overrun  one  end  with  a 
profusion  of  foliage  ;  a  few  trees  threw  their  branches 
gracefully  over  it ;  and  I  observed  several  pots  of 
flowers  tastefully  disposed  about  the  door,  and  on 
the  grass-plot  in  front.  A  small  wicket-gate  opened 
upon  a  footpath  that  wound  through  some  shrubbery 
to  the  door.  Just  as  we  approached,  we  heard  the 
sound  of  music — Leslie  grasped  my  arm  ;  we  paused 
and  listened.  It  was  Mary's  voice,  singing,  in  a  style 
of  the  inost  touching  simplicity,  a  little  air  of  which 
her  husband  was  peculiarly  fond. 

I  felt  Leslie's  hand  tremble  on  my  arm.  He  step- 
ped forward,  to  hear  more  distinctly.  His  step  made 
a  noise  on  the  gravel-walk.  A  bright  beautiful  face 
glanced  out  at  the  window,  and  vanished — a  light 
footstep  was  heard — and  Mary  came  tripping  forth 
to  meet  us.  She  was  in  a  pretty  rural  dress  of 
white  ;  a  few  wild  flowers  were  twisted  in  her  fine 
hair ;  a  fresh  bloom  was  on  her  cheek ;  her  whole 
countenance  beamed  with  smiles — I  had  never  seen 
her  look  so  lovely. 

"  My  dear  George,"  cried  she,  "  I  am  so  glad  you 
are  come ;  I  have  been  watching  and  watching  for 
you ;  and  running  down  the  lane,  and  looking  out 
for  you.  I've  set  out  a  table  under  a  beautiful  tree 
behind  the  cottage ;  and  I've  been  gathering  some 
of  the  most  delicious  strawberries,  for  I  know  you 
are  fond  of  them — and  we  have  such  excellent  cream 
— and  every  thing  is  so  sweet  and  still  here. — Oh  I  " 
said  she,  putting  her  arm  within  his,  and  looking  up 
brightly  in  his  face,  "  Oh,  we  shall  be  so  happy  !  " 

Poor  Leslie  was  overcome. — He  caught  her  to  his 
bosom — he  folded  his  arms  round  her — he  kissed 
her  again  and  again — he  could  not  speak,  but  the 
tears  pushed  into  his  eyes  ;  and  he  has  often  assured 
me,  that  though  the  world  has  since  gone  prosper- 
ously with  him,  and  his  life  has  indeed  been  a  happy 
one,  yet  never  has  he  experienced  a  moment  of  more 
exquisite  felicity. 


established  ;  and  it  is  now  admitted  into  all  historical 
collections,  as  a  book  of  unquestionable  authority. 

The  old  gentleman  died  shorlly  after  the  publica- 
tion of  his  work,  and  now,  th.it  he  is  dead  and  gone, 
it  cannot  do  much  harm  to  his  memory,  to  say,  that 
his  time  might  liave  been  much  better  employed  in 
weisrhder  labours.  He,  however,  was  apt  to  ride  his 
hobby  Ills  own  way  ;  and  though  it  did  now  and  dien 
kick  up  the  dust  a  little  in  the  eyes  of  his  nei^jhbours, 
and  grieve  the  spirit  of  some  friends  for  whom  he  felt 
the  truest  deference  and  affection,  yet  liis  errors  and 
follies  are  remembered  "more  in  sorrow  than  in  an- 
ger," *  and  it  begins  to  te  suspected,  that  lie  never 
intended  to  injure  or  offend.  But  however  his  mem- 
ory may  be  appreciated  by  critics,  it  is  still  held  dear 
among  many  folk,  whose  good  opinion  is  well  worth 
having  ;  particularly  by  certain  biscuit-bakers,  who 
have  gone  so  far  as  to  imprint  his  likeness  on  their 
new-year  cakes,  and  have  thus  given  him  a  chance  for 
immortality,  almost  equal  to  the  being  stamped  on  a 
Waterloo  medal,  or  a  Queen  Anne's  farthing.] 


RIP  VAN  WINKLE. 

A  POSTHU.MOUS  WRITING  OF  DIEDRICH  KNICKER- 
BOCKER. 


[The  'following  Tale  w.as  found  among  the  papers 
of  the  late  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  an  old  gentle- 
man of  Neiv-York,  who  was  very  curious  in  the  Dutch 
History  of  the  province,  and  the  manners  of  the  de- 
scendants from  its  primitive  settlers.  His  historical 
resea.rches,  however,  did  not  lie  so  much  among  books 
as  among  men  ;  for  the  former  are  lamentably  scanty 
on  his  favourite  topics;  whereas  he  found  the  old 
burghers,  and  still  more,  their  wives,  rich  in  that  le- 
gendary lore,  so  invaluable  to  true  history.  When- 
ever, therefore,  he  happened  upon  a  genuine  Dutch 
family,  snugly  shut  up  in  its  low-roofed  farm-house, 
under  a  spreading  sycamore,  he  looked  upon  it  as  a 
little  clasped  volume  of  black-letter,  and  studied  it 
with  the  zeal  of  a  bookworm. 

The  result  of  all  these  researches  was  a  history  of 
the  province,  during  thereign  of  the  Dutch  governors, 
which  he  published  some  years  since.  There  have 
been  various  opinions  as  to  the  literary  character  of 
his  work,  and,  to  tell  the  truth, -it  is  not  a  whit  better 
than  it  should  be.  Its  chief  merit  is  its  scrupulous 
■accuracy,  which,  indeed,  was  a  little  .(juestioned,  on 
its  first  appearance,  but  has  since  been  completely 


By  Woden,  God  of  Saxons, 

From  whence  comes  Wcnsday.  that  is  Wodensday, 

Truth  is  a  thing  that  ever  I  will  keep 

Unto  thyike  day  in  which  I  creep  into 

My  sepulchre — 

Cartwright. 

Whoever  has  made  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson, 
must  remember  the  Kaatskill  mountains.  They  are 
a  dismembered  branch  of  the  great  Appalachian 
family,  and  are  seen  away  to  the  west  of  the  river, 
swelling  up  to  a  noble  height,  and  lording  it  over  the 
surrounding  country.  Every  change  of  season,  every 
change  of  weather,  indeed  every  hour  of  the  day, 
produces  some  change  in  the  magical  hues  antl 
shapes  of  these  mountains ;  and  they  are  regarded 
by  all  the  good  wives,  far  and  near,  as  perfect  ba- 
rometers. When  the  weather  is  fair  and  settled, 
they  are  clothed  in  blue  and  purple,  and  print  their 
bold  outlines  on  the  clear  evening  sky  ;  but  some- 
times, when  the  rest  of  the  landscape  is  cloudless, 
they  will  gather  a  hood  of  gray  vapours  about  their 
summits,  which,  in  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun, 
will  glow  and  light  up  like  a  crown  of  glory. 

At  the  foot  of  these  fairy  mountains,  the  voyager 
may  have  descried  the  light  smoke  curling  up  from 
a  village,  whose  shingle  roofs  gleam  among  the 
trees,  just  where  the  blue  tints  of  the  upland  melt 
away  into  the  fresh  green  of  the  nearer  landscape. 
It  is  a  little  village  of  great  antiquity,  having  been 
founded  by  some  of  the  Dutch  colonists,  in  the  early 
times  of  the  province,  just  about  the  beginning  of 
the  government  of  the  good  Peter  Stuyvesant  (may 
he  rest  in  peace  !)  and  there  were  some  of  the  houses 
of  the  original  settlers  standing  within  a  few  years, 
built  of  sinall  yellow  bricks  brought  froin  Holland, 
having  latticed  windows  and  gable  fronts,  surmounted 
with  weathercocks. 

In  that  same  village,  and  in  one  of  these  very 
houses  (which,  to  tell  the  precise  truth,  was  sadly 
time-worn  and  weather-beaten),  there  lived  many 
years  since,  while  the  country  was  jet  a  province  of 
Great  Britain,  a  simple,  good-natured  fellow,  of  the 
name  of  Rip  Van  Winkle.  He  was  a  descendant  of 
the  Van  Winkles  who  figured  so  gallantly  in  the 


*  Vide  the  excellent  discourse  of  0.  C.  Verplanck,  Esq.,  before 
the  New-York  Historical  Society. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


chivalrous  days  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  and  accom- 
panied him  to  the  siege  of  fort  Christina.  He  in- 
herited, however,  but  little  of  the  martial  character 
of  his  ancestors.  I  have  observed  that  he  was  a 
simple  good-natured  man  ;  he  was  moreover  a  kind 
neighbour,  and  an  obedient  henpecked  husband. 
Indeed,  to  the  latter  circumstance  might  be  owing 
that  meekness  of  spirit  which  gained  him  such  uni- 
versal popularity  ;  for  those  men  are  most  apt  to  be 
obsequious  and  conciliating  abroad,  who  are  under 
the  discipline  of  shrews  at  home.  Their  tempers, 
doubtless,  are  rendered  pliant  and  malleable  in  the 
fiery  furiiace  of  domestic  tribulation,  and  a  curtain 
lecture  is  worth  all  the  sermons  in  the  world  for 
teaching  the  virtues  of  patience  and  long-suffering. 
A  termagant  wife  may,  therefore,  in  some  respects, 
be  considered  a  tolerable  blessing ;  and  if  so,  Rip 
Van  Winkle  was  thrice  blessed. 

Certain  it  is,  that  he  was  a  great  favourite  among 
all  the  good  wives  of  the  village,  who,  as  usual  with 
the  amiable  sex,  took  his  part  in  all  family  squabbles, 
and  never  failed,  whenever  they  talked  those  matters 
over  in  their  evening  gossipings,  to  lay  all  the 
blame  on  Dame  Van  Winkle.  The  children  of  the 
village,  too,  would  shout  with  joy  whenever  he  ap- 
proached. He  assisted  at  their  sports,  made  their 
playthings,  taught  them  to  fly  kites  and  shoot  mar- 
bles, and  told  them  long  stories  of  ghosts,  witches, 
and  Indians.  Whenever  he  went  dodging  about  the 
village,  he  was  surrounded  by  a  troop  of  them  hang- 
ing on  his  skirts,  clambering  on  his  back,  and  play- 
ing a  thousand  tricks  on  him  with  impunity  ;  and 
not  a  dog  would  bark  at  him  throughout  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

The  great  error  in  Rip's  composition  was  an  in- 
superable aversion  to  all  kinds  of  profitable  labour. 
It  could  not  be  from  the  want  of  assiduity  or  perse- 
verance ;  for  he  would  sit  on  a  wet  rock,  with  a  rod 
as  long  and  heavy  as  a  Tartar's  lance,  and  fish  all 
day  without  a  murmur,  even  though  he  should  not 
be  encouraged  by  a  single  nibble.  He  would  carry 
a  fowling-piece  on  his  shoulder,  for  hours  together, 
trudging  through  woods  and  swamps,  and  up  hill 
and  down  dale,  to  shoot  a    few   squirrels  or  wild 

Cigeons.  He  vvould  never  refuse  to  assist  a  neigh- 
our  even  in  the  roughest  toil,  and  was  a  foremost 
man  at  all  country  frolics  for  husking  Indian  corn, 
or  building  stone  fences.  The  women  of  the  village, 
too,  used  to  employ  him  to  run  their  errands,  and  to 
do  such  little  odd  jobs  as  their  less  obliging  hus- 
bands would  not  do  for  them  ; — in  a  word.  Rip  was 
ready  to  attend  to  any  body's  business  but  his  own  ; 
but  as  to  doing  family  duty,  and  keeping  his  farm  in 
order,  he  found  it  impossible. 

In  fact,  he  declared  it  was  of  no  use  to  work  on 
his  farm ;  it  was  the  most  pestilent  little  piece  of 
ground  in  the  whole  country  ;  every  thing  about  it 
went  wrong,  and  would  go  wrong  in  spite  of  him. 
His  fences  were  continually  falling  to  pieces  ;  his 
cow  would  either  go  astray,  or  get  among  the  cab- 
bages ;  weeds  were  sure  to  grow  quicker  in  his 
fields  than  any  where  else  ;  the  rain  always  made  a 
point  of  setting  in  just  as  he  had  some  out -door 
Avork  to  do  ;  so  that  though  his  patrimonial  estate 
had  dwindled  away  under  his  management,  acre  by 
acre,  until  there  was  little  more  left  than  a  mere 
patch  of  Indian  corn  and  potatoes,  yet  it  was  the 
worst  conditioned  farm  in  the  neighbourhood. 

His  children,  too,  were  as  ragged  and  wild  as  if 
they  belonged  to  nobody.  His  son  Rip,  an  urchin 
begotten  in  his  own  likeness,  promised  to  inherit  the 
habits,  with  the  old  clothes  of  his  father.  He  was 
generally  seen  trooping  like  a  colt  at  his  mother's 
heels,  equipped  in  a  pair  of  his  father's  cast-off  galli- 
gaskins, which  he  had  much  ado  to  hold  up  with 


one  hand,  as  a  fine  lady  does  her  train  in  bad 
weather. 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  however,  was  one  of  those  happy 
mortals,  of  foolish,  well-oiled  dispositions,  who  take 
the  world  easy,  eat  white  bread  or  brown,  whichever 
can  be  got  with  least  thought  or  trouble,  and  would 
rather  starve  on  a  penny  than  work  for  a  pound.  If 
left  to  himself,  he  would  have  whistled  life  away,  in 
perfect  contentment ;  but  his  wife  kept  continually 
dinning  in  his  ears  about  his  idleness,  his  careless- 
ness, and  the  ruin  he  was  bringing  on  his  family. 

Morning,  noon,  and  night,  her  tongue  was  inces- 
santly going,  and  every  thing  he  said  or  did  was  sure 
to  produce  a  torrent  of  household  eloquence.  Rip 
had  but  one  way  of  replying  to  all  lectures  of  the 
kind,  and  that,  by  frequent  use,  had  grown  into  a 
habit.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  shook  his  head, 
cast  up  his  eyes,  but  said  nothing.  This,  however, 
always  provoked  a  fresh  volley  from  his  wife,  so  that 
he  was  fain  to  draw  off  his  forces,  and  take  to  the 
outside  of  the  house — the  only  side  which,  in  truth, 
belongs  to  a  henpecked  husband. 

Rip's  sole  domestic  adherent  was  his  dog  Wolf, 
who  was  as  much  henpecked  as  his  master ;  for 
Dame  Van  Winkle  regarded  them  as  companions 
in  idleness,  and  even  looked  upon  Wolf  with  an  evil 
eye.  as  the  cause  of  his  master's  going  so  often 
astray.  True  it  is.  in  all  points  of  spirit  befitting  an 
honourable  dog,  he  was  as  courageous  an  animal  as 
ever  scoured  the  woods — but  what  courage  can  with- 
stand the  ever-during  and  all-besetting  terrors  of  a 
woman's  tongue  ?  'The  moment  Wolf  entered  the 
house,  his  crest  fell,  his  tail  drooped  to  the  ground, 
or  curled  between  his  legs,  he  sneaked  about  with  a 
gallows  air,  casting  many  a  sidelong  glance  at  Dame 
■C^an  Winkle,  and  at  the  least  flourish  of  a  broomstick 
or  ladle,  he  would  fly  to  the  door  with  yelping  pre- 
cipitation. 

Times  grew  worse  and  worse  with  Rip  Van  Win- 
kle, as  years  of  matrimony  rolled  on  :  a  tart  temper 
never  mellows  with  age,  and  a  sharp  tongue  is  the 
only  edge  tool  that  grow"  keener  with  constant  use. 
For  a  long  while  he  used  to  console  himself,  when 
driven  from  home,  by  frequenting  a  kind  of  perpetual 
club  of  the  sages,  philosophers,  and  other  idle  per- 
sonages of  the  village,  which  held  its  sessions  on  a 
bench  before  a  small  inn,  designated  by  a  rubicund 
portrait  of  his  majesty  George  the  Third.  Here  they 
used  to  sit  in  the  shade,  of  a  long  lazy  summer's  day, 
talking  listlessly  over  village  gossip,  or  telling  endless 
sleepy  stories  about  nothing.  But  it  would  have  been 
worth  any  statesman's  money  to  have  heard  the  pro- 
found discussions  which  sometimes  took  place,  when 
by  chance  an  old  newspaper  fell  into  their  hands, 
from  some  passing  traveller.  How  solemnly  they 
would  listen  to  the  contents,  as  drawled  out  by  Der- 
rick Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster,  a  dapper  learned 
little  man,  who  was  not  to  be  daunted  by  the  most 
gigantic  word  in  the  dictionary ;  and  how  sagely  they 
would  deliberate  upon  public  events  some  months 
after  they  had  taken  place. 

The  opinions  of  this  junto  were  completely  con- 
trolled by  Nicholas  Vedder,  a  patriarch  of  the  village, 
and  landlord  of  the  inn,  at  the  door  of  which  he  took 
his  seat  from  morning  till  night,  just  moving  suffi- 
ciently to  avoid  the  sun,  and  keep  in  the  shade  of  a 
large  tree  ;  so  that  the  neighbours  could  tell  the  hour 
by  his  movements  as  accurately  as  by  a  sun-dial.  It 
is  true,  he  was  rarely  heard  to  speak,  but  smoked 
his  pipe  incessantly.  His  adherents,  however,  (for 
every  great  man  has  his  adherents,)  perfectly  under- 
stood him,  and  knew  how  to  gather  his  opinions. 
When  any  thing  that  was  read  or  related  displeased 
him,  he  was  observed  to  smoke  his  pipe  vehemently, 
and  to  send  forth  short,  frequent,  and  angry  puffs  ; 


10 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


but  when  pleased,  he  would  inhale  the  smoke  slowly 
and  tranquilly,  and  emit  it  in  light  and  placid  clouds, 
and  sometimes  taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and 
letting  the  fragrant  vapour  curl  about  his  nose,  would 
^avely  nod  his  head  in  token  of  perfect  approbation. 

From  even  this  strong  hold  the  unlucky  Rip  was 
at  length  routed  by  his  termagant  wife,  who  would 
suddenly  break  in  upon  the  tranquillity  of  the  assem- 
blage, and  call  the  members  all  to  nought ;  nor  was 
that  august  personage,  Nicholas  Vedder  himself, 
sacred  Irom  the  daring  tongue  of  this  terrible  virago, 
who  charged  him  outright  with  encouraging  her  hus- 
band in  habits  of  idleness. 

Poor  Rip  was  at  last  reduced  almost  to  despair, 
and  his  only  alternative  to  escape  from  the  labour  of 
the  farm  and  the  clamour  of  his  wife,  was  to  take 
gun  in  hand,  and  stroll  away  into  the  woods.  Here 
he  would  sometimes  seat  himself  at  the  foot  of  a  tree, 
and  share  the  contents  of  his  wallet  with  Wolf,  with 
whom  he  sympathized  as  a  fellow-sufferer  in  persecu- 
tion. "  Poor  Wolf,"  he  would  say, "  thy  mistress  leads 
thee  a  dog's  life  of  it ;  but  never  mind,  my  lad, 
whilst  I  live  thou  shall  never  want  a  friend  to  stand 
by  thee  !  "  Wolf  would  wag  his  tail,  look  wistfully 
in  his  master's  face,  and  if  dogs  can  feel  pity,  I  verily 
believe  he  reciprocated  the  sentiment  with  all  his 
heart. 

In  a  long  ramble  of  the  kind,  on  a  fine  autumnal 
day,  Rip  had  unconsciously  scrambled  to  one  of  the 
highest  parts  of  the  Kaatskill  mountains.  He  was 
after  his  favourite  sport  of  squirrel-shooting,  and  the 
still  solitudes  had  echoed  and  re-echoed  with  the  re- 
ports of  his  gun.  Panting  and  fatigued,  he  threw 
himself,  late  in  the  afternoon,  on  a  green  knoll  cov- 
ered with  mountain  herbage,  that  crowned  the  brow 
of  a  precipice.  From  an  opening  between  the  trees, 
he  could  overlook  all  the  lower  country  for  many  a 
mile  of  rich  woodland.  He  saw  at  a  distance  the 
lordly  Hudson,  far,  far  below  him,  moving  on  its 
silent  but  majestic  course,  with  the  reflection  of  a 
purple  cloud,  or  the  sail  of  a  lagging  bark,  here  and 
there  sleeping  on  its  glassy  bosom,  and  at  last  losing 
itself  in  the  blue  highlands. 

On  the  other  side  he  locked  down  into  a  deep 
mountain  glen,  wild,  lonely,  and  shagged,  the  bottom 
filled  with  fragments  from  the  impending  cliffs,  and 
scarcely  lighted  by  the  reflected  rays  of  the  setting 
sun.  For  some  time  Rip  lay  musing  on  this  scene  ; 
evening  was  gradually  advancing ;  the  mountains 
began  to  throw  their  long  blue  shadows  over  the 
valleys ;  he  saw  that  it  would  be  dark  long  before  he 
could  reach  the  village ;  and  he  heaved  a  heavy  sigh 
when  he  thought  ot  encountering  the  terrors  of  Dame 
Van  Winkle. 

As  he  was  about  to  descend  he  heard  a  voice  from 
a  distance  hallooing,  "  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  Rip  Van 
Winkle  !  "  He  looked  around,  but  could  see  noth- 
ing but  a  crow  winging  its  solitary  flight  across  the 
mountain.  He  thought  his  fancy  must  have  de- 
ceived him,  and  turned  again  to  descend,  when  he 
heard  the  same  cry  ring  through  the  still  evening 
air,  "  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  " — at  the 
same  time  Wolf  bristled  up  his  back,  and  giving  a 
low  growl,  skulked  to  his  master's  side,  looking  fear- 
fully down  into  the  glen.  Rip  now  felt  a  vague  ap- 
prehension stealing  over  him :  he  looked  anxiously 
in  the  same  direction,  and  perceived  a  strange  figure 
slowly  toiling  up  the  rocks,  and  bending  under  the 
weight  of  something  he  carried  on  his  back.  He 
was  surprised  to  see  any  human  being  in  this  lonely 
and  unfrequented  place,  but  supposing  it  to  be  some 
one  of  the  neighbourhood  in  need  of  his  assistance, 
he  hastened  down  to  yield  it. 

On  nearer  approach,  he  was  still  more  surprised  at 
the  singularity  of  the  stranger's  appearance.    He 


was  a  short  square-built  old  fellow,  with  thick  bushy 
hair,  and  a  grizzled  beard.  His  dress  was  of  the 
antique  Dutch  fashion  —  a  cloth  jerkin  strapped 
round  the  waist — several  pair  of  breeches,  the  outer 
one  of  ample  volume,  decorated  with  rows  of  but- 
tons down  the  sides,  and  bunches  at  the  knees.  He 
bore  on  his  shoulders  a  stout  keg,  that  seemed  full 
of  liquor,  and  made  signs  for  Rip  to  approach  and 
assist  him  with  the  load.  Though  rather  shy  and  dis- 
trustful of  this  new  acquaintance.  Rip  complied  with 
his  usual  alacrity,  and  mutually  relieving  each  other, 
they  clambered  up  a  narrow  gully,  apparently  the  dry 
bed  of  a  mountain  torrent.  As  they  ascended,  Rip 
every  now  and  then  heard  long  rolling  peals,  like  dis- 
tant thunder,  that  seemed  to  issue  out  of  a  deep  ravine, 
or  rather  cleft  between  lofty  rocks,  toward  which  their 
rugged  path  conducted.  He  paused  for  an  instant, 
but  supposing  it  to  be  the  muttering  of  one  of  those 
transient  thunder-showers  which  often  take  place  in 
mountain  heights,  he  proceeded.  Passing  through 
the  ravine,  they  came  to  a  hollow,  like  a  small  am- 
phitheatre, surrounded  by  perpendicular  precipices, 
over  the  brinks  of  which,  impending  trees  shot  their 
branches,  so  that  you  only  caught  glimpses  of  the 
azure  sky,  and  the  bright  evening  cloud.  During  the 
whole  time.  Rip  and  his  companion  had  laboured  on 
in  silence ;  for  though  the  former  marvelled  greatly 
what  could  be  the  object  of  carrying  a  keg  of  liquor 
up  this  wild  mountain,  yet  there  was  something 
strange  and  incomprehensible  about  the  unknown, 
that  inspired  awe,  and  checked  familiarity. 

On  entering  the  amphitheatre,  new  objects  of  won- 
der presented  themselves.  On  a  level  spot  in  the 
centre  was  a  company  of  odd  looking  personages 
playing  at  nine-pins.  They  were  dressed  in  a  quaint 
outlandish  fashion:  some  wore  short  doublets,  others 
jerkins,  with  long  knives  in  their  belts,  and  most  of 
them  had  enormous  breeches,  of  similar  st^lewith 
that  of  the  guide's.  Their  visages,  too,  were  pe- 
culiar :  one  had  a  large  head,  broad  face,  and 
small  piggish  eyes ;  the  face  of  another  seemed  to 
consist  entirely  of  nose,  and  was  surmounted  by  a 
white  sugar-loaf  hat,  set  off  with  a  little  red  cock's 
tail.  They  all  had  beards,  of  various  shapes  and 
colours.  'There  was  one  who  seemed  to  be  the 
commander.  He  was  a  stout  old  gentleman,  with  a 
weather  -  beaten  countenance  ;  he  wore  a  laced 
doublet,  broad  belt  and  hanger,  high-crowned  hat 
and  feather,  red  stockings,  and  high-heeled  shoes, 
with  roses  in  them.  The  whole  group  reminded 
Rip  of  the  figures  in  an  old  Flemish  painting,  in  the 
parlour  of  Dominie  Van  Schaick,  the  village  parson, 
and  which  had  been  brought  over  from  Holland  at 
the  time  of  the  settlement. 

What  seemed  particularly  odd  to  Rip,  was,  that 
though  these  folks  were  evidently  amusing  them- 
selves, yet  they  maintained  the  gravest  faces,  the 
most  mysterious  silence,  and  were,  withal,  the  most 
melancholy  party  of  pleasure  he  had  ever  v.  itnessed. 
Nothing  interrupted  the  stillness  of  the  scene  but 
the  noise  of  the  balls,  which,  whenever  they  were 
rolled,  echoed  along  the  mountains  like  rumbling 
peals  of  thunder. 

As  Rip  and  his  companion  approached  them,  they 
suddenly  desisted  from  their  play,  and  stared  at  him 
with  such  a  fixed  statue-like  gaze,  and  such  strange, 
uncouth,  lack-lustre  countenances,  that  his  heart 
turned  within  him,  and  his  knees  smote  together. 
His  companion  now  emptied  the  contents  of  the 
keg  into  large  flagons,  and  made  signs  to  him  to 
wait  upon  the  company.  He  obeyed  with  fear  and 
trembling ;  they  quaffed  the  liquor  in  profound  si- 
lence, and  then  returned  to  their  game. 

By  degrees.  Rip's  awe  and  apprehension  sub- 
sided.    He  even  ventured,  when  no  eye  was  fixed 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY  CRAYON,   Gent. 


11 


upon  him,  to  taste  the  beverage,  which  he  found  had 
much  of  the  flavour  of  excellent  Hollands.  He  was 
naturally  a  thirsty  soul,  and  was  soon  tempted  to  re- 
peat the  draught.  One  taste  provoked  another,  and 
he  reiterated  his  visits  to  the  llagon  so  often,  that  at 
length  his  senses  were  overpowered,  his  eyes  swam 
in  his  head,  his  head  gradually  declined,  and  he  fell 
into  a  deep  sleep. 

On  waking,  he  found  himself  on  the  green  knoll 
from  whence  he  had  first  seen  the  old  man  of  the 
glen.  He  rubbed  his  eyes — it  was  a  bright  sunny 
morning.  The  birds  were  hopping  and  twittering 
among  the  bushes,  and  the  eagle  was  wheeling  alott, 
and  breasting  the  pure  mountain  breeze.  "  Surely," 
thought  Rip,  "  I  have  not  slept  here  all  night."  He 
recalled  the  occurrences  before  he  fell  asleep.  The 
strange  man  with  the  keg  of  liquor — the  mountain 
ravine — the  wild  retreat  among  the  rocks — the  wo- 
begone  party  at  nine-pins — the  flagon — "  Oh  !  that 
wicked  flagon  !  "  thought  Rip — "  what  excuse  shall 
I  make  to  Dame  Van  Winkle  ?  " 

He  looked  round  for  his  gun,  but  in  place  of  the 
clean  well-oiled  fowling-piece,  he  found  an  old  fire- 
lock lying  by  him,  the  barrel  encrusted  with  rust,  the 
lock  falling  off,  and  the  stock  worm-eaten.  He  now 
suspected  that  the  grave  roysters  of  the  mountain 
had  put  a  trick  upon  him,  and  having  dosed  him 
with  liquor,  had  robbed  him  of  his  gun.  Wolf,  too, 
had  disappeared,  but  he  might  have  strayed  away 
after  a  squirrel  or  partridge.  He  whistled  after  him, 
and  shouted  his  name,  but  all  in  vain ;  the  echoes 
repeated  his  whistle  and  shout,  but  no  dog  was  to 
be  seen. 

He  determined  to  revisit  the  scene  of  the  last 
evening's  gambol,  and  if  he  met  with  any  of  the 
party,  to  demand  his  dog  and  gun.  As  he  rose  to 
walk,  he  found  himself  stiff  in  the  joints,  and  want- 
ing in  his  usual  activity.  "  These  inountain  beds  do 
not  agree  with  me,"  thought  Rip,  "and  if  this  frolic 
should  lay  me  up  with  a  fit  of  the  rheumatism,  I 
shall  have  a  blessed  time  with  Uame  Van  Winkle." 
With  some  difticulty  he  got  down  into  the  glen  ;  he 
found  the  gully  up  which  he  and  his  companion  had 
ascended  the  preceding  evening ;  but  to  his  aston- 
ishment a  mountain  stream  was  now  foaming  down 
it,  leaping  from  rock  to  rock,  and  filling  the  glen 
with  babbling  murmurs.  He,  however,  made  shift 
to  scramble  up  its  sides,  working  his  toilsome  way 
through  thickets  of  birch,  sassafras,  and  witch- 
hazel  ;  and  sometimes  tripped  up  or  entangled  by 
the  wild  grape  vines  that  twisted  their  coils  and  ten- 
drils from  tree  to  tree,  and  spread  a  kind  of  network 
in  his  path. 

At  length  he  reached  to  where  the  ravine  had 
opened  through  the  cliffs  to  the  amphitheatre ;  but 
no  traces  of  such  opening  remained.  The  rocks 
presented  a  high  impenetrable  wall,  over  which  the 
torrent  came  tumbling  in  a  sheet  of  feathery  foam, 
and  fell  into  a  broad  deep  basin,  black  from  the 
shadows  of  the  surrounding  forest.  Here,  then, 
pocr  Rip  was  brought  to  a  stand.  He  again  cafled 
and  whistled  after  his  dog  ;  he  was  only  answered 
by  the  cawing  of  a  flock  of  idle  crows,  sporting  high 
in  air  about  a  dry  tree  that  overhung  a  sunny  preci- 
pice ;  and  who,  secure  in  their  elevation,  seemed  to 
look  down  and  scoff  at  the  poor  inan's  perplexities. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  The  morning  was  passing 
away,  and  Rip  felt  famished  for  want  of  his  break- 
fast. He  grieved  to  give  up  his  dog  and  gun ;  he 
dreaded  to  meet  his  wife ;  but  it  would  not  do  to 
starve  among  the  mountains.  He  shook  his  head, 
shouldered  the  rusty  firelock,  and,  with  a  heart  full 
of  trouble  and  anxiety,  turned  his  steps  homeward. 

As  he  approached  the  village,  he  met  a  number  of 
people,  but  none  whom  he  knew,  which  somewhat 


surprised  him,  for  he  had  thought  himself  acquainted 
with  every  one  in  the  country  round.  Their  dress, 
too,  was  of  a  different  fashion  from  that  to  which  he 
was  accustomed.  They  all  stared  at  him  with  equal 
marks  of  surprise,  and  whenever  they  cast  eyes  upon 
him,  invariably  stroked  their  chins.  The  constant 
recurrence  of  this  gesture,  induced  Rip,  involunta- 
rily, to  do  the  same,  when,  to  his  astonishment,  he 
found  his  beard  had  grown  a  foot  long  ! 

He  had  now  entered  the  skirts  of  the  village.  A 
troop  of  strange  children  ran  at  his  heels,  hooting 
after  him,  and  pointing  at  his  gray  beard.  The 
dogs,  too,  not  one  of  which  he  recognised  for  an  old 
acquaintance,  barked  at  him  as  he  passed.  The 
very  village  was  altered  :  it  was  larger  and  more 
populous.  There  were  rows  of  houses  which  he  had 
never  seen  before,  and  those  which  had  been  his 
familiar  haunts  had  disappeared.  Strange  names 
were  over  the  doors — strange  faqes  at  the  windows 
—every  thing  was  strange.  His  mind  now  misgave 
him ;  he  began  to  doubt  whether  both  he  and  the 
world  around  him  were  not  bewitched.  Surely  this 
was  his  native  village,  which  he  had  left  but  a  day 
before.  There  stood  the  Kaatskill  mountains — there 
ran  the  silver  Hudson  at  a  distance — there  was  ev- 
ery hill  and  dale  precisely  as  it  had  always  been — 
Rip  was  sorely  perplexed — "  That  flagon  last  night," 
thought  he,  "  has  addled  my  poor  head  sadly  !  " 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  found  the  way 
to  his  own  house,  which  he  approached  with  silent 
awe,  expecting  every  moment  to  hear  the  shrill  voice 
of  Dame  Van  Winkle.  He  found  the  house  gone  to 
decay — the  roof  fallen  in,  the  windows  shattered, 
and  the  doors  off  the  hinges.  A  half-starved  dog, 
that  looked  like  Wolf,  was  skulking  about  it.  Rip 
called  him  by  naine,  but  the  cur  snarled,  showed 
his  teeth,  and  passed  on.  This  was  an  unkind  cut 
indeed. — "  My  very  dog,"  sighed  poor  Rip,  "  has 
forgotten  me  ! " 

He  entered  the  house,  which,  to  tell  the  truth. 
Dame  Van  Winkle  had  always  kept  in  neat  order. 
It  was  einpty,  forlorn,  and  apparently  abandoned. 
This  desolateness  overcame  all  his  connubial  fears — 
he  called  loudly  for  his  wife  and  children — the  lonely 
chambers  rang  for  a  moment  with  his  voice,  and 
then  all  again  was  silence. 

He  now  hurried  forth,  and  hastened  to  his  old 
resort,  the  village  inn — but  it  too  was  gone.  A  large 
rickety  wooden  building  stood  in  its  place,  with  great 
gaping  windows,  some  of  them  broken,  and  mended 
with  old  hats  and  petticoats,  and  over  the  door  was 
painted,  "The  Union  Hotel,  by  Jonathan  Doolittle." 
Instead  of  the  great  tree  that  used  to  shelter  the 
quiet  little  Dutch  inn  of  yore,  there  now  was  reared 
a  tall  naked  pole,  with  something  on  the  top  that 
looked  like  a  red  night-cap,  and  from  it  was  flutter- 
ing a  flag,  on  which  was  a  singular  assemblage  of 
stars  and  stripes — all  this  was  strange  and  incom- 
prehensible. He  recognised  on  the  sign,  however, 
the  ruby  face  of  King  George,  under  which  he  had 
smoked  so  many  a  peaceful  pipe,  but  even  this 
was  singularly  metamorphosed.  The  red  coat  was 
changed  for  one  of  blue  and  buff,  a  sword  was  held 
in  the  hand  instead  of  a  sceptre,  the  head  was  deco- 
rated with  a  cocked  hat,  and  underneath  was  paint- 
ed in  large  characters.  General  Washington. 

There  was,  as  usual,  a  crowd  of  folk  about  the 
door,  but  none  that  Rip  recollected.  The  very  char- 
acter of  the  people  seemed  changed.  There  was  a 
busy,  bustling,  disputatious  tone  about  it,  instead  of 
the  accustomed  phlegm  and  drowsy  tranquillity.  He 
looked  in  vain  for  the  sage  Nicholas  Vedder,  with 
his  broad  face,  double  chin,  and  fair  long  pipe,  utter- 
ing clouds  of  tobacco  smoke,  instead  of  idle  speech- 
es ;  or  Van  Bummel,  the  schoolmaster,  doling  forth 


12 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  contents  of  an  ancient  newspaper.  In  place  of 
these,  a  lean  bilious-looking  fellow,  with  his  pockets 
full  of  handbills,  was  haranguing  vehemently  about 
rights  of  citizens — election — members  of  Congress — 
liberty — Bunker's  hill — heroes  of  seventy-six — and 
other  words,  that  were  a  perfect  Babylonish  jargon 
to  the  bewildered  Van  Winkle. 

The  appearance  of  Rip,  with  his  long,  grizzled 
beard,  his  rusty  fowling-piece,  his  uncouth  dress,  and 
the  army  of  women  and  children  that  had  gathered 
a:  his  heels,  soon  attracted  the  attention  of  the  tav- 
ern politicians.  They  crowded  round  him,  eyeing 
him  from  head  to  foot,  with  great  curiosity.  The 
orator  bustled  up  to  him,  and  drawing  him  partly 
aside,  inquired,  "  on  which  side  he  voted  ?  "  Rip 
stared  in  vacant  stupidity.  Another  short  but  busy 
little  fellow  pulled  him  by  the  arm,  and  rising  on 
tiptoe,  inquired  in  his  ear,  '•  whether  he  was  Federal 
or  Democrat."  Rip  was  equally  at  a  loss  to  com- 
prehend the  question ;  when  a  knowing,  self-im- 
portant old  gentleman,  in  a  sharp  cocked  hat,  made 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  putting  them  to  the 
right  and  left  with  his  elbows  as  he  passed,  and 
planting  himself  before  Van  Winkle,  with  one  arm 
a-kimbo,  the  other  resting  on  his  cane,  his  keen  eyes 
and  sharp  hat  penetrating,  as  it  were,  into  his  very 
soul,  demanded  in  an  austere  tone,  "  what  brought 
him  to  the  election  with  a  gun  on  his  shoulder,  and 
a  mob  at  his  heels,  and  whether  he  meant  to  breed 
a  riot  in  the  village  ?  " 

"  Alas !  gentlemen,"  cried  Rip,  somewhat  dis- 
mayed, "  I  am  a  poor,  quiet  man,  a  native  of  the 
place,  and  a  loyal  subject  of  the  King,  God  bless 
him  I  " 

Here  a  general  shout  burst  from  the  bystanders — 
"  a  tory  !  a  tory  !  a  spy !  a  refugee  !  hustle  him  ! 
away  with  him  !  " 

It  was  with  great  difficulty  that  the  self-important 
man  in  the  cocked  hat  restored  order ;  and  having 
assumed  a  tenfold  austerity  of  brow,  demanded 
again  of  the  unknown  culprit,  what  he  came  there 
for,  and  whom  he  was  seeking.  The  poor  man 
humbly  assured  him  that  he  meant  no  harm,  but 
merely  came  there  in  search  of  some  of  his  neigh- 
bours, who  used  to  keep  about  the  tavern. 

"  Well — who  are  they.' — name  them." 

Rip  bethought  himself  a  moment,  and  inquired, 
"Where's  Nicholas  Vedder?  " 

There  was  a  silence  for  a  little  while,  when  an  old 
man  replied,  in  a  thin,  piping  voice,  "  Nicholas  Ved- 
der .'  why,  he  is  dead  and  gone  these  eighteen  years  ! 
There  was  a  wooden  tomb-stone  in  the  church-yard 
that  used  to  tell  all  about  him,  but  that's  rotten  and 
gone  too." 

"  Where's  Brom  Dutcher  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  went  off  to  the  army  in  the  beginning  of 
the  war;  some  say  he  was  killed  at  the  storming  of 
Stony-Point — others  say  he  was  drowned  in  the 
squall,  at  the  foot  of  Antony's  Nose.  I  don't  know 
— he  never  came  back  again." 

"  Where's  Van  Hummel,  the  schoolmaster  ?  " 

"  He  went  off  to  the  wars,  too  ;  was  a  great  militia 
general,  and  is  now  in  Congress." 

Rip's  heart  died  away,  at  hearing  of  these  sad 
changes  in  his  home  and  friends,  and  finding  him- 
self thus  alone  in  the  world.  Every  answer  puzzled 
him,  too,  by  treating  of  such  enormous  lapses  of 
time,  and  of  matters  which  he  could  not  understand  : 
war — Congress — Stony-Point  1 — he  had  no  courage 
to  ask  after  any  more  friends,  but  cried  out  in  despair, 
"  Does  nobody  here  know  Rip  Van  Winkle?  " 

"  Oh,  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  "  exclaimed  two  or  three. 
"Oh,  to  be  sure!  that's  Rip  Van  Winkle  yonder, 
leaning  against  the  tree." 

Rip  looked,  and  beheld  a  precise  counterpart  of 


himself  as  he  went  up  the  mountain  ;  apparently  as 
lazy,  and  certainly  as  ragged.  The  poor  fellow  was 
now  completely  confounded.  He  doubted  his  own 
identity,  and  whether  he  was  himself  or  another 
man.  In  the  midst  of  his  bewilderment,  the  man  in 
the  cocked  hat  demanded  who  he  was,  and  what 
was  his  name  ? 

"  God  knows,"  exclaimed  he  at  his  wit's  end  ; 
"  I'm  not  myself — I'm  somebody  else — that's  me 
yonder — no — that's  somebody  else,  got  into  my 
shoes — I  was  myself  last  night,  but  I  fell  asleep  on 
the  mountain,  and  they've  changed  my  gun,  and 
every  thing's  changed,  and  I'm  changed,  and  1  can't 
tell  what's  my  name,  or  who  I  am  !  " 

The  by-standers  began  now  to  look  at  each  other, 
nod,  wink  significantly,  and  tap  their  fingers  against 
their  foreheads.  There  was  a  whisper,  also,  about 
securing  the  gun,  and  keeping  the  old  fellow  from 
doing  mischief;  at  the  very  suggestion  of  which,  the 
self-important  man  with  the  cocked  hat  retired  with 
some  precipitation.  At  this  critical  moment  a  fresh 
comely  woman  passed  through  the  throng  to  get  a 
peep  at  the  gray-bearded  man.  She  had  a  chubby 
child  in  her  arms,  which,  frightened  at  his  looks, 
began  to  cry.  "Hush,  Rip,"  cried  she,  "hush,  you 
little  fool ;  the  old  man  won't  hurt  you."  The  name 
of  the  child,  the  air  of  the  mother,  the  tone  of  her 
voice,  all  awakened  a  train  of  recollections  in  his 
mind. 

"  What  is  your  name,  my  good  woman  ?  "  asked 
he. 

"Judith  Gardenier." 

"  And  your  father's  name  ?  " 

"  Ah,  poor  man,  his  name  was  Rip  Van  Winkle ; 
it's  twenty  j'ears  since  he  went  away  from  home  with 
his  gun,  and  never  has  been  heard  of  since — his  dog 
came  home  without  him  ;  but  whether  he  shot  him- 
self, or  was  carried  away  by  the  Indians,  nobody  can 
tell.     I  was  then  but  a  little  girl." 

Rip  had  but  one  question  more  to  ask  ;  but  he  put 
it  with  a  faltering  voice  : 

"  Where's  your  mother .'  " 

Oh,  she  too  had  died  but  a  short  time  since  :  she 
broke  a  blood-vessel  in  a  fit  of  passion  at  a  New- 
England  pedlar. 

There  was  a  drop  of  comfort,  at  least,  in  this  in- 
telligence. The  honest  man  could  contain  himself 
no  longer.  He  caughc  his  daughter  and  her  child  in 
his  arms.  "  I  am  your  father  !  "  cried  he — "  Young 
Rip  Van  Winkle  once — old  Rip  Van  Winkle  now  ! 
— Does  nobody  know  poor  Rip  Van  Winkle  !  " 

All  stood  amazed,  until  an  old  woman,  tottering 
out  from  among  the  crowd,  put  her  hand  to  her 
brow,  and  peering  under  it  in  his  face  for  a  moment, 
exclaimed,  "  Sure  enough  !  it  is  Rip  Van  Winkle — 
it  is  himself.  Welconie  home  again,  old  neighbour 
— Why,  where  have  you  been  these  twenty  long 
years  ?  " 

Rip's  story  was  soon  told,  for  the  whole  twenty 
years  had  been  to  him  but  as  one  night.  The  neigh- 
bours stared  when  they  heard  it ;  some  were  seerr  to 
wink  at  each  other,  and  put  their  tongues  in  their 
cheeks ;  and  the  self-important  man  in  the  cocked 
hat,  who,  when  the  alarm  was  over,  had  returned  to 
the  field,  screwed  down  the  corners  of  his  mouth, 
and  shook  his  head — upon  which  there  was  a  general 
shaking  of  the  head  throughout  the  assemblage. 

It  was  determined,  however,  to  take  the  opinion 
of  old  Peter  Vanderdonk,  who  was  seen  slowly  ad- 
vancing up  the  road.  He  was  a  descendant  of  the 
historian  of  that  name,  who  wrote  one  of  the  earliest 
accounts  of  the  province.  Peter  was  the  most  an- 
cient inhabitant  of  the  village,  and  well  versed  in  all 
the  wonderful  events  and  traditions  of  the  neighbour- 
hood.   He  recollected  Rip  at  once,  and  corroborated 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK  OF    GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


18 


his  story  in  the  most  satisfactory  manner.  He  as- 
sured the  company  that  it  was  a  fact,  handed  down 
from  his  ancestor  the  historian,  that  the  Kaatskill 
mountains  liad  always  been  haunted  by  strange  be- 
ings. That  it  was  affirmed  that  the  great  Hendricli 
Hudson,  the  first  discoverer  of  the  river  and  country, 
kept  a  kind  of  vigil  there  every  twenty  years,  with  his 
crew  of  the  Half-moon,  being  permitted  in  this  way 
to  revisit  the  scenes  of  his  enterprise,  and  keep  a 
guardian  eye  upon  the  river  and  the  great  city  called 
by  his  name.  That  his  father  had  once  seen  them 
in  their  old  Dutch  dresses  playing  at  nine-pins  in  a 
hollow  of  the  mountain ;  and  that  he  himself  had 
heard,  one  summer  afternoon,  the  sound  of  their 
balls,  like  distant  peals  of  thunder. 

To  make  a  long  story  short,  the  company  broke 
up,  and  returned  to  the  more  important  concerns  of 
the  election.  Rip's  daughter  took  him  home  to  live 
with  her ;  she  had  a  snug,  well-furnished  house,  and 
a  stout  cherry  farmer  for  a  husband,  whom  Rip  rec- 
ollected for  one  of  the  urchins  that  used  to  climb 
upon  his  back.  As  to  Rip's  son  and  heir,  who  was 
the  ditto  of  himself,  seen  leaning  against  the  tree,  he 
was  employed  to  work  on  the  farm  ;  but  evinced  a 
hereditary  disposition  to  attend  to  any  thing  else  but 
his  business. 

Rip  now  resumed  his  old  walks  and  habits ;  he 
soon  found  many  of  his  former  cronies,  though  .all 
rather  the  worse  for  the  wear  and  tear  of  time  ;  and 
preferred  making  friends  among  the  rising  genera- 
lion,  with  whom  he  soon  grew  into  great  favour. 

Having  nothing  to  do  at  home,  and  being  arrived 
at  that  happy  age  when  a  man  can  do  nothing  with 
impunity,  he  took  his  place  once  more  on  the  bench, 
at  the  inn  door,  and  was  reverenced  as  one  of  the 
patriarchs  of  the  village,  and  a  chronicle  of  the  old 
times  "before  the  war."  It  was  some  time  before 
he  could  get  into  the  regular  track  of  gossip,  or  could 
be  made  to  comprehend  the  strange  events  that  had 
taken  place  during  his  torpor.  How  that  there  had 
been  a  revolutionary  war  —  that  the  country  had 
thrown  off  the  yoke  of  old  England— and  that,  in- 
stead of  being  a  subject  of  his  majesty  George  the 
Third,  he  was  now  a  free  citizen  of  the  United  States. 
Rip,  in  fact,  was  no  politician  ;  the  changes  of  states 
and  empires  made  but  little  impression  on  him  ;  but 
there  was  one  species  of  despotism  under  which  he 
had  long  groaned,  and  that  was — petticoat  govern- 
rricnt.  Happily,  that  was  at  an  end ;  he  had  got  his 
neck  out  of  the  yoke  of  matrimony,  and  could  go  in 
and  out  whenever  he  pleased,  without  dreading  the 
tyranny  of  Dame  Van  Winkle.  Whenever  her  name 
was  mentioned,  however,  he  shook  his  head,  shrug- 
ged his  shoulders,  and  cast  up  his  eyes  ;  which  might 
pass  either  for  an  expression  of  resignation  to  his 
fate,  or  joy  at  his  deliverance. 

He  used  to  tell  his  story  to  every  stranger  that  ar- 
rived at  Mr.  Doolittle's  hotel.  He  was  observed,  at 
first,  to  vary  on  some  points  every  time  he  told  it, 
which  was  doubtless  owing  to  his  having  so  recently 
awaked.  It  at  jast  settled  down  precisely  to  the  tale 
I  have  related,  and  not  a  man,  woman,  or  child  in 
the  neighbourhood,  but  knew  it  by  heart.  Some  al- 
ways pretended  to  doubt  the  reality  of  it,  and  insisted 
that  Rip  had  been  out  of  his  head,  and  that  this  was 
one  point  on  which  he  always  remained  flighty.  The 
old  Dutch  inhabitants,  however,  almost  universally 
gave  it  full  credit.  Even  to  this  day,  they  never  hear 
a  thunder-storm  of  a  summer  afternoon  about  the 
Kaatskill,  but  they  say  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his 
crew  are  at  their  game  of  nine-pins  ;  and  it  is  a  com- 
mon wish  of  all  henpecked  husbands  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, when  life  hangs  heavy  on  their  hands,  that 
they  might  have  a  quieting  draught  out  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle's  flagon. 


Note. — The  foregoing  tale,  one  would  suspect,  h.id  been  sug- 
gested to  Mr.  Knickerbocker  by  a  little  German  superstition  about 
the  Emperor  Frederick  der  Rothbart  and  the  Kypphauser  moun- 
tain; the  subjoined  note,  however,  which  he  had  appended  to  tlie 
tale,  shows  that  it  is  an  absolute  fact,  narrated  with  his  usual 
fidelity. 


\^ 


'  Tqe  story  of  Rip  Van  Winkle  may  seem  incredible  to  manjfj 
but  nevertheless  I  give  it  my  fuU  belief,  for  I  know  the  vicinity  of 
our  old  Dntch  settlements  to  have  been  very  subject  to  marvellous 
events  and  appearances.  Indeed,  I  have  heard  many  straneer 
stories  than  this,  in  the  villages  along  the  Hudson;  all  of  which 
were  too  well  authenticated  to  admit  ofa  doubt,  I  have  even  talked 
with  Kip  Van  Winkle  myself,  who.  when  last  I  saw  him.  was  a  very 
venerable  old  man.  and  so  perfectly  rational  and  consistent  on  every 
other  point,  that  I  think  no  conscientious  person  could  refuse  to 
take  this  into  the  bargain  ;  nay,  I  have  seen  a  certificate  on  the 
subject  taken  before  a  country  justice,  and  signed  with  a  cross,  in 
the  justice's  own  handwriting.  The  story,  therefore,  is  beyond 
the  possibility  of  doubt." 


ENGLISH  WRITERS  ON  AMERICA. 


"  Methinks  I  see  in  my  mind  a  noble  puissant  nation,  rousing 
herself  like  a  strong  man  after  sleep,  and  shaking  her  invincible 
locks;  methinks  I  see  her  as  an  eagle,  mewine  her  mighty  youth, 
and  kindling  her  endazzled  eyes  at  the  full  mid-day  beam.  ' 

MlLTO.V   ON  THE    LIBERTY   OF  THE  PRESS. 

It  is  with  feelings  of  deep  regret  that  I  observe  the 
literary  animosity  daily  growing  up  between  England 
and  America.  Great  curiosity  has  been  awakened 
of  late  with  respect  to  the  United  States,  and  the 
London  press  has  teemed  with  volumes  of  travels 
through  the  Republic ;  but  they  seem  intended  to 
diffuse  error  rather  than  knowledge  ;  and  so  success- 
ful have  they  been,  that,  notwithstanding  the  con- 
stant intercourse  between  the  nations,  there  is  no 
people  concerning  whom  the  great  mass  of  the  Brit- 
ish public  have  less  pure  information,  or  entertain 
more  numerous  prejudices. 

English  travellers  are  the  best  and  the  worst  in 
the  world.  Where  no  motives  of  pride  or  interest 
intervene,  none  can  equal  them  for  profound  and 
philosophical  views  of  society,  or  faithful  and  graph- 
ical descriptions  of  external  objects ;  but  when  either 
the  interest  or  reputation  of  their  own  country  comes 
in  collision  with  that  of  another,  they  go  to  the  op- 
posite e.xtreme,  and  forget  their  usual  probity  and 
candour,  in  the  indulgence  of  splenetic  remark,  and 
an  illiberal  spirit  of  ridicule. 

Hence,  their  travels  are  more  honest  and  accurate, 
the  more  remote  the  country  described.  I  would 
place  implicit  confidence  in  an  Englishman's  descrip- 
tion of  the  regions  beyond  the  cataracts  of  the  Nile ; 
of  unknown  islands  in  the  Yellow  Sea ;  of  the  inte- 
rior of  India;  or  of  any  other  tract  which  other 
travellers  might  be  apt  to  picture  out  with  the  illu- 
sions of  their  fancies.  But  I  would  cautiously  receive 
his  account  of  his  immediate  neighbours,  and  of  those 
nations  with  which  he  is  in  habits  of  most  frequent 
intercourse.  However  I  might  be  disposed  to  trust 
his  probity,  I  dare  not  trust  his  prejudices. 

It  has  also  been  the  peculiar  lot  of  our  country  to 
be  visited  by  the  worst  kind  of  English  travellers. 
While  men  of  philosophical  spirit  and  cultivated 
minds  have  been  sent  from  England  to  ransack  the 
poles,  to  penetrate  the  deserts,  and  to  study  the  man- 
ners and  customs  of  barbarous  nations,  with  which 
she  can  have  no  permanent  intercourse  of  profit  or 
pleasure  ;  it  has  been  left  to  the  broken-down  trades- 
man, the  scheming  adventurer,  the  wandering  me- 
chanic, the  Manchester  and  Birmingham  agent,  to 
be  her  oracles  respecting  America.  From  such 
sources  she  is  content  to  receive  her  information  re- 
specting a  country  in  a  singular  state  of  moral  and 
physical  develope'ment ;  a  country  in  which  one  of 
the  greatest  political  experiments  ia  the  history  of 
the  world  is  now  performing,  and  which  presents  the 


u 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


most  profound  and  momentous  studies  to  the  states- 
man and  the  philosopher. 

That  such  men  should  give  prejudiced  accounts  of 
America,  is  not  a  matter  of  surprise.  The  themes  it 
offers  for  contemplation,  are  too  vast  and  elevated 
for  their  capacities.  The  national  character  is  yet 
in  a  state  of  fermentation :  it  may  have  its  frothiness 
and  sediment,  but  its  ingredients  are  sound  and 
wholesome:  it  has  already  given  proofs  of  powerful 
and  generous  qualities;  and  the  whole  promises  to 
settle  down  into  something  substantially  excellent. 
But  the  causes  which  are  operating  to  strengthen 
and  ennoble  it,  and  its  daily  indications  of  admirable 
properties,  are  all  lost  upon  these  purblind  observers ; 
who  are  only  affected  by  the  little  asperities  incident 
to  its  present  situation.  They  are  capable  of  judging 
only  of  the  surface  of  things ;  of  those  matters  which 
come  in  contact  with  their  private  interests  and  per- 
sonal gratifications.  They  miss  some  of  the  snug 
conveniences  and  petty  comforts  which  belong  to  an 
old,  highly-finished,  and  over-populous  state  of  so- 
ciety ;  where  the  ranks  of  useful  labour  are  crowded, 
and  many  earn  a  painful  and  servile  subsistence,  by 
studying  the  very  caprices  of  appetite  and  self-indul- 
gence. These  minor  comforts,  however,  are  all-im- 
portant in  the  estimation  of  narrow  minds  ;  which 
either  do  not  perceive,  or  will  not  acknowledge,  that 
they  are  more  than  counterbalanced  among  us,  by 
great  and  gensrally  diffused  blessings. 

They  may,  perhaps,  have  been  disappointed  in 
5ome  unreasonable  expectation  of  sudden  gain.  They 
may  have  pictured  America  to  themselves  an  El  Do- 
rado, where  gold  and  silver  abounded,  and  the  na- 
tives were  lacking  in  sagacity ;  and  where  they  were 
to  become  strangely  and  suddenly  rich,  in  some  un- 
foreseen but  easy  manner.  The  same  weakness  of 
mind  that  indulges  absurd  expectations,  produces 
petulance  in  disappointment.  Such  persons  become 
embittered  against  the  country  on  finding  that  there, 
as  every  where  else,  a  man  must  sow  before  he  can 
reap;  must  win  wealth  by  industry  and  talent ;  and 
must  contend  with  the  common  difficulties  of  nature, 
and  the  shrewdness  of  an  intelligent  and  enterpris- 
ing people. 

Perhaps,  through  mistaken  or  ill-directed  hospi- 
tality, or  from  the  prompt  disposition  to  cheer  and 
countenance  the  stranger,  prevalent  among  my  coun- 
trymen, they  may  have  been  treated  with  unwonted 
respect  in  America;  and,  having  been  accustomed 
all  their  lives  to  consider  themselves  below  the  sur- 
face of  good  society,  and  brought  up  in  a  servile 
feeling  of  inferiority,  they  become  arrogant  on  the 
common  boon  of  civility;  they  attribute  to  the  low- 
liness of  others  their  own  elevation ;  and  underrate 
a  society  where  there  are  no  artificial  distinctions, 
and  where  by  any  chance,  such  individuals  as  them- 
selves can  rise  to  consequence. 

One  would  suppose,  however,  that  information 
coming  from  such  sources,  on  a  subject  where  the 
truth  is  so  desirable,  would  be  received  with  caution 
by  the  censors  of  the  press ;  that  the  motives  of  these 
men,  their  veracity,  their  opportunities  of  inquiry  and 
observation,  and  their  capacities  for  judging  correctly, 
would  be  rigorously  scrutinized,  before  their  evidence 
was  admitted,  in  such  sweeping  extent,  against  a 
kindred  nation.  The  very  reverse,  however,  is  the 
case,  and  it  furnishes  a  striking  instance  of  human 
inconsistency.  Nothing  can  surpass  the  vigilance 
with  which  English  critics  will  examine  the  credibil- 
ity of  the  traveller  who  publishes  an  account  of  some 
distant,  and  comparatively  unimportant,  country. 
How  warily  will  they  compare  the  measurements  of 
a  pyramid,  or  the  description  of  a  ruin;  and  how 
sternly  will  they  censure  any  inaccuracy  in  these  con- 
tributions of  merely  curious  knowledge  ;  while  they 


will  receive,  with  eagerness  and  unhesitating  faith, 
the  gross  misrepresentations  of  coarse  and  obscure 
writers,  concerning  a  country  with  which  their  own 
is  placed  in  the  most  important  and  delicate  relations. 
Nay,  they  will  even  make  these  apocryphal  volumes 
text-books,  on  which  to  enlarge,  with  a  zeal  and  an 
ability  worthy  of  a  more  generous  cause. 

I  shall  not,  however,  dwell  on  this  irksome  and 
hackneyed  topic ;  nor  should  I  have  adverted  to  it, 
but  for  the  undue  interest  apparently  taken  in  it  by 
my  countrymen,  and  certain  injurious  effects  which 
I  apprehend  it  might  produce  upon  the  national  feel- 
ing. We  attach  too  much  consequence  to  these  at- 
tacks. They  cannot  do  us  any  essential  injury. 
The  tissue  of  misrepresentations  attempted  to  be 
woven  round  us,  are  like  cobwebs  woven  round  the 
limbs  of  an  infant  giant.  Our  country  continually 
outgrows  them.  One  falsehood  after  another  falls 
off  of  itself  We  have  but  to  live  on,  and  every  day 
we  live  a  whole  volume  of  refutation.  All  the  writers 
of  England  united,  if  we  could  for  a  moment  sup- 
pose their  great  minds  stooping  to  so  unworthy  a 
combination,  could  not  conceal  our  rapidly  growing 
importance  and  matchless  prosperity.  They  could 
not  conceal  that  these  are  owing,  not  merely  to  phys- 
ical and  local,  but  also  to  moral  causes  ; — to  the  po- 
litical liberty,  the  general  diffusion  of  knowledge, 
the  prevalence  of  sound,  moral,  and  religious  prin- 
ciples, which  give  force  and  sustained  energy  to  the 
character  of  a  people  ;  and  which,  in  fact,  have  been 
the  acknowledged  and  wonderful  supporters  of  their 
own  national  power  and  glory. 

But  why  are  we  so  exquisitely  alive  to  the  asper- 
sions of  England?  Why  do  we  suffer  ourselves' to 
be  so  affected  by  the  contumely  she  has  endeavoured 
to  cast  upon  us?  It  is  not  in  the  opinion  of  En- 
gland alone  that  honour  lives,  and  reputation  has  its 
being.  The  world  at  large  is  the  arbiter  of  a  na- 
tion's fame :  with  its  thousand  eyes  it  witnesses  a 
nation's  deeds,  and  from  their  collective  testimony 
is  national  glory  or  national  disgrace  established. 

For  ourselves,  therefore,  it  is  comparatively  of  but 
little  importance  whether  England  does  us  justice  or 
not ;  it  is,  perhaps,  of  far  more  importance  to  her- 
self. She  is  instilling  anger  and  resentment  into  the 
bosom  of  a  youthful  nation,  to  grow  with  its  growth, 
and  strengthen  with  its  strength.  If  in  America,  as 
some  of  her  writers  are  labouring  to  convince  her, 
she  is  hereafter  to  find  an  invidious  rival,  and  a 
gigantic  foe,  she  may  thank  those  very  writers  for 
having  provoked  rivalship,  and  irritated  hostility. 
Every  one  knows  the  all-pervading  influence  of  litera- 
ture at  the  present  day,  and  how  much  the  opinions 
and  passions  of  mankind  are  under  its  control.  The 
mere  contests  of  the  sword  are  temporary  ;  their 
wounds  are  but  in  the  flesh,  and  it  is  the  pride  of 
the  generous  to  forgive  and  forget  them ;  but  the 
slanders  of  the  pen  pierce  to  the  heart ;  they  rankle 
longest  in  the  noblest  spirits  ;  they  dwell  ever  pres- 
ent in  the  mind,  and  render  it  morbidly  sensitive  to 
the  most  trifling  collision.  It  is  but  seldom  that  any 
one  overt  act  produces  hostilities  between  two  na- 
tions ;  there  exists,  most  commonly,  a  previous  jeal- 
ousy and  ill-will,  a  predisposition  to  take  offence. 
Trace  these  to  their  cause,  and  how  often  will  they 
be  found  to  originate  in  the  mischievous  effusions  of 
mercenary  writers  ;  who,  secure  in  their  closets,  and 
for  ignominious  bread,  concoct  and  circulate  the 
venom  that  is  to  inflame  the  generous  and  the 
brave. 

I  am  not  laying  too  much  stress  upon  this  point ; 
for  it  applies  most  emphatically  to  our  particular 
case.  Over  no  nation  does  the  press  hold  a  more 
absolute  control  than  over  the  people  of  America ; 
for  the  universal  education  of  the  poorest  classes 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


16 


makes  every  individual  a  reader.  There  is  nothing 
published  in  England  on  the  subject  of  our  coun- 
tr)',  that  does  not  circulate  through  every  part  of  it. 
There  is  not  a  calumny  dropt  from  an  English  pen, 
nor  an  unworthy  sarcasm  uttered  by  an  English 
statesman,  that  does  not  go  to  blight  good-will,  and 
add  to  the  mass  of  latent  resentment.  Possessing, 
then,  as  England  does,  the  fountain-head  from 
whence  the  literature  of  the  language  flows,  how 
completely  is  it  in  her  power,  and  how  truly  is  it  her 
duty,  to  make  it  the  medium  of  amiable  and  mag- 
nanimous feeling — a  stream  where  the  two  nations 
might  meet  together,  and  drink  in  peace  and  kind- 
ness. Should  she,  however,  persist  in  turning  it  to 
waters  of  bitterness,  the  time  may  come  when  she 
may  repent  her  folly.  The  present  friendship  of 
America  may  be  of  but  little  moment  to  her ;  but 
the  future  destinies  of  that  country  do  not  admit  of 
a  doubt :  over  those  of  England,  there  lower  some 
shadows  of  uncertainty.  Should,  then,  a  day  of 
gloom  arrive — should  those  reverses  overtake  her, 
from  which  the  proudest  empires  have  not  been  ex- 
empt— she  may  look  back  with  regret  at  her  infatu- 
ation, in  repulsing  from  her  side  a  nation  she  might 
have  grappled  to  her  bosom,  and  thus  destroying 
her  only  chance  for  real  friendship  beyond  the 
boundaries  of  her  own  dominions. 

There  is  a  general  impression  in  England,  that 
the  people  of  the  United  States  are  inimical  to  the 

Carent  countr)-.  It  is  one  of  the  errors  which  has 
een  diligently  propagated  by  designing  writers. 
There  is,  doubtless,  considerable  political  hostility, 
and  a  general  soreness  at  the  illiberality  of  the  En- 
glish press ;  but,  collectively  speaking,  the  prepos- 
sessions of  the  people  are  strongly  in  favour  of  En- 
gland. Indeed,  at  one  time  they  amounted,  in  many 
parts  of  the  Union,  to  an  absurd  degree  of  bigotry. 
The  bare  name  of  Englishman  was  a  passport  to 
the  confidence  and  hospitality  of  every  family,  and 
too  often  gave  a  transient  currency  to  the  worthless 
and  the  ungrateful.  Throughout  the  country,  there 
was  somethingof  enthusiasm  connected  with  the  idea 
of  England.  We  looked  to  it  with  a  hallowed  feeling 
of  tenderness  and  veneration,  as  the  land  of  our 
forefathers— the  august  repository  of  the  monuments 
and  antiquities  ol  our  race— the  birth-place  and 
mausoleum  of  the  sages  and  heroes  of  our  paternal 
histor}'.  Alter  our  own  country,  there  was  none  in 
whose  glory  we  more  delighted — none  whose  good 
opinion  we  were  more  anxious  to  possess — none  to- 
ward which  our  hearts  yearned  with  such  throbbings 
of  warm  consanguinity.  Even  during  the  late  war, 
whenever  there  was  the  least  opportunity  for  kind 
feelings  to  spring  forth,  it  was  the  delight  of  the 
generous  spirits  of  our  country  to  show,  that  in  the 
midst  of  hostilities,  they  still  kept  alive  the  sparks  of 
future  friendship. 

Is  all  this  to  be  at  an  end  ?  Is  this  golden  band 
of  kindred  sympathies,  so  rare  between  nations,  to 
be  broken  forever? — Perhaps  it  is  for  the  best — it 
may  dispel  an  allusion  which  might  have  kept  us  in 
mental  vassalage ;  which  might  have  interfered  oc- 
casionally with  our  true  interests,  and  prevented  the 
growth  of  proper  national  pride.  But  it  is  hard  to 
give  up  the  kindred  tie  !— and  there  are  feelings 
dearer  than  interest— closer  to  the  heart  than  pride — 
that  will  still  make  us  cast  back  a  look  of  regret  as 
we  wander  farther  and  farther  from  tlie  paternal 
roof,  and  lament  the  waywardness  of  the  parent 
that  would  repel  the  affections  of  the  child. 

Short-sighted  and  injudicious,  however,  as  the 
conduct  of  England  may  be  in  this  system  of  asper- 
sion, recrimination  on  our  part  would  be  equally  ill- 
judged.  1  speak  not  of  a  prompt  and  spirited  vin- 
dication of  our  country,  or  the  keenest  castigation 


of  her  slanderers — but  I  allude  to  a  disposition  to 
retaliate  in  kind,  to  retort  sarcasm  and  inspire  pre- 
judice, which  seems  to  be  spreading  widely  among 
our  writers.  Let  us  guard  particularly  against  such 
a  temper;  for  it  would  double  the  evil,  instead  of 
redressing  the  wrong.  Nothing  is  so  easy  and  in- 
viting as  the  retort  of  abuse  and  sarcasm  ;  but  it  is 
a  paltry  and  unprofitable  contest.  It  is  the  alterna- 
tive of  a  morbid  mind,  fretted  into  petulance,  rather 
than  warmed  into  indignation.  If  England  is  will- 
ing to  permit  the  mean  jealousies  of  trade,  or  the 
rancorous  animosities  of  politics,  to  deprave  the  in- 
tegrity of  her  press,  and  poison  the  fountain  of 
public  opinion,  let  us  beware  of  her  example.  She 
may  deem  it  her  interest  to  diffuse  error,  and  en- 
gender antipathy,  for  the  purpose  of  checking  emi- 
gration ;  we  have  no  purpose  of  the  kind  to  serve. 
Neither  have  we  any  spirit  of  national  jealousy  to 
gratify ;  for  as  yet,  in  all  our  rivalships  with  England, 
we  are  the  rising  and  the  gaining  party.  There  can 
be  no  end  to  answer,  therefore,  but  the  gratification 
of  resentment — a  mere  spirit  of  retaliation ;  and 
even  that  is  impotent.  Our  retorts  are  never  repub- 
lished in  England  ;  they  fall  short,  therefore,  of  their 
aim  ;  but  they  foster  a  querulous  and  peevish  temper 
among  our  writers  ;  they  sour  the  sweet  flow  of  our 
early  literature,  and  sow  thorns  and  brambles  among 
its  blossoms.  What  is  still  worse,  they  circulate 
through  our  own  country,  ^nd,  as  far  as  they  have 
effect,  excite  virulent  national  prejudices.  This  last 
is  the  evil  most  especially  to  be  deprecated.  Gov- 
erned, as  we  are,  entirely  by  public  opinion,  the 
utmost  care  should  be  taken  to  preserve  the  purity 
of  the  public  mind.  Knowledge  is  power,  and  truth 
is  knowledge  ;  whoever,  therefore,  knowingly  propa- 
gates a  prejudice,  wilfully  saps  the  foundation  of  his 
country's  strength. 

The  members  of  a  republic,  above  all  other  men, 
should  be  candid  and  dispassionate.  They  are,  in- 
dividually, portions  of  the  sovereign  mind  and  sov- 
ereign will,  and  should  be  enabled  to  come  to  all 
questions  of  national  concern  with  calm  and  un- 
biassed judgments.  From  the  peculiar  nature  of  our 
relations  with  England,  we  must  have  more  frequent 
questions  of  a  ditficult  and  delicate  character  with 
her,  than  with  any  other  nation ;  questions  that 
affect  the  most  acute  and  excitable  feelings :  and  as, 
in  the  adjusting  of  these,  our  national  measures 
must  ultimately  be  determined  by  popular  sentiment, 
we  cannot  be  too  anxiously  attentive  to  purify  it 
from  all  latent  passion  or  prepossession. 

Opening  too,  as  we  do,  an  asylum  for  strangers 
from  every  portion  of  the  earth,  we  should  receive 
all  with  impartiality.  It  should  be  our  pride  to  ex- 
hibit an  example  of  one  nation,  at  least,  destitute  of 
national  antipathies,  and  exercising,  not  merely  the 
overt  acts  of  hospitality,  but  those  more  rare  and 
noble  courtesies  which  spring  from  liberality  of 
opinion. 

What  have  we  to  do  with  national  prejudices? 
They  are  the  inveterate  diseases  of  old  countries, 
contracted  in  rude  and  ignorant  ages,  when  nations 
knew  but  little  of  each  other,  and  looked  beyond 
their  own  boundaries  with  distrust  and  hostility. 
We,  on  the  contrary,  have  sprung  into  national  ex- 
istence in  an  enlightened  and  philosophic  age,  when 
the  different  parts  of  the  habitable  world,  and  the 
various  branches  of  the  human  family,  have  been 
indcfatigably  studied  and  made  known  to  each  other ; 
and  we  forego  the  advantages  of  our  birth,  if  we  do 
not  shake  off  the  national  prejudices,  as  we  would 
the  local  superstitions,  of  the  old  world. 

But  above  ail,  let  us  not  be  influenced  by  any 
angry  feelings,  so  far  as  to  shut  our  eyes  to  the  per- 
ception of  what  is  really  excellent  and  amiable  in 


16 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  Enijlish  character.  We  are  a  young  people, 
necessarily  an  imitative  one,  and  must  talce  our  ex- 
amples and  models,  in  a  great  degree,  from  the  ex- 
isting nations  of  Europe.  There  is  no  country  more 
worthy  of  our  study  than  England.  The  spirit  of 
her  constitution  is  most  analogous  to  ours.  The 
manners  of  her  people — their  intellectual  activity — 
their  freedom  of  opinion — their  habits  of  thinking 
on  those  subjects  which  concern  the  dearest  inter- 
ests and  most  sacred  charities  of  private  life,  are  all 
congenial  to  the  American  character;  and,  in  fact, 
are  ail  intrinsically  excellent :  for  it  is  in  the  moral 
feeling  of  the  people  that  the  deep  foundations  of 
British  prosperity  are  laid  ;  and  however  the  super- 
structure may  be  time-worn,  or  overrun  by  abuses, 
there  niust  be  something  solid  in  the  basis,  admira- 
ble in  the  materials,  and  stable  in  the  structure  of 
an  edifice  that  so  long  has  towered  unshaken  amidst 
the  tempests  of  the  world. 

Let  it  be  the  pride  of  our  writers,  therefore,  dis- 
carding all  feelings  of  irritation,  and  disdaining  to 
retaliate  the  illiberality  of  British  authors,  to  speak 
of  the  English  nation  without  prejudice,  and  with 
determined  candour.  While  they  rebuke  the  indis- 
criminating  bigotry  with  which  some  of  our  country- 
men admire  and  imitate  every  thing  English,  merely 
because  it  is  English,  let  them  frankly  point  out 
what  is  really  worthy  of  approbation.  We  may  thus 
place  England  before  us  as  a  perpetual  volume  of  ref- 
erence, wherein  are  recorded  sound  deductions  from 
ages  of  experience ;  and  while  we  avoid  the  errors 
and  absurdities  which  may  have  crept  into  the  page, 
we  may  draw  thence  golden  maxims  of  practical 
wisdom,  wherewith  to  strengthen  and  to  embellish 
our  national  character. 


RURAL  LIFE  IN  ENGLAND. 


Oh  !  friendly  to  the  best  pursuits  of  man. 
Friendly  to  thought,  to  virtue,  and  to  peace, 
Domestic  life  in  rural  pleasures  past  ! 

COWPER. 

The  stranger  who  would  form  a  correct  opinion 
of  the  English  character,  must  not  confine  his  ob- 
servations to  the  metrOpoUs.  He  must  go  forth  into 
the  country ;  he  must  sojourn  in  villages  and  ham  - 
lets ;  he  must  visit  castles,  villas,  farm-houses,  cot- 
tages ;  he  must  wander  through  parks  and  gardens  ; 
along  hedges  and  green  lanes  ;  he  must  loiter  about 
country  churches  ;  attend  wakes  and  fairs,  and  other 
rural  festivals ;  and  cope  with  the  people  in  all  their 
conditions,  and  all  their  habits  and  humours. 

In  some  countries,  the  large  cities  absorb  the 
wealth  and  fashion  of  the  nation  ;  they  are  the  only 
fixed  abodes  of  elegant  and  intelligent  society,  and 
the  country  is  inhabited  almost  entirely  by  boorish 
peasantry.  In  England,  on  the  contrary,  the  metrop- 
olis is  a  mere  gathering  place,  or  general  rendez- 
vous, of  the  polite  classes,  where  they  devote  a  small 
portion  of  the  year  to  a  hurry  of  gayety  and  dissipa- 
tion, and  having  indulged  this  kind  of  carnival,  re- 
turn again  to  the  apparently  more  congenial  habits 
of  rural  life.  The  various  orders  of  society  are 
therefore  diffused  over  the  whole  surface  of  tlie  king- 
dom, and  the  most  retired  neighbourhoods  afford 
specimens  of  the  different  ranks. 

The  English,  in  fact,  are  strongly  gifted  with  the 
rural  feeling.  They  possess  a  quick  sensibility  to 
the  beauties  of  nature,  and  a  keen  relish  for  the 
pleasures  and  employments  of  the  country.  This 
passion  seems  inherent  in  them.     Even  the  inhabit- 


ants of  cities,  bom  and  brought  up  among  brick 
walls  and  bustling  streets,  enter  wilh  facility  into 
rural  habits,  and  evince  a  tact  for  rural  occupation. 
The  merchant  has  his  snug  retreat  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  metropolis,  where  he  often  displays  as  much 
pride  and  zeal  in  the  cultivation  of  his  flower-garden, 
and  the  maturing  of  his  fruits,  as  he  does  in  the  con- 
duct of  his  business,  and  the  success  of  a  commer- 
cial enterprise.  Even  those  less  fortunate  indi- 
viduals, who  are  doomed  to  pass  their  lives  in  the 
midst  of  din  and  traffic,  contrive  to  have  something 
that  shall  remind  them  of  the  green  aspect  of  nature. 
In  the  most  dark  and  dingy  quarters  of  the  city,  the 
drawing-room  window  resembles  frequently  a  bank 
of  flowers  ;  every  spot  capable  of  vegetation  has  its 
grass-plot  and  flower-bed ;  and  every  square  its 
mimic  park,  laid  out  with  picturesque  taste,  and 
gleaming  with  refreshing  verdure. 

Those  who  see  the  Englishman  only  in  town,  are 
apt  to  form  an  unfavourable  opinion  of  his  social 
character.  He  is  either  absorbed  in  business,  or 
distracted  by  the  thousand  engagements  that  dis- 
sipate time,  thought,  and  feeling,  in  this  huge  me- 
tropolis. He  has,  therefore,  too  commonly,  a  look 
of  hurr)'  and  abstraction.  Wherever  he  happens  to 
be,  he  is  on  the  point  of  going  somewhere  else  ;  at 
the  moment  he  is  talking  on  one  subject,  his  mind  is 
wandering  to  another ;  and  while  paying  a  friendly 
visit,  he  is  calculating  how  he  shall  economize  time 
so  as  to  pay  the  other  visits  allotted  to  the  morning. 
An  immense  metropolis,  like  London,  is  calculated 
to  make  men  selfish  and  uninteresting.  In  their 
casual  and  transient  meetings,  they  can  but  deal 
briefly  in  commonplaces.  They  present  but  the 
cold  superficies  of  character — its  rich  and  genial 
qualities  have  no  time  to  be  warmed  into  a  flow. 

It  is  in  the  country  that  the  Englishman  gives 
scope  to  his  natural  feelings.  He  breaks  loose 
gladly  from  the  cold  formalities  and  negative  civili- 
ties of  town  ;  throws  off  his  habits  of  shy  reserve, 
and  becomes  joyous  and  free-hearted.  He  manages 
to  collect  round  him  all  the  conveniencies  and  ele- 
gancies of  polite  life,  and  to  banish  its  restraints. 
His  country-seat  abounds  with  every  requisite,  either 
for  studious  retirement,  tasteful  gratification,  or  rural 
exercise.  Books,  paintings,  music,  horses,  dogs, 
and  sporting  implements  of  all  kinds,  are  at  hand. 
He  puts  no  constraint,  either  upon  his  guests  or 
himself,  but,  in  the  true  spirit  of  hospitality,  pro- 
vides the  means  of  enjoyment,  and  leaves  every  one 
to  partake  according  to  his  inclination. 

The  taste  of  the  English  in  the  cultivation  of  land, 
and  in  what  is  called  landscape  gardening,  is  un- 
rivalled. They  have  studied  Nature  intently,  and 
discovered  an  exquisite  sense  of  her  beautiful  forms 
and  harmonious  combinations.  Those  charms  which, 
in  other  countries,  she  lavishes  in  wild  solitudes, 
are  here  assembled  round  the  haunts  of  domestic 
life.  They  seem  to  have  caught  her  coy  and  fur- 
tive graces,  and  spread  them,  like  witchery,  about 
their  rural  abodes. 

Nothing  can  be  more  imposing  than  the  magnifi- 
cence of  English  park  scenery.  Vast  lawns  that  ex- 
tend like  sheets  of  vivid  green,  with  here  and  there 
clumps  of  gigantic  trees,  heaping  up  rich  piles  of 
foliage.  The  solemn  pomp  of  groves  and  woodland 
glades,  with  the  deer  trooping  in  silent  herds  across 
them  ;  the  hare,  bounding  away  to  the  covert ;  or 
the  pheasant,  suddenly  bursting  upon  the  wing.  The 
brook,  taught  to  wind  in  natural  meanderings,  or 
expand  into  a  glassy  lake — the  sequestered  pool,  re- 
flecting the  quivering  trees,  with  the  yellow  leaf 
sleeping  on  its  bosom,  and  the  trout  roaming  fear- 
lessly about  its  limpid  waters :  while  some  rustic 
temple,  or  sylvan   statue,  grown  green  and   dank 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


17 


with  age,  gives  an  air  of  classic  sanctity  to  tlie 
seclusion. 

These  are  but  a  few  of  the  features  of  park  scenery; 
but  what  most  delights  me,  is  the  creative  talent  with 
which  the  English  decorate  the  unostentatious  abodes 
of  middle  Hfe.  The  nidest  habitation,  the  most  un- 
promising and  scanty  portion  of  land,  in  the  hands 
of  an  Englishman  of  taste,  becomes  a  little  paradise. 
With  a  nicely  discriminating  eye,  he  seizes  at  once 
upon  its  capabilities,  and  pictures  in  his  mind  the 
future  landscape.  The  steril  spot  grows  into  loveli- 
ness under  his  hand  ;  and  yet  the  operations  of  art 
which  produce  the  effect  are  scarcely  to  be  perceived. 
The  cherishing  and  training  of  some  trees  ;  the 
cautious  pruning  of  others  ;  the  nice  distribution  of 
flowers  and  plants  of  tender  and  graceful  foliage ; 
the  introduction  of  a  green  slope  of  velvet  turf ;  the 
partial  opening  to  a  peep  of  blue  distance,  or  silver 
gleam  of  water — all  these  are  managed  with  a  deli- 
cate tact,  a  pervading  yet  quiet  assiduity,  like  the 
magic  touchings  with  which  a  painter  finishes  up  a 
favourite  picture. 

The  residence  of  people  of  fortune  and  refinement 
in  the  country,  has  diffused  a  degree  of  taste  and 
elegance  in  rural  economy,  that  descends  to  the  low- 
est class.  The  very  labourer,  with  his  thatched  cot- 
tage and  narrow  slip  of  ground,  attends  to  their 
embellishment.  The  trim  hedge,  the  grass-plot 
before  the  door,  the  little  flower-bed  bordered  with 
snug  bo.x,  the  woodbine  trained  up  against  the  wall, 
and  hanging  its  blossoms  about  the  lattice  ;  the  pot 
of  flowers  m  the  window  ;  the  holly,  providently 
planted  al3out  the  house,  to  cheat  winter  of  its 
dreariness,  and  to  throw  in  a  semblance  of  green 
summer  to  cheer  the  fireside : — all  these  bespeak  the 
influence  of  taste,  flowing  down  from  high  sources, 
and  pervading  the  lowest  levels  of  the  public  mind. 
If  ever  Love,  as  poets  sing,  delights  to  visit  a  cot- 
tage, it  must  be  the  cottage  of  an  EngUsh  peasant. 

The  fondness  for  rural  life  among  the  higher 
classes  of  the  English,  has  had  a  great  and  salutary 
effect  upon  the  national  character.  I  do  not  know 
a  finer  race  of  men  than  the  English  gentlemen. 
Instead  of  the  softness  and  effeminacy  which  char- 
acterize the  men  of  rank  in  most  countries,  they  ex- 
hibit an  union  of  elegance  and  strength,  a  robustness 
of  frame  and  freshness  of  complexion,  which  I  am 
inclined  to  attribute  to  their  living  so  much  in  the 
open  air,  and  pursuing  so  eagerly  the  invigorating 
recreations  of  the  country.  The  hardy  exercises 
produce  also  a  healthful  tone  of  mind  and  spirits, 
and  a  manliness  and  simplicity  of  manners,  which 
even  the  follies  and  dissipations  of  the  town  cannot 
easily  pervert,  and  can  never  entirely  destroy.  In 
the  country,  too,  the  different  orders  of  society  seem 
to  approach  more  freely,  to  be  more  disposed  to 
blend  and  operate  favourably  upon  each  other. 
The  distinctions  between  them  do  not  appear  to  be 
so  marked  and  impassable,  as  in  the  cities.  The 
manner  in  which  property  has  been  distributed  into 
small  estates  and  farms,  has  established  a  regular 
gradation  from  the  noblemen,  through  the  classes 
of  gentry,  small  landed  proprietors,  and  substantial 
farmers,  down  to  the  labouring  peasantry ;  and 
whi!e  it  has  thus  banded  the  extremes  of  society  to- 
gether, has  infused  into  each  intermediate  rank  a 
spirit  of  independence.  This,  it  must  be  confessed, 
is  not  so  universally  the  case  at  present  as  it  was 
Jormerly  ;  the  larger  estates  having,  in  late  years  of 
distress,  absorbed  the  smaller,  and,  in  some  parts  of 
the  country,  almost  annihilated  the  sturdy  race  of 
small  farmers.  These,  however,  I  believe,  are  but 
casual  breaks  in  the  general  system  I  have  men- 
tioned. 

In  rural  occupation,  there  is  nothing  mean  and 
2 


debasing.  It  leads  a  man  forth  among  scenes  of 
natural  grandeur  and  beauty ;  it  leaves  him  to  the 
workings  of  his  own  mind,  operated  upon  by  the 
purest  and  most  elevating  of  external  influences. 
Such  a  man  may  be  simple  and  rough,  but  he  can- 
not be  vulgar.  The  man  of  refinement,  therefore, 
finds  nothing  revolting  in  an  intercourse  with  the 
lower  orders  in  rural  life,  as  he  does  when  he  casu- 
ually  mingles  with  the  lower  orders  of  cities.  He 
lays  aside  his  distance  and  reserve,  and  is  glad  to 
waive  the  distinctions  of  rank,  and  to  enter  into  the 
honest,  heart-felt  enjoyments  of  common  life.  In- 
deed, the  very  amusements  of  the  country  bring  men 
more  and  more  together ;  and  the  sound  of  hound 
and  horn  blend  all  feelings  into  harmony.  I  beheve 
this  is  one  great  reason  why  the  nobihty  and  gentry 
are  more  popular  among  the  inferior  orders  in  En- 
gland, than  they  are  in  any  other  country ;  and  why 
the  latter  have  endured  so  many  excessive  pressures 
and  extremities,  without  repining  more  generally  at 
the  unequal  distribution  of  fortune  and  privilege. 

To  this  mingling  of  cultivated  and  rustic  society, 
may  also  be  attributed  the  rural  feeling  that  runs 
through  British  literature ;  the  frequent  use  of  illus- 
trations from  rural  life ;  those  incomparable  descrip- 
tions of  Nature,  that  abound  in  the  British  poets — 
that  have  continued  down  from  "  the  Flower  and 
the  Leaf "  of  Chaucer,  and  have  brought  into  our 
closets  all  the  freshness  and  fragrance  of  the  dewy 
landscape.  The  pastoral  writers  of  other  countries 
appear  as  if  they  had  paid  Nature  an  occasional 
visit,  and  become  acquainted  with  her  general 
charms  ;  but  the  British  poets  have  lived  and  revelled 
with  her — they  have  wooed  her  in  her  most  secret 
haunts — they  have  watched  her  minutest  caprices. 
A  spray  could  not  tremble  in  the  breeze — a  leaf 
could  not  rustle  to  the  ground — a  diamond  drop 
could  not  patter  in  the  stream — a  fragrance  could 
not  exhale  from  the  humble  violet,  nor  a  daisy  un- 
fold its  crimson  tints  to  the  morning,  but  it  has 
been  noticed  by  these  impassioned  and  delicate  ob- 
servers, and  wrought  up  into  some  beautiful  morality. 

The  effect  of  this  devotion  of  elegant  minds  to  ru- 
ral occupations,  has  been  wonderful  on  the  face  of 
the  country.  A  great  part  of  the  island  is  rather 
level,  and  would  be  monotonous,  were  it  not  for  the 
charms  of  culture  ;  but  it  is  studded  and  gemmed, 
as  it  were,  with  castles  and  palaces,  and  embroidered 
with  parks  and  gardens.  It  does  not  abound  in 
grand  and  sublime  prospects,  but  rather  in  little 
home  scenes  of  rural  repose  and  sheltered  quiet. 
Every  antique  farm-house  and  moss-grown  cottage  is 
a  picture ;  and  as  the  roads  are  continually  winding, 
and  the  view  is  shut  in  by  groves  and  hedges,  the 
eye  is  delighted  by  a  continual  succession  of  small 
landscapes  of  captivating  loveliness. 

The  great  charm,  however,  of  English  scenery,  is 
the  moral  feeling  that  seems  to  pervade  it.  It  is  as- 
sociated in  the  mind  with  ideas  of  order,  of  quiet,  of 
sober  well-established  principles,  of  hoary  usage  and 
reverend  custom.  Every  thing  seems  to  be  the  growth 
of  ages  of  regular  and  peaceful  existence.  The  old 
church,  of  remote  architecture,  with  its  low  massive 
portal ;  Us  gotnic  tower ;  its  wmaows,  ricn  witn  tra- 
cer)' and  painted  glass,  in  scrupulous  preservation — 
its  stately  monuments  of  warriors  and  worthies  of  the 
olden  time,  ancestors  of  the  present  lords  of  the  soil 
— its  tombstones,  recording  successive  generations  of 
sturdy  yeomanry,  whose  progeny  still  plough  tho 
same  fields,  and  kneel  at  the  same  altar — the  parson- 
age, a  quaint  irregular  pile,  partly  antiquated,  but  re- 
paired and  altered  in  the  tastes  of  various  ages  and 
occupants— the  stile  and  footpath  leading  from  the 
church-yard,  across  pleasant  fields,  and  along  shady 
hedge-rows,  according  to  an  immemorable  right  of 


]8 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


way — the  neighbouring  village,  with  its  venerable  cot- 
tages, its  public  green,  sheltered  by  trees,  under 
which  the  forefathers  of  the  present  race  have  sported 
— the  antique  family  mansion,  standing  apart  in  some 
little  rural  domain,  but  looking  down  with  a  protect- 
ing air  on  the  surrounding  scene — all  these  common 
features  of  English  landscape  evince  a  calm  and 
settled  security,  a  hereditary  transmission  of  home- 
bred virtues  and  local  attachments,  that  speak 
deeply  and  touchingly  for  the  moral  character  of  the 
nation. 

It  is  a  pleasing  sight,  of  a  Sunday  morning,  when 
the  bell  is  sending  its  sober  melody  across  the  quiet 
fields,  to  behold  the  peasantry  in  their  best  finery, 
with  ruddy  faces,  and  modest  cheerfulness,  throng- 
ing tranquilly  along  the  green  lanes  to  church  ;  but 
it  is  still  more  pleasing  to  see  them  in  the  evenings, 
gathering  about  their  cottage  doors,  and  appearing 
to  exult  in  the  humble  comforts  and  embellishments 
which  their  own  hands  have  spread  around  them. 

It  is  this  sweet  home  feeling,  this  settled  repose  of 
affection  in  the  domestic  scene,  that  is,  after  all,  the 
parent  of  the  steadiest  virtues  and  purest  enjoyments; 
and  I  cannot  close  these  desultory  remarks  better, 
than  by  quoting  the  words  of  a  modern  English  poet, 
who  has  depicted  it  with  remarkable  felicity. 

Through  each  gradation,  from  the  castled  hall, 
The  city  dome,  the  villa  crowned  with  shade, 
But  chief  from  modest  mansions  numberless. 
In  town  or  hamlet,  shelt'ring  middle  life, 
Down  to  the  cott.aged  vale,  and  straw-rooPd  shed. 
This  western  isle  has  long  been  famed  for  scenes 
Where  bliss  domestic  finds  a  dwelling-place  : 
Domestic  bliss,  that  like  a  harmless  dove, 
(Honour  and  sweet  endearment  keeping  guard,) 
Can  centre  in  a  little  quiet  nest 
All  that  desire  would  fly  for  through  the  earth  ; 
That  can,  the  world  eluding,  be  itself 
A  world  enjoyed  ;  that  wants  no  witnesses 
But  its  own  sharers,  and  approving  Heaven. 
That,  like  a  flower  deep  hid  in  rocky  cleft. 
Smiles,  though  't  is  looking  only  at  the  sky.* 


THE  BROKEN  HEART. 


I  never  heard 
Of  any  true  affection,  but  't  was  nipt 
With  care,  that,  like  the  caterpillar,  eats 
The  leaves  of  the  spring's  sweetest  book,  the  rose. 

MiDDLBTON. 

It  is  a  common  practice  with  those  who  have  out- 
lived the  susceptibility  of  early  feeling,  or  have  been 
brought  up  in  the  gay  hcartlessness  of  dissipated  life, 
to  laugli  at  all  love  stories,  and  to  treat  the  tales  of 
romantic  passion  as  mere  fictions  of  novelists  and 
poets.  My  observations  on  human  nature  have 
induced  me  to  think  otherwise.  They  have  con- 
vinced me,  that  however  the  surface  of  the  character 
may  be  chilled  and  frozen  by  the  cares  of  the  world, 
or  cultivated  into  mere  smiles  by  the  arts  of  society, 
still  there  are  dormant  fires  lurking  in  the  depths  of 
the  coldest  bosom,  which,  when  once  enkindled,  be- 
come impetuous,  and  are  sometimes  desolating  in 
their  effects.  Indeed,  I  am  a  true  believer  in  the 
blind  deity,  and  go  to  the  full  extent  of  his  doctrines. 
Shall  I  confess  it  ? — I  believe  in  broken  hearts,  and 
the  possibility  of  dying  of  disappointed  love  !  I  do 
not,  however,  consider  it  a  malady  often  fatal  to  my 
own  sex  ;  but  I  firmly  believe  that  it  withers  down 
many  a  lovely  woman  into  an  early  grave. 

Man  is  the  creature  of  interest  and  ambition.  His 
nature  leads  him  forth  into  the  struggle  and  bustle 


*  From  a  poem  on  the  death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte,  by  the 
Reverend  Kann  Kennedy,  A.M. 


of  the  world.  Love  is  but  the  embellishment  of  his 
early  life,  or  a  song  piped  in  the  intervals  of  the 
acts.  He  seeks  for  fame,  for  fortune,  for  space  in  the 
world's  thought,  and  dominion  over  his  fellow-men. 
But  a  woman's  whole  life  is  a  history  of  the  affec- 
tions. The  heart  is  her  world  ;  it  is  there  her  ambi- 
tion strives  for  empire — it  is  there  her  avarice  seeks 
for  hidden  treasures.  She  sends  forth  her  sympa- 
thies on  adventure ;  she  embarks  her  whole  soul  in 
the  traffic  of  affection  ;  and  if  shipwrecked,  her  case 
is  hopeless — for  it  is  a  bankruptcy  of  the  heart. 

To  a  man,  the  disappointment  of  love  may  occa- 
sion some  bitter  pangs  :  it  wounds  some  feelings  of 
tenderness — it  blasts  some  prospects  of  felicity  ;  but 
he  is  an  active  being ;  he  may  dissipate  his  thoughts 
in  the  whirl  of  varied  occupation,  or  may  plunge  into 
the  tide  of  pleasure  ;  or,  if  the  scene  of  disappoint- 
ment be  too  full  of  painful  associations,  he  can  shift 
his  abode  at  will,  and  taking,  as  it  were,  the  wings 
of  the  morning,  can  "  fly  to  the  uttermost  parts  of 
the  earth,  and  be  at  rest." 

But  woman's  is  comparatively  a  fixed,  a  secluded, 
and  a  meditative  life.  She  is  more  the  companion 
of  her  own  thoughts  and  feelings  ;  and  if  they  are 
turned  to  ministers  of  sorrow,  where  shall  she  look 
for  consolation  .'  Her  lot  is  to  be  wooed  and  won  ; 
and  if  unhappy  in  her  love,  her  heart  is  like  some 
fortress  that  has  been  captured,  and  sacked,  and 
abandoned,  and  left  desolate. 

How  many  bright  eyes  grow  dim — how  many  soft 
cheeks  grow  pale — how  many  lovely  forms  fade  away 
into  the  tomb,  and  none  can  tell  the  cause  that 
blighted  their  loveliness!  As  the  dove  will  clasp  its 
wings  to  its  side,  and  cover  and  conceal  the  arrow 
that  is  preying  on  its  vitals — ^so  is  it  the  nature  of 
woman,  to  hide  from  the  world  the  pangs  of  wound- 
ed affection.  The  love  of  a  delicate  female  is  always 
shy  and  silent.  Even  when  fortunate,  she  scarcdy 
breathes  it  to  herself;  but  when  otherwise,  she  bur- 
ies it  in  the  recesses  of  her  bosom,  and  there  lets  it 
cower  and  brood  among  the  ruins  of  her  peace. 
With  her,  the  desire  of  her  heart  has  failed — the 
great  charm  of  existence  is  at  an  end.  She  neglects 
all  the  cheerful  exercises  which  gladden  the  spirits, 
quicken  the  pulses,  and  send  the  tide  of  life  in  health- 
ful currents  through  the  veins.  Her  rest  is  broken — 
the  sweet  refreshment  of  sleep  is  poisoned  by  mel- 
ancholy dreams — "  dry  sorrow  drinks  her  blood," 
until  her  enfeebled  frame  sinks  under  the  slightest 
external  injury.  Look  for  her,  after  a  little  while, 
and  you  find  friendship  weeping  over  her  untimely 
grave,  and  wondering  that  one,  who  but  lately  glow- 
ed with  all  the  radiance  of  health  and  beauty,  should 
so  speedily  be  brought  down  to  "darkness  and  the 
worm."  You  will  be  told  of  some  wintry  chill,  some 
casual  indisposition,  that  laid  her  low — but  no  one 
knows  the  mental  malady  that  previously  sapped  her 
strength,  and  made  her  so  easy  a  prey  to  the  spoiler. 

She  is  like  some  tender  tree,  the  pride  and  beauty 
of  the  grove :  graceful  in  its  form,  bright  in  its  foliage, 
but  with  the  worm  preying  at  its  heart.  We  find  it 
suddenly  withering,  when  it  should  be  most  fresh  and 
luxuriant.  We  see  it  drooping  its  branches  to  the 
earth,  and  shedding  leaf  by  leaf;  until,  wasted  and 
perished  away,  it  falls  even  in  the  stillness  of  the  for- 
est ;  and  as  we  muse  over  the  beautiful  ruin,  we  strive 
in  vain  to  recollect  the  blast  or  thunderbolt  that  could 
have  smitten  it  with  decay. 

I  have  seen  many  instances  of  women  running  to 
waste  and  self-neglect,  and  disappearing  gradually 
from  the  earth,  almost  as  if  they  had  been  exhaled  to 
heaven  ;  and  have  repeatedly  fancied,  that  I  could 
trace  their  deaths  through  the  various  declensions 
of  consumption,  cold,  debility,  languor,  melancholy, 
until  I  reached  the  first  symptom  of  disappointed 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


19 


love.  But  an  instance  of  the  kind  was  lately  told  to 
me ;  the  circumstances  are  well  known  in  the  coun- 
try where  they  happened,  and  I  shall  but  give  them 
in  the  manner  in  which  they  were  related. 

Every  one  must  recollect  the  tragical  story  of 
young-  E — — ,  the  Irish  patriot :  it  was  too  touching 
to  be  soon  forgotten.  During  the  troubles  in  Ire- 
land he  was  tried,  condemned,  and  executed,  on  a 
charge  of  treason.  His  fate  made  a  deep  impression 
on  public  sympathy.  He  was  so  young — so  intelli- 
gent— so  generous — so  brave — so  every  thing  that 
we  are  apt  to  like  in  a  young  man.  His  conduct 
under  trial,  too,  was  so  lofty  and  intrepid.  The  no- 
ble indignation  with  which  he  repelled  the  charge 
of  treason  against  his  country — the  eloquent  vindica- 
tion of  his  name — and  his  pathetic  appeal  to  posteri- 
ty, in  the  hopeless  hour  of  condemnation — all  these 
entered  deeply  into  every  generous  bosom,  and  even 
his  enemies  lamented  tlie  stern  policy  that  dictated 
his  execution.' 

But  there  was  one  heart,  whose  anguish  it  would 
be  impossible  to  describe.  In  happier  days  and 
fairer  Ibrtunes,  he  had  won  the  affections  of  a  beau- 
tiful and  interesting  girl,  the  daughter  of  a  late  cele- 
brated Irish  barrister.  .She  loved  him  with  the  dis- 
interested fervour  of  a  woman's  first  and  early  love. 
When  every  worldly  maxim  arrayed  itself  against 
him  ;  when-blasted  in  fortune,  and  disgrace  and  dan- 
ger darkened  around  his  name,  she  loved  him  the 
more  ardently  for  his  very  sufferings.  If,  then,  his  fate 
could  awaken  the  sympathy  even  of  his  foes,  what 
must  have  been  the  agony  of  her,  whose  whole  soul 
was  occupied  by  his  image .'  Let  those  tell  who 
have  had  the  portals  of  the  tomb  suddenly  closed  be- 
tween them  and  the  being  they  most  loved  on  earth — 
who  have  sat  at  its  threshold,  as  one  shut  out  in  a 
cold  and  lonely  world,  from  whence  all  that  was 
most  lovely  and  loving  had  departed. 

But  then  the  horrors  of  such  a  grave  ! — so  fright- 
ful, so  dishopoured  !  There  was  nothing  for  mem- 
ory to  dwell  on  that  could  soothe  the  pang  of  sepa- 
ration— none  of  those  tender,  though  melancholy 
circumstances,  that  endear  the  parting  scene — noth- 
ing to  melt  sorrow  into  those  blessed  tears,  sent,  like 
the  dews  of  heaven,  to  revive  the  heart  in  the  parting 
hour  of  anguish. 

To  render  her  widowed  situation  more  desolate, 
she  had  incurred  her  father's  displeasure  by  her  un- 
fortunate attachment,  and  was  an  exile  from  the  pa- 
ternal roof.  Bxjt  could  the  sympathy  and  kind  offices 
of  friends  have  reached  a  spirit  so  shocked  and  driven 
in  by  horror,  she  would  have  experienced  no  want 
of  consolation,  for  the  Irish  are  a  people  of  quick  and 
generous  sensibilities.  The  most  delicate  and  cher- 
ishing attentions  were  paid  her,  by  families  of  wealth 
and  distinction.  She  was  led  into  society,  and  they 
tried  by  all  kinds  of  occupation  and  amusement  to 
dissipate  her  grief,  and  wean  her  from  the  tragical 
story  of  her  loves.  But  it  was  all  in  vain.  There  are 
some  strokes  of  calamity  that  scathe  and  scorch  the 
soul — that  penetrate  to  the  vital  seat  of  happiness — 
and  blast  it,  never  again  to  put  forth  bud  or  blossom. 
She  never  objected  to  frequent  the  haunts  of  pleasure, 
but  she  was  as  much  alone  there,  as  in  the  depths  of 
solitude.  She  walked  about  in  a  sad  reverie,  appa- 
rently unconscious  of  the  world  around  her.  She 
carried  with  her  an  inward  wo  that  mocked  at  all  the 
blandishments  of  friendship,  and  "heeded  not  the 
song  of  the  charmer,  charm  he  never  so  wisely." 

The  person  who  told  me  her  story  had  seen  her  at 
a  masquerade.  There  can  be  no  exhibition  of  far- 
gone  wretchedness  more  striking  and  painful  than  to 
meet  it  in  such  a  scene.  To  find  it  wandering  like  a 
spectre,  lonely  and  joyless,  where  all  around  is  gay — 
.  to  see  it  dressed  out  in  the  trappings  of  mirth,  and 


looking  so  wan  and  wo-begone,  as  if  it  had  tried  in 
vain  to  cheat  the  poor  heart  into  a  momentary  for- 
getfulness  of  sorrow.  After  strolling  through  the 
splendid  rooms  and  giddy  crowd  with  an  air  of  utter 
abstraction,  she  sat  herself  down  on  the  steps  of  an 
orchestra,  and  looking  about  for  some  time  with  a 
vacant  air,  that  showed  her  insensibility  to  the  garish 
scene,  she  began,  with  the  capriciousness  of  a  sickly 
heart,  to  warble  a  little  plaintive  air.  She  had  an 
exquisite  voice  ;  but  on  this  occasion  it  was  so 
simple,  so  touching — it  breathed  forth  such  a  soul  of 
wretchedness — that  she  drew  a  crowd,  mute  and 
silent,  around  her,  and  melted  every  one  into  tears. 

The  story  of  one  so  true  and  tender  could  not  but 
excite  great  interest  in  a  country  remarkable  for  en- 
thusiasm. It  completely  won  the  heart  of  a  brave 
officer,  who  paid  his  addresses  to  her,  and  thought 
that  one  so  true  to  the  dead,  could  not  but  prove  af- 
fectionate to  the  living.  She  declined  his  attentions, 
for  her  thoughts  were  irrecoverably  engrossed  by  the 
memory  of  her  former  lover.  He,  however,  persisted 
in  his  suit.  He  solicited  not  her  tenderness,  but  her 
esteem.  He  was  assisted  by  her  conviction  of  his 
worth,  and  her  sense  of  her  own  destitute  and  de- 
pendent situation,  for  she  was  existing  on  the  kind- 
ness of  friends.  In  a  word,  he  at  length  succeeded 
in  gaining  her  hand,  though  with  the  solemn  assur- 
ance, that  her  heart  was  unalterably  another's. 

He  took  her  with  him  to  Sicily,  hoping  that  a 
change  of  scene  might  wear  out  the  remembrance  of 
early  woes.  She  was  an  amiable  and  exemplary 
wife,  and  made  an  effort  to  be  a  happy  one ;  but 
nothing  could  cure  the  silent  and  devouring  melan- 
choly that  had  entered  into  her  very  soul.  She  wasted 
away  in  a  slow,  but  hopeless  decline,  and  at  length 
sunk  into  the  grave,  the  victim  of  a  broken  heart. 

It  was  on  her  that  Moore,  the  distinguished  Irish 
poet,  composed  the  following  lines  : 

She  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young  hero  sleeps, 

And  lovers  around  her  are  sighing  ; 
But  coldly  she  turns  from  their  gaze,  and  weeps, 

For  her  heart  in  his  grave  is  lying. 

She  sings  the  wild  song  of  her  dear  native  plains, 

Every  note  which  ne  loved  awaking — 
Ah  !  little  they  think,  who  delight  in  her  strains. 

How  the  heart  of  the  minstrel  is  breaking  ! 

He  had  lived  for  his  love — for  his  country  he  died, 
They  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwined  him — 

Nor  soon  shall  the  tears  of  his  country  be  dried, 
Nor  long  will  his  love  stay  behind  him  ! 

Oh  !  make  her  a  grave  where  the  sunbeams  rest. 

When  they  promise  a  glorious  morrow  ; 
They'll  shine  o'er  her  sleep,  like  a  smile  from  the  west, 

li'rom  her  own  loved  island  of  sorrow  ! 


THE  ART  OF  BOOK-MAKING. 


"  If  that  severe  doom  of  Synesius  be  true — '  it  is  a  greater  offence 
to  steal  dead  men's  labours  than  their  clothes,' — what  shall  become 
of  most  writers  ?  " 

Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy. 

I  HAVE  often  wondered  at  the  extreme  fecundity 
of  the  press,  and  how  it  comes  to  pass  that  so  many 
heads,  on  which  Nature  seems  to  have  inflicted  the 
curse  of  barrenness,  yet  teem  with  voluminous  pro- 
ductions. As  a  man  travels  on,  however,  in  the  jour- 
ney of  life,  his  objects  of  wonder  daily  diminish,  and 
he  is  continually  finding  out  some  very  simple  cause 
for  some  {jreat  matter  of  marvel.  Thus  have  I 
chanced,  in  my  peregrinations  about  this  great  me- 
tropolis, to  blunder  upon  a  scene  which  unfolded  (o 
me  some  of  the  mysteries  of  the  book-making  craft 
and  at  once  put  an  end  to  my  astonishment. 


20 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


I  was  one  summer's  day  loitering  through  the  great 
saloons  of  the  British  Museum,  with  that  listlessness 
with  whicli  one  is  apt  to  saunter  about  a  room  in 
warm  weather ;  sometimes  lolling  over  the  glass  cases 
of  minerals,  sometimes  studying  the  hieroglyphics  on 
an  Egyptian  mummy,  and  sometimes  trying,  with 
nearly  equal  success,  to  comprehend  the  allegorical 
paintings  on  the  lofty  ceilings.  While  I  was  gazing 
about  in  this  idle  way,  my  attention  was  attracted  to 
a  distant  floor,  at  the  end  of  a  suite  of  apartments. 
It  was  closed,  but  every  now  and  then  it  would  open, 
and  some  strange-favoured  being,  generally  clothed 
in  black,  would  steal  forth,  and  glide  through  the 
rooms,  without  noticing  any  of  the  surrounding  ob- 
jects. There  was  an  air  of  mystery  about  this  that 
piqued  my  languid  curiosity,  and  I  determined  to  at- 
tempt the  passage  of  that  strait,  and  to  explore  the 
unknown  regions  that  lay  beyond.  The  door  yielded 
to  my  hand,  with  all  that  facility  with  which  the  por- 
tals of  enchanted  castles  yield  to  the  adventurous 
kniglit-errant.  I  found  myself  in  a  spacious  chamber, 
surrounded  with  great  cases  of  venerable  books. 
Above  the  cases,  and  just  under  the  cornice,  were 
arranged  a  great  number  of  quaint  black-looking 
portraits  of  ancient  authors.  About  the  room  were 
placed  long  tables,  with  stands  for  reading  and  writ- 
ing, at  which  sat  many  pale,  cadaverous  personages, 
poring  intently  over  dusty  volumes,  rummaging 
among  mouldy  manuscripts,  and  taking  copious 
notes  of  their  contents.  The  most  hushed  stillness 
reigned  through  this  mysterious  apartment,  except- 
ing that  you  might  hear  the  racing  of  pens  over  sheets 
of  paper,  or,  occasionally,  the  deep  sigh  of  one  of 
these  sages,  as  he  shifted  his  position  to  turn  over 
the  page  of  an  old  folio ;  doubtless  arising  from  that 
hollowness  and  flatulency  incident  to  learned  re- 
search. 

Now  and  then  one  of  these  personages  would 
write  something  on  a  small  slip  ot  paper,  and  ring  a 
bell,  whereupon  a  familiar  would  appear,  take  the 
paper  in  profound  silence,  glide  out  of  the  room, 
and  return  shortly  loaded  with  ponderous  tomes, 
upon  which  the  other  would  fall,  tooth  and  nail, 
with  famished  voracity.  I  had  no  longer  a  doubt 
that  I  had  happened  upon  a  body  of  magi,  deeply 
engaged  in  the  study  of  occult  sciences.  The  scene 
reminded  me  of  an  old  Arabian  tale,  of  a  philoso- 
pher, who  was  shut  up  in  an  enchanted  library,  in 
the  bosom  of  a  mountain,  that  opened  only  once  a 
year ;  where  he  made  the  spirits  of  the  place  obey 
his  commands,  and  bring  him  books  of  all  kinds  of 
dark  knowledge,  so  that  at  the  end  of  the  year, 
when  the  magic  portal  once  more  swung  open  on  its 
hinges,  he  issued  forth  so  versed  in  forbidden  lore, 
as  to  be  able  to  soar  above  the  heads  of  the  multi- 
tude, and  to  control  the  powers  of  Nature. 

My  curiosity  being  now  fully  aroused,  I  whispered 
to  one  of  the  familiars,  as  he  was  about  to  leave  the 
room,  and  begged  an  interpretation  of  the  strange 
scene  before  me.  A  few  words  were  sufficient  for 
the  purpose  : — I  found  that  these  mysterious  person- 
ages, whom  I  had  mistaken  for  magi,  were  princi- 
pally authors,  and  were  in  the  very  act  of  manufac- 
turing books.  I  was,  in  fact,  in  the  reading-room 
of  the  great  British  Library,  an  immense  collection 
of  volumes  of  all  ages  and  languages,  many  of  which 
are  now  forgotten,  and  most  of  which  are  seldom 
read.  To  these  sequestered  jwols  of  obsolete  litera- 
ture, therefore,  do  many  modem  authors  repair,  and 
draw  buckets  full  of  classic  lore,  or  "  pure  English, 
undefiled,"  wherewith  to  swell  their  own  scanty  rills 
of  thought. 

Being  now  in  possession  of  the  secret,  I  sat  down 
in  a  corner,  and  watched  the  process  of  this  book 
manufactory.     I   noticed   one  lean,   bilious-looking 


wight,  who  sought  none  but  the  most  worm-eaten 
volumes,  printed  in  black-letter.  He  was  evidently 
constructing  some  work  of  profound  erudition,  that 
would  be  purchased  by  every  man  who  wished  to 
be  thought  learned,  placed  upon  a  conspicuous  shelf 
of  his  library,  or  laid  open  upon  his  table — but 
never  read.  I  observed  him,  now  and  then,  draw  a 
large  fragment  of  biscuit  out  of  his  pocket,  and 
gnaw;  whether  it  was  his  dinner,  or  whether  he 
was  endeavouring  to  keep  off  that  exhaustion  of  the 
stomach,  produced  by  much  pondering  over  dry 
works,  I  leave  to  harder  students  than  myself  to 
determine. 

There  was  one  dapper  little  gentleman  in  bright 
coloured  clothes,  with  a  chirping  gossiping  expres- 
sion of  countenance,  who  had  all  the  appearance  of 
an  author  on  good  terms  with  his  bookseller.  After 
considering  him  attentively,  I  recognised  in  him  a 
diligent  getter-up  of  miscellaneous  works,  which 
bustled  off  well  with  the  trade.  I  was  curious  to 
see  how  he  manufactured  his  wares.  He  made  more 
stir  and  show  of  business  than  any  of  the  others; 
dipping  into  various  books,  fluttering  over  the  leaves 
of  manuscripts,  taking  a  morsel  out  of  one,  a  morsel 
out  of  another,  "  line  upon  line,  precept  upon  precept, 
here  a  little  and  there  a  little."  The  contents  of  his 
book  seemed  to  be  as  heterogeneous  as  those  of  the 
witches'  cauldron  in  Macbeth.  '  It  was  here  a  finger 
and  there  a  thumb,  toe  of  frog  and  blind  worm's 
sting,  with  his  own  gossip  poured  in  like  "  baboon's 
blood,"  to  make  the  medley  "  slab  and  good." 

After  all,  thought  I,  may  not  this  pilfering  dispo- 
sition be  implanted  in  authors  for  wise  purposes  ? 
may  it  not  be  the  way  in  which  Providence  has  taken 
care  that  the  seeds  of  knowledge  and  wisdom  shall 
be  preserved  from  age  to  age,  in  spite  of  the  inevita- 
ble decay  of  the  works  in  which  they  were  first  pro- 
duced ?  We  see  that  Nature  has  wisely,  though 
whimsically  provided  for  the  conveyance  of  seeds 
from  clime  to  clime,  in  the  m.aws  of  certain  birds  ; 
so  that  animals,  which,  in  themselves,  are  little  bet- 
ter than  carrion,  and  apparently  the  lawless  plunder- 
ers of  the  orchard  and  the  corn-field,  are,  in  fact, 
Nature's  carriers  to  disperse  and  perpetuate  her 
blessings.  In  like  manner,  the  beauties  and  fine 
thoughts  of  ancient  and  obsolete  writers  are  caught 
up  by  these  flights  of  predatory  authors,  and  cast 
forth,  again  to  flourish  and  bear  fruit  in  a  remote 
and  distant  tract  of  time.  Many  of  their  works, 
also,  undergo  a  kind  of  metempsychosis,  and  spring 
up  under  new  forms.  What  was  formerly  a  ponder- 
ous history,  revives  in  the  shape  of  a  romance — an 
old  legend  changes  into  a  modern  play — and  a  sober 
philosophical  treatise  furnishes  the  body  for  a  whole 
series  of  bouncing  and  sparkling  essays.  Thus  it  is 
in  the  clearing  of  our  American  woodlands  ;  where 
we  burn  down  a  forest  of  stately  pines,  a  progeny 
of  dwarf  oaks  start  up  in  their  place  ;  and  we  never 
see  the  prostrate  trunk  of  a  tree,  mouldering  into 
soil,  but  it  gives  birth  to  a  whole  tribe  of  fungi. 

Let  us  not,  then,  lament  over  the  decay  and  ob- 
livion into  which  ancient  writers  descend  ;  they  do 
but  submit  to  the  great  law  of  Nature,  which  de- 
clares that  all  sublunary  shapes  of  matter  shall  be 
limited  in  their  duration,  but  which  decrees,  also, 
that  their  elements  shall  never  perish.  Generation 
after  generation,  both  in  animal  and  vegetable  life, 
passes  away,  but  the  vital  principle  is  transmitted 
to  posterity,  and  the  species  continue  to  flourish. 
Thus,  also,  do  authors  beget  authors,  and  having 
produced  a  numerous  progeny,  in  a  good  old  age 
they  sleep  with  their  fathers  ;  that  is  to  say,  with 
the  authors  who  preceded  them — and  from  whom 
they  had  stolen. 

Whilst  I  was  indulging  in  these  rambling  fancies 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


21 


I  had  leaned  my  head  against  a  pile  of  reverend  folios. 
Whether  it  was  owing  to  the  soporific  emanations 
from  these  works  ;  or  to  the  profound  quiet  of  the 
room  ;  or  to  the  lassitude  arising  from  much  wander- 
ing; or  to  an  unlucky  habit  of  napping  at  improper 
times  and  places,  with  which  I  am  grievously  afflicted, 
so  it  was,  that  I  fell  into  a  doze.  Still,  however,  my 
imagination  continued  busy,  and  indeed  the  same 
scene  remained  before  my  mind's  eye,  only  a  little 
changed  in  some  of  the  details.  I  dreamt  that  the 
chamber  was  still  decorated  with  the  portraits  of  an- 
cient authors,  but  the  number  was  increased.  The 
long  tables  had  disappeared,  and  in  place  of  the  sage 
magi,  I  beheld  a  ragged,  threadbare  throng,  such  as 
may  be  seen  plying  about  the  great  repository  of 
cast-off  clothes,  Monmouth-street.  Whenever  they 
seized  upon  a  book,  by  one  of  those  incongruities 
common  to  dreams,  mcthought  it  turned  into  a  gar- 
ment of  foreign  or  antique  fashion,  with  which  they 
proceeded  to  equip  themselves.  I  noticed,  however, 
that  no  one  pretended  to  clothe  himself  from  any 
particular  suit,  but  took  a  sleeve  from  one,  a  cape 
from  another,  a  skirt  from  a  third,  thus  decking  him- 
self out  piecemeal,  while  some  of  his  original  rags 
would  peep  out  from  among  his  borrowed  finery. 

There  was  a  portly,  rosy,  well-fed  parson,  whom  I 
observed  ogling  several  mouldy  polemical  writers 
through  an  eye-glass.  He  soon  contrived  to  slip  on 
the  voluminous  mantle  of  one  of  the  old  fathers,  and 
having  purloined  the  gray  beard  of  another,  endea- 
voured to  look  exceedingly  wise  ;  but  the  smirking 
commonplace  of  his  countenance  set  at  nought  all  the 
trappings  of  wisdom.  One  sickly-looking  gentleman 
was  busied  embroidering  a  very  flimsy  garment  with 
gold  thread  drawn  out  of  several  old  court-dresses  of 
the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth.  Another  had  trimmed 
himself  magnificently  from  an  illuminated  manu- 
script, had  stuck  a.  nosegay  in  his  bosom,  culled  from 
"  The  Paradise  of  Dainty  Devices,"  and  having  put 
Sir  Philip  Sidney's  hat  on  one  side  of  his  head, 
strutted  off  with  an  exquisite  air  of  vulgar  elegance. 
A  third,  who  was  but  of  puny  dimensions,  had  bol- 
stered himself  out  bravely  with  the  spoils  from  sev- 
eral obscure  tracts  of  philosophy,  so  that  he  had  a 
very  imposing  front,  but  he  was  lamentably  tattered 
in  rear,  and  I  perceived  that  he  had  patched  his 
small-clothes  with  scraps  of  parchment  from  a  Latin 
author. 

There  were  some  well-dressed  gentlemen,  it  is  true, 
who  only  helped  themselves  to  a  gem  or  so,  which 
sparkled  among  their  own  ornaments,  without  eclips- 
ing them.  Some,  too,  seemed  to  contemplate  the 
costumes  of  the  old  writers,  merely  to  imbibe  their 
principles  of  taste,  and  to  catch  their  air  and  spirit ; 
but  I  grieve  to  say,  that  too  many  were  apt  to  array 
themselves,  from  top  to  toe,  in  the  patch-work  man- 
ner 1  have  mentioned.  I  should  not  omit  to  speak  of 
one  genius,  in  drab  breeches  and  gaiters,  and  an 
Arcadian  hat,  who  had  a  violent  propensity  to  the 
pastoral,  but  whose  rural  wanderings  had  been  con- 
fined to  the  classic  haunts  of  Primrose  Hill,  and  the 
solitudes  of  the  Regent's  Park.  He  had  decked 
himself  in  wreaths  and  ribands  from  all  the  old  pas- 
toral poets,  and  hanging  his  head  on  one  side,  went 
about  with  a  fantastical,  lack-a-daisical  air,  "bab- 
bling about  green  fields."  But  the  personage  that 
most  struck  my  attention,  was  a  pragmatical  old 
gentleman,  in  clerical  robes,  with  a  remarkably  large 
and  square,  but  bald  head.  He  entered  the  room 
wheezing  and  puffing,  elbowed  his  way  through  the 
throng,  with  a  look  of  sturdy  self-confidence,  and 
having  laid  hands  upon  a  thick  Greek  quarto, 
clapped  it  upon  his  head,  and  swept  majestically 
away  in  a  tbrmidable  frizzled  wig. 

In  the  height  of  this  literary  masquerade,  a  cry 


suddenly  resounded  from  every  side,  of  "  thieves  ! 
thieves  I  "  I  looked,  and  lo  !  the  portraits  about  the 
walls  became  animated  !  The  old  authors  thrust  out 
first  a  head,  then  a  shoulder,  from  the  canvas,  looked 
down  curiously,  for  an  instant,  upon  the  motley 
throng,  and  then  descended,  with  fury  in  their  eyes, 
to  claim  their  rifled  property.  The  scene  of  scam- 
pering and  hubbub  that  ensued  baffles  all  description. 
The  unhappy  culprits  endeavoured  in  vain  to  escape 
with  their  plunder.  On  one  side  might  be  seen  half- 
a-dozen  old  monks,  stripping  a  modern  professor ;  on 
another,  there  was  sad  devastation  carried  into  the 
ranks  of  modern  dramatic  writers.  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher,  side  by  side,  raged  round  the  field  like  Cas- 
tor and  Pollux,  and  sturdy  Ben  Jonson  enacted  more 
wonders  than  when  a  volunteer  with  the  army  in 
Flanders.  As  to  the  dapper  little  compiler  of  farragos, 
mentioned  some  time  since,  he  had  arrayed  himself 
in  as  many  patches  and  colours  as  Harlequin,  and 
there  was  as  fierce  a  contention  of  claimants  about 
him,  as  about  the  dead  body  of  Patroclus.  I  was 
grieved  to  see  many  men,  whom  I  had  been  ac- 
customed to  look  upon  with  awe  and  reverence,  fain 
to  steal  off  with  scarce  a  rag  to  cover  their  naked- 
ness. Just  then  my  eye  was  caught  by  the  pragmati- 
cal old  gentleman  in  the  Greek  grizzled  wig,  who  was 
scrambling  away  in  sore  affright  with  half  a  score  of 
authors  in  full  cry  after  him.  They  were  close  upon 
his  haunches ;  in  a  twinkling  off  went  his  wig ;  at 
every  turn  some  strip  of  raiment  was  peeled  away  ; 
until  in  a  few  moments,  from  his  domineering  pomp, 
he  shrunk  into  a  little  pursy,  "  chopp'd  bald  shot," 
and  made  his  exit  with  only  a  few  tags  and  rags  flut- 
tering at  his  back. 

There  was  something  so  ludicrous  in  the  catastro- 
phe of  this  learned  Theban,  that  I  burst  into  an  im- 
moderate fit  of  laughter,  which  broke  the  whole  illu- 
sion. The  tumult  and  the  scuffle  were  at  an  end. 
The  chamber  resumed  its  usual  appearance.  The 
old  authors  shrunk  back  into  their  picture-frames,  and 
hung  m  shadowy  solemnity  along  the  walls.  In  short, 
I  found  myself  wide  awake  in  my  corner,  with  the 
whole  assemblage  of  bookworms  gazing  at  me  with 
astonishment.  Nothing  of  the  dream  had  been  real 
but  my  burst  of  laughter,  a  sound  never  before  heard 
in  that  grave  sanctuary,  and  so  abhorrent  to  the  ears 
of  wisdom,  as  to  electrify  the  fraternity. 

The  librarian  now  stepped  up  to  me,  and  de- 
manded whether  I  had  a  card  of  admission.  At  first 
I  did  not  comprehend  him,  but  I  scon  found  that  the 
library  was  a  kind  of  literary  "  preserve,"  subject  to 
game  laws,  and  that  no  one  must  presume  to  hunt 
there  without  special  license  and  permission.  In  a 
word,  I  stood  convicted  of  being  an  arrant  poacher, 
and  was  glad  to  make  a  precipitate  retreat,  lest 
I  should  have  a  whole  pack  ot  authors  let  loose 
upon  me. 


A  ROYAL  POET. 


Though  your  body  be  confined 

And  soft  love  a  prisoner  bound, 
Yet  the  beauty  of  your  mind 

Neither  cheek  nor  chain  hath  found. 
Look  out  nobly,  then,  and  dare 
Even  the  fetters  that  you  wear. 

Fletcher. 

On  a  soft  sunny  morning  in  the  genial  month  of 
May,  I  made  an  excursion  to  Windsor  Castle.  It  is 
a  place  fuli  of  storied  and  poetical  associations.  The 
very  external  aspect  of  the  proud  old  pile  is  enough 
to  inspire  high  thought.     It  rears  its  irregular  walls 


32 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


and  massive  towers,  like  a  mural  crown  around  the 
brow  of  a  lofty  ridge,  waves  its  royal  banner  in  the 
clouds,  and  looks  down  with  a  lordly  air  upon  the 
surrounding  world. 

On  this  morning,  the  weather  was  of  this  voluptu- 
ous vernal  kind  which  calls  forth  all  the  latent  ro- 
mance of  a  man's  temperament,  filling  his  mind  with 
music,  and  disposing  him  to  quote  poetry  and  dream 
of  beauty.  In  wandering  through  the  magnificent 
saloons  and  long  echoing  galleries  of  the  castle,  I 
passed  with  indifference  by  whole  rows  of  portraits 
of  warriors  and  statesmen,  but  lingered  in  the  cham- 
ber where  hang  the  likenesses  of  the  beauties  that 
graced  the  gay  court  of  Charles  the  Second  ;  and  as 
I  gazed  upon  them,  depicted  with  amorous  half- 
dishevelled  tresses,  and  the  sleepy  eye  of  love,  I 
blessed  the  pencil  of  Sir  Peter  Lely,  which  had  thus 
enabled  me  to  bask  in  the  reflected  rays  of  beauty. 
In  traversing  also  the  "large  green  courts,"  with 
sunshine  beaming  on  the  gray  walls  and  glancing 
along  the  velvet  turf,  my  mind  was  engrossed  with 
the  image  of  the  tender,  the  gallant,  but  hapless 
Surrey,  and  his  account  of  his  loiterings  about  them 
in  his  stripling  days,  when  enamoured  of  the  Lady 
Geraldine — 

**  With  eyes  cast  up  unto  the  maiden's  tower. 
With  easie  sighs,  such  as  men  draw  in  love." 

In  this  mood  of  mere  poetical  susceptibility,  I  vis- 
ited the  ancient  keep  of  the  castle,  where  James  the 
First  of  Scotland,  the  pride  and  theme  of  Scottish 
poets  and  historians,  was  for  many  years  of  his  youth 
detained  a  prisoner  of  state.  It  is  a  large  gray 
tower,  that  has  stood  the  brunt  of  ages,  and  is  still 
in  good  preservation.  It  stands  on  a  mound  which 
elevates  it  above  the  other  parts  of  the  castle,  and 
a  great  flight  of  steps  leads  to  the  interior.  In  the 
armoury,  which  is  a  Gothic  hall,  furnished  with 
weapons  of  various  kinds  and  ages,  I  was  shown  a 
coat  of  armour  hanging  against  the  wall,  which  I 
was  told  had  once  belonged  to  James.  From  hence 
I  was  conducted  up  a  stair-case  to  a  suite  of  apart- 
ments of  faded  magnificence,  hung  with  storied  tap- 
estry, v.-hich  formed  his  prison,  anti  the  scene  of  that 
passionate  and  fanciful  amour,  which  has  woven  into 
the  web  of  his  story  the  magical  hues  of  poetry  and 
fiction. 

The  whole  history  of  this  amiable  but  unfortunate 
prince  is  highly  romantic.  At  the  tender  age  of 
eleven,  he  was  sent  from  his  home  by  his  father, 
Robert  III.,  and  destined  for  the  French  court,  to 
be  reared  under  the  eye  of  the  French  monarch,  se- 
cure from  the  treachery  and  danger  that  surrounded 
the  royal  house  of  Scotland.  It  was  his  mishap,  in 
the  course  of  his  voyage,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
EngUsh,  and  he  was  detained  a  prisoner  by  Henry 
IV.,  notwithstanding  that  a  truce  e.xisted  between 
the  two  countries. 

The  intelligence  of  his  capture,  coming  in  the  train 
of  many  sorrows  and  disasters,  proved  fatal  to  his 
unhappy  father. 

"The  news,"  we  are  told,  "was  brought  to  him 
while  at  supper,  and  did  so  overwhelm  him  with 
grief,  that  ha  was  almost  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost 
into  the  hands  of  the  servants  that  attended  him. 
But  being  carried  to  his  bed-chamber,  he  abstained 
from  all  food,  and  in  three  days  died  of  hunger  and 
grief,  at  Rothesay."* 

James  was  detained  in  captivity  above  eighteen 
years ;  but,  though  deprived  of  personal  liberty,  he 
was  treated  with  the  respect  due  to  his  rank.  Care 
was  t.iken  to  instruct  him  in  all  the  branches  of  use- 
ful knowledge  cultivated  at  that  period,  and  to  give 


him  those  mental  and  personal  accomplishments 
deemed  proper  for  a  prince.  Perhaps  in  this  re- 
spect, his  imprisonment  was  an  advantage,  as  it  en- 
abled him  to  apply  himself  the  more  exclusively  to 
his  improvement,  and  quietly  to  imbibe  that  rich 
fund  of  knowledge,  and  to  cherish  those  elegant 
tastes,  which  have  given  such  a  lustre  to  his  mem- 
ory. The  picture  drawn  of  him  in  early  life,  by  the 
Scottish  historians,  is  highly  captivating,  and  seems 
rather  the  description  of  a  hero  of  romance,  than  of 
a  character  in  real  history.  He  was  well  learnt,  we 
are  told,  "  to  fight  with  the  sword,  to  joust,  to  tour- 
nay,  to  wrestle,  to  sing  and  dance  ;  he  was  an  expert 
mediciner,  right  crafty  in  playing  both  of  lute  and 
harp,  and  sundry  other  instruments  of  music,  and 
was  expert  in  grammar,  oratory,  and  poetry."* 

With  this  combination  of  manly  and  delicate  ac- 
complishments, fitting  him  to  shine  both  in  active 
and  elegant  life,  and  calculated  to  give  him  an  in- 
tense relish  for  joyous  existence,  it  must  have  been 
a  severe  trial,  in  an  age  of  bustle  and  chivalry,  to 
pass  the  spring-time  of  his  years  in  monotonous 
captivity.  It  was  the  good  fortune  of  James,  how- 
ever, to  be  gifted  with  a  powerful  poetic  fancy,  and 
to  be  visited  in  his  prison  by  the  choicest  inspira- 
tions of  the  muse.  Some  minds  corrode,  and  grow 
inactive,  under  the  loss  of  personal  liberty ;  others 
grow  morbid  and  irritable ;  but  it  is  the  nature  of 
the  poet  to  become  tender  and  imaginative  in  the 
loneliness  of  confinement.  He  banquets  upon  the 
honey  of  his  own  thoughts,  and,  like  the  captive 
bird,  pours  forth  his  soul  in  melody. 

Have  you  not  seen  the  nightingale 

A  pilgrim  coop'd  into  a  cage, 
How  doth  she  chant  her  wonted  tale, 

In  that  her  lonely  hermitage  1 

Even  there  her  charming  melody  doth  prove 
That  all  her  boughs  are  trees,  her  cage  a  grove,  t 

Indeed,  it  is  the  divine  attribute  of  the  imagina- 
tion, that  it  is  irrepressible,  unconfinable  ;  that  when 
the  real  world  is  shut  out,  it  can  create  a  world  for 
itself,  and,  with  necromantic  power,  can  conjure  up 
glorious  .shapes  and  forms,  and  brilliant  visions,  to 
make  solitude  populous,  and  irradiate  the  gloom 
of  the  dungeon.  Such  was  the  world  of  pomp  and 
pageant  that  lived  round  Tasso  in  his  dismal  cell  at 
Ferrara,  when  he  conceived  the  splendid  scenes  of 
his  Jerusalem ;  and  we  may  conceive  the  "  King's 
Quair,"!  composed  by  James  during  his  captivity  at 
Windsor,  as  .another  of  those  beautiful  breakings 
forth  of  the  soul  from  the  restraint  and  gloom  of  the 
prison-house. 

The  subject  of  his  poem  is  his  love  for  the  lady 
Jane  Beaufort,  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Somerset,  and 
a  princess  of  the  blood-royal  of  England,  of  whom 
he  became  enamoured  in  the  course  of  his  captivity. 
What  gives  it  peculiar  value,  is,  that  it  may  be  con- 
sidered a  transcri])t  of  the  royal  bard's  true  feelings, 
and  the  story  of  his  real  loves  and  fortunes.  It  is 
not  often  that  sovereigns  write  poetry,  or  that  poets 
deal  in  fact.  It  is  gratifying  to  the  pride  of  a  com- 
mon man,  to  find  a  monarch  thus  suing,  as  it  were, 
for  admission  into  his  closet,  and  seeking  to  win  his 
favour  by  administering  to  his  pleasures.  It  is  a 
proof  of  the  honest  equality  of  intellectual  competition, 
which  strips  off  all  the  trappings  of  factitious  dignity, 
brings  the  candidate  down  to  a  level  with  his  fellow- 
men,  and  obliges  him  to  depend  on  his  own  native 
powers  lor  distinction.  It  is  curious,  too,  to  get  at 
the  history  of  a  monarch's  heart,  and  to  find  the 
simple  affections  of  human  nature  throbbing  under 
the  ermine.     But  James  h.ad  learnt  to  be  a  poet  be- 


'  BuchanaD. 


♦  Ballenflen's  translation  of  Hector  Boycc. 

t  Roger  L'Estran^e.  $  Quair,  an  old  term  for  Book. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF    GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


28 


fore  he  was  a  king  ;  he  was  schooled  in  adversity, 
and  reared  in  the  company  of  his  own  thoughts. 
Monarchs  have  seldom  time  to  parley  with  their 
hearts,  or  to  meditate  their  minds  into  poetry  ;  and 
had  James  been  brought  up  amidst  the  adulation 
and  gayety  of  a  court,  we  should  never,  in  all  proba- 
bility, have  had  such  a  poem  as  the  Quair. 

I  have  been  particularly  interested  by  those  parts 
of  the  poem  which  breathe  his  immediate  thoughts 
concerning  his  situation,  or  which  are  connected 
with  the  apartment  in  the  Tower.  They  have  thus 
a  personal  and  local  charm,  and  are  given  with  such 
circumstantial  truth,  as  to  make  the  reader  present 
with  the  captive  in  his  prison,  and  the  companion  of 
his  meditations. 

Such  is  the  account  which  he  gives  of  his  weari- 
ness of  spirit,  and  of  the  incident  that  first  suggested 
the  idea  of  writing  the  poem.  It  was  the  still  mid- 
watch  of  a  clear  moonlight  night ;  the  stars,  he  says, 
were  twinkling  as  the  fire  in  the  high  vault  of  heaven, 
and  "  Cynthia  rinsing  her  golden  locks  in  Aquarius  " 
— he  lay  in  bed  wakeful  and  restless,  and  took  a 
book  to  beguile  the  tedious  hours.  The  book  he 
chose  was  Boetius'  Consolations  of  Philosophy,  a 
work  popular  among  the  writers  of  that  day,  and 
which  had  been  translated  by  his  great  prototype 
Chaucer.  From  the  high  eulogium  in  which  he 
indulges,  it  is  evident  this  was  one  of  his  favour- 
ite volumes  while  in  prison  ;  and  indeed,  it  is  an  ad- 
mirable text-book  for  meditation  under  adversity.  It 
is  the  legacy  of  a  noble  and  enduring  spirit,  purified 
by  sorrow  and  suffering,  bequeathing  to  its  success- 
ors in  calamity  the  maxims  of  sweet  morality,  and 
the  trains  of  eloquent  but  simple  reasoning,  by  which 
it  was  enabled  to  bear  up  against  the  various  ills  of 
life.  It  is  a  talisman  which  the  unfortunate  may 
treasure  up  in  his  bosom,  or,  like  the  good  King 
James,  lay  upon  his  nightly  pillow. 

After  closing  the  volume,  he  turns  its  contents 
over  in  his  mind,  and  gradually  falls  into  a  fit  of 
musing  on  the  fickleness  of  fortune,  the  vicissitudes 
of  his  own  life,  and  the  evils  that  had  overtaken  him 
even  in  his  tender  youth.  Suddenly  he  hears  the 
bell  ringing  to  matins,  but  its  sound  chiming  in 
with  his  melancholy  fancies,  seems  to  him  like  a 
voice  exhorting  him  to  write  his  story.  In  the  spirit 
of  poetic  errantry,  he  determines  to  comply  with 
this  intimation ;  he  therefore  takes  pen  in  hand, 
makes  with  it  a  sign  of  the  cross,  to  implore  a  bene- 
diction, and  sallies  forth  into  the  fairy  land  of  poetry. 
There  is  something  extremely  fanciful  in  all  this,  and 
it  is  interesting,  as  furnishing  a  striking  and  beautiful 
instance  of  the  simple  manner  in  which  whole  trains 
of  poetical  thought  are  sometimes  awakened,  and 
literary  enterprises  suggested  to  the  mind. 

In  the  course  of  his  poem,  he  more  than  once  be- 
wails the  peculiar  hardness  of  his  fate,  thus  doomed 
to  lonely  and  inactive  life,  and  shut  up  from  the 
freedom  and  pleasure  of  the  world,  in  which  the 
meanest  animal  indulges  unrestrained.  There  is  a 
sweetness,  however,  in  his  very  complaints ;  they 
are  the  lamentations  of  an  amiable  and  social  spirit, 
at  being  denied  the  indulgence  of  its  kind  and  gener- 
ous propensities ;  there  is  nothing  in  them  harsh  or 
exaggerated  ;  they  flow  with  a  natural  and  touching 
pathos,  and  are  perhaps  rendered  more  touching  by 
their  simple  brevity.  They  contrast  finely  with  those 
elaborate  and  iterated  repinings  which  we  sometimes 
meet  with  in  poetry,  the  effusions  of  morbid  minds, 
sickening  under  miseries  of  their  own  creating,  and 
venting  their  bitterness  upon  an  unoffending  world. 
James  speaks  of  his  privations  with  acute  sensibility  ; 
but  having  mentioned  them,  passes  on,  as  if  his 
manly  mind  disdained  to  brood  over  unavoidable 
calamities.      When  such  a  spirit  breaks  forth  into 


complaint,  however  brief,  we  are  aware  how  great 
must  be  the  suffering  that  extorts  the  murmur.  We 
sympathize  with  James,  a  romantic,  active,  and  ac- 
complished prince,  cut  off  in  the  lustihood  of  youth 
from  all  the  enterprise,  the  noble  uses  and  vigorous 
delights  of  life,  as  we  do  with  Milton,  alive  to  all 
the  beauties  of  nature  and  glories  of  art,  when  he 
breathes  forth  brief  but  deep-toned  lamentations 
over  his  perpetual  blindness. 

Had  not  James  evinced  a  deficiency  of  poetic  arti- 
fice, we  might  almost  have  suspected  that  these  low- 
erings  of  gloomy  reflection  were  meant  as  prepara- 
tive to  the  brightest  scene  of  his  story,  and  to  con- 
trast with  that  effulgence  of  light  and  loveliness, 
that  exhilarating  accompaniment  of  bird,  and  song, 
and  foliage,  and  flower,  and  all  the  revel  of  the  year, 
with  which  he  ushers  in  the  lady  of  his  heart.  It  is 
this  scene  in  particular  which  throws  all  the  magic 
of  romance  about  the  old  castle  keep.  He  had  risen, 
he  says,  at  day-break,  according  to  custom,  to  escape 
from  the  dreary  meditations  of  a  sleepless  pillow. 
"  Bewailing  in  his  chamber  thus  alone,"  despairing 
of  all  joy  and  remedy,  "  for,  tired  of  thought,  and 
wo-begone,"  he  had  wandered  to  the  window  to  in- 
dulge the  captive's  miserable  solace,  of  gazing  wist- 
fully upon  the  world  from  which  he  is  excluded.  The 
window  looked  forth  upon  a  small  garden  which  lay 
at  the  foot  of  the  tower.  It  was  a  quiet,  sheltered 
spot,  adorned  with  arbours  and  green  alleys,  and 
protected  from  the  passing  gaze  by  trees  and  haw- 
thorn hedges. 

Now  was  there  made  fast  by  the  tower's  walk 

A  garden  faire.  and  in  the  corners  set. 
An  arbour  green  with  wandis  long  and  small 

Railed  about,  and  so  with  leaves  beset 
Was  all  the  place,  and  hawthorn  hedges  knet. 

That  lyf  *  was  none,  walkyng  there  forbye. 

That  might  within  scarce  any  wight  espye. 

So  thick  the  branches  and  the  ieves  grene, 

Beshaded  all  the  alleys  that  there  were, 
And  midst  of  every  arbour  might  be  seen 

The  sharpe,  grene,  swete  juniper. 
Growing  so  faire  with  branciies  here  and  there, 

That  as  it  seemed  to  a  lyf  without, 

The  boughs  did  spread  the  arbour  all  about. 

And  on  the  small  green  twistist  set 

The  lytel  swete  nyghtingalcs,  and  sung 

So  loud  and  clere.  tire  hymnis  consecrate 
Of  lovis  use,  now  soft,  now  loud  amoni^, 

That  all  the  garden  and  the  wallis  rung 
Ryght  of  their  song — 

It  was  the  month  of  May,  when  every  thing  was 
in  bloom,  and  he  interprets  the  song  of  the  night- 
ingale into  the  language  of  his  enamoured  feeling : 

Worship  all  ye  that  lovers  be  this  May ; 

For  o{  your  bliss  the  kalends  are  begun. 
And  sing  with  us,  away,  winter,  away, 

Come,  summer,  come,  the  sweet  season  and  sun. 

As  he  gazes  on  the  scene,  and  listens  to  the  notes 
of  the  birds,  he  gradually  lapses  into  one  of  those 
tender  and  undefinable  reveries,  which  fill  the  youth- 
ful bosom  in  this  delicious  season.  He  wonders 
what  this  love  may  be,  of  which  he  has  so  often 
read,  and  which  thus  seems  breathed  forth  in  the 
quickening  breath  of  May,  and  melting  all  nature 
into  ecstacy  and  song.  If  it  really  be  so  great  a 
felicity,  and  if  it  be  a  boon  thus  generally  dispensed 
to  the  most  insignificant  of  beings,  why  is  he  alone 
cut  off  from  its  enjoyments  ? 

Oft  would  I  think,  O  Lord,  what  may  this  be. 
That  love  is  of  such  noble  myght  and  kynde? 

Loving  his  folk,  and  such  prosperitee, 
Is  It  of  him,  as  we  in  books  do  find  ; 

May  he  oure  hertes  settenj  and  unbynd  : 
Hath  he  upon  oure  hertes  such  maistrye  ? 

Or  is  all  this  but  feynit  fantasye  ? 


•  ^y/^  person.  . 

+  Twistis^  small  boughs  or  twigs.  X  Setten^  mclme. 

Note.— The  language  of  the  quotations  is  generally  modernized. 


24 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


For  gifF  he  be  of  so  grete  excellence 
That  he  of  every  wight  hath  care  and  charge, 

What  have  I  gilt*  to  him,  or  done  offence. 
That  I  am  thral'd  and  birdis  go  at  large? 

In  the  midst  of  his  musing,  as  he  casts  his  eyes 
downward,  he  beholds  "  the  fairest  and  the  freshest 
young  floure "  that  ever  he  had  seen.  It  is  the 
lovely  Lady  Jane,  walking  in  the  garden  to  enjoy 
the  beauty  of  that  "  fresh  May  morrowe."  Break- 
ing thus  suddenly  upon  his  sight  in  a  moment  of 
loneliness  and  excited  susceptibility,  she  at  once 
captivates  the  fancy  of  the  romantic  prince,  and 
becomes  the  object  of  his  wandering  wishes,  the 
sovereign  of  his  ideal  world. 

There  is  in  this  charming  scene  an  evident  re- 
semblance to  the  early  part  of  Chaucer's  Knight's 
Tale,  where  Palamon  and  Arcite  fall  in  love  with 
Emilia,  whom  they  see  walking  in  the  garden  of 
their  prison.  Perhaps  the  similarity  of  the  actual 
fact  to  the  incident  which  he  had  read  in  Chaucer, 
may  have  induced  James  to  dwell  on  it  in  his  poem. 
His  description  of  the  Lady  Jane  is  given  in  the  pict- 
uresque and  minute  manner  of  his  master,  and  be- 
ing, doubtless,  taken  from  the  life,  is  a  perfect  por- 
trait of  a  beauty  of  that  day.  He  dwells  with  the 
fondness  of  a  lover  on  every  article  of  her  apparel, 
from  the  net  of  pearl,  splendent  with  emeralds  and 
sapphires,  that  confined  her  golden  hair,  even  to  the 
"  goodly  chaine  of  small  orfeverye  "t  about  her  neck, 
whereby  there  hung  a  ruby  in  shape  of  a  heart,  that 
seemed,  he  says,  like  a  spark  of  tire  burning  upon 
her  white  bosom.  Her  dress  of  white  tissue  was 
looped  up,  to  enable  her  to  walk  with  more  freedom. 
She  was  accompanied  by  two  female  attendants,  and 
about  her  sported  a  little  hound  decorated  with 
bells,  probably  the  small  Italian  hound,  of  exquisite 
symmetry,  which  was  a  parlour  favourite  and  pet 
among  the  fashionable  dames  of  ancient  times. 
James  closes  his  description  by  a  burst  of  general 
eulogium  : 

In  her  was  youth,  beauty  with  humble  port, 

Bountee,  richesse,  and  womanly  feature, 
God  better  knows  than  my  pen  can  report, 

Wisdom,  largesse. t  estate,§  and  cunning  ]  sure. 
In  every  point  so  guided  her  measure. 

In  word,  in  deeo,  in  shape,  in  countenance. 

That  nature  might  no  more  her  child  advance. 

The  departure  of  the  Lady  Jane  from  the  garden 
puts  an  end  to  this  transient  riot  of  the  heart.  With 
her  departs  the  amorous  illusion  that  had  shed  a 
temporary  charm  over  the  scene  of  his  captivity,  and 
he  relapses  into  loneliness,  now  rendered  tenfold 
more  intolerable  by  this  passing  beam  of  unattain- 
able beauty.  Through  the  long  and  weary  day  he 
repines  at  his  unhappy  lot,  and  when  evening  ap- 
proaches and  Phoebus,  as  he  beautifully  expresses  it, 
had  "  bad  farewell  to  every  leaf  and  flower,"  he  still 
lingers  at  the  window,  and,  laying  his  head  upon  the 
cold  stone,  gives  vent  to  a  mingled  flow  of  love  and 
sorrow,  until  gradually  lulled  by  the  mute  melan- 
dioly  of  the  twilight  hour,  he  lapses,  "  half-sleeping, 
half  swoon,"  into  a  vision,  which  occupies  the  re- 
mainder of  the  poem,  and  in  which  is  allegorically 
shadowed  out  the  history  of  his  passion. 

When  he  wakes  from  his  trance,  he  rises  from  his 
stony  pillow,  and  pacing  his  apartment  full  of  dreary 
reflections,  questions  his  spirit  whither  it  has  been 
wandering ;  whether,  indeed,  all  that  has  passed  be- 
fore his  dreaming  fancy  has  been  conjured  up  by 
preceding  circumstances,  or  whether  it  is  a  vision 
intended  to  comfort  and  assure  him  in  his  despond- 
ency.    If  the  latter,  he  prays  that  some  token  may 


*  Gilt^  what  injury  have  I  done,  &c. 

t  Wrought  gold.  J  Largesse^  bounty. 

•i  £j/a/t',  dignity.  "         ''  ~  "■'  "' 


]  Cunnings  discretion. 


be  sent  to  confirm  the  promise  of  happier  days,  given 
him  in  his  slumbers. 

Suddenly  a  turtle-dove  of  the  purest  whiteness 
comes  flying  in  at  the  window,  and  alights  upon  his 
hand,  bearing  in  her  bill  a  branch  of  red  gilliflower, 
on  the  leaves  of  which  is  written  in  letters  of  gold, 
the  following  sentence : 

Awake  !  awake  !  I  bring,  lover,  I  brin; 

The  newis  glad,  that  blissful  is  and  sure. 
Of  thy  comfort  ;  now  laugh,  and  play,  and  sing, 

For  in  the  heaven  decretit  is  thy  cure. 

He  receives  the  branch  with  mingled  hope  and 
dread;  reads  it  with  rapture,  and  this  he  says  was 
the  first  token  of  his  succeeding  happiness.  Whether 
this  is  a  mere  poetic  fiction,  or  whether  the  Lady 
Jane  did  actually  send  him  a  token  of  her  favour  in 
this  romantic  way,  remains  to  be  determined  accord- 
ing to  the  faith  or  fancy  of  the  reader.  He  concludes 
his  poem  by  intimating  that  the  promise  conveyed  in 
the  vision,  and  by  the  flower,  is  fulfilled  by  his  being 
restored  to  liberty,  and  made  happy  in  the  possession 
of  the  sovereign  of  his  heart. 

Such  is  the  poetical  account  given  by  James  of  his 
love  adventures  in  Windsor  Castle.  How  much  of 
it  is  absolute  fact,  and  how  much  the  embellishment 
of  fancy,  it  is  fruitless  to  conjecture ;  do  not,  how- 
ever, let  us  always  consider  whatever  is  romantic  as 
incompatible  with  real  life,  but  let  us  sometimes 
take  a  poet  at  his  word.  I  have  noticed  merely  such 
parts  of  the  poem  as  were  immediately  connected 
with  the  tower,  and  have  passed  over  a  large  part 
which  was  in  the  allegorical  vein,  so  much  cultivated 
at  that  day.  The  language  of  course  is  quaint  and 
antiquated,  so  that  the  beauty  of  many  of  its  golden 
phrases  will  scarcely  be  perceived  at  the  present  day ; 
but  it  is  impossible  not  to  be  charmed  with  the  gen- 
uine sentiment,  the  delightful  artlessness  and  ur- 
banity, which  prevail  throughout  it.  The  descrip- 
tions of  Nature,  too,  with  which  it  is  embellished,  are 
given  with  a  truth,  a  discrimination,  and  a  freshness, 
worthy  of  the  most  cultivated  period  of  the  arts. 

As  an  amatory  poem,  it  is  edifying,  in  these  days 
of  coarser  thinking,  to  notice  the  nature,  refinement, 
and  exquisite  delicacy  which  pervade  it,  banishing 
every  gross  thought,  or  immodest  expression,  and 
presenting  female  loveliness  clothed  in  all  its  chival- 
rous attributes  of  almost  supernatural  purity  and 
grace. 

James  flourished  nearly  about  the  time  of  Chaucer 
and  Gower,  and  was  evidently  an  admins  and  studier 
of  their  writings.  Indeed,  in  one  of  his  stanzas  he 
acknowledges  them  as  his  masters,  and  in  some  parts 
of  his  poem  we  find  traces  of  similarity  to  their  pro- 
ductions, more  especially  to  those  of  Chaucer.  There 
are  always,  however,  general  features  of  resemblance 
in  the  works  of  cotemporary  authors,  which  are  not 
so  much  borrowed  from  each  other  as  from  the 
times.  Writers,  like  bees,  toll  their  sweets  in  the 
wide  world  ;  they  incorporate  with  their  own  con- 
ceptions, the  anecdotes  and  thoughts  which  are  cur- 
rent in  society,  and  thus  each  generation  has  some 
features  in  common,  characteristic  of  the  age  in 
which  it  lives.  James  in  fact  belongs  to  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  eras  of  our  literary  history,  and  estab- 
lishes the  claims  of  his  country  to  a  participation  in 
its  primitive  honours.  Whilst  a  small  cluster  of  En- 
glish writers  are  constantly  cited  as  the  fathers  of 
our  verse,  the  name  of  their  great  Scottish  compeer 
is  apt  to  be  passed  over  in  silence ;  but  he  is  evi- 
dently worthy  of  being  enrolled  in  that  little  constel- 
lation of  remote,  but  never-failing  luminaries,  who 
shine  in  the  highest  firmament  of  literature,  and  who, 
like  morning  stars,  sang  together  at  the  bright  dawn- 
ing of  British  poesy. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


25 


Such  of  my  readers  as  may  not  be  familiar  with 
Scottish  history,  (though  the  manner  in  which  it  has 
of  late  been  woven  with  captivating  fiction  has  made 
it  a  universal  study,)  may  be  curious  to  learn  some- 
thing of  the  subsequent  history  of  James,  and  the 
fortunes  of  his  love.  His  passion  for  the  Lady  Jane, 
as  it  was  the  solace  of  his  captivity,  so  it  facilitated 
his  release,  it  being  imagined  by  the  Court,  that  a 
connexion  with  the  blood-royal  of  England  would 
attach  him  to  its  own  interests.  He  was  ultimately 
restored  to  his  liberty  and  crown,  having  previously 
espoused  the  Lady  Jane,  who  accompanied  him  to 
Scotland,  and  made  him  a  most  tender  and  devoted 
wife. 

He  found  his  kingdom  in  great  confusion,  the 
feudal  chieftains  having  taken  advantage  of  the 
troubles  and  irregularities  of  a  long  interregnum,  to 
strengthen  themselves  in  their  possessions,  and  place 
themselves  above  the  power  of  the  laws.  James 
sought  to  found  the  basis  of  his  power  in  the  affec- 
tions of  his  people.  He  attached  the  lower  orders  to 
him  by  the  reformation  of  abuses,  the  temperate  and 
equable  administration  of  justice,  the  encouragement 
of  the  arts  of  peace,  and  the  promotion  of  every 
thing  that  could  diffuse  comfort,  competency,  and 
innocent  enjoyment,  through  the  humblest  ranks  of 
society.  He  mingled  occasionally  among  the  com- 
mon people  in  disguise  ;  visited  their  firesides  ;  en- 
tered into  their  cares,  their  pursuits,  and  their  amuse- 
ments ;  informed  himself  of  the  mechanical  arts,  and 
how  they  could  best  be  patronized  and  improved ; 
and  was  thus  an  all-pervading  spirit,  watching  with 
a  benevolent  eye  over  the  meanest  of  his  subjects. 
Having  in  this  generous  manner  made  himself  strong 
in  the  hearts  of  the  common  people,  he  turned  him- 
self to  curb  the  power  of  the  factious  nobility  ;  to 
strip  them  of  those  dangerous  immunities  which 
they  had  usurped  ;  to  punish  such  as  had  been 
guilty  of  flagrant  otfences ;  and  to  bring  the  whole 
into  proper  obedience  to  the  crown.  For  some  time 
they  bore  this  with  outward  submission,  but  with 
secret  impatience  and  brooding  resentment.  A  con- 
spiracy was  at  length  formed  against  his  life,  at  the 
head  of  which  was  his  own  uncle,  Robert  Stewart, 
Earl  of  Athol,  who,  being  too  old  himself  for  the 
perpetration  of  the  deed  of  blood,  instigated  his 
grandson.  Sir  Robert  Stewart,  together  with  Sir 
Robert  Graham,  and  others  of  less  note,  to  commit 
the  deed.  They  broke  into  his  bed-chamber  at  the 
Dominican  convent  near  Perth,  where  he  was  resid- 
ing, and  barbarously  murdered  him  by  oft-repeated 
wounds.  His  faithful  queen,  rushing  to  throw  her 
tender  body  between  him  and  the  sword,  was  twice 
wounded  in  the  ineffectual  attempt  to  shield  him 
from  the  assassin  ;  and  it  was  not  until  she  had  been 
forcibly  torn  from  his  person,  that  the  murder  was 
accomplished. 

It  was  the  recollection  of  this  romantic  tale  of 
former  times,  and  of  the  golden  little  poem,  which 
had  its  birth-place  in  this  tower,  that  made  me  visit 
the  old  pile  with  more  than  common  interest.  The 
suit  of  armour  hanging  up  in  the  hall,  richly  gilt  and 
embellished,  as  if  to  figure  in  the  tournay,  brought 
the  image  of  the  gallant  and  romantic  prince  vividly 
before  my  imagination.  I  paced  the  deserted  cham- 
bers where  he  had  composed  his  poem  ;  I  leaned 
upon  the  window,  and  endeavoured  to  persuade  my- 
self it  was  the  very  one  where  he  had  been  visited 
by  his  vision  ;  I  looked  out  upon  the  spot  where  he 
had  first  seen  the  Lady  Jane.  It  was  the  same 
genial  and  joyous  month ;  the  birds  were  again 
vying  with  each  other  in  strains  of  liquid  melody : 
every  thing  was  bursting  into  vegetation,  and  bud- 
ding forth  the  tender  promise  of  the  year.  Time, 
which  delights  to  obliterate  the  sterner  memorials  of 


human  pride,  seems  to  have  passed  lightly  over  this 
little  scene  of  poetry  and  love,  and  to  have  withheld 
his  desolating  hand.  Several  centuries  have  gone  by, 
yet  the  garden  still  flourishes  at  the  foot  of  the 
tower.  It  occupies  what  was  once  the  moat  of  the 
keep,  and  though  some  parts  have  been  sejiarated 
by  dividing  walls,  yet  others  have  still  their  arbours 
and  shaded  walks,  as  in  the  days  of  James  ;  and  the 
whole  is  sheltered,  blooming,  and  retired.  There  is 
a  charm  about  the  spot  that  has  been  printed  by  the 
footsteps  of  departed  beauty,  and  consecrated  by  the 
inspirations  of  the  poet,  which  is  heightened,  rather 
than  impaired,  by  the  lapse  of  ages.  It  is,  indeed, 
tlie  gift  of  poetry,  to  hallow  every  place  in  which  it 
moves  ;  to  breathe  round  nature  an  odour  more  ex- 
quisite than  the  perfume  of  the  rose,  and  to  shed 
over  it  a  tint  more  magical  than  the  blush  of  morn- 
ing. 

Others  may  dwell  on  the  illustrious  deeds  of  James 
as  a  warrior  and  a  legislator  ;  but  I  have  delighted  to 
view  him  merely  as  the  companion  of  his  fellow-men, 
the  benefactor  of  the  human  heart,  stooping  from 
his  high  estate  to  sow  the  sweet  flowers  of  poetry 
and  song  in  the  paths  of  common  life.  He  was  the 
first  to  cultiv.ite  the  vigorous  and  hardy  plant  of 
Scottish  genius,  which  has  since  been  so  prolific  of 
the  most  wholesome  and  highly  flavoured  fruit.  He 
carried  with  him  into  the  sterner  regions  of  the 
north,  all  the  fertilizing  arts  of  southern  refinement. 
He  did  every  thing  in  his  power  to  win  his  country- 
men to  the  gay,  the  elegant,  and  gentle  arts  which 
soften  and  refine  the  character  of  a  people,  and 
wreathe  a  grace  round  the  loftiness  of  a  proud  and 
warlike  spirit.  He  wrote  many  poems,  which,  un- 
fortunately for  the  fulness  of  his  fame,  are  now  lost 
to  the  world  ;  one,  which  is  still  preserved,  called 
"  Christ's  Kirk  of  the  Green,"  shows  how  diligently 
he  had  made  himself  acquainted  with  the  rustic 
sports  and  pastimes,  which  constitute  such  a  source 
of  kind  and  social  feeling  among  the  Scottish  peas- 
antry ;  and  with  what  simple  and  happy  humour  he 
could  enter  into  their  enjoyments.  He  contributed 
greatly  to  improve  the  national  music  ;  and  traces 
of  his  tender  sentiment  and  elegant  taste  are  said  to 
exist  in  those  witching  airs,  still  piped  among  the 
wild  mountains  and  lonely  glens  of  Scotland.  He 
has  thus  connected  his  image  with  whatever  is  most 
gracious  and  endearing  in  the  national  character ; 
he  has  embalmed  his  memory  in  song,  and  floated 
his  name  down  to  after-ages  in  the  rich  stream  of 
Scottish  melody.  The  recollection  of  these  things 
was  kindling  at  my  heart,  as  I  paced  the  silent  scene 
of  his  imprisonment.  I  have  visited  Vaucluse  with 
as  much  enthusiasm  as  a  pilgrim  would  visit  the 
shrine  at  Loretto  ;  but  I  have  never  felt  more  poet- 
ical devotion  than  when  contemplating  the  old 
tower  and  the  little  garden  at  Windsor,  and  musing 
over  the  romantic  loves  of  the  Lady  Jane,  and  the 
Royal  Poet  of  Scotland. 


THE  COUNTRY  CHURCH. 


A  gentleman  ! 
What  o*  the  woolpack?  or  the  sugar-chest  ? 
Or  lists  of  velvet  ?  which  is't,  pound,  or  yard, 
You  vend  your  gentry  by  ? 

Beggar's  Bush. 

There  are  few  places  more  favourable  to  the 
study  of  character,  than  an  English  country  church. 
1  was  once  passing  a  few  weeks  at  the  seat  of  a 
friend,  who  resided  in  the  vicinity  of  one,  the  ap- 


26 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


pearance  of  which  particularly  struck  my  fancy.  It 
was  one  of  those  rich  morsels  of  quaint  antiquity, 
which  give  such  a  peculiar  charm  to  English  land- 
scape. It  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  county  filled  with 
ancient  families,  and  contained,  within  its  cold  and 
silent  aisles,  the  congregated  dust  of  many  noble 
generations.  The  interior  walls  were  encrusted 
with  monuments  of  every  age  and  style.  The  light 
streamed  through  windows  dimmed  with  armorial 
bearings,  richly  emblazoned  in  stained  glass.  In 
various  parts  of  the  church  were  tombs  of  knights, 
and  high-born  dames,  of  gorgeous  workmanship, 
with  their  effigies  in  coloured  marble.  On  every 
side,  the  eye  was  struck  with  some  instance  of  aspir- 
ing mortality;  some  haughty  memorial  which  hu- 
man pride  had  erected  over  its  kindred  dust,  in  this 
temple  of  the  most  humble  of  all  religions. 

The  congregation  was  composed  of  the  neighbour- 
ing people  of  rank,  who  sat  in  pews  sumptuously 
lined  and  cushioned,  furnished  with  richly-gilded 
prayer-books,  and  decorated  with  their  arms  upon 
the  pew  doors ;  of  the  villagers  and  peasantry,  who 
filled  the  back  seats,  and  a  small  gallery  beside  the 
organ;  and  of  the  poor  of  the  parish,  who  were 
ranged  on  benches  in  the  aisles. 

The  service  was  performed  by  a  snuffling,  well-fed 
vicar,  who  had  a  snug  dwelling  near  the  church. 
He  was  a  privileged  guest  at  all  the  tables  of  the 
neighbourhood,  and  had  been  the  keenest  fox- 
hunter  in  the  country,  until  age  and  good  living  had 
disabled  him  from  doing  any  thing  more  than  ride  to 
see  the  hounds  throw  off,  and  make  one  at  the  hunt- 
ing dinner. 

Under  the  ministry  of  such  a  pastor,  I  found  it  im- 
possible to  get  into  the  train  of  thought  suitable  to 
the  time  and  place  ;  so  having,  like  many  other  feeble 
Christians,  compromised  with  my  conscience,  by  lay- 
ing the  sin  of  my  own  delinquency  at  another  per- 
son's threshold,  I  occupied  myself  by  making  obser- 
vations on  my  neighbours. 

I  was  as  yet  a  stranger  in  England,  and  curious  to 
notice  the  manners  of  its  fashionable  classes.  I 
found,  as  usual,  that  there  was  the  least  pretension 
where  tliere  was  the  most  acknowledged  title  to  re- 
spect. 1  was  particularly  struck,  for  instance,  with 
the  family  of  a  nobleman  of  high  rank,  consisting  of 
several  sons  and  daughters.  Nothing  could  be  more 
simple  and  unassuming  than  their  appearance.  They 
generally  came  to  church  in  the  plainest  equipage, 
and  often  on  foot.  The  young  ladies  would  stop 
and  converse  in  the  kindest  manner  with  the 
peasantry,  caress  the  children,  and  listen  to  the 
stories  of  the  humble  cottagers.  Their  countenances 
were  open  and  beautifully  fair,  with  an  expression  of 
high  refinement,  but  at  the  same  time,  a  frank 
cheerfulness,  and  engaging  affability.  Their  brothers 
were  tail,  and  elegantly  formed.  They  were  dressed 
fashionably,  but  simply ;  with  strict  neatness  and 
propriety,  but  without  any  mannerism  or  fopishness. 
Their  whole  demeanour  was  easy  and  natural,  with 
that  lofty  grace,  and  noble  frankness,  which  bespeak 
free-born  souls  that  have  never  been  checked  in 
their  growth  by  feehngs  of  inferiority.  There  is  a 
healthful  hardiness  about  real  dignity,  that  never 
dreads  contact  and  communion  with  others,  how- 
ever humble.  It  is  only  spurious  pride  that  is  mor- 
bid and  sensitive,  and  shrinks  from  every  touch.  I 
was  pleased  to  see  the  manner  in  which  they  would 
converse  with  the  peasantry  about  those  rural  con- 
cerns and  field  sports,  in  which  the  gentlemen  of 
this  country  so  much  delight.  In  these  conversa- 
tions, there  was  neither  haughtiness  on  the  one  part, 
nor  servility  on  the  other;  and  you  were  only  re- 
minded of  the  difference  of  rank  by  the  habitual  re- 
spect of  the  peasant. 


In  contrast  to  these,  was  the  family  of  a  wealthy 
citizen,  who  had  amassed  avast  fortune,  and,  having 
purchased  the  estate  and  mansion  of  a  ruined  noble- 
man in  the  neighbourhood,  was  endeavouring  to  as- 
sume all  the  style  and  dignity  of  a  hereditary  lord 
of  the  soil.  The  family  always  came  to  church  en 
prince.  They  were  rolled  majestically  along  in  a 
carriage  emblazoned  with  arms.  The  crest  glittered 
in  silver  radiance  from  every  part  of  the  harness 
where  a  crest  could  possibly  be  placed.  A  fat  coach- 
man in  a  three-cornered  hat,  richly  laced,  and  a  flaxen 
wig,  curling  close  round  his  rosy  face,  was  seated  on 
the  box,  with  a  sleek  Danish  dog  beside  him.  Two 
footmen  in  gorgeous  liveries,  with  huge  bouquets, 
and  gold-headed  canes,  lolled  behind.  The  carriage 
rose  and  sunk  on  its  long  springs  with  a  peculiar 
stateliness  of  motion.  The  very  horses  champed 
their  bits,  arched  their  necks,  and  glanced  their  eyes 
more  proudly  than  common  horses  ;  either  because 
they  had  got  a  little  of  the  family  feeling,  or  were 
reined  up  more  tightly  than  ordinar)'. 

I  could  not  but  admire  the  style  with  which  this 
splendid  pageant  was  brought  up  to  the  gate  of  the 
churchyard.  There  was  a  vast  effect  produced  at 
the  turning  of  an  angle  of  the  wall ; — a  great  smack- 
ing of  the  whip ;  straining  and  scrambling  of  the 
horses  ;  glistening  of  harness,  and  flashing  of  wheels 
through  gravel.  This  was  the  moment  of  triumph 
and  vain-glory  to  the  coachman.  The  horses  were 
urged  and  checked,  until  they  were  fretted  into  a 
foam.  They  threw  out  their  feet  in  a  prancing  trot, 
dashing  about  pebbles  at  every  step.  The  crowd  of 
villagers  sauntering  quietly  to  church,  opened  pre- 
cipitately to  the  right  and  left,  gaping  in  vacant  ad- 
miration. On  reaching  the  gate,  the  horses  were 
pulled  up  with  a  suddenness  that  produced  an  im- 
mediate stop,  and  almost  threw  them  on  their 
haunches. 

There  was  an  extraordinary  hurry  of  the  footmen 
to  alight,  open  the  door,  pull  down  the  steps,  and 
prepare  every  thing  for  the  descent  on  earth  of  this 
august  family.  The  old  citizen  first  emerged  his 
round  red  face  from  out  the  door,  looking  about  him 
with  the  pompous  air  of  a  man  accustomed  to  rule 
on  'change,  and  shake  the  stock-market  with  a  nod. 
His  consort,  a  fine,  fleshy,  comfortable  dame,  fol- 
lowed him.  There  seemed,  I  must  confess,  but 
little  pride  in  her  composition.  She  was  the  picture 
of  broad,  honest,  vulgar  enjoyment.  The  world 
went  well  with  her  ;  and  she  Uked  the  world.  Slie 
had  fine  clothes,  a  fine  house,  a  fine  carriage,  fine 
children,  every  thing  was  fine  about  her  :  it  was 
nothing  but  driving  about,  and  visiting  and  feasting. 
Life  was  to  her  a  perpetual  revel ;  it  was  one  long 
Lord  Mayor's  day. 

Two  daughters  succeeded  to  this  goodly  couple. 
They  certainly  were  handsome  ;  but  had  a  super- 
cilious air  that  chilled  admiration,  and  disposed  the 
spectator  to  be  critical.  They  were  ultra-fashion- 
ables in  dress,  and,  though  no  one  could  deny  the  rich- 
ness of  their  decorations,  yet  their  appropriateness 
might  be  questioned  amidst  the  simplicity  of  a  country 
church.  They  descended  loftily  from  the  carriage, 
and  moved  up  the  line  of  peasantry  with  a  step  that 
seemed  dainty  of  the  soil  it  trod  on.  They  cast  an 
excursive  glance  around,  that  passed  coldly  over  the 
burly  faces  of  the  peasantry,  until  they  met  the  eyes 
of  the  nobleman's  family,  when  their  countenances 
immediately  brightened  into  smiles,  and  they  made 
the  most  profound  and  elegant  courtesies,  which 
were  returned  in  a  manner  that  showed  they  were 
but  slight  acquaintances. 

I  must  not  forget  the  two  sons  of  this  aspiring 
citizen,  who  came  to  church  in  a  dashing  curricle, 
with  outriders.     They  were  arrayed  in  the  extremity 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


27 


of  the  mode,  with  all  that  pedantry  of  dress  which 
marks  the  man  of  questionable  pretensions  to  style. 
They  kept  entirely  by  themselves,  eyeing  every  one 
askance  that  came  near  them,  as  if  measuring  his 
claims  to  respectability  ;  yet  they  were  without  con- 
versation, e.xcept  the  exchange  of  an  occasional  cant 
l)hrase.  They  even  moved  artificially,  for  their 
bodies,  in  compliance  with  the  caprice  of  the  day, 
had  been  disciplined  into  the  absence  of  all  ease  and 
freedom.  Art  had  done  every  thing  to  accomplish 
them  as  men  of  fashion,  but  Nature  had  denied  them 
the  nameless  grace.  They  were  vulgarly  shaped, 
like  men  formed  for  the  common  purposes  of  life, 
and  had  that  air  of  supercilious  assumption  which  is 
never  seen  in  the  true  gentleman. 

I  have  been  rather  minute  in  drawing  the  pictures 
of  these  two  families,  because  I  considered  them 
specimens  of  what  is  often  to  be  met  with  in  this 
country — the  unpretending  great,  and  the  arrogant 
litile.  I  have  no  respect  for  titled  rank,  unless  it  be 
accompanied  by  true  nobility  of  soul ;  but  I  have  re- 
marked, in  all  countries  where  these  artificial  dis- 
tinctions exist,  that  the  very  highest  classes  are  al- 
ways the  most  courteous  and  unassuming.  Those 
who  are  well  assured  of  their  own  standing,  are 
least  apt  to  trespass  on  that  of  others  :  whereas, 
nothing  is  so  offensive  as  the  aspirings  of  vulgarity, 
which  thinks  to  elevate  itsell  by  humiliating  its 
neighbour. 

As  I  have  brought  these  families  into  contrast,  I 
must  notice  their  behaviour  in  church.  That  of  the 
nobleman's  family  was  quiet,  serious,  and  attentive. 
Not  that  they  appeared  to  have  any  fervour  of  devo- 
tion, but  rather  a  res])ect  for  sacred  things,  and 
sacred  places,  inseparable  from  good-breeding.  The 
others,  on  the  contrary,  were  in  a  perpetual  flutter 
and  whisper  ;  they  betrayed  a  continual  conscious- 
ness of  finery,  and  the  sorry  ambition  of  being  the 
wonders  of  a  rural  congregation. 

The  old  gentleman  was  the  only  one  really  atten- 
tive to  the  service.  He  took  the  whole  burden  of 
family  devotion  upon  himself;  standing  bolt  upright, 
and  uttering  the  responses  with  a  loud  voice  that 
might  be  heard  all  over  the  church.  It  was  evident 
that  he  was  one  of  these  thorough  church  and  king 
men,  who  connect  the  idea  of  devotion  and  loyalty  ; 
who  consider  the  Deity,  some  how  or  other,  of  the 
government  party,  and  religion  "  a  very  excellent 
sort  of  thing,  that  ought  to  be  countenanced  and 
kept  up." 

When  he  joined  so  loudly  in  the  ser\'ice,  it  seemed 
more  by  way  of  example  to  the  lower  orders,  to 
show  them,  that  though  so  great  and  wealthy,  he 
was  not  above  being  religious  ;  as  I  have  seen  a 
turtle-fed  alderman  swallow  publicly  a  basin  of 
charity  soup,  smacking  his  lips  at  every  mouthful, 
and  pronouncing  it  "excellent  food  for  the  poor." 

When  the  service  was  at  an  end,  1  was  curious  to 
witness  the  several  exits  of  my  groups.  The  young 
noblemen  and  their  sisters,  as  the  day  was  fine,  pre- 
ferred strolling  home  across  the  fields,  chatting  with 
the  country  people  as  they  went.  The  others  de- 
parted as  they  came,  in  grand  parade.  Again  were 
the  equipages  wheeled  up  to  the  gate.  There  was 
again  the  smacking  of  whips,  the  clattering  of  hoofs, 
and  the  glittering  of  harness.  The  horses  started 
off  almost  at  a  bound ;  the  villagers  again  hurried 
to  right  and  left ;  the  wheels  threw  up  a  cloud  of 
dust,  and  the  aspiring  family  was  wrapt  out  of  sight 
in  a  whirlwind. 


THE  WIDOW  AND   HER  SON. 


Pittie  olde  age,  within  whose  silver  haires 
Honour  and  reverence  evermore  have  raign'd. 

Marlowe's  Tamhurlaijit, 

During  my  residence  in  the  country,  I  used  fre- 
quently to  attend  at  the  old  village  church.  Its 
shadowy  aisles,  its  mouldering  monuments,  its  dark 
oaken  panelling,  all  reverend  with  the  gloom  of  de- 
parted years,  seemed  to  fit  it  for  the  haunt  of  solemn 
meditation.  A  Sunday,  too,  in  the  country,  is  so  holy 
in  its  i-epose — such  a  pensive  quiet  reigns  over  the 
face  of  Nature,  that  every  restless  passion  is  charmed 
down,  and  we  feel  all  the  natural  religion  of  the  soul 
gently  springing  up  within  us. 

**  Sweet  day,  so  pure,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky  !  " 

I  cannot  lay  claim  to  the  merit  of  being  a  devout 
man  ;  but  there  are  feelings  that  visit  me  in  a  country 
church,  amid  the  beautiful  serenity  of  Nature,  which 
I  experience  nowhere  else  ;  and  if  not  a  more  religious, 
I  think  I  am  a  better  man  on  Sunday,  than  on  any 
other  day  of  the  seven. 

But  in  this  church  I  felt  myself  continually  thrown 
back  upon  the  world,  by  the  frigidity  and  pomp  of  the 
poor  worms  around  me.  The  only  being  that  seemed 
thoroughly  to  feel  the  humble  and  prostrate  piety  of 
a  true  Christian,  was  a  poor  decrepit  old  woman, 
bending  under  the  weight  of  years  and  infirmities. 
She  bore  the  traces  of  something  better  than  abject 
poverty.  The  lingerings  of  decent  pride  were  visible 
in  her  appearance.  Her  dress,  though  humble  in  the 
extreme,  was  scrupulously  clean.  Some  trivial  re- 
spect, too,  had  been  awarded  her,  for  she  did  not 
take  her  seat  among  the  village  poor,  but  sat  alone 
on  the  steps  of  the  altar.  She  seemed  to  have  sur- 
vived all  love,  all  friendship,  all  society  ;  and  to  have 
nothing  left  her  but  the  hopes  of  heaven.  When  I 
saw  her  feebly  rising  and  bending  her  aged  form  in 
prayer ;  habitually  conning  her  prayer-book,  which 
her  palsied  hand  and  failing  eyes  could  not  permit 
her  to  read,  but  which  she  evidently  knew  by  heart ; 
I  felt  persuaded  that  the  faltering  voice  of  that  poor 
woman  arose  to  heaven  far  before  the  responses  of 
the  clerk,  the  swell  of  the  organ,  or  the  chanting  of 
the  choir. 

I  am  fond  of  loitering  about  country  churches  ;  and 
this  was  so  delightfully  situated,  that  it  frequently  at- 
tracted me.  It  stood  on  a  knoll,  round  which  a  small 
stream  made  a  beautiful  bend,  and  then  wound  its 
way  through  a  long  reach  of  soft  meadow  scenery. 
The  church  was  surrounded  by  yew  trees,  which 
seemed  almost  coeval  with  itself.  Its  tall  Gothic 
spire  shot  up  lightly  from  among  them,  with  rooks 
and  crows  generally  wheeling  about  it.  I  was  seated 
there  one  still  sunny  morning,  watching  two  labourers 
who  were  digging  a  grave.  They  had  chosen  one 
of  the  most  remote  and  neglected  corners  of  the 
churchyard,  where,  by  the  number  of  nameless  graves 
around,  it  would  appear  that  the  indigent  and  friend- 
less were  huddled  into  the  earth.  I  was  told  that  the 
new-made  grave  was  for  the  only  son  of  a  poor  widow. 
While  I  was  meditating  on  the  distinctions  of  worldly 
rank,  which  extend  thus  down  into  the  very  dust,  the 
toll  of  the  bell  announced  the  approach  of  the  funeral. 
They  were  the  obsequies  of  poverty,  with  which 
pride  had  nothing  to  do.  A  coffin  of  the  plainest 
materials,  without  pall  or  other  covering,  was  borne 
by  some  of  the  villagers.  The  sexton  walked  before 
with  an  air  of  cold  indifference.  There  were  no  mock 
mourners  in  the  trappings  of  affected  wo,  but  there 


28 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


was  one  real  mourner  who  feebly  tottered  after  the 
corpse.  It  was  the  aged  mother  of  the  deceased— 
the  poor  old  woman  whom  I  had  seen  seated  on  the 
steps  of  the  altar.  She  was  supported  by  an  humble 
friend,  who  was  endeavouring  to  comfort  her.  A 
few  of  the  neighbouring  poor  had  joined  the  train, 
and  some  children  of  the  village  were  running  hand 
in  hand,  now  shouting  with  unthinking  mirth,  and 
now  pausing  to  gaze,  with  childish  curiosity,  on  the 
grief  of  the  mourner. 

As  the  funeral  train  approached  the  grave,  the  par- 
son issued  from  the  church  porch,  arrayed  in  the  sur- 
plice, with  prayer-book  in  hand,  and  attended  by  the 
clerk.  The  service,  however,  was  a  mere  act  of 
ciiarity.  The  deceased  had  been  destitute,  and  the 
survivor  was  pennyless.  It  was  shuffled  through, 
therefore,  in  form,  but  coldly  and  unfeelingly.  The 
well-fed  priest  moved  but  a  few  steps  from  the  church 
door ;  his  voice  could  scarcely  be  heard  at  the  grave  ; 
and  never  did  I  hear  the  funeral  service,  that  sublime 
and  touching  ceremony,  turned  into  such  a  frigid 
mummery  of  words. 

I  approached  the  grave.  The  coffin  was  placed 
on  the  ground.  On  it  were  inscribed  the  name  and 
age  of  the  deceased — "George  Somcrs,  aged  26 
years."  The  poor  mother  had  been  assisted  to  kneel 
down  at  the  head  of  it.  Her  withered  hands  were 
dasped,  as  if  in  prayer ;  but  I  could  perceive,  by  a 
feeble  rocking  of  the  body,  and  a  convulsive  motion 
of  the  lips,  that  she  was  gazing  on  the  last  relics  of 
her  son  with  the  yearnings  of  a  mother's  heart. 

Preparations  were  made  to  deposit  the  coffin  in  the 
earth.  There  was  that  bustling  stir,  which  breaks  so 
harshly  on  the  feelings  of  grief  and  affection  :  direc- 
tions given  in  the  cold  tones  of  business ;  the  striking 
of  spades  into  sand  and  gravel ;  which,  at  the  grave 
of  those  we  love,  is  of  all  sounds  the  most  withering. 
The  bustle  around  seemed  to  waken  the  mother  from 
a  wretched  reverie.  She  raised  her  glazed  eyes,  and 
looked  about  with  a  faint  wildness.  As  the  men  ap- 
proached with  cords  to  lower  the  coffin  into  the  grave, 
she  wrung  her  hands,  and  broke  into  an  agony  of 
grief.  The  poor  woman  who  attended  her,  took  her 
by  the  arm,  endeavoured  to  raise  her  from  the  earth, 
and  to  whisper  something  like  consolation — "  Nay, 
now — nay,  now — don't  take  it  so  sorely  to  heart." 
She  could  only  shake  her  head,  and  wring  her  hands, 
as  one  not  to  be  comforted. 

As  they  lowered  the  body  into  the  earth,  the 
creaking  of  the  cords  seemed  to  agonize  her ;  but 
when,  on  some  accidental  obstruction,  there  was  a 
jostling  of  the  coffin,  all  the  tenderness  of  the  moth- 
er burst  forth  ;  as  if  any  harm  could  come  to  him 
who  was  far  beyond  the  reach  of  worldly  suffering. 

I  could  see  no  more — my  heart  swelled  into  my 
throat — my  eyes  filled  with  tears — I  felt  as  if  I  were 
acting  a  barbarous  part  in  standing  by  and  gazing 
idly  on  this  scene  of  maternal  anguish.  1  wandered 
to  another  part  of  the  churchyard,  where  1  remained 
until  the  funeral  train  had  dispersed. 

When  I  saw  the  mother  slowly  and  painfully  quit- 
ting the  grave,  leaving  behind  her  the  remains  of  all 
that  was  dear  to  her  on  earth,  and  returning  to  si- 
lence and  destitution,  my  heart  ached  for  her.  What, 
thought  I,  are  the  distresses  of  the  rich  ?  They  have 
friends  to  soothe — pleasures  to  beguile — a  world  to 
divert  and  dissipate  their  griefs.  What  are  the  sor- 
rows of  the  young  ?  Their  growing  minds  soon 
dose  above  the  wound — their  elastic  spirits  soon 
rise  beneath  the  pressure — their  green  and  ductile 
affections  soon  twine  around  new  objects.  But  the 
sorrows  of  the  poor,  who  have  no  outward  appli- 
ances to  soothe — the  sorrows  of  the  aged,  with  whom 
life  at  best  is  but  a  wintry  day,  and  who  can  look  for 
no  after-growth  of  joy — the  sorrows  of  a  widow,  aged. 


solitary,  destitute,  mourning  over  an  only  son,  the  last 
solace  of  her  years  ; — these  are  indeed  sorrows  which 
make  us  feel  the  impotency  of  consolation. 

It  was  some  time  before  I  left  the  churchyard.  On 
my  way  homeward,  I  met  with  the  woman  who  had 
acted  as  comforter :  she  was  just  returning  from  ac- 
companying her  mother  to  her  lonely  habitation,  and 
I  drew  from  her  some  particulars  connected  with  the 
affecting  scene  I  had  witnessed. 

The  parents  of  the  deceased  had  resided  in  the 
village  from  childhood.  They  had  inhabited  one  of 
the  neatest  cottages,  and  by  various  rural  occupa- 
tions, and  the  assistance  of  a  small  garden,  had  sup- 
ported themselves  creditably  and  comfortably,  and 
led  a  happy  and  a  blameless  life.  They  had  one  son, 
who  had  grown  up  to  be  the  staff  and  pride  of  their 
age. — "  Oh,  sir  !  "  said  the  good  woman,  "  he  was 
such  a  comely  lad,  so  sweet-tempered,  so  kind  to 
every  one  around  him,  so  dutiful  to  his  parents  !  It 
did  one's  heart  good  to  see  him  of  a  Sunday,  drest 
out  in  his  best,  so  tall,  so  straight,  so  cheery,  sup- 
porting his  old  mother  to  church — for  she  was  al- 
ways fonder  of  leaning  on  George's  arm,  than  on  her 
good  man's ;  and,  poor  soul,  she  might  well  be  proud 
of  him,  for  a  finer  lad  there  was  not  in  the  country 
round." 

Unfortunately,  the  son  was  tempted,  during  a  year 
of  scarcity  and  agricultural  hardship,  to  enter  into 
the  service  of  one  of  the  small  craft  that  plied  on  a 
neighbouring  river.  He  had  not  been  long  in  this 
employ,  when  he  was  entrapped  by  a  press-gang,  and 
carried  off  to  sea.  His  parents  received  tidings  of  his 
seizure,  but  beyond  that  they  could  learn  nothing. 
It  was  the  loss  of  their  main  prop.  The  father,  who 
was  already  infirm,  grew  heartless  and  melancholy, 
and  sunk  into  his  grave.  The  widow,  left  lonely  in 
her  age  and  feebleness,  could  no  longer  support  her- 
self, and  came  upon  the  parish.  Still  there  was  a 
kind  of  feeling  toward  her  throughout  the  village, 
and  a  certain  respect  as  being  one  of  the  oldest  in- 
habitants. As  no  one  applied  for  the  cottage  in 
which  she  had  passed  so  many  happy  days,  she  was 
permitted  to  remain  in  it,  where  she  lived  solitary 
and  almost  helpless.  The  few  wants  of  nature  were 
chiefly  supplied  from  the  scanty  productions  of 
her  little  garden,  which  the  neighbours  would  now 
and  then  cultivate  for  her.  It  was  but  a  few  days  be- 
fore the  time  at  which  these  circumstances  were  told 
me,  that  she  was  gathering  some  vegetables  for  her 
repast,  when  she  heard  the  cottage-door  which  faced 
the  garden  suddenly  opened.  A  stranger  came  out, 
and  seemed  to  be  looking  eagerly  and  wildly  around. 
He  was  dressed  in  seamen's  clothes,  was  emaciated 
and  ghastly  pale,  and  bore  the  air  of  one  broken  by 
sickness  and  hardships.  He  saw  her,  and  hastened 
toward  her,  but  his  steps  were  faint  and  faltering ; 
he  sank  on  his  knees  before  her,  and  sobbed  like  a 
child.  The  poor  woman  gazed  upon  him  with  a  va- 
cant and  wandering  eye — "  Oh  my  dear,  dear  moth- 
er !  don't  you  know  your  son  ?  your  poor  boy 
George?"  It  was,  indeed,  the  wreck  of  her  once 
noble  lad  ;  who,  shattered  by  wounds,  by  sickness, 
and  foreign  imprisonment,  had,  at  length,  dragged 
his  wasted  limbs  homeward,  to  repose  among  the 
scenes  of  his  childhood. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  detail  the  particulars  of  such 
a  meeting,  where  sorrow  and  joy  were  so  completely 
blended :  still  he  was  alive  ! — he  was  come  home  ! — 
he  might  yet  live  to  comfort  and  cherish  her  old  age  ! 
Nature,  however,  was  exhausted  in  him ;  and  if  any 
thing  had  been  wanting  to  finish  the  work  of  fate, 
the  desolation  of  his  native  cottage  would  have  been 
sufficient.  He  stretched  himself  on  the  pallet  on 
which  his  widowed  mother  had  passed  many  a 
sleepless  night,  and  he  never  rose  from  it  again. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent, 


29 


The  villagers,  when  they  heard  that  George  Som- 
ers  had  returned,  crowded  to  see  him,  offering  every 
comfort  and  assistance  that  their  humble  means  af- 
forded. He  was  too  weak,  however,  to  talk — he 
could  only  look  his  thanks.  His  mother  was  his 
constant  attendant ;  and  he  seemed  unwilling  to  be 
helped  by  any  other  hand. 

There  is  something  in  sickness  that  breaks  down 
the  pride  of  manhood  ;  that  softens  the  heart,  and 
brings  it  back  to  the  feelings  of  infancy.  Who  that 
has  languished,  even  in  advanced  life,  in  sickness 
and  despondency;  who  that  has  pined  on  a  weary 
Ijed  in  the  neglect  and  loneliness  of  a  foreign  land  ; 
but  has  thought  on  the  mother  "  that  looked  on  his 
childhood,"  that  smoothed  his  pillow,  and  adminis- 
tered to  his  helplessness  .'  Oh  !  there  is  an  enduring 
tenderness  in  the  love  of  a  mother  to  a  son,  that  tran- 
scends all  other  affections  of  the  heart.  It  is  neither 
to  be  chilled  by  selfishness,  nor  daunted  by  danger, 
nor  weakened  by  worthlessness,  nor  stifled  by  in- 
gratitude. She  will  sacrifice  every  comfort  to  his 
convenience  ;  she  will  surrender  every  pleasure  to 
his  enjoyment ;  she  will  glory  in  his  fame,  and  exult 
in  his  prosperity  ; — and,  if  misfortune  overtake  him, 
he  will  be  the  dearer  to  her  from  misfortune  ;  and  if 
disgrace  settle  upon  his  name,  she  will  still  love  and 
cherish  him  in  spite  of  his  disgrace ;  and  if  all  the 
world  beside  cast  him  off,  she  will  be  all  the  world 
to  him. 

Poor  George  Somers  had  known  what  it  was  to 
lie  in  sickness,  and  none  to  soothe — lonely  and  in 
prison,  and  none  to  visit  him.  He  could  not  endure 
his  mother  from  his  sight ;  if  she  moved  away,  his 
eye  would  follow  her.  She  would  sit  for  hours  by 
his  bed,  watching  him  as  he  slept.  Sometimes  he 
would  start  from  a  feverish  dream,  and  looking  anx- 
iously up  until  he  saw  her  bending  over  him,  when 
he  would  take  her  hand,  lay  it  on  his  bosom,  and  fall 
asleep  with  the  tranquillity  of  a  child.  In  this  way 
he  died. 

My  first  impulse,  on  hearing  this  humble  tale  of 
affliction,  was  to  visit  the  cottage  of  the  mourner, 
and  administer  pecuniary  assistance,  and,  if  possi- 
ble, comfort.  I  found,  however,  on  inquiry,  that  the 
good  feelings  of  the  villagers  h.ad  prompted  them  to 
do  every  thing  that  the  case  admitted  ;  and  as  the 
poor  know  best  how  to  console  each  other's  sorrows, 
1  did  not  venture  to  intrude. 

The  next  Sunday  I  was  at  the  village  church ; 
when,  to  my  surprise,  I  saw  the  poor  old  woman 
tottering  down  the  aisle  to  her  accustomed  seat  on 
the  steps  of  the  altar. 

She  had  made  an  effort  to  put  on  something  like 
mourning  for  her  son  ;  and  nothing  could  be  more 
touching  than  this  struggle  between  pious  affection 
and  utter  poverty :  a  black  riband  or  so — a  faded 
black  handkerchief — and  one  or  two  more  such 
humble  attempts  to  express  by  outward  signs  that 
grief  which  passes  show. — When  I  looked  round 
upon  the  storied  monuments,  the  stately  hatch- 
ments, the  cold  marble  pomp,  with  which  grandeur 
mourned  magnificently  over  departed  pride,  and 
turned  to  this  poor  widow,  bowed  down  by  age  and 
sorrow  at  the  altar  of  her  God,  and  offering  up  the 
prayers  and  praises  of  a  pious,  though  a  broken 
heart,  1  felt  that  this  living  monument  of  real  grief 
was  worth  them  all. 

I  related  her  story  to  some  of  the  wealthy  mem- 
bers of  the  congregation,  and  they  were  moved  by 
it.  They  exerted  themselves  to  render  her  situation 
more  comfortable,  and  to  lighten  her  afflictions.  It 
was,  however,  but  smoothing  a  few  steps  to  the 
grave.  In  the  course  of  a  Sunday  or  two  after,  she 
was  missed  from  her  usual  seat  at  church,  and  be- 
fore I  left  the  neighbourhood,  I  heard,  with  a  feeling 


of  satisfaction,  that  she  had  quietly  breathed  her 
last,  and  had  gone  to  rejoin  those  she  loved,  in  that 
world  where  sorrow  is  never  known,  and  friends  are 
never  parted. 


THE  BOAR'S  HEAD  TAVERN,  EASTCHEAP. 


A  SHAKSPERIAN  RESEARCH. 


"A  tavern  Is  the  rendezvous,  the  exchange,  the  staple  of  good 
fellows.  I  have  heard  my  great-grandfather  tell,  how  his  great- 
great-grandfather  should  say,  that  it  was  an  old  proverb  when  his 
great-grandfather  was  a  child,  that  '  it  was  a  good  wind  that  blew  a 
man  to  the  wine.'  " 

Mother  Bombie. 

It  is  a  pious  custom,  in  some  Catholic  countries, 
to  honour  the  memory  of  saints  by  votive  lights 
burnt  before  their  pictures.  The  popularity  of  a 
saint,  therefore,  may  be  known  by  the  number  of 
these  offerings.  One,  perhaps,  is  left  to  mou'.dcr  in 
the  darkness  of  his  little  chape! ;  another  may  have 
a  solitary  lamp  to  throw  its  blinking  rays  athwart 
his  effigy ;  while  the  whole  blaze  of  adoration  is 
lavished  at  the  shrine  of  some  beatified  father  of  re- 
nown. The  wealthy  devotee  brings  his  huge  lumi- 
nary of  wax ;  the  eager  zealot,  his  seven-branched 
candlestick  ;  and  even  the  mendicant  pilgrim  is  by 
no  means  satisfied  that  sufficient  light  is  thrown 
upon  the  deceased,  unless  he  hangs  up  his  little  lamp 
of  smoking  oil.  The  consequence  is,  in  the  eager- 
ness to  enlighten,  they  are  often  apt  to  obscure;  and 
I  have  occasionally  seen  an  unlucky  saint  almost 
smoked  out  of  countenance  by  the  officiousness  of 
his  followers. 

In  like  manner  has  it  fared  with  the  immortal 
Shakspcare.  Every  writer  considers  it  his  bounden 
duty,  to  light  up  some  portion  of  his  character  or 
works,  and  to  rescue  some  merit  from  oblivion.  The 
commentator,  opulent  in  words,  produces  vast  tomes 
of  dissertations  ;  the  common  herd  of  editors  send 
up  mists  of  obscurity  from  their  notes  at  the  bottom 
of  each  page ;  and  every  casual  scribbler  brings  his 
farthing  rush-light  of  eulogy  or  research,  to  swell 
the  cloud  of  incense  and  of  smoke. 

As  I  honour  all  established  usages  of  my  brethren 
of  the  quill,  I  thought  it  but  proper  to  contribute  my 
mite  of  homage  to  the  memory  of  the  illustrious 
bard.  I  was  for  some  time,  however,  sorely  puzzled 
in  what  way  I  should  discharge  this  duty.  I  found 
myself  anticipated  in  every  attempt  at  a  new  read- 
ing ;  every  doubtful  line  had  been  explained  a  dozen 
different  ways,  and  perplexed  beyond  the  reach  of 
elucidation  ;  and  as  to  fine  passages,  they  had  all 
been  amply  praised  by  previous  admirers :  nay,  so 
completely  had  the  bard,  of  late,  been  overlarded 
with  panegyric  by  a  great  German  critic,  that  it  was 
difficult  now  to  find  even  a  fault  that  had  not  been 
argued  into  a  beauty. 

In  this  perplexity,  I  was  one  morning  turning  over 
his  pages,  when  I  casually  opened  upon  the  comic 
scenes  of  Henry  IV.,  and  was,  in  a  moment,  com- 
pletely lost  in  the  madcap  revelry  of  the  Boar's  Head 
Tavern.  So  vividly  and  naturally  are  these  scenes 
of  humour  depicted,  and  with  such  force  and  con- 
sistency are  the  characters  sustained,  that  they  be- 
come mingled  up  in  the  mind  with  the  facts  and 
personages  of  real  life.  To  few  readers  does  it  oc- 
cur, that  these  are  all  ideal  creations  of  a  poet's 
brain,  and  that,  in  sober  truth,  no  such  knot  of 
merry  roysters  ever  enlivened  the  dull  neighbour- 
hood of  Eastcheap. 

For  my  part,  I  love  to  give  myself  up  to  the  illusions 


30 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


of  poetry.  A  hero  of  fiction  that  never  existed,  is 
just  as  valuable  to  me  as  a  hero  of  history  that  ex- 
isted a  thousand  years  since:  and,  if  I  maybe  ex- 
cused such  an  insensibility  to  the  common  ties  of 
human  nature,  I  would  not  give  up  fat  Jack  for  half 
the  great  men  of  ancient  chronicle.  What  have  the 
heroes  of  yore  done  for  me,  or  men  like  me  ?  They 
have  conquered  countries  of  which  I  do  not  enjoy  an 
acre ;  or  they  have  gained  laurels  of  which  I  do  not 
inherit  a  leaf;  or  they  have  furnished  examples  of 
hair-brained  prowess,  which  I  have  neither  the  op- 
portunity nor  the  inclination  to  follow.  But  old  Jack 
Falstaff !— kind  Jack  Falstaff !— sweet  Jack  Falstaff ! 
has  enlarged  the  boundaries  of  human  enjoyment ; 
he  has  added  vast  regions  of  wit  and  good-humour, 
in  which  the  poorest  man  may  revel ;  and  has  be- 
queathed a  never-failing  inheritance  of  jolly  laughter, 
to  make  mankind  merrier  and  better  to  the  latest 
posterity. 

A  thought  suddenly  struck  me :  "  I  will  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  Eastcheap,"  said  I,  closing  the  book, 
"  and  see  if  the  old  Boar's  Head  Tavern  still  exists. 
Who  knows  but  I  may  light  upon  some  legendary 
traces  of  Dame  Quickly  an;l  her  guests  ;  at  any  rate, 
there  will  be  a  kindred  pleasure,  in  treading  the  halls 
once  vocal  with  their  mirth,  to  that  the  toper  enjoys 
in  smelling  to  the  empty  cask,  once  filled  with  gener- 
ous wine." 

The  resolution  was  no  sooner  formed  than  put  in 
execution.  I  forbear  to  treat  of  the  various  advent- 
ures and  wonders  I  encountered  in  my  travels,  of 
the  haunted  regions  of  Cock-lane ;  of  the  faded 
glories  of  Little  Britain,  and  the  parts  adjacent ; 
what  perils  I  ran  in  Cateaton-street  and  Old  Jewry ; 
of  the  renowned  Guildhall  and  its  two  stunted  giants, 
the  pride  and  wonder  of  the  city,  and  the  terror  of 
all  unlucky  urchins ;  and  how  I  visited  London 
Stone,  and  struck  my  staff  upon  it,  in  imitation  of 
that  arch-rebel,  Jack  Cade. 

Let  it  suffice  to  say,  that  I  at  length  arrived  in 
merry  Eastcheap,  that  ancient  region  of  wit  and  was- 
sail, where  the  very  names  of  the  streets  relished  of 
good  cheer,  as  Pudding-lane  bears  testimony  even  at 
the  present  day.  For  Eastcheap,  says  old  Stow, 
"  was  always  famous  for  its  convivial  doings.  The 
cookes  cried  hot  ribbes  of  beef  roasted,  pies  well 
baked,  and  other  victuals ;  there  was  clattering  of 
pewter  pots,  harpe,  pipe,  and  sawtrie."  Alas  !  how 
sadly  is  the  scene  changed  since  the  roaring  days  of 
Falstaff  and  old  Stow  !  The  madcap  royster  has 
given  place  to  the  plodding  tradesman  ;  the  clatter- 
ing of  pots  and  the  sound  of  "  harpe  and  sawtrie," 
to  the  din  of  carts  and  the  accurst  dinging  of  the 
dustman's  bell ;  and  no  song  is  heard,  save,  haply, 
the  strain  of  some  syren  from  Billingsgate,  chanting 
the  eulogy  of  deceased  mackerel. 

I  sought,  in  vain,  for  the  ancient  abode  of  Dame 
Quickly.  The  only  relict  of  it  is  a  boar's  head, 
carved  in  relief  stone,  which  formerly  served  as  the 
sign,  but,  at  present,  is  built  into  the  parting  line 
of  two  houses  which  stand  on  the  site  of  the  re- 
nowned old  tavern. 

For  the  history  of  this  little  empire  of  good  fellow- 
ship, I  was  referred  to  a  tallow-chandler's  widow, 
opposite,  who  had  been  born  and  brought  up  on  the 
spot,  and  was  looked  up  to,  as  the  indisputable 
chronicler  of  the  neighbourhood.  I  found  her  seated 
in  a  little  back  parlour,  the  window  of  which  looked 
out  upon  a  yard  about  eight  feet  square,  laid  out  as  a 
flower-garden  ;  while  a  glass  door  opposite  afforded 
a  distant  peep  of  the  street,  through  a  vista  of  soap 
and  tallow  candles  ;  the  two  views,  which  comprised, 
in  all  probability,  her  prospects  in  life,  and  the  little 
world  in  which  she  had  lived,  and  moved,  and  had 
her  being,  for  the  better  part  of  a  century. 


To  be  versed  in  the  history  of  Eastcheap,  great 
and  little,  from  London  Stone  even  unto  the  Alonu- 
ment,  was,  doubtless,  in  her  opinion,  to  be  ac<|uaint- 
ed  with  the  history  of  the  universe.  Yet,  with  all 
this,  she  possessed  the  simplicity  of  true  wisdom,  and 
that  liberal,  communicative  disposition,  which  1 
have  generally  remarked  in  intelligent  old  ladies, 
knowing  in  the  concerns  of  their  neighbourhood. 

Her  information,  however,  did  not  extend  far  back 
into  antiquity.  She  could  throw  no  light  upon  the 
history  of  the  Boar's  Head,  from  the  time  that  Dame 
Quickly  espoused  the  valiant  Pistol,  until  the  great 
fire  of  London,  when  it  was  unfortunately  burnt 
down.  It  was  soon  rebuilt,  and  continued  to  tlourish 
under  the  old  name  and  sign,  until  a  dying  landlord, 
struck  with  remorse  for  double  scores,  bad  measures, 
and  other  iniquities  which  are  incident  to  the  sinful 
race  of  publicans,  endeavoured  to  make  his  peace 
with  Heaven,  by  bequeathing  the  tavern  to  St. 
Michael's  church.  Crooked-lane,  toward  the  support- 
ing of  a  chaplain.  For  some  time  the  vestry  meet- 
ings were  regularly  held  there  ;  but  it  was  obser\-ed 
that  the  old  Boar  never  held  up  his  head  under 
church  government.  He  gradually  declined,  and 
finally  gave  his  last  gasp  about  thirty  years  since. 
The  tavern  was  then  turned  into  shops  ;  but  she  in- 
formed me  that  a  picture  of  it  was  still  preserved  in 
St.  Michael's  church,  which  stood  just  in  the  rear. 
To  get  a  sight  of  this  picture  was  now  my  determi- 
nation ;  so,  having  informed  myself  of  the  abode  of" 
the  sexton,  I  took  my  leave  of  the  venerable  chronicler 
of  Eastcheap,  my  visit  having  doubtless  raised  greatly 
her  opinion  of  her  legendary  lore,  and  furnished  an 
important  incident  in  the  history  of  her  life. 

It  cost  me  some  difficulty,  and  much  curious  in- 
quiry, to  ferret  out  the  humble  hanger-on  to  the 
church.  I  had  to  explore  Crooked-lane,  and  divers 
little  alleys,  and  elbows,  and  dark  passages,  with 
which  this  old  city  is  perforated,  like  an  ancient 
cheese,  or  a  worm-eaten  chest  of  drawers.  At  length 
I  traced  him  to  a  corner  of  a  small  court,  surround- 
ed by  lofty  houses,  where  the  inhabitants  enjoy  about 
as  much  of  the  face  of  heaven,  as  a  community  of 
frogs  at  the  bottom  of  a  well.  The  sexton  was  a 
meek,  acquiescing  little  man,  of  a  bowing,  lowly 
habit ;  yet  he  had  a  pleasant  twinkling  in  his  eye, 
and  if  encouraged,  would  now  and  then  venture  a 
small  pleasantry  ;  such  as  a  man  of  his  low  estate 
might  venture  to  make  in  the  company  of  high  church 
wardens,  and  other  mighty  men  of  the  earth.  I 
found  him  in  company  with  the  deputy  organist, 
seated  apart,  like  Milton's  angels;  discoursing,  no 
doubt,  on  high  doctrinal  points,  and  settling  the  af- 
fairs of  the  church  over  a  friendly  pot  of  ale ;  for  the 
lower  classes  of  English  seldom  deliberate  on  any 
weighty  matter,  without  the  assistance  of  a  cool 
tankard  to  clear  their  understandings.  I  arrived  at 
the  moment  when  they  had  finished  their  ale  and 
their  argument,  and  were  about  to  repair  to  the 
church  to  put  it  in  order ;  so,  having  made  known 
my  wishes,  I  received  their  gracious  permission  to 
accompany  them. 

The  church  of  St.  Michael's,  Crooked-lane,  stand- 
ing a  short  distance  from  Billingsgate,  is  enriched 
with  the  tombs  of  many  fishmongers  of  renown  ;  and 
as  every  profession  has  its  galaxy  of  glor}',  and  its 
constellation  of  great  men,  I  presume  the  monument 
of  a  mighty  fishmonger  of  the  olden  time  is  regarded 
with  as  much  reverence  by  succeeding  generations 
of  the  craft,  as  poets  feel  on  contemplating  the  tomb 
of  Virgil,  or  soldiers  the  monument  of  a  Marlbor- 
ough or  Turenne. 

I  cannot  but  turn  aside,  while  thus  jpcaking  of  il- 
lustrious men,  to  observe  that  St.  Michael's,  Crook- 
ed-lane, contains  also  the  ashes  of  that  doughty  cham- 


THE    SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY  CRAYON,   Gent. 


31 


pion,  William  Walworth,  Knight,  who  so  manfully 
clove  down  the  sturdy  wight,  Wat  Tyler,  in  Smith- 
field  ;  a  hero  worthy  of  honourable  blazon,  as  almost 
the  only  Lord  Mayor  on  record  famous  for  deeds  of 
arms  ;  the  sovereigns  of  Cockney  being  generally  re- 
nowned as  the  most  pacific  of  all  potentates.* 

Adjoining  the  church,  in  a  small  cemetery,  imme- 
diately under  the  back  windows  of  what  was  once 
the  Boar's  Head,  stands  the  tombstone  of  Robert 
Preston,  whilome  drawer  at  the  tavern.  It  is  now 
nearly  a  century  since  this  trusty  drawer  of  g-ood 
liquorclosed  his  bustling  career,  aad  was  thus  quietly 
deposited  within  call  of  his  customers.  As  I  was 
clearing  away  the  weeds  from  his  epitaph,  the  little 
sexton  drew  me  on  one  side  with  a  mysterious  air, 
and  informed  me,  in  a  low  voice,  that  once  upon  a 
time,  on  a  dark  wintry  night,  when  the  wind  was  un- 
ruly, howling  and  whistling,  banging  about  doors  and 
windows,  and  twirling  weathercocks,  so  that  the  liv- 
ing were  frightened  out  of  their  beds,  and  even  the 
dead  could  not  sleep  quietly  in  their  graves,  the  ghost 
of  honest  Preston,  which  happened  to  be  airing  itself 
in  the  churchyard,  was  attracted  by  the  well-known 
call  of  "  waiter,"  from  the  Boar's  Head,  and  made 
its  sudden  appearance  in  the  midst  of  a  roaring  club, 
just  as  the  parish  clerk  was  singing  a  stave  from  the 
"  mirrie  garland  of  Captain  Death  ;"  to  the  discom- 
fiture of  sundry  train-band  captains,  and  the  conver- 
sion of  an  infidel  attorney,  who  became  a  zealous 
Christian  on  the  spot,  and  was  never  known  to  twist 
the  truth  afterwards,  except  in  the  way  of  business. 

I  beg  it  may  be  remembered,  that  I  do  not  pledge 
myself  for  the  authenticity  of  this  anecdote  ;  though 
it  is  well  known  that  the  churchyards  and  bye-corners 
of  this  old  metropolis  are  very  much  infested  with 
perturbed  spirits  ;  and  every  one  must  have  heard 
of  the  Cock-lane  ghost,  and  the  apparition  that  guards 
the  regalia  in  the  Tower,  which  has  frightened  so 
many  bold  sentinels  almost  out  of  their  wits. 

Be  all  this  as  it  may,  this  Robert  Preston  seems  to 
have  been  a  worthy  successor  to  the  nimble-tongued 
Francis,  who  attended  upon  the  revels  of  Prince  Hal ; 
to  have  been  equally  prompt  with  his  "anon,  anon, 
sir,"  and  to  have  transcended  his  predecessor  in 
honesty ;  for  Falstaff,  the  veracity  of  whose  taste  no 
man  will  venture  to  impeach,  flatly  accuses  Francis 
of  putting  lime  in  his  sack;  whereas,  honest  Preston's 
epitaph  lauds  him  for  the  sobriety  of  his  conduct,  the 
soundness  of  his  wine,  and  the  fairness  of  his  meas- 
ure.t  The  worthy  dignitaries  of  the  church,  however, 
did  not  appear  much  captivated  by  the  sober  virtues 
of  the  tapster :  the  deputy  organist,  who  had  a  moist 
look  out  of  the  eye,  made  some  shrewd  remark  on 
the  abstemiousness  of  a  man  brought  up  among  full 
hogsheads  ;  and  the  little  sexton  corroborated  his 
opinion  by  a  significant  wink,  and  a  dubious  shake  of 
the  head. 

Thus  far  my  researches,  though  they  threw  much 
light  on  the  history  of  tapsters,  fishmongers,  and  Lord 
Mayors,  yet  disappointed  me  in  the  great  object  of 

*  The  following  was  the  ancient  inscription  on  the  monument 
of  this  worthy,  which,  unhappily,  was  destroyed  in  the  great  con- 
flagration. 

Hereunder  lyth  a  man  of  fame, 
William  Walworth  cnllyd  by  name  ; 
Fishmonger  he  was  in  lyfTtime  here, 
And  twise  Lord  Maiur,  as  in  books  appeare; 
Who,  with  courage  stout  and  manly  myght. 
Slew  Jack  Straw  m  Kyng  Richard's  sight, 
For  which  act  done,  and  trew  entent. 
The  Kyng  made  him  knyght  incontinent ; 
And  gave  him  armes,  as  here  you  see, 
To  declare  his  fact  and  chivaldrie  : 
He  left  this  lyff  the  year  of  our  God 
I'hirteen  hondred  fourscore  and  three  odd. 

An  error  in  the  foregoing  inscription  has  been  corrected  by  the 
venerable  Stow :  **  Whereas,"  saith  he,  ^' It  hath  been  far  spread 
abroad  by  vulgar  opinion,  that  the  rebel  smitten  down  so  manfully 
by  Sir  William  Walworth,  the  then  worthy  Lord  Maior,  was  named 


my  quest,  the  picture  of  the  Boar's  Head  Tavern. 
No  such  painting  was  to  be  found  in  the  church  of 
St.  Michael's.  "Marry  and  amen !"  said  I,  "here 
endeth  my  research  !  "  So  I  was  giving  the  matter  up, 
with  the  air  of  a  baffled  antiquary,  when  my  friend 
the  sexton,  perceiving  me  to  be  curious  in  every  thing 
relative  to  the  old  tavern,  offered  to  show  me  the 
choice  vessels  of  the  vestry,  w-hich  had  been  handed 
down  from  remote  times,  when  the  parish  meetings 
were  held  at  the  Boar's  Head.  These  were  deposited 
in  the  parish  club-room,  which  had  been  transferred, 
on  the  decline  of  the  ancient  establishment,  to  a 
tavern  in  the  neighbourhood. 

A  few  steps  brought  us  to  the  house,  which  stands 
No.  12,  Mile-lane,  bearing  the  title  of  The  Mason's 
Arms,  and  is  kept  by  Master  Edward  Honeyball,  the 
"  bully-rock  "  of  the  establishment.  It  is  one  of  those 
little  taverns,  which  abound  in  the  heart  of  the  city, 
and  form  the  centre  of  gossip  and  intelligence  of  the 
neighbourhood.  We  entered  the  bar-room,  which 
was  narrow  and  darkling ;  for  in  these  close  lanes  but 
few  rays  of  reflected  light  are  enabled  to  struggle 
down  to  the  inhabitants,  whose  broad  day  is  at  best 
but  a  tolerable  twilight.  The  room  was  partitioned 
into  boxes,  each  containing  a  table  spread  with  a 
clean  white  cloth,  ready  for  dinner.  This  showed 
that  the  guests  were  of  the  good  old  stamp,  and  di- 
vided their  day  equally,  for  it  was  but  just  one  o'clock. 
At  the  lower  end  ot  the  room  was  a  clear  coal  fire, 
before  which  a  breast  of  lamb  was  roasting.  A  row 
of  bright  brass  candlesticks  and  pewter  mugs  glis- 
tened along  the  mantelpiece,  and  an  old-fashioned 
clock  ticked  in  one  comer.  There  was  something 
primitive  in  this  medley  of  kitchen,  parlour,  and  hail, 
that  carried  me  back  to  earlier  times,  and  pleased 
me.  The  place,  indeed,  was  humble,  but  every  thing 
had  that  look  of  order  and  neatness  which  bespeaks 
the  superintendence  of  a  notable  English  housewife. 
A  group  of  amphibious-looking  beings,  who  might 
be  either  fishermen  or  sailors,  were  regaling  them- 
selves in  one  of  the  boxes.  As  I  was  a  visitor  of 
rather  higher  pretensions,  I  was  ushered  into  a  little 
misshapen  back  room,  having  at  least  nine  corners. 
It  was  lighted  by  a  sky-light,  furnished  with  anti- 
quated leathern  chairs,  and  ornamented  with  the 
portrait  of  a  fat  pig.  It  was  evidently  appropriated 
to  particular  customers,  and  I  found  a  shabby  gentle- 
man, in  a  red  nose,  and  oil-cloth  hat,  seated  in  one 
corner,  meditating  on  a  half-empty  pot  of  porter. 

The  old  sexton  had  taken  the  landlady  aside,  and 
with  an  air  of  profound  importance  imparted  to  her 
my  errand.  Dame  Honeyball  was  a  likely,  plump, 
bustling  little  woman,  and  no  bad  substitute  for  that 
paragon  of  hostesses.  Dame  Quickly.  She  seemed 
delighted  with  an  opportunity  to  oblige  ;  and  hurry- 
ing up  stairs  to  the  archives  of  her  house,  where 
the  precious  vessels  of  the  parish  club  were  deposit- 
ed, she  returned,  smihng  and  courtesying  with  them 
in  her  hands. 

The  first  she  presented  me  was  a  japanned  iron 


Jack  Straw,  and  not  Wat  Tyler,  I  thought  good  to  reconcile  this 
rash  conceived  doubt  by  such  testimony  as  1  find  in  ancient  and 
good  records.  The  principal  leaders,  or  captains,  of  the  commons. 
were  Wat  Tyler,  as  the  first  man  ;  the  second  was  John,  or  Jack, 
Straw,  Ac. ,  &c."  Stow's  London. 

t  As  this  inscription  is  rife  with  excellent  morality,  I  transcribe 
it  for  the  admonition  of  delinquent  tapsters.  It  is,  no  doubt,  the 
production  of  some  choice  spirit,  who  once  frequented  the  Boar's 
Head. 

Bacchus,  to  give  the  toping  world  surprise, 
Produced  one  sober  son,  and  here  he  lies. 
Though  rear'd  .•\mong  full  hogsheads,  he  defied 
The  charms  of  wine,  and  every  one  beside. 
O  reader,  if  to  justice  thou  'rt  inclined. 
Keep  honest  Preston  daily  in  thy  mind. 
He  drew  good  wine,  took  care  to  fill  his  pots, 
Had  sundry  virtues  that  excused  his  faults. 
You  that  on  Bacchus  have  the  like  dependence, 
Pray  copy  Bob,  in  measure  and  attendance. 


33 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


tobacco-box,  of  gig-antic  size,  out  of  which,  I  was 
told,  the  vestry  had  smoked  at  their  stated  meetings, 
since  time  immemorial ;  and  which  was  never  suf- 
fered to  be  profaned  by  vulgar  hands,  or  used  on 
common  occasions.  1  received  it  with  becoming 
reverence  ;  but  what  was  my  delight,  at  beholding 
on  its  cover  the  identical  painting  of  which  1  was  in 
quest !  There  was  displayed  the  outside  of  the 
Boar's  Head  Tavern,  and  before  the  door  was  to  be 
seen  the  whole  convivial  grouj),  at  table,  in  full  revel, 
pictured  with  that  wonderful  fidelity  and  force,  with 
which  the  portraits  of  renowned  generals  and  com- 
modores are  illustrated  on  tobacco  boxes,  for  the 
benefit  of  posterity.  Lest,  however,  there  should 
be  any  mistake,  the  cunning  limner  had  warily  in- 
scribed the  names  of  Prince  Hal  and  Falstaff  on  the 
bottoms  of  their  chairs. 

On  the  inside  of  the  cover  was  an  inscription, 
nearly  obliterated,  recording  that  this  box  was  the 
gift  of  Sir  Richard  Gore,  for  the  use  of  the  vestrj' 
meetings  at  the  Boar's  Head  Tavern,  and  that  it 
was  "  repaired  and  beautified  by  his  successor,  Mr. 
John  Packard,  1767."  Such  is  a  faithful  descrip- 
tion of  this  august  and  venerable  relic,  and  I  ques- 
tion whether  the  learned  Scriblerius  contemplated 
his  Roman  shield,  or  the  Knights  of  the  Round  Table 
the  long-sought  sangreal,  with  more  exultation. 

While  I  was  meditating  on  it  with  enraptured  gaze, 
Dame  Honeyball,  who  was  highly  gratified  by  the 
interest  it  excited,  put  in  my  hands  a  drinking  cup  or 
goblet,  which  also  belonged  to  the  vestry,  and  was 
descended  from  the  old  Boar's  Head.  It  bore  the 
inscription  of  having  been  the  gift  of  Francis  Wythers, 
Knight,  and  was  held,  she  told  me,  in  exceeding 
great  value,  being  considered  very  "  antyke."  This 
last  opinion  was  strengthened  by  the  shabby  gentle- 
man with  the  red  nose,  and  oil-cloth  hat,  and  whom 
I  strongly  suspected  of  being  a  lineal  descendant 
from  the  valiant  Bardolph.  He  suddenly  aroused 
from  his  meditation  on  the  pot  of  porter,  and  cast- 
ing a  knowing  look  at  the  goblet,  exclaimed,  "  Ay, 
ay,  the  head  don't  ache  now  that  ma\:le  that  there 
article." 

The  great  importance  attached  to  this  memento  of 
ancient  revelry  by  modern  churchwardens,  at  first 
puzzled  me  ;  but  there  is  nothing  sharpens  the  appre- 
hension so  much  as  antiquarian  research  ;  for  I  im- 
mediately perceived  that  this  could  be  no  other  than 
the  identical  "  parcel-gilt  goblet "  on  which  Falstaff 
made  his  loving,  but  faithless  vow  to  Dame  Quickly  ; 
and  which  would,  of  course,  be  treasured  up  with 
care  among  the  regalia  of  her  domains,  as  a  testi- 
mony of  that  solemn  contract.* 

Mine  hostess,  indeed,  gave  me  a  long  historj'  how 
the  goblet  had  been  handed  down  from  generation 
to  generation.  She  also  entertained  me  with  many 
particulars  concerning  the  worthy  vestrymen  who 
have  seated  themselves  thus  quietly  on  the  stools  jf 
the  ancient  roysters  of  Eastcheap,  and,  like  so  many 
commentators,  utter  clouds  of  smoke  in  honour  of 
Shakspeare.  These  I  forbear  to  relate,  lest  my 
readers  should  not  be  as  curious  in  these  matters  as 
myself.  Suffice  it  to  say,  the  neighbours,  one  and  all, 
about  Eastcheap,  believe  that  Falstaff  and  his  merry 
crew  actually  lived  and  revelled  there.  Nay,  there 
are  several  legendary  anecdotes  concerning  him  still 
extant  among  the  oldest  frequenters  of  the  Mason's 
Arms,  which  they  give  as  transmitted  down  from 
their  forefathers ;  and  Mr.  M'Kash,  an  Irish  hair- 


dresser, whose  shop  stands  on  the  site  of  the  old 
Boar's  Head,  has  several  dry  jokes  of  Fat  Jack's, 
not  laid  down  in  the  books,  with  whic'h  he  makes 
his  customers  ready  to  die  of  laughter. 

I  now  turned  to  my  friend  the  sexton  to  make 
some  farther  inquiries,  but  I  found  him  sunk  in  pen- 
sive meditation.  His  head  had  declined  a  little  on 
one  side  ;  a  deep  sigh  heaved  from  the  vei-y  bottom 
of  his  stomach,  and,  though  I  could  not  see  a  tear 
trembling  in  his  eye,  yet  a  moisture  was  evidently 
stealing  from  a  corner  of  his  mouth.  I  followed 
the  direction  of  his  eye  through  the  door  which  stood 
open,  and  found  it  fixed  wistfully  on  the  savoury 
breast  of  Iamb,  roasting  in  dripping  richness  before 
the  fire. 

I  now  called  to  mind,  that  in  the  eagerness  of  my 
recondite  investigation,  I  was  keeping  the  poor  man 
from  his  dinner.  My  bowels  yearned  with  sympa- 
thy, and  putting  in  his  hand  a  small  token  of  my 
gratitude  and  good-will,  I  departed  with  a  hearty 
benediction  on  him.  Dame  Honeyball,  and  the  parish 
club  of  Crooked-lane — not  forgetting  my  shabby,  but 
sententious  friend,  in  the  oil-cloth  hat  and  copper 
nose. 

Thus  have  I  given  a  "  tedious  brief "  account  of 
this  interesting  research  ;  for  which,  if  it  prove  too 
short  and  unsatisfactory,  I  can  only  plead  my  inex- 
perience in  this  branch  of  literature,  so  deservedly 
popular  at  the  present  day.  1  am  aware  that  a  more 
skilful  illustrator  of  the  immortal  bard  would  have 
swelled  the  materials  I  have  touched  upon,  to  a  good 
merchantable  bulk,  comprising  the  biographies  of 
William  Walworth,  Jack  Straw,  and  Robert  Pres- 
ton ;  some  notice  of  the  eminent  fishmongers  of  St. 
Michael's  ;  the  history  of  Eastcheap,  great  and  little  ; 
private  anecdotes  of  Dame  Honeyball  and  her  pretty 
daughter,  whom  I  have  not  even  mentioned  :  to  say 
nothing  of  a  damsel  tending  the  breast  of  lamb,  (and 
whom,  by  the  way,  I  remarked  to  be  a  comely  lass, 
with  a  neat  foot  and  ankle ;)  the  whole  enlivened  by 
the  riots  of  Wat  Tyler,  and  illuminated  by  the  great 
fire  of  London. 

All  this  I  leave  as  a  rich  mine,  to  be  worked  by 
future  commentators ;  nor  do  I  despair  of  seeing  the 
tobacco-box,  and  the  "  parcel-gilt  goblet,"  which  1 
have  thus  brought  to  light,  the  subject  of  future  en- 
gravings, and  almost  as  fruitful  of  voluminous  dis- 
sertations and  disputes  as  the  shield  of  Achilles,  or 
the  far-famed  Portland  vase. 


*  Thou  didst  swear  to  me  upon  a  fiarcel-gilt  gohlet.  sitting  in 
my  Dolphin  Chamber,  at  the  round  table,  by  a  sea-coal  fire,  on 
Wednesday  in  Whitsun-week,  when  the  Prince  broke  thy  head 
for  likening  his  father  to  a  sinj^ing  man  of  Windsor;  thou  didst 
swear  to  me  then,  as  I  was  washmg  thy  wound,  to  marry  me,  and 
make  me  my  lady,  thy  wife.    Canst  thou  deny  it? — 

Henry  IV.  part  2. 


THE  MUTABILITY  OF  LITERATURE. 

ACOLLOQUY    IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


I  know  that  all  beneath  the  moon  decays. 
And  what  by  mortals  in  thi'i  world  is  brought, 
In  time's  great  periods  shall  return  to  nought. 

I  know  that  ail  the  muses'  heavenly  layes, 
With  toil  of  sprite  which  are  so  dearly  bou,;ht, 
As  idle  sounds  of  few  or  none  are  sought, 

That  there  is  nothing  lighter  than  mere  praise. 

Drummond  of  Hawthornden. 

There  are  certain  half-dreaming  moods  of  mind, 
in  which  we  naturally  steal  away  from  noise  and 
glare,  and  seek  some  quiet  haunt,  where  we  may  in- 
dulge our  reveries,  and  build  our  air  castles  undis- 
turbed. In  such  a  mood,  I  was  loitering  about  the 
old  gray  cloisters  of  Westminster  Abbey,  enjoying 
that  luxury  of  wandering  thought  which  one  is  apt 
to  dignify  with  the  name  of  reflection ;  when  sud- 
denly an  irruption  of  madcap  boys  from  Westminster 
school,  playing  at  foot-ball,  broke  in  upon  the  monas- 
tic stillness  of  the  place,  making  the  vaulted  passages 


THE    SKETCH-BOOK   OF    GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


33 


and  mouldering  tombs  echo  with  their  merriment.  I 
sought  to  take  refuge  from  their  noise  by  penetrat- 
m<;  still  deeper  into  the  solitudes  of  the  pile,  and  ap- 
plied to  one  of  the  vergers  for  admission  to  the  libra- 
ry. He  conducted  me  through  a  portal  rich  with  the 
crumbling  sculpture  of  former  ages,  which  opened 
upon  a  gloomy  passage  leading  to  the  Chapter-house, 
and  the  chamber  in  which  Doomsday  Book  is  depos- 
ited. Just  within  the  passage  is  a  small  door  on  the 
left.  To  this  the  verger  ap])lied  a  key  ;  it  was  double 
locked,  and  opened  with  some  difficulty,  as  if  seldom 
used.  We  now  ascended  a  dark  narrow  staircase, 
and  passing  through  a  second  door,  entered  the 
library. 

I  found  myself  in  a  lofty  antique  hall,  the  roof 
supported  by  massive  joists  of  old  English  oak.  It 
was  soberly  lighted  by  a  row  of  Gothic  windows  at  a 
considerable  height  from  the  floor,  and  which  ap- 
parently opened  upon  the  roofs  of  the  cloisters.  An 
ancient  picture  of  some  reverend  dignitary  of  the 
church  in  his  robes  hung  over  the  fire-place.  Around 
the  hall  and  in  a  small  gallery  were  the  books,  ar- 
ranged in  carved  oaken  cases.  They  consisted  princi- 
pally of  old  polemical  writers,  and  were  much  more 
worn  by  time  than  use.  In  the  centre  of  the  library 
was  a  solitary  table,  with  two  or  three  books  on  it, 
an  inkstand  without  ink,  and  a  few  pens  parched  by 
long  disuse.  The  place  seemed  fitted  for  quiet  study 
and  profound  meditation.  It  was  buried  deep  among 
the  massive  walls  of  the  abbey,  and  shut  up  from  the 
tumult  of  the  world.  I  could  only  hear  now  and 
then  the  shouts  of  the  schoolboys  faintly  swelling 
from  the  cloisters,  and  the  sound  of  a  bell  tolling  for 
prayers,  that  echoed  soberly  along  the  roofs  of  the 
abbey.  By  degrees  the  shouts  of  merriment  grew 
fainter  and  famter,  and  at  length  died  away.  The 
bell  ceased  to  toll,  and  a  profound  silence  reigned 
through  the  dusky  hall. 

I  had  taken  down  a  little  thick  quarto,  curiously 
bound  in  parchment,  with  brass  clasps,  and  seated 
myself  at  the  table  in  a  venerable  elbow  chair.  In- 
stead of  reading,  however,  I  was  beguiled  by  the 
solemn  monastic  air  and  lifeless  quiet  of  the  place, 
into  a  train  of  musing.  As  1  looked  around  upon 
the  old  volumes  in  their  mouldering  covers,  thus 
ranged  on  the  shelves,  and  apparently  never  dis- 
turbed in  their  repose,  1  could  not  but  consider  the 
library  a  kind  of  literary  catacomb,  where  authors, 
like  mummies,  are  piously  entombed,  and  left  to 
blacken  and  moulder  in  dusty  oblivion. 

How  much,  thought  I,  has  each  of  these  volumes, 
now  thrust  aside  with  such  indifference,  cost  some 
aching  head — how  many  weary  days !  how  many 
sleepless  nights!  How  have  their  authors  buried 
themselves  in  the  solitude  of  cells  and  cloisters; 
shut  themselves  up  from  the  face  of  man,  and  the 
still  more  blessed  face  of  nature  ;  and  devoted  them- 
selves to  painful  research  and  intense  reflection  ! 
And  all  for  what  ?  to  occupy  an  inch  of  dusty  shelf 
— to  have  the  titles  of  their  works  read  now  and 
then  in  a  future  age,  by  some  drowsy  churchman,  or 
casual  straggler  like  myself  ;  and  in  another  age  to 
be  lost  even  to  remembrance.  Such  is  the  amount 
of  this  boasted  immortality.  A  mere  temporary 
rumour,  a  local  sound  ;  like  the  tone  of  that  bell 
which  has  just  tolled  among  these  towers,  filling 
the  ear  for  a  moment  —  lingering  transiently  in 
echo — and  then  passing  away,  like  a  thing  that  was 
not! 

While  I  sat  half-murmuring,  half-meditating  these 
unprofitable  speculations,  with  my  head  resting  on 
my  hand,  I  was  thrumming  with  the  other  hand 
upon  the  quarto,  until  I  accidentally  loosened  the 
clasps  ;  when,  to  my  utter  astonishment,  the  little 
book  gave  two  or  three  yawns,  like  one  awaking 
3 


from  a  deep  sleep ;  then  a  husky  hem,  and  at  length 
began  to  talk.  At  first  its  voice  was  very  hoarse  and 
broken,  being  much  troubled  by  a  cobweb  which 
some  studious  spider  had  woven  across  it ;  and  hav- 
ing probably  contracted  a  cold  from  long  exposure 
to  the  chills  and  damps  of  the  abbey.  In  a  short  time, 
however,  it  became  more  distinct,  and  I  socn  found 
it  an  exceedingly  fluent  conversable  little  tome.  Its 
language,  to  be  sure,  was  rather  quaint  and  obsolete, 
and  its  pronunciation  what  in  the  present  day  would 
be  deemed  barbarous  ;  but  I  shall  endeavour,  as  far 
as  I  am  able,  to  render  it  in  modern  parlance. 

It  began  with  railings  about  the  neglect  of  the 
world — about  merit  being  suffered  to  languish  in 
obscurity,  and  other  such  commonplace  topics  of 
literary  repining,  and  complained  bitterly  that  it  had 
not  been  opened  for  more  than  two  centuries  ; — that 
the  Dean  only  looked  now  and  then  into  the  library, 
sometimes  took  down  a  volume  or  two,  trifled  with 
them  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  returned  them  to 
their  shelves. 

"  What  a  plague  do  they  mean,"  said  the  little 
quarto,  which  I  began  to  perceive  was  somewhat 
choleric,  "  what  a  plague  do  they  mean  by  keeping 
several  thousand  volumes  of  us  shut  up  here,  and 
watched  by  a  set  of  old  vergers,  like  so  many  beau- 
ties in  a  harem,  merely  to  be  looked  at  now  and  then 
by  the  Dean  .'  Books  were  written  to  give  pleasure 
and  to  be  enjoyed ;  and  I  would  have  a  rule  passed 
that  the  Dean  should  pay  each  of  us  a  visit  at  least 
once  a  year ;  or  if  he  is  not  equal  to  the  task,  let 
them  once  in  a  while  turn  loose  the  whole  school  of 
Westminster  among  us,  that  at  any  rate  we  may  now 
and  then  have  an  airing." 

"Softly,  my  worthy  friend,"  replied  I,  "you  are 
not  aware  how  much  better  you  are  off  than  most 
books  of  your  generation.  By  being  stored  away  in 
this  ancient  library,  you  are  like  the  treasured  re- 
mains of  those  saints  and  monarchs  which  lie  en- 
shrined in  the  adjoining  chapels  ;  while  the  remains 
of  their  cotemporary  mortals,  left  to  the  ordinaiy 
course  of  nature,  have  long  since  returned  to  dust." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  little  tome,  ruffling  his  leaves  and 
looking  big,  "  I  was  written  for  all  the  world,  not 
for  the  bookworms  of  an  abbey.  I  was  intended  to 
circulate  from  hand  to  hand,  like  other  great  cotem- 
porary works ;  but  here  have  I  been  clasped  up  for 
more  than  two  centuries,  and  might  have  silently 
fallen  a  prey  to  these  worms  that  are  playing  the 
very  vengeance  with  my  intestines,  if  you  had  not 
by  chance  given  me  an  opportunity  of  uttering  a  few 
last  words  before  I  go  to  pieces." 

"  My  good  friend,"  rejoined  I,  "had  you  been  left 
to  the  circulation  of  which  you  speak,  you  would 
long  ere  this  have  been  no  more.  To  judge  from 
your  physiognomy,  you  are  now  well  stricken  in 
years ;  very  few  of  your  contemporaries  can  be  at 
present  in  existence ;  and  those  few  owe  their  lon- 
gevity to  being  immured  like  yourself  in  old  libraries  ; 
which,  suffer  me  to  add,  instead  of  likening  to  ha- 
rems, you  might  more  properly  and  gratefully  have 
compared  to  those  infirmaries  attached  to  religious 
establishments,  for  the  benefit  of  the  old  and  de- 
crepid,  and  where,  by  quiet  fostering  and  no  em- 
ployment, they  often  endure  to  an  amazingly  good- 
for-nothing  old  age.  You  talk  of  your  contempo- 
raries as  if  in  circulation — where  do  wc  meet  with 
their  works? — what  do  we  hear  of  Robert  Groteste 
of  Lincoln  ?  No  one  could  have  toiled  harder  than 
he  for  immortality.  He  is  said  to  have  written 
nearly  two  hundred  volumes.  He  built,  as  it  were, 
a  pyramid  of  books  to  perpetuate  his  name :  but, 
alas  !  the  pyramid  has  long  since  fallen,  and  only  a 
few  fragments  are  scattered  in  various  libraries, 
where  they  are  scarcely  disturbed  even  by  the  anti- 


34 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


quarian.  What  do  we  hear  of  Giraklus  Cambrensis, 
the  historian,  antiquary,  philosopher,  theologian,  and 
poet?  He  declined  two  bishoprics,  that  he  might 
shut  himself  up  and  write  for  posterity ;  but  poster- 
ity never  inquires  after  his  labours.  What  of  Henry 
of  Huntingdon,  who,  besides  a  learned  history  of 
England,  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  contempt  of  the 
world,  which  the  world  has  revenged  by  forgetting 
him  ?  What  is  quoted  of  Joseph  of  Exeter,  styled 
the  miracle  of  his  age  in  classical  composition  ?  Of 
his  three  great  heroic  poems,  one  is  lost  for  ever,  ex- 
cepting a  mere  fragment ;  the  others  are  known  only 
to  a  few  of  the  curious  in  literature ;  and  as  to  his 
love  verses  and  epigrams,  they  have  entirely  disap- 
peared. What  is  in  current  use  of  John  Wallis,  the 
Franciscan,  who  acquired  the  name  of  the  tree  of 
life  ? — of  William  of  Malmsbury ;  of  Simeon  of 
Durham  ;  of  Benedict  of  Peterborough ;  of  John 
Hanvill  of  St.  Albans  ;  of " 

"  Prithee,  friend,"  cried  the  quarto  in  a  testy  tone, 
"how  old  do  you  think  me?  You  are  talking  of 
authors  that  lived  long  before  my  time,  and  wrote 
either  in  Latin  or  French,  so  that  they  in  a  manner 
expatriated  themselves,  and  deserved  to  be  forgot- 
ten;* but  I,  sir,  was  ushered  into  the  world  from 
the  press  of  the  renowned  Wynkyn  de  Worde.  I 
was  written  in  my  own  native  tongue,  at  a  time 
when  the  language  had  become  fixed  ;  and,  indeed, 
I  was  considered  a  model  of  pure  and  elegant  En- 
glish." 

[I  should  observe  that  these  remarks  were  couched 
in  such  intolerably  antiquated  terms,  that  I  have  had 
infinite  difficulty  in  rendering  them  into  modern 
phraseology.] 

"  I  cry  you  mercy,"  said  I,  "  for  mistaking  your 
age  ;  but  it  matters  little  ;  almost  all  the  writers  of 
your  time  have  likewise  passed  into  forgetfulness ; 
and  De  Worde's  publications  are  mere  literary  rarities 
among  book-collectors.  The  purity  and  stability  of 
language,  too,  on  which  you  found  your  claims  to 
perpetuity,  have  been  the  fallacious  dependence  of 
authors  of  every  age,  even  back  to  the  times  of  the 
worthy  Robert  of  Gloucester,  who  wrote  his  history 
in  rhymes  of  mongrel  Saxon.f  Even  now,  many  talk 
of  Spenser's  'well  of  pure  English  undefded,'  as  if  the 
language  ever  sprang  from  a  well  or  fountain-head, 
and  was  not  rather  a  mere  confluence  of  various 
tongues,  perpetually  subject  to  changes  and  inter- 
mixtures. It  is  this  which  has  made  English  liter- 
ature so  extremely  mutable,  and  the  reputation  built 
upon  it  so  fleeting.  Unless  thought  can  be  commit- 
ted to  something  more  permanent  and  unchangeable 
than  such  a  medium,  even  thought  must  share  the 
fate  of  eveiy  thing  else,  and  fall  into  decay.  This 
should  serve  as  a  check  upon  the  vanity  and  exulta- 
tion of  the  most  popular  writer.  He  finds  the  lan- 
guage in  which  he  has  embarked  his  fame  gradually 
altering,  and  subject  to  the  dilapidations  of  time  and 
the  caprice  of  fashion.  He  looks  back,  and  beholds 
the  early  authors  of  his  country,  once  the  favourites 
of  their  day,  supplanted  by  modern  writers  :  a  few 
short  ages  have  covered  them  with  obscurity,  and 
their  merits  can  only  be  relished  by  the  quaint  taste 


♦  In  Latin  and  French  hath  many  soueraine  wittes  had  great 
delyte  to  endyte,  and  have  many  noble  things  fulfilde,  but  certes 
there  ben  some  that  speaken  their  poisye  m  French,  of  which 
.•peche  the  Frenchmen  have  as  good  a  fantasye  as  we  have  in 
lEi^earing  of  Frenchmenis  Knglishe. 

Chaucer's  Testament  of  Love. 

+  Holinshed,  in  his  Chronipic,  observes,  "afterwards,  also,  by 
<di1ie««t  travel!  of  GefTry  Chaucer  and  John  Cowrie,  in  the  time  of 
^icDard  the  Second,  and  after  them  of  John  Scogan  and  John 
Lydgaje,  mcnke  of  Berrie,  our  said  toong  was  brought  to  an 
excellent  passe,  notwithstanding  that  it  never  came  unto  the 
type  of  pcrfectitn  until  the  time  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  wherein 
lohn  Jewell,  tjishop  of  Sarum,  John  Fox,  and  sundrie  learned  and 
excellent  writers,  have  fully  accomplished  the  ornature  of  the 
MUlCf  to  their  ££e;it  praise  and  immortal  commendation,'* 


of  the  bookworm.  And  such,  he  anticipates,  will  be 
the  fate  of  his  own  work,  which,  however  it  may  be 
admired  in  its  day,  and  held  up  as  a  model  of  puritv, 
will,  in  the  course  of  years,  grow  antiquated  and  ob- 
solete, until  it  shall  become  almost  as  unintelligible 
in  its  native  land  as  an  Egyptian  obelisk,  or  one  of 
those  Runic  inscriptions,  said  to  exist  in  the  deserts 
of  Tartary.  I  declare,"  added  I,  with  some  emotion, 
"  when  I  contemplate  a  modem  library,  filled  with 
new  works  in  all  the  bravery  of  rich  gilding  and 
binding,  I  feel  disposed  to  sit  down  and  weep ;  like 
the  good  Xerxes,  when  he  sur\'eyed  his  army,  prank- 
ed out  in  all  the  splendour  of  military  array,  and  re- 
flected that  in  one  hundred  years  not  one  of  them 
would  be  in  existence  !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  the  little  quarto,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "  I 
see  how  it  is;  these  modern  scribblers  have"  super- 
seded all  the  good  old  authors.  I  suppose  nothing  is 
read  now-a-days  but  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Arcadia, 
Sackville's  stately  plays  and  Mirror  for  Magistrates, 
or  the  fine-spun  euphuisms  of  the  '  unparalleld  John 
Lyly."  " 

"There  you  are  again  mistaken,"  said  I;  "the 
writers  whom  you  suppose  in  vogue,  because  they 
happened  to  be  so  when  you  were  last  in  circulation, 
have  long  since  had  their  day.  Sir  Philip  Sidney's 
Arcadia,  the  immortality  of  which  was  so  fondly  pre- 
dicted by  his  admirers,*  and  which,  in  truth,  was  full 
of  noble  thoughts,  delicate  images,  and  graceful  turns 
of  language,  is  now  scarcely  ever  mentioned.  Sack- 
ville  has  strutted  into  obscurity  ;  and  even  Lyly, 
though  his  writings  were  once  the  delight  of  a  court, 
and  apparently  perpetuated  by  a  proverb,  is  now 
scarcely  known  even  by  name.  A  whole  crowd  of 
authors  who  wrote  and  wrangled  at  the  time,  have 
likewise  gone  down  with  all  their  v\ritings  and  their 
controversies.  Wave  after  wave  of  succeeding  liter- 
ature has  rolled  over  them,  until  they  are  buried  so 
deep,  that  it  is  only  now  and  then  that  some  indus- 
trious diver  after  fragments  of  antiquity  brings  up  a 
specimen  for  the  gratification  of  the  curious. 

"  For  my  part,"  I  continued,  "  I  consider  this  mu- 
tability of  language  a  wise  precaution  of  Providence 
for  the  benefit  of  the  world  at  large,  and  of  authors 
in  particular.  To  reason  from  analogy  :  we  daily  be- 
hold the  varied  and  beautiful  tribes  of  vegetables 
springing  up,  flourishing,  adorning  the  fields  for  a 
short  time,  and  then  fading  into  dust,  to  make  way  for 
their  successors.  Were  not  this  the  case,  the  fecundity 
of  nature  would  be  a  grievance  instead  of  a  blessing  : 
the  earth  would  groan  with  rank  and  excessive  vege- 
tation, and  its  surface  become  a  tangled  wilderness. 
In  like  manner,  the  works  of  genius  and  learning  de- 
cline and  make  way  for  subsequent  productions. 
Language  gradually  varies,  and  with  it  fade  away 
the  writings  of  authors  who  have  flourished  their 
allotted  time ;  otherwise  the  creative  powers  of 
genius  would  overstock  the  world,  and  the  mind 
would  be  completely  bewildered  in  the  endless  mazes 
of  literature.  Formerly  there  were  some  restraints 
on  this  excessive  multiplication  :  works  had  to  be 
transcribed  by  hand,  which  was  a  slow  and  laborious 
operation  ;  they  were  written  either  on  parchment, 
which  was  expensive,  so  that  one  work  was  often 
erased  to  make  way  for  another ;  or  on  papyrus, 
which  was  fragile  and  extreinely  perishable.  Au- 
thorship was  a  limited  and  unprofitable  craft,  pursued 


*  "  Live  ever  sweete  booke  ;  the  simple  image  of  his  gentle  will, 
and  the  golden  pillar  of  his  noble  courage;  and  ever  notify  unto 
the  world  that  thy  writer  was  the  secretary  of  eloquence,  the 
breath  of  the  muses,  the  honey  bee  of  the  daintyest  flowers  of  witt 
and  arte,  the  pith  of  morale  and  the  intellectual  virtues,  the  arnie 
of  Bellona  in  the  field,  the  tongue  of  Suada  in  the  chamber, 
the  spirite  ctf  Practise  in  esse,  and  the  paragon  of  excellency  in 
print.  ' 

Harvey's  Pierce'' s  Supererosaiion. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


35 


chiefly  by  monks  in  the  leisure  and  solitude  of  their 
cloisters.  The  accumulation  of  manuscripts  was 
slow  and  costly,  and  confined  almost  entirely  to 
monasteries.  To  these  circumstances  it  may,  in 
some  measure,  be  owing  that  we  have  not  been  in- 
undated by  the  intellect  of  antiquity  ;  that  the  foun- 
tains of  thought  have  not  been  broken  up,  and 
modern  genius  drowned  in  the  deluge.  But  the  in- 
ventions of  paper  and  the  press  have  put  an  end  to 
all  these  restraints  :  they  have  made  every  one  a 
writer,  and  enabled  every  mind  to  pour  itself  into 
print,  and  diffuse  itself  over  the  whole  intellectual 
world.  The  consequences  are  alarming.  The  stream 
of  literature  has  swollen  into  a  torrent — augmented 
into  a  river — expanded  into  a  sea.  A  few  centuries 
since,  five  or  six  hundred  manuscripts  constituted  a 
great  library ;  but  what  would  you  say  to  libraries, 
such  as  actually  exist,  containing  three  or  four  hun- 
dred thousand  volumes ;  legions  of  authors  at  the 
same  time  busy  ;  and  a  press  going  on  with  fearfully 
increasing  activity,  to  double  and  quadruple  the 
number  .''  Unless  some  unforeseen  mortality  should 
break  out  among  the  progeny  of  the  iMuse,  now  that 
she  has  become  so  prolific,  1  tremble  for  posterity.  I 
fear  the  mere  fluctuation  of  language  will  not  be  suf- 
ficient. Criticism  may  do  much  ;  it  increases  with 
the  increase  of  literature,  and  resembles  one  of  those 
salutary  checks  on  population  spoken  of  by  econ- 
omists. All  possible  encouragement,  therefore,  should 
be  given  to  the  growth  of  critics,  good  or  bad.  But 
I  fear  all  will  be  in  vain ;  let  criticism  do  what  it 
may,  writers  will  write,  printers  will  print,  and  the 
world  will  inevitably  be  overstocked  with  good  books. 
It  will  soon  be  the  employment  of  a  lifetime  merely 
to  learn  their  names.  iMany  a  man  of  passable  in- 
formation at  the  present  day  reads  scarcely  any 
thing  but  reviews,  and  before  long  a  man  of  erudi- 
tion will  be  little  better  than  a  mere  walking  cata- 
logue." 

"  My  very  good  sir,"  said  the  little  quarto,  yawn- 
ing most  drearily  in  my  face,  "  excuse  my  interrupt- 
ing you,  but  I  perceive  you  are  rather  given  to  prose. 
I  would  ask  the  fate  of  an  author  who  was  making 
some  noise  just  as  I  left  the  world.  His  reputation, 
however,  was  considered  quite  temporary.  The 
learned  shook  their  heads  at  him,  for  he  was  a  poor, 
hall-educated  varlet,  that  knew  little  of  Latin,  and 
nothing  of  Greek,  and  had  been  obliged  to  run  the 
country  for  deer-stealing.  I  think  his  name  was 
Shakspeare.  I  presume  he  soon  sunk  into  oblivion." 
"On  the  contrarj',"  said  I,  "it  is  owing  to  that 
very  man  that  the  literature  of  his  period  has  expe- 
rienced a  duration  beyond  the  ordinary  term  of  En- 
glish literature.  There  arise  authors  now  and  then, 
who  seem  proof  against  the  mutability  of  language, 
because  they  have  rooted  themselves  in  the  unchang- 
ing principles  of  human  nature.  They  are  lil'e 
gigantic  trees  that  we  sometimes  see  on  the  banks 
of  a  stream,  which,  by  their  vast  and  deep  roots, 
penetrating  through  the  mere  surface,  and  laying 
hold  on  the  very  foundations  of  the  earth,  preserve 
the  soil  around  them  from  being  swept  away  by  the 
overflowing  current,  and  hold  up  many  a  neighbour- 
ing plant,  and,  perhaps,  worthless  weed,  to  per- 
petuity. Such  is  the  case  with  Shakspeare,  whom 
we  behold,  defying  the  encroachments  of  time,  re- 
taining in  modern  use  the  language  and  literature  of 
his  day,  and  giving  duration  to  many  an  indifferent 
author  merely  from  having  flourished  in  his  vicinity. 
But  even  he,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  gradually  assuming 
the  tint  of  age,  and  his  whole  form  is  overrun  by  a 
profusion  of  commentators,  who,  like  clambering 
vines  and  creepers,  almost  bury  the  noble  plant  that 
upholds  them." 

Here  the  little  quarto  began  to  heave  his  sides  and 


chuckle,  until  at  length  he  broke  out  into  a  plethoric 
fit  of  laughter  that  had  well  nigh  choked  him,  by 
reason  of  his  excessive  corpulency.  "  Mighty  well !  " 
cried  he,  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  breath, 
"  mighty  well  !  and  so  you  would  persuade  me  that 
the  literature  of  an  age  is  to  be  perpetuated  by  a 
vagabond  deer-stealer  !  by  a  man  without  learning  I 
by  a  poet !  forsooth — a  poet  !  "  And  here  he  wheezed 
forth  another  fit  of  laughter. 

I  confess  that  I  felt  somewhat  nettled  at  this  rude- 
ness, which,  however,  I  pardoned  on  account  of  his 
having  flourished  in  a  less  polished  age.  I  deter- 
mined, nevertheless,  not  to  give  up  my  point. 

"Yes,"  resumed  I  positively,  "a  poet;  for  of  all 
writers  he  has  the  best  chance  for  immortality. 
Others  may  write  from  the  head,  but  he  writes  from 
the  heart,  and  the  heart  will  always  understand  him. 
He  is  the  faithful  portrayer  of  Nature,  whose  features 
are  always  the  same,  and  always  interesting.  Prose 
writers  are  voluminous  and  unwieldy  ;  their  pages 
crowded  with  commonplaces,  and  their  thoughts 
expanded  into  tediousness.  But  with  the  true  poet 
every  thing  is  terse,  touching,  or  brilliant.  He  gives 
the  choicest  thoughts  in  the  choicest  language.  He 
illustrates  them  by  every  thing  that  he  sees  most 
striking  in  nature  and  art.  He  enriches  them  by  pict- 
ures of  human  life,  such  as  it  is  passing  before  him. 
His  writings,  therefore,  contain  the  spirit,  the  aroma, 
if  I  may  use  the  phrase,  of  the  age  in  which  he  lives. 
They  are  caskets  which  inclose  within  a  small  com- 
pass the  wealth  of  the  language — its  family  jewels, 
which  are  thus  transmitted  in  a  portable  form  to  pos-  ■ 
terity.  The  setting  may  occasionally  be  antiquated, 
and  require  now  and  then  to  be  renewed,  as  in  the 
case  of  Chaucer  ;  but  the  brilliancy  and  intrinsic 
value  of  the  gems  continue  unaltered.  Cast  a  look 
back  over  the  long  reach  of  literary  history.  What 
vast  valleys  of  dulness,  filled  with  monkish  legends 
and  academical  controversies  !  What  bogs  of  theo- 
logical speculations  !  What  dreary  wastes  of  meta- 
physics !  Here  and  there  only  do  we  behold  the 
heaven-illumined  bards,  elevated  like  beacons  on 
their  widely-separated  heights,  to  transmit  the  pure 
light  of  poetical  intelligence  from  age  to  age."* 

I  was  just  about  to  launch  forth  into  eulogiums 
upon  the  poets  of  the  day,  when  the  sudden  opening 
of  the  door  caused  me  to  turn  iny  head.  It  was  the 
verger,  who  came  to  inform  me  that  it  was  time  to 
close  the  library.  I  sought  to  have  a  parting  word 
with  the  quarto,  but  the  worthy  little  tome  was  si- 
lent ;  the  clasps  were  closed  ;  and  it  looked  perfectly 
unconscious  of  all  that  had  passed.  I  have  been  to 
the  library  two  or  three  times  since,  and  have  en- 
deavoured to  draw  it  into  further  conversation,  but 
in  vain :  and  whether  all  this  rambling  colloquy 
actually  took  place,  or  whether  it  was  another  of 
those  odd  day-dreams  to  which  I  am  subject,  I  have 
never,  to  this  moment,  been  able  to  discover. 


*  Thorow  earth,  and  waters  deepe, 

The  pen  by  skill  doth  passe: 
And  featly  nyps  the  worides  abuse, 

And  shoes  us  in  a  glasse, 
The  vertu  and  the  vice 

Of  every  wight  alyve  ; 
The  honey  combe  that  bee  doth  make. 

Is  not  so  sweet  in  hyve. 
As  are  the  golden  leves 

That  drops  from  poet's  head  ; 
Which  doth  surmount  our  common  taike. 

As  farre  as  dross  doth  lead. 

Churchyard. 


36 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


RURAL  FUNERALS. 


Here's  a  few  flowers  !  but  about  midnight  more: 
The  herbs  that  have  on  them  cold  dew  o'  the  night 

Are  strewings  fitt'st  for  graves • 

You  were  as  flowers  now  withered  :  even  so 
These  herh'lets  shall,  which  we  upon  you  strow. 

CVMUELINE. 

Among  the  beautiful  and  simple-hearted  customs 
of  rural  life  which  still  linger  in  some  parts  of  En- 
gland, are  those  of  strewing  flowers  before  the  funerals 
and  planting  them  at  the  graves  of  departed  friends. 
These,  it  is  said,  are  the  remains  of  some  of  the  rites 
of  the  primitive  church  ;  but  they  are  of  still  higher 
antiquity,  having  been  observed  among  the  Greeks 
and  Romans,  and  frequently  mentioned  by  their 
writers,  and  were,  no  doubt,  the  spontaneous  tributes 
of  unlettered  affection,  originating  long  before  art  had 
tasked  itself  to  modulate  sorrow  into  song,  or  story 
it  on  the  monument.  They  are  now  only  to  be  met 
with  in  the  most  distant  and  retired  places  of  the 
kingdom,  where  fashion  and  innovation  have  not 
been  able  to  throng  in,  and  trample  out  all  the  curi- 
ous and  interesting  traces  of  the  olden  time.' 

In  Glamorganshire,  we  are  told,  the  bed  whereon 
the  corpse  lies  is  covered  with  flowers,  a  custom  al- 
luded to  in  one  of  the  wild  and  plaintive  ditties  of 
Ophelia  : 

White  his  shroud  as  the  mountain  snow, 

I^arded  all  with  sweet  flowers  ; 
Which  be-wept  to  the  grave  did  go, 

With  true  love  showers. 

There  is  also  a  most  delicate  and  beautiful  rite 
observed  in  some  of  the  remote  villages  of  the  south, 
at  the  funeral  of  a  female  who  has  died  young  and 
unmarried.  A  chaplet  of  white  floweis  is  borne  be- 
fore the  corpse  by  a  young  girl,  nearest  in  age,  size, 
and  resemblance,  and  is  afterwards  hung  up  in  the 
church  over  the  accustomed  seat  of  the  deceased. 
These  chaplets  are  sometimes  made  of  white  paper, 
in  imitation  of  flowers,  and  inside  of  them  is  generally 
a  pair  of  white  gloves.  They  are  intended  as  em- 
blems of  the  purity  of  the  deceased,  and  the  crown 
of  glory  which  she  has  received  in  heaven. 

in  some  parts  of  the  country,  also,  the  dead  are 
carried  to  the  grave  with  the  singing  of  psalins  and 
hymns  ;  a  kind  of  triumph,  "  to  show,"  says  Bourne, 
"  that  they  have  finished  their  course  with  joy,  and 
are  become  conquerors."  This,  I  am  informed,  is 
observed  in  some  of  the  northern  counties,  particu- 
larly in  Northumberland,  and  it  has  a  pleasing,  though 
melancholy  effect,  to  hear,  of  a  still  evening,  in  some 
lonely  country  scene,  the  mournful  melody  of  a  funeral 
dirge  swelling  from  a  distance,  and  to  see  the  train 
slowly  moving  along  the  landscape. 

Thus,  thus,  and  thus,  we  compass  round 
Thy  harmless  and  unhaunced  ground, 
And  as  we  sing  thy  dirge,  we  will 

The  Daffodill 
And  other  flowers  lay  upon 
The  altar  of  our  love,  thy  stone. 

HcRRlCK. 

There  is  also  a  solemn  respect  paid  by  the  travel- 
ler to  the  passing  funeral,  in  these  sequestered 
places ;  for  such  spectacles,  occurring  among  the 
quiet  abodes  of  Nature,  sink  deep  into  the  soul.  As 
the  mourning  train  approaches,  he  pauses,  uncovered, 
to  let  it  go  by ;  he  then  follows  silently  in  the  rear  ; 
sometimes  quite  to  the  grave,  at  other  times  for  a 
few  hundred  yards,  and  having  paid  this  tribute  of 
respect  to  the  deceased,  turns  and  resumes  his 
joumey. 

The  rich  vein  of  melancholy  which  runs  through 
the  English  character,  and  gives  it  some  of  its  most 


touching  and  ennobling  graces,  is  finely  evidenced  in 

these  pathetic  customs,  and  in  the  solicitude  shown 
by  the  common  people  for  an  honoured  and  a  peace- 
ful grave.  The  humblest  peasant,  whatever  may  be 
his  lowly  lot  while  living,  is  anxious  that  some  little 
respect  may  be  paid  to  his  remains.  Sir  Thomas 
Overbury,  describing  the  "  faire  and  happy  milk- 
maid," observes,  "  thus  lives  she,  and  all  her  care  is, 
that  she  may  die  in  the  spring  time,  to  have  store  of 
flowers  stucke  upon  her  winding-sheet."  The  poets, 
too.  who  always  breathe  the  feeling  of  a  nation,  con- 
tinually advert  to  this  fond  solicitude  about  the 
grave.  In  "  The  Maid's  Tragedy,"  by  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher,  there  is  a  beautiful  instance  of  the 
kind,  describing  the  capricious  melancholy  of  a 
broken-hearted  girl. 

When  she  sees  a  bank 
Stuck  full  of  flowers,  she,  with  a  sigh,  will  tell 
Her  servants,  what  a  pretty  place  it  were 
To  bury  lovers  in  ;  and  make  her  maids 
Pluck  'em,  and  strew  her  over  like  a  corse. 

The  custom  of  decorating  graves  was  once  univer- 
sally prevalent :  osiers  were  carefully  bent  over  them 
to  keep  the  turf  uninjured,  and  about  them  were 
planted  evergreens  and  flowers.  "  We  adorn  their 
graves,"  says  Evelyn,  in  his  Sylva,  "  with  flowers 
and  redolent  plants,  just  emblems  of  the  life  of  man, 
which  has  been  compared  in  Holy  Scriptures  to  those 
fading  beauties,  whose  roots  being  buried  in  dis- 
honour, rise  again  in  glory."  This  usage  has  now 
become  extremely  rare  in  England  ;  but  it  may  still 
be  met  with  in  the  churchyards  of  retired  villages, 
among  the  Welsh  mountains ;  and  1  recollect  an  in- 
stance of  it  at  the  small  town  of  Ruthven,  which  lies 
at  the  head  of  the  beautiful  vale  of  Clewyd.  I  have 
been  told  also  by  a  friend,  who  was  present  at  the 
funeral  of  a  young  girl  in  Glamorganshire,  that  the 
female  attendants  had  their  aprons  full  of  flowers, 
which,  as  soon  as  the  body  was  interred,  they  stuck 
about  the  grave. 

He  noticed  several  graves  which  had  been  deco- 
rated in  the  same  manner.  As  the  flowers  had  l)een 
merely  stuck  in  the  ground,  and  not  planted,  they 
had  soon  withered,  and  might  be  seen  in  various 
states  of  decay ;  some  drooping,  others  quite 
perished.  They  were  afterwards  to  be  supplanted 
by  holly,  rosemary,  and  other  evergreens ;  which  on 
some  graves  had  grown  to  great  luxuriance,  and 
overshadowed  the  tombstones. 

There  was  formerly  a  melancholy  fancifulness  in 
the  arrangement  of  these  rustic  offerings,  that  had 
something  in  it  truly  poetical.  The  rose  was  some- 
times blended  with  the  lily,  to  form  a  general  em- 
blem of  frail  mortality.  "  This  sweet  flower,"  said 
Evelyn,  "  borne  on  a  branch  set  with  thorns,  and 
accompanied  with  the  lily,  are  natural  hieroglyphics 
of  our  fugitive,  umbratile,  anxious,  and  transitory 
life,  which,  making  so  fair  a  show  for  a  time,  is  not 
yet  without  its  thorns  and  crosses."  The  nature 
and  colour  of  the  flowers,  and  of  the  ribands  with 
which  they  were  tied,  had  often  a  particular  refer- 
ence to  the  qualities  or  story  of  the  deceased,  or 
were  expressive  of  the  feelings  of  the  mourner.  In 
an  old  poem,  entitled  "  Corydon's  Doleful  Knell,"  a 
lover  specifies  the  decorations  he  intends  to  use : 

A  garland  shall  be  framed 

By  Art  and  Nature's  skill, 
Of  sundrj- -coloured  flowers, 

In  token  of  good  will. 

And  sundry-coloured  ribands 

On  it  I  will  bestow  ; 
But  chiefly  blacke  and  yellowe 

With  her  to  grave  shall  go. 

I'll  deck  her  tomb  with  flowers 

The  rarest  ever  seen  ; 
And  with  my  tears  as  showers 

I'll  keep  tnem  fresh  and  green. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


37 


The  white  rose,  we  are  told,  was  planted  at  the 
grave  of  a  virgin  ;  her  chaplet  was  tied  with  white 
ribands,  in  token  of  her  spotless  innocence  ;  though 
sometimes  black  ribands  were  intermingled,  to  be- 
speak the  grief  of  the  survivors.  The  red  rose  was 
occasionally  used,  in  remembrance  of  such  as  had 
been  remarkable  for  benevolence ;  but  roses  in  gen- 
eral were  appropriated  to  the  graves  of  lovers.  Eve- 
1}T.  tells  us  that  the  custom  was  not  altogether  ex- 
tinct in  his  time,  near  his  dwelling  in  the  county  of 
Surrey,  "  where  the  maidens  yearly  planted  and 
decked  the  graves  of  their  defunct  sweethearts  with 
rose-bushes."  And  Camden  likewise  remarks,  in 
his  Brittania :  "  Here  is  also  a  certain  custom,  ob- 
served time  out  of  mind,  of  planting  rose-trees  upon 
the  graves,  especially  by  the  young  men  and  maids 
who  have  lost  their  loves  ;  so  that  this  churchyard  is 
now  full  of  them." 

When  the  deceased  had  been  unhappy  in  their 
loves,  emblems  of  a  more  gloomy  character  were 
used,  such  as  the  yew  and  cypress  ;  and  if  flowers 
were  strewn,  they  were  of  the  most  melancholy  col- 
ours. Thus,  in  poems  by  Thomas  Stanley,  Esq , 
(published  in  1651,)  is  the  following  stanza : 

Yet  strew 
Upon  my  dismall  grave 
Such  offeiings  as  you  have, 

Forsaken  cypresse  and  yewe  ; 
For  kinder  flowers  can  t.ike  no  birth 
Or  growth  from  such  unhappy  earth. 

In  "  The  Maid's  Tragedy,"  a  pathetic  little  air  is 
introduced,  illustrative  of  this  mode  of  decorating 
the  funerals  of  females  who  have  been  disappointed 
in  love. 

Lay  a  garland  on  my  hearse 

Of  the  dismal  yew. 
Maidens  willow  branches  wear. 

Say  I  died  true. 


My  love  was  false,  but  I  was  firm, 
Fn 
por 
Lightly,  gentle  earth. 


From  my  hour  of  birth , 
tjpon  my  Duried  body  lie 


The  natural  effect  of  sorrow  over  the  dead  is  to 
refine  and  elevate  the  mind  ;  and  we  have  a  proof 
of  it  in  the  purity  of  sentiment,  and  the  unaffected 
elegance  of  thought,  which  pervaded  the  whole  of 
these  funeral  observances.  Thus,  it  was  an  especial 
precaution,  that  none  but  sweet-scented  evergreens 
and  flowers  should  be  employed.  The  intention 
seems  to  have  been  to  soften  the  horrors  of  the  tomb, 
to  beguile  the  mind  from  brooding  over  the  disgraces 
of  perishing  mortality,  and  to  associate  the  memory 
of  the  deceased  with  the  most  delicate  and  beautiful 
objects  in  Nature.  There  is  a  dismal  process  going 
on  in  the  grave,  ere  dust  can  return  to  its  kindred 
dust,  which  the  imagination  shrinks  from  contem- 
plating; and  we  seek  still  to  think  of  the  form  we 
have  loved,  with  those  refined  associations  which  it 
awakened  when  blooming  before  us  in  youth  and 
beauty.  "  Lay  her  i'  the  earth,"  says  Laertes  of  his 
virgin  sister. 

And  from  her  fair  and  unpolluted  flesh 
May  violets  sprint^. 

Herrick,  also,  in  his  "  Dirge  of  Jephtha,"  pours 
forth  a  fragrant  flow  of  poetical  thought  and  image, 
which  in  a  manner  embalms  the  dead  in  the  recol- 
lections of  the  living. 

Sleep  in  thy  x>eace,  thy  bed  of  spice, 

And  make  this  place  all  Paradise  : 

May  sweets  grow  here  !  and  smoke  from  hence 

Fat  frankincense. 
Let  balme  and  cassia  send  their  scent 
From  out  thy  maiden  monument. 

*  *  •  *  « 

May  all  shie  maids  at  wonted  hours 
Come  forth  to  strew  thy  tombe  with  flowers  I 
May  virgins,  when  they  come  to  mourn 

Male  incense  burn 
Vpon  thine  altar!  then  return 
And  leave  thee  cleeping  in  thy  urn. 


I  might  crowd  my  pages  with  extracts  from  the 
older  British  poets,  who  wrote  when  these  rites  were 
more  prevalent,  and  delighted  frequently  to  allude 
to  them  ;  but  I  have  already  quoted  more  than  is 
necessary.  I  cannot,  however,  refrain  from  giving  a 
passage  from  Shakspeare,  even  though  it  should  ap- 
pear trite,  which  illustrates  the  emblematical  mean- 
ing often  conveyed  in  these  floral  tributes,  and  at 
the  same  time  possesses  that  magic  of  language 
and  appositeness  of  imagery  for  which  he  stands 
pre-eminent. 

With  fairest  flowers. 
Whilst  summer  lasts,  and  I  live  here,  Fidele. 
I'll  sweeten  thy  sad  grave  ;  thou  shalt  not  lack 
The  flower  that's  like  thy  face,  pale  primrose  ;  nor 
The  aiured  harebell  like  thy  veins  ;  no,  nor 
The  leaf  of  eglantine  ;  whom  not  to  slander, 
Outsweetened  not  thy  breath. 

There  is  certainly  something  more  affecting  in 
these  prompt  and  spontaneous  offerings  of  nature, 
than  in  the  most  costly  monuments  of  art ;  the  hand 
strews  the  flower  while  the  heart  is  warm,  and  the 
tear  falls  on  the  grave  as  affection  is  binding  the 
osier  round  the  sod  ;  but  pathos  expires  under  the 
slow  labour  of  the  chisel,  and  is  chilled  among  the 
cold  conceits  of  sculptured  marble. 

It  is  greatly  to  be  regretted,  that  a  custom  so  truly 
elegant  and  touching  has  disappeared  from  general 
use,  and  exists  only  in  the  most  remote  and  insig- 
nificant villages.  But  it  seems  as  if  poetical  custom 
always  shuns  the  walks  of  cultivated  society.  In 
proportion  as  people  grow  polite,  they  cease  to  be 
poetical.  They  talk  of  poetry,  but  they  have  learnt 
to  check  its  free  impulses,  to  distrust  its  sallying 
emotions,  and  to  supply  its  most  affecting  and  pict- 
uresque usages,  by  studied  form  and  pompous  cere- 
monial. Few  pageants  can  be  more  stately  and 
frigid  than  an  English  funeral  in  town.  It  is  made 
up  of  show  and  gloomy  parade  :  mourning  carriages, 
mourning  horses,  mourning  plume.s,  and  hireling 
mourners,  who  make  a  mockery  of  grief.  "  There  is 
a  grave  digged,"  says  Jeremy  Taylor,  "  and  a  solemn 
mourning,  and  a  great  talk  in  the  neighbourhood, 
and  when  the  dales  are  finished,  they  shall  be,  and 
they  shall  be  remembered  no  more."  The  associate 
in  the  gay  and  crowded  city  is  soon  forgotten  ;  the 
hurrying  succession  of  new  intimates  and  new  pleas- 
ures effaces  him  from  our  minds,  and  the  very  scenes 
and  circles  in  which  he  moved  are  incessantly  fluc- 
tuating. But  funerals  in  the  country  are  solemnly 
impressive.  The  stroke  of  death  makes  a  wider 
space  in  the  village  circle,  and  is  an  awful  event  in 
the  tranquil  uniformity  of  rural  life.  The  passing 
bell  tolls  its  knell  in  every  ear;  it  steals  with  its  per- 
vading melancholy  over  hill  and  vale,  and  saddens 
all  the  landscape. 

The  fixed  and  unchanging  features  of  the  country, 
also,  perpetuate  the  memory  of  the  friend  with  whom 
we  once  enjoyed  them  ;  who  was  the  companion  of 
our  most  retired  walks,  and  gave  animation  to  every 
lonely  scene.  His  idea  is  associated  with  every 
charm  of  Nature :  we  hear  his  voice  in  the  echo 
which  he  once  delighted  to  awaken  ;  his  spirit  haunts 
the  grove  which  he  once  frequented ;  we  think  of 
him  in  the  wild  upland  solitude,  or  amidst  the  pen- 
sive beauty  of  the  valley.  In  the  freshness  of  joyous 
morning,  we  remember  his  beaming  smiles  and 
bounding  gayety  ;  and  when  sober  evening  returns, 
with  its  gathering  shadows  and  subduing  quiet,  we 
call  to  mind  many  a  twilight  hour  of  gentle  talk  and 
sweet-souled  melancholy. 

Each  lonely  place  shall  him  restore, 

For  him  the  tear  be  duly  shed, 
Beleved,  till  life  can  charm  no  more. 

And  mourn'd  till  pity's  self  be  dead. 

Another  cause  that  perpetuates  the  memory  of 
the  deceased  in  the  country,  is,  that  the  grave  is 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


more  immediately  in  sight  of  the  survivors.  They 
pass  it  on  their  way  to  prayer;  it  meets  their  eyes 
when  their  hearts  are  softened  by  the  exercise  of  de- 
votion ;  they  linger  about  it  on  the  Sabbath,  when 
the  mind  is  disengaged  from  worldly  cares,  and  most 
disposed  to  turn  aside  from  present  pleasures  and 
present  loves,  and  to  sit  down  among  the  solemn 
mementos  of  the  past.  In  North  Wales,  the  peas- 
antry kneel  and  pray  over  the  graves  of  their  de- 
ceased friends  for  several  Sundays  after  the  inter- 
ment ;  and  where  the  tender  rite  of  strewing  and 
planting  flowers  is  still  practised,  it  is  always  re- 
newed on  Easter,  Whitsuntide,  and  other  festivals, 
when  the  season  brings  the  companion  of  former 
festivity  more  vividly  to  mind.  It  is  also  invariably 
performed  by  the  nearest  relatives  and  friends ;  no 
menials  nor  hirelings  are  employed,  and  if  a  neigh- 
bour yields  assistance,  it  would  be  deemed  an  insult 
to  offer  compensation. 

I  have  dwelt  upon  this  beautiful  rural  custom,  be- 
cause, as  it  is  one  of  the  last,  so  is  it  one  of  the  ho- 
liest offices  of  love.  The  grave  is  the  ordeal  of  true 
affection.  It  is  there  that  the  divine  passion  of  the 
soul  manifests  its  superiority  to  the  instinctive  im- 
pulse of  mere  animal  attachment.  The  latter  must 
be  continually  refreshed  and  kept  aliv-e  by  the  pres- 
ence of  its  object ;  but  the  love  that  is  seated  in 
the  soul  can  live  on  long  remembrance.  The  mere 
inclinations  of  sense  languish  and  decline  with  the 
charms  which  e.xcited  them,  and  turn  with  shudder- 
ing and  disgust  from  the  dismal  precincts  of  the 
tomb ;  but  it  is  thence  that  truly  spiritual  affection 
rises  purified  from  every  sensual  desire,  and  returns, 
like  a  holy  fiame,  to  illumine  and  sanctify  the  heart 
of  the  survivor. 

The  sorrow  for  the  dead  is  the  only  sorrow  from 
\\  hich  we  refuse  to  be  divorced.  Every  other  wound 
we  seek  to  heal — every  other  affliction  to  forget ;  but 
this  wound  we  consider  it  a  duty  to  keep  open — this 
affilction  we  cherish  and  brood  over  in  solitude. 
Where  is  the  mother  who  would  willingly  forget  the 
infant  that  perished  like  a  blossom  from  her  arms, 
though  every  recollection  is  a  pang  ?  Where  is  the 
child  that  would  willingly  forget  the  most  tender  of 
parents,  though  to  remember  be  but  to  lament  ? 
Who,  even  in  the  hour  of  agony,  would  forget  the 
friend  over  whom  he  mourns  ?  Who,  even  when  the 
tomb  is  closing  upon  the  remains  of  her  he  most 
loved ;  when  he  feels  his  heart,  as  it  were,  crushed 
in  the  closing  of  its  portal ;  would  accept  of  conso- 
lation that  must  be  bought  by  forgetfulness  ? — -No, 
the  love  which  survives  the  tomb  is  one  of  the  no- 
blest attributes  of  the  soul.  If  it  has  its  woes,  it  has 
likewise  its  delights ;  and  when  the  overwhelming 
burst  of  grief  is  calmed  into  the  gentle  tear  of  recol- 
lection— when  the  sudden  anguish  and  the  convul- 
sive agony  over  the  present  ruins  of  all  that  we  most 
loved,  is  softened  away  into  pensive  meditation  on 
all  that  it  was  in  the  days  of  its  loveliness — who 
would  root  out  such  a  sorrow  from  the  heart  ? 
Though  it  may  sometimes  throw  a  passing  cloud 
over  the  bright  hour  of  gayety,  or  spread  a  deeper 
sadness  over  the  hour  of  gloom  ;  yet  who  would  ex- 
change it  even  for  the  song  of  pleasure,  or  the  burst 
of  revelry  ?  No,  there  is  a  voice  from  the  tomb 
sweeter  than  song.  There  is  a  remembrance  of  the 
dead,  to  which  we  turn  even  from  the  charms  of  the 
living.  Oh,  the  grave  !— the  grave  ! — It  buries  every 
error — covers  every  defect — extinguishes  every  re- 
sentment !  From  its  peaceful  bosom  spring  none 
but  fond  regrets  and  tender  recollections.  Who  can 
look  down  upon  the  grave  even  of  an  enemy  and  not 
feel  a  compunctious  throb,  that  he  should  ever  have 
warred  with  the  poor  handful  of  earth  that  lies 
mouldering  before  him  ? 


But  the  grave  of  those  we  loved — what  a  place  for 
meditation  !  There  it  is  that  we  call  up  in  long  re- 
view the  whole  history  of  virtue  and  gentleness,  and 
the  thousand  endearments  lavished  upon  us  almost 
unheeded  in  the  daily  intercourse  of  intimacy  ; — there 
it  is  that  we  dwell  upon  the  tenderness,  the  solemn, 
awful  tenderness  of  the  parting  scene.  The  bed  of 
death,  with  all  its  stifled  griefs — its  noiseless  attend- 
ance— its  mute,  watchful  assiduities.  The  last  tes- 
timonies of  expiring  love  !  The  feeble,  fluttering, 
thrilling,  oh  !  how  thrilling  ! — pressure  of  the  hand. 
The  last  fond  look  of  the  glazing  eye,  turning  upon 
us  even  from  the  threshold  of  existence.  The  faint, 
faltering  accents,  struggling  in  death  to  give  one 
more  assurance  of  affection  ! 

Ay,  go  to  the  grave  of  buried  love,  and  meditate  ! 
There  settle  the  account  with  thy  conscience  for 
every  past  benefit  unrequited,  every  past  endearment 
unregarded,  of  that  departed  being,  who  can  never — 
never — never  return  to  be  soothed  by  thy  contrition  ! 

If  thou  art  a  child,  and  hast  ever  added  a  sorrow 
to  the  soul,  or  a  furrow  to  the  silvered  brow  of  an 
affectionate  parent — if  thou  art  a  husband,  and  hast 
ever  caused  the  fond  bosom  that  ventured  its  whole 
happiness  in  thy  arms,  to  doubt  one  moment  of  thy 
kindness  or  thy  truth — if  thou  art  a  friend,  and  hast 
ever  wronged,  in  thought,  or  word,  or  deed,  the  spirit 
that  generously  confided  in  thee — if  thou  art  a  lover 
and  hast  ever  given  one  unmerited  pang  to  that  true 
heart  which  now  lies  cold  and  still  beneath  thy  feet ; 
then  be  sure  that  every  unkind  look,  every  ungracious 
word,  every  ungentle  action,  will  come  thronging 
back  upon  thy  memory,  and  knocking  dolefully  at  thy 
soul — then  be  sure  that  thou  wilt  lie  down  sorrowing 
and  repentant  on  the  grave,  and  utter  the  unheard 
groan,  and  pour  the  unavailing  tear — more  deep, 
more  bitter,  because  unheard  and  unavailing. 

Then  weave  thy  chaplet  of  flowers,  and  strew  th : 
beauties  of  nature  about  the  grave  ;  console  thy 
broken  spirit,  if  thou  canst,  with  these  tender,  yet 
futile  tributes  of  regret ; — but  take  warning  by  the 
bitterness  of  this  thy  contrite  affliction  over  the  dead, 
and  henceforth  be  more  faithful  and  affectionate  in 
the  discharge  of  thy  duties  to  the  living. 


In  writing  the  preceding  article,  it  was  not  intend- 
ed to  give  a  full  detail  of  the  funeral  customs  of  the 
English  peasantry,  but  merely  to  furnish  a  few  hints 
and  quotations  illustrative  of  particular  rites,  to  be 
appended,  by  way  of  note,  to  another  paper,  which 
has  been  withheld.  The  article  swelled  insensibly 
into  its  present  form,  and  this  is  mentioned  as  an 
apology  for  so  brief  and  casual  a  notice  of  these 
usages,  after  they  have  been  amply  and  learnedly  in- 
vestigated in  other  works. 

I  must  observe,  also,  that  I  am  well  aware  that  this 
custom  of  adorning  graves  with  flowers,  prevails  in 
other  countries  besides  England.  Indeed,  in  some  it 
is  much  more  general,  and  is  observed  even  by  the 
rich  and  fashionable ;  but  it  is  then  apt  to  lose  its 
simplicity,  and  to  degenerate  into  affectation.  Bright, 
in  his  travels  in  Lower  Hungary,  tells  of  monuments 
of  marble,  and  recesses  formed  for  retirement,  with 
seats  placed  among  bowers  of  green-house  plants ; 
and  that  the  graves  generally  are  covered  with  the 
gayest  flowers  of  the  season.  He  gives  a  casual  pict- 
ure of  final  piety,  which  I  cannot  but  describe,  for  I 
trust  it  is  as  usefiil  as  it  is  delightful  to  illustrate  the 
amiable  virtues  of  the  sex.  "  When  I  was  at  Berlin," 
says  he,  "  I  followed  the  celebrated  Iflland  to  the 
grave.  Mingled  with  some  pomp,  you  might  trace 
much  real  feeling.  In  the  midst  of  the  ceremony, 
my  attention  was  attracted  by  a  young  woman  who 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


39 


stood  on  a  mound  of  earth,  newly  covered  with  turf, 
which  she  anxiously  protected  I'rom  the  feet  of  the 
passing  crowd.  It  was  the  tomb  of  her  parent ;  and 
the  figure  of  this  affectionate  daughter  presented  a 
monument  more  striking  than  the  most  costly  work 
of  art." 

1  will  barely  add  an  instance  of  sepulchral  decora- 
tion that  I  once  met  with  among  the  mountains  of 
Switzerland.  It  was  at  the  village  of  Gersau,  which 
stands  on  the  borders  of  the  lake  of  Luzerne,  at  the 
foot  of  Mount  Rigi.  It  was  once  the  capital  of  a 
miniature  republic,  shut  up  between  the  Alps  and  the 
lake,  and  accessible  on  the  land  side  only  by  foot- 
paths. The  whole  force  of  the  republic  did  not  e.x 
ceed  six  hundred  fighting  men  ;  and  a  few  miles  of 
circumference,  scooped  out,  as  it  were,  from  the 
bosom  of  the  mountains,  comprised  its  territory. 
The  village  of  Gersau  seemed  separated  from  the 
rest  of  the  world,  and  retained  the  golden  simplicity 
of  a  purer  age.  It  had  a  small  church,  with  a  bury- 
ing ground  adjoining.  At  the  heads  of  the  graves 
were  jjlaced  crosses  ol  wood  or  iron.  On  some  were 
affixed  miniatures,  rudely  executed,  but  evidently  at- 
tempts at  likenesses  of  the  deceased.  On  the  crosses 
were  hung  chapiets  of  flowers,  some  withering,  others 
fresh,  as  if  occasionally  renewed.  1  paused  with  in- 
terest at  this  scene ;  I  felt  that  I  was  at  the  source 
of  poetical  description,  for  these  were  the  beauiiful, 
but  unaffected  offerings  of  the  heart,  which  poets  are 
fain  to  record.  In  a  gayer  and  more  populous  place, 
I  should  have  suspected  them  to  have  been  suggest- 
ed by  factitious  sentiment,  derived  from  books  ;  but 
the  good  people  of  Gersau  knew  little  of  books  ;  there 
was  not  a  novel  nor  a  love  poem  in  the  village  ;  and 
1  question  whether  any  peasant  of  the  place  dreamt, 
while  he  was  twining  a  fresh  chaplet  for  the  grave 
of  his  mistress,  that  he  was  fulfilling  one  of  the  most 
fanciful  rites  of  poetical  devotion,  and  that  he  was 
practically  a  poet. 


THE  INN  KITCHEN. 


Shall  I  not  take  mine  ease  in  mine  inn  ? 

Fahtaff. 

During  a  journey  that  I  once  made  through  the 
Netherlands,  I  had  arrived  one  evening  at  the  Pomme 
d'Or,  the  principal  inn  of  a  small  Flemish  village.  It 
was  after  the  hour  of  the  table  d'hote,  so  that  I  was 
obliged  to  make  a  solitary  supper  from  the  relics  of 
its  ampler  board.  The  weather  was  chilly ;  I  was 
seated  alone  in  one  end  of  a  great  gloomy  dining- 
room,  and  my  repast  being  over,  1  had  the  prospect 
before  me  of  a  long  dull  evening,  without  any  visible 
means  of  enlivening  it.  I  summoned  mine  host,  and 
requested  something  to  read ;  he  brought  me  the 
whole  literary  stock  of  his  household,  a  Dutch  family 
bible,  an  almanac  in  the  same  language,  and  a  num- 
ber of  old  Paris  newspapers.  As  1  sat  dozing  over 
one  of  the  latter,  reading  old  news  and  stale  criti- 
cisms, my  ear  was  now  and  then  struck  with  bursts 
of  laughter  which  seemed  to  proceed  from  the  kitchen. 
Every  one  that  has  travelled  on  the  Continent  must 
know  how  favourite  a  resort  the  kitchen  of  a  country 
inn  is  to  the  middle  and  inferior  order  of  travellers; 
particularly  in  that  equivocal  kind  of  weather  when  a 
fire  becomes  agreeable  toward  evening.  I  threw  aside 
the  newspaper,  and  explored  my  way  to  the  kitchen, 
to  take  a  peep  at  the  group  that  appeared  to  be  so 
merry.  It  was  composed  partly  of  travellers  who 
had  arrived  some  hours  before  in  a  diligence,  and 
|)artly  of  the  usual  attendants  and  hangers-on  of  inns. 


They  were  seated  round  a  great  burnished  stove,  that 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  an  altar,  at  which 
they  were  worshipping.  It  was  covered  with  various 
kitchen  vessels  of  resplendent  brightness ;  among 
which  steamed  and  hissed  a  huge  copper  tea-kettle. 
A  large  lamp  threw  a  strong  mass  of  light  upon  the 
group,  bringing  out  many  odd  features  in  strong 
relief.  Its  yellow  rays  partially  illumined  the  spacious 
kitchen,  dying  duskily  away  into  remote  corners ; 
except  where  they  settled  in  mellow  radiance  on  the 
broad  side  of  a  flitch  of  bacon,  or  were  reflected 
back  from  well-scoured  utensils  that  gleamed  from 
the  midst  of  obscurity.  A  strapping  Flemish  lass, 
with  long  golden  pendants  in  her  ears,  and  a  neck- 
lace with  a  golden  heart  suspended  to  it,  was  the 
presiding  priestess  of  the  temple. 

Many  of  the  company  were  furnished  with  pipes, 
and  most  of  them  with  some  kind  of  evening  pota- 
tion. I  founil  their  mirth  was  occasioned  by  anec- 
dotes which  a  little  swarthy  Frenchman,  with  a  dry 
weazen  face  and  large  whiskers,  was  giving  of  his 
love  adventures  ;  at  the  end  of  each  of  which  there 
was  one  of  those  bursts  of  honest  unceremonious 
laughter,  in  which  a  man  indulges  in  that  temple  of 
true  liberty,  an  inn. 

As  I  had  no  better  mode  of  getting  through  a 
tedious  blustering  evening,  I  took  my  seat  near 
the  stove,  and  listened  to  a  variety  of  traveller's 
tales,  some  very  extravagant,  and  most  very  dull. 
.'Ml  of  them,  however,  ha\'e  faded  from  my  treacher- 
ous memory,  except  one,  which  I  will  endeavour  to 
relate.  I  fear,  however,  it  derived  its  chief  zest  from 
the  manner  in  which  it  was  told,  and  the  peculiar 
air  and  appearance  of  the  narrator.  He  was  a  cor- 
pulent old  Swiss,  who  had  the  look  of  a  veteran 
traveller.  He  was  dressed  in  a  tarnished  green 
travelling-jacket,  with  a  broad  belt  round  his  waist, 
and  a  pair  of  overalls  with  buttons  from  the  hips  to 
the  ankles.  He  was  of  a  full,  rubicund  countenance, 
with  a  double  chin,  aquiline  nose,  and  a  pleasant 
twinkling  eye.  His  hair  was  light,  and  curled  from 
under  an  old  green  velvet  travelling-cap,  stuck  on 
one  side  of  his  head.  He  was  interrupted  more  than 
once  by  the  arrival  of  guests,  or  the  remarks  of  his 
auditors ;  and  paused,  now  and  then,  to  replenish 
his  pipe  ;  at  which  times  he  had  generally  a  roguish 
leer,  and  a  sly  joke,  for  the  buxom  kitchen  maid. 

I  wish  my  reader  could  imagine  the  old  fellow 
lolling  in  a  huge  arm-chair,  one  arm  a-kimbo,  the 
other  holding  a  curiously  twisted  tobacco-pipe, 
formed  of  genuine  ecume  de  titer,  decorated  with 
silver  chain  and  silken  tassel — his  head  cocked  on 
one  side,  and  a  whimsical  cut  of  the  eye  occasionally, 
as  he  related  the  following  story : 


THE  SPECTRE  BRIDEGROOM. 


A  traveller's  tale.* 


He  that  supper  for  is  dight. 

He  lyes  full  cold,  I  trow,  thi.s  night  ! 

Yestreen  to  chamber  I  him  led. 

This  night  Gray-steel  has  made  his  bed  ! 

Sir  Eger,  Sir  Grahame,  and  Sir  Gray-steel. 

On  the  summit  of  one  of  the  heights  of  the  Oden- 
wald,  a  wild  and  romantic  tract  of  Upper  Germany, 
that  lies  not  far  from  the  confluence  of  the  Maine 
and  the  Rhine,  there  stood,  many,  many  years  since, 


♦The  erudite  reader,  well  versed  in  good-for-nothing  lore,  uiU 
perceive  that  the  above  Tale  must  have  been  suggested  to  the  old 
Swiss  by  a  little  French  anecdote,  of  a  circumstance  said  to  have 
taken  place  at  Paris. 


40 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  Castle  of  the  Baron  Von  Landshort.  It  is  now 
quite  fallen  to  decay,  and  almost  buried  among 
beech  trees  and  dark  firs  ;  above  which,  however, 
its  old  watch-tower  may  still  be  seen  struggling,  like 
the  former  possessor  I  have  mentioned,  to  carry  a  high 
head,  and  look  down  upon  a  neighbouring  country. 

The  Baron  was  a  dry  branch  of  the  great  family 
of  Katzenellenbogen,*  and  inherited  the  relics  of  the 
property,  and  all  the  pride,  of  his  ancestors.  Though 
the  warlike  disposition  of  his  predecessors  had  much 
impaired  the  family  possessions,  yet  the  Baron  still 
endeavoured  to  keep  up  some  show  of  former  state. 
The  times  were  peaceable,  and  the  German  nobles, 
in  general,  had  abandoned  their  inconvenient  old 
castles,  perched  like  eagle's  nests  among  the  mount- 
ains, and  had  built  more  convenient  residences  in 
the  valleys  ;  still  the  Baron  remained  proudly  drawn 
up  in  his  little  fortress,  cherishing  with  hereditary 
inveteracy  all  the  old  family  feuds ;  so  that  he  was 
on  ill  terms  with  some  of  his  nearest  neighbours,  on 
account  of  disputes  that  had  happened  between  their 
great-great-grandfathers. 

The  Baron  had  but  one  child,  a  .daughter ;  but 
Nature,  when  she  grants  but  one  child,  always  com- 
pensates by  making  it  a  prodigy;  and  so  it  was  with 
the  daughter  of  the  Baron.  All  the  nurses,  gossips, 
and  country  cousins,  assured  her  father  that  she  had 
not  her  equal  for  beauty  in  all  Germany ;  and  who 
should  know  better  than  they.'  She  had,  moreover, 
been  brought  up  with  great  care,  under  the  superin- 
tendence of  two  maiden  aunts,  who  had  spent  some 
years  of  their  early  life  at  one  of  the  little  German 
courts,  and  were  skilled  in  all  the  branches  of  knowl- 
edge necessaiy  to  the  education  of  a  fine  lady.  Un- 
der their  instructions,  she  became  a  miracle  of  ac- 
complishments. By  the  time  she  was  eighteen  she 
could  embroider  to  admiration,  and  had  worked 
whole  histories  of  the  saints  in  tapestry,  with  such 
strength  of  expression  in  their  countenances,  that 
they  looked  like  so  many  souls  in  purgatory.  She 
could  read  without  great  difficulty,  and  had  spelled 
her  way  through  several  church  legends,  and  almost 
all  the  chivalric  wonders  of  the  Heldenbuch.  She 
had  even  made  considerable  proficiency  in  writing, 
could  sign  her  own  name  without  missing  a  letter, 
and  so  legibly,  that  her  aunts  could  read  it  without 
spectacles.  She  excelled  in  making  little  good-for- 
nothing  lady-like  knicknacks  of  all  kinds  ;  was  versed 
in  the  most  abstruse  dancing  of  the  day ;  played  a 
number  of  airs  on  the  harp  and  guitar ;  and  knew 
all  the  tender  ballads  of  the  Minnie-lieders  by  heart. 

Her  aunts,  too,  having  been  great  flirts  and  co- 
quettes in  their  younger  days,  were  admirably  calcu- 
lated to  be  vigilant  guardians  and  strict  censors  of 
the  conduct  of  their  niece ;  for  there  is  no  duenna  so 
rigidly  prudent,  and  inexorably  decorous,  as  a  super- 
annuated coquette.  She  was  rarely  suffered  out  of 
their  sight ;  never  went  beyond  the  domains  of  the 
castle,  unless  well  attended,  or  rather  well  watched ; 
had  continual  lectures  read  to  her  about  strict  deco- 
rum and  implicit  obedience  ;  and,  as  to  the  men — 
pah  !  she  was  taught  to  hold  them  at  such  distance 
and  distrust,  that,  unless  properly  authorized,  she 
would  not  have  cast  a  glance  upon  the  handsomest 
cavalier  in  the  world — no,  not  if  he  were  even  dying 
at  her  feet. 

The  good  effects  of  this  system  were  wonderfully 
apparent.  The  young  lady  was  a  pattern  of  docility 
and  correctness.  While  others  were  wasting  their 
sweetness  in  the  glare  of  the  world,  and  liable  to  be 
plucked  and  thrown  aside  by  every  hand,  she  was 


*  /.  e,y  Cat's  Elbow — the  name  of  a  family  of  ttiose  parts, 
very  powerful  in  former  times.  The  appellation,  we  are  told,  was 
civen  in  compliment  to  a  peerless  dame  of  the  family,  celebrated 
lor  a  6ne  arm. 


coyly  blooming  into  fresh  and  lovely  womanhood 
under  the  protection  of  those  immaculate  spinsters, 
like  a  rose-bud  blushing  forth  among  guardian  thorns. 
Her  aunts  looked  upon  her  with  pride  and  exultation, 
and  vaunted  that  though  all  the  other  young  ladies 
in  the  world  might  go  astray,  yet,  thank  Heaven, 
nothing  of  the  kind  could  happen  to  the  heiress  of 
Katzenellenbogen. 

But  however  scantily  the  Baron  Von  Landshort 
might  be  provided  with  children,  his  household  was 
by  no  means  a  small  one,  for  Providence  had  enrich- 
ed him  with  abundance  of  poor  relations.  They,  one 
and  all,  possessed  the  affectionate  disposition  com- 
mon to  humble  relatives;  were  wonderfully  attached 
to  the  Baron,  and  took  every  possible  occasion  to 
come  In  swarms  and  enliven  the  castle.  All  family 
festivals  were  commemorated  by  these  good  people 
at  the  Baron's  expense  ;  and  when  they  were  filled 
with  good  cheer,  they  would  declare  that  there  was 
nothing  on  earth  so  delightful  as  these  family  meet- 
ings, these  jubilees  of  the  heart. 

The  Baron,  though  a  small  man,  had  a  large  soul, 
and  it  swelled  with  satisfaction  at  the  consciousness 
of  being  the  greatest  man  in  the  little  world  about 
him.  He  loved  to  tell  long  stories  about  the  stark 
old  warriors  whose  portraits  looked  grimly  down 
from  the  walls  around,  and  he  found  no  listeners 
equal  to  those  who  fed  at  his  expense.  He  was 
much  given  to  the  marvellous,  and  a  firm  believer  in 
all  those  supernatural  tales  with  which  every  inount- 
ain  and  valley  in  Gennany  abounds.  The  faith  of 
his  guests  even  exceeded  his  own  :  they  listened  to 
every  tale  of  wonder  with  open  eyes  and  mouth,  and 
never  failed  to  be  astonished,  even  though  repeated 
for  the  hundredth  time.  Thus  lived  the  Baron  Von 
Landshort,  the  oracle  of  his  table,  the  absolute  inon- 
arch  of  his  little  territory,  and  happy,  above  all 
things,  in  the  persuasion  that  he  was  the  wisest 
man  of  the  age. 

At  the  time  of  which  my  story  treats,  there  was  a 
great  family-gathering  at  the  castle,  on  an  affair  of 
the  utmost  importance :  —it  was  to  receive  the  des- 
tined bridegroom  of  the  Baron's  daughter.  A  ne- 
gotiation had  been  carried  on  between  the  father 
and  an  old  nobleman  of  Bavaria,  to  unite  the  dignity 
of  their  houses  by  the  marriage  of  their  children. 
The  preliminaries  had  been  conducted  with  proper 
punctilio.  The  young  people  were  betrothed  with- 
out seeing  each  other,  and  the  time  was  appointed 
for  the  marriage  ceremony.  The  young  Count  Von 
Altenburg  had  been  recalled  from  the  army  for  the 
purpose,  and  was  actually  on  his  way  to  the  Baron's 
to  receive  his  bride.  Missives  had  even  been  re- 
ceived from  him,  from  Wurtzburg,  where  he  was 
accidentally  detained,  mentioning  the  day  and  hour 
when  he  might  be  expected  to  arrive. 

The  castle  was  in  a  tumult  of  preparation  to  give 
him  a  suitable  welcome.  The  fair  bride  had  been 
decked  out  with  uncommon  care.  The  two  aunts 
had  superintended  her  toilet,  and  quarrelled  the 
whole  morning  about  every  article  of  her  dress. 
The  young  lady  had  taken  advantage  of  their  con- 
test to  Ibllow  the  bent  of  her  own  taste  ;  and  fortu- 
nately it  was  a  good  one.  She  looked  as  lovely  as 
youthful  bridegroom  could  desire ;  and  the  fiutter  of 
expectation  heightened  the  lustre  of  her  charms. 

The  suffusions  that  mantled  her  face  and  neck,  the 
gentle  heaving  of  the  bosom,  the  eye  now  and  then 
lost  in  reverie,  all  betrayed  the  soft  tumult  that  was 
going  on  in  her  little  heart.  The  aunts  were  con- 
tinually hovering  around  her ;  for  maiden  aunts  are 
apt  to  take  great  interest  in  affairs  of  this  nature : 
they  were  giving  her  a  world  of  staid  counsel  how  to 
deport  herself,  what  to  say,  and  in  what  manner  to 
receive  the  expected  lover. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


41 


The  Baron  was  no  less  busied  in  preparations. 
He  had,  in  truth,  nothing  exactly  to  do  ;  but  he  was 
naturally  a  fuming,  bustling  little  man,  and  could  not 
remain  passive  when  all  the  world  was  in  a  hurry. 
He  worried  from  top  to  bottom  of  the  castle,  with  an 
air  of  infinite  anxiety  ,  he  continually  called  the  serv- 
ants from  their  work  to  exhort  them  to  be  diligent, 
and  buzzed  about  every  hall  and  chamber,  as  idly 
restless  and  importunate  as  a  blue-bottle  fly  of  a 
warm  summer's  day. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  fatted  calf  had  been  killed  ; 
the  forests  had  rung  with  the  clamour  of  the  hunts- 
men ;  the  kitchen  was  crowded  with  good  cheer  ;  the 
cellars  had  yielded  up  whole  oceans  of  Rhein^wein 
and  Fcrne-wein,  and  e\'en  the  great  Heidelburgh  tun 
had  been  laid  under  contribution.  Every  thing  was 
ready  to  receive  the  distinguished  guest  with  Saus 
und  Braus  in  the  true  spirit  of  German  hospitality — 
but  the  guest  delayed  to  make  his  appearance.  Hour 
rolled  after  hour.  The  sun  that  had  poured  his  down- 
ward rays  upon  the  rich  forests  of  the  Odenwald,  now 
just  gleamed  along  the  summits  of  the  mountains. 
The  Baron  mounted  the  highest  tower,  and  strained 
his  eyes  in  hopes  of  catching  a  distant  sight  of  the 
Count  and  his  attendants.  Once  he  thought  he  be- 
held them  ;  the  sound  of  horns  came  floating  from 
the  valley,  prolonged  by  the  mountain  echoes :  a 
number  of  horsemen  were  seen  far  below,  slowly  ad- 
vancing along  the  road  ;  but  when  they  had  nearly 
reached  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  they  suddenly 
struck  off  in  a  different  direction.  The  last  ray  of 
sunshine  departed — the  bats  began  to  flit  by  in  the 
twilight — the  road  grew  dimmer  and  dimmer  to  the 
view  ;  and  nothing  appeared  stirring  in  it,  but  now 
and  then  a  peasant  lagging  homeward  from  his 
labour. 

While  the  old  castle  of  Landshort  was  in  this  state 
of  perplexity,  a  very  interesting  scene  was  transacting 
in  a  different  part  of  the  Odenwald. 

The  young  Count  Von  Altenburg  was  tranquilly 
pursuing  his  route  in  that  sober  jog-trot  way  in 
which  a  man  travels  toward  matrimony  when  his 
friends  have  taken  all  the  trouble  and  uncertainty  of 
courtship  off  his  hands,  and  a  bride  is  waiting  for 
him,  as  certainly  as  a  dinner,  at  the  end  of  his  jour- 
ney. He  had  encountered  at  VVurtzburg  a  youthful 
companion  in  arms,  with  whom  he  had  seen  some 
service  on  the  frontiers  ;  Herman  Von  Starkenfaust, 
one  of  the  stoutest  hands  and  worthiest  hearts  of 
German  chivalry,  who  was  now  returning  from  the 
army.  His  father's  castle  was  not  far  distant  from 
the  old  fortress  of  Landshort,  although  a  hereditary 
feud  rendered  the  families  hostile,  and  strangers  to 
each  other. 

In  the  warm-hearted  moment  of  recognition,  the 
young  friends  related  all  their  past  adventures  and 
fortunes,  and  the  Count  gave  the  whole  history  of 
his  intended  nuptials  with  a  young  lady  whom  he  had 
never  seen,  but  of  whose  charms  he  had  received  the 
most  enrapturing  descriptions. 

As  the  route  of  the  friends  lay  in  the  same  direc- 
tion, they  agreed  to  perform  the  rest  of  their  journey 
together;  and  that  they  might  do  it  more  leisurely, 
set  off  from  Wurtzburg  at  an  early  hour,  the  Count 
having  given  directions  for  his  retinue  to  follow  and 
overtake  him. 

They  beguiled  their  wayfaring  with  recollections 
of  their  military  scenes  and  adventures ;  but  the 
Count  was  apt  to  be  a  little  tedious,  now  and  then, 
.ibout  the  reputed  charms  of  his  bride,  and  the  felicity 
that  awaited  him. 

In  this  way  they  had  entered  among  the  mountains 
cf  the  Odenwald,  and  were  traversing  one  of  its  most 
lonely  and  thickly  wooded  passes.  It  is  well  known 
that  the  forests  of  Germany  have  always  been  as 


much  infested  with  robbers  as  its  castles  by  spectres ; 
and,  at  this  time,  the  former  were  particularly  nu- 
merous, from  the  hordes  of  disbanded  soldiers  wan- 
dering about  the  country.  It  will  not  appear  extra- 
ordinary, therefore,  that  the  cavaliers  were  attacked 
by  a  gang  of  these  stragglers,  in  the  midst  of  the 
forest.  They  defended  themselves  with  bravery,  but 
were  nearly  overpowered  when  the  Count's  retinue 
arrived  to  their  assistance.  At  sfght  of  them  the 
robbers  fled,  but  not  until  the  Count  had  received  a 
mortal  wound.  He  was  slowly  and  carefully  con- 
veyed back  to  the  city  of  Wurtzburg,  and  a  friar 
summoned  from  a  neighbouring  convent,  who  was 
famous  for  his  skill  in  administering  to  both  soul  and 
body.  But  half  of  his  skill  was  superfluous  ;  the 
moments  of  the  unfortunate  Count  were  numbered. 

With  his  dying  breath  he  entreated  his  friend  to 
repair  instantly  to  the  castle  of  Landshort,  and  ex- 
plain the  fatal  cause  of  his  not  keeping  his  appoint- 
ment with  his  bride.  Though  not  the  most  ardent 
of  lovers,  he  was  one  of  the  most  punctilious  of  men, 
and  appeared  earnestly  solicitous  that  this  mission 
should  be  speedily  and  courteously  executed.  "  Un- 
less this  is  done,"  said  he,  "  1  shall  not  sleep  quietly 
in  my  grave  !  "  He  repeated  these  last  words  with 
peculiar  solemnity.  A  request,  at  a  moment  so  im- 
pressive, admitted  no  hesitation.  Starkenfaust  en- 
deavoured to  soothe  him  to  calmness  ;  promised 
faithfully  to  execute  his  wish,  and  gave  him  his  hand 
in  solemn  pledge.  The  dying  man  pressed  it  in  ac- 
knowledgment, but  soon  lapsed  into  delirium — raved 
about  his  bride  — his  engagements  —  his  plighted 
word  ;  ordered  his  horse,  that  he  might  ride  to  the 
castle  of  Landshort,  and  expired  in  the  fancied  act 
of  vaulting  into  the  saddle. 

Starkenfaust  bestowed  a  sigh,  and  a  soldier's  tear 
on  the  untimely  fate  of  his  comrade  ;  and  then  pon- 
dered on  the  awkward  mission  he  had  undertaken. 
His  heart  was  heavy,  and  his  head  perplexed  ;  for  he 
was  to  present  himself  an  unbidden  guest  among 
hostile  people,  and  to  damp  their  festivity  with  tid- 
ings fatal  to  their  hopes.  Still  there  were  certain 
whisperings  of  curiosity  in  his  bosom  to  see  this  far- 
famed  beauty  of  Katzenellenbogen,  so  cautiously  shut 
up  from  the  world  ;  for  he  was  a  passionate  admirer 
of  the  sex,  and  there  was  a  dash  of  eccentricity  and 
enterprise  in  his  character,  that  made  him  fond  of  all 
singular  adventure. 

Previous  to  his  departure,  he  made  all  due  arrange- 
ments with  the  holy  fraternity  of  the  convent  for  the 
funeral  solemnities  of  his  friend,  who  was  to  be 
buried  in  the  cathedral  of  Wurtzburg,  near  some  of 
his  illustrious  relatives ;  and  the  mourning  retinue 
of  the  Count  took  charge  of  his  remains. 

It  is  now  high  time  that  we  should  return  to  the 
ancient  family  of  Katzenellenbogen,  who  were  im- 
patient for  their  guest,  and  still  more  for  their  din- 
ner ;  and  to  the  worthy  little  Baron,  whom  we  left 
airing  himself  on  the  watch-tower. 

Night  closed  in,  but  still  no  guest  arrived.  The 
Baron  descended  from  the  tower  in  despair.  The 
banquet,  which  had  been  delayed  from  hour  to  hour, 
could  no  longer  be  postponed.  The  meats  were  al- 
ready overdone ;  the  cook  in  an  agony ;  and  the 
whole  household  had  the  look  of  a  garrison  that  had 
been  reduced  by  famine.  The  Baron  was  obliged 
reluctantly  to  give  orders  for  the  feast  without  the 
presence  of  the  guest.  All  were  seated  at  table,  and 
just  on  the  point  of  commencing,  when  the  sound 
of  a  horn  from  without  the  gate  gave  notice  of  the 
approach  of  a  stranger.  Another  long  blast  filled 
the  old  courts  of  the  castle  with  its  echoes,  and  was 
answered  by  the  warder  from  the  walls.  The  Baron 
hastened  to  receive  his  future  son-in-law. 

The  drawbridge  had  been  let  down,  and  the  stran- 


42 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


ger  was  before  the  gate.  He  was  a  tall  gallant  cava- 
lier, mounted  on  a  black  steed.  His  countenance 
was  pale,  but  he  had  a  beaming,  romantic  eye,  and 
an  air  of  stately  melancholy.  The  Baron  was  a  lit- 
tle mortified  that  lie  should  have  come  in  this  simple, 
solitary  style.  His  dignity  for  a  moment  was  rufHed, 
and  he  felt  disposed  to  consider  it  a  want  of  proper 
respect  for  the  important  occasion,  and  the  important 
family  with  which  he  was  to  be  connected.  He 
pacified  himself,  however,  with  the  conclusion  that 
it  must  have  been  youthful  impatience  which  had 
induced  him  thus  to  spur  on  sooner  than  his  attend- 
ants. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  the  stranger,  ''  to  break  in 
upon  you  thus  unseasonably — " 

Here  the  Baron  interrupted  him  with  a  world  of 
compliments  and  greetings ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  he 
prided  himself  upon  his  courtesy  and  his  eloquence. 
The  stranger  attempted,  once  or  twice,  to  stem  the 
torrent  of  words,  but  in  vain  ;  so  he  bowed  his  head 
and  suffered  it  to  flow  on.  Ey  the  time  the  Baron 
had  come  to  a  pause,  they  had  reached  the  inner 
court  of  the  castle ;  and  the  stranger  was  again 
about  to  speak,  when  he  was  once  more  interrupted 
by  the  appearance  of  the  female  part  of  the  family, 
leading  forth  the  shrinking  and  blushing  bride.  He 
gazed  on  her  for  a  moment  as  one  entranced  ;  it 
seemed  as  if  his  whole  soul  beamed  forth  in  the  gaze, 
and  rested  upon  that  lovely  form.  One  of  the  maiden 
aunts  whispered  something  in  her  ear;  she  made 
an  effort  to  speak ;  her  moist  blue  eye  was  timidly 
raised,  gave  a  shy  glance  of  inquiry  on  the  stranger, 
and  was  cast  again  to  the  ground.  The  words  died 
away  ;  but  there  was  a  sweet  smile  playing  about 
her  lips,  and  a  soft  dimpling  of  the  cheek,  that 
showed  her  glance  had  not  been  unsatisfactory.  It 
was  impossible  for  a  girl  of  the  fond  age  of  eighteen, 
highly  predisposed  for  love  and  matrimony,  not  to 
be  pleased  with  so  gallant  a  cavalier. 

The  late  hour  at  which  the  guest  had  arrived,  left 
no  time  for  parley.  The  f  aron  was  peremptory,  and 
deferred  all  particular  conversation  until  the  morn- 
ing, and  led  the  way  to  the  untasted  banquet. 

It  was  served  up  in  the  great  hall  of  the  castle. 
Around  the  walls  hung  the  hard-favoured  portraits 
of  the  heroes  of  the  house  of  Katzenellenbogen,  and 
the  trophies  which  they  had  gained  in  the  held  and 
in  the  chase.  Hacked  croslets,  splintered  jousting 
spears,  and  tattered  banners,  were  mingled  with  the 
spoils  of  sylvan  warfare :  the  jaws  of  the  wolf,  and 
the  tusks  of  the  boar,  grinned  horribly  among  cross- 
bows and  battle-axes,  and  a  huge  pair  of  antlers 
branched  immediately  over  the  head  of  the  youthful 
bridegroom. 

The  cavalier  took  but  little  notice  of  the  company 
or  the  entertainment.  He  scarcely  tasted  the  ban- 
quet, but  seemed  absorbed  in  admiration  of  his 
bride.  He  conversed  in  a  low  tone,  that  could  not 
be  overheard — for  the  language  of  love  is  never 
loud  ;  but  where  is  the  female  ear  so  dull  that  it 
cannot  catch  the  softest  whisper  of  the  lover  ?  There 
was  a  mingled  tenderness  and  gravity  in  his  manner, 
that  appeared  to  have  a  powerful  effect  upon  the 
young  lady.  Her  colour  came  and  went,  as  she 
listened  with  deep  attention.  Now  and  then  she 
made  some  blushing  reply,  and  when  his  eye  was 
turned  away,  she  would  steal  a  sidelong  glance  at 
his  romantic  countenance,  and  heave  a  gentle  sigh 
of  tender  happiness.  It  was  evident  that  the  young 
couple  were  completely  enamoured.  The  aunts,  who 
were  deeply  versed  in  the  mysteries  of  the  heart,  de- 
clared that  they  had  fallen  in  love  with  each  other 
at  first  sight. 

The  feast  went  on  merrily,  or  at  least  noisily,  for 
the  guests  were  all  blessed  with  those  keen  appetites 


that  attend  upon  light  purses  and  mountain  air.  The 
Baron  told  his  best  and  longest  stories,  and  never 
had  he  told  them  so  well,  or  with  such  great  effect. 
It  there  was  any  thing  marvellous,  his  auditors  were 
lost  in  astonishment ;  and  if  any  thing  facetious, 
they  were  sure  to  laugh  exactly  in  the  right  place. 
The  Baron,  it  is  true,  like  most  great  men,  was  too 
dignified  to  utter  any  joke  but  a  dull  one :  it  was 
always  enforced,  however,  by  a  bumper  of  excellent 
Hoch-heimer ;  and  even  a  dull  joke,  at  one's  own 
table,  served  up  with  jolly  old  wine,  is  irresistible. 
Many  good  things  were  said  by  poorer  and  keener 
wits,  that  would  not  bear  repeating,  except  on  simi- 
lar occasions ;  many  sly  speeches  whispered  in 
ladies'  ears,  that  almost  convulsed  them  with  sup- 
pressed laughter ;  and  a  song  or  two  roared  out  by 
a  poor,  l)ut  merry  and  broad-faced  cousin  of  the 
Baron,  that  absolutely  made  the  maiden  aunts  hold 
up  their  fans. 

Amidst  all  this  revelry,  the  stranger  guest  main- 
tained a  most  singular  and  unseasonable  gravity. 
His  countenance  assumed  a  deeper  cast  of  dejection 
as  the  evening  advanced,  and,  strange  as  it  may  ap- 
pear, even  the  Baron's  jokes  seemed  only  to  render 
him  the  more  melancholy.  At  times  he  was  lost  in 
thought,  and  at  times  there  was  a  perturbed  and 
restless  wandering  of  the  eye  that  bespoke  a  mind 
but  ill  at  ease.  His  conversation  with  the  bride 
became  more  and  more  earnest  and  mysterious. 
Lowering  clouds  began  to  steal  over  the  fair  serenity 
of  her  brow,  and  tremors  to  run  through  her  tender 
frame. 

All  this  could  not  escape  the  notice  of  the  com- 
pany. Their  gayety  was  chilled  by  the  unaccounta- 
ble gloom  of  the  bridegroom  ;  their  spirits  were  in- 
fected ;  whispers  and  glances  were  interchanged, 
accompanied  by  shrugs  and  dubious  shakes  of  the 
head.  Tlie  song  and  the  laugh  grew  less  and  less 
frequent :  there  were  dreary  pauses  in  the  conversa- 
tion, which  were  at  length  succeeded  by  wild  tales, 
and  supernatural  legends.  One  dismal  story  pro- 
duced another  still  more  dismal,  and  the  Baron 
nearly  frightened  Some  of  the  ladies  into  hysterics 
with  the  history  of  the  goblin  horseman  that  carried 
away  the  fair  Leonora — a  dreadful,  but  true  story, 
which  has  since  been  put  into  excellent  verse,  and  is 
read  and  believed  by  all  the  world. 

The  bridegroom  listened  to  this  tale  with  profound 
attention.  He  kept  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the 
Baron,  and  as  the  story  drew  to  a  close,  began  grad- 
ually to  rise  from  his  seat,  growing  taller  and  taller, 
until,  in  the  Baron's  entranced  eye,  he  seemed  almost 
to  tower  into  a  giant.  The  moment  the  tale  was 
finished,  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  took  a  solemn 
farewell  of  the  company.  They  were  all  amazement. 
The  Baron  was  perfectly  thunderstruck. 

"  What  !  going  to  leave  the  castle  at  midnight .' 
why,  every  thing  was  prepared  for  his  reception  ;  a 
chamber  was  ready  for  him  if  he  wished  to  retire." 

The  stranger  shook  his  head  mournfully,  and 
mysteriously ;  "  I  must  lay  my  head  ill  a  different 
chamber  to-night !  " 

There  was  something  in  this  reply,  and  the  tone 
in  which  it  was  uttered,  that  made  the  Baron's 
heart  misgive  him  ;  but  he  rallied  his  forces,  and  re- 
peated his  hospitable  entreaties.  The  stranger 
shook  his  head  silently,  but  positively,  at  every  offer; 
and  waving  his  farewell  to  the  company,  stalked 
slowly  out  of  the  hall.  The  maiden  aunts  were  ab- 
solutely petrified — the  bride  hung  her  head,  and  a 
tear  stole  to  her  eye. 

The  Baron  followed  the  stranger  to  the  great 
court  of  the  castle,  where  the  black  charger  stood 
pawing  the  earth,  and  snorting  with  impatience. 
When   they  had  reached   the   portal,  whose  deep 


THE    SKETCK-BOOK   OF  GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


archway  was  dimly  lig-hted  by  a  cresset,  the  stranger 
paused,  and  addressed  the  Baron  in  a  hollow  tone 
of  voice,  which  the  vaulted  roof  rendered  still  more 
sepulchral.  "  Now  that  we  are  alone,"  said  he,  "  I 
will  impart  to  you  the  reason  of  my  gointf.  I  have 
a  solemn,  an  indispensable  engagement — " 

"Why,"  said  the  Baron,  "cannot  you  send  some 
one  in  your  place  ?  " 

"  It  admits  of  no  substitute — I  must  attend  it  in 
person — I  must  aw'ay  to  Wurtzburg  cathedral — " 

"  Ay,"  said  the  Baron,  plucking  up  spirit;  "  but 
not  until  to-morrow^to-morrow  you  shall  take  your 
bride  there." 

"  No  !  no  !  "  replied  the  stranger,  with  ten-fold 
solemnity,  "  my  engagement  is  with  no  bride — the 
worms  !  the  worms  expect  me  !  I  am  a  dead  man — 
I  have  been  slain  by  robbers — my  body  lies  at 
Wurtzburg — at  midnight  I  am  to  be  buried — the 
grave  is  waiting  for  me — I  must  keep  my  appoint- 
ment !  " 

He  sprang  on  his  black  charger,  dashed  over  the 
drawbridge,  and  the  clattering  of  his  horse's  hoofs 
was  lost  in  the  whistling  of  the  night-blast. 

The  Baron  returned  to  the  hall  in  the  utmost 
consternation,  and  related  what  had  passed.  Two 
ladies  fainted  outright ;  others  sickened  at  the  idea 
of  having  banqueted  with  a  spectre.  It  was  the 
opinion  of  some,  that  this  might  be  the  wild  hunts- 
man famous  in  German  legend.  Some  talked  of 
mountain  sprites,  of  wood-demons,  and  of  other 
supernatural  beings,  with  which  the  good  people  of 
Germany  have  been  so  grievously  harassed  since 
time  immemorial.  One  of  the  poor  relations  ven- 
tured to  suggest  that  it  might  be  some  sportive 
evasion  of  the  young  cavalier,  and  that  the  very 
gloominess  of  the  caprice  seemed  tb  accord  with  so 
melancholy  a  personage.  This,  however,  drew  on 
him  the  indignation  of  the  whole  company,  and  es- 
pecially of  the  Baron,  who  looked  upon  him  as  little 
better  than  an  infidel ;  so  that  he  was  fain  to  abjure 
his  heresy  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  come  into  the 
faith  of  the  true  believers. 

But,  whatever  may  have  been  the  doubts  enter- 
tained, they  were  completely  put  to  an  end  by  the 
arrival,  next  day,  of  regular  missives,  confirming  the 
intelligence  of  the  young  Count's  murder,  and  his 
interment  in  Wurtzburg  cathedral. 

The  dismay  at  the  castle  may  well  be  imagined. 
The  Baron  shut  himself  up  in  his  chamber.  The 
guests  who  had  come  to  rejoice  with  him,  could  not 
think  of  abandoning  him  in  his  distress.  They  wan- 
dered about  the  courts,  or  collected  in  groups  in  the 
hall,  shaking  their  heads  and  shrugging  their  shoul- 
ders, at  the  troubles  of  so  good  a  man  ;  and  sat 
longer  than  ever  at  table,  and  ate  and  drank  more 
stoutly  than  ever,  by  way  of  keeping  up  their 
spirits.  But  the  situation  of  the  widowed  bride  was 
the  most  pitiable.  To  have  lost  a  husband  before 
she  had  even  embraced  him— and  such  a  husband  I 
if  the  very  spectre  could  be  so  gracious  and  noble, 
what  must  have  been  the  living  man .'  She  filled 
the  house  with  lamentations. 

On  the  night  of  the  second  day  of  her  widowhood, 
she  had  retired  to  her  chamber,  accompanied  by  one 
of  her  aunts,  who  insisted  on  sleeping  with  her. 
The  aunt,  who  was  one  of  the  best  tellers  of  ghost 
stories  in  all  Germany,  had  just  been  recounting  one 
of  her  longest,  and  had  fallen  asleep  in  the  verj- 
midst  of  it.  The  chamber  was  remote,  and  over- 
looked a  small  garden.  The  niece  lay  pensively  gaz- 
ing at  the  beams  of  the  rising  moon,  as  they  trem- 
bled on  the  leaves  of  an  aspen  tree  before  the  lattice. 
The  castle  clock  had  just  told  midnight,  when  a  soft 
strain  of  music  stole  up  from  the  garden.  She  rose 
hastily  from  her  bed,  and  stepped  lightly  to  the  win- 


dow. A  tall  figure  stood  among  the  shadows  of  the 
trees.  As  it  raised  its  head,  a  beam  of  moonlight 
fell  upon  the  countenance.  Heaven  and  earlh  !  she 
beheld  the  Spectre  Bridegroom  !  A  loud  shriek  at 
that  moment  burst  upon  her  ear,  and  her  aunt,  who 
had  been  awakened  by  the  music,  and  had  followed 
her  silently  to  the  window,  fell  into  her  arms.  When 
she  looked  again,  the  spectre  had  disappeared. 

Of  the  two  females,  the  aunt  now  required  the 
most  soothing,  for  she  was  perfectly  beside  herself 
with  terror.  As  to  the  young  lady,  there  was  some- 
thing, even  in  the  spectre  of  her  lover,  that  seemed 
endearing.  There  was  still  the  semblance  of  manly 
beauty  ;  and  though  the  shadow  of  a  man  is  but  little 
calculated  to  satisfy  the  affections  of  a  love-sick  girl, 
yet,  where  the  substance  is  not  to  be  had,  even  that 
is  consoling.  The  aunt  declared  she  would  never 
sleep  in  that  chamber  again  ;  the  niece,  for  once,  was 
refractory,  and  declared  as  strongly  that  she  would 
sleep  in  no  other  in  the  castle  :  the  consequence  was, 
that  she  had  to  sleep  in  it  alone ;  but  she  drew  a 
promise  from  her  aunt  not  to  relate  the  story  of  the 
spectre,  lest  she  should  be  denied  the  only  melan- 
choly pleasure  left  her  on  earth — that  of  inhabiting 
the  chamber  over  which  the  guardian  shade  of  her 
lover  kept  its  nightly  vigils. 

How  long  the  good  old  lady  would  have  observed 
this  promise  is  uncertain,  for  she  dearly  loved  to  talk 
of  the  marvellous,  and  there  is  a  triumph  in  being 
the  first  to  tell  a  frightful  story ;  it  is,  however,  still 
quoted  in  the  neighbourhood,  as  a  memorable  in- 
stance of  female  secrecy,  that  she  kept  it  to  herself  for 
a  whole  week  ;  when  she  was  suddenly  absolved  from 
all  farther  restraint,  by  intelligence  brought  to  the 
breakfast-table  one  morning  that  the  young  lady  was 
not  to  be  found.  Her  room  was  empty — the  bed 
had  not  been  slept  in — the  window  was  open — and 
the  bird  had  flown  ! 

The  astonishment  and  concern  with  which  the 
intelligence  was  received,  can  only  be  imagined  by 
those  who  have  witnessed  the  agitation  which  the 
mishaps  ot  a  great  man  cause  among  his  friends. 
Even  the  poor  relations  paused  for  a  moment  from 
the  indefatigable  labours  of  the  trencher  ;  when  the 
aunt,  who  had  at  first  been  struck  speechless,  wrung 
.her  hands  and  shrieked  out,  "  the  goblin  !  the 
goblin  !  she's  carried  away  by  the  goblin  !  " 

In  a  few  words  she  related  the  fearful  scene  of  the 
garden,  and  concluded  that  the  spectre  must  have 
carried  off  his  bride.  Two  of  the  domestics  corrob- 
orated the  opinion,  for  they  had  heard  the  clatter- 
ing of  a  horse's  hoofs  down  the  mountain  about  mid- 
night, and  had  no  doubt  that  it  was  tiie  spectre  on 
his  black  charger,  bearing  her  away  to  the  tomb. 
All  present  were  struck  with  the  direful  probabil- 
ity ;  for  events  of  the  kind  are  extremely  common 
in  Germany,  as  many  well-authenticated  histories 
bear  witness. 

What  a  lamentable  situation  was  that  of  the  poor 
Baron  !  What  a  heart-rending  dilemma  for  a  lond 
father,  and  a  member  of  the  great  fa.Tiily  of  Katzenel- 
lenbogen  !  His  only  daughter  had  either  been  wrapt 
away  to  the  grave,  or  he  was  to  have  some  wood- 
demon  for  a  son-in-law,  and,  perchance,  a  troop  of 
goblin  grand-children.  As  usu:l,  he  was  completely 
bewildered,  and  all  the  castle  in  an  uproar.  The 
men  were  ordered  to  take  horse,  and  scour  every 
road  and  path  and  glen  of  the  Odenwald.  The  Baron 
himself  had  just  drawn  on  his  jack-boots,  girded  on 
his  sword,  and  was  about  to  mount  his  steed  to  sally 
forth  on  the  doubtful  quest,  when  he  was  brought  to 
a  pause  by  a  new  apparition.  A  lady  was  seen  ap- 
proaching the  castle,  mounted  on  a  palfrey  attended 
by  a  cavalier  on  horseback.  She  galloped  up  to  the 
gate,  sprang  from  her  horse,  and  falling  at  the  Baron's 


44 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


feet  embraced  his  knees.  It  was  his  lost  daughter,  1 
and  her  companion— the  Spectre  Bridegroom  !  The 
Baron  was  astounded.  He  loolced  at  his  daughter, 
then  at  the  Spectre,  and  almost  doubted  the  evidence 
of  his  senses.  The  latter,  too,  was  wonderfully  im- 
proved in  his  appearance,  since  his  visit  to  the  world 
of  spirits.  His  dress  was  splendid,  and  set  off  a 
noble  figure  of  manly  symmetry.  He  was  no  longer 
pale  and  melancholy.  His  fine  countenance  was 
flushed  with  the  glow  of  youth,  and  joy  rioted  in 
his  large  dark  eye. 

The  mystery  was  soon  cleared  up.  The  cavalier 
(for  in  truth,  as  you  must  have  known  all  the  while, 
he  was  no  goblin)  announced  himself  as  Sir  Herman 
Von  Starkenfaust.  He  related  his  adventure  with 
the  young  Count.  He  told  how  he  had  hastened 
to  the  castle  to  deliver  the  unwelcome  tidings,  but 
that  the  eloquence  of  the  Baron  had  interrupted  him 
in  every  attempt  to  tell  his  tale.  How  the  sight  of 
the  bride  had  completely  captivated  him,  and  that  to 
pass  a  few  hours  near  her,  he  had  tacitly  suffered 
the  mist.ake  to  continue.  How  he  had  been  sorely 
perplexed  in  what  way  to  make  a  decent  retreat, 
until  the  Baron's  goblin  stories  had  suggested  his 
eccentric  exit.  How,  fearing  the  feudal  hostility 
of  the  family,  he  had  repeated  his  visits  by 
stealth — had  haunted  the  garden  beneath  the  young 
lady's  window — had  wooed — had  won — had  borne 
away  in  triumph — and,  in  a  word,  had  wedded  the 
fai''. 

Under  any  other  circumstances,  the  Baron  would 
have  been  inflexible,  for  he  was  tenacious  of  paternal 
authority,  and  devoutly  obstinate  in  all  family  feuds  ; 
but  he  loved  his  daughter ;  he  had  lamented  her  as 
lost ;  he  rejoiced  to  find  her  still  alive  ;  and,  though 
her  husband  was  of  a  hostile  house,  yet,  thank 
Heaven,  he  was  not  a  goblin.  There  was  some- 
thing, it  must  be  acknowledged,  that  did  not  ex- 
actly accord  with  his  notions  of  strict  veracity,  in 
the  joke  the  knight  had  passed  upon  him  of  his  be- 
ing a  dead  man  ;  but  several  old  friends  present, 
who  had  served  in  the  wars,  assured  him  that  every 
stratagem  was  excusable  in  love,  and  that  the  cava- 
lier was  entitled  to  especial  privilege,  having  lately 
served  as  a  trooper. 

Matters,  therefore,  were  happily  arranged.  The 
Baron  pardoned  the  young  couple  on  the  spot.  The 
revels  at  the  castle  were  resumed.  The  poor  rela- 
tions overwhelmed  this  new  member  of  the  family 
with  loving  kindness  ;  he  was  so  gallant,  so  gener- 
ous—and so  rich.  The  aunts,  it  is  true,  were  some- 
what scandalized  that  their  system  of  strict  seclusion, 
and  passive  obedience,  should  be  so  badly  exempli- 
fied, but  attributed  it  all  to  their  negligence  in  not 
having  the  windows  grated.  One  of  them  was  par- 
ticulariy  mortified  at  having  her  marvellous  story 
marred,  and  that  the  only  spectre  she  had  ever  seen 
should  turn  out  a  counterfeit ;  but  the  niece  seemed 
perfectly  happy  at  having  found  him  substantial  flesh 
and  blood — and  so  the  story  ends. 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY. 


When  I  behold,  with  deep  astonishment, 
To  famous  Westminster  how  there  resorte, 
Living  in  brasse  or  stony  monument. 
The  princes  and  the  worthies  of  all  sorte  ; 
Doe  not  I  see  reformde  nohilitie. 
Without  contempt,  or  pride,  or  ostentation, 
And  looke  upon  offenseless  majesty. 
Naked  of  pomp  or  earthly  domination? 
And  how  a  play-game  of  a  painted  stone 
Contents  the  quiet  now  and  silent  sprites, 
Whome  all  the  world  which  late  they  stood  upon, 
Could  not  content  nor  quench  their  appetites. 
Life  is  a  frost  of  cold  felicitie, 
And  death  the  thaw  of  all  our  vanitie. 

Ckristolero's  Epigrams,  by  T.  B.  1598. 

On  one  of  those  sober  and  rather  melancholy 
days,  in  the  latter  part  of  autumn,  when  the  shad- 
ows of  morning  and  evening  almost  mingle  to- 
gether, and  throw  a  gloom  over  the  decline  of  the 
year,  I  passed  several  hours  in  rambling  about  West- 
minster Abbey.  There  was  something  congenial  to 
the  season  in  the  mournful  magnificence  of  the  old 
pile  ;  and  as  I  passed  its  threshold,  it  seemed  like 
stepping  back  into  the  regions  of  antiquity,  and  los- 
ing myself  among  the  shades  of  former  ages. 

I  entered  from  the  inner  court  of  Westminster 
school,  through  a  long,  low,  vaulted  passage,  that 
had  an  almost  subterranean  look,  being  dimly  lighted 
in  one  part  by  circular  perforations  in  the  massive 
walls.  Through  this  dark  avenue  I  had  a  distant 
view  of  the  cloisters,  with  the  figure  of  an  old  verger, 
in  his  black  gown,  moving  along  their  shadowy 
vaults,  and  seeming  like  a  spectre  from  one  of  the 
neighbouring  tombs. 

"The  approach  to  the  abbey  through  these  gloomy 
monastic  remains,  prepares  the  mind  for  its  solemn 
contemplation.  The  cloister  still  retains  something 
of  the  quiet  and  seclusion  of  former  days.  The  gray 
walls  are  discoloured  by  damps,  and  crumbling  with 
age  ;  a  coat  of  hoary  moss  has  gathered  over  the 
inscriptions  of  the  mural  monuments,  and  obscured 
the  death's  heads,  and  other  funeral  emblems.  The 
sharp  touches  of  the  chisel  are  gone  from  the  rich 
tracery  of  the  arches  ;  the  roses  which  adorned  the 
key-stones  have  lost  their  le,afy  beauty  ;  every  thing 
bears  marks  of  the  gradual  dilapidations  of  time, 
which  yet  has  something  touching  and  pleasing  in 
its  very  decay. 

The  sun  was  pouring  down  a  yellow  autumnal  ray 
into  the  square  of  the  cloisters  ;  beaming  upon  a 
scanty  plot  of  grass  in  the  centre,  and  lighting  up  an 
angle  of  the  vaulted  passage  with  a  kind  of  dusty 
splendour.  From  between  the  arcades,  the  eye 
glanced  up  to  a  bit  of  blue  sky,  or  a  passing  cloud  ; 
and  beheld  the  sun-gilt  pinnacles  of  the  abbey  tow- 
ering into  the  azure  heaven. 

As  I  paced  the  cloisters,  sometimes  contemplating 
this  mingled  picture  of  glory  and  decay,  and  some- 
times endeavouring  to  decipher  the  inscriptions  on  the 
tombstones,  which  formed  the  pavement  beneath  my 
feet,  my  eyes  were  attracted  to  three  figures,  rudely 
carved  in  relief,  but  nearly  worn  away  by  the  foot- 
steps of  many  generations.  They  were  the  effigies 
of  three  of  the  early  abbots  ;  the  epitaphs  were  en- 
tirely effaced  ;  the  names  alone  remained,  having  no 
doubt  been  renewed  in  later  times  ;  (Vitalis.  Abbas. 
1082,  and  Gislebertus  Crispinus.  Abbas.  1 114,  and 
Laurentius.  Abbas.  11 76.)  I  remained  some  little 
while,  musing  over  these  casual  relics  of  antiquity, 
thus  left  like  wrecks  upon  this  distant  shore  of  time, 
telling  no  tale  but  that  such  beings  had  been  and 
had  perished  :  teaching  no  moral  but  the  futility  of 
that  pride  which  hopes  still  to  exact  homage  in  its 
ashes,  and  to  live  in  an  inscription.  A  little  longer, 
and  even  these  faint  records  will  be  obliterated,  and 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF    GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


45 


the  monument  will  cease  to  be  a  memorial.  Whilst 
I  was  yet  looking  down  upon  the  gravestones,  I  was 
roused  by  the  sound  of  the  abbey  clock,  reverberat- 
ing from  buttress  to  buttress,  and  echoing  among 
the  cloisters.  It  is  almost  startling  to  hear  this 
warning  of  departed  time  sounding  among  the 
tombs,  and  telling  the  lapse  of  the  hour,  which,  like 
a  billow,  has  rolled  us  onward  towards  the  grave. 

I  pursued  my  walk  to  an  arched  door  opening  to 
the  interior  of  the  abbey.  On  entering  here,  the  mag- 
nitude of  the  building  breaks  fully  upon  the  mind, 
contrasted  with  the  vaults  of  the  cloisters.  The  eye 
gazes  with  wonder  at  clustered  columns  of  gigantic 
dimensions,  with  arches  springing  from  them  to  such 
an  amazing  height ;  and  man  wandering  about  their 
bases,  shrunk  into  insignificance  in  comparison  with 
his  own  handy-work.  The  spaciousness  and  gloom 
of  this  vast  edifice  produce  a  profound  and  mysteri- 
ous awe.  We  step  cautiously  and  softly  about,  as  if 
fearful  of  disturbing  the  hallowed  silence  of  the  tomb  ; 
while  every  footfall  whispers  along  the  walls,  and 
chatters  among  the  sepulchres,  making  us  move  sen- 
sible of  the  quiet  we  have  interrupted. 

It  seeins  as  if  the  awful  nature  of  the  place  presses 
down  upon  the  soul,  and  hushes  the  beholder  into 
noiseless  reverence.  We  feel  that  we  are  surrounded 
by  the  congregated  bones  of  the  great  men  of  past 
times,  who  have  filled  history  witli  their  deeds,  and 
the  earth  with  their  renown.  And  yet  it  almost  pro- 
vokes a  smile  at  the  vanity  of  human  ambition,  to  see 
how  they  are  crowded  together,  and  justled  in  the 
dust;  what  parsimony  is  observed  in  doling  out  a 
scanty  nook — a  gloomy  corner — a  little  portion  of 
earth,  to  those  whom,  when  alive,  kingdoms  could 
not  satisfy :  and  how  many  shapes,  and  forms,  and 
artifices,  are  devised  to  catch  the  casual  notice  of  the 
passenger,  and  save  from  forgetfulness,  for  a  few 
short  years,  a  name  which  once  aspired  to  occupy 
ages  of  the  world's  thought  and  admiration. 

I  passed  some  time  in  Poet's  Corner,  which  oc- 
cupies an  end  of  one  of  the  transepts  or  cross  aisles 
of  the  abbey.  The  monuments  are  generally  simple  ; 
for  the  lives  of  literary  men  afford  no  striking  themes 
for  the  sculptor.  Shakspeare  and  Addison  have  stat- 
ues erect  jd  to  their  memories  ;  but  the  greater  part 
have  busts,  medallions,  and  sometimes  mere  inscrij^ 
tions.  Notwithstanding  the  simplicity  of  these  me- 
morials, I  have  always  observed  that  the  visitors  to 
the  abbey  remain  longest  about  them.  A  kinder  and 
fonder  feeling  takes  place  of  that  cold  curiosity  or 
vague  adiniration  with  which  they  gaze  on  the  splen- 
did monuments  of  the  great  and  the  heroic.  They 
linger  about  these  as  about  the  tombs  of  friends  and 
conipanions  ;  for  indeed  there  is  something  of  com- 
panionship between  the  author  and  the  reader.  Other 
men  are  known  to  posterity  only  through  the  medium 
of  history,  which  is  continually  growing  faint  and  ob- 
scure ;  but  the  intercourse  between  the  author  and 
his  fellow-men  is  ever  new,  active,  and  immediate. 
He  has  lived  for  them  more  than  for  himself;  he  has 
sacrificed  surrounding  enjoyments,  and  shut  himself 
up  from  the  delights  ot  social  life,  that  he  might  the 
more  intimately  commune  with  distant  minds  and 
distant  ages.  Well  may  the  world  cherish  his  re- 
nown ;  for  it  has  been  purchased,  not  by  deeds  of 
violence  and  blood,  but  by  the  diligent  dispensation 
of  pleasure.  Well  may  posterity  be  grateful  to  his 
memory  ;  for  he  has  left  it  an  inheritance,  not  of  empty 
names  and  sounding  actions,  but  whole  treasures  of 
wisdom,  bright  gems  of  thought,  and  golden  veins  of 
language. 

From  Poet's  Comer  I  continued  my  stroll  towards 
that  part  of  the  abbey  which  contains  the  sepulchres 
of  the  kings.  I  wandered  among  what  once  were 
chapels,  but  which  are  now  occupied  by  the  totnbs 


and  monuments  of  the  great.  At  every  turn,  I  met 
with  some  illustrious  name,  or  the  cognizance  of  some 
powerful  house  renowned  in  history.  As  the  eye 
darts  into  these  dusky  chambers  of  death,  it  catches 
glimpses  of  quaint  effigies  :  some  kneeling  in  niches, 
as  if  in  devotion  ;  others  stretched  upon  the  tombs, 
with  hands  piously  pressed  together ;  warriors  in 
armour,  as  if  reposing  after  battle ;  prelates,  with 
crosiers  and  mitres;  and  nobles  in  robes  and  coronets, 
lying  as  it  were  in  state.  In  glancing  over  this  scene, 
so  strangely  populous,  yet  where  every  form  is  so  still 
and  silent,  it  seems  almost  as  if  we  were  treading  a 
mansion  of  that  fabled  city,  where  every  being  had 
been  suddenly  transmuted  into  stone. 

1  paused  to  contemplate  a  tomb  on  which  lay  the 
effigy  of  a  knight  in  complete  armour.  A  large  buck- 
ler was  on  one  arm  ;  the  hands  were  pressed  together 
in  supplication  upon  the  breast ;  the  face  was  almost 
covered  by  the  morion  ;  the  legs  were  crossed  in  token 
of  the  warrior's  having  been  engaged  in  the  holy  war. 
It  was  the  tomb  of  a  crusader  ;  of  one  of  those  mili- 
tary enthusiasts,  who  so  strangely  mingled  religion 
and  romance,  and  whose  exploits  form  the  connect- 
ing link  between  fact  and  fiction — between  the  his- 
tory and  the  fairy  tale.  There  is  something  extremely 
picturesque  in  the  tombs  of  these  adventurers,  deco- 
rated as  they  are  with  rude  armorial  bearings  and 
Gothic  sculpture.  They  comport  with  the  antiquated 
chapels  in  which  they  are  generally  found  ;  and  in 
considering  them,  the  imagination  is  apt  to  kindle 
with  the  legendary  associations,  the  romantic  fictions, 
the  chivalrous  pomp  and  pageantry,  which  poetry  has 
spread  over  the  wars  for  the  Sepulchre  of  Christ. 
They  are  the  relics  of  times  utterly  gone  by ;  of  beings 
passed  from  recollection ;  of  customs  and  manners 
with  which  ours  have  no  affinity.  They  are  like 
objects  from  some  strange  and  distant  land,  of  which 
we  have  no  certain  knowledge,  and  about  which  all 
our  conceptions  are  vague  and  visionary.  There  is 
something  extremely  solemn  and  awful  in  those 
effigies  on  Gothic  tombs,  extended  as  if  in  the  sleep 
of  death,  or  in  the  supplication  of  the  dying  hour. 
They  have  an  effect  infinitely  more  impressive  on 
my  feelings  than  the  fanciful  attitudes,  the  over- 
wrought conceits,  and  allegorical  groups,  which 
abound  on  modern  monuments.  1  have  been  struck, 
also,  with  the  superiority  of  many  of  the  old  sepulchral 
inscriptions.  There  was  a  noble  way,  in  former 
times,  of  saying  things  simply,  and  yet  saying  them 
proudly  :  and  1  do  not  know  an  epitaph  that  breathes 
a  loftier  consciousness  of  family  worth  and  honour- 
able lineage,  than  one  which  affirms,  of  a  noble 
house,  that  "all  the  brothers  svere  brave,  and  all  the 
sisters  virtuous." 

In  the  opposite  transept  to  Poet's  Corner,  stands 
a  monument  which  is  among  the  most  renowned 
achievements  of  modern  art ;  but  which,  to  me,  ap- 
pears horrible  rather  than  subUme.  It  is  the  tomb 
of  Mrs.  Nightingale,  by  Roubillac.  The  bottom  of 
the  monument  is  represented  as  throwing  open  its 
marble  doors,  and  a  sheeted  skeleton  is  starting 
forth.  The  shroud  is  falling  from  his  fieshless  frame 
as  he  lanches  his  dart  at  his  victim.  She  is  sinking 
into  her  affrighted  husband's  arms,  who  strives,  with 
vain  and  frantic  effort,  to  avert  the  blow.  The  whole 
is  executed  with  terrible  truth  and  spirit ;  we  almost 
fancy  we  hear  the  gibbering  yell  of  triumph,  bursting 
from  the  distended  jaws  of  the  spectre. — But  why 
should  we  thus  seek  to  clothe  death  with  unneces- 
sary terrors,  and  to  spread  horrors  round  the  tomb 
of  those  we  love?  The  grave  should  be  surrounded 
by  every  thing  that  might  inspire  tenderness  and 
veneration  for  the  dead  ;  or  that  might  win  the  living 
to  virtue.  It  is  the  place,  not  of  disgust  and  dismay, 
but  of  sorrow  and  meditation. 


46 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


While  wandering  about  these  gloomy  vaults  and  i 
silent  aisles,  studying  the  records  of  the  dead,  the  I 
sound  of  busy  existence  from  without  occasionally 
reaches  the  ear: — the  rumbling  of  the  passing  equi- 
page; th-j  murmur  of  the  multitude  ;  or  perhaps  the  j 
light   laugh    of  pleasure.     The  contrast  is  striking  { 
with  the   deathlike   repose   around ;   and    it    has   a 
strange  effect  upon  the  feelings,  thus  to  hear  the 
surges   of  active   life  hurrying   along   and   beating 
against  the  very  walls  of  the  sepulchre. 

I  continued  in  this  way  to  move  from  tomb  to 
tomb,  and  from  chapel  to  chapel.  The  day  was 
gradually  wearing  away  ;  the  distant  tread  of  loiter- 
ers about  the  abbey  grew  less  and  less  frequent ; 
the  sweet-tongued  bell  was  summoning  to  evening 
prayers ;  and  I  saw  at  a  distance  the  choristers,  in 
their  white  surplices,  crossing  the  aisle  and  entering 
the  choir.  I  stood  before  the  entrance  to  Henry  the 
Seventh's  chapel.  A  flight  of  steps  leads  up  to  it, 
through  a  deep  and  gloomy,  but  magnificent  arch. 
Great  gates  of  brass,  richly  and  delicately  wrought, 
turn  heavily  upon  their  hinges,  as  if  proudly  reluc- 
tant to  admit  the  feet  of  common  mortals  into  this 
most  gorgeous  of  sepulchres. 

On  entering,  the  eye  is  astonished  by  the  pomp  of 
architecture,  and  the  elaborate  beauty  of  sculptured 
detail.  The  very  walls  are  wrought  into  universal 
ornament,  encrusted  with  tracery,  and  scooped  into 
niches,  crowded  with  the  statues  of  saints  and  mar- 
tyrs. Stone  seems,  by  the  cunning  labour  of  the 
chisel,  to  have  been  robbed  of  its  weight  and  densitv, 
suspended  aloft,  as  if  by  magic,  and  the  fretted  roof 
achieved  with  the  wonderful  minuteness  and  airy 
security  of  a  cobweb. 

Along  the  sides  of  the  chapel  are  the  lofty  stalls 
of  the  Knights  of  the  Bath,  richly  carved  of  oak, 
though  with  the  grotesque  decorations  of  Gothic  ar- 
chitecture. On  the  pinnacles  of  the  stalls  are  affixed 
the  helmets  and  crests  of  the  knights,  with  their 
scarfs  and  swords ;  and  above  them  are  suspended 
their  banners,  emblazoned  with  armorial  bearings, 
and  contrasting  the  splendour  of  gold  and  purple 
and  crimson,  with  the  cold  gray  fretwork  of  the  roof. 
In  the  midst  of  this  grant!  mausoleum  stands  the 
sepulchre  of  its  founder, — his  effigy,  with  that  of  his 
queen,  extended  on  a  sumptuous  tomb,  and  the  whole 
surrounded  by  a  superbly  wrought  brazen  railing. 

There  is  a  sad  dreariness  in  this  magnificence ; 
this  strange  mixture  of  tombs  and  trophies ;  these 
emblems  of  living  and  aspiring  ambition,  close  be- 
side mementos  which  show  the  dust  and  oblivion  in 
which  all  must  sooner  or  later  terminate.  Nothing 
impresses  the  mind  with  a  deeper  feeling  of  loneli- 
ness, than  to  tread  the  silent  and  deserted  scene  of 
former  throng  and  pageant.  On  looking  round  on 
the  vacant  stalls  of  the  knights  and  their  esquires, 
and  on  the  rows  of  dusty  but  gorgeous  banners  that 
were  once  borne  before  them,  my  iinagination  con- 
jured up  the  scene  when  this  hall  was  bright  with 
the  valour  and  beauty  of  the  land  ;  glittering  with 
the  splendour,  of  jewelled  rank  and  military  array  ; 
alive  with  the  tread  of  many  feet,  and  the  hum  of 
an  admiring  multitude.  All  had  passed  away ;  the 
silence  of  death  had  settled  again  upon  the  place ; 
interrupted  only  by  the  casual  chirping  of  birds, 
which  had  found  their  way  into  the  chapel,  and  built 
their  nests  among  its  friezes  and  pendants — sure 
signs  of  solitariness  and  desertion.  When  I  read  the 
names  inscribed  on  the  banners,  they  were  those  of 
men  scattered  far  and  wide  about  the  world  ;  some 
tossing  upon  distant  seas  ;  some  under  arins  in  dis- 
tant lands  ;  some  mingling  in  the  busy  intrigues  of 
courts  and  cabinets :  all  seeking  to  deser\e  one 
more  distinction  in  this  mansion  of  shadowy  honours 
— the  melancholy  reward  of  a  monument. 


Two  small  aisles  on  each  side  of  this  chapel  pre- 
sent a  touching  instance  of  the  equality  of  the  grave, 
which  brings  down  the  oppressor  to  a  level  with  the 
oppressed,  and  mingles  the  dust  of  the  bitterest  ene- 
mies together.  In  one  is  the  sepulchre  of  the  haugh- 
ty Elizabeth ;  in  the  other  is  that  of  her  victim,  the 
lovely  and  unfortunate  Mary.  Not  an  hour  in  the 
day,  but  some  ejaculation  of  pity  is  uttered  over  the 
fate  of  the  htter,  mingled  with  indignation  at  her 
oppressor.  The  w.alls  of  Elizabeth's  sepulchre  con- 
tinually echo  with  the  sighs  of  sympathy  heaved  at 
the  grave  ot  her  rival. 

A  peculiar  melancholy  reigns  over  the  aisle  where 
Mary  lies  buried.  The  light  struggles  dimly  through 
windows  darkened  by  dust.  The  greater  part  of  the 
place  is  in  deep  shadow,  and  the  walls  are  stained 
and  tinted  by  time  and  weather.  A  marble  figure 
of  Mary  is  stretched  upon  the  tomb,  round  which  is 
an  iron  railing,  much  corroded,  bearing  her  national 
emblem — the  thistle.  I  was  weary  with  wandering, 
and  sat  down  to  rest  myself  by  the  monuincnt.  re- 
volving in  my  mind  the  chequered  and  disastrous 
story  of  poor  .Mary. 

The  sound  of  casual  footsteps  had  ceased  from  the 
abbey.  I  could  only  hear,  now  and  then,  the  distant 
voice  of  the  priest  repeating  the  evening  service,  and 
the  faint  responses  of  the  choir ;  these  paused  for  a 
time,  and  all  was  hushed.  The  stillness,  the  deser- 
tion and  obscurity  that  were  gradually  prevailing 
around,  gave  a  deeper  and  more  solemn  interest  to 
the  place : 

For  in  the  silent  grave  no  conversation, 
No  joyful  tread  of  friends,  no  voice  of  lovcrp, 
No  careful  father's  counsel — nothing's  heard, 
For  nothing  is,  but  all  oblivion, 
Dust,  and  an  endless  darkness. 

Suddenly  the  notes  of  the  deep-labouring  organ 
burst  upon  the  ear,  falling  with  doubled  and  re- 
doubled intensity,  and  rolling,  as  it  were,  huge  bil- 
lows of  sound.  How  well  do  their  voluine  and 
grandeur  accord  with  this  mighty  building !  With 
what  pomp  do  they  .swell  through  its  vast  vaults,  and 
V)reathe  their  awful  harmony  through  these  caves  of 
death,  and  make  the  silent  sepulchre  vocal  ! — And 
now  they  rise  in  triumphant  acclamation,  heaving 
higher  and  higher  their  accordant  notes,  and  piling 
sound  on  sound. — And  now  they  pause,  and  the  soft 
voices  of  the  choir  break  out  into  sweet  gushes  of 
melody ;  they  soar  aloft,  and  warble  along  the  roof, 
and  seeni  to  play  about  these  lofty  vaults  like  the 
pure  airs  of  heaven.  Again  the  pealing  organ 
heaves  its  thrilling  thunders,  compressing  air  into 
music,  and  rolling  it  forth  upon  the  soul.  What 
long-drawn  cadences  !  What  solemn  sweejiing  con- 
cords !  It  grows  more  and  more  dense  and  power- 
ful— it  fills  the  vast  pile,  and  seems  to  jar  the  very 
walls — the  ear  is  stunned — the  senses  are  over- 
whelmed. And  now  it  is  winding  up  in  full  jubilee 
— it  is  rising  from  the  earth  to  heaven — the  very  soul 
seems  rapt  away,  and  floated  upwards  on  this  swell- 
ing tide  of  harmony  ! 

I  sat  for  some  time  lost  in  that  kind  of  reverie 
which  a  strain  of  music  is  apt  sometimes  to  inspire  : 
the  shadows  of  evening  were  gradually  thickening 
around  me  ;  the  monuments  began  to  cast  deeper 
and  deeper  gloom  ;  and  the  distant  clock  again  gave 
token  of  the  slowly  waning  day. 

I  arose,  and  prepared  to  leave  the  abbey.  As  I 
descended  the  flight  of  steps  which  lead  into  the 
body  of  the  building,  my  eye  was  caught  by  the 
shrine  of  Edward  the  Confessor,  and  1  ascended 
the  small  staircase  that  conducts  to  it,  to  take  from 
thence  a  general  survey  of  this  wilderness  of  tombs. 
The  shrine  is  elevated  upon  a  kind  of  platform,  and 
close  around  it  are  the  sepulchres  of  various  kings 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


47 


and  queens.  From  this  eminence  the  eye  looks 
clown  between  pillars  and  funeral  trophies  to  the 
chapels  and  chambers  below,  crowded  with  tombs  ; 
where  warriors,  prelates,  courtiers,  and  statesmen, 
lie  mouldering  in  "  their  beds  of  darkness."  Close 
by  me  stood  the  great  chair  of  coronation,  rudely 
carved  of  oak,  in  the  barbarous  taste  of  a  remote 
and  Gothic  age.  The  scene  seemed  almost  as  if 
contrived,  with  theatrical  artifice,  to  produce  an  ef- 
fect upon  the  beholder.  Here  was  a  type  of  the  be- 
ginning and  the  end  of  human  pomp  and  power ; 
here  it  was  literally  but  a  step  from  the  throne  to 
the  sepulchre.  Would  not  one  think  that  these  in- 
congruous mementos  had  been  gathered  together 
as  a  lesson  to  living  greatness.' — to  show  it,  even  in 
the  moment  of  its  proudest  exaltation,  the  neglect 
and  dishonour  to  which  it  must  soon  arrive?  how 
soon  that  crown  which  encircles  its  brow  must  pass 
away;  and  it  must  lie  down  in  the  dust  and  dis- 
graces of  the  tomb,  and  be  trampled  upon  by  the 
feet  of  the  meanest  of  the  multitude .'  For,  strange 
to  tell,  even  the  grave  is  here  no  longer  a  sanctuary. 
There  is  a  shocking  levity  in  some  natures,  which 
leads  them  to  sport  with  awful  and  hallowed  things ; 
and  there  are  base  minds,  which  delight  to  revenge 
on  the  illustrious  dead  the  abject  homage  and  grovel- 
ling servility  which  they  pay  to  the  living.  The  cof- 
fin of  Edward  the  Confessor  has  been  broken  open, 
and  his  remains  despoiled  of  their  funeral  orna- 
ments ;  the  sceptre  has  been  stolen  from  the  hand 
of  the  imperious  Elizabeth,  and  the  effigy  of  Henry 
the  Fifth  lies  headless.  Not  a  royal  monument  but 
bears  some  proof  how  false  and  fugitive  is  the  hom- 
age of  mankind.  Some  are  plundered  ;  some  muti- 
lated ;  some  covered  with  ribaldry  and  insult — all 
more  or  less  outraged  and  dishonoured  I 

The  last  beams  of  day  were  now  faintly  streaming 
through  the  painted  windows  in  the  high  vaults 
above  me  :  the  lower  parts  of  the  abbey  were  al- 
ready wrapped  in  the  obscurity  of  twilight.  The 
chapels  and  aisles  grew  darker  and  darker.  The 
effigies  of  the  kings  faded  into  shadows;  the  mar- 
ble figures  of  the  monuments  assumed  strange 
shapes  in  the  uncertain  light ;  the  evening  breeze 
crept  through  the  aisles  like  the  cold  breath  of  the 
grave;  and  even  the  distant  footfall  of  a  verger, 
traversing  the  Poet's  Corner,  had  something  strange 
and  dreary  in  its  sound.  I  slowly  retraced  my  morn- 
ing's walk,  and  as  I  passed  out  at  the  portal  of  the 
cloisters,  the  door,  closing  with  a  jarring  noise  be- 
hind me,  filled  the  whole  building  with  echoes. 

I  endeavoured  to  form  some  arrangement  in  my 
mind  of  the  objects  I  had  been  contemplating,  but 
found  they  were  already  falling  into  indistinctness 
and  confusion.  Names,  inscriptions,  trophies,  had 
all  become  confounded  in  my  recollection,  though  I 
had  scarcely  taken  my  foot  from  off  the  threshold. 
What,  thought  I,  is  this  vast  assemblage  of  sepul- 
chres but  a  treasury  of  humiliation ;  a  huge  pile  of 
reiterated  homilies  on  the  emptiness  of  renown,  and 
the  certainty  of  oblivion  ?  It  is,  indeed,  the  empire 
of  Death  ;  his  great  shadowy  palace  ;  where  he  sits 
in  state,  mocking  at  the  relics  of  human  glory,  and 
spreading  dust  and  forgetfulness  on  the  monuments 
of  princes.  How  idle  a  boast,  after  all,  is  the  im- 
mortality of  a  name  !  Time  is  ever  silently  turning 
over  his  pages ;  we  are  too  much  engrossed  by  the 
story  of  the  present,  to  think  of  the  characters  and 
anecdotes  that  gave  interest  to  the  past ;  and  each 
age  is  a  volume  thrown  aside  to  be  speedily  forgot- 
ten. The  idol  of  to-day  pushes  the  hero  of  yester- 
day out  of  our  recollection ;  and  will,  in  turn,  be 
supplanted  by  his  successor  of  to-morrow.  "Our 
fathers,"  says  Sir  Thomas  Brown,  "find  their 
graves  in  our  short  memories,  and  sadly  tell  us  how 


we  may  be  buried  in  our  survivors."  History  fades 
into  fable ;  fact  becomes  clouded  with  doubt  and 
controversy  ;  the  inscription  moulders  from  the  tab- 
let;  the  statue  falls  from  the  pedestal.  Columns, 
arches,  pyramids,  what  are  they  but  heaps  of  sand 
—and  their  epitaphs,  but  characters  wrilli-n  in  the 
dust?  What  is  the  security  of  the  tomb,  or  the 
perpetuity  of  an  embalmment?  The  remains  ol 
Alexander  the  Great  have  been  scattered  to  the 
wind,  and  his  empty  sarcophagus  is  now  the  mere 
curiosity  of  a  museum.  "The  Egyptian  mummies, 
which  Cambyses  or  time  hath  spared,  avarice  now 
consumeth  ;  Mizraim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is 
sold  for  balsams."  * 

What  then  is  to  insure  this  pile,  which  now  tow- 
ers above  me,  from  sharing  the  fate  of  mightier 
mausoleums  ?  The  time  must  come  when  its  gilded 
vaults,  which  now  spring  so  loftily,  shall  lie  in  rub- 
bish beneath  the  feet ;  when,  instead  of  the  sound 
of  melody  and  praise,  the  wind  shall  whistle  througli 
the  broken  arches,  and  the  owl  hoot  from  the  shat- 
tered tower — when  the  garish  sunbeam  shall  break 
into  these  gloomy  mansions  of  death  ;  and  the  ivy 
twine  round  the  fallen  column  ;  and  the  fox-glove 
hang  its  blossoms  about  the  nameless  urn,  as  if  in 
mockery  of  the  dead.  Thus  man  passes  away;  his 
name  perishes  from  record  and  recollection  ;  his  his- 
tory is  as  a  tale  that  is  told,  and  his  very  monument 
becomes  a  ruin. 


CHRISTMAS. 


But  is  old.  old,  good  old  Christmas  pone?  Nothing  but  the 
hair  of  his  good,  gray,  old  head  and  beard  left?  Well,  I  will  have 
that,  seeing  I  cannot  have  more  of  him. 

Hue  and  Cry  after  Christmas. 

A  man  might  then  behold 

At  Christmas,  in  each  hall, 
Good  fires  to  curb  the  cold. 

And  meat  for  great  and  small. 
The  neighbours  were  friendly  bidden, 

And  all  had  welcome  true. 
The  poor  from  the  gates  were  not  chidden, 

When  this  old  cap  was  new. 

Old  Song. 

There  is  nothing  in  England  that  exercises  a  more 
delightful  spell  over  my  imagination  than  the  finger- 
ings of  the  holyday  customs  and  rural  games  of  former 
times.  They  recall  the  pictures  my  fancy  used  to 
dra.v  in  the  May  morning  of  life,  when  as  yet  I  only 
knew  the  world  through  books,  and  believed  it  to  be 
all  that  poets  had  painted  it ;  and  they  bring  with 
them  the  flavour  of  those  honest  days  of  yore,  in 
which,  perhaps  with  equal  fallacy,  I  am  apt  to  think 
the  world  was  more  homebred,  social,  and  joyous 
than  at  present.  I  regret  to  say  that  they  are  daily 
growing  more  and  more  faint,  being  gradually  worn 
away  by  time,  but  still  more  obliterated  by  modern 
fashion.  They  resemble  those  picturesque  morsels 
of  Gothic  architecture,  which  we  see  crumbling  in 
various  parts  of  the  country,  partly  dilapidated  by 
the  waste  of  ages,  and  partly  lost  in  the  additions 
and  alterations  of  latter  days.  Poetry,  however, 
clings  with  cherishing  fondness  about  the  rural  game 
and  holyday  revel,  from  which  it  has  derived  so  many 
of  its  themes — as  the  ivy  winds  its  rich  foliage  about 
the  Gothic  arch  and  mouldering  tower,  gratefully 
repaying  their  support,  by  clasping  together  their 
tottering  remains,  and,  as  it  were,  embalming  them 
in  verdure. 

Of  all  the  old  festivals,  however,  that  of  Christmas 
awakens  the  strongest  and  most  heartfelt  associations. 


•  Sir  Thomas  Brown. 


48 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


There  is  a  tone  of  sol<imn  and  sacred  feeling  that 
blends  with  our  conviviality,  and  lifts  the  spirit  to  a 
state  of  hallowed  and  elevated  enjoyment.  The  ser- 
vices of  the  church  about  this  season  are  extremely 
tender  and  inspiring :  they  dwell  on  the  beautiful  story 
of  the  origin  of  our  faith,  and  the  pastoral  scenes  that 
accompanied  its  announcement :  they  gradually  in- 
crease in  fervour  and  pathos  during  the  season  of 
Advent,  until  they  break  forth  in  full  jubilee  on  the 
morning  that  brought  peace  and  good-will  to  men. 
I  do  not  know  a  grander  effect  of  music  on  the  moral 
feelings  than  to  hear  the  full  choir  and  the  pealing 
organ  performing  a  Christmas  anthem  in  a  cathedral, 
and  tilling  every  part  of  the  vast  pile  with  triumphant 
harmony. 

It  is  a  beautiful  arrangement,  also,  derived  from 
days  of  yore,  that  this  festival,  which  commemorates 
the  announcement  of  the  religion  of  peace  and  love, 
has  been  made  the  season  for  gathering  together  of 
family  connexions,  and  drawing  closer  again  those 
bands  of  kindred  hearts,  which  the  cares  and  pleas- 
ures and  sorrows  of  the  world  are  continually  operat- 
ing to  cast  loose  ;  of  calling  back  the  children  of  a 
family,  who  have  launched  forth  in  life,  and  wandered 
widely  asunder,  once  more  to  assemble  about  the 
paternal  hearth,  that  rallying-place  of  the  affections, 
there  to  grow  you  -g  and  loving  again  among  the 
endearing  mementos  of  childhood. 

There  is  something  in  the  very  season  of  the  year, 
that  gives  a  charm  to  the  festivity  of  Christmas.  At 
other  times,  we  derive  a  great  portion  of  our  pleasures 
from  the  mere  beauties  of  Nature.  Our  feehngs  sally 
forth  and  dissipate  themselves  over  the  sunny  land- 
scape, and  we  "  live  abroad  and  every  where."  The 
songofthebird,  the  murmur  of  the  stream,  the  breath- 
ing fragrance  of  spring,  the  soft  voluptuousness  of 
summer,  the  golden  pomp  of  autumn  ;  earth  with  its 
mantle  of  refreshing  green,  and  heaven  with  its  deep 
delicious  blue  and  its  cloudy  magnificence, — all  fill 
us  with  mute  but  exquisite  delight,  and  we  revel  in 
the  luxury  of  mere  sensation.  But  in  the  depth  of 
winter,  when  Nature  lies  despoiled  of  every  charm, 
and  wrapped  in  her  shroud  of  sheeted  snow,  we  turn 
for  our  gratifications  to  moral  sources.  The  dreari- 
ness and  desolation  of  the  landscape,  the  short 
gloomy  days  and  darksome  nights,  while  they  cir- 
cumscribe our  wanderings,  shut  in  our  feelings  also 
from  rambling  abroad,  and  make  us  more  keenly 
disposed  for  the  pleasures  of  the  social  circle.  Our 
thoughts  are  more  concentrated  ;  our  friendly  sympa- 
thies more  aroused.  We  feel  more  sensibly  the  charm 
of  each  other's  society,  and  are  brought  more  closely 
together  by  dependence  on  each  other  for  enjoyment. 
Heart  calleth  unto  heart,  and  we  draw  our  pleasures 
from  the  deep  wells  of  living  kindness  which  lie  in 
the  quiet  recesses  of  our  bosoms  ;  and  which,  when 
resorted  to,  furnish  forth  the  pure  element  of  do- 
mestic felicity. 

The  pitchy  gloom  without  makes  the  heart  dilate 
on  entering  the  room  filled  with  the  glow  and  warmth 
of  the  evening  fire.  The  ruddy  blaze  diffuses  an  arti- 
ficial summer  and  sunshine  through  the  room,  and 
lights  up  each  countenance  into  a  kindlier  welcome. 
Where  does  the  honest  face  of  hospitality  expand  into 
a  broader  and  more  cordial  smile — where  is  the  shy 
glance  of  love  more  sweetly  eloquent— than  by  the 
winter  fireside  ?  and  as  the  hoUcw  blast  of  wintry 
wind  rushes  through  the  hall,  claps  the  distant  door, 
whistles  about  the  casement,  and  rumbles  down  the 
chimney,  what  can  be  more  grateful  than  that  feeling 
of  sober  and  sheltered  security,  with  which  we  look 
round  upon  the  comfortable  chamber,  and  the  scene 
of  domestic  hilarity.' 

The  English,  from  the  great  prevalence  of  rural 
habits  throughout  every  class  of  society,  have  always 


been  fond  of  those  festivals  and  holydays  which 
agreeably  interrupt  the  stillness  of  country  life  ;  and 
they  were  in  former  days  particularly  observant  of 
the  religious  and  social  rights  of  Christmas.  It  is 
inspiring  to  read  even  the  dry  details  which  .some 
antiquaries  have  given  of  the  quaint  humours,  the 
burlesque  pageants,  the  complete  abandonment  to 
mirth  and  good  fellowship,  with  which  this  festival 
was  celebrated.  It  seemed  to  throw  open  every  door, 
and  unlock  every  heart.  It  brought  the  peasant  and 
the  peer  together,  and  blended  all  ranks  in  one  warm 
generous  flow  of  joy  and  kindness.  The  old  halls 
of  castles  and  manor-houses  resounded  with  the 
harp  and  the  Christmas  carol,  and  their  ample 
boards  groaned  under  the  weight  of  hospitality. 
Even  the  poorest  cottage  welcomed  the  festive  sea- 
son with  green  decorations  of  bay  and  holly — the 
cheerful  fire  glanced  its  rays  through  the  lattice,  in- 
viting the  passenger  to  raise  the  latch,  and  join  the 
gossip  knot  huddled  round  the  hearth,  beguiling  the 
long  evening  with  legendary  jokes,  and  oft-told 
Christmas  tales. 

One  of  the  least  pleasing  effects  of  modern  refine- 
ment, is  the  havoc  it  has  made  among  the  hearty  old 
holyday  customs.  It  has  completely  taken  off  the 
sharp  touchings  and  spirited  reliefs  of  these  em- 
bellishments of  life,  and  has  worn  down  society  into 
a  more  smooth  and  polished,  but  certainly  a  less 
characteristic  surface.  Many  of  the  games  and  cere- 
monials of  Christmas  have  entirely  disappeared,  and, 
like  the  sherris  sack  of  old  Falstaff,  are  become 
matters  of  speculation  and  dispute  among  commen- 
tators. They  flourished  in  times  full  of  spirit  and 
lustihood,  when  men  enjoyed  life  roughly,  but 
heartily  and  vigorously:  times  wild  and  picturesque, 
which  have  furnished  poetry  with  its  richest  mate- 
rials, and  the  drama  with  its  most  attractive  variety 
of  characters  and  manners.  The  world  has  become 
more  worldly.  There  is  more  of  dissipation  and  less 
of  enjoyment.  Pleasure  has  expanded  into  a  broad- 
er, but  a  shallower  stream,  and  has  forsaken  many 
of  those  deep  and  quiet  channels,  where  it  flowed 
sweetly  through  the  calm  bosom  of  domestic  life. 
Society  has  acquired  a  more  enlightened  and  elegant 
tone ;  but  it  has  lost  many  of  its  strong  local  peculi- 
arities, its  homebred  feelings,  its  honest  fireside  de- 
lights. The  traditionary  customs  of  golden-hearted 
antiquity,  its  feudal  hospitalities,  and  lordly  wassail- 
ings, have  passed  away  with  the  baronial  castles  and 
stately  manor-houses  in  which  they  were  celebrated. 
They  comported  with  the  shadowy  hall,  the  great 
oaken  gallery,  and  the  tapestried  parlour,  but  are 
unfitted  for  the  light  showy  saloons  and  gay  draw- 
ing-rooms of  the  modern  villa. 

Shorn,  however,  as  it  is,  of  its  ancient  and  festive 
honours,  Christmas  is  still  a  period  of  delightful  ex- 
citement in  England.  It  is  gratifying  to  see  that 
home  feeling  completely  aroused  which  holds  so 
powerful  a  place  in  every  English  bosom.  The 
preparations  making  on  every  side  tor  the  social 
board  that  is  again  to  unite  friends  and  kmdred — the 
presents  of  good  cheer  passing  and  repassing,  those 
tokens  of  regard  and  quickencrs  of  kind  feelings — 
the  evergreens  distributed  about  houses  and  churches, 
emblems  of  peace  and  gladness — all  these  have  the 
most  pleasing  effect  in  producing  fond  associations, 
and  kindling  benevolent  sympathies.  Even  the  sound 
of  the  waits,  rude  as  may  be  their  minstrelsy,  breaks 
upon  the  midwatches  of  a  winter  night  with  the 
effect  of  perfect  harmony.  As  I  have  been  awaken- 
ed by  them  in  that  still  and  solemn  hour  "  when 
deep  sleep  lalleth  upon  man,"  I  have  listened  with  a 
hushed  delight,  and  connecting  them  with  the  sacred 
and  joyous  occasion,  have  almost  fancied  th^.*m  into 
another  celestial  choir,  announcing  peace  and  good- 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


49 


will  to  mankind.  How  delightfully  the  imagination, 
when  wrought  upon  by  these  moral  influences,  turns 
everything  to  melody  and  beauty  !  The  very  crow- 
ing of  the  cock,  heard  sometimes  in  the  profound 
repose  of  the  country',  "  telling  the  nightwatches  to 
his  feathery  dames,"  was  thought  by  the  common 
people  to  announce  the  approach  of  the  sacred 
festival : 

"  Some  say  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  was  celebrated, 
This  bird  of  dawning  singeth  all  night  long: 
And  ttien,  they  say.  no  spirit  dares  stir  a-  road  ; 
The  nights  are  wholesome— then  no  planets  strike. 
No  fairy  takes,  no  witch  hath  power  to  charm, 
So  hallowed  and  so  gracious  is  the  time." 

Amidst  the  general  call  to  happiness,  the  bustle  of 
the  spirits,  and  stir  of  the  affections,  which  prevail  at 
this  period,  what  bosom  can  remain  insensible  ?  It 
is,  indeed,  the  season  of  regenerated  feeling — the 
season  for  kindling  not  merely  the  tire  of  hospitality 
in  the  hall,  but  the  genial  flame  of  charity  in  the 
heart.  The  scene  of  early  love  again  rises  green  to 
memory  beyond  the  steril  waste  of  years,  and  the 
idea  of  home,  fraught  with  the  fragrance  of  home- 
dwelling  joys,  reanimates  the  drooping  spirit — as 
the  Arabian  breeze  will  sometimes  waft  the  fresh- 
ness of  the  distant  fields  to  the  weary  pilgrim  of  the 
desert. 

Stranger  and  sojourner  as  I  am  in  the  land — 
though  for  me  no  social  hearth  may  blaze,  no  hos- 
pitable roof  throw  open  its  doors,  nor  the  warm 
grasp  of  friendship  welcome  me  at  the  threshold — 
yet  I  feel  the  influence  of  the  season  beaming  into 
my  soul  from  the  happy  looks  of  those  around  me. 
Surely  happiness  is  reflective,  like  the  light  of  heaven  ; 
and  every  countenance  bright  with  smiles,  and  glow- 
ing with  innocent  enjoyment,  is  a  mirror  transmit- 
ting to  others  the  rays  of  a  supreme  and  ever-shining 
benevolence.  He  who  can  turn  churlishly  away 
from  contemplating  the  felicity  of  his  fellow  beings, 
and  can  sit  down  darkling  and  repining  in  his  lone- 
liness when  all  around  is  joyful,  may  have  his  mo- 
ments of  strong  excitement  and  selfish  gratification, 
but  he  wants  the  genial  and  social  sympathies  which 
constitute  the  charm  of  a  merry  Christmas. 


THE  STAGE-COACH. 


Omne  benfe 

Sine  poena 
Tempus  est  ludendi 

Venit  hora 

Absque  mor^ 
Libros  deponendi. 

Old  Holvday  School  Song. 

In  the  preceding  paper,  I  have  made  some  general 
observations  on  the  Christmas  festivities  of  England, 
and  am  tempted  to  illustrate  them  by  some  anecdotes 
of  a  Christmas  passed  in  the  country;  in  perusing 
which,  I  would  most  courteously  invite  my  reader  to 
lay  aside  the  austerity  of  wisdom,  and  to  put  on  that 
genuine  holyday  spirit,  which  is  tolerant  of  folly  and 
anxious  only  for  amusement. 

In  the  course  of  a  December  tour  in  Yorkshire,  I 
rode  for  a  long  distance  in  one  of  the  public  coaches, 
on  the  day  preceding  Christmas.  The  coach  was 
crowded,  both  inside  and  out,  with  passengers,  who, 
by  their  talk,  seemed  principally  bound  to  the  man- 
sions of  relations  or  friends,  to  eat  the  Christmas 
dinner.  It  was  loaded  also  with  hampers  of  game, 
and  b.askets  and  boxes  of  delicacies  ;  and  hares  hung 
dangling  their  long  ears  about  the  coachman's  box, 


presents  from  distant  friends  for  the  impending  feast. 
I  had  three  fine  rosy-cheeked  school-boys  for  my 
fellow-passengers  inside,  full  of  the  buxom  health 
and  njanly  spirit  which  I  have  observed  in  the  chil- 
dren of  this  countr)'.  They  were  returning  home  for 
the  holydays,  in  high  glee,  and  promising  themselves 
a  world  of  enjoyment.  It  was  delightful  to  hear  the 
gigantic  plans  of  pleasure  of  the  little  rogues,  and 
the  impracticable  feats  they  were  to  perform  during 
their  six  weeks'  emancipation  from  the  abhorred 
thraldom  of  book,  birch,  and  pedagogue.  They 
were  full  of  the  anticipations  of  the  meeting  with  the 
family  and  household,  down  to  the  very  cat  and  dog ; 
and  of  the  joy  they  were  to  give  their  little  sisters, 
by  the  presents  with  which  their  pockets  were  cram- 
med :  but  the  meeting  to  which  they  seemed  to  look 
forward  with  the  greatest  impatience  was  with  Ban- 
tam, which  I  found  to  be  a  pony,  and,  according  to 
their  talk,  possessed  of  more  virtues  than  any  steed 
since  the  days  of  Bucephalus.  How  he  could  trot ! 
how  he  could  run  !  and  then  such  leaps  as  he  would 
take — there  was  not  a  hedge  in  the  whole  country 
that  he  could  not  clear. 

They  were  under  the  particular  guardianship  ol 
the  coachman,  to  whom,  whenever  an  opportunity 
presented,  they  addressed  a  host  of  questions,  and 
pronounced  him  one  of  the  best  fellows  in  the  whole 
world.  Indeed,  I  could  not  but  notice  the  more  than 
ordinary  air  of  bustle  and  importance  of  the  coach- 
man, who  wore  his  hat  a  little  on  one  side,  and  had 
a  large  bunch  of  Christmas  greens  stuck  in  the  but- 
ton-hole of  his  coat.  He  is  always  a  personage  full 
of  mighty  care  and  business  ;  but  he  is  particularly 
so  during  this  season,  having  so  many  commissions 
to  execute  in  consequence  of  the  great  interchange 
of  presents.  And  here,  perhaps,  it  may  not  be  un- 
acceptable to  my  untravelled  readers,  to  have  a 
sketch  that  may  serve  as  a  general  representation  of 
this  very  numerous  and  important  class  of  function- 
aries, who  have  a  dress,  a  manner,  a  language,  an 
air,  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  prevalent  throughout 
the  fraternity ;  so  that,  wherever  an  English  stage- 
coachman  may  be  seen,  he  cannot  be  mistaken  for 
one  of  any  other  craft  or  mystery. 

He  has  commonly  a  broad  full  face,  curiously  mot- 
tled with  red,  as  if  the  blood  had  been  forced  by 
hard  feeding  into  every  vessel  of  the  skin  ;  he  is 
swelled  into  jolly  dimensions  by  frequent  potations 
of  malt  liquors,  and  his  bulk  is  still  farther  increased 
by  a  multiplicity  of  coats,  in  which  he  is  buried  like 
a  cauliflower,  the  upper  one  reaching  to  his  heels. 
He  wears  a  broad-brimmed  low-crowned  hat,  a 
huge  roll  of  coloured  handkerchief  about  his  neck, 
knowingly  knotted  and  tucked  in  at  the  bosom  ; 
and  has  in  summer-time  a  large  bouquet  of  flowers 
in  his  button-hole,  the  present,  most  probably,  of 
some  enamoured  country  lass.  His  waistcoat  is 
commonly  of  some  bright  colour,  striped,  and  his 
small-clothes  extend  far  below  the  knees,  to  meet  a 
pair  of  jockey  boots  which  reach  about  half-way  up 
his  legs. 

All  this  costume  is  maintained  with  much  pre- 
cision ;  he  has  a  pride  in  having  his  clothes  of  ex- 
cellent materials,  and,  notwithstanding  the  seeming 
grossness  of  his  appearance,  there  is  still  discernible 
that  neatness  end  propriety  of  person,  which  is  al- 
most inherent  in  an  Englishman.  He  enjoys  great 
consequence  and  consideration  along  the  road  ;  has 
frequent  conferences  with  the  village  housewives, 
who  look  upon  him  as  a  man  of  great  trust  and  de- 
pendence ;  and  he  seems  to  have  a  good  understand- 
ing with  every  bright-eyed  country  lass.  The  mo- 
ment he  arrives  where  the  horses  are  to  be  changed, 
he  throws  down  the  reins  with  something  of  an  air, 
and  abandons  the  cattle  to  the  care  of  the  hostler  ; 


50 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


his  duty  being  merely  to  drive  them  from  one  stage 
to  another.  When  off  the  box,  his  hands  are  thrust 
In  the  pockets  of  his  great-coat,  and  he  rolls  about 
the  inn-yard  with  an  air  of  the  most  absolute  lordli- 
ness. Here  he  is  generally  surrounded  by  an  ad- 
miring throng  of  hostlers,  stable-boys,  shoeblacks, 
and  those  nar.-.eless  hangers-on,  that  infest  inns  and 
taverns,  and  run  errands,  and  do  all  kind  of  odd  jobs, 
for  the  privilege  of  battening  on  the  drippings  of  the 
kitchen  and  the  leakage  of  the  tap-room.  These  all 
look  up  to  him  as  to  an  oracle ;  treasure  up  his  cant 
phrases  ;  echo  his  opinions  about  horses  and  other 
topics  of  jockey  lore ;  and,  above  all,  endeavour  to 
imitate  his  air  and  carriage.  Every  ragamuffin  that 
has  a  coat  to  his  back,  thrusts  his  hands  in  the 
pockets,  rolls  in  his  gait,  talks  slang,  and  is  an 
embryo  Coachey. 

Perhaps  it  might  be  owing  to  the  pleasing  serenity 
that  reigned  in  my  own  mind,  that  I  fancied  I  saw 
cheerfulness  in  every  countenance  throughout  the 
journey.  A  Stage-Coach,  however,  carries  anima- 
tion always  with  it,  and  puts  the  world  in  motion  as 
it  whirls  along.  The  horn,  sounded  at  the  entrance 
of  a  village,  produces  a  general  bustle.  Some  hasten 
forth  to  meet  friends  ;  some  with  bundles  and  band- 
boxes to  secure  places,  and  in  the  hurry  of  the  mo- 
ment can  hardly  take  leave  of  the  group  that  accom- 
panies them.  In  the  mean  time,  the  coachman  has 
a  world  of  small  commissions  to  execute  ;  sometimes 
he  delivers  a  hare  or  pheasant ;  sometimes  jerks  a 
small  parcel  or  newspaper  to  the  door  of  a  public 
house ;  and  sometimes,  with  knowing  leer  and 
words  of  sly  import,  hands  to  some  half-blushing, 
half-laughing  housemaid,  an  odd-shaped  billetdoux 
from  some  rustic  admirer.  As  the  coach  rattles 
through  the  village,  every  one  runs  to  the  window, 
and  you  have  glances  on  every  side  of  fresh  country 
faces,  and  blooming  giggling  girls.  At  the  corners 
are  assembled  juntos  of  village  idlers  and  wise  men, 
who  take  their  stations  there  for  the  important  pur- 
pose of  seeing  company  pass  :  but  the  sagest  knot  is 
generally  at  the  blacksmith's,  to  whom  the  passing 
of  the  coach  is  an  event  fruitful  of  much  speculation. 
The  smith,  with  the  horse's  heel  in  his  lap,  pauses 
as  the  vehicle  whirls  by ;  the  cyclops  round  the 
anvil  suspend  their  ringing  hammers,  and  suffer  the 
iron  to  grow  cool ;  and  the  sooty  spectre  in  brown 
paper  cap,  labouring  at  the  bellows,  leans  on  the 
handle  for  a  moment,  and  permits  the  asthmatic 
engine  to  heave  a  long-drawn  sigh,  while  he  glares 
through  the  murky  smoke  and  sulphureous  gleams 
of  the  smithy. 

Perhaps  the  impending  holyday  might  have  given 
a  more  than  usual  animation  to  the  country,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  as  if  every  body  was  in  good  looks  and 
good  spirits.  Game,  poultry,  and  other  luxuries  of 
the  table,  were  in  brisk  circulation  in  the  villages  ; 
the  grocers,  butchers,  and  fruiterers'  shops  were 
thronged  with  customers.  The  housewives  were 
stirring  briskly  about,  putting  their  dwellings  in  or- 
der;  and  the  glossy  branches  of  holly,  with  their 
bright  red  berries,  began  to  appear  at  the  windows. 
The  scene  brought  to  mind  an  old  writer's  account 
of  Christmas  preparations.  "  Now  capons  and  hens, 
besides  turkeys,  geese,  and  ducks,  with  beef  and 
mutton — must  all  die — for  in  twelve  days  a  multi- 
tude of  people  will  not  be  fed  with  a  little.  Now 
plums  and  spice,  sugar  and  honey,  square  it  among 
pies  and  broth.  Now  or  never  must  music  be  in 
tune,  for  the  youth  must  dance  and  sing  to  get  them 
a  heat,  while  the  aged  sit  by  the  fire.  The  country 
maid  leaves  half  her  market,  and  must  be  sent  again, 
if  she  forgets  a  pair  of  cards  on  Christmas  eve.  Great 
is  the  contention  of  Holly  and  Ivy,  whether  master 
or  dame  wears  th«  breeches.     Dice  and  cards  bene- 


fit the  butler ;  and  if  the  cook  do  not  lack  wit,  he 
will  sweetly  lick  his  fingers." 

I  was  roused  from  this  fit  of  luxurious  meditation, 
by  a  shout  from  my  little  travelling  companions. 
They  had  been  looking  out  of  the  coach-windows 
for  the  last  few  miles,  recognising  every  tree  and 
cottage  as  they  approached  home,  and  now  there 
was  a  general  burst  of  joy — "  There's  John  !  and 
there's  old  Carlo  !  and  there's  Bantam  !  "  cried  the 
happy  little  rogues,  clapping  their  hands. 

At  the  end  of  a  lane,  there  was  an  old  sober-look- 
ing servant  in  livery,  waiting  for  them  ;  he  was  ac- 
companied by  a  superannuated  pointer,  and  by  the 
redoubtable  tjantam,  a  little  old  rat  of  a  pony,  with 
a  shaggy  mane  and  long  rusty  tail,  who  stood  dozing 
quietly  by  the  road-side,  little  dreaming  of  the  bus- 
thng  times  that  awaited  him. 

I  was  pleased  to  see  the  fondness  with  which  the 
little  fellows  leaped  about  the  steady  old  footman, 
and  hugged  the  pointer,  who  wriggled  his  whole 
body  for  joy.  But  Bantam  was  the  great  object  of 
interest ;  all  wanted  to  mount  at  once,  and  it  was 
with  some  difficulty  that  John  arranged  that  they 
should  ride  by  turns,  and  the  eldest  should  ride  first. 

Off  they  set  at  last ;  one  on  the  pony,  with  the  dog 
bounding  and  barking  before  him,  and  the  others 
holding  John's  hands ;  both  talking  at  once  and 
overpowering  him  with  questions  about  home,  and 
with  school  anecdotes.  I  looked  after  them  with  a 
feeling  in  which  I  do  not  know  whether  pleasure  or 
melancholy  predominated  ;  for  I  was  reminded  of 
those  days  when,  like  them,  I  had  neither  known 
care  nor  sorrow,  and  a  holyday  was  the  summit  of 
earthly  felicity.  We  stopped  a  few  moments  after- 
wards, to  water  the  horses;  and  on  resuming  our  route, 
a  turn  of  the  road  brought  us  in  sight  of  a  neat  coun- 
try-seat. I  could  just  distinguish  the  forms  of  a  lady 
and  two  young  girls  in  the  portico,  and  I  saw  my 
little  comrades,  with  Bantam,  Carlo,  and  old  John, 
trooping  along  the  carriage  road.  I  leaned  out  of 
the  coach-window,  in  hopes  of  witnessing  the  happy 
meeting,  but  a  grove  of  trees  shut  it  from  my  sight. 

In  the  evening  we  reached  a  village  where  I  had 
determined  to  pass  the  night.  As  we  drove  into  the 
great  gateway  of  the  inn,  I  saw,  on  one  side,  the 
light  of  a  rousing  kitchen  fire  beaming  through  a 
window.  I  entered,  and  admired,  for  the  hundredth 
time,  that  picture  of  convenience,  neatness,  and 
broad  honest  enjoyment,  the  kitchen  of  an  English 
inn.  It  was  of  spacious  dimensions,  hung  round 
with  copper  and  tin  vessels  highly  polished,  and  dec- 
orated here  and  there  with  a  Christmas  green. 
Hams,  tongues,  and  flitches  of  bacon  were  suspend- 
ed from  the  ceiling;  a  smoke-jack  made  its  ceaseless 
clanking  beside  the  fire-place,  and  a  clock  ticked  in 
one  corner.  A  well  -  scoured  deal  table  extended 
along  one  side  of  the  kitchen,  with  a  cold  round  of 
beef,  and  other  hearty  viands,  upon  it,  over  which 
two  foaming  tankards  of  ale  seemed  mounting  guard. 
Travellers  of  inferior  order  were  preparing  to  attack 
this  stout  repast,  whilst  others  sat  smoking  and  gos- 
siping over  their  ale  on  two  high-backed  oaken  set- 
tles beside  the  fire.  Trim  housemaids  were  hurry- 
ing backwards  and  forwards,  under  the  directions 
of  a  fresh  bustling  landlady  ;  but  still  seizing  an  oc- 
casional moment  to  exchange  a  flippant  word,  and 
have  a  rallying  laugh,  with  the  group  round  the  fire. 
The  scene  completely  realized  Poor  Robin's  humble 
idea  of  the  comtbrts  of  mid-winter : 

Now  trees  their  leafy  hats  do  bare 
To  reverence  Winter's  silver  hair ; 
A  handsome  hostess,  merry  host, 
A  pot  of  ale  and  now  a  toast, 
Tobacco  and  a  good  coal  fire, 
Are  things  this  season  doth  require.* 


•  Poor  Robin's  Almanack,  1694. 


THE    SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


SI 


I  had  not  been  long  at  the  inn,  when  a  post-chaise 
drove  up  to  the  door.  A  young  gentleman  stepped 
out,  and  by  the  light  of  the  lamps  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  countenance  which  I  thought  I  knew.  I  moved 
forward  to  get  a  nearer  view,  when  his  eye  caught 
mine.  I  was  not  mistaken  ;  it  was  Frank  Brace- 
bridge,  a  sprightly  good-humoured  young  fellow,  with 
whom  I  had  once  travelled  on  the  continent.  Our 
meeting  was  extremely  cordial,  for  the  countenance 
of  an  old  fellow-traveller  always  brings  up  the  rec- 
ollection of  a  thousand  pleasant  scenes,  odd  advent- 
ures, and  excellent  jokes.  To  discuss  all  these  in  a 
transient  interview  at  an  inn,  was  impossible  ;  and 
finding  that  I  was  not  pressed  for  time,  and  was 
merely  making  a  tour  of  observation,  he  insisted  that 
I  should  give  him  a  day  or  two  at  his  father's  coun- 
try-seat, to  which  he  was  going  to  pass  the  holydays, 
and  which  lay  at  a  few  miles'  distance.  "  It  is  bet- 
ter than  eating  a  solitary  Christmas  dinner  at  an 
inn,"  said  he,  "and  1  can  assure  you  of  a  hearty 
welcome,  in  something  of  the  old-fashioned  style." 
His  reasoning  was  cogent,  and  1  must  confess  the 
preparation  I  had  seen  for  universal  festivity  and  so- 
cial enjoyment,  had  made  me  feel  a  little  impatient 
of  my  loneliness.  I  closed,  therefore,  at  once,  with 
his  invitation  ;  the  chaise  drove  up  to  the  door,  and 
in  a  few  moments  I  was  on  my  way  to  the  family 
mansion  of  the  Bracebridg'fes. 


CHRISTMAS   EVE. 


Saint  Francis  and  Saint  Benedight 
Blesse  this  house  from  wicked  wight  ; 
From  the  night-mare  and  the  goblin, 
That  is  hight  good  fellow  Robin  ; 
Keep  it  from  all  evil  spirits. 
Fairies,  weazles.  rats,  and  ferrets  : 
From  curfew-time 


To  the  next  prime. 


Cartwricht. 


It  was  a  brilliant  moonlight  night,  but  extremely 
cold  ;  our  chaise  whiried  rapidly  over  the  frozen 
ground  ;  the  post-boy  smacked  his  whip  incessantly, 
and  a  part  of  the  time  his  horses  were  on  a  gallop. 
"  He  knows  where  he  is  going,"  said  my  companion, 
laughing,  "  and  is  eager  to  arrive  in  time  for  some  of 
the  merriment  and  good  cheer  of  the  servants'  hall. 
My  father,  you  must  know,  is  a  bigoted  devotee  of 
the  old  school,  and  prides  himself  upon  keeping  up 
something  of  old  English  hospitality.  He  is  a  toler- 
able specimen  of  what  you  will  rarely  meet  with  now- 
a-days  in  its  purity, — the  old  English  country  gentle- 
man ;  for  our  men  of  fortune  spend  so  much  of  their 
time  in  town,  and  fashion  is  carried  so  much  into  the 
country,  that  the  strong  rich  peculiarities  of  ancient 
rural  life  are  almost  polished  away.  My  father,  how- 
ever, from  early  years,  took  honest  Peacham  *  for  his 
text-book,  instead  of  Chesterfield  ;  he  determined  in 
his  own  mind,  that  there  was  no  condition  more 
truly  honourable  and  enviable  than  that  of  a  coun- 
try gentleman  on  his  paternal  lands,  and,  therefore, 
passes  the  whole  of  his  time  on  his  estate.  He  is  a 
strenuous  advocate  for  the:  revival  of  the  old  rural 
games  and  holyday  observances,  and  is  deeply  read 
in  the  writers,  ancient  and  modern,  who  have  treated 
■  on  the  subject.  Indeed,  his  favourite  range  of  read- 
ing is  among  the  authors  who  flourished  at  least  two 
centuries  since ;  who,  he  insists,  wrote  and  thought 
more  like  true  Englishmen  than  any  of  their  succes- 
sors. He  even  regrets  sometimes  that  he  had  not 
been  born  a  few  centuries  earlier,  when  England 
was  itself,  and  had  its  peculiar  manners  and  customs. 

*  Peacham's  Complete  Gentleman,  1622.' 


As  he  lives  at  some  distance  from  the  main  road,  in 
rather  a  lonely  part  of  the  country,  without  any  rival 
gentry  near  him,  he  has  that  most  enviable  of  all 
blessings  to  an  Englishman,  an  opportunity  of  in- 
dulging the  bent  of  his  own  humour  without  molesta- 
tion. Being  representative  of  the  oldest  family  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  .a  great  part  of  the  peasantry 
being  his  tenants,  he  is  much  looked  up  to,  and,  in 
general,  is  known  simply  by  the  appellation  of  '  The 
'Squire ; '  a  title  which  has  been  accorded  to  the 
head  of  the  family  since  time  inmnemorial.  I  think 
it  best  to  give  you  these  hints  about  my  worthy  old 
father,  to  prepare  you  for  any  little  eccentricities  that 
might  otherwise  appear  absurd." 

We  had  passed  for  some  time  along  the  wall  of  a 
park,  and  at  length  the  chaise  stopped  at  the  gate. 
It  was  in  a  heavy  magnificer.t  old  style,  of  iron  bars, 
fancifully  wrought  at  top  into  flourishes  and  flowers. 
The  huge  square  columns  that  supported  the  gate 
were  surmounted  by  the  family  crest.  Close  adjoin- 
ing was  the  porter's  lodge,  sheltered  under  dark  fir 
trees,  and  almost  buried  in  shrubbery'. 

The  post-boy  rang  a  large  porter's  bell,  which  re- 
sounded through  the  still  frosty  air,  and  was  an- 
swered by  the  distant  barking  of  dogs,  with  which 
the  mansion-house  seemed  garrisoned.  An  old 
woman  immediately  appeared  at  the  gate.  As  the 
moonlight  fell  strongly  upon  her,  I  had  a  full  view  of  a 
little  primitive  dame,  dressed  very  much  in  antique 
taste,  with  a  neat  kerchief  and  stomacher,  and  her 
silver  hair  peeping  from  under  a  cap  of  snowy  white- 
ness. She  came  curtseying  forth  with  many  expres- 
sions of  simple  joy  at  seeing  her  young  master.  Her 
husband,  it  seemed,  was  up  at  the  house,  keeping 
Christmas  eve  in4l^e  servants'  hall ;  they  could  not 
do  without  h\n%  a*  he  was  the  best  hand  at  a  song 
and  story  in  the  hbusehold. 

My  friend  proposed  that  we  should  alight,  and 
walk  through  the  park  to  the  Hall,  which  was  at  no 
great  distance,  while  the  chaise  should  follow  on. 
Our  road  wound  through  a  noble  avenue  of  trees, 
among  the  naked  branches  of  which  the  moon  glit- 
tered as  she  rolled  through  the  deep  vault  of  a  cloud- 
less sky.  The  la\Vn  beyond  was  sheeted  with  a 
slight  covering  of  snow,  which  here  and  there  spark- 
led as  the  moonbeams  caught  a  frosty  crystal  ;  and 
at  a  distance  might  be  seen  a  thin  transparent  va- 
pour, stealing  up  from  the  low  grounds,  and  threat- 
ening gradually  to  shroud  the  landscape. 

My  companion  looked  round  him  with  transport  : 
— "How  often,"  said  he,  "have  I  scampered  up  this 
avenue,  on  returning  home  on  school  vacations  ! 
How  often  have  I  played  under  these  trees  when  a 
boy  !  I  feel  a  degree  of  filial  reverence  for  them,  as 
we  look  up  to  those  v/ho  have  cherished  us  in  child- 
hood. My  father  was  always  scrupulous  in  exacting 
our  holydays,  and  having  us  around  him  on  family 
festivals.  He  used  to  direct  and  superintend  our 
games  with  the  strictness  th.it  some  parents  do  the 
studies  of  their  children.  He  was  very  particular  that 
we  should  play  the  old  English  games  according  to 
their  original  form  ;  and  consulted  old  books  for 
precedent  and  authority  for  every  '  merrie  disport  ;  ' 
yet,  I  assure  you,  there  never  was  pedantry  so  de- 
lightful. It  was  the  policy  of  the  good  old  gentle- 
man to  make  his  children  feel  that  home  was  the 
happiest  place  in  the  world,  and  I  value  this  deli- 
cious home-feeling  as  one  of  the  choicest  gifts  a  par- 
ent could  bestow." 

We  were  interrupted  by  the  clamour  of  a  troop  of 
dogs  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  "  mongrel,  puppy,  whelp 
and  hound,  and  curs  of  low  degree,"  that,  disturbed 
by  the  ringing  of  the  porter's  bell  and  the  rattling  of 
the  chaise,  came  bounding  open-mouthed  across  the 
lawn. 


52 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


" The  little  doers  and  all, 

7" ray,  Blanche,  and  Sweetheart,  see,  they  bark  at  me  !  *' 

cried  Bracebridge,  laughing.  At  the  sound  of  his 
voice,  the  bartc  was  changed  into  a  yelp  of  delight, 
and  in  a  moment  he  was  surrounded  and  alinost 
ovcqoowered  by  the  caresses  of  the  faithful  animals. 

We  had  now  come  in  full  view  of  the  old  family 
mansion,  partly  thrown  in  deep  shadow,  and  partly 
lit  up  by  the  cold  moonshine.  It  was  an  irregular 
building  of  some  magnitude,  and  seemed  to  be  of 
the  architecture  of  different  periods.  One  wing  was 
evidently  very  ancient,  with  heavy  stone-shafted  bow 
windows  jutting  out  and  overrun  with  ivy,  from 
among  the  foliage  of  which  the  small  diamond- 
shaped  panes  of  glass  glittered  with  the  moon-beams. 
The  rest  of  the  house  was  in  the  French  taste  of 
Charles  the  Second's  time,  having  been  repaired  and 
altered,  as  my  friend  told  me,  by  one  of  his  ancestors, 
who  returned  with  that  monarch  at  the  Restoration. 
The  grounds  about  the  house  were  laid  out  in  the 
old  formal  manner  of  artiticial  flower-beds,  clipped 
shrubberies,  raised  terraces,  and  heavy  stone  ballus- 
trailes,  ornamented  with  urns,  a  leaden  statue  or 
two,  and  a  jet  of  water.  The  old  gentleman,  1  was 
told,  was  extremely  careful  to  preserve  this  obsolete 
linery  in  all  its  original  state.  He  admired  this  fash- 
ion in  gardening;  it  had  an  air  of  magnificence,  was 
courtly  and  noble,  and  befitting  good  old  family 
style.  The  boasted  imitation  of  nature  and  modern 
gardening  had  sprung  up  with  modern  republican 
notions,  but  did  not  suit  a  monarchial  government — • 
it  smacked  of  the  levelling  system.  I  could  not  help 
smiling  at  this  introduction  of  politics  into  garden- 
ing, though  I  expressed  some  apprehension  that  I 
should  find  the  old  gentleman  rather  intolerant  in 
liis  creed.  Frank  assured  me,  however,  that  it  was 
almost  the  only  instance  in  which  he  had  ever  heard 
his  father  meddle  with  politics  ;  and  he  believed  he 
had  got  this  notion  from  a  member  of  Parliament, 
who  once  passed  a  few  weeks  with  him.  The  'Squire 
was  glad  of  any  argument  to  defend  his  clipped  yew 
trees  and  formal  terraces,  which  had  been  occasion- 
ally attacked  by  modern  landscape  gardeners. 

As  we  approached  the  house,  we  heard  the  sound 
of  music,  and  now  and  then  a  burst  of  laughter, 
from  one  end  of  the  building.  This,  Bracebridge 
said,  must  proceed  from  the  servants'  hall,  where  a 
great  deal  of  revelry  was  permitted,  and  even  en- 
couraged, by  the  'Squire,  throughout  the  twelve  days 
of  Christmas,  provided  every  thing  was  done  con- 
formably to  ancient  usage.  Here  were  kept  up  the 
old  games  of  hoodman  blind,  shoe  the  wild  mare, 
hot  cockles,  steal  the  white  loaf,  bob-apple,  and 
snap-dragon ;  the  Yule  clog,  and  Christmas  candle, 
were  regularly  burnt,  and  the  mistletoe,  with  its 
white  berries,  hung  up,  to  the  imminent  peril  of  all 
the  pretty  house-maids.* 

So  intent  were  the  servants  upon  their  sports,  that 
we  had  to  ring  repeatedly  before  we  could  make  our- 
selves heard.  On  our  arrival  being  announced,  the 
'Squire  came  out  to  receive  us,  accompanied  by  his 
two  other  sons ;  one  a  young  officer  in  the  army, 
home  on  leave  of  absence ;  the  other  an  O.xonian, 
just  from  the  university.  The  'Squire  was  a  fine 
healthy-looking  old  gentleman,  with  silver  hair  curl- 
ing lightly  round  an  open  florid  countenance ;  in 
which  a  physiognomist,  with  the  advantage,  like 
myself,  of  a  previous  hint  or  two,  might  discover  a 
singular  mixture  of  whim  and  benevolence. 

The  family  meeting  was  warm  and  affectionate ; 
as  the  evening  was  far  advanced,  the  'Squire  would 


*  The  mislleloe  is  still  hung  up  in  farm-houses  and  kitchens,  at 
Christmas  ;  and  the  young  men  have  the  privilege  of  kissing  the 
girls  under  it,  plucking  each  time  a  berry  from  the  bush.  When 
the  berries  are  all  plucked,  the  privilege  ceases. 


not  permit  us  to  change  our  travelling  dresses,  but 
ushered  us  at  once  to  the  company,  which  was  as- 
sembled in  a  large  old-fashioned  hall.  It  was  com- 
posed of  different  branches  of  a  numerous  family 
connexion,  where  there  were  the  usual  proportions 
of  old  uncles  and  aunts,  comfortable  married  dames, 
superannuated  spinsters,  blooming  country  cousins, 
half-Hedged  striplings,  and  bright-eyed  boarding- 
school  hoydens.  They  were  variously  occupied  ;  some 
at  a  round  game  of  cards  ;  others  conversing  round 
the  fire-place ;  at  one  end  of  the  hall  was  a  group 
of  the  young  folks,  some  nearly  grown  up,  others 
of  a  more  tender  and  budding  age.  fully  engrossed 
by  a  merry  game  ;  and  a  profusion  of  wooden  horses, 
penny  truinpets,  and  tattered  dolls  about  the  floor, 
showed  traces  of  a  troop  of  little  fairy  beings,  who, 
having  frolicked  through  a  happy  day,  had  been  car- 
ried off  to  slurpber  through  a  peaceful  night. 

While  the  mutual  greetings  were  going  on  be- 
tween young  Bracebridge  and  his  relatives,  I  had 
time  to  scan  the  apartment.  I  have  called  it  a  hall, 
for  so  it  had  certainly  been  in  old  times,  and  the 
"Squire  had  evidently  endeavoured  to  restore  it  to 
something  of  its  primitive  state.  Over  the  heavy 
projecting  fire-place  was  suspended  a  picture  of  a 
warrior  in  armour,  standing  by  a  white  hor.se,  and 
on  the  opposite  wall  hung  a  helmet,  buckler,  and 
lance.  At  one  end  an  enormous  pair  of  antlers  were 
inserted  in  the  wall,  the  branches  serving  as  hooks 
on  which  to  suspend  hats,  whips,  and  spurs ;  and  in 
the  corners  of  the  apartment  were  fowling-pieces, 
fishing-rods,  and  other  sporting  implements.  The 
furniture  was  of  the  cumbrous  workmanship  of 
former  days,  though  some  articles  of  modern  con- 
venience had  been  added,  and  the  oaken  floor  had 
been  carpeted  ;  so  that  the  whole  presented  an  odd 
mixture  of  parlour  and  hall. 

The  grate  had  been  removed  from  the  wide  over- 
whelming fire-place,  to  make  way  for  a  fire  of  wood, 
in  the  midst  of  which  was  an  enorinous  log,  glowing 
and  blazing,  and  sending  forth  a  vast  volume  of  light 
and  heat ;  this  I  understood  was  the  yule  clog,  which 
the  'Squire  was  particular  in  having  brought  in  and 
illumined  on  a  Christmas  eve,  according  to  ancient 
custom.* 

It  was  really  delightful  to  see  the  old  'Squire,  seated 
in  his  hereditary  elbow-chair,  by  the  hospitable  fire- 
side of  his  ancestors,  and  looking  around  hiin  like 
the  sun  of  a  system,  beaming  warmth  and  gladness 
to  every  heart.  Even  the  very  dog  that  lay  stretched 
at  his  feet,  as  he  lazily  shifted  his  position  and 
yawned,  would  look  fondly  up  in  his  master's  face, 
wag  his  tail  against  the  floor,  and  stretch  himself 
again  to  sleep,  confident  of  kindness  and  protection. 
There  is  an  emanation  from  the  heart  in  genuine 
hospitality,  which  cannot  be  described,  but  is  imme- 
diately felt,  and  puts  the  stranger  at  once  at  his  ease. 


*  The  yule  clog\%  a  great  log  of  wood,  sometimes  the  root  of  a 
tree,  brought  into  the  house  with  great  ceremony,  on  Christmas 
eve,  laid  in  the  fire-place,  and  lighted  with  the  brand  of  last  year's 
clog.  While  it  lasted,  there  was  great  drinking,  singing,  and  tell 
ing  of  tales.  Sometimes  it  was  accompanied  by  Christmas  candles  ; 
but  in  the  cottages,  the  only  light  was  from  the  ruddy  blareof  the 
great  wood  fire.  The  yule  clog  was  to  burn  all  night :  if  it  went 
out,  it  was  considered  a  sign  of  ill  luck. 

Herrick  mentions  it  in  one  of  his  songs  : 

Come  bring  with  a  noise, 

My  merrie,  mcrrie  boys. 
The  Christmas  Log  to  the  firing; 

While  my  good  dame  she 

Bids  ye  all  be  free, 
And  drink  to  your  hearts  desiring. 

The  yule  clog  is  still  burnt  in  many  farm-houses  and  kitchens  in 
England,  particularly  in  the  north  ;  and  there  are  several  super- 
stitions connected  with  it  among  the  peasantry.  If  a  squinting 
person  come  to  the  house  while  it  is  burning,  or  a  person  bare- 
footed, it  is  considered  an  ill  omen.  The  brand  remaining  from 
the  ynlfi  clog  is  carefully  put  away  to  light  the  next  year's  Christ- 
mas fire. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF    GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


53 


I  had  not  been  seated  many  minutes  by  the  com- 
fortable hearth  of  the  worthy  old  cavaher,  before  I 
found  myself  as  much  at  home  as  if  I  had  been  one 
of  the  family. 

Supper  was  announced  shortly  after  our  arrival. 
It  was  served  u))  in  a  spacious  oaken  chamber,  the 
panels  of  which  shone  with  wax,  and  around  which 
were  several  family  portraits  decorated  with  holly 
and  ivy.  Beside  the  accustomed  lights,  two  great 
wax  tapers,  called  Christmas  candles,  wreathed  with 
greens,  were  placed  on  a  highly  polished  beaufet 
among  the  family  plate.  The  table  was  abundantly 
spread  with  substantial  fare  ;  but  the  'Squire  made 
his  supper  of  frumenty,  a  dish  made  of  wheat  cakes 
boiled  in  milk  with  rich  spices,  being  a  standing  dish 
in  old  times  for  Christmas  eve.  I  was  happy  to  find 
my  old  friend,  minced  pie,  in  the  retinue  of  the  feast  ; 
and  finding  him  to  be  perfectly  orthodox,  and  that  I 
need  not  be  ashamed  of  my  predilection,  I  greeted 
him  with  all  the  warmth  wherewith  we  usually  greet 
an  old  and  very  genteel  acquaintance. 

The  mirth  of  the  company  was  greatly  promoted 
by  the  humours  of  an  eccentric  personage,  whom 
Mr.  Bracebridge  always  addressed  with  the  quaint 
appellation  of  Master  Simon.  He  was  a  tight  brisk 
little  man,  with  the  air  of  an  arrant  old  bachelor. 
His  nose  was  shaped  like  the  bill  of  a  parrot ;  his 
face  slightly  pitted  with  the  small-pox,  with  a  dry 
perpetual  bloom  on  it,  like  a  frost-bitten  leaf  in 
autumn.  He  had  an  eye  of  great  quickness  and 
vivacity,  with  a  drollery  and  lurking  waggery  of  ex- 
pression that  was  irresistible.  He  was  evidently  the 
wit  of  the  family,  dealing  very  much  in  sly  jokes  and 
innuendoes  with  the  ladies,  and  making  infinite  mer- 
riment by  harpings  upon  old  themes  ;  which,  unfor- 
tunately, my  ignorance  of  the  family  chronicles  did 
not  permit  me  to  enjoy.  It  seemed  to  be  his  great 
delight,  during  supper,  to  keep  a  young  girl  next  him 
in  a  continual  agony  of  stifled  laughter,  in  spite  of 
her  awe  of  the  reproving  looks  of  her  mother,  who 
sat  opposite.  Indeed,  he  was  the  idol  of  the  younger 
part  of  the  company,  who  laughed  at  every  thing  he 
said  or  did,  and  at  every  turn  of  his  countenance.  1 
could  not  wonder  at  it  ;  for  he  must  have  been  a 
miracle  of  accomplishments  in  their  eyes.  He  could 
imitate  Punch  and  Judy  ;  make  an  old  woman  of  his 
hand,  with  the  assistance  of  a  burnt  cork  and  pocket- 
handkerchief;  and  cut  an  orange  into  such  a  lu- 
dicrous caricature,  that  the  young  folks  were  ready 
to  die  with  Laughing. 

I  was  let  briefly  into  his  history  by  Frank  Brace- 
bridge.  He  was  an  old  bachelor,  of  a  small  inde- 
pendent income,  which,  by  careful  management,  was 
sufficient  for  all  his  wants.  He  revolved  through  the 
family  system  like  a  vagrant  comet  in  its  orbit,  some- 
times visiting  one  branch,  and  sometimes  another 
quite  remote,  as  is  often  the  case  with  gentlemen  of 
extensive  connexions  and  small  fortunes  in  England. 
He  had  a  chirping,  Inioyant  disposition,  always  en- 
joying the  present  moment ;  and  his  frequent  change 
of  scene  and  company  prevented  his  acquiring  those 
rusty,  unaccommodating  habits,  with  which  old 
bachelors  are  so  uncharitably  charged.  He  was 
a  complete  family  chronicle,  being  versed  in  the 
genealogy,  history,  and  intermarriages  of  the  whole 
house  of  Bracebridge,  which  made  him  a  great 
favourite  with  the  old  folks  ;  he  was  a  beau  of  all  the 
elder  ladies  and  superannuated  spinsters,  among 
whom  he  was  habitually  considered  rather  a  young 
fellow,  and  he  was  master  of  the  revels  among  the 
children  ;  so  that  there  was  not  a  more  popular  being 
in  the  sphere  in  ^'hich  he  moved,  than  Mr.  Simon 
Bracebridge.  Of  late  years,  he  had  resided  almost 
entirely  with  the  'Squire,  to  whom  he  had  become  a 
factotum,  and  whom   he  particularly  delighted   by 


jumping  with  his  humour  in  respect  to  old  times, 
and  by  having  a  scrap  of  an  old  song  to  suit  every 
occasion.  We  had  presently  a  specimen  of  his  last- 
mentioned  talent ;  for  no  sooner  was  supper  removed, 
and  spiced  wines  and  other  beverages  peculiar  to 
the  season  introduced,  than  Master  Simon  was  called 
on  for  a  good  old  Christmas  song.  He  bethought 
himself  for  a  moment,  and  then,  with  a  sparkle  of 
the  eye,  and  a  voice  that  was  by  no  means  bad,  ex- 
cepting that  it  ran  occasionally  into  a  falsetto,  like 
the  notes  of  a  spht  reed,  he  quavered  forth  a  quaint 
old  ditty  : 

Now  Christmas  is  come, 

Let  us  beat  tip  the  drum, 
And  call  all  our  neighbours  together  ; 

And  when  they  appear, 

Let  us  make  such  a  cheer. 
As  will  keep  out  the  wind  and  the  weather,  &c. 

The  supper  had  disposed  every  one  to  gayety,  and 
an  old  harper  was  summoned  from  the  servants'  hall, 
where  he  had  been  strumming  all  the  evening,  and 
to  all  appearance  comforting  himself  with  some  of 
the  'Squire's  home-brewed.  He  was  a  kind  of  hang- 
er-on, I  was  told,  of  the  establishment,  and  though 
ostensibly  a  resident  of  the  village,  was  oftener 
to  be  found  in  the  'Squire's  kitchen  than  his  own 
home ;  the  okl  gentleman  being  fond  of  the  sound 
of  "  Harp  in  hall." 

The  dance,  like  most  dances  after  supper,  was  a 
merry  one:  some  of  the  older  folks  joined  in  it,  and 
the  'Squire  himself  figured  down  several  couple  with 
a  partner  with  whom  he  affirmed  he  had  danced  at 
every  Christmas  for  nearly  half  a  century.  Master 
Simon,  who  seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  connecting  link 
between  the  old  times  and  the  new,  and  to  be  withal 
a  little  antiquated  in  the  taste  of  his  accomplish- 
ments, evidently  piqued  himself  on  his  dancing,  and 
was  endeavouring  to  gain  credit  by  the  heel  and  toe, 
rigadoon,  and  other  graces  of  the  ancient  school : 
but  he  'had  unluckily  assorted  himself  with  a  little 
romping  girl  from  boarding-school,  who,  by  her  wild 
vivacity,  kept  him  continually  on  the  stretch,  and  de- 
feated all  his  sober  attempts  at  elegance  : — such  are 
the  ill-sorted  matches  to  which  antique  gentlemen 
are  unfortunately  prone  ! 

The  young  Oxonian,  on  the  contrary,  had  led  out 
one  of  his  maiden  aunts,  on  whom  the  rogue  played 
a  thousand  little  knaveries  with  impunity;  he  was 
full  of  practical  jokes,  and  his  delight  was  to  tease 
his  aunts  and  cousins  ;  yet,  like  all  madcap  young- 
sters, he  was  a  universal  favourite  among  the  women. 
The  most  interesting  couple  in  the  dance  was  the 
young  officer,  and  a  ward  of  the  'Squire's,  a  beauti- 
ful blushing  girl  of  seventeen.  From  several  shy 
glances  which  I  had  noticed  in  the  course  of  the 
evening,  I  suspected  there  was  a  little  kindness  grow- 
ing up  between  them ;  and,  indeed,  the  young  sol- 
dier was  just  the  hero  to  captivate  a  romantic  girl. 
He  was  tall,  slender,  and  handsome  ;  and,  like  most 
young  British  officers  of  late  years,  had  picked  up 
various  small  accomplishments  on  the  continent — he 
could  talk  French  and  Italian — draw  landscapes — ■ 
sing  very  tolerably — dance  divinely  ;  but,  above  all, 
he  had  been  wounded  at  Waterloo :— what  girl  of 
seventeen,  well  read  in  poetry  and  romance,  could 
resist  such  a  mirror  of  chivalry  and  perfection  .' 

The  moment  the  dance  was  over,  he  caught  up  a 
guitar,  and  lolling  against  the  old  marble  fire-place, 
in  an  attitude  which  I  am  half  inclined  to  suspect 
was  studied,  began  the  little  French  air  of  the  Troub- 
adour. The  'Squire,  however,  exclaimed  against 
having  any  thing  on  Christmas  eve  but  good  old 
English  ;  upon  which  the  young  minstrel,  casting  up 
his  eye  for  a  moment,  as  if  in  an  effort  of  memory, 
struck  into  another  strain,  and  with  a  charming  air 
of  gallantry,  gave  Herrick's  "Night-Piece  to  Julia:" 


64 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


Her  eyes  the  glow-worm  lend  thee. 
The  shooting  stars  attend  thee. 

And  the  elves  also. 

Whose  little  eyes  glow 
Like  the  sparks  of  fire,  befriend  thee. 

No  Will-o'-th'-Wisp  mislight  thee; 
Nor  snake  or  slow-worm  bite  thee  ; 

But  on,  on  thy  Wciy, 

Not  making  a  stay, 
Since  ghost  there  is  none  to  affright  thee. 

Then  let  not  the  dark  thee  cumber ; 
What  though  the  moon  does  slumber, 

The  stars  of  the  night 

Will  lend  thee  their  light. 
Like  tapers  clear  without  number. 

Then,  Julia,  let  me  woo  thee. 
Thus,  thus  to  come  unto  me: 

And  when  I  shall  meet 

Thy  silvery  feet. 
My  soul  I'll  pour  into  thee. 

The  song  might  or  might  not  have  been  intended 
in  compliment  to  the  fair  Julia,  for  so  I  found  his 
partner  was  called  ;  she,  however,  was  certainly  un- 
conscious of  any  such  application  ;  for  she  never 
looked  at  the  singer,  but  kept  her  eyes  cast  upon  the 
floor ;  her  face  was  suffused,  it  is  true,  with  a  beau- 
tiful blush,  and  there  was  a  gentle  heaving  of  the 
bosom,  but  all  that  was  doubtless  caused  by  the  ex- 
ercise of  the  dance  :  indeed,  so  great  was  her  indif- 
ference, that  she  was  amusing  herself  with  plucking 
to  pieces  a  choice  bouquet  of  hot-house  flowers,  and 
by  the  lime  the  song  was  concluded  the  nosegay  lay 
in  ruins  on  the  floor. 

The  party  now  broke  up  for  the  night,  with  the 
kind-hearted  old  custom  of  shaking  hands.  As  I 
passed  through  the  hall  on  my  way  to  my  chamber, 
the  dying  embers  of  the  yule  clog  still  sent  forth  a 
dusky  glow ;  and  had  it  not  been  the  season  when 
"no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad,"  I  should  have  been 
half  tempted  ta  steal  from  my  room  at  midnight,  and 
peep  whether  the  fairies  might  not  be  at  their  revels 
about  the  hearth. 

My  chamber  was  in  the  old  part  of  the  mansion, 
the  ponderous  furniture  of  which  might  have  been 
fabricated  in  the  days  of  the  giants.  The  room  was 
panelled,  with  cornices  of  heavy  carved  work,  in 
which  flowers  and  grotesque  faces  were  strangely 
intermingled,  and  a  row  of  black-looking  portraits 
stared  mournfully  at  me  from  the  walls.  The  bed 
was  of  rich,  though  faded  damask,  with  a  lofty  tester, 
and  stood  in  a  niche  opposite  a  bow-window,  i  had 
scarcely  got  into  bed  when  a  strain  of  music  seemed 
to  break  forth  in  the  air  just  below  the  window :  I 
listened,  and  found  it  proceeded  from  a  band,  which 
1  concluded  to  be  the  waits  from  some  neighbouring 
village.  They  went  round  the  house,  playing  under 
the  windows.  I  drew  aside  the  curtains,  to  hear 
them  more  distinctly.  The  moonbeams  fell  through 
the  upper  part  of  the  casement,  partially  lighting  up 
the  antiquated  apartment.  The  sounds,  as  they 
receded,  became  more  soft  and  aerial,  and  seemed 
to  accord  with  quiet  and  moonlight.  I  listened  and 
listened — they  became  more  and  more  tender  and 
remote,  and,  as  they  gradually  died  away,  my  head 
sunk  upon  the  pillow,  and  I  fell  asleep. 


CHRISTMAS  DAY. 


Dark  and  dull  night  file  hence  away. 
And  give  the  honour  lo  this  day 
That  sees  December  turn'd  to  May. 
*        *        4:        «        «        *        N< 

Why  docs  the  chilling  winter's  morne 
Smile  like  a  field  beset  with  corn  ? 
Or  smell  like  to  a  meads  new-shorne, 
Thus  on  a  sudden  ? — come  and  see 
The  cause,  why  things  thus  fragrant  be. 

Herrick. 

When  I  woke  the  next  morning,  it  seemed  as  if 
all  the  events  of  the  preceding  evening  had  been  a 
dream,  and  nothing  but  the  identity  of  the  ancient 
chamber  convinced  me  of  their  reality.  While  I  lay 
musing  on  my  pillow,  I  heard  the  sound  of  little  feet 
pattering  outside  of  the  door,  and  a  whispering  con- 
sultation. Presently  a  choir  of  small  voices  chanted 
forth  an  old  Christmas  carol,  the  burden  of  which 
was — 

Rejoice,  our  Saviour  he  was  born 
On  Christmas  day  in  the  morning. 

I  rose  softly,  slipt  on  my  clothes,  opened  the  door 
suddenly,  and  beheld  one  of  the  most  beautiful  little 
fairy  groups  that  a  painter  could  imagine.  It  con- 
sisted of  a  boy  and  two  girls,  the  eldest  not  more 
than  six,  and  lovely  as  seraphs.  They  were  going 
the  rounds  of  the  house,  singing  at  every  chambe  • 
door,  but  my  sudden  appearance  frightened  them  into 
mute  bashfulness.  They  remained  for  a  moment 
playing  on  their  lips  with  their  fingers,  and  now  and 
then  stealing  a  shy  glance  from  under  their  eyebrows, 
until,  as  if  by  one  impulse,  they  scampered  away,  and 
as  they  turned  an  angle  of  the  gallery,  I  heard  them 
laughing  in  triumph  at  their  escape. 

Every  thing  conspired  to  produce  kind  and  happy 
feelings,  in  this  strong-hold  of  old-fashioned  hospi- 
tality. The  window  of  my  chamber  looked  out  upon 
what  in  summer  would  have  been  a  beautiful  land- 
scape. There  was  a  sloping  lawn,  a  fine  stream 
winding  at  the  foot  of  it,  and  a  tract  of  park  beyond, 
with  noble  clumps  of  trees,  and  herds  of  deer.  At  a 
distance  was  a  neat  hamlet,  with  the  smoke  from  the 
cottage  chimneys  hanging  over  it ;  and  a  church, 
with  its  dark  spire  in  strong  relief  against  the  clear 
cold  sky.  The  house  was  surrounded  with  evergreens, 
according  to  the  English  custom,  which  would  have 
given  almost  an  appearance  of  summer ;  but  the 
morning  was  extremely  frosty ;  the  lia;ht  vapour  of 
the  preceding  evening  had  been  precipitated  by  the 
cold,  and  covered  all  the  trees  and  every  blade  of 
grass  with  its  fine  crystallizations.  The  rays  of  a 
bright  morning  sun  had  a  dazzling  effect  among  the 
glittering  foliage.  A  robin  perched  upon  the  top  of 
a  mountain  ash,  that  hung  its  clusters  of  red  berries 
just  before  my  window,  was  basking  himself  in  the 
sunshine,  and  piping  a  few  querulous  notes ;  and  a 
peacock  was  displaying  all  the  glories  of  his  train, 
and  strutting  with  the  pride  and  gravity  of  a  Spanish 
grandee  on  the  terrace-walk  below. 

I  had  scarcely  dressed  myself,  when  a  servant  ap- 
peared to  invite  me  to  family  prayers.  He  showed 
me  the  way  to  a  small  chapel  in  the  old  wing  ot  the 
house,  where  I  found  the  principal  part  of  the  family 
already  assembled  in  a  kind  of  gallery,  furnished  with 
cushions,  hassocks,  and  large  prayer-books ;  the 
servants  were  seated  on  benches  below.  The  old 
gentleman  read  prayers  from  a  desk  in  front  of  the 
galler)',  and  Master  Simon  acted  as  clerk  and  made 
the  responses  ;  and  I  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say, 
that  he  acquitted  himself  with  great  gravity  and  de- 
corum. 

The  service  was  followed  by  a  Christmas  carol, 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


55 


which  Mr.  Bracebridge  himself  had  constructed  from 
a  poem  of  his  favorite  author,  Herrick ;  and  it  had 
been  adapted  to  a  church  melody  by  iVlaster  Simon. 
As  there  were  several  good  voices  among  the  house- 
hold, the  effect  was  extremely  pleasing;  but  I  was 
particularly  gratified  by  the  exaltation  of  heart,  and 
sudden  sally  of  grateful  feeling,  with  which  the 
worthy  'Squire  delivered  one  stanza  ;  his  eye  glisten- 
ing, and  his  voice  rambling  out  of  all  the  bounds  of 
time  and  tune  : 

*'  Tis  thou  that  crown'st  my  glittering  hearth 
With  guiltless  mirth, 
And  giv'st  me  Wassaile  bowies  to  drink 
Spic'd  to  the  brink : 

Lord,  'tis  thy  plenty-dropping  hand 

That  soilcs  my  land  : 
And  giv'st  me  for  my  bushell  sowne, 

Twice  ten  for  one." 

I  afterwards  understood  that  early  morning  service 
was  read  on  every  Sunday  and  saint's  day  through- 
out the  year,  either  by  Mr.  Bracebridge  or  some 
member  of  the  family.  It  was  once  almost  univer- 
sally the  case  at  the  seats  of  the  nobility  and  gentry 
of  England,  and  it  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  the 
custom  is  falling  into  neglect ;  for  the  dullest  ob- 
server must  be  sensible  of  the  order  and  serenity 
prevalent  in  those  households,  where  the  occasional 
exercise  of  a  beautiful  form  of  worship  in  the  morn- 
ing gives,  as  it  were,  the  key-note  to  every  temper 
for  the  day,  and  attunes  every  spirit  to  harmony. 

Our  breakfast  consisted  of  what  the  'Squire  de- 
nominated true  old  English  fare.  He  indulged  in 
some  bitter  lamentations  over  modern  breakfasts  of 
tea  and  toast,  which  he  censured  as  among  the  causes 
of  modern  effeminacy  and  weak  nerves,  and  the  de- 
cline of  old  English  heartiness :  and  though  he  ad- 
mitted them  to  his  table  to  suit  the  palates  of  his 
guests,  yet  there  was  a  brave  display  of  cold  meats, 
wine,  and  ale,  on  the  sideboard. 

After  breakfast,  I  walked  about  the  grounds  with 
Frank  Bracebridge  and  Master  Simon,  or  Mr.  Simon, 
as  he  was  called  by  every  body  but  the  'Squire.  We 
were  escorted  by  a  number  of  gentlemen-like  dogs, 
that  seemed  loungers  about  the  establishment ;  from 
tlie  frisking  spaniel  to  the  steady  old  stag-hound — the 
last  of  which  was  of  a  race  that  had  been  in  the 
family  tiine  out  of  mind — they  were  all  obedient  to  a 
dog-whistle  which  hung  to  Master  Simon's  button- 
hole, and  in  the  midst  of  their  gambols  would  glance 
an  eye  occasionally  upon  a  small  switch  he  carried 
in  his  hand. 

The  old  mansion  had  a  still  more  venerable  look 
in  the  yellow  sunshine  than  by  pale  moonlight ;  and 
1  could  not  but  feel  the  force  of  the  'Squire's  idea, 
that  the  formal  terraces,  heavily  moulded  ballus- 
trades,  and  clipped  yew  trees,  carried  with  them  an 
air  of  proud  aristocracy. 

There  appeared  to  be  an  unusual  number  of  pea- 
cocks about  the  place,  and  I  was  making  some  re- 
marks upon  what  I  termed  a  flock  of  them  that  were 
basking  under  a  sunny  wall,  when  I  was  gently  cor- 
rected in  my  phraseology  by  Master  Simon,  who 
told  me  that  according  to  the  most  ancient  and 
approved  treatise  on  hunting,  I  must  say  a  muster 
of  peacocks.  "  In  the  same  way,"  added  he,  with  a 
slight  air  of  pedantry,  "  we  say  a  flight  of  doves  or 
swallows,  a  bevy  of  quails,  a  herd  of  deer,  of  wrens, 
or  cranes,  a  skulk  of  foxes,  or  a  building  of  rooks." 
He  went  on  to  inform  me  that,  according  to  Sir 
Anthony  Fitzherbert,  we  ought  to  ascribe  to  this 
birri  "both  understanding  and  glory;  for,  being 
praised,  he  will  presently  set  up  his  tail,  chiefly 
against  the  sun,  to  the  intent  you  may  the  better 
behold  the  beauty  thereof  But  at  the  fall  of  the 
leaf,  when  his  tail  falleth,  he  will  mourn  and  hide 


himself  in  corners,  till  his   tail  come  again   as   it 
was." 

I  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  display  of  small 
erudition  on  so  whimsical  a  subject ;  but  I  found  ■ 
that  the  peacocks  were  birds  of  some  consequence 
at  the  Hall  ;  for  Frank  Bracebridge  informed  me 
that  they  were  great  favourites  with  his  father,  who 
was  extremely  careful  to  keep  up  the  breed,  partly 
because  they  belonged  to  chivalry,  and  were  in 
great  request  at  the  stately  banquets  of  the  olden 
time  ;  and  partly  because  they  had  a  pomp  and 
magnificence  about  them  highly  becoming  an  old 
family  mansion.  Nothing,  he  was  accustomed  to 
say,  had  an  air  of  greater  state  and  dignity,  than  a 
peacock  perched  upon  an  antique  stone  ballustrade. 

Master  Simon  had  now  to  hurry  off,  having  an 
appointment  at  the  parish  church  with  the  village 
choristers,  who  were  to  perform  some  music  of  his 
selection.  There  was  something  extremely  agree- 
able in  the  cheerful  flow  of  animal  spirits  of  the 
little  man  ;  and  I  confess  I  had  been  somewhat  sur- 
prised at  his  apt  quotations  from  authors  who  cer- 
tainly were  not  in  the  range  of  every  day  reading. 
I  mentioned  this  last  circumstance  to  Frank  Brace- 
bridge, who  told  me  with  a  smile  that  Master  Simon's 
whole  stock  of  erudition  was  confined  to  some  hall- 
a-dozen  old  authors,  which  the  'Squire  had  put  into 
his  hands,  and  which  he  read  over  and  over,  when- 
ever he  had  a  studious  fit ;  as  he  sometimes  had  on 
a  rainy  day,  or  a  long  winter  evening.  Sir  Anthony 
Fitzherbert's  Book  of  Husbandry ;  Markham's 
Country  Contentments ;  the  Tretyse  of  Hunting, 
by  Sir  Thomas  Cockayne,  Knight;  Isaac  Walton's 
Angler,  and  two  or  three  more  such  ancient  wor- 
thies of  the  pen,  were  his  standard  authorities  ;  and, 
like  all  men  who  know  but  a  few  books,  he  looked 
up  to  them  with  a  kind  of  idolatry,  and  quoted  them 
on  all  occasions.  As  to  his  songs,  they  were  chiefly 
picked  out  of  old  books  in  the  'Squire's  library,  and 
adapted  to  tunes  that  were  popular  among  the 
choice  spirits  of  the  last  century.  His  practical  ap- 
plication of  scraps  of  literature,  however,  had  caused 
him  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  prodigy  of  book-knowl- 
edge by  all  the  grooms,  huntsmen,  and  small  sports- 
men of  the  neigiibourhood. 

While  we  were  talking,  we  heard  the  distant  toll 
of  the  village  bell,  and  I  was  told  that  the  'Squire 
was  a  little  particular  in  having  his  household  at 
church  on  a  Christmas  morning;  considering  it  a 
day  of  pouring  out  of  thanks  and  rejoicing ;  tor,  as 
old  Tusser  observed, — 

'^  At  Christmas  be  merry,  and  thank/ul  withal. 

And  feast  thy  poor  neighbours,  the  great  with  the  small." 

"  If  you  are  disposed  to  go  to  church,"  said  Frank 
Bracebridge,  "  I  can  promise  you  a  specimen  of  my 
cousin  Simon's  musical  achievements.  As  the  church 
is  destitute  of  an  organ,  he  has  formed  a  band  from 
the  village  amateurs,  and  established  a  musical  club 
for  their  improvement ;  he  has  also  sorted  a  choir,  as 
he  sorted  my  father's  pack  of  hounds,  according  to 
the  directions  of  Jervaise  Markham,  in  his  Country 
Contentments  ;  for  the  bass  he  has  sought  out  a)l  the 
'  deep,  solemn  mouths,'  and  for  the  tenor  the  '  loud 
ringing  mouth,'  among  the  country  bumpkins  ;  and 
for  'sweet  mouths,'  he  has  culled  with  curious  taste 
aiTiong  the  prettiest  lasses  in  the  neighbourhood  ; 
though  these  last,  he  affirms,  are  the  most  difficult  to 
keep  in  tune;  your  pretty  female  singer  being  ex- 
ceedingly wayward  and  capricious,  and  very  liable  to 
accident." 

As  the  morning,  though  frosty,  was  remarkably 
fine  and  clear,  the  most  of  the  family  walked  to  the 
church,  which  was  a  very  old  building  of  gray  stent!, 
and  stood  near  a  village,  about  half  a  mile  from  the 


56 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


park  gate.  Adjoining  it  was  a  low  snug  parsonage, 
which  seemed  coeval  with  the  church.  The  front  ol" 
it  was  perfectly  matted  with  a  yew  tree,  that  had 
been  trained  against  its  walls,  through  the  dense 
foliage  of  which,  apertures  had  been  formed  to  admit 
light  into  the  small  antique  lattices.  As  we  passed 
this  sheltered  nest,  the  parson  issued  forth  and  pre- 
ceded us. 

I  had  expected  to  see  a  sleek  well-conditioned 
pastor,  such  as  is  often  found  in  a  snug  living  in  the 
vicinity  of  a  rich  patron's  table,  but  1  was  disap- 
pointed. The  parson  was  a  little,  meagre,  black- 
looking  man,  with  a  grizzled  wig  that  was  too  wide, 
and  stood  off  from  each  ear  ;  so  that  his  head  seem- 
ed to  have  shrunk  away  within  it,  like  a  dried  filbert 
in  its  shell.  He  wore  a  rusty  coat,  with  great  skirts, 
and  pockets  that  would  have  held  the  church  bible 
and  prayer-book :  and  his  small  legs  seemed  still 
smaller,  from  being  planted  in  large  shoes,  decorated 
with  enormous  buckles. 

I  was  informed  by  Frank  Bracebridge  that  the 
parson  had  been  a  chum  of  his  father's  at  Oxford, 
and  had  received  this  living  shortly  after  the  latter 
had  come  to  his  estate.  He  was  a  complete  black- 
letter  hunter,  and  would  scarcely  read  a  work  printed 
in  the  Roman  character.  The  editions  of  Caxton 
and  Wynkin  de  Worde  were  his  delight;  and  he 
was  indefatigable  in  his  researches  after  such  old 
English  writers  as  have  fallen  into  oblivion  from 
their  worthlessness.  In  deference,  perhaps,  to  the 
notions  of  Mr.  Bracebridge,  he  had  made  diligent 
investigations  into  the  festive  rites  and  holyday  cus- 
toms of  foi  mer  times  ;  and  had  been  as  zealous  in 
the  inquiry,  as  if  he  had  been  a  boon  companion  ; 
but  it  was  merely  with  that  plodding  spirit  with 
which  men  of  adust  temperament  follow  up  any 
track  of  study,  merely  because  it  is  denominated 
learning  ;  indifferent  to  its  intrinsic  nature,  whether 
it  be  the  illustration  of  the  wisdom,  or  of  the  ribaldry 
and  obscenity  of  antiquity.  He  had  pored  over  these 
old  volumes  so  intensely,  that  they  seemed  to  have 
been  reflected  into  his  countenance ;  which,  if  the 
face  be  indeed  an  index  of  the  mind,  might  be  com- 
pared to  a  title-page  of  black-letter. 

On  reaching  the  church-porch,  we  found  the  par- 
son rebuking  the  gray-headed  sexton  for  having  used 
mistletoe  among  the  greens  with  which  the  church 
was  decorated.  It  was,  he  observed,  an  unholy  plant, 
profaned  by  having  been  used  by  the  Druids  in  their 
mystic  ceremonies  ;  and  though  it  might  be  inno- 
cently employed  in  the  festive  ornamenting  of  halls 
and  kitchens,  yet  it  had  been  deemed  by  the  Fathers 
of  the  Church  as  unhallowed,  and  totally  unfit  for 
sacred  purposes.  So  tenacious  was  he  on  this  point, 
that  the  poor  sexton  was  obliged  to  strip  down  a 
great  part  of  the  humble  trophies  of  his  taste,  before 
the  ijarson  would  consent  to  enter  upon  the  service 
of  the  day. 

The  interior  of  the  church  was  venerable,  but 
simple  ;  on  the  walls  were  several  mural  monuments 
of  the  Bracebridges,  and  just  beside  the  altar,  was  a 
tomb  of  ancient  workmanship,  on  which  lay  the  effi- 
gy of  a  warrior  in  armour,  with  his  legs  crossed,  a 
sign  of  his  having  beon  a  crusader.  I  was  told  it 
was  one  of  the  family  who  had  signalized  himself  in 
the  Holy  Land,  and  the  same  whose  picture  hung 
over  the  fire-place  in  the  hall. 

During  service.  Master  Simon  stood  up  in  the  pew, 
and  repeated  the  responses  very  audibly  ;  evincing 
that  kind  of  ceremonious  devotion  punctually  observ- 
ed by  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  and  a  man  of 
old  family  connexions.  1  observed,  too,  that  he 
turned  over  the  leaves  of  a  folio  prayer-book  with 
something  of  a  flourish,  possibly  to  show  off  an 
enormous  seal-ring  which  enriched  one  of  his  fingers, 


and  which  had  the  look  of  a  family  relic.  But  he  was 
evidently  most  solicitous  about  the  musical  part  of 
the  service,  keeping  his  eye  fixed  intently  on  the 
choir,  and  beating  time  with  much  gesticulation  and 
emphasis. 

The  orchestra  was  in  a  small  gallerj',  and  presented 
a  most  whimsical  grouping  of  heads,  piled  one  above 
the  other,  among  which  I  particularly  noticed  that 
of  the  village  tailor,  a  pale  fellow  with  a  retreating 
forehead  and  chin,  who  played  on  the  clarionet,  and 
seemed  to  have  blown  his  face  to  a  point  ;  and  there 
was  another,  a  short  pursy  man,  stooping  and  labour- 
ing at  a  bass  viol,  so  as  to  show  nothing  but  the 
top  of  a  round  bald  head,  like  the  egg  of  an  ostrich. 
There  were  two  or  three  pretty  faces  among  the 
female  singers,  to  which  the  keen  air  of  a  frosty 
morning  had  given  a  bright  rosy  tint :  but  the  gentle- 
men choristers  had  evidently  been  chosen,  like  old 
Cremona  fiddles,  more  for  tone  than  looks ;  and  as 
several  had  to  sing  from  the  same  book,  there  were 
clusterings  of  odd  physiognomies,  not  unlike  those 
groups  of  cherubs  we  sometimes  see  on  country 
tombstones. 

The  usual  services  of  the  choir  were  managed 
tolerably  well,  the  vocal  parts  generally  lagging  a 
little  behind  the  instrumental,  and  some  loitering  fid- 
dler now  and  then  making  up  for  lost  time  by  travel- 
Ung  over  a  passage  with  prodigious  celerity,  and  clear- 
ing more  bars  than  the  keenest  fox-hunter,  to  be  in 
at  the  death.  But  the  great  trial  was  an  anthem  that 
had  been  prepared  and  arranged  by  Master  Simon, 
and  on  which  he  had  founded  great  expectation.  Un- 
luckily there  was  a  blunder  at  the  very  outset — the 
musicians  became  flurried  ;  Master  Simon  was  in  a 
fever ;  every  thing  went  on  lamely  and  irregularly, 
until  they  came  to  a  chorus  beginning,  "  Now  let  us 
sing  with  one  accord,"  which  seemed  to  be  a  signal 
for  parting  company:  all  became  discord  and  confu- 
sion ;  each  shifted  for  himself,  and  got  to  the  end  as 
well,  or,  rather,  as  soon  as  he  could  ;  excepting  one 
old  chorister,  in  a  pair  of  horn  spectacles,  bestriding 
and  pinching  a  long  sonorous  nose ;  who,  happening 
to  stand  a  little  apart,  and  being  wrapped  up  in  his 
own  melody,  kept  on  a  quavering  course,  wriggling 
his  head,  ogling  his  book,  and  winding  all  up  by  a 
nasal  solo  of  at  least  three  bars'  duration. 

The  parson  gave  us  a  most  erudite  sermon  on  the 
rites  and  ceremonies  of  Christmas,  and  the  propriety 
of  observing  it,  not  merely  as  a  day  of  thanksgiving, 
but  of  rejoicing;  supporting  the  correctness  of  his 
opinions  by  the  earliest  usages  of  the  church,  and  en- 
forcing them  by  the  authorities  of  Theophilus  of 
Cesarea,  St.  Cyprian,  St.  Chrysostom,  St.  Augustine, 
and  a  cloud  more  of  Saints  and  Fathers,  from  whom 
he  made  copious  quotations.  I  was  a  little  at  a  loss  to 
perceive  the  necessity  of  such  a  mighty  array  of  forces 
to  maintain  a  point  which  no  one  present  seemed 
inclined  to  dispute  ;  but  I  soon  found  that  the  good 
man  had  a  legion  of  ideal  adversaries  to  contend 
with ;  having,  in  the  course  of  his  researches  on  the 
subject  of  Christmas,  got  completely  embroiled  in 
the  sectarian  controversies  of  the  Revolution,  when 
the  Puritans  made  such  a  fierce  assault  upon  the 
ceremonies  of  the  church,  and  poor  old  Christmas 
was  driven  out  of  the  land  by  proclamation  of  Parlia- 
ment.''' The  worthy  parson  lived  but  with  times 
past,  and  knew  but  little  of  the  present. 

Shut  up  among  worm-eaten  tomes  in  the  retire- 


*  From  the  "  Flying  Eagle,"  a  small  Gazette,  published  Decem- 
ber 24th,  i6<;2 — "  The  House  spent  much  time  this  day  about  the 
business  of  the  Navy,  for  settling  the  affairs  at  sea,  and  before  they 
rose,  were  presented  with  a  terrible  remonstrance  against  Christ- 
mas day.  grounded  upon  divine  Scriptures.  2  Cor.  v,  16.  1  Cor.  xv. 
14,  17  ;  and  in  honour  of  the  Lord's  Day,  grounded  upon  these 
Scriptures,  John  xx.  i.  Rev.  i.  10.  Psalms,  cxviii.  24.  Lev.  xx.  iii. 
7,  II.  Mark  XV.  8.  Psalms,  Ixxziv.  10;  in  which  Christmas  is  called 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


57 


ment  of  his  antiquated  little  study,  the  pages  of  old 
times  were  to  him  as  the  gazettes  of  the  day  ;  while 
the  era  of  the  Revolution  was  mere  modern  history. 
He  forgot  that  nearly  two  centuries  had  elapsed 
since  the  fiery  persecution  of  poor  mince-pie  through- 
out the  land  ;  when  plum  porridge  was  denounced  as 
"mere  popery,"  and  roast  beef  as  anli-christian  ; 
and  that  Christmas  had  been  brought  in  again  tri- 
umphantly with  the  merry  court  of  King  Charles  at 
the  Restoration.  He  kindled  into  warmth  with  the 
ardour  of  his  contest,  and  the  host  of  imaginary  foes 
with  whom  he  had  to  combat ;  he  had  a  stubborn 
conflict  with  old  Prynne  and  two  or  three  other  for- 
gotten champions  of  the  Round  Heads,  on  the  subject 
of  Christmas  festivity ;  and  concluded  by  urging  his 
hearers,  in  the  most  solemn  and  affecting  manner, 
to  stand  to  the  traditional  customs  of  their  fathers, 
and  fe.ast  and  make  merry  on  this  joyful  anniversary 
of  the  church. 

I  have  seldom  known  a  sermon  attended  appar- 
ently with  more  immediate  effects ;  for  on  leaving 
the  church,  the  congregation  seemed  one  and  all 
possessed  with  the  gayety  of  spirit  so  earnestly  en- 
joined by  their  pastor.  The  elder  folks  gathered  in 
knots  in  the  churchyard,  greeting  and  shaking 
hands:  and  the  children  ran  about  crying,  "Ule! 
Ule  !  "  and  repeating  some  uncouth  rhymes,*  which 
the  parson,  who  had  joined  us,  informed  me,  had 
been  handed  down  from  days  of  yore.  The  vil- 
lagers doffed  their  hats  to  the  'Squire  as  he 
passed,  giving  him  the  good  wishes  of  the  season 
with  every  appearance  of  heartfelt  sincerity,  and 
were  invited  by  him  to  the  hall,  to  take  something 
to  keep  out  the  cold  of  the  weather ;  and  1  heard 
blessings  uttered  by  several  of  the  poor,  which  con- 
vinced me  that,  in  the  midst  of  his  enjoyments,  the 
worthy  old  cavalier  had  not  forgotten  the  true 
Christmas  virtue  of  charity. 

On  our  way  homeward,  his  heart  seemed  over- 
flowing with  generous  and  happy  feehngs.  As  we 
passed  over  a  rising  ground  which  commanded 
something  of  a  prospect,  the  sounds  of  rustic  mer- 
riment now  and  then  reached  our  ears  ;  the  'Squire 
paused  for  a  few  moments,  and  looked  around  with 
an  air  of  inexpressible  benignity.  The  beauty  of 
the  day  was,  of  itself,  sufficient  to  inspire  philan- 
thropy. Notwithstanding  the  frostiness  of  the 
morning,  the  sun  in  his  cloudless  journey  had  ac- 
quired sufficient  power  to  melt  away  the  thin  cover- 
ing of  snow  from  every  southern  declivity,  and  to 
bring  out  the  living  green  which  adorns  an  English 
landscape  even  in  mid-winter.  Large  tracts  of  smil- 
ing verdure,  contrasted  with  the  dazzling  whiteness 
of  the  shaded  slopes  and  hollows.  Every  sheltered 
hank,  on  which  the  broad  rays  rested,  yielded  its  sil- 
ver rill  of  cold  and  limpid  water,  glittering  through 
the  dripping  grass ;  and  sent  up  slight  exhalations 
to  contribute  to  the  thin  haze  that  hung  just  above 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  There  was  something  truly 
cheering  in  this  triumph  of  warmth  and  verdure  over 
the  frosty  thraldom  of  winter  ;  it  was,  as  the  'Squire 
observed,  an  emblem  of  Christmas  hospitality,  break- 
ing through  the  chills  of  ceremony  and  selfishness, 
and  thawing  every  heart  into  a  flow.  He  pointed 
with  pleasure  to  the  indications  of  good  cheer  reek- 
ing from  the  chimneys  of  the  comfortable  farm- 
houses, and  low  thatched  cottages.  "  I  love,"  said 
he,  "  to  see  this  day  well  kept  by  rich  and  poor ;  it 

Anti-christ's  masse,  and  those  Masse-mongcrs  and  Papists  who  ob- 
serve it,  &c.  In  consequence  of  which  Parliament  spent  some 
time  in  consultation  about  the  abolition  of  Christ.-r.as  day,  passed 
orders  to  that  effect,  and  resolved  to  sit  on  the  following  day  which 
was  commonly  called  Christmas  day." 

•  •'  Ule  !  Ule  !  _ 

Three  puddings  in  a  pule  ; 
Ciack  nuts  and  cry  ule  ! " 


is  a  great  thing  to  have  one  day  in  the  year,  at  least, 
when  you  are  sure  of  being  welcome  wherever  you 
go,  and  of  having,  as  it  were,  the  world  all  thrown 
open  to  you ;  and  I  am  almost  disposed  to  join  with 
poor  Robin,  in  his  malediction  on  every  churlish 
enemy  to  this  honest  festival : 

"  '  Those  who  at  Christmas  do  repine. 
And  would  fain  hence  despatch  him. 
May  they  with  old  Duke  Humphry  dine. 
Or  else  may  'Squire  Ketch  catch  h'm.'  '* 

The  'Squire  went  on  to  lament  the  deplorable  de- 
cay of  the  games  and  amusements  which  were  once 
prevalent  at  this  season  among  the  lower  orders,  and 
countenanced  by  the  higher ;  when  the  old  halls  of 
castles  and  manor-houses  were  thrown  open  at  day- 
light ;  when  the  tables  were  covered  with  brawn, 
and  beef,  and  humming  ale  ;  when  the  harp  and  the 
carol  resounded  all  day  long,  and  when  rich  and 
poor  were  alike  welcome  to  enter  and  make  merry.* 
"  Our  old  games  and  local  customs,"  said  he,  "  had 
a  great  effect  in  making  the  peasant  fond  of  his 
home,  and  the  promotion  of  them  by  the  gentry 
made  him  fond  of  his  lord.  They  made  the  times 
merrier,  and  kinder,  and  better,  and  I  can  truly  say 
with  one  of  our  old  poets, 

"  I  like  them  well — the  curious  preciseness 
And  all-pretended  gravity  of  those 
That  seek  to  banish  hence  these  harmless  sports, 
Have  thrust  away  much  ancient  honesty." 

"  The  nation,"  continued  he,  "  is  altered ;  we 
have  almost  lost  our  simple  true-hearted  peasantry. 
They  have  broken  asunder  from  the  higher  classes, 
and  seem  to  think  their  interests  are  separate.  They 
have  become  too  knowing,  and  begin  to  read  news- 
papers, listen  to  alehouse  politicians,  and  talk  of  re- 
form. I  think  one  mode  to  keep  them  in  good- 
humour  in  these  hard  times,  would  be  for  the  nobil- 
ity and  gentry  to  pass  more  time  on  their  estates, 
mingle  more  among  the  country  people,  and  set  the 
merry  old  English  games  going  again." 

Such  was  the  good  'Squire's  project  for  mitigating 
public  discontent :  and,  indeed,  he  had  once  at- 
tempted to  put  his  doctrine  in  practice,  and  a  few 
years  before  had  kept  open  house  durirg  the  holy- 
days  in  the  old  style.  The  country  people,  however, 
did  not  understand  how  to  play  their  parts  in  the 
scene  of  hospitality ;  many  uncouth  circumstances 
occurred  ;  the  manor  was  overrun  by  all  the  vagrants 
of  the  country,  and  more  beggars  drawn  into  the 
neighbourhood  in  one  week  than  the  parish  officers 
could  get  rid  of  in  a  year.  Since  then,  he  had  con- 
tented himself  with  inviting  the  decent  part  of  the 
neighbouring  peasantry  to  call  at  the  Hall  on  Christ- 
mas day,  and  with  distributing  beef,  and  bread,  and 
ale,  among  the  poor,  that  they  might  make  merry  in 
their  own  dwellings. 

We  had  not  been  long  home,  when  the  sound  of 
music  was  heard  from  a  distance.  A  band  of  coun- 
try lads,  without  coats,  their  shirt-sleeves  fancifully 
tied  with  ribands,  their  hats  decorated  with  greens, 
and  clubs  in  their  hands,  were  seen  advancing  up 
the  avenue,  followed  by  a  large  number  of  villagers 
and  peasantry.  They  stopped  before  the  hall  door, 
where  the  music  struck  up  a  peculiar  air,  and  the 
lads  performed  a  curious  and  intricate  dance,  ad- 
vancing, retreating,  and  striking  their  clubs  together. 


♦  "An  Knglish  gentleman  at  the  opening  of  the  great  day,  i.  e. 
on  Christmas  day  in  the  morning,  had  all  his  tenants  and  neigh- 
bours entered  his  hall  by  day-break.  The  strong  beer  was 
broached,  and  the  black  jacks  went  plentifully  about  with  lo«st, 
sugar,  and  nutmeg,  and  ^ood  Cheshire  cheese.  The  Hackin  vthe 
great  sausage)  must  be  boiled  by  day-break,  or  else  two  young  men 
must  take  the  maiden  (r.  f.  the  cook)  by  the  arms  and  run  her 
round  the  market  place  till  she  is  shamed  of  her  laziness.*'— 
Round  about  our  Sea-Coal  Fire, 


6S 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


keeping  exact  time  to  the  music  ;  while  one,  whim- 
sically crowned  with  a  fox's  skin,  the  tail  of  which 
flaunted  down  his  back,  kept  capering  round  the 
skirts  of  the  dance,  and  rattling  a  Christmas-box 
with  many  antic  gesticulations. 

The  'Squire  eyed  this  fanciful  exhibition  with 
great  interest  and  delight,  and  gave  me  a  full  ac- 
count of  its  origin,  which  he  traced  to  the  times 
when  the  Romans  held  possession  of  the  island  ; 
plainly  proving  that  this  was  a  lineal  d.  scendant  of 
the  sword-dance  of  the  ancients.  "  It  was  now,"  he 
said,  "  nearly  extinct,  but  he  had  accidentally  met 
with  traces  of  it  in  the  neighbourhoad,  and  had  en- 
couraged its  revival ;  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  it  was 
too  apt  to  be  followed  up  by  rough  cudgel-play,  and 
broken  heads,  in  the  evening." 

After  the  dance  was  concluded,  the  whole  party 
was  entertained  with  brawn  and  beef,  and  stout 
home-brewed.  The  'Squire  himself  mingled  among 
the  rustics,  and  was  received  with  awkward  demon- 
strations of  deference  and  regard.  It  is  true,  I  per- 
ceived two  or  three  of  the  younger  peasants,  as  they 
were  raising  their  tankards  to  their  mouths,  when 
the  'Squire's  back  was  turned,  making  something  of 
a  grimace,  and  giving  each  other  the  wink  ;  but  the 
moment  they  caught  my  eye  they  pulled  grave  faces, 
and  were  exceedingly  demure.  With  Master  Simon, 
however,  they  all  seemed  more  at  their  ease.  His 
varied  occupations  and  amusements  had  made  him 
well  known  throughout  the  neighbourhood.  He  was 
a  visitor  at  every  farm-house  and  cottage  ;  gossiped 
with  the  farmers  and  their  wives  ;  romped  with  their 
daughters  ;  and,  like  that  type  of  a  vagrant  bachelor 
the  humble-bee,  tolled  the  sweets  from  all  the  rosy 
lips  of  the  country  round. 

The  bashlulness  of  the  guests  soon  gave  way  be- 
fore good  cheer  and  affability.  There  is  somethin ; 
genuine  and  affectionate  in  the  gayety  of  the  lower 
orders,  when  it  is  excited  by  the  bounty  and  familiar- 
ity of  those  above  them  ;  the  warm  glow  of  gratitude 
enters  into  their  mirth,  and  a  kind  word  or  a  small 
pleasantry  frankly  uttered  by  a  patron,  gladdens  the 
heart  of  the  dependant  more  than  oil  and  wine. 
When  the  'Squire  had  retired,  the  merriment  in- 
creased, and  there  was  much  joking  and  laughter, 
particularly  between  Master  Simon  and  a  hale, 
ruddy-faced,  white-headed  farmer,  who  appeared  to 
be  the  wit  of  the  village  ;  for  I  observed  all  his  com- 
panions to  wait  with  open  mouths  for  his  retorts, 
and  burst  into  a  gratuitous  laugh  before  they  could 
well  understand  them. 

The  whole  house  indeed  seemed  abandoned  to 
merriment  :  as  I  passed  to  my  room  to  dress  for 
dinner,  I  heard  the  sound  of  music  in  a  small  court, 
and  looking  through  a  window  that  commanded  it,  I 
perceived  a  band  of  wandering  musicians,  with  pan- 
dean  pipes  and  tambourine ;  a  pretty  coquettish 
housemaid  was  dancing  a  jig  with  a  smart  country 
lad,  while  several  of  the  other  servants  were  looking 
on.  In  the  midst  of  her  sport,  the  girl  caught  a 
glimpse  of  my  face  at  the  window,  and  colouring  up, 
ran  off  with  an  air  of  roguish  affected  confusion. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  DINNER. 


Lo,  now  is  come  ourjoyful'st  feast! 

Let  every  man  be  jolly, 
Each  roome  with  yvie  leaves  is  drest, 

And  every  post  with  holly. 
Now  all  our  neighbours'  chimneys  smolie. 

And  Christmas  blocks  are  burning; 
Their  ovens  they  with  bak't  meats  choke, 
And  all  their  spits  are  turning. 
Without  the  door  let  sorrow  lie, 
And  if,  for  cold,  it  hap  to  die. 
Wee  '1  bury  't  in  a  Christmas  pye. 
And  evermore  be  merry. 

WiTHEKs'  Jiivcnilia, 

I  HAD  finished  my  toilet,  and  was  loitering  with 
Frank  Bracebridge  in  the  library,  when  we  heard  a 
distant  thwacking  sound,  which  he  informed  me  was 
a  signal  for  the  serving  up  of  the  dinner.  The  'Squire 
kept  up  old  customs  in  kitchen  as  well  as  hall ;  and 
the  rolling-pin  struck  upon  the  dresser  by  the  cook, 
summoned  the  servants  to  carry  in  the  meats. 

Just  in  this  nick  the  cook  knock'd  thrice. 
And  all  the  waiters  in  a  trice, 

His  summons  did  obey  ; 
Fach  serving  man,  with  dish  in  hand. 
Matched  bodly  up,  like  our  train  band. 

Presented,  and  away.* 

The  dinner  was  served  up  in  the  great  hall,  where 
the  'Squire  always  held  his  Christmas  banquet.  A 
blazing  crackling  fire  of  logs  had  been  heaped  on  to 
warm  the  spacious  apartment,  and  the  flame  went 
spr.rkling  and  wreathing  up  the  wide-mouthed  chim- 
ney. The  great  picture  of  the  crusader  and  his  white 
horse  had  been  profusely  decorated  with  greens  for 
tlie  occasion  ;  and  holly  and  ivy  had  likewise  been 
wreathed  round  the  helmet  and  weapons  on  the  op- 
posite wall,  which  I  understood  were  the  arms  of  the 
same  warrior.  I  must  own,  by-the-by,  I  had  strong 
doubts  about  the  authenticity  of  the  painting  and 
armour  as  having  belonged  to  the  crusader,  they  cer- 
tainly having  the  stamp  of  more  recent  days  ;  but  I 
was  told  that  the  painting  had  been  so  considered 
time  out  of  mind  ;  and  that,  as  to  the  armour,  it  had 
been  found  in  a  lumber-room,  and  elevated  to  its 
present  situation  by  the  'Squire,  who  at  once  deter- 
mined it  to  be  the  armour  of  the  family  hero  ;  and  as 
he  was  absolute  authority  on  all  such  subjects  in  his 
own  household,  the  matter  had  passed  into  current 
acceptation.  A  sideboard  was  set  out  just  under 
this  chivalric  trophy,  on  which  was  a  display  of  plate 
that  might  have  vied  (at  least  iu  variety)  with  Bel- 
shazzar's  parade  of  the  vessels  of  the  temple  ;  "  fla- 
gons, cans,  cups,  beakers,  goblets,  basins,  and  ent- 
ers ;  "  the  gorgeous  utensils  of  good  companionship 
that  had  gradually  accumulated  through  many  gen- 
erations of  jovial  housekeepers.  Before  these  stood 
the  two  yule  candles,  beaming  like  two  stars  of  the 
first  magnitude ;  other  lights  were  distributed  in 
branches,  and  the  whole  array  glittered  like  a  firma- 
ment of  silver. 

We  were  ushered  into  this  banqueting  scene  with 
the  sound  of  minstrelsy  ;  the  old  harper  being  seated 
on  a  stool  beside  the  fire-place,  and  twanging  his  in- 
strument with  a  vast  deal  more  power  than  melody. 
Never  did  Christmas  board  display  a  more  goodly 
and  gracious  assemblage  of  countenances  ;  those 
who  were  not  handsome,  were,  at  least,  happy ;  and 
happiness  is  a  rare  improver  of  your  hard-favoured 
visage.  I  always  consider  an  old  English  family  as 
well  worth  studying  as  a  collection  of  Holbein's  por- 
traits, or  Albert  Durer's  prints.  There  is  much  an- 
tiquarian lore  to  be  acquired  ;  much  knowledge  of 
the  physiognomies  of  former  times.     Perhaps  it  may 


♦  Sir  John  Sucklinj^. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


59 


be  from  having'  continually  before  their  eyes  those 
rows  of  old  family  portraits,  with  which  the  man- 
sions of  this  country  are  stocked ;  certain  it  is,  that 
the  quaint  features  of  antiquity  are  often  most  faith- 
fully perpetuated  in  these  ancient  lines ;  and  I  have 
tiaced  an  old  family  nose  through  a  whole  picture- 
gallery,  Iej!fitimately  handed  down  from  generation 
to  generation,  almost  from  the  time  of  the  Conquest. 
Something  of  the  kind  was  to  be  observed  in  the 
worthy  company  around  me.  Many  of  their  faces 
had  evidently  originated  in  a  Gothic  age,  and  been 
merely  copied  by  succeeding  generations  ;  and  there 
was  one  little  girl,  in  particular,  of  staid  demeanour, 
with  a  high  Roman  nose,  and  an  antique  vinegar  as- 
pect, who  was  a  great  favourite  of  the  'Squire's,  be- 
ing, as  he  said,  a  Bracebridge  all  over,  and  the  very 
counterpart  of  one  of  his  ancestors  who  figured  in 
the  court  of  Henry  VIII. 

The  ])arson  said  grace,  which  was  not  a  short  fa- 
miliar one,  such  as  is  commonly  addressed  to  the 
Deity  in  these  unceremonious  days;  but  a  long, 
courtly,  well  -  worded  one  of  the  ancient  school. 
There  was  now  a  pause,  as  if  something  was  ex- 
pected ;  when  suddenly  the  butler  entered  the  hall 
with  some  degree  of  bustle  :  he  was  attended  by  a 
servant  on  each  side  with  a  large  wax-light,  and  bore 
a  silver  dish,  on  which  was  an  enormous  pig's  head, 
decorated  with  rosemary,  with  a  lemon  in  its  mouth, 
which  was  placed  with  great  formality  at  the  head 
of  the  table.  The  moment  this  pageant  made  its 
appearance,  the  harper  struck  up  a  flourish  ;  at  the 
conclusion  of  which  the  young  Oxonian,  on  receiving 
a  hint  from  the  'Squire,  gave,  with  an  air  of  the  most 
comic  gravity,  an  old  carol,  the  first  verse  of  which 
was  as  follows : 

Caput  apri  defero 

Reddens  laiides  Domino. 
The  boar's  head  in  Iiand  bring  T, 
With  garlands  gay  and  rosemary. 
I  pray  you  at]  synge  merily 

Qui  estis  in  convivio. 

Though  prepared  to  witness  many  of  these  little 
eccentricities,  from  being  apprized  of  the  peculiar 
hobby  of  mine  host  ;  yet,  I  confess,  the  parade  with 
which  so  odd  a  dish  was  introduced  somewhat  per- 
plexed me,  until  I  gathered  from  the  conversation  of 
the  'Squire  and  the  parson,  that  it  was  meant  to  rep- 
resent the  bringing  in  of  the  boar's  head — a  dish 
formerly  served  up  with  much  ceremony,  and  the 
sound  of  minstrelsy  and  song,  at  great  tables  on 
Christmas  day.  "  I  like  the  old  custom,"  said  the 
'Squire,  "  not  merely  because  it  is  stately  and  pleas- 
ing in  itself,  but  because  it  was  observed  at  the  col- 
lege at  Oxford,  at  which  I  was  educated.  When  I 
hear  the  old  song  chanted,  it  brings  to  mind  the  time 
when  I  was  young  and  gamesome — and  the  noble 
old  college  hall — and  my  fellow-students  loitering 
about  in  their  black  gowns ;  many  of  whom,  poor 
lads,  are  now  in  their  graves  !  " 

The  parson,  however,  whose  mind  was  not  haunt- 
ed by  such  associations,  and  who  was  always  more 
taken  up  with  the  text  than  the  sentiment,  objected 
to  the  Oxonian's  version  of  the  carol ;  which  he  af- 
firmed was  different  from  that  sung  at  college.  He 
went  on,  with  the  dry  perseverance  of  a  commenta- 
tor, to  give  the  college  reading,  accompanied  by 
sundry  annotations ;  addressing  himself  at  first  to 
the  company  at  large ;  but  finding  their  attention 
gradually  diverted  to  other  talk,  and  other  objects, 
he  lowered  his  tone  as  his  number  of  auditors  di- 
minished, until  he  concluded  his  remarks  in  an  under 
voice,  to  a  fat-headed  old  gentleman  next  him,  who 
was  silently  engaged  in  the  discussion  of  a  huge 
plate-fuU  of  turkey.* 

•The  old  ceremony  of  serving  up  the  boar's  head  on  Christmas 
day,  is  still  observed  in  the  hall  of  Queen's  College,  Oxford.    I  was 


The  table  was  literally  loaded  with  good  cheer, 
and  presented  an  epitome  of  country  abundance,  in 
this  season  of  overflowing  larders.  A  distinguished 
post  was  allotted  to  "  ancient  sirloin,"  as  mine  host 
termed  it ;  being,  as  he  added,  "  the  standard  of  old 
English  hospitality,  and  a  joint  of  goodly  presence, 
and  full  of  expectation."  There  were  several  dishes 
quaintly  decorated,  and  which  had  evidently  some- 
thing traditional  in  their  embellishments  ;  but  about 
which,  as  I  did  not  like  to  appear  over-curious,  I 
asked  no  questions. 

I  could  not,  however,  but  notice  a  pie,  magnificent- 
ly decorated  with  peacocks'  feathers,  in  imitation  ot 
the  tail  of  that  bird,  which  overshadowed  a  con- 
siderable tract  of  the  table.  This,  the  'Squire  con- 
fessed, with  some  little  hesitation,  was  a  pheasant 
pie,  though  a  peacock  pie  was  certainly  the  most  au- 
thentical ;  but  there  had  been  such  a  mortality  among 
the  peacocks  this  season,  that  he  could  not  prevail 
upon  himself  to  have  one  killed.* 

It  would  be  tedious,  perhaps,  to  my  wiser  readers, 
who  may  not  have  that  foolish  fondness  for  odd  and 
obsolete  things  to  which  I  am  a  little  given,  were  I 
to  mention  the  other  make-shifts  of  this  worthy  old 
humorist,  by  which  he  was  endeavouring  to  follow 
up,  though  at  humble  distance,  the  quaint  customs 
of  antiquity.  1  was  pleased,  however,  to  see  the  re- 
spect shown  to  his  whims  by  his  children  and  rela- 
tives ;  who,  indeed,  entered  readily  into  the  full  spirit 
of  them,  and  seemed  all  well  versed  in  their  parts; 
having  doubtless  been  present  at  many  a  rehearsal. 
I  was  amused,  too,  at  the  air  of  profound  gravity 
with  which  the  butler  and  other  servants  executed 
the  duties  assigned  them,  however  eccentric.  They 
had  an  old-fashioned  look  ;  having,  for  the  most  part, 
been  brought  up  in  the  household,  and  grown  mto 
keeping  with  the  antiquated  mansion,  and  the 
humours  of  its  lord  ;  and  most  probably  looked  upon 
all  his  whimsical  regulations  as  the  established  laws 
of  honourable  housekeeping. 

When  the  cloth  was  removed,  the  butler  brought 
in  a  huge  silver  vessel,  of  rare  and  curious  workman- 
ship, which  he  placed  before  the  'Squire.  Its  appear- 
ance was  hailed  with  acclamation  ;  being  the  Was- 
sail Bowl,  so  renowned  in  Christmas  festivity.  The 
contents  had  been  prepared  by  the  'Squire  himself ; 


favoured  by  the  parson  with  a  copy  of  the  carol  as  now  sung,  and 
as  it  may  be  acceptable  to  such  of  my  readers  as  are  curious  in  these 
grave  and  learned  matters,  1  give  it  entire  : 

The  boar's  head  in  hand  bear  I, 
Bedeck'd  with  bays  and  rosemary  ; 
And  I  pray  you,  my  masters,  be  merry, 
Quot  estis  in  convivio. 

Caput  apri  defero. 

Reddens  laudes  Domino. 

The  boar's  head,  as  I  understand, 
Is  the  rarest  dish  in  all  this  land, 
Which  thus  bedeck'd  with  a  gay  garland 
Let  us  servire  cantico. 
Caput  apri  defero,  &c. 

Our  steward  hath  provided  this 
In  honour  of  the  King  of  Bliss, 
Which  on  this  day  to  be  served  is 
In  Rcginensi  Atno. 
Caput  apri  defero, 
(Stc,  &c.,  &c. 

•  The  peacock  was  anciently  in  great  demand  for  stalely  enter- 
tainments. Sometimes  it  was  made  into  a  pie,  at  one  end  of  which 
the  head  appearerl  above  the  crust  in  all  its  plumage,  with  the  beak 
richly  gilt ;  at  the  other  end  the  tail  was  displayed.  Such  pies  were 
served  up  at  the  solemn  banquets  of  chivalrj',  when  Knights-errant 
pledged  themselves  to  undertake  any  perilous  enterprise,  whence 
came  the  ancient  oath,  used  by  Justice  Shallow,  "  by  cock  and  pie." 

The  peacock  was  also  an  important  dish  for  the  Christmas  feast  ; 
and  Massingerj  in  his  City  Madam,  gives  some  idea  of  the  ex:rava- 
gance  with  which  this,  as  well  as  other  dishes,  was  prepared  for  the 
gorgeous  revels  of  the  olden  times  : 

Men  may  talk  of  Country  Christmasses. 

Their  thirty  pound  butler'd  eggs,  their  pies  of  carps'  tongues  : 

Their  pheasants  drench'd  with  ambergris  ;  the  carcases  of  three 
\^at  wethers  bruUed/or  gravy  ta  make  sauce yor  a  single pea~ 
cock  t 


60 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


for  it  was  a  beverage,  in  the  skilful  mixture  of  which 
he  particularly  prided  himself:  alleging  that  it  was 
too  abstruse  and  complex  for  the  comprehension  of 
an  ordinary  servant.  It  was  a  potation,  indeed,  that 
might  well  make  the  heart  of  a  toper  leap  within 
him ;  being  composed  of  the  richest  and  raciest 
wines,  highly  spiced  and  sweetened,  with  roasted 
apples  bobbing  about  the  surface.* 

The  old  gentleman's  whole  countenance  beamed 
with  a  serene  look  of  indwelling  delight,  as  he  stirred 
this  mighty  bowl.  Having  raised  it  to  his  lips,  with 
a  hearty  wish  of  a  merry  Christmas  to  all  present,  he 
sent  it  brimming  round  the  board,  for  every  one  to 
follow  his  example  according  to  the  primitive  style  ; 
pronouncing  it  "  the  ancient  tbuntain  of  good  feeling, 
where  all  hearts  met  together."t 

There  was  much  laughing  and  rallying,  as  the 
honest  emblem  of  Christmas  joviality  circulated,  and 
was  kissed  rather  coyly  by  the  ladies.  But  when  it 
reached  Master  Simon,  he  raised  it  in  both  hands, 
and  with  the  air  of  a  boon  companion,  struck  up  an 
old  Wassail  Chanson : 

The  brown  bowle, 

The  merry  brown  bowle, 

As  it  goes  round  about-a. 

Fill 

Still, 
Let  the  world  say  what  it  will, 
And  drink  your  fill  all  out-it. 

The  deep  canne, 

The  merry  deep  canne, 

As  thou  dost  freely  quaff-a, 

Sing 

Fling. 
Be  as  merry  as  a  king, 
And  sound  a  lusty  laugh-a.$ 

Much  of"  the  conversation  during  dinner  turned 
upon  family  topics,  to  which  I  was  a  stranger.  There 
was,  however,  a  great  deal  of  rallying  of  Master  Si- 
mon about  some  gay  widow,  with  whom  he  was  ac- 
cused of  having  a  flirtation.  This  attack  was  com- 
menced by  the  ladies;  but  it  was  continued  through- 
out the  dinner  by  the  fat-headed  old  gentleman  next 
the  parson,  with  the  persevering  assiduity  of  a  slow 
hound  ;  being  one  of  those  long-winded  jokers,  who, 
though  rather  dull  at  starting  game,  are  unrivalled 
for  their  talents  in  hunting  it  down.  At  every  pause 
in  the  general  conversation,  he  renewed  his  banter- 
ing in  ])retty  mucli  the  same  terms  ;  winking  hard  at 
me  with  both  eyes,  whenever  he  gave  Master  Simon 
what  he  considered  a  home  thrust.  The  latter,  in- 
deed, seemed  fond  of  being  teased  on  the  subject, 
as  old  bachelors  are  apt  to  be  ;  and  he  took  occasion 
to  inform  me,  m  an  under-tone,  that  the  lady  in 
question  was  a  prodigiously  fine  woman  and  drove 
her  own  curricle. 

The  dinner-time  passed  away  in  this  flow  of  inno- 
cent hilarity,  and  though  the  old  hall  may  have  re- 
sounded in  its  time  with  many  a  scene  of  broader 
rout  and  revel,  yet  I  doubt  whether  it  ever  witnessed 
more  honest  and  genuine  enjoyment.  How  easy  it 
is   for   one   benevolent    being    to   diffuse    pleasure 


*The  Wassail  Bowl  w.as  sometimes  composed  of  ale  instead  of 
wine  ;  with  nutmeg,  sugar,  toast,  ginger,  and  roasted  crabs  •  in  this 
way  the  nut-brown  beverage  is  still  prepared  in  some  old  families, 
and  round  the  hearth  of  substantial  farmers  at  Christmas.  It  is 
also  called  Lamb's  Wool,  and  it  is  celebrated  by  Herrick  in  his 
Twelfth  Night : 

Next  crowne  the  bowle  full 
With  gentle  Lamb's  Wool, 
Add  sugar,  nutmeg,  and  ginger. 
With  store  of  ale  too  ; 
And  thus  ye  must  doe 
To  make  the  Wassaile  a  swinger. 

+  "  The  custom  of  drinking  out  of  the  same  cup  gave  place  to 
each  having  his  cup.  When  the  steward  came  to  the  doore  with 
the  Wassel,  he  was  to  cry  three  times,  IVassel,  IVasse/,  iVassc/.  and 
then  the  chappell  (chaplain)  was  to  answer  with  a  song." — 
A  rchtealoffia, 

X  From  Poor  Robin's  Almanack. 


around  him  ;  and  how  truly  is  a  kind  heart  a  fount- 
ain of  gladness,  making  every  thing  in  its  vicinity  to 
freshen  into  smiles  !  The  joyous  disposition  of  the 
worthy  'Squire  was  perfectly  contagious  ;  he  was 
happy  himself,  and  disposed  to  make  all  the  world 
happy  ;  and  the  little  eccentricities  of  his  humour 
did  but  season,  in  a  manner,  the  sweetness  of  his 
philanthropy. 

When  the  ladies  had  retired,  the  conversation,  as 
usual,  became  still  more  animated  :  many  good  things 
were  broached  which  had  been  thought  of  during 
dinner,  but  which  would  not  exactly  do  for  a  lady's 
ear ;  and  though  1  cannot  positively  affirm  that  there 
was  much  wit  uttered,  yet  I  have  certainly  heard 
many  contests  of  rare  wit  produce  much  less  laugh- 
ter. Wit,  after  all,  is  a  mighty  tart,  pungent  in- 
gredient, and  much  too  acid  for  some  stomachs  ; 
but  honest  good-humour  is  the  oil  and  wine  of  a 
merry  meeting,  and  there  is  no  jovial  companionship 
equal  to  that,  where  the  jokes  are  rather  small,  and 
the  laughter  abundant. 

The  'Squire  told  several  long  stories  of  early  col- 
lege pranks  and  adventures,  in  som.e  of  which  the 
parson  had  been  a  sharer ;  though  in  looking  at  the 
latter,  it  required  some  effort  of  imagination  to  figure 
such  a  little  dark  anatomy  of  a  man,  into  the  perpe- 
trator of  a  madcap  gambol.  Indeed,  the  two  college 
chums  presented  pictures  of  what  men  may  be  made 
by  their  different  lots. in  life  :  the  'Squire  had  left  the 
university  to  live  lustily  on  his  paternal  domains,  in 
the  vigorous  enjoyment  of  prosperity  and  sunshine, 
and  had  flourished  on  to  a  hearty  and  florid  old  age  ; 
whilst  the  poor  parson,  on  the  contrary,  had  dried 
and  withered  away,  among  dusty  tomes,  in  the  silence 
and  shadows  of  his  study.  Still  there  seemed  to  be 
a  spark  of  ahnost  extinguished  fire,  feebly  glimmer- 
ing in  the  bottom  of  his  soul ;  and,  as  the  'Squire 
hinted  at  a  sly  story  of  the  parson  and  a  pretty  milk- 
maid whom  they  once  met  on  the  banks  of  the  Isis, 
the  old  gentleman  made  an  "  alphabet  of  faces," 
which,  as  far  as  I  could  decipher  his  physiognomy, 
I  very  believe  was  indicative  of  laughter  ; — indeed,  I 
have  rarely  met  with  an  old  gentleman  that  took 
absolute  offence  at  the  imputed  gallantries  of  his 
youth. 

1  found  the  tide  of  wine  and  wassail  fast  gaining 
on  the  dry  land  of  sober  judgment.  The  company 
grew  merrier  and  louder,  as  their  jokes  grew  duller. 
Master  Simon  was  in  as  chirping  a  humour  as  a 
grasshopper  filled  with  dew  ;  his  old  songs  grew  of 
a  warmer  complexion,  and  he  began  to  talk  maudlin 
about  the  widow.  He  even  gave  a  long  song  about 
the  wooing  of  a  widow,  which  he  informed  me  he 
had  gathered  from  an  excellent  black-letter  work 
entitled  "  Cupid's  Solicitor  for  Love  ;  "  containing 
store  of  good  advice  for  bachelors,  and  which  he 
promised  to  lend  me ;  the  first  verse  was  to  this 
effect : 

He  that  will  woo  a  widow  must  not  dally, 

He  must  make  hay  while  the  sun  cloth  shine  ; 

He  must  not  stand  with  her,  shall  I,  shall  I, 
But  boldly  say,  Widow,  thou  must  be  mine. 

This  song  inspired  the  fat-headed  old  gentleman, 
who  made  several  attempts  to  tell  a  rather  broad 
story  of  Joe  Miller,  that  was  pat  to  the  purpose  ;  but 
he  always  stuck  in  the  middle,  every  body  recollect- 
ing the  latter  part  excepting  himself  The  parson, 
too,  began  to  show  the  effects  of  good  cheer,  having 
gradually  settled  down  into  a  doze,  and  his  wig  sit- 
ting most  suspiciously  on  one  side.  Just  at  this 
juncture,  we  were  summoned  to  the  drawing-room, 
and  I  suspect,  at  the  private  instigation  of  mine  host, 
whose  joviality  seemed  always  tempered  with  a 
proper  love  of  decorum. 

After  the  dinner-table  was  removed,  the  hall  was 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


Gl 


given  up  to  the  younger  members  of  the  family, 
who,  prompted  to  all  kind  of  noisy  mirth  by  the  Ox- 
onian and  Master  Simon,  made  its  old  walls  ring 
with  their  merriment,  as  they  played  at  romping 
games.  I  delight  in  witnessing  the  gambols  of  chil- 
dren, and  particularly  at  this  happy  holyday  season, 
and  could  not  help  stealing  out  of  the  drawing-room 
on  hearing  one  of  their  peals  of  laughter.  I  found 
them  at  the  game  of  blind-man's-buff.  Master 
Simon,  who  was  the  leader  of  their  revels,  and 
seemed  on  all  occasions  to  fulfil  the  office  of  that 
ancient  potentate,  the  Lord  of  Misrule,*  was  blinded 
in  the  midst  of  the  hall.  The  little  beings  were  as 
busy  about  him  as  the  mock  fairies  about  Falstaff ; 
pinching  him,  plucking  at  the  skirts  of  his  coat,  and 
tickling  him  with  straws.  One  fine  blue-eyed  girl  of 
about  thirteen,  with  her  flaxen  hair  all  in  beautiful 
confusion,  her  frolic  face  in  a  glow,  her  frock  half 
torn  off  her  shoulders,  a  complete  picture  of  a  romp, 
was  the  chief  tormentor  ;  and  from  the  slyness  with 
which  Master  Simon  avoided  the  smaller  game,  and 
hemmed  this  wild  little  nymph  in  corners,  and 
obliged  her  to  jump  shrieking  over  chairs,  I  suspected 
the  rogue  of  being  not  a  whit  more  blinded  than  was 
convenient. 

When  I  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  I  found 
the  company  seated  round  the  fire,  listening  to  the 
parson,  who  was  deeply  ensconced  in  a  high-backed 
oaken  chair,  the  work  of  some  cunning  artificer  of 
yore,  which  had  been  brought  from  the  library  for 
his  particular  accommodation.  From  this  venerable 
piece  of  furniture,  with  which  his  shadowy  figure 
and  dark  weazen  face  so  admirably  accorded,  he 
was  dealing  forth  strange  accounts  of  the  popular 
superstitions  and  legends  of  the  surrounding  country, 
with  V, hich  he  had  become  acquainted  in  the  course 
of  his  antiquarian  researches.  I  am  half  inclined  to 
think  that  the  old  gentleman  was  himself  somewhat 
tinctured  with  superstition,  as  men  are  very  apt  to 
be,  who  live  a  recluse  and  studious  lite  in  a  seques- 
tered part  of  the  country,  and  pore  over  black-letter 
tracts,  so  often  filled  with  the  marvellous  and  super- 
natural. He  gave  us  several  anecdotes  of  the  fancies 
of  the  neighbouring  peasantry,  concerning  the  effigy 
of  the  crusader,  which  lay  on  the  tomb  by  the  church 
altar.  As  it  was  the  only  monument  of  the  kind  in 
that  part  of  the  country,  it  had  always  been  regard- 
ed with  feelings  of  superstition  by  the  good  wives  of 
the  village.  It  was  said  to  get  up  from  the  tomb 
and  walk  tlie  rounds  of  the  churchyard  in  stormy 
nights,  particularly  when  it  thundered  ;  and  one  old 
woman  whose  cottage  bordered  on  the  churchyard, 
had  seen  it  through  the  windows  of  the  church, 
when  the  moon  shone,  slowly  pacing  up  and  down 
the  aisles.  It  was  the  belief  that  some  wrong  had 
been  left  unredressed  by  the  deceased,  or  some 
treasure  hidden,  which  kept  the  spirit  in  a  state  of 
trouble  and  restlessness.  Some  talked  of  gold  and 
jewels  buried  in  the  tomb,  over  which  the  spectre 
kept  watch;  and  there  was  a  story  current  of.a 
sexton,  in  old  ti:nes,  who  endeavoured  to  break  his 
way  to  the  coffin  at  night ;  but  just  as  he  reached 
it,  received  a  violent  blow  from  the  marble  hand  of 
the  effigy,  which  stretched  him  senseless  on  the 
pavement.  These  tales  were  often  laughed  at  by 
some  of  the  sturdier  among  the  rustics  ;  yet,  when 
night  came  on,  there  were  many  of  the  stoutest  un- 
believers that  were  shy  of  venturing  alone  in  the 
footpath  that  led  across  the  churchyard. 

From  these  and  other  anecdotes  that  followed,  the 
crusader  appeared  to  be  the  favourite  hero  of  ghost 


•  At  Christmaase  there  was  in  the  Kinges  house,  wheresoever 
hee  was  lodged,  a  lorde  of  misrule,  or  maystcr  of  merie  disportes, 
and  the  lilte  had  ye  in  the  house  of  every  nobleman  of  honor ;  or 
good  worshippe,  were  he  spirituall  or  temporall.— Stow. 


Stories  throughout  the  vicinity.  His  picture,  which 
hung  up  in  the  hall,  was  thought  by  the  servants  to 
have  something  supernatural  about  it :  for  they  re- 
marked that,  in  whatever  part  of  the  hall  you  went, 
the  eyes  of  the  warrior  were  still  fixed  on  you.  The 
old  porter's  wife,  too,  at  the  lodge,  who  had  been 
born  and  brouglit  up  in  the  family,  and  was  a  great 
gossip  among  the  maid-servants,  affirmed,  that  in 
her  young  days  she  had  often  heard  say,  that  on 
M'dsummer  eve,  when  it  was  well  known  all  kinds 
of  ghosts,  goblins,  and  fairies,  oecome  visible  and 
walk  abroad,  the  crusader  used  to  mount  his  horse, 
come  down  from  his  picture,  ride  about  the  house, 
down  the  avenue,  and  so  to  the  church  to  visit  the 
tomb ;  on  which  occasion  the  church  door  most 
civilly  swung  open  of  itself ;  not  that  he  needed  it — 
for  he  rode  through  closed  gates  and  even  stone 
walls,  and  had  been  seen  by  one  of  the  dairy-maids 
to  pass  between  two  bars  of  the  great  park  gate, 
making  himself  as  thin  as  a  sheet  of  paper. 

All  these  superstitions  I  found  had  been  very 
much  countenanced  by  the  'Squire,  who,  though  not 
superstitious  himself,  was  very  fond  of  seeing  others 
so.  He  listened  to  every  goljlin  tale  of  the  neigh- 
bouring gossips  with  infinite  gravity,  and  held  the 
porter's  wife  in  high  favour  on  account  of  her  talent 
for  the  marvellous.  He  was  hiinself  a  great  reader 
of  old  legends  and  romances,  and  often  lamented 
that  he  could  not  believe  in  them  ;  for  a  superstitious 
person,  he  thought,  must  live  in  a  kind  of  fairy  land. 

Whilst  we  were  all  attention  to  the  parson's 
stories,  our  ears  were  suddenly  assailed  by  a  burst 
of  heterogeneous  sounds  from  the  hall,  in  which 
were  mingled  something  like  the  clang  of  rude  min- 
strelsy, with  the  uproar  of  many  small  voices  and 
girlish  laughter.  The  door  suddenly  flew  open,  and 
a  train  came  trooping  into  the  room,  that  might  al- 
most have  been  mistaken  for  the  breaking  up  of  the 
court  of  Fairy.  That  indefatigable  spirit.  Master 
Siinon,  in  the  faithful  discharge  of  his  duties  as  lord 
of  misrule,  had  conceived  the  idea  of  a  Christmas 
mummery,  or  masqumg ;  and  having  called  in  to  his 
assistance  the  Oxonian  and  the  young  officer,  who 
were  equally  ripe  for  any  thing  that  should  occasion 
romping  and  merriment,  they  had  carried  it  into  in- 
stant effect.  The  old  housekeeper  had  been  con- 
sulted ;  the  antique  clothes-presses  and  wardrobes 
rummaged,  and  made  to  yield  up  the  relics  of  finery 
that  had  not  seen  the  light  for  several  generations  ; 
the  younger  part  of  the  company  had  been  privately 
convened  from  parlour  and  hall,  and  the  whole  had 
been  bedizened  out,  into  a  burlesque  imitation  of 
an  antique  masque.* 

Master  Simon  led  the  van  as  "  Ancient  Christ- 
mas," quaintly  apparelled  in  a  ruff,  a  short  cloak, 
which  had  very  much  the  aspect  of  one  of  the  old 
hbusekeeper's  petticoats,  and  a  hat  that  might  have 
served  for  a  village  steeple,  and  must  indubitably 
have  figured  in  the  days  of  the  Covenanters.  From 
under  this,  his  nose  curved  boldly  forth,  flushed  with 
a  frost-  bitten  bloom  that  seemed  the  very  trophy  of 
a  December  blast.  He  was  accompanied  by  the 
blue-eyed  romp,  dished  up  as  "  Dame  Mince  Pie," 
in  the  venerable  magnificence  of  faded  brocade,  long 
stomacher,  peaked  heart,  and  high-heeled  shoes. 

The  young  officer  appeared  as  Robin  Hood,  in  a 
sporting  dress  of  Kendal  green,  and  a  foraging  cap 
with  a  gold  tassel. 

The  costume,  to  be  sure,  did  not  bear  testimony  to 
deep  research,  and  there  was  an  evident  eye  to  the 
picturesque,  natural  to  a  young  gallant  in  presence  of 


*  Masquings  or  mummeries,  were  favourite  sports  at  Christmas, 
in  old  times;  and  the  wardrobes  at  halls  and  manor-houses  were 
often  laid  under  contribution  to  furnish  dresses  and  fantastic _dis- 
guisings.  I  strongly  suspect  Master  Simon  to  have  taken  the  idea 
of  his  from  Ben  Jonson's  Masque  of  Christmas. 


62 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


his  mistress.  The  fair  Julia  hung  on  his  arm  in  a 
pretty  rustic  dress,  as  "  Maid  Marian."  The  rest 
of  the  train  had  been  metamorphosed  in  various 
ways ;  the  girls  trussed  up  in  the  finery  of  the  an- 
cient belles  of  the  Bracebridge  line,  and  the  strip- 
lings bewhi.skered  with  burnt  cork,  and  gravely  clad 
in  broad  skirts,  hanging  sleeves,  and  full-l:ottomed 
wigs,  to  represent  the  characters  of  Roast  Beef, 
Plum  Pudding,  and  other  worthies  celebrated  in 
ancient  masquings.  The  whole  was  under  the  con- 
trol of  the  O.vonian,  in  the  appropriate  character  of 
Misrule  ;  and  I  observed  that  he  exercised  rather  a 
mischievous  sway  with  his  wand  over  the  smaller 
personages  of  the  pageant. 

The  irruption  of  this  motley  crew,  with  beat  of 
drum,  according  to  ancient  custom,  was  the  con- 
summation of  uproar  and  merriment.  Master  Simon 
covered  himself  with  glory  by  the  stateliness  with 
which,  as  Ancient  Christmas,  he  walked  a  minuet 
with  the  peerless,  though  giggling,  Dame  Mince  Pi?. 
It  was  followed  by  a  dance  from  all  the  characters, 
which,  from  its  medley  of  costumes,  seemed  as 
though  the  old  family  portraits  had  skipped  down 
from  their  frames  to  join  in  the  sport.  Different 
centuries  were  figuring  at  cross-hands  and  right 
and  left ;  the  dark  ages  were  cutting  pirouettes  and 
rigadoons ;  and  the  days  of  Queen  Bess,  jigging 
merrily  down  the  middle,  through  a  line  of  succeed- 
ing generations. 

The  worthy  'Squire  contemplated  these  fantastic 
sports,  and  this  resurrection  of  his  old  wardrobe, 
with  the  simple  relish  of  childish  delight.  He  stood 
chuckling  and  rubbing  his  hands,  and  scarcely  hear- 
ing a  word  the  parson  said,  notwithstanding  that 
the  latter  was  discoursing  most  authentically  on  the 
ancient  and  stately  dance  of  the  Pavon,  or  peacock, 
from  which  he  conceived  the  minuet  to  be  derived.* 
For  my  part,  I  was  in  a  continual  excitement  from 
the  varied  scenes  of  whim  and  innocent  gayety  pass- 
ing before  me.  It  was  inspiring  to  see  wild-eyed 
frolic  and  warm-hearted  hospitality  breaking  out 
from  among  the  chills  and  glooms  of  winter,  and  old 
age  throwing  off  his  apathy,  and  catching  once  more 
the  freshness  of  youthful  enjoyment.  1  felt  also  an 
interest  in  the  scene,  from  the  consideration  that 
these  fleeting  customs  were  posting  fast  into  obliv- 
ion, and  that  this  was,  perhaps,  the  only  family  in  En- 
gland in  which  the  whole  of  them  were  still  punctili- 
ously observed.  There  was  a  quaintness,  too, 
mingled  with  all  this  revelry,  that  gave  it  a  peculiar 
zest :  it  was  suited  to  the  time  and  place ;  and 
as  the  old  Manor-house  almost  reeled  with  mirth 
and  wassail,  it  seemed  echoing  back  the  joviality  of 
long-departed  years. 


But  enough  of  Christmas  and  its  gambols :  it  is 
time  for  me  to  pause  in  this  garrulity.  Methinks  I 
hear  the  question  asked  by  my  graver  readers,  "  To 
what  purpose  is  all  this — how  is  the  world  to  be 
made  wiser  by  this  talk  ?  "  Alas  !  is  there  not  wisdom 
enough  extant  for  the  instruction  of  the  world  ?  And 
if  not,  are  there  not  thousands  of  abler  pens  labour- 
ing for  its  improvement  ? — It  is  so  much  pleasanter 
to  please  than  to  instruct — to  play  the  companion 
rather  than  the  preceptor. 

What,  after  all,  is  the  mite  of  wisdom  that  I  could 
throw  into  the  mass  of  knowledge  ;   or  how  am  I 

*  Sir  John  Hawkins,  speaking  of  the  dance  called  the  Pavon, 
from  pavo,  a  peicock,  says,  "  It  is  a  grave  and  majestic  dance; 
the  method  of  dancing  it  anciently  was  by  gentlemen  dressed 
with  caps  and  swords,  by  those  of  the  long  robe  in  their  gowns, 
by  the  peer.?  in  their  mantles,  and  by  the  ladies  in  gowns  with 
long  trains,  the  motion  whereof,  in  dancing,  resembled  that  of  a 
peacock." — History  o/ Music. 


sure  that  my  sagest  deductions  may  be  safe  guides 
for  the  opinions  of  others  .'  But  in  writing  to  amuse, 
if  I  fail,  the  only  evil  is  my  own  disappointment.  If, 
however,  I  can  by  any  lucky  chance,  in  these  days 
of  evil,  rub  out  one  wrinkle  from  the  brow  of  care, 
or  beguile  the  heavy  heart  of  one  moment  of  sorrov>r 
— if  I  can  now  and  then  penetrate  through  the 
gathering  film  of  misanthropy,  prompt  a  benevolent 
view  of  human  nature,  and  make  my  reader  more  in 
good  humour  with  his  fellow  beings  and  himself, 
surely,  surely,  I  shall  not  then  have  v.'ritten  entirely 
in  vain. 


[The  following  modicum  of  local  historj'  was  lately 
put  into  my  hands  by  an  odd-looking  old  gentleman 
in  a  small  brown  wig  and  snuff-coloured  coat,  with 
whom  I  became  acquainted  in  the  course  of  one  of  my 
tours  of  observation  through  the  centre  of  that  great 
wilderness,  the  City.  I  confess  that  I  was  a  little 
dubious  at  first,  whether  it  was  not  one  of  those  apoc- 
ryphal tales  often  passed  off  upon  inquiring  travel- 
lers like  myself;  and  wliich  have  brought  our  general 
cliaracter  for  veracity  into  such  unmerited  repro.ach. 
On  making  proper  inquiries,  however,  I  have  re- 
ceived the  most  satisfactory  assurances  of  the  author's 
probity  ;  and,  indeed,  have  been  told  that  he  is  actu- 
ally engaged  in  a  full  and  particular  account  of  the 
very  interesting  region  in  which  lie  resides,  of  which 
the  following  may  be  considered  merely  us  a  fore- 
taste.] 

LITTLE   BRITAIN. 


What  I  write  is  most  true  *  *  *  *  I  have  a  whole  booke  of  cases 
lyingliy  me.  which  if  I  should  sette  foorth.  some  grave  auntients 
(within  the  hearing  of  Boa-  bell)  would  be  out  of  charity  with  me, 
— Nashe. 

In  the  centre  of  the  great  City  of  London  lies  a 
small  neighbourhood,  consisting  of  a  cluster  of  nar- 
row streets  and  courts,  of  very  venerable  and  debili- 
tated houses,  which  goes  by  the  name  of  LITTLE 
Britain.  Christ  Church  school  and  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's hospital  bound  it  on  the  west ;  Smithfield  and 
Long  lane  on  the  north  ;  Aldersgate-street,  like  an 
arm  of  the  sea,  divides  it  from  the  eastern  part  of 
the  city  ;  whilst  the  yawning  gulf  of  BuU-and-Mouth- 
street  separates  it  from  Butcher  lane,  and  the  regions 
of  New-Gate.  Over  this  little  territory,  thus  bounded 
and  designated,  the  great  dome  of  St.  Paul's,  swell- 
ing above  the  intervening  houses  of  Paternoster 
Row,  Amen  Corner,  and  Ave-Maria  lane,  looks 
down  with  an  air  of  motherly  protection. 

This  quarter  derives  its  appellation  from  having 
been,  in  ancient  times,  the  residence  of  the  Dukes  of 
Brittany.  As  London  increased,  however,  rank  and 
fashion  rolled  off  to  the  west,  and  trade  creeping  on 
at  their  heels,  took  possession  of  their  deserted 
abodes.  For  some  time,  Little  Britain  became  the 
great  mart  of  learning,  and  was  peopled  by  the  busy 
and  prolific  race  of  booksellers  :  these  also  gradually 
deserted  it,  and  emigrating  beyond  the  great  strait 
of  New-Gate-Street,  settled  down  in  Paternoster 
Row  and  St.  Paul's  Church-yard  ;  where  they  con- 
tinue to  increase  and  multiply,  even  at  the  present 
day. 

But  though  thus  fallen  into  decline,  Little  Britain 
still  bears  traces  of  its  former  splendour.  There  are 
several  houses,  ready  to  tumble  down,  the  fronts  of 
which  are  magnificently  enriched  with  old  oaken 
carvings  of  hideous  faces,  unknown  birds,  beasts,  and 
fishes ;  and  fruits  and  flowers,  which  it  would  perplex 
a  naturalist  to  classify.     There  are  also,  in  Alders- 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF    GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


63 


gate-street,  certain  remains  of  what  were  once 
spacious  and  lordly  family  mansions,  but  which  have 
in  latter  days  been  subdivided  into  several  tenements. 
Here  may  often  be  found  the  family  of  a  petty  trades- 
man, with  its  trumpery  furniture,  burrowing  among 
the  relics  of  antiquated  finery,  in  great  rambling  time- 
stained  apartments,  with  fretted  ceilings,  gilded  cor- 
nices, and  enormous  marble  fire-places.  The  lanes 
and  courts  also  contain  many  smaller  houses,  not  on 
so  grand  a  scale  ;  but,  like  your  small  ancient  gentry, 
sturdily  maintaining  their  claims  to  equal  antiquity. 
These  have  their  gable-ends  to  the  street;  great 
bow-windows,  w'ith  diamond  panes  set  in  lead  ;  gro- 
tesque carvings  ;  and  low-arched  doorways.* 

In  this  most  venerable  and  sheltered  little  nest 
have  I  passed  several  quiet  years  of  existence,  com- 
fortably lodged  in  the  second  floor  of  one  of  the 
smallest,  but  oldest  edifices.  My  sitting-room  is  an 
old  wainscoted  chamber,  with  small  panels,  and  set 
off  with  a  miscellaneous  array  of  furniture.  I  have 
a  particular  respect  for  three  or  four  high-backed, 
claw-footed  chairs,  covered  with  tarnished  brocade, 
which  bear  the  marks  of  having  seen  better  days, 
and  have  doubtless  figured  in  some  of  the  old  palaces 
of  Little  Britain.  They  seem  to  me  to  keep  together, 
and  to  look  down  with  sovereign  contempt  upon 
their  leathern-bottomed  neighbours  ;  as  I  have  seen 
decayed  gentry  carry  a  high  head  among  the  plebeian 
society  with  which  they  were  reduced  to  associate. 
The  whole  front  of  my  sitting-room  is  taken  up  with 
a  bow-window  ;  on  the  panes  of  which  are  recorded 
the  names  of  previous  occupants  for  many  genera- 
tions ;  mingled  with  scraps  of  very  indifferent  gentle- 
man-like poetry,  written  in  characters  which  I  can 
scarcely  decipher ;  and  which  extol  the  charms  of 
many  a  beauty  of  Little  Britain,  who  has  long,  long 
since  bloomed,  faded,  and  passed  away.  As  1  am 
an  idle  personage,  with  no  apparent  occupation,  and 
pay  my  bill  regularly  every  week,  I  am  looked  upon 
as  the  only  independent  gentleman  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood ;  and  being  curious  to  learn  the  internal 
state  of  a  community  so  apparently  shut  up  within 
itself,  I  have  managed  to  work  my  way  into  all  the 
concerns  and  secrets  of  the  place. 

Little  Britain  may  truly  be  called  the  heart's-core 
of  the  city  ;  the  strong-hold  of  true  John  Bullism.  It 
is  a  fragment  of  London  as  it  was  in  its  better  days, 
with  its  antiquated  folks  and  fashions.  Here  flourish 
in  great  preservation  many  of  the  holyday  games 
and  customs  of  yore.  The  inhabitants  most  re- 
ligiously eat  pancakes  on  Shrove-Tuesday  ;  hot-cross- 
buns  on  Good-Friday,  and  roast  goose  at  Michael- 
mas ;  they  send  love-letters  on  Valentine's  Day ; 
burn  the  Pope  on  the  Fifth  of  November,  and  kiss 
all  the  girls  under  the  mistletoe  at  Christmas. 
Roast  beef  and  plum-pudding  are  also  held  in 
superstitious  veneration,  and  port  and  sherry  main- 
tain their  grounds  as  the  only  true  English  wines — 
all  others  being  considered  vile  outlandish  beverages. 

Little  Britain  has  its  long  catalogue  of  city 
wonders,  which  its  inhabitants  consider  the  wonders 
of  the  world :  such  as  the  great  bell  of  St.  Paul's, 
which  sours  all  the  beer  when  it  tolls  ;  the  figures 
that  strike  the  hours  at  St.  Uunstan's  clock ;  the 
Monument ;  the  lions  in  the  Tower;  and  the  wooden 
giants  in  Guildhall.  They  still  believe  in  dreams  and 
lortunetelling ;  and  an  old  woman  that  lives  in 
Bull-and-Mouth-street  makes  a  tolerable  subsistence 
by  detecting  stolen  goods,  and  promising  the  girls 
good  husbands.  They  are  apt  to  be  rendered  un- 
comfortable by  com.ets  and  eclipses ;  and  if  a  dog 
howls  dolefully  at  night,  it  is  looked  upon  as  a  sure 

•  It  is  evident  that  the  author  of  this  interesting  communication 
has  included  in  his  general  title  of  Little  Britain,  many  of  those 
little  lanes  and  courts  that  belong  immediately  to  Cloth  rair. 


sign  of  a  death  in  the  place.  There  are  even  many 
ghost  stories  current,  particularly  concerning  the 
old  mansion-houses;  in  several  of  which  it  is  said 
strange  sights  are  sometimes  seen.  Lords  and 
ladies,  the  former  in  full-bottomed  wigs,  hanging 
sleeves,  and  swords,  the  latter  in  lappets,  stays, 
hoops,  and  brocade,  have  been  seen  walking  up  and 
down  the  great  waste  chambers,  on  moonlight 
nights ;  and  are  supposed  to  be  the  shades  of  the 
ancient  proprietors  in  their  court-dresses. 

Little  Britain  has  likewise  its  sages  and  great  men. 
One  of  the  most  important  of  the  former  is  a  tall  dry 
old  gentleman,  of  the  name  of  Skryme,  who  keeps  a 
small  apothecary's  shop.  He  has  a  cadaverous  coun- 
tenance, full  of  cavities  and  projections ;  with  a 
brown  circle  round  each  eye,  like  a  pair  of  horn 
spectacles.  He  is  much  thought  of  by  the  oUl  wom- 
en, who  consider  him  as  a  kind  of  conjuror,  because 
he  has  two  or  three  stuffed  alligators  hanging  up  in 
his  shop,  and  several  snakes  in  bottles.  He  is  a 
great  reader  of  almanacs  and  newspapers,  and  is 
much  given  to  pore  over  alarming  accounts  of  plots, 
conspiracies,  fires,  earthquakes,  and  volcanic  erup- 
tions ;  which  last  phenomena  he  considers  as  signs 
of  the  times.  He  has  always  some  dismal  tale  of 
the  kind  to  deal  out  to  his  customers,  with  their 
doses  ;  and  thus  at  the  same  time  puts  both  soul  and 
body  into  an  uproar.  He  is  a  great  believer  in 
omens  and  predictions  ;  and  has  the  prophecies  of 
Robert  Nixon  and  Mother  Shipton  by  heart.  No 
man  can  make  so  much  out  of  an  eclipse,  or  even  an 
unusually  dark  day  ;  and  he  shook  the  tail  of  the  last 
comet  over  the  heads  of  his  customers  and  disciples, 
until  they  were  nearly  frightened  out  of  their  wits. ' 
He  has  lately  got  hold  of  a  popular  legend  or  proph- 
ecy, on  which  he  has  been  unusually  eloquent.  There 
has  been  a  saying  current  among  the  ancient  Sybils, 
who  treasure  up  these  things,  that  when  the  grass- 
hopper on  the  top  of  the  Exchange  shook  hands  with 
the  dragon  on  the  top  of  Bow  Church  steeple,  fearful 
events  would  take  place.  This  strange  conjunction, 
it  seems,  has  as  strangely  come  to  pass.  The  same 
architect  has  been  engaged  lately  on  the  repairs  of 
the  cupola  of  the  Exchange,  and  the  steeple  of  Bow 
Church ;  and,  fearful  to  relate,  the  dragon  and  the 
grasshopper  actually  lie,  cheek  by  jole,  in  the  yard  of 
his  workshop. 

"  Others,"  as  Mr.  Skryme  is  accustomed  to  say, 
"may  go  star-gazing,  and  look  for  conjunctions  in 
the  heavens,  but  here  is  a  conjunction  on  the  earth, 
near  at  home,  and  under  our  own  eyes,  which  sur- 
passes all  the  signs  and  calculations  of  astrologers." 
Since  these  portentous  weathercocks  have  thus  laid 
their  heads  together,  wonderful  events  had  already 
occurred.  The  good  old  king,  notwithstanding  that 
he  had  lived  eighty-two  years,  had  all  at  once  given 
up  the  ghost ;  another  king  had  mounted  the  throne  ; 
a  royal  duke  had  died  suddenly — another,  in  France, 
had  been  murdered  ;  there  had  been  radical  meet- 
ings in  all  parts  of  the  kingdom  ;  the  bloody  scenes 
at  Manchester — the  great  plot  in  Cato-street ; — and, 
above  all,  the  Queen  had  returned  to  England  !  All 
these  sinister  events  are  recounted  by  Mr.  Skryme 
with  a  mysterious  look,  and  a  dismal  shake  of  the 
head  ;  and  being  taken  with  his  drugs,  and  associ- 
ated in  the  minds  of  his  auditors  with  stuffed  sea- 
monsters,  bottled  serpents,  and  his  own  visage, 
which  is  a  title-page  of  tribulation,  they  have  spread 
great  gloom  through  the  minds  of  the  people  in  Lit- 
tle Britain.  They  shake  their  heads  whenever  they 
go  by  Bow  Church,  and  observe,  that  they  never  ex- 
pected any  good  to  come  of  taking  down  that  stee- 
ple, which,  in  old  times,  told  nothing  but  glad  tid- 
ings, as  the  history  of  Whittington  and  his  cat  bears 
witness. 


Gi 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


The  rival  oracle  of  Little  Britain  is  a  substantial 
cheesemonger,  who  lives  in  a  fragment  of  one  of  the 
old  family  mansions,  and  is  as  magnificently  lodged 
as  a  round-bellied  mite  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his 
own  Cheshires.  Indeed,  he  is  a  man  of  no  little 
standing  and  importance  ;  and  his  renown  extends 
through  Huggin  lane,  and  Lad  lane,  and  even  unto 
Aldcrmanbury.  His  opinion  is  very  much  taken  in 
the  affairs  of  state,  having  read  the  Sunday  papers 
for  the  last  half  century,  together  with  the  Gentle- 
man's Magazine,  Rapin's  History  of  England,  and 
the  Naval  Chronicle.  His  head  is  stored  with  in- 
valuable maxims,  which  have  borne  the  test  of  time 
and  use  for  centuries.  It  is  his  firm  opinion  that 
"it  is  a  moral  impossible,"  so  long  as  England  is 
true-  to  herself,  that  any  thing  can  shake  her:  and 
he  has  much  to  say  on  the  subject  of  the  national 
debt ;  which,  some  how  or  other,  he  proves  to  be  a 
great  national  bulwark  and  blessing.  He  passed 
the  greater  part  of  his  life  in  the  purlieus  of  Little 
Britain,  until  of  late  years,  when,  having  become 
rich,  and  grown  into  the  dignity  of  a  Sunday  cane, 
he  begins  to  take  his  pleasure  and  see  the  world. 
He  has  therefore  made  several  excursions  to  Hamp- 
stead,  Highgate,  and  other  neighbouring  towns, 
where  he  has  passed  whole  afternoons  in  looking 
back  upon  the  metropolis  through  a  telescope,  and 
endeavouring  to  descry  the  steeple  of  St.  Bartholo- 
mew's. Not  a  stage-coachman  of  Bull-and-MoQth- 
street  but  touches  his  hat  as  he  passes  ;  and  he  is 
considered  quite  a  patron  at  the  coach-office  of  the 
(joose  and  Gridiron,  St.  Paul's  Churchyard.  His 
family  have  been  very  urgent  for  him  to  make  an  ex- 
Ijedition  to  Margate,  but  he  has  great  doubts  of  these 
new  gimcracks  the  steam-boats,  and  indeed  thinks 
himself  too  advanced  in  life  to  undertake  sea- 
\oyages. 

Little  Britain  has  occasionally  its  factions  and  di- 
visions, and  party  spirit  ran  very  high  at  one  time, 
in  consequence  of  two  rival  "  Burial  Societies  "  being 
set  up  in  the  place.  One  held  its  meeting  at  the 
Swan  and  Horse-Shoe,  and  was  patronized  by  the 
cheesemonger  ;  the  other  at  the  Cock  and  Crown, 
under  the  auspices  of  the  apothecary  :  it  is  needless 
to  say,  that  the  latter  was  the  most  flourishing.  I 
have  passed  an  evening  or  two  at  each,  and  have 
acquired  much  valuable  information  as  to  the  best 
mode  of  being  buried  ;  the  comparative  merits  of 
churchyards  ;  together  with  divers  hints  on  the  sub- 
ject of  patent  iron  coffins.  I  have  heard  the  ques- 
tion discussed  in  all  its  bearings,  as  to  the  legahty 
of  prohibiting  the  latter  on  account  of  their  dura- 
bility. The  feuds  occasioned  by  these  societies  have 
liappily  died  away  of  late  ;  but  they  were  for  a  long 
time  prevailing  themes  of  controversy,  the  people  of 
Little  Britain  being  extremely  solicitous  of  funeral 
honours,  and  ol  lying  comfortably  in  their  graves. 

Besides  these  two  funeral  societies,  there  is  a  third 
of  quite  a  different  cast,  which  tends  to  throw  the 
sunshine  of  good-humour  over  the  whole  neighbour- 
hood. It  meets  once  a  week  at  a  little  old-fashioned 
house,  kept  by  a  jolly  publican  of  the  name  of  Wag- 
staff,  and  bearing  for  insignia  a  resplendent  half- 
moon,  with  a  most  seductive  bunch  of  grapes.  The 
whole  edifice  is  covered  with  inscriptions  to  catch 
the  eye  of  the  thirsty  wayfarer  ;  such  as  "  Truman. 
Hanburv  and  Co.'s  Entire,"  "  Wine,  Rum,  and 
Brandy  Vaults,"  "  Old  Tom,  Rum,  and  Compounds, 
&c."  This,  indeed,  has  been  a  temple  of  Bacchus 
and  Momus,  from  time  immemorial.  It  has  always 
been  in  the  family  of  the  Wagstaffs,  so  that  its  his- 
tor)'  is  tolerably  preserved  by  the  ])resent  landlord. 
It  was  much  frequented  by  the  gallants  and  cava- 
lioros  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  and  was  looked  into 
now  and  then  by  the  wits  of  Charles  the  Second's 


day.  But  what  Wagstaff  principally  prides  himself 
upon,  is,  that  Henry  the  Eighth,  in  one  of  his  noc- 
turnal rambles,  broke  the  head  of  one  of  his  ances- 
tors with  his  famous  walking-staff  This,  however, 
is  considered  as  rather  a  dubious  and  vain-glorious 
boast  of  the  landlord. 

The  club  which  now  holds  its  weekly  sessions 
here,  goes  by  the  name  of  "  the  Roaring  Lads  of 
Little  Britain."  They  abound  in  all  catches,  glees, 
and  choice  stories,  that  are  traditinnal  in  the  place, 
and  not  to  be  met  wilh  in  any  other  part  of  the 
metropolis.  There  is  a  madcap  undertaker,  who  is 
inimitable  at  a  merry  song;  l)ut  the  life  of  the  club, 
and  indeed  the  prime  wit  of  Little  Britain,  is  bully 
Wagstaff  himself.  His  ancestors  were  all  wags  l)e- 
fore  him,  and  he  has  inherited  with  the  inn  a  large 
stock  of  songs  and  jokes,  which  go  with  it  from 
generation  to  generation  as  heir-looms.  He  is  a 
dapper  little  fellow,  with  bandy  legs  and  pot  belly,  a 
red  face  with  a  moist  merry  eye,  and  a  little  shock 
of  gray  hair  behind.  At  the  opening  of  every  club 
night,  he  is  called  in  to  sing  his  "  Confession  of 
Faith,"  which  is  the  famous  old  drinking  trowl  from 
Gammer  Gurton's  needle.  He  sings  it,  to  be  sure, 
with  many  variations,  as  he  received  it  from  his 
father's  lips  ;  for  it  had  been  a  standing  favourite  at 
the  Half-JVIoon  and  Bunch  of  Grapes  ever  since  it 
was  written  ;  nay,  he  affirms  that  his  predecessors 
have  often  had  the  honour  of  singing  it  before  the 
nobility  and  gentry  at  Christmas  mummeries,  when 
Little  Britain  was  in  all  its  g\oTy.* 

It  would  do  one's  heart  good  to  hear  on  a  club- 
night  the  shouts  of  merriment,  the  snatches  of  song, 
and  now  and  then  the  choral  bursts  of  half-a-dozen 
discordant  voices,  which  issue  from  this  jovial  man- 
sion. At  such  times  the  street  is  lined  with  listen- 
ers, who  enjoy  a  delight  equal  to  that  of  gazing  into 
a  confectioner's  window,  or  snuffing  up  the  steams 
of  a  cook-shop. 

*  As  mine  host  of  the  Half-Moon's  Confession  of  Faith  may  not 
be  familiar  to  the  majority  of  readers,  and  as  it  is  a  specimen  of  the 
current  songs  of  Little  Britain,  I  subjoin  it  in  its  original  orthog- 
raphy. I  would  observe,  that  the  whole  club  always  join  in  th^ 
chorus  with  a  feaful  thumping  on  the  table  and  clattering  of  pewter 
pots. 

I  cannot  eate  but  lytle  meate, 

My  stomacke  is  not  good, 
But  sure  1  thinke  that  1  can  drinke 

With  him  that  weares  a  hood. 
Though  I  go  bare  take  ye  no  care, 

I  nothing  am  a  cottie, 
I  stuff  my  skyn  so  full  within, 
Of  joly  good  ale  and  olde. 

Chorus,  Back  and  syje  go  bare,  go  bare, 
Both  foot  and  hand  go  colde, 
But  belly,  God  send  thee  good  ale  ynoughc. 
Whether  it  be  new  or  oldc. 

I  have  no  rost,  but  a  nut  brown  toste 

And  a  crab  laid  in  the  fyre  ; 
A  little  breade  shall  do  me  steade, 

Much  breade  I  not  desyre. 
No  frost  nor  snow,  nor  winde  I  trowe. 

Can  hurt  me  if  I  wolde, 
I  am  so  wrapt  and  throwly  lapt 

Of  joly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Chorus.  Back  and  syJe  go  bare,  go  bare,  &c. 

And  Tyb  my  wife,  that,  as  her  lyfe, 

Loveth  well  good  ale  to  secke. 
Full  oft  drynkes  she,  tyll  yc  may  see 

The  tearcs  run  down  her  cheekc. 
Then  doth  shee  trowle  to  me  the  bowle, 

Even  as  a  maultc-worme  sholde, 
And  s.ayth,  sweete  harte.  I  tooke  my  parte 

Of  this  joly  good  ale  and  olde. 
Chorus.  Back  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare,  &c. 

Now  let  them  drynke,  tyll  they  nod  and  winkc, 

Even  as  goode  fcUowes  sholde  doe, 
They  shall  not  myssc  to  have  the  blisse, 

Good  ale  doth  bring  men  to. 
And  all  poor  soules  tliat  have  scowred  bowlcs. 

Or  liave  them  lustily  trolde, 
God  save  the  lyves  of  them  and  their  wives, 

Whether  they  be  yonge  or  olde. 
ChoTHS.  Back  and  syde  go  bare,  go  bare,  &c. 


THE    SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY  CRAYON,   Gent. 


65 


There  are  two  annual  events  which  produce  great 
stir  and  sensation  in  Litlle  Britain  ;  these  are  St. 
Bartholomew's  Fair,  and  the  Lord  Mayor's  day. 
During  the  time  of  the  Fair,  which  is  held  in  the 
adjoining  regions  of  Smithfield,  there  is  nothing 
going  on  but  gossiping  and  gadding  about.  The 
late  quiet  streets  of  Little  Britain  are  overrun  with 
an  irruption  of  strange  figures  and  faces ; — every 
tavern  is  a  scene  of  rout  and  revel.  The  fiddle  and 
the  song  are  heard  frjm  the  tap-room,  morning, 
noon,  and  night ;  and  at  each  window  may  be  seen 
some  group  of  boon  companions,  with  half-shut  eyes, 
hats  on  one  side,  pipe  in  mouth,  and  tankard  in 
hand,  fondling  and  prozing,  and  singing  maudlin 
songs  over  their  liquor.  Even  the  sober  decorum  of 
private  families,  wliich  I  must  say  is  rigidly  kept  up 
at  other  times  among  my  neighbours,  is  no  proof 
against  this  Saturnalia.  There  is  no  such  thing  as 
keeping  maid  servants  within  doors.  Their  brains 
are  absolutely  set  madding  with  Punch  and  the 
Puppet  Show ;  the  Flying  Horses  ;  Signior  Polito  ; 
the  Fire-Eater ;  the  celebrated  Mr.  Paap  ;  and  the 
Irish  Giant.  The  children,  too,  lavish  all  their  holy- 
day  money  in  toys  and  gilt  gingerbread,  and  fill  the 
house  with  the  Lilliputian  din  of  drums,  trumpets, 
and  penny  whistles. 

But  the  Lord  Mayor's  day  is  the  great  anniversary. 
The  Lord  Mayor  is  looked  up  to  by  the  inhabitants 
of  Little  Britain,  as  the  greatest  potentate  upon  earth; 
his  gilt  coach  with  six  horses,  as  the  summit  of  hu- 
man splendour;  and  his  procession,  with  all  the 
Sheriffs  and  Aldermen  in  his  train,  as  the  grandest 
of  earthly  pageants.  How  they  exult  in  the  idea, 
that  the  King  himself  dare  not  enter  the  city  without 
first  knocking  at  the  gate  of  Temple  Bar,  and  ask- 
ing permission  of  the  Lord  Mayor ;  for  if  he  did, 
heaven  and  earth  !  there  is  no  knowing  what  might 
be  the  consequence.  The  man  in  armour  who  rides 
before  the  Lord  Mayor,  and  is  the  city  champion,  has 
orders  to  cut  down  every  body  that  offends  against 
the  dignity  of  the  city;  and  then  there  is  the  little 
man  with  a  velvet  porringer  on  his  head,  who  sits 
at  the  window  of  the  state  coach  and  holds  the  city 
sword,  as  long  as  a  pike-staff — Od's  blood  !  if  he 
once  draws  that  sword,  Majesty  itself  is  not  safe  ! 

Under  the  protection  of  this  mighty  potentate, 
therefore,  the  good  people  of  Little  Britain  sleep  in 
peace.  Temple  Bar  is  an  effectual  barrier  against  all 
internal  foes ;  and  as  to  foreign  invasion,  the  Lord 
Mayor  has  but  to  throw  himself  into  the  Tower, 
call  in  the  train  bands,  and  put  the  standing  army  of 
Beef-eaters  under  arms,  and  he  may  bid  defiance  to 
the  world  ! 

Thus  wrapped  up  in  its  own  concerns,  its  own 
habits,  and  its  own  opinions,  Little  Britain  has  long 
flourished  as  a  sound  heart  to  this  great  fungus  me- 
tropolis. I  have  pleased  myself  with  considering  it  as 
a  chosen  spot,  where  the  principles  of  sturdy  John 
Bu'lism  were  garnered  up,  like  seed-corn,  to  renew 
the  national  character,  when  it  had  run  to  waste  and 
degeneracy.  I  have  rejoiced  also  in  the  general  spirit 
of  harmony  that  prevailed  throughout  it ;  for  though 
there  might  now  and  then  be  a  few  clashes  of  opinion 
between  the  adherents  of  the  cheesemonger  and  the 
apothecary,  and  an  occasional  feud  between  the 
burial  societies,  yet  these  were  but  transient  clouds, 
and  soon  passed  away.  The  neighbours  met  with 
good-will,  parted  with  a  shake  of  the  hand,  and 
never  abused  each  other  except  behind  their  backs. 

I  could  give  rare  descriptions  of  snug  junketing 
parties  at  which  I  have  been  present ;  where  we 
played  at  All-Fours,  Pope-Joan,  Tom-come-tickle- 
me,  and  other  choice  old  games :  and  where  we 
sometimes  had  a  good  old  English  country  dance,  to 
the  tune  of  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly.  Once  a  year  also 
5 


the  neighbours  would  gather  together,  and  go  on  a 
gypsy  party  to  Epping  Forest.  It  would  have  done 
any  man's  heart  good  to  see  the  merriment  that  took 
place  here,  as  we  banqueted  on  the  grass  under  the 
trees.  How  we  made  the  woods  ring  with  bursts  of 
laughter  at  the  songs  of  little  Wagstaff  and  the 
merry  undertaker !  After  dinner,  too,  the  young 
folks  would  play  at  blindman's-buff  and  hide-and- 
seek  ;  and  it  was  amusing  to  see  them  tangled  among 
the  briers,  and  to  hear  a  fine  romping  girl  now  and 
then  squeak  from  among  the  bushes.  The  elder  folks 
would  gather  round  the  cheesemonger  and  the 
apothecary,  to  hear  them  talk  politics ;  for  they  gen- 
erally brought  out  a  newspaper  in  their  pockets,  to 
pass  away  time  in  the  country.  They  would  now 
and  then,  to  be  sure,  get  a  little  warm  in  argument ; 
but  their  disputes  were  always  adjusted  by  reference 
to  a  worthy  old  umbrella-maker  in  a  double  chin, 
who,  never  exactly  comprehending  the  subject,  man- 
aged, some  how  or  other,  to  decide  in  favour  of  both 
parties. 

All  empires,  however,  says  some  philosopher  or 
historian,  are  doomed  to  changes  and  revolutions. 
Luxury  and  innovation  creep  in ;  factions  arise  ;  and 
families  now  and  then  spring  up,  whose  ambition  and 
intrigues  throw  the  whole  system  into  confusion. 
Thus  in  latter  days  has  the  tranquillity  of  Little 
Britain  been  grievously  disturbed,  and  its  golden 
simplicity  of  manners  threatened  with  total  subver- 
sion, by  the  aspiring  family  of  a  retired  butcher. 

The  family  of  the  Lambs  had  long  been  among 
the  most  thriving  and  popular  in  the  neighbourhood  : 
the  Miss  Lambs  were  the  belles  of  Little  Britain,  and 
every  body  was  pleased  when  old  Lamb  had  made 
money  enough  to  shut  up  shop,  and  put  his  name  on 
a  brass  plate  on  his  door.  In  an  evil  hour,  however, 
one  of  the  Miss  Lambs  had  the  honour  of  being  a  lady 
in  attendance  on  the  Lady  Mayoress,  at  her  grand 
annual  ball,  on  which  occasion  she  wore  three  tower- 
ing ostrich  feathers  on  her  head.  The  family  never 
got  over  it ;  they  were  immediately  smitten  with  a 
passion  for  high  life  ;  set  up  a  one-horse  carri.ige,  put 
a  bit  of  gold  lace  round  the  errand-boy's  hat,  and 
have  been  the  talk  and  detestation  of  the  whole 
neighbourhood  ever  since.  They  could  no  longer  be 
induced  to  play  at  Pope-Joan  or  blindman's-buff; 
they  could  endure  no  dances  but  quadrilles,  which 
nobody  had  ever  heard  of  in  Little  Britain  ;  and 
they  took  to  reading  novels,  talking  bad  French,  and 
playing  upon  the  piano.  Their  brother,  too,  who 
had  been  articled  to  an  attorney,  set  up  for  a  dandy 
and  a  critic,  characters  hitherto  unknown  in  these 
parts  ;  and  he  confounded  the  worthy  folks  exceed- 
ingly by  talking  about  Kean,  the  Opera,  and  the 
Edinbro'  Review. 

What  was  still  worse,  the  Lambs  gave  a  grand 
ball,  to  which  they  neglected  to  invite  any  of  their 
old  neighbours  ;  but  they  had  a  great  deal  of  genteel 
company  from  Theobald's  Road,  Red-lion  Square, 
and  other  parts  toward  the  west.  There  were  seve- 
ral beaux  of  their  brother's  acquaintance  from  Gray's- 
Inn  lane  and  Hatton  Garden  ;  and  not  less  than  three 
Aldermen's  ladies  with  their  daughters.  This  was 
not  to  be  forgotten  or  forgiven.  All  Little  Britain 
was  in  an  uproar  with  the  smacking  of  whips,  the 
lashing  of  miserable  horses,  and  the  rattling  and  jing- 
ling of  hackney-coaches.  The  gossips  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood might  be  seen  popping  their  night-caps  out 
at  every  window,  watching  the  crazy  vehicles  rumble 
by  ;  and  there  was  a  knot  of  virulent  old  cronies,  that 
kept  a  look-out  from  a  house  just  opposite  the  retired 
butcher's,  and  scanned  and  criticized  every  one  that 
knocked  at  the  door. 

This  dance  was  a  cause  of  almost  open  war,  and 
the  whole  neighbourhood  declared  they  would  have 


66 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


nothing  more  to  say  to  the  Lambs.  It  is  true  that 
Mrs.  Lamb,  when  she  had  no  engagements  with  her 
quality  acquaintance,  would  give  little  humdrum  tea 
junketings  to  some  of  her  old  cronies,  "  quite,"  as  she 
would  say,  "  in  a  friendly  way  ;  "  and  it  is  equally  true 
that  her  invitations  were  always  accepted,  in  spite  of 
all  previous  vows  to  the  contrary.  Nay,  the  good 
ladies  would  sit  and  be  delighted  with  the  music  of 
the  Miss  Lambs,  who  would  condescend  to  thrum  an 
Irish  melody  for  them  on  the  piano  ;  and  they  would 
listen  with  wonderful  interest  to  Mrs.  Lamb's  anec- 
dotes of  Alderman  Plunket's  family  of  Portsoken- 
ward,  and  the  Miss  Timberlakes,  the  rich  heiresses 
of  Crutched-Friars  ;  but  then  they  relieved  their  con- 
sciences, and  averted  the  reproaches  of  their  confed- 
erates, by  canvassing  at  the  next  gossiping  convoca- 
tion every  thing  that  had  passed,  and  pulling  the 
Lambs  and  their  rout  all  to  pieces. 

The  only  one  of  the  family  that  could  not  be 
made  fashionable,  was  the  retired  butcher  himself. 
Honest  Lamb,  in  spite  of  the  meekness  of  his  name, 
■was  a  rough  hearty  old  fellow,  with  the  voice  of  a 
lion,  a  head  of  black  hair  like  a  shoe-brush,  and  a 
broad  face  mottled  like  his  own  beef.  It  was  in  vain 
that  the  daughters  always  spoke  of  him  as  the  "  old 
gentleman,"  addressed  him  as  "papa,"  in  tones  of 
infinite  softness,  and  endeavoured  to  coax  him  into  a 
dressing-gown  and  slippers,  and  other  gentlemanly 
habits.  Do  what  they  might,  there  was  no  keeping 
down  the  butcher.  His  sturdy  nature  would  break 
through  all  their  glozings.  He  had  a  hearty  vulgar 
good-humour,  that  was  irrepressible.  His  very  jokes 
made  his  sensitive  daughters  shudder;  and  he  per- 
sisted in  wearing  his  blue  cotton  coat  of  a  morning, 
dining  at  two  o'clock,  and  having  a  "  bit  of  sausage 
with  his  tea." 

He  was  doomed,  however,  to  share  the  unpopu- 
larity of  his  family.  He  found  his  old  comrades 
gradually  growing  ccld  and  civil  to  him  ;  no  longer 
laughing  at  his  jokes  ;  and  now  and  then  throwing 
out  a  fling  at  "  some  people,"  and  a  hint  about 
"  quality  binding."  This  both  nettled  and  perplexed 
the  honest  bulcher ;  and  his  wife  and  daughters, 
with  the  consummate  policy  of  the  shrewder  sex, 
taking  advantage  of  the  circumstances,  at  length 
prevailed  upon  him  to  give  up  his  afternoon  pipe 
and  tanlvard  at  Wagstaff's  ;  to  sit  after  dinner  by  him- 
self, and  take  his  pint  of  port — a  liquor  he  detested — 
and  to  nod  in  his  chair,  in  solitary  and  dismal  gen- 
tility. 

The  Miss  Lambs  might  now  be  seen  flaunting 
along  the  streets  in  French  bonnets,  with  unknown 
beaux  ;  and  talking  and  laughing  so  loud,  that  it 
distressed  the  nerves  of  every  good  lady  within  hear- 
ing. They  even  went  so  far  as  to  attempt  patron- 
age, and  actually  induced  a  French  dancing-master 
to  set  up  in  the  neighbourhood  ;  but  the  worthy  folks 
of  Little  Britain  took  fire  at  it,  and  did  so  persecute 
the  poor  Gaul,  that  he  was  fain  to  pack  up  fiddle  and 
dancing-pumps,  and  decamp  with  such  precipitation, 
that  he  absolutely  forgot  to  pay  for  his  lodgings. 

I  had  flattered  myself,  at  first,  with  the  idea  that 
all  this  fiery  indignation  on  the  part  of  the  commu- 
nity was  merely  the  overflowing  of  their  zeal  for  good 
old  English  manners,  and  their  horror  of  innovation  ; 
and  I  applauded  the  silent  contempt  they  were  so 
vociferous  in  expressing,  for  upstart  pride,  French 
fashions,  and  the  Miss  Lambs.  But  I  grieve  to  say, 
that  I  soon  perceived  the  infection  had  taken  hold  ; 
and  that  my  neighbours,  after  condemning,  were  be- 
ginning to  follow  their  example.  I  overheard  my 
landlady  importuning  her  husband  to  let  their  daugh- 
ters have  one  quarter  at  French  and  music,  and  that 
they  might  take  a  few  lessons  in  quadrille  ;  I  even 
saw,  in  the  course  of  a  few  Sundays,  no  less  than 


five  French  bonnets,  precisely  like  those  of  the  Miss 
Lambs,  parading  about  Little  Britain. 

I  still  had  my  hopes  that  all  this  folly  would  grad- 
ually die  away  ;  that  the  Lambs  might  move  out  of 
the  neighbourhood  ;  might  die,  or  might  run  away 
with  attorneys'  apprentices  ;  and  that  quiet  and  sim- 
plicity might  be  again  restored  to  the  community. 
But  unluckily  a  rival  power  arose.  An  opulent  Oil- 
man died,  and  left  a  widow  with  a  large  jointure,  and 
a  family  of  buxom  daughters.  The  young  ladies  had 
long  been  repining  in  secret  at  the  parsimony  of  a 
prudent  father,  which  kept  down  all  their  elegant 
aspirings.  Their  ambition  being  now  no  longer  re- 
strained broke  out  into  a  blaze,  and  they  openly  took 
the  field  against  the  family  of  the  butcher.  It  is  true 
that  the  Lambs,  having  had  the  first  start,  had  nat- 
urally an  advantage  of  them  in  the  fashionable 
career.  They  could  speak  a  little  bad  French, 
play  the  piano,  dance  quadrilles,  and  had  formed 
high  acquaintances,  but  the  Trotters  were  not  to  be 
distanced.  When  the  Lambs  appeared  with  two 
feathers  in  their  hats,  the  Miss  Trotters  mounted 
four,  and  of  twice  as  fine  colours.  If  the  Lambs 
gave  a  dance,  the  Trotters  were  sure  not  to  be  be- 
hindhand ;  and  though  they  might  not  boast  of  as 
good  company,  yet  they  had  double  the  number,  and 
were  twice  as  merry. 

The  whole  community  has  at  length  divided  itself 
into  fashionable  factions,  under  the  banners  of  these 
two  families.  The  old  games  of  Pope-Joan  and 
Tom-come-tickle-me  are  entirely  discarded  ;  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  getting  up  an  honest  country-dance ; 
and  on  my  attempting  to  kiss  a  young  lady  under 
the  mistletoe  last  Christmas,  I  was  indignantly  re- 
pulsed ;  the  Miss  Lambs  having  pronounced  it 
"shocking  vulgar."  Bitter  rivalry  has  also  broken 
out  as  to  the  most  fashionable  part  of  Little  Britain  ; 
the  Lambs  standing  up  for  the  dignity  of  Cross- 
Keys  Square,  and  the  Trotters  for  the  vicinity  of 
St.  Bartholomew's. 

Thus  is  this  little  territory  torn  by  factions  and 
internal  dissensions,  like  the  great  empire  whose 
name  it  bears ;  and  what  will  be  the  result  would 
puzzle  the  apothecary  himself,  with  all  his  talent  at 
prognostics,  to  determine  ;  though  I  apprehend  that 
it  will  terminate  in  the  total  downfall  of  genuine 
John  Bullism. 

The  immediate  effects  are  extremely  unpleasant 
to  me.  Being  a  single  man,  and,  as  I  observed  be- 
fore, rather  an  idle  good-for-nothing  personage,  I 
have  been  considered  the  only  gentleman  by  profes- 
sion in  the  place.  I  stand  therefore  in  high  favour 
with  both  parties,  and  have  to  hear  all  their  cabinet 
councils  and  mutual  backbitings.  As  I  am  too  civil 
not  to  agree  with  the  ladies  on  all  occasions,  I  have 
committed  myself  most  horribly  with  both  parties,  by 
abusing  their  opponents.  I  might  manage  to  recon- 
cile this  to  my  conscience,  which  is  a  truly  accom- 
modating one,  but  I  cannot  to  my  apprehensions — 
if  the  Lambs  and  Trotters  ever  come  to  a  reconcilia- 
tion, and  compare  notes,  I  am  ruined  ! 

I  have  determined,  therefore,  to  beat  a  retreat  in 
time,  and  am  actually  looking  out  for  some  other 
nest  in  this  great  city,  where  old  English  manners 
are  still  kept  up ;  where  French  is  neither  eaten, 
drank,  danced,  nor  spoken ;  and  where  there  are  no 
fashionable  families  of  retired  tradesmen.  This 
found,  I  will,  like  a  veteran  rat,  hasten  away  before 
I  have  an  old  house  about  my  ears — bid  a  long, 
though  a  sorrowful  adieu  to  my  present  abode — and 
leave  the  rival  factions  of  the  Lambs  and  the  Trot- 
ters, to  divide  the  distracted  empire  of  Little 
Britain. 


THE    SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


C7 


STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 


Thou  soft  flowine  Avon,  by  thy  silver  stream 

Of  things  more  than  mortal  sweet  Shakspe^re  would  dream  ; 

The  fairies  by  moonlight  dance  round  his  green  bed, 

For  hallowed  the  turf  is  which  pillowed  his  head. 

Garricic. 

To  a  homeless  man,  who  has  no  spot  on  this  wide 
world  which  he  can  truly  call  his  own,  there  is  a 
momentary  feeling  of  something  like  independence 
and  territorial  consequence,  when,  after  a  weary 
day's  travel,  he  kicks  off  his  boots,  thrusts  his  feet 
into  slippers,  and  stretches  himself  before  an  inn  fire. 
Let  the  world  without  go  as  it  may ;  let  kingdoms 
rise  or  fall,  so  long  as  he  has  the  wherewithal  to  pay 
his  bill,  he  is,  for  the  time  being,  the  very  monarch 
of  all  he  surveys.  The  arm-chair  is  his  throne,  the 
poker  his  sceptre,  and  the  little  parlour,  of  some 
twelve  feet  square,  his  undisputed  empire.  It  is  a 
morsel  of  certainty,  snatched  from  the  midst  of  the 
uncertainties  of  life  ;  it  is  a  sunny  moment  gleaming 
out  kindly  on  a  cloudy  day ;  and  he  who  has  ad- 
vanced some  way  on  the  pilgrimage  of  existence, 
knows  the  importance  of  husbanding  even  morsels 
and  moments  of  enjoyment.  "  Shall  I  not  take  mine 
ease  in  mine  inn.'"  thought  I,  as  I  gave  the  fire  a 
stir,  lolled  back  in  my  elbow-chair,  and  cast  a  com- 
placent look  about  the  little  parlour  of  the  Red 
Horse,  at  Stratford-on-Avon. 

The  words  of  sweet  Shakspeare  were  just  passing 
through  my  mind  as  the  clock  struck  midnight  from 
the  tower  of  the  church  in  which  he  lies  buried. 
There  was  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door,  and  a  pretty 
chambermaid,  putting  in  her  smiling  face,  inquired, 
with  a  hesitating  air,  whether  I  had  rung.  I  under- 
stood it  as  a  modest  hint  that  it  was  time  to  retire. 
My  dream  of  absolute  dominion  was  at  an  end  ;  so 
abdicating  my  throne,  like  a  prudent  potentate,  to 
avoid  being  deposed,  and  putting  the  Stratford 
Guide-Book  under  my  arm,  as  a  pillow  companion, 
1  went  to  bed,  and  dreamt  all  night  of  Shakspeare, 
the  Jubilee,  and  David  Garrick. 

The  next  morning  was  one  of  those  quickening 
mornings  which  we  sometimes  have  in  early  spring; 
for  it  was  about  the  middle  of  March.  The  chills  of 
a  long  winter  had  suddenfy  given  way ;  the  north 
wind  had  spent  its  last  gasp ;  and  a  mild  air  came 
stealing  from  the  west,  breathing  the  breath  of  life 
into  nature,  and  wooing  every  bud  and  flower  to 
burst  forth  into  fragrance  and  beauty. 

I  had  come  to  Stratford  on  a  poetical  pilgrimage. 
My  first  visit  was  to  the  house  where  Shakspeare 
was  born,  and  where,  according  to  tratlition,  he  was 
brought  up  to  his  father's  craft  of  wool-combing.  It 
is  a  small  mean-looking  edifice  of  wood  and  plaster, 
a  true  nestling-place  of  genius,  which  seems  to  de- 
light in  hatching  its  offspring  in  by-corners.  The 
walls  of  its  squalid  chambers  are  covered  with  names 
and  inscriptions  in  every  language,  by  pilgrims  of 
all  nations,  ranks,  and  conditions,  from  the  ])rince  to 
the  peasant  ;  and  present  a  simple,  but  striking  in- 
stance of  the  spontaneous  and  universal  homage  of 
mankind  to  the  great  poet  of  nature. 

The  house  is  shown  by  a  garrulous  old  lady,  in  a 
frosty  red  face,  lighted  up  by  a  cold  blue  anxious  eye, 
and  garnished  with  artificial  locks  of  flaxen  hair, 
curling  from  under  an  exceedingly  dirty  cap.  She 
was  peculiarly  assiduous  in  exhibiting  the  relics  with 
which  this,  like  all  other  celebrated  shrines,  abounds. 
There  was  the  shattered  stock  of  the  very  matchlock 
with  which  Shakspeare  shot  the  deer,  on  his  poach- 
ing exploits.  There,  too,  was  his  tobacco-box ; 
which  proves  that  he  was  a  rival  smoker  of  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh  ;   the  sword   also   with  which   he 


played  Hamlet ;  and  the  identical  lantern  with  which 
Friar  Laurence  discovered  Romeo  and  Juliet  at  the 
tomb  !  There  was  an  ample  supply  also  of  Shak- 
speare's  mulberry-tree,  which  seems  to  have  as 
extraordinary  powers  of  self-multiplication  as  the 
wood  of  the  true  cross ;  of  which  there  is  enough 
extant  to  build  a  ship  of  the  line. 

The  most  favourite  object  of  curiosity,  however,  is 
Shakspeare's  chair.  It  stands  in  the  chimney-nook 
of  a  small  gloomy  chamber,  just  behind  what  w.as 
his  father's  shop.  Here  he  may  many  a  time  have 
sat  when  a  boy,  watching  the  slowly-revolving  spit, 
with  all  the  longing  of  an  urchin  ;  or  of  an  evening, 
listening  to  the  crones  and  gossips  of  Stratford, 
dealing  forth  churchyard  tales  and  legendary  anec- 
dotes of  the  troublesome  times  of  England.  In  this 
chair  it  is  the  custom  of  every  one  who  visits  the 
house  to  sit :  whether  this  be  done  with  the  hope  of 
imbibing  any  of  the  inspiration  of  the  bard,  I  am  at 
a  loss  to  say  ;  I  merely  mention  the  fact;  and  mine 
hostess  privately  assured  me,  that,  though  built  of 
solid  oak,  such  was  the  fervent  zeal  of  devotees,  that 
the  chair  had  to  be  new-bottomed  at  least  once  in 
three  years.  It  is  worthy  of  notice  also,  in  the  his- 
tory of  this  extraordinary  chair,  that  it  partakes 
something  of  the  volatile  nature  of  the  Santa  Casa 
of  Loretto,  or  the  flying  chair  of  the  Arabian  en- 
chanter ;  for  though  sold  some  few  years  since  to  a 
northern  princess,  yet,  strange  to  tell,  it  has  found 
its  way  back  again  to  the  old  chimney-corner. 

I  am  always  of  easy  faith  in  such  matters,  and  am 
very  willing  to  be  deceived,  where  the  deceit  is 
pleasant  and  costs  nothing.  I  am  therefore  a  ready 
believer  in  relics,  legends,  and  local  anecdotes  of 
goblins  and  great  men  ;  and  would  advise  all  travel- 
lers who  travel  for  their  gratification  to  be  the  same. 
What  is  it  to  us  whether  these  stories  be  true  or 
false  so  long  as  we  can  persuade  ourselves  into  the 
belief  of  them,  and  enjoy  all  the  charm  of  the  reality  .' 
There  is  nothing  like  resolute  good-humoured  cretlu- 
lity  in  these  matters ;  and  on  this  occasion  I  went 
even  so  far  as  willingly  to  believe  the  claims  of  mine 
hostess  to  a  lineal  descent  from  the  poet,  when,  un- 
luckily for  my  faith,  she  put  into  my  hands  a  play  of 
her  own  composition,  which  set  all  belief  in  her  con- 
sanguinity at  defiance. 

From  the  birth-place  of  ShakspeaVe  a  few  paces 
brought  me  to  his  grave.  He  lies  buried  in  the 
chancel  of  the  parish  church,  a  large  and  venerable 
pile,  mouldering  with  age,  but  richly  ornamented. 
It  stands  on  the  banks  of  the  Avon,  on  an  embow- 
ered point,  and  separated  by  adjoining  gardens  from 
the  suburbs  of  the  town.  Its  situation  is  quiet  and 
retired  :  the  river  runs  murmuring  at  the  foot  of  the 
churchyard,  and  the  elms  which  grow  upon  its  banks 
droop  their  branches  into  its  clear  bosom.  An  avenue 
of  limes,  the  boughs  of  which  are  curiously  inter- 
laced, so  as  to  form  in  summer  an  arched  way  of 
foliage,  leads  up  from  the  gate  of  the  yard  to  the 
church  porch.  The  graves  are  overgrown  with 
grass ;  the  gray  tombstones,  some  of  them  nearly 
sunk  into  the  earth,  are  half-covered  with  moss, 
which  has  likewise  tinted  the  reverend  old  building. 
Small  birds  have  built  their  nests  among  the  cor- 
nices and  fissures  of  the  walls,  and  keep  up  a  con- 
tinual flutter  and  chirping;  and  rooks  are  sailing  and 
cawing  about  its  lofty  gray  spire. 

In  the  course  of  my  rambles  I  met  with  the  gray- 
headed  sexton,  and  accompanied  him  home  to  get 
the  key  of  the  church.  He  had  lived  in  Stratford, 
man  and  boy,  for  eighty  years,  and  seemed  still  to 
consider  himself  a  vigorous  man,  with  the  trivial  ex- 
ception that  he  had  nearly  lost  the  use  of  his  legs  for 
a  few  years  past.  His  dwelling  was  a  cottage,  look 
ing  out  upon  the  Avon  and  its  bordering  meadows ; 


G8 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


and  was  a  picture  of  that  neatness,  order,  and  com- 
fort, which  pervade  the  humblest  dwellings  in  this 
country.  A  low  white-washed  room,  with  a  stone 
floor  carefully  scrubbed,  served  for  parlour,  kitchen, 
and  hall.  Rows  of  pewter  and  earthen  dishes  glit- 
tered along  the  dresser.  On  an  old  oaken  table, 
well  rubbed  and  polished,  lay  the  family  bible  and 
prayer-book,  and  the  drawer  contained  the  family 
iibiary,  composed  of  about  half  a  score  of  well- 
thumbed  volumes.  An  ancient  clock,  that  impor- 
tant article  of  cottage  furniture,  ticked  on  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  room  ;  with  a  bright  warming-pan 
hanging  on  one  side  of  it,  and  the  old  man's  horn- 
handled  Sunday  cane  on  the  other.  The  fire-place, 
as  usual,  was  wide  and  deep  enough  to  admit  a  gos- 
sip knot  within  its  jambs.  In  one  corner  sat  the  old 
man's  grand-daughter  sewing,  a  pretty  blue-eyed 
girl, — and  in  the  opposite  corner  was  a  superannu- 
ated crony,  whom  he  addressed  by  the  name  of  John 
Ange,  and  who,  I  found,  had  been  bis  companion 
from  childhood.  They  had  played  together  in  in- 
fancy ;  they  had  worked  together  in  manhood  ;  they 
were  now  tottering  about  and  gossiping  away  the 
evening  of  life  ;  and  in  a  short  time  they  will  prob- 
ably be  buried  together  in  the  neighbouring  church- 
yard. It  is  not  often  that  we  see  two  streams  of  ex- 
istence running  thus  evenly  and  tranquilly  side  by 
side ;  it  is  only  in  such  quiet  "  bosom  scenes  "  of 
life  (hat  they  are  to  be  met  with. 

I  had  hoped  to  gather  some  traditionary  anecdotes 
of  the  bard  from  these  ancient  chroniclers  ;  but  they 
had  nothing  new  to  impart.  The  long  interval,  dur- 
ing which  Shakspeare's  writings  lay  in  comparative 
neglect,  has  spread  its  shadow  over  history  ;  and 
it  is  his  good  or  evil  lot,  that  scarcely  any  tiling  re- 
mains to  his  biographers  but  a  scanty  handfull  of 
conjectures. 

The  sexton  and  his  companion  had  been  employed 
as  carpenters,  on  the  preparations  for  the  celebrated 
Stratford  jubilee,  and  they  remembered  Garrick,  the 
prime  mover  of  the  fete,  who  superintended  the  ar- 
rangements, and  who,  according  to  the  sexton,  was 
■'  a  short  punch  man,  very  lively  and  bustling."  John 
Ange  had  assisted  also  in  cutting  down  Shakspeare's 
mulberry-tree,  of  which  he  had  a  morsel  in  his  pocket 
for  sale  ;  no  doubt  a  sovereign  quickener  of  literary 
conception. 

I  was  grieved  to  hear  these  two  worthy  wights 
speak  very  dubiously  of  the  eloquent  dame  who 
shows  the  Shakspeare  house.  John  Ange  shook  his 
head  when  I  mentioned  her  valuable  and  inexhaust- 
ible collection  of  relics,  particularly  her  remains  of 
the  mulberry-tree ;  and  the  old  sexton  even  ex- 
pressed a  doubt  as  to  Shakspeare  having  been  born 
in  her  house.  I  soon  discovered  that  he  looked 
upon  her  mansion  with  an  evil  eye,  as  a  rival  to  the 
poet's  tomb ;  the  latter  having  comparatively  but 
few  visitors.  Thus  it  is  that  historians  differ  at  the 
very  outset,  and  mere  pebbles  make  the  stream  of 
truth  diverge  into  different  channels,  even  at  the 
fountain-head. 

We  approached  the  church  through  the  avenue  of 
limes,  and  entered  by  a  Gothic  porch,  highly  orna- 
mented with  carved  doors  of  massive  oak.  The  in- 
terior is  spacious,  and  the  architecture  and  embel- 
lishments superior  to  those  of  most  countiy  churches. 
There  are  several  ancient  monuments  of  nobility 
and  gentry,  over  some  of  which  hang  funeral  es- 
cutcheons, and  banners  dropping  piecemeal  from 
the  walls'.  The  tomb  of  Shakspeare  is  in  the  chan- 
cel. The  place  is  solemn  and  sepulchral.  Tall 
elms  wave  before  the  pointed  windows,  and  the 
Avon,  which  runs  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
walls,  keeps  up  a  low  perpetual  murmur.  A  flat 
stone  marks  the  spot  where  the  bard  is  buried. 


There  are  four  lines  inscribed  on  it,  said  to  have 
been  written  by  himself,  and  which  have  in  them 
something  Extremely  awful.  If  they  are  indeed  his 
own,  they  show  that  solicitude  about  the  quiet  of  the 
grave,  which  seems  natural  to  tine  sensibilities  and 
thoughtful  minds : 

Good  friend,  for  Jesus'  sake,  forbeare 
To  dig  the  dust  inclosed  here. 
Blessed  be  he  that  spares  these  stones, 
And  curst  be  he  that  moves  my  bones. 

Just  over  the  grave,  in  a  niche  of  the  wall,  is  a 
bust  of  Shakspeare,  put  up  shortly  after  his  death, 
and  considered  as  a  resemblance.  The  aspect  is 
pleasant  and  serene,  with  a  finely  arched  forehead ; 
and  I  thought  I  could  read  in  it  clear  indications  of 
that  cheerful,  social  disposition,  by  which  he  was  as 
much  characterized  among  his  contemporaries  as  by 
the  vastness  of  his  genius.  The  inscription  mentions 
his  age  at  the  time  of  his  decease — fifty-three  years ; 
an  untimely  death  for  the  world :  for  what  fruit 
might  not  have  been  expected  from  the  golden  au- 
tumn of  such  a  mind,  sheltered  as  it  was  from  the 
stormy  vicissitudes  of  life,  and  flourishing  in  the 
sunshine  of  popular  and  royal  favour ! 

The  inscription  on  the  tombstone  has  not  been 
without  its  effect.  It  has  prevented  the  removal  of 
his  remains  from  the  bosom  of  his  native  place  to 
Westminster  Abbey,  which  was  at  one  time  contem- 
plated. A  few  years  since  also,  as  some  labourers 
were  digging  to  make  an  adjoining  vault,  the  earth 
caved  in,  so  as  to  leave  a  vacant  space  almost  like  an 
arch,  through  which  one  might  have  reached  into  his 
grave.  No  one,  however,  presumed  to  meddle  with 
the  remains  so  awfully  guarded  by  a  malediction  ; 
and  lest  any  of  the  idle  or  the  curious,  or  any  collect- 
or of  relics,  should  be  tempted  to  commit  depreda- 
tions, the  old  sexton  kept  watch  over  the  place  for 
two  days,  until  the  vault  was  finished,  and  the  aper- 
ture closed  again.  He  told  me  that  he  had  made 
bold  to  look  in  at  the  hole,  but  could  see  neither 
coffin  nor  bones;  nothing  but  dust.  It  was  some- 
thing, I  thought,  to  have  seen  the  dust  of  Shak- 
speare. 

Next  to  this  grave  are  those  of  his  wife,  his  favour- 
ite daughter  Mrs.  Hall,  and  others  of  his  family.  On 
a  tomb  close  by,  also,  is  a  full-length  effigy  of  his  old 
friend  John  Combe,  of  usurious  memory ;  on  whom 
he  is  said  to  have  written  a  ludicrous  epitaph.  There 
are  other  monuments  around,  but  the  mind  refuses 
to  dwell  on  any  thing  that  is  not  connected  with 
Shakspeare.  His  idea  pervades  the  place — the  wh.ole 
pile  seems  but  as  his  mausoleum.  The  feelings,  no 
longer  checked  and  thwarted  by  doubt,  here  indulge 
in  perfect  confidence :  other  traces  of  him  may  be 
false  or  dubious,  but  here  is  palpable  evidence  and 
absolute  certainty.  As  I  trod  the  sounding  pave- 
ment, there  was  something  intense  and  thrilling  in 
the  idea,  that,  in  very  truth,  the  remains  of  Shak- 
speare were  mouldering  beneath  my  feet.  It  was  a 
long  time  before  I  could  prevail  upon  myself  to  leave 
the  place ;  and  as  I  passed  through  the  churchyard, 
I  plucked  a  branch  from  one  of  the  yew-trees,  the 
only  relic  that  I  have  brought  from  Stratford. 

I  had  now  visited  the  usual  objects  of  a  pilgrim's 
devotion,  but  I  had  a  desire  to  see  the  old  family  seat 
of  the  Lucys  at  Charlecot,  and  to  ramble  through  the 
park  where  Shakspeare,  in  company  with  some  of 
the  roysters  of  Stratford,  committed  his  youthful  of- 
fence of  deer-stealing.  In  this  hairbrained  exploit 
we  are  told  that  he  was  taken  prisoner,  and  carried 
to  the  keeper's  lodge,  where  he  remained  all  night  in 
doleful  captivity.  When  brought  into  the  presence 
of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  his  treatment  must  have  been 
galling  and  humiliating ;  for  it  so  wrought  upon  his 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


69 


spirit  as  to  produce  a  rough  pasquinade,  which  was 
affixed  to  the  parli  gate  at  Charlecot.* 

This  flagitious  attack  upon  the  dignity  of  the 
Knight  so  incensed  him,  that  he  applied  to  a  lawyer 
at  Warwick  to  put  the  severity  of  the  laws  in  force 
against  the  rhyming  deer-stalker.  Shakspeare  did 
not  wait  to  brave  the  united  puissance  of  a  Knight 
of  the  Shire  and  a  country  attorney.  He  forthwith 
abandoned  the  pleasant  banks  of  the  Avon,  and  his 
paternal  trade  ;  wandered  away  to  London  ;  became 
a  hanger-on  to  the  theatres  ;  then  an  actor  ;  and, 
finally,  wrote  for  the  stage ;  and  thus,  through  the 
persecution  of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy,  Stratford  lost  an 
indifferent  wool-comber,  and  the  world  gained  an 
immortal  poet.  He  retained,  however,  for  a  long 
time,  a  sense  of  the  harsh  treatment  of  the  Lord  of 
Charlecot,  and  revenged  himself  in  his  writings;  but 
in  the  sportive  way  of  a  good-natured  mind.  Sir 
Thomas  is  said  to  be  the  original  of  Justice  Shallow, 
and  the  satire  is  slily  fixed  upon  him  by  the  Justice's 
armorial  bearings,  which,  like  those  of  the  Knight, 
had  white  lucesf  in  the  quarterings. 

Various  attempts  have  been  made  by  his  biogra- 
phers to  soften  and  explain  away  this  early  trans- 
gression of  the  poet ;  but  I  look  upon  it  as  one  of 
those  thoughtless  exploits  natural  to  his  situation  and 
turn  of  mmd.  Shakspeare,  when  young,  had  doubt- 
less all  the  wildness  and  irregularity  of  an  ardent,  un- 
disciplined, and  undirected  genius.  The  poetic  tem- 
perament has  naturally  something  in  it  of  the  vaga- 
bond. When  left  to  itself,  it  runs  loosely  and  wildly, 
and  delights  in  every  thing  eccentric  and  licentious. 
It  is  often  a  turn-up  of  a  die,  in  the  gambling  freaks 
of  fate,  whether  a  natural  genius  shall  turn  out  a 
great  rogue  or  a  great  poet ;  and  had  not  Shakspeare's 
mind  fortunately  taken  a  literary  bias,  he  might  have 
as  daringly  transcended  all  civil,  as  he  has  all  dra- 
matic laws. 

1  have  little  doubt  that,  in  early  life,  when  running, 
like  an  unbroken  colt,  about  the  neifjhbourhood  of 
Stratford,  he  was  to  be  found  in  the  company  of  all 
kinds  of  odd  and  anomalous  characters ;  that  he  as- 
sociated with  all  the  madcaps  of  the  place,  and  was 
one  of  those  unlucky  urchins,  at  mention  of  whom 
old  men  shake  their  heads,  and  predict  that  they  will 
one  day  come  to  the  gallows.  To  him  the  poaching 
in  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  park  was  doubtless  like  a  foray 
to  a  Scottish  Knight,  and  struck  his  eager,  and  as 
yet  untamed,  imagination,  as  something  delightfully 
adventurous.^ 

The  old  mansion  of  Charlecot  and  its  surrounding 
park  still  remain  in  the  possession  of  the  Lucy  family, 
and  are  peculiarly  interesting  from  being  connected 
with  this  whimsical  but  eventful  circumstance  in  the 
scantv  history  of  the  bard.    As  the  house  stood  at 


*  The  following  is  the  only  stanza  extant  of  this  lampoon  ; 

A  parliament  member,  ajustice  of  peace, 
At  home  a  poor  scarecrow,  at  London  an  a»se, 
If  lowsie  is  Lucy,  as  some  volke  miscalle  it, 
Then  Lucy  is  lowsie.  whatever  befall  it. 

He  thinks  himself  great ; 

Yet  an  asse  in  his  state, 
We  allow  by  his  ears  with  hut  asses  to  mate. 
If  Lucy  is  lowsie,  as  some  vollce  miscalle  it, 
Then  sing  lowsie  Lucy,  whatever  befall  it. 

+  The  luce  is  a  pike  or  jack,  and  abounds  in  the  Avon,  about 
Charlecot. 

*  A.  proof  of  Shakspeare's  random  habits  and  associates  in  his 
youthi^ul  days  may  be  found  in  a  traditionary  anecdote,  picked  up 
at  Stratf  ltd  by  the  elder  Ireland,  and  mentioned  in  his  '^  Pictur- 
esque Views  on  the  Avon." 

About  seven  miles  from  Stratford  lies  the  thirsty  little  market 
town  of  Bedford,  famous  for  its  ale.  Two  societies  of  the  village 
yeoipanrj'  used  to  meet,  under  the  appellation  of  the  Bedford  topers, 
and  to  challenge  the  lovers  of  good  ale  of  the  neighbouring  villages, 
to  a  contest  of  drinking,  .\mong  others,  the  people  ofStrattord 
were  called  out  to  prove  the  strength  of  their  heads  ;  and  in  the 
number  of  the  champions  was  Shakspeare,  who.  in  spite  of  the 
proverb,  that  "  they  who  drink  beer  wilt  think  beer."  was  as  true  to 
his  ale  as  Falstaff  to  his  sack.  The  chivalry  of  Stratford  was  stag- 
gered at  the  first  onset,  and  sounded  a  retreat  while  they  had  yet 


little  more  than  three  miles'  distance  from  Stratford, 
I  resolved  to  pay  it  a  pedestrian  visit,  that  I  might 
stroll  leisurely  through  some  of  those  scenes  from 
which  Shakspeare  must  have  derived  his  earliest 
ideas  of  rural  imagery. 

The  country  was  yet  naked  and  leafless  ;  but  En- 
glish scenery  is  always  verdant,  and  the  sudden 
change  in  the  temperature  of  the  weather  was  sur- 
prising in  its  quickening  effects  upon  the  landscape. 
It  was  inspiring  and  animating  to  witness  this  first 
awakening  of  spring ;  to  feel  its  warm  breath  steal- 
ing over  the  senses  ;  to  see  the  moist  mellow  earth 
beginning  to  put  forth  the  green  sprout  and  the 
tender  blade  ;  and  the  trees  and  shrubs,  in  their  re- 
viving tints  and  bursting  buds,  giving  the  promise  of 
returning  foliage  and  flower.  The  ccrld  snow-drop, 
that  little  borderer  on  the  skirts  of  winter,  was  to 
be  seen  with  its  chaste  white  blossoms  in  the  small 
gardens  before  the  cottages.  The  bleating  of  the 
new-dropt  lambs  was  faintly  heard  from  the  fields. 
The  sparrow  twittered  about  the  thatched  eaves  and 
budding  hedges  ;  the  robin  threw  a  livelier  note 
into  his  late  querulous  wintry  strain  ;  and  the  lark, 
springing  up  from  the  reeking  bosom  of  the  meadow, 
towered  away  into  the  bright  fleecy  cloud,  pouring 
forth  torrents  of  melody.  As  I  watched  the  little 
songster,  mounting  up  higher  and  higher,  until  his 
body  was  a  mere  speck  on  the  white  bosom  of  the 
cloud,  while  the  ear  was  still  filled  with  his  music,  it 
called  to  mind  Shakspeare's  exquisite  little  song  in 
Cymbeline  : 

Hark  !  hark  !  the  lark  at  heav'n's  gate  sings. 

And  Phoebus  'gins  arise. 
His  steeds  to  water  at  those  springs, 

On  chaliced  flowers  that  lies. 

And  winking  mary-buds  begin 

To  ope  their  golden  eyes  ; 
With  every  thing  that  pretty  bin. 

My  lady  sweet,  arise  ! 

Indeed,  the  whole  country  about  here  is  poetic 
ground  :  every  thing  is  associated  with  the  idea  of 
Shakspeare.  Every  old  cottage  that  I  saw,  I  fancied 
into  some  resort  of  his  boyhood,  where  he  had  ac- 
quired his  intimate  knowledge  of  rustic  life  and  man- 
ners, and  heard  those  legendary  tales  and  wild  super- 
stitions which  he  has  woven  like  witchcraft  into  his 
dramas.  For  in  his  time,  we  are  told,  it  was  a  popu- 
lar amusement  in  winter  evenings  "  to  sit  round  the 
fire,  and  tell  merry  tales  of  errant  knights,  queens, 
lovers,  lords,  ladies,  giants,  dwarfs,  thieves,  cheaters, 
witches,  fairies,  goblins,  and  friars."* 

My  route  for  a  part  of  the  way  lay  in  sight  of  the 
Avon,  which  made  a  variety  of  the  most  fanciful 
doublings  and  windings  through  a  wide  and  fertile 
valley :  sometimes  glittering  from   among  willows, 


legs  to  carry  them  off  the  field.  They  had  scarcely  marched  a  mile, 
wlien,  their  legs  failing  them,  they  were  forced  to  lie  down  under  a 
crab-tree,  where  they  passed  the  night.  It  is  still  st  nding,  and 
goes  by  the  name  of  Shakspeare's  tree. 

In  the  morning  his  companions  awaked  the  bard,  and  proposed 
returning  to  Bedford,  but  he  declined,  saying  he  had  had  enough, 
having  drunk  with 

Piping  Pebworth.  Dancing  Marston, 
Haunted  Hilbro'.  Hungry  Grafton, 
Drudging  Exhall,  Papist  Wicksford. 
Beggarly  Broom,  and  drunken  Bedford. 

"The  villages  here  alluded  to,"  says  Ireland,  "still  bear  the 
epithets  thus  given  them  :  the  people  of  Pebworth  are  still  famed 
for  their  skill  on  the  pipe  and  tabor ;  HiUborough  is  now  called 
Haunted  HiUborough  ;  and  Grafton  is  famous  for  the  poverty  of  its 
soil." 

♦  Scot,  in  his  "  Discoverie  of  Witchcraft,"  enumerates  a  host 
of  these  fire-side  fancies.  "  And  they  have  so  fraid  us  with 
bull-i.eggars,  spirits,  witches,  urchins,  elves,  hags,  fairies, 
satyrs,  pans,  faunes,  syrens,  kit  with  the  can  sticke,  tritons, 
centaurs,  dwarfes,  giantes,  imps,  calcars,  conjurors,  nymphes, 
changelings,  incubus,  Robin-good-fellow,  the  spornc,  the  mare, 
the  man  in  the  oke,  the  hellwaine.  the  fier  drake,  the  puckle, 
Tom  Thombe,  hobgoblins,  Tom  Tumbler,  boneless,  and  such 
other  bugs,  that  we  were  afraid  of  our  own  shadowes." 


70 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


which  fringed  its  borders  ;  sometimes  disappearing 
among  groves,  or  beneath  green  banks ;  and  some- 
times rambhng  out  into  full  view,  and  making  an 
azure  sweep  round  a  slope  of  meadow  land.  This 
beautiful  bosom  of  country  is  called  the  Vale  of  the 
Red  Horse.  A  distant  line  of  undulating  blue  hills 
seems  to  be  its  boundary,  whilst  all  the  soft  interven- 
ing landscape  lies  in  a  manner  enchained  in  the 
siu'er  links  of  the  Avon. 

After  pursuing  the  road  for  about  three  miles,  I 
turned  off  into  a  foot-path,  which  led  along  the  bor- 
ders of  fields  and  under  hedge-rows  to  a  private  gate 
of  the  park ;  there  was  a  stile,  however,  for  the  ben- 
efit of  the  pedestrian  ;  there  being  a  public  right  of 
way  through  the  grounds.  I  delight  in  these  hospita- 
ble estates,  in  which  every  one  has  a  kind  of  property 
— at  least  as  far  as  the  foot-path  is  concerned.  It  in 
some  measure  reconciles  a  poor  man  to  his  lot,  and 
what  is  more,  to  the  better  lot  of  his  neighbour, 
thus  to  have  parks  and  pleasure-grounds  thrown 
open  for  his  recreation.  He  breathes  the  pure  air 
as  freely,  and  lolls  as  luxuriously  under  the  shade,  as 
the  lord  of  the  soil  ;  and  if  he  has  not  the  privilege 
of  calling  all  that  he  sees  his  own,  he  has  not,  at  the 
same  time,  the  trouble  of  paying  for  it,  and  keeping 
it  in  order. 

I  now  found  myself  among  noble  avenues  of  oaks 
and  elms,  whose  vast  size  bespoke  the  growth  of 
centuries.  The  wind  sounded  solemnly  among  their 
branches,  and  the  rooks  cawed  from  their  hereditary 
nests  in  the  tree  tops.  The  eye  ranged  through  a 
long  lessening  vista,  with  nothing  to  interrupt  the 
view  but  a  distant  statue  ;  and  a  vagrant  deer  stalk- 
ing like  a  shadow  across  the  opening. 

There  is  something  about  these  stately  old  avenues 
that  has  the  effect  of  Gothic  architecture,  not  merely 
from  the  pretended  similarity  of  form,  but  from  their 
bearing  the  evidence  of  long  duration,  and  of  having 
had  their  origin  in  a  period  of  time  with  which  we 
associate  ideas  of  romantic  grandeur.  They  be- 
token also  the  long-settled  dignity,  and  proudly  con- 
centrated independence  of  an  ancient  family  ;  and  I 
have  heard  a  worthy  but  aristocratic  old  friend  ob- 
serve, when  speaking  of  the  sumptuous  palaces  of 
modern  gentry,  that  "  money  could  do  much  with 
stone  and  mortar,  but,  thank  Heaven,  there  was  no 
such  thing  as  suddenly  building  up  an  avenue  of 
oaks." 

It  was  from  wandering  in  early  life  among  this  rich 
scenery,  and  about  the  romantic  solitudes  of  the  ad- 
joining park  of  Fullbroke,  which  then  formed  a  part 
of  the  Lucy  estate,  that  some  of  Shakspeare's  com- 
mentators have  supposed  he  derived  his  noble  for- 
est meditations  of  Jacques,  and  the  enchanting  wood- 
land pictures  in  "  As  you  like  it."  It  is  in  lonely 
wanderings  through  such  scenes,  that  the  inind 
drinks  deep  but  quiet  draughts  of  inspiration,  and 
becomes  intensely  sensible  ot  the  beauty  and  majesty 
of  nature.  The  imagination  kindles  into  reverie  and 
rapture  ;  vague  but  exquisite  images  and  ideas  keep 
breaking  upon  it ;  and  we  revel  in  a  mute  and  almost 
incommunicable  luxury  of  thought.  It  was  in  some 
such  mood,  and  perhaps  under  one  of  those  very 
trees  before  me,  which  threw  their  broad  shades  over 
the  grassy  banks  and  quivering  waters  of  the  Avon, 
that  the  poet's  fancy  may  have  sallied  forth  into 
that  little  song  which  breathes  the  very  soul  of  a 
rural  voluptuary : 

Under  the  green-wood  tree, 

Who  loves  to  lie  with  me, 

And  tune  his  merry  throat 

Unto  the  sweet  bird's  note, 

Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither. 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 


I  had  now  come  in  sight  of  the  house.  It  is  a 
large  building  of  brick,  with  stone  quoins,  and  is  in 
the  Gothic  style  of  Queen  Elizabeth's  day,  having 
been  built  in  the  first  year  of  her  reign.  The  exte- 
rior remains  very  nearly  in  its  original  state,  and 
may  be  considered  a  fair  specimen  of  the  residence 
of  a  wealthy  country  gentleman  of  those  days.  A 
great  gateway  opens  from  the  park  into  a  kind  of 
court-yard  in  front  of  the  house,  ornamented  with  a 
grass-plot,  shrubs,  and  flower-beds.  The  gateway 
is  in  imitation  of  the  ancient  barbican  ;  being  a  kind 
of  outpost,  and  flanked  by  towers;  though  evidently 
for  mere  ornament,  instead  of  defence.  The  front 
of  the  house  is  completely  in  the  old  style ;  with  stone 
shafted  casements,  a  great  bow-window  of  heavy 
stonework,  and  a  portal  with  armorial  bearings  over 
it,  carved  in  stone.  At  each  corner  of  the  building 
is  an  octagon  tower,  surmounted  by  a  gilt  ball  and 
weathercock. 

The  Avon,  which  winds  through  the  park,  makes 
a  bend  just  at  the  foot  of  a  gently  sloping  bank,  which 
sweeps  down  from  the  rear  of  the  house.  Large 
herds  of  deer  were  feeding  or  reposing  upon  its  bor- 
ders ;  and  swans  were  sailing  majestically  upon  its 
bosom.  As  I  contemplated  the  venerable  old  man- 
sion, I  called  to  mind  Falstaff' s  encomium  on  Justice 
Shallow's  abode,  and  the  affected  indifference  and 
real  vanity  of  the  latter : 

^^ Falstaff .  You  have  here  a  goodly  dwelling  and  a  rich. 
^^Shatlcyw.  Barren,  barren,  barren;  beggars  all,  beggars  all,  Sir 
John: — marry,  good  air." 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  joviality  of  the  old 
mansion  in  the  days  of  Shakspeare,  it  had  now  an 
air  of  stillness  and  solitude.  The  great  iron  gateway 
that  opened  into  the  court-yard  was  locked  ;  there 
was  no  show  of  servants  bustling  about  the  place  ; 
the  deer  gazed  quietly  at  me  as  I  passed,  being  no 
longer  harried  by  the  moss-troopers  of  Stratford. 
The  only  sign  of  domestic  life  that  I  met  with,  was  a 
white  cat,  stealing  with  wary  look  and  stealthy  pace 
towards  the  stables,  as  if  on  some  nefarious  expedi- 
tion. 1  must  not  omit  to  mention  the  c?.rcass  of  a 
scoundrel  crow  which  I  saw  suspended  against  the 
barn  wall,  as  it  shows  that  the  Lucys  still  inherit  that 
lordly  abhorrence  of  poachers,  and  maintain  that 
rigorous  exercise  of  territorial  power  which  was  so 
strenuously  manifested  in  the  case  of  the  bard. 

After  prowling  about  for  some  time,  I  at  length 
found  my  way  to  a  lateral  portal,  which  was  the 
every-day  entrance  to  the  mansion.  I  was  courte- 
ously received  by  a  worthy  old  housekeeper,  who, 
with  the  civility  and  communicativeness  of  her  order, 
showed  me  the  interior  of  the  house.  The  greater 
part  has  undergone  alterations,  and  been  adapted  to 
modern  tastes  and  modes  of  living  ;  tliere  is  a  fine 
ole  oaken  staircase  ;  and  the  great  hall,  that  noble 
feature  in  an  ancient  manor-house,  still  retains  much 
of  the  appearance  it  must  have  had  in  the  days  of 
Shakspeare.  The  ceiling  is  arched  and  lofty ;  and 
at  one  end  is  a  gallery,  in  which  stands  an  organ. 
The  weapons  and  trophies  of  the  chase,  which  for- 
merly adorned  the  hall  of  a  country  gentleman,  have 
made  way  for  family  portraits.  There  is  a  wide 
hospitable  fire-place,  calculated  for  an  ample  old- 
fashioned  wood  fire,  formerly  the  rallying  place  of 
winter  festivity.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall  is 
the  huge  Gothic  bow-window,  with  stone  shafts, 
which  looks  out  upon  the  court-yard.  Here  are  em- 
blazoned in  stained  glass  the  armorial  bearings  of 
the  Lucy  family  for  many  generations,  some  being 
dated  in  1558.  I  was  delighted  to  observe  in  the 
quarterings  the  three  white  luces  by  which  the  char- 
acter of  Sir  Thomas  was  first  identified  with  that  of 
Justice  Shallow.     They  are  mentioned  in  the  first 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


71 


scene  of  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  where  the  Jus- 
tice is  in  a  rage  with  Falstaff  for  having  "  I^eaten  his 
men,  killed  his  deer,  and  broken  into  his  lodge." 
The  poet  had  no  doubt  the  offences  of  himself  antl 
his  comrades  in  mind  at  the  time,  and  we  may  sup- 
pose the  family  pride  ^.nd  vindictive  threats  of  the 
puissant  Shallow  to  be  a  caricature  of  the  pompous 
indignation  of  Sir  Thomas. 

^"Shallow,  sir  Hugh,  persuade  me  not:  I  will  malce  a  Star- 
Chamher  matter  of  it;  it  he  were  twenty  Sir  John  Falstaffs,  he 
shall  not  abuse  Robert  shallow.  Esq. 

^""Siinder.  In  the  county  of  (lloster,  justice  of  peace,  and  c^raw, 

^^ShaliOw.  Ay,  cousin  Slender,  and  custntorum. 

^^Shnder.  Ay,  and  ratalorum  too,  and  a  gentleman  born,  mas- 
ter parson  ;  who  writes  himself  Armigero  in  any  bill,  warrant, 
quittance,  or  obligation.  Armigero. 

^'Shaltotv.  Ay,  that  1  do  \  and  have  done  any  time  these  three 
hundred  years. 

^^Stettd^r,  AH  his  successois  gone  before  him  have  done  't,  and 
all  his  ancestors  that  come  after  him  may  ;  they  may  give  the  dozen 
vihite  luces  in  their  coat. 

'"'Shallow.  TJie  council  shall  hear  it ;  it  is  a  riot. 

''^Evans.  It  i?  not  meet  the  council  hear  of  a  riot  ;  there  is  no  fear 
of  Got  in  a  riot :  the  council,  hear  you,  shall  desire  to  hear  the  fear 
of  Got.  and  not  to  hear  a  riot ;  take  your  vizaments  in  that. 

''Shallow.  Ha  !  o'  my  life,  if  I  were  young  again,  the  sword  should 
end  it ! " 

Near  the  window  thus  emblazoned  hung  a  portrait 
by  Sir  Peter  Lely  of  one  of  the  Lucy  family,  a  great 
beauty  of  the  time  of  Charles  the  Second  :  the  old 
housekeeper  shook  lier  head  as  she  pointed  to  the 
picture,  and  informed  ine  that  this  lady  had  been 
sadly  addicted  to  cards,  and  had  gambled  away  a 
great  portion  of  the  family  estate,  among  which  was 
that  part  of  the  park  where  Shakspeare  and  his  com- 
rades had  killed  the  deer.  The  lands  thus  lost  have 
not  been  entirely  regained  by  the  family,  even  at  the 
present  day.  It  is  but  justice  to  this  recreant  dame 
to  confess  that  she  had  a  surpassingly  fine  hand  and 
arm. 

The  picture  which  most  attracted  my  attention  was 
a  great  painting  over  the  fire-place,  containing  like- 
nesses of  Sir  Thomas  Lucy  and  his  family,  who  in- 
habited the  hall  in  the  latter  part  of  Shakspeare's 
lifetime.  I  at  first  thought  that  it  was  the  vindictive 
knight  himself,  but  the  housekeeper  assured  me  that 
it  was  his  son  ;  the  only  likeness  ext.tnt  of  the  for.Tier 
being  an  effigy  upon  his  tomb  in  the  church  of  the 
neighbouring  hamlet  of  Charlecot.  The  picture  gives 
a  lively  idea  of  the  costume  and  manners  of  the  time. 
Sir  Thomas  is  dressed  in  ruff  and  doublet ;  white 
shoes  with  roses  in  them  ;  and  has  a  peaked  yellow, 
or,  as  Master  Slender  would  say,  "  a  cane-coloured 
beard."  His  l.ady  is  seated  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
picture  in  wide  ruff  and  long  stomacher,  and  the 
children  have  a  most  venerable  stiffness  and  formality 
of  dress.  Hounds  and  spaniels  are  mingled  in  the 
family  group  ;  a  hawk  is  seated  on  his  perch  in  the 
foreground,  and  one  of  the  children  holds  a  bow  ; — 
all  intimating  the  knight's  skill  in  hunting,  hawking, 
and  archery — so  indispensable  to  an  accomplished 
gentleman  in  those  days.* 

I  regretted  to  find  that  the  ancient  furniture  of  the 
hall  had  disappeared  ;  for  1  had  hoped  to  meet  with 
the  stately  elbow-chair  of  carved  oak,  in  which  the 
country  '.Squire  of  former  days  w,as  wont  to  sway  the 
sceptre  of  empire  over  his  rural  domains  ;  and  in 
which  it  might  be  presumed  the  redoubted  Sir  Thomas 
sat  enthroned  in  awful  state,  when  the  recreant  Shak- 


*  Bishop  Earle.  speaking  of  the  country  gentleman  of  his  time, 
observes,  "  his  housekeeping  is  seen  much  in  the  different  families 
of  dogs,  and  serving-men  attendant  on  their  kennels ;  and  the 
deepness  of  their  throats  is  the  depth  of  his  discourse.  A  hawk 
he  esteems  the  true  burden  of  nobility,  and  is  exceedingly  ambitious 
to  .';eem  delighted  with  the  sport,  and  have  his  fist  gloved  with  his 
jesses.''  And  (Jilpin.  in  his  description  of  a  Mr.  Hastings,  remarks, 
"he  kept  all  sorts  of  hounds  that  run,  buck,  fox,  hare,  otter,  and 
badger ;  and  had  hawks  of  all  kinds  both  long  and  short  winged. 
His  great  hall  was  commonly  strewed  with  marrow-bones,  and  full 
of  hawk  perches,  hounds,  spaniels,  and  terriers.  On  a  broad 
hearth,  paved  with  brick,  lay  some  of  the  choicest  terriers,  hounds, 
and  spaniels." 


speare  was  brought  before  him.  As  I  like  to  deck 
out  pictures  for  my  own  entertainment,  I  pleased  my- 
self with  the  idea  that  this  very  hall  had  been  the 
scene  of  the  unlucky  bard's  examination  on  the 
morning  after  his  captivity  in  the  lodge.  I  fancied 
to  myself  the  rural  potentate,  surrounded  by  his 
body-guard  of  butler,  pages,  and  blue-coated  serving- 
men  with  their  badges  ;  while  the  luckless  culprit 
was  brought  in,  forlorn  and  chapfallen,  in  the  custody 
of  game-keepers,  huntsmen,  and  whippers-in,  and 
followed  by  a  rabble  rout  of  country  clowns.  I 
fancied  bright  faces  of  curious  house-maids  peeping 
from  the  half-opened  doors ;  while  from  the  gallery 
the  fair  daughters  of  the  Knight  leaned  gracefully 
forward,  eyeing  the  youthful  prisoner  with  that  pity 
"  that  dwells  in  womanhood." — Who  would  have 
thought  that  this  poor  varlet,  thus  trembling  before 
the  brief  authority  of  a  country  'Squire,  and  the 
sport  of  rustic  boors,  was  soon  to  become  the  de- 
light of  princes  ;  the  theme  of  all  tongues  and  ages ; 
the  dictator  to  the  human  mind  ;  and  w,as  to  confer 
immortality  on  his  oppressor  by  a  caricature  and  a 
lampoon  ! 

I  was  now  invited  by  the  butler  to  walk  into  the 
garden,  and  I  felt  inclined  to  visit  the  orchard  and  ar- 
bour where  the  Justice  treated  Sir  John  Falstaff  and 
Cousin  Silence  "to  a  last  year's  pippen  of  his  own 
grafting,  with  a  dish  of  carraways  ;  "  but  I  had  al- 
ready spent  so  much  of  the  day  in  my  rambling,  that 
I  was  obliged  to  give  up  any  farther  investigations. 
When  about  to  take  my  leave,  I  was  gratified  by  the 
civil  entreaties  of  the  housekeeper  and  butler,  that  I 
would  take  some  refreshment— an  instance  of  good 
old  hospitality,  which  I  grieve  to  say  we  castle-hunters 
seldom  meet  with  in  modern  days.  I  make  no  doubt 
it  is  a  virtue  which  the  present  representative  of  the 
Lucys  inherits  from  his  ancestors  ;  for  Shakspeare, 
even  in  his  caricature,  makes  Justice  Shallow  impor- 
tunate in  this  respect,  as  witness  his  pressing  instances 
to  Falstaff. 

*'  By  cock  and  pye.  Sir,  you  shall  not  away  to-night  *  *  *  *.  I 
will  notcxcuse  you;  you  shall  not  be  excused;  excuses  shall  not  be 
admitted;  there  is  no  excuse  shall  serve;  you  shall  not  be  excused 
•  •  *  *.  Some  pigeons,  Davy  ;  a  couple  of  short-legged  hens;  a 
joint  of  mutton ;  and  any  pretty  little  ttny  kickshaws,  tell  *  William 
Cook.*  " 

I  now  bade  a  reluctant  farewell  to  the  old  hall. 
My  mind  had  become  so  completely  possessed  by  the 
imaginary  scenes  and  characters  connected  with  it, 
that  I  seemed  to  be  actually  living  among  them. 
Every  thing  brought  them  as  it  were  before  my  eyes  ; 
and  as  the  door  of  the  dining-room  opened,  I  almost 
expected  to  hear  the  feeble  voice  of  Master  Silence 
quavering  forth  his  favourite  ditty  : 

'*  'Tis  merry  in  hall,  when  beards  wag  all. 
And  welcome  merry  Shrove-tide  I  " 

On  returning  to  my  inn,  I  could  not  but  reflect 
on  the  singular  gift  of  the  poet ;  to  be  able  thus  to 
.spread  the  magic  of  his  mind  over  the  very  face  of 
nature  ;  to  give  to  things  and  places  a  charm  and 
character  not  their  own,  and  to  turn  this  "working- 
day  world  "  into  a  perfect  fairy  land.  He  is  indeed 
the  true  enchanter,  whose  spell  operates,  not  upon 
the  senses,  but  upon  the  imagination  and  the  heart. 
Under  the  wizard  influence  of  Shakspeare  I  h.ad 
been  walking  all  day  in  a  complete  delusion.  I  had 
surveyed  the  landscape  through  the  prism  of  poetry, 
which  tinged  every  object  with  the  hues  of  the  rain- 
bow. I  had  been  surrounded  with  fancied  beings  ; 
with  mere  airy  nothings,  conjured  up  by  poetic 
power ;  yet  which,  to  me,  had  all  the  charm  of  real- 
ity. I  had  heard  Jacques  soliloquize  beneath  his 
oak  ;  had  beheld  the  fair  Rosalind  and  her  companion 
adventuring  through  the  woodlands  ;  and,  .above  all, 


72 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


had  been  once  more  present  in  spirit  with  fat  Jack 
Falstaff,  and  his  contemporaries,  from  the  august 
Justice  Shallow,  down  to  the  gentle  Master  Slender, 
and  the  sweet  Anne  Page.  Ten  thousand  honours 
and  blessings  on  the  bard  who  has  thus  gilded  the 
dull  realities  of  life  with  innocent  illusions  ;  who  has 
spread  exquisite  and  unbought  pleasures  in  my  cheq- 
uered path  ;  and  beguiled  my  spirit  in  many  a  lonely 
hour,  with  all  the  cordial  and  cheerful  sympathies  of 
social  life  ! 

As  I  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  Avon  on  my  re- 
turn, I  paused  to  contemplate  the  distant  church  in 
which  the  poet  lies  buried,  and  could  not  but  exult 
in  the  malediction  which  has  kept  his  ashes  undis- 
turbed in  its  quiet  and  hallowed  vaults.  What 
honour  could  his  name  have  derived  from  being 
mingled  in  dusty  companionship  with  the  epitaphs 
and  escutcheons  and  venal  eulogiums  of  a  titled 
multitude  .''  What  would  a  crowded  corner  in  West- 
minster Abbey  have  been,  compared  with  this  rev- 
erend pile,  which  seems  to  stand  in  beautiful  loneli- 
ness as  his  sole  mausoleum  !  The  solicitude  about 
the  grave  may  be  but  the  offspring  of  an  overwrought 
sensibility ;  but  human  nature  is  made  up  of  foibles 
and  prejudices  ;  and  its  best  and  tenderest  affections 
are  mingled  with  these  factitious  feelings.  He  who 
has  sought  renown  about  the  world,  and  has  reaped 
a  full  harvest  of  worldly  favour,  will  find,  after  all, 
th.it  there  is  no  love,  no  admiration,  no  applause,  so 
sweet  to  the  soul  as  that  which  springs  up  in  his 
native  place.  It  is  there  that  he  seeks  to  be  gathered 
in  peace  and  honour,  among  his  kindred  and  his 
early  friends.  And  when  the  weary  heart  and  fail- 
ing head  begin  to  warn  him  that  the  evening  of  life 
is  drawing  on,  he  turns  as  fondly  as  does  the  in- 
fant to  the  mother's  arms,  to  sink  to  sleep  in  the 
bosom  of  the  scene  of  his  childhood. 

How  would  it  have  cheered  the  spirit  of  the  youth- 
ful bard,  when,  wandering  forth  in  disgrace  upon  a 
doubtful  world,  he  cast  back  a  heavy  look  upon  his 
paternal  home,  could  he  have  foreseen  that,  before 
many  years,  he  should  return  to  it  covered  with  re- 
nown ;  that  his  name  should  become  the  boast  and 
glory  of  his  native  place  ;  that  his  ashes  should  be 
religiously  guarded  as  its  most  precious  treasure  ; 
and  that  its  lessening  spire,  on  which  his  eyes  were 
fixed  in  tearful  contemplation,  should  one  day  be- 
come the  beacon,  towering  amidst  the  gentle  land- 
scape, to  guide  the  literary  pilgrim  of  ever)'  nation 
to  his  tomb  ! 


TRAITS  OF  INDIAN  CHARACTER. 


*'  I  appeal  to  any  white  man  if  ever  he  entered  Logan's  cabin 
hungry,  and  he  gave  him  not  to  eat;  if  ever  he  came  cold  and 
naked,  and  he  clothed  him  not." — Speech  of  an  Indian  Chie/. 

There  is  something  in  the  character  and  habits 
of  the  North  American  savage,  taken  in  connexion 
with  the  scenery  over  which  he  is  accustomed  to 
range,  its  vast  lakes,  boundless  forests,  majestic 
rivers,  and  trackless  plains,  that  is,  to  my  mind, 
wonderfully  striking  and  sublime.  He  is  formed  for 
the  wilderness,  as  the  Arab  is  for  the  desert.  His 
nature  is  stern,  simple,  and  enduring  ;  fitted  to  grap- 
ple with  difficulties,  and  to  support  privations. 
There  seems  but  little  soil  in  his  heart  for  the  growth 
of  the  kindly  virtues  ;  and  yet,  if  we  would  but  take 
the  trouble  to  penetrate  through  that  proud  stoicism 
and  habitual  taciturnity,  which  look  up  his  character 
from  casual  observation,  we  should  find  him  linked 
to  his  fellow  man  of  civilized  life  by  more  of  those 


sympathies  and  affections  than  are  usually  ascribed 
to  him. 

It  has  been  the  lot  of  the  unfortunate  aborigines 
ef  America,  in  the  early  periods  of  colonization,  to  be 
doubly  wronged  by  the  white  men.  They  have  been 
dispossessed  of  their  hereditary  pos.sessions,  by  mer- 
cenary and  frequently  wanton  warfare;  and  their 
characters  have  been  traduced  by  bigoted  and  inter- 
ested writers.  The  colonist  has  often  treated  them 
like  beasts  of  the  forest ;  and  the  author  has  endea- 
voured to  justify  him  in  his  outrages.  The  former 
found  it  easier  to  exterminate  than  to  civilize — the 
latter  to  vilify  than  to  discriminate.  The  appella- 
tions of  savage  and  pagan  were  deemed  sufficient  to 
sanction  the  hostilities  of  both ;  and  thus  the  poor 
wanderers  of  the  forest  were  persecuted  and  defamed, 
not  because  they  were  guilty,  but  because  they  were 
ignorant. 

The  rights  of  the  savage  have  seldom  been  prop- 
erly appreciated  or  respected  by  the  white  man.  In 
peace,  he  has  too  often  been  the  dupe  of  artful  traffic  ; 
in  war,  he  has  been  regarded  as  a  ferocious  animal, 
whoso  life  or  death  was  a  question  of  mere  precau- 
tion and  convenience.  Man  is  cruelly  wasteful  of 
life  when  his  own  safety  is  endangered,  and  he  is 
sheltered  by  impunity ;  and  little  mercy  is  to  be  ex- 
pected from  him  when  he  feels  the  sting  of  the  rep- 
tile, and  is  conscious  of  the  power  to  destroy. 

The  same  prejudices  which  were  indulged  thus 
early,  exist  in  common  circulation  at  the  present  day. 
Certain  learned  societies  have,  it  is  true,  with  lauda- 
ble diligence,  endeavoured  to  investigate  and  record 
the  real  characters  and  manners  of  the  Indian  tribes  ; 
the  American  government,  too,  has  wisely  and  hu- 
manely exerted  itself  to  inculcate  a  friendly  and  for- 
bearing spirit  towards  them,  and  to  protect  them 
from  fraud  and  injustice.*  The  current  opinion  of 
the  Indian  character,  however,  is  too  apt  to  be 
formed  from  the  miserable  hordes  which  infest  the 
frontiers,  and  hang  on  the  skirts  of  the  settlements. 
These  are  too  commonly  composed  of  degenerate 
beings,  corrupted  and  enfeebled  by  the  vices  of 
society,  without  being  benefited  by  its  civilization. 
That  proud  independence,  which  formed  the  main 
pillar  of  savage  virtue,  has  been  shaken  down,  and 
the  whole  moral  fabric  lies  in  ruins.  Their  spirits 
are  humiliated  and  debased  by  a  sense  of  inferiority, 
and  their  native  courage  cowed  and  daunted  by  the 
superior  knowledge  and  power  of  their  enlightened 
neighbours.  Society  has  advanced  upon  them  like 
one  of  those  withering  airs  that  will  sometimes 
breathe  desolation  over  a  whole  region  of  fertility. 
It  has  enervated  their  strength,  multiplied  their  dis- 
eases, and  superinduced  upon  their  original  barbarity 
the  low  vices  of  artificial  life.  It  has  given  them  a 
thousand  superfluous  wants,  whilst  it  has  diminished 
their  means  of  mere  existence.  It  has  driven  before 
it  the  animals  of  the  chase,  who  fly  from  the  sound 
of  the  axe  and  the  smoke  of  the  settlement,  and  seek 
refuge  in  the  depths  of  remoter  forests  and  yet  un- 
trodden wilds.  Thus  do  we  too  often  find  the  Indians 
on  our  frontiers  to  be  mere  wrecks  and  remnants  of 
once  powerful  tribes,  who  have  lingered  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  the  settlements,  and  sunk  into  precarious  and 
vagabond  existence.  Poverty,  repining  and  hopeless 
poverty,  a  canker  of  the  mind  unknown  in  savage 
life,  corrodes  their  spirits  and  blights  every  free  and 
noble  quality  of  their  natures.  They  become  drunken. 


*  The  American  government  has  been  indefatig.ible  in  its  exer- 
tions to  meliorate  the  situation  of  the  Indians,  and  to  introduce 
among  them  the  arts  of  civilization,  and  civil  and  religious  knowl- 
edge. To  protect  them  from  the  frauds  of  the  white  traders,  ntj 
purchase  of  land  from  them  by  individuals  is  permitted  ;  nor  is  any 
person  allowed  to  receive  lands  from  them  as  a  present,  without 
the  express  sanction  of  government.  These  precautions  are 
strictly  enforced. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF  GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


73 


indolent,  feeble,  thievish,  and  pusillanimous.  They 
loiter  like  vagrants  about  the  settlements  among 
spacious  dwellings,  replete  with  elaborate  comforts, 
which  only  render  them  sensible  of  the  comparative 
wretchedness  of  their  own  condition.  Luxury  spreads 
its  ample  board  before  their  eyes ;  but  they  are  ex- 
cluded from  the  banquet.  Plenty  revels  over  the 
fields;  but  they  are  starving  in  the  midst  of  its 
abundance :  the  whole  wilderness  has  blossomed 
into  a  garden  ;  but  they  feel  as  reptiles  that  infest  it. 

How  different  was  their  state,  while  yet  the  un- 
disputed lords  of  the  soil  !  Their  wants  were  few, 
and  the  means  of  gratification  within  their  reach. 
They  saw  every  one  round  them  sharing  the  same 
lot,  enduring  the  same  hardships,  feeding  on  the 
same  aliments,  arrayed  in  the  same  rude  garments. 
No  roof  then  rose,  but  was  open  to  the  homeless 
stranger  ;  no  smoke  curled  among  the  trees,  but  he 
was  welcome  to  sit  down  by  its  fire  and  join  the 
hunter  in  his  repast.  "  For,"  says  an  old  historian 
of  New-England,  "  their  life  is  so  void  of  care,  and 
they  are  so  loving  also,  that  they  make  use  of  those 
things  they  enjoy  as  common  goods,  and  are  therein 
so  compassionate,  that  rather  than  one  should  starve 
through  want,  they  would  starve  all ;  thus  do  they 
pass  their  time  merrily,  not  regarding  our  pomp,  but 
are  better  content  with  their  own,  which  some  men 
esteem  so  meanly  of."  Such  were  the  Indians, 
whilst  in  the  pride  and  energy  of  their  primitive 
natures ;  they  resemble  those  wild  plants  which 
thrive  best  in  the  shades  of  the  forest,  but  shrink 
from  the  hand  of  cultivation,  and  perish  beneath  the 
influence  of  the  sun. 

In  discussing  the  savage  character,  writers  have 
been  too  prone  to  indulge  in  vulgar  prejudice  and 
passionate  exaggeration,  instead  of  the  candid  tem- 
per of  true  philosophy.  They  have  not  sufficiently 
considered  the  peculiar  circumstances  in  which  the 
Indians  have  been  placed,  and  the  peculiar  princi- 
ples under  which  they  have  been  educated.  No 
being  acts  more  rigidly  from  rule  than  the  Indian. 
His  whole  conduct  is  regulated  according  to  some 
general  maxims  early  implanted  in  his  mind.  The 
moral  laws  that  govern  him  are,  to  be  sure,  but  few  ; 
but  then  he  conforms  to  them  all ; — the  white  man 
abounds  in  laws  of  religion,  morals,  and  manners, 
but  how  many  does  he  violate ! 

A  frequent  ground  of  accusation  against  the  In- 
dians is  their  disregard  of  treaties-,  and  the  treachery 
and  wantonness  with  which,  in  time  of  apparent 
peace,  they  will  suddenly  fly  to  hostilities.  The  in- 
tercourse of  the  white  men  with  the  Indians,  how- 
ever, is  too  apt  to  be  cold,  distrustful,  oppressive, 
and  insulting.  They  seldom  treat  them  with  that 
confidence  and  frankness  which  are  indispensable  to 
real  friendship ;  nor  is  sufficient  caution  observed 
not  to  offend  against  those  feelings  of  pride  or  super- 
stition, which  often  prompt  the  Indian  to  hostility 
quicker  than  mere  considerations  of  interest.  The 
solitar)'  savage  feels  silently,  but  acutely.  His  sen- 
sibilities are  not  diffused  over  so  wide  a  surface  as 
those  of  the  white  man  ;  but  they  run  in  steadier 
and  deeper  channels.  His  pride,  his  affections,  his 
superstitions,  are  all  directed  towards  fewer  objects ; 
but  the  wounds  inflicted  on  them  are  proportiona- 
bly  severe,  and  furnish  motives  of  hostility  which 
we  cannot  sufficiently  appreciate.  Where  a  com- 
munity is  also  limited  m  number,  and  forms  one 
great  patriarchal  family,  as  in  an  Indian  tribe,  the 
injury  of  an  individual  is  the  injury  of  the  whole ; 
and  the  sentiment  of  vengeance  is  almost  instan- 
taneously diffused.  One  council-fire  is  sufficient  for 
the  discussion  and  arrangement  of  a  plan  of  hostili- 
ties. Here  all  the  fighting  men  and  sages  assemble. 
E'oquence  and  superstition  combine  to  inflame  the 


minds  of  the  warriors.  The  orator  awakens  their 
martial  ardour,  and  they  are  wrought  up  to  a  kind 
of  religious  desperation,  by  the  visions  of  the  prophet 
and  the  dreamer. 

An  instance  of  one  of  those  sudden  exasperations, 
arising  from  a  motive  peculiar  to  the  Indian  charac- 
ter, is  extant  in  an  old  record  of  the  early  settle- 
ment of  Massachusetts.  The  planters  of  Plymouth 
had  defaced  the  monuments  of  the  dead  at  Passon- 
agessit,  and  had  plundered  the  grave  of  the  Sa- 
chem's mother  of  some  skins  with  which  it  had 
been  decorated.  The  Indians  are  remarkable  for 
the  reverence  which  they  entertain  for  the  sepulchres 
of  their  kindred.  Tribes  that  have  passed  genera- 
tions exiled  from  the  abodes  of  their  ancestors,  when 
by  chance  they  have  been  travelling  in  the  vicinity, 
have  been  known  to  turn  aside  from  the  highway, 
and,  guided  by  wonderfully  accurate  tradition,  have 
crossed  the  country  for  miles  to  some  tumulus, 
buried  perhaps  in  woods,  where  the  bones  of  their 
tribe  were  anciently  deposited  ;  and  there  have 
passed  hours  in  silent  meditation.  Influenced  by 
this  sublime  and  holy  feeling,  the  Sachem,  whose 
mother's  tomb  had  been  violated,  gathered  his  men 
together,  and  addressed  them  in  the  following  beau- 
tifully simple  and  pathetic  harangue  ;  a  curious  speci- 
men of  Indian  eloquence,  and  an  affecting  instance 
of  filial  piety  in  a  savage. 

"  When  last  the  glorious  light  of  all  the  sky  was 
underneath  this  globe,  and  birds  grew  silent,  1  began 
to  settle,  as  my  custom  is,  to  take  repose.  Before 
mine  eyes  were  fast  closed,  methought  1  saw  a  vis- 
ion, at  which  my  spirit  was  much  troubled  ;  and 
trembling  at  that  doleful  sight,  a  spirit  cried  aloud, 
'  Behold,  my  son,  whom  I  have  cherished,  see  the 
breasts  that  gave  thee  suck,  the  hands  that  lapped 
thee  warm,  and  fed  thee  oft.  Canst  thou  forget  to 
take  revenge  of  those  wild  people,  wiio  have  defaced 
my  monument  in  a  despiteful  manner,  disdaining 
our  antiquities  and  honourable  customs  ?  See,  now, 
the  Sachem's  grave  lies  like  the  common  people,  de- 
faced by  an  ignoble  race.  Thy  mother  doth  com- 
plain, and  implores  thy  aid  against  this  thievish  peo- 
ple, who  have  newly  intruded  on  our  land.  If  this 
be  suffered,  I  shall  not  rest  quiet  in  my  everlasting 
habitation.'  This  said,  the  spirit  vanished,  and  I, 
all  in  a  sweat,  not  able  scarce  to  speak,  began  to 
get  some  strength,  and  recollected  my  spirits  that 
were  fled,  and  determined  to  demand  your  counsel 
and  assistance." 

I  have  adduced  this  anecdote  at  some  length,  as 
it  tends  to  show  how  these  sudden  acts  of  hostility, 
which  have  been  attributed  to  caprice  and  perfidy, 
may  often  arise  from  deep  and  generous  motives, 
which  our  inattention  to  Indian  character  and  cus- 
toms prevents  our  properly  appreciating. 

Another  ground  of  violent  outcry  against  the  In- 
dians, is  their  barbarity  to  the  vanquished.  This 
had  its  origin  partly  in  policy  and  partly  in  supersti- 
tion. The  tribes,  though  sometimes  called  nations, 
were  never  so  formidable  in  their  numbers,  but  that 
the  loss  of  several  warriors  was  sensibly  felt ;  this 
was  particularly  the  case  when  they  had  been  fre- 
quently engaged  in  warfare  ;  and  many  an  instance 
occurs  in  Indian  history,  where  a  tribe,  that  had 
long  been  formidable  to  its  neighbours,  has  been 
broken  up  and  driven  away,  by  the  capture  and 
massacre  of  its  principal  fighting  men.  There  was 
a  strong  temptation,  therefore,  to  the  victor  to  be 
merciless  ;  not  so  much  to  gratify  any  cruel  revenge, 
as  to  provide  for  future  security.  The  Indians  had 
also  the  superstitious  belief,  frequent  among  bar- 
barous nations,  and  prevalent  also  among  the  an- 
cients, that  the  manes  of  their  friends  who  had 
fallen  in  battle,  were  soothed  by  the  blood  of  tho 


74 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


captives.  The  prisoners,  however,  who  are  not  thus 
sacrificed,  are  adopted  into  their  faniiUes  in  the  place 
of  the  slain,  and  are  treated  with  the  confidence 
and  affection  of  relatives  and  friends  ;  nay,  so  hos- 
pitable and  tender  is  their  entertainment,  that  when 
the  alternative  is  offered  them,  they  will  often  prefer 
to  remain  with  their  adopted  brethren,  rather  than 
return  to  the  home  and  the  friends  of  their  youth. 

The  cruelty  of  the  Indians  towards  their  prisoners 
has  been  heightened  since  the  colonization  of  the 
whites.  What  was  fonnerly  a  compliance  with  policy 
and  superstition,  has  been  exasperated  into  a  gratifi- 
cation of  vengeance.  They  cannot  but  be  sensible 
that  the  white  men  are  the  usurpers  of  their  ancient 
dominion,  the  cause  of  their  degradation,  and  the 
gradual  destroyers  of  their  race.  They  go  forth  to 
battle,  smarting  with  injuries  and  indignities  which 
they  have  individually  suffered,  and  they  are  driven 
to  madness  and  despair  by  the  wide-spreading  deso- 
lation, and  the  overwhelming  ruin  of  European  war- 
fare. The  whites  have  too  frequently  set  them  an 
example  of  violence,  by  burning  their  villages  and 
laying  waste  their  slender  means  of  subsistence  ;  and 
yet  they  wonder  that  savages  do  not  show  modera- 
tion and  magnanimity  towards  those  who  have  left 
them  nothing  but  mere  existence  and  wretchedness. 

We  stigmatize  the  Indians,  also,  as  cowardly  and 
treacherous,  because  they  use  stratagem  in  warfare, 
in  preference  to  open  force  ;  but  in  this  they  are  fully 
justified  by  their  rude  code  of  honour.  They  are 
early  taught  that  stratagem  is  praiseworthy :  the 
bravest  warrior  thinks  it  no  disgrace  to  lurk  in 
silence,  and  take  every  advantage  of  his  foe :  he 
triumphs  in  the  superior  craft  and  sagacity  by  which 
he  has  been  enabled  to  surprise  and  destroy  an 
enemy.  Indeed,  man  is  naturally  more  prone  to 
subtilty  than  open  valour,  owing  to  his  physical 
weakness  in  comparison  with  other  animals.  They 
are  endowed  with  natural  weapons  of  defence  :  with 
horns,  with  tusks,  with  hoofs,  and  talons ;  but  man 
has  to  depend  on  his  superior  sagacity.  In  all  his 
encounters  with  these,  his  proper  enemies,  he  resorts 
to  stratagem ;  and  when  he  perversely  turns  his 
hostility  against  his  fellow  man,  he  at  first  continues 
the  same  subtle  mode  of  warfare. 

The  natural  principle  of  war  is  to  do  the  most 
harm  to  our  enemy,  with  the  least  harm  to  ourselves  ; 
and  this  of  course  is  to  be  effected  by  stratagem. 
That  chivalrous  courage  which  induces  us  to  despise 
the  suggestions  of  prudence,  and  to  rush  in  the  face 
of  certain  danger,  is  the  offspring  of  society,  and 
produced  by  education.  It  is  honourable,  because 
it  is  in  fact  the  triumph  of  lofty  sentiment  over  an 
instinctive  repugnance  to  pain,  and  over  those  yearn- 
ings after  personal  ease  and  security,  which  society 
has  condemned  as  ignoble.  It  is  kept  alive  by  pride 
and  the  fear  of  shame ;  and  thus  the  dread  of  real 
evil  is  overcome  by  the  superior  dread  of  an  evil 
which  exists  but  in  the  imagination.  It  has  been 
cherished  and  stimulated  also  by  various  means.  It 
has  been  the  theme  of  spirit-stirring  song  and 
chivalrous  story.  The  poet  and  minstrel  have  de- 
lighted to  shed  round  it  the  splendours  of  fiction  ; 
and  even  the  historian  has  forgotten  the  sober  gravity 
of  narration,  and  broken  forth  into  enthusiasm  and 
rhapsody  in  its  praise.  Triumphs  and  gorgeous 
pageants  ha\'e  been  its  reward :  monuments,  on 
which  art  has  exhausted  its  skill,  and  opulence  its 
treasures,  have  been  erected  to  perpetuate  a  nation's 
gratitude  and  admiration.  Thus  artificially  excited, 
courage  has  risen  to  an  extraordinary  and  factitious 
degree  of  heroism  ;  and,  arrayed  in  all  the  glorious 
"  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war,"  this  turbulent 
quality  has  even  been  able  to  eclipse  many  of  those 
quiet,  but  invaluable  virtues,  which  silently  ennoble 


the  human  character,  and  swell  the  tide  of  human 
happiness. 

But  if  courage  intrinsically  consists  in  the  defiance 
of  danger  and  pain,  the  life  of  the  Indian  is  a  con- 
tinual exhibition  of  it.  He  lives  in  a  state  of  per- 
petual hostility  and  risk.  Peril  and  adventure  are 
congenial  to  his  nature  ;  or  rather  seem  necessary  to 
arouse  his  faculties  and  to  give  an  interest  to  his 
existence.  Surrounded  by  hostile  tril:ies,  whose  mode 
of  warfare  is  by  ambush  and  surprisal,  he  is  always 
prepared  for  fight,  and  lives  with  his  weapons  in  his 
hands.  As  the  ship  careers  in  fearful  singleness 
through  the  solitudes  of  ocean, — as  the  bird  mingles 
among  clouds  and  storms,  and  wings  its  way,  a  mere 
speck,  across  the  pathless  fields  of  air;  so  the  Indian 
holds  his  course,  silent,  solitary,  but  undaunted, 
through  the  boundless  bosom  of  the  wilderness. 
His  expeditions  may  vie  in  distance  and  danger  with 
the  pilgrimage  of  the  devotee,  or  the  crusade  of  the 
knight-errant.  He  traverses  vast  forests,  exposed 
to  the  hazards  of  lonely  sickness,  of  lurking  enemies, 
and  pining  famine.  Stormy  lakes,  those  great  in- 
land seas,  are  no  obstacles  to  his  wanderings :  in 
his  light  canoe  of  bark,  he  sports  like  a  feather  on 
their  waves,  and  darts  with  the  swiftness  of  an  arrow 
down  the  roaring  rapids  of  the  rivers.  His  very 
subsistence  is  snatched  from  the  midst  of  toil  and 
peril.  He  gains  his  food  by  the  hardships  and 
dangers  of  the  chase  ;  he  wraps  himself  in  the  spoils 
of  the  bear,  the  panther,  and  the  buffaloe  ;  and  sleeps 
among  the  thunders  of  the  cataract. 

No  hero  of  ancient  or  modern  days  can  surpass 
the  Indian  in  his  lofty  contempt  of  death,  and  the 
fortitude  with  which  he  sustains  its  crudest  afflic- 
tion. Indeed,  we  here  behold  him  rising  superior 
to  the  white  man,  in  consequence  of  his  peculiar 
education.  The  latter  rushes  to  glorious  death  at 
the  cannon's  mouth  ;  the  former  calmly  contemplates 
its  approach,  and  triumphantly  endures  it,  amidst 
the  varied  torments  of  surrounding  foes,  and  the 
protracted  agonies  of  fire.  He  even  takes  a  pride 
in  taunting  his  persecutors,  and  provoking  their 
ingenuity  of  torture  ;  and  as  the  devouring  flames 
prey  on  his  very  vitals,  and  the  flesh  shrinks  from 
the  sinews,  he  raises  his  last  song  of  triumph,  breath- 
ing the  defiance  of  an  unconquered  heart,  and  in- 
voking the  spirits  of  his  fathers  to  witness  that  he 
dies  without  a  groan. 

Notwithstanding  the  obloquy  with  which  the  early 
historians  have  overshadowed  the  characters  of  the 
unfortunate  natives,  some  bright  gleams  occasionally 
break  through,  which  throw  a  degree  of  melancholy 
lustre  on  their  memories.  Facts  are  occasionally  to 
be  met  with  in  the  rude  annals  of  the  eastern  prov- 
inces, which,  though  recorded  with  the  colouring  of 
prejudice  and  bigotry,  yet  speak  for  themselves  ;  and 
will  be  dwelt  on  with  applause  and  sympathy,  when 
prejudice  shall  have  passed  away. 

In  one  of  the  homely  narratives  of  the  Indian  wars 
in  New-England,  there  is  a  touching  account  of  tl>e 
desolation  carried  into  the  tribe  of  the  Pequod  In- 
dians. Humanity  shrinks  from  the  cold-blooded  de- 
tail of  indiscriminate  butchery.  In  one  place  we 
read  of  the  surprisal  of  an  Indian  fort  in  the  night, 
when  the  wigwams  were  wrapped  in  flames,  and 
the  miserable  inhabitants  shot  down  and  slain  in 
attempting  to  escape,  "  all  being  despatched  and 
ended  in  the  course  of  an  hour."  After  a  series  of 
similar  transactions,  "  our  soldiers,"  as  the  histonuii 
piously  observes,  "  being  resolved  by  God's  assist- 
ance to  make  a  final  destruction  of  them,"  the  un- 
happy savages  being  hunted  from  their  homes  and  fort- 
resses, and  pursued  with  fire  and  sword,  a  scanty  but 
gallant  band,  the  sad  remnant  of  the  Pequod  warriors, 
with  their  wives  and  children,  took  refuge  in  a  swamp. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


75 


Burning  with  indignation,  and  rendered  sullen  by 
despair ;  with  hearts  bursting  with  grief  at  the  de- 
struction of  their  tribe,  and  spirits  galled  and  sore  at 
the  fancied  ignominy  of  their  defeat,  they  refused  to 
ask  their  lives  at  the  hands  of  an  insulting  foe,  and 
preferred  death  to  submission. 

As  the  night  drew  on,  they  were  surrounded  in 
their  dismal  retreat,  so  as  to  render  escape  impracti- 
cable. Thus  situated,  their  enemy  "  plied  them  with 
shot  all  the  time,  by  which  means  many  were  killed 
and  buried  in  the  mire."  In  the  darkness  and  fog 
that  preceded  the  dawn  hf  day,  some  few  broke 
through  the  besiegers  and  escaped  into  the  woods : 
"  the  rest  were  left  to  the  conquerors,  of  which  many 
were  killed  in  the  swamp,  like  sullen  dogs  who 
would  rather,  in  their  self-willedness  and  madness, 
sit  still  and  be  shot  through,  or  cut  to  pieces,"  than 
implore  for  mercy.  When  the  day  broke  upon  this 
handfull  of  forlorn  but  dauntless  spirits,  the  soldiers, 
vve  are  told,  entering  the  swamp,  "saw  several  heaps 
of  them  sitting  close  together,  upon  whom  they  dis- 
charged their  pieces,  laden  with  ten  or  twelve  pistol- 
bullets  at  a  time  ;  putting  the  muzzles  of  the  pieces 
under  the  boughs,  within  a  few  yards  of  them  ;  so 
as,  besides  those  that  were  found  dead,  many  more 
were  killed  and  sunk  into  the  mire,  and  never  were 
minded  more  by  friend  or  foe." 

Can  any  one  read  this  plain  unvarnished  tale, 
without  admiring  the  stern  resolution,  the  unbend- 
ing pride,  the  loftiness  of  spirit,  that  seemed  to  nerve 
the  hearts  of  these  self-taught  heroes,  and  to  raise 
them  above  the  instinctive  feelings  of  human  nature  ? 
When  the  Gauls  laid  waste  the  city  of  Rome,  they 
found  the  senators  clothed  in  their  robes  and  seated 
with  stern  tranquillity  in  their  curule  chairs  ;  in  this 
manner  they  suffered  death  without  resistance  or 
even  supplication.  Such  conduct  was,  in  them,  ap- 
plauded as  noble  and  magnanimous — in  the  hapless 
Indians,  it  was  reviled  as  obstinate  and  sulleii.  How 
truly  are  we  the  dupes  of  show  and  circumstance  ! 
How  different  is  virtue,  clothed  in  purple  and  en- 
throned in  state,  from  virtue  naked  and  destitute,  and 
perishing  obscurely  in  a  wilderness  ! 

But  I  forbear  to  dwell  on  these  gloomy  pictures. 
The  eastern  tribes  have  long  since  disappeared  ;  the 
forests  that  sheltered  them  have  been  laid  low, 
and  scarce  any  traces  remain  of  them  in  the 
thickly-settled  states  of  New-England,  excepting 
here  and  there  the  Indian  name  of  a  village  or  a 
stream.  And  such  must  sooner  or  later  be  the  fate 
of  those  other  tribes  which  skirt  the  frontiers,  and 
have  occasionally  been  inveigled  from  their  forests  to 
iningle  in  the  wars  of  white  men.  In  a  little  while, 
and  they  will  go  the  way  that  their  brethren  have 
gone  before.  The  few  hordes  which  still  linger 
about  the  shores  of  Huron  and  Superior,  and  the 
tributary  streams  of  the  Mississippi,  will  share  the 
fate  of  those  tribes  that  once  spread  over  Massachu- 
setts and  Connecticut,  and  lorded  it  along  the  proud 
banks  of  the  Hudson;  of  that  gigantic  race  said  to 
have  existed  on  the  borders  of  the  Susquehanna ; 
and  of  those  various  nations  that  flourished  about 
the  Potowmac  and  the  Rappahanoc,  and  that  peo- 
pled the  forests  of  the  vast  valley  of  Shenandoah. 
They  will  vanish  like  a  vapour  from  the  face  of  the 
earth ;  their  very  history  will  be  lost  in  forgetful- 
Tiess  ;  and  "  the  places  that  now  know  them  will 
know  them  no  more  for  ever."  Or  if,  perchance, 
some  dubious  memorial  of  them  should  survive,  it 
may  be  in  the  romantic  dreams  of  the  poet,  to  people 
in  imagination  his  glades  and  groves,  like  the  fauns 
and  satyrs  and  sylvan  deities  of  antiquity.  But 
Should  he  venture  upon  the  dark  story  of  their 
wrongs  and  wretchedness ;  should  he  tell  how  they 
were  invaded,   corrupted,   despoiled ;    driven   from 


their  native  abodes  and  the  sepulchres  of  their 
fathers  ;  hunted  like  wild  beasts  about  the  earth  ; 
and  sent  down  with  violence  and  butchery  to  the 
grave — posterity  will  either  turn  with  horror  and 
incredulity  from  the  tale,  or  blush  with  indignation 
at  the  inhumanity  of  their  forefathers. — "  We  are 
driven  back,"  said  an  old  warrior,  "  until  we  can 
retreat  no  farther — our  hatchets  are  broken,  our 
bows  are  snapped,  our  fires  are  nearly  extinguished 
— a  little  longer  and  the  white  man  will  cease  to 
persecute  us— for  we  shall  cease  to  exist." 


PHILIP  OF  POKANOKET. 


AN    INDIAN    MEMOIR. 


As  monumental  bronze  unchanged  his  look  : 
A  sou!  that  pity  touch'd,  but  never  shook  • 
Train'd,  from  his  tree-rock'd  cradle  to  his  bier, 
The  fierce  extremes  of  good  and  ill  to  brook 
Impassive — fearing  but  the  shame  of  fear— 
A  stoic  of  the  woods — a  man  without  a  tear. 

Campbell. 

It  is  to  be  regretted  that  those  early  writers  who 
treated  of  the  discovery  and  settlement  of  America, 
have  not  given  us  more  particular  and  candid  ac- 
counts of  the  remarkable  characters  that  flourished 
in  savage  life.  The  scanty  anecdotes  which  have 
reached  us  are  full  of  peculiarity  and  interest ;  they 
furnish  us  with  nearer  glimpses  of  human  nature, 
and  show  what  man  is  in  a  comparatively  primitive 
state,  and  what  he  owes  to  civilization.  There  is 
something  of  the  charm  of  discoveiy  in  lighting  upon 
these  wild  and  unexplored  tracts  of  human  nature ; 
in  witnessing,  as  it  were,  the  native  growth  of  moral 
sentiment ;  and  perceiving  those  generous  and  ro- 
mantic qualities  which  have  been  artificially  culti- 
vated by  society,  vegetating  in  spontaneous  hardihood 
and  rude  magnificence. 

In  civilized  life,  where  the  happiness,  and  indeed 
almost  the  existence,  of  man  depends  so  much  upon 
the  opinion  of  his  fellow  men,  he  is  constantly  acting 
a  studied  part.  The  bold  and  peculiar  traits  of  native 
character  are  refined  away,  or  softened  down  by  the 
levelling  influence  of  what  is  termed  good  breeding; 
and  he  practises  so  many  petty  deceptions,  and  af- 
fects so  many  generous  sentiments,  for  the  purposes 
of  popularity,  that  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  his 
real,  from  his  artificial  character.  The  Indian,  on 
the  contrary,  free  from  the  restraints  and  refine- 
ments of  polished  life,  and,  in  a  great  degree,  a  soli- 
tary and  independent  being,  obeys  the  impulses  of 
his  inclination  or  the  dictates  of  his  judgment ;  and 
thus  the  attributes  of  his  nature,  being  freely  in- 
dulged, grow  singly  great  and  striking.  Society  is 
like  a  lawn,  where  every  roughness  is  smoothed, 
every  bramble  eradicated,  and  where  the  eye  is  de- 
lighted by  the  smiling  verdure  of  a  velvet  surface ; 
he,  however,  who  would  study  Nature  in  its  wildness 
and  variety,  must  plunge  into  the  forest,  must  ex- 
plore the  glen,  must  stem  the  torrent,  and  dare  the 
precipice. 

These  reflections  arose  on  casually  looking  through 
a  volume  of  early  colonial  history,  wherein  are  re- 
corded, with  great  bitterness,  the  outrages  of  the  In- 
dians, and  their  wars  with  the  settlers  of  New-En- 
gland. It  is  painful  to  perceive,  even  from  these  par- 
tial narratives,  how  the  footsteps  of  civilization  may 
be  traced  in  the  blood  of  the  aborigines  ;  how  easily 
the  colonists  were  moved  to  hostility  by  the  lust  of 
conquest;  how  merciless  and  exterminating  was 
their  warfare.     The  imagination  shrinks  at  the  idea, 


76 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


how  many  intellectual  beings  were  hunted  from  the  ' 
earth — how  many  brave  and  noble  hearts,  of  Nat- 
ure's sterling  coinage,  were  broken  down  and  tram- 
pled in  the  dust ! 

Such  was  the  fate  of  PHILIP  OF  POKANOKET, 
an  Indian  warrior,  whose  name  was  once  a  terror 
throughout  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut.  He 
was  the  most  distinguished  of  a  number  of  cotem- 
porary  Sachems,  who  reigned  over  the  Pequods,  the 
Narrhagansets,  the  Wampanoags,  and  the  other 
eastern  tribes,  at  the  time  of  the  first  settlement  of 
New-England :  a  band  of  native  untaught  heroes ; 
who  made  the  most  generous  struggle  of  which  hu- 
man nature  is  capable  ;  fighting  to  the  last  gasp  in 
the  cause  of  their  country,  without  a  hope  of  victory 
or  a  thought  of  renown.  Worthy  of  an  age  of  po- 
etry, and  fit  subjects  for  local  story  and  romantic 
fiction,  they  have  left  scarcely  any  authentic  traces 
on  the  page  of  history,  but  stalk,  like  gigantic  shad- 
ows, in  the  dim  twilight  of  tradition.* 

When  the  pilgrims,  as  the  Plymouth  settlers  are 
called  by  their  descendants,  first  took  refuge  on  the 
shores  of  the  New  World,  from  the  religious  persecu- 
tions of  the  Old,  their  situation  was  to  the  last  de- 
gree gloomy  and  disheartening.  Few  in  number, 
and  that  number  rapidly  perishing  away  through 
sickness  and  hardships  ;  surrounded  by  a  howling 
wilderness  and  savage  tribes  ;  exposed  to  the  rigours 
of  an  almost  arctic  winter,  and  the  vicissitudes  of  an 
ever-shifting  climate ;  their  minds  were  filled  with 
doleful  forebodings,  and  nothing  preserved  them 
from  sinking  into  despondency  but  the  strong  excite- 
ment of  religious  enthusiasm.  In  this  forlorn  situa- 
tion they  were  visited  by  Massasoit,  chief  Sagamore 
of  the  Wampanoags,  a  powerful  chief,  who  reigned 
over  a  great  extent  of  country.  Instead  of  taking 
advantage  of  the  scanty  number  of  the  strangers, 
and  expelling  them  from  his  territories  into  which 
they  had  intruded,  he  seemed  at  once  to  conceive 
for  them  a  generous  friendship,  and  extended  to- 
wards them  the  rites  of  primitive  hospitality.  He 
came  early  in  the  spring  to  their  settlement  of  New- 
Plymouth,  attended  by  a  mere  handfuU  of  followers  ; 
entered  into  a  solemn  league  of  peace  and  amity ;  sold 
them  a  portion  of  the  soil,  and  promised  to  secure 
for  them  the  good-will  of  his  savage  allies.  What- 
ever may  be  said  of  Indian  perfidy,  it  is  certain  that 
the  integrity  and  good  faith  of  Massasoit  have  never 
been  impeached.  He  continued  a  firm  and  magnan- 
imous friend  of  the  white  men ;  suffering  them  to 
extend  their  possessions,  and  to  strengthen  them- 
selves in  the  land  ;  and  betraying  no  jealousy  of  their 
increasing  power  and  prosperity.  Shortly  before  his 
death,  he  came  once  more  to  New-Plymouth,  with 
his  son  Alexander,  for  the  purpose  of  renewing  the 
covenant  of  peace,  and  of  securing  it  to  his  posterity. 
At  this  conlerence,  he  endeavoured  to  protect  the 
religion  of  his  forefathers  from  the  encroaching  zeal 
of  the  missionaries  ;  and  stipulated  that  no  farther 
attempt  should  be  made  to  draw  off  his  people  from 
their  ancient  faith  ;  but,  finding  the  English  obsti- 
nately opposed  to  any  such  condition,  he  mildly  re- 
linquished the  demand.  Almost  the  last  act  of  his 
life  was  to  bring  his  two  sons,  Alexander  and  Philip 
(as  thev  had  been  named  by  the  English)  to  the  res- 
idence of  a  principal  settler,  recommending  mutual 
kindness  and  confidence  ;  and  entreating  that  the 
same  love  and  amity  which  had  existed  between  the 
white  men  and  himself,  might  be  continued  after- 
wards with  his  children.  The  good  old  Sachem  died 
in  peace,  and  was  happily  gathered  to  his  fathers  be- 
fore sorrow  came  upon  his  tribe ;  his  children  re- 

•  While  correcting  the  proof-sheets  of  this  article,  the  author  is 
informed,  that  a  celchrated  English  poet  has  nearly  finished  a  he- 
roic poem  on  the  story  of  Philip  of  Pokanoket. 


mained  behind  to  experience  the  ingratitude  of  white 
men. 

His  eldest  son,  Alexander,  succeeded  him.  He 
was  of  a  quick  and  impetuous  temper,  and  proudly 
tenacious  of  his  hereditary  rights  and  dignity.  The 
intrusive  policy  and  dictatorial  conduct  of  the 
strangers,  excited  his  indignation  ;  and  he  beheld 
with  uneasiness  their  exterminating  wars  with  the 
neighbouring  tribes.  He  was  doomed  soon  to  incur 
their  hostility,  being  accused  of  plotting  with  the 
Narrhagansets  to  rise  against  the  English  and  drive 
them  from  the  land.  It  is  impossible  to  say  whether 
this  accusation  was  warranted  by  facts,  or  vvas 
grounded  on  mere  suspicions.  It  is  evident,  how- 
ever, by  the  violent  and  overbearing  measures  of  the 
settlers,  that  they  had  by  this  time  begun  to  feel  con- 
scious of  the  rapid  increase  of  their  power,  and  to 
grow  harsh  and  inconsiderate  in  their  treatment  of 
the  natives.  They  despatched  an  armed  force  to 
seize  upon  Alexander,  and  to  bring  him  before  their 
court.  He  was  traced  to  his  woodland  haunts,  and 
surprised  at  a  hunting  house,  where  he  was  reposing 
with  a  band  of  his  followers,  unarmed,  after  the  toils 
of  the  chase.  The  suddenness  of  his  arrest,  and  the 
outrage  offered  to  his  sovereign  dignity,  so  preyed 
upon  the  irascible  feelings  of  this  proud  savage,  as 
to  throw  him  into  a  raging  fever ;  he  was  permitted 
to  return  home  on  condition  of  sending  his  son  as  a 
pledge  for  his  re-appearance ;  but  the  blow  he  h.ad 
received  was  fatal,  and  before  he  reached  his  home 
he  fell  a  victim  to  the  agonies  of  a  wounded  spirit. 

The  successor  of  Alexander  was  Metamocet,  or 
King  Philip,  as  he  was  called  by  the  settlers,  on  ac- 
count of  his  lofty  spirit  and  ambitious  temper. 
These,  together  with  his  well-known  energy  and 
enterprise,'  had  rendered  him  an  object  of  great  jeal- 
ousy and  apprehension,  and  he  was  accused  of  hav- 
ing always  cherished  a  secret  and  implacable  hostil- 
ity towards  the  whites.  Such  may  very  probably, 
and  very  naturally,  have  been  the  case.  He  consid- 
ered them  as  originally  but  mere  intruders  into  the 
country,  who  had  presumed  upon  indulgence,  and 
were  extending  an  influence  baneful  to  savage  life. 
He  saw  the  whole  race  of  his  countrymen  melting 
before  them  from  the  face  of  the  earth  ;  their  terri- 
tories slipping  from  their  hands,  and  their  tribes  be- 
coming feeble,  scattered,  and  dependent.  It  may  be 
said  that  the  soil  was  originally  purchased  by  the 
settlers ;  but  who  does  not  know  the  nature  of  In- 
dian purchases,  in  the  early  periods  of  colonization? 
The  Europeans  always  made  thrifty  bargains, 
through  their  superior  adroitness  in  traffic ;  and 
they  gained  vast  accessions  of  territory,  by  easily- 
provoked  hostilities.  An  uncultivated  savage  is 
never  a  nice  inquirer  into  the  refinements  of  law, 
by  which  an  injury  may  be  gradually  and  legally  in- 
flicted. Leading  facts  are  all  by  which  he  judges; 
and  it  was  enough  for  Philip  to  know,  that  before 
the  intrusion  of  the  Europeans  his  countrymen  were 
lords  of  the  soil,  and  that  now  they  were  becoming 
vagabonds  in  the  land  of  their  fathers. 

But  whatever  may  have  been  his  feelings  of  gen- 
eral hostility,  and  bis  particular  indignation  at  the 
treatment  of  his  brother,  he  suppressed  them  for  the 
present ;  renewed  the  contract  with  the  settlers ;  and 
resided  peaceably  for  many  years  at  Pokanoket,  or, 
as  it  was  called  by  the  EngUsh,  Mount  Hope,*  the 
ancient  seat  of  dominion  of  his  tribe.  Suspicions, 
however,  which  were  at  first  but  vague  and  indefi- 
nite, began  to  acquire  form  and  substance  ;  and  he 
was  at  length  charged  with  attempting  to  instigate 
the  various  eastern  tribes  to  rise  at  once,  and,  by  a 
simultaneous  effort,  to  throw  off  the  yoke  of  their 


*  Now  Bristol,  Rhode  Island. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY  CRAYON,   Gent. 


77 


oppressors.  It  is  difficult  at  this  distant  period  to 
assign  the  proper  credit  due  to  these  early  accusa- 
tions against  the  Indians.  There  was  a  proneness 
to  suspicion,  and  an  aptness  to  acts  of  violence  on 
the  part  of  the  whites,  that  gave  weight  and  impor- 
tance to  every  idle  tale.  Informers  abounded,  where 
tale-bearing  met  with  countenance  and  reward  ;  and 
the  s.vord  was  readily  unsheathed,  when  its  success 
was  certain,  and  it  carved  out  empire. 

The  only  positive  evidence  on  record  against 
Philip  is  the  accusation  of  one  Sausaman,  a  rene- 
gado  Indian,  whose  natural  cunning  had  been  quick- 
ened by  a  partial  education  which  he  had  receis'ed 
among  the  settlers.  He  changed  his  faith  and  his 
allegiance  two  or  three  times,  with  a  facility  that 
evinced  the  looseness  of  his  principles.  He  had 
acted  for  some  time  as  Philip's  confidential  secre- 
tary and  counsellor,  and  had  enjoyed  his  bounty  and. 
protection.  Finding,  however,  that  the  clouds  of 
adversity  were  gathering  round  his  patron,  he  aban- 
doned his  service  and  went  over  to  the  whites ;  and, 
in  order  to  gain  their  favour,  charged  his  former 
benefactor  with  plotting  against  their  safety.  A 
rigorous  investigation  took  place.  Philip  and  sev- 
eral of  his  subjects  submitted  to  be  examined,  but 
nothing  was  proved  against  them.  The  settlers, 
however,  had  now  gone  too  far  to  retract ;  they  had 
previously  determined  that  Philip  was  a  dangerous 
neighbour  ;  they  had  publicly  evinced  their  distrust ; 
and  had  done  enough  to  insure  his  hostility:  accord- 
ing, therefore,  to  the  usual  mode  of  reasoning  in 
these  cases,  his  destruction  had  become  necessary  to 
their  security.  Sausaman,  the  treacherous  informer, 
was  shortly  after  found  dead  in  a  pond,  having  fallen 
a  victim  to  the  vengeance  of  his  tribe.  Three  In- 
dians, one  of  whom  was  a  friend  and  counsellor  of 
Philip,  were  apprehended  and  tried,  and,  on  the  tes- 
timony of  one  Very  questionable  witness,  were  con- 
demned and  executed  as  murderers. 

This  treatment  of  his  subjects  and  ignominious 
punishment  of  his  friend,  outraged  the  pride  and  ex- 
asperated the  passions  of  Philip.  The  bolt  which  had 
fallen  thus  at  his  very  feet,  awakened  him  to  the 
gathering  storm,  and  he  determined  to  trust  himself 
no  longer  in  the  power  of  the  white  men.  The  fate 
of  his  insulted  and  broken-hearted  brother  still 
rankled  in  his  mind  ;  and  he  had  a  fartlier  warning 
in  the  tragical  story  of  Miantonimo,  a  great  Sachem 
of  the  Narrhagansets,  who,  after  manfully  facing  his 
accusers  before  a  tribunal  of  the  colonists,  exculpat- 
ing himself  from  a  charge  of  conspiracy,  and  receiv- 
ing assurances  of  amity,  had  been  perfidiously  des- 
patched at  their  instigation.  Philip,  therefore,  gath- 
ered his  fighting  men  about  him  ;  persuaded  all 
strangers  that  he  could,  to  join  his  cause ;  sent  the 
women  and  children  to  the  Narrhagansets  for  safety  ; 
and  wherever  he  appeared,  was  continually  sur- 
rounded by  armed  warriors. 

When  the  two  parties  were  thus  in  a  state  of  dis- 
trust and  irritation,  thfe  least  spark  was  sufficient  to 
set  them  in  a  flame.  The  Indians,  having  weapons 
in  their  hands,  grew  mischievous,  and  committed 
various  petty  depredations.  In  one  of  their  maraud- 
ings, a  warrior  was  fired  upon  and  killed  by  a  set- 
tler. This  was  the  signal  for  open  hostilities  ;  the 
Indians  pressed  to  revenge  the  death  of  their  com- 
rade, and  the  alarm  of  war  resounded  through  the 
Plymouth  colony. 

In  the  early  chronicles  of  these  dark  and  melan- 
choly times,  we  meet  with  many  indications  of  the 
diseased  state  of  the  public  mind.  The  gloom  of  re- 
ligious abstraction,  and  the  wildness  of  their  situa- 
tion, among  trackless  forests  and  savage  tribes,  had 
disposed  the  colonists  to  superstitious  fancies,  and 
had    filled    their    imaginations  with   the    frightful 


chimeras  of  witchcraft  and  spectrology.  They  were 
much  given  also  to  a  belief  in  omens.  The  troubles 
with  PhiUp  and  his  Indians  were  preceded,  we  are 
told,  by  a  variety  of  those  awful  warnings  which 
forerun  great  and  public  calamities.  The  perfect  arm 
of  an  Indian  bow  appeared  in  the  air  at  New-Plym- 
outh, which  was  looked  upon  by  the  inhabitants 
as  a  "  prodigious  apparition."  At  Hadley,  North- 
ampton, and  other  towns  in  their  neighbourhood, "was 
heard  the  report  of  a  great  piece  of  ordnance,  with 
the  shaking  of  the  earth  and  a  considerable  echo."* 
Others  were  alarmed  on  a  still  sunshiny  morning, 
by  the  discharge  of  guns  and  muskets ;  bullets 
seemed  to  whistle  past  them,  and  the  noise  of  drums 
resounded  in  the  air,  seeming  to  pass  away  to  the 
westward;  others  fancied  that  they  heard  the  gal- 
loping of  horses  over  their  heads  ;  and  certain  mon- 
strous births  which  took  place  about  the  time,  filled 
the  superstitious  in  some  towns  with  doleful  forebod- 
ings. Many  of  these  portentous  sights  and  sounds 
may  be  ascribed  to  natural  phenomena ;  to  the 
northern  lights  which  occur  vividly  in  those  latitudes  ; 
the  meteors  which  explode  in  the  air ;  the  casual 
rushing  of  a  blast  through  the  top  branches  of  the  for- 
est ;  the  crash  of  falling  trees  or  disrupted  rocks  ; 
and  to  those  other  uncouth  sounds  and  echoes, 
which  will  sometimes  strike  the  ear  so  strangely 
amidst  the  profound  stillness  of  woodland  solitudes. 
These  may  have  startled  some  melancholy  imag- 
inations, may  have  been  exaggerated  by  the  love  for 
the  marvellous,  and  listened  to  with  that  avidity  with 
which  we  devour  whatever  is  fearful  and  mysterious. 
The  universal  currency  of  these  superstitious  fancies, 
and  the  grave  record  made  of  them  by  one  of  the 
learned  men  of  the  day,  are  strongly  characteristic 
of  the  times. 

The  nature  of  the  contest  that  ensued  was  such  as 
too  often  distinguishes  the  warfare  between  civilized 
men  and  savages.  On  the  part  of  the  whites,  it  was 
conducted  with  superior  skill  and  success  ;  but  with 
a  wastefulness  of  the  blood,  and  a  disregard  of  the 
natural  rights  of  their  antagonists  :  on  the  part  of  the 
Indians  it  was  waged  with  the  desperation  of  men 
fearless  of  death,  and  who  had  nothing  to  expect  from 
peace,  but  humiliation,  dependence,  and  decay. 

The  events  of  the  war  are  transmitted  to  us  by  a 
worthy  clergyman  of  the  time  ;  who  dwells  with 
horror  and  indignation  on  every  hostile  act  of  the 
Indians,  however  justifiable,  whilst  he  mentions  with 
applause  the  most  sanguinary  atrocities  of  the  whites. 
Phdip  is  reviled  as  a  murderer  and  a  traitor  ;  without 
considering  that  he  was  a  true-born  prince,  gallantly 
fighting  at  the  head  of  his  subjects  to  avenge  the 
wrongs  of  his  family ;  to  retrieve  the  tottering  power 
of  his  line  ;  and  to  deliver  his  native  land  from  the 
oppression  of  usurping  strangers. 

The  project  of  a  wide  and  simultaneous  revolt,  if 
such  had  really  been  formed,  was  worthy  of  a  capa- 
cious mind,  and,  had  it  not  been  prematurely  discov- 
ered, might  have  been  overwhelming  in  its  conse- 
quences. The  war  that  actually  broke  out  was  but 
a  war  of  detail ;  a  mere  succession  of  casual  exploits 
and  unconnected  enterprises.  Still  it  sets  forth  the 
military  genius  and  daring  prowess  of  Philip ;  and 
wherever,  in  the  prejudiced  and  passionate  narrations 
that  have  been  given  of  it,  we  can  arrive  at  simple 
facts,  we  find  him  displaying  a  vigorous  mind  ;  a  fer- 
tility in  expedients  ;  a  contempt  of  sufiisring  and  hard- 
ship ;  and  an  unconquerable  resolution,  that  com- 
mand our  sympathy  and  applause. 

Driven  from  his  paternal  domains  at  Mount  Hope, 
he  threw  himself  into  the  depths  of  those  vast  and 
trackless  forests  that  skirted    the  settlements,  and 


*  The  Rev,  Increase  Mather's  History. 


78 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


were  almost  impervious  to  any  thing  but  a  wild  beast 
or  an  Indian.  Here  he  gathered  together  his  forces, 
lii<e  the  storm  accumulatmg  its  stores  of  mischief  in 
the  bosom  of  the  thunder-cloud,  and  would  suddenly 
emerge  at  a  time  and  place  least  expected,  carrying 
havoc  and  dismay  into  the  villages.  There  were 
now  and  then  indications  of  these  impending  ravages, 
that  filled  the  minds  of  the  colonists  with  awe  and 
apprehension.  The  report  of  a  distant  gun  would 
perhaps  be  heard  from  the  solitary  woodland,  where 
there  was  known  to  be  no  white  man  ;  the  cattle 
which  had  been  wandering  in  the  woods,  would 
sometimes  return  home  wounded  ;  or  an  Indian  or 
two  would  be  seen  lurking  about  the  skirts  of  the 
forests,  and  suddenly  disappearing  ;  as  the  lightning 
will  sometimes  be  seen  playing  silently  about  the 
edge  of  the  cloud  that  is  brewing  up  the  tempest. 

Though  sometimes  pursued,  and  even  surrounded 
by  the  settlers,  yet  Philip  as  often  escaped  almost 
miraculously  from  their  toils  ;  and  plunging  into  the 
wilderness,  would  be  lost  to  all  search  or  inquiry 
until  he  again  emerged  at  some  far  distant  quarter, 
laying  the  country  desolate.  Among  his  strong-holds 
were  the  great  swamps  or  morasses,  which  extend 
in  some  parts  of  New-England  ;  composed  of  loose 
bogs  of  deep  black  mud ;  perplexed  with  thickets, 
brambles,  rank  weeds,  the  shattered  and  mouldering 
trunks  of  fallen  trees,  overshadowed  by  lugubrious 
hemlocks.  The  uncertain  footing  and  the  tangled 
mazes  of  these  shaggy  wilds,  rendered  them  almost 
impracticable  to  the  white  man,  though  the  Indian 
could  thread  their  labyrinths  with  the  agility  of  a 
deer.  Into  one  of  these,  the  great  swamp  of  Pocas- 
set  Neck,  was  Philip  once  driven  with  a  band  of  his 
followers.  The  English  did  not  dare  to  pursue  him, 
fairing  to  venture  into  these  dark  and  frightful  re- 
cesses, where  they  might  perish  in  fens  and  miry  pits, 
or  be  shot  down  by  lurking  foes.  They  therefore 
invested  the  entrance  to  the  neck,  and  began  to  build 
a  fort,  with  the  thought  of  starving  out  the  toe  ;  but 
Philip  and  his  warriors  wafted  themselves  on  a  raft 
over  an  arm  of  the  sea,  in  the  dead  of  night,  leaving 
the  women  and  children  behind  ;  and  escaped  away 
to  the  westward,  kindling  the  flames  of  war  among 
the  tribes  of  JVIassachusetts  and  the  Nipmuck  country, 
and  threatening  the  colony  of  Connecticut. 

In  this  way  Philip  became  a  theme  of  universal 
apprehension.  The  mystery  in  which  he  was  envel- 
oped exaggerated  his  real  terrors.  He  was  an  evil 
that  walked  in  darkness  ;  whose  coming  none  could 
foresee,  and  against  which  none  knew  when  to  be  on 
the  alert.  The  whole  country  abounded  with  ru- 
mours and  alarms.  Philip  seemed  almost  possessed 
of  ubiquity ;  for,  in  whatever  part  of  the  widely  ex- 
tended frontier  an  irruption  from  the  forest  took 
place,  Philip  was  said  to  be  its  leader.  Many  super- 
stitious notions  also  were  circulated  concerning  him. 
He  was  said  to  deal  in  necromancy,  and  to  be  attend- 
ed by  an  old  Indian  witch  or  prophetess,  whom  he 
consulted,  and  who  assisted  him  by  her  charms  and 
incantations.  This  indeed  was  frequently  the  case 
with  Indian  chiefs ;  either  through  their  own  credu- 
lity, or  to  act  upon  that  of  their  followers :  and  the 
influence  of  the  prophet  and  the  dreamer  over  Indian 
superstition  has  been  fully  evidenced  in  recent  in- 
stances of  savage  warfare. 

At  the  time  that  Philip  efli^cted  his  escape  from 
Pocasset,  his  fortunes  were  in  a  desperate  condition 
His  forces  had  been  thinned  by  repeated  fights,  and 
he  had  lost  almost  the  whole  of  his  resources.  In 
this  time  of  adversity  he  found  a  faithful  friend  in 
Canonchet,  Chief  Sachem  of  all  the  Narrhagansets. 
He  was  the  son  and  heir  of  Miantonimo,  the  great 
Sachem,  who,  as  already  mentioned,  after  an  honour- 
able acquittal  of  the  charge  of  conspiracy,  had  been 


privately  put  to  death  at  the  perfidious  instigations 
of  the  settlers.  "He  was  the  heir,"  says  the  old 
chronicler,  "  of  all  his  father's  pride  and  insolence, 
as  well  as  of  his  malice  towards  the  English ; "  he 
certainly  was  the  heir  of  his  insults  and  injuries,  and 
the  legitimate  avenger  of  his  murder.  Though  he 
had  forborne  to  take  an  active  part  in  this  hopeless 
war,  yet  he  received  Philip  and  his  broken  forces  with 
open  arms  ;  and  gave  them  the  most  generous  coun- 
tenance and  support.  This  at  once  drew  upon  him 
the  hostility  of  the  English  ;  and  it  was  determined 
to  strike  a  signal  blow,  that  should  involve  both  the 
Sachems  in  one  common  ruin.  A  great  force  was, 
therefore,  gathered  together  from  Massachusetts, 
Plymouth,  and  Connecticut,  and  was  sent  into  the 
Narrhaganset  country  in  the  depth  of  winter,  when 
the  swamps,  being  frozen  and  leafless,  could  be  trav- 
ersed with  comparative  facility,  and  would  no  longer 
afford  dark  and  impenetrable  fastnesses  to  the 
Indians. 

Apprehensive  of  attack,  Canonchet  had  conveyed 
the  greater  part  of  his  stores,  together  with  the  old, 
the  infirm,  the  women  and  children  of  his  tribe,  to  a 
strong  fortress ;  where  he  and  Philip  had  likewise 
drawn  up  the  flower  of  their  forces.  This  fortress, 
deemed  by  the  Indians  impregnable,  was  situated 
upon  a  rising  mound  or  kind  of  island,  of  five  or  six 
acres,  in  the  midst  of  a  swamp;  it  was  constructed 
with  a  degree  of  judgment  and  skill  vastly  superior 
to  what  is  usually  displayed  in  Indian  fortification, 
and  indicative  of  the  martial  genius  of  these  two 
chieftains. 

Guided  by  a  renegado  Indian,  the  English  pene- 
trated, through  December  snows,  to  this  strong-hold, 
and  came  upon  the  garrison  by  surprise.  The  fight 
was  fierce  and  tumultuous.  The  assailants  were 
repulsed  in  their  first  attack,  and  several  of  their 
bravest  officers  were  shot  down  in  the  act  of  storm- 
ing the  fortress,  sword  in  hand.  The  assault  was 
renewed  with  greater  success.  A  lodgement  was 
effected.  The  Indians  were  driven  from  one  post  to 
another.  They  disputed  their  ground  inch  by  inch, 
fighting  with  the  fury  of  despair.  Most  of  their  vete- 
rans were  cut  to  pieces  ;  and  after  a  long  and  bloody 
battle,  Philip  and  Canonchet,  with  a  handfuil  of  sur- 
viving warriors,  retreated  from  the  fort,  and  took 
refuge  in  the  thickets  of  the  surrounding  forest. 

The  victors  set  fire  to  the  wigwams  and  the  fort ; 
the  whole  was  soon  in  a  blaze  ;  many  of  the  old  men, 
the  women  and  the  children,  perished  in  the  flames. 
This  last  outrage  overcame  even  the  stoicism  of  the 
savage.  The  neighbouring  woods  resounded  with 
the  yells  of  rage  and  despair,  uttered  by  the  fugitive 
warriors  as  they  beheld  the  destruction  of  their 
dwellings,  and  heard  the  agonizing  cries  of  their 
wives  and  offspring.  "Theburningof  the  wigwams," 
says  a  cotemporary  writer,  "  the  shrieks  and  cries  of 
the  women  and  children,  and  the  yelling  of  the  war- 
riors, exhibited  a  most  horrible  and  affecting  scene, 
so  that  it  greatly  moved  some  of  the  soldiers."  The 
same  writer  cautiously  adds,  "  they  were  in  much 
doubt  then,  and  afterwards  seriously  inquired,  whether 
burning  their  enemies  alive  could  be  consistent  with 
humanity,  and  the  benevolent  principles  of  the  gos- 
pel."* 

The  fate  of  the  brave  and  generous  Canonchet  is 
worthy  of  particular  mention  :  the  last  scene  of  his 
life  is  one  of  the  noblest  instances  on  record  of 
Indian  magnanimity. 

Broken  down  in  his  power  and  resources  by  this 
signal  defeat,  yet  faithful  to  his  ally  and  to  the  hap- 
less cause  which  he  had  espoused,  he  rejected  all 
overtures  of  peace,  offered  on  condition  of  betraying 


*  MS.  of  the  Rev.  W.  Rugglcj. 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


TO 


Philip  and  his  followers,  and  declared  that  "  he 
would  fight  it  out  to  the  last  man,  rather  than  be- 
come a  servant  to  the  English."  His  home  being 
destroyed  ;  his  country  harassed  and  laid  waste  by 
the  incursions  of  the  conquerors  ;  he  was  obliged  to 
wander  away  to  the  banks  of  the  Connecticut ;  where 
he  formed  a  rallying  point  to  the  whole  body  of 
western  Indians,  and  laid  waste  several  of  the  En- 
glish settlements. 

Early  in  the  spring,  he  departed  on  a  hazardous 
expedition,  with  only  thirty  chosen  men,  to  pene- 
trate to  Seaconck,  in  the  vicinity  of  Mount  Hope, 
and  to  procure  seed-corn  to  plant  for  the  sustenance 
of  his  troops.  This  little  band  of  adventurers  had 
passed  safely  through  the  Pequod  country,  and  were 
in  the  centre  of  the  Narrhaganset,  resting  at  some 
wigwams  near  Pautucket  river,  when  an  alarm  was 
given  of  an  approaching  enemy.  Having  but  seven 
men  by  him  at  the  time,  Canonchet  despatched  two 
of  them  to  the  top  of  a  neighbouring  hill,  to  bring 
intelligence  of  the  foe. 

Panic-struck  by  the  appearance  of  a  troop  of  En- 
glish and  Indians  rapidly  advancing,  they  fled  in 
breathless  terror  pa-.t  their  chieftain,  without  stop- 
ping to  inform  him  of  the  danger.  Canonchet  sent 
another  scout,  who  did  the  same.  He  then  sent  two 
more,  one  of  whom,  hurrying  back  in  confusion  and 
affright,  told  him  that  the  whole  British  army  was  at 
hand.  Canonchet  saw  there  was  no  choice  but  im- 
mediate flight.  He  attempted  to  escape  round  the 
hill,  but  was  perceived  and  hotly  pursued  by  tlie  hos- 
tile Indians,  and  a  few  of  the  fleetest  of  the  English. 
Finding  the  swiftest  pursuer  close  upon  his  heels,  he 
threw  off,  first  his  blanket,  then  his  silver-laced  coat 
and  belt  of  peag,  by  which  his  enemies  knew  him  to 
be  Canonchet,  and  redoubled  the  eagerness  of 
pursuit. 

At  length,  in  dashing  thi-ough  the  river,  his  foot 
slipped  upon  a  stone,  and  he  fell  so  deep  as  to  wet 
his  gun.  This  accident  so  struck  him  with  despair, 
that,  as  he  afterwards  confessed,  "  his  heart  and  his 
bowels  turned  within  him,  and  he  became  like  a 
rotten  stick,  void  of  strength." 

To  such  a  degree  was  he  unnerved,  that,  being 
seized  by  a  Pequod  Indian  within  a  short  distance 
of  the  river,  he  made  no  resistance,  though  a  man 
of  great  vigour  of  body  and  boldness  of  heart.  But 
on  being  made  prisoner,  the  whole  pride  of  his  spirit 
arose  within  him ;  and  from  that  moment,  we  find, 
in  the  anecdotes  given  by  his  enemies,  nothing  but 
repeated  flashes  of  elevated  and  prince-like  heroism. 
Being  questioned  by  one  of  the  English  who  first 
came  up  with  him,  and  who  had  not  attained  his 
twenty-second  year,  the  proud-hearted  warrior,  look- 
ing with  lofty  contempt  upon  his  youthful  counte- 
nance, replied,  "  You  are  a  child— you  cannot  under- 
stand matters  of  war — let  your  brother  or  your  chief 
come — him  will  I  answer." 

Though  repeated  offers  were  made  to  him  of  his 
life,  on  condition  of  submitting  with  his  nation  to  the 
English,  yet  he  rejected  them  with  disdain,  and  re- 
fused to  send  any  proposals  of  the  kind  to  the  great 
body  of  his  subjects ;  saying,  that  he  knew  none  of 
them  would  comply.  Being  reproached  with  his 
breach  of  faith  towards  the  whites ;  his  boast  that 
he  would  not  deliver  up  a  Wampanoag,  nor  the  par- 
ings of  a  Wampanoag's  nail ;  and  his  threat  that 
he  would  burn  the  English  alive  in  their  houses  ;  he 
disdained  to  justify  himself,  haughtily  answering  that 
others  were  as  forward  for  the  war  as  himself,  "and 
he  desired  to  hear  no  more  thereof." 

So  noble  and  unshaken  a  spirit,  so  true  a  fidelity 
to  his  cause  and  his  friend,  might  have  touched  the 
feelings  of  the  generous  and  the  brave;  but  Canon- 
chet was  an  Indian  ;  a  being  towards  whom  war  had 


no  courtesy,  humanity  no  law,  religion  no  compas- 
sion— he  was  condemned  to  die.  The  last  words 
of  his  that  are  recorded,  are  worthy  the  greatness 
of  his  soul.  When  sentence  of  death  was  passed 
upon  him,  he  observed,  "  that  he  liked  it  well,  for  he 
should  die  before  his  heart  was  soft,  or  he  had  spoken 
any  thing  unworthy  of  himself"  His  enemies  gave 
him  the  death  of  a  soldier,  for  he  was  shot  at  Ston- 
ingham,  by  three  young  Sachems  of  his  own  rank. 

The  defeat  of  the  Narrhaganset  fortress,  and  the 
death  of  Canonchet,  were  fatal  blows  to  the  fortunes 
of  King  Philip.  He  made  an  ineffectual  attempt  to 
raise  a  head  of  war,  by  stirring  up  the  Mohawks  to 
take  arms ;  but  though  possessed  of  the  native  tal- 
ents of  a  statesman,  his  arts  were  counteracted  by 
the  superior  arts  of  his  enlightened  enemies,  and  the 
terror  of  their  warlike  skill  began  to  suljdue  the  res- 
olution of  the  neighbouring  tribes.  The  unfortu- 
nate chieftain  saw  himself  daily  stripped  of  power, 
and  his  ranks  rapidly  thinning  around  him.  Some 
were  suborned  by  the  whites  ;  others  fell  victims  to 
hunger  and  fatigue,  and  to  the  frequent  attacks  by 
which  they  were  harassed.  His  stores  were  all  cap- 
tured ;  his  chosen  friends  were  swept  away  from  be- 
fore his  eyes  ;  his  uncle  was  shot  down  by  his  side  ; 
his  sister  was  carried  into  captivity ;  and  in  one  of 
his  narrow  escapes  he  was  compelled  to  leave  his 
beloved  wife  and  only  son  to  the  mercy  of  the  enemy. 
"  His  ruin,"  says  the  historian,  "  being  thus  gradu- 
ually  carried  on,  his  misery  was  not  prevented,  but 
augmented  thereby  ;  being  himself  made  acquainted 
with  the  sense  and  experimental  feeling  of  the  cap- 
tivity of  his  children,  loss  of  friends,  slaughter  of  his 
subjects,  bereavement  of  all  family  relations,  and 
being  stripped  of  all  outward  comforts,  before  his 
own  life  should  be  taken  away." 

To  fill  up  the  measure  of  his  misfortunes,  his  own 
followers  began  to  plot  against  his  life,  that  by  sacri- 
ficing him  they  might  purchase  dishonourable  safety. 
Through  treachery,  a  number  of  his  faithful  adher- 
ents, the  subjects  of  Wetamoe,  an  Indian  princess 
of  Pocasset,  a  near  kinswoman  and  confederate  of 
Philip,  were  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 
Wetamoe  was  among  them  at  the  time,  and  attempt- 
ed to  make  her  escape  by  crossing  a  neighbouring 
river :  either  exhausted  by  swimming,  or  starved 
with  cold  and  hunger,  she  was  found  dead  and 
naked  near  the  water  side.  But  persecution  ceased 
not  at  the  grave:  even  death,  the  refuge  of  the 
wretched,  where  the  wicked  commonly  cease  from 
troubling,  was  no  protection  to  this  outcast  female, 
whose  great  crime  was  affectionate  fidelity  to  her 
kinsman  and  her  friend.  Her  corpse  was  the  object 
of  unmanly  and  dastardly  vengeance  ;  the  head  was 
severed  from  the  body  and  set  upon  a  pole,  and  was 
thus  exposed,  at  Taunton,  to  the  view  of  her  captive 
subjects.  They  immediately  recognised  the  features 
of  their  unfortunate  queen,  and  were  so  affected  at 
this  barbarous  spectacle,  that  we  are  told  they  broke 
forth  into  the  "  most  horrid  and  diabolical  lamenta- 
tions." 

However  Philip  had  borne  up  against  the  compli- 
cated miseries  and  misfortunes  that  surrounded  him, 
the  treachery  of  his  followers  seemed  to  wring  his 
•heart  and  reduce  him  to  despondency.  It  is  said  that 
"  he  never  rejoiced  afterwards,  nor  had  success  in 
any  of  his  designs."  The  spring  of  hope  was  broken 
— the  ardour  of  enterprise  was  extinguished  :  he 
looked  around,  and  all  was  danger  and  darkness  ; 
there  was  no  eye  to  pity,  nor  any  arm  that  could 
bring  deliverance.  With  a  scanty  band  of  followers, 
who  still  remained  true  to  his  desperate  fortunes, 
the  unhappy  Philip  wandered  back  to  the  vicinity  of 
Mount  Hope,  the  ancient  dwelling  of  his  fathers. 
Here  he  lurked  about,  like  a  spectre,  among  the 


80 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


scenes  of  former  power  and  prosperity,  now  bereft  of 
home,  of  family,  and  friend.  Tliere  needs  no  better 
picture  of  his  destitute  and  piteous  situation,  than 
that  furnished  by  the  homely  pen  of  the  chronicler, 
who  is  unwarily  enlisting  the  feelings  of  the  reader 
in  favour  of  the  hapless  warrior  whom  he  reviles. 
"  Philip,"  he  says,  "  like  a  savage  wild  beast,  having 
been  hunted  by  the  English  forces  through  the  woods 
above  a  hundred  miles  backward  and  forward,  at 
last  was  driven  to  his  own  den  upon  Mount  Hope, 
where  he  retired,  with  a  few  of  his  best  friends,  into 
a  swamp,  which  proved  but  a  prison  to  keep  him  fast 
till  the  messengers  of  death  came  by  divine  permis- 
sion to  execute  vengeance  upon  him." 

Even  at  this  last  refuge  of  desperation  and  despair, 
a  sullen  grandeur  gathers  round  his  memory.  We 
picture  him  to  ourselves  seated  among  his  care-worn 
followers,  brooding  in  silence  over  his  blasted  for- 
tunes, and  acquiring  a  savage  sublimity  from  the 
wildness  and  dreariness  of  his  lurking-place.  De- 
feated, but  not  dismayed — crushed  to  the  earth,  but 
not  humiliated — he  seemed  to  grow  more  haughty 
beneath  disaster,  and  to  experience  a  fierce  satisfac- 
tion in  draining  the  last  dregs  of  bitterness.  Little 
minds  are  tamed  and  subdued  by  misfortune ;  but 
great  minds  rise  above  it.  The  very  idea  of  sub- 
mission awakened  the  fury  of  Philip,  and  he  smote 
to  death  one  of  his  followers,  who  proposed  an  ex- 
ped  ent  of  peace.  The  brother  of  the  victim  made 
his  escape,  and  in  revenge  betrayed  the  retreat  of 
his  chieftain.  A  body  of  white  men  and  Indians 
were  immediately  despatched  to  the  swamp  where 
Philip  lay  crouched,  glaring  with  fury  and  despair. 
Before  he  was  aware  of  their  approach,  they  had 
begun  to  surround  him.  In  a  little  while  he  saw 
five  of  his  trustiest  followers  laid  dead  at  his  feet ; 
all  resistance  was  vain ;  he  rushed  forth  from  his 
covert,  and  made  a  headlong  attempt  at  escape,  but 
was  shot  through  the  heart  by  a  renegade  Indian 
of  his  own  nation. 

Such  is  the  scanty  story  of  the  brave,  but  unfortu- 
nate King  Philip  ;  persecuted  while  living,  slandered 
and  dishonoured  when  dead.  If,  however,  we  con- 
sider even  the  prejudiced  anecdotes  furnished  us  by 
Ixis  enemies,  we  may  perceive  in  them  traces  of 
amiable  and  lofty  character,  sufficient  to  awaken 
sympathy  for  his  fate  and  respect  for  his  memory. 
We  find,  that  amidst  all  the  harassing  cares  and 
ferocious  passions  of  constant  warfare,  he  was  alive 
to  the  softer  feelings  of  connubial  love  and  paternal 
tenderness,  and  to  the  generous  sentiment  of  friend- 
ship. The  captivity  of  his  "  beloved  wife  and  only 
son  "  is  mentioned  with  exultation,  as  causing  him 
poignant  misery :  the  death  of  any  near  friend  is 
triumphantly  recorded  as  a  new  blow  on  his  sensi- 
bilities ;  but  the  treachery  and  desertion  of  many  of 
his  followers,  in  whose  aifections  he  had  confided,  is 
said  to  have  desolated  his  heart,  and  to  have  be- 
reaved him  of  all  farther  comfort.  He  was  a  patriot, 
attached  to  his  native  soil — a  prince  true  to  his  sub- 
jects, and  indignant  of  their  wrongs — a  soldier, 
daring  in  battle,  firm  in  adversity,  patient  of  fatigue, 
of  hunger,  of  every  variety  of  bodily  suffering,  and 
ready  to  perish  in  the  cause  he  had  espoused.  Proud 
of  heart,  and  with  an  untameable  love  of  natural 
libert}',  he  preferred  to  enjoy  it  among  the  beasts  of 
the  forests,  or  in  the  dismal  and  famished  recesses 
of  swamps  and  morasses,  rather  than  bow  his 
liaughty  spirit  to  submission,  and  live  dependent 
and  despised  in  the  ease  and  luxury  of  the  settle- 
ments. With  heroic  qualities  and  bold  achievements 
that  would  have  graced  a  civilized  warrior,  and  have 
rendered  him  the  theme  of  the  poet  and  the  histo- 
rian ;  he  lived  a  wanderer  and  a  fugitive  in  his  native 
land,  and  went  down,  like  a  lonely  bark,  foundering 


amid  darkness  and  tempest — without  a  pitying  eye 
to  weep  his  Tall,  or  a  friendly  hand  to  record  his 
struggle. 


JOHN  BULL. 


An  old  song,  made  by  an  aged  old  pate, 
Of  an  old  worshipful  gentleman  who  had  a  great  estate. 
That  kept  a  brave  old  house  at  a  bountiful  rate. 
And  an  old  porter  to  relieve  the  poor  at  his  gate. 

With  an  old  study  fill'd  full  of  learned  old  books, 
With  an  old  reverend  chaplain,  you  might  know  him  by  his  looks, 
with  an  old  buttery-hatch  worn  quite  off  the  hooks. 
And  an  old  kitchen  that  maintained  half-a-dozen  old  cooks. 
Like  an  old  courtier.  &c. 

Old  Song. 

There  is  no  species  of  humour  in  which  the  En- 
glish more  excel,  than  that  which  consists  in  carica- 
turing and  giving  ludicrous  appellations  or  nick- 
names. In  this  way  they  have  whimsically  desig- 
nated, not  merely  individuals,  but  nations ;  and  in 
their  fondness  for  pushing  a  joke,  they  have  not 
spared  even  themselves.  One  would  think  that,  in 
personifying  itself,  a  nation  would  be  apt  to  picture 
something  grand,  heroic,  and  imposing ;  but  it  is 
characteristic  of  the  peculiar  humour  of  the  English, 
and  of  their  love  for  what  is  blunt,  comic,  and  famil- 
iar, that  they  have  embodied  their  national  oddities 
in  the  figure  of  a  sturdy,  corpulent  old  fellow,  with  a 
three-cornered  hat,  red  waistcoat,  leather  breeches, 
and  stout  oaken  cudgel.  Thus  they  have  taken  a 
singular  delight  in  exjiibiting  their  most  private  foi- 
bles in  a  laughable  point  of  view ;  and  have  been  so 
successful  in  their  delineation,  that  there  is  scarcely 
a  being  in  actual  existence  more  absolutely  present 
to  the  public  mind,  than  that  eccentric  personage, 
John  Bull. 

Perhaps  the  continual  contemplation  of  the  char- 
acter thus  drawn  of  them,  has  contributed  to  fix  it 
upon  the  nation  ;  and  thus  to  give  reality  to  what  at 
first  may  have  been  painted  in  a  great  measure  from 
the  imagination.  Men  are  apt  to  acquire  peculiari- 
ties that  are  continually  ascribed  to  them.  The 
common  orders  of  English  seem  wonderfully  capti- 
vated with  the  benti  ideal  which  they  have  formed  of 
John  Bull,  and  endeavour  to  act  up  to  the  broad  car- 
icature that  is  perpetually  before  their  eyes.  Unluck- 
ily, they  soinetimes  make  their  boasted  Bull-ism  an 
apology  for  their  prejudice  or  grossness  ;  and  this  I 
have  especially  noticed  among  those  truly  home- 
bred and  genuine  sons  of  the  soil  who  have  never 
migrated  beyond  the  sound  of  Bow-bells.  If  one  of 
these  should  be  a  little  uncouth  in  speech,  and  apt 
to  utter  impertinent  truths,  he  confesses  that  he  is  a 
real  John  ISuU,  and  always  speaks  his  mind.  If  he 
now  and  then  Hies  into  an  unreasonable  burst  of  pas- 
sion about  trifles,  he  observes  that  John  Bull  is  a 
choleric  old  blade,  but  then  his  passion  is  over  in  a 
moment,  and  he  bears  no  malice.  If  he  betrays  a 
coarseness  of  taste,  and  an  insensibility  to  foreign 
refinements,  he  thanks  Heaven  for  his  ignorance — he 
is  a  plain  John  Bull,  and  has  no  relish  for  frippery  and 
knicknacks.  His  very  proneness  to  be  gulled  by 
strangers,  and  to  pay  extravagantly  for  absurdities, 
is  excused  under  the  plea  of  munificence — for  John 
is  always  more  generous  than  wise. 

Thus,  under  the  name  of  John  Bull,  he  will  con- 
trive to  argue  every  fault  into  a  merit,  and  will  frank- 
ly convict  himself  of  being  the  honestest  fellow  in 
existence. 

Hov/ever  little,  therefore,  the  character  may  have 
suited  in  the  first  instance,  it  has  gradually  adapted 
itself  to  the  nation,  or  rather  they  have  adapted 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF    GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


81 


themselves  to  each  other ;  and  a  stranger  who  wishes 
to  study  English  peculiarities,  may  gather  much  val- 
uable information  from  the  innumerable  portraits  of 
John  Bull,  as  exhibited  in  the  windows  of  the  carica- 
ture-shops. Still,  however,  he  is  one  of  those  fertile 
humorists,  that  are  continually  throwing  out  new 
portraits,  and  presenting  different  aspects  from  dif- 
ferent points  of  view ;  and,  often  as  he  has  been  de- 
scribed, 1  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  give  a  slight 
sketch  of  him,  such  as  he  has  met  my  eye. 

John  Bull,  to  all  appearance,  is  a  plain  downright 
matter-of-fact  fellow,  with  much  less  of  poetry  about 
him  than  rich  prose.  There  is  little  of  romance  in 
his  nature,  but  a  vast  deal  of  strong  natural  feeling. 
He  excels  in  humour  more  than  in  wit ;  is  jolly  rather 
than  gay  ;  melancholy  rather  than  morose  ;  can  easi- 
ly be  moved  to  a  sudden  tear,  or  surprised  into  a 
broad  laugh  ;  but  he  loathes  sentiment,  and  has  no 
turn  for  lijjht  pleasantry.  He  is  a  boon  companion, 
if  you  allow  him  to  have  his  humour,  and  to  talk 
about  himself;  and  he  will  stand  by  a  friend  in  a 
quarrel,  with  life  and  purse,  however  soundly  he  may 
be  cudgelled. 

In  this  last  respect,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  has  a  pro- 
pensity to  be  somewhat  too  ready.  He  is  a  busy- 
minded  personage,  who  thinks  not  merely  for  him- 
self and  family,  but  for  all  the  country  round,  and  is 
most  generally  disposed  to  be  every  body's  cham- 
pion. He  is  continually  volunteering  his  services  to 
settle  his  neighbours'  affairs,  and  takes  it  in  great 
dudgeon  if  they  engage  in  any  matter  of  consequence 
without  asking  his  advice ;  though  he  seldom  en- 
gages in  any  friendly  office  of  the  kind  without  fin- 
ishing by  getting  into  a  squaljble  with  all  parties, 
and  ther.  railing  bitterly  at  their  ingratitude.  He 
unluckily  took  lessons  in  his  youth  in  the  noble  sci- 
ence of  defence,  and  having  accomplished  himself  in 
the  use  of  his  limbs  and  his  weapons,  and  become  a 
perfect  master  at  boxing  and  cudgel-play,  he  has  had 
a  troublesome  life  of  it  ever  since.  He  cannot  hear 
of  a  quarrel  between  the  most  distant  of  his  neigh- 
bours, but  he  begins  incontinently  to  fumble  with  the 
head  of  his  cudgel,  and  consider  whether  his  interest 
or  honour  does  not  require  that  he  should  meddle  in 
the  broil.  Indeed,  he  has  extended  his  relations  of 
pride  and  policy  so  completely  over  the  whole  coun- 
try, that  no  event  can  take  place,  without  infringing 
some  of  his  finely-spun  rights  and  dignities.  Couched 
in  his  little  domain,  with  these  filaments  stretching 
forth  in  every  direction,  he  is  like  some  choleric, 
bottle-bellied  old  spider,  who  has  woven  his  web 
over  a  whole  chamber,  so  that  a  fly  cannot  buzz,  nor 
a  breeze  blow,  without  startling  his  repose,  and  caus- 
ing him  to  sally  forth  wrathfully  from  his  den. 

Though  really  a  good-hearted,  good-tempered  old 
fellow  at  bottom,  yet  he  is  singularly  fond  of  being 
in  the  midst  of  contention.  It  is  one  of  his  peculiari- 
ties, however,  that  he  only  relishes  the  beginning  of 
an  affray ;  he  always  goes  into  a  fight  with  alacrity, 
but  comes  out  of  it  grumbling  even  when  victorious  ; 
and  though  no  one  fights  with  more  obstinacy  to 
carry  a  contested  point,  yet,  when  the  battle  is  over, 
and  he  comes  to  the  reconciliation,  he  is  so  much 
laken  up  with  the  mere  shaking  of  hands,  that  he  is 
apt  to  let  his  antagonist  pocket  all  that  they  have 
been  quarrelling  about.  It  is  not,  therefore,  fighting 
that  he  ought  so  much  to  be  on  his  guard  against, 
as  making  friends.  It  is  difficult  to  cudgel  him  out 
of  a  farthing ;  but  put  him  in  a  good  humour,  and  you 
may  bargain  him  out  of  all  the  money  in  his  pocket. 
He  is  like  a  stout  ship,  which  will  weather  the  rough- 
est storm  uninjured,  but  roll  its  masts  overboard  in 
the  succeeding  calm. 

He  is  a  little  fond  of  playing  the  magnifico  abroad  ; 
of  pulling  out  a  long  purse  ;  flinging   his   money 
C 


bravely  about  at  boxing-matches,  horse-races,  cock 
fights,  and  carrying  a  high  head  among  "gentlemen 
of  the  fancy;"  but  immediately  after  one  of  these 
fits  of  extravagance,  he  will  be  taken  with  violent 
qualms  of  economy  ;  stop  short  at  the  most  trivial 
expenditure ;  talk  desperately  of  being  ruined  and 
brought  upon  the  parish  ;  and  in  such  moods  will 
not  pay  the  smallest  tradesman's  bill  without  violent 
altercation.  He  is,  in  fact,  the  most  punctual  and 
discontented  paymaster  in  the  world  ;  drawing  his 
coin  out  of  his  breeches  pocket  with  infinite  reluc- 
tance ;  paying  to  the  uttermost  farthing,  but  accom- 
panying every  guinea  with  a  growl. 

With  all  his  talk  of  economy,  however,  he  is  a 
bountiful  provider,  and  a  hospitable  house-keeper. 
His  economy  is  of  a  whimsical  kind,  its  chief  object 
being  to  devise  how  he  may  afford  to  be  extrava- 
gant ;  for  he  will  begrudge  himself  a  beef-steak  and 
pint  of  port  one  day,  that  he  may  roast  an  ox  whole, 
broach  a  hogshead  of  ale,  and  treat  all  his  neigh- 
bours on  the  next. 

His  domestic  establishment  is  enormously  expen- 
sive :  not  so  much  from  any  great  outward  parade, 
as  from  the  great  consumption  of  solid  beef  and 
pudding  ;  the  vast  number  of  followers  he  feeds  and 
clothes  ;  and  his  singular  disposition  to  pay  hugely 
for  small  services.  He  is  a  most  kind  and  indulgent 
master,  and,  provided  his  servants  humour  his  pecul- 
iarities, flatter  his  vanity  a  little  now  and  then,  and 
do  not  peculate  grossly  on  him  before  his  face,  they 
may  manage  him  to  perfection.  Every  thing  that 
lives  on  him  seems  to  thrive  and  grow  fat.  His 
house  servants  are  well  paid,  and  pampered,  and 
have  little  to  do.  His  horses  are  sleek  and  lazy, 
and  prance  slowly  before  his  state  carriage  ;  and  his 
house-dogs  sleep  quietly  about  the  door,  and  will 
hardly  bark  at  a  house-breaker. 

His  family  mansion  is  an  old  castellated  manor- 
house,  gray  with  age,  and  of  a  most  venerable, 
though  weather-beaten,  appearance.  It  has  been 
built  upon  no  regular  plan,  but  is  a  vast  accumula- 
tion of  parts,  erected  in  various  tastes  and  ages. 
The  centre  bears  evident  traces  of  Saxon  architect- 
ure, and  is  as  solid  as  ponderous  stone  and  old  En- 
glish oak  can  make  it.  Like  all  the  relics  of  that 
style,  it  is  full  of  obscure  passages,  intricate  mazes, 
and  dusky  chambers  ;  and  though  these  have  been 
partially  lighted  up  in  modern  days,  yet  there  are 
many  places  where  you  must  still  grope  in  the  dark. 
Additions  have  been  made  to  the  original  edifice 
from  time  to  time,  and  great  alterations  have  taken 
place ;  towers  and  battlements  have  been  erected 
during  wars  and  tumults  ;  wings  built  in  time  of 
peace  ;  and  out-houses,  lodges,  and  offices,  run  up 
according  to  the  whim  or  convenience  of  different 
generations,  until  it  has  become  one  of  the  most 
spacious,  rambling  tenements  imaginable.  An  en- 
tire wing  is  taken  up  with  the  family  chapel ;  a 
reverend  pile,  that  must  once  have  been  exceedingly 
sumptuous,  and,  indeed,  in  spite  of  having  been  al- 
tered and  simplified  at  various  periods,  has  still  a 
look  of  solemn  religious  pomp.  Its  walls  within  are 
storied  with  the  monuments  of  John's  ancestors ; 
and  it  is  snugly  fitted  up  with  soft  cushions  and 
well-lined  chairs,  where  such  of  his  family  as  are 
inclined  to  church  services,  may  doze  comfortably  in 
the  discharge  of  their  duties. 

To  keep  up  this  chapel,  has  cost  John  much 
money  ;  but  he  is  staunch  in  his  religion,  and  piqued 
in  his  zeal,  from  the  circumstance  that  many  dissent- 
ing chapels  have  been  erected  in  his  vicinity,  and 
several  of  his  neighbours,  with  whom  he  has  had 
quarrels,  are  strong  Papists. 

To  do  the  duties  of  the  chapel,  he  maintains,  at  a 
large  expense,  a  pious  and  portly  family  chaplain. 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


He  is  a  most  learned  and  decorous  personage,  and  a 
truly  well-bred  Christian,  who  always  backs  the  old 
gentleman  in  his  opinions,  winks  discreetly  at  his 
little  peccadilloes,  rebukes  the  children  when  refrac- 
tory, and  is  of  great  use  in  exhorting  the  tenants  to 
read  their  bibles,  say  their  prayers,  and,  above  all, 
to  pay  their  rents  punctually,  and  without  grum- 
bling. 

The  family  apartments  are  in  a  very  antiquated 
taste,  somewhat  heavy,  and  often  inconvenient,  but 
full  of  the  solemn  magnificence  of  former  times  ; 
fitted  up  with  rich,  though  faded  tapestry,  unwieldy 
furniture,  and  loads  of  massy,  gorgeous  old  plate. 
The  vast  fire-places,  ample  kitchens,  extensive  cel- 
lars, and  sumptuous  banqueting  halls, — all  speak  of 
the  roaring  hospitality  of  days  of  yore,  of  which  the 
modern  festivity  at  the  manor-house  is  but  a  shadow. 
There  are,  however,  complete  suites  of  rooms  ap- 
parently deserted  and  time-worn  ;  and  towers  and 
turrets  that  are  tottering  to  decay ;  so  that  in  high 
winds  there  is  danger  of  their  tumbling  about  the 
ears  of  the  household. 

John  has  frequently  been  advised  to  have  the  old 
edifice  thoroughly  overhauled,  and  to  have  some  of 
the  useless  parts  pulled  down,  and  the  others  strength- 
ened with  their  materials  ;  but  the  old  gentleman 
always  grows  testy  on  this  subject.  He  swears  the 
house  is  an  excellent  house — that  it  is  tight  and 
weather-proof,  and  not  to  be  shaken  by  tempests — 
that  it  has  stood  for  several  hundred  years,  and 
therefore,  is  not  likely  to  tumble  down  now — that  as 
to  its  being  inconvenient,  his  family  is  accustomed  to 
the  inconveniences,  and  would  not  be  comfortable 
without  them — that  as  to  its  unwieldy  size  and  ir- 
regular construction,  these  result  from  its  being  the 
growth  of  centuries,  and  being  improved  by  the 
wisdom  of  every  generation — that  an  old  family,  like 
his,  requires  a  large  house  to  dwell  in  ;  new,  upstart 
families  may  live  in  modern  cottages  and  snug 
boxes,  but  an  old  English  family  should  inhabit  an 
old  English  manor-house.  If  you  point  out  any  part 
of  the  building  as  superfluous,  he  insists  that  it  is 
material  to  the  strength  or  decoration  of  the  rest, 
and  the  harmony  of  the  whole  ;  and  swears  that  the 
parts  are  so  built  into  each  other,  that,  if  you  pull 
down  one  you  run  the  risk  of  having  the  whole  about 
your  ears. 

The  secret  of  the  matter  is,  that  John  has  a  great 
disposition  to  protect  and  patronize.  He  thinks  it 
indispensable  to  the  dignity  of  an  ancient  and  hon- 
ourable family,  to  be  bounteous  in  its  appomtments, 
and  to  be  eaten  up  by  dependants ;  and  so,  partly 
from  pride,  and  partly  from  kind-heartedness,  he 
makes  it  a  rule  always  to  give  shelter  and  mainte- 
nance to  his  superannuated  servants. 

The  consequence  is,  that,  like  many  other  venera- 
ble family  establishments,  his  manor  is  encumbered 
by  old  retainers  whom  he  cannot  turn  off,  and  an  old 
style  which  he  cannot  lay  down.  His  mansion  is 
like  a  great  hospital  of  invaUds,  and,  with  all  its 
magnitude,  is  not  a  whit  too  large  for  its  inhabitants. 
Not  a  nook  or  corner  but  is  of  use  in  housing  some 
useless  personage.  Groups  of  veteran  beef-eaters, 
gouty  pensioners,  and  retired  heroes  of  the  buttery- 
and  the  larder,  are  seen  lolling  about  its  walls, 
crawling  over  its  lawns,  dozing  under  its  trees,  or 
sunning  themselves  upon  the  benches  at  its  doors. 
Every  office  and  out-house  is  garrisoned  by  these 
supernumeraries  and  their  families ;  for  they  are 
amazingly  prolific,  and  when  they  die  off,  are  sure 
to  leave  John  a  legacy  of  hungry  mouths  to  be  pro- 
vided for.  A  mattock  cannot  be  struck  against  the 
most  mouldenng  tumble-down  tower,  but  out  pops, 
from  some  cranny  or  loophole,  the  gray  pate  of  some 
superannuated  hanger-on,  who  has  lived  at  John's 


expense  all  his  life,  and  makes  the  most  grievous 
outcry,  at  their  pulling  down  the  roof  from  over  the 
head  of  a  worn-out  servant  of  the  family.  This  is 
an  appeal  that  John's  honest  heart  never  can  with- 
stand ;  so  that  a  man,  who  has  faithfully  eaten  his 
beef  and  pudding  all  his  life,  is  sure  to  be  rewarded 
with  a  pipe  and  tankard  in  his  old  days. 

A  great  part  of  his  park,  also,  is  turned  into  pad- 
docks, where  his  broken-down  chargers  are  turned 
loose  to  graze  undisturbed  for  the  remainder  of  their 
existence — a  worthy  example  of  grateful  recollec- 
tion, which  if  some  of  his  neighbours  were  to  imi- 
tate, would  not  be  to  their  discredit.  Indeed,  it  is 
one  of  his  great  pleasures  to  point  out  these  old 
steeds  to  his  visitors,  to  dwell  on  their  good  quali- 
ties, extol  their  past  services,  and  boast,  with  some 
little  vain-glory,  of  the  perilous  adventures  and 
hardy  exploits  through  which  they  have  carried  him. 

He  is  given,  however,  to  indulge  his  veneration 
for  family  usages,  and  family  encumbrances,  to  a 
whimsical  extent.  His  manor  is  infested  by  gangs 
of  gipsies ;  yet  he  will  not  suffer  them  to  be  driven 
off,  because  they  have  infested  the  place  time  out  of 
mind,  and  been  regular  poachers  upon  every  gener- 
ation of  the  family.  He  will  scarcely  permit  a  dry 
branch  to  be  lopped  from  the  great  trees  that  sur- 
round the  house,  lest  it  should  molest  the  rooks, 
that  have  bred  there  for  centuries.  Owls  have  taken 
possession  of  the  dovecote  ;  but  they  are  hereditary 
owls,  and  must  not  be  disturbed.  Swallows  have 
nearly  choked  up  every  chimney  with  their  nests; 
martins  build  in  every  frieze  and  cornice  ;  crows 
flutter  about  the  towers,  and  perch  on  every  weather- 
cock ;  and  old  gray-headed  rats  may  be  seen  in 
every  quarter  of  the  house,  running  in  and  out  of 
their  holes  undauntedly  in  broad  daylight.  In  short, 
John  has  such  a  reverence  for  every  thing  that  has 
been  long  in  the  family,  that  he  will  not  hear  even 
of  abuses  being  reformed,  because  they  are  good  old 
family  abuses. 

All  these  whims  and  habits  have  concurred  wo- 
fuUy  to  drain  the  old  gentleman's  purse  ;  and  as  he 
prides  himself  on  punctuality  in  money  matters,  and 
wishes  to  maintain  his  credit  in  the  neighbourhood, 
they  have  caused  him  great  perplexity  in  meeting 
his  engagements.  This,  too,  has  been  increased  by 
the  altercations  and  heartburnings  which  are  con- 
tinually taking  place  in  his  family.  His  children 
have  been  brought  up  to  different  callings,  and 
are  of  dilferent  ways  ot  thinking ;  and  as  they  have 
always  been  allowed  to  speak  their  minds  freely, 
they  do  not  fail  to  exercise  the  privilege  most  clam- 
orously in  the  present  posture  of  his  affairs.  Some 
stand  up  for  the  honour  of  the  race,  and  are  clear 
that  the  old  establishment  should  be  kept  up  in  all 
its  state,  whatever  may  be  the  cost ;  others,  who 
are  more  prudent  and  considerate,  entreat  the  old 
gentleman  to  retrench  his  expenses,  and  to  put  his 
whole  system  of  housekeeping  on  a  more  moderate 
footing.  He  has,  indeed,  at  times,  seemed  inclined 
to  listen  to  their  opinions,  but  their  wholesome  ad- 
vice has  been  completely  defeated  by  the  obstreper- 
ous conduct  of  one  of  his  sons.  This  is  a  noisy  rattle- 
pated  fellow,  of  rather  low  habits,  who  neglects  his 
l)usiness  to  frequent  ale-houses — is  the  orator  of  vil- 
lage clubs,  and  a  complete  oracle  among  the  poorest 
of  his  father's  tenants.  No  sooner  does  he  hear  any 
of  his  brothers  mention  reform  or  retrenchment, 
than  up  he  jumps,  takes  the  words  out  of  their 
mouths,  and  roars  out  for  an  overturn.  When  his 
tongue  is  once  going,  nothing  can  stop  it.  He  rants 
about  the  room  ;  hectors  the  old  man  about  his  spend- 
thrift practices;  ridicules  his  tastes  and  pursuits; 
insists  that  he  shall  turn  the  old  servants  out  of 
doors;  give  the  broken-down  horses  to  the  hounds ; 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


send  the  fat  chaplain  packing  and  take  a  fiekl- 
preacher  in  his  place — nay,  that  the  whole  family 
mansion  shall  be  levelled  with  the  ground,  and  a 
plain  one  of  brick  and  mortar  built  in  its  place.  He 
rails  at  every  social  entertainment  and  family  festiv- 
ity, and  skulks  away  growling-  to  the  ale-house 
whenever  an  equipage  drives  up  to  the  door.  Though 
constantly  complaining  of  the  emptiness  of  his 
purse,  yet  he  scruples  not  to  spend  all  his  pocket- 
money  in  these  tavern  convocations,  and  even  runs 
up  scores  for  the  liquor  over  which  he  preaches 
obout  his  father's  extravagance. 

It  may  readily  be  imagined  how  little  such  thwart- 
ing agrees  with  the  old  cavalier's  fiery  temperament. 
He  has  become  so  irritable,  from  repeated  crossings, 
that  the  mere  mention  of  retrenchment  or  reform  is 
a  signal  for  a  brawl  between  him  and  the  tavern 
oracle.  As  the  latter  is  too  sturdy  and  refractory 
for  paternal  discipline,  having  grown  out  of  all  fear 
of  the  cudgel,  they  have  frequent  scenes  of  wordy 
warfare,  which  at  times  run  so  high,  that  John  is 
fain  to  call  in  the  aid  of  his  son  Tom,  an  officer  who 
has  served  abroad,  but  is  at  present  living  at  home, 
on  half-pay.  This  last  is  sure  to  stand  by  the  old 
gentleman,  right  or  wrong;  likes  nothing  so  much 
as  a  racketing  roistering  life  ;  and  is  readv,  at  a  wink 
or  nod,  to  out  sabre,  and  flourish  it  over  the  orator's 
head,  if  he  dares  to  array  himself  against  paternal 
authority. 

These  family  dissensions,  as  usual,  have  got 
abroad,  and  are  rare  food  for  scandal  in  John's 
neighbourhood.  People  begin  to  look  wise,  and 
shake  their  heads,  whenever  his  affairs  are  men- 
tioned. They  all  "  hope  that  matters  are  not  so  bad 
with  him  as  represented;  but  when  a  man's  own 
children  begin  to  rail  at  his  extravagance,  things 
must  be  badly  managed.  They  understand  he  is 
mortgaged  over  head  and  ears,  and  is  continually 
dabbling  with  money-lenders.  He  is  certainly  an 
open-handed  old  gentleman,  but  they  fear  he  has 
lived  too  fast ;  indeed,  they  never  knew  any  good 
come  of  this  fondness  for  hunting,  racing,  revelling, 
and  prize-fighting.  In  short,  Mr.  Bull's  estate  is  a 
very  fine  one,  and  has  been  in  the  family  a  long 
while  ;  but  for  all  that,  they  have  known  many  finer 
estates  come  to  the  hammer." 

What  is  worst  of  all,  is  the  effect  which  these 
pecuniary  embarrassments  and  domestic  feuds  have 
had  on  the  poor  man  himself.  Instead  of  that  jolly 
round  corporation,  and  smug  rosy  face,  which  he 
used  to  present,  he  has  of  late  become  as  shrivelled 
and  shrunk  as  a  frostbitten  apple.  His  scarlet  gold- 
laced  waistcoat,  which  bellied  out  so  bravely  in 
those  prosperous  days  when  he  sailed  before  the 
wind,  now  hangs  loosely  about  him  like  a  mainsail 
in  a  calm.  His  leather  breeches  are  all  in  folds  and 
wrinkles  ;  and  apparently  have  much  ado  to  hold  up 
the  boots  that  yawn  on  both  sides  of  his  once  sturdy 
legs. 

Instead  of  strutting  about,  as  formerly,  with  his 
three-cornered  hat  on  one  side  ;  flourishing  his  cud- 
gel, and  bringing  it  down  every  moment  with  a 
hearty  thump  upon  the  ground ;  looking  every  one 
sturdily  in  the  face,  and  trolling  out  a  stave  of  a 
catch  or  a  drinking  song  ;  he  now  goes  about  whis- 
tling thoughtfully  to  himself,  with  his  head  drooping 
down,  his  cudgel  tucked  under  his  arm,  and  his 
hands  thrust  to  the  bottom  of  his  breeches  pockets, 
which  are  evidently  empty. 

Such  is  the  plight  of  honest  John  Bull  at  present ; 
yet  for  all  this,  the  old  fellow's  spirit  is  as  tall  and  as 
gallant  as  ever.  If  you  drop  the  least  expression  of 
sympathy  or  concern,  he  takes  fire  in  an  instant ; 
swears  that  he  is  the  richest  and  stoutest  fellow  in 
the  country ;  talks  of  laying  out  large  sums  to  adorn 


his  house  or  to  buy  another  estate  ;  and,  with  a  vali- 
ant swagger  and  grasping  of  his  cudgel,  longs  ex- 
ceedingly to  have  another  bout  at  quarterstaff. 

Though  there  may  be  something  rather  whimsical 
in  all  this,  yet  I  confess  I  cannot  look  upon  John's 
situation,  without  strong  feelings  of  interest.  With 
all  his  odd  humours  and  obstinate  prejudices,  he  is  a 
sterling-hearted  old  blade.  He  may  not  be  so  won- 
derfully fine  a  fellow  as  he  thinks  himself,  but  he  is 
at  least  twice  as  good  as  his  neighbours  represent 
him.  His  virtues  are  all  his  own  ;  all  plain,  home- 
bred, and  unaffected.  His  very  faults  smack  of  the 
raciness  of  his  good  qualities.  His  extravagance 
savours  of  his  generosity ;  his  quarrelsomeness,  of 
his  courage ;  his  credulity,  of  his  open  faith  ;  his 
vanity,  of  his  pride;  and  his  bluntness,  of  his  sin- 
cerity. They  are  all  the  redundancies  of  a  rich  and 
liberal  character.  He  is  like  his  own  oak  ;  rough 
without,  but  sound  and  solid  within  ;  whose  bark 
abounds  with  excrescences  in  proportion  to  the 
growth  and  grandeur  of  the  timber ;  and  whose 
branches  make  a  fearful  groaning  and  murmuring 
in  the  least  storm,  from  their  very  magnitude  and 
luxuriance.  There  is  something,  too,  in  the  appear- 
ance of  his  old  family  mansion,  that  is  extremely 
poetical  and  picturesque ;  and,  as  long  as  it  can  be 
rendered  comfortably  habitable,  I  should  almost 
tremble  to  see  it  meddled  with  during  the  present 
conflict  of  tastes  and  opinions.  Some  of  his  advisers 
are  no  doubt  good  architects,  that  might  be  of  serv- 
ice ;  but  many,  1  fear,  are  mere  levellers,  who,  when 
they  had  once  got  to  work  with  their  mattocks  on 
the  venerable  edifice,  would  never  stop  until  they 
had  brought  it  to  the  ground,  and  perhaps  buried 
themselves  among  the  ruins.  All  that  1  wish,  is, 
that  John's  present  troubles  may  teach  him  more 
prudence  in  future ;  that  he  may  cease  to  distress 
his  mind  about  other  people's  affairs;  that  he  may 
give  up  the  fruitless  attempt  to  promote  the  good  of 
his  neighbours,  and  the  peace  and  happiness  of  the 
world,  by  dint  of  the  cudgel  ;  that  he  may  remain 
quietly  at  home  ;  gradually  get  his  house  into  repair  ; 
cultivate  his  rich  estate  according  to  his  fancy ;  hus- 
band his  income — if  he  thinks  proper;  bring  his  un- 
ruly children  into  order— if  he  can  ;  renew  the  jovial 
scenes  of  ancient  prosperity  ;  and  long  enjoy,  on  his 
paternal  lands,  a  green,  an  honourable,  and  a  merry 
old  age. 


THE  PRIDE  OF  THE  VILLAGE. 


May  no  wolf  howle  :  no  screech-owle  stir 

A  wing  about  thy  sepulchre  ! 

No  boystcrous  winds  or  stormes  come  hither. 

To  starve  or  wither 
Thy  soft  sweet  earth  !  but,  like  a  spring. 
Love  keep  it  ever  flourisliiiig. 

Hf.rrick, 

In  the  course  of  an  excursion  through  one  of  the 
remote  counties  of  England,  I  had  struck  into  one 
of  those  cross-roads  that  lead  through  the  more  se- 
cluded parts  of  the  country,  and  stopped  one  after- 
noon at  a  village,  the  situation  of  which  was  beauti- 
fully rural  and  retired.  There  was  an  air  of  primitive 
simplicity  about  its  inhabitants,  not  to  be  found  in 
the  villages  which  lie  on  the  great  coach-roads  I 
determined  to  pass  the  night  there,  and  having  taken 
an  early  dinner,  strolled  out  to  enjoy  the  neighbour- 
ing scenery. 

My  ramble,  as  is  usually  the  case  with  travellers, 
soon  led  me  to  the  church,  which  stood  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  village.     Indeed,  it  was  an  object 


Si 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


of  some  curiosity,  its  old  tower  being  completely 
overrun  with  ivy,  so  that  only  here  and  there  a  jut- 
ting- buttress,  an  angle  of  gray  wall,  or  a  fantastically 
carved  ornament,  peered  through  the  verdant  cover- 
ing. It  was  a  lovely  evening.  The  early  part  of 
the  day  had  been  dark  and  showery,  but  in  the  after- 
noon it  had  cleared  up ;  and  though  sullen  clouds 
still  hung  over  head,  yet  there  was  a  broad  tract  of 
golden  sky  in  the  west,  from  which  the  setting  sun 
gleamed  through  the  dripping  leaves,  and  lit  up  all 
nature  into  a  melancholy  smile.  It  seemed  like  the 
parting  hour  of  a  good  Christian,  smiling  on  the 
sins  and  sorrows  of  the  world,  and  giving,  in  the 
serenity  of  his  decline,  an  assurance  that  he  will  rise 
again  in  glory. 

1  had  seated  myself  on  a  half-sunken  tombstone, 
and  was  musing,  as  one  is  apt  to  do  at  this  sobcr- 
thoughted  hour,  on  past  scenes,  and  early  friends — 
on  those  who  were  distant,  and  those  who  were  dead 
— and  indulging  in  that  kind  of  melancholy  fancying, 
which  has  in  it  something  sweeter  even  than  pleasure. 
Every  now  and  then,  the  stroke  of  a  bell  from  the 
neighbouring  tower  fell  on  my  ear  ;  its  tones  were  in 
unison  with  the  scene,  and  instead  of  jarring,  chimed 
in  with  my  feelings  ;  and  it  was  some  time  before  I 
recollected,  that  it  must  be  tolling  the  knell  of  some 
new  tenant  of  the  tomb. 

Presently  I  saw  a  funeral  train  moving  across  the 
village  green  ;  it  wound  slowly  along  a  lane  ;  was 
lost,  and  re-appeared  through  the  breaks  of  the 
hedges,  until  it  passed  the  place  where  I  was  sitting. 
The  pall  was  supported  by  young  girls,  dressed  in 
white  ;  and  another,  about  the  age  of  seventeen, 
walked  before,  bearing  a  chaplet  of  white  flowers  ; 
a  token  that  the  deceased  was  a  young  and  unmar- 
ried female.  The  corpse  was  followed  by  the  parents. 
They  were  a  venerable  couple,  of  the  better  order 
of  peasantry.  The  father  seemed  to  repress  his 
feelings  ;  but  his  fixed  eye,  contracted  brow,  and 
deeply-furrowed  face,  showed  the  struggle  that  was 
passing  within.  His  wife  hung  on  his  arm,  and 
wept  aloud  with  the  convulsive  bursts  of  a  mother's 
sorrow. 

I  followed  the  funeral  into  the  church.  The  bier 
was  placed  in  the  centre  aisle,  and  the  chaplet  of 
while  flowers,  with  a  pair  of  white  gloves,  were 
hung  over  the  seat  which  the  deceased  had  occupied. 

Every  one  knows  the  soul-subduing  pathos  of  the 
funeral  service  :  for  who  is  so  fortunate  as  never  to 
have  followed  some  one  he  has  loved  to  the  tomb  ? 
but  when  performed  over  the  remains  of  innocence 
and  beauty,  thus  laid  low  in  the  bloom  of  existence 
— what  can  be  more  affecting?  At  that  simple,  but 
most  solemn  consignment  of  the  body  to  the  grave — 
"  Earth  to  earth — ashes  to  ashes — dust  to  dust !  "  the 
tears  of  the  youthful  companions  of  the  deceased 
flowed  unrestrained.  The  father  still  seemed  to 
struggle  with  his  feelings,  and  to  comfort  himself 
with  the  assurance,  that  the  dead  are  blessed  which 
die  in  the  Lord  ;  but  the  mother  only  thought  of  her 
child  as  a  flower  of  the  field,  cut  down  and  withered 
in  the  midst  of  its  sweetness :  she  was  like  Rachel, 
"  mourning  over  her  children,  and  would  not  be 
comforted." 

On  returning  to  the  inn,  I  learnt  the  whole  story 
of  the  deceased.  It  was  a  simple  one,  and  such  as 
has  often  been  told.  She  had  been  the  beauty  and 
pride  of  the  village.  Her  father  had  once  been  an 
opulent  farmer,  but  was  reduced  in  circumstances. 
This  was  an  only  child,  and  brought  up  entirely  at 
home,  in  the  simplicity  ol  rural  life.  She  had  been 
the  pupil  of  the  village  pastor,  the  favourite  lamb  of 
his  little  flock.  The  good  man  watched  over  her  edu- 
cation with  paternal  care  ;  it  was  limited,  and  suita- 
ble to  the  sphere  in  which  she  was  to  move  ;  for  he 


only  sought  to  make  her  an  ornament  to  her  station 
in  life,  not  to  raise  her  above  it.  The  tenderness 
and  indulgence  of  her  parents,  and  the  exemption 
from  all  ordinary  occupations,  had  fostered  a  natural 
grace  and  delicacy  of  character  that  accorded 
with  the  fragile  loveliness  of  her  form.  She  ap- 
peared like  some  tender  plant  of  the  garden,  bloom- 
ing accidentally  amid  the  hardier  natives  of  the 
fields. 

The  superiority  of  her  charms  was  felt  and  ac- 
knowledged by  her  companions,  but  without  envy ; 
for  it  was  surpassed  by  the  unassuming  gentleness 
and  winning  kindness  of  her  manners.  It  might  be 
truly  said  of  her, — 

*'  This  is  the  prettiest  low-born  lass,  that  ever 
Ran  on  the  greensward  :  nothing  she  does  or  seems, 
But  smacks  of  something  greater  than  herself; 
Two  noble  for  this  place.' 

The  village  was  one  of  those  sequestered  spots, 
which  still  retains  some  vestiges  of  old  English  cus- 
toms. It  had  its  rural  festivals  and  holyday  pastimes, 
and  still  kept  up  some  faint  observance  of  the  once 
popular  rites  of  May.  These,  indeed,  had  been  pro- 
moted by  its  present  pastor ;  who  was  a  lover  of  old 
customs,  and  one  of  those  simple  Christians  that 
think  their  mission  fulfilled  by  promoting  joy  on 
earth  and  good  will  among  mankind.  Under  his 
auspices  the  May-pole  stood  from  year  to  year  in  the 
centre  of  the  village  green  ;  on  May-day  it  was  dec- 
orated with  garlands  and  streamers  ;  and  a  queen 
or  lady  of  the  May  was  appointed,  as  in  former 
times,  to  preside  at  the  sports,  and  distribute  the 
prizes  and  rewards.  The  picturesque  situation  of 
the  village,  and  the  fancifulness  of  its  rustic  fetes, 
would  often  attract  the  notice  of  casual  visitors. 
Among  these,  on  one  May-day,  was  a  young  officer, 
whose  regiment  had  been  recently  quartered  in  the 
neighbourhood.  He  was  charmed  with  the  native 
taste  that  pervaded  this  village  pageant  ;  but,  above 
all,  with  the  dawning  loveliness  of  the  queen  of  May. 
It  was  the  village  favourite,  who  was  crowned  with 
flowers,  and  blushing  and  smiling  in  all  the  beauti- 
ful confusion  of  girlish  diffidence  and  delight.  The 
artlessness  of  rural  habits  enabled  him  readily  to 
make  her  acquaintance  ;  he  gradually  won  his  way 
into  her  intimacy  ;  and  paid  his  court  to  her  in  that 
unthinking  way  in  which  young  officers  are  too  apt 
to  trifle  with  rustic  simplicity. 

There  was  nothing  in  his  advances  to  startle  or 
alarm.  He  never  even  talked  of  love  ;  but  there  are 
modes  of  making  it,  more  eloquent  than  language, 
and  which  convey  it  subtilely  and  irresistibly  to  the 
heart.  The  beam  of  the  eye,  the  tone  of  the  voice, 
the  thousand  tendernesses  which  emanate  from 
every  word,  and  look,  and  action — these  form  the 
true  eloquence  of  love,  and  can  always  be  felt  and 
understood,  but  never  described.  Can  we  wonder 
that  they  should  readily  win  a  heart,  young,  guile- 
less, and  susceptible  ?  As  to  her,  she  loved  almost 
unconsciously ;  she  scarcely  inquired  what  was  the 
growing  passion  that  was  absorbing  every  thought 
and  feeling,  or  what  were  to  be  its  consequences. 
She,  indeed,  looked  not  to  the  future.  When  pres- 
ent, his  looks  and  words  occupied  her  whole  atten- 
tion ;  when  absent,  she  thought  but  of  what  had 
passed  at  their  recent  interview.  She  would  wan- 
der with  him  through  the  green  lanes  and  rural 
scenes  of  the  vicinity.  He  taught  her  to  see  new 
beauties  in  nature  ;  he  talked  in  the  language  of  po- 
lite and  cultivated  life,  and  breathed  into  her  ear  the 
witcheries  of  romance  and  poetry. 

Perhaps  there  could  not  have  been  a  passion,  be- 
tween the  sexes,  more  pure  than  this  innocent  girl's. 
The  gallant  figure  of  her  youthful  admirer,  and  the 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


splendour  of  his  military  attire,  might  at  first  have 
charmed  her  eye  ;  but  it  was  not  these  that  had  cap- 
tivated her  heart.  Her  attachment  had  something 
in  it  of  idolatry ;  she  looked  up  to  him  as  to  a  being 
of  a  superior  order.  She  felt  in  his  society  the  en- 
thusiasm of  a  mind  naturally  delicate  and  poetical, 
and  now  first  awakened  to  a  keen  perception  of  the 
beautiful  and  grand.  Of  the  sordid  distinctions  of 
rank  and  fortune,  she  thought  nothing ;  it  was  the 
difference  of  intellect,  of  demeanour,  of  manners, 
from  those  of  the  rustic  society  to  which  she  had 
been  accustomed,  that  elevated  him  in  her  opinion. 
She  would  listen  to  him  with  charmed  ear  and  down- 
cast look  of  mute  delight,  and  her  cheek  would  man- 
tle with  enthusiasm  ;  or  if  ever  she  ventured  a  shy 
glance  of  timid  admiration,  it  was  as  quickly  with- 
drawn, and  she  would  sigh  and  blush  at  the  idea  of 
her  comparative  unworthiness. 

Her  lover  was  equally  impassioned  ;  but  his  pas- 
sion was  mingled  with  feelings  of  a  coarser  nat- 
ure. He  had  begun  the  connexion  in  levity  ;  for  he 
had  often  heard  his  brother  officers  boast  of  their 
village  conquests,  and  thought  some  triumph  of  the 
kind  necessary  to  his  reputation  as  a  man  of  spirit. 
But  he  was  too  full  of  youthful  fervour.  His  heart 
had  not  yet  been  rendered  suflficiently  cold  and  self- 
ish by  a  wandering  and  a  dissipated  life:  it  caught 
fire  from  the  very  tlarae  it  sought  to  kindle ;  and  be- 
fore he  was  aware  of  the  nature  of  his  situation,  he 
became  really  in  love. 

What  was  he  to  do?  There  were  the  old  obsta- 
cles which  so  incessantly  occur  in  these  heedless  at- 
tachments. His  rank  in  life — the  prejudices  of  titled 
connexions — his  dependence  upon  a  proud  and  un- 
yielding father — all  forbad  him  to  think  of  matri- 
mony : — but  when  he  looked  down  upon  this  inno- 
cent being,  so  tender  and  confiding,  there  was  a 
purity  in  her  manners,  a  blamelessness  in  her  life, 
and  a  bewitching  modesty  in  her  looks,  that  awed 
down  every  licentious  feeling.  In  vain  did  he  try  to 
fortify  himself,  by  a  thousand  heartless  examples  of 
men  of  fashion,  and  to  chill  the  glow  of  generous 
sentiment,  with  that  cold  derisive  levity  with  which 
he  had  heard  them  talk  of  female  virtue ;  whenever 
he  came  into  her  presence,  she  was  still  surrounded 
by  that  mysterious,  but  impassive  charm  of  virgin 
jjurity,  in  whose  hallowed  sphere  no  guilty  thought 
can  live. 

The  sudden  arrival  of  orders  for  the  regiment  to 
repair  to  the  continent,  completed  the  confusion  of 
his  mind.  He  remained  for  a  short  time  in  a  state 
of  the  most  painful  irresolution ;  he  hesitated  to 
communicate  the  tidings,  until  the  day  for  marching 
was  at  hand  ;  when  he  gave  her  the  intelligence  in 
the  course  of  an  evening  ramble. 

The  idea  of  parting  had  never  before  occurred  to 
her.  It  broke  in  at  once  upon  her  dream  of  felicity ; 
slie  looked  upon  it  as  a  sudden  and  insurmountable 
evil,  and  wept  with  the  guileless  simplicity  of  a 
child.  He  drew  her  to  his  bosom  and  kissed  the 
tears  from  her  soft  cheek,  nor  did  he  meet  with  a 
repulse,  for  there  are  moments  of  mingled  sorrow 
and  tenderness,  which  hallow  the  caresses  of  affec- 
tion. He  was  naturally  impetuous,  and  the  sight  of 
beauty  apparently  yielding  in  his  arms,  the  confidence 
of  his  power  over  her,  and  the  dread  of  losing  her 
for  ever,  all  conspired  to  overwhelm  his  better 
feelings — he  ventured  to  propose  that  she  should 
leave  her  home,  and  be  the  companion  of  his  for- 
tunes. 

He  was  quite  a  novice  in  seduction,  and  blushed 
and  faltered  at  his  own  baseness ;  but,  so  innocent 
of  mind  was  his  intended  victim,  that  she  was  at 
first  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  his  meaning; — and  why 
she  should  leave  her  native  village,  and  the  humble 


roof  of  her  parents.  When  at  last  the  nature  of  his 
proposals  flashed  upon  her  pure  mind,  the  effect  was 
withering.  She  did  not  weep — she  did  not  break 
forth  into  reproaches — she  said  not  a  word — but  she 
shrunk  V)ack  aghast  as  from  a  viper,  gave  him  a  look 
of  anguish  that  pierced  to  his  very  soul,  and  clasp- 
ing her  hands  in  agony,  fled,  as  if  for  refuge,  to  her 
father's  cottage. 

The  officer  retired,  confounded,  humiliated,  and 
repentant.  It  is  uncertain  what  might  have  been 
the  result  of  the  conflict  of  his  feelings,  had  not  his 
thoughts  been  diverted  by  the  bustle  of  departure. 
New  scenes,  new  pleasures,  and  new  companions, 
soon  dissipated  his  self-reproach,  and  stifled  his  ten- 
derness. Yet,  amidst  the  stir  of  camps,  the  revelries 
of  garrisons,  the  array  of  armies,  and  even  the  din  of 
battles,  his  thoughts  would  sometimes  steal  back  to 
the  scenes  of  rural  quiet  and  village  simplicity — the 
white  cottage — the  footpath  along  the  silver  brook 
and  up  the  hawthorn  hedge,  and  the  little  village 
maid  loitering  along  it,  leaning  on  his  arm  and  lis- 
tening to  him  with  eyes  beaming  with  unconscious 
affection. 

The  shock  which  the  poor  girl  had  received,  in 
the  destruction  of  all  her  ideal  world,  had  indeed 
been  cruel.  Faintings  and  hysterics  had  at  first 
shaken  her  tender  frame,  and  were  succeeded  by  a 
settled  and  pining  melancholy.  She  had  beheld  from 
her  window  the  march  of  the  departing  troops.  She 
had  seen  her  faithless  lover  borne  off,  as  if  in  tri- 
umph, amidst  the  sound  of  drum  and  trumpet,  and 
the  pomp  of  arms.  She  strained  a  last  aching  gaze 
after  him,  as  the  morning  sun  glittered  about  his 
figure,  and  his  plume  waved  in  the  breeze  ;  he  passed 
away  like  a  bright  vision  from  her  sight,  and  left  her 
all  in  darkness. 

It  would  be  trite  to  dwell  on  the  particulars  of  her 
after-story.  It  was,  like  other  tales  of  love,  melan- 
choly. She  avoided  society,  and  wandered  out  alone 
in  the  walks  she  had  most  frequented  with  her  lover. 
She  sought,  like  the  stricken  deer,  to  weep  in  silence 
and  loneliness,  and  brood  over  the  barbed  sorrov/ 
that  rankled  in  her  soul.  Sometimes  she  would  be 
seen  late  of  an  evening  sitting  in  the  porch  of  the 
village  church  ;  and  the  milk-maids,  retummg  from 
the  fields,  would  now  and  then  overhear  her,  singing 
some  plaintive  ditty  in  the  hawthorn  walk.  She 
became  fervent  in  her  devotions  at  church  ;  and  as 
the  old  people  saw  her  approach,  so  wasted  away, 
yet  with  a  hectic  bloom,  and  that  hallowed  air 
which  melancholy  diffuses  round  the  form,  they 
would  make  way  for  her,  as  for  something  spiritual, 
and,  looking  after  her,  would  shake  their  heads 
in  gloomy  foreboding. 

She  felt  a  conviction  that  she  was  hastening  to 
the  tomb,  but  looked  forward  to  it  as  a  place  of  rest. 
The  silver  cord  that  had  bound  her  to  existence  was 
loosed,  and  there  seemed  to  be  no  more  pleasure 
under  the  sun.  If  ever  her  gentle  bosom  had  enter- 
tained resentment  against  her  lover,  it  was  extin- 
guished. She  was  incapable  of  angry  passions,  and 
in  a  moment  of  saddened  tenderness  she  penned 
him  a  farewell  letter.  It  was  couched  in  the  simplest 
language,  but  touching  from  its  very  simplicity. 
She  told  him  that  she  was  dying,  and  did  not  con- 
ceal from  him  that  his  conduct  was  the  cause. 
She  even  depicted  the  sufferings  which  she  had  ex- 
perienced ;  but  concluded  with  saying,  that  she 
could  not  die  in  peace,  until  she  had  sent  him  her 
forgiveness  and  her  blessing. 

By  degrees  her  strength  declined,  and  she  could 
no  longer  leave  the  cottage.  She  could  only  totter 
to  the  window,  where,  propped  up  in  her  chair,  it 
was  her  enjoyment  to  sit  all  day  and  look  out  upon 
the  landscape.     Still  she  uttered  no  complaint,  nor 


86 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


imparted  to  any  one  the  malady  that  was  preying  on 
her  heart.  She  never  even  mentioned  her  lover's 
name ;  but  would  lay  her  head  on  her  mother's 
bosom  and  weep  in  silence.  Her  poor  parents  hung, 
in  mute  anxiety,  over  this  fading  blossom  of  their 
hopes,  still  flattering  themselves  that  it  might  again 
revive  to  freshness,  and  that  the  bright  unearthly 
bloom  which  sometimes  flushed  her  cheek,  might  be 
the  promise  of  returning  health. 

In  this  way  slie  was  seated  between  them  one 
Sunday  afternoon  ;  her  hands  were  clasped  in  theirs, 
the  lattice  was  thrown  open,  and  the  soft  air  that 
stole  in,  brought  with  it  the  fragrance  of  the  cluster- 
ing honeysuckle,  which  her  own  hands  had  trained 
round  the  window. 

Her  father  had  just  been  reading  a  chapter  in  the 
Bible;  it  spoke  of  the  vanity  of  worldly  things,  and 
the  joys  of  heaven  ;  it  seemed  to  have  diffused  com- 
tort  and  serenity  through  her  bosom.  Her  eye  was 
fixed  on  the  distant  village  church — the  bell  had 
tolled  for  the  evening  service— the  last  villager  was 
lagging  into  the  porch — and  every  thing  had  sunk 
into  that  hallowed  stillness  peculiar  to  the  day  of 
rest.  Her  parents  were  gazing  on  her  with  yearning 
hearts.  Sickness  and  sorrow,  which  pass  so  roughly 
over  some  faces,  had  given  to  hers  the  expression  of 
a  seraph's.  A  tear  trembled  in  her  soft  blue  eye. — 
Was  she  thinking  of  her  faithless  lover.' — or  were 
her  thoughts  wandering  to  that  distant  churchyard, 
into  whose  bosom  she  might  soon  be  gathered  ? 

Suddenly  the  clang  of  hoofs  was  heard — a  horse- 
man galloped  to  the  cottage — he  dismounted  before 
the  vvmdow— the  poor  girl  gave  a  faint  exclamation, 
and  sunk  back  in  her  chair  : — it  was  her  repentant 
lover  !  He  rushed  into  the  house,  and  flew  to  clasp 
her  to  his  bosom  ;  but  her  wasted  form — her  death- 
like countenance — so  wan,  yet  so  lovely  in  its  deso- 
lation— smote  him  to  the  soul,  and  he  threw  himself 
in  an  agony  at  her  feet.  She  was  too  faint  to  rise — 
she  attempted  to  extend  her  trembling  hand— her 
lips  moved  as  if  she  spoke,  but  no  word  was  articu- 
lated— she  looked  down  upon  him  with  a  smile  of 
unutterable  tenderness,  and  closed  her  eyes  for 
ever! 

Such  are  the  particulars  which  I  gathered  of  this 
village  story.  They  are  but  scanty,  and  I  am  con- 
scious have  but  little  novelty  to  recommend  them. 
In  the  present  rage  also  for  strange  incident  and 
high-seasoned  narrative,  they  may  appear  trite  and 
insignificant,  but  they  interested  me  strongly  at  the 
time ;  and,  taken  in  connection  with  the  affecting 
ceremony  which  I  had  just  witnessed,  left  a  deeper 
impression  on  my  mind  than  many  circumstances  of 
a  more  striking  nature.  I  have  passed  through  the 
place  since,  and  visited  the  church  again  from  a  bet- 
ter motive  than  mere  curiosity.  It  was  a  wintry 
evening ;  the  trees  were  stripped  of  their  foliage  ;  the 
churchyard  looked  naked  and  mournful,  and  the 
wind  rustled  coldly  through  the  dry  grass.  Ever- 
greens, however,  had  been  planted  about  the  grave 
of  the  village  favourite,  and  osiers  were  bent  over  it 
to  keep  the  turf  uninjured.  The  church  door  was 
open,  and  I  stepped  in. — There  hung  the  chaplet  of 
flowers  and  the  gloves,  as  on  the  day  of  the  funeral : 
the  flowers  were  withered,  it  is  true,  but  care  seemed 
to  have  been  taken  that  no  dust  should  soil  their 
whiteness.  1  have  seen  many  monuments,  where 
art  has  exhausted  its  powers  to  awaken  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  spectator ;  but  I  have  met  with  none 
that  spoke  more  touchingly  to  my  heart,  than  this 
simple,  but  delicate  memento  of  departed  innocence. 


THE  ANGLER. 


This  day  dame  Nature  seem'd  in  love, 

The  lusty  sap  began  to  move. 

Fresh  juice  did  stir  th'  embracing  vines, 

And  birds  had  drawn  their  valentines. 

The  jealous  trout  that  low  did  lie. 

Rose  at  a  well  dissembled  fly. 

There  stood  my  friend,  with  patient  skill. 

Attending  of  his  trembling  quill. 

Sir  H.  Wottom. 

It  is  said  that  many  an  unlucky  urchin  is  induced 
to  run  away  from  his  family,  and  betake  himself  to  a 
seafaring  life,  from  reading  the  history  of  Robinson 
Crusoe  ;  and  I  suspect  that,  in  like  manner,  many  of 
those  worthy  gentlemen,  who  are  given  to  haunt  the 
sides  of  pastoral  streams  with  angle-rods  in  hand, 
may  trace  the  origin  of  their  passion  to  the  seductive 
pages  of  honest  Izaak  Walton.  I  recollect  studying 
his  "  Complete  Angler  "  several  years  since,  in  com- 
pany with  a  knot  of  friends  in  America,  and,  more- 
over, that  we  were  all  completely  bitten  with  the 
angling  mania.  It  was  early  in  the  year ;  but  as 
soon  as  the  weather  was  auspicious,  and  that  the 
spring  began  to  melt  into  the  verge  of  summer,  we 
took  rod  in  hand,  and  sallied  into  the  country,  as 
stark  mad  as  was  ever  Don  Quixote  from  reading 
books  of  chivalry. 

One  of  our  party  had  equalled  the  Don  in  the  ful- 
ness of  his  equipments  ;  being  attired  cap-a-pie  for 
the  enterprise.  He  wore  a  broad  -  skirted  fustian 
coat,  perplexed  with  half  a  hundred  pockets  ;  a  pair 
of  stout  shoes,  and  leathern  gaiters  ;  a  basket  slung 
on  one  side  for  fish ;  a  patent  rod  ;  a  landing  net, 
and  a  score  of  other  inconveniences  only  to  be  found 
in  the  true  angler's  armory.  Thus  harnessed  for  the 
field,  he  was  as  great  a  matter  of  stare  and  wonder- 
ment among  the  country  folk,  who  had  never  seen  a 
regular  angler,  as  was  the  steel-clad  hero  of  La 
Mancha  among  the  goatherds  of  the  Sierra  Morena. 

Our  first  essay  was  along  a  mountain  brook,  among 
the  highlands  of  the  Hudson — a  most  unfortunate 
place  for  the  execution  of  those  piscatory  tactics 
which  had  been  invented  along  the  velvet  margins 
of  quiet  English  rivulets.  It  was  one  of  those  wild 
streams  that  lavish,  among  our  romantic  solitudes, 
unheeded  beauties,  enough  to  fill  the  sketch-book  of 
a  hunter  of  the  picturesque.  Sometimes  it  would 
leap  down  rocky  shelves,  making  small  cascades, 
over  which  the  trees  threw  their  broad  balancing 
sprays ;  and  long  nameless  weeds  hung  in  fringes 
from  the  impending  banks,  dripping  with  diamond 
drops.  Sometimes  it  would  brawl  and  fret  along  a 
ravine  in  the  matted  shade  of  a  forest,  filling  it  with 
murmurs  ;  and  after  this  termagant  career,  would 
steal  forth  into  open  day  with  the  most  placid  de- 
mure face  imaginable  ;  as  I  have  seen  some  pestilent 
shrew  of  a  housewife,  after  filling  her  home  with 
uproar  and  ill-humour,  come  dimpling  out  of  doors, 
swimming,  and  curtsying,  and  smiling  upon  all  the 
world. 

How  smoothly  would  this  vagrant  brook  glide,  at 
such  times,  through  some  bosom  of  green  meadow 
land,  among  the  mountains ;  where  the  quiet  was 
only  interrupted  by  the  occasional  tinkling  of  a  bell 
from  the  lazy  cattle  among  the  clover,  or  the  sound 
of  a  wood-cutter's  axe  from  the  neighbouring  forest ! 

Kor  my  part,  I  was  always  a  bungler  at  all  kinds 
of  sport  that  required  either  patience  or  adroitness, 
and  had  not  angled  above  half  an  hour,  before  I  had 
completely  "  satisfied  the  sentiment,"  and  convinced 
myself  of  the  truth  of  Izaak  Walton's  opinion,  that 
angling  is  something  like  poetry — a  man  must  be 
bom  to  it.  I  hooked  myself  instead  of  the  fish  ; 
tangled  my  line  in  every  tree  ;  lost  my  bait ;  broke 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


87 


my  rod  ;  until  I  gave  up  the  attempt  in  despair,  and 
passed  the  day  under  the  trees,  reading  old  Izaak  ; 
satisfied  that  it  was  his  fascinating  vein  of  honest 
simplicity  and  rural  feeling  that  had  bewitched  me, 
and  not  the  passion  for  angling.  My  companions, 
however,  were  more  persevering  in  their  delusion. 
I  have  them  at  this  moment  before  my  eyes,  stealing 
along  the  border  of  the  brook,  where  it  lay  open  to 
the  day,  or  was  merely  fringed  by  shrubs  and  bushes. 
I  see  the  bittern  rising  with  hollow  scream,  as  they 
break  in  upon  his  rarely-invaded  haunt ;  the  king- 
lisher  watching  them  suspiciously  from  his  dry  tree 
that  overhangs  the  deep  black  mill-pond,  in  the  gorge 
of  the  hills  ;  the  tortoise  letting  himself  slip  sideways 
from  off  the  stone  or  log  on  which  he  is  sunning 
himself;  and  the  panic-struck  frog  plumping  in 
headlong  as  they  approach,  and  spreading  an  alarm 
throughout  the  watery  world  around. 

I  recollect,  also,  that,  after  toiling  and  watching 
and  creeping  about  for  the  greater  part  of  a  day, 
with  scarcely  any  success,  in  spite  of  all  our  admira- 
ble apparatus,  a  lubberly  country  urchin  came  down 
from  the  hills,  with  a  rod  made  from  a  branch  of  a 
tree ;  a  few  yards  of  twine ;  and,  as  heaven  shall 
help  me  !  I  believe  a  crooked  pin  lor  a  hook,  baited 
with  a  vile  earth-worm — and  in  half  an  hour  caught 
more  fish  than  we  had  nibbles  throughout  the  day. 

But  above  all,  I  recollect  the  "  good,  honest, 
wholesome,  hungry  "  repast,  which  we  made  under 
a  beach-tree  just  by  a  spring  of  pure  sweet  water, 
that  stole  out  of  the  side  of  a  hill  ;  and  how,  when  it 
was  over,  one  of  the  party  read  old  Izaak  Walton's 
scene  with  the  milk-maid,  while  I  lay  on  the  grass 
and  built  castles  in  a  bright  pile  of  clouds,  until  I  fell 
asleep.  All  this  may  appear  like  mere  egotism  ;  yet 
1  cannot  refrain  from  uttering  these  recollections 
which  are  passing  like  a  strain  of  music  over  my 
mind,  and  have  been  called  up  by  an  agreeable  scene 
which  I  witnessed  not  long  since. 

In  a  morning's  stroll  along  the  banks  of  the  Alun, 
.1  beautiful  little  stream  which  tlows  down  from  the 
Welsh  hills  and  throws  itself  into  the  Dee,  my  atten- 
tion was  attracted  to  a  group  seated  on  the  margui. 
On  approaching,  1  found  it  to  consist  of  a  veteran 
angler  and  two  rustic  disciples.  The  former  was 
an  old  fellow  with  a  wooden  leg,  with  clothes  very 
much,  but  very  carefully  patched,  betokening  pover- 
ty, honestly  come  by,  and  decently  maintained.  His 
face  bore  the  marks  of  former  storms,  but  present 
fair  weather ;  its  furrows  had  been  worn  into  a 
habitual  smile ;  his  iron-gray  locks  hung  about  his 
ears,  and  he  had  altogether  the  good-humoured  air 
of  a  constitutional  philosopher,  who  was  disposed  to 
take  the  world  as  it  went.  One  of  his  companions 
was  a  ragged  wight,  with  the  skulking  look  of  an 
arrant  poacher,  and  I'll  warrant  could  find  his  way 
to  any  gentleman's  fish-pond  in  the  neighbourhood 
in  the  darkest  night.  The  other  was  a  tall,  awk- 
ward, country  lad,  with  a  lounging  gait,  and  appar- 
ently somewhat  of  a  rustic  beau.  The  old  man  was 
busied  examining  the  maw  of  a  trout  which  he  had 
just  killed,  to  discover  by  its  contents  what  insects 
were  seasonable  for  bait  ;  and  was  lecturing  on  the 
subject  to  his  companions,  who  appeared  to  listen 
with  infinite  deference.  I  have  a  kind  feeling  to- 
ward all  "  brothers  of  the  angle,"  ever  since  I  read 
Izaak  Walton.  They  are  njen,  he  affirms,  of  a 
"  mild,  sweet,  and  peaceable  spirit ;  "  and  my  esteem 
for  them  has  been  increased  since  I  met  with  an  old 
"  Tretyse  of  fishing  with  the  Angle,"  in  which  are 
set  forth  many  of  the  maxims  of  their  inoffensive 
fraternity.  "  Take  goode  hede,"  sayth  this  honest 
little  tretyse,  "  that  in  going  about  your  disportes  ye 
open  no  man's  gates  but  that  ye  shet  them  ag.ain. 
Also  ye  shall  not  use  this  foresaid  crafti  disport  for 


no  covetousness  to  the  increasing  and  sparing  of 
your  money  only,  but  principally  for  your  solace  and 
to  cause  the  helth  of  your  body  and  specyally  of  your 
soule."* 

I  thought  that  I  could  perceive  in  the  veteran  an- 
gler before  ine  an  exemplification  of  what  I  had  read  ; 
and  there  was  a  cheerful  contentedness  in  his  looks, 
that  quite  drew  me  towards  hiin.  I  could  not  but 
remark  the  gallant  manner  in  which  he  stumped 
from  one  part  of  the  brook  to  another  ;  waving  his 
rod  in  the  air,  to  keep  the  line  from  dragging  on  the 
ground,  or  catching  among  the  bushes ;  and  the 
adroitness  with  which  he  would  throw  his  fly  to  any 
particular  place  ;  sometimes  skimming  it  lightly  along 
a  little  rapid  ;  sometimes  casting  it  into  one  of  those 
dark  holes  made  by  a  twisted  root  or  overhanging 
bank,  in  which  the  large  trout  are  apt  to  lurk.  In 
the  meanwhile,  he  was  giving  instructions  to  his  two 
disciples  ;  showing  them  the  manner  in  which  they 
should  handle  their  rods,  fix  their  flies,  and  play  them 
along  the  surface  of  the  stream.  The  scene  brought 
to  my  mind  the  instructions  of  the  sage  Piscator  to 
his  scholar.  The  country  around  was  of  that  pas- 
toral kind  which  Walton  is  fond  of  describing.  It 
was  a  part  of  the  great  plain  of  Cheshire,  close  by 
the  beautiful  vale  of  Gessford,  and  just  where  the  in- 
ferior Welsh  hills  begin  to  swell  up  from  among 
fresh-smelling  meadows.  The  day,  too,  like  that 
recorded  in  his  work,  was  mild  and  sunshiny  ;  with 
now  and  then  a  soft  dropping  shower,  that  sowed 
the  whole  earth  with  diamonds. 

1  soon  fell  mto  conversation  with  the  old  angler, 
and  was  so  much  entertained,  that,  under  pretext  of 
receiving  instructions  in  his  art,  I  kept  company  with 
him  almost  the  whole  day ;  wandering  along  the 
banks  of  the  stream,  and  listening  to  his  talk.  He 
was  very  communicative,  having  all  the  easy  gar- 
rulity of  cheerful  old  age ;  and  I  fancy  was  a  little 
flattered  by  having  an  opportunity  of  displaying  his 
piscatory  lore ;  for  who  does  not  like  now  and  then 
to  play  the  sage  ? 

He  had  been  much  of  a  rambler  in  his  day;  and 
had  passed  some  years  of  his  youth  in  America,  par- 
ticularly in  Savannah,  where  he  had  entered  into 
trade,  and  had  been  ruined  by  the  indiscretion  of  a 
partner.  He  had  afterwards  experienced  many  ups 
and  downs  in  life,  until  he  got  into  the  navy,  where 
his  leg  was  carried  away  by  a  cannon-ball,  at  the 
battle  of  Camperdown.  This  was  the  only  stroke 
of  real  good  fortune  he  had  ever  experienced,  for  it 
got  him  a  pension,  which,  together  with  some  small 
paternal  property,  brought  him  in  a  revenue  of  nearly 
forty  pounds.  On  this  he  retired  to  his  native  village, 
where  he  lived  quietly  and  independently,  and  de- 
voted the  remainder  of  his  life  to  the  "  noble  art  of 
angling." 

I  found  that  he  had  read  Izaak  Walton  attentively, 
and  he  seemed  to  have  imbibed  all  his  simple  frank- 
ness and  prevalent  good-humour.  Though  he  had 
been  sorely  buffeted  about  the  world,  he  was  satisfied 
that  the  world,  in  itself,  was  good  and  beautiful. 
Though  he  had  been  as  roughly  used  in  different 
countries  as  a  poor  sheep  that  is  fleeced  by  every 
hedge  and  thicket,  yet  he  spoke  of  every  nation  with 
candour  and  kindness,  appearing  to  look  only  on  the 
good  side  of  things  :  and  above  all,  he  was  almost  the 
only  man  I  had  ever  met  with,  who  had  been  an 
unfortunate  adventurer  in  America,  and  had  honesty 

*  From  this  same  treatise,  it  would  appear  that  angling  is  a  more 
industrious  and  devout  employment  than  it  is  generally  considered. 
"  For  when  ye  purpose  to  go  on  your  disportes  in  fishynge.  ye  will 
not  dcsyre  greatlyc  many  persons  with  you,  which  might  let  you 
of  your  game.  And  that  ye  may  serve  God  devoutly  in  sayinpe 
effectually  your  customable  prayers.  And  thus  doying,  ye  shall 
eschew  and  also  avoyde  many  vices,  as  ydleness,  which  is  a  princt- 
pall  cause  to  induce  man  to  many  other  vices,  as  it  is  nght  well 
known." 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


and  magnanimity  enough,  to  take  the  fault  to  his  own 
door,  and  not  to  curse  the  country. 

The  lad  that  was  receiving  his  instructions  I  learnt 
was  the  son  and  heir  apparent  of  a  fat  old  widow, 
who  kept  the  village  inn,  and  of  course  a  youth  of 
some  expectation,  and  much  courted  by  the  idle, 
gentleman-like  personages  of  the  place.  In  taking 
him  under  his  care,  therefore,  the  old  man  had  prob- 
ably an  eye  to  a  privileged  corner  in  the  tap-room, 
and  an  occasional  cup  of  cheerful  ale  free  of  ex- 
pense. 

There  is  certainly  something  in  angling,  if  we  could 
forget,  which  anglers  are  apt  to  do,  the  cruelties  and 
tortures  inflicted  on  worms  and  insects,  that  tends  to 
produce  a  gentleness  of  spirit,  and  a  pure  serenity  of 
mind.  As  the  English  are  methodical  even  in  their 
recreations,  and  are  the  most  scientific  of  sportsmen, 
it  has  been  reduced  among  them  to  perfect  rule  and 
system.  Indeed,  it  is  an  amusement  peculiarly  adapt- 
ed to  the  mild  and  cultivated  scenery  of  England, 
where  every  roughness  has  been  softened  away  from 
the  landscape.  It  is  delightful  to  saunter  along  those 
limpid  streams  which  wander,  like  veins  of  silver, 
through  the  bosom  of  this  beautiful  country  ;  leading 
one  through  a  diversity  of  small  home  scenery;  some- 
times winding  through  ornamented  grounds  ;  some- 
times brimming  along  through  rich  pasturage,  where 
the  fresh  green  is  mingled  with  sweet-smelling  flow- 
ers ;  sometimes  venturing  in  sight  of  villages  and  ham- 
lets ;  and  then  running  capriciously  away  into  shady 
retirements.  The  sweetness  and  serenity  of  nature, 
and  the  quiet  watchfulness  of  the  sport,  gradually 
bring  on  pleasant  fits  of  musing ;  which  are  now  and 
then  agreeably  interrupted  by  the  song  of  a  bird  ;  the 
distant  whistle  of  the  peasant ;  or  perhaps  the  vagary 
of  some  fish,  leaping  out  of  the  still  water,  and  skim- 
ming transiently  about  its  glassy  surface.  "  When  I 
would  beget  content,"  says  Izaak  Walton,  "and  in- 
crease confidence  in  the  power  and  wisdom  and 
providence  of  Almighty  God,  I  will  walk  the  mead- 
ows by  some  gliding  stream,  and  there  contemplate 
the  lilies  that  take  no  care,  and  those  very  many 
other  little  living  creatures  that  are  not  only  created, 
but  fed,  (man  knows  not  how)  by  the  goodness  of 
the  God  of  nature,  and  therefore  trust  in  him." 

I  cannot  forbear  to  give  another  quotation  from 
one  of  those  ancient  champions  of  angling,  which 
breathes  the  same  innocent  and  happy  spirit: 

Let  me  live  harmlessly,  and  near  the  hrink 

Of  Trent  or  Avon  liave  a  dwelling-place  : 
Where  I  may  see  my  quill,  or  cork  down  sink, 

With  eager  bite  of  Pike,  or  Bleak,  or  Dace. 
And  on  the  world  and  my  creator  think  : 

While  some  men  strive  ill-gotten  goods  t'  embrace  ; 
And  others  spend  their  time  in  base  excess 

Of  wine,  or  worse,  in  war  or  wantonness. 

Let  them  that  will,  these  pastimes  still  pursue. 
And  on  such  pleasing  fancies  feed  tneir  fill, 

So  I  the  fields  and  meadows  green  may  view, 
And  daily  by  fresh  rivers  walk  at  will 

Among  the  daisies  and  the  violets  blue. 
Red  hyacinth  and  yellow  daffodil.* 

On  parting  with  the  old  angler,  I  inquired  after  his 
place  of  abode,  and  happening  to  be  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  village  a  few  evenings  afterwards,  I  had 
the  curiosity  to  seek  him  out.  I  found  him  living  in 
a  small  cottage,  containing  only  one  room,  but  a  per- 
fect curiosity  in  its  method  and  arrangement.  It  was 
on  the  skirts  of  the  village,  on  a  green  bank,  a  little 
back  from  the  road,  with  a  small  garden  in  front, 
stocked  with  kitchen-herbs,  and  adorned  with  a  few 
flowers.  The  whole  front  of  the  cottage  was  over- 
run with  a  honeysuckle.  On  the  top  was  a  ship  for 
a  weathercock.  The  interior  was  fitted  up  in  a  truly 
nautical  style,  his  ideas  of  comfort  and  convenience 


*  J.  Davors. 


having  been  acquired  on  the  berth-deck  of  a  man-or- 
war.  A  hammock  was  slung  from  the  ceiling,  which 
in  the  day-time  was  lashed  up  so  as  to  take  but  little 
room.  From  the  centre  of  the  chamber  hung  a  model 
of  a  ship,  of  his  own  workmanship.  Two  or  three 
chairs,  a  table,  and  a  large  sea-chest,  formed  the  prin- 
cipal moveables.  About  the  wall  were  stuck  up 
naval  ballads,  such  as  Admiral  Hosier's  Ghost,  All  in 
the  Downs,  and  Tom  Bowling,  intermingled  with 
pictures  of  sea-fights,  among  which  the  battle  of 
Camperdown  held  a  distinguished  place.  The  man- 
telpiece was  decorated  with  seashells ;  over  which 
hung  a  quadrant,  flanked  by  two  wood-cuts  of  most 
bitter-looking  naval  commanders.  His  implements  for 
angling  were  carefully  disposed  on  nails  and  hooks 
about  the  room.  On  a  shelf  was  arranged  his  library, 
containing  a  work  on  angling,  much  worn  ;  a  bible 
covered  with  canvas  ;  an  odd  volume  or  two  of  voy- 
ages ;  a  nautical  almanac  ;  and  a  book  of  songs. 

His  family  consisted  of  a  large  black  cat  with  one 
eye,  and  a  parrot  which  he  had  caught  and  tamed, 
and  educated  himself,  in  the  course  of  one  of  his 
voyages  ;  and  which  uttered  a  variety  of  sea  phrases, 
with  the  hoarse  rattling  tone  of  a  veteran  boatswain. 
The  establishment  reminded  me  of  that  of  the  re- 
nowned Robinson  Crusoe  ;  it  was  kept  in  neat  order, 
every  thing  being  "stowed  away"  with  the  regu- 
larity of  a  ship  of  war;  and  he  informed  me  that  he 
"  scoured  the  deck  every  morning,  and  swept  it  be- 
tween meals." 

I  found  him  seated  on  a  bench  before  the  door, 
smoking  his  pipe  in  the  soft  evening  sunshine.  His 
cat  was  purring  soberly  on  the  threshold,  and  his 
parrot  describing  some  strange  evolutions  in  an  iron 
ring,  that  swung  in  the  centre  of  his  cage.  He  had 
been  angling  all  day,  and  gave  me  a  history  of  his 
sport  with  as  much  minuteness  as  a  general  would 
talk  over  a  campaign  ;  being  particularly  animated 
in  relating  the  manner  in  which  he  had  taken  a  large 
trout,  which  had  completely  tasked  all  his  skill  and 
wariness,  and  which  he  had  sent  as  a  trophy  to  mine 
hostess  of  the  inn. 

How  comforting  it  is  to  see  a  cheerful  and  content- 
ed old  age  ;  and  to  behold  a  poor  fellow,  like  this, 
after  being  tempest-tost  through  life,  safely  moored 
in  a  snug  and  quiet  harbour  in  the  evening  of  his 
days  !  His  happiness,  however,  sprung  from  within 
himself,  and  was  independent  of  external  circum- 
stances ;  for  he  had  that  inexhaustible  good-nature, 
which  is  the  most  precious  gift  of  Heaven  ;  spreading 
itself  like  oil  over  the  troubled  sea  of  thought,  and 
keeping  the  mind  smooth  and  equable  in  the  roughest 
weather. 

On  inquiring  farther  about  him,  I  learnt  that  he 
was  a  universal  favourite  in  the  village,  and  the 
oracle  of  the  tap-room  ;  where  he  delighted  the  rus- 
tics with  his  songs,  and,  like  Sinbad,  astonished  them 
with  his  stories  of  strange  lands,  and  shipwrecks,  and 
sea-fights.  He  was  much  noticed  too  by  gentlemen 
sportsmen  of  the  neighbourhood  ;  had  taught  several 
of  them  the  art  of  angling;  and  was  a  privileged 
visitor  to  their  kitchens.  The  whole  tenor  of  his 
life  was  quiet  and  inoffensive,  being  principally  pass- 
ed about  the  neighbouring  streams,  when  the  weather 
and  season  were  favourable  ;  and  at  other  times  he 
employed  himself  at  home,  preparing  his  fishing 
tackle  for  the  next  campaign,  or  manufacturing  rods, 
nets,  and  flies,  for  his  patrons  and  pupils  among  the 
gentry. 

He  was  a  regular  attendant  at  church  on  Sundays, 
though  he  generally  tell  asleep  during  the  sermon. 
He  had  made  it  his  particular  request  that  when  he 
died  he  should  be  buried  in  a  green  spot,  which  he 
could  see  from  his  seat  in  church,  and  which  he  had 
marked  out  ever  since  he  was  a  boy,  and  had  thought 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY  CRAYON,   Gent. 


89 


of  when  far  from  home  on  the  raging  sea,  in  danger 
of  being  food  for  the  fishes— it  was  the  spot  where 
his  father  and  mother  had  been  buried. 

I  have  done,  for  I  fear  that  my  reader  is  growing 
weary  ;  but  1  could  not  refrain  from  drawing  the  pict- 
ure of  this  worthy  "  brother  of  the  angle  ;"  who  has 
made  me  more  than  ever  in  love  with  the  theory, 
though  1  fear  I  shall  never  be  adroit  in  the  practice 
of  his  art ;  and  I  will  conclude  this  rambling  sketch 
in  the  words  of  honest  Izaak  Walton,  by  craving 
the  blessing  of  St.  Peter's  master  upon  my  reader, 
"  and  upon  all  that  are  true  lovers  of  virtue  ;  and 
dare  trust  in  his  providence  ;  and  be  quiet ;  and  go 
a  angling." 


THE  LEGEND  CF  SLEEPY  HOLLOW. 

(FOUND   AMONG    THE   PAPERS   OF   THE  LATE 
DIEDRICH    KNICKERBOCKER). 


A  pleasing  land  of  drowsy  head  it  was. 
Of  dreams  that  wave  before  the  half-shut  eye  ; 
And  of  gay  castles  in  the  clouds  that  pass, 
For  ever  flushing  round  a  summer  sky. 

CastU  o/  Indolence. 

In  the  bosom  of  one  of  those  spacious  coves  which 
indent  the  eastern  shore  of  the  Hudson,  at  that  broad 
expansion  of  the  river  denominated  by  the  ancient 
Dutch  navigators  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  Where  they 
always  prudently  shortened  sail,  and  implored  the 
protection  of  St.  Nicholas  when  they  crossed,  there 
lies  a  small  market  town  or  rural  port,  which  by 
some  is  called  Greensburgh,  but  which  is  more  gen- 
erally and  properly  known  by  the  name  of  Tarry 
Town.  This  name  was  given  it,  we  are  told,  in 
former  days,  by  the  good  housewives  of  the  adjacent 
country,  from  the  inveterate  propensity  of  their  hus- 
bands to  linger  about  the  village  tavern  on  market 
days.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  do  not  vouch  for  the  fact, 
but  merely  advert  to  it,  for  the  sake  of  being  precise 
and  authentic.  Not  far  from  this  village,  perhaps 
about  three  miles,  there  is  a  little  valley  or  rather  lap 
of  land  among  high  hills,  which  is  one  of  the  quiet- 
est places  in  the  whole  world.  A  small  brook 
glides  through  it,  with  just  murmur  enough  to  lull 
one  to  repose  ;  and  the  occasional  whistle  of  a  quail, 
or  tapping  of  a  woodpecker,  is  almost  the  only 
sound  that  ever  breaks  in  upon  the  uniform  tran- 
quillity. 

I  recollect  that,  when  a  stripling,  my  first  exploit 
in  squirrel-shooting  was  in  a  grove  of  tall  walnut- 
trees  that  shades  one  side  of  the  valley.  I  had 
wandered  into  it  at  noon-time,  when  all  nature  is 
peculiarly  quiet,  and  was  startled  by  the  roar  of  my 
own  gun,  as  it  broke  the  sabbath  stillness  around, 
and  was  prolonged  and  reverberated  by  the  angry 
echoes.  If  ever  1  should  wish  for  a  retreat  whither 
I  might  steal  from  the  world  and  its  distractions, 
and  dream  quietly  away  the  remnant  of  a  troubled 
life,  I  know  of  none  more  promising  than  this  little 
valley. 

From  the  listless  repose  of  the  place,  and  the  pe- 
culiar character  of  its  inhabitants,  who  are  descend- 
ants from  the  original  Dutch  settlers,  this  sequestered 
glen  has  long  been  known  by  the  name  of  SLEEPY 
Hollow,  and  its  rustic  lads  are  called  the  Sleepy 
Hollow  Boys  throughout  all  the  neighbouring  coun- 
try. A  drowsy,  dreamy  influence  seems  to  hang 
over  the  land,  and  to  pervade  the  very  atmosphere. 
Some  say  that  the  place  was  bewitched  by  a  high 
German  doctor,  during  the  early  days  of  the  settle- 


ment ;  others,  that  an  old  Indian  chief,  the  prophet 
or  wizard  of  his  tribe,  held  his  powwows  there  before 
the  country  was  discovered  by  Master  Ilendrick  Hud- 
son. Certain  it  is,  the  place  still  continues  under 
the  sway  of  some  witching  power,  that  holds  a  spell 
over  the  minds  of  the  good  people,  causing  them  to 
walk  in  a  continual  reverie.  They  are  given  to  all 
kinds  of  marvellous  beliefs ;  are  subject  to  trances 
and  visions,  and  frequently  see  strange  sights,  and 
hear  music  and  voices  in  the  air.  The  whole  neigh- 
bourhood abounds  with  local  tales,  haunted  spots, 
and  twilight  superstitions  ;  stars  shoot  and  meteors 
glare  oftener  across  the  valley  than  in  any  other  part 
of  the  country,  and  the  night-mare,  with  her  whole 
nine  fold,  seems  to  make  it  the  favourite  scene  of  her 
gambols. 

The  dominant  spirit,  however,  that  haunts  this 
enchanted  region,  and  seems  to  be  commander-in- 
chief  of  all  the  powers  of  the  air,  is  the  apparition 
of  a  figure  on  horseback  without  a  head.  It  is  said 
by  some  to  be  the  ghost  of  a  Hessian  trooper,  whose 
head  had  been  carried  away  by  a  cannon-ball,  in 
some  nameless  battle  during  the  revolutionary  war, 
and  who  is  ever  and  anon  seen  by  the  country  folk, 
hurr^'ing  along  in  the  gloom  of  night,  as  if  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind.  His  haunts  are  not  confined  to 
the  valley,  but  extend  at  times  to  the  adjacent  roads, 
and  especially  to  the  vicinity  of  a  church  that  is  at 
no  great  distance.  Indeed,  certain  of  the  most  au- 
thentic historians  of  those  parts,  who  have  been 
careful  in  collecting  and  collating  the  floating  facts 
concerning  this  spectre,  allege,  that  the  body  of  the 
trooper  having  been  buried  in  the  churchyard,  the 
ghost  rides  forth  to  the  scene  of  battle  in  nightly 
quest  of  his  head,  and  that  the  rushing  speed  with 
which  he  sometimes  passes  along  the  hollow,  like  a 
midnight  blast,  is  owing  to  his  being  belated,  and  in 
a  hurry  to  get  back  to  the  churchyard  before  day- 
break. 

Such  is  the  general  purport  of  this  legendary  su- 
perstition, which  has  furnished  materials  for  many 
a  wild  story  in  that  region  of  shadows ;  and  the 
spectre  is  known  at  all  the  country  firesides,  by  the 
name  of  The  Headless  Horseman  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 

It  is  remarkable,  that  the  visionary  propensity  I 
have  mentioned  is  not  confined  to  the  native  inhabit- 
ants of  the  valley,  but  is  unconsciously  imbibed  by 
every  one  who  resides  there  for  a  time.  However 
wide  awake  they  may  have  been  before  they  entered 
that  sleepy  region,  they  are  sure,  in  a  little  time,  to 
inhale  the  witching  influence  of  the  air,  and  begin 
to  grow  imaginative— to  dream  dreams,  and  see  ap- 
paritions. J 

I  mention  this  peaceful  spot  with  all  possible  laud ; 
for  it  is  in  such  little  retired  Dutch  valleys,  found 
here  and  there  embosomed  in  the  great  State  of 
New-York,  that  population,  manners,  and  custom^ 
remain  fixed,  while  the  great  torrent  of  migration 
and  improvement,  which  is  making  such  incessant 
changes  in  other  parts  of  this  restless  country, 
sweeps  by  them  unobserved.  They  are  like  those 
little  nooks  of  still  water,  which  border  a  rapid 
stream,  where  we  may  see  the  straw  and  bubble  rid- 
ing quietly  at  anchor,  or  slowly  revolving  in  their 
mimic  harbour,  undisturbed  by  the  rush  of  the  pass- 
ing current.  Though  many  years  have  elapsed  since 
I  trod  the  drowsy  shades  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  yet  I 
question  whether  I  should  not  still  find  the  same 
trees  and  the  same  families  vegetating  in  its  shel- 
tered bosom. 

In  this  bj-place  of  nature  there  abode,  in  a  re- 
mote period  of  American  history,  that  is  to  say, 
some  thirty  years  since,  a  worthy  wight  of  the  name 
of  Ichabod  Crane,  who  sojourned,  or,  as  he  ex- 
pressed it,  "  tarried,"  in  Sleepy  Hollow,  for  the  pur- 


90 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


pose  of  instructing  tlie  cliildren  of  t!ie  vicinity.  He 
was  a  native  of  Connecticut,  a  State  whicli  supplies 
the  Union  witli  pioneers  for  the  mind  as  well  as  for 
the  forest,  and  sends  forth  yearly  its  legions  of  fron- 
tier woodmen  and  country  schoolmasters.  The  cog- 
nomen of  Crane  was  not  inapplicable  to  his  person. 
He  was  tall,  but  exceedingly  lank,  with  narrow 
shoulders,  long  arms  and  legs,  hands  that  dangled  a 
mile  out  of  his  sleeves,  feet  that  might  have  served 
for  shovels,  and  his  whole  frame  most  loosely  hung 
together.  His  head  was  small,  and  flat  at  top,  with 
huge  ears,  large  green  glassy  eyes,  and  a  long  snipe 
nose,  so  that  it  looked  like  a  weathercock  perched 
upon  his  spindle  neck,  to  tell  which  way  the  wind 
blew.  To  see  him  striding  along  the  profile  of  a 
hill  on  a  windy  day,  with  his  clothes  bagging  and 
fluttering  about  him,  one  might  have  mistaken  him 
for  the  genius  of  famine  descending  upon  the  earth, 
or  some  scarecrow  eloped  from  a  cornfield. 

His  school-house  was  a  low  building  of  one  large 
room,  rudely  constructed  of  logs  ;  the  windows  partly 
glazed,  and  partly  patched  with  leaves  of  copy- 
books. It  was  most  ingeniously  secured  at  vacant 
hours,  by  a  withe  twisted  in  the  handle  of  the  door, 
and  stakes  set  against  the  window-shutters ;  so  that 
though  a  thief  might  get  in  with  perfect  ease,  he 
would  find  some  embarrassment  in  getting  out ; — 
an  idea  most  probably  borrowed  by  the  architect, 
Yost  Van  Houten,  from  the  mystery  of  an  eelpot. 
Tlie  school-house  stood  in  a  rather  lonely  but  pleas- 
ant situation,  just  at  the  foot  of  a  woody  hill,  with  a 
brook  running  close  by,  and  a  formidable  birch-tree 
growing  at  one  end  of  it.  From  hence  the  low 
murmur  of  his  pupils'  voices,  conning  over  their  les- 
sons, might  be  heard  of  a  drowsy  summer's  day, 
like  the  hum  of  a  beehive ;  interrupted  now  and 
then  by  the  authoritative  voice  of  the  master,  in  the 
lone  of  menace  or  command  ;  or,  peradventurc,  by 
the  appalling  sound  of  the  birch,  as  he  urged  some 
tardy  loiterer  along  the  flowery  path  of  knowledge. 
Truth  to  say,  he  was  a  conscientious  man,  that  ever 
bore  in  mind  the  golden  maxim,  "  spare  the  rod  and 
spoil  the  child." — Ichabod  Crane's  scholars  certainly 
were  not  spoiled. 

I  would  not  have  it  imagined,  however,  that  he 
was  one  of  those  cruel  potentates  of  the  school,  who 
joy  in  the  smart  of  their  subjects ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  administered  justice  with  discrimination  rather 
than  severity  ;  taking  the  burthen  off  the  backs  of 
the  weak,  and  laying  it  on  those  of  the  strong.  Your 
mere  puny  stripling,  that  winced  at  the  least  flourish 
of  the  rod,  was  passed  by  with  indulgence  ;  but  the 
claims  of  justice  were  satisfied  by  inflicting  a  double 
portion  on  some  little,  tough,  wrong-headed,  broad- 
skirted  Dutch  urchin,  who  sulked  and  swelled  and 
grew  dogged  and  sullen  beneath  the  birch.  All  this 
he  called  "  doing  his  duty  by  their  parents  ;  "  and  he 
never  inflicted  a  chastisement  without  following  it  by 
the  assurance,  so  consolatory  to  the  smarting  urchin, 
that  "  he  would  remember  it  and  thank  him  for  it 
the  longest  day  he  had  to  live." 

When  school  hours  were  over,  he  was  even  the 
companion  and  playmate  of  the  larger  boys  ;  and  on 
holyday  afternoons  would  convoy  some  of  the  smaller 
ones  home,  who  happened  to  have  pretty  sisters,  or 
good  housewives  for  mothers,  noted  for  the  comforts 
Of  the  cupboard.  Indeed,  it  behoved  him  to  keep 
on  good  terms  with  his  pupils.  The  revenue  arising 
from  his  school  was  small,  and  would  have  been 
scarcely  sufficient  to  furnish  him  with  daily  bread, 
for  he  was  a  huge  feeder,  and  though  lank,  had  the 
dilating  powers  of  an  anaconda  ;  but  to  help  out  his 
maintenance,  he  was,  according  to  country  custom 
in  those  parts,  boarded  and  lodged  at  the  houses  of 
the  farmers,  whose  children   he  instructed.     With 


these  he  lived  successively  a  week  at  a  time,  thus 
going  the  rounds  of  the  neighbourhood,  with  all  his 
worldly  effects  tied  up  m  a  cotton  handkerchief. 

That  all  this  might  not  be  too  onerous  on  the 
purses  of  his  rustic  patrons,  who  are  apt  to  con- 
sider the  costs  ol  schooling  a  grievous  burthen,  and 
schoolmasters  as  mere  drones,  he  had  various  ways 
of  rendering  himself  both  useful  and  agreeable.  He 
assisted  the  farmers  occasionally  in  the  lighter  la- 
bours of  their  farms  ;  helped  to  make  hay  ;  mended 
the  fences  ;  took  the  horses  to  water ;  drove  the 
cows  from  pasture  ;  and  cut  wood  for  the  winter 
fire.  He  laid  aside,  too,  all  the  dominant  dignity 
and  absolute  sway,  with  which  he  lorded  it  in  his 
little  empire,  the  school,  and  became  wonderfully 
gentle  and  ingratiating.  He  found  favour  in  the 
eyes  of  the  mothers,  by  petting  the  children,  particu- 
larly the  youngest ;  and  like  the  lion  bold,  which 
whilome  so  magnanimously  the  lamb  did  hold,  he 
would  sit  with  a  child  on  one  knee,  and  rock  a  cradle 
with  his  foot  for  whole  hours  together. 

In  addition  to  his  other  vocations,  he  was  the 
singing-master  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  picked  up 
many  bright  shillings  by  instructing  the  young  folks 
in  psalmody.  It  was  a  matter  of  no  little  vanity  to 
him  on  Sundays,  to  take  his  station  in  front  of  the 
church  gallery,  with  a  band  of  chosen  singers  ; 
where,  in  his  own  mind,  he  completely  carried  away 
the  palm  from  the  parson.  Certain  it  is,  his  voice 
resounded  far  above  all  the  rest  of  the  congregation, 
and  there  are  peculiar  quavers  still  to  be  heard  in 
that  church,  and  which  may  even  be  heard  half  a 
mile  off,  quite  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  mill-pond, 
on  a  still  Sunday  morning,  which  are  said  to  be 
legitimately  descended  from  the  nose  of  Ichabod 
Crane.  Thus,  by  divers  little  make-shifts,  in  that 
ingenious  way  which  is  commonly  der.ominated  "  by 
hook  and  by  crook,"  the  worthy  pedagogue  got  on 
tolerably  enough,  and  was  thought,  by  all  who  un- 
derstood nothing  of  the  labour  of  head-work,  to  have 
a  wonderful  easy  life  of  ft. 

The  schoolmaster  is  generally  a  man  of  some  im- 
portance in  the  female  circle  of  a  rural  neighbour- 
hood ;  being  considered  a  kind  of  idle  gentleman- 
like personage,  of  vastly  superior  taste  and  accom- 
plishments to  the  rough  country  swains,  and,  indeed, 
inferior  in  learning  only  to  the  parson.  His  appear- 
ance, therefore,  is  apt  to  occasion  some  little  stir  at 
the  tea-table  of  a  farm-house,  and  the  addition  of  a 
supernumerary  dish  of  cakes  or  sweetmeats,  or,  per- 
adventure,  the  parade  of  a  silver  tea-pot.  Our  man 
of  letters,  therefore,  was  peculiarly  happy  in  the 
smiles  of  all  the  country  damsels.  How  he  would 
figure  among  them  in  the  churchyard,  between 
services  on  Sundays  !  gathering  grapes  for  them 
from  the  wild  vines  that  overrun  the  surrounding 
trees  ;  reciting  for  their  amusement  all  the  epitaphs 
on  the  tombstones;  or  sauntering,  with  a  whole 
bevy  of  them,  along  the  banks  of  the  adjacent  mill- 
pond  ;  while  the  more  bashful  country  bumpkins 
hung  sheepishly  back,  envying  his  superior  elegance 
and  address. 

From  his  half  itinerant  life,  also,  he  was  a  kind  of 
travelling  gazette,  carrying  the  whole  budget  of  local 
gossip  from  house  to  house  ;  so  that  his  appearance 
was  always  greeted  with  satisfaction.  He  was,  more- 
over, esteemed  by  the  women  as  a  man  of  great 
erudition,  for  he  had  read  several  books  quite 
through,  and  was  a  perfect  master  of  Cotton  Math- 
er's Histoiy  of  New-England  Witchcraft,  in  which, 
by  the  way,  he  most  firmly  and  potently  believed. 

He  was,  in  fact,  an  odd  mixture  of  small  shrewd- 
ness and  simple  credulity.  His  appetite  for  the  mar- 
vellous, and  his  powers  of  digesting  it,  were  equally 
extraordinary  ;  and  both  had  been  increased  by  his 


THE    SKETCH-BOOK   OF    GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


91 


residence  in  this  spell-bound  region.  No  tale  was 
too  gross  or  monstrous  for  his  capacious  swallow. 
It  was  often  his  delight,  after  his  school  was  dismiss- 
ed in  the  afternoon,  to  stretch  himself  on  the  rich 
l)ed  of  clover,  bordering  the  little  brook  that  whim- 
pered by  his  school-house,  and  there  con  over  old 
Mather's  direful  tales,  until  the  gathering  dusk  of 
evening  made  the  printed  page  a  mere  mist  before 
his  eyes.  Then,  as  he  wended  his  way,  by  swamp 
and  stream  and  awful  woodland,  to  the  farm-house 
where  he  happened  to  be  quartered,  eveiy  sound  of 
nature,  at  that  witching  hour,  fluttered  his  excited 
imagination  :  the  moan  of  the  whip-poor-will*  from 
the  hill  side  ;  the  boding  cry  of  the  tree-toad,  that 
harbinger  of  storm  ;  the  dreary  hooting  of  the 
screech-owl  ;  or  the  sudden  rustling  in  the  thicket, 
of  birds  frightened  from  their  roost.  The  fire-flies, 
too,  which  sparkled  most  vividly  in  the  darkest 
places,  now  and  then  startled  him,  as  one  of  uncom- 
mon brightness  would  stream  across  his  path  ;  and 
if,  by  chance,  a  huge  blockhead  of  a  beetle  came 
winging  his.  blundering  flight  against  him,  the  poor 
varlet  was  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost,  with  the  idea 
that  he  was  struck  with  a  witch's  token.  His  only 
resource  on  such  occasions,  either  to  drown  thought, 
or  drive  away  evil  spirits,  was  to  sing  psalm  tunes ; — 
and  the  good  people  of  Sleepy  Hollow,  as  they  sat 
by  their  doors  of  an  evening,  were  often  filled  with 
awe,  at  hearing  his  nasal  melody,  "  in  linked  sweet- 
ness long  drawn  out,"  floating  from  the  distant  hill, 
or  along  the  dusky  road. 

Another  of  his  sources  of  fearful  pleasure  was,  to 
pass  long  winter  evenings  with  the  old  Dutch  wives, 
as  they  sat  spinning  by  the  fire,  with  a  row  of  apples 
roasting  and  sputtering  along  the  hearth,  and  listen 
to  their  marvellous  tales  of  ghosts,  and  goblins,  and 
haunted  fields  and  haunted  brooks,  and  haunted 
bridges  and  haunted  houses,  and  particularly  of  the 
headless  horseman,  or  galloping  Hessian  of  the  Hol- 
low, as  they  sometimes  called  him.  He  would  de- 
light them  equally  by  his  anecdotes  of  witchcraft, 
and  of  the  direful  omens  and  portentous  sights  and 
sounds  in  the  air,  which  prevailed  in  the  earlier  times 
of  Connecticut ;  and  would  frighten  them  wofully 
with  speculations  upon  comets  and  shooting  stars, 
and  with  the  alarming  fact  that  the  world  did  abso- 
lutely turn  round,  and  that  they  were  half  the  time 
topsy-turvy  I 

But  if  there  was  a  pleasure  in  all  this,  while  snugly 
c  addling  in  the  chimney  corner  of  a  chamber  that 
was  all  of  a  ruddy  glow  from  the  crackling  wood 
lire,  and  where,  of  course,  no  spectre  dared  to  show 
its  face,  it  was  dearly  purchased  by  the  terrors  of  his 
subsequent  walk  homewards.  What  fearful  shapes 
and  shadows  beset  his  path,  amidst  the  dim  and 
ghjisdy  glare  of  a  snowy  night ! — With  what  wistful 
look  did  he  eye  every  trembling  ray  of  light  stream- 
ing across  the  waste  fields  from  some  distant  win- 
dow ! — How  often  was  he  a])palled  by  some  shrub  cov- 
ered with  snow,  which  like  a  sheeted  spectre  beset  his 
very  path  ! — How  often  did  he  shrink  with  curdling 
awe  at  the  sound  of  his  own  steps  on  the  frosty  crust 
beneath  his  feet ;  and  dread  to  look  over  his  shoulder, 
lest  he  should  behold  some  uncouth  bemg  tramping 
close  behind  him  ! — and  how  often  was  he  thrown 
into  complete  dismay  by  some  rushing  blast,  howl- 
ing among  the  trees,  in  the  idea  that  it  was  the  gal- 
loping Hessian  on  one  of  his  nightly  scourings  ! 

All  these,  however,  were  mere  terrors  of  the 
night,  phantoms  of  the  mind,  that  walk  in  darkness  : 
and  though  he  had  seen  many  spectres  in  his  time, 
and  been  more   than  once  beset  by  Satan  in  divers 

♦The  whip-poor-will  is  a  bird  which  is  only  heard  at  night.  It 
receives  its  name  from  its  note,  which  is  thought  to  resemble  those 
words. 


shapes,  in  his  lonely  perambulations,  yet  daylight 
put  an  end  to  all  these  evils ;  and  he  would  have 
passed  a  pleasant  life  of  it,  in  despite  of  the  Devil 
and  all  his  works,  if  his  path  had  not  been  crossed 
by  a  being  that  causes  more  perplexity  to  mortal 
man,  than  ghosts,  goblins,  and  the  whole  race  of 
witches  put  together;  and  that  was — a  woman. 

Among  the  musical  disciples  who  assembled,  one 
evening  in  each  week,  to  receive  his  instructions  in 
psalmody,  was  Katrina  Van  Tassel,  the  daughter 
and  only  child  of  a  substantial  Dutch  farmer.  She 
was  a  blooming  lass  of  fresh  eighteen  ;  plump  as  a 
partridge  ;  ripe  and  melting  and  rosy-cheeked  as  one 
of  her  father's  peaches,  and  universally  famed,  not 
merely  for  her  beauty,  but  her  vast  expectations. 
She  was  withal  a  little  of  a  coquette,  as  might  be 
perceived  even  in  her  dress,  which  was  a  mixture  of 
ancient  and  modem  fashions,  as  most  suited  to  set 
off  her  charms.  She  wore  the  ornaments  of  pure 
yellow  gold,  which  her  great-great-grandmother  had 
brought  over  from  Saardam  ;  the  tempting  stomacher 
of  the  olden  time,  and  withal  a  provokingly  short 
petticoat,  to  display  the  prettiest  foot  and  ankle  in 
the  country  round. 

Ichabod  Crane  had  a  soft  and  foolish  heart  toward 
the  sex ;  and  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  so 
tempting  a  mjrsel  soon  found  favour  in  his  eyes, 
more  especially  after  he  had  visited  her  in  her  pa- 
ternal mansion.  Old  Baltus  Van  Tassel  was  a  per- 
fect picture  of  a  thriving,  contented,  liberal-hearted 
farmer.  He  seldom,  it  is  true,  sent  either  his  eyes 
or  his  thoughts  beyond  the  boundaries  of  his  own 
farm  ;  but  within  these,  every  thing  was  snug,  happy, 
and  well-conditioned.  He  was  satisfied  with  his 
wealth,  but  not  i)roud  of  it ;  and  piqued  himself 
upon  the  hearty  abundance,  rather  than  the  style  in 
which  he  lived.  His  strong-hold  was  situated  on  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson,  in  one  of  those  green,  shel- 
tered, fertile  nooks,  in  which  the  Dutch  farmers  are 
so  fond  of  nestling.  A  great  elm-tree  spread  its 
broad  branches  over  it ;  at  the  foot  of  which  bubbled 
up  a  spring  of  the  softest  and  sweetest  water,  in  a 
little  well,  formed  of  a  barrel ;  and  then  stole  spark- 
ling away  through  the  grass,  to  a  neighbouring 
brook,  that  babbled  along  among  alders  and  dwarf 
willows.  Hard  by  the  farm-house  was  a  vast  barn, 
that  might  have  served  for  a  church  ;  every  window 
and  crevice  of  which  seemed  bursting  forth  with  the 
trea.sures  of  the  farm  ;  the  flail  was  busily  resound- 
ing within  it  from  morning  to  night ;  swallows  and 
martins  skimmed  twittering  about  the  eaves;  and 
rows  of  pigeons,  some  with  one  eye  turned  up,  as  if 
watching  the  weather,  some  with  their  heads  under 
their  wings,  or  buried  in  their  bosoms,  and  others, 
swelling,  and  cooing,  and  bowing  about  their  dames, 
were  enjoying  the  sunshine  on  the  roof.  Sleek,  un- 
wieldy porkers  were  grunting  in  the  repose  and 
abundance  of  their  pens,  from  whence  sallied  forth, 
now  and  then,  troops  of  sucking  pigs,  as  if  to  snuff 
the  air.  A  stately  squadron  of  snowy  geese  were 
riding  in  an  adjoining  pond,  convoying  whole  fleets 
of  ducks;  regiments  of  turkeys  were  gobbling 
through  the  farm-yard,  and  guinea-fowls  fretting 
about  it  like  ill-tempered  housewives,  with  their 
peevish,  discontented  cry.  Before  the  barn  door 
strutted  the  gallant  cock,  that  pattern  of  a  husband, 
a  warrior,  and  a  fine  gentleman ;  clapping  his  bur- 
nished wings  and  crowing  in  the  pride  and  gladness 
of  his  heart — sometimes  tearing  up  the  earth  with 
his  feet,  and  then  generously  calling  his  ever-hungry 
family  of  wives  and  children  to  enjoy  the  rich  morsel 
which  he  had  discovered. 

The  pedagogue's  mouth  watered,  as  he  looked 
upon  this  sumptuous  promise  of  luxurious  winter 
fare.     In  his  devouring  mind's  eye,  he  pictured  to 


92 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


himself  every  roasting'  pig  running  about,  with  a 
pudding  in  its  belly,  and  an  apple  in  its  mouth  ;  the 
pigeons  were  snugly  put  to  bed  in  a  comlbrtable  pie, 
and  tucked  in  with  a  coverlet  of  crust ;  the  geese 
were  swimming  in  their  own  gravy ;  and  the  ducks 
pairing  cosily  in  dishes,  like  snug  married  couples, 
with  a  decent  competency  of  onion  sauce.  In  the 
porkers  he  saw  carved  out  the  future  sleek  side  of 
bacon,  and  juicy  relishing  ham  ;  not  a  turkey,  but 
he  beheld  daintily  trussed  up,  with  its  gizzard  under 
its  wing,  and,  peradventure,  a  necklace  of  savoury 
sausages ;  and  even  bright  chanticleer  himself  lay 
sprawling  on  his  back,  in  a  side  dish,  with  uplifted 
claws,  as  if  craving  that  quarter  which  his  chivalrous 
spirit  disdained  to  ask  while  living. 

As  the  enraptured  Ichabod  fancied  all  this,  and  as 
he  rolled  his  great  green  eyes  over  the  fat  meadow 
lands,  the  rich  fields  of  wheat,  of  rye,  of  buckwheat, 
and  Indian  corn,  and  the  orchards  burthencd  with 
ruddy  fruit,  which  surrounded  the  warm  tenement 
of  Van  Tassel,  his  heart  yearned  after  the  damsel 
who  was  to  inherit  these  domains,  and  his  imagina- 
tion expanded  with  the  idea,  how  they  might  be 
readily  turned  into  cash,  and  the  monev  invested  in 
immense  tracts  of  wild  land,  and  shingle  palaces  in 
the  wilderness.  Nay,  his  busy  fancy  already  realized 
his  hopes,  and  presented  to  him  the  blooming  Katrina, 
with  a  whole  family  of  children,  mounted  on  the  top 
of  a  wagon  loaded  with  household  trumpery,  with 
pots  and  kettles  dangling  beneath  ;  and  he  beheld 
himself  bestriding  a  pacing  mare,  with  a  colt  at  her 
heels,  setting  out  for  Kentucky,  Tennessee — or  the 
Lord  knows  where  ! 

When  he  entered  the  house,  the  conquest  of  his 
heart  was  complete.  It  was  one  of  those  spacious 
farm-houses,  with  high-ridged,  but  lowly-sloping 
roofs,  built  in  the  style  handed  down  from  the  first 
Dutch  settlers.  The  low  projecting  eaves  forming  a 
piazza  along  the  front,  capable  of  being  closed  up  in 
bad  weather.  Under  this  were  hung  flails,  harness, 
various  utensils  of  husbandry,  and  nets  for  fishing  in 
the  neighbouring  river.  Benches  were  built  along 
the  sides  for  summer  use ;  and  a  great  spinning- 
wheel  at  one  end,  and  a  churn  at  the  other,  showed 
the  various  uses  to  which  this  important  porch 
might  be  devoted.  From  this  piazza  the  wonderful 
Ichabod  entered  the  hall,  which  formed  the  centre 
of  the  mansion,  and  the  place  of  usual  residence. 
Here,  rows  of  resplendent  pewter,  ranged  on  a  long 
dresser,  dazzled  his  eyes.  In  one  comer  stood  .1 
huge  bag  of  wool,  ready  to  be  spun  ;  in  another,  a 
quantity  of  linsey-woolsey  just  from  the  loom;  ears 
of  Indian  corn,  and  strings  of  dried  apples  and 
peaches,  hung  in  gay  festoons  along  the  walls, 
mingled  with  the  gaud  of  red  peppers ;  and  a  door 
left  ajar,  gave  him  a  peep  into  the  best  parlour, 
where  the  claw-footed  chairs,  and  dark  mahogany 
tables,  shone  like  mirrors ;  andirons,  with  their  ac- 
companying shovel  and  tongs,  glistened  from  their 
covert  of  asparagus  tops;  mock-oranges  and  conch 
shells  decorated  the  mantelpiece  ;  strings  of  various 
coloured  birds'  eggs  were  suspended  above  it ;  a 
great  ostrich  egg  was  hung  from  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  a  corner  cupboard,  knowingly  left  open, 
displayed  immense  treasures  of  old  silver  and  well- 
mended  china. 

From  the  moment  Ichabod  laid  his  eyes  upon  these 
regions  of  delight,  the  peace  of  his  mind  was  at  an 
end,  and  his  only  study  was  how  to  gain  the  affec- 
tions of  the  peerless  daughter  of  Van  Tassel.  In 
tliis  enterprise,  however,  he  had  more  real  difficulties 
than  generally  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  knight-errant  of 
yore,  who  seldom  had  any  thing  but  giants,  en- 
chanters, fiery  dragons,  and  such  like  easily  con- 
quered adversaries,  to  contend  with  ;   and  had  to 


make  his  way  merely  through  gates  of  iron  and 
brass,  and  walls  of  adamant  to  the  castle-keep, 
where  the  lady  of  his  heart  was  confined  ;  all  which 
he  achieved  as  easily  as  a  man  would  car\'e  his  way 
to  the  centre  of  a  Christmas  pie,  and  then  the  lady 
gave  him  her  hand  as  a  matter  of  course.  Ichabod, 
on  the  contrary,  had  to  win  his  way  to  the  heart  of 
a  country  coquette,  beset  with  a  labyrinth  of  whims  . 
and  caprices,  which  were  for  ever  presenting  new 
difficulties  and  impediments,  and  he  had  to  encoun- 
ter a  host  of  fearful  adversaries  of  real  flesh  and 
blood,  the  numerous  rustic  admirers,  who  beset  every 
portal  to  her  heart ;  keeping  a  watchful  and  angry 
eye  upon  each  other,  but  ready  to  fly  out  in  the  com- 
mon cause  against  any  new  competitor. 

Among  these,  the  most  formidable  was  a  burly, 
roaring,  roystering  blade,  of  the  name  of  Abraham, 
or,  according  to  the  Dutch  abbreviation,  Brom  Van 
Brunt,  the  hero  of  the  country  round,  which  rung 
with  his  feats  of  strength  and  hardihood.  He  was 
broad-shouldered  and  double-jointed,  with  short 
curly  black  hair,  and  a  bluff,  but  not  unpleasant 
countenance,  having  a  mingled  air  of  fun  and  arro- 
gance. From  his  Herculean  frame  and  great  powers 
of  limb,  he  had  received  the  nickname  of  Bro.m 
Bones,  by  which  he  was  universally  known.  He 
was  famed  for  great  knowledge  and  skill  in  horse- 
manship, being  as  dexterous  on  horseback  as  a  Tar- 
tar. He  was  foremost  at  all  races  and  cock-fights, 
and  with  the  ascendancy  which  bodily  strength  al- 
ways acquires  in  rustic  life,  was  the  umpire  in  all 
disputes,  setting  his  hat  on  one  side,  and  giving  his 
decisions  with  an  air  and  tone  that  admitted  of  no 
gainsay  or  appeal.  He  was  always  ready  for  either 
a  fight  or  a  frolic  ;  had  more  mischief  than  ill-will  in 
his  composition  ;  and  with  all  his  overbearing  rough- 
ness, there  was  a  strong  dash  of  waggish  good- 
humour  at  bottom.  He  had  three  or  four  boon  com- 
panions of  his  own  stamp,  who  regarded  him  as 
their  model,  and  at  the  head  of  whom  he  scoured 
the  country,  attending  every  scene  of  feud  or  merri- 
ment for  miles  round.  In  cold  weather,  he  was  dis- 
tinguished by  a  fur  cap,  surmounted  with  a  flaunting 
fox's  tail  ;  and  when  the  folks  at  a  country  gathering 
descried  this  well-known  crest  at  a  distance,  whisk- 
ing about  among  a  squad  of  hard  riders,  they  ahvays 
stood  by  for  a  squall.  Sometimes  his  crew  would 
be  heard  dashing  along  past  the  farmhouses  at  mid- 
night, with  whoop  and  halloo,  like  a  troop  of  Don 
Cosj.icks,  and  the  old  dames,  startled  out  of  their 
sleeo,  would  listen  for  a  moment  till  the  hurry-scurry 
had  clattered  by,  and  then  exclaim,  "  Ay,  there  goes 
Brom  Bones  and  his  gang ! "  The  neighbours 
looked  upon  him  with  a  mixture  of  awe,  admiration, 
and  good-will ;  and  when  any  madcap  prank,  or 
rustic  brawl  occurred  in  the  vicinity,  always  shook 
their  heads,  and  warranted  Brom  Bones  was  at  the 
bottom  of  it. 

This  rantipole  hero  had  for  some  time  singled  out 
the  blooming  Katrina  for  the  object  of  his  uncouth 
gallantries,  and  though  his  amorous  toyings  were 
something  like  the  gentle  caresses  and  endearments 
of  a  bear,  yet  it  was  whispered  that  she  did  not  alto- 
gether discourage  his  hopes.  Certain  it  is,  his  ad- 
vances were  signals  for  rival  candidates  to  retire, 
who  felt  no  inclination  to  cross  a  lion  in  his  amours ; 
insomuch,  that  when  his  horse  w-as  seen  tied  to  Van 
Tassel's  paling,  on  a  Sunday  night,  a  sure  sign  that 
hin  master  was  courting,  or,  as  it  is  termed,  '•  spark- 
ing," within,  all  other  suitors  passed  by  in  despair, 
and  carried  the  war  into  other  quarters. 

Such  was  the  formidable  rival  with  whom  Ichabod 
Crane  had  to  contend,  and  considering  all  things,  a 
stouter  "man  than  he  would  have  shrunk  from  the 
competition,  and  a  wiser  man  would  have  despaired. 


THE  SKETCH-BOOK  OF  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  Gent. 


93 


He  had,  however,  a  happy  mixture  of  pliability  and 
perseverance  in  his  nature  ;  he  was  in  form  and 
spirit  lilce  a  supple-jack— yielding,  but  tough  ;  though 
he  bent,  he  never  brolie ;  and  though  he  bowed  be- 
neath the  slightest  pressure,  yet,  the  moment  it  was 
away — jerk  ! — he  was  as  erect,  and  carried  his  head 
as  high  as  ever. 

To  have  taken  the  field  openly  against  his  rival, 
would  have  been  madness ;  for  he  was  not  a  man  to 
be  thwarted  in  his  amours,  any  more  than  that 
stormy  lover,  Achilles.  Ichabod,  therefore,  made 
his  advances  in  a  quiet  and  gently-insinuating  man- 
ner. Under  cover  of  his  character  of  singing-master, 
he  made  frequent  visits  at  the  farm-house  ;  not  that 
he  had  any  thing  to  apprehend  from  the  meddlesome 
interference  of  parents,  which  is  so  often  a  stumbling- 
block  in  the  path  of  lovers.  Bait  Van  Tassel  was 
an  easy  indulgent  soul ;  he  loved  his  daughter  better 
even  than  his  pipe,  and  like  a  reasonable  man,  and 
an  excellent  father,  let  her  have  her  way  in  every 
thing.  His  notable  little  wife,  too,  had  enough  to  do 
to  attend  to  her  housekeeping  and  manage  the  poul- 
try ;  for,  as  she  sagely  observed,  ducks  and  geese 
are  foolish  things,  and  must  be  looked  after,  but  girls 
can  take  care  of  themselves.  Thus,  while  the  busy 
dame  bustled  about  the  house,  or  plied  her  spinning- 
wheel  at  one  end  of  the  piazza,  honest  Bait  would 
sit  smoking  his  evening  pipe  at  the  other,  watching 
the  achievements  of  a  little  wooden  warrior,  who, 
armed  with  a  sword  in  each  hand,  was  most  valiantly 
lighting  the  wind  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  bam.  In 
the  mean  time,  Ichabod  would  carry  on  his  suit  with 
the  daughter  by  the  side  of  the  spring  under  the 
great  elm,  or  sauntering  along  in  the  twilight,  that 
hour  so  favourable  to  the  lover's  eloquence. 

1  profess  not  to  know  how  women's  hearts  are 
wooed  and  won.  To  me  ihey  have  always  been  mat- 
ters of  riddle  and  admiration.  Some  seem  to  have 
but  one  vulnerable  point,  or  door  of  access  ;  while 
others  have  a  thousand  avenues,  and  may  be  cap- 
tured in  a  thousand  different  ways.  It  is  a  great  tri- 
umph of  skill  to  gain  the  former,  but  a  still  greater 
firoof  of  generalship  to  maintain  possession  of  the 
atter,  for  a  man  must  battle  for  his  fortress  at  every 
door  and  window.  He  that  wins  a  thousand  com- 
mon hearts,  is  therefore  entitled  to  some  renown ; 
but  he  who  keeps  undisputed  sway  over  the  heart 
of  a  coquette,  is  indeed  a  hero.  Certain  it  is,  this 
was  not  the  case  with  the  redoubtable  Brom  Bones ; 
and  from  the  moment  Ichabod  Crane  made  his  ad- 
vances, the  interests  of  the  former  evidently  de- 
clined :  his  horse  was  no  longer  seen  tied  at  the  pal- 
ings on  bunday  nights,  and  a  deadly  feud  gradually 
arose  between  him  and  the  perceptor  of  Sleepy 
Hollow. 

Brom,  who  had  a  degree  of  rough  chivalry  in  his 
nature,  would  fain  have  carried  matters  to  open 
warfare,  and  settled  their  pretensions  to  the  lady,  ac- 
cording to  the  mode  of  those  most  concise  and  sim- 
ple reasoners,  the  knights  errant  of  yore — by  single 
combat ;  but  Ichabod  was  too  conscious  of  the  supe- 
rior might  of  his  adversary  to  enter  the  lists  against 
him ;  he  had  overheard  the  boast  of  Bones,  that  he 
would  "double  the  schoolmaster  up, and  put  him  on 
a  shelf; "  and  he  was  too  wary  to  give  him  an  op- 
portunity. There  was  something  extremely  provok- 
ing in  this  obstinately  pacific  system  ;  it  left  Brom 
no  alternative  but  to  draw  upon  the  funds  of  rustic 
waggery  in  his  disposition,  and  to  play  off  boorish 
practical  jokes  upon  his  rival.  Ichabod  became  the 
object  of  whimsical  persecution  to  Bones,  and  his 
gang  of  rough  riders.  They  harried  his  hitherto 
peaceful  domains  ;  smoked  out  his  singing-school,  by 
stopping  up  the  chimney;  broke  into  the  school- 
house  at  night,  in  spite  of  its  formidable  fastenings 


of  withe  and  window  stakes,  and  turned  every  thing 
topsy-turvy  ;  so  that  the  poor  schoolmaster  began  to 
think  all  the  witches  in  the  country  held  their  meet- 
ings there.  But  what  was  still  more  annoying,  Brom 
took  all  opportunities  of  turning  him  into  ridicule  in 
|)resence  of  his  mistress,  and  had  a  scoundrel  dog 
whom  he  taught  to  whine  in  the  most  ludicrous 
manner,  and  introduced  as  a  rival  of  Ichabod's,  to 
instruct  her  in  psalmody. 

In  this  way,  matters  went  on  for  some  time,  with- 
out producing  any  material  effect  on  the  relative 
situations  of  the  contending  powers.  On  a  fine  au- 
tumnal afternoon,  Ichabod,  in  pensive  mood,  sat  en- 
throned on  the  lofty  stool  from  whence  he  usually 
watched  all  the  concerns  of  his  little  literary  realm. 
In  his  hand  he  swayed  a  ferule,  that  sceptre  of  des- 
potic power ;  the  birch  of  justice  reposed  on  three 
nails,  behind  the  throne,  a  constant  terror  to  evil 
doers ;  while  on  the  desk  before  him  might  be  seen 
sundry  contraband  articles  and  prohibited  weapons, 
detected  upon  the  persons  of  idle  urchins ;  such  as 
half-munched  apples,  popguns,  whirligigs,  fly-cages, 
and  whole  legions  of  rampant  little  paper  game-cocks. 
Apparently  there  had  been  some  appalling  act  of 
justice  recently  inflicted,  for  his  scholars  were  all 
busily  intent  upon  their  books,  or  slyly  whispering 
behind  them  with  one  eye  kept  upon  the  master; 
and  a  kind  of  buzzing  stillness  reigned  throughout 
the  school-room.  It  was  suddenly  interrupted  by 
the  appearance  of  a  negro  in  tow-cloth  jacket  and 
trowscrs,  a  round  crowned  fragment  of  a  hat,  like 
the  cap,  of  Mercury,  and  mounted  on  the  back  ot  a 
ragged,  wild,  half-broken  colt,  which  he  managed 
with  a  rope  by  way  of  halter.  He  came  clattering 
up  to  the  school-door  with  an  invitation  to  Ichabod 
to  attend  a  merry-making,  or  "  quilting  frolic,"  to  be 
held  that  evening  at  Mynheer  Van  Tassel's  ;  and 
having  delivered  his  message  with  that  air  oi  im- 
portance, and  effort  at  fine  language,  which  a  negro 
is  apt  to  display  on  petty  embassies  of  the  kind,  he 
dashed  over  the  brook,  and  was  seen  scampering 
away  up  the  hollow,  full  of  the  importance  and  hurry 
of  his  mission. 

All  was  now  bustle  and  hubbub  in  the  late  quiet 
school-room.  The  scholars  were  hurried  through 
their  lessons,  without  stopping  at  trifles  ;  those  who 
were  nimble,  skipped  over  half  with  impunity,  and 
those  who  were  tardy,  had  a  smart  application  now 
and  then  in  the  rear,  to  quicken  their  sp.ed,  or  help 
them  over  a  tall  word.  Books  were  flung  aside,  with- 
out being  put  away  on  the  shelves  ;  inkstands  were 
overturned,  benches  thrown  down,  and  the  whole 
school  was  turned  loose  an  hour  before  the  usual 
time  ;  bursting  forth  like  a  legion  of  young  imps, 
yelping  and  racketing  about  the  green,  in  joy  at 
their  early  emancipation. 

The  gallant  Ichabod  now  spent  at  least  an  extra 
half-hour  at  his  toilet,  brushing  and  furbishing  up 
his  best,  and  indeed  only  suit  of  rusty  black,  and  ar- 
ranging his  looks  by  a  bit  of  broken  looking-glass, 
that  hung  up  in  the  school-house.  That  he  might 
make  his  appearance  before  his  mistress  in  the  true 
style  of  a  cavalier,  he  borrowed  a  horse  from  the 
farmer  with  whom  he  was  domiciliated,  a  choleric 
old  Dutchman,  of  the  name  of  Hans  Van  Ripper, 
and  thus  gallantly  mounted,  issued  forth  like  a 
knight-errant  in  quest  of  adventures.  But  it  is  meet 
I  should,  in  the  true  spirit  of  romantic  story,  give 
some  account  of  the  looks  and  equipments  of  my 
hero  and  his  steed.  The  animal  he  bestrode  was  a 
broken-down  plough-horse,  that  had  outlived  almost 
every  thing  but  his  viciousness.  He  was  gaunt  and 
shagged,  with  a  ewe  neck  and  a  head  like  a  hammer  ; 
his  rusty  mane  and  tail  were  tangled  and  knotted 
with  burrs ;  one  eye  had  lost  its  pupil,  and  was 


94 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


glaring  and  spectral,  but  the  other  had  the  gleam  of 
a  genuine  devil  in  it.  Still  he  must  have  had  fire 
and  mettle  in  his  day,  if  we  may  judge  from  his 
name,  which  was  Gunpowder.  He  had,  in  fact, 
been  a  favourite  steed  of  his  master's,  the  choleric 
Van  Ripper,  who  was  a  furious  rider,  and  had 
infused,  very  probably,  some  of  his  own  spirit  into 
the  animal;  for,  old  and  broken-down  as  he  looked, 
there  was  more  of  the  lurking  devil  in  huti  than  in 
any  young  filly  in  the  country. 

ichabod  was  a  suitable  figure  for  such  a  steed. 
He  rode  with  short  stirrups,  which  brought  his  knees 
nearly  up  to  the  pommel  of  the  saddle  ;  his  sharp 
elbows  stuck  out  like  grasshoppers' ;  he  carried  his 
whip  perpendicularly  in  his  hand,  like  a  sceptre, 
and  as  the  horse  jogged  on,  the  motion  of  his  arms 
was  not  unlike  the  flapping  of  a  pair  of  wings.  A 
small  wool  hat  rested  on  the  top  of  his  nose,  for  so 
his  scanty  strip  of  forehead  might  be  called,  and  the 
skirts  of  his  black  coat  fluttered  out  almost  to  the 
horse's  tail.  Such  was  the  appearance  of  Ichabod 
and  his  steed  as  they  shambled  out  of  the  gate  of 
Hans  Van  Ripper,  and  it  was  altogether  such  an 
apparition  as  is  seldom  to  be  met  with  in  broad  day- 
light. 

It  was,  as  I  have  said,  a  fine  autumnal  day;  the 
sky  was  clear  and  serene,  and  nature  wore  that  rich 
and  golden  livery  which  we  always  associate  with 
the  idea  of  abundance.  The  forests  had  put  on  their 
sober  brown  and  yellow,  while  some  trees  of  the  ten- 
derer kind  had  been  nipped  by  the  frosts  into  bril- 
liant dyes  of  orange,  purple,  and  scarlet.  Streaming 
files  of  wild  ducks  began  to  make  their  appearance 
high  in  the  air;  the  bark  of  the  squirrel  might 
be  heard  from  the  groves  of  beech  and  hickory-nuts, 
and  the  pensive  whistle  of  the  quail  at  intervals 
from  the  neighbouring  stubble  field. 

The  small  birds  were  taking  their  farewell  ban- 
quets. In  the  fulness  of  their  revelry,  they  fluttered, 
chirping  and  frolicking,  from  bush  to  bush,  and  tree 
to  tree,  capricious  from  the  very  profusion  and 
variety  around  them.  There  was  the  honest  cock- 
robin,  the  favourite  game  of  stripling  sportsmen, 
with  its  loud  querulous  note,  and  the  twittering 
blackbirds  flying  in  sable  clouds ;  and  the  golden- 
winged  woodpecker,  with  his  crimson  crest,  his 
broad  black  gorget,  and  splendid  plumage ;  and  the 
cedar-bird,  with  its  red-tipt  wings  and  yellow-tipt 
tail,  and  its  little  monteiro  cap  of  feathers;  and  the 
blue  jay,  that  noisy  coxcomb,  in  his  gay  light  blue 
coat  and  white  underclothes,  screaming  and  chat- 
tering, nodding,  and  bobbing,  and  bowing,  and  pre- 
tending to  be  en  good  terms  with  every  songster  of 
the  grove. 

As  Ichabod  jogged  slowly  on  his  way,  his  eye, 
ever  open  to  every  symptom  of  culinary  abundance, 
ranged  with  delight  over  the  treasures  of  jolly  autumn. 
On  all  sides  he  beheld  vast  store  of  apples,  some 
hanging  in  oppressive  opulence  on  the  trees  ;  some 
gathered  into  baskets  and  barrels  for  the  market ; 
others  heaped  up  in  rich  piles  for  the  cider-press. 
Farther  on  he  beheld  great  fields  of  Indian  corn, 
with  its  golden  ears  peeping  from  their  leafy  co- 
verts, and  holding  out  the  promise  of  cakes  and 
hasty-pudding ;  and  the  yellow  pumpkins  lying  be- 
neath them,  turning  up  their  fair  round  bellies 
to  the  sun,  and  giving  ample  prospects  of  the  most 
luxurious  of  pies  ;  and  anon  he  passed  the  fragrant 
buckwheat  fields,  breathing  the  odour  of  the  bee- 
hive, and  as  he  beheld  them,  soft  anticipations  stole 
over  his  mind  of  dainty  slap-jacks,  well  buttered, 
and  garnished  with  honey  or  treacle,  by  the  delicate 
little  dimpled  hand  of  Katrina  Van  Tassel. 

Thus  feeding  his  mind  with  many  sweet  thoughts 
and  "sugared  suppositions,"  he  journeyed  along  the 


sides  of  a  range  of  hills  which  look  out  upon  some  of 
the  goodliest  scenes  of  the  mighty  Hudson.  The  sun 
gradually  wheeled  his  broad  disk  down  into  the  west. 
The  wide  bosom  of  the  Tappaan  Zee  lay  motionless 
and  glassy,  excepting  that  here  and  there  a  gentle 
undulation  waved  and  prolonged  the  blue  shadow  of 
the  distant  mountain.  A  few  amber  clouds  floated 
in  the  sky,  without  a  breath  of  air  to  move  them. 
The  horizon  was  of  a  fine  golden  tint,  changing 
gradually  into  a  pure  apple  green,  and  from  that  into 
the  deep  blue  of  the  mid-heaven.  A  slanting  ray 
lingered  on  the  woody  crests  of  the  precipices  that 
overhung  some  parts  of  the  river,  giving  greater  depth 
to  the  dark  gray  and  purple  of  their  rocky  sides.  A 
sloop  was  loitering  in  the  distance,  dropping  slowly 
down  with  the  tide,  her  sail  hanging  uselessly  against 
the  mast  ;  and  as  the  reflection  of  the  sky  gleamed 
along  the  still  water,  it  seemed  as  if  the  vessel  was 
suspended  in  the  air. 

It  was  toward  evening  that  Ichabod  arrived  at  the 
castle  of  the  HeerVan  Tassel,  which  he  found  throng- 
ed with  the  pride  and  flower  of  the  adjacent  country. 
Old  farmers,  a  spare  leathern-faced  race,  in  home- 
spun coats  and  breeches,  blue  stockings,  huge  shoes, 
and  magnificent  pewter  buckles.  Their  brisk,  with- 
ered little  dames,  in  close  crimped  caps,  long-waisted 
gowns,  homespun  petticoats,  with  scissors  and  pin- 
cushions, and  gay  calico  pockets  hanging  on  the  out- 
side. Buxom  lasses,  almost  as  antiquated  as  their 
mothers,  excepting  where  a  straw  hat,  a  fine  riband, 
or  perhaps  a  white  frock,  gave  symptoms  of  city  in- 
novations. The  sons,  in  short  square-skirted  coats, 
with  rows  of  stupendous  brass  buttons,  and  their 
hair  generally  queued  in  the  fashion  of  the  times, 
especially  if  they  could  procure  an  eelskin  for  the 
purpose,  it  being  esteemed  throughout  the  country, 
as  a  potent  nourisher  and  strengthener  of  the  hair. 

Brom  Bones,  however,  was  the  hero  of  the  scene, 
having  come  to  the  gathering  on  his  favourite  steed 
Daredevil,  a  creature,  like  himself,  full  of  mettle 
and  mischief,  and  which  no  one  but  himself  could 
manage.  He  was,  in  fact,  noted  for  preferring 
vicious  animals,  given  to  all  kinds  of  tricks  which 
kept  the  rider  in  constant  risk  of  his  neck,  for  he  held 
a  tractable  well-broken  horse  as  unworthy  of  a  lad 
of  spirit. 

Fain  would  I  pause  to  dwell  upon  the  world  of 
charms  that  burst  upon  the  enraptured  gaze  of  my 
hero,  as  he  entered  the  state  parlour  of  Van  Tassel's 
mansion.  Not  those  of  the  bevy  of  buxom  lasses, 
with  their  luxurious  display  of  red  and  white  ;  but 
the  ample  charms  of  a  genuine  Dutch  country  tea- 
table,  in  the  sumptuous  time  of  autumn.  Such  heap- 
ed-up  platters  of  cakes  of  various  and  almost  inde- 
scribable kinds,  known  only  to  experienced  Dutch 
housewives  !  There  was  the  doughty  dough-nut,  the 
tender  oly-koek,  and  the  crisp  and  crumbling  cruller ; 
sweet  cakes  and  short  cakes,  ginger  cakes  and  honey 
cakes,  and  the  whole  family  of  cakes.  And  then 
there  were  apple  pies,  and  peach  pies,  and  pumpkin 
pies;  besides  slices  of  ham  and  smoked  beef;  and 
moreover  delectable  dishes  of  preserved  plums,  and 
peaches,  and  pears,  and  quinces ;  not  to  mention 
broiled  shad  and  roasted  chickens ;  together  with 
bowls  of  milk  and  cream,  all  mingled  higgledy- 
piggledy,  pretty  much  as  I  have  enumerated  them, 
with  the  motherly  tea-pot  sending  up  its  clouds 
of  vapour  from  the  midst — Heaven  bless  the  mark  ! 
I  want  breath  and  time  to  discuss  this  banquet 
as  it  deserves,  and  am  too  eager  to  get  on  with  my 
story.  Happily,  Ichabod  Crane  was  not  in  so  g^eat 
a  hurry  as  his  historian,  but  did  ample  justice  to 
every  dainty. 

He  was  a  kind  and  thankful  creature,  whose  heart 
dilated  in  proportion  as  his  skin  was  filled  with  good 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


cheer,  and  whose  spirits  rose  with  eating,  as  some 
men's  do  with  drink.  He  could  not  help,  too, 
rolling  his  large  eyes  round  him  as  he  ate,  and 
chuckling  with  the  possibility  that  he  might  one  day 
be  lord  of  all  this  scene  of  almost  unimaginable 
luxury  and  splendour.  Then,  he  thought,  how  soon 
he'd  turn  his  back  upon  the  old  school-house ;  snap 
his  fingers  in  the  face  of  Hans  Van  Ripper,  and 
every  other  niggardly  patron,  and  kick  any  itinerant 
pedagogue  out  of  doors  that  should  dare  to  call  him 
comrade  ! 

Old  Baltus  Van  Tassel  moved  about  among  his 
guests  with  a  face  dilated  with  content  and  good- 
humour,  round  and  jolly  as  the  harvest  moon.  His 
hospitable  attentions  were  brief,  but  expressive, 
being  confined  to  a  shake  of  the  hand,  a  slap  on  the 
shoulder,  a  loud  laugh,  and  a  pressing  invitation  to 
"  fall  to,  and  help  themselves." 

And  now  the  sound  of  the  music  from  the  com- 
mon room,  or  hall,  summoned  to  the  dance.  The 
musician  was  an  old  gray-headed  negro,  who  had 
been  the  itnerant  orchestra  of  the  neighbourhood 
for  more  than  half  a  century.  His  instrument  was 
as  old  and  battered  as  himself.  The  greater  part  of 
the  time  he  scraped  away  on  two  or  three  strings, 
accompanying  every  movement  of  the  bow  with  a 
motion  of  the  head  ;  bowing  almost  to  the  ground, 
and  stamjjing  with  his  foot  whenever  a  fresh  couple 
were  to  start. 

Ichabod  prided  himself  upon  his  dancing  as  much 
as  upon  his  vocal  powers.  Not  a  limb,  not  a  fibre 
about  him  was  idle ;  and  to  have  seen  his  loosely 
hung  frame  in  full  motion,  and  clattering  about  the 
room,  you  would  have  thought  St.  Vitus  himself,  that 
blessed  patron  of  the  dance,  was  figuring  before  you 
in  person.  He  was  the  admiration  of  all  the  negroes  ; 
who,  having  gathered,  of  all  ages  and  .sizes,  from  the 
farm  and  the  neighbourhood,  stood  forming  a  pyramid 
of  shining  black  faces  at  every  door  and  window  ; 
gazing  with  delight  at  the  scene  ;  rolling  their  white 
eye-balls,  and  showing  grinning  rows  of  ivory  from 
ear  to  ear.  How  could  the  flogger  of  urchins  be 
otherwise  than  animated  and  joyous  ?  the  lady  of 
his  heart  was  his  partner  in  the  dance,  and  smiling 
graciously  in  leply  to  all  his  amorous  oglings  ;  while 
Brom  Bones,  sorely  smitten  with  love  and  jealousy, 
sat  brooding  by  himself  in  one  corner. 

When  the  dance  was  at  an  end,  Ichabod  was  at- 
tracted to  a  knot  of  the  sager  folks,  who,  with  Old 
Van  Tassel,  sat  smoking  at  one  end  of  the  piazza, 
gossiping  over  former  times,  and  drawling  out  long 
stories  about  the  war. 

This  neighbourhood,  at  the  time  of  which  I  am 
speaking,  was  one  of  those  highly  favoured  places 
which  abound  with  chronicle  and  great  men.  The 
British  and  American  line  had  run  near  it  during  the 
war ;  it  had,  therefore,  been  the  scene  of  marauding, 
and  infested  with  refugees,  cow-boys,  and  all  kind 
of  border  chivalry.  Just  sufficient  time  had  elapsed 
to  enable  each  story-teller  to  dress  up  his  tale  with  a 
little  becoming  fiction,  and,  in  the  indistinctness  of 
his  recollection,  to  make  himself  the  hero  of  every 
exploit. 

There  was  the  story  of  Doffue  Martling,  a  large 
blue-bearded  Dutchman,  who  had  nearly  taken  a 
British  frigate  with  an  old  iron  nine-pounder  from  a 
mud  breastwork,  only  that  his  gun  burst  at  the  sixth 
discharge.  And  there  was  an  old  gentleman  who 
shall  be  nameless,  being  too  rich  a  mynheer  to  be 
lightly  mentioned,  who,  in  the  battle  of  Whiteplains, 
being  an  excellent  master  of  defence,  parried  a 
musket-ball  with  a  small-sword,  insomuch  that  he 
absolutely  felt  it  whiz  round  the  blade,  and  glance 
off  at  the  hilt ;  in  proof  of  which  he  was  readv  at 
any  time  to  show  the  sword,  with  the  hilt  a  little 


bent.  There  were  several  more  that  had  been 
equally  great  in  the  field,  not  one  of  whom  but  was 
persuaded  that  he  had  a  considerable  hand  in  bring- 
ing the  war  to  a  happy  termination. 

But  all  these  were  nothing  to  the  tales  of  ghosts 
and  apparitions  that  succeeded.  The  neighbourhood 
is  rich  in  legendary  treasures  of  the  kind.  Local 
tales  and  superstitions  thrive  best  in  these  sheltered, 
long-settled  retreats  ;  but  are  trampled  under  foot, 
by  the  shifting  throng  that  forms  the  population  of 
most  of  our  country  places.  Besides,  there  is  no 
encouragement  for  ghosts  in  most  of  our  villages, 
for  they  have  scarcely  had  time  to  finish  their  first 
nap,  and  turn  themselves  in  their  graves,  before 
their  surviving  friends  have  travelled  away  from  the 
neighbourhood  :  so  that  when  they  turn  out  at  night 
to  walk  their  rounds,  they  have  no  acquaintance  left 
to  call  upon.  This  is  perhaps  the  reason  why  we  so 
seldom  hear  of  ghosts  except  in  our  long-established 
Dutch  communities. 

The  immediate  cause,  however,  of  the  prevalence 
of  supernatural  stories  in  these  parts,  was  doubtless 
owing  to  the  vicinity  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  There  was 
a  contagion  in  the  very  air  that  blew  from  that 
haunted  region  ;  it  breathed  forth  an  atmosphere  of 
dreams  and  fancies  infecting  all  the  land.  Several 
of  the  Sleepy  Hollow  people  were  present  at  Van 
Tassel's,  and,  as  usual,  were  doling  out  their  wild 
and  wonderful  legends.  Many  dismal  tales  were 
told  about  funeral  trains,  and  mourning  cries  and 
wailings  heard  and  seen  about  the  great  tree  where 
the  unfortunate  Major  Andre  was  taken,  and  which 
stood  in  the  neighbourhood.  Some  mention  was 
made  also  of  the  woman  in  white,  that  haunted  the 
dark  glen  at  Raven  Rock,  and  was  often  heard  to 
shriek  on  winter  nights  before  a  storm,  having  per- 
ished there  in  the  snow.  The  chief  part  of  the  stories, 
however,  turned  upon  the  favourite  spectre  of  Sleepy 
Hollow,  the  headless  horseman,  who  had  been  heard 
several  times  of  late,  patroling  the  country ;  and  it 
is  said,  tethered  his  horse  nightly  among  the  graves 
in  the  churchyard. 

The  sequestered  situation  of  this  church  seems 
always  to  have  made  it  a  favourite  haunt  of  troubled 
spirits.  It  stands  on  a  knoll,  surrounded  by  locust- 
trees  and  lofty  elms,  from  among  which  its  decent, 
whitewashed  walls  shine  modestly  forth,  like  Chris- 
tian purity,  beaming  through  the  shades  of  retire- 
ment. A  gentle  slope  descends  from  it  to  a  silver 
sheet  of  water,  bordered  by  high  trees,  between 
which,  peeps  may  be  caught  at  the  blue  hills  of  the 
Hudson.  "To  look  upon  its  grass-grown  yard,  where 
the  sunbeams  seem  to  sleep  so  quietly,  one  would 
think  that  there  at  least  the  dead  might  rest  in 
peace.  On  one  side  of  the  church  extends  a  wide 
woody  dell,  along  which  raves  a  large  brook  among 
broken  rocks  and  trunks  of  fallen  trees.  Over  a  deep 
black  part  of  the  stream,  not  far  from  the  church, 
was  formerly  thrown  a  wooden  bridge ;  the  road 
that  led  to  it,  and  the  bridge  itself,  were  thickly 
shaded  by  overhanging  trees,  which  cast  a  gloom 
about  it,  even  in  the  day-time ;  but  occasioned  a 
fearful  darkness  at  night.  Such  was  one  of  the 
favourite  haunts  of  the  headless  horseman,  and  the 
place  where  he  was  most  frequently  encountered. 
The  tale  was  told  of  old  Brouwer,  a  most  heretical 
disbeliever  in  ghosts,  how  he  met  the  horseman  re- 
turning from  his  foray  into  Sleepy  Hollow,  and  was 
obliged  to  get  up  behind  him  ;  how  they  galloped 
over  bush  and  brake,  over  hill  and  swamp,  until  they 
reached  the  bridge ;  when  the  horseman  suddenly 
turned  into  a  skeleton,  threw  old  Brouwer  into  the 
brook,  and  sprang  away  over  the  tree-tops  with  a 
clap  of  thunder. 

This  story  was  immediately  matched  by  a  thrice 


98 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


marvellous  adventure  of  Brom  Bones,  who  made 
light  of  the  galloping  Hessian  as  an  arrant  jockey. 
He  affirmed,  that  on  returning  one  night  from  the 
neighbouring  village  of  Sing-Sing,  he  had  been  over- 
taken by  this  midnight  trooper ;  that  he  had  offered 
to  race  with  him  for  a  bowl  of  punch,  and  should 
have  won  it  too,  for  Daredevil  beat  the  goblin  horse 
all  hollow,  but  just  as  they  came  to  the  church 
bridge,  the  Hessian  bolted,  and  vanished  in  a  flash 
of  fire. 

All  these  tales,  told  in  that  drowsy  under  tone 
with  which  men  talk  in  the  dark,  the  countenances 
of  the  listeners  only  now  and  then  receiving  a  casual 
gleam  from  the  glare  of  a  pipe,  sunk  deep  in  the 
mind  of  Ichabod.  He  repaid  them  in  kind  with 
large  extracts  from  his  invaluable  author.  Cotton 
Mather,  and  added  many  marvellous  events  that  had 
taken  place  in  his  native  State  of  Connecticut,  and 
fearful  sights  which  he  had  seen  in  his  nightly  walks 
about  Sleepy  Hollow. 

The  revel  now  gradually  broke  up.  The  old  far- 
mers gathered  together  their  families  in  their  wagons, 
and  were  heard  for  some  time  rattling  along  the  hol- 
low roads,  and  over  the  distant  hills.  Some  of  the 
damsels  mounted  on  pillions  behind  their  favourite 
swains,  and  their  light-hearted  laughter,  mingling 
with  the  clatter  of  hoofs,  echoed  along  the  silent 
woodlands,  sounding  fainter  and  fainter,  until  they 
gradually  died  away— and  the  late  scene  of  noise 
and  frolic  was  all  silent  and  deserted.  Ichabod  only 
lingered  behind,  according  to  the  custom  of  country 
lovers,  to  have  a  tete-a-tete  with  the  heiress;  fully 
convinced  that  he  was  now  on  the  high  road  to  suc- 
cess. What  passed  at  this  interview  I  will  not  pre- 
tend to  say,  for  in  fact  I  do  not  know.  Something, 
however,  I  fear  me,  must  have  gone  wrong,  for  he 
certainly  sallied  forth,  after  no  very  great  interval, 
with  an  air  quite  desolate  and  chapfallen — Oh,  these 
women  !  these  women  !  Could  that  girl  have  been 
playing  off  any  of  her  coquettish  tricks  ? — Was  her 
encouragement  of  the  poor  pedagogue  all  a  mere 
sham  to  secure  her  conquest  of  his  rival  ? — Heaven 
only  knows,  not  I  ! — Let  it  suffice  to  say,  Ichabod 
stole  forth  with  the  air  of  one  who  had  been  sacking 
a  henroost,  rather  than  a  fair  lady's  heart.  Without 
looking  to  the  right  or  left  to  notice  the  scene  of 
rural  wealth,  on  which  he  had  so  often  gloated,  he 
went  straight  to  the  stable,  and  with  several  hearty 
cuffs  and  kicks,  roused  his  steed  most  uncourteously 
from  the  comfortable  quarters  in  which  he  was 
soundly  sleeping,  dreaming  of  mountains  of  corn 
and  oats,  and  whole  valleys  of  timothy  and  clover. 

It  was  the  very  witching  time  of  night  that  Icha- 
bod, heavy-hearted  and  crest-fallen,  pursued  bis  travel 
homewards,  along  the  sides  of  the  lofty  hills  which 
rise  above  Tarry  Town,  and  which  he  had  traversed 
so  cheerily  in  the  afternoon.  The  hour  was  as  dis- 
mal as  himself.  Far  below  him  the  Tappaan  Zee 
spread  its  dusky  and  indistinct  waste  of  waters,  with 
here  and  there  the  tall  mast  of  a  sloop,  riding  quietly 
at  anchor  under  the  land.  In  the  dead  hush  of  mid- 
night, he  could  even  hear  the  barking  of  the  watch- 
dog from  the  opposite  shore  of  the  Hudson ;  but  it 
was  so  vague  and  faint  as  only  to  give  an  idea  of  his 
distance  from  this  faithful  companion  of  man.  Now 
and  then,  too,  the  long-drawn  crowing  of  a  cock,  ac- 
cident illy  awakened,  would  sound  far,  far  off,  from 
some  farm-house  away  among  the  hills — but  it  was 
like  a  dreaming  sound  in  his  ear.  No  signs  of  life 
occurred  near  him,  but  occasionally  the  melancholy 
chirp  of  a  cricket,  or  perhaps  the  guttural  twang  of 
a  bull-frog  from  a  neighbouring  marsh,  as  if  sleeping 
uncomfortably,  and  turning  suddenly  in  his  bed. 

All  the  stories  of  ghosts  and  goblins  that  he  had 
heard  in  the  afternoon,  now  came  crowding  upon 


his  recollection.  The  night  grew  darker  and  darker; 
the  stars  seemed  to  sink  deeper  in  the  sky,  and 
driving  clouds  occasionally  hid  them  from  his  sight. 
He  had  never  felt  so  lonely  and  dismal.  He  was, 
moreover,  approaching  the  very  place  where  many 
of  the  scenes  of  the  ghost  stories  had  been  laid.  In 
the  centre  of  the  road  stood  an  enormous  tulip-tree, 
which  towered  like  a  giant  above  all  the  other  trees 
of  the  neighbourhood,  and  formed  a  kind  of  land- 
mark. Its  limbs  were  gnarled  and  fantastic,  large 
enough  to  form  trunks  for  ordinary  trees,  twisting 
down  almost  to  the  earth,  and  rising  again  into  the 
air.  It  was  connected  with  the  tragical  story  of  the 
unfortunate  Andre,  who  had  been  taken  prisoner 
hard  by;  and  was  universally  known  by  the  name  of 
Major  Andre's  tree.  The  common  people  regarded 
it  with  a  mixture  of  respect  ?ind  superstition,  partly 
out  of  sympathy  for  the  fate  of  its  ill-starred  name- 
sake, and  partly  from  the  tales  of  strange  sights,  and 
doleful  lamentations,  told  concerning  it. 

As  Ichabod  approached  this  fearful  tree,  he  began 
to  whistle ;  he  thought  his  whistle  was  answered  :  it 
was  but  a  blast  sweeping  sharply  through  the  dry 
branches.  As  he  approached  a  little  nearer,  he 
thought  he  saw  something  white,  hanging  in  the 
midst  of  the  tree  :  he  paused,  and  ceased  whistling  ; 
but  on  looking  more  narrowly,  perceived  that  it  was 
a  place  where  the  tree  had  been  scathed  by  lightning, 
and  the  white  wood  laid  bare.  Suddenly  he  heard  a 
groan — his  teeth  chattered,  and  his  knees  smote 
against  the  saddle :  it  was  but  the  rubbing  of  one 
huge  bough  upon  another,  as  they  were  swayed  about 
by  the  breeze.  He  passed  the  tree  in  safety,  but  new 
perils  lay  before  him. 

About  two  hundred  yards  from  the  tree,  a  small 
brook  crossed  the  road,  and  ran  into  a  marshy  and 
thickly-wooded  glen,  known  by  the  name  of  Wiley's 
Swamp.  A  few  rough  logs,  laid  side  by  side,  served 
for  a  bridge  over  this  stream.  On  that  side  of  the  road 
where  the  brook  entered  the  wood,  a  group  of  oaks 
and  chestnuts,  matted  thick  with  wild  grape-vines, 
threw  a  cavernous  gloom  over  it.  To  pass  this  bridge, 
was  the  severest  trial.  It  was  at  this  identical  spot 
that  the  unfortunate  Andre  was  captured,  and  under 
the  covert  of  those  chestnuts  and  vines  were  the  sturdy 
yeomen  concealed  who  surprised  him.  This  has 
ever  since  been  considered  a  haunted  stream,  and 
fearful  are  the  fselings  of  a  school-boy  who  has  to 
pass  it  alone  after  dark. 

As  he  approached  the  stream,  his  heart  began  to 
thump ;  he  summoned  up,  however,  all  his  resolu- 
tion, gave  his  horse  half  a  score  of  kicks  in  the  ribs, 
and  attempted  to  dash  briskly  across  the  bridge  ;  but 
instead  of  starting  forward,  the  perverse  old  animal 
made  a  lateral  movement,  and  ran  broadside  against 
the  fence.  Ichabod,  whose  fears  increased  with  the 
delay,  jerked  the  reins  on  the  other  side,  and  kicked 
lustily  with  the  contrary  foot :  it  was  all  in  vain  ;  his 
steed  started,  it  is  true,  but  it  was  only  to  plunge  to 
the  op|)osite  side  of  the  road  into  a  thicket  of  bram- 
bles and  alder-bushes.  The  schoolmaster  now  be- 
stowed both  whip  and  heel  upon  the  starveling  ribs 
of  old  Gunpowder,  who  dashed  forwards,  snuffling 
and  snorting,  but  came  to  a  stand  just  by  the  bridge, 
with  a  suddenness  that  had  nearly  sent  his  rider 
sprawling  over  his  head.  Just  at  this  moment  a 
plashy  tramp  by  the  side  of  the  bridge  caught  the 
sensitive  ear  of  Ichabod.  In  the  dark  shadow  of  the 
grove,  on  the  margin  of  the  brook,  he  beheld  some- 
thing huge,  misshapen,  black  and  towering.  It 
stirred  not,  but  seemed  gathered  up  in  the  gloom, 
like  some  gigantic  monster  ready  to  spring  upon  the 
travelled. 

The  hair  of  the  affrighted  pedagogue  rose  upon 
his  head  with  terror.     What  was  to  be  done  ?     To 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,   Gent. 


97 


tum  and  fly  was  now  too  late;  and  besides,  what 
chance  was  there  of  escaping  ghost  or  goblin,  if  such 
it  was,  which  could  ride  upon  the  wings  of  the 
wind  ?  Summoning  up,  therefore,  a  show  of  courage, 
he  demanded  in  stammering  accents — "  Who  are 
you?"  He  received  no  reply.  He  repeated  his  de- 
mand in  a  still  more  agitated  voice.  Still  there  was 
no  answer.  Once  more  he  cudgelled  the  sides  of 
the  inflexible  Gunpowder,  and  shutting  his  eyes, 
broke  forth  with  involuntary  fervour  into  a  psalm 
tune.  Just  then  the  shadowy  object  of  alarm  put  it- 
self in  motion,  and  with  a  scramble  and  a  bound, 
stood  at  once  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  Though 
the  night  was  dark  and  dismal,  yet  the  form  of  the 
unknown  might  now  in  some  degree  be  ascertained. 
He  appeared  to  be  a  horseman  of  large  dimensions, 
and  mounted  on  a  black  horse  of  powerful  frame.  He 
made  no  offer  of  molestation  or  sociability,  but  kept 
aloof  on  one  side  of  the  road,  jogging  along  on  the 
blind  side  of  old  Gunpowder,  who  had  now  got  over 
his  fright  and  waywardness. 

Ichabod,  who  had  no  relish  for  this  strange  mid- 
night companion,  and  bethought  himself  of  the  ad- 
venture of  Brom  Bones  with  the  galloping  Hessian, 
now  quickened  his  steed,  in  hopes  of  leaving  him 
behind.  The  stranger,  however,  quickened  his  horse 
to  an  equal  pace.  Ichabod  pulled  up,  and  fell  into  a 
walk,  thinking  to  lag  behind — the  other  did  the  same. 
His  heart  began  to  sink  within  him  ;  he  endeavoured 
to  resume  his  psalm  tune,  but  his  parched  tongue 
clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth,  and  he  could  not 
utter  a  stave.  There  was  something  in  the  moody 
and  dogged  silence  of  this  pertinacious  companion, 
that  was  mysterious  and  appalling.  It  was  soon  fear- 
fully accounted  for.  On  mounting  a  rising  ground, 
which  brought  the  figure  of  his  fellow-traveller  in 
relief  against  the  sky,  gigantic  in  height,  and  muffled 
in  a  cloak,  Ichabod  was  horror-struck,  on  perceiving 
that  he  was  headless  !  but  his  horror  was  still  more 
increased,  on  observing  that  the  head,  which  should 
have  rested  on  his  shoulders,  was  carried  before  him 
on  the  pommel  of  his  saddle  !  His  terror  rose  to 
desperation  ;  he  rained  a  shower  of  kicks  and  blows 
upon  Gunpowder,  hoping,  by  a  sudden  movement, 
to  give  his  companion  the  slip — but  the  spectre  start- 
ed full  jump  with  him.  Away,  then,  they  dashed 
through  thick  and  thin  ;  stones  flying  and  sparks 
flashing  at  every  bound.  Ichabod's  flimsy  garments 
fluttered  in  the  air,  as  he  stretched  his  long  lank 
body  away  over  his  horse's  head,  in  the  eagerness  of 
his  flight. 

They  had  now  reached  the  road  which  turns  off 
to  Sleepy  Hollow ;  but  Gunpowder,  who  seemed 
possessed  with  a  demon,  instead  of  keeping  up  it, 
made  an  opposite  turn,  and  plunged  headlong  down 
hill  to  the  left.  This  road  leads  thro'igh  a  sandy 
hollow,  shaded  by  trees  for  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile, 
where  it  crosses  the  bridge  famous  in  goblin  story  ; 
and  just  beyond  swells  the  green  knoll  on  which 
stands  the  whitewashed  church. 

As  yet  the  panic  of  the  steed  had  given  his  unskil- 
ful rider  an  apparent  advantage  in  the  chase  ;  but 
just  as  he  had  got  half-way  through  the  hollow,  the 
girths  of  the  saddle  gave  way,  and  he  felt  it  slipping 
from  under  him  He  .seized  it  by  the  pommel,  and 
endeavoured  to  hold  it  firm,  but  in  vain  ;  and  had 
just  time  to  save  himself  by  clasjiing  old  Gunpowder 
round  the  neck,  when  the  saddle  lell  to  the  earth, 
and  he  heard  it  trampled  under  foot  by  his  pursuer. 
Fora  moment  the  terrorof  Hans  Van  Ripper's  wrath 
passed  across  his  mind^for  it  was  his  Sunday  saddle  ; 
but  this  was  no  time  for  petty  fears  :  the  goblin  was 
hard  on  his  haunches ;  and,  (unskilful  rider  that  he 
was  !)  he  had  much  ado  to  maintain  his  seal ;  some- 
times slipping  on  one  side,  sometimes  on  another,  and 


sometimes  jolted  on  the  high  ridge  of  his  horse's  back- 
Ijone,  with  a  violence  that  he  verily  feared  would 
cleave  him  asunder. 

An  opening  in  the  trees  now  cheered  him  with  the 
hopes  that  the  church  bridge  was  at  hand.  The 
wavering  reflection  of  a  silver  star  in  the  bosom  of 
the  brook  told  him  that  he  was  not  mistaken.  He 
saw  the  walls  of  the  church  dimly  glaring  under  the 
trees  beyond.  He  recollected  the  place  where  Brom 
Bones'  ghostly  competitor  had  disappeared.  "  If  I 
can  but  reach  that  bridge,"  thought  Ichabod,  "  I  am 
safe."  Just  then  he  heard  the  black  steed  panting 
and  blowing  close  behind  him  ;  he  even  fancied  that 
he  felt  his  hot  breath.  Another  convulsive  kick  in 
the  ribs,  and  old  Gunpowder  sprung  upon  the  bridge ; 
he  thundered  over  the  resounding  planks  ;  he  gained 
the  opposite  side,  and  now  Ichabod  cast  a  look  be- 
hind to  see  if  his  pursuer  should  vanish,  according  to 
rule,  in  a  flash  of  fire  and  brimstone.  Just  then  he 
saw  the  goblin  rising  in  his  stirrups,  and  in  the  very 
act  of  hurling  his  head  at  him.  Ichabod  endeav- 
oured to  dodge  the  horrible  missile,  but  too  late.  It 
encountered  his  cranium  with  a  tremendous  crash  — 
he  was  tumbled  headlong  into  the  dust,  and  Gun- 
powder, the  black  steed,  and  the  goblin  rider,  passed 
by  like  a  whirlwind. 

The  next  morning  the  old  horse  was  found  without 
his  saddle,  and  with  the  bridle  under  his  feet,  soberly 
cropping  the  grass  at  his  master's  gate.  Ichabod  did 
not  make  his  appearance  at  breakfast — dinner-hour 
came,  but  no  Ichabod.  The  boys  assembled  at  the 
school-house,  and  strolled  idly  about  the  banks  of  the 
brook  ;  but  no  schoolmaster.  Hans  Van  Ripper  now 
began  to  feel  some  uneasiness  about  the  fate  of  poor 
Ichabod,  and  his  saddle.  An  inquiry  was  set  on  foot, 
and  after  diligent  investigation  they  came  upon  his 
traces.  In  one  part  of  the  road  leading  to  the  church, 
was  found  the  saddle  trampled  in  the  dirt ;  the  tracks 
of  horses'  hoofs  deeply  dented  in  the  road,  and  evi- 
dently at  furious  speed,  were  traced  to  the  bridge, 
beyond  which,  on  the  bank  of  a  broad  part  of  the 
brook,  where  the  water  ran  deep  and  black,  was 
found  the  hat  of  the  unfortunate  Ichabod,  and  close 
beside  it  a  shattered  pumpkin. 

The  brook  was  searched,  but  the  body  of  the 
schoolmaster  w'as  not  to  be  discovered.  Hans  Van 
Ripper,  as  executor  of  his  estate,  examined  the  bun- 
dle which  contained  all  his  worldly  effects.  They 
consisted  of  two  shirts  and  a  half;  two  stocks  for  the 
neck  ;  a  pair  or  two  of  worsted  stockings  ;  an  old  pair 
of  corduroy  small-clothes  ;  a  rusty  razor  ;  a  book  of 
psalm  tunes  full  of  dog's  ears  ;  and  a  broken  pitch- 
pipe.  As  to  the  books  and  furniture  of  the  school- 
house,  they  belonged  to  the  community,  excepting 
Cotton  Mather's  History  of  Witchcraft,  a  New-En- 
gland Almanac,  and  a  book  of  dreams  and  fortune- 
telling;  in  which  last  was  a  sheet  of  foolscap  much 
scribbled  and  blotted,  by  several  fruitless  attempts  to 
make  a  copy  of  verses  in  honour  of  the  heiress  of 
Van  Tassel.  These  magic  books  and  the  poetic 
scrawl  were  forthwith  consigned  to  the  flames  by 
Hans  Van  Ripper;  who,  from  that  time  forward, 
determined  to  send  his  children  no  more  to  school ; 
observing  that  he  never  knew  any  good  come  of  this 
same  reading  and  writing.  Whatever  money  the 
schoolmaster  possessed,  and  he  had  received  his 
quarter's  pay  but  a  day  or  two  before,  he  must  have 
had  about  his  person  at  the  time  of  his  disappear- 
ance. 

The  mysterious  event  caused  much  speculation  at 
the  church  on  the  following  Sunday.  Knots  of  gazers 
and  gossips  were  collected  in  the  churchyard,  at  the 
bridge,  and  at  the  spot  where  the  hat  and  puinpkin 
had  been  found.  The  stories  of  Brouwer,  of  Bones, 
and  a  whole  budget  of  others,  were  called  to  mi.ul ; 


98 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


:ind  when  they  had  diligently  considered  them  all, 
and  compared  them  witii  the  symptoms  of  the  pres- 
ent case,  they  shook  their  heads,  and  came  to  the 
conclusion,  that  Ichabod  had  bsen  carried  off  by  the 
galloping-  Hessian.  As  he  was  a  bachelor,  and  in 
nobody's  debt,  nobody  troubled  his  head  any  more 
about  him  ;  the  school  was  removed  to  a  different 
quarter  of  the  Hollow,  and  another  pedagogue  reign- 
ed in  his  stead. 

It  is  true,  an  old  farmer,  who  had  been  down  to 
New-York  on  a  visit  several  years  after,  and  from 
whom  this  account  of  the  ghostly  adventure  was  re- 
ceived, brought  home  the  intelligence  that  Ichabod 
Crane  was  still  alive  ;  that  he  had  left  the  neighbour- 
hood partly  through  fear  of  the  goblin  and  Hans  Van 
Ripper,  and  partly  in  mortification  at  having  been 
suddenly  dismissed  by  the  heiress ;  that  he  had 
changed  his  quarters  to  a  distant  part  of  the  count^ry  ; 
had  kept  school  and  studied  law  at  the  same  time  ;  had 
been  admitted  to  the  bar;  turned  politician;  elec- 
tioneered ;  written  for  the  newspapers ;  and  finally, 
had  been  made  a  Justice  of  the  Ten  Pound  Court. 
Brom  Bones,  too,  who,  shortly  after  his  rival's  disap- 
pearance, conducted  the  blooming  Katrina  in  triumph 
to  the  altar,  was  observed  to  look  exceedingly  know- 
ing whenever  the  story  of  Ichabod  was  related,  and 
always  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  mention  of 
the  pumpkin ;  which  led  some  to  suspect  that  he  knew 
more  about  the  matter  than  he  chose  to  tell. 

The  old  country  wives,  however,  who  are  the  best 
judges  of  these  matters,  maintain  to  this  day,  that 
ichabod  was  spirited  away  by  supernatural  means  ; 
and  it  is  a  favourite  story  often  told  about  the  neigh- 
bourhood round  the  winter  evening  fire.  The  bridge 
became  more  than  ever  an  object  of  superstitious 
awe ;  and  that  may  be  the  reason  why  the  road  has 
been  altered  of  late  years,  so  as  to  approach  the 
church  by  the  border  of  the  mill-pond.  The  school- 
house  being  deserted,  soon  fell  to  decay,  and  was  re- 
ported to  be  haunted  by  the  ghost  of  the  unfortunate 
pedagogue;  and  the  plough-boy,  loitering  homeward 
of  a  still  summer  evening,  has  often  fancied  his  voice 
at  a  distance,  chanting  a  melancholy  psalm  tune 
among  the  tranquil  solitudes  of  Sleepy  Hollow. 


POSTSCRIPT, 

FOUND  IN  THE  HANDWRITING  OF  MR.  KNICKERBOCKER. 


The  preceding  Tale  is  given,  almost  in  the  precise 
words  in  which  I  heard  it  related  at  a  Corporation 
meeling  of  the  ancient  city  of  the  Manhattoes,*  at 
which  were  present  many  of  its  sagcst  and  most  illus- 
trious burghers  The  narrator  was  a  pleasant,  shabby, 
gentlemanly  old  fellow  in  pepper-and-salt  clothes,  with 
a  sadly  humorous  face  ;  and  one  whom  I  strongly 
suspected  of  being  poor — he  made  such  efforts  to  be 
entertaining.  When  his  story  was  concluded  there 
was  much  laughter  and  approbation,  particularly  from 
two  or  three  deputy  aldermen,  who  had  been  asleep 
the  greater  part  of  the  time.  There  was,  however,  one 
tall,  dry-looking  old  gentleman,  with  beetling  eye- 
brows, who  maintained  a  grave  and  rather  severe  face 
throughout ;  now  and  then  folding  his  arms,  inclining 
his  head,  and  looking  down  upon  the  floor,  as  if  turn- 
ing a  doubt  over  in  his  mind.  He  was  one  of  your 
wary  men.  who  never  laugh  but  upon  good  grounds — 
when  Ihey  have  reason  and  the  law  on  their  side. 
When  the  mirth  of  the  rest  of  ihc  company  had  sub- 
sided, and  silence  was  restored,  he  leaned  one  arm 
on    the   elbow  of  his  chair,  and   sticking   the  other 


•  New-Vork. 


a  kimbo.  demanded,  with  a  slight  but  exceedingly 
sage  motion  of  the  head,  and  contraction  of  the  brow, 
what  was  the  moral  of  the  story,  and  what  it  went  lo 
prove. 

The  story-teller,  who  was  just  putting  a  glass  of 
wine  to  his  lips,  as  a  refreshment  after  his  toils,  paused 
lor  a  moment,  looked  at  his  inquirer  with  an  air  of  in- 
finite deference,  and  lowering  the  glass  slowly  to  the 
table,  observed  that  the  story  was  intended  most  log- 
ically to  prove  : — 

"That  there  is  no  situation  in  life  but  has  its  advan- 
tages and  pleasures — provided  we  will  but  take  a  joke 
as  we  find  it : 

"That,  therefore,  he  that  runs  races  with  goblin 
troopers,  is  likely  to  have  rough  riding  of  it  : 

"  Ergo,  for  a  country  schoolmaster  to  be  refused  the 
hand  of  a  Dutch  heiress,  is  a  certain  step  to  high  pre- 
ferment in  the  state." 

The  cautious  old  gentleman  knit  his  brows  tenfold 
closer  after  this  explanation,  being  sorely  puzzled  by 
the  ratiocination  of  the  syllogism  ;  while,  melhought, 
the  one  in  pepper-and-salt  eyed  him  with  something 
of  a  triumpliant  leer.  At  length  he  observed,  that  all 
this  was  very  well,  but  still  he  thought  the  story  a  little 
on  the  extravagant  —  there  were  one  or  two  points 
on  which  he  h,ad  his  doubts  : 

"  Faith,  sir,"  replied  the  story-teller,  "  as  to  that  mat- 
ter, I  don't  believe  one-half  of  it  mvself." 

D.  K. 


L'ENVOy. 


Go,  little  booke.  God  send  thee  good  passage. 
And  specially  let  this  be  thy  prayere. 
Unto  them  all  that  thee  will  read  or  liear, 
Where  thou  art  wrong,  after  their  help  to  call, 
Thee  to  correct,  in  any  part  or  all.     ' 

Chaucer's  Bell  Dame  sans  Mercie. 

In  concluding  a  second  volume  of  the  Sketch- 
Book,  the  Author  cannot  but  express  his  deep  sense 
of  the  indulgence  with  which  his  first  has  been  re- 
ceived, and  of  the  liberal  disposition  that  has  been 
evinced  to  treat  him  with  kindness  as  a  stranger. 
Even  the  critics,  whatever  may  be  said  of  them  by 
others,  he  has  found  to  be  a  singularly  gentle  and 
good-natured  race ;  it  is  true  that  each  has  in  turn 
objected  to  soine  one  or  two  articles,  and  that  these 
individual  exceptions,  taken  in  the  aggregate,  would 
amount  almost  to  a  total  condemnation  of  his  work  ; 
but  then  he  has  been  consoled  by  observing,  that 
what  one  has  particularly  censured,  another  has  as 
particularly  praised  :  and  thus,  the  encomiums  being 
set  off  against  the  objections,  he  finds  his  work,  upon 
the  whole,  commended  far  beyond  its  deserts. 

He  is  aware  that  he  runs  a  risk  of  forfeiting  much 
of  this  kind  favour  by  not  following  the  counsel  that 
has  been  liberally  bestowed  upon  him  ;  for  where 
abundance  of  valuable  advice  is  given  gratis,  it  may 
seem  a  man's  own  fault  if  he  should  go  astray.  He 
only  can  say,  in  his  vindication,  that  he  faithfully 
determined,  for  a  time,  to  govern  himself  in  his 
second  volume  by  the  opinions  passed  upon  his  first ; 
but  he  was  soon  brought  to  a  stand  by  the  con- 
trariety of  excellent  counsel.  One  kindly  advised 
hiin  to  avoifl  the  ludicrous ;  another,  to  shun  the 
pathetic  ;  a  third  assured  him  that  he  was  tolerable 
at  description,  but  cautioned  him  to  leave  narrative 
alone ;  while  a  fourth  declared  that  he  had  a  very 
pretty  knack  at  turning  a  story,  and  was  really  enter- 
taining when  in  a  pensive  mood,  but  was  grievously 
mistaken  if  he  imagined  himself  to  possess  a  spark 
of  humour. 

Thus  perplexed  by  the  advice  of  his  friends,  who 
each  in  turn  closed  some  particular  path,  but  left 


THE   SKETCH-BOOK   OF   GEOFFREY   CRAYON,    Gent. 


99 


him  all  the  world  beside  to  range  in,  he  found  that 
to  follow  all  their  counsels  would,  in  fact,  be  to 
stand  still.  He  remained  for  a  time  sadly  embarass- 
ed  ;  when,  all  at  once,  the  thought  struck  him  to 
ramble  on  as  he  had  begun  ;  that  his  work  being 
miscellaneous,  and  written  for  different  humours,  it 
could  not  be  expected  that  any  one  would  be  pleased 
with  the  whole  ;  but  that  if  it  should  contain  some- 
thing to  suit  each  reader,  his  end  would  be  com- 
pletely answered.  Few  guests  sit  down  to  a  varied 
table  with  an  equal  appetite  for  every  dish.  One  has 
an  elegant  horror  of  a  roasted  pig  ;  another  holds  a 
curry  or  a  devil  in  utter  abomination  ;  a  third  cannot 
tolerate  the  ancient  flavour  of  venison  and  wild  fowl ; 
and  a  fourth,  of  truly  masculine  stomach,  looks  with 
sovereign  contempt  on  those  knicknacks,  here  and 
there  dished  up  for  the  ladies.  Thus  each  article  is 
condemned  in  its  turn  ;  and  yet,  am-.dst  this  variety 
o(  appetites,  seldom  does  a  dish  go  away  from  the 
table  without  being  tasted  and  relished  by  some  one 
or  other  of  the  guests. 

With  these  considerations  he  ventures  to  serve  up 
this  second  volume  in  the  same  heterogeneous  way 
with  his  first ;  simply  requesting  the  reader,  if  he 


should  find  here  and  there  something  to  please  him, 
to  rest  assured  that  it  was  written  expressly  for  in- 
telligent readers  like  himself;  but  entreating  him, 
should  he  find  any  thing  to  dislike,  to  tolerate  it,  as 
one  of  those  articles  which  the  Author  has  been 
obliged  to  write  for  readers  of  a  less  refined  taste. 

To  be  serious. — The  Author  is  conscious  of  the 
numerous  faults  and  imperfections  of  his  work  ;  and 
well  aware  how  little  he  is  disciplined  and  accom- 
plished in  the  arts  of  authorship.  His  deficiencies 
are  also  increased  by  a  diffidence  arising  from  his 
peculiar  situation.  He  finds  himself  writing  in  a 
strange  land,  and  appearing  before  a  public  which 
he  has  been  accustomed,  from  childhood,  to  regard 
with  the  highest  feelings  of  awe  and  reverence.  He 
is  full  of  solicitude  to  deserve  their  approbation,  yet 
finds  that  very  solicitude  continually  embarrassing 
his  powers,  and  depriving  him  of  that  ease  and  con- 
fidence which  are  necessary  to  successful  exertion. 
Still  the  kindness  with  which  he  is  treated  en- 
courages him  to  go  on,  hoping  that  in  time  he  may 
acquire  a  steadier  footing ;  and  thus  he  proceeds, 
half-ventiu"ing,  half-shrinking,  surprised  at  his  own 
good  fortune,  and  wondering  at  his  own  temerity. 


The  Alhambra 


A   SERIES  OF   TALES   AND   SKETCHES   OF   THE   MOORS   AND   SPANIARDS. 


DEDICATION. 
TO  DAVID  WILKIE,  ESQ.,  R.A. 


My  dear  Sir: — You  may  remember  that,  in  the 
course  of  the  rambles  we  once  took  together  about 
some  of  the  old  cities  of  Spain,  particularly  Toledo 
and  Seville,  we  frequently  remarked  the  mixture  of 
the  Saracenic  with  the  Gothic,  remaining  from  the 
time  of  the  Moors,  and  were  more  than  once  struck 
with  incidents  and  scenes  in  the  streets,  that  brought 
to  mind  passages  in  the  "Arabian  NMghts."  You 
then  urged  me  to  write  something  illustrative  of  these 
peculiarities;  "something  in  the  Haroun  Alraschid 
style,"  that  should  have  a  dash  of  that  Arabian  spice 
which  pervades  every  thing  in  Spain.  I  call  this  to 
mind  to  show  you  that  you  are,  in  some  degree,  re- 
sponsible for  the  present  work;  in  which  I  have  given 
3  few  "  Arabesque  "  sketches  and  tales,  taken  from  the 
life,  or  founded  on  local  traditions,  and  mostly  struck 
off  during  a  residence  in  one  of  the  most  legendarj' 
and  Morisco-Spanish  places  of  the  Peninsula. 

I  inscribe  this  work  to  you,  as  a  memorial  of  the 
pleasant  scenes  we  have  witnessed  together,  in  that 
land  of  adventure,  and  as  a  testimony  of  an  esteem 
for  your  worth,  which  can  only  be  exceeded  by  ad- 
miration of  your  talents. 

Your  friend  and  fellow  traveller. 
The  Author. 


THE  JOURNEY. 


In  the  spring  of  1829,  the  author  of  this  work, 
whom  curiosity  had  brought  into  Spain,  made  a 
rambling  expedition  from  Seville  to  Granada,  in 
company  with  a  friend,  a  member  of  the  Russian 
embassy  at  Madrid.  Accident  had  thrown  us  to- 
gether from  distant  regions  of  the  globe,  and  a  simi- 
larity of  taste  led  us  to  wander  together  among  the 
romantic  mountains  of  Andalusia.  Should  these 
pages  meet  his  eye,  wherever  thrown  by  the  duties 
of  his  station,  whether  mingling  in  the  pageantry  of 
courts  or  meditating  on  the  truer  glories  of  nature, 
may  they  recall  the  scenes  of  our  adventurous  com- 
jianionship,  and  with  them  the  remembrance  of  one, 
in  whom  neither  tiine  nor  distance  will  obliterate 
the  recollection  of  his  gentleness  and  worth. 

.•\rid  here,  before  setting  forth,  let  me  indulge  in  a 
f-w  previous  reitiarks  on  Spanish  scenery  and 
Spanish  travelling.  Many  are  apt  to  picture  Spain 
in  their  imaginations  as  a  soft  southern  region  decked 
out  with  all  the  luxuriant  charms  of  voluptuous  Italy. 
On  the  contrary,  though  there  are  exceptions  in  some 
of  the  maritime  provinces,  yet,  for  the  greater  part, 
it  is  a  stern,  melancholy  country,  with  rugged  moun- 
tains and  long,  naked,  sweeping  plains,  destitute  of 


trees,  and  invariably  silent  and  lonesome,  partaking 
of  the  savage  and  solitary  character  of  Africa.  What 
adds  to  this  silence  and  loneliness,  is  the  absence  of 
singing  birds,  a  natural  consequence  of  the  want  of 
groves  and  hedges.  The  vulture  and  the  eagle  are 
seen  wheeling  about  the  mountain  cliffs  and  soaring 
over  the  plains,  and  groups  of  shy  bustards  stalk 
about  the  heaths,  but  the  inyriads  of  smaller  birds, 
which  animate  the  whole  face  of  other  countries,  are 
met  with  in  but  few  provinces  of  Spain,  and  in  them 
chiefly  among  the  orchards  and  gardens  which  sur- 
!  round  the  habitations  of  man. 

In  the  exterior  provinces,  the  traveller  occasionally 

traverses  great  tracts  cultivated  with  grain  as  far  as 

the  eye  can  reach,  waving  at  times  with  verdure,  at 

other    times  naked    and   sun-burnt ;    but   he   looks 

round  in  vain  for  the  hand  that  has  tilled  the  soil  ; 

I  at  length  he  perceives  some  village  perched   on  a 

•  steep  hill,  or  rugged  crag,  with  mouldering  hattle- 

!  ments  and  ruined  watch-tower;   a  strong-hold,    in 

old  times,  against  civil  war  or  Moorish  inroad  ;  for 

the  custom    among  the  peasantry  of  congregating 

I  together  for  mutual  protection,  is  still  kept   up  in 

I  most  parts  of  Spain,  in  consequence  of  the  marau- 

ding  of  roving  freebooters. 

But  though  a  great  part  of  Spain  is  deficient  in 
the  garniture  of  groves  and  forests,  and  the  softer 
charms  of  ornamental  cultivation,  yet  its  scenery  has 
something  of  a  high  and  lotty  character  to  compen- 
sate the  want.  It  partakes  something  of  the  attri- 
butes of  its  people,  and  I  think  that  I  better  under- 
stand the  proud,  hardy,  frugal  and  abstemious  Span- 
iard, his  manly  defiance  of  hardships,  and  contempt 
of  effeininate  indulgences,  since  I  have  seen  the  coun- 
try he  inhabits. 

There  is  something,  too,  in  the  sternly  simple 
features  of  the  Spanish  landscape,  that  itnpresses  on 
the  soul  a  feeling  of  sublimity.  The  immense  plains 
of  the  Castiles  and  La  Mancha,  extending  as  far  as 
the  eye  can  reach,  derive  an  interest  from  their  very 
nakedness  and  immensity,  and  have  something  of  the 
solemn  grandeur  of  the  ocean.  In  ranging  over 
these  boundless  wastes,  the  eye  catches  sight,  here 
and  there,  of  a  s'raggling  herd  of  cattle  attended  by 
a  lonely  herdsman,  inotionless  as  a  statue,  with  his 
long  slender  pike  tapering  up  like  a  lance  into  the 
air  ;  or  beholds  a  long  train  of  mules  slowly  moving 
along  the  waste  like  a  train  of  camels  in  the  desert, 
or  a  single  herdsmen,  armed  with  blunderbuss  and 
stiletto,  and  prowling  over  the  plain.  Thus,  the 
country,  the  habits,  the  very  looks  of  the  people, 
have  something  of  the  Arabian  character.  The 
general  insecurity  of  the  countrj'  is  evinced  in  the 
universal  use  of  weapons.  The  herdsman  in  the 
field,  the  shepherd  in  the  plain  has  his  musket  and 
his  knife.  The  wealthy  villager  rarely  ventures  to 
the  market-town  without  his  trabucho  ;  and,  per- 
haps, a  ser\-ant  on  foot  with  a  blunderbuss  on  his 
shoulder  ;  and  the  most  petty  journey  is  undertaken 
with  the  preparations  of  a  warlike  enterprise. 

(101) 


Ipl 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


The:  (imgtts.of  the  rpad  produce,  also,  a  mode  of 
tr<H'e,Hirijf,;  reseinblln.ifi  .ori  a  diminutive  scale,  the 
caravans  of  the  liast.  The  arrieros  or  carriers,  con- 
gregate in  troops,  and  set  off  in  large  and  well- 
armi;d  trains  on  appointed  days,  while  individual 
travellers  swell  their  number  and  contribute  to  their 
strength.  In  this  primitive  way  is  the  commerce  of 
the  country  carried  on.  The  muleteer  is  the  general 
medium  of  traffic,  and  the  legitimate  wanderer  of 
the  land,  traversing  the  Peninsula  from  the  Pyrenees 
and  the  Asturias,  to  the  Alpuxarras,  the  Serrania  de 
Ronda,  and  even  to  the  gates  of  Gibraltar.  He  lives 
frugally  and  hardily  ;  his  alforjas  (or  saddle-bags,)  of 
coarse  cloth,  hold  his  scanty  stock  of  provisions  ;  a 
leathern  bottle  hanging  at  his  saddle-bow,  contains 
wine  or  water  for  a  supply  across  barren  mountains 
and  thirsty  plains  ;  a  mule  cloth  spread  upon  the 
ground  is  his  bed  at  night,  and  his  pack-saddle  is  his 
])illow.  His  low  but  clear-limbed  and  sinewy  form 
b;jtokens  strength  ;  his  complexion  is  dark  and  sun- 
burnt ;  his  eye  resolute,  but  quiet  in  its  expression, 
except  when  kindled  by  sudden  emotion  ;  his  de- 
meanour is  frank,  manly,  and  courteous,  and  he 
never  passes  you  without  a  grave  salutation — "  Dios 
guarda  h  usted  !  " — "  Vay  usted  con  Dios  cabal- 
lero  !  " — "  God  guard  you  1  " — "  God  be  with  you  ! 
cavalier!  " 

As  these  men  have  often  their  whole  fortune  at 
stake  upon  the  burden  of  their  mules,  they  have  their 
weapons  at  hand,  slung  to  their  saddles,  and  ready 
to  be  snatched  down  for  desperate  defence.  But 
their  united  numbers  render  them  secure  against 
petty  bands  of  marauders,  and  the  solitary  banda- 
iero,  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  mounted  on  his  An- 
dalusian  steed,  hovers  about  them,  like  a  pirate 
about  a  merchant  convoy,  without  daring  to  make 
an  assault. 

The  Spanish  muleteer  has  an  inexhaustible  stock 
of  songs  and  ballads,  with  which  to  beguile  his  in- 
cessant way-faring.  The  airs  are  rude  and  simple, 
consisting  of  but  few  inflexions.  These  he  chants  forth 
with  a  loud  voice,  and  long  drawling  cadence,  seated 
sideways  on  his  mule,  who  seems  to  listen  with  in- 
finite gravity,  and  to  keep  time  with  his  paces,  to 
the  tune.  The  couplets  thus  chanted  are  often  old 
traditional  romances  about  the  Moors  ;  or  some 
legend  of  a  saint  ;  or  some  love  ditty  ;  or,  what  is 
still  more  frequent,  some  ballad  about  a  bold  contra- 
bandista,  or  hardy  bandalero  ;  for  the  smuggler  and 
the  robber  are  poetical  heroes  among  the  common 
people  of  Spain.  Often  the  song  of  the  muleteer  is 
composed  at  the  instant,  and  relates  to  some  local 
scene,  or  some  incident  of  the  journey.  This  talent 
of  singing  and  improvising  is  frequent  in  Spain,  and 
is  said  to  have  been  inherited  from  the  Moors.  There 
is  something  wildly  pleasing  in  listening  to  these 
ditties  among  the  rude  and  lonely  scenes  they  illus- 
trate, accompanied  as  they  ars,  by  the  occasional 
jingle  of  the  mule-bell. 

It  has  a  most  picturesque  effect,  also,  to  meet  a 
train  of  muleteers  in  some  mountain  pass.  First 
you  hear  the  bells  of  the  leading  mules,  breaking 
with  their  simple  melody  the  stillness  of  the  airy 
height ;  or,  perhaps,  the  voice  of  the  muleteer  ad- 
monishing some  tardy  or  wandering  animal,  or 
xhanting,  at  the  full  stretch  of  his  lungs,  some  tra- 
ditionary ballad.  At  length  you  see  the  mules  slowly 
winding  along  the  cragged  defile,  sometimes  de- 
scending precipitous  cliffs,  so  as  to  present  them- 
selves in  .full  relief  against  the  sky,  sometimes  toiling 
up  the  deep  arid  chasms  below  you.  As  they  ap- 
pro.".ch,  you  descry  their  gay  decorations  of  worsted 
ituft;',  .tassels,  and  saddle-cloths ;  while,  as  they  pass 
by,  t  he  ever  ready  trabucho,  slung  behind  their  packs 
and  raddles,  gives  a  hint  of  the  insecurity  of  the  road. 


The  ancient  kingdom  of  Granada,  into  which  we 
are  about  to  penetrate,  is  one  of  the  most  moun- 
tainous regions  of  Spain.  Vast  sierras  or  chains 
of  mountains,  destitute  of  shrub  or  tree,  and  mottled 
with  variegated  marbles  and  granites,  elevate  their 
sun-burnt  summits  against  a  deep  blue  sky,  yet  in 
their  rugged  bosoms  He  engulfed  the  most  verdant 
and  fertile  valley,  where  the  desert  and  the  garden 
strive  for  mastery,  and  the  very  rock,  as  it  were,  com- 
pelled to  yield  the  fig,  the  orange,  and  the  citron, 
and  to  blossom  with  the  myrtle  and  the  rose. 

In  the  wild  passes  of  these  mountains,  the  sight  of 
walled  towns  and  villages  built  like  eagles'  nests 
among  the  cliffs,  and  surrounded  by  Moorish  battle- 
ments, or  of  ruined  watch-towers  perched  on  lofty 
peaks,  carry  the  mind  back  to  the  chivalrous  days  of 
Christian  and  Moslem  warfare,  and  to  the  romantic 
struggle  for  the  conquest  of  Granada.  In  traversing 
their  lofty  Sierras,  the  traveller  is  often  obliged  to 
alight  and  lead  his  horse  up  and  down  the  steep  and 
jagged  ascents  and  descents,  resembling  the  broken 
steps  of  a  staircase.  Sometimes  the  road  winds  along 
dizzy  precipices,  without  parapet  to  guard  him  from 
the  gulfs  below,  and  then  will  plunge  down  steep 
and  dark  and  dangerous  declivities.  Sometimes  it 
struggles  through  rugged  barrancos,  or  ravines,  worn 
by  water  torrents  ;  the  obscure  paths  of  the  Contra- 
bandista,  while  ever  and  anon,  the  ominous  cross, 
the  meinento  of  robbery  and  murder,  erected  on  a 
mound  of  stones  at  some  lonely  part  of  the  road, 
admonishes  the  traveller  that  he  is  among  the  haunts 
of  banditti  ;  perhaps,  at  that  very  moment,  under  the 
eye  of  some  lurking  bandalero.  Sometimes,  in  wind- 
ing through  the  narrow  valleys,  he  is  startled  by  a 
hoarse  bellowing,  and  beholds  above  him,  on  some 
green  fold  of  the  mountain  side,  a  herd  of  fierce  An- 
dalusian  bulls,  destined  for  the  combat  of  the  arena. 
There  is  something  awful  in  the  contemplation  of 
these  terrific  animals,  clothed  with  tremendous 
strength,  and  ranging  their  native  pastures,  in  un- 
tamed wildness  :  strangers  almost  to  the  face  of  man. 
They  know  no  one  but  the  solitary  herdsman  who 
attends  upon  them,  and  even  he  at  tirnes  dares  not 
venture  to  approach  them.  The  low  bellowings  of 
these  bulls,  and  their  menacing  aspect  as  they  look 
down  from  their  rocky  height,  give  additional  wild- 
ness to  the  savage  scenery  around. 

I  have  been  betrayed  unconsciously  into  a  longer 
disquisition  than  I  had  intended  on  the  several  fea- 
tures of  Spanish  travelling  ;  but  there  is  a  romance 
about  all  the  recollections  of  the  Peninsula  that  is 
dear  to  the  imagination. 

It  was  on  the  first  of  May  that  my  companion 
and  myself  set  forth  from  Seville,  on  our  route  to 
Granada.  We  had  made  all  due  preparations  for 
the  nature  of  our  journey,  which  lay  through  moun- 
tainous regions  where  the  roads  are  little  better  than 
mere  mule  paths,  and  too  frequently  beset  by  robbers. 
The  most  valuable  part  of  our  luggage  had  been  for- 
warded by  the  arrieros  ;  we  retained  merely  clothing 
and  necessaries  for  the  journey,  and  money  for  the 
expenses  of  the  road,  with  a  sufficient  surplus  of  the 
latter  to  satisfy  the  expectations  of  robbers,  should 
we  be  assailed,  and  to  save  ourselves  from  the  rough 
treatment  that  awaits  the  too  wary  and  emptyhanded 
traveller.  A  couple  of  stout  hired  steeds  were  pro- 
vided lor  ourselves,  and  a  third  for  our  scanty  luggage, 
and  for  the  conveyance  of  a  sturdy  Biscayan  lad  of 
about  twenty  years  of  age,  who  was  to  guide  us 
through  the  perplexed  mazes  of  the  mountain  roads, 
to  take  care  of  our  horses,  to  act  occasionally  as  our 
valet,  and  at  all  times  as  our  guard  ;  for  he  had  a 
formidable  trabucho,  or  carbine,  to  defend  us  from 
rateros,  or  solitary  footpads,  about  which  weapon  he 
made  much  vain-glorious  boast,  though,  to  the  dis- 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


103 


I 


credit  of  his  generalslii]),  I  must  say,  that  it  generally 
hung-  unloaded  behind  his  saddle.  He  was,  however, 
a  faithful,  cheery,  kind-hearted  creature,  full  of  saws 
and  proverbs  as  that  miracle  of  squires,  the  renowned 
Sancho  himself,  whose  name  we  bestowed  upon  him  ; 
and,  like  a  true  Spaniard,  though  treated  by  us  with 
companionable  familiarity,  he  never  for  a  moment  in 
his  utmost  hilarity,  outstripped  the  bounds  of  respect- 
ful decorum. 

Thus  equipped  and  attended,  we  set  out  on  our 
journey  with  a  genuine  dis])Osition  to  be  pleased : 
with  such  a  disposition,  what  a  country  is  Spain  for 
a  traveller,  where  the  most  miserable  inn  is  as  full 
of  adventure  as  an  enchanted  castle,  and  every  meal 
is  in  itself  an  achievement !  Let  others  repine  at  the 
lack  of  turnpike  roads  and  sumptuous  hotels,  and  all 
the  elaborate  comforts  of  a  country  cultivated  into 
tameness  and  common-place,  but  give  me  the  rude 
mountain  scramble,  the  roving  haphazard  way-faring, 
the  frank,  hospitable,  though  half  wild  manners,  that 
give  such  a  true  game  flavour  to  romantic  Spain  ! 

Our  first  evening's  entertainment  had  a  relish  of 
the  kind.  We  arrived  after  sunset  at  a  little  town 
among  the  hills,  after  a  fatiguing  journey  over  a 
wide  houseless  plain,  where  we  had  been  repeatedly 
drenched  with  showers.  In  the  inn  were  quartered 
a  party  of  Miguelistas,  who  were  patrolling  the  coun- 
try in  pursuit  of  robbers.  The  appearance  of  for- 
eigners like  ourselves  was  unusual  in  this  remote 
town.  Mine  host  with  two  or  three  old  gossipping 
comrades  in  brown  cloaks  studied  our  passports  in 
a  corner  of  the  posada,  while  an  Alguazil  took  notes 
by  the  dim  light  of  a  lamp.  The  passports  were  in 
foreign  languages,  and  perplexed  them,  but  our 
Squire  Sancho  assisted  them  in  their  studies,  and 
magnified  our  importance  with  the  grandiloquence 
of  a  Spaniard.  In  the  mean  time  the  magnificent 
distribution  of  a  few  cigars  had  won  the  hearts  of 
all  around  us.  In  a  little  while  the  whole  commu- 
nity seemed  put  in  agitation  to  make  us  welcome. 
The  Corregidor  himself  waited  upon  us,  and  a  great 
rush-bottomed  armed  chair  was  ostentatiously  bol- 
stered into  our  room  by  our  landlady,  for  the  accom- 
modation of  that  important  personage.  The  com- 
mander of  the  patrol  took  supper  with  us  :  a  surly, 
talking,  laughing,  swaggering  Andaluz,  who  had 
made  a  campaign  in  South  America,  and  recounted 
his  exploits  in  love  and  war  with  much  pomp  of 
praise  and  vehemence  of  gesticulation,  and  myste- 
rious rolling  of  the  eye.  He  told  us  he  had  a  list  of 
all  the  robbers  in  the  country,  and  meant  to  ferret 
out  every  mother's  son  of  them  ;  he  offered  us  at 
the  same  time  some  of  his  soldiers  as  an  escort. 
"  One  is  enough  to  protect  you,  Signers  ;  the  robbers 
know  me,  and  know  my  men ;  the  sight  of  one  is 
enough  to  spread  terror  through  a  whole  sierra." 
Wc  thanked  him  for  his  offer,  but  assured  him,  in 
his  own  strain,  that  with  the  protection  of  our  re- 
doubtable Squire  Sancho,  we  were  not  afraid  of  all 
the  ladrones  of  Andalusia. 

While  we  were  supping  with  our  Andalusian 
friend,  we  heard  the  notes  of  a  guitar  and  the  click 
of  castanets,  and  presently,  a  chorus  of  voices,  sing- 
-ing  a  popular  air.  In  fact,  mine  host  had  gathered 
,  together  the  amateur  singers  and  musicians  and  the 
rustic  belles  of  the  neighbourhood,  and  on  going 
forth,  the  court-yard  of  the  inn  presented  a  scene 
of  true  Spanish  festivity.  We  took  our  seats  with 
mine  host  and  hostess  and  the  commander  of  the 
patrol,  under  the  archway  of  the  court.  The  guitar 
passed  from  hand  to  hand,  but  a  jovial  shoemaker 
was  the  Orpheus  of  the  place.  He  was  a  pleasant 
looking  fellow  with  huge  black  whiskers  and  a  rogu- 
ish eye.  His  sleeves  were  rolled  up  to  his  elbows ; 
he  touched  the  guitar  with  masterly  skill,  and  sang 


little  amorous  ditties  with  an  expressive  leer  at  the 
women,  with  whom  he  was  evidently  a  favourite. 
He  afterwards  danced  a  fandango  with  a  buxom 
Andalusian  damsel,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  spec- 
tators. But  none  of  the  females  present  could  com- 
pare with  mine  host's  pretty  daughter  Josefa,  who 
had  slipped  away  and  made  her  toilette  for  the  occa- 
sion, and  had  adorned  her  head  with  roses  ;  and  also 
distinguished  herself  in  a  bolero  with  a  handsome 
young  dragoon.  We  had  ordered  our  host  to  let 
wine  and  refreshments  circulate  freely  among  the 
company,  yet,  though  there  was  a  motley  assem- 
blage of  soldiers,  muleteers  and  villagers,  no  one 
exceeded  the  bounds  of  sober  enjoyment.  The 
scene  was  a  study  for  a  painter :  the  picturesque 
group  of  dancers ;  the  troopers  in  their  half  militar}' 
dresses,  the  peasantry  wrapped  in  their  brown 
cloaks,  nor  must  I  omit  to  mention  the  old  meagre 
Alguazil  in  a  short  black  cloak,  who  took  no  notice 
of  any  thing  going  on,  but  sat  in  a  corner  diligently 
writing  by  the  dim  light  of  a  huge  copper  lamp  that 
might  have  figured  in  the  days  of  Don  Quixote. 

1  am  not  writing  a  regular  narrative,  and  do  not 
pretend  to  give  the  varied  events  of  several  days' 
rambling  over  hill  and  dale,  and  moor  and  moun- 
tain. We  travelled  in  true  contrabandista  style,  tak- 
ing every  thing,  rough  and  smooth,  as  we  found  it, 
and  mingling  with  nil  classes  and  conditions  in  a 
kind  of  vagabond  companionship.  It  is  the  true 
way  to  travel  in  Sfain.  Knowing  the  scanty  larders 
of  the  inns,  and  t^le  naked  tracts  of  country  the  trav- 
eller has  often  to  traverse,  we  had  taken  care,  on 
starting,  to  have  the  alforjas,  or  saddle-bags,  of  our 
Squire  well  stocked  with  cold  provisions,  and  his 
beta,  or  leathern  bottle,  which  was  of  portly  dimen- 
sions, filled  to  the  neck  with  choice  Valdepenas  wine. 
As  this  was  a  munition  for  our  campaign  more  im- 
portant than  even  his  trabucho,  wc  exhorted  him  to 
have  an  eye  to  it,  and  I  will  do  him  the  justice  to  say 
that  his  namcf.ake,  the  trencher-loving  Sancho  him- 
self, could  not  excel  him  as  a  provident  purveyor. 
Though  the  alforjas  and  beta  were  repeatedly  and 
vigorously  a?  sailed  throughout  the  journey,  they  ap- 
peared to  h.-ive  a  miraculous  property  of  being  never 
empty ;  for  our  vigilant  Squire  took  care  to  sack 
every  thing  that  remained  from  our  evening  repasts 
at  the  inns,  to  supply  our  next  day's  luncheon. 

What  luxurious  noontide  repasts  have  we  made  on 
the  green  sward  by  the  side  of  a  brook  or  fountain 
under  a  shady  tree,  and  then  what  delicious  siestas 
on  our  cloaks  spread  out  on  the  herbage  ! 

We  paused  one  day  at  noon,  for  a  repast  of  the 
kind.  It  was  in  a  pleasant  little  green  meadow,  sur- 
rounded by  hills  covered  with  olive  trees.  Our 
cloaks  were  spread  on  the  grass  under  an  elm  tree, 
by  the  side  of  a  babbling  rivulet :  our  horses  were 
tethered  where  they  might  crop  the  herbage,  and 
Sancho  produced  his  alforjas  with  an  air  of  triumph. 
They  contained  the  contributions  of  four  days'  jour- 
neying, but  had  been  signally  enriched  by  the  for- 
aging of  the  previous  evening,  in  a  plenteous  inn  at 
Antequera.  Our  Squire  drew  forth  the  heterogene- 
ous contents  one  by  one,  and  they  seemed  to  have 
no  end.  First  came  forth  a  shoulder  of  roasted  kid, 
very  little  the  worse  for  wear,  then  an  entire  par- 
tridge, then  a  great  morse!  of  salted  codfish  wrapped 
in  paper,  then  the  residue  of  a  ham,  then  the  half  ot 
a  pullet,  together  with  several  rolls  of  bread  and  a 
rabble  route  of  oranges,  figs,  raisins,  and  walnuts. 
His  beta  also  had  been  recruited  with  some  excel- 
lent wine  of  Malaga.  At  every  fresh  apparition  from 
his  larder,  he  could  enjoy  our  ludicrous  surprise, 
throwing  himself  back  on  the  grass  and  shouting 
with  laughter. 

Nothing  pleased  this  simple-hearted  varlet  more 


104 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


than  to  be  compared,  for  his  devotion  to  the  trencher, 
to  the  renowned  squire  of  Don  Quixote.  He  was 
well  versed  in  the  history  of  the  Don,  and,  lil<e  most 
of  the  common  people  of  Spain,  he  firmly  believed  it 
to  be  a  true  history. 

"  All  that,  however,  happened  a  long  time  ag^o, 
Signor,"  said  he  to  me,  one  day,  with  an  inquiring 
look. 

"  A  very  long  time,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  dare  say,  more  than  a  thousand  years?" — still 
looking  dubiously. 

"  1  dare  say.'  not  less." 

The  squire  was  satisfied. 

As  we  were  making  our  repast  above  described, 
and  diverting  ourselves  with  the  simple  drollery  of 
our  squire,  a  solitary  beggar  approached  us,  who 
had  almost  the  look  of  a  pilgrim.  He  was  evidently 
very  old,  with  a  gray  beard,  and  supported  himself 
on  a  staff,  yet  age  had  not  borne  him  down  ;  he  was 
tall  and  erect,  and  had  the  wreck  of  a  fine  form. 
He  wore  a  round  Andalusian  hat,  a  sheepskin  jacket, 
and  leathern  breeches,  gaiters,  and  sandals.  His 
dress,  though  old  and  patched,  was  decent,  his  de- 
meanour manly,  and  he  addressed  us  witli  that  grave 
courtesy  that  is  to  be  reinarked  in  the  lowest  Span- 
iard. We  were  in  a  favourable  mood  for  such  a  vis- 
itor, and  in  a  freak  of  capricious  charity  gave  him 
some  silver,  a  loaf  of  fine  wheaten  bread,  and  a  gob- 
let of  our  choice  wine  of  iMalaga.  He  received  them 
thankfully,  but  without  any  grovelling  tribute  of  grat- 
itude. Tasting  the  wine,  he  held  it  up  to  the  light, 
with  a  slight  beam  of  surprise  in  his  eye  ;  then  quaff- 
ing it  off  at  a  draught :  "  It  is  many  years,"  said  he, 
"since  I  have  tasted  such  wine.  It  is  a  cordial  to 
an  old  man's  heart."  Then  looking  at  the  beautiful 
wheaten  loaf;  "  Bendita  sea  tal  pan!"  (blessed  be 
such  bread  !)  So  saying,  he  put  it  in  his  wallet.  We 
urged  him  to  eat  it  on  the  spot.  "  No,  Signors,"  re- 
plied he,  "  the  wine  I  had  to  drink,  or  leave  ;  but  the 
bread  I  must  take  home  to  share  with  my  family." 

Our  man  Sancho  sought  our  eye,  and  reading  per- 
mission there,  gave  the  old  man  some  of  the  ample 
fragments  of  our  repast ;  on  condition,  however,  that 
he  should  sit  down  and  make  a  meal.  He  accord- 
ingly took  his  seat  at  some  little  distance  from  us, 
and  began  to  eat,  slowly,  and  with  a  sobriety  and 
decorum  that  would  have  become  a  hidalgo.  There 
was  altogether  a  measured  manner  and  a  quiet  self- 
possession  about  the  old  man  that  made  me  think 
he  had  seen  better  days ;  his  language,  too,  though 
simple,  had  occasionally  something  picturesque  and 
almost  poetical  in  the  phraseology.  I  set  him  down 
for  some  broken-down  cavalier.  I  was  mistaken,  it 
was  nothing  but  the  innate  courtesy  of  a  Spaniard, 
and  the  poetical  turn  of  thought  and  language  often 
to  be  found  in  the  lowest  classes  of  this  clear-witted 
l>eople.  For  fifty  years,  he  told  us,  he  had  been  a 
shepherd,  but  now  he  was  out  of  employ,  and  desti- 
tute. "  When  I  was  a  young  man,"  said  he,  "  noth- 
ing could  harm  or  trouble  me.  I  was  always  well, 
always  gay ;  but  now  I  am  seventy-nine  years  of  age, 
and  a  beggar,  and  my  heart  begins  to  fail  me." 

Still  he  was  not  a  regular  mendicant,  it  was  not 
until  recently  that  want  had  driven  him  to  this  de- 
gradation, and  he  gave  a  touching  picture  of  the 
struggle  between  hunger  and  pride,  when  abject  des- 
titution first  came  upon  him.  He  was  returning 
from  Malaga,  without  money  ;  he  had  not  tasted 
food  for  some  time,  and  was  crossing  one  of  the 
great  plains  of  Spain,  where  there  were  but  few  hab- 
itations. When  almost  dead  with  hunger,  he  ap- 
plied at  the  door  of  a  venta,  or  country  inn.  "  Per- 
dona  usted  per  Dios  hermano  !  "  (excuse  us,  brother, 
for  God's  sake  !)  was  the  reply ; — the  usual  mode  in 
Spain  of  refusing  a  beggar.     "  1  turned  away,"  said 


he,  "  with  shame  greater  than  my  hunger,  for  my 
heart  was  yet  too  proud.  I  came  to  a  river  with 
high  banks  and  deep  rapid  current,  and  felt  tempted 
to  throw  myself  in ;  what  should  such  an  old  worth- 
less wretched  man  as  I  live  for !  But,  when  I  was 
on  the  brink  of  the  current,  I  thought  on  the  blessed 
Virgin,  and  turned  away.  I  travelled  on  until  1  saw 
a  country-seat,  at  a  little  distance  from  the  road,  and 
entered  the  outer  gate  of  the  court-yard.  The  door 
was  shut,  but  there  were  two  young  signoras  at  a 
window.  I  approached,  and  begged :  '  Perdona 
usted  per  Dios  hermano  ! '  (excuse  us,  brother,  for 
God's  sake  !)  and  the  window  closed.  I  crept  out  of 
the  court-yard ;  but  hunger  overcame  me,  and  my 
heart  gave  way.  I  thought  my  hour  was  at  hand. 
So  I  laid  myself  down  at  the  gate,  commended  my- 
self to  the  holy  Virgin,  and  covered  my  head  to  die. 
In  a  little  while  afterwards,  the  master  of  the  house 
came  home.  Seeing  me  lying  at  his  gate,  he  un- 
covered my  head,  had  pity  on  my  gray  hairs,  took 
me  into  his  house  and  gave  me  food.  So,  Signors, 
you  see  that  we  should  always  put  confidence  in  the 
protection  of  the  Virgin." 

The  old  man  was  on  his  way  to  his  native  place 
Archidona,  which  was  close  by  the  summit  of  a 
steep  and  rugged  mountain.  He  pointed  to  the  ru- 
ins of  its  old  Moorish  castle.  That  castle,  he  said, 
was  inhaliited  by  a  Moorish  king  at  the  time  of  the 
wars  of  Granada.  Queen  Isabella  invaded  it  with  a 
great  army,  but  the  king  looked  down  from  his  cas- 
tle among  the  clouds,  and  laughed  her  to  scorn. 
Upon  this,  the  Virgin  appeared  to  the  queen,  and 
guided  her  and  her  army  up  a  mysterious  path  of  the 
mountain,  which  had  never  before  been  known. 
When  the  Moor  saw  her  coming,  he  was  astonished, 
and  springing  with  his  horse  from  a  precipice,  was 
dashed  to  pieces.  The  marks  of  his  horse's  hoofs, 
said  the  old  man,  are  to  be  seen  on  the  margin  of  the 
rock  to  this  day.  And  see,  Signors,  yonder  is  the 
road  by  which  the  queen  and  her  army  mounted ; 
you  see  it  like  a  riband  up  the  mountain  side;  but 
the  miracle  is,  that,  though  it  can  be  seen  at  a  dis- 
tance, when  you  come  near,  it  disappears.  The  ideal 
road  to  which  he  pointed,  was  evidently  a  sandy  ra- 
vine of  the  mountain,  which  looked  narrow  and  de- 
fined at  a  distance,  but  became  broad  and  indistinct 
on  an  approach.  As  the  old  man's  heart  warmed 
with  wine  and  wassail,  he  went  on  to  tell  us  a  story  of 
the  buried  treasure  left  under  the  earth  by  the  Moor- 
ish king.  His  own  house  was  next  to  the  Ibunda- 
tions  of  the  castle.  The  curate  and  notary  dreamt 
three  times  of  the  treasure,  and  went  to  work  at  the 
place  pointed  out  in  their  dreams.  His  own  son-in- 
law  heard  the  sound  of  their  pick-axes  and  spades  at 
night.  What  they  found  nobody  knows  ;  they  be- 
came suddenly  ricli,  but  kept  their  own  secret.  Thus 
the  old  man  had  once  been  next  door  to  fortune,  but 
was  doomed  never  to  get  under  the  same  roof. 

1  have  remarked  that  the  stories  of  treasure  buried 
by  the  Moors,  which  prevail  throughout  Spain,  are 
most  current  among  the  poorest  people.  It  is  thus 
kind  nature  consoles  with  shadows  for  the  lack  of 
substantials.  The  thirsty  man  dreams  of  fountains 
and  roaring  streams,  the  hungry  man  of  ideal 
banquets,  and  the  poor  man  of  heaps  of  hidden 
gold ;  nothing  certainly  is  more  magnificent  than 
the  i?iiagination  of  a  beggar. 

The  last  travelling  sketch  which  I  shall  give  is  a 
curious  scene  at  the  little  city  of  Loxa.  This  was  a 
famous  belligerent  frontier  post,  in  the  time  of  the 
Moors,  and  repulsed  Ferdinand  from  its  walls.  It 
was  the  strong-hold  of  old  Ali  Atar,  the  father-in-law 
of  Boabdil,  when  that  fiery  veteran  sallied  forth  with 
hL")  son-in-law,  on  that  disastrous  inroad,  that  ended 
in  the  death  of  the  chieftain,  and  the  capture  of  the 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


105 


monarch.  Loxa  is  wildly  situated  in  a  broken 
mountain  pass,  on  the  bani<s  of  the  Xenil,  among 
rocks  and  groves,  and  meadows  and  gardens. 
The  people  seem  still  to  retain  the  bold  fiery  spirit 
of  the  olden  time.  Our  inn  was  suited  to  the  place. 
It  was  kept  by  a  young,  handsome,  Andalusian 
widow,  whose  trim  busquina  of  black  silk  fringed 
with  bugles,  set  off  the  play  of  a  graceful  form, 
and  round  pliant  limbs.  Her  step  was  firm  and 
elastic,  her  dark  eye  was  full  of  fire,  and  the 
coquetry  of  her  air,  and  varied  ornaments  of  her 
person  showed  that  she  was  accustomed  to  be 
admired. 

She  was  well  matched  by  a  brother,  nearly  about 
her  own  age  ;  they  were  perfect  models  of  the  An- 
dalusian majo  and  maja.  He  was  tall,  vigorous,  and 
well  formed,  with  a  clear,  olive  complexion,  a  dark 
beaming  eye,  and  curling,  chestnut  whiskers,  that 
met  under  his  chin.  He  was  gallantly  dressed  in  a 
short  green  velvet  jacket,  fitted  to  his  shape,  pro- 
fusely decorated  with  silver  buttons,  with  a  white 
handkerchief  in  each  pocket.  He  had  breeches  of 
the  same,  with  rows  of  buttons  from  the  hips  to 
the  knees  ;  a  pink  silk  handkerchief  round  his  neck, 
gathered  through  a  ring,  on  the  bosom  of  a  neatly 
plaited  shirt ;  a  sash  round  the  waist  to  match ;  bot- 
tinas  or  spatterdashes  of  the  finest  russet  leather, 
elegantly  worked  and  open  at  the  calves  to  show 
his  stockings,  and  russet  shoes  setting  off  a  v.ell- 
shaped  foot. 

As  he  was  standing  at  the  door,  a  horseman  rode 
up  and  entered  into  low  and  earnest  conversation 
with  him.  He  was  dressed  in  similar  style,  and 
almost  with  equal  finery.  A  man  about  thirty, 
square  built,  with  strong  Roman  features,  hand- 
some, though  slightlv  i)itted  wilh  the  small-pox, 
with  a  free,  bold  and  somewhat  daring  air.  His 
powerful  black  horse  was  decorated  with  tassels 
and  fanciful  trappings,  and  a  couple  of  broad-mouth- 
ed blunderbusses  hung  behind  ttie  saddle.  He  had 
the  air  of  those  contrabandistas  that  I  have  seen  in 
the  mountains  of  Ronda,  and,  evidently,  had  a  good 
understanding  with  the  brother  of  mine  hostess ; 
nay,  if  I  mistake  not,  he  was  a  favourite  admirer  of 
the  widow.  In  fact,  the  whole  inn  and  its  inmates 
had  something  of  a  contrabandista  aspect,  and  the 
blunderbuss  stood  in  a  corner  beside  the  guitar. 
The  horseman  I  have  mentioned,  passed  his  evening 
in  the  posada,  and  sang  several  bold  mountain  ro- 
mances with  great  spirit. 

As  we  were  at  supper,  two  poor  Asturians  put  in 
in  distress,  begging  food  and  a  night's  lodging. 
They  had  been  waylaid  by  robbers  as  they  came 
from  a  fair  among  the  mountains,  robbed  of  a  horse, 
which  carried  all  their  stock  in  trade,  stripped  of 
their  money  and  most  of  their  apparel,  beaten  for 
having  offered  resistance,  and  left  almost  naked  in 
the  road.  My  companion,  with  a  prompt  generosity, 
natural  to  him,  ordered  them  a  supper  and  a  bed, 
and  gave  them  a  supply  of  money  to  help  them  for- 
ward towards  their  home, 

As  the  evening  advanced,  the  dramatis  personas 
thickened.  A  large  man,  about  sixty  years  of  age, 
of  powerful  frame,  came  strolling  m,  to  gossip  with 
mine  hostess.  He  was  dressed  in  the  ordinary  An- 
dalusian costume,  but  had  a  huge  sabre  tucked 
under  his  arm,  wore  large  moustaches  and  had 
something  of  a  lofty  swaggering  air.  Every  one 
seemed  to  regard  him  with  great  deference. 

Our  man,  Sancho,  whispered  to  us  that  he  was 
Don  Ventura  Rodriguez,  the  hero  and  champion  of 
Loxa,  famous  for  his  prowess  and  the  strength  of  his 
arm.  In  the  time  of  the  French  invasion,  he  sur- 
prised six  troopers  who  were  asleep.  He  first 
secured  their  horses,  then  attacked  them  with  his 


sabre ;  killed  some,  and  took  the  rest  prisoners. 
For  this  exploit,  the  king  allows  him  a  peceta,  (the 
fifth  of  a  duro,  or  dollar,)  per  day,  and  has  dignified 
him  wilh  the  title  of  Don. 

1  was  amused  to  notice  his  swelling  language 
and  demeanour.  He  was  evidently  a  thorough 
Andalusian,  boastful  as  he  was  brave.  His  sabre 
was  always  in  his  hand,  or  under  his  arm.  He  car- 
ries it  always  about  with  him  as  a  child  does  a 
doll,  calls  it  his  Santa  Teresa,  and  says,  that 
when  he  draws  it,  "  tembla  la  tierra  !  "  (the  earth 
trembles !) 

I  sat  until  a  late  hour  listening  to  the  varied 
themes  of  this  motley  groupe,  who  mingled  toge- 
ther with  the  unreserve  of  a  Spanish  posada.  We 
had  contrabandista  songs,  stories  of  robbers,  gue- 
rilla exploits,  and  Moorish  legends.  The  last  one 
from  our  handsome  landlady,  who  gave  a  poeti- 
cal account  of  the  infiernos,  or  infernal  regions 
of  Loxa  —  dark  caverns,  in  which  subterraneous 
streams  and  waterfalls  make  a  mysterious  sound. 
The  common  people  say  they  are  money  coiners, 
shut  up  there  from  the  time  of  the  Moors,  and  that 
the  Moorish  kings  kept  their  treasures  in  these 
caverns. 

Were  it  the  purport  of  this  work,  I  could  fill  its 
pages  with  the  incidents  and  scenes  of  our  ram- 
bling expedition,  but  other  themes  invite  me.  Jour- 
neying in  this  manner,  we  at  length  emerged  from 
the  mountains,  and  entered  upon  the  beautiful 
Vega  of  Granada.  Here  we  took  our  last  mid- 
day's repast  under  a  grove  of  olive  trees,  on  the 
borders  of  a  rivulet,  with  the  old  Moorish  capital 
in  the  distance,  dominated  by  the  ruddy  towers  of 
the  Alhambra,  while  far  above  it  the  snowy  sum- 
mits of  the  Sierra  Nevada  shone  like  silver.  The 
day  was  without  a  cloud,  and  the  heat  of  the  sun 
tempered  by  cool  breezes  from  the  mountains ;  af- 
ter our  repast,  we  spread  our  cloaks  and  took  our 
last  siesta,  lulled  by  the  humming  of  bees  among 
the  flowers,  and  the  notes  of  the  ring  doves  from 
the  neighbouring  olive  trees.  When  the  sultry  hours 
were  past,  we  resumed  our  journey,  and  after  pass- 
ing between  hedges  of  aloes  and  Indian  figs,  and 
through  a  wilderness  of  gardens,  arrived  about  sun- 
set at  the  gates  of  Granada. 


GOVERNMENT  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


To  the  traveller  imbued  with  a  feeling  for  the  his- 
torical and  poetical,  the  Alhambra  of  Gr-^nada  is  as 
much  an  object  of  veneration  as  is  the  Caaba,  or 
sacred  house  of  Mecca,  to  all  true  Moslem  pilgrims. 
How  many  legends  and  traditions,  true  and  fabulous, 
how  many  songs  and  romances,  Spanish  and  Ara- 
bian, of  love  and  war  and  chivalry,  are  associated 
with  this  romantic  pile  !  The  reader  may  judge, 
therefore,  of  our  delight,  when,  shortly  after  our  ar- 
rival in  Granada,  the  governor  of  Alhambra  gave  us 
permission  to  occupy  his  vacant  apartments  in  the 
Moorish  palace.  My  companion  was  soon  sum 
moned  away  by  the  duties  of  his  station,  but  I  re- 
mained for  several  months  spell-bound  in  the  old 
enchanted  pile.  The  following  papers  are  the  re- 
sult of  my  reveries  and  researches,  during  that  de- 
licious thraldom.  If  they  have  the  power  of  im- 
parting any  of  the  witching  charms  of  the  place  to 
the  im.agination  of  the  reader,  he  will  not  repine 
at  lingering  with  me  for  a  season  in  the  legendary 
halls  of  the  Alhambra. 

The  Alhambra  is  an  ancient  fortress  or  castel- 
lated  palace    of   the   Moorish   kings   of   Granada, 


1C6 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


where  they  held  dominion  over  this  their  boasted 
terrestrial  paradise,  and  made  their  last  stand  for 
empire  in  Spain.  The  palace  occupies  but  a  por- 
tion of  the  fortress,  the  walls  of  which,  studded 
with  towers,  stretch  irregularly  round  the  whole 
crest  of  a  lofty  hill  that  overloo!<s  the  city,  and 
forms  a  spire  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or  Snowy 
Mountain. 

In  the  time  of  the  Moors,  the  fortress  was  capa- 
ble of  containing  an  army  of  forty  thousand  men 
within  its  precincts,  and  served  occasionally  as  a 
strong-hold  of  the  sovereigns  against  their  rebel- 
lious subjects.  After  the  kingdom  had  passed  into 
the  hands  of  the  Christians,  the  Alhambra  con- 
tinued a  royal  demesne,  and  was  occasionally  in- 
habited by  the  Castilian  monarchs.  The  Emperor 
Charles  V.  began  a  sumptuous  palace  within  its 
walls,  but  was  deterred  from  completing  it  by 
repeated  shocks  of  earthquakes.  The  last  royal 
residents  were  Pliilip  V.  and  his  beautiful  Queen 
Elizabetta,  of  Parma,  early  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury. 

Great  preparations  were  made  for  their  recep- 
tion. The  palace  and  gardens  were  placed  in  a 
state  of  repair ;  and  a  new  suite  of  apartments 
erected,  and  decorated  by  artists  brought  from 
Italy.  The  sojourn  of  the  sovereigns  was  transient ; 
and,  after  their  departure,  the  palace  once  more 
became  desolate.  Still  the  place  was  maintained 
with  some  military  state.  The  governor  held  it 
immediately  from  the  crown  :  its  jurisdiction  ex- 
tended down  into  the  suburbs  of  the  city,  and  was 
independent  of  the  captain  general  of  Granada.  A 
considerable  garrison  was  kept  up  ;  the  governor 
had  his  apartments  in  the  old  Moorish  palace,  and 
never  descended  into  Granada  without  some  mili- 
tary parade.  The  fortress,  in  fact,  was  a  little  town 
of  itself,  h.aving  several  streets  of  houses  within  its 
walls,  together  with  a  Franciscan  convent  and  a 
parochial  church. 

The  desertion  of  the  court,  however,  was  a  fatal 
blow  to  the  Alhambra.  Its  beautiful  walls  became 
desolate,  and  some  of  them  fell  to  ruin  ;  the  gar- 
dens were  destroyed,  and  the  fountains  ceased  to 
play.  By  degrees  the  dwellings  became  filled  up 
with  a  loose  and  lav.'less  population  ;  contrabandis- 
tas,  who  availed  themselves  of  its  independent  ju- 
risdiction, to  carry  on  a  wide  and  daring  course  of 
smuggling,  and  thieves  and  rogues  of  all  sorts,  who 
made  this  their  place  of  refuge,  from  whence  they 
might  depredate  upon  Granada  and  its  vicinity. 
The  strong  arm  of  government  at  length  interposed. 
The  whole  community  was  thoroughly  sifted  ;  none 
were  suffered  to  remain  but  such  as  were  of  honest 
character  and  had  legitimate  right  to  a  residence ; 
the  greater  part  of  the  houses  were  demolished, 
and  a  mere  hamlet  left,  with  the  parochial  church 
and  the  Franciscan  convent. 

During  the  recent  troubles  in  Spain,  when  Gra- 
nada was  in  the  hands  of  the  French,  the  Alham- 
bra was  garrisoned  by  their  troops,  and  the  palace 
was  occasionally  inhabited  by  the  French  comman- 
der. With  that  enlightened  taste  which  has  ever 
distinguished  the  French  nation  in  their  conquests, 
this  monument  of  Moorish  elegance  and  grandeur 
was  rescued  from  the  absolute  ruin  and  desolation 
that  were  overwhelming  it.  The  roofs  were  re- 
paired, the  saloons  and  galleries  protected  from 
the  weather,  the  gardens  cultivated,  the  water- 
courses restored,  the  fountains  once  more  made  to 
throw  up  their  sparkling  showers  :  and  Spain  may 
thank  her  invaders  for  having  preserved  to  her  the 
most  beautiful  and  interesting  of  her  historical  mon- 
uments. 
On  the  departure  of  the  French,  they  blew  up 


several  towers  of  the  outer  wall,  and  left  the  fortifi- 
cations scarcely  tenable.  Since  that  time,  the  mili- 
tary importance  of  the  post  is  at  an  end.  The  gar- 
rison is  a  handful  of  invalid  soldiers,  whose  princi- 
pal duty  is  to  guard  some  of  the  outer  towers, 
which  serve,  occasionally,  as  a  prison  of  state  ;  and 
the  governor,  abandoning  the  lofty  hill  of  the  Alham- 
bra, resides  in  the  centre  of  Granada,  for  the  more 
convenient  despatch  of  his  official  duties.  I  can- 
not conclude  this  brief  notice  of  the  state  of  the 
fortress,  without  bearing  testimony  to  the  honour- 
able exertions  of  its  present  commander,  Don  Fran- 
cisco de  Sails  Serna,  who  is  tasking  all  the  limited 
resources  at  his  coinmand,  to  put  the  palace  in  a 
state  of  repair;  and  by  his  judicious  precautions 
has  for  some  time  arrested  its  too  certain  decay. 
Had  his  predecessors  discharged  the  duties  of  their 
station  with  equal  fidelity,  the  Alhambra  might  yet 
have  remained  in  almost  its  pristine  beauty  ;  were 
government  to  second  him  with  means  equal  to  his 
zeal,  this  edifice  might  still  be  preserved  to  adorn  the 
land,  and  to  attract  the  curious  and  enlightened  ot 
every  clime,  for  many  generations. 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA, 


The  Alhambra  has  been  so  often  and  so  minutely 
described  by  travellers,  that  a  mere  sketch  will 
probably  be  sufficient  for  the  reader  to  refresh  his 
recollection ;  I  will  give,  therefore,  a  brief  account 
of  our  visit  to  it  the  morning  after  our  arrival  in 
Granada. 

Leaving  our  posada  of  La  Espada,  we  traversed 
the  renowned  square  of  the  Vivarrambla,  once  the 
scene  of  Moorish  jousts  and  tournaments,  now  a 
crowded  market  place.  From  thence  we  proceeded 
along  the  Zacatin,  the  main  street  of  what  was  the 
great  Bazaar,  in  tlie  time  of  the  Moors,  where  the 
small  shops  and  narrow  alleys  still  retain  their  Ori- 
ental character.  Crossing  an  open  place  in  front 
of  the  palace  of  the  captain-general,  we  ascended  a 
confined  and  winding  .street,  the  name  of  which 
reminded  us  of  the  chivalric  days  of  Granada.  It 
is  called  the  Calle,  or  street  of  the  Gomeres  :  from  a 
Moorish  family,  famous  in  chronicle  and  song.  This 
street  led  up  to  a  mansion  gateway  of  Grecian  archi- 
tecture, built  by  Charles  V.,  forming  the  entrance  to 
the  domains  of  the  Alhambra. 

At  the  gate  were  two  or  three  ragged  and  super- 
annuated soldiers  dozing  on  a  stone  bench,  the  suc- 
cessors of  the  Zegris  and  the  Abencerrages  ;  while 
a  tall,  meagre  varlet,  whose  rusty  brown  cloak  was, 
evidently,  intended  to  conceal  the  ragged  state  of 
his  nether  garments,  was  lounging  in  the  sunshine, 
and  gossipping  with  an  ancient  sentinel,  on  duty.  He 
joined  us  as  we  entered  the  gate,  and  offered  his 
services  to  show  us  the  fortress. 

I  have  a  traveller's  dislike  to  officious  ciceroni,  and 
did  not  altogether  like  the  garb  of  the  applicant : 

"  You  are  well  acquainted  with  the  place,  1  pre- 
sume ?  " 

"  Ninguno  mas — pues,  sefior,  soy  hijo  de  la  Al- 
hambra." 

(Nobody  better — in  fact,  sir,  I  am  a  son  of  the 
Alhambra.) 

The  common  Spaniards  have  certainly  a  most 
poetical  way  of  expressing  themselves — "  A  son  of 
the  Alhambra :  "  the  appellation  caught  me  at  once  ; 
the  very  tattered  garb  of  my  new  acquaintance  as- 
sumed a  dignity  in  my  eyes.     It  was  emblematic  of 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


107 


the  features  of  the  place,  and  became  the  progeny 
of  a  ruin. 

I  put  some  farther  questions  to  him,  and  found  his 
title  was  leg-itimate.  His  family  had  lived  in  the 
fortress  from  generation  to  generation  ever  since  the 
time  of  the  conquest.  His  name  was  Mateo  Xim- 
enes.  "Then,  perhaps,"  said  I,  "you  may  be  a 
descendant  from  the  great  Cardinal  Ximenes." 

"  Dios  sabe  !  God  knows,  senor.  It  may  be  so. 
We  are  the  oldest  family  in  the  Alhambra.  Vicjos 
Cristianos,  old  Christians,  without  any  taint  of  Moor 
or  Jew.  I  know  we  belong  to  some  great  family  or 
other,  but  I  forget  who.  My  father  knows  all  about 
it.  He  has  the  coat  of  arms  hanging  up  in  his  cot- 
tage, up  in  the  fortress." — There  is  never  a  Spaniard, 
however  poor,  but  has  some  claim  to  high  pedigree. 
The  first  title  of  this  ragged  worthy,  however,  had 
completely  captivated  me,  so  I  gladly  accepted  the 
services  of  the  "  son  of  the  Alhambra." 

We  now  found  ourselves  in  a  deep  narrow  ravine, 
filled  with  beautiful  groves,  with  a  steep  avenue  and 
various  foot-paths  winding  through  it,  bordered  with 
stone  seats  and  ornamented  with  fountains.  To 
our  left,  we  beheld  the  towers  of  the  Alhambra 
beetling  above  us  ;  to  our  right,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  ravine,  we  were  equally  dominated  by 
rival  towers  on  a  rocky  eminence.  These,  we  were 
told,  were  the  Torres  Vermejos,  or  Vermilion 
towers,  so  called  from  their  ruddy  hue.  No  one 
knows  their  origin.  They  are  of  a  date  much  an- 
terior to  the  Alhambra.  Some  suppose  them  to  have 
been  built  by  the  Romans  ;  others,  by  some  wander- 
ing colony  of  Phoenicians.  Ascending  the  steep  and 
shady  avenue,  we  arrived  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  square 
Moorish  tower,  forming  a  kind  of  barbican,  through 
which  passed  the  main  entrance  to  the  fortress. 
Within  the  barbican  was  another  groupe  of  veteran 
invalids,  one  mounting  guard  at  the  portal,  while 
the  rest,  wrapped  in  their  tattered  cloaks,  slept  on 
the  stone  benches.  This  portal  is  called  the  Gate 
of  Justice,  from  the  tribunal  held  within  its  porch 
during  the  Moslem  domination,  for  the  immediate 
trial  of  petty  causes  ;  a  custom  common  to  the  Ori- 
ental nations,  and  occasionally  alluded  to  in  the 
sacred  Scriptures. 

The  great  vestibule,  or  porch  of  the  gate,  is  formed 
by  an  immense  Arabian  arch  of  the  horseshoe  form, 
which  springs  to  half  the  height  of  the  tower.  On 
the  key-stone  of  this  arch  is  engraven  a  gigantic 
hand.  Within  the  vestibule,  on  the  key-stone  of  the 
portal,  is  engraven,  in  like  manner,  a  gigantic  key. 
Those  who  pretend  to  some  knowledge  of  Mahometan 
symbols,  affirm,  that  the  hand  is  the  emblem  of  doc- 
trine, and  the  key,  of  faith  ;  the  latter,  they  add,  was 
emblazoned  on  the  standard  of  the  Moslems  when 
they  subdued  Andalusia,  in  opposition  to  the  Chris- 
tian emblem  of  the  cross.  A  different  explanation, 
however,  was  given  by  the  legitimate  "  son  of  the 
Alhambra,"  and  one  more  in  unison  with  the  notions 
of  the  common  people,  who  attach  something  of 
mystery  and  magic  to  every  thing  Moorish,  and 
have  all  kinds  of  superstitions  connected  with  this 
old  Moslem  fortress. 

According  to  Mateo,  it  was  a  tradition  handed 
down  from  the  oldest  inhabitants,  and  which  he  had 
from  his  father  and  grandfather,  that  the  hand  and 
key  were  magical  devices  on  which  the  fate  of  the 
Alhambra  depended.  The  Moorish  king  who  built 
it  was  a  great  magician,  and,  as  some  believed,  had 
sold  himself  to  the  devil,  and  had  laid  the  whole 
fortress  Under  a  magic  spell.  By  this  means  it  had 
remained  standing  for  several  hundred  years,  in  de- 
fiance of  storms  and  earthquakes,  while  almost  all 
the  other  buildings  of  the  Moors  had  fallen  to  ruin 
and  disappeared.     The  spell,  the  tradition  went  on 


to  say,  would  last  until  the  hand  on  the  outer  arch 
should  reach  down  and  grasp  the  key,  when  the 
whole  pile  would  tumble  to  pieces,  and  all  the 
treasures  buried  beneath  it  by  the  Moors  would  be 
revealed. 

Notwithstanding  this  ominous  prediction,  we  ven- 
tured to  pass  through  the  spell-bound  gateway,  feel- 
ing some  little  assurance  against  magic  art  in  the 
protection  of  the  Virgin,  a  statue  of  whom  we  ob- 
served above  the  portal. 

After  passing  through  the  Barbican,  we  ascended 
a  narrow  lane,  winding  between  walls,  and  came  on 
an  open  esplanade  within  the  fortress,  called  the 
Plaza  de  los  Algibes,  or  Place  of  the  Cisterns,  from 
great  reservoirs  which  undermine  it,  cut  in  the  living 
rock  by  the  Moors,  for  the  supply  of  the  fortress. 
Here,  also,  is  a  well  of  immense  depth,  furnishing 
the  purest  and  coldest  of  water, — another  monument 
of  the  delicate  taste  of  the  Moors,  who  were  inde- 
fatigable in  their  exertions  to  obtain  that  element  in 
its  crystal  purity. 

In  front  of  this  esplanade  is  the  splendid  pile, 
commenced  by  Charles  V.,  intended,  it  is  said,  to 
eclipse  the  residence  of  the  Moslem  kings.  With 
all  its  grandeur  and  architectural  merit,  it  appeared 
to  us  like  an  arrogant  intrusion,  and  passing  by  it 
we  entered  a  simple  unostentatious  portal,  opening 
into  the  interior  of  the  Moorish  palace. 

The  transition  was  almost  magical ;  it  seemed  as 
if  we  were  at  once  transported  into  other  times  and 
another  realm,  and  were  treading  the  scenes  of 
Arabian  story.  We  found  ourselves  in  a  great  court 
paved  with  white  marble  and  decorated  at  each  end 
with  light  Moorish  peristyles.  It  is  called  the  court 
of  the  Alberca.  In  the  centre  was  an  immense 
basin,  or  fish-pool,  a  hundred  and  thirty  feet  in 
length,  by  thirty  in  breadth,  stocked  with  gold-fish, 
and  bordered  by  hedges  of  roses.  At  the  upper  end 
of  this  court,  rose  the  great  tower  of  Comares. 

From  the  lower  end,  we  passed  through  a  Moor- 
ish arch-way  into  the  renowned  Court  of  Lions. 
There  is  no  part  of  the  edifice  that  gives  us  a  more 
complete  idea  of  its  original  beauty  and  magnifi- 
cence than  this;  for  none  has  suffered  so  little  from 
the  ravages  of  time.  In  the  centre  stands  the  foun- 
tain famous  in  song  and  story.  The  alabaster  ba- 
sins still  shed  their  diamond  drops,  and  the  twelve 
lions  which  support  them,  cast  forth  their  crystal 
streams  as  in  the  days  of  Boabdil.  The  court  is 
laid  out  in  fiower  beds,  and  surrounded  by  light 
Arabian  arcades  of  open  filigree  work,  supported  by 
slender  pillars  of  white  marble.  The  architecture, 
like  that  of  all  the  other  parts  of  the  palace,  is  char- 
acterized by  elegance,  rather  than  grandeur,  be- 
speaking a  delicate  and  graceful  taste,  and  a  dispo- 
sition to  indolent  enjoyment.  When  we  look  upon 
the  fairy  tracery  of  the  peristyles,  and  the  appar- 
ently fragile  fret-work  of  the  walls,  it  is  difficult  to 
believe  that  so  much  has  survived  the  wear  and  tear 
of  centuries,  the  shocks  of  earthquakes,  the  violence 
of  war,  and  the  quiet,  though  no  less  baneful,  pilfer- 
ings  of  the  tasteful  traveller.  It  is  almost  sufficient 
to  excuse  the  popular  tradition,  that  the  whole  is 
protected  by  a  magic  charm. 

On  one  side  of  the  court,  a  portal  richly  adorned 
opens  into  a  lofty  hall  paved  with  white  marble,  and 
called  the  Hall  of  the  two  Sisters.  A  cupola  or 
lantern  admits  a  tempered  light  from  above,  and  a 
free  circulation  of  air.  The  lower  part  of  the  walls 
is  incrusted  with  beautiful  Moorish  tiles,  on  .some  of 
which  are  emblazoned  the  escutcheons  of  the  Moor- 
ish monarchs  :  the  upper  part  is  faced  with  the  fine 
stucco  work  invented  at  Damascus,  consisting  of 
[  large  plates  cast  in  moulds  and  artfully  joined,  so  as 
1  to  have  the  appearance  of  having  been  laboripusly 


108 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


sculptured  by  the  hand  into  hght  rehevos  and  fanci- 
ful arabesques,  intermingled  with  texts  of  the  Koran, 
and  poetical  inscriptions  in  Arabian  and  Celtic  cliar- 
acters.  These  decorations  of  the  walls  and  cupolas 
are  richly  gilded,  and  the  interstices  panelled  with 
lapis  lazuli  and  other  brilliant  and  enduring  colours. 
On  each  side  of  the  wall  are  recesses  for  ottomans 
and  arches.  Above  an  inner  porch,  is  a  balcony 
which  communicated  with  the  women's  apartment. 
The  latticed  balconies  still  remain,  from  whence  the 
dark-eyed  beauties  of  the  harem  might  gaze  unseen 
upon  the  entertainments  of  the  hall  below. 

It  is  impossible  to  contemplate  this  once  favourite 
abode  of  Oriental  manners,  without  feeling  the  early 
associations  of  Arabian  romance,  and  almost  ex- 
pecting to  see  the  white  arm  of  some  mysterious 
princess  beckoning  from  the  balcony,  or  some  dark 
eye  sparkling  through  the  lattice.  The  abode  of 
beauty  is  here,  as  if  it  had  been  inhabited  but  yes- 
terday—  but  where  are  the  Zoraydas  and  Linde- 
raxas  ! 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  court  of  Lions,  is  the 
hall  of  the  Abencerrages,  so  called  from  the  gallant 
cavaliers  of  that  illustrious  line,  who  were  here  per- 
fidiously massacred.  There  are  some  who  doubt 
the  whole  truth  of  this  story,  but  our  humble  at- 
tendant, Mateo,  pointed  out  the  very  wicket  of  the 
portal  through  which  they  are  said  to  have  been  in- 
troduced, one  by  one,  and  the  white  marble  fountain 
in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  where  they  were  beheaded. 
He  showed  us  also  certain  broad  ruddy  stains  in  the 
pavement,  traces  of  their  blood,  which,  according 
to  popular  belief,  can  never  be  effaced.  Finding  we 
listened  to  him  with  easy  faith,  he  added,  that  there 
was  often  heard  at  night,  in  the  Court  of  the  Lions, 
a  low  confused  sound,  resembling  the  murmurings 
of  a  multitude  ;  with  now  and  then  a  faint  tinkling, 
like  the  distant  clank  of  chains.  These  noises  are 
probably  produced  by  the  bubbling  currents  and 
tinkling  falls  of  water,  conducted  under  the  pave- 
ment through  pipes  and  channels  to  supply  the  foun- 
tains ;  but  according  to  the  legend  of  the  son  of  the 
Alhambra,  they  are  made  by  the  spirits  of  the  mur- 
dered Abencerrages,  who  nightly  haunt  the  scene  of 
their  suffering,  and  invoke  the  vengeance  of  Heaven 
on  their  destroyer. 

From  the  Court  of  Lions,  we  retraced  our  steps 
through  the  court  of  the  Alberca,  or  great  fish-pool, 
crossing  which,  we  proceeded  to  the  tower  of  Co- 
mares,  so  called  from  the  name  of  the  Arabian 
architect.  It  is  of  massive  strength,  and  lofty 
height,  domineering  over  the  rest  of  the  edifice,  and 
overhanging  the  steep  hill-side,  which  descends  ab- 
ruptly to  the  banks  of  the  Darro.  A  Moorish  arch- 
way admitted  us  into  a  vast  and  lofty  hall,  which 
occupies  the  interior  of  the  tower,  and  was  the 
grand  audience  chamber  of  the  Moslem  monarchs, 
thence  called  the  hall  of  Ambassadors.  It  still  bears 
the  traces  of  past  magnificence.  The  walls  are 
richly  stuccoed  and  decorated  with  arabesques,  the 
vaulted  ceilings  of  cedar  wood,  alm.ost  lost  in  ob- 
scurity from  its  height,  still  gleam  with  rich  gilding 
and  the  brilliant  tints  of  the  Arabian  pencil.  On 
three  sides  of  the  saloon,  are  deep  windows,  cut 
through  the  immense  thickness  of  the  walls,  the 
balconies  of  which,  looking  down  upon  the  verdant 
valley  of  the  Darro,  the  streets  and  convents  of  the 
Albaycin,  and  command  a  prospect  of  the  distant 
Vega.  1  might  go  on  to  describe  the  other  delight- 
ful apartments  of  this  side  of  the  palace  ;  the  To- 
cador  or  toilet  of  the  Queen,  an  open  belvedere  on 
the  summit  of  the  tower,  where  the  Moorish  sultanas 
enjoyed  the  pure  breezes  from  the  mountain  and  the 
prospect  of  the  surrounding  paradise.  The  secluded 
little  patio  or  garden  of  Linclaraxa,  with  its  alabaster 


fountain,  its  thickets  of  roses  and  myrtles,  of  citrons 
and  oranges.  The  cool  halls  and  grottoes  of  the 
baths,  where  the  glare  and  heat  of  day  are  tempered 
into  a  self-mysterious  light  and  a  pervading  fresh- 
ness. But  I  appear  to  dwell  minutely  on  these 
scenes.  My  object  is  merely  to  give  the  reader  a 
general  introduction  into  an  abode,  where,  if  dis- 
posed, he  may  linger  and  loiter  with  me  through 
the  remainder  of  this  work,  gradually  becoming 
familiar  with  all  its  beauties. 

An  abundant  supply  of  water,  brought  from  the 
mountains  by  old  Moorish  aqueducts,  circulates 
throughout  the  palace,  supplying  its  baths  and  fish- 
pools,  sparkling  in  jets  within  its  halls,  or  murmur- 
ing in  channels  along  the  marble  pavements.  When 
it  has  paid  its  tribute  to  the  royal  pile,  and  visited  its 
gardens  and  pastures,  it  Hows  down  the  long  avenue 
leading  to  the  city,  tinkling  in  rills,  gushing  in  foun- 
tains, and  maintaining  a  perpetual  verdure  in  those 
groves  that  embower  and  beautify  the  whole  hill  of 
the  Alhambra. 

Those,  only,  who  have  sojourned  in  the  ardent 
climates  of  the  South,  can  appreciate  the  delights 
of  an  abode  combining  the  breezy  coolness  of  the 
mountain  with  the  freshness  and  verdure  of  the 
valley. 

While  the  city  below  pants  with  the  noon-tide 
heat,  and  the  parched  Vega  trembles  to  the  eye,  the 
delicate  airs  from  the  Sierra  Nevada  play  through 
the  lofty  halls,  bringing  with  them  the  sweetness  of 
the  surrounding  gardens.  Every  thing  invites  to 
that  indolent  repose,  the  bliss  of  Southern  climes  ; 
and  while  the  half-shut  eye  looks  out  from  shaded 
balconies  upon  the  glittering  landscape,  the  ear  is 
lulled  by  the  rustling  of  groves,  and  the  murmur  of 
running  streams. 


THE  TOWER  OF   COMARES, 


The  reader  has  had  a  sketch  of  the  interior  ot  the 
Alhambra,  and  may  be  desirous  of  a  general  idea 
of  its  vicinity.  The  morning  is  serene  and  lovely ; 
the  sun  has  not  gained  sufficient  power  to  destroy 
the  freshness  of  the  night ;  we  will  mount  to  the 
summit  of  the  tower  of  Comares,  and  take  a  bird's- 
eye  view  of  Granada  and  its  environs. 

Come,  then,  worthy  reader  and  comrade,  follow 
my  steps  into  this  'vestibule  ornamented  with  rich 
tr.acery,  which  opens  to  the  hall  of  Ambassadors. 
We  will  not  enter  the  hall,  however,  but  turn  to  the 
left,  to  this  small  door,  opening  in  the  wall.  Have  a 
care  !  here  are  steep  winding  steps  and  but  scanty 
light.  Yet,  up  this  narrow,  obscure  and  winding 
staircase,  the  proud  monarchs  of  Granada  and  their 
queens  have  often  ascended  to  the  battlements  of  the 
tower  to  watch  the  approach  of  Christian  armies ; 
or  to  gaze  on  the  battles  in  the  Vega.  At  length  we 
are  upon  the  terraced  roof,  and  may  take  breath  for 
a  moment,  while  we  cast  a  general  eye  over  the 
splendid  panorama  of  city  and  country,  of  rocky 
mountain,  verd.ant  valley  and  fertile  plain  ;  of  castle, 
cathedral,  Moorish  towers  and  Gothic  doines,  crum- 
bling ruins  and  blooming  groves. 

Let  us  approach  the  battlements  and  cast  our  eyes 
immediately  below.  See. — on  this  side  we  have  the 
whole  plan  of  the  Alhambra  laid  open  to  us,  and 
can  look  down  into  its  courts  and  gardens.  At  the 
foot  of  the  tower  is  the  Court  of  the  All)erca  with  its 
great  tank  or  fish-pool  bordered  with  flowers ;  and 
yonder  is  the  Court  of  Lions,  with  its  famous  foun- 
tain, and  its  light  Moorish  arcades ;  and  in  the  cen- 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


109 


tre  of  the  pile  is  the  little  garden  of  Lindaraxa, 
buried  in  the  heart  of  the  building,  with  its  roses 
and  citrons  and  shrubbery'  of  emerald  green. 

That  belt  of  battlements  studded  with  square 
towers,  straggling  round  the  whole  brow  of  the  hill, 
is  the  outer  boundary  of  the  fortress.  Some  of  the 
towers,  you  may  perceive,  are  in  ruins,  and  their 
massive  fragments  are  buried  among  vines,  fig-trees 
and  aloes. 

Let  us  look  on  this  northern  side  of  the  tower.  It 
is  a  giddy  height ;  the  very  foundations  of  the  tower 
rise  above  the  groves  of  the  steep  hill-side.  And  see, 
a  long  fissure  in  the  massive  walls  shows  that  the 
tower  has  been  rent  by  some  of  the  earthquakes, 
which  from  time  to  time  have  thrown  Granada  into 
consternation  ;  and  which,  sooner  or  later,  must  re- 
duce this  crumbling  pile  to  a  mere  mass  of  ruin. 
The  deep  narrow  glen  below  us,  which  gradually 
widens  as  it  op?ns  from  the  mountains,  is  the  valley 
of  the  Darro  ;  you  see  the  little  river  winding  its  way 
under  embowered  terraces,  and  among  orchards  and 
flower  gardens.  It  is  a  stream  famous  in  old  times 
for  yielding  gold,  and  its  sands  are  still  sifted,  occa- 
sionally, in  search  of  the  precious  ore. 

Some  of  those  white  pavilions  which  here  and 
there  gleam  from  among  groves  and  vineyards,  were 
rustic  retreats  of  the  Moors,  to  enjoy  the  refreshment 
of  their  gardens. 

The  airy  palace  with  its  tall  white  towers  and  long 
arcades,  which  breast  yon  mountain,  among  pomp- 
ous groves  and  hanging  gardens,  is  the  Generaliffe,  a 
summer  palace  of  the  Moorish  kings,  to  which  they 
resorted  during  the  sultry  months,  to  enjoy  a  still 
more  breezy  region  than  that  of  the  Alhambra.  The 
naked  summit  of  the  height  above  it,  where  you  be- 
hold some  shapeless  ruins,  is  the  Silla  del  Moro,  or 
seat  of  the  Moor ;  so  called  from  having  been  a  re- 
treat of  the  unfortunate  Boabdil,  during  the  time  of 
an  insurrection,  where  he  seated  himself  and  looked 
down  mournfully  upon  his  rebellious  city. 

A  murmuring  sound  of  water  now  and  then  rises 
from  the  valley.  It  is  from  the  aqueduct  of  yon 
Moorish  mill  nearly  at  the  foot  of  tlie  hill.  The  ave- 
nue of  trees  beyond,  is  the  Alameda  along  the  bank 
of  the  Uarro,  a  favourite  resort  in  evenings,  and  a 
rendezvous  of  lovers  in  the  summer  nights,  when  the 
guitar  may  be  heard  at  a  late  hour  from  the  benches 
along  its  walks.  At  present  there  are  but  a  few 
loitering  monks  to  be  seen  there,  and  a  group  of 
water  carriers  from  the  fountain  of  Avellanos. 

You  start  !  'Tis  nothing  but  a  hawk  we  have 
frightened  from  his  nest.  This  old  tower  is  a  com- 
plete brooding-place  for  vagrant  birds.  The  swal- 
low and  martlet  abound  in  every  chink  and  cranny, 
and  circle  about  it  the  whole  day  long ;  while  at 
night,  when  all  other  birds  have  gone  to  rest,  the 
moping  owl  comes  out  of  its  lurking  place,  and  ut- 
ters its  boding  cry  from  the  battlements.  See  how 
the  hawk  we  have  dislodged  sweeps  away  below  us, 
skimming  over  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  sailing  up 
to  ruins  above  the  Generaliffe. 

Let  us  leave  this  side  of  the  tower  and  turn  our 
eyes  to  the  west.  Here  you  behold  in  the  distance 
a  range  of  mountains  bounding  the  Vega,  the  ancient 
barrier  between  Moslem  Granada  and  the  land  of 
the  Christians.  Among  the  heights  you  may  still 
discern  warrior  towns,  whose  gray  walls  and  battle- 
ments seem  of  a  piece  with  the  rocks  on  which  they 
are  built ;  while  here  and  there  is  a  solitary  atalaya 
or  watch-tower,  mounted  on  some  lofty  point,  and 
looking  down  as  if  it  were  from  the  sky,  into  the  val- 
leys on  either  side.  It  was  down  the  defiles  of  these 
mountains,  by  the  pass  of  Lope,  that  the  Christian 
armies  descended  into  the  Vega.  It  was  round  the 
base  of  yon  gray  and  naked  mountain,  almost  insu- 


lated from  the  rest,  and  stretching  its  bald  rocky  pro- 
montory into  the  bosom  of  the  plain,  that  the  invad- 
ing squadrons  would  come  bursting  into  view,  with 
flaunting  banners  and  the  clangour  of  drums  and 
trumpets.  How  changed  is  the  scene  !  Instead  of 
the  glittering  line  of  mailed  warriors,  we  behold  the 
patient  train  of  the  toilful  muleteer,  slowly  moving 
along  the  skirts  of  the  mountain. 

Behind  that  promontory,  is  the  eventful  bridge  of 
Pinos,  renowned  for  many  a  bloody  strife  between 
Moors  and  Christians ;  but  still  more  renowned  as 
being  the  placa  where  Columbus  was  overtaken  and 
called  back  by  the  messenger  of  Queen  Isabella,  just 
as  he  was  departing  in  despair  to  carry  his  project 
of  discovery  to  the  court  of  France. 

Behold  another  place  famous  in  the  history  of  the 
discoverer:  yon  line  of  walls  and  towers,  gleaming 
in  the  morning  sun  in  the  very  centre  of  the  Vega  ; 
the  city  of  Santa  Fe,  built  by  the  Catholic  sovereigns 
during  the  siege  of  Granada,  after  a  conflagration  had 
destroyed  their  camp.  It  was  to  these  walls  that 
Columbus  was  called  back  by  the  heroic  queen,  and 
within  them  the  treaty  was  concluded  that  led  to  the 
discovery  of  the  Western  World. 

Here,  towards  the  south,  the  eye  revels  on  the 
luxuriant  beauties  of  the  Vega ;  a  blooming  wilder- 
ness of  grove  and  garden,  and  teeming  orchard  ; 
with  the  Xenil  winding  through  it  in  silver  links, 
and  feeding  innumerable  rills,  conducted  through 
ancient  Moorish  channels,  which  maintain  the  land- 
scape in  perpetual  verdure.  Here  are  the  beloved 
bowers  and  gardens,  and  rural  retreats  for  which  the 
Moors  fought  with  such  desperate  valour.  The  very 
farm-houses  and  hovels  which  are  now  inhabited  by 
the  boors,  retain  traces  of  arabesques  and  other 
tasteful  decorations,  which  show  them  to  have  been 
elegant  residences  in  the  days  of  the  Moslems. 

ISeyond  the  embowered  region  of  the  Vega  you 
behold,  to  the  south,  a  line  of  arid  hills  down  which 
a  long  train  of  mules  is  slowly  moving.  It  was  from 
the  summit  of  one  of  those  hills  that  the  unfortunate 
Boabdil  cast  back  his  last  look  upon  Granada  and 
gave  vent  to  the  agony  of  his  soul.  It  is  the  spot 
famous  in  song  and  story,  "The  last  sigh  of  the 
Moor." 

Now  raise  your  eyes  to  the  snowy  summit  of  yon 
pile  of  mountains,  shining  like  a  white  summer  cloud 
on  the  blue  sky.  It  is  the  Sierra  Nevada,  the  pride 
and  delight  of  Granada ;  the  source  of  her  cooling 
breezes  and  perpetual  verdure,  of  her  gushing  foun- 
tains and  perennial  streams.  It  is  this  glorious  pile 
of  mountains  that  gives  to  Granada  that  combina- 
tion of  delights  so  rare  in  a  southern  city.  The 
fresh  vegetation,  and  the  temperate  airs  of  a 
northern  climate,  with  the  vivifying  ardour  of  a 
tropical  sun,  and  the  cloudless  azure  of  a  southern 
sky.  It  is  this  aerial  treasury  of  snow,  which,  melt- 
ing in  proportion  to  the  increase  of  the  summer  heat, 
sends  down  rivulets  and  streams  through  every  glen 
and  gorge  of  the  Alpuxarras,  diffusing  emerald  ver- 
dure and  fertility  throughout  a  chain  of  happy  and 
sequestered  valleys. 

These  mountains  may  well  be  called  the  glory  of 
Granada.  They  dominate  the  whole  extent  of  An- 
dalusia, and  may  be  seen  from  its  most  distant  parts. 
The  muleteer  hails  them  as  he  views  their  frosty 
peaks  from  the  sultry  level  of  the  plain  ;  and  the 
Spanish  mariner  on  the  deck  of  his  bark,  far,  far  off, 
on  the  bosom  of  the  blue  Mediterranean,  watches 
them  with  a  pensive  eye,  thinks  of  delightful  Grana- 
da, and  chants  in  low  voice  some  old  romance  about 
the  Moors. 

But  enough,  the  sun  is  high  above  the  mountains, 
and  is  pouring  his  full  fer\'our  upon  our  heads.  Al- 
ready the  terraced  roof  of  the  town  is  hot  beneath 


no 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


our  I'eet ;  let  us  abandon  it,  and  descend  and  refresh 
ourselves  under  the  arcades  by  the  fountain  of  the 
Lions. 


REFLECTIONS 

ON  THE  MOSLEM   DOMINATION   IN   SPAIN. 


One  of  my  favourite  resorts  is  the  balcony  of  the 
central  window  of  the  Hall  of  Ambassadors,  in  the 
lofty  tower  of  Comares.  I  have  just  been  seated 
there,  enjoying  the  close  of  a  long  brilliant  day. 
The  sun,  as  he  sank  behind  the  purple  mountains 
of  Alhama,  sent  a  stream  of  effulgence  up  the  valley 
of  the  Darro,  that  spread  a  melancholy  pomp  over 
the  ruddy  towers  of  the  Alhambra,  while  the  Vega, 
covered  with  a  slight  sultry  vapour  that  caught  the 
setting  ray,  seemed  spread  out  in  the  distance  like  a 
golden  sea.  Not  a  breath  of  air  disturbed  the  still- 
ness of  the  hour,  and  though  the  faint  sound  of  music 
and  merriment  now  and  then  arose  from  the  g;ardens 
of  the  Darro,  it  but  rendered  more  impressive  the 
monumental  silence  of  the  pile  which  overshadowed 
me.  It  was  one  of  those  hours  and  scenes  in  which 
memory  asserts  an  almost  magical  power,  and,  like 
the  evening  sun  beaming  on  these  mouldering  towers, 
sends  back  her  retrospective  rays  to  light  up  the 
glories  of  the  past. 

As  I  sat  watching  the  effect  of  the  declining  day- 
light upon  this  Moorish  pile,  I  was  led  into  a  con- 
sideration of  the  light,  elegant  and  voluptuous  char- 
acter prevalent  throughout  its  internal  architecture, 
and  to  contrast  it  with  the  grand  but  gloomy  solem- 
nity of  the  Gothic  edifices,  reared  by  the  Spanish 
conquerors.  The  very  architecture  thus  bespeaks 
the  opposite  and  irreconcilable  natures  of  the  two 
warlike  people,  who  so  long  battled  here  for  the 
mastery  of  the  Peninsula.  By  degrees  I  fell  into  a 
course  of  musing  upon  the  singular  features  of  the 
.'\rabian  or  Morisco  Spaniards,  whose  whole  exist- 
ence is  as  a  tale  that  is  told,  and  certainly  forms  one 
of  the  most  anomalous  yet  splendid  episodes  in  his- 
tory. Potent  and  durable  as  was  their  dominion,  we 
have  no  one  distinct  title  by  which  to  designate  them. 
They  were  a  nation,  as  it  were,  without  a  legitimate 
country  or  a  name.  A  remote  wave  of  the  great 
Arabian  inundation,  cast  upon  the  shores  of  Europe, 
they  seemed  to  have  all  the  impetus  of  the  first  rush 
of  the  torrent.  Their  course  of  conquest  from  the 
rock  of  Gibraltar  to  the  cliffs  of  the  Pyrenees,  was  as 
rapid  and  brilliant  as  the  Moslem  victories  of  Syria 
and  Egypt.  Nay,  had  they  not  been  checked  on  the 
plains  of  Tours,  all  France,  all  Europe,  might  have 
been  overrun  with  the  same  facility  as  the  empires 
of  the  east,  and  the  crescent  might  at  this  day  have 
glittered  on  the  fanes  of  Paris  and  of  London. 

Repelled  within  the  limits  of  the  Pyrenees,  the 
mixed  hordes  of  Asia  and  Africa  that  formed  this 
great  irruption,  gave  up  the  Moslem  principles  of 
conquest,  and  sought  to  establish  in  Spain  a  peace- 
ful and  permanent  dominion.  As  conquerors  their 
heroism  was  only  equalled  by  their  moderation ;  and 
in  both,  for  a  time,  they  excelled  the  nations  with 
whom  they  contended.  Severed  from  their  native 
homes,  they  loved  the  land  given  them,  as  they  sup- 
posed, by  Allah,  and  strove  to  embellish  it  with 
every  thing  that  could  administer  to  the  happiness  of 
man.  Laying  the  foundations  of  their  power  in 
a  system  of  wise  and  equitable  laws,  diligently  cul- 
tivating the  arts  and  sciences,  and  promoting  agri- 
culture, manufactures,  and  commerce,  they  gradually 


formed  an  empire  unrivalled  for  its  piosperity,  by 
any  of  the  empires  of  Christendom ;  and  diligently 
drawing  round  them  the  graces  and  refinements  that 
marked  the  Arabian  empire  in  the  east  at  the  time 
of  its  greatest  civilization,  they  diffused  the  light  of 
oriental  knowledge  through  the  western  regions  of 
benighted  Europe. 

The  cities  of  Arabian  Spain  became  the  resort  of 
Christian  artisans,  to  instruct  themselves  in  the  use- 
ful arts.  The  universities  of  Toledo,  Cordova,  Se- 
ville, and  Granada  were  sought  by  the  pale  student  ' 
from  other  lands,  to  acquaint  himself  with  the  sci- 
ences of  the  Arabs,  and  the  treasured  lore  of  an- 
tiquity ;  the  lovers  of  the  gay  sciences  resorted  to 
Cordova  and  Granada,  to  imbibe  the  poetry  and 
music  of  the  east  ;  and  the  steel-clad  warriors  of  the 
north  liastened  thither,  to  accomplish  themselves  in 
the  graceful  exercises  and  courteous  usages  of  chiv- 
alry. 

If  the  Moslem  monuments  in  Spain  ;  if  the  Mosque 
of  Cordova,  the  Alcazar  of  Seville  and  the  Alhambra 
of  Granada,  still  bear  inscriptions  fondly  boasting  of 
the  power  and  permanency  of  their  dominion,  can 
the  boast  be  derided  as  arrogant  and  vain  ?  Gener- 
ation after  generation,  century  after  century  had 
passed  away,  and  still  they  maintained  possession  of 
the  land.  A  period  had  elapsed  longer  than  that 
which  has  passed  since  England  was  subjugated  by 
the  Norman  conqueror;  and  the  descendants  of 
Musa  and  Tarik  might  as  little  anticipate  being 
driven  into  exile,  across  the  same  straits  traversed 
by  their  triumphant  ancestors,  as  the  descendants  of 
Kollo  and  William  and  their  victorious  peers  may 
dream  of  being  driven  back  to  the  shores  of  Nor- 
mandy. 

With  all  this,  however,  the  Moslem  empire  in 
Spain  was  but  a  brilliant  exotic  that  took  no  perma- 
nent root  in  the  soil  it  embellished.  Secured  from 
all  their  neighbours  of  the  west  by  impassable  bar- 
riers of  faith  and  manners,  and  separated  by  seas 
and  deserts  from  their  kindred  of  the  east,  they  were 
an  isolated  people.  Their  whole  existence  was  a 
prolonged  though  gallant  and  chivalric  struggle  for 
a  foot-hold  in  a  usurped  land.  They  were  the  out- 
posts and  frontiers  of  Islamism.  The  peninsula  was 
the  great  battle  ground  where  the  Gothic  conquerors 
of  the  north  and  the  Moslem  conquerors  of  the  east, 
met  and  strove  for  mastery  ;  and  the  fiery  courage 
of  the  Arab  was  at  length  subdued  by  the  obstinate 
and  persevering  valour  of  the  Goth. 

Never  was  the  annihilation  of  a  people  more  com- 
plete than  that  of  the  Morisco  Spaniards.  Where 
are  they  ?  Ask  the  shores  of  Barbary  and  its  desert 
places.  The  exiled  remnant  of  their  once  powerful 
empire  disappeared  among  the  barbarians  of  Africa, 
and  ceased  to  be  a  nation.  They  have  not  even  left 
a  distinct  name  behind  them,  though  for  nearly  eight 
centuries  they  were  a  distinct  people.  The  home  of 
their  adoption  and  of  their  occupation  for  ages  re- 
fuses to  acknowledge  them  but  as  invaders  and 
usurpers.  A  few  broken  monuments  are  all  that 
remain  to  bear  witness  to  their  power  and  dominion, 
as  solitary  rocks  left  far  in  the  interior  bear  testi- 
mony to  the  extent  of  some  vast  inundation.  Such 
is  the  Alhambra.  A  Moslem  pile  in  the  midst  of  a 
Christian  land  ;  an  oriental  palace  amidst  the  Gothic 
edifices  of  the  west  ;  an  elegant  memento  of  a  brave, 
intelligent  and  graceful  people,  who  conquered,  ruled, 
and  passed  away. 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


Ill 


THE    H  OUSEHOLD, 


It  is  time  that  I  give  some  idea  of  my  domestic 
arrangements  in  this  singular  residence.  The  royal 
palace  of  the  Alhambra  is  intrusted  to  the  care  of  a 
good  old  maiden  dame  called  Dona  Antonia  Molina, 
but  who,  according  to  Spanish  custom,  goes  by  the 
more  neighbourly  appellation  of  Tia  Antonia  (Aunt 
Antonia).  She  maintains  the  Moorish  halls  and  gar- 
dens in  order,  and  shows  them  to  strangers ;  in  con- 
sideration of  which,  she  is  allowed  all  the  perqui- 
sites received  from  visitors  and  all  the  produce  of  the 
gardens,  excepting  that  sjje  is  expected  to  pay  an 
occasional  tribute  of  fruits  and  flowers  to  the  gov- 
ernor. Her  residence  is  in  a  corner  of  the  palace, 
and  her  family  consists  of  a  nephew  and  niece,  the 
children  of  two  different  brothers.  The  nephew, 
Manuel  Molina,  is  a  young  man  of  sterling  worth 
and  Spanish  gravity.  He  has  served  in  the  armies 
both  in  Spain  and  the  West  Indies,  but  is  now  study- 
ing medicine  in  hopes  of  one  day  or  other  becoming 
physician  to  the  fortress,  a  post  worth  at  least  a  hun- 
dred and  forty  dollars  a  year.  As  to  the  niece,  she 
is  a  plump  little  black-eyed  Andalusian  damsel 
named  Dolores,  but  who  from  her  bright  looks  and 
cheerful  disposition  merits  a  merrier  name.  She  is 
the  declared  heiress  of  all  her  aunt's  possessions, 
consisting  of  certain  ruinous  teneinents  in  the.  for- 
tress, yielding  a  revenue  of  about  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars.  I  had  not  been  long  in  the  Alhambra 
before  I  discovered  that  a  quiet  courtship  was  going 
on  between  the  discreet  Manuel  and  his  bright-eyed 
cousin,  and  that  nothing  was  wanting  to  enable  them 
to  join  their  hands  and  expectations,  but  that  he 
should  receive  his  doctor's  diploma,  and  purchase 
a  dispensation  from  the  pope,  on  account  of  their 
consanguinity. 

With  the  good  dame  Antonia  I  have  made  a 
treaty,  according  to  which,  she  furnishes  me  with 
board  and  lodging,  while  the  merry-hearted  little 
Dolores  keeps  my  apartment  in  order  and  officiates 
as  handmaid  at  meal  times.  I  have  also  at  my  com- 
mand a  tall,  stuttering,  yellow-haired  lad  named  Pepe, 
who  works  in  the  garden,  and  would  fain  have  acted 
as  valet,  but  in  this  he  was  forestalled  by  Mateo  | 
Ximenes,  "The  son  of  the  Alhambra."  This  alert 
and  officious  wight  has  managed,  somehow  or  other, 
to  stick  by  me,  ever  since  I  first  encountered  him  at 
the  outer  gate  of  the  fortress,  and  to  weave  himself 
into  all  my  plans,  until  he  has  fairly  appointed  and 
installed  himself  my  valet,  cicerone,  guide,  guard,  and 
historio-graphic  squire ;  and  I  have  been  obliged  to 
improve  the  state  of  his  wardrobe,  that  he  may  not 
disgrace  his  various  functions,  so  that  he  has  cast 
off  his  old  brown  mantle,  as  a  snake  does  his  skin, 
and  now  figures  about  the  fortress  with  a  smart  An- 
dalusian hat  and  jacket,  to  his  infinite  satisfaction 
and  the  great  astonishment  of  his  comrades.  The 
chief  fault  of  honest  Mateo  is  an  over-anxiety  to  be 
useful.  Conscious  of  having  foisted  himself  into  my 
employ,  and  that  my  simple  and  quiet  habits  render 
his  situation  a  sinecure,  he  is  at  his  wit's  end  to  de- 
vise modes  of  making  himself  important  to  my  wel- 
fare. I  am  in  a  manner  the  victim  of  his  officious- 
ness ;  I  cannot  put  my  foot  over  the  threshold  of  the 
palace  to  stroll  about  the  fortress,  but  he  is  at  my 
elbow  to  explain  every  thing  I  see,  and  if  I  venture 
to  ramble  among  the  surrounding  hills,  he  insists 
upon  attending  me  as  a  guard,  though  I  vehemently 
suspect  he  would  be  more  apt  to  trust  to  the  length 
of  his  legs  than  the  strength  of  his  arms  in  case  of 
attack.  After  all,  however,  the  poor  fellow  is  at 
times  an  amusing  companion  ;  he  is  simple-minded 


and  of  infinite  good  humour,  with  the  loquacity  and 
gossip  of  a  village  barber,  and  knows  all  the  small 
talk  of  the  place  and  its  environs ;  but  what  he 
chiefly  values  himself  on  is  his  stock  of  local  in- 
formation, having  the  most  marvellous  stories  to  re- 
late of  every  tower,  and  vault  and  gateway  of  the 
fortress,  in  all  of  which  he  places  the  most  implicit 
faith. 

Most  of  these  he  has  derived,  according  to  his 
own  account,  from  his  grandfather,  a  little  legend- 
ary tailor,  who  lived  to  the  age  of  nearly  a  hundred 
years,  during  which  he  made  but  two  migrations  be- 
yond the  precincts  of  the  fortress.  His  shop,  for  the 
greater  part  of  a  century,  was  the  resort  of  a  knot 
of  venerable  gossips,  where  they  would  pass  half  the 
night  talking  about  old  times  and  the  wonderful 
events  and  hidden  secrets  of  the  place.  The  whole 
living,  moving,  thinking  and  acting  of  this  little  his- 
torical tailor,  had  thus  been  bounded  by  the  walls  of 
the  Alhambra  ;  within  them  he  had  been  born,  within 
them  he  lived,  breathed  and  had  his  being,  within 
them  he  died  and  was  buried.  Fortunately  for  pos- 
terity his  traditionary  lore  died  not  with  him.  The 
authentic  Mateo,  when  an  urchin,  used  to  be  an  at- 
tentive listener  to  the  narratives  of  his  grandfather 
and  of  the  gossip  group  assembled  rounti  the  shop 
board,  and  is  thus  possessed  of  a  stock  of  valuable 
knowledge  concerning  the  Alhambra,  not  to  be 
found  in  the  books,  and  well  worthy  the  attention  of 
every  curious  traveller. 

Such  are  the  personages  that  contribute  to  my 
domestic  comforts  in  the  Alhambra,  and  I  question 
whether  any  of  the  potentates,  Moslem  or  Christian, 
who  have  preceded  me  in  the  palace,  have  been 
waited  upon  with  greater  fidelity  or  enjoyed  a  se- 
rener  sway. 

When  I  rise  in  the  morning,  Pepe,  the  stuttering 
lad,  from  the  gardens,  brings  me  a  tribute  of  fresh 
culled  flowers,  which  are  afterwards  arranged  in 
vases  by  the  skilful  hand  of  Dolores,  who  takes  no 
small  pride  in  the  decorations  of  my  chamber.  My 
meals  are  made  wherever  caprice  dictates,  some- 
times in  one  of  the  Moorish  halls,  sometimes  under 
the  arcades  of  the  Court  of  Lions,  surrounded  by 
flowers  and  fountains ;  and  when  I  walk  out  I  am 
conducted  by  the  assiduous  Mateo  to  the  most  ro- 
mantic retreats  of  the  mountains  and  delicious 
haunts  of  the  adjacent  valleys,  net  one  of  which 
but  is  the  scene  of  some  wonderful  tale. 

Though  fond  of  passing  the  greater  part  of  my 
day  alone,  yet  I  occasionally  repair  in  the  evenings 
to  the  little  domestic  circle  of  Dona  Antonia.  This 
is  generally  held  in  an  old  Moorish  chamber,  that 
serves  for  kitchen  as  well  as  hall,  a  rude  fire-place 
having  been  made  in  one  corner,  the  smoke  from 
which  has  discoloured  the  walls  and  almost  oblite- 
rated the  ancient  arabesques.  A  window  with  a 
balcony  overhanging  the  balcony  of  the  Darro,  lets 
in  the  cool  evening  breeze,  and  here  I  take  my 
frugal  supper  of  fruit  and  milk,  and  mingle  with 
the  conversation  of  the  family.  There  is  a  natural 
talent,  or  mother  wit,  as  it  is  called,  about  the 
Spaniards,  which  renders  them  intellectual  and 
agreeable  companions,  whatever  may  be  their  con- 
dition in  life,  or  however  imperfect  may  have  been 
their  education  ;  add  to  this,  they  are  never  vulgar; 
nature  has  endowed  them  with  an  inherent  dignity 
of  spirit.  The  good  Tia  Antonia  is  a  woman  of 
strong  and  intelligent,  though  uncultivated  mind, 
and  the  bright-eyed  Dolores,  though  she  has  read 
but  three  or  four  books  in  the  whole  course  of  her 
life,  has  an  engaging  mixture  of  naivete  and  good 
sense,  and  often  surprises  me  by  the  pungency  of 
her  artless  sallies.  Sometimes  the  nephew  enter- 
tains us  by  reading  some  old  comedy  of  Calderon  or 


112 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Lope  de  Vega,  to  which  he  is  evidently  prompted  by 
a  desire  to  improve,  as  well  as  amuse  his  cousin 
Doiores,  though  to  his  great  mortification  the  little 
damsel  generally  falls  asleep  before  the  first  act  is 
completed.  Sometimes  Tia  Antonia  has  a  little 
bevy  of  humble  friends  and  dependants,  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  adjacent  hamlet,  or  the  wives  of  the  invalid 
soldiers.  These  look  up  to  her  with  great  deference 
as  the  custodian  of  the  palace,  and  pay  their  court 
to  her  by  bringing  the  news  of  the  place,  or  the 
rumours  that  may  have  straggled  up  from  Granada. 
In  listening  to  the  evening  gossipings,  I  have 
picked  up  many  curious  facts,  illustrative  of  the 
manners  of  the  people  and  the  peculiarities  of  the 
neighbourhood. 

These  are  simple  details  of  simple  pleasures  ;  it  is 
the  nature  of  the  place  alone  that  gives  them  interest 
and  importance.  I  tread  haunted  ground  and  am 
surrounded  by  romantic  associations.  From  earliest 
boyhood,  when,  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  I  first 
pored  over  the  pages  of  an  old  Spanish  story  about 
the  wars  of  Granada,  that  city  has  ever  been  a  sub- 
ject of  my  waking  dreams,  and  often  have  1  trod  in 
fancy  the  romantic  halls  of  the  Alhambra.  Behold 
for  once  a  day  dream  realized ;  yet  I  can  scarcely 
credit  my  senses  or  believe  that  1  do  indeed  inhabit 
the  palace  of  Boabdil,  and  look  down  from  its  bal- 
conies upon  chivalric  Granada.  As  I  loiter  through 
the  oriental  chambers,  and  hear  the  murmuring  of 
fountains  and  the  song  of  the  nightingale :  as  I  in- 
hale the  odour  of  the  rose  and  feel  the  influence  of 
the  balmy  climate,  I  am  almost  tempted  to  fancy 
myself  in  the  Paradise  of  Mahomet,  and  that  the 
plump  little  Dolores  is  one  of  the  bright-eyed  Houris, 
destined  to  administer  to  the  happiness  of  true  be- 
lievers. 


THE   TRUANT. 


Since  writing  the  foregoing  pages,  we  have  had 
a  scene  of  petty  tribulation  in  the  Alhambra  which 
has  thrown  a  cloud  over  the  sunny  countenance  of 
Dolores.  This  little  damsel  has  a  female  passion  for 
pets  of  all  kinds,  from  the  superabundant  kindness 
of  her  disposition.  One  of  the  ruined  courts  of  the 
Alhambra  is  thronged  with  her  favourites.  A  stately 
peacock  and  his  hen  seem  to  hold  regal  sway  here, 
over  pompous  turkeys,  querulous  guinea  fowls,  and 
a  rabble  rout  of  common  cocks  and  hens.  The  great 
delight  of  Dolores,  however,  has  for  some  time  past 
been  centred  in  a  youthful  pair  of  pigeons,  who 
have  lately  entered  into  the  holy  state  of  wedlock, 
and  who  have  even  supplanted  a  tortoise  shell  cat 
and  kitten  in  her  affections. 

As  a  tenement  for  them  to  commence  housekeep- 
ing she  had  fitted  up  a  small  chamber  adjacent  to 
the  kitchen,  the  window  of  which  looked  into  one  of 
the  quiet  Moorish  courts.  Here  they  lived  in  happy 
ignorance  of  any  world  beyond  the  court  and  its 
sunny  roofs.  In  vain  they  aspired  to  soar  above  the 
battlements,  or  to  mount  to  the  summit  of  the  towers. 
Their  virtuous  union  was  at  length  crowned  by  two 
spotless  and  milk  white  eggs,  to  the  great  joy  of  their 
cherishing  little  mistress.  Nothing  could  be  more 
praiseworthy  than  the  conduct  of  the  young  married 
folks  on  this  interesting  occasion.  They  took  turns 
to  sit  upon  the  nest  until  the  eggs  were  hatched, 
and  while  their  callow  progeny  required  warmth  and 
shelter.  While  one  thus  stayed  at  home,  the  other 
foraged  abroad  for  food,  and  brought  home  abun- 
dant supplies. 

This  scene  of  conjugal  felicity  has  suddenly  met 


with  a  reverse.  Early  this  morning,  as  Dolores  was 
feeding  the  male  pigeon,  she  took  a  fancy  to  give 
him  a  peep  at  the  great  world.  Opening  a  window, 
therefore,  which  looks  down  upon  the  valley  of  the 
Darro,  she  launched  him  at  once  beyond  the  walls 
of  the  Alhambra.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the 
astonished  bird  had  to  try  the  full  vigour  of  his 
wings.  He  swept  down  into  the  valley,  and  then 
rising  upwards  with  a  surge,  soared  almost  to  the 
clouds.  Never  before  had  he  risen  to  such  a  height 
or  experienced  such  delight  in  flying,  and  like  a 
young  spendthrift,  just  come  to  his  estate,  he  seemed 
giddy  with  excess  of  liberty,  and  with  the  boundless 
field  of  action  suddenly  opened  to  him.  For  the 
whole  day  he  has  been  cifcling  about  in  capricious 
flights,  from  tower  to  tower  and  from  tree  to  tree. 
Every  attempt  has  been  made  in  vain  to  lure  him 
back,  by  scattering  grain  upon  the  roofs  ;  he  seems 
to  have  lost  all  thought  of  home,  of  his  tender  help- 
mate and  his  callow  young.  To  add  to  the  anxiety 
of  Dolores,  he  has  been  joined  by  two  palomas  la- 
drones,  or  robber  pigeons,  whose  instinct  it  is  to 
entice  wandering  pigeons  to  their  own  dove-cotes. 
The  fugitive,  like  many  other  thoughtless  youths  on 
their  first  launching  upon  the  world,  seems  quite 
fascinated  with  these  knowing,  but  graceless,  com- 
panions, who  have  undertaken  to  show  him  life  and 
introduce  him  to  society.  He  has  been  soaring  with 
them  over  all  the  roofs  and  steeples  of  Granada.  A 
thunder  shower  has  passed  over  the  city,  but  he  has 
not  sought  his  home;  night  has  closed  in,  and  still 
he  comes  not.  To  deepen  the  pathos  of  the  affair, 
the  female  pigeon,  after  remaining  several  hours  on 
the  nest  without  being  relieved,  at  length  went  forth 
to  seek  her  recreant  mate  ;  but  stayed  away  so  long 
that  the  young  ones  perished  for  want  of  the  warmth 
and  shelter  of  the  parent  bosom. 

At  a  late  hour  in  the  evening,  word  was  brought 
to  Dolores  that  the  truant  bird  had  been  seen  upon 
the  towers  of  the  Generaliffe.  Now,  it  so  happens 
that  the  Administrador  of  that  ancient  palace  has 
likewise  a  dove-cote,  among  the  inmates  of  which 
are  said  to  be  two  or  three  of  these  inveigling  birds, 
the  terror  of  all  neighbouring  pigeon  fanciers.  Do- 
lores immediately  concluded  that  the  two  feathered 
sharpers  who  had  been  seen  with  her  fugitive,  were 
these  bloods  of  the  Generaliffe.  A  council  of  war 
was  forthwith  held  in  the  chamber  of  Tia  Antonia. 
The  Generaliffe  is  a  distinct  jurisdiction  from  the 
Alhambra,  and  of  course  some  punctilio,  if  not  jeal- 
ousy, exists  between  their  custodians.  It  was  deter- 
mined, therefore,  to  send  Pepe,  the  stuttering  lad  of 
the  gardens,  as  ambassador  to  the  Administrador, 
requesting  that  if  such  fugitive  should  be  found  in 
his  dominions,  he  might  be  given  up  as  a  subject  of 
the  Alhambra.  Pepe  departed,  accordingly,  on  his 
diplomatic  expedition,  through  the  moonlight  groves 
and  avenues,  but  returned  in  an  hour  with  the  af- 
flicting intelligence  that  no  such  bird  was  to  be 
found  in  the  dove-cote  of  the  Generaliffe.  The  ad- 
ministrador, however,  pledged  his  sovereign  bird, 
that  if  such  vagrant  should  appear  there,  even  at 
midnight,  he  should  instantly  be  arrested  and  sent 
back  prisoner  to  his  little  black-eyed  mistress. 

Thus  stands  this  melancholy  affair,  which  has  oc- 
casioned much  distress  throughout  the  palace,  and 
has  sent  the  inconsolable  Dolores  to  a  sleepless  pil- 
low. 

— "  Sorrow  endureth  for  a  night,"  says  the  proverb, 
"  but  joy  ariseth  in  the  morning."  The  first  object 
that  met  my  eyes  on  leaving  my  room  this  morning 
was  Dolores  with  the  truant  pigeon  in  her  hand,  and 
her  eyes  sparkling  with  joy.  He  had  appeared  at  an 
early  hour  on  the  battlements,  hovering  shyly  about 
from  roof  to  roof,  but  at  length  entered  the  window 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


113 


and  surrendered  himself  prisoner.  He  gained  little 
credit,  however,  by  his  return,  for  the  ravenous  man- 
ner in  which  he  devoured  the  food  set  before  him, 
showed  that,  like  the  prodigal  son,  he  had  been 
driven  home  by  sheer  famine.  Dolores  upbraided 
him  for  his  faithless  conduct,  calling  him  all  manner 
of  vagrant  names,  though  woman-like,  she  fondled 
him  at  the  same  time  to  her  bosom  and  covered  him 
with  kisses.  I  observed,  however,  that  she  had 
taken  care  to  clip  his  wings  to  prevent  all  future 
soarings ;  a  precaution  which  I  mention  for  the 
benefit  of  all  those  who  have  truant  wives  or  wan- 
dering husbands.  More  than  one  valuable  moral 
might  be  drawn  from  the  story  of  Dolores  and  her 
pigeon. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  CHAMBER. 


On  taking  up  my  abode  in  the  Alhambra,  one  end 
of  a  suite  of  empty  chambers  of  modern  architect- 
ure, intended  for  the  residence  of  the  governor, 
was  fitted  up  for  my  reception.  It  was  in  front 
of  the  palace,  looking  forth  upon  the  esplanade. 
The  farther  end  communicated  with  a  cluster  of  lit- 
tle chambers,  partly  Moorish,  partly  modern,  in- 
habited by  Tia  Antonia  and  her  family.  These 
terminated  in  a  large  room  which  serves  the  good 
old  dame  for  parlour,  kitchen,  and  hall  of  audience. 
It  had  boasted  of  some  splendour  in  time  of  the 
Moors,  but  a  tire-place  had  been  built  in  one  corner, 
the  smoke  from  which  had  discoloured  the  walls ; 
nearly  obliterated  the  orn.aments,  and  spread  a  som- 
bre tint  over  the  whole.  From  these  gloomy  apart- 
ments, a  narrow  blind  corridor  and  a  dark  winding 
staircase  led  down  an  angle  of  the  tower  of  Co- 
mares  ;  groping  down  which,  and  opening  a  small 
door  at  the  bottom,  you  are  suddenly  dazzled  by 
emerging  into  the  brilliant  antechamber  of  the  hall 
of  ambassadors,  with  the  fountain  of  the  court  of  the 
Alberca  sparkling  before  you. 

I  was  dissatisfied  with  being  lodged  in  a  modern 
and  frontier  apartment  of  the  palace,  and  longed  to 
ensconce  myself  in  the  very  heart  of  the  building. 

As  1  was  rambling  one  day  about  the  Moorish 
halls,  I  found,  in  a  remote  gallery,  a  door  which  I  had 
not  before  noticed,  communicating  apparently  with 
an  extensive  apartment,  locked  up  from  the  public. 
Here  then  was  a  mystery.  Here  was  the  haunted 
wing  of  the  castle.  I  procured  the  key,  however, 
without  difficulty.  The  door  opened  to  a  range  of 
vacant  chambers  of  European  architecture  ;  though 
built  over  a  Moorish  arcade,  along  the  little  garden 
of  Lindaraxa.  There  were  two  lofty  rooms,  the 
ceilings  of  which  were  of  deep  panel-work  of  cedar, 
richly  and  skilfully  carved  with  fruits  and  flowers, 
intermingled  with  grotesque  masks  or  faces ;  but 
broken  in  many  places.  The  walls  had  evidently, 
in  ancient  times,  been  hung  with  damask,  but  were 
now  naked,  and  scrawled  over  with  the  insignificant 
names  of  aspiring  travellers  ;  the  windows,  which 
were  dismantled  and  open  to  wind  and  weather, 
looked  into  the  garden  of  Lindaraxa,  and  the  orange 
and  citron  trees  Hung  their  branches  into  the  cham- 
bers. Beyond  these  rooms  were  two  saloons,  less 
lofty,  looking  also  into  the  garden.  In  the  com- 
partments of  the  panelled  ceiling  were  baskets  of 
fruit  and  garlands  of  flowers,  painted  by  no  mean 
hand,  and  in  tolerable  preservation.  The  walls  had 
also  been  painted  in  fresco  in  the  Italian  style,  but 
the  paintings  were  nearly  obliterated.  The  win- 
8 


dows  were  in  the  same  shattered  state  as  in  the  other 
chambers. 

This  fanciful  suite  of  rooms  terminated  in  an  open 
gallery  with  balustrades,  which  ran  at  right  angles 
along  another  side  of  the  garden.  The  whole  apart- 
ment had  a  delicacy  and  elegance  in  its  decorations, 
and  there  was  something  so  choice  and  sequestered 
in  its  situation,  along  this  retired  little  garden,  that 
awakened  an  interest  in  its  history.  I  found,  on  in- 
quir)',  that  it  was  an  apartment  fitted  up  by  Italian 
artists,  in  the  early  part  of  the  last  century,  at  the 
time  when  Philip  V.  and  the  beautiful  Elizabetta  of 
Parma  were  expected  at  the  Alhambra ;  and  was 
destined  for  the  queen  and  the  ladies  of  her  train. 
One  of  the  loftiest  chambers  had  been  her  sleeping 
room,  and  a  narrow  staircase  leading  from  it,  though 
now  walled  up,  opened  to  the  delightful  belvedere, 
originally  a  mirador  of  the  Moorish  sultanas,  but  fit- 
ted up  as  a  boudoir  for  the  fair  Elizabetta,  and  which 
still  retains  the  name  of  the  Tocador,  or  toilette  of 
the  queen.  The  sleeping  room  I  have  mentioned, 
commanded  from  one  window  a  prospect  of  the 
Generaliffe,  and  its  imbowered  terraces  ;  under  an- 
other window  played  the  alabaster  fountain  of  the 
garden  of  Lindaraxa.  That  garden  carried  my 
thoughts  still  farther  back,  to  the  period  of  another 
reign  of  beauty  ;  to  the  days  of  the  Moorish  sultanas. 
"  How  beauteous  is  this  garden  !  "  says  an  Arabic 
inscription,  "  where  the  flowers  of  the  earth  vie  with 
the  s'tars  of  heaven  !  what  can  compare  with  the  vase 
of  yon  alabaster  fountain  filled  with  crystal  water  ? 
Nothing  but  the  moon  in  her  fulness,  shining  in  the 
midst  of  an  unclouded  sky  !  " 

Centuries  had  elapsed,  yet  how  much  of  this  scene 
of  apparently  fragile  beauty  remained  !  The  garden 
of  Lindaraxa  was  still  adorned  with  flowers ;  the 
fountain  still  presented  its  crystal  mirror  :  it  is  true, 
the  alabaster  had  lost  its  whiteness,  and  the  basin 
beneath,  overrun  with  weeds,  had  become  the  nes- 
tling place  of  the  lizard  ;  but  there  was  something  in 
the  very  decay  that  enhanced  the  interest  of  the 
scene,  speaking,  as  it  did,  of  that  mutability  which  is 
the  irrevocable  lot  of  man  and  all  his  works.  .  The 
desolation,  too,  of  these  chambers,  once  the  abode 
of  the  proud  and  elegant  Elizabetta,  had  a  more 
touching  charm  for  me  than  if  I  had  beheld  them  in 
their  pristine  splendour,  glittering  with  the  pageant- 
ry of  a  court. — I  determined  at  once  to  take  up  my 
quarters  in  this  apartment. 

My  determination  excited  great  surprise  in  the 
family ;  who  could  not  imagine  any  rational  induce- 
ment for  the  choice  of  so  solitary,  remote  and  for- 
lorn an  apartment.  The  good  Tia  Antonia  consid- 
ered it  highly  dangerous.  The  neighbourhood,  she 
said,  was  infested  by  vagrants ;  the  caverns  of  the 
adjacent  hills  swarmed  with  gipsies  ;  the  palace  was 
ruinous  and  easy  to  be  entered  in  many  parts ;  and 
the  rumour  of  a  stranger  quartered  alone  in  one  of 
the  ruined  apartments,  out  of  the  hearing  of  the  rest 
of  the  inhabitants,  might  tempt  unwelcome  visitors 
in  the  night,  especially  as  foreigners  are  always  sup- 
posed to  be  well  stocked  with  money.  Dolores  rep- 
resented the  frightful  loneliness  of  the  place  ;  nothing 
but  bats  and  owls  flitting  about ;  then  there  were  a 
fox  and  a  wild  cat  that  kept  about  the  vaults  and 
roamed  about  at  night. 

I  was  not  to  be  diverted  from  my  humour,  so  call- 
ing in  the  assistance  of  a  carpenter,  and  the  ever 
officious  Mateo  Ximenes,  the  doors  and  windows 
were  soon  placed  in  a  state  of  tolerable  security. 

With  all  these  precautions,  I  must  confess  the  first 
night  I  passed  in  these  quarters  was  inexpressibly 
dreary.  I  was  escorted  by  the  whole  family  to  my 
chamber,  and  there  taking  leave  of  me,  and  retiring 
along  the  waste  antechamber  and  echoing  galleries. 


lU 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


reminded  me  of  those  hobgoblin  stories,  where  the 
hero  is  left  to  accomplish  the  adventure  of  a  haunted 
house. 

Soon  the  thoughts  of  the  fair  Elizabetta  and  the 
beauties  of  her  court,  who  had  once  graced  these 
chambers,  now  by  a  perversion  of  fancy  added  to  the 
gloom.  Here  was  the  scene  of  their  transient  gaiety 
and  loveliness ;  here  were  the  very  traces  of  their 
elegance  and  enjoyment ;  but  what  and  where  were 
they  ? — Dust  and  ashes  !  tenants  of  the  tomb  !  phan- 
toms of  the  memory  ! 

A  vague  and  indescribable  awe  was  creeping  over 
me.  I  would  fain  have  ascribed  it  to  the  thoughts 
of  robbers,  awakened  by  the  evening's  conversation, 
out  I  felt  that  it  was  something  more  unusual  and 
absurd.  In  a  word,  the  long  buried  impressions  of 
the  nursery  were  reviving  and  asserting  their  power 
over  my  imagination.  Every  thing  began  to  be  af- 
fected by  the  workings  of  my  mind.  The  whisper- 
ing of  the  wind  among  the  citron  trees  beneath  my 
window  had  something  sinister.  I  cast  mv  eyes  into 
the  garden  of  Lindaraxa;  the  groves  presented  a 
gulf  of  shadows  ;  the  thickets  had  indistinct  and 
ghastly  shapes.  I  was  glad  to  close  the  window  ; 
but  my  chamber  itself  became  infected.  A  bat  had 
found  its  way  in,  and  flitted  about  my  head  and 
athwart  my  solitary  lamp  ;  the  grotesque  faces  carved 
in  the  cedar  ceiling  seemed  to  mope  and  mow  at  me. 

Rousing  myself,  and  half  smiling  at  this  tempora- 
ry weakness,  I  resolved  to  brave  it,  and,  taking  lamp 
in  hand,  sallied  forth  to  make  a  tour  of  the  ancient 
palace.  Notwithstanding  every  mental  exertion,  the 
task  was  a  severe  one.  The  rays  of  my  lamp  ex- 
tended to  but  a  limited  distance  around  me  ;  I  walked 
as  it  were  in  a  mere  halo  of  light,  and  all  beyond  was 
thick  darkness.  The  vaulted  corridors  were  as  caverns; 
the  vaults  of  the  halls  were  lost  in  gloom  ;  what  un- 
seen foe  might  not  be  lurking  before  or  behind  me  ; 
my  own  shadow  playing  about  the  walls,  and  the 
echoes  of  my  own  footsteps  disturbed  me. 

In  this  excited  state,  as  I  was  traversing  the  great 
Hall  of  Ambassadors,  there  were  added  real  sounds  to 
these  conjectural  fancies.  Low  moans  and  indistinct 
ejaculations  seemed  to  rise  as  it  were  from  beneath 
my  feet ;  I  paused  and  listened.  They  then  appear- 
ed to  resound  from  without  the  tower.  Sometimes 
they  resembled  the  bowlings  of  an  animal,  at  others 
they  were  stifled  shrieks,  mingled  with  articulate 
ravings.  The  thrilling  effect  of  these  sounds  in  that 
still  hour  and  singular  place,  destroyed  all  inclination 
to  continue  my  lonely  perambulation.  I  returned  to 
my  chamber  with  more  alacrity  than  I  had  sallied 
forth,  and  drew  my  breath  more  freely  when  once 
more  within  its  walls,  and  the  door  bolted  behind 
me. 

When  I  awoke  in  the  morning,  with  the  sun  shin- 
ing in  at  my  window,  and  lighting  up  every  part  of 
the  building  with  its  cheerful  and  truth-telling  beams, 
I  could  scarcely  recall  the  shadows  and  fancies  con- 
jured up  by  the  gloom  of  the  preceding  night ;  or 
believe  that  the  scenes  around  me,  so  naked  and  ap- 
parent, could  have  been  clothed  with  such  imaginary 
horrors. 

Still  the  dismal  howHngs  and  ejaculations  I  had 
heard,  were  not  ideal ;  but  they  were  soon  accounted 
for,  by  my  handmaid  Dolores  ;  being  the  ravings  of 
a  poor  maniac,  a  brother  of  her  aunt,  who  was  sub- 
ject to  violent  paroxysms,  during  which  he  was  con- 
fined in  a  vaulted  room  beneath  the  Hall  of  Ambas- 
sadors. 


THE  ALHAMBRA  BY  MOONLIGHT. 


I  HAVE  given  a  picture  of  my  apartment  on  my 
first  taking  possession  of  it  ;  a  few  evenings  have 
produced  a  thorough  change  in  the  scene  and  in  my 
feelings.  The  moon,  which  then  was  invisible,  has 
gradually  gained  upon  the  nights,  and  now  rolls  in 
full  splendour  above  the  towers,  pouring  a  flood  of 
tempered  light  into  every  court  and  hall.  The  gar- 
den beneath  my  window  is  gently  lighted  up ;  the 
orange  and  citron  trees  are  tipped  with  silver;  the 
fountain  sparkles  in  the  moon  beams,  and  even  the 
blush  of  the  rose  is  faintly  visible. 

I  have  sat  for  hours  at  my  window  inhaling  the 
sweetness  of  the  garden,  and  musing  on  the  che- 
quered features  of  those  whose  history  is  dimly 
shadowed  out  in  the  elegant  memorials  around. 
Sometimes  I  have  issued  forth  at  midnight  when 
every  thing  was  quiet,  and  have  wandered  over  the 
whole  building.  Who  can  do  justice  to  a  moonlight 
night  in  such  a  climate,  and  in  such  a  place  !  The 
temperature  of  an  Andalusian  midnight,  in  summer 
is  perfectly  ethereal.  We  seem  lifted  up  into  a  purer 
atmosphere;  there  is  a  serenity  of  soul,  a  buoyancy 
of  spirits,  an  elasticity  of  frame  that  render  mere  ex- 
istence enjoyment.  The  effect  of  moonlight,  too,  on 
the  Alhambra  has  something  like  enchantment. 
Every  rent  and  chasm  of  time,  every  mouldering 
tint  and  weather  stain  disappears  ;  the  marble  re- 
sunpies  its  original  whiteness ;  the  long  colonnades 
brighten  in  the  moon  beams ;  the  halls  are  illumi- 
nated with  a  softened  radiance,  until  the  whole  edi- 
fice reminds  one  of  the  enchanted  palace  of  an 
Arabian  tale. 

At  such  time  I  have  ascended  to  the  little  pavilion, 
called  the  Queen's  Toilette,  to  enjoy  its  varied  and 
extensive  prospect.  To  the  right,  the  snowy  sum- 
mits of  the  Sierra  Nevada  would  gleam  like  silver 
clouds  against  the  darker  firmament,  and  all  the 
outlines  of  the  mountain  would  be  softened,  yet  deli- 
cately defined.  My  delight,  however,  would  be  to 
lean  over  the  parapet  of  the  tocador,  and  gaze  down 
upon  Granada,  spread  out  like  a  map  below  me :  all 
buried  in  deep  repose,  and  its  white  palaces  and 
convents  sleeping  as  it  were  in  the  moonshine. 

Sometimes  I  would  hear  the  faint  sounds  of  cas- 
tanets from  some  party  of  dancers  lingering  in  the 
Alameda  ;  at  other  times  I  have  heard  the  dubious 
tones  of  a  guitar,  and  the  notes  of  a  single  voice 
rising  from  some  solitary  street,  and  have  pictured 
to  myself  some  youthful  cavalier  serenading  his  lady's 
window ;  a  gallant  custom  of  former  days,  but  now 
sadly  on  the  decline  except  in  the  remote  towns  and 
villages  of  Spain. 

Such  are  the  scenes  that  have  detained  me  for 
many  an  hour  loitering  about  the  courts  and  bal- 
conies of  the  castle,  enjoying  that  mixture  of  reverie 
and  sensation  which  steal  away  existence  in  a  south- 
ern climate — and  it  has  been  almost  morning  before 
I  have  retired  to  my  bed,  and  been  lulled  to  sleep  by 
the  falling  waters  of  the  fountain  of  Lindaraxa. 


INHABITANTS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


I  HAVE  often  observed  that  the  more  proudly  a 
mansion  has  been  tenanted  in  the  day  of  its  pros- 
perity, the  humbler  are  its  inhabitants  in  the  day  of 
its  decline,  and  that  the  palace  of  the  king  common- 
ly ends  in  being  the  nestling  place  of  the  beggar. 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


ns 


The  Alhambra  is  in  a  rapid  state  of  similar 
transition :  whenever  a  tower  falls  to  decay,  it  is 
seized  upon  by  some  tatterdemalion  family,  who 
become  joint  tenants  with  the  bats  and  owls  of  its 
gilded  halls,  and  hang  their  rags,  those  standards  of 
poverty,  out  of  its  windows  and  loop-holes. 

I  have  amused  myself  with  remarking  some  of 
the  motley  characters  that  have  thus  usurped  the 
ancient  abode  of  royalty,  and  who  seem  as  if  placed 
here  to  give  a  farcical  termination  to  the  drama 
of  human  pride.  One  of  these  even  bears  the 
mockery  of  a  royal  title.  It  is  a  little  old  woman 
named  Maria  Antonia  Sabonea,  but  who  goes  by 
the  appellation  of  la  Reyna  Cuquina,  or  the  cockle 
queen.  She  is  small  enough  to  be  a  fairy,  and  a 
fairy  she  may  be  for  aught  I  can  find  out,  for  no  one 
seems  to  know  her  origin.  Her  habitation  is  a  kind  j 
of  closet  under  the  outer  staircase  of  the  palace,  and  I 
she  sits  in  the  cool  stone  corridor  plying  her  needle  ! 
and  singing  from  morning  till  night,  with  a  ready 
joke  for  every  one  that  passes,  for  though  one  of 
the  poorest,  she  is  one  of  the  merriest  little  women 
breathing.  Her  great  merit  is  a  gift  for  story-tell- 
ing ;  having,  I  verily  believe,  as  many  stories  at  her 
command  as  the  inexhaustible  Scheherezade  of  the 
thousand  and  one  nights.  Some  of  these  I  have 
heard  her  relate  in  the  evening  tertulias  of  Dona 
Antonia,  at  which  she  is  occasionally  an  humble  at- 
tendant. 

Tliat  there  must  be  some  fairy  gift  about  this 
mysterious  little  old  woman,  would  appear  from  her 
extraordinary  luck,  since,  notwithstanding  her  being 
very  little,  very  ugly,  and  very  poor,  she  has  had, 
according  to  her  own  account,  five  husbands  and  a 
half;  reckoning  as  a  half,  one,  a  young  dragoon  who 
died  during  courtship. 

A  rival  personage  to  this  little  fairy  queen  is  a 
portly  old  fellow  with  a  bottle  nose,  who  goes  about 
in  a  rusty  garb,  with  a  cocked  hat  of  oil  skin  and  a 
red  cockade.  He  is  one  of  the  legitimate  sons  of 
the  Alhambra,  and  has  lived  here  all  his  life,  filling 
various  offices;  such  as  deputy  Alguazil,  sexton  of 
the  parochial  church,  and  marker  of  a  five's  court 
established  at  the  foot  of  one  of  the  towers.  He  is 
as  poor  as  a  rat,  but  as  proud  as  he  is  ragged, 
boasting  of  his  descent  from  the  illustrious  house  of 
Aguilar,  from  which  sprang  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova, 
the  Grand  captain.  Nay,  he  actually  bears  the 
name  of  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  so  renowned  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  conquest,  though  the  graceless  wags  of 
the  fortress  have  given  him  the  title  of  el  Fadre 
Santo,  or  the  Holy  Father,  the  usu.al  appellation  of 
the  pope,  which  I  had  thought  too  sacred  in  the  eyes 
of  true  catholics  to  be  thus  ludicrously  applied.  It 
is  a  whimsical  caprice  of  fortune,  to  present  in  the 
grotesque  person  of  this  tatterdemalion  a  namesake 
and  descendant  of  the  proud  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  the 
mirror  of  Andalusian  chivalry,  leading  an  almost 
mendicant  existence  about  this  once  haughty  for- 
tress, which  his  ancestor  aided  to  reduce ;  yet  such 
might  have  been  the  lot  of  the  descendants  of  Aga- 
memnon and  Achilles,  had  they  lingered  about  the 
ruins  of  Troy. 

Of  this  motley  community  I  find  the  family  of  my 
gossiping  squire  Mateo  Ximenes  to  form,  from  their 
numbers  at  least,  a  very  important  part.  His  boast 
of  being  a  son  of  the  Alhambra  is  not  unfounded. 
This  family  has  inhabited  the  fortress  ever  since  the 
time  of  the  conquest,  handing  down  a  hereditary 
poverty  from  father  to  son,  not  one  of  them  having 
ever  been  known  to  be  worth  a  marevedi.  His 
father,  by  trade  a  riband  weaver,  and  who  succeeded 
the  historical  tailor  as  the  head  of  the  family,  is  now 
near  seventy  years  of  age,  and  lives  in  a  hovel  of 
reeds  and  plaster,  built  by  his  own  hands,  just  above 


the  iron  gate.  The  furniture  consists  of  a  crazy 
bed,  a  table,  and  two  or  three  chairs  ;  a  wooden 
chest,  containing  his  clothes,  and  the  archives  of  his 
family;  that  is  to  say,  a  few  papers  concerning  old 
law-suits  which  he  cannot  read  ;  but  the  pride  of  his 
heart  is  a  blazon  of  the  arms  of  the  family,  brilliantly 
coloured  and  suspended  in  a  frame  against  the  wall, 
clearly  demonstrating  by  its  quarterings  the  various 
noble  houses  with  which  this  poverty-stricken  brood 
claim  affinity. 

As  to  Mateo  himself,  he  has  done  his  utmost  to 
perpetuate  his  line  ;  having  a  wife,  and  a  numerous 
progeny  who  inhabit  an  almost  dismantled  hovel  in 
the  hamlet.  How  they  manage  to  subsist.  He  only 
who  sees  into  all  mysteries  can  tell — the  subsistence 
of  a  Spanish  family  of  the  kind  is  always  a  riddle  to 
me  ;  yet  they  do  subsist,  and,  what  is  more,  appear 
to  enjoy  their  existence.  The  wife  takes  her  holyday 
stroll  in  the  Paseo  of  Granada,  with  a  child  in  her 
arms,  and  half  a  dozen  at  her  heels,  and  the  eldest 
daughter,  now  verging  into  womanhood,  dresses 
her  hair  with  flov^'ers,  and  dances  gaily  to  the  cas- 
tanets. 

There  are  two  ■  classes  of  people  to  whom  life 
seems  one  long  holyday,  the  very  rich  and  the  verj' 
poor ;  one  because  they  need  do  nothing,  the  other 
because  they  have  nothing  to  do  ;  but  there  are  none 
who  understand  the  art  of  doing  nothing  and  living 
upon  nothing  better  than  the  poor  classes  of  Spain. 
Climate  does  one  half  and  temperament  the  rest. 
Give  a  Spaniard  the  shade  in  summer,  and  the  sun 
in  winter,  a  little  bread,  garlic,  oil  and  garbanzos,  an 
old  brown  cloak  and  a  guitar,  and  let  the  world  roll 
on  as  it  pleases.  Talk  of  poverty,  with  him  it  has 
no  disgrace.  It  sits  upon  him  with  a  grandioso 
style,  Hice  his  ragged  cloak.  He  is  a  hidalgo  even 
when  in  rags. 

The  "  Sons  of  the  Alhambra  "  are  an  eminent 
illustration  of  this  practical  philosophy.  As  the 
Moors  imagined  that  the  celestial  paradise  hung 
over  this  favoured  spot,  so  I  am  inclined,  at  times,  to 
fancy  that  a  gleam  of  the  golden  age  still  lingers 
about  this  ragged  community.  They  possess  noth- 
ing, they  do  nothing,  they  care  for  nothing.  Yet, 
though  apparently  idle  all  the  week,  they  are  as 
observant  of  all  holydays  and  saints'  days  as  the 
most  laborious  artisan.  They  attend  all  fetes  and 
dancings  in  Granada  and  its  vicinity,  light  bon-fires 
on  the  hills  of  St.  John's  eve,  and  have  lately  danced 
away  the  moonlight  nights,  on  the  har\'est  home  of  a 
small  field  of  wheat  within  the  precincts  of  the  for- 
tress. 

Before  concluding  these  remarks  I  must  mention 
one  of  the  anmsements  of  the  place  which  has  par- 
ticularly struck  me.  I  had  repeatedly  observed  a  long, 
lean  fellow  perched  on  the  top  of  one  of  the  towers 
manoeuvring  two  or  three  fishing  rods,  as  though  he 
was  angling  for  the  stars.  I  was  for  some  time  per- 
plexed by  the  evolutions  of  this  aerial  fisherman,  and 
my  perplexity  increased  on  observing  others  em- 
ployed in  like  manner,  on  different  parts  of  the  bat- 
tlements and  bastions ;  it  was  not  until  I  consulted 
Mateo  Ximenes  that  I  solved  the  mystery. 

It  seems  that  the  pure  and  airy  situation  of  this 
fortress  has  rendered  it,  like  the  castle  of  Macbeth, 
a  prolific  breeding-place  for  swallows  and  martlets, 
who  sport  about  its  towers  in  myriads,  with  the 
holyday  glee  of  urchins  just  let  loose  from  school. 
To  entrap  these  birds  in  their  giddy  circlings,  with 
hooks  baited  with  flies,  is  one  of  the  favourite  amuse- 
ments of  the  ragged  "  Sons  of  the  Alhambra,"  who, 
with  the  good-for-nothing  ingenuity  of  arrant  idlers, 
have  thus  invented  the  art  of  angling  in  the  sky. 


116 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


THE  BALCONY. 


In  the  Hall  of  Ambassadors,  at  the  central  win- 
dow, there  is  a  balcony  of  which  I  have  already  made 
mention.  It  projects  like  a  cage  from  the  face  of 
I  he  tower,  high  in  mid-air,  above  the  tops  of  the 
trees  that  grow  on  the  steep  hill-side.  It  answers 
me  as  a  kind  of  observatory,  where  I  often  take  my 
seat  to  consider,  not  merely  the  heavens  above,  but 
the  "earth  beneath."  Beside  the  magnificent  pros- 
pect which  it  commands,  of  mountain,  valley,  and 
Vega,  there  is  a  busy  little  scene  of  human  life  laid 
open  to  inspection  immediately  below.  At  the  foot 
of  the  hill  is  an  alameda  or  public  walk,  which, 
though  not  so  fashionable  as  the  more  modern  and 
splendid  paseo  of  the  Xenil,  stiJl  boasts  a  varied  and 
picturesque  concourse,  especially  on  holydays  and 
Sundays.  Hither  resort  the  small  gentry  of  the 
suburbs,  together  with  priests  and  friars  who  walk 
for  appetite  and  digestion  ;  majos  and  majas,  the 
beaux  and  belles  of  the  lower  classes  in  their  Anda- 
lusian  dresses ;  swaggering  contrabandistas,  and 
sometimes  half-muffled  and  mysterious  loungers  of 
the  higher  ranks,  on  some  silent  assignation. 

It  is  a  moving  picture  of  Spanish  life  which  I  de- 
light to  study  ;  and  as  the  naturalist  has  his  micro- 
scope to  assist  him  in  his  curious  investigations,  so  I 
have  a  small  pocket  telescope  which  brings  the 
countenances  of  the  motley  groupes  so  close  as  al- 
most at  times  to  make  me  think  I  can  divine  their 
conversation  by  the  play  and  expression  of  their 
features.  I  am  thus,  in  a  manner,  an  invisible  ob- 
server, and  without  quitting  my  solitude,  can  throw 
myself  in  an  instant  into  the  midst  of  society— a  rare 
advantage  to  one  of  somewhat  shy  and  quiet  habits 

Then  there  is  a  considerable  suburb  lying  below 
the  Alhambra,  tilling  the  narrow  gorge  of  the  valley, 
and  extending  up  the  opposite  hill  of  the  Albaycin. 
Many  of  the  houses  are  built  in  the  Moorish  style, 
round  patios  or  courts  cooled  by  fountains  and  open 
to  the  sky  ;  and  as  the  inhabitants  pass  much  of 
their  time  in  these  courts  and  on  the  terraced  roofs 
during  the  summer  season,  it  follows  that  many  a 
glance  at  their  domestic  life  may  be  obtained  by  an 
aerial  spectator  like  myself,  who  can  look  down  on 
them  from  the  clouds. 

I  enjoy,  in  some  degree,  the  advantages  of  the 
student  in  the  famous  old  Spanish  story,  who  beheld 
all  Madrid  unroofed  for  his  inspection  ;  and  my  gos- 
sipping  squire  Mateo  Ximenes,  officiates  occasionally 
as  my  Asmodeus,  to  give  me  anecdotes  of  the  differ- 
ent mansions  and  their  inhabitants. 

I  prefer,  however,  to  form  conjectural  histories  for 
myself;  and  thus  can  sit  up  aloft  for  hours,  weaving 
from  casual  incidents  and  indications  that  pass  under 
my  eye,  the  whole  tissue  of  schemes,  intrigues  and 
occupations,  carrying  on  by  certain  of  the  busy 
mortals  below  us.  There  is  scarce  a  pretty  face  or 
striking  figure  that  I  daily  see,  about  which  I  have 
not  thus  gradually  framed  a  dramatic  story ;  though 
some  of  my  characters  will  occasionally  act  in  direct 
opposition  to  the  part  assigned  them,  and  disconcert 
my  whole  drama. 

A  few  days  since  as  I  was  reconnoitring  with  my 
glass  the  streets  of  the  Albaycin,  I  beheld  the  pro- 
cession of  a  novice  about  to  take  the  veil ;  and  re- 
marked various  circumstances  that  excited  the 
strongest  sympathy  in  the  fate  of  the  youthful  being 
thus  about  to  be  consigned  to  a  living  tomb.  I  as- 
certained, to  my  satisfaction,  that  she  was  beautiful ; 
and,  by  the  paleness  of  her  cheek,  that  she  was  a 
victim,  rather  than  a  votary.  She  was  arrayed  in 
bridal  garments,  and  decked  with  a  chaplet  of  white 


flowers;  but  her  heart  evidently  revolted  at  this 
mockery  of  a  spiritual  union,  and  yearned  after  its 
earthly  loves.  A  tall  stern-looking  man  walked  near 
her  in  the  procession  ;  it  was  evidently  the  tyrannical 
father,  who,  from  some  bigoted  or  sordid  motive, 
had  compelled  this  sacrifice.  Amidst  the  crowd  was 
a  dark,  handsome  youth,  in  Andalusian  garb,  who 
seemed  to  fix  on  her  an  eye  of  agony.  It  was  doubt- 
less the  secret  lover  from  whom  she  was  for  ever  to 
be  separated.  My  indignation  rose  as  I  noted  the 
malignant  exultation  painted  in  the  countenances  of 
the  attendant  monks  and  friars.  The  procession 
arrived  at  the  chapel  of  the  convent ;  the  sun 
gleamed  for  the  last  time  upon  the  chaplet  of  the 
poor  novice  as  she  crossed  the  fatal  threshold  and 
disappeared  from  sight.  The  throng  poured  in  with 
cowl  and  cross  and  minstrelsy.  The  lover  paused 
for  a  moment  at  the  door ;  I  could  understand  the 
tumult  of  his  feelings,  but  he  mastered  them  and 
entered.  There  was  a  long  interval — I  pictured  to 
myself  the  scene  passing  within. — The  poor  novice 
despoiled  of  her  transient  finery — clothed  in  the  con- 
ventual garb;  the  bridal  chaplet  taken  from  her 
brow ;  her  beautiful  head  shorn  of  its  long  silken 
tresses — 1  heard  her  inurmur  the  irrevocable  vow — I 
saw  her  extended  on  her  bier  ;  the  death  pall  spread 
over ;  the  funeral  service  performed  that  proclaimed 
her  dead  to  the  world  ;  her  sighs  were  drowned  in 
the  waiUng  anthem  of  the  nuns  and  the  sepulchral 
tones  of  the  organ — the  father  looked,  unmoved, 
without  a  tear — -the  lover — no — my  fancy  refused  to 
portray  the  anguish  of  the  lover — there  the  picture 
remained  a  blank. — The  ceremony  was  over :  the 
crowd  again  issued  forth  to  behold  the  day  and 
mingle  in  the  joyous  stir  of  life— but  the  victim  with 
her  bridal  chaplet  was  no  longer  there — the  door  of 
the  convent  closed  that  secured  her  from  the  world 
for  ever.  I  saw  the  father  and  the  lover  issue  forth 
— they  were  in  earnest  conversation — the  young  man 
was  violent  in  his  gestures,  when  the  wall  of  a  house 
intervened  and  shut  them  from  my  sight. 

That  evening  I  noticed  a  solitary  light  twinkling 
from  a  remote  lattice  of  the  convent.  There,  said  1, 
the  unhappy  novice  sits  weeping  in  her  cell,  while  her 
lover  paces  the  street  below  in  unavailing  anguish. 

— The  officious  Mateo  interrupted  my  meditations 
and  destroyed,  in  an  instant,  the  cobweb  tissue  of  my 
fancy.  With  his  usual  zeal  he  had  gathered  facts 
concerning  the  scene  that  had  interested  me.  The 
heroine  of  my  romance  was  neither  young  nor  hand- 
some— she  had  no  love — she  had  entered  the  con- 
vent of  her  own  free  will,  as  a  respectable  asylum, 
and  was  one  of  the  cheerfulest  residents  within  its 
walls ! 

I  felt  at  first  half  vexed  with  the  nun  for  being 
thus  happy  in  her  cell,  in  contradiction  to  all  the  rules 
of  romance  ;  but  diverted  my  spleen  by  watching,  for 
a  day  or  two,  the  pretty  coquetries  of  a  dark-eyed 
brunette,  who,  from  the  covert  of  a  balcony  shrouded 
with  flowering  shrubs  and  a  silken  awning,  was 
carrying  on  a  mysterious  correspondence  with  a 
handsome,  dark,  well-whiskered  cavalier,  in  the 
street  beneath  her  window.  Sometimes  I  saw  him, 
at  .an  early  hour,  stealing  forth,  wrapped  to  the  eyes 
in  a  mantle.  Sometimes  he  loitered  at  the  corner, 
in  various  disguises,  apparently  waiting  for  a  private 
signal  to  slip  into  the  bower.  Then  there  was  a 
tinkling  of  a  guitar  at  night,  and  a  lantern  shifted 
from  place  to  place  in  the  balcony.  I  imagined 
another  romantic  intrigue  like  that  of  Almaviva,  but 
was  again  disconcerted  in  all  my  suppositions  by 
being  informed  that  the  supposed  lover  was  the 
husband  of  the  lady,  and  a  noted  contrabandista . 
and  that  all  his  mysterious  signs  and  movements  had 
doubtless  some  smuggling  scheme  in  view. 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


117 


Scarce  had  the  gray  dawn  streaked  the  sky  and 
the  earliest  cock  crowed  from  the  cottages  of  the 
hill-side,  when  the  suburbs  gave  sign  of  reviving  ani- 
mation ;  for  the  fresh  hours  of  dawning  are  precious 
in  the  summer  season  in  a  sultry  climate.  All  are 
anxious  to  get  the  start  of  the  sun  in  the  business  of 
the  day.  The  muleteer  drives  forth  his  loaded  train 
for  the  journey  ;  the  traveller  slings  his  carbine  be- 
hind his  saddle  and  mounts  his  steed  at  the  gate  of 
the  hostel.  The  brown  peasant  urges  his  loitering 
donkeys,  laden  with  panniers  of  sunny  fruit  and  fresh 
dewy  vegetables  ;  for  already  the  thrifty  housewives 
are  hastening  to  the  market. 

The  sun  is  up  and  sparkles  along  the  valley, 
topping  the  transparent  foliage  of  the  groves.  The 
matin  bells  resound  melodiously  through  the  pure 
bright  air,  announcing  the  hour  of  devotion.  The 
muleteer  halts  his  burdened  animals  before  the 
chapel,  thrusts  his  staff  through  his  belt  behind,  and 
enters  with  hat  in  hand,  smoothing  his  coal  black 
hair,  to  hear  a  mass  and  put  up  a  prayer  for  a  pros- 
perous wayfaring  across  the  Sierra. 

And  now  steals  forth  with  fairy  foot  the  gentle 
Senora,  in  trim  busquina ;  with  restless  fan  in  hand 
and  dark  eye  flashing  from  beneath  her  gracefully 
folded  mantilla.  She  seeks  some  well  frequented 
church  to  offer  up  her  orisons  ;  but  the  nicely  ad- 
justed dress  ;  the  dainty  shoe  and  cobweb  stock- 
ing ;  the  raven  tresses  scrupulously  braided,  the 
fresh  plucked  rose  that  gleams  among  them  like  a 
gem,  show  that  earth  divides  with  heaven  the  em- 
pire of  her  thoughts. 

As  the  morning  advances,  the  din  of  labour  aug- 
ments on  every  side  ;  the  streets  are  thronged  with 
man  and  steed,  and  beast  of  burden  ;  the  universal 
movement  produces  a  hum  and  murmur  like  the 
surges  of  the  ocean.  As  the  sun  ascends  to  his 
meridian  the  hum  and  bustle  gradually  decline ; 
at  the  height  of  noon  there  is  a  pause  ;  the  panting 
city  sinks  into  lassitude,  and  for  several  hours  there 
is  a  general  repose.  The  windows  are  closed  ; 
the  curtains  drawn;  the  inhabitants  retired  into 
the  coolest  recesses  of  their  mansions.  The  full- 
fed  monk  snores  in  his  dormitory.  The  brawny  por- 
ter lies  stretched  on  the  pavement  beside  his  bur- 
den. The  peasant  and  the  labourer  sleep  beneath 
the  trees  of  the  Alameda,  lulled  by  the  sultry  chirp- 
ing of  the  locust.  The  streets  are  deserted  except  by 
the  water  carrier,  who  refreshes  the  ear  by  pro- 
claiming the  merits  of  his  sparkling  beverage, — 
"  Colder  than  mountain  snow." 

As  the  sun  declines  there  is  again  a  gradual  re- 
viving, and  when  the  vesper  bell  rings  out  his  sink- 
ing knell,  all  nature  seems  to  rejoice  that  the  tyrant 
of  the  day  has  fallen. 

Now  begins  the  bustle  of  enjoyment.  The  citi- 
zens pour  forth  to  breathe  the  evening  air,  and 
revel  away  the  brief  twilight  in  the  walks  and  gar- 
dens of  the  Darro  and  the  Xenil. 

As  the  night  closes,  the  motley  scene  assumes 
new  features.  Light  after  light  gradually  twinkles 
forth ;  here  a  taper  from  a  balconied  window ; 
there  a  votive  lamp  before  the  image  of  a  saint. 
Thus  by  degrees  the  city  emerges  from  the  per- 
vading gloom,  and  sparkles  with  scattered  lights 
like  the  starry  firmament.  Now  break  forth  from 
court,  and  garden,  and  street,  and  lane,  the  tink- 
ling of  innumerable  guitars  and  the  clicking  of  cas- 
tanets, blending  at  this  lofty  height,  in  a  faint  and 
general  concert.  "  Enjoy  the  moment,"  is  the 
creed  of  the  gay  and  amorous  Andalusian,  and  at 
no  time  does  he  practise  it  more  zealously  than  in 
the  balmy  nights  of  summer,  wooing  his  mistress 
with  the  dance,  the  love  ditty  and  the  passionate 
serenade. 


I  was  seated  one  evening  in  the  balcony  enjoy- 
ing the  light  breeze  that  came  rustling  along  the 
side  of  the  hill  among  the  tree-tops,  when  my  hum- 
ble historiographer,  Mateo,  who  was  at  my  elbow, 
pointed  out  a  spacious  house  in  an  obscure  street  of 
the  Albaycin,  about  which  he  related,  as  nearly  as  I 
can  recollect,  the  following  anecdote  : 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  MASON. 

There  was  once  upon  a  time  a  poor  mason,  or 
bricklayer  in  Granada,  who  kept  all  the  saints'  days 
and  holydays,  and  saint  Monday  into  the  bargain, 
and  yet,  with  all  his  devotion,  he  grew  poorer  and 
poorer,  and  could  scarcely  earn  bread  for  his  numer- 
ous family.  One  night  he  was  roused  from  his  first 
sleep  by  a  knocking  at  his  door.  He  opened  it 
and  beheld  before  him  a  tall,  meagre,  cadaverous- 
looking  priest.  "  Hark  ye,  honest  friend,"  said  the 
stranger,  "  I  have  observed  that  you  are  a  good 
Christian,  and  one  to  be  trusted;  will  you  undertake 
a  job  this  very  night  ?  " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Senor  Padre,  on  condition 
that  I  am  paid  accordingly." 

"  That  you  shall  be,  but  you  must  suffer  yourself 
to  be  blindfolded." 

To  this  the  mason  made  no  objection  ;  so  being 
hoodwinked,  he  was  led  by  the  priest  through  vari- 
ous rough  lanes  and  winding  passages  until  they 
stopped  before  the  portal  of  a  house.  The  priest 
then  applied  a  key,  turned  a  creaking  lock  and 
opened  what  sounded  like  a  ponderous  door.  They 
entered,  the  door  was  closed  and  bolted,  and  the 
mason  was  conducted  through  an  echoing  corridor 
and  spacious  hall,  to  an  interior  part  of  the  building. 
Here  the  bandage  was  removed  from  his  eyes,  and 
he  found  himself  in  a  patio,  or  court,  dimly  lighted 
by  a  single  lamp. 

In  the  centre  was  a  dry  basin  of  an  old  Moorish 
fountain,  under  which  the  priest  requested  him  to 
form  a  small  vault,  bricks  and  mortar  being  at  hand  for 
the  purpose.  He  accordingly  worked  all  night,  but 
without  finishing  the  job.  Just  before  day-break 
the  priest  put  a  piece  of  gold  into  his  hand,  and  hav- 
ing again  blindfolded  him,  conducted  him  back  to 
his  dwelling. 

"  Are  you  willing,"  said  he,  "  to  return  and  com- 
plete your  work.'  " 

"  Gladly,  Senor  Padre,  provided  I  am  as  well 
paid." 

"  Well,  then,  to-morrow  at  midnight  I  will  call 
again." 

He  did  so,  and  the  vault  was  completed.  "  Now," 
said  the  priest,  "  you  must  help  me  to  bring  forth 
the  bodies  that  are  to  be  buried  in  this  vault." 

The  poor  mason's  hair  rose  on  his  head  at  these 
words  ;  he  followed  the  priest  with  trembling  steps, 
into  a  retired  chamber  of  the  mansion,  expecting 
to  behold  some  ghastly  spectacle  of  death,  but  was 
relieved,  on  perceiving  three  or  four  portly  jars 
standing  in  one  corner.  They  were  evidently  full  of 
money,  and  it  was  with  great  labour  that  he  and  the 
priest  carried  them  forth  and  consigned  them  to 
their  tomb.  The  vault  was  then  closed,  the  pave- 
ment replaced  and  all  traces  of  the  work  obliterated. 

The  mason  was  again  hoodwinked  and  led  forth 
by  a  route  different  from  that  by  which  he  had  come. 
After  they  had  wandered'  for  a  long  time  through  a 
perplexed  maze  of  lanes  and  alleys,  they  halted.  The 
priest  then  put  two  pieces  of  gold  into  his  hand. 
"  Wait  here,"  said  he,  "  until  you  hear  the  cathedral 
bell  toll  for  matins.  If  you  presume  to  uncover  your 
eyes  before  that  time,  evil  will  befall  you."  So  say- 
ing he  departed. 


118 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


The  mason  waited  faithfully,  amusing  himself  by 
weighing  the  gold  pieces  in  his  hand  and  cUnliing 
them  against  each  other.  The  moment  the  cathe- 
dral bell  rung  its  matin  peal,  he  uncovered  his  eyes 
and  found  himself  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenil  ;  from 
whence  he  made  the  best  of  his  way  home,  and  rev- 
elled with  his  family  for  a  whole  fortnight  on  the 
profits  of  his  two  nights'  work,  after  which  he  was 
as  poor  as  ever. 

He  continued  to  work  a  little  and  pray  a  good  deal, 
and  keep  holydays  and  saints'  days  from  year  to  year, 
while  his  fainily  grew  up  as  gaunt  and  ragged  as  a 
crew  of  gipsies. 

As  he  was  seated  one  morning  at  the  door  of  his 
hovel,  he  was  accosted  by  a  rich  old  curmudgeon 
who  was  noted  for  owning  many  houses  and  being  a 
griping  landlord. 

The  man  of  money  eyed  him  for  a  moment,  from 
beneath  a  pair  of  shagged  eyebrows. 

"  I  am  told,  friend,  that  you  are  very  poor." 
"  There  is  no  denying  the  fact,  Seiior ;  it  speaks 
for  itself." 

"  I  presume,  then,  you  will  be  glad  of  a  job,  and 
will  work  cheap." 

"  As  chea]),  my  master,  as  any  mason  in  Granada." 
"  That's  what  I  want.  I  have  an  old  house  fallen 
to  decay,  that  costs  me  more  money  than  it  is  worth 
to  keep  it  in  repair,  for  nobody  will  live  in  it  ;  so  I 
must  contrive  to  patch  it  up  and  keep  it  together  at 
as  small  expense  as  possible." 

The  mason  was  accordingly  conducted  to  a  huge 
deserted  house  that  seemed  going  to  ruin.  Passing 
through  several  empty  halls  and  chambers,  he  en- 
tered an  inner  court,  where  his  eye  was  caught  by 
an  old  Moorish  fountain. 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  "  It  seems,"  said  he, 
"  as  if  I  had  been  in  this  place  before  ;  but  it  is  like 
a  dream. — Pray  who  occupied  this  house  formerly  ?  " 
"  A  pest  upon  him  !  "  cried  the  landlord.  "  It  was 
an  old  miserly  priest,  who  cared  for  nobody  but  him- 
self. He  was  said  to  be  immensely  rich,  and,  hav- 
ing no  relations,  it  was  thought  he  would  leave  all 
his  treasure  to  the  church.  He  died  suddenly,  and 
the  priests  and  friars  thronged  to  take  possession  of 
his  wealth,  but  nothing  could  they  find  but  a  few 
ducats  in  a  leathern  purse.  The  worst  luck  has 
fallen  on  me  ;  for  since  his  death,  the  old  fellow  con- 
tinues to  occupy  my  house  without  paying  rent,  and 
there's  no  taking  the  law  of  a  dead  man.  The 
people  pretend  to  hear  at  night  the  clinking  of  gold 
all  night  long  in  the  chamber  where  the  old  priest 
slept,  as  if  he  were  counting  over  his  money,  and 
sometimes  a  groaning  and  moaning  about  the  court. 
Whether  true  or  false  these  stories  have  brought  a  bad 
name  on  my  house,  and  not  a  tenant  will  remain  in  it." 
"Enough,"  said  the  mason  sturdily — -"Let  me 
live  in  your  house  rent  free  until  some  better  tenant 
presents,  and  I  will  engage  to  put  it  in  repair  and 
quiet  the  troubled  spirits  that  disturb  it.  I  am  a 
good  Christian  and  a  poor  man,  and  am  not  to  be 
daunted  by  the  devil  himself,  even  though  he  come 
in  the  shape  of  a  big  bag  of  money." 

The  offer  of  the  honest  mason  was  gladly  ac- 
cepted ;  he  moved  with  his  family  into  the  house, 
and  fulfilled  all  his  engagements.  By  little  and  little 
he  restored  it  to  its  former  state.  The  clinking  of 
gold  was  no  longer  heard  at  night  in  the  chamber 
of  the  defunct  priest,  but  began  to  be  heard  by  day 
in  the  pocket  of  the  living  mason.  In  a  word,  he 
increased  rapidly  in  wealth,  to  the  admiration  of  all 
his  neighbours,  and  became  one  of  the  richest  men 
in  Granada.  He  gave  large  sums  to  the  church,  by 
way,  no  doubt,  of  satisfying  his  conscience,  and  never 
revealed  the  secret  of  the  wealth  until  on  his  death- 
bed, to  his  son  and  heir. 


A  RAMBLE  AMONG  THE  HILLS. 


I  FREQUENTLY  amuse  myself  towards  the  close 
of  the  day,  when  the  heat  has  subsided,  with  taking 
long  rambles  about  the  neighbouring  hills  and  the 
deep  umbrageous  valleys,  accompanied  by  my  his- 
toriographer Squire  Mateo,  to  whose  passion  for 
gossiping,  I,  on  such  occasions,  give  the  most  un- 
bounded license  ;  and  there  is  scarce  a  rock  or  ruin, 
or  broken  fountain,  or  lonely  glen,  about  which  he 
has  not  some  marvellous  story ;  or,  above  all,  some 
golden  legend  ;  for  never  was  poor  devil  so  munifi- 
cent in  dispensing  hidden  treasures. 

A  few  evenings  since  we  took  a  long  stroll  of  the 
kind,  in  which  Mateo  was  more  than  usually  com- 
municative. It  was  towards  sunset  that  we  sallied 
forth  from  the  great  Gate  of  Justice,  and  ascending 
an  alley  of  trees,  Mateo  paused  under  a  clump  of  fig 
and  pomegranate  trees  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  ruined 
tower,  called  the  Tower  of  the  Seven  Vaults,  (de  los 
siete  suelos.)  Here,  pointing  to  a  low  archway  at 
the  foundation  of  the  tower,  he  informed  me,  in  an 
under  tone,  was  the  lurking-place  of  a  monstrous 
sprite  or  hobgoblin  called  the  Belludo,  which  had 
infested  the  tower  ever  since  the  time  of  the  Moors ; 
guarding,  it  is  supposed,  the  treasures  of  a  Moorish 
king.  Sometimes  it  issues  forth  in  the  dead  of  the 
night,  and  scours  the  avenues  of  the  Alhambra  and 
the  streets  of  Granada  in  the  shape  of  a  headless 
horse,  pursued  by  six  dogs,  with  terrific  yells  and 
bowlings. 

"  But  have  you  ever  met  with  it  yourself,  Mateo, 
in  any  of  your  rambles  ?  " 

"  No,  senor;  but  my  grandfather,  the  tailor,  knew 
several  persons  who  had  seen  it ;  for  it  went  about 
much  more  in  his  time  than  at  present :  sometimes 
in  one  shape,  sometimes  in  another.  Every  body  in 
Granada  has  heard  of  the  Belludo,  for  the  old  women 
and  nurses  frighten  the  children  with  it  when  they 
cry.  Some  say  it  is  the  spirit  of  a  cruel  Moorish 
king,  who  killed  his  six  sons,  and  buried  them  in 
these  vaults,  and  that  they  hunt  him  at  nights  in 
revenge." 

Mateo  went  on  to  tell  many  particulars  about  this 
redoutable  hobgoblin,  which  has,  in  fact,  been  time 
out  of  mind  a  favourite  theme  of  nursery  talc  and 
popular  tradition  in  Granada,  and  is  mentioned  in 
some  of  the  antiquated  guide-books.  When  he  had 
finished,  we  passed  on,  skirting  the  fruitful  orchards 
of  the  Generaliffe ;  among  the  trees  of  which  two 
or  three  nightingales  were  pouring  forth  a  rich  strain 
of  melody.  Behind  these  orchards  we  passed  a 
number  of  Moorish  tanks,  with  a  door  rut  into  the 
rocky  bosom  of  the  hill,  but  closed  up.  These  tanks 
Mateo  informed  me  were  favourite  bathing-places 
of  himself  and  his  comrades  in  boyhood,  until  fright- 
ened away  by  a  story  of  a  hideous  Moor,  who  used 
to  issue  forth  from  the  door  in  the  rock  to  entrap 
unwary  bathers. 

Leaving  these  haunted  tanks  behind  us,  we  pur- 
sued our  ramble  up  a  solitary  mule-path  that  wound 
among  the  hills,  and  soon  found  ourselves  amidst 
wild  and  melancholy  mountains,  destitute  of  trees, 
and  here  and  there  tinted  with  scanty  verdure. 
Every  thing  within  sight  was  severe  and  sterile,  and 
it  was  scarcely  possible  to  realize  the  idea  that  but 
a  short  distance  behind  us  was  the  Generalitfe,  with 
its  blooming  orchards  and  terraced  gardens,  and 
that  we  were  in  the  vicinity  of  delicious  Granada, 
that  city  of  groves  and  fountains.  But  such  is  the 
nature  of  Spain — wild  and  stern  the  moment  it  es- 
capes from  cultivation,  the  desert  and  the  garden 
are  ever  side  by  side. 


THE   ALHAMBRA 


119 


The  narrow  defile  up  which  we  were  passing  is 
called,  according  to  Mateo,  el  Barranco  de  la  Ti- 
naja,  or  the  ravine  of  the  jar. 

"  And  wliy  so,  Mateo?  "  inquired  I. 

"  Because,  sefior,  a  jar  full  of  Moorish  gold  was 
found  here  in  old  times."  The  brain  of  poor  Mateo 
is  continually  running  upon  these  golden  legends. 

"  But  what  is  the  meaning  of  the  cross  I  see  yon- 
der upon  a  heap  of  stones  in  that  narrow  part  of  the 
ravine  ?  " 

"  Oil !  that's  nothing — a  muleteer  was  murdered 
there  some  years  since." 

"  So  then,  Mateo,  you  have  robbers  and  murder- 
ers even  at  the  gates  of  the  Alhambra." 

"  Not  at  present,  senor — that  was  formerly,  when 
there  used  to  be  many  loose  fellows  about  the  for- 
tress ;  but  they've  all  been  weeded  out.  Not  but 
that  the  gipsies,  who  live  in  caves  in  the  hill-sides 
just  out  of  the  fortress,  are,  many  of  them,  fit  for 
any  thing ;  but  we  have  had  no  murder  about  here 
for  a  long  time  past.  The  man  who  murdered  the 
muleteer  was  hanged  in  the  fortress." 

Our  path  continued  up  the  barranco,  with  a  bold, 
rugged  height  to  our  left,  called  the  Silla  del  Moro, 
or  chair  of  the  Moor  ;  from  a  tradition  that  the  un- 
fortunate Boabdil  fled  thither  during  a  popular  in- 
surrection, and  remained  all  day  seated  on  the 
rocky  summit,  looking  mournfully  down  upon  his 
factious  city. 

We  at  length  arrived  on  the  highest  part  of  the 
promontory  above  Granada,  called  the  Mountain  of 
the  Sun.  The  evening  was  approaching;  the  set- 
ting sun  just  gilded  the  loftiest  heights.  Here  and 
there  a  solitary  shepherd  might  be  descried  driving 
his  flock  down  the  declivities  to  be  folded  for  the 
night,  or  a  muleteer  and  his  lagging  animals  thread- 
ing some  mountain  path,  to  arrive  at  the  city  gates 
before  nightfall. 

Presently  the  deep  tones  of  the  cathedral  bell 
came  swelling  up  the  defiles,  proclaiming  the  hour 
of  Oracion,  or  prayer.  The  note  was  responded  to 
from  the  belfry  of  every  church,  and  from  the  sweet 
bells  of  the  convents  among  the  mountains.  The 
sliepherd  paused  on  the  fold  of  the  hill,  the  muleteer 
in  the  midst  of  the  road  ;  each  took  off  his  hat,  and 
remained  motionless  for  a  time,  murmuring  his  even- 
ing prayer.  There  is  always  something  solemn  and 
pleasing  in  this  custom ;  by  which,  at  a  melodious 
signal,  every  human  being  throughout  the  land,  re- 
cites, at  the  same  moment,  a  tribute  of  thanks  to 
God  for  the  mercies  of  the  day.  It  diffuses  a  tran- 
sient sanctity  over  the  land,  and  the  sight  of  the  sun 
sinking  in  all  his  glory,  adds  not  a  little  to  the  so- 
lemnity of  the  scene.  In  the  present  instance,  the 
effect  was  heightened  by  the  wild  and  lonely  nature 
of  the  place.  We  were  on  the  naked  and  broken 
summit  of  the  haunted  Mountain  of  the  Sun,  where 
ruined  tanks  and  cisterns,  and  the  mouldering  foun- 
dations of  extensive  buildings,  spoke  of  former  popu- 
lousness,  but  where  all  was  now  silent  and  desolate. 

As  we  were  wandering  among  these  traces  of  old 
times,  Mateo  pointed  out  to  me  a  circular  pit,  that 
Seemed  to  penetrate  deep  into  the  bosom  of  the 
mountain,  it  was  evidently  a  deep  well,  dug  by  the 
indefatigable  Moors,  to  obtain  their  favourite  ele- 
ment in  its  greatest  purity.  Mateo,  however,  had  a 
different  story,  and  much  more  to  his  humour.  This 
was,  according  to  tradition,  an  entrance  to  the  sub- 
terranean caverns  of  the  mountain,  in  which  Boab- 
dil and  his  court  lay  bound  in  magic  spell ;  and  from 
whence  they  sallied  forth  at  night,  at  allotted  times, 
to  revisit  their  ancient  abodes. 

The  deepening  twilight,  which  in  this  climate  is 
of  such  short  duration,  admonished  us  to  leave  this 
haunted  ground.     As  we  descended  the  mountain 


defiles,  there  was  no  longer  herdsman  or  muleteer  to 
be  seen,  nor  any  thing  to  be  heard  but  our  own  foot- 
steps and  the  lonely  chirping  of  the  cricket.  The 
shadows  of  the  valleys  grew  deeper  and  deeper,  until 
all  was  dark  around  us.  The  lofty  summit  of  the 
Sierra  Nevada  alone  retained  a  lingering  gleam  of 
day-light,  its  snowy  peaks  glaring  against  the  dark 
blue  finnament ;  and  seeming  close  to  us,  from  the 
extreme  purity  of  the  atmosphere. 

"  How  near  the  Sierra  looks  this  evening  ! "  said 
Mateo,  "  it  seems  as  if  you  could  touch  it  with  your 
hand,  and  yet  it  is  many  long  leagues  off."  While 
he  was  speaking  a  star  appeared  over  the  snowy 
summit  of  the  mountain,  the  only  one  yet  visible  in 
the  heavens,  and  so  pure,  so  large,  so  bright  and 
beautiful  as  to  call  forth  ejaculations  of  delight  from 
honest  Mateo. 

"  Que  lucero  hermoso  ! — que  claro  y  limpio  es  ! — 
no  pueda  ser  lucero  mas  briliante  !  " — 

(What  a  beautiful  star !  how  clear  and  lucid  ! — no 
star  could  be  more  brilliant !) 

I  have  often  remarked  this  sensibility  of  the  com- 
mon people  of  Spain  to  the  charms  of  natural  objects 
— The  lustre  of  a  star — the  beauty  or  fragrance  of  a 
flower — the  crystal  purity  of  a  fountain,  will  inspire 
them  with  a  kind  of  poetical  delight — and  then  what 
euphonous  words  their  magnificent  language  affords, 
with  which  to  give  utterance  to  their  transports ! 

"  But  what  lights  are  those,  Mateo,  which  I  see 
twinkling  along  the  Sierra  Nevada,  just  below  the 
snowy  region,  and  which  might  be  taken  for  stars, 
only  that  they  are  ruddy  and  against  the  dark  side 
of  the  mountain?" 

"  Those,  Sefior,  are  fires  made  by  the  men  who 
gather  snow  and  ice  for  the  supply  of  Granada. 
They  go  up  every  afternoon  with  mules  .and  asses, 
and  take  turns,  some  to  rest  and  warm  themselves 
by  the  fires,  while  others  fill  their  panniers  with  ice. 
They  then  set  off  down  the  mountain,  so  as  to  reach 
the  gates  of  Granada  before  sunrise.  That  Sierra 
Nevada,  Sefior,  is  a  lump  of  ice  in  the  middle  of  An- 
dalusia, to  keep  it  ail  cool  in  summer." 

It  was  now  completely  dark ;  we  were  passing 
through  the  barranco  where  stood  the  cross  of  the 
murdered  muleteer,  when  I  beheld  a  number  of 
lights  moving  at  a  distance  and  apparently  advanc- 
ing up  the  ravine.  On  nearer  approach  they  proved 
to  be  torches  borne  by  a  train  of  uncouth  figures 
arrayed  in  black  ;  it  would  have  been  a  procession 
dreary  enough  at  any  time,  but  was  peculiarly  so  in 
this  wild  and  solitary  place. 

Mateo  drew  near  and  told  me  in  a  low  voice,  that 
it  was  a  funeral  train  bearing  a  corpse  to  the  burying 
ground  among  the  hills. 

As  the  procession  passed  by,  the  lugubrious  light 
of  the  torches,  falling  on  the  rugged  features  and 
funereal  weeds  of  the  attendants,  had  the  most  fan- 
tastic effect,  but  was  perfectly  ghastly  as  it  revealed 
the  countenance  of  the  corpse,  which,  according  to 
Spanish  custom,  was  borne  uncovered  on  an  open 
bier.  I  remained  for  some  time  gazing  after  the 
dreary  train  as  it  wound  up  the  dark  defile  of  the 
mountain.  It  put  me  in  mind  of  the  old  story  of  a 
procession  of  demons,  bearing  the  body  of  a  sinner 
up  the  crater  of  Slromboli. 

"  Ah,  Sefior,"  cried  Mateo,  "  I  could  tell  you  a  story 
of  a  procession  once  seen  among  these  mountains — - 
but  then  you  would  laugh  at  me,  and  say  it  was  one 
of  the  legacies  of  my  grandfather  the  tailor." 

"  By  no  means,  Mateo.  There  is  nothing  I  relish 
more  than  a  marvellous  tale." 

"  Well,  Senor,  it  is  about  one  of  those  very  men 
we  have  been  talking  of,  who  gather  snow  on  the 
Sierra  Nevada.  You  must  know  that  a  great  many 
years  since,  in  my  grandfather's  time,  there  was  an 


120 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


old  fellow,  Tio  Nicole  by  name,  who  had  filled  the 
panniers  of  his  mules  with  snow  and  ice,  and  was 
returning  down  the  mountain.  Being  very  drowsy, 
he  mounted  upon  the  mule,  and  soon  falling  asleep, 
went  with  his  head  nodding  and  bobbing  about  from 
side  to  side,  while  his  sure-footed  old  mule  stepped 
along  the  edge  of  precipices,  and  down  steep  and 
broken  barrancos  just  as  safe  and  steady  as  if  it  had 
been  on  plain  ground.  At  length  Tio  Nicolo  awoke, 
and  gazed  about  him,  and  rubbed  his  eyes — and  in 
good  truth  he  had  reason — the  moon  shone  almost 
as  briglit  as  day,  and  he  saw  the  city  below  him,  as 
plain  as  your  hand,  and  shining  with  its  white 
buildings  like  a  sdver  platter  in  the  moonshine  ;  but 
lord  !  Seuor  ! — it  was  nothing  like  the  city  he  left  a 
few  hours  before.  Instead  of  the  cathedral  with  its 
great  dome  and  turrets,  and  the  churches  with  their 
spires,  and  the  convents  with  their  pinnacles  all  sur- 
mounted with  the  blessed  cross,  he  saw  nothing  but 
Moorish  mosques,  and  minarets,  and  cupolas,  all 
topped  off  with  glittering  crescents,  such  as  you  see 
on  the  Barbary  flags.  Well,  Seiior,  as  you  may  sup- 
pose, Tio  Nicolo  was  mightily  puzzled  at  all  this, 
but  while  he  was  gazing  down  upon  the  city,  a  great 
army  came  marching  up  the  mountain ;  winding 
along  the  ravines,  sometimes  in  the  moonshine, 
sometimes  in  the  shade.  As  it  drew  nigh,  he  saw 
that  there  were  horse  and  foot,  all  in  Moorish  armour. 
Tio  Nicolo  tried  to  scramble  out  of  their  way,  but 
his  old  mule  stood  stock  still  and  refused  to  budge, 
trembling  at  the  same  time  like  a  leaf — for  dumb 
beasts,  Seiior,  are  just  as  much  frightened  at  such 
things  as  human  beings.  Well,  Seiior,  the  hobgoblin 
army  came  marching  by ;  there  were  men  that 
seemed  to  blow  trumpets,  nnd  others  to  beat  drums 
and  strike  cymbals,  yet  never  a  sound  did  they  make  ; 
they  all  moved  on  without  the  least  noise,  just  as  I 
have  seen  painted  armies  move  across  the  stage  in 
the  theatre  of  Granada,  and  all  looked  as  pale  as 
death.  At  last  in  the  rear  of  the  army,  between  two 
black  Moorish  horsemen,  rode  the  grand  inquisitor 
of  Granada,  on  a  mule  as  white  as  snow.  Tio  Nicolo 
wondered  to  see  him  in  such  company ;  for  the  in- 
quisitor was  famous  for  his  hatred  of  Moors,  and  in- 
deed of  all  kinds  of  infidels,  Jews  and  heretics,  and 
used  to  hunt  them  out  with  fire  and  scourge— how- 
ever, Tio  Nicolo  felt  himself  safe,  now  that  there  was 
a  priest  of  such  sanctity  at  hand.  So,  making  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  he  called  out  for  his  benediction,  when 
— hombre  !  he  received  a  blow  that  sent  him  and  his 
old  mule  over  the  edge  of  a  steep  bank,  down  which 
they  rolled,  head  over  heels,  to  the  bottom.  Tio 
Nicolo  did  not  come  to  his  senses  until  long  after 
sunrise,  when  he  found  himself  at  the  bottom  of  a 
deep  ravine,  his  mule  grazing  beside  him,  and  his 
panniers  of  snow  completely  melted.  He  crawled 
back  to  Granada  sorely  bruised  and  battered,  and 
was  glad  to  find  the  city  looking  as  usual,  with 
Christian  churches  and  crosses.  When  he  told  the 
story  of  his  night's  adventure  every  one  laughed  at 
him :  some  said  he  had  dreamt  it  all,  as  he  dozed  on 
his  mule,  others  thought  it  all  a  fabrication  of  his  own. 
But  what  was  strange,  Seiior,  and  made  people 
afterwards  think  more  seriously  of  the  matter,  was, 
that  the  grand  inquisitor  died  within  the  year.  I 
have  often  heard  my  grandfather,  the  tailor,  say  that 
there  was  more  meant  by  that  hobgoblin  army  bear- 
ing off  the  resemblance  of  the  priest,  than  folks 
dared  to  surmise." 

"Then  you  would  insinuate,  friend  Mateo,  that 
there  is  a  kind  of  Moorish  limbo,  or  purgatory,  in 
the  bowels  of  these  mountains  ;  to  which  the  padre 
inquisitor  was  borne  off." 

"  God  forbid — Seiior  ! — I  know  nothing  of  the  mat- 
ter— I  only  relate  what  I  heard  from  my  grandfather." 


By  the  time  Mateo  had  finished  the  tale  which  I 
have  more  succinctly  related,  and  which  was  inter- 
larded with  many  comments,  and  spun  out  with 
minute  details,  we  reached  the  gate  of  the  Al- 
hambra. 


THE  COURT  OF  LIONS. 


The  peculiar  charm  of  this  old  dreamy  palace,  is 
its  power  of  calling  up  vague  reveries  and  picturings 
of  the  past,  and  thus  clothing  naked  realities  with 
the  illusions  of  the  memory  and  the  imagination. 
As  I  delight  to  walk  in  these  "vain  shadows,"  I  am 
prone  to  seek  those  parts  of  the  Alhambra  which 
are  most  favourable  to  this  phantasmagoria  of  the 
mind  ;  and  none  are  more  so  than  the  Court  of  Li- 
ons and  its  surrounding  halls.  Here  the  hand  of  time 
has  fallen  the  lightest,  and  the  traces  of  Moorish 
elegance  and  splendour  exist  in  almost  their  orig- 
inal brilliancv.  Earthquakes  have  shaken  the 
foundations  of  this  pile,  and  rent  its  rudest  towers, 
yet  see — not  one  of  those  slender  columns  has  been 
displaced,  not  an  arch  of  that  light  and  fragile  col- 
onnade has  given  way,  and  all  the  fairy  fretwork  of 
these  domes,  apparently  as  unsubstantial  as  the  cr)'S- 
tal  fabrics  of  a  morning's  frost,  yet  exist  after  the 
lapse  of  centuries,  almost  as  fresh  as  if  from  the 
hand  of  the  Moslem  artist. 

I  write  in  the  midst  of  these  mementos  of  the 
past,  in  the  fresh  hour  of  early  morning,  in  the  fated 
hall  of  the  Abencerrages.  The  blood-stained  foun- 
tain, the  legendary  monument  of  their  massacre,  is 
before  me ;  the  lofty  jet  almost  casts  its  dew  upon 
my  paper.  How  difficult  to  reconcile  the  ancient 
tale  of  violence  and  blood,  with  the  gentle  and 
peaceful  scene  around.  Every  thing  here  appears 
calculated  to  inspire  kind  and  happy  feelings,  for 
every  thing  is  delicate  and  beautiful.  The  very 
light  falls  tenderly  from  above,  through  the  lantern 
of  a  dome  tinted  and  wrought  as  if  by  fairy  hands. 
Through  the  ample  and  fretted  arch  of  the  portal,  I 
behold  the  Court  of  Lions,  with  brilliant  sunshine 
gleaming  along  its  colonnades  and  sparkling  in  its 
fountains.  The  lively  swallow  dives  into  the  court, 
and  then  surging  upwards,  darts  away  twittering 
over  the  roof ;  the  busy  bee  toils  humming  among 
the  flower  beds,  and  painted  butterflies  hover  from 
plant  to  plant,  and  flutter  up,  and  sport  with  each 
other  in  the  sunny  air. — It  needs  but  a  slight  exer- 
tion of  the  fancy  to  picture  some  pensive  beauty  of 
the  harem,  loitering  in  these  secluded  haunts  of  ori- 
ental luxury. 

He,  however,  who  would  behold  this  scene  under 
an  aspect  more  in  unison  with  its  fortunes,  let  him 
come  when  the  shadows  of  evening  temper  the 
brightness  of  the  court  and  throw  a  gloom  into  the 
surrounding  halls, — then  nothing  can  be  more  se- 
renely melancholy,  or  more  in  harmony  with  the  tale 
of  departed  grandeur. 

At  such  times  I  am  apt  to  seek  the  Hall  of  Jus- 
tice, whose  deep  shadowy  arcades  extend  across  the 
upper  end  of  the  court.  Here  were  performed,  in 
presence  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  and  their  tri- 
umphant court,  the  pompous  ceremonies  of  high 
mass,  on  taking  possession  of  the  Alhambra.  The 
very  cross  is  still  to  be  seen  upon  the  wall,  where  the 
altar  was  erected,  and  where  officiated  the  grand 
cardinal  of  Spain,  and  others  of  the  highest  religious 
dignitaries  of  the  land. 

I  picture  to  myself  the  scene  when  this  place  was 
filled  with  the  conquering  host,  that  mixture  of  mi- 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


121 


tred  prelate,  and  shorn  monk,  and  steel-clad  knight, 
and  silken  courtier :  when  crosses  and  croziers  and 
religious  standards  were  mingled  with  proud  armo- 
rial ensigns  and  the  banners  of  the  haughty  chiefs  of 
Spain,  and  flaunted  in  triumph  through  these  Mos- 
lem halls.  I  picture  to  myself  Columbus,  the  future 
discoverer  of  a  world,  taking  his  modest  stand  in  a 
remote  corner,  the  humble  and  neglected  spectator 
of  the  pageant.  I  see  in  imagination  the  Catholic 
sovereigns  prostrating  themselves  before  the  altar 
and  pouiing  forth  thanks  for  their  victory,  while  the 
vaults  resound  with  sacred  minstrelsy  and  the  deep- 
toned  Te  Deum. 

The  transient  illusion  is  over— the  pageant  melts 
from  the  fancy — monarch;  priest,  and  warrior  return 
into  oblivion,  with  the  poor  Moslems  over  whom 
they  exulted.  The  hall  of  their  triumph  is  waste 
and  desolate.  The  bat  flits  about  its  twilight  vaults, 
and  the  owl  hoots  from  the  neighbouring  tower  of 
Comares.  The  Court  of  the  Lions  has  also  its  share 
of  supernatural  legends.  I  have  already  mentioned 
the  belief  in  the  murmuring  of  voices  and  clanking 
of  chains,  made  at  night  by  the  spirits  of  the  mur- 
dered Abencerrages.  Mateo  Ximenes,  a  few  even- 
ings since,  at  one  of  the  gatherings  in  Dame  An- 
tonia's  apartment,  related  a  fact  which  happened 
within  the  knowledge  of  his  grandfather,  the  legend- 
ary tailor.  There  was  an  invalid  soldier,  who  had 
charge  of  the  Alhambra,  to  show  it  to  strangers. 
As  he  was  one  evening  about  twilight  passing 
through  the  Court  of  Lions,  he  heard  footsteps  in 
the  Hall  of  the  Abencerrages.  Supposing  some 
loungers  to  be  lingering  there,  he  advanced  to  at- 
tend upon  them,  when,  to  his  astonishment,  he  be- 
held four  Moors  richly  dressed,  with  gilded  cuirasses 
and  scimitars,  and  poniards  glittering  with  precious 
stones.  They  were  walking  to  and  fro  with  solemn 
pace,  but  paused  and  beckoned  to  him.  The  old 
soldier,  however,  took  to  flight ;  and  could  never  aft- 
erwards be  prevailed  upon  to  enter  the  Alhambra. 
Thus  it  is  that  men  sometimes  turn  their  backs  upon 
fortune ;  for  it  is  the  firm  opinion  of  Mateo  that  the 
Moors  intended  to  reveal  the  place  where  their  treas- 
ures lay  buried.  A  successor  to  the  invalid  soldier 
was  more  knowing ;  he  came  to  the  Alhambra  poor, 
but  at  the  end  of  a  year  went  off"  to  Malaga,  bought 
horses,  set  up  a  carriage,  and  still  lives  there,  one  of 
the  righest  as  well  as  oldest  men  of  the  place :  all 
which,  Mateo  sagely  surmises,  was  in  consequence 
of  his  finding  out  the  golden  secret  of  these  phantom 
Moors. 

On  entering  the  Court  of  the  Lions,  a  few  even- 
ings since,  I  was  startled  at  beholding  a  turbaned 
Moor  quietly  seated  near  the  fountain.  It  seemed, 
for  a  moment,  as  if  one  of  the  stories  of  Mateo  Xi- 
menes were  realized,  and  some  ancient  inhabitant 
of  the  Alhambra  had  broken  the  spell  of  centuries, 
and  become  visible.  It  proved,  however,  to  be  a 
mere  ordmary  mortal ;  a  native  of  Tetuan  in  Barbary, 
who  had  a  shop  in  the  Zacatin  of  Granada,  where 
he  sold  rhubarb,  trinkets,  and  perfumes.  As  he 
spoke  Spanish  fluently,  1  was  enabled  to  hold  con- 
versation with  him,  and  found  him  shrewd  and  in- 
telligent. He  told  me  that  he  came  up  the  hill 
occasionally  in  the  summer,  to  pass  a  part  of  the  day 
in  the  Alhambra,  which  reminded  him  of  the  old 
palaces  in  Barbary,  which  were  built  and  adorned 
in  similar  style,  though  with  less  magnificence. 

As  we  walked  about  the  palace  he  pointed  out 
several  of  the  Arabic  inscriptions,  as  possessin_g 
much  poetic  beauty. 

"Ah!  Sefior,"  said  he,  "when  the  Moors  held 
Granada,  they  were  a  gayer  people  than  they  are 
now-a-days.  They  thought  only  of  love,  of  music, 
and  of  poetry.     They  made  stanzas  upon  every  oc- 


casion, and  set  them  all  to  music.  He  who  could 
make  the  best  verses,  and  she  who  had  the  most 
tuneful  voice,  might  be  sure  of  favour  and  prefer- 
ment. In  those  days,  if  any  one  asked  for  bread, 
the  reply  was,  '  Make  me  a  couplet ; '  and  the  poor- 
est beggar,  if  he  begged  in  rhyme,  would  often  be 
rewarded  with  a  piece  of  gold." 

"And  is  the  popular  feeling  for  poetry,"  said  I, 
"  entirely  lost  among  you  ?  " 

"By  no  means,  Senor;  the  people  of  Barbary, 
even  those  of  the  lower  classes,  still  make  couplets, 
and  good  ones  too,  as  in  the  old  time,  but  talent  is 
not  rewarded  as  it  was  then :  the  rich  prefer  the 
jingle  of  their  gold  to  the  sound  of  poetry  or  music." 

As  he  was  talking,  his  eye  caught  one  of  the 
inscriptions  that  foretold  perpetuity  to  the  power 
and  glory  of  the  Moslem  monarchs,  the  masters  of 
the  pile.  He  shook  his  head  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders  as  he  interpreted  it.  "  Such  might  have 
been  the  case,"  said  he ;  "  the  Moslems  might  still 
have  been  reigning  in  the  Alhambra,  had  not 
Boabdil  been  a  traitor,  and  given  up  his  capitol  to 
the  Christians.  The  Spanish  monarchs  would 
never  have  been  able  to  conquer  it  by  open  force." 

I  endeavoured  to  vindicate  the  memory  of  the 
unlucky  Boabdil  from  this  aspersion,  and  to  show 
that  the  dissensions  which  led  to  the  downfall  of  the 
Moorish  throne,  originated  in  the  cruelty  of  his 
tiger-hearted  father ;  but  the  Moor  would  admit  of 
no  palliation. 

"  Abul  Hassan,"  said  he,  "  might  have  been  cruel, 
but  he  was  brave,  vigilant,  and  patriotic.  Had  he 
been  properly  seconded,  (iranada  would  still  have 
been  ours  ;  but  his  son  Boabdil  thwarted  his  plans, 
crippled  his  power,  sowed  treason  in  his  palace,  and 
dissension  in  his  camp.  May  the  curse  of  God  light 
upon  him  for  his  treachery."  With  these  words  the 
Moor  left  the  Alhambra. 

The  indignation  of  my  turbaned  companion  agrees 
with  an  anecdote  related  by  a  friend,  who,  in  the 
course  of  a  tour  in  Barbary,  had  an  interview  with 
the  pasha  of  Tetuan.  The  Moorish  governor  was 
particular  in  his  inquiries  about  the  soil,  the  climate 
and  resources  of  Spain,  and  especially  concerning 
the  favoured  regions  of  Andalusia,  the  delights  of 
Granada  and  the  remains  of  its  royal  palace.  The 
replies  awakened  all  those  fond  recollections,  so 
deeply  cherished  by  the  Moors,  of  the  power  and 
splendour  of  their  ancient  empire  in  Spain.  Turning 
to  his  Moslem  attendants,  the  pasha  stroked  his 
beard,  and  broke  forth  in  passionate  lamentations 
that  such  a  sceptre  should  have  fallen  from  the  sway 
of  true  believers.  He  consoled  himself,  however, 
with  the  persuasion,  that  the  power  and  prosperity 
of  the  Spanish  nation  were  on  the  decline  ;  that  a 
time  would  come  when  the  Moors  would  reconquer 
their  rightful  domains ;  and  that  the  day  was, 
perhaps,  not  far  distant,  when  Mohammedan  wor- 
ship would  again  be  offered  up  in  the  mosque  of 
Cordova,  and  a  Mohammedan  prince  sit  on  his 
throne  in  the  Alhambra. 

Such  is  the  general  aspiration  and  belief  among 
the  Moors  of  Barbary ;  who  consider  Spain,  and 
especially  Andalusia,  their  rightful  heritage,  of  which 
they  havd  been  despoiled  by  treachery  and  violence. 
These  ideas  are  fostered  and  perpetuated  by  the 
descendants  of  the  exiled  Moors  of  Granada,  scatter- 
ed among  the  cities  of  Barbary.  Several  of  these 
reside  in  Tetuan,  preserving  their  ancient  names, 
such  as  Paez,  and  Medina,  and  refraining  from  inter- 
marriage with  any  families  who  cannot  claim  the 
same  high  origin.  Their  vaunted  lineage  is  regarded 
with  a  degree  of  popular  deference  rarely  shown  in 
Mohammedan  communities  to  any  hereditary  dis- 
tinction except  in  the  royal  line. 


122 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


These  families,  it  is  said,  continue  to  sigh  after 
the  terrestrial  paradise  of  their  ancestors,  and  to  put 
up  prayers  in  their  mosques  on  Fridays,  imploring 
Allah  to  hasten  the  time  when  Granada  shall  be 
restored  to  the  faithful ;  an  event  to  which  they  look 
forward  as  fondly  and  confidently  as  did  the  Chris- 
tian crusaders  to  the  recovery  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
Nay,  it  is  added,  that  some  of  them  retain  the  an- 
cient maps  and  deeds  of  the  estates  and  gardens  of 
their  ancestors  at  Granada,  and  even  the  keys  of  the 
houses  ;  holding  them  as  evidences  of  their  hered- 
itary claims,  to  be  produced  at  the  anticipated  day 
of  restoration. 


BOABDIL  EL  CHiCO. 


My  conversation  with  the  Moor  in  the  Court  of 
Lions  set  me  to  musing  on  the  singular  fate  of  Bo- 
abdil.  Never  was  surname  more  applicable  than 
that  bestowed  upon  him  by  his  subjects,  of  "  El 
Zogoybi,"  or,  "  the  unlucky."  His  misfortunes  began 
almost  in  his  cradle.  In  his  tender  youth  he  was 
imprisoned  and  menaced  with  death  by  an  inhuman 
father,  and  only  escaped  through  a  mother's  strata- 
gem ;  in  after  years  his  life  was  imbittered  and  re- 
peatedly endangered  by  the  hostilities  of  a  usurping 
uncle;  his  reign  was  distracted  by  external  invasions 
and  internal  feuds ;  he  was  alternately  the  foe,  the 
prisoner,  the  friend,  and  always  the  dupe  of  Ferdi- 
nand, until  conquered  and  dethroned  by  the  min- 
gled craft  and  force  of  that  perfidious  monarch.  An 
exile  from  his  native  land,  he  took  refuge  with  one 
of  the  princes  of  Africa,  and  fell  obscurely  in  battle 
fighting  in  the  cause  of  a  stranger.  His  misfortunes 
ceased  not  with  his  death.  If  Boabdil  cherished  a 
desire  to  leave  an  honourable  name  on  the  historic 
page,  how  cruelly  has  he  been  defrauded  of  his 
iiopes  !  Who  is  there  that  has  turned  the  least  at- 
tention to  the  romantic  history  of  the  Moorish  dom- 
ination in  Spain,  without  kindling  with  indignation 
at  the  alleged  atrocities  of  Boabdil  ?  Who  has  not 
been  touched  v/ith  the  woes  of  his  lovely  and  gentle 
queen,  subjected  by  him  to  a  trial  of  life  and  death, 
on  a  false  charge  of  infidelity  }  Who  has  not  been 
shocked  by  the  alleged  murder  of  his  sister  and  her 
two  children,  in  a  transport  of  passion  ?  Who  has 
not  felt  his  blood  boil  at  the  inhuman  massacre  of 
tlie  gallant  Abencerrages,  thirty-six  of  whom,  it  is  af- 
firmed, he  caused  to  be  beheaded  in  the  Court  of  the 
Lions  ?  All  these  charges  have  been  reiterated  in 
various  forms  ;  they  have  passed  into  ballads,  dramas, 
and  romances,  until  thc-y  have  taken  too  thorough 
possession  of  the  public  mind  to  be  eradicated. 

There  is  not  a  foreigner  of  education  that  visits 
the  Alhambra,  but  asks  for  the  fountain  where  the 
Abencerrages  were  beheaded  ;  and  gazes  with  hor- 
ror at  the  grated  gallery  where  the  queen  is  said  to 
have  been  confined  ;  not  a  peasant  of  the  Vega  or 
the  Sierra,  but  sings  the  story  in  rude  couplets  to  the 
accompaniment  of  his  guitar,  while  his  hearers  learn 
to  execrate  the  very  name  of  Boabdil. 

Never,  however,  was  name  more  foully  and  un- 
justly slandered.  I  have  examined  all  the  authentic 
chronicles  and  letters  written  by  Spanish  authors 
conteinporary  with  Boabdil;  some  of  whom  were  in 
the  confidence  of  the  Catholic  sovereigns,  and  act- 
ually present  in  the  camp  throughout  the  war ;  I 
have  examined  all  the  Arabian  authorities  I  could 
get  access  to  through  the  medium  of  translation, 
and  can  find  nothing  to  justify  these  dark  and  hate- 
ful accusations. 

The  whole  of  these  tales  may  be  traced  to  a  work 


commonly  called  "  The  Civil  Wars  of  Granada," 
containing  a  pretended  history  of  the  feuds  of  the 
Zegries  and  Abencerrages  during  the  last  struggle 
of  the  Moorish  empire.  This  work  appeared  origi- 
nally in  Spanish,  and  professed  to  be  translated  from 
the  Arabic  by  one  Gines  Perez  de  Hita,  an  inhabit- 
ant of  Murcia.  It  has  since  passed  into  various 
languages,  and  Fldrian  has  taken  from  it  much  of 
the  fable  of  his  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova.  It  has,  in  a 
'  great  measure,  usurped  the  authority  of  real  history, 
and  is  currently  believed  by  the  people,  and  especi- 
ally the  peasantr)'  of  Granada.  The  whole  of  it, 
however,  is  a  mass  of  fiction,  mingled  with  a  few 
disfigured  truths,  which  give  it  an  air  of  veracity.  It 
bears  internal  evidence  of  its  falsity,  the  manners 
and  customs  of  the  Moors  being  extravagantly  mis- 
represented in  it,  and  scenes  depicted  totally  in- 
compatible with  their  habits  and  their  faith,  and 
which  never  could  have  been  recorded  by  a  Ma- 
hometan writer. 

I  confess  there  seems  to  me  something  almost 
criminal  in  the  wilful  perversions  of  this  work. 
j  Great  latitude  is  undoubtedly  to  be  allowed  to  ro- 
I  mantle  fiction,  but  there  are  limhs  which  it  must  not 
pass,  and  the  names  of  the  distinguished  dead, 
which  belong  to  history,  are  no  more  to  be  calum- 
niated than  those  of  the  illustrious  living.  One 
would  have  thought,  too,  that  the  unfortunate  Boab- 
dil had  suffered  enough  for  his  justifiable  hostility 
to  Spaniards,  by  being  stripped  of  his  kingdom, 
without  having  his  name  thus  wantonly  traduced 
and  rendered  a  bye-word  and  a  theme  of  infamy  in 
his  native  land,  and  in  the  very  mansion  of  his 
fathers ! 

It  is  not  intended  hereby  to  affirm  that  the  trans- 
actions imputed  to  Boabdil  are  totally  without 
historic  foundation,  but  as  far  as  they  can  be  traced, 
they  appear  to  have  been  the  arts  of  his  father,  Abul 
Hassan,  who  is  represented,  by  both  Christian  and 
Arabian  chroniclers,  as  being  of  a  cruel  and  fero- 
cious nature.  It  was  he  who  put  to  death  the 
cavaliers  of  the  illustrious  line  of  the  Abencerrages, 
upon  suspicion  of  their  being  engaged  in  a  conspir- 
acy to  dispossess  him  of  his  throne. 

The  story  of  the  accusation  of  the  queen  of  Bo- 
abdil, and  of  her  confinement  in  one  cf  the  towers, 
may  also  be  traced  to  an  incident  in  the  life  of  his 
tiger-hearted  father.  Abul  Hassan,  in  his  advanced 
age,  married  a  beautiful  Christian  captive  of  no- 
ble descent,  who  took  the  Moorish  appellation  of 
Zorayda,  by  whom  he  had  two  sons.  She  was  of 
an  ambitious  spirit,  and  anxious  that  her  children 
should  succeed  to  the  crown.  For  this  purpose 
she  worked  upon  the  suspicious  temper  of  the  king  ; 
inflaming  him  with  jealousies  of  his  children  by  his 
other  wives  and  concubines,  whom  she  accused  of 
plotting  against  his  throne  and  life.  Soine  of  them 
were  slain  by  the  ferocious  father.  Ayxa  la  Horra, 
the  virtuous  mother  of  Boabdil,  who  had  once  been 
his  cherished  favourite,  became  likewise  the  object 
of  his  suspicion.  He  confined  her  and  her  son  in  the 
tower  of  Comares,  and  would  have  sacrificed  Boab- 
dil to  his  fury,  but  that  his  tender  mother  lowered 
him  from  the  tower,  in  the  night,  by  means  of  the 
scarfs  of  herself  and  her  attendants,  and  thus  enabled 
him  to  escape  to  Guadix. 

Such  is  the  only  shadow  of  a  foundation  that  I  can 
find  for  the  story  of  the  accused  and  ca]nive  queen  ; 
and  in  this  it  appears  that  Boabdil  was  the  per- 
secuted instead  of  the  persecutor. 

Throughout  the  whole  of  his  brief,  turbulent, 
and  disastrous  reign,  Boabdil  gives  evidences  of  a 
mild  and  amiable  character.  He  in  the  first  in- 
stance won  the  hearts  of  the  people  by  his  affa- 
ble and  gracious  manners  ;  he  was  always  peacea- 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


123 


ble,  and  never  inflicted  any  severity  of  punishment 
upon  tliose  who  occasionally  rebelled  against  him. 
He  was  personally  brave,  but  he  wanted  moral 
courage,  and  in  times  of  difficulty  and  perplexity, 
was  wavering  and  irresolute.  This  feebleness  of 
spirit  hastened  his  downfall,  while  it  deprived  him 
of  that  heroic  grace  which  would  have  given  a 
grandeur  and  dignity  to  his  fate,  and  rendered  him 
worthy  of  closing  the  splendid  drama  of  the  Moslem 
domination  in  Spain. 


MEMENTOS  OF  BOABDIL. 


While  my  mind  was  still  warm  with  the  subject 
of  the  unfortunate  Boabdil,  I  set  forth  to  trace 
the  mementos  connected  with  his  story,  which  yet 
exist  in  this  scene  of  his  sovereignty  and  his  misfor- 
tunes. In  the  picture  gallery  of  the  Palace  of  the 
Generaliffe,  hangs  his  portrait.  The  face  is  mild, 
handsome  and  somewhat  melancholy,  with  a  fair 
complexion  and  yellow  hair ;  if  it  be  a  true  repre- 
sentation of  the  man,  he  may  have  been  wavering 
and  uncertain,  but  there  is  nothing  of  cruelty  or  un- 
kindness  in  his  aspect. 

I  next  visited  the  dungeon  wherein  he  was  con- 
fined in  his  youthful  days,  when  his  cruel  father 
meditated  his  destruction.  It  is  a  vaulted  room 
in  the  tower  of  Comares,  under  the  Hall  of  Am- 
bassadors. A  similar  room,  separated  by  a  narrow 
passage,  was  the  prison  of  his  mother,  the  virtuous 
Ayxa  la  Horra.  The  walls  are  of  prodigious  thick- 
ness, and  the  small  windows  secured  by  iron  bars. 
A  narrow  stone  gallery,  with  a  low  parapet,  extends 
round  three  sides  of  the  tower  just  below  the 
windows,  but  at  a  considerable  height  from  the 
ground.  From  this  gallery,  it  is  presumed,  the 
queen  lowered  her  son  with  the  scarfs  of  herself 
and  her  female  attendants,  during  the  darkness  of 
night,  to  the  hill-side,  at  the  foot  of  which  waited  a 
domestic  with  a  fleet  steed  to  bear  the  prince  to  the 
mountains. 

As  I  paced  this  gallery,  my  imagination  pictured 
the  anxious  queen  leaning  over  the  parapet,  and 
listening,  with  the  throbbings  of  a  mother's  heart,  to 
the  last  echo  of  the  horses'  hoofs,  as  her  son  scoured 
along  the  narrow  valley  of  the  Darro. 

My  next  search  was  for  the  gate  by  which  Bo- 
abdil departed  from  the  Alhambra,  when  about  to 
surrender  his  capital.  With  the  melancholy  ca- 
price of  a  broken  spirit,  he  requested  of  the  Catho- 
lic monarchs  that  no  one  afterwards  might  be  per- 
mitted to  pass  through  this  gate.  His  prayer, 
according  to  ancient  chronicles,  was  complied  with, 
through  the  sympathy  of  Isabella,  and  the  gate 
walled  up.  For  some  time  I  inquired  in  vain  for 
such  a  portal ;  at  length  my  humble  attendant, 
Mateo,  learned  among  the  old  residents  of  the 
fortress,  that  a  ruinous  gateway  still  existed,  by 
which,  according  to  tradition,  the  Moorish  king  had 
left  the  fortress,  but  which  had  never  been  open 
within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant. 

He  conducted  me  to  the  spot.  The  gateway  is  in 
the  centre  of  what  was  once  an  immense  tower, 
called  /:!  Torre  de  los  Siete  Siielos,  or,  the  Tower  of 
the  Seven  Moors.  It  is  a  place  famous  in  the  super- 
stitious stories  of  the  neighbourhood,  for  being  the 
scene  of  strange  apparitions  and  Moorish  enchant- 
ments. 

This  once  redoubtable  tower  is  now  a  mere 
wreck,  having  been  blown  up  with  gunpowder,  by 


the  French,  when  they  abandoned  the  fortress. 
Great  masses  of  the  wall  lie  scattered  about,  buried 
in  the  luxuriant  herbage,  or  overshadowed  by  vines 
and  fig-trees.  The  arch  of  the  gateway,  though  rent 
by  the  shock,  still  remains  ;  but  the  last  wish  of  poor 
Boabdd  has  been  again,  though  unintentionally,  ful- 
filled, for  the  portal  has  been  closed  up  by  loose 
stones  gathered  from  the  ruins,  and  remains  im- 
passable. 

Following  up  the  route  of  the  Moslem  monarch  as 
it  remains  on  record,  I  crossed  on  horseback  the  hill 
of  Les  Martyrs,  keeping  along  the  garden  of  the 
convent  of  the  same  name,  and  thence  down  a  rug- 
ged ravine,  beset  by  thickets  of  aloes  and  Indian  figs, 
and  lined  by  caves  and  hovels  swarming  with  gip- 
sies. It  was  the  road  taken  by  Boabdil  to  avoid 
passing  through  the  city.  The  descent  was  so  steep 
and  broken  that  I  was  obliged  to  dismount  and  lead 
my  horse. 

Emerging  from  the  ravine,  and  passing  by  the 
Puerta  de  los  Molinos,  (the  Gate  of  the  Mills,)  I  is- 
sued forth  upon  the  public  promenade,  called  the 
Prado,  and  pursuing  the  course  of  the  Xenil,  arrived 
at  a  small  Moorish  mosque,  now  converted  into  the 
chapel,  or  hermitage  of  San  Sebastian.  A  tablet  on 
the  wall  relates  that  on  this  spot  Boabdil  surrendered 
the  keys  of  Granada  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns. 

Fro)ii  thence  I  rode  slowly  across  the  Vega  to  a 
village  where  the  family  and  household  of  the  un- 
happy king  had  awaited  him  :  for  he  had  sent  them 
forward  on  the  preceding  night  from  the  Alhambra, 
that  his  mother  and  wife  might  not  participate  in  his 
personal  humiliation,  or  be  exposed  to  the  gaze  of 
the  conquerors. 

Following  on  in  the  route  of  the  melancholy  band 
of  royal  exiles,  1  arrived  at  the  foot  of  a  chain  of  bar- 
ren and  dreary  heights,  forming  the  skirt  of  the  Al- 
puxarra  mountains.  From  the  summit  of  one  of 
these,  the  unfortunate  Boabdil  took  his  last  look  at 
Granada.  It  bears  a  name  expressive  of  his  sorrows 
— La  Cuesta  de  las  Lagrimas,  (the  Hill  of  Tears.) 
Beyond  it  a  sandy  road  vvmds  across  a  rugged  cheer- 
less waste,  doubly  dismal  to  the  unhappy  monarch, 
as  it  led  to  exile ;  behind,  in  the  distance,  lies  the 
"enamelled  Vega,"  with  the  Xenil  shining  among 
its  bov.'ers,  and  Granada  beyond. 

I  spurred  my  horse  to  the  summit  of  a  rock,  where 
Boabdd  uttered  his  last  sorrowful  exclamation,  as  he 
turned  his  eyes  from  taking  their  farewell  gaze.  It 
is  still  denominated  el  uliimo  suspiro  del  Mora,  (the 
last  sigh  of  the  Moor.)  Who  can  wonder  at  his  an- 
guish at  being  expelled  from  such  a  kingdom  and 
such  an  abode .'  With  the  Alhambra  he  seemed  to 
be  yielding  up  all  the  honours  of  his  line,  and  all  the 
glories  and  delights  of  life. 

It  was  here,  too,  that  his  affliction  was  imbittered 
by  the  reproach  of  his  mother  Ayxa,  who  had  so 
often  assisted  him  in  times  of  peril,  and  had  vainly 
sought  to  instil  into  him  her  own  resolute  spirit. 
"  You  do  well,"  said  she,  "  to  weep  as  a  woman 
over  what  you  could  not  defend  as  a  man  !  " — A 
speech  that  savours  more  of  the  pride  of  the  princess, 
than  the  tenderness  of  the  mother. 

When  this  anecdote  was  related  to  Charles  V.,  by 
Bishop  Guevara,  the  emperor  joined  in  the  expres- 
sion of  scorn  at  the  weakness  of  the  wavering  Boab- 
dil. "Had  I  been  he,  or  he  been  I,"  said  the 
haughty  potentate,  "  I  would  rather  have  made  this 
Alhambra  my  sepulchre,  than  have  lived  without  a 
kmgdom  in  the  Alpuxarras." 

How  easy  it  is  for  them  in  power  and  prosperity 
to  preach  heroism  to  the  vanquished  !  How  little 
can  they  understand  that  life  itself  may  rise  in  value 
with  the  unfortunate,  when  naught  but  life  remains. 


124 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


THE  TOWER  OF  LAS  INFANTAS. 


In  an  evening's  stroll  up  a  narrow  glen,  over- 
shadowed by  fig-trees,  pomegranates  and  myrtles, 
that  divides  the  land  of  the  fortress  from  those  of 
the  Generaliffe,  I  was  struck  with  the  romantic  ap- 
pearance of  a  Moorish  tower  in  the  outer  wall  of  the 
Alhambra,  that  rose  high  above  the  tree-tops,  and 
caught  the  ruddy  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  A  solitary 
window,  at  a  great  height,  commanded  a  view  of  the 
glen,  and  as  I  was  regarding  it  a  young  female 
looked  out,  with  her  head  adorned  with  flowers.  She 
was  evidently  superior  to  the  usual  class  of  people 
that  inhabit  the  old  towers  of  the  fortress  ;  and  this 
sudden  and  picturesque  glimpse  of  her,  reminded  me 
of  the  descriptions  of  captive  beauties  in  fairy  tales. 
The  fanciful  associations  of  my  mind  were  increased 
on  being  informed  by  my  attendant,  Mateo,  that  this 
was  the  tower  of  the  Princesses,  (la  Torre  de  las  In- 
fantas) so  called  from  having  been,  according  to  tradi- 
tion, the  residence  of  the  daughters  of  the  Moorish 
kings.  I  have  since  visited  the  tower.  It  is  not 
generally  shown  to  strangers,  though  well  worthy 
attention,  for  the  interior  is  equal  for  beauty  of  archi- 
tecture and  delicacy  of  ornament,  to  any  part  of  the 
palace.  The  elegance  of  its  central  hall  with  its 
marble  fountain,  its  lofty  arches  and  richly  fretted 
dome  ;  the  arabesques  and  stucco  work  of  the  small, 
but  well  proportioned  charribers,  though  injured  by 
time  and  neglect,  all  accord  with  the  story  of  its 
being  anciently  the  abode  of  royal  beauty. 

The  little  old  fairy  queen  who  lives  under  the 
staircase  of  the  Alhambra,  and  frequents  the  even- 
ing tertulias  of  Dame  Antor  ia,  tells  some  fanciful 
traditions  about  three  Moorisn  princesses  who  were 
once  shut  up  in  this  tower  by  their  father,  a  tyrant 
king  of  Granada,  and  were  only  permitted  to  ride 
out  at  night  about  the  hills,  when  no  one  was  per- 
mitted to  come  in  their  way,  under  pain  of  death. 
They  still,  according  to  her  account,  may  be  seen 
occasionally  when  the  moon  is  in  the  full,  riding 
in  lonely  places  along  the  mountain  side,  on  palfreys 
richly  caparisoned,  and  sparkling  with  jewels,  but 
they  vanish  on  being  spoken  to. 

— But  before  I  relate  any  thing  farther  respecting 
these  princesses,  the  reader  may  be  anxious  to  know 
something  about  the  fair  inhabitant  of  the  tower  with 
her  head  drest  with  flowers,  who  looked  out  from 
the  lofty  window.  She  proved  to  be  the  newly 
married  spouse  of  the  worthy  adjutant  of  invalids  ; 
who,  though  well  stricken  in  years,  had  had  the 
courage  to  take  to  his  bosom  a  young  and  buxom 
Andalusian  damsel.  May  the  good  old  cavalier  be 
happy  in  his  choice,  and  find  the  tower  of  the  Prin- 
cesses a  more  secure  residence  for  female  beauty 
than  it  seems  to  have  proved  in  the  time  of  the 
Moslems,  if  we  may  believe  the  following  legend. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  WEATHERCOCK. 


On  the  brow  of  the  lofty  hill  of  the  Albaycin,  the 
highest  part  of  the  city  of  Granada,  stand  the  remains 
of  what  was  once  a  royal  palace,  founded  shortly 
after  the  conquest  of  Spain  by  the  Arabs.  It  is  now 
converted  into  a  manufactory,  and  has  fallen  into 
such  obscurity  that  it  cost  me  much  trouble  to  find 
it,  notwithstanding  that  I  had  the  assistance  of  the 
sagacious  and  all-knowing  Mateo  Ximenes.     This 


edifice  still  bears  the  name  by  which  it  has  been 
known  for  centuries,  namely,  la  Casa  del  Gallo  de 
Viento;  that  is,  the  House  of  the  Weathercock. 

It  was  so  called  from  a  bronze  figure  of  a  warrior 
on  horseback,  armed  with  shield  and  spear,  erected 
on  one  of  its  turrets,  and  turning  with  every  wind  ; 
bearing  an  Arabic  motto,  which,  translated  into 
Spanish,  was  as  follows  : 

Dici  el  Sabio  Aben  Habuz 
Que  asi  se  defiende  el  Anduluz, 

In  this  way,  says  Aben  Habuz  the  wise, 
The  Andalusian  his  foe  defies. 

This  Aben  Habuz  was  a  captain  who  served  in 
the  invading  army  of  Taric,  and  was  left  as  alcayde 
of  Granada.  He  is  supposed  to  have  intended  this 
warlike  effigy  as  a  perpetual  memorial  to  the  Moorish 
inhabitants,  that  surrounded  as  they  were  by  foes, 
and  subject  to  sudden  invasion,  their  safety  depended 
upon  being  always  ready  for  the  field. 

Other  traditions,  however,  give  a  different  account 
of  this  Aben  Habuz  and  his  palace,  and  affirm  that 
his  bronze  horseman  was  originally  a  talisman  of 
great  virtue,  though  in  after  ages  it  lost  its  magic 
properties  and  degenerated  into  a  weathercock. 
The  following  are  the  traditions  alluded  to. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  ARABIAN  ASTROLOGER. 


In  old  times,  many  hundred  years  ago,  there  was 
a  Moorish  king  named  Aben  Habuz,  who  reigned 
over  the  kmgdom  of  Granada.  He  was  a  retired 
conqueror,  that  is  to  say,  one  who,  having  in  his 
more  youthful  days  led  a  life  of  constant  foray  and 
depredation,  now  that  he  was  grown  old  and  super- 
annuated, "  languished  for  repose,"  and  desired 
nothing  more  than  to  live  at  peace  with  all  the 
world,  to  husband  his  laurels,  and  to  enjoy  in  quiet 
the  possessions  he  had  wrested  from  his  neighbours. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  this  most  reason- 
able and  pacific  old  monarch  had  young  rivals  to  deal 
with — princes  full  of  his  early  passion  for  fame  and 
fighting,  and  who  had  some  scores  to  settle  which 
he  had  run  up  with  their  fathers  ;  he  had  also  some 
turbulent  and  discontented  districts  of  his  own  terri- 
tories among  the  Alpuxarra  mountains,  which,  dur- 
ing the  days  of  his  vigour,  he  had  treated  with  a 
high  hand  ;  and  which,  now  that  he  languished  for 
repose,  were  prone  to  rise  in  rebellion  and  to  threaten 
to  march  to  Granada  and  drive  him  from  his  throne. 
To  make  the  matter  worse,  as  Granada  is  surrounded 
by  wild  and  craggy  mountains  which  hide  the  ap- 
proach of  an  enemy,  the  unfortunate  Aben  Habuz 
was  kept  in  a  constant  state  of  vigilance  and  alarm, 
not  knowing  in  what  quarter  hostilities  might  break 
out. 

It  was  in  vain  that  he  built  watch-towers  on  the 
mountains  and  stationed  guards  at  every  pass,  with 
orders  to  make  fires  by  night,  and  smoke  by  day,  on 
the  approach  of  an  enemy.  His  alert  foes  would  baffle 
every  precaution,  and  come  breaking  out  of  some 
unthought-of  defile, — ravage  his  lands  beneath  his 
very  nose,  and  then  make  off  with  prisoners  and 
booty  to  the  mountains.  Was  ever  peaceable  and 
retired  conqueror  in  a  more  uncomfortable  predica- 
ment ! 

While  the  pacific  Aben  Habuz  was  harassed  by 
these  perplexities  and  molestations,  an  ancient 
Arabian  physician  arrived  at  his  court.  His  gray 
beard  descended  to  his  girdle,  aud  he  had  every 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


335 


mark  of  extreme  age,  yet  he  had  travelled  almost 
the  whole  way  from  Egypt  on  foot,  with  no  other 
aid  than  a  staff  marked  with  hieroglyphics.  His 
fame  had  preceded  him.  His  name  was  Ibrahim  Ebn 
Abu  Ayub ;  he  was  said  to  have  lived  ever  since  the 
days  of  Mahomet,  and  to  be  the  son  of  Abu  Ayub, 
the  last  of  the  companions  of  the  prophet.  He  had, 
when  a  child,  followed  the  conquering  army  of  Amru 
into  Egypt,  where  he  had  remained  many  years 
studying  the  dark  sciences,  and  particularly  magic, 
among  the  Egyptian  priests.  It  was  moreover  said 
that  he  had  found  out  the  secret  of  prolonging  life, 
by  means  of  which  he  had  arrived  to  the  great  age 
of  upwards  of  two  centuries  ;'  though,  as  he  did  not 
discover  the  secret  until  well  stricken  in  years,  he 
could  only  perpetuate  his  gray  hairs  and  wrmkles. 

This  wonderful  old  man  was  very  honourably  en- 
tertained by  the  king;  who,  like  most  superannu- 
ated monarchs,  began  to  take  physicians  into  great 
favour.  He  would  have  assigned  him  an  apartment 
in  his  palace,  but  the  astrologer  preferred  a  cave  in 
the  side  of  the  hill,  which  rises  above  the  city  of 
Granada,  being  the  same  on  which  the  Alhambra 
has  since  been  built.  He  caused  the  cave  to  be  en- 
larged so  as  to  form  a  spacious  and  lofty  hall  with 
a  circular  hole  at  the  top,  through  which,  as  through 
a  well,  he  could  see  the  heavens  and  behold  the  stars 
even  at  mid-day.  The  walls  of  this  hall  were  cov- 
ered with  Egyptian  hieroglyphics,  with  cabalistic 
symbols,  and  with  the  figures  of  the  stars  in  their 
signs.  This  hall  he  furnished  with  many  imple- 
ments, fabricated  under  his  direction  by  cunning 
artificers  of  Granada,  but  the  occult  properties  of 
which  were  only  known  to  himself  In  a  little  while 
the  sage  Ibrahim  became  the  bosom  counsellor  of 
the  king,  to  whom  he  applied  for  advice  in  every 
emergency.  Aben  Habuz  was  once  inveighing 
against  the  injustice  of  his  neighbours,  and  bewailing 
the  restless  vigilance  he  had  to  observe  to  guard 
himsetf  against  their  invasions ; — when  he  had  fin- 
ished, the  astrologer  remained  silent  for  a  moment, 
and  then  replied,  "Know,  O  king,  that  when  I  was 
in  Egypt  I  beheld  a  great  marvel  devised  by  a  pagan 
priestess  of  old.  On  a  mountain  above  the  city  of 
Ilorsa,  and  overlooking  the  great  valley  of  the  Nile, 
was  a  figure  of  a  ram,  and  above  it  a  figure  of  a 
cock,  both  of  molten  brass  and  turning  upon  a  pivot. 
Whenever  the  country  was  threatened  with  invasion, 
the  ram  would  turn  in  the  direction  of  the  enemy 
and  the  cock  would  crow  ;  upon  this  the  inhabitants 
of  the  city  knew  of  the  danger,  and  of  the  quarter 
from  which  it  was  approaching,  and  could  take 
timely  notice  to  guard  against  it." 

"God  is  great !  "  e.xclaimed  the  pacific  Aben  Ha- 
buz ;  "  what  a  treasure  would  be  such  a  ram  to  keep 
an  eye  upon  these  mountains  around  me,  and  then 
such  a  cock  to  crow  in  time  of  danger  !  Allah  Ach- 
bar !  how  securely  I  might  sleep  in  my  palace  with 
such  sentinels  on  the  top  !" 

"  Listen,  O  king,  "continued  the  astrologer  gravely. 
"When  the  victorious  Amru  (God's  peace  be  upon 
him  !)  conquered  the  city  of  Borsa,  this  talisman  was 
destroyed  ;  but  1  was  present,  and  examined  it,  and 
studied  its  secret  and  mystery,  and  can  make  one  of 
like,  and  even  of  greater  virtues." 

"O  wise  son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  cried  Aben  Habuz, 
"better  were  such  a  talisman  than  all  the  watch- 
towers  on  the  hills,  and  sentinels  upon  the  borders. 
Give  me  such  a  safeguard,  and  the  riches  of  my  treas- 
ury are  at  thy  command." 

The  astrologer  immediately  set  to  work  to  gratify 
the  wishes  of  the  monarch,  shutting  himself  up  in 
his  astrological  hall,  and  exerting  the  necromantic 
arts  he  had  learnt  in  Egypt,  he  summoned  to  his  as- 
sistance the  spirits  and  demons  of  the  Nile.     By  his 


command  they  transported  to  his  presence  a  mummy 
from  a  sepulchral  chamber  in  the  centre  of  one  of 
the  Pyramids.  It  was  the  mummy  of  the  priest 
who  had  aided  by  magic  art  in  rearing  that  stupend- 
ous pile. 

The  astrologer  opened  the  outer  cases  of  the 
mummy,  and  unfolded  its  many  wrappers.  On  the 
breast  of  the  corpse  was  a  book  written  in  Chaldaic 
characters.  He  seized  it  with  trembling  hand,  then 
returning  the  mummy  to  its  case,  ordered  the  de- 
mons to  transport  it  again  to  its  dark  and  silent 
sepulchre  in  the  Pyramid,  there  to  await  the  final 
day  of  resurrection  and  judgment. 

This  book,  say  the  traditions,  was  the  book  of 
knowledge  given  by  God  to  Adam  after  his  fall.  It 
had  been  handed  down  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, to  king  Solomon  the  Wise,  and  by  the  aid  of 
the  wonderful  secrets  in  magic  and  art  revealed  in 
it,  he  had  built  the  temple  of  Jerusalem.  How  it 
had  come  into  the  possession  of  the  builder  of  the 
Pyramids,  He  only  knows  who  knows  all  things. 

Instructed  by  this  mystic  volume,  and  aided  by 
the  genii  which  it  subjected  to  his  command,  the 
astrologer  soon  erected  a  great  tower  upon  the  top 
of  the  palace  of  Aben  Habuz,  which  stood  on  the 
brow  of  the  hill  of  the  Albaycin.  The  tower  was 
built  of  stones  brought  from  Egypt,  and  taken,  it  is 
said,  from  one  of  the  Pyramids.  In  the  upper  part 
of  the  tower  was  a  circular  hall,  with  windows  look- 
ing toward  every  point  of  the  compass,  and  before 
each  window  was  a  table,  on  which  was  arranged, 
as  on  a  chess-board,  a  mimic  army  of  horse  and 
foot,  with  the  effigy  of  the  potentate  that  ruled  in 
that  direction ;  all  carved  of  wood.  To  each  of 
these  tables  there  was  a  small  lance,  no  bigger  than  a 
bodkin,  on  which  were  engraved  certain  mysterious 
Chaldaic  characters.  This  hall  was  kept  constantly 
closed  by  a  gate  of  brass  with  a  great  lock  of  steel, 
the  key  of  which  was  in  possession  of  the  king. 

On  the  top  of  the  tower  was  a  bronze  figure  of  a 
Moorish  horseman,  fixed  on  a  pivot,  with  a  shield  on 
one  arm,  and  his  lance  elevated  perpendicularly. 
The  face  of  this  horseman  was  towards  the  city,  as 
if  keeping  guard  over  it ;  but  if  any  foe  were  at  hand, 
the  figure  would  turn  in  that  direction  and  would 
level  the  lance  as  if  for  action. 

When  this  talisman  was  finished,  Aben  Habuz 
was  all  impatient  to  try  its  virtues ;  and  longed  as 
ardently  for  an  invasion  as  he  had  ever  sighed  after 
repose.  His  desire  was  soon  gratified.  Tidings 
were  brought  early  one  morning,  by  the  sentinel  ap- 
pointed to  watch  the  tower,  that  the  face  of  the 
brazen  horseman  was  turned  towards  the  mountains 
of  Elvira,  and  that  his  lance  pointed  directly  against 
the  pass  of  Lope. 

"  Let  the  drums  and  trumpets  sound  to  arms, 
and  all  Granada  be  put  on  the  alert," — said  Aben 
Habuz. 

"O  king,"  said  the  astrologer,  "let  not  your  city 
be  disquieted,  nor  your  warriors  called  to  arms  ;  we 
need  no  aid  of  force  to  deliver  you  from  your  ene- 
mies. Dismiss  your  attendants  and  let  us  proceed 
alone  to  the  secret  hall  of  the  tower." 

The  ancient  Aben  Habuz  mounted  the  staircase 
of  the  tower,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  still  more 
ancient  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu  Ayub.  They  unlocked 
the  brazen  door  and  entered.  The  window  that 
looked  towards  the  pass  of  Lope  was  ojjen.  "In 
this  direction,"  said  the  astrologer,  "  lies  the  danger 
— approach,  O  king,  and  behold  the  mystery  of  the 
table." 

King  Aben  Habuz  approached  the  seeming  chess- 
board, on  which  were  arranged  the  small  wooden 
effigies ;  when  lo  !  they  were  all  in  motion.  The 
horses   pranced  and  curveted,    the  warriors  bran- 


126 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


dished  their  weapons,  and  there  was  a  faint  sound 
of  drums  and  trumpets,  and  a  clang  of  arms  and 
neighing  of  steeds,  Ijut  all  no  louder,  nor  more  dis- 
tinct, than  the  hum  of  the  bee  or  summer-fly  in 
the  drowsy  ear  of  him  who  lies  at  noon-tide  in  the 
shade. 

"Behold,  O  king,"  said  the  astrologer,  "a  proof 
that  thy  enemies  are  even  now  in  the  field.  They 
must  be  advancing  through  yonder  mountains  by 
the  pass  of  Lope.  Would  you  produce  a  panic  and 
confusion  amongst  them,  and  cause  them  to  abandon 
their  enterprise  and  retreat  without  loss  of  life,  strike 
these  effigies  with  the  butt  end  of  this  magic  lance  ; 
but  would  you  cause  bloody  feud  and  carnage  among 
them,  strike  with  the  point." 

A  livid  streak  passed  across  the  countenance  of 
the  pacific  Aben  Habuz ;  he  seized  the  mimic  lance 
with  trembling  eagerness,  and  tottered  towards  the 
table  ;  his  gray  beard  wagged  with  chuckling  exul- 
tation. "  Son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  exclaimed  he,  "  I 
think  we  will  have  a  little  blood  ! " 

So  saying  he  thrust  the  magic  lance  into  some  of 
the  pigmy  effigies,  and  belaboured  others  with  the 
butt  end  ;  upon  which  the  former  fell,  as  dead,  up- 
on the  board,  and  the  rest  turning  upon  each  other, 
began,  pell-mell,  a  chance  medley  fight. 

It  was  with  difficulty  the  astrologer  could  stay  the 
hand  of  the  most  pacific  of  monarchs,  and  prevent 
him  from  absolutely  exterminating  his  foes.  At 
length  he  prevailed  upon  him  to  leave  the  tower, 
and  to  send  out  scouts  to  the  mountains  by  the  pass 
of  Lope. 

They  returned  with  the  intelligence  that  a  Chris- 
tian army  had  advanced  through  the  heart  of  the 
Sierra,  almost  within  sight  of  Granada,  when  a  dis- 
sension having  broken  out  among  them,  they  had 
tJrned  their  weapons  against  each  other,  and  after 
much  slaughter,  had  retreated  over  the  border. 

Aben  Habuz  was  transported  with  joy  on  thus 
proving  the  efficacy  of  the  talisman.  "  At  length," 
said  he,  "  I  shall  lead  a  life  of  tranquillity,  and  have 
all  my  enemies  in  my  power.  Oh  !  wise  son  of  Abu 
Ayub,  what  can  I  bestow  on  thee  in  reward  for  such 
a  blessing.'' " 

"  The  wants  of  an  old  man  and  a  philosopher,  O 
king,  are  few  and  simple — grant  me  but  the  means 
of  fitting  up  my  cave  as  a  suitable  hermitage,  and  1 
am  content." 

"  How  noble  is  the  moderation  of  the  truly  wise  !  " 
exclaimed  Aben  Habuz,  secretly  pleased  at  the 
cheapness  of  the  recompense.  He  summoned  his 
treasurer,  and  bade  him  dispense  whatever  sums 
might  be  required  by  Ibrahim  to  complete  and 
furnish  his  hermitage. 

The  astrologer  now  gave  orders  to  have  various 
chambers  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock,  so  as  to  form 
ranges  of  apartments  connected  with  his  astrologi- 
cal hall.  These  he  caused  to  be  furnished  with 
luxurious  ottomans  and  divans ;  and  the  walls  to  be 
hung  with  the  richest  silks  of  Damascus.  "  1  am  an 
old  man,"  said  he,  "and  can  no  longer  rest  my 
bones  on  stone  couches;  and  these  damp  walls  re- 
quire covering." 

He  also  had  baths  constructed  and  provided  with 
all  kinds  of  perfumery  and  aromatic  oils ;  "  for  a 
bath,"  said  he,  "  is  necessary  to  counteract  the  rigid- 
ity of  age,  and  to  restore  freshness  and  suppleness 
to  the  frame  withered  by  study." 

He  caused  the  apartments  to  be  hung  with  in- 
numeralile  silver  and  crj'stal  lamps,  which  he  filled 
with  a  fragrant  oif  prepared  according  to  a  receipt 
discovered  by  him  in  the  tombs  of  Egypt.  This  oil 
was  perpetual  in  its  nature,  and  diffused  a  soft  radi- 
ance like  the  tempered  light  of  day.  "  The  light  of 
the  sun,"  said  he,  "  is  too  garish  and  violent  for  the 


eyes  of  an  old  man ;  and  the  light  of  the  lamp  is 
more  congenial  to  the  studies  of  a  philosopher." 

The  treasurer  of  King  Aben  Habuz  groaned  at 
the  sums  daily  demanded  to  fit  up  this  hermitage, 
and  he  carried  his  complaints  to  the  king.  The 
royal  word,  however,  was  given — Aben  Habuz 
shrugged  his  shoulders. — "  We  must  have  patience," 
said  he  ;  "  this  old  man  has  taken  his  idea  of  a  philo- 
sophic retreat  from  the  interior  of  the  Pyramids  and 
the  vast  ruins  of  Egypt ;  but  all  things  have  an  end, 
and  so  will  the  furnishing  of  his  cavern." 

The  king  was  in  the  right,  the  hermitage  was  at 
length  complete  and  formed  a  sumptuous  subter- 
ranean palace.  "  I  am  now  content,"  said  Ibrahim 
Ebn  Abu  Ayub,  to  the  treasurer ;  "  I  will  shut  myself 
up  in  my  cell  and  devote  my  time  to  study.  I  desire 
nothing  more, — nothing, — except  a  trilling  solace 
to  amuse  me  at  the  intervals  of  mental  labour." 

"  Oh  !  wise  Ibrahim,  ask  what  thou  wilt ;  I  am 
bound  to  furnish  all  that  is  necessary  for  thy  soli- 
tude." 

"  I  would  fain  have  then  a  few  dancing  women," 
said  the  philosopher. 

"  Dancing  women  !  "  echoed  the  treasurer  with 
surprise. 

"  Dancing  women,"  replied  the  sage,  gravely : 
"  a  few  will  suffice ;  for  I  am  an  old  man  and  a 
philosopher,  of  simple  habits  and  easily  satisfied. 
Let  them,  however,  be  young  and  fair  to  look  upon 
— for  the  sight  of  youth  and  beauty  is  refreshing  to 
old  age." 

While  the  philosophic  Ibrahim  Ebn  Ayub  passed 
his  time  thus  sagely  in  his  hermitage,  the  pacific 
Aben  Habuz  carried  on  furious  campaigns  in  effigy 
in  his  tower.  It  was  a  glorious  thing  for  an  old  man 
like  himself,  of  quiet  habits,  to  have  war  made  easy, 
and  to  be  enabled  to  amuse  himself  in  his  chamber 
by  brushing  away  whole  armies  like  so  many  swarms 
of  flies.  For  a  time  he  rioted  in  the  indulgence  of 
his  humours,  and  even  taunted  and  insulted  his 
neighbours  to  induce  them  to  make  incursions  ;  but 
by  degrees  they  grew  wary  from  repeated  disasters, 
until  no  one  ventured  to  invade  his  territories.  For 
many  months  the  bronze  horseman  remained  on  the 
peace  establishment  with  his  lance  elevated  in  the 
air,  and  the  worthy  old  monarch  began  to  repine  at 
the  want  of  his  accustomed  sport,  and  to  grow  pee- 
vish at  his  monotonous  tranquillity. 

At  length,  one  day,  the  talismanic  horseman 
veered  suddenly  round,  and,  lowering  his  lance, 
made  a  dead  point  towards  the  mountains  of  Guadix. 
Aben  Habuz  hastened  to  his  tower,  but  the  magic 
table  in  that  direction  remained  quiet — not  a  single 
warrior  was  in  motion.  Perplexed  at  the  circum- 
stance, he  sent  forth  a  troop  of  horse  to  scour  the 
mountains  and  reconnoitre.  They  returned  after 
three  days'  absence.  Rodovan,  the  captain  of  the 
troop,  addressed  the  king :  "  We  have  searched 
every  mountam  pass,"  said  he,  "  but  not  a  helm  or 
spear  was  stirring.  All  that  we  have  found  in  the 
course  of  our  foray  was  a  Christian  damsel  of  sur- 
passing beauty,  sleeping  at  noon-tide  beside  a  foun- 
tain, whom  we  have  brought  away  captive." 

"A  damsel  of  surpassing  beauty!"  exclaimed 
Aben  Habuz,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  animation  : 
"  let  her  be  conducted  into  my  presence."  "  Pardon 
me,  O  kmg  !  "  replied  Rodovan,  "  but  our  warfare 
at  present  is  scanty  ;  and  yields  but  little  harvest. 
I  had  hoped  this  chance  gleaning  would  have  been 
allowed  for  my  services." 

"  Chance  gleaning !  "  cried  Aben  Habuz.  "  What ! 
— a  damsel  of  surpassing  beauty  !  By  the  head  of 
my  father !  it  is  the  choice  fruits  of  warfare,  only  to 
be  garnered  up  into  the  royal  keeping. — Let  the 
damsel  be  brought  hither  instantly." 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


m 


The  beautiful  damsel  was  accordingly  conducted 
into  his  presence.  She  was  arrayed  in  the  Gothic 
style  with  all  the  luxurv'  of  ornament  that  had  pre- 
vailed among  the  Gothic  Spaniards  at  the  time  of 
the  Arabian  conquest.  Pearls  of  dazzling  whiteness 
were  entwined  with  her  raven  tresses ;  and  jewels 
sparkled  on  her  forehead,  rivalling  the  lustre  of  her 
eyes.  Around  her  neck  was  a  golden  chain,  to 
which  was  suspended  a  silver  lyre  which  hung  by 
her  side. 

The  flashes  of  her  dark  refulgent  eye  were  like 
sparks  of  fire  on  the  withered,  yet  combustible 
breast  of  Aben  Habuz,  and  set  it  in  a  flame.  The 
swimming  voluptuousness  of  her  gait  made  his 
senses  reel.  "  f'airest  of  women,"  cried  he,  with 
rapture,  "  who  and  what  art  thou  .'  " — 

"The  daughter  of  one  of  the  Gothic  princes  who 
lately  ruled  over  this  land.  The  armies  of  my  father 
have  been  destroyed  as  if  by  magic  among  these 
mountains,  he  has  been  driven  into  e.xile,  and  his 
daughter  is  a  slave." 

"  Be  comforted,  beautiful  princess — thou  art  no 
longer  a  slave,  but  a  sovereign  ;  turn  thine  eyes  gra- 
ciously upon  Aben  Habuz,  and  reign  over  him  and 
his  dominions." 

"  Beware,  O  king,"  whispered  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu 
Ayub  ;  "  this  may  be  some  spirit  conjured  up  by  the 
magicians  of  the  Goths,  and  sent  for  thy  undoing. 
Or  it  may  be  one  of  those  northern  sorceresses,  who 
assume  the  most  seducing  forms  to  beguile  the  un- 
wary. Methinks  I  read  witchcraft  in  her  eye,  and 
sorcery  in  every  movement.  Let  my  sovereign  be- 
ware— this  must  be  the  enemy  pointed  out  by  the 
talisman."  "  Son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  replied  the  king, 
"you  are  a  wise  man  and  a  conjuror,  I  grant — but 
you  are  little  versed  in  the  ways  of  woman.  In  the 
knowledge  of  the  sex,  I  will  yield  to  no  man  ;  no, 
not  to  the  wise  Solomon  himself,  notwithstanding 
the  number  of  his  wives  and  his  concubines.  As  to 
this  damsel,  I  see  much  comtbrt  in  her  for  my  old 
days,  even  such  comfort  as  David,  the  father  of  Sol- 
omon, found  in  the  society  of  Abishag  the  Shuna- 
mite." 

"  Hearken,  O  king,"  rejoined  the  astrologer,  sud- 
denly changing  his  tone — "  I  have  given  thee  many 
triumphs  over  thy  enemies,  and  by  means  of  my 
talisman,  yet  thou  hast  never  given  me  share  of  the 
spoils ;  grant  me  this  one  stray  captive  to  solace  me 
in  my  retirement,  and  I  am  content." 

"  What  !  "  cried  Aben  Habuz,  "  more  women  ! 
hast  thou  not  already  dancing  women  to  solace  thee 
—what  more  wouldst  thou  desire." 

"  Dancing  women,  have  I,  it  is  true ;  but  I  have 
none  that  sing ;  and  music  is  a  balm  to  old  age. — 
This  captive,  I  perceive,  beareth  a  silver  lyre,  and 
must  be  skilled  in  minstrelsy.  Give  her  to  me,  I 
pray  thee,  to  sooth  my  senses  after  the  toil  of 
study." 

The  ire  of  the  pacific  monarch  was  kindled,  and 
he  loaded  the  philosopher  with  reproaches.  The 
latter  retired  indignantly  to  his  hermitage  ;  but  ere 
he  departed,  he  again  warned  the  monarch  to  be- 
ware of  his  beautiful  captive.  Where,  in  fact,  is  the 
old  man  in  love  that  will  listen  to  counsel  ?  Aben 
Habuz  had  felt  the  full  power  of  the  witchery  of  the 
eye,  and  the  sorcery  of  movement,  and  the  more  he 
gazed,  the  more  he  was  enamoured. 

He  resigned  himself  to  the  full  sway  of  his  pas- 
sions. His  only  study,  was  how  to  render  himself 
amiable  in  the  eyes  of  the  Gothic  beauty.  He  had 
not  youth,  it  is  true,  to  recommend  him,  but  then 
he  had  riches  ;  and  when  a  lover  is  no  longer  young, 
he  becomes  generous.  The  Zacatin  of  Granada 
was  ransacked  for  the  most  precious  merchandise  of 
the  East.     Silks,  jewels,  precious  gems  and  exquis- 


ite perfumes,  all  that  Asia  and  Africa  yielded  of 
rich  and  rare,  were  lavished  upon  the  princess.  She 
received  all  as  her  due,  and  regarded  them  with  the 
indifference  of  one  accustomed  to  magnificence. 
All  kinds  of  spectacles  and  festivities  were  devised 
for  her  entertainment  ;  minstrelsy,  dancing,  tourna- 
ments, bull-fights. — Granada,  for  a  time,  was  a  scene 
of  perpetual  pageant.  The- Gothic  princess  seemed 
to  take  a  delight  in  causing  expense,  as  if  she  sought 
to  drain  the  treasures  of  the  monarch.  There  were 
no  bounds  to  her  caprice,  or  to  the  extravagance 
of  her  ideas.  Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this  munfi- 
cence,  the  venerable  Aben  Habuz  could  not  flatter 
himself  that  he  had  made  any  impression  on  her 
heart.  She  never  frowned  on  him,  it  is  true,  but  she 
had  a  singular  way  of  baffling  his  tender  advances. 
Whenever  he  began  to  plead  his  passion,  she  struck 
her  silver  lyre.  There  was  a  mystic  charm  in  the 
sound  :  on  hearing  cf  it,  an  irresistible  drowsiness 
seized  upon  the  superannuated  lover,  he  fell  asleep, 
and  only  woke  when  the  temporary  fumes  of  pas- 
sion had  evaporated.  Still  the  dream  of  love  had  a 
bewitching  power  over  his  senses  ;  so  he  continued 
to  dream  on  ;  while  all  Granada  scoffed  at  his  in- 
fatuation, and  groaned  at  the  treasures  lavished  for . 
a  song. 

At  length  a  danger  burst  over  the  head  of  Aben 
Habuz,  against  which,  his  talisman  yielded  him  no 
warning.  A  rebellion  broke  out  in  the  very  heart 
of  his  capital ;  headed  by  the  bold  Rodovan.  Aben 
Habuz  was,  for  a  time,  besieged  in  his  palace,  and 
it  was  not  without  the  greatest  difficulty  that  he  re- 
pelled his  assailants  and  quelled  the  insurrection. 

He  now  felt  himself  compelled  once  more  to  re- 
sort to  the  assistance  of  the  astrologer.  He  found 
him  still  shut  up  in  his  hermitage,  chewing  the  cud 
of  resentment.  "  O  wise  son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  said 
he,  "  what  thou  hast  foretold,  has,  in  some  sort, 
come  to  pass.  This  Gothic  princess  has  brought 
trouble  and  danger  upon  me." 

"  Is  the  king  then  disposed  to  put  her  away  from 
him  ?  "  said  the  astrologer  with  animation. 

"  Sooner  would  I  part  with  my  kingdom  !  "  replied 
Aben  Habuz. 

"  What  then  is  the  need  of  disturbing  me  in  my 
philosophical  retirement?  "  said  the  astrologer,  pee- 
vishly. 

"  Be  not  angry,  O  sagest  of  philosophers.  I 
would  fain  have  one  more  exertion  of  thy  magic 
art.  Devise  some  means  by  which  I  may  be  secure 
from  internal  treason,  as  well  as  outward  war — some 
safe  retreat,  where  I  may  take  refuge  and  be  at 
peace." 

The  astrologer  ruminated  for  a  moment,  and  a 
subtle  gleam  shone  from  his  eye  under  his  bushy 
eyebrows. 

"  Thou  hast  heard,  no  doubt,  O  king,"  said  he, 
"  of  the  palace  and  garden  of  Irem,  whereof  mention 
is  made  in  that  chapter  of  the  Koran  entitled  '  the 
dawn  of  day.' " 

"  1  have  heard  of  that  garden, — marvellous  things 
are  related  of  it  by  the  pilgrims  who  visit  Mecca,  but 
I  have  thought  them  wild  fables,  such  as  those  are 
prone  to  tell  who  visit  remote  regions." 

"  Listen,  O  king,  and  thou  shalt  know  the  mystery 
of  that  garden.  In  my  younger  days  I  was  in  Arabia 
the  Happy,  tending  my  father's  camels.  One  of 
them  strayed  away  from  the  rest,  and  was  lost.  I 
searched  for  it  for  several  days  about  the  deserts  of 
Aden,  until  wearied  and  faint,  I  laid  myself  down 
and  slept  under  a  palm  tree  by  the  side  of  a  scanty 
well.  When  I  awoke,  1  found  myself  at  the  gate  of 
a  city.  I  entered  and  beheld  noble  streets  and 
squares  and  market  places,  but  all  were  silent  and 
without  an  inhabitant.     I  wandered  on  until  I  came 


128 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


to  a  sumptuous  palace,  with  a  garden  adorned  with 
fountains  and  fish-ponds ;  and  groves  and  flowers  ; 
and  orchards  laden  with  delicious  fruit ;  but  still  no 
one  was  to  be  seen.  Upon  which,  appalled  at  this 
loneliness,  I  hastened  to  depart,  and,  after  issuing 
forth  at  the  gate  of  the  city,  I  turned  to  look  upon 
the  place,  but  it  was  no  longer  to  be  seen,  nothing 
but  the  silent  desert  extended  before  my  eyes. 

"  In  the  neighbourhood  I  met  with  an  aged  dervise, 
learned  m  the  traditions  and  secrets  of  the  land,  and 
related  to  him  what  had  befallen  me.  '  This,'  said 
he,  '  is  the  far  famed  garden  of  Irem,  one  of  the 
wonders  of  the  desert.  It  only  appears  at  times  to 
some  wanderer  like  thyself,  gladdening  him  with  the 
sight  of  towers  and  palaces,  and  garden  walls  over- 
hung with  richly  laden  fruit  trees,  and  then  vanishes, 
leaving  nothing  but  a  lonely  desert. — And  this  is  the 
story  of  it  : — In  old  times,  when  this  country  was 
inhabited  by  the  Addiles,  king  Sheddad,  the  son  of 
Ad,  the  great  grandson  of  Noah,  founded  here  a 
splendid  city.  \Vhen  it  was  finished,  and  he  saw  its 
grandeur,  his  heart  was  puffed  up  with  pride  and 
arrogance,  and  he  determined  to  build  a  royal  pal- 
ace, with  gardens  that  should  rival  all  that  was  re- 
lated in  the  Koran  of  the  celestial  paradise.  But  the 
curse  of  heaven  fell  upon  him  for  his  presumption. 
He  and  his  subjects  were  swept  from  the  earth,  and 
his  splendid  city,  and  palace,  and  garden,  were  laid 
under  a  perpetual  spell,  that  hides  them  from  the 
human  sight,  exceptmg  that  they  are  seen  at  inter- 
vals ;  by  way  of  keeping  his  sin  in  perpetual  remem- 
brance.' 

"  This  story,  O  king,  and  the  wonders  I  had  seen, 
ever  dwell  in  my  mind,  and,  in  after  years,  when  I 
had  been  in  Eg)pt  and  made  myself  master  of  all 
kinds  of  magic  spells,  I  determined  to  return  and 
visit  the  garden  of  Irem.  I  did  so,  and  found  it  re- 
vealed to  my  instructed  sight.  I  took  possession  of 
the  palace  of  Sheddad,  and  passed  several  days  in 
his  mock  paradise.  The  genii  who  watch  over  the 
place,  were  obedient  to  my  magic  power,  and  reveal- 
ed to  me  the  spells  by  which  the  whole  garden  had 
been,  as  it  were,  conjured  into  existence,  and  by 
which  it  was  rendered  invisible.  Such  spells,  O 
king,  are  within  the  scope  of  my  art.  What  sayest 
thou .''  Wouldst  thou  have  a  palace  and  garden  like 
those  of  Irem,  filled  with  all  manner  of  delights,  but 
hidden  from  the  eyes  of  mortals  ?  " 

"  O,  wise  son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  exclaimed  Aben 
Habuz,  trembling  with  eagerness — "  Contrive  me 
such  a  paradise,  and  ask  any  reward,  even  to  the 
half  of  my  kingdom." 

"  Alas,"  replied  the  other,  "  thou  knowest  I  am 
an  old  man,  and  a  philosopher,  and  easily  satisfied  ; 
all  the  reward  I  ask,  is  the  first  beast  of  burden,  with 
its  load,  that  shall  enter  the  magic  portal  of  the 
palace." 

The  monarch  gladly  agreed  to  so  moderate  a  stip- 
ulation, and  the  astrologer  began  his  work.  On  the 
summit  of  the  hill  immediately  above  his  subterra- 
nean hermitage  he  caused  a  great  gateway  or  barbi- 
can to  be  erected ;  opening  through  the  centre  of  a 
strong  tower.  There  was  an  outer  vestibule  or  porch 
with  a  lofty  arch,  and  within  it  a  portal  secured  by 
massive  gates.  On  the  key-stone  of  the  portal  the 
astrologer,  with  his  own  hand,  wrought  the  figure  of 
a  huge  key,  and  on  the  key-stone  of  the  outer  arch 
of  the  vestibule,  which  was  loftier  than  that  of  the 
portal,  he  carved  a  gigantic  hand.  These  were  po- 
tent talismans,  over  which  he  repeated  many  sen- 
tences in  an  unknown  tongue. 

When  this  gateway  was  finished,  he  shut  himself 
up  for  two  days  in  his  astrological  hall,  engaged  in 
secret  incantations :  on  the  third  he  ascended  the 
hill,  and  passed  the  whole  day  on  its  summit.     At  a 


late  hour  of  the  night  he  came  down  and  presented 
himself  before  Aben  Habuz.  "  At  length,  O  king," 
said  he,  "  my  labour  is  accomplished.  On  the  sum- 
mit of  the  hill  stands  one  of  the  most  delectable  pal- 
aces that  ever  the  head  of  man  devised,  or  the  heart 
of  man  desired.  It  contains  sumptuous  halls  and 
galleiies,  delicious  gardens,  cool  fountauis  and  fra- 
grant baths ;  in  a  word,  the  whole  mountain  is  con- 
verted into  a  paradise.  Like  the  garden  of  Irem,  it 
is  protected  by  a  mighty  charm,  which  hides  it  from 
the  view  and  search  of  mortals,  excepting  such  as 
possess  the  secret  of  its  talismans." 

"  Enough,"  cried  Aben  Habuz,  joyfully  ;  "to-mor- 
row morning,  bright  and  early,  we  will  ascend  and 
take  possession."  The  happy  monarch  scarcely 
slept  that  night.  Scarcely  had  the  rays  of  the  sun 
begun  to  play  about  the  snowy  summit  of  the  Sierra 
Nevada,  when  he  mounted  his  steed,  and  accom- 
panied only  by  a  few  chosen  attendants,  ascended  a 
steep  and  narrow  road  leading  up  the  hill.  Beside 
him,  on  a  white  palfrey,  rode  the  Gothic  princess,  her 
dress  sparkling  with  jewels,  while  round  her  neck 
was  suspended  her  silver  lyre.  The  astrologer  walk- 
ed on  the  other  side  of  the  king,  assisting  his  steps 
with  his  hieroglyphic  staff,  for  he  never  mounted 
steed  of  any  kind. 

Aben  Habuz  looked  to  see  the  towers  of  the  prom- 
ised palace  brightening  above  him,  and  the  embow- 
ered terraces  of  its  gardens  stretching  along  the 
heights,  but  as  yet,  nothing  of  the  king  was  to  be 
descried.  "  That  is  the  mystery  and  safeguard  of  the 
place,"  said  the  astrologer,  "  nothing  can  be  discern- 
ed until  you  have  passed  the  spell-bound  gateway, 
and  been  put  in  possession  of  the  place." 

As  they  approached  the  gateway,  the  astrologer 
paused,  and  pointed  out  to  the  king  the  mystic  hand 
and  key  carved  upon  the  portal  and  the  arch. 
"These,"  said  he,  "are  the  talismans  which  guard 
the  entrance  to  this  paradise.  Until  yonder  hand 
shall  reach  down  and  seize  that  key,  neither  mortal 
power,  nor  magic  artifice,  can  prevail  against  the 
lord  of  this  mountain." 

While  Aben  Habuz  was  gazing  with  open  mouth 
and  silent  wonder  at  these  mystic  talisnians,  the  pal- 
frey of  the  princess  proceeded  on,  and  bore  her  in  at 
the  portal,  to  the  very  centre  of  the-barbican. 

"  Behold,"  cried  the  astrologer,  "  my  promised  re- 
ward ! — the  first  animal  with  its  burden,  that  should 
enter  the  magic  gateway." 

Aben  Habuz  smiled  at  what  he  considered  a  pleas- 
antry of  the  ancient  man  ;  but  when  he  (bund  him  to 
be  in  earnest,  his  gray  beard  trembled  with  indig- 
nation. 

"  Son  of  Abu  Ayub,"  said  he,  sternly,  "  what  equiv- 
ocation is  this.'  Thou  knowest  the  meaning  of  my 
promise,  the  first  beast  of  burden,  with  its  load,  that 
should  enter  this  portal.  Take  the  strongest  mule 
in  my  stables,  load  it  with  the  most  precious  things 
of  my  treasury,  and  it  is  thine  ;  but  dare  not  to  raise 
thy  thoughts  to  her,  who  is  the  delight  of  my  heart." 

"  What  need  I  of  wealth,"  cried  the  astrologer, 
scornfully  ;  "  have  I  not  the  book  of  knowledge  of 
Solomon  the  Wise,  and  through  it,  the  command  of 
the  secret  treasures  of  the  earth .'  The  princess  is 
mine  by  riglit ;  thy  royal  word  is  pledged  ;  I  claim 
her  as  my  own." 

The  princess  sat  upon  her  palfrey,  in  the  pride  of 
youth  and  beauty,  and  a  light  smile  of  scam  curled 
her  rosy  lip,  at  this  dispute  between  two  gray  beards 
for  her  charms.  The  wrath  of  the  monarch  got  the 
better  of  his  discretion.  "  Base  son  of  the  desert," 
cried  he,  "  thou  mayest  be  master  of  many  arts,  but 
know  me  for  thy  master — and  presume  not  to  juggle 
with  tliy  king." 

"  My  master  !"  echoed  the  a.strologer,  "  my  king! 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


129 


The  monarch  of  a  mole-hill  to  claim  sway  over  him 
who  possesses  the  talismans  of  Solomon.  Farewell, 
Ahen  Habuz  ;  reign  over  thy  petty  kingdom,  and 
revel  in  thy  paradise  of  fools — for  me,  I  will  laugh  at 
thee  in  my  philosophic  retirement  " 

So  s  lying,  he  seized  the  bridle  of  the  palfrey,  smote 
the  earth  with  his  staff,  and  sank  with  the  Gotliic 
princess  through  the  centre  of  the  barbican.  The 
earth  closed  over  them,  and  no  trace  remained  of 
the  opening  by  which  they  had  descended.  Aben 
Habuz  was  struck  dumb  for  a  time  with  astonish- 
ment. Recovering  himself  he  ordered  a  thousand 
workmen  to  dig  with  pickaxe  and  spade  into  the 
ground  where  the  astrologer  had  disappeared.  They 
digged  and  digged,  but  in  vain ;  the  flinty  bosom  of 
the  hill  resisted  their  implements  ;  or  if  they  did  pen- 
etrate a  little  way,  the  earth  filled  in  again  as  fast  as 
they  threw  it  out.  Aben  Habuz  sought  the  mouth 
of  the  cavern  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  leading  to  the 
subterranean  palace  of  the  astrologer,  but  it  was  no 
where  to  be  found  :  where  once  had  been  an  en- 
trance, was  now  a  solid  surface  of  primeval  rock. 
With  the  disappearance  of  Ibrahim  Ebn  Abu  Ayub 
ceased  the  benefit  of  his  talismans.  The  bronze 
horseman  remained  fixed  with  his  face  turned  toward 
the  hill,  and  his  spear  pointed  to  the  spot  where  the 
astrologer  had  descended,  as  if  there  still  lurked  the 
deadliest  foe  of  Aben  Habuz.  From  time  to  time 
the  sound  of  music  and  the  tones  of  a  female  voice 
could  be  faintly  heard  from  the  bosom  of  the  hill, 
and  a  peasant  one  day  brought  word  to  the  king, 
that  in  the  preceding  night  he  had  found  a  fissure  in 
the  rock,  by  which  he  had  crept  in  until  he  looked 
down  into  a  subterranean  hall,  in  which  sat  the  as- 
trologer on  a  magnificent  divan,  slumbering  and 
nodding  to  the  silver  lyre  of  the  princess,  which 
seemed  to  hold  a  magic  sway  over  his  senses. 

Aben  Habuz  sought  for  the  fissure  in  the  rock, 
but  it  was  again  closed.  He  renewed  the  attempt  to 
unearth  his  rival,  but  all  in  vain.  The  spell  of  the 
hand  and  key  was  too  potent  to  be  counteracted  by 
human  power.  As  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain, 
the  site  of  the  promised  palace  and  garden,  it  re- 
mained a  naked  waste  :  either  the  boasted  Elysium 
was  hidden  from  sight  by  enchantment,  or  was  a 
mere  fable  of  the  astrologer.  The  world  charitably 
supposed  the  latter,  and  some  used  to  call  the  place 
"  the  king's  folly,"  while  others  named  it  "  the  fool's 
Paradise." 

To  add  to  the  chagrin  of  Aben  Habuz,  the  neigh- 
bours, whom  he  had  defied  and  taunted,  and  cut  up 
at  his  leisure,  while  master  of  the  talismanic  horse- 
man, finding  him  no  longer  protected  by  magic  spell, 
made  inroads  into  his  territories  from  all  sides,  antl 
the  remainder  of  the  life  of  the  most  pacific  of  mon- 
archs,  was  a  tissue  of  turmoils. 

At  length,  Aben  Habuz  died  and  was  buried. 
Ages  have  since  rolled  away.  The  Alhambra  has 
been  built  on  the  eventful  mountain,  and  in  some 
measure  realizes  the  fabled  delights  of  the  garden  of 
Irem.  The  spell-bound  gateway  still  exists,  protect- 
ed, no  doubt,  by  the  mystic  hand  and  key,  and  now 
forms  the  gate  of  justice,  the  grand  entrance  to  the 
fortress.  Under  that  gateway,  it  is  said,  the  old  as- 
trologer remains  in  his  subterranean  hall ;  nodding 
on  his  divan,  lulled  by  the  silver  lyre  of  the  princess. 

The  old  invalid  sentinels,  who  mount  guard  at  the 
gate,  hear  the  strains  occasionally  in  the  summer 
nights,  and,  yielding  to  their  soporific  power,  doze 
quietly  at  their  posts.  Nay,  so  drowsy  an  influence 
pervades  the  place,  that  even  those  who  watch  by 
day,  may  generally  be  seen  nodding  on  the  stone 
benches  of  the  barbican,  or  sleeping  under  the  neigh- 
bouring trees ;  so  that  it  is,  in  fact,  the  drowsiest 
military  post  in  all  Christendom.  All  this,  say  the 
9 


:  legends,  will  endure ;  from  age  to  age  the  princess 
will  remain  captive  to  the  astrologer,  and  the  astrol- 
oger bound  up  in  magic  slumber  by  the  princess, 
until  the  last  day  ;  unless  the  mystic  hand  shall  grasp 

I  the  fated  key,  and  dispel  the  whole  charm  of  this 
enchanted  mountain. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  THREE  BEAUTIFUL 
PRINCESSES. 


In  old  times  there  reigned  a  Moorish  king  in 
Granada,  whose  name  was  Mohamed,  to  which 
his  subjects  added  the  appellation  of  el  Haygari, 
or  "the  left-handed."  Some  say  he  was  so  called, 
on  account  of  his  being  really  more  expert  with  his 
sinister,  than  his  dexter  hand  ;  others,  because  he 
was  prone  to  take  every  thing  by  the  v?rong  end  ; 
or,  in  other  words,  to  mar  wherever  he  meddled. 
Certain  it  is,  either  through  misfortune  or  misman- 
agement, he  was  continually  in  trouble.  Thrice 
was  he  driven  from  his  throne,  and  on  one  occasion 
barely  escaped  to  Africa  with  his  life,  in  the  dis- 
guise of  a  fisherman.  Still  he  was  as  brave  as  he 
was  blundering,  and,  though  left-handed,  wielded 
his  scimitar  to  such  purpose,  that  he  each  time 
re-established  himself  upon  his  throne,  by  dint  of 
hard  fighting.  Instead,  however,  of  learning  wis- 
dom from  adversity,  he  hardened  his  neck,  and 
stiffened  his  left-arm  in  wilfulness.  The  evils  of 
a  public  nature  which  he  thus  brought  upon  him- 
self and  his  kingdom,  may  be  learned  by  those 
who  will  delve  into  the  Arabian  annals  of  Grana- 
da ;  the  present  legend  deals  but  with  his  domestic 
policy. 

As  this  Mohamed  was  one  day  riding  forth,  with 
a  train  of  his  courtiers,  by  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
of  Elvira,  he  met  a  band  of  horsemen  returning 
from  a  foray  into  the  land  of  the  Christians.  They 
were  conducting  a  long  string  of  mules  laden  with 
spoil,  and  many  captives  of  both  sexes,  among 
whom,  the  monarch  was  struck  with  the  appear- 
ance of  a  beautiful  damsel  richly  attired,  who  sat 
weeping,  on  a  low  palfrey,  and  heeded  not  the  con- 
soling words  of  a  duenna,  who  rode  beside  her. 

The  .monarch  was  struck  with  her  beauty,  and  on 
inquiring  of  the  captain  of  the  troop,  found  that  she 
was  the  daughter  of  the  alcayde  of  a  frontier  for- 
tress that  had  been  surprised  and  sacked  in  the 
coarse  of  the  foray. 

Mohamed  claimed  her  as  his  royal  share  of  the 
booty,  and  had  her  conveyed  to  his  harem  in  the 
Alhambra.  There  every  thing  was  devised  to  sooth 
her  melancholy,  and  the  monarch,  more  and  more 
enamoured,  sought  to  make  her  his  queen. 

The  Spanish  inaid  at  first  repulsed  his  addresses. 
He  was  an  infidel — he  was  the  open  foe  of  her 
country  —  what  was  worse,  he  was  stricken  in 
years  I 

The  monarch  finding  his  assiduities  of  no  avail, 
determined  to  enlist  in  his  favour  the  duenna,  who 
had  been  captured  with  the  lady.  She  was  an  Anda- 
lusian  by  birth,  whose  Christian  name  is  forgotten, 
being  mentioned  in  Moorish  legends,  by  no  other 
appellation  than  that  of  the  discreet  Cadiga — and 
discreet,  in  truth  she  was,  as  her  whole  history  makes 
evident.  No  sooner  had  the  Moorish  king  held  a 
little  private  conversation  with  her,  than  she  saw  at 
once  the  cogency  of  his  reasoning,  and  undertook  his 
cause  with  her  young  mistress. 

"  Go  to,  now  !  "  cried  she ;  ''what  is  there  in  all 


130 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


this  to  weep  and  wail  about  ? — Is  it  not  better  to 
be  mistress  of  this  beautiful  palace  with  all  its  gar- 
dens and  fountains,  than  to  be  shut  up  within  your 
father's  old  frontier  tower?  As  to  this  Mohamad 
being  an  infidel — what  is  that  to  the  purpose  ?  You 
marry  him — not  his  religion.  And  if  he  is  waxing 
a  little  old,  the  sooner  will  you  be  a  widow  and 
mistress  of  yourself.  At  any  rate  you  are  in  his 
power — and  must  either  be  a  queen  or  a  slave. — 
When  in  the  hands  of  a  robber,  it  is  better  to  sell 
one's  merchandise  for  a  fair  price,  than  to  have  it 
taken  by  main  force." 

The  arguments  of  the  discreet  Cadiga  prevailed. 
The  Spanish  lady  dried  her  tears  and  became  the 
spouse  of  Mohamed  the  left-handed.  She  even  con- 
formed in  appearance  to  the  faith  of  her  royal  hus- 
band, and  her  discreet  duenna  immediately  became 
a  zealous  convert  to  the  Moslem  doctrines ;  it  was 
then  the  latter  received  the  Arabian  name  of  Cadiga, 
and  was  permitted  to  remain  in  the  confidential 
employ  of  her  mistress. 

In  due  process  of  time,  the  Moorish  king  was 
made  the  proud  and  happy  father  of  three  lovely 
daughters,  all  born  at  a  birth.  He  could  have 
wished  they  had  been  sons,  but  consoled  himself 
with  the  idea  that  three  daughters  at  a  birth,  were 
pretty  well  for  a  man  somewhat  stricken  in  years, 
and  left-handed. 

As 'usual  with  all  Moslem  monarchs,  he  sum- 
moned his  astrologers  on  this  happy  event.  They 
cast  the  nativities  of  the  three  princesses,  and 
shook  their  heads.  "  Daughters,  O  king,"  said 
they,  "  are  always  precarious  property ;  but  these 
will  most  need  your  watchfulness  when  they  ar- 
rive at  a  marriageable  age. — At  that  time  gather 
them  under  your  wing,  and  trust  them  to  no  other 
guardianship." 

Mohamed  the  left-handed  was  acknowledged  by 
his  courtiers  to  be  a  wise  king,  and  was  certainly 
so  considered  by  himself.  The  prediction  of  the 
astrologers  caused  him  but  little  disquiet,  trusting 
to  his  ingenuity  to  guard  his  daughters  and  outwit 
the  fates. 

The  threefold  birth  was  the  last  matrimonial 
trophy  of  the  monarch  ;  his  queen  bore  him  no  more 
children,  and  died  within  a  few  years,  bequeathing 
her  infant  daughters  to  his  love,  and  to  the  fidelity 
of  the  discreet  Cadiga. 

Many  years  had  yet  to  elapse  before  the  prin- 
cesses would  arrive  at  that  period  of  danger,  the 
marriageable  age.  "  It  is  good,  however,  to  be  cau- 
tious in  time,"  said  the  shrewd  monarch  ;  so  he  de- 
teniiined  to  have  them  reared  in  the  royal  castle 
of  Salobrefia.  This  was  a  sumptuous  palace,  in- 
crusted,  as  it  were  in  a  powerful  Moorish  fortress, 
on  the  summit  of  a  hill  that  overlooks  the  Mediter- 
ranean sea. 

It  was  a  royal  retreat,  in  which  the  Moslem  mon- 
archs shut  up  such  of  their  relations  as  might  en- 
danger their  safety ;  allowing  them  all  kinds  of  lux- 
uries and  amusements,  in  the  midst  of  which  they 
passed  their  lives  in  voluptuous  indolence. 

Here  the  princesses  remained,  immured  from  the 
werld,  but  surrounded  by  enjoyments ;  and  attended 
by  female  slaves  who  anticipated  their  wishes. 
They  had  delightful  gardens  for  their  recreation, 
filled  with  the  rarest  fruits  and  flowers,  with  aromat- 
ic groves  and  perfumed  baths.  On  three  sides  the 
castle  looked  down  upon  a  rich  valley,  enamelled 
with  all  kinds  of  culture,  and  bounded  by  the  lofty 
Alpuxarra  mountains  ;  on  the  other  side  it  over- 
looked the  broad  sunny  sea. 

In  this  delicious  abode,  in  a  propitious  climate 
and  under  a  cloudless  sky,  the  three  princesses 
grew   up   into   wondrous   beauty ;   but,   though  all 


reared  alike,  they  gave  early  tokens  of  diversity  ot 
character.  Their  names  were  Zayda,  Zorayda,  and 
Zorahayda ;  and  such  was  the  order  of  seniority, 
for  there  had  been  precisely  three  minutes  between 
their  births. 

Zayda,  the  eldest,  was  of  an  intrepid  spirit,  and 
took  the  lead  of  her  sisters  in  every  thing,  as  she 
had  done  in  entering  first  into  the  world.  She 
was  curious  and  inquisitive,  and  fond  of  getting  at 
the  bottom  of  things. 

Zorayda  had  a  great  feeling  for  beauty,  which 
was  the  reason,  no  doubt,  of  her  delighting  to  regard 
her  own  image  in  a  mirror  or  a  fountain,  anci  of 
her  fondness  for  flowers  and  jewels,  and  other  taste- 
ful ornaments. 

As  to  Zorahayda,  the  youngest,  she  was  soft  and 
timid,  and  extremely  sensitive,  with  a  vast  deal  of 
disposable  tenderness,  as  was  evident  from  her 
number  of  pet  flowers,  and  pet  birds,  and  pet  ani- 
mals, all  of  which  she  cherished  with  the  fondest 
care.  Her  amusements,  too,  were  of  a  gentle  na- 
ture, and  mixed  up  with  musing  and  reverie.  She 
would  sit  for  hours  in  a  balcony  gazing  on  the  spark- 
ling stars  of  a  summer  night ;  or  on  the  sea  when 
lit  up  by  the  moon,  and  at  such  times  the  song  of  a 
fisherman  faintly  heard  from  the  beach,  or  the  notes 
of  an  arrafia  or  Moorish  flute  from  some  gliding 
bark,  sufficed  to  elevate  her  feelings  into  ecstasy. 
The  least  uproar  of  the  elements,  however,  filled  her 
with  dismay,  and  a  clap  of  thunder  was  enough  to 
throw  her  into  a  swoon. 

Years  moved  on  serenely,  and  Cadiga,  to  whom 
the  princesses  were  confided,  was  faithful  to  her  trust 
and  attended  them  with  unremitting  care. 

The  castle  of  Salobrefia,  as  has  been  said,  was 
built  upon  a  hill  on  the  sea  coast.  One  of  the  ex- 
terior walls  straggled  down  the  profile  of  the  hill, 
until  it  reached  a  jutting  rock  overhanging  the  sea, 
with  a  narrow  sandy  beach  at  its  foot,  laved  by  the 
rippling  billows.  A  small  watch  tower  on  this  rock 
had  been  fitted  up  as  a  pavilion,  with  latticed  win- 
dows to  admit  the  sea  breeze.  Here  the  princesses 
used  to  pass  the  sultry  hours  of  mid-day. 

The  curious  Zayda  was  one  day  seated  at  one  of 
the  windows  of  the  pavilion,  as  her  sisters,  reclined 
on  ottomans,  were  taking  the  siesta,  or  noon-tide 
slumber.  Her  attention  had  been  attracted  to  a 
galley,  which  came  coasting  along,  with  measured 
strokes  of  the  oar.  As  it  drew  near,  she  observed 
that  it  was  filled  with  armed  men.  The  galley 
anchored  at  the  foot  of  the  tower :  a  number  of 
Moorish  soldiers  landed  on  the  narrow  beach,  con- 
ducting several  Christian  prisoners.  The  curious 
Zayda  awakened  her  sisters,  and  all  three  peeped 
cautiously  through  the  close  jealousies  of  the  lattice, 
which  screened  them  from  sight.  Among  the 
prisoners  were  three  Spanish  cavaliers,  richly  dressed. 
They  were  in  the  flower  of  youth,  and  of  noble 
presence,  and  the  lofty  manner  in  which  they  carried 
themselves,  though  loaded  with  chains  and  surround- 
ed with  enemies,  bespoke  the  grandeur  of  their  souls. 
The  princesses  gazed  with  intense  and  breathless 
interest.  Cooped  up  as  they  had  been  in  this  castle 
among  female  attendants,  seeing  nothing  of  the  male 
sex  but  black  slaves,  or  the  rude  fishermen  of  the 
sea  coast,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  that  the  ap- 
pearance of  three  gallant  cavaliers  in  the  pride  of 
youth  and  manly  beauty  should  produce  some  com- 
motion in  their  bosoms. 

"  Did  ever  nobler  being  tread  the  earth,  than  that 
cavalier  in  crimson?"  cried  Zayda,  the  eldest  of  the 
sisters.  "  Sec  how  proudly  he  bears  himself,  as 
though  all  around  him  were  his  slaves !  " 

"  But  notice  that  one  in  green,"  exclaimed  Zo- 
rayda ;  "  what  grace  !  what  elegance  !  what  spirit ! " 


THE   ALIIAMBRA. 


131 


The  g-entle  Zorahayda  said  nothing,  but  she  se- 
cretly gave  preference  to  the  cavaher  in  green. 

The  princesses  remained  gazing  until  the  prison- 
ers were  out  of  sight ;  then  heaving  long-drawn 
sighs,  they  turned  round,  looked  at  each  other  for  a 
moment,  and  sat  down  musing  and  pensive  on  their 
ottomans. 

The  discreet  Cadiga  found  them  in  this  situation  ; 
they  related  to  her  what  they  had  seen,  and  even  the 
withered  heart  of  the  duenna  was  warmed.  "  Poor 
youths!"  exclaimed  she,  "  I'll  warrant  their  cap- 
tivity makes  many  a  fair  and  high-born  lady's  heart 
ache  in  their  native  land  !  Ah,  my  children,  you 
have  little  idea  of  the  life  these  cavaliers  lead  in  their 
own  country.  Such  prankling  at  tournaments  !  such 
devotion  to  the  ladies !  such  courting  and  serenad- 
ing ! " 

The  curiosity  of  Zayda  was  fully  aroused.  She 
was  insatiable  in  her  inquiries,  and  drew  from  the 
duenna  the  most  animated  pictures  of  the  scenes  of 
her  youthful  days  and  native  land.  The  beautiful 
Zorayda  bridled  up,  and  slyly  regarded  herself  in  a 
mirror,  when  the  theme  turned  upon  the  charms  of 
the  Spanish  ladies  ;  while  Zorahayda  suppressed  a 
struggling  sigh  at  the  mention  of  moonlight  sere- 
nades. 

Every  day  the  curious  Zayda  renewed  her  in- 
quiries; and  every  day  the  sage  duenna  repeated  her 
stories,  which  were  listened  to  with  unmoved  inter- 
est, though  frequent  sighs,  by  her  gentle  auditors. 
The  discreet  old  woman  at  length  awakened  to  the 
mischief  she  might  be  doing.  She  had  been  ac- 
customed to  think  of  the  princesses  only  as  children, 
but  they  had  imperceptibly  ripened  beneath  her  eye, 
and  now  bloomed  before  her  three  lovely  damsels  of 
the  marriageable  age. — It  is  time,  thought  the 
duenna,  to  give  notice  to  the  king. 

Mohamed  the  left-handed  was  seated  one  morn- 
ing on  a  divan  in  one  of  the  court  halls  of  the  Al- 
hambra,  when  a  noble  arrived  from  the  fortress  of 
Salobreila,  with  a  message  from  the  sage  Cadiga, 
congratulating  him  on  the  anniversary  of  his 
daughters'  birth-day.  The  slave  at  the  same  time 
presented  a  delicate  little  basket  decorated  with 
flowers,  within  which,  on  a  couch  of  vine  and  fig 
leaves,  lay  a  peach,  an  apricot,  and  a  nectarine,  with 
their  blo.im  and  down,  and  dewy  sweetness  upon 
them,  and  all  in  the  early  stage  of  tempting  ripeness. 
The  monarch  was  versed  in  the  oriental  language 
of  fruits  and  flowers,  and  readily  divined  the  mean- 
ing of  this  emblematical  offering. 

"  So  ! "  said  he,  "  the  critical  period  pointed  out 
by  the  astrologers  is  arrived. — My  daughters  are  at 
a  marriageable  age.  What  is  to  be  done  ?  They  are 
shut  up  from  the  eyes  of  men, — they  are  under  the 
eye  of  the  discreet  C!adiga — all  ver^'good — but  still 
they  are  not  under  my  own  eye,  as  was  prescribed 
by  the  astrologers. — '  I  must  gather  them  under  my 
wing,  and  trust  to  no  other  guardianship.'  " 

So  saying,  he  ordered  that  a  tower  of  the  Alham- 
bra  should  be  prepared  for  their  reception,  and  de- 
parted at  the  head  of  his  guards  for  the  fortress  of 
Salobrena,  to  conduct  them  home  in  person. 

About  three  years  had  elapsed  since  Mohamed 
had  beheld  his  daughters,  and  he  could  scarcely 
credit  his  eyes  at  the  wonderful  change  which  that 
small  space  of  time  had  made  in  their  appearance. 
During  the  interval  they  had  passed  that  wondrous 
boundary  line  in  female  life,  which  separates  the 
crude,  unformed  and  thoughtless  girl  from  the  bloom- 
ing, blushing,  meditative  woman.  It  is  like  passing 
from  the  flat,  bleak,  uninteresting  plains  of  La 
Mancha  to  the  voluptuous  valleys  and  swelling  hills 
of  Andalusia. 

Zayda  was  tall  and  finely  formed,  with  a  lofty  de- 


meanour and  a  penetrating  eye.  She  entered  with 
a  stately  and  decided  step,  and  made  a  profound 
reverence  to  Mohamed,  treating  him  more  as  her 
sovereign  than  her  father.  Zorayda  was  of  the 
middle  height,  with  an  alluring  look  and  swimming 
gait,  and  a  sparkling  beauty  heightened  by  the  as- 
sistance of  the  toilette.  She  approached  her  father 
with  a  smile,  kissed  his  hand,  and  saluted  him  with 
several  stanzas  from  a  popular  Arabian  poet,  with 
which  the  monarch  was  delighted.  Zorahayda  was 
shy  and  timid  ;  smaller  than  her  sisters,  and  with  a 
beauty  of  that  tender,  beseeching  kind  which  looks 
for  fondness  and  protection.  She  was  little  fitted  to 
command  like  her  elder  sister,  or  to  dazzle  like  the 
second ;  but  was  rather  formed  to  creep  to  the 
bosom  of  manly  affection,  to  nestle  within  it,  and  be 
content.  She  drew  near  her  father  with  a  timid  and 
almost  faltering  step,  and  would  have  taken  his  hand 
to  kiss,  but  on  looking  up  into  his  face,  and  seeing  it 
beaming  with  a  paternal  smile,  the  tenderness  of  her 
nature  broke  forth,  and  she  threw  herself  upon  his 
neck. 

Mohamed,  the  left-handed,  surveyed  his  blooming 
daughters  with  mingled  pride  and  perplexity  ;  for 
while  he  exulted  in  their  charms,  he  bethought  him- 
self of  the  prediction  of  the  astrologers.  "  Three 
daughters  ! — three  daughters  !  "  muttered  he,  re- 
peatedly to  himself,  "  and  all  of  a  marriageable  age  ! 
Here's  tempting  hesperian  fruit,  that  requires  a 
dragon  watch  ! " 

He  prepared  for  his  return  to  Granada,  by  send- 
ing heralds  before  him,  commanding  every  one  to 
keep  out  of  the  road  by  which  he  was  to  pass,  and 
that  all  doors  and  windows  should  be  closed  at  the 
approach  of  the  princesses.  This  done,  he  set  forth 
escorted  by  a  troop  of  black  horsemen  of  hideous 
aspect,  and  clad  in  shining  armour. 

The  princesses  rode  beside  the  king,  closely  veiled, 
on  beautiful  white  palfreys,  with  velvet  caparisons 
embroidered  with  gold,  and  sweeping  the  ground  ; 
the  bits  and  stirrups  were  of  gold,  and  the  silken 
bridles  adorned  with  pearls  and  precious  stones. 
The  palfreys  were  covered  with  little  silver  bells  that 
made  the  most  musical  tinkling  as  they  ambled 
gently  along.  Wo  to  the  unlucky  wight,  however, 
who  lingered  in  the  way  when  he  heard  the  tinkling 
of  these  bells — the  guards  were  ordered  to  cut  him 
down  without  mercy. 

The  cavalcade  was  drawing  near  to  Granada, 
when  it  overtook,  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Xenil,  .i 
small  body  of  Moorish  soldiers,  with  a  convoy  of 
prisoners.  It  was  too  late  for  the  soldiers  to  get  out 
of  the  way,  so  they  threw  themselves  on  their  faces 
on  the  earth,  ordering  their  captives  to  do  the  like. 
Among  the  prisoners,  were  the  three  identical  cava- 
liers whom  the  princesses  had  seen  from  the  pavilion. 
They  either  did  not  understand,  or  were  too  haughty 
to  obey  the  order,  and  remained  standing  and  gazing 
upon  the  cavalcade  as  it  approached. 

The  ire  of  the  monarch  was  kindled  at  this  fla- 
grant defiance  of  his  orders,  and  he  determined  to 
punish  it  with  his  own  hand.  Drawing  his  scimitar 
and  pressing  forward,  he  was  about  to  deal  a  left- 
handed  blow,  that  would  have  been  fatal  to  at  least 
one  of  the  gazers,  when  the  princesses  crowded 
round  him,  and  implored  mercy  for  the  prisoners  ; 
even  the  timid  Zorahayda  forgot  her  shyness  and 
became  eloquent  in  their  behalf  Mohamed  paused, 
with  uplifted  scimitar,  when  the  captain  of  the  guard 
threw  himself  at  his  feet.  "  Let  not  your  majesty," 
said  he,  "  do  a  deed  that  may  cause  great  scandal 
throughout  the  kingdom.  These  are  three  brave 
and  noble  Spanish  knights  who  have  been  taken  in 
battle,  fighting  like  lions ;  they  are  of  high  birth, 
and  may  bring  great  ransoms." 


132 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


"  Enough,"  said  the  king ;  "  I  will  spare  their 
lives,  but  punish  their  audacity — let  them  be  taken  to 
the  Vermilion  towers  and  put  to  hard  labour." 

Mohamed  was  making  one  of  his  usual  left-handed 
blunders.  In  the  tumult  and  agitation  of  this  blus- 
tering scene,  the  veils  of  the  three  princesses  had 
been  thrown  back,  and  the  radiance  of  their  beauty 
revealed  ;  and  in  prolonging  the  parley,  the  king 
had  given  that  beauty  time  to  have  its  full  effect.  In 
those  days,  people  fell  in  love  much  more  suddenly 
than  at  present,  as  all  ancient  stories  make  manifest ; 
it  is  not  a  matter  of  wonder,  therefore,  that  the 
hearts  of  the  three  cavaliers  were  completely  capti- 
vated ;  especially  as  gratitude  was  added  to  their 
admiration  :  it  is  a  little  singular,  however,  though 
no  less  certain,  that  each  of  them  was  enraptured 
with  a  several  beauty.  As  to  the  princesses,  they 
were  more  than  ever  struck  with  the  noble  demean- 
our of  the  captives,  and  cherished  in  their  hearts  all 
that  they  had  heard  of  their  valour  and  noble  lineage. 

The  cavalcade  resumed  its  march  ;  the  three  prin- 
cesses rode  pensively  along  on  their  tinkling  pal- 
freys, now  and  then  stealing  a  glance  behind  in 
search  of  the  Christian  captives,  and  the  latter  were 
conducted  to  their  allotted  prison  in  the  Vermilion 
towers. 

The  residence  provided  for  the  princesses,  was  one 
of  the  most  dainty  that  fancy  could  devise.  It  was 
in  a  tower  somewhat  apart  from  the  main  palace  of 
the  Alhambra,  though  connected  with  it  by  the  main 
wall  that  encircled  the  whole  summit  of  the  hill.  On 
one  side  it  looked  into  the  interior  of  the  fortress, 
and  had  at  its  foot  a  small  garden  filled  with  the 
rarest  flowers.  On  the  other  side  it  overlooked  a 
deep  embowered  ravine,  that  separated  the  grounds 
of  the  Alhambra  from  those  of  the  Generaliffe.  The 
interior  of  the  tower  was  divided  into  small  fairy 
apartments,  beautifully  ornamented  in  the  light 
Arabian  style,  surrounding  a  lofty  hall,  the  vaulted 
roof  of  which  rose  almost  to  the  summit  of  the  tower. 
The  walls  and  ceiling  of  the  hall  were  adorned  with 
arabesques  and  fret-work  .sparkling  with  gold,  and 
with  brilliant  pencilling.  In  the  centre  of  the  marble 
j)avement,  was  an  alabaster  fountain,  set  round  with 
aromatic  shrubs  and  flowers,  and  throwing  up  a  jet 
of  water  that  cooled  the  whole  edifice  and  had  a 
lulling  sound.  Round  the  hall  were  suspended  cages 
of  gold  and  silver  wire,  containing  singing  birds  of 
the  finest  plumage  or  sweetest  note. 

The  princesses  having  been  represented  as  always 
cheerful  when  in  the  castle  of  Salobreua,  the  king 
had  expected  to  see  them  enraptured  with  the  Al- 
hambra. To  his  surprise,  however,  they  began  to 
])ine,  and  grew  green  and  melancholy,  and  dissatis- 
fied with  every  thing  around  them.  The  flowers 
yielded  them  no  fragrance  ;  the  song  of  the  night- 
ingale disturbed  their  night's  rest,  and  they  were 
out  of  all  patience  with  the  alabaster  fountain,  with 
its  eternal  drop,  drop,  and  splash,  splash,  from  morn- 
ing till  night,  and  from  night  till  morning. 

The  king,  who  was  somewhat  of  a  testy,  tyranni- 
cal old  man,  took  this  at  first  in  high  dudgeon ;  but 
he  reflected  that  his  daughters  had  arrived  at  an  age 
when  the  female  mind  expands  and  its  desires  aug- 
ment. "  They  are  no  longer  children,"  said  he  to 
himself;  "they  are  women  grown,  and  require  suit- 
able objects  to  interest  them."  He  put  in  requisi- 
tion, therefore,  all  the  dress  makers,  and  the  jewel- 
lers, and  the  artificers  in  gold  and  silver  throughout 
the  Zacatin  of  Granada,  and  the  princesses  were 
overwhelmed  with  robes  of  silk,  and  of  tissue  and 
of  brocade,  and  cachemire  shawls,  and  necklaces  of 
pearls,  and  diamonds,  and  rings,  and  bracelets,  and 
anklets,  and  all  manner  of  precious  things. 
All,  however,  was  of  no  avail.    The  princesses 


continued  pale  and  languid  in  the  midst  of  the'r 
finery,  and  looked  like  three  blighted  rose  buds, 
drooping  from  one  stalk.  The  king  was  at  his  wit's 
end.  He  had  in  general  a  laudable  confidence  in 
his  own  judgment,  and  never  took  advice.  "  The 
whims  and  caprices  of  three  marriageable  damsels, 
however,  are  sufficient,"  said  he,  "to  puzzle  the 
shrewdest  head." — So,  for  once  in  his  life,  he  called 
in  the  aid  of  counsel. 

The  person  to  whom  he  applied  was  the  experi- 
enced duenna. 

"Cadiga,"  said  the  king,  "I  know  you  to  be  one 
of  the  most  discreet  women  in  the  whole  world,  as 
well  as  one  of  the  most  trustworthy ;  for  these  rea- 
sons, I  have  always  continued  you  about  the  persons 
of  my  daughters.  Fathers  cannot  be  too  wary  in 
whom  they  repose  such  confidence.  I  now  wish  you 
to  find  out  the  secret  malady  that  is  preying  upon 
the  princesses,  and  to  devise  some  means  of  restor- 
ing them  to  health  and  cheerfulness." 

Cadiga  promised  implicit  obedience.  In  fact,  she 
knew  more  of  the  malady  of  the  princesses  than 
they  did  themselves.  Shutting  herself  up  with 
them,  however,  she  endeavoured  to  insinuate  her- 
self into  their  confidence. 

"  My  dear  children,  what  is  the  reason  you  are  so 
dismal  and  downcast,  in  so  beautiful  a  place,  where 
you  have  every  thing  that  heart  can  wish  .'  " 

The  princesses  looked  vacantly  round  the  apart- 
ment, and  sighed. 

"  What  more,  then,  would  you  have  ?  Shall  I  get 
you  the  wonderful  parrot  that  talks  all  languages, 
and  is  the  delight  of  Granada.'  " 

"  Odious  !  "  exclaimed  the  princess  Zayda.  "  A 
horrid  screaming  bird  that  chatters  words  without 
ideas  !  One  must  be  without  brains  to  tolerate  such 
a  pest." 

"  Shall  I  send  for  a  monkey  from  the  rock  of  Gib- 
raltar, to  divert  you  with  his  antics  ?  " 

"A  monkey!  faugh!"  cried  Zorayda,  "the  de- 
testable mimic  of  man.  I  hate  the  nauseous 
animal." 

"  What  say  you  to  the  famous  black  singer.  Casern, 
from  the  royal  harem  in  Morocco.  They  say  he  has 
a  voice  as  fine  as  a  woman's  " 

"  I  am  terrified  at  the  sight  of  these  black  slaves," 
said  the  delicate  Zorahayda  ;  "  beside,  I  have  lost  all 
relish  for  music." 

"  Ah,  my  child,  you  would  not  say  so,"  replied  the 
old  woman,  slyly,  "  had  you  heard  the  music  I  heard 
last  evening,  from  the  three  Spanish  cavaliers  whom 
we  met  on  our  journey. — But  bless  me,  children  ! 
what  is  the  matter  that  you  blush  so,  and  are  in  such 
a  flutter  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  good  mother,  pray  proceed." 

"  Well — as  I  was  passing  by  the  Vermilion  tow- 
ers, last  evening,  I  saw  the  three  cavaliers  resting 
after  their  day's  labour.  One  was  playing  on  the 
guitar  so  gracefully,  and  the  others  sang  by  turns — 
and  they  did  it  in  such  style,  that  the  very  guards 
seemed  like  statues  or  men  enchanted.  Allah  for- 
give me,  I  could  not  help  being  moved  at  hearing 
the  songs  of  my  native  country. — And  then  to  see 
three  such  noble  and  handsome  youths  in  chains  and 
slavery." 

Here  the  kind-hearted  old  woman  could  not  re- 
strain her  tears. 

"  Perhaps,  mother,  you  could  manage  to  procure 
us  a  sight  of  these  cavaliers,"  said  Zayda. 

"  1  think,"  said  Zorayda,  "a  little  music  would  be 
quite  reviving." 

The  timid  Zorahayda  said  nothing,  but  threw  her 
arms  round  the  neck  of  Cadiga. 

"  Mercy  on  me ! "  exclaimed  the  discreet  old 
woman ;  "  what  are  you  talking  of,  my  children .' 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


133 


Your  father  would  be  the  death  of  us  all,  if  he  heard 
of  such  a  thincf.  To  be  sure,  these  cavaliers  are 
e\idently  well-bred  and  high-minded  youths  —  but 
what  of  that !  they  are  the  enemies  of  our  faith,  and 
you  must  not  even  think  of  them,  but  with  abhor- 
rence." 

Ihere  is  an  admirable  intrepidity  in  the  female 
will,  particularly  about  the  marriageable  age,  which 
is  not  to  be  deterred  by  dangers  and  prohibitions. 
The  princesses  hung  round  their  old  duenna,  and 
coaxed  and  entreated,  and  declared  that  a  refusal 
would  break  their  hearts.  What  could  she  do  ?  She 
was  certainly  the  most  discreet  old  woman  in  the 
whole  world,  and  one  of  the  most  faithful  servants 
to  the  king — but  was  she  to  see  three  beautiful  prin- 
cesses break  their  hearts  for  the  mere  tinkling  of  a 
guitar.'  Beside,  though  she  had  been  so  long  among 
the  Moors,  and  changed  her  faith,  in  imitation  of  her 
mistress,  like  a  trusty  follower,  yet  she  was  a  Span- 
iard horn,  and  had  the  lingerings  of  Christianity  in 
her  heart.  So  she  set  about  to  contrive  how  the 
wishes  of  the  princesses  might  be  gratified. 

The  Christian  captives  confined  in  the  Vermilion 
towers,  were  under  the  charge  of  a  big-whiskered, 
broad-shouldered  renegado,  called  Hussein  Baba, 
who  was  reported  to  have  a  most  itching  palm.  She 
went  to  him,  privately,  and  slipping  a  broad  piece  of 
gold  into  his  hand,  "Hussein  Baba,"  said  she,  "my 
mistresses,  the  three  princesses,  who  are  shut  up  in 
the  tower,  and  in  sad  want  of  amusement,  have 
heard  of  the  musical  talents  of  the  three  Spanish 
cavaliers,  and  are  desirous  of  hearing  a  specimen  of 
their  skill.  I  am  sure  you  are  too  kind-hearted  to 
refuse  them  so  innocent  a  gratification." 

"  What,  and  to  have  my  head  set  grinning  over 
the  gate  of  my  own  tower — for  that  would  be  the 
reward,  if  the  king  should  discover  it  " 

"  No  danger  of  any  thing  ot  the  kind  ;  the  affair 
may  be  managed  so  that  the  whim  of  the  princesses 
may  be  gratified,  and  their  father  be  never  the  wiser. 
You  know  the  deep  ravine  outside  of  the  walls,  that 
passes  immediately  below  the  tower.  Put  the  three 
Christians  to  work  there,  and  at  the  intervals  of 
their  labour  let  them  play  and  sing,  as  if  for  their 
own  recreation.  In  this  way,  the  princesses  will  be 
able  to  hear  them  from  the  windows  of  the  tower, 
and  you  may  be  sure  of  their  paying  well  for  your 
,ompliance." 

As  the  good  old  woman  concluded  her  harangue, 
she  kindly  pressed  the  rough  hand  of  the  renegado, 
and  left  within  it  another  piece  of  gold. 

Her  eloquence  was  irresistible.  The  very  next 
day  the  three  cavaliers  were  put  to  work  in  the  ra- 
vine. During  the  noon-tide  heat  when  their  fellow 
labourers  were  sleeping  in  the  shade,  and  the  guard 
nodded  drowsily  at  his  post,  they  seated  themselves 
among  the  herbage  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  and 
sang  a  Spanish  roundelay  to  the  accompaniment  of 
the  guitar. 

The  glen  was  deep,  the  tower  was  high,  but  their 
voices  rose  distinctly  in  the  stillness  of  the  summer 
noon.  The  princesses  listened  from  their  balcony  ; 
they  had  been  taught  the  Spanish  language  by  their 
duenna,  and  were  moved  by  the  tenderness  of  the 
song. 

The  discreet  Cadiga,  on  the  contrary,  was  terribly 
shocked.  "  Allah  preserve  us,"  cried  she,  "  they 
are  singing  a  love  ditty  addressed  to  yourselves, — 
did  ever  mortal  hear  of  such  audacity?  I  will  run 
to  the  slave  master  and  have  them  soundly  basti- 
nadoed." 

"  What,  bastinado  such  gallant  cavaliers,  and  for 
singing  so  charminglv  !  "  The  three  beautiful  prin- 
cesses were  filled  with  horror  at  the  idea.  With  all 
her  virtuous  indignation,  the  good  old  woman  was  j 


of  a  placable  nature  and  easily  appeased.  Beside, 
the  music  seemed  to  have  a  beneficial  effect  upon 
her  young  mistresses.  A  rosy  bloom  had  already 
come  to  their  cheeks,  and  their  eyes  began  to 
sparkle.  She  made  no  farther  objection,  therefore, 
to  the  amorous  ditty  of  the  cavaliers. 

When  it  was  finished,  the  princesses  remained 
silent  for  a  time  ;  at  length  Zorayda  took  up  a  lute, 
and  with  a  sweet,  though  faint  and  trembling  voice, 
warbled  a  Uttle  Arabian  air,  the  burden  of  which 
was,  "The  rose  is  concealed  among  her  leaves, 
but  she  listens  with  delight  to  the  song  of  the  night- 
ingale." 

From  this  time  forward  the  cavaliers  worked 
almost  daily  in  the  ravine.  The  considerate  Hussein 
Baba  became  more  and  more  indulgent,  and  daily 
more  prone  to  sleep  at  his  post.  For  some  time  a 
vague  intercourse  was  kept  up  by  popular  songs  and 
romances ;  which  in  some  measure  responded  to 
each  other,  and  breathed  the  feelings  of  the  parties. 
By  degrees  the  princesses  showed  themselves  at  the 
balcony,  when  they  could  do  so  without  being  per- 
ceived by  the  guards.  They  conversed  with  the 
cavaliers  also  by  means  of  flowers,  with  the  sym- 
bolical language  of  which  they  were  mutually  ac- 
quainted :  the  difficulties  of  their  intercourse  added 
to  its  charms,  and  strengthened  the  passion  they 
had  so  singularly  conceived  ;  for  love  delights  to 
struggle  with  difliculties,  and  thrives  the  most 
hardily  on  the  scantiest  soil. 

The  change  effected  in  the  looks  and  spirits  of 
the  princesses  by  this  secret  intercourse,  surprised 
and  gratified  the  left-handed  king;  but  no  one  was 
more  elated  than  the  discreet  Cadiga,  who  consider- 
ed it  all  owing  to  her  able  management. 

At  length  there  was  an  interruption  in  this  tele- 
graphic correspondence,  for  several  days  the  cavaliers 
ceased  to  make  their  appearance  in  the  glen.  The 
three  beautiful  princesses  looked  out  from  the  tower 
in  vain. — In  vain  they  stretched  their  swan-like  necks 
from  the  balcony ;  in  vain  they  sang  like  captive 
nightingales  in  their  cage ;  nothing  was  to  be  seen 
of  their  Christian  lovers,  not  a  note  responded  from 
the  groves.  The  discreet  Cadiga  sallied  forth  in 
quest  of  intelligence  and  soon  returned  with  a  face 
full  of  trouble.  "  .  ■  'a,  my  children  !  "  cried  she,  "  I 
saw  what  all  this  \ould  come  to,  but  you  would 
have  your  way ;  y-u  may  now  hang  up  your  lutes 
on  the  willows.  The  Spanish  cavaliers  arc  ransomed 
by  their  families ;  they  are  down  in  Granada,  and 
preparing  to  return  to  their  native  country." 

The  three  beautiful  princesses  were  in  despair  at 
the  tidings.  The  fair  Zayda  was  indignant  at  the 
slight  put  upon  them,  in  being  thus  deserted  without 
a  parting  word.  Zorayda  wrung  her  hands  and 
cried,  and  looked  in  the  glass,  and  wiped  away  her 
tears,  and  cried  afresh.  The  gentle  Zorahayda 
leaned  over  the  balcony,  and  wept  in  silence,  and 
her  tears  fell  drop  by  drop,  among  the  flowers  of  the 
bank  where  the  faithless  cavaliers  had  so  often  been 
seated. 

The  discreet  Cadiga  did  all  in  her  power  to 
sooth  their  sorrow.  "  Take  comfort,  my  children," 
said  she  ;  "this  is  nothing  when  you  are  used  to  it. 
This  is  the  way  of  the  world.  Ah,  when  you  are  as 
old  as  I  am,  you  will  know  how  to  value  these  men. 
I'll  warrant  these  cavaliers  have  their  loves  among 
the  Spanish  beauties  of  Cordova  and  Seville,  and  will 
soon  be  serenading  under  their  balconies,  and  think- 
ing no  more  of  the  Moorish  beauties  in  the  Alham- 
bra. — Take  comfort,  therefore,  my  children,  and 
drive  them  from  your  hearts." 

The  comforting  words  of  the  discreet  Cadiga  only 
redoubled  the  distress  of  the  princesses,  and  for  two 
days  they  continued  inconsolable.     On  the  morning 


131 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


of  the  third,  the  good  old  woman  entered  their 
apartment  all  ruffling  with  indignation. 

"  Who  would  have  believed  such  insolence  in 
mortal  man  .'  "  exclaimed  she,  as  soon  as  she  could 
find  words  to  express  herself;  "  but  I  am  rightly 
served  for  having  connived  at  this  deception  of  your 
worthy  father — never  talk  more  to  me  of  your  Span- 
ish cavaliers." 

"Why,  what  has  happened,  good  Cadiga?"  ex- 
claimed tlie  princesses,  in  breathless  anxiety. 

"What  has  happened.'  treason  has  happened  ! — ■ 
or  what  is  almost  as  bad,  treason  has  been  proposed 
— and  to  me — the  faithfulest  of  subjects — the  trustiest 
of  duennas — yes,  my  children — the  Spanish  cavaliers 
have  dared  to  tamper  with  me ;  that  I  should  per- 
suade you  to  fly  with  them  to  Cordova,  and  become 
their  wives." 

Here  the  excellent  old  woman  covered  her  face 
■  with  her  hands,  and  gave  way  to  a  violent  burst  of 
grief  and  indignation. 

The  three  beautiful  princesses  turned  pale  and 
red,  and  trembled,  and  looked  down  ;  and  cast  shy 
looks  at  each  other,  but  said  nothing:  meantime, 
the  old  woman  sat  rocking  backward  and  forward 
in  violent  agitation,  and  now  and  then  breaking  out 
mto  exclamations — "  That  ever  I  should  live  to  be 
so  insulted — I,  the  faithfulest  of  servants  !  " 

At  length  the  eldest  princess,  who  had  most 
spirit,  and  always  took  the  lead,  approached  her, 
and  laying  her  hand  upon  her  shoulder — "Well, 
mother,"  said  she,  "supposing  we  were  willing  to 
fly  with  these  Christian  cavaliers — is  such  a  thing 
possible.'  " 

The  good  old  woman  paused  suddenly  in  her 
grief,  and  looking  up — "  Possible  !  "  echoed  she,  "  to 
be  sure  it  is  possible.  Have  not  the  cavaliers  al- 
ready bribed  Hussein  Baba,  the  renegado  captain  of 
the  guard,  and  arranged  the  whole  plan .' — But  then 
to  think  of  deceiving  your  father — your  father,  who 
has  placed  such  confidence  in  me .' '' 

Here  the  worthy  old  woman  gave  way  to  a  fresh 
burst  of  grief,  and  began  again  to  rock  backwarils 
and  forwards,  and  to  wring  her  hands. 

"  But  our  father  has  never  placed  any  confidence 
in  us,"  said  the  eldest  princess  ;  "  but  has  trusted  to 
bolts  and  bars,  and  treated  us  as  captives." 

"  Why,  that  is  true  enough,"  replied  the  old  woman, 
again  pausing  in  her  grief — "He  has  indeed  treated 
you  most  unreasonably.  Keeping  you  shut  up  here 
to  waste  your  bloom  in  a  moping  old  tower,  like  roses 
left  to  wither  in  a  flower  jar.  But  then  to  fly  from 
your  native  land." 

"  And  is  not  the  land  we  fly  to,  the  native  land  of 
our  mother ;  where  we  shall  live  in  freedom  ? — and 
shall  we  not  each  have  a  youthful  husband  in  ex- 
change for  a  severe  old  father.'  " 

"  Why,  that  again  is  all  very  true — and  your  father, 
I  must  confess,  is  rather  tyrannical. — But  what  then" 
■ — relapsing  into  her  grief — "  would  you  leave  me  be- 
hind to  bear  the  brunt  of  his  vengeance  .'  " 

"  By  no  means,  my  good  Cadiga.  Cannot  you  fly 
with  us?  " 

"  Very  true,  my  child,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  when 
I  talked  the  matter  over  with  Hussein  Baba,  he  prom- 
ised to  take  care  of  me  if  1  would  accompany  you 
in  your  flight :  but  then,  bethink  you,  my  children ; 
are  you  willing  to  renounce  the  faith  of  your 
father  ?  " 

"  The  Christian  faith  was  the  original  faith  of  our 
mother,"  said  the  eldest  princess ;  "  I  am  ready  to 
embrace  it ;  and  so  1  am  sure  are  my  sisters." 

"  Right  again  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  woman,  bright- 
ening up.  "  It  was  the  original  faith  of  your  mother  ; 
and  bitterly  did  she  lament,  on  her  death-bed,  that 
she  had  renounced  it.     I  promised  her  then  to  take 


care  of  your  souls,  and  I  am  rejoiced  to  see  that  they 
are  now  in  a  fair  way  to  be  saved.  Yes,  my  children  ; 
I  too  was  bom  a  Christian  — and  have  always  been  a 
Christian  in  my  heart ;  and  am  resolved  to  return  to 
the  faith.  1  have  talked  on  the  subject  with  Hussein 
Baba,  who  is  a  Spaniard  by  birth,  and  comes  from  a 
place  not  far  from  my  native  town.  He  is  equally 
anxious  to  see  his  own  country  and  to  be  reconciled 
to  the  church,  and  the  cavaliers  have  promised  that 
if  we  are  disposed  to  become  man  and  wife  on 
returning  to  our  native  land,  they  will  provide  for  us 
handsomely." 

In  a  word,  it  appeared  that  this  extremely  dis- 
creet and  provident  old  woman  had  consulted  with 
the  cavaliers  and  the  renegado,  and  had  concerted 
the  whole  plan  of  escape.  The  eldest  princess  im- 
mediately assented  to  it,  and  her  example  as  usual 
determined  the  conduct  of  her  sisters.  It  is  true, 
the  youngest  hesitated,  for  she  was  gentle  and  timid 
of  soul,  and  there  was  a  struggle  in  her  bosom  be- 
tween filial  feeling  and  youthful  passion.  The  latter, 
however,  as  usual,  gained  the  victory,  and  with 
silent  tears  and  stifled  sighs  she  prepared  herself  for 
flight. 

The  rugged  hill  on  which  the  Alhambra  is  built 
was  in  old  times  perforated  with  subterranean  pas- 
sages, cut  through  the  rock,  and  leading  from  the 
fortress  to  various  parts  of  the  city,  and  to  distant 
sally-ports  on  the  banks  of  the  Darro  and  the  Xenil. 
They  had  been  constructed  at  different  times,  by  the 
Moorish  kings,  as  means  of  escape  from  sudden  in- 
surrection, or  of  secretly  issuing  forth  on  private 
enterprises.  Many  of  them  are  now  entirely  lost, 
while  others  remain,  partly  choked  up  with  rubbish, 
and  partly  walled  up — monuments  of  the  jealous 
precautions  and  warlike  stratagems  of  the  Moorish 
government.  By  one  of  these  passages,  Hussein 
Baba  had  undertaken  to  conduct  the  princesses  to  a 
sally-port  beyond  the  walls  of  the  city,  where  the 
cavaliers  were  to  be  ready  with  fleet  steeds  to  bear 
them  all  over  the  borders. 

The  appointed  night  arrived.  The  tower  of  the 
princesses  had  been  locked  up  as  usual,  and  the  Al- 
hambra was  buried  in  deep  sleep.  Towards  mid- 
night the  discreet  Cadiga  listened  from  a  balcony  of  a 
window  that  looked  into  the  garden.  Hussein  Baba, 
the  renegado,  was  already  below,  and  gave  the  ap- 
pointed signal.  The  duenna  fastened  the  end  of  a 
ladder  of  ropes  to  the  balcony,  lowered  it  into  the 
garden,  and  descended.  The  two  eldest  princesses 
followed  her  with  beating  hearts ;  but  when  it  came 
to  the  turn  of  the  youngest  princess,  Zorahayda,  she 
hesitated  and  trembled.  Several  times  she  ventured 
a  delicate  little  loot  upon  the  ladder,  and  as  often 
drew  it  back ;  while  her  poor  little  heart  fluttered  more 
and  more  the  longer  she  delayed.  She  cast  a  wistful 
look  back  into  the  silken  chamber ;  she  had  lived  in 
it,  to  be  sure,  like  a  bird  in  a  cage,  but  within  it  she 
was  secure— who  could  not  tell  what  dangers  might 
beset  her  should  she  flutter  forth  into  the  wide  world .' 
Now  she  bethought  her  of  her  gallant  Christian 
lover,  and  her  little  foot  was  instantly  upon  the  lad- 
der, and  anon  she  thought  of  her  father,  and  shrunk 
back.  But  fruitless  is  the  attempt  to  describe  the 
conflict  in  the  bosom  of  one  so  young,  and  tender, 
and  loving,  but  so  timid  and  so  ignorant  of  the 
world.  In  vain  her  sisters  implored,  the  duenna 
scolded,  and  the  renegado  blasphemed  beneath  the 
balcony.  The  gentle  little  Moorish  maid  stood 
doubting  and  wavering  on  the  verge  of  elopement ; 
tempted  by  the  sweetness  of  the  sin,  but  terrified  at 
its  perils. 

Every  moment  increased  the  danger  of  discovery, 
A  distant  tramp  was  heard. — "  The  patrols  are  walk- 
ing the  rounds,"  cried  the  renegado;  "if  we  linger 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


135 


long-er  we  perish — princess,  descend  instantly,  or  we 
leave  you.' 

Zorahayda  was  for  a  moment  in  fearful  agitation, 
then  loosening  the  ladder  of  ropes,  with  desperate 
resolution  she  flung  it  from  the  balcony. 

"  It  is  decided,"  cried  she,  "  flight  is  now  out  of 
my  power ! — Allah  guide  and  bless  ye,  my  dear  sis- 
ters !  " 

The  two  eldest  princesses  were  shocked  at  the 
thoughts  of  leaving  her  behind,  and  would  fain  have 
lingered,  but  the  patrol  was  advancmg;  the  rene- 
gado  was  furious,  and  they  were  hurried  away  to 
the  subterraneous  passage.  They  groped  their  way 
through  a  fearful  labyrinth  cut  through  the  heart  of 
the  mountain,  and  succeeded  in  reaching,  undiscov- 
ered, an  iron  gate  that  opened  outside  of  the  walls. 
The  Spanish  cavaliers  were  waiting  to  receive  them, 
disguised  as  Moorish  soldiers  of  the  guard  com- 
manded by  the  renegado. 

The  lover  of  Zorahayda  was  frantic  when  he 
learned  that  she  had  refused  to  leave  the  tower; 
but  there  was  no  time  to  waste  in  lamentations. 
The  two  princesses  were  placed  behind  their  lovers  ; 
the  discreet  Cadiga  mounted  behind  the  renegado, 
and  all  set  off  at  a  round  pace  in  the  direction  of  the 
pass  of  Lope,  which  leads  through  the  mountains 
towards  Cordova. 

They  had  not  proceeded  far  when  they  heard  the 
noise  of  drums  and  trumpets  from  the  battlements 
of  the  Alhambra.  "Our  flight  is  discovered,"  said 
the  renegado.  "  We  have  fleet  steeds,  the  night  is 
dark,  and  we  may  distance  all  pursuit,"  replied  the 
cavaliers. 

They  put  spurs  to  their  horses  and  scoured  across 
the  Vega.  They  attained  to  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain of  Elvira,  which  stretches  like  a  promontory 
into  the  plain.  The  renegado  paused  and  listened. 
"As  yet,"  said  he,  "  there  is  no  one  on  our  traces, 
we  shall  make  good  our  escape  to  the  mountains." 
While  he  spoke  a  ball  of  tire  sprang  up  in  a  light 
blaze  on  the  top  of  the  watch-tower  of  the  Al- 
hambra. 

"  Confusion  !  "  cried  the  renegado,  "  that  fire  will 
put  all  the  guards  of  the  passes  on  the  alert. 
Away,  away,  spur  like  mad ;  there  is  no  time  to  be 
lost." 

Away  they  dashed — the  clattering  of  their  horses' 
hoofs  echoed  from  rock  to  rock  as  they  swept  along 
the  road  that  skirts  the  rocky  mountain  of  Elvira. 
As  they  galloped  on,  they  beheld  that  the  ball  of  fire 
of  the  Alhambra  was  answered  in  every  direction  ; 
light  after  light  blazed  on  the  atalayas  or  watch- 
towers  of  the  mountains. 

"  Forward  !  forward  !  "  cried  the  renegado,  with 
many  an  oath — "  to  the  bridge  !^to  the  bridge  ! 
before  the  alarm  has  reached  there." 

They  doubled  the  promontory'  of  the  mountain, 
and  arrived  in  sight  of  the  famous  Puente  del  Pinos, 
that  crosses  a  rushing  stream  often  dyed  with  Chris- 
tian and  Moslem  blood.  To  their  confusion  the 
tower  on  the  bridge  blazed  with  lights  and  glittered 
with  armed  men.  The  renegado  pulled  up  his 
steed,  rose  in  his  stirrups  and  looked  about  him  for 
a  moment,  then  beckoning  to  the  cavaliers  he  struck 
off  from  the  road,  skirted  the  river  for  some  dis- 
tance, and  dashed  into  its  waters.  The  ca\aliers 
called  upon  the  princesses  to  cling  to  them,  and  did  the 
same.  They  were  borne  for  some  distance  down  the 
rapid  current,  the  surges  roared  round  them,  but  the 
beautiful  princesses  cJung  to  their  Christian  knights 
and  never  uttered  a  complaint.  The  cavaliers  at- 
tained the  opposite  bank  in  safety,  and  were  con- 
ducted by  the  renegado,  by  rude  and  unfrequented 
paths,  and  wild  barrancos  through  the  heart  of  the 
mountains,  so  as  to  avoid  all  the  regular  passes.     In 


a  word,  they  succeeded  in  reaching  the  ancient  city 
of  Cordova  ;  when  their  restoration  to  their  country 
and  friends  was  celebrated  with  great  rejoicings, 
for  they  were  of  the  noblest  families.  The  beau- 
tiful princesses  were  forthwith  received  into  the 
bosom  of  the  church,  and  after  being  in  all  due 
form  made  regular  Christians,  were  rendered  happy 
lovers. 

In  our  hurry  to  make  good  the  escape  of  the 
princesses  across  the  river  and  up  the  mountains, 
we  forgot  to  mention  the  fate  of  the  discreet  Cadiga. 
She  had  clung  like  a  cat  to  Hussein  Baba,  in  the 
scamper  across  the  Vega,  screaming  at  evei-y  bound 
and  drawing  many  an  oath  from  the  whiskered 
renegado  ;  but  when  he  prepared  to  plunge  his  steed 
into  the  river  her  terror  knew  no  bounds. 

"Grasp  nie  not  so  tightly,"  cried  Hussein  Baba; 
"  hold  on  by  my  belt,  and  fear  nothing." 

She  held  firmly  with  both  hands  by  the  leathern 
belt  that  girded  the  broad-backed  renegado ;  but 
when  he  halted  with  the  cavaliers  to  take  breath  on 
the  mountain  summit,  the  duenna  was  no  longer  to 
be  seen. 

"  What  has  become  of  Cadiga  ?  "  cried  the  prin- 
cesses in  alarm. 

"  I  know  not,"  replied  the  renegado.  "  My  belt 
came  loose  in  the  midst  of  the  river,  and  Cadiga 
was  swept  with  it  down  the  stream.  The  will  of 
Allah  be  done  ! — but  it  was  an  embroidered  belt 
and  of  great  price  !  " 

Tlfcre  was  no  time  to  waste  in  idle  reports,  yet 
bitterly  did  the  princesses  bewail  the  loss  of  their 
faithful  and  discreet  counsellor.  That  excellent  old 
woman,  however,  did  not  lose  more  than  half  of  her 
nine  lives  in  the  stream. — A  fisherman  who  was 
drawing  his  nets  some  distance  down  the  stream, 
brouc;ht  her  to  land  and  was  not  a  little  astonished 
at  his  miraculous  draught.  What  farther  became 
of  the  discreet  Cadiga,  the  legend  does  not  mention. 
— Certain  it  is,  that  she  evinced  her  discretion  in 
never  venturing  within  the  reach  of  Mohamed  the 
left-handed. 

Almost  as  little  is  known  of  the  conduct  of  that 
sagacious  monarch,  when  he  discovered  the  escape 
of  his  daughters  and  the  deceit  practised  upon  him 
by  the  most  faithful  of  servants.  It  was  the  only  in- 
stance in  which  he  had  called  in  the  aid  of  counsel, 
and  he  was  never  afterwards  known  to  be  guilty  of 
a  similar  weakness.  He  took  good  care,  however, 
to  guard  his  remaining  daughter ;  who  had  no  dis- 
position to  elope.  It  is  thought,  indeed,  that  she 
secretly  repented  having  remained  behind.  Now 
and  then  she  was  seen  leaning  on  the  battlements 
of  the  tower  and  looking  mournfully  towards  the 
mountains,  in  the  direction  of  Cordova ;  and  some- 
times the  notes  of  her  lute  were  heard  accompanying 
plaintive  ditties,  in  which  she  was  said  to  lament 
the  loss  of  her  sisters  and  her  lover,  and  to  bewail 
her  solitary  life.  She  died  young-,  and,  according  to 
popular  rumour,  was  buried  in  a  vault  beneath  the 
tower,  and  her  untimely  fate  has  given  rise  to  more 
than  one  traditionary  fable. 


LOCAL  TRADITION'S. 

The  common  people  of  Spain  have  an  orient.il  pas- 
sion for  story-telling  and  arc  fond  of  the  marvellous. 
They  will  gather  round  the  doors  of  their  cottages  in 
summer  evenings,  or  in  the  great  cavernous  chimnev 
corners  of  their  ventas  in  the  winter,  and  listen  with 
insatiable  delight  to  miraculous  legends  of  saints,  per- 
ilous adventures  of  travellers,  and  daring  exploits  of 
robbers  and  contrabandistas.  The  wild  and  solitary 
nature  of  a  great  part  of  Spain  ;  the  imperfect  state  of 
knowledge  ;   the  scantiness  of  general  topics  of  con- 


13  G 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


vorsa'iion,  and  the  romantic,  adventurous  life  that  ever)' 
one  leads  in  a  land  where  travelling  is  yet  in  its  prim- 
itive slate,  all  contribute  to  cherish  this  love  of  oral 
narration,  and  to  produce  a  strong  expression  of  the 
cxtrav.tgant  and  wonderful.  There  is  no  theme,  how- 
ever, more  prevalent  or  popular  than  that  of  treasures 
buried  by  tne  Moors.  It  pervades  the  whole  country. 
In  traversing  the  wild  Sierras,  the  scenes  of  ancient 
prey  and  exploit,  you  cannot  see  a  Moorish  atalaya  or 
watch-lower  perched  among  the  cliffs,  or  beetling 
above  its  rock-built  village,  but  your  muleteer,  on  be- 
ing closely  questioned,  will  suspend  the  smoking  of 
his  cigarillo  to  tell  some  tale  of  Moslem  gold  buried 
beneath  its  foundations  ;  nor  is  there  a  ruined  alcazar 
in  a  city,  but  has  its  golden  tradition,  handed  down, 
from  generation  to  generation,  among  the  poor  people 
of  the  neighbourhood. 

These,  like  most  popular  fictions,  have  had  some 
groundwork  in  fact.  During  the  wars  between  Moor 
and  Christian,  which  distracted  the  country  for  cen- 
turies, towns  and  castles  were  liable  frequently  and 
suddenly  to  change  owners  ;  and  the  inhabitants, dur- 
ing sieges  and  assaults,  were  fain  to  bury  their  money 
and  jewels  in  the  earth,  or  hide  them  in  vaults  and 
wells,  as  is  often  done  at  the  present  day  in  the  des- 
potic and  belligerent  countries  of  the  East.  At  the 
time  of  the  expulsion  of  the  Moors,  also,  many  of  them 
concealed  their  most  precious  effects,  hoping  that  their 
exile  would  be  but  temporary,  and  that  they  would 
be  enabled  to  retijrn  and  retrieve  their  treasures  at 
some  future  day.  It  is  certain  that,  from  time  to  time, 
hoards  of  gold  and  silver  coin  have  been  accidentally 
digged  up,  after  a  lapse  of  centuries,  from  among  the 
ruins  of  Moorish  fortresses  and  habitations,  and  it  re- 
quires but  a  few  facts  of  the  kind  to  give  birth  to  a 
thousand  fictions. 

The  stories  thus  originating  have  generally  some- 
thing of  an  oriental  tinge,  and  are  marked  with  that 
mixture  of  the  Arabic  and  Gothic  which  seems  to  me 
to  characterize  ever)'  thing  in  Spain  ;  and  especially  in 
its  southern  provinces.  The  hidden  wealth  is  always 
laid  under  magic  spell,  and  secured  by  charm  and 
talisman.  Sometimes  it  is  guarded  by  uncouth  mon- 
sters, or  fiery  dragons  ;  sometimes  bj'  enchanted 
Moors,  who  sit  by  it  in  armour,  with  drawn  swords, 
but  motionless  as  statues,  maintaining  a  sleepless 
watch  for  ages. 

The  Alhambra,  of  cour.se,  from  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances of  its  history,  is  a  strong  hold  for  popular  fic- 
tions of  the  kind,  and  curious  reliques,  dug  up  from 
lime  to  time,  have  contributed  to  strengtlien  them. 
At  one  time,  an  earthen  vessel  was  found,  containing 
Moorish  coins  and  the  skeleton  of  a  cock,  which,  ac- 
cording to  the  opinion  of  shrewd  inspectors,  must  have 
been  buried  alive.  At  another  time,  a  vessel  was 
digged  up,  containing  a  great  scarabxus,  or  beetle, 
of  baked  clay,  covered  with  Arabic  inscriptions,  which 
was  pronounced  a  prodigious  amulet  of  occult  virtues. 
In  this  way  the  wits  of  the  ragged  brood  who  inhabit 
the  Alhambra  have  been  set  wool  gathering,  until  there 
is  not  a  hall,  or  tower,  or  vault,  of  the  old  fortress  that 
has  not  been  made  the  scene  of  some  marvellous  tra- 
dition. 

I  have  already  given  brief  notices  of  some  related 
to  me  by  the  authentic  Mateo  Ximenes,  and  now  sub- 
join one  wrought  out  from  various  particulars  gath- 
ered among  the  gossips  of  the  fortress. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  MOOR'S  LEGACY. 


Just  within  the  fortress  of  the  Alhambra,  in  front 
of  the  royal  palace,  is  a  broad  open  esplanade,  called 
the  place  or  square  of  the  cisterns,  (la  plaza  de  los 
algibes)  so  called  from  being  undermined  by  reser- 
voirs of  water,  hidden  from  sight,  and  which  have 


existed  from  the  time  of  the  Moors.  At  one  corner 
of  this  esplanade  is  a  Moorish  well,  cut  through  the 
living  rock  to  a  great  depth,  the  water  of  which  is 
cold  as  ice  and  clear  as  crystal.  The  wells  made  by 
the  Moors  are  always  in  repute,  for  it  is  well  known 
what  pains  they  took  to  jienetrate  to  the  purest  and 
sweetest  springs  and  fountains.  The  one  we  are 
speaking  of  is  famous  throughout  Granada,  insomuch 
that  the  water-carriers,  some  bearing  great  water- 
jars  on  their  shoulders,  others  driving  asses  before 
them,  laden  with  earthen  vessels,  are  ascending  and 
descending  the  steep  woody  avenues  of  the  Alham- 
bra from  early  dawn  until  a  late  hour  of  the  night. 

Fountains  and  wells,  ever  since  the  scriptural  days, 
have  been  noted  gossiping  places  in  hot  climates, 
and  at  the  well  in  question  there  is  a  kind  of  per- 
petual club  kept  up  during  the  live-long  day,  by  the 
invalids,  old  women,  and  other  curious,  do-nothing 
folk  of  the  fortress,  who  sit  here  on  the  stone  benches 
under  an  awning  spread  over  the  well  to  shelter  the 
toll-gatherer  from  the  sun,  and  dawdle  over  the  gos- 
sip of  the  fortress,  and  question  any  water-carrier 
that  arrives,  about  the  news  of  the  city,  and  make 
long  comments  on  every  thing  they  hear  and  see. 
Not  an  hour  of  the  day  but  loitering  housewives  and 
idle  maid-servants  may  be  seen,  lingering  with  pitcher 
on  head  or  in  hand,  to  hear  the  last  of  the  endless 
tattle  of  these  worthies. 

Among  the  water-carriers  who  once  resorted  to 
this  well  there  was  a  sturdy,  strong-backed,  bandy- 
legged little  fellow,  named  Pedro  Gil,  but  called 
Peregil  for  shortness.  Being  a  water-carrier,  he  was 
a  Gallego,  or  native  of  Galliciai,  of  course.  Nature 
seems  to  have  formed  races  of  men  as  she  has  of 
animals  for  different  kinds  of  drudgery.  In  France 
the  shoeblacks  are  all  Savoyards,  the  porters  of 
hotels  all  Swiss,  and  in  the  days  of  hoops  and  hair 
powder  in  England,  no  man  could  give  the  regular 
swing  to  a  sedan  chair  but  a  bog-trotting  Irishman. 
So  in  Spain  the  carriers  of  water  and  bearers  of 
burdens  are  all  sturdy  little  natives  of  Gallicia.  No 
man  says,  "get  me  a  porter,"  but,  "  call  a  Gallego." 

To  return  from  this  digression.  Peregil  the  Gal- 
lego had  begun  business  with  merely  a  great  earthen 
jar,  which  he  carried  upon  his  shoulder ;  by  degrees 
he  rose  in  the  world,  and  was  enabled  to  purchase 
an  assistant,  of  a  correspondent  class  of  animals, 
hSmg  a  stout  shaggy-haired  donkey.  On  each  side 
of  this  his  long-eared  aid-de-camp,  in  a  kind  of  pan- 
nier, were  slung  his  water-jars  covered  with  fig 
leaves  to  protect  them  from  the  sun.  There  was 
not  a  more  industrious  water-carrier  in  all  Granada, 
nor  one  more  merry  withal.  The  streets  rang  with 
his  cheerful  voice  as  he  trudged  after  his  donkey, 
singing  forth  the  usual  summer  note  that  resounds 
through  the  Spanish  towns  :  "  ^uien  quiere  agua — 
agua  mas  fria  que  la  nteve. — Who  wants  water — 
water  colder  than  snow — who  wants  water  from  the 
well  of  the  Alhambra — cold  as  ice  and  clear  as  crys- 
tal ?  "  When  he  served  a  customer  with  a  spark- 
ling glass,  it  was  always  with  a  jjleasant  word  that 
caused  a  smile,  and  if,  perchance,  it  was  a  comely 
dame,  or  diinpling  damsel,  it  was  always  with  a  sly 
leer  and  a  compliment  to  her  beauty  that  was  irre- 
sistiV)le.  Thus  Peregil  the  Gallego  was  noted  through- 
out all  Granada  for  being  one  of  the  civilest,  pleasant- 
est,  and  happiest  of  mortals  Yet  it  is  not  he  who 
sings  loudest  and  jokes  most  that  has  the  lightest 
heart.  Under  all  this  air  of  merriment,  honest  Pere- 
gil had  his  cares  and  troubles.  He  had  a  large 
family  of  ragged  children  to  support,  who  were 
hungry  and  clamorous  as  a  nest  of  young  swallows, 
and  beset  him  with  their  outcries  for  food  whenever 
he  came  home  of  an  evening.  He  had  a  help-mate 
too,  who  was  any  thing  but  a  help  to  him.     She  had 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


137 


been  a  village  beauty  before  marriage,  noted  for  her 
skill  in  dnncing  the  bolero  and  rattling  the  castanets, 
and  she  still  retained  her  early  propensities,  spend- 
ing the  hard  earnings  of  honest  Peregil  in  fripperj', 
and  laying  the  very  donkey  under  requisition  for 
junketting  parties  into  the  country  on  Sundays,  and 
saints'  days,  and  those  innumerable  holydays  which 
are  rather  more  numerous  in  Spain  than  the  days  of 
the  week.  With  all  this  she  was  a  little  of  a  slattern, 
something  more  of  a  lie-a-bed,  and,  above  all,  a  gos- 
sip of  the  first  water ;  neglecting  house,  household 
and  every  thing  else,  to  loiter  slip-shod  in  the  houses 
of  her  gossip  neighbours. 

He,  however,  who  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
lamb,  accommodates  the  yoke  of  matrimony  to  the 
submissive  neck.  Feregil  bore  all  the  heavy  dispen- 
sations of  wife  and  children  with  as  meek  a  spirit  as 
his  donkey  bore  the  water-jars ;  and,  however  he 
might  shake  his  ears  in  private,  never  ventured  to 
question  the  household  virtues  of  his  slattern  spouse. 

He  loved  his  children  too,  even  as  an  owd  loves  its 
owlets,  seeing  in  them  his  own  image  multiplied  and 
perpetuated,  for  they  were  a  sturdy,  long-backed, 
bandy-leggjd  little  brood.  The  great  pleasure  of 
honest  Peregil  was,  whenever  he  could  afford  him- 
self a  scanty  holyday  and  h.ad  a  handful  of  marave- 
dies  to  spare,  to  take  the  whole  litter  forth  with  him, 
some  in  liis  arms,  some  tugging  at  his  skirts,  and 
some  trudging  at  his  hei  Is,  and  to  treat  them  to  a 
gambol  among  the  orchards  of  the  Vega,  while  his 
wife  was  dancing  with  her  holyday  friends  in  the 
Angosturas  of  the  Darro. 

It  was  a  late  hour  one  s'.mimer  night,  and  most 
of  the  water-carriers  had  desisted  from  their  toils. 
The  day  had  been  unc  immonly  sultry;  the  night 
was  one  of  those  delicious  moonlights,  which  tempt 
the  inhabitants  of  those  southern  chmes  to  indemnify 
themselves  for  the  heat  and  inaction  of  the  day,  by 
lingering  in  the  open  air  and  enjoying  its  tempered 
sweetness  until  after  midnight.  Customers  for 
water  were  therefore  still  abroad.  Peregil,  like  a 
considerate,  painstaking  little  father,  thought  of  his 
hungry  children.  "  One  more  journey  to  the  well," 
said  he  to  himself,  "  to  earn  a  good  Sunday's  puchero 
for  the  little  ones."  So  saying,  he  trudged  rapidly 
up  the  steep  avenue  of  the  Alhambra,  singing  as  he 
went,  and  now  and  then  bestowing  a  hearty  thwack 
with  a  cudgel  on  the  flanks  of  his  donkey,  either  by 
way  of  cadence  to  the  song,  or  refreshment  to  the 
animal ;  for  dry  blows  serve  in  lieu  for  provender  in 
Spain,  for  all  beasts  of  burden. 

When  arrived  at  the  well,  he  found  it  deserted  by 
every  one  except  a  solitary  stranger  in  Moorish  garb, 
seated  on  the  stone  bench  in  the  moonlight.  Pere- 
gil paused  at  first,  and  regarded  him  with  surprise, 
not  unmixed  with  awe,  but  the  Moor  feebly  beckoned 
him  to  ap])roach. 

"  I  am  laint  and  ill,"  said  he  ;  "  aid  me  to  return 
to  the  city,  and  I  will  pay  thee  double  what  thou 
couldst  gain  by  thy  jars  of  water." 

The  honest  heart  of  the  little  water-carrier  was 
touched  with  compassion  at  the  appeal  of  the 
stranger.  "  God  forbid,"  said  he,  "  that  I  should 
ask  fee  or  reward  for  doing  a  common  act  of  hu- 
manity." 

He  accordingly  helped  the  Moor  on  his  donkey, 
and  set  off  slowly  for  Granada,  the  poor  Moslem 
being  so  weak  that  it  was  necessary  to  hold  him 
on  the  animal  to  keep  him  from  falling  to  the  earth. 

When  they  entered  the  city,  the  water-carrier  de- 
manded whither  he  should  conduct  him.  "  Alas  !  " 
said  the  Moor,  faintly,  "  I  have  neither  home  nor 
habitation.  I  am  a  stranger  in  the  land.  Suffer  me 
to  lay  my  head  this  night  beneath  thy  roof,  and  thou 
shall  be  amply  repaid." 


Honest  Peregil  thus  saw  himself  unexpectedly 
saddled  with  an  infidel  guest,  but  he  was  too  hu- 
mane to  refuse  a  night's  shelter  to  a  fellow  being  in 
so  forlorn  a  plight ;  so  he  conducted  the  Moor  to 
his  dwelling.  The  children,  who  had  sallied  forth, 
open-mouthed  as  usual,  on  hearing  the  tramp  of  the 
donkey,  ran  back  with  affright,  when  they  beheld 
the  turbaned  stranger,  and  hid  themselves  behind 
their  mother.  The  latter  stepped  forth  intrepidly, 
like  a  ruffling  hen  before  her  brood,  when  a  vagrant 
dog  approaches. 

"  What  infidel  companion,"  cried  she,  "  is  this 
you  have  brought  home  at  this  late  hour,  to  draw 
upon  us  the  eyes  of  the  Inquisition?  " 

"Be  quiet,  wife,"  replied  the  Gallego,  "here  is  a 
poor  sick  stranger,  without  friend  or  home  :  wouldst 
thou  turn  him  forth  to  perish  in  the  streets  ?  " 

The  wife  would  still  have  remonstrated,  for, 
though  she  lived  in  a  hovel,  she  was  a  furious  stick- 
ler for  the  credit  of  her  house;  the  little  water  car- 
rier, however,  for  once  was  stiff-necked,  and  refused 
to  bend  beneath  the  yoke.  He  assisted  the  poor 
Moslem  to  alight,  and  spread  a  mat  and  a  sheep- 
skin for  him,  on  the  ground,  in  the  coolest  part  of 
the  house ;  being  the  only  kind  of  bed  that  his 
poverty  afforded. 

In  a  little  while  the  Moor  was  seized  with  violent 
convulsions,  which  defied  all  the  ministering  skill  of 
the  simple  water-carrier.  The  eye  of  the.  poor  pa- 
tient acknowledged  his  kindness.  During  an  inter- 
val of  his  fits  he  called  him  to  his  side,  and  address- 
ing him  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  My  end,"  said  he,  "  I  fear 
is  at  hand.  If  I  die  I  bequeath  you  this  box  as  a 
reward  for  your  charity."  So  saying,  he  opened  his 
albornoz,  or  cloak,  and  showed  a  small  box  of  sandal 
wood,  strapped  round  his  body. 

"  God  grant,  my  friend,"  replied  the  worthy  little 
Gallego,  "  that  you  may  live  many  years  to  enjoy 
your  treasure,  whatever  it  may  be." 

The  Moor  shook  his  head  ;  he  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  box,  and  would  have  said  something  more  con- 
cerning it,  but  his  convulsions  returned  with  in- 
creased violence,  and  in  a  little  while  he  expired. 

The  water-carrier's  wife  was  now  as  one  dis- 
tracted. "This  comes,"  said  she,  "of  your  foolish 
good  nature,  always  running  into  scrapes  to  oblige 
others.  What  will  become  of  us  when  this  corpse 
is  found  in  our  house  ?  We  shall  be  sent  to  prison 
as  murderers ;  and  if  we  escape  with  our  lives,  shall 
be  ruined  by  notaries  and  alguazils." 

Poor  Peregil  was  in  equal  tribulation,  and  almost 
repented  himself  of  having  done  a  good  deed.  At 
length  a  thought  struck  him.  "It  is  not  yet  day," 
said  he.  "  I  can  convey  the  dead  body  out  of  the 
city  and  bury  it  in  the  sands  on  the  banks  of  the 
Xenil.  No  one  saw  the  Moor  enter  our  dwelling, 
and  no  one  will  know  any  thing  of  his  death."  So 
said,  so  done.  The  wife  aided  him  :  they  rolled  the 
body  of  the  unfortunate  Moslem  in  the  mat  on  which 
he  had  expired,  laid  it  across  the  ass,  and  Mattias 
set  out  with  it  for  the  banks  of  the  river. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  there  lived  opposite  to 
the  water-carrier  a  barber,  named  Pedrillo  Pedrugo, 
one  of  the  most  prying,  tattling,  mischief-making,  of 
his  gossip  tribe.  He  was  a  weasel-faced,  spider- 
legged  varlet,  supple  and  insinuating ;  the  famous 
Barber  of  Seville  could  not  surpass  him  for  his  uni- 
versal knowledge  of  the  affairs  of  others,  and  he  had 
no  more  power  of  retention  than  a  sieve.  It  was 
said  that  he  slept  with  but  one  eye  at  a  time,  and 
kept  one  ear  uncovered,  so  that,  even  in  his  sleep, 
he  might  see  and  hear  all  that  was  going  on.  Cer- 
tain it  is,  he  was  a  sort  of  scandalous  chronicle  for 
the  quidnuncs  of  Granada,  and  had  more  customers 
than  all  the  rest  of  his  fraternity. 


138 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


This  meddlesome  barber  heard  Peregil  arrive  at 
an  unusual  hour  of  night,  and  the  exclamations  of  his 
wife  and  children.  His  head  was  instantly  popped 
out  of  a  little  window  which  served  him  as  a  look- 
out, and  he  saw  his  neighbour  assist  a  man  in  a 
Moorish  garb  into  his  dwelling.  This  was  so  strange 
an  occurrence,  that  Pedrillo  Pedrugo  slept  not  a 
wink  that  night — every  five  minutes  he  was  at  his 
loop-hole,  watching  the  lights  that  gleamed  through 
the  chinks  of  his  neighbour's  door,  and  before  day- 
light he  beheld  Peregil  sally  forth  with  his  donkey 
unusually  laden. 

The  inquisitive  barber  was  in  a  fidget ;  he  slipped 
on  his  clothes,  and,  stealing  forth  silently,  followed 
the  water-carrier  at  a  distance,  until  he  saw  him  dig 
a  hole  in  the  sandy  bank  of  the  Xenil,  and  bury 
something  that  had  the  appearance  of  a  dead  body. 
Tlie  barber  hied  him  home  and  fidgeted  about 
his  shop,  setting  every  thing  upside  down,  until  sun- 
rise. He  then  took  a  basin  under  his  arm,  and 
sallied  forth  to  the  house  of  his  daily  customer,  the 
Alcalde. 

The  Alcalde  was  just  risen.  Pedrillo  Pedrugo 
seated  him  in  a  chair,  threw  a  napkin  round  his 
neck,  put  a  basin  of  hot  water  under  his  chin,  and 
began  to  mollify  his  beard  with  his  fingers. 

"  Strange  doings,"  said  Pedrugo,  who  played  bar- 
ber and  newsmonger  at  the  same  time.  "  Strange 
doings  !  Robbery,  and  murder,  and  burial,  all  in 
one  night  !  " 

"  Hey  .•'  how  !  What  is  it  you  say  ?  "  cried  the 
Alcalde. 

"  I  say."  replied  the  barber,  rubbing  a  piece  of 
soap  over  the  nose  and  mouth  of  the  dignitary,  for 
a  Spanish  barber  disdains  to  employ  a  brush  ;  "  I 
say  that  Peregil  the  Gallego  has  robbed  and  mur- 
dered a  Moorish  Mussulman,  and  buried  him  this 
blessed  night, — maldita  sea  la  noche, — accursed  be 
the  night  for  the  same  !  " 

"  But  how  do  you  know  all  this  ?  "  demanded  the 
Alcalde. 

"  Be  patient,  Seiior,  and  you  shall  hear  all  about 
it,"  replied  Pedrillo,  taking  him  by  the  nose  and 
sliding  a  razor  over  his  cheek.  He  then  recounted 
all  that  he  had  seen,  going  through  both  operations 
at  the  same  time,  shaving  his  beard,  washing  his 
chin,  and  wiping  him  dry  with  a  dirty  napkin,  while 
he  was  robbing,  murdering,  and  burying  the  Moslem. 
Now  it  so  happened  that  this  Alcalde  was  one  of 
the  most  overbearing,  and  at  the  same  time  most 
griping  and  corrupt  curmudgeons  in  all  Granada.  It 
could  not  be  denied,  however,  that  he  set  a  high  val- 
ue upon  justice,  for  he  sold  it  at  its  weight  in  gold. 
He  presumed  the  case  in  point  to  be  one  of  murder 
and  robbery ;  doubtless  there  must  be  rich  spoil ; 
how  was  it  to  be  secured  into  the  legitimate  hands 
of  the  law  ?  for  as  to  merely  entrapping  the  delin- 
quent—that would  be  feeding  the  gallows  :  but  en- 
trapping the  booty — that  would  be  enriching  the 
judge ;  and  such,  according  to  his  creed,  was  the 
great  end  of  justice.  So  thinking,  he  summoned  to 
his  presence  his  trustiest  alguazil ;  a  gaunt,  hungry- 
looking  varlet,  clad,  according  to  the  custom  of  his 
order,  in  the  ancient  Spanish  garb — a  broad  black 
beaver,  turned  up  at  the  sides  ;  a  quaint  ruff,  a  small 
black  cloak  dangling  from  his  shoulders  ;  rusty  black 
under-clothes  that  set  off  his  spare  wiry  form  ;  while 
in  his  hand  he  bore  a  slender  white  wand,  the  dread- 
ed insignia  of  his  office.  Such  was  the  legal  blood- 
hound of  the  ancient  Spanish  breed,  that  he  put  upon 
the  traces  of  the  unlucky  water-carrier ;  and  such  was 
his  speed  and  certainty  that  he  was  upon  the  haunches 
of  poor  Peregil  before  he  had  returned  to  his  dwell- 
ing, and  brought  both  him  and  his  donkey  before  the 
dispenser  of  justice. 


The  Alcalde  bent  upon  him  one  of  his  most  ter- 
rific frowns.  "  Hark  ye,  culprit,"  roared  he  in  a 
voice  that  made  the  knees  of  the  little  Gallego  smite 
together, — "  Hark  ye,  culprit  !  there  is  no  need  of 
denying  thy  guilt :  every  thing  is  known  to  me.  A 
gallows  is  the  proper  reward  for  the  crime  thou  hast 
committed,  but  I  am  merciful,  and  readily  listen  to 
reason.  The  man  that  has  been  murdered  in  thy 
house  was  a  Moor,  an  infidel,  the  enemy  of  our  faith. 
It  was  doubtless  in  a  fit  of  religious  zeal  that  thou 
hast  slain  him.  I  will  be  indulgent,  therefore  ;  ren- 
der up  the  property  of  which  thou  hast  robbed  him, 
and  we  will  hush  the  matter  up." 

The  poor  water-carrier  called  upon  all  the  saints 
to  witness  his  innocence  ;  alas  !  not  one  of  them  ap- 
peared, and  if  there  had,  the  Alcalde  would  have  dis- 
believed the  whole  kalendar.  The  water-carrier 
related  the  whole  story  of  the  dying  Moor  with  the 
straightforward  simplicity  of  truth,  but  it  was  all  in 
vain  :  "  Wilt  thou  persist  in  saying,"  demanded  the 
judge,  "  that  this  Moslem  had  neither  gold  nor  jew- 
els, which  were  the  object  of  thy  cupidity  .'  " 

"  As  I  hope  to  be  saved,  your  worship,"  replied 
the  water-carrier,  "  he  had  nothing  but  a  small  box 
of  sandal  wood,  which  he  bequeathed  to  me  in  re- 
ward of  my  services." 

"  A  box  of  sandal  wood  !  a  box  of  sandal  wood  !  " 
exclaimed  the  Alcalde,  his  eyes  sparkling  at  the  idea 
of  precious  jewels,  "  and  where  is  this  box?  where 
have  you  concealed  it  ?  " 

"  An'it  please  your  grace,"  replied  the  water- 
carrier,  "  it  is  in  one  of  the  panniers  of  my  mule,  and 
heartily  at  the  service  of  your  worship." 

He  had  hardly  spoken  the  words  when  the  keen 
alguazil  darted  off  and  reappeared  in  an  instant  with 
the  mysterious  box  of  sandal  wood.  The  Alcalde 
opened  it  with  an  eager  and  trembling  hand ;  all 
pressed  forward  to  gaze  upon  the  treasures  it  was 
expected  to  contain  ;  when,  to  their  disappointment, 
nothing  appeared  within  but  a  parchment  scroll, 
covered  with  Arabic  characters,  and  an  end  of  a 
waxen  taper  ! 

When  there  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  the  con- 
viction of  a  prisoner,  justice,  even  in  Spain,  is  apt  to 
be  impartial.  The  Alcalde,  having  recovered  from 
his  disappointment  and  found  there  was  really  no 
booty  in  the  case,  now  listened  dispassionately  to  tlw, 
explanation  of  the  water-carrier,  which  was  corrob- 
orated by  the  testimony  of  his  wife.  Being  con- 
vinced, therefore,  of  his  innocence,  he  discharged  him 
from  arrest ;  nay  more,  he  permitted  him  to  carry 
off  the  Moor's  legacy,  the  box  of  sandal  wood  and 
its  contents,  as  the  well-merited  reward  of  his  hu- 
manity ;  but  he  retained  his  donkey  in  payment  of 
cost  and  charges. 

Behold  the  unfortunate  little  Gallego  reduced 
once  more  to  the  necessity  of  being  his  own  water- 
carrier,  and  trtidging  up  to  the  well  of  the  Alhambra 
with  a  great  earthen  jar  upon  his  shoulder.  As  he 
toiled  up  the  hill  in  the  heat  of  a  summer  noon  his 
usual  good-humour  forsook  him.  "  Dog  of  an  Al- 
calde ! "  would  he  cry,  "  to  rob  a  poor  inan  of  the 
means  of  his  subsistence — of  the  best  friend  he  had 
in  the  world  !  "  And  then  at  the  remembrance  of 
the  beloved  companion  of  his  labours  all  the  kind- 
ness of  his  nature  would  break  forth.  "  Ah  donkey 
of  my  heart !  "  would  he  exclaim,  resting  his  burden 
on  a  stone,  and  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  brow, 
"  Ah  donkey  of  my  heart !  I  warrant  me  thou  think- 
est  of  thy  old  master !  I  warrant  me  thou  missest  the 
water  jars  : — poor  beast !  " 

To  add  to  his  afflictions  his  wife  received  him,  on 
his  return  home,  with  whimperings  and  repinings ; 
she  had  clearly  the  vantage-ground  of  him,  having 
warned  him  not  to  commit  the  egregious  act  of  hos- 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


139 


pitality  that  had  brought  on  him  all  these  misfor- 
tunes, and  like  a  knowing  woman,  she  took  every 
occasion  to  throw  her  superior  sagacity  in  his  teeth. 
It  ever  her  children  lacked  food,  or  needed  a  new 
garment,  she  would  answer  with  a  sneer,  "  Go  to 
your  father;  he's  heir  to  king  Chico  of  the  Alham- 
bra.  Ask  him  to  help  you  out  of  the  Moor's  strong 
box." 

Was  ever  poor  mortal  more  soundly  punished,  for 
having  done  a  good  action  !  The  unlucky  Peregil 
was  grieved  in  flesh  and  spirit,  but  still  he  bore 
meekly  with  the  railings  of  his  spouse.  At  length 
one  evening,  when,  after  a  hot  day's  toil,  she  taunted 
him  .in  the  usual  manner,  he  lost  all  patience.  He 
did  not  venture  to  retort  upon  her,  but  his  eye  rested 
upon  the  bo.\  of  sandal  wood,  which  lay  on  a  shelf 
with  lid  half  open,  as  if  laughing  in  mockery  of  his 
vexation.  .Seizing  it  up  he  dashed  it  with  indigna- 
tion on  the  floor.  "  Unlucky  was  the  day  that  I  ever 
set  eyes  on  thee,"  he  cried,  "or  sheltered  thy  master 
beneath  my  roof." 

As  the  box  struck  the  floor  the  lid  flew  wide  open, 
and  the  parchment  scroll  rolled  forth.  Peregil  sat 
regarding  the  scroll  for  some  time  in  moody  silence. 
At  length  rallying  his  ideas,  "  Who  knows,"  thought 
he,  "  but  this  writing  may  be  of  some  importance,  as 
the  Moor  seems  to  have  guarded  it  with  such  care." 
Picking  it  up,  therefore,  he  put  it  in  his  bosom,  and 
the  next  morning,  as  he  was  crying  water  through 
the  streets,  he  stopped  at  the  shop  of  a  Moor,  a  na- 
tive of  Tangiers,  who  sold  trinkets  and  perfumery  in 
the  Zacatin,  and  asked  him  to  explain  the  contents. 

The  Moor  read  the  scroll  attentively,  then  stroked 
his  beard  and  smiled.  "  This  manuscript,"  said  he, 
"  is  a  form  of  incantation  for  the  recovery  of  hidden 
treasure,  that  is  under  the  power  of  enchantment. 
It  is  said  to  have  such  virtue  that  the  strongest  bolts 
and  bars,  nay  the  adamantine  rock  itself  will  yield 
before  it." 

"  Bah  !  ■'  cried  the  little  Gallego,  "what  is  all  that 
to  me.  I  am  no  enchanter,  and  know  nothing  of 
buried  treasure."  So  saying  he  shouldered  his  water- 
jar,  left  the  scroll  in  the  hands  of  the  Moor,  and 
trudged  forward  on  his  daily  rounds. 

That  evening,  however,  as  he  rested  himself  about 
twilight  at  the  well  of  the  Alhambra,  he  found  a 
number  of  gossips  assembled  at  the  place,  and  their 
conversation,  as  is  not  unusual  at  that  shadowy 
hour,  turned  upon  old  tales  and  traditions  of  a  su- 
pernatural nature.  Being  all  poor  as  rats,  they 
dwelt  with  peculiar  fondness  upon  the  popular  theme 
of  enchanted  riches  left  by  the  Moors  in  various 
parts  of  the  Alhambra.  Above  all,  they  concurred 
in  the  belief  that  there  were  great  treasures  buried 
deep  in  the  earth  under  the -tower  of  the  Seven 
Floors. 

These  stories  made  an  unusual  impression  on  the 
mind  of  honest  Peregil,  and  they  sank  deeper  and 
deeper  into  his  thoughts  as  he  returned  alone  down 
the  darkling  avenues.  "  If,  after  all,  there  should  be 
treasure  hid  beneath  that  tower — and  if  the  scroll  I 
left  with  the  Moor  shoukl  enable  me  to  get  at  it !  " 
In  the  sudden  ecstasy  of  the  thought  he  had  well 
nigh  let  fall  his  water  jar. 

That  night  he  tumbled  and  tossed,  and  could 
scarcely  get  a  wink  of  sleep  for  the  thoughts  that 
were  bewildering  his  brain.  In  the  morning,  bright 
and  early,  he  repaired  to  the  shop  of  the  Moor,  and 
told  him  all  that  was  passing  in  his  mind.  "You 
can  read  Arabic,"  said  he,  "suppose  we  go  together 
to  the  tower  and  try  the  effect  of  the  charm  ;  if  it 
fails  we  are  no  worse  off  than  before,  but  if  it  suc- 
ceeds we  will  share  equally  all  the  treasure  we  may 
discover." 

"  Hold,"  replied  the  Moslem,  "  this  writing  is  not 


sufficient  of  itself;  it  must  be  read  at  midnight,  by 
the  light  of  a  taper  singularly  compounded  and  pre- 
pared, the  ingredients  of  which  are  not  within  my 
reach.  Without  such  taper  the  scroll  is  of  no  avail." 

"  Say  no  more  !  "  cried  the  little  Gallego.  "  I 
have  such  a  taper  at  hand  and  will  bring  it  here  in  a 
moment."  So  saying  he  hastened  home,  and  soon 
returned  with  the  end  of  a  yellow  wax  taper  that  he 
had  found  in  the  box  of  sandal  wood. 

The  Moor  felt  it,  and  smelt  to  it.  "  Here  are  rare 
and  costly  perfumes,"  said  he,  "  combined  with  this 
yellow  wax  This  is  the  kind  of  taper  specified  in  the 
scroll.  While  this  burns,  the  strongest  walls  and 
most  secret  caverns  will  remain  open  ;  woe  to  him, 
however,  who  lingers  within  until  it  be  extinguished. 
He  will  remain  enchanted  with  the  treasure." 

It  was  now  agreed  between  them  to  try  the  charm 
that  very  night.  At  a  late  hour,  therefore,  when 
nothing  was  stirring  but  bats  and  owls,  they  ascend- 
ed the  woody  hill  of  the  Alhambra,  and  approached 
that  awful  tower,  shrouded  by  trees  and  rendered 
formidable  by  so  many  traditionary  tales. 

By  the  light  of  a  lantern,  they  grope<l  their  way 
through  bushes,  and  over  fallen  stones,  to  the  door 
of  a  vault  beneath  the  tower.  With  fear  and  trem- 
bling they  descended  a  flight  of  steps  cut  into  the 
rock.  It  led  to  an  empty  chamber,  damp  and  drear, 
from  which  another  flight  of  steps  led  to  a  deeper 
vault.  In  this  way  they  descended  four  several 
flights,  leading  into  as  many  vaults,  one  below  the 
other,  but  the  floor  of  the  fourth  was  solid,  and 
though,  according  to  tradition,  there  remained  three 
vaults  still  below,  it  was  said  to  be  impossible  to 
penetrate  further,  the  residue  being  shut  up  by 
strong  enchantment.  The  air  of  this  vault  was 
damp  and  chilly,  and  had  an  earthy  smell,  and  the 
light  scarce  cast  Ibrth  any  rays.  They  paused  here 
for  a  time  in  breathless  suspense,  until  they  faintly 
heard  the  clock  of  the  watch  tower  strike  midnight ; 
upon  this  they  lit  the  waxen  taper,  which  diffused 
an  odour  of  myrrh,  and  frankincense,  and  storax. 

The  Moor  began  to  read  in  a  hurried  voice.  He 
had  scarce  finished,  when  there  was  a  noise  as  of 
subterraneous  thunder.  The  earth  shook,  and  the 
floor  yawning  open  disclosed  a  flight  of  steps. 
Trembling  with  awe  they  descended,  and  by  the 
light  of  the  lantern  found  themselves  in  another 
vault,  covered  with  Arabic  inscriptions.  In  the 
centre  stood  a  great  chest,  secured  with  seven  bands 
of  steel,  at  each  end  of  which  sat  an  enchanted 
Moor  in  armour,  but  motionless  as  a  statue,  being 
controlled  by  the  power  of  the  incantation.  Before 
the  chest  were  several  jars  filled  with  gold  and  silver 
and  precious  stones.  In  the  largest  of  these  they 
thrust  their  arms  up  to  the  elbow,  and  at  every  dip 
hauled  forth  hands-full  of  broad  yellow  pieces  of 
Moorish  gold,  or  bracelets  and  ornaments  of  the 
same  precious  metal,  while  occasionally  a  necklace 
of  oriental  pearl  would  stick  to  their  fingers.  Still 
they  trembled  and  breathed  short  while  cramming 
their  pockets  with  the  spoils ;  and  cast  many  a  fear- 
ful glance  at  the  two  enchanted  Moors,  who  sat 
grim  and  motionless,  glaring  upon  them  with  un- 
winking eyes.  At  length,  struck  with  a  sudden  panic 
at  some  fancied  noise,  they  both  rushed  up  the  stair- 
case, tumbled  over  one  another  into  the  upper  apart- 
ment, overturned  and  extinguished  the  waxen  taper, 
and  the  pavement  again  closed  with  a  thundering 
sound. 

Filled  with  dismay,  they  did  not  pause  until  they 
had  groped  their  way  out  of  the  tower,  and  beheld 
the  stars  shining  through  the  trees.  Then  seating 
themselves  upon  the  grass,  they  divided  the  spoil, 
determining  to  content  themselves  for  the  present 
with  this  mere  skimming  of  the  jars,  but  to  return 


140 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


on  some  future  night  and  drain  them  to  the  bottom. 
To  make  sure  of  each  other's  good  faith,  also,  they 
divided  the  talismans  between  them,  one  retaining 
the  scroll  and  the  other  the  taper ;  this  done,  they 
set  off  with  light  hearts  and  well  lined  pockets  for 
Granada. 

As  they  wended  their  way  down  the  hill,  the 
shrewd  Moor  whispered  a  word  of  counsel  in  the 
ear  of  the  simple  little  water-carrier. 

"  Friend  Peregil,"  said  he,  "  all  this  affair  must  be 
kept  a  pi-ofound  secret  until  we  have  secured  the 
treasure  and  conveyed  it  out  of  harm's  way.  If  a 
whisper  of  it  gets  to  the  ear  of  the  Alcalde  we  are 
undone !  " 

"  Certainly  !  "  replied  the  Gallego ;  "  nothing  can 
be  more  true." 

"  Friend  Peregil,"  said  the  Moor,  "you  are  a  dis- 
creet man,  and  I  make  no  doubt  can  keep  a  secret ; 
but — you  have  a  wife — " 

"  She  shall  not  know  a  word  of  it !  "  replied  the 
little  water-carrier  sturdily. 

"  Enough,"  said  the  Moor,  "  I  depend  upon  thy 
discretion  and  thy  promise." 

Never  was  promise  more  positive  and  sincere ; 
but  alas  !  what  man  can  keep  a  secret  from  his  wife  ? 
Certainly  not  such  a  one  as  Peregil  the  water-car- 
rier, who  was  one  of  the  most  loving  and  tractable 
of  husbands.  On  his  return  home  he  found  his  wife 
moping  in  a  corner. 

"  Mighty  well !  "  cried  she,  as  he  entered  ;  "  you've 
come  at  last ;  after  rambling  about  until  this  hour  of 
the  night.  I  wonder  you  have  not  brought  home 
another  Moor  as  a  housemate."  Then  bursting  into 
tears  she  began  to  wring  her  hands  and  smite  her 
breast.  "  Unhappy  woman  that  I  am  !  "  exclaimed 
she,  "what  will  become  of  me  !  My  house  stripped 
and  plundered  by  lawyers  and  alguazils  ;  my  hus- 
band a  do-no-good  that  no  longer  brings  home  bread 
for  his  family,  but  goes  rambling  about,  day  and 
night,  with  infidel  Moors.  Oh,  my  children  !  my 
children  !  what  will  become  of  us  ;  we  shall  all  have 
to  beg  in  the  streets  !  " 

Honest  Peregil  was  so  moved  by  the  distress  of 
his  spouse,  that  he  could  not  help  whimpering  also. 
His  heart  was  as  full  as  his  pocket,  and  not  to  be 
restrained.  Thrusting  his  hand  into  the  latter  he 
hauled  forth  three  or  four  broad  gold  pieces  and 
slipped  them  into  her  bosom.  The  poor  woman 
stared  with  astonishment,  and  could  not  understand 
the  meaning  of  this  golden  shower.  Before  she 
could  recover  her  surprise,  the  little  Gallego  drew 
forth  a  chain  of  gold  and  dangled  it  before  her, 
capering  with  exultation,  his  mouth  distended  from 
ear  to  ear. 

"  Holy  Virgin  protect  us  ! "  exclaimed  the  wife. 
"  What  hast  thou  been  doing,  Peregil  ?  Surely  thou 
hast  not  been  committing  murder  and  robbery ! '' 

The  idea  scarce  entered  the  brain  of  the  poor 
woman  than  it  became  a  certainty  with  her.  She 
saw  a  prison  and  a  gallows  in  the  distance,  and 
a  little  bandy-legged  Gallego  dangling  pendant 
from  it ;  and,  overcome  by  the  horrors  conjured  up 
by  her  imagination,  fell  into  violent  hysterics. 

What  could  the  poor  man  do  ?  He  had  no  other 
means  of  pacifying  his  wife  and  dispelling  the 
phantoms  of  her  fancy,  than  by  relating  the  whole 
story  of  his  good  fortune.  This,  however,  he  did 
not  do  until  he  had  exacted  from  her  the  most 
solemn  promise  to  keep  it  a  profound  secret  from 
every  living  being. 

To  describe  her  joy  would  be  impossible.  She 
flung  her  arms  round  the  neck  of  her  husband,  and 
almost  strangled  him  with  her  caresses.  "  Now, 
wife  I"  exclaimed  the  little  man  with  honest  exulta- 
tion, "  what   say  you .  now  to  the  Moor's  legacy  ? 


Henceforth  never  abuse  me  for  helping  a  fellow 
creature  in  distress." 

The  honest  Gallego  retired  to  his  sheepskin  mat, 
and  slept  as  soundly  as  if  on  a  bed  of  down.  Not 
so  his  wife. — She  emptied  the  whole  contents  of  his 
pockets  upon  the  mat,  and  sat  all  night  counting 
gold  pieces  of  Arabic  coin,  trying  on  necklaces  and 
ear-rings,  and  fancying  the  figure  she  should  one  day 
make  when  permitted  to  enjoy  her  riches. 

On  the  following  morning  the  honest  Gallego  took 
a  broad  golden  coin,  and  repaired  with  it  to  a  jewel- 
ler's shop  in  the  Zacatin  to  offer  it  for  sale ;  pretend- 
ing to  have  found  it  among  the  ruins  of  the  Alham- 
bra.  The  jeweller  saw  that  it  had  an  Arabic 
inscription  and  was  of  the  purest  gold  ;  he  offered, 
however,  but  a  third  of  its  value,  with  which  the 
water-carrier  was  perfectly  content.  Peregil  now 
bought  new  clothes  for  his  little  flock,  and  all  kinds 
of  toys,  together  with  ample  provisions  for  a  hearty 
meal,  and  returning  to  his  dwelling  set  all  his 
children  dancing  around  him,  while  he  capered  in 
the  midst,  the  happiest  of  fathers. 

The  wife  of  the  water-carrier  kept  her  promise 
of  secrecy  with  surprising  strictness.  For  a  whole 
day  and  a  half  she  went  about  with  a  look  of  mys- 
terj'  and  a  heart  s\velling  almost  to  bursting,  yet  she 
held  her  peace,  though  surrounded  by  her  gossips. 
It  is  true  she  could  not  help  giving  herself  a  few 
airs,  apologized  for  her  ragged  dress,  and  talked  of 
ordering  a  new  basquina  all  trimmed  with  gold  lace 
and  bugles,  and  a  new  lace  mantilla.  She  threw 
out  hints  of  her  husband's  intention  of  leaving  off 
his  trade  of  water-carrying,  as  it  did  not  altogether 
agree  with  his  health.  In  fact  she  thought  they 
should  all  retire  to  the  country  for  the  summer,  that 
the  children  might  have  the  benefit  of  the  mountain 
air,  for  there  was  no  living  in  the  city  in  this  sultry 
season. 

The  neighbours  stared  at  each  other,  and  thought 
the  poor  woman  had  lost  her  wits,  and  her  airs  and 
graces  and  elegant  pretensions  were  the  theme  of 
universal  scoffing  and  merriment  among  her  friends, 
the  moment  her  back  was  turned. 

If  she  restrained  herself  abroad,  however,  she 
indemnified  herself  at  home,  and,  putting  a  string 
of  rich  oriental  pearls  round  her  neck,  Moorish 
bracelets  on  her  arms ;  an  aigrette  of  diamonds  on 
her  head,  sailed  backwards  and  forwards  in  her 
slattern  rags  about  the  room,  now  and  then  stopping 
to  admire  herself  in  a  piece  of  broken  mirror.  Nay, 
in  the  iinpulse  of  her  simple  vanity,  she  could  not 
resist  on  one  occasion  showing  herself  at  the 
window,  to  enjoy  the  effect  of  her  finery  on  the 
passers  by. 

As  the  fates  would  have  it,  Pedrillo  Pedrugo,  the 
meddlesome  barber,  was  at  this  moment  sitting  idly 
in  his  shop  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  when 
his  ever  watchful  eye  caught  the  sparkle  of  a  diamond. 
In  an  instant  he  was  at  his  loop-hole,  reconnoitring 
the  slattern  spouse  of  the  water-carrier,  decorated 
with  the  splendour  of  an  eastern  bride.  No  sooner 
had  he  taken  an  accurate  inventory  of  her  ornaments 
than  he  posted  off  with  all  speed  to  the  Alcalde.  In 
a  little  while  the  hungry  alguazil  was  again  on  the 
scent,  and  before  the  day  was  over,  the  unfortunate 
Peregil  was  again  dragged  into  the  presence  of  the 
judge. 

"  How  is  this,  villain  ! "  cried  the  Alcalde  in  a 
furious  voice.  "  You  told  me  that  the  infidel  who 
died  in  your  house  left  nothing  behind  but  an  empty 
coffer,  and  now  I  hear  of  your  wife  flaunting  in  her 
rags  decked  out  with  pearls  and  diamonds.  Wretch 
that  thou  art !  prepare  to  render  up  the  spoils  of  thy 
miserable  victim,  and  to  swing  on  the  gallows  that 
is  already  tired  of  waiting  for  thee." 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


141 


The  terrified  water-carrier  fell  on  his  knees,  and 
made  a  full  relation  of  the  marvellous  manner  in 
which  he  had  gained  his  wealth.  The  Alcalde,  the 
alguazil,  and  the  inquisitive  barber  listened  with 
greedy  ears  to  this  Arabian  tale  of  enchanted 
treasure.  The  alguazil  was  despatched  to  bring 
the  Moor  who  had  assisted  in  the  incantation. 
The  Moslem  entered  half  frightened  out  of  his  wits 
at  finding  himself  in  the  hands  of  the  harpies  of  the 
law.  When  he  beheld  the  water-carrier  standing 
with  sheepish  look  and  downcast  countenance,  he 
comprehended  the  whole  matter.  "  Miserable  ani- 
mal," said  he,  as  he  passed  near  him,  "  did  I  not 
warn  thee  against  babbling  to  thy  wife.'  " 

The  story  of  the  Moor  coincided  exactly  with  that 
of  his  colleague  ;  but  the  Alcalde  affected  to  be  slow 
of  belief,  and  threw  out  menaces  of  imprisonment 
and  rigorous  investigation. 

"  Softly,  good  Seiior  Alcalde,"  said  the  Mussul- 
man, who  by  this  time  had  recovered  his  usual 
shrewdness  and  self-possession.  "  Let  us  not  mar 
fortune's  favours  in  the  scramble  for  them.  Nobody 
knows  any  thing  of  this  matter  but  ourselves  ;  let  us 
keep  the  secret.  There  is  wealth  enough  in  the  cave 
to  enrich  us  all.  Promise  a  fair  division,  and  all 
shall  be  produced  ;  refuse,  and  the  cave  shall  remain 
for  ever  closed.'' 

The  Alcalde  consulted  apart  with  the  alguazil. 
The  latter  was  an  old  fox  in  his  profession.  "  Prom- 
ise any  thing,"  said  he,  "  until  you  get  possession  of 
the  treasure.  You  may  then  seize  upon  the  whole, 
and  if  he  and  his  accomplice  dare  to  murmur, 
threaten  them  with  the  faggot  and  the  stake  as  in- 
fidels and  sorcerers." 

The  Alcalde  relished  the  advice.  Smoothing  his 
brow  and  turning  to  the  Moor, — "  This  is  a  strange 
story,"  said  he,  "  and  may  be  true,  but  I  must  have 
ocular  proof  of  it.  This  very  night  you  must  repeat 
the  incantation  in  my  presence.  If  there  be  really 
such  treasure,  we  will  share  it  amicably  between  us, 
and  say  nothing  further  of  the  matter  ;  if  ye  have 
decei\ed  rae,  expect  no  mercy  at  my  hands.  In  the 
mean  time  you  must  remain  in  custody." 

The  Moor  and  the  water-carrier  cheerfully  agreed 
to  these  conditions,  satisfied  that  the  event  would 
prove  the  truth  of  their  words. 

Towards  midnight  the  Alcalde  sallied  forth  se- 
cretly, attended  by  the  alguazil  and  the  meddlesome 
barber,  all  strongly  armed.  They  conducted  the 
Moor  and  the  water-carrier  as  prisoners,  and  were 
provided  with  the  stout  donkey  of  the  latter,  to  bear 
off  the  expected  treasure.  They  arrived  at  the  tower 
without  being  observed,  and  tying  the  donkey  to  a 
fig-tree,  descended  into  the  fourth  vault  of  the 
tower. 

The  scroll  was  produced,  the  yellow  waxen  taper 
lighted,  and  the  Moor  read  the  form  of  incantation. 
The   earth   trembled  as  before,  and  the  pavement 

(opened  with  a  thundering  sound,  disclosing  the 
narrow  flight  of  steps.  The  Alcalde,  the  alguazil, 
and  the  barber  were  struck  aghast,  and  could  not 
summon  courage  to  descend.  The  Moor  and  the 
water-carrier  entered  the  lower  vault  and  found  the 
two  Moors  seated  as  before,  silent  and  motionless. 
They  removed  two  of  the  great  jars,  filled  with 
golden  coin  and  precious  stones.  The  water-carrier 
bore  them  up  one  by  one  upon  his  shoulders,  but 
though  a  strong-backed  little  man,  and  accustomed 
to  carry  burdens,  he  staggered  beneath  their  weight, 
and  found,  when  slung  on  each  side  of  his  donkey, 
they  were  as  much  as  the  animal  could  bear. 

"  Let  us  be  content  for  the  present,"  said  the 
Moor  ;  "  here  is  as  much  treasure  as  we  can  carry 
off  without  being  perceived,  and  enough  to  make  us 
all  wealthy  to  our  heart's  desire." 


"  Is  there  more  treasure  remaining  behind  ?  "  de- 
manded the  Alcalde. 

"The  greatest  prize  of  all,"  said  the  Moor;  "a 
huge  coffer,  bound  with  bands  of  steel,  and  filled 
with  pearls  and  precious  stones." 

"  Let  us  have  up  the  coffer  by  all  means,"  cried  the 
grasping  Alcalde. 

"  I  will  descend  for  no  more,"  said  the  Moor,  dog- 
gedly. "  Enough  is  enough  for  a  reasonable  man  ; 
more  is  superfluous." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  water-carrier,  "  will  bring  up 
no  further  burthen  to  break  the  back  of  my  poor 
donkey." 

Finding  commands,  threats,  and  entreaties  equally 
vain,  the  Alcalde  turned  to  his  two  adherents.  "  Aid 
me,"  said  he,  "  to  bring  up  the  coffer,  and  its  con- 
tents shall  be  divided  between  us."  So  saying  he 
descended  the  steps,  followed,  with  trembling  re- 
luctance, by  the  alguazil  and  the  barber. 

No  sooner  did  the  Moor  behold  them  fairly  earthed 
than  he  extinguished  the  yellow  taper:  the  pave- 
ment closed  with  its  usual  crash,  and  the  three 
worthies  remained  buried  in  its  womb. 

He  then  hastened  up  the  different  flights  of  steps, 
nor  stopped  until  in  the  open  air.  The  little  water- 
carrier  followed  him  as  fast  as  his  short  legs  would 
permit. 

"What  hast  thou  done?  "cried  Peregil,  as  soon 
as  he  could  recover  breath.  "  The  Alcalde  and  the 
other  two  are  shut  up  in  the  vault !  " 

"  It  is  the  will  of  Allah  !  "  said  the  Moor,  de- 
voutly. 

"  And  will  you  not  release  them  .'  "  demanded  the 
Gallego. 

"  Allah  forbid  !  "  replied  the  Moor,  smoothing  his 
beard,  "  It  is  written  in  the  book  of  fate  that  they 
shall  remain  enchanted  until  some  future  adventurer 
shall  come  to  break  the  charm.  The  will  of  God  be 
done  !  "  So  saying  he  hurled  the  end  of  the  waxen 
taper  far  among  the  gloomy  thickets  of  the  glen. 

There  was  now  no  remedy  ;  so  the  Moor  and  the 
water-carrier  proceeded  with  the  richly-Laden  donkey 
towards  the  city  :  nor  could  honest  Peregil  refrain 
from  hugging  and  kissing  his  long-eared  fellow- 
labourer,  thus  restored  to  him  from  the  clutches  of 
the  law  ;  and,  in  fact,  it  is  doubtful  which  gave  the 
simple-hearted  little  man  most  joy  at  the  moment, 
the  gaining  of  the  treasure  or  the  reccveiy  of  the 
donkey. 

The  two  partners  in  good  luck  divided  their  spoil 
amicably  and  fairly,  excepting  that  the  Moor,  v/ho 
had  a  little  taste  for  trinketry,  made  out  to  get  into 
his  heap  the  most  of  the  pearls  and  precious  stones, 
and  other  baubles,  but  then  he  always  gave  the 
water-carrier  in  lieu  magnificent  jewels  of  massy 
gold  four  times  the  size,  with  which  the  latter  was 
heartily  content.  They  took  care  not  to  linger  within 
reach  of  accidents,  but  made  off  to  enjoy  their  wealth 
undisturbed  in  other  countries.  The  Moor  returned 
into  Africa,  to  his  native  city  of  Tetuan,  and  the 
Gallego,  with  his  wife,  his  children  and  his  donkey, 
made  the  best  of  his  way  to  Portugal,  Here,  under 
the  admonition  and  tuition  of  his  wife,  he  became  a 
personage  of  some  consequence,  for  she  made  the 
little  man  array  his  long  body  and  short  legs  in 
doufjlet  and  hose,  with  a  feather  in  his  hat  and  a 
sword  by  his  side  ;  and,  laying  aside  the  familiar 
appellation  of  Peregil,  assum.e  the  more  sonorous 
title  of  Don  Pedro  Gil.  His  progeny  grew  up  a 
thriving  and  merry-hearted,  though  short  and  bandy- 
legged generation  ;  while  the  Senora  Gil,  be-fringed, 
be-laced,  and  be-tasselled  from  her  head  to  her  heels, 
with  glittering  rings  on  every  finger,  became  a  model 
of  slattern  fashion  and  finery. 

As  to  the  Alcalde,  and  his  adjuncts,  they  re- 


142 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


niained  shut  up  under  the  gfreat  tower  of  the 
Seven  Floors,  and  there  they  remain  spell-bound 
at  the  present  day.  Whenever  there  shall  be  a  lack 
in  Spain  of  pimping  barbers,  sharking  alguazils,  and 
corrupt  Alcaldes,  they  may  be  sought  after;  but 
if  they  have  to  wait  until  such  time  for  their  deliver- 
ance, there  is  danger  of  their  enchantment  enduring 
until  doomsday. 


VISITORS. TO  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


It  is  now  nearly  three  months  since  I  took  up 
my  abode  in  the  Alhambra,  during  which  time 
the  progress  of  the  season  has  wrought  many 
changes.  When  I  first  arrived  every  thing  was 
in  the  freshness  of  May ;  the  foliage  of  the  trees 
was  still  tender  and  transparent ;  tho  pomegran- 
ate had  not  yet  shed  its  brilliant  crimson  blos- 
soms ;  the  orchards  of  the  Xenil  and  the  Darro 
were  in  full  bloom  ;  tlie  rocks  were  hung  with  wild 
flowers,  and  Granada  seemed  completely  surrounded 
by  a  wilderness  of  roses,  among  which  innumerable 
nightingales  sang,  not  merely  in  the  night,  but  all 
day  long. 

The  advance  of  summer  has  withered  the  rose 
and  silenced  the  nightingale,  and  the  distant  coun- 
try begins  to  look  parched  and  sunburnt  ;  though 
a  perennial  verdure  reigns  immediately  round  the 
city,  and  in  the  deep  narrow  valleys  at  the  foot  of 
the  snow-capped  mountains. 

The  Alhambra  possesses  retreats  graduated  to 
the  heat  of  the  weather,  among  which  the  most 
peculiar  is  the  almost  subterranean  apartment  of 
the  baths.  This  still  retains  its  ancient  orient.al 
character,  though  stamped  with  the  touching  traces 
of  decline.  At  the  entrance,  opening  into  a  small 
court  formerly  adorned  with  flowers,  is  a  hall, 
moderate  in  size,  but  light  and  graceful  in  archi- 
tecture. It  is  overlooked  by  a  small  gallery  sup- 
ported by  marble  pillars  and  moresco  arches.  An 
alabaster  fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  pavement  still 
throws  up  a  jet  of  water  to  cool  the  place.  On  each 
side  are  deep  alcoves  with  raised  platforms,  where 
the  bathers  after  their  ablutions  reclined  on  lu.xuri- 
ous  cushions,  soothed  to  voluptuous  repose  by  the 
fragrance  of  the  perfumed  air  and  the  notes  of  soft 
music  from  the  gallery.  Beyond  this  hall  are  the  in- 
terior chambers,  still  more  private  and  retired, 
where  no  light  is  admitted  but  through  small  aper- 
tures in  the  vaulted  ceilings.  Here  was  the  sanc- 
tum sanctorum  of  female  privacy,  where  the  beauties 
of  the  harem  indulged  in  the  lu.xury  of  the  baths. 
A  soft  mysterious  light  reigns  through  the  place, 
the  broken  baths  are  still  there,  and  traces  of  ancient 
elegance. 

The  prevailing  silence  and  obscurity  have  made 
this  a  favourite  resort  of  bats,  who  nestle  during  the 
day  in  the  dark  nooks  and  comers,  and,  on  being 
disturbed,  flit  mysteriously  about  the  twilight  cham- 
bers, heightening  in  an  indescribable  degree  their 
air  of  desertion  and  decay. 

In  this  cool  and  elegant  though  dilapidated  re- 
treat, which  has  the  freshness  and  seclusion  of  a 
grotto,  I  have  of  late  passed  the  sultry  hours  of  the 
day;  emerging  toward  sunset,  and  bathing,  or 
rather  swimming,  at  night  in  the  great  reservoir  of 
the  main  court.  In  this  way  I  have  been  enabled  in 
a  measure  to  counteract  the  relaxing  and  enervating 
influence  of  the  climate. 

My  dream  of  absolute  sovereignty,  however,  is  at 
an  end  :  I  was  roused  from  it  lately  by  the  report  of 


fire-arms,  which  reverberated  among  the  towers  as  if 
the  castle  had  been  taken  by  surprise.  On  sallying 
forth  I  found  an  old  cavalier  with  a  number  of 
domestics  in  possession  of  the  hall  of  ambassadors. 
He  was  an  ancient  Count,  who  had  come  up  from 
his  palace  in  Granada  to  pass  a  short  time  in  the  Al- 
hambra for  the  benefit  of  purer  air,  and  who,  being 
a  veteran  and  inveterate  sportsman,  was  endeavour- 
ing to  get  an  appetite  for  his  breakfast  by  shooting 
at  swallows  from  the  balconies.  It  was  a  harmless 
amusement,  for  though,  by  the  alertness  of  his 
attendants  in  loading  his  pieces,  he  was  en.abled  to 
keep  up  a  brisk  fire,  I  could  not  accuse  him  of  the 
death  of  a  single  swallow.  Nay,  the  birds  them- 
selves seemed  to  enjoy  the  sport,  and  to  deride  his 
want  of  skill,  skimming  in  circles  close  to  the 
balconies,  and  twittering  as  they  darted  by. 

The  arrival  of  this  old  gentleman  has  in  some 
measure  changed  the  aspect  of  affairs,  but  has  like- 
wise afforded  matter  for  agreeable  speculation.  We 
have  tacitly  shared  the  empire  between  us,  like 
the  last  kings  of  Granada,  excepting  that  we  main- 
tain a  most  amicable  alliance.  He  reigns  absolute 
over  the  Court  of  the  Lions  and  its  adjacent  halls, 
while  I  maintain  peaceful  possession  of  the  region  of 
the  baths  and  the  little  garden  of  Lindaraxa.  We' 
take  our  meals  together  under  the  arcades  of  the 
court,  where  the  fountains  cool  the  air,  and  bub- 
bling rills  run  along  the  channels  of  the  marble 
pavement. 

In  the  evening,  a  domestic  circle  gathers  about 
the  worthy  old  cavalier.  The  countess  comes  up 
from  the  city,  with  a  favourite  daughter  about 
sixteen  years  of  age.  Then  there  are  the  official  de- 
pendents of  the  Count,  his  chaplain,  his  lawyer,  his 
secretary,  his  steward,  and  other  officers  and  agents 
of  his  extensive  possessions.  Thus  he  holds  a  kind 
of  domestic  court,  where  every  person  seeks  to  con- 
tribute to  his  amusement,  without  sacrificing  his 
own  pleasure  or  self-respect.  In  fact,  whatever  may 
be  said  of  Spanish  pride,  it  certainly  does  not  enter 
into  social  or  domestic  life.  Among  no  people  are 
the  relations  between  kindred  more  cordial,  or  be- 
tween superior  and  dependent  more  frank  and  ge- 
nial ;  in  these  respects  there  still  remains,  in  the 
provincial  life  of  Spain,  much  of  the  vaunted  simpli- 
city of  the  olden  times. 

The  most  interesting  member  of  this  family  group, 
however,  is  the  daughter  of  the  Count,  the  charm- 
ing though  almost  infantile  little  Carmen.  Her 
form  has  not  yet  attained  its  maturity,  but  has  al- 
ready the  exquisite  symmetry  and  pliant  grace  so 
prevalent  in  this  country.  Her  blue  eyes,  fair  com- 
plexion, and  light  hair  are  unusual  in  Andalusia,  and 
give  a  mildness  and  gentleness  to  her  demeanour,  in 
contrast  to  the  usual  fire  of  Spanish  beauty,  but  in 
perfect  unison  with  the  guileless  and  confiding  inno- 
cence of  her  manners.  She  has,  however,  all  the 
innate  aptness  and  versatility  of  her  fascinating 
country-women,  and  sings,  dances,  and  plays  the 
guitar  and  other  instruments  to  admiration.  A  few 
days  after  taking  up  his  residence  in  the  Alhambra, 
the  Count  gave  a  domestic  fite  on  his  saint's  day, 
assembling  round  him  the  members  of  his  family 
and  household,  while  several  old  servants  came  from 
his  distant  possessions  to  pay  their  reverence  to  him, 
and  partake  of  the  good  cheer. 

This  patriarchal  spirit  which  characterized  the 
Spanish  nobility  in  the  days  of  their  opulence  has 
declined  with  their  fortunes  ;  but  some  who,  like  the 
Count,  still  retain  their  ancient  family  possessions, 
keep  up  a  little  of  the  ancient  system,  and  have  their 
estates  overrun  and  almost  eaten  up  by  generations 
of  idle  retainers.  According  to  this  m.agnificent  old 
Spanish   system,  in  which  the   national   pride  and 


THE   ALHAMBRA, 


143 


I 


generosity  bore  equal  parts,  a  superannuated  serv- 
ant was  never  turned  off,  but  became  a  charge  for 
tlie  rest  of  his  daj  s ;  nay,  his  children,  and  his  chil- 
dren's children,  and  often  their  relations,  to  the  right 
and  left,  became  gradually  entailed  upon  the  family. 
Hence  the  huge  palaces  of  the  Spanish  nobility, 
which  have  such  an  air  of  empty  ostentation  from 
the  greatness  of  their  size  compared  with  the  medi- 
ocrity and  scantiness  of  their  furniture,  were  abso- 
lutely required  in  the  golden  days  of  Spain  by  the 
patriarchal  habits  of  their  possessors.  They  were 
little  better  than  vast  barracks  for  the  hereditary 
generations  of  hangers-on  that  battened  at  the  ex- 
ense  of  a  Spanish  noble.  The  worthy  Count,  who 
as  estates  in  various  parts  of  the  kingdom,  assures 
me  that  some  of  them  barely  feed  the  hordes  of  de- 
pendents nestled  upon  them  ;  who  consider  them- 
selves entitled  to  be  maintained  upon  the  place,  rent 
free,  because  their  forefathers  have  been  so  for  gen- 
erations. 

The  domestic  fete  of  the  Count  broke  in  upon  the 
usual  still  life  of  the  Alhambra.  Music  and  laugh- 
ter resounded  through  its  late  silent  halls ;  there 
were  groups  of  the  guests  amusing  themselves  about 
the  galleries  and  gardens,  and  officious  servants  from 
town  hurrying  through  the  courts,  bearing  viands  to 
the  ancient  kitchen,  which  was  again  alive  with  the 
tread  of  cooks  and  scullions,  and  blazed  with  un- 
wonted fires. 

The  feast,  for  a  Spanish  set  dinner  is  literally  a 
feast,  was  laid  in  the  beautiful  moresco  hall  called 
"la  sala  de  las  dos  Hermanas,"  (the  saloon  of  the 
two  sisters ; )  the  table  groaned  with  abundance,  i 
and  a  joyous  conviviality  prevailed  round  the 
board ;  for  though  the  Spaniards  are  generally  an 
abstemious  people,  they  are  complete  revellers  at  a 
banquet. 

For  my  own  part,  there  was  something  peculiarly 
interesting  in  thus  sitting  at  a  feast,  in  the  royal  halls 
of  the  Alhambra,  given  by  the  representative  of  one 
of  its  most  renowned  conquerors ;  for  the  venerable 
Count,  though  unwarlike  himself,  is  the  lineal  de- 
scendant and  representative  of  the  "  Great  Captain," 
the  illustrious  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova,  whose  sword 
he  guards  in  the  archives  of  his  palace  at  Granada. 
The  banquet  ended,  the  company  adjourned  to  the 
hall  of  ambassadors.  Here  every  one  contributed 
to  the  general  amusement  by  exerting  some  peculiar 
talent ;  singing,  improvising,  telling  w-onderful  tales, 
or  dancing  to  that  all-pervading  talisman  of  Spanish 
pleasure,  the  guitar. 

The  life  and  charm  of  the  whole  assemblage,  how- 
ever, was  the  gifted  little  Carmen.  She  took  her 
part  in  two  or  three  scenes  from  Spanish  comedies, 
exhibiting  a  charming  dramatic  talent ;  she  gave 
imitations  of  the  popular  Italian  singers,  with  singu- 
lar and  whimsical  felicity,  and  a  rare  quality  of 
voice  ;  she  imitated  the  dialects,  dances,  and  bal- 
lads of  the  gipsies  and  the  neighbouring  peasantry, 
but  did  every  thing  with  a  facility,  a  neatness,  ^ 
grace,  and  an  all-pervading  prettiness,  that  were 
perfectly  fascinating.  The  great  charm  of  her  per- 
formances, however,  was  their  being  free  from  all 
pretension  or  ambition  of  display.  She  seemed  un- 
conscious of  the  extent  of  her  own  talents,  and  in 
fact  is  accustomed  only  to  exert  them  casually,  like  a 
child,  for  the  amusement  of  the  domestic  circle. 
Her  observation  and  tact  must  be  remarkably  quick, 
for  her  life  is  passed  in  the  bosom  of  her  family,  and 
she  can  only  have  had  casual  and  transient  glances 
at  the  various  characters  and  traits,  brought  out  «>«- 
promptu  in  moments  of  domestic  hilarity,  like  the 
one  in  question.  It  is  pleasing  to  see  the  fondness 
and  admiration  with  which  every  one  of  the  house- 
hold regards  her :  she  is  never  spoken  of,  even  by 


the  domestics,  by  any  other  appellation  than  that  of 
La  Niiia,  "  the  child,"  an  appellation  which  thus 
applied  has  something  peculiarly  kind  and  endearing 
in  the  Spanish  language. 

Never  shall  I  think  of  the  Alhambra  without  re- 
membering the  lovely  little  Carmen  sporting  in  happy 
and  innocent  girlhood  in  its  marble  halls ;  dancing  to 
the  sound  of  the  Moorish  castanets,  or  mingling  the 
silver  warbling  of  her  voice  with  the  music  of  the 
fountains. 

On  this  festive  occasion  several  curious  and  amus- 
ing legends  and  traditions  were  told  ;  many  of  which 
have  escaped  my  memory ;  but  of  those  that  most 
struck  me,  I  will  endeavour  to  shape  forth  some  en- 
tertainment for  the  reader. 


LEGEND  OF  PRINCE  AHMED  AL  KAMEL; 


THE   PILGRIM  OF   LOVE. 


There  was  once  a  Moorish  King  of  Granada  who 
had  but  one  son,  whom  he  named  Ahmed,  to  which 
his  courtiers  added  the  surname  of  al  Kamel,  or  the 
perfect,  from  the  indubitable  signs  of  super-excel- 
lence which  they  perceived  in  him  in  his  very  infancy. 
The  astrologers  countenanced  them  in  their  fore- 
sight, predicting  every  thing  in  his  favour  that  could 
make  4  perfect  prince  and  a  prosperous  sovereign. 
One  cloud  only  rested  upon  his  destiny,  and  even 
that  was  of  a  roseate  hue.  He  would  be  of  an 
amorous  temperament,  and  run  great  perils  from  the 
tender  passion.  If,  however,  he  could  be  kept  from 
the  allurements  of  love  until  of  mature  age,  these 
dangers  would  be  averted,  and  his  life  thereafter  be 
one  uninterrupted  course  of  felicity. 

To  prevent  all  danger  of  the  kind,  the  king  wisely 
determined  to  rear  the  prince  in  a  seclusion,  where 
he  should  never  see  a  female  face  nor  hear  even  the 
name  of  love.  For  this  purpose  he  built  a  beautiful 
palace  on  the  brow  of  a  hill  above  the  Alhambra,  in 
the  midst  of  delightful  gardens,  but  surrounded  by 
lofty  walls  ;  being,  in  fact,  the  same  palace  known  at 
the  present  day  by  the  name  of  the  Generaliffe.  In 
this  palace  the  youthful  prince  was  shut  up  and  en- 
trusted to  the  guardianship  and  instruction  of  Ebon 
Bonabbon,  one  of  the  wisest  and  dryest  of  Arabian 
sages,  who  had  passed  the  greatest  part  of  his  life  in 
Egypt,  studying  hieroglyphics  and  making  researches 
among  the  tombs  and  pyramids,  and  who  saw  more 
charms  in  an  Egyptian  mummy  than  in  the  most 
tempting  of  living  beauties.  The  sage  was  ordered 
to  instruct  the  pnnce  in  all  kinds  of  knowledge  but 
one — he  is  to  be  kept  utterly  ignorant  of  love — "  use 
every  precaution  for  the  purpose  you  may  think 
proper,"  said  the  king,  "  but  remember,  oh  Ebon 
Bonabbon,  if  my  son  learns  aught  of  that  forbidden 
knowledge,  while  under  your  care,  your  head  shall 
answer  for  it."  A  withered  smile  came  over  the  dry 
visage  of  the  wise  Bonabbon  at  the  menace.  "  Let 
your  majesty's  heart  be  as  easy  about  your  son  as 
mine  is  about  my  head.  Am  I  a  man  likely  to  give 
lessons  in  the  idle  passion  ?  " 

Under  the  vigilant  care  of  the  philosopher,  the 
prince  grew  up  in  the  seclusion  of  the  palace  and  its 
gardens.  He  had  black  slaves  to  attend  upon  him 
— hideous  mutes,  who  knew  nothing  of  love,  or  if 
they  did,  had  not  words  to  communicate  it.  His 
j  mental  endowments  were  the  peculiar  care  of  Ebon 
;  Bonabbon,  who  sought  to  initiate  him  into  the  ab- 


Ii4 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


struse  lore  of  Egypt,  but  in  this  the  prince  made  little 
progress,  and  it  was  soon  evident  that  he  had  no 
turn  for  philosophy. 

He  was,  however,  amazingly  ductile  for  a  youthful 
prmce ;  ready  to  follow  any  advice  and  always  guided 
by  the  last  councillor.  He  suppressed  his  yawns, 
and  listened  patiently  to  the  long  and  learned  dis- 
courses of  Ebon  Bonabbon,  from  which  he  imbibed 
a  smattering  of  various  kinds  of  knowledge,  and  thus 
happily  attained  his  twentieth  year,  a  miracle  of 
princely  wisdom,  but  totally  ignorant  of  love. 

About  this  time,  however,  a  change  came  over  the 
conduct  of  the  prince.  He  completely  abandoned 
his  studies  and  took  to  strolling  about  the  gardens 
and  musing  by  the  side  of  the  fountains.  He  had 
been  taught  a  little  music  among  his  various  accom- 
plishments ;  it  now  engrossed  a  great  part  of  his 
time,  and  a  turn  for  poetry  became  apparent.  The  sage 
Ebon  Bonabbon  took  the  alarm,  and  endeavoured 
to  work  these  idle  humours  out  of  him  by  a  severe 
course  of  algebra  ;  but  the  prince  turned  from  it  with 
distaste.  "I  cannot  endure  algebra,"  said  he;  "it 
is  an  abomination  to  me.  I  want  something  that 
speaks  more  to  the  heart." 

The  sage  Ebon  Bonabbon  shook  his  dry  head  at 
the  words.  "  Here's  an  end  to  philosophy,"  thought 
he.  "The  prince  has  discovered  he  has  a  heart !  " 
He  now  kept  an.xious  watch  upon  his  pupil,  and  saw 
that  the  latent  tenderness  of  his  nature  was  in  activ- 
ity, and  only  wanted  an  object.  He  wandered  about 
the  gardens  of  the  Generaliffe  in  an  intoxication  of 
feelings  of  which  he  knew  not  the  cause.  Sometimes 
he  would  sit  plunged  in  a  delicious  reverie ;  then  he 
would  seize  his  lute  and  draw  from  it  the  most 
touching  notes,  and  then  throw  it  aside,  and  break 
forth  into  sighs  and  ejaculations. 

By  degrees  this  loving  disposition  began  to  extend 
to  inanimate  objects;  he  had  his  favourite  flowers 
which  he  cherished  with  tender  assiduity ;  then  he 
became  attached  to  various  trees,  and  there  was  one 
in  particular,  of  a  graceful  form  and  drooping  foliage, 
on  which  he  lavished  his  amorous  devotion,  carving 
his  name  on  its  bark,  hanging  garlands  on  its 
branches,  and  singing  couplets  in  its  praise,  to  the 
accompaniment  of  his  lute. 

The  sage  Ebon  Bonabbon  was  alarmed  at  this  ex- 
cited state  of  his  pupil.  He  saw  him  on  the  very 
brink  of  forbidden  knowledge — the  least  hint  might 
reveal  to  him  the  fatal  secret.  Trembling  for  the 
safety  of  the  prince,  and  the  security  of  his  own  head, 
he  hastened  to  draw  him  from  the  seductions  of  the 
garden,  and  shut  him  up  in  the  highest  tower  of  the 
Generaliffe.  It  contained  beautiful  apartments,  and 
commanded  an  almost  boundless  prospect,  but  was 
elevated  far  above  that  atmosphere  of  sweets  and 
those  witching  bowers  so  dangerous  to  the  feelings 
of  the  too  susceptible  Ahmed. 

What  was  to  be  done,  however,  to  reconcile  him 
to  this  restraint  and  to  beguile  the  tedious  hours  ? 
He  had  exhausted  almost  all  kinds  of  agreeable 
knowledge  ;  and  algebra  was  not  to  be  mentioned. 
Fortunately  Ebon  Bonabbon  had  been  instructed, 
when  in  Egypt,  in  the  language  of  birds,  by  a  Jewish 
Rabbin,  who  had  received  it  in  lineal  transmission 
from  Solomon  the  wise,  who  had  been  taught  it  by 
the  Queen  of  Sheba.  At  the  very  mention  of  such  a 
study  the  eyes  of  the  prince  sparkled  with  animation, 
and  he  applied  himself  to  it  with  such  avidity,  that 
he  soon  became  as  great  an  adept  as  his  master. 

The  tower  of  the  Generaliffe  was  no  longer  a  soli- 
tude ;  he  had  companions  at  hand  with  whom  he 
could  converse.  The  first  acquaintance  he  formed 
was  with  a  hawk  who  built  his  nest  in  a  crevice  of 
the  lofty  battlements,  from  whence  he  soared  far  and 
wide  in  quest  of  i^rcy.    The  prince,  however,  found 


little  to  like  or  esteem  in  him.  He  was  a  mere 
pirate  of  the  air,  swaggering  and  boastful,  whose 
talk  was  all  about  rapine,  and  carnage,  and  desperate 
exploits. 

His  next  acquaintance  was  an  owl,  a  mighty  wise- 
looking  bird,  with  a  large  head  and  staring  eyes, 
who  sat  blinking  and  goggling  all  day  in  a  hole  in 
the  wail,  but  roamed  forth  at  night.  He  had  great 
pretensions  to  wisdom  ;  talked  something  of  astrology 
and  the  moon,  and  hinted  at  the  dark  sciences,  but 
he  was  grievously  given  to  metaphysics,  and  the 
prince  found  his  prosings  were  more  ponderous  than 
those  of  the  sage  Ebon  Bonabbon. 

Then  there  was  a  bat,  that  hung  all  day  by  his 
heels  in  the  dark  corner  of  a  vault,  but  sallied  out  in 
a  slip-shod  style  at  twilight.  He,  however,  had  but 
twilight  ideas  on  all  subjects,  derided  things  of  which 
he  had  taken  but  an  imperfect  view,  and  seemed  to 
take  delight  in  nothing. 

Beside  these  thefe  was  a  swallow,  with  whom  the 
prince  was  at  first  much  take:i.  He  was  a  smart 
talker,  but  restless,  bustling,  and  for  ever  on  the 
wing  ;  seldom  remaining  long  enough  for  any  con- 
tinued conversation.  He  turned  out  in  the  end  to 
be  a  mere  smatterer,  who  did  but  skim  over  the  sur- 
face of  things,  pretending  to  know  every  thing,  but 
knowing  nothing  thoroughly. 

These  were  the  only  feathered  associates  with 
whom  the  prince  had  any  opportunity  of  exercising 
his  newly  acquired  language  ;  the  tower  was  too 
high  for  any  other  birds  to  frequent  it.  He  soon 
grew  weary  of  his  new  acquaintances,  whose  conver- 
sation spake  so  little  to  the  head  and  nothing  to  the 
heart ;  and  gradually  relapsed  into  his  loneliness. 
A  winter  passed  away,  spring  opened  with  all  its 
bloom,  and  verdure,  and  breathing  sweetness,  and 
the  happy  time  arrived  for  birds  to  pair  and  build 
their  nests.  Suddenly,  as  it  were,  a  imiversal  burst 
of  song  and  melody  broke  forth  from  the  groves  and 
gardens  of  the  Generalifife,  and  reached  the  prince  in 
the  solitude  of  his  tower.  From  every  side  he  heard 
the  same  universal  theme  —  love  —  love  —  love  — 
chaunted  forth  and  responded  to  in  every  variety  of 
note  and  tone.  The  prince  listened  in  silence  and 
perplexity.  "  What  can  be  this  love,"  thought  he, 
"of  which  the  world  seems  so  full,  and  of  which  I 
know  nothing?  "  He  applied  for  information  to  his 
friend  the  hawk.  The  ruffian  bird  answered  in  a 
tone  of  scorn, — "  You  must  apply,''  said  he,  "  to  the 
vulgar,  peaceable  birds  of  earth,  who  are  made  for 
the  prey  of  us  princes  of  the  air.  My  trade  is  war, 
and  lighting  my  delight.  In  a  word,  1  am  a  warrior, 
and  know  nothing  of  this  thing  called  love." 

The  prince  turned  from  him  with  disgust,  and 
sought  the  owl  in  his  retreat.  "  This  is  a  bird," 
said  he,  "  of  peaceful  habits,  and  may  be  able  to 
solve  my  question."  So  he  asked  the  owl  to  tell  him 
what  was  this  love  about  which  all  the  birds  in  the 
groves  below  were  singing. 

Upon  this  the  owl  put  on  a  look  of  offended  dig- 
nity. "  My  nights,"  said  he,  "  are  taken  up  in  study 
and  research,  and  my  days  in  ruminating  in  my  cell 
upon  all  that  I  have  learnt.  As  to  these  singing 
birds  of  whom  you  talk,  I  never  listen  to  them.  I 
despise  them  and  their  themes.  Allah  be  praised,  I 
cannot  sing.  In  a  word,  I  am  a  philosopher,  and 
know  nothing  of  this  thing  called  love." 

The  prince  now  repaired  to  the  vault  where  his 
friend  the  bat  was  hanging  by  the  heels,  and  pro- 
pounded the  same  question.  The  bat  wrinkled  up 
his  nose  into  a  most  snappish  expression.  "  Why  do 
you  disturb  me  in  my  morning's  nap  with  such  an 
idle  question,"  said  he  peevishly.  "  I  only  fly  by 
twilight  when  all  birds  are  asleep,  and  never  trouble 
myself  with  their  concerns.     1  am  neither  bird  nor 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


145 


beast,  and  I  thank  heaven  for  it.  I  have  found  out 
the  villainy  of  the  whole  of  them,  and  hate  them,  one 
and  all.  In  a  word,  I  am  a  misanthrope,  and  Icnow 
nothing  of  this  thing  called  love." 

As  a  last  resort,  the  prince  now  sought  the  swal- 
low, and  stopped  him  just  as  he  was  circling  about 
the  summit  of  the  tower.  The  swallow  as  usual  was 
in  a  prodigious  hurry,  and  had  scarce  time  to  make  a 
reply.  "  Upon  my  word,"  said  he,  "  I  have  so  much 
public  business  to  attend  to,  and  so  many  pursuits 
to  follow,  that  I  have  had  no  time  to  think  on  the 
subject.  I  have  every  day  a  thousand  visits  to  pay  ; 
a  thousand  affairs  of  importance  to  examine  into, 
that  leave  me  not  a  moment  of  leisure  for  these  little 
sing-song  matters.  In  a  word,  I  am  a  citizen  of  the 
world.  I  know  nothing  of  this  thing  called  love." 
So  saying,  the  swallow  dived  into  the  valley  and  was 
out  of  sight  in  a  moment. 

The  prince  remained  disappointed  and  perplexed, 
but  with  his  curiosity  still  more  piqued  by  the  diffi- 
culty of  gratifying  it.  While  in  this  mood  his  ancient 
guardian  entered  the  tower.  The  prince  advanced 
eagerly  to  meet  him.  "  Oh  sage  Ebon  Bonabbon," 
cried  he,  "  thou  hast  revealed  to  me  much  of  the 
wisdom  of  the  earth,  but  there  is  one  thing  of  which 
1  remain  in  utter  ignorance,  and  would  fain  be  in- 
formed." 

"  iMy  prince  has  but  to  make  the  inquiry,  and 
every  thing  within  the  limited  range  of  his  servant's 
intellect  is  at  his  command." 

"  Tell  me  then,  oh  most  profound  of  sages,  what 
is  the  nature  of  this  thing  called  love  ?  " 

The  sage  Ebon  Bonabbon  was  struck  as  with  a 
thunderbolt.  He  trembled  and  turned  pale,  and  felt 
as  if  his  head  sat  but  loosely  on  his  shoulders. 

"  What  could  suggest  such  a  question  to  my 
prince .'  —  where  could  he  have  learnt  so  idle  a 
word  ? " 

The  prince  led  him  to  the  window  of  the  tower. 
"  Listen,  oh  Khon  I'onabbon  !  "  said  he.  The  sage 
listened.  The  nightingale  sat  in  a  thicket  below  the 
tower  singing  to  his  paramour,  the  rose;  from  every 
blossomed  spray  and  tufted  grove  arose  a  strain  of 
melody,  and  love — love — love,  was  still  the  unvary- 
ing theme.  "Allah  Achbar  1  God  is  great !  "  ex- 
claimed the  wise  Bonabbon.  "  Who  shall  pretend 
to  keep  this  secret  from  the  hearts  of  men  when  even 
the  birds  of  the  air  conspire  to  betray  it  ?  " 

Then  turning  to  Ahmed,  "  Oh  my  prince,'"  cried 
he,  "  shut  thine  ears  to  these  seductive  strains. 
Close  thy  mind  against  this  dangerous  knowledge. 
Know  that  this  love  is  the  cause  of  half  the  ills  of 
wretched  mortality.  It  is  this  which  produces  bit- 
terness of  strife  between  brethren  and  friends  ;  which 
causes  treacherous  murder  and  desolating  war.  Care 
and  sorrow,  weary  days  and  sleepless  nights,  are  its 
attendants.  It  withers  the  bloom  and  blights  the 
joys  of  youth,  and  brings  on  the  ills  and  griefs  of 
l)rcmature  old  age.  Allah  preserve  thee,  my  prince, 
in  total  ignorance  of  this  thing  called  love  !  " 

The  sage  Ebon  Bonabbon  hastily  retired,  leaving 
the  prince  plunged  in  still  deeper  perplexity.  It  was 
in  vain  he  attempted  to  dismiss  the  subject  from  his 
mind  ;  it  still  continued  uppermost  in  his  thoughts, 
and  teased  and  exhausted  him  with  vain  conjectures. 
"  Surely,"  said  he  to  himself  as  he  listened  to  the 
tuneful  strains  of  the  birds,  "  there  is  no  sorrow  in 
those  notes :  every  thing  seems  tenderness  and  joy. 
If  love  be  a  cause  of  such  wretchedness  and  strife, 
why  are  not  these  birds  drooping  in  solitude,  or  tear- 
ing each  other  in  pieces,  instead  of  fluttering  cheer- 
fully about  the  groves,  or  sporting  with  each  other 
among  the  flowers.'  " 

He  lay  one  morning  on  his  couch  meditating  on 
this  inexplicable  matter.  The  window  of  his  cham- 
10 


her  was  open  to  admit  the  soft  morning  breeze  which 
came  laden  with  the  perfume  of  orange  blossoms 
from  the  valley  of  the  Darro.  The  voice  of  the 
nightingale  was  faintly  heard,  still  chanting  the 
wonted  theme.  As  the  prince  was  listening  and 
sighing,  there  was  a  sudden  rushing  noise  in  the  air; 
a  beautiful  dove,  pursued  by  a  hawk,  darted  in  at  the 
window  and  fell  panting  on  the  floor;  while  the  pur- 
suer, balked  of  his  prey,  soared  off  to  the  mountains. 

The  prince  took  up  the  gasping  bird,  smoothed 
its  feathers,  and  nestled  it  in  his  bosom.  When  he 
had  soothed  it  by  his  caresses  he  put  it  in  a  golden 
cage,  and  offered  it,  with  his  own  hands,  the  whitest 
and  finest  of  wheat  and  the  purest  of  water.  The  bird, 
however,  refused  food,  and  sat  drooping  and  pining, 
and  uttering  piteous  moans. 

"  What  aileth  thee .'  "  said  Ahmed.  "  Hast  thou 
not  every  thing  thy  heart  can  wish .'  " 

"Alas,  no  ! "  replied  the  dove,  "  am  I  not  sepa- 
rated from  the  partner  of  my  heart — and  that  too  in 
the  happy  spring-time — the  very  season  of  love  ?  " 

"  Of  love  !  "  echoed  Ahmed.  "  I  pray  thee,  my 
pretty  bird,  canst  thou  then  tell  me  what  is  love  ?  " 

"  "Too  well  can  I,  my  prince.  It  is  the  torment  of 
one,  the  felicity  of  two,  the  strife  and  enmity  of 
three.  It  is  a  charm  which  draws  two  beings  to- 
gether, and  unites  them  by  delicious  sympathies, 
making  it  happiness  to  be  with  each  other,  but  mis- 
ery to  be  apart.  Is  there  no  being  to  whom  you  are 
drawn  by  these  ties  of  tender  affection  ?  " 

"  I  like  my  old  teacher.  Ebon  Bonabbon,  better 
than  any  other  being;  but  he  is  often  tedious,  and  I 
occasionally  feel  myself  happier  without  his  society." 

"  That  is  not  the  sympathy  I  mean.  I  speak  of 
love,  the  great  mystery  and  principle  of  life  ;  the  in- 
toxicating revel  of  youth  ;  the  sober  delight  of  age. 
Look  forth,  my  prince,  and  behold  how  at  this  blest 
season  all  nature  is  full  of  love.  Every  created  being 
has  its  mate  ;  the  most  insignificant  bird  sings  to  its 
paramour  ;  the  very  beetle  woos  its  lady  beetle  in  the 
dust,  and  yon  butterflies  which  you  see  fluttering  high 
above  the  tower  and  toying  in  the  air  are  happy  in 
each  other's  love.  Alas,  my  prince !  hast  thou 
spent  so  many  of  the  precious  days  of  youth  without 
knowing  any  thing  of  love  !  Is  there  no  gentle  be- 
ing of  another  sex  ;  no  beautiful  princess,  or  lovely 
damsel  who  has  ensnared  your  heart,  and  filled  your 
bosom  with  a  soft  tumult  of  pleasing  pains  and  ten- 
der wishes.'  " 

"  I  begin  to  understand !  "  said  the  prince  sigh- 
ing. "  Such  a  tumult  I  have  more  than  once  experi- 
enced without  knowing  the  cause  ;  and  where  should 
I  seek  for  an  object  such  as  you  describe  in  this  dis- 
mal solitude  ?  " 

A  little  further  conversation  ensued,  and  the  first 
amatory  lesson  of  the  prince  was  complete. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  he,  "  if  love  be  indeed  such  a  de- 
light, and  its  interruption  such  a  misery,  Allah  for- 
bid that  I  should  mar  the  joy  of  any  of  its  votaries." 
He  opened  the  cage,  took  out  the  dove,  and,  having 
fondly  kissed  it,  carried  it  to  the  window.  "  Go, 
happy  bird,"  said  he,  "  rejoice  with  the  partner  of 
thy  heart  in  the  days  of  youth  and  spring-time. 
Why  should  I  make  thee  a  fellow  prisoner  in  this 
dreary  tower,  where  love  can  never  enter  ?  " 

The  dove  flapped  its  wings  in  rapture,  gave  one 
vault  into  the  air,  and  then  swooped  downward  on 
whistling  wings  to  the  blooming  bowers  of  the  Darro. 

The  prince  followed  him  with  his  eyes,  and  then 

gave  way  to  bitter  repining.     The  singing  of  the 

birds  which  once  delighted  him  now  added  to  his 

I  bitterness.      Love  !  love  !  love  !     Alas,  poor  youth, 

he  now  understood  the  strain. 

His  eyes  flashed  fire  when  next  he  beheld  the  sage 
Bonabbon.     "Why  hast  thou  kept  me  in  this  abject 


UG 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


ignorance  y  "  cried  he.  "Why  has  the  great  mys- 
tery and  principle  of  life  been  withheld  from  me,  in 
which  I  find  the  meanest  insect  is  so  learned  ?  Be- 
hold all  nature  is  in  a  revel  of  delight.  Every  cre- 
ated being  rejoices  with  its  mate.  This — this  is  the 
love  about  which  1  have  sought  instruction  ;  why  am 
1  alone  debarred  its  enjoyment  ?  why  has  so  much 
of  my  youth  been  wasted  without  a  knowledge  of 
its  rapture  ?  " 

The  sage  Bonabbon  saw  that  all  further  reserve 
was  useless,  for  the  prince  had  acquired  the  danger- 
ous and  forbidden  knowledge.  He  revealed  to  him, 
therefore,  the  predictions  of  the  astrologers,  and  the 
precautions  that  had  been  taken  in  his  education  to 
avert  the  threatened  evils.  "  And  now,  my  prince," 
added  he,  "  my  life  is  in  your  hands.  Let  the  king 
your  father  discover  that  you  have  learned  the  pas- 
sion of  love  while  under  my  guardianship,  and  my 
head  must  answer  for  it." 

The  prince  was  as  reasonable  as  most  young  men 
of  his  age,  and  easily  listened  to  the  remonstrances 
of  his  tutor,  since  nothing  pleaded  against  them. 
Beside,  he  really  was  attached  to  the  sage  Bonab- 
bon, and  being  as  yet  but  theoretically  acquainted 
with  the  passion  of  love,  he  consented  to  confine  the 
knowledge  of  it  to  his  own  bosom,  rather  than  en- 
danger the  head  of  the  philosopher.  His  discre- 
tion was  doomed,  however,  to  be  put  to  still  further 
proofs.  A  few  mornings  afterwards,  as  he  was  ru- 
minating on  the  battlements  of  the  tower,  the  dove 
which  had  been  released  by  him  came  hovering  in 
the  air,  and  alighted  fearlessly  upon  his  shoulder. 

The  prince  fondled  it  to  his  breast.  "  Happy 
bird,"  said  he,  "  who  can  fly,  as  it  were,  with  the 
wings  of  the  morning  to  the  uttennost  parts  of  the 
earth.     Where  hast  thou  been  since  we  parted .'" 

"  In  a  far  country,  my  prince  ;  from  whence  I 
bring  you  tidings  in  reward  for  iny  liberty.  In  the 
wide  compass  of  my  flight,  which  extends  over  plain 
and  mountain,  as  I  was  soaring  in  the  air,  I  beheld 
below  me  a  delightful  garden  with  all  kinds  of  fruits 
and  flowers.  It  was  in  a  green  meadow  on  the 
banks  of  a  meandering  streatn,  and  in  the  centre  of 
the  garden  was  a  stately  palace.  I  alighted  in  one 
of  the  bowers  to  repose  after  my  wear)'  flight ;  on 
the  green  bank  below  me  was  a  youthful  princess  in 
the  very  sweetness  and  bloom  of  her  years.  She 
was  surrounded  by  female  attendants,  young  like 
herself,  who  decked  her  with  garlands  and  coronets 
of  flowers ;  but  no  flower  of  field  or  garden  could 
compare  with  her  for  loveliness.  Here,  however,  she 
blooined  in  secret,  for  the  garden  was  surrounded  by 
high  walls,  and  no  mortal  man  was  permitted  to  enter. 
When  I  beheld  this  beauteous  maid  thus  young,  and 
innocent,  and  unspotted  by  the  world,  I  thought, 
here  is  the  being  formed  by  heaven  to  inspire  my 
prince  with  love." 

The  description  was  as  a  spark  of  fire  to  the  com- 
bustible heart  of  Ahmed  ;  all  the  latent  amorousness 
of  his  temperainent  had  at  once  found  an  object,  and 
he  conceived  an  immeasurable  passion  for  the  prin- 
cess. He  wrote  a  letter  couched  in  the  most  im- 
passioned language,  breathing  his  fervent  devotion, 
hut  the  unhappy  thraldom  of  his  person,  which  pre- 
vented him  from  seeking  her  out,  and  throwing  him- 
.self  .U  her  feet.  He  added  couplets  of  the  most 
tender  and  moving  eloquence,  for  he  was  a  poet  by 
nature  and  inspired  by  love.  He  addressed  his  letter, 
"  To  the  unknown  beauty,  from  the  captive  prince 
Ahmed,"  then  perfuming  it  with  musk  and  roses,  he 
gave  it  to  the  dove. 

"Away,  trustiest  of  messengers,"  said  he.  "  Fly 
over  mountaiin,  and  valley,  and  river,  and  plain  ;  rest 
not  in  bower  nor  set  foot  on  earth,  until  thou  hast 
given  this  ieLter  .to  the  mistress  of  my  heart." 


The  dove  soared  high  in  air,  and  taking  his  course 
darted  away  in  one  undeviating  direction.  The 
prince  followed  him  with  his  eye  until  he  was  a  mere 
speck  on  a  cloud,  and  gradually  disappeared  behind 
a  mountain. 

Day  after  day  he  watched  for  the  return  of  the 
messenger  of  love  ;  but  he  watched  in  vain.  He 
began  to  accuse  him  of  forgetfulness,  when  towards 
sunset,  one  evening,  the  faithful  bird  fluttered  into 
his  apartment,  and,  falling  at  his  feet,  expired.  The 
arrow  of  some  wanton  archer  had  pierced  his  breast, 
yet  he  had  struggled  with  the  fingerings  of  life  to 
execute  his  mission.  As  the  prince  bent  with  grief 
over  this  gentle  martyr  to  fidelity,  he  beheld  a  chain 
of  pearls  round  his  neck,  attached  to  which,  beneath 
his  wing,  was  a  small  enamelled  picture.  It  repre- 
sented a  lovely  princess  in  the  very  flower  of  her 
years.  It  was,  doubtless,  the  unknown  beauty  of  the 
garden  :  but  who  and  where  was  she — how  had  she 
received  his  letter — and  was  this  picture  sent  as  a 
token  of  an  approval  of  his  passion  ?  Unfortunately, 
the  death  of  the  faithful  dove  left  every  thing  in 
mystery  and  doubt. 

The  prince  gazed  on  the  picture  till  his  eyes  swam 
with  tears.  He  pressed  it  to  his  lips  and  to  his 
heart ;  he  sat  for  hours  contemplating  it  in  an  almost 
agony  of  tenderness.  "  Beautiful  image  !  "  said  he. 
"  Alas,  thou  art  but  an  image.  Yet  thy  dewy  eyes 
beam  tenderly  upon  me ;  those  rosy  lips  look  as 
though  they  would  speak  encouragement.  Vain 
fancies  !  Have  they  not  looked  the  same  on  some 
more  happy  rival  .■'  But  where  in  this  wide  world 
shall  I  hope  to  find  the  original  ?  Who  knows  what 
mountains,  what  realms  may  separate  us  ?  What 
adverse  chances  may  intervene .'  Perhaps  now, 
even  now,  lovers  may  be  crowding  around  her, 
while  I  sit  here,  a  prisoner  in  a  tower,  wasting  my 
time  in  adoration  of  a  painted  shadow." 

The  resolution  of  prince  Ahmed  was  taken.  "  I 
will  fly  from  this  palace,"  said  he,  "which  has  be- 
come an  odious  prison,  and,  a  pilgrim  of  love,  will 
seek  this  unknown  princess  throughout  the  world." 

To  escape  from  the  tower  in  the  day,  when  every 
one  was  awake,  might  be  a  difficult  matter ;  but  at 
night  the  palace  was  slightly  guarded,  for  no  one 
apprehended  any  attempt  of  the  kind  from  the 
prince,  who  had  always  been  so  passive  in  his  cap- 
tivity. How  was  he  to  guide  himself,  however,  in 
his  darkling  flight,  being  ignorant  of  the  country. 
He  bethought  him  of  the  owl,  who  was  accustomed 
to  roam  at  night,  and  must  know  every  by-lane  and 
secret  pass.  Seeking  him  in  his  herinitage,  he 
questioned  him  touching  his  knowledge  of  the  land. 
Upon  this  the  owl  put  on  a  mighty  self-important 
look. 

"  You  must  know,  O  prince,"  said  he,  "  that  we 
owls  are  of  a  very  ancient  and  extensive  familj', 
though  rather  fallen  to  decay,  and  possess  ruinous 
castles  and  palaces  in  all  parts  of  Spain.  There  is 
scarcely  a  tower  of  the  mountains,  or  fortress  of  the 
plains,  or  an  old  citadel  of  a  city  but  has  some 
brother,  or  uncle,  or  cousin  quartered  in  it ;  and  in 
going  the  rounds  to  visit  these  my  numerous 
kindred  I  have  pryed  into  every  nook  and  corner, 
and  made  myself  acquainted  with  every  secret  of 
the  land." 

The  prince  was  overjoyed  to  find  the  owl  so  deep- 
ly versed  in  topography,  and  now  informed  him,  in 
confidence,  of  his  tender  passion  and  his  intended 
elopement,  urging  him  to  be  his  companion  and 
counsellor. 

'•  Go  to  !  "  said  the  owl,  with  a  look  of  displeasure. 

"  Am   I  a  bird  to  engage  in  a  love  affair;  I  whose 

whole  time  is  devoted  to  meditation  and  the  moon  !  " 

"  Be  not  offended,  most  solemn  owl !  "  replied  the 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


147 


prince.  "  Abstract  thyself  for  a  time  from  medita- 
tion and  the  moon,  and  aid  me  in  my  flight,  and  thou 
shall  have  whatever  heart  can  wish." 

"  I  have  that  already,"  said  the  owl.  "  A  few 
mice  are  sufficient  for  my  frugal  table,  and  this  hole 
in  the  wall  is  spacious  enough  for  my  studies,  and 
what  more  does  a  philosopher  like  myself  desire  ?  " 

"  Bethink  thee,  most  wise  owl,  that  while  moping 
in  thy  cell  and  gazing  at  the  moon  all  thy  talents  are 
lost  to  the  world.  I  shall  one  day  be  a  sovereign 
prince,  and  may  advance  thee  to  some  post  of  hon- 
our and  dignity." 

The  owl,  though  a  philosopher  and  above  the 
ordinary  wants  of  life,  was  not  above  ambition, 
so  he  was  finally  prevailed  upon  to  elope  with  the 
prince,  and  be  his  guide  and  Mentor  in  his  pil- 
grimage. 

The  plans  of  a  lover  are  promptly  executed.  The 
prince  collected  all  his  jewels  and  concealed  them 
about  his  person  as  travelling  funds.  That  very 
night  he  lowered  himself  by  his  scarf  from  a  balcony 
of  the  tower,  clambered  over  the  outer  walls  of  the 
Generaliffe,  and  guided  by  the  owl,  made  good  his 
escape  before  morning  to  the  mountains. 

He  now  held  a  council  with  his  Mentor  as  to  his 
future  course. 

"  Might  I  advise,"  said  the  owl,  "  I  would  recom- 
mend you  to  repair  to  Seville.  You  must  know  that 
many  years  since  I  was  on  a  visit  to  an  uncle,  an 
owl  of  great  dignity  and  power,  who  lived  in  a  ruined 
wing  of  the  Alcazar  of  that  place.  In  my  hoverings 
at  night  over  the  city  I  frequently  remarked  a  light 
burning  in  a  lonely  tower.  At  length  I  alighted  on 
the  battlements,  and  found  it  to  proceed  from  the 
lamp  of  an  Arabian  magician.  He  was  surrounded 
by  his  magic  books,  and  on  his  shoulder  was  perched 
his  familiar,  an  ancient  raven,  who  had  come  with 
him  from  Egypt.  I  became  acquainted  with  that 
raven,  and  owe  to  him  a  great  part  of  the  knowledge 
I  possess.  The  magician  is  since  dead,  but  the 
raven  still  inhabits  the  tower,  for  these  birds  are  of 
wonderful  long  life.  I  would  advise  you,  O  prince, 
to  seek  that  raven,  for  he  is  a  soothsayer  and  a 
conjuror,  and  deals  in  the  black  art,  for  which  all 
ravens,  and  especially  those  of  Egypt,  are  renowned." 

The  prince  was  struck  with  the  wisdom  of  this 
advice,  and  accordingly  bent  his  course  towards 
Seville.  He  travelled  only  in  the  night,  to  accom- 
modate his  companion,  and  lay  by  during  the  day 
in  some  dark  cavern  or  mouldering  watch-tower, 
for  the  owl  knew  every  hiding  hole  of  the  kind  in 
the  country,  and  had  a  most  antiquarian  taste  for 
ruins. 

At  length,  one  morning  at  day-break  they  reached 
the  city  of  Seville,  where  the  owl,  who  hated  the 
glare  and  bustlf  of  crowded  streets,  halted  without 
the  gate,  and  took  up  his  quarters  in  a  hollow  tree. 

The  prince  entered  the  gate  and  readily  found 
the  magic  tower,  which  rose  above  the  houses  of 
the  city  as  a  palm  tree  rises  above  the  shrubs  of  the 
desert.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  same  tower  known  at 
the  present  day  as  the  Giralda,  the  famous  Moorish 
tower  of  Seville. 

The  prince  ascended  by  a  great  winding  staircase 
to  the  summit  of  the  tower,  where  he  found  the 
cabalistic  raven,  an  old,  mysterious,  gray-headed 
bird,  ragged  in  feather,  with  a  film  over  one  eye 
that  gave  him  the  glare  of  a  spectre.  He  was 
perched  on  one  leg,  with  his  head  turned  on  one 
side,  and  poring  with  his  remaining  eye  on  a  diagram 
described  on  the  pavement. 

The  prince  approached  him  with  the  awe  and 
reverence  naturally  inspired  by  his  venerable  ap- 
pearance and  supernatural  wisdom.  "  Pardon  me, 
most  ancient  and  darkly  wise  raven,"  exclaimed  he, 


"  if  for  a  moment  I  interrupt  those  studies  which  are 
the  wonder  of  the  world.  You  behold  before  you  a 
votary  of  love,  who  would  fain  seek  counsel  how  to 
obtain  the  object  of  his  passion." 

"  In  other  words,"  said  the  raven  with  a  signifi- 
cant look,  "  you  seek  to  try  my  skill  in  palmistry. 
Come,  show  me  your  hand,  and  let  me  decipher  the 
mysterious  lines  of  fortune." 

"Excuse  me,"  said  the  prince,"!  come  not  to 
pry  into  the  decrees  of  fate,  which  are  hidden  by 
Allah  from  the  eyes  of  mortals.  I  am  a  pilgrim  of 
love,  and  seek  but  to  find  a  clue  to  the  object  of  my 
pilgrimage." 

"  And  can  you  be  at  any  loss  for  an  object  in  am- 
orous Andalusia,"  said  the  old  raven,  leering  upon 
him  with  his  single  eye.  "  Above  all,  can  you  be  at 
a  loss  in  wanton  Seville,  where  black-eyecl  damsels 
dance  the  zambra  under  every  orange  grove?" 

The  prince  blushed  and  was  somewhat  shocked  at 
hearing  an  old  bird,  with  one  foot  in  the  grave,  talk 
thus  loosely.  "  Believe  me,"  said  he  gravely,  "  I  am 
on  none  such  light  and  vagrant  errand  as  thou  dost 
insinuate.  The  black-eyed  damsels  of  Andalusia 
who  dance  among  the  orange  groves  of  the  Guadal- 
quiver,  are  as  naught  to  me.  I  seek  one  unknown 
but  immaculate  beauty,  the  original  of  this  picture, 
and  I  beseech  thee,  most  potent  raven,  if  it  be  within 
the  scope  of  thy  knowledge,  or  the  reach  of  thy  art, 
inform  me  where  she  may  be  found." 

The  gray-headed  raven  was  rebuked  by  the  grav- 
ity of  the  prince.  "  What  know  I,"  replied  he  dryly, 
"  of  youth  and  beauty  ?  My  visits  are  to  the  old  ami 
withered,  not  the  young  and  fair.  The  harbinger 
of  fate  am  I,  who  croak  bodings  of  death  from  the 
chimney  top,  and  flap  my  wings  at  the  sick  man's 
window.  You  must  seek  elsewhere  for  tidings  of 
your  unknown  beauty." 

"  And  where  am  I  to  seek,  if  not  among  the  sons 
of  wisdom,  versed  in  the  book  of  destiny  ?  A  royal 
prince  am  I,  fated  by  the  stars  and  sent  on  a  myste- 
rious enterprise,  on  which  may  hang  the  destiny  of 
empires." 

When  the  raven  heard  that  it  was  a  matter  of  vast 
moment,  in  which  the  stars  took  interest,  he  changed 
his  tone  and  manner,  and  listened  with  profound  at- 
tention to  the  story  of  the  prince.  When  it  was 
concluded,  he  replied,  "Touching  this  princess,  I  can 
give  thee  no  information  of  myself,  for  my  flight  is 
not  among  gardens  or  around  ladies'  bowers ;  but 
hie  thee  to  Cordova,  seek  the  palm-tree  of  the  great 
Abderahman,  which  stands  in  the  court  of  the  prin- 
cipal mosque ;  at  the  foot  of  it  you  will  find  a  great 
traveller,  who  has  visited  all  countries  and  courts, 
and  been  a  favourite  with  queens  and  princesses. 
He  will  give  you  tidings  of  the  object  of  your  search." 

"  Many  thanks  for  this  precious  information,"  said 
the  prince.     "Farewell,  most  venerable  conjuror." 

"  Farewell,  pilgrim  of  love,"  said  the  raven  dr)ly, 
and  again  fell  to  pondering  on  the  diagram. 

The  prince  sallied  forth  from  Seville,  sought  his 
fellow  traveller  the  owl,  who  was  still  dozing  in  the 
hollow  tree,  and  set  off  for  Cordova. 

He  approached  it  along  hanging  gardens,  and  or- 
ange and  citron  groves  overlooking  the  fair  valley  of 
the  Guadalquiver.  When  arrived  at  its  gates  the 
owl  flew  up  to  a  dark  hole  in  the  wall,  and  the  prince 
proceeded  in  quest  of  the  palm-tree  planted  in  days 
of  yore  by  the  great  Abderahman.  It  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  great  court  of  the  Mosque,  towering 
from  amidst  orange  and  cypress  trees.  Dervises  and 
Faquirs  were  seated  in  groups  under  the  cloisters  of 
the  court,  and  many  of  the  faithful  were  performing 
their  ablutions  at  the  fountains,  before  entering  the 
Mosque. 

At  the  foot  of  the  palm-tree  was  a  crowd  listening 


148 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


to  the  words  of  one  who  appeared  to  be  talking  with 
great  volubility.  This,  said  the  prince  to  himself, 
must  be  the  great  traveller  who  is  to  give  me  tidings 
of  the  unknown  princess.  He  mingled  in  the  crowd, 
but  was  .astonished  to  perceive  that  they  were  all 
listening  to  a  parrot,  who,  with  his  bright  green 
coat,  pragmatical  eye,  and  consequential  topknot, 
had  the  air  of  a  bird  on  excellent  terms  with  himself. 

"  How  is  this,"  said  the  prince  to  one  of  the  by- 
standers, "  that  so  many  grave  persons  can  be  de- 
lighted with  the  garrulity  of  a  chattering  bird  ?  " 

"  You  know  not  of  whom  you  speak,"  said  the 
other ;  "  this  parrot  is  a  descendant  of  the  famous 
parrot  of  Persia,  renowned  for  his  story-telling  tal- 
ent. He  has  all  the  learning  of  the  East  at  the  tip 
of  his  tongue,  and  can  quote  poetry  as  fast  as  he  can 
talk.  He  has  visited  various  foreign  courts,  where 
he  has  been  considered  an  oracle  of  erudition.  He 
has  been  a  universal  favourite  also  with  the  fair  sex, 
who  have  a  vast  admiration  for  erudite  parrots  that 
can  quote  poetry." 

"  Enough,"  said  the  prince,  "  I  will  have  some 
private  talk  with  this  distinguished  traveller." 

He  sought  a  private  interview,  and  expounded 
the  nature  of  his  errand.  He  had  scarcely  mention- 
ed it  when  the  parrot  burst  into  a  fit  of  dry  rickety 
laughter,  that  absolutely  brought  tears  in  his  eyes. 
"  Excuse  my  mirth,"  said  he,  "  but  the  mere  mention 
of  love  always  sets  me  laughing." 

The  prince  was  shocked  at  this  ill-timed  merri- 
ment. "Is  not  love,"  said  he,  "the  great  mystery 
of  nature, — the  secret  principle  of  life, — the  universal 
bond  of  sympathy  ?  " 

"  A  fig's  end  !  "  cried  the  parrot,  interrupting 
him.  "  Pry'thee  where  hast  thou  learnt  this  senti- 
mental jargon  ?  Trust  me,  love  is  quite  out  of 
vogue  ;  one  never  hears  of  it  in  the  company  of  wits 
and  people  of  refinement." 

The  prince  sighed  as  he  recalled  the  different 
language  of  his  friend  the  dove.  But  this  parrot, 
thought  he,  has  lived  about  court;  he  affects  the  wit 
and  the  fine  gentleman ;  he  knows  nothing  of  the 
thing  called  love. 

Unwilling  to  provoke  any  more  ridicule  of  the 
sentiment  which  filled  his  heart,  he  now  directed 
his  inquiries  to  the  immediate  purport  of  his  visit. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  most  accomplished  parrot, 
thou  who  hast  every  where  been  admitted  to  the 
most  secret  bowers  of  beauty,  hast  thou  in  the 
course  of  thy  travels  met  with  the  original  of  this 
jwrtrait  ?  " 

The  parrot  took  the  picture  in  his  claw,  turned 
Ins  head  from  side  to  side,  and  examined  it  curiously 
with  either  eye.  "Upon  my  .honour,"  said  he,  "a 
very  pretty  face  ;  very  pretty.  But  then  one  sees  so 
many  pretty  women  in  one's  travels  that  one  can 
hardly — but  hold — bless  me  !  now  I  look  at  it  again 
— sure  enough,  this  is  the  princess  Aldegonda :  how 
could  I  forget  one  that  is  so  prodigious  a  favourite 
with  me  ?  " 

"  The  princess  Aldegonda  ! "  echoed  the  prince, 
"  and  where  is  she  to  be  found  ?  " 

"Softly — softly,"  said  the  parrot,  "easier  to  be 
found  than  gained.  She  is  the  only  daughter  of  the 
Christian  king  who  reigns  at  Toledo,  and  is  shut  up 
from  the  world  until  her  seventeenth  birth-day,  on 
account  of  some  prediction  of  those  meddlesome 
fellows,  the  astrologers.  You'll  not  get  a  sight  of 
her,  no  mortal  man  can  see  her.  I  was  admitted  to 
her  presence  to  entertain  her,  and  I  assure  you,  on 
the  word  of  a  parrot  who  has  seen  the  world,  I  have 
conversed  with  much  sillier  princesses  in  my  time." 

"  A  word  in  confidence,  my  dear  parrot,"  said  the 
prince.  "  I  am  heir  to  a  kingdom,  and  shall  one 
day  sit  upon  a  throne.     I  see  that  you  are  a  bird  of 


parts  and  understand  the  world.  Help  me  to  gain 
possession  of  this  princess  and  I  will  advance  you  to 
some  distinguished  post  about  court." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  the  parrot ;  "but  let  it 
be  a  sinecure  if  possible,  for  we  wits  have  a  great 
dislike  to  labour." 

Arrangements  were  promptly  made  ;  the  prince 
sallied  forth  from  Cordova  through  the  same  gate  by 
which  he  had  entered  ;  called  the  owl  down  from 
the  hole  in  the  wall,  introduced  him  to  his  new 
travelling  companion  as  a  brother  sgavant,  and  away 
they  set  off  on  their  journey. 

They  travelled  much  more  slowly  than  accorded 
with  the  impatience  of  the  prince,  but  the  parrot 
was  accustomed  to  high  life,  and  did  not  like  to  be 
disturbed  early  in  the  morning.  The  owl,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  for  sleeping  at  mid-day,  and  lost  a 
g^-eat  deal  of  time  by  his  long  siestas.  His  anti- 
quarian taste  also  was  in  the  way  ;  for  he  insisted 
on  pausing  and  inspecting  every  ruin,  and  had  long 
legendary  tales  to  tell  about  every  old  tower  and 
castle  in  the  country.  The  prince  had  supposed 
that  he  and  the  parrot,  being  both  birds  of  learning, 
could  delight  in  each  other's  society,  but  never  had 
he  been  more  mistaken.  They  were  eternally  bick- 
ering. The  one  was  a  wit,  the  other  a  philosopher. 
The  parrot  quoied  poetry,  was  critical  on  new  read- 
ings, and  eloquent  on  small  points  of  erudition  ;  the 
owl  treated  all  such  knowledge  as  trifling,  and 
relished  nothing  but  metaphysics.  Then  the  parrot 
would  sing  songs  and  repeat  bon  mots,  and  crack 
jokes  upon  his  solemn  neighbour,  and  laugh  out- 
rageously at  his  own  wit ;  all  which  the  owl  con- 
sidered a  grievous  invasion  of  his  dignity,  and  would 
scowl,  and  sulk,  and  swell,  and  sit  silent  for  a  whole 
day  together. 

The  prince  heeded  not  the  wranglings  of  his 
companions,  being  wrapped  up  in  the  dreams  of  his 
own  fancy,  and  the  contemplation  of  the  portrait  of 
the  beautiful  princess.  In  this  way  they  journeyed 
through  the  stern  p.T.sses  of  the  Sierra  Morena,  across 
the  sunburnt  plains  of  La  Mancha  and  Castile,  and 
along  the  banks  of  the  "  Golden  Tagus,"  which 
winds  its  wizard  mazes  over  one-half  of  Spain  and 
Portugal.  At  length,  they  came  in  sight  of  a  strong 
city  with  walls  and  towers,  built  on  a  rocky  promon- 
tory, round  the  foot  of  which  the  Tagus  circled  with 
brawling  violence. 

"  Behold,"  exclaimed  the  owl,  "  the  ancient  and 
renowned  city  of  Toledo ;  a  city  famous  for  its 
antiquities.  Behold  those  venerable  domes  and 
towers,  hoary  with  time,  and  clothed  with  legendaiy 
grandeur;  in  which  so  many  of  my  ancestors  have 
meditated — " 

"  Pish,"  cried  the  parrot,  interrupting  his  solemn 
antiquarian  rapture,  "  what  have  we  to  do  with  anti- 
quities, and  legends,  and  your  ancestors?  Behold, 
what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  behold  the  abode  of 
youth  and  beauty, — behold,  at  length,  oh  prince,  the 
abode  of  your  long  sought  princess." 

The  prince  looked  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
the  parrot,  and  beheld,  in  a  delightful  green  meadow 
on  the  banks  of  the  Tagus,  a  stately  palace  rising 
from  amidst  the  bowers  of  a  delicious  garden.  It 
was  just  such  a  place  as  had  been  described  by  the 
dove  as  the  residence  of  the  original  of  the  picture. 
He  gazed  at  it  with  a  throbbing  heart :  "  Perhaps 
at  this  moment,"  thought  he,  "  the  beautiful  prin- 
cess is  sporting  beneath  those  shady  bowers,  or 
pacing  with  delicate  step  those  stately  terraces,  or 
reposing  beneath  those  lofty  roofs  !  "  As  he  looked 
more  narrowly,  he  perceived  that  the  walls  of  the 
garden  were  of  great  height,  so  as  to  defy  access, 
while  numbers  of  armed  guards  patrolled  around 
them. 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


149 


The  prince  turned  to  the  parrot.  "  Oh  most 
accomplished  of  birds,"  said  he,  "thou  hast  the 
gilt  of  human  speech.  Hie  thee  to  yon  garden  ; 
scel<  the  idol  of  my  soul,  and  tell  her  that  prince 
Ahmed,  a  pilgrim  of  love,  and  guided  by  the  stars, 
has  arrived  in  quest  of  her  on  the  flowery  banks  of 
the  Tagus." 

The  parrot,  proud  of  his  embassy,  flew  avi'ay  to 
the  garden,  mounted  above  its  lofty  walls,  and,  after 
soaring  for  a  time  over  the  lawns  and  groves, 
alighted  on  the  balcony  of  a  pavilion  that  overhung 
the  river.  Here,  looking  in  at  the  casement,  he  be- 
held the  princess  reclining  on  a  couch,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  a  paper,  while  tears  gently  stole  after 
each  other  down  her  pallid  cheek. 

Pluming  his  wings  for  a  moment,  adjusting  his 
bright  green  coat,  and  elevating  his  topknot,  the 
parrot  perched  himself  beside  her  with  a  gallant  air  ; 
then  assuming  a  tenderness  of  tone, — 

"  Dry  thy  tears,  most  beautiful  of  princesses,"  said 
he,  "  I  come  to  bring  solace  to  thy  heart." 

The  princess  was  startled  on  hearing  a  voice,  but 
turning  and  seeing  nothing  but  a  little  green-coated 
bird  bobbing  and  bowing  before  her  :— "  Alas  !  what 
solace  canst  thou  yield,"  said  she,  "  seeing  thou  art 
but  a  parrot !  " 

The  parrot  was  nettled  at  the  question.  "  I  have 
consoled  many  beautiful  ladies  in  my  time,"  said 
he  ;  "  but  let  that  pass.  At  present,  I  come  ambas- 
sador from  a  royal  prince.  Know  that  Ahmed,  the 
prince  of  Granada,  has  arrived  in  quest  of  thee,  and 
is  encamped  even  now  on  the  flowery  banks  of  the 
Tagus." 

The  eyes  of  the  beautiful  princess  sparkled  at  these 
words,  even  brighter  than  the  diamonds  in  her  coro- 
net. "O  sweetest  of  parrots,"  cried  she,  "joyful 
indeed  are  thy  tidings  ;  for  I  was  faint,  and  weary, 
and  sick  almost  unto  death,  with  doubt  of  the  con- 
stancy of  Ahmed.  Hie  thee  back,  and  tell  him  that 
the  words  of  his  letter  are  engraven  in  my  heart, 
and  his  poetry  has  been  the  food  of  my  soul.  Tell 
him,  however,  that  he  must  prepare  to  prove  his 
love  by  force  of  arms;  to-morrow  is  my  seventeenth 
birth-day,  when  the  king,  my  father,  holds  a  great 
tournament ;  several  princes  are  to  enter  the  lists, 
and  my  hand  is  to  be  the  prize  of  the  victor." 

The  parrot  again  took  wing,  and,  rustling  through 
the  groves,  flew  back  to  where  the  prince  awaited 
his  return.  The  rapture  of  Ahmed  on  finding  the 
original  of  his  adored  portrait,  and  finding  her  kind 
and  true,  can  only  be  conceived  by  those  favoured 
mortals,  who  have  had  the  good  fortune  to  realize 
day  dreams,  and  turn  shadows  into  substance.  Still 
there  was  one  thing  that  alloyed  his  transport, — 
this  impending  tournament.  In  fact,  the  banks  of 
the  Tagus  were  already  glittering  with  arms,  and 
resounding  with  trumpets  of  the  various  knights, 
who  with  proud  retinues  were  prancing  on  towards 
Toledo,  to  attend  the  ceremonial.  The  same  star 
that  had  controlled  the  destiny  of  the  prince,  had 
governed  that  of  the  princess,  and  until  her  seven- 
teenth birth-day,  she  had  been  shut  up  from  the 
world,  to  guarcf  her  from  the  tender  passion.  The 
fame  of  her  charms,  however,  had  been  enhanced, 
rather  than  obscured  by  this  seclusion.  Several 
powerful  princes  had  contended  for  her  alliance,  and 
her  father,  who  was  a  king  of  wondrous  shrewdness, 
to  avoid  making  enemies  by  showing  partiality,  had 
referred  them  to  the  arbitrament  of  arms.  Among 
the  rival  candidates,  were  several  renowned  for 
strength  and  prowess.  What  a  predicament  for  the 
unfortunate  Ahmed,  unprovided  as  he  was  with 
weapons,  and  unskilled  in  the  exercises  of  chivalry. 
"Luckless  prince  that  I  am!"  said  he,  "to  have 
been  brought  up  in  seclusion,  under  the  eye  of  a 


philosopher  !  of  what  avail  are  algebra  and  philos- 
ophy in  affairs  of  love!  alas.  Ebon  Bonabbon,  why 
hast  thou  neglected  to  instruct  me  in  the  manage- 
ment of  arms  .'  "  Upon  this  the  owl  broke  silence, 
prefacing  his  harangue  with  a  pious  ejaculation,  for 
he  was  a  devout  Mussulman  : 

"  Allah  Achbar  !  '  God  is  great,'  "  exclaimed  he  ; 
"  in  his  hands  are  all  secret  things,  he  alone  governs 
the  destiny  of  princes  !  Know,  O  prince,  that  this 
land  is  full  of  mysteries,  hidden  from  all  but  those 
who,  like  myself,  can  grope  after  knowledge  in  the 
dark.  Know  that  in  the  neighbouring  mountains 
there  is  a  cave,  and  in  that  cave  there  is  an  iron 
table,  and  on  that  table  lies  a  suit  of  magic  armour, 
and  beside  that  table  stands  a  spell-bound  steed, 
which  have  been  shut  up  there  for  many  genera- 
tions." 

The  prince  stared  with  wonder,  while  the  owl 
blinking  his  huge  round  eyes  and  erecting  his  horns, 
proceeded : 

"  Many  years  since,  I  accompanied  my  father  to 
these  parts  on  a  tour  of  his  estates,  and  we  so- 
journed in  that  cave,  and  thus  became  I  acquainted 
with  the  mystery.  It  is  a  tradition  in  our  family, 
which  I  have  heard  from  my  grandfather  when  I 
was  yet  but  a  very  little  owlet,  that  this  armour  be- 
longed to  a  Moorish  magician,  who  took  refuge  in 
this  cavern  when  Toledo  was  captured  by  the  Chris- 
tians, and  died  here,  leaving  his  steed  and  weapons 
under  a  mystic  spell,  never  to  be  used  but  by  a  Mos- 
lem, and  by  him  only  from  sunrise  to  mid-day.  In 
that  interval,  whoever  uses  them,  will  overthrow 
every  opponent." 

"  Enough,  let  us  seek  this  cave,"  exclaimed 
Ahmed. 

Guided  by  his  legendary  Mentor,  the  prince  found 
the  cavern,  which  was  in  one  of  the  wildest  recesses 
of  those  rocky  cliffs  which  rose  around  Toledo  ; 
none  but  the  mousing  eye  of  an  owl  or  an  antiquary 
could  have  discovered  the  entrance  to  it.  A  sepul- 
chral lamp  of  everlasting  oil,  shed  a  solemn  light 
through  the  place.  On  an  iron  table  in  the  centre 
of  the  cavern  lay  the  magic  armour,  against  it  leaned 
the  lance,  and  beside  it  stood  an  Arabian  steed, 
caparisoned  for  the  field,  but  motionless  as  a  statue. 
The  armour  was  bright  and  unsullied,  as  it  had 
gleamed  in  days  of  old ;  the  steed  in  as  good  condi- 
tion as  if  just  from  the  pasture,  and  when  Ahmed 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  neck,  he  pawed  the  ground 
and  gave  a  loud  neigh  of  joy  that  shook  the  walls 
of  the  cavern.  Thus  provided  with  horse  to  ride 
and  weapon  to  wear,  the  prince  fletermined  to  defy 
the  field  at  the  impending  tourney. 

The  eventful  morning  arrived.  The  lists  for  the 
combat  were  prepared  in  the  Vega  or  plain  just 
below  the  cliff-built  walls  of  Toledo.  Here  were 
erected  stages  and  galleries  for  the  spectators,  cov- 
ered with  rich  tapestry  and  sheltered  from  the  sun 
by  silken  awnings.  All  the  beauties  of  the  land 
were  assembled  in  those  galleries,  while  below 
pranced  plumed  knights  with  their  pages  and  es- 
quires, among  whom  figured  conspicuously  the 
princes  who  were  to  contend  in  the  tourney.  All 
the  beauties  of  the  land,  however,  were  eclipsed, 
when  the  princess  Aldegonda  appeared  in  the  royal 
pavilion,  and  for  the  first  time  broke  forth  upon  the 
gaze  of  an  admiring  world.  A  murmur  of  wonder 
ran  through  the  crowd  at  her  transcendent  loveli- 
ness ;  and  the  princes  who  were  candidates  for  her 
hand  merely  on  the  faith  of  her  reported  charm.s, 
now  felt  ten-fold  ardour  for  the  conflict. 

The  princess,  however,  had  a  troubled  look.  The 
colour  came  and  went  from  her  cheek,  and  her  eye 
wandered  with  a  restless  and  unsatisfied. expression 
over  the  plumed  throng  of  knights.     The  trumpets 


150 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


were  about  sounding  for  the  encounter  when  a 
lierald  announced  the  arrival  of  a  stranger  knight, 
and  Ahmed  rode  into  the  field.  A  steeled  hehtiet 
studded  with  gems  rose  above  his  turban ;  his  cui- 
rass was  embossed  with  gold ;  his  scimitar  and 
dagger  were  of  the  workmanship  of  Fay,  and  flaraed 
with  precious  stones.  A  round  shield  was  at  his 
shoulder,  and  in  his  hand  he  bore  the  lance  of 
charmed  virtue.  The  caparison  of  his  Arabian  was 
richly  embroidered,  and  swept  the  ground  ;  and  the 
proud  animal  pranced  and  snuffed  the  air,  and 
neighed  with  joy  at  once  more  beholding  the  array 
of  arms.  The  lofty  and  graceful  demeanour  of  the 
prince  struck  every  eye,  and  when  his  appellation 
was  announced,  "The  pilgrim  of  love,"  a  universal 
Mutter  and  agitation  prevailed  among  the  fair  dames 
in  the  galleries. 

When  Ahmed  presented  himself  at  the  lists,  how- 
ever, they  were  closed  against  him  ;  none  but  princes, 
he  was  told,  were  admitted  to  the  contest.  He  de- 
clared his  name  and  rank.  Still  worse,  he  was  a 
Moslem,  and  could  not  engage  in  a  tourney  where 
the  hand  of  a  Christian  princess  was  the  prize. 

The  rival  princes  surrounded  him  with  haughty 
and  menacing  aspects,  and  one  of  insolent  demeanour 
and  Herculean  frame  sneered  at  his  light  and  youth- 
ful form,  and  scoffed  at  his  amorous  appellation. 
The  ire  of  the  prince  was  roused  ;  he  defied  his  rival 
to  the  encounter.  They  took  distance,  wheeled, 
and  charged  ;  at  the  first  touch  of  the  magic  lance 
the  brawny  scoffer  was  tilted  from  his  saddle.  Here 
the  prince  would  have  paused,  but  alas  !  he  had  to 
deal  with  a  demoniac  horse  and  armour :  once  in 
action,  nothing  could  control  them.  The  Arabian 
steed  charged  into  the  thickest  of  the  throng :  the 
lance  overturned  every  thing  that  presented  ;  the 
gentle  prince  was  carried  pell-mell  about  the  field, 
strewing  it  with  high  and  low,  gentle  and  simple, 
and  grieving  at  his  own  involuntary  exploits.  The 
king  stormed  and  raged  at  this  outrage  on  his  sub- 
jects and  his  guests.  He  ordered  out  all  his  guard's 
— they  were  unhorsed  as  fast  as  they  came  up.  The 
king  threw  off  his  robes,  grasped  buckler  and  lance, 
and  rode  forth  to  awe  the  stranger  with  the  presence 
of  majesty  itself.  Alas,  majesty  fared  no  better  than 
the  vulgar  ;  the  steed  and  lance  were  no  respecters 
of  persons  ;  to  the  dismay  of  Ahmed,  he  was  borne 
full  lilt  against  the  king,  and  in  a  moment  the  royal 
heels  were  in  the  air,  and  the  crown  was  rolling  in 
the  dust. 

At  this  moment  the  sun  reached  the  meridian  ; 
the  magic  spell  resumed  its  power.  The  Arabian 
steed  scoured  across  the  plain,  leaped  the  barrier, 
plunged  into  the  Tagus,  swam  its  raging  current, 
bore  the  prince,  breathless  and  amazed,  to  the  cav- 
ern, and  resumed  his  station  like  a  statue  beside  the 
iron  table.  The  prince  dismounted  right  gladly, 
and  replaced  the  armour,  to  abide  the  further  de- 
crees of  fate.  Then  seating  himself  in  the  cavern, 
he  ruininated  on  the  desperate  state  to  which  this 
bedeviled  steed  and  armour  had  reduced  him.  Never 
should  he  dare  to  show  his  face  at  Toledo,  after  in- 
flicting such  disgrace  upon  its  chivalry,  and  such  an 
outrage  on  its  kwig.  What,  too,  would  the  princess 
think  of  so  rude  and  riotous  an  achievement?  Full 
of  anxiety,  he  sent  forth  his  winged  messengers  to 
gather  tidings.  The  parrot  resorted  to  all  the  public 
places  and  crowded  resorts  of  the  city,  and  soon  re- 
turned with  a  world  of  gossip.  All  Toledo  was  in 
consternation.  The  princess  had  been  borne  off  sense- 
less to  the  palace;  the  tournament  had  ended  in  con- 
fusion ;  every  one  was  talking  of  the  sudden  appari- 
tion, prodigious  exploits,  and  strange  disappearance 
of  the  Moslem  knight.  Some  pronounced  him  a 
Moorish  magician  ;   others  thought  him  a  demon 


who  had  assumed  a  human  shape  ;  while  others  re- 
lated traditions  of  enchanted  warriors  hidden  in  the 
caves  of  the  mountains,  and  thought  it  might  be  one 
of  these,  who  had  made  a  sudden  irruption  from  his 
den.  All  agreed  that  no  mere  ordinary  mortal 
could  have  wrought  such  wonders,  or  unhorsed  such 
accomplished  and  stalwart  Christian  warriors. 

The  owl  flew  forth  at  night,  and  hovered  about 
the  dusky  city,  perching  on  the  roofs  and  chimneys. 
He  then  wheeled  his  Hight  up  to  the  royal  palace, 
which  stood  on  the  rocky  summit  of  Toledo,  and 
went  prowling  about  its  terraces  and  battlements, 
eaves-dropping  at  every  cranny,  and  glaring  in  with 
his  big  goggling  eyes  at  every  window  where  there 
was  a  light,  so  as  to  throw  two  or  three  maids  of 
honour  into  fits.  It  was  not  until  the  gray  dawn 
began  to  peer  above  the  mountains  that  he  returned 
from  his  mousing  expedition,  and  related  to  the 
prince  what  he  had  seen. 

"  As  1  was  prying  about  one  of  the  loftiest  towers 
of  the  palace,"  said  he,  "  I  beheld  through  a  case- 
ment a  beautiful  princess.  She  was  reclining  on  a 
couch,  with  attendants  and  physicians  around  her, 
but  she  would  none  of  their  ministry  and  relief. 
When  they  retired,  I  beheld  her  draw  forth  a  letter 
from  her  bosom,  and  read,  and  kiss  it,  and  give  way 
to  loud  lamentations ;  at  which,  philosopher  as  I 
am,  I  could  not  but  be  greatly  moved." 

The  tender  heart  of  Ahmed  was  distressed  at 
these  tidings.  "  Too  true  were  thy  words,  oh  sage 
Ebon  Bonabbon  !  "  cried  he.  "  Care  and  sorrow, 
and  sleepless  nights  are  the  lot  of  lovers.  Allah 
preserve  the  princess  from  the  blighting  influence  of 
this  thing  called  love." 

Further  intelligence  from  Toledo  corroborated  the 
report  of  the  owl.  The  city  was  a  prey  to  uneasi- 
ness and  alarm.  The  princess  was  conveyed  to  the 
highest  tower  of  the  palace,  every  avenue  to  which 
was  strongly  guarded.  In  the  mean  time,  a  devour- 
ing melancholy  had  seized  upon  her,  of  which  no 
one  could  divine  the  cause.  She  refused  food,  and 
turned  a  deaf  ear  to  every  consolation.  The  most 
skilful  physicians  had  essayed  their  art  in  vain  ;  it 
was  thought  some  magic  spell  had  been  practised 
upon  her,  and  the  king  made  proclamation,  declar- 
ing that  whoever  should  effect  her  cure,  should 
receive  the  richest  jewel  in  the  royal  treasury. 

When  the  owl,  who  was  dozing  in  a  corner,  heard 
of  this  proclamation,  he  rolled  his  large  eyes  and 
looked  more  mysterious  than  ever. 

"Allah  Achbar  !  "  exclaimed  he.  "Happy  the 
man  that  shall  effect  that  cure,  should  he  but  know 
what  to  choose  from  the  royal  treasury." 

"  What  mean  you,  most  reverend  owl  ?  "  said 
Ahmed. 

"  Hearken,  O  prince,  to  what  I  shall  relate.  We 
owls,  you  must  know,  are  a  learned  body,  and  much 
given  to  dark  and  dusty  .research.  During  my  late 
prowling  at  night  about  the  domes  and  turrets  of 
Toledo,  I  discovered  a  college  of  antiquarian  owls, 
who  hold  their  meetings  in  a  great  vaulted  tower 
where  the  royal  treasure  is  deposited.  Here  they 
were  discussing  the  forms  and  inscriptions,  and  de- 
signs of  ancient  gems  and  jewels,  and  of  golden  and 
silver  vessels,  heaped  up  in  the  treasury,  the  fashion 
of  every  country  and  age  :  but  mostly  they  were  in- 
terested about  certain  reliques  and  talismans,  that 
have  remained  in  the  treasury  since  the  time  of 
Roderick  the  Goth.  Among  these,  was  a  box  of 
shittim  wood,  secured  by  bands  of  steel  of  oriental 
workmanship,  and  inscribed  with  mystic  characters 
known  only  to  the  learned  few.  This  box  and  its 
inscription  had  occupied  the  college  for  several  ses- 
sions, and  had  caused  much  long  and  grave  dispute. 
At  the  time  of  my  visit,  a  very  ancient  owl,  v»ho  had 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


151 


recently  arrived  from  Egypt,  was  seated  on  the  lid 
of  the  box  lecturing  upon  the  inscription,  and  proved 
from  it,  that  the  coffer  contained  the  silken  carpet  of 
the  throne  of  Solomon  the  wise  :  which  doubtless 
had  been  brought  to  Toledo  by  the  Jews,  who  took 
refuge  there  after  the  downfall  of  Jerusalem." 

When  the  owl  had  concluded  his  antiquarian 
harangue,  the  prince  remained  for  a  time  absorbed 
in  thought.  "  I  have  heard,"  said  he,  "  from  the 
sage  Ebon  Bonabbon,  of  the  wonderful  properties  of 
that  talisman,  which  disappeared  at  the  fall  of  Jeru- 
salem, and  was  supposed  to  be  lost  to  mankind. 
Doubtless  it  remains  a  sealed  mystery  to  the  Chris- 
tians of  Toledo.  If  I  can  get  possession  of  that 
carpet,  my  fortune  is  secure." 

The  next  day  the  prince  laid  aside  his  rich  attire, 
and  arrayed  himself  in  the  simple  garb  of  an  Arab 
of  the  desert.  He  dyed  his  complexion  to  a  tawny 
hue,  and  no  one  could  have  recognized  in  him  the 
splendid  warrior  who  had  caused  such  admiration 
and  dismay  at  the  tournament.  With  staff  in  hand 
and  scrip  by  his  side,  and  a  small  pastoral  reed,  he 
repaired  to  Toledo,  and  presenting  himself  at  the 
gate  of  the  royal  palace,  announced  himself  as  a 
candidate  for  the  reward  offered  for  the  cure  of  the 
princess.  The  guards  would  have  driven  him  away 
with  blows :  "  What  can  a  vagrant  Arab  like  thyself 
pretend  to  do,"  said  they,  "in  a  case  where  the 
most  learned  of  the  land  have  failed  ?  "  The  king, 
however,  overheard  the  tumult,  and  ordered  the  Arab 
to  be  brought  into  his  presence. 

"Most  potent  king,"  said  Ahmed,  "you  behold 
before  you  a  Bedouin  Arab,  the  greater  part  of 
whose  life  has  been  passed  in  the  solitudes  of  the 
desert.  Those  solitudes,  it  is  well  known,  are  the 
haunts  of  demons  and  evil  spirits,  who  beset  us  poor 
shepherds  in  our  lonely  vvatchings,  enter  into  and 
possess  our  flocks  and  herds,  and  sometimes  render 
even  the  patient  camel  furious.  Against  these,  our 
countercharm  is  music ;  and  we  have  legendary  airs 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation,  that  we 
chant  and  pipe  to  cast  forth  these  evil  spirits.  I  am 
of  a  gifted  line,  and  possess  this  power  in  its  fullest 
force.  If  it  be  any  evil  influence  of  the  kind  that 
holds  a  spell  over  thy  daughter,  I  pledge  my  head  to 
free  her  from  its  sway." 

The  king,  who  was  a  man  of  understanding,  and 
knew  the  wonderful  secrets  possessed  by  the  Arabs, 
was  inspired  with  hope  by  the  confident  language  of 
the  prince.  He  conducted  him  immediately  to  the 
lofty  tower  secured  by  several  doors,  in  the  summit 
of  which  was  the  chamber  of  the  princess.  The 
windows  opened  upon  a  terrace  with  balustrades, 
commanding  a  view  over  Toledo  and  all  the  sur- 
rounding country.  The  windows  were  darkened, 
for  the  princess  lay  within,  a  prey  to  a  devouring 
grief  that  refused  all  alleviation. 

The  prince  seated  himself  on  the  terrace,  and  per- 
formed several  wild  Arabian  airs  on  his  pastoral 
pipe,  which  he  had  learnt  from  his  attendants  in  the 
Generaliffe  at  Granada.  The  princess  continued  in- 
sensible, and  the  doctors,  who  were  present,  shook 
their  heads,  and  smiled  with  incredibility  and  con- 
tempt. At  length  the  prince  laid  aside  the  reed, 
and,  to  a  simple  melody,  chanted  the  amatory  verses 
of  the  letter  which  had  declared  his  passion. 

The  princess  recognized  the  strain.  A  fluttering 
joy  stole  to  her  heart ;  she  raised  her  head  and  lis- 
tened ;  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes  and  streamed  down 
her  cheeks ;  her  bosom  rose  and  fell  with  a  tumult 
of  emotions.  She  would  have  asked  for  the  minstrel 
to  be  brought  into  hfer  presence,  but  maiden  coyness 
held  her  silent.  The  king  read  her  wishes,  and  at 
his  command  Ahmed  was  conducted  into  the  cham- 
ber.    The  lovers  were  discreet :  they  but  exchanged 


glances,  yet  those  glances  spoke  volumes.  Never 
was  triumph  of  music  more  complete.  The  rose 
had  returned  to  the  soft  cheek  of  the  princess,  the 
freshness  to  her  lip,  and  the  dewy  light  to  her  lan- 
guishing eye. 

All  the  physicians  present  stared  at  each  other 
with  astonishment.  The  king  regarded  the  Arab 
minstrel  with  admiration,  mixt  with  awe.  "  Won- 
derful youth,"  exclaimed  he,  "  thou  shalt  henceforth 
be  the  first  physician  of  my  court,  and  no  other  pre- 
scription will  I  take  but  thy  melody.  For  the  pres- 
ent, receive  thy  reward,  the  most  precious  jewel  in 
my  treasury." 

"O  king,"  replied  Ahmed,  "I  care  not  for  silver, 
or  gold,  or  precious  stones.  One  relique  hast  thou 
in  thy  treasury,  handed  down  from  the  Moslems  who 
once  owned  Toledo.  A  box  of  sandal  wood  contain- 
ing a  silken  carpet.  Give  me  that  box,  and  I  am 
content." 

All  present  were  surprised  at  the  moderation  of 
the  Arab ;  and  still  more,  when  the  box  of  sandal 
wood  was  brought  and  the  carpet  drawn  forth.  It 
was  of  fine  green  silk,  covered  with  Hebrew  and 
Chaldaic  characters.  The  court  physicians  looked 
at  each  other,  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  smiled 
at  the  simplicity  of  this  new  practitioner,  who  could 
be  content  with  so  paltry  a  fee. 

"  This  carpet,"  said  the  prince,  "  once  covered 
the  throne  of  Solomon  the  wise  ;  it  is  worthy  of  be- 
ing placed  beneath  the  feet  of  beauty." 

So  saying,  he  spread  it  on  the  terrace  beneath  an 
ottoman  that  had  been  brought  forth  for  the  prin- 
cess ;  then  seating  himself  at  her  feet, — 

"  Who,"  said  he,  "  shall  counteract  what  is  writ- 
ten in  the  book  of  fate?  Behold  the  prediction  of 
the  astrologers  verified.  Know,  oh  king,  that  your 
daughter  and  I  have  long  loved  each  other  in  secret. 
Behold  in  me  the  pilgrim  of  love." 

These  words  were  scarcely  from  his  lips,  when  the 
carpet  rose  in  the  air,  bearing  off  the  prince  and 
princess.  The  king  and  the  physicians  gazed  after 
it  with  open  mouths  and  straining  eyes,  until  it  be- 
came a  little  speck  on  the  white  bonom  of  a  cloud, 
and  then  disappeared  in  the  blue  vault  of  heaven. 

The  kmg  in  a  rage  summoned  his  treasurer. 
"  How  is  this,"  said  he,  "  that  thou  hast  suffered  an 
infidel  to  get  possession  of  such  a  talisman  .■'  " 

"  Alas  !  sire,  we  knew  not  its  nature,  nor  could  we 
decipher  the  inscription  of  the  box.  If  it  be  indeed 
the  carpet  of  the  throne  of  the  wise  Solomon,  it  is 
possessed  of  magic  power,  and  can  transport  its 
owner  from  place  to  place  through  the  air." 

The  king  assembled  a  mighty  army,  and  set  off  for 
Granada  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives.  His  march  was 
long  and  toilsome.  Encamping  in  the  Vega,  he  sent 
a  herald  to  demand  restitution  of  his  daughter.  The 
king  himself  came  forth  with  all  his  court  to  meet 
him.  In  the  king,  he  beheld  the  Arab  minstrel,  for  Ah- 
med had  succeeded  to  the  throne  on  the  death  of  his 
father,  and  the  beautiful  Aldegonda  was  his  Sultana. 

The  Christian  king  was  easily  pacified,  when  he 
found  that  his  daughter  was  suffered  to  continue  in 
her  faith ;  not  that  he  was  particularly  pious ;  but 
religion  is  always  a  point  of  pride  and  etiquette  with 
princes.  Instead  of  bloody  battles,  there  was  a  suc- 
cession of  feasts  and  rejoicings  ;  after  which,  the  king 
returned  well  pleased  to  Toledo,  and  the  youthful 
couple  continued  to  reign  as  happily  as  wisely,  in  the 
Alhambra. 

It  is  proper  to  add,  that  the  owl  and  the  parrot 
had  severally  followed  the  prince  by  easy  stages  to 
Granada :  the  former  travelling  by  night,  and  stop- 
ping at  the  various  hereditary  possessions  of  his 
family ;  the  latter  figuring  in  the  gay  circles  of  every 
town  and  city  on  his  route. 


152 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Ahmed  gratefully  requited  the  services  which  they 
had  rendered  him  on  his  pilg-rimage.  He  appointed 
the  owl  his  prime  minister  ;  the  parrot  his  master  of 
ceremonies.  It  is  needless  to  say,  that  never  was  a 
realm  more  sagely  administered,  or  a  court  con- 
ducted with  more  exact  punctilio. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  ROSE  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA 


THE  PAGE  AND  THE  GER-FALCON. 


For  some  time  after  the  surrender  of  Granada  by 
the  Moors,  that  delightful  city  was  a  frequent  and 
favourite  residence  of  the  Spanish  sovereigns,  until 
they  were  frightened  away  by  successive  shocks  of 
earthquakes,  which  toppled  down  various  houses  and 
made  the  old  Moslem  towers  rock  to  their  founda- 
tion. 

Many,  many  years  then  rolled  away,  during  which 
Granada  was  rarely  honoured  by  a  royal  guest.  The 
palaces  of  the  nobility  remained  silent  and  shut  up  ; 
and  the  Alhambra,  like  a  slighted  beauty,  sat  in 
mournful  desolation  among  her  neglected  gardens. 
The  tower  of  the  Infantas,  once  the  residence  of  the 
three  beautiful  Moorish  princesses,  partook  of  the 
general  desolation  ;  and  the  spider  spun  her  web 
athwart  the  gilded  vault,  and  bats  and  owls  nestled 
in  those  chambers  that  had  been  graced  by  the  pres- 
ence of  Zayda,  Zorayda,  and  Zorahayda.  The  ne- 
glect of  the  tower  may  partly  have  been  owing  to 
some  superstitious  notions  of  the  neighbours.  It 
was  rumoured  that  the  spirit  of  the  youthful  Zora- 
hayda, who  had  perished  in  that  tower,  was  often 
seen  by  moonlight  seated  beside  the  fountain  in  the 
hall,  or  moaning  about  the  battlements,  and  that  the 
notes  of  her  silver  lute  would  be  heard  at  midnight 
by  wayfarers  passing  along  the  glen. 

At  length,  the  city  of  Granada  was  once  more  en- 
livened by  the  royal  presence.  All  the  world  knows 
that  Philip  V.  was  the  first  Bourbon  that  swayed  the 
Spanish  sceptre.  All  the  world  knows  that  he  mar- 
ried, in  second  nuptials,  Elizabetta  or  Isabella,  (for 
they  are  the  same,)  the  beautiful  princess  of  Parma  ; 
and  all  the  world  knows,  that  by  this  chain  of  con- 
tingencies, a  French  prince  and  an  Italian  princess 
were  seated  together  on  the  Spanish  throne.  For 
the  reception  of  this  illustrious  pair,  the  Alhambra 
was  repaired  and  fitted  up  with  all  possible  expedi- 
tion. The  arrival  of  the  court  changed  the  whole 
aspect  of  the  lately  deserted  place.  The  clangour 
of  drum  and  trumpet,  the  tramp  of  steed  about  the 
.avenues  and  outer  court,  the  glitter  of  arms  and  dis- 
play of  banners  about  barbican  and  battlement,  re- 
called the  ancient  and  walike  glories  of  the  fortress. 
A  softer  spirit,  however,  reigned  within  the  royal 
palace.  There  was  the  rustling  of  robes,  and  the  cau- 
tious tread  and  murmuring  voice  of  reverential 
courtiers  about  the  antechambers ;  a  loitering  of 
pages  and  maids  of  honour  about  the  gardens,  and 
the  sound  of  music  stealing  from  open  casements. 

Among  those  who  attended  in  the  train  of  the 
monarchs,  was  a  favourite  page  of  the  queen,  named 
Ruyz  de  Alarcon.  To  say  that  he  was  a  favourite 
page  of  the  queen,  was  at  once  to  speak  his  eulogium, 
for  every  one  in  the  suite  of  the  stately  Elizabetta 
was  chosen  for  grace,  and  beauty,  and  accomplish- 
ments. He  was  just  turned  of  eighteen,  light  and 
little  of  form,  and  graceful  as  a  young  Antinous.  To 
the  queen,  he  was  all  deference  and  respect,  yet  he 


was  at  heart  a  roguish  stripling,  petted  and  spoiled 
by  the  ladies  about  the  court,  and  experienced  in  the 
ways  of  women  far  beyond  his  years. 

This  loitering  page  was  one  morning  rambling 
about  the  groves-  of  the  Generaliffe,  which  overlook 
the  grounds  of  the  Alhambra.  He  had  taken  with 
him  for  his  amusement,  a  favourite  ger-falcon  of  the 
queen.  In  the  course  of  his  rambles,  seeing  a  bird 
rising  from  a  thicket,  he  unhooded  the  hawk  and  let 
him  fly.  The  falcon  towered  high  in  the  air,  made 
a  swoop  at  his  quarry,  but  missing  it,  soared  away 
regardless  of  the  calls  of  the  page.  The  latter  fol- 
lowed the  truant  bird  with  his  eye  in  its  capricious 
flight,  until  he  saw  it  alight  upon  the  battlements  of 
a  remote  and  lonely  tower,  in  the  outer  wall  of  the 
Alhambra,  built  on  the  edge  of  a  ravine  that  sepa- 
rated the  royal  fortress  from  the  grounds  of  the 
Generaliffe.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  "  tower  of  the  Prin- 
cesses." 

The  page  descended  into  the  ravine,  and  approach- 
ed the  tower,  but  it  had  no  entrance  from  the  glen, 
and  its  lofty  height  rendered  any  attempt  to  scale  it 
fruitless.  Seeking  one  of  the  gates  of  the  fortress, 
therefore,  he  made  a  wide  circuit  to  that  side  of  the 
tower  facing  within  the  walls.  A  small  garden  en- 
closed by  a  trellis-work  of  reeds  overhung  with  myrtle 
lay  before  the  tower.  Opening  a  wicket,  the  page 
passed  between  beds  of  flowers  and  thickets  of  roses 
to  the  door.  It  was  closed  and  bolted.  A  crevice 
in  the  door  gave  him  a  peep  into  the  interior.  There 
was  a  small  Moorish  hall,  with  fretted  walls,  light 
marble  columns,  and  an  alabaster  fountain  surround- 
ed with  flowers.  In  the  centre  hung  a  gilt  cage  con- 
taining a  singing  bird  ;  beneath  it,  on  a  chair,  lay  a 
tortoise-shell  cat  among  reels  of  silk  and  other 
articles  of  female  labour,  and  a  gfuitar,  decorated 
with  ribands,  leaned  against  the  fountain. 

Ruyz  de  Alarcon  was  struck  with  these  traces  of 
female  taste  and  elegance  in  a  lonely,  and,  as  he  had 
supposed,  deserted  tower.  They  reminded  him  of 
the  tales  of  enchanted  halls,  current  in  the  Alham- 
bra ;  and  the  tortoise-shell  cat  might  be  some  spell- 
bound princess. 

He  knocked  gently  at  the  door, — a  beautiful  face 
peeped  out  from  a  little  window  above,  but  was  in- 
stantly withdrawn.  He  waited,  expecting  that  the 
door  would  be  opened ;  but  he  waited  in  vain :  no 
footstep  was  to  be  heard  within,  all  was  silent.  Had 
his  senses  deceived  him,  or  was  this  beautiful  ap- 
parition the  fairy  of  the  tower?  He  knocked  again, 
and  more  loudly.  After  a  little  while,  the  beaming 
face  once  more  peeped  forth  :  it  was  that  of  a  bloom- 
ing damsel  of  fifteen. 

The  page  immediately  doffed  his  plumed  bonnet, 
and  entreated  in  the  most  courteous  accents  to  be 
permitted  to  ascend  the  tower  in  pursuit  of  his 
falcon. 

"I  dare  not  open  the  door,  Seizor,"  replied  the 
little  damsel,  blushing ;  "  my  aunt  has  forbidden  it." 

"  I  do  beseech  you,  fair  maid  ;  it  is  the  favourite 
falcon  of  the  queen  ;  I  dare  not  return  to  the  palace 
without  it." 

"Arc  you,  then,  one  of  the  cavaliers  of  the 
court  ?  " 

"  I  am,  fair  maid ;  but  I  shall  lose  the  queen's 
favour  and  my  place  if  I  lose  this  hawk." 

"  Santa  Maria  !  It  is  against  you  cavaliers  of  the 
court  that  my  aunt  has  charged  me  especially  to  bar 
the  door." 

"  Against  wicked  cavaliers,  doubtless ;  but  I  am 
none  of  those,  but  a  simple,  harmless  page,  who  will 
be  ruined  and  undone  if  you  deny  me  this  small  re- 
quest." 

The  heart  of  the  little  damsel  was  touched  by 
the  distress  of  the  page.    It  was  a  thousand  pities 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


153 


he  should  be  ruined  for  the  want  of  so  trifling-  a  boon. 
Surely,  too,  he  could  not  be  one  of  those  dang^erous 
beings  whom  her  aunt  had  described  as  a  species  of 
cannibal,  ever  on  the  prowl  to  make  prey  of  thought- 
less damsels ;  he  was  gentle  and  modest,  and  stood 
so  entreatingly  with  cap  in  hand,  and  looked  so 
charming.  The  sly  page  saw  that  the  garrison 
began  to  waver,  and  redoubled  his  entreaties  in  such 
moving  terms,  that  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  mortal 
maiden  to  deny  him  ;  so,  the  blushing  little  warder 
of  the  tower  descended  and  opened  the  door  with  a 
trembling  hand  ;  and  if  the  page  had  been  charmed 
by  a  mere  glimpse  of  her  countenance  from  the  win- 
dow, he  was  ravished  by  the  full-length  portrait  now 
revealed  to  him. 

Her  Andalusian  bodice  and  trim  basquina  set 
off  the  round  but  delicate  symmetry  of  her  form, 
which  was  as  yet  scarce  verging  into  womanhood. 
Her  glossy  hair  was  parted  on  her  forehead  with 
scrupulous  exactness,  and  decorated  with  a  fresh 
plucked  rose,  according  to  the  universal  custom  of 
the  country. 

It  is  true,  her  complexion  was  tinged  by  the 
.-xrdour  of  a  southern  sun,  but  it  served  to  give  rich- 
ness to  the  mantling  bloom  of  her  cheek,  and  to 
heighten  the  lustre  of  her  melting  eyes. 

Ruyz  de  Alarcon  beheld  all  this  with  a  single 
glance,  for  it  became  him  not  to  tarry ;  he  merely 
murmured  his  acknowledgments,  and  then  bounded 
lightly  up  the  spiral  staircase  in  quest  of  his  falcon. 
He  soon  returned  with  the  truant  bird  upon  his  fist. 
The  damsel,  in  the  mean  time,  had  seated  herself 
by  the  fountain  in  the  hall,  and  was  winding  silk  ; 
but  in  her  agitation  she  let  fall  the  reel  upon  the 
pavement.  The  page  sprang,  picked  it  up,  then 
dropping  gracefully  on  one  knee,  presented  it  to 
her,  but,  seizing  the  hand  extended  to  receive  it, 
imprinted  on  it  a  kiss  more  fervent  and  devout 
than  he  had  ever  imprinted  on  the  fair  hand  of  his 
sovereign. 

"  Ave  Maria  !  Seiior !  "  exclaimed  the  damsel, 
blushing  still  deeper  with  confusion  and  surprise, 
for  never  before  had  she  received  such  a  salutation. 

The  modest  page  made  a  thousand  apologies,  as- 
suring her  it  was  the  way,  at  court,  of  expressing  the 
most  profound  homage  and  respect. 

Her  anger,  if  anger  she  felt,  was  easily  pacified ; 
but  her  agitation  and  embarrassment  continued,  and 
she  sat  blushing  deeper  and  deeper,  with  her  eyes 
cast  down  upon  lier  work,  entangling  the  silk  which 
she  attempted  to  wind. 

The  cunning  page  saw  the  confusion  in  the  op- 
posite camp,  and  would  fain  have  profited  by  it, 
but  the  fine  speeches  he  would  have  uttered  died 
upon  his  lips  ;  his  attempts  at  gallantry  were  awk- 
ward and  ineffectual ;  and,  to  his  surprise,  the 
adroit  page  who  had  figured  with  such  grace 
and  effrontery  among  the  most  knowing  and  ex- 
perienced ladies  of  the  court,  found  himself  awed 
and  abashed  in  the  presence  of  a  simple  damsel  of 
fifteen. 

In  fact,  the  artless  maiden,  in  her  own  modesty 
and  innocence,  had  guardians  more  effectual  than 
the  bolts  and  bars  prescribed  by  her  vigilant  aunt. 
Still,  where  is  the  female  bosom  proof  against  the 
first  whisperings  of  love .'  The  little  damsel,  with 
all  her  artlessness,  instinctively  comprehended  all 
that  the  faltering  tongue  of  the  page  failed  to  ex- 
press, and  her  heart  was  fluttered  at  beholding, 
for  the  first  time,  a  lover  at  her  feet— and  such  a 
lover  ! 

The  diffidence  of  the  page,  though  genuine,  was 
short-lived,  and  he  was  recovering  his  usual  ease 
and  confidence,  when  a  shrill  voice  was  heard  at  a 
distance. 


"My  aunt  is  returning  from  mass!"  cried  the 
damsel  in  affright.     "  I  pray  you,  Sefior,  depart." 

"  Not  until  you  grant  me  that  rose  from  your  hair, 
as  a  remembrance." 

She  hastily  untwisted  the  rose  from  her  raven 
locks.  "  Take  it,"  cried  she,  agitated  and  blushing, 
"  but  pray  begone." 

The  page  took  the  rose,  and  at  the  same  time 
covered  with  kisses  the  fair  hand  that  gave  it. 
Then  placing  the  flower  in  his  bonnet,  and  taking 
the  falcon  upon  his  fist,  he  bounded  off  through  the 
garden,  bearing  away  with  him  the  heart  of  the  gen- 
tle Jacinta. 

When  the  vigilant  aunt  arrived  at  the  tower, 
she  remarked  the  agitation  of  her  niece,  and  an  air 
of  confusion  in  the  hall ;  but  a  word  of  explanation 
sufficed.  "  A  ger-falcon  had  pursued  his  prey  into 
the  hall." 

"  Mercy  on  us !  To  think  of  a  falcon  flying  into  the 
tower.  Did  ever  one  hear  of  so  saucy  a  hawk  ?  Why, 
the  very  bird  in  the  cage  is  not  safe." 

The  vigilant  Fredegonda  was  one  of  the  most 
wary  of  ancient  spinsters.  She  had  a  becoming  ter- 
ror and  distrust  of  what  she  denominated  "  the  op- 
posite sex,"  which  had  gradually  increased  through 
a  long  life  of  celibacy.  Not  that  the  good  lady  had 
ever  suffered  from  their  wiles  ;  nature  having  set  up 
a  safeguard  in  her  face,  that  forbade  all  trespass 
upon  her  premises  ;  but  ladies  who  have  least  cause 
to  fear  for  themselves,  are  most  ready  to  keep  a 
watch  over  their  more  tempting  neighbours.  The 
niece  was  the  orphan  of  an  officer  who  had  fallen 
in  the  wars.  She  had  been  educated  in  a  convent, 
and  had  recently  been  transferred  from  her  sacred 
asylum  to  the  immediate  guardianship  of  her  aunt  ; 
under  whose  overshadowing  care  she  vegetated  in 
obscurity,  like  an  opening  rose  blooming  beneath  a 
briar.  Nor,  indeed,  is  this  comparison  entirely 
accidental,  for  to  tell  the  truth  her  fresh  and  dawn- 
ing beauty  had  caught  the  public  eye,  even  in  her 
seclusion,  and,  with  that  poetical  turn  common  to 
the  people  of  Andalusia,  the  peasantry'  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood had  given  her  the  appellation  of  "  The 
Rose  of  the  Alhambra." 

The  wary  aunt  continued  to  keep  a  faithful  watch 
over  her  tempting  little  niece  as  long  as  the  court 
continued  at  Granada,  and  flattered  herself  that  her 
vigilance  had  been  successful.  It  is  true,  the  good 
lady  was  now  and  then  discomposed  by  the  tinkling 
of  guitars,  and  chanting  of  love  ditties  from  the 
moonlit  groves  beneath  the  tower,  but  she  would 
exhort  her  niece  to  shut  her  ears  against  such  idle 
minstrelsy,  assuring  her  that  it  was  one  of  the  arts 
of  the  opposite  sex,  by  which  simple  maids  were 
often  lured  to  their  undoing  ; — alas,  what  chance 
with  a  simple  maid  has  a  dry  lecture  against  a  moon- 
light serenade  ! 

At  length  king  Philip  cut  short  his  sojourn  at 
Granada,  and  suddenly  departed  with  all  his  train. 
The  vigilant  Fredegonda  watched  the  royal  pageant 
as  it  issued  forth  from  the  gate  of  Justice,  and  de- 
scended the  great  avenue  leading  to  the  city.  When 
the  last  banner  disappeared  from  her  sight,  she  re- 
turned exulting  to  her  tower,  for  all  her  cares  were 
over.  To  her  surprise,  a  light  Arabian  steed  pawed 
the  ground  at  the  wicket  gate  of  the  garden, — to  her 
horror  she  saw  through  the  thickets  of  roses,  a 
youth,  in  gaily  embroidered  dress,  at  the  feet  of  her 
niece.  At  the  sound  of  her  footsteps  he  gave  a  ten- 
der adieu,  bounded  lightly  over  the  barrier  of  reeds 
and  myrtles,  sprang  upon  his  horse,  and  was  out  of 
sight  in  an  instant. 

The  tender  Jacinta  in  the  agony  of  her  grief  lost 
all  thought  of  her  aunt's  displeasure.  Throwing  her- 
self into  her  arms,  she  broke  forth  into  sobs  and  tears. 


154 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


"Ay  di  mi !  "  cried  she,  "  he  is  gone  !  he  is  gone  ! 
and  I  shall  never  see  him  more." 

"  Gone  !  who  is  gone  !  what  youth  is  this  I  saw  at 
your  feet .' " 

"A  queen's  page,  aunt,  who  came  to  bid  me  fare- 
well." 

"A  queen's  page,  child,"  echoed  the  vigilant  Fre- 
degonda  faintly,  "  and  when  did  you  become  ac- 
quainted with  a  queen's  page  ?  " 

"  The  morning  that  the  ger-falcon  flew  into  the 
tower.  It  was  the  queen's  ger-falcon,  and  he  came 
in  pursuit  of  it." 

"  Ah,  silly,  silly  girl !  know  that  there  are  no  ger- 
falcons half  so  dangerous  as  these  prankling  pages, 
and  it  is  precisely  such  simple  birds  as  thee  that  they 
pounce  upon." 

The  aunt  was  at  first  indignant  at  learning  that, 
in  despite  of  her  boasted  vigilance,  a  tender  inter- 
course had  been  carried  on  by  the  youthful  lovers, 
almost  beneath  her  eye ;  but  when  she  found  that 
her  simple-hearted  niece,  though  thus  exposed,  with- 
out the  protection  of  bolt  or  bar,  to  all  the  machina- 
tions of  the  opposite  sex,  had  come  forth  unsinged 
from  the  fiery  ordeal,  she  consoled  herself  with  the 
persuasion  that  it  was  owing  to  the  chaste  and  cau- 
tious maxims  in  which  she  had,  as  it  were,  steeped 
her  to  the  very  lips. 

While  the  aunt  laid  this  soothing  unction  to  her 
pride,  the  niece  treasured  up  the  oft-repeated  vows 
of  fidelity  of  the  page.  But  what  is  the  love  of 
restless,  roving  man  ?  a  vagrant  stream  that  dallies 
for  a  time  with  each  flower  upon  its  banks,  then 
passes  on  and  leaves  them  all  in  tears. 

Days,  weeks,  months  elapsed,  and  nothing  more 
was  heard  of  the  page.  The  pomegranate  ripened, 
the  vine  yielded  up  its  fruit,  the  autumnal  rains  de- 
scended in  torrents  from  the  mountains  ;  the  Sierra 
Nevada  became  covered  with  a  snowy  mantle,  and 
wintry  blasts  howled  through  the  halls  of  the  Al- 
hambra :  still  he  came  not.  The  winter  passed 
away.  Again  the  genial  spring  burst  forth  with 
song,  and  blossoms,  and  balmy  zephyr  ;  the  snows 
melted  from  the  inountains,  until  none  remained,  but 
on  the  lofty  summit  of  the  Nevada,  glistening  through 
the  sultry  summer  air:  still  nothing  was  heard  of  the 
forgetful  page. 

In  the  inean  time,  the  poor  little  Jacinta  grew  pale 
and  thoughtful.  Her  former  occupations  and 
amusements  were  abandoned  ;  her  silk  lay  entangled, 
her  guitar  unstrung,  her  ilowers  were  neglected,  the 
notes  of  her  bird  unheeded,  and  her  eyes,  once  so 
bright,  were  dimmed  with  secret  weeping.  If  any 
solitude  could  be  devised  to  foster  the  passion  of  a 
lovelorn  damsel,  it  would  be  such  aplaceasthe  Alham- 
bra,  where  every  thing  seems  disposed  to  produce 
tender  and  romantic  reveries.  It  is  a  very  Paradise 
for  lovers ;  how  hard  then  to  be  alone  in  such  a 
Paradise ;  and  not  merely  alone,  but  forsaken. 

"Alas,  silly  child  !  "  would  the  staid  and  immacu- 
late Fredegonda  say,  when  she  found  her  niece  in 
one  of  her  desponding  moods,  "  did  I  not  warn 
thee  against  the  wiles  and  deceptions  of  these  men .' 
What  coiildst  thou  expect,  too,  from  one  of  a  haughty 
and  aspiring  family,  thou,  an  orphan,  the  descend- 
ant of  a  fallen  and  impoverished  line ;  be  assured,  if 
the  youth  were  true,  his  father,  who  is  one  of  the 
proudest  nobles  about  the  court,  would  prohibit  his 
union  with  one  so  humble  and  portionless  as  thou. 
Pluck  up  thy  resolution,  therefore,  and  drive  these 
idle  notions  IVom  thy  mind." 

The  words  of  the  immaculate  Fredegonda  only 
served  to  increase  the  melancholy  of  her  niece,  but 
she  sought  to  indulge  it  in  private.  At  a  late  hour 
one  midsummer  night,  after  her  aunt  had  retired  to 
rest,  she  remained  alone  in  the  hall  of  the  tower, 


seated  beside  the  alabaster  fountain.  It  was  here 
that  the  faithless  page  had  first  knelt  and  kissed  her 
hand,  it  was  here  that  he  had  often  vowed  eternal 
fidelity.  The  poor  little  damsel's  heart  was  over- 
laden with  sad  and  tender  recollections,  her  tears 
began  to  flow,  and  slowly  fell,  drop  by  drop,  into  the 
fountain.  By  degrees  the  crystal  water  became  agi- 
tated, and,  bubble — bubble — bubble,  boiled  up,  and 
was  tossed  about  until  a  female  figure,  richly  clad  in 
Moorish  robes,  slowly  rose  to  view. 

Jacinta  was  so  frightened,  that  she  fled  from  the 
hall,  and  did  not  venture  to  return.  The  next 
morning,  she  related  what  she  had  seen  to  her  aunt, 
but  the  good  lady  treated  it  as  a  fantasy  of  her 
troubled  mind,  or  supposed  she  had  fallen  asleep  and 
dreamt  beside  the  fountain.  "  Thou  hast  been  think- 
ing of  the  story  of  the  three  Moorish  princesses  that 
once  inhabited  the  tower,"  continued  she,  "  and  it 
has  entered  into  thy  dreams." 

"  What  story,  aunt  ?     I  know  nothing  of  it." 

"  Thou  hast  certainly  heard  of  the  three  prin- 
cesses, Zayda,  Zorayda,  and  Zorahayda,  who  were 
confined  in  this  tower  by  the  king  their  father,  and 
agreed  to  fly  with  three  Christian  cavaliers.  The 
first  two  accomplished  their  escape,  but  the  third 
failed  in  resolution  and  remained,  and  it  is  said  died 
in  this  tower." 

"  I  now  recollect  to  have  heard  of  it,"  said  Jacinta, 
"  and  to  have  wept  over  the  fate  of  the  gentle  Zora- 
hayda." 

"  Thou  mayst  well  weep  over  her  fate,''  continued 
the  aunt,  "  for  the  lover  of  Zorahayda  was  thy  an- 
cestor. He  long  bemoaned  his  Moorish  love,  but 
time  cured  him  of  his  grief,  and  he  married  a  Span- 
ish lady,  from  whom  thou  art  descended." 

Jacinta  ruminated  upon  these  words.  "  That 
what  I  have  seen  is  no  fantasy  of  the  brain,"  said  she 
to  herself,  "  I  am  confident.  If  indeed  it  be  the 
sprite  of  the  gentle  Zorahayda,  which  I  have  heard 
lingers  about  this  tower,  of  what  should  I  be  afraid  ? 
I'll  watch  by  the  fountain  to-night,  perhaps  the  visit 
will  be  repeated." 

Towards  midnight,  when  every  thing  was  quiet, 
she  again  took  her  seat  in  the  hall.  As  the  bell  on 
the  distant  watch-tower  of  the  Alhambra  struck  the 
midnight  hour,  the  fountain  was  again  agitated,  and 
bubble — bubble — bubble,  it  tossed  about  the  waters 
until  the  Moorish  female  again  rose  to  view.  She 
was  young  and  beautiful ;  her  dress  was  rich  with 
jewels,  and  in  her  hand  she  held  a  silver  lute.  Jacinta 
trembled  and  was  faint,  but  was  reassured  by  the 
soft  and  plaintive  voice  of  the  apparition,  and  the 
sweet  expression  of  her  pale  melancholy  counte- 
nance. 

"  Daughter  of  Mortality,"  said  she,  "what  aileth 
thee  }  Why  do  thy  tears  trouble  my  fountain,  and 
thy  sighs  and  plaints  disturb  the  quiet  watches  of 
the  night?  " 

"  I  weep  because  of  the  faithlessness  of  man  ;  and 
I  bemoan  my  solitary  and  forsaken  state." 

"  Take  comfort,  thy  sorrows  may  yet  have  an  end. 
Thou  beholdest  a  Moorish  princess,  who,  like  thee, 
was  unhappy  in  her  love.  A  Christian  knight,  thy 
ancestor,  won  my  heart,  and  vv-ould  have  borne  me 
to  his  native  land,  and  to  the  bosoiti  of  his  church. 
I  was  a  convert  in  my  heart,  but  1  lacked  courage 
equal  to  my  faith,  and  lingered  till  too  late.  For 
this,  the  evil  genii  are  permitted  to  have  power  over 
me,  and  I  remain  enchanted  in  this  tower,  until 
soiTie  pure  Christian  will  deign  to  break  the  magic 
spell.     Wilt  thou  undertake  the  task  .'' " 

"  I  will ! "  replied  the  damsel,  trembling. 

"  Come  hither,  then,  and  fear  not :  dip  thy  hand 
in  the  fountain,  sprinkle  the  water  over  me,  and  bap- 
tize me  after  the  manner  of  thy  faith  ;  so  shall  the 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


155 


enchantment  be  dispelled,  and  my  troubled  spirit 
have  repose." 

The  damsel  advanced  with  faltering'  steps,  dipped 
her  hand  m  the  fountain,  collected  water  in  the  palm, 
and  sprinkled  it  over  the  pale  face  of  the  phantom. 

The  latter  smiled  with  ineffable  benignity.  She 
dropped  her  silver  lute  at  the  feet  of  Jacinta,  crossed 
her  white  arms  upon  her  bosom,  and  melted  from 
sight,  so  that  it  seemed  merely  as  if  a  shower  of 
dewdrops  had  fallen  into  the  fountain. 

Jacinta  retired  from  the  hall,  filled  with  awe  and 
wonder.  She  scarcely  closed  her  eyes  that  night, 
but  when  she  awoke  at  daybreak  out  of  a  troubled 
slumber,  the  whole  appeared  to  her  like  a  distem- 
pered dream.  On  descending  into  the  hall,  how- 
ever, the  truth  of  the  vision  was  established ;  for, 
beside  the  fountain  she  beheld  the  silver  lute  glitter- 
ing in  the  morning  sunshine. 

She  hastened  to  her  aunt,  related  all  that  had  be- 
fallen her,  and  called  her  to  behold  the  lute  as  a  tes- 
timonial of  the  reality  of  her  story.  If  the  good  lady 
had  any  lingering  doubts,  they  were  removed  when 
Jacinta  touched  the  instrument,  for  she  drew  forth 
such  ravishing  tones  as  to  thaw  even  the  frigid  bo- 
som of  the  immaculate  Fredegonda,  that  region  of 
eternal  winter,  into  a  genial  flow.  Nothing  but  su- 
pernatural melody  could  have  produced  such  an 
effect. 

The  extraordinary  power  of  the  lute  became  every 
day  more  and  more  apparent.  The  wayfarer  pass- 
ing by  the  tower  was  detained,  and,  as  it  were,  spell- 
bound, in  breathless  ecstasy.  The  very  birds  gath- 
ered in  the  neighbouring  trees,  and,  hushing  their 
own  strains,  listened  in  charmed  silence.  Rumour 
soon  spread  the  news  abroad.  The  inhabitants  of 
Granada  thronged  to  the  Alhambra,  to  catch  a  few 
notes  of  the  transcendent  music  that  floated  about 
the  tower  of  Las  Infantas. 

The  lovely  little  minstrel  was  at  length  drawn 
forth  from  her  retreat.  The  rich  and  powerful  of 
the  land  contended  who  should  entertain  and  do 
honour  to  her ;  or  rather,  who  should  secure  the 
charms  of  her  lute,  to  draw  fashionable  throngs  to 
their  saloons.  Wherever  she  went,  her  vigilant  aunt 
kept  a  dragon-watch  at  her  elbow,  awing  the  throngs 
of  impassioned  admirers  who  hung  in  raptures  on 
her  strains.  The  report  of  her  wonderful  powers 
spread  from  city  to  city :  Malaga,  Seville,  Cordova, 
all  became  successively  mad  on  the  theme  ;  nothing 
was  talked  of  throughout  Andalusia,  but  the  beau- 
tiful minstrel  of  the  Alhambra.  How  could  it  be 
otherwise  among  a  people  so  musical  and  gallant  as 
the  Andalusians,  when  the  lute  was  magical  in  its 
powers,  and  the  minstrel  inspired  by  love. 

While  all  Andalusia  was  thus  music-mad,  a  dif- 
ferent mood  prevailed  at  the  court  of  Spain.  Philip 
v.,  as  is  well  known,  was  a  miserable  hypochon- 
driac, and  subject  to  all  kinds  of  fancies.  Some- 
times he  would  keep  to  his  bed  for  weeks  together, 
groaning  under  imaginary  complaints.  At  other 
times  he  would  insist  upon  abdicating  his  throne, 
to  the  great  annoyance  of  his  royal  spouse,  who  had 
a  strong  relish  for  the  splendours  of  a  court  and  the 
glories  of  a  crown,  and  guided  the  sceptre  of  her 
imbecile  lord  with  an  expert  and  steady  hand. 

Nothing  was  found  to  be  so  efficacious  in  dispel- 
ling the  royal  megrims  as  the  powers  of  music ; 
the  queen  took  care,  therefore,  to  have  the  best  per- 
formers, both  vocal  and  instrumental,  at  hand,  and 
retained  the  famous  Italian  singer  Farinelli  about 
the  court  as  a  kind  of  royal  physician. 

At  the  moment  we  treat  of,  however,  a  freak  had 
come  over  the  mind  of  this  sapient  and  illustrious 
Bourbon,  that  surpassed  all  fonner  vagaries.  After 
a  long  spell  cf  imaginary  illness,  which  set  all  the 


strains  of  Farinelli,  and  the  consultations  of  a  whole 
orchestra  of  court  fiddlers,  at  defiance,  the  monarch 
fairly,  in  idea,  gave  up  the  ghost,  and  considered 
himself  absolutely  dead. 

This  would  have  been  harmless  enough,  and  even 
convenient  both  to  his  queen  and  courtiers,  had  he 
been  content  to  remain  in  the  quietude  befitting  a 
dead  man  ;  but,  to  their  annoyance,  he  insisted  upon 
having  the  funeral  ceremonies  performed  over  him  ; 
and,  to  their  inexpressible  perplexity,  began  to  grow 
impatient,  and  to  revile  bitterly  at  them  for  negli- 
gence and  disrespect  in  leaving  him  unburied.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  To  disobey  the  king's  positive 
commands  was  monstrous  in  the  eyes  of  the  obse- 
quious courtiers  of  a  punctiHous  court, — but  to  obey 
him,  and  bury  him  alive,  would  be  downrigth  regi- 
cide ! 

In  the  midst  of  this  fearful  dilemma,  a  rumour 
reached  the  court  of  the  female  minstrel,  who  was 
turning  the  brains  of  all  Andalusia.  The  queen 
despatched  missives  in  all  haste,  to  summon  her  to 
St.  Ildefonso,  where  the  court  at  that  time  resided. 

Within  a  few  days,  as  the  queen  with  her  maids 
of  honour  was  walking  in  those  stately  gardens,  in- 
tended, with  their  avenues,  and  terraces,  and  fount- 
ains, to  eclipse  the  glories  of  Versailles,  the  far- 
famed  minstrel  was  conducted  into  her  presence. 
The  imperial  Elizabetta  gazed  with  surprise  at  the 
youthful  and  unpretending  appearance  of  the  little 
being  that  had  set  the  world  madding.  She  was  in 
her  picturesque  Andalusian  dress  ;  her  silver  lute 
was  in  her  hand,  and  she  stood  with  modest  and 
downcast  eyes,  but  with  a  simplicity  and  freshness 
of  beauty  that  still  bespoke  her  "  The  Rose  of  the 
Alhambra." 

As  usual,  she  was  accompanied  by  the  ever  vigi- 
lant Fredegonda,  who  gave  the  whole  history  of  her 
parentage  and  descent  to  the  inquiring  queen.  If 
the  stately  Elizabetta  had  been  interested  by  the  ajv 
pearance  of  Jacinta,  she  was  still  more  pleased  when 
she  learnt  that  she  was  of  a  meritorious,  though  im- 
poverished line,  and  that  her  father  had  bravely  fallen 
in  the  service  of  the  crown.  "  If  thy  powers  equal 
their  renown,"  said  she,  "  and  thou  canst  cast  forth 
this  evil  spirit  that  possesses  thy  sovereign,  thy  for- 
tune shall  henceforth  be  my  care,  and  honours  and 
wealth  attend  thee." 

Impatient  to  make  trial  of  her  skill,  she  led  the 
way  at  once  to  the  apartment  of  the  moody  monarch. 
Jacinta  followed  with  downcast  eyes  through  files  of 
guards  and  crowds  of  courtiers.  They  arrived  at 
length  at  a  great  chamber  hung  in  black.  The  win- 
dows were  closed,  to  exclude  the  light  of  day ;  a 
number  of  yellow  wax  tapers,  in  silver  sconces,  dif- 
fused a  lugubrious  light,  and  dimly  revealed  the  fig- 
ures of  mutes  in  mourning  dresses,  and  courtiers, 
who  glided  about  with  noiseless  step  and  woe-begone 
visage.  On  the  midst  of  a  funeral  bed  or  bier,  his 
hands  folded  on  his  breast,  and  the  tip  of  his  nose 
just  visible,  lay  extended  this  would-be-buried  mon- 
arch. 

The  queen  entered  the  chamber  in  silence,  and, 
pointing  to  a  footstool  in  an  obscure  corner,  beck- 
oned to  Jacinta  to  sit  down  and  commence. 

At  first  she  touched  her  lute  with  a  faltering  hand, 
but  gathering  confidence  and  animation  as  she  pro- 
ceeded, drew  forth  such  soft,  aerial  harmony,  that 
all  present  could  scarce  believe  it  mortal.  As  to  the 
monarch,  who  had  already  considered  himself  in  the 
world  of  spirits,  he  set  it  down  for  some  angelic  mel- 
ody, or  the  music  of  the  spheres.  By  degrees  the 
theme  was  varied,  and  the  voice  of  the  minstrel  ac- 
companied the  instrument.  She  poured  forth  one 
of  the  legendary  ballads  treating  of  the  ancient  glo- 
ries of  the  Alhambra,  and  the  achievements  of  the 


156 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Moors.  Her  whole  soul  entered  into  the  theme,  for 
with  the  recollections  of  the  Alhambra  was  associ- 
ated the  story  of  her  love  ;  the  funereal  chamber  re- 
sounded with  the  animating  strain.  It  entered  into 
the  gloomy  heart  of  the  monarch.  He  raised  his 
head  and  gazed  around ;  he  sat  up  on  his  couch  ; 
his  eye  began  to  kindle  ;  at  length,  leaping  upon  the 
floor,  he  called  for  sword  and  buckler. 

The  triumph  of  music,  or  rather  of  the  enchanted 
lute,  was  complete ;  the  demon  of  melancholy  was 
cast  forth  ;  and,  as  it  were,  a  dead  man  brought  to 
life.  The  windows  of  the  apartment  were  thrown 
open  ;  the  glorious  effulgence  of  Spanish  sunshine 
burst  into  the  late  lugubrious  chamber ;  all  eyes 
sought  the  lovely  enchantress,  but  the  lute  had  fallen 
from  her  hand  ;  she  had  sank  upon  the  earth,  and 
the  ne.xt  moment  was  clasped  to  the  bosom  of  Ruyz 
de  Alarcon. 

The  nuptials  of  the  happy  couple  were  shortly 
after  celebrated  with  great  splendour, — but  hold,  I 
hear  the  reader  ask  how  did  Ruyz  de  Alarcon  ac- 
count for  his  long  neglect  ?  Oh, — ^that  was  all  owing 
to  the  opposition  of  a  proud  pragmatical  old  father, — • 
besides,  young  people,  who  really  like  one  another, 
soon  come  to  an  amicable  understanding,  and  bury 
all  past  grievances  whenever  they  meet. 

But  how  was  the  proud  pragmatical  old  father 
reconciled  to  the  match  .' 

Oh,  his  scruples  were  easily  overruled  by  a  word 
or  two  from  the  queen,— especially  as  dignities  and 
rewards  were  showered  upon  the  blooming  favour- 
ite of  royalty.  Besides,  the  lute  of  Jacinta,  you  know, 
possessed  a  magic  power,  and  could  control  the  most 
stubborn  head  and  hardest  heart. 

And  what  became  of  the  enchanted  lute  ? 

Oh,  that  is  the  most  curious  matter  of  all,  and 
plainly  proves  the  truth  of  all  the  story.  That  lute 
remained  for  some  time  in  the  family,  but  was  pur- 
loined and  carried  off,  as  was  supposed,  by  the  great 
singer  Farinelli,  in  pure  jealousy.  At  his  death  it 
passed  into  other  hands  in  Italy,  who  were  ignorant 
of  its  mystic  powers,  and  melting  down  the  silver, 
transferred  the  strings  to  an  old  Cremona  fiddle. 
The  strings  still  retain  something  of  their  magic  vir- 
tues. A  word  in  the  reader's  ear,  but  let  it  go  no 
further, — that  fiddle  is  now  bewitching  the  whole 
world, — it  is  the  fiddle  of  Paganini ! 


THE  VETERAN, 


Among  the  curious  acquaintances  I  have  made  in 
my  rambles  about  the  fortress,  is  a  brave  and  bat- 
tered old  Colonel  of  Invalids,  who  is  nestled  like  a 
hawk  in  one  of  the  Moorish  towers.  His  history, 
which  he  is  fond  of  telling,  is  a  tissue  of  those  advent- 
ures, mishaps,  and  vicissitudes  that  render  the  life 
of  almost  every  Spaniard  of  note  as  varied  and 
whimsical  as  the  pages  of  Gil  Bias. 

He  was  in  America  at  twelve  years  of  age,  and 
reckons  among  the  most  signal  and  fortunate  events 
of  his  life,  his  having  seen  General  Washington. 
Since  then  he  has  taken  a  part  in  all  the  wars  of  his 
country  ;  he  can  speak  experimentally  of  most  of  the 

fjrisons  and  dungeons  of  the  Peninsula,  has  been 
amed  of  one  leg,  crippled  in  his  hand,  and  so  cut  up 
and  carbonadoed,  that  he  is  a  kind  of  walking  monu- 
ment of  the  troubles  of  Spain,  on  which  there  is  a 
scar  for  every  battle  and  broil,  as  every  year  was 
notched  upon  the  tree  of  Robinson  Crusoe.  The 
greatest  misfortune  of  the  brave  old  cavalier,  how- 
ever, appears  to  have  been  his  ha\'ing  commanded  at 


Malaga  during  a  time  of  peril  and  confusion,  and 
been  made  a  general  by  the  inhabitants  to  protect 
them  from  the  invasion  of  the  French. 

This  has  entailed  upon  him  a  number  of  just 
claims  upon  government  that  I  fear  will  employ  him 
until  his  dying  day  in  writing  and  printing  petitions 
and  memorials,  to  the  great  disquiet  of  his  mind,  ex- 
haustion of  his  purse,  and  penance  of  his  friends ; 
not  one  of  whom  can  visit  him  without  having  to 
listen  to  a  mortal  document  of  half  an  hour  in 
length,  and  to  carry  away  half  a  dozen  pamphlets  in 
his  pocket.  This,  however,  is  the  case  throughout 
Spain  :  every  where  you  meet  with  some  worthy 
wight  brooding  in  a  corner,  and  nursing  up  some 
pet  grievance  and  cherished  wrong.  Beside,  a 
Spaniard  who  has  a  lawsuit,  or  a  claim  upon  gov- 
ernment, may  be  considered  as  furnished  with  em- 
ployment for  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

I  visited  the  veteran  in  his  quarters  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  Terre  del  Vino,  or  Wine  Tower.  His 
room  was  small  but  snug,  and  commanded  a  beau- 
tiful view  of  the  Vega.  It  was  arranged  with  a  sol- 
dier's precision.  Three  muskets  and  a  brace  of 
pistols,  all  bright  and  shining,  were  suspended 
against  the  wall,  with  a  sabre  and  a  cane  hanging 
side  by  side,  and  above  these  two  cocked  hats,  one 
for  parade,  and  one  for  ordinary  use.  A  small  shelf, 
containing  some  half  dozen  books,  formed  his  librar)', 
one  of  which,  a  little  old  mouldy  volume  of  philo- 
sophical maxims,  was  his  favourite  reading.  This 
he  thumbed  and  pondered  over  day  by  day  ;  apply- 
ing every  maxim  to  his  own  particular  case,  provided 
it  had  a  little  tinge  of  wholesome  bitterness,  and 
treated  of  the  injustice  of  the  world. 

Yet  he  is  social  and  kind-hearted,  and,  provided 
he  can  be  diverted  from  his  wrongs  and  his  philoso- 
phy, is  an  entertaining  companion.  I  like  these  old 
weather  -  beaten  sons  of  fortune,  and  enjoy  their 
rough  campaigning  anecdotes.  In  the  course  of  my 
visit  to  the  one  in  question,  I  learnt  some  curious 
facts  about  an  old  military  commander  of  the  for- 
tress, who  seems  to  have  resembled  him  in  some  re- 
spects, and  to  have  had  similar  fortunes  in  the  wars. 
These  particulars  have  been  augmented  by  inquiries 
among  some  of  the  old  inhabitants  of  the  place,  par- 
ticularly the  father  of  Mateo  Ximencs,  of  whose  tra- 
ditional stories  the  worthy  1  am  about  to  introduce 
to  the  reader  is  a  favourite  hero. 


THE  GOVERNOR  AND  THE  NOTARY. 


In  former  times  there  ruled,  as  governor  of  the 
Alhambra,  a  doughty  old  cavalier,  who,  from  having 
lost  one  arm  in  the  wars,  was  commonly  known  by 
the  name  of  El  Gobernador  Manco,  or  the  one- 
armed  governor.  He  in  fact  prided  himself  upon 
being  an  old  soldier,  wore  his  mustachios  curled  up 
to  his  eyes,  a  pair  of  campaigning  boots,  and  a  toledo 
as  long  as  a  spit,  with  his  pocket  handkerchief  in 
the  basket-hilt. 

He  was,  moreover,  exceedingly  proud  and  punctil- 
ious, and  tenacious  of  all  his  privileges  and  dignities. 
Under  his  sway,  the  immunities  of  the  Alhambra,  as 
a  royal  residence  and  domain,  were  rigidly  exacted. 
No  one  was  permitted  to  enter  the  fortress  with  fire- 
arms, or  even  with  a  sword  or  staff,  unless  he  were 
of  a  certain  rank,  and  every  horseman  was  obliged 
to  dismount  at  the  gate  and  lead  his  horse  by  the 
bridle.  Now,  as  the  hill  of  the  Alhambra  rises  from 
the  very  midst  of  the  city  of  Granada,  being,  as  it 
were,  an  excrescence  of  the  capital,  it  must  at  all 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


157 


times  be  somewhrit  irksome  to  the  captain-general 
who  commands  the  province,  to  have  thus  an  im- 
jierium  in  imperio,  a  petty  independent  post,  in  the 
very  core  of  his  domains.  It  was  rendered  the  more 
galling  in  the  present  instance,  from  the  irritable 
jealousy  of  the  old  governor,  that  took  fire  on  the 
least  question  of  authority  and  jurisdiction,  and  from 
the  loose  vagrant  character  of  the  people  that  had 
gradually  nestled  themselves  within  the  fortress  as 
in  a  sanctuary,  and  from  thence  carried  on  a  system 
of  roguery  and  depredation  at  the  expense  of  the 
honest  inhabitants  of  the  city.  Thus  there  was  a 
perpetual  feud  and  heart-burning  between  the  cap- 
tain-general and  the  governor ;  the  more  virulent  on 
the  part  of  the  latter,  inasmuch  as  the  smallest  of 
two  neighbouring  potentates  is  always  the  most 
captious  about  his  dignity.  The  stately  palace  of 
the  captain-general  stood  in  the  Plaza  Nueva,  im- 
mediately at  the  foot  of  the  hill  of  the  Alhambra, 
and  here  was  always  a  bustle  and  parade  of  guards, 
and  domestics,  and  city  functionaries.  A  beetling 
bastion  of  the  fortress  overlooked  the  palace  and  the 
public  square  in  front  of  it  ;  and  on  this  bastion  the 
old  governor  would  occasionally  strut  backwards 
and  forwards,  with  his  toledo  girded  by  his  side, 
keeping  a  wary  eye  down  upon  his  rival,  like  a 
hawk  reconnoitring  his  quarry  from  his  nest  in  a 
dry  tree. 

Whenever  he  descended  into  the  city,  it  was  in 
grand  parade,  on  horseback,  surrounded  by  his 
guards,  or  in  his  state  coach,  an  ancient  and  un- 
wieldy Spanish  edifice  of  carved  timber  and  gilt 
leather,  drawn  by  eight  mules,  with  running  foot- 
men, outriders,  and  lacqueys,  on  which  occasions 
he  flattered  himself  he  impressed  every  beholder 
with  awe  and  admiration  as  vicegerent  of  the  king, 
though  the  wits  of  Granada,  particularly  those  who 
loitered  about  the  palace  of  the  captain-general, 
were  apt  to  sneer  at  his  petty  parade,  and,  in  al- 
lusion to  the  vagrant  character  of  his  subjects,  to 
greet  him  with  the  appellation  of  "  the  King  of  the 
beggars." 

One  of  the  most  fruitful  sources  of  dispute  between 
these  two  doughty  rivals,  was  the  right  claimed  by 
the  governor  to  have  all  things  passed  free  of  duty 
through  the  city,  that  were  intended  for  the  use  of 
himself  or  his  garrison.  By  degrees,  this  privilege 
had  given  rise  to  extensive  smuggling.  A  nest  of 
contrabandistas  took  up  their  abode  in  the  hovels 
of  the  fortress  and  the  numerous  caves  in  its  vicinity, 
and  drove  a  thriving  business  under  the  connivance 
of  the  soldiers  of  the  garrison. 

The  vigilance  of  the  captain-general  was  aroused. 
He  consulted  his  legal  adviser  and  factotum,  a 
slirewd,  meddlesome  Escribano  or  notary,  who  re- 
joiced in  an  opportunity  of  perplexing  the  old  poten- 
tate of  the  Alhambra,  and  involving  him  in  a  maze 
of  legal  subtilities.  He  advised  the  captain-general 
to  insist  upon  the  right  of  examining  every  convoy 
passing  through  the  gates  of  his  city,  and  he  penned 
a  long  letter  for  him,  in  vindication  of  the  right. 
Qovernor  Manco  was  a  straight-forward,  cut-and- 
thrust  old  soldier,  who  hated  an  Escribano  worse 
than  the  devil,  and  this  one  in  particular,  worse 
than  all  other  Escribanoes. 

"  What ! "  said  he,  curling  up  his  mustachios 
fiercely,  "does  the  captain-general  set  his  man  of 
the  pen  to  practise  confiisions  upon  me.'  I'll  let 
him  see  that  an  old  soldier  is  not  to  be  baffled  by 
Schoolcraft." 

He  seized  his  pen,  and  scrawled  a  short  letter  in 
a  crabbed  hand,  in  which,  without  deigning  to  enter 
into  argument,  he  insisted  on  the  right  of  transit 
free  of  search,  and  denounced  vengeance  on  any 
custom-house  officer  who  should  lay  his  unhallowed 


hand  on  any  convoy  protected  by  the  flag  of  the 
Alhambra. 

While  this  question  was  agitated  between  the  two 
pragmatical  potentates,  it  so  happened  that  a  mule 
laden  with  supplies  for  the  fortress  arrived  one  day 
at  the  gate  of  Xenil,  by  which  it  was  to  traverse  a 
suburb  of  the  city  on  its  way  to  the  Alhambra. 
The  convoy  was  headed  by  a  testy  old  corporal,  wlio 
had  long  served  under  the  governor,  and  was  a  man 
after  his  own  heart ;  as  trusty  and  staunch  as  an  old 
toledo  blade.  As  they  approached  the  gate  of  the 
city,  the  corporal  placed  the  banner  of  the  Alhambra 
on  the  pack  saddle  of  the  mule,  and,  drawing  him- 
self up  to  a  perfect  perpendicular,  advanced  with  his 
head  dressed  to  the  iront,  but  with  the  wary  side 
glance  of  a  cur  passing  through  hostile  grounds,  and 
ready  for  a  snap  and  a  snarl. 

"Who  goes  there?"  said  the  sentinel  at  the 
gate. 

"  Soldier  of  the  Alhambra,"  said  the  corporal, 
without  turning  his  head. 

"  What  have  you  in  charge  ?  " 

"  Provisions  for  the  garrison." 

"Proceed." 

The  corporal  marched  straight  forward,  followed 
by  the  convoy,  but  had  not  advanced  many  paces, 
before  a  possu  of  custom-house  oliicers  rushed  out 
of  a  small  toll-house. 

"Hallo,  there!"  cried  the  leader:  "Muleteer, 
halt  and  open  those  packages." 

The  corporal  wheeled  round,  and  drew  himself 
up  in  battle  array.  "  Respect  the  flag  of  the  Al- 
hambra," said  he ;  "  these  things  are  for  the  gov- 
ernor." 

"  A  fig  for  the  governor,  and  a  fig  for  his  flag. 
Muleteer,  halt,  I  say." 

"  Stop  the  convoy  at  your  peril !  "  cried  the  cor- 
poral, cocking  his  musket.      "  Muleteer,  proceed." 

The  muleteer  gave  his  beast  a  hearty  thwack,  the 
custom-house  officer  sprang  forward,  and  seized  the 
halter;  whereupon  the  corporal  levelled  his  piece 
and  shot  him  dead. 

The  street  was  immediately  in  an  uproar.  The 
old  corporal  was  seized,  and  after  undergoing  sundry 
kicks  and  cuffs,  and  cudgellings,  which  are  generally 
given  impromptu,  by  the  mob  in  Spain,  as  a  fore- 
taste of  the  after  penalties  of  the  law,  he  was  loaded 
with  irons,  and  conducted  to  the  city  prison  ;  while 
his  comrades  were  permitted  to  proceed  with  the 
convoy,  after  it  had  been  well  rummaged,  to  the 
Alhambra. 

The  old  governor  was  in  a  towering  passion,  when 
he  heard  of  this  insult  to  his  flag  and  capture  of  his 
corporal.  For  a  time  he  stormed  about  the  Moorish 
halls,  and  vapoured  about  the  bastions,  and  looked 
down  fire  and  sword  upon  the  palace  of  the  captain- 
general.  Having  vented  the  first  ebullition  of  his 
wrath,  he  despatched  a  message  demanding  the 
surrender  of  the  corporal,  as  to  him  alone  belonged 
the  right  of  sitting  in  judgment  on  the  offences  of 
those  under  his  command.  Tlie  captain-general, 
aided  by  the  pen  of  the  delighted  Escribano,  replied 
at  great  length,  xrguing  that  as  the  offence  had  been 
committed  within  the  walls  of  his  city,  and  against 
one  of  his  civil  officers,  it  was  clearly  within  his 
proper  jurisdiction.  The  governor  rejoined  by  a 
repetition  of  his  demand  ;  the  captain-general  gave 
a  sur-rejoinder  of  still  greater  length,  and  legal 
acumen ;  the  governor  became  hotter  and  more 
peremptory  in  his  demands,  and  the  captain-general 
cooler  and  more  copious  in  his  replies  ;  until  the  old 
lion-hearted  soldier  absolutely  roared  with  fury, 
at  being  thus  entangled  in  the  meshes  of  legal  con- 
troversy. 

While  the   subtle   Escribano  was  thus  amusing^ 


158 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


himself  at  the  expense  of  the  g'ovemor,  he  was  con- 
ducting the  trial  of  the  corporal  ;  who,  mewed  up  in 
a  narrow  dungeon  of  the  prison,  had  merely  a  small 
grated  window  at  which  to  show  his  iron-bound 
visage,  and  receive  the  consolations  of  his  friends  ;  a 
mountain  of  written  testimony  was  diligently  heaped 
up,  according  to  Spanish  form,  by  the  indefatigable 
Escribano ;  the  corporal  was  completely  overwhelmed 
by  it.  He  was  convicted  of  murder,  and  sentenced 
to  be  hanged. 

It  was  in  vain  the  governor  sent  down  remon- 
strance and  menace  from  the  Alhambra.  The  fatal 
day  was  at  hand,  and  the  corporal  was  put  in  capilia, 
that  is  to  say,  in  the  chapel  of  the  prison  ;  as  is  al- 
ways done  with  culprits  the  day  before  execution, 
that  they  may  meditate  on  their  approaching  end, 
and  repent  them  of  their  sins. 

Seeing  things  drawing  to  an  extremity,  the  old 
governor  determined  to  attend  to  the  affair  in  person. 
For  this  purpose  he  ordered  out  his  carriage  of 
state,  and,  surrounded  by  his  guards,  rumbled  down 
the  avenue  of  the  Alhambra  into  the  city.  Driving 
to  the  house  of  the  Escribano,  he  summoned  him  to 
the  portal. 

The  eye  of  the  old  governor  gleamed  like  a  coal  at 
beholding  the  smirking  man  of  the  law  advancing 
with  an  air  of  exultation. 

"What  is  this  I  hear,"  cried  he,  "that  you  are 
about  to  put  to  death  one  of  my  soldiers  .-'  " 

"  All  according  to  law, — all  in  strict  form  of  jus- 
tice," said  the  self-sufficient  Escribano,  chuckling 
and  rubbing  his  hands.  "  I  can  show  your  excel- 
lency the  written  testimony  in  the  case." 

"  Fetch  it  hither,"  said  the  governor. 

The  Escribano  bustled  into  his  office,  delighted 
with  having  another  opportunity  of  displaying  his 
ingenuity  at  the  expense  of  the  hard-headed  veteran. 
He  returned  with  a  satchel  full  of  papers,  and 
began  to  read  a  long  deposition  with  professional 
volubility.  By  this  time,  a  crowd  had  collected, 
listening  with  outstretched  necks  and  gaping  mouths. 

"  Pry'thee  man,  get  into  the  carriage  out  of  this 
pestilent  throng,  that  I  may  the  better  hear  thee," 
said  the  governor. 

The  Escribano  entered  the  carriage,  when,  in  a 
twinkling,  the  door  was  closed,  the  coachman 
smacked  his  whip,  mules,  carriage,  guards,  and  all 
dashed  off  at  a  thundering  rate,  leaving  the  crowd 
in  gaping  wonderment,  nor  did  the  governor  pause 
until  he  had  lodged  his  prey  in  one  of  the  strongest 
dungeons  of  the  Alhambra. 

He  then  sent  down  a  flag  of  truce  in  military 
style,  proposing  a  cartel  or  exchange  of  prisoners, 
the  corporal  for  the  notary.  The  pride  of  the  cap- 
tain-general was  piqued,  he  returned  a  contemptuous 
refusal,  and  forthwith  caused  a  gallows,  tall  and 
strong,  to  be  erected  in  the  centre  of  the  Plaza 
Neuva,  for  the  execution  of  the  corporal. 

"  O  ho  !  is  that  the  game  ?  "  said  governor  Manco : 
he  gave  orders,  and  immediately  a  gibbet  was  reared 
on  the  verge  of  the  great  beetling  bastion  that  over- 
looked the  Plaza.  "  Now,"  said  he,  in  a  message  to 
the  captain-general,  "  hang  my  soldier  when  you 
please ;  but  at  the  same  time  that  he  is  swung  off 
in  the  square,  look  up  to  see  your  Escribano  dan- 
gling against  the  sky." 

The  captain-general  was  inflexible ;  troops  were 
paraded  in  the  square ;  the  drums  beat ;  the  bell 
tolled ;  an  immense  multitude  of  amateurs  had 
collected  to  behold  the  execution  ;  on  the  other 
hand,  the  governor  paraded  his  garrison  on  the  bas- 
tion, and  tolled  the  funeral  dirge  of  the  notary  from 
the  Torre  de  la  Campana,  or  tower  of  the  bell. 

The  notary's  wife  pressed  through  the  crowd  with 
a  whole  progeny  of  little  embryo  Escribanoes  at  her 


heels,  and  throwing  herself  at  the  feet  of  the  captain- 
general,  implored  him  not  to  sacrifice  the  life  of  her 
husband,  and  the  welfare  of  herself  and  her  numer- 
ous little  ones  to  a  point  of  pride ;  "  for  you  know 
the  old  governor  too  well,"  said  she,  "  to  doubt  that 
he  will  put  his  threat  in  execution  if  you  hang  the 
soldier." 

The  captain-general  was  overpowered  by  her 
tears  and  lamentations,  and  the  clamours  of  her 
callow  brood.  The  corporal  was  sent  up  to  the 
Alhambra  under  a  guard,  in  his  gallows  garb,  like  a 
hooded  friar;  but  with  head  erect  and  a  face  of  iron. 
The  Escribano  was  demanded  in  exchange,  accord- 
ing to  the  cartel.  The  once  bustling  and  self-suf- 
ficient man  of  the  law  was  drawn  forth  from  his 
dungeon,  more  dead  than  alive.  All  his  flippancy 
and  conceit  had  evaporated ;  his  hair,  it  is  said,  had 
nearly  turned  gray  with  affright,  and  he  had  a 
downcast,  dogged  look,  as  if  he  still  felt  the  halter 
round  his  neck. 

The  old  governor  stuck  his  one  arm  a-kimbo, 
and  for  a  moment  surveyed  him  with  an  iron  smile. 
"  Henceforth,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "  moderate  your 
zeal  in  hurrying  others  to  the  gallows ;  be  not  too 
certain  of  your  own  safety,  even  though  you  should 
have  the  law  on  your  side ;  and,  above  all,  take  care 
how  you  play  off  your  Schoolcraft  another  time  upon 
an  old  soldier." 


GOVERNOR  MANCO  AND  THE  SOLDIER. 


When  governor  Manco,  or  the  one-armed,  kept 
up  a  show  of  military  state  in  the  Alhambra,  he 
became  nettled  at  the  reproaches  continually  cast 
upon  his  fortress  of  being  a  nestling  place  of  rogues 
and  contrabandistas.  On  a  sudden,  the  old  poten- 
tate determined  on  reform,  and  setting  vigorously  to 
work,  ejected  whole  nests  of  vagabonds  out  of  the 
fortress,  and  the  gipsy  caves  with  which  the  sur- 
rounding hills  are  honey-combed.  He  sent  out  sol- 
diers, also,  to  patrol  the  avenues  and  footpaths,  with 
orders  to  take  up  all  suspicious  persons. 

One  bright  summer  morning,  a  patrol  consisting 
of  the  testy  old  corporal  who  had  distinguished 
himself  in  the  affair  of  the  notary,  a  trumpeter  and 
two  privates  were  seated  under  the  garden  wall  of 
the  Generaliffe,  beside  the  road  which  leads  down 
from  the  mountain  of  the  Sun,  when  they  heard  the 
tramp  of  a  horse,  and  a  male  voice  singing  in  rough, 
though  not  unmusical  tones,  an  old  Castilian  cam- 
paigning song. 

Presently  they  beheld  a  sturdy,  sun-burnt  fellow, 
clad  in  the  ragged  garb  of  a  foot-soldier,  leading  a 
powerful  Arabian  horse  caparisoned  in  the  ancient 
Morisco  fashion. 

Astonished  at  the  sight  of  a  strange  soldier  de- 
scending, steed  in  hand,  from  that  solitary  moun- 
tain, the  corporal  stepped  forth  and  challenged  him. 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  " 

"  A  friend." 

"Who,  and  what  are  you?" 

"  A  poor  soldier,  just  from  the  wars,  with  a 
cracked  crown  and  empty  purse  for  a  reward." 

By  this  time  they  were  enabled  to  view  him  more 
narrowly.  He  had  a  black  patch  across  his  fore- 
head, which,  with  a  grizzled  beard,  added  to  a  cer- 
tain dare-devil  cast  of  countenance,  while  a  slight 
squint  threw  into  the  whole  an  occasional  gleam  of 
roguish  good-humour. 

Having  answered  the  questions  of  the  patrol,  the 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


159 


soldier  seemed  to  consider  himself  entitled  to  make 
others  in  return. 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  he,  "what  city  is  this  which  I 
see  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  ?  " 

"  What  city  !  "  cried  the  trumpeter  ;  "  come,  that's 
too  bad.  Here's  a  fellow  lurking  about  the  moun- 
tain of  the  Sun,  and  demands  the  name  of  the  great 
city  of  Granada. " 

"  Granada  !  Madre  de  Dios  !  can  it  be  possible  !  " 

"  Perhaps  not !  "  rejoined  the  trumpeter,  "  and 
perhaps  you  have  no  idea  that  yonder  are  the  towers 
of  the  Alhambra.'  " 

"  Son  of  a  trumpet,"  replied  the  stranger,  "  do 
not  trifle  with  me ;  if  this  be  indeed  the  Alhambra,  I 
have  some  strange  matters  to  reveal  to  the  governor." 

"You  will  have  an  opportunity,"  said  the  cor- 
poral, "  for  we  mean  to  take  you  before  him." 

By  this  time  the  trumpeter  had  seized  the  bridle 
of  the  steed,  the  two  privates  had  each  secured  an 
arm  of  the  soldier,  the  corporal  put  himself  in  front, 
gave  the  word,  "  forward,  march  !  "  and  away  they 
marched  for  the  Alhambra. 

The  sight  of  a  ragged  foot-soldier  and  a  fine 
Arabian  horse  brought  in  captive  by  the  patrol,  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  all  the  idlers  of  the  fortress, 
and  of  those  gossip  groups  that  generally  assemble 
about  wells  and  fountains  at  early  dawn.  The  wheel 
of  the  cistern  paused  in  its  rotations  ;  the  slipshod 
servant-maid  stood  gaping  with  pitcher  in  hand,  as 
the  corporal  passed  by  with  his  prize.  A  motley 
train  gradually  gathered  in  the  rear  of  the  escort. 
Knowing  nods,  and  winks,  and  conjectures  passed 
from  one  to  another.  It  is  a  deserter,  said  one  ;  a 
contrabandista,  said  another ;  a  bandalero,  said  a 
third,  until  it  was  afSrmed  that  a  captain  of  a  des- 
perate band  of  robbers  had  been  captured  by  the 
prowess  of  the  corporal  and  his  patrol.  "  Well, 
well,"  said  the  old  crones  one  to  another,  "captain 
or  not,  let  him  get  out  of  the  grasp  of  old  governor 
Manco  if  he  can,  though  he  is  but  one-handed." 

Governor  Manco  was  seated  in  one  of  the  inner 
halls  of  the  Alhambra,  taking  his  morning's  cup  of 
chocolate  in  company  with  his  confessor,  a  fat 
Franciscan  friar  from  the  neighbouring  convent.  A 
demure,  tiark-eyed  damsel  of  Malaga,  the  daughter 
of  his  housekeeper,  was  attending  upon  him. 

The  world  hinted  that  the  damsel,  who,  with  all 
her  demureness,  was  a  sly,  buxom  baggage,  had 
found  out  a  soft  spot  in  the  iron  heart  of  the  old 
governor,  and  held  complete  control  over  him, — but 
let  that  pass  ;  the  domestic  affairs  of  these  mighty 
potentates  of  the  earth  should  not  be  too  narrowly 
scrutinized. 

When  word  was  brought  that  a  suspicious  stranger 
had  been  taken  lurking  about  the  fortress,  and  was 
actually  in  the  outer  court,  in  durance  of  the  cor- 
poral, waiting  the  pleasure  of  his  excellency,  the 
pride  and  statcliness  of  office  swelled  the  bosom  of 
the  governor.  Giving  back  his  chocolate  cup  into 
the  hands  of  the  demure  damsel,  he  called  for  his 
basket-hilted  sword,  girded  it  to  his  side,  twirled  up 
his  mustachios,  took  his  seat  in  a  large  high-backed 
chair,  assumed  a  bitter  and  forbidding  aspect,  and 
ordered  the  prisoner  into  his  presence.  The  soldier 
was  brought  in,  still  closely  pinioned  by  his  captors, 
and  guarded  by  the  corporal.  He  maintained,  how- 
ever, a  resolute,  self-confident  air,  and  returned  the 
sharp,  scrutinizing  look  of  the  governor  with  an 
easy  squint,  which  by  no  means  pleased  the  punc- 
tilious old  potentate. 

"  Well,  culprit  !  "  said  the  governor,  after  he  had 
regarded  him  for  a  moment  in  silence,  "  what  have 
you  to  say  for  yourself?  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  A  soldier,  just  from  the  wars,  who  has  brought 
away  nothing  but  scars  and  bruises." 


"  A  soldier?  humph  !  a  foot-soldier  by  your  garb. 
I  understand  you  have  a  fine  Arabian  horse.  I  pre- 
sume you  brought  him  too  from  the  wars,  beside 
your  scars  and  bruises." 

"  May  it  please  your  excellency,  I  have  something 
strange  to  tell  about  that  horse.  Indeed,  I  have  one 
of  the  most  wonderful  things  to  relate- — something 
too  that  concerns  the  security  of  this  fortress,  indeed 
of  all  Granada.  But  it  is  a  matter  to  be  imparted 
only  to  your  private  ear,  or  in  presence  of  such  only 
as  are  in  your  confidence." 

The  governor  considered  for  a  moment,  and  then 
directed  the  corporal  and  his  men  to  withdraw,  but 
to  post  themselves  outside  of  the  door,  and  be  ready 
at  call.  "  This  holy  friar,"  said  he,  "  is  my  confes- 
sor, you  may  say  any  thing  in  his  presence— and 
this  damsel,"  nodding  towards  the  handmaid,  who 
had  loitered  with  an  air  of  great  curiosity,  "  this 
damsel  is  of  great  secrecy  and  discretion,  and  to  be 
trusted  with  any  thing." 

The  soldier  gave  a  glance  between  a  squint  and  a 
leer  at  the  dem-ure  handmaid.  "  I  am  perfectly  will- 
ing," said  he.  '■  that  the  damsel  should  remain." 

When  all  the  rest  had  withdrawn,  the  soldier  com- 
menced his  story.  He  was  a  fluent,  smooth-tongued 
varlet,  and  had  a  command  of  language  above  his 
apparent  rank. 

"  May  it  please  your  excellency,"  said  he,  "I  am, 
as  I  before  observed,  a  soldier,  and  have  seen  some 
hard  service,  but  my  term  of  enlistment  being  ex- 
pired, I  was  discharged  not  long  since  from  the  army 
at  Valladolid,  and  set  out  on  fool  for  my  native  vil- 
lage in  Andalusia.  Yesterday  evening  the  sun  went 
down  as  I  was  traversing  a  great  dry  plain  of  old 
Castile." 

"  Hold  !  "  cried  the  governor,  "  what  is  this  you 
say  ?  Old  Castile  is  some  two  or  three  hundred 
miles  from  this." 

"  Even  so,"  replied  the  soldier,  coolly,  "  I  told  your 
excellency  I  had  strange  things  to  relate — but  not 
more  strange  than  true — as  your  excellency  will  find, 
if  you  will  deign  me  a  patient  hearing." 

•'  Proceed,  culprit,"  said  the  governor,  twirling  up 
his  mustachios. 

"As  the  sun  went  down,"  continued  the  soldier, 
"  I  cast  my  eyes  about  in  search  of  some  quarters 
for  the  night,  but  far  as  my  sight  could  reach, 
there  was  no  signs  of  habitation.  I  saw  that  I 
should  have  to  make  my  bed  on  the  naked  plain, 
with  my  knapsack  for  a  pillow  ;  but  your  excellency 
is  an  old  soldier,  and  knows  that  to  one  who  has 
been  in  the  wars,  such  a  night's  lodging  is  no  great 
hardship." 

The  governor  nodded  assent,  as  he  drew  his  pock- 
et-handkerchief out  of  the  basket-hilt  of  his  sword, 
to  drive  away  a  fly  that  buzzed  about  his  nose. 

"  Well,  to  make  a  long  story  short,"  continued  the 
soldier,  "  I  trudged  forward  for  several  miles,  until  I 
came  to  a  bridge  over  a  deep  ravine,  through  which 
ran  a  little  thread  of  water,  almost  dried  up  by  the 
summer  heat.  At  one  end  of  the  bridge  was  a 
Moorish  tower,  the  upper  part  all  in  ruins,  but  a 
vault  in  the  found.ations  quite  entire.  Here,  thinks 
I,  is  a  good  place  to  make  a  halt.  So  I  went  down 
to  the  stream,  took  a  hearty  drink,  for  the  water  was 
pure  and  sweet,  and  I  was  parched  with  thirst,  then 
opening  my  wallet,  I  took  out  an  onion  and  a  few- 
crusts,  which  were  all  my  provisions,  and  seating 
myself  on  a  stone  on  the  margin  of  the  stream, 
began  to  make  my  supper  ;  intending  afterwards  to 
quarter  myself  for  the  night  in  the  vault  of  the  tower, 
and  capital  quarters  they  would  have  been  for  a 
campaigner  just  from  the  wars,  as  your  excellency, 
who  is  an  old  soldier,  may  suppose." 

"  I  have  put  up  gladly  with  worse  in  my  time," 


160 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


said  the  governor,  returning  his  pocket-handkerchief 
into  the  fiilt  of  his  sword. 

"  While  I  was  quietly  craunching  my  crust,"  pur- 
sued the  soldier,  "  I  lieard  something  stir  within  the 
vault;  I  listened:  it  was  the  tramp  of  a  horse.  By 
and  by  a  man  came  forth  from  a  door  in  the  founda- 
tion of  the  tower,  close  by  the  water's  edge,  leading 
a  powerful  horse  by  the  bridle.  I  could  not  well 
make  out  what  he  was  by  the  starlight.  It  had  a 
suspicious  look  to  be  lurking  among  the  ruins  of  a 
tower  in  that  wild  solitary  place.  He  might  be  a 
mere  wayfarer  like  myself;  he  might  be  a  contra- 
bandista  ;  he  might  be  a  bandalero  !  What  of  that, 
— thank  heaven  and  my  poverty,  I  had  nothing  to 
lose, — so  I  sat  still  and  craunched  my  crusts. 

"  He  led  his  horse  to  the  water  close  by  where  I 
was  sitting,  so  that  I  had  a  fair  opportunity  of  re- 
connoitring him.  To  my  surprise,  lie  was  dressed 
in  a  Moorish  garb,  with  a  cuirass  of  steel,  and  a 
polished  skullcap,  that  I  distinguished  by  the  rt  Ik-c- 
tion  of  the  stars  upon  it.  His  horse,  too,  was  har- 
nessed in  the  Morisco  fashion,  with  great  shovel 
stirrups.  He  led  him,  as  I  said,  to  the  side  of  the 
stream,  into  which  the  animal  plunged  his  head  al- 
most to  the  eyes,  and  drank  until  I  thought  he 
would  have  burst. 

"  '  Comrade,'  said  I,  '  your  steed  drinks  well ;  it's 
a  good  sign  when  a  horse  plunges  his  muzzle  bravely 
into  the  water.' 

" '  He  may  well  drink,'  said  the  stranger,  speaking 
with  a  Moorish  accent ;  '  it  is  a  good  year  since  he 
had  his  last  draught.' 

" '  By  Santiago,'  said  I,  '  that  beats  even  the 
camels  that  I  have  seen  in  Africa.  But  come,  you 
seem  to  be  something  of  a  soldier,  won't  you  sit 
down,  and  take  part  of  a  soldier's  fare?  ' — In  fact,  I 
felt  the  want  of  a  companion  in  this  lonely  place, 
and  was  willing  to  put  up  with  an  infidel.  Besides, 
as  your  excellency  well  knows,  a  soldier  is  never 
very  particular  about  the  faith  of  his  company,  and 
soldiers  of  all  countries  are  comrades  on  peaceable 
ground." 

The  governor  again  nodded  assent. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  I  invited  him  to  share  my 
supper,  such  as  it  was,  for  I  could  not  do  less  in 
common  hospitality. 

"  '  I  have  no  time  to  pause  for  meat  or  drink,' 
said  he, '  I  have  a  long  journey  to  make  before  morn- 
ing.' 

" '  In  which  direction  ?  '  said  I. 

"  '  Andalusia,'  said  he. 

'"Exactly  my  route,'  said  I.  'So  as  you  won't 
stop  and  eat  with  me,  perhaps  you'll  let  me  mount 
and  ride  with  you.  I  see  your  horse  is  of  a  powerful 
frame  :  I'll  warrant  he'll  carry  double.' 

" '  Agreed,'  said  the  trooper  ;  and  it  would  not 
have  been  civil  and  soldierlike  to  refuse,  especially 
as  I  had  offered  to  share  my  supper  with  him.  So 
up  he  mounted,  and  up  I  mounted  behind  him. 

" '  Hold  fast,'  said  he,  '  my  steed  goes  like  the 
wind.' 

" '  Never  fear  me,'  said  I,  and  so  off  we  set. 

"  From  a  walk  the  horse  soon  passed  to  a  trot, 
from  a  trot  to  a  gallop,  and  from  a  gallop  to  a 
harum-scarum  scamper.  It  seemed  as  if  rocks, 
trees,  houses,  every  thing,  flew  hurry-scurry  behind 
us. 

"  '  What  town  is  this  ?  '  said  I. 

"  '  Segovia,'  said  he  ;  and  before  the  words  were 
out  of  his  mouth,  the  towers  of  Segovia  were  out 
of  sight.  We  swept  up  the  Guadarama  mountains, 
and  down  by  the  Escurial ;  and  we  skirted  the  walls 
of  Madrid,  and  we  scoured  away  across  the  plains  of 
La  Mancha.  In  this  way  we  went  up  hill  and  down 
dale,  by  towns  and  cities  all  buried  in  deep  sleep. 


and   across  mountains,  and  plains,  and  rivers,  just 
glimmering  in  the  starlight. 

"  To  make  a  long  story  short,  and  not  to  fatigue 
your  excellency,  the  trooper  suddenly  pulled  up  on 
the  side  of  a  mountain.  '  Here  we  are,'  said  he,  'at 
the  end  of  our  journey.' 

"  I  looked  about,  but  could  see  no  signs  of  habita- 
tion :  nothing  but  the  mouth  of  a  cavern  :  while  I 
looked,  1  saw  multitudes  of  people  in  Moorish  dresses, 
some  on  horseback,  some  on  foot,  arriving  as  if 
borne  by  the  wind  from  all  points  of  the  compass, 
and  hurrying  into  the  mouth  of  the  cavern  like  bees 
into  a  hive.  Before  I  could  ask  a  question,  the 
trooper  struck  his  long  Moorish  spurs  into  the  horse's 
flanks,  and  dashed  in  with  the  throng.  We  passed 
along  a  steep  winding  way  that  descended  into  the 
very  bowels  of  the  mountain.  As  we  pushed  on,  a 
light  began  to  glimmer  up  by  little  and  little,  like  the 
first  glimmerings  of  day,  but  what  caused  it,  I  could 
not  discover.  It  grew  stronger  and  stronger,  and 
enabled  me  to  see  every  thing  around.  I  now  no- 
ticed as  we  passed  along,  great  caverns  opening  to 
the  right  and  left,  like  halls  in  an  arsenal.  In  some 
there  were  shields,  and  helmets,  and  cuirasses,  and 
lances,  and  scimitars  hanging  against  the  walls ;  in 
others,  there  were  great  heaps  of  warlike  munitions 
and  camp  equipage  lying  upon  the  ground. 

"  It  would  have  done  your  excellency's  heart 
good,  being  an  old  soldier,  to  have  seen  such  grand 
provision  for  war.  Then  in  other  carverns  there 
were  long  rows  of  horsemen,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
with  lances  raised  and  banners  unfurled,  all  ready 
for  the  field  ;  but  they  all  sat  motionless  in  their 
saddles  like  so  many  statues.  In  other  halls,  were 
warriors  sleeping  on  the  ground  beside  their  horses, 
and  foot  soldiers  in  groups,  ready  to  fall  into  the 
ranks.  All  were  in  old-fashioned  Moorish  dresses 
and  armour. 

"  Well,  your  excellency,  to  cut  a  long  story  short, 
we  at  length  entered  an  immense  cavern,  or  I  might 
say  palace,  of  grotto  work,  the  walls  of  which 
seemed  to  be  veined  with  gold  and  silver,  and  to 
sparkle  with  diamonds  and  sapphires,  and  all  kinds 
of  precious  stones.  At  the  upper  end  sat  a  Moorish 
king  on  a  golden  throne,  with  his  nobles  on  each 
side,  and  a  guard  of  African  blacks  with  drawn 
scimitars.  All  the  crowd  that  continued  to  flock 
in,  and  amounted  to  thousands  and  thousands, 
passed  one  by  one  before  his  throne,  each  paying 
homage  as  he  passed.  Some  of  the  multitude  were 
dressed  in  magnificent  robes,  without  stain  or  blem- 
ish, and  sparkling  with  jewels ;  others  in  burnished 
and  enamelled  armour ;  while  others  were  in  moul- 
dered and  mildewed  garments,  and  in  armour  all 
battered  and  dinted,  and  covered  with  rust. 

"  I  had  hitherto  held  my  tongue,  for  your  ex- 
cellency well  knows,  it  is  not  for  a  soldier  to  ask 
many  questions  when  on  duty,  but  I  could  keep 
silence  no  longer. 

" '  Pry'thee,  comrade,'  said  I,  '  what  is  the  mean- 
ing of  all  this  }  ' 

"  '  This,'  said  the  trooper,  '  is  a  great  and  pow- 
erful mystery.  Know,  O  Christian,  that  you  see  be- 
fore you  the  court  and  army  of  Boabdil,  the  last  king 
of  Granada.' 

"  '  What  is  this  you  tell  me  ! '  cried  I.  '  Boabdil 
and  his  court  were  exiled  from  the  land  hundreds  of 
years  agone,  and  all  died  in  Africa.' 

"  •  So  it  is  recorded  in  your  lying  chronicles,'  re- 
plied the  Moor,  '  but  know  that  Boabdil  and  the  war- 
riors who  made  the  last  struggle  for  Granada  were 
all  shut  up  in  this  mountain  by  powerful  enchant- 
ment. As  to  the  king  and  army  that  marched  forth 
from  Granada  at  the  time  of  the  surrender,  they 
were  a  mere  phantom  train,  or  spirits  and  demons 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


IGl 


permitted  to  assume  those  shapes  to  deceive  the 
Christian  sovereigns.  And  furthermore  let  me  tell 
you,  friend,  that  all  Spain  is  a  country'  under  the 
power  of  enchantment.  There  is  not  a  mountain- 
cave,  not  a  lonely  watch-tower  in  the  plains,  nor 
ruined  castle  on  the  hills,  but  has  some  spell-bound 
warriors  sleeping  from  age  to  age  within  its  vaults, 
until  the  sins  are  expiated  for  which  Allah  permitted 
the  dominion  to  pass  for  a  time  out  of  the  hands  of 
the  faithful.  Once  every  year,  on  the  eve  of  St. 
John,  they  are  released  from  enchantment  from  sun- 
set to  sunrise,  and  permitted  to  repair  here  to  pay 
homage  to  their  sovereign ;  and  the  crowds  which 
you  beheld  swarming  into  the  cavern  are  Moslem 
warriors  from  their  haunts  in  all  parts  of  Spain  ;  for 
my  own  part,  you  saw  the  ruined  tower  of  the 
bridge  in  old  Castile,  where  I  have  now  wintered 
and  summered  for  many  hundred  years,  and  where 
I  must  be  back  again  by  day-break.  As  to  the  bat- 
talions of  horse  and  foot  w'hich  you  beheld  drawn 
up  in  array  in  the  neighbouring  caverns,  they  are 
the  spell-bound  warriors  of  Granada.  It  is  written 
in  the  book  of  fate,  that  when  the  enchantment  is 
broken,  Bo:ibdil  will  descend  from  the  mountains  at 
the  head  of  this  army,  resume  his  throne  in  the  Al- 
hambra  and  his  sway  of  Granada,  and  gathering 
together  the  enchanted  warriors  from  all  parts  of 
Spain,  will  reconquer  the  peninsula,  and  restore  it  to 
Moslem  rule.' 

"  '  And  when  .shall  this  happen  .''  said  I. 

"  '  Allah  alone  knows.  We  had  hoped  the  day  of 
deliverance  was  at  hand  ;  but  there  reigns  at  present 
a  vigilant  governor  in  Alhambra,  a  staunch  old 
soldier,  the  same  called  governor  Manco  ;  while 
such  a  warrior  holds  command  of  the  very  outpost, 
and  stands  ready  to  check  the  first  irruption  from 
the  mountain,  I  fear  Boabdil  and  his  soldiery  must 
be  content  to  rest  upon  their  arms.'  " 

Here  the  governor  raised  himself  somewhat  per- 
pendicularly, adjusted  his  sword,  and  twirled  up  his 
mustachios. 

"  To  make  a  long  story  short,  and  not  to  fatigue 
your  excellency,  the  trooper  having  given  me  this  ac- 
count, dismounted  from  his  steed. 

"'Tarry  here,'  said  he,  'and  guard  my  steed, 
while  I  go  and  bow  the  knee  to  Boabdil.'  So  saying, 
he  strode  away  among  the  throng  that  pressed  for- 
ward to  the  throne. 

"  What's  to  be  done?  thought  I,  when  thus  left  to 
inyself  Shall  1  wait  here  until  this  infidel  returns 
to  whisk  me  off  on  his  goblin  steed,  the  Lord  knows 
where  ?  or  shall  I  make  the  most  of  my  time,  and 
beat  a  retreat  from  this  hobgoblin  community  .' — A 
soldier's  mind  is  soon  made  up,  as  your  excellency 
well  knows.  As  to  the  horse,  he  belonged  to  an 
avowed  enemy  of  the  faith  and  the  realm,  and  was  a 
fair  prize  according  to  the  rules  of  war  So  hoisting 
myself  from  the  crupper  into  the  saddle,  I  turned 
the  reins,  struck  the  Moorish  stirrups  into  the  sides 
of  the  steed,  and  put  him  to  make  the  best  of  his 
way  out  of  the  passage  by  which  we  had  entered. 
As  we  scoured  by  the  halls  where  the  Moslem 
horsemen  sat  in  motionless  battalions,  I  thought  I 
heard  the  clang  of  armour,  and  a  hollow  murmur  of 
voices.  I  gave  the  steed  another  taste  of  the  stir- 
rups, and  doubled  my  speed.  There  was  now  a 
sound  behind  me  like  a  rushing  blast  ;  I  heard  the 
clatterof  a  thousand  hoofs  ;  a  countless  throng  over- 
took me  ;  I  was  borne  along  in  the  press,  and  hurled 
forth  from  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  while  thou- 
sands of  shadowy  forms  were  swept  off  in  every  di- 
rection by  the  four  winds  of  heaven. 

"  In  the  whirl  and  confusion  of  the  scene,  I  was 
thrown  from  the  saddle,  and  fell  senseless  to  the 
earth.  When  I  came  to  myself  I  was  lying  on  the 
11 


brow  of  a  hill,  with  the  Arabian  steed  standing  be- 
side me,  for  in  falling  my  arm  had  slipped  within 
the  bridle,  which,  I  presume,  prevented  his  whisking 
off  to  old  Castile. 

"  Your  excellency  may  easily  judge  of  my  surprise 
on  looking  round,  to  behold  hedges  of  aloes  and 
Indian  figs,  and  other  proofs  of  a  southern  climate, 
and  see  a  great  city  below  me  with  towers  and 
palaces,  and  a  grand  cathedral.  I  descended  the 
hill  cautiously,  leading  my  steed,  for  I  was  afraid  to 
mount  him  again,  lest  he  should  play  me  some 
slippery  trick.  As  I  descended,  I  met  with  your 
patrol,  who  let  me  into  the  secret  that  it  was  Gra- 
nada that  lay  before  me  :  and  that  I  was  actually  un- 
der the  walls  of  the  Alhambra,  the  fortress  of  the 
redoubted  governor  Manco,  the  terror  of  all  en- 
chanted Moslems.  When  I  heard  this,  I  deter- 
mined at  once  to  seek  your  excellency,  to  inform  you 
of  all  that  I  had  seen,  and  to  warn  you  of  the  perils 
that  surround  and  undermine  you,  that  you  may 
take  measures  in  time  to  guard  your  fortress,  and 
the  kingdom  itself,  from  this  intestine  army  that 
lurks  in  the  very  bowels  of  the  land." 

"  And  pry'thee,  friend,  you  who  are  a  veteran  cam- 
paigner, and  have  seen  so  much  service,"  said  the 
governor,  "  how  would  you  advise  me  to  go  about  to 
prevent  this  evil  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  for  an  humble  private  of  the  ranks,", 
said  the  soldier  modestly,  "  to  pretend  to  instruct  a 
commander  of  your  excellency's  sagacity  ;  but  it  ap- 
pears to  me  that  your  excellency  might  cause  all  the 
caves  and  entrances  into  the  mountain  to  be  walled 
up  with  solid  mason-work,  so  that  Boabdil  and  his 
army  might  be  completely  corked  up  in  their  sub- 
terranean habitation.  If  the  good  father  too,"  added 
the  soldier,  reverently  bowing  to  the  friar,  and  de- 
voutly crossing  himself,  "  would  consecrate  the  bar- 
ricadoes  with  his  blessing,  and  put  up  a  few  crosses 
and  reliques,  and  images  of  saints,  I  think  they 
might  withstand  all  the  power  of  infidel  enchant- 
ments." 

"They  doubtless  would  be  of  great  avail,"  said 
the  friar. 

The  governor  now  placed  his  arm  a-kimbo,  with 
his  hand  resting  on  the  hilt  of  his  toledo,  fixed  his 
eye  upon  the  soldier,  and  gently  wagging  his  head 
from  one  side  to  the  other  : 

"So,  friend,"  said  he,  "then  you  really  suppose  I 
am  to  be  gulled  with  this  cock-and-bull  story  about 
enchanted  mountains,  and  enchanted  Moors.  Hark 
ye,  culprit  ! — not  another  word. — An  old  soldier  you 
may  be,  but  you'll  find  you  have  an  old  soldier  to 
deal  with ;  and  one  not  easily  outgeneralled.  Ho  ! 
guard  there  ! — put  this  fellow  in  irons." 

The  demure  handmaid  would  have  put  in  a  word 
in  favour  of  the  prisoner,  but  the  governor  silenced 
her  with  a  look. 

As  they  were  pinioning  the  soldier,  one  of  the 
guards  felt  something  of  bulk  in  his  pocket,  and 
drawing  it  forth,  found  a  long  leathern  purse  that 
appeared  to  be  well  filled.  Holding  it  by  one  corner, 
he  turned  out  the  contents  on  the  table  before  the 
governor,  and  never  did  freebooter's  bag  make  more 
gorgeous  delivery.  Out  tumbled  rings  and  jewels, 
and  rosaries  of  pearls,  and  sparkling  diamond  cross- 
es, and  a  profusion  of  ancient  golden  coin,  some  of 
which  fell  jingling  to  the  floor,  and  rolled  away  to 
the  uttermost  parts  of  the  chamber. 

For  a  time  the  sanctions  of  justice  were  sus- 
pended :  there  was  a  universal  scramble  after  the 
glittering  fugitives.  The  governor  alone,  who  was 
imbued  with  true  Spanish  pride,  maintained  his 
stately  decorum,  though  his  eye  betrayed  a  little 
anxiety  until  the  last  coin  and  jewel  was  restored  to 
the  sack. 


162 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


The  friar  was  not  so  calm;  his  whole  face  glowed 
like  a  furnace,  anfl  his  eyes  twinkled  and  flashed  at 
sight  of  the  rosaries  and  crosses. 

"  Sacrilegious  wretch  that  thou  art,"  exclaimed  he, 
"  what  church  or  sanctuary  hast  thou  been  plundering 
of  these  sacred  reliques.''  " 

"  Neither  one  nor  the  other,  holy  father.  If  they 
be  sacrilegious  spoils,  they  must  have  been  taken  in 
times  long  past  by  the  infidel  trooper  I  have  men- 
tioned. 1  was  just  gping  to  tell  his  excellency,  when 
he  interrupted  me,  that,  on  taking  possession  of  the 
trooper's  horse,  I  unhooked  a  leathern  sack  which 
hung  at  the  saddle  bow,  and  which,  I  presume,  con- 
tained the  plunder  of  his  campaignings  in  days  of 
old,  when  the  Moors  overran  the  country. " 

"  Mighty  well, — at  present  you  will  make  up  your 
mind  to  take  up  your  quarters  in  a  chamber  of  the 
Vermilion  towers,  which,  though  not  under  a  magic 
spell,  will  hold  you  as  safe  as  any  cave  of  your  en- 
chanted Moors." 

"  Your  excellency  will  do  as  you  think  proper," 
said  the  prisoner  coolly.  "  I  shall  be  thankful  to 
your  excellency  forany  accommodation  in  the  fortress. 
A  soldier  who  has  been  in  the  wars,  as  your  excel- 
lency well  knows,  is  not  particular  about  his  lodg- 
ings ;  and  provided  I  have  a  snug  dungeon  and  regu- 
lar rations,  I  shall  manage  to  make  myself  comfort- 
able. I  would  only  entreat,  that  while  your  excel- 
lency is  so  careful  about  me,  you  would  have  an 
eye  to  your  fortress,  and  think  on  the  hint  I  drop- 
ped about  stopping  up  the  entrances  to  the  moun- 
tain." 

Here  ended  the  scene.  The  prisoner  was  con- 
ducted to  a  strong  dungeon  in  the  Vermilion  towers, 
the  Arabian  steed  was  led  to  his  excellency's  stable, 
and  the  trooper's  sack  was  deposited  in  his  excel- 
lency's strong  box.  To  the  latter,  it  is  true,  the 
friar  made  some  demur,  questioning  whether  the 
sacred  reliques,  which  were  evidently  sacrilegious 
spoils,  should  not  be  placed  in  custody  of  the  church  ; 
but  as  the  governor  was  peremptory  on  the  subject, 
and  was  absolute  lord  in  the  Alhambra,  the  friar  dis- 
creetly dropped  the  discussion,  but  determined  to 
convey  intelligence  of  the  fact  to  the  church  digni- 
taries in  Granada. 

To  explain  these  prompt  and  rigid  measures  on 
the  part  of  old  governor  .\Ianco,  it  is  proper  to  ob- 
serve, that  about  this  time  the  Alpuxarra  mountains  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  Granada  were  terribly  infested 
by  a  gang  of  robbers,  under  the  command  of  a  daring 
chief,  named  Manyel  Borasco,  who  were  accustomed 
to  prowl  about  the  country,  and  even  to  enter  the 
city  in  various  disguises  to  gain  intelligence  of  the 
departure  of  convoys  of  merchandise,  or  travellers 
with  well-lined  purses,  whom  they  took  care  to  way- 
lay in  distant  and  solitary  passes  of  their  road. 
These  repeated  and  daring  outrages  had  awakened 
the  attention  of  government,  and  the  commanders 
of  the  various  posts  had  received  instructions  to  be 
on  the  alert,  and  to  take  up  all  suspicious  strag- 
glers. Governor  Manco  was  particularly  zealous, 
in  consequence  of  the  various  stigmas  that  had 
been  cast  upon  his  fortress,  and  he  now  doubted  not 
that  he  had  entrapped  some  formidable  desperado 
of  this  gang. 

In  the  mean  time  the  story  took  wind,  and  became 
tlie  talk  not  merely  of  the  fortress,  but  of  the  whole 
city  of  Granada.  It  was  said  that  the  noted  robber, 
Manuel  Borasco,  the  terror  of  the  Alpuxarras,  had 
fallen  into  the  clutches  of  old  governor  Manco,  and 
Ijeen  cooped  up  by  him  in  a  dungeon  of  the  Vermilion 
towers,  and  every  one  who  had  been  robbed  by  him 
flocked  to  recognize  the  marauder.  The  Vermilion 
towers,  as  is  well  known,  stand  apart  from  the  Al- 
hambra, on  a  sister  hill  separated  from  the  main 


fortress  by  the  ravine,  down  which  passes  the  main 
avenue.  There  were  no  outer  walls,  but  a  sentinel 
patroltel  before  the  tower.  The  window  of  the 
chamber  in  which  the  soldier  was  confined  was 
strongly  grated,  and  looked  upon  a  small  esplanade. 
Here  the  good  folks  of  Granada  repaired  to  gaze  at 
him,  as  they  would  at  a  laughing  hyena  grinning 
through  the  cage  of  a  menagerie.  Nobody,  how- 
ever, recognized  him  for  Manuel  Borasco,  for  that 
terrible  robber  was  noted  tor  a  ferocious  physiog- 
nomy, and  had  by  no  means  the  good-humoured 
squint  of  the  prisoner.  Visitors  came  not  merely 
from  the  city,  but  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  but 
nobody  knew  him,  and  there  began  to  be  doubts  in 
the  minds  of  the  common  people,  whether  there 
might  not  be  some  truth  in  his  story.  That  Boabdil 
and  his  army  were  shut  up  in  the  mountain,  was  an 
old  tradition  which  many  of  the  ancient  inhabitants 
had  heard  from  their  fathers.  Numbers  went  up  to 
the  mountain  of  the  Sun,  or  rather  of  St.  Elena,  in 
search  of  the  cave  mentioned  by  the  soldier ;  and 
saw  and  peeped  into  the  deep  dark  pit,  descending, 
no  one  knows  how  far,  into  the  mountain,  and 
which  remains  there  to  this  day,  the  fabled  entrance 
to  the  subterranean  abode  of  Boabdil. 

By  degrees,  the  soldier  became  popular  with  the 
common  people.  A  freebooter  of  the  mountains  is 
by  no  means  the  opprobrious  character  in  Spain  that 
a  robber  is  in  any  other  country ;  on  the  contrary, 
he  is  a  kind  of  chivalrous  personage  in  the  eyes  of 
the  lower  classes.  There  is  always  a  disposition, 
also,  to  cavil  at  the  conduct  of  those  in  command, 
and  many  began  to  murmur  at  the  high-handed 
measures  of  old  governor  Manco,  and  to  look  upon 
the  prisoner  in  the  light  of  a  martyr. 

The  soldier,  moreover,  was  a  merry,  waggish  fel- 
low, that  had  a  joke  for  every  one  who  came  near 
his  window,  and  a  soft  speech  for  every  female.  He 
had  procured  an  old  guitar  also,  and  would  sit  by  his 
window  and  sing  ballads  and  love-ditties  to  the  de- 
light of  the  women  of  the  neighbourhood,  who 
would  assemble  on  the  esplanade  in  the  evenings, 
and  dance  boleros  to  his  music.  Having  trimmed 
off  his  rough  beard,  his  sunburnt  face  found  favour 
in  the  eyes  of  the  fair,  and  the  demure  handmaid  of 
the  governor  declared  that  his  squint  was  perfectly 
irresistible.  This  kind-hearted  damsel  had,  from  the 
first,  evinced  a  deep  sympathy  in  his  fortunes,  and 
having  in  vain  tried  to  mollify  the  governor,  had  set 
to  work  privately  to  mitigate  the  rigour  of  his  dis- 
pensations. Every  day  she  brought  the  prisoner 
some  crumbs  of  comfort  which  had  fallen  from  the 
governor's  table,  or  been  abstracted  from  his  larder, 
together  with,  now  and  then,  a  consoling  bottle  of 
choice  Val  de  Penas,  or  rich  Malaga. 

While  this  petty  treason  was  going  on  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  old  governor's  citadel,  a  storm  of  open 
war  was  brewing  up  among  his  external  foes.  The 
circumstance  of  a  bag  of  gold  and  jewels  having 
been  found  upon  the  person  of  the  supposed  robber, 
had  been  reported  with  many  exaggerations  in 
Granada.  A  question  of  territorial  jurisdiction 
was  immediately  started  by  the  governor's  inveter- 
ate rival,  the  captain-general.  He  insisted  that  the 
prisoner  had  been  captured  without  the  precincts  of 
the  Alhambra,  and  within  the  rules  of  his  authority. 
He  demanded  his  body  therefore,  and  the  spolia 
opima  taken  with  him.  Due  information  having 
been  carried  likewise  by  the  friar  to  the  grand  In- 
quisitor, of  the  crosses,  and  the  rosaries,  and  other 
reliques  contained  in  the  bag,  he  claimed  the  culprit, 
as  having  been  guilty  of  sacrilege,  and  insisted  that 
his  plunder  was  due  to  the  church,  and  his  body  to 
the  next  Auto  da  Fe.  The  feuds  ran  high  ;  the  gov- 
ernor was  furious,  and  swore,  raiher  than  surrender 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


163 


his  captive,  he  would  hang  him  up  within  the  Al- 
hambra,  as  a  spy  caught  within  the  purlieus  of  the 
fortress. 

The  captain-general  threatened  to  send  a  body  of 
soldiers  to  transfer  the  prisoner  from  the  Vermilion 
towers  to  the  city.  The  grand  Inquisitor  was 
equally  bent  upon  despatching  a  number  of  the  fa- 
miliars of  the  holy  office.  Word  was  brought  late 
at  night  to  the  governor,  of  these  machinations. 
"  Let  them  come,"  said  he,  "  they'll  find  me  before- 
hand with  them.  He  must  rise  bright  and  early  who 
would  take  in  an  old  soldier."  He  accordingly  issued 
orders  to  have  the  prisoner  removed  at  daybreak  to 
the  Donjon  Keep  within  the  walls  of  the  Alhambra : 
"  And  d'ye  hear,  child,"  said  he  to  his  demure  hand- 
maid, "  tap  at  my  door,  and  wake  me  before  cock- 
crowing,  that  I  may  see  to  the  matter  myself." 

The  day  dawned,  the  cock  crowed,  but  nobody 
tapped  at  the  door  of  the  governor.  The  sun  rose 
high  above  the  mountain-tops,  and  glittered  in  at 
his  casement  ere  the  governor  was  awakened  from 
his  morning  dreams  by  his  veteran  corporal,  who 
stood  before  him  with  terror  stamped  upon  his  iron 
visage. 

"He's  off!  he's  gone  !  "  cried  the  corporal,  gasp- 
ing for  breath. 

"  WHio's  off? — who's  gone .'  " 

"  The  soldier — the  robber — the  devil,  for  aught  I 
know.  His  dungeon  is  empty,  but  the  door  locked. 
No  one  knows  how  he  has  escaped  out  of  it." 

"  Who  saw  him  last  ?  " 

"  Your  handmaid, — she  brought  him  his  supper." 

"  Let  her  be  called  instantly." 

Here  was  new  matter  of  confusion.  The  chamber 
of  the  demure  damsel  was  Ukewise  empty ;  her  bed 
had  not  been  slept  in ;  she  had  doubtless  gone  off 
with  the  culprit,  as  she  had  appeared,  for  some  days 
past,  to  have  frequent  conversations  with  him. 

This  was  wounding  the  old  governor  in  a  tender 
part,  but  he  had  scarce  time  to  wince  at  it,  when 
new  misfortunes  broke  upon  his  view.  On  going 
into  his  cabinet,  he  found  his  strong  box  open,  the 
leathern  ])urse  of  the  trooper  abstracted,  and  with  it 
a  couple  of  corpulent  bags  of  doubloons. 

But  how,  and  which  way  had  the  fugitives  escaped  ? 
A  peasant  who  lived  in  a  cottage  by  the  road-side 
leading  up  into  the  Sierra,  declared  that  he  had  heard 
the  tramp  of  a  powerful  steed,  just  before  daybreak, 
passing  up  into  the  mountains.  He  had  looked  out 
at  his  casement,  and  could  just  distinguish  a  horse- 
man, with  a  female  seated  before  him. 

"  Search  the  stables,"  cried  governor  Manco.  The 
stables  were  searched ;  all  the  horses  were  in  their 
stalls,  excepting  the  Arabian  steed.  In  his  place 
was  a  stout  cudgel  tied  to  the  manger,  and  on  it  a 
label  bearing  these  words,  "A  gift  to  governor 
Manco,  from  an  old  soldier." 


LEGEND  OF  THE  TWO  DISCREET  STATUES. 


I 


There  lived  once,  in  a  waste  apartment  of  the 
Alhambra,  a  merry  little  fellow  named  Lope  Sanchez, 
who  worked  in  the  gardens,  and  was  as  brisk  and 
blithe  as  a  grasshopper,  singing  all  day  long.  '  He 
was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  fortress ;  when  his  work 
was  over,  he  would  sit  on  one  of  the  stone  benches 
of  the  esplanade  and  strum  his  guitar,  and  sing  long 
ditties  about  the  Cid,  and  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  and 
Fernando  del  Pulgar,  and  other  Spanish  heroes,  for 
the  amusement  of  the  old  soldiers  of  the  fortress,  or 


would  strike  up  a  merrier  tune,  and  set  the  girls 
dancing  boleros  and  fandangos. 

Like  most  little  men.  Lope  Sanchez  had  a  strap- 
ping buxom  dame  for  a  wife,  who  could  almost  have 
put  him  in  her  pocket ;  but  he  lacked  the  usual  poor 
man's  lot, — instead  of  ten  children  he  had  but  one. 
This  was  a  little  black-eyed  girl,  about  twelve  years 
of  age,  named  Sanchica,  who  was  as  merry  as  him- 
self, and  the  delight  of  his  heart.  She  played  about 
him  as  he  worked  in  the  gardens,  danced  to  his  guitar 
as  he  sat  in  the  shade,  and  ran  as  wild  as  a  young 
fawn  about  the  groves,  and  alleys,  and  ruined  halls 
of  the  Alhambra. 

It  was  now  the  eve  of  the  blessed  St.  John,  and 
the  holiday-loving  gossips  of  the  Alhambra,  men, 
women,  and  children,  went  up  at  night  to  the  moun- 
tain of  the  Sun,  which  rises  above  the  Generaliffe,  to 
keep  their  midsummer  vigil  on  its  level  summit.  It 
was  a  bright  moonlight  night,  and  all  the  mountains 
were  gray  and  silvery,  and  the  city,  with  its  domes 
and  spires,  lay  in  shadows  below,  and  the  Vega  was 
like  a  fairy  land,  with  haunted  streams  gleaming 
among  its  dusky  groves.  On  the  highest  part  of  the 
mountain  they  lit  up  a  bale  fire,  according  to  an  old 
custom  of  the  country  handed  down  from  the  Moors. 
The  inhabitants  of  the  surrounding  country  were 
keeping  a  similar  vigil,  and  bale  fires  here  and  there 
in  the  Vega,  and  along  the  folds  of  the  mountains, 
blazed  up  palely  in  the  moonlight. 

The  evening  was  gaily  passed  in  dancing  to  the 
guitar  of  Lope  Sanchez,  who  was  never  so  joyous  as 
when  on  a  holiday  revel  of  the  kind.  While  the 
dance  was  going  on,  the  Utile  Sanchica  with  some 
of  her  playmates  sported  among  the  ruins  of  an  old 
Moorish  fort  that  crowns  the  mountain,  when,  on 
gathering  pebbles  in  the  fosse,  she  found  a  small 
hand,  curiously  carved  of  jet,  the  fingers  closed,  and 
the  thumb  firmly  clasped  upon  them.  Overjoyed 
with  her  good  fortune,  she  ran  to  her  mother  with 
her  prize.  It  immediately  became  a  subject  of  sage 
speculation,  and  was  eyed  by  some  with  superstitious 
distrust.  "  Throw  it  away,"  said  one,  "  it  is  Moorish, 
— depend  upon  it  there's  mischief  and  witchcraft  in 
it."  "By  no  means,"  said  another,  "you  may  sell 
it  for  something  to  the  jewellers  of  the  Zacatin."  In 
the  midst  of  this  discussion  an  old  tawny  soldier  drew 
near,  who  had  served  in  Africa,  and  was  as  swarthy 
as  a  Moor.  He  examined  the  hand  with  a  knowing 
look.  "I  have  seen  things  of  this  kind,"  said  he, 
"among  the  Moors  of  Barbary.  It  is  of  great  value 
to  guard  against  the  evil  eye,  and  all  kinds  of  spells 
and  enchantments.  I  give  you  joy,  friend  Lope,  this 
bodes  good  luck  to  your  child." 

Upon  hearing  this,  the  wife  of  Lope  Sanchez  tied 
the  little  hand  of  jet  to  a  riband,  and  hung  it  round 
the  neck  of  her  daughter. 

The  sight  of  this  talisman  called  up  all  the  favour- 
ite superstitions  about  the  Moors.  The  dance  was 
neglected,  and  they  sat  in  groups  on  the  ground, 
telling  old  legendary  tales  handed  down  from  their 
ancestors.  Some  of  their  stories  turned  upon  the 
wonders  of  the  very  mountain  upon  which  they  were 
seated,  which  is  a  famous  hobgoblin  region. 

One  ancient  crone  gave  a  long  account  of  the  sub- 
terranean palace  in  the  bov.els  of  that  mountain, 
where  Boabdil  and  all  his  Moslem  court  are  said  to 
remain  enchanted.  "  Among  yonder  ruins,"  said 
she,  pointing  to  some  crumbling  walls  and  mounds 
of  earth  on  a  distant  part  of  the  mountain,  "  there  is 
a  deep  black  pit  that  goes  down,  down  into  the  very 
heart  of  the  mountain.  For  all  the  money  in  Grana- 
da, I  would  not  look  down  into  it.  Once  upon  a 
time,  a  poor  man  of  the  Alhambra,  who  tended  goats 
upon  this  mountain,  scrambled  down  into  that  pit 
after  a  kid  that  had  fallen  in.     He  came  out  again. 


164 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


all  wild  and  staring,  and  told  such  things  of  what  he 
had  seen,  that  every  one  thought  his  brain  was 
turned.  He  raved  for  a  day  or  two  about  hobgoblin 
Moors  that  had  pursued  him  in  the  cavern,  and  could 
hardly  be  persuaded  to  drive  his  goats  up  again  to 
the  mountain.  He  did  so  at  last,  but,  poor  man,  he 
never  came  down  again.  Tlie  neighbours  found  his 
goats  browsing  about  the  Moorish  ruins,  and  his  hat 
and  mantle  lying  near  the  mouth  of  the  pit,  but  he 
was  never  more  heard  of." 

The  little  Sanchica  listened  with  breathless  atten- 
tion to  this  story.  She  was  of  a  curious  nature,  and 
felt  immediately  a  great  hankering  to  peep  into  this 
dangerous  pit.  Stealing  away  from  her  companions, 
she  sought  the  distant  ruins,  and  after  groping  for 
some  time  among  them,  came  to  a  small  hollow  or 
basin,  near  the  brow  of  the  mountain,  where  it  swept 
steeply  down  into  the  valley  of  the  Darro.  In  the 
centre  of  this  basin  yawned  the  mouth  of  the  pit. 
Sanchica  ventured  to  the  verge  and  peeped  in.  All 
was  black  as  pitch,  and  gave  an  idea  of  immeasura- 
ble depth.  Her  blood  ran  cold — she  drew  back — 
then  peeped  again— then  would  have  run  away — 
then  took  another  peep — the  very  horror  of  the  thing 
was  delightful  to  her.  At  length  she  rolled  a  large 
stone,  and  pushed  it  over  the  brink.  For  some  time 
it  fell  in  silence  ;  then  struck  some  rocky  projection 
with  a  violent  crash,  then  rebounded  from  side  to 
side,  rumbling  and  tumbling,  with  a  noise  like  thun- 
der, then  made  a  final  splash  into  water,  far,  far  be- 
low, and  all  was  again  silent. 

The  silence,  however,  did  not  long  continue.  It 
seemed  as  if  something  had  been  awakened  within 
this  dreary  abyss.  A  murmuring  sound  gradually 
rose  out  of  the  pit  like  the  hum  and  buzz  of  a  bee- 
hive. It  grew  louder  and  louder :  there  was  the 
confusion  of  voices  as  of  a  distant  multitude,  together 
with  the  faint  din  of  arms,  clash  of  cymbals,  and 
clangour  of  trumpets,  as  if  some  army  were  marshal- 
ling for  battle  in  the  very  bowels  of  the  mountain. 

The  child  drew  off  with  silent  awe,  and  hastened 
back  to  the  place  where  she  had  left  her  parents  and 
their  companions.  All  were  gone.  The  bale  fire 
was  expiring,  and  its  last  wreath  of  smoke  curling 
up  in  the  moonshine.  The  distant  fires  that  had 
blazed  along  the  mountains  and  in  the  Vega  were 
all  extinguished  ;  every  thing  seemed  to  have  sunk 
to  repose.  Sanchica  called  her  parents  and  some  of 
her  companions  byname,  but  received  no  reply.  She 
ran  down  the  side  of  the  mountain,  and  by  the  gar- 
dens of  the  Gcneraliffe,  until  she  arrived  in  the  alley 
of  trees  leading  to  the  Alhambra,  where  she  seated 
herself  on  a  bench  of  a  woody  recess  to  recover 
breath.  The  bell  from  the  watch-tower  of  the  Al- 
hambra told  midnight.  There  was  a  deep  tranquillity, 
as  if  all  nature  slept  ;  excepting  the  low  tinkling  sound 
of  an  unseen  stream  that  ran  under  the  covert  of  the 
bushes.  The  breathing  sweetness  of  the  atmosphere 
was  lulling  her  to  sleep,  when  her  eye  was  caught 
by  something  glittering  at  a  distance,  and  to  her  sur- 
prise, she  beheld  a  long  cavalcade  of  Moorish  war- 
riors pouring  down  the  mountain  side,  and  along  the 
leafy  avenues.  Some  were  armed  with  lances  and 
shields  ;  others  with  scimitars  and  battle-axes,  and 
with  polished  cuirasses  that  flashed  in  the  moon- 
beams. Their  horses  pranced  proudly,  and  champ- 
ed upon  the  bit,  but  their  tramp  caused  no  more 
sound  than  if  they  had  been  shod  with  felt,  and  the 
riders  were  all  as  pale  as  death.  Among  them  rode 
a  beautiful  lady  with  a  crowned  head  and  long  golden 
locks  entwined  with  pearls.  The  housings  of  her 
palfrey  were  of  crimson  velvet  embroidered  with 
gold,  and  swept  the  earth  ;  but  she  rode  all  discon- 
solate, with  eyes  ever  fixed  upon  the  ground. 

Then  succeeded  a  train  of  courtiers  magnificently 


arrayed  in  robes  and  turbans  of  divers  colours,  and 
amidst  these,  on  a  cream-coloured  charger,  rode 
king  Boabdil  el  Chico,  in  a  royal  mantle  covered 
with  jewels,  and  a  crown  sparkling  with  diamonds. 
The  little  Sanchica  knew  him  by  his  yellow  beard, 
and  his  resemblance  to  his  portrait,  which  she  had 
often  seen  in  the  picture  gallery  of  the  Generaliffe. 
She  gazed  in  wonder  and  admiration  at  this  royal 
pageant  as  it  passed  glistening  among  the  trees,  but 
though  she  knew  these  monarchs,  and  courtiers,  and 
warriors,  so  pale  and  silent,  were  out  of  the  common 
course  of  nature,  and  things  of  magic  or  enchant- 
ment, yet  she  looked  on  with  a  bold  heart,  such 
courage  did  she  derive  from  the  mystic  talisman  of 
the  hand  which  was  suspended  about  her  neck. 

The  cavalcade  having  passed  by,  she  rose  and  fol- 
lowed. It  continued  on  to  the  great  gate  of  Justice, 
which  stood  wide  open  ;  the  old  invalid  sentinels  on 
duty,  lay  on  the  stone  benches  of  the  Barbican,  bur- 
ied in  profound  and  apparently  charmed  sleep,  and 
the  phantom  piigt^ant  swept  noiselessly  by  them  with 
flaunting  banner  and  triumphant  state.  Sanchica 
would  have  followed,  but,  to  her  surprise,  she  beheld 
an  opening  in  the  earth  within  the  Barbican,  leading 
down  beneath  the  foundations  of  the  tower.  She 
entered  for  a  little  distance,  and  was  encouraged  to 
proceed  by  finding  steps  rudely  hewn  in  the  rock, 
and  a  vaulted  passage  here  and  there  lit  up  by  a  sil- 
ver lamp,  which,  while  it  gave  light,  diffused  like- 
wise a  grateful  fragrance.  Venturing  on,  she  came 
at  last  to  a  great  hall  wrought  out  of  the  heart  of  the 
mountain,  magnificently  furnished  in  the  Moorish 
style,  and  lighted  up  by  silver  and  crystal  lamps. 
Here  on  an  ottoman  sat  an  old  man  in  Moorish  dress, 
with  a  long  white  beard,  nodding  and  dozing,  with 
a  staff  in  his  hand,  which  seemed  ever  to  be  slipping 
from  his  grasp  ;  while  at  a  little  distance,  sat  a  beau- 
tiful lady,  in  ancient  Spanish  dress,  with  a  coronet 
all  sparkling  with  diamonds,  and  her  hair  entwined 
with  pearls,  who  was  softly  playing  on  a  silver  lyre. 
The  little  Sanchica  now  recollected  a  story  she  had 
heard  among  the  old  people  of  the  Alhambra,  con- 
cerning a  Gothic  princess  confined  in  the  centre  of 
the  mountain  by  an  old  Arabian  magician,  whom  she 
kept  bound  up  in  magic  sleep  by  the  power  of  music. 

The  lady  paused  with  surprise,  at  seeing  a  mortal 
in  that  enchanted  hall.  "Is  it  the  eve  of  the  blessed 
St.  John.''"  said  she. 

"It  is,"  replied  Sanchica. 

"  Then  for  one  night  the  magic  charm  is  sus- 
pended. Come  hither,  child,  and  fear  not,  I  am  a 
Christian  like  thyself,  though  bound  here  by  en- 
chantment. Touch  my  fetters  with  the  talisman 
that  hangs  about  thy  neck,  and  for  this  night  I  shall 
be  free." 

So  saying,  she  opened  her  robes  and  displayed  a 
broad  golden  band  round  her  waist,  and  a  golden 
chain  that  fastened  her  to  the  ground.  The  child 
hesitated  not  to  apply  the  little  hand  of  jet  to  the 
golden  band,  and  unmediately  the  chain  fell  to  the 
earth.  At  the  sound  the  old  man  awoke,  and  began 
to  rub  his  eyes,  but  the  lady  ran  her  fingers  over  the 
chords  of  the  lyre,  and  again  he  fell  into  a  slumber 
and  began  to  nod,  and  his  staff  to  falter  in  his  hand. 
"  Now,"  said  the  lady,  "  touch  his  staff  with  the  tal- 
ismanic  hand  of  jet."  The  child  did  so,  and  it  fell 
from  his  grasp,  and  he  sunk  in  a  deep  sleep  on  the 
ottoman.  The  lady  gently  laid  the  silver  lyre  on  the 
ottoman,  leaning  it  against  the  head  of  the  sleeping 
magician,  then  touching  the  chords  until  they  vibra- 
ted in  his  ear,  "  O  potent  spirit  of  harmony,"  said 
she,  "  continue  thus  to  hold  his  senses  in  thraldom 
till  the  return  of  day."  "  Now  follow  me,  my  child," 
continued  she,  "  and  thou  shalt  behold  the  Alhambra 
as  it  was  in  the  days  of  its  glory,  for  thou  hast  a 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


165 


I 


magic  talisman  that  reveals  all  enchantments." 
Sanchica  followed  the  lady  in  silence.  They  passed 
up  through  the  entrance  of  the  cavern  into  the  Bar- 
bican of  the  gate  of  Justice,  and  thence  to  the  Plaza 
de  las  Algibes,  or  esplanade  within  the  fortress. 
This  was  all  filled  with  Moorish  soldiery,  horse  and 
foot,  marshalled  in  squadrons,  with  banners  display- 
ed. There  were  royal  guards  also  at  the  portal,  and 
rows  of  African  blacks  with  drawn  scimitars.  No 
one  spoke  a  word,  and  Sanchica  passed  on  fearlessly 
after  her  conductor.  Her  astonishment  increased  on 
entering  the  royal  palace,  in  which  she  had  been 
reared.  The  broad  moonshine  lit  up  all  the  halls, 
and  courts,  and  gardens,  almost  as  brightly  as  if  it 
were  day  ;  biit  revealed  a  far  different  scene  from 
that  to  which  she  was  accustomed.  The  walls  of  the 
apartments  were  no  longer  stained  and  rent  by  time. 
Instead  of  cobwebs,  they  were  now  hung  with  rich 
silks  of  Damascus,  and  the  gildings  and  arabesque 
paintings  were  restored  to  their  original  brilliancy 
and  freshness.  The  halls,  instead  of  being  naked 
and  unfurnished,  were  set  out  with  divans  and  otto- 
mans of  the  rarest  stuffs,  embroidered  with  pearls, 
and  studded  with  precious  gems,  and  all  the  foun- 
tains in  the  courts  and  gardens  were  playing. 

The  kitchens  were  again  in  full  operation  ;  cooks 
were  busied  preparing  shadowy  dishes,  and  roasting 
and  boiling  the  phantoms  of  pullets  and  partridges ; 
servants  were  hurr)'ing  to  and  fro  with  silver  dishes 
heaped  up  with  dainties,  and  arranging  a  delicious  ban- 
quet. The  court  of  Lions  was  thronged  with  guards, 
and  courtiers,  and  alfaquis,  as  in  the  old  times  of  the 
Moors  ;  and  at  the  upper  end,  in  the  saloon  of  judg- 
ment, sat  Boabdil  on  his  throne,  surrounded  by  his 
court,  and  swayed  a  shadowy  sceptre  for  the  night. 

Notwithstanding  all  this  throng  and  seeming 
bustle,  not  a  voice  or  footstep  was  to  be  heard  ; 
nothing  interrupted  the  midnight  silence  but  the 
plashing  of  the  fountains.  The  httle  Sanchica  fol- 
lowed her  conductress  in  mute  amazement  about  the 
palace,  until  they  came  to  a  portal  opening  to  the 
vaulted  passages  beneath  the  great  tower  of  Co- 
mares.  On  each  side  of  the  portal  sat  the  figure  of 
a  nymph,  wrought  out  of  alabaster.  Their  heads 
were  turned  aside,  and  their  regards  fixed  upon  the 
same  spot  within  the  vault.  The  enchanted  lady 
paused,  and  beckoned  the  child  to  her.  "  Here," 
said  she,  "  is  a  great  secret,  which  I  will  reveal  to 
thee  in  reward  for  thy  faith  and  courage.  These 
discreet  statues  watch  over  a  mighty  treasure  hid- 
den in  old  times  by  a  Moorish  king.  Tell  thy 
father  to  search  the  spot  on  which  their  eyes  are 
fixed,  and  he  will  find  what  will  make  him  richer 
than  any  man  in  Granada.  Thy  innocent  hands 
alone,  however,  gifted  as  thou  art  also  with  the  talis- 
man, can  remove  the  treasure.  Bid  thy  father  use 
it  discreetly,  and  devote  a  part  of  it  to  the  perform- 
ance of  daily  masses  for  my  deliverance  from  this 
unholy  enchantment." 

When  the  lady  had  spoken  these  words,  she  led 
the  child  onward  to  the  little  garden  of  Lindaraxa, 
which  is  hard  by  the  vault  of  the  statues.  The 
moon  trembled  upon  the  waters  of  the  solitary 
fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  garden,  and  shed  a 
tender  light  upon  the  orange  and  citron  trees.  The 
beautiful  lady  plucked  a  branch  of  myrtle  and 
wreathed  it  round  the  head  of  the  child.  "  Let  this 
be  a  memento,"  said  she,  "of  what  I  have  revealed 
to  thee,  and  a  testimonial  of  its  truth.  My  hour  is 
come. — I  must  return  to  the  enchanted  hall  ;  follow 
me  not,  lest  evil  befall  thee ;  farewell,  remember 
what  I  have  said,  and  have  masses  performed  for 
my  deliverance."  So  saying,  the  lady  entered  a  dark 
l)assage  leading  beneath  the  towers  of  Comares,  and 
was  no  longer  to  be  seen. 


The  faint  crowing  of  a  cock  was  now  heard  from 
the  cottages  below  the  Alhambra,  in  the  valley  of 
the  Darro,  and  a  pale  streak  of  light  began  to  appear 
above  the  eastern  mountains.  A  slight  wind  arose  ; 
there  was  a  sound  like  the  rustling  of  dry  leaves 
through  the  courts  and  corridors,  and  door  after 
door  shut  to  with  a  jarring  sound.  Sanchica  re- 
turned to  the  scenes  she  had  so  lately  beheld 
thronged  with  the  shadowy  multitude,  but  Boabdil 
and  his  phantom  court  were  gone. 

The  moon  shone  into  empty  halls  and  galleries, 
stripped  of  their  transient  splendour,  stained  and 
dilapidated  by  time,  and  hung  with  cobwebs ;  the 
bat  flitted  about  in  the  uncertain  light,  and  the  frog 
croaked  from  the  fish-pond. 

Sanchica  now  made  the  best  of  her  way  to  a  re- 
mote staircase  that  led  up  to  the  humble  apartment 
occupied  by  her  family.  The  door  as  usual  was 
open,  for  Lope  Sanchez  was  too  poor  to  need  bolt  or 
bar  :  she  crept  quietly  to  her  pallet,  and,  putting 
the  myrtle  wreath  beneath  her  pillow,  soon  fell 
asleep. 

In  the  morning  she  related  all  that  had  befallen 
her  to  her  father.  Lope  Sanchez,  however,  treated 
the  whole  as  a  mere  dream,  and  laughed  at  the 
child  for  her  credulity.  He  went  forth  to  his  cus- 
tomary labours  in  the  garden,  but  had  not  been 
there  long  when  his  little  daughter  came  running  to 
him  almost  breathless.  "  Father  !  father  !  "  cried 
she,  "  behold  the  myrtle  wreath  which  the  Moorish 
lady  bound  round  my  head." 

Lope  Sanchez  gazed  with  astonishment,  for  the 
stalk  of  the  myrtle  was  of  pure  gold,  and  every  leaf 
was  a  sparkling  emerald  !  Being  not  much  accus- 
tomed to  precious  stones,  he  was  ignorant  of  the 
real  value  of  the  wreath,  but  he  saw  enough  to  con- 
vince him  that  it  was  something  more  substantial 
than  the  stuff  that  dreams  are  generally  made  of, 
and  that  at  any  rate  the  child  had  dreamt  to  some 
purpose.  His  first  care  was  to  enjoin  the  most 
absolute  secrecy  upon  his  daughter  ;  in  this  respect, 
however,  he  was  secure,  for  she  had  discretion  far 
beyond  her  years  or  sex.  He  then  repaired  to  the 
vault  where  stood  the  statues  of  the  two  alabaster 
nymphs.  He  remarked  that  their  heads  were  turned 
from  the  portal,  and  that  the  regards  of  each  were 
fixed  upon  the  same  point  in  the  interior  of  the  build- 
ing. Lope  Sanchez  could  not  but  admire  this  most 
discreet  contrivance  for  guarding  a  secret.  He  drew 
a  line  from  the  eyes  of  the  statues  to  the  point  of 
regard,  made  a  private  mark  on  the  wall,  and  then 
retired. 

All  day,  however,  the  mind  of  Lope  Sanchez  was 
distracted  with  a  thousand  cares.  He  could  not 
help  hovering  within  distant  view  of  the  two  statues, 
and  became  nervous  from  the  dread  that  the  golden 
secret  might  be  discovered.  Every  footstep  that 
approached  the  place,  made  him  tremble.  He  would 
have  given  any  thing  could  he  but  turn  the  heads 
of  the  statues,  forgetting  that  they  had  looked  pre- 
cisely in  the  same  direction  for  some  hundreds  of 
years,  without  any  person  being  the  wiser.  "A 
plague  upon  them,"  he  would  say  to  himself,  "  they'll 
betray  all.  Did  ever  mortal  hear  of  such  a  mode  of 
guarding  a  secret  !  "  Then,  on  hearing  any  one 
advance  he  would  steal  off,  as  though  his  very  lurk- 
ing near  the  place  would  awaken  suspicions.  Then 
he  would  return  cautiously,  and  peep  from  a  distance 
to  see  if  every  thing  was  secure,  but  the  sight  of  the 
statues  would  again  call  forth  his  indignation.  "Aye, 
there  they  stand,"  would  he  say,  "always  looking, 
and  looking,  and  looking,  just  where  they  should 
not.  Confound  them !  they  are  just  like,  all  their 
sex ;  if  they  have  not  tongues  to  tattle  with,  they'll 
be  sure  to  do  it  with  their  eyes  !  " 


1G6 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


At  length,  to  his  relief,  the  long  anxious  clay  drew 
to  a  close.  The  sound  of  footsteps  was  no  longer 
heard  in  the  echoing  halls  of  the  Alhambra  ;  the 
last  stranger  passed  the  threshold,  the  great  portal 
was  barred  and  bolted,  and  the  bat,  and  the  frog, 
and  the  hooting  owl  gradually  resumed  their  nightly 
vocations  in  the  deserted  palace. 

Lope  Sanchez  waited,  however,  until  the  night 
was  far  advanced,  before  he  ventured  with  his  little 
daughter  to  the  hall  of  the  two  nymphs.  He  found 
them  lookmg  as  knowingly  and  mysteriously  as 
ever,  at  the  secret  place  of  deposit.  "  By  your 
leaves,  gentle  ladies,"  thought  Lope  Sanchez  as  he 
passed  between  them,  "  I  will  relieve  you  from  this 
charge  that  must  have  set  so  heavy  in  your  minds 
for  the  last  two  or  three  centuries."  He  accordingly 
went  to  work  at  the  part  of  the  wall  which  he  had 
marked,  and  in  a  little  while  laid  open  a  concealed 
recess,  in  which  stood  two  great  jars  of  porcelain. 
He  attempted  to  draw  them  forth,  but  they  were  im- 
movable until  touched  by  the  innocent  hand  of  his 
little  daughter.  With  her  aid  he  dislodged  them 
from  their  niche,  and  found,  to  his  great  joy,  that 
they  were  filled  with  pieces  of  Moorish  gold,  mingled 
with  jewels  and  precious  stones.  Before  daylight  he 
managed  to  convey  them  to  his  chamber,  and  left 
the  two  guardian  statues  with  their  eyes  still  fixed 
on  the  vacant  wall. 

Lope  Sanchez  had  thus  on  a  sudden  become  a 
rich  man,  but  riches,  as  usual,  brought  a  world  of 
cares,  to  which  he  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger. 
How  was  he  to  convey  away  his  wealth  with  safety  ? 
How  was  he  even  to  enter  upon  the  enjoyment  of  it 
without  awakening  suspicion  ?  Now  too,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  the  dread  of  robbers  entered 
into  his  mind.  He  looked  with  terror  at  the  inse- 
curity of  his  habitation,  and  went  to  work  to  barri- 
cade the  doors  and  windows ;  yet  after  all  his  pre- 
cautions, he  could  not  sleep  soundly.  His  usual 
gaiety  was  at  an  end ;  he  had  no  longer  a  joke  or  a 
song  for  his  neighbours,  and,  in  short,  became  the 
most  miserable  animal  in  the  Alhambra.  His  old 
comrades  remarked  this  alteration ;  pitied  him 
heartily,  and  began  to  desert  him,  thinking  he  must 
be  falling  into  want,  and  in  danger  of  looking  to 
them  for  assistance  ;  little  did  they  suspect  that  his 
only  calamity  was  riches. 

The  wife  of  Lope  Sanchez  shared  his  anxiety ; 
but  then  she  had  ghostly  comfort.  We  ought  be- 
fore this  to  have  mentioned,  that  Lope  being  rather 
a  light,  inconsiderate  little  man,  his  wife  was  ac- 
customed, in  all  grave  matters,  to  seek  the  counsel 
and  ministry  of  her  confessor.  Fray  Simon,  a  sturdy, 
l)road-shouldered,  blue-bearded,  bullet-headed  friar 
of  the  neighbouring  convent  of  San  Francisco,  who 
was,  in  fact,  the  spiritual  comforter  of  half  the  good 
wives  of  the  neighbourhood.  He  was,  moreover,  in 
great  esteem  among  divers  sisterhoods  of  nuns,  who 
requited  him  for  his  ghostly  services  by  frequent 
presents  of  those  little  dainties  and  nicknacks 
manufactured  in  convents,  such  as  delicate  con- 
fections, sweet  biscuits,  and  bottles  of  spiced  cor- 
dials, found  to  be  marvellous  restoratives  after  fasts 
and  vigils. 

Fray  Simon  thrived  in  the  exercise  of  his  func- 
tions. His  oily  skin  glistened  in  the  sunshine  as  he 
toiled  up  the  hill  of  the  Alhambra  on  a  sultry  day. 
Yet  notwithstanding  his  sleek  condition,  the  knotted 
rope  round  his  waist  showed  the  austerity  of  his  self- 
discipline  ;  the  multitude  doffed  their  caps  to  him  as 
a  mirror  of  piety,  and  even  the  dogs  scented  the 
odour  of  sanctity  that  exhaled  from  his  garments, 
and  bowled  from  their  kennels  as  he  passed. 

Such  was  Fray  Simon,  the  spiritual  counsellor 
of  the  comely  wife  of  Lope  Sanchez,  and  as  the 


father  confessor  is  the  domestic  confidant  of  women 
in  humble  life  in  Spain,  he  was  soon  made  ac- 
quainted, in  great  secrecy,  with  the  story  of  the  hid- 
den treasure. 

The  friar  opened  eyes  and  mouth,  and  crossed 
himself  a  dozen  times  at  the  news.  After  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  "  Daughter  of  my  soul  !  "  said  he, 
"know  that  thy  husband  has  committed  a  double 
sin,  a  sin  against  both  state  and  church  !  The 
treasure  he  has  thus  seized  upon  for  himself,  being 
found  in  the  royal  domains,  belongs  of  course  to  the 
crown  ;  but  being  infidel  wealth,  rescued,  as  it  were, 
from  the  very  fangs  of  Satan,  should  be  devoted  to 
the  church.  Still,  however,  the  matter  may  be  ac- 
commodated.    Bring  hither  the  myrtle  wreath." 

When  the  good  father  beheld  it,  his  eyes  twinkled 
more  than  ever,  with  admiration  of  the  size  and 
beauty  of  the  emeralds.  "This,"  said  he,  "being 
the  first  fruits  of  this  discovery,  should  be  dedicated 
to  pious  purposes.  I  will  hang  it  up  as  a  votive 
ofTering  before  the  image  of  San  Francisco  in  our 
chapel,  and  will  earnestly  pray  to  him,  this  very 
night,  that  your  husband  be  permitted  to  remain 
in  quiet  possession  of  your  wealth." 

The  good  dame  was  delighted  to  make  her  peace 
with  heaven  at  so  cheap  a  rate,  and  the  friar,  put- 
ting the  wreath  under  his  mantle,  departed  with 
saintly  steps  towards  his  convent. 

When  Lope  Sanchez  came  home,  his  wife  told 
him  what  had  passed.  He  was  excessively  pro- 
voked, for  he  lacked  his  wife's  devotion,  and  had  for 
some  time  groaned  in  secret  at  the  domestic  visita- 
tions of  the  friar.  "  Woman,"  said  he,  "  what  hast 
thou  done  !  Thou  hast  put  every  thing  at  hazard 
by  thy  tattling." 

"What!"  cried  the  good  woman,  "would  you 
forbid  my  disburthening  my  conscience  to  my  con- 
fessor ?  " 

"No,  wife  !  confess  as  many  of  your  own  sins  as 
you  please ;  but  as  to  this  money-digging,  it  is  a  sin 
of  my  own,  and  my  conscience  is  very  easy  under 
the  weight  of  it." 

There  was  no  use,  however,  in  complaining;  the 
secret  was  told,  and,  like  water  spilled  on  the  sand, 
was  not  again  to  be  gathered.  Their  only  chance 
was,  that  the  friar  would  be  discreet. 

The  next  day,  while  Lope  Sanchez  was  abroad, 
there  was  an  humble  knocking  at  the  door,  and 
Fray  Simon  entered  with  meek  and  demure  coun- 
tenance. 

"  Daughter,"  said  he,  "  I  have  prayed  earnestly 
to  San  Francisco,  and  he  has  heard  my  prayer.  In 
the  dead  of  the  night  the  saint  appeared  to  me  in  a 
dream,  but  with  a  frowning  aspect.  '  Why,"  said 
he,  'dost  thou  pray  to  me  to  dispense  with  this 
treasure  of  the  Gentiles,  when  thou  seest  the  poverty 
of  my  chapel .'  Go  to  the  house  of  Lope  Sanchez, 
crave  in  my  name  a  portion  of  the  Moorish  gold  to 
furnish  two  candlesticks  for  the  main  altar,  and  let 
him  possess  the  residue  in  peace.'  " 

When  the  good  woman  heard  of  this  vision,  she 
crossed  herself  with  awe,  and  going  to  the  secret 
place  where  Lope  had  hid  the  treasure,  she  filled  a 
great  leathern  purse  with  pieces  of  Moorish  gold, 
and  gaVe  it  to  the  friar.  The  pious  monk  bestowed 
upon  her  in  return,  benedictions  enough,  if  paid  by 
heaven,  to  enrich  her  race  to  the  latest  posterity  ; 
then  slipping  the  purse  into  the  sleeve  of  his  habit, 
he  folded  his  hands  upon  his  breast,  and  departed 
with  an  air  of  humble  thankfulness. 

When  Lope  Sanchez  heard  of  this  second  dona- 
tion to  the  church,  he  had  well  nigh  lost  his  senses. 
"  Unfortunate  man,"  cried  he,  "  what  will  become 
of  me  .•"  I  shall  be  robbed  by  piecemeal ;  I  shall  be 
ruined  and  brought  to  beggary  !  " 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


167 


It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  his  wife 
could  pacify  him  by  reminding  him  of  the  countless 
wealth  that  yet  remained ;  and  how  considerate  it 
was  for  San  Francisco  to  rest  contented  with  so 
very  small  a  portion. 

Unluckily,  Fray  Simon  had  a  number  of  poor  re- 
lations to  be  provided  for,  not  to  mention  some  half 
dozen  sturdy,  bullet-headed  orphan  children  and 
destitute  foundlings,  that  he  had  taken  under  his 
care.  He  repeated  his  visits,  therefore,  from  day  to 
day,  with  salutations  on  behalf  of  Saint  Dominick, 
Saint  Andrew,  Saint  James,  until  poor  Lope  was 
driven  to  despair,  and  found  that,  unless  he  got  out 
of  the  reach  of  this  holy  friar,  he  should  have  to 
make  peace  offerings  to  every  saint  in  the  kalendar. 
He  determined,  therefore,  to  pack  up  his  remaining 
wealth,  beat  a  secret  retreat  in  the  night,  and  make 
off  to  another  part  of  the  kingdom. 

Full  of  his  project,  he  bought  a  stout  mule  for  the 
purpose,  and  tethered  it  in  a  gloomy  vault,  under- 
neath the  tower  of  the  Seven  Floors.  The  very 
place  from  whence  the  Bellado,  or  goblin  horse 
without  a  head,  is  said  to  issue  forth  at  midnight 
and  to  scour  the  streets  of  Granada,  pursued  by  a 
pack  of  hell-hounds.  Lope  Sanchez  had  litde  faith 
in  the  story,  but  availed  himself  of  the  dread  oc- 
casioned by  it,  knowing  that  no  one  would  be  likely 
to  pry  into  the  subterranean  stable  of  the  phantom 
steed.  He  sent  off  his  family  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  with  orders  to  wait  for  him  at  a  distant  village 
of  the  Vega.  As  the  night  advanced,  he  conveyed 
his  treasure  to  the  vault  under  the  tower,  and  havmg 
loaded  his  mule,  he  led  it  forth,  and  cautiously  de- 
scended the  dusky  avenue. 

Honest  Lope  had  taken  his  measures  with  the  ut- 
most secrecy,  imparting  them  to  no  one  but  the 
faitliful  wife  of  his  bosom.  By  some  miraculous 
revelation,  however,  they  became  known  to  Fray 
Simon  ;  the  zealous  friar  beheld  these  infidel  treas- 
ures on  the  point  of  slipping  for  ever  out  of  his 
grasp,  and  determined  to  have  one  more  dash  at 
them  for  the  benefit  of  the  church  and  San  Fran- 
cisco. Accordingly,  when  the  bells  had  rung  for 
animas,  and  all  the  Alhainbra  was  quiet,  he  stole 
out  of  his  convent,  and,  descending  through  the 
gate  of  Justice,  concealed  himself  among  the  thickets 
of  roses  and  laurels  that  border  the  great  avenue. 
Here  he  remained,  counting  the  quarters  of  hours 
as  they  were  sounded  on  the  bell  of  the  watch- 
tower,  and  listening  to  the  dreary  hootings  of 
owls,  and  the  distant  barking  of  dogs  from  the 
gipsy  caverns. 

At  length,  he  heard  the  tramp  of  hoofs,  and, 
through  the  gloom  of  the  overshadowing  trees,  im- 
perfectly beheld  a  steed  descending  the  avenue.  The 
sturdy  friar  chuckled  at  the  idea  of  the  knowing  turn 
he  was  about  to  serve  honest  Lope.  Tucking  up 
the  skirts  of  his  habit,  and  wriggling  like  a  cat 
watching  a  mouse,  he  waited  until  his  prey  was  di- 
rectly before  him,  when  darting  forth  from  his  leafy 
covert,  and  putting  one  hand  on  the  shoulder,  and 
the  other  on  the  crupper,  he  made  a  vault  that  would 
not  have  disgraced  the  Tnost  experienced  master  of 
equitation,  and  alighted  well  forked  astride  the  steed. 
"Aha! "said  the  sturdy  friar,  "we  shall  now  see 
who  best  understands  the  game." 

He  had  scarce  uttered  the  words,  when  the  mule 
began  to  kick  and  rear  and  plunge,  and  then  set  off 
at  full  speed  down  the  hill.  The  friar  attempted  to 
check  him,  but  in  vain.  He  bounded  from  rock  to 
rock,  and  bush  to  bush ;  the  friar's  habit  was  torn 
to  ribands,  and  fluttered  in  the  wind  ;  his  shaven  poll 
received  many  a  hard  knock  from  the  branches  of 
the  trees,  and  many  a  scratch  from  the  brambles. 
To  add  to  his  terror  and  distress,  he  found  a  pack 


of  seven  hounds  in  full  cry  at  his  heels,  and  per- 
ceived, too  late,  that  he  was  actually  mounted  upon 
the  terrible  Bellado  ! 

Away  they  went,  according  to  the  ancient  phrase, 
"pull  devil,  pull  friar,"  down  the  great  avenue, 
across  the  Plaza  Nueva,  along  the  Zacatin,  around 
the  Vivarambia, — never  did  huntsman  and  hound 
make  a  more  furious  run,  or  more  infernal  uproar. 

In  vain  did  the  friar  invoke  every  saint  in  the  kal- 
endar, and  the  holy  virgin  into  the  bargain  ;  every 
time  he  mentioned  a  name  of  the  kind,  It  was  like  a 
fresh  application  of  the  spur,  and  made  the  Bellado 
bound  as  high  as  a  house.  Through  the  remainder 
of  the  night  was  the  unlucky  Fray  Simon  carried 
hither  and  thither  and  whither  he  would  not,  until 
every  bone  in  his  body  ached,  and  he  suffered  a  loss 
of  leather  too  grievous  to  be  mentioned.  At  length, 
the  crowing  of  a  cock  gave  the  signal  of  returning 
day.  At  the  sound,  the  goblin  steed  wheeled  about, 
and  galloped  back  for  his  tower.  Again  he  scoured 
the  Vivarambia,  the  Zacatin,  the  Plaza  Nueva,  and 
the  avenue  of  fountains,  the  seven  dogs  yelling  and 
barking,  and  leaping  up,  and  snapping  at  the  heels 
of  the  terrified  friar.  The  first  streak  of  day  had 
just  appeared  as  they  reached  the  tower ;  here  the 
goblin  steed  kicked  up  his  heels,  sent  the  friar  a 
somerset  through  the  air,  plunged  into  the  dark  vault 
followed  by  the  infernal  pack,  and  a  profound  si- 
lence succeeded  to  the  late  deafening  clamour. 

Was  ever  so  diabolical  a  trick  played  off  upon  holy 
friar  ?  A  peasant  going  to  his  labours  at  early  dawn, 
found  the  unfortunate  Fray  Simon  lying  under  a  fig- 
tree  at  the  foot  of  the  tower,  but  so  bruised  and  be- 
deviled, that  he  could  neither  speak  nor  move.  He 
was  conveyed  with  all  care  and  tenderness  to  his 
cell,  and  the  story  went  that  he  had  been  waylaid 
and  maltreated  by  robbers.  A  day  or  two  elapsed 
before  he  recovered  the  use  of  his  limbs  :  he  con- 
soled himself  in  the  mean  time,  with  the  thoughts 
that  though  the  mule  with  the  treasure  had  escaped 
him,  he  had  previously  had  some  rare  pickings  at 
the  infidel  spoils.  His  first  care  on  being  able  to 
use  his  limbs,  was  to  search  beneath  his  pallet, 
where  he  had  secreted  the  myrtle  wreath  and  the 
leathern  pouches  of  gold,  extracted  from  the  piety 
of  dame -Sanchez.  What  was  his  dismay  at  finding 
the  wreath,  in  effect,  but  a  withered  branch  of  myr- 
tle, and  the  leathern  pouches  filled  with  sand  and 
gravel  ! 

Fray  Simon,  with  all  his  chagrin,  had  the  discre- 
tion to  hold  his  tongue,  for  to  betray  the  secret 
might  draw  on  him  the  ridicule  of  the  public,  and 
the  punishment  of  his  superior  ;  it  was  not  until 
many  years  afterwards,  on  his  deatli-bed,  that  he 
revealed  to  his  confessor  his  nocturnal  ride  on  the 
Bellado. 

Nothing  was  heard  of  Lope  Sanchez  for  a  long 
time  after  his  disappearance  from  the  Alhambra. 
His  memory  was  always  cherished  as  that  of  a  merry 
companion,  though  it  was  feared,  from  the  care  and 
melancholy  showed  in  his  coiiduct  shortly  before  his 
mysterious  departure,  that  ]ioverty  and  distress  had 
driven  him  to  some  extremity.  Some  years  after- 
wards, one  of  his  old  companions,  an  invalid  sol- 
dier, being  at  Malaga,  was  knocked  down  and  nearly 
run  over  by  a  coach  and  six.  The  carriage  stopped  ; 
an  old  gentleman,  magnificently  dressed,  with  a  bag- 
wig  and  sword,  stepped  out  to  assist  the  poor  inva- 
lid. What  was  the  astonishment  of  the  latter  to 
behold  in  this  grand  cavalier,  his  old  friend  Lope 
Sanchez,  who  was  actually  celebrating  the  marriage 
of  his  daughter  Sanchica,  with  one  of  the  first  grar.- 
dees  in  the  land. 

The  carriage  contained  the  bridal  p.arty.  There 
was  dame  Sanchez  now  grown  as  round  as  a  barrel 


168 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


and  dressed  out  with  feathers  and  jewels,  and  neck- 
laces of  pearls,  and  necklaces  of  diamonds,  and  rings 
on  every  finger,  and  altogether  a  finery  ot  apparel 
that  had  not  been  seen  since  the  days  ot  Queen 
Sheba.  The  little  Sanchica  had  now  grown  to  be  a 
w^oman,  and  for  grace  and  beauty  might  havj  been 
mistaken  for  a  duchess,  if  not  a  princess  outright. 
The  bridegroom  sat  beside  her,  rather  a  withered, 
spindle-shanked  little  man,  but  this  only  proved  him 
to  be  of  the  true  blue  blood,  a  legitimate  Spanish 
grandee  being  rarely  above  three  cubits  in  stature. 
The  match  had  been  of  the  mother's  making. 

Riches  had  not  spoiled  the  heart  of  honest  Lope. 
He  kept  his  old  comrade  with  him  for  several  days  ; 
teasted  him  like  a  king,  took  him  to  plays  and  bull- 
fights, and  at  length  sent  him  away  rejoicing,  with 
a  big  bag  of  money  for  himself,  and  another  to  be 
distributed  among  his  ancient  messmates  of  the 
Alhambra. 

Lope  always  gave  out  that  a  rich  brother  had  died 
in  America,  and  left  him  heir  to  a  copper  mine,  but 
the  shrewd  gossips  of  the  Alhambra  insist  that  his 
wealth  was  all  derived  from  his  having  discovered 
the  secret  guarded  by  the  two  marble  nymphs  of 
the  Alhambra.  It  is  remarked,  that  these  very  dis- 
creet statues  continue  even  unto  the  present  day 
with  their  eyes  fixed  most  significantly  on  the  same 
jiart  of  the  wall,  which  leads  many  to  suppose  there 
is  still  some  hidden  treasure  remaining  there,  well 
Worthy  the  attention  of  the  enterprizing  traveller. 
Though  others,  and  particularly  all  female  visitors, 
regard  theni'  with  great  complacency,  as  lasting 
monuments  of  the  fact,  that  women  can  keep  a 
secret. 


MAHAIVIAD  ABEN  ALAHMAR: 


THE  FOUNDER  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA; 


Having  dealt  so  freely  in  the  marvellous  legends 
of  the  Alhambra,  I  feel  as  if  bound  to  give  the  reader 
a  few  facts  concerning  its  sober  history,  or  rather  the 
histor)'  of  those  magnificent  princes,  its  founder  and 
finisher,  to  whom  Europe  is  indebted  for  so  beauti- 
ful and  romantic  an  oriental  monument.  To  at- 
tain these  facts,  I  descended  from  this  region  of 
fancy  and  fiction,  where  every  thing  is  liable  to  take 
an  imaginative  tint,  and  carried  my  researches  among 
the  dusty  tomes  of  the  old  Jesuit's  library  in  the  uni- 
versity. This  once  boasted  repository  of  erudition 
is  now  a  mere  shadow  of  its  former  self,  having  been 
stripped  of  its  manuscripts  and  rarest  works  by  the 
French,  while  masters  of  Oranada.  Still  it  contains, 
among  many  ponderous  tomes  of  polemics  of  the 
Jesuit  fathers,  several  curious  tracts  of  Spanish 
literature,  and  above  all,  a  number  of  those  antiqua- 
ted, dusty,  parchment-bound  chronicles,  for  which  I 
have  a  peculiar  veneration. 

In  this  old  library  I  have  passed  many  delightful 
hours  of  quiet,  undisturbed,  literary  foraging,  for  the 
keys  of  the  doors  and  bookcases  were  kindly  en- 
trusted to  me,  and  I  was  left  alone  to  rummage  at 
my  leisure — -a  rare  indulgence  in  those  sanctuaries 
of  learning,  which  too  often  tantalize  the  thirsty 
student  with  the  sight  of  sealed  fountains  of  knowl- 
edge. 

In  the  course  of  these  visits  I  gleaned  the  follow- 
ing particulars  concerning  the  historical  characters 
in  question. 

The  Moors  of  Granada  regarded  the  Alhambra  as 
«,  .miracle  of  art,  and  had  a  tradition  that  the  king 


who  founded  it  dealt  in  magic,  or  at  least  was  deeply 
versed  in  alchymy,  by  means  of  which,  he  procured 
the  immense  sums  of  gold  expended  in  its  erection. 
A  brief  view  of  his  reign  will  show  the  real  secret  of 
his  wealth. 

The  name  of  this  monarch,  as  inscribed  on  the 
walls  of  some  of  the  apartments,  was  Aben  Abd'allah, 
{i.  e.  the  father  of  Abdallah,)  but  he  is  commonly 
known  in  Moorish  history  as  Mahamad  Aben  Alah- 
mar,  (or  Mahamad  son  of  Alahmar,)  or  simply  Aben 
Alahniar,  for  the  sake  of  brevity. 

He  was  born  in  Arjona,  in  the  year  of  the  Hegira, 
591,  of  the  Christian  era,  119S,  of  the  noble  family 
of  the  Beni  Nasar,  or  children  of  Nasar,  and  no  ex- 
pense was  spared  by  his  parents  to  fit  him  for  the 
high  station  to  which  the  opulence  and  dignity  of  his 
fair)ily  entitled  him.  The  Saracens  of  Spain  were 
greatly  advanced  in  civilization.  Every  principal 
city  was  a  seat  of  learning  and  the  arts,  so  that  it 
was  easy  to  command  the  most  enlightened  instruct- 
ors for  a  youth  of  rank  and  fortune.  Aben  Alah- 
mar, when  he  arrived  at  manly  years,  was  appointed 
Alcayde  or  governor  of  Arjona  and  Jaen,  and  gained 
great  popularity  by  his  benignity  and  justice.  Some 
years  afterwards,  on  the  death  of  Aben  Hud,  the 
Moorish  power  of  Spain  was  broken  into  factions, 
and  many  places  declared  for  Mahamad  Aben  Alah- 
mar. Being  of  a  sanguine  spirit  and  lofty  ambition, 
he  seized  upon  the  occasion,  made  a  circuit  through 
the  country,  and  was  every  where  received  with  ac- 
clamation. It  was  in  the  year  1238  that  he  entered 
Granada  amidst  the  enthusiastic  shouts  of  the  mul- 
titude. He  was  proclaimed  king  with  every  demon- 
stration of  joy,  and  soon  became  the  head  of  the 
Moslems  in  Spain,  being  the  first  of  the  illustrious  ^ 
line  of  Beni  Nasar  that  had  sat  upon  the  throne.       *' 

His  reign  was  such  as  to  render  him  a  blessing  to 
his  subjects.  He  gave  the  coinmand  of  his  various 
cities  to  such  as  had  distinguished  themselves  by 
valour  and  prudence,  and  who  seemed  most  accept- 
able to  the  people.  He  organized  a  vigilant  police, 
and  established  rigid  rules  for  the  administration  of 
justice.  The  poor  and  the  distressed  always  found 
ready  admission  to  his  presence,  and  he  attended 
personnlly  to  their  assistance  and  redress.  He 
erected  hospitals  for  the  blind,  the  aged,  and  infirm, 
and  all  those  incapable  of  labour,  and  visited  them 
frequently,  not  on  set  days,  with  pomp  and  form,  so 
as  to  give  time  for  every  thing  to  be  put  in  order  and 
every  abuse  concealed,  but  suddenly  and  unexpect- 
edly, informing  himself  by  actual  observation  and 
close  inquiry  of  the  treatment  of  the  sick,  and  the 
conduct  of  those  appointed  to  administer  to  their  re- 
lief. 

He  founded  schools  and  colleges,  which  he  visited 
in  the  same  manner,  inspecting  personally  the  in- 
struction of  the  youth.  He  established  butcheries 
and  public  ovens,  that  the  people  might  be  furnished 
with  wholesome  provisions  at  just  and  regular  prices. 
He  introduced  abundant  streams  of  water  into  the 
city,  erecting  baths  and  fountains,  and  constructing 
aqueducts  and  canals  to  irrigate  and  fertilize  the 
Vega.  By  these  means,  pCosperity  and  abundance 
prevailed  in  this  beautiful  city,  its  gates  were 
thronged  with  commerce,  and  its  w'arehouses  filled 
with  the  luxuries  and  merchandize  of  every  clime 
and  country. 

While  JVIahamad  Aben  Alahmar  was  ruling  his 
fair  domains  thus  wisely  and  prosperously,  he  was 
suddenly  menaced  by  the  horrors  of  war.  The 
Christians  at  that  time,  profiting  by  the  dismember- 
ment of  the  Moslem  power,  were  rapidly  regaining 
their  ancient  territories.  James  the  Conqueror  had 
subjected  all  Valentia,  and  Ferdinand  the  Saint  was 
carrying  his  victorious  armies  into  Andalusia.     The 


THE   ALHAMBRA. 


169 


latter  invested  the  city  of  Jaen,  and  swore  not  to 
raise  his  camp  until  he  had  gained  possession  of  the 
place.  Mahamad  Aben  Alahmar  was  conscious  of 
the  insufficiency  of  his  means  to  carry  on  a  war  with 
the  potent  sovereign  of  Castile.  Taking  a  sudden 
resolution,  therefore,  he  repaired  privately  to  the 
Christian  camp,  and  made  his  unexpected  appear- 
ance in  the  presence  of  king  Ferdinand.  "  In  me," 
said  he,  "  you  behold  Mahamad,  king  of  Granada. 
I  confide  in  your  good  faith,  and  put  myself  under 
your  protection.  Take  all  I  possess,  and  receive  me 
as  your  vassal."  So  saying,  he  knelt  and  kissed  the 
king's  hand  in  token  of  submission. 

King  Ferdinand  was  touched  by  this  instance  of 
confiding  faith,  and  determined  not  to  be  outdone  in 
generosity.  He  raised  his  late  rival  from  the  earth 
and  embraced  him  as  a  friend,  nor  would  he  accept 
the  wealth  he  offered,  but  received  him  as  a  vassal, 
leaving  him  sovereign  of  his  dominions,  on  condition 
of  paying  a  yearly  tribute,  attending  the  cortes  as 
one  of  the  nobles  of  the  empire,  and  serving  him  in 
war  with  a  certain  number  of  horsemen. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  Mahamad  was  called 
upon  for  his  military  services,  to  aid  king  Ferdinand 
in  his  famous  siege  of  Seville.  The  Moorish  king 
sallied  forth  with  five  hundred  chosen  horsemen  of 
(iranada,  than  whom  none  in  the  world  knew  better 
how  to  manage  the  steed  or  wield  the  lance.  It  was 
a  melancholy  and  humiliating  service,  however,  for 
they  had  to  draw  the  sword  against  their  brethren 
of  the  faith.  Mahamad  gained  a  melancholy  dis- 
tinction by  his  prowess  in  this  renowned  conquest, 
but  more  true  honour  by  the  humanity  which  he 
prevailed  upon  Ferdinand  to  introduce  into  the  usages 
of  war.  When  in  1248,  the  famous  city  of  Seville 
surrendered  to  the  Castilian  monarch,  Mahamad 
returned  sad  and  full  of  care  to  his  dominions.  He 
saw  the  gathering  ills  that  menaced  the  Moslem 
cause,  and  uttered  an  ejaculation  often  used  by  him 
in  moments  of  anxiety  and  trouble :  "  How  straitened 
and  wretched  would  IJe  our  life,  if  our  hope  were  not 
so  spacious  and  extensive."* 

When  the  melancholy  conqueror  approached  his 
beloved  Granada,  the  people  thronged  forth  to  see 
him  with  impatient  joy,  for  they  loved  him  as  a  ben- 
efactor. They  had  erected  arches  of  triumph  in 
honour  of  his  martial  exploits,  and  wherever  he 
passed  he  was  hailed  with  acclamations,  as  El  Galib, 
or  the  conqueror ;  Mahamad  shook  his  head  when 
he  heard  the  appellation,  "  Wa  le  Galib  iU  Aid," 
exclaimed  he :  (there  is  no  conqueror  but  God  !) 
From  that  time  forward,  he  adopted  this  exclama- 
tion as  a  motto.  He  inscribed  it  on  an  oblique  band 
across  his  escutcheon,  and  it  continued  to  be  the 
motto  of  his  descendants. 

Mah.amad  had  purchased  peace  by  submission  to 
the  Christian  yoke,  but  he  knew  that  where  the  ele- 
ments were  so  discordant,  and  the  motives  for  hos- 
tility so  deep  and  ancient,  it  could  not  be  secure  or 
permanent.  Acting  therefore  upon  an  old  maxim, 
"  arm  thyself  in  peace,  and  clothe  thyself  in  sum- 
mer," he  improved  the  present  interval  of  tranquil- 
lity by  fortifying  his  dominions  and  replenishing  his 
arsenals,  and  by  promoting  those  useful  arts  which 
give  wealth  and  real  power  to  an  empire.  He  gave 
premiums  and  privileges  to  the  best  artizans ;  im- 
proved the  breed  of  horses  and  other  domestic  ani- 
mals ;  encouraged  husbandry ;  and  increased  the 
natural  fertility  of  the  soil  twofold  by  his  protection, 
making  the  lonely  valleys  of  his  kingdom  to  bloom 
like  gardens.  He  fostered  also  the  growth  and 
fabrication  of  silk,  until  the  looms  of  Granada  sur- 
passed even  those  of  Syria  in  the  fineness  and  beauty 

*  "  Que  angoste  y  miserabile  sena  nuestra  vida,  sino  fuera  tan 
dilatada  y  espaciosa  nuestra  esperatiza  !  " 


of  their  productions.  He,  moreover,  caused  the 
mines  of  gold  and  silver,  and  other  metals  found  in 
the  mountainous  regions  of  his  dominions,  to  be 
diligently  worked,  and  was  the  first  king  of  Granada 
who  struck  money  of  gold  and  silver  with  his  name, 
taking  great  care  that  the  coins  should  be  skilfully 
executed. 

It  was  about  this  time,  towards  the  middle  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  and  just  after  his  return  from  the 
siege  of  Seville,  that  he  commenced  the  splendid 
palace  of  the  Alhambra  :  superintending  the  build- 
ing of  it  in  person,  mingling  frequently  among  the 
artists  and  workmen,  and  directing  their  labours. 

Though  thus  magnificent  in  his  works,  and  great 
in  his  enterprises,  he  was  simple  in  his  person,  and 
moderate  in  his  enjoyments.  His  dress  was  not 
merely  void  of  splendour,  but  so  plain  as  not  to  dis- 
tinguish him  from  his  subjects.  His  harein  boasted 
but  few  beauties,  and  these  he  visited  but  seldom, 
though  they  were  entertained  with  great  magnifi- 
cence. His  wives  were  daughters  of  the  principal 
nobles,  and  were  treated  by  him  as  friends  and  ra- 
tional companions;  what  is  more,  he  managed  to 
make  them  live  as  friends  with  one  another. 

He  passed  much  of  his  time  in  his  gardens ;  es- 
pecially in  those  of  the  Alhambra,  which  he  had 
stored  with  the  rarest  plants,  and  the  most  beauti- 
ful and  aromatic  flowers.  Here  he  delighted  him- 
self in  reading  histories,  or  in  causing  them  to  be 
read  and  related  to  him  ;  and  sometimes,  in  inter- 
vals of  leisure,  employed  himself  in  the  instruction 
of  his  three  sons,  for  whom  he  had  provided  the 
most  learned  and  virtuous  masters. 

As  he  had  frankly  and  voluntarily  offered  himself 
a  tributarj'  vassal  to  Ferdinand,  so  he  always  re- 
mained loyal  to  his  word,  giving  him  repeated  proofs 
of  fidelity  and  attachment.  When  that  renowned 
monarch  died  in  Seville,  in  1254,  Mahamad  Aben 
Alahmar  sent  ambassadors  to  condole  with  his  suc- 
cessor, Alonzo  X.,  and  with  them  a  gallant  train  of 
a  hundred  Moorish  cavaliers  of  distinguished  rank, 
who  were  to  attend,  each  bearing  a  lighted  taper 
round  the  royal  bier,  during  the  funeral  ceremonies. 
This  grand  testimonial  of  respect  was  repeated  by 
the  Moslem  monarch  during  the  remainder  of  his 
life,  on  each  anniversary  of  the  death  of  King  Fer- 
nando el  Santo,  when  the  hundred  Moorish  knights 
repaired  from  Granada  to  Seville,  and  took  tl'.eir 
stations  with  lighted  tapers  in  the  centre  of  the 
sumptuous  cathedral  round  the  cenotaph  of  the  il- 
lustrious deceased. 

Mahamad  Aben  Alahmar  retained  his  faculties 
and  vigour  to  an  advanced  age.  In  his  seventy- 
ninth  year  he  took  the  field  on  horseback,  accom- 
panied by  the  flower  of  his  chivalry,  to  resist  an  in- 
vasion of  his  territories.  As  the  army  sallied  forth 
from  Granada,  one  of  the  principal  adalides  or 
guides,  who  rode  in  the  advance,  accidentally  broke 
his  lance  against  the  arch  of  the  gate.  The  coun- 
sellors of  the  king,  alarmed  by  this  circumstance, 
which  was  considered  an  evil  omen,  entreated  him 
to  return.  Their  supplications  were  in  vain.  The 
king  persisted,  and  at  noon-tide  the  omen,  say  the 
Moorish  chroniclers,  was  fatally  fulfilled.  Mahamad 
was  suddenly  struck  with  illness,  and  had  nearly 
fallen  from  his  horse.  He  was  placed  on  a  litter, 
and  borne  back  towards  Granada,  but  his  illness  in- 
creased to  such  a  degree,  that  they  were  obliged  to 
pitch  his  tent  in  the  Vega.  His  physicians  were 
filled  with  consternation,  not  knowing  what  remedy 
to  prescribe.  In  a  few  hours  he  died  vomiting  blood, 
and  in  violent  convulsions.  The  Castilian  prince, 
Don  Philip,  brother  of  Alonzo  X.,  was  by  his  side 
when  he  expired.  His  body  was  embalmed,  enclosed 
in  a  silver  coffin,  and  buried  in  the  Alhambra,  in  a 


170 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


sepulchre  of  precious  marble,  amidst  tlie  unfeigned 
lamentations  of  his  subjects,  who  bewailed  him  as  a 
parent. 

Such  was  the  enlightened  patriot  prince,  who 
founded  the  Alhambra,  whose  name  remains  em- 
blazoned among  its  most  delicate  and  graceful  orna- 
ments, and  whose  memory  is  calculated  to  inspire 
the  loftiest  associations  in  those  who  tread  these 
fading  scenes  of  his  magnificence  and  glor/.  Though 
his  undertakings  were  vast,  and  his  expenditures 
immense,  yet  his  treasury  was  always  full ;  and  this 
seeming  contradiction  gave  rise  to  the  story  that  he 
was  versed  in  magic  art  and  possessed  of  the  secret 
for  transmuting  baser  metals  into  gold. 

Those  who  have  attended  to  his  domestic  policy, 
as  here  set  forth,  will  easily  understand  the  natural 
magic  and  simple  alchymy  which  made  his  ample 
treasury  to  overflow. 


JUSEF  ABUL  HAGIAS: 


THE    FINISHER   OF   THE   ALHAMBRA. 


Beneath  the  governor's  apartment  in  the  Al- 
hambra, is  the  royal  Mosque,  where  the  Moorish 
monarchs  performed  their  private  devotions.  Though 
consecrated  as  a  Catholic  chapel,  it  still  bears  traces 
of  its  Moslem  origin  ;  the  Saracenic  columns  with 
their  gilded  capitals,  and  the  latticed  gallery  for  the 
females  of  the  harem,  may  yet  be  seen,  and  the 
escutcheons  of  the  Moorish  kings  are  mingled  on 
the  walls  with  those  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns. 

In  this  consecrated  place  perished  the  illustrious 
Jusef  Abul  Hagias,  the  high-minded  prince  who 
completed  the  Alhambra,  and  who,  for  his  virtues 
and  endowments,  deserves  almost  equal  renown  with 
its  magnanimous  founder.  It  is  with  pleasure  I  draw 
forth  from  the  obscurity  in  which  it  has  too  long 
remained,  the  name  of  another  of  those  princes  of  a 
departed  and  almost  forgotten  race,  who  reigned  in 
elegance  and  splendour  in  Andalusia,  when  all  Eu- 
rope was  in  comparative  barbarism. 

Jusef  Abul  Hagias,  (or,  as  it  is  sometimes  written, 
Haxis,)  ascended  the  throne  of  Granada  in  the  year 
1333,  and  his  personal  appearance  and  mental  quali- 
ties were  such  as  to  win  all  hearts,  and  to  awaken 
anticipations  of  a  beneficent  and  prosperous  reign. 
He  was  of  a  noble  presence  and  great  bodily  strength, 
united  to  manly  beauty.  His  complexion  was  ex- 
ceeding fair,  and,  according  to  the  Arabian  chron- 
iclers, he  heightened  the  gravity  and  majesty  of  his 
appearance  by  suffering  his  beard  to  grow  to  a  dig- 
nified length,  and  dying  it  black.  He  had  an  excel- 
lent memory,  well  stored  with  science  and  erudition  ; 
he  was  of  a  lively  genius,  and  accounted  the  best 
poet  ot  his  time,  and  his  manners  were  gentle,  affa- 
ble, and  urbane. 

Jusef  possessed  the  courage  common  to  all  gener- 
ous spirits,  but  his  genius  was  more  calculated  for 
peace  than  war,  and,  though  obliged  to  take  up 
arms  repeatedly  in  his  time,  he  was  generally  un- 
fortunate. He  carried  the  benignity  of  his  nature 
into  warfare,  prohibiting  all  wanton  cruelty,  and 
enjoining  mercy  and  protection  towards  women  and 
children,  the  aged  and  infirm,  and  all  friars  and  per- 
sons of  holy  and  recluse  life.  Among  other  ill- 
starred  enterprizes,  he  undertook  a  great  campaign 
in  conjunction  with  the  king  of  Morocco,  against  the 
kings  of  Castile  and  Portugal,  but  was  defeated  in 
the  memorable  battle  of  Salado ;  a  disastrous  re- 


verse which  had  nearly  proved  a  death  blow  to  the 
Moslem  power  in  .Spain. 

Jusef  obtained  a  long  trOce  after  this  defeat,  dur- 
ing which  time  he  devoted  himself  to  the  instruction 
of  his  people  and  the  improvement  of  their  morals 
and  manners.  For  this  purpose  he  established 
schools  in  all  the  villages,  with  simple  and  uniform 
systems  of  education  ;  he  obliged  every  hamlet  of 
more  than  twelve  houses  to  have  a  Mosque,  and 
prohibited  various  abuses  and  indecorums,  that  had 
been  introduced  into  the  ceremonies  of  religion,  and 
the  festivals  and  public  amusements  of  the  people. 
He  attended  vigilantly  to  the  police  of  the  city, 
establishing  nocturnal  guards  and  patrols,  and  super- 
intending all  municipal  concerns. 

His  attention  was  also  directed  towards  finishing 
the  great  architectural  works  commenced  by  his 
predecessors,  and  erecting  others  on  his  own  plans. 
The  Alhambra,  which  had  been  founded  by  the 
good  Aben  Alahmar,  was  now  completed.  Jusef 
constructed  the  beautiful  gate  of  Justice,  forming  the 
grand  entrance  to  the  fortress,  which  he  finished  in 
1348.  He  likewise  adorned  many  of  the  courts  and 
halls  of  the  palace,  as  may  be  seen  by  the  inscrip- 
tions on  the  walls,  in  which  his  name  repeatedly 
occurs.  He  built  also  the  noble  Alcazar,  or  citadel 
of  Malaga  ;  now  unfortunately  a  mere  mass  of  crum- 
bling ruins,  but  which,  probably,  exhibited  in  its  in- 
terior similar  elegance  and  magnificence  with  the 
Alhambra. 

The  genius  of  a  sovereign  stamps  a  character  upon 
his  time.  The  nobles  of  Granada,  imitating  the 
elegant  and  graceful  taste  of  Jusef,  soon  filled  the 
city  of  Granada  with  magnificent  palaces  ;  the  halls 
of  which  paved  in  Mosaic,  the  walls  and  ceilings 
wrought  in  fret-work,  and  delicately  gilded  and 
painted  with  azure,  vermilion,  and  other  brilliant 
colours,  or  minutely  inlaid  with  cedar  and  other 
precious  woods  ;  specimens  of  which  have  survived 
in  all  their  lustre  the  lapse  of  several  centuries. 

Many  of  the  houses  had  fountains,  which  threw 
up  jets  of  water  to  refresh  and  cool  the  air.  They 
had  lofty  towers  also,  of  wood  or  stone,  curiously 
carved  and  ornamented,  and  covered  with  plates  of 
metal  that  glittered  in  the  sun.  Such  was  the  refined 
and  delicate  taste  in  architecture  that  prevailed 
among  this  elegant  people ;  insomuch,  that  to  use 
the  beautiful  simile  of  an  Arabian  writer,  "  Gra- 
nada, in  the  days  of  Jusef,  was  as  a  silver  vase  filled 
with  emeralds  and  jacinths." 

One  anecdote  will  be  sufficient  to  show  the  mag- 
nanimity of  this  generous  prince.  The  long  truce 
which  had  succeeded  the  battle  of  Salado,  was  at  an 
end,  and  every  effort  of  Jusef  to  renew  it  was  in  vain. 
His  deadly  foe,  Alfonso  XI.  of  Castile,  took  the  field 
with  great  force,  and  laid  siege  to  Gibraltar.  Jusef 
reluctantly  took  up  arms,  and  sent  troops  to  the  re- 
lief of  the  place  ;  when,  in  the  midst  of  his  anxiety, 
he  received  tidings  that  his  dreaded  foe  had  suddenly 
fallen  a  victim  to  the  plague.  Instead  of  manifest- 
ing exultation  on  the  occasion,  Jusef  called  to  mind 
the  great  qualities  of  the  deceased,  and  was  touched 
with  a  noble  sorrow.  "  Alas  !  "  cried  he,  "  the  world 
has  lost  one  of  its  most  excellent  princes ;  a  sover- 
eign who  knew  how  to  honour  merit,  whether  in 
friend  or  foe  !  " 

The  Spanish  chroniclers  themselves  bear  witness 
to  this  magnanimity.  According  to  their  accounts, 
the  Moorish  cavaliers  partook  of  the  sentiment  of 
their  king,  and  put  on  mourning  for  the  death  of  Al- 
fonso. Even  those  of  Gibraltar,  who  had  been  so 
closely  invested,  when  they  knew  that  the  hostile 
monarch  lay  dead  in  his  camp,  determined  among 
themselves  that  no  hostile  movement  should  be 
made  against  the  Christians. 


THE    ALHAMBRA. 


171 


The  clay  on  which  the  camp  was  broken  up,  and 
ihc  army  departed,  bearing  the  corpse  of  Alfonso, 
the  Moors  issued  in  multitudes  from  Gibraltar,  and 
stood  mute  and  melancholy,  watching  the  mournful 
pageant.  The  same  reverence  for  the  deceased  was 
observed  by  all  the  Moorish  commanders  on  the 
frontiers,  who  suffered  the  funeral  train  to  pass  in 
safety,  bearing  the  corpse  of  the  Christian  sovereign 
from  Gibraltar  to  Seville.* 

Jusef  did  not  long  survive  the'  enemy  he  had  so 
generously  deplored.  In  the  year  1354,  as  he  was 
one  day  praying  in  the  royal  mosque  of  the  Alham- 
bra,  a  maniac  rushed  suddenly  from  behind,  and 
plunged  a  dagger  in  his  side.  The  cries  of  the  king 
Drought  his  guards  and  courtiers  to  his  assistance. 
They  found  him  weltering  in  his  blood,  and  in  con- 


•*'Y  los  Moros  que  estaban  en  la  villa  y  Castillo  de  Gibralta- 
despues  que  sopieron  que  el  Rey  Don  Alonzo  era  muerto,  order 
naron  entresi  que  ninguno  non  fuesse  osado  de  fazer  ningun  movi- 
miento  contra  los  Christianos,  nin  mover  pelear  contra  cUos,  es- 
tovieron  todos  quedos  ydezian  entre  ellosque  aquel  dia  muricra  un 
Boble  rpy  y  gran  principe  del  mundo  ! " 


vulsions.  He  was  borne  to  the  royal  apartments, 
but  expired  almost  immediately.  The  murderer  was 
cut  to  pieces,  and  his  limbs  burnt  in  public,  to  gratify 
the  fury  of  the  populace. 

The  body  of  the  king  was  interred  in  a  superb 
sepulchre  of  white  marble ;  a  long  epitaph  in  letters 
of  gold  upon  an  azure  ground  recorded  his  virtues. 
"  Here  lies  a  king  and  martyr  of  an  illustrious  line  ; 
gentle,  learned  and  virtuous ;  renowned  for  the 
graces  of  his  person  and  his  manners  ;  whose 
clemency,  piety,  and  benevolence,  were  extolled 
throughout  the  kingdom  of  Granada.  He  was  a 
great  prince,  an  illustrious  captain ;  a  sharp  sword 
of  the  Moslems ;  a  vahant  standard-bearer  among 
the  most  potent  monarchs,"  &c. 

The  mosque  still  remains,  which  once  resounded 
with  the  dying  cries  of  Jusef,  but  the  monument 
which  recorded  his  virtues,  has  long  since  disap- 
peared. His  name,  however,  remains  inscribed 
among  the  ornaments  of  the  Alhambra,  and  will 
be  perpetuated  in  connexion  with  this  renowned 
pile,  which  it  was  his  pride  and  delight  to  beautify. 


A  Chronicle  of  the  Conquest  of  Granada. 


BY  FRAY  ANTONIO  AGAPIDA. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Although  the  following  Chronicle  bears  the  name 
of  the  venerable  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  it  is  rather  a 
superstructure  reared  upon  the  fragments  which  re- 
main of  his  work.  It  maybe  asked,  Who  is  this  same 
Agapida,  who  is  cited  with  such  deference,  yet  whose 
name  is  not  to  be  found  in  an}'  of  the  catalogues  of 
Spanish  authors  ?  The  question  is  hard  to  answer: 
he  appears  to  have  been  one  of  the  many  indefatigable 
authors  of  Spain,  who  have  filled  the  libraries  of  con- 
vents and  cathedrals  with  their  tomes,  without  ever 
dreaming  of  bringing  their  labors  to  the  press.  He 
evidently  was  deeply  and  accurately  informed  of  the 
particulars  of  the  wars  between  his  countrymen  and 
the  Moors — a  tract  of  history  but  too  much  overgrown 
with  the  weeds  of  fable.  Ilis  glowing  zeal,  also,  in  the 
cause  of  the  Catholic  faith,  entitles  him  to  be  held  up 
as  a  model  of  the  good  old  orthodox  chroniclers,  who 
recorded  with  such  pious  exultation  the  united  tri- 
umphs of  the  cross  and  the  sword.  It  is  deeply  to  be 
regretted,  therefore,  that  his  manuscripts,  deposited  in 
the  libraries  of  various  convents,  have  been  dispersed 
during  the  late  convulsions  in  Spain,  so  that  nothing 
is  now  to  be  met  of  them  but  disjointed  fragments. 
These,  however,  are  too  precious  to  be  suffered  to  fall 
into  oblivion,  as  they  contain  many  curious  f.acts,  not  to 
be  found  in  any  other  historian.  In  the  following  work, 
therefore,  the  manuscript  of  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio 
will  be  adopted,  wherever  it  exists  entire  ;  but  will  be 
filled  up,  extended,  illustrated,  and  corroborated,  by 
citations  from  various  authors,  both  Spanish  and  Ara- 
bian, who  have  treated  of  the  subject.  Those  who  may 
wish  to  know  how  far  the  work  is  indebted  to  the 
chronicle  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  may  readily  satisfy 
their  curiosity  by  referring  to  his  manuscript  fragments, 
which  are  carefully  preserved  in  the  library  of  the 
Escurial. 

Before  entering  upon  the  history,  it  may  be  as  well 
to  notice  the  opinions  of  certain  of  the  most  learned 
and  devout  historiographers  of  former  times,  relative 
to  this  war. 

Marin  us  Sicul  us,  historian  to  Charles  V.,  pronounces 
it  a  war  to  avenge  the  ancient  injuries  received  by  the 
Christians  from  the  Moors,  to  recover  the  kingdom  of 
Granada,  and  to  extend  the  name  and  honor  of  the 
Christian  religion.* 

Estevan  de  Gariba)',  one  of  the  most  distinguished 
among  the  Spanish  historians,  regards  the  war  as  a 
special  act  of  divine  clemency  towards  the  Moors  ;  to 
the  end  that  those  barb-^rians  and  infidels,  who  liad 
dragged  out  so  many  centuries  under  the  diabolical 
oppression  of  the  absurd  sect  of  Mahomet,  should  at 
length  be  reduced  to  the  Christian  faith. f 

Padre  Mari.ana,  also,  a  venerable  Jesuit,  and  the 
most  renowned  historian  of  Spain,  considers  the  past 
domination  of  the  Moors  as  a  scourge  inflicted  on  the 
Spanish  nation,  for  its  iniquities;  but  the  triumphant 
war  with  Granada,  as  the  reward  of  Heaven  for  its 


*  Lucio  Marino  Siculo,  Cosas  Mcmorabiles  de  Espatia,  lib.  20. 
t  Garibay,  Compend.  Hist.  Espafla,  lib.  18,  c.  22. 


great  act  of  propitiation  in  establishing  the  glorious 
tribunal  of  the  Inquisition  !  No  sooner  (says  the 
worthy  father)  was  this  holy  office  opened  in  Spain, 
than  there  instantly  shone  forth  a  resplendent  light. 
Then  it  was,  that,  through  divine  favor,  the  nation  in 
creased  in  power,  and  became  competent  to  overthrow 
and  trample  down  the  Moorish  domination.* 

Having  thus  cited  high  and  venerable  authority  for 
considering  this  war  in  the  light  of  one  of  those  pious 
enterprises  denominated  crusades,  we  trust  we  have 
said  enough  to  engage  the  Christian  reader  to  follow 
us  into  the  field,  and  to  stand  by  us  to  the  very  issue 
of  the  encounter. 


CHAPTER  I. 


OF  THE  KINGDOM  OF  GRANADA,  AND  THE  TRIBUTE 
WHICH  IT  PAID  TO  THE  CASTILIAN  CROWN. 

The  history  of  those  bloody  and  disastrous  wars, 
which  have  caused  the  downfall  of  mighty  empires, 
(observes  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,)  has  ever  been 
considered  a  study  highly  delectable,  and  full  of 
precious  edification.  What  then  must  be  the  history 
of  a  pious  crusade,  waged  by  the  most  Catholic  of 
sovereigns,  to  rescue  from  the  power  of  the  Infidels 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  but  benighted  regions  of 
the  globe .'  Listen  then,  while,  from  the  solitude  of 
my  cell,  I  relate  the  events  of  the  conquest  of  Gra- 
nada, where  Christian  knight  and  turbaned  Infidel 
disputed,  inch  by  inch,  the  fair  land  of  Andalusia, 
until  the  crescent,  that  symbol  of  heathenish  abomi- 
nation, was  cast  down,  and  the  blessed  cross,  the 
tree  of  our  redemption,  erected  in  its  stead. 

Nearly  eight  hundred  years  were  past  and  gone, 
since  the  Arabian  invaders  had  sealed  the  perdition 
of  Spain,  by  the  defeat  of  Don  Roderick,  the  last 
of  her  Gothic  kings.  Since  that  disastrous  event, 
kingdom  after  kingdom  had  been  gradually  recover- 
ed by  the  Christian  princes,  until  the  single,  but 
powerful,  territory  of  Granada  alone  remained  under 
domination  of  the  Moors. 

This  renowned  kingdom  was  situated  in  the 
southern  part  of  Spain,  bordering  on  the  Mediter- 
ranean sea,  and  defended  on  the  land  side  by  lolty 
and  rugged  mountains,  locking  up  within  their  em- 
braces, deep,  rich,  and  verdant  valleys,  where  the 
sterility  of  the  surrounding  heights  was  repaid  by 
prodigal  fertility.  The  city  of  Granada  lay  in  the 
centre  of  the  kingdom,  sheltered  as  it  were  in  the 
lap  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or  chain  of  snowy  mount- 
ains. It  covered  two  lofty  hills,  and  a  deep  valley 
which  divides  them,  through  which  flows  the  river 
Darro.  One  of  these  hills  was  crowned  by  the 
royal  palace  and  fortress  of  the  Alhambra,  capable 
of  containing  forty  thousand  men  within  its  walls 
and  towers.     There  is  a  Moorish  tradition,  that  the 


*  Mariana,  Hist.  Espafia,  lib.  35,  c.  ] 


(173) 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


who  built  this  mighty  pile,  was  skilled  in  the 

^It  sciences,  and  furnished  himself  with  gold  and 
silver  for  the  purpose  by  means  of  alchemy.*  Cer- 
tainly, never  was  there  an  edifice  accomplished  in  a 
superior  style  of  barbaric  magnificence ;  and  the 
stranger  who,  even  at  the  present  day,  wanders 
among  its  silent  and  deserted  courts  and  ruined 
halls,  gazes  with  astonishment  at  its  gilded  and  fret- 
ted domes  and  luxurious  decorations,  still  retaining 
their  brilliancy  and  beauty  in  defiance  of  the  ravages 
of  time. 

Opposite  to  the  hill  on  which  stood  the  Alhambra, 
was  its  rival  hill,  on  the  summit  of  which  was  a 
spacious  plain,  covered  with  houses  and  crowded 
with  inhabitants.  It  was  commanded  by  a  fortress 
called  the  Alcazaba.  The  declivities  and  skirts  of 
these  hills  were  covered  with  houses  to  the  number 
of  seventy  thousand,  separated  by  narrow  streets 
and  small  squares,  according  to  the  custom  of  Moor- 
ish cities.  The  houses  had  interior  courts  and  gar- 
dens, refreshed  by  fountains  and  running  streams, 
and  set  out  with  oranges,  citrons,  and  pomegranates, 
so  that  as  the  edifices  of  the  city  rose  above  each 
other  on  the  sides  of  the  hill,  they  presented  a  min- 
gled appearance  of  city  and  grove,  delightful  to  the 
eye.  The  whole  was  surrounded  by  high  walls,  three 
leagues  in  circuit,  with  twelve  gates,  and  fortified 
by  a  thousand  and  thirty  towers.  The  elevation  of 
the  city,  and  the  neighborhood  of  the  Sierra  Nevada 
crowned  with  perpetual  snows,  tempered  the  fervid 
rays  of  summer ;  so  that,  while  other  cities  were 
panting  with  the  sultry  and  stifling  heat  of  the  dog- 
days,  the  most  salubrious  breezes  played  through 
the  marble  halls  of  Granada. 

The  glory  of  the  city,  however,  was  its  vega  or 
plain,  which  spread  out  to  a  circumference  of  thirty- 
seven  leagues,  surrounded  by  lofty  mountains.  It 
was  a  vast  garden  of  delight,  refreshed  by  numerous 
fountains,  and  by  the  silver  windings  of  the  Xenil. 
The  labor  and  ingenuity  of  the  Moors  had  diverted 
the  waters  of  this  river  into  thousands  of  rills  and 
streams,  and  diffused  them  over  the  whole  surface 
of  the  plain.  Indeed,  they  had  wrought  up  this 
happy  region  to  a  degree  of  wonderful  prosperity, 
and  took  a  pride  in  decorating  it,  as  if  it  had  been  a 
favorite  mistress.  The  hills  were  clothed  with  or- 
chards and  vineyards,  the  valleys  embroidered  with 
gardens,  and  the  wide  plains  covered  with  waving 
grain.  Here  were  seen  in  profusion  the  orange,  the 
citron,  the  fig,  and  pomegranate,  with  great  planta- 
tions of  mulberry  trees,  from  which  was  produced 
the  finest  of  silk.  The  vine  clambered  from  tree  to 
tree ;  the  grapes  hung  in  rich  clusters  about  the 
peasant's  cottage,  and  the  groves  were  rejoiced  by 
the  perpetual  .song  of  the  nightingale.  In  a  word, 
so  beautiful  was  the  earth,  so  pure  the  air,  and  so 
serene  the  sky,  of  this  delicious  region,  that  the 
Moors  imagined  the  paradise  of  their  Prophet  to  be 
situated  in  that  part  of  the  heaven  which  overhung 
the  kingdom  of  Granada.f 

This  rich  and  populous  territory  had  been  left  in 
quiet  possession  of  the  Infidels,  on  condition  of  an 
annual  tribute  to  the  sovereign  of  Castile  and  Leon, 
of  two  thousand  doblas  or  pistoles  of  gold,  and  six- 
teen hundred  Christian  captives ;  or,  in  default  of 
captives,  an  equal  number  of  Moors  to  be  surren- 
dered as  slaves ;  all  to  be  delivered  in  the  city  of 
Cordova.J 

At  the  era  at  which  this  chronicle  commences, 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  of  glorious  and  happy  mem- 
ory, reigned  over  the  united  kingdoms  of  Castile, 

*  Zurita,  lib.  20.  c.  42. 

t  Juan  Bolero  Benes.    Relaciones  Universales  del  Mundo. 

X  Garibay.    Compend.  lib.  4.  c.  35. 


Leon,  and  Arragon ;  and  Muley  Aben  Hassan  sat 
on  the  throne  of  Granada.  This  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
had  succeeded  to  his  father  Ismael  in  1465,  while 
Henry  IV.,  brother  and  immediate  predecessor  of 
queen  Isabella,  was  king  of  Castile  and  Leon.  He 
was  of  the  illustrious  lineage  of  Mohammed  Aben 
Alaman,  the  first  Moorish  king  of  Granada,  and  was 
the  most  potent  of  his  line.  He  had  in  fact  aug- 
mented in  power,  in  consequence  of  the  fall  of  other 
Moorish  kingdoms,  which  had  been  conquered  by 
the  Christians.  Many  cities  and  strong  places  of 
those  kingdoms,  which  lay  contiguous  to  Granada, 
had  refused  to  submit  to  Christian  vassalage,  and  had 
sheltered  themselves  under  the  protection  of  Muley 
Aben  Hassan.  His  territories  had  thus  increased  in 
wealth,  extent,  and  population,  beyond  all  former 
example,  and  contained  fourteen  cities  and  ninety- 
seven  fortified  towns,  besides  numerous  unwalled 
towns  and  villages,  defended  by  formidable  castles. 
The  spirit  of  Muley  Aben  Hassan  swelled  with  his 
possessions. 

The  tribute  of  money  and  captives  had  been 
regularly  paid  by  his  father  Ismael ;  and  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  had,  on  one  occasion,  attended  per- 
sonally in  Cordova,  at  the  payment.  He  had  wit- 
nessed the  taunts  and  sneers  of  the  haughty  Cas- 
tilians ;  and  so  indignant  was  the  proud  son  of  Afric 
at  what  he  considered  a  degradation  of  his  race,  that 
his  blood  boiled  whenever  he  recollected  the  humili- 
ating scene. 

When  he  came  to  the  throne,  he  ceased  all  pay- 
ment of  the  tribute  ;  and  it  was  sufficient  to  put  him 
in  a  transport  of  rage,  only  to  mention  it.  "  He  was 
a  fierce  and  warlike  Infidel,"  says  the  Catholic  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida  ;  "  his  bitterness  against  the  holy 
Christian  faith  had  been  signalized  in  battle,  during 
the  life-time  of  his  father ;  and  the  same  diabolical 
spirit  of  hostility  was  apparent  in  his  ceasing  to  pay 
this  most  righteous  tribute." 


CHAPTER  II. 


HOW  THE  CATHOLIC  SOVEREIGNS  SENT  TO  DE- 
MAND ARREARS  OF  TRIBUTE  OF  THE  MOOR, 
AND   HOW  THE  MOOR  REPLIED. 

In  the  year  1478,  a  Spanish  courtier,  of  powerful 
frame  and  haughty  demeanor,  arrived  at  the  gates 
of  Granada,  as  ambassador  from  the  Catholic  mon- 
archs,  to  demand  the  arrear  of  tribute.  His  name 
was  Don  Juan  de  Vera,  a  zealous  and  devout  knight, 
full  of  ardor  for  the  faith,  and  loyalty  for  the  crown. 
He  was  gallantly  mounted,  armed  at  all  points,  and 
followed  by  a  moderate,  but  well-appointed   retinue. 

The  Moorish  inhabitants  looked  jealously  at  this 
small  but  proud  array  of  Spanish  chivalry,  as  it 
paraded,  with  that  stateliness  possessed  only  by 
Spanish  cavaliers,  through  the  renowned  gate  01 
Elvira.  They  were  struck  with  the  stern  and  lofty 
demeanor  of  Don  Juan  de  Vera,  and  his  sinewy 
frame,  which  showed  him  formed  for  hardy  deeds 
of  arms ;  and  they  supposed  he  had  come  in  search 
of  distinction,  by  defying  the  Moorish  knights  in  open 
tourney,  or  in  the  famous  tilt  with  reeds,  for  which 
they  were  so  renowned ;  for  it  was  still  the  custom 
of  the  knights  of  either  nation  to  mingle  in  these 
courteous  and  chivalrous  contests,  during  the  inter- 
vals of  war.  When  they  learnt,  however,  that  he 
was  come  to  demand  the  tribute  so  abhorrent  to  the 
ears  of  the  fiery  monarch,  they  observed  that  it  well 
required  a  warrior  of  his  apparent  nerve,  to  execute 
such  an  embassy. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


175 


Muley  Aben  Hassan  received  the  cavalier  in  state, 
seated  on  a  magnificent  divan,  and  surrounded  by 
the  officers  of  his  court,  in  the  hall  of  ambassadors, 
one  of  the  most  sumptuous  apartments  of  the  Al- 
hambra.  When  De  Vera  had  delivered  his  message, 
a  haughty  and  bitter  smile  curled  the  lip  of  the  fierce 
monarch.  "  Tell  your  sovereigns,"  said  he,  "  that 
the  kings  of  Granada,  who  used  to  pay  tribute  in 
money  to  the  Castilian  crown,  are  dead.  Our  mint 
at  present  coins  nothing  but  blades  of  scimitars  and 
heads  of  lances."* 

The  defiance  couched  in  this  proud  reply,  was 
heard  with  stern  and  lofty  courtesy  by  Don  Juan  de 
Vera,  for  he  was  a  bold  soldier,  and  a  devout  hater 
of  the  Infidels ;  and  he  saw  iron  war  in  the  words  of 
the  Moorish  monarch.  He  retired  from  the  audience 
chamber  with  stately  and  ceremonious  gravity,  being 
master  of  all  points  of  etiquette.  As  he  passed  through 
the  Court  of  Lions,  and  paused  to  regard  its  cele- 
brated fountain,  he  fell  into  a  discourse  with  the 
Moorish  courtiers  on  certain  mysteries  of  the  Chris- 
tian faith.  The  arguments  advanced  by  those  Infidels 
(says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida)  awakened  the  pious 
indignation  of  this  most  Christian  knight  and  discreet 
ambassador ;  but  still  he  restramed  himself  within  the 
limits  of  lofty  gravity,  leaning  on  the  pommel  of  his 
sword,  and  looking  down  with  ineffable  scorn  upon 
the  weak  casuists  around  him.  The  quick  and  subtle 
Arabian  witlings  redoubled  their  light  attacks  upon 
this  stately  Spaniard,  and  thought  they  had  com- 
pletely foiled  him  in  the  contest ;  but  the  stern  Juan 
de  Vera  had  an  argument  in  reserve,  for  which  they 
were  but  little  prepared ;  for,  on  one  of  them,  of  the 
race  of  the  Abencerrages,  daring  to  question,  with  a 
sneer,  the  immaculate  conception  of  the  blessed 
virgin,  the  Catholic  knight  could  no  longer  restrain 
his  ire.  Raising  his  voice  of  a  sudden,  he  told  the 
Infidel  he  lied  ;  and,  raising  his  arm  at  the  same  time, 
he  smote  him  on  the  head  with  his  sheathed  sword. 

In  an  instant  the  Court  of  Lions  glistened  with  the 
flash  of  arms,  and  its  fountains  would  have  been  dyed 
with  blood,  had  not  Muley  Aben  Hassan  overheard 
the  tumult,  and  forbade  all  appeal  to  arms,  pronounc- 
ing the  i)erson  of  the  ambassador  sacred  while  within 
his  teiritories.  The  Abencerrage  treasured  up  the 
remembrance  of  the  insult  until  an  hour  of  vengeance 
should  arrive,  and  the  ambassador  prayed  our  blessed 
lady  to  grant  him  an  opportunity  of  proving  her  im- 
maculate conception  on  the  head  of  this  turbaned 
Infidel.t 

Notwithstanding  this  occurrence,  Don  Juan  de 
Vera  was  treated  with  great  distinction  by  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  ;  but  nothing  could  make  him  unbend 
from  his  stern  and  stately  reserve.  Before  his  de- 
^  parture,  a  scimitar  was  sent  to  him  by  the  king  ;  the 
blade  of  the  finest  Damascus  steel,  the  hilt  of  agate 
enriched  with  precious  stones,  and  the  guard  of  gold. 
De  Vera  drew  it,  and  smiled  grimly  as  he  noticed 
i  the  admirable  temper  of  the  blade.  "  His  majesty 
has  given  me  a  trenchant  weapon,"  said  he  ;  "  I  trust 
a  time  will  come  when  I  may  show  him  that  I  know 
how  to  use  his  royal  present."  The  reply  was  con- 
sidered as  a  compliment,  of  course  ;  the  bystanders 
little  knew  the  bitter  hostility  that  lay  couched  be- 
neath. 

Don  Juan  de  Vera  and  his  companions,  during 
their  brief  sojourn  at  Granada,  learned  the  force,  and 
situation  of  the  Moor,  with  the  eyes  of  practiced  war- 
riors.    They  saw  that  he  was  well  prepared  for  hos- 

*  Garibay.  Compend.  lib.  40,  c.  29.  Conde.  Hist,  dc  les  Arabes, 
p.  4.  c.  34. 

tThc  Curate  of  Los  Palacios  also  records  this  anecdote,  but 
mentions  it  as  happening  on  a  subsequent  occasion,  when  Don  ^fuan 
dc  Vera  was  sent  to  negotiate  ffr  certain  Christian  captives.  There 
appears  ever);  reason,  however,  to  consider  Fray  Antonio  Agapida 
most  correct  in  the  period  to  which  he  refers  it. 


tilities.  His  walls  and  towers  were  of  vast  strength, 
in  complete  repair,  and  mounted  with  lombards  and 
other  heavy  ordnance.  His  magazines  were  well 
stored  with  all  the  munitions  of  war  :  he  had  a  mighty 
host  of  foot-soldiers,  together  with  squadrons  of  cav- 
alry, ready  to  scour  the  country  and  cairy  on  either 
defensive  or  predatory  warfare.  The  Christian  war- 
riors noted  these  things  without  disinay  ;  their  hearts 
rather  glowed  with  emulation,  at  the  thoughts  of  en- 
countering so  worthy  a  foe.  As  they  slowly  pranced 
through  the  streets  of  Granada,  on  their  departure, 
they  looked  round  with  eagerness  on  its  stately 
palaces  and  sumptuous  mosques  ;  on  its  alcayceria 
or  bazar,  crowded  with  silks  and  cloth  of  silver  and 
gold,  with  jewels  and  precious  stones,  and  other  rich 
merchandise,  the  luxuries  of  every  clime  ;  and  they 
longed  for  the  time  when  all  this  wealth  should  be 
the  spoil  of  the  soldiers  of  the  faith,  and  when  each 
tramp  of  their  steeds  might  be  fetlock  deep  in  the 
blood  and  carnage  of  the  Infidels. 

Don  Juan  de  Vera  and  his  little  band  pursi:ed 
their  way  slowly  through  the  country,  to  the  Chris- 
tian frontier.  Every  town  was  strongly  fortified. 
The  vega  was  studded  with  towers  of  refuge  for  the 
peasantry  ;  every  pass  of  the  mountain  had  its  castle 
of  defence,  every  lofty  height  its  watch-tower.  As 
the  Christian  cavaliers  passed  under  the  walls  of  the 
fortresses,  lances  and  scimitars  flashed  from  their 
battlements,  and  the  turbaned  sentinels  seemed  to 
dart  from  their  dark  eyes  glances  of  hatred  and  de- 
fiance. It  was  evident  that  a  war  with  this  kingdom 
must  be  one  of  doughty  peril  and  valiant  enterprise; 
a  war  of  posts,  where  every  step  must  be  gained  by 
toil  and  bloodshed,  and  maintained  with  the  utmost 
difficulty.  The  warrior  spirit  of  the  cavaliers  kindled 
at  the  thoughts,  and  they  were  impatient  for  hostili- 
ties ;  "  not,"  says  Antonio  Agapida,  "  for  any  thirst 
for  rapine  and  revenge,  but  from  that  pure  and  holy 
indignation  which  every  Spanish  knight  entertained 
at  beholding  this  beautiful  dominion  of  his  ancestors 
defiled  by  the  footsteps  of  Infidel  usurpers.  It  was 
impossible,"  he  adds,  "to  contemplate  this  delicious 
country,  and  not  long  to  see  it  restored  to  the  do- 
minion of  the  true  faith,  and  the  sway  of  the  Chris- 
tian monarchs." 

When  Don  Juan  de  Vera  returned  to  the  Castilian 
court,  and  reported  the  particulars  of  his  mission, 
and  all  that  he  had  heard  and  seen  in  the  Moorish 
territories,  he  was  highly  honored  and  rewarded  by 
king  Ferdinand ;  and  the  zeal  he  had  shown  in  vin- 
dication of  the  sinless  conception  of  the  blessed  vir- 
gin, was  not  only  applauded  by  that  most  Catholic 
of  sovereigns,  but  gained  him  great  favor  and  re- 
nown among  all  pious  cavaliers  and  reverend  prel- 
ates. 


CHAPTER   IIL 


HOW  THE    MOOR    DETERMINED  TO    STRIKE    THE 
FIRST   BLOW   IN  THE  WAR. 

The  defiance  thus  hurled  at  the  Castilian  sover- 
eigns by  the  fiery  Moorish  king,  would  at  once  have 
been  answered  by  the  thunder  of  their  artillery  ;  but 
they  were  embroiled,  at  that  time,  in  a  war  with 
Portugal,  and  in  contests  with  their  own  factious 
nobles.  The  truce,  therefore,  which  had  existed  for 
many  years  between  the  nations,  was  suffered  to 
continue ;  the  wary  Ferdinand  reserving  the  refusal 
to  pay  tribute  as  a  fair  ground  for  war,  whenever  the 
favorable  moment  to  wage  it  should  arrive. 

In  the  course  of  three  years,  the  war  with  Portugal 
was  terminated,   and  the   factions  of  the  Spanish 


176 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


nobles  were,  for  the  most  part,  quelled.  The  Cas- 
tilian  sovercig-ns  now  turned  their  thoughts  to  what, 
from  the  time  of  the  union  of  their  crowns,  had  been 
the  great  object  of  their  ambition, — the  conquest  of 
Granada,  and  the  complete  extirpation  of  the  Moslem 
power  from  Spain.  Ferdinand,  whose  pious  zeal 
was  quickened  by  motives  of  temporal  policy,  looked 
with  a  craving  eye  at  the  rich  territory  of  the  Moor, 
studded  with  innumerable  towns  and  cities.  He  de- 
termined to  carry  on  the  war  with  cautious  and  per- 
severing patience,  taking  town  after  town  and  for- 
tress after  fortress,  and  gradually  plucking  away  all 
the  supports,  before  he  attempted  the  Moorish  capi- 
tal. "  I  will  pick  out  the  seeds,  one  by  one,  of  this 
pomegranate,"  said  the  wary  Ferdinand.* 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  aware  of  the  hostile  in- 
tentions of  the  Catholic  monarch,  but  felt  confident 
in  his  means  of  resisting  them.  He  had  amassed 
great  wealth,  during  a  tranquil  reign ;  he  had 
strengthened  the  defences  of  his  kingdom,  and  had 
drawn  large  bodies  of  auxiliary  troops  from  Barbary, 
besides  making  arrangements  with  the  African 
princes  to  assist  him  with  supplies,  in  case  of  emer- 
gency. His  subjects  were  fierce  of  spirit,  stout  of 
heart,  and  valiant  of  hand.  Inured  to  the  exercises 
of  war,  they  could  tight  skilfully  on  foot,  but,  above 
all,  were  dexterous  horsemen,  whether  heavily  armed 
and  fully  appointed,  or  lightly  mounted  a  la  genet  a, 
with  simply  lance  and  target.  They  were  patient 
of  fatigue,  hunger,  thirst,  and  nakedness ;  prompt 
for  war,  at  the  first  summons  of  their  king,  and 
tenacious  in  defence  of  their  towns  and  possessions. 

Thus  amply  provided  for  war,  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
determined  to  be  beforehand  with  the  politic  Ferdi- 
nand, and  to  be  the  first  to  strike  a  blow.  In  the 
truce  which  existed  between  them,  there  was  a  singu- 
lar clause,  permitting  either  party  to  make  sudden 
inroads  and  assaults  upon  towns  and  fortresses,  pro- 
vided they  were  done  furtively  and  by  stratagem, 
without  display  of  banners  or  sound  of  trumpet,  or 
regular  encampment,  and  that  they  did  not  last  above 
three  days.f  This  gave  rise  to  frequent  enterprises 
of  a  hardy  and  adventurous  character,  in  which 
castles  and  strong  holds  were  taken  by  surprise, 
and  carried  sword  m  hand.  A  long  time  had  elapsed, 
however,  without  any  outrage  of  the  kind  on  the 
part  of  the  Moors  ;  and  the  Christian  towns  on  the 
frontiers  had  all,  in  consequence,  fallen  into  a  state 
of  the  most  negligent  security. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  cast  his  ej'es  round  to  select 
his  object  of  attack,  when  information  was  brought 
him  that  the  fortress  of  Zahara  was  but  feebly  gar- 
risoned and  scantily  supplied,  and  that  its  alcayde 
was  careless  of  his  charge.  This  important  post  was 
on  the  frontier,  between  Ronda  and  Medina  Sidonia, 
and  was  built  on  the  crest  of  a  rocky  mountain,  with 
a  strong  castle  perched  above  it,  upon  a  cliff,  so  high 
that  it  was  said  to  be  above  the  flight  of  birds  or 
drift  of  clouds.  The  streets  and  many  of  the  houses 
were  mere  excavations,  wrought  out  of  the  living 
rock.  The  town  h.ad  but  one  gate,  opening  to  the 
west,  and  defended  by  towers  and  bulwarks.  The 
only  ascent  to  this  cragged  fortress  was  by  roads 
cut  in  the  rock,  and  so  rugged  ,as  in  many  places  to 
resemble  broken  stairs.  Such  was  the  situation  of 
the  mountain  fortress  of  Zahara,  which  seemed  to 
set  all  attack  at  defiance,  insomuch  that  it  had  be- 
come so  proverbial  throughout  Spain,  that  a  woman 
of  forbidding  and  inaccessible  virtue  was  called  a 
Zaharena.  But  the  strongest  fortress  and  sternest 
virtue  have  weak  points,  and   require   unremitting 


vigilance  to  guard  them  :  let  warrior  and  dame  take 
warning  from  the  fate  of  Zahara. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


*  Granada  is  the  Spanish  term  for  pomegranate, 
tZurita.    Anales  de  Aragon,  1.  20,  c.  41.    Mariana.    Hist  de 
Espafia,  1.  35,  c.  z. 


EXPEDITION  OF    MULEV  ABEN    HASSAN  AGAINST 
THE  FORTRESS  OF  ZAHARA. 

It  was  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  four 
hundred  and  eiglity-one,  and  but  a  night  or  two 
after  the  festival  of  the  most  blessed  Nativity,  that 
Muley  Aben  Hassan  made  his  famous  attack  upon 
Zahara.  The  inhabitants  of  the  place  were  sunk  in 
profound  sleep ;  the  very  sentinel  had  deserted  his 
post,  and  sought  shelter  from  a  tempest  which  had 
raged  for  three  nights  in  succession ;  for  it  appeared 
but  little  probable  that  an  enemy  would  be  abroad 
during  such  an  uproar  of  the  elements.  But  evil 
spirits  work  best  during  a  storm,  (observes  the 
worthy  Antonio  Agapida,)  and  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
found  such  a  season  most  suitable  for  his  diabolical 
purposes.  In  the  midst  of  the  night,  an  uproar  arose 
within  the  walls  of  Zahara,  more  awful  than  the 
raging  of  the  storm.  A  fearful  alarm  cry — "  The 
Moor  !  the  Moor  !  "  resounded  through  the  streets, 
mingled  with  the  clash  of  arms,  the  shriek  of  anguish, 
and  the  shout  of  victory.  Muley  Aben  Hassan,  at 
the  head  of  a  powerful  force,  had  liurried  from  Gra- 
nada, and  passed  unobserved  through  the  mountains 
in  the  oljscurity  of  the  tempest.  While  the  storm 
pelted  the  sentinel  from  his  post,  and  howled  round 
tower  and  battlement,  the  Moors  had  planted  their 
scaling-ladders,  and  mounted  securely,  into  both 
town  and  castle.  The  garrison  was  uijsuspicious  of 
danger,  until  battle  and  massacre  burst  forth  within 
its  very  walls.  It  seemed  to  the  affrighted  inhabit- 
ants, as  if  the  fiends  of  the  air  had  come  upon  the 
wings  of  the  wind,  and  possessed  themselves  of  tower 
and  turret.  The  war-cry  resounded  on  every  side, 
shout  answering  shout,  above,  below,  on  the  battle- 
ments of  the  castle,  in  the  streets  of  the  town — the 
foe  was  in  all  parts,  wrapped  in  obscurity,  but  acting 
in  concert  by  the  aid  of  preconcerted  signals.  Start- 
ing from  sleep,  the  soldiers  were  intercepted  and  cut 
down  as  they  rushed  from  their  quarters  ;  or,  if  they 
escaped,  they  knew  not  where  to  assemble,  or  where 
to  strike.  Wherever  lights  appeared,  the  flashing 
scimitar  was  at  its  deadly  \vork,  and  all  who  at- 
tempted resistance  fell  beneath  its  edge. 

In  a  little  while,  the  struggle  was  at  an  end. 
Those  who  were  not  slain  took  refuge  in  the  secret 
places  of  their  houses,  or  gave  themselves  up  as 
captives.  The  clash  of  arms  ceased  ;  and  the 
storm  continued  its  howling,  mingled  with  the  oc- 
casional shout  of  the  Moorish  soldiery,  roaming  in 
search  of  plunder.  While  the  inhabitants  were 
trembling  for  their  fate,  a  trumpet  resounded 
through  the  streets,  summoning  them  all  to  as- 
semble, unarmed,  in  the  public  square.  Here  they 
were  surrounded  by  soldiery,  and  strictly  guarded, 
until  day-break.  When  the  day  dawned,  it  was  pite- 
ous to  behold  this  once  prosperous  community,  who 
had  laid  down  to  rest  in  peaceful  security,  now 
crowded  together  without  distinction  of  age,  or 
rank,  or  sex,  and  almost  without  raiment,  during 
the  severity  of  a  wintry  storm.  The  fierce  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  their  prayers 
and  remonstrances,  and  ordered  them  to  be  con- 
ducted captives  to  Granada.  Leaving  a  strong  gar- 
rison in  both  town  and  castle,  with  orders  to  put 
them  in  a  complete  state  of  defence,  he  returned, 
flushed  with  victory,  to  his  capital,  entering  it  at 
the  head  of  his  troops,  laden  with  spoil,  and  bear- 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


177 


ing  in  triumph  the  banners  and  pennons  taken  at 
Zahara. 

While  preparations  were  mal<ing  for  jousts  and 
other  festivities,  in  honour  of  this  victory  over  the 
Christians,  the  captives  of  Zahara  arrived  —  a 
wretched  train  of  men,  women,  and  children,  worn 
out  with  fatigue  and  haggard  with  despair,  and 
driven  like  cattle  into  the  city  gates,  by  a  detach- 
ment of  Moorish  soldiery. 

Deep  was  the  grief  and  indignation  of  the  people 
of  Granada,  at  this  cruel  scene.  Old  men,  who  had 
experienced  the  calamities  of  warfare,  anticipated 
coming  troubles.  Mothers  clasped  their  infants  to 
their  breasts,  as  they  beheld  the  hapless  females  of 
Zahara,  with  their  children  expiring  in  their  arms. 
On  every  side,  the  accents  of  pity  for  the  sufferers 
were  mingled  with  execrations  of  the  barbarity  of 
the  king.  The  preparations  for  festivity  were 
neglected ;  and  the  viands,  which  were  to  have 
feasted  the  conquerors,  were  distributed  among  the 
captives. 

The  nobles  and  alfaquis,  however,  repaired  to  the 
Alhambra,  to  congratulate  the  king ;  for,  whatever 
storms  may  rage  in  the  lower  regions  of  society, 
rarely  do  any  clouds,  but  clouds  of  incense,  rise  to 
the  awful  eminence  of  the  throne.  In  this  instance, 
however,  a  voice  rose  from  the  midst  of  the  obse- 
quious crowd,  that  burst  like  thunder  upon  the  ears 
of  Aben  Hassan.  "Wo!  wo!  wo!  to  Granada!" 
exclaimed  the  voice ;  "  its  hour  of  desolation  ap- 
proaches. The  ruins  of  Zahara  will  fall  upon  our 
heads;  my  spirit  tells  me  that  the  end  of  our  empire 
is  at  hand  !  "  All  shrunk  back  aghast,  and  left  the 
denouncer  of  wo  standing  alone  in  the  centre  of  the 
hall.  He  was  an  ancient  and  hoary  man,  in  the 
rude  attire  of  a  dervise.  Age  had  withered  his 
form  without  quenching  the  fire  of  his  spirit,  which 
glared  in  baleful  lustre  from  his  eyes.  He  was, 
(s :iy  the  Arabian  historians,)  one  of  those  holy  men 
termed  s^ntons,  who  pass  their  lives  in  hermitages, 
in  fasting,  meditation,  and  prayer,  until  they  attain 
to  the  purity  of  saints  and  the  foresight  of  prophets. 
"  He  was,"  says  the  indignant  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 
pida,  "  a  son  of  Belial,  one  of  those  fanatic  intidels 
possessed  by  the  devil,  v/ho  are  sometimes  per- 
mitted to  predict  the  truth  to  their  followers ;  but 
with  the  proviso,  that  their  predictions  shall  be  of  no 
avail." 

Tlie  voice  of  the  santon  resounded  through  the 
lofty  hall  of  the  Alhambra,  and  struck  silence  and 
awe  into  the  crowd  of  courtly  sycophants.  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  alone  was  unmoved ;  he  eyed  the 
hoary  anchorite  with  scorn  as  he  stood  dauntless 
before  him,  and  treated  his  predictions  as  the  rav- 
ings of  a  maniac.  The  santon  rushed  from  the 
royal  presence,  and,  descending  into  the  city,  hur- 
ried through  its  streets  and  squares  with  frantic  ges- 
ticulations. His  voice  was  heard,  in  every  part,  in 
awful  denunciation.  "  The  peace  is  broken  !  the 
exterminating  war  is  commenced.  Wo  !  wo  !  wo 
to  Granada  !  its  fall  is  at  hand  !  desolation  shall 
dwell  in  its  palaces ;  its  strong  men  shall  fall 
beneath  the  sword,  its  children  and  maidens  shall 
be  led  into  captivity.  Zahara  is  but  a  type  of 
Granada  !  " 

Terror  seized  upon  the  populace,  for  they  consid- 
ered these  ravings  as  the  inspirations  of  prophecy. 
They  hid  themselves  in  their  dwellings,  as  in  a  time 
of  general  mourning;  or,  if  they  went  abroad,  it  was 
to  gather  together  in  knots  in  the  streets  and  squares, 
to  alarm  each  other  with  dismal  forebodings,  and  to 
curse  the  rashness  and  cruelty  of  the  fierce  Aben 
Hassan. 

The  Moorish  monarch  heeded  not  their  murmurs. 
Knowing  that  his  exploit  must  draw  upon  him  the 
12 


vengeance  of  the  christians,  he  now  threw  off  all 
reserve,  and  made  attempts  to  surprise  Castellan 
and  Elvira,  though  without  success.  He  sent 
alfaquis,  also,  to  the  Barbary  powers,  informing 
them  that  the  sword  was  drawn,  and  inviting  them 
to  aid  in  maintaining  the  kingdom  of  Granada,  ancf 
the  religion  of  Mahomet,  against  the  violence  of 
unbelievers. 


CHAPTER   V. 


EXPEDITION  OF  THE  MARQUES  OF  CADIZ  AGAINST 
ALHAMA. 

Great  was  the  indignation  of  king  Ferdinand, 
when  he  heard  of  the  storming  of  Zahara — more  es- 
pecially as  it  had  anticipated  his  intention  of  giving 
the  first  blow  in  this  eventful  war.  He  valued  him- 
self upon  his  deep  and  prudent  policy  ;  and  there  is 
nothing  which  politic  monarchs  can  less  forgive,  than 
thus  being  forestalled  by  an  adversary.  He  im- 
mediately issued  orders  to  all  the  adelantados  and 
alcaydes  of  the  frontiers,  to  maintain  the  utmost 
vigilance  at  their  several  posts,  and  to  prepare  to 
carry  fire  and  sword  into  the  territories  of  the  Moors, 

Among  the  many  valiant  cavaliers  who  rallied 
round  the  throne  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  one  of 
the  most  eminent  in  rank  and  renowned  in  arms  was 
Don  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques  of  Cadiz. 
As  he  was  the  distinguished  champion  of  this  holy 
war,  and  commanded  in  most  of  its  enterprises  and 
battles,  it  is  meet  that  some  particular  account 
should  be  given  of  him.  He  was  born  in  1443,  of 
the  valiant  lineage  of  the  Ponces,  and  from  his  ear- 
liest youth  had  rendered  himself  illustrious  in  the 
held.  He  was  of  the  middle  stature,  with  a  muscu- 
lar and  powerful  frame,  capable  of  great  exertion 
and  fatigue.  His  hair  and  beard  were  red  and  curled, 
his  countenance  was  open  and  magnanimous,  of  a 
ruddy  complexion,  and  slightly  marked  with  the 
small-pox.  He  was  temperate,  chaste,  valiant,  vigi- 
lant ;  a  just  and  generous  master  to  his  vassals ; 
frank  and  noble  in  his  deportment  towards  his 
equals  ;  loving  and  faithful  to  his  friends ;  fierce  and 
terrible,  yet  magnanimous,  to  his  enemies.  He  was 
considered  the  mirror  of  chivalry  of  his  times,  and 
compared  by  contemporary  historians  to  the  immor- 
tal Cid. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  had  vast  possessions  in  the 
most  fertile  parts  of  Andalusia,  including  many  towns 
and  castles,  and  could  lead  forth  an  army  into  the 
field  from  his  own  vassals  and  dependants.  On  re- 
ceiving the  orders  of  the  king,  he  burned  to  signal- 
ize himself  by  some  sudden  incursion  into  the  king- 
dom of  Granada,  that  should  give  a  brilliant  com- 
mencement to  the  war,  and  should  console  the  sov- 
ereigns for  the  insult  they  had  received  in  the  capture 
of  Zahara.  As  his  estates  lay  near  to  the  Moorish 
frontiers,  and  were  subject  to  sudden  inroads,  he  had 
always  in  his  pay  numbers  of  adalides,  or  scouts  and 
guides,  many  of  them  converted  Moors.  These  he 
sent  out  in  all  directions,  to  watch  the  movements 
of  the  enemy,  and  to  procure  all  kinds  of  information 
important  to  the  security  of  the  frontier.  One  of 
these  spies  came  to  him  one  day  in  his  town  of  .Mar- 
chena,  and  informed  him  that  the  Moorish  town  of 
Alhama  was  slightly  garrisoned  and  negligently  • 
guarded,  and  might  be  taken  by  surprise.  This  was 
a  large,  wealthy,  and  populous  place  within  a  few 
leagues  of  Granada.  It  was  situated  on  a  rocky 
height,  nearly  surrounded  by  a  river,  and  defended 
by  a  fortress  to  which  there  was  no  access  but  by  a 
steep  and  cragged  ascent.     The  strength  of  its  situ- 


173 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ation,  and  its  being'  embosomed  in  the  centre  of  the 
kingdom,  had  produced  the  careless  security  which 
now  invited  attack. 

To  ascertain  fully  the  state  of  the  fortress,  the 
marques  dispatched  secretly  a  veteran  soldier,  who 
was  highly  in  his  confidence.  His  name  was  Ortega 
de  Prado,  a  man  of  great  activity,  shrewdness,  and 
valor,  and  captain  of  escaladors,  or  those  employed 
to  scale  the  walls  of  fortresses  in  time  of  attack. 
Ortega  approached  Alhama  one  moonless  night,  and 
paced  along  its  walls  with  noiseless  step,  laying  his 
ear  occasionally  to  the  ground  or  to  the  wall.  Every 
time,  he  distinguished  the  measured  tread  of  a  sen- 
tinel, and  now  and  then  the  challenge  of  the  night- 
watch  going  its  rounds.  Finding  the  town  thus 
guarded,  he  clambered  to  the  castle : — there  all  was 
silent.  As  he  ranged  its  lofty  battlements,  between 
him  and  the  sky  he  saw  no  sentinel  on  duty.  He 
noticed  certain  places  where  the  wall  might  be  as- 
cended by  scaling-ladders  ;  and,  having  marked  the 
hour  of  relieving  guard,  and  made  all  necessary  ob- 
servations, he  retired  without  being  discovered. 

Ortega  returned  to  Marchena,  and  assured  the 
marques  of  Cadiz  of  the  practicability  of  scaling  the 
castle  of  Alhama,  and  taking  it  by  surprise.  The 
marques  had  a  secret  conference  with  Don  Pedro 
Henriquez  Adelantado,  of  Andalusia  ;  Don  Diego  de 
Merlo,  commander  of  Seville  ;  and  Sancho  de  Avila, 
alcayde  of  Carmona,  who  all  agreed  to  aid  him  with 
their  forces.  On  an  appointed  day,  the  several  com- 
manders assembled  at  Marchena  with  their  troops 
and  retainers.  None  but  the  leaders  knew  the  object 
or  destination  of  the  enterprise  ;  but  it  was  enough 
to  rouse  the  Andalusian  spirit,  to  know  that  a  foray 
was  intended  into  the  country  of  their  old  enemies, 
the  Moors.  Secrecy  and  celerity  were  necessary  for 
success.  They  set  out  promptly,  with  three  thou- 
sand genetes,  or  light  cavalry,  and  four  thousand  in- 
fantry. They  chose  a  route  but  little  travelled,  by 
the  way  of  Antiquera,  passing  with  great  labor 
through  rugged  and  solitary  dctiles  of  the  Sierra  or 
chain  of  mountains  of  Alzerifa,  and  left  all  their  bag- 
gage on  the  banks  of  the  river  Yeguas,  to  be  brought 
after  them.  Their  march  was  principally  in  the 
night  ;  all  day  they  remained  quiet ;  no  noise  was 
suffered  in  their  camp,  and  no  fires  were  made,  lest 
the  smoke  should  betray  them.  On  the  third  day 
they  resumed  their  march  as  the  evening  darkened, 
and  forcing  themselves  forward  at  as  quick  a  pace  as 
the  rugged  and  dangerous  mountain  roads  would  per- 
mit, they  descended  towards  midnight  into  a  small 
deep  valley,  only  half  a  league  from  Alhama.  Here 
they  made  a  halt,  fatigued  by  this  forced  march,  dur- 
ing a  long  dark  evening  towards  the  end  of  February. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  now  explained  to  the  troops 
the  object  of  the  expedition.  He  told  them  it  was 
for  the  glory  of  the  most  holy  faith,  and  to  avenge 
the  wrongs  of  their  countrymen  of  Zahara  ;  and  that 
the  rich  town  of  Alhama,  full  of  wealthy  spoil,  was 
the  place  to  be  attacked.  The  troops  were  roused 
to  new  ardor  by  these  words,  and  desired  to  be  led 
forthwith  to  the  assault.  They  arrived  close  to  Al- 
hama about  two  hours  before  daybreak.  Here  the 
army  remained  in  ambush,  while  three  hundred  men 
were  dispatched  to  scale  the  walls  and  get  posses- 
sion of  the  castle.  They  were  picked  men,  many  of 
them  alcades  and  officers,  men  who  preferred  death 
to  dishonor.  This  gallant  band  was  guided  by  the 
escalador  Ortega  de  Prado,  at  the  head  of  thirty  men 
with  scaling-ladders.  They  clambered  the  ascent  to 
the  castle  in  silence,  and  arrived  under  the  dark 
shadow  of  its  towers  without  being  discovered.  Not 
a  light  was  to  be  seen,  not  a  sound  to  be  heard ;  the 
whole  place  was  wrajiped  in  profound  repose. 

Fixing  their  ladders,  they  ascended  cautiously  and 


with  noiseless  steps.  Ortega  was  the  first  that 
mounted  upon  the  battlements,  followed  by  one 
Martin  Galindo,  a  youthful  esquire,  fidl  of  spirit  and 
eager  for  distinction.  Moving  stealthily  along  the 
parapet  to  the  portal  of  the  citadel,  they  came  upon 
the  sentinel  by  surprise.  Ortega  seized  him  by  the 
throat,  brandished  a  dagger  before  his  eyes,  and  or- 
dered him  to  point  the  way  to  the  guard-room.  The 
infidel  obeyed,  and  was  instantly  dispatched,  to  pre- 
vent his  giving  an  alarm.  The  guard-room  was  a 
scene  rather  of  massacre  than  combat.  -Some  of  the 
soldiery  were  killed  while  sleeping,  others  were  cut 
down  almost  without  resistance,  bewildered  by  so 
unexpected  an  assault:  all  were  dispatched,  for  the 
scaling  party  was  too  small  to  make  prisoners  or  to 
spare.  The  alarm  spread  throughout  the  castle,  but 
by  this  time  the  three  hundred  picked  men  had 
mounted  the  battlements.  The  garrison,  .startled 
from  sleep,  found  the  enemy  already  masters  of  the 
towers.  Some  of  the  Moors  were  cut  down  at  once, 
others  fought  desperately  from  room  to  room,  and 
the  whole  castle  resounded  with  the  clash  of  arms, 
the  cries  of  the  combatants,  and  the  groans  of  the 
wounded.  The  army  in  ambush,  finding  by  the  up- 
roar that  the  castle  was  surprised,  now  rushed  from 
their  concealment,  and  approached  the  walls  with 
loud  shouts,  and  sound  of  kettle-drums  and  trumpets, 
to  increase  the  confusion  and  dismay  of  the  garrison. 
A  violent  conflict  took  place  in  the  court  of  the 
castle,  where  several  of  the  scaling  party  sought  to 
throw  open  the  gates  to  admit  their  countrymen. 
Here  fell  two  valiant  aleaydes,  Nicholas  de  Roja 
and  Sancho  de  Avila  ;  but  they  fell  honorably,  upon 
a  heap  of  slain.  At  length  Ortega  de  Prado  suc- 
ceeded in  throwing  open  a  postern,  through  which 
the  marques  of  Cadiz,  the  adelantado  of  Andalusia, 
and  Don  Diego  de  Merlo,  entered  with  a  host  of  fol- 
lowers, and  the  citadel  remained  in  full  possession 
of  the  christians. 

As  the  Spanish  cavaliers  were  ranging  from  room 
to  room,  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  entering  an  apart- 
ment of  superior  richness  to  the  rest,  beheld,  by  the 
light  of  a  silver  lamp,  a  beautiful  Moorish  female, 
the  wife  of  the  alcayde  of  the  castle,  whose  husband 
was  absent,  attending  a  wedding-feast  at  Velez  Mal- 
aga. She  would  have  fled  at  the  sight  of  a  christian 
wariior  in  her  apartment,  but,  entangled  in  the  cover- 
ing of  the  bed,  she  fell  at  the  feet  of  the  marques, 
imploring  mercy.  The  christian  cavalier,  who  had 
a  soul  full  of  honor  and  courtesy  towards  the  sex, 
raised  her  from  the  floor,  and  endeavored  to  allay 
her  fears  ;  but  they  were  increased  at  the  sight  of 
her  female  attendants  pursued  into  the  room  l)y  the 
Spanish  soldiery.  The  marques  reproached  his  sol- 
diers with  their  unmanly  conduct,  and  reminded 
them  that  they  made  war  upon  men,  not  on  defence- 
less women.  Having  soothed  the  terrors  of  the 
females  by  the  promise  of  honorable  protection,  he 
appointed  a  trusty  guard  to  watch  over  the  security 
of  their  apartment. 

The  castle  was  now  taken  ;  but  the  town  below 
it  was  in  arms.  It  was  broad  day,  and  the  people, 
recovered  from  their  panic,  were  enabled  to  see  and 
estimate  the  force  of  the  enemy.  The  inhabitants  . 
were  chiefly  merchants  and  trades-people  ;  but  the 
Moors  all  possessed  a  knowledge  of  the  use  of  wea- 
pons, and  were  of  brave  and  warlike  .spirit.  They 
confided  in  the  strength  of  their  walls,  and  the  cer- 
tainty of  speedy  relief  from  Granada,  which  was 
but  about  eight  leagues  distant.  Manning  the  battle- 
ments and  towers,  they  discharged  showers  of  stones 
and  arrows,  whenever  the  part  of  the  christian  army, 
without  the  walls,  attempted  to  approach.  They 
barricadoed  the  entrances  of  their  streets,  also,  which 
opened  towards  the  castle  ;  stationing  men  expert  at 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


179 


the  cross-bow  and  arquebuse.  These  kept  up  a  con- 
stant fire  upon  the  gate  of  the  castle,  so  that  no  one 
could  sally  forth  without  beingf  instantly  shot  down. 
Two  valiant  cavaliers,  who  attempted  to  lead  forth 
a  party  in  defiance  of  this  fatal  tempest,  were  shot 
dead  at  the  very  portal. 

The  christians  now  found  themselves  in  a  situa- 
tion of  great  peril.  Reinforcements  must  soon  arrive 
to  the  enemy  from  Granada  ;  unless,  therefore,  they 
gained  possession  of  the  town  in  the  course  of  the 
(lay,  they  were  likely  to  be  surrounded  and  beleaguer- 
ed, without  provisions,  in  the  castle.  Some  observed 
that,  even  if  they  took  the  town,  they  should  not  be 
able  to  maintain  possession  of  it.  They  proposed, 
therefore,  to  make  booty  of  every  thing  valuable,  to 
sack  the  castle,  set  it  on  fire,  and  make  good  their 
retreat  to  Seville. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  was  of  different  counsel. 
"  God  has  given  the  citadel  into  christian  hands," 
said  he  ;  "  he  will  no  doubt  strengthen  them  to  main- 
tain it.  We  have  gained  the  place  with  difficulty 
and  bloodshed  ;  it  would  be  a  stain  upon  our  honor 
to  abandon  it  through  fear  of  imaginary  dangers." 
The  adelantado  and  Don  Diego  de  Merlo  joined  in 
his  opinion  ;  but  without  their  earnest  .and  united 
remonstrances,  the  place  would  have  been  abandon- 
ed ;  so  exhausted  were  the  troops  by  forced  marches 
and  hard  fighting,  and  so  apprehensive  of  the  ap- 
proach of  the  Moors  of  Granada. 

The  strength  and  spirits  of  the  party  within  the 
castle  were  in  some  degree  restored  by  the  provis- 
ions which  they  found.  The  Christian  army  be- 
neath the  town,  being  also  refreshed  by  a  morning's 
repast,  advanced  vigorously  to  the  attack  of  the 
walls.  They  planted  their  scaling-ladders,  and, 
swarming  up,  sword  in  hand,  fought  fiercely  with  the 
Moorish  soldiery  upon  the  ramparts. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  seeing 
that  the  gate  of  the  castle,  which  opened  toward  the 
city,  was  completely  commanded  by  the  artillery  of 
the  enemy,  ordered  a  large  breach  to  be  made  in  the 
wall,  through  which  he  might  lead  his  troops  to  the 
attack  ;  animating  them,  in  this  perilous  moment,  by 
assuring  them  that  the  place  should  be  given  up  to 
plunder,  and  its  inhabitants  made  captives. 

The  breach  being  made,  the  marques  put  himself 
at  the  head  of  his  troops,  and  entered  sword  in 
hand.  A  simultaneous  attack  was  made  by  the 
christians  in  every  part — by  the  ramparts,  by  the  gate, 
by  the  roofs  and  walls  which  connected  the  castle 
with  the  town.  The  Moors  fought  valiantly  in  their 
streets,  from  their  windows,  and  from  the  tops  of 
their  houses.  They  were  not  equal  to  the  christians 
in  bodily  strength,  for  they  were  for  the  most  part 
peaceful  men,  of  industrious  callings,  and  enervated 
by  the  frequent  use  of  the  warm  bath  ;  but  they 
were  superior  in  number,  and  unconquerable  in 
spirit ;  old  and  young,  strong  and  weak,  fought  with 
the  same  desperation.  The  Moors  fought  for  prop- 
erty, for  liberty,  for  life.  They  fought  at  their  thres- 
holds and  their  hearths,  with  the  shrieks  of  their 
wives  and  children  ringing  in  their  ears,  and  they 
fought  in  the  hope  that  each  moment  would  bring 
aid  from  Granada.  They  regarded  neither  their  own 
wounds  nor  the  deaths  of  their  companions ;  but 
continued  fighting  until  they  fell,  and  seemed  as  if, 
when  they  could  no  longer  contend,  they  would 
block  up  the  thresholds  of  their  beloved  homes  with 
their  mangled  bodies.  The  christians  fought  for 
glory,  for  revenge,  for  the  holy  faith,  and  for  the 
spoil  of  these  wealthy  infidels.  Success  would  place 
a  rich  town  at  their  mercy ;  failure  would  deliver 
them  into  the  hands  of  the  tyrant  of  Granada. 

The  contest  raged  from  morning  until  night,  when 
the  Moors  began  to  yield.     Retreating  to  a  large 


mosque  near  the  walls,  they  kept  up  so  galling  a  fire 
from  it  with  lances,  cross-bows,  and  arquebuses, 
that  for  some  time  the  christians  dared  not  approach. 
Covering  themselves,  at  length,  with  bucklers  and 
mantelets  *  to  protect  them  from  the  deadly  shower, 
they  made  their  way  to  the  mosque,  and  set  fire  to 
the  doors.  When  the  smoke  and  flames  rolled  in 
upon  them,  the  Moors  gave  all  up  as  lost.  Many 
rushed  forth  desperately  upon  the  enemy,  but  were 
immediately  slain  ;  the  rest  surrendered  themselves 
captives. 

The  struggle  was  now  at  an  end  ;  the  town  re- 
mained at  the  mercy  of  the  christians  ;  and  the  in- 
habitants, both  male  and  female,  became  the  slaves 
of  those  who  made  them  prisoners.  Some  few  es- 
caped by  a  mine  or  subterranean  way,  which  led  to 
the  river,  and  concealed  themselves,  their  wives  and 
children,  in  caves  and  secret  places  ;  but  in  three  or 
four  days,  were  compelled  to  surrender  themselves 
through  hunger. 

The  town  was  given  up  to  plunder,  and  the  booty 
was  immense.  There  were  found  prodigious  quan- 
tities of  gold  and  silver,  and  jewels,  and  rich  silks, 
and  costly  stuffs  of  all  kinds  ;  together  with  horses 
and  beeves,  and  abundance  of  grain  and  oil,  and 
honey,  and  all  other  productions  of  this  fruitful 
kingdom  ;  for  in  Alhama  were  collected  the  royal 
rents  and  tributes  of  the  surrounding  country  ;  it 
was  the  richest  town  in  the  Moorish  territory,  and, 
from  its  great  strength  and  its  peculiar  situation, 
was  called  the  key  to  Granada. 

Great  waste  and  devastation  were  committed  by 
the  Spanish  soldiery  ;  for,  thinking  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  keep  possession  of  the  place,  they  began 
to  destroy  whatever  they  could  not  take  away.  Im- 
mense jars  of  oil  were  broken,  costly  furniture  shat- 
tered to  pieces,  and  magazines  of  grain  broken  open, 
and  their  contents  scattered  to  the  winds.  Many 
christian  captives,  who  had  been  taken  at  Zahara, 
were  found  buried  in  a  Moorish  dungeon,  and  were 
triumphantly  restored  to  light  and  liberty ;  and  a 
renegado  Spaniard,  who  had  often  served  as  guide 
to  the  Moors  in  their  incursions  into  the  christian 
territories,  was  hanged  on  the  highest  part  of  the 
battlements,  for  the  edification  of  the  army. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HOW  THE  PEOPLE  OF  GRANADA  WERE  AFFECTED, 
ON  HEARING  OF  THE  CAPTURE  OF  ALHAMA  ; 
AND  HOW  THE  MOORISH  KING  SALLIED  FORTH 
TO  REGAIN  IT. 

A  Moorish  horseman  had  spurred  across  the 
vega,  nor  reined  his  panting  steed  until  he  alighted 
at  the  gate  of  the  Alhambra.  He  brought  tidings 
to  Muley  Aben  Hassan,  of  the  attack  upon  Alhama. 

"  The  christians,"  said  he,  "  are  in  the  land.  They 
came  upon  us,  we  know  not  whence  or  how,  and 
scaled  the  walls  of  the  castle  in  the  night.  There 
has  been  dreadful  fighting  and  carnage  in  its  towers 
and  courts ;  and  when  I  spurred  my  steed  from  the 
gate  of  Alhama,  the  castle  was  in  possession  of  the 
unbelievers." 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  felt  for  a  moment  as  if  swift 
retribution  had  come  upon  him  for  the  woes  he  had 
inllicted  upon  Zahara.  Still  he  flattered  himself  that 
this  had  only  been  some  transient  inroad  of  a  party 
of  marauders,  intent  upon  plunder ;  and  that  a  little 


*  Mantelet — a  mov.ible  p,irapet.  made  of  thick  planks,  to  protect 
troops,  when  advancing  to  sap  or  assault  a  walled  place. 


180 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


succor,  thrown  into  the  town,  would  be  sufficient  to 
expel  them  from  the  castle,  and  drive  them  from  the 
land.  He  ordered  out,  therefore,  a  thousand  of  his 
chosen  cavalry,  and  sent  them  in  all  speed  to  the 
assistance  of  Alhama.  They  arrived  before  its  walls, 
the  morning  after  its  capture :  the  christian  stand- 
ards floated  upon  its  towers,  and  a  body  of  cavalry 
poured  forth  from  its  gates  and  came  wheeling  down 
into  the  plain  to  receive  them. 

The  Moorish  horsemen  turned  the  reins  of  their 
steeds,  and  galloped  bact:  for  Granada.  They  en- 
tered its  gates  in  tumultuous  confusion,  spreading 
terror  and  lamentation  by  their  tidings.  "  Alhama 
is  fallen  !  Alhama  is  fallen  !  "  exclaimed  they  ;  "  the 
christians  garrison  its  walls ;  the  key  of  Granada  is 
in  the  hands  of  the  enemy  !  " 

When  the  people  heard  these  words,  they  remem- 
bered the  denunciation  of  the  santon.  His  predic- 
tion seemed  still  to  resound  in  every  ear,  and  its  ful- 
filment to  be  at  hand.  Nothing  was  heard  through- 
out the  city  but  sighs  and  wailings.  "  Wo  is  me, 
Alhama  !  "  was  in  every  mouth ;  and  this  ejaculation 
of  deep  sorrow  and  doleful  foreboding,  came  to  be 
the  burthen  of  a  plaintive  ballad,  which  remains  un- 
til the  present  day.* 

Many  aged  men,  who  had  taken  refuge  in  Grana- 
da from  other  Moorish  dominions  which  had  fallen 
into  the  power  of  the  Christians,  now  groaned  in 
despair  at  the  thoughts  that  war  was  to  follow  them 
into  this  last  retreat,  to  lay  waste  this  pleasant 
land,  and  to  bring  trouble  and  sorrow  upon  their  de- 
clining years.  The  women  were  more  loud  and  ve- 
hement in  their  grief;  for  they  beheld  the  evils  im- 
pending over  their  children,  and  what  can  restrain 
the  agony  of  a  mother's  heart  ?  Many  of  them  made 
their  way  through  the  halls  of  the  Alhambra  into 
the  presence  of  the  king,  weeping,  and  wailing,  and 
tearing  their  hair.  "Accursed  be  the  day,"  cried 
they,  "  that  thou  hast  lit  the  flame  of  war  in  our 
land !  May  the  holy  Prophet  bear  witness  before 
Allah,  that  we  and  our  children  are  innocent  of  this 
act !  Upon  thy  head,  and  upon  the  heads  of  thy 
posterity,  until  the  end  of  the  world,  rest  the  sin  of 
the  desolation  of  Zahara !  "t 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  remained  unmoved,  amidst 
all  this  storm  ;  his  heart  was  hardened  (observes 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida)  like  that  of  Pharaoh,  to  the 
end  that,  through  his  blind  violence  and  rage,  he 
might  produce  the  deliverance  of  the  land  from  its 
heathen  bondage.  In  fact,  he  was  a  bold  and  fear- 
less warrior,  and  trusted  soon  to  make  this  blow 
recoil  upon  the  head  of  the  enemy.  He  had  ascer- 
tained that  the  captors  of  Alhama  were  but  a  hand- 
ful:  they  were  in  the  centre  of  his  dominions,  within 
a  short  distance  of  his  capital.  They  were  deficient 
in  munitions  of  war,  and  provisions  for  sustaining  a 
siege.  By  a  rapid  movement,  he  might  surround 
them  with  a  powerful  army,  cut  off  all  aid  from  their 
countrymen,  and  entrap  them  in  the  fortress  they 
had  taken. 

To  think  was  to  act,  with  Muley  Aben  Hassan  ; 
but  he  was  prone  to  act  with  too  much  precipita- 
tion. He  immediately  set  forth  in  person,  with  three 
thousand  horse  and  fifty  thousand  foot,  and  in  his 
eagerness  to  arrive  at  the  scene  of  action,  would  not 
wait  to  provide  artillery  and  the  various  engines  re- 
quired in  a  siege.  "The  multitude  of  my  forces," 
said  he,  confidently,  "  will  be  sufficient  to  overwhelm 
the  enemy." 

The  marques  of  Cadiz,  who  thus  held  possession 
of  Alhama,  had  a  chosen  friend  and  faithful  com- 


*  The  mournful  little  Spanish  romance  oi Ay  de  mi^  Alkama  I 
is  supposed  to  be  of  Moorish  origin,  and  to  embody  the  grief  of 
the  people  of  Granada  on  this  occasion. 

t  Garibay,  lib.  40.  c.  39. 


panion  in  arms,  among  the  most  distinguished  of 
the  christian  chivalry.  This  was  Don  Alonzo  de 
Cordova,  senior  and  lord  of  the  house  of  Aguilar, 
and  brother  of  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova,  afterwards  re- 
nowned as  grand  captain  of  Spain.  As  yet,  Alonzo 
de  Aguilar  was  the  glory  of  his  name  and  race — 
for  his  brother  was  but  young  in  arms.  He  was  one 
of  the  most  hardy,  valiant,  and  enterprising  of  the 
Spanish  knights,  and  foremost  in  all  service  of  a 
perilous  and  adventurous  nature.  He  had  not  been 
at  hand,  to  accompany  his  friend  Ponce  de  Leon, 
marques  of  Cadiz,  in  his  inroad  into  the  Moorish 
territory ;  but  he  hastily  assembled  a  number  of  re- 
tainers, horse  and  foot,  and  pressed  forward  to  join 
the  enterprise.  Arriving  at  the  river  Yeguas,  he 
found  the  baggage  of  the  army  still  upon  its  banks, 
and  took  charge  of  it  to  carry  it  to  Alhama.  The 
marques  of  Cadiz  heard  of  the  approach  of  his 
friend,  whose  march  was  slow  in  consequence  of 
being  encumbered  by  the  baggage.  He  was  within 
but  a  few  leagues  of  Alhama,  when  scouts  came 
hurrying  into  the  place,  with  intelligence  that  the 
Moorish  king  was  at  hand  with  a  powerful  army. 
The  marques  of  Cadiz  was  filled  with  alarm  lest  De 
Aguilar  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy. 
Forgetting  his  own  danger,  and  thinking  only  of 
that  of  his  friend,  he  dispatched  a  well-mounted 
messenger  to  ride  full  speed,  and  warn  him  not  to 
approach. 

The  first  determination  of  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  when 
he  heard  that  the  Moorish  king  was  at  hand,  was  to 
take  a  strong  position  in  the  mountains,  and  await 
his  coming.  The  madness  of  an  attempt  with  his 
handful  of  men  to  oppose  an  immense  army,  was 
represented  to  him  with  such  force  as  to  induce  him 
to  abandon  the  idea;  he  then  thought  of  throwing 
himself  into  Alhama,  to  share  the  fortunes  of  his 
friend  :  but  it  was  now  too  late.  The  Moor  would 
infallibly  intercept  him,  and  he  should  only  give  the 
marques  the  additional  distress  of  beholding  him 
captured  beneath  his  walls.  It  was  even  urged  upon 
him  that  he  had  no  time  for  delay,  if  he  would  con- 
sult his  own  safety,  which  could  only  be  insured  by 
an  immediate  retreat  into  the  Christian  territory. 
This  last  opinion  was  confirmed  by  the  return  of 
scouts,  who  brought  informAtion  that  Muley  Aben 
Hassan  had  received  notice  of  his  movements,  and 
was  rapidly  advancing  in  quest  of  him.  It  was  with 
infinite  reluctance  that  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  yield- 
ed to  these  united  and  powerful  reasons.  Proudly 
and  sullenly  he  drew  off  his  forces,  laden  with  the 
baggage  of  the  army,  and  made  an  unwilling  retreat 
towards  Antiquera.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  pursued 
him  for  some  distance  through  the  mountains,  but 
soon  gave  up  the  chase  and  turned  with  his  forces 
upon  Alhama. 

As  the  army  approached  the  town,  they  beheld  the 
fields  strewn  with  the  dead  bodies  of  their  country- 
men, who  had  fallen  in  defence  of  the  place,  and  had 
been  cast  forth  and  left  unburied  by  the  christians. 
There  they  lay,  mangled,  and  exposed  to  every  in- 
dignity ;  while  droves  of  half-famished  dogs  were 
preying  upon  them,  and  fighting  and  howling,  over 
their  hideous  repast.*  Furious  at  the  sight,  the 
Moors,  in  the  first  transports  of  their  rage,  attacked 
those  ravenous  animals  :  their  next  measure  was  to 
vent  their  fury  upon  the  christians.  They  rushed 
like  madmen  to  the  walls,  applied  scaling-ladders  in 
all  parts,  without  waiting  for  the  necessary  mante- 
lets and  other  protections,- — thinking,  by  attacking 
suddenly  and  at  various  points,  to  distract  the  ene- 
my, and  overcome  them  by  the  force  of  numbers. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz,  with  his  confederate  com- 


♦  Pulgar.    Cronicx. 


A    CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


181 


manders,  distributed  tliemselves  along  the  walls,  to 
direct  and  animate  their  men  in  the  defence.  The 
Moors,  in  their  blind  fury,  often  assailed  the  most 
difficult  and  dangerous  places.  Darts,  stones,  and 
all  kinds  of  missiles,  were  hurled  down  upon  their 
defenceless  heads.  As  fast  as  they  mounted,  they 
were  cut  down,  or  dashed  from  the  battlements, 
their  ladders  overturned,  and  all  who  were  on  them 
precipitated  headlong  below. 

.Muley  Aben  Hassan  stormed  with  passion  at  the 
sight ;  he  sent  detachment  after  detachment  to  scale 
the  walls — but  in  vain  ;  they  were  like  waves  rush- 
ing upon  a  rock,  only  to  dash  themselves  to  pieces. 
The  Moors  lay  in  heaps  beneath  the  wall,  and 
among  them  many  of  the  bravest  cavaliers  of  Gra- 
nada. The  christians,  also,  sallied  frequently  from 
the  gates,  and  made  great  havoc  in  the  irregular 
multitude  of  assailants. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  the  party  was  com- 
manded by  Don  Juan  de  Vera,  the  same  pious  and 
high-handed  knight  who  had  borne  the  embassy  to 
Muley  Aben  Hassan,  demanding  tribute.  As  this 
doughty  cavalier,  after  a  career  of  carnage,  was 
slowly  retreating  to  the  gate,  he  heard  a  voice  loudly 
calling  after  him,  in  furious  accents.  "  Turn  back  ! 
turn  back  !  "  cried  the  voice  ;  "  thou  who  canst  in- 
sult in  hall,  prove  that  thou  canst  combat  in  the 
field."  Don  Juan  de  Vera  turned,  and  beheld  the 
same  Abencerrage  whom  he  had  struck  with  his 
sword  in  the  Alhambra,  for  scoffing  at  the  immacu- 
late conception  of  the  blessed  virgin.  All  his  holy 
zeal  and  pious  indignation  rekindled  at  the  sight  ; 
he  put  lajice  in  rest,  and  spurred  his  steed  to  finish 
this  doctrinal  dispute.  Don  Juan  de  Vera  was  a 
potent  and  irresistible  arguer  with  his  weapon  ;  and 
he  was  aided,  (says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,)  by  the 
peculiar  virtue  of  his  cause.  At  the  very  first  en- 
counter, his  lance  entered  the  mouth  of  the  Moor, 
and  hurled  him  to  the  earth,  never  more  to  utter 
word  or  breath.  Thus  (continues  the  worthy  friar) 
did  this  scoffing  infidel  receive  a  well-merited  pun- 
ishment, through  the  very  organ  with  which  he  had 
offended  ;  and  thus  was  the  immaculate  conception 
miraculously  vindicated  from  his  foul  aspersions. 

The  vigorous  and  successful  defence  of  the  chris- 
tians, now  made  Muley  Aben  Hassan  sensible  of  his 
error  in  hurrying  from  Granada  without  the  proper 
engines  for  a  siege.  Destitute  of  all  means  to  batter 
the  fortifications,  the  town  remained  uninjured,  defy- 
ing the  mighty  army  which  raged  and  roamed  before 
it.  Incensed  at  being  thus  foiled,  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
gave  orders  to  undermine  the  walls.  The  Moors 
advanced  with  shouts  to  the  attempt.  They  were 
received  with  a  deadly  fire  from  the  ramparts,  which 
drove  them  from  their  works.  Repeatedly  were 
they  repulsed,  and  repeatedly  did  they  return  to  the 
charge.  The  christians  not  merely  galled  them  from 
the  battlements,  but  issued  forth  and  cut  them  down 
in  the  excavations  they  were  attempting  to  form. 
The  contest  lasted  throughout  a  whole  day,  and  by 
evening  two  thousand  Moors  were  cither  killed  or 
wounded. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  now  abandoned  all  hope  of 
carrying  the  place  by  assault,  and  attempted  to  dis- 
tress it  into  terms  by  turning  the  channel  of  the 
river  which  runs  by  its  walls.  On  this  stream  the 
inhabitants  depended  for  their  supply  of  water  ;  the 
place  being  destitute  of  fountains  and  cisterns,  from 
which  circumstance  it  is  called  Alhama  la  uca,  or 
"  the  dry." 

A  desperate  conflict  ensued  on  the  banks  of  the 
river,  the  Moors  endeavoring  to  plant  palisades  in 
its  bed  to  divert  the  stream,  and  the  christians  striv- 
ing to  prevent  them.  The  Spanish  commanders 
exposed  themselves  to  the  utmost  danger  to  animate 


their  men,  who  were  repeatedly  driven  back  into  the 
town.  The  marques  of  Cadiz  was  often  up  to  his 
knees  in  the  stream,  fighting  hand  to  hand  with  the 
Moors.  The  water  ran  red  with  blood,  and  was 
encumbered  with  dead  bodies.  At  length,  the  over- 
whelming numbers  of  the  Moors  gave  them  the  ad- 
vantage, and  they  succeeded  in  diverting  the  greater 
part  of  the  water.  The  christians  had  to  stniggis 
severely,  to  supply  themselves  from  the  feeble  rill 
which  remained.  They  sallied  to  the  river  by  a  sub- 
terraneous passage  ;  but  the  Moorish  cross-bowmen 
stationed  themselves  on  the  opposite  bank,  keeping 
up  a  heavy  fire  upon  the  christians,  whenever  they 
attempted  to  fill  their  vessels  from  the  scanty  and 
turbid  stream.  One  party  of  the  christians  had, 
therefore,  to  fight,  while  another  drew  water.  At 
all  hours  of  the  day  and  night,  this  deadly  strife  was 
maintained,  until  it  seemed  as  if  eveiy  drop  of  water 
were  purchased  with  a  drop  of  blood. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  sufferings  in  the  town  be- 
came intense.  None  but  the  soldiery  and  their 
horses  were  allowed  the  precious  beverage  so  dearly 
earned,  and  even  that  in  quantities  that  only  tan- 
talized their  wants.  The  wounded,  who  could  not 
sally  to  procure  it,  were  almost  destitute  ;  while  the 
unhappy  prisoners,  shut  up  in  the  mosques,  were 
reduced  to  frightful  extremities.  Many  perished 
raving  mad,  fancying  themselves  swimming  in  bound- 
less seas,  yet  unable  to  assuage  their  thirst.  Many 
of  the  soldiers  lay  parched  and  panting  along  the 
battlements,  no  longer  able  to  draw  a  bowstring  or 
hurl  a  stone  ;  while  above  five  thousand  Moors, 
stationed  upon  a  rocky  height  which  overlooked 
part  of  the  town,  kept  up  a  galling  fire  into  it  with 
slings  and  cross-bows  ;  so  that  the  marques  of  Cadiz 
was  obliged  to  heighten  the  battlements,  by  using 
the  doors  from  the  private  dwellings. 

The  christian  cavaliers,  exposed  to  this  extreme 
peril,  and  in  imminent  danger  of  falling  into  the 
hands  of  the  enemy,  dispatched  fleet  messengers  to 
Seville  and  Cordova,  entreating  the  chivalry  of  An- 
dalusia to  hasten  to  their  aid.  They  sent  likewise, 
imploring  assistance  from  the  king  and  queen,  who 
at  that  time  held  their  court  in  Medina  del  Campo. 
In  the  midst  of  their  distress,  a  tank,  or  cistern,  of 
water,  was  fortunately  discovered  in  the  city,  which 
gave  temporary  relief  to  their  sufferings. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


HOW  THE  DUKE  OF  MEDINA  SIDONIA,  AND  THE 
CHIVALRY  OF  ANDALUSIA,  HASTENED  TO  THE 
RELIEF  OF  ALHAMA. 

The  perilous  situation  of  the  christian  cavaliers, 
pent  up  and  beleaguered  within  the  walls  of  Alhama, 
spread  terror  among  their  friends,  and  anxiety 
throughout  all  Andalusia.  Nothing,  however,  could 
equal  the  anguish  of  the  marchioness  of  Cadiz,  the 
wife  of  the  gallant  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon.  In  her 
deep  distress,  she  looked  round  for  some  powerful 
noble,  who  had  the  means  of  rousing  the  country  to 
the  assistance  of  her  husband.  No  one  appeared 
more  competent  for  the  purpose  than  Don  Juan  de 
Guzman,  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia.  He  was  one 
of  the  most  wealthy  and  puissant  grandees  of  Spain  ; 
his  possessions  extended  over  some  of  the  most  fer- 
tile parts  of  Andalusia,  embracing  towns,  and  sea- 
ports, and  numerous  villages.  Here  he  reigned  in 
feudal  state,  like  a  petty  sovereign,  and  could  at  any 
time  bring  into  the  field  an  immense  force  of  vassals 
and  retainers. 


182 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


The  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  and  the  marques  of 
Cadiz,  however,  were  at  this  time  deadly  foes.  An 
hereditary  feud  existed  between  them,  which  liad 
often  arisen  to  bloodshed  and  open  war  ;  for  as  yet 
the  fierce  contests  between  the  proud  and  puissant 
Spanish  nobles  had  not  been  completely  quelled  by 
the  power  of  the  crown,  and  in  this  respect  they 
exerted  a  right  of  sovereignty,  in  leading  their  vassals 
against  each  other  in  open  field. 

The  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  would  have  appeared, 
to  many,  the  very  last  person  to  whom  to  apply  for 
aid  of  the  marques  of  Cadiz  ;  bilt  the  marchioness 
judged  of  him  by  the  standard  of  her  own  high  and 
generous  mind.  She  knew  him  to  be  a  gallant  and 
courteous  knight,  and  had  already  experienced  the 
magnanimity  of  his  spirit,  having  been  relieved  by  him 
when  besieged  by  the  Moors  in  her  husband's  for- 
tress of  Arcos.  To  the  duke,  therefore,  she  applied 
in  this  moment  of  sudden  calamity,  imploring  him 
to  furnish  succor  to  her  husband.  The  event  showed 
how  well  noble  spirits  understand  each  other.  No 
sooner  did  the  duke  receive  thi^  appeal  from  the  wife 
of  his  enemy,  than  he  generously  forgot  all  feeling 
of  animosity,  and  determined  to  go  in  person  to  his 
succor.  He  immediately  dispatched  a  courteous  let- 
ter to  the  marchioness,  assuring  her  that  in  considera- 
tion of  the  request  of  so  honorable  and  estimable  a 
lady,  and  to  rescue  from  peril  so  valiant  a  cavalier  as 
her  husband,  whose  loss  would  be  great,  not  only  to 
Spain,  but  to  all  Christendom,  he  would  forego  the 
recollection  of  all  past  grievances,  and  hasten  to  his 
relief  with  all  the  forces  he  could  raise. 

The  duke  wrote  at  the  same  time  to  the  alcaydes 
of  his  towns  and  fortresses,  ordering  them  to  join 
him  forthwith  at  Seville,  with  all  the  forces  they  could 
spare  from  their  garrisons.  He  called  on  all  the 
chivalry  of  Andalusia  to  make  a  common  cause  in 
fho  rescue  of  those  christian  cavaliers,  and  he  offered 
large  pay  to  all  volunteers  who  would  resort  to  him 
with  horses,  armor,  and  provisions.  Thus  all  who 
could  be  incited  by  honor,  religion,  patriotism,  or 
thirst  of  gain,  were  induced  to  hasten  to  his  standard, 
and  he  took  the  field  with  an  army  of  five  thousand 
horse  and  fifty  thousand  foot.*  Many  cavaliers  of 
distinguished  name  accompanied  him  in  this  gener- 
ous enterprise.  Among  these  was  the  redoubtable 
Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  the  chosen  friend  of  the  marques 
of  Cadiz,  and  with  him  his  younger  brother,  Gonsalvo 
Fernandez  de  Cordova,  afterwards  renowned  as  the 
grand  captain  :  Don  Roderigo  Giron,  also.  Master  of 
the  order  of  Calatrava,  together  with  Martin  Alonzo 
de  Montemayor,  and  the  marques  De  Villena,  es- 
teemed the  best  lance  in  Spain.  It  was  a  gallant 
and  splendid  army,  comprising  the  flower  of  Spanish 
chivalry,  and  poured  forth  in  brilliant  array  from  the 
gates  of  Seville,  bearing  the  great  standard  of  that 
ancient  and  renowned  city. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella  were  at  Medina  del  Campo, 
when  tidings  came  of  the  capture  of  Alhama.  The 
king  was  at  mass  when  he  received  the  news,  and 
ordered  te  deum  to  be  chanted  for  this  signal  triumph 
of  the  holy  faith.  When  the  first  flush  of  triumph 
had  subsided,  and  the  king  learnt  the  imminent  peril 
of  the  valorous  Ponce  de  Leon  and  his  companions, 
and  the  great  danger  that  this  strong-hold  might 
again  be  wrested  irom  their  grasp,  he  resolved  to 
hurry  in  person  to  the  scene  of  action.  So  pressing 
appeared  to  him  the  emergency,  that  he  barely  gave 
himself  time  to  take  a  hasty  repast  while  horses  were 
providing,  and  then  departed  at  furious  speed  for 
Andalusia,  leaving  a  request  for  the  queen  to  follow 
him.t     He   was  attended   by  Don   Beltram   de   la 


Cueva,  duke  of  Albuquerque,  Don  Inigo  Lopez  de 
Mendoza,  count  of  Tendilla,  and  Don  Pedro  Mauri- 
ques,  count  of  Treviflo,  with  a  few  more  cavaliers  of 
prowess  and  distinction.  He  travelled  by  forced 
journeys,  frequently  changing  his  jaded  horses,  be- 
ing eager  to  arrive  in  time  to  take  command  of  the 
Andalusian  chivalry.  When  he  arrived  within  five 
leagues  of  Cordova,  the  duke  of  Albuquerque  remon- 
strated with  him  upon  entering,  with  such  incautious 
haste,  into  the  enemies'  country.  He  represented  to 
him  that  there  were  troops  enough  assembled  to  succor 
Alhama,  and  that  it  was  not  for  him  to  venture  his 
royal  person  in  doing  what  could  be  done  by  his  sub- 
jects ;  especially  as  he  had  such  valiant  and  expe- 
rienced captains  to  act  for  him.  "Besides,  sire," 
added  the  duke,  "  your  majesty  should  bethink  you 
that  the  troops  about  to  take  the  field  are  mere  men 
of  Andalusia,  whereas  your  illustrious  predecessors 
never  made  an  inroad  into  the  territory  of  the  Moors, 
without  being  accompanied  by  a  powerful  force  of 
the  staunch  and  iron  warriors  of  old  Castile." 

"  Duke,"  replied  the  king,  "  your  counsel  might 
have  been  good,  had  I  not  departed  from  Medina 
with  the  avowed  determination  of  succoring  these 
cavaliers  in  person.  I  am  now  near  the  end  of  my 
journey,  and  it  would  be  beneath  my  dignity  to 
change  my  intention,  before  even  I  had  met  with  an 
impediment.  I  shall  take  the  troops  of  this  country 
who  are  assembled,  without  waiting  for  those  of 
Castile,  and,  with  the  aid  of  God,  shall  prosecute  my 
journey."* 

As  king  Ferdinand  approached  Cordova,  the  prin- 
cipal inhabitants  came  forth  to  receive  him.  Learn- 
ing, however,  that  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  was 
already  on  the  march,  and  pressing  forward  into  the 
territory  of  the  Moors,  the  king  was  all  on  fire  to 
overtake  him,  and  to  lead  in  person  the  succor  to 
Alhama.  Without  entering  Cordova,  therefore,  he 
exchanged  his  weary  horses  for  those  of  the  inhabit- 
ants who  had  come  forth  to  meet  him,  and  pressed 
forward  for  the  army.  He  dispatched  fleet  couriers 
in  advance,  requesting  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia 
to  await  his  coming,  that  he  might  take  command 
of  the  forces. 

Neither  the  duke  nor  his  companions  in  arms, 
however,  felt  inclined  to  pause  in  their  generous  ex- 
pedition, and  gratify  the  inclination  of  the  king.  They 
sent  back  missives,  representing  that  they  were  far 
within  the  enemies'  frontier,  and  it  was  dangerous 
either  to  pause  or  turn  back.  They  had  likewise 
received  pressing  entreaties  from  the  besieged  to 
hasten  their  speed,  setting  forth  their  great  suffer- 
ings, and  their  hourly  peril  of  being  overwhelmed 
by  the  enemy. 

The  king  was  at  Ponton  del  Maestro,  when  he  re- 
ceived these  missives.  So  inflamed  was  he  with  zeal 
for  the  success  of  this  enterprise,  that  he  would  have 
penetrated  into  the  kingdom  of  Granada  with  the 
handful  of  cavaliers  who  accompanied  him,  but  they 
represented  the  rashness  of  such  a  journey,  through 
the  mountainous  defiles  of  a  hostile  country,  thickly 
beset  with  towns  and  castles.  With  some  difficulty, 
therefore,  he  was  dissuaded  from  his  inclination,  and 
prevailed  upon  to  await  tidings  from  the  army,  in 
the  frontier  city  of  Antiquera. 


*  Cronica  de  los  Duques  de  Medina  Sidonia,   por  Pedro   de 
Medina.     MS. 
t  Illescas.  Hi&t.  Pontifical. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

SEQUEL  OF  THE  EVENTS  AT  ALHAMA. 

While  all  Andalusia  was  thus  in  arms,  and  pour- 
ing its  chivalry  through  the  mountain  passes  of  the 
Moorish  frontier,  the  garrison  of  Alhama  was  re- 

*  Pulgar.  Cronica,  p.  3,  c.  3. 


A   CHRONICLE    OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADx\. 


183 


duced  to  great  extremity,  and  in  danger  of  sinking 
under  its  sufferings  before  the  promised  succor  could 
arrive.  Tfie  intolerable  thirst  that  prevailed  in  con- 
sequence of  the  scarcity  of  water,  the  incessant 
watch  that  had  to  be  maintained  over  the  vast  force 
of  enemies  without,  and  the  great  number  of  prison 
ers  within,  and  tlie  wounds  which  almost  every  sol- 
dier had  received  in  the  incessant  skirmishes  and 
assaults,  had  worn  grievously  both  flesh  and  spirit. 
The  noble  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques  of  Cadiz,  still 
animated  the  soldiery,  however,  by  word  and  exam- 
ple, sharing  every  hardship  and  being  foremost  in 
every  danger;  exemplifying  that  a  good  commander 
is  the  vital  spirit  of  an  army. 

When  Muley  Aben  Hassan  heard  of  the  vast  force 
that  was  approaching  under  the  command  of  the 
duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  and  that  Ferdinand  was 
coming  in  person  with  additional  troops,  he  perceiv- 
ed that  no  time  was  to  be  lost :  Albania  must  be  car- 
ried by  one  powerful  attack,  or  abandoned  entirely 
to  the  christians. 

A  number  of  Moorish  cavaliers,  some  of  the 
bravest  youth  of  Granada,  knowing  the  wishes  of 
the  king,  proposed  to  undertake  a  desperate  enter- 
prise, which,  if  successful,  must  put  Alhama  in  his 
power.  Early  one  morning,  when  it  was  scarcely 
the  gray  of  the  dawn,  about  tne  time  of  changing  the 
watch,  these  cavaliers  approached  the  town,  at  a 
place  considered  inaccessible,  from  the  steepness  of 
the  rocks  on  which  the  wall  was  founded  ;  which,  it 
was  supposed,  elevated  the  battlements  beyond  the 
reach  of  the  longest  scaling-ladder.  The  Moorish 
knights,  aided  by  a  number  of  the  strongest  and  most 
active  escaladors,  mounted  these  rocks,  and  applied 
the  ladders,  without  being  discovered ;  for,  to  divert 
attention  from  them,  Muley  Aben  Hassan  made  a 
false  attack  upon  the  town  in  another  quarter. 

The  scaling  party  mounted  with  difficulty,  and  in 
small  numbers  ;  the  sentinel  was  killed  at  his  post, 
and  seventy  of  the  Moors  made  their  way  into  the 
streets  before  an  alarm  was  given.  The  guards 
rushed  to  the  walls,  to  stop  the  hostile  throng  that 
was  still  pouring  in.  A  sharp  conflict,  hand  to  hand 
and  man  to  man,  took  place  on  the  battlements,  and 
many  on  both  sides  fell.  The  Moors,  whether 
wounded  or  slain,  were  thrown  headlong  without 
the  walls  ;  the  scaling-ladders  were  overturned,  and 
those  who  were  mounting  were  dashed  upon  the 
rocks,  and  from  thence  tumbled  upon  the  plain. 
Thus,  in  a  little  while,  the  ramparts  were  cleared 
by  christian  prowess,  led  on  by  that  valiant  knight 
Don  Alonzo  Ponce,  the  uncle,  and  that  brave  es- 
quire Pedro  Pineda,  nephew  of  the  marques  of 
Cadiz. 

The  walls  being  cleared,  these  two  kindred  cava- 
liers now  hastened  with  their  forces  in  pursuit  of 
the  seventy  Moors  who  had  gained  an  entrance  into 
the  town.  The  main  party  of  the  garrison  being  en- 
gaged at  a  distance  resisting  the  feigned  attack  of 
the  Moorish  king,  this  fierce  band  of  infidels  had 
ranged  the  streets  almost  without  opposition,  and 
were  making  their  way  to  the  gates  to  throw  them 
open  to  the  army.*  They  were  chosen  men  from 
among  the  Moorish  forces,  several  of  them  gallant 
knights  of  the  proudest  families  of  Granada.  Their 
footsteps  through  the  city  were  in  a  manner  printed 
in  blood,  and  they  were  tracked  by  the  bodies  of 
those  they  had  killed  and  wounded.  They  had 
attained  the  gate ;  most  of  the  guard  had  fallen  be- 
neath their  scimitars:  a  moment  more,  and  Alhama 
would  have  been  thrown  open  to  the  enemy. 

Just  at  this  juncture,  Don  Alonzo  Ponce  and  Pedro 
de  Pineda  reached  the  spot  with  their  forces.     The 


*  Zurita,  lib.  ao,  c.  43. 


Moors  had  the  enemy  in  front  and  rear;  they  placed 
themselves  back  to  back,  with  their  banner  in  the 
centre.  In  this  way  they  fought  with  desperate  and 
deadly  determination,  making  a  rampart  around 
them  with  the  slain.  More  christian  troops  arrived, 
and  hemmed  them  in  ;  but  still  they  fought  without 
asking  for  quarter.  As  their  numbers  decreased, 
they  serried  their  circle  still  closer,  defending  their 
banner  from  assault ;  and  the  last  Moor  died  at  his 
post,  grasping  the  standard  of  the  Prophet.  This 
standard  was  displayed  from  the  walls,  and  the  tur- 
baned  heads  of  the  Moors  were  thrown  down  to  the 
besiegers.* 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  tore  his  beard  with  rage  at 
the  failure  of  this  attempt,  and  at  the  death  of  so 
many  of  his  chosen  cavaliers.  He  saw  that  all  further 
effort  was  in  vain  ;  his  scouts  brought  word  that  they 
had  seen  from  the  heights,  the  long  columns  and 
flaunting  banners  of  the  christian  army  approaching 
through  the  mountains.  To  linger  would  be  to  place 
himself  between  two  bodies  of  the  enemy.  Break- 
ing up  his  camp,  therefore,  in  all  haste,  he  gave  up 
the  siege  of  Alhama,  and  hastened  back  to  Granada  ; 
and  the  last  clash  of  his  cymbals  scarce  died  upon 
the  ear  from  the  distant  hills,  before  the  standard  of 
the  duke  of  Sidoma  was  seen  emerging  in  another 
direction  from  the  defiles  of  the  mountains. 

When  the  christians  in  Alhama  beheld  their  ene- 
mies retreating  on  one  side  and  their  friends  advanc- 
ing on  the  other,  they  uttered  shouts  of  joy  and 
hymns  of  thanksgiving,  for  it  was  as  a  sudden  relief 
froirt  present  death.  Harassed  by  several  weeks 
of  incessant  vigil  and  fighting,  suffering  from  scarcity 
of  provisions  and  almost  continual  thirst,  they  re- 
sembled skeletons  rather  than  living  men.  It  was  a 
noble  and  gracious  sight  to  behold  the  meeting  of 
those  two  ancient  foes,  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia 
and  the  marques  of  Cadiz.  When  the  marques  be- 
held liis  magnanimous  deliverer  app.''oaching,  he 
melted  into  tears  ;  all  past  animosities  only  gave  the 
greater  poignancy  to  present  feelings  of  gratitude 
and  admiration  ;  they  clasped  each  other  in  their 
arms,  and  from  that  time  forward  were  true  and 
cordial  friends. 

While  this  generous  scene  took  place  between  the 
commanders,  a  sordid  contest  arose  among  their 
troops.  The  soldiers  who  had  come  to  the  rescue 
claimed  a  portion  of  the  spoils  ot  Alhama ;  and  so 
violent  was  the  dispute,  that  both  parties  seized  their 
arms.  The  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  mterfered,  and 
settled  the  question  with  his  characteristic  magnan- 
imity. He  declared  that  the  spoil  belonged  to  those 
who  had  captured  the  city.  "  We  have  taken  the 
field,"  said  he,  "only  for  honor,  for  religion,  and  for 
the  rescue  of  our  countrymen  and  fellow-christians  ; 
and  the  success  of  our  enterprise  is  a  sufficient  and 
a  glorious  reward.  If  we  desire  booty,  there  are 
sufficient  Moorish  cities  yet  to  be  taken,  to  enrich 
us  all."  The  soldiers  were  convinced  by  the  frank 
and  chivalrous  reasoning  of  the  duke ;  they  replied 
to  his  speech  by  acclamations,  and  the  transient 
broil  was  happily  appeased. 

The  marchioness  of  Cadiz,  with  the  forethought 
of  a  loving  wife,  had  dispatched  her  major  domo 
with  the  army  with  a  large  supply  of  provisions. 
Tables  were  immediately  spread  beneath  the  tents, 
where  the  marques  gave  a  banquet  to  the  duke  and 
the  cavaliers  who  had  accompanied  him,  and  noth- 
ing but  hilarity  prevailed  in  this  late  scene  of  suffer- 
ing and  death. 

A  garrison  of  fresh  troops  was  left  in  Alharaa ; 


*  Pedro  de  Pineda  received  the  honor  of  knighthood  from  the 
hand  of  king  Ferdinand,  for  his  valor  on  this  occasion  ;  (Alonzo 
Ponce  was  already  kn'ght). — See  Zufiiga,  Annates  of  Seville,  lib. 
za.  an.  1483. 


184 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


and  the  veterans  who  had  so  valiantly  captured  and 
maintained  it,  returned  to  their  homes,  burthened 
with  precious  booty.  The  marques  and  duke,  with 
their  confederate  cavaliers,  repaired  to  Antiquera, 
where  they  were  received  with  great  distinction  by 
the  king",  who  honored  the  marques  of  Cadiz  with 
signal  marks  of  favor.  The  duke  then  accompanied 
his  late  enemy,  but  now  most  zealous  and  grateful 
friend,  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  to  his  town  of  March- 
ena,  where  he  received  the  reward  of  his  generous 
conduct,  in  the  thanks  and  blessings  of  the  mar- 
chioness. The  marques  celebrated  a  sumptuous 
feast,  in  honor  of  his  guest ;  for  a  day  and  night,  his 
palace  was  thrown  open,  and  was  the  scene  of  con- 
tinual revel  and  festivity.  When  the  duke  departed 
for  his  estates  at  St.  Lucar,  the  marques  attended 
him  for  some  distance  on  his  journey  ;  and  when 
they  separated,  it  was  as  the  parting  scene  of 
brothers.  Such  was  the  noble  spectacle  exhibited 
to  the  chivalry  of  Spain,  by  these  two  illustrious 
rivals.  Each  reaped  universal  renown  from  the  part 
he  had  performed  in  the  campaign  ;  the  marques, 
from  having  surprised  and  captured  one  of  the  most 
important  and  formidable  fortresses  of  the  kingdom 
of  Granada ;  and  the  duke,  from  having  subdued 
his  deadliest  foe,  by  a  great  act  of  magnanimity. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


EVENTS  AT  GRANADA,  AND  RISE  OF  THE  MOORISH 
KING  BOABDIL  EL  CHICO. 

The  Moorish  king,  Aben  Hassan,  returned, 
baffled  and  disappointed,  from  before  the  walls  of 
Alhama,  and  was  received  with  groans  and  smother- 
ed execrations  by  the  people  of  Granada.  The  pre- 
diction of  the  santon  was  in  every  mouth,  and 
appeared  to  be  rapidly  fulfilling ;  for  the  enemy  was 
already  strongly  fortified  in  Alhama,  in  the  very 
heart  of  the  kingdom.  The  disaffection,  which 
broke  out  in  murmurs  among  the  common  people, 
fermented  more  secretly  and  dangerously  among  the 
nobles.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  of  a  fierce  and 
cruel  nature ;  his  reign  had  been  marked  with  tyr- 
anny and  bloodshed,  and  many  chiefs  of  the  family 
of  the  Abencerrages,  the  noblest  lineage  among  the 
Moors,  had  fallen  victims  to  his  policy  or  vengeance. 
A  deep  plot  was  now  formed,  to  put  an  end  to  his 
oppressions,  and  dispossess  him  of  the  throne.  The 
situation  of  the  rojal  household  favored  the  con- 
spiracy. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan,  though  cruel,  was  uxorious  ; 
that  is  to  say,  he  had  many  wives,  and  was  prone  to 
be  managed  by  them  by  turns.  He  had  two  queens 
in  particular,  whom  he  had  chosen  from  affection. 
One,  named  Ayxa,  was  a  Moorish  female ;  she  was 
likewise  termed  in  Arabic,  La  Horra,  or  the  chaste, 
from  the  spotless-  purity  of  her  character.  While 
yet  in  the  prime  of  her  beauty,  she  bore  a  son  to 
Aben  Hassan,  the  expected  heir  to  his  throne.  The 
name  of  this  prince  was  Mahomet  Abdalla,  or,  as  he 
has  more  generally  been  termed  among  historians, 
Boabdil.  At  his  Ijirth,  the  astrologers,  according  to 
custom,  cast  his  horoscope :  they  were  seized  with 
fear  and  trembling,  when  they  beheld  the  fatal  por- 
tents revealed  to  their  science.  "  Alia  Achbar  !  God 
is  great !  "  exclaimed  they ;  "  he  alone  controls  the 
fate  of  empires.  It  is  written  in  the  heavens  that 
this  prince  shall  sit  upon  the  throne  of  Granada,  but 
that  the  downfall  of  the  kingdom  shall  be  accom- 
plished during  his  reign."  From  this  time,  the  prince 
was  ever  regarded  with  aversion  by  his  father ;  and 
the  series  of  persecutions  which  he  suffered,  and  the 


dark  prediction  which  hung  over  him  from  his  in- 
fancy, procured  him  the  surname  of  El  Zogoybi,  or 
"  the  unfortunate."  He  is  more  commonly  known 
by  the  appellation  of  El  Chico  (the  younger,)  to  dis- 
tinguish him  from  an  usurping  uncle. 

The  other  favorite  queen  of  Aben  Hassan  was 
named  Fatima,  to  which  the  Moors  added  the  appel- 
lation of  La  Zoraya,  or  the  light  of  dawn,  from  her 
effulgent  beauty.  She  was  a  christian  by  birth,  the 
daughter  of  the  commander  Sancho  Ximenes  de 
Soils,  and  had  been  taken  captive  in  her  tender 
youth.*  The  king,  who  was  well  stricken  in  years 
at  the  time,  became  enamored  of  the  blooming 
christian  maid  ;  he  made  her  his  sultana,  and,  like 
most  old  men  who  marry  in  their  dotage,  resigned 
himself  to  her  management.  Zoraya  became  the 
mother  of  two  princes,  and  her  anxiety  for  their  ad- 
vancement seemed  to  extinguish  every  other  natural 
feeling  in  her  breast.  She  was  as  ambitious  as  she 
was  beautiful,  and  her  ruling  desire  became  to  see 
one  of  her  sons  stated  upon  the  throne  of  Granada. 
For  this  purpose,  she  made  use  of  all  her  arts,  and 
of  the  complete  ascendancy  she  had  over  the  mind 
of  her  cruel  husband,  to  undermine  his  other  chil- 
dren in  his  affections,  and  to  fill  him  with  jealousies 
of  their  designs.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  so  wrought 
upon  by  her  machinations,  that  he  publicly  put 
several  of  his  sons  to  death,  at  the  celebrated  foun- 
tain of  Lions,  in  the  court  of  the  Alhambra,— a 
place  signalized  in  Moorish  history  as  the  scene  of 
many  sanguinary  deeds. 

The  next  measure  of  Zoraya,  was  agamst  her  rival 
sultana,  the  virtuous  Ayxa.  She  was  past  the  bloom 
of  her  beauty,  and  had  ceased  to  be  attractive  in  the 
eyes  of  her  husband.  He  was  easily  persuaded  to 
repudiate  her,  and  to  confine  her  and  her  son  in  the 
tower  of  Cimares,  one  of  the  principal  towers  of  the 
Alhambra.  As  Boabdil  increased  in  years,  Zoraya 
beheld  in  him  a  formidable  obstacle  to  the  pretensions 
of  her  sons  ;  for  he  was  universally  considered  heir- 
apparent  to  the  throne.  The  jealousies,  suspicions, 
and  alarms  of  his  tiger-hearted  father,  were  again 
excited  ;  he  was  reminded,  too,  of  the  prediction  that 
fixed  the  ruin  of  the  kingdom  during  the  reign  of 
this  prince.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  impiously  set  the 
stars  at  defiance  :  "  The  sword  of  the  executioner," 
said  he,  "shall  prove  the  falsehood  of  these  lying 
horoscopes,  and  shall  silence  the  ambition  of  Boab- 
dil, as  it  has  the  presumption  of  his  brothers." 

The  sultana  Ayxa  was  secretly  apprized  of  the 
cruel  design  of  the  old  monarch.  She  was  a  woman 
of  talents  and  courage,  and,  by  means  of  her  female 
attendants,  concerted  a  pUn  for  the  escape  of  her 
son.  A  faithful  servant  was  instructed  to  wait  below 
the  Alhambra,  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  on  the  banks 
of  the  river  Darro,  with  a  fleet  Arabian  courser. 
The  sultana,  when  the  castle  was  in  a  state  of  deep 
repose,  tied  together  the  shawls  and  scarfs  of  herself 
and  her  female  attendants,  and  lowered  the  youthful 
prince  from  the  tower  of  Cimares.t  He  made  his 
way  in  safety  down  the  steep  rocky  hill  to  the  banks 
of  the  Darro,  and,  throwing  himself  on  the  Arabian 
courser,  was  thus  spirited  off  to  the  city  of  Guadix 
in  the  Alpuxarres.  Here  he  lay  for  some  time  con- 
cealed, until,  gaining  adherents,  he  fortified  himself 
in  the  place,  and  set  the  machinations  of  his  tyrant 
father  at  defiance.  Such  was  the  state  of  affairs  in  the 
royal  household  of  Granada,  when  Muley  Aben  Has- 
san returned  foiled  from  his  expedition  against  Al- 
hama. The  faction,  which  had  secretly  formed 
among  the  nobles,  determined  to  depose  the  old  king 
Aben  Hassan,  and  to  elevate  his  son  Boabdil  to  the 


•  Cronlca  del  Gran  Cardinal,  cap.  71.    Salazar. 
t  Salazar.    Cronica  del  Gran  Cardinal,  cap.  71, 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


185 


throne.  They  concerted  their  measures  with  the 
latter,  and  an  opportunity  soon  {^resented  to  put  them 
in  practice.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  a  royal  country 
palace  called  Alixares,  in  the  vicinity  of  Granada,  to 
which  he  resorted  occasionally  to  recreate  his  mind, 
during-  this  time  of  perplexity.  He  had  been  passing 
one  day  among  its  bowers,  when,  on  returning  to  the 
capital,  he  found  the  gates  closed  against  him,  and 
his  son  Mohammed  Abdalla,  otherwise  called  Boab- 
dil,  proclaimed  king.  "  Allah  Achbar !  God  is 
great !  "  exclaimed  old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  ;  "  it  is 
in  vain  to  contend  against  what  is  written  in  the 
book  of  fate.  It  was  predestined,  that  my  son  should 
sit  upon  the  throne — Allah  forefend  the  rest  of  the 
prediction  !  "  The  old  monarch  knew  the  inflam- 
mable nature  of  the  Moors,  and  that  it  was  useless 
to  attempt  to  check  any  sudden  blaze  of  popular  pas- 
sion. "  A  little  while,"  said  he,  "  and  this  rash  flame 
will  burn  itself  out,  and  the  people  when  cool  will 
listen  to  reason."  So  he  turned  his  steed  from  the 
gate,  and  repaired  to  the  city  of  Baza,  where  he  was 
received  with  great  demonstrations  of  loyalty.  He 
was  not  a  man  to  give  up  his  throne  without  a  strug- 
gle. A  large  part  of  the  kingdom  still  remained 
faithful  to  him  ;  he  trusted  that  the  conspiracy  in  the 
capital  was  but  transient  and  partial,  and  that  by 
suddenly  making  his  appearance  in  its  streets,  at  the 
head  of  a  moderate  force,  he  should  awe  the  people 
again  into  allegiance.  He  took  his  measures  with 
that  combination  of  dexterity  and  daring  which 
formed  his  character,  and  arrived  one  night  under 
the  walls  of  Granada,  with  five  hundred  chosen  fol- 
lowers. Scaling  the  walls  of  the  Alhambra,  he  threw 
himself  with  sanguinary  fury  into  its  silent  courts. 
The  sleeping  inmates  were  roused  from  their  repose 
only  to  fall  by  the  exterminating  scimitar.  The  rage 
of  Aben  Hassan  spared  neither  age,  nor  rank,  nor 
sex  ;  the  halls  resounded  with  shrieks  and  yells,  and 
the  fountains  ran  red  with  blood.  The  alcayde, 
Aben  Cimixer,  retreated  to  a  strong  tower,  with  a 
few  of  the  garrison  and  inhabitants.  The  furious 
Aben  Hassan  did  not  lose  time  in  pursuing  him  ;  he 
was  anxious  to  secure  the  city,  and  to  wreak  his  ven- 
geance on  its  rebellious  inhabitants.  Descending 
with  his  bloody  band  into  the  streets,  he  cut  down 
the  defenceless  inhabitants,  as,  startled  from  their 
sleep,  they  rushed  forth  to  learn  the  cause  of  the 
alarm.  The  city  was  soon  completely  roused ;  the 
people  flew  to  arms  ;  lights  blazed  in  every  street, 
revealing  the  scanty  numbers  of  this  band,  that  had 
been  dealing  such  fatal  vengeance  in  the  dark. 
Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  been  mistaken  in  his  con- 
jectures ;  the  great  mass  of  the  people,  incensed  by 
his  tyranny,  were  zealous  in  favor  of  his  son.  A 
violent,  but  transient  conflict  took  place  in  the  streets 
and  squares  ;  many  of  the  followers  of  Aben  Hassan 
were  slain  ;  the  rest  driven  out  of  the  city  ;  and  the 
old  monarch,  with  the  remnant  of  his  band,  retreat- 
ed to  his  loyal  city  of  Malaga. 

Such  was  the  commencement  of  those  great  inter- 
nal feuds  and  divisions,  which  hastened  the  downfall 
of  Granada.  The  Moors  became  separated  into  two 
hostile  factions,  headed  by  the  father  and  the  son, 
and  several  bloody  encounters  took  place  between 
them  :  yet  they  never  failed  to  act  with  all  their 
separate  force  against  the  christians,  as  a  common 
enemy,  whenever  an  opportunity  occurred. 


CHAPTER  X. 

ROYAL  EXPEDITION  AGAINST   LOXA. 

King  Ferdinand  held  a  council  of  war  at  Cor- 
dova, where  it  was  deliberated  what  was  to  be  done 


with  Alhama.  Most  of  the  council  advised  that  it 
should  be  demolished,  inasmuch  as  being  in  the 
centre  of  the  .Moorish  kingdom,  it  would  be  at  all 
times  liable  to  attack,  and  could  only  be  maintained 
by  a  powerful  garrison  and  at  a  vast  expense.  Queen 
Isabella  arrived  at  Cordova  in  the  midst  of  these  de- 
liberations, and  listened  to  them  with  surprise  and 
impatience.  "  What !  "  said  she,  "  shall  we  destroy 
the  first  fruits  of  our  victories.?  shall  we  abandon 
the  first  place  we  have  wrested  from  the  Moors? 
Never  let  us  suffer  such  an  idea  to  occupy  our  minds. 
It  would  give  new  courage  to  the  enemy,  arguing 
fear  or  feebleness  in  our  councils.  You  talk  of  the 
toil  and  expense  of  maintaining  Alhama.  Did  we 
doubt,  on  undertaking  this  war,  that  it  was  to  be  a 
war  of  infinite  cost,  labor,  and  bloodshed .'  And 
shall  we  shrink  from  the  cost,  the  moment  a  victory 
is  obtained,  and  the  question  is  merely  to  guard  or 
abandon  its  glorious  trophy  ?  Let  us  hear  no  more 
about  the  destruction  of  Alhama  ;  let  us  maintain  its 
walls  sacred,  as  a  strong-hold  granted  us  by  heaven, 
in  the  centre  of  this  hostile  land ;  and  let  our  only 
consideration  be  how  to  extend  our  conquest,  and 
capture  the  surrounding  cities." 

The  language  of  the  queen  infused  a  more  lofty 
and  chivalrous  spirit  into  the  royal  council.  Prepa- 
rations were  immediately  made  to  maintain  Alhama 
at  all  risk  and  expense ;  and  king  Ferdinand  ap- 
pointed as  alcayde  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero, 
Senior  of  the  house  of  Palma,  supported  by  Diego 
Lopez  de  Ayola,  Pero  Ruiz  de  Alarcon,  and  Alonzo 
Ortis,  captains  of  four  hundred  lances,  and  a  body 
of  one  thousand  foot ;  supplied  with  provisions  for 
three  months. 

Ferdinand  resolved  also  to  lay  siege  to  Loxa,  a 
city  of  great  strength,  at  no  great  distance  from  Al- 
hama. For  this  purpose,  he  called  upon  all  the 
cities  and  towns  of  Andalusia  and  Estramadura,  and 
the  domains  of  the  orders  of  Santiago,  Calatrava, 
and  Alcantara,  and  of  the  priory  of  St.  Juan,  and  the 
kingdom  of  Toledo,  and  beyond  to  the  cities  of  Sala- 
manca, Tero,  and  Vall.adolid,  to  furnish,  according 
to  their  repartimientos  or  allotments,  ^  certain 
quantity  of  bread,  wine,  and  cattle,  to  be  delivered 
at  the  royal  camp  before  Lo.^a,  one-half  at  the  end 
of  June,  and  one-half  in  July.  These  lands,  also,  to- 
gether with  Biscay  and  Guipiscoa,  were  ordered  to 
send  reinforcements  of  horse  and  foot,  each  town 
furnishing  its  quota ;  and  great  diligence  was  used 
in  providing  bombards,  powder,  and  other  warlike 
munitions. 

The  Moors  were  no  less  active  in  their  prepara- 
tions, and  sent  missives  into  Africa,  entreating  sup- 
plies, and  calling  upon  the  Barbary  princes  to  aid 
them  in  this  war  of  the  faith.  To  intercept  all  suc- 
cor, the  Castilian  sovereigns  stationed  an  armada  of 
ships  and  galleys  in  the  .Straits  of  Gibraltar,  under 
the  command  of  Martin  Diaz  de  Mina  and  Carlos  de 
Valera,  with  orders  to  scour  the  Barbary  coast,  and 
sweep  every  Moorish  sail  from  the  sea. 

While  these  preparations  were  making,  Ferdinand 
made  an  incursion,  at  the  head  of  his  army,  into  the 
kingdom  of  Granada,  and  laid  waste  the  vega,  de- 
stroying its  hamlets  and  villages,  ravaging  the  fields 
of  grain,  and  driving  away  the  cattle. 

It  was  about  the  end  ot  June,  that  king  Ferdinand 
departed  from  Cordova,  to  sit  down  before  the  walls 
of  Loxa.  So  confident  was  he  of  success,  that  he 
left  a  great  part  of  the  army  at  Ecija,  and  advanced 
with  but  five  thousand  cavalry  and  eight  thousand 
infantry.  The  marques  of  Cadiz,  a  warrior  as  wise 
as  he  was  valiant,  remonstrated  against  employing 
so  small  a  force,  and  indeed  was  opposed  to  the 
measure  altogether,  as  being  undertaken  precipitate- 
ly and  without  sufficient  preparation.     King  Ferdi- 


186 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


nand,  however,  was  influenced  by  the  counsel  of 
Don  Diego  de  Merlo,  and  was  eager  to  stril<e  a 
brilliant  and  decided  blow.  A  vain-glorious  confi- 
dence prevailed,  about  this  time,  among  the  Spanish 
cavaliers ;  they  overrated  their  own  prowess,  or 
rather  they  undervalued  and  despised  their  enemy. 
Many  of  them  believed  that  the  JMoors  would 
scarcely  remain  in  their  city,  when  they  saw  the 
christian  troops  advancing  to  assail  it.  The  Spanish 
chivalry,  therefore,  marched  g.allantly  and  fearlessly, 
and  almost  carelessly,  over  the  border,  scantily  sup- 
plied with  the  things  needful  for  a  besieging  army, 
in  the  heart  of  an  enemy's  country.  In  the  same 
negligent  and  confident  spirit,  they  took  up  their 
station  before  Loxa. 

The  country  around  was  broken  and  hilly,  so  that 
it  was  extremely  difficult  to  form  a  combined  camp. 
The  river  Xenil,  which  runs  by  the  town,  was  com- 
pressed between  high  banks,  and  so  deep  as  to  be 
fordable  with  extreme  difficulty ;  and  the  Moors  had 
possession  of  the  bridge.  The  king  pitched  his  tents 
ill  a  plantation  of  olives,  on  the  banks  of  the  river ; 
the  troops  were  distributed  in  different  encampments 
on  the  heights,  but  separated  from  each  other  by 
deep  rocky  ravines,  so  as  to  be  incapable  of  yielding 
each  other  prompt  assistance.  There  was  no  room 
for  the  operation  of  the  cavalry.  The  artillery,  also, 
was  so  injudiciously  placed,  as  to  be  almost  entirely 
useless.  Alonzo  of  Arragon,  duke  of  Villahermosa, 
and  illegitimate  brother  of  the  king,  was  present  at 
the  siege,  and  disapproved  of  the  whole  arrange- 
ment. He  was  one  of  the  most  able  generals  of  his 
time,  and  especially  renowned  for  his  skill  in  batter- 
ing fortified  places.  He  recommended  that  the 
whole  disposition  of  the  camp  should  be  changed, 
and  that  several  bridges  should  be  thrown  across 
the  river.  His  advice  was  adopted,  but  slowly  and 
negligently  followed,  so  that  it  was  rendered  of  no 
avail.  Among  other  oversights  in  this  hasty  and 
negligent  expedition,  the  army  had  no  supply  of 
baked  bread  ;  and,  in  the  hurry  of  encampment,  there 
was  no  time  to  erect  furnaces.  Cakes  were  therefore 
hastily  made,  and  baked  on  the  coals,  and  for  two 
days  the  troops  were  supplied  in  this  irregular  way. 

King  Ferdinand  felt,  too  late,  the  insecurity  of  his 
position,  and  endeavored  to  provide  a  temporary 
remedy.  There  was  a  height  near  the  city,  called 
by  the  Moors  Santo  Albohacen,  which  was  in  front 
of  the  bridge.  He  ordered  several  of  his  most  valiant 
cavaliers  to  take  possession  of  this  height,  and  to 
hold  it  as  a  check  upon  the  enemy  and  a  protection 
to  the  camp.  The  cavaliers  chosen  for  this  distin- 
guished and  perilous  post,  were,  the  marques  of  Ca- 
diz, the  marques  of  Villena,  Don  Roderigo  Tellez 
Giron,  Master  of  Calatrava,  his  brother  the  count  of 
Urefia,  and  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar.  These  valiant 
warriors,  and  tried  companions  in  arms,  led  their 
troops  with  alacrity  to  the  height,  which  soon  glitter- 
ed with  the  array  of  arms,  and  was  graced  by  several 
of  the  most  redoubtable  pennons  of  warlike  Spain. 

Loxa  was  commanded  at  this  time  by  an  old  Moor- 
ish alcayde,  whose  daughter  was  the  favorite  wife  of 
Boabdil  el  Chico.  The  name  of  this  Moor  was 
Ibrahim  Ali  Atar,  but  he  was  generally  known 
among  the  Spaniards  as  Alatar.  He  had  grown 
gray  in  border  warfare,  was  an  implacable  enemy 
of  the  christians,  and  his  name  had  long  been  the 
terror  of  the  frontier.  He  was  in  the  ninetieth  year 
of  his  age,  yet  indomitable  in  spirit,  fiery  in  his  pas- 
sions, sinewy  and  powerful  in  frame,  deeply  versed 
in  warlike  stratagem,  and  accounted  the  best  lance 
in  all  Mauritania.  He  had  three  thousand  horsemen 
under  his  command,  veteran  troops,  with  whom  he 
had  often  scoured  the  borders ;  and  he  daily  expected 
the  old  Moorish  king,  with  reinforcements. 


Old  Ali  Atar  had  watched  from  his  fortress  every 
movement  of  the  christian  army,  and  had  exulted  in 
all  the  errors  of  its  cominanders :  when  he  beheld 
the  flower  of  .Spanish  chivalry,  glittering  about  the 
height  of  Albohacen,  his  eye  flashed  with  exultation. 
"  By  the  aid  of  Allah,"  said  he,  "  I  will  give  those 
pranking  cavaliers  a  rouse." 

Ali  Atar,  privately,  and  by  night,  sent  forth  a  large 
body  of  his  chosen  troops,  to  lie  in  aml)ush  near  one 
of  the  skirts  of  Albohacen.  On  the  fourth  day  of  the 
siege,  he  sallied  across  the  bridge,  and  made  a  feint 
attack  upon  the  height.  The  cavaliers  rushed  im- 
petuously forth  to  meet  him,  leaving  their  encamp>- 
inent  almost  unprotected.  Ali  Atar  wheeled  and 
fled,  and  was  hotly  pursued.  When  the  christian 
cavaliers  had  been  drawn  a  considerable  distance 
from  their  encampment,  they  heard  a  vast  shout  be- 
hind them,  and,  looking  round,  beheld  their  encamp- 
ment assailed  by  the  Moorish  force  which  had  been 
placed  in  ambush,  and  which  had  ascended  a  differ- 
ent side  of  the  hill.  The  cavaliers  desisted  from  the 
pursuit,  and  hastened  to  prevent  the  plunder  of  their 
tents.  Ali  Atar,  in  his  turn,  wheeled  and  pursued 
them ;  and  they  were  attacked  in  front  and  rear,  on 
the  summit  of  the  hill.  The  contest  lasted  for  an 
hour  ;  the  height  of  Albohacen  was  red  with  blood  ; 
many  brave  cavaliers  fell,  expiring  among  heaps  of 
the  enemy.  The  fierce  Ali  Atar  fought  with  the  fury 
of  a  demon,  until  the  arrival  of  more  christian  forces 
compelled  him  to  retreat  into  the  city.  The  severest 
loss  to  the  christians,  in  this  skirinish,  was  that  of 
Roderigo  Tellez  (iiron.  Master  of  Calatrava.  As  he 
was  raising  his  arm  to  make  a  blow,  an  arrow  pierced 
him,  just  beneath  the  shoulder,  at  the  open  part  of 
the  corselet.  He  fell  instantly  from  his  horse,  but 
was  caught  by  Pedro  Gasca,  a  cavalier  of  Avila,  who 
conveyed  him  to  his  tent,  where  he  died.  The  king 
and  queen,  and  the  whole  kingdom,  mourned  his 
death,  for  he  was  in  the  freshness  of  his  youth,  being 
but  twenty-four  years  of  age,  and  had  proved  himself 
a  gallant  and  high-minded  cavalier.  A  melancholy 
group  collected  about  his  corse,  on  the  bloody  height 
of  Albohacen  :  the  knights  of  Calatrava  mourned  him 
as  a  commander  ;  the  cavaliers  who  were  encamped 
on  the  height,  lamented  him  as  their  companion  in 
arms,  in  a  service  of  peril ;  while  the  count  de  Urena 
grieved  over  him  with  the  tender  afl'ection  of  a 
brother. 

King  Ferdinand  now  perceived  the  wisdom  of  the 
opinion  of  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  and  that  his  force 
was  quite  insufficient  for  the  enterprise.  To  continue 
his  camp  in  its  present  unfortunate  position,  would 
cost  him  the  lives  of  his  bravest  cavaliers,  if  not  a 
total  defeat,  in  case  of  reinforcements  to  the  enemy. 
He  called  a  council  of  war,  late  in  the  evening  of 
Saturday ;  and  it  was  determined  to  withdraw  the 
army,  early  the  next  morning,  to  Rio  Frio,  a  short 
distance  from  the  city,  and  there  wait  for  additional 
troops  from  Cordova. 

The  next  morning,  early,  the  cavaliers  on  the 
height  of  Albohacen  began  to  strike  their  tents.  No 
sooner  did  Ali  Atar  behold  this,  than  he  sallied  forth 
to  attack  them.  Many  of  the  christian  troops,  who 
had  not  heard  of  the  intention  to  change  the  camp, 
seeing  the  tents  struck  and  the  Moors  sallying  forth, 
supposed  that  the  enemy  had  been  reinforced  in  the 
night,  and  that  the  army  was  on  the  point  of  retreat- 
ing. Without  stopping  to  ascertain  the  truth,  or  to 
receive  orders,  they  fled  in  dismay,  spreading  confu- 
sion through  the  camp  ;  nor  did  they  halt  until  they 
had  reached  the  Rock  of  the  Lovers,  about  seven 
leagues  froin  Loxa.* 

The  king  and  his  commanders  saw  the  imminent 


*  Fulgar.    Cronica. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


187 


peril  of  the  moment,  and  made  face  to  the  Moors, 
each  commander  guarding  his  quarter  and  repelling 
all  assaults,  while  the  tents  were  struck  and  the  ar- 
tillery and  ammunition  conveyed  away.  The  king, 
with  a  handful  of  cavaliers,  galloped  to  a  rising 
ground,  exposed  to  the  fire  of  the  enemy,  calling 
upon  the  flying  troops  and  endeavoring  in  vain  to 
rally  them.  Setting  upon  the  Moors,  he  and  his 
cavaliers  charged  them  so  vigorously,  that  they  put 
a  squidron  to  flight,  slaying  many  With  their  swords 
and  lances,  and  driving  others  into  the  river,  where 
they  were  drowned.  The  Moors,  however,  were 
soon  reinforced,  and  returned  in  great  numbers. 
The  king  was  in  danger  of  being  surrounded,  and 
twice  owed  his  safety  to  the  valor  of  Don  Juan  de 
Ribera,  Senior  of  Montemayor. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  beheld,  from  a  distance,  the 
peril  of  his  sovereign.  Summoning  about  seventy 
horsemen  to  follow  him,  he  galloped  to  the  spot, 
threw  himself  between  the  king  and  the  enemy,  and, 
hurling  his  lance,  transpierced  one  of  the  most  daring 
of  the  Moors.  For  some  time,  he  remained  with  no 
other  weapon  than  his  sword  ;  his  horse  was  wound- 
ed by  an  arrow,  and  many  of  his  followers  slain  ; 
but  he  succeeded  in  beating  off  the  Moors,  and  rescu- 
ing the  king  from  imminent  jeopardy,  whom  he  then 
prevailed  upon  to  retire  to  less  dangerous  ground. 
•  The  marques  continued,  throughout  the  day,  to 
expose  himself  to  the  repeated  assaults  of  the  enemy  ; 
he  was  ever  found  in  the  place  of  the  greatest  dan- 
ger, and  through  his  bravery  a  great  part  of  the 
army  and  camp  was  preserved  from  destruction.* 

It  was  a  perilous  day  for  the  commanders  ;  for  in 
a  retreat  of  the  kind,  it  is  the  noblest  cavaliers  who 
most  expose  themselves  to  save  their  people.  The 
duke  of  Medina  Cell  was  struck  to  the  ground,  but 
rescued  by  his  troops.  The  count  de  Tendilla, 
whose  tents  were  nearest  to  the  city,  received  several 
wounds,  and  various  other  cavaliers  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished note  were  exposed  to  fearful  jeopardy. 
The  whole  day  was  passed  in  bloody  skirmishings, 
in  which  the  hidalgos  and  cavaliers  of  the  royal 
household  distinguished  themselves  by  their  bravery  ; 
at  length,  the  encampments  being  all  broken  up,  and 
most  of  the  artillery  and  baggage  removed,  the  bloody 
height  of  Albohacen  was  abandoned,  and  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Loxa  evacuated.  Several  tents,  a  quan- 
tity of  provisions,  and  a  few  pieces  of  artillery,  were 
left  upon  the  spot,  from  the  want  of  horses  and  mules 
to  carry  them  off. 

All  Atar  hung  upon  the  rear  of  the  retiring  army, 
and  harassed  it  until  it  reached  Rio  Frio  ;  from 
thence  Ferdinand  returned  to  Cordova,  deeply  morti- 
fied, though  greatly  benefited,  by  the  severe  lesson 
he  had  received,  which  served  to  render  him  more 
cautious  in  his  campaigns  and  more  diffident  of  for- 
tune. He  sent  letters  to  all  parts,  excusing  his  re- 
treat, imputing  it  to  the  small  number  of  his  forces, 
and  the  circumstance  that  many  of  thein  were 
quotas  sent  from  various  cities,  and  not  in  royal 
pay ;  in  the  mean  time,  to  console  his  troops  for 
their  disappointment,  and  to  keep  up  their  spirits, 
he  led  them  upon  another  inroad  to  lay  waste  the 
vegfa  of  Granada. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HOW  MULEY  ABEN  HASSAN  MADE  A  FORAY  INTO 
THE  LANDS  OF  MEDINA  SIDONIA,  AND  HOW  HE 
WAS  RECEIVED. 

Old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  mustered  an  army, 
and  marched  to  the  relief  of  Loxa  ;  but  arrived  too 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  c.  58. 


late — the  last  squadron  of  Ferdinand  had  already 
passed  over  the  border.  "  They  have  come  and 
gone,"  said  he,  "  like  a  summer  cloud,  and  all  their 
vaunting  has  been  mere  empty  thunder."  He  turned 
to  make  another  atteinpt  upon  Alhama,  the  garrison 
of  which  was  in  the  utmost  consternation  at  the 
retreat  of  Ferdinand,  and  would  have  deserted  the 
place,  had  it  not  been  for  the  courage  and  persever- 
ance of  the  alcayde  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero. 
That  brave  and  loyal  commander  cheered  up  the 
spirits  of  his  men,  and  kept  the  old  Moorish  king  at 
bay,  until  the  approach  of  Ferdinand,  on  his  second 
incursion  into  the  vega,  obliged  him  to  make  an  un- 
willing retreat  to  Malaga. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  felt  that  it  would  be  in  vain, 
with  his  inferior  force,  to  oppose  the  powerful  ariny 
of  the  christian  monarch  ;  but  to  remain  idle  and  see 
his  territories  laid  waste,  would  ruin  him  in  the  esti- 
mation of  his  people.  "  If  we  cannot  parry,"  said 
he,  "  we  can  strike  ;  if  we  cannot  keep  our  own  lands 
from  being  ravaged,  we  can  ravage  the  lands  of  the 
enemy."  He  inquired  and  learnt  that  most  of  the 
chivalry  of  Andalusia,  in  their  eagerness  for  a  foray, 
had  marched  off  with  the  king,  and  left  their  own 
country  almost  defenceless.  The  territories  of  the 
duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  were  particularly  unguarded  : 
here  were  vast  plains  of  pasturage,  covered  with 
flocks  and  herds— the  very  country  for  a  hasty  in- 
road. The  old  monarch  had  a  bitter  grudge  against 
the  duke,  for  having  foiled  him  at  Alhama.  "  I'll 
give  this  cavalier  a  lesson,"  said  he,  exultingly,  "  that 
will  cure  him  of  his  love  of  campaigning."  So  he 
prepared  in  all  haste  for  a  foray  into  the  country 
about  Medina  Sidonia. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  sallied  out  of  Malaga  with 
fifteen  hundred  horse  and  six  thousand  foot,  and  took 
the  way  by  the  sea-coast,  marching  through  Esti- 
ponia,  and  entering  the  christian  country  between 
Gibraltar  and  Castellar.  The  only  person  that  w.ts 
likely  to  molest  him  on  this  route,  was  one  Pedro  de 
Vargas  ;  a  shrewd,  hardy,  and  vigilant  soldier, 
alcayde  of  Gibraltar,  and  who  lay  ensconced  in  his  old 
warrior  rock  as  in  a  citadel.  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
knew  the  watchful  and  daring  character  of  the  man, 
but  had  ascertained  that  his  garrison  was  too  small 
to  enable  him  to  make  a  sally,  or  at  least  to  insure 
him  any  success.  Still  he  pursued  his  march,  with 
great  silence  and  caution  ;  sent  parties  in  advance, 
to  explore  every  pass  where  a  foe  might  lie  in  am- 
bush ;  cast  many  an  anxious  eye  towards  the  old 
rock  of  Gibraltar,  as  its  cloud-capped  summit  was 
seen  towering  in  the  distance  on  his  left ;  nor  did  he 
feel  entirely  at  ease,  until  he  had  passed  through  the 
broken  and  mountainous  country  of  Castellar,  and 
descended  into  the  plains.  Here  he  encamped  on 
the  banks  of  the  Celemin.  From  hence  he  sent 
four  hundred  corredors,  or  fleet  horsemen,  armed 
with  lances,  who  were  to  station  themselves  near 
Algeziras,  and  to  keep  a  strict  watch  across  the  bay, 
upon  the  opposite  fortress  of  Gibraltar.  If  the  al- 
cayde attempted  to  sally  forth,  they  were  to  way- 
lay and  attack  him,  being  almost  four  times  his  sup- 
posed foice  ;  and  were  to  send  swift  tidings  to  the 
camp.  In  the  mean  time,  two  hundred  corredors 
were  sent  to  scour  that  vast  plain  called  the  Cam- 
piria  de  Tarifa,  abounding- with  flocks  and  herds; 
and  two  hundred  more  were  to  rav.nge  the  lands 
about  Medina  Sidonia.  Muley  Aben  Hassan  re- 
mained with  the  main  body  of  the  army,  as  a  rally- 
ing point,  on  the  banks  of  the  Celemin. 

The  foraging  parties  scoured  the  country  to  such 
effect,  that  they  came  driving  vast  flocks  and  herds 
before  them,  enough  to  supply  the  place  of  all  that 
had  been  swept  from  the  vega  of  Granada.  The 
troops  which  had  kept  watch  upon  the  rock  of  Gib- 


188 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


raltar,  returned  with  word  that  they  had  not  seen  a 
christian  helmet  stirring.  The  old  king  congratu- 
lated himself  upon  the  secrecy  and  promptness  with 
which  he  had  conducted  his  foray,  and  upon  having 
baffled  the  vigilance  of  Pedro  de  Vargas. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  not  been  so  secret  as  he 
imagined  ;  the  watchful  Pedro  de  Vargas  had  re- 
ceived notice  of  his  movements.  His  garrison  was 
barely  sufficient  for  the  defence  of  the  place,  and  he 
feared  to  take  the  field  and  leave  his  fortress  un- 
guarded. Luckily,  at  this  juncture,  there  arrived  in 
the  harbor  of  Gibraltar  a  squadron  of  the  armed 
galleys  stationed  in  the  Strait,  and  commanded  by 
Carlos  de  Valera.  The  alcayde  immediately  pre- 
vailed upon  him  to  guard  the  place  during  his  ab- 
sence, and  sallied  forth  at  midnight  with  seventy  horse. 
He  made  for  the  town  of  Castellar,  which  is  strongly 
posted  on  a  steep  height,  knowing  that  the  Moorish 
king  would  have  to  return  by  this  place.  He  or- 
dered alarm-fires  to  be  lighted  upon  the  mountains, 
to  give  notice  that  the  Moors  were  on  the  ravage, 
that  the  peasants  might  drive  their  flocks  and  herds 
to  places  of  refuge  ;  and  he  sent  couriers,  riding  like 
mad,  in  every  direction,  summoning  the  fighting 
men  of  the  neighborhood  to  meet  him  at  Castellar. 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  saw,  by  the  fires  blazing 
about  the  mountains,  that  the  country  was  rising. 
He  struck  his  tents,  and  pushed  forward  as  rapidly 
as  possible  for  the  border ;  but  he  was  incumbered 
with  booty,  and  with  the  vast  cavalgada  swept  from 
the  pastures  of  the  Campifla  de  Tarifa.  His  scouts 
brought  him  word  that  there  were  troops  in  the  field, 
but  he  made  light  of  the  intelligence,  knowing  that 
they  could  only  be  those  of  the  alcayde  of  Gibraltar, 
and  that  he  had  not  more  than  a  hundred  horsemen 
in  his  garrison.  He  threw  in  advance  two  hundred 
and  fifty  of  his  bravest  troops,  and  with  them  the 
alcaydes  of  Marabella  and  Casares.  Behind  this 
vanguard  was  a  great  cavalgada  of  cattle ;  and  in 
the  rear  marched  the  king,  with  the  main  force  of 
his  little  army. 

It  was  near  the  middle  of  a  sultry  summer  day, 
that  they  approached  Castellar.  De  Vargas  was  on 
the  watch,  and  beheld,  by  an  immense  cloud  of  dust, 
that  they  were  descending  one  of  the  heights  of  that 
wild  and  broken  country.  The  vanguard  and  rear 
guard  were  above  half  a  league  asunder,  with  the 
cavalgada  between  them  ;  and  a  long  and  close  for- 
est hid  them  from  each  other.  De  Vargas  saw  that 
they  could  render  but  little  assistance  to  each  other 
in  case  of  a  sudden  attack,  and  might  be  easily 
thrown  in  confusion.  He  chose  fifty  of  his  bravest 
horsemen,  and,  making  a  circuit,  took  his  post  se- 
cretly in  a  narrow  glen  opening  into  a  defile  between 
two  rocky  heights,  through  which  the  Moors  had  to 
pass.  It  was  his  intention  to  suffer  the  vanguard 
and  the  cavalgada  to  pass,  and  to  fall  upon  the  rear. 

While  thus  lying  perdue,  six  Moorish  scouts,  well 
mounted  and  well  armed,  entered  the  glen,  examin- 
ing every  place  that  might  conceal  an  enemy,  .lome 
of  the  chrLstians  advised  that  they  should  slay  these 
six  men,  and  retreat  to  Gibraltar.  "No,"  said  De 
Vargas,  "  I  have  come  out  for  higher  game  than 
these ;  and  I  hope,  by  the  aid  of  God  and  Santiago, 
to  do  good  work  this  day.  I  know  these  Moors  well, 
and  doubt  not  but  that  they  may  readily  be  thrown 
into  confusion." 

By  this  time,  the  six  horsemen  approached  so  near 
that  they  were  on  the  point  of  discovering  the  chris- 
tian ambush.  De  Vargas  gave  the  word,  and  ten 
horsemen  rushed  forth  upon  them  :  in  an  instant, 
four  of  the  Moors  rolled  in  the  dust ;  the  other  two 
put  spurs  to  their  steeds,  and  fied  towards  their 
army,  pursued  by  the  ten  christians.  About  eighty 
of  the  Moorish  vanguard  came  galloping  to  the  re- 


lief of  their  companions  ;  the  christians  turned,  and 
P.ed  towards  their  ambush.  De  Vargas  kept  his 
men  concealed,  until  the  fugitives  and  their  pursuers 
came  clattering  pell-mell  into  the  glen.  At  a  signal 
trumpet,  his  men  sallied  forth  with  great  heat  and 
in  close  array.  The  Moors  almost  rushed  upon  their 
weapons,  before  they  perceived  them  ;  forty  of  the 
infidels  were  overthrown,  the  rest  turned  their  backs. 
"Forward!"  cried  De  Vargas;  "let  us  give  the 
vanguard  a  brush,  before  it  can  be  joined  by  the 
rear."  So  saying,  he  pursued  the  flying  Moors  down 
hill,  and  came  with  such  force  and  fury  upon  the  ad- 
vance guard  as  to  overturn  many  of  them  at  the  first 
encounter.  As  he  wheeled  off  with  his  men,  the 
Moors  discharged  their  lances ;  upon  which  he  re- 
turned to  the  charge,  and  made  great  slaughter. 
The  Moors  fought  valiantly  for  a  short  time,  until 
the  alcaydes  of  Marabella  and  Casares  were  slain, 
when  they  gave  way  and  fled  for  the  rear  guard.  In 
their  flight,  they  passed  through  the  cavalgada  of 
cattle,  threw  the  whole  in  confusion,  and  raised  such 
a  cloud  of  dust  that  the  christians  could  no  longer 
distinguish  objects.  Fearing  that  the  king  and  the 
main  body  might  be  at  hand,  and  finding  that  De 
Vargas  was  badly  wounded,  they  contented  them- 
selves with  despoiling  the  slain  and  taking  above 
twenty-eight  horses,  and  then  retreated  to  Castellar. 

When  the  routed  Moors  came  flying  back  upon 
the  rear  guard,  Muley  Aben  Hassan  feared  that  the 
people  of  Xeres  were  in  arms.  Several  of  his  fol- 
lowers advised  him  to  abandon  the  cavalgada,  and 
retreat  by  another  road.  "  No,"  said  the  old  king, 
"he  is  no  true  soldier  who  gives  up  his  booty  with- 
out fighting."  Putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  galloped 
forward  through  the  centre  of  the  cavalgada,  driving 
the  cattle  to  the  right  and  left.  When  he  reached 
the  field  of  battle,  he  found  it  strewed  with  the 
bodies  of  upwards  of  one  hundred  Moors,  among 
which  were  those  of  the  two  alcaydes.  Enraged  at 
the  sight,  he  summoned  all  his  cross-bowmen  and 
cavalry,  pushed  on  to  the  very  gates  of  Castellar, 
and  set  fire  to  two  houses  close  to  the  walls.  Pedro 
de  Vargas  was  too  severely  wounded  to  sally  forth 
in  person ;  but  he  ordered  out  his  troops  and  there 
was  brisk  skirmishing  under  the  walls,  until  the  king 
drew  off  and  returned  to  the  scene  of  the  recent  en- 
counter. Here  he  had  the  bodies  of  the  principal 
warriors  laid  across  mules,  to  be  interred  honorably 
at  Malaga ;  the  rest  of  the  slain  were  buried  on  the 
field  of  battle.  Then,  gathering  together  the  scat- 
tered cavalgada,  he  paraded  it  slowly,  in  an  immense 
line,  past  the  walls  of  Castellar,  by  way  of  taunting 
his  foe. 

With  all  Ills  fierceness,  old  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
had  a  gleam  of  warlike  courtesy,  and  admired  the 
hardy  and  soldierlike  character  of  Pedro  de  Vargas. 
He  summoned  two  christian  captives,  and  demanded 
what  were  the  revenues  of  the  alcayde  of  Gibraltar. 
They  told  him  that,  among  other  things,  he  was  en- 
titled to  one  out  of  every  drove  of  cattle  that  passed 
his  boundaries.  "  Allah  forbid,"  cried  the  old  mon- 
arch, "  that  so  brave  a  cavalier  should  be  defrauded 
of  his  dues." 

He  immediately  chose  twelve  of  the  finest  cattle, 
from  the  twelve  droves  which  formed  the  cavalgada. 
These  he  gave  in  charge  to  an  alfaqui,  to  deliver  to 
Pedro  de  Vargas.  "  Tell  him,"  said  he,  "  that  I 
crave  his  pardon  for  not  having  sent  these  cattle 
sooner ;  but  I  have  this  moment  learnt  the  nature  of 
his  rights,  and  I  hasten  to  satisfy  them,  with  the 
punctuality  due  to  so  worthy  a  cavalier.  Tell  him, 
at  the  same  time,  that  I  had  no  idea  the  alcayde  of 
Gibraltar  was  so  active  and  vigilant  in  collecting  his 
tolls." 

The  brave  alcayde  relished  the  stern,  soldierlike 


A   CHRONICLE    OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


189 


pleasantry'  of  the  old  Moorish  monarch.  He  ordered 
a  rich  silken  vest,  and  a  scarlet  mantle,  to  be  given 
to  the  alfaqui,  and  dismissed  him  with  great  courtesy. 
"  Tell  his  majesty,"  said  he,  "  that  I  kiss  his  hands 
for  the  honor  he  has  done  me,  and  regret  that  my 
scanty  force  has  not  permitted  me  to  give  him  a 
more  signal  reception,  on  his  coming  into  these 
parts.  Had  three  hundred  horsemen,  whom  I  have 
been  promised  from  Xeres,  arrived  in  time,  I  might 
have  served  up  an  entertainment  moi-e  befitting  such 
a  monarch.  I  trust,  however,  they  will  arrive  in  the 
course  of  the  night,  in  which  case  his  majesty  may 
be  sure  of  a  royal  regale  at  the  dawning." 

Muley  Aben  Hassan  shook  his  head,  when  he  re- 
ceived the  reply  of  De  Vargas.  "  Allah  preserve  us," 
said  he,  "  from  any  visitation  of  these  hard  riders  of 
Xeres  !  a  handful  of  troops,  acquainted  with  the 
wild  passes  of  these  mountains,  may  destroy  an 
army  encumbered  as  ours  is  witli  booty." 

It  was  some  relief  to  the  king,  however,  to  learn 
that  the  hardy  alcayde  of  Gibraltar  was  too  severely 
wounded  to  take  the  field  in  person.  He  immediately 
beat  a  retreat,  with  all  speed,  before  the  close  of 
day,  hurrying  with  such  precipitation,  that  the  cav- 
algada  was  frequently  broken,  and  scattered  among 
the  rugged  defiles  of  the  mountains  ;  and  above  five 
thousand  of  the  cattle  turned  back,  and  were  re- 
gained by  the  christians.  Muley  Aben  Hassan 
returned  triumphantly  with  the  residue  to  Malaga, 
glorying  in  the  spoils  of  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia. 

King  Ferdinand  was  mortified- at  finding  his  in- 
cursion into  the  vega  of  Granada,  counterbalanced 
by  this  inroad  into  his  dominions,  and  saw  that  there 
were  two  sides  to  the  game  of  war,  as  to  all  other 
games.  The  only  one  who  reaped  real  glory  in  this 
series  of  inroads  and  skirmishings,  was  Pedro  de 
Vargas,  the  stout  alcayde  of  Gibraltar.* 


CHAPTER    Xn. 


FORAY     OF     SPANISH     CAVALIERS     AMONG     THE 
MOUNTAINS  OF  MALAGA. 

The  foray  of  old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  touched 
the  pride  of  the  Andalusian  chivalry,  and  they  de- 
termined on  retaliation.  For  this  purpose,  a  num- 
ber of  the  most  distinguished  cavaliers  assembled  at 
Antiquera,  in  the  month  of  March,  1483.  The  lead- 
ers of  the  enterprise  were,  the  gallant  marques  of 
Cadiz  ;  Don  Pedro  Henriquez,  adelantado  of  Anda- 
lusia; Don  Juan  de  Silva,  count  of  Cifuentes,  and 
bearer  of  the  royal  standard,  who  commanded  in 
Seville  ;  Don  Alonzo  de  Cardevas,  Master  of  the  re- 
ligious and  military  order  of  Santiago  ;  and  Don 
Alonzo  de  Aguilar.  Several  other  cavaliers  of  note 
hastened  to  take  part  in  the  enterprise  ;  and  in  a 
little  while,  about  twenty-seven  hundred  horse,  and 
several  companies  of  foot,  were  assembled  within 
the  old  warlike  city  of  Antiquera,  comprising  the 
very  flower  of  Andalusian  chivalry. 

A  council  of  war  was  held  by  the  chiefs,  to  de- 
termine in  what  quarter  they  should  strike  a  blow. 
The  rival  Moorish  kings  were  waging  civil  war  with 
each  other,  in  the  vicinity  of  (iranada ;  and  the 
whole  country  lay  open  to  inroads.  Various  plans 
were  proposed  by  the  different  cavaliers.  The  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz  was  desirous  of  scaling  the  walls  of 
Zahara,  and  regaining  possession  of  that  important 
fortress.  The  Master  of  Santiago,  however,  sug- 
gested a  wider  range  and  a  still  more  important  ob- 
ject.    He  had  received  information  from  his  ada- 

♦  Alonzo  dc  Faleneca,  1.  28.  c.  3. 


lides,  who  were  apostate  Moors,  that  an  incursion 
might  be  safely  made  into  a  mountainous  region 
near  Malaga,  called  the  Axarquia.  Here  were  val- 
leys of  pasture  land,  well  stocked  with  flocks  and 
herds  ;  and  there  were  numerous  villages  and  ham- 
lets, which  would  be  an  easy  prey.  The  city  of 
Malaga  was  too  weakly  garrisoned,  and  had  too  few 
cavalry,  to  send  forth  any  force  in  opposition  ;  nay, 
he  added,  they  might  even  extend  their  ravages  to 
its  very  gates,  and  peradventure  carry  that  wealthy 
place  by  sudden  assault. 

The  adventurous  spirits  of  the  cavaliers  were  in- 
flamed by  this  suggestion  ;  in  their  sanguine  confi- 
dence, they  already  beheld  Malaga  in  their  power, 
and  they  were  eager  for  the  enterprise.  The  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz  endeavored  to  interpose  a  little  cool 
caution.  He  likewise  had  apostate  adalides,  the 
most  intelligent  and  experienced  on  the  borders ; 
among  these,  he  placed  especial  reliance  on  one 
named  Luis  Amar,  who  knew  all  the  mountains  and 
valleys  of  the  country.  He  had  received  from  him 
a  particular  account  of  these  mountains  of  the  A.x- 
arquia.*  Their  savage  and  broken  nature  was  a 
sufficient  defence  for  the  fierce  people  who  inhab- 
ited them,  who,  manning  their  rocks,  and  their  tre- 
mendous passes,  which  were  often  nothing  more 
than  the  deep  dry  beds  of  torrents,  might  set  whole 
armies  at  defiance.  Even  if  vanquished,  they  af- 
forded no  spoil  to  the  victor.  Their  houses  were 
little  better  than  bare  walls,  and  they  would  drive 
off  their  scanty  flocks  and  herds  to  the  fastnesses 
of  the  mountams. 

The  sober  counsel  of  the  marques,  however,  was 
overruled.  The  cavaliers,  accustomed  to  mountain 
warfare,  considered  themselves  and  their  horses 
equal  to  any  wild  and  rugged  expedition,  and  were 
Hushed  with  the  idea  of  terminating  their  foray  by  a 
brilliant  assault  upon  Malaga. 

Leaving  all  heavy  baggage  at  Antiquera,  and  all 
such  as  had  horses  too  weak  for  this  mountain 
scramble,  they  set  forth,  full  of  spirit  and  confi- 
dence. Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  and  the  adelantado 
of  Andalusia,  led  the  squadron  of  advance.  The 
count  of  Cifuentes  followed,  with  certain  of  the 
chivalry  of  Seville.  Then  came  the  battalion  of  the 
most  valiant  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques  of 
Cadiz :  he  was  accompanied  by  several  of  his 
brothers  and  nephews,  and  many  cavaliers,  who 
sought  distinction  under  his  banner ;  and  this  fam- 
ily band  attracted  universal  attention  and  applause, 
as  they  paraded  in  martial  state  through  the  streets 
of  Antiquera.  The  rear  guard  was  led  by  Don 
Alonzo  Cardenas,  Master  of  Santiago,  and  was  com- 
posed of  the  knights  of  his  order,  and  the  cavaliers 
of  Ecija,  with  certain  men-at-arms  of  the  Holy 
Brotherhood,  whom  the  king  had  placed  under  his 
command.  The  army  was  attended  by  a  great  train 
of  mules,  laden  with  provisions  for  a  few  days'  sup- 
ply, until  they  should  be  able  to  forage  among  the 
Moorish  villages.  Never  did  a  more  gallant  and 
self-confident  little  army  tread  the  earth.  It  was 
composed  of  men  full  of  health  and  vigor,  to  whom 
war  was  a  pastime  and  delight.  They  had  spared 
no  expense  in  their  equipments,  for  never  was  the 
pomp  of  war  carried  to  a  higher  pitch  than  among 
the  proud  chivalry  of  Spain.  Cased  in  armor  richly 
inlaid  and  embossed,  decked  with  rich  surcoats  and 
waving  plumes,  and  superbly  mounted  on  Andalusian 
steeds,  they  pranced  out  of  Antiquera  with  banners 
flying,  and  their  various  devices  and  armorial  bear- 

*  Pulgar,  in  his  Chronicle,  reverses  the  case,  and  makes  the 
marques  of  Cadiz  recommend  the  expedition  to  the  Axarquia ;  but 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida  is  supported  in  his  statement  by  that  most 
veracious  and  contemporary  chronicler,  Andreas  Bernaldes,  curate 
of  Los  Palacios. 


190 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


ings  ostentatiously  displayed  ;  and  in  the  confidence 
of  their  hopes,  promised  the  inhabitants  to  enrich 
them  with  the  spoils  of  Malaga. 

In  the  rear  of  this  warlike  pageant,  followed  a 
peaceful  l)and,  intent  upon  profiting  by  the  antici- 
pated victories.  They  were  not  the  customary 
wretches  that  hover  about  armies  to  plunder  and 
strip  the  dead,  but  goodly  and  substantial  traders 
from  Seville,  Cordova,  and  other  cities  of  traffic. 
They  rode  sleek  mules,  and  were  clad  in  goodly  rai- 
ment, with  long  leathern  purses  at  their  girdles,  well 
filled  with  pistoles  and  other  golden  coin.  They  had 
heard  of  the  spoils  wasted  by  the  soldiery  at  the  cap- 
ture of  Albania,  and  were  provided  with  moneys  to 
buy  up  the  jewels  and  precious  stones,  the  vessels 
of  gold  and  silver,  and  the  rich  silks  and  cloths,  that 
should  form  the  plunder  of  Malaga.  The  proud 
cavaliers  eyed  these  sons  of  traffic  with  great  dis- 
dain, but  permitted  them  to  follow  for  the  conven- 
ience of  the  troops,  who  might  otherwise  be  over- 
burthened  with  booty. 

It  had  been  intended  to  conduct  this  expedition 
with  great  celerity  and  secrecy ;  but  the  noise  of 
their  preparations  had  already  reached  the  city  of 
Malaga.  The  garrison,  it  is  true,  was  weak ;  but  it 
possessed  a  commander  who  was  himself  a  host. 
This  was  Muley  Abdallah,  commonly  called  El  Za- 
gal,  or  the  valiant.  He  was  younger  brother  of 
Muley  Aben  Hassan,  and  general  of  the  few  forces 
which  remained  faithful  to  the  old  monarch.  He 
possessed  equal  fierceness  of  spirit  with  his  brother, 
and  surpassed  him  in  craft  and  vigilance.  His  very 
name  was  a  war-cry  among  his  soldiery,  who  had 
the  most  extravagant  opinion  of  his  prowess. 

El  Zagal  suspected  that  Malaga  was  the  object  of 
this  noisy  expedition.  He  consulted  with  old  Bexir, 
a  veteran  Moor,  who  governed  the  citj'.  "  If  this 
army  of  marauders  should  reach  Malaga,"  said  he, 
"  we  should  hardly  be  able  to  keep  them  without 
its  walls.  I  will  throw  myself,  with  a  small  force, 
into  the  mountains ;  rouse  the  peasantry,  take  pos- 
session of  the  passes,  and  endeavor  to  give  these 
Spanish  cavaliers  sufficient  entertainment  upon  the 
road." 

It  was  on  a  Wednesday,  that  the  pranking  army 
of  high-mettled  warriors  issued  forth  from  the  an- 
cient gates  of  Antiquera.  They  marched  all  day 
and  night,  making  their  way,  secretly  as  they  sup- 
posed, through  the  passes  of  the  mountains.  As 
the  tract  of  country  they  intended  to  maraud  was 
far  in  the  Moorish  territories,  near  the  coast  of  the 
Mediterranean,  they  did  not  arrive  there  until  late  in 
the  following  day.  In  passing  through  these  stem 
and  lofty  mountains,  their  path  was  often  along 
the  bottom  of  a  barranco,  or  deep  rocky  valley,  with 
a  scanty  stream  dashing  along  it,  among  the  loose 
rocks  and  stones,  which  it  had  broken  and  rolled 
down,  in  the  time  of  its  autumnal  violence.  Some- 
times their  road  was  a  mere  rambla,  or  dry  bed  of 
a  torrent,  cut  deep  into  the  mountains,  and  filled 
with  their  shattered  fragments.  These  barrancos 
and  ramblas  were  overhung  by  immense  cliffs  and 
precipices ;  forming  the  lurking-places  of  ambus- 
cades, during  the  wars  between  the  Moors  and 
Spaniards,  as  in  after  times  they  have  become  the 
favorite  haunts  of  robbers  to  waylay  the  unfortunate 
traveller. 

As  the  sun  went  down,  the  cavaliers  came  to  a 
lofty  part  of  the  mountains,  commanding  to  the  right 
a  distant  glimpse  of  a  part  of  the  fair  vega  of  Mala- 
ga, with  the  blue  Mediterranean  beyond  ;  and  they 
hailed  it  with  exultation,  as  a  glimpse  of  the  promised 
land.  As  the  night  closed  in,  they  reached  the  chain 
of  little  valleys  and  hamlets,  locked  up  among  these 
rocky  heights,  and  known  among  the  Moors  by  the 


name  of  the  Axarquia.  Here  their  vaunting  hopes 
were  destined  to  meet  with  the  first  disappointment. 
The  inhabitants  had  heard  of  their  approach ;  they 
had  conveyed  away  their  cattle  and  effects,  and, 
with  their  wives  and  children,  had  taken  refuge  in 
the  towers  and  fastnesses  of  the  mountains. 

Enraged  at  their  disappointment,  the  troops  set 
fire  to  the  deserted  houses,  and  pressed  forward, 
hoping  for  better  fortune  as  they  advanced.  Don 
Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  and  the  other  cavaliers  in  the 
vanguard,  spread  out  their  forces  to  lay  waste  the 
country:  capturing  a  few  lingering  herds  of  cattle, 
with  the  Moorish  peasants  who  were  driving  them 
to  some  place  of  safety. 

While  this  marauding  party  carried  fire  and  sword 
in  the  advance,  and  lit  up  the  mountain  cliffs  with 
the  flames  of  the  hamlets,  the  Master  of  Santiago, 
who  brought  up  the  rear  guard,  maintained  strict 
order,  keeping  his  knights  together  in  martial  array, 
ready  for  attack  or  defence,  should  an  enemy  appear. 
The  men-at-arms  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood  attempt- 
ed to  roam  in  quest  of  booty;  but  he  called  them 
back,  and  rebuked  them  severely. 

At  length  they  came  to  a  part  of  the  mountain 
completely  broken  up  by  barrancos  and  ramblas,  of 
vast  depth,  and  shagged  with  rocks  and  precipices. 
It  was  impossible  to  maintain  the  order  of  march  ; 
the  horses  had  no  room  for  action,  and  were  scarcely 
manageable,  having  to  scramble  from  rock  to  rock, 
and  up  and  down  frightful  declivities,  where  there 
was  scarce  footing  for  a  mountain  goat.  Passing  by 
a  burning  village,  the  light  of  the  flames  revealed 
their  perplexed  situation.  The  Moors,  who  had 
taken  refuge  in  a  watch-tower  on  an  impending 
height,  shouted  with  exultation,  when  they  looked 
down  upon  these  glistening  cavaliers  struggling  and 
stumbling  among  the  rocks.  Sallying  forth  from  their 
tower,  they  took  possession  of  the  cliffs  which  over- 
hung the  ravine,  and  hurled  darts  and  stones  upon 
the  enemy.  It  was  with  the  utmost  grief  of  heart 
that  the  good  Master  of  Santiago  beheld  his  brave 
men  falling  like  helpless  victims  around  him,  without 
the  means  of  resistance  or  revenge.  The  confusion 
of  his  followers  was  increased  by  the  shouts  of  the 
Moors,  multiplied  by  the  echoes  of  every  crag  and 
cliff,  as  if  they  were  surrounded  by  innumerable 
foes.  Being  entirely  ignorant  of  the  country,  in  their 
struggles  to  extricate  themselves  they  plunged  into 
other  glens  and  defiles,  where  they  were  still  more 
exposed  to  danger.  In  this  extremity,  the  master  ot 
Santiago  dispatched  messengers  in  search  of  succor. 
The  marques  of  Cadiz,  like  a  loyal  companion  in 
arms,  hastened  to  his  aid  with  his  cavalry  ;  his  ap- 
proach checked  the  assaults  of  the  enemy,  and  the 
.Master  was  at  length  enabled  to  extricate  his  troops 
from  the  defile. 

In  the  mean  time,  Don  Alonzo  de  A.guilar  and  his 
companions,  in  their  eager  advance,  had  likewise  got 
entangled  in  deep  glens,  and  the  dry  beds  of  torrents, 
where  they  had  been  severely  galled  by  the  insulting 
attacks  of  a  handful  of  Moorish  peasants,  posted  on 
the  impending  precipices.  The  proud  spirit  of  De 
Aguilar  was  incensed  at  having  the  game  of  war  thus 
turned  upon  him,  and  his  gallant  forces  domineered 
over  by  mountain  boors,  whom  he  had  thought  to 
drive,  like  their  own  cattle,  to  Antiquera.  Hearing, 
however,  that  his  friend  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  and 
the  Master  of  Santiago,  were  engaged  with  the 
enemy,  he  disregarded  his  own  danger,  and,  calling 
together  his  troops,  returned  to  assist  them,  or  rather 
to  partake  their  perils.  Being  once  more  .assembled 
together,  the  cavaliers  held  a  hasty  council,  amidst 
the  hurling  of  stones  and  the  whistling  of  arrows; 
and  their  resolves  were  quickened  by  the  sight,  from 
time  to  time,  of  some  gallant  companion  in  arms  laid 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


191 


;,  low.  They  determined  that  there  \vas  no  spoil  in 
;.  this  part  of  the  country',  to  repay  for  the  extraordi- 
nary peril  ;  and  that  it  was  better  to  abandon  the 
herds  they  had  already  taken,  which  only  embar- 
rassed their  march,  and  to  retreat  with  all  speed  to 
;        less  dangerous  ground. 

The  adalides,  or  guides,  were  ordered  to  lead  the 
way  out  of  this  place  of  carnage.  These,  thinking 
to  conduct  them  by  the  most  secure  route,  led  them 
by  a  steep  and  rocky  pass,  difficult  for  the  foot-sol- 
diers, but  almost  impracticable  to  the  cavalry.  It 
was  overhung  with  precipices,  from  whence  showers 
of  stones  and  arrows  were  poured  upon  them,  ac- 
companied by  sav.age  yells,  which  appalled  the  stout- 
est heart.  In  some  places,  they  could  pass  but  one 
at  a  time,  and  were  often  transpierced,  horse  and 
rider,  by  the  Moorish  darts,  impeding  the  progress 
of  their  comrades  by  their  dying  struggles.  The 
surrounding  precipices  were  lit  up  by  a  thousand 
alarm-fires ;  every  crag  and  cliff  had  its  flame,  by 
the  light  of  which  they  beheld  their  foes,  bounding 
from  rock  to  rock,  and  looking  more  like  fiends  than 
mortal  men. 

Either  through  terror  and  confusion,  or  through 
real  ignorance  of  the  country,  their  guides,  instead 
of  conducting  them  out  of  the  mountains,  led  them 
deeper  into  their  fatal  recesses.  The  morning  dawned 
upon  them  in  a  narrow  rambla,  its  bottom  formed  of 
broken  rocks,  where  once  had  r.aved  along  the  moun- 
tain torrent ;  while  above,  there  beetled  great  arid 
cliffs,  over  the  brows  of  which  they  beheld  the  tur- 
baned  heads  of  their  fierce  and  exulting  foes.  What 
a  different  appearance  did  the  unfortunate  cav,aliers 
present,  from  th.at  of  the  gallant  band  that  marched 
so  vauntingly  out  of  Antiquera  !  Covered  with  dust, 
and  blood,  and  wounds,  and  haggard  with  fatigue  and 
horror,  they  looked  like  victims  rather  than  like  war- 
liors.  Many  of  their  banners  were  lost,  and  not  a 
trumpet  was  heard  to  rally  up  their  sinking  spirits. 
The  men  turned  with  imploring  eyes  to  their  com- 
manders ;  while  the  hearts  of  the  cavaliers  were 
ready  to  burst  with  rage  and  grief,  at  the  merciless 
havoc  made  among  their  faithful  followers. 

All  day,  they  made  ineffectual  attempts  to  extri- 
cate themselves  from  the  mountains.  Columns  of 
smoke  rose  from  the  heights,  where,  in  the  preceding 
night,  had  blazed  the  alarm-fire.  The  mountaineers 
assembled  from  every  direction  ;  they  swarmed  at 
every  pass,  getting  in  the  advance  of  the  christians, 
and  garrisoning  the  cUffs  like  so  many  towers  and 
battlements. 

Night  closed  again  upon  the  christians,  when  they 
were  shut  up  in  a  narrow  valley  traversed  by  a  deep 
stream,  and  surrounded  by  precipices  which  seemed 
to  reach  the  skies,  and  on  which  blazed  and  tiared 
the  alarm-fires.  Suddenly  a  new  cry  was  heard  re- 
sounding along  the  valley  :  "  El  Zagal !  El  Zagal !  " 
echoed  from  cliff  to  cliff.  "  What  cry  is  that  ?  "  said 
the  Master  of  Santiago.  "It  is  the  war-cry  of  El 
Zagal,  the  Moorish  general,"  said  an  old  Castilian 
soldier:  "he  must  be  coming  in  person,  with  the 
troops  of  Malaga." 

The  worthy  Master  turned  to  his  knights :  "  Let 
us  die,"  said  he,  "  making  a  road  with  our  hearts, 
since  we  cannot  with  our  swords.  Let  us  scale  the 
mountain,  and  sell  our  lives  dearly,  instead  of  stay- 
ing here  to  be  tamely  butchered." 

So  saying,  he  turned  his  steed  against  the  moun- 
tain, and  spurred  him  up  its  flinty  side.  Horse  and 
foot  followed  his  example,  eager,  if  they  could  not 
escape,  to  have  at  least  a  dying  blow  at  the  enemy. 
As  they  struggled  up  the  height,  a  tremendous  storm 
of  darts  and  stones  was  showered  upon  them  by  the 
Moors.  Sometimes  a  fragment  of  rock  came  bound- 
ing and  thundering  down,  plowing  its  way  through 


the  centre  of  their  host.  The  foot-soldiers,  faint 
with  weariness  and  hunger,  or  crippled  by  wounds, 
held  by  the  tails  and  manes  of  the  horses  to  aid 
them  in  their  ascent  ;  while  the  horses,  losing  their 
ioothold  among  the  loose  stones,  or  receiving  some 
sudden  wound,  tumbled  down  the  steep  declivity, 
steed,  rider,  and  soldier,  rolling  from  cr.ig  to  crag, 
until  they  were  dashed  to  pieces  in  the  valley.  In 
this  desperate  struggle,  the  alferez  or  standard-bear- 
er of  the  Master,  with  his  standard,  was  lost ;  as 
were  many  of  his  relations  and  his  dearest  friends. 
.■\t  length  he  succeeded  in  attaining  the  crest  of  the 
mountain  ;  but  it  was  only  to  be  plunged  in  new 
difficulties.  A  wilderness  of  rocks  and  rugged  dells 
lay  before  him,  beset  by  cruel  foes.  Having  neither 
banner  nor  trumpet  by  which  to  rally  his  troops, 
they  wandered  apart,  each  intent  upon  saving  him- 
self from  the  precipices  of  the  mountains,  and  the 
darts  of  the  enemy.  When  the  pious  master  of 
Santiago  beheld  the  scattered  fragments  of  his  late 
g.allant  force,  he  could  not  restrain  his  grief.  "  Oh 
God  ! "  exclaimed  he,  "great  is  thine  anger  this  day 
against  thy  servants.  Thou  hast  converted  the  cow- 
ardice of  these  infidels  into  desperate  valor,  and 
hast  made  peasants  and  boors  victorious  over  armed 
men  of  battle." 

He  would  fain  have  kept  with  his  foot-soldiers, 
and,  gathering  them  together,  have  made  head 
against  the  enemy ;  but  those  around  him  entreated 
him  to  think  only  of  his  personal  safety.  To  remain 
was  to  perish,  without  striking  a  blow ;  to  escape 
was  to  preserve  a  life  that  might  be  devoted  to  ven- 
geance on  the  Moors.  The  Master  reluctantly  yield- 
ed to  the  advice.  "  Oh  Lord  of  hosts  !  "  exclaimed 
he  again,  "  from  thy  wrath  do  I  fly ;  not  from  these 
infidels :  they  are  but  instruments  in  thy  hands,  to 
chastise  us  for  our  sins."  So  saying,  he  sent  the 
guides  in  the  advance,  and,  putting  spurs  to  his 
horse,  dashed  through  a  defile  of  the  mountains, 
before  the  Moors  could  intercept  him.  The  moment 
the  master  put  his  horse  to  speed,  his  troops  scat- 
tered in  all  directions.  Some  endeavored  to  follow 
his  traces,  but  were  confounded  among  the  intrica- 
cies of  the  mountain.  They  fled  hither  and  thither, 
many  perishing  among  the  precipices,  others  being 
slain  by  the  Moors,  and  others  taken  prisoners. 

The  gallant  marques  of  Cadiz,  guided  by  his 
trusty  adalid,  Luis  Amar,  had  ascended  a  different 
part  of  the  mountain.  He  was  followed  by  his  friend, 
Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  the  adelantado,  and  the 
count  of  Cifuentes ;  but,  in  the  darkness  and  confu- 
sion, the  bands  of  these  commanders  became  sepa- 
rated from  each  other.  When  the  marques  attained 
the  summit,  he  looked  around  for  his  companions  in 
arms ;  but  they  were  no  longer  following  him,  and 
there  was  no  trumpet  to  summon  them.  It  was  a 
consolation  to  the  marques,  however,  that  his  broth- 
ers, and  several  of  his  relations,  with  a  number  of 
his  retainers,  were  still  with  him  :  he  called  his 
brothers  by  name,  and  their  replies  gave  comfort  to 
his  heart. 

His  guide  now  led  the  way  into  another  valley, 
where  he  would  be  less  exposed  to  danger :  when 
he  had  reached  the  bottom  of  it,  the  marques  paused 
to  collect  his  scattered  followers,  and  to  give  time 
for  his  fellow-commanders  to  rejoin  him.  Here  he 
was  suddenly  assailed  by  the  troops  of  El  Zagal, 
aided  by  the  mountaineers  from  the  cliffs.  The 
christians,  exhausted  and  terrified,  lost  all  presence 
of  mind  :  most  of  them  fled,  and  were  either  slain 
or  taken  captive.  The  marques  and  his  valiant 
brothers,  with  a  few  tried  friends,  made  a  stout  re- 
sistance. His  horse  was  killed  under  him ;  his 
brothers,  Don  Diego  and  Don  Lope,  with  his  two 
nephews,  Don  Lorenzo  and  Don  Manuel,  were  one 


192 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


by  one  swept  from  his  side,  either  transfixed  with 
darts  and  lances  by  tlie  soldiers  of  El  Zagal,  or 
crushed  by  stones  from  the  heights.  The  marques 
was  a  veteran  warrior,  and  had  been  in  many  a 
bloody  battle ;  but  never  before  had  death  fallen  so 
thick  and  close  around  him.  When  he  saw  his  re- 
maining brother,  Don  Beltram,  struck  out  of  his  sad- 
dle by  a  fragment  of  a  rock,  and  his  horse  running 
wildly  about  without  his  rider,  he  gave  a  cry  of  an- 
fj'uish,  and  stood  bewildered  and  aghast.  A  few 
faithful  followers  surrounded  him,  and  entreated  him 
to  fly  for  his  life.  He  would  still  have  remained,  to 
have  shared  the  fortunes  of  his  friend  Don  Alonzo 
de  Aguilar,  and  his  other  companions  in  arms  ;  but 
the  forces  of  El  Zagal  were  between  him  and  them, 
and  death  was  whistling  by  on  every  wind.  Reluc- 
tantly, therefore,  he  consented  to  fly.  Another  horse 
was  brought  him :  his  faithful  adalid  guided  him  by 
one  of  the  steepest  paths,  which  lasted  for  four 
leagues ;  the  enemy  still  hanging  on  his  traces,  and 
thinning  the  scanty  ranks  of  his  followers.  At  length 
the  marques  reached  the  extremity  of  the  mountain 
deliles,  and,  with  a  haggard  remnant  of  his  men, 
escaped  by  dint  of  hoof  to  Antiquera. 

The  count  of  Cifuentes,  with  a  few  of  his  retain- 
ers, in  attempting  to  follow  the  marques  of  Cadiz, 
wandered  into  a  narrow  pass,  where  they  were  com- 
pletely surrounded  by  the  band  of  El  Zagal.  Find- 
ing all  attempts  at  escape  impossible,  and  resistance 
vain,  the  worthy  count  surrendered  himself  prisoner, 
as  did  also  his  brother  Don  Pedro  de  Silva,  and  the 
few  of  his  retainers  who  survived. 

The  dawn  of  day  found  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar, 
with  a  handful  of  his  followers,  still  among  the 
mountains.  They  had  attempted  to  follow  the  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz,  but  had  been  obliged  to  pause  and 
defend  themselves  against  the  thickening  forces  of 
the  enemy.  They  at  length  traversed  the  mountain, 
and  reached  the  same  valley  where  the  marques  had 
made  his  last  disastrous  stand.  Wearied  and  per- 
plexed, they  sheltered  themselves  in  a  natural  grotto, 
under  an  overhanging  rock,  which  kept  off  the  darts 
of  the  enemy  ;  while  a  bubbling  fountain  gave  them 
the  means  of  slaking  their  raging  thirst,  and  refresh- 
ing their  exhausted  steeds.  As  day  broke,  the  scene 
of  slaughter  unfolded  its  horrors.  There  lay  the 
noble  brothers  and  nephews  of  the  gallant  marques, 
transfixed  with  darts,  or  gashed  and  bruised  with  un- 
seemly wounds  ;  while  many  other  gallant  cavaliers 
lay  stretched  out  dead  and  dying  around,  some  of 
them  partly  stripped  and  plundered  by  the  Moors. 
De  Aguilar  was  a  pious  knight,  but  his  piety  was  not 
humble  and  resigned,  like  that  of  the  worthy  Master 
of  Santiago.  He  imprecated  holy  curses  upon  the 
infidels,  for  having  thus  laid  low  the  flower  of  Chris- 
tian chivalry;  and  he  vowed  in  his  heart  bitter 
vengeance  upon  the  surrounding  country. 

By  degrees,  the  little  force  of  De  Aguilar  was 
augmented  by  numbers  of  fugitives,  who  issued  from 
caves  and  chasms,  where  they  had  taken  refuge  in  the 
night.  A  little  band  of  mounted  knights  was  gradually 
formed  ;  and  the  Moors  having  abandoned  the  heights 
to  collect  the  spoils  of  the  slain,  this  gallant  but  for- 
lorn squadron  was  enabled  to  retreat  to  Antiquera. 

This  disastrous  affair  lasted  from  Thursday  even- 
ing, throughout  Friday,  the  twenty-first  of  March, 
the  festival  of  St.  Benedict.  It  is  still  recorded  in 
.Spanish  calendars,  as  the  defeat  of  the  mountains  of 
Malaga ;  and  the  spot  where  the  greatest  slaughter 
took  place,  is  pointed  out  to  the  present  day,  and  is 
called  la  Cucsta  de  la  Matanza,  or  The  Hill  of  the 
Massacre.  The  principal  leaders  who  survived,  re- 
turned to  Antiquera.  Many  of  the  knights  took 
refuge  in  Alhama,  and  other  towns ;  many  wandered 
about  the  mountains  for  eight  d.iys,  living  on  roots 


and  herbs,  hiding  themselves  during  the  day,  and 
sallying  forth  at  night.  So  enfeebled  and  dishearten- 
ed were  they,  that  they  offered  no  resistance  if  at- 
tacked. Three  or  four  soldiers  would  surrender  to 
a  Moorish  peasant ;  and  even  the  women  of  Malaga 
sallied  forth  and  made  prisoners.  Some  were  thrown 
into  the  dungeons  of  frontier  towns,  others  led  cap- 
tive to  Granada  ;  but  by  far  the  greater  number  were 
conducted  to  Malaga,  the  city  they  had  threatened  to 
attack.  Two  hundred  and  fifty  principal  cavaliers, 
alcaydes,  commanders,  and  hidalgos,  of  generous 
blood,  were  confined  in  the  Alcazaba,  or  citadel  of 
Malaga,  to  await  their  ransom  ;  and  five  hundred  and 
seventy  of  the  common  soldiery  were  crowded  in  an 
enclosure  or  court-yard  of  the  Alcazaba,  to  be  sold 
as  slaves.* 

Great  spoils  were  collected  of  splendid  armor  and 
weapons  taken  from  the  slain,  or  thrown  away  by  the 
cavaliers  in  their  flight ;  and  many  horses,  magnifi- 
cently caparisoned,  together  with  numerous  stand- 
ards— all  which  were  paraded  in  triumph  into  the 
Moorish  towns. 

The  merchants  also,  who  had  come  with  the  army, 
intending  to  traffic  in  the  spoils  of  the  Moors,  were 
themselves  made  objects  of  traffic.  Several  of  them 
were  driven  like  cattle,  before  the  Moorish  viragos, 
to  the  market  of  Malaga;  and  in  spite  of  all  their 
adroitness  in  trade,  and  their  attempts  to  buy  them- 
selves off  at  a  cheap  ransom,  they  were  unable  to 
purchase  their  freedom  without  such  draughts  upon 
their  money-bags  at  home,  as  drained  them  to  the 
very  bottom. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


EFFECTS  OF  THE  DISASTERS   AMONG  THE 
MOUNTAINS  OF   MALAGA. 

The  people  of  Antiquera  had  scarcely  recovered 
from  the  tumult  of  excitement  and  admiration, 
caused  by  the  departure  of  the  gallant  band  of 
cavaliers  upon  their  foray,  when  they  beheld  the 
scattered  wrecks  flying  for  refuge  to  their  walls. 
Day  after  day,  and  hour  after  hour,  brought  some 
wretched  fugitive,  in  whose  battered  plight,  and 
haggard,  wobegone  demeanor,  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  recognise  the  warrior  whom  they  had 
lately  seen  to  issue  so  gaily  and  gloriously  from 
their  gates. 

The  arrival  of  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  almost  alone, 
covered  with  dust  and  blood,  his  armor  shattered 
and  defaced,  his  countenance  the  picture  of  despair, 
filled  every  heart  with  sorrow,  for  he  was  greatly 
beloved  by  the  people.  The  multitude  asked  where 
was  the  band  of  brothers  which  had  rallied  round 
him  as  he  went  forth  to  the  field  ;  and  when  they 
heard  that  they  had,  one  by  one,  been  slaughtered  at 
his  side,  they  hushed  their  voices,  or  spake  to  each 
other  only  in  whispers  as  he  passed,  gazing  at  him 
in  silent  sympathy.  No  one  attempted  to  console 
him  in  so  great  an  affliction,  nor  did  the  good  mar- 
ques speak  ever  a  word,  but,  shutting  himself  up, 
brooded  in  lonely  anguish  over  his  misfortune.  It 
was  only  the  arrival  of  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  that 
gave  him  a  gleam  of  consolation,  for,  amidst  the 
shafts  of  death  that  had  fallen  so  thickly  among  his 
family,  he  rejoiced  to  find  that  his  chosen  friend  and 
brother  in  arms  had  escaped  uninjured. 

For  several  days  every  eye  was  turned,  in  an  agony 
of  suspense,  towards  the  Moorish  border,  anxiously 
looking,  in  every  fugitive  from  the  mountains,  for  the 


*  Ciira  de  Io«  P.-xlacin-i. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


193 


lineaments  of  some  friend  or  relation,  whose  fate  was 
yet  a  mystery.  At  length  every  hope  and  doubt  sub- 
sided into  certainty ;  the  whole  extent  of  this  great 
calamity  was  known,  spreading-  grief  and  consterna- 
tion throughout  the  land,  and  laying  desolate  the 
pride  and  hopes  of  palaces.  It  was  a  sorrow  that 
visited  the  marble  hall  and  silken  pillow.  Stately 
dames  mourned  over  the  loss  of  their  sons,  the  joy 
and  glory  of  their  age ;  and  many  a  fair  cheek  was 
blanched  with  wo,  that  had  lately  mantled  with 
secret  admiration.  "All  Andalusia,"  says  a  his- 
torian of  the  time,  "  was  overwhelmed  by  a  great 
affliction ;  there  was  no  drying  of  the  eyes  which 
wept  in  her."  * 

Fear  and  trembling  reigned,  for  a  time,  along  the 
frontier.  Their  spear  seemed  broken,  their  buckler 
cleft  in  twain  :  every  border  town  dreaded  an  attack, 
and  the  mother  caught  her  infant  to  her  bosom  when 
the  watch-dog  howled  in  the  night,  fancying  it  the 
war-cry  of  the  Moor.  All,  for  a  time,  seemed  lost; 
and  despondency  even  found  its  way  to  the  royal 
breasts  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  amidst  the  splen- 
dors of  their  court. 

Great,  on  the  other  hand,  was  the  joy  of  the  Moors, 
when  they  saw  whole  legions  of  christian  warriors 
brought  captive  into  their  towns,  by  rude  mountain 
peasantry.  They  thought  it  the  work  of  Allah  in 
favor  of  the  faithful.  But  when  they  recognized, 
among  the  captives  thus  dejected  and  broken  down, 
some  of  the  proudest  of  christian  chivalry;  when 
they  saw  several  of  the  banners  and  devices  of  the 
noblest  houses  of  Spain,  which  they  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  behold  in  the  foremost  of  the  battle,  now 
trailed  ignominiously  through  their  streets  ;  when,  in 
short,  they  witnessed  the  arrival  of  the  count  of  Ci- 
fuentes,  the  royal  standard-bearer  of  Spain,  with  his 
gallant  brother  Don  Pedro  de  Silva,  brought  prison- 
ers into  the  gates  of  Granada,  there  were  no  bounds 
to  their  exultation.  They  thought  that  the  days  of 
their  ancient  glory  were  about  to  return,  and  that 
they  were  to  renew  their  career  of  triumph  over  the 
unbelievers. 

The  christian  historians  of  the  time  are  sorely  per- 
plexed to  account  for  this  misfortune  ;  and  why  so 
many  christian  knights,  fighting  in  the  cause  of  the 
holy  faith,  should  thus  miraculously,  as  it  were,  be 
given  captive  to  a  handful  of  infidel  boors  ;  for  we 
are  assured,  that  all  this  rout  and  destruction  was 
effected  by  five  hundred  foot  and  fifty  horse,  and 
those  mere  mountaineers,  without  science  or  disci- 
pline.t  "  It  was  intended,"  observes  one  historiog- 
rapher, "  as  a  lesson  to  their  confidence  and  vain- 
glory ;  overrating  their  own  prowess,  and  thinking 
that  so  chosen  a  band  of  chivalry  had  but  to  appear 
in  the  land  of  the  enemy,  and  conquer.  It  was  to 
teach  them  that  the  race  is  not  to  the  swift,  nor  the 
battle  to  the  strong,  but  that  God  alone  giveth  the 
victory." 

The  worthy  father  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  how- 
ever, asserts  it  to  be  a  punishment  for  the  avarice  of 
the  Spanish  warriors.  They  did  not  enter  the  king- 
dom of  the  infidels  with  the  pure  spirit  of  christian 
knights,  zealous  only  for  the  glory  of  the  faith,  but 
rather  as  greedy  men  of  traffic,  to  enrich  themselves 
by  vending  the  spoils  of  the  infidels.  Instead  of  pre- 
paring themselves  by  confession  and  communion,  and 
executing  their  testaments,  and  making  donations 
and  bequests  to  churches  and  convents,  they  thought 
only  of  arranging  bargains  and  sales  of  their  antici- 
pated booty.  Instead  of  taking  with  them  holy 
monks  to  aid  them  with  their  prayers,  they  were 
followed  by  a  train  of  trading  men,  to  keep  alive 
their  worldly  and  sordid  ideas,  and  to  turn  what 


*  Cura  dc  los  Palacios. 

13 


t  Cura  de  los  Palacios. 


ought  to  be  holy  triumphs  into  scenes  of  brawling 
traffic.  Such  is  the  opinion  of  the  excellent  Agapida, 
in  which  he  is  joined  by  that  most  worthy  and  up- 
right of  chroniclers,  the  curate  of  Los  Palacios. 
Agapida  comforts  himself,  however,  with  the  reflec- 
tion, that  this  visitation  was  meant  in  mercy,  to  try 
the  Castilian  heart,  and  to  extract,  from  its  present 
humiliation,  the  elements  of  future  success,  as  gold 
is  extracted  from  amidst  the  impurities  of  earth  ;  and 
in  this  reflection  he  is  supported  by  the  venerable 
historian  Pedro  Abarca,  of  the  society  of  Jesuits.* 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


HOW    KING   BOABDIL  EL   CHICO   MARCHED  OVER 
THE   BORDER. 

The  defeat  of  the  christian  cavaliers  among  the 
mountains  of  Malaga,  and  the  successful  inroad  of 
Muley  Aben  Hassan  into  the  lands  of  Medina  Sidonia, 
had  produced  a  favorable  effect  on  the  fortunes  of 
the  old  monarch.  The  inconstant  populace  began 
to  shout  forth  his  name  in  the  streets,  and  to  sneer 
at  the  inactivity  of  his  son  Boabdil  el  Chico.  The 
latter,  though  in  the  flower  of  his  age,  and  distin- 
guished for  vigor  and  dexterity  in  jousts  and  tourna- 
ments, had  never  yet  fleshed  his  weapon  in  the  field 
of  battle ;  and  it  was  murmured  that  he  preferred 
the  silken  repose  of  the  cool  halls  of  the  Alhambra, 
to  the  fatigue  and  danger  of  the  foray,  and  the  hard 
encampments  of  the  mountains. 

The  popularity  of  these  rival  kings  depended  upon 
their  success  against  the  christians,  and  Boabdil  el 
Chico  found  it  necessary  to  strike  some  signal  blow 
to  counterbalance  the  late  triumph  of  his  father.  He 
was  further  incited  by  the  fierce  old  Moor,  his  father- 
in-law,  Ali  Atar,  alcayde  of  Loxa,  with  whom  the 
coals  of  wrath  against  the  christians  still  burned 
among  the  ashes  of  age,  and  had  lately  been  blown 
into  a  flame  by  the  attack  made  by  Ferdinand  on 
the  city  under  his  command. 

Ali  Atar  informed  Boabdil  that  the  late  discomfit- 
ure of  the  christian  knights  had  stripped  Andalusia 
of  the  prime  of  her  chivalry,  and  broken  the  spirit 
of  the  country.  All  the  frontier  of  Cordova  and 
Ecija  now  lay  open  to  inroad  ;  but  he  especially 
pointed  out  the  city  of  Lucena  as  an  object  of  attack, 
being  feebly  garrisoned,  and  lying  in  a  country  rich 
in  pasturage,  abounding  in  cattle  and  grain,  in  oil 
and  wine.  The  fiery  old  Moor  spoke  from  thorough 
information  ;  for  he  had  made  many  an  incursion  into 
these  parts,  and  his  very  name  was  a  terror  through- 
out the  country.  It  had  become  a  by-word  in  the 
garrison  of  Loxa  to  call  Lucena  the  garden  of  Ali 
Atar,  for  he  was  accustomed  to  forage  its  fertile  ter- 
ritories for  all  his  supplies. 

Boabdil  el  Chico  listened  to  the  persuasions  of  this 
veteran  of  the  borders.  He  assembled  a  force  of 
nine  thousand  foot  and  seven  hundred  horse,  most 
of  them  his  own  adherents,  but  many  the  partisans 
of  his  father  ;  for  both  factions,  however  they  might 
fight  among  themselves,  were  ready  to  unite  in  any 
expedition  against  the  christians.  Many  ot  the  most 
illustrious  and  valiant  of  the  Moorish  nobility  assem- 
bled round  his  standard,  magnificently  arrayed  in 
sumptuous  armor  and  rich  embroidery,  as  though 
they  were  going  to  a  festival  or  a  tilt  of  canes,  rather 
than  an  enterprise  of  iron  war.  Boabdil's  mother, 
the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra,  armed  him  for  the  fields 


•  Abarca.    Annates  de  Aragon,  Rey  30.  cap.  2.  J  7. 


194 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


and  gave  him  her  benediction  as  she  girded  his 
scimitar  to  his  side.  His  favorite  wile  Mgrayma 
wept,  as  she  thought  of  the  evils  that  might  befall 
him.  "  Why  dost  thou  weep,  daughter  of  Ali  Atar  }  " 
said  the  high-minded  Ayxa :  "  these  tears  become 
not  the  daughter  of  a  warrior,  nor  the  wife  of  a 
king.  Believe  me,  there  lurks  more  danger  for  a 
monarch  within  the  strong  walls  of  a  palace,  than 
within  the  frail  curtains  of  a  tent.  It  is  by  perils  in 
the  field,  that  thy  husband  must  purchase  security 
on  his  throne." 

But  Morayma  still  hung  upon  his  neck,  with  tears 
and  sad  forebodings  ;  and  when  he  departed  from 
the  Alhambra,  she  betook  herself  to  her  mirador, 
which  looks  out  over  the  vega.  From  thence  she 
watched  the  anny,  as  it  went,  in  shining  order,  along 
the  road  which  leads  to  Loxa ;  and  every  burst  of 
warlike  melody  that  came  swelling  on  the  breeze, 
was  answered  by  a  gush  of  sorrow. 

As  the  royal  cavalcade  issued  from  the  palace  and 
descended  through  the  streets  of  Granada,  the  popu- 
lace greeted  their  youthful  sovereign  with  shouts, 
and  anticipated  success  that  should  wither  the  laurels 
of  his  father.  In  passing  through  the  gate  of  Elvira, 
however,  the  king  accidentally  broke  his  lance  against 
the  arch.  At  this,  certain  of  his  nobles  turned  pale, 
and  entreated  him  to  turn  back,  for  they  regarded  it 
as  an  evil  omen.  Boabdil  scoffed  at  their  fears,  for 
he  considered  them  mere  idle  fancies  ;  or  rather, 
(says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,)  he  was  an  incredulous 
pagan,  puffed  up  with  confidence  and  vain-glory. 
He  refused  to  take  another  spear,  but  drew  forth  his 
scimitar,  and  led  the  way  (adds  Agapida)  in  an  arro- 
gant and  haughty  style,  as  though  he  would  set  both 
heaven  and  earth  at  defiance.  Another  evil  omen 
was  sent,  to  deter  him  from  his  enterprise  ;  arriving 
at  the  rambla,  or  dry  ravine  of  Beyro,  which  is 
scarcely  a  bow-shot  from  the  city,  a  fox  ran  through 
the  whole  army,  and  close  by  the  person  of  the  king  ; 
and,  though  a  thousand  bolts  were  discharged  at  it, 
escaped  uninjured  to  the  mountains.  The  pnncipal 
courtiers  about  Boabdil  now  reiterated  their  remon- 
strances against  proceeding ;  for  they  considered 
these  occurrences  as  mysterious  portents  of  disasters 
to  their  army;  the  king,  however,  was  not  to  be  dis- 
mayed, but  continued  to  march  forward.* 

At  Loxa,  the  royal  army  was  reinforced  by  old  Ali 
Atar,  with  the  chosen  horsemen  of  his  garrison,  and 
many  of  the  bravest  warriors  of  the  border  towns. 
The  people  of  Loxa  shouted  with  exultation,  when 
they  beheld  Ali  Atar,  armed  at  all  points,  and  once 
more  mounted  on  hij  Barbary  steed,  which  had  often 
borne  him  over  the  borders.  The  veteran  warrior, 
with  nearly  a  century  of  years  upon  his  head,  had  all 
the  fire  and  animation  of  youth,  at  the  prospect  of  a 
foray,  and  careered  from  rank  to  rank  with  the  veloc- 
ity of  an  Arab  of  the  desert.  The  populace  watched 
the  army,  as  it  paraded  over  the  bridge,  and  wound 
into  the  passes  of  the  mountains;  and  still  their  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  pennon  of  Ali  Atar,  as  if  it  bore 
with  it  an  assurance  of  victory. 

The  iVIoorish  army  entered  the  christian  frontier 
by  forced  marches,  hastily  ravaging  the  country, 
driving  off  the  flocks  and  herds,  and  making  captives 
of  the  inhabitants.  They  pressed  on  furiously,  and 
made  the  Utter  part  of  their  march  in  the  night,  that 
they  might  elude  observation,  and  come  upon  Lucena 
by  surprise.  Boabdil  was  inexperienced  in  the  art 
of  war,  but  he  had  a  veteran  counsellor  in  his  old 
father-in-law  ;  for  Ali  Atar  knew  every  secret  of  the 
country,  and,  as  he  prowled  through  it,  his  eye 
ranged  over  the  land,  uniting,  in  its  glare,  the  craft 
of  the  fox  with  the  sanguinary  ferocity  of  the  wolf. 

*  ^lannol.    Rebel,  de  los  Moros,  lib,  i,  c.  xil.  fol.  14. 


He  had  flattered  himself  that  their  march  had  been 
so  rapid  as  to  outstrip  intelligence,  and  that  Lucena 
would  be  an  easy  capture  ;  when  suddenly  he  beheld 
alarm-fires  blazing  upon  the  mountains.  "  We  are 
discovered,"  said  he  to  Boabdil  el  Chico ;  "  the 
country  will  be  up  in  arms ;  we  have  nothing  left 
but  to  strike  boldly  for  Lucena ;  it  is  but  slightly 
garrisoned,  and  we  may  carry  it  by  assault  before 
it  can  receive  assistance."  The  king  approved 
of  his  counsel,  and  they  marched  rapidly  for  the 
gate  of  Lucena. 


CHAPTER   XV. 


HOW  THE  COUNT  DE  CABRA  SALLIED  FORTH  FROM 
HIS  CASTLE,  IN  QUEST  OF  KING  BOABDIL. 

Don  Diego  de  Cordova,  count  of  Cabra,  was  in 
the  castle  of  Vaena,  which,  with  the  town  of  the 
same  name,  is  situated  on  a  lofty  sun-burnt  hill  on 
the  frontier  of  the  kingdom  of  Cordova,  and  but  a 
few  leagues  from  Lucena.  The  range  of  mountains 
of  Horquera  lie  between  them.  The  castle  of  Vaena 
was  strong,  and  well  furnished  with  arms,  and  the 
count  had  a  numerous  band  of  vassals  and  retain- 
ers ;  for  it  behoved  the  noblemen  of  the  frontiers,  in 
those  times,  to  be  well  prepared  with  man  and 
horse,  with  lance  and  buckler,  to  resigt  the  sudden 
incursions  of  the  Moors.  The  count  of  Cabra  was  a 
hardy  and  experienced  warrior,  shrewd  in  council, 
prompt  in  action,  rapid  and  fearless  in  the  field. 
He  was  one  of  the  bravest  cavaliers  for  an  inroad, 
and  had  been  quickened  and  sharpened,  in  thought 
and  action,  by  living  on  the  borders. 

On  the  night  of  the  20th  of  April,  1483,  the  count 
was  about  to  retire  to  rest,  when  the  watchman  from 
the  turret  brought  him  word  that  there  were  alarm- 
fires  on  the  mountains  of  Horquera,  and  that  they 
were  made  on  the  signal-tower  overhanging  the 
defile  through  which  the  road  passes  to  Cabra  and 
Lucena. 

The  count  ascended  the  battlement,  and  beheld 
five  lights  blazing  on  the  tower, — a  sign  that  there 
w^as  a  Moorish  army  attacking  some  place  on  the 
frontier.  The  count  instantly  ordered  the  alarm-bells 
to  be  sounded,  and  dispatched  couriers  to  rouse  the 
commanders  of  the  neighboring  towns.  He  ordered 
all  his  retainers  to  prepare  for  action,  and  sent  a 
trumpet  through  the  town,  summoning  the  men  to 
assemble  at  the  castle-gate  at  daybreak,  armed  and 
equipped  for  the  field. 

Throughout  the  remainder  of  the  night,  the  castle 
resounded  with  the  din  of  preparation.  Every  house 
in  the  town  was  in  equal  bustle  ;  for  in  these  frontier 
towns,  every  house  had  its  warrior,  and  the  lance 
and  buckler  were  ever  hanging  against  the  wall, 
ready  to  be  snatched  down  for  instant  service.  Noth- 
ing was  heard  but  the  din  of  armorers,  the  shoeing 
of  studs,  and  furbishing  up  of  weapons  ;  and,  all 
night  long,  the  alarm -fires  kept  blazing  on  the 
mountains. 

When  the  morning  dawned,  the  count  of  Cabra 
sallied  forth,  at  the  head  of  two  hundred  and  fifty 
cavaliers,  of  the  best  families  of  Vaena,  all  well  ap- 
pointed, exercised  in  arms,  and  experienced  in  the 
warfare  of  the  borders.  There  were,  besides,  twelve 
hundred  foot-soldiers,  ill  brave  and  well  seasoned 
men  of  the  same  town.  The  count  ordered  them  to 
hasten  forward,  whoever  could  make  most  speed, 
taking  the  road  to  Cabra,  which  was  three  leagues 
distant.  That  they  might  not  loiter  on  the  road,  he 
allowed  none  of  them  to  break  their  fast  until  they 
arrived  at  that  place.   The  provident  count  dispatch- 


A    CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


195 


ed  couriers  in  advance,  and  the  little  army,  on  reach- 
ing Cabra,  found  tables  spread  with  food  and  refresh- 
ments, at  the  g^ates  of  the  town.  Here  they  were 
joined  by  Don  Alonzo  de  Cordova,  Senior  of  Zu- 
heros. 

Having  made  a  hearty  repast,  they  were  on  the 
point  of  resuming  their  march,  when  the  count  dis- 
covered, that,  in  the  hurry  of  his  departure  from 
home,  he  had  forgotten  to  bring  the  standard  of 
Vaena,  which  for  upwards  of  eighty  years  had  always 
been  borne  to  battle  by  his  family.  It  was  now  noon, 
and  there  was  not  time  to  return  ;  he  took,  therefore, 
the  standard  of  Cabra,  the  device  of  which  is  a  goat, 
and  which  had  not  been  seen  in  the  wars  for  the 
last  half  century.  When  about  to  depart,  a  courier 
came  galloping  at  full  speed,  bringing  missives  to  the 
count  from  his  nephew,  Don  Diego  Hernandez  de 
Cordova,  Senior  of  Lucena  and  alcayde  de  los  Don- 
zeles,  entreating  him  to  hasten  to  his  aid,  as  his  town 
was  beset  by  the  Moorish  king  Boabdil  el  Chico, 
with  a  powerful  army,  who  were  actually  setting  fire 
to  the  gates. 

The  count  put  his  little  army  instantly  in  move- 
ment for  Lucena,  which  is  only  one  league  from 
Cabra ;  he  was  fired  with  the  idea  of  having  the 
Moorish  king  in  person  to  contend  with.  By  the 
time  he  reached  Lucena,  the  Moors  had  desisted 
from  the  attack,  and  were  ravaging  the  surrounding 
country.  He  entered  the  town  with  a  few  of  his 
cavaliers,  and  was  received  with  joy  by  his  nephew, 
whose  whole  force  consisted  but  of  eighty  horse  and 
three  hundred  foot.  Don  Diego  Hernandez  de  Cor- 
dova was  a  young  man,  yet  he  was  a  prudent,  care- 
ful, and  capable  officer.  Having  learnt,  the  evening 
before,  that  the  Moors  had  passed  the  frontiers,  he 
had  gathered  within  his  walls  all  the  women  and 
children  from  the  environs ;  had  armed  the  men, 
sent  couriers  in  all  directions  for  succor,  and  had 
lighted  alarm-fires  on  the  mountains. 

Boabdil  had  arrived  with  his  army  at  daybreak, 
and  had  sent  in  a  message  threatening  to  put  the 
garrison  to  the  sword,  if  the  place  were  not  instantly 
surrendered.  The  messenger  was  a  Moor  of  Gra- 
nada, named  Hamet,  whom  Don  Diego  had  formerly 
known  :  he  contrived  to  amuse  him  with  negotiation, 
to  gain  time  for  succor  to  arrive.  The  fierce  old 
Ali  Atar,  losing  all  patience,  had  made  an  assault 
upon  the  town,  and  stormed  like  a  fury  at  the  gate  ; 
but  had  been  repulsed.  Another  and  more  serious 
attack  was  expected,  in  the  course  of  the  night. 

When  the  count  de  Cabra  had  heard  this  account 
of  the  situation  of  affairs,  he  turned  to  his  nephew 
with  his  usual  alacrity  of  manner,  and  proposed  that 
they  should  immediately  sally  forth  in  quest  of  the 
enemy.  The  prudent  Don  Diego  remonstrated  at 
the  rashness  of  attacking  so  great  a  force  with  a  mere 
handful  of  men.  "  Nephew,"  said  the  count,  "  I 
came  from  Vaena  with  a  determination  to  fight  this 
Moorish  king,  and  I  will  not  be  disappointed." 

"  At  any  rate,"  replied  Don  Diego,  '•  let  us  wait 
but  two  hours,  and  we  shall  have  reinforcements 
which  have  been  promised  me  from  Rambla,  Santa- 
ella,  Montilla,  and  other  places  in  the  neighborhood." 
"If  we  await  these,"  said  the  hardy  count,  "the 
Moors  will  be  off,  and  all  our  trouble  will  have  been 
in  vain.  You  may  await  them,  if  you  please  ;  I  am 
resolved  on  fighting." 

The  count  paused  for  no  reply  ;  but,  in  his  prompt 
and  rapid  manner,  sallied  forth  to  his  men.  The 
young  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles,  though  more  prudent 
than  his  ardent  uncle,  was  equally  brave  ;  he  deter- 
mined to  stand  by  him  in  his  rash  enterprise,  and, 
summoning  his  little  force,  marched  forth  to  join  the 
count,  who  was  already  on  the  move.  They  then 
p'c~."?eded  together  in  quest  of  the  enemy. 


The  Moorish  army  had  ceased  ravaging  the  coun- 
try, and  were  not  to  be  seen, — the  neighborhood 
being  hilly,  and  broken  with  deep  ravines.  The 
count  dispatched  six  scouts  on  horseback  to  recon- 
noitre, ordering  them  to  return  with  all  speed  when 
they  should  have  discovered  the  enemy,  and  by  no 
means  to  engage  in  skirmishing  with  stragglers. 
The  scouts,  ascending  a  high  hill,  beheld  the  Moor- 
ish army  in  a  valley  behind  it,  the  cavalry  ranged  in 
five  battalions  keeping  guard,  while  the  foot-soldiers 
were  seated  on  the  grass  making  a  repast.  Tliey 
returned  immediately  with  the  intelligence. 

The  count  now  ordered  the  troops  to  march  in  the 
direction  of  the  enemy.  He  and  his  nephew  as- 
cended the  hill,  and  saw  that  the  five  battalions  of 
Moorish  cavalry  had  been  formed  into  two,  one  of 
about  nine  hundred  lances,  the  other  of  about  six 
hundred.  The  whole  force  seemed  prepared  to 
march  for  the  frontier.  The  foot-soldiers  were  al- 
ready under  way,  with  many  prisoners.  End  a  great 
train  of  mules  and  beasts  of  burden,  laden  with 
booty.  At  a  distance  was  Boabdil  el  Chico :  they 
could  not  distinguish  his  person,  but  they  knew  him 
by  his  superb  white  charger,  magnificently  capari- 
soned, and  by  his  being  surrounded  by  a  numerous 
guard,  sumptuously  armed  and  attired.  Old  Ali 
Atar  was  careering  about  the  valley  with  his  usual 
impatience,  hurrying  the  march  of  the  loitering 
troops. 

The  eyes  of  the  count  de  Cabra  glistened  with 
eager  joy,  as  he  beheld  the  royal  prize  within  his 
reach.  The  immense  disparity  of  their  forces  never 
entered  into  his  mind.  "  By  Santiago  I  "  said  he  to 
his  nephew,  as  they  hastened  down  the  hill,  "  had 
we  waited  for  more  forces,  the  Moorish  king  and  his 
army  would  have  escaped  us  !  " 

The  count  now  harangued  his  men,  to  inspirit 
them  to  this  hazardous  encounter.  He  told  them 
not  to  be  dismayed  at  the  number  of  Moors,  for 
God  often  permitted  the  few  to  conquer  the  many  ; 
and  he  had  great  confidence,  that,  through  the  di- 
vine aid,  they  were  that  day  to  achieve  a  signal  vic- 
tory, which  should  win  them  both  riches  and  renown. 
He  commanded  that  no  man  should  hurl  his  lance 
at  the  enemy,  but  should  keep  it  in  his  hands,  and 
strike  as  many  blows  with  it  as  he  could.  He  warned 
them,  also,  never  to  shout  except  when  the  Moors 
did  ;  for,  when  both  armies  shouted  together,  there 
was  no  perceiving  which  made  the  most  noise  and 
was  the  strongest.  He  desired  his  uncle  Lope  de 
Mendoza,  and  Diego  Cabrera,  alcayde  of  Menica,  to 
alight  and  enter  on  foot  in  the  battalion  of  infantry, 
to  animate  them  to  the  combat.  He  appointed,  also, 
the  alcayde  of  Vaena  and  Diego  de  Clavijo,  a  cava- 
lier of  his  household,  to  remain  in  the  rear,  and  not 
to  permit  any  one  to  lag  behind,  either  to  despoil  the 
dead,  or  for  any  other  purpose. 

Such  were  the  orders  given  by  this  most  adroit, 
active,  and  intrepid  cavalier,  to  his  little  army,  sup- 
plying, by  admirable  sagacity  and  subtle  manage- 
ment, the  want  of  a  more  numerous  force.  His 
orders  being  given,  and  all  arrangements  made,  he 
threw  aside  his  lance,  drew  his  sword,  and  com- 
manded his  standard  to  be  advanced  against  the 
enemy. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

THE   BATTLE  OF   LUCENA. 

The  Moorish  king  had  descried  the  Spanish  forces 
at  a  distance,  although  a  slight  fog  prevented  his 
seeing  them  distinctly,  and  ascertaining  their  num- 
bers.    His  old  father-in-law,  Ali  Atar,  was  by  his 


196 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


side,  who,  being  a  veteran  marauder,  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  all  the  standards  and  armorial  bear- 
ings of  the  frontiers.  When  the  king  beheld  the 
ancient  and  long-disused'banner  of  Cabra  emerging 
from  the  mist,  he  turned  to  Ali  Atar,  and  demanded 
whose  ensign  it  was.  The  old  borderer  was  for 
once  at  a  loss,  for  the  banner  had  not  been  dis- 
played in  battle  in  his  time.  "Sire,"  replied  he, 
after  a  pause,  "  I  have  been  considering  that  stand- 
ard, but  do  not  know  it.  It  appears  to  be  a  dog, 
which  device  is  borne  by  the  towns  of  Baeza  and 
Ubeda.  If  it  be  so,  all  Andalusia  is  in  movement 
against  you  ;  for  it  is  not  probable  that  any  single 
commander  or  community  would  venture  to  attack 
you.     I  would  advise  you,  therefore,  to  retire." 

The  count  de  Cabra,  in  winding  down  the  hill  to- 
wards the  Moors,  found  himself  on  much  lower 
ground  than  the  enemy  :  he  ordered  in  all  haste 
that  his  standard  should  be  taken  back,  so  as  to 
gain  the  vantage  ground.  The  Moors,  mistaking 
this  for  a  retreat,  rushed  impetuously  towards  the 
christians.  The  latter,  having  gained  the  height 
proposed,  charged  down  upon  them  at  the  same 
moment,  with  the  battle-cry  of  "  Santiago  !  "  and, 
dealing  the  first  blows,  laid  many  of  the  Moorish 
cavaliers  in  the  dust. 

The  Moors,  thus  checked  in  their  tumultuous 
assault,  were  thrown  into  confusion,  and  began  to 
give  way,  the  christians  following  hard  upon  them. 
Boabdil  el  Chico  endeavored  to  rally  them.  "  Hold  ! 
hold  !  for  shame  !  "  cried  he ;  "  let  us  not  fly,  at 
least  until  we  know  our  enemy."  The  Moorish 
chivalry  were  stung  by  this  reproof,  and  turned  to 
mak^  front,  with  the  valor  of  men  who  feel  that 
they  are  fighting  under  their  monarch's  eye. 

At  this  moment,  Lorenzo  de  Porres,  alcayde  of 
Luque,  arrived  with  fifty  horse  and  one  hundred 
foot,  sounding  an  Italian  trumpet  from  among  a 
copsj  of  oak  trees,  which  concealed  his  force.  The 
quick  ear  of  old  Ali  Atar  caught  the  note.  "  That 
is  an  Italian  trumpet,"  said  he  to  the  king  ;  "  the 
whole  world  seems  in  arms  against  your  majesty  !  " 

The  trumpet  of  Lorenzo  de  Porres  was  answered 
by  that  of  the  count  de  Cabra,  in  another  direction, 
and  it  seemed  to  the  Moors  as  if  they  were  between 
two  armies.  Don  Lorenzo,  sallying  from  among 
the  oaks,  now  charged  upon  the  enemy :  the  latter 
did  not  wait  to  ascertain  the  force  of  this  new 
foe ;  the  confusion,  the  variety  of  alarums,  the  at- 
tacks from  opposite  quarters,  the  obscurity  of  the 
fog,  all  conspired  to  deceive  them  as  to  the  number 
of  their  adversaries.  Broken  and  dismayed,  they 
retreated  fighting ;  and  nothing  but  the  presence 
and  remonstrance  of  the  king  prevented  their  retreat 
from  becoming  a  headlong  flight. 

This  skirmishing  retreat  lasted  for  about  three 
leagues.  Many  were  the  acts  of  individual  prowess 
between  christian  and  Moorish  knights,  and  the  way 
was  strewed  with  the  flower  of  the  king's  guards 
and  of  his  royal  household.  At  length  they  came  to 
the  rivulet  of  Mingonzales,  the  verdant  banks  of 
which  were  covered  with  willows  and  tamarisks. 
It  was  swoln  by  recent  rain,  and  was  now  a  deep 
and  turbid  torrent. 

Here  the  king  made  a  courageous  stand  with  a  small 
body  of  cavalry,  while  his  baggage  crossed  the  stream. 
None  but  the  choicest  and  most  loyal  of  his  guards 
stood  by  their  monarch,  in  this  hour  of  e.-itremity. 
The  foot-soldiers  took  to  flight,  the  moment  they 
passed  the  ford  ;  many  of  the  horsemen,  partaking 
of  the  general  panic,  gave  reins  to  their  steeds  and 
scoured  for  the  frontier.  The  little  host  of  devoted 
cavaliers  now  serried  their  forces  in  front  of  their 
monarch,  to  protect  his  retreat.  They  fought  hand 
to  hand  with  the  christian  warriors,  disdaining  to 


yield  or  to  ask  for  quarter.  The  ground  was  covered 
with  the  dead  and  dying.  The  king,  having  retreated 
along  the  river  banks,  and  gained  some  dis'ance  from 
the  scene  of  combat,  looked  back,  and  saw  the  loyal 
band  at  length  give  way.  They  crossed  the  ford, 
followed  pell-mell  by  the  enemy,  and  several  of  them 
were  struck  down  into  the  stream. 

The  king  now  dismounted  from  his  white  charger, 
whose  color  and  rich  caparison  made  him  too  con- 
spicuous, and  endeavored  to  conceal  himself  among 
the  thickets  which  fringed  the  river.  A  soldier  of 
Lucena,  named  Martin  Hurtado,  discovered  him,  and 
attacked  him  with  a  pike.  The  king  defended  him- 
self with  scimitar  and  target,  until  another  soldier 
assailed  him,  and  he  saw  a  third  approaching.  Per- 
ceiving that  further  resistance  would  be  vain,  he 
drew  back  and  called  upon  them  to  desist,  olfering 
them  a  noble  ransom.  One  of  the  soldiers  rushed 
forward  to  seize  him,  but  the  king  struck  him  to  the 
earth  with  a  blow  of  his  scimitar. 

Don  Diego  Fernandez  de  Cordova  coming  up  at 
this  moment,  the  men  said  to  him,  "  Senor,  here  is  a 
Moor  that  we  have  taken,  who  seems  to  be  a  man 
of  rank,  and  offers  a  large  ransom." 

"  Slaves  !  "  exclaimed  king  Boabdil,  "  you  have  not 
taken  me.     I  surrender  to  this  cavnlier." 

Don  Diego  received  him  with  knightly  courtesy. 
He  perceived  him  to  be  a  person  of  high  rank ;  but 
the  king  concealed  his  quality,  and  gave  himself  out 
as  the  son  of  Aben  Aleyzar,  a  nobleman  of  the  royal 
household.*  Don  Diego  gave  him  in  charge  of  five 
soldiers,  to  conduct  him  to  the  castle  of  Lucena ; 
then,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  hastened  to  rejoin 
the  count  de  Cabra,  who  was  in  hot  pursuit  of  the 
enemy.  He  overtook  him  at  a  stream  called  Ria- 
naul ;  and  they  continued  to  press  on  the  skirts  of 
the  flying  army,  during  the  remainder  of  the  day. 
The  pursuit  was  almost  as  hazardous  as  the  battle ; 
for,  had  the  enemy  at  any  time  recovered  from  their 
panic,  they  might,  by  a  sudden  reaction,  have  over- 
whelmed the  small  force  of  their  pursuers.  To  guard 
against  this  peril,  the  wary  count  kept  his  battalion 
always  in  close  order,  and  had  a  body  of  a  hundred 
chosen  lancers  in  the  advance.  The  Moors  kept  up 
a  Parthian  retreat ;  several  times  they  turned  to 
make  battle ;  but,  seeing  this  solid  body  of  steeled 
warriors  pressing  upon  them,  they  again  took  to 
flight. 

The  main  retreat  of  the  army  was  along  the  valley 
watered  by  the  Xenel,  and  opening  through  the 
mountains  of  Algaringo  to  the  city  of  Loxa.  The 
alarm-fires  of  the  preceding  night  had  roused  the 
country ;  every  man  snatched  sword  and  buckler 
from  the  wall,  and  the  towns  and  villages  poured 
forth  their  warriors  to  harass  the  retreating  foe.  Ali 
Atar  kept  the  main  force  of  the  army  together,  and 
turned  fiercely  from  time  to  tiine  upon  his  pursuers; 
he  was  like  a  wolf,  hunted  through  the  country  he 
had  often  made  desolate  by  his  maraudings. 

The  alarm  of  this  invasion  had  reached  the  city 
of  Antiquera,  where  were  several  of  the  cavaliers 
who  had  escaped  from  the  carnage  in  the  mountains 
of  Malaga.  Their  proud  minds  were  festering  with 
their  late  disgrace,  and  their  only  prayer  was  for 
vengeance  on  the  infidels.  No  sooner  did  they  hear 
of  the  Moor  being  over  the  border,  than  they 
were  armed  and  mounted  for  action.  Don  Alonzo 
de  Aguilar  led  them  forth  ;— a  small  body  of  but 
forty  horsemen,  but  all  cavaliers  of  prowess,  and 
thirsting  for  revenge.  They  came  upon  the  foe  on 
the  banks  of  the  Xenel,  where  it  winds  through  the 
valleys  of  Cordova.  The  river,  swelled  by  the  late 
rains,  was  deep  and  turbulent,  and  only  fordable  at 


*  Garibayi  lib.  40,  c.  31. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


197 


certain  places.  The  main  body  of  the  army  was 
g'athered  in  confusion  on  the  banks,  endeavoring-  to 
ford  the  stream,  protected  by  the  cavalry  of  Ali  Alar. 

No  sooner  did  the  little  band  of  Alonzo  de  Aguilar 
come  in  sight  of  the  Moors,  than  fury  flashed  from 
their  eyes.  "  Remember  the  mountains  of  Malaga  !  " 
they  cried  to  each  other,  as  they  rushed  to  combat. 
Their  charge  was  desperate,  but  was  gallantly  re- 
sisted. A  scrambling  and  bloody  fight  ensued,  hand 
to  hand  and  sword  to  sword,  sometimes  on  land, 
sometimes  in  the  water.  Many  were  lanced  on  the 
banks ;  others,  throwing  themselves  into  the  river, 
sunk  with  the  weight  of  their  armor,  and  were 
drowned  ;  some,  grappling  together,  fell  from  their 
horses,  but  continued  thi:ir  struggle  in  the  waves, 
and  helm  and  turban  rolled  together  down  the 
stream.  The  Moors  were  far  greater  in  number,  and 
among  them  were  many  warriors  of  rank  ;  but  they 
were  disheartened  by  defeat,  while  the  christians 
were  excited  even  to  desperation. 

Ali  Atar  alone  preserved  all  his  fire  and  energy 
amid  his  reverses.  He  had  been  enraged  at  the  de- 
feat of  the  army,  the  loss  of  the  king,  and  the  igno- 
minious flight  he  had  been  obliged  to  make  through 
a  country  which  had  so  often  been  the  scene  of  his 
exploits  :  but  to  be  thus  impeded  in  his  flight,  and 
harassed  and  insulted  by  a  mere  handful  of  warriors, 
roused  the  violent  passions  of  the  old  Moor  to  per- 
fect frenzy.  He  had  marked  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar 
dealing  his  blows  (says  Agapida,)  with  the  pious 
vehemence  of  a  righteous  knight,  who  knows  that  in 
every  wound  inflicted  upon  the  infidels,  he  is  doing 
God  service.  Ali  Atar  spurred  his  steed  along  the 
bank  of  the  river,  to  come  upon  Don  Alonzo  by 
surprise.  The  back  of  the  warrior  was  towards  him  ; 
and,  collecting  all  his  force,  the  Moor  hurled  his 
lance  to  transfix  him  on  the  spot.  The  lance  was 
not  thrown  with  the  usual  accuracy  of  Ali  Atar ;  it 
tore  away  a  part  of  the  cuirass  of  Don  Alonzo,  but 
failed  to  inflict  a  wound.  The  Moor  rushed  upon 
Don  Alonzo  with  his  scimitar ;  but  the  latter  was  on 
the  alert,  and  parried  his  blow.  They  fought  desper- 
ately upon  the  borders  of  the  river,  alternately  press- 
ing each  other  into  the  stream,  and  fighting  their  way 
again  up  the  bank.  Ali  Atar  was  repeatedly  wound- 
ed ;  and  Don  Alonzo,  having  pity  on  his  age,  would 
have  spared  his  life  ;  he  called  upon  him  to  surrender. 
"  Never,"  cried  Ali  Atar, "  to  a  christian  dog  !  "  The 
words  were  scarce  out  of  his  mouth,  when  the  sword 
of  Don  Alonzo  clove  his  turbaned  head,  and  sank 
deep  into  the  brain.  He  fell  dead,  without  a  groan  ; 
his  body  rolled  into  the  Xenel,  nor  was  it  ever  found 
and  recognised.*  Thus  fell  Ali  Atar,  who  had  long 
been  the  terror  of  Andalusia.  As  he  had  hated  and 
warred  upon  the  christians  all  his  life,  so  he  died  in 
the  very  act  of  bitter  hostility. 

The  fall  of  Ali  Atar  put  an  end  to  the  transient 
stand  of  the  cavalry.  Horse  and  foot  mingled  to- 
gether, in  the  desperate  struggle  across  the  Xenel ; 
and  many  were  trampled  down,  and  perished  be- 
neath the  waves.  Don  Alonzo  and  his  band  con- 
tinued to  harass  them  until  they  crossed  the  frontier ; 
and  every  blow,  struck  home  to  the  Moors,  seemed 
to  lighten  the  load  of  humiliation  and  sorrow  which 
had  weighed  heavy  on  their  hearts. 

In  this  disastrous  rout,  the  Moors  lost  upwards  of 
five  thousand  killed  and  made  prisoners  ;  many  of 
whom  were  of  the  most  noble  lineages  of  Granada  : 
numbers  fled  to  rocks  and  mountains,  where  they 
were  subsequently  taken. 

This  battle  was  called,  by  some,  the  battle  of 
Lucena ;  by  others,  the  battle  of  the  Moorish  king, 
because  of  the  capture  of  Boabdil.      Twenty-two 


*  Cura  de  los  Falacios. 


banners  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  christians,  and 
were  carried  to  Vaena,  and  hung  up  in  the  church  ; 
where  (says  a  historian  of  after  times,)  they  remain 
to  this  day.  Once  a  year,  <Jn  the  day  of  St.  George, 
they  are  borne  about  in  procession,  by  the  inhab- 
itants, who  at  the  same  time  give  thanks  to  God  for 
this  signal  victory  granted  to  their  forefathers. 

Great  was  the  triumph  of  the  count  de  Cabra, 
when,  on  returning  from  the  pursuit  of  the  enemyi 
he  found  that  the  Moorish  king  had  fallen  into  his 
hands.  When  the  unfortunate  Boabdil  was  brought 
before  him,  however,  and  he  beheld  him  a  dejected 
captive,  whom  but  shortly  before  he  had  seen  in 
royal  splendor,  surrounded  by  his  army,  the  generous 
heart  of  the  count  was  touched  by  sympathy.  He 
said  every  thing  that  became  a  courteous  and  chris- 
tian knight,  to  comfort  him ;  observing  that  the 
same  mutability  of  things  which  had  suddenly  de- 
stroyed his  recent  prosperity,  might  cause  his  pres- 
ent misfortunes  as  rapidly  to  pass  away  ;  since  in 
this  world  nothing  is  stable,  and  even  sorrow  has 
its  allotted  term. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 


LAMENTATIONS  OF  THE  MOORS  FOR  THE  BATTLE 
OF  LUCENA. 

The  sentinels  looked  out  from  the  watch-towers 
of  Loxa,  along  the  valley  of  the  Xenel,  which  passes 
through  the  mountains  of  Algaringo.  They  looked 
to  behold  the  king  returning  in  triumph,  at  the 
head  of  his  shining  host,  laden  with  the  spoil  of  the 
unbeliever.  They  looked  to  behold  the  standard 
of  their  warlike  idol,  the  fierce  Ali  Atar,  borne  by 
the  chivalry  of  Loxa,  ever  foremost  in  the  wars  of 
the  border. 

In  the  evening  of  the  2ist  of  April,  they  descried 
a  single  horseman  urging  his  faltering  steed  along 
the  banks  of  the  Xenel.  As  he  drew  near,  they  per- 
ceived by  the  flash  of  arms,  that  he  was  a  warrior, 
and  on  nearer  approach,  by  the  richness  of  his  armor 
and  the  caparison  of  his  steed,  they  knew  him  to 
be  a  warrior  of  rank. 

He  reached  Loxa,  faint  and  agnast ;  his  Arabian 
courser  covered  with  foam,  and  dust,  and  blood, 
panting  and  staggering  with  fatigue,  and  gashed  with 
wounds.  Having  brought  his  master  in  safety,  he 
sunk  down  and  died  before  the  gate  of  llie  city.  The 
soldiers  at  the  gate  gathered  round  the  cavalier,  as 
he  stood  mute  and  melancholy  by  his  expiring  steed  ; 
they  knew  him  to  be  the  gallant  Cidi  Caleb,  nephew 
of  the  chief  alfaqui  of  the  Albaycin  of  Granada.  When 
the  people  of  Loxa  beheld  this  noble  cavalier,  thus 
alone,  haggard  and  dejected,  their  hearts  were  filled 
with  fearful  forebodings. 

"Cavalier,"  said  they,  "how  fares  it  with  the 
king  and  army?" 

He  cast  his  hand  inournfully  towaids  the  land  of 
the  christians.  "  There  they  lie  !  "  exclaimed  he. 
'•  The  heavens  have  fallen  upon  them.  All  are  lost ! 
all  dead !  "* 

Upon  this,  there  was  a  great  crj-  of  consterna- 
tion among  the  people,  and  loud  wailings  of  women  : 
for  the  flower  of  the  youth  of  Loxa  were  with  the 
army." 

An  old  Moorish  soldier,  scarred  in  many  a  border 
battle,  stood  leaning  on  his  lance  by  the  gateway. 
"  Where  is  Ali  Atar  ?  "  demanded  he  eagerly.  "  If 
he  lives,  the  army  cannot  be  lost." 

"  I   saw    his    turban    cleaved    by    the    christian 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios. 


198 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


sword,"  replied  Cidi  Caleb.  "  His  body  is  floating 
in  the  Xenel." 

When  the  soldier  heard  these  words,  he  smote  his 
breast  and  threw  dust  ujDon  his  head  ;  for  he  was  an 
old  follower  of  Ali  Atar. 

The  noble  Cidi  Caleb  gave  himself  no  repose,  but 
mounting  another  steed,  hastened  to  carry  the  dis- 
astrous tidings  to  Granada.  As  he  passed  through 
the  villages  and  hamlets,  he  spread  sorrow  around  ; 
for  their  chosen  men  had  followed  the  Tiing  to  the 
wars. 

When  he  entered  the  gates  of  Granada,  and  an- 
nounced the  loss  of  the  king  and  army,  a  voice  of 
horror  went  throughout  the  city.  Every  one  thought 
but  of  his  own  share  in  the  general  calamity,  and 
crowded  round  the  bearer  of  ill  tidings.  One  asked 
after  a  father,  another  after  a  brother,  some  after  a 
lover,  and  many  a  mother  after  her  son.  His  replies 
were  still  of  wounds  and  death.  To  one  he  replied, 
"  I  saw  thy  father  pierced  with  a  lance,  as  he  de- 
fended the  person  of  the  king."  To  another,  "Thy 
brother  fell  wounded  under  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  ; 
but  there  was  no  time  to  aid  him,  for  the  christian 
cavalry  were  upon  us."  To  another,  "  I  saw  the 
horse  of  thy  lover,  covered  with  blood  and  gallop- 
ing without  his  rider."  To  another,  "  Thy  son 
fought  by  my  side,  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenel :  we 
were  surrounded  by  the  enemy,  and  driven  into  the 
stream.  I  heard  him  cry  upon  Allah,  in  the  midst 
of  the  waters  :  when  I  reached  the  other  bank,,  he 
was  no  longer  by  my  side." 

The  noble  Cidi  Caleb  passed  on,  leaving  all  Gra- 
nada in  lamentation  ;  he  urged  his  steed  up  the  steep 
avenue  of  trees  and  fountains  that  leads  to  the  Al- 
hambra,  nor  stopped  until  he  arrived  before  the  gate 
of  Justice.  Ayxa,  the  mother  of  Boabdil,  and  Moray- 
ma,  his  beloved  and  tender  wife,  h.ad  daily  watched 
from  the  tower  of  the  Gomeres,  to  behold  his  tri- 
umphant return.  Who  shall  describe  their  affliction, 
when  they  heard  the  tidings  of  Cidi  Caleb .'  The  sul- 
tana Ayxa  spake  not  much,  but  sate  as  one  entranced 
in  wo.  Every  now  and  then,  a  deep  sigh  burst  forth, 
but  she  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven :  "  It  is  the  will  of 
Allah  !  "  said  she,  and  with  these  words  endeavored 
to  repress  the  agonies  of  a  mother's  sorrow.  The 
tender  Morayma  threw  herself  on  the  earth,  and  gave 
way  to  the  full  turbulence  of  her  feelings,  bewailing 
her  husband  and  her  father.  The  high-minded  Ayxa 
rebuked  the  violence  of  her  grief:  "  iModerate  these 
transports,  my  daughter,"  said  she ;  "  remember 
magnanimity  should  be  the  attribute  of  princes  ;  it  be- 
comes not  them  to  give  way  to  clamorous  sorrow, 
like  common  and  vulgar  minds."  But  Morayma 
could  only  deplore  her  loss,  with  the  anguish  of  a 
tender  woman.  She  shut  herself  up  in  her  mirador, 
and  gazed  all  day,  with  streaming  eyes,  upon  the  vega. 
Every  object  before  her  recalled  the  causes  of  her  af- 
fliction. The  river  Xenel,  which  ran  shining  amidst 
the  groves  and  gardens,  was  the  same  on  whose 
banks  had  perished  her  lather,  Ali  Atar ;  before  her 
lay  the  road  to  Loxa,  by  which  Boabdil  had  departed, 
in  martial  state,  surrounded  by  the  chivalry  of  Gra- 
nada. Ever  and  anon  she  would  burst  into  an 
agony  of  grief.  "  Alas  !  my  father !  "  she  would  ex- 
claim ;  "  the  river  runs  smiling  before  me,  that  covers 
thy  mangled  remains ;  who  will  gather  them  to  an 
honored  tomb,  in  the  land  of  the  unbeliever?  And 
thou,  oh  Boabdil,  light  of  my  eyes  !  joy  of  my  heart  ! 
life  of  my  life  !  wo  the  day,  and  wo  the  hour,  that  I 
saw  thee  depart  from  these  walls.  The  road  by 
which  thou  hast  departed  is  solitary  ;  never  will  it  be 
gladdened  by  thy  return  !  the  mountain  thou  hast 
traversed  lies  like  a  cloud  in  the  distance,  and  all 
beyond  it  is  darkness." 

The  royal  minstrels  were  summoned  to  assuage 


the  sorrows  of  the  queen  :  they  attuned  their  instru- 
ments to  cheerful  strains  ;  but  in  a  little  while  the 
anguish  of  their  hearts  prevailed,  and  turned  their 
songs  to  lamentations. 

"  Beautiful  Granada  !  "  they  exclaimed,  "  how  is 
thy  glory  faded  !  The  Vivarrambla  no  longer  echoes 
to  the  tramp  of  steed  and  sound  of  trumpet  ;  no 
longer  is  it  crowded  with  thy  youthful  nobles,  eager 
to  display  their  prowess  in  the  tourney  and  the  festive 
tiit  of  reeds.  Alas  I  the  flower  of  thy  chivalry  lies 
low  in  a  foreign  land !  the  soft  note  of  the  lute  is  no 
longer  heard  in  thy  moonlight  streets ;  the  lively 
Castanet  is  silent  upon  thy  hills  ;  and  the  graceful 
dance  of  the  Zambra  is  no  more  seen  beneath  thy 
bowers.  Behold,  the  Alhambra  is  forlorn  and 
desolate !  in  vain  do  the  orange  and  myrtle  breathe 
their  perfumes  into  its  silken  chambers ;  in  vain  does 
the  nightingale  sing  within  its  groves  ;  in  vain  are  its 
marble  halls  refreshed  by  the  sound  of  fountains  and 
the  gush  of  limpid  rills.  Alas  !  the  countenance  of 
the  king  no  longer  shines  within  those  halls :  the 
light  of  the  Alhambra  is  set  for  ever  !  " 

Thus  all  Granada,  say  the  Arabian  chroniclers, 
gave  itself  up  to  lamentation  :  there  was  nothing  but 
the  voice  of  wailing,  from  the  palace  to  the  cottage. 
All  joined  to  deplore  their  youthful  monarch,  cut 
down  in  the  freshness  and  promise  of  his  youth  ; 
many  feared  that  the  prediction  of  the  astrologers 
was  about  to  be  fulfilled,  and  that  the  downfall  of  the 
kingdom  would  follow  the  death  of  Boabdil ;  while 
all  declared,  that  had  he  survived,  he  was  the  very 
sovereign  calculated  to  restore  the  realm  to  its  an- 
cient prosperity  and  glory. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


HOW    MULEY    ABEN    HASSAN    PROFITED   BY    THE 
MISFORTUNES  OF  HIS  SON   BOABDIL. 

An  unfortunate  death  atones,  with  the  world,  for 
a  multitude  of  errors.  While  the  populace  thought 
their  youthful  monarch  had  perished  in  the  field, 
nothing  could  exceed  their  grief  for  his  loss,  and 
their  adoration  of  his  memory  ;  when,  however,  they 
learnt  that  he  was  still  alive,  and  had  surrendered 
himself  captive  to  the  christians,  their  feelings  under- 
went an  instant  change.  They  decried  his  talents 
as  a  commander,  his  courage  as  a  soldier ;  they  railed 
at  his  expedition,  as  rash  and  ill  conducted  ;  and  they 
reviled  him  for  not  having  dared  to  die  on  the  field 
of  battle,  rather  than  surrender  to  the  enemy. 

The  alfaquis,  as  usual,  mingled  with  the  populace, 
and  artfully  guided  their  discontents.  "Behold," 
exclaimed  they,  "  the  prediction  is  accomplished, 
which  was  pronounced  at  the  birth  of  Boabdil.  He 
has  been  seated  on  the  throne,  and  the  kingdom  has 
suffered  downfall  and  disgrace  by  his  defeat  and  cap- 
tivity. Comfort  yourselves,  O  Moslems !  The  evil 
day  has  passed  by ;  the  fates  are  satisfied  ;  the  sceptre 
which  has  been  broken  in  the  feeble  hand  of  Boabdil, 
is  destined  to  resume  its  former  power  and  sway  in 
the  vigorous  grasp  of  Aben  Hassan." 

The  people  were  struck  with  the  wisdom  of  these 
words :  they  rejoiced  that  the  baleful  prediction, 
which  had  so  long  hung  over  them,  was  at  an  end  ; 
and  declared,  that  none  but  Muley  .\ben  Hassan  had 
the  valor  and  capacity  necessary  for  the  protection 
of  the  kingdom,  in  this  time  of  trouble. 

The  longer  the  captivity  of  Boabdil  continued,  the 
greater  grew  the  popularity  of  his  father.  One  city 
after  another  renewed  allegiance  to  him  ;  for  power 
attracts  power,  and  fortune   creates  fortune.      At 


A    CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


199 


length  he  was  enabled  to  return  to  Granada,  and 
establish  himself  once  more  in  the  Alhambra.  At 
his  approach,  his  repudiated  spouse,  the  sultana  Ayxa, 
gathered  together  the  family  and  treasures  of  her 
captive  son,  and  retired,  with  a  handful  of  the  nobles, 
into  the  Albaycin,  the  rival  quarter  of  the  city,  the 
inhabitants  of  which  still  retained  feelings  of  loyalty 
to  Boabdil.  Here  she  fortified  herself,  and  held  the 
semblance  of  a  court  in  the  name  .of  her  son.  The 
fierce  Muley  Aben  Hassan  would  have  willingly  car- 
ried fire  and  sword  into  this  factious  quarter  of  the 
capital ;  but  he  dared  not  confide  in  his  new  and  un- 
certain popularity.  Many  of  the  nobles  detested  him 
for  his  past  cruelty ;  and  a  large  portion  of  the 
soldiery,  beside  many  of  the  people  of  his  own  party, 
respected  the  virtue;  of  Ayxa  la  Horra,  and  pitied 
the  misfortunes  of  Boabdil. 

Granada  therefore  presented  the  singular  spectacle 
of  two  sovereignties  within  the  same  city.  The  old 
king  fortified  himself  in  the  lofty  towers  of  the  Al- 
hambra, as  much  against  his  own  subjects  as  agains^ 
the  christians  ;  while  Ayxa,  with  the  zeal  of  a  moth- 
er's affection,  which  waxes  warmer  and  warmer 
towards  her  offspring  when  in  adversity,  still  main- 
tained the  standard  of  Boabdil  on  the  rival  fortress 
of  the  Alcazaba,  and  kept  his  powerful  faction  alive 
within  the  walls  of  the  Albaycin. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

CAPTIVITY   OF   BOABDIL   EL  CHICO. 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  remained  a  prisoner, 
closely  guarded,  in  the  castle  of  Vaena.  From  the 
towers  of  his  prison,  he  beheld  the  town  below  filled 
with  armed  men  ;  and  the  lofty  hill  on  which  it  was 
built,  girdled  by  massive  walls  and  ramparts,  on 
which  a  vigilant  watch  was  maintained  night  and 
day.  The  mountains  around  were  studded  with 
watch-towers,  overlooking  the  lonely  roads  which 
led  to  Granada,  so  that  a  turban  could  not  stir  over 
the  border  without  the  alarm  being  given,  and  the 
whole  country  put  on  the  alert.  Boabdil  saw  that 
there  was  no  hope  of  escape  from  such  a  fortress, 
and  that  any  attempt  to  rescue  him  would  be  equally 
in  vain.  His  heart  was  filled  with  anxiety,  as  he 
thought  on  the  confusion  and  ruin  which  his  captiv- 
ity must  cause  in  his  affairs;  while  sorrows  of  a 
softer  kind  overcame  his  fortitude,  as  he  thought  on 
the  evils  it  might  bring  upon  his  family. 

The  count  de  Cabra,  though  he  maintained  the 
most  vigilant  guard  over  his  royal  prisoner,  yet  treat- 
ed him  with  profound  deference  ;  he  had  appointed 
the  noblest  apartments  in  the  castle  for  his  abode, 
and  sought  in  every  way  to  cheer  him  during  his 
captivity.  A  few  days  only  had  passed  away,  when 
missives  arrived  from  the  Castilian  sovereigns.  Fer- 
dinand had  been  transported  with  joy  at  hearing  of 
the  capture  of  the  Moorish  monarch,  seeing  the 
deep  and  politic  uses  that  might  be  made  of  such  an 
event ;  but  the  magnanimous  spirit  of  Isabella  was 
filled  with  compassion  for  the  unfortunate  captive. 
Their  messages  to  Boabdil  were  full  of  sympathy 
and  consolation,  breathing  that  high  and  gentle  cour- 
tesy which  dwells  in  noble  minds. 

This  magnanimity  in  his  foe  cheered  the  dejected 
spirit  of  the  captive  monarch.  "  Tell  my  sovereigns, 
the  king  and  queen,"  said  he  to  the  messenger, 
"  that  I  cannot  be  unhappy,  being  in  the  power  of 
such  high  and  mighty  princes,  especially  since  they 
partake  so  largely  of  that  grace  and  goodness  which 
Allah  bestows  upon  the  monarchs  whom  he  greatly 
loves.   Tell  them  further,  that  1  had  long  thought  of 


submitting  myself  to  their  sway,  to  receive  the  king- 
dom of  Granada  from  their  hands,  in  the  same  man- 
ner that  my  ancestor  received  it  from  king  John  II., 
father  to  tlie  gracious  queen.  My  greatest  sorrow, 
in  this  my  captivity,  is,  that  I  must  appear  to  do  that 
from  force,  which  I  would  fain  have  done  from  in- 
clination." 

In  the  mean  time,  Muley  Aben  Hassan,  finding 
the  faction  of  his  son  still  formidable  in  Granada, 
was  anxious  to  consolidate  his  power,  by  gaining 
possession  of  the  person  of  Boabdil.  For  this  pur- 
pose, he  sent  an  embassy  to  the  Catholic  monarchs, 
otfering  large  terms  for  the  ransom,  or  rather  the 
purchase,  of  his  son  ;  proposing,  among  other  con- 
ditions, to  release  the  count  of  Cifuentes  and  nine 
other  of  his  most  distinguished  captives,  and  to  enter 
into  a  treaty  of  confederacy  with  the  sovereigns. 
Neither  did  the  implacable  father  make  any  scruple 
of  testifying  his  indifference  whether  his  son  were 
delivered  up  alive  or  dead,  so  that  his  person  were 
placed  assuredly  within  his  power. 

The  humane  heart  of  Isabella  revolted  at  the  idea 
of  giving  up  the  unfortunate  prince  into  the  hands 
of  his  most  unnatural  and  inveterate  enemy  :  a  dis- 
dainful refusal  was  therefore  returned  to  the  old 
monarch,  whose  message  had  been  couched  in  a 
vaunting  spirit.  He  was  informed  that  the  Castilian 
sovereigns  would  listen  to  no  proposals  of  peace  from 
Muley  Aben  Hassan,  until  he  should  lay  down  his 
arms,  and  offer  them  in  all  humility. 

Overtures  in  a  different  spirit  were  made  by  the 
mother  of  Boabdil,  the  Sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra,  with 
the  concurrence  of  the  party  which  still  remained 
faithful  to  him.  It  was  thereby  proposed,  that  Ma- 
homet Abdalla,  otherwise  called  I3oabdil,  should 
hold  his  crown  as  vassal  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns, 
paying  an  annual  tribute,  and  releasing  seventy 
christian  captives  annually,  for  five  years :  that  he 
should,  moreover,  pay  a  large  sum,  upon  the  spot, 
for  his  ransom,  and  at  the  same  time  give  freedom 
to  four  hundred  christians  to  be  chosen  by  the  king : 
that  he  should  also  engage  to  be  always  ready  to 
render  military  aid,  and  should  come  to  the  Cortes, 
or  assemblage  of  nobles  and  distinguished  vassals 
of  the  crown,  whenever  summoned.  His  only  son, 
and  the  sons  of  twelve  distinguished  Moorish  houses, 
were  to  be  delivered  as  hostages. 

King  Ferdinand  was  at  Cordova  when  he  received 
this  proposition.  Queen  Isabella  was  absent  at  the 
time.  He  was  anxious  to  consult  her  in  so  moment- 
ous an  affair  ;  or  rather,  he  was  fearful  of  proceeding 
too  precipitately,  and  not  drawing  from  this  fortu- 
nate event  all  the  advantage  of  which  it  was  sus- 
ceptible. Without  returning  any  reply,  therefore,  to 
the  mission,  he  sent  missives  to  the  castle  of  Vaena, 
where  Boabdil  remained  in  courteous  durance  of  the 
brave  count  de  Cabra,  ordering  that  the  captive 
monarch  should  be  brought  to  Cordova. 

The  count  de  Cabra  set  out,  with  his  illustrious 
prisoner;  but  when  he  arrived  at  Cordova,  king 
Ferdinand  declined  seeing  the  Moorish  monarch. 
He  was  still  undetermined  what  course  to  pursue, — 
whether  to  retain  him  prisoner,  set  him.  at  liberty  on 
ransom,  or  treat  him  with  politic  magnanimity  ;  and 
each  course  would  require  a  different  kind  of  recep- 
tion. Until  this  point  should  be  resolved,  therefore, 
he  gave  him  in  charge  to  Martin  de  Alarcon,  alcaydc 
of  the  ancient  fortress  of  Porcuna,  with  orders  to 
guard  him  strictly,  but  to  treat  him  with  the  distinc- 
tion and  deference  due  unto  a  prince.  These  com- 
mands were  strictly  obeyed  ;  and,  with  the  exception 
of  being  restrained  in  his  liberty,  the  monarch  was 
as  nobly  entertained  as  he  could  have  been  in  his 
regal  palace  at  Granada. 

In  the  mean  time,  Ferdinand  availed  himself  of 


200 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


this  critical  moment,  while  Granada  was  distracted 
with  factions  and  dissensions,  and  before  he  had 
concluded  any  treaty  with  Boabdil,  to  make  a  puis- 
sant and  ostentatious  inroad  into  the  very  heart  of 
the  kingfdom,  at  the  head  of  his  most  illustrious 
nobles.  He  sacked  and  destroyed  several  towns  and 
castles,  and  extended  his  ravages  to  the  very  gates 
of  Granada.  Old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  did  not  ven- 
ture to  oppose  him.  His  city  was  tilled  with  troops, 
but  he  was  uncertain  of  their  affection.  He  dread- 
ed, that  should  he  sally  forth,  the  gates  of  Granada 
might  be  closed  against  him  by  the  faction  of  the 
Albaycin. 

The  old  Moor  stood  on  the  lofty  tower  of  the  Al- 
hambra,  (says  Antonio  Agapida,)  grinding  his  teeth, 
and  foaming  like  a  tiger  shut  up  in  his  cage,  as  he 
beheld  the  glittering  battalions  of  the  christians 
wheeling  abaut  the  vega,  and  the  standard  of  the 
cross  shining  forth  from  among  the  smoke  of  infidel 
villages  and  hamlets.  The  most  Catholic  king  (con- 
tinues Agapida,)  would  gladly  have  continued  this 
righteous  ravage,  but  his  munitions  began  to  fail. 
Satisfied,  therefore,  with  having  laid  waste  the  coun- 
try of  the  enemy,  and  insulted  old  Muley  Aben  Has- 
san in  his  very  capital,  he  returned  to  Cordova 
covered  with  laurels,  and  his  army  laden  with  spoils ; 
and  now  bethought  himself  of  coming  to  an  imme- 
diate decision,  in  regard  to  his  royal  prisoner. 


CHAPTER   XX. 


OF  THE  TREATMENT  OF    BOABDIL    BY  THE  CAS- 
TILIAN  SOVEREIGNS. 

A  STATELY  convention  was  held  by  king  Ferdi- 
nand in  the  ancient  city  of  Cordova,  composed  of 
several  of  the  most  reverend  prelates  and  renowned 
cavaliers  of  the  kingdom,  to  determine  upon  the  fate 
of  the  unfortunate  Boabdil. 

Don  Alonzo  de  Cordena,  the  worthy  Master  of 
Santiago,  was  one  of  the  first  who  gave  his  counsel. 
He  was  a  pious  and  zealous  knight,  rigid  in  his  de- 
votion to  the  faith  ;  and  his  holy  zeal  had  been  in- 
flamed to  peculiar  vehemence,  since  his  disastrous 
crusade  among  the  mountains  of  Malaga.  He  in- 
veighed with  ardor  against  any  compromise  or  com- 
pact with  the  infidels  :  the  object  of  this  war,  he  ob- 
served, was  not  the  subjection  of  the  Moors,  but 
their  utter  expulsion  from  the  land ;  so  that  there 
might  no  longer  remain  a  single  stain  of  Mahomet- 
anism  throughout  christian  Spain.  He  gave  it  as 
his  opinion,  therefore,  that  the  captive  king  ought 
not  to  be  set  at  liberty. 

Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  the  valiant  marques  of 
Cadiz,  on  the  contrary,  spoke  warmly  for  the  release 
of  Boabdil.  He  pronounced  it  a  measure  of  sound 
])olicy,  even  if  done  without  conditions.  It  would 
tend  to  keep  up  the  civil  war  in  Granada,  which 
was  as  a  fire  consuming  the  entrails  of  the  enemy, 
and  effecting  more  for  the  interests  of  Spain,  without 
expense,  than  all  the  conquests  of  its  arms. 

The  grand  cardinal  of  Spain,  Don  Pedro  Gonzalez 
de  Mendoza,  coincided  in  opinion  with  the  marques 
of  Cadiz.  Nay,  (added  that  pious  prelate  and  politic 
statesman,)  it  would  be  sound  wisdom  to  furnish  the 
Moor  with  men  and  money,  and  all  other  necessaries, 
to  promote  the  civil  war  in  Granada:  by  this  means 
would  be  produced  great  benefit  to  the  service  of 
God,  since  we  are  assured  by  his  infallible  word, 
that  "a  kingdom  divided  against  itself  cannot 
stand."* 


*  Salazar.    Cronica  del  Gran  Cardinal,  p.  xS8. 


Ferdinand  weighed  these  counsels  in  his  mind, 
but  was  slow  in  coming  to  a  decision  ;  he  was  re- 
ligiously attentive  to  his  own  interests,  (observes 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,)  knowing  himself  to  be  but 
an  instrument  of  Providence  in  this  holy  war,  and 
that,  therefore,  in  consulting  his  own  advantage  he 
was  promoting  the  interests  of  the  faith.  The  opin- 
ion of  queen  Isabella  relieved  him  from  his  perplex- 
ity. That  high-minded  princess  was  zealous  for  the 
promotion  of  the  faith,  but  not  for  the  extermination 
of  the  infidels.  The  Moorish  kings  had  held  their 
thrones  as  vassals  to  her  progenitors  ;  she  was  con- 
tent at  present  to  accord  the  same  privilege,  and 
that  the  royal  prisoner  should  be  liberated  on  con- 
dition of  becoming  a  vassal  to  the  crown.  By 
this  means  might  be  effected  the  deliverance  of  many 
christian  captives,  who  v/ere  languishing  in  Moorish 
chains. 

King  Ferdinand  adopted  the  magnanimous  meas- 
ure recommended  by  the  queen  ;  but  he  accompanied 
,it  with  several  shrewd  conditions  ;  exacting  tribute, 
military  services,  and  safe  passage  and  maintenance 
for  christian  troops,  throughout  the  places  which 
should  adhere  to  Boabdil.  The  captive  king  readily 
submitted  to  these  stipulations,  and  swore,  after  the 
manner  of  his  faith,  to  observe  them  with  exactitude. 
A  truce  was  arranged  for  two  years,  during  which 
the  Castilian  sovereigns  engaged  to  maintain  him  on 
his  throne,  and  to  assist  him  in  recovering  all  places 
which  he  had  lost  during  his  captivity. 

When  Boabdil  el  Chico  had  solemnly  agreed  to 
this  arrangement,  in  the  castle  of  Porcuna,  prepara- 
tions were  made  to  receive  him  in  Cordova  in  regal 
style.  Superb  steeds  richly  caparisoned,  and  rai- 
ment of  brocade,  and  silk,  and  the  most  costly  cloths, 
with  all  other  articles  of  sumptuous  array,  were  fur- 
nished to  him  and  fifty  Moorish  cavaliers,  who  had 
come  to  treat  for  his  ransom,  that  he  might  appear 
in  state  befitting  the  monarch  of  Granada,  and  the 
most  distinguished  vassal  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns. 
Money  also  was  advanced  to  maintain  him  in  suit- 
able grandeur,  during  his  residence  at  the  Castilian 
court,  and  his  return  to  his  dominions.  Finally,  it 
was  ordered  by  the  sovereigns,  that  when  he  came 
to  Cordova,  all  the  nobles  and  dignitaries  of  the 
court  should  go  forth  to  receive  him. 

A  question  now  arose  among  certain  of  those  an- 
cient and  experienced  men,  who  grow  gray  about  a 
court  in  the  profound  study  of  forms  and  ceremonials, 
with  whom  a  point  of  punctilio  is  as  a  vast  political 
right,  and  who  contract  a  sublime  and  awful  idea  of 
the  external  dignity  of  the  throne.  Certain  of  these 
court  sages  propounded  the  momentous  question, 
whether  the  Moorish  monarch,  coming  to  do  homage 
as  a  vassal,  ought  not  to  kneel  and  kiss  the  hand 
of  the  king.  This  was  immediately  decided  in  the 
affirmative,  by  a  large  number  of  ancient  cavaliers 
accustomed  (says  Antonio  Agapida.)  to  the  lofty 
punctilio  of  our  most  dignified  court  and  transcend- 
ent sovereigns.  The  king,  therefore,  was  informed 
by  those  who  arranged  the  ceremonies,  that  when 
the  Moorish  monarch  appeared  in  his  presence,  he 
was  expected  to  extend  his  royal  hand  to  receive  the 
kiss  of  homage. 

"  I  should  certainly  do  so,"  replied  king  Ferdinand, 
"were  he  at  liberty,  and  in  his  own  kingdom  ;  but  X 
certainly  shall  not  do  so,  seeing  that  he  is  a  prisoner 
and  in  mine." 

The  courtiers  loudly  applauded  the  magnanimity 
of  this  reply ;  though  many  condemned  it  in  secret, 
as  savoring  of  too  much  generosity  towards  an  infi- 
del ;  and  the  worthy  Jesuit,  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
fully  concurs  in  their  opinion. 

The  .Moorish  king  entered  Cordova  with  his  little 
train  o(   faithful  knights,  and  escorted  by  all  the 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


201 


nobility  and  chivalry  of  the  Castilian  court.  He 
was  conducted,  with  great  state  and  ceremony,  to 
the  royal  palace.  When  he  came  in  presence  of 
Ferdinand,  he  knelt  and  offered  to  kiss  his  hand, 
not  merely  in  homage  as  his  subject,  but  in  grati- 
tude lor  his  liberty.  Ferdinand  declined  the  token 
of  vassalage,  and  raised  him  graciously  from  the 
earth.  An  interpreter  began,  in  the  name  of  Boab- 
dil,  to  laud  the  magnanimity  of  the-  Castilian  mon- 
arch, and  to  promise  the  most  implicit  submission. 
"  Enough,"  said  king  Ferdinand,  interrupting  the 
interpreter  in  the  midst  of  his  harangue;  "  there  is 
no  need  of  these  compliments.  I  trust  in  his  in- 
tegrity, that  he  will  do  every  thing  becoming  a  good 
man  and  a  good  king."  With  these  words,  he  re- 
ceived Boabdil  el  Chico  into  his  royal  friendship 
and  protection. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 
RETURN  OF  BOABDIL  FROM  CAPTIVITY. 

In  the  month  of  August,  a  noble  Moor,  of  the  race 
of  the  Abencerrages,  arrived  with  a  splendid  retinue 
at  the  city  of  Cordova,  bringing  with  him  the  son  of 
Boabdil  el  Chico,  and  other  of  the  noble  youth  of 
Granada,  as  hostages  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  terms 
of  ransom.  When  the  Moorish  king  beheld  his  son, 
his  only  child,  who  was  to  remain  in  his  stead,  a  sort 
of  captive  in  a  hostile  land,  he  folded  him  in  his  arms 
and  wept  over  him.  "  Wo  the  day  that  I  was  born  I " 
exclaimed  he,  "  and  evil  the  stars  that  presided  at  my 
birth  !  Well  was  I  called  El  Zogoybi,  or  the  un- 
lucky ;  for  sorrow  is  heaped  upon  me  by  my  father, 
and  sorrow  do  I  transmit  to  my  son  !  "  The  afflict- 
ed heart  of  Boabdil,  however,  was  soothed  by  the 
kindness  of  the  christian  sovereigns,  who  received 
the  hostage  prince  with  a  tenderness  suited  to  his 
age,  and  a  distinction  worthy  of  his  rank.  They 
delivered  him  in  charge  to  the  worthy  alcayde  Mar- 
tin de  Alarcon,  who  had  treated  his  father  with  such 
courtesy  during  his  confinement  in  the  castle  of  Por- 
cuna,  giving  orders,  that,  after  the  departure  of  the 
latter,  his  son  should  be  entertained  with  great  honor 
and  princely  attention,  in  the  same  fortress. 

On  the  2d  of  September,  a  guard  of  honor  assem- 
bled at  the  gate  of  the  mansion  of  Boabdil,  to  escort 
him  to  the  frontiers  of  his  kingdom.  He  pressed  his 
child  to  his  heart  at  parting,  but  he  uttered  not  a 
word  ;  for  there  were  many  christian  eyes  to  behold 
his  emotion.  He  mounted  his  steed,  and  never  turn- 
ed his  head  to  look  again  upon  the  youth  ;  but  those 
who  were  near  him  observed  the  vehement  struggle 
that  shook  his  frame,  wherein  the  anguish  of  the 
father  had  well  nigh  subdued  the  studied  equanim- 
ity of  the  king 

Boabdil  el  Chico  and  king  Ferdinand  sallied  forth, 
side  by  side,  from  Cordova,  amidst  the  acclamations 
of  a  prodigious  multitude.  When  they  were  a  short 
distance  from  the  city,  they  separated,  with  many 
gracious  expressions  on  the  part  of  the  Castilian 
monarch,  and  many  thankful  acknowledgments  from 
his  late  captive,  whose  heart  had  been  humbled  by 
adversity.  Ferdinand  departed  for  Guadalupe,  and 
Boabdil  for  Granada.  The  latter  was  accompanied 
by  a  guard  of  honor  ;  and  the  viceroys  of  Andalusia, 
and  the  generals  on  the  frontier,  were  ordered  to 
lurnish  him  with  escorts,  and  to  show  him  all  possible 
honor  on  his  journey.  In  this  way  he  was  conducted 
in  royal  state  through  the  country  he  had  entered  to 
ravage,  and  was  placed  in  safety  in  his  own  do- 
minions. 

He  was  met  on  the  frontier  by  the  principal  nobles 


and  cavaliers  of  his  court,  who  had  been  secretly  sent 
by  his  mother,  the  sultana  Ayxa,  to  escort  him  to  the 
capital.  The  heart  of  Boabdil  was  lifted  up  for  a 
moment,  when  he  found  himself  on  his  own  territo- 
ries, surrounded  by  Moslem  knights,  with  his  own 
standards  waving  over  his  head  ;  and  he  began  to 
doubt  the  predictions  of  the  astrologers :  he  soon 
found  cause,  however,  to  moderate  his  exultation. 
The  loyal  train  which  had  come  to  welcome  him, 
was  but  scanty  in  number,  and  he  missed  many  of 
his  most  zealous  and  obsequious  courtiers.  He  had 
returned,  indeed,  to  his  kingdom,  but  it  was  no  longer 
the  devoted  kingdom  he  had  left.  The  story  of  hi3 
vassalage  to  the  christian  sovereigns  had  been  made 
use  of  by  his  father  to  ruin  him  with  the  people.  He 
had  been  represented  as  a  traitor  to  his  countty,  a 
renegado  to  his  faith,  and  as  leagued  with  the  ene- 
mies of  both,  to  subdue  the  Moslems  of  Spain  to  the 
yoke  of  christian  bondage.  In  this  way,  the  mind 
of  the  public  had  been  turned  from  him  ;  the  greater 
part  of  the  nobility  had  thronged  round  the  throne 
of  his  father  in  the  Alhambra ;  and  his  mother,  the 
resolute  sultana  Ayxa,  with  difficulty  maintained  her 
faction  in  the  opposite  towers  of  the  Alcazaba. 

Such  was  the  melancholy  picture  of  affairs  given 
to  Boabdil  by  the  courtiers  who  had  come  forth  to 
meet  him.  They  even  informed  him  that  it  would 
be  an  enterprise  of  difiiculty  and  danger  to  make  his 
way  back  to  the  capital,  and  regain  the  little  court 
which  still  remained  faithful  to  him  in  the  heart  of 
the  city.  The  old  tiger,  Muley  Aben  Hassan,  lay 
couched  within  the  Alhambra,  and  the  walls  and 
gates  of  the  city  were  strongly  guarded  by  his  troops. 
Boabdil  shook  his  head  at  these  tidings.  He  called 
to  mind  the  ill  omen  of  his  breaking  his  lance  against 
the  gate  of  Elvira,  when  issuing  forth  so  vain-glorious- 
ly  with  his  army,  which  he  now  saw  clearly  had  fore- 
boded the  destruction  of  that  army  on  which  he  had 
so  confidently  relied.  "  Henceforth,"  said  he,  "  let 
no  man  have  the  impiety  to  scoff  at  omens." 

Boabdil  approached  his  capital  by  stealth,  and  in 
the  night,  prowling  about  its  walls,  like  an  enemy 
seeking  to  destroy,  rather  than  a  monarch  returning 
to  his  throne.  At  length  he  seized  upon  a  postern- 
gate  of  the  Albaycin, — that  part  of  the  city  which 
had  always  been  in  his  favor ;  he  passed  rapidly 
through  the  streets  before  the  populace  were  aroused 
from  their  sleep,  and  reached  in  safety  the  fortress 
of  the  Alcazaba.  Here  he  was  received  mto  the 
embraces  of  his  intrepid  mother,  and  his  favorite  wife 
Morayma.  The  transports  of  the  latter,  on  the  safe 
return  of  her  husband,  were  mingled  with  tears  ;  for 
she  thought  of  her  father,  All  Atar,  who  had  fallen  in 
his  cause,  and  of  her  only  son,  who  was  left  a  hostage 
in  the  hands  of  the  christians. 

The  heart  of  Boabdil,  softened  by  his  misfortunes, 
was  moved  by  the  changes  in  every  thing  round  him  ; 
but  his  mother  called  up  his  spirit.  "  This,"  said 
she,  "  is  no  time  for  tears  and  fondness.  A  king  must 
think  of  his  sceptre  and  his  throne,  and  not  yield  to 
softness  like  common  men.  Thou  hast  done  well, 
my  son,  in  throwing  thyself  resolutely  into  Granada  : 
it  must  depend  upon  thyself,  whether  thou  remain 
here  a  king  or  a  captive." 

The  old  king  Muley  Aben  Hassan  had  retired  to 
his  couch  that  night,  in  one  of  the  strongest  towers 
of  the  Alhambra ;  but  his  restless  anxiety  kept  him 
from  repose.  In  the  first  watch  of  the  night,  he 
hearxl  a  shout  faintly  rising  from  the  quarter  of  the 
Albaycin,  which  is  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  deep 
valley  of  the  Darro.  Shortly  afterwards,  horsemen 
came  galloping  up  the  hill  that  leads  to  the  main  gate 
of  the  Alhambra,  spreading  the  alarm  that  Boabdil 
had  entered  the  city  and  possessed  himself  of  the 
Alcazaba. 


202 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


In  the  first  transports  of  his  rage,  the  old  king 
would  have  struck  the  messenger  to  earth.  He 
hastily  summoned  his  counsellors  and  commanders, 
exhorting  them  to  stand  by  him  in  this  critical  mo- 
ment ;  and,  during  the  night,  made  every  preparation 
lo  enter  the  Albaycin  sword  in  hand  in  the  morning. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  sultana  Ayxa  had  taken 
prompt  and  vigorous  measures  to  strengthen  her 
party.  The  Albaycin  was  the  part  of  the  city  filled 
by  the  lower  orders.  The  return  of  Boabdil  was 
I)roclaimed  throughout  the  streets,  and  large  sums 
of  money  were  distributed  among  the  populace.  The 
nobles,  assembled  in  the  Alcazaba,  were  promised 
lienors  and  rewards  by  Boabdil,  as  soon  as  he  should 
be  firmly  seated  on  the  throne.  These  well-timed 
measures  had  the  customary  effect ;  and,  by  day- 
break, all  the  motley  populace  of  the  Albaycin  were 
in  arms. 

A  doleful  day  succeeded.  All  Granada  was  a  scene 
of  tumult  and  horror.  Drums  and  trumpets  resounded 
in  every  part;  all  business  was  interrupted;  the  shops 
were  shut,  the  doors  barricadoed.  Armed  bands 
paraded  the  streets,  some  shouting  for  Boabdil,  and 
some  for  Muley  Aben  Hassan.  When  they  encoun- 
tered each  other,  they  fought  furiously  and  without 
mercy  ;  every  public  square  became  a  scene  of  bat- 
tle. The  great  mass  of  the  lower  orders  was  in  favor 
of  Boabdil,  but  it  was  a  multitude  without  discipline 
or  lofty  spirit ;  part  of  the  people  was  regularly  armed, 
but  the  greater  number  had  sallied  forth  with  the 
implements  of  their  trade.  The  troops  of  the  old 
king,  among  whom  were  many  cavaliers  of  pride  and 
valor,  soon  drove  the  populace  from  the  squares. 
They  fortified  themselves,  however,  in  the  streets 
and  lanes,  which  they  barricadoed.  They  made 
fortresses  of  their  houses,  and  fought  desperately 
from  the  windows  and  the  roofs,  and  many  a  war- 
rior of  the  highest  blood  of  Granada  was  laid  low  by 
plebeian  hands  and  plebeian  weapons,  in  this  civic 
brawl. 

It  was  impossible  that  such  violent  convulsions 
should  last  long,  in  the  heart  of  a  city.  The  people 
soon  longed  for  repose,  and  a  return  to  their  peace- 
ful occupations ;  and  the  cavaliers  detested  these 
conflicts  with  the  multitude,  in  which  there  were  all 
the  horrors  of  war  without  its  laurels.  By  the  inter- 
ference of  the  alfaquis,  an  armistice  was  at  length 
effected.  Boabdil  was  persuaded  that  there  was  no 
dependence  upon  the  inconstant  favor  of  the  multi- 
tude, and  was  prevailed  upon  to  quit  a  capital  where 
he  could  only  maintain  a  precarious  seat  upon  his 
throne  by  a  perpetual  and  bloody  struggle.  He 
fixed  his  court  at  the  city  of  Almeria,  which  was 
entirely  devoted  to  him,  and  which,  at  that  time, 
vied  with  Granada  in  splendor  and  importance. 
This  compromise  of  grandeur  for  tranquillity,  how- 
ever, Wtis  sorely  against  the  counsels  of  his  proud- 
spirited mother,  the  sultana  Ayxa.  Granada  ap- 
peared, in  her  eyes,  the  only  legitimate  seat  of 
dominion ;  and  she  observed,  with  a  smile  of 
disdain,  that  he  was  not  worthy  of  being  called  a 
monarch,  who  was  not  master  of  his  capital. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 


FORAY  or   THE    MOORISH    ALCAYDES,   AND    BAT- 
TLE OF  LOPERA. 

Though  Muley  Aben  Hassan  liad  regained  un- 
divided sway  over  the  city  of  Granada,  and  the  al- 
faquis, by  his  command,  had  denounced  his  son 
Boabdil   as   an   apostate,  and   as   one   doomed   by 


Heaven  to  misfortune,  still  the  latter  had  many  ad- 
herents among  the  common  people.  Whenever, 
therefore,  any  act  of  the  old  monarch  was  displeas- 
ing to  the  turbulent  multitude,  they  were  prone  to 
give  him  a  hint  of  the  slippery  nature  of  his  stand- 
ing, by  shouting  out  the  naine  of  Boabdil  el  Chico. 
Long  experience  had  instructed  Muley  Aben  Has- 
san in  the  character  of  the  inconstant  people  over 
whom  he  ruled.  "  Alia  Achbar  !  "  exclaimed  he, 
"God  is  great;  but  a  successful  inroad  into  the 
country  of  the  unbelievers  will  make  more  converts 
to  my  cause  than  a  thousand  texts  of  the  Koran, 
expounded  by  ten  thousand  alfaquis." 

At  this  time  king  Ferdinand  was  absent  from 
Andalusia  on  a  distant  expedition,  with  many  of  his 
troops.  The  moment  was  favorable  for  a  foray,  and 
iMuley  Aben  Hassan  cast  about  his  thoughts  for  a 
leader  to  conduct  it.  Ali  Atar,  the  terror  of  the 
border,  the  scourge  of  Andalusia,  was  dead  ;  but 
there  was  another  veteran  general,  scarce  inferior  to 
him  for  predatory  warfare.  This  was  old  Bexir,  the 
gray  and  crafty  alcayde  of  Malaga  ;  and  the  people 
under  his  command  were  ripe  for  an  expedition  of 
the  kind.  The  signal  defeat  and  slaughter  of  the 
Spanish  knights  in  the  neighboring  mountains  had 
filled  the  people  of  Malaga  with  vanity  and  self- 
conceit.  They  had  attributed  to  their  own  valor  the 
defeat  which  had  been  caused  by  the  nature  of  the 
country.  Many  of  them  wore  the  armor  and  pa- 
raded in  public  with  the  horses  of  the  unfortunate 
cavaliers  slain  on  that  occasion,  which  they  vaunt- 
ingly  displayed  as  the  trophies  of  their  boasted  vic- 
tory. They  had  talked  themselves  into  a  contempt 
for  the  chivalry  of  Andalusia,  and  were  impatient 
for  an  opportunity  to  overrun  a  country  defended  by 
such  troops.  This,  Muley  Aben  Hassan  considered 
a  favorable  state  of  mind  to  insure  a  daring  inroad, 
and  he  sent  orders  to  old  Bexir  to  gather  together 
his  people  and  the  choicest  warriors  of  the  borders, 
and  to  carry  fire  and  sword  into  the  very  heart  of 
Andalusia.  The  wary  old  Bexir  immediately  dis- 
patched his  emissaries  among  the  alcaydes  of  the 
border  towns,  calling  upon  them  to  assemble  with 
their  troops  at  the  city  of  Ronda,  close  upon  the 
christian  frontier. 

Ronda  was  the  most  virulent  nest  of  Moorish  dep- 
redators in  the  whole  border  country.  It  was  situ- 
ated in  the  midst  of  the  wild  Serrania,  or  chain  of 
mountains  of  the  same  name,  which  are  uncom- 
monly lofty,  broken,  and  precipitous.  It  stood  on 
an  almost  isolated  rock,  nearly  encircled  by  a  deep 
valley,  or  rather  chasm,  through  which  ran  the  beau- 
tiful river  called  Rio  Verde.  The  Moors  of  this  city 
were  the  most  active,  robust,  and  warlike  of  all  the 
mountaineers,  and  their  very  children  discharged  the 
cross-bow  with  unerring  aim.  They  were  inces- 
santly harassing  the  rich  plains  of  Andalusia ;  their 
city  abounded  with  christian  spoils,  and  their  deep 
dungeons  were  crowded  with  christian  captives,  who 
might  sigh  in  vain  for  deliverance  from  this  impreg- 
nable fortress.  Such  was  Ronda  in  the  time  of  the 
Moors;  and  it  has  ever  retained  something  of  the 
same  character,  even  to  the  present  day.  Its  in- 
habitants continue  to  be  among  the  boldest,  fiercest, 
and  most  adventurous  of  the  Andalusian  moun- 
taineers ;  and  the  Serrania  de  Ronda  is  famous  as 
the  most  dangerous  resort  of  the  bandit  and  the 
contrabandista. 

Hamet  Zeli,  surnamed  El  Zegri,  was  the  com- 
mander of  this  belligerent  city  and  its  fierce  inhab- 
itants. He  was  of  the  tribe  of^  the  Zegries,  and  one 
of  the  n\Dst  proud  and  daring  of  that  warlike  race. 
Beside  the  inhabitants  of  Ronda,  he  had  a  legion  of 
African  Moors  in  his  immediate  service.  They  were 
of  the  tribe  of  the  Gomeres,  mercenary  troops,  whose 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


203 


hot  African  blood  had  not  yet  been  tempered  by  the  ' 
softer  living  of  Spain,  and  whose  whole  business  was 
to  light.  These  he  kept  always  well  armed  and  well 
appointed.  The  rich  pasturage  of  the  valley  of  Ronda 
produced  a  breed  of  horses  famous  for  strength  and 
speed  ;  no  cavalry,  therefore,  was  better  mounted 
tlian  the  band  of  Gomercs.  Rapid  on  the  march, 
fierce  in  the  attack,  it  would  sweep  down  upon  the 
Andalusian  plains  like  a  sudden  blast  from  the  moun- 
tains, and  jjass  away  as  suddenly,  before  there  was 
lime  for  pursuit. 

There  was  nothing  that  stirred  up  the  spirit  of  the 
Moors  of  the  frontiers  more  thoroughly  than  the  idea 
of  a  foray.  The  summons  of  Bexir  was  gladly 
obeyed  by  the  alcaydes  of  the  border  towns,  and  in 
A  little  while  there  was  a  force  of  fifteen  hundred 
horse  and  four  thousand  foot,  the  very  pith  and  mar- 
row of  the  surrounding  country,  assembled  within 
the  walls  of  Ronda.  The  people  of  the  place  antic- 
ipated with  eagerness  the  rich  spoils  of  Andalusia 
that  were  soon  to  crowd  their  gates ;  throughout 
the  day,  the  city  resounded  with  the  noise  of 
kettle-drum  and  trumpet ;  the  high-mettled  steeds 
stamped  and  neighed  in  their  stalls,  as  if  they 
shared  the  impatience  for  the  for.ay ;  while  the 
christian  captives  sighed,  as  the  varied  din  of  prep- 
aration reached  to  their  rocky  dungeons,  denoting 
that  a  fresh  ravage  was  preparing  against  their  coun- 
trymen. 

The  infidel  host  sallied  forth  full  of  spirits,  antici- 
pating an  easy  ravage  and  abundant  booty.  They 
encouraged  e.-tch  other  in  a  contempt  for  the  prowess 
of  the  foe.  Many  of  the  warriors  of  Malaga,  and 
of  some  of  the  mountain  towns,  had  insultingly 
arrayed  themselves  in  the  splendid  armor  of  the 
christian  knights  slain  or  taken  prisoners  in  the 
famous  massacre,  and  some  of  them  rode  the  An- 
dalusian steeds  which  had  been  captured  on  that 
occasion. 

The  wary  Bexir  had  concerted  his  plans  so  se- 
cretly and  expeditiously,  that  the  christian  towns  of 
Andalusia  had  not  the  least  suspicion  of  the  storm 
that  had  gathered  beyond  the  inountains.  The  vast 
and  rocky  range  of  the  Serrania  de  Ronda  extended 
like  a  screen,  covering  all  their  movements  from 
observation. 

The  army  made  its  way  as  rapidly  as  the  rugged 
nature  of  the  mountains  would  permit,  guided  by 
Hamet  el  Zegri,  the  bold  alcayde  of  Ronda,  who 
knew  every  pass  and  defile  :  not  a  drum,  nor  the 
clash  of  a  cymbal,  nor  the  blast  of  a  trumpet,  was 
permitted  to  be  heard.  The  mass  of  war  rolled 
quietly  on  as  the  gathering  cloud  to  the  brow  of  the 
mountains,  intending  to  burst  down  like  the  thunder- 
lx)lt  upon  the  plain. 

Never  let  the  most  wary  commander  fancy  himself 
secure  from  discovery  ;  for  rocks  have  eyes,  and  trees 
have  ears,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  have  tongues,  to 
betray  the  most  secret  enterprise.  There  chanced 
at  this  time  to  be  six  christian  scouts,  prowling  about 
the  savage  heights  of  the  Serrania  de  Ronda.  They 
were  of  that  kind  of  lawless  ruffians  who  infest  the 
borders  of  belligerent  countries,  ready  at  any  time  to 
fight  for  pay,  or  prowl  for  plunder.  The  wild 
mountain  passes  of  Spain  have  ever  abounded  with 
loose  rambling  vagabonds  of  the  kind, — soldiers  in 
war,  robbers  in  peace ;  guides,  guards,  smugglers, 
or  cut-throats,  according  to  the  circumstances  of 
the  case. 

These  six  marauders  (says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida) 
were  on  this  occasion  chosen  instruments,  sanctified 
by  the  righteousness  of  their  cause.  They  were 
lurking  among  the  mountains,  to  entrap  Moorish 
cattle  or  Moorish  prisoners,  both  of  which  were 
equally  saleable  in  the  christian  market.     They  had 


ascended  one  of  the  loftiest  cliffs,  and  were  looking 
out  like  birds  of  prey,  ready  to  pounce  upon  any 
thing  that  might  offer  in  the  valley,  when  they  des- 
cried the  Moorish  army  emerging  from  a  mountain 
glen.  They  watched  it  in  silence  as  it  wound  belovi 
them,  remarking  the  standards  of  the  various  towns 
and  the  pennons  of  the  commanders.  They  hovered 
about  it  on  its  march,  skulking  from  cliff  to  cliff, 
until  they  saw  the  route  by  which  it  intended  to 
enter  the  christian  country.  They  then  dispersed, 
each  making  his  way  by  the  secret  passes  of  the 
mountains  to  some  different  alcayde,  that  they 
might  spread  the  alarm  far  and  wide,  and  each  get 
a  separate  reward. 

One  hastened  to  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero, 
the  same  valiant  alcayde  who  had  repulsed  Muley 
Aben  Hassan  from  the  walls  of  Albania,  and  who 
now  commanded  at  Ecija,  in  the  absence  of  the 
Master  of  Santiago.  Others  roused  the  town  of 
Utrera,  and  the  places  of  that  neighborhood,  putting 
them  all  on  the  alert. 

Puerto  Carrero  was  a  cavalier  of  consummate 
vigor  and  activity.  He  immediately  sent  couriers  to 
the  alcaydes  of  the  neighboring  fortresses ;  to  Her- 
man Carrello,  captain  of  a  body  of  the  Holy  Brother- 
hood, and  to  certain  knightsof  the  order  of  Alcantara. 
Puerto  Carrero  was  the  first  to  take  the  field.  Know- 
ing the  hard  and  hungry  service  of  these  border 
scampers,  he  made  every  man  take  a  hearty  repast, 
and  see  that  his  horse  was  well  shod  and  perfectly 
appointed.  Then  all  being  refreshed  and  in  valiant 
heart,  he  sallied  forth  to  seek  the  Moors.  He  had 
but  a  handful  of  men,  the  retainers  of  his  household 
and  troops  of  his  captaincy;  but  they  were  well 
armed  and  mounted,  and  accustomed  to  the  sudden 
rouses  of  thj  border  ;  men  whom  the  cry  of  "  Arm 
and  out !  to  horse  and  to  the  field!  "  was  sufficient 
at  any  time  to  put  in  a  fever  of  animation. 

While  the  northern  part  of  Andalusia  was  thus  on 
the  alert,  one  of  the  scouts  had  hastened  southward 
to  the  city  of  Xeres,  and  given  the  alarm  to  the 
valiant  marques  of  Cadiz.  When  the  marques  heard 
that  the  Moor  was  over  the  border,  and  that  the 
standard  of  Malaga  was  in  the  advance,  his  heart 
bounded  with  a  momentary  joy  ;  for  he  reinembered 
the  massacre  in  the  mountains,  where  his  valiant 
brothers  had  been  mangled  before  his  eyes.  The 
very  authors  of  his  calamity  were  now  at  hand,  and 
he  flattered  himself  that  the  day  of  vengeance  had 
arrived.  He  made  a  hasty  levy  of  his  retainers  and 
of  the  fighting  men  of  Xeres,  and  hurried  off  with 
three  hundred  horse  and  two  hundred  foot,  all  reso- 
lute men  and  panting  for  revenge. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  veteran  Bexir  had  accom- 
plished his  march,  as  he  imagined,  undiscovered. 
From  the  openings  of  the  craggy  defiles,  he  pointed 
out  the  fertile  plains  of  Andalusia,  and  regaled  the 
eyes  of  his  soldiery  with  the  rich  country  they  were 
about  to  ravage.  The  fierce  Gomeres  of  Ronda 
were  flushed  with  joy  at  the  sight ;  and  even  their 
steeds  seemed  to  prick  up  their  ears  and  snuff  the 
breeze,  as  they  beheld  the  scenes  of  their  frequent 
forays. 

When  they  came  to  where  the  mountain  defile 
opened  into  the  low  land,  Bexir  divided  his  force 
into  three  parts  :  one,  composed  of  foot-soldiers  and 
of  such  as  were  weakly  mounted,  he  left  to  guard 
the  pass,  being  too  experienced  a  veteran  not  to  know 
the  importance  of  securing  a  retreat :  a  second  body 
he  placed  in  ambush,  among  the  groves  and  thickets 
on  the  banks  of  the  river  Lopera :  the  third,  consist- 
ing of  light  cavalry,  he  sent  forth  to  ravage  the  Cam- 
pifia,  or  great  plain  of  Utrera.  Most  of  this  latter 
force  w.is  composed  of  the  fiery  Gomeres  of  Ronda, 
mounted  on  the  fleet  steeds  bred  among  the  mount- 


204 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ains.  It  was  led  by  the  bold  alcayde  Hamet  el 
Zegri,  who  was  ever" eager  to  be  foremost  in  the 
forage.  Little  suspecting  that  the  country  on  both 
sides  was  on  the  alarm,  and  rushing  from  all  direc- 
tions to  close  upon  them  in  rear,  this  fiery  troop 
dashed  forward  until  they  came  within  two  leagues 
of  Utrera.  Here  they  scattered  themselves  about 
the  plain,  careering  round  the  great  herds  of  cattle 
and  flocks  of  sheep,  and  sweeping  them  into  droves, 
to  be  hurried  to  the  mountains. 

While  they  were  thus  dispersed  in  every  direction, 
a  troop  of  horse  and  body  of  foot  from  Utrera  came 
suddenly  upon  them.  The  Moors  rallied  together  in 
small  parties,  and  endeavored  to  defend  themselves ; 
but  they  were  without  a  leader,  for  Hamet  el  Zegri 
was  at  a  distance,  having,  like  a  hawk,  made  a  wide 
circuit  in  pursuit  of  prey.  The  marauders  soon 
gave  way  and  tied  towards  the  ambush  on  the  banks 
of  the  Lopera,  being  hotly  pursued  by  the  men  of 
Utrera. 

When  they  reached  the  Lopera,  the  Moors  in  am- 
bush rushed  forth  with  furious  cries  ;  and  the  fugi- 
tives, recovering  courage  from  this  reinforcement, 
rallied  and  turned  upon  their  pursuers.  The  chris- 
tians stood  their  ground,  though  greatly  inferior  in 
number.  Their  lances  were  soon  broken,  and  they 
came  to  sharp  work  with  sword  and  scimitar.  The 
christians  fought  valiantly,  but  were  in  danger  of 
being  overwhelmed.  The  bold  Hamet  had  collected 
a  handful  of  his  scattered  Gomeres,  and,  leaving  his 
prey,  had  galloped  towards  the  scene  of  action.  His 
little  troop  of  horsemen  had  reached  the  crest  of  a 
rising  ground  at  no  great  distance,  when  trumpets 
were  heard  in  another  direction,  and  Luis  Fernandez 
Puerto  Carrero  and  his  followers  came  galloping  into 
the  field,  and  charged  upon  the  infidels  in  flank. 

The  Moors  were  astounded  at  finding  war  thus 
breaking  upon  them,  from  various  quarters  of  what 
they  had  expected  to  find  an  unguarded  country. 
They  fought  for  a  short  time  with  desperation,  and 
resisted  a  vehement  assault  from  the  knights  of  Al- 
cantara, and  the  men-at-arms  of  the  Holy  Brother- 
hood. At  length  the  veteran  Bexir  was  struck  from 
his  horse  by  Puerto  Carrero,  and  taken  prisoner,  and 
the  whole  force  gave  way  and  fled.  In  their  flight, 
they  separated,  and  took  two  roads  to  the  mount- 
ains, thinking,  by  dividing  their  forces,  to  distract 
the  enemy.  The  christians  were  too  few  to  separate. 
Puerto  Carrero  kept  them  together,  pursuing  one 
division  of  the  enemy  with  great  slaughter.  This 
battle  took  place  at  the  fountain  of  the  tig-tree,  near 
to  the  Lopera.  Six  hundred  Moorish  cavaliers  were 
slain,  and  many  taken  prisoners.  Much  spoil  was 
collected  on  the  field,  with  which  the  christians  re- 
turned in  triumph  to  their  homes. 

The  larger  body  ot  the  enemy  had  retreated  along 
a  road  leading  more  to  the  south,  by  the  banks  of 
the  Guadalete.  When  they  reached  that  river,  the 
sound  of  pursuit  had  died  away,  and  they  rallied  to 
breathe  and  refresh  themselves  on  the  margin  of  the 
stream.  Their  force  was  reduced  to  about  a  thou- 
sand horse,  and  a  confused  multitude  of  foot.  While 
they  were  scattered  and  partly  dismounted  on  the 
banks  of  the  Guadalete,  a  fresh  storm  of  war  burst 
upon  them  from  an  opposite  direction.  It  was  the 
marques  of  Cadiz,  leading  on  his  household  troops 
and  the  fighting  men  of  Xeres.  When  the  christian 
warriors  came  in  sight  of  the  Moors,  they  were 
roused  to  fury  at  beholding  many  of  them  arrayed 
in  the  armor  of  the  cavaliers  who  had  been  slain 
among  the  mountains  of  Malaga.  Nay,  some  who 
had  been  in  that  defeat  beheld  their  own  armor, 
which  they  had  cast  away  in  their  flight,  to  enable 
themselves  to  climb  the  mount.ains.  Exasperated 
at  the  sight,  they  rushed  upon  the  foe  with  the  fe- 


rocity of  tigers,  rather  than  the  temperate  c  ourage 
of  cavaliers.  Each  man  felt  as  if  he  were  avenging 
the  death  of  a  relative,  or  wiping  out  his  own  dis- 
grace. The  good  marques,  himself,  beheld  a  pow- 
erful Moor  bestriding  the  horse  of  his  brother  Bel- 
tran  :  giving  a  cry  of  rage  and  anguish  at  the  sight, 
he  rushed  through  the  thickest  of  the  enemy,  at- 
tacked the  Moor  with  resistless  fury,  and  after  a 
short  combat,  hurled  him  breathless  to  the  earth. 

The  Moors,  already  vanquished  in  spirit,  could  not 
withstand  the  assault  of  men  thus  madly  excited. 
They  soon  gave  way,  and  fled  for  the  defile  of  the 
Serrania  de  Ronda,  where  the  body  of  troops  had 
been  stationed  to  secure  a  retreat  These,  seeing 
them  come  galloping  wildly  up  the  defile,  with  chris- 
tian banners  in  pursuit,  and  the  flash  of  weapons  at 
their  deadly  work,  thought  all  Andalusia  was  upon 
them,  and  fled  without  awaiting  an  attack.  The 
pursuit  continued  among  glens  and  defiles  ;  for  the 
christian  warriors,  eager  for  revenge,  had  no  com- 
passion on  the  foe. 

When  the  pursuit  was  over,  the  marques  of  Cadiz 
and  his  followers  reposed  themselves  upon  the  banks 
of  the  Guadalete,  where  they  divided  the  spoil. 
Among  this  were  found  many  rich  corselets,  hel- 
mets, and  weapons, — -the  Moorish  trophies  of  the 
defeat  in  the  mountains  of  Malaga.  Several  were 
claimed  by  their  owners  ;  others  were  known  to  have 
belonged  to  noble  cavaliers,  who  had  been  slain  or 
taken  prisoners.  There  were  several  horses  also, 
richly  caparisoned,  which  had  pranced  proudly  with 
the  unfortunate  warriors,  as  they  sallied  out  of 
Antiquera  upon  that  fatal  expedition.  Thus  the  ex- 
ultation of  the  victors  v/as  dashed  with  melancholy, 
and  many  a  knight  was  seen  lamenting  over  the  hel- 
met or  corselet  of  some  loved  coinpanion  in  arms. 

The  good  marques  of  Cadiz  was  resting  under  a 
tree  on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete,  when  the  horse 
which  had  belonged  to  his  slaughtered  brother  Bel- 
tran  was  brought  to  him.  He  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  mane,  and  looked  wistfully  at  the  empty  saddle. 
His  bosom  heaved  with  violent  agitation,  and  his  lip 
quivered  and  was  pale.  "  Ay  de  mi  !  mi  hermano  !  " 
(wo  is  me  !  my  brother !)  was  all  that  he  said ;  for 
the  grief  of  a  warrior  has  not  many  words.  He 
looked  round  on  the  field  strewn  with  the  bodies  of 
the  enemy,  and  in  the  bitterness  of  his  wo  he  felt 
consoled  by  the  idea  that  his  brother  had  not  been 
unrevenged. 


Note — **En  el  despojo  de  la  Batalla  se  ireron  mucbas  ricas  co- 
razas  e  capacetes,  i  barberas  de  las  que  se  habian  perdido  en  el  Ax- 
arquia,  e  otras  muchas  armas,  e  algunes  fueron  conocidas  de  sus 
Dueilos  que  las  havian  dejado  por  fuir,  e  otras  fueron  conocidas, 
que  eran  mui  seflaladasdeiiombres  principales  que  havian  quedado 
rauertos  e  cautivos.  i  fueron  tornados  muchos  de  los  mismos  Caval- 
ios  con  sus  ricas  sillas.  de  los  que  quedaron  en  la  Axarquia,  e  fueron 
conocidos  cuios  eran." 

Cura  de  Palacios^  cap.  67. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


RETREAT  OF  HAMET  EL   ZEGRI,  ALCAYDE  OF 
RONDA. 

The  bold  alcayde  of  Ronda,  Hamet  el  Zegri,  had 
careered  wide  over  the  Campina  of  Utrera,  encom- 
passing the  flocks  and  herds,  when  he  heard  the 
hurst  of  war  at  a  distance.  There  were  with  him 
but  a  handful  of  his  Gomeres.  He  saw  the  scamper 
and  pursuit  afar  off,  and  beheld  the  christian  horse- 
men spurring  madly  on  towards  the  ambuscade  on 
the  banks  of  the  Lopera.  Hamet  tossed  his  hand 
triumphantly  aloft,  for  his  men  to  follow  hiin.  "The 
christian  dogs  are  ours  ! "  said  he,  as  he  put  spurs  to 
his  horse,  to  take  the  enemy  in  rear. 


A    CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST    OF   GRANADA. 


205 


The  little  band,  which  followed  Harriet,  scarcely 
amounted  to  thirty  horsemen.  They  spurred  across 
the  plain,  and  reached  a  rising  ground,  just  as  the 
force  of  Puerto  Carrero  liad  charged,  with  sound  of 
trumpet,  upon  the  flank  of  the  party  in  ambush. 
Hamet  beheld  the  headlong  rout  of  the  army,  with 
rage  and  consternation.  He  found  the  country  was 
pouring  forth  its  legions  from  every  quarter,  and 
perceived  that  tliere  was  no  safety  but  in  precipitate 
flight. 

But  which  way  to  fly  ?  An  army  was  between 
him  and  the  mountain  pass  ;  all  the  forces  of  the 
neighborhood  were  rushing  to  the  borders ;  the 
whole  route  by  which  he  had  come,  was  by  this  time 
occupied  by  the  foe.  He  checked  his  steed,  rose  in 
the  stirrups,  and  rolled  a  stern  and  thoughttui  eye 
over  the  country ;  then  sinking  into  his  saddle,  he 
seemed  to  commune  a  moment  with  himself.  Turn- 
ing quickly  to  his  troop,  he  singled  out  a  renegado 
christian,  a  traitor  to  his  religion  and  his  king. 
"Come  hither,"  said  Hamet.  "Thou  knowest  all 
the  secret  passes  of  the  country."  "I  do,"  replied 
the  renegado.  "  Dost  thou  know  any  circuitous 
route,  solitary  and  untravelled,  by  which  we  can 
pass  wide  within  these  troops,  and  reach  the  Ser- 
rania.'"  The  renegado  paused:  "Such  a  route  I 
know,  but  it  is  full  of  peril,  for  it  leads  through  the 
heart  of  the  christian  land."  "  'Tis  well,"  said 
Hamet ;  "  the  more  dangerous  in  appearance,  the 
less  it  will  be  suspected.  Now  hearken  to  me.  Ride 
by  my  side.  Thou  seest  this  purse  of  gold,  and  this 
scimitar.  Take  us,  by  the  route  thou  hast  men- 
tioned, safe  to  the  pass  of  the  Serrania,  and  this 
purse  shall  be  thy  reward ;  betray  us;  and  this 
scimitar  shall  cleave  thee  to  the  saddle-bow."  * 

The  renegado  obeyed,  trembling.  They  turned  off 
from  the  direct  road  to  the  mountains,  and  struck 
southward  towards  Lebrixa,  passing  by  the  most 
solitary  roads,  and  along  those  deep  ramblas  and 
ravines  by  which  the  country  is  intersected.  It  was 
indeed  a  daring  course.  Every  now  and  then  they 
heard  the  distant  sound  of  trumpets,  and  the  alarm- 
bells  of  towns  and  villages,  and  found  that  the  war 
was  still  hurrying  to  the  borders.  They  hid  them- 
selves in  thickets,  and  in  the  dry  beds  of  rivers,  until 
the  danger  had  passed  by,  and  then  resumed  their 
course.  Hamet  el  Zegri  rode  on  in  silence,  his  hand 
upon  his  scimitar  and  his  eye  upon  the  renegado 
guide,  prepared  to  sacrifice  him  on  the  least  sign  of 
treachery  ;  while  his  band  followed,  gnawing  their 
lips  with  rage,  at  having  thus  to  skulk  through  a 
country  they  had  come  to  ravage. 

When  night  fell,  they  struck  into  more  practicable 
roads,  always  keeping  wide  of  the  villages  and  ham- 
lets, lest  the  watch-dogs  should  betray  them.  In 
this  way,  they  i)assed  in  deep  midnight  by  Areos, 
crossed  the  Ciuadilete,  and  effected  their  retreat  to 
the  mountains.  The  day  dawned,  as  they  made 
their  way  up  the  savage  deliles.  Their  comrades 
had  been  hunted  up  these  very  glens  by  the  enemy. 
Every  now  and  then,  they  came  to  where  there  had 
been  a  partial  fight,  or  a  slaughter  of  the  fugitives  ; 
and  the  rocks  were  red  with  blood,  and  strewed  with 
mangled  bodies.  The  alcayde  of  Ronda  was  almost 
frantic  with  rage,  at  seeing  many  of  his  bravest  war- 
riors lying  stiff  and  stark,  a  prey  to  the  hawks  and  vul- 
tures of  the  mountains.  Now  and  then  some  wretch- 
ed Moor  would  crawl  out  of  a  cave  or  glen,  whither 
he  had  fled  for  reluge  ;  for  in  the  retreat,  many  of 
the  horsemen  had  abandoned  their  steeds,  thrown 
away  their  armor,  and  clambered  up  the  clifis, 
where  they  could  not  be  pursued  by  the  christian 
cavalry. 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios.    Ubi  sup. 


The  Moorish  army  had  sallied  forth  from  Ronda, 
amidst  shouts  and  acclamations  ;  but  wailings  were 
heard  within  its  walls,  as  the  alcayde  and  his  broken 
band  returned  without  banner  or  trumpet,  and  hag- 
gard with  famine  and  fatigue.  The  tidings  of  their 
disaster  had  preceded  them,  borne  by  the  fugitives 
of  the  army.  No  one  ventured  to  speak  to  the  stern 
Hamet  el  Zegri,  as  he  entered  the  city  ;  for  they  saw 
a  dark  cloud  gathered  upon  his  brow. 

It  seemed  (says  the  pions  Antonio  Agapida)  as  if 
heaven  meted  out  this  defeat  in  exact  retribution  for 
the  ills  inflicted  upon  the  christian  warriors  in  the 
heights  of  Malaga.  It  was  equally  signal  and  dis- 
astrous. Of  the  brilliant  array  of  Moorish  chivalry, 
which  had  descended  so  confidently  into  Andalusia, 
not  more  than  two  hundred  escaped.  The  choicest 
troops  of  the  frontier  were  either  taken  or  destroyed  ; 
the  Moorish  garrisons  enfeebled  ;  and  many  alcaydes 
and  cavaliers  of  noble  lineage  carried  into  captivity, 
who  were  afterwards  obliged  to  redeem  themselves 
with  heavy  ransoms. 

This  was  called  the  battle  of  Lopera,  and  was 
fought  on  the  17th  of  September,  1483.  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella  were  at  V'lttoria  in  old  Castile,  when 
they  received  news  of  the  victory,  and  the  standards 
taken  from  the  enemy.  They  celebrated  the  event 
with  processions,  illuminations,  and  other  festivities. 
Ferdinand  sent  to  the  marques  of  Cadiz  the  royal 
raiment  which  he  had  worn  on  that  day,..and  con- 
ferred on  him,  and  on  all  those  who  should  inherit 
his  title,  the  privilege  of  wearing  royal  robes  on  our 
Lady's  day,  in  September,  in  commemoration  of  this 
victory.* 

Queen  Isabella  was  equally  mindful  of  the  great 
services  of  Don  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero. 
Besides  many  encomiums  and  favors,  she  sent  to  his 
wife  the  royal  vestments  and  robe  of  brocade  which 
she  had  worn  on  the  same  day,  to  be  worn  by  her, 
during  her  life,  on  the  anniversary  of  that  battle.* 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 


OF  THE  RECEPTION  AT  COURT  OF  THE  COUNT  DE 
CAMERA  AND  THE  ALCAYDE  DE  LOS  DONZELES. 

In  the  midst  of  the  bustle  of  warlike  affairs,  the 
worthy  chronicler  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  pauses 
to  note,  with  curious  accuracy,  the  distinguished 
reception  given  to  the  count  de  Cabra  and  his 
nephew,  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles,  at  the  stately 
and  ceremonious  court  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns, 
in  reward  for  the  capture  of  the  Moorish  king  Bo- 
abdil.  The  court  (he  observes)  was  held  at  the  time 
in  the  ancient  Moorish  palace  of  the  city  of  Cordova, 
and  the  ceremonials  were  arranged  by  that  vener- 
able prelate  Don  Pedro  Gonzalez  de  Mendoza,  bishop 
of  Toledo  and  grand  cardinal  of  Spain. 

It  was  on  Wednesday,  the  14th  of  October,  (con- 
tinues the  precise  Antonio  Agapida,)  that  the  good 
count  de  Cabra,  according  to  arrangement,  appeared 
at  the  gate  of  Cordova.  Here  he  was  met  by  the 
grand  cardinal,  and  the  duke  of  Villahermosa,  illegiti- 
mate brother  of  the  king,  together  with  many  of  the 
first  grandees  and  prelates  of  the  kingdom.  By  this 
august  train  was  he  attended  to  the  palace,  amidst 
triumphant  strains  of  martial  music,  and  the  shouts 
of  a  prodigious  multitude. 

When  the  count  arrived  in  the  presence  of  the 
sovereigns,  who  were  seated  in  state  on  a  dais  or 
raised  part  of  the  hall  of  audience,  they  both  arose. 
The  king  advanced   exactly  five  steps  toward  the 


•  Mariana,  Abarca,  Zurila,  Pulgar,  &c. 


206 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


count,  who  knelt  and  kissed  his  majesty's  hand  ;  but 
the  king  would  not  receive  him  as  a  mere  vassal,  but 
embraced  him  with  affectionate  cordiality.  The 
queen  also  advanced  two  steps,  and  received  the 
count  with  a  countenance  full  of  sweetness  and  be- 
nignity :  after  he  had  kissed  her  hand,  the  king  and 
queen  returned  to  their  thrones,  and,  cushions  being 
brought,  they  ordered  the  count  de  Cabra  to  be 
seated  in  their  presence.  This  last  circumstance  is 
written  in  large  letters,  and  followed  by  several 
notes  of  admiration,  in  the  manuscript  of  the  worthy 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  who  considers  the  extraor- 
dinary privilege  of  sitting  in  presence  of  the  Catholic 
sovereigns  an  honor  well  worth  fighting  for. 

The  good  count  took  his  seat  at  a  short  distance 
from  the  king,  and  near  him  was  seated  the  duke  of 
Najera,  then  the  bishop  of  Palencia,  then  the  count 
of  Aguilar,  the  count  Luna,  and  Don  Gutierre  de 
Cardonas,  senior  commander  of  Leon. 

On  the  side  of  the  queen  were  seated  the  grand 
cardinal  of  Spain,  the  duke  of  Villahermosa,  the 
count  of  Monte  Rey,  and  the  bishops  of  Jaen  and 
Cuenca,  each  in  the  order  in  which  they  are  named. 
The  Infanta  Isabella  was  prevented,  by  indisposition, 
from  attending  the  ceremony. 

And  now  festive  music  resounded  through  the  hall, 
and  twenty  ladies  of  the  queen's  retinue  entered 
magnificently  attired  ;  upon  which  twenty  youthful 
cavaliers,  very  gay  and  galliard  in  their  array,  step- 
ped forth,  and,  each  seeking  his  fair  partner,  they 
commenced  a  stately  dance.  The  court  in  the  mean 
time,  (observes  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,)  looked  on 
with  lofty  and  becoming  gravity. 

When  the  dance  was  concluded,  the  king  and 
queen  rose  to  retire  to  supper,  and  dismissed  the 
count  with  many  gracious  expressions.  He  was  then 
attended  by  all  the  grandees  present  to  the  palace 
of  the  grand  cardinal,  where  they  partook  of  a  sump- 
tuous banquet. 

On  the  following  Saturday,  the  alcayde  de  los 
Donzeles  was  received,  likewise,  with  great  honors ; 
but  the  ceremonies  were  so  arranged,  as  to  be  a  de- 
gree less  in  dignity  than  those  shown  to  his  uncle ; 
the  latter  being  considered  the  principal  actor  in  this 
great  achievement.  Thus  the  grand  cardinal  and 
the  duke  of  Villahermosa  did  not  meet  him  at  the 
gate  of  the  city,  but  received  him  in  the  palace,  and 
entertained  him  in  conversation  until  suirimoned  to 
the  sovereigns. 

When  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles  entered  the 
presence  chamber,  the  king  and  queen  rose  from  their 
chairs,  but  without  advancing.  They  greeted  him 
graciously,  and  coinmanded  him  to  be  seated  next 
to  the  count  de  Cabra. 

The  Infanta  Isabella  came  forth  to  this  reception, 
and  took  her  seat  beside  the  queen.  When  the  court 
were  all  seated,  the  music  again  sounded  through  the 
hall,  and  the  twenty  ladies  came  forth  as  on  the  pre- 
ceding occasion,  richly  attired,  but  in  different  rai- 
ment. They  danced,  as  before;  and  the  Infanta 
Isabella,  taking  a  young  Portuguese  damsel  for  a 
partner,  joined  in  the  dance.  When  this  was  con- 
cluded, the  king  and  queen  dismissed  the  alcayde 
de  los  Donzeles  with  great  courtesy  and  the  court 
broke  up. 

The  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  here  indulges 
in  a  long  eulogy  on  the  scrupulous  discrimination  of 
the  Castilian  court,  in  the  distribution  of  its  honors 
and  rewards,  by  which  means  every  smile,  and  gest- 
ure, and  word  of  the  sovereigns,  had  its  certain 
value,  and  conveyed  its  equivalent  of  joy  to  the  heart 
of  the  subject ; — a  matter  well  worthy  the  study 
(says  he)  of  all  monarchs,  who  are  too  apt  to  dis- 
tribute honors  with  a  heedless  caprice  that  renders 
them  of  no  avail. 


On  the  following  Sunday,  both  the  count  de  (.'abra 
and  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles  were  invited  to  sup 
with  the  sovereigns.  The  court  that  evening  was 
attended  by  the  highest  nobihty,  arrayed  with  that 
cost  and  splendor  for  which  the  Spanish  nobility  of 
those  days  were  renowned. 

Before  supper,  there  was  a  stately  and  ceremoni- 
ous dance,  befitting  the  dignity  of  so  august  a  court. 
The  king  led  forth  the  queen,  in  grave  and  graceful 
measure  ;  the  countde  Cabra  was  honored  with  the 
hand  of  the  Infanta  Isabella  ;  and  the  alcayde  de  los 
Donzeles  danced  with  a  daughter  of  the  marques  de 
Astorga. 

The  dance  being  concluded,  the  royal  party  re- 
paired to  the  supper-table,  which  was  placed  on  an 
elevated  part  of  the  saloon.  Here,  in  full  view  of 
the  court,  the  count  de  Cabra  and  the  alcayde  de  los 
Donzeles  supped  at  the  same  table  with  the  king, 
the  queen,  and  the  Infanta.  The  royal  family  were 
served  by  the  marques  of  Villena.  The  cupbearer 
to  the  king  was  his  nephew  Fadrigue  de  Toledo,  son 
to  the  duke  of  Alva.  Don  Alexis  de  Estaniga  had 
the  honor  of  fulfilling  that  office  for  the  queen,  and 
Tello  de  Aguilar  for  the  Infanta.  Other  cavaliers  of 
rank  and  distinction  waited  on  the  count  and  the 
alcayde  de  los  Donzeles.  At  one  o'clock,  the  two 
distinguished  guests  were  dismissed  with  many  cour- 
teous expressions  by  the  sovereigns. 

Such  (says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida)  were  the  great 
honors  paid  at  our  most  exalted  and  ceremonious 
court,  to  these  renowned  cavaliers  :  but  the  gratitude 
of  the  sovereigns  did  not  end  here.  A  few  days 
afterwards,  they  bestowed  upon  them  large  revenues 
for  life,  and'others  to  descend  to  their  heirs,  with  the 
privilege  for  them  and  their  descendants  to  prefix  the 
title  of  Don  to  their  names.  They  gave  them,  more- 
over, as  armorial  bearings,  a  IVloor's  head  crowned, 
with  a  golden  chain  round  the  neck,  in  a  sanguine 
field,  and  twenty-two  banners  round  the  margin  of 
the  escutcheon.  Their  descendants,  of  the  houses 
of  Cabra  and  Cordova,  continue  to  bear  these  arms 
at  the  present  day,  in  memorial  of  the  victory  of 
Lucena  and  the  capture  of  Boabdil  el  Chico.* 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


HOW  THE  MARQUES  OF  CADIZ  CONCERTED  TO 
SURPRISE  ZAHARA,  AND  THE  RESULT  OF  HIS 
ENTERPRISE. 

The  valiant  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques 
of  Cadiz,  was  one  of  the  most  vigilant  of  command- 
ers. He  kept  in  his  pay  a  number  of  converted 
Moors,  to  serve  as  adalides,  or  armed  guides.  These 
mongrel  christians  were  of  great  service,  in  procuring 
information.  Availing  themselves  of  their  Moorish 
character  and  tongue,  they  penetrated  into  the 
enemy's  country,  prowled  about  the  castles  and  for- 
tresses, noticed  the  state  of  the  walls,  the  gates  and 
towers,  the  strength  of  their  garrison,  and  the  vigi- 
lance or  negligence  of  their  commanders.  All  this 
they  reported  minutely  to  the  marques,  who  thus 
knew  the  state  of  every  fortress  upon  the  frontier, 
and  when  it  might  be  attacked  with  advant.age.  Be- 
side the  various  towns  and  cities  over  which  he  held 
a  feudal  sway,  he  had  always  an  armed  force  about 
him,  ready  for  the  field.     A  host  of  retainers  fed  in 


*  The  account  given  by  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  of  this  ceremo- 
nial so  characteristic  of  the  old  Spanish  court,  agrees  in  almost 
every  particular  with  an  ancient  manuscript,  made  up  from  the 
chronicles  of  the  curate  of  los  Palacios  and  other  old  Spanish 
writers. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


207 


his  hall,  who  were  ready  to  follow  him  to  danger  and 
death  itself,  without  inquiring-  who  or  why  they 
fought.  The  armories  of  his  castles  were  supplied 
with  helms  and  cuirasses  and  weapons  of  all  kinds, 
ready  burnished  for  use  ;  and  his  stables  were  filled 
with  hardy  steeds,  that  could  stand  a  mountain 
scamper. 

The  marques  was  aware  that  the  late  defeat  of  the 
Moors  on  the  banks  of  the  Lopera,  had  weakened 
their  whole  frontier  ;  for  many  of  the  castles  and  for- 
tresses had  lost  their  alcaydes,  and  their  choicest 
troops.  He  sent  out  his  war-hounds,  therefore,  upon 
the  range  to  ascertain  where  a  successful  blow  might 
be  struck ;  and  they  soon  returned,  with  word  that 
Zahara  was  weakly  garrisoned  and  short  of  pro- 
visions. 

This  was  the  very  fortress,  which,  about  two  years 
before,  had  been  stormed  by  Muley  Aben  Hassan ; 
and  its  capture  had  been  the  first  blow  of  this  event- 
ful war.  It  had  ever  since  remained  a  thorn  in  the 
side  of  Andalusia.  All  the  christians  had  been  car- 
ried away  captive,  and  no  civil  population  had  been 
introduced  in  their  stead.  There  were  no  women 
or  children  in  the  place.  It  was  kept  up  as  a  mere 
military  post,  comftianding  one  of  the  most  important 
passes  of  the  mountains,  and  was  a  strong-hold  of 
Moorish  marauders.  The  marques  was  animated 
by  the  idea  of  regaining  this '  fortress  for  his  sov- 
ereigns, and  wresting  from  the  old  Moorish  king 
this  boasted  trophy  of  his  prowess.  He  sent  missives 
therefore  to  the  brave  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Car- 
rero,  who  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  late  vic- 
tory, and  to  Juan  Almaraz,  captain  of  the  men-at- 
arms  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood,  informing  them  of 

,        his  designs,  and  inviting  them  to  meet  him  with  their 

I       forces  on  the  banks  of  the  Gaudalete. 

I  It  was  on  the  day  (says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida)  of 

the  glorious  apostles  St.  .Simon  and  Judas,  the  twen- 
ty-eighth of  October,  in  the  year  of  grace  one  thou- 
sand four  hundred  and  eighty-three,  that  this  chosen 
band  of  christian  soldiers  assembled  suddenly  and 
secretly  at  the  appointed  place.  Their  forces,  when 
united,  amounted  to  six  hundred  horse  and  fifteen 
hundred  foot.  Their  gathering  place  was  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  defile  leading  to  Zahara.  That  ancient 
town,  renowned  in  Moorish  warfare,  is  situated  in 
one  of  the  roughest  passes  of  the  Serrania  de  Ronda. 
It  is  built  round  the  craggy  cone  of  a  hill,  on  the  lofty 
summit  of  which  is  a  strong  castle.  The  country 
around  is  broken  into  deep  barrancas  or  ravines, 
some  of  which  approach  its  very  walls.  The  place 
had  until  recently  been  considered  impregnable ;  but 
(as  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  observes)  the 
walls  of  impregnable  fortresses,  like  the  virtue  of 
self-confident  saints,  have  their  weak  points  of  attack. 
The  marques  of  Cadiz  advanced  with  his  little 
army  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  marching  silently  into 
the  deep  and  dark  defiles  of  the  mountains,  and 
stealing  up  the  ravines  which  extended  to  the  walls 
of  the  town.  Their  approach  was  so  noiseless,  that 
the  Moorish  sentinels  upon  the  walls  heard  not  a 
voice  or  a  footfall.  The  marques  was  accompanied 
by  his  old  escalador,  Ortega  de  Prado,  who  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  at  the  scaling  of  Alhama.  This 
hardy  veteran  was  stationed,  with  ten  men,  furnished 
with  scaling-ladders,  in  a  cavity  among  the  rocks, 
close  to  the  walls.  At  a  little  distance,  seventy  men 
were  hid  in  a  ravine,  to  be  at  hand  to  s'econd  him, 
when  he  should  have  fixed  his  ladders.  The  rest  of 
the  troops  were  concealed  in  another  ravine,  com- 
manding a  fair  approach  ta  the  gate  of  the  fortress. 
A  shrewd  and  wary  adalid,  well  acquainted  with  the 
place,  was  appointed  to  give  signals ;  and  was  so 
stationed,  that  he  could  be  seen  by  the  various  par- 
ties in  ambush,  but  was  hidden  from  the  garrison. 


The  remainder  of  the  night  passed  away  in  pro- 
found quiet.  The  Moorish  sentinels  could  be  heard 
tranquilly  patrolling  the  walls,  in  perfect  security. 
The  day  dawned,  and  the  rising  sun  began  to  shine 
against  the  lofty  peaks  of  the  Serrania  de  Ronda. 
The  sentinels  looked  from  their  battlements  over  a 
savage  but  quiet  mountain  country,  where  not  a  hu- 
man being  was  stirring ;  they  little  dreamt  of  the 
mischief  that  lay  lurking  in  every  ravine  and  chasm 
of  the  rocks  around  them.  Apprehending  no  dan- 
ger of  surprise  in  broad  day,  the  greater  part  of  the 
soldiers  abandoned  the  walls  and  towers,  and  de- 
scended into  the  city. 

By  orders  of  the  marques,  a  small  body  of  light 
cavalry  passed  along  the  glen,  and,  turning  round  a 
point  of  rock,  showed  themselves  before  the  town  : 
they  skirred  the  fields  almost  to  the  gates,  as  if  by 
way  of  bravado,  and  to  defy  the  garrison  to  a  skir- 
mish. The  Moors  were  not  slow  in  replying  to  it. 
About  seventy  horse,  and  a  number  of  foot  who  had 
guarded  the  walls,  sallied  forth  impetuously,  think- 
ing to  make  easy  prey  of  these  insolent  marauders. 
The  christian  horsemen  fled  for  the  ravine ;  the 
Moors  pursued  them  down  the  hill,  until  they  heard 
a  great  shouting  and  tumult  behind  them.  Looking 
round,  they  beheld  their  town  assailed,  and  a  scaling 
party  mounting  the  walls  sword  in  hand.  Wheeling 
about,  they  galloped  furiously  for  the  gate  ;  the  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz  and  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero 
rushed  forth  at  the  same  time  with  their  ambuscade, 
and  endeavored  to  cut  them  off;  but  the  Moors  suc- 
ceeded in  throwing  themselves  within  the  walls. 

While  Puerto  Carrero  stormed  at  the  gate,  the 
marques  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  galloped  to  the 
support  of  Ortega  de  Prado  and  his  scaling  party. 
He  arrived  at  a  moment  of  imminent  peril,  when  the 
party  was  assailed  by  fifty  Moors,  armed  wilh  cui- 
rasses and  lances,  who  were  on  the  point  of  thrusting 
them  from  the  walls.  The  marques  sprang  from  his 
horse,  mounted  a  ladder,  sword  in  hand,  followed 
by  a  number  of  his  troops,  and  made  a  vigorous  at- 
tack upon  the  enemy.*  They  were  soon  driven 
from  the  walls,  and  the  gates  and  towers  remained 
in  possession  of  the  christians.  The  Moors  de- 
fended themselves  for  a  short  time  in  the  streets, 
but  at  length  took  refuge  in  the  castle,  the  walls  of 
which  were  strong,  and  capable  of  holding  out  until 
relief  should  arrive.  The  marques  had  no  desire  to 
carry  on  a  siege,  and  he  had  not  provisions  sufficient 
for  many  prisoners;  he  granted  them,  therefore, 
favorable  terms.  They  were  permitted,  on  leaving 
their  arms  behind  them,  to  march  out  with  as  much 
of  their  effects  as  they  could  carry  ;  and  it  was 
stipulated  that  they  should  pass  over  to  Barbary. 
The  marques  remained  in  the  place  until  both  town 
and  castle  were  put  in  a  perfect  state  of  defence, 
and  strongly  garrisoned. 

Thus  did  Zahara  return  once  more  into  possession 
of  the  christians,  to  the  great  confusion  of  old  Muley 
Aben  Hassan,  who,  having  paid  the  penalty  of  his 
ill-timed  violence,  was  now  deprived  of  its  vaunted 
fruits.  The  Castilian  sovereigns  were  so  gratified 
by  this  achievement  of  the  valiant  Ponce  de  Leon, 
that  they  authorized  him  thenceforth  to  entitle  him- 
self duke  of  Cadiz  and  marques  of  Zahara.  The 
warrior,  however,  was  so  proud  of  the  original  title, 
under  which  he  had  so  often  signalized  himself,  tliat 
he  gave  it  the  precedence,  and  always  signed  him- 
self, marques,  duke  of  Cadiz.  As  the  reader  may 
have  acquired  the  same  predilection,  we  shall  con- 
tinue to  call  him  by  his  ancient  title. 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  c.  68. 


208 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

OF  THE  FORTRESS  OF  ALHAMA,  AND  HOW  WISE- 
LY IT  WAS  GOVERNED  BY  THE  COUNT  DE 
TENDILLA. 

In  this  part  of  his  chronicle,  the  worthy  father 
Fray  Antonio  Agfapida  indulges  in  triumphant  exul- 
tation over  the  downfall  of  Zahara :  Heaven  some- 
times speaks  (says  he)  through  the  mouths  of  false 
prophets  for  the  confusion  of  the  wicked.  By  the 
fall  of  this  fortress  was  the  prediction  of  the  santon 
of  Granada  in  some  measure  fulfilled,  that  "  the 
ruins  of  Zahara  should  (M  upon  the  heads  of  the 
infidels." 

Our  zealous  chronicler  scoffs  at  the  Moorish  al- 
cayde,  who  lost  his  fortress  by  surprise  in  broad  day- 
light ;  and  contrasts  the  vigilance  of  the  christian 
governor  of  Alhama,  the  town  taken  in  retaliation 
for  the  storming  of  Zahara. 

The  important  post  of  Alhama  was  at  this  time 
confided  by  king  Ferdinand  to  Don  Inigo  Lopez  de 
Mendoza,  count  of  Tendilla,  a  cavalier  of  noble 
blood,  brother  to  the  grand  cardinal  of  Spain.  He 
had  been  instructed  by  the  king,  not  merely  to  main- 
tain his  post,  but  also  to  make  sallies  and  lay  waste 
the  surrounding  country.  His  fortress  was  critically 
situated.  It  was  within  seven  leagues  of  Granada, 
and  at  no  great  distance  from  the  warlike  city  of 
Loxa.  It  was  nestled  in  the  lap  of  the  mountains, 
commanding  the  high-road  to  Malaga  and  a  view 
over  the  extensive  vega.  Thus  situated,  in  the  heart 
of  the  enemy's  country,  surrounded  by  foes  ready  to 
assail  him,  and  a  rich  country  for  him  to  ravage,  it 
behoved  this  cavalier  to  be  for  ever  on  the  alert. 
He  was  in  fact  an  experienced  veteran,  a  shrewd 
and  wary  officer,  and  a  commander  amazingly 
prompt  and  fertile  in  expedients. 

On  assuming  the  command,  he  found  that  the  gar- 
rison consisted  but  of  one  thousand  man,  horse  and 
foot.  They  were  hardy  troops,  seasoned  in  rough 
mountain  campaigning,  but  reckless  and  dissolute, 
as  soldiers  are  apt  to  be  when  accustomed  to  preda- 
tory warfare.  They  would  fight  hard  for  booty,  and 
then  gamble  it  heedlessly  away,  or  squander  it  in 
licentious  revelling.  Alhama  abounded  with  hawk- 
ing, sharping,  idle  hangers-on,  eager  to  profit  by 
the  vices  and  follies  of  the  garrison.'  The  soldiers 
were  oftener  gambling  and  dancing  beneath  the 
walls,  than  keeping  watch  upon  the  battlements ; 
and  nothing  was  heard,  from  morning  till  night, 
but  the  noisy  contest  of  cards  and  dice,  mingled 
with  the  sound  of  the  bolero  or  fandango,  the 
drowsy  strumming  of  the  guitar,  and  the  rattling 
of  the  castanets;  while  often  the  whole  was  inter- 
rupted by  the  loud  brawl,  and  fierce  and  bloody 
contest. 

The  count  of  Tendilla  set  himself  vigorously  to 
reform  these  excesses ;  he  knew  that  laxity  of  morals 
is  generally  attended  by  neglect  of  duty,  and  that 
the  least  breach  of  discipline  in  the  exposed  situa- 
tion of  his  fortress  might  be  fatal.  "  Here  is  but  a 
handful  of  men,"  said  he  ;  "  it  is  necessary  that  each 
man  should  be  a  hero." 

He  endeavored  to  awaken  a  proper  ambition  in 
the  minds  of  his  soldiers,  and  to  instil  into  them  the 
high  principles  of  chivalry.  "  A  just  war,"  he  ob- 
served, "  is  often  rendered  wicked  ano  disastrous  by 
the  manner  in  which  it  is  conducted  ;  for  the  right- 
eousness of  the  cause  is  not  sufficient  to  sanction  the 
profligacy  of  the  means,  and  the  want  of  order  and 
subordination  among  the  troops  may  bring  ruin  and 
disgrace  upon  the  best  concerted  plans."  But  we 
cannot  describe  the  character  and  conduct  of  this 
renowned  commander  in  more  forcible  language  than 


that  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  excepting  that  the 
pious  father  places  in  the  foreground  of  his  virtues 
his  hatred  of  the  Moors.     "  The  count  de  Tendilla," 
says  he,  "was  a  mirror  of  christian  knighthood- 
watchful,  abstemious,  chaste,  devout,  and  thoroughly 
filled  with  the  spirit  of  the  cause.     He  labored  in- 
cessantly and  strenuously  for  the  glory  of  the  faith, 
and  the  prosperity  of  their  most  catholic  majesties ; 
and,  above  all,  he  hated  the  infidels  with  a  pure  and 
holy  hatred.    This  worthy  cavalier  discountenanced 
all   idleness,  rioting,  chambering,  and    wantonness 
among  his  soldiery.     He  kept  them  constantly  to  the 
exercise  of  arms,  making  them  adroit  in  the  use  of 
their  weapons  and  management  of  their  steeds,  and 
prompt  for  the  field  at  a  moment's  notice.     He  per- 
mitted no  sound  of  lute  or  harp,  or  song,  or  other 
loose  minstrelsy,  to  be  heard  in  his  fortress,  debauch- 
ing the  ear  and  softening  the  valor  of  the  soldier ;  no 
other  music  was  allowed  but  the  wholesome  rolling 
of  the  drum  and  braying  of  the  trumpet,  and  such 
like  spirit-stirring  instruments  as  fill  the  mind  with 
thoughts   of  iron    war.     All   wandering    minstrels, 
sharping    pedlars,   sturdy   trulls,   and    other    camp 
trumpery,  were  ordered  to  pack  up  their  bagg.ige,  and 
were  drummed  out  of  the  gates  of  Alhama.    In  place 
of  such  lewd  rabble,  he  introduced  a  train  of  holy 
friars  to  inspirit  his  people  by  exhortation,  and  prayer, 
and  choral  chanting,  and  to  spur  them  on  to  fight  the 
good  fight  of  faith.     All  games  of  chance  were  pro- 
hibited, except  the  game  of  war  ;  and  this  he  labored, 
by  vigilance  and  vigor,  to  reduce  to  a  game  of  cer- 
tainty.    Heaven  smiled  upon  the  efforts  of  this  right- 
eous cavalier.    His  men  became  soldiers  at  all  points, 
and  terrors  to  the  Moors.     The  good  count  never  set 
forth  on  a  ravage,  without  observing  the  rites  of  con- 
fession, absolution,  and  communion,  and  obliging  his 
followers  to  do  the  same.    Their  banners  were  Ijlessed 
by  the  holy  friars  whom  he  maintained  in  Alhama  ; 
and  in  this  way  success  was  secured  to  his  arms,  and 
he  was  enabled  to  lay  waste  the  land  of  the  heathen. 
The  fortress  of  Alhama  (continues  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida)  overlooked  from  its  lofty  site  a  great  part 
of  the  fertile  vega,  watered  by  the  Cazin  and  the 
Xenel :  from  this  he  made  frequent  sallies,  sweeping 
away  the  flocks  and  herds  from  the  pasture,  the  la- 
borer from  the  field,  and  the  convoy  from  the  road  ; 
so  that  it  was  said  by  the  Moors,  that  a  beetle  could 
not  crawl  across  the  vega  without  being  seen  by 
count  Tendilla.     The  peasantry,  therefore,  were  fain 
to  betake  themselves  to  watch-towers  and  fortified 
hamlets,  where  they  shut  up  their  cattle,  garnered 
their  corn,  and  sheltered  their  wives  and  children. 
Even  there  they  were  not  safe ;    the  count  would 
storm  these  rustic  fortresses  with  fire  and  sword ; 
make  captives  of  their  inhabitants  ;  carry  off  the  corn, 
the  oil,  the  silks,  and  cattle  ;   and  leave  the  ruins 
blazing  ana  smoking,  within  the  very  sight  of  Granada. 
"  It  was  a  pleasing  and  refreshing  sight,"  contin- 
ues the  good  father,  "  to  behold  this  pious  knight  and 
his  followers  returning  from  one  of  these  crusades, 
leaving  the  rich  land  of  the  infidel  in  smoking  deso- 
lation behind  them  ;  to  behold  the  long  line  of  mules 
and  asses,  laden  with  the  plunder  of  the  Gentiles— 
the  hosts  of  captive  Moors,  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren— droves  of  sturdy  beeves,   lowing   kine,  and 
bleating  sheep ;  all  winding  up  the  steep  acclivity 
to  the  gates  of  Alhama,  pricked  on  by  the  Catholic 
soldiery.    His  garrison  thus  thrived  on  the  fat  of  the 
land  and  the  spoil  of  the  infidel  ;  nor  was  he  unmind- 
ful of  the  pious  fathers,  whose  blessings  crowned  his 
enterprises  with   success.     A  large  portion  of  the 
spoil  was  always  dedicated  to  the  church  ;  and  the 
good  friars  were  ever  ready  at  the  gate  to  hail  him 
on  his  return,  and  receive  the  share  allotted  them. 
Beside  these  allotments,  he  made  many  votive  offer- 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


209 


ings,  either  in  time  of  peril  or  on  the  eve  of  a  foray  ; 
and  the  chapels  of  Alhaina  were  resplendent  with 
chalices,  crosses,  and  other  precious  gifts  made  by 
this  Catholic  cavalier." 

Thus  eloquently  does  the  venerable  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida  dilate  in  praise  of  the  good  count  de  Ten- 
dilla  ;  and  other  historians  of  equal  veracity,  but  less 
unction,  agree  in  pronouncing  him  one  of  the  ablest 
of  Spanish  generals.  So  terrible  in  fact  did  he  be- 
come in  the  land,  that  the  Moorish  peasantry  could 
not  venture  a  league  from  Granada  or  Loxa  to  labor 
in  the  fields,  without  peril  of  being  carried  into  cap- 
tivity. The  people  of  Granada  clamored  against 
Muley  Aben  Hassan,  for  suffering  his  lands  to  be 
thus  outraged  and  insulted,  and  demanded  to  have 
this  bold  marauder  shut  up  in  his  fortress.  The  old 
monarch  was  roused  by  their  remonstrances.  He 
sent  forth  powerful  troops  of  horse,  to  protect  the 
country,  during  the  season  that  the  husbandmen 
were  abroad  in  the  fields.  These  troops  patrolled 
in  formidable  squadrons  in  the  neighborhood  of  Al- 
hama,  keeping  strict  watch  upon  its  gates ;  so  that  it 
was  impossible  for  the  christians  to  make  a  sally, 
without  being  seen  and  intercepted. 

While  Alhama  was  thus  blockaded  by  a  roving 
force  of  Moorish  cavalry,  the  inhabitants  were  awak- 
ened one  night  by  a  tremendous  crash,  that  shook 
the  fortress  to  its  foundations. '  The  garrison  flew  to 
arms,  supposing  it  some  assault  of  the  enemy.  The 
alarm  proved  to  have  been  caused  by  the  rupture  of 
a  portion  of  the  wall,  which,  undermined  by  heavy 
rains,  had  suddenly  given  way,  leaving  a  large  chasm 
yawning  towards  the  plain. 

The  count  de  Tendilla  was  for  a  time  in  great 
anxiety.  Should  this  breach  be  discovered  by  the 
blockading  horsemen,  they  would  arouse  the  country, 
Granada  and  Loxa  would  pour  out  an  overwhelming 
force,  and  they  would  find  his  walls  ready  sapped  for 
an  assault.  In  this  fearful  emergency,  the  count  dis- 
played his  noted  talent  for  expedients.  He  ordered 
a  quantity  of  linen  cloth  to  be  stretched  in  front  of 
the  breach,  painted  in  imitation  of  stone,  and  indent- 
ed with  battlements,  so  as  at  a  distance  to  resemble 
the  other  parts  of  the  wall  :  behind  this  screen  he 
employed  workmen,  day  and  night,  in  repairing  the 
fracture.  No  one  was  permitted  to  lea\'e  the  fortress, 
lest  information  of  its  defenceless  plight  should  be 
carried  to  the  Moor.  Light  squadrons  of  the  enemy 
were  seen  hovering  about  the  plain,  but  never  ap- 
proached near  enough  to  discover  the  deception ; 
and  thus,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  the  wall  was 
rebuilt  stronger  than  before. 

There  was  another  expedient  of  this  shrewd  vet- 
eran, which  greatly  excites  the  marvel  of  Agapida. 
"  It  happened,"  he  observes,  "  that  this  Catholic 
cavalier  at  one  time  was  destitute  of  gold  and  silver, 
wherewith  to  pay  the  wages  of  his  troops ;  and  the 
soldiers  murmured  greatly,  seeing  that  they  had  not 
the  means  of  purchasing  necessaries  from  the  people 
of  the  town.  In  this  dilemma,  what  does  this  most 
sagacious  commander.'  He  takes  me  a  number  of 
little  morsels  of  paper,  on  the  which  he  inscribes 
various  sums,  large  and  small,  according  to  the 
nature  of  the  case,  and  signs  me  them  with  his  own 
hand  and  name.  These  did  he  give  to  the  soldier)', 
in  earnest  of  their  pay.  '  Hovv  ! '  you  will  say,  '  are 
soldiers  to  be  paid  with  scraps  of  paper .' '  Even  so, 
I  answer,  and  well  paid  too,  as  1  will  presently  make 
manifest :  lor  the  good  count  issued  a  proclamation, 
ordering  the  inhabitants  of  Alhama  to  take  these 
morsels  of  paper  for  the  full  amount  thereon  inscribed, 
promising  to  redeem  them  at  a  future  time  with 
silver  and  gold,  and  threatening  severe  punishment 
to  all  who  should  refuse.  The  people,  having  full 
confidence  in  his  word,  and  trusting  that  he  would 

u 


be  as  willing  to  perform  the  one  promise  as  he  cer- 
tainly was  able  to  perform  the  other,  took  those 
curious  morsels  of  paper  without  hesitation  or  demur. 
Thus,  by  a  subtle  and  most  miraculous  kind  of  al- 
chymy,  did  this  Catholic  cavalier  turn  worthless 
paper  into  precious  gold,  and  make  his  late  im- 
poverished garrison  abound  in  money  !  " 

It  is  but  just  to  add,  that  the  count  de  Tendilla 
redeemed  his  promises,  like  a  loyal  knight ;  and  this 
miracle,  as  it  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  is  the  first  instance  on  record  of  paper 
money,  which  has  since  inundated  the  civilized  world 
with  unbounded  opulence. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


FORAY  OF  CHRISTIAN   KNIGHTS   INTO  THE 
TERRITORY  OF  THE  MOORS. 

The  Spanish  cavaliers  who  had  survived  the  mem- 
orable massacre  among  the  mountains  of  Malaga, 
although  they  had  repeatedly  avenged  the  death  of 
their  companions,  yet  could  not  forget  the  horror  and 
humiliation  of  their  defeat.  Nothing  would  satisfy 
them  but  to  undertake  a  second  expedition  of  the 
kind,  to  carry  fire  and  sword  throughout  a  wide  part 
of  the  Moorish  territories,  and  to  leave  all  those  re- 
gions which  had  triumphed  in  their  disaster  a  black 
and  burning  monument  of  their  vengeance.  Their 
wishes  accorded  with  the  policy  of  the  king,  who 
desired  to  lay  waste  the  country  and  destroy  the  re- 
sources of  the  enemy ;  every  assistance  was  there- 
fore given  to  promote  and  accompUsh  their  enter- 
prise. 

In  the  spring  of  1484,  the  ancient  city  of  Antiquera 
again  resounded  with  arms ;  numbers  of  the  same 
cavaliers  who  had  assembled  there  so  gaily  the  pre- 
ceding year,  again  came  wheeling  into  the  gates 
with  their  steeled  and  shining  warriors,  but  with  a 
more  dark  and  solemn  brow  than  on  that  disastrous 
occasion,  for  they  had  the  recollection  of  their 
slaughtered  friends  present  to  their  minds,  whose 
deaths  they  were  to  avenge. 

In  a  little  while  there  was  a  chosen  force  of  six 
thousand  horse  and  twelve  thousand  foot  assembled 
in  Antiquera,  many  of  them  the  very  flower  of  Span- 
ish chivalry,  troops  of  the  established  military  and 
religious  orders,  and  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood. 

Every  precaution  had  been  taken  to  furnish  this 
army  with  all  things  needful  for  its  extensive  and 
perilous  inroad.  Numerous  surgeons  accompanied 
it,  who  were  to  attend  upon  all  the  sick  and  wound- 
ed, without  charge,  being  paid  for  their  services  by 
the  queen.  Isabella,  also,  in  her  considerate  hu- 
manity, provided  six  spacious  tents  furnished  with 
beds  and  all  things  needful  for  the  wounded  and  in- 
firm. These  continued  to  be  used  in  all  great 
expeditions  throughout  the  war,  and  were  called 
the  Queen's  Hospital.  The  worthy  father.  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida,  vaunts  this  benignant  provision 
of  the  queen,  as  the  first  introduction  of  a  regular 
camp  hospital  in  campaigning  service. 

Thus  thoroughly  prepared,  the  cavaliers  issued 
forth  from  Antiquera  in  splendid  and  terrible  array, 
but  with  less  exulting  confidence  and  vaunting  os- 
tentation than  on  their  former  foray ;  and  this  was 
the  order  of  the  army.  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  led 
the  advance  guard,  accompanied  by  Don  Diego 
Fernandez  de  Cordova,  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles, 
and  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero,  count  of  Palma, 
with  their  household  troops.  They  were  followed 
by  Juan  de  Merlo,  Juan  de  Almara,  and  Carlos  de 


210 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Biezman,  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood,  with  the  men-at- 
arms  of  their  captaincies. 

The  second  battalion  was  commanded  by  the 
marques  of  Cadiz  and  the  Master  of  Santiago,  with 
the  cavaliers  of  Santiago  and  the  troops  of  the  house 
of  Ponce  Leon  :  with  these  also  went  the  senior 
commander  of  Calatrava  and  the  knights  of  that 
order,  and  various  other  cavaliers  and  their  re- 
tainers. 

The  right  wing  of  this  second  battalion  was  led 
by  Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  afterwards  renowned  as 
grand  captain  of  Spain  ;  the  left  wing,  by  Diego  Lo- 
pez de  Avila.  They  were  accompanied  by  several 
distinguished  cavaliers,  and  certain  captains  of  the 
Holy  Brotherhood,  with  their  men-at-arms. 

The  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia  and  the  count  de 
Cabra  commanded  the  third  battalion,  with  the 
troops  of  their  respective  houses.  They  were  ac- 
companied by  other  commanders  of  note,  with  their 
forces. 

The  rear  guard  was  brought  up  by  the  senior 
commander  and  knights  of  Alcantara,  followed  by 
the  Andalusian  chivalry  from  Xcrez,  Ecija,  and  Car- 
mona. 

Such  was  the  army  that  issued  forth  from  the  gates 
of  Antiquera,  on  one  of  the  most  extensive  talas,  or 
devastating  inroads,  that  ever  laid  waste  the  king- 
dom of  Granada. 

The  army  entered  the  Moorish  territory  by  the 
way  of  Alora,  destroying  all  the  cornfields,  vineyards, 
and  orchards,  and  plantations  of  olives,  round  that 
city.  It  then  i)roceeded  through  the  rich  valleys  and 
fertile  uplands  of  Coin,  Cazarabonela,  Almexia,  and 
Cartama ;  and  in  ten  days,  all  those  fertile  regions 
were  a  smoking  and  frightful  desert.  From  hence 
it  pursued  its  slow  and  destructive  course,  like  the 
stream  of  lava  of  a  volcano,  through  the  regions  of 
Papiana  and  Alhendin,  and  so  on  to  the  vega  of 
Malaga,  laying  waste  the  groves  of  olives  and  al- 
monds, and  the  fields  of  grain,  and  destroying  every 
green  thing.  The  Moors  of  some  of  these  places 
interceded  in  vain  for  their  groves  and  fields,  offering 
to  deliver  up  their  christian  captives.  One  part  of 
the  army  blockaded  the  towns,  while  the  other  rav- 
aged the  surrounding  country'.  Sometimes  the 
Moors  sallied  forth  desperately  to  defend  their  prop- 
erty, but  were  driven  back  to  their  gates  with  slaugh- 
ter, and  their  suburbs  pillaged  and  burnt.  It  was 
an  awful  spectacle  at  night  to  behold  the  volumes 
of  black  smoke  mingled  with  lurid  flames  that  rose 
from  the  burning  suburbs,  and  the  women  on  the 
walls  of  the  town  wringing  their  hands  and  shrieking 
at  the  desolation  of  their  dwellings. 

The  destroying  army,  on  arrivmg  at  the  sea-coast, 
found  vessels  lying  off  shore  laden  with  all  kinds  of 
provisions  and  munitions  for  its  use,  which  had  been 
sent  from  Seville  and  Xerez  :  it  was  thus  enabled  to 
continue  its  desolating  career.  Advancing  to  the 
neighborhood  of  Malaga,  it  was  bravely  assailed  by 
the  Moors  of  that  city,  and  there  was  severe  skir- 
mishing for  a  whole  day ;  but  while  the  main  part 
of  the  army  encountered  the  enemy,  the  rest  rav- 
aged the  whole  vega  and  destroyed  all  the  mills. 
As  the  object  of  the  expedition  was  not  to  capture 
places,  but  merely  to  burn,  ravage,  and  destroy,  the 
host,  satisfied  with  the  mischief  they  had  done  in 
the  vega,  turned  their  backs  upon  Makga,  and  again 
entered  the  mountains.  They  passed  by  Coin,  and 
through  the  regions  of  Allazayna,  and  Gatero,  and 
Alhaurin;  all  which  were  likewise  desolated.  In 
this  way  did  they  make  the  circuit  of  that  chain  of 
rich  and  verdant  valleys,  the  glory  of  those  mount- 
ains and  the  pride  and  delight  of  the  Moors.  For 
forty  days  did  they  continue  on  like  a  consuming 
fire,  leaving  a  smoking  and  howling  waste  to  mark 


their  course,  until,  weary  with  the  work  of  destruc- 
tion, and  having  fully  sated  their  revenge  for  the 
massacre  of  the  Axarquia,  they  returned  in  triumph 
to  the  meadows  of  Antiquera. 

In  the  month  of  June,  king  Ferdinand  took  com- 
mand in  person  of  this  destructive  army;  he  in- 
creased its  force,  and  added  to  its  means  of  mischief 
several  lombards  and  other  heavy  artiller)',  intended 
for  the  battering  of  towns,  and  managed  by  engi- 
neers from  France  and  Germany.  With  these,  the 
marques  of  Cadiz  assured  the  king,  he  would  soon 
be  able  to  reduce  the  Moorish  fortresses.  They  were 
only  calculated  for  defence  against  the  engines  an- 
ciently used  in  warfare.  Their  walls  and  towers 
were  high  and  thin,  depending  for  security  on  their 
rough  and  rocky  situations.  The  stone  and  iron 
balls  thundered  from  the  lombards  would  soon  tum- 
ble them  in  ruins  upon  the  heads  of  their  defenders. 

The  fate  of  Alora  speedily  proved  the  truth  of  this 
opinion.  It  was  strongly  posted  on  a  rock  washed 
by  a  river.  The  artillery  soon  battered  down  two 
of  the  towers  and  a  part  of  the  wall.  The  Moors 
were  thrown  into  consternation  at  the  vehemence 
of  the  assault,  and  the  effect  of  those  tremendous  en- 
gines upon  their  vaunted  bulwarks.  The  roaring  of 
the  artillery  and  the  tumbling  of  the  walls  terrified 
the  women,  who  beset  the  alcayde  with  vociferous 
supplications  to  surrender.  The  place  was  given  up 
on  the  30th  of  June,  on  condition  that  the  inhabit- 
ants might  depart  with  their  effects.  The  people 
of  Malaga,  as  yet  unacquainted  with  the  power  of 
this  battering  ordnance,  were  so  incensed  at  those 
of  Alora  for  what  they  considered  a  tame  surrender, 
that  they  would  not  admit  them  into  their  city. 

A  similar  fate  attended  the  town  of  Setenil,  built 
on  a  lofty  rock  and  esteemed  impregnable.  Many 
times  had  it  been  besieged  under  former  christian 
kings,  but  never  had  it  been  taken.  Even  now,  for 
several  days  the  artillery  was  directed  against  it 
without  effect,  and  many  of  the  cavaliers  murmured 
at  the  marques  of  Cadiz  for  having  counselled  the 
king  to  attack  this  unconquerable  place.* 

On  the  same  night  that  these  reproaches  were  ut- 
tered, the  marques  directed  the  artillery  himself:  he 
levelled  the  lombards  at  the  bottom  of  the  walls,  and 
at  the  gates.  In  a  little  while,  the  gates  were  bat- 
tered to  pieces,  a  great  breach  was  effected  in  the 
walls,  and  the  Moors  were  fain  to  capitulate.  Twenty- 
four  christian  captives,  who  had  been  taken  in  the 
defeat  of  the  mountains  of  Malaga,  were  rescued 
from  the  dungeons  of  this  fortress,  and  hailed  the 
marques  of  Cadiz  as  their  deliverer. 

Needless  is  it  to  mention  the  capture  of  various 
other  places,  which  surrendered  without  waiting  to 
be  attacked.  The  Moors  had  always  shown  great 
bravery  and  perseverance  in  defending  their  towns  ; 
they  were  formidable  in  their  sallies  and  skirmishes, 
and  patient  in  enduring  hunger  and  thirst  when  be- 
sieged ;  but  this  terrible  ordnance,  which  demolished 
their  walls  with  such  ease  and  rapidity,  overwhelmed 
them  with  confusion  and  dismay,  and  rendered  vain 
all  resistance.  King  Ferdinand  was  so  struck  with 
the  effect  of  this  artillery,  that  he  ordered  the  num- 
ber of  lombards  to  be  increased ;  and  these  potent 
engines  had  henceforth  a  great  influence  on  the  for- 
tunes of  this  war. 

The  last  operation  of  this  year,  so  disastrous  to 
the  Moors,  was  an  inroad  by  king  Ferdinand,  in  the 
latter  part  of  summer,  into  the  vega,  in  which  he 
ravaged  the  country,  burnt  two  villages  near  to  Gra- 
nada, and  destroyed  the  mills  near  the  very  gates  of 
the  city. 

Old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  overwhelmed  with 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


211 


dismay  at  this  desolation,  which,  during  the  whole 
year,  had  been  rag'ing  throughout  his  territories,  and 
had  now  reached  to  the  walls  of  his  capital.  His 
fierce  spirit  was  broken  by  misfortunes  and  infirmity  ; 
he  offered  to  purchase  a  peace,  and  to  hold  his 
crown  as  a  tributary  vassal,  Ferdinand  would  listen 
to  no  propositions  :  the  absolute  conquest  of  Gra- 
nada was  the  great  object  of  this  war,  and  he  was 
resolved  never  to  rest  content  without  its  complete 
fulfilment.  Having  supplied  and  strengthened  the 
garrisons  of  the  places  he  had  taken  in  the  heart  of 
the  Moorish  territories,  he  enjoined  their  commanders 
to  render  every  assistance  to  the  younger  Moorish 
king,  in  the  civil  war  against  his  father.  He  then 
returned  with  his  army  to  Cordova,  in  great  triumph, 
closing  a  series  of  ravaging  campaigns,  that  had 
filled  the  kingdom  of  Granada  with  grief  and  con- 
sternation. 


CHAPTF.R   XXVIII. 


ATTEMPT  OF  EL  ZAGAL  TO  SURPRISE  BOABDIL 
IN   ALMERIA. 

During  this  year  of  sorrow  and  disaster  to  the 
Moors,  the  younger  king  Boabdil,  most  truly  called 
the  unfortunate,  held  a  diminished  and  feeble  court 
in  the  maritime  city  of  Almeria.  He  retained  little 
more  than  the  name  of  king,  and  was  supported  in 
even  this  shadow  of  royalty,  by  the  countenance  and 
treasures  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns.  Still  he  trust- 
ed, that,  in  the  fluctuation  of  events,  the  inconstant 
nation  might  once  more  return  to  his  standard,  and 
replace  him  on  the  throne  of  the  Alhambra. 

His  mother,  the  high-spirited  sultana  Ayxa  la 
Horra,  endeavored  to  rouse  him  from  this  passive 
state.  "  It  is  a  feeble  mind,"  said  she,  "  that  waits 
for  the  turn  of  fortune's  wheel ;  the  brave  mind 
seizes  upon  it,  and  turns  it  to  its  purpose.  Take  the 
field,  and  you  may  drive  danger  before  you  ;  remain 
cowering  at  home,  and  it  besieges  you  in  your  dwell- 
ing. By  a  bold  enterprise  you  may  regain  your 
splendid  throne  in  Granada ;  by  passive  forbearance, 
you  will  forfeit  even  this  miserable  throne  in  Al- 
meria." 

Boabdil  had  not  the  force  of  soul  to  follow  these 
courageous  counsels,  and  in  a  little  time  the  evils  his 
mother  had  predicted  fell  upon  him. 

Old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  almost  extinguished 
by  age  and  infirmity.  He  had  nearly  lost  his  sight, 
and  was  completely  bedridden.  His  brother  Abdal- 
lah,  surnamed  El  Zagal,  or  the  valiant,  the  same 
who  had  assisted  in  the  massacre  of  the  Spanish 
chivalry  among  the  mountains  of  Malaga,  was  com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  Moorish  armies,  and  gradually 
took  upon  himself  most  of  the  cares  of  sovereignty. 
Among  other  things,  he  was  particularly  zealous  in 
espousing  his  brother's  quarrel  with  his  son  ;  and  he 
prosecuted  it  with  such  vehemence,  that  many  af- 
firmed there  was  something  more  than  mere  fra- 
ternal sympathy  at  the  bottom  of  his  zeal. 

The  disasters  and  disgraces  inflicted  on  the  coun- 
try by  the  christians  during  this  year,  had  wounded 
the  national  feelings  of  the  people  of  Almeria ;  and 
many  had  felt  indignant  that  Boabdil  should  remain 
passive  at  such  a  time,  or  rather,  should  appear  to 
,  make  a  common  cause  with  the  enemy.  His  uncle 
p  Abdallah  diligently  fomented  this  feeling,  by  his 
agents.  The  same  arts  were  made  use  of,  that  had 
been  successful  in  Granada.  Boabdil  was  secretly 
but  actively  denounced  by  the  alfaquis  as  an  apos- 
tate, leagued  with  the  christians  against  his  country 
and  his  early  faith  ;  the  affections  of  the  populace 


and  soldiery  were  gradually  alienated  from  him,  and 
a  deep  conspiracy  concerted  for  his  destruction. 

In  the  month  of  February,  1485,  El  Zagal  sud- 
denly appeared  before  Almeria,  at  the  head  of  a 
troop  of  horse.  The  alfaquis  were  prepared  for  his 
arrival,  and  the  gates  were  thrown  open  to  him.  He 
entered  with  his  band,  and  galloped  to  the  citadel. 
The  alcayde  would  have  made  resistance ;  but  the 
garrison  put  him  to  death,  and  received  El  Zagal 
with  acclamations.  El  Zagal  rushed  through  the 
apartments  of  the  Alcazar,  but  he  sought  in  vain  for 
Boabdil.  He  found  the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra  in 
one  of  the  saloons,  with  Ben  Ahagete,  a  younger 
brother  of  the  monarch,  a  valiant  Abencerrage,  and 
several  attendants,  who  rallied  round  them  to  pro- 
tect them.  "  Where  is  the  traitor  Boabdil .'  "  ex- 
claimed El  Zagal.  "  I  know  no  traitor  more  per- 
fidious than  thyself,"  exclaimed  the  intrepid  sultana  ; 
"  and  I  trust  my  son  is  in  safety,  to  take  vengeance 
on  thy  treason."  The  rage  of  El  Zagal  was  without 
bounds,  when  he  learnt  that  his  intended  victim  had 
escaped.  In  his  fury  he  slew  the  prince  Ben  Aha- 
gete, and  his  followers  fell  upon  and  massacred  the 
Abencerrage  and  attendants.  As  to  the  proud  sultana, 
she  was  borne  away  prisoner,  and  loaded  with  revil- 
ings,  as  having  upheld  her  son  in  his  rebellion,  and 
fomented  a  civil  war. 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  had  been  apprized  of  his 
danger  by  a  faithful  soldier,  just  in  time  to  make  his 
escape.  Throwing  himself  on  one  of  the  fleetest 
horses  in  his  stables,  and  followed  by  a  handful  of 
adherents,  he  had  galloped  in  the  confusion  out  of 
the  gates  of  Almeria.  Several  of  the  cavalry  of  111 
Zagal,  who  were  stationed  without  the  walls,  per- 
ceived his  flight,  and  attempted  to  pursue  him  ;  their 
horses  were  jaded  with  travel,  and  he  soon  left  them 
far  behind.  But,  whither  was  he  to  fly  ?  Every 
fortress  and  castle  in  the  kingdom  of  Granada  was 
closed  against  him  ;  he  knew  not  whom  among  the 
Moors  to  trust,  for  they  had  been  taught  to  detest 
him  as  a  traitor  and  an  apostate.  He  had  no  al- 
ternative but  to  seek  refuge  among  the  christians, 
his  hereditary  enemies.  With  a  heavy  heart,  he 
turned  his  horse's  head  towards  Cordova.  He  had 
to  lurk,  like  a  fugitive,  through  a  part  of  his  own  do- 
minions ;  nor  did  he  feel  himself  secure,  until  he  had 
passed  the  frontier,  and  beheld  the  mountain  barrier 
of  his  country  towering  behind  hiin.  Then  it  was 
that  he  became  conscious  of  his  humiliating  state — 
a  fugitive  from  his  throne,  an  outcast  from  his  nation, 
a  king  without  a  kingdom.  He  smote  his  breast,  in 
an  agony  of  grief:  "Evil  indeed,"  exclaimed  he, 
"  was  the  day  of  my  birth,  and  truly  was  I  named 
El  Zogoybi,  the  unlucky." 

He  entered  the  gates  of  Cordova  with  downcast 
countenance,  and  with  a  train  of  but  forty  followers. 
The  sovereigns  were  absent ;  but  the  cavaliers  of 
Andalusia  manifested  that  sympathy  in  the  misfor- 
tunes of  the  monarch,  that  becomes  men  of  lofty  and 
chivalrous  souls.  They  received  him  with  great  dis- 
tinction, attended  him  with  the  utmost  courtesy,  and 
he  was  honorably  entertained  by  the  civil  and  mili- 
tary commanders  of  that  ancient  city. 

In  the  mean  time.  El  Zagal  put  a  new  alcayde 
over  Almeria,  to  govern  in  the  name  of  his  brother  ; 
and,  having  strongly  garrisoned  the  place,  he  repair- 
ed to  Malaga,  where  an  attack  of  the  christians  was 
apprehended.  The  young  monarch  being  driven 
out  of  the  land,  and  the  old  monarch  blind  and  bed- 
ridden. El  Zagal,  at  the  head  of  the  armies,  was 
virtually  the  sovereign  of  Granada.  The  people 
were  pleased  with  having  a  new  idol  to  look  up  to, 
and  a  new  name  to  shout  forth ;  and  El  Zagal  was 
hailed  with  acclamations,  as  the  main  hope  of  the 
nation. 


212 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HOW  KING  FERDINAND  COMMENCED  ANOTHER 
CAMPAIGN  AGAINST  THE  MOORS,  AND  HOW  HE- 
LAID   SIEGE  TO   COIN  AND   CARTAMA. 

The  great  effect  of  the  battering  ordnance  in 
demolishing  the  Moorish  fortresses  in  the  preceding 
year,  induced  king  Ferdinand  to  procure  a  powerful 
train  for  the  campaign  of  1485,  in  the  course  of 
which  he  resolved  to  assault  some  of  the  most 
formidable  holds  of  the  enemy.  An  army  of  nine 
thousand  cavalry  and  twenty  thousand  infantry 
assembled  at  Cordova,  early  in  the  spring ;  and  the 
king  took  the  field  on  the  5th  of  April.  It  had  been 
determined  in  secret  council,  to  attack  the  city  of 
Malaga,  that  ancient  and  important  sea-port,  on 
which  Granada  depended  for  foreign  aid  and  sup- 
plies. It  was  thought  proper  previously,  however, 
to  get  possession  of  various  towns  and  fortresses 
in  the  valleys  of  Santa  Maria  and  Cartama,  through 
which  pass  the  roads  to  Malaga. 

The  first  place  assailed  was  the  town  of  Benama- 
quex.  It  had  submitted  to  the  Catholic  sovereigns 
in  the  preceding  year,  but  had  since  renounced  its 
allegiance.  King  Ferdinand  was  enraged  at  the  re- 
bellion of  the  inhabitants.  "  I  will  make  their  pun- 
ishment," said  he,  "  a  terror  to  others :  they  shall  be 
loyal  through  force,  if  not  through  faith."  The 
place  was  carried  by  storm  :  one  hundred  and  eight 
of  the  principal  inhabitants  were  either  put  to  the 
sword  or  hanged  on  the  battlements  ;  the  rest  were 
carried  into  captivity.* 

The  towns  of  Coin  and  Cartama  were  besieged 
on  the  same  day ;  the  first  by  a  division  of  the  army 
led  on  by  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  the  second  by  an- 
other division  commanded  by  Don  Alonzo  de  Agui- 
lar  and  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero,  the  brave 
Senior  of  Palma.  The  king,  with  the  rest  of  the 
army,  remained  posted  between  the  two  places,  to 
render  assistance  to  either  division.  The  batteries 
opened  upon  both  places  at  the  same  time,  and  the 
thunder  of  the  lombards  was  mutually  heard  from 
one  camp  to  the  other.  The  Moors  made  frequent 
sallies,  and  a  valiant  defence ;  but  they  were  con- 
founded by  the  tremendous  uproar  of  the  batteries, 
and  the  destruction  of  their  walls.  In  the  mean 
time,  the  alarm-fires  gathered  together  the  Moorish 
mountaineers  of  all  the  Serrania,  who  assembled  in 
great  numbers  in  the  city  of  Monda,  about  a  league 
from  Coin.  They  made  several  attempts  to  enter 
the  besieged  town,  but  in  vain  ;  they  were  each  time 
intercepted  and  driven  back  by  the  christians,  and 
were  reduced  to  gaze  at  a  distance  in  despair  on  the 
destruction  of  the  place.  While  thus  situated,  there 
rode  one  day  into  Monda  a  fierce  and  haughty 
Moorish  chieftain,  at  the  head  of  a  band  of  swarthy 
African  horsemen :  it  was  Hamet  el  Zegri,  the  fiery- 
spirited  alcayde  of  Ronda,  at  the  head  of  his  band 
of  Gomeres.  He  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the 
rage  and  mortification  of  his  defeat  on  the  banks 
of  the  Lopera,  in  the  disastrous  foray  of  old  Bexir, 
when  he  had  been  obliged  to  steal  back  furtively  to 
his  mountains,  with  the  loss  of  the  bravest  of  his 
followers.  He  had  ever  since  panted  for  revenge. 
He  now  rode  among  the  host  of  warriors  assembled 
at  Monda.  "  Who  among  you,"  cried  he,  "  feels 
jjity  for  the  women  and  children  of  Coin,  exposed  to 
captivity  and  death  ?  Whoever  he  is,  let  him  follow 
me,  who  am  ready  to  die  as  a  Moslem  for  the  relief 
of  Moslems."  So  saying,  he  seized  a  white  banner, 
and,  waving  it  over  his  head,  rode  forth  from  the 
town,  followed  by  the  Gomeres.    Many  of  the  war- 


riors, roused  by  his  words  and  his  example,  spurred 
resolutely  after  his  banner.  The  people  of  Coin,  be- 
ing prepared  for  this  attempt,  sallied  forth  as  they 
saw  the  white  banner,  and  made  an  attack  upon  the 
christian  camp ;  and  in  the  confusion  of  the  mo- 
ment, Hamet  and  his  followers  galloped  into  the  gates. 
This  reinforcement  animated  the  besieged,  and 
Hamet  exhorted  them  to  hold  out  obstinately  in  de- 
fence of  life  and  town.  As  the  Gomeres  were  vet- 
eran warriors,  the  more  they  were  attacked  the 
harder  they  fought. 

At  length,  a  great  breach  was  made  in  the  walls, 
and  Ferdinand,  who  was  im.patient  of  the  resistance 
of  the  place,  ordered  the  duke  of  Naxera  and  the 
count  of  Benavente  to  enter  with  their  troops ;  and 
as  their  forces  were  not  sufficient,  he  sent  word  to 
Luis  de  Cerda,  duke  of  Medina  Cell,  to  send  a  part 
of  his  people  to  their  assistance. 

The  feudal  pride  of  the  duke  was  roused  at  this 
demand.  "  Tell  my  lord  the  king,"  said  the  haughty 
grandee,  "  that  I  have  come  to  succor  him  with  my 
household  troops :  if  my  people  are  ordered  to  any 
place,  I  am  to  go  with  them  ;  but  if  I  am  to  remain 
in  the  camp,  my  people  must  remain  with  me.  For 
the  troops  cannot  serve  without  their  commander, 
nor  their  commander  without  his  troops." 

The  reply  of  the  high-spirited  grandee  perplexed 
the  cautious  Ferdinand,  who  knew  the  jealous  pride 
of  his  powerful  nobles.  In  the  mean  time,  the  peo- 
ple of  the  camp,  having  made  all  preparations  for 
the  assault,  were  impatient  to  be  led  forward.  Upon 
this,  Pero  Ruyz  de  Alarcon  put  himself  at  their 
head,  and,  seizing  their  manias,  or  portable  bul- 
warks, and  their  other  defences,  they  made  a  gallant 
assault,  and  (ought  their  way  in  at  the  breach.  The 
Moors  were  so  overcome  by  the  fury  of  their  assault, 
that  they  retreated  fighting  to  the  square  of  the 
town.  Pero  Ruyz  de  Alarcon  thought  the  place 
was  carried,  when  suddenly  Hamet  and  his  Gomeres 
came  scouring  through  the  streets  with  wild  war- 
cries,  and  fell  furiously  upon  the  christians.  The 
latter  were  in  their  turn  beaten  back,  and,  while 
attacked  in  front  by  the  Gomeres,  were  assailed  by 
the  inhabitants  with  all  kinds  of  missiles  from  their 
roofs  and  windows.  They  at  length  gave  way,  and 
retreated  through  the  breach.  Pero  Ruyz  de  Alar- 
con still  maintained  his  ground  in  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal streets — the  few  cavaliers  that  stood  by  him 
urged  him  to  fly :  "  No,"  said  he  ;  "I  came  here  to 
fight,  and  not  to  fly."  He  was  presently  surrounded 
by  the  Gomeres;  his  companions  fled  for  their  lives; 
the  last  they  saw  of  him,  he  was  covered  with 
wounds,  but  still  fighting  desperately  for  the  fame 
of  a  good  cavalier.* 

The  resistance  of  the  inhabitants,  thoug;h  aided 
by  the  valor  of  the  Gomeres,  was  of  no  avail.  The 
battering  artillery  of  the  christians  demolished  their 
walls ;  combustibles  were  thrown  into  then-  town, 
which  set  it  on  fire  in  various  places  ;  and  they  were 
at  length  compelled  to  capitulate.  They  were  per- 
mitted to  depart  with  their  effects,  and  the  Gomeres 
with  their  arms.  Hamet  el  Zegri  and  his  African 
band  sallied  forth,  and  rode  proudly  through  the 
christian  camp ;  nor  could  the  Spanish  cavaliers 
refrain  from  regarding  with  admiration  that 
haughty  warrior  and  his  devoted  and  dauntless 
followers. 

The  capture  of  Coin  was  accompanied  by  that 
of  Cartama :  the  fortifications  of  the  latter  were 
repaired  and  garrisoned ;  but  Coin,  being  too  ex- 
tensive to  be  defended  by  a  moderate  force,  its 
walls  were  demolished.  The  siege  of  these  places 
struck  such  terror    into   the  surrounding  country, 


*  Pulgar,  Garibay,  Cura  de  los  Palacios. 


*  Pulgar,  part  3,  cap.  4?. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


213 


that  the  Moors  of  many  of  the  neighboring  towns 
abandoned  their  homes,  and  fled  with  such  of 
their  effects  as  they  could  carry  away ;  upon  which 
the  king  gave  orders  to  demolish  their  walls  and 
towers. 

King  Ferdinand  now  left  his  camp  and  his  heavy 
artillery  near  Cartama,  and  proceeded  with  his 
lighter  troops  to  reconnoitre  Malaga.  By  this  time, 
the  secret  plan  of  attack,  arranged  in  the  council  of 
war  at  Cordova,  was  known  to  all  the  world.  The 
vigilant  warrior  El  Zagal  had  thrown  himself  into 
the  place ;  he  had  put  all  the  fortifications,  which 
were  of  vast  strength,  into  a  state  of  defence  ;  and 
had  sent  orders  to  the  alcaydes  of  the  mountain 
town,  to  hasten  with  their  forces  to  his  assistance. 

The  very  day  that  Ferdinand  appeared  before  the 
place.  El  Zagal  sallied  forth  to  receive  him,  at  the 
head  of  a  thousand  cavalry,  the  choicest  warriors  of 
Granada.  A  hot  skirmish  took  place  among  the  gar- 
dens and  olive-trees  near  the  city.  Many  were  killed 
on  both  sides  ;  and  this  gave  the  christians  a  sharp 
foretaste  of  what  they  might  expect,  if  they  attempt-, 
ed  to  besiege  the  place. 

When  the  skirmish  was  over,  the  marques  of  Ca- 
diz had  a  private  conference  with  the  king.  He  rep- 
resented the  difficulty  of  besieging  Malaga  with  their 
present  force,  especially  as  their  plans  had  been  dis- 
covered and  anticipated,  and  the  whole  country  was 
marching  over  the  mountains  to  oppose  them.  The 
marques,  who  had  secret  intelligence  from  all  quar- 
ters, had  received  a  letter  from  Juceph  Xerife,  a 
Moor  of  Ronda,  of  christian  lineage,  apprizing  him 
of  the  situation  of  that  important  place  and  its  gar- 
rison, which  at  that  moment  laid  it  open  to  attack  ; 
and  the  marques  was  urgent  with  the  king  to  seize 
upon  this  critical  moment,  and  secure  a  place  which 
was  one  of  the  most  powerful  Moorish  fortresses  on 
the  frontiers,  and  in  the  hands  of  Hamet  el  Zegri 
had  been  the  scourge  of  Andalusia.  The  good  mar- 
ques had  another  motive  for  his  advice,  becoming  of 
a  true  and  loyal  knight.  In  the  deep  dungeons  »f 
Ronda  languished  several  of  his  companions  in  arms, 
who  had  been  captured  in  the  defeat  in  the  Axarquia. 
To  break  their  chains,  and  restore  them  to  liberty 
and  light,  he  felt  to  be  his  peculiar  duty,  as  one  of 
those  who  had  most  promoted  that  disastrous  en- 
terprise. 

King  Ferdinand  listened  to  the  advice  of  the  mar- 
ques. He  knew  the  importance  of  Ronda,  which 
was  considered  one  of  the  keys  to  the  kingdom  of 
Granada ;  and  he  was  disposed  to  punish  the  inhab- 
itants, for  the  aid  they  had  rendered  to  the  garrison 
of  Coin.  The  siege  of  Malaga,  therefore,  was  aban- 
doned for  the  present,  and  preparations  made  for  a 
rapid  and  secret  move  against  the  city  of  Ronda. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


SIEGE  OF  RONDA. 


The  bold  Hamet  el  Zegri,  the  alcayde  of  Ronda, 
had  returned  sullenly  to  his  strong-hold,  after  the 
surrender  of  Coin.  He  had  fleshed  his  sword  in 
battle  with  the  christians,  but  his  thirst  for  vengeance 
was  still  unsatisfied.  Hamet  gloried  in  the  strength 
of  his  fortress,  and  the  valor  of  his  people.  A  fierce 
and  warlike  populace  was  at  his  command  ;  his  sig- 
nal-fires could  summon  all  the  warriors  of  the  Ser- 
rania  ;  his  Gomeres  almost  subsisted  on  the  spoils  of 
Andalusia  ;  and  in  the  rock  on  which  his  fortress  was 
built,  were  hopeless  dungeons,  filled  with  christian 
captives,  who  had  been  carried  off  by  these  war- 
hawks  of  the  mountains. 


Ronda  was  considered  as  impregnable.  It  was 
situated  in  the  heart  of  wild  and  rugged  mountains, 
and  perched  upon  an  isolated  rock,  crested  by  a 
strong  citadel,  with  triple  walls  and  towers.  A  deep 
ravine,  or  rather  a  perpendicular  chasm  of  the  rocks, 
of  frightful  depth,  surrounded  three  parts  of  the  city  ; 
through  this  flowed  the  Rio  Verde,  or  Green  river. 
There  were  two  suburbs  to  the  city,  fortified  by 
walls  and  towers,  and  almost  inaccessible,  from  the 
natural  asperity  of  the  rocks.  Around  this  rugged 
city  were  deep  rich  valleys,  sheltered  by  the  mount- 
ains, refreshed  by  constant  streams,  abounding  with 
grain  and  the  most  delicious  fruits,  and  yielding  ver- 
dant meadows,  in  which  was  reared  a  renowned 
breed  of  horses,  the  best  in  the  whole  kingdom  for  a 
foray. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  had  scarcely  returned  to  Ronda, 
when  he  received  intelligence  that  the  christian  army 
was  marching  to  the  siege  of  Malaga,  and  orders 
from  El  Zagal  to  send  troops  to  his  assistance. 
Hamet  sent  a  part  of  his  garrison  for  that  purpose  ; 
in  the  mean  time,  he  meditated  an  expedition  to 
which  he  was  stimulated  by  pride  and  revenge.  All 
Andalusia  was  now  drained  of  its  troops  ;  there  was 
an  opportunity  therefore  for  an  inroad,  by  which  he 
might  wipe  out  the  disgrace  of  his  defeat  at  the 
battle  of  Lopera.  Apprehending  no  danger  to  his 
mountain  city,  now  that  the  storm  of  war  had  passed 
down  into  the  vega  of  Malaga,  he  left  but  a  remnant 
of  his  garrison  to  man  its  walls,  and  putting  himself 
at  the  head  of  his  band  of  Gomeres,  swept  down 
suddenly  into  the  plains  of  Andalusia.  He  careered, 
almost  without  resistance,  over  those  vast  campifias 
or  pasture  lands,  which  formed  a  part  of  the  domains 
of  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia.  In  vain  the  bells 
were  rung,  and  the  alarm-fires  kindled — the  band  of 
Hamet  had  passed  by,  before  any  force  could  be  as- 
sembled, and  was  only  to  be  traced,  like  a  hurricane, 
by  the  devastation  it  had  made. 

Hamet  regained  in  safety  the  Serrania  de  Ronda, 
exulting  in  his  successful  inroad.  The  mountain 
glens  were  filled  with  long  droves  of  cattle  and  flocks 
of  sheep,  from  the  campifias  of  Medina  Sidonia. 
There  were  mules,  too,  laden  with  the  plunder  of 
the  villages ;  and  every  warrior  had  some  costly 
spoil  of  jewels,  for  his  favorite  mistress. 

As  the  Zegri  drew  near  to  Ronda,  he  was  roused 
from  his  dream  of  triumph  by  the  sound  of  heavy 
ordnance  bellowing  through  the  mountain  defiles. 
His  heart  misgave  him— he  put  spurs  to  his  horse, 
and  galloped  in  advance  of  his  lagging  cavalgada. 
As  he  proceeded,  the  noise  of  the  ordnance  in- 
creased, echoing  from  cliff  to  chff.  Spurring  his 
horse  up  a  craggy  height  which  commanded  an 
extensive  view,  he  beheld,  to  his  consternation,  the 
country  about  Ronda  white  with  the  tents  of  a 
besieging  army.  The  royal  standard,  displayed  be- 
fore a  proud  encampment,  showed  that  Ferdinand 
himself  was  present ;  while  the  incessant  blaze  and 
thunder  of  artillery,  and  the  volumes  of  overhang- 
ing smoke  told  the  work  of  destruction  that  was 
going  on. 

The  royal  army  had  succeeded  in  coming  upon 
Ronda  by  surprise,  during  the  absence  of  its  alcayde 
and  most  of  its  garrison ;  but  its  inhabitants  were 
warlike,  and  defended  themselves  bravely,  trusting 
that  Hamet  and  his  Gomeres  would  soon  return  to 
their  assistance. 

The  fancied  strength  of  their  bulwarks  had  been 
of  little  avail  against  the  batteries  of  the  besiegers. 
In  the  space  of  four  days,  three  towers,  and  great 
masses  of  the  walls  which  defended  the  suburbs, 
were  battered  down,  and  the  suburbs  taken  and 
plundered.  Lombards  and  other  heavy  ordnance 
were  now  levelled   at   the  walls   of  the  city,  and 


214 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


stones  and  missiles  of  all  kinds  hurled  into  the 
streets.  The  very  rock  on  which  the  city  stood 
shook  with  the  thunder  of  the  artillery;  and  the 
christian  captives,  deep  within  its  dungeons,  hailed 
the  sound  as  the  promise  of  deliverance. 

When  Hamet  el  Zegri  beheld  his  city  thus  sur- 
rounded and  assailed,  he  called  upon  his  men  to  fol- 
low him,  and  make  a  desperate  attempt  to  cut  their 
way  through  to  its  relief.  They  proceeded  stealthily 
through  the  mountains,  until  they  came  to  the  nearest 
heights  above  the  christian  camp.  When  night  fell, 
and  part  of  the  army  was  sunk  in  sleep,  they  de- 
scended the  rocks,  and  rushing  suddenly  upon  the 
weakest  part  of  the  camp,  endeavored  to  break  their 
way  through  and  gain  the  city.  The  camp  was  too 
strong  to  be  forced ;  they  were  driven  back  to  the 
crags  of  the  mountains,  from  whence  they  defended 
themselves  by  showering  down  darts  and  stones 
upon  their  pursuers. 

Hamet  now  lit  alarm-fires  about  the  heights :  his 
standard  was  joined  by  the  neighboring  mountain- 
eers, and  by  troops  from  Malaga.  Thus  reinforced, 
he  made  repeated  assaults  upon  the  christians,  cut- 
ting off  all  stragglers  from  the  camp.  -Ml  his  at- 
tempts, however,  to  force  his  way  into  the  city,  were 
fruitless  ;  many  of  his  bravest  men  were  slain,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  retreat  into  the  fastnesses  of  the 
mountains. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  distress  of  Ronda  was 
hourly  increasing.  The  marques  of  Cadiz,  having 
possession  of  the  suburbs,  was  enabled  to  approach 
to  the  very  foot  of  the  perpendicular  precipice  rising 
from  the  river,  on  the  summit  of  wliich  the  city  is 
built.  At  the  foot  of  this  rock  is  a  living  fountain  of 
limpid  water,  gushing  into  a  great  natural  basin.  A 
secret  mine  led  down  from  within  the  city  to  this 
fountain  by  several  hundred  steps  cut  in  the  solid 
rock.  From  hence  the  city  obtained  its  chief  supply 
of  water  ;  and  these  steps  were  deeply  worn  by  the 
weary  feet  of  Christian  captives,  employed  in  this 
painful  labor.  The  marques  of  Cadiz  discovered 
this  subterranean  passage,  and  directed  his  pioneers 
to  countermine  in  the  side  of  the  rock  :  they  pierced 
to  the  shaft,  and,  stopping  it  up,  deprived  the  city 
of  the  benefit  of  this  precious  fountain. 

While  the  brave  marques  of  Cadiz  was  thus  press- 
ing the  siege  with  zeal,  and  glowing  with  the  gener- 
ous thoughts  of  soon  delivering  his  companions  in 
arms  from  the  Moorish  dungeons,  far  other  were  the 
feelings  of  the  alcayde  Hamet  el  Zegri.  He  smote 
his  breast  and  gnashed  his  teeth  in  impotent  fury,  as 
he  beheld  from  the  mountain  cliffs  the  destruction  of 
the  city.  Every  thunder  of  the  christian  ordnance 
seemed  to  batter  against  his  heart.  He  saw  tower 
after  tower  tumbling  by  day,  and  at  night  the  city 
blazed  like  a  volcano.  "  They  fired  not  merely 
stones  from  their  ordnance,"  says  a  chronicler  of 
the  times,  "  but  likewise  great  balls  of  iron,  cast  in 
inoulds,  which  demolished  every  thing  they  struck." 
They  threw  also  balls  of  tow,  steeped  in  pitch  and 
oil  and  gunpowder,  which,  when  once  on  fire,  were 
not  to  be  extinguished,  and  which  set  the  houses  in 
flames.  Great  was  the  horror  of  the  inhabitants : 
they  knew  not  where  to  fly  for  refuge  :  their  houses 
were  in  a  blaze,  or  shattered  by  the  ordnance ;  the 
streets  were  perilous  from  the  falling  ruins  and  the 
bounding  balls,  which  dashed  to  pieces  every  thing 
they  encountered.  At  night,  the  city  looked  like  a 
fiery  furnace  ;  the  cries  and  wailings  of  the  women 
were  heard  between  the  thunders  of  the  ordnance, 
and  reached  even  to  the  Moors  on  the  opposite 
mountains,  who  answered  them  by  yells  of  fury  and 
despair. 

AH  hope  of  externa!  succor  being  at  an  end,  the 
inhabitants  of  Ronda  were  compelled  to  capitulate. 


Ferdinand  was  easily  prevailed  u[>on  to  grant  them 
favorable  terms.  The  place  was  capable  of  longer 
resistance  ;  and  he  feared  for  the  safety  of  his  camp, 
as  the  forces  were  daily  augmenting  on  the  mount- 
ains, and  making  frequent  assaults.  The  inhabitants 
were  permitted  to  depart  with  their  effects,  either 
to  Barbary  or  elsewhere ;  and  those  who  chose  to 
reside  in  Spain,  had  lands  assigned  them,  and  were 
indulged  in  the  practice  of  their  religion. 

No  sooner  did  the  place  surrender,  than  detach- 
ments were  sent  to  attack  the  Moors  who  hovered 
about  the  neighboring  mountains.  Hamet  el  Zegri, 
however,  did  not  remain  to  make  a  fruitless  battle. 
He  gave  up  the  game  as  lost,  and  retreated  with  his 
Gomeres,  filled  with  grief  and  rage,  but  trusting  to 
fortune  to  give  him  future  vengeance. 

The  first  care  of  the  good  marques  of  Cadiz,  on 
entering  Ronda,  was  to  deliver  his  unfortunate  com- 
panions in  arms  from  the  dungeons  of  the  fortress. 
What  a  difference  in  their  looks  from  the  time  when, 
flushed  with  health  and  hope,  and  arrayed  in  military 
pomp,  they  had  sallied  forth  upon  the  mountain 
foray  !  Many  of  them  were  almost  naked,  with  irons 
at  their  ankles,  and  beards  reaching  to  their  waists. 
Their  meeting  with  the  marques  was  joyful  ;  yet  it 
had  the  look  of  grief,  for  their  joy  was  mingled  with 
many  bitter  recollections.  There  was  an  immense 
number  of  other  captives,  among  whom  were  sever- 
al young  men  of  noble  families,  who,  with  filial 
piety,  had  surrendered  themselves  prisoners  in  place 
of  tiieir  fathers. 

The  captives  were  all  provided  with  mules,  and  sent 
to  the  queen  at  Cordova.  The  humane  heart  of  Isa- 
bella melted  at  the  sight  of  the  piteous  cavalcade. 
They  were  all  supplied  by  her  with  food  and  rai- 
ment, and  money  to  pay  their  expenses  to  their 
homes.  Their  chains  were  hung  as  pious  trophies 
against  the  exterior  of  the  church  of  St.  Juan  de  los 
Reyes,  in  Toledo,  where  the  christian  traveller  may 
regale  his  eyes  with  the  sight  of  them  at  this  very 
day. 

Among  the  Moorish  captives  was  a  young  infidel 
maiden,  of  great  beauty,  who  desired  to  become  a 
christian  and  to  remain  m  Spain.  She  had  been  in- 
spired with  the  light  of  the  true  faith,  through  the 
ministry  of  a  young  man  who  had  been  a  captive  in 
Ronda.  He  was  anxious  to  complete  his  good  work 
by  marrying  her.  The  queen  consented  to  their 
pious  wishes,  having  first  taken  care  that  the  young 
maiden  should  be  properly  purified  by  the  holy 
sacrament  of  baptism. 

"Thus  this  pestilent  nest  of  warfare  and  infidelity, 
the  city  of  Ronda,"  says  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio 
Agapicla,  "  was  converted  to  the  true  faith  by  the 
thunder  of  our  artillery — an  example  which  was 
soon  followed  by  Casantonela,  Alarbella,  and  other 
towns  in  these  parts,  insomuch  that  in  the  course  of 
this  expedition  no  less  than  seventy-two  places  were 
rescued  from  the  vile  sect  of  Mahomet,  and  placed 
under  the  benignant  domination  of  the  cross." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


HOW  THE  PEOPLE  OF  GRANADA  INVITED  EL  ZA- 
GAL  TO  THE  THRONE,  AND  HOW  HE  MARCHED 
TO  THE  CAPITAL. 

The  people  of  Granada  were  a  versatile,  unsteady 
race,  and  exceedingly  given  to  make  and  unmake 
kings.  They  had,  for  a  long  time,  vacillated  between 
old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  and  his  son  Boabdil  el  Chico  ; 
sometimes  setting  up  the  one,  sometimes  the  other, 
and  sometimes  both  at  once,  according  to  the  pinch 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


215 


and  pressure  of  external  evils.  They  found,  how- 
ever, that  the  evils  still  went  on  increasing,  in  defi- 
ance of  every  change,  and  were  at  their  wits'  end  to 
devise  some  new  combination  or  arrangement,  by 
which  an  efficient  government  might  be  wrought  out 
of  two  bad  kings.  When  the  tidings  arrived  of  the 
fall  of  Ronda,  and  the  consequent  ruin  of  the  fron- 
tier, a  tumultuous  assemblage  took  place  in  one  of 
the  public  squares.  As  usual,  the  people  attributed 
the  misfortunes  of  the  country  to  the  faults  of  their 
rulers ;  for  the  populace  never  imagine  that  any  part 
of  their  miseries  can  originate  with  themselves.  A 
crafty  alfaqui,  named  Alyme  Mazer,  who  had  watched 
the  current  of  their  discontents,  rose  and  harangued 
them:  "You  have  been  choosing  and  changing," 
said  he,  "  between  two  monarchs — and  who  and 
what  are  they  ?  Muley  Aben  Hassan,  for  one  ;  a 
man  worn  out  by  age  and  infirmities,  unable  to  sally 
forth  against  the  foe,  even  when  ravaging  to  the  very 
gates  of  the  city : — and  Boabdil  el  Chico,  for  the 
other ;  an  apostate,  a  traitor,  a  deserter  from  his 
throne,  a  fugitive  among  the  enemies  of  his  nation,  a 
man  fated  to  misfortune,  and  proverbially  named 
'the  unlucky.'  In  a  time  of  overwhelming  war, 
like  the  present,  he  only  is  fit  to  sway  a  sceptre  who 
can  wield  a  sword.  Would  you  seek  such  a  man  ? 
You  need  not  look  far.  Allah  has  sent  such  a  one, 
in  this  time  of  distress,  to  retrieve  the  fortunes  of 
Granada.  You  already  know  whom  I  mean.  You 
know  that  it  can  be  no  other  than  your  general,  the 
invincible  Abdalla,  whose  surname  of  El  Zagal  has 
become  a  watch-word  in  battle,  rousing  the  courage 
of  the  faithful,  and  striking  terror  into  the  unbe- 
lievers." 

The  multitude  received  the  words  of  the  alfaqui 
with  acclamations ;  they  were  delighted  with  the 
idea  of  a  third  king  over  Granada  ;  and  Abdalla  el 
Zagal  being  of  the  royal  family,  and  already  in  the 
virtual  exercise  of  royal  power,  the  measure  had 
nothing  in  it  that  appeared  either  rash  or  violent.  A 
deputation  was  therefore  sent  to  El  Zagal  at  Malaga, 
inviting  him  to  repair  to  Granada  to  receive  the 
crown. 

El  Zagal  expressed  great  surprise  and  repugnance, 
when  the  mission  was  announced  to  him  ;  and  noth- 
ing but  his  patriotic  zeal  for  the  public  safety,  and 
his  fraternal  eagerness  to  relieve  the  aged  Aben 
Hassan  from  the  cares  of  government,  prevailed  upon 
him  to  accept  the  offer.  Leaving,  therefore,  Rodovan 
Vanegas,  one  of  the  bravest  Moorish  generals,  in 
command  of  Malaga,  he  departed  for  Granada,  at- 
tended by  three  hundred  trusty  cavaliers. 

Old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  did  not  wait  for  the  ar- 
rival of  his  brother.  Unable  any  longer  to  buffet 
with  the  storms  of  the  times,  his  only  solicitude  was 
to  seek  some  safe  and  quiet  harbor  of  repose.  In 
one  of  the  deep  valleys  which  indent  the  Mediter- 
ranean coast,  and  which  are  shut  up  on  the  land 
side  by  stupendous  mountains,  stood  the  little  city 
of  Almunecar.  The  valley  was  watered  by  the 
limpid  river  Frio,  and  abounded  with  fruits,  with 
grain  and  pasturage.  The  city  was  strongly  forti- 
fied, and  the  garrison  and  alcayde  were  devoted  to 
the  old  monarch.  This  was  the  place  chosen  by 
Muley  Aben  Hassan  for  his  asylum.  His  first  care 
was  to  send  thither  all  his  treasures  ;  his  next  care 
was  to  take  refuge  there  himself;  his  third,  that  his 
sultana  Zorayna,  and  their  two  sons,  should  follow 
him. 

In  the  mean  time,  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal  pursued 
his  journey  towards  the  capital,  attended  by  his 
three  hundred  cavaliers.  The  road  from  Malaga  to 
Granada  winds  close  by  Alhama,  and  is  dominated 
by  that  lofty  fortress.  This  had  been  a  most  peril- 
ous pass  for  the  Moors,  during  the  time  th.it  Alhama 


was  commanded  by  the  count  de  Tendilla  :  not  a 
traveller  could  escape  his  eagle  eye,  and  his  garrison 
was  ever  ready  for  a  sally.  The  count  de  Tendilla, 
however,  had  been  relieved  from  this  arduous  post, 
and  it  had  been  given  in  charge  to  Don  Gutiere  de 
Padilla,  clavero,  or  treasurer  of  the  order  of  Cala- 
trava ;  an  easy,  indulgent  man,  who  had  with  him 
three  hundred  gallant  knights  of  his  order,  besides 
other  mercenary  troops.  The  garrison  had  fallen 
off  in  discipline ;  the  cavaliers  were  hardy  in  fight 
and  daring  in  foray,  but  confident  in  themselves  and 
negligent  of  proper  precautions.  Just  before  the 
journey  of  El  Zagal,  a  number  of  these  cavaliers, 
with  several  soldiers  of  fortune  of  the  garrison,  in  all 
about  one  hundred  and  seventy  men,  had  sallied 
forth  to  harass  the  Moorish  country  during  its  pres- 
ent distracted  state,  and,  having  ravaged  the  val- 
leys of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or  Snowy  Mountains, 
were  returning  to  Alhama  in  gay  spirits  and  laden 
with  booty. 

As  El  Zagal  passed  through  the  neighborhood  of 
Alhama,  he  recollected  the  ancient  perils  of  the 
road,  and  sent  light  cerradors  in  advance,  to  inspect 
each  rock  and  ravine  where  a  foe  might  lurk  in  am- 
bush. One  of  these  scouts,  overlooking  a  narrow 
valley  which  opened  upon  the  road,  descried  a  troop 
of  horsemen  on  the  banks  of  a  little  stream.  They 
were  dismounted,  and  had  taken  the  bridles  from 
their  steeds,  that  they  might  crop  the  fresh  grass  on 
the  banks  of  the  river.  The  horsemen  were  scat- 
tered about,  some  reposing  in  the  shades  of  rocks 
and  trees,  others  gambling  for  the  spoil  they  had 
taken  :  not  a  sentinel  was  posted  to  keep  guard  ; 
every  thing  showed  the  perfect  security  of  men 
who  consider  themselves  beyond  the  reach  of  dan- 
ger. 

These  careless  cavaliers  were  in  fact  the  knights 
of  Calatrava,  with  a  part  of  their  companions  in 
arms,  returning  from  their  foray.  A  part  of  their 
force  had  passed  on  with  the  cavalgada  ;  ninety  of 
the  principal  cavaliers  had  halted  to  refresh  them- 
selves in  this  valley.  El  Zagal  smiled  with  ferocious 
joy,  when  he  heard  of  their  negligent  security. 
"  Here  will  be  trophies,"  said  he,  "to  grace  our  en- 
trance into  Granada." 

Approaching  the  valley  with  cautious  silence,  he 
wheeled  into  it  at  full  speed  at  the  head  of  his  troop, 
and  attacked  the  christians  so  suddenly  and  furiously, 
that  they  had  not  time  to  put  the  bridles  upon  their 
horses,  or  even  to  leap  into  the  saddles.  They  made 
a  confused  but  valiant  defence,  fighting  among  the 
rocks,  and  in  the  rugged  bed  of  the  river.  Their 
defence  was  useless  ;  seventy-nine  were  slain,  and 
the  remaining  eleven  were  taken  prisoners. 

A  party  of  the  Moors  galloped  in  pursuit  of  the 
cavalgada  :  they  soon  overtook  it,  winding  slowly  up 
a  hill.  The  horsemen  who  conveyed  it,  perceiving 
the  enemy  at  a  distance,  made  their  escape,  and  lelt 
the  spoil  to  be  retaken  by  the  Moors.  El  Zagal 
gathered  together  his  captives  and  his  booty,  and 
proceeded,  elate  with  success,  to  Granada. 

He  paused  before  the  gate  of  Elvira,  for  as  yet  he 
had  not  been  proclaimed  king.  This  ceremony  was 
immediately  performed  ;  for  the  fame  of  his  recent 
exploit  had  preceded  him,  and  had  intoxicated  the 
minds  of  the  giddy  populace.  He  entered  Granada 
in  a  sort  of  triumph.  The  eleven  captive  knights  of 
CalatraVa  walked  in  front :  next  were  paraded  the 
ninety  captured  steeds,  bearing  the  armor  and  weap- 
ons of  their  late  owners,  and  led  by  as  many 
mounted  Moors :  then  came  seventy  Moorish  horse- 
men, with  as  many  christian  heads  hanging  at  their 
saddle-bows :  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal  followed,  sur- 
rounded by  a  number  of  distinguished  cavaliers 
splendidly  attired  ;  and  the  pageant  was  closed  by  a 


216 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


long  cavalgada  of  the  flocks  and  herds,  and  other 
booty,  recovered  from  the  christians.* 

The  populace  gazed  with  almost  savage  triumph 
at  these  captive  cavaliers  and  the  gory  heads  of  their 
companions,  knowing  them  to  have  been  part  of  the 
formidable  garrison  of  Alhama,  so  long  the  scourge 
of  Granada  and  the  terror  of  the  vega.  They  hailed 
this  petty  triumph  as  an  auspicious  opening  of  the 
reign  of  their  new  monarch ;  for  several  days,  the 
names  of  Muley  Aben  Hassan  and  Boabdil  el  Chico 
were  never  mentioned  but  with  contempt,  and  the 
whole  city  resounded  with  the  praises  of  El  Zagal, 
or  the  valiant. 


CHAPTER  :^XXII. 

HOW  THE  COUNT  DE  CABRA  ATTEMPTED  TO  CAP- 
TURE ANOTHER  KING,  AND  HOW  HE  FARED 
IN  HIS  ATTEMPT. 

The  elevation  of  a  bold  and  active  veteran  to  the 
throne  of  Granada,  in  place  of  its  late  bedridden 
king,  made  an  important  difference  in  the  aspect  of 
the  war,  and  called  for  some  blow  that  should  dash 
the  confidence  of  the  Moors  in  their  new  monarch, 
and  animate  the  christians  to  fresh  exertions. 

Don  Diego  de  Cordova,  the  brave  count  de  Cabra, 
was  at  this  time  in  his  castle  of  Vaena,  where  he 
kept  a  wary  eye  upon  the  frontier.  It  was  now  the 
latter  part  of  August,  and  he  grieved  that  the  sum- 
mer should  pass  away  without  an  inroad  into  the 
country  of  the  foe.  He  sent  out  his  scouts  on  the 
prowl,  and  they  brought  him  word  that  the  impor- 
tant post  of  Moclin  was  but  weakly  garrisoned.  This 
was  a  castellated  town,  strongly  situated  upon  a  high 
mountain,  partly  surrounded  by  thick  forests,  and 
partly  girdled  by  a  river.  It  defended  one  of  the 
rugged  and  solitary  passes,  by  which  the  christians 
were  wont  to  make  their  inroads  ;  insomuch  that  the 
Moors,  in  their  figurative  way,  denominated  it  the 
shield  of  Granada. 

The  count  de  Cabra  sent  word  to  the  monarchs 
of  the  feeble  state  of  the  garrison,  and  gave  it  as  his 
opinion,  that,  by  a  secret  and  rapid  expedition,  the 
])lace  might  be  surprised.  King  Ferdinand  asked 
the  advice  of  his  counsellors.  Some  cautioned  him 
against  the  sanguine  temperament  of  the  count,  and 
his  heedlessness  of  danger ;  Moclin,  they  observed, 
was  near  to  Granada,  and  might  be  promptly  rein- 
forced. The  opinion  of  the  count,  however,  pre- 
vailed ;  the  king  considering  him  almost  infallible,  in 
matters  of  border  warfare,  since  his  capture  of  Boab- 
dil el  Chico. 

The  king  departed,  therefore,  from  Cordova,  and 
took  post  at  Alcala  la  Real,  for  the  purpose  of  being 
near  to  Moclin.  The  queen,  also,  proceeded  to 
Vaena,  accompanied  by  her  children,  prince  Juan 
and  the  princess  Isabella,  and  her  great  counsellor 
in  all  matters,  public  and  private,  spiritual  and  tem- 
poral, the  venerable  grand  cardinal  of  Spain. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  pride  and  satisfaction 
of  the  loyal  count  de  Cabra,  when  he  saw  this  stately 
train  winding  along  the  dreary  mountain  roads,  and 
entering  the  gates  of  Vaena.  He  received  his  royal 
guests  with  all  due  ceremony,  and  lodged  them  in 
the  best  apartments  that  the  warrior  castle  afforded, 
being  the  same  that  had  formerly  been  occupied  by 
the  royal  captive  Boabdil. 

King  Ferdinand  had  concerted  a  wary  plan,  to  in- 
sure the  success  of  the  enterprise.     The  count  de 


*  Zurita,  lib.   ao.   c.  63.     Mariana,  Hist,  de    Espafia.    Abarca, 
Anules  de  Aragon. 


Cabra  and  Don  Martin  Alonzo  de  Montemayor  were 
to  set  forth  with  their  troops,  so  as  to  reach  Moclin 
by  a  certain  hour,  and  to  intercept  all  who  should 
attempt  to  enter,  or  should  sally  from  the  town.  The 
Master  of  Calatrava,  the  troops  of  the  grand  cardinal, 
commanded  by  the  count  of  Buendia,  and  the  forces 
of  the  bishop  of  Jaen,  led  by  that  belligerent  prelate, 
amounting  in  all  to  four  thousand  horse  and  six  thou- 
sand foot,  were  to  set  off  in  time  to  co-operate  with 
the  count  de  Cabra,  so  as  to  surround  the  town. 
The  king  was  to  follow  with  his  whole  force,  and 
encamp  before  the  place. 

And  here  the  worthy  padre  Fray  Antonio  Agapida 
breaks  forth  into  a  triumphant  eulogy  of  the  pious 
prelates,  who  thus  mingled  personally  in  these  scenes 
of  warfare.  As  this  was  a  holy  crusade  (says  he) 
undertaken  for  the  advancement  of  the  faith  and  the 
glory  of  the  church,  so  was  it  always  countenanced 
and  upheld  by  saintly  men  :  for  the  victories  of  their 
most  Catholic  majesties  were  not  followed,  like  those 
of  mere  worldly  sovereigns,  by  erecting  castles  and 
towers,  and  appointing  alcaydes  and  garrisons  ;  but 
by  the  founding  of  convents  and  cathedrals,  and  the 
establishment  of  wealthy  bishoprics.  Wherefore  their 
majesties  were  always  surrounded,  in  court  or  camp, 
in  the  cabinet  or  in  the  field,  by  a  crowd  of  ghostly 
advisers,  inspiriting  them  to  the  prosecution  of  this 
most  righteous  war.  Nay,  the  holy  men  of  the 
church  did  not  scruple,  at  times,  to  buckle  on  the 
cuirass  over  the  cassock,  to  exchange  the  crosier 
for  the  lance,  and  thus,  with  corporal  hands  and 
temporal  weapons,  to  tight  the  good  fight  of  the 
faith. 

But  to  return  from  this  rhapsody  of  the  worthy 
friar.  The  count  de  Cabra,  being  instructed  in  the 
complicated  arrangements  of  the  king,  marched 
forth  at  midnight  to  execute  them  punctually.  He 
led  his  troops  by  the  little  river  that  winds  below 
Vaena,  and  so  up  the  wild  defiles  of  the  mountains, 
marching  all  night,  and  stopping  only  in  the  heat 
of  the  following  day,  to  repose  under  the  shadowy 
cliffs  of  a  deep  barranca,  calculating  to  arrive  at 
Moclin  exactly  in  time  to  co-operate  with  the  other 
forces. 

The  troops  had  scarcely  stretched  themselves  on 
the  earth  to  take  repose,  when  a  scout  arrived, 
bringing  word  that  El  Zagal  had  suddenly  sallied 
out  of  Granada  with  a  strong  force,  and  had  en- 
camped in  the  vicinity  of  Moclin.  It  was  plain  that 
the  wary  Moor  had  received  information  of  the  in- 
tended attack.  This,  however,  was  not  the  idea 
that  presented  itself  to  the  mind  of  the  count  de 
Cabra.  He  had  captured  one  king — here  was  a  fair 
opportunity  to  secure  another.  What  a  triumph,  to 
lodge  another  captive  monarch  in  his  castle  of 
Vaena  ! — what  a  prisoner  to  deliver  into  the  hands 
of  his  roj'al  mistress  !  Fired  with  the  thoughts,  the 
good  count  forgot  all  the  arrangements  of  the  king ; 
or  rather,  blinded  by  former  success,  he  trusted 
every  thing  to  courage  and  fortune,  and  thought 
that,  by  one  bold  swoop,  he  might  again  bear  off  the 
royal  prize,  and  wear  his  laurels  without  competi- 
tion.* His  only  fear  was  that  the  Master  of  Cala- 
trava, and  the  belligerent  bishop,  might  come  up  in 
time  to  share  the  glory  of  the  victory  ;  so,  ordering 
every  one  to  horse,  this  hot-spirited  cavalier  pushed 
on  for  Moclin,  without  allowing  his  troops  the 
necessary  time  for  repose. 

The  evening  closed,  as  the  count  arrived  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Moclin.  It  was  the  full  of  the 
moon,  and  a  bright  and  cloudless  night.  The  count 
was  marching  through  one  of  those  deep  v.iUeys  or 
ravines,  worn  in  the  Spanish  mountains  by  the  brief 


*  Mariana,  lib.  35.  c.  17.    Abarca,  Zurita,  &c. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


217 


but  tremendous  torrents  which  prevail  during'  the 
autumnal  rains.  It  was  walled  on  each  side  by  lofty 
and  almost  perpendicular  cliffs,  but  great  masses  of 
moonlight  were  thrown  into  the  bottom  of  the  glen, 
glittering  on  the  armor  of  the  shining  squadrons,  as 
they  silently  passed  through  it.  Suddenly  the  war- 
cry  of  the  Moors  rose  in  various  parts  of  the  valley; 
"  El  Zagal  !  El  Zagal !  "  was  shouted  from  every 
cliff,  accompanied  by  showers  of  missiles,  that  struck 
down  several  of  the  christian  warriors.  The  count 
lifted  up  his  eyes,  and  beheld,  by  the  light  of  the 
moon,  every  cliff  glistening  with  Moorish  soldiery. 
The  deadly  show-er  fell  thickly  round  him,  and  the 
shining  armor  of  his  followers  made  them  fair  ob- 
jects for  the  aim  of  the  enemy.  The  count  saw  his 
brother  Gonzalo  struck  dead  by  his  side ;  his  own 
horse  sunk  under  him,  pierced  by  four  Moorish 
lances ;  and  he  received  a  wound  in  the  hand  from 
an  arquebuss.  He  remembered  the  horrible  massa- 
cre of  the  mountains  of  Malaga,  and  feared  a  similar 
catastrophe.  There  was  no  time  to  pause.  His 
brother's  horse,  freed  from  his  slaughtered  rider, 
was  running  at  large  ;  seizing  the  reins,  he  sprang 
into  the  saddle,  called  upon  his  men  to  follow  him, 
and,  wheeling  round,  retreated  out  of  the  fatal 
valley. 

The  Moors,  rushing  down  from  the  heights,  pur- 
sued the  retreating  christians.  The  chase  endured 
for  a  league,  but  it  was  a  league  of  rough  and  broken 
road,  where  the  christians  had  to  turn  and  fight  at 
almost  every  step.  In  these  short  but  fierce  com- 
bats, the  enemy  lost  many  cavaliers  of  note  ;  but  the 
loss  of  the  christians  was  infinitely  more  grievous, 
comprising  numbers  of  the  noblest  warriors  of  Vaena 
and  its  vicinity.  Many  of  the  christians,  disabled  by 
wounds  or  exhausted  by  fatigue,  turned  aside  and 
endeavored  to  conceal  themselves  among  rocks  and 
thickets,  but  never  more  rejoined  their  companions, 
being  slain  or  captured  by  the  Moors,  or  perishing 
in  their  wretched  retreats. 

The  arrival  of  the  troops  led  by  the  Master  of 
Calatrava  and  the  bishop  of  Jaen,  put  an  end  to  the 
rout.  El  Zagal  contented  himself  with  the  laurels 
he  had  gained,  and,  ordering  the  trumpets  to  call  off 
his  men  from  the  pursuit,  returned  in  great  triumph 
to  Moclin.* 

Queen  Isabella  was  at  Vaena,  awaiting  with  g^eat 
anxiety  the  result  of  the  expedition.  She  was  in  a 
stately  apartment  of  the  castle,  looking  towards  the 
road  that  winds  through  the  mountains  from  Moclin, 
and  regarding  the  watch-towers  that  crowned  the 
neighboring  heights,  in  hopes  of  favorable  signals. 
The  prince  and  princess,  her  children,  were  with 
her,  and  her  venerable  counsellor,  the  grand  cardinal. 
All  shared  in  the  anxiety  of  the  moment.  At  length 
couriers  were  seen  riding  towards  the  town.  They 
entered  its  gates,  but  before  they  reached  the  castle, 
the  nature  of  their  tidings  was  knovifn  to  the  queen, 
by  the  shrieks  and  wailings  that  rose  from  the  streets 
below.  The  messengers  were  soon  followed  by 
wounded  fugitives,  hastening  home  to  be  relieved,  or 
to  die  among  their  friends  and  families.  The  whole 
town  resounded  with  lamentations ;  for  it  had  lost 
the  flower  of  its  youth,  and  its  bravest  warriors. 
Isabella  was  a  woman  of  courageous  soul,  but  her 
feelings  were  overpowered  by  the  spectacle  of  wo 
which  presented  itself  on  every  side ;  her  maternal 
heart  mourned  over  the  death  of  so  many  loyal  sub- 
jects, who  so  shortly  before  had  rallied  round  her 
with  devoted  affection ;  and,  losing  her  usual  self- 
command,  she  sunk  into  deep  despondency. 

In  this  gloomy  state  of  mind,  a  thousand  appre- 
hensions crowded  upon  her.     She  dreaded  the  confi- 


♦  Zurita,  lib.  20,  c.  4.    Pulgar,  Cronica. 


dence  which  this  success  would  impart  to  the  Moors : 
she  feared  also  for  the  important  fortress  of  Alhama, 
the  garrison  of  which  had  not  been  reinforced,  since 
its  foraging  party  had  been  cut  off  by  this  same  El 
Zagal.  On  every  side  the  queen  saw  danger  and 
disaster,  and  feared  that  a  general  reverse  was  about 
to  attend  the  Castilian  arms. 

The  grand  cardinal  comforted  her  with  both 
spiritual  and  worldly  counsel.  He  told  her  to  recol- 
lect that  no  country  was  ever  conquered  without  oc- 
casional reverses  to  the  conquerors  ;  that  the  Moors 
were  a  warlike  people,  fortified  in  a  rough  and 
mountainous  country,  where  they  never  could  be 
conquered  by  her  ancestors, — and  that  in  fact  her 
armies  had  already,  in  three  years,  taken  more  cities 
than  those  of  any  of  her  predecessors  had  been  able 
to  do  in  twelve.  He  concluded  by  offering  himself 
to  take  the  field,  with  three  thousand  cavalry,  his 
own  retainers,  paid  and  maintained  by  himself,  and 
either  hasten  to  the  relief  of  Alhama,  or  undertake 
any  other  expedition  her  majesty  might  command. 
The  discreet  words  of  the  cardinal  soothed  the  spirit 
of  the  queen,  who  always  looked  to  him  for  consola- 
tion ;  and  she  soon  recovered  her  usual  equanimity. 

Some  of  the  counsellors  of  Isabella,  of  that  politic 
class  who  seek  to  rise  by  the  faults  of  others,  were 
loud  in  their  censures  of  the  rashness  of  the  count. 
The  queen  defended  him,  with  prompt  generosity. 
"The  enterprise,"  said  she,  "  was  rash,  but  not  more 
rash  than  that  of  Lucena,  which  was  crowned  with 
success,  and  which  we  have  all  applauded  as  the 
height  of  heroism.  Had  the  count  de  Cabra  suc- 
ceeded in  capturing  the  uncle,  as  he  did  the  nephew, 
who  is  there  that  would  not  have  praised  him  to  the 
skies .'  " 

The  magnanimous  words  of  the  queen  put  a  stop 
to  all  invidious  remarks  in  her  presence  ;  but  certain 
of  the  courtiers,  who  had  envied  the  count  the  glory 
gained  by  his  former  achievements,  continued  to 
magnify,  among  themselves,  his  present  imprudence, 
and  we  are  told  by  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  that  they 
sneeringly  gave  the  worthy  cavalier  the  appellation 
of  count  de  Cabra,  the  king-catcher. 

Ferdinand  had  reached  the  place  on  the  frontier 
called  the  Fountain  of  the  King,  within  three  leagues 
of  Moclin,  when  he  heard  of  the  late  disaster.  He 
greatly  lamented  the  precipitation  of  the  count,  but 
forbore  to  express  himself  with  severity,  for  he  knew 
the  value  of  that  loyal  and  valiant  cavalier.*  He 
held  a  council  of  war,  to  determine  what  course  was 
to  be  pursued.  Some  of  his  cavaliers  advised  him 
to  abandon  the  attempt  upon  Moclin,  the  place  be- 
ing strongly  reinforced,  and  the  enemy  inspirited  by 
his  recent  victory.  Certain  old  Spanish  hidalgos 
reminded  him  that  he  had  but  few  Castilian  troops 
in  his  army,  without  which  staunch  soldiery  his  pre- 
decessors never  presumed  to  enter  the  Moorish  terri- 
tory ;  while  others  remonstrated  that  it  would  be 
beneath  the  dignity  of  a  king  to  retire  from  an  enter- 
prise, on  account  of  the  defeat  of  a  single  cavalier 
and  his  retainers.  In  this  way  the  king  was  dis- 
tracted by  a  multitude  of  counsellors,  when  fortu- 
nately a  letter  from  the  queen  put  an  end  to  his  per- 
])lexities.  Proceed  we,  in  the  next  chapter,  to  relate 
what  was  the  purport  of  that  letter. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


EXPEDITION  AGAINST  THE    CASTLES    OF  CAMBIL 
AND  ALBAHAR. 

"  Happy  are  those  princes,"  exclaims  the  worthy 
padre  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  who   have  women 


♦  Abarca,  Anales  de  Aragon. 


218 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


and  priests  to  advise  them,  for  in  these  dwelleth  the 
spirit  of  counsel.  While  Ferdinand  and  his  captains 
were  confounding'  each  other  in  their  deliberations 
at  the  Fountain  of  the  King,  a  quiet  but  deep  little 
council  of  war  was  held  in  the  state  apartment  of 
the  old  castle  of  Vaena,  between  queen  Isabella,  the 
venerable  Pedro  Gonzalez  de  Mendoza,  grand  car- 
dinal of  Spain,  and  Don  Garcia  Osorio,  the  belliger- 
ent bishop  of  Jaen.  This  last  worthy  prelate,  who 
had  exchanged  his  mitre  for  a  helm,  no  sooner  beheld 
the  defeat  of  the  enterprise  against  Moclin,  than  he 
turned  the  reins  of  his  sleek,  stall-fed  steed,  and 
hastened  back  to  Vaena,  full  of  a  project  for  the  em- 
ployment of  the  army,  the  advancement  of  the  faith, 
and  the  benefit  of  his  own  diocese.  He  knew  that 
the  actions  of  the  king  were  influenced  by  the  opin- 
ions of  the  queen,  and  that  the  queen  always  inclined 
a  listening  ear  to  the  counsels  of  saintly  men  :  he  laid 
his  plans,  therefore,  with  the  customary  wisdom  of 
his  cloth,  to  turn  the  ideas  of  the  queen  into  the 
proper  chanr>el ;  and  this  was  the  purport  of  the 
worthy  bishop's  suggestions. 

The  bishopric  of  Jaen  had  for  a  long  time  been 
harassed  by  two  Moorish  castles,  the  scourge  and 
terror  of  all  that  part  of  the  country.  They  were 
situated  on  the  frontiers  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada, 
about  four  leagues  from  Jaen,  in  a  deep,  narrow, 
and  rugged  valley,  surrounded  by  lofty  mountains. 
Through  this  valley  runs  the  Rio  Frio,  (or  Cold 
river,)  in  a  deep  channel,  worn  between  high  pre- 
cipitous banks.  On  each  side  of  the  stream  rise  two 
vast  rocks,  nearly  perpendicular,  within  a  stone's- 
throw  of  each  other ;  blocking  up  the  gorge  of  the 
valley.  On  the  summits  of  these  rocks  stood  the  two 
formidable  castles,  Cambil  and  Albahar,  fortified  with 
battlements  and  towers  of  great  height  and  thickness. 
They  were  connected  together  by  a  bridge  thrown 
from  rock  to  rock  across  the  river.  The  road,  which 
passed  through  the  valley,  traversed  this  bridge,  and 
was  completely  commanded  by  these  castles.  They 
stood  like  two  giants  of  romance,  guarding  the  pass, 
and  dominating  the  valley. 

The  kings  of  Granada,  knowing  the  importance 
of  these  castles,  kept  them  always  well  garrisoned, 
and  victualled  to  stand  a  siege,  with  fleet  steeds  and 
hard  riders,  to  forage  the  country  of  the  christians. 
The  warlike  race  of  the  Abencerrages,  the  troops 
of  the  royal  household,  and  others  of  the  choicest 
chivalry  of  Granada,  made  them  their  strong-holds, 
or  posts  of  arms,  from  whence  to  sally  forth  on  those 
predatory  and  roving  enterprises  which  were  the 
delight  of  the  Moorish  cavaliers.  As  the  wealthy 
bishopric  of  Jaen  lay  immediately  at  hand,  it  suffered 
more  peculiarly  from  these  marauders.  They  drove 
off  the  fat  beeves  and  the  flocks  of  sheep  from  the 
pastures,  and  swept  the  laborers  from  the  tield ;  they 
scoured  the  country  to  the  very  gates  of  Jaen,  so 
that  the  citizens  could  not  venture  from  their  walls, 
without  the  risk  of  being  borne  off  captive  to  the 
dungeons  of  these  castles. 

The  worthy  bishop,  like  a  good  pastor,  beheld  with 
grief  of  heart  his  fat  bishopric  daily  waxing  leaner 
and  leaner,  and  poorer  and  poorer ;  and  his  holy  ire 
was  kindled  at  the  thoughts  that  the  possessions  of 
the  church  should  thus  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  crew  of 
infidels.  It  was  the  urgent  counsel  of  the  bishop, 
therefore,  tluat  the  military  force,  thus  providentially 
assembled  in  the  neighborhood,  since  it  was  appar- 
ently foiled  in  its  attempt  upon  Moclin,  should  be 
turned  against  these  insolent  castles,  and  the  country 
delivered  from  their  domination.  The  grand  cardinal 
supported  the  suggestion  of  the  bishop,  and  declared 
that  he  had  long  meditated  the  policy  of  a  measure 
of  the  kind.  Their  united  opinions  found  favor  with 
the  queen,  and  she  dispatched  a  letter  on  the  subject 


to  the  king.  It  came  just  in  time  to  relieve  liim 
from  the  distraction  of  a  multitude  of  counsellors, 
and  he  immediately  undertook  the  reduction  of  those 
castles. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  was  accordingly  sent  in  ad- 
vance, with  two  thousand  horse,  to  keep  a  watch 
upon  the  garrisons,  and  prevent  all  entrance  or  exit, 
until  the  king  should  arrive  with  the  main  army  and 
the  battering  artillery.  The  queen,  to  be  near  at 
hand  in  case  of  need,  moved  her  quarters  to  the  city 
of  Jaen,  where  she  was  received  with  martial  honors 
by  the  belligerent  bishop,  who  had  buckled  on  his 
cuirass  and  girded  on  his  sword,  to  fight  in  the  cause 
of  his  diocese. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  marques  of  Cadiz  arrived  in 
the  valley,  and  completely  shut  up  the  Moors  within 
their  walls.  The  castles  were  under  the  command 
of  Mahomet  Lentin  Ben  Usef  an  Abencerrage,  and 
one  of  the  bravest  cavaliers  of  Granada.  In  his  gar- 
risons were  many  troops  of  the  fierce  African  tribe 
of  Gomeres.  Mahomet  Lentin,  confident  in  the 
strength  of  his  fortresses,  smiled  as  he  looked  down 
from  his  battlements  upon  the  christian  cavalry,  per- 
plexed in  the  rough  and  narrow  valley.  He  sent 
forth  skirmishing  parties  to  harass  them,  and  there 
were  many  sharp  combats  between  small  parties  and 
single  knights ;  but  the  Moors  were  driven  back  to 
their  castles,  and  all  attempts  to  send  intelligence  of 
their  situation  to  Granada,  were  frustrated  by  the 
vigilance  of  the  marques  of  Cadiz. 

At  length  the  legions  of  the  royal  army  came  pour- 
ing, with  vaunting  trumpet  and  fluttering  banner, 
along  the  defiles  of  the  mountains.  They  halted  be- 
fore the  castles,  but  the  king  could  not  find  room  in 
the  narrow  and  rugged  valley  to  form  his  camp :  he 
had  to  divide  it  into  three  parts,  which  were  posted 
on  different  heights  ;  and  his  tents  whitened  the  sides 
of  the  neighboring  hills.  When  the  encampment  was 
formed,  the  army  remained  gazing  idly  at  the  castles. 
The  artillery  was  upwards  of  four  leagues  in  the  rear, 
and  without  artillery  all  attack  would  be  in  vain. 

The  alcayde  Mahomet  Lentin  knew  the  nature  of 
the  road  by  which  the  artillery  had  to  be  brought. 
It  was  merely  a  narrow  and  rugged  path,  at  times 
scaling  almost  perpendicular  crags  and  precipices, 
up  which  it  was  utterly  impossible  for  wheel  car- 
riages to  pass  ;  neither  was  it  in  the  power  of  man  or 
beast  to  draw  up  the  lombards,  and  other  ponderous 
ordnance.  He  felt  assured,  therefore,  th.it  they  never 
could  be  brought  to  the  camp  ;  and,  without  their 
aid,  what  could  the  christians  effect  against  his  rock- 
built  castles.'  He  scoffed  at  them,  therefore,  as  he  saw 
their  tents  by  day  and  their  fires  by  night  covering 
the  surrounding  heights.  "  Let  them  linger  here  a 
little  while  longer,"  said  he,  "  and  the  autumnal  tor- 
rents will  wash  them  from  the  mountains." 

While  the  alcayde  was  thus  closely  mewed  up 
within  his  walls,  and  the  christians  remained  inactive 
in  their  camp,  he  noticed,  one  calm  autumnal  day, 
the  sound  of  implements  of  labor  echoing  among  the 
mountains,  and  now  and  then  the  crash  of  a  falling 
tree,  or  a  thundering  report,  as  if  some  rock  had 
been  heaved  from  its  bed  and  hurled  into  the  valley. 
The  alcayde  was  on  the  battlements  of  his  castle, 
surrounded  by  his  knights.  "  Methinks,"  said  he, 
"  these  christians  are  making  war  upon  the  rocks 
and  trees  of  the  mountains,  since  they  find  our  castles 
unassailable." 

The  sounds  did  not  cease  even  during  the  night : 
every  now  and  then,  the  Moorish  sentinel,  as  he 
paced  the  battlements,  heard  some  crash  echoing 
among  the  heights.  The  return  of  day  explained  the 
mystery.  Scarcely  did  the  sun  shine  against  the 
summits  of  the  mountains,  than  shouts  burst  from  the 
cliffs  opposite   to   the  castles,  and  were   answered 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


219 


from  the  camp,  with  joyful  sound  of  kettle-drums 
and  trumpets. 

The  astonished  Moors  Hfted  up  their  eyes,  and 
beheld,  as  it  were,  a  torrent  of  war  breaking  out  of 
a  narrow  defile.  There  was  a  multitude  of  men, 
with  pickaxes,  spades,  and  bars  of  iron,  clearing 
away  every  obstacle  ;  while  behind  them  slowly 
moved  along  great  teams  of  oxen,  dragging  heavy 
ordnance,  and  all  the  munitions  of  battering  artillery. 

"  What  cannot  women  and  priests  effect,  when 
they  unite  in  council  ?  "  exclaims  again  the  worthy 
Antonio  Agapida.  The  queen  had  held  another  con- 
sultation with  the  grand  cardinal  and  the  belligerent 
bishop  of  Jaen.  It  was  clear  that  the  heavy  ordnance 
could  never  be  conveyed  to  the  camp  by  the  regular 
road  of  the  country ;  and  without  battering  artillery, 
nothing  could  be  effected.  It  was  suggested,  how- 
ever, by  the  zealous  bishop,  that  another  road  might 
be  opened,  through  a  more  practicable  part  of  the 
mountains.  It  would  be  an  undertaking  extravagant 
and  chimerical,  with  ordinary  means  ;  and,  therefore, 
unlooked  for  by  the  enemy ;  but  what  could  not 
kings  effect,  who  had  treasures  and  armies  at  com- 
mand? 

The  project  struck  the  enterprising  spirit  of  the 
queen.  Six  thousand  men,  with  pickaxes,  crowbars, 
and  every  other  necessary  implement,  were  set  to 
work  day  and  night,  to  break  a  road  through  the 
very  centre  of  the  mountains.  No  time  was  to  be 
lost,  for  it  was  rumored  that  El  Zagal  was  about  to 
march  with  a  mighty  host  to  the  relief  of  the  castles. 
The  bustling  bishop  of  Jaen  acted  as  pioneer,  to 
mark  the  route  and  superintend  the  laborers  ;  and 
the  grand  cardinal  took  care  that  the  work  should 
never  languish  through  lack  of  means.* 

"  When  kings'  treasures,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Aga- 
pida, "  are  dispensed  by  priestly  hands,  there  is  no 
stint,  as  the  glorious  annals  of  Spain  bear  witness." 
Under  the  guidance  of  these  ghostly  men,  it  seemed 
as  il  miracles  were  effected.  Almost  an  entire  mount- 
ain was  levelled,  valleys  filled  up,  trees  hewn  down, 
rocks  broken  and  overturned  ;  in  short,  all  the  ob- 
stacles which  nature  had  heaped  around,  entirely 
and  promptly  vanished.  In  little  more  than  twelve 
days,  this  gigantic  work  was  effected,  and  the  ord- 
nance dragged  to  the  camp,  to  the  great  triumph  of 
the  christians  and  confusion  of  the  Moors.f 

No  sooner  was  the  heavy  artillery  arrived,  than  it 
was  mounted,  in  all  haste,  upon  the  neighboring 
heights  ;  Francisco  Ramirez  de  Madrid,  the  first  en- 
gineer in  Spain,  superintended  the  batteries,  and  soon 
opened  a  destructive  fire  upon  the  castles. 

When  the  valiant  alcayde,  Mahomet  Lentin,  found 
his  towers  tumbling  about  him,  and  his  bravest  men 
dashed  from  the  walls,  without  the  power  of  inflict- 
ing a  wound  upon  the  foe,  his  haughty  spirit  was 
greatly  exasperated.  "  Of  what  avail,"  said  he,  bit- 
terly, "  is  all  the  prowess  of  knighthood  against  these 
cowardly  engines,  that  murder  from  afar." 

For  a  whole  day,  a  tremendous  fire  kept  thunder- 
ing upon  the  castle  of  Albahar.  The  lombards  dis- 
charged large  stones,  which  demolished  two  of  the 
towers,  and  all  the  battlements  which  guarded  the 
ponal.  If  any  Moors  attempted  to  defend  the  walls 
or  repair  the  breaches,  they  were  shot  down  by  ri- 
badoquines,  and  other  small  pieces  of  artillery.  The 
christian  soldiery  issued  forth  from  the  camp,  under 
cover  of  this  fire ;  and,  approaching  the  castles, 
discharged  flights  of  arrows  and  stones  through  the 
openings  made  by  the  ordnance. 

At  length,  to  bring  the  siege  to  a  conclusion,  Fran- 
cisco Ramirez  elevated  some  of  the  heaviest  artillery 


•  Zurita,  Anales  de  Aragon,  lib.  ao,  c.  64.   Pulgar,  part  3,  cap.  51. 
t  Idem. 


on  a  mount  that  rose  in  form  of  a  cone  or  pyramid, 
on  the  side  of  the  river  near  to  Albahar,  and  com- 
manded both  castles.  This  was  an  operation  of  great 
skill  and  excessive  labor,  but  it  was  repaid  by  com- 
plete success;  for  the  Moors  did  not  dare  to  wait 
until  this  terrible  battery  should  discharge  its  fury. 
Satisfied  that  all  further  resistance  was  vain,  the 
valiant  alcayde  made  signal  for  a  parley.  The 
articles  of  capitulation  were  soon  arranged.  The 
alcayde  and  his  garrisons  were  permitted  to  return 
in  safety  to  the  city  of  Granada,  and  the  castles  were 
delivered  into  the  possession  of  king  Ferdinand,  on 
the  day  of  the  festival  of  St.  Matthew,  in  the  month 
of  September.  They  were  immediately  repaired, 
strongly  garrisoned,  and  delivered  in  charge  to  the 
city  of  Jaen. 

The  effects  of  this  triumph  were  immediately  ap- 
parent. Quiet  and  security  once  more  settled  upon 
the  bishopric.  The  husbandmen  tilled  their  fields  in 
peace,  the  herds  and  flocks  fattened  unmolested  in 
the  pastures,  and  the  vineyards  yielded  corpulent 
skinsful  of  rosy  wine.  The  good  bishop  enjoyed,  in 
the  gratitude  of  his  people,  the  approbation  of  his 
conscience,  the  increase  of  his  revenues,  and  the 
abundance  of  his  table,  a  reward  for  all  his  toils  and 
perils.  "  This  glorious  victory,"  exclaims  Fray  An- 
tonio Agapida,  "  achieved  by  such  extraordinary 
management  and  infinite  labor,  is  a  shining  example 
of  what  a  bishop  can  effect,  for  the  promotion  of  the 
faith  and  the  good  of  his  diocese." 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 


ENTERPRISE    OF    THE    KNIGHTS    OF    CALATRAVA 
AGAINST  ZALEA. 

While  these  events  were  taking  place  on  the 
northern  frontier  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada,  the 
important  fortress  of  Alhama  was  neglected,  and 
its  commander,  Don  Gutiere  de  Padilla,  clavero  of 
Calatrava,  reduced  to  great  perplexity.  The  rem- 
nant of  the  foraging  party,  which  had  been  sur- 
prised and  massacred  by  the  fierce  El  Zagal  when 
on  his  way  to  Granada  to  receive  the  crown,  had 
returned  in  confusion  and  dismay  to  the  fortress. 
They  could  only  speak  of  their  own  disgrace,  h<Jhg 
obliged  to  abandon  their  cavalgada,  and  to  fly,  pur- 
sued by  a  superior  force :  of  the  flower  of  their 
party,  the  gallant  knights  of  Calatrava,  who  had 
remained  behind  in  the  valley,  they  knew  nothing. 
A  few  days  cleared  up  all  the  mystery  of  their  fate  : 
tidings  were  brought  that  their  bloody  heads  had 
been  borne  in  triumph  into  Granada  by  the  ferocious 
El  Zagal.  The  surviving  knights  of  Calatrava,  who 
formed  a  part  of  the  garrison,  burned  to  revenge 
the  death  of  their  comrades,  and  to  wipe  out  the 
stigma  of  this  defeat ;  but  the  clavero  had  been 
rendered  cautious  by  disaster, — he  resisted  all  their 
entreaties  for  a  foray.  His  garrison  was  weakened 
by  the  loss  of  so  many  of  its  bravest  men  ;  the  vega 
was  patrolled  by  numerous  and  powerful  squadrons, 
sent  forth  by  the  warlike  El  Zagal ;  above  all,  the 
movements  of  the  garrison  were  watched  by  the 
warriors  of  Zalea,  a  strong  town,  only  two  leagues 
distant,  on  the  road  towards  Loxa.  This  place  was 
a  continual  check  upon  Alhama  when  in  its  most 
powerful  state,  placing  ambuscades  to  entrap  the 
christian  cavaliers  in  the  course  of  their  sallies. 
Frequent  and  bloody  skirmishes  had  taken  place,  in 
consequence ;  and  the  troops  of  Alhama,  when  re- 
turning from  their  forays,  had  often  to  fight  their 
way  back  through  the  squadrons  of  Zalea.  Thus 
surrounded  by  dangers,  Don  Gutiere  de  Padilla  re- 


220 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


Btrained  the  eagerness  of  his  troops  for  a  sally, 
knowing  that  any  additional  disaster  might  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  loss  of  Alhama. 

In  the  meanwhile,  provisions  began  to  grow 
scarce ;  they  were  unable  to  forage  the  country  as 
usual  for  supplies,  and  depended  for  relief  upon  the 
Castilian  sovereigns.  The  defeat  of  the  count  de 
Cabra  filled  the  measure  of  their  perplexities,  as  it 
interrupted  the  intended  reinforcements  and  sup- 
plies. To  such  extremity  were  they  reduced,  that 
they  were  compelled  to  kill  some  of  their  horses  for 
provisions. 

The  worthy  clavero,  Don  Gutiere  de  Padilla,  was 
pondering  one  day  on  this  gloomy  state  of  affairs, 
when  a  Moor  was  brought  before  him  who  had  sur- 
rendered himself  at  the  gate  of  Alhama,  and  claimed 
an  audience.  Don  Gutiere  was  accustomed  to  visits 
of  the  kind  from  renegado  Moors,  who  roamed  the 
country  as  spies  and  adalides ;  but  the  countenance 
of  this  man  was  quite  unknown  to  him.  He  had  a 
box  strapped  to  his  shoulders,  containing  divers  arti- 
cles of  traffic,  and  appeared  to  be  one  of  those 
itinerant  traders,  who  often  resorted  to  Alhama  and 
the  other  garrison  towns,  under  pretext  of  vending 
trivial  merchandise,  such  as  amulets,  perfumes, 
and  trinkets,  but  who  often  produced  rich  shawls, 
golden  chains  and  necklaces,  and  valuable  gems  and 
jewels. 

The  Moor  requested  a  private  conference  with 
the  clavero :  "  I  have  a  precious  jewel,"  said  he, 
"  to  dispose  of." 

"  I  want  no  jewels,"  replied  Don  Gutiere. 

"  For  the  sake  of  him  who  died  on  the  cross,  the 
great  prophet  of  your  faith,"  said  the  Moor,  sol- 
emnly, "  refuse  not  my  request ;  the  jewel  I  speak 
of  you  alone  can  purchase,  but  I  can  only  treat 
about  it  in  secret." 

Don  Gutiere  perceived  there  was  something  hid- 
den under  these  mystic  and  figurative  terms,  in 
which  the  Moors  were  often  accustomed  to  talk. 
He  motioned  to  his  attendants  to  retire.  When 
they  were  alone,  the  Moor  looked  cautiously  round 
the  apartment,  and  then,  approaching  close  to  the 
knight,  demanded  in  a  low  voice,  "  What  will  you 
give  me,  if  I  deliver  the  fortress  of  Zalea  into  your 
Rands  ?  " 

«n  Gutiere  looked  with  surprise  at  the  humble 
dual  that  made  such  a  suggestion. 

"What  means  have  you,"  said  he,  "  of  effecting 
such  a  proposition  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  brother  in  the  garrison  of  Zalea," 
replied  the  Moor,  "  who,  for  a  proper  compensation, 
would  admit  a  body  of  troops  into  the  citadel." 

Don  Gutiere  turned  a  scrutinizing  eye  upon  the 
Moor.  "  What  right  have  I  to  believe,"  said  he, 
"  that  thou  wilt  be  truer  to  me,  than  to  those  of  thy 
blood  and  thy  religion  ?" 

"  I  renounce  all  ties  to  them,  either  of  blood  or 
religion,"  replied  the  Moor ;  "  my  mother  was  a 
christian  captive ;  her  country  shall  henceforth  be 
my  country,  and  her  faith  my  faith."* 

The  doubts  of  Don  Gutiere  were  not  dispelled  by 
this  profession  of  mongrel  Christianity.  "  Granting 
the  sincerity  of  thy  conversion,"  said  he,  "  art  thou 
under  no  obligations  of  gratitude  or  duty  to  the  al- 
cayde  of  the  fortress  thou  wouldst  betray  ?  " 

The  eyes  of  the  Moor  flashed  fire  at  the  words ; 
he  gnashed  his  teeth  with  fury.  "  The  alcayde," 
cried  he,  "is  a  dog!  He  has  deprived  my  brother 
of  his  just  share  of  booty ;  he  has  robbed  me  of  my 
merchandise,  treated  me  worse  than  a  Jew  when  I 
murmured  at  his  injustice,  and  ordered  me  to  be 
thrust  forth  ignominiously  from  his  walls.    May  the 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios. 


curse  of  God  fall  upon  my  head,  if  I  rest  content 
until  I  have  full  revenge  !  " 

"  Enough,"  said  Don  Gutiere :  "  I  trust  more  to 
thy  revenge  than  thy  religion." 

The  good  clavero  called  a  council  of  his  officers. 
The  knights  of  Calatrava  were  unanimous  for  the 
enterprise — zealous  to  appease  the  manes  of  their 
slaughtered  comrades.  Don  Gutiere  reminded  them 
of  the  state  of  the  garrison,  enfeebled  by  their  late 
loss,  and  scarcely  sufficient  for  the  defence  of  the 
walls.  The  cavaliers  replied  that  there  was  no 
achievement  without  risk,  and  that  there  would  have 
been  no  great  actions  recorded  in  history,  had  there 
not  been  daring  spirits  ready  to  peril  life  to  gain 
renown. 

Don  Gutiere  yielded  to  the  wishes  of  his  knights, 
for  to  have  resisted  any  further  might  have  drawn 
on  him  the  imputation  of  timidity :  he  ascertained 
by  trusty  spies  that  every  thing  in  Zalea  remained  in 
the  usual  state,  and  he  made  all  the  requisite  arrange- 
ments for  the  attack. 

When  the  appointed  night  arrived,  all  the  cava- 
liers were  anxious  to  engage  in  the  enterprise ;  but 
the  individuals  were  decided  by  lot.  They  set  out, 
under  the  guidance  of  the  Moor ;  and  when  they 
had  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of  Zalea,  they  bound  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  and  their  leader  pledged 
his  knightly  word  to  strike  him  dead  on  the  tirst 
sign  of  treachery.  He  then  bade  him  to  lead  the  way. 

It  was  near  midnight,  when  they  reached  the 
walls  of  the  fortress.  They  passed  silently  along 
until  they  found  themselves  below  the  citadel.  Here 
their  guide  made  a  low  and  preconcerted  signal :  it 
was  answered  from  above,  and  a  cord  let  down  from 
the  wall.  The  knights  attached  to  it  a  ladder,  which 
was  drawn  up  and  fastened.  Gutiere  Munoz  was 
the  first  that  mounted,  followed  by  Pedro  de  Al- 
vanado,  both  brave  and  hardy  soldiers.  A  handful 
succeeded  ;  they  were  attacked  by  a  party  of  guards, 
but  held  them  at  bay  until  more  of  their  comrades 
ascended  ;  with  their  assistance,  they  gained  posses- 
sion of  a  tower  and  part  of  the  wall.  The  garrison, 
by  this  time,  was  aroused ;  but  before  they  could 
reach  the  scene  of  action,  most  of  the  cavaliers 
were  within  the  battlements.  A  bloody  contest 
raged  for  about  an  hour — several  of  the  christians 
were  slain,  but  many  of  the  Moors ;  at  length  the 
whole  citadel  was  carried,  and  the  town  submitted 
without  resistance. 

Thus  did  the  gallant  knights  of  Calatrava  gain 
the  strong  town  of  Zalea  with  scarcely  any  loss,  and 
atone  for  the  inglorious  defeat  of  their  companions 
by  El  Zagal.  They  found  the  magazines  of  the 
place  well  stored  with  provisions,  and  were  enabled 
to  carry  a  seasonable  supply  to  their  own  famishing 
garrison. 

The  tidings  of  this  event  reached  the  sovereigns, 
just  after  the  surrender  of  Cambil  and  Albahar. 
They  were  greatly  rejoiced  at  this  additional  success 
of  their  arms,  and  immediately  sent  strong  reinforce- 
ments and  ample  supplies  for  both  Alhama  and  Za- 
lea. They  then  dismissed  the  army  for  the  winter. 
Ferdinand  and  Isabella  retired  to  Alcalade  Henares, 
where  the  queen,  on  the  i6th  of  December,  1485, 
gave  birth  to  the  princess  Catharine,  afterwards  wife 
of  Henry  VIII.  of  England.  Thus  prosperously 
terminated  the  checkered  campaign  of  this  impor- 
tant year. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

DEATH  OF  MULEY  ABEN   HASSAN. 

MuLEY  Abdalla  El  Zagal  had  been  received 
with  great  acclamations  at  Granada,  on  his  return 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


221 


from  defeating  the  count  de  Cabra.  He  had  en- 
deavored to  turn  his  victory  to  the  greatest  advantage, 
with  his  subjects ;  giving  tilts  and  tournaments,  and 
other  public  festivities,  in  which  the  Moors  de- 
lighted. The  loss  of  the  castles  of  Cambil  and  Al- 
bahar,  and  of  the  fortress  of  Zalea,  however,  checked 
this  sudden  tide  of  popularity ;  and  some  of  the 
fickle  populace  began  to  doubt  whether  they  had  not 
been  rather  precipitats  in  deposing  his  brother, 
Muley  Aben  Hassan. 

That  superannuated  monarch  remained  in  his 
faithful  town  of  Almunecar,  on  the  border  of  the 
Mediterranean,  surrounded  by  a  few  adherents,  to- 
gether with  his  wife  Zorayna  and  his  qhildren  ;  and 
he  had  all  his  treasures  safe  in  his  possession.  The 
fiery  heart  of  the  old  king  was  almost  burnt  out,  and 
all  his  powers  of  doing  either  harm  or  good  seemed 
at  an  end. 

While  in  this  passive  and  helpless  state,  his  brother 
El  Zagal  manifested  a  sudden  anxiety  for  his  health. 
He  had  him  removed,  with  all  tenderness  and  care, 
to  Salobrefia,  another  fortress  on  the  Mediterranean 
coast,  famous  for  its  pure  and  salubrious  air;  and 
the  alcayde,  who  was  a  devoted  adherent  to  El  Zagal, 
was  charged  to  have  especial  care  that  nothing  was 
wanting  to  the  comfort  and  solace  of  his  brother. 

Salobrefia  was  a  small  town,  situated  on  a  lofty 
and  rocky  hill,  in  the  midst  of  a  beautiful  and  fer- 
tile vega,  shut  up  on  three  sides  by  mountains,  and 
opening  on  the  fourth  to  the  Mediterranean.  It  was 
protected  by  strong  walls  ami  a  powerful  castle,  and, 
being  deemed  impregnable,  was  often  used  by  the 
Moorish  kings  as  a  place  of  deposit  for  their  treas- 
ures. They  were  accustomed  also  to  assign  it  as  a 
residence'  for  such  of  their  sons  and  brothers  as 
might  endanger  the  security  of  their  reign.  Here 
the  princes  lived,  in  luxurious  repose  :  they  had  de- 
licious gardens,  perfumed  baths,  a  h.irem  of  beauties 
at  their  command — nothing  was  denied  them  but  the 
liberty  to  depart ;  that  alone  was  wanting  to  render 
this  abode  an  earthly  paradise. 

Such  was  the  delightful  place  appointed  by  El 
Zagal  for  the  residence  of  his  brother  ;  but,  notwith- 
standing its  wonderful  salubrity,  the  old  monarch 
had  not  been  removed  thither  many  days  before  he 
expired.  There  was  nothing  extraordinary  in  his 
death :  life  with  him  had  long  been  glimmering  in 
the  socket,  and  for  some  time  past  he  might  rather 
have  been  numbered  with  the  dead  than  with  the 
living.  The  public,  however,  are  fond  of  seeing 
things  in  a  sinister  and  mysterious  point  of  view, 
and  there  were  many  dark  surmises  as  to  the  cause 
of  this  event.  El  Zagal  acted  in  a  manner  to  heighten 
these  suspicions :  he  caused  the  treasures  of  his  de- 
ceased brother  to  be  packed  on  mules  and  brought 
to  Granada,  where  he  took  possession  of  them,  to 
the  exclusion  of  the  children  of  Aben  Hassan.  The 
sultana  Zorayna  and  her  two  sons  were  lodged  in  the 
Alhambra,  in  the  tower  of  the  Cimares.  This  was  a 
residence  in  a  palace — but  it  had  proved  a  royal 
prison  to  the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra,  and  her  youthful 
son  Boabdil.  There  the  unhappy  Zorayna  had  time 
to  meditate  upon  the  disappointment  of  all  those 
ambitious  schemes  for  herself  and  children,  for  which 
she  had  stained  her  conscience  with  so  many  crimes, 
and  induced  her  cruel  husband  to  imbrue  his  hands 
in  the  blood  of  his  other  offspring. 

The  corpse  of  old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  also 
brought  to  Granada,  not  in  a  state  becoming  the  re- 
mains of  a  once-powerful  sovereign,  but  transported 
on  a  mule,  Hke  the  corpse  of  the  poorest  peasant.  It 
received  no  honor  or  ceremonial  from  El  Zagal,  and 
appears  to  have  been  interred  obscurely,  to  prevent 
any  popular  sensation  ;  and  it  is  recorded  by  an  an- 
cient and  faithful  chronicler  of  the  time,  that  the 


body  of  the  old  monarch  was  deposited  by  two 
christian  captives  in  his  osario,  or  charnel-house.* 
Such  was  the  end  of  the  turbulent  Muley  Aben 
Hassan,  who,  after  passing  his  life  in  constant  con- 
tests for  empire,  could  scarce  gain  quiet  admission 
into  the  corner  of  a  sepulchre. 

No  sooner  were  the  populace  well  assured  that 
old  Muley  Aben  Hassan  was  dead,  and  beyond  re- 
covery, than  they  all  began  to  extol  his  memory  and 
deplore  his  loss.  They  admitted  that  he  had  been 
fierce  and  cruel,  but  then  he  had  been  brave  ;  he 
had,  to  be  sure,  pulled  this  war  upon  their  he.ads, 
but  he  had  likewise  been  crushed  by  it.  In  a  word, 
Ai;  was  dead ;  and  his  death  atoned  for  every  fault ; 
for  a  king,  recently  dead,  is  generally  either  a  hero 
or  a  saint. 

In  proportion  as  they  ceased  to  hate  old  Muley 
Aben  Hassan,  they  began  to  hate  his  brother  El  Za- 
gal. The  circumstances  of  the  old  king's  death,  the 
eagerness  to  appropriate  his  treasures,  the  scandal- 
ous neglect  of  his  corpse,  and  the  imprisonment  of 
his  sultana  and  children,  all  filled  the  public  mind 
with  gloomy  suspicions  ;  and  the  epithet  of  Fratra- 
cide  !  was  sometimes  substituted  for  that  of  El  Zagal, 
in  the  low  murmurings  of  the  people. 

As  the  public  must  always  have  some  object  to 
like  as  well  as  to  hate,  there  began  once  more  to  be 
an  inquiry  after  their  fugitive  king,  Boabdil  el  Chico. 
That  unfortunate  monarch  was  still  at  Cordova,  ex- 
isting on  the  cool  courtesy  and  meagre  friendship  of 
Ferdinand  ;  which  had  waned  exceedingly,  ever 
since  Boabdil  had  ceased  to  have  any  influence  in 
his  late  dominions.  The  reviving  interest  expressed 
in  his  fate  by  the  Moorish  public,  and  certain  secret 
overtures  made  to  him,  once  more  aroused  the  sym- 
pathy of  Ferdinand  :  he  immediately  advised  Boabdil 
again  to  set  up  his  standard  within  the  frontiers  of 
Granada,  and  furnished  him  with  money  and  means 
for  the  purpose.  Boabdil  advanced  but  a  little  way 
into  his  late  territories  ;  he  took  up  his  post  at  Velez 
el  Blanco,  a  strong  town  on  the  confines  of  Murcia  ; 
there  he  established  the  shadow  of  a  court,  and 
stood,  as  it  were,  with  one  foot  over  the  border,  and 
ready  to  draw  that  back  upon  the  least  alarm.  His 
presence  in  the  kingdom,  however,  and  his  assump- 
tion of  royal  state,  gave  life  to  his  faction  in  Granada. 
The  inhabitants  of  the  Albaycin,  the  poorest  but 
most  warlike  part  of  the  populace,  were  generally 
in  his  favor :  the  more  rich,  courtly,  and  aristocrati- 
cal  inhabitants  of  the  quarter  ol  the  Alhambra,  ral- 
lied round  what  appeared  to  be  the  most  stable 
authority,  and  supported  the  throne  of  El  Zagal.  So 
it  is,  in  the  admirable  order  of  sublunary  affairs : 
every  thing  seeks  its  kind  ;  the  rich  befriend  the  rich, 
the  powerful  stand  by  the  powerful,  the  poor  enjoy 
the  patronage  of  the  poor — and  thus  a  universal 
harmony  prevails. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  ARMY  WHICH  ASSEMBLED 
AT  THE  CITY  OF  CORDOVA. 

Great  and  glorious  was  the  style  with  which  the 
Catholic  sovereigns  opened  another  year's  campaign 
of  this  eventful  war.  It  was  like  commencing  an- 
other act  of  a  stately  and  heroic  drama,  where  the 
curtain  rises  to  the  inspiring  sound  of  martial  mel- 
ody, and  the  whole  stage  glitters  with  the  array  of 
warriors  and  the  pomp  of  arms.  The  ancient  city 
of  Cordova  was  the  place  appointed  by  the  sover- 
eigns for  the  assemblage  of  the  troops  ;  and  early  in 

*  Cura  de  lo»  Palacios,  c.  77. 


222 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  spring  of  i486,  the  fair  valley  of  the  Guadalquivir 
resounded  with  the  shrill  blast  of  trumpet,  and  the 
impatient  neighing  of  the  war-horse.  In  this  splen- 
did era  of  Spanish  chivalry,  there  was  a  rivalship 
among  the  nobles  who  most  should  distinguish  him- 
self by  the  splendor  of  his  appearance,  and  the  num- 
ber and  equipments  of  his  feudal  followers.  Every 
day  beheld  some  cavalier  of  note,  the  representative 
of  some  proud  and  powerful  house,  entering  the  gates 
of  Cordova  with  sound  of  trumpet,  and  displaying 
his  banner  and  device,  renowned  in  many  a  contest. 
He  would  appear  in  sumptuous  array,  surrounded  by 
pages  and  lackeys  no  less  gorgeously  attired,  and 
followed  by  a  host  of  vassals  and  retainers,  horse  and 
foot,  all  admirably  equipped  in  burnished  annor. 

Such  was  the  state  of  Don  Inigo  Lopez  de  Men- 
doza,  duke  of  Infantado ;  who  may  be  cited  as  a  pic- 
ture of  a  warlike  noble  of  those  times.  He  brought 
with  him  five  hundred  men-at-arms  of  his  house- 
hold, armed  and  mounted  a  la  gineta  and  a  la  gutsa. 
The  cavaliers  who  attended  him  were  magnificently 
armed  and  dressed.  The  housings  of  fifty  of  his 
horses  were  of  rich  cloth,  embroidered  with  gold  ; 
and  others  were  of  brocade.  The  sumpter  mules 
had  housings  of  the  same,  with  halters  of  silk;  while 
the  bridles,  head-pieces,  and  all  the  harnessing,  glit- 
tered with  silver. 

The  camp  equipage  of  these  noble  and  luxurious 
warriors  was  equally  magnificent.  Their  tents  were 
gay  pavilions,  of  various  colors,  fitted  up  with  silken 
hangings  and  decorated  with  fluttering  pennons. 
They  had  vessels  of  gold  and  silver  for  the  service 
of  their  tables,  as  if  they  were  about  to  engage  in  a 
course  of  stately  feasts  and  courtly  revels,  instead  of 
the  stern  encounters  of  rugged  and  mountainous 
warfare.  Sometimes  they  passed  through  the  streets 
of  Cordova  at  night,  in  splendid  cavalcade,  with  great 
numbers  of  lighted  torches,  the  rays  of  which  falling 
upon  polished  armor  and  nodding  plumes,  and  silken 
scarfs,  and  trappings  of  golden  embroidery,  filled  all 
beholders  with  admiration.* 

But  it  was  not  the  chivalry  of  Spain  alone  which 
thronged  the  streets  of  Cordova.  The  fame  of  this 
war  had  spread  throughout  Christendom:  it  was 
considered  a  kind  of  crusade  ;  and  Catholic  knights 
from  all  parts  hastened  to  signalize  themselves  in  so 
holy  a  cause.  There  were  several  valiant  chevaliers 
from  France,  among  whom  the  most  distinguished 
was  Gaston  du  Leon,  Seneschal  of  Toulouse.  With 
him  came  a  gallant  train,  well  armed  and  mounted, 
and  decorated  with  rich  surcoats  and  panaches  of 
feathers.  These  cavaliers,  it  is  said,  eclipsed  all 
others  in  the  light  festivities  of  the  court:  they  were 
devoted  to  the  fair,  but  not  after  the  solemn  and 
passionate  manner  of  the  .Spanish  lovers  ;  they  were 
gay,  gallant  and  joyous  in  their  amours,  and  capti- 
vated by  the  vivacity  of  their  attacks.  They  were  at 
first  held  in  light  estimation  by  the  grave  and  stately 
Spanish  knights,  until  they  made  themselves  to  be 
respected  by  their  wonderful  prowess  in  the  field. 

The  most  conspicuous  of  the  volunteers,  however, 
who  appeared  in  Cordova  on  this  occasion,  was  an 
English  knight  of  royal  connexion.  This  was  the 
lord  Scales,  earl  of  Rivers,  brother  to  the  queen  of 
England,  wife  of  Henry  VIL  He  had  distinguished 
himself  in  the  preceding  year,  at  the  battle  of  Bos- 
worth  field,  where  Henry  Tudor,  then  earl  of  Rich- 
mond, overcame  Richard  HI.  That  decisive  battle 
having  left  the  country  at  peace,  the  earl  of  Rivers, 
having  conceived  a  passion  for  warlike  scenes,  re- 
paired to  the  Castilian  court,  to  keep  his  arms  in 
exercise,  in  a  campaign  against  the  Moors.  He 
brought  with  him   a  hundred  archers,   all  dexter- 


•  Pulgar,  part  3.  cap.  41.  56. 


ous  with  the  long-bow  and  the  cloth-yard  arrow ; 
also  two  hundred  yeomen,  armed  cap-a-pie,  who 
fought  with  pike  and  battle-axe, — men  robust  of 
frame,  and  of  prodigious  strength.  The  worthy 
padre  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  describes  this  stranger 
knight  and  his  toUowers,  with  his  accustomed  accu- 
racy and  minuteness. 

"  This  cavalier,"  he  obserx-es,  "  was  from  the  far 
island  of  England,  and  brought  with  him  a  train  of 
his  vassals  ;  men  who  had  been  hardened  in  certain 
civil  wars  which  raged  in  their  country.  They  were 
a  comely  race  of  men,  but  too  fair  and  fresh  for  war- 
riors, not  having  the  sun-burnt  warlike  hue  of  our 
old  Castilian  soldier)'.  They  were  huge  feeders  also, 
and  deep  carousers,  and  could  not  accoir.modate 
themselves  to  the  sober  diet  of  our  troops,  but  must 
fain  eat  and  drink  after  the  manner  of  their  own 
country.  They  were  often  noisy  and  unruly,  also,  in 
their  wassail  ;  and  their  quarter  of  the  camp  was 
])rone  to  be  a  scene  of  loud  revel  and  sudden  brawl. 
They  were,  withal,  of  great  pride,  yet  it  was  not  like 
our  inflammable  Spanish  pride  ;  they  stood  not  much 
upon  the  ptoidoiior,  the  high  punctilio,  and  rarely 
drew  the  stiletto  in  their  disputes  ;  but  their  pride 
was  silent  and  contumelious.  Though  from  a  re- 
mote and  somewhat  barbarous  island,  they  believed 
themselves  the  most  perfect  men  upon  earth,  and 
magnified  their  chieftain,  the  lord  Scales,  beyond  the 
greatest  of  their  grandees.  With  all  this,  it  must  be 
said  of  them  that  they  were  marvellous  good  men  in 
the  field,  dexterous  archers,  and  powertul  with  the 
battle-axe.  In  their  great  pride  and  self-will,  they 
always  sought  to  press  in  the  advance  and  take  the 
post  of  danger,  trying  to  outvie  our  Spanish  chivalry. 
They  did  not  rush  on  fiercely  to  the  fight,  nor  make 
a  brilliant  onset  like  the  Moorish  and  Spanish  troops, 
but  they  went  into  the  fight  deliberately  and  persisted 
obstinately,  and  were  slow  to  find  out  when  they 
were  beaten.  Withal  they  were  much  esteemed,  yet 
little  liked  by  our  soldiery,  who  considered  them 
staunch  companions  in  the  field,  yet  coveted  but 
little  fellowship  with  them  in  the  camp. 

"Their  commander,  the  lord  Scales,  was  an  ac- 
complished cavalier,  of  gracious  and  noble  presence 
and  fair  speech  ;  it  was  a  marvel  to  see  so  much 
courtesy  in  a  knight  brought  up  so  far  from  our  Cas- 
tilian court.  He  was  much  honored  by  the  king  and 
queen,  and  found  great  favor  with  the  fair  dames 
about  the  court,  who  indeed  are  rather  prone  to  be 
pleased  with  foreign  cavaliers.  He  went  always  in 
costly  state,  attended  by  pages  and  esquires,  and  ac- 
companied by  noble  young  cavaliers  of  his  country, 
who  had  enrolled  themselves  under  his  banner,  to 
learn  the  gentle  exercise  of  arms.  In  all  pageants 
and  festivals,  the  eyes  of  the  populace  were  attracted 
by  the  singular  bearing  and  rich  array  of  the  English 
earl  and  his  train,  who  prided  themselves  in  always 
appearing  in  the  garb  and  manner  of  their  country — 
and  were  indeed  something  very  magnificent,  de- 
lectable, and  strange  to  behold." 

The  worthy  chronicler  is  no  less  elaborate  in  his 
description  of  the  Masters  of  Santiago,  Calatrava, 
and  Alcantara,  and  their  valiant  knights,  armed  at 
all  points,  and  decorated  with  the  badges  of  their 
orders.  These,  he  affirms,  \vere  the  flower  of  chris- 
tian chivalry :  being  constantly  in  service,  they  be- 
came more  stedfast  and  accomplished  in  discipline, 
than  the  irregular  and  temporary  levies  of  the  feudal 
nobles.  Calm,  solemn,  and  stately,  they  sat  like 
towers  upon  their  powerful  chargers.  On  parades, 
they  manifested  none  of  the  show  and  ostentation  of 
the  other  troops :  neither,  in  battle,  did  they  endeavor 
to  signalize  themselves  by  any  fiery  vivacity,  or 
desperate  and  vain-glorious  exploit — every  thing, 
with  them,  was  measured  and  sedate ;  yet  it  was 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


223 


observed,  that  none  were  more  warlike  in  their  ap- 
pearance in  the  camp,  or  more  terrible  for  their 
achievements  in  the  field. 

The  gorgeous  magnificence  of  the  Spanish  nobles 
found  but  little  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the  sovereigns. 
They  saw  that  it  caused  a  competition  in  expense, 
ruinous  to  cavaliers  of  moderate  fortune ;  and  they 
feared  that  a  softness  and  effeminacy  might  thus  be 
introduced,  incompatible  with  the  stern  nature  of  the 
war.  They  signified  their  disapprobation  to  several 
of  the  principal  noblemen,  and  recommended  a  more 
sober  and  soldierlike  display  while  in  actual  service. 

"These  are  rare  troops  for  a  tourney,  my  lord," 
said  Ferdinand  to  the  duke  of  Infantado,  as  he  be- 
held his  retainers  glittering  in  gold  and  embroidery  ; 
"  but  gold,  though  gorgeous,  is  soft  and  yielding : 
iron  is  the  metal  for  the  field." 

"  Sire,"  rephed  the  duke,  "  if  my  men  parade  in 
gold,  your  majesty  will  find  they  fight  with  steel." 
The  king  smiled,  but  shook  his  head,  and  the  duke 
treasured  up  his  speech  in  his  heart. 

It  remains  now  to  reveal  the  immediate  object  of 
this  mighty  and  chivalrous  preparation  ;  which  had, 
in  fact,  the  gratification  of  a  royal  pique  at  bottom. 
The  severe  lesson  which  Ferdinand  had  received 
from  the  veteran  Ali  Atar,  before  the  walls  of  Loxa, 
though  it  had  been  of  great  service  in  rendering  him 
wary  in  his  attacks  upon  fortified  places,  yet  rankled 
sorely  in  his  mind  ;  and  he  had  ever  since  held  Loxa 
in  peculiar  odium.  It  was,  in  truth,  one  of  the  most 
belligerent  and  troublesome  cities  on  the  borders  ; 
incessantly  harassing  Andalusia  by  its  incursions.  It 
also  intervened  between  the  christian  territories  and 
Albania,  and  other  important  places  gained  in  the 
kingdom  of  Granada.  For  all  these  reasons,  king 
Ferdinand  had  determined  to  make  another  grand 
attempt  upon  this  warrior  city;  and  for  this  purpose,  he 
had  summoned  to  the  field  his  most  powerful  chivalry. 

It  was  in  the  month  of  May,  that  the  king  sallied 
from  Cordova,  at  the  head  of  his  army.  He  had 
twelve  thousand  cavalry  and  forty  thousand  foot- 
soldiers,  armed  with  cross-bows,  lances,  and  arque- 
busses.  There  were  six  thousand  pioneers,  with 
hatchets,  pickaxes,  and  crowbars,  for  levelling  roads. 
He  took  with  him,  also,  a  great  train  of  lombards 
and  other  heavy  artillery,  with  a  body  of  Germans 
skilled  in  the  service  of  ordnance  and  the  art  of  bat- 
tering walls. 

It  was  a  glorious  spectacle  (says  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida)  to  behold  this  pompous  pageant  issuing 
forth  from  Cordova,  the  pennons  and  devices  of  the 
proudest  houses  of  Spain,  with  those  of  gallant 
stranger  knights,  fiuttering  above  a  sea  of  crests 
and  plumes  ;  to  see  it  slowly  moving,  with  flash  of 
helm,  and  cuirass,  and  buckler,  across  the  ancient 
bridge,  and  reflected  in  the  waters  of  the  Guadal- 
quivir, while  the  neigh  of  steed  and  blast  cf  trumpet 
vibrated  in  the  air,  and  resounded  to  the  distant 
mountains.  "  But,  above  all,"  concludes  the  good 
father,  with  his  accustomed  zeal,  "  it  was  triumphant 
to  behold  the  standard  of  the  faith  every  where  dis- 
played, and  to  reflect  that  this  was  no  worldly- 
minded  army,  intent  upon  some  temporal  scheme 
of  ambition  or  revenge  ;  but  a  christian  host,  bound 
on  a  crusade  to  extirpate  the  vile  seed  of  Mahomet 
from  the  land,  and  to  extend  the  pure  dominion  of 
the  church." 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

HOW  FRESH  COMMOTIONS  BROKE  OUT  IN  GRA- 
NADA, AND  HOW  THE  PEOPLE  UNDERTOOK  TO 
ALLAY  THEM. 

While  perfect  unity  of  object  and  harmony  of 
;      operation  gave  power  to  the  christian  arms,  the  de- 


voted kingdom  of  Granada  continued  a  prey  to  in- 
ternal leuds.  The  transient  popularity  of  El  Zagal 
had  declined  ever  since  the  death  of  his  brother,  and 
the  party  of  Boabdil  el  Chico  was  daily  gaining 
strength :  the  Albaycin  and  the  Alhambra  were 
again  arrayed  against  each  other  in  deadly  strife, 
and  the  streets  of  unhappy  Granada  were  daily  dyed 
in  the  blood  of  her  children.  In  the  midst  of  these 
dissensions,  tidings  arrived  of  the  formidable  army 
assembling  at  Cordova.  The  rival  factions  paused 
in  their  infatuated  brawls,  and  were  roused  to  a 
temporary  sense  of  the  common  danger.  They  forth- 
with resorted  to  their  old  expedient  of  new-model- 
ling their  government,  or  rather  of  making  and  un- 
making kings.  The  elevation  of  El  Zagal  to  the 
throne  had  not  produced  the  desired  effect — what 
then  was  to  be  done  ?  Recall  Boabdil  el  Chico,  and 
acknowledge  him  again  as  sovereign  .'  While  they 
were  in  a  popular  tumult  of  deliberation,  Hamet 
Aben  Zarrax,  surnamed  El  Santo,  arose  among 
them.  This  was  the  same  wild,  melancholy  man, 
who  had  predicted  the  woes  of  Granada.  He  issued 
from  one  of  the  caverns  of  the  adjacent  height  which 
overhangs  the  Darro,  and  has  since  been  called  the 
Holy  Mountain.  His  appearance  was  more  haggard 
than  ever ;  for  the  unheeded  spirit  of  prophecy 
seemed  to  have  turned  inwardly,  and  preyed  upon 
his  vitals.  "  Beware,  oh  Moslems,"  exclaimed  he, 
"  of  men  who  are  eager  to  govern,  yet  are  unable  to 
protect.  Why  slaughter  each  other  lor  El  Chico  or  El 
Zagal  .■"  Let  your  kings  renounce  their  contests,  unite 
for  the  salvation  of  Granada,  or  let  them  be  deposed." 

Hamet  Aben  Zarrax  had  long  been  revered  as  a 
saint — he  was  now  considered  an  oracle.  The  old 
men  and  the  nobles  immediately  consulted  together, 
how  the  two  rival  kings  might  be  brought  to  accord. 
They  had  tried  most  expedients  :  it  was  now  deter- 
mined to  divide  the  kingdom  between  them  ;  giving 
Granada,  Malaga,  Velez  Malaga,  Almeria,  Almune- 
car,  and  their  dependencies,  to  El  Zagal— and  the 
residue  to  Boabdil  el  Chico.  Among  the  cities 
granted  to  the  latter,  Loxa  was  particularly  specified, 
with  a  condition  that  he  should  immedi.ately  take 
command  of  it  in  person  ;  for  the  council  thought 
the  favor  he  enjoyed  with  the  Castilian  monarchs 
might  avert  the  threatened  attack. 

El  Zagal  readily  accorded  to  this  arrangement ;  he 
had  been  hastily  elevated  to  the  throne  by  an  ebul- 
lition of  the  people,  and  might  be  as  hastily  cast 
down  again.  It  secured  him  one-half  of  a  kingdom 
to  which  he  had  no  hereditary  right,  and  he  trusted 
to  force  or  fraud  to  gain  the  other  half  hereafter. 
The  wily  old  monarch  even  sent  a  deputation  to  his 
nephew,  making  a  merit  of  offering  him  cheerfully 
the  half  which  he  had  thus  been  compelled  to  relin- 
quish, and  inviting  him  to  enter  into  an  amicable 
coalition  for  the  good  of  the  country. 

The  heart  of  Boabdil  shrunk  from  all  connexion 
with  a  man  who  had  sought  his  life,  and  whom  he 
regarded  as  the  murderer  of  his  kindred.  He  ac- 
cepted one-half  of  the  kingdom  as  an  ofler  from  thi 
nation,  not  to  be  rejected  by  a  prince  who  scarcely 
held  possession  of  the  ground  he  stood  on.  He  as- 
serted, nevertheless,  his  absolute  right  to  the  whole, 
and  only  submitted  to  the  partition  out  of  anxiety  for 
the  present  good  of  his  people.  He  assembled  his 
handful  of  adherents,  and  prepared  to  hasten  to 
Loxa.  As  he  mounted  his  horse  to  depart,  Hamet 
Aben  Zarrax  stood  suddenly  before  him.  "  Be  true 
to  thy  country  and  thy  faith,"  cried  he  :  "  hold  no 
further  communication  with  these  christian  dogs. 
Trust  not  the  hollow-hearted  friendship  of  the  Cas- 
tilian king  ;  he  is  mining  the  earth  beneath  thy  feet 
Choose  one  of  two  things  ;  be  a  sovereign  or  a  slave 
— thou  canst  not  be  both." 


224 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Boabdil  ruminated  on  these  words  ;  he  made  many 
wise  resolutions,  but  he  was  prone  always  to  act 
from  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  and  was  unfortu- 
nately given  to  temjiorize  in  his  policy.  He  wrote 
to  Ferdinand,  informing  him  that  Loxa  and  certain 
other  cities  had  returned  to  their  allegiance,  and 
that  he  held  them  as  vassal  to  the  Castilian  crown, 
according  to  their  convention.  He  conjured  him, 
therefore,  to  refrain  from  any  meditated  attack,  of- 
fering free  passage  to  the  Spanish  army  to  Malaga, 
or  any  other  place  under  the  dominion  of  his  uncle.* 

Ferdinand  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  entreaty,  and 
to  all  professions  of  friendship  and  vassalage.  Boab- 
dil was  nothing  to  him,  but  as  an  instrument  for 
stirring  up  the  flames  of  civil  war.  He  now  insisted 
that  he  had  entered  into  a  hostile  league  with  his 
uncle,  and  had  consequently  forfeited  all  claims  to 
his  indulgence  ;  and  he  prosecuted,  with  the  greater 
earnestness,  his  campaign  against  the  city  of  Loxa. 

"  Thus,"  observes  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agap- 
ida,  "  thus  did  this  most  sagacious  sovereign  act 
upon  the  text  in  the  eleventh  chapter  of  the  Evan- 
gelist St.  Luke,  that  '  a  kingdom  divided  against  it- 
self cannot  stand.'  He  had  induced  these  infidels 
to  waste  and  destroy  themselves  by  internal  dissen- 
sions, and  finally  cast  forth  the  survivor ;  while  the 
Moorish  monarchs,  by  their  ruinous  contests,  made 
good  the  old  Castilian  proverb  in  cases  of  civil  war, 
'  El  vencido  vencido,  y  el  vencidor  perdido,'  (the 
conquered  conquered,  and  the  conqueror  undone.)"  t 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 


HOW  KING  FERDINAND  HELD  A  COUNCIL  OF  WAR, 
AT  THE  ROCK  OF  THE  LOVERS. 

The  royal  army,  on  its  march  against  Loxa,  lay 
encamped,  one  pleasant  evening  in  May,  in  a  meadow 
on  the  banks  of  the  river  Yeguas,  around  the  foot  of 
a  lofty  cliff  called  the  Rock  of  the  Lovers.  The 
quarters  of  each  nobleman  formed  as  it  were  a 
separate  little  encampment ;  his  stately  pavilion,  sur- 
mounted by  his  fluttering  pennon,  rising  above  the 
surrounding  tents  of  his  vassals  and  retainers.  A 
little  apart  from  the  others,  as  it  were  in  proud  re- 
serve, was  the  encampment  of  the  English  earl.  It 
was  sumptuous  in  its  furniture,  and  complete  in  all 
its  munitions.  Archers,  and  soldiers  armed  with 
battle-axes,  kept  guard  around  it ;  while  above,  the 
standard  of  England  rolled  out  its  ample  folds,  and 
flapped  in  the  evening  breeze. 

The  mingled  sounds  of  various  tongues  and  na- 
tions were  heard  from  the  soldiery,  as  they  watered 
their  horses  in  the  stream,  or  busied  themselves 
round  the  fires  which  began  to  glow,  here  and  there, 
in  the  twilight :  the  gay  chanson  of  the  Frenchman, 
singing  of  his  amours  on  the  pleasant  banks  of  the 
Loire,  or  the  sunny  regions  of  the  Garonne ;  the 
broad  guttural  tones  of  the  German,  chanting  some 
doughty  krieger  lied,  or  extolling  the  vintage  of  the 
Rhine  ;  the  wild  romance  of  the  Spaniard,  reciting 
the  achievements  of  the  Cid,  and  many  a  famous 
passage  of  the  Moorish  wars ;  and  the  long  and 
melancholy  ditty  of  the  Englishman,  treating  of 
some  feudal  hero  or  redoubtable  outlaw  of  his  dis- 
tant island. 

On  a  rising  ground,  commanding  a  view  of  the 
whole  encampment,  stood  the  ample  and  magnificent 
pavilion  of  the  king,  with  the  banner  of  Castile  and 
Arragon,  and  the  holy  standard  of  the  cross,  erected 


•  Zurita,  lib.  ».  c.  68. 


t  Garib.->y,  lib.  40,  c.  33. 


before  it.  In  this  tent  were  assembled  the  principal 
commanders  of  the  army,  having  been  summoned  by 
Ferdinand  to  a  council  of  war,  on  receiving  tidings 
that  Boabdil  had  thrown  himself  into  Loxa  with  a 
considerable  reinforcement.  Afier  some  consulta- 
tion, it  was  determined  to  invest  Loxa  on  both  sides  : 
one  part  of  the  army  should  seize  upon  the  dangerous 
but  commanding  height  of  Santo  Albohacen,  in  front 
of  the  city  ;  while  the  remainder,  making  a  circuit, 
should  encamp  on  the  opposite  side. 

No  sooner  was  this  resolved  upon,  than  the  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz  stood  forth  and  claimed  the  post  of 
danger  in  behalf  of  himself  and  those  cavaliers,  his 
companions  in  arms,  who  had  been  compelled  to  re- 
linquish it  by  the  general  retreat  of  the  army  on  the 
former  siege.  The  enemy  had  exulted  over  them, 
as  if  driven  from  it  in  disgrace.  To  regain  that 
perilous  height,  to  pitch  their  tents  upon  it,  and  to 
avenge  the  blood  of  their  valiant  compeer,  the  Master 
of  Calatrava,  who  had  fallen  upon  it,  was  due  to  their 
fame ;  the  marques  demanded  therefore  that  they 
might  lead  the  advance  and  secure  that  height,  en- 
gaging to  hold  the  enemy  employed  until  the  main 
army  should  take  its  position  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  city. 

King  Ferdinand  readily  granted  his  permission ; 
upon  which  the  count  de  Cabra  entreated  to  be  ad- 
mitted to  a  share  of  the  enterprise.  He  had  always 
been  accustomed  to  serve  in  the  advance  ;  and  now 
that  Boabdd  was  in  the  field,  and  a  king  was  to  be 
taken,  he  could  not  content  himself  with  remaining 
in  the  rear.  Ferdinand  yielded  his  consent,  for  he 
was  disposed  to  give  the  good  count  every  oppor- 
tunity to  retrieve  his  late  disaster. 

The  English  earl,  when  he  heard  there  was  an  en- 
terprise of  danger  in  question,  was  hot  to  be  admitted 
to  the  party;  but  the  king  restrained  his  ardor. 
"  These  cavaliers,"  said  he,  "  conceive  that  they 
have  an  account  to  settle  with  their  pride  ;  let  them 
have  the  enterprise  to  themselves,  my  lord  ;  if  you 
follow  these  Moorish  wars  long,  you  will  find  no  lack 
of  perilous  service." 

The  marques  of  Cadiz,  and  his  companions  in 
arms,  struck  their  tents  before  daybreak ;  they  were 
five  thousand  horse  and  twelve  thousand  foot,  and 
marched  rapidly  along  the  defiles  of  the  mountains ; 
the  cavaliers  being  anxious  to  strike  the  blow,  and 
get  possession  of  the  height  of  Albohacen,  before  the 
king  with  the  main  army  should  arrive  to  their  as- 
sistance. 

The  city  of  Loxa  stands  on  a  high  hill,  between 
two  mountains,  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenel.  To  at- 
tain the  height  of  Albohacen,  the  troops  had  to  pass 
over  a  tract  of  rugged  and  broken  country,  and  a 
deep  valley,  intersected  by  those  canals  and  water- 
courses with  which  the  Moors  irrigated  their  lands  : 
they  were  extremely  embarrassed  in  this  part  of  their 
march,  and  in  imminent  risk  of  being  cut  up  in  detail 
before  they  could  reach  the  height. 

The  count  de  Cabra,  with  his  usual  eagerness,  en- 
deavored to  push  across  this  valley,  in  defiance  of 
every  obstacle  :  he,  in  consequence,  soon  became 
entangled  with  his  cavalry  among  the  canals  ;  but  his 
impatience  would  not  permit  him  to  retrace  his  steps, 
and  choose  a  more  practicable  but  circuitous  route. 
Others  slowly  crossed  another  part  of  the  valley,  by 
the  aid  of  pontoons  ;  while  the  marques  of  Cadiz, 
Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  and  the  count  de  Urena, 
being  more  experienced  in  the  ground  from  their 
former  campaign,  made  a  circuit  round  the  bottom 
of  the  height,  and,  winding  up  it,  began  to  display 
their  squadrons  and  elevate  their  banners  on  the  re- 
doubtable post,  which,  in  the  former  siege,  they  had 
been  compelled  so  reluctantly  to  abandon. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


225 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

HOW  THE  ROYAL  ARMY  APPEARED  BEFORE  THE 
CITY  OF  LOXA,  AND  HOW  IT  WAS  RECEIVED  ; 
AND  OF  THE  DOUGHTY  ACHIEVEMENTS  OF  THE 
ENGLISH   EARL. 

The  advance  of  the  christian  army  upon  Loxa, 
threw  the  wavering  Boabdil  el  Chico  into  one  of  his 
usual  dilemmas ;  and  he  was  greatly  perplexed  be- 
tween his  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  Spanish  sover- 
eigns, and  his  sense  of  duty  to  his  subjects.  His 
doubts  were  determined  by  the  sight  of  the  enemy 
glittering  upon  the  height  of  Albohacen,  and  by  the 
clamors  of  the  people  to  be  led  forth  to  battle.  "Al- 
lah !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  thou  knowest  my  heart :  thou 
knowest  I  have  been  true  in  my  faith  to  this  chris- 
tian monarch.  I  have  offered  to  hold  Loxa  as  his 
vassal,  but  he  has  preferred  to  approach  it  as  an  ene- 
my— on  his  head  be  the  infraction  of  our  treaty !  " 

Boabdil  was  not  wanting  in  courage ;  he  only 
needed  decision.  When  he  had  once  made  up  his 
mind,  he  acted  vigorously ;  the  misfortune  was,  he 
either  did  not  make  it  up  at  all,  or  he  made  it  up  too 
late.  He  who  decides  tardily  generally  acts  raslily, 
endeavoring  to  make  up  by  hurry  of  action  for  slow- 
ness of  deliberation.  Boabdil  hastily  buckled  on  his 
armor,  and  sallied  forth,  surrounded  by  his  guards, 
and  at  the  head  of  five  hundred  horse  and  four  thou- 
sand foot,  the  flower  of  his  army.  Some  he  detached 
to  skirmish  with  the  christians  who  were  scattered 
and  perplexed  in  the  valley,  and  to  prevent  their 
concentrating  their  forces ;  while,  with  his  main 
body,  he  pressed  forward  to  drive  the  enemy  from 
the  height  of  Albohacen,  before  they  had  time  to  col- 
lect there  in  any  number,  or  to  fortify  themselves  in 
that  important  position. 

The  worthy  count  de  Cabra  was  yet  entangled 
with  his  cavalry  among  the  water-courses  of  the 
valley,  when  he  heard  the  war-cries  of  the  Moors, 
and  saw  their  army  rushing  over  the  bridge.  He 
recognized  Boabdil  himself,  by  his  splendid  armor, 
the  magnificent  caparison  of  his  steed,  and  the  bril- 
liant guard  which  surrounded  him.  The  royal  host 
swept  on  toward  the  height  of  Albohacen  :  an  inter- 
vening hill  hid  it  from  his  sight ;  but  loud  shouts  and 
cries,  the  din  of  drums  and  trumpets,  and  the  reports 
of  arquebusses,  gave  note  that  the  battle  had  begun. 

Here  was  a  royal  prize  in  the  field,  and  the  count 
de  Cabra  unable  to  get  into  the  action  !  The  good 
cavalier  was  in  an  agony  of  impatience ;  every  at- 
tempt to  force  his  way  across  the  valley,  only  plunged 
him  into  new  difficulties.  At  length,  after  many  eager 
but  ineffectual  efforts,  he  was  obliged  to  order  his 
troops  to  dismount,  and  slowly  and  carefully  to  lead 
their  horses  back,  along  slippery  paths,  and  amid 
plashes  of  mire  and  water,  where  often  there  was 
scarce  a  foothold.  The  good  count  groaned  in  spirit, 
and  sweat  with  mere  impatience  as  he  went,  fearing 
the  battle  might  be  fought,  and  the  prize  won  or  lost, 
before  he  could  reach  the  field.  Having  at  length 
toilfully  unraveled  the  mazes  of  the  valley,  and  ar- 
rived at  firmer  ground,  he  ordered  his  troops  to 
mount,  and  led  them  full  gallop  to  the  height.  Part 
of  the  good  count's  wishes  were  satisfied,  but  the 
dearest  were  disappointed :  he  came  in  season  to 
partake  of  the  very  hottest  of  the  fight,  but  the  royal 
prize  was  no  longer  in  the  field. 

Boabdil  had  led  on  his  men  with  impetuous  valor, 
or  rather  with  hurried  rashness.  Heedlessly  exposing 
himself  in  the  front  of  the  battle,  he  received  two 
wounds  in  the  very  first  encounter.  His  guards  ral- 
lied round  him,  defended  him  with  matchless  valor, 
and  bore  him,  bleeding,  out  of  the  action.  The  count 
de  Cabra  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  the  loyal  squadron 
15 


crossing  the  bridge,  and  slowly  conveying  their  dis- 
abled monarch  towards  the  gate  of  the  city. 

The  departure  of  Boabdil  made  no  difference  in 
the  fury  of  the  battle.  A  Moorish  warrior,  dark  and 
terrible  in  aspect,  mounted  on  a  black  charger  and 
followed  by  a  band  of  savage  Gomeres,  rushed  for- 
ward to  take  the  lead.  It  was  Hamet  el  Zegri,  the 
fierce  alcayde  of  Ronda,  with  the  remnant  of  his 
once  redoubtable  garrison.  Animated  by  his  exam- 
ple, the  Moors  renewed  their  assaults  upon  the 
height.  It  was  bravely  defended,  on  one  side  by  the 
marques  of  Cadiz,  on  another  by  Don  Alonzo  de 
Aguilar;'and  as  fast  as  the  Moors  ascended,  they 
were  driven  back  and  dashed  down  the  declivities. 
The  count  de  Urena  took  his  stand  upon  the  fatal 
spot  where  his  brother  had  fallen  ;  his  followers  en- 
tered with  zeal  into  the  feelings  of  their  commander, 
and  heaps  of  the  enemy  sunk  beneath  their  weapons 
— sacrifices  to  the  manes  of  the  lamented  Master  of 
Calatrava. 

The  battle  continued  with  incredible  obstinaty. 
The  Moors  knew  the  importance  of  the  height  to  the 
safety  of  the  city ;  the  cavaliers  felt  their  honors 
staked  to  maintain  it.  Fresh  supplies  of  troops  were 
poured  out  of  the  city ;  some  battled  on  the  height, 
while  some  attacked  the  christians  who  were  still  in 
the  valley  and  among  the  orchards  and  gardens,  to 
prevent  their  uniting  their  forces.  The  troops  in  the 
valley  were  gradually  driven  back,  and  the  whole 
host  of  the  Moors  swept  around  the  height  of  Albo- 
hacen. The  situation  of  the  marques  de  Cadiz  and 
his  companions  was  perilous  in  the  extreme :  they 
were  a  mere  handful ;  and,  while  they  were  fighting 
h.and  to  hand  with  the  Moors  who  assailed  the 
height,  they  were  galled  from  a  distance  by  the 
cross-bows  and  arquebusses  of  a  host  that  augment- 
ed each  moment  in  number.  At  this  critical  juncture, 
king  Ferdinand  emerged  from  the  mountains  with 
the  main  body  of  the  army,  and  advanced  to  an  emi- 
nence commanding  a  full  view  of  the  field  of  action. 
By  his  side  was  the  noble  English  cavalier,  the  earl 
of  Rivers.  This  was  the  first  time  he  had  witnessed 
a  scene  of  Moorish  warfare.  He  looked  with  eager 
interest  at  the  chance  medley  fight  before  him,  where 
there  was  the  wild  career  of  cavalry,  the  irregular 
and  tumultuous  rush  of  infantry,  and  where  christian 
helm  and  Moorish  turban  were  intermingled  in  dead- 
ly struggle.  The  high  blood  of  the  English  knight 
mounted  at  the  sight,  and  his  soul  was  stirred  within 
him,  by  the  confused  war-cries,  the  clangor  of  drums 
and  trumpets,  and  the  reports  of  arquebusses,  that 
came  echoing  up  the  mountains.  Seeing  that  the 
king  was  sending  a  reinforcement  to  the  field,  he  en- 
treated permission  to  mingle  in  the  affray,  and  fight 
according  to  the  fashion  of  his  country.  His  request 
being  granted,  he  alighted  from  his  steed  :  he  was 
merely  armed  en  bianco,  that  is  to  say,  with  morion, 
back-piece,  and  breast-plate ;  his  sword  was  girded 
by  his  side,  and  in  his  hand  he  wielded  a  powerful 
battle-axe.  He  was  followed  by  a  body  of  his  yeo- 
men, armed  in  like  manner,  and  by  a  band  of  archers 
with  bows  made  of  the  tough  English  yew-tree.  The 
earl  turned  to  his  troops,  and  addressed  them  briefly 
and  blundy,  according  to  the  manner  of  his  country. 
"  Remember,  my  merry  men  all,"  said  he,  "  the  eyes 
of  strangers  are  upon  you  ;  you  are  in  a  foreign  land, 
fighting  for  the  glory  of  God,  and  the  honor  of  merry 
old  England  !  "  A  loud  shout  was  the  reply.  The 
earl  waved  his  battle-axe  over  his  head  :  "  St.  George 
for  England  ! "  cried  he  ;  and  to  the  inspiring  sound 
of  this  old  English  war-cry,  he  and  his  followers 
rushed  down  to  the  battle  with  manly  and  courage- 
ous heart.*    They  soon  made  their  way  into  the 


•  Cura  de  los  Palacios. 


226 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING 


midst  of  the  enemy ;  but  when  engaged  in  the  hottest 
of  the  fight,  they  made  no  shouts  or  outcries.  They 
pressed  steadily  forward,  deaHng  their  blows  to  right 
and  left,  hewing  down  the  Moors,  and  cutting  their 
way,  with  their  ijattle-axes,  like  woodmen  in  a  forest ; 
while  the  archers,  pressing  into  the  opening  they 
made,  plied  their  bows  vigorously,  and  spread  death 
on  every  side. 

When  the  Casti'ian  mountaineers  beheld  the  valor 
of  the  English  yeomanry,  they  would  not  be  outdone 
in  hardihood.  They  could  not  vie  with  them  in 
weight  or  bulk,  but  for  vigor  and  activity  they  were 
surpassed  by  none.  They  kept  pace  with  them, 
therefore,  with  equal  heart  and  rival  prowess,  and 
gave  a  brave  support  to  the  stout  Englishmen. 

The  Moors  were  confounded  by  the  fury  of  these 
assaults,  and  disheartened  by  the  loss  of  Hamet  el 
Zegri,  who  was  carried  wounded  from  the  field. 
They  gradually  fell  back  upon  the  bridge ;  the  chris- 
tians followed  up  their  advantage,  and  drove  them 
over  it  tumultuously.  The  Moors  retreated  into  the 
suburb  ;  and  lord  Rivers  and  his  troops  entered  with 
them  pell-mell,  fighting  in  the  streets  and  in  the 
houses.  King  Ferdinand  came  up  to  the  scene  of 
action  with  his  royal  guard,  and  the  infidels  were 
driven  within  the  city  walls.  Thus  were  the  suburbs 
gained  by  the  hardihood  of  the  English  lord,  without 
such  an  event  having  been  premeditated.* 

The  earl  of  Rivers,  notwithstanding  he  had  re- 
ceived a  wound,  still  urged  forward  in  the  attack. 
He  penetrated  almost  to  the  city  gate,  in  defiance  of 
a  shower  of  missiles  that  slew  many  of  his  followers. 
A  stone,  hurled  from  the  battlements,  checked  his 
impetuous  career :  it  struck  him  in  the  face,  dashed 
out  two  of  his  front  teeth,  and  laid  him  senseless  on 
the  earth.  He  was  removed  to  a  short  distance  by 
his  men  ;  but,  recovering  his  senses,  refused  to  per- 
mit himself  to  be  taken  from  the  suburb. 

When  the  contest  was  over,  the  streets  presented 
a  piteous  spectacle — so  many  of  their  inhabitants 
had  died  in  the  defence  of  their  thresholds,  or  been 
slaughtered  without  resistance.  Among  the  victims 
was  a  poor  weaver,  who  had  been  at  work  in  his 
dwelling  at  this  turbulent  moment.  His  wife  urged 
him  to  fly  into  the  city.  "  Why  should  I  fly  .^  "  said 
the  Moor — "  to  be  reserved  for  hunger  and  slavery  ? 
I  tell  you,  wife,  I  will  await  the  foe  here  ;  for  better 
is  it  to  die  quickly  by  the  steel,  than  to  perish  piece- 
meal in  chains  and  dungeons."  He  said  no  more, 
but  resumed  his  occupation  of  weaving ;  and  in  the 
indiscriminate  fury  of  the  assault,  was  slaughtered  at 
his  loom.t 

The  christians  remained  masters  of  the  field,  and 
proceeded  to  pitch  three  encampments  for  the  prose- 
cution of  the  siege.  The  king,  with  the  great  body 
of  the  army,  took  a  position  on  the  side  of  the  city 
next  to  Granada :  the  marques  of  Cadiz  and  his 
brave  companions  once  more  pitched  tlieir  tents 
upon  the  height  of  Sancto  Albohacen  :  but  the  En- 
glish earl  planted  his  standard  sturdily  within  the 
suburb  he  had  taken. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

CONCLUSION  OF  THE  SIEGE  OF  LOXA. 

Having  possession  of  the  heights  of  Albohacen 
and  the  suburb  of  the  city,  the  christians  were  en- 
abled to  choose  the  most  favorable  situations  for 
their  batteries.  They  immediately  destroyed  the 
stone  bridge,  by  which  the  garrison  had  made  its 


*  Cura  dc  los  Palacios.     MS. 
t  Pulgar,  part  3.  c.  58. 


sallies  ;  and  they  threw  two  wooden  bridges  across 
the  river,  and  others  over  the  canals  and  streams,  so 
as  to  establish  an  easy  communication  between  the 
different  camps. 

When  all  was  arranged,  a  heavy  fire  was  opened 
upon  the  city  from  various  points.  They  threw,  not 
only  balls  of  stone  and  iron,  but  great  carcasses  of 
fire,  which  burst  like  meteors  on  the  houses,  wrap- 
ping them  instantly  in  a  blaze.  The  walls  were 
shattered,  and  the  towers  toppled  down,  by  tremen- 
dous discharges  from  the  lombards.  Through  the 
openings  thus  made,  they  could  behold  the  interior 
of  the  city — houses  tumbling  or  in  flames — men, 
women,  and  children,  flying  in  terror  through  the 
streets,  and  slaughtered  by  the  shower  of  missiles, 
sent  through  the  openings  from  smaller  artillery,  and 
from  cross-bows  and  arquebusses. 

The  Moors  attempted  to  repair  the  breaches,  but 
fresh  discharges  from  the  lombards  buried  them  be- 
neath the  ruins  of  the  walls  they  were  mending.  In 
their  despair,  many  of  the  inhabitants  rushed  forth 
into  the  narrow  streets  of  the  suburbs,  and  assailed 
the  christians  with  darts,  scimitars,  and  poniards, 
seeking  to  destroy  rather  than  defend,  and  heedless 
of  death,  in  the  confidence  that  to  die  fighting  with 
an  unbeliever,  was  to  be  translated  at  once  to  para- 
dise. 

For  two  nights  and  a  day  this  awful  scene  con- 
tinued ;  when  certain  of  the  principal  inhabitants  be- 
gan to  reflect  upon  the  hopelessness  of  the  conflict : 
their  king  was  disabled,  their  principal  captains  were 
either  killed  or  wounded,  their  fortifications  little 
better  than  heaps  of  ruins.  They  had  urged  the  un- 
fortunate Boabdil  to  the  conflict ;  they  now  clamored 
for  a  capitulation.  A  parley  was  procured  from  the 
christian  monarch,  and  the  terms  of  surrender  were 
soon  adjusted.  They  were  to  yield  up  the  city  im- 
mediately, with  all  their  christian  captives,  and  to 
sally  forth  with  as  much  of  their  property  as  they 
could  take  with  them.  The  marques  of  Cadiz,  on 
whose  honor  and  humanity  they  had  great  reliance, 
was  to  escort  them  to  Gran.ada,  to  protect  them  from 
assault  or  robbery  :  such  as  chose  to  remain  in  Spain 
were  to  be  permitted  to  reside  in  Castile,  Arragon, 
or  Valencia.  As  to  Boabdil  el  Chico,  he  was  to  do 
homage  as  vassal  to  king  Ferdinand,  but  no  charge 
was  to  be  urged  against  him  of  having  violated  his 
former  pledge.  If  he  should  yield  up  all  pretensions 
to  Granada,  the  title  of  duke  of  Guadix  was  to  be 
assigned  to  him,  and  the  territory  thereto  annexed, 
provided  it  should  be  recovered  from  El  Zagal  with- 
in six  months. 

The  capitulation  being  arranged,  they  gave  as 
hostages  the  alcayde  of  the  city,  and  the  principal 
officers,  together  with  the  sons  of  their  late  chieftain, 
the  veteran  All  Atar.  The  warriors  of  Loxa  then 
issued  forth,  humbled  and  dejected  at  having  to  sur- 
render those  w:flls  which  they  had  so  long  maintained 
with  valor  and  renown  ;  and  the  women  and  children 
filled  the  air  with  lamentations,  at  being  exiled  from 
their  native  homes. 

Last  came  forth  Boabdil,  most  truly  called  El 
Zogoybi,  the  unlucky.  Accustomed,  as  he  was,  to 
be  crowned  and  uncrowned,  to  be  ransomed  and 
treated  as  a  matter  of  bargain,  he  had  acceded  of 
course  to  the  capitulation.  He  was  enfeebled  by 
his  wounds,  and  had  an  air  of  dejection  ;  yet  it  is 
said,  his  conscience  acquitted  him  of  a  breach  of 
faith  towards  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  and  the  per- 
sonal valor  he  had  displayed  had  caused  a  sympathy 
for  him  among  many  of  the  christian  cavaliers.  He 
knelt  to  Ferdinand  according  to  the  forms  of  vas- 
salage, and  then  departed,  in  melancholy  mood,  for 
Priego.  a  town  about  three  leagues  distant. 

Ferdinand  immediately  ordered   Loxa   to  be  re- 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


227 


paired,  and  strongly  garrisoned.  He  was  greatly 
elated  at  the  capture  of  this  place,  in  consequence 
of  his  former  defeat  before  its  walls.  He  passed 
great  encomiums  upon  the  commanders  who  had  dis- 
tinguished themselves  ;  and  historians  dwell  particu- 
larly upon  his  visit  to  the  tent  of  the  English  earl. 
His  majesty  consoled  him  for  the  loss  of  his  teeth,  by 
the  consideration  that  he  might  otherwise  have  lost 
them  by  natural  decay;  whereas  the  lack  of  them 
would  now  be  esteemed  a  beauty,  rather  than  a  de- 
fect, serving  as  a  trophy  of  the  glorious  cause  in 
which  he  had  been  engaged. 

The  earl  replied,  that  ne  gave  thanks  to  God  and 
to  the  holy  virgin,  for  being  thus  honored  by  a  visit 
from  the  most  potent  king  in  Christendom  ;  that  he 
accepted  with  all  gratitude  his  gracious  consolation 
for  the  I0.SS  of  his  teeth,  though  he  held  it  little  to 
lose  two  teeth  in  the  service  of  God,  who  had  given 
him  all : — "  A  speech,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  full  of  most  courtly  wit  and  christian  piety  ;  and 
one  only  marvels  that  it  should  have  been  made  by 
a  native  of  an  island  so  far  distant  from  Castile." 


CHAPTER  XLI. 
CAPTURE  OF  ILLORA. 


King  Ferdinand  followed  up  his  victorj'  at  Loxa, 
by  laying  siege  to  the  strong  town  of  Illora.  This 
redoubtable  fortress  was  perched  upon  a  high  rock, 
in  the  midst  of  a  spacious  valley.  It  was  within  four 
leagues  of  the  Moorish  capital ;  and  its  lofty  castle, 
keeping  vigilant  watch  over  a  wide  circuit  of  coun- 
try, was  termed  the  right  eye  of  Granada. 

The  alcayde  of  Illora  was  one  of  the  bravest  of  the 
Moorish  commanders,  and  made  every  preparation 
to  defend  his  fortress  to  the  last  extremity.  He 
sent  the  women  and  children,  the  aged  and  infirm, 
to  the  metropolis.  He  placed  barricades  in  the 
suburbs,  opened  doors  of  communication  from  house 
to  house,  and  pierced  their  walls  with  loop-holes 
for  the  discharge  of  cross-bows,  arquebusses,  and 
other  missiles. 

King  Ferdinand  arrived  before  the  place,  with  all 
his  forces ;  he  stationed  himself  upon  the  hill  of 
Encinilla,  and  distributed  the  other  encampments 
in  various  situations,  so  as  to  invest  the  fortress. 
Knowing  the  valiant  character  of  the  alcayde, 
and  the  desperate  courage  of  the  Moors,  he  ordered 
the  encampments  to  be  fortified  with  trenches  and 
pallisadoes,  the  guards  to  be  doubled,  and  sentinels 
to  be  placed  in  all  the  watch-towers  of  the  adjacent 
heights. 

When  all  was  ready,  the  duke  del  Infantado  de- 
manded the  attack  ;  it  was  his  first  campaign,  and 
he  was  anxious  to  disprove  the  royal  insinuation 
made  against  the  hardihood  of  his  embroidered  chiv- 
alry. King  Ferdinand  granted  his  demand,  with  a 
becoming  compliment  to  his  spirit ;  he  ordered  the 
count  de  Cabra  to  make  a  simultaneous  attack  upon 
a  different  quarter.  Both  chiefs  led  forth  their 
troops ; — those  of  the  duke  in  fresh  and  brilliant 
armor,  richly  ornamented,  and  as  yet  uninjured  by 
the  service  of  the  field ;  those  of  the  count  were 
weatherbeaien  veterans,  whose  armor  was  dented 
and  hacked  in  many  a  hard-fought  battle.  The 
youthful  duke  blushed  at  the  contrast.  "  Cavaliers," 
cried  he,  "  we  have  been  reproached  with  the  finery 
of  our  array:  let  us  prove  that  a  trenchant  blade 
may  rest  in  a  gilded  sheath.  Forward  !  to  the  foe  ! 
and  I  trust  in  God,  that  as  we  enter  this  affray 
knights  well  accoutred,  so  we  shall  leave  it  cava- 
liers well  proved."     His   men   responded  by  eager 


acclamations,  and  the  duke  led  them  forward  to  the 
assault.  He  advanced  under  a  tremendous  shower 
of  stones,  darts,  balls,  and  arrows  ;  but  nothing  could 
check  his  career ;  he  entered  the  suburb  sword  in 
hand  ;  his  men  fought  furiously,  though  with  great 
loss,  for  every  dwelling  had  been  turned  into  a  for- 
tress. After  a  severe  conflict,  they  succeeded  in 
driving  the  Moors  into  the  town,  about  the  same 
time  that  the  other  suburb  was  carried  by  the  count 
de  Cabra  and  his  veterans.  The  troops  of  the  duke 
del  Infantado  came  out  of  the  contest  thinned  in 
number,  and  covered  with  blood,  and  dust,  and 
wounds :  they  received  the  highest  encomiums  of 
the  king,  and  there  was  never  afterwards  any  sneer 
at  their  embroidery. 

The  suburbs  being  taken,  three  batteries,  each  fur- 
nished with  eight  huge  lombards,  were  opened  upon 
the  fortress.  The  damage  and  havoc  were  tremen- 
dous, for  the  fortifications  had  not  been  constructed 
to  withstand  such  engines.  The  towers  were  over- 
thrown, the  walls  battered  to  pieces  ;  the  interior  of 
the  place  was  all  exposed,  houses  demolished,  and 
many  people  slain.  The  Moors  were  terrified  by  the 
tumbling  ruins,  and  the  tremendous  din.  The  al- 
cayde had  resolved  to  defend  the  place  until  the  last 
extremity ;  he  beheld  it  a  heap  of  rubbish ;  there 
was  no  prospect  of  aid  from  Granada ;  his  people 
had  lost  all  spirit  to  fight,  and  were  vociferous  for  a 
surrender ;  with  a  reluctant  heart,  he  capitulated. 
The  inhabitants  were  permitted  to  depart  with  all 
their  effects,  excepting  their  arms  ;  and  were  escorted 
in  safety  by  the  (luke  del  Infantado  and  the  count  de 
Cabra,  to  the  bridge  of  Pinos,  within  two  leagues  of 
Granada. 

King  Ferdinand  gave  directions  to  repair  the  forti- 
fications of  Illora,  and  to  place  it  in  a  strong  state  of 
defence.  He  left,  as  alcayde  of  the  town  and  for- 
tress, Gonsalvo  de  Cordova,  younger  brother  of  Don 
Alonzo  de  Aguilar.  This  gallant  cavalier  was  cap- 
tain of  the  royal  guards  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella, 
and  gave  already  proofs  of  that  prowess  which  after- 
wards rendered  him  so  renowned. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 


OF  THE  ARRIVAL  OF  QUEEN  ISABELLA  AT  THE 
CAMP  BEFORE  MOCLIN  ;  AND  OF  THE  PLEAS- 
ANT SAYINGS  OF  THE  ENGLISH   EARL. 

The  war  of  Granada,  however  poets  may  em- 
broider it  with  the  flowers  of  their  fancy,  was  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  sternest  of  those  iron  conflicts 
which  have  been  celebrated  under  the  name  of  holy 
wars.  The  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  dwells 
with  unsated  delight  upon  the  succession  of  rugged 
mountain  enterprises,  bloody  battles,  and  merciless 
sackings  and  ravages  which  characterized  it;  yet  we 
find  him  on  one  occasion  pausing  in  the  full  career 
of  victory  over  the  infidels,  to  detail  a  stately  pageant 
of  the  Catholic  sovereigns. 

Immediately  on  the  capture  of  Loxa,  Ferdinand 
had  written  to  Isabella,  soliciting  her  presence  at  the 
camp,  that  he  might  consult  with  her  as  to  the  dis- 
position of  their  newly  acquired  territories. 

It  was  in  the  early  part  of  June  that  the  queen 
departed  from  Cordova,  with  the  princess  Isabella 
and  numerous  ladies  of  her  court,  .bhe  had  a  glori- 
ous attendance  of  cavaliers  and  pages,  with  many 
guards  and  domestics.  There  were  forty  mules,  for 
the  use  of  the  queen,  the  princess,  and  their  train. 

As  this  courtly  cavalcade  approached  the  Rock  of 
the  Lovers,  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Yeg^as,  they 
beheld  a  splendid  train  of  knights  advancing  to  meet 


228 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


them.  It  was  headed  by  that  accomplished  cavalier 
the  marques  duke  de  Cadiz,  accompanied  by  the 
adelantado  of  Andalusia.  He  had  left  the  camp  the 
day  after  the  capture  of  lllora,  and  advanced  thus 
far  to  receive  the  queen  and  escort  her  over  the  bor- 
ders. The  queen  received  the  marques  with  distin- 
guished honor  ;  for  he  was  esteemed  the  mirror  of 
chivalry.  His  actions  in  this  war  had  become  the 
theme  of  every  tongue,  and  many  hesitated  not  to 
compare  him  in  prowess  to  the  immortal  Cid.* 

Thus  gallantly  attended,  the  queen  entered  the 
vanquished  frontier  of  Granada  ;  journeying  securely 
along  the  pleasant  banks  of  the  Xenel,  so  lately  sub- 
ject to  the  scourings  of  the  Moors.  She  stopped  at 
Loxa,  where  she  administered  aid  and  consolation  to 
the  wounded,  distributing  money  among  them  for 
their  support,  according  to  their  rank. 

The  king,  after  the  capture  of  lllora,  had  removed 
his  camp  before  the  fortress  of  Moclin,  with  an  in- 
tention of  besieging  it.  Thither  the  queen  proceeded, 
still  escorted  through  the  mountain  roads  by  the 
marques  of  Cadiz.  As  Isabella  drew  near  to  the 
camp,  the  duke  del  Infantado  issued  forth  a  league 
and  a  half  to  receive  her,  magnificently  arrayed,  and 
followed  by  all  his  chivalry  in  glorious  attire.  With 
him  came  the  standard  of  Seville,  borne  by  the  men- 
at-arms  of  that  renowned  city ;  and  the  Prior  of  St. 
Juan,  with  his  followers.  They  arrayed  themselves 
in  order  of  battle,  on  the  left  of  the  road  by  which 
the  queen  was  to  pass. 

The  worthy  Agapida  is  loyally  minute,  in  his  de- 
scription of  the  state  and  grandeur  of  the  Catholic 
sovereigns.  The  queen  rode  a  chestnut  mule,  seated 
in  a  magnificent  saddle-chair  decorated  with  silver 
gilt.  The  housings  of  the  mule  were  of  fine  crimson 
cloth  ;  the  borders  embroidered  with  gold  ;  the  reins 
and  head-piece  were  of  satin,  curiously  embossed 
with  needlework  of  silk,  and  wrought  with  golden 
letters.  The  queen  wore  a  brial,  or  regal  skirt  of 
velvet,  under  which  were  others  of  brocade  ;  a  scar- 
let mantle,  ornamented  in  the  Moresco  fashion  ;  and 
a  black  hat,  embroidered  round  the  crown  and  brim. 

The  Infanta  was  likewise  mounted  on  a  chestnut 
mule,  richly  caparisoned  :  she  wore  a  brial  or  skirt 
of  black  brocade,  and  a  black  mantle  ornamented 
like  that  of  the  queen. 

When  the  royal  cavalcade  passed  by  the  chivalry 
of  the  duke  del  Infantado,  which  was  drawn  out  in 
battle  array,  the  queen  made  a  reverence  to  the  stand- 
ard of  Seville,  and  ordered  it  to  pass  to  the  right 
hand.  When  she  approached  the  camp,  the  multi- 
tude ran  forth  to  meet  her,  with  great  demonstra- 
tions of  joy  ;  for  she  was  universally  beloved  by  her 
subjects.  All  the  battalions  sallied  forth  in  military 
array,  bearing  the  various  standards  and  banners  of 
the  camp,  which  were  lowered  in  salutation  as  she 
passed. 

The  king  now  came  forth  in  royal  state,  mounted 
on  a  superb  chestnut  horse,  and  attended  by  many 
grandees  of  Castile.  He  wore  a  jubon  or  close  vest 
of  crimson  cloth,  with  cuisses  or  short  skirts  of  yel- 
low satin,  a  loose  cassock  of  brocade,  a  rich  Moorish 
scimitar,  and  a  hat  with  plumes.  The  grandees  who 
attended  him  were  arrayed  with  wonderful  magnifi- 
cence, each  according  to  his  taste  and  mvention. 

These  high  and  mighty  princes  (says  Antonio 
Agapida)  regard  each  other  with  great  deference, 
as  allied  sovereigns,  rather  than  with  connubial  fa- 
miliarity as  mere  husband  and  wife.  When  they 
approached  each  other,  therefore,  before  embracing, 
they  made  three  profound  reverences ;  the  queen 
taking  off  her  hat,  and  remaining  in  a  silk  net  or 
cawl,  with  her  face  uncovered.     The  king  then  ap- 

*  Cuia  de  los  Palacios. 


proached  and  embraced  her,  and  kissed  her  respect- 
fully on  the  cheek.  He  also  embraced  his  daughter 
the  princess  ;  and,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  he 
blessed  her,  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips.* 

The  good  Agapida  seems  scarcely  to  have  been 
more  struck  with  the  appearance  of  the  sovereigns, 
than  with  that  of  the  English  earl.  He  followed 
(says  he)  immediately  after  the  king,  with  great 
pomp,  and,  in  an  extraordinary  manner,  taking  pre- 
cedence of  all  the  rest.  He  was  mounted  "  a  la 
guisa,"  or  with  long  stirrups,  on  a  superb  chestnut 
horse,  with  trappings  of  azure  silk  which  reached  to 
the  ground.  The  housings  were  of  mulberry,  pow- 
dered with  stars  of  gold.  He  was  armed  in  proof, 
and  wore  over  his  armor  a  short  French  mantle  of 
black  brocade ;  he  had  a  white  French  hat  with 
pluines,  and  carried  on  his  left  arm  a  small  round 
buckler,  banded  with  gold.  Five  pages  attended 
him,  apparelled  in  silk  and  brocade,  and  mounted 
on  horses  sumptuously  caparisoned  ;  he  had  also  a 
train  of  followers,  bravely  attired  after  the  fashion 
of  his  country. 

He  advanced  in  a  chivalrous  and  courteous  man- 
ner, making  his  reverences  first  to  the  quten  and  In- 
fanta, and  afterwards  to  the  king.  Queen  Isabella 
received  him  graciously,  complimenting  him  on  his 
courageous  conduct  at  Loxa,  and  condoling  with 
him  on  the  loss  of  his  teeth.  The  earl,  however, 
made  light  of  his  disfiguring  wound  ;  saying,  that 
"our  blessed  Lord,  who  had  built  all  that  house, 
had  opened  a  window  there,  that  he  might  see  more 
readily  what  passed  within : "  t  whereupon  the 
worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  is  more  than  ever 
astonished  at  the  pregnant  wit  of  this  island  cavalier. 
The  earl  continued  some  little  distance  by  the  side 
of  the  royal  family,  complimenting  them  all  with 
courteous  speeches,  his  horse  curvetting  and  cara- 
coling, but  being  managed  with  great  grace  and 
dexterity;  leaving  the  grandees  and  the  people  at 
large,  not  more  filled  with  admiration  at  the  strange- 
ness and  magnificence  of  his  state,  than  at  the  ex- 
cellence of  his  horsemanship.J 

To  testify  her  sense  of  the  gallantry  and  services 
of  this  noble  English  knight,  who  had  come  from  so 
far  to  assist  in  their  wars,  the  queen  sent  him  the 
next  day  presents  of  twelve  horses,  with  stately 
tents,  fine  linen,  two  beds  with  coverings  of  gold 
brocade,  and  many  other  articles  of  great  value. 

Having  refreshed  himself,  as  it  were,  with  the 
description  of  this  progress  of  queen  Isabella  to  the 
camp,  and  the  glorious  pomp  of  the  Catholic  sover- 
eigns, the  worthy  Antonio  Agapida  returns  with 
renewed  relish  to  his  pious  work  of  discomfiting  the 
Moors. 

The  description  of  this  royal  pageant,  and  the  par- 
ticulars concerning  the  English  earl,  thus  given  from 
the  manuscript  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  agree  pre- 
cisely with  the  chronicle  of  Andres  Bernaldes,  the 
curate  of  los  Palacios.  The  English  earl  makes  no 
further  figure  in  this  war.  It  appears  from  various 
histories,  that  he  returned  in  the  course  of  the  year 
to  England.  In  the  following  year,  his  passion  for 
fighting  took  him  to  the  continent  at  the  head  of 
four  hundred  adventurers,  in  aid  of  Francis,  duke  of 
Brittany,  against  Louis  XI.  of  France.  He  was 
killed  in  the  same  year  [1488J  in  the  battle  of  St. 
Alban's,  between  the  Bretons  and  the  French. 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios.  +  Pietro  Martyr,  Epist.  6i. 

$  Cura  de  los  Palacios. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


229 


I 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

HOW  KING  FERDINAND  ATTACKED  MOCLIN,  AND 
OF  THE  STRANGE  EVENTS  THAT  ATTENDED 
ITS  CAPTURE. 

"  The  Catholic  sovereigns,"  says  Fray  Antonio 
Agapida,  "  had  by  this  time  closely  clipped  the  right 
wing  of  the  Moorish  vulture."  In  other  words,  most 
of  the  strong  fortresses  along  the  western  frontier  of 
Granada  had  fallen  beneath  the  christian  artillery. 
The  army  now  lay  encamped  before  the  town  of 
Moclin,  on  the  frontier  of  Jaen,  one  of  the  most 
stubborn  fortresses  of  the  border.  It  stood  on  a 
high  rocky  hill,  the  base  of  which  was  nearly  girdled 
by  a  river  :  a  thick  forest  protected  the  back  part 
of  the  town,  towards  the  mountain.  Thus  strongly 
situated,  it  domineered,  with  its  frowning  battle- 
ments and  massive  towers,  all  the  mountain  passes 
into  that  part  of  the  country,  and  was  called  "  the 
shield  of  Granada."  It  had  a  double  arrear  of  blood 
to  settle  with  the  christians  ;  two  hundred  years  be- 
fore, a  Master  of  Santiago  and  all  his  cavaliers  had 
been  lanced  by  the  Moors  before  its  gates.  It  had 
recently  made  terrible  slaughter  among  the  troops 
of  the  good  count  de  Cabra,  in  his  precipitate  attempt 
to  entrap  the  old  Moorish  monarch.  The  pride  of 
Ferdinand  had  been  piqued  by  being  obliged  on  that 
occasion  to  recede  from  his  plan,  and  abandon  his 
concerted  attack  on  the  place  ;  he  was  now  prepared 
to  take  a  full  revenge. 

El  Zagal,  the  old  warrior  king  of  Granada,  antici- 
pating a  second  attempt,  had  provided  the  place 
with  ample  ammunitions  and  provisions  ;  had  ordered 
trenches  to  be  digged,  and  additional  bulwarks  thrown 
up ;  and  caused  all  the  old  men,  the  women,  and  the 
children,  to  be  removed  to  the  capital. 

Such  was  the  strength  of  the  fortress,  and  the 
difficulties  of  its  position,  that  Ferdinand  anticipated 
much  trouble  in  reducing  it,  and  made  every  prepara- 
tion lor  a  regular  siege.  In  the  centre  of  his  camp 
were  two  great  mounds,  one  of  sacks  of  flour,  the 
other  of  grain,  which  were  called  the  royal  granary. 
Three  batteries  of  heavy  ordnance  were  opened 
against  the  citadel  and  principal  towers,  while  small- 
er artillery,  engines  for  the  discharge  of  missiles,  ar- 
quebusses  and  cross-bows,  were  distributed  in  various 
places,  to  keep  up  a  fire  into  any  breaches  that  might 
be  made,  and  upon  those  of  the  garrison  who  should 
appear  on  the  battlements. 

The  lombards  soon  made  an  impression  on  the 
works,  demolishing  a  part  of  the  wall,  and  tumbling 
down  several  of  those  haughty  towers,  which  from 
their  height  had  been  impregnable  before  the  inven- 
tion of  gunpowder.  The  Moors  repaired  their  walls 
as  well  as  they  were  able,  and,  still  confiding  in  the 
strength  of  their  situation,  kept  up  a  resolute  defence, 
firing  down  from  their  lofty  battlements  and  towers 
upon  the  christian  camp.  For  two  nights  and  a  day 
an  incessant  fire  was  kept  up,  so  that  there  was  not 
a  moment  in  which  the  roaring  of  ordnance  was  not 
heard,  or  some  damage  sustained  by  the  christians  or 
the  Moors.  It  was  a  conflict,  however,  more  of 
engineers  and  artillerists  than  of  gallant  cavaliers  ; 
there  was  no  sally  of  troops,  or  shock  of  armed  men, 
or  rush  and  charge  of  cavalry.  The  knights  stood 
looking  on  with  idle  weapons,  waiting  until  they 
should  have  an  opportunity  of  signalizing  their  prow- 
ess by  scahng  the  walls,  or  storming  the  breaches. 
As  the  place,  however,  was  assailable  only  in  one 
part,  there  was  every  prospect  of  a  long  and  obsti- 
nate resistance. 

The  engineers,  as  usual,  discharged  not  merely 
balls  of  stone  and  iron,  to  demolish  the  walls,  but 
flaming  balls  of  inextinguishable  combustibles,  de- 


signed to  set  fire  to  the  houses.  One  of  these,  which 
passed  high  through  the  air  like  a  meteor,  sending 
out  sparks  and  crackling  as  it  went,  entered  the  win- 
dow of  a  tower  which  was  used  as  a  magazine  of 
gunpowder.  The  tower  blew  up,  with  a  tremendous 
explosion  ;  the  Moors  who  were  upon  its  battlements 
were  hurled  into  the  air,  and  fell  mangled  in  various 
parts  of  the  town  ;  and  the  houses  in  its  vicinity 
were  rent  and  overthrown  as  with  an  earthquake. 

The  Moors,  who  had  never  witnessed  an  explosion 
of  the  kind,  ascribed  the  destruction  of  the  tower  to  a 
miracle.  Some  who  had  seen  the  descent  of  the  flam- 
ing ball,  imagined  that  fire  had  fallen  from  heaven  to 
punish  them  for  their  pertinacity.  The  pious  Agap- 
ida,  himself,  believes  that  this  fiery  missive  was  con- 
ducted by  divine  agency  to  confound  the  infidels  ;  an 
opinion  in  which  he  is  supported  by  other  Catholic 
historians.* 

Seeing  heaven  and  earth  as  it  were  combined 
against  them,  the  Moors  lost  all  heart :  they  capitu- 
lated, and  were  permitted  to  depart  with  their  effects, 
leaving  behind  all  arms  and  munitions  of  war. 

The  Catholic  army  (says  Antonio  Agapida)  entered 
Moclin  in  solemn  state,  not  as  a  licentious  host,  in- 
tent upon  plunder  and  desolation,  but  as  a  band  of 
christian  warriors,  coming  to  purify  and  regenerate 
the  land.  The  standard  of  the  cross,  that  ensign  of 
this  holy  crusade,  was  borne  in  the  advance,  followed 
by  the  other  banners  of  the  army.  Then  came  the 
king  and  queen,  at  the  head  of  a  vast  number  of 
armed  cavaliers.  They  were  accompanied  by  a 
band  of  priests  and  friars,  with  the  choir  of  the  royal 
chapel,  chanting  the  canticle  "Te  lieum  laudamus." 
As  they  were  moving  through  the  streets  in  this  sol- 
emn manner,  every  sound  hushed  excepting  the  an- 
them of  the  choir,  they  suddenly  heard,  issuing  as  it 
were  from  under  ground,  a  chorus  of  voices  chant- 
ing the  solemn  response,  "  Benedicium  <jui  venit  in 
nomine  domini."\  The  procession  paused  in  wonder. 
The  sounds  arose  from  christian  captives,  and  among 
them  several  priests,  who  were  confined  in  subterra- 
neous dungeons. 

The  heart  of  Isabella  was  greatly  touched.  She 
ordered  the  captives  to  be  drawn  forth  from  their 
cells,  arid  was  still  more  moved  at  beholding,  by  their 
wan,  discolored,  and  emaciated  appearance,  how 
much  they  had  suffered.  Their  hair  and  beards 
were  overgrown  and  shagged  ;  they  were  wasted  by 
hunger,  half  naked,  and  in  chains.  She  ordered  that 
they  should  be  clothed  and  cherished,  and  money 
furnished  them  to  bear  them  to  their  homes.J 

Several  of  the  captives  were  brave  cavaliers,  who 
had  been  wounded  and  made  prisoners,  in  the  defeat 
of  the  count  de  Cabra  by  El  Zagal,  in  the  preceding 
year.  There  were  also  found  other  melancholy 
traces  of  that  disastrous  affair.  On  visiting  the  narrow 
pass  where  the  defeat  had  taken  place,  the  remains 
of  several  christian  warriors  were  found  in  thickets, 
or  hidden  behind  rocks,  or  in  the  clefts  of  the  mount- 
ains. These  were  some  who  had  been  struck  from 
their  horses,  and  wounded  too  severely  to  fly.  They 
had  crawled  away  from  the  scene  of  action,  and 
concealed  themselves  to  avoid  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  enemy,  and  had  thus  perished  miserably  and 
alone.  The  remains  of  those  of  note  were  known 
by  their  armor  and  devices,  and  were  mourned  over 
by  their  companions  who  had  shared  the  disasters 
of  that  day.§ 

The  queen  had  these  remains  piously  collected, 
as  the  relics  of  so  many  martyrs  who  had  fallen  in 


*  Pulgar.    Garibay.    Lucio   Marino  Siculo,  Cosas   Memoral.    de 
Hispan,  lib.  20. 
+  Marino  Siculo.  %  Illescas,  Hist.  Pontif.  lib.  6.  c.  20.  \  I. 

%  Pulgar,  part  3.  cap.  6x. 


2£0 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  cause  of  the  faith.  They  were  interred  with 
great  solemnity  in  the  mosques  of  Moclin,  which  had 
been  purified  and  consecrated  to  christian  worship. 
"  There,"  says  Antonio  Agapida,  "rest  the  bones  of 
those  truly  Catholic  knights,  in  the  holy  ground 
which  in  a  manner  had  been  sanctified  by  their  blood  ; 
and  all  pilgrims  passing  through  those  mountains 
offer  up  prayers  and  masses  for  the  repose  of  their 
souls." 

The  queen  remained  for  some  time  at  Moclin, 
administering  comfort  to  the  wounded  and  the  pris- 
oners, bringing  the  newly  acquired  territory  into 
order,  and  founding  churches  and  monasteries  and 
other  pious  institutions.  "  While  the  king  marched 
in  front,  laying  waste  the  land  of  the  Philistines," 
says  the  figurative  Antonio  Agapida,  "  queen  Isabella 
followed  his  traces  as  the  binder  follows  the  reaper, 
gathering  and  garnering  the  rich  harvest  that  has 
lallen  beneath  his  sickle.  In  this  she  was  greatly 
assisted  by  the  counsels  of  that  cloud  of  bishops, 
friars,  and  other  saintly  men,  which  continually  sur- 
rounded her,  garnering  the  first  fruits  of  this  mfidel 
land  into  the  granaries  of  the  church."  Leaving  her 
thus  piously  employed,  the  king  pursued  his  career 
of  conquest,  determined  to  lay  waste  the  vega,  and 
carry  fire  and  sword  to  the  very  gates  of  Granada. 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

HOW  KING  FERDINAND  FORAGED  THE  VEGA  ; 
AND  OF  THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  BRIDGE  OF 
PINGS,  AND  THE  FATE  OF  THE  TWO  MOORISH 
BROTHERS. 

IvIULEY  Abdalla  EL  Zagal  had  been  under  a 
spell  of  ill  fortune,  ever  since  the  suspicious  death 
of  the  old  king,  his  brother.  Success  had  deserted 
his  standard  ;  and,  with  his  fickle  subjects,  want  of 
success  was  one  of  the  greatest  crimes  in  a  sovereign. 
He  found  his  popularity  declining,  and  he  lost  all  con- 
fidence in  his  people.  The  christian  army  marched 
in  open  defiance  through  his  territories,  and  sat  down 
deliberately  before  his  fortresses  ;  yet  he  dared  not 
lead  forth  his  legions  to  oppose  them,  lest  the  inhab- 
itants of  the  Albaycin,  ever  ripe  for  a  revolt,  should 
rise  and  shut  the  gates  of  Granada  against  his  return. 

Every  few  days,  some  melancholy  train  entered 
the  metropolis,  the  inhabitants  of  some  captured 
town,  bearing  the  few  effects  that  had  been  spared 
them,  and  weeping  and  bewailing  the  desolation  of 
their  homes.  When  the  tidings  arrived  that  lUora 
and  Moclin  had  fallen,  the  people  were  seized  with 
consternation.  "The  right  eye  of  Granada  is  extin- 
guished," exclaimed  they  ;  "  the  shield  of  Granada  is 
broken  :  what  shall  protect  us  from  the  inroad  of  the 
foe  ?  "  Whsn  the  survivors  of  the  garrisons  of  those 
towns  arrived,  with  downcast  looks,  bearing  the 
marks  of  battle,  and  destitute  of  arms  and  standards, 
the  populace  reviled  them  in  their  wrath  ;  but  they 
answered,  "  we  fought  as  long  as  we  had  force  to 
fight,  or  walls  to  shelter  us  ;  but  the  christians  laid 
our  towns  and  battlements  in  ruins,  and  we  looked 
in  vain  for  aid  from  Granada. " 

The  alcaydes  of  lllora  and  Moclin  were  brothers ; 
they  were  alike  in  prowess,  and  the  bravest  among 
the  Moorish  chevaliers.  They  had  been  the  most 
distmguished  in  all  tilts  and  tourneys  which  graced 
the  happier  days  of  Granada,  and  had  distinguished 
themselves  in  the  sterner  conflicts  of  the  field.  Ac- 
clamation had  always  followed  their  banners,  and 
they  had  long  been  the  delight  of  the  people.  Yet 
now,  when  they  returned  after  the  capture  of  their 
lortresses,  they  were  followed  by  the  unsteady  popu- 


lace with  execrations.  The  hearts  of  the  alcaydes 
swelled  with  indignation  ;  they  found  the  ingratitude 
of  their  countrymen  still  more  intolerable  than  the 
hostility  of  the  christians. 

Tidings  came,  that  the  enemy  was  advancing  with 
his  triumphant  legions  to  lay  waste  the  country  about 
Granada.  Still  El  Zagal  did  not  dare  to  take  the 
field.  The  two  alcaydes  of  lllora  and  Moclin  stood 
before  him  :  "  We  have  defended  your  foitresses," 
said  they,  "until  we  were  almost  buried  under  their 
ruins,  and  for  our  reward  we  receive  scoffings  and 
revilings ;  give  us,  oh  king,  an  opportunity  where 
knightly  valor  may  signalize  itself,  not  shut  up  behind 
stone  walls,  but  in  the  open  conflict  of  the  field. 
The  enemy  approaches  to  lay  our  country  desolate  : 
give  us  men  to  meet  him  in  the  advance,  and  let 
shame  light  upon  our  heads  if  we  be  found  wanting 
in  the  battle  !  " 

The  two  brothers  were  sent  forth,  with  a  large 
force  of  horse  and  foot ;  El  Zagal  intended,  should 
they  be  successful,  to  issue  forth  with  his  whole 
force,  and  by  a  decisive  victory,  repair  the  losses  he 
had  suffered.  When  the  people  saw  the  well-known 
standards  of  the  brothers  going  forth  to  battle,  there 
was  a  feeble  shout ;  but  the  alcaydes  passed  on  with 
stern  countenances,  for  they  knew  the  same  voices 
would  curse  them  were  they  to  return  unfortunate. 
They  cast  a  farewell  look  upon  fair  Granada,  and 
upon  the  beautiful  fields  of  their  infancy,  as  if  for 
these  they  were  willing  to  lay  down  their  lives,  but 
not  for  an  ungrateful  people. 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  had  arrived  within  two 
leagues  of  Granada,  at  the  Bridge  of  Pinos,  a  pass 
famous  in  the  wars  of  the  Moors  and  christians  for 
many  a  bloody  conflict.  It  was  the  pass  by  which 
the  Castilian  monarchs  generally  made  their  inroads, 
and  was  capable  of  great  defence,  from  the  rugged- 
ness  of  the  country  and  the  difficulty  of  the  bridge. 
The  king,  with  the  main  body  of  the  army,  had  at- 
tained the  brow  of  a  hill,  when  they  beheld  the  ad- 
vance guard,  under  the  marques  of  Cadiz  and  the 
Master  of  Santiago,  furiously  attacked  by  the  enemy, 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  bridge.  The  Moors  rushed  to 
the  assault  with  their  usual  shouts,  but  with  more 
than  usual  ferocity.  There  was  a  hard  struggle  at 
the  bridge ;  both  parties  knew  the  importance  of 
that  pass. 

The  king  particularly  noted  the  prowess  of  two 
Moorish  cavaliers,  alike  in  arms  and  devices,  and 
whom  by  their  bearing  and  attendance"  he  perceived 
to  be  commanders  of  the  enemy.  They  were  the 
two  brothers,  the  alcaydes  of  lllora  and  Moclin. 
Wherever  they  turned,  they  carried  confusion  and 
death  into  the  ranks  of  the  christians  ;  but  they 
fought  with  desperation,  rather  than  valor.  The 
count  de  Cabra,  and  his  brother  Don  Martin  de  Cor- 
dova, pressed  forward  with  eagerness  against  them ; 
but  having  advanced  too  precipitately,  were  sur- 
rounded by  the  foe,  and  in  imminent  danger.  A 
young  christian  knight,  seeing  their  peril,  hastened 
with  his  followers  to  their  relief.  The  king  recog- 
nized him  for  Don  Juan  de  Arragon,  count  of  Ribar- 
goza,  his  own  nephew  ;  for  he  was  illegitimate  son 
of  the  duke  of  Villahermosa,  illegitimate  brother  of 
king  Ferdinand.  The  splendid  armor  of  Don  Juan, 
and  the  sumptuous  caparison  of  his  steed,  rendered 
him  a  brilliant  object  of  attack.  He  was  assailed  on 
all  sides,  and  his  superb  steed  slain  under  him  ;  yet 
still  he  fought  valiantly,  bearing  for  a  time  the  brunt 
of  the  fight,  and  giving  the  exhausted  forces  of  the 
count  de  Cabra  time  to  recover  breath. 

Seeing  the  peril  of  these  troops  and  the  general 
obstinacy  of  the  fight,  the  king  ordered  the  royal 
standard  to  be  advanced,  and  hastened,  with  all  his 
forces,  to  the  relief  of  the  count  de  Cabra.     At  his 


A    CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


231 


approach,  the  enemy  gave  way,  and  retreated  to- 
wards the  bridge.  The  two  Moorish  commanders 
endeavored  to  rally  their  troops,  and  animate  them 
to  defend  this  pass  to  the  utmost :  they  used  prayers, 
remonstrances,  menaces — but  almost  in  vain.  They 
could  only  collect  a  scanty  handful  of  cavaliers  ;  with 
these  they  planted  themselves  at  the  head  of  the 
bridge,  and  disputed  it  inch  by  inch.  The  fight  was 
hot  and  obstinate,  for  but  few  could  contend  hand  to 
hand,  yet  many  discharged  cross-bows  and  arque- 
busses  from  the  banks.  The  river  was  covered  with 
the  floating  bodies  of  the  slain.  The  Moorish  band 
of  cavaliers  was  almost  entirely  cut  to  pieces  ;  the 
two  brothers  fell,  covered  with  wounds,  upon  the 
bridge  they  had  so  resolutely  defended.  They  had 
given  up  the  battle  for  lost,  but  had  determined  not 
to  return  alive  to  ungrateful  Granada. 

When  the  people  of  the  capital  heard  how  de- 
votedly they  had  fallen,  they  lamented  greatly  their 
deaths,  and  extolled  their  memory:  a  column  was 
erected  to  their  honor  in  the  vicinity  of  the  bridge, 
which  long  went  by  the  name  of  "  the  Tomb  of  the 
Brothers." 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  now  marched  on,  and  es- 
tablished its  camp  in  the  vicinity  of  Granada.  The 
worthy  Agapida  gives  many  triumphant  details  cf  the 
ravages  committed  in  the  vega,  which  was  again  laid 
waste  ;  the  grain,  fruits,  and  other  productions  of  the 
earth,  destroyed — and  that  earthly  paradise  render- 
ed a  dreary  desert.  He  narrates  several  fierce  but 
ineffectual  sallies  and  skirmishes  of  the  Moors,  in 
defence  of  their  favorite  plain  ;  among  which,  one 
deserves  to  be  mentioned,  as  it  records  the  achieve- 
ments of  one  of  the  saintly  heroes  of  this  war. 

During  one  of  the  movements  of  the  christian 
anny,  near  the  walls  of  Granada,  a  battaUon  of  fif- 
teen hundred  cavalry,  and  a  large  force  of  foot,  had 
sallied  from  the  city,  and  posted  themselves  near 
some  gardens,  whicli  were  surrounded  by  a  canal, 
and  traversed  by  ditches,  for  the  purpose  of  irriga- 
tion. 

The  Moors  beheld  the  duke  del  Infantado  pass  by, 
with  his  two  splendid  battalions  ;  one  of  men-at-arms, 
the  other  of  light  cavalry,  armed  a  la  gineta.  In  com- 
jjany  with  him,  but  following  as  a  rear-guard,  was 
Don  Garcia  Osorio,  the  belligerent  bishop  of  Jaen, 
attended  by  Francisco  Bovadillo,  the  corregidor  of 
his  city,  and  followed  by  two  squadrons  of  men-at- 
arms,  from  Jaen,  Anduxar,  Ubeda,  and  Baeza.*  The 
success  of  last  year's  campaign  had  given  the  good 
bishop  an  inclination  for  warlike  affairs,  and  he  had 
once  more  buckled  on  his  cuirass. 

The  Moors  were  much  given  to  stratagem  in  war- 
fare. They  looked  wistfully  at  the  magnificent 
squadrons  of  the  duke  del  Infantado;  but  their  mar- 
tial discipline  precluded  all  attack :  the  good  bishop 
promised  to  be  a  more  easy  prey.  Suffering  the 
duke  and  his  troops  to  pass  unmolested,  they  ap- 
proached the  squadrons  of  the  bishop,  and,  making 
a  pretended  attack,  skirmished  slightly,  and  fled  in 
apparent  confusion.  The  bishop  considered  the  day 
his  own,  and,  seconded  by  his  corregidor  Bovadillo, 
followed  with  valorous  precipitation.  The  Moors 
fled  into  the  Iluerta  del  Rey,  or  orchard  of  the  king  ; 
the  troops  of  the  bishop  followed  hotly  after  them. 

When  the  Moors  perceived  their  pursuers  fairly 
embarrassed  among  the  intricacies  of  the  garden, 
they  turned  fiercely  upon  them,  while  some  of  their 
number  threw  open  the  sluices  of  the  Xenel.  In  an 
instant,  the  canal  which  encircled  and  the  ditches 
which  traversed  the  garden,  were  filled  with  water, 
and  the  valiant  bishop  and  his  followers  found  them.- 
selves  overwhelmed  by  a  deluge.t     A  scene  of  great 


j  confusion  succeeded.  Some  of  the  men  of  Jaen, 
stoutest  of  heart  and  hand,  fought  with  the  Moors  in 
the  garden,  while  others  struggled  with  the  water, 

j  endeavoring  to  escape  across  the  canal,  in  which  al- 

\  tempt  many  horses  were  drowned. 

i  Fortunately,  the  duke  del  Infantado  perceived  th: 
snare  into  which  his  companions  had  fallen,  and  dis- 
patched his  light  cavalry  to  their  assistance.  The 
Moors  were  compelled  to  flight,  and  driven  along  the 
road  of  Elvira  up  to  the  gates  of  Granada.*  Several 
christian  cavaliers  perished  in  this  affray  ;  the  bishop 
himself  escaped  with  difficulty,  having  slipped  from 
his  saddle  in  crossing  the  canal,  but  saving  himself 
by  holding  on  to  the  tail  of  his  charger.  This  peril- 
ous achievement  seems  to  have  satisfied  the  good 
bishop's  belligerent  propensities.  He  retired  on  his 
laurels,  (says  Agapida,)  to  his  city  of  Jaen  ;  where, 
in  the  fruition  of  all  good  things,  he  gradually  waxed 
too  corpulent  for  his  corselet,  which  was  hung  up  in 
the  hall  of  his  episcopal  palace  ;  and  we  hear  no 
more  of  his  military  deeds,  throughout  the  residue 
of  the  holy  war  of  Granada.t 

King  Ferdinand,  having  completed  his  ravage  of 
the  vega,  and  kept  El  Zagal  shut  up  in  his  capital, 
conducted  his  army  back  through  the  pass  of  Lope 
to  rejoin  queen  Isabella  at  Moclin.  The  fortresses 
lately  taken  being  well  garrisoned  and  supplied,  he 
gave  the  command  of  the  frontier  to  his  cousin, 
Don  Fadrique  de  Toledo,  afterwards  so  famous  in 
the  Netherlands  as  the  duke  of  Alva.  The  cam- 
paign being  thus  completely  crowned  with  success, 
the  sovereigns  returned  in  triumph  to  the  city  of 
Cordova. 


•  Pulgar,  part  3,  cap.  62. 


t  Pulgar. 


CHAPTER    XLV. 


ATTEMPT  OF  EL  ZAGAL  UPON  THE  LIFE  OF 
liOABDIL,  AND  HOW  THE  LATTER  WAS 
ROUSED    TO    ACTION. 

No  sooner  did  the  last  squadron  of  christian  cav- 
alry disappear  behind  the  mountain  of  Elvira,  and 
the  note  of  its  trumpets  die  away  upon  the  ear, 
than  the  long-suppressed  wrath  of  old  Muley  El 
Zagal  burst  forth.  He  determined  no  longer  to  be 
half  a  king,  reigning  over  a  divided  kingdom,  in  a 
divided  capital ;  but  to  exterminate,  by  any  means, 
fair  or  foul,  his  nephew  Boabdil  and  his  faction.  He 
turned  furiously  upon  those  whose  factious  conduct 
had  deterred  him  from  sallying  upon  the  foe ;  some 
he  punished  by  confiscations,  others  by  banishment, 
others  by  death.  Once  undisputed  monarch  of  the 
entire  kingdom,  he  trusted  to  his  military  skill  to  re- 
trieve his  fortunes,  and  drive  the  christians  over  the 
frontier. 

Boabdil,  however,  had  again  retired  to  Velez  el 
Blanco,  on  the  confines  of  Murcia,  where  he  could 
avail  himself,  in  case  of  emergency,  of  any  assist- 
ance or  protection!  afforded  him  by  the  policy  of 
Ferdinand.  His  defeat  had  blighted  his  reviving 
fortunes,  for  the  people  considered  him  as  inevitably 
doomed  to  misfortune.  Still,  while  he  lived.  El  Za- 
gal knew  he  would  be  a  rallying  point  for  faction, 
and  liable  at  any  moment  to  be  elevated  into  power 
by  the  capricious  multitude.  He  had  recourse, 
therefore,  to  the  most  perfidious  means  to  compass 
his  destruction.  He  sent  embassadors  to  him,  rep- 
resenting the  necessity  of  concord  for  the  salvation 
of  the  kingdom,  and  even  offering  to  resign  the  title 

•  Pulgar. 

t  *'  l^on  Luis  Osorio  fue  obispo  de  Jaen  desde  cl  aflo  de  1483,  y 
presidio  in  esta  Iglesia  hasta  el  de  1496  in  que  murio  en  Flandcs,  a 
dondc  fue  acompafiando  a  la  jirincesa  Dofia  Juana,  csposa  del 
archiduque  Don  Felipe." — Espana  Sagrai'  " 

41,  trat.  77,  cap.  4. 


'agrada^  por  Fr.  M.  Risco,  torn. 


282 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


of  king,  and  to  become  subject  to  his  sway,  on  re- 
ceiving some  estate  on  which  he  could  live  in  tran- 
quil retirement.  But  while  the  embassadors  bore 
these  words  of  peace,  they  were  furnished  with  poi- 
soned herbf,  which  they  were  to  administer  secretly 
to  Boabdil  ;  and  if  they  failed  in  this  attempt,  they 
had  pledged  themselves  to  dispatch  him  openly, 
while  engaged  in  conversation.  They  were  instiga- 
ted to  this  treason  by  promises  of  great  reward,  and 
by  assurances  from  the  alfaquis  that  Boabdil  was 
an  apostate,  whose  death  would  be  acceptable  to 
Heaven. 

The  young  monarch  was  secretly  apprized  of  the 
concerted  treason,  and  refused  an  audience  to  the 
embassadors.  He  denounced  his  uncle  as  the  mur- 
derer of  his  father  and  his  kindred,  and  the  usurper 
of  his  throne  ;  and  vowed  never  to  relent  in  hostility 
to  him,  until  he  should  place  his  head  on  the  walls 
of  the  Alhambra. 

Open  war  again  broke  out  between  the  two  mon- 
archs,  though  feebly  carried  on,  in  consequence  of 
their  mutual  embarrassments.  Ferdinand  again 
extended  his  assistance  to  Boabdil,  ordering  the 
commanders  of  his  fortresses  to  aid  him  in  all  en- 
terprises against  his  uncle,  and  against  such  places 
as  refused  to  acknowledge  him  as  king;  and  Don 
Juan  de  Bonavides,  who  commanded  in  Lorca,  even 
made  inroads  in  his  name,  into  the  territories  of  Al- 
meria.  Baza,  and  Guadix,  which  owned  allegiance  to 
El  Zagal. 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  had  three  great  evils  to 
contend  with — the  inconstancy  of  his  subjects,  the 
hostility  of  his  uncle,  and  the  friendship  of  Ferdi- 
nand. The  last  was  by  far  the  most  baneful :  his 
fortunes  withered  under  it.  He  was  looked  upon  as 
the  enemy  of  his  faith  and  of  his  country.  The  cities 
shut  their  gates  against  him  ;  the  people  cursed  him  ; 
even  the  scanty  band  of  cavaliers,  who  had  hitherto 
followed  his  ill-starred  banner,  began  to  desert  him  ; 


for  he  had  not  wherewithal  to  reward,  or  even  to 
support  them.  His  spirits  sunk  with  his  fortune,  and 
he  feared  that  in  a  little  time  he  should  not  have  a 
spot  of  earth  whereon  to  plant  his  standard,  nor  an 
adherent  to  rally  under  it. 

In  the  midst  of  his  despondency,  he  received  a 
message  from  his  lion-hearted  mother,  the  sultana 
Ayxa  la  Horra,  "  For  shame,"  said  she,  "to  linger 
timorously  about  the  borders  of  your  kingdom,  when 
a  usurper  is  seated  in  your  capital.  Why  look  abroad 
for  perfidious  aid,  when  you  have  loyal  hearts  beat- 
ing true  to  you  in  Granada  ?  The  Albaycin  is  ready 
to  throw  open  its  gates  to  receive  you.  Strike  home 
vigorously — a  sudden  blow  may  mend  all,  or  make 
an  end.  A  throne  or  a  grave  ! — for  a  king,  there  is 
no  honorable  medium." 

Boabdil  was  of  an  undecided  character,  but  there 
are  circumstances  which  bring  the  most  wavering 
to  a  decision,  and  when  once  resolved  they  are  apt 
to  act  with  a  daring  impulse  unknown  to  steadier 
judgments.  The  message  of  the  sultana  roused 
him  from  a  dream.  Granada,  beautiful  Granada, 
with  its  stately  Alhambra,  its  delicious  gardens,  its 
gushing  and  limpid  fountains  sparkling  among 
groves  of  orange,  citron,  and  myrtle,  rose  before 
him.  "  What  have  1  done,"  exclaimed  he,  "  that 
I  should  be  an  exile  from  this  paradise  of  my 
forefathers  —  a  wanderer  and  fugitive  in  my  own 
kingdom,  while  a  murderous  usurper  sits  proudly 
upon  my  ihrone?  Surely  Allah  will  befriend  the 
righteous  cause  ;  one  blow,  and  all  may  be  my  own." 

He  summoned  his  scanty  band  of  cavaliers. 
"Who  is  ready  to  follow  his  monarch  unto  the 
death  ?  "  said  he  :  and  every  one  laid  his  hand  upon 
his  scimitar.  "  Enough  !  "  said  he  ;  "  let  each  man 
arm  himself  and  prepare  his  steed  in  secret,  for  an 
enterprise  of  toil  and  peril :  if  we  succeed,  our  re- 
ward is  empire." 

[END   OF   VOL.   ONE.] 


A  Chronicle  of  the  Conquest  of  Granada. 


VOLUME    SECOND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

HOW     BOABQIL     RETURNED     SECRETLY    TO    GRA- 
NADA,  AND   HOW   HE  WAS  RECEIVED. 

"  In  the  hand  of  God,"  exclaims  an  old  Arabian 
chronicler,  "  is  the  destiny  of  princes  ;  he  alone  giv- 
eth  empire.  A  single  Moorish  horseman,  mounted 
on  a  fleet  Arabian  steed,  was  one  day  traversing  the 
mountains  which  extend  between  Granada  and  the 
frontier  of  Murcia.  He  galloped  swiftly  through  the 
valleys,  but  paused  and  looked  out  cautiously  from 
the  summit  of  every  height.  A  squadron  of  cava- 
liers followed  warily  at  a  distance.  There  were  fifty 
lances.  The  richness  of  their  armor  and  attire 
showed  them  to  be  warriors  of  noble  rank,  and  their 
leader  had  a  lofty  and  prince-like  demeanor."  The 
squadron  thus  described  by  the  Arabian  chronicler, 
was  the  Moorish  king  Boabdil  and  his  devoted  fol- 
lowers. 

For  two  nights  and  a  day  they  pursued  their  ad- 
■vcnturous  journey,  avoiding  all  populous  parts  of  the 


country,  and  choosing  the  most  solitary  passes  of 
the  mountains.  They  suffered  severe  hardships  and 
fatigues,  but  they  suffered  without  a  murmur  :  they 
were  accustomed  to  rugged  campaigning,  and  their 
steeds  were  of  generous  and  unyielding  spirit.  It 
was  midnight,  and  all  was  dark  and  silent  as  they 
descended  from  the  mountains,  and  approached  the 
city  of  Granada.  They  passed  along  quietly  under 
the  shadow  of  its  walls,  until  they  arrived  near  the 
gate  of  the  Albaycin.  Here  Boabdil  ordered  his  fol. 
lowers  to  halt,  and  remain  concealed.  Taking  but 
four  or  five  with  him,  he  advanced  resolutely  to  the 
gate,  and  knocked  with  the  hilt  of  his  scimitar.  The 
guards  demanded  who  sought  to  enter  at  that  un- 
seasonable hour.  "  Your  king  !  "  exclaimed  Bo.ab- 
dil,  "  open  the  gate  and  admit  him  !  " 

The  guards  held  forth  a  light,  and  recognized  the 
person  of  the  youthful  monarch.  They  were  struck 
with  sudden  awe,  and  threw  open  the  gates  ;  and 
Boabdil  and  his  followers  entered  unmolested.  They 
galloped  to  the  dwellings  of  the  principal  inhabitants 
of  the  Albaycin,  thundering  at   their  portals,  and 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


233 


summoning  them  to  rise  and  take  arms  for  their 
rightful  sovereign.  The  summons  was  instantly 
obeyed  :  trumpets  resounded  throughout  the  streets 
— tlie  gleam  of  torches  and  the  flash  of  arms  showed 
th";  Moors  hurrying  to  their  gathering-places — and 
by  daybreak,  the  \v?iole  force  ot  the  Albaycin  was 
rallied  under  the  standard  of  Boabdil.  Such  was  the 
success  of  tliis  sudden  and  desperate  act  of  the 
young  monarch  ;  for  we  are  assured  by  contempo- 
rary historians,  that  there  had  been  no  previous  con- 
cert or  arrangement.  "  As  the  guards  opened  the 
gates  of  the  city  to  admit  him,"  observes  a  pious 
chronicler,  "  so  God  opened  the  hearts  of  the  Moors 
to  receive  him  as  their  king."* 

In  the  morning  early,  the  tidings  of  this  event 
roused  El  Zagal  from  his  slumbers  in  the  Alhambra. 
The  fiery  old  warrior  assembled  his  guard  in  haste, 
and  made  his  way  sword  in  hand  to  the  Albaycin, 
hoping  to  come  upon  his  nephew  by  surprise.  He 
was  vigorously  met  by  Boabdil  and  his  adherents, 
and  driven  back  into  the  quarter  of  the  Alhambra. 
An  encounter  took  place  between  the  two  kings,  in 
the  square  before  the  principal  mosque  ;  here  they 
fought  hand  to  hand  with  implacable  fury,  as  though 
it  had  been  agreed  to  decide  their  competition  for 
the  crown  by  single  combat.  In  the  tumult  of  this 
chance  medley  affray,  however,  they  were  separated, 
and  the  party  of  EI  Zagal  was  ultimately  driven  from 
the  square. 

The  battle  raged  for  some  time  in  the  streets  and 
places  of  the  city,  but  finding  their  powers  of  mis- 
chief cramped  within  such  narrow  limits,  both  par- 
ties sallied  forth  into  the  fields,  and  fought  beneath 
the  walls  until  evening.  Many  fell  on  both  sides, 
and  at  night  each  party  withdrew  into  its  quarter, 
until  the  morning  gave  them  light  to  renew  the  un- 
natural conflict.  For  several  days,  the  two  grand 
divisions  of  the  city  reinained  like  hostile  powers 
arrayed  against  each  other.  The  party  of  the  Al- 
hambra was  more  numerous  than  that  of  the  Albay- 
cin, and  contained  most  of  the  nobility  and  chivalry  ; 
but  the  adherents  of  Boabdil  were  men  hardened 
and  strengthened  by  labor  and  habitually  skilled  in 
the  exercise  of  arms. 

The  Albaycin  underwent  a  kind  of  siege  by  the 
forces  of  El  Zagal ;  they  effected  breaches  in  the 
walls,  and  made  repeated  attempts  to  carry  it  sword 
in  hand,  but  were  as  often  repulsed.  The  troops  of 
Boabdil,  on  the  other  hand,  made  frequent  sallies ; 
and  in  the  conflicts  which  took  place,  the  hatred  of 
the  combatants  arose  to  such  a  pitch  of  furv,  that  no 
quarter  was  given  on  either  side. 

Boabdil  perceived  the  inferiority  of  his  force  ;  he 
dreaded  also  that  his  adherents,  being  for  the  most 
part  tradesmen  and  artisans,  would  become  impa- 
tient of  this  interruption  of  their  gainful  occupations, 
and  disheartened  by  these  continual  scenes  of  car- 
nage. He  sent  missives,  therefore,  in  all  haste,  to 
Don  Fadrique  de  Toledo,  who  commanded  the 
christian  forces  on  the  frontier,  entreating  his  as- 
sistance. 

Don  Fadrique  had  received  instructions  from  the 
politic  Ferdinand,  to  aid  the  youthful  monarch  in  all 
his  contests  with  his  uncle.  He  advanced,  therefore, 
with  a  body  of  troops  near  to  Granada,  but,  wary 
lest  some  treachery  might  be  intended,  he  stood  for 
some  time  aloof,  watching  the  movements  of  the 
parties.  The  furious  and  sanguinary  nature  of  the 
conflicts  which  distracted  unhappy  Granada,  soon 
convinced  him  that  there  was  no  collusion  between 
the  monarchs.  He  sent  Boabdil,  therefore,  a  rein- 
forcement of  christian  foot-soldiers  and  arquebusiers, 
under  Fernan  Alvarez  de  Sotomayer,  alcayde  of 
.     I 

•  Pulgar. 


Colomera.  This  was  as  a  firebrand  thrown  in  to 
light  up  anew  the  flames  of  war  in  the  city,  which 
remained  raging  between  the  Moorish  inhabitants 
for  the  space  of  fifty  days. 


CHAPTER   II. 


HOW    KING    FERDINAND    LAID    SIEGE    TO   \'ELEZ 
MALAGA. 

Hitherto,  the  events  of  this  renowned  war  have 
been  little  else  than  a  succession  of  brilliant  but  brief 
exploits,  such  as  sudden  forays  and  wild  skirmishes 
among  the  mountains,  or  the  surprisals  of  castles, 
fortresses,  and  frontier  towns.  We  approach  now 
to  more  important  and  prolonged  operations,  in 
which  ancient  and  mighty  cities,  the  bulwarks  of 
Granada,  were  invested  by  powerful  armies,  subdued 
by  slow  and  regular  sieges,  and  thus  the  capital  left 
naked  and  alone. 

The  glorious  triumphs  of  the  Catholic  sovereigns 
(says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida)  had  resounded  through- 
out the  east,  and  filled  all  heathenesse  with  alarm. 
The  Grand-Turk  Bajazet  II.  and  his  deadly  foe,  the 
grand  soldan  of  Egypt,  suspending  for  a  time  their 
bloody  feuds,  entered  into  a  league  to  protect  the 
religion  of  Mahomet  and  the  kingdom  of  Granada 
from  the  hostilities  of  the  christians.  It  was  concert- 
ed between  them,  that  Bajazet  should  send  a  power- 
ful armada  against  the  island  of  Sicily,  then  apper- 
taining to  the  Spanish  crown,  for  the  purpose  of 
distracting  the  attention  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns  ; 
while,  at  the  same  time,  great  bodies  of  troops  should 
be  poured  into  Granada,  from  the  opposite  coast  of 
Africa. 

Ferdinand  and  Isabella  received  timely  intelligence 
of  these  designs.  They  resolved  at  once  to  carry  the 
war  into  the  seaboard  of  Granada,  to  possess  them- 
selves of  its  ports,  and  thus,  as  it  were,  to  bar  the 
gates  of  the  kingdom  against  all  external  aid.  Mal- 
aga was  to  be  the  main  object  of  attack  :  it  was  the 
principal  sea-port  of  the  kingdom,  and  almost  neces- 
sary to  its  existence.  It  had  long  been  the  seat  of 
opulent  commerce,  sending  many  ships  to  the  coasts 
of  Syria  and  Egypt.  It  was  also  the  great  channel 
of  communication  with  Africa,  through  which  were 
introduced  supplies  of  money,  troops,  arms,  and 
steeds,  from  Tunis,  Tripoli,  Fez,  Trcmezan,  and 
other  Barbary  powers.  It  was  emphatically  called, 
therefore,  "  the  hand  and  mouth  of  Granada."  Be- 
fore laying  siege  to  this  redoubtable  city,  however, 
it  was  deemed  necessary  to  secure  the  neighboring 
city  of  Velez  Malaga  and  its  dependent  places,  which 
might  otherwise  harass  the  besieging  army. 

For  this  important  campaign,  the  nobles  of  the 
kingdom  were  again  summoned  to  take  the  field  with 
their  forces,  in  the  spring  of  1487.  The  menaced 
invasion  of  the  infidel  powers  of  the  east  had 
awakened  new  ardor  in  the  bosoms  of  all  true  chris- 
tian knights ;  and  .so  zealously  did  they  respond  to 
the  summons  of  the  sovereigns,  that  an  army  of 
twenty  thousand  cavalry  and  fifty  thousand  foot,  the 
flower  of  Spanish  warriors,  led  by  the  bravest  of 
Spanish  cavaliers,  thronged  the  renowned  city  of 
Cordova,  at  the  appointed  time. 

On  the  night  before  this  mighty  host  set  forth 
upon  its  march,  an  earthquake  shook  the  city.  The 
inhabitants,  awakened  by  the  shaking  of  the  walls 
and  rocking  of  the  towers,  fled  to  the  courts  and 
squares,  fearing  to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  ruins  of 
their  dwellings.  The  earthquake  was  most  violent 
in  the  quarter  of  the  royal  residence,  the  site  of  the 
ancient  palace  of  the  Moorish  kings.    Many  looked 


234 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


upon  this  as  an  omen  of  some  impending  evil  ;  but 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  in  that  infallible  spirit  of 
divination  whicli  succeeds  an  event,  plainly  reads  in 
it  a  presage  that  the  empire  of  the  Moors  was  about 
to  be  shaken  to  its  centre. 

It  was  on  Saturday,  the  eve  of  the  Sunday  of 
Palms,  (says  a  worthy  and  loyal  chronicler  of  the 
time,)  that  the  most  Catholic  monarch  departed  with 
his  army,  to  render  service  to  Heaven,  and  make  war 
upon  the  Moors.*  Heavy  rains  had  swelled  all  the 
streams,  and  rendered  the  roads  deep  and  difficult. 
The  king,  therefor?,  divided  his  host  into  two  bodies. 
In  one  he  put  all  the  artillery,  guarded  by  a  strong 
body  of  horse,  and  commanded  by  the  Master  of 
Alcantara  and  Martin  Alonzo,  Senior  of  Monte- 
mayor.  This  division  was  to  proceed  by  the  road 
through  the  valleys,  where  pasturage  abounded  for 
the  oxen  which  drew  the  ordnance. 

The  main  body  of  the  army  was  led  by  the  king 
in  person.  It  was  divided  into  numerous  battalions, 
each  commanded  by  some  distinguished  cavalier. 
The  king  took  the  rough  and  perilous  road  of  the 
mountains,  and  few  mountains  are  more  rugged  and 
difiicult  than  those  of  Andalusia.  The  roads  are 
mere  mule-paths,  straggling  amidst  rocks  and  along 
the  verge  of  precipices,  clambering  vast  craggy 
heights,  or  descending  into  frightful  chasms  and 
ravines,  with  scanty  and  uncertain  foothold  for  either 
man  or  steed.  Four  thousand  pioneers  were  sent  in 
advance,  under  the  alcayde  dc  los  Donzeles,  to  con- 
quer, in  some  degree,  the  asperities  of  the  road. 
Some  had  pickaxes  and  crowbars  to  break  the  rocks, 
others  had  implements  to  construct  bridges  over  the 
mountain  torrents,  while  it  was  the  duty  of  others  to 
lay  stepping-stones  in  the  smaller  streams.  As  the 
country  was  inhabited  by  fierce  Moorish  mountain- 
eers, Don  Diego  de  CastriUo  was  dispatched,  with  a 
body  of  horse  and  foot,  to  take  possession  of  the 
heights  and  passes.  Notwithstanding  every  precau- 
tion, the  royal  army  suffered  excessively  on  its  march. 
At  one  time,  there  was  no  place  to  encamp,  for  five 
leagues  of  the  most  toilsome  and  mountainous 
country ;  and  many  of  the  beasts  of  burden  sunk 
down,  and  perished  on  the  road. 

It  was  with  the  greatest  joy,  therefore,  that  the 
royal  army  emerged  from  these  stern  and  frightful 
defiles,  and  came  to  where  they  looked  down  upon 
the  vega  of  Velez  Malaga.  The  region  before  them 
was  one  of  the  most  delectable  to  the  eye  that  ever 
was  ravaged  by  an  army.  Sheltered  from  every  rude 
blast  by  a  screen  of  mountains,  and  sloping  and  ex- 
panding to  the  south,  this  lovely  valley  was  quick- 
ened by  the  most  generous  sunshine,  watered  by  the 
silver  meanderings  of  the  Velez,  and  refreshed  by 
cooling  breezes  from  the  Mediterranean.  The  slop- 
ing hills  were  covered  with  vineyards  and  olive- 
trees  ;  the  distant  fields  waved  with  grain,  or  were 
verdant  with  pasturage ;  while  around  the  city  were 
delightful  gardens,  the  favorite  retreats  of  the  Moors, 
where  their  white  pavilions  gleamed  among  groves 
of  oranges,  citrons,  and  pomegranates,  and  were  sur- 
mounted by  stately  palms — those  plants  of  southern 
growth,  bespeaking  a  generous  climate  and  a  cloud- 
less sky. 

In  the  upper  part  of  this  delightful  valley,  the  city 
of  Velez  Malaga  reared  its  warrior  b.attlements  in 
stern  contrast  to  the  landscape.  It  was  built  on  the 
declivity  of  a  steep  and  insulated  hill,  and  strongly 
fortified  by  walls  and  towers.  The  crest  of  the  hill 
rose  high  above  the  town,  into  a  mere  crag,  inacces- 
sible on  every  other  side,  and  crowned  by  a  power- 
ful castle,  which  domineered  over  the  surrounding 
country.     Two  suburbs  swept  down  into  the  valley, 

*  Pulgar.    Cronica  de  los  Reyes  CathoUcos. 


from  the  skirts  of  the  town,  and  were  defended  by 
bulwarks  and  deep  ditches.  The  vast  ranges  of 
gray  mountains,  often  capped  with  clouds,  which 
rose  to  the  north,  were  inhabited  by  a  hardy  and 
warlike  race,  whose  strong  fort.'esses  of  Comares, 
Camillas,  Competa,  and  Benemarhorga,  frowned 
down  from  cragged  heights. 

At  the  time  that  the  christian  host  arrived  in  sight 
of  this  valley,  a  squadron  was  hovering  on  the  smooth 
sea  before  it,  displaying  the  banner  of  Castile.  This 
was  commanded  by  the  count  of  Trevento,  and  con- 
sisted of  four  armed  galleys,  conveying  a  number  of 
caravels,  laden  with  supplies  for  the  army. 

After  surveying  the  ground,  king  Ferdinand  en- 
camped on  the  side  of  a  mountain  which  advanced 
close  to  the  city,  and  which  was  the  last  of  a  rugged 
sierra,  or  chain  of  heights,  that  extended  quite  to 
Granada.  On  the  summit  of  this  mountain,  and 
overlooking  the  camp,  was  a  Moorish  town,  power- 
fully fortified,  called  Bentomiz,  and  which,  from  its 
vicinity,  had  been  considered  capable  of  yielding 
great  assistance  to  Velez  Malaga.  Several  of  the 
generals  remonstrated  with  the  king,  for  choosing  a 
post  so  exposed  to  assaults  from  the  mountaineers. 
Ferdinand  replied,  that  he  should  thus  cut  off  all 
communication  between  the  town  and  the  city ;  and 
that  as  to  the  danger,  his  soldiers  must  keep  the 
more  vigilant  guard  against  surprise. 

King  Ferdinand  rode  forth,  attended  by  several 
cavaliers  and  a  small  number  of  cuirassiers,  appoint- 
ing the  various  stations  of  the  camp.  While  a  body 
of  foot-soldiers  were  taking  possession,  as  an  ad- 
vanced guard,  of  an  important  height  which  over- 
looked the  city,  the  king  retired  to  a  tent  to  take  re- 
freshment. While  at  table,  he  was  startled  by  a 
sudden  uproar,  and,  looking  forth,  beheld  his  soldiers 
flying  before  a  superior  force  of  the  enemy.  The 
king  had  on  no  other  armor  but  a  cuirass  ;  seizing  a 
lance,  however,  he  sprang  upon  his  horse  and  gal- 
loped to  protect  the  fugitives,  followed  by  his  hand- 
ful of  knights  and  cuirassiers.  When  the  Spaniards 
saw  the  king  hastening  to  their  aid,  they  turned  up- 
on their  pursuers.  I-'erdinand,  in  his  eagerness, 
threw  himself  into  the  midst  of  the  foe.  One  of  his 
grooms  was  killed  beside  him  ;  but,  before  the  Moor 
who  slew  him  could  escape,  the  king  transfixed  him 
with  his  lance.  He  then  sought  to  draw  his  sword, 
which  hung  at  his  saddle-bow — but  in  vain.  Never 
had  he  been  exposed  to  such  peril  ; — he  was  sur- 
rounded by  the  enemy,  without  a  weapon  wherewith 
to  defend  himself. 

In  this  moment  of  awful  jeopardy,  the  marques  of 
Cadiz,  the  count  de  Cabra,  the  adelantado  of  Mur- 
cia,  with  two  other  cavaliers,  named  Garcilasso  de 
la  Vega  an.d  Diego  de  Ataydc,  came  galloping  to  the 
scene  of  action,  and,  surrounding  the  king,  made  a 
loyal  rampart  of  their  bodies  against  the  assaults  of 
the  Moors.  The  horse  of  the  marques  was  pierced 
by  an  arrow,  and  that  worthy  cavalier  exposed  to 
imminent  danger  ;  but,  with  the  aid  of  his  valorous 
companions,  he  quickly  put  the  enemy  to  flight,  and 
pursued  them,  with  slaughter,  to  the  very  gates  of 
the  city. 

When  those  loyal  warriors  returned  from  the  pur- 
suit, they  remonstrated  with  the  king  for  exposing 
his  life  in  personal  conflict,  seeing  that  he  had  so 
many  valiant  captains  whose  business  it  was  to  fight. 
They  reminded  him  that  the  life  of  a  prince  was  the 
life  of  his  people,  and  that  many  a  brave  army  was 
lost  by  the  loss  of  its  commander.  They  entreated 
him,  therefore,  in  future,  to  protect  them  with  the 
force  of  his  mind  in  the  cabinet,  rather  than  of  his 
arm  in  the  field. 

Ferdinand  acknowledged  the  wisdom  of  their  ad- 
vice, but  declared  that  he  could  not  see  his  people 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


235 


in  peril  without  venturing  his  person  to  assist  them  : 
— a  reply  (says  the  old  chroniclers)  which  delighted 
the  whole  army,  inasmuch  as  they  saw  that  he  not 
only  governed  them  as  a  good  king,  but  protected 
them  as  a  valiant  captain.  Ferdinand,  however, 
was  conscious  of  the  extreme  peril  to  which  he  had 
been  exposed,  and  made  a  vow  never  again  to 
venture  into  battle  without  having  his  sword  girt  to 
his  side.* 

When  this  achievement  of  the  king  was  related  to 
Isabella,  she  trembled  amidst  her  joy  at  his  safety  ; 
and  afterwards,  in  memorial  of  the  event,  she  grant- 
ed to  V'elez  Malaga,  as  the  arms  of  the  city,  the 
figure  of  the  king  on  horseback,  with  a  groom  lying 
dead  at  his  feet,  and  the  Moors  flying.f 

The  camp  was  formed,  but  the  artillery  was  yet 
on  the  road,  advancing  with  infinite  labor,  at  the 
rate  of  merely  a  league  a  day ;  for  heavy  rains  had 
converted  the  streams  of  the  valleys  into  raging  tor- 
rents, and  completely  broken  up  the  roads.  In  the 
mean  time,  king  Ferdinand  ordered  an  assault  on 
the  suburbs  of  the  city.  They  were  carried,  after  a 
sanguinary  conflict  of  six  hours,  in  which  many 
christian  cavaliers  were  killed  and  wounded,  and, 
among  the  latter,  Don  Alvaro  of  Portugal,  son  of  the 
duke  of  Braganza.  The  suburbs  were  then  fortified 
towards  the  city,  with  trenches  and  palisades,  and 
garrisoned  by  a  chosen  force,  under  Don  Fadrique 
de  Toledo.  Other  trenches  were  digged  round  the 
city,  and  from  the  suburbs  to  the  royal  camp,  so  as 
to  cut  off  all  communication  with  the  surrounding 
country. 

Bodies  of  troops  were  also  sent  to  take  possession 
of  the  mountain  passes,  by  which  the  supplies  for 
the  army  had  to  be  brought.  The  mountains,  how- 
ever, were  so  steep  and  rugged,  and  so  full  of  defiles 
and  lurking-places,  that  the  Moors  could  sally  forth 
and  retreat  in  perfect  security  ;  frequently  swooping 
(iu%vn  upon  cliristian  convoys,  and  bearing  off  both 
booty  and  prisoners  to  their  strong-holds.  Soine- 
limes  the  Moors  would  light  fires  at  night,  on  the 
sides  of  the  mountains,  which  would  be  answered 
by  fires  from  the  watch-towers  and  fortresses.  By 
these  signals,  they  would  concert  assaults  upon  the 
christian  camp,  which,  in  consequence,  was  obliged 
to  be  continually  on  the  alert,  and  ready  to  fly  to  arms. 

King  Ferdinand  flattered  himself  that  the  mani- 
festation of  his  force  had  struck  sufficient  terror  in- 
to the  city,  and  that  by  offers  of  clemency  it  might 
be  induced  to  capitulate.  He  wrote  a  letter,  there- 
fore, to  the  commanders,  promising,  in  case  of  im- 
mediate surrender,  that  all  the  inhabitants  should  be 
permitted  to  depart  with  their  effects  ;  but  threaten- 
ing them  with  fire  and  sword,  if  they  persisted  in 
defence.  This  letter  was  dispatched  by  a  cavalier 
named  Carvagal,  who,  putting  it  on  the  end  of  a 
lance  gave  it  to  the  Moors  who  were  on  the  walls 
of  the  city.  The  commanders  rephed,  that  the  king 
was  too  noble  and  magnanimous  to  put  such  a  threat 
in  execution,  and  that  they  should  not  surrender,  as 
they  knew  the  artillery  could  not  be  brought  to  the 
camp,  and  they  were  promised  succor  by  the  king 
of  Granada. 

At  the  same  time  that  he  received  this  reply,  the 
king  learnt  that  at  the  strong  town  of  Comares,  upon 
a  height  about  two  leagues  distant  from  the  camp,  a 
large  number  of  warriors  had  assembled  from  the 
Axarquia,  the  same  mountains  in  which  the  chris- 
tian cavaliers  had  been  massacred  in  the  beginning 
of  the  war ;  others  were  daily  expected,  lor  this 
rugged  sierra  was  capable  of  furnishing  fifteen  thou- 
sand fighting  men. 


*  lllescas.  Hist.  Pontif.  lib.  6,  c.  ao.    Wedmar,  Hist.  Veicz  Malaga, 
t  Idem. 


King  Ferdinand  felt  that  his  army,  thus  disjointed, 
and  inclosed  in  an  enemy's  country,  was  in  a  peril- 
ous situation,  and  that  the  utmost  discipline  and  vigi- 
lance were  necessary.  He  put  the  camp  under  the 
strictest  regulations,  forbidding  all  gaming,  blasphe- 
my, or  brawl,  and  expelling  all  loose  women  and 
their  attendant  bully  rufiians,  the  usual  fomenters  of 
riot  and  contention  among  soldiery.  He  ordered 
that  none  should  sally  forth  to  skirmish,  without  per- 
mission from  their  commanders  ;  that  none  should 
set  fire  to  the  woods  on  the  neighboring  mountains  ; 
and  that  all  word  of  security  given  to  Moorish  places 
or  individuals,  should  be  inviolably  observed.  These 
regulations  were  enforced  by  severe  penalties,  and 
had  such  salutary  effect,  that,  though  a  vast  host  of 
various  people  was  collected  together,  not  an  oppro- 
brious epithet  was  heard,  nor  a  weapon  drawn  in 
quarrel. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  cloud  of  war  went  on, 
gathering  about  the  summits  of  the  mountains ; 
multitudes  of  the  fierce  warriors  of  the  sierra  de- 
scended to  the  lower  heights  of  Bentomiz,  which 
overhung  the  camp,  intending  to  force  their  way  to 
the  city.  A  detachment  was  sent  against  them, 
which,  after  sharp  fighting,  drove  them  to  the  higher 
cliffs  of  the  mountain,  where  it  was  impossible  to 
pursue  them. 

Ten  days  had  elapsed  since  the  encampment  of 
the  army,  yet  still  the  artillery  had  not  arrived.  The 
lombards  and  other  heavy  ordnance  were  left  in 
despair,  at  Antiquera  ;  the  rest  came  groaning  slowly 
through  the  narrow  valleys,  which  were  filled  with 
long  trains  of  artillery,  and  cars  laden  with  munitions. 
At  length  part  of  the  smaller  ordnance  arrived  within 
half  a  league  of  the  camp,  and  the  christians  were 
animated  with  the  hopes  of  soon  being  able  to  make 
a  regular  attack  upon  the  fortifications  of  the  city. 


CHAPTER   III. 


HOW  KING  FERDINAND  AND  HIS  ARMY  WERE 
EXPOSED  TO  IMMINENT  PERIL  BEFORE  VELEZ 
MALAGA. 

While  the  standard  of  the  cross  waved  on  the 
hills  before  Velez  Malaga,  and  every  height  and  cliff 
bristled  with  hostile  arms,  the  civil  war  between  the 
factions  of  the  Alhambra  and  the  Albaycin,  or  rather 
between  El  Zagal  and  El  Chico,  continued  to  con- 
vulse the  city  of  Granada.  The  tidings  of  the  invest- 
ment of  Velez  Malaga  at  length  roused  the  attention 
of  the  old  men  and  the  alfaquLs,  whose  heads  were 
not  heated  by  the  daily  broils.  They  spread  them- 
selves through  the  city,  and  endeavored  to  arouse 
the  people  to  a  sense  of  their  cominon  danger. 

"  Why,"  said  they,  "  continue  these  brawls  be- 
tween brethren  and  kindred  ?  what  battles  are  these, 
where  even  triumph  is  ignominious,  and  the  victor 
blushes  and  conceals  his  scars?  Behold  the  christians 
ravaging  the  land  won  by  the  valor  and  blood  of 
your  forefathers ;  dwelling  in  the  houses  they  have 
built,  sitting  under  the  trees  they  have  planted,  while 
your  brethren  wander  about,  houseless  and  desolate. 
Do  you  wish  to  seek  your  real  foe .' — he  is  encamped 
on  the  mountain  of  Bentomiz.  Do  you  want  a  field 
for  the  display  of  your  valor  ? — you  will  find  it  before 
the  walls  of  Velez  Malaga." 

When  they  had  roused  the  spirit  of  the  people, 
they  made  their  way  to  the  rival  kings,  and  address- 
ed them  with  like  remonstrances.  Hamet  Aben 
Zarrax,  the  inspired  santon,  reproached  El  Zagal 
with  his  blind  and  senseless  ambition :    "  You  are 


236 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


striving  to  be  king,"  said  he,  bitterly,  "yet  suffer  the 
kingdom  to  be  lost  ! " 

El  Zagal  found  himself  in  a  perplexing  dilemma. 
He  had  a  double  war  to  wage, — with  the  enemy 
without,  and  the  enemy  within.  Should  the  chris- 
tians gain  possession  of  the  sea-coast,  it  would  be 
ruinous  to  the  kini^dom  ;  should  he  leave  Granada 
to  oppose  them,  his  vacant  throne  might  be  seized 
on  by  his  nephew.  He  made  a  merit  of  necessity, 
and,  pretending  to  yield  to  the  remonstrances  of  the 
alfaquis,  endeavored  to  compromise  with  Boabdil. 
He  expressed  deep  concern  at  the  daily  losses  of  the 
country,  caused  by  the  dissensions  of  the  capital ;  an 
opportunity  now  presented  to  retrieve  all  by  a  blow. 
The  christians  had  in  a  manner  put  themselves  in  a 
tomb  between  the  mountains — nothing  remained  but 
to  throw  the  earth  upon  them.  He  offered  to  resign 
the  title  of  king,  to  submit  to  the  government  of  his 
nephew,  and  fight  under  his  standard  ;  all  he  desired 
was  to  hasten  to  the  reUef  of  Velez  Malaga,  and  to 
take  full  vengeance  on  the  christians. 

Boabdil  spurned  his  proposition,  as  the  artifice  of 
a  hypocrite  and  a  traitor.  "  How  shall  I  trust  a 
man,"  said  he,  "  who  has  murdered  my  f:ither  and 
my  kindred  by  treachery,  and  has  repeatedly  sought 
my  own  life,  both  by  violence  and  stratagem  ?  " 

El  Zagal  boiled  with  rage  and  vexation — but  there 
was  no  time  to  be  lost.  He  was  beset  by  the  alfaquis 
and  the  nobles  of  his  court ;  the  youthful  cavaliers 
were  hot  for  action,  the  common  people  loud  in  their 
complaints  that  the  richest  cities  were  abandoned  to 
the  mercy  of  the  enemy.  The  old  warrior  was 
naturally  iond  of  fighting  ;  he  saw  also  that  to  remain 
inactive  would  endanger  both  crown  and  kingdom, 
whereas  a  successful  blow  would  secure  his  popu- 
larity in  Granada.  He  had  a  much  more  powerful 
force  than  his  nephew,  having  lately  received  rein- 
forcements from  Baza,  Guadix,  and  Almeria  ;  he 
could  march  with  a  large  force,  therefore,  to  the  re- 
lief of  Velez  Malaga,  and  yet  leave  a  strong  garrison 
in  the  Alhambra.  He  took  his  measures  according- 
ly, and  departed  suddenly  in  the  night,  at  the  head 
of  one  thousand  horse  and  twenty  thousand  foot.  He 
took  the  most  unfrequented  roads,  along  the  chain 
of  mountains  extending  from  Granada  to  the  height 
of  Bentomiz,  and  proceeded  with  such  rapidity,  as 
to  arrive  there  before  king  Ferdinand  had  notice  of 
his  approach. 

The  christians  were  alarmed  one  evening  by  the 
sudden  blazing  of  great  fires  on  the  mountains  about 
the  fortress  of- Bentomiz.  By  the  ruddy  light,  they 
beheld  the  flash  of  weapons  and  the  array  of  troops, 
and  they  heard  the  distant  sound  of  Moorish  drums 
and  trumpets.  The  fires  of  Bentomiz  were  answered 
by  fires  on  the  towers  of  Velez  Malaga.  The  shouts 
of  "  El  Zagal  !  El  Zagal  I  "  echoed  along  the  cliffs, 
and  resounded  from  the  city ;  and  the  chrisiians 
found  that  the  old  warrior  king  of  Granada  was  on 
the  mountain  above  their  camp. 

The  spirits  of  the  Moors  were  suddenly  raised  to  a 
pitch  of  the  greatest  exultation,  while  the  christians 
were  astonished  to  see  this  storm  of  war  ready  to 
burst  upon  their  heads.  The  count  de  Cabra,  with 
his  accustomed  eagerness  when  there  was  a  king  in 
the  field,  would  fain  have  scaled  the  heights,  and 
attacked  El  Zagal  before  he  had  time  to  form  his 
camp  ;  but  Ferdinand,  who  was  more  cool  and  wary, 
restrained  him.  To  attack  the  height,  would  be  to 
abandon  the  siege.  He  ordered  every  one,  there- 
fore, to  keep  vigilant  watch  at  his  post,  and  to  stand 
ready  to  delend  it  to  the  utmost,  but  on  no  account 
to  sally  forth  and  attack  the  enemy. 

All  night  the  signal-fires  kept  blazing  along  the 
mountains,  rousing  and  animating  the  whole  country. 
The  morning  sun  rose  over  the  lofty  summit  of  Ben- 


tomiz on  a  scene  of  martial  splendor.  As  its  raj's 
glanced  down  the  mountain,  they  lighted  up  the 
white  tents  of  the  christian  cavaliers,  cresting  its 
lower  prominences,  their  pennons  and  ensigns  flut- 
tering in  the  morning  breeze.  The  sumptuous  pa- 
vilions of  the  king,  with  the  holy  standard  of  the 
cross  and  the  royal  banners  of  Castile  and  Arragon, 
dominated  the  encampment.  Beyond  lay  the  city, 
its  lofty  castle  and  numerous  towers  ghstening  with 
arms  ;  while  above  all,  and  just  on  the  profile  of  the 
height,  in  the  full  blaze  of  the  rising  sun,  were  de- 
scried the  tents  of  the  Moor,  his  turbaned  troops 
clustering  about  them,  and  his  infidel  banners  float- 
ing against  the  sky.  Columns  of  smoke  rose  where 
the  night-fires  had  blazed,  and  the  clash  of  the  Moor- 
ish cymbal,  the  bray  of  trumpet,  and  the  neigh  of 
steed,  were  faintly  heard  from  the  airy  heights.  So 
pure  and  transparent  is  the  atmosphere  in  this  re- 
gion, that  every  object  can  be  distinctly  seen  at  a 
great  distance ;  and  the  christians  were  able  to  be- 
hold the  formidable  hosts  of  foes  that  w'ere  gather- 
ing on  the  summits  of  the  surrounding  mountains. 

One  of  the  first  measures  of  the  Moorish  king,  was 
to  detach  a  large  force,  under  Rodovan  de  Vanegas, 
alcayde  of  Granada,  to  fall  upon  the  convoy  of  ord- 
nance, which  stretched,  for  a  great  distance,  through 
the  mountain  defiles.  Ferdinand  had  anticipated 
this  attempt,  and  sent  the  commander  of  Leon,  with 
a  body  of  horse  and  foot,  to  reinforce  the  Master 
of  Alcantara.  El  Zagal,  from  his  mountain  height, 
beheld  the  detachment  issue  from  the  camp,  and 
immediately  recalled  Rodovan  de  Vanegas.  The 
armies  now  remained  quiet  for  a  time,  the  Moor 
looking  grimly  down  upon  the  christian  camp,  like  a 
tiger  meditating  a  bound  upon  his  prey.  The  chris- 
tians were  in  fearful  jeopardy— a  hostile  city  below 
them,  a  powerful  army  above  them,  and  on  every 
side  mountains  filled  with  implacable  foes. 

After  El  Zagal  had  maturely  considered  the  situa- 
tion of  the  christian  camp,  and  informed  himself  of 
all  the  passes  of  the  mountain,  he  conceived  a  plan 
to  surprise  the  enemy,  which  he  flattered  himself 
would  insure  their  ruin,  and  perhaps  the  capture  of 
king  Ferdinand.  He  wrote  a  letter  to  the  alcayde 
of  the  city,  commanding  him,  in  the  dead  of  the  night, 
on  a  signal-fire  being  made  from  the  mountain,  to 
sally  forth  with  all  his  troops,  and  fall  furiously  upon 
the  christian  camp.  The  king  would,  at  the  same 
time,  rush  down  with  his  army  from  the  mountain, 
and  assail  it  on  the  opposite  side  ;  thus  overvv'hclm- 
ing  it,  at  the  hour  of  deep  repose.  This  letter  he 
dispatched  by  a  renegado  christian,  who  knew  all  the 
secret  roads  of  the  country,  and,  if  taken,  could  pass 
himself  for  a  christian  who  had  escaped  from  captivity. 
The  fierce  El  Zagal,  confident  in  his  stratagem, 
looked  down  upon  the  christians  as  his  devoted  vic- 
tims. As  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  long  shadows 
of  the  mountain  stretched  across  the  vega,  he  pointed 
v,'ith  exultation  to  the  camp  below,  apparently  un- 
conscious of  the  impending  danger.  "Allah  Acbar  ! 
exclaimed  he,  "  God  is  great !  Behold  the  unbelievers 
are  delivered  into  our  hands  ;  their  king  and  choicest 
chivalry  will  soon  be  at  our  mercy.  Now  is  the 
time  to  show  the  courage  of  men,  and,  by  one  glori- 
ous victory,  retrieve  all  that  we  have  lost.  Happy 
he  who  falls  fighting  in  the  cause  of  the  Prophet  !  he 
will  at  once  be  transported  to  the  paradise  of  the 
faithful,  and  surrounded  by  immortal  houris.  Happy 
he  who  shall  survive  victorious !  he  will  behold 
Granada, — an  earthly  paradise  I — once  more  deliv- 
ered from  its  foes,  and  restored  to  all  its  glory."  The 
words  of  El  Zagal  were  received  with  acclamations 
by  his  troops,  who  waited  impatiently  for  the  ap- 
pointed hour,  to  pour  down  from  their  mountain-hold 
upon  the  christians. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


23'i 


CHAPTER   IV, 

RESULT   OF    THE    STRATAGEM  OF    EL  ZAGAL    TO 
SURPRISE   KING   FERDINAND. 

Queen  Isabella  and  her  court  had  remained  at 
Cordova,  in  great  anxiety  for  the  result  of  the  royal 
expedition.  Every  day  brought  tidings  of  the  diffi- 
culties which  attended  the  transportation  of  the  ord- 
nance and  munitions,  and  of  the  critical  state  of  the 
army. 

While  in  this  state  of  anxious  suspense,  couriers 
arrived  with  all  speed  from  the  frontiers,  bringing 
tidings  of  the  sudden  sally  of  El  Zagal  from  Granada, 
to  surprise  the  camp.  All  Cordova  was  in  conster- 
nation. The  destruction  of  the  Andalusian  chivalry, 
among  the  mountains  of  this  very  neighborhood,  was 
called  to  mind  ;  it  was  feared  that  similar  ruin  was 
about  to  burst  forth,  from  rocks  and  precipices,  upon 
Ferdinand  and  his  army. 

Queen  Isabella  shared  in  the  public  alarm,  but  it 
served  to  rouse  all  the  energies  of  her  heroic  mind. 
Instead  of  uttering  idle  apprehensions,  she  sought 
only  how  to  avert  the  danger.  She  called  upon  all 
the  men  of  Andalusia,  under  the  age  of  seventy,  to 
arm  and  hasten  to  the  relief  of  their  sovereign ;  and 
she  prepared  to  set  out  with  the  first  levies.  The 
grand  cardinal  of  Spain,  old  Pedro  Gonzalez  de 
Mendoza,  in  whom  the  piety  of  the  saint  and  the 
wisdom  of  the  counsellor  were  mingled  with  the  fire 
of  the  cavalier,  offered  high  pay  to  all  horsemen  who 
would  follow  him  to  aid  their  king  and  the  christian 
cause ;  and,  buckling  on  armor,  prepared  to  lead 
them  to  the  scene  of  danger. 

The  summons  of  the  queen  roused  the  quick  An- 
dalusian spirit.  Warriors  who  had  long  since  given 
up  fighting,  and  had  sent  their  sons  to  battle,  now 
seized  the  sword  and  lance  that  were  rusting  on  the 
wall,  and  marshalled  forth  their  gray-headed  domes- 
tics and  their  grandchildren  for  the  field.  The  great 
dread  was,  that  all  aid  would  arrive  too  late ;  El 
Zagal  and  his  host  had  passed  like  a  storm  through 
the  mountains,  and  it  was  feared  the  tempest  had 
already  burst  upon  the  christian  camp. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  night  had  closed  which  had 
been  appointed  by  El  Zagal  for  the  execution  of  his 
plan.  He  had  watched  the  last  light  of  day  expire, 
and  all  the  Spanish  camp  remained  tranquil.  As  the 
hours  wore  away,  the  camp-fires  were  gradually 
extinguished.  No  drum  or  trumpet  sounded  from 
below.  Nothing  was  heard,  but  now  and  then  the 
dull  heavy  tread  of  troops,  or  the  echoing  tramp 
of  horses — the  usual  patrols  of  the  camp,  and  the 
changes  of  the  guards.  El  Zagal  restrained  his  own 
impatience,  and  that  of  his  troops,  until  the  night 
should  be  advanced,  and  the  camp  sunk  in  that 
heavy  sleep  from  which  men  are  with  difficulty 
■awakened  ;  and,  when  awakened,  so  prone  to  be 
bewildered  and  dismayed. 

At  length,  the  appointed  hour  arrived.  By  order 
of  the  Moorish  king,  a  bright  flame  sprung  up  from 
the  height  of  Bentomiz  ;  but  El  Zagal  looked  in  vain 
for  the  responding  light  from  the  city.  His  impa- 
tience would  brook  no  longer  delay  ;"  he  ordered  the 
advance  of  the  army,  to  descend  the  mountain  defile 
and  attack  the  camp.  The  defile  was  narrow,  and 
overhung  by  rocks :  as  the  troops  proceeded,  they 
came  suddenly,  in  a  shadowy  hollow,  upon  a  dark 
massof  christian  warriors.  Aloud  shout  burst  forth, 
and  the  christians  rushed  to  assail  them  ;  the  Moors, 
surprised  and  disconcerted,  retreated  in  confusion  to 
the  height.  When  El  Zagal  heard  there  was  a  chris- 
tian force  posted  in  the  defile,  he  doubted  some 
counter-plan  of  the  enemy.  He  gave  orders  to  light 
the  mountain  fires.     On  a  signal  given,  bright  flames 


sprung  out  on  every  height,  from  great  pyres  of 
wood,  prepared  for  the  purpose :  cliff  blazed  out 
after  cliff,  until  the  whole  atmosphere  was  in  a  glow 
of  furnace  light.  The  ruddy  glare  lit  up  the  glens 
and  passes  of  the  mountain,  and  fell  strongly  upon 
the  christian  camp,  revealing  all  its  tents  and  every 
post  and  bulwark.  Wherever  El  Zagal  turned  his 
eyes,  he  beheld  the  light  of  his  fires  flashed  back 
from  cuirass,  and  helm,  and  sparkling  lance  ;  he  be- 
held a  grove  of  spears  planted  in  every  pass,  every 
assailable  point  bristling  with  arms,  and  squadrons 
of  horse  and  foot  in  battle  array,  awaiting  his  attack. 

In  fact,  the  letter  of  El  Zagal  to  the  alcayde  of 
Velez  Malaga  had  been  intercepted  by  the  vigilant 
Ferdinand  ;  the  renegado  messenger  hanged  ;  and 
secret  measures  taken,  after  the  night  had  closed  in, 
to  give  the  enemy  a  warm  reception.  El  Zagal  saw 
that  his  plan  of  surprise  was  discovered  and  foiled  ; 
furious  with  disappointment,  he  ordered  his  troops 
forward  to  the  attack.  They  rushed  down  the  de- 
file, but  were  again  encountered  by  the  mass  of 
christian  warriors,  being  the  advance  guard  of  the 
army,  commanded  by  Don  Hurtado  de  Mendoza, 
brother  of  the  grand  cardinal.  The  Moors  were 
again  repulsed,  and  retreated  up  the  height.  Don 
Hurtado  would  have  followed  them,  but  the  ascent 
was  steep  and  rugged,  and  easily  defended  by  the 
Moors.  A  sharp  action  was  kept  up,  through  the 
night,  with  cross-bows,  darts,  and  arquebusses.  The 
cliffs  echoed  with  deafening  uproar,  while  the  fires 
blazing  upon  the  mountains  threw  a  lurid  and  un- 
certain light  upon  the  scene. 

When  the  day  dawned,  and  the  Moors  saw  that 
there  was  no  co-operation  from  the  city,  they  began 
to  slacken  in  their  ardor :  they  beheld  also  evSry 
pass  of  the  mountain  filled  with  christian  troops, 
and  began  to  apprehend  an  assault  in  return.  Just 
then  king  Ferdinand  sent  the  marques  of  Cadiz, 
with  horse  and  foot,  to  seize  upon  a  height  occu- 
pied by  a  battalion  of  the  enemy.  The  marques 
assailed  the  Moors  with  his  usual  intrepidity,  and 
soon  put  them  to  flight.  The  others,  who  were 
above,  seeing  their  comrades  flying,  were  seized  with 
a  sudden  alarm  :  they  threw  down  their  arms,  and 
retreated.  One  of  those  unaccountable  panics, 
which  now  and  then  seize  upon  great  bodies  of 
people,  and  to  which  the  light-spirited  Moors  were 
very  prone,  now  spread  throughout  the  camp.  They 
were  terrified,  they  knew  not  why,  or  at  what.  They 
threw  away  swords,  lances,  breast-plates,  cross- 
bows, every  thing  that  could  burthen  or  impede 
their  flight ;  and,  spreading  themselves  wildly  over 
the  mountains,  fled  headlong  down  the  defiles. 
They  fled  without  pursuers — ?rom  the  glimpse  of 
each  other's  arms,  from  the  sound  of  each  other's 
footsteps.  Rodovan  de  Vanegas,  the  brave  alcayde 
of  Granada,  alone  succeeded  in  collecting  a  body  of 
the  fugitives ;  he  made  a  circuit  with  them  through 
the  passes  of  the  mountain,  and  forcing  his  way 
across  a  weak  part  of  the  christian  lines,  galloped 
towards  Velez  Malaga.  The  rest  of  the  Moorish 
host  was  completely  scattered.  In  vain  did  El  Za- 
gal and  his  knights  attempt  to  rally  them  ;  they  were 
left  almost  alone,  and  had  to  consult  their  own  se- 
curity by  flight. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz,  finding  no  opposition,  as- 
cended from  height  to  height,  cautiously  reconnoi- 
tring, and  fearful  of  some  stratagem  or  ambush. 
All,  however,  was  quiet.  He  reached  with  his 
men  the  place  which  the  Moorish  army  had  occu- 
pied :  the  heights  were  abandoned,  and  strewed 
with  cuirasses,  scimitars,  cross-bows,  and  other 
weapons.  His  force  was  too  small  to  pursue  the 
enemy,  but  returned  to  the  royal  camp,  laden  with 
the  spoils. 


238 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


King  Ferdinand,  at  first,  could  not  credit  so  sig- 
nal and  miraculous  a  defeat:  he  suspected  some 
lurking  stratagem.  He  ordered,  therefor,',  that  a 
strict  watch  should  be  maintained  throughout  the 
camp,  and  every  one  be  ready  for  instant  action. 
The  following  night,  a  thousand  cavaliers  and 
hidalgos  kept  guard  about  the  royal  tent,  as  they 
had  done  for  several  preceding  nights ;  nor  did  the 
king  relax  this  vigilance,  until  he  received  cer- 
tain intelligence  that  the  enemy  was  completely 
scattered  and  El  Zagal  flying  in  confusion. 

The  tidings  of  this  rout,  and  of  the  safety  of  the 
christian  army,  arrived  at  Cordova  just  as  reinforce- 
ments were  on  the  point  of  setting  out.  The  anx- 
iety and  alarm  of  the  queen  and  the  public  were 
turned  to  transports  ol  joy  and  gratitude.  The 
forces  were  disbanded,  solemn  processions  were 
made,  and  te  deums  chanted  in  the  churches,  for  so 
signal  a  victory. 


CHAPTER   V. 


HOW  THE  PEOPLE  OF  GRANADA  REWARDED  THE 
VALOR  OF  EL  ZAGAL. 

The  daring  spirit  of  the  old  warrior,  Muley  Ab- 
dalla  El  Zagal,  in  sallying  forth  to  defend  his  terri- 
tories, while  he  left  an  armed  rival  in  his  capital, 
had  struck  the  people  of  Granada  with  admiration. 
They  recalled  his  former  exploits,  and  again  antici- 
pated some  hardy  achievement  from  his  furious 
valor.  Couriers  from  the  army  reported  its  formid- 
able position  on  the  height  of  Bentomiz.  For  a 
time,  there  was  a  pause  in  the  bloody  commotions 
of  the  city ;  all  attention  was  turned  to  the  blow 
about  to  be  struck  at  the  christian  camp.  The 
same  considerations  which  diffused  anxiety  and  ter- 
ror through  Cordova,  swelled  every  bosom  with  ex- 
ulting confidence  in  Granada.  The  Moors  expected 
to  hear  of  another  massacre,  like  that  in  the  mount- 
ains of  Malaga.  "  El  Zagal  has  again  entrapped 
the  enemy  !  "  was  the  cry.  "  The  power  of  the  un- 
believers is  about  to  be  struck  to  the  heart.  We 
shall  soon  see  the  christian  king  led  captive  to  the 
capital."  Thus  the  name  of  El  Zagal  was  on  every 
tongue.  He  was  extolled  as  the  savior  of  the  coun- 
try ;  the  only  one  worthy  of  wearing  the  Moorish 
crown.  Boabdil  was  reviled  as  basely  remaining 
passive  while  his  country  was  invaded  ;  and,  so  vio- 
lent became  the  clamor  of  the  populace,  that  his  ad- 
herents trembled  for  his  safety. 

While  the  people  of  Granada  were  impatiently 
looking  out  for  tidings  of  the  anticipated  victory, 
scattered  horsemen  came  spurring  across  the  vega. 
They  were  fugitives  from  the  Moorish  army,  and 
brought  the  first  incoherent  account  of  its  defeat. 
Every  one  who  attempted  to  tell  the  tale  of  this  un- 
accountable panic  and  dispersion,  was  as  if  bewil- 
dered by  the  broken  recollection  of  some  frightful 
dream.  He  knew  not  how  or  why  it  came  to  pass. 
He  talked  of  a  battle  in  the  night,  among  rocks  and 
precipices,  by  the  glare  of  bale-fires ;  of  multitudes 
of  armed  foes  in  every  pass,  seen  by  gleams  and 
flashes  ;  of  the  sudden  horror  that  seized  upon 
the  army  at  daybreak ;  its  headlong  flight,  and 
total  dispersion.  Hour  after  hour,  tne  arrival  of 
other  fugitives  confirmed  the  story  of  ruin  and  dis- 
grace. 

In  proportion  to  their  recent  vaunting,  was  the 
humiliation  that  now  fell  upon  the  people  of  Gra- 
nada. Thete  was  a  universal  burst,  not  of  grief, 
but  indignation.  They  confounded  the  leader 
with  the  army — the  deserted,  with  those  who  had 
abandoned  him  ;    and  El   Zagal,  from  being  their 


idol,  became  suddenly  the  object  of  their  execra- 
tion. He  had  sacrificed  the  army  ;  he  had  dis- 
graced the  nation  ;  he  had  betrayed  the  country. 
He  was  a  dastard,  a  traitor ;  he  was  unworthy  to 
reign  ! 

On  a  sudden,  one  among  the  multitude  shouted, 
"Long  live  Boabdil  el  Chico  !  "  the  cry  was  echoed 
on  all  sides,  and  every  one  shouted,  "  Long  live 
Boabdil  el  Chico  !  long  live  the  legitimate  king  of 
Granada :  and  death  to  all  usurpers  !  "  In  the  ex- 
citement of  the  moment,  they  thronged  to  the  Al- 
baycin  ;  and  those  who  had  lately  V>esieged  Boab- 
dil with  arms,  now  surrounded  his  palace  with  ac- 
clamations. The  keys  of  the  city,  and  of  all  the 
fortresses,  were  laid  at  his  feet ;  he  was  borne  in 
state  to  the  Alhambra,  and  once  more  seated, 
\vith  all  due  ceremony,  on  the  throne  of  his  an- 
cestors. 

Boabdil  had  by  this  time  become  so  accustomed 
to  be  crowned  and  uncrowned  by  the  multitude,  that 
he  put  no  great  faith  in  the  duration  of  their  loyalty. 
He  knew  that  he  was  surrounded  by  hollow  hearts, 
and  that  most  of  the  courtiers  of  the  Alhambra  were 
secretly  devoted  to  his  uncle.  He  ascended  the 
throne  as  the  rightful  sovereign,  who  had  been  dis- 
possessed of  it  by  usurpation ;  and  he  ordered  the 
heads  of  four  of  the  principal  nobles  to  be  struck  off, 
who  had  been  most  zealous  in  support  of  the  usurper. 
Executions  of  the  kind  were  matters  of  course,  on 
any  change  in  Moorish  government  ;  and  Boabdil 
was  lauded  for  his  moderation  and  humanity,  in  being 
content  with  so  small  a  sacrifice.  The  factions  were 
awed  into  obedience ;  the  populace,  delighted  with 
any  change,  extolled  Boabdil  to  the  skies  ;  and  the 
name  of  Muley  Abdalla  El  Zagal  was  for  a  time  a  by- 
word of  scorn  and  opprobrium  throughout  the  city. 

Never  was  any  commander  more  astonished  and 
confounded  by  a  sudden  reverse  of  fortune,  than  El 
Zagal.  The  evening  had  seen  him  with  a  powerful 
army  at  his  command,  his  enemy  within  his  grasp, 
and  victory  about  to  cover  him  with  glory,  and  to 
consolidate  his  power : — the  morning  beheld  him  a 
fugitive  among  the  mountains,  his  army,  his  pros- 
perity, his  power,  all  dispelled,  he  knew  not  how — 
gone  like  a  dream  of  the  night.  In  vain  had  he  tried 
to  stem  the  headlong  flight  of  the  army.  He  saw  his 
squadrons  breaking  and  dispersing  among  the  cliffs 
of  the  mountains,  until,  of  all  his  host,  only  a  hand- 
ful of  cavaliers  remained  faithful  to  him.  With  these 
he  made  a  gloomy  retreat  towards  Granada,  but  with 
a  heart  full  of  foreboding.  When  he  drew  near  to 
the  city,  he  paused  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenel,  and 
sent  forth  scouts  to  collect  intelligence.  They  re- 
turned with  dejected  countenances  ;  "  The  gates  of 
Granada,"  said  they,  "  are  closed  against  you.  The 
banner  of  Boabdil  floats  on  the  tower  of  the  Al- 
hambra." 

El  Zagal  turned  his  steed,  and  departed  in  silence. 
He  retreated  to  the  town  of  Almunecar,  and  from 
thence  to  Almeria,  which  places  still  remained  faith- 
ful to  him.  Restless  and  uneasy  at  being  so  distant 
from  the  capital,  he  again  changed  his  abode,  and 
repaired  to  the  city  of  Guadix,  within  a  few  leagxies 
of  Granada.  Here  he  remained,  endeavoring  to 
rally  his  forces,  and  preparing  to  avail  himself  of 
any  sudden  change  in  the  fluctuating  politics  of  the 
metropolis. 

CHAPTER   VI. 

SURRENDER  OF  VELEZ   MALAGA  AND   OTHER 
PLACES. 

The  people  of  Velez  Malaga  had  beheld  the  camp 
of  Muley  Abdalla  El  Zagal,  covering  the  summit  of 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


239 


Bentomiz,  and  g'littering-  in  the  last  rays  of  the  set- 
ting sun.  During  the  night,  they  had  been  alarmed 
and  perplexed  by  signal-fires  on  the  nnountain,  and 
by  the  sound  of  distant  battle.  When  the  morning 
broke,  the  Moorish  army  had  vanished  as  if  by  en- 
chantment. While  the  inhabitants  were  lost  in  won- 
der and  conjecture,  a  body  of  cavalry,  the  fragment 
of  the  army  saved  by  Rodovan  de  Vanegas,  the 
brave  alcayde  of  Granada,  came  galloping  to  the 
gates.  The  tidings  of  the  strange  discomfiture  of 
the  host,  filled  the  city  with  consternation  ;  but  Ro- 
dovan exhorted  the  people  to  continue  their  resist- 
ance. He  was  devoted  to  El  Zagal,  and  confident 
in  his  skill  and  prowess ;  and  felt  assured  that  he 
would  soon  collect  his  scattered  forces,  and  return 
with  fresh  troops  from  Granada.  The  people  were 
comforted  by  the  words,  and  encouraged  by  the 
presence,  of  Rodovan  ;  and  they  had  still  a  lingering 
hope  that  the  heavy  artiller)'  of  the  christians  might 
be  locked  up  in  the  impassable  defiles  of  the  mount- 
ains. This  hope  was  soon  at  an  end.  The  very 
next  day,  they  beheld  long  laborious  lines  of  ordnance 
slowly  moving  into  the  Spanish  camp,  lombards, 
ribadoquines,  catapultas,  and  cars  laden  with  muni- 
tions,— while  the  escort,  under  the  br.ave  Master  of 
Alcantara,  wheeled  in  great  battalions  into  the  camp, 
to  augment  the  force  of  the  besiegers. 

The  intelligence  that  Granada  had  shut  its  gates 
against  El  Zagal,  and  that  no  reinforcements  were 
to  be  expected,  completed  the  despair  of  the  inhab- 
itants ;  even  Rodovan  himself  lost  confidence,  and 
advised  capitulation. 

The  terms  were  arranged  between  the  alcayde 
and  the  noble  count  de  Cifuentes  ;  the  latter  had 
been  prisoner  of  Rodovan  at  Granada,  who  hat! 
treated  him  with  chivalrous  courtesy.  They  had 
conceived  a  mutual  esteem  for  each  other,  and  met 
as  ancient  friends. 

Ferdinand  granted  favorable  conditions,  for  he 
was  eager  to  proceed  against  Malaga.  The  inhab- 
itants were  permitted  to  depart  with  their  effects, 
except  their  arms,  and  to  reside,  if  they  chose  it,  in 
Spain,  in  any  place  distant  from  the  sea.  One  hun- 
dred and  twenty  christians,  of  both  sexes,  were  res- 
cued from  captivity  by  the  surrender  of  Velez  Mal- 
aga, and  were  sent  to  Cordova,  where  they  were  re- 
ceived with  great  tenderness  by  the  queen  and  her 
daughter  the  Infanta  Isabella,  in  the  famous  cathe- 
dral, in  the  midst  of  public  rejoicings  for  the  victory. 

The  capture  of  Velez  Malaga  vifas  followed  by  the 
surrender  of  Bentomiz,  Comares,  and  all  the  towns 
and  fortresses  of  the  Axarquia,  which  were  strongly 
garrisoned,  and  discreet  and  valiant  cavaliers  ap- 
pointed as  their  alcaydes.  The  inhabitants  of  nearly 
forty  towns  of  the  Alpaxarra  mountains,  also,  sent 
deputations  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  taking  the 
oath  of  allegiance  as  Mudeharcs,  or  Moslem  vassals. 

About  the  same  time  came  letters  from  Boabdil  el 
Chico,  announcing  to  the  sovereigns  the  revolution 
of  Granada  in  his  favor.  He  solicited  kindness  and 
protection  for  ths  inhabitants  who  had  returned  to 
their  allegi.ance,  and  for  those  of  all  other  places 
which  should  renounce  adherence  to  his  uncle.  By 
this  means  (he  observed)  the  whole  kingdom  of  Gra- 
nada would  soon  be  induced  to  acknowledge  his 
sway,  and  would  be  held  by  him  in  faithful  vassalage 
to  the  Castilian  crown. 

The  Catholic  sovereigns  complied  with  his  re- 
quesi  Protection  was  immediately  extended  to  the 
inhabitan::  7f  Granada,  permitting  them  to  cultivate 
their  fields  in  peace,  and  to  trade  with  the  christian 
territories  in  all  articles  excepting  arms  ;  being  pro- 
vided with  letters  of  surety,  from  some  christian 
captain  or  alcayde.  The  same  favor  was  promised 
to  all  other  places,  which,  within  six  months,  should 


renounce  El  Zagal  and  come  under  allegiance  to  the 
younger  king.  Should  they  not  do  so  within  that 
time,  the  sovereigns  threatened  to  make  war  upon 
them,  and  conquer  them  for  themselves.  This  meas- 
ure had  a  great  effect,  in  inducing  many  to  return  to 
the  standard  of  Boabdil. 

Having  made  every  necessary  arrangement  for  the 
government  and  security  of  the  newly  conquered 
territory,  Ferdinand  turned  his  attention  to  the  great 
object  of  his  campaign,  the  reduction  of  Malaga. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 


OF  THE  CITY  OF  MALAGA,   AND   ITS   INHABIT- 
ANTS. 

The  city  of  Malaga  lies  in  the  lap  of  a  fertile  val- 
ley, surrounded  by  mountains,  excepting  on  the  part 
which  lies  open  to  the  sea.  As  it  was  one  of  the 
most  important,  so  it  was  one  of  the  strongest,  cities 
of  the  Moorish  kingdom.  It  was  fortified  by  walls 
of  prodigious  strength,  studded  with  a  great  number 
of  huge  towers.  On  the  land  side,  it  was  protected 
by  a  natural  barrier  of  mountains  ;  and  on  the  other, 
the  waves  of  the  Mediterranean  beat  against  the 
foundations  of  its  massive  bulwarks. 

At  one  end  of  the  city,  near  the  sea,  on  a  high 
mound,  stood  the  Alcazaba  or  citadel, — a  fortress  of 
great  strength.  Immediately  above  this,  rose  a  steep 
and  rocky  mount,  on  the  top  of  which,  in  old  times, 
had  been  a  Pharo  or  light-house,  from  which  the 
height  derived  its  name  of  Gibralfaro.*  It  was  at 
present  crowned  by  an  immense  castle,  which,  from 
its  lofty  and  cragged  situation,  its  vast  walls  and 
mighty  towers,  was  deemed  impregnable.  It  com- 
municated with  the  Alcazaba  by  a  covered  way,  six 
paces  broad,  leading  down  between  two  walls,  along 
the  profile  or  ridge  of  the  rock.  The  castle  of  Gib- 
ralfaro commanded  both  citadel  and  city,  and  was 
capable,  if  both  were  taken,  of  maintaining  a  siege. 
Two  large  suburbs  adjoined  the  city :  in  the  one  to- 
wards the  sea,  were  the  dwelling-houses  of  the  most 
opulent  inhabitants,  adorned  with  hanging  gardens  ; 
the  other,  on  the  land  side,  was  thickly  peopled,  and 
surrounded  by  strong  walls  and  towers. 

Malaga  possessed  a  brave  and  numerous  garrison, 
and  the  common  people  were  active,  hardy,  and 
resolute ;  but  the  city  was  rich  and  commercial,  and 
under  the  habitual  control  of  numerous  opulent 
merchants,  who  dreaded  the  ruinous  consequences 
of  a  siege.  They  were  little  zealous  for  the  warlike 
renown  of  their  city,  and  longed  rather  to  partici- 
pate in  the  enviable  security  of  property,  and  the 
lucrative  privileges  of  safe  traffic  with  the  christian 
territories,  granted  to  all  places  which  declared  for 
Boabdil.  At  the  head  of  these  gainful  citizens  was 
Ali  Dordux,  a  mighty  merchant  of  uncounted  wealth, 
whose  ships  traded  to  every  part  of  the  Levant,  and 
whose  word  was  as  a  law  in  Malaga.  Ali  Dordux  as- 
sembled the  most  opulent  and  important  of  his 
commercial  brethren,  and  they  repaired  in  a  body  to 
the  Alcazaba,  where  they  were  received  by  the  al- 
cayde, Albozen  Connixa,  with  that  deference  gen 
erally  shown  to  men  of  their  great  local  dignity  and 
power  of  purse.  Ali  Dordux  was  ample  and  stately 
in  his  form,  and  fluent  and  emphatic  in  his  discourse  ; 
his  eloquence  had  an  effect  therefore  upon  the  al- 
cayde, as  he  represented  the  hopelessness  of  a  de- 
fence of  Malaga,  the  misery  that  must  attend  a 
siege,  and  the  ruin  that  must  follow  a  capture  by 
force  of  arms.     On  the  other  hand,  he  set  forth  the 


*  A  comtption  of  Gibet-faro  ;  the  hill  of  the  light-house. 


240 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


grace  that  might  be  obtained  from  the  Castilian 
sovereigns,  by  an  early  and  voluntary  acknowledg- 
ment of  Boabdil  as  king ;  the  peaceful  possession  of 
their  property,  and  the  profitable  commerce  with  the 
christian  ports,  that  would  be  allowed  them.  He 
was  seconded  by  his  weighty  and  important  coadju- 
tors ;  and  the  alcayde,  accustomed  to  regard  them 
as  the  arbiters  of  the  affairs  of  the  place,  yielded  to 
their  united  counsels.  He  departed,  therefore,  with 
all  speed,  to  the  christian  camp,  empowered  to  ar- 
range a  capitulation  with  the  Castilian  monarch  ; 
and  in  the  mean  time,  his  brother  remained  in  com- 
mand of  the  Alcazaba. 

There  was  at  this  time,  as  alcayde,  in  the  old 
crag-built  castle  of  Gibralfaro,  a  warlike  and  fiery 
Moor,  an  implacable  enemy  of  the  christians.  This 
was  no  other  than  Hamet  Zeli,  surnamed  El  Zegri, 
the  once  formidable  alcayde  of  Ronda,  and  the  ter- 
ror of  its  mountains.  He  had  never  forgiven  the 
capture  of  his  favorite  fortress,  and  panted  for  ven- 
geance on  the  christians.  Notwithstanding  his  re- 
verses, he  had  retained  the  favor  of  El  Zagal,  who 
knew  how  to  appreciate  a  bold  warrior  of  the  kind, 
and  had  placed  him  in  command  of  this  important 
fortress  of  Gibralfaro. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  had  gathered  round  him  the  rem- 
nant of  his  band  of  Gonieres,  with  others  of  the  same 
tribe.  These  fierce  warriors  were  nestled,  like  so 
many  war-hawks,  about  their  lofty  cliff.  They  looked 
down  with  martial  contempt  upon  the  commercial 
city  of  Malaga,  which  they  were  placed  to  protect ; 
or  rather,  they  esteemed  it  only  for  its  military  im- 
portance, and  its  capability  of  defence.  They  held 
no  communion  with  its  trading,  gainful  inhabitants, 
and  even  considered  the  garrison  of  the  Alcazaba  as 
their  inferiors.  War  was  their  pursuit  and  passion  ; 
they  rejoiced  in  its  turbulent  and  perilous  scenes; 
anri,  confident  in  the  strength  of  the  city,  and,  above 
all,  of  their  castle,  they  set  at  defiance  the  menace 
of  christian  invasion.  There  were  among  them,  also, 
many  apostate  Moors,  who  had  once  embraced  Chris- 
tianity, but  had  since  recanted,  and  had  fled  from 
the  vengeance  of  the  Inquisition.  These  were  des- 
peradoes, who  had  no  mercy  to  expect,  should  they 
again  fall  into  die  hands  of  the  enemy. 

Sucli  were  the  fierce  elements  of  the  garrison  of 
Gibralfaro ;  and  its  rage  may  easily  be  conceived,  at 
hearing  that  Malaga  was  to  be  given  up  without  a 
blow  ;  that  they  were  to  sink  into  christian  vassals, 
under  the  intermediate  sway  of  Boabdil  el  Chico ; 
and  that  the  alcayde  of  the  Alcazaba  had  departed, 
to  arrange  the  terms  of  capitulation. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  determined  to  avert,  by  desperate 
means,  the  threatened  degradation.  He  knew  that 
there  was  a  large  party  in  the  city  faithful  to  El 
Zagal,  being  composed  of  warlike  men,  who  had 
taken  refuge  from  the  various  mountain  towns  which 
had  been  captured  :  their  feelings  were  desperate  as 
their  fortunes,  and,  like  Hamet,  they  panted  for 
revenge  upon  the  christians.  With  these  he  had  a 
secret  conference,  and  received  assurances  of  their 
adherence  to  him  in  any  measures  of  defence.  As 
to  the  counsel  of  the  peaceful  inhabitants,  he  con- 
sidered it  unworthy  the  consideration  of  a  soldier ; 
and  he  spurned  at  the  interference  of  the  wealthy 
merchant  Ali  Dordux,  in  matters  of  warfare. 

"Still,"  said  Hamet  el  Zegri,  "let  us  proceed 
regularly."  So  he  descended  with  his  Gomeres  to 
the  citadel,  entered  it  suddenly,  put  to  death  the 
brother  of  the  alcayde,  and  such  of  the  garrison  as 
made  any  demur,  and  then  summoned  the  principal 
inhabitants  of  Malaga,  to  deliberate  on  measures  for 
the  welfare  of  the  city.*    The  wealthy  merchants 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  c.  S3. 


again  mounted  to  the  citadel,  excepting  Ali  Dordux, 
who  refused  to  obey  the  summons.  Thev  entered 
with  hearts  filled  with  awe,  for  they  found  H.amet 
surrounded  by  his  grim  African  guard,  and  all  the 
stern  array  of  military  power,  and  they  beheld  the 
bloody  traces  of  the  recent  massacre. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  rolled  a  dark  and  searching  eye 
upon  the  assembly.  "  Who,"  said  he,  "  is  loyal  and 
devoted  to  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal?"  Every  one 
present  asserted  his  loyalty.  "  Good  !  "  said  Hamet ; 
"  and  who  is  ready  to  prove  his  devotion  to  his  sover- 
eign, by  defending  this  his  important  city  to  the  last 
extremity  ?  "  Every  one  present  declared  his  readi- 
ness. "  Enough  !  "  observed  Hamet ;  "  the  alcayde 
Albozen  Connixa  has  proved  himself  a  traitor  to  his 
sovereign,  and  to  )0U  all;  for  he  has  conspired  to 
deliver  the  place  to  the  christians,  it  behoves  you 
to  choose  some  other  commander  capable  of  defend- 
ing your  city  against  the  approaching  enemy."  The 
assembly  declared  unanimously,  that  there  was  no 
one  so  worthy  of  the  command  as  himself.  So 
Hamet  el  Zegri  was  appointed  alcayde  of  Malaga, 
and  immediately  proceeded  to  man  the  forts  and 
towers  with  his  i)artisans,  and  to  make  every  prepa- 
ration for  a  desperate  resistance. 

Intelligence  of  these  occurrences  put  an  end  to  the 
negotiations  between  king  Ferdinand  and  the  super- 
seded alcayde  Albozen  Connixa,  and  it  was  supposed 
there  was  no  alternative  but  to  lay  siege  to  the 
place.  The  marques  of  Cadiz,  however,  found  at 
Velez  a  Moorish  cavalier  of  some  note,  a  native 
of  Malaga,  who  offered  to  tamper  with  Hamet  el 
Zegri  for  the  surrender  of  the  city,  or  at  least  of  the 
castle  of  Gibralfaro.  The  marques  communicated 
this  to  the  king:  "1  put  this  business,  and  the  key 
of  my  treasury,  into  your  hands,"  said  Ferdinand  ; 
"  act,  stipulate,  and  disburse,  in  my  name,  as  you 
think  proper." 

The  marques  armed  the  Moor  with  his  own  lance, 
cuirass,  and  target,  and  mounted  him  on  one  of  his 
own  horses.  He  equipped  in  similar  style,  also, 
anotlier  Moor,  his  companion  and  relation.  They 
bore  secret  letters  to  Hamet  from  the  marques, 
offering  him  the  town  of  Coin  in  perpetual  inherit- 
ance, and  four  thousand  doblas  in  gold,  if  he  would 
deliver  up  Gibralfaro  ;  together  with  large  sums,  to 
b;  distributed  among  his  otficers  and  soldiers:  and 
he  offered  unlimited  rewards  for  the  surrender  of  the 
city.* 

Hamet  had  a  warrior's  admiration  of  the  marques 
of  Cadiz,  and  received  his  messengers  with  courtesy 
in  his  fortress  of  Gibralfaro.  He  even  listened  to 
their  propositions  with  patience,  and  dismissed  them 
in  safety,  though  with  an  absolute  refusal.  The 
marques  thought  his  reply  was  not  so  peremptory 
as  to  discourage  another  effort.  The  emissaries 
were  dispatched,  therefore,  a  second  time,  with 
further  propositions.  They  approached  Malaga  in 
the  night,  but  found  the  guards  doubled,  patrols 
abroad,  and  the  whole  place  on  the  alert.  They 
were  discovered,  pursued,  and  only  saved  them- 
selves by  the  fleetness  of  their  steeds,  and  their 
knowledge  of  the  passes  of  the  mountains. 

Finding  all  attempts  to  tamper  with  the  faith  of 
Hamet  el  Zegri  utterly  futile,  king  Ferdinand  pub- 
licly summoned  the  city  to  surrender,  offering  the 
most  favorable  terms  in  case  of  immediate  com- 
pliance ;  but  threatening  captivity  to  all  the  inhabit- 
ants, in  case  of  resistance. 

The  mess.ige  was  delivered  in  presence  of  the 
principal  inhabitants,  who,  however,  were  too  much 
in  awe  of  the  stern  alcayde  to  utter  a  word.  Hamet 
el  Zegri  then  rose  haughtily,  and  replied,  that  the 


♦  Cura  dc  los  Palacios,  c.  82. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


241 


city  of  Malaga  had  not  been  confided  to  hin)  to  be 
surrendered,  but  defended  ;  and  the  king  should  wit- 
ness how  he  acquitted  himself  of  his  charge.* 

The  messengers  returned  with  formidable  accounts 
of  the  force  of  the  garrison,  the  strength  of  the  forti- 
fications, and  the  determined  spirit  of  the  commander 
and  his  men.  The  king  immediately  sent  orders  to 
have  the  heavy  artillery  forwarded  from  Antiquera  ; 
and,  on  the  7th  of  May,  marched  with  his  army  to- 
wards Malaga. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


ADVANCE    OF    KING    FERDINAND    AGAINST 
MALAGA. 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  advanced  in  lengthened 
line,  glittering  along  the  foot  of  the  mountains  which 
border  the  Mediterranean  ;  while  a  fleet  of  vessels, 
freighted  with  heavy  artillery  and  warlike  munitions, 
kept  pace  with  it  at  a  short  distance  from  the  land, 
corering  the  sea  with  a  thousand  gleaming  sails. 
When  Hamet  el  Zegri  saw  this  force  approaching, 
he  set  fire  to  the  houses  of  the  suburbs  which  ad- 
joined the  walls,  and  sent  forth  three  battalions  to 
encounter  the  advance  guard  of  the  enemy. 

The  christian  army  drew  near  to  the  city,  at  that 
end  where  the  castle  and  rocky  height  of  Gibralfaro 
defend  the  seaboard.  Immediately  opposite,  at  about 
two  bow-shots'  distance,  stood  the  castle  ;  and  be- 
tween it  and  the  high  chain  of  mountains,  was  a  steep 
and  rocky  hill,  commanding  a  pass  through  which  the 
christians  must  march  to  penetrate  to  the  vega  and 
surround  the  city.  Hamet  el  Zegri  ordered  the  three 
battalions  to  take  their  stations,  one  on  this  hill,  an- 
other in  the  pass  near  the  castle,  and  a  third  on  the 
side  of  the  mountain  near  the  sea. 

A  body  of  Spanish  foot-soldiers,  of  the  advance 
guard,  sturdy  mountaineers  of  Gallicia,  sprang  for- 
ward to  climb  the  side  of  the  height  next  the  sea  ; 
at  the  same  time,  a  number  of  cavaliers  and  hidalgos 
of  the  royal  household  attacked  the  Moors  who 
guarded  the  pass  below.  The  Moors  defended  their 
posts  with  obstinate  valor.  The  Gallicians  were  re- 
peatedly overpowered  and  driven  down  the  hill,  but 
as  often  rallied,  and  being  reinforced  by  the  hidalgos 
and  cavaliers,  returned  to  the  assault.  This  obstinate 
struggle  lasted  for  six  hours  :  the  strife  was  of  a  dead- 
ly kind,  not  merely  with  cross-bows  and  arquebusses, 
but  hand  to  hand,  with  swords  and  daggers ;  no 
quarter  was  claimed  or  given,  on  either  side — they 
fought  not  to  make  captives,  but  to  slay.  It  was  but 
the  advance  of  the  christian  army  that  was  engaged  ; 
so  narrow  was  the  pass  along  the  coast,  that  the  army 
could  proceed  only  in  file  :  horse  and  foot,  and  beasts 
of  burden,  were  crowded  one  upon  another,  imped- 
ing each  other,  and  blocking  up  the  narrow  and  rug- 
ged defile.  The  soldiers  heard  the  uproar  of  the 
battle,  the  sound  of  trumpets,  and  the  war-cries  of 
the  Moors— but  tried  in  vain  to  press  forward  to  the 
assistance  of  their  companions. 

At  length  a  body  of  foot-soldiers  of  the  Holy 
Brotherhood  climbed,  with  great  difficulty,  the  steep 
side  of  the  mountain  which  overhung  the  pass,  and 
advanced  with  seven  banners  displayed.  The  Moors, 
seeing  this  force  above  them,  abandoned  the  pass  in 
despair.  The  battle  was  still  raging  on  the  height  ; 
the  Gallicians,  though  supported  by  Castilian  troops 
under  Don  Hurtado  de  Mendoza  and  Garcilasso  de 
la  Vega,  were  severely  pressed  and  roughly  handled 
by  the  Moors ;  at  length  a  brave  standard-bearer, 
I.uys  Mazedo  by  name,  threw  himself  into  the  midst 


*  Pulgar,  port  3.  cap.  74. 

Hi 


of  the  enemy,  and  planted  his  banner  on  the  summit. 
The  Gallicians  and  Castilians,  stimulated  by  this  no- 
ble self-devotion,  followed  him  fighting  desperately, 
and  the  Moors  were  at  length  driven  to  their  castle 
of  Gibralfaro.* 

This  important  height  being  taken,  the  pass  lay 
open  to  the  army;  but  by  this  time  evening  was  ad- 
vancing, and  the  host  was  too  weary  and  exhausted 
to  seek  proper  situations  for  the  encampment.  The 
king,  attended  by  several  grandees  and  cavaliers, 
went  the  rounds  at  night,  stationing  outposts  towards 
the  city,  and  guards  and  patrols  to  give  the  alarm  on 
the  least  movement  of  the  enemy.  All  night  the 
christians  lay  upon  their  arms,  lest  there  should  be 
some  attempt  to  sally  forth  and  attack  them. 

When  the  morning  dawned,  the  king  gazed  with 
admiration  at  this  city,  which  he  hoped  soon  to  add 
to  his  dominions.  It  was  surrounded  on  one  side  by 
vineyards,  gardens,  and  orchards,  which  covered  the 
hills  with  verdure  ;  on  the  other  side,  its  walls  were 
bathed  by  the  smooth  and  tranquil  sea.  Its  vast  and 
lofty  towers  and  prodigious  castles,  hoary  with  age, 
yet  unimpaired  in  strength,  showed  the  labors  of 
magTianimous  men  in  former  times  to  protect  their 
favorite  abode.  Hanging  gardens,  groves  of  oranges, 
citrons,  and  pomegranates,  with  tall  cedars  and 
stately  palms,  were  mingled  with  the  stern  battle- 
ments and  towers — bespeaking  the  opulence  and 
luxury  that  reigned  within. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  christian  army  poured 
through  the  pass,  and,  throwing  out  its  columns  and 
extending  its  lines,  took  possession  of  every  vantage- 
ground  around  the  city.  King  Ferdinand  surveyed 
the  ground,  and  appointed  the  stations  of  the  differ- 
ent commanders. 

The  important  mount  which  had  cost  so  violent  a 
struggle,  and  faced  the  powerful  fortress  of  Gibral- 
faro, was  given  in  charge  to  Roderigo  Ponce  de 
Leon,  marques  of  Cadiz,  who,  in  all  sieges,  claimed 
the  post  of  danger.  He  had  several  noble  cavaliers 
with  their  retainers  in  his  encampment,  which  con- 
sisted of  fifteen  hundred  horse  and  fourteen  thousand 
foot ;  and  extended  from  the  summit  of  the  mount 
to  the  margin  of  the  sea,  completely  blocking  up  the 
approach  to  the  city  on  that  side.  From  this  post, 
a  line  of  encampments  extended  quite  round  the 
city  to  the  seaboard,  fortified  by  bulwarks  and  deep 
ditches  ;  while  a  fleet  of  armed  ships  and  galleys 
stretched  before  the  harbor ;  so  that  the  place  wa  j 
completely  invested,  by  sea  and  land.  The  various 
parts  of  the  valley  now  resounded  with  the  din  of 
preparation,  and  were  filled  with  artificers  preparing 
warlike  engines  and  munitions :  armorers  and  smiths, 
with  glowing  forges  and  deafening  hammers  ;  car- 
penters and  engineers,  constructing  machines  where- 
with to  assail  the  walls ;  stone-cutters,  shaping  stone 
balls  for  the  ordnance ;  and  burners  of  charcoal, 
preparing  fuel  for  the  furnaces  and  forges. 

When  the  encampment  was  formed,  the  heav)' 
ordnance  was  landed  from  the  ships,  and  inounted 
in  various  parts  of  the  camp.  Five  huge  lombards 
were  placed  on  the  mount  commanded  by  the  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz,  so  as  to  bear  upon  the  castle  of  Gib- 
ralfaro. 

The  Moors  made  strenuous  efforts  to  impede  these 
preparations.  They  kept  up  a  heavy  fire  from  their 
ordnance,  upon  the  men  employed  in  digging  trenches 
or  constructing  batteries,  so  that  the  latter  had  to 
work  principally  in  the  night.  The  royal  tents  had 
been  stationed  conspicuously,  and  within  reach  of 
the  Moorish  batteries  ;  but  were  so  warmly  assailed, 
that  they  had  to  be  removed  behind  a  hill. 

When   the  works  were  completed,  the  christian 


*  Pulgar.     Cronica. 


242 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


batteries  opened  in  return,  and  kept  up  a  tremendous 
cannonade ;  while  tlie  fleet,  approaching  the  land, 
assailed  the  city  vigorously  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  It  was  a  glorious  and  delectable  sight,"  observes 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  to  behold  this  infidel  city 
thus  surrounded  by  sea  and  land,  by  a  mighty  chris- 
tian force.  Every  mound  in  its  circuit  was,  as  it 
were,  a  little  city  of  tents,  bearing  the  standard  of 
some  renowned  Catholic  warrior.  Beside  the  war- 
like ships  and  galleys  which  lay  before  the  place,  the 
sea  was  covered  with  innumerable  sails,  passing  and 
repassing,  appearing  and  disappearing,  being  en- 
gaged in  bringing  supplies  for  the  subsistence  of  the 
army.  It  seemed  a  vast  spectacle  contrived  to  rec- 
reate the  eye,  did  not  the  volleying  bursts  of  flame 
and  smoke  from  the  ships,  which  seemed  to  lie 
asleep  on  the  quiet  sea,  and  the  thunder  of  ordnance 
from  camp  and  city,  from  tower  and  battlement,  tell 
the  deadly  warfare  that  was  raging. 

"  At  night,  the  scene  was  far  more  direful  than  in 
the  day.  The  cheerful  light  of  the  sun  was  gone ; 
there  was  nothing  but  the  flashes  of  artillery,  or  the 
baleful  gleams  of  combustiles  thrown  into  the  city, 
and  the  conflagration  of  the  houses.  The  fire  kept 
up  from  the  christian  batteries  was  incessant ;  there 
were  seven  great  lombards  in  particular,  called  The 
Seven  Sisters  of  Ximenes,  which  did  tremendous 
execution.  The  Moorish  ordnance  replied  in  thun- 
der from  the  walls  ;  Gibralfaro  was  wrapped  in 
volumes  of  smoke,  rolling  about  its  base  ;  and  Ha- 
met  el  Zegri  and  his  Gomercs  looked  out  with  tri- 
umph upon  the  tempest  of  war  they  had  awakened. 
Truly  they  were  so  many  demons  incarnate,"  con- 
cludes the  pious  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "who  were 
permitted  by  Heaven  to  enter  into  and  possess  this 
infidel  city,  for  its  perdition." 


CHAPTER  IX. 


SIEGE    OF   MALAGA. 


The  attack  on  Malaga,  by  sea  and  land,  was  kept 
up  for  several  days  with  tremendous  violence,  but 
without  producing  any  great  impression,  so  strong 
were  the  ancient  bulwarks  of  the  city.  The  count 
de  Cifuentes  was  the  first  to  signalize  himself  by  any 
noted  .ichievement.  A  main  tower  of  the  suburb 
had  been  shattered  by  the  ordnance,  and  the  battle- 
ments demolished,  so  as  to  yield  no  shelter  to  its  de- 
fenders. Seeing  this,  the  count  assembled  a  gallant 
band  of  cavaliers  of  the  royal  household,  and  ad- 
vanced to  take  it  by  storm.  They  applied  scaling- 
ladders,  and  mounted,  sword  in  hand.  The  Moors, 
having  no  longer  battlements  to  protect  them,  de- 
scended to  a  lower  floor,  and  made  furious  resist- 
ance from  the  windows  and  loop-holes.  They  poured 
down  boiling  pitch  and  rosin,  and  hurled  stones  and 
darts  and  arrows  on  the  assailants.  Many  of  the 
christians  were  slain,  their  ladders  were  destroyed 
by  flaming  combustibles,  and  the  count  was  obliged 
.to  retreat  from  before  the  tower.  On  the  following 
day  he  renewed  the  attack  with  superior  force,  and, 
after  a  severe  combat,  succeeded  in  planting  his 
.victorious  banner  on  the  tower. 

The  Moors  now  assailed  the  tower  in  their  turn. 
They  uaderrained  the  part  towards  the  city,  placed 
props  of  wood  under  the  foundation,  and,  setting 
fire  to  them,  drew  off  to  a  distance.  In  a  little  while 
the  props  gave  way,  the  foundation  sunk,  and  the 
tower  was  rent ;  part  of  its  wall  fell,  with  a  tremen- 
dous noise ;  many  of  the  christians  were  thrown  out 
headlong,  and  the  r£st  were  laid  open  to  the  missiles 
of  the  enemy. 


By  this  time,  however,  a  breach  had  been  made  in 
the  wall  adjoining  the  tower,  and  troops  poured  in  to 
the  assistance  of  their  comrades.  A  continued  battle 
was  kept  up,  for  two  days  and  a  night,  by  reinforce- 
ments from  camp  and  city.  The  parties  fought  back- 
wards and  forwards  through  the  breach  of  the  wall, 
with  alternate  success  ;  and  the  vicinity  of  the  tower 
was  strewn  with  the  dead  and  wounded.  At  length 
the  Moors  gradually  gave  way,  disputing  every  inch 
of  ground,  until  they  were  driven  into  the  city ;  and 
the  christians  remamed  masters  of  the  greater  part 
of  the  suburb. 

This  partial  success,  though  gained  with  great  toil 
and  bloodshed,  gave  temporary  animation  to  the 
christians  ;  they  soon  found-,  however,  that  the  attack 
on  the  main  works  of  the  city  was  a  much  more 
arduous  task.  The  garrison  contained  veterans  who 
had  served  in  many  of  the  towns  captured  by  the 
christians.  They  were  no  longer  confounded  and 
dismayed  by  the  battering  ordnance  and  other  strange 
engines  of  foreign  invention,  and  had  become  expert 
in  parrying  their  effects,  in  repairing  breaches,  and 
erecting  counter-works. 

The  christians,  accustomed  of  late  to  speedy  con- 
quests of  Moorish  fortresses,  became  impatient  of 
the  slow  progress  of  the  siege.  Many  were  appre- 
hensive of  a  scarcity  of  provisions,  'from  the  diffi- 
culty of  subsisting  so  numerous  a  host  in  the  heart 
of  the  enemy's  country,  where  it  was  necessary  to 
transport  supplies  across  rugged  and  hostile  mount- 
ains, or  subjected  to  the  uncertainties  of  the  sea. 
Many  also  were  alarmed  at  a  pestilence  which  broke 
out  in  the  neighboring  villages  ;  and  some  were  so 
overcome  by  these  apprehensions,  as  to  abandon  the 
camp  and  return  to  their  homes. 

Several  of  the  loose  and  worthless  hangers-on  that 
infest  all  great  armies,  hearing  these  murmurs, 
thought  that  the  siege  would  soon  be  raised,  and 
deserted  to  the  enemy,  hoping  to  make  their  fortunes. 
They  gave  exaggerated  accounts  of  the  alarms  and 
discontents  of  the  army,  and  represented  the  troops 
as  daily  returning  home  in  bands.  Above  all,  they 
declared  that  the  gunpowder  was  nearly  exhausted, 
so  that  the  artillery  would  soon  be  useless.  They  as- 
sured the  Moors,  therefore,  that  if  they  persisted  a 
little  longer  in  their  defence,  the  king  would  be 
obliged  to  draw  off  his  forces  and  abandon  the  siege. 

The  reports  of  these  renegadoes  gave  fresh  courage 
to  the  garrison  ;  they  made  vigorous  sallies  upon  the 
camp,  harassing  it  by  night  and  day,  and  obliging 
every  part  to  be  guarded  with  the  most  painful  vigi- 
lance. They  fortified  the  weak  parts  of  their  walls 
with  ditches  and  palisadoes,  and  gave  every  mani- 
festation of  a  determined  and  unyielding  spirit. 

Ferdinand  soon  received  intelligence  of  the  re- 
ports which  had  been  carried  to  the  Moors ;  he  un- 
derstood that  they  had  been  informed,  likewise,  that 
the  queen  was  alarmed  for  the  safety  of  the  camp, 
and  had  written  repeatedly  urging  him  to  abandon 
the  siege.  As  the  best  means  of  disproving  all  these 
falsehoods,  and  of  destroying  the  vain  hopes  of  the 
enemy,  Ferdinand  wrote  to  the  queen,  entreating  her 
to  come  and  take  up  her  residence  in  the  camp. 


CHAPTER   X. 


SIEGE    OF    MALAGA    CONTINUED — OBSTINACY  OF 
HAMET  EL  ZEGRI. 

Gre.\t  was  the  enthusiasm  of  the  army,  when  they 
beheld  their  patriot  queen  advancing  in  state,  to 
share  the  toils  and  dangers  of  her  people.  Isabella 
entered  the  camp,  attended  by  the  dignitaries  and 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


243 


the  whole  retinue  of  her  court,  to  manifest  that  this 
was  no  temporary  visit.  On  one  side  of  her  was  her 
daughter,  the  Infanta  ;  on  the  other,  the  grand  cardi- 
nal of  Spain,  Hernando  de  Talavera,  the  prior  of 
Frado,  confessor  to  the  queen,  followed,  with  a  great 
train  of  prelates,  courtiers,  cavaliers,  and  ladies  of 
distinction.  The  cavalcade  moved  in  calm  and 
stately  order  through  the  camp,  softening  the  iron 
aspect  of  war  by  this  array  of  courtly  grace  and 
female  beauty. 

Isabella  had  commanded,  that  on  her  coming  to 
the  camp,  the  horrors  of  war  should  be  suspended, 
and  fresh  offers  of  peace  made  to  the  enemy.  On 
her  arrival,  therefore,  there  had  been  a  general  ces- 
sation of  tiring  throughout  the  camp.  A  messenger 
was,  at  the  same  time,  dispatched  to  the  besieged, 
informing  them  of  her  being  in  the  camp,  and  of  the 
determination  of  the  sovereigns  to  make  it  their  set- 
tled residence  until  the  city  should  be  taken.  The 
same  terms  were  offered,  in  case  of  immediate  sur- 
render, that  had  been  granted  to  Velez  Malaga ;  but 
the  inhabitants  were  threatened  with  captivity  and 
the  sword,  should  they  persist  in  their  defence. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  received  this  message  with  haughty 
contempt,  and  dismissed  the  messenger  without 
deigning  a  reply.  "The  christian  sovereigns,"  said 
he,  "  have  made  this  offer  in  consequence  of  their 
despair.  The  silence  of  their  batteries  proves  the 
truth  of  what  has  been  told  us,  that  their  powder  is 
exhausted.  They  have  no  longer  the  means  of  de- 
molishing our  walls  ;  and  if  they  remain  much  long- 
er, the  autumnal  rains  will  interrupt  their  convoys, 
and  fill  their  camp  with  famin£  end  disease.  The 
first  storm  will  disperse  their  fleet,  which  has  no 
neighboring  port  of  shelter :  Africa  will  then  be  open 
to  us,  to  procure  reinforcements  and  supplies." 

The  words  of  Hamet  el  Zegri  were  hailed  as 
oracular,  by  his  adherents.  Many  of  the  peaceful 
part  of  the  community,  however,  ventured  to  remon- 
strate, and  to  implore  him  to  accept  the  proffered 
mercy.  The  stern  Hamet  silenced  them  with  a 
terrific  threat :  he  declared,  that  whoever  should 
talk  of  capitulating,  or  should  hold  any  communica- 
tion with  the  christians,  should  be  put  to  death.  The 
fierce  Gomeres,  like  true  men  of  the  sword,  acted 
upon  the  menace  of  their  chieftain  as  upon  a  written 
law,  and  having  detected  several  of  the  inhabitants 
in  secret  correspondence  with  the  enemy,  they  set 
upon  and  slew  them,  and  then  confiscated  their  ef- 
fects. This  struck  such  terror  into  the  citizens,  that 
those  who  had  been  loudest  in  their  murmurs  be- 
came suddenly  mute,  and  were  remarked  as  evincing 
the  greatest  bustle  and  alacrity  in  the  defence  of  the 
city. 

When  the  messenger  returned  to  the  camp,  and 
reported  the  contemptuous  reception  of  the  royal 
message,  king  Ferdinand  was  exceedingly  indignant. 
Finding  the  cessation  of  firing,  on  the  queen's  ar- 
rival, had  encouraged  a  belief  among  the  enemy  that 
there  was  a  scarcity  of  powder  in  the  camp,  he  or- 
dered a  general  discharge  from  all  the  batteries. 
The  sudden  burst  of  war  from  every  quarter  soon 
convinced  the  Moors  of  their  error,  and  completed 
the  confusion  of  the  citizens,  who  knew  not  which 
most  to  dread,  their  assailants  or  their  defenders, 
the  christians  or  the  Gomeres. 

That  evening  the  sovereigns  visited  the  encamp- 
ment of  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  which  commanded  a 
view  over  a  great  part  of  the  city  and  the  camp. 
The  tent  of  the  marques  was  of  great  magnitude, 
furnished  with  hangings  of  rich  brocade  and  French 
cloth  of  the  rarest  texture.  It  was  in  the  oriental 
style ;  and,  as  it  crowned  the  height,  with  the  sur- 
rounding tents  of  other  cavaliers,  all  sumptuously 
furnished,  presented  a  gay  and  silken  contrast  to  the 


opposite  towers  of  Gibralfaro.  Here  a  splendid  col- 
lation was  served  up  to  the  sovereigns ;  and  the 
courtly  revel  that  prevailed  in  this  chivalrous  en- 
campment, the  glitter  of  pageantry,  and  the  bursts 
of  festive  music,  made  more  striking  the  gloom  and 
silence  that  reigned  over  the  Moorish  castle. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz,  while  it  was  yet  light,  con- 
ducted his  royal  visitors  to  every  point  that  com- 
manded a  view  of  the  warlike  scene  below.  He 
caused  the  heavy  lombards  also  to  be  dischargetl, 
that  the  queen  and  ladies  of  the  court  might  witness 
the  effect  of  those  tremendous  engines.  The  fair 
dames  were  filled  with  awe  and  admiration,  as  the 
mountain  shook  beneath  their  feet  with  the  thunder 
of  the  artillery,  and  they  beheld  great  fragments  of 
the  Moorish  walls  tumbling  down  the  rocks  and 
precipices. 

While  the  good  marques  was  displaying  these 
things  to  his  royal  guests,  he  lifted  up  his  eyes,  and 
to  his  astonishment  beheld  his  own  banner  hanging 
out  from  the  nearest  tower  of  Gibralfaro.  The  blood 
mantled  in  his  cheek,  for  it  was  a  banner  which  he 
had  lost  at  the  time  of  the  memorable  massacre  of 
the  heights  of  Malaga.*  To  make  this  taunt  more 
evident,  several  of  the  Gomeres  displayed  themselves 
upon  the  battlements,  arrayed  in  the  helmets  and 
cuirasses  of  some  of  the  cavaliers  slain  or  captured 
on  that  occasion.  The  marques  of  Cadiz  restrained 
his  indignation,  and  held  his  peace ;  but  several  of 
his  cavaliers  vowed  loudly  to  revenge  this  cruel  bra- 
vado, on  the  ferocious  garrison  of  Gibralfaro. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


ATTACK   OF  THE  MARQUES  OF  CADIZ   UPON 
GIBRALFARO. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  was  not  a  cavalier  that 
readily  forgave  an  injury  or  an  insult.  On  the  morn- 
ing after  the  royal  banquet,  his  batteries  opened  a 
tremendous  fire  upon  Gibralfaro.  All  day,  the  en- 
campment was  wrapped  in  wreaths  of  smoke  ;  nor 
did  the  assault  cease  with  the  day— but,  throughout 
the  night,  there  was  an  incessant  flashing  and  thun- 
dering of  the  lombards,  and,  the  following  morning, 
the  assault  rather  increased  than  slackened  in  fury. 
The  Moorish  bulwarks  were  no  proof  against  those 
formidable  engines.  In  a  few  days,  the  lofty  tower 
on  which  the  taunting  banner  had  been  displayed. 
was  shattered  ;  a  smaller  tower  in  its  vicinity  reduced 
to  ruins,  and  a  great  breach  made  in  the  intervening 
walls. 

Several  of  the  hot-spirited  cavaliers  were  eager  for 
storming  the  breach,  sword  in  hand  ;  others,  more 
cool  and  wary,  pointed  out  the  rashness  of  such  an 
attempt ;  for  the  Moors  had  worked  indefatigably  in 
the  night ;  they  had  digged  a  deep  ditch  within  the 
breach,  and  had  fortified  it  with  palisadoes  and  a 
high  breastwork.  All,  however,  agreed  that  the 
camp  might  safely  be  advanced  near  to  the  ruined 
walls,  and  that  it  ought  to  be  done  so,  in  return  for 
the  insolent  defiance  of  the  enemy. 

The  marques  of  Cadiz  felt  the  temerity  of  the 
measure,  but  he  was  unwilling  to  dampen  the  zeal 
of  these  high-spirited  cavaliers  ;  and  having  chosen 
the  post  of  danger  in  the  camp,  it  did  not  become 
him  to  decline  any  service,  merely  because  it  might 
appear  perilous.  He  ordered  his  outposts,  therefore, 
to  be  advanced  within  a  stone's-throw  of  the  breach, 
but  exhorted  the  soldiers  to  maintain  the  utmost 
vigilance. 


*  Diego  dc  Valera.    Cronica,  MS. 


244 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


The  thunder  of  the  batteries  had  ceased  ;  the 
troops,  exhausted  by  two  nights'  fatigue  and  watch- 
fulness, and  apprehending  no  danger  from  the  dis- 
nianded  walls,  were  half  of  them  asleep  ;  the  rest 
were  scattered  about  in  negligent  security.  On  a 
sudden,  upwards  of  two  thousand  Moors  sallied  forth 
from  the  castle,  led  on  by  Alrahan  Zenete,  the  prin- 
cipal captain  under  Hamet.  They  fell  with  fearful 
havoc  upon  the  advanced  guard,  slaying  many  of 
them  in  their  sleep,  and  puttmg  the  rest  to  headlong 
flight. 

The  marques  was  in  his  tent,  about  a  bow-shot 
distance,  when  he  heard  the  tumult  of  the  onset,  and 
beheld  his  men  flying  in  confusion.  He  rushed  forth, 
followed  by  his  standard-bearer.  "  Turn  again, 
cavaliers!"  exclaimed  he;  "1  am  here.  Ponce  de 
Leon  !  to  the  foe  !  to  the  foe  ! "  The  flying  troops 
stopped  at  hearing  his  well-known  voice,  rallied  un- 
der his  banner,  and  turned  upon  the  enemy.  The 
encampment,  by  this  time,  was  roused  ;  several  cav- 
aliers from  the  adjoining  stations  had  hastened  to 
the  scene  of  action,  with  a  number  of  Gallicians  and 
soldiers  of  the  Holy  Brotherhood.  An  obstinate  and 
bloody  contest  ensued ;  the  ruggedness  of  the  place, 
the  rocks,  chasms,  and  declivities,  broke  it  into  nu- 
merous combats  :  christian  and  Moor  fought  hand  to 
hand,  with  swords  and  daggers  ;  and  often,  grappling 
and  struggling,  rolled  together  down  the  precipices. 

The  banner  of  the  marques  was  in  danger  of  being 
taken :  he  hastened  to  its  rescue,  followed  by  some 
of  his  bravest  cavaliers.  They  were  surrounded  by 
the  enemy,  and  several  of  them  cut  down.  Don 
Diego  Ponce  de  Leon,  brother  to  the  marques,  was 
wounded  by  an  arrow  ;  and  his  son-in-law,  Luis 
Ponce,  was  likewise  wounded  :  they  succeeded,  how- 
ever, in  rescuing  the  banner,  and  bearing  it  off  in 
safety.  The  battle  lasted  for  an  hour ;  the  height 
was  covered  with  killed  and  wounded,  and  the  blood 
flovved  in  streams  down  the  rocks ;  at  length,  Alra- 
han Zenete  being  disabled  by  the  thrust  of  a  lance, 
the  Moors  gave  way  and  retreated  to  the  castle. 

They  now  opened  a  galling  fire  from  their  battle- 
ments and  towers,  approaching  the  breaches  so  as 
to  discharge  their  cross-bows  and  arquebusses  into 
the  advanced  guard  of  the  encampment.  The  mar- 
ques was  singled  out ;  the  shot  fell  thick  about  him, 
and  one  passed  through  his  buckler,  and  struck  upon 
his  cuirass,  but  without  doing  him  any  injury.  Every 
one  now  saw  the  danger  and  inutility  of  approaching 
the  camp  thus  near  to  the  castle  ;  and  those  who 
had  counselled  it,  were  now  urgent  that  it  should  be 
withdrawn.  It  was  accordingly  removed  back  to  its 
original  ground,  from  which  the  marques  had  most 
reluctantly  advanced  it.  Nothing  but  his  valor  and 
timely  aid  had  prevented  this  attack  on  his  outpost 
from  ending  in  a  total  rout  of  all  that  part  of  the  army. 

Many  cavaliers  of  distinction  fell  in  this  contest ; 
but  the  loss  of  none  was  felt  more  deeply  than  that 
of  Ortega  de  Prado,  captain  of  escaladors.  He  was 
one  of  the  bravest  men  in  the  service  ;  the  same  who 
had  devised  the  first  successful  blow  of  the  war,  the 
storming  of  Alhama,  where  he  was  the  first  to  plant 
and  mount  the  scaling-ladders.  He  had  always  been 
high  in  the  favor  and  confidence  of  the  noble  Ponce 
de  Leon,  who  knew  how  to  appreciate  and  avail 
himself  of  the  merits  of  all  able  and  valiant  men.* 


CHAPTER   XII. 


SIEGE  OF  MALAGA  CONTINUED. — STRATAGEMS 
OF  VARIOUS  KINDS. 

Great  were  the  exertions  now  made,  both  by  the 
besiegers  and  the  besieged,  to  carry  on  this  contest 

*  ZuHta.    Mariana.    Abarca. 


with  the  utmost  vigor.  Hamet  el  Zegri  went  the 
rounds  of  the  walls  and  towers,  doubling  the  guards, 
and  putting  every  thing  in  the  best  posture  of  de- 
fence. The  garrison  was  divided  into  parties  of  a 
hundred,  to  each  of  which  a  captain  was  appointed. 
Some  were  to  patrol,  others  to  sally  forth  and  skir- 
mish with  the  enemy,  and  others  to  hold  themselves 
arm.ed  and  in  reserve.  Six  albatozas,  or  floating  bat- 
teries, were  manned  and  armed  with  pieces  of  artil- 
lery, to  attack  the  fleet. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Castilian  sovereigns  kept 
open  a  communication  by  sea  with  various  parts  of 
Spain,  from  which  they  received  provisions  of  all 
kinds ;  they  ordered  supplies  of  powder  also  from 
Valencia,  Barcelona,  Sicily,  and  Portugal.  They 
made  great  preparations  also  for  storming  the  city. 
Towers  of  wood  were  constructed,  to  move  on 
wheels,  each  capable  of  holding  one  hundred  men  ; 
they  were  furnished  with  ladders,  to  be  thrown  from 
their  summits  to  the  tops  of  the  walls  ;  and  within 
those  ladders,  others  were  encased,  to  be  let  down 
for  the  descent  of  the  troops  into  the  city.  There 
were  gallipagos  or  tortoises,  also,  being  great  wooden 
shields,  covered  with  hides,  to  protect  the  assailants, 
and  those  who  undermined  the  walls. 

Secret  mines  were  commenced  in  various  places ; 
some  were  intended  to  reach  to  the  foundations  of 
the  walls,  which  were  to  be  propped  up  with  wood, 
ready  to  be  set  on  fire ;  others  were  to  pass  under 
the  walls,  and  remain  ready  to  be  broken  open  so 
as  to  give  entrance  to  the  besiegers.  At  these 
mines  the  army  worked  day  and  night ;  and  during 
these  secret  preparations,  the  ordnance  kept  up  a 
fire  upon  the  city,  to  divert  the  attention  of  the  be- 
sieged. 

In  the  mean  time,  Hamet  el  Zegri  displayed  won- 
derful vigor  and  ingenuity  in  defending  the  city,  and 
in  repairing  or  fortifying,  by  deep  ditches,  the  breaches 
made  by  the  enemy.  He  noted,  also,  every  place 
where  the  camp  might  be  assailed  with  advantage, 
and  gave  the  besieging  army  no  repose  night  or  day. 
While  his  troops  sallied  on  the  land,  his  floating  bat- 
teries attacked  the  besiegers  on  the  sea ;  so  that 
there  was  incessant  skirmishing.  The  tents  called 
the  Queen's  Hospital  were  crowded  with  wounded, 
and  the  whole  army  suffered  from  constant  watch- 
fulness and  fatigue.  To  guard  against  the  sudden 
assaults  of  the  Moors,  the  trenches  were  deepened, 
and  palisadoes  erected  in  front  of  the  camp ;  and  in 
that  part  facing  Gibralfaro,  where  the  rocky  heights 
did  not  admit  of  such  defences,  a  high  rampart  of 
earth  was  thrown  up.  The  cavaliers  Garcila.',so  de 
la  Vega,  Juan  de  Zuniga,  and  Diego  de  Atayde,  were 
appointed  to  go  the  rounds,  and  keep  vigilant  watch 
that  these  fortifications  were  maintained  in  good 
order. 

In  a  little  while,  Hamet  discovered  the  mines  se- 
cretly commenced  by  the  christians  :  he  immediately 
ordered  counter-mines.  The  soldiers  mutually  work- 
ed until  they  met,  and  fought  hand  to  hand,  in  these 
subterranean  passages.  "The  christians  were  driven 
out  of  one  of  their  mines  ;  fire  was  set  to  the  wooden 
framework,  and  the  mine  destroyed.  Encouraged 
by  this  success,  the  Moors  attempted  a  general  at- 
tack upon  the  camp,  the  mines,  and  the  besieging 
fleet.  The  battle  lasted  for  six  hours,  on  land  and 
water,  above  and  below  ground,  on  bulwark,  and  in 
trench  and  mine ;  the  Moors  displayed  wonderful 
intrepidity,  but  were  finally  repulsed  at  all  points, 
and  obliged  to  retire  into  the  city,  where  they  were 
closely  invested,  without  the  means  of  receiving  any 
assistance  from  abroad. 

The  horrors  of  famine  were  now  added  to  the 
other  miseries  of  Malaga.  Hamet  el  Zegri,  with  the 
spirit  of  a  man  bred  up  to  war,  considered  every 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


245 


thing  as  subservient  to  the  wants  of  the  soldier,  and 
ordered  all  the  grain  in  the  city  to  be  gathered  and 
garnered  up  for  the  sole  use  of  those  who  fought. 
Even  this  was  dealt  out  sparingly,  and  each  soldier 
received  four  ounces  of  bread  in  the  morning,  and 
two  in  the  evening,  for  his  daily  allowance. 

The  wealthy  inhabitants,  and  all  those  peacefully 
inclined,  mourned  over  a  resistance  which  brought 
destruction  upon  their  houses,  death  into  their  fami- 
lies, and  which  they  saw  must  end  in  their  ruin  and 
captivity :  stdl  none  of  them  dared  to  speak  openly 
of  capitulation,  or  even  to  manifest  their  grief,  lest 
they  should  awaken  the  wrath  of  their  fierce  defend- 
ers. They  surrounded  their  civic  champion,  Ali 
Dordux,  the  great  and  opulent  merchant,  who  had 
buckled  on  shield  and  cuirass,  and  taken  spear  in 
hand,  for  the  defence  of  his  native  city,  and,  with  a 
large  body  of  the  braver  citizens,  had  charge  of  one 
of  the  gates  and  a  considerable  portion  of  the  walls. 
Drawing  Ali  Dordux  aside,  they  poured  forth  their 
griefs  to  him  in  secret.  "  VVhy,"  said  they,  "  should 
we  suffer  our  native  city  to  be  made  a  mere  bulwark 
and  fighting-place  for  foreign  barbarians  and  des- 
perate men  ?  They  have  no  families  to  care  for,  no 
property  to  lose,  no  love  for  the  soil,  and  no  value 
lor  their  lives.  They  fight  to  gratify  a  thirst  for 
blood  or  a  desire  for  revenge,  and  will  fight  on  until 
Malaga  become  a  ruin  and  its  people  slaves.  Let  us 
think  and  act  for  ourselves,  our  wives,  and  our  chil- 
dren. Let  us  make  private  terms  with  the  christians 
liefore  it  is  too  late,  and  save  ourselves  from  destruc- 
tion." 

The  bowels  of  Ali  Dordux  yearned  towards  his 
fellow-citizens ;  he  bethought  him  also  of  the  sweet 
security  of  peace,  and  the  bloodless  yet  gratifying 
triumphs  of  gainful  traffic.  The  idea  also  of  a  secret 
negotiation  or  bargain  with  the  Castilian  sovereigns, 
for  the  redemption  of  his  native  city,  was  more  con- 
formable to  his  accustomed  habits  than  this  violent 
appeal  to  arms  ;  for  though  he  had  for  a  time  assum- 
ed the  warrior,  he  had  not  forgotten  the  merchant. 
Ali  Dordux  communed,  therefore,  with  the  citizen- 
soldiers  under  his  command,  and  they  readily  con- 
formed to  his  opinion.  Concerting  together,  they 
wrote  a  proposition  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  of- 
fering to  admit  the  army  into  the  part  of  the  city 
intrusted  to  their  care,  on  receiving  assurance  of 
protection  for  the  lives  and  properties  of  the  inhabit- 
ants. This  writing  they  delivered  to  a  trusty  emis- 
sary to  take  to  the  christian  camp,  appointing  the 
hour  and  place  of  his  return,  that  they  might  be 
ready  to  admit  him  unperceived. 

The  Moor  made  his  way  in  safety  to  the  camp, 
and  was  admitted  to  the  presence  of  the  sovereigns. 
Eager  to  gain  the  city  without  further  cost  of  blood 
or  treasure,  they  gave  a  written  promise  to  grant  the 
conditions  ;  and  the  Moor  set  out  joyfully  on  his  re- 
turn. As  he  approached  the  walls  where  Ali  Dor- 
dux and  his  confederates  were  waiting  to  receive 
him,  he  was  descried  by  a  patrolling  band  of  Go- 
meres,  and  considered  a  sjjy  coming  from  the  camp 
of  the  besiegers.  They  issued  forth  and  seized  him, 
in  sight  of  his  employers,  who  gave  themselves  up 
for  lost.  The  Gomeres  had  conducted  him  nearly 
to  the  gate,  when  he  escaped  from  their  grasp  and 
fled.  They  endeavored  to  overtake  him,  but  were 
encumbered  with  armor;  he  was  lighlly  clad,  and 
he  fled  for  his  life.  One  of  the  Gomeres  paused, 
and,  levelling  his  cross-bow,  let  fly  a  bolt,  which 
pierced  the  fugitive  between  the  shoulders ;  he  fell, 
and  was  nearly  within  their  grasp,  but  rose  again, 
and  with  a  desjjerate  effort  attained  the  christian 
camp.  The  Gomeres  gave  over  the  pursuit,  and  the 
citizens  returned  thanks  to  Allah  for  their  deliver- 
ance from  this  fearful  peril.     As  to  the  faithful  mes- 


senger, he  died  of  bis  wound  shortly  after  reaching 
the  camp,  consoled  with  the  idea  that  he  had  pre- 
served the  secret  and  the  hves  of  his  employers. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


SUFFERINGS  OF   THE  PEOPLE   OF  MALAGA. 

The  sufferings  of  Malaga  spread  sorrow  and  anx- 
iety among  the  Moors ;  and  they  dreaded  lest  this 
beautiful  city,  once  the  bulwark  of  the  kingdom, 
should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  unbelievers.  ^The 
old  warrior  king,  Abdalla  el  Zagal,  was  still  sheltered 
in  Guadix,  where  he  was  slowly  gathering  together 
his  shattered  forces.  When  the  people  of  Guadix 
heard  of  the  danger  and  distress  of  Malaga,  they 
urged  to  be  led  to  its  relief;  and  the  alfaquis  admon- 
ished El  Zagal  not  to  desert  so  righteous  and  loyal  a 
city,  in  its  extremity.  His  own  warlike  nature  made 
him  feel  a  sympathy  for  a  place  that  made  so  gal- 
lant a  resistance ;  and  he  dispatched  as  powerful  a 
reinforcement  as  he  could  spare,  under  conduct  of  a 
chosen  captain,  with  orders  to  throw  themselves  into 
the  city. 

Intelligence  of  this  reinforcement  reached  Boab- 
dil  el  Chico,  in  his  royal  palace  of  the  Alhambra. 
Filled  with  hostility  against  his  uncle,  and  desirous 
of  proving  his  loyalty  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  he 
immediately  sent  forth  a  superior  force  of  horse  and 
foot,  under  an  able  commander,  to  intercept  the 
detachment.  A  sharp  conflict  ensued ;  the  troops  of 
El  Zagal  were  routed  with  great  loss,  and  fled  back 
in  confusion  to  Guadix. 

Boabdil,  not  being  accustomed  to  victories,  was 
flushed  with  his  melancholy  triumph.  He  sent 
tidings  of  it  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  accompanied 
with  rich  silks,  boxes  of  Arabian  perfume,  a  cup  of 
gold,  richly  wrought,  and  a  female  captive  of  Ubeda, 
as  presents  to  the  queen  ;  and  four  Arabian  steeds 
magnificently  caparisoned,  a  sword  and  dagger  richly 
mounted,  and  several  albornozes  and  other  robes 
sumptuously  embroidered,  for  the  king.  He  entreat- 
ed them,  at  the  same  time,  always  to  look  upon  him 
with  favor  as  their  devoted  vassal. 

Boabdil  was  fated  to  be  unfortunate  even  in  his 
victories.  His  defeat  of  the  forces  of  his  uncle,  des- 
tined to  the  relief  of  unhappy  Malaga,  shocked  the 
feelings  and  cooled  the  loyalty  of  many  of  his  best 
adherents.  The  mere  men  of  traffic  might  rejoice 
in  their  golden  interval  of  peace ;  but  the  chivalrous 
spirits  of  Granada  spurned  a  security  purchased  by 
such  sacrifices  of  pride  and  affection.  The  people 
at  large,  having  gratified  their  love  of  change,  began 
to  question  whether  they  had  acted  generously  by 
their  old  fighting  monarch.  "  El  Zagal,"  said  they,' 
"  was  fierce  and  bloody,  but  then  he  was  true  to  his 
country;  he  was  an  usurper,  it  is  true,  but  then  he 
maintained  the  glory  of  the  crown  which  he  usurped. 
If  his  sceptre  was  a  rod  of  iron  to  his  subjects,  it 
was  a  sword  of  steel  against  their  enemies.  This 
Boabdil  sacrifices  religion,  friends,  country,  every 
thing,  to  a  mere  shadow  of  royalty,  and  is  content 
to  hold  a  rush  for  a  sceptre." 

These  factious  murmurs  soon  reached  the  ears  of 
Boabdil,  and  he  apprehended  another  of  his  custom- 
ary reverses.  He  sent  in  all  haste  to  the  Castilian 
sovereigns,  beseeching  military  aid  to  keep  him  on 
his  throne.  Ferdinand  graciously  complied  with  a 
request  so  much  in  unison  with  his  policy.  A  de- 
tachment of  one  thousand  cavalry,  and  two  thousand 
infantry,  was  sent,  under  the  command  of  Don  Fer- 
nandez Gonsalvo  of  Cordova,  subsequently  renown- 
ed as  the^great  captain.    With  this  succor,  Uoabdil 


24r, 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


expelled  from  the  city  all  those  who  were  hostile  to 
him,  and  in  favor  of  his  uncle.  He  felt  secure  in 
these  troops,  from  their  being  distinct  in  manners, 
language,  and  religion,  from  his  s'bjects ;  and  com- 
promised with  his  pride,  in  thus  exhibiting  that  most 
unnatural  and  humiliating  of  all  regal  spectacles,  a 
monarch  supported  on  his  throne  by  loreign  weapons, 
and  by  soldiers  hostile  to  his  people. 

Nor  was  Boabdil  el  Chico  the  only  Moorish  sover- 
eign that  sought  protection  from  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella.  A  splendid  galley,  with  latine  sails,  and 
several  banks  of  oars,  displaying  the  standard  of  the 
crescent,  but  likewise  a  white  flag  in  sign  of  amity, 
came  one  day  into  the  harbor.  An  ambassador 
landed  from  it,  within  the  christian  lines.  He  came 
from  the  king  of  Tremezan,  and  brought  presents 
similar  to  those  of  Boabdil,  consisting  of  Arabian 
coursers,  with  bits,  stirrups,  and  other  furniture  of 
gold,  together  with  costly  Moorish  mantles:  for  the 
tjueen,  there  were  sumptuous  shawls,  robes,  and 
silken  stuffs,  ornaments  of  gold,  and  exquisite  oriental 
perfumes. 

The  king  of  Tremezan  had  been  alarmed  at  the 
rapid  conquests  of  the  Spanish  arms,  and  startled  by 
the  descent  of  several  Spanish  cruisers  on  the  coast 
of  Africa.  He  craved  to  be  considered  a  vassal  to 
the  Castilian  sovereigns,  and  that  they  would  extend 
such  favor  and  security  to  his  ships  and  subjects  as 
had  been  shown  to  other  Moors  who  had  submitted 
to  their  sway.  He  requested  a  painting  of  their 
arms,  tliat  he  and  his  subjects  might  recognise  and 
respect  their  standard,  whenever  they  encountered 
it.  At  the  same  time  he  implored  their  clemency 
towards  unhappy  Malaga,  and  that  its  inhabitants 
might  experience  the  same  favor  that  had  been 
shown  towards  the  Moors  of  other  captured  cities. 

The  embassy  was  graciously  received  by  the  chris- 
tian sovereigns.  They  granted  the  protection  re- 
quired ;  ordering  their  commanders  to  respect  the 
flag  of  Tremezan,  unless  it  should  be  found  render- 
ing assistance  to  the  enemy.  They  sent  also  to  the 
Barbary  monarch  their  royal  arms,  moulded  in  es- 
cutcheons of  gold,  a  hand's-breadth  in  size.* 

While  thus  the  chances  of  assistance  from  with- 
out daily  decreased,  famine  raged  in  the  city.  The 
inhabitants  were  compelled  to  eat  the  flesh  of  horses, 
and  many  died  of  hunger.  What  made  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  citizens  the  more  intolerable,  was,  to  be- 
hold the  sea  covered  with  ships,  daily  arriving  with 
provisions  for  the  besiegers.  Day  after  day,  also, 
they  saw  herds  of  fat  cattle,  and  flocks  of  sheep, 
driven  into  the  camp.  Wheat  and  flour  were  piled 
in  huge  mounds  in  the  centre  of  the  encampments,  | 
glaring  in  the  sunshine,  and  tantalizing  the  wretched 
citizens,  who,  while  they  and  their  children  were 
perishing  with  hunger,  beheld  prodigal  abundance 
reigning  within  a  bow-shot  of  their  walls. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


HOW  A  MOORISH  SANTON  UNDERTOOK  TO  DELIVER 
THE  CITY  OF  MALAGA  FROM  THE  POWER  OF  ITS 
ENEMIES. 

There  hved  at  this  time,  in  a  hamlet  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Guadix,  an  ancient  Moor,  of  the  name  of 
Abrahin  Algerbi.  He  was  a  native  of  Guerba,  in  the 
kingdom  of  Tunis,  and  had  for  several  years  led  the 
life  of  a  santon  or  hermit.  The  hot  sun  of  Africa 
had  dried  his  blood,  and  rendered  him  of  an  exalted 
yet  melancholy  temperament.     He  passed  most  of 


'  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  c.  84.    Pulgar,  part  3.  c.  86.  f 


his  time  in  meditation,  prayer,  and  rigorous  absti- 
nence, until  his  body  was  wasted  and  his  mind  be- 
wildered, and  he  fancied  himself  favored  with  divine 
revelations.  The  Moors,  who  have  a  great  rever- 
ence for  all  enthusiasts  of  the  kind,  looked  upon  him 
as  inspired,  listened  to  all  his  ravings  as  veritable 
prophecies,  and  denominated  him  el  santo,  or  the 
saint. 

The  woes  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada  had  long 
exasperated  the  gloomy  spirit  of  this  man,  and  he 
had  beheld  with  indignation  this  beautiful  country 
wrested  from  the  dominion  of  the  faithful,  and  be- 
coming a  prey  to  the  unbehevers.  He  had  implored 
the  blessings  of  Allah  on  the  troops  which  issued 
forth  from  Guadix  for  the  relief  of  Malaga ;  but 
when  he  saw  them  return,  routed  and  scattered  by 
their  own  countrymen,  he  retired  to  his  cell,  shut 
himself  up  from  the  world,  and  was  plunged  for  a 
time  in  the  blackest  melancholy. 

On  a  sudden,  he  made  his  appearance  again  in 
the  streets  of  Guadix,  his  face  haggard,  his  form 
emaciated,  but  his  eye  beaming  with  fire.  He  said 
that  Allah  had  sent  an  angel  to  him  in  the  solitude 
of  his  cell,  revealing  to  him  a  mode  of  delivering 
Malaga  from  its  perils,  and  striking  horror  and  con- 
fusion into  the  camp  of  the  unbelievers.  The  Moors 
listened  with  eager  credulity  to  his  words  :  four  hun- 
dred of  them  offered  to  follow  him  even  to  the  death, 
and  to  obey  implicitly  his  commands.  Of  this  num- 
ber many  were  Gomeres,  anxious  to  relieve  their 
countrymen,  who  formed  part  of  the  garrison  of 
Malaga. 

They  traversed  the  kingdom  by  the  wild  and  lonely 
passes  of  the  mountains,  concealing  themselves  in 
the  day  and  travelling  only  in  the  night,  to  elude  the 
christian  scouts.  At  length  they  arrived  at  the 
mountains  which  tower  above  Malaga,  and,  looking 
down,  beheld  the  city  completely  invested  ;  a  chain 
of  encampments  extending  round  it  from  shore  to 
shore,  and  a  line  of  ships  blockading  it  by  sea ; 
while  the  continual  thunder  of  artiller)',  and  the 
smoke  rising  in  various  parts,  showed  that  the  siege 
was  pressed  with  great  activity.  The  hermit  scanned 
the  encampments  warily,  from  his  lofty  height.  He 
saw  that  the  part  of  the  encampment  of  the  marques 
of  Cadiz  which  was  at  the  foot  of  the  height,  and  on 
the  margin  of  the  sea,  was  most  assailable,  the  rocky 
soil  not  admitting  ditches  or  palisadoes.  Remaining 
concealed  all  day,  he  descended  with  his  followers 
at  night  to  the  sea-coast,  and  approached  silently  to 
the  outworks.  He  had  given  them  their  instruc- 
tions ;  they  were  to  rush  suddenly  upon  the  camp, 
fight  their  way  through,  and  throw  themselves  into 
the  city. 

It  was  just  at  the  gray  of  the  dawning,  when  ob- 
jects are  obscurely  visible,  that  they  made  this 
desperate  attempt.  Some  sprang  suddenly  upon  the 
sentinels,  others  rushed  into  the  sea  and  got  round 
the  works,  others  clambered  over  the  breastworks. 
There  was  sharp  skirmishing ;  a  great  part  of  the 
Moors  were  cut  to  pieces,  but  about  two  hundred 
succeeded  in  getting  into  the  gates  of  Malaga. 

The  santon  took  no  part  in  the  conflict,  nor  did 
he  endeavor  to  enter  the  city.  His  plans  were  of  a 
different  nature.  Drawing  apart  from  the  battle,  he 
threw  himself  on  his  knees  on  a  rising  ground,  and, 
lifting  his  hands  to  Heaven,  appeared  to  be  absorbed 
in  prayer.  The  christians,  as  they  were  searching 
for  fugitives  in  the  clefts  of  the  rocks,  found  him  at 
his  devotions.  He  stirred  not  at  their  approach,  but 
remained  fixed  as  a  statue,  without  changing  color 
or  moving  a  muscle.  Filled  with  surprise  not  un- 
mingled  with  awe,  they  took  him  to  the  marques  of 
Cadiz.  He  was  wrapped  in  a  coarse  albornoz,  or 
Moorish  mantle ;  his  beard  was  long  and  grizzled, 


A    CHRONICLE    OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


247 


and  there  was  something  wild  and  melancholy  in  his 
look,  that  inspired  curiosity.  On  being  examined, 
he  gave  himself  out  as  a  saint  to  whom  Allah 
had  revealed  the  events  that  were  to  take  place  in 
;hat  siege.  The  marques  demanded  when  and  how 
Malaga  was  to  be  taken.  He  replied  that  he  knew 
full  well,  but  he  was  forbidden  to  reveal  those  im- 
portant secrets  except  to  'the  king  and  queen.  The 
good  marques  was  not  more  given  ,to  superstitious 
fancies  than  other  commanders  of  his  time,  yet  there 
seemed  something  singular  and  mysterious  about 
this  man  ;  he  might  have  some  important  intelligence 
to  communicate  ;  so  he  was  persuaded  to  send  him 
to  the  king  and  queen.  He  was  conducted  to  the 
royal  tent,  surrounded  by  a  curious  multitude,  ex- 
claiming "El  Mora  Santo!"  for  the  news  had 
spread  through  the  camp,  that  they  had  taken  a 
Moorish  prophet. 

The  king,  having  dined,  was  taking  his  siesta,  or 
afternoon's  sleep,  in  his  tent ;  and  the  queen,  though 
curious  to  see  this  singular  man,  yet,  from  a  natural 
delicacy  and  reserve,  delayed  until  the  king  should 
be  present.  He  was  taken  therefore  to  an  adjoining 
tent,  in  which  were  Doiia  Beatrix  de  Bovadilla, 
marchioness  of  Moya,  and  Don  Alvaro  of  Portugal, 
son  of  the  duke  of  Braganza,  with  two  or  three 
attendants.  The  Moor,  ignorant  of  the  Spanish 
tongue,  had  not  understood  the  conversation  of  the 
guards,  and  supposed  from  the  magnificence  of  the 
furniture  and  the  silken  hangings,  that  this  was  the 
royal  tent.  From  the  respect  paid  by  the  attendants 
to  Don  Alvaro  and  the  marchioness,  he  concluded 
that  they  were  the  king  and  queen. 

He  now  asked  for  a  draught  of  water  ;  a  jar  was 
brought  to  him,  and  the  guard  released  his  arm  to 
enable  him  to  drink.  The  marchioness  perceived  a 
sudden  change  in  his  countenance,  and  something 
sinister  in  the  expression  of  his  eye,  and  shifted  her 
position  to  a  more  remote  part  of  the  tent.  Pretend- 
ing to  raise  the  water  to  his  lips,  the  Moor  unfolded 
his  albornoz,  so  as  to  grasp  a  scimitar  which  he  wore 
concealed  beneath  ;  then,  dashing  down  the  jar,  he 
drew  his  weapon,  and  gave  Don  Alvaro  a  blow  on 
the  head,  that  struck  him  to  the  earth,  and  nearly 
deprived  him  of  life.  Turning  then  upon  the  mar- 
chioness, he  made  a  violent  blow  at  her ;  but  in  his 
eagerness  and  agitation,  his  scimitar  caught  in  the 
drapery  of  the  tent ;  the  force  of  the  blow  was 
broken,  and  the  weapon  struck  harmless  upon  some 
golden  ornaments  of  her  head-dress.* 

Ruy  Lopez  de  Toledo,  treasurer  to  the  queen,  and 
Juan  de  Belalcazar,  a  sturdy  friar,  who  were  pres- 
ent, grappled  and  struggled  with  the  desperado ; 
and  immediately  the  guards,  who  had  conducted 
him  from  the  marques  de  Cadiz,  fell  upon  him  and 
cut  him  to  pieces.t 

The  king  and  queen,  brought  out  of  their  tents 
by  the  noise,  were  filled  with  horror  when  they 
learned  the  imminent  peril  from  which  they  had  es- 
caped. The  mangled  body  of  the  Moor  was  taken 
by  the  people  to  the  camp,  and  thrown  into  the  city 
from  a  catapult.  The  Gomeres  gathered  up  the 
body  with  deep  reverence,  as  the  remains  of  a  saint; 
they  washed  and  perfumed  it,  and  buried  it  with 
great  honor  and  loud  lamentations.  In  revenge 
of  his  death,  they  slew  one  of  their  principal  chris- 
tian captives,  and,  having  tied  his  body  upon  an  ass, 
they  drove  the  animal  forth  into  the  camp. 

From  this  time,  there  was  appointed  an  addi- 
tional guard  around  the  tents  of  the  king  and 
queen,  composed  of  twelve  hundred  cavaliers  of 
rank,  of  the  kingdoms  of  Castile  and  Arragon. 
No    person   was    admitted   to   the   royal    presence 


armed ;  no  Moor  was  allowed  to  enter  the  camp, 
without  a  previous  knowledge  of  his  character 
and  business  ;  and  on  no  account  was  any  Moor 
to  be  introduced  into  the  presence  of  the  sover- 
eigns. 

An  act  of  treachery  of  such  ferocious  nature, 
gave  rise  to  a  train  of  gloomy  apprehensions. 
There  were  many  cabins  and  sheds  about  the 
camp,  constructed  of  branches  of  trees  which  had 
become  dry  and  combustible  ;  and  fears  were  en- 
tertained that  they  might  be  set  on  fire  by  the  Mu- 
dexares,  or  Moorish  vassals,  who  visited  the  army. 
Some  even  dreaded  that  attempts  might  be  made  to 
poison  the  wells  and  fountains.  To  quiet  these  dis- 
mal alarms,  all  Mudexares  were  ordered  to  leave  the 
camp ;  and  all  loose,  idle  loiterers,  who  could  not 
give  a  good  account  of  themselves,  were  taken  into 
custody. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


♦  Pieuo  Martyr,  Epist.  (n. 


t  Cura  de  los  Falacios. 


HOW  HAMET  EL  ZEGRI  WAS  HARDENED  IN  HIS 
OBSTINACY,  BY  THE  ARTS  OF  A  MOORISH  AS- 
TROLOGER. 

Among  those  followers  of  the  santon  that  had 
effected  their  entrance  into  the  city,  was  a  dark 
African  of  the  tribe  of  the  Gomeres,  who  was  like- 
wise a  hermit  or  dervise,  and  passed  among  the 
Moors  for  a  holy  and  inspired  man.  No  sooner 
were  the  mangled  remains  of  his  predecessor  buried 
with  the  honors  of  martyrdom,  than  this  dervise 
elevated  himself  in  his  place,  and  professed  to  be 
gifted  with  the  spirit  of  prophecy.  He  displayed  a 
white  banner,  which,  he  assured  the  Moors,  was  sa- 
cred ;  that  he  had  retained  it  for  twenty  years  for 
some  signal  purpose,  and  that  Allah  had  revealed  to 
him  that  under  that  banner  the  inhabitants  of  Mal- 
aga should  sally  forth  upon  the  camp  of  the  unbe- 
lievers, put  it  to  utter  rout,  and  banquet  upon  the 
provisions  in  which  it  abounded.*  The  hungry  and 
credulous  Moors  were  elated  at  this  prediction,  and 
cried  out  to  be  led  forth  at  once  to  the  attack ;  but 
the  dervise  told  them  the  time  was  not  yet  ar- 
rived, for  every  event  had  its  allotted  day  in  the  de- 
crees of  fate ;  they  must  wait  patiently,  therefore, 
until  the  appointed  time  should  be  revealed  to  him 
by  Heaven.  Hamet  el  Zegri  listened  to  the  dervise 
with  profound  reverence,  and  his  example  had  great 
effect  in  increasing  the  awe  and  deference  of  his  fol- 
lowers. He  took  the  holy  man  up  into  his  strong- 
hold of  Gibralfaro,  consulted  him  on  all  occasions, 
and  hung  out  his  white  banner  on  the  loftiest  tower, 
as  a  signal  of  encouragement  to  the  people  of  the 
city. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  prime  chivalry  of  Spain 
was  gradually  assembling  betbre  the  walls  of  Malaga. 
The  army  which  had  commenced  the  siege  had  been 
worn  out  by  extreme  hardships,  having  had  to  con- 
struct imiTiense  works,  to  dig  trenches  and  mines,  to 
mount  guard  by  sea  and  land,  to  patrol  the  mount- 
ains, and  to  sustain  incessant  conflicts.  The  sover- 
eigns were  obliged,  therefore,  to  call  upon  various 
distant  cities,  for  reinforcements  of  horse  and  foot. 
Many  nobles,  also,  assembled  their  vassals,  and  re- 
paired, of  their  own  accord,  to  the  royal  camp. 

Every  little  while,  some  stately  galley  or  gallant 
caravel  would  stand  into  the  harbor,  displaying  the 
well-known  banner  of  some  Spanish  cavalier,  and 
thundering  from  its  artillery  a  salutation  to  the 
sovereigns  and  a  defiance  to  the  Moors.  On  the 
land  side  also,  reinforcements  would  be  seen,  wind- 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios. 


248 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ing  down  from  the  mountains  to  the  sound  of 
drum  and  trumpet,  and  marching  into  the  camp 
with  glistening  arms,  as  yet  unsullied  by  the  toils 
of  war. 

One  morning,  the  whole  sea  was  whitened  by  the 
sails  and  vexed  by  the  oars  of  ships  and  galleys 
bearinaf  towards  the  port.  One  hundred  vessels  of 
various  kinds  and  sizes  arrived,  some  armed  for  war- 
like service,  others  deep  freighted  with  provisions. 
At  the  same  time,  the  clangor  of  drum  and  trumpet 
bespoke  the  arrival  of  a  powerful  force  by  land,  which 
came  pouring  in  lengthening  columns  into  the  camp. 
This  mighty  reinforcement  was  furnished  by  the 
duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  who  reigned  like  a  petty 
monarch  over  his  vast  possessions.  He  came  with 
this  princely  force,  a  volunteer  to  the  royal  standard, 
not  having  been  summoned  by  the  sovereigns  ;  and 
he  brought,  moreover,  a  loan  of  twenty  thousand 
doblas  of  gold. 

When  the  camp  was  thus  powerfully  reinforced, 
Isabella  advised  that  new  offers  of  an  indulgent  kind 
should  be  made  to  the  inhabitants  ;  for  she  was  anx- 
ious to  prevent  the  miseries  of  a  protracted  siege,  or 
the  effusion  of  blood  that  must  attend  a  general  at- 
tack. A  fresh  summons  was,  therefore,  sent  for  the 
city  to  surrender,  with  a  promise  of  life,  liberty,  and 
property,  in  case  of  immediate  compliance  ;  but  de- 
nouncing all  the  horrors  of  war,  if  the  defence  were 
obstinately  continued. 

Hametel  Zegri  again  rejected  the  offer  with  scorn. 
His  main  fortifications  as  yet  were  but  little  impaired, 
and  were  capable  of  holding  out  much  longer ;  he 
trusted  to  the  thousand  evils  and  accidents  that  be- 
set a  besieging  army,  and  to  the  inclemencies  of  the 
approaching  season ;  and  it  is  said  that  he,  as  well 
as  his  followers,  had  an  infatuated  belief  in  the  pre- 
dictions of  the  dervise. 

The  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  does  not  scru- 
ple to  affirm,  that  the  pretended  prophet  of  the  city 
was  an  arch  mgromancer,  or  Moorish  magician, 
"of  which  there  be  countless  many,"  says  he,  "in 
the  filthy  sect  of  Mahomet ; "  and  that  he  was 
leagued  with  the  prince  of  the  powers  of  the  air,  to 
endeavor  to  work  the  confusion  and  defeat  of  the 
christian  army.  The  worthy  father  asserts,  also, 
that  Hamet  employed  him  in  a  high  tower  of  the 
Gibralfaro,  which  commanded  a  wide  view  over  sea 
and  land,  where  he  wrought  spells  and  incantations 
with  astrolabes  and  other  diabolical  instruments,  to 
defeat  the  christian  ships  and  forces,  whenever  they 
were  engaged  with  the  Moors. 

To  the  potent  spells  of  this  sorcerer,  he  ascribes 
the  perils  and  losses  sustained  by  a  party  of  cavaliers 
of  the  royal  household,  in  a  desperate  combat  to 
gain  two  towers  of  the  suburb,  near  the  gate  of  the 
city  called  la  Puerto  de  Granada.  The  christians, 
led  on  by  Ruy  Lopez  de  Toledo,  the  valiant  treas- 
urer of  the  queen,  took,  and  lost,  and  retook  the 
towers,  which  were  finally  set  on  fire  by  the  Moors, 
and  abandoned  to  the  flames  by  both  parties.  To  the 
same  malignant  influence  he  attributes  the  damage 
done  to  the  christian  fleet,  which  was  so  vigorously 
assailed  by  the  albatozas,  or  floating  batteries  of  the 
Moors,  that  one  ship,  belongmg  to  the  duke  of  Me- 
dina Sidonia,  was  sunk,  and  the  rest  were  obliged  to 
retire. 

"  Hamet  el  Zegri,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"stood  on  the  top  of  the  high  tower  of  Gibralfaro, 
and  beheld  this  injury  wrought  upon  the  christian 
force,  and  his  proud  heart  was  puffed  up.  And  the 
Moorish  nigromancer  stood  beside  him.  And  he 
pointed  out  to  him  the  christian  host  below,  en- 
camped on  every  eminence  around  the  city,  and 
covering  its  fertile  valley,  and  the  many  ships  float- 
ing upon  the  tranquil  sea ;  and  he  bade  him  be  strong 


of  heart,  for  that  in  a  few  days  all  this  mighty  fleet 
would  be  scattered  by  the  winds  of  Heaven  ;  and 
that  he  should  sally  forth,  under  guidance  of  the 
sacred  banner,  and  attack  this  host  and  utterly  de- 
feat it,  and  make  spoil  of  those  sumptuous  tents.; 
and  Malaga  should  be  triumphantly  revenged  upon 
her  assailants.  So  the  heart  of  Hamet  was  hardened 
like  that  of  Pharaoh,  and  he  persisted  in  setting  at 
defiance  the  Catholic  sovereigns  and  their  army  of 
saintly  warriors." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


SIEGE  OF  MALAGA  CONTINUED. — DESTRUCTION 
OF  A  TOWER,  BY  FRANCISCO  RAMIREZ  DE 
MADRID. 

Seeing  the  infatuated  obstinacy  of  the  besieged, 
the  christians  now  approached  their  works  to  the 
walls,  gaining  one  position  after  another,  preparatory 
to  a  general  assault.  Near  the  barrier  of  the  city 
was  a  bridge  with  four  arches,  defended  at  each  end 
by  a  strong  and  lofty  tower,  by  which  a  part  of  the 
army  would  have  to  pass  in  making  an  attack.  The 
commander-in-chief  of  the  artillery,  Francisco  Ram- 
irez de  Madrid,  was  ordered  to  take  possession  of 
this  bridge.  The  approach  to  it  was  perilous  in  the 
extreme,  from  the  exposed  situation  of  the  assailants, 
and  the  number  of  Moors  that  garrisoned  the  tow- 
ers. Francisco  Ramirez,  therefore,  secretly  exca- 
vated a  mine  leading  beneath  the  first  tower,  and 
placed  a  piece  of  ordnance  with  its  mouth  upwards, 
immediately  under  the  foundation,  with  a  train  of 
powder  to  produce  an  explosion  at  the  necessary 
moment. 

When  this  was  arranged,  he  advanced  slowly 
with  his  forces  in  face  of  the  towers,  erecting  bul- 
warks at  eveiy  step,  and  gradually  gaining  ground, 
until  he  arrived  near  to  the  bridge.  He  then  planted 
several  pieces  of  artillery  in  his  works,  and  began  to 
batter  the  tower.  The  Moors  replied  bravely  from 
their  battlements ;  but  in  the  heat  of  the  combat, 
the  piece  of  ordnance  under  the  foundation  was  dis- 
charged. The  earth  was  rent  open,  a  part  of  the 
tower  overthrown,  and  several  of  the  Moors  torn  to 
pieces ;  the  rest  took  to  flight,  overwhelmed  with 
terror  at  this  thundering  explosion  bursting  beneath 
their  feet,  and  at  beholding  the  earth  vomiting  flames 
and  smoke  ;  for  never  before  had  they  witnessed 
such  a  stratagem  in  warfare.  The  christians  rushed 
forward  and  took  possession  of  the  abandoned  post, 
and  immediately  commenced  an  attack  upon  the 
other  tower  at  the  opposite  end  of  the  bridge,  to 
which  the  Moors  had  retired.  An  incessant  fire  of 
cross-bows  and  arquebusses  was  kept  up  between 
the  rival  towers,  volleys  of  stones  were  discharged, 
and  no  one  dared  to  venture  upon  the  intermediate 
bridge. 

Francisco  de  Ramirez  at  length  renewed  his  for- 
mer mode  of  approach,  making  bulwarks  step  by 
step,  while  the  Moors,  stationed  at  the  other  end, 
swept  the  bridge  with  their  artillery.  The  combat 
was  long  and  bloody, — furious  on  the  part  of  the 
Moors,  patient  and  persevering  on  the  part  of  the 
christians.  By  slow  degrees,  they  accomplished 
their  advance  across  the  bridge,  drove  the  enemy 
before  them,  and  remained  masters  of  this  important 
pass. 

For  this  valiant  and  skilful  achievement,  king 
Ferdinand,  after  the  surrender  of  the  city,  conferred 
the  dignity  of  knighthood  upon  Francisco  Ramirez, 
in  the  tower  which  he   had  so  gloriously  gained." 


•  Pulgar,  part  3,  c.  91. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


249 


The  worthy  padre  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  indulges 
in  more  than  a  page  of  extravagant  eulogj%  upon 
this  invention  of  blowing  up  the  foundation  of  the 
tower  by  a  piece  of  ordnance,  which  he  affirms  to 
be  the  first  instance  on  record  of  gunpowder  being 
used  in  a  mine. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


HOW  THE    PEOPLE    OF    MALAGA    EXPOSTULATED 
WITH   HAMET  EL  ZEGRL 

While  the  dervise  was  deluding  the  garrison  of 
Malaga  with  vain  hopes,  the  famine  increased  to  a 
terrible  degree.  The  Gomeres  ranged  about  the 
city  as  though  it  had  been  a  conquered  place,  taking 
by  force  whatever  they  found  eatable  in  the  houses 
of  the  peaceful  citizens ;  and  breaking  open  vaults 
and  cellars,  and  demolishing  walls,  wherever  they 
thought  provisions  might  be  concealed. 

The  wretched  inhaljitants  had  no  longer  bread  to 
eat ;  the  horse-fiesh  also  now  failed  them,  and  they 
were  fain  to  devour  skins  and  hides  toasted  at  the 
fire,  and  to  assuage  the  hunger  of  their  children  with 
vine-leaves  cut  up  and  fried  in  oil.  Many  perished 
of  famine,  or  of  the  unwholesome  food  with  which 
they  endeavored  to  relieve  it ;  and  many  took  refuge 
in  the  christian  camp,  preferring  captivity  to  the 
horrors  which  surrounded  them. 

At  length  the  sufferings  of  the  inhabitants  became 
so  great,  as  to  conquer  even  their  fears  of  Hamet  and 
his  Gomeres.  They  assembled  before  the  house  of 
Ali  Dordux,  the  wealthy  merchant,  whose  stately 
mansion  was  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  of  the  Alcazaba, 
and  they  urged  him  to  stand  forth  as  their  leader, 
and  to  intercede  with  Hamet  el  Zegri  for  a  surrender. 
Ali  Dordux  was  a  man  of  courage,  as  well  as  policy ; 
he  perceived  also  that  hunger  was  giving  boldnsss  to 
the  citizens,  while  he  trusted  it  was  subduing  the 
fierceness  of  the  soldiery.  He  armed  himself,  there- 
fore, cap-a-pie,  and  undertook  this  dangerous  parley 
with  the  alcayde.  He  associated  with  him  an  alfaqui 
named  Abrahen  Alharis,  and  an  important  inhabitant 
named  Amar  ben  Amar;  and  they  ascended  to  the 
fortress  of  Gibralfaro,  followed  by  several  of  the 
trembling  merchants. 

They  found  Hamet  el  Zegri,  not,  as  before,  sur- 
rounded by  ferocious  guards  and  all  the  implements 
of  war ;  but  in  a  chamber  of  one  of  the  lofty  towers, 
at  a  table  of  stone,  covered  with  scrolls  traced  with 
strange  characters  and  mystic  diagrams  ;  while  instru- 
ments of  singular  and  unknown  form  lay  about  the 
room.  Beside  Hamet  el  Zegri  stood  the  prophetic 
dervise,  who  appeared  to  have  been  explaining  to 
him  the  mysterious  inscriptions  of  the  scrolls.  His 
presence  filled  the  citizens  with  awe,  for  even  Ali 
Dordux  considered  him  a  man  inspired. 

The  alfaqui  Al)rahen  Alharis,  whose  sacred  char- 
acter gave  him  boldness  to  spe.ak,  now  lifted  up  his 
voice,  and  addressed  Hamet  el  Zegri.  "We  implore 
you,"  said  he,  solemnly,  "in  the  name  of  the  most 
powerful  God,  no  longer  to  persist  in  a  vain  resist- 
ance, which  must  end  in  our  destruction,  but  deliver 
up  the  city  while  clemency  is  yet  to  be  obtained. 
Think  how  many  of  our  warriors  have  fallen  by  the 
sword  ;  do  not  suffer  those  who  survive  to  perish  by 
famine.  Our  wives  and  children  cry  to  us  for  bread, 
and  we  have  none  to  give  them.  We  see  them  ex- 
pire in  lingering  agony  before  our  eyes,  while  the 
enemy  mocks  our  misery  by  displaying  the  abundance 
of  his  camp.  Of  what  avail  is  our  defence .'  Are  our 
walls  peradventure  more  strong  than  the  walls  of 
Ronda  ?  Are  our  warriors  more  brave  than  the  de- 
fenders of  Loxa  ?     The  walls  of  Ronda  were  thrown 


down,  and  the  warriors  of  Loxa  had  to  surrender. 
Do  we  hope  for  succor? — from  whence  are  we  to 
receive  it .'  The  time  for  hope  is  gone  by.  Granada 
has  lost  its  power ;  it  no  longer  possesses  chivalry, 
commanders,  or  a  king.  Boabdil  sits  a  vassal  in  the 
degraded  halls  of  the  Alhambra;  El  Zagal  is  a  fugi- 
tive, shut  up  within  the  walls  of  Guadix.  The  king- 
dom is  divided  against  itself, — its  strength  is  gone,  its 
pride  fallen,  its  very  existence  .at  an  end.  In  the 
name  of  Allah,  we  conjure  thee,  who  art  our  captain, 
be  not  our  direst  enemy;  but  surrender  these  ruins 
of  our  once  happy  Malaga,  and  deliver  us  from  these 
overwhelming  horrors." 

Such  was  the  supplication  forced  from  the  inhab- 
itants by  the  extremity  of  their  sufferings.  Hamet 
el  Zegri  listened  to  the  alfaqui  without  anger,  for  he 
respected  the  sanctity  of  his  office.  His  heart,  too, 
was  at  that  moment  lifted  up  with  a  vain  confidence. 
"  Yet  a  few  days  of  patience,"  said  he,  "  and  all  these 
evils  will  suddenly  have  an  end.  I  have  been  con- 
ferring with  this  holy  man,  and  find  that  the  time  of 
our  deliverance  is  at  hand.  The  decrees  of  fate  are 
inevitable  ;  it  is  written  in  the  book  of  destiny,  that  ** 
we  shall  sally  forth  and  destroy  the  camp  of  the  un- 
believers, and  banquet  upon  those  mountains  of  grain 
which  are  piled  up  in  the  midst  of  it.  So  Allah  hath 
promised,  by  the  mouth  of  this  his  prophet.  Allah 
Acbar !  God  is  great.  Let  no  man  oppose  the  de- 
crees of  Heaven  !  " 

The  citizens  bowed  with  profound  reverence,  for 
no  true  Moslem  pretends  to  struggle  against  whatever 
is  written  in  the  book  of  fate.  Ali  Dordux,  who  had 
come  prepared  to  champion  the  city  and  to  brave 
the  ire  of  Hamet,  humbled  himself  before  this  holy 
man,  and  gave  faith  to  his  prophecies  as  the  revela- 
tions of  Allah.  So  the  deputies  returned  to  the  citi- 
zens, and  exhorted  them  to  be  of  good  cheer :  "  A  few 
days  longer,"  said  they,  "  and  our  sufferings  are  to 
terminate.  When  the  white  banner  is  removed  from 
the  tower,  then  look  out  for  deliverance  ;  for  the  hour 
of  sallying  forth  will  have  arrived."  The  people  re- 
tired to  their  homes,  with  sorrowful  hearts ;  they 
tried  in  vain  to  quiet  the  cries  of  their  famishing 
children  ;  and  day  by  day,  and  hour  by  hour,  their 
anxious  eyes  were  turned  to  the  sacred  banner,  which 
still  continued  to  wave  on  the  tower  of  Gibralfaro. 


CHAPTER  XVHL 


HOW  HAMET  EL  ZEGRI  SALLIED  FORTH  WITH  THE 
SACRED  BANNER,  TO  ATTACK  THE  CHRISTIAN 
CAMP. 

"  THE  Moorish  nigromancer,"  observes  the  worthy 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  remained  shut  up  in  a  tower 
of  the  Gibralfaro,  devising  devilish  means  to  work 
mischief  and  discomfiture  upon  the  christians.  He 
was  daily  consulted  by  Hamet  el  Zegri,  who  had 
great  faith  in  those  black  and  magic  arts,  which  he 
had  brought  with  him  from  the  bosom  of  heathen 
Africa." 

From  the  account  given  of  this  dervise  and  his 
incantations  by  the  worthy  father,  it  would  appear 
that  he  was  an  astrologer,  and  was  studyhig  the  stars, 
and  endeavoring  to  calculate  the  day  and  hour  when 
a  successful  attack  might  be  made  upon  the  christian 
camp. 

Famine  had  now  increased  to  such  a  degree  as  to 
distress  even  the  garrison  of  Gibralfaro,  although  the 
Gomeres  had  seized  upon  all  the  provisions  they 
could  find  in  the  city.  Their  passions  were  sharpen- 
ed by  hunger,  and  they  became  restless  and  turbu- 
lent, and  impatient  for  action. 


250 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Hamet  el  Zegri  was  one  day  in  council  with  his 
captains,  perplexed  by  the  pressure  of  events,  when 
the  dervise  entered  among  them.  "  The  hour  of  vic- 
tor)'," exclaimed  he,  "  is  at  hand.  Allah  has  com- 
manded that  to-morrow  morning  ye  shall  sally  forth 
to  the  fight.  I  will  bear  before  you  the  sacred  ban- 
ner, and  deliver  your  enemies  into  your  hands.  Re- 
member, however,  that  ye  are  but  instruments  in 
the  hands  of  Allah,  to  take  vengeance  on  the  ene- 
mies of  the  faith.  Go  into  battle,  therefore,  with 
pure  hearts,  forgiving  each  other  all  past  offences ; 
for  those  who  are  charitable  towards  each  other, 
will  be  victorious  over  the  foe."  The  words  of  the 
dervise  were  received  with  rapture :  all  Gibralfaro 
and  the  Alcazaba  resounded  immediately  with  the 
din  of  arms ;  and  Hamet  sent  throughout  the  towers 
and  fortifications  of  the  city,  and  selected  the  choic- 
est troops  and  most  distinguished  captains  for  this 
eventual  combat. 

In  the  morning  early,  the  rumor  went  throughout 
the  city  that  the  sacred  banner  had  disappeared  from 
the  tower  of  Gibralfaro,  and  all  Malaga  was  roused 
^  to  witness  the  sally  that  was  to  destroy  the  unbe- 
lievers. Hamet  descended  from  his  strong-hold,  ac- 
companied by  his  principal  captain,  Abrahen  Zenete, 
and  followed  by  his  Gomeres.  The  dervise  led  the 
way,  displaying  the  white  banner,  the  sacred  pledge 
of  victory.  The  multitude  shouted  "Allah  Acbar!  " 
and  prostrated  themselves  before  the  banner  as  it 
passed.  Even  the  dreaded  Hamet  was  hailed  with 
praises  ;  for  in  their  hopes  of  speedy  relief  through 
the  prowess  of  his  arm,  the  populace  forgot  every 
thing  but  his  bravery.  Every  bosom  in  Malaga  was 
agitated  by  liope  and  fear — the  old  men,  the  women 
and  children,  and  all  who  went  not  forth  to  battle, 
mounted  on  tower  and  battlement  and  roof,  to  watch 
a  combat  that  was  to  decide  their  fate. 

Before  sallying  forth  from  the  city,  the  dervise  ad- 
dressed the  troops,  reminding  them  of  the  holy  nat- 
ure of  this  enterprise,  and  warning  them  not  to  for- 
feit the  protection  of  the  sacred  banner  by  any 
unworthy  act.  They  were  not  to  pause  to  make 
spoil  nor  to  take  prisoners  :  they  were  to  press  for- 
ward, fighting  valiantly,  and  granting  no  quarter. 
The  gate  was  then  thrown  open,  and  the  dervise 
issued  forth,  followed  by  the  army.  They  directed 
their  assaults  upon  the  encampments  of  the  Master 
of  Santiago  and  the  Master  of  Alcantara,  and  came 
upon  them  so  suddenly  that  they  killed  and  wounded 
several  of  the  guards.  Abrahen  Zenete  made  his 
way  into  one  of  the  tents,  where  he  beheld  several 
christian  striplings  just  starting  from  their  slumber. 
The  heart  of  the  Moor  was  suddenly  touched  with 
pity  for  their  youth,  or  perhaps  he  scorned  the  weak- 
ness of  the  foe.  He  smote  them  with  the  flat,  instead 
of  the  edge  of  the  sword.  "Away,  imps,"  cried  he, 
"  away  to  your  mothers."  The  fanatic  dervise  re- 
proached him  with  his  clemency — "  I  did  not  kill 
them,"  replied  Zenete,  "  because  I  saw  no  beards  !  "* 

The  alarm  was  given  in  the  camp,  and  the  chris- 
tians rushed  from  all  quarters  to  defend  tlie  gates  of 
the  bulwarks.  Don  Pedro  Puerto  Carrero,  Senior 
of  Mogucr,  and  his  brother  Don  Alonzo  Pacheco, 
planted  themselves,  with  their  followers,  in  the  gate- 
way of  the  encampment  of  the  Master  of  Santiago, 
and  bore  tlie  whole  brunt  of  battle  until  they  were 
reinforced.  The  gate  of  the  encampment  of  the 
Master  of  Calatrava  was  in  like  manner  defended 
by  Lorenzo  Saurez  de  Mendoza.  Hamet  el  Zegri 
was  furious  at  being  thus  checked,  where  he  had 
expected  a  miraculous  victory.  He  led  his  troops 
repeatedly  to  the  attack,  hoping  to  force  the  gates 
l)efore  succor  should  arrive  :  they  fought  with  vehe- 

*  Cuni  de  los  PalacioSf  c.  84.  I 


ment  ardor,  but  were  as  often  repulsed  ;  and  every 
time  they  returned  to  the  assault,  they  found  their 
enemies  doubled  in  number.  The  christians  opened 
a  cross-fire  of  all  kinds  of  missiles,  from  their  bul- 
warks ;  the  Moors  could  effect  but  little  damage  upon 
a  foe  thus  protected  behind  their  works,  while  they 
themselves  were  exposed  from  head  to  foot.  The 
christians  singled  out  the  most  conspicuous  cavaliers, 
the  greater  part  of  whom  were  either  slain  or  wound- 
ed. Still  the  Moors,  infatuated  by  the  predictions  of 
the  prophet,  fought  desperately  and  devotedly,  and 
they  were  furious  to  revenge  the  slaughter  of  their 
leaders.  They  rushed  upon  certain  death,  endeavor- 
ing madly  to  scale  the  bulwarks,  or  force  the  gates, 
and  fell  amidst  showers  of  darts  and  lances,  filling 
the  ditches  with  their  mangled  bodies. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  raged  along  the  front  of  the  bul- 
warks, seeking  an  opening  for  attack.  He  gnashed 
his  teeth  with  fury,  as  he  saw  so  many  of  his  chosen 
warriors  slain  around  him.  He  seemed  to  have  a 
charmed  life  ;  for,  though  constantly  in  the  hottest 
of  the  fight,  amidst  showers  of  missiles,  he  still  es- 
caped uninjured.  Blindly  confiding  in  the  prophecy 
of  victory,  he  continued  to  urge  on  his  devoted 
troops.  The  dervise,  too,  ran  like  a  maniac  through 
the  ranks,  waving  his  white  banner,  and  inciting  the 
Moors  by  bowlings  rather  than  by  shouts.  In  the 
midst  of  his  frenzy,  a  stone  from  a  catapult  struck  him 
on  the  head,  and  dashed  out  his  bewildered  brains.* 

When  the  Moors  beheld  their  prophet  slain,  and 
his  banner  in  the  dust,  they  were  seized  with  despair, 
and  fled  in  confusion  to  the  city.  Hamet  el  Zegri 
made  some  effort  to  rally  them,  but  was  himself 
confounded  by  the  fall  of  the  dervise.  He  covered 
the  flight  of  his  broken  forces,  turning  repeatedly 
upon  their  pursuers,  and  slowly  making  his  retreat 
into  the  city. 

The  inhabitants  of  Malaga  witnessed  from  their 
wall^  with  trembling  anxiety,  the  whole  of  this  dis- 
astrous conflict.  At  the  first  onset,  when  they  be- 
held the  guards  of  the  camp  put  to  flight,  they  ex- 
claimed, "  Allah  has  given  us  the  victory  !  "  and  they 
sent  up  shouts  of  triumph.  Their,  exultation,  how- 
ever, was  soon  turned  into  doubt,  when  they  beheld 
their  troops  repulsed  in  repeated  attacks.  They 
could  see,  from  time  to  time,  some  distinguished 
warrior  laid  low,  and  others  brought  back  bleeding 
to  the  city.  When  at  length  the  sacred  banner  fell,' 
and  the  routed  troops  came  flying  to  the  gates,  pur- 
sued and  cut  down  by  the  foe,  horror  and  despair 
seized  upon  the  populace. 

As  Hamet  el  Zegri  entered  the  gates,  he  heard 
nothing  but  loud  lamentations  :  mothers,  whose  sons 
had  been  slain,  shrieked  curses  after  him  as  he  pass- 
ed ;  some,  in  the  anguish  of  their  hearts,  threw 
down  their  famishing  babes  before  him,  exclaiming, 
"  Trample  on  them  with  thy  horse's  feet ;  for  we 
have  no  food  to  give  them,  and  we  cannot  endure 
their  cries."  All  heaped  execrations  on  his  head,  as 
the  cause  of  the  woes  ot  Malaga. 

The  warlike  part  of  the  citizens  also,  and  many 
warriors,  who,  with  their  wives  and  children,  had 
taken  refuge  in  Malaga  from  the  mountain  fortresses, 
now  joined  in  the  popular  clamor,  for  their  hearts 
were  overcome  by  the  sufferings  of  their  families. 

Hamet  el  Zegri  found  it  impossible  to  withstand 
this  torrent  of  lamentations,  curses,  and  reproaches. 
His  military  ascendancy  was  at  an  end  ;  for  most  of 
his  officers,  and  the  prime  warriors  of  his  African 
band,  had  fallen  in  this  disastrous  sally.  Turning 
his  back,  therefore,  upon  the  city,  and  abandoning 
it  to  its  own  councils,  he  retired  with  the  remnant 
of  his  Gomeres  to  his  strong-hold  in  the  Gibralfaro. 


*  Garibay,  lib.  18,  c.  33. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


251 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

HOW  THE  CITY  OF   MALAGA  CAPITULATED. 

The  people  of  Malaga,  being  no  longer  overawed 
by  Hamet  el  Zegri  and  his  Gomeres,  turned  to  Ali 
Dordux,  the  magnanimous  merchant,  and  put  the 
fate  of  the  city  into  his  hands.  He  had  already 
gained  the  alcaydes  of  the  castle  of  the  Genoese,  and 
of  the  citadel,  into  his  party,  and  in  the  late  confu- 
sion had  gained  the  sway  over  those  important  for- 
tresses. He  now  associated  himself  with  the  alfaqui, 
Abrahen  Alhariz  and  four  of  the  principal  inhabit- 
ants, and,  forming  a  provisional  junta,  they  sent 
heralds  to  the  christian  sovereigns,  offering  to  sur- 
render the  city  on  certain  terms,  protecting  the  per- 
sons and  property  of  the  inhabitants,  permitting 
them  to  reside  as  Mudexares  or  tributary  vassals, 
either  in  Malaga  or  elsewhere. 

When  the  heralds  arrived  at  the  camp,  and  made 
known  their  mission  to  king  Ferdinand,  his  anger 
was  kindled.  "  Return  to  your  fellow-citizens,"  said 
he,  "  and  tell  them  that  the  day  of  grace  is  gone  by. 
They  have  persisted  in  a  fruitless  defence,  until  they 
are  driven  by  necessity  to  capitulate  ;  they  must  sur- 
render unconditionally,  and  abide  the  fate  of  the 
vanquished.  Those  who  merit  death  shall  suffer 
death :  those  who  merit  captivity  shall  be  made 
captives." 

This  stern  reply  spread  consternation  among  the 
people  of  Malaga ;  but  Ali  Dordux  comforted  them, 
and  undertook  to  go  in  person,  and  pray  for  favor- 
able terms.  When  the  people  beheld  this  great  and 
wealthy  merchant,  who  was  so  eminent  in  their  city, 
departing  with  his  associates  on  this  mission,  they 
plucked  up  heart ;  for  they  said,  "  Surely  the  chris- 
tian king  will  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  such  a  man  as 
Ali  Dordux  !  " 

Ferdinand,  however,  would  not  even  admit  the 
ambassadors  to  his  presence.  "  Send  them  to  the 
devil !  "  said  he,  in  a  great  passion,  to  the  com- 
mander of  Leon  ;  "  I'll  not  see  them.  Let  them  get 
back  to  their  city.  They  shall  all  surrender  to  my 
mercy,  as  vanquished  enemies."* 

To  give  emphasis  to  this  reply,  he  ordered  a  gen- 
eral discharge  from  all  the  artillery  and  batteries  ; 
and  there  was  a  great  shout  throughout  the  camp, 
and  all  the  lombards  and  catapults,  and  other  en- 
gines of  war,  thundered  furiously  upon  the  city,  do- 
ing great  damage. 

All  Dordux  and  his  companions  returned  to  the 
city  with  downcast  countenances,  and  could  scarce 
make  the  reply  of  the  christian  sovereign  be  heard, 
for  the  roaring  of  the  artillery,  the  tumbling  of  the 
walls,  and  the  cries  of  women  and  children.  The 
citizens  were  greatly  astonished  and  dismayed,  when 
they  found  the  little  respect  paid  to  their  most  erni- 
nent  man ;  but  the  warriors  who  were  in  the  city 
exclaimed,  "  What  has  this  merchant  to  do  with 
questions  between  men  of  battle  ?  Let  us  not  ad- 
dress the  enemy  as  abject  suppliants  who  have  no 
power  to  injure,  but  as  valiant  men,  who  have  weap- 
ons in  their  hands." 

So  they  dispatched  another  message  to  the  chris- 
tian sovereigns,  offering  to  yield  up  the  city  and  all 
their  effects,  on  condition  of  being  secured  in  their 
personal  liberty.  Should  this  be  denied,  they  de- 
clared they  would  hang  from  the  battlements  fifteen 
hundred  christian  captives,  male  and  female  ;  that 
they  would  put  all  their  old  men,  their  women  and 
children  into  the  citadel,  set  fire  to  the  city,  and  sally 
forth  sword  in  hand,  to  fight  until  the  last  gasp.  "  In 
this  way,"  said  they,  "the  Spanish  sovereigns  shall 


gain  a  bloody  victor)-,  and  the  fall  of  Malaga  be  re- 
nowned while  the  world  endures." 

To  this  fierce  and  swelling  message,  Ferdinand 
replied,  that  if  a  single  christian  captive  were  injured, 
not  a  Moor  in  Malaga  but  should  be  put  to  the 
edge  of  the  sword. 

A  great  conflict  of  counsels  now  arose  in  Malaga. 
The  warriors  were  for  following  up  their  menace  by 
some  desperate  act  of  vengeance  or  of  sell-devotion. 
Those  who  had  families  looked  with  anguish  upon 
their  wives  and  daughters,  and  thought  it  better  to 
die  than  live  to  see  them  captives.  By  degrees,  how- 
ever, the  transports  of  passion  and  despair  subsided, 
the  love  of  life  resumed  its  sway,  and  they  turned 
once  more  to  Ali  Dordux,  as  the  man  most  prudent 
in  council  and  able  in  negotiation.  By  his  advice, 
fourteen  of  the  principal  inhabitants  were  chosen 
from  the  fourteen  districts  of  the  city,  and  sent  to  the 
camp,  bearing  a  long  letter,  couched  in  terms  of  the 
most  humble  supplication. 

Various  debates  now  took  place  in  the  christian 
camp.  Many  of  the  cavaliers  were  exasperated 
against  Malaga  for  its  long  resistance,  which  had 
caused  the  death  of  many  of  their  relations  and 
favorite  companions.  It  had  long  been  a  strong-hold 
also  for  Moorish  depredators,  and  the  mart  where 
most  of  the  warriors  captured  in  the  Axarquia  had 
been  exposed  in  triumph  and  sold  to  slavery.  They 
represented,  moreover,  that  there  were  many  Moor- 
ish cities  yet  to  be  besieged ;  and  that  an  example 
ought  to  be  made  of  Malaga,  to  prevent  all  obstinate 
resistance  thereafter.  They  advised,  therefore,  that 
all  the  inhabitants  should  be  put  to  the  sword  !  * 

The  humane  heart  of  Isabella  revolted  at  such 
sanguinary  counsels :  she  insisted  that  their  triumph 
should  not  be  disgraced  by  cruelty.  Ferdinand,  hovv- 
ever,  was  inflexible  in  refusing  to  grant  any  prelimi- 
nary terms,  insisting  on  an  unconditional  surrender. 

The  people  of  Malaga  now  abandoned  themselves 
to  paroxysms  of  despair ;  on  the  one  side  they  saw 
famine  and  death,  on  the  other  slavery  and  chains. 
The  mere  men  of  the  sword,  who  had  no  families  to 
protect,  were  loud  for  signalizing  their  fall  by  some 
illustrious  action.  "  Let  us  sacrifice  our  christian 
captives,  and  then  destroy  ourselves,"  cried  some. 
"  Let  us  put  all  the  women  and  children  to  death, 
set  fire  to  the  city,  fall  on  the  christian  camp,  and  die 
sword  in  hand,"  cried  others. 

Ali  Dordux  gradually  made  his  voice  be  heard, 
amidst  the  general  clamor.  He  addressed  himself  to 
the  principal  inhabitants,  and  to  those  who  had  chil- 
dren. "  Let  those  who  live  by  the  sword,  die  by  tlie 
sword,"  cried  he  ;  "  but  let  us  not  follow  their  des- 
perate counsels.  Who  knows  what  sparks  of  pity 
may  be  awakened  in  the  bosoms  of  the  christian 
sovereigns,  when  they  behold  our  unoffending  wives 
and  daughters,  and  our  helpless  little  ones  !  The 
christian  queen,  they  say,  is  lull  of  mercy." 

At  these  words,  the  hearts  of  the  unhappy  people 
of  Malaga  yearned  over  their  families,  and  they  em- 
powered Ali  Dordux  to  deliver  up  their  city  to  the 
mercy  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns. 

The  merchant  now  went  to  and  fro,  and  had  sev- 
eral communications  with  Ferdinand  and  Isabella, 
and  interested  several  principal  cavaliers  in  his 
cause ;  and  he  sent  rich  presents  to  the  king  and 
queen,  of  oriental  merchandise,  and  silks  and  stuffs 
of  gold,  and  jewels  and  precious  stones,  and  spices 
and  perfumes,  and  many  other  sumptuous  things, 
which  he  had  accumulated  in  his  great  tradings  with 
the  east ;  and  he  gradually  found  favor  in  the  eyes 
of  the  sovereigns.!  Finding  that  there  was  nothing 
to  be  obtained  for  the  city,  he  now,  like  a  prudent 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  cap.  84. 


»  Pulgar. 


t  MS.  Chron.  otValera. 


262 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


man  and  able  merchant,  began  to  negotiate  for  him- 
self and  his  immediate  friends.  He  represented  that 
from  the  first  they  had  been  desirous  of  yielding  up 
the  city,  but  had  been  prevented  by  warlike  and 
high-handed  men,  who  had  threatened  their  lives : 
he  entreated,  therefore,  that  mercy  might  be  extend- 
ed to  them,  and  that  they  might  not  be  confounded 
with  the  guilty. 

The  sovereigns  had  accepted  the  presents  of  Ali 
Dordux — how  could  they  then  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  his 
petition  ?  So  they  granted  a  p.irdon  to  him,  and  to 
forty  families  which  he  named  ;  and  it  was  agreed 
that  they  should  be  protected  in  their  liberties  and 
property,  and  permitted  to  reside  in  Malaga  as  Mu- 
dexares  or  Moslem  vassals,  and  to  follow  their  cus- 
tomary pursuits.*  All  this  being  arranged,  Ali  Dor- 
dux  delivered  up  twenty  of  the  principal  inhabitants, 
to  remain  as  hostages,  until  the  whole  city  should  be 
placed  in  the  possession  of  the  christians. 

Don  Gutiere  de  Cardenas,  senior  commander  of 
Leon,  now  entered  the  city,  armed  cap-a-pie,  on 
horseback,  and  took  possession  in  the  name  of  the 
Castilian  sovereigns.  He  was  followed  by  his  re- 
tainers, and  by  the  captains  and  cavaliers  of  the 
army ;  and  in  a  little  while,  the  standards  of  the 
cross,  and  of  the  blessed  Santiago,  and  of  the  Cath- 
lic  sovereigns,  were  elevated  on  the  principal  tower 
of  the  Alcazaba.  When  these  standards  were  beheld 
from  the  camp,  the  queen  and  the  princess  and  the 
ladies  of  the  court,  and  all  the  royal  retinue,  knelt 
down  and  gave  thanks  and  praises  to  the  holy  virgin 
and  to  Santiago,  for  this  great  triumph  of  the  faith  ; 
and  the  bishops  and  other  clergy  who  were  present, 
and  the  choristers  of  the  royal  chapel,  chanted  "  Te 
Deum  Laudaniiis,"  and  "  Gloria  in  Excelsis." 


CHAPTER  XX. 


FULFILMENT  OF  THE  PROPHECY  OF  THE  DERVISE. 
—FATE  OF  HAMET  EL  ZEGRL 

No  sooner  was  the  city  delivered  up,  than  the 
wretched  inhabitants  implored  permission  to  pur- 
chase bread  for  themselves  and  their  children,  from 
the  heaps  of  grain  which  they  had  so  often  gazed  at 
wistfully  from  their  walls.  Their  prayer  was  graiit- 
ed,  and  they  issued  forth  with  the  famished  eagerness 
of  starving  men.    It  was  piteous  to  behold  the  strug- 

fles  of  those  unhappy  people,  as  they  contended  who 
rst  should  h.ave  their  necessities  relieved. 
"  Thus,"  says  the  pious  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"  thus  are  the  predictions  of  false  prophets  some- 
times permitted  to  be  verified,  but  always  to  the 
confusion  of  those  who  trust  in  them  :  for  the  words 
of  the  Moorish  nigromancer  came  to  pass,  that  the 
p>eople  of  Malaga  should  eat  of  those  heaps  of  bread ; 
but  they  ate  in  humiliation  and  defeat,  and  with  sor- 
row and  bitterness  of  heart." 

Dark  and  fierce  were  the  feelings  of  Hamet  el 
Zegri,  as  he  looked  down  from  the  castle  of  Gibral- 
faro,  and  beheld  the  christian  legions  pouting  into 
the  city,  and  the  standard  of  the  cross  supplanting 
the  crescent  on  the  citadel.  "  The  people  of  Malaga," 
said  he,  "  have  trusted  to  a  man  of  trade,  and  he  has 
trafficked  them  away ;  but  let  us  not  suffer  ourselves 
to  be  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  delivered  up  as  part 
of  his  bargain.  We  have  yet  strong  walls  around  us, 
and  trusty  weapons  in  our  hands.  Let  us  fight  until 
buried  beneath  the  last  tumbling  tower  of  Gibral- 
faro,  or,  rushing  down  from  among  its  ruins,  carry 
havoc  among  the  unbelievers,  as  they  throng  the 
streets  of  Malaga  ! " 

*  Cunt  de  los  Palacios. 


The  fierceness  of  the  Gomeres,  however,  was 
broken.  They  could  have  died  in  the  breach,  had 
their  castle  been  assailed ;  but  the  slow  advances  of 
famine  subdued  their  strength  without  rousing 
their  passions,  and  sapped  the  force  both  of  soul 
and  body.  They  were  almost  unanimous  for  a 
surrender. 

It  was  a  hard  struggle  for  the  proud  spirit  of 
Hamet,  to  bow  itself  to  ask  for  terms.  Still  he  trust- 
ed that  the  valor  of  his  defence  would  gain  him  re- 
spect in  the  eyes  of  a  chivalrous  foe.  "Ali,"  said  he, 
"  has  negotiated  like  a  merchant ;  I  will  capitulate 
as  a  soldier."  He  sent  a  herald,  therefore,  to  Ferdi- 
nand, offering  to  yield  up  his  castle,  but  demanding 
a  separate  treaty.*  The  Castilian  sovereign  made  a 
laconic  and  stern  reply :  "  He  shall  receive  no  terms 
but  such  as  have  been  granted  to  the  community  of 
Malaga." 

For  two  days  Hamet  el  Zegri  remained  brooding 
in  his  castle,  after  the  city  was  in  possession  of  the 
christians ;  at  length,  the  clamors  of  his  followers 
compelled  him  to  surrender.  When  the  broken 
remnant  of  this  fierce  African  garrison  descended 
from  their  cragged  fortress,  they  were  so  worn  by 
watchfulness,  famine,  and  battle,  yet  carried  such  a 
lurking  fury  in  their  eyes,  that  they  looked  more  like 
fiends  than  men.  They  were  all  condemned  to  slave- 
ry, excepting  Abrahen  Zenete.  The  instance  of 
clemency  which  he  had  shown  in  refraining  to  harm 
the  Spanish  striplings,  on  the  last  sally  from  Malaga, 
won  him  favoratale  terms.  It  was  cited  as  a  magnan- 
imous act  by  the  Spanish  cavaliers,  and  all  admitted, 
that  though  a  Moor  in  blood,  he  possessed  the  chris- 
tian heart  of  a  Castilian  hidalgo.t 

As  to  Hamet  el  Zegri,  on  being  asked  what  moved 
him  to  such  hardened  obstinacy,  he  replied,  "  When  I 
undertook  my  command,  I  pledged  myself  to  fight  in 
defence  of  my  faith,  my  city,  and  my  sovereign,  until 
slain  or  made  prisoner ;  and  depend  upon  it,  had  I 
had  men  to  stand  by  me,  I  should  have  died  fighting, 
instead  of  thus  tamely  surrendering  myself  without  a 
weapon  in  my  hand." 

"Such,"  says  the  pious  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"was  the  diabolical  hatred  and  stiff-necked  opposi- 
tion of  this  infidel  to  our  holy  cause.  But  he  was 
justly  served  by  our  most  Catholic  and  high-minded 
sovereign,  for  his  pertinacious  defence  of  the  city  ; 
for  Ferdinand  ordered  that  he  should  be  loaded  with 
chains,  and  thrown  into  a  dungeon."! 


CHAPTER  XXL 

HOW  THE  CASTILIAN  SOVEREIGNS  TOOK  POSSES- 
SION OF  THE  CITY  OF  MALAGA,  AND  HOW  KING 
FERDINAND  SIGNALIZED  HIMSELF  BY  HIS  SKILL 
IN  BARGAINING  WITH  THE  INHABITANTS  FOR 
THEIR  RANSOM. 

One  of  the  first  cares  of  the  conquerors,  on  enter- 
ing Malaga,  was  to  search  for  christian  captives. 
Nearly  sixteen  hundred  men  and  women  were  found, 
and  among  them  were  persons  of  distinction.  Some 
of  them  had  been  ten,  fifteen,  and  twenty  years  in 
captivity.  Many  had  been  servants  to  the  Moors,  or 
laborers  on  public  works,  and  some  had  passed  their 
time  in  chains  and  dungeons.  Preparations  were 
made  to  celebrate  their  deliverance  as  a  christian 
triumph.  A  tent  was  erected  not  far  from  the  city, 
and  furnished  with  an  altar  and  all  the  solemn  deco- 
rations of  a  chapel.  Here  the  king  and  queen  waited 


•  Cura  de  los  Palacios.  +  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  cap.  84. 

%  Pulsar.    Cronica. 


A   CHRONICLE    OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


253 


to  receive  the  christian  captives.  They  were  assem- 
bled in  the  city,  and  marshalled  forth  in  piteous  pro- 
cession. Many  of  them  had  still  the  chains  and 
shackles  on  their  legs  ;  they  were  wasted  with  famine, 
their  hair  and  beards  overgrown  and  matted,  and 
their  faces  pale  and  haggard  from  long  confinement. 
When  they  beheld  themselves  restored  to  liberty, 
and  surrounded  by  their  countrymen,  some  stared 
wildly  about  as  if  in  a  dream,  others  gave  way  to 
frantic  transports,  but  most  of  them  wept  for  joy. 
All  present  were  moved  to  tears,  by  so  touching  a 
.spectacle.  When  the  procession  arrived  at  what  is 
called  the  Gate  of  Granada,  it  was  met  by  a  great 
concourse  from  the  camp,  with  crosses  and  pennons, 
who  turned  and  followed  the  captives,  singing  hymns 
of  praise  and  thanksgiving.  When  they  came  in 
presence  of  the  king  and  queen,  they  threw  them- 
selves on  their  knees  and  would  have  kissed  their 
feet,  as  their  saviors  and  deliverers  ;  but  the  sover- 
eigns prevented  such  humiliation,  and  graciously 
extended  to  them  their  hands.  They  then  prostrated 
themselves  before  the  altar,  and  all  present  joined 
them  in  giving  thanks  to  God  for  their  liberation 
from  this  cruel  bondage.  By  orders  of  the  king  and 
queen,  their  chains  were  then  taken  off,  and  they  were 
clad  in  decent  raiment,  and  food  was  set  before  them. 
After  they  had  ate  and  drunk,  and  were  refreshed 
and  invigorated,  they  were  provided  with  money  and 
all  things  necessary  for  their  journey,  and  were  sent 
joyfully  to  their  homes. 

While  the  old  chroniclers  dwell  with  becoming 
enthusiasm  on  this  pure  and  affecting  triumph  of 
humanity,  they  go  on,  in  a  strain  of  equal  eulogy,  to 
describe  a  spectacle  of  a  far  different  nature.  It  so 
happened,  that  there  were  found  in  the  city  twelve 
of  those  renegado  christians  who  had  deserted  to  the 
Moors,  and  conveyed  false  intelligence,  during  the 
siege  :  a  barbarous  species  of  punishment  was  inllict- 
cd  upon  them,  borrowed,  it  is  said,  from  the  Moors, 
and  peculiar  to  these  wars.  They  were  tied  to  stakes 
in  a  public  place,  and  horsemen  exercised  their  skill 
in  transpiercing  them  with  pointed  reeds,  hurled  at 
them  while  careering  at  full  speed,  until  the  miser- 
able victims  expired  beneath  their  wounds.  Several 
apostate  Moors,  also,  who,  having  embraced  Chris- 
tianity, had  afterwards  relapsed  into  their  early  faith 
and  had  taken  refuge  in  Malaga  from  the  vengeance 
of  the  Inquisition,  were  publicly  burnt.  "These," 
says  an  old  Jesuit  historian,  exultingly,  "  these  were 
the  tilts  of  reeds  and  the  illuminations  most  pleasing 
lor  this  victorious  festival,  and  for  the  Catholic  piety 
of  our  sovereigns  !  "* 

When  the  city  was  cleansed  from  the  impurities 
and  offensive  odors  which  had  collected  during  the 
siege,  the  bishops  and  otherclergy  who  accompanied 
the  court,  and  the  choir  of  the  royal  chapel,  walked 
in  procession  to  the  principal  mosque,  which  was 
consecrated,  and  entitled  Santa  Maria  de  la  Incarna- 
cion.  This  done,  the  king  and  queen  entered  the 
city,  accompanied  by  the  grand  cardinal  of  Spain, 
and  the  principal  nobles  and  cavaliers  of  the  army, 
and  heard  a  solemn  mass.  The  church  was  then 
elevated  into  a  cathedral,  and  Malaga  was  made  a 
bishopric,  and  many  of  the  neighboring  towns  were 
comprehended  in  its  diocese.  The  queen  took  up 
her  residence  in  the  Alcazaba,  in  the  apartments  of 
her  valiant  treasurer,  Ruy  Lopez,  from  whence  she 
had  a  view  of  the  whole  city ;  but  the  king  establish- 
ed his  quarters  in  the  warrior  castle  of  Gibrallaro. 

And  now  came  to  be  considered  the  disposition 
of  the  Moorish  prisoners.  All  those  who  were  stran- 


*  '*  I.OS  renegados  fueron  acaflavareados ;  y  los  converses  que- 
mados  ;  v  cstos  fueron  las  cafias,  y  luminarias  mas    alegres,  por 
la  fiesta  de  la  vitoria,  para  la  piedad  Catholica  de  nuestros  Reyes.' 
Aiarca.  Analis  de  Ara^an,  torn.  a.  Rey  xxx.  c.  3. 


gers  in  the  city,  and  had  either  taken  refuge  there,  or 
had  entered  to  defend  it,  were  at  once  considered 
slaves.  They  were  divided  into  three  lots  :  one  was 
set  apart  for  the  service  of  God,  in  redeeming  chris- 
tian captives  from  bond.ige,  either  in  the  kingdom  of 
Granacla  or  in  Africa  ;  the  second  lot  was  divided 
among  those  who  had  aided  either  in  field  or  cabinet, 
in  the  present  siege,  according  to  their  rank ;  the 
third  was  appropriated  to  defray,  by  their  sale,  the 
great  expenses  incurred  in  the  reduction  of  the 
place.  A  hundred  of  the  Gomeres  were  sent  as 
presents  to  Pope  Innocent  VIII.,  and  were  led  in 
triumph  through  the  streets  of  Rome,  and  after- 
wards converted  to  Christianity.  Fifty  Moorish 
maidens  were  sent  to  the  queen  Joanna  of  Naples, 
sister  to  king  Ferdinand,  and  thirty  to  the  queen  of 
Portugal.  Isabella  made  presents  of  others  to  the 
ladies  of  her  household,  and  of  the  noble  families 
of  Spain. 

Among  the  inhabitants  of  Malaga  were  four  hun- 
dred and  fifty  Moorish  Jews,  for  the  most  part 
women,  speaking  the  Arabic  language,  and  dressed 
in  the  Moresco  fashion.  These  were  ransomed  by 
a  wealthy  Jew  of  Castile,  farmer-general  of  the  royal 
revenues  derived  from  the  Jews  of  Spain.  He  agreed 
to  make  up,  within  a  certain  time,  the  sum  of  twenty 
thousand  doblas,  or  pistoles  of  gold  ;  all  the  money 
and  jewels  of  the  captives  being  taken  in  part 
payment.  They  were  sent  to  Castile,  in  two  armed 
galleys. 

As  to  the  great  mass  of  Moorish  inhabitants,  they 
implored  that  they  might  not  be  scattered  and  sold 
into  captivity,  but  might  be  permitted  to  ransom 
themselves  by  an  amount  paid  within  a  certain  time. 
Upon  this,  king  Ferdinand  took  the  advice  of  certain 
of  his  ablest  counsellors:  they  said  to  him,  "  If  you 
hold  out  a  prospect  of  hopeless  captivity,  the  infidels 
will  throw  all  their  gold  and  jewels  into  wells  and 
pits,  and  you  will  lose  the  greater  part  of  the  spoil ; 
but  if  you  fix  a  general  rate  of  ransoin,  and  receive 
their  money  and  jewels  in  part  payment,  nothing  will 
be  destroyed."  The  king  relished  greatly  this  advice  ; 
and  it  was  arranged  that  all  the  inhabitants  should 
be  ransomed  at  the  general  rate  of  thirty  doblas  or 
pistoles  in  gold  for  each  individual,  male  or  female, 
large  or  small ;  that  all  their  gold,  jewels,  and  other 
valuables  should  be  received  immediately  in  part 
payment  of  the  general  amount,  and  that  the  residue 
should  be  paid  within  eight  months;  that  if  any  of 
the  number,  actually  living,  should  die  in  the  interim, 
their  ransom  should  nevertheless  be  paid.  If,  how- 
ever, the  whole  of  the  amount  were  not  paid  at  the 
expiration  of  the  eight  months,  they  should  all  be 
considered  and  treated  as  slaves. 

The  unfortunate  Moors  were  eager  to  catch  at  the 
least  hope  of  future  liberty,  and  consented  to  these 
hard  conditions.  The  most  rigorous  precautions 
were  taken  to  exact  them  to  the  uttermost.  The  in- 
habitants were  numbered  by  houses  and  families, 
and  their  names  taken  down  ;  their  most  precious 
effects  were  made  up  into  parcels,  and  sealed  and 
inscribed  with  their  names ;  and  they  were  ordered 
to  repair  with  them  to  certain  large  corrales  or 
inclosures  adjoining  the  Alcazaba,  which  were  sur- 
rounded by  high  walls  and  overlooked  by  watch- 
towers,  to  which  places  the  cavalgadas  of  christian 
captives  had  usually  been  driven,  to  be  confined 
until  the  time  of  sale,  like  cattle  in  a  market.  The 
Moors  were  obliged  to  leave  their  houses  one  by 
one ;  all  their  money,  necklaces,  bracelets,  and 
anklets  of  gold,  pearl,  coral,  and  precious  stones, 
were  taken  from  them  at  the  threshold,  and  their 
persons  so  rigorously  searched  that  they  carried  off 
nothing  concealed. 

Then  might  be  seen  old  men  and  helpless  women, 


254 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


and  tender  maidens,  some  of  high  birth  and  gentle 
condition,  passing  through  the  streets,  heavily  bur- 
thened,  towards  the  Alcazaba.  As  they  left  their 
homes,  they  smote  their  breasts,  and  wrung  their 
hands,  and  raised  their  weeping  eyes  to  heaven  in 
anguish  ;  and  this  is  recorded  as  their  plaint :  "  Oh 
Malaga !  city  so  renowned  and  beautiful !  where 
now  is  the  strength  of  thy  castles,  where  the  grand- 
eur of  thy  towers  ?  Of  what  avail  have  been  thy 
mighty  walls,  for  the  protection  of  thy  children  ? 
Behold  them  driven  from  thy  pleasant  abodes, 
doomed  to  drag  out  a  life  of  bondage  in  a  foreign 
land,  and  to  die  far  from  the  home  of  their  infancy  ! 
What  will  become  of  thy  old  men  and  matrons, 
when  their  gray  hairs  shall  be  no  longer  reverenced  ? 
What  will  become  of  thy  maidens,  so  delicately 
reared  and  tenderly  cherished,  when  reduced  to 
hard  and  menial  servitude  ?  Behold,  thy  once  happy 
families  are  scattered  asunder,  never  again  to  be 
united  ;  sons  are  separated  from  their  fathers,  hus- 
bands from  their  wives,  and  tender  children  from 
their  mothers :  they  will  bewail  each  other  in 
foreign  lands,  but  their  lamentations  will  be  the 
scoff  of  the  stranger.  Oh  Malaga!  city  of  our  birth  ! 
who  can  behold  thy  desolation,  and  not  shed  tears 
of  bitterness  ?  "* 

When  Malaga  was  completely  secured,  a  detach- 
ment was  sent  against  two  fortresses  near  the  sea, 
called  Mixas  and  Osuna.  which  had  frequently  har- 
assed the  christian  camp.  The  inhabitants  were 
threatened  with  the  sword,  unless  they  instantly 
surrendered.  They  claimed  the  same  terms  that 
had  been  granted  to  Malaga,  imagining  them  to  be 
freedom  of  person  and  security  of  property.  Their 
claim  was  granted  ;  they  were  transported  to  Malaga 
with  all  their  riches,  and,  on  arriving  there,  were 
overwhelmed  with  consternation  at  landing  them- 
selves captives.  "  Ferdinand,"  observes  Fray  An- 
tonio Agapida,  "  was  a  man  of  his  word  ;  they  were 
shut  up  in  the  inclosure  at  the  Alcazaba  with  the 
people  of  Malaga,  and  shared  their  fate." 

The  unhappy  captives  remained  thus  crowded  in 
the  court-yards  of  the  Alcazaba,  like  sheep  in  a  fold, 
until  they  could  be  sent  by  sea  and  land  to  Seville. 
They  were  then  distributed  about  in  city  and  coun- 
try, each  christian  family  having  one  or  more  to  feed 
and  maintain  as  servants,  until  the  term  fixed  for 
the  payment  of  the  residue  of  the  ransom  should  ex- 
pire. The  captives  had  obtained  permission  that 
several  of  their  number  should  go  about  among  the 
Moorish  towns  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada,  collect- 
ing contributions  to  aid  in  the  purchase  of  their 
liberties ;  but  these  towns  were  too  much  impover- 
ished by  the  war,  and  engrossed  by  their  own  dis- 
tresses, to  lend  a  listening  ear:  so  the  time  expired 
without  the  residue  of  the  ransom  being  paid,  and 
all  the  captives  of  Malaga,  to  the  number,  as  some 
say,  of  eleven,  and  others  of  fifteen  thousand,  became 
slaves!  "Never,"  exclaims' the  worthy  Fray  An- 
tonio Agapida,  in  one  of  his  usual  bursts  of  zeal  and 
loyalty,  "  never  has  ihere  been  recorded  a  more 
adroit  and  sagacious  arrangement  than  this  made 
by  the  Catholic  monarch,  by  which  he  not  only 
secured  all  the  property  and  half  of  the  ransom  of 
these  infidels,  but  finally  got  possession  of  their  per- 
sons into  the  bargain.  This  truly  may  be  considered 
one  of  the  greatest  triumphs  of  the  pious  and  politic 
Ferdinand,  and  as  raising  him  above  the  generality 
of  conquerors,  who  have  merely  the  valor  to  gain 
victories,  but  lack  the  prudence  and  management 
necessary  to  turn  them  to  account." 

•  Pulgar. 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

HOW  KING  FERDINAND  PREPARED  TO  CARRY 
THE  WAR  INTO  A  DIFFERENT  PART  OF  THE 
TERRITORIES  OF  THE  MOORS. 

The  western  part  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada  had 
now  been  conquered  by  the  christian  arms.  The 
sea-port  of  Malaga  was  captured  :  the  fierce  and 
wariike  inhabitants  of  the  Serrania  de  Ronda,  and 
the  other  mountain  holds  of  the  frontier,  were  all 
disarmed,  and  reduced  to  peaceful  and  laborious 
vassalge;  their  haughty  fortresses,  which  had  so 
long  overawed  the  valleys  of  Andalusia,  now  dis- 
played the  standard  of  Castile  and  Arragon  ;  the 
watch-towers,  which  crowned  every  height,  and  from 
whence  the  infidels  had  kept  a  vulture  eye  over  the 
christian  territories,  were  now  either  dismantled,  or 
garrisoned  with  Catholic  troops.  "  What  signalized 
and  sanctified  this  great  triumph,"  adds  the  worthy 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  were  the  emblems  of  eccle- 
siastical domination  which  every  where  appeared. 
In  every  direction 'arose  stately  convents  and  monas- 
teries, those  fortresses  of  the  faith,  garrisoned  by  its 
spiritual  soldiery  of  monks  and  friars.  The  sacred 
melody  of  christian  bells  was  again  heard  among  the 
mountains,  calling  to  early  matins,  or  sounding  the 
Angeles  at  the  solemn  hour  of  evening." 

While  this  part  of  the  kingdom  was  thus  reduced 
by  the  christian  sword,  the  central  part,  round  the 
city  of  Granada,  forming  the  heart  of  the  Moorish 
territory,  was  held  in  vassalage  of  the  Castilian  mon- 
arch, by  Boabdil,  surnamed  el  Chico.  That  unfortu- 
nate prince  lost  no  occasion  to  propitiate  the  con- 
querors of  his  country  by  acts  of  homage,  and  by 
professions  that  must  have  been  foreign  to  his  heart. 
No  sooner  had  he  heard  of  the  capture  of  Malaga, 
than  he  sent  congratulations  to  the  Catholic  sover- 
eigns, accompanied  with  presents  of  horses  richly 
caparisoned  for  the  king,  and  precious  cloth  of  gold 
and  oriental  perfumes  for  the  queen.  His  congratu- 
lations and  his  presents  were  received  with  the  ut- 
most graciousness  ;  and  the  short-sighted  prince, 
lulled  by  the  temporary  and  politic  forbearance  of 
Ferdinand,  flattered  himself  that  he  was  securing 
the  lasting  friendship  of  that  monarch. 

The  policy  of  Boabdil  had  its  transient  and  super- 
ficial advantages.  The  portion  of  Moorish  territory 
under  his  immediate  sway  had  a  respite  from  the 
calamities  of  war :  the  husbandmen  cultivated  their 
luxuriant  fields  in  security,  and  the  vega  of  Granada 
once  more  blossomed  like  the  rose.  The  merchants 
again  carried  on  a  gainful  traffic  :  the  gates  of  the 
city  were  thronged  with  beasts  of  burden,  bringing 
the  rich  products  of  every  clime.  Yet,  while  the 
people  of  Granada  rejoiced  in  their  teeming  fields 
and  crowded  marts,  they  secretly  despised  the  policy 
which  had  procured  them  these  advantages,  and  held 
Boabdil  for  little  better  than  an  apostate  and  an  un- 
believer. Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal  was  now  the  hope 
of  the  unconquered  part  of  the  kingdom  ;  and  every 
Moor,  whose  spirit  was  not  quite  subdued  with  his 
fortunes,  lauded  the  valor  of  the  old  monarch  and 
his  fidelity  to  the  faith,  and  wished  success  to  his 
standard. 

El  Zagal,  though  he  no  longer  sat  enthroned  in 
the  Alhambra,  yet  reigned  over  more  considerable 
domains  than  his  nephew.  His  territories  extended 
from  the  frontier  of  Jaen  along  the  borders  of  -Murcia 
to  the  Mediterranean,  and  reached  into  the  centre 
of  the  kingdom.  On  the  north-east,  he  held  the  cities 
of  Baza  and  Guadix,  situated  in  the  midst  of  fertile 
regions.  He  had  the  important  sea-port  of  Almeria, 
also,  which  at  one  time  rivalled  Granada  itself  in 
wealth  and  population.     Beside  these,  his  territories 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


255 


included  a  great  part  of  the  Alpuxarra  mountains, 
which  extend  across  the  kingdom  and  shoot  out 
branches  towards  the  sea-coast.  This  mount- 
ainous region  was  a  strong-hold  of  wealth  and 
power.  Its  stern  and  rocky  heights,  rising  to  the 
clouds,  seemed  to  set  invasion  at  defiance  ;  yet 
within  their  rugged  embraces  were  sheltered  delight- 
ful valleys,  of  the  happiest  temperature  and  richest 
fertility.  The  cool  springs  and  limpid  rills  which 
gushed  out  in  all  parts  of  the  mountains,  and  the 
abundant  streams,  which,  for  a  great  part  of  the 
year,  were  supplied  by  the  Sierra  Nevada,  spread  a 
perpetual  verdure  over  the  skirts  and  slopes  of  the 
hills,  and,  collecting  in  silver  rivers  in  the  valleys, 
wound  along  among  plantations  of  mulberry  trees, 
and  groves  of  oranges  and  citrons,  of  almonds,  figs, 
and  pomegranates.  Here  was  produced  the  finest 
silk  of  Spain,  which  gave  employment  to  thousands 
of  manufacturers.  The  sun-burnt  sides  of  the  hills, 
also,  were  covered  with  vineyards ;  the  abundant 
herbage  of  the  mountain  ravines,  and  the  rich  pas- 
turage of  the  valleys,  fed  vast  flocks  and  herds  ;  and 
even  the  arid  and  rocky  bosoms  of  the  heights 
teemed  with  wealth,  from  the  mines  of  various 
metals  with  which  they  were  impregnated.  In  a 
word,  the  Alpuxarra  mountains  had  ever  been  the 
great  source  of  revenue  to  the  monarchs  of  Granada. 
Their  inhabitants,  also,  were  hardy  and  warlike,  and 
a  sudden  summons  from  the  Moorish  king  could  at 
any  time  call  forth  fifty  thousand  fighting  men  from 
their  rocky  fastnesses. 

Such  was  the  rich  but  rugged  fragment  of  an  em- 
pire which  remained  under  the  sway  of  the  old  war- 
rior monarch  El  Zagal.  The  mountain  barriers  by 
which  it  was  locked  up,  had  protected  it  from  most 
of  the  ravages  of  the  present  war.  El  Zagal  prepared 
himself,  by  strengthening  every  fortress,  to  battle 
fiercely  for  its  maintenance. 

The  Catholic  sovereigns  saw  that  fresh  troubles 
and  toils  awaited  them.  The  war  had  to  be  carried 
into  a  new  quarter,  demanding  immense  expendi- 
tures ;  and  new  ways  and  means  must  be  devised  to 
replenish  their  exhausted  coflfers.  "  As  this  was  a 
holy  war,  however,"  says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
"and  peculiarly  redounded  to  the  prosperity  of  the 
church,  the  clerg)'  were  full  of  zeal,  and  contributed 
vast  sums  of  money  and  large  bodies  of  troops.  A 
pious  fund  was  also  produced,  from  the  first  fruits 
of  that  glorious  institution,  the  Inquisition." 

It  so  happened,  that  about  this  time  there  were 
many  families  of  wealth  and  dignity  in  the  kingdoms 
of  Arragon  and  Valentia,  and  the  principality  of 
Catalonia,  whose  forefathers  had  been  Jews,  but  had 
been  converted  to  Christianity.  Notwithstanding  the 
outward  piety  of  these  families,  it  was  surmised,  and 
soon  came  to  be  strongly  suspected,  that  many  of 
them  had  a  secret  hankering  after  Judaism  ;  and  it 
was  even  whispered,  that  some  of  them  practised 
Jewish  rites  in  private. 

The  Catholic  monarch  (continues  Agapida)  had  a 
righteous  abhorrence  of  all  kinds  of  heresy,  and 
a  fervent  zeal  for  the  faith  ;  he  ordered,  therefore, 
a  strict  investigation  of  the  conduct  of  these  pseudo 
christians.  Inquisitors  were  sent  into  these  prov- 
inces for  the  purpose,  who  proceeded  with  their  ac- 
customed zeal.  The  consequence  was,  that  many 
families  were  convicted  of  apostasy  from  the  chris- 
tian faith,  and  of  the  private  practice  of  Judaism. 
Some,  who  had  grace  and  policy  sufficient  to  reform 
in  time,  were  again  received  into  the  christian  fold, 
after  being  severely  mulcted  and  condemned  to 
heavy  penance;  others  were  burnt  at  auto  da f^s, 
for  the  edification  of  the  public,  and  their  property 
was  confiscated  for  the  good  of  the  state. 

As  these  Hebrews  were  of  great  wealth,  and  had 


a  hereditary  passion  for  jewelr}',  there  was  found 
abundant  store  in  their  possession  of  gold  and  silver, 
of  rings  and  necklaces,  and  strings  of  pearl  and  coral, 
and  precious  stones ; — treasures  easy  of  transporta- 
tion, and  wonderfully  adapted  for  the  emergencies 
of  war.  "In  this  way,"  concludes  the  pious  Agap- 
ida, "  these  backsliders,  by  the  all-seeing  contrivances 
of  Pro\'idence,  were  made  to  serve  the  righteous 
cause  which  they  had  so  treacherously  deserted  : 
and  their  apostate  wealth  was  sanctified  by  being 
devoted  to  the  service  of  Heaven  and  the  crown,  in 
this  holy  crusade  against  the  infidels." 

It  must  be  added,  however,  that  these  pious  finan- 
cial expedients  received  some  check  from  the  inter- 
ference of  queen  Isabella.  Her  penetrating  eyes  dis- 
covered that  many  enormities  had  been  committed 
under  color  of  religious  zeal,  and  many  innocent  per- 
sons accused  by  false  witnesses  of  apostasy,  either 
through  malice  or  a  hope  of  obtaining  their  wealth  : 
she  caused  strict  investigation,  therefore,  into  the 
proceedings  which  had  been  held ;  many  of  which 
were  reversed,  and  suborners  punished  in  proportion 
to  their  guilt.* 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


HOW  KING  FERDINAND  INVADED  THE  EASTERN 
SIDE  OF  THE  KINGDOM  OF  GRANADA,  AND  HOW 
HE   WAS   RECEIVED   BY   EL  ZAGAL. 

"  MuLEY  Abdalla  el  Zagal,"  says  the  vener- 
able Jesuit  father,  Pedro  Abarca,  "was  the  most 
venomous  Mahometan  in  all  Morisma:"  and  the 
worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  most  devoutly  echoes 
his  opinion  ;  "  Certainly,"  adds  the  latter,  "  none  ever 
opposed  a  more  heathenish  and  diabolical  obstinacy 
to  the  holy  inroads  of  the  cross  and  sword." 

El  Zagal  felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  do  something 
to  quicken  his  popularity  with  the  people,  and  that 
nothing  was  more  effectual  than  a  successful  inroad. 
The  Moors  loved  the  stirring  call  to  arms,  and  a  wild 
foray  among  the  mountains  ;  and  delighted  more  in 
a  hasty  spoil,  wrested  with  hard  fighting  from  the 
christians,  than  in  all  the  steady  and  certain  gains 
secured  by  peaceful  traffic. 

There  reigned  at  this  time  a  careless  security  along 
the  frontier  of  Jaen.  The  alcaydes  of  the  christian 
fortresses  were  confident  of  the  friendship  of  Boab- 
dil  el  Chico,  and  they  fancied  his  uncle  too  distant 
and  too  much  engrossed  by  his  own  perplexities,  to 
think  of  molesting  them.  On  a  sudden,  El  Zagal 
issued  out  of  Guadix  with  a  chosen  band,  passed 
rapidly  through  the  mountains  which  extend  behind 
Granada,  and  fell  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  the  territo- 
ries in  the  neighborhood  of  Alcala  la  Real.  Before 
the  alarm  could  be  spread  and  the  frontier  roused, 
he  had  made  a  wide  career  of  destruction  through 
the  country,  sacking  and  burning  villages,  sweeping 
off  flocks  and  herds,  and  carrying  away  captives. 
The  warriors  of  the  frontier  assembled  ;  but  El  Zagal 
was  already  far  on  his  return  through  the  mountains, 
and  he  re-entered  the  gates  of  Guadix  in  triumph, 
his  army  laden  with  christian  spoil,  and  conducting 
an  immense  cavalgada.  Such  was  one  of  the  fierce 
El  Zagal's  preparatives  for  the  expected  invasion  of 
the  christian  king,  exciting  the  warlike  spirit  of  his 
people,  and  gaining  for  himself  a  transient  popu- 
larity. 

King  Ferdinand  assembled  his  army  at  Murcia  in 
the  spring  of  1488.  He  left  that  city  on  the  fifth  of 
June,  with  a  flying  camp  of  four  thousand  horse  and 


*  Pulgar,  part  3,  c.  xoo. 


25G 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


fourteen  thousand  foot.  The  marques  of  Cadiz  led 
the  van,  followed  by  the  adelantado  of  Murcia.  The 
army  entered  the  Moorish  frontier  by  the  sea-coast, 
spreadins^  terror  through  the  land  ;  wherever  it  ap- 
peared, the  towns  surrendered  without  a  blow,  so 
great  was  the  dread  of  experiencing  the  woes  which 
had  desolated  the  opposite  frontier.  In  this  way. 
Vera,  Velez  el  Rubio,  Velez  el  Blanco,  and  many 
towns  of  inferior  note,  to  the  number  of  sixty,  yield- 
ed at  the  first  summons. 

It  was  not  until  it  approached  Almeria,  that  the 
army  met  with  resistance.  Tliis  important  city  was 
commanded  by  the  prince  Zelim,  a  relation  of  El 
Zagal.  He  led  forth  his  Moors  bravely  to  the  en- 
counter, and  skirmished  fiercely  with  the  advance 
guard  in  the  gardens  near  the  city.  King  Ferdinand 
came  up  with  the  main  body  of  the  army,  and  called 
off  his  troops  from  the  skirmish.  He  saw  that  to 
attack  the  place  with  liis  present  force  was  fruitless. 
Having  reconnoitred  the  city  and  its  environs,  there- 
fore, against  a  future  campaign,  he  retired  with  his 
army  and  marched  towards  Baza. 

The  old  warrior  Kl  Zagal  was  himself  drawn  up 
in  the  city  of  Baza,  with  a  powerful  garrison.  He 
felt  confidence  in  the  strength  of  the  place,  and  re- 
joiced when  he  heard  that  the  christian  king  was 
approaching.  In  the  valley  in  front  of  Baza,  there 
extended  a  great  tract  of  gardens,  like  a  continued 
grove,  and  intersected  by  canals  and  water-courses. 
in  this  he  stationed  a  powerful  ambuscade  of  arque- 
busiers  and  cross-bow-men.  The  \-anguard  of  the 
christian  army  came  marching  gaily  up  the  valley, 
with  great  sound  of  drum  and  trumpet,  and  led  on 
by  the  marques  of  Cadiz  and  the  adelantado  of 
Murcia.  As  they  drew  near.  El  Zagal  sallied  forth 
with  horse  and  foot,  and  attacked  them  for  a  time 
with  great  spirit.  Gradually  falling  back,  as  if  press- 
ed by  their  superior  valor,  he  drew  the  exulting 
christians  among  the  gardens.  Suddenly  the  Moors 
in  ambuscade  burst  from  their  concealment,  and 
opened  such  a  terrible  fire  in  flank  and  rear,  that 
many  of  the  christians  were  slain,  and  the  rest 
thrown  into  confusion.  King  Ferdinand  arrived  in 
time  to  see  the  disastrous  situation  of  his  troops,  and 
gave  signal  for  the  vanguard  to  retire. 

El  Zagal  did  not  permit  the  foe  to  draw  off  un- 
molested. Ordering  out  fresh  squadrons,  he  fell  upon 
the  rear  of  the  retreating  troops  with  loud  and  tri- 
umphant shouts,  driving  them  before  him  with  dread- 
ful havoc.  The  old  war-cry  of  "  El  Zagal  !  El  Za- 
gal !  "  was  again  put  up  by  the  Moors,  and  was  echoed 
with  transport  from  the  walls  of  the  city.  The  chris- 
tians were  for  a  time  in  imminent  peril  of  a  complete 
route,  when  fortunately  the  adelantado  of  Murcia 
threw  himself  vifith  a  large  body  of  horse  and  foot 
between  the  pursuers  and  the  pursued,  covering  the 
retreat  of  the  latter,  and  giving  them  time  to  rally. 
The  Moors  were  now  attacked  so  vigorously  in  turn, 
that  they  gave  over  the  unequal  contest,  and  drew 
back  slowly  into  the  city.  Many  valiant  cavaliers 
were  slain  in  this  skirmish,  among  the  number  of 
whom  was  Don  Philip  of  Arragon,  Master  of  the 
chivalry  of  St.  George  of  Montesor  ;  he  was  illegiti- 
mate son  of  the  king's  illegitimate  brother  Don 
Carlos,  and  his  death  was  greatly  bewailed  by  Fer- 
dinand. He  had  formerly  been  archbishop  of  Pa- 
lermo, but  had  doffed  the  cassock  for  the  cuirass, 
and  had  thus,  according  to  Fray  Antonio  Agapida, 
gained  a  glorious  crown  of  martyrdom  by  falling  in 
this  holy  war. 

The  warm  reception  of  his  advanced  guard  by  the 
old  warrior  El  Zagal,  brought  king  Ferdinand  to  a 
pause :  he  encamped  on  the  banks  of  the  neighbor- 
ing river  Guadalquiton,  and  began  to  consider 
whether  he  had  acted  wisely  in  undertaking  this 


campaign  with  his  present  force.  His  late  successes 
had  probably  rendered  him  over-confident :  El  Zagal 
had  again  schooled  him  into  his  characteristic  cau- 
tion. He  saw  that  the  old  warrior  was  too  formid- 
ably ensconced  in  Baza,  to  be  dislodged  by  any  thing 
except  a  powerful  army  and  battering  artillery  ;  and 
he  feared,  that  should  he  persist  in  his  invasion, 
some  disaster  might  befall  his  army,  either  from  the 
enterprise  of  the  foe,  or  from  a  pestilence  which  pre- 
vailed in  various  parts  of  the  country. 

Ferdinand  retired,  therefore,  from  before  Baza,  as 
he  had  on  a  former  occasion  from  before  Loxa,  all 
the  wiser  for  a  wholesome  lesson  in  warfare,  but  by 
no  means  grateful  to  those  who  had  given  it,  and 
with  a  solemn  determination  to  have  his  revenge 
upon  his  teachers. 

He  now  took  measures  for  the  security  of  the 
places  gained  in  this  campaign  ;  placing  in  them 
strong  garrisons,  well  armed  and  supplied,  charging 
their  alcaydes  to  be  vigilant  on  their  posts  and  to 
give  no  rest  to  the  enemy.  The  whole  of  the  fron- 
tier was  placed  under  the  command  of  the  brave 
Luiz  Fernandez  Puerto  Carrero.  As  it  was  evident, 
from  the  warlike  character  of  El  Zagal,  that  there 
would  be  abundance  of  active  service  and  hard  fight- 
ing, many  hidalgos  and  young  cavaliers,  eager  for 
distinction,  remained  with  Puerto  Carrero. 

All  these  dispositions  being  made,  king  Ferdinand 
closed  the  dubious  campaign  of  this  year,  not,  as 
usual,  by  returning  in  triumph  at  the  head  of  his 
army  to  some  important  city  of  his  dominions,  but 
by  disbanding  the  troops,  and  repairing  to  pray  at 
the  cross  of  Caravaca. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


HOW  THE    MOORS    MADE  VARIOUS    ENTERPRISES 
AGAINST  THE  CHRISTIANS. 

"  While  the  pious  king  Ferdinand,"  observes 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "was  humbling  himself  be- 
fore the  cross,  and  devoutly  praying  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  his  enemies,  that  fierce  pagan  El  Zagal,  de- 
pending merely  on  his  arm  of  flesh  and  sword  of 
steel,  pursued  his  diabolical  outrages  upon  the  chris- 
tians." No  sooner  was  the  invading  army  disbanded, 
than  El  Zagal  sallied  forth  from  his  strong-hold,  and 
carried  fire  and  sword  into  all  those  parts  that  had 
submitted  to  the  Spanish  yoke.  The  castle  of  Nixar, 
being  carelessly  guarded,  was  taken  by  surprise,  and 
its  garrison  put  to  the  sword.  The  old  warrior  raged 
with  sanguinary  fury  about  the  whole  frontier,  attack- 
ing convoys,  slaying,  wounding,  and  making  prison- 
ers, and  coming  by  surprise  upon  the  christians 
wherever  they  were  off  their  guard. 

The  alcayde  of  the  fortress  of  Cullar,  confiding  in 
the  strength  of  its  walls  and  towers,  and  in  its  diffi- 
cult situation,  being  built  on  the  summit  of  a  lofty 
hill,  and  surrounded  by  precipices,  ventured  to  ab- 
sent himself  from  his  post.  The  vigilant  El  Zagal 
was  suddenly  before  it,  with  a  powerful  force :  he 
stormed  the  town  sword  in  hand,  fought  the  chris- 
tians from  street  to  street,  and  drove  them,  with 
great  slaughter,  to  the  citadel.  Here  a  veteran  cap- 
tain, by  the  name  of  Juan  de  Avalos,  a  gray-headed 
warrior  scarred  in  many  a  battle,  assumed  the  com- 
mand and  made  an  obstinate  defence.  Neither  the 
multitude  of  the  enemy,  nor  the  vehemence  of  their 
attacks,  though  led  on  by  the  terrible  El  Zagal  him- 
self, had  power  to  shake  the  fortitude  of  this  doughty 
old  soldier. 

The  Moors  undermined  the  outer  walls  and  one 
of  the  towers  of  the  fortress,  and  made  their  way  into 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


257 


the  exterior  court.  The  alciyde  manned  the  tops  of 
his  towers,  pouring'  down  melted  pitch,  and  shower- 
ing darts,  arrows,  stones,  and  all  kinds  of  missiles, 
upon  the  assailants.  The  Moors  were  driven  out  of 
the  court ;  but,  being  reinforced  with  fresh  troops, 
returned  repeatedly  to  the  assault.  For  live  days  the 
combat  was  kept  up :  the  christians  were  nearly  ex- 
hausted, but  they  were  sustained  by  the  cheerings  of 
their  staunch  old  alcayde  ;  and  they  feared  death  from 
the  cruel  El  Zagal,  should  they  surrender.  At  length 
the  approach  of  a  powerful  force  under  Puerto  Car- 
rero  relieved  them  from  this  fearful  peril.  El  Zagal 
abandoned  the  assault,  but  set  fire  to  the  town  in  his 
rage  and  disappointment,  and  retired  to  his  strong- 
hold of  Guadix. 

The  example  of  El  Zagal  roused  his  adherents  to 
action.  Two  bold  Moorish  alcaydes,  Ali  Altar  and 
Yza  Altar,  commanding  the  fortresses  of  Alhenden 
and  Salobrefia,  laid  waste  the  country  of  the  subjects 
of  Boabdil,  and  the  places  which  had  recently  sub- 
mitted to  the  christians :  they  swept  off  the  cattle, 
carried  off  captives,  and  harassed  the  whole  of  the 
newly  conquered  frontier. 

The  Moors  also  of  Almeria,  and  Tavernas,  and 
Purchena,  made  inroads  into  Murcia,  and  carried  fire 
and  sword  into  its  most  fertile  regions.  On  the  op- 
ix)site  frontier,  also,  among  the  wild  valleys  and  rug- 
ged recesses  of  the  Sierra  Bormeja,  or  Red  Mount- 
ains, many  of  the  Moors  who  had  lately  submitted 
again  flew  to  arms.  .The  marques  of  Cadiz  suppressed 
by  timely  vigilance  the  rebellion  of  the  mountain 
town  of  Gausin,  situated  on  a  high  peak,  almost 
among  the  clouds ;  but  others  of  the  Moors  fortified 
themselves  in  rock-built  towers  and  castles,  inhabit- 
ed solely  by  warriors,  from  whence  they  carried  on 
a  continual  war  of  forage  and  depredation  ;  sweep- 
ing suddenly  down  into  the  valleys,  and  carrying  off 
flocks  and  herds  and  all  kinds  of  booty  to  these 
eagle-nests,  to  which  it  was  perilous  and  fruitless  to 
pursue  them. 

The  worthy  father  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  closes 
his  history  of  this  checkered  year,  in  quite  a  different 
strain  from  those  triumphant  periods  with  which  he 
is  accustomed  to  wind  up  the  victorious  campaigns 
of  the  sovereigns.  "Great  and  mighty,"  says  this 
venerable  chronicler,  "  were  the  floods  and  tempests 
which  prevailed  throughout  the  kingdoms  of  Castile 
and  Arragon,  about  this  time.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  windows  of  Heaven  were  again  opened,  and  a 
second  deluge  overwhelming  the  face  of  nature.  The 
clouds  burst  as  it  were  in  cataracts  upon  the  earth  ; 
torrents  rushed  down  from  the  mountains,  overflow- 
ing the  valleys ;  brooks  were  swelled  into  raging 
rivers ;  houses  were  undermined  ;  mills  were  swept 
away  by  their  own  streams  ;  the  affrighted  shepherds 
saw  their  flocks  drowned  in  the  midst  of  the  pasture, 
and  were  fain  to  take  refuge  for  their  lives  in  towers 
and  high  places.  The  Guadalquivir  for  a  time  be- 
came a  roaring  and  tumultuous  sea,  inundating  the 
immense  plain  of  the  Zablada,  and  filling  the  fair 
city  of  Seville  with  affright. 

"  A  vast  black  cloud  moved  ov^r  the  land,  accom- 
panied by  a  hurricane  and  a  trembling  of  the  earth. 
Houses  were  unroofed,  the  walls  and  battlements  of 
fortresses  shaken,  and  lotty  towers  rocked  to  their 
foundations.  Ships,  riding  at  anchor,  were  either 
stranded  or  swallowed  up ;  others,  under  sail,  were 
tossed  to  and  fro  upon  mountain  waves,  and  cast 
upon  the  land,  where  the  whirlwind  rent  them  in 
pieces  and  scattered  them  in  fragments  in  the  air. 
Doleful  was  the  ruin  and  great  the  terror,  where  this 
baleful  cloud  passed  by  ;  and  it  left  a  long  track  of 
desolation  over  sea  and  land.  Some  of  the  faint- 
hearted," adds  Antonio  Agapida,  "  looked  upon  this 
torment  of  the  elements  as  a  prodigious  event,  out 
17 


of  the  course  of  nature.  In  the  weakness  of  their 
fears,  they  connected  it  with  those  troubles  which 
occurred  in  various  places,  considering  it  a  portent 
of  some  great  calamity,  about  to  be  wrought  by  the 
violence  of  the  bloody-handed  El  Zagal  and  his  fierce 
adherents." 


CHAPTER    XXV. 


HOW  KING  FERDINAND  PREPARED  TO  BESIEGE 
THE  CITY  OF  BAZA,  AND  HOW  THE  CITY  PRE- 
PARED  FOR  DEFENCE. 

The  stormy  winter  h.ad  passed  away,  and  the 
spring  of  1489  was  advancing;  yet  the  heavy  rains 
had  broken  up  the  roads,  the  mountain  brooks  were 
swoln  to  raging  torrents,  and  the  late  shallow  and 
peaceful  rivers  were  deep,  turbulent,  and  dangerous. 
The  christian  troops  had  been  summoned  to  assem- 
ble in  early  spring  on  the  frontiers  of  Jaen,  but  were 
slow  in  arriving  at  the  appointed  place.  They  were 
entangled  in  the  miry  defiles  of  the  mountains,  or 
fretted  impatiently  on  the  banks  of  impassable  floods. 
It  was  late  in  the  month  of  May,  before  they  assem- 
bled in  sufficient  force  to  attempt  the  proposed  in- 
vasion ;  when,  at  length,  a  valiant  army,  of  thirteen 
thousand  horse  and  forty  thousand  foot,  marched 
merrily  over  the  border.  The  queen  remained  at  the 
city  of  Jaen,  with  the  prince-royal  and  the  princesses 
her  children,  accompanied  and  supported  by  the 
venerable  cardinal  of  .Spain,  and  those  reverend 
prelates  who  assisted  in  her  councils  throughout  this 
holy  war. 

The  plan  of  king  Ferdinand  was  to  lay  siege  to 
the  city  of  Baza,  the  key  of  the  remaining  posses- 
sions of  the  Moor.  That  important  fortress  taken, 
Guadix  and  Almeria  must  soon  follow,  and  then  the 
power  of  El  Zagal  would  be  at  an  end.  As  the 
Catholic  king  advanced,  he  had  first  to  secure  vari- 
ous castles  and  strong-holds  in  the  vicinity  of  Baza, 
which  might  otherwise  harass  his  army.  Some  of 
these  made  obstinate  resistance,  especially  the  town 
of  Cuxar.  The  christians  assailed  the  walls  with 
various  machines,  to  sap  them  and  batter  them  down. 
The  brave  alcayde,  Hubec  Adalgan,  opposed  force 
to  force  and  engine  to  engine.  He  manned  his  tow- 
ers with  his  bravest  warriors,  who  rained  down  an 
iron  shower  upon  the  enemy ;  and  he  linked  caul- 
drons together  by  strong  chains,  and  cast  fire  from 
them,  consuming  the  wooden  engines  of  their  assail- 
ants, and  those  who  managed  them. 

The  siege  was  protracted  for  several  days :  the 
bravery  of  the  alcayde  could  not  save  his  fortress 
from  an  overwhelming  foe,  but  it  gained  him  honor- 
able terms.  Ferdinand  permitted  the  garrison  and 
the  inhabitants  to  repair  with  their  effects  to  Baza; 
and  the  valiant  Hubec  Adalgan  riiarched  forth  with 
the  remnant  of  his  force,  and  took  the  way  to  that 
devoted  city. 

The  delays  which  had  been  caused  to  the  invading 
army  by  these  various  circumstances,  had  been  dili- 
gently improved  by  the  old  Moorish  monarch  El 
Zagal  ;  who  felt  that  he  was  now  making  his  last 
stand  for  empire,  and  that  this  campaign  would  de- 
cide, whether  he  should  continue  a  king,  or  sink  into 
a  vassal.  El  Zagal  was  but  a  few  leagues  from 
Baza,  at  the  city  of  Guadix.  This  last  was  the  most 
important  point  of  his  remaining  territories,  being  a 
kind  of  bulwark  between  them  and  the  hostile  city 
of  Granada,  the  seat  of  his  nephew's  power.  Though 
he  heard  of  the  tide  of  war,  therefore,  that  was  col- 
lecting and  rolling  towards  the  city  of  Baza,  he 
dared  not  go  in  person  to  its  assistance.    He  dread* 


258 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ed  that,  should  he  leave  Guadix,  Boabdil  would  at- 
tack him  in  rear  while  the  christian  army  was  bat- 
tling- with  him  in  front.  El  Zagal  trusted  in  the 
great  strength  of  Baza,  to  defy  any  violent  assault ; 
and  he  profited  by  the  delays  of  the  christian  army, 
to  supply  it  with  all  possible  means  of  defence.  He 
sent  thither  all  the  troops  he  could  spare  from  his 
garrison  of  Guadix,  and  dispatched  missives  through- 
out his  territories,  calling  upon  true  Moslems  to 
hasten  to  Baza,  to  make  a  devoted  stand  in  defence 
of  their  homes,  their  liberties,  and  their  religion. 
The  cities  of  Tavernas  and  Purchena,  and  the  sur- 
rounding heights  and  valleys,  responded  to  his  or- 
ders, and  sent  forth  their  fighting  men  to  the  field. 
The  rocky  fastnesses  of  the  Alpuxarras  resounded 
with  the  din  of  arms  :  troops  of  horse  and  bodies  of 
foot-soldiers  were  seen  winding  down  the  rugged 
cliffs  and  defiles  of  those  marble  mountains,  and 
hastening  towards  Baza.  Many  brave  cavaliers  of 
Granada  also,  spurning  the  quiet  and  security  of 
christian  vassalage,  secretly  left  the  city  and  hasten- 
ed to  join  their  fighting  countrymen.  The  great  de- 
pendence of  El  Zagal,  however,  was  upon  the  valor 
and  loyalty  of  his  cousin  and  brother-in-law,  Cidi 
Yahye  Alnayar  Aben  Zelim,  who  was  alcayde  of 
Almeria, — -a  cavalier  experienced  in  warfare,  and 
redoubtable  in  the  field.  He  wrote  to  him  to  leave 
Almeria,  and  repair,  with  all  speed,  at  the  head  of 
his  troops,  to  Baza.  Cidi  Yahye  departed  imme- 
diately, with  ten  thousand  of  the  bravest  Moors  in 
the  kingdom.  These  were  for  the  most  part  hardy 
mountaineers,  tempered  to  sun  and  storm,  and  tried 
in  many  a  combat.  None  equalled  them  for  a  sally 
or  a  skirmish.  They  were  adroit  in  executing  a 
thousand  stratagems,  ambuscadoes,  and  evolutions. 
Impetuous  in  their  assaults,  yet  governed  in  their 
utmost  fury  by  a  word  or  sign  from  their  com- 
mander, at  the  sound  of  a  trumpet  they  would  check 
themselves  in  the  midst  of  their  career,  wheel  off 
and  disperse;  and  at  another  sound  of  a  trumpet, 
they  would  as  suddenly  re-assemble  and  return  to 
the  attack.  They  were  upon  the  enemy  when 
least  expected,  coming  like  a  rushing  blast,  spread- 
ing havoc  and  consternation,  and  then  passing  away 
in  an  instant ;  so  that  when  one  recovered  from  the 
shock  and  looked  around,  behold  nothing  was  to  be 
seen  or  heard  of  this  tempest  of  war,  but  a  cloud 
of  dust  and  the  clatter  of  retreating  hoofs. 

When  Cidi  Yahye  led  his  train  of  ten  thousand 
valiant  warriors  into  the  gates  of  Baza,  the  city  rang 
with  acclamations,  and  for  a  time  the  inhabitants 
thought  themselves  secure.  El  Zagal,  also,  felt  a 
glow  of  confidence,  notwithstanding  his  own  absence 
Irom  the  city.  "  Cidi  Yahye,"  said  he,  "  is  my  cousin 
and  my  brother-in-law  ;  related  to  me  by  blood  and 
marriage,  he  is  a  second  self :  happy  is  that  monarch 
who  has  his  kindred  to  command  his  armies." 

With  all  these  reinforcements,  the  garrison  of 
Baza  amounted  to  above  twenty  thousand  men. 
There  were  at  this  time  three  principal  leaders  in 
the  city  :— Mohammed  ben  Hassan,  surnamed  the 
veteran,  who  was  military  governor  or  alcayde,  an 
old  Moor  of  great  experience  and  discretion  ;  the 
second  was  Hamet  Abu  Zali,  who  was  captain  of 
the  troops  stationed  in  the  place ;  and  the  third  was 
Hubec  Adalgan,  the  valiant  alcayde  of  Cuxar,  who 
had  repaired  hither  with  the  remains  of  his  garrison. 
Over  all  these  Cidi  Yahye  exercised  a  supreme  com- 
mand, in  consequence  of  his  being  of  the  blood- 
royal,  and  in  the  especial  confidence  of  Muley  Ab- 
dalla  el  Zagal.  He  was  eloquent  and  ardent  in 
council,  and  fond  of  striking  and  splendid  achieve- 
ments ;  but  he  was  a  little  prone  to  be  carried  away 
by  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  and  the  warmth 
ot  his  imagination.     The  councils  of  war  of  these 


commanders,  therefore,  were  more  frequently  con- 
trolled by  the  opinions  of  the  old  alcayde  Moham- 
med ben  Hassan,  for  whose  shrewdness,  caution,  and 
experience,  Cidi  Yahye  himself  felt  the  greatest 
deference. 

The  city  of  Baza  was  situated  in  a  great  valley, 
eight  leagues  in  length  and  three  in  breadth,  called 
the  Hoya,  or  basin  of  Baza.  It  was  surrounded  by 
a  range  of  mountains,  called  the  Sierra  of  Xabalco- 
hol,  the  streams  of  which,  collecting  themselves  into 
two  rivers,  watered  and  fertilized  the  country.  The 
city  was  built  in  the  plain  ;  but  one  part  of  it  was 
protected  by  the  rocky  precipices  of  the  mountain, 
and  by  a  powerful  citadel ;  the  other  part  was  de- 
fended by  massive  walls,  studded  with-  immense 
towers.  It  had  suburbs  towards  the  plain,  imper- 
fectly fortified  by  earthen  walls.  In  front  of  these 
suburbs  extended  a  tract  of  orchards  and  gardens 
nearly  a  league  in  length,  so  thickly  planted  as  to 
resemble  a  continued  forest.  Here,  every  citizen 
who  could  afford  it,  had  his  little  plantation,  and  his 
garden  of  fruits  and  flowers  and  vegetables,  watered 
by  canals  and  rivulets,  and  dominated  by  a  small 
tower  to  serve  for  recreation  or  defence.  This  wil- 
derness of  groves  and  gardens,  intersected  in  all  parts 
by  canals  and  runs  of  water,  and  studded  by  above, 
a  thousand  small  towers,  formed  a  kind  of  protec- 
tion to  this  side  of  the  city,  rendering  all  approach 
extremely  difficult  and  perplexed,  and  affording 
covert  to  the  defenders. 

While  the  christian  army  had  been  detained  before 
the  frontier  posts,  the  city  of  Baza  had  been  a  scene 
of  hurried  and  unremitting  preparation.  All  the 
grain  of  the  surrounding  valley,  though  yet  unripe, 
was  hastily  reaped  and  borne  into  the  city,  to  pre- 
vent it  from  yielding  sustenance  to  the  enemy.  The 
country  was  drained  of  all  its  supplies  ;  flocks  a.-.d 
herds  were  driven,  bleating  and  bellowing,  into  the 
gates  ;  long  trains  of  beasts  of  burthen,  some  laden 
with  food,  others  with  lances,  darts,  and  arms  of  all 
kinds,  kept  pouring  into  the  place.  Already  there 
were  munitions  collecterl  sufficient  for  a  siege  of  fif- 
teen months  ;  yet  still  the  eager  and  hasty  prepara- 
tion was  going  on,  when  the  army  of  Ferdinand 
came  in  sight. 

On  one  side  might  be  seen  scattered  parties  of  foot 
and  horse  spurring  to  the'  gates,  and  muleteers  hur- 
rying forward  their  burthened  animals,  all  anxious  to 
get  under  shelter  before  the  gathering  storm  ;  on  the 
other  side,  the  cloud  of  war  came  sweeping  down 
the  valley,  the  roll  of  drum  or  clang  of  trumpet  re- 
sounding occasionally  from  its  deep  bosom,  or  the 
bright  glance  of  arms  flashing  forth,  like  vivid  light- 
ning, from  its  columns.  King  Ferdinand  pitched  his 
tents  in  the  valley,  beyond  the  green  labyrinth  of 
gardens.  He  sent  his  heralds  to  summon  the  city  to 
surrender,  promising  the  most  favorable  terms  in  case  / 
of  immediate  compliance,  and  avowing  in  the  most 
solemn  terms  his  resolution  never  to  abandon  the 
siege  until  he  had  possession  of  the  place. 

Upon  receiving  this  summons,  the  Moorish  com- 
manders held  a  council  of  war.  The  prince  Cidi 
Yahye,  indignant  at  the  menace  of  the  king,  was  for 
retorting  by  a  declaration  that  the  garrison  never 
would  surrender,  but  would  fight  until  buried  under 
the  ruins  of  the  walls.  "  Of  what  avail,"  said  the 
veteran  Mohammed,  "  is  a  declaration  of  the  kind, 
which  we  may  falsify  by  our  deeds  ?  Let  us  threaten 
what  we  know  we  can  perform,  and  let  us  endeavor 
to  perform  more  than  we  threaten." 

In  conformity  to  the  advice  of  Mohammed  ben 
Hassan,  therefore,  a  laconic  reply  was  sent  to  the 
christian  monarch,  thanking  him  for  his  offer  of  favor- 
able terms,  but  informing  him  that  they  were  placed 
in  the  city  to  defend,  not  to  surrender  it. 


A    CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


259 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  GARDENS  BEFORE  BAZA. 

When  the  reply  of  the  Moorish  commanders  was 
brought  to  king  Ferdinand,  he  prepared  to  press  the 
siege  with  the  utmost  rigor.  Finding  the  camp  too 
far  from  thj  city,  and  that  the  intervening  orchards 
afforded  shelter  for  the  sallies  of  the  Moors,  he  deter- 
mined to  advance  it  beyond  the  gardens,  in  the  space 
between  them  and  the  suburbs,  where  his  batteries 
would  have  full  play  upon  the  city  walls.  A  detach- 
ment was  sent  in  advance,  to  take  possession  of  the 
gardens,  and  to  keep  a  check  upon  the  suburbs,  op- 
posing any  sally,  while  the  encampment  should  be 
formed  and  fortified.  The  various  commanders  en- 
tered the  orchards  at  different  points.  The  young 
cavaliers  marched  fearlessly  forward,  but  the  expe- 
rienced veterans  foresaw  infinite  peril  in  the  mazes 
of  this  verdant  labyrinth.  The  Master  of  St.  Jago, 
as  he  led  his  troops  into  the  centre  of  the  gardens, 
exhorted  them  to  keep  by  one  another,  and  to  press 
forward  in  defiance  of  all  difficulty  or  danger  ;  assur- 
ing them  that  God  would  give  them  the  victory,  if 
they  attacked  hardily  and  persisted  resolutely. 

Scarce  had  they  entered  the  verge  of  the  orchards, 
when  a  din  of  drums  and  trumpets,  mingled  with 
war-cries,  was  heard  from  the  suburbs,  and  a  legion 
of  Moorish  warriors  on  foot  poured  forth.  They 
were  led  on  by  the  prince  Cidi  Yahye.  He  saw  the 
imminent  danger  of  the  city,  should  the  christians 
gain  possession  of  the  orchards.  "  Soldiers,"  he  cried, 
•'  we  fight  for  life  and  liberty,  for  our  families,  our 
country,  our  religion  ;*  nothing  is  left  for  us  to  depend 
upon,  but  the  strength  of  our  hands,  the  courage  of 
our  hearts,  and  the  almighty  protection  of  Allah." 
The  Moors  answered  him  with  shouts  of  war,  and 
rushed  to  the  encounter.  The  two  hosts  met  in  the 
midst  of  the  gardens  A  chance-medley  combat  en- 
sued, with  lances,  arquebusses,  cross-bows,  and  scimi- 
tars ;  the  perplexed  nature  of  the  ground,  cut  up  and 
intersected  by  canals  and  streams,  the  closeness  of 
the  trees,  the  multiplicity  of  towers  and  petty  edifices, 
gave  greater  advantages  to  the  Moors,  who  were  on 
foot,  than  to  the  christians,  who  were  on  horseback. 
The  Moors,  too,  knew  the  ground,  with  all  its  alleys 
and  passes  ;  and  were  thus  enabled  to  lurk,  to  sally 
forth,  to  attack,  and  to  retreat,  almost  without  in- 
jury. 

The  christian  commanders,  seeing  this,  ordered 
many  of  the  horsemen  to  dismount  and  fight  on  foot. 
The  battle  then  became  fierce  and  deadly,  each  dis- 
regarding his  own  life,  provided  he  could  slay  his 
enemy,  it  was  not  so  much  a  general  battle,  as  a 
multitude  of  petty  actions ;  for  every  orchard  and 
garden  had  its  distinct  contest.  No  one  could  see 
further  than  the  little  scene  of  fury  and  bloodshed 
around  him,  nor  know  how  the  general  battle  fared. 
In  vain  the  captains  exerted  their  voices,  in  vain  the 
trumpets  brayed  forth  signals  and  commands — all 
was  confounded  .and  unheard,  in  the  universal  din 
and  uproar.  No  one  kept  to  his  standard,  but  fought 
as  his  own  fury  or  fear  dictated.  In  some  jilaces  the 
christians  had  the  advantage,  in  others  the  Moors  ; 
often,  a  victorious  party,  pursuing  the  vanquished, 
came  upon  a  superior  and  triumphant  force  of  the 
enemy,  and  the  fugitives  turned  back  upon  them  in 
an  overwhelming  wave.  Some  broken  remnants,  in 
their  terror  and  confusion,  fled  from  their  own  coun- 
trymen and  sought  refuge  among  their  ehemies,  not 
knowing  friend  from  foe,  in  the  obscurity  of  the 
groves.  The  Moors  were  more  adroit  in  these  wild 
skirmishings,  from  their  flexiljility ,  lightness,  and  agil- 

♦"  tUi  (Mauri)  pro  fortunis,  pro  libertate,  pro  laribus  patriis,  pro 
vita  denique  certabant." — Pietro  Martyr^  Epist.  70, 


ity,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  they  would  disperse, 
rally,  and  return  again  to  the  charge.* 

The  hardest  fighting  was  about  the  small  garden 
towers  and  pavilions,  which  served  as  so  many  pqtty 
fortresses.  Each  party  by  turns  gained  them,  defend- 
ed them  fiercely,  and  were  driven  out ;  many  of  the 
towers  were  set  on  fire,  and  increased  the  horrors  of 
the  fight  by  the  wreaths  of  smoke  and  flame  in  which 
they  wrapped  the  groves,  and  by  the  shrieks  of  those 
who  were  burning. 

Several  of  the  christian  cavaliers,  bewildered  by 
the  uproar  and  confusion,  and  shocked  at  the  carnage 
which  prevailed,  would  have  led  their  men  out  of 
the  action  ;  but  they  were  entangled  in  a  labyrinth, 
and  knew  not  which  way  to  retreat.  While  in  this 
perplexity,  the  standard-bearer  of  one  of  the  squad- 
rons of  the  grand  cardinal  had  his  arm  carried  off  by 
a  cannon-ball ;  the  standard  was  well-nigh  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy,  when  Roderigo  de  Mendoza, 
an  intrepid  youth,  natural  son  of  the  grand  cardinal, 
rushed  to  its  rescue,  through  a  shower  of  balls, 
lances,  and  arrows,  and,  bearing  it  aloft,  dashed  for- 
ward with  it  into  the  hottest  of  the  combat,  followed 
by  his  shouting  soldiery. 

King  Ferdinand,  who  remained  in  the  skirts  of  the 
orchard,  was  in  extreme  anxiety.  It  was  impossible 
to  see  much  of  the  action,  for  the  multiplicity  of  trees 
and  towers,  and  the  wreaths  of  smoke  ;  and  those 
who  were  driven  out  defeated,  or  came  out  wounded 
and  exhausted,  gave  different  accounts,  according  to 
the  fate  of  the  partial  conflicts  in  which  they  had 
been  engaged.  Ferdinand  exerted  himself  to  the 
utmost,  to  animate  and  encourage  his  troops  to  this 
blind  encounter,  sending  reinforcements  of  horse  and 
foot  to  those  points  where  the  battle  was  mo!t  san- 
guinary and  doubtful. 

Among  those  who  were  brought  forth  mortally 
wounded,  was  Don  Juan  de  Luna,  a  youth  of  un- 
common merit,  greatly  prized  by  the  king,  beloved 
by  the  army,  and  recently  married  to  Donna  Catalina 
de  Urrea,  a  young  lady  of  distinguished  beauty. t 
They  laid  him  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  and  endeavored 
to  stanch  and  bind  up  his  wounds  with  a  scarf  which 
his  bride  had  wrought  for  him  ;  but  his  life-blood 
flowed  too  profusely  ;  and  while  a  holy  friar  was  yet 
administering  to  him  the  last  sacred  offices  of  the 
church,  he  expired,  almost  at  the  feet  of  his  sovereign. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  veteran  alcayde  Moham- 
med ben  Hass.an,  surrounded  by  a  little  band  of 
chieftains,  kept  an  anxious  eye  upon  the  scene  of 
combat  from  the  walls  of  the  city.  For  nearly  twelve 
hours,  the  battle  had  raged  without  intermission. 
The  thickness  of  the  foliage  hid  all  the  particulars 
from  their  sight ;  but  they  could  see  the  flash  of 
swords  and  glance  of  helmets  among  the  trees. 
Columns  of  smoke  rose  in  every  direction,  while  the 
clash  of  arms,  the  thundering  of  ribadoquines  and 
arquebusses,  the  shouts  and  cries  of  the  combatants, 
and  the  groans  and  supplications  of  the  wounded, 
bespoke  the  deadly  conflict  that  was  waging  in  the 
bosom  of  the  groves.  They  were  harassed,  too,  by 
the  shrieks  and  lamentations  of  the  Moorish  women 
and  children,  as  their  wounded  relations  were  brought 
bleeding  from  the  scene  of  action  ;  and  were  stunned 
by  a  general  outcry  of  wo  on  the  part  of  the  inhabit- 
ants, as  the  body  of  Redoan  Zalfarga,  a  renegado 
christian,  and  one  of  the  bravest  of  their  generals, 
was  borne  breathless  into  the  city. 
.  At  length,  the  din  of  battle  approached  ne.arer  to 
the  skirts  of  the  orchards.  They  beheld  their  war- 
riors driven  oqt  from  among  the  groves  by  fresh 
squadrons  of  the  enemy,  and,  after  disputing  the 
ground  inch  by  inch,  obliged  to  retire  to  a  place  be- 


*  Mariana,  lib.  25,  cap,  13. 


t  Mariana.    P.  Martyr.     Zmmt 


•2G3 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


tween  the  orchards  and  the  suburbs,  which  was 
fortified  with  palisadoes. 

The  christians  immediately  planted  opposing  pali- 
sadoes, and  established  strong  outposts  near  to  this 
retreat  of  the  Moors ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  king 
Ferdinand  ordered  that  his  encampment  should  be 
pitched  within  the  hard-won  orchards. 

Mohammed  ben  Hassan  sallied  forth  to  the  aid  of 
the  prince  Cidi  Yahye,  and  made  a  desperate  at- 
tempt to  dislodge  the  enemy  from  this  formidable 
position  :  but  the  night  had  closed,  and  the  darkness 
rendered  it  impossible  to  make  any  impression.  The 
Moors,  however,  kept  up  constant  assaults  and 
alarms,  throughout  the  night ;  and  the  weary  chris- 
tians, exhausted  by  the  toils  and  sufferings  of  the 
day,  were  not  allowed  a  moment  of  repose.* 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


SIEGE  OF  BAZA. — EMBARRASSMENTS  OF  THE  ARMY. 

The  morning  sun  rose  upon  a  piteous  scene,  be- 
fore the  walls  of  Baza.  The  christian  outposts,  har- 
assed throughout  the  night,  were  pale  and  haggard  ; 
while  the  multitudes  of  slain  which  lay  before  their 
palisadoes,  showed  the  fierce  attacks  they  had  sus- 
tained, and  the  bravery  of  their  defence. 

Beyond  them  lay  the  gro^■es  and  gardens  of  Baza  ; 
once,  the  favorite  resorts  for  recreation  and  delight — 
now,  a  scene  of  horror  and  desolation.  The  towers 
and  pavilions  were  smoking  ruins ;  the  canals  and 
water-courses  were  discolored  with  blood,  and  choked 
with  the  bodies  of  the  slain.  Here  and  there,  the 
ground,  deep  dinted  with  the  tramp  of  man  and 
steed,  and  plashed  and  slippery  with  gore,  showed 
where  there  had  been  some  fierce  and  mortal  con- 
flict ;  while  the  bodies  of  Moors  and  christians, 
ghastly  in  death,  lay  half  concealed  among  the  mat- 
ted and  trampled  shrubs,  and  flowers,  and  herbage. 

Amidst  these  sanguinary  scenes  arose  the  chris- 
tian tents,  which  had  been  hastily  pitched  among 
the  gardens  in  the  preceding  evening.  The  expe- 
rience of  the  night,  however,  and  the  forlorn  as- 
pect of  every  thing  in  the  morning,  convinced  king 
Ferdmand  of  the  perils  and  hardships  to  which  his 
camp  must  be  exposed,  in  its  present  situation  ;  and, 
after  a  consultation  with  his  principal  cavaliers,  he 
resolved  to  abandon  the  orchards. 

It  was  a  dangerous  movement,  to  extricate  his 
army  from  so  entangled  a  situation,  in  the  face  of  so 
alert  and  daring  an  enemy.  A  bold  front  was  there- 
fore kept  up  towards  the  city  ;  additional  troops  were 
ordered  to  the  advanced  posts,  and  works  begun  as 
if  for  a  settled  encampment.  Not  a  tent  was  struck 
in  the  gardens;  but  in  the  mean  time,  the  most 
active  and  unremitting  exertions  were  made  to  re- 
move all  the  baggage  and  furniture  of  the  camp 
back  to  the  original  station. 

All  day,  the  Moors  beheld  a  formidable  show  of 
war  maintained  in  front  of  the  gardens  ;  while  in  the 
rear,  the  tops  of  the  christian  tents,  and  the  pennons 
of  the  different  commanders,  were  seen  rising  above 
the  groves.  Suddenly,  towards  evening,  the  tents 
sunk  and  disappeared ;  the  outposts  broke  up  their 
stations  and  withdrew,  and  the  whole  shadow  of  an 
encampment  was  fast  vanishing  from  their  eyes. 

The  Moors  saw  too  late  the  subtle  manoeuvre  of 
king  Ferdinand.  Cidi  Yahye  again  sallied  forth  with 
a  large  force  of  horse  and  foot,  and  pressed  furiously 
upon  the  christians.  The  latter,  however,  experi- 
enced  in   Moorish   attack,   retired    in   close   order, 


>ulgi 
a,  U 


Zurica,  Ub,  20.  cap.  81, 


sometimes  turning  upon  the  enemy  and  driving  them 
to  their  barricadoes,  and  then  pursuing  their  retreat. 
In  this  way  the  army  was  extricated,  without  much  fur- 
ther loss,  from  the  perilous  labyrinths  of  the  gardens. 

The  camp  was  now  out  of  danger;  but  it  was  also 
too  distant  from  the  city  to  do  mischief,  while  the 
.Moors  could  sally  forth  and  return  without  hindrance. 
The  king  called  a  council  of  war,  to  consider  in  what 
manner  to  proceed.  The  marques  of  Cadiz  was  for 
abandoning  the  siege  for  the  present,  the  place  being 
too  strong,  too  well  garrisoned  and  provided,  and 
too  extensive,  to  be  either  carried  by  assault  or  in- 
vested and  reduced  by  famine,  with  their  limited 
forces  ;  while,  in  lingering  before  it,  the  army  would 
be  exposed  to  the  usual  maladies  and  sufferings  of 
besieging  armies,  and,  when  the  rainy  season  came 
on,  would  be  shut  up  by  the  swelling  of  the  rivers. 
He  recommended,  instead,  that  the  king  should 
throw  garrisons  of  horse  and  foot  into  all  the  towns 
captured  in  the  neighborhood,  and  leave  them  to 
keep  up  a  predatory  war  upon  Baza,  while  he  should 
overrun  and  ravage  all  the  country ;  so  that,  in  the 
following  year,  Almeria  and  Guadix,  having  all  their 
subject  towns  and  territories  taken  from  them,  might 
be  starved  into  submission. 

Don  Gutiere  de  Cardenas,  senior  commander  of 
Leon,  on  the  other  hand,  maintained  that  to  abandon 
the  siege  would  be  construed  by  the  enemy  into  a 
sigTi  of  weakness  and  irresolution.  It  would  give 
new  spirits  to  the  partisans  of  El  Zagal,  and  would 
gain  to  his  standard  many  of  the  wavering  subjects 
of  Boabdil,  if  it  did  not  encourage  the  fickle  popu- 
lace of  Granada  to  open  rebellion.  He  advised  there- 
fore that  the  siege  should  be  prosecuted  with  vigor. 

The  pride  of  Ferdinand  pleaded  in  favor  of  the 
last  opinion;  for  it  would  be  doubly  humiliating, 
again  to  return  from  a  campaign  in  this  part  of  the 
Moorish  kingdom,  without  effecting  a  blow.  But 
when  he  reflected  on  all  that  his  army  had  suffered, 
and  on  all  that  they  must  suffer  should  the  siege 
continue — especially  from  the  difficulty  of  obtaining 
a  regular  supply  of  provisions  for  so  numerous  a  host, 
across  a  great  extent  of  rugged  and  mountainous 
country — he  determined  to  consult  the  safety  of  his 
people,  and  to  adopt  the  advice  of  the  marques  of 
Cadiz. 

When  the  soldiery  heard  that  the  king  was  about 
to  raise  the  siege  in  mere  consideration  of  their  suf- 
ferings, they  were  filled  with  generous  enthusiasm, 
and  entreated,  as  with  one  voice,  that  the  siege 
might  never  be  abandoned  until  the  city  surren- 
dered. 

Perplexed  by  conflicting  counsels,  the  king  dis- 
patched messengers  to  the  queen  at  Jaen,  requesting 
her  advice.  Posts  had  been  stationed  between  them, 
in  such  manner  that  missives  from  the  camp  could 
reach  the  queen  within  ten  hours.  Isabella  sent  in- 
stantly her  reply.  She  left  the  policy  of  raising  or 
continuing  the  siege  to  the  decision  of  the  king  and 
his  captains  ;  but  should  they  determine  to  persevere, 
she  pledged  herself,  with  the  aid  of  God,  to  forward 
them  men,  money,  provisions,  and  all  other  supplies, 
until  the  city  should  be  taken. 

The  reply  of  the  queen  detei-mined  Ferdinand  to 
persevere ;  and  when  his  determination  was  made 
known  to  the  army,  it  was  hailed  with  as  much  joy 
as  if  it  had  been  tidings  of  a  victory. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 


SIEGE  OF  BAZA  CONTINUED.— HOW  KING  FER- 
DINAND COMPLETELY  INVESTED  THE  CITY. 

The   Moorish   prince  Cidi  Yahye   had   received 
tidings  of  the  doubts  and  discussions  in  the  christian 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


2G1 


camp,  and  flattered  himself  with  hopes  that  the  be- 
siegmg  army  would  soon  retire  in  despair,  though 
the  veteran  alcayde  Mohammed  shook  his  head  with 
incredulity  at  the  suggestion.  A  sudden  movement, 
one  morning,  in  the  christian  camp,  seemed  to  con- 
firm the  sanguine  hopes  of  the  prince.  The  tents 
were  struck,  the  artillery  and  baggage  were  conveyed 
away,  and  bodies  of  soldiers  began  to  march  along 
the  valley.  The  momentary  gleam  of  triumph  was 
soon  dispelled.  The  Catholic  king  had  merely  di- 
vided his  host  into  two  camps,  the  more  effectually 
to  distress  the  city.  One,  consisting  of  four  thousand 
horse  and  eight  thousand  foot,  with  all  the  artillery 
and  battering  engines,  took  post  on  the  side  of  the 
city  towards  the  mountain.  This  was  commanded 
by  the  valiant  marques  of  Cadiz,  with  whom  were 
Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  Luis  Fernandez  Puerto 
Carrero,  and  many  other  distinguished  cavaliers. 

The  other  camp  was  commanded  by  the  king, 
having  si.x  thousand  horse  and  a  great  host  of  foot- 
soldiers,  the  hardy  mountaineers  of  Biscay,  Guipus- 
con,  Gallicia,  and  the  Asturias.  Among  the  cava- 
liers who  were  with  the  king  were  the  brave  count 
de  Tendilla,  Don  Roderigo  de  Mendoza,  and  Don 
Alonzo  de  Cardenas,  Master  of  Santiago.  The  two 
camps  were  wide  asunder,  on  opposite  sides  of  the 
city,  and  between  them  lay  the  thick  wilderness  of 
orchards.  Both  camps  were  therefore  fortified  by 
great  trenches,  breastworks,  and  palisadoes.  The 
veteran  Mohammed,  as  he  saw  these  two  formidable 
camps  glittering  on  each  side  of  the  city,  and  noted 
the  well-known  pennons  of  renowned  commanders 
fluttering  above  them,  still  comforted  his  companions: 
"  These  camps,"  said  he,  "  are  too  far  removed  from 
each  other,  for  mutual  succor  and  co-operation  ;  and 
the  forest  of  orchards  is  as  a  gulf  between  them." 
This  consolation  was  but  of  short  continuance. 
Scarcely  were  the  christian  camps  fortified,  v/hen  the 
cars  of  the  Moorish  garrison  were  startled  by  the 
sound  of  innumerable  axes,  and  the  crash  of  falling 
trees.  They  looked  with  anxiety  from  their  highest 
towers,  and  behold,  their  favorite  groves  were  sinking 
beneath  the  blows  of  the  christian  pioneers.  The 
Moors  sallied  forth  with  fiery  zeal  to  protect  their 
beloved  gardens,  and  the  orchards  in  which  they  so 
much  delighted.  The  christians,  however,  were  too 
well  supported  to  be  driven  from  their  work.  Day 
after  day,  the  gardens  became  the  scene  of  incessant 
and  bloody  skirmishings  ;  yet  still  the  de\astation 
of  the  groves  went  on,  for  king  Ferdinand  was  too 
well  aware  of  the  necessity  of  clearing  away  this 
screen  of  woods,  not  to  bend  all  his  forces  to  the 
undertaking.  It  was  a  work,  however,  of  gigantic 
toil  and  i)atience.  The  trees  were  of  such  magnitude, 
and  so  closely  set  together,  and  spread  over  so  wide 
an  extent,  that  notwithstanding  four  thousand  men 
were  employed,  they  could  scarcely  clear  a  strip  of 
land  ten  paces  broad  within  a  day  ;  and  such  were 
the  interruptions  from  the  incessant  assaults  of  the 
Moors,  that  it  was  full  forty  days  before  the  orchards 
were  completely  levelled. 

The  devoted  city  of  Baza  now  lay  stripped  of  its 
beautiful  covering  of  groves  and  gardens,  at  once  its 
ornament,  its  delight,  and  its  protection.  The  be- 
siegers went  on  slowly  and  surely,  with  almost  in- 
credible labors,  to  invest  and  isolate  the  city.  They 
connected  their  camps  by  a  deep  trench  across  the 
plain,  a  league  in  length,  into  which  they  diverted 
the  waters  of  the  mountain  streams.  They  pro- 
tected this  trench  by  palisadoes,  fortified  by  fifteen 
castles,  at  regular  distances.  They  dug  a  deep 
trench,  also,  two  leagues  in  length,  across  the 
mountain  in  the  rear  of  the  city,  reaching  from 
camp  to  camp,  and  fortified  it  on  each  side  with 
walls  of  earth,  and  stone,  and  wood.      Thus  the 


Moors  were  inclosed  on  all  sides  by  trenches,  pal- 
isadoes, walls,  and  castles  ;  so  that  it  was  impossible 
for  them  to  sally  beyond  this  great  line  of  circum- 
vallation — nor  could  any  force  enter  to  their  succor. 
Ferdinand  made  an  attempt,  likewise,  to  cut  off  the 
supply  of  water  from  the  city;  "for  water,"  ob- 
serves the  worthy  Agapida,  "  is  more  necessary 
to  these  infidels  than  bread,  making  use  of  it  in 
repeated  daily  ablutions  enjoined  by  their  damn- 
able religion,  and  employing  it  in  baths  and  in  a 
thousand  other  idle  and  extravagant  modes,  of 
which  we  Spaniards  and  christians  make  but  little 
account." 

There  was  a  noble  fountain  of  pure  water,  which 
gushed  out  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  Albohacen,  just  be- 
hind the  city.  The  Moors  had  almost  a  superstitious 
fondness  for  this  fountain,  and  chiefly  depended  upon 
it  for  their  supplies.  Receiving  intimation  from  some 
deserters,  of  the  plan  of  king  Ferdinand  to  get  pos- 
session of  this  precious  fountain,  they  sallied  forth 
at  night,  and  threw  up  such  powerful  works  upon 
the  impending  hill,  as  to  set  all  attempts  of  the 
christian  assailants  at  defiance. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 


EXPLOIT  OF  HERNANDO  PEREZ  DEL  PULGAR 
AND  OTHER  CAVALIERS. 

The  siege  of  Baza,  while  it  displayed  the  skill 
and  science  of  the  christian  commanders,  gave  but 
little  scope  for  the  adventurous  spirit  and  fiery  valor 
of  the  young  Spanish  cavaliers.  They  repined  at  the 
tedious  monotony  and  dull  security  of  their  fortified 
camp,  and  longed  for  some  soul-stirring  exploit  of 
difficulty  and  danger.  Two  of  the  most  spirited  of 
these  youthful  cavaliers  were  Francisco  de  Bazan 
and  Antonio  de  Cueva,  the  latter  of  whom  was  son 
to  the  duke  of  Albuquerque.  As  they  were  one  day 
seated  on  the  ramparts  of  the  camp,  and  venting 
their  impatience  at  this  life  of  inaction,  they  were 
overheard  by  a  veteran  adalid,  one  of  those  scouts 
or  guides  who  are  acquainted  with  all  parts  of  the 
country.  "  Sefiors,"  said  he,  "if  you  wish  for  a  serv- 
ice of  peril  and  profit,  if  you  are  willing  to  pluck  the 
fiery  old  Moor  by  the  beard,  I  can  lead  you  to  where 
you  may  put  your  mettle  to  the  proof  Hard  by 
the  city  of  Guadix,  are  certain  hamlets  rich  in 
booty.  I  can  conduct  you  by  a  way  in  which  you 
may  come  upon  them  by  surprise  ;  and  if  you  are  as 
cool  in  the  head,  as  you  are  hot  in  the  spur,  you 
may  bear  off  your  spoils  from  under  the  very  eyes 
of  old  El  Zagal." 

The  idea  of  thus  making  booty  at  the  very  gates 
of  Guadix,  pleased  the  hot-spirited  youths.  These 
predatory  excursions  were  frequent  about  this  time ; 
and  the  Moors  of  Padul,  Alhenden,  and  other  towns 
of  the  Alpuxarras,  had  recently  harassed  the  chris- 
tian territories  by  expeditions  of  the  kind.  Fran- 
cisco de  Bazan  and  Antonio  de  Cueva  soon  found 
other  young  cavaliers  of  their  age,  eager  to  join  in 
the  adventure ;  and  in  a  little  while,  they  had  nearly 
three  hundred  horse  and  two  hundred  foot,  ready 
equipped  and  eager  for  the  foray. 

Keeping  their  destination  secret,  they  sallied  out 
of  the  camp  on  the  edge  of  an  evening,  and, 
guided  by  the  adalid,  made  their  way  by  star-light 
through  the  most  secret  roads  of  the  mountains. 
In  this  way  they  pressed  on  rapidly  day  and  night, 
until  early  one  morning,  before  cock-crowing,  they 
fell  suddenly  upon  the  hamlets,  made  prisoners  of 
the  inhabitants,  sacked  the  houses,  ravaged  the  fields, 
and,  sweeping  through  the  meadows,  gathered  to- 


262 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


gether  all  the  flocks  and  herds.  Without  giving 
themselves  time  to  rest,  they  set  out  upon  their 
return,  making  with  all  speed  for  the  mountains, 
before  the  alarm  should  be  given  and  the  country 
roused. 

Several  of  the  herdsmen,  however,  had  fled  to 
Guadix,  and  carried  tidings  of  the  ravage  to  El  Za- 
gal.  The  beard  of  old  Muley  trembled  with  rage ; 
he  immediately  sent  out  six  hundred  of  his  choicest 
horse  and  foot,  with  orders  to  recover  the  booty, 
and  to  bring  those  insolent  marauders  captive  to 
Guadix. 

The  christian  cavaliers  were  urging  their  caval- 
gada  of  cattle  and  sheep  up  a  mountain,  as  fast  as 
their  own  weariness  would  permit,  when,  looking 
back,  they  beheld  a  great  cloud  of  dust,  and  pres- 
ently descried  the  turbaned  host  hot  upon  their 
traces. 

They  saw  that  the  Moors  were  superior  in  num- 
ber; they  were  fresh  also,  both  man  and  steed, 
whereas  both  they  and  their  horses  were  fatigued  by 
two  days  and  two  nights  of  hard  marching.  Several 
of  the  horsemen  therefore  gathered  round  the  com- 
manders, and  proposed  that  they  should  relinquish 
their  spoil,  and  save  themselves  by  flight.  The  cap- 
tains, Francisco  de  Bazan  and  Antonio  de  Cueva, 
spurned  at  such  craven  counsel.  "  What !  "  cried 
they,  "  abandon  our  prey  without  striking  a  blow  ? 
Leave  our  foot-soldiers  too  in  the  lurch,  to  be  over- 
whelmed by  the  enemy  ?  If  any  one  gives  such  coun- 
sel through  fear,  he  mistakes  the  course  of  safety  ; 
for  there  is  less  danger  in  presenting  a  bold  front  to 
the  foe,  than  in  turning  a  dastard  back  ;  and  fewer 
men  are  killed  in  a  brave  advance,  than  in  a  cow- 
ardly retreat." 

Some  of  the  cavaliers  were  touched  by  these  words, 
and  declared  that  they  would  stand  by  the  foot-sol- 
diers like  true  companions  in  arms :  the  great  mass 
of  the  party,  however,  were  volunteers,  brought  to- 
gether by  chance,  who  received  no  pay,  nor  had  any 
common  tie  to  keep  them  together  in  lime  of  danger. 
The  pleasure  of  the  expedition  being  over,  each 
thought  but  of  his  own  safety,  regardless  of  his  com- 
panions. As  the  enemy  approached,  the  tumult  of 
opinions  increased,  and  every  thing  was  in  confusion. 
The  captains,  to  put  an  end  to  the  dispute,  ordered 
the  standard-bearer  to  advance  against  the  Moors, 
well  knowing  that  no  true  cavalier  would  hesitate  to 
follow  and  defend  his  banner.  The  standard-bearer 
hesitated — the  troops  were  on  the  point  of  taking  to 
flight. 

Upon  this,  a  cavalier  of  the  royal  guards,  named 
Hernando  Perez  del  Pulgar,  alcayde  of  the  fortress 
of  Salar,  rode  to  the  front.  He  took  off  a  handker- 
chief which  he  wore  round  his  head,  after  the  Anda- 
lusian  fashion,  and,  tying  it  to  the  end  of  his  lance, 
elevated  it  in  the  air.  '•  Cavaliers,"  cried  he,  "  why 
do  ye  take  weapons  in  your  hands,  if  you  depend 
upon  your  feet  for  safety  ?  This  day  will  determine 
who  is  the  brave  man,  and  who  the  coward.  He 
who  is  disposed  to  fight,  shall  not  want  a  standard : 
let  him  follow  this  handkerchief."  So  saying,  he 
waved  his  banner,  and  spurred  bravely  against  the 
Moors.  His  example  shamed  some,  and  filled  others 
with  generous  emulation  :  all  turned  with  one  ac- 
cord, and,  following  the  valiant  Pulgar,  rushed  with 
shouts  upon  the  enemy.  The  Moors  scarcely  waited 
to  receive  the  shock  of  their  encounter.  Seized  with 
a  sudden  panic,  they  took  to  flight,  and  were  pursued 
for  a  considerable  distance,  with  great  slaughter. 
Three  hundred  of  their  dead  strewed  the  road,  and 
were  stripped  and  despoiled  by  the  conquerors ; 
many  were  taken  prisoners,  an<l  the  christian  cava- 
liers returned  in  triumph  to  the  camp,  with  a  long' 
cavalgada  of  sheep  and  cattle,  and  mules  laden  with 


booty,  and  bearing  before  them  the  singular  standard 
which  had  conducted  them  to  victory. 

When  king  Ferdinand  was  informed  of  the  gallant 
action  of  Hernando  Perez  del  Pulgar,  he  immediately 
conferred  on  him  the  honor  of  knighthood,  and  or- 
dered, that  in  memory  of  his  achievement,  he  should 
bear  lor  arms  a  lance  with  a  handkerchief  at  the  end 
of  it,  together  with  a  castle  and  twelve  lions.  This 
is  but  one  of  many  hardy  and  heroic  deeds  done  by 
this  brave  cavalier,  in  the  wars  against  the  Moors  ; 
by  which  he  gained  great  renown,  and  the  distin- 
guished appellation  of  "El  de  las  hazanas,"  or  "  He 
of  the  exploits."* 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


CONTINUATION  OF  THE  SIEGE  OF  BAZA. 

The  old  Moorish  king  El  Zagal  mounted  a  tower 
and  looked  out  eagerly  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  the  chris- 
tian marauders  brought  captive  into  the  gates  of 
Guadix  ;  but  his  spirits  fell,  when  he  beheld  his  own 
troops  stealing  back  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  in 
broken  and  dejected  parties. 

The  fortune  of  war  bore  hard  against  the  old  mon- 
arch ;  his  mind  was  harassed  by  the  disastrous  tidings 
brought  each  day  from  Baza,  of  the  sufferings  of  the 
inhabitants,  and  the  numbers  of  the  garrison  slain  iri 
the  frequent  skinnishes.  He  dared  not  go  in  person 
to  the  relief  of  the  place,  for  his  presence  was  neces- 
sary in  Gaudix,  to  keep  a  check  upon  his  nephew  in 
Granada.  He  made  efforts  to  send  reinforcements 
and  supplies  ;  but  they  were  intercepted,  and  either 
captured  or  driven  back.  Still  his  situation  was  in 
some  respects  preferable  to  that  of  his  nephew  Boab- 
dil.  The  old  monarch  was  battling  like  a  warrior, 
on  the  last  step  of  his  throne  ;  El  Chico  remained  a 
kind  of  pensioned  vassal,  in  the  luxurious  abode  of 
the  Alhambra.  The  chivalrous  part  of  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Granada  could  not  but  compare  the  generous 
stand  made  by  the  warriors  of  Baza  for  their  country 
and  their  faith,  with  their  own  timeserving  submission 
to  the  yoke  of  an  unbeliever.  Every  account  they 
received  of  the  woes  of  Baza,  wrung  their  hearts 
with  agony ;  every  account  of  the  exploits  of  its  de- 
voted defenders,  brought  blushes  to  their  cheeks. 
Many  stole  forth  secretly  with  their  weapons,  and 
hastened  to  join  the  besieged ;  and  the  partisans  of 
El  Zagal  wrought  upon  the  patriotism  and  passions 
of  the  remainder,  until  another  of  those  conspiracies 
was  formed,  that  were  continually  menacing  the  un- 
steady throne  of  Granada.  It  was  concerted  by  the 
conspirators,  to  assail  the  Alhambra  on  a  sudden;  to 
slay  Boabdil ;  to  assemble  all  the  troops,  and  march 
to  Guadix ;  where,  being  reinforced  by  the  garrison 
of  that  place,  and  led  on  by  the  old  warrior  monarch, 
they  might  fall  with  overwhelming  power  upon  the 
christian  army  before  Baza. 

Fortunately  for  Boabdil,  he  discovered  the  con- 
spiracy in  time,  and  had  the  heads  of  the  leaders 
struck  off,  and  placed  upon  the  walls  of  the  Alham- 
bra,— an  act  of  severity  unusual  with  this  mild  and 
wavering  monarch,  which  struck  terror  into  the  dis- 
affected, and  produced  a  kmd  of  mute  tranquillity 
throughout  the  city. 

King  Ferdinand  had  full  information  of  all  these 
movements  and  measures  for  the  relief  of  Baza,  and 
took  timely  precautions  to  prevent  them.  Bodies  of 
horsemen  held  watch  in  the  mountain  passes,  to 
prevent  all  supplies,  and  to  intercept  any  generous 

*  Hernando  del  Pulgar  the  histonan,  secretary  to  queen  Isabella, 
is  confounded  with  tfiis  cavalier,  by  some  writers.  He  wa=,  also 
present  at  the  siege  of  Baz.-i,  and  has  recounted  this  transaction  in 
bis  chronicle  of  the  Catholic  sovereigns  Ferdinand  and  Isabella. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


263 


volunteers  from  Granada ;  and  walch -towers  were 
erected,  or  scouts  were  placed  on  every  command- 
ing' height,  to  give  the  alarm  at  the  least  sign  of  a 
hostile  turban. 

The  prince  Cidi  Yahye  and  his  brave  companions 
in  arms,  were  thus  gradually  walled  up,  as  it  were, 
from  the  rest  of  the  world.  A  line  of  towers,  the 
battlements  of  which  bristled  with  troops,  girdled 
their  city  ;  and  behind  the  intervening  bulwarks  and 
palisadoes,  passed  and  repassed  contumal  squadrons 
of  troops.  Week  after  week,  and  month  after  month, 
passed  away,  but  Ferdinand  waited  in  vain  for  the 
garrison  to  be  either  terrified  or  starved  into  surren- 
der. Every  day  they  sallied  forth  with  the  spirit  and 
alacrity  of  troops  high  fed,  and  flushed  with  confi- 
dence. "  The  christian  monarch,"  said  the  veteran 
Mohammed  ben  Hassan,  "  builds  his  hopes  upon  our 
growing  faint  and  desponding — we  must  manifest 
unusual  cheerfulness  and  vigor.  What  would  be 
rashness  in  other  service,  becomes  prudence  with 
us."  The  prince  Cidi  Yahye  agreed  with  him  in 
opinion,  and  sallied  forth  with  his  troops  upon  all 
kinds  of  harebrained  exploits.  They  laid  ambushes, 
concerted  surprises,  and  made  the  most  desperate 
assaults.  The  great  extent  of  the  christian  works 
rendered  them  weak  in  many  parts  :  against  these 
the  Moors  directed  their  attacks,  suddenly  breaking 
into  them,  making  a  hasty  ravage,  and  bearing  off 
their  booty  in  triumph  to  the  city.  Sometimes  they 
woukl  sally  forth  by  the  passes  and  clefts  of  the 
mountain  in  the  rear  of  the  city,  which  it  was  diffi- 
cult to  guard,  and,  hurrying  down  into  the  plain, 
would  sweep  off  all  cattle  and  sheep  that  were  grazing 
near  the  suburbs,  and  all  stragglers  from  the  camp. 

These  partisan  sallies  brought  on  many  sharp  and 
bloody  encounters,  in  some  of  which  Don  Alonzo  de 
Aguilar  and  the  alcayde  de  los  Donzeles  distinguish- 
ed themselves  greatly.  During  one  of  these  hot 
skirmishes,  which  happened  on  the  skirts  of  the 
mountain,  about  twilight,  a  valiant  cavalier,  named 
Martin  Galindo,  beheld  a  powerful  Moor  dealing  dead- 
ly blows  about  him,  and  making  great  havoc  among 
the  christians.  Galindo  pressed  forward,  and  chal- 
lenged him  to  .single  combat.  The  Moor,  who  was 
of  the  valiant  tribe  of  the  Abencerrages,  was  not 
slow  in  answering  the  call.  Couching  their  lances, 
they  rushed  furiously  upon  each  other.  At  the  first 
shock  the  Moor  was  wounded  in  the  face,  and  borne 
out  of  his  saddle.  Before  Galindo  could  check  his 
steed,  and  turn  from  his  career,  the  Moor  sprang 
upon  his  feet,  recovered  his  lance,  and,  rushing  upon 
him,  wounded  him  in  the  head  and  the  arm.  Though 
Galindo  was  on  horseback  and  the  Moor  on  foot, 
yet  such  was  the  prowess  and  address  of  the  latter, 
that  the  christian  knight  being  disabled  in  the  arm, 
was  in  the  utmost  jieril,  when  his  comrades  hastened 
to  his  assistance.  At  their  approach,  the  valiant  pa- 
gan retreated  slowly  up  the  rocks,  keeping  them  at 
bay,  until  he  found  himself  among  his  companions. 

Several  of  the  young  Spanish  cavaliers,  stung  by 
the  triumph  of  this  Moslem  knight,  would  have  chal- 
lenged others  of  the  Moors  to  single  combat  ;  but 
king  Ferdinand  prohibited  all  vaunting  encounters 
of  the  kind.  He  forbade  his  troops,  also,  to  provoke 
skirmishes,  well  knowing  that  the  Moors  were  more 
dextrous  than  most  people  in  this  irregular  mode 
of  fighting,  and  were  better  acquainted  with  the 
ground. 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

HOW  TWO  FRIARS  ARRIVED  AT  THE  CAMP,  AND 
HOW  THEY  CAME  FROM  THE  HOLY  LAND. 

While  the  holy  christian  army  (says  Fray  Anto- 
nio Agapida)  was  thus  beleaguring  this  infidel  city 


of  Baza,  there  rode  into  the  camp,  one  day,  two  rever- 
end friars  of  the  order  of  Saint  Francis.  One  was 
of  portly  person,  and  authoritative  air :  he  bestrode 
a  goodly  steed,  well  conditioned  and  well  caparison- 
ed ;  while  his  companion  rode  beside  him,  upon  a 
humble  hack,  poorly  accoutred,  and,  as  he  rode,  he 
scarcely  raised  his  eyes  from  the  ground,  but  main- 
tained a  meek  and  lowly  air. 

The  arrival  of  two  friars  in  the  camp  was  not  a 
matter  of  much  note,  for  in  these  holy  wars  the 
church  militant  continually  mingled  in  the  affray, 
and  helmet  and  cowl  were  always  seen  together ; 
but  it  was  soon  discovered  that  these  worthy  saints- 
errant  were  from  a  far  country,  and  on  a  mission  of 
great  import. 

They  were,  in  truth,  just  arrived  from  the  Holy 
Land,  being  two  of  the  saintly  men  who  kept  vigil 
over  the  sepulchre  of  our  blessed  Lord  at  Jerusalem. 
He  of  the  tall  and  portly  form  and  commanding 
presence,  was  Fray  Antonio  Millan,  prior  of  the 
Franciscan  convent  in  the  holy  city.  He  had  a  full 
and  florid  countenance,  a  sonorous  voice,  and  was 
round,  and  swelling,  and  copious  in  his  periods,  like 
one  accustomed  to  harangue,  and  to  be  listened  to 
with  deference.  His  companion  was  small  and  spare 
in  form,  pale  of  visage,  and  soft  and  silken  and  al- 
most whispering  in  speech.  "  He  had  a  humble  and 
lowly  way,"  says  Agapida,  "evermore  bowing  the 
head,  as  became  one  of  his  calling."  Yet  he  was 
one  of  the  most  active,  zealous,  and  effective  broth- 
ers of  the  convent ;  and  when  he  raised  his  small 
black  eye  from  the  earth,  there  was  a  keen  glance 
out  of  the  corner,  which  showed,  that  though  harm- 
less as  a  dove,  he  was  nevertheless  as  wise  as  a 
serpent. 

These  holy  men  had  come  on  a  momentous  em- 
bassy from  the  grand  soldan  of  Egypt ;  or,  as  Agap- 
ida terms  him  in  the  language  of  the  day,  the  soldan 
of  Babylon.  The  league  which  had  been  made  be- 
tween that  potentate  and  his  arch-foe  the  Grand- 
Turk  Bajazet  II.,  to  unite  in  arms  for  the  salvation 
of  Granada,  as  has  been  mentioned  in  a  previous 
chapter  of  this  chronicle,  had  come  to  nought.  The 
infidel  princes  had  again  taken  up  arms  against  each 
other,  and  had  relapsed  into  their  ancient  hostility. 
Still  the  grand  soldan,  as  head  of  the  whole  Moslem 
sect,  considered  himself  bound  to  preserve  the  king- 
dom of  Granada  from  the  grasp  of  unbelievers.  He 
dispatched,  therefore,  these  two  holy  friars  with 
letters  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  as  well  as  to  the 
pope  and  to  the  kingof  Naples,  remonstrating  against 
the  evils  done  to  the  Moors  of  the  kingdom  of  Gra- 
nada, who  were  of  his  faith  and  kindred  ;  whereas  it 
was  well  known  that  great  numbers  of  christians 
were  indulged  and  protected  in  the  full  enjoyment  of 
their  property,  their  liberty,  and  their  faith,  in  his 
dominions.  He  insisted,  therefore,  that  this  war 
should  cease ;  that  the  Moors  of  Granada  should  be 
reinstated  in  the  territory  of  which  they  had  been 
dispossessed ;  otherwise  he  threatened  to  put  to 
death  all  the  christians  beneath  his  sway,  to  de- 
molish their  convents  and  temples,  and  to  destroy 
the  holy  sepulchre. 

This  fearful  menace  had  spread  consternation 
among  the  christians  of  Palestine  ;  and  when  the 
intrepid  Fray  Antonio  Millan  and  his  lowly  compan- 
ion departed  on  their  mission,  they  were  accom- 
panied far  from  the  gates  of  Jerusalem  by  an  anx- 
ious throng  of  brethren  and  disciples,  who  remained 
watching  them  with  tearful  eyes,  as  they  journeyed 
over  the  plains  of  Judea. 

These  holy  ambassadors  were  received  with  great 
distinction  by  king  Ferdinand  ;  for  men  of  their  cloth 
had  ever  high  honor  and  consideration  in  his  court. 
He  had  long  and  frequent  conversations  with  them, 


2Ad 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


about  the  Holy  Land  ;  the  state  of  the  christian 
church  in  the  dominions  of  the  grand  soldan,  and  of 
the  policy  and  conduct  of  that  arch-infidel  towards 
It.  The  portly  prior  of  the  Franciscan  convent  was 
full,  and  round,  and  oratorical,  in  his  replies  ;  and 
the  king  expressed  himself  much  pleased  with  the 
eloquence  of  his  periods;  but  the  politic  monarch 
was  observed  to  lend  a  close  and  attentive  ear  to  the 
whispering  voice  of  the  lowly  companion,  "  whose 
discourse,"  adds  Agapida,  "  though  modest  and  low, 
was  clear  and  fluent,  and  full  of  subtle  wisdom." 
These  holy  friars  had  visited  Rome  in  their  journey- 
ing, where  they  had  delivered  the  letter  of  the  sol- 
dan  to  the  sovereign  pontiff.  His  holiness  had  writ- 
ten by  them  to  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  requesting 
to  know  what  reply  they  had  to  offer  to  this  demand 
of  the  oriental  potentate. 

The  king  of  Naples  also  wrote  to  them  on  the 
subject,  but  in  wary  terms.  He  inquired  into  the 
cause  of  this  war  with  the  Moors  of  Granada,  and 
expressed  great  marvel  at  its  events,  as  if  (says 
Agapida)  both  were  not  notorious  throughout  all  the 
christian  world.  "  Nay,"  adds  the  worthy  friar  with 
becoming  indignation,  "he  uttered  opinions  savoring 
of  little  better  than  damnable  heresy ; — for  he  ob- 
served, that  although  the  Moors  were  of  a  different 
sect,  they  ought  not  to  be  maltreated  without  just 
cause;  and  hinted  that  if  the  Castilian  sovereigns  did 
not  suffer  any  crying  injury  from  the  Moors,  it  would 
be  improper  to  do  any  thing  which  might  draw  great 
damage  upon  the  christians :  as  if,  when  once  the 
sword  of  the  faith  was  drawn,  it  ought  ever  to  be 
sheathed  until  this  scum  of  heathendom  were  utterly 
destroyed  or  driven  from  the  land.  But  this  mon- 
arch," he  continues,  "  was  more  kindly  disposed 
towards  the  infidels  than  was  honest  and  lawful  in 
a  christian  prince,  and  was  at  that  very  time  in 
league  with  the  soldan  against  their  common  enemy 
the  Grand-Turk." 

These  pious  sentiments  of  the  truly  Catholic 
Agapida,  are  echoed  by  Padre  Mariana,  in  his  histo- 
ry' ;*  but  the  worthy  chronicler  Pedro  Abarca  attrib- 
utes the  interference  of  the  king  of  Naples,  not  to 
lack  of  orthodoxy  in  religion,  but  to  an  excess  of 
worldly  policy  ;  he  being  apprehensive  that,  should 
Ferdinand  conquer  the  Moors  of  Granada,  he  might 
have  time  and  means  to  assert  a  claim  of  the  house 
of  Arragon  to  the  crown  of  Naples. 

"  King  Ferdinand,"  continues  the  worthy  father 
Pedro  Abarca,  "  was  no  less  master  of  dissimulation 
than  his  cousin  of  Naples  ;  so  he  replied  to  him  with 
the  utmost  suavity  of  manner,  going  into  a  minute 
and  patient  vindication  of  the  war,  and  taking  great 
apparent  pains  to  inform  him  of  those  things  which 
all  the  world  knew,  but  of  which  the  other  pretended 
to  be  ignorant."!  At  the  same  time  he  soothed  his 
solicitude  about  the  fate  of  the  christians  in  the  em- 
pire of  the  grand  soldan,  assuring  him  that  the  great 
revenue  extorted  from  them  in  rents  and  tributes, 
would  be  a  certain  protection  against  the  threatened 
violence. 

To  the  pope  he  made  the  usual  vindication  of  the 
war ;  that  it  was  for  the  recovery  of  ancient  terri- 
tory, usurped  by  the  Moors  ;  for  the  punishment  of 
wars  and  violences  inflicted  upon  the  christians ; 
and  finally,  that  it  was  a  holy  crusade  for  the  glory 
and  advancement  of  the  church. 

"  It  was  a  truly  edifying  sight,"  says  Agapida,  "  to 
behold  these  friars,  after  they  had  had  their  audience 
of  the  king,  moving  about  the  camp  always  sur- 
rounded by  nobles  and  cavaliers  of  high  and  martial 
renown.     These  were  insatiable  in  their  questions 


•  Mariana,  lib.  25.  cap.  15. 

t  Abaraca,  Anales  de  Aragon,  Rcy  xxx.  cap.  3. 


about  the  Holy  Land,  the  state  of  the  sepulchre  of 
our  Lord,  and  the  sufferings  of  the  devoted  brethren 
who  guarded  it,  and  the  pious  pilgrims  who  resorted 
there  to  pay  their  vows.  The  portly  prior  of  the 
convent  would  stand  with  lofty  and  shining  counte- 
nance in  the  midst  of  these  iron  warriors,  and  de- 
claim with  resounding  eloquence  on  the  history  of 
the  sepulchre  ;  but  the  humbler  brother  would  ever 
and  anon  sigh  deeply,  and  in  low  tones  utter  some 
tale  of  suffering  and  outrage,  at  which  his  steel-clad 
hearers  would  grasp  the  hilts  of  their  swords,  and 
mutter  between  their  clinched  teeth  prayers  for  an- 
other crusade." 

The  pious  friars,  having  finished  their  mission  to 
the  king,  and  been  treated  with  all  due  distinction, 
took  their  leave  and  wended  their  way  to  Jaen,  to 
visit  the  most  Catholic  of  queens.  Isabella,  whose 
heart  was  the  seat  of  piety,  received  them  as  sacred 
men,  invested  with  more  than  human  dignity.  During 
their  residence  at  Jaen,  they  were  continually  in  the 
royal  presence  ;  the  respectable  prior  of  the  convent 
moved  and  melted  the  ladies  of  the  court  by  his 
florid  rhetoric,  but  his  lowly  companion  was  observ- 
ed to  have  continual  access  to  therojalear.  That 
saintly  and  soft-spoken  messenger  (says  Agapida) 
received  the  reward  of  his  humility ;  for  the  queen, 
moved  by  his  frequent  representations,  made  in  all 
modesty  and  lowdiness  of  spirit,  granted  a  yearly  surn 
in  perpetuity,  of  one  thousand  ducats  in  gold,  for  the 
support  of  the  monks  of  the  convent  of  the  holy 
sepulchre.* 

Moreover,  on  the  departure  of  these  holy  amba.s- 
sadors,  the  excellent  and  most  Catholic  queen  deliv- 
ered to  them  a  veil  devoutly  embroidered  with  her 
own  royal  hands,  to  be  placed  over  the  holy  sepul- 
chre ; — a  precious  and  inestimable  present,  which 
called  forth  a  most  eloquent  tribute  of  thanks  from 
the  portly  prior,  but  which  brought  tears  into  the 
eyes  of  his  lowly  companion.f 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 


HOW  QUEEN  ISABELLA  DEVISED   MEANS  TO   SUP- 
PLY THE  ARMY  WITH  PROVISIONS. 

It  has  been  the  custom  to  laud  the  conduct  and 
address  of  king  Ferdinand,  in  this  most  arduous  and 
protracted  war ;  but  the  sage  Agapida  is  more  dis- 
posed to  give  credit  to  the  counsels  and  measures  of 
the  queen,  who,  he  observes,  though  less  ostensible 
in  action,  was  in  truth  the  very  soul,  the  vital  prin- 
ciple, of  this  great  enterprise.  While  kin^-  Ferdinand 
was  bustling  in  his  camp  and  making  a  glittering  dis- 
play with  his  gallant  chivalry,  she,  surrounded  by 
her  saintly  counsellors,  in  the  episcopal  palace  of 
Jaen,  was  devising  ways  and  means  to  keep  the  king 
and  his  army  in  existence.  She  had  pledged  herself 
to  keep  up  a  supply  of  men,  and  money,  and  provis- 


*  "  La  Reyna  dio  a  los  Frayles  mil  ducados  de  renta  cado  afio 
para  el  sustanto  de  ios  religiosos  del  santo  sepulcro,  que  es  la  mejor 
fimosna  y  sustanto  que  hasta  nuestros  dias  ^a  quedado  a  cstos  rc- 
ligiosas  ae  Gerusalcm:  paradonde  Ics  dio  la  Reyna  un  velolabrado 
por  sus  manos,  para  poner  encimade  la  santa  scpulturadel  Sefior." 
— Garil)ity^  Compend.  Hist.,  lib.  18,  cap.  36. 

t  It  is  proper  to  mention  the  result  of  this  mission  of  the  two 
friars,  and  which  the  worthy  Agapida  has  neglected  to  record. 
At  a  subsequent  period,  the  Catholic  sovereigns  sent  the  distin- 
guished historian ,  Pietro  Martyr,  of  Angleria,  as  ambassador  to  the 
grand  soldan.  That  able  man  made  such  representations  as  were 
perfectly  satisfactory  to  the  oriental  potentate.  He  also  obtained 
from  him  the  remission  of  many  exactions  and  extortions  hereto- 
fore practised  upon  christian  pilgrims  visiting  the  holy  sepulchre  ; 
which,  it  is  presumefl,  had  been  gently  but  cogently  detailed  to  the 
monarch  bythe  lowlyfriar.  Pietro  Martyr  wrote  an  account  of  his 
embassy  to  the  grand  soldan— a  work  greatly  esteemed  by  the 
learned,  and  containing  much  curious  information.  It  is  entitled, 
De  Legations  Babylontca. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


265 


ions,  until  the  city  should  be  taken.  The  hardships 
of  the  siege  caused  a  feorful  waste  of  life,  but  the 
supply  of  men  was  the  least  difficult  part  of  her  un- 
dertaking-. So  beloved  was  the  queen  by  the  chivalry 
of  Spain,  that  on  her  calling  on  them  for  assistance, 
not  a  grandee  or  cavalier  that  yet  lingered  at  home, 
but  either  repaired  in  person  or  sent  forces  to  the 
camp  ;  the  ancient  and  warlike  families  vied  with 
each  other  in  marshalling  forth  their  vassals,  and 
thus  the  besieged  Moors  beheld  each  day  fresh  troops 
arriving  before  their  city,  and  new  ensigns  and  pen- 
nons displayed,  emblazoned  with  arms  well  known 
to  the  veteran  warriors. 

But  the  most  arduous  task  was  to  keep  up  a  regu- 
lar supply  of  provisions.  It  was  not  the  army  alone 
that  had  to  be  supported,  but  also  the  captured  towns 
and  their  garrisons  ;  for  the  whole  country  around 
them  had  been  ravaged,  and  the  conquerors  were  in 
danger  of  starving  in  the  midst  of  the  land  they  had 
desolated.  To  transport  the  daily  supplies  for  such 
immense  numbers,  was  a  gigantic  undertaking,  in  a 
country  wliere  there  was  neither  water  conveyance 
nor  roads  for  carriages.  Every  thing  had  to  be  borne 
by  beasts  of  burthen  over  rugged  and  broken  paths 
of  the  mountains,  and  through  dangerous  defiles,  ex- 
posed to  the  attacks  and  plunderings  of  the  Moors. 

The  wary  and  calculating  merchants,  accustomed 
to  supply  the  army,  shrunk  from  engaging,  at  their 
own  risk,  in  so  hazardous  an  undertaking.  The 
queen  therefore  hired  fourteen  thousand  beasts  of 
burthen,  and  ordered  all  the  wheat  and  barley  to  be 
bought  up  in  Andalusia,  and  in  the  domains  of  the 
knights  of  Santiago  and  Calatrava.  She  distributed 
the  administration  of  these  supplies  among  able  and 
confidential  persons.  Some  were  employed  to  col- 
lect the  grain  ;  others,  to  take  it  to  the  mills  ;  others, 
to  superintend  the  grinding  and  delivery  ;  and  others, 
to  convey  it  to  the  camp.  To  every  two  hundred 
animals  a  muleteer  was  allotted,  to  take  charge  of 
them  on  the  route.  Thus,  great  lines  of  convoys 
were  in  constant  movement,  traversing  to  and  fro, 
guarded  l)y  large  bodies  of  troops,  to  defend  them 
from  hovering  parties  of  the  Moors.  Not  a  single 
day's  intermission  was  allowed,  for  the  army  de- 
pended upon  the  constant  arrival  of  these  supplies 
for  daily  food.  The  grain,  when  brought  into  the 
camp,  was  desposited  in  an  immense  granary,  and 
sold  to  the  army  at  a  fixed  price,  which  was  never 
either  raised  or  lowered. 

Incredible  were  the  expenses  incurred  in  these  sup- 
plies ;  but  the  queen  had  ghostly  advisers,  thoroughly 
versed  in  the  art  of  getting  at  the  resources  of  the 
country.  Many  worthy  prelates  opened  the  deep 
purses  of  the  church,  and  furnished  loans  from  the 
revenues  of  their  dioceses  and  convents ;  and  their 
pious  contributions  were  eventually  rewarded  by 
Providence  an  hundred  fold.  Merchants  and  other 
wealthy  individuals,  confident  of  the  punctual  faith 
of  the  queen,  advanced  large  sums  on  the  security 
of  her  word  ;  many  noble  lamilies  lent  their  plate, 
without  waiting  to  be  asked.  The  queen  also  sold 
certain  annual  rents  in  inheritance  at  great  sacrifices, 
assigning  the  revenues  of  towns  and  cities  for  the 
payment.  Finding  all  this  insufficient  to  satisfy  the 
enormous  expenditure,  she  sent  her  gold  and  plate 
and  all  her  jewels  to  the  cities  of  Valentia  and  Bar- 
celona, where  they  were  pledged  for  a  great  amount 
of  money,  which  was  immediately  appropriated  to 
keep  up  the  supplies  of  the  army. 

Thus,  through  the  wonderful  activity,  judgment, 
and  enterprise  of  this  heroic  and  magnanimous 
woman,  a  great  host,  encamped  in  the  heart  of  a 
warlike  country,  accessible  only  over  mountain  roads, 
was  maintained  in  continual  abundance.  Nor  was 
it  supplied  merely  with  the  necessaries  and  comforts 


of  life.  The  powerful  escorts  drew  merchants  and 
artificers  from  all  parts,  to  repair,  as  if  in  caravans, 
to  this  great  military  market.  In  a  little  while,  the 
camp  abounded  with  tradesmen  and  artists  of  all 
kinds,  to  administer  to  the  luxury  and  ostentation  of 
the  youthful  chivalry.  Here  might  be  seen  cunning 
artificers  in  steel,  and  accomplished  armorers,  achiev- 
ing those  rare  and  sumptuous  helmets  and  cuirasses, 
richly  gilt,  inlaid,  and  embossed,  in  which  the  Span- 
ish cavaliers  delighted.  Saddlers  and  harness- 
makers  and  horse-milliners,  also,  were  there,  whose 
tents  glittered  with  gorgeous  housings  and  capari- 
sons. The  merchants  spread  forth  their  sumptuous 
silks,  cloths,  brocades,  fine  linen,  and  tapestry.  The 
tents  of  the  nobility  were  prodigally  decorated  with 
all  kinds  of  the  richest  stuffs,  and  dazzled  the  eye 
with  their  magnificence:  nor  could  the  grave  looks 
and  grave  speeches  of  king  Ferdinand  prevent  his 
youthful  cavaliers  from  vying  with  each  other  in  the 
splendor  of  their  dresses  and  caparisons,  on  all  oc- 
casions of  parade  and  ceremony. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 


OF  THE  DISASTERS  WHICH   BEFELL  THE  CAMP. 

While  the  christian  camp,  thus  gay  and  gor- 
geous, spread  itself  out  Hke  a  holyday  pageant  before 
the  walls  of  Baza — while  a  long  line  of  beasts  of  bur- 
then, laden  with  provisions  and  luxuries,  were  seen 
descending  the  valley  from  morning  till  night,  and 
pouring  into  the  camp  a  contniued  stream  of  abun- 
dance,— the  unfortunate  garrison  found  their  re- 
sources rapidly  wasting  away,  and  famine  already 
began  to  pinch  the  peaceful  part  of  the  community. 

Cidi  Yahye  had  acted  with  great  spirit  and  valor. 
as  long  as  there  vvas  any  prospect  of  success  ;  but  he 
began  to  lose  his  usual  fire  and  animation,  and  w;is 
observed  to  pace  the  walls  of  Baza  with  a  pensive 
air,  casting  many  a  wistful  look  towanls  the  chris- 
tian camp,  and  sinking  into  profound  reveries  and 
cogitations.  The  veteran  alcayde,  Mohammed  ben 
Hassan,  noticed  these  desponding  moods,  and  en- 
deavored to  rally  the  spirits  of  the  prince.  "  The 
rainy  season  is  at  hand,"  would  he  cry  ;  "  the  floods 
will  soon  pour  down  from  the  mountains  ;  the  rivers 
will  overflow  their  banks,  and  inundate  the  valleys. 
The  christian  king  already  begins  to  waver  ;  he  dare 
not  linger,  and  encounter  such  a  season,  in  a  plain 
cut  up  by  canals  and  rivulets.  A  single  wintry  storm 
from  our  mountains  would  wash  away  his  canvas 
city,  and  sweep  off  those  gay  pavilions  like  wreaths 
of  snow  before  the  blast." 

The  prince  Cidi  Yahye  took  heart  at  these  words, 
and  counted  the  days  as  they  passed  until  the  stormy 
season  should  commence.  As  he  watched  the  chris- 
tian camp,  he  beheld  it  one  morning  in  universal 
commotion  :  there  was  an  unusual  sound  of  ham- 
mers in  every  part,  as  if  some  new  engines  of  war 
were  constructing.  At  length,  to  his  astonishment, 
the  walls  and  roofs  of  houses  began  to  appear  above 
the  bulwarks.  In  a  little  while,  there  were  above  a 
thousand  edifices  of  wood  and  plaister  erected,  cov- 
ered with  tiles  taken  from  the  demolished  towers  of 
the  orchards,  and  bearing  the  pennons  of  various 
commanders  and  cavaliers;  while  the  common  sol- 
diery constructed  huts,  of  clay  and  branches  of  trees, 
thatched  with  straw.  Thus,  to  the  dismay  of  the 
Moors,  within  four  days  the  light  tents  and  gay  pa- 
vilions which  had  whitened  their  hills  and  plains, 
passed  away  like  summer  clouds ;  and  the  unsub- 
stantial camp  assumed  the  solid  appearance  of  a  city 


2G(] 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


laid  out  into  streets  and  squares.  In  the  centre  rose 
a  large  edifice  which  overlooked  the  whole  ;  and  the 
royal  standard  of  Arragon  and  Castile,  proudly  float- 
ing above  it,  showed  it  to  be  the  palace  of  the 
king.* 

Ferdinand  had  taken  the  sudden  resolution  thus 
to  turn  his  camp  into  a  city,  partly  to  provide  against 
the  approaching  season,  and  partly  to  convince  the 
Moors  of  his  fixed  determination  to  continue  the 
siege.  In  their  haste  to  erect  their  dwellings,  how- 
ever, the  Spanish  cavaliers  had  not  properly  consid- 
ered the  nature  of  the  climate.  For  the  greater  part 
of  the  year,  there  scarcely  falls  a  drop  of  rain  on  the 
thirsty  soil  of  Andalusia.  The  ramblas,  or  dry  chan- 
nels of  the  torrents,  remain  deep  and  arid  gashes  and 
clefts  in  the  sides  of  the  mountains ;  the  perennial 
streams  shrink  up  to  mere  threads  of  water,  which, 
tinkling  down  the  bottoms  of  the  deep  barrancas  or 
ravines,  scarce  feed  and  keep  alive  the  rivers  of  the 
valleys.  The  rivers,  almost  lost  in  their  wide  and 
naked  beds,  seem  like  thirsty  rills,  winding  in  ser- 
pentine mazes  through  deserts  of  sand  and  stones ; 
and  so  shallow  and  tranquil  in  their  course,  as  to  be 
forded  in  safety  in  almost  every  part.  One  autumnal 
tempest  of  rain,  however,  changes  the  whole  face  of 
nature  :— the  clouds  break  in  deluges  among  the  vast 
congregation  of  mountains ;  the  ramblas  are  sud- 
denly filled  with  raging  floods ;  the  tinkling  rivulets 
swell  to  thundering  torrents,  that  come  roaring  down 
from  the  mountains,  tumbling  great  masses  of  rocks 
in  their  career.  The  late  meandering  river  spreads 
over  its  once  naked  bed,  lashes  its  surges  against  the 
banks,  and  rushes  like  a  wide  and  foaming  inunda- 
tion through  the  valley. 

Scarcely  had  the  christians  finished  their  slightly 
built  edifices,  when  an  autumnal  tempest  of  the  kind 
came  scouring  from  the  mountains.  The  camp  was 
immediately  overflowed.  Many  of  the  houses,  un- 
dermined by  the  floods  or  beaten  by  the  rain,  crum- 
bled away  and  fell  to  the  earth,  burying  man  and 
beast  beneath  their  ruins.  Several  valuable  lives 
were  lost,  and  great  numbers  of  horses  and  other 
animals  perished.  To  add  to  the  distress  and  con- 
fusion of  the  camp,  the  daily  supply  of  provisions 
suddenly  ceased  ;  for  the  rain  had  broken  up  the 
roads,  and  rendered  the  rivers  impassable.  A  panic 
.seized  upon  the  army,  for  the  cessation  of  a  single 
day's  supply  produced  a  scarcity  of  bread  and  j-rov- 
cnder.  Fortunately,  the  rain  was  but  transient :  the 
torrents  rushed  by,  and  ceased  ;  the  rivers  shrunk 
back  again  to  their  narrow  channels,  and  the  convoys 
that  had  been  detained  upon  their  banks  arrived 
safely  in  the  camp. 

No  sooner  did  queen  Isabella  hear  of  this  interrup- 
tion of  her  supplies,  than,  with  her  usual  vigilance 
and  activity,  she  provided  against  its  recurrence. 
She  dispatched  six  thousand  foot-soldiers,  under  the 
command  of  experienced  officers,  to  repair  the  roads, 
and  to  make  causeways  and  bridges,  for  the  distance 
of  seven  Spanish  leagues.  The  troops,  also,  who 
had  been  stationed  in  the  mountains  by  the  king  to 
guard  the  defiles,  made  two  paths, — one  for  the  con- 
voys going  to  the  camp,  and  the  other  for  those  re- 
turning, that  they  might  not  meet  and  impede  each 
other.  The  edifices  which  had  been  demolished  by 
the  late  floods  were  rebuilt  in  a  firmer  manner,  and 
precautions  were  taken  to  protect  the  camp  from 
future  inundations. 


*  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  Pulgar,  &c. 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

ENCOUNTERS  BETWEEN  THE  CHRISTIANS  AND 
MOORS,  BEFORE  BAZA;  AND  THE  DEVOTION 
OF  THE  INHABITANTS  TO  THE  DEFENCE  OF 
THEIR    CITY. 

When  King  Ferdinand  beheld  the  ravage  and 
confusion  produced  by  a  single  autumnal  storm,  and 
bethought  him  of  all  the  maladies  to  which  a  be 
sieging  camp  is  exposed  in  inclement  seasons,  he 
began  to  feel  his  compassion  kindling  for  the  suftering 
people  of  Baza,  and  an  inclination  to  grant  them 
more  favorable  terms.  He  sent,  therefore,  several 
messages  to  the  alcayde  Mohammed  ben  Hassan, 
offering  liberty  of  person  and  security  of  property 
for  the  inhabitants,  and  large  rewards  for  him.self,  if 
he  would  surrender  the  city. 

The  veteran  Mohammed  was  not  to  be  dazzled  by 
the  splendid  offers  of  the  monarch  ;  he  had  received 
exaggerated  accounts  of  the  damage  done  to  the 
christian  camp  by  the  late  storm,  and  of  the  suffer- 
ings and  discontents  of  the  army  in  consequence  of 
the  transient  interruption  of  supplies  :  he  considered 
the  overtures  of  Ferdinand  as  proofs  of  the  desperate 
state  of  his  affairs.  "  A  little  more  patience,  a  little 
more  patience,"  said  the  shrewd  old  warrior,  "and 
we  shall  see  this  cloud  of  christian  locusts  driven 
away  before  the  winter  storms.  When  they  once 
turn  their  backs,  it  will  be  our  turn  to  strike ;  and 
with  the  help  of  Allah,  the  blow  shall  be  decisive." 
He  sent  a  firm  though  courteous  refusal  to  the 
Castilian  monarch,  and  in  the  mean  time  animated 
his  companions  to  sally  forth  with  more  spirit  than 
ever,  to  attack  the  Spanish  outposts  and  those  labor- 
ing in  the  trenches.  The  consequence  was,  a  daily 
occurrence  of  the  most  daring  and  bloody  skirmishes, 
that  cost  the  lives  of  many  of  the  bravest  and  most 
adventurous  cavaliers  of  either  army. 

In  one  of  these  sallies,  nearly  three  hundred  horse 
and  two  thousand  foot  mounted  the  heights  behind 
the  city,  to  capture  the  christians  who  were  employ- 
ed upon  the  works.  They  came  by  surprise  upon  a 
body  of  guards,  esquires  of  the  count  de  Urefia,  kill- 
ed some,  put  the  rest  to  flight,  and  pursued  them 
down  the  mountain,  until  they  came  in  sight  of  a 
small  force  under  the  count  de  Tendilla  and  Gon- 
salvo  of  Cordova.  The  Moors  came  rushing  down 
with  such  fury,  that  many  of  the  men  of  the  count 
de  Tendilla  betook  themselves  to  flight.  The  brave 
count  considered  it  less  dangerous  to  fight  than  to 
fly.  Bracing  his  buckler,  therefore,  and  grasping 
his  trusty  weapon,  he  stood  his  ground  with  his 
accustomed  prowess.  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova  ranged 
himself  by  his  side,  and,  marshalling  the  troops  which 
remained  with  them,  they  made  a  valiant  front  to  the 
Moors. 

The  infidels  pressed  them  hard,  and  were  gaining 
the  advantage,  when  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  hearing  of 
the  danger  of  his  brother  Gonsalvo,  tlew  to  his  as- 
sistance, accompanied  by  the  count  of  Urena  and  a 
body  of  their  troops.  A  hot  fight  ensued,  from  cliff 
to  cliff  and  glen  to  glen.  The  Moors  were  fewer  in 
number,  but  they  excelled  in  the  dexterity  and  light- 
ness requisite  for  their  scrambling  skirmishes.  They 
were  at  length  driven  from  their  vantage-ground, 
and  pursued  by  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  and  his  brother 
Gonsalvo  to  the  very  suburbs  of  the  city,  leaving 
many  of  the  bravest  of  their  men  upon  the  field. 

Such  was  one  of  innumerable  rough  encounters 
which  were  daily  taking  place,  in  which  many  brave 
cavaliers  were  slain,  without  any  api)arent  benefit  to 
either  party.  The  Moors,  notwithstanding  repeated 
defeats  and  losses,  continued  to  sally  forth  daily, 
with  astonishing  spirit  and  vigor,  and  the  obstinacy 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


207 


of  their  defence  seemed  to  increase  with  their  suffer- 
ings. 

The  prince  Cidi  Yahye  was  ever  foremost  in  these 
sallies,  but  he  grew  daily  more  despairing  of  success. 
All  the  money  in  the  military  chest  was  expended, 
and  there  was  no  longer  wherewithal  to  pay  the 
hired  troops.  Still  the  veteran  Mohammed  ben  Has- 
san undertook  to  jjrovide  for  this  emergency.  Sum- 
moning the  principal  inhabitants,  he  represented  the 
necessity  of  some  exertion  and  sacrifice  on  their  part, 
to  maintain  the  defence  of  the  city.  "The  enemy," 
s^id  he,  "  dreads  the  approach  of  winter,  and  our 
perseverance  drives  him  to  despair.  A  little  longer, 
and  he  will  leave  you  in  quiet  enjoyment  of  your 
homes  and  families.  But  our  troops  must  be  paid, 
to  keep  them  in  good  heart.  Our  money  is  exhausted, 
and  all  our  supplies  are  cut  off.  It  is  impossible  to 
continue  our  defence,  without  your  aid." 

Upon  this  the  citizens  consulted  together,  and  they 
collected  all  their  vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  and 
brought  them  to  Mohammed  ben  Hassan  :  "  Take 
these,"  said  they,  "and  coin  them,  or  sell  them,  or 
pledge  them,  for  money  wherewith  to  pay  the  troops." 
The  women  of  Baza  also  were  seized  with  generous 
emulation  :  "  Shall  we  deck  ourselves  with  gorgeous 
apparel,"  said  they,  "when  our  country  is  desolate, 
and  its  defenders  in  want  of  bread?  "  So  they  took 
their  collars,  and  bracelets  and  anklets,  and  other 
ornaments  of  gold,  and  all  their  jewels,  and  put  them 
in  the  hands  of  the  veteran  alcayde :  "  Take  these 
spoils  of  our  vanity,"  said  they,  "and  let  them  con- 
tribute to  the  defence  of  our  homes  and  families.  If 
Baza  be  delivered,  we  need  no  jewels  to  grace  our 
rejoicing ;  and  if  Baza  fall,  of  what  avail  are  orna- 
ments to  the  captive  ?  " 

By  these  contributions  was  Mohammed  enabled  to 
pay  the  soldiery,  and  to  carry  on  the  defence  of  the 
v.ny  with  unabated  spirit. 

Tidings  were  speedily  conveyed  to  king  Ferdi- 
nand, ol  this  generous  devotion  on  the  part  of  the 
people  of  Baza,  and  the  hopes  which  the  Moorish 
commanders  gave  them  that  the  christian  army  would 
soon  abandon  the  siege  in  despair.  "  They  shall  have 
a  convincing  proof  of  the  fallacy  of  such  hopes,"  said 
the  politic  monarch  :  so  he  wrote  forthwith  to  queen 
Isabella,  praying  her  to  come  to  the  camp  in  state, 
with  all  her  train  and  retinue,  and  publicly  to  take 
up  her  lesidence  there  for  the  winter.  By  this 
means,  the  Moors  would  be  convinced  of  the  settled 
determination  of  the  sovereigns  to  persist  in  the 
siege  until  the  city  should  surrender,  and  he  trusted 
they  would  be  brought  to  speedy  capitulation. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


HOW   QUEEN    ISABELLA   ARRIVED    AT    THE  CAMP, 
AND  THE  CONSEQUENCES   OF    HER  ARRIVAL. 

Mohammed  ben  Hassan  still  encouraged  his 
companions  with  hopes  that  the  royal  army  would 
soon  relinquish  the  siege ;  when  they  heard,  one  day, 
shouts  of  joy  from  the  christian  camp,  and  thunder- 
ing salvos  of  artillery.  Word  was  brought,  at  the 
same  time,  from  the  sentinels  on  the  watch-towers, 
that  a  christian  army  was  approaching  down  the 
valley.  Mohammed  and  his  fellow-commanders  as- 
cended one  of  the  highest  towers  of  the  walls,  and 
beheld  in  truth  a  numerous  force,  in  shining  array, 
descending  the  hills,  and  heard  the  distant  clangor  of 
the  trumpet  and  the  faint  swell  of  triumphant  music. 

As  the  host  drew  nearer,  they  descried  a  stately 
dame  magnificently  attired,  whom  they  soon  cUs- 
covered  to  be  the  queen.     She  was  riding  on  a  mule. 


the  sumptuous  trappings  of  which  were  resplendent 
with  gold,  and  reached  to  the  ground.  On  her  right 
hand  rode  her  daughter,  the  princess  Isabella,  equally 
splendid  in  her  array  ;  and  on  her  left,  the  venerable 
grand  cardinal  of  Spain.  A  noble  train  of  ladies  and 
cavaliers  followed  her,  together  with  pages  and 
esquires,  and  a  numerous  guard  of  hidalgos  of  high 
rank,  arrayed  in  superb  armor.  When  the  veteran 
Mohammed  ben  Hassan  beheld  that  this  was  the 
queen  Isabella,  arriving  in  state  to  take  up  her  resi- 
dence in  the  camp,  his  heart  failed  him  ;  he  shook 
his  head  mournfully,  and,  turning  to  his  captains, 
"  Cavaliers,"  said  he,  "  the  fate  of  Baza  is  decided  !  " 
The  Moorish  commanders  remained  gazing  with 
a  mingled  feeling  of  grief  and  admiration  at  this 
magnificent  pageant,  which  foreboded  the  fall  of 
their  city.  Some  of  the  troops  would  have  sallied 
forth  on  one  of  their  desperate  skirmishes,  to  attack 
the  royal  guard  ;  but  the  prince  Cidi  Yahye  forbade 
them  ;  nor  would  he  ailow  any  artillery  to  be  dis- 
charged, or  any  molestation  or  insult  to  be  offered  ; 
for  the  character  of  Isabella  was  venerated  even  by 
the  Moors ;  and  most  of  the  commanders  possessed 
that  high  and  chivalrous  courtesy  which  belongs  to 
heroic  spirits — for  they  were  among  the  noblest  and 
bravest  cavaliers  of  the  Moorish  nation. 

The  inhabitants  of  Baza,  when  they  learnt  that  the 
christian  queen  was  approaching  the  camp,  eagerly 
sought  every  eminence  that  could  command  a  view 
of  the  plain  ;  and  every  battlement,  and  tower,  and 
mosque,  was  covered  with  turbaned  heads  gazing  at 
the  glorious  spectacle.  They  beheld  king  Ferdinand 
issue  forth  in  royal  state,  attended  by  the  marques 
of  Cadiz,  the  Master  of  Santiago,  the  duke  of  Alva, 
the  admiral  of  Castile,  and  many  other  nobles  of  re- 
nown ;  while  the  whole  chivalry  of  the  camp,  sump- 
tuously arrayed,  followed  in  his  train,  and  the  popu- 
lace rent  the  air  with  acclamations  at  the  sight  of 
the  patriot  queen. 

When  the  sovereigns  had  met  and  embraced  each 
other,  the  two  hosts  mingled  together  and  entered 
the  camp  in  martial  pomp;  and  the  eyes  of  the  in- 
fidel beholders  were  dazzled  by  the  flash  of  armor, 
the  splendor  of  golden  caparisons,  the  gorgeous  dis- 
play of  silks  and  brocades  and  velvets,  of  tossing 
plumes  and  fluttering  banners.  There  was  at  the 
same  time  a  triumphant  sound  of  drums  and  trump- 
ets, clarions  and  sackbuts,  mingled  with  the  sweet 
melody  of  the  dulcimer,  which  came  swelling  in 
bursts  of  harmony  that  seemed  to  rise  up  to  the 
heavens.* 

On  the  arrival  of  the  queen,  (says  the  historian 
Hernando  del  Pulgar,  who  was  present  at  the  time,) 
it  was  marvellous  to  behold  how  all  at  once  the  rigor 
and  turbulence  of  war  were  softened,  and  the  storm 
of  passion  sunk  into  a  calm.  The  sword  was  sheath- 
ed ;  the  cross-bow  no  longer  lanched  its  deadly 
shafts ;  and  the  artillery,  which  had  hitherto  kept  up 
an  incessant  uproar,  now  ceased  its  thundering.  On 
both  sides,  there  was  still  a  vigilant  guard  kept  up ; 
the  sentinels  bristled  the  walls  of  Baza  with  their 
lances,  and  the  guards  patrolled  the  christian  camp  ; 
but  there  was  no  sallying  forth  to  skirmish,  nor  any 
wanton  violence  or  carnage. 

Prince  Cidi  Yahye  saw,  by  the  arrival  of  the 
queen,  that  the  christians  were  determined  to  con- 
tinue the  siege,  and  he  knew  that  the  city  would 
have  to  capitulate.  He  had  been  prodigal  of  the 
lives  of  his  soldiers,  as  long  as  he  thought  a  military 
good  was  to  be  gained  by  the  sacrifice  ;  but  he  was 
sparing  of  their  blood  in  a  hopeless  cause,  and 
weary  of  exasperating  the  enemy  by  an  obstinate  yet 
hopeless  defence. 


•  Cura  dc  los  Palacios. 


268 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


At  the  request  of  prince  Cidi  Yahye,  a  parley  was 
granted,  and  the  Master  commander  of  Leon,  Don 
Gutiere  de  Cardenas,  was  appointed  to  confer  with 
the  veteran  alcayde  Mohammed.  They  met  at  an 
appointed  place,  within  view  of  both  camp  and  city, 
honorably  attended  by  cavaliers  of  either  army. 
Their  meeting  was  highly  courteous,  for  they  had 
learnt,  from  rough  encounters  in  the  field,  to  admire 
each  other's  prowess.  The  commander  of  Leon,  in 
an  earnest  speech,  pointed  out  the  hopelessness  of 
any  further  defence,  and  warned  Mohammed  of  the 
ills  which  Malaga  had  incurred  by  its  obstinacy.  "  I 
promise,  in  the  name  of  my  sovereigns,"  said  he, 
"  that  if  you  surrender  immediately,  the  inhabitants 
shall  be  treated  as  subjects,  and  protected  in  prop- 
erty, liberty,  and  religion.  If  you  refuse,  you,  who 
are  now  renowned  as  an  able  and  judicious  com- 
mander, will  be  chargeable  with  the  confiscations, 
captivities,  and  deaths,  which  may  be  suffered  by 
the  people  of  Baza." 

The  commander  ceased,  and  Mohammed  returned 
to  the  city  to  consult  with  his  companions.  It  was 
evident  that  all  further  resistance  was  hopeless  ;  but 
the  Moorish  commanders  felt  that  a  cloud  might 
rest  upon  their  names,  should  they,  of  their  own  dis- 
cretion, surrender  so  important  a  place  without  its 
having  sustained  an  assault.  Prince  Cidi  Yahye  re- 
quested permission,  therefore,  to  send  an  envoy  to 
Guadix,  with  a  letter  to  the  old  monarch  El  Zagal, 
treating  of  the  surrender ;  the  request  was  granted, 
a  safe-conduct  assured  to  the  envoy,  and  the  veteran 
alcayde  Mohammed  ben  Hassan  departed  upon  this 
momentous  mission. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


SURRENDER  OF   BAZA. 


The  old  warrior  king  was  seated  in  an  inner  cham- 
ber of  the  castle  of  Guadix,  much  cast  down  in  spirit, 
and  ruminating  on  his  gloomy  fortunes,  when  an  en- 
voy from  Baza  was  announced,  and  the  veteran  al- 
cayde Mohammed  stood  before  him.  El  Zagal  saw 
disastrous  tidings  written  in  his  countenance  :  "  How 
fares  it  with  Baza  ?  "  said  he,  summoning  up  his  spirits 
to  the  question.  "  Let  this  inform  thee,"  replied 
Mohammed  ;  and  he  delivered  into  his  hands  the 
letter  from  the  prince  Cidi  Yahye. 

This  letter  spoke  of  the  desperate  situation  of 
Baza ;  the  impossibility  of  holding  out  longer,  with- 
out assistance  from  El  Zagal ;  and  the  favorable 
terms  held  out  by  the  Castilian  sovereigns.  Had  it 
been  written  by  any  other  person,  El  Zagal  might 
have  received  it  with  distrust  and  indignation  ;  but 
he  confided  in  Cidi  Yahye  as  in  a  second  self,  and 
the  words  of  his  letter  sunk  deep  in  his  heart.  When 
he  had  finished  reading  it,  he  sighed  deeply,  and  re- 
mained for  some  time  lost  in  thought,  with  his  head 
drooping  upon  his  bosom.  Recovering  himself,  at 
length,  he  called  together  the  alfaquis  and  the  old 
men  of  Guadix,  and,  communicating  the  tidings  from 
Baza,  solicited  their  advice.  It  was  a  sign  of  sore 
trouble  of  mind  and  dejection  of  heart,  when  El  Zagal 
sought  the  advice  of  others  ;  but  his  fierce  courage 
was  tamed,  for  ho  saw  the  end  of  his  power  approach- 
ing. The  alfaquis  and  the  old  men  did  but  increase 
the  distraction  of  his  mind  by  a  variety  of  counsel, 
none  of  which  appeared  of  any  avail ;  for  unless  Baza 
were  succored,  it  was  impossible  that  it  should  hold 
out ;  and  every  attempt  to  succor  it  had  proved  inef- 
fectual. 

El  Zagal  dismissed  his  council  in  despair,  and 
summoned  the  veteran  Mohammed  before  him.  "  Al- 


lah Acbar  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  God  is  great ;  there  is 
but  one  God,  and  Mahomet  is  his  prophet.  Return 
to  my  cousin,  Cidi  Yahye ;  tell  him  it  is  out  of  my 
power  to  aid  him  ;  he  must  do  .as  seems  to  him  for 
the  best.  The  people  of  Baza  have  performed  deeds 
worthy  of  immortal  fame  ;  I  cannot  ask  them  to  en- 
counter further  ills  and  perils,  in  maintaining  a  hope- 
less defence." 

The  reply  of  El  Zagal  determined  the  fate  of  the 
city.  Cidi  Yahye  and  his  fellow  commanders  imme- 
diately capitulated,  and  were  granted  the  most  favor- 
able terms.  The  cavaliers  and  soldiers  who  had 
come  from  other  parts  to  the  defence  of  the  place, 
were  permitted  to  depart  freely  with  their  arms, 
horses,  and  effects.  The  inhabitants  had  their  choice, 
either  to  depart  with  their  property,  or  to  dwell  in 
the  suburbs,  in  the  enjoyment  of  their  religion  and 
laws,  taking  an  oath  of  fealty  to  the  sovereigns,  and 
paying  the  same  tribute  they  had  paid  to  the  Moor- 
ish kings.  The  city  and  citadel  were  to  be  delivered 
up  in  six  days,  within  which  period  the  inhabitants 
were  to  remove  all  their  effects  ;  and  in  the  mean 
time,  they  were  to  place,  as  hostages,  fifteen  Moorish 
youths,  sons  of  the  principal  inhaijitants,  in  the  hands 
of  the  commander  of  Leon.  When  Cidi  Yahye  and 
the  alcayde  Mohammed  came  to  deliver  up  the  hos- 
tages, among  whoin  were  the  sons  of  the  latter,  they 
paid  homage  to  the  king  and  queen,  who  received 
them  with  the  utmost  courtesy  and  kindness,  and  or- 
dered magnificent  presents  to  be  given  to  them,  and 
likewise  to  the  other  Moorish  cavaliers,  consisting 
of  money,  robes,  horses,  and  other  things  of  great 
value. 

The  prince  Cidi  Yahye  was  so  captivated  by  the 
grace,  the  dignity,  and  generosity  of  Isabella,  and  the 
princely  courtesy  of  Ferdinand,  that  he  vowed  never 
again  to  draw  his  sword  against  such  magnanimous 
sovereigns.  The  queen,  charmed  with  his  gallant 
bearing  and  his  animated  professionsof  devotion,  as- 
sured him,  that,  having  him  on  her  side,  she  already 
considered  the  war  terminated  which  had  desolated 
the  kingdom  of  Granada.' 

Mighty  and  irresistible  are  words  of  praise  from 
the  lips  of  sovereigns.  Cidi  Yahye  was  entirely  sub- 
dued by  this  fair  speech  from  the  illustrious  Isabella. 
His  heart  burned  with  a  sudden  flame  of  loyalty  to- 
wards the  sovereigns.  He  begged  to  be  enrolled 
amongst  the  most  devoted  of  their  subjects;  and,  in 
the  fervor  of  his  sudden  zeal,  engaged  not  merely  to 
dedicate  his  sword  to  their  service,  but  to  exert  all 
his  influence,  which  w-as  great,  in  persuading  his 
cousin,  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal,  to  surrender  the 
cities  of  Guadix  and  Almeria,  and  to  give  up  all  fur- 
ther hostilities.  Nay,  so  powerful  was  the  effect 
produced  upon  his  mind  by  his  conversation  with  the 
sovereigns,  that  it  extended  even  to  his  religion  ; 
lor  he  became  immediately  enlightened  as  to  the 
heathenish  abominations  of  the  vile  sect  of  Mahomet, 
and  struck  with  the  truths  of  Christianity,  as  illustra- 
ted by  such  powerful  monarchs.  He  consented,  there- 
fore, to  be  baptized,  and  to  be  gathered  into  the  fold 
of  the  church.  The  pious  Agapida  indulges  in  a 
triumphant  strain  of  exultation,  on  the  sudden  and 
surprising  conversion  of  this  princely  infidel :  he  con- 
siders it  one  of  the  greatest  achievements  of  the  Cath- 
olic sovereigns,  and  indeed  one  of  the  marvellous 
occurrences  of  this  holy  war  :  "  But  it  is  given  to 
saints  and  pious  monarchs,"  says  he,  "  to  work  mira- 
cles in  the  cause  of  the  faith  ;  and  such  did  the  most 
Catholic  Ferdinand,  in  the  conversion  of  the  prince 
Cidi  Yahye." 

Some  of  the  Arabian  writers  have  sought  to  lessen 
the  wonder  of  this  miracle,  by  alluding  to  great  reve- 
nues granted  to  the  prince  and  his  heirs  by  the  Cas- 
tilian monarchs,  together  with  a  territory  in  Marche- 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


269 


na.  with  towns,  lands,  and  vassals ;  but  in  this  (says 
Agapida)  we  only  see  a  wise  precaution  of  king  Fer- 
dinand, to  clinch  and  secure  the  conversion  of  his 
proselyte.  The  policy  of  the  Catholic  monarch  was 
at  all  times  equal  to  his  piety.  Instead  also  of  vailnt- 
ing  of  this  great  conversion,  and  making  a  public 
parade  cf  the  entry  of  the  prince  into  the  church, 
king  Ferdinand  ordered  that  the  baptism  should  be 
performed  in  private,  and  kept  a  profound  secret. 
He  feared  that  Cidi  Yahye  might  otherwise  be  de- 
nounced as  an  apostate,  and  abhorred  and  .abandon- 
ed by  the  Moors,  and  thus  his  influence  destroyed  in 
bringing  the  war  to  a  speedy  termination.* 

The  veteran  Mohammed  ben  Hassan  was  likewise 
won  by  the  magnanimity  and  munificence  of  the 
Castilian  sovereigns,  and  entreated  to  be  received 
into  their  service  ;  and  his  example  was  followed  by 
many  other  Moorish  cavaliers,  whose  services  were 
generously  accepted  and  magnificently  rewarded. 

Thus,  after  a  siege  of  six  months  and  twenty  days, 
the  city  of  Baza  surrendered  on  the  4th  of  Decem- 
ber, 1489  ;  the  festival  of  the  glorious  Santa  Barbara, 
who  is  said,  in  the  Catholic  calendar,  to  preside  over 
thunder  and  lightning,  fire  and  gunpowder,  and  all 
kinds  of  cumbustious  explosions.  The  king  and 
queen  made  their  solemn  and  triumphant  entry  on 
the  following  day  ;  and  the  public  joy  was  heighten- 
ed by  the  sight  of  upwards  of  five  hundred  christian 
captives,  men,  women,  and  children,  delivered  from 
the  Moorish  dungeons. 

The  loss  of  the  christians  in  this  siege  amounted 
to  twenty  thousand  men,  of  whom  seventeen  thou- 
sand died  of  disease,  and  not  a  few  of  mere  cold, — 
a  kind  of  death  (says  the  historian  Mariana)  pecul- 
iarly uncomfortable  ;  but  (adds  the  venerable  Jesuit) 
as  these  latter  were  chiefly  people  of  ignoble  rank, 
baggage-carriers  and  such  like,  the  loss  was  not  of 
great  importance. 

The  surrender  of  Baza  was  followed  by  that  of 
Almunecar,  Tavernas,  and  most  of  the  fortresses  of 
the  Alpuxarra  mountains  ;  the  inhabitants  hoped,  by 
prompt  and  voluntaiy  submission,  to  secure  equally 
favorable  terms  with  those  granted  to  the  captured 
city,  and  the  alcaydes  to  receive  similar  rewards  to 
those  lavished  on  its  commanders ;  nor  were  either 
of  them  disappointed.  The  inhabitants  were  per- 
mitted to  remain  as  Mudexares,  in  the  quiet  enjoy- 
ment of  their  property  and  religion  ;  and  as  to  the 
alcaydes,  when  they  came  to  the  camp  to  render  up 
their  charges,  they  were  received  by  Ferdinand  with 
distinguished  favor,  and  rewarded  with  presents  of 
money  in  proportion  to  the  importance  of  the  places 
they  had  commanded.  Care  was  taken  by  the  politic 
monarch,  however,  not  to  wound  their  pride  or  shock 
their  delicacy  ;  so  these  sums  were  paid  under  color 
of  arrears  due  to  them  for  their  services  to  the  former 
government.  Ferdinand  had  conquered  by  dint  of 
sword,  in  the  earlier  part  of  the  war ;  but  he  found 
gold  as  potent  as  steel,  in  this  campaign  of  Baza. 

With  several  of  these  mercenary  chieftains  came 
one  named  Ali  Aben  F.ahar,  a  seasoned  warrior,  who 
had  held  many  important  commands.  He  was  a 
Moor  of  a  lofty,  stern,  and  melancholy  aspect,  and 
stood  silent  and  apart,  while  his  companions  surren- 
dered their  several  fortresses  and  retired  laden  with 
treasure.  When  it  came  to  his  turn  to  speak,  he  ad- 
dressed the  sovereigns  with  the  frankness  of  a  sol- 
dier, but  with  a  tone  of  dejection  and  despair. 

"  I  am  a  Moor,"  said  he,  "  and  of  Moorish  lineage, 
and  am  alcayde  of  the  fair  towns  and  castles  of  Pur- 
chena  and  Paterna.  These  were  intrusted  to  me  to 
defend  ;  but  those  who  should  have  stood  by  me 
have  lost  all  strength  and  courage,  and  seek  only  for 


*  Conde,  torn.  3,  cap.  40. 


security.  These  fortresses,  therefore,  most  potent 
sovereigns,  are  yours,  whenever  you  will  send  to 
take  possession  of  them." 

Large  sums  of  gold  were  immediately  ordered  by 
Ferdinand  to  be  delivered  to  the  alcayde,  as  a  recom- 
pense for  so  important  a  surrender.  The  Moor, 
however,  put  back  the  gift  with  a  firm  and  haughty 
demeanor:  "  I  came  not,"  said  he,  "  to  sell  what  is 
not  mine,  but  to  yield  what  fortune  has  made  yours ; 
and  your  majesties  m.ay  rest  assured  that,  had  I  been 
properly  seconded,  death  would  have  been  the  price 
at  which  I  would  have  sold  my  fortresses,  and  not 
the  gold  you  offer  me." 

The  Castilian  monarchs  were  struck  with  the  lofty 
and  loyal  spirit  of  the  Moor,  and  desired  to  engage  a 
man  of  such  fidelity  in  their  service  ;  but  the  proud 
Moslem  could  not  be  induced  to  serve  the  enemies 
of  his  nation  and  his  faith. 

"  Is  there  nothing  then,"  said  queen  Isabella, 
"  that  we  can  do  to  gratify  thee,  and  to  prove  to 
thee  our  regard?"  "  Yes,"  replied  the  Moor;  "I 
have  left  behind  me,  in  the  towns  and  valleys  which  I 
have  surrendered,  many  of  my  unhappy  countrymen, 
with  their  wives  and  children,  who  cannot  tear  them- 
selves from  their  native  abodes.  Give  me  your  royal 
word  that  they  shall  be  protected  in  the  peaceable 
enjoyment  of  their  religion  and  their  homes."  "  We 
promise  it,"  said  Isabella;  "  they  shall  dwell  in  peace 
and  security.  But  for  thyself — what  dost  thou  ask 
for  thyself?  "  "  Nothing,"  replied  Ali,  "  but  permis- 
sion to  pass  unmolested,  with  my  horses  and  effects, 
into  Africa." 

The  Castilian  monarchs  would  fain  have  forced 
upon  him  gold  and  silver,  and  superb  horses  richly 
caparisoned,  not  as  rewards,  but  as  marks  of  per- 
sonal esteem  ;  but  Ali  Aben  Fahar  declined  all 
presents  and  distinctions,  as  if  he  thought  it  criminal 
to  flourish  individually  during  a  time  of  pulilic  dis- 
tress ;  and  disdained  all  prosperity  that  seemed  to 
grow  out  of  the  ruins  of  his  country. 

Having  received  a  royal  passport,  he  gathered  to- 
gether his  horses  and  servants,  his  armor  and  weap- 
ons, and  all  his  warlike  effects ;  bade  adieu  to  his 
weeping  countrymen  with  a  brow  stamped  with  an- 
guish, but  without  shedding  a  tear ;  and,  mounting 
his  Barbary  steed,  turned  his  back  upon  the  delight- 
ful valleys  of  his  conquered  country,  departing  on  his 
lonely  way,  to  seek  a  soldier's  fortune  amidst  the 
burning  sands  of  Africa.* 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 


SUBMISSION    OF    EL    ZAGAL    TO    THE     CASTILIAK 
SOVEREIGNS. 

Evil  tidings  never  fail  by  the  way,  through  lack 
of  messengers;  they  are  wafted  on  the  wings  of  the 
wind,  and  it  is  as  if  the  very  birds  of  the  air  would 
bear  them  to  the  ear  of  the  unfortunate.  The  old 
king  El  Zagal  buried  himself  in  the  recesses  of  his 
castle,  to  hide  himself  from  the  light  of  day,  which 
no  longer  shone  prosperously  upon  him  ;  but  every 
hour  brought  missives,  thundering  at  the  gate,  with 
the  tale  of  some  new  disaster.  Fortress  after  fortress 
had  laid  its  keys  at  the  feet  of  the  christian  sover- 
eigns :  strip  by  strip,  of  warrior  mountain  and  green 
fruitful  valley,  was  torn  from  his  domains,  and  added 
to  the  territories  of  the  conquerors.  .Scarcely  a 
remnant  remained  to  him,  except  a  tract  of  the 
Alpuxarras,  and  the  noble  cities  of  Guadix  and 
Almeria.  No  one  any  longer  stood  in  awe  of  the 
fierce  old  monarch ;  the  terror  of  his  frown  had  de- 


*  Pulgar.    Garibay,  lib.  40,  cap.  40.    Cura  de  los  Palacios. 


270 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


clined  with  his  power.  He  had  arrived  at  that  stage 
of  adversity,  when  a  man's  friends  feel  emboldened 
to  tell  him  hard  truths,  and  to  give  him  unpalatable 
advice  ;  and  when  his  spirit  is  bowed  down  to  listen 
quietly,  if  not  meekly. 

El  Zagal  was  seated  on  his  divan,  his  whole  spirit 
absorbed  in  rumination  on  the  transitory  nature  of 
human  glory,  when  his  kinsman  and  brother-in-law, 
the  prince  Cidi  Yahye,  was  announced.  That  illus- 
trious convert  to  the  true  faith  and  the  interests  of 
the  conquerors  of  his  country,  had  hastened  to  Gua- 
dix  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  new  proselyte,  eager  to 
prove  his  zeal  in  the  service  of  Heaven  and  the  Cas- 
tilian  sovereigns,  by  persuading  the  old  monarch  to 
abjure  his  faith  and  surrender  his  possessions. 

Cidi  Yahye  still  bore  the  guise  of  a  Moslem,  for 
his  conversion  was  as  yet  a  secret.  The  stern  heart 
of  El  Zagal  softened  at  beholding  the  face  of  a  kins- 
man, in  this  hour  of  adversity.  He  folded  his  cousin 
to  his  bosom,  and  gave  thanks  to  Allah  that  amidst 
all  his  troubles  he  had  still  a  friend  and  counsellor 
on  whom  he  might  rely. 

Cidi  Yahye  soon  entered  upon  the  real  purpose  of 
his  mission.  He  represented  to  El  Zagal  the  des- 
perate state  of  affairs,  and  the  irretrievable  decline 
of  Moorish  power  in  the  kingdom  of  Granada. 
"  Fate,"  said  he,  "  is  against  our  arms  ;  our  ruin  is 
written  in  the  heavens.  Remember  the  prediction 
of  the  astrologers,  at  the  birth  of  your  nephew 
Boabdil.  We  had  hoped  that  their  prediction  was 
accomplished  by  his  capture  at  Lucena  ;  but  it  is 
now  evident  that  the  stars  portended  not  a  tempo- 
rary and  passing  reverse  of  the  kingdom,  but  a  final 
overthrow.  The  constant  succession  of  disasters 
which  have  attended  our  efforts,  show  that  the 
sceptre  of  Granada  is  doomed  to  pass  into  the 
hands  of  the  christian  monarchs.  Such,"  concluded 
the  prince  emphatically,  and  with  a  profound  and 
pious  reverence,  "  such  is  the  almighty  will  ol  God  !  " 

El  Zagal  listened  to  these  words  in  mute  atten- 
tion, without  so  much  as  moving  a  muscle  of  his 
face,  or  winking  an  eyelid.  When  the  prince  had 
concluded,  he  remained  for  a  long  time  silent  and 
pensive  ;  at  length,  heaving  a  profound  sigh  from 
the  very  bottom  of  his  heart,  "  Alahuma  subahana 
hu  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  the  will  of  God  be  done  !  Yes, 
my  cousin,  it  is  but  too  evident  that  such  is  the  will 
of  Allah  ;  and  what  he  wills,  he  fails  not  to  accom- 
plish. Had  he  not  decreed  the  fall  of  Granada,  this 
arm  and  this  scimitar  would  have  maintained  it."* 

"What  then  remains,"  said  Cidi  Yahye,  "but  to 
draw  the  most  advantage  from  the  wreck  of  empire 
that  is  left  you  ?  To  persist  in  a  war  is  to  bring  com- 
plete desolation  upon  the  land,  and  ruin  and  death 
upon  its  faithful  inhabitants.  Are  you  disposed  to  yield 
up  your  remaining  towns  to  your  nephew  El  Chico, 
that  they  may  augment  his  power,  and  derive  protec- 
tion from  his  alliance  with  the  christian  sovereigns  ?  " 

The  eye  of  El  Zagal  flashed  fire  at  this  suggestion. 
He  grasped  the  hilt  of  his  scimitar,  and  gnashed 
his  teeth  in  fury.  "Never,"  cried  he,  "will  I  make 
terms  with  that  recreant  and  slave  !  Sooner  would  I 
see  the  banners  of  the  christian  monarchs  floating 
above  my  walls,  than  they  should  add  to  the  posses- 
sions of  the  vassal  Boabdil !  " 

Cidi  Yahye  immediately  seized  upon  this  idea,  and 
urged  El  Zagal  to  make  a  frank  and  entire  surren- 
der :  "  Trust,"  said  he,  "  to  the  magnanimity  of  the 
Castilian  sovereigns  ;  they  will  doubtless  grant  you 
high  and  honorable  terms.  It  is  better  to  yield  to 
them  as  friends,  what  they  must  infallibly  and  before 
long  wrest  from  you  as  enemies  ;  for  such,  my  cousin, 
is  the  almighty  will  of  God  I " 


•  Conde,  torn.  3.  c.  40. 


"Alahuma  subahana  hu !  "  repeated  El  Zagal, 
"the  will  of  God  be  done  !  "  So  the  old  monarch 
bowed  his  haughty  neck,  and  agreed  to  surrettder 
his  territories  to  the  enemies  of  his  faith,  rather  than 
suffer  them  to  augment  the  Moslem  power  under 
the  swav  of  his  nephew. 

Cidi  Yahye  now  returned  to  Baza,  empowered  by 
El  Zagal  to  treat  on  his  behalf  with  the  christian 
sovereigns.  The  prince  felt  a  species  of  exultation, 
as  he  expatiated  on  the  rich  relics  of  empire  which 
he  was  authorized  to  cede.  There  was  a  gieat  part 
of  that  line  of  mountains  which  extends  from  the 
metropolis  to  the  Mediterranean  sea,  with  their 
series  of  beautiful  green  valleys,  like  precious  emer- 
alds set  in  a  golden  chain.  Above  all,  there  were 
Guadix  and  Almeria,  two  of  the  most  inestimable 
jewels  in  the  crown  of  Granada. 

In  return  for  these  possessions,  and  for  the  claim 
of  El  Zagal  to  the  rest  of  the  kingdom,  the  sovereigns 
received  him  into  their  friendship  and  alliance,  and 
gave  him  in  perpetual  inheritance  the  territory  of 
Andarax  and  the  valley  of  Alhaurin  in  the  Alpuxar- 
ras,  with  half  of  the  salinas  or  salt-pits  of  Maleha. 
He  was  to  enjoy  the  title  of  king  of  Andarax,  with 
two  thousand  Mudexares,  or  conquered  Moors,  for 
subjects  ;  and  his  revenues  were  to  be  made  up  to 
the  sum  of  four  millions  of  marevedies.*  All  these 
he  was  to  hold,  as  a  vassal  of  the  Castilian  crown. 

These  arrangements  being  made,  Cidi  Yahye  re- 
turned with  them  to  Muley  Abdalla ;  and  it  was 
concerted  that  the  ceremony  of  surrender  and  hom- 
age should  take  place  at  the  city  of  Almeria. 

On  the  17th  of  December,  king  Ferdinand  de- 
parted from  Baza  with  a  part  of  his  army,  and  the 
queen  soon  followed  with  the  remainder.  Ferdinand 
passed  in  triumph  by  several  of  the  newly-acquired 
towns,  exulting  in  these  trophies  of  his  policy  rather 
than  his  valor.  As  he  drew  near  to  Almeria,  the 
Moorish  king  came  forth  to  meet  him,  accompanied 
by  the  prince  Cidi  Yahye,  and  a  number  of  the  prin- 
cipal inhabitants  on  horseback.  The  fierce  brow  of 
El  Zagal  was  clouded  with  a  kind  of  forced  humility  ; 
but  there  was  an  impatient  curl  of  the  lip,  with  now 
and  then  a  swelling  of  the  bosom  and  an  indignant 
breathing  from  the  distended  nostril.  It  was  evident 
he  considered  himself  conquered,  not  by  the  power 
of  man,  but  by  the  hand  of  Heaven  ;  and,  while  he 
bowed  to  the  decrees  of  fate,  it  galled  his  proud 
spirit  to  have  to  humble  himself  before  its  mortal 
agent.  As  he  approached  the  christia'n  king,  he 
alighted  from  his  horse,  and  advanced  to  kiss  his 
hand  in  token  of  homage.  Ferdinand,  however,  re- 
spected the  royal  title  which  the  Moor  had  held,  and 
would  not  permit  the  ceremony  ;  but,  bending  from 
his  saddle,  graciously  embraced  him,  and  requested 
him  to  remount  his  steed. f  Several  courteous 
speeches  passed  between  them ;  and  the  fortress 
and  city  of  Almeria,  and  all  the  remaining  terri- 
tories of  El  Zagal,  were  delivered  up  in  form. 
When  all  was  accomplished,  the  old  warrior  Moor 
retired  to  the  mountains  with  a  handful  of  adher- 
ents, to  seek  his  petty  territory  of  Andarax,  to  bury 
his  humiliation  from  the  world,  and  to  console  him- 
self with  the  shadowy  title  of  a  king.f 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

EVENTS   AT  GRANADA,   SUBSEQUENT  TO  THE 
SUBMISSION   OF   EL   ZAGAL. 

Who  can  tell  when  to  rejoice,  in  this  fluctuating 
world  ?    Every  wave  of  prosperity  has  its  reacting 


•  Cura  dc  los  Palacios,  cap.  94.       +  Cura  dc  los  Palacios,  cap  93. 
X  Pulgar,  Garibay,  &c.,  Ac. 


A   CHRONICLE    OF   THE    CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


271 


surge,  and  we  are  often  overwhelmed  by  the  very 
billow  on  which  we  thoug'ht  to  be  wafted  into  the 
haven  of  our  hopes.  When  Yusef  Aben  Comixa, 
the  vizier  of  Boabdil,  surnamed  El  Chico,  entered 
the  royal  saloon  of  the  Alnambra  and  announced 
the  capitulation  of  El  Zagal,  the  heart  of  the  youth- 
ful monarch  leaped  for  joy.  His  great  wish  was 
accomplished ;  his  uncle  was  defeated  and  de- 
throned, and  he  reigned  without  a  rival,  sole  mon- 
arch of  Granada.  At  length,  he  was  about  to  enjoy 
the  fruits  of  his  humiliation  and  vassalage.  He  be- 
held his  throne  fortified  by  the  friendship  and  alli- 
ance of  the  Castihan  monarchs ;  there  could  be  no 
question,  therefore,  of  its  stability.  "  Allah  Ac- 
bar  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  God  is  great  !  Rejoice  with 
me,  oh  Yusef;  the  stars  have  ceased  their  persecu- 
tion.  Henceforth  let  no  man  call  me  EI  Zogoybi." 

In  the  first  moment  of  his  exultation,  Boabdil 
would  have  ordered  public  rejoicings ;  but  the 
shrewd  Yusef  shook  his  head.  "  The  tempest  has 
ceased,"  said  he,  "  from  one  point  of  the  heavens, 
but  it  may  begin  to  rage  from  another.  A  troubled 
sea  is  beneath  us,  and  we  are  surrounded  by  rocks 
and  quicksands :  let  my  lord  the  king  defer  rejoic- 
ings until  all  has  settled  into  a  calm."  El  Chico, 
however,  could  not  remain  tranquil,  in  this  day  of 
exultation  :  he  ordered  his  steed  to  be  sumptuously 
caparisoned,  and,  issuing  out  of  the  gate  of  the  Al- 
hambra,  descended,  with  a  glittering  retinue,  along 
the  avenue  of  trees  and  fountains,  into  the  city,  to 
receive  the  acclamations  of  the  populace.  As  he 
entered  the  great  square  of  the  Vivarrambla,  he  be- 
held crowds  of  people  in  violent  agitation ;  but,  as 
he  approached,  what  was  his  surprise,  to  hear  groans 
and  murmurs  and  bursts  of  execration  !  The  tidings 
had  spread  through  Granada,  that  Muley  Abdalla 
el  Zagal  had  been  driven  to  capitulate,  and  that  all 
his  territories  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  chris- 
tians. No  one  had  inquired  into  the  particulars,  but 
ail  Granada  had  been  thrown  into  a  ferment  of  grief 
and  indignation.  In  the  heat  of  the  moment,  old 
Muley  was  extolled  to  the  skies  as  a  patriot  prince, 
who  had  fought  to  the  last  for  the  salvation  of  his 
country — as  a  mirror  of  monarchs,  scorning  to  com- 
promise the  dignity  of  his  crown  by  any  act  of  vas- 
salage. Boabdil,  on  the  contrary,  had  looked  on  ex- 
ultingly  at  the  hopeless  yet  heroic  struggle  of  his 
uncle  ;  he  had  rejoiced  in  the  defeat  of  the  faithful, 
and  the  triumph  of  unbelievers  ;  he  had  aided  in  the 
dismemberment  and  downfall  of  the  empire.  When 
they  beheld  him  riding  forth  in  gorgeous  state,  on 
what  they  considered  a  day  of  humiliation  for  all 
true  Moslems,  they  could  not  contain  their  rage;  and 
amidst  the  clamors  that  met  his  ears,  Boabdil  more 
than  once  heard  his  name  coupled  with  the  epithets 
of  traitor  and  renegado. 

Shocked  and  discomfited,  the  youthful  monarch 
returned  in  confusion  to  the  Alhambra.  He  shut 
himself  up  within  its  innermost  courts,  and  remained 
a  kind  of  voluntary  prisoner  until  the  first  burst  of 
popular  feeling  should  subside.  He  trusted  that  it 
would  soon  pass  away  ;  that  the  people  would  be  too 
sensible  of  the  sweets  of  peace,  to  repine  at  the  price 
at  which  it  was  obtained  ;  at  any  rate,  he  trusted  to 
the  strong  friendship  of  the  christian  sovereigns,  to 
secure  him  even  against  the  factions  of  his  subjects. 

The  first  missives  from  the  politic  Ferdinand  show- 
ed Boabdil  the  value  of  his  friendship.  The  Catholic 
monarch  reminded  him  of  a  treaty  which  he  had  made 
when  captured  in  the  city  of  Loxa.  By  this,  he  had 
engaged,  that  in  case  the  Catliolic  sovereigns  should 
capture  the  cities  of  Guadix,  Baza,  and  Almeria,  he 
would  surrender  Granada  into  their  hands  within  a 
limited  time,  and  accept  in  exchange  certain  Moorish 
towns,  to  be  held  by  him  as  their  vassal.    Ferdinand 


now  informed  Mm  that  Gaudix,  Baza,  and  Almeria 
had  fallen  ;  he  called  upon  him,  therefore,  to  fulfil 
his  engagement. 

If  the  unfortunate  Boabdil  had  possessed  the  will, 
he  had  not  the  power  to  comply  with  this  demand. 
He  was  shut  up  in  the  Alhambra,  while  a  tempest  of 
popular  fury  raged  without.  Granada  was  thronged 
by  refugees  from  the  captured  towns,  many  of  them 
disbanded  soldiers,  and  others  broken-down  citizens, 
rendered  fierce  and  desperate  by  ruin.  All  railed  at 
Boabdil,  as  the  real  cause  of  their  misfortunes.  How- 
was  he  to  venture  forth  in  such  a  storm  .■' — above  all, 
how  was  he  to  talk  to  such  men  of  surrender?  In 
his  reply  to  Ferdinand,  he  represented  the  difficulties 
of  his  situation,  and  that,  so  far  from  having  control 
over  his  subjects,  his  Very  life  was  in  danger  from 
their  turbulence.  He  entreated  the  king,  therefore, 
to  rest  satisfied  for  the  present  with  his  recent  con- 
quests, promising  him  that  should  he  be  able  to  re- 
gain full  empire  over  his  capital  and  its  inhabitants, 
it  would  but  be  to  rule  over  them  as  vassal  to  the 
Castilian  crown. 

Ferdinand  was  not  to  be  satisfied  with  such  a  reply. 
The  time  was  come  to  bring  his  game  of  policy  to  a 
close,  and  to  consummate  his  conquest,  by  seating 
himself  on  the  throne  of  the  Alhambra.  Professing  to 
consider  Boabdil  as  a  faithless  ally,  who  had  broken 
his  plighted  word,  he  discarded  him  from  his  friend- 
ship, and  addressed  a  second  letter,  not  to  that  mon- 
arch, but  to  the  commanders  and  council  of  the  city. 
He  demanded  a  complete  surrender  of  the  place, 
with  all  the  arms  in  the  possession  either  of  the  citi- 
zens or  of  others  who  had  recently  taken  refuge  within 
its  walls.  If  the  inhabitants  should  comply  with  this 
summons,  he  promised  them  the  indulgent  terms 
which  had  been  granted  to  Baza,  Guadix,  and  Alme- 
ria ;  if  they  should  refuse,  he  threatened  them  with 
the  fate  of  Malaga.* 

The  message  of  the  Catholic  monarch  produced 
the  greatest  commotion  in  the  city.  The  inhabitants 
of  the  Alcaiceria,  that  busy  hive  of  traffic,  and  all 
others  wlio  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  gainful  com- 
merce during  the  late  cessation  of  hostilities,  were 
for  securing  their  golden  advantages  by  timely  sub- 
mission :  others,  who  had  wives  and  children,  looked 
on  them  with  tenderness  and  solicitude,  and  dreaded, 
by  resistance,  to  bring  upon  them  the  horrors  of 
slavery. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  Granada  was  crowded 
with  men  from  all  parts,  ruined  by  the  war,  exasper- 
ated by  their  sufferings,  and  eager  only  for  revenge  ; 
with  others,  who  had  been  reared  amidst  hostilities, 
who  had  lived  by  the  sword,  and  whom  a  return  of 
peace  would  leave  without  home  or  hope.  Beside 
these,  there  were  others  no  less  fiery  and  warlike  in 
disposition,  but  animated  by  a  loftier  spirit.  These 
were  valiant  and  haughty  cavaliers  of  the  old  chival- 
rous lineages,  who  had  inherited  a  deadly  hatred  to 
the  christians  from  a  long  line  of  warrior  ancestors, 
and  to  whom  the  idea  was  worse  than  death,  that 
Granada,  illustrious  Granada  !  for  ages  the  seat  of 
Moorish  grandeur  and  delight,  should  become  the 
abode  of  unbelievers. 

Among  these  cavaliers,  the  most  eminent  was 
Muza  ben  Abil  Gazan.  He  was  of  royal  lineage,  of 
a  proud  and  generous  nature,  and  a  form  combining 
manly  strength  and  beauty.  None  could  excel  him  in 
the  management  of  the  horse,  and  dextrous  use  of  all 
kinds  of  weapons :  his  gracefulness  and  skill  in  the 
tourney  were  the  theme  of  praise  among  the  Moorish 
dames,  and  his  prowess  in  the  field  had  made  him 
the  terror  of  the  enemy.  He  had  long  repined  at 
the  timid  policy  of  Boabdil,  and  had  endeavored  to 

*  Cura  dc  los  Palacios,  cap  96. 


272 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


counteract  its  enervating  effects,  and  to  keep  alive 
the  martial  spirit  of  Granada.  For  this  reason,  he 
had  promoted  jousts  and  tiltings  with  the  reed,  and 
all  those  other  public  games  which  bear  the  sem- 
blance of  war.  He  endeavored  also  to  inculcate 
into  his  companions  in  arms  those  high  chivalrous 
sentiments  which  lead  to  valiant  and  magnanimous 
deeds,  but  which  are  apt  to  decline  with  the  inde- 
pendence of  a  nation.  The  generous  efforts  of  Muza 
had  been  in  a  great  measure  successful :  he  was  the 
idol  of  the  youthful  cavaliers  ;  they  regarded  him  as 
a  mirror  of  chivalry,  and  endeavored  to  imitate  his 
lofty  and  heroic  virtues. 

When  Muza  heard  the  demand  of  Ferdinand  that 
thiy  should  deliver  up  their  arms,  his  eye  flashed 
fire :  "  Does  the  christian  king  think  that  we  are  old 
men,"  said  he,  "and  that  staffs  will  suffice  us? — or 
that  we  are  women,  and  can  be  contented  with  dis- 
taffs ?  Let  him  know  that  a  Moor  is  born  to  the  spear 
and  scimitar;  to  career  the  steed,  bend  the  bow,  and 
lanch  the  javelin  :  deprive  him  of  these,  and  you  de- 
prive him  of  his  nature.  If  the  christian  king  desires 
our  arms,  let  him  come  and  win  them  ;  but  let  him 
win  them  dearly.  For  my  part,  sweeter  were  a 
grave  beneath  the  walls  of  Granada,  on  the  spot  I 
had  died  to  defend,  than  the  richest  couch  within 
her  palaces,  earned  by  submission  to  the  unbeliever." 

The  words  of  Muza  were  received  with  enthusi- 
astic shouts,  by  the  warlike  part  of  the  populace. 
Granada  once  more  awoke,  as  a  warrior  shaking  off 
a  disgraceful  lethargy.  The  commanders  and  council 
partook  of  the  public  excitement,  and  dispatched  a 
reply  to  the  christian  sovereigns,  declaring  that  they 
would  suffer  death  rather  than  surrender  their  city. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 


HOW   KING    FERDINAND    TURNED     HIS     HOSTILI- 
TIES AGAINST  THE  CITY   OF  GRANADA. 

When  king  Ferdinand  received  the  defiance  of 
the  Moors,  he  made  preparations  for  bitter  hostili- 
ties. The  winter  season  did  not  admit  of  an  imme- 
diate campaign ;  he  contented  himself,  therefore, 
with  throwing  strong  garrisons  into  all  his  towns 
and  fortresses  in  the  neighborhood  of  Granada,  and 
gave  the  command  of  all  the  frontier  of  Jaen  to 
Inigo  Lopez  de  Mendoza,  count  of  Tendilla,  who  had 
shown  such  consummate  vigilance  and  address  in 
maintaining  the  dangerous  post  of  Alhama.  This 
renowned  veteran  established  his  head-quarters  in 
the  mountain  city  of  Alcala  la  Real,  within  eight 
leagues  of  the  city  of  Granada,  and  commanding 
the  most  important  passes  of  that  rugged  frontier. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  city  of  Granada  resounded 
with  the  stir  of  war.  The  chivalry  of  the  nation  had 
again  control  of  its  councils  ;  and  the  populace,  hav- 
ing once  more  resumed  their  weapons,  were  anxious 
to  wipe  out  the  disgrace  of  their  late  passive  submis- 
sion, by  signal  and  daring  exploits. 

Muza  ben  Abil  Gazan  was  the  soul  of  action.  He 
commanded  the  cavalry,  which  he  had  disciplined 
with  uncommon  skill :  he  was  surrounded  by  the 
noblest  youth  of  Granada,  who  had  caught  his  own 
generous  and  martial  fire,  and  panted  for  the  field  ; 
while  the  common  soldiers,  devoted  to  his  person, 
were  ready  to  follow  him  in  the  most  desperate  en- 
terprises. He  did  not  allow  their  courage  to  cool 
for  want  of  action.  The  gates  of  Granada  once 
more  poured  forth  legions  of  light  scouring  cavalry, 
which  skirred  the  country  up  to  the  very  gates  of 
the  christian  fortresses,  sweeping  off  nocks  and 
herds.      The   name   of   Muza  became    formidable 


throughout  the  frontier ;  he  had  many  encounters 
with  the  enemy  in  the  rough  passes  of  the  mount- 
ains, in  which  the  superior  lightness  and  dexterity 
of  his  cavalry  gave  him  the  advantage.  The  sight 
of  his  glistening  legion,  returning  across  the  vega 
with  long  cavalgadas  of  booty,  was  hailed  by  the 
Moors  as  a  revival  of  their  ancient  triumphs ;  but 
when  they  beheld  christian  banners  borne  into  their 
gates  as  trophies,  the  exultation  of  the  light-minded 
populace  was  beyond  all  bounds. 

The  winter  passed  away;  the  spring  advanced, 
yet  Ferdinand  delayed  to  take  the  field.  He  knew 
the  city  of  Granada  to  be  too  strong  and  populous 
to  be  taken  by  assault,  and  too  full  of  pro\isions  to 
be  speedily  reduced  by  siege.  "  We  must  have  pa- 
tience and  perseverance,"  said  the  politic  monarch  ; 
"  by  ravaging  the  country  this  year,  we  shall  produce 
a  scarcity  the  next,  and  then  the  city  maybe  invested 
with  effect." 

An  interval  of  peace,  aided  by  the  quick  vegeta- 
tion of  a  prolific  soil  and  happy  climate,  had  restored 
the  vega  to  all  its  luxuriance  and  beauty  ;  the  green 
pastures  on  the  borders  of  the  Xenel  were  covered 
with  fiocks  and  herds  ;  the  blooming  orchards  gave 
promise  of  abundant  fruit,  and  the  open  plain  was 
waving  with  ripening  corn.  The  time  was  at  hand 
to  put  in  the  sickle  and  reap  the  golden  harvest, 
when  suddenly  a  torrent  of  war  came  sweeping 
down  from  the  mountains  ;  and  Ferdinand,  with  an 
army  of  five  thousand  horse  and  twenty  thousand 
foot,  appeared  before  the  walls  of  Granada.  He  had 
left  the  queen  and  princess  at  the  fortress  of  Moclin, 
and  came  attended  t)y  the  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia, 
the  marques  of  Cadiz,  the  marques  de  Villena,  the 
counts  of  Urena  and  Cabra,  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar, 
and  other  renowned  cavaliers.  On  this  occasion, 
king  Ferdinand  for  the  first  time  led  his  son  prince 
Juan  into  the  field,  and  bestowed  upon  him  the  dig- 
nity of  knighthood.  As  if  to  stimulate  him  to  grand 
achievements,  the  ceremony  took  place  on  the  banks 
of  the  grand  canal,  alinost  beneath  the  embattled 
walls  of  that  warlike  city,  the  object  of  such  daring 
enterprises,  and  in  the  midst  of  that  famous  vega 
which  had  been  the  field  of  so  many  chivalrous  ex- 
ploits. Above  them  shone  resplendent  the  red  tow- 
ers of  the  Alhambra,  rising  from  amidst  delicious 
groves,  with  the  standard  of  Mahomet  waving  de- 
fiance to  the  christian  arms. 

The  duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  and  the  valiant  Rod- 
erigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques  of  Cadiz,  were  spon- 
sors ;  and  all  the  chivalry  of  the  camp  was  assem- 
bled on  the  occasion.  The  prince,  after  he  was 
knighted,  bestowed  the  same  honor  on  several 
youthful  cavaliers  of  high  rank,  just  entering,  like 
himself,  on  the  career  of  arms. 

Ferdinand  did  not  loiter,  in  carrying  his  desolat- 
ing plans  into  execution.  He  detached  parties  in 
every  direction,  to  lay  waste  the  country  ;  villages 
were  sacked,  burnt,  and  destroyed,  and  the  lovely 
vega  once  more  laid  waste  with  fire  and  sword.  The 
ravage  was  carried  so  close  to  Granada,  that  the 
city  was  wrapped  in  the  smoke  of  its  gardens  and 
hamlets.  The  dismal  cloud  rolled  up  the  hill  and 
hung  about  the  towers  of  the  Alhambra,  w'here  the 
unfortunate  Boabdil  still  remained  shut  up  from  the 
indignation  of  his  subjects.  The  ha|iless  monarch 
smote  his  breast,  as  he  looked  down  froin  his  mount- 
ain palace  on  the  desolation  effected  by  his  late  ally. 
He  dared  not  even  show  himself  in  arms  among  the 
populace,  for  they  cursed  him  as  the  cause  of  the 
miseries  once  more  brought  to  their  doors. 

The  Moors,  however,  did  not  suffer  the  christians 
to  carry  on  their  ravages  as  unmolested  as  in  former 
years.  Muza  incited  them  to  incessant  sallies.  He 
divided  his  cavalry  into  small  squadrons,  each  led  ^ 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


273 


by  a  daring  commander.  They  were  taught  to  hover 
round  the  christian  camp ;  to  harass  it  from  various 
and  opposite  quarters,  cutting  off  convoys  and  strag- 
ghng  detachments  ;  to  waylay  the  army  in  its  ravag- 
ing expeditions,  lurking  among  rocks  and  passes  of 
the  mountains,  or  in  hollows  and  thickets  of  the 
plain,  and  practising  a  thousand  stratagems  and  sur- 
prises. 

The  christian  army  had  one  day  spread  itself  out 
rather  unguardedly,  in  its  foraging  about  the  vcga. 
As  the  troops  commanded  by  the  marques  of  Vil- 
lena  approached  the  skirts  of  the  mountains,  they 
beheld  a  number  of  Moorish  peasants  hastily  driving 
a  herd  of  cattle  into  a  narrow  glen.  The  soldiers, 
eager  for  booty,  pressed  in  pursuit  of  them.  Scarcely 
had  they  entered  the  glen,  when  shouts  arose  from 
every  side,  and  they  were  furiously  attacked  by  an 
ambuscade  of  horse  and  foot.  Some  of  the  chris- 
tians took  to  flight ;  others  stood  their  ground,  and 
fought  valiantly.  The  Moors  had  the  vantage- 
ground  ;  some  showered  darts  and  arrows  from  the 
cliffs  of  the  rocks,  others  fought  hand  to  hand  on 
the  plain  ;  while  their  cavalry,  rapid  as  lightning  in 
their  movements,  carried  havoc  and  confusion  into 
the  midst  of  the  christian  forces. 

The  marques  de  Villena,  with  his  brother  Don 
Alonzo  de  Pacheco,  at  the  first  onset  of  the  Moors, 
spurred  into  the  hottest  of  the  fight.  They  had 
scarce  entered,  when  Don  Alonzo  was  struck  life- 
less from  his  horse,  before  the  eyes  of  his  brother. 
Estevan  de  Luzon,  a  gallant  captain,  fell  fighting 
bravely  by  the  side  of  the  marques,  who  remained, 
with  his  chamberlain  Solier  and  a  handful  of  knights, 
surrounded  by  the  enemy.  Several  cavaliers  from 
other  parts  of  the  army  hastened  to  their  assistance, 
when  king  Ferdinand,  seeing  that  the  Moors  had 
the  vantage-ground  and  that  the  christians  were 
suffering  severely,  gave  signal  for  retreat.  The  mar- 
ques obeyed  slowly  and  reluctantly,  for  his  heart  was 
full  of  grief  and  rage  at  the  death  of  his  brother. 
As  he  was  retiring,  he  beheld  his  faithful  chamber- 
lain Solier  defending  himself  valiantly  against  six 
Moors.  The  marques  turned,  and  rushed  to  his 
rescue ;  he  killed  two  of  the  enemy  with  his  own 
hand;  and  put  the  rest  to  flight.  One  of  the  Moors, 
however,  in  retreating,  rose  in  his  stirrups,  and,  hurl- 
ing his  lance  at  the  marques,  wounded  him  in  the 
right  arm  and  crippled  him  for  life.* 

Such  was  one  of  the  many  ambuscadoes  concerted 
by  Muza ;  nor  did  he  hesitate  at  times  to  present  a 
bold  front  to  the  christian  forces,  and  to  defy  them 
in  the  open  field.  King  Ferdinand  soon  perceived, 
however,  that  the  Moors  seldom  provoked  a  battle 
without  having  the  advantage  of  the  ground  ;  and 
that  thoi;gh  the  christians  generally  appeared  to 
have  the  victory,  they  suffered  the  greatest  loss  ;  for 
retreating  was  a  part  of  the  Moorish  system,  by 
which  they  would  draw  their  pursuers  into  confusion, 
and  then  turn  upon  them  with  a  more  violent  and 
fatal  attack.  He  commanded  his  captains,  therefore, 
to  dechne  all  challenges  to  skirmish,  and  to  pursue 
a  secure  system  of  destruction,  ravaging  the  country, 
and  doing  all  possible  injury  to  the  enemy,  with 
slight  risk  to  themselves. 


♦  In  consequence  of  this  wound,  the  marques  was  ever  after 
obliged  to  write  his  signature  with  his  left  hand,  though  capable 
ot  managing  his  lance  with  his  right.  The  queen  one  day  de- 
manded of  him,  why  he  had  adventured  his  life  for  that  of  a  do- 
mestic? "  Does  not  your  majesty  think,"  replied  he,  "  that  i  ought 
to  risk  one  life  for  nim  who  would  have  adventured  three  fur  me 
had  he  possessed  them  ? "  The  queen  was  charmed  with  the 
magnanimity  of  the  reply,  and  often  quoted  the  marques  as  set- 
ting an  heroic  example  to  the  chivalry  of  the  age. — Mariana^  lib. 
«5-  c.  15. 


18 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE  FATE  OF  THE  CASTLE  OF   ROMA. 

ABOtTT  two  leagues  from  Granada,  on  an  eminence 
commanding  an  extensive  view  of  the  vega,  stood 
the  strong  Moorish  castle  of  Roma,  a  great  place  of 
refuge  and  security.  Hither  the  neighboring  peas- 
antry drove  their  flocks  and  herds,  and  hurried  with 
their  most  precious  effects,  on  the  irruption  of  a 
christian  force;  and  any  foraging  or  skirmishing 
party  from  Granada,  on  being  intercepted  in  their 
return,  threw  themselves  into  Roma,  manned  its 
embattled  towers,  and  set  the  enemy  at  defiance. 
The  garrison  were  accustomed  to  these  sudden 
claims  upon  their  protection ;  to  have  parties  of 
Moors  clattering  up  to  their  gates,  so  hotly  pursued 
that  there  was  barely  time  to  throw  open  the  portal, 
receive  them  within,  and  shut  out  their  pursuers ; 
while  the  christian  cavaliers  had  many  a  time  reined 
in  their  panting  steeds,  at  the  very  entrance  of  the 
barbacan,  and  retired,  cursing  the  strong  walls  of 
Roma,  that  robbed  them  of  their  prey. 

The  late  ravages  of  Ferdinand,  and  the  continual 
skirmishings  in  the  vega,  had  roused  the  vigilance  of 
the  castle.  One  morning  early,  as  the  sentinels  kept 
watch  upon  the  battlements,  they  beheld  a  cloud  of 
dust  advancing  rapidly  from  a  distance  :  turbans  and 
Moorish  weapons  soon  caught  their  eyes  ;  and  as  the 
whole  approached,  they  descried  a  drove  of  cattle, 
urged  on  in  great  haste,  and  convoyed  by  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  Moors,  who  led  with  them  two  chris- 
tian captives  in  chains.  • 

When  the  cavalgada  had  arrived  near  to  the  castle, 
a  Moorish  cavalier,  of  noble  and  commanding  mien 
and  splendid  attire,  rode  up  to  the  foot  of  the  tower, 
and  entreated  admittance.  He  stated  that  they  were 
returning  with  rich  booty  from  a  foray  into  the  lands 
of  the  christians,  but  that  the  enemy  was  on  their 
traces,  and  they  feared  to  be  overtaken  before  they 
could  reach  Granada.  The  sentinels  descended  in 
all  haste,  and  flung  open  the  gates.  The  long  caval- 
gada defiled  into  the  courts  of  the  castle,  which  were 
soon  filled  with  lowing  and  bleating  flocks  and  herds, 
with  neighing  and  stamping  steeds,  and  with  fierce- 
looking  Moors  from  the  mountains.  The  cavalier 
who  had  asked  admission  was  the  chief  of  the  party ; 
he  was  somewhat  advanced  in  life,  of  a  lofty  and  gal- 
lant bearing,  and  had  with  him  a  son,  a  young  man 
of  great  fire  and  spirit.  Close  by  them  followed  the 
two  christian  captives,  with  looks  cast  down  and 
disconsolate. 

The  soldiers  of  the  garrison  had  roused  themselves 
from  their  sleep,  and  were  busily  occupied  attending 
to  the  cattle  which  crowded  the  courts ;  while  the 
foraging  party  distributed  themselves  about  the  cas- 
tle, to  seek  refreshment  or  repose.  Suddenly  a  shout 
arose,  that  was  echoed  from  court-yard,  and  hall, 
and  battlement.  The  garrison,  astonished  and  be- 
wildered, would  have  rushed  to  their  arms,  but  found 
themselves,  almost  before  they  could  make  resistance, 
completely  in  the  power  of  an  enemy. 

The  pretended  foraging  party  consisted  of  Mu- 
dexares,  or  Moors  tributary  to  the  christians ;  and 
the  commanders  were  the  prince  Cidi  Yahye,  and 
his  son  Alnayer.  They  had  hastened  from  the  mount- 
ains with  this  small  force,  to  aid  the  Catholic  sover- 
eigns during  the  summer's  campaign  ;  and  they  had 
concerted  to  surprise  this  important  castle,  and  pre- 
sent it  to  king  Ferdinand,  as  a  gage  of  their  faith, 
and  the  first  fruits  of  their  devotion. 

The  polite  monarch  overwhelmed  his  new  con- 
verts and  allies  with  favors  and  distinctions,  in  return 
for  this  important  acquisition  ;  but  he  took  care  to 
dispatch  a  strong  force  of  veteran  and  genuine  chris- 
tian troops,  to  man  the  fortress. 


27i 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


As  to  the  Moors  who  had  composed  the  garrison, 
Cidi  Yahye  remembered  that  they  were  his  country- 
men, and  could  not  prevail  upon  himself  to  deliver 
them  into  christian  bondage.  He  set  them  at  liberty, 
and  permitted  them  to  repair  to  Granada ; — "  a 
proof,"  says  the  pious  Agapida,  "  that  his  conversion 
was  not  entirely  consummated,  but  that  there  were 
still  some  lingerings  of  the  infidel  in  his  heart."  His 
lenity  was  far  from  procuring  him  indulgence  in  the 
opinions  of  his  countrymen  ;  on  the  contrary,  the  in- 
habitants of  Granada,  when  they  learnt  from  the 
liberated  garrison  the  stratagem  by  which  Roma  had 
been  captured,  cursed  Cidi  Yahye  for  a  traitor  ;  and 
the  garrison  joined  in  the  malediction. 

But  the  indignation  of  the  people  of  Granada  was 
destined  to  be  aroused  to  tenfold  violence.  The  old 
warrior  Muley  Abdalla  el  Zagal  had  retired  to  his 
little  mountain  territory,  and  for  a  short  time  endeav- 
ored to  console  himself  with  his  petty  title  of  king 
of  Andarax.  He  soon  grew  impatient,  however,  of 
the  quiet  and  inaction  of  his  mimic  kingdom.  His 
fierce  spirit  was  exasperated  by  being  shut  up  within 
such  narrow  limits,  and  his  hatred  rose  to  downright 
fury  against  Boabdil,  whom  he  considered  as  the 
cause  of  his  downfall.  When  tidings  were  brought 
him  that  king  Ferdinand  was  laying  waste  the  vega, 
he  took  a  sudden  resolution.  Assembling  the  whole 
disposable  force  of  his  kingdom,  which  amounted  but 
to  two  hundred  men,  he  descended  from  the  Alpuxar- 
ras  and  sought  the  christian  camp,  content  to  serve 
as  a  vassal  the  enemy  of  his  faith  and  his  nation,  so 
that  he  might  see  Granada  wrested  from  the  sway 
of  his  nephew. 

In  his  blind  passion,  the  old  wrathful  monarch  in- 
jured his  cause,  and  strengthened  the  cause  of  his 
adversary.  The  Moors  of  Granada  had  been  clamor- 
ous in  his  praise,  extolling  him  as  a  victim  to  his  ])a- 
triotism,  and  had  refused  to  believe  all  reports  of  his 
treaty  with  the  christians  ;  but  when  they  beheld, 
from  the  walls  of  the  city,  his  banner  mingling  with 
the  banners  of  the  unbelievers,  and  arrayed  against 
his  late  people,  and  the  capital  he  had  commanded, 
they  broke  forth  into  curses  and  revilings,  and 
heaped  all  kind  of  stigmas  upon  his  name. 

Their  next  emotion,  of  course,  was  in  favor  of 
Boabdil.  They  gathered  under  the  walls  of  the  Al- 
hambra,  and  hailed  him  as  their  only  hope,  as  the 
sole  dependence  of  the  country.  Boabdil  could 
scarcely  believe  his  senses,  when  he  heard  his  name 
mingled  with  praises  and  greeted  with  acclamations. 
Encouraged  by  this  unexpected  gleam  of  popularity, 
he  ventured  forth  from  his  retreat,  and  was  received 
with  rapture.  All  his  past  errors  were  attributed  to 
the  hardships  of  his  fortune,  and  the  usurpation  of 
his  tyrant  uncle  ;  and  whatever  breath  the  populace 
could  spare  from  uttering  curses  on  El  Zagal,  was 
expended  in  shouts  in  honor  of  El  Chico. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 


HOW   BOABDIL   EL  CHICO  TOOK  THE  FIELD  ;  AND 
HIS   EXPEDITION   AGAINST   ALHENDIN. 

For  thirty  days  had  the  vega  been  overrun  by  the 
christian  forces;  and  that  vast  plain,  late  so  luxu- 
riant and  beautiful,  was  one  wide  scene  of  desola- 
tion. The  destroying  army,  having  accomplished 
its  task,  passed  over  the  bridge  of  Pinos  and  wound 
up  into  the  mountains,  on  the  way  to  Cordova,  bear- 
ingaway  the  spoils  of  towns  and  villages,  and  driving 
off  Hocks  and  herds  in  long  dusty  columns.  The 
sound  of  the  last  christian  trumpet  died  away  along 
the  side  of  the  mountain  of  Elvira,  and  not  a  hostile 


squadron  was  seen  glistening  on  the  mournful  fields 
of  the  vega. 

The  eyes  of  Boabdil  el  Chico  were  at  length 
opened  to  the  real  policy  of  king  Ferdinand,  and  he 
saw  that  he  had  no  longer  any  thing  to  depend  upon 
but  the  valor  of  his  arm.  No  time  was  to  be  lost  in 
hastening  to  counteract  the  effect  of  the  late  chris- 
tian ravage,  and  in  opening  the  channel  for  distant 
supplies  to  Granada. 

Scarcely  had  the  retiring  squadrons  of  Ferdinand 
disappeared  among  the  mountains,  when  Boabdil 
buckled  on  his  armor,  sallied  forth  from  the  Alham- 
bra,  and  prepared  to  take  the  field.  When  the  popu- 
lace beheld  him  actually  in  arms  against  his  late 
ally,  both  parties  thronged  with  zeal  to  his  standard. 
The  hardy  inhabitants  also  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  or 
chain  of  snow-capped  mountains  which  rise  above 
Granada,  descended  from  their  heights,  and  hastened 
into  the  city  gates,  to  proffer  their  devotion  to  their 
youthful  king.  The  great  square  of  the  Vivarrambla 
shone  with  the  proud  array  of  legions  of  cavalry, 
decked  with  the  colors  and  devices  of  the  most  an- 
cient Moorish  families,  and  marshalled  forth  by  the 
patriot  Muza  to  follow  the  king  to  battle. 

It  was  on  the  15th  of  June  that  Boabdil  once  more 
issued  forth  from  the  gates  of  Granada  on  martial 
enterprise.  A  few  leagues  from  the  city,  within  full 
view  of  it,  and  at  the  entrance  of  the  Alpuxarra 
mountains,  stood  the  powerful  castle  of  Alhendin. 
It  was  built  on  an  eminence,  rising  from  the  midst 
of  a  small  town,  and  commanding  a  great  part  of  the 
vega,  and  the  main  road  to  the  rich  valleys  of  the 
Alpuxarras.  The  castle  was  commanded  by  a  valiant 
christian  cavalier  named  Mendo  de  Quexada,  and 
garrisoned  by  two  hundred  and  fifty  men,  all  sea- 
soned and  experienced  warriors.  It  was  a  continual 
thorn  in  the  side  of  Granada  :  the  laborers  of  the 
vega  were  swept  off  from  their  fields,  by  its  hardy 
soldiers  ;  convoys  were  cut  off,  in  the  passes  of  the 
mountains ;  and  as  the  garrison  commanded  a  full 
view  of  the  gates  of  the  city,  no  band  of  merchants 
could  venture  forth  on  their  needful  journeys,  without 
being  swooped  up  by  the  war-hawks  of  Alhendin. 

It  was  against  this  important  fortress,  that  Boab- 
dil first  led  his  troops.  For  six  days  and  nights,  the 
fortress  was  closely  besieged.  The  alcayde  and  his 
veteran  garrison  defended  themselves  valiantly,  but 
they  were  exhausted  by  fatigue  and  constant  watch- 
fulness ;  for  the  Moors,  being  continually  relieved  by 
fresh  troops  from  Granada,  kept  up  an  unremitted 
and  vigorous  attack.  Twice  the  barbacan  was  forced, 
and  twice  the  assailants  were  driven  forth  headlong 
with  excessive  loss.  The  garrison,  however,  was 
diminished  in  number  by  the  killed  and  wounded  ; 
there  were  no  longer  soldiers  sufficient  to  man  the 
walls  and  gateway ;  and  the  brave  alcayde  was  com- 
pelled to  retire,  with  his  surviving  force,  to  the  keep 
of  the  castle,  in  which  he  continued  to  make  desper- 
ate resistance. 

The  Moors  now  approached  the  foot  of  the  tower, 
under  shelter  of  wooden  screens  covered  with  wet 
hides,  to  ward  off  missiles  and  combustibles.  They 
went  to  work  vigorously  to  undennine  the  tower, 
placing  props  of  wood  under  the  foundations,  to  be 
afterwards  set  on  fire,  so  as  to  give  the  besiegers 
time  to  escape  before  the  edifice  should  fall.  Some 
of  the  Moors  plied  their  cross-bows  and  arquebusses 
to  defend  the  workmen,  and  to  drive  the  christians 
from  the  wall ;  while  the  latter  showered  down 
stones,  and  darts,  and  melted  pitch,  and  flaming 
combustibles,  on  the  miners. 

The  brave  Mendo  de  Quexada  had  cast  many  an 
anxious  eye  across  the  vega,  in  hopes  of  seeing  some 
christian  force  hastening  to  his  assistance.  Not  a 
gleam  of  spear  or  helm  was  to  be  descried,  for  no 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


215 


one  had  dreamt  of  this  sudden  irruption  of  the  Moors. 
The  alcayde  beheld  his  bravest  men  dead  or  wounded 
around  him,  while  the  remainder  were  sinking  with 
watchfulness  and  fatigue.  In  defiance  of  all  opposi- 
tion, the  Moors  had  accomplished  their  mine;  the 
tire  was  brought  before  the  walls,  that  was  to  be 
applied  to  the  stanchions,  in  case  the  garrison  per- 
sisted in  defence.  In  a  little  while,  the  tower  would 
crumble  beneath  him,  and  be  rent  and  hurled  a  ruin 
to  the  plain.  At  the  very  last  moment,  the  brave 
alcayde  made  the  signal  of  surrender.  He  marched 
forth  with  the  remnant  of  his  veteran  garrison,  who 
were  all  made  prisoners.  Boabdil  immediately  or- 
dered the  walls  of  the  fortress  to  be  razed,  and  fire 
to  be  applied  to  the  stanchions,  that  the  place  might 
never  again  become  a  strong-hold  to  the  christians, 
and  a  scourge  to  Granada.  The  alcayde  and  his 
fellow-captives  were  led  in  dejected  convoy  across 
the  vega,  when  they  heard  a  tremendous  crash  be- 
hind them.  They  turned  to  look  upon  their  late 
fortress,  but  beheld  nothing  but  a  heap  of  tumbling 
ruins,  and  a  vast  column  of  smoke  and  dust,  where 
once  had  stood  the  lofty  tower  of  Alhendin. 


CHAPTER   XLII. 
EXPLOIT  OF  THE  COUNT  DE  TEN'DILLA. 

IJOABDIL  EL  Chico  followed  up  his  success,  by 
capturing  the  two  fortresses  of  Marchena  and  Buldy  ; 
he  sent  his  alfaquis  in  every  direction,  to  proclaim  a 
holy  war,  and  to  summon  all  true  Moslems  of  town 
or  castle,  mountain  or  valley,  to  saddle  steed  and 
buckle  on  armor,  and  hasten  to  the  standard  of  the 
faith.  The  tidings  spread  far  and  wide,  that  Boabdil 
el  Chico  was  once  more  in  the  field,  and  was  victo- 
rious. The  Moors  of  various  places,  dazzled  by  this 
gleam  of  success,  hastened  to  throw  off  their  sworn 
allegiance  to  the  Castilian  crown,  and  to  elevate  the 
standard  of  Boabdil ;  and  the  youthful  monarch  flat- 
tered himself  that  the  whole  kingdom  was  on  the 
point  of  returning  to  its  allegiance. 

The  fiery  cavaliers  of  Granada  were  eager  to  re- 
new those  forays  into  the  christian  lands,  in  which 
they  had  formerly  delighted.  A  number  of  them 
therefore  concerted  an  irruption  to  the  north,  into 
the  territory  of  Jaen,  to  harass  the  country  about 
Quezada.  They  had  heard  of  a  rich  convoy  of  mer- 
chants and  wealthy  travellers,  on  the  way  to  the  city 
of  Baza  ;  and  they  anticipated  a  glorious  conclusion 
to  their  foray,  in  capturing  this  convoy. 

Assembling  a  number  of  horsemen,  lightly  armed 
and  fleetly  mounted,  and  one  hundred  foot-soldiers, 
these  hardy  cavaliers  issued  forth  by  night  from  Gra- 
nada, made  their  way  in  silence  through  the  defiles 
of  the  mountains,  crossed  the  frontier  without  oppo- 
sition, and  suddenly  appeared,  as  if  fallen  from  the 
clouds,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  christian  country. 

The  mountainous  frontier  which  separates  Granada 
from  Jaen  was  at  this  time  under  the  command  of 
the  count  de  Tendilla,  the  same  veteran  who  had 
distinguished  himself  by  his  vigilance  and  sagacity 
when  commanding  the  fortress  of  Alhama.  He  held 
his  head-quarters  at  the  city  of  Alcala  la  Real,  in  its 
impregnable  fortress,  perched  high  among  the  mount- 
ains, about  six  leag\ies  from  Granada,  and  dominat- 
ing all  the  frontier.  From  this  cloud-capt  hold  among 
the  rocks,  he  kept  an  eagle  eye  upon  Granada,  and 
had  his  scouts  and  spies  in  all  directions,  so  that  a 
crow  could  not  fly  over  the  border  without  his  knowl- 
edge. His  fortress  was  a  place  of  refuge  for  the 
christian  captives  who  escaped  by  night  from  the 
Moorish   dungeons   of  Granada.     Often,   however. 


they  missed  their  way  in  the  defiles  of  the  mountains, 
and,  wandering  about  bewildered,  either  repaired  by 
mistake  to  some  Moorish  town,  or  were  discovered 
and  retaken  at  daylight  by  the  enemy.  To  prevent 
these  accidents,  the  count  had  a  tower  built  at  his 
own  expense,  on  the  top  of  one  of  the  heights  near 
Alcala,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  vega  and 
the  surrounding  country.  Here  he  kept  a  light  blaz- 
ing throughout  the  night,  as  a  beacon  for  all  christian 
fugitives,  to  guide  them  to  a  place  of  safety. 

The  count  was  aroused  one  night  from  his  repose, 
by  shouts  and  cries,  which  came  up  from  the  town 
and  approached  the  castle  walls.  "  To  arms  !  to 
arms  !  the  Moor  is  over  the  border  !  "  was  the  cr)'. 
A  christian  soldier,  pale  and  emaciated,  and  who  still 
bore  traces  of  the  Moorish  chains,  was  brought  before 
the  count.  He  had  been  taken  as  guide  by  the  Moor- 
ish cavaliers  who  had  sallied  from  Granada,  but  had 
escaped  from  them  among  the  mountains,  and,  after 
much  wandering,  had  found  his  way  to  Alcala  by  the 
signal-fire. 

Notwithstanding  the  bustle  and  agitation  of  the 
moment,  the  count  de  Tendilla  listened  calmly  and 
attentively  to  the  account  of  the  fugitive,  and  ques- 
tioned him  minutely  as  to  the  time  of  departure  of 
the  Moors,  and  the  rapidity  and  direction  of  their 
march.  He  saw  that  it  was  too  late  to  prevent  their 
incursion  and  ravage  ;  but  he  determined  to  await 
them,  and  give  them  a  warm  reception  on  their  re- 
turn. His  soldiers  were  always  on  the  alert,  and 
ready  to  take  the  field  at  a  moment's  warning. 
Choosing  one  hundred  and  fifty  lances,  hardy  and 
valiant  men,  well  disciplined  and  well  seasoned,  as 
indeed  were  all  his  troops,  he  issued  forth  quietly 
before  break  of  day,  and,  descending  through  the 
defiles  of  the  mountains,  stationed  his  little  fdrce  in 
ambush,  in  a  deep  barranca,  or  dry  channel  of  a  tor- 
rent, near  Barzina,  but  three  leagues  from  Granada, 
on  the  road  by  which  the  marauders  would  have  to 
return.  In  the  mean  time,  he  sent  out  scouts,  to 
post  themselves  upon  different  heights,  and  look  out 
for  the  approach  of  the  enemy. 

All  day  they  remained  concealed  in  the  ravine, 
and  for  a  great  part  of  the  following  night ;  not  a 
turban,  however,  was  to  be  seen,  excepting  now  and 
then  a  peasant  returning  from  his  labor,  or  a  solitary 
muleteer  hastening  towards  Granada.  The  cavaliers 
of  the  count  began  to  grow  restless  and  impatient ; 
they  feared  that  the  enemy  might  have  taken  som» 
other  route,  or  might  have  received  intelligence  of 
their  ambuscade.  They  urged  the  count  to  abandon 
the  enterprise,  and  return  to  Alcala.  "  We  are  here." 
said  they,  "  almost  at  the  gates  of  the  Moorish  capital ; 
our  movements  may  have  been  descried,  and,  before 
we  are  aware,  Granada  may  pour  forth  its  legions  of 
swift  cavalry,  and  crush  us  with  an  overwhelming 
force."  The  count  de  Tendilla,  however,  persisted 
in  remaining  until  his  scouts  should  come  in.  About 
two  hours  before  daybreak,  there  were  signal-fires 
on  certain  Moorish  watch-towers  of  the  mountains. 
While  they  were  regarding  these  with  anxiety,  the 
scouts  came  hurrying  into  the  ravine:  "  The  Moors 
are  approaching,"  said  they  ;  "  we  have  reconnoitred 
them  near  at  hand.  They  are  between  one  and  two 
hundred  strong,  but  encumbered  with  many  prisoners 
and  much  booty."  The  christian  cavaliers  laid  their 
ears  to  the  ground,  and  heard  the  distant  tramp  of 
horses  and  the  tread  of  foot-soldiers.  They  mounted 
their  horses,  braced  their  shields,  couched  their 
lances,  and  drew  near  to  the  entrance  of  the  ravine 
where  it  opened  upon  the  road. 

The  Moors  had  succeeded  in  waylaying  and  sur- 
prising the  christian  convoy,  on  its  way  to  Baza. 
They  had  captured  a  great  number  of  prisoners,  male 
and  female,  with  great  store  of  gold  and  jewels,  and 


276 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


sumpter  mules  laden  with  rich  merchandise.  With 
these  they  had  made  a  forced  march  over  the  dan- 
gerous parts  of  the  mountains  ;  l)Ut  now,  finding  them- 
selves so  near  to  Granada,  they  fancied  themselves 
in  perfect  security.  They  loitered  along  the  road, 
therefore,  irregularly  and  slowly,  some  singing,  others 
hughing  and  exulting  at  having  eluded  the  boasted 
vigilance  of  the  count  de  Tendilla ;  while  ever  and 
anon  were  heard  the  plaint  of  some  female  captive 
bewailing  the  jeopardy  of  her  honor,  and  the  heavy 
sighing  of  the  merchant  at  beholding  his  property  in 
the  grasp  of  ruthless  spoilers. 

The  count  de  Tendilla  waited  until  some  of  the 
escort  had  passed  the  ravine  ;  then,  giving  the  signal 
for  assault,  his  cavaliers  set  up  great  shouts  and  cries, 
and  charged  furiously  into  the  centre  of  the  foe.  The 
obscurity  of  the  place  and  the  hour  added  to  the 
terrors  of  the  surprise.  The  Moors  were  thrown  into 
confusion  ;  some  rallied,  fought  desperately,  and  fell 
covered  with  wounds.  Thirty-six  were  killed,  and 
fifty-five  were  made  prisoners  ;  the  rest,  under  cover 
of  the  darkness,  made  their  escape  to  the  rocks  and 
defiles  of  the  mountains. 

The  good  count  unbound  the  prisoners,  gladden- 
ing the  hearts  of  the  merchants  by  restoring  to  them 
their  merchandise.  To  the  female  captives  also  he 
restored  the  jewels  of  which  they  had  been  despoiled, 
excepting  such  as  had  been  lost  beyond  recovery. 
Forty-five  saddle  horses,  of  the  choice  Barbary  breed, 
remained  as  captured  spoils  of  the  Moors,  together 
with  costly  armor,  and  booty  of  various  kinds.  Hav- 
ing collected  every  thing  in  haste,  and  arranged  his 
cavalgada,  the  count  urged  his  way  with  all  speed 
for  Alcala  la  Real,  lest  he  should  be  pursued  and 
overtaken  by  the  Moors  of  Granada.  As  he  wound 
up  the  steep  ascent  to  his  mountain  city,  the  inhab- 
itants poured  forth  to  meet  him  with  shouts  of  joy. 
His  triumph  was  doubly  enhanced  by  being  received 
at  the  gates  of  the  city  by  his  wife,  the  daughter  of 
the  marques  of  Villena,  a  lady  of  distinguished  merit, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  for  two  years,  that  he  had 
been  separated  from  his  home  by  the  arduous  duties 
of  these  iron  wars. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 


EXPEDITION  OF  BOABDIL  EL  CHICO  AGAINST 
.SAL0BRE5f A.— EXPLOIT  OF  HERNANDO  PEREZ 
DEL   PULGAR. 

King  Boabdil  found  that  his  diminished  territory 
was  too  closely  dominated  by  christian  fortresses  like 
Alcala  la  Real,  and  too  strictly  watched  by  vigilant 
alcaydes  like  the  count  of  Tendilla,  to  be  able  to 
maintain  itself  by  internal  resources.  H;s  foraging 
expeditions  were  liable  to  be  intercepted  and  defeat- 
ed, while  the  ravage  of  the  vega  had  swept  off  every 
thing  on  which  the  city  depended  for  future  sus- 
tenance. He  felt  the  want  of  a  sea-port,  through 
which,  as  formerly,  he  might  keep  open  a  communi- 
cation with  Africa,  and  obtain  reinforcements  and 
.supplies  from  beyond  the  sea.  All  the  ports  and 
liarbors  were  in  the  hands  of  the  christians,  and 
l".ranada  and  its  remnant  of  dependent  territory  were 
completely  landlocked. 

In  this  emergency,  the  attention  of  Boabdil  was 
called  by  circumstances  to  the  sea-port  of  Salobrena. 
This  redoubtable  town  has  already  been  mentioned 
in  this  chronicle,  as  a  place  deemed  impregnable  by 
the  Moors ;  insomuch  that  their  kings  were  accus- 
to.Tied,  in  time  of  peril,  to  keep  their  treasures  in 
its  citadel.  It  was  situated  on  a  high  rocky  hill,  di- 
viding one  of  those  rich  little  vegas  or  plains  which 


lie  open  to  the  Mediterranean,  but  run  like  deep 
green  bays  into  the  stern  bosoms  of  the  mountains. 
The  vega  was  covered  with  beautiful  vegetation, 
with  rice  and  cotton,  with  groves  of  oranges,  citrons, 
figs  and  mulberries,  and  with  gardens  inclosed  by 
hedges  of  reeds,  of  aloes  and  the  Indian  fig.  Run- 
ning streams  of  cool  water  from  the  springs  and 
snows  of  the  Sierra  Nevada,  kept  this  delightful 
valley  continually  fresh  and  verdant ;  while  it  was 
almost  locked  up  by  mountain  barriers,  and  lofty 
promontories  that  stretched  far  into  the  sea. 

Through  the  centre  of  this  rich  vega,  the  rock  of 
Salobrefia  reared  its  rugged  back,  nearly  dividing  the 
plain,  and  advancing  to  the  margin  of  the  sea,  with 
just  a  strip  of  sandy  beach  at  its  foot,  laved  by  the 
blue  waves  of  the  Mediterranean. 

The  town  covered  the  ridge  and  sides  of  the  rocky 
hill,  and  vvas  fortified  by  strong  walls  and  towers ; 
while  on  the  highest  and  most  precipitous  part  stood 
the  citadel,  a  huge  castle  that  seemed  to  form  a  part 
of  the  living  rock  ;  the  massive  ruins  of  which,  at  the 
present  day,  attract  the  gaze  of  the  traveller,  as  he 
winds  his  way  far  below,  along  the  road  which  passes 
through  the  vega. 

This  important  fortress  had  been  intrusted  to  the 
command  of  Don  Francisco  Ramirez  de  Madrid, 
captain-general  of  the  artillery,  and  thfe  most  scientific 
of  all  the  Spanish  leaders.  That  experienced  veteran, 
however,  was  with  the  king  at  Cordova,  having  left 
a  valiant  cavalier  as  alcayde  of  the  place. 

Boabdil  el  Chico  had  full  information  of  the  state 
of  the  garrison  and  the  absence  of  its  commander. 
Putting  himself  at  the  head  of  a  powerful  force, 
therefore,  he  departed  from  Granada,  and  made  a 
rapid  march  through  the  mountains  ;  hoping,  by  this 
sudden  move,  to  seize  upon  Salobrena  before  king 
Ferdinand  could  come  to  its  assistance. 

The  inhabitants  of  Salobrena  were  Mudexares,  or 
Moors  who  had  sworn  allegiance  to  the  christians. 
Still,  when  they  heard  the  sound  of  the  Moorish 
drums  and  trumpets,  and  beheld  the  squadrons  of 
their  countrymen  advancing  across  the  vega,  their 
hearts  yearned  towards  the  standard  of  their  nation 
and  their  faith.  A  tumult  arose  in  the  place ;  the 
populace  shouted  the  name  of  Boabdil  el  Chico, 
and,  throwing  open  the  gates,  admitted  him  within 
the  walls. 

The  christian  garrison  was  too  few  in  number,  to 
contend  for  the  possession  of  the  town :  they  re- 
treated to  the  citadel,  and  shut  themselves  within  its 
massive  walls,  which  were  considered  impregnable. 
Here  they  maintained  a  desperate  defence,  hoping 
to  hold  out  until  succor  should  arrive  from  the 
neighboring  fortresses. 

The  tidings  that  Salobrefia  was  invested  by  the 
Moorish  king,  spread  along  the  sea-coast,  and  filled 
the  christians  with  alarm.  Don  Francisco  Enriquez, 
uncle  of  the  king,  commanded  the  city  of  Velez 
Malaga,  about  twelve  leagues  distant,  but  separated 
by  ranges  of  those  vast  rocky  mountains  which  are 
piled  along  the  Mediterranean,  and  tower  in  steep 
promontories  and  precipices  above  its  waves. 

Don  Francisco  summoned  the  alcaydes  of  his  dis- 
trict to  hasten  with  him  to  the  relief  of  this  impor- 
tant fortress.  A  number  of  cavaliers  and  their  re- 
tainers answered  to  his  call,  among  whom  was 
Fernando  Perez  del  Pulgar,  surnamcd  "  El  de  las 
Hazanas,"  (he  of  the  exploits,)^the  same  who  had 
signalized  himself  in  a  foray,  by  elevating  a  handker- 
chief on  a  lance  for  a  banner,  and  leading  on  his 
disheartened  comrades  to  victory.  As  soon  as  Don 
Francisco  beheld  a  little  b.and  collected  round  him, 
he  set  out  with  all  speed  for  Salobreiia.  The  march 
was  rugged  and  severe,  climbing  and  descending 
immense  mountains,  and  sometimes  winding  along 


A   CHRONICLE  OF   THE   CONQUEST  OF   GRANADA. 


277 


the  edge  of  giddy  precipices,  with  the  surges  of  the 
sea  raging  far  below.  When  Don  Francisco  arrived 
with  his  followers  at  the  lofty  promontory  that 
stretches  along  one  side  of  the  little  vega  of  Salo- 
brena,  he  looked  down  with  sorrow  and  anxiety  up- 
on a  Moorish  army  of  great  force  encamped  at  the 
foot  of  the  fortress,  while  Moorish  banners,  on 
various  pans  of  the  walls,  showed  that  the  town  was 
already  in  possession  of  the  infidels.  A  solitary 
christian  standard  alone  floated  on  the  top  of  the 
castle-keep,  showing  that  the  brave  garrison  were 
hemmed  up  in  their  rock-built  citadel. 

Don  Francisco  found  it  impossible,  with  his  small 
force,  to  make  any  impression  on  the  camp  of  the 
Moors,  or  to  get  to  the  relief  of  the  castle.  He  sta- 
tioned his  little  band  upon  a  rocky  height  near  the 
sea,  where  they  were  safe  from  the  assaults  of  the 
enemy.  The  sight  of  his  friendly  banner  waving  in 
their  neighborhood  cheered  the  heart  of  the  garri- 
son, and  conveyed  to  them  assurance  of  speedy  suc- 
cor from  the  king. 

In  the  mean  time,  Fernando  Perez  del  Pulgar, 
who  always  burned  to  distinguish  himself  by  bold 
and  striking  exploits,  in  the  course  of  a  prowling 
expedition  along  the  borders  of  the  Moorish  cam|), 
remarked  a  postern-gate  of  the  castle,  opening  upon 
the  steep  part  of  the  rocky  hill  which  looked  towards 
the  mountains. 

A  sudden  thought  flashed  upon  the  daring  mind 
of  Pulgar: — "Who  will  follow  my  banner,"  said  he, 
"and  make  a  dash  for  yonder  postern?"  A  bold 
proposition,  in  time  of  warfare,  never  wants  for  bold 
spirits  to  accept  it.  Seventy  resolute  men  immedi- 
ately stepi)ed  forward.  Pulgar  put  himself  at  their 
head  ;  they  cut  their  way  suddenly  through  a  weak 
part  of  the  camp,  fought  their  way  up  to  the  gate, 
which  was  eagerly  thrown  open  to  receive  them  ; 
and  succeeded  in  making  their  way  into  the  fortress, 
before  the  alarm  of  their  attempt  had  spread  through 
the  Moorish  army. 

The  garrison  was  roused  to  new  spirit  by  this  un- 
looked-for reinforcement,  and  were  enabled  to  make 
a  more  vigorous  resistance.  The  Moors  had  intelli- 
gence, however,  that  there  was  a  great  scarcity  of 
water  in  the  castle ;  and  they  e.xulted  in  the  idea 
that  this  additional  number  of  warriors  would  soon 
exhaust  the  cisterns,  and  compel  them  to  surrender. 
When  Pulgar  heard  of  this  hope  entertained  by  the 
enemy,  he  caused  a  bucket  of  water  to  be  lowered 
from  the  battlements,  and  threw  a  silver  cup  in 
bravado  to  the  Moors. 

The  situation  of  the  garrison,  however,  was  daily 
growing  more  and  more  critical ;  they  suffered  greatly 
from  thirst,  while,  to  tantalize  them  in  their  suffer- 
ings, they  beheld  limpid  streams  winding  in  abun- 
dance through  the  green  plain  below  them.  They 
began  to  fear  that  all  succor  would  arrive  too  late, 
whe.n  one  day  they  beheld  a  little  squadron  of  ves- 
sels far  at  sea,  but  standing  towards  the  shore. 
'  There  was  some  doubt  at  first  whether  it  might  not 
be  a  hostile  armament  from  Africa ;  but  as  it  ap- 
proached, they  descried,  to  their  great  joy,  the  banner 
of  Castile. 

It  was  a  reinforcement,  brought  in  all  haste  by  the 
governor  of  the  fortress,  Don  Fran.;isco  Ramirez. 
The  squadron  anchored  at  a  steep  rocky  island, 
which  rises  from  the  very  margin  of  the  smooth 
sandy  beach,  directly  in  front  of  the  rock  of  Salo- 
brefia,  and  stretches  out  into  the  sea.  On  this 
island  Ramirez  landed  his  men,  and  was  as  strongly 
posted  as  if  in  a  fortress.  His  force  was  too  scanty 
to  attempt  a  battle,  but  he  assisted  to  harass  and 
distract  tlie  besiegers.  Whenever  king  Boabdil  made 
an  attack  upon  the  fortress,  his  camp  was  assailed 
on  one  side  by  the  troops  of  Ramirez,  who  landed 


from  their  island,  and  on  another  by  those  of  Don 
Francisco  Enriquez,  who  swept  down  from  their  rock, 
while  Fernando  del  Pulg.ar  kept  up  a  fierce  defence, 
from  every  tower  and  battlement  of  the  castle. 

The  attention  of  the  Moorish  king  was  diverted, 
also,  for  a  time,  by  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  relieve 
the  little  port  of  Adra,  which  had  recently  declared 
in  his  favor,  but  which  had  been  recaptured  for  the 
christians  by  Cidi  Yahye  and  his  son  Alnayar.  Thus 
the  unlucky  Boabdil,  bewildered  on  every  hand,  lost 
all  the  advantage  that  he  had  gained  by  his  rapid 
march  from  Granada.  While  he  was  yet  besiegmg 
the  obstinate  citadel,  tidings  were  brought  him  that 
king  Ferdinand  was  in  full  march,  with  a  powerful 
host,  to  its  assistance.  There  was  no  time  for  farther 
delay :  he  made  a  furious  attack  with  all  his  forces 
upon  the  castle,  but  was  again  repulsed  by  Pulgar 
and  his  coadjutors;  when,  abandoning  the  siege  in 
despair,  he  retreated  with  his  army,  lest  king  Ferdi- 
nand should  get  between  him  and  his  capital.  On 
his  way  back  to  Granada,  however,  he  in  some  sort 
consoled  himself  for  his  late  disappointment,  by 
overrunning  a  part  of  the  territories  and  possessions 
lately  assigned  to  his  uncle  El  Zagal,  and  to  Cidi 
Yahye.  He  defeated  their  alcaydes,  destroyed  sev- 
eral of  their  fortresses,  burnt  their  villages,  and, 
leaving  the  country  behind  him  reeking  and  smoking 
with  his  vengeance,  returned  with  considerable 
booty,  to  repose  himself  within  the  walls  of  the 
Alhambra. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


HOW  KING  FERDINAND  TREATED  THE  PEOPLE  OF 
GUADIX — AND  HOW  EL  ZAGAL  FINISHED  HI.S 
REGAL  CAREER. 

Scarcely  had  Boabdil  ensconced  himself  in  his 
capital,  when  king  Ferdinand,  at  the  head  of  seven 
thousand  horse  and  twenty  thousand  foot,  again  ap- 
peared in  the  vega.  He  had  set  out  in  all  haste  from 
Cordova  to  the  relief  of  Salobreua ;  but,  hearing  on 
his  march  that  the  siege  was  raised,  he  turned  with 
his  army  to  make  a  second  ravage  round  the  walls 
of  devoted  Granada.  His  present  forage  lasted  fifteen 
days,  in  the  course  of  which  every  thing  that  had 
escaped  his  fonner  desolating  visit  was  destroyed, 
and  scarce  a  green  thing  or  a  living  animal  was  left 
on  the  face  of  the  land.  The  Moors  sallied  frequent- 
ly, and  fought  desperately,  in  defence  of  their  fields ; 
but  the  work  of  destruction  was  accomplished — and 
Granada,  once  the  queen  of  gardens,  was  left  sur- 
rounded by  a  desert. 

From  hence  Ferdinand  marched  to  crush  a  con- 
spiracy which  had  lately  manifested  itself  in  the  cities 
of  Guadix,  Baza,  and  Almeria.  These  recently  con- 
quered places  had  entered  into  secret  correspondence 
with  king  Boabdil,  inviting  him  to  march  to  their 
gates,  promising  to  rise  upon  the  christian  garrisons, 
seize  upon  the  citadels,  and  surrender  themselves 
into  his  power.  The  marques  of  Villena  had  re- 
ceived notice  of  the  conspiracy,  and  had  suddenly 
thrown  himself,  with  a  large  force,  into  Guadix. 
Under  pretence  of  making  a  review  of  the  inhabit- 
ants, he  made  them  sally  forth  into  the  fields  before 
the  city.  When  the  whole  Moorish  population  capa- 
ble of  bearing  arms  was  thus  without  the  walls,  he 
ordered  the  gates  to  be  closed.  He  then  permitte<l 
them  to  enter,  two  by  two  and  three  by  three,  and 
to  take  forth  their  wives,  children,  and  effects.  The 
houseless  Moors  were  fain  to  make  themselves  tem- 
porary hovels,  in  the  gardens  and  orchards  about  the 
city  ;  they  were  clamorous  in  their  complaints  at  be- 
ing thus  excluded  from  their  homes,  but  were  told 


278 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


they   must   wait   with    patience   until   the   charges ' 
against  them  could  be  investigated,  and  the  pleasure 
ol  the  king  be  known.* 

When  Ferdinand  arrived  at  Guadix,  he  found  the 
unhappy  Moors  in  their  cabins  among  the  orchards. 
They  complained  bitterly  of  the  deception  that  had 
been  practised  among  them,  and  implored  permission 
to  return  into  the  city,  and  live  peaceably  in  their 
dwellings,  as  had  been  promised  them  in  their  arti- 
cles of  capitulation. 

King  Ferdinand  listened  graciously  to  their  com- 
plaints :  "  My  friends,"  said  he  in  reply,  "  I  am  in- 
formed that  there  has  been  a  conspiracy  among  you 
to  kill  my  alcayde  and  garrison,  and  to  take  part 
with  my  enemy  the  king  of  Granada.  I  shall  make 
a  thorough  investigation  of  this  conspiracy.  Those 
among  you  who  shall  be  proved  innocent  shall  be 
restored  to  their  dwellings,  but  the  guilty  shall  incur 
the  penalty  of  their  offences.  As  I  wish,  however,  to 
proceed  with  mercy  as  well  as  justice,  I  now  give 
you  your  choice,  either  to  depart  at  once  without 
further  question,  going  wherever  you  please,  and 
taking  with  you  your  families  and  effects,  under  an 
assurance  of  safety  ;  or  to  deliver  up  those  who  are 
guilty,  not  one  of'whom,  I  give  you  my  royal  word, 
shall  escape  punishment." 

When  the  people  of  Guadix  heard  these  words, 
they  communed  among  themselves  ;  and  as  most  of 
them  (says  the  worthy  Agapida)  were  either  culpa- 
ble or  feared  to  be  considered  so,  they  accepted  the 
alternative,  and  departed  sorrowfully,  they  and  their 
wives  and  their  little  ones.  "  Thus,"  in  the  words 
of  that  excellent  and  cotemporary  historian,  Andres 
Bernaldez,  commonly  called  the  curate  of  Los  Pala- 
cios — "  thus  did  the  king  deliver  Guadix  from  the 
hands  of  the  enemies  of  our  holy  faith,  after  seven 
hundred  and  seventy  years  that  it  had  been  in  their 
possession,  ever  since  the  time  of  Roderick  the  Goth  ; 
and  this  was  one  of  the  mysteries  of  our  Lord,  who 
would  not  consent  that  the  city  should  remain  longer 
in  the  power  of  the  Moors :" — a  pious  and  sage  re- 
mark, which  is  c^uoted  with  peculiar  approbation  by 
the  worthy  Agapida. 

King  Ferdinand  offered  similar  alternatives  to  the 
Moors  of  Baza,  Almeria,  and  other  cities  accused  of 
participation  in  this  conspiracy ;  who  generally  pre- 
ferred to  abandon  their  homes,  rather  than  incur  the 
risk  of  .an  investigation.  Most  of  them  relinquished 
.*-:pain,  as  a  country  where  they  could  no  longer  live 
in  security  and  independence,  and  departed  with 
their  families  for  Africa;  such  as  remained  were  suf- 
fered to  live  in  villages  and  hamlets,  and  other  un- 
walled  places.f 

While  Ferdinand  was  thus  occupied  at  Guadix, 
dispensing  justice  and  mercy,  and  receiving  cities  in 
exchange,  the  old  monarch  Muley  Abdalla,  sur- 
named  El  Zagal,  appeared  before  him.  He  was  hag- 
gard with  care,  and  almost  crazed  with  passion.  He 
had  found  his  little  territory  of  Andarax,  and  his  two 
thousand  subjects,  as  difficult  to  govern  as  had  been 
the  distracted  kingdom  of  Granada.  The  charm, 
which  had  bound  the  Moors  to  him,  was  broken 
when  he  appeared  in  arms  under  the  banner  of  Fer- 
dinand. He  had  returned  from  his  inglorious  cam- 
paign with  his  petty  army  of  two  hundred  men,  fol- 
lowed by  the  execrations  of  the  people  of  Granada, 
and  the  secret  repining  of  those  he  had  led  into  the 
field.  No  sooner  had  his  subjects  heard  of  the  suc- 
cesses of  Boabdil  el  Chico,  than  they  had  seized  their 
arms,  assembled  tumultuously,  declared  for  the  young 
monarch,  and  threatened  the  life  of  El  Zagal.  J    The 


•  Zurita,  lib.  20.  c.  85.  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  c.  97. 
t  Garibay,  lib.  13.  cap.  39.  Pulgar,  part  3.  cap.  132, 
t  Cura  de  los  Palacios,  cap.  97. 


unfortunate  old  king  had  with  difficulty  evaded  their 
fury ;  and  this  last  lejson  seemed  entirely  to  have 
cured  him  of  his  passion  for  sovereignty.  He  now 
entreated  Ferdinand  to  purchase  the  towns  and  cas- 
tles and  other  possessions  which  had  been  granted 
to  him  ;  offering  them  at  a  low  rate,  and  begging 
safe  passage  for  himself  and  his  followers  to  Africa. 
King  Ferdinand  graciously  complied  with  his  wishes. 
He  purchased  of  him  three-and-twenty  towns  and 
villages  in  the  valleys  of  Andarax  and  Alhaurin,  for 
which  he  gave  him  five  millions  of  maravedies.  El 
Zagal  relinquished  his  right  to  one-half  of  the  salinas 
or  salt-pils  of  Maleha,  in  favor  of  his  brother-in-law 
Cidi  Yahye.  Having  thus  disposed  of  his  petty  em- 
pire and  possessions,  he  packed  up  all  his  treasure, 
of  which  he  had  a  great  amount,  and,  followed  by 
many  Moorish  families,  passed  over  to  Africa.* 

And  here  let  us  cast  an  eye  beyond  the  present 
period  of  our  chronicle,  and  trace  the  remaining  ca- 
reer of  El  Zagal.  His  short  and  turbulent  reign,  and 
disastrous  end,  would  afford  a  wholesome  lesson  to 
unprincipled  ambition,  were  not  all  ambition  of  the 
kind  fated  to  be  blind  to  precept  and  example.  When 
he  arrived  in  Africa,  instead  of  meeting  with  kind- 
ness and  sympathy,  he  was  seized  and  thrown  into 
prison  l)y  the  king  of  Fez,  as  though  he  had  been  his 
vassal.  He  was  accused  of  being  the  cause  of  the 
dissensions  and  downfall  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada  ; 
and  the  accusation  being  proved  to  the  satisfaction 
of  the  king  of  Fez,  he  condemned  the  unhappy  El 
Zagal  to  perpetual  darkness.  A  basin  of  glowing 
copper  was  passed  before  his  eyes,  which  eftectually 
destroyed  his  sight.  His  wealth,  v/hich  had  proba- 
bly been  the  secret  cause  of  these  cruel  measures, 
was  confiscated  and  seized  upon  by  his  oppressor ; 
and  El  Zagal  was  thrust  forth,  blind,  helpless,  and 
destitute,  upon  the  world.  In  this  wretched  condi- 
tion, the  late  Moorish  monarch  groped  his  way 
through  the  regions  of  Tingitania,  until  he  reached 
the  city  of  Yelez  de  Gomera.  The- king  of  Velez  had 
formerly  been  his  ally,  and  felt  some  movement  of 
compassion  at  his  present  altered  and  abject  state. 
He  gave  him  food  and  raiment,  and  sufferetl  him  to 
remain  unmolested  in  his  dominions.  Death,  which 
so  often  hurries  off  the  prosperous  and  happy  from 
the  midst  of  untasted  pleasures,  spares  on  the  other 
hand  the  miserable,  to  drain  the  last  drop  of  his  cup 
of  bitterness.  El  Zagal  dragged  out  a  wretched  ex- 
istence of  many  years,  in  the  city  of  Velez.  He  wan- 
dered about  blind  and  disconsolate,  an  object  of 
mingled  scorn  and  pity,  and  bearing  above  his  rai- 
ment a  parchment  on  which  was  written  in  Arabic, 
"  This  is  the  unfortunate  king  of  Andalusia."  t 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


PREPARATIONS  OF    GRANADA  FOR  A   DESPERATE 
DEFENCE. 

How  is  thy  strength  departed,  oh  Granada  !  how 
is  thy  beauty  withered  and  despoiled,  oh  city  of  groves 
and  fountains  !  The  commerce  that  once  thronged 
thy  streets  is  at  an  end  ;  the  merchant  no  longer  has- 
tens to  thy  gates,  with  the  luxuries  of  foreign  lands. 
The  cities  which  once  paid  thee  tribute  are  wrested 
from  thy  sway ;  the  chivalry  which  filled  thy  Vivar- 
rambla  with  the  sumptuous  pageantry  of  war,  have 
fallen  in  many  battles.  The  Alhambra  still  rears  its 
ruddy  towers  from  the  midst  of  groves,  but  melan- 


•  Conde,  part  4.  cap.  41. 

t  Marmol,  de  Rebclione  Maur.  lib.  i.  cap.  16.  Padraia,  Hist. 
Granat.  part  3.  c.  4.  Suarez,  Hist,  dc  Obispados  de  Guadix  y  Daia, 
cap.  10. 


A   CHRONICLE    OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


279 


choly  reigns  in  its  marble  halls ;  and  the  monarch 
looks  down  from  his  lofty  balconies  upon  a  naked 
waste,  where  once  had  extended  the  blooming  glories 
of  the  vega  ! 

Such  is  the  lament  of  the  Moorish  writers,  over 
the  lamentable  state  of  Granada,  which  now  remain- 
ed a  mere  phantom  of  its  former  greatness.  The  two 
ravages  of  the  vega,  following  so  closely  upon  each 
other,  had  swept  off  all  the  produce  of  the  year  ;  and 
the  husbandman  had  no  longer  the  heart  to  till  the 
field,  seeing  that  the  ripening  harvest  only  brought 
the  spoiler  to  the  door. 

During  the  winter  season,  king  Ferdinand  made 
diligent  preparations  for  the  last  campaign,  that  was 
to  decide  the  fate  of  Granada.  As  this  war  was 
waged  purely  for  the  promotion  of  the  christian  faith, 
he  thought  it  meet  tliat  its  enemies  should  bear  the 
expenses.  He  levied,  therefore,  a  general  contribu- 
tion upon  all  the  Jews  throughout  his  kingdom,  by 
synagogues  and  districts  ;  and  obliged  them  to  render 
in  the  proceeds,  at  the  city  of  Seville.* 

On  the  nth  of  April,  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  de- 
parted for  the  Moorish  frontier,  with  the  solemn  de- 
termination to  lay  close  siege  to  Granada,  and  never 
to  quit  its  walls  until  they  had  planted  the  standard 
of  the  faith  on  the  towers  of  the  Alhambra.  Many 
of  the  nobles  of  the  kingdom,  particularly  those  from 
the  parts  remote  from  the  scene  of  action,  wearied  by 
the  toils  of  war,  and  foreseeing  that  this  would  be  a 
tedious  siege,  requiring  patience  and  vigilance  rather 
than  hardy  deeds  of  arms,  contented  themselves  with 
sending  their  vassals,  while  they  staid  at  home,  to 
attend  to  their  domains.  .Many  cities  furnished  sol- 
diers at  their  cost,  and  the  king  took  the  field  with 
an  army  of  forty  thousand  infantry  and  ten  thousand 
horse.  The  principal  captains  who  followed  the 
king  in  this  campaign,  were  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon, 
the  marques  of  Cadiz,  the  Master  of  Santiago,  the 
marques  of  Villena ;  the  counts  of  Tendilla,  Cifuentes, 
Cabra,  and  Urena ;  and  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar. 

Queen  Isabella,  accompanied  by  her  son  the  prince 
Juan,  and  by  the  princesses  Juana,  Maria,  and  Catha- 
lina,  her  daughters,  proceeded  to  Alcala  la  Real, 
the  mountain  fortress  and  strong-hold  of  the  count 
de  Tendilla.  Here  she  remained,  to  forward  supplies 
to  the  army,  and  to  be  ready  to  repair  to  the  camp, 
whenever  her  presence  might  be  required. 

The  army  of  Ferdinand  poured  into  the  vega,  by 
various  defiles  of  the  mountains  ;  and,  on  the  23d  of 
April,  the  royal  tent  was  pitched  at  a  village  called 
Los  Ojos  de  Huescar,  about  a  league  and  a  half  from 
Granada.  At  the  approach  of  this  formidable  force, 
the  harassed  inhabitants  turned  pale,  and  even  many 
of  the  warriors  trembled  ;  for  they  felt  that  the  last 
desperate  struggle  was  at  hand. 

Boabdil  el  Chico  assembled  his  council  in  the  Al- 
hambra, from  the  windows  of  which  they  could 
behold  the  christian  squadrons  glistening  through 
clouds  of  dust,  as  they  ]>oured  along  the  vega.  The 
utmost  confusion  and  consternation  reigned  in  the 
council.  Many  of  the  members,  terrified  with  the 
horrors  impending  over  their  families,  advised  Boab- 
dil to  throw  himself  upon  the  generosity  of  the  chris- 
tian monarch  :  even  several  of  the  bravest  suggested 
the  possibility  of  obtaining  honorable  terms. 

The  wazir  of  the  city,  Abul  Casim  Abdel  Melic, 
was  called  upon  to  report  the  stale  of  the  public 
means  for  sustenance  and  defence.  There  were 
sufficient  provisions,  he  said,  for  a  few  months'  sup- 
ply, independent  of  what  might  exist  in  the  posses- 
sion of  merchants  and  other  rich  inhabitants.  "  But 
of  what  avail,"  said  he,  "  is  a  supply  for  a  few  months, 
against  the  sieges  of  the  Castilian  monarch,  which  are 
interminable?  " 


*  Garlbay,  lib.  18,  c.  39. 


He  produced,  also,  the  lists  of  men  capable  of  bear- 
ing arms.  "  The  number,"  said  he,  "  is  great ;  but 
what  can  be  expected  from  mere  citizen  soldiers  ? 
They  vaunt  and  menace,  in  time  of  safety;  none  are 
so  arrogant,  when  the  enemy  is  at  a  distance — but 
when  the  din  of  war  thunders  at  their  gates,  they 
hide  themselves  in  terror." 

When  Muza  heard  these  words,  he  rose  with  gen- 
erous warmth  :  "  What  reason  have  we,"  said  he,  "  to 
despair.'  The  blood  of  those  illustrious  Moors,  the 
conquerors  of  Spain,  still  fiows  in  our  veins.  Let  us 
be  true  to  ourselves,  and  fortune  will  again  be  v/ith 
us.  We  have  a  veteran  force,  both  horse  and  foot, 
the  flower  of  our  chivalry,  seasoned  in  war  and  scar- 
red in  a  thousand  battles.  As  to  the  multitude  of  our 
citizens,  spoken  of  so  slightly,  why  should  we  doubt 
their  valor  ?  There  are  twenty  thousand  young  men, 
in  the  fire  of  youth,  for  whom  I  will  engage,  that 
in  the  defence  of  their  homes  they  will  rival  the 
most  valiant  veterans.  Do  we  want  provisions  ?  Our 
horses  are  fleet,  and  our  horsemen  daring  in  the 
foray.  Let  them  scour  and  scourge  the  country  of 
those  apostate  Moslems  who  have  surrendered  to  the 
christians.  Let  them  make  inroads  into  the  lands  of 
our  enemies.  We  shall  soon  see  them  returning  with 
cavalgadas  to  our  gates  ;  and,  to  a  soldier,  there  is  no 
morsel  so  sweet  as  that  wrested  with  hard  fighting 
from  the  foe." 

Boabdil  el  Chico,  though  he  wanted  firm  and  dura- 
ble courage,  was  readily  excited  to  sudden  emotions 
of  bravery.  He  caught  a  glow  of  resolution  from 
the  noble  ardor  of  Muza.  "  Do  what  is  needful," 
said  he  to  his  commanders  ;  "  into  your  hands  I  con- 
fide the  common  safety.  You  are  the  protectors  of 
the  kingdom,  and,  with  the  aid  of  Allah,  will  revenge 
the  insults  of  our  religion,  the  deaths  of  our  friends 
and  relations,  and  the  sorrows  and  sufferings  heaped 
upon  our  land."* 

To  every  one  was  now  assigned  his  separate  duty. 
The  wazir  had  charge  of  the  arms  and  provisions, 
and  the  enrolling  of  the  people.  Muza  was  to  com- 
mand the  cavalry,  to  defend  the  gates,  and  to  take 
the  lead  in  all  sallies  and  skirmishings.  Nairn  Reduan, 
and  Muhamed  Aben  Zayde,  were  his  adjutants.  Ab- 
del Kerim  Zegri,  and  the  other  captains,  were  to 
guard  the  walls ;  and  the  alcaydes  of  the  Alcazaba, 
and  of  the  Red  Towers,  had  command  of  the  for- 
tresses. 

Nothing  now  was  heard  but  the  din  of  arms,  and 
the  bustle  of  preparation.  The  Moorish  spirit,  quick 
to  catch  fire,  was  immediately  in  a  flame  ;  and  the 
populace,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  set  at 
nought  the  power  of  the  christians.  Muza  was  in  all 
parts  of  the  city,  infusing  his  own  generous  zeal  into 
the  bosoms  of  the  soldiery.  The  young  cavaliers 
rallied  round  him  as  their  model ;  the  veteran  war- 
riors regarded  him  with  a  soldier's  admiration  ;  the 
vulgar  throng  followed  him  with  shouts,  and  the 
helpless  part  of  the  inhabitants,  the  old  men  and  the 
women,  hailed  hinj  with  blessings  as  their  protector. 

On  the  first  appearance  of  the  christian  army,  the 
principal  gates  of  the  city  had  been  closed,  and  se- 
cured with  bars  and  bolts  and  heavy  chains :  Muza 
now  ordered  them  to  be  thrown  open  ;  "  To  me  and 
my  cavaUers,"  said  he,  "  is  intrusted  the  defence  of 
the  gates  ;  our  bodies  shall  be  their  barriers."  He 
stationed  at  each  gate  a  strong  guard,  chosen  from 
his  bravest  men.  His  horsemen  were  always  com- 
pletely armed,  and  ready  to  mount  at  a  moment's 
warning :  their  steeds  stood  saddled  and  caparisoned 
in  the  stables,  with  lance  and  buckler  beside  them. 
On  the  least  approach  of  the  enemy,  a  squadron  of 
horse  gathered  within  the  gate,  ready  to  lanch  forth 
like  the  bolt  from  the  thunder-cloud.     Muza  made 


*  Conde. 


280 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


no  empty  bravado  nor  haughty  threat ;  he  was  more 
terrible  in  deeds  than  in  words,  and  executed  daring 
exploits,  beyond  even  the  vaunt  of  the  vain-glorious. 
Such  was  the  present  champion  of  the  Moors.  Had 
they  possessed  many  such  warriors,  or  had  Muza 
risen  to  power  at  an  earlier  period  of  the  war,  the 
fate  of  Granada  might  have  been  deferred,  and  the 
Moor  for  a  long  time  have  maintained  his  throne 
within  the  walls  of  the  Alhambra. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 


HOW  KING  FERDINAND  CONDUCTED  THE  SIEGE 
CAUTIOUSLY  ;  AND  HOW  QUEEN  ISABELLA 
ARRIVl-.D   AT  THE  CAMP. 

Though  Granada  was  shorn  of  its  glories,  and 
nearly  cut  off  from  all  external  aid,  still  its  mighty 
castles  and  massive  bulwarks  seemed  to  set  all  attack 
at  defiance.  Being  the  last  retreat  of  Moorish  power, 
it  had  assembled  within  its  walls  the  remnants  of  the 
armies  that  had  contended,  step  by  step,  with  the 
invaders,  in  their  gradual  conquest  of  the  land.  All 
that  remained  of  high-born  and  high-bred  chivalry, 
was  here  ;  all  that  was  loyal  and  patriotic  was  roused 
to  activity  by  the  common  danger  ;  and  Granada, 
that  had  so  long  been  lulled  into  inaction  by  vain 
hopes  of  security,  now  assumed  a  formidable  aspect 
in  the  hour  of  its  despair. 

Ferdinand  saw  that  any  attempt  to  subdue  the  city 
by  main  force,  would  be  perilous  and  bloody.  Cau- 
tious in  his  policy,  and  fond  of  conquests  gained  by 
art  rather  than  valor,  he  resorted  to  the  plan  which 
had  been  so  successful  with  Baza,  and  determined 
to  reduce  the  place  by  famine.  For  this  purpose, 
his  armies  penetrated  into  the  very  heart  of  the  Al- 
puxarras,  and  ravaged  the  valleys,  and  sacked  and 
burnt  the  towns,  upon  which  the  city  depended  for 
its  supplies.  Scouting  parties,  also,  ranged  the 
mountains  behind  Granada,'  and  captured  every 
casual  convoy  of  provisions.  The  Moors  became 
more  daring,  as  their  situation  became  more  hope- 
lees.  Never  had  Ferdinand  experienced  such  vigor- 
ous sallies  and  assaults.  Muza,  at  the  head  of  his 
cavalry,  harassed  the  borders  of  the  camp,  and'even 
penetrated  into  the  interior,  making  sudden  spoil  and 
ravage,  and  leaving  his  course  to  be  traced  by  the 
slain  and  wounded.  To  protect  his  camp  from  these 
assaults,  Ferdinand  fortified  it  with  deep  trenches 
and  strong  bulwarks.  It  was  of  a  quadrangular  form, 
divided  into  streets  like  a  city,  the  troops  being  quar- 
tered in  tents,  and  in  booths  constructed  of  bushes 
and  branches  of  trees.  When  it  was  completed, 
queen  Isabella  came  in  state,  with  all  her  court,  and 
the  prince  and  princesses,  to  be  present  at  the  siege. 
This  was  intended,  as  on  former  occasions,  to  re- 
duce the  besieged  to  despair,  by  showing  the  deter- 
mination of  the  sovereigns  to  reside  in  the  camp  until 
the  city  should  surrender.  Immediately  after  her 
arrival,  the  queen  rode  forth  to  survey  the  camp  and 
its  environs  :  wherever  she  went,  she  was  attended 
by  a  splendid  retinue  ;  and  all  the  commanders  vied 
with  each  other,  in  the  pomp  and  ceremony  with 
which  they  received  her.  Nothing  was  heard,  from 
morning  until  night,  but  shouts  and  acclamations, 
and  bursts  of  martial  music  ;  so  that  it  appeared  to 
the  Moors  as  if  a  continual  festival  and  triumph 
reigned  in  the  christian  camp. 

The  arrival  of  the  queen,  however,  and  the  men- 
aced obstinacy  of  the  siege,  had  no  effect  in  damping 
the  fire  of  the  Moorish  chivalry.  Muza  inspired  the 
youthful  warriors  with  the  most  devoted  heroism  : 
"  We  have  nothing  left  to  fight  for,"  said  he,  "  but 


the  ground  we  stand  on  ;  when  this  is  lost,  we  cease 
to  have  a  country  and  a  name." 

Finding  the  christian  king  forbore  to  make  an 
attack,  Muza  incited  his  cavaliers  to  challenge  the 
youthful  chivalry  of  the  christian  army  to  single  com- 
bat, or  partial  skirmishes.  Scarce  a  day  passed  with- 
out gallant  conflicts  of  the  kind,  in  sight  of  the  city 
and  the  camp.  The  combatants  rivalled  each  other 
in  the  splendor  of  their  armor  and  array,  as  well  as 
in  the  prowess  of  their  deeds.  Their  contests  were 
more  like  the  stately  ceremonials  of  tilts  and  tourna- 
ments, than  the  rude  conflicts  of  the  field.  Ferdi- 
nand soon  perceived  that  they  animated  the  fiery 
Moors  with  fresh  zeal  and  courage,  while  they  cost 
the  lives  of  many  of  his  bravest  cavaliers:  he  again, 
therefore,  forbade  the  acceptance  of  any  individual 
challenges,  and  ordered  that  all  partial  encounters 
should  be  avoided.  The  cool  and  stern  policy  of  the 
Catholic  sovereign  bore  hard  upon  the  generous 
spirits  of  either  army,  but  roused  the  indignation  of 
the  Moors,  when  they  found  that  they  were  to  be 
subdued  in  this  inglorious  manner :  "  Of  what  avail," 
said  they,  "  are  chivalry  and  heroic  valor?  the  crafty 
monarch  of  the  christians  has  no  magnanimity  in 
warfare ;  he  seeks  to  subdue  us  through  the  weak- 
ness of  our  bodies,  but  shuns  to  encounter  the  courage 
of  our  souls." 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 


of  THE  INSOLENT  DEFIANCE  OF  YARFE  THE 
MOOR,  AND  THE  DARING  EXPLOIT  OF  HER- 
NANDO  PEREZ   DEL  PULGAR. 

When  the  Moorish  knights  beheld  that  all  cour- 
teous challenges  were  unavailing,  they  sought  various 
means  to  provoke  the  christian  warriors  to  the  field. 
Sometimes  a  body  of  them,  fleetly  mounted,  would 
gallop  up  to  the  skirts  of  the  camp,  and  try  who 
should  hurl  his  lance  farthest  within  the  barriers, 
having  his  name  inscribed  upon  it,  or  a  label  affixed 
to  it,  containing  some  taunting  defiance.  These  bra- 
vadoes caused  great  irritation,  but  still  the  Spanish 
warriors  were  restrained  by  the  prohibition  of  the 
king. 

Among  the  Moorish  c.ivaliers  was  one  named  Yarfe, 
renowned  for  his  great  strength  and  daring  spirit ;  but 
whose  courage  partook  of  fierce  audacity,  rather  than 
chivalric  heroism.  In  one  of  these  sallies,  when  they 
were  skirting  the  christian  camp,  this  arrogant  Moor 
outstripped  his  companions,  overleaped  the  barriers, 
and,  galloping  close  to  the  royal  quarters,  lanched 
his  lance  so  far  within,  that  it  remained  quivering  in 
the  earth  close  by  the  pavilions  of  the  sovereigns. 
The  royal  guards  rushed  forth  in  pursuit,  but  the 
Moorish  horsemen  were  already  beyond  the  camp, 
and  scouring  in  a  cloud  of  dust  for  the  city.  Upon 
wresting  the  lance  from  the  earth,  a  label  was  found 
upon  it,  importing  that  it  was  intended  for  the 
queen. 

Nothing  could  equal  the  indignation  of  the  chris- 
tian warriors,  at  the  insolence  of  the  bravado,  and 
the  discourteous  insult  offered  to  the  queen.  Her- 
nando Perez  del  Pulgar,  sumamed  "  he  of  the  ex- 
ploits," was  present,  and  resolved  not  to  be  outbraved 
by  this  daring  infidel :  "  Who  will  stand  by  me,"  said 
he,  "  in  an  enterprise  of  desperate  peril  ?  "  The  chris- 
tian cavaliers  well  knew  the  harebrained  valor  of 
Hernando  del  Pulgar,  yet  not  one  hesitated  to  step 
forward.  He  chose  fifteen  companions,  all  men  of 
powerful  arm  and  dauntless  heart.  In  the  dead  of 
the  night,  he  led  them  forth  from  the  camp,  and  ap- 
proached the  city  cautiously,  until  he  arrived  at  a 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


281 


postern-gate,  which  opened  upon  the  Darro,  and 
was  guarded  by  foot-soldiers.  The  guards,  little 
thinking  of  such  an  unwonted  and  partial  attack, 
were  for  the  most  part  asleep.  The  gate  was  forced, 
and  a  confused  and  chance-medley  skirmish  ensued  : 
Hernando  del  Pulgar  stopped  not  to  take  part  in  the 
affray:  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  he  galloped 
furiously  through  the  streets,  striking  hre  out  of  the 
stones  at  every  bound.  Arrived  at  the  principal 
mosque,  he  sprang  from  his  horse,  and,  kneeling  at 
the  portal,  took  possession  of  the  edifice  as  a  chris- 
tian chapel,  dedicating  it  to  the  blessed  virgin.  In 
testimonial  of  the  ceremony,  he  took  a  tablet  which 
he  had  brought  with  him,  on  which  was  inscribed  in 
large  characters,  "Ave  MaRIA,"  and  nailed  it  to 
the  door  of  the  mosque  with  his  dagger.  This  done, 
he  remounted  his  steed,  and  galloped  back  to  the 
gate.  The  alarm  had  been  given — the  city  was  in  an 
uproar — soldiers  were  gathering  from  every  direction. 
They  were  astonished  at  seeing  a  christian  warrior 
galloping  from  the  interior  of  the  city.  Hernando 
del  Pulgar  overturned  some,  cut  down  others,  re- 
joined his  companions,  who  still  maintained  posses- 
sion of  the  gate  by  dint  of  hard  fighting,  and  all  made 
good  their  retreat  to  the  camp.  The  Moors  were  at 
a  loss  to  imagine  the  meaning  of  this  wild  and  ap- 
parently fruitless  assault;  but  gjreat  was  their  ex- 
asperation, on  the  following  day,  when  the  trophy  of 
hardihood  and  prowess,  the  "  Ave  Maria,"  was 
discovered  thus  elevated  in  bravado  in  the  very 
centre  of  the  city.  The  mosque  thus  boldly  sancti- 
fied by  Hernando  del  Pulgar  was  actually  consecra- 
ted into  a  cathedral,  after  the  capture  of  Granada.* 


CHAPTER   XLVni. 

HOW  QUEEN  ISABELLA  TOOK  A  VIEW  OF  THE 
CITY  OF  GRANADA— AND  HOW  HER  CURIOSITY 

.  COST  THE  LIVES  OF  MANY  CHRISTIANS  AND 
MOORS. 

The  royal  encampment  lay  at  such  a  distance 
from  Granada,  that  the  general  aspect  of  the  city 
only  could  be  seen,  as  it  rose  grtwefully  from  the 
rega,  covering  the  aides  of  the  hills  with  palaces  and 
towers.  Queen  Isabella  had  expressed  an  earnest 
desire  to  behold,  nearer  at  hand,  a  city  whose  beauty 
was  so  renowned  throughout  the  world  ;  and  the 
marques  of  Cadiz,  with  his  accustomed  courtesy, 
prepared  a  great  military  escort  and  guard,  to  pro- 
tect the  queen  and  the  ladies  of  the  court,  while  they 
enjoyed  this  perilous  gratification. 

It  vi'as  on  the  morning  after  the  events  recorded 
in  the  preceding  chapter,  that  a  magnificent  and 
powerful  train  issued  forth  from  the  christian  camp. 
The  advanced  guard  was  composed  of  legions  of 
cavalry,  heavily  anned,  that  looked  like  moving 
masses  of  polished  steel.  Then  came  the  king  and 
queen,  with  the  prince  and  princess,  and  the  ladies 
of  the  court,  surrounded  by  the  royal  body-guard, 
sumptuously  arrayed,  composed  of  the  sons  of  the 
most  illustrious  houses  of  Spain  ;  after  these  was  the 
rear-guard,  composed  of  a  powerful  force  of  horse 
and  foot ;  for  the  flower  of  the  army  sallied  forth 
that  day.     The  Moors  gazed  with  fearful  admiration 

*  In  commemoration  of  this  daring  feat,  the  emperor  Charles  V.. 
in  after  years,  conferred  on  Puljzar  and  his  descendants  the  right  of 
sepulture  in  that  church,  and  tne  privilege  of  sitting  in  the  choir 
during  hich  mass.  This  Hernando  Perez  del  Pulgar  was  a  man  of 
letters,  as  well  as  atms,  and  inscribed  to  Charles  V.  a  summary  of 
the  achievements  of  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova,  surnamed  the  great  cap- 
tain, who  had  been  one  of  his  comrades  in  arms.  He  is  often  con- 
founded with  Hernando  del  Pulgar,  historian  and  secretary  to  queen 
Isabella. — See  note  to  Piilgar's  Chron.  of  the  Catholic  Sovereigns, 
part  3.  c.  iii.  edit.  Valencia,  1780. 


at  this  glorious  pageant,  wherein  the  pomp  of  the 
court  was  mingled  with  the  terrors  of  the  camp. 
It  moved  along  in  a  radiant  line,  across  the  vega,  to 
the  melodious  thunders  of  martial  music ;  while 
banner  and  plume,  and  silken  scarf,  and  rich  bro- 
cade, gave  a  gay  and  gorgeous  relief  to  the  grim 
visage  of  iron  war,  that  lurked  beneath. 

The  army  moved  towards  the  hamlet  of  Zubia, 
built  on  the  skirts  of  the  mountain  to  the  left  of  Gra- 
nada, and  commanding  a  view  of  the  Alhambra,  and 
the  most  beautiful  quarter  of  the  city.  As  they  ap- 
proached the  hamlet,  the  marques  of  Villena,  the 
count  Ureiia,  and  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  filed  off 
with  their  battalions,  and  were  soon  seen  glittering 
along  the  side  of  the  mountain  above  the  village.  In 
the  mean  time,  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  the  count  de 
Tendilla,  the  count  de  Cabra,  and  Don  Alonzo  Fer- 
nandez, Senior  of  Alcandrete  and  Montemayor,  drew 
up  their  forces  in  battle  array  on  the  plain  below  the 
hamlet,  presenting  a  living  barrier  of  loyal  chivalry 
between  the  sovereigns  and  the  city. 

Thus  securely  guarded,  the  royal  party  alighted, 
and,  entering  one  of  the  houses  of  the  hamlet,  which 
had  been  prepared  for  their  reception,  enjoyed  a  full 
view  of  the  city  from  its  terraced  roof.  The  ladies 
of  the  court  gazed  with  delight  at  the  red  towers  of 
the  Alhambra,  rising  from  amidst  shady  groves, 
anticipating  the  time  when  the  Catholic  sovereigns 
should  be  enthroned  within  its  walls,  and  its  courts 
shine  with  the  splendor  of  Spanish  chivalry.  "  The 
reverend  prelates  and  holy  friars,  who  always  sur- 
rounded the  queen,  looked  with  serene  satisfaction," 
says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  "  at  this  modern  Baby- 
lon, enjoying  the  triumph  that  awaited  them,  when 
those  mosques  and  minarets  should  be  converted 
into  churches,  and  goodly  priests  and  bishops  should 
succeed  to  the  infidel  alfaquis." 

When  the  Moors  beheld  the  christians  thus  drawn 
forth  in  full  array  in  the  plain,  they  supposed  it  was 
to  offer  them  battle ;  and  they  hesitated  not  to  ac- 
cept it.  In  a  little  while,  the  queen  beheld  a  body 
of  Moorish  cavalry  pouring  into  the  vega,  the  riders 
managing  their  fleet  and  fiery  steeds  with  admirable 
address.  They  were  richly  armed,  and  clothed  in 
the  most  brilliant  colors,  and  the  caparisons  of  their 
steeds  flamed  with  gold  and  embroidery.  This  was 
the  favorite  squadron  of  Muza,  composed  of  the 
flower  of  the  youthful  cavaliers  of  Granada.  Others 
succeeded,  some  heavily  armed,  some  a  la  gtnete 
with  lance  and  buckler  ;  and  lastly  came  the  legions 
of  foot-soldiers,  with  arquebuss  and  cross-bow,  and 
spear  and  scimitar. 

When  the  queen  saw  this  army  issuing  from  the 
city,  she  sent  to  the  marques  of  Cadiz,  and  forbade 
any  attack  upon  the  enemy,  or  the  acceptance  of 
any  challenge  to  a  skirmish  ;  for  she  was  loth  that 
her  curiosity  should  cost  the  life  of  a  single  human 
being. 

The  marques  promised  to  obey,  though  sorely 
against  his  will ;  and  it  grieved  the  spirit  of  the 
Spanish  cavaliers,  to  be  obliged  to  remain  with 
sheathed  swords  while  bearded  by  the  foe.  The 
Moors  could  not  comprehend  the  meaning  of  this 
inaction  of  the  christians,  after  having  apparently  in- 
vited a  battle.  They  sallied  several  times  from  their 
ranks,  and  approached  near  enough  to  discharge 
their  arrows ;  but  the  christians  were  immovable. 
Many  of  the  Moorish  horsemen  galloped  close  to  the 
christian  ranks,  brandishing  their  lances  and  scimi- 
tars, and  defying  various  cavaliers  to  single  combat ; 
but  king  Ferdinand  had  rigorously  prohibited  all 
duels  of  the  kind,  and  they  dared  not  transgress  his 
orders  under  his  very  eye. 

While  this  grim  and  reluctant  tranquillity  pre- 
vailed along  the  christian  line,  there  rose  a  mingled 


282 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


shout  and  sound  of  laughter  near  the  gate  of  the 
city.  A  Moorish  horseman,  armed  at  all  points, 
issued  forth,  followed  by  a  rabble,  who  drew  back  as 
he  approached  the  scene  of  danger.  The  Moor  was 
more  robust  and  brawny  than  was  common  with 
his  countrymen.  His  visor  was  closed ;  he  bore  a 
huge  buckler  and  a  ponderous  lance ;  his  scimitar 
was  of  a  Damascus  blade,  and  his  richly  ornamented 
dagger  was  wrought  by  an  artificer  of  Fez.  He  was 
known  by  his.  device  to  be  Yarfe,  the  most  insolent, 
yet  valiant,  of  the  Moslem  warriors — the  same  who 
had  hurled  into  the  royal  camp  his  lance,  inscribed 
to  the  queen.  As  he  rode  slowly  along  in  front  of 
the  army,  his  very  steed,  prancing  with  fiery  eye  and 
distended  nostril,  seemed  to  breathe  defiance  to  the 
christians. 

But  what  were  the  feelings  of  the  Spanish  cava- 
liers, when  they  beheld,  tied  to  the  tail  of  his  steed, 
and  dragged  in  the  dust,  the  very  inscription,  "  AVE 
Maria,"  which  Hernando  Perez  del  Pulgar  had 
affixed  to  the  door  of  the  inosque  !  A  burst  of  hor- 
ror and  indignation  broke  forth  from  the  army. 
Hernando  del  Pulgar  was  not  at  hand  to  maintain 
his  previous  achievement  ;  but  one  of  his  young 
companions  in  arms,  Garcilasso  de  la  Vega  by  name, 
putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  galloped  to  the  hamlet  of 
Zubia,  threw  himself  on  his  knees  before  the  king, 
and  besought  permission  to  accept  the  defiance  of  this 
insolent  infidel,  and  to  revenge  the  insult  offered  to 
our  blessed  Lady.  The  request  was  too  pious  to  be 
refused  :  Garcilasso  remounted  his  steed  ;  he  closed 
his  helmet,  graced  by  four  sable  plumes,  grasped  his 
buckler  of  Flemish  workmanship,  and  his  lance  of 
matchless  temper,  and  defied  the  haughty  Moor  in 
the  midst  of  his  career.  A  combat  took  place,  in 
view  of  the  two  armies  and  of  the  Castilian  court. 
The  Moor  was  powerful  in  wielding  his  weapons, 
and  dextrous  in  managing  his  st?ed.  He  was  of 
larger  frame  than  Garcilasso,  and  more  completely 
■  armed  ;  and  the  christians  trembled  for  their  cham- 
pion. The  shock  of  their  encounter  was  dreadful  ; 
their  lances  were  shivered,  and  sent  up  splinters  in 
the  air.  Garcilasso  was  thrown  back  in  the  saddle — 
his  horse  made  a  wide  career,  before  he  could  re- 
cover, gather  up  the  reins,  and  return  to  the  con- 
flict. They  now  encountered  each  other  with  swords. 
The  Moor  circled  round  his  opponent,  as  a  hawk  cir- 
cles whereabout  to  make  a  swoop  ;  his  Arabian  steed 
obeyed  his  rider,  with  matchless  quickness ;  at  every 
attack  of  the  infidel  it  seemed  as  if  the  christian 
knight  must  sink  beneath  his  flashing  scimitar.  But 
if  Garcilasso  were  inferior  to  him  in  power,  he  was 
superior  in  agility :  many  of  his  blows  he  parried ; 
others  he  received  upon  his  Flemish  shield,  which 
was  proof  against  the  Damascus  blade.  The  blood 
streamed  from  numerous  woimds  received  by  either 
warrior.  The  Moor,  seeing  his  antagonist  exhausted, 
availed  himself  of  his  superior  force,  and,  grappling, 
endeavored  to  wrest  his  from  his  saddle.  They  both 
fell  to  earth ;  the  Moor  placed  his  knee  upon  the 
breast  of  his  victim,  and,  brandishing  his  dagger, 
aimed  a  blow  at  his  throat.  A  cry  of  despair  was 
uttered  by  the  christian  warriors,  when  suddenly 
they  beheld  the  Moor  rolling  lifeless  in  the  dust. 
Garcilasso  had  shortened  his  sword,  and,  as  his  ad- 
versary raised  his  arm  to  strike,  had  pierced  him  to 
the  heart.  "  It  was  a  singular  and  miraculous  vic- 
tory," says  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  ;  "  but  the  chris- 
tian knight  was  armed  by  the  sacred  nature  of  his 
cause,  and  the  holy  virgin  gave  him  strength,  like 
another  David,  to  slay  this  gigantic  champion  of  the 
Gentiles." 

The  laws  of  chivalry  were  observed  throughout 
the  combat — no  one  interfered  on  either  side.  Gar- 
cilasso now  despoiled  his  adversary ;  then,  rescuing 


the  holy  inscription  of  "Ave  Maria"  from  its  de- 
grading situation,  he  elevated  it  on  the  point  of  his 
sword,  and  bore  it  off  as  a  signal  of  triumph,  amidst 
the  rapturous  shouts  of  the  christian  army. 

The  sun  had  now  reached  the  meridian  ;  and  the 
hot  blood  of  the  Moors  was  inflamed  by  its  rays,  and 
by  the  sight  of  the  defeat  of  their  champion.  Muza 
ordered  two  pieces  of  ordnance  to  open  a  fire  upon 
the  christians.  A  confusion  was  produced  in  one 
part  of  their  ranks  :  Muza  called  to  the  chiefs  of 
the  army,  "  Let  us  waste  no  more  time  in  empty 
challenges — let  us  charge  upon  the  enemy  :  he  who 
assaults  has  always  an  advantage  in  the  combat." 
So  saying,  he  rushed  forward,  followed  by  a  large 
body  of  horse  and  foot,  and  charged  so  furiously  upon 
the  advance  guard  of  the  christians,  that  he  drove  it 
in  upon  the  battalion  of  the  marques  of  Cadiz. 

The  gallant  marques  now  considered  himself  ab- 
solved from  all  further  obedience  to  the  queen's  com- 
mands. He  gave  the  signal  to  attack.  "  Santiago  !  " 
was  shouted  along  the  line  ;  and  he  pressed  forward 
to  the  encounter,  with  his  battalion  of  twelve  hun- 
dred lances.  The  other  cavaliers  followed  his  ex- 
ample, and  the  battle  instantly  became  general. 

When  the  king  and  queen  beheld  the  armies  thus 
rushing  to  the  combat,  they  threw  themselves  on 
their  knees,  and  implored  the  holy  virgin  to  protect 
her  faithful  warriors.  The  prince  and  princess,  the 
ladies  of  the  court,  and  the  prelates  and  friars  who 
were  present,  did  the  same ;  and  the  effect  of  the 
prayers  of  these  illustrious  and  saintly  persons,  was 
immediately  apparent.  The  fierceness  with  which 
the  Moors  had  rushed  to  the  attack  was  suddenly 
cooled  ;  they  were  bold  and  adroit  for  a  skirinish, 
but  unequal  to  the  veteran  Spaniards  in  the  open 
field.  A  panic  seized  upon  the  foot-soldiers — they 
turned,  and  took  to  flight.  Muza  and  his  cavaliers 
in  vain  endeavored  to  rally  them.  Some  took  refuge 
in  the  mountains ;  but  the  greater  part  fled  to  the 
city,  in  such  confusion  that  they  overturned  and 
trampled  upon  each  other.  The  christians  pursued 
them  to  the  very  gates.  Upwards  of  two  thousand 
were  either  killed,  wounded,  or  taken  prisoners  ;  and 
the  two  pieces  of  ordnance  were  brought  off,  as 
trophies  of  the  victory.  Not  a  christian  lance  but 
was  bathed  that  day  in  the  blood  of  an  infidel.* 

Such  was  the  brief  but  bloody  action,  which  was 
known  among  the  christian  warriors  by  the  name  of 
"  the  queen's  skirmish  ;  "  for  when  the  marques  of 
Cadiz  waited  upon  her  majesty  to  apologize  for 
breaking  her  commands,  he  attributed  the  victory 
entirely  to  her  presence.  The  queen,  however,  in- 
sisted that  it  was  all  owing  to  her  troops  being  led 
on  by  so  valiant  a  commander.  Her  majesty  had  not 
yet  recovered  from  her  agitation  at  beholding  so 
terrible  a  scene  of  bloodshed  ;  though  certain  vete- 
rans present  pronounced  it  as  gay  and  gentle  a 
skirmish  as  they  had  ever  witnessed. 

To  commemorate  this  victory,  the  queen  after- 
wards erected  a  monastery  in  this  village  of  Zubia, 
dedicated  to  St.  Francisco,  which  still  exists  ;  and  in 
its  garden  is  a  laurel,  planted  by  the  hands  of  her 
majesty,  t 

*  Cura  de  los  Palacios. 

+  The  house  from  whence  the  king  and  queen  contemplated  the 
battle,  is  likewise  to  be  seen  at  the  present  day.  It  is  in  the  first 
street,  to  the  right,  on  entering  the  village  from  the  veg.i  ;  and  the 
royal  arms  are  painted  on  the  ceilings.  It  is  inhabited  by  a  worthy 
farmer,  Trancisco  Garcia,  who,  in  showing  the  house,  refuses  all 
compensation,  with  true  Spanish  pride  ;  offering,  onthe  contrary, 
the  hospitalities  of  his  mansion  to  the  stranger.  His  children  aie 
versed  in  the  old  Spanish  ballads,  about  the  exploits  of  Hernando 
Perez  del  Pulgar  and  Garcilasso  de  la  Vega. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


283 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 
CONFLAGRATION    OF   THE   CHRISTIAN  CAMP. 

The  ravages  of  war  had  as  yet  spared  a  little  por- 
tion of  the  vega  of  Granada.  A  green  belt  of  gar- 
dens and  orchards  still  flourished  round  the  city, 
extending  along  the  banks  of  the  Xenel  and  the 
Darro.  They  had  been  the  solace  and  delight  of 
the  inhabitants  in  their  happier  days,  and  contributed 
to  their  sustenance  in  this  time  of  scarcity.  Ferdi- 
nand determined  to  make  a  final  and  exterminating 
ravage  to  the  very  walls  of  the  city,  so  that  there 
should  not  remain  a  single  green  thing  for  the  sus- 
tenance of  man  or  beast.  -The  evening  of  a  hot 
July  day  shone  splendidly  upon  the  christian  camp, 
which  was  in  a  bustle  of  preparation  for  the  next 
day's  service — for  desperate  resistance  was  expected 
from  the  Moors.  The  cainp  made  a  glorious  ap- 
pearance, in  the  setting  sun.  The  various  tents  of 
the  royal  family  and  the  attendant  nobles,  were 
adorned  with  rich  hangings,  and  sumptuous  devices, 
and  costly  furniture  ;  forming,  as  it  were,  a  little 
city  of  silk  and  brocade,  where  the  pinnacles  of 
pavilions  of  various  gay  colors,  surmounted  with 
waving  standards  and  fluttering  pennons,  might  vie 
with  the  domes  and  minarets  of  the  capital  they 
were  besieging. 

In  the  midst  of  this  little  gaudy  metropolis,  the 
lofty  tent  of  the  queen  domineered  over  the  rest  like 
a  stately  palace.  The  marques  of  Cadiz  had  court- 
eously surrendered  his  own  tent  to  the  queen :  it 
was  the  most  complete  and  sumptuous  in  Christen- 
dom, and  had  been  carried  about  with  him  through- 
out the  war.  In  the  centre  rose  a  stately  alfaneque 
or  pavilion  in  oriental  taste,  the  rich  hangings  being 
supported  by  columns  of  lances  and  ornamented 
with  martial  devices.  This  central  pavilion,  or  silken 
tower,  was  surrounded  by  other  compartments,  some 
of  painted  linen  lined  with  silk,  and  all  separated 
from  each  other  by  curtains.  It  was  one  of  those 
camp  palaces  which  are  raised  and  demolished  in  an 
instant,  like  the  city  of  canvas  that  surrounds  them. 

As  the  evening  advanced,  the  bustle  in  the  cainp 
subsided.  Every  one  sought  repose,  preparatory  to 
the  next  day's  trial.  The  king  retired  early,  that  he 
might  be  up  with  the  crowing  of  the  cock,  to  head 
the  destroying  army  in  person.  All  stir  of  military 
preparation  was  hushed  in  the  royal  quarters  ;  the 
very  sound  of  minstrelsy  was  mute,  and  not  the 
tinkling  of  a  guitar  was  to  be  heard  from  the  tents 
of  the  fair  ladies  of  the  court. 

The  queen  had  retired  to  the  innermost  part  of 
her  pavilion,  where  she  was  performing  her  orisons 
before  a  private  altar ;  perhaps  the  peril  to  which 
the  king  might  be  exposed  in  the  next  day's  foray, 
inspired  her  with  more  than  usual  devotion.  Wiiile 
thus  at  her  prayers,  she  was  suddenly  aroused  by  a 
glare  of  light,  and  wreaths  of  suffocating  smoke.  In 
an  instant,  the  whole  tent  was  in  a  blaze  :  there  was 
a  high  gusty  wind,  which  whirled  the  light  flames 
from  tent  to  tent,  and  wrapped  the  whole  in  one 
conflagration. 

Isabella  had  barely  time  to  save  herself  by  instant 
flight.  Her  first  thought,  on  being  extricated  from 
her  tent,  was  for  the  safety  of  the  king.  She  rushed 
to  his  tent,  but  the  vigilant  Ferdinand  was  already 
at  the  entrance  of  it.  Starting  from  bed  pn  the  first 
alarm,  and  fancying  it  an  assault  of  the  enemy,  he 
had  seized  his  sword  and  buckler,  and  sallied  forth 
undressed,  with  his  cuirass  upon  his  arm. 

The  late  gorgeous  camp  was  now  a  scene  of  wild 
confusion.  The  flames  kept  spreading  from  one 
pavilion  to  another,  glaring  upon  the  rich  armor, 
and  golden  and  silver  vessels,  which  seemed  melting 


in  the  fervent  heat.  Many  of  the  soldiers  had  erected 
booths  and  bowers  of  branches,  which,  being  dry, 
crackled  and  blazed,  and  added  to  the  rapid  con- 
flagration. The  ladies  of  the  court  fled,  shrieking 
and  half-dressed,  from  their  tents.  There  was  an 
alarm  of  drum  and  trumpet,  and  a  distracted  hurry 
about  the  camp  of  men  half  armed.  The  prince 
Juan  had  been  snatched  out  of  bed  by  an  attendant, 
and  conveyed  to  the  quarters  of  the  count  de  Cabra, 
which  were  at  the  entrance  of  the  camp.  The  loyal 
count  immediately  summoned  his  people,  and  those 
of  his  cousin  Don  Alonzo  de  Monteraayor,  and  form- 
ed a  guard  round  the  tent  in  which  the  prince  was 
sheltered. 

The  idea  that  this  was  a  stratagem  of  the  Moors, 
soon  subsided ;  but  it  was  feared  that  they  might 
take  advantage  of  it  to  assault  the  camp.  The  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz,  therefore,  sallied  forth  with  three 
thousand  horse  to  check  any  advance  from  the  city. 
As  they  passed  along,  the  whole  camp  was  a  scene 
of  hurry  and  consternation — some  hastening  to  their 
posts,  at  the  call  of  drum  and  trumpet ;  some  at- 
tempting to  save  rich  effects  and  glittering  armor 
from  the  tents,  others  dragging  along  terrified  and 
restive  horses. 

When  they  emerged  from  the  camp,  they  found 
the  whole  firmament  illuminated.  The  flames  whirl- 
ed up  in  long  light  spires,  and  the  air  was  filled  with 
sparks  and  cinders.  A  bright  glare  was  thrown 
upon  the  city,  revealing  every  battlement  and  tower. 
'I'urbaned  heads  were  seen  gazing  from  every  roof, 
and  armor  gleamed  along  the  walls ;  yet  not  a  single 
warrior  sallied  from  the  gates  :  the  Moors  suspected 
some  stratagem  on  the  part  of  the  christians,  and 
kept  quietly  within  their  walls.  By  degrees,  the 
flames  expired  ;  the  city  faded  from  sight ;  all  again 
became  dark  and  quiet,  and  the  marques  of  Cadiz 
returned  with  his  cavalry  to  the  camp. 


CHAPTER   L. 


THE  LAST  RAVAGE  BEFORE  GRANADA. 

When  the  day  dawned  on  the  christian  camp, 
nothing  remained  of  that  beautiful  assemblage  of 
stately  pavilions,  but  heaps  of  smouldering  rubbish, 
with  helms  and  corselets  and  other  furniture  of  war, 
and  masses  of  melted  gold  and  silver  ghttering 
among  the  ashes.  The  wardrobe  of  the  queen  was 
entirely  destroyed,  and  there  was  an  immense  loss 
in  plate,  jewels,  costly  stuffs,  and  sumptuous  armor 
of  the  luxurious  nobles.  The  fire  at  first  had  been 
attributed  to  treachery,  but  on  investigation  it  proved 
to  be  entirely  accidental.  The  queen,  on  retiring  to 
her  prayers,  had  ordered  her  lady  in  attendance  to 
remove  a  light  burning  near  her  couch,  lest  it  should 
prevent  her  sleeping.  Through  heedlessness,  the 
taper  was  placed  in  another  part  of  the  tent,  near 
the  hangings,  which,  being  blown  against  it  by  a 
gust  of  wind,  iminediately  took  fire. 

The  wary  Ferdinand  knew  the  sanguine  tempera- 
ment of  the  Moors,  and  hastened  to  prevent  their 
deriving  confidence  from  the  night's  disaster.  At 
break  of  day,  the  drums  and  trumpets  sounded  to 
arms,  and  the  christian  army  issued  from  among  the 
smoking  ruins  of  their  camp,  in  shining  squadrons, 
with  flaunting  banners  and  bursts  of  martial  mel- 
ody, as  though  the  preceding  night  had  been  a  time 
of  high  festivity,  instead  of  terror. 

The  Moors  had  beheld  the  conflagration  with 
wonder  and  perplexity.  When  the  day  broke,  and 
they  looked  towards  the  christian  camp,  they  saw 
nothing  but  a  dark  smoking  mass.     Their  scouts 


281 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


came  in,  with  the  joyful  intelligence  that  the  whole 
camp  was  a  scene  of  ruin.  Scarce  had  the  tidings 
spread  throughout  the  city,  when  they  beheld  the 
christian  army  advancing  towards  their  walls. 
They  considered  it  a  feint,  to  cover  their  desperate 
situation  and  prepare  for  a  retreat.  Boabdil  el 
Chico  had  one  of  his  impulses  of  valor — he  deter- 
mined to  take  the  field  in  person,  and  to  follow  up  this 
signal  blow  which  Allah  had  inflicted  on  the  enemy. 

The  christian  army  approached  close  to  the  city, 
and  were  laying  waste  the  gardens  and  orchards, 
when  Boabdil  sallied  forth,  surrounded  by  all  that 
was  left  of  the  flower  and  chivalry  of  Granada. 
There  is  one  place  where  even  the  coward  becomes 
b|-ave — that  sacred  spot  called  home.  What  then 
must  have  been  the  valor  of  the  Moors,  a  people  al- 
ways of  fiery  spirit,  when  the  war  was  thus  brought 
to  their  thresholds  !  They  fought  among  the  scenes 
of  their  loves  and  pleasures  ;  the  scenes  of  their  in- 
fancy, and  the  haunts  of  their  domestic  life.  They 
fought  under  the  eyes  of  their  wives  and  children, 
their  old  men  and  their  maidens,  of  all  that  was 
helpless  and  all  that  was  dear  to  them  ;  for  all  Gra- 
nada, crowded  on  tower  and  battlement,  watched 
with  trembling  heart  the  fate  of  this  eventful  day. 

There  was  not  so  much  one  battle,  as  a  variety  of 
battles  ;  every  garden  and  orchard  became  a  scene 
of  deadl)'  contest ;  every  inch  of  grountl  was  dis- 
puted, with  an  agony  of  grief  and  valor,  by  the 
Moors ;  every  inch  of  ground  that  the  christians 
advanced,  they  valiantly  maintained  ;  but  never  did 
they  advance  with  severer  fighting,  or  greater  loss 
of  ijlood. 

The  cavalry  of  Muza  was  in  every  part  of  the 
field ;  wherever  it  came,  it  gave  fresh  ardor  to  the 
fight.  The  Moorish  soldier,  fainting  with  heat, 
fatigue,  and  wounds,  was  roused  to  new  life  at  the 
approach  of  Muza ;  and  even  he  who  lay  gasping 
in  the  agonies  of  death,  turned  his  face  towards 
him,  and  faintly  uttered  cheers  and  blessings  as  he 
passed. 

The  christians  had  by  this  time  gained  possession 
of  various  towers  near  the  city,  from  whence  they 
had  been  annoyed  by  cross-bows  and  arquebusses. 
The  Moors,  scattered  in  various  actions,  were  se- 
verely pressed.  Boabdil,  at  the  head  of  the  cava- 
liers of  his  guard,  displayed  the  utmost  valor,  min- 
gling in  the  fight  in  various  parts  of  the  field,  and  en- 
deavoring to  inspirit  the  foot-soldiers  in  the  combat. 
But  the  Moorish  infantry  was  never  to  be  depended 
upon.  In  the  heat  of  the  action,  a  panic  seized  upon 
them  ;  they  fled,  leaving  their  sovereign  exposed  with 
his  handful  of  cavaliers  to  an  overwhelming  force. 
Boabdil  was  on  the  point  of  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  christians,  when,  wheeling  round,  with  his 
followers,  they  threw  the  reins  on  the  necks  of  their 
fleet  steeds,  and  took  refuge  by  dint  of  hoof  within 
the  walls  of  the  city.* 

Muza  endeavored  to  retrieve  the  fortune  of  the 
field.  He  threw  himself  before  the  retreating  infan- 
try, calling  upon  them  to  turn  and  fight  for  their 
homes,  their  families,  for  every  thing  that  was  sacred 
and  dear  to  them.  It  was  all  in  vain : — they  were 
totally  broken  and  dismayed,  and  fled  tumultuously 
for  the  gates.  Muza  would  fain  have  kept  the  field 
with  his  cavalry  ;  but  this  devoted  band,  having  stood 
the  brunt  of  war  throughout  this  desperate  camjiaign, 
was  fearfully  reduced  in  numbers,  and  many  of  the 
survivors  were  crippled  and  enfeebled  by  their 
wounds.  Slowly  and  reluctantly  Muza  retreated  to 
the  city,  his  bosom  swelling  with  indignation  and 
despair.  When  he  entered  the  gates,  he  ordered 
them  to  be  closed,  and  secured  with  bolts  and  bars  ; 


•  Zuriu,  lib.  30.  c.  88. 


for  he  refused  to  place  any  further  confidence  in  the 
archers  and  arquebusiers  who  were  stationed  to  de- 
fend them,  and  he  vowed  never  more  to  sally  forth 
with  foot-soldiers  tathe  field. 

In  the  mean  time  the  artillery  thundered  from  the 
walls,  and  checked  all  further  advances  of  the  chris- 
tians. King  Ferdinand,  therefore,  called  off  his 
troops,  and  returned  in  triumph  to  the  ruins  of  his 
camp,  leaving  the  beautiful  city  of  Granada  wrapped 
in  the  smoke  of  her  fields  and  gardens,  and  surround-  ' 
ed  by  the  bodies  of  her  slaughtered  children. 

Such  was  the  last  sally  made  by  the  Moors,  in  de- 
fence of  their  favorite  city.  The  French  ambassa- 
dor, who  witnessed  it,  was  filled  with  wonder,  at  the 
prowess,  the  dexterity,  and  daring  of  the  Moslems. 

In  truth,  this  whole  war  was  an  instance,  memora- 
ble in  history,  of  the  most  persevering  resolution.  For 
nearly  ten  years  had  the  war  endured — an  almost 
uninterrupted  series  of  disasters  to  the  Moorish  arms. 
Their  towns  had  been  taken,  one  after  another,  and 
their  brethren  slain  or  led  into  captivity.  Yet  they 
disputed  every  city  and  town,  and  fortress  and  cas- 
tle, nay  every  rock  itself,  as  if  they  had  been  inspir- 
ited by  victories.  Wherever  they  could  plant  foot 
to  fight,  or  find  wall  or  cliff  from  whence  to  lanch  an 
arrow,  they  disputed  their  beloved  country ;  and  now, 
when  their  capital  was  cut  off  from  all  relief,  and 
had  a  whole  nation  thundering  at  its  gates,  they  still 
maintained  defence,  as  if  they  hoped  some  miracle 
to  interpose  in  their  behalf  Their  obstinate  resist- 
ance (says  an  ancient  chronicler)  shows  the  grief 
with  which  the  Moors  yielded  up  the  vega,  which 
was  to  them  a  paradise  and  heaven.  Exerting  all 
the  strength  of  their  arms,  they  embraced,  as  it  were, 
that  most  beloved  soil,  from  which  neither  wounds, 
nor  defeats,  nor  death  itself,  could  part  them.  They 
stood  firm,  battling  for  it  with  the  united  force  of 
love  and  grief,  never  drawing  back  the  foot  while 
they  had  hands  to  fight,  or  fortune  to  befriend  them.* 


CHAPTER  LI. 


BUILDING   OF  THE   CITY   OF   SANTA   FE— DESPAIR 
OF  THE  MOORS. 

The  Moors  now  shut  themselves  up  gloomily  with- 
in their  walls  ;  there  were  no  longer  any  daring  sallies 
from  their  gates ;  and  even  the  martial  clangor  of  the 
drum  and  trumpet,  which  had  continually  resounded 
within  that  warrior  city,  was  now  seldom  heard  from 
its  battlements.  For  a  time,  they  flattered  themselves 
with  hopes  that  the  late  conflagration  of  the  camp 
would  discourage  the  besiegers ;  that,  as  in  former 
years,  their  invasion  would  end  with  the  summer,  and 
that  they  would  again  withdraw  before  the  autumnal 
rains. 

The  measures  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  soon 
crushed  these  hopes.  They  gave  orders  to  build  a 
regular  city  upon  the  site  of  their  camp,  to  convince 
the  Moors  that  the  siege  was  to  endure  until  the  sur- 
render of  Granada.  Nine  of  the  principal  cities  of 
Spain  were  charged  with  this  stupendous  undertak- 
ing ;  and  they  emulated  each  other,  with  a  zeal  wor- 
thy of  the  cause.  "  It  verily  seems,"  says  Fray  An- 
tonio Agapida,  "  as  though  some  miracle  operated  to 
aid  this  pious  work,  so  rapidly  did  arise  a  formidable 
city,  with  solid  edifices,  and  powerful  walls,  and 
mighty  towers,  where  lately  had  been  seen  nothing 
but  tents  and  light  pavilions.  The  city  was  traversed 
by  two  principal  streets  in  form  of  a  cross,  terminat- 
ing in  four  gates  facing  the  four  winds  ;  and  in  the 


*  Abarca,  Reyes  de  Aiagon,  R.  30,  c.  3. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  THE  CONQUEST  OF  GRANADA. 


centre  was  a  vast  square,  where  the  whole  army 
might  be  assembled.  To  this  city  it  was  proposed 
to  give  the  name  of  Isabella,  so  dear  to  the  army  and 
the  nation  ;  "  but  that  pious  princess,"  adds  Antonio 
Agapida,  "calling  to  mind  the  holy  cause  in  which  it 
was  erected,  gave  it  the  name  of  Santa  Fe,  (or  the 
City  of  the  Holy  Faith  ;)  and  it  remains  to  this  day, 
a  monument  of  the  piety  and  glory  of  the  Catholic 
sovereigns." 

Hither  the  merchants  soon  resorted,  from  all  points. 
Long  trains  of  mules  were  seen  every  day  entering 
and  departing  from  its  gates ;  the  streets  were 
crowded  with  magazines,  filled  with  all  kinds  of 
costly  and  luxurious  merchandise  ;  a  scene  of  bustling 
commerce  and  prosperity  took  place,  while  unhappy 
(iranada  remained  shut  up  and  desolate. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  besieged  city  began  to  suffer 
the  distress  of  famine.  Its  supplies  were  all  qut  off; 
a  cavalgada  of  flocks  and  herds,  and  mules  laden  with 
money,  coming  to  the  relief  of  the  city  from  the 
mountains  of  the  Alpuxarras,  was  taken  by  the  mar- 
ques of  Cadiz,  and  led  in  triumph  to  the  camp,  in 
sight  of  the  suffering  Moors.  Autumn  arrived  ;  but 
the  harvests  had  been  swept  from  the  face  of  the 
country ;  a  rigorous  winter  was  approaching,  and  the 
city  was  almost  destitute  of  provisions.  The  people 
sank  into  deep  despondency.  They  called  to  minri 
all  that  had  been  predicted  by  astrologers  at  the  birth 
of  their  ill-starred  sovereign,  and  all  that  had  been 
foretold  of  the  fate  of  Granada  at  the  time  of  the 
capture  of  Zahara. 

Boabdil  was  alarmed  by  the  gathering  dangers 
from  without,  and  by  the  clamors  of  his  starving 
people.  He  summoned  a  council,  composed  of  the 
principal  officers  of  the  army,  the  alcaydes  of  the 
fortresses,  the  xequis  or  sages  of  the  city,  and  the 
alfaquis  or  doctors  of  the  faith.  They  assembled  in 
the  great  hall  of  audience  of  the  Alhambra,  and  de- 
spair was  painted  in  their  countenances.  Boabdil 
demanded  of  them,  what  was  to  I5e  done  in  their 
present  extremity  ;  and  their  answer  was,  "  Surren- 
der." The  venerable  Abul  Cazim  Abdel  Melic, 
governor  of  the  city,  represented  its  unhappy  state : 
"  Our  granaries  are  nearly  exhausted,  and  no  fur- 
ther supplies  are  to  be  expected.  The  provender  for 
the  war-horses  is  required  as  sustenance  for  the  sol- 
diery ;  the  very  horses  themselves  are  killed  for  food  ; 
of  seven  thousand  steeds  which  once  could  be  sent 
into  the  field,  three  hundred  only  remain.  Our  city 
contains  two  hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  old  and 
Voung,  with  each  a  mouth  that  calls  piteously  for 
bread." 

The  xequis  and  principal  citizens  declared  that  the 
people  could  no  longer  sustain  the  labors  and  suffer- 
ings of  a  defence  :  "  And  of  what  avail  is  our  de- 
fence,"~said  they,  "  when  the  enemy  is  determined  to 
persist  in  the  siege?— what  alternative  remains,  but 
to  surrender  or  to  die  .'  " 

The  heart  of  Boabdil  was  touched  by  this  appeal, 
and  he  maintained  a  gloomy  silence.  He  had  cher- 
ished some  faint  hope  of  relief  from  the  soldan  of 
Egypt  or  the  Barbary  powers :  but  it  was  now  at  an 
end  ;  even  if  such  assistance  were  to  be  sent,  he  had 
no  longer  a  sea-port  where  it  might  debark.  The 
counsellors  saw  that  the  resolution  of  the  king  was 
shaken,  and  they  united  their  voices  in  urging  him 
to  capitulate. 

The  valiant  Muza  alone  arose  in  opposition  :  "  It 
is  yet  too  early,"  said  he,  "  to  talk  of  a  surrender. 
3ur  means  are  not  exhausted ;  we  have  yet  one 
ource  of  strength  remaining,  terrible  in  its  effects, 
ind  which  often  has  achieved  the  most  signal  victo- 
ies — it  is  our  despair.  Let  us  rouse  the  mass  of  the 
jeople — let  us  put  weapons  in  their  hands — let  us 
ight  the  enemy  to  the  very  utmost,  until  we  rush 


upon  the  points  of  their  lances.  I  am  ready  to  lead 
the  way  into  the  thickest  of  their  squadrons ;  and 
much  rather  would  I  be  numbered  amonj^  those  who 
fell  in  the  defence  of  Granada,  than  of  those  who 
survived  to  capitulate  for  her  surrender  !  " 

The  words  of  Muza  were  without  effect,  for  they 
were  addressed  to  broken-spirited  and  heartless  men, 
or  men,  perhaps,  to  whom  sad  experience  had  taught 
discretion.  They  were  arrived  at  that  state  of  put)- 
lic  depression,  when  heroes  and  heroism  are  no 
longer  regarded,  and  when  old  men  and  their  coun- 
sels rise  into  importance.  Boabdil  el  Chico  yielded 
to  the  general  voice  ;  it  was  determined  to  capitulate 
with  the  christian  .sovereigns ;  and  the  venerable 
Abul  Cazim  Abdel  Melic  was  sent  forth  to  the  camp, 
empowered  to  treat  for  terms. 


CHAPTER   LIL 

CAPITULATION   OF  GRANADA. 

The  old  governor,  Abul  Cazim  Abdel  Melic,  was 
received  with  great  distinction  by  Ferdinand  and  Isa- 
bella, who  appointed  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova  and  Fer- 
nando de  Zafra,  secretary  to  the  king,  to  confer  w.th 
him.  All  Granada  awaited,  in  trembling  anxiety, 
the  result  of  his  negotiations.  After  repeated  con- 
ferences, he  at  length  returned  with  the  ultimate 
terms  of  the  Catholic  sovereigns.  They  agreed  to 
suspend  all  attack  for  seventy  days,  at  the  end  of 
which  time,  if  no  succor  should  arrive  to  the  Moorish 
king,  the  city  of  Granada  was  to  be  surrendered. 

All  christian  captives  should  be  liberated,  without 
ransom. 

Boabdil  and  his  principal  cavaliers  should  take  an 
oath  of  fealty  to  the  Castilian  crown,  and  certain 
valuable  territories  in  the  Alpuxarra  mountains 
should  be  a.ssigned  to  the  Moorish  monarch  for  his 
maintenance. 

The  Moors  of  Granada  should  become  subjects  of 
the  Spanish  sovereigns,  retaining  their  possessions, 
their  arms  and  horses,  and  yielding  up  nothing  but 
their  artillery.  They  should  be  protected  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  their  religion,  and  governed  by  their  own 
laws,  administered  by  cadis  of  their  own  faith,  under 
governors  appointed  by  the  sovereigns.  They  should 
be  exempted  from  tribute  for  three  years,  after  which 
term  they  should  pay  the  same  that  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  render  to  their  native  monarchs. 

Those  who  chose  to  depart  for  Africa  within 
three  years,  should  be  provided  with  a  passage  for 
themselves  and  their  effects,  free  of  charge,  from 
whatever  port  they  should  prefer. 

For  the  fulfilment  of  these  articles,  four  hundred 
hostages  from  the  principal  families  were  required, 
previous  to  the  surrender,  to  be  subsequently  re- 
stored. The  son  of  the  king  of  Granada,  and  all 
other  hostages  in  possession  of  the  Castilian  sover- 
eigns, were  to  be  restored  at  the  same  time. 

Such  were  the  conditions  that  the  wazir  Abul 
Cazim  laid  before  the  council  of  Granada,  as  the  best 
that  could  be  obtained  from  the  besieging  foe. 

When  the  members  of  the  council  found  that  the 
awful  moment  had  arrived  when  they  were  to  sign 
and  seal  the  perdition  of  their  empire,  and  blot  them- 
selves out  as  a  nation,  all  firmness  deserted  them, 
and  many  gave  way  to  tears.  Muza  alone  retained 
an  unaltered  mien  :  "  Leave,  seniors,"  cried  he,  "  this 
idle  lamentation  to  helpless  women  and  children  :  we 
are  men — we  have  hearts,  not  to  shed  tender  tears, 
but  drops  of  blood.  I  see  the  spirit  of  the  people  so 
cast  down,  that  it  is  impossible  to  save  the  kingdom. 
Yet  there  still  remains  an  alternative  for  noble  mirxls 


286 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


— a  glorious  death  !  Let  us  die  defending  our  lib- 
erty, and  avenging  the  woes  of  Granada.  Our  mother 
earth  will  receive  her  children  into  her  bosom,  safe 
from  the  chains  and  oppressions  of  the  conqueror ; 
or,  should  any  fail  a  sepulchre  to  hide  his  remains, 
he  will  not  want  a  sky  to  cover  him.  Allah  forbid,  it 
should  be  said  the  nobles  of  Granada  feared  to  die 
in  her  defence  !  " 

Muza  ceased  to  speak,  and  a  dead  silence  reigned 
in  the  assembly.  Boabdil  el  Chico  looked  anxiously 
round,  and  scanned  every  face ;  but  he  read  in  them 
all  the  anxiety  of  care-worn  men,  in  whose  hearts 
enthusiasm  was  dead,  and  who  had  grown  callous  to 
every  chivalrous  appeal.  "  Allah  Acbar  !  God  is 
great !  "  exclaimed  he  ;  "  there  is  no  God  but  God, 
and  iMahomet  is  his  prophet !  It  is  in  vain  to  strug- 
gle against  the  will  of  Heaven.  Too  surely  was  it 
written  in  the  book  of  fate,  that  I  should  be  unfor- 
tunate, and  the  kingdom  expire  under  my  rule." 

"  Allah  Acbar  I  God  is  great  ! "  echoed  the  viziers 
and  alfaquis  ;  "  the  will  of  God  be  done  !  "  So  they 
all  accorded  with  the  king,  that  these  evils  were  pre- 
ordained ;  that  it  was  hopeless  to  contend  with  them  ; 
and  that  the  terms  offered  by  the  Castilian  monarchs 
were  as  favorable  as  could  be  expected. 

When  Muza  saw  that  they  were  about  to  sign  the 
treaty  of  surrender,  he  rose  in  violent  indignation  : 
"  Do  not  deceive  yourselves,"  cried  he,  "  nor  think 
the  christians  will  be  faithful  to  their  promises,  or 
their  king  as  magnanimous  in  conquest  as  he  has  been 
victorious  in  war.  Death  is  the  least  we  have  to  fear. 
It  is  the  plundering  and  sacking  of  our  city,  the  pro- 
fanation of  our  mosques,  the  ruin  of  our  homes,  the 
violation  of  our  wives  and  daughters — cruel  oppres- 
sion, bigoted  intolerance,  whips  and  chains,  the  dun- 
geon, the  fagot,  and  the  stake — such  are  the  miseries 
and  indignities  we  shall  see  and  suffer ;  at  least,  those 
groveling  souls  will  see  them,  who  now  shrink  from 
an  honorable  death.  For  my  part,  by  Allah,  I  will 
never  witness  them  !  " 

With  these  words  he  left  the  council-chamber,  and 
strode  gloomily  through  the  Court  of  Lions  and  the 
outer  halls  of  the  Alhambra,  without  deigning  to 
speak  to  the  obsequious  courtiers  who  attended  in 
them.  He  repaired  to  his  dwelling,  armed  himself 
at  all  points,  mounted  his  favorite  war-horse,  and, 
issuing  forth  from  the  city  by  the  gate  of  Elvira,  was 
never  seen  or  heard  of  more.* 

Such  is  the  account  given  by  Arabian  historians,  of 
the  exit  of  Muza  ben  Abel  Gazan  ;  but  the  venerable 
Fray  Antonio  Agapida  endeavors  to  clear  up  the 
mystery  of  his  fate.  That  very  evening,  a  small 
party  of  Andalusian  cavaliers,  somewhat  more  than 
half  a  score  of  lances,  were  riding  along  the  banks  of 
the  Xenel,  where  it  winds  through  the  vega.  They 
beheld  in  the  twilight  a  Moorish  warrior  approach- 
ing, closely  locked  up  from  head  to  foot  in  proof. 
His  visor  was  closed,  his  lance  in  rest,  his  powerful 
charger  barbed  like  himself  in  steel.  The  christians 
were  lightly  armed,  with  corselet,  helm,  and  target ; 
for,  during  the  truce,  they  apprehended  no  attack. 
Seeing,  however,  the  unknown  warrior  approach  in 
this  hostile  guise,  they  challenged  him  to  stand  and 
declare  himself. 

The  Moslem  answered  not,  but,  charging  into  the 
midst  of  them,  transfixed  one  knight  with  his  lance, 
and  bore  him  out  of  his  .saddle  to  the  earth.  Wheel- 
ing round,  he  attacked  the  rest  with  his  scimitar. 
His  blows  were  furious  and  deadly ;  he  seemed  re- 
gardless what  wounds  he  received,  so  he  could  but 
slay.  He  was  evidently  fighting,  not  for  glory,  but 
revenge — eager  to  inflict  death,  but  careless  of  surviv- 
ing to  enjoy  victorv.     Near  one-half  of  the  cavaliers 


fell  beneath  his  sword,  before  he  received  a  danger- 
ous wound,  so  completely  was  he  cased  in  armor  of 
proof.  At  length  he  was  desperately  wounded,  and 
his  steed,  being  pierced  by  a  lance,  sank  to  the 
ground.  The  christians,  admiring  the  valor  of  the 
Moor,  would  have  spared  his  life  ;  but  he  continued 
to  fight  upon  his  knees,  brandishing  a  keen  dagger 
of  Fez.  Finding  at  length  he  could  no  longer 
battle,  and  determined  not  to  be  taken  prisoner,  he 
threw  himself,  with  an  expiring  exertion,  into  the 
Xenel,  and  his  armor  sank  him  to  the  bottom  of  the 
stream. 

This  unknown  warrior  the  venerable  Agapida 
pronounces  to  have  been  Muza  ben  Abel  Gazan,  and 
says  his  horse  was  recognised  by  certain  converted 
Moors  of  the  christian  camp  :  the  fact,  however,  has 
always  remained  in  doubt. 


*  Conde,  part  4. 


CHAPTER  LIH. 

COMMOTIONS  IN   GRANADA. 

The  capitulation  for  the  surrender  of  Granada  was 
signed  on  the  25th  of  November,  1481,  and  produced 
a  sudden  cessation  of  those  hostilities  which  had 
raged  for  so  many  years.  Christian  and  Moor 
might  now  be  seen  mingling  courteously  on  the 
banks  of  the  Xenel  and  the  Darro,  where  to  have 
met  a  few  days  previous  would  have  produced  a 
scene  of  sanguinary  contest.  Still,  as  the  Moors 
might  be  suddenly  aroused  to  defence,  if,  within  the 
allotted  term  of  seventy  days,  succors  should  arrive 
from  abroad  ;  and  as  they  were  at  all  times  a  rash, 
inflammable  people,  the  wary  Ferdinand  maintained 
a  vigilant  watch  upon  the  city,  and  permitted  no 
supplies  of  any  kind  to  enter.  His  garrisons  in  the 
sea-ports,  and  his  cruisers  in  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar, 
were  ordered  likewise  to  guard  against  any  relief 
from  the  grand  soldan  of  Egypt,  or  the  princes  of 
Barbary.  There  was  no  need  of  such  precautions. 
Those  powers  were  either  too  much  engrossed  by 
their  own  wars,  or  too  much  daunted  by  the  success 
of.  the  Spanish  arms,  to  interfere  in  a  desperate 
cause  ;  and  the  unfortunate  Moors  of  Granada  were 
abandoned  to  their  fate. 

The  month  of  December  had  nearly  passed  away : 
the  famine  became  extreme,  and  there  was  no  hope 
of  any  favorable  event  within  the  term  specified  in 
the  capitulation.  Boabdil  saw,  that  to  hold  out  to  the 
end  of  the  allotted  time  would  but  be  to  protract 
the  miseries  of  his  people.  With  the  consent  of  his 
council,  he  determined  to  surrender  the  city  on  the 
sixth  of  January.  On  the  30th  of  December,  he 
sent  his  grand  vizier  Yusef  Aben  Comixa,  with  tlie 
four  hundred  hostages,  to  king  Ferdinand,  to  make 
known  his  intention  ;  bearing  him,  at  the  same  time, 
a  present  of  a  magnificent  scimitar,  and  two  Arabian 
steeds  superbly  caparisoned. 

The  unfortunate  Boabdil  was  doomed  to  meet  with 
trouble,  to  the  end  of  his  career.  The  very  next  day, 
the  santon  or  dervise  Hamet  Aben  Zarrax,  the  same 
who  had  uttered  prophecies  and  excited  commotions 
on  former  occasions,  suddenly  made  his  appearance. 
Whence  he  came,  no  one  knew  ;  it  was  rumored  that 
he  had  been  in  the  mountains  of  the  Alpuxarras,  and 
on  the  coast  of  Barbary,  endeavoring  to  rouse  the 
Moslems  to  the  relief  of  Granada.  He  was  reduced 
to  a  skeleton  ;  his  eyes  glowed  like  coals  in  their 
sockets,  and  his  speech  was  little  better  than  frantic 
raving.  He  harangued  the  populace,  in  the  streets 
and  squares ;  inveighed  against  the  capitulation,  de- 
nounced the  king  and  nobles  as  Moslems  only  in 
name,  and   called   upon  the  people  to  sally  Iforth 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


287 


against  the  unbelievers,  for  that  Allah  had  decreed 
tJiem  a  signal  victory. 

Upwards  of  twenty  thousand  of  the  populace 
seized  their  arms,  and  paraded  the  streets  with 
shouts  and  outcries.  The  shops  and  houses  were 
shut  up ;  the  king  himself  did  not  dare  to  venture 
forth,  but  remained  a  kind  of  prisoner  in  the  Al- 
hambra. 

The  turbulent  multitude  continued  roaming  and 
shouting  and  howling  about  the  city,  during  the  day 
and  a  part  of  the  night.  Hunger,  and  a  wintry  tem- 
pest, tamed  their  frenzy  ;  and  when  morning  came, 
the  enthusiast  who  had  led  them  on  had  disappeared. 
Whether  he  had  been  disposed  of  by  the  emissaries 
of  the  king,  or  by  the  leading  men  of  the  city,  is  not 
known  :  his  disappearance  remains  a  mystery.* 

The  Moorish  king  now  issued  from  the  Alhambra, 
attended  by  his  principal  nobles,  and  harangued  the 
populace.  He  set  forth  the  necessity  of  complying 
with  the  capitulation.,  from  the  famine  that  reigned 
in  the  city,  the  futility  of  defence,  and  from  the  hos- 
tages having  already  been  delivered  into  the  hands 
of  the  besiegers. 

In  the  dejection  of  his  spirits,  the  unfortunate  Bo- 
abdil  attributed  to  himself  the  miseries  of  the  coun- 
try. "  It  was  my  crime  in  ascending  the  throne  in 
rebellion  against  my  father,"  said  he,  mournfully, 
"  which  has  brought  these  woes  upon  the  kingdom  ; 
but  Allah  has  grievously  visited  my  sins  upon  my 
head.  For  your  sake,  my  people,  I  have  now  made 
this  treaty,  to  protect  you  from  the  sword,  your  lit- 
tle ones  from  famine,  your  wives  and  daughters  from 
the  outrages  of  war ;  and  to  secure  you  in  the  en- 
joyment of  your  properties,  your  liberties,  your  laws, 
and  your  religion,  under  a  sovereign  of  happier  des- 
tinies than  the  ill-starred  Boabdil." 

The  versatile  population  were  touched  by  the  hu- 
mility of  their  sovereign — they  agreed  to  adhere  to 
the  capitulation,  and  there  was  even  a  faint  shout  of 
"  Long  live  Boabdil  the  unfortunate  !  "  and  they  all 
returned  to  their  homes  in  perfect  tranquillity. 

Boabdil  immediately  sent  missives  to  king  Ferdi- 
nand, apprizing  him  of  these  events,  and  of  his  fears 
lest  further  delay  should  produce  new  tumults.  He 
proposed,  therefore,  to  surrender  the  city  on  the  fol- 
lowing day.  The  Castilian  sovereigns  assented,  with 
great  satisfaction ;  and  preparations  were  made  in 
city  and  camp  for  this  great  event,  that  was  to  seal 
the  fate  of  Granada. 

It  was  a  night  of  doleful  lamentings,  within  the 
walls  of  the  Alhambra ;  for  the  household  of  Boabdil 
were  preparing  to  take  a  last  farewell  of  that  delight- 
ful abode.  All  the  royal  treasures,  and  the  most 
precious  effects  of  the  Alhambra,  were  hastily  packed 
upon  mules  ;  the  beautiful  apartments  were  despoiled, 
with  tears  and  wailings,  by  their  own  inhabitants. 
Before  the  dawn  of  day,  a  mournful  cavalcade  moved 
obscurely  out-of  a  postern-gate  of  the  Alhambra,  and 
departed  through  one  of  the  most  retired  quarters  of 
the  city.  It  was  composed  of  the  family  of  the  un- 
fortunate Boabdil,  which  he  sent  off  thus  privately, 
that  they  might  not  be  exposed  to  the  eyes  of  scoffers, 
or  the  exultation  of  the  enemy.  The  mother  of  Bo- 
abdil, the  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra,  rode  on  in  silence, 
withdejected  yet  dignified  demeanor ;  but  his  wife 
Zorayma,  and  all  the  females  of  his  household,  gave 
way  to  loud  lamentations,  as  they  looked  back  upon 
their  favorite  abode,  now  a  mass  of  gloomy  towers 
behind  thetn.  They  were  attended  by  the  ancient 
domestics  of  the  household,  and  by  a  small  guard  of 
veteran  Moors,  loyally  attached  to  the  fallen  monarch, 
and  who  would  have  sold  their  lives  dearly  in  defence 
of  his  family.     The  city  was  yet  buried  in  sleep,  as 

*  Mariana.  I 


they  passed  through  its  silent  streets.  The  guards 
at  the  gate  shed  tears,  as  they  opened  it  for  their  de- 
parture. They  paused  not,  but  proceeded  along  the 
banks  of  the  Xenel  on  the  road  that  leads  to  the  Al- 
puxarras,  until'they  arrived  at  a  hamlet  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  city,  where  they  halted,  and  waited 
until  they  should  be  joined  by  king  Boabdil. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 
SURRENDER  OF  GRANADA. 

The  sun  had  scarcely  begun  to  shed  his  beams 
upon  the  summits  of  the  snowy  mountains  which 
rise  above  Granada,  when  the  christian  camp  was 
in  motion.  A  detachment  of  horse  and  foot,  led  by 
distinguished  cavaliers,  and  accompanied  by  Her- 
nando de  Talavera,  bishop  of  Avila,  proceeded  to 
take  possession  of  the  Alhambra  and  the  towers.  It 
had  been  stipulated  in  the  capitulation,  that  the  de- 
tachment sent  for  this  purpose  should  not  enter  by 
the  streets  of  the  city ;  a  road  had  therefore  been 
opened,  outside  of  the  walls,  leading  by  the  Puerta 
de  los  Molinos',  or  the  Gate  of  the  Mills,  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  Hill  of  Martyrs,  and  across  the  hill  to  a 
postern-gate  of  the  Alhambra. 

When  the  detachment  arrived  at  the  summit  of 
the  hill,  the  Moorish  king  came  forth  from  the  gate, 
attended  by  a  handful  of  cavaliers,  leaving  his  vizier 
Yusef  Aben  Comixa  to  deliver  up  the  palace.  "  Go, 
senior,"  said  he  to  the  commander  of  the  detach- 
ment, "  go  and  take  possession  of  those  fortresses, 
which  Allah  has  bestowed  upon  your  powerful  so\- 
ereigns,  in  punishment  of  the  sins  of  the  Moors." 
He  said  no  more,  but  passed  mournfully  on,  along 
the  same  road  by  which  the  Spanish  cavaliers  had 
come  ;  descending  to  the  vega,  to  meet  the  Catholic 
sovereigns.  The  troops  entered  the  Alhambra,  the 
gates  of  which  were  wide  open,  and  all  its  splendid 
courts  and  halls  silent  and  deserted. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  christian  court  and  army 
poured  out  of  the  city  of  Santa  Fe,  and  advanced 
across  the  vega.  The  king  and  queen,  with  the 
prince  and  princess,  and  the  dignitaries  and  ladies  of 
the  court,  took  the  lead,  accompanied  by  the  differ- 
ent orders  of  monks  and  friars,  and  surrounded  by 
the  royal  guards  splendidly  arrayed.  The  proces- 
sion moved  slowly  forward,  and  paused  at  the  village 
of  Armilla,  at  the  distance  of  half  a  league  from  the 
city. 

The  sovereigns  waited  here  with  impatience,  their 
eyes  fixed  on  the  lofty  tower  of  the  Alhambra,  watch- 
ing for  the  appointed  signal  of  possession.  The 
time  that  had  elapsed  since  the  departure  of  the  de- 
tachment seemed  to  them  more  than  necessary  for 
the  purpose,  and  the  anxious  mind  of  Ferdinand  be- 
gan to  entertain  doubts  of  some  commotion  in  the 
city.  At  length  they  saw  the  silver  cross,  the  great 
standard  of  this  crusade,  elevated  on  the  Torre  de 
la  Vala,  or  Great  Watch-Tower,  and  s])arkling  in 
the  sunbeams.  This  was  done  by  Hernando  de 
Talavera,  bishop  of  Avila.  Beside  it  was  planted 
the  pennon  of  the  glorious  apostle  St.  James,  and  a 
great  shout  of"  Santiago  !  Santiago  !  "  rose  through- 
out the  army.  Lastly  was  reared  the  royal  standard 
by  the  king  of  arms,  with  the  shout  of  '•  Castile  ! 
Castile  !  For  king  Ferdinand  and  queen  Isabella  !  " 
The  words  were  echoed  by  the  whole  army,  with 
acclamations  that  resounded  across  the  vega.  At 
sight  of  these  signals  of  possession,  the  sovereigns 
sank  upon  their  knees,  giving  thanks  to  God  for  this 
great  triumph ;  the  whole  assembled  host  followed 
their  example,  and  the  choristers  of  the  royal  chapel 


288 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


broke  forth  into  the  solemn  anthem  of  "Te  Deuin 
laudamiis!' 

The  procession  now  resumed  its  march  with  joy- 
ful alacrity,  to  the  sound  of  triumphant  music,  until 
they  came  to  a  small  mosque,  near  the  banks  of  the 
Xenel,  and  not  far  from  the  foot  of  the  Hill  of  Mar- 
tyrs, which  edifice  remains  to  the  present  day,  con- 
secrated as  the  hermitage  of  St.  Sebastian.  Here 
the  sovereigns  were  met  by  the  unfortunate  Boabdil, 
accompanied  by  about  fifty  cavaliers  and  domestics. 
As  he  drew  near,  he  would  have  dismounted  in  token 
of  homage,  but  Ferdinand  prevented  him.  He  then 
proffered  to  kiss  the  king's  hand,  but  this  sign  of 
vassalage  was  likewise  declined  ;  whereupon,  not  to 
be  outdone  in  magnanimity,  he  leaned  forward  and 
ki.ssed  the  right  arm  of  Ferdinand.  Queen  Isabella 
also  refused  to  receive  this  ceremonial  of  homage, 
and,  to  console  him  under  his  adversity,  delivered  to 
him  his  son,  who  had  remained  as  hostage  ever  since 
Boabdil's  liberation  from  captivity.  The  Moorish 
monarch  pressed  his  child  to  his  bosom  with  tender 
emotion,  and  they  seemed  mutually  endeared  to 
each  other  by  their  misfortunes.* 

He  then  delivered  the  keys  of  the  city  to  king  Fer- 
dinand, with  an  air  of  mingled  melancholy  and  res- 
ignation :  "  These  keys,"  said  he,  "  arc  the  last  relics 
of  the  Arabian  empire  in  Spain  :  thine,  oh  king,  are 
our  trophies,  our  kingdom,  and  our  person.  Such 
is  the  will  of  God  !  Receive  them  with  the  clem- 
ency thou  hast  promised,  and  which  we  look  for  at 
thy  hands."t 

King  Ferdinand  restrained  his  exultation  into  an 
air  of  serene  magnanimity.  "  Doubt  not  our  prom- 
ises," replied  he,  "  nor  that  thou  shalt  regain  from 
our  friendship  the  prosperity  of  which  the  fortune  of 
war  has  deprived  thee." 

On  receiving  the  keys,  king  Ferdinand  handed 
them  to  the  queen  ;  she  in  her  turn  presented  them 
to  her  son  prince  Juan,  who  delivered  them  to  the 
count  de  Tendilla,  that  brave  and  loyal  cavalier 
being  appointed  alcayde  of  the  city,  and  captain- 
general  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada. 

Having  surrendered  the  last  symbol  of  power,  the 
unfortunate  Boabdil  continued  on  towards  the  Al- 
puxarras,  that  he  might  not  behold  the  entrance  of 
the  christians  into  his  capital.  His  devoted  band  of 
cavaliers  followed  him  in  gloomy  silence ;  but  heavy 
sighs  burst  from  their  bosoms,  as  shouts  of  joy  and 
strains  of  triumphant  music  were  borne  on  the 
breeze  from  the  victorious  army. 

Having  rejoined  his  family,  Boabdil  set  forward 
with  a  heavy  heart  for  his  allotted  residence  in  the 
valley  of  Purchena.  At  two  leagues'  distance,  the 
cavalcade,  winding  into  the  skirts  of  the  Alpuxarras, 
ascended  an  eminence  commanding  the  last  view  of 
Granada.  As  they  arrived  at  this  spot,  the  Moors 
paused  involuntarily,  to  take  a  farewell  gaze  at  their 
beloved  city,  which  a  few  steps  more  would  shut 
from  their  sight  for  ever.  Never  had  it  appeared  so 
lovely  in  their  eyes.  The  sunshine,  so  bright  in  that 
transparent  climate,  lit  up  each  tower  and  minaret, 
and  rested  gloriously  upon  the  crowning  battlements 
of  the  Alhambra ;  while  the  vega  spread  its  enam- 
elled bosom  of  verdure  below,  glistening  with  the 
silver  windings  of  the  Xenel.  The  Moorish  cavaliers 
gazed  with  a  silent  agony  of  tenderness  and  grief 
upon  that  delicious  abode,  the  scene  of  their  loves 
and  pleasures.  While  they  yet  looked,  a  light  cloud 
of  smoke  burst  forth  from  the  citadel,  and  presently 
a  peal  of  artillery,  faintly  heard,  told  that  the  city 
was  taken  possession  of,  and  the  throne  of  the  Mos- 
lem kings  was  lost  for  ever.     The  heart  of  Boabdil, 


•  Zurita,  Anales  de  Aragon. 

t  Abarca,  Anales  t'e  Aragon,  Rcy  30.  c.  3. 


softened  by  misfortunes  and  overcharged  with  grief, 
could  no  longer  contain  itself:  "Allah  Acbar  !  God 
is  great !  "  said  he ;  but  the  words  of  resignation 
died  upon  his  lips,  and  he  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

His  mother,  the  intrepid  sultana  Ayxa  la  Horra, 
was  indignant  at  his  weakness  :  "  You  do  well,"  said 
she,  "  to  weep  like  a  woman,  for  what  you  failed  to 
defend  like  a  man !  " 

The  vizier  Aben  Comi.xa  endeavored  to  console 
his  royal  master.  "  Consider,  sire,"  said  he,  "  that 
the  most  signal  misfortunes  often  render  men  as  re- 
nowned as  the  most  prosperous  achievements,  pro- 
vided they  sustain  them  with  magnanimity." 

The  unhappy  monarch,  however,  was  not  to  be 
consoled  ;  his  tears  continued  to  flow.  "  Allah  Ac- 
bar  !  "  exclaimed  he;  "when  did  misfortunes  ever 
equal  mine  ?  " 

From  this  circumstance,  the  hill,  which  is  not  far 
from  the  Padul,  took  the  name  of  Feg  Allah  Acbar  • 
but  the  point  of  view  commanding  the  last  prospect 
of  Granada,  is  known  among  Spaniards  by  the  name 
of  El  ultimo  sttspiro  del  Mora  ;  or,  "  The  last  sigh 
of  the  Moor." 


CHAPTER  LV. 


HOW  THE  CASTILIAN  SOVEREIGNS  TOOK   POS- 
SESSION  OF  GRANADA. 

When  the  Castilian  sovereigns  had  received  the 
keys  of  Granada  from  the  hands  of  Boabdil  el  Chico, 
the  royal  army  resumed  its  triumphant  march.  As 
it  approached  the  gates  of  the  city,  in  all  the  pomp 
of  courtly  and  chivalrous  array,  a  procession  of  a  dif- 
ferent kind  came  forth  to  meet  it.  This  was  com- 
posed of  more  than  five  hundred  christian  captives, 
many  of  whom  had  languished  for  years  in  Moorish 
dungeons.  Pale  and  emaciated,  they  came  clanking 
their  chains  in  triumph,  and  shedding  tears  of  joy. 
They  were  received  with  tenderness  by  the  sover- 
eigns. The  king  hailed  them  as  good  Spaniards,  rs 
men  loyal  and  brave,  as  martyrs  to  the  holy  cause  ; 
the  queen  distributed  liberal  relief  among  them  with 
her  own  hands,  and  they  passed  on  before  the  squad- 
rons of  the  army,  singing  hymns  of  jubilee.* 

The  sovereigns  did  not  enter  the  city  on  this  day 
of  its  surrender,  but  waited  until  it  should  be  fully 
occupied  by  their  troops,  and  public  tranquillity  in- 
sured. The  marques  de  Villena  and  the  count  de 
Tendilla,  with  three  thousand  cavalry  and  as  many 
infantry,  marched  in  and  took  possession,  accompa- 
nied by  the  proselvte  prince  Cidi  Yahye,  now  known 
by  the  christian  appellation  of  Don  Pedro  de  Gra- 
nada, who  was  appointed  chief  alguazil  of  the  city, 
and  had  charge  of  the  Moorish  inhabitants,  and  by 
his  son  the  late  prince  .A.lnayar,  now  Don  Alonzo  de 
Granada,  who  was  appointed  admiral  of  the  fleets. 
In  a  little  while,  every  battlement  glistened  with 
christian  helms  and  lances,  the  standard  ot  the  faith 
and  of  the  realm  floated  from  every  tower,  and  the 
thundering  salvoes  of  the  ordnance  told  that  the 
subjugation  of  the  city  was  complete. 

The  grandees  and  cavaliers  now  knelt  and  kissed 
the  hands  of  the  king  and  queen  and  the  prince  Juan, 
and  congratulated  them  on  the  acquisition  of  so  great 
a  kingdom ;  after  which,  the  royal  procession  returned 
in  state  to  Santa  Fe. 

It  was  on  the  sixth  of  January,  the  day  of  kings 
and  festival  of  the  Epiphany,  that  the  sovereigns 
made  their  triumphal  entry.  The  king  and  queen 
(says  the  worthy  Fray  Antonio  Agapida)  looked,  on 


•  Abarca,  lib.  sup.  Zurita,  &c. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE    CONQUEST  OF   GRANADA. 


289 


this  occasion,  as  more  than  mortal :  the  venerable 
ecclesiastics,  to  whose  advice  and  zeal  this  glorious 
conquest  ought  in  a  great  measure  to  be  attributed, 
moved  along  with  hearts  swelling  with  holy  exulta- 
tion, but  with  chastened  and  downcast  looks  of  edi- 
fying humility ;  while  the  hardy  warriors,  in  tossing 
plumes  and  shining  steel,  seemed  elevated  with  a 
stern  joy,  at  finding  themselves  in  possession  of  this 
object  of  so  many  toils  and  perils.  As  the  streets 
resounded  with  the  tramp  of  steed  and  swelling  peals 
of  music,  the  Moors  buried  themselves  in  the  deepest 
recesses  of  their  dwellings.  There  they  bewailed  in 
secret  the  fallen  glory  of  their  race,  but  suppressed 
their  groans,  lest  they  should  be  heard  by  their  ene- 
mies and  increase  their  triumph. 

The  royal  procession  advanced  to  the  principal 
mosque,  which  had  been  consecrated  as  a  cathedral. 
Here  the  sovereigns  offered  up  prayers  and  thanks- 
givings, and  the  choir  of  the  royal  chapel  chanted  a 
triumphant  anthem,  in  which  they  were  joined  by  all 
the  courtiers  and  cavaliers.  Nothing  (says  Fray 
Antonio  Agapida)  could  exceed  the  thankfulness  to 
God  of  the  pious  king  Ferdinand,  for  having  enabled 
him  to  eradicate  from  Spain  the  empire  and  name  of 
that  accursed  heathen  race,  and  for  the  elevation  of 
the  cross  in  that  city  wherein  the  impious  doctrines 
of  Mahomet  had  so  long  been  cherished.  In  the 
fervor  of  his  spirit,  he  supplicated  from  Heaven  a 
continuance  of  its  grace,  and  that  this  glorious  tri- 
umph might  be  perpetuated.*  The  prayer  of  the 
pious  monarch  was  responded  by  the  people,  and 
even  his  enemies  were  for  once  convinced  of  his  sin- 
cerity. 

When  the  religious  ceremonies  were  concluded, 
the  court  ascended  to  the  stately  palace  of  the  Al- 
hambra,  and  entered  by  the  great  gate  of  Justice. 
The  halls  lately  occupied  by  turbaned  infidels  now 
rustled  with  stately  dames  and  christian  courtiers, 
who  wandered  with  eager  curiosity  over  this  far- 
famed  palace,  admiring  its  verdant  courts  and  gush- 
ing fountains,  its  halls  decorated  with  elegant  ara- 
besques and  storied  with  inscriptions,  and  the  splen- 
dor of  its  gilded  and  brilliantly  painted  ceilings. 

It  had  been  a  last  request  of  the  unfortunate  Bc- 
abdil,  and  one  which  showed  how  deeply  he  felt  the 
transition  of  his  fate,  that  no  person  might  be  per- 
mitted to  enter  or  depart  by  the  gate  of  the  Alham- 
bra,  through  which  he  had  sallied  forth  to  surrender 
his  capital.  His  request  was  granted  ;  the  portal 
was  closed  up,  and  remains  so  to  the  present  day — 
a  mute  memorial  of  that  event.t 

The  Spanish  sovereigns  fixed  their  throne  in  the 
presence-chamber  of  the  palace,  so  long  the  seat  of 
Moorish  royalty.  Hither  the  principal  inhabitants 
of  Granada  repaired,  to  pay  them  homage  and  kiss 
their  hands  in  token  of  vassalage;  and  their  ex- 
ample was  followed  by  deputies  from  all  the  towns 


K 


•  The  words  of  Fray  Antonio  Agapida  are  little  more  than  an 
echo  of  those  of  the  worthy  Jesuit  fether  Mariana.    (L.  25.  c.  iS.) 

t  Garibay,  Compend.  Hist.  lib.  40.  c.  42.     The  existence  of  this 

f.ateway,  and  the  story  connected  with  it,  are  perhaps  known  to 
ew ;  but  were  identified,  in  the  researches  made  to  verify  this  his- 
tory. The  gateway  is  at  the  bottom  of  the  great  tower,  at  some 
distance  from  the  main  body  of  the  Alhambra.  The  tower  has 
been  rent  and  ruined  by  gunpowder,  at  the  time  when  the  fortress 
was  evacuated  by  the  French.  Great  masses  lie  around,  half  cov- 
ered by  vines  and  fig-trees.  A  poor  man.  by  the  name  of  Matteo 
Ximenes,  who  lives  in  one  of  the  halls  among  the  ruins  of  the  Al- 
hambra, where  his  family  has  resided  for  many  generations,  pointed 
out  the  gateway,  still  closed  up  with  stones.  He  remembered  to 
have  heard  his  father  and  grandfather  say.  that  it  had  always  been 
stopped  up,  and  that  out  of  it  king  Hoabdil  had  gone  when  he  sur- 
rendered Granada.  The  route  of  the  unfortunate  king  may  be 
traced  from  thence  across  the  garden  of  the  convent  of  Los  Martyros, 
and  down  a  ravine  beyond,  through  a  street  of  gipsy  caves  and 
hovels,  by  the  gate  of  Los  MoHnos,  and  so  on  to  the  Hermitage  of 
St.  Sebastian.  None  but  an  antiquarian,  however,  will  be  able  to 
trace  it,  unless  aided  by  the  humble  historian  of  the  place,  Matteo 
Ximenes. 

19 


and   fortresses   of  the  Alpuxarras,  which  had  not 
hitherto  submitted. 

Thus  terminated  the  war  of  Granada,  after  ten 
years  of  incessant  fighting ;  equalling  (says  Fray  An- 
tonio Agapida)  the  far-famed  siege  of  Troy  in  dura- 
tion, and  ending,  like  that,  in  the  capture  of  the  city. 
Thus  ended  also  the  dominion  of  the  Moors  in  Spain, 
having  endured  seven  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
years,  from  the  memorable  defeat  of  Roderick,  the 
last  of  the  Goths,  on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete. 
The  authentic  Agapida  is  uncommonly  particular  in 
fixing  the  epoch  of  this  event.  This  great  triumph 
of  our  holy  Cathcflic  faith,  according  to  his  compu- 
tation, took  place  in  the  beginning  of  January,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  1492,  being  3655  years  from  the 
population  of  Spain  by  the  patriarch  Tubal ;  3797 
from  the  general  deluge  ;  5453  from  the  creation  of 
the  world,  according  to  Hebrew  calculation  ;  and  in 
the  month  Rabic,  in  the  eight  hundred  and  ninety- 
seventh  year  of  the  Hegira,  or  flight  of  Mahomet  ; 
whom  may  God  confound  !  saith  the  pious  Agapida. 


APPENDIX. 


FATE  OF  BOABDIL  EL  CHICO. 

The  Chronicle  of  the  Conquest  of  Granada  is 
finished  ;  but  the  reader  may  be  desirous  of  knowing 
the  subsequent  fortunes  of  some  of  the  principal  per- 
sonages. The  unfortunate  Boabdil  retired  to  the  val- 
ley of  Purchena,  where  a  small  but  fertile  territory  had 
been  allotted  him,  comprising  several  towns,  with  all 
their  rights  and  revenues.  Great  estates  had  likewise 
been  bestowed  on  his  vizier  Yusef  Ahen  Comi.xa  and 
his  valiant  relation  and  friend  Yusef  Venegas,  both  of 
whom  resided  near  him.  Were  it  in  the  heart  of  man 
in  the  enjoyment  of  present  competence  to  forget  past 
splendor,  Boabdil  might  at  length  have  been  happy. 
Dwelling  in  the  bosom  of  a  delightful  valley,  surround- 
ed by  obedient  vassals,  devoted  friends,  and  a  loving 
family,  he  might  have  looked  back  upon  his  past  career 
as  upon  a  troubled  and  terrific  dream,  and  might  have 
thanked  his  stars  that  he  had  at  length  awaked  to 
sweet  and  tranquil  security.  But  the  dethroned  prince 
could  never  forget  that  he  had  once  been  a  monarch  ; 
and  the  remembrance  of  the  regal  splendors  of  Gja- 
nada,  made  all  present  comforts  contemptible  in  his 
eyes.  No  exertions  were  spared  by  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella  to  induce  him  to  embrace  the  Catholic  relig- 
ion ;  but  he  remained  true  to  the  faith  of  his  fathers, 
and  it  added  not  a  little  to  his  humiliation,  to  live  a 
vassal  under  christian  sovereigns. 

It  is  probable  that  his  residence  in  the  kingdom  was 
equally  irksome  to  the  politic  Ferdinand,  who  could 
not  feel  perfectly  secure  in  his  newly  conquered  terri- 
tories, while  there  was  one  within  their  bounds  who 
might  revive  pretensions  to  the  throne.  A  private 
bargain  was  therefore  made,  in  the  year  1496,  between 
Ferdinand  and  Yusef  Aben  Comixa,  in  which  the  lat- 
ter, as  vizier  of  Boabdil,  undertook  to  dispose  of  his 
master's  scanty  territory,  for  eighty  thousand  ducats 
of  gold.  This,  it  is  affirmed,  was  done  without  the 
consent  or  knowledge  of  Boabdil  ;  but  the  vizier  prob- 
ably thought  he  was  acting  for  the  best. 

The  shrewd  Ferdinand  does  not  appear  to  have 
made  any  question  about  the  right  of  the  vizier  to 
make  the  sale,  but  paid  the  money  with  secret  exulta- 
tion. Yusef  Aben  Comixa  loaded  the  treasure  upon 
mules,  and  departed  joyfully  for  the  Alpuxarras. 
He  spread  the  money  in  triumph  before  Boabdil  : 
"  Senior,"  said  he,  "  I  have  observed  that  as  long  as 
you  live  here,  you  are  exposed  to  constant  peril.  The 
Moors  are  rash  and  irritable  ;  they  may  make  some 
sudden  insurrection,  elevate  your  standard  as  a  pre- 
text, and  thus  overwhelm  you  and  your  friends  with 


290 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


utter  ruin.  I  have  observed  also  that  you  pine  away 
with  grief,  being  continually  reminded  in  this  country 
that  you  were  once  its  sovereign,  but  never  more  must 
hope  to  reign.  I  have  put  an  end  to  these  evils.  Your 
territory  is  sold — behold  the  price  of  it.  With  this 
gold  you  may  buy  far  greater  possessions  in  Africa, 
where  you  may  live  in  honor  and  security." 

When  Boabdil  heard  these  words,  he  burst  into  a 
sudden  transport  of  rage,  and,  drawing  his  scimitar, 
would  have  sacrificed  the  officious  Yusef  on  the  spot, 
had  not  the  attendants  interfered,  and  hurried  the 
vizier  from  his  presence. 

Boabdil  was  not  of  a  vindictive  spirit,  and  his  anger 
soon  passed  away.  He  saw  that  the  evil  was  done, 
and  he  knew  the  spirit  of  the  politic  Ferdinand  too 
well  to  hope  that  he  would  retract  the  bargain.  Gath- 
ering together  the  money,  therefore,  and  all  his  jewels 
and  precious  effects,  he  departed  with  his  family  and 
household  for  a  port  where  a  vessel  had  been  care- 
fully provided  by  the  Castilian  king  to  transport  them 
to  Africa. 

A  crowd  of  his  former  subjects  witnessed  his  em- 
barkation. As  the  sails  were  unfurled  and  swelled  to 
the  breeze,  and  the  vessel  parted  from  the  land,  the 
spectators  would  fain  have  given  him  a  parting  cheer- 
ing ;  but  the  humbled  state  of  their  once  proud  sover- 
eign forced  itself  upon  their  minds,  and  the  ominous 
surname  of  his  youth  rose  involuntarily  to  their  tongues: 
"Farewell,  Boabdil !  Allah  preserve  thee,  ElZogoybi!" 
burst  spontaneously  from  their  lips.  The  unlucky  ap- 
pellation sank  into  the  heart  of  the  expatriated  mon- 
arch, and  tears  dimmed  his  eyes  as  the  snowy  summits 
of  the  mountains  of  Granada  gradually  faded  from  his 
view. 

He  was  received  with  welcome  at  the  court  of  his 
relation,  Muley  Ahmed,  king  of  Fez,  and  resided  for 
many  years  in  his  territories.  How  he  passed  his  life, 
whether  repining  or  resigned,  history  does  not  men- 
tion. The  last  we  find  recorded  of  him  is  in  the  year 
1536,  thirty-four  years  after  the  surrender  of  Granada, 
when  he  followed  the  king  of  Fez-to  the  field,  to  quell 
the  rebellion  of  two  brothers  named  Xerifes.  The 
armies  came  in  sight  of  each  other,  on  the  banks  of 
the  Guadiswed,  at  the  ford  of  Bacuba.  The  river  was 
deep,  the  banks  were  high  and  broken  ;  for  three  days 
the  armies  remained  firing  at  each  other  across  the 
stream,  neither  venturing  to  attempt  the  dangerous 
ford. 

At  length  the  king  of  Fez  divided  his  army  into 
three  battalions  ;  the  first  led  on  by  his  son,  and  by 
Boabdil  el  Chico.  They  boldly  dashed  across  the  ford, 
scrambled  up  the  opposite  bank,  and  attempted  to  keep 
the  enemy  employed  until  the  other  battalions  should 
have  time  to  cross.  The  rebel  army,  however,  at- 
tacked them  with  such  fury,  that  the  son  of  the  king 
of  Fez  and  several  of  the  bravest  alcaydes  were  slain 
upon  the  spot ;  multitudes  were  driven  back  into  the 
river,  which  was  already  crowded  with  passing  troops. 
A  dreadful  confusion  took  place  ;  the  horse  trampled 
upon  the  foot ;  the  enemy  pressed  on  them  with  fear- 
ful slaughter  ;  those  who  escaped  the  sword  perished 
by  the  stream  ;  the  river  was  choked  by  the  dead 
bodies  of  men  and  horses,  and  by  the  scattered  bag- 
gage of  the  army.  In  this  scene  of  horrible  carnage 
fell  Boabdil,  truly  called  El  Zogoybi,  or  the  unlucky  ; 
—an  instance,  says  the  ancient  chronicler,  of  the  scorn- 
ful caprice  of  fortune,  dying  in  defence  of  the  kingdom 
of  another,  after  wanting  spirit  to  die  in  defence  of  his 
own.* 


•  Marmol,  Descrip.  de  Africa,  p.  i,  I.  z,  c.  40.  Idem,  Hist.  Reb. 
de  los  Moros,  lib.  i.  c.  2i. 

Note, — A  portrait  of  Boabdil  el  Chico  is  to  be  seen  in  the  pic- 
ture-gallery of  the  Generaliffe.  He  is  represented  with  a  mild, 
handsome  face,  a  fair  complexion,  and  yellow  hair.  His  dress  is 
of  yellow  brocade,  relieved  with  bliick  velvet,  and  he  has  a  black 
velvet  capj  surmounted  with  a  crown.  In  the  armory  of  Madrid 
are  two  Sluts  of  armor,  said  to  have  belonged  to  him.  One  is  of 
solid  steel,  w-ith  very  little  ornament,  the  helmet  closed.  From 
the  proportions  cf  these  suits  of  armor,  he  must  have  been  o(  full 
stature  and  vigorous  form. 


DEATH  OF  THE  MARQUES  OF  CADIZ. 

The  renowned  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon,  Marques, 
Duke  of  Cadiz,  was  unquestionably  the  most  distin- 
guished among  the  cavaliers  of  Spain,  for  his  zeal,  en- 
terprise, and  heroism  in  the  great  crusade  of  Granada. 
He  began  the  war  by  the  capture  of  Alhama  ;  he  was 
engaged  in  almost  every  inroad  and  siege  of  impor- 
tance, during  its  continuance  ;  and  he  was  present  at 
the  surrender  of  the  capital,  which  was  the  closing 
scene  of  the  conquest.  The  renown  he  thus  acquired 
was  sealed  by  his  death,  which  happened  in  the  forty- 
eighth  year  of  his  age,  almost  immediately  at  the  close 
of  his  triumphs,  and  before  a  leaf  of  his  laurels  had 
time  to  wither.  He  died  at  his  palace  in  the  city  of 
Seville,  on  the  27th  day  of  August,  1492,  but  a  few 
months  after  the  surrender  of  Granada,  and  of  an  ill- 
ness caused  by  the  exposures  and  fatigues  he  had  under- 
gone in  this  memorable  war.  That  honest  chronicler, 
Andres  Bernaldes,  the  curate  of  Los  Palacios,  who  was 
a  contemporary  of  the  marques,  draws  his  portrait 
from  actual  knowledge  and  observation.  He  was 
universally  cited  (says  he)  as  the  most  perfect  model 
of  chivalrous  virtue  of  the  age.  He  was  temperate, 
chaste,  and  rigidly  devout ;  a  benignant  commander, 
a  valiant  defender  of  his  vassals,  a  great  lover  of  jus- 
tice, and  an  enemy  to  all  flatterers,  liars,  robbers, 
traitors,  and  poltroons. 

His  ambition  was  of  a  lofty  kind — he  sought  to  dis- 
tinguish himself  and  his  family,  by  heroic  and  resound- 
ing deeds  ;  and  to  increase  the  patrimony  of  his  aiv- 
cestors,  by  the  acquisition  of  castles,  domains,  vassals, 
and  other  princely  possessions.  His  recreations  were 
all  of  a  warlike  nature  ;  he  delighted  in  geometry  as 
applied  to  fortifications,  and  spent  much  time  and 
treasure  in  erecting  and  repairing  fortresses.  He 
relished  music,  but  of  a  military  kind — the  sound  of 
clarions  and  sackbuts,  of  drums  and  trumpets.  ■  Like 
a  true  cavalier,  he  was  a  protector  of  the  sex  on  all 
occasions,  and  an  injured  woman  never  applied  to 
him  in  vain  for  redress.  His  prowess  was  so  well 
known,  and  his  courtesy  to  the  fair,  that  the  ladies  of 
the  court,  when  they  accompanied  the  queen  to  the 
wars,  rejoiced  to  find  themselves  under  his  protection  ; 
for  wherever  his  banner  was  displayed,  the  Moors 
dreaded  to  adventure.  He  was  a  faithful  and  devoted 
friend,  but  a  formidable  enemy  ;  for  he  was  slow 
to  forgive,  and  his  vengeance  was  persevering  and 
terrible. 

The  death  of  this  good  cavalier  spread  grief  and 
lamentation  throughout  all  ranks,  for  he  was  univer- 
sally honored  and  beloved.  His  relations,  dependants, 
and  companions  in  arms,  put  on  mourning  for  his  loss  ; 
and  so  numerous  were  they,  that  half  of  Seville  was 
clad  in  black.  None,  however,  deplored  his  death 
more  deeply  and  sincerely  than  his  friend  and  chosen 
companion,  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar. 

The  funeral  ceremonies  were  of  the  most  solemn 
and  sumptuous  kind.  The  body  of  the  marques  was 
arrayed  in  a  costly  shirt,  a  doublet  of  brocade,  a  sayo 
or  long  robe  of  black  velvet,  a  marlota  or  Moorish 
tunic  of  brocade  that  reached  to  the  feet,  and  scarlet 
stockings.  His  sword,  superbly  gilt,  was  girded  to 
his  side,  as  he  used  to  wear  it  when  in  the  field.  Thus 
magnificently  attired,  the  body  was  inclosed  in  a  coffin, 
which  was  covered  with  black  velvet,  and  decorated 
with  a  cross  of  white  damask.  It  was  then  placed  on 
a  sumptuous  bier,  in  the  centre  of  the  great  hall  of  the 
palace.  Here  the  duchess  made  great  lamentation 
over  the  body  of  her  lord,  in  which  she  was  joined  by 
her  train  of  damsels  and  attendants,  as  well  as  by  the 
pages  and  esquires,  and  innumerable  vassals  of  the 
marques. 

In  the  close  of  the  evening,  just  before  the  Ave 
Maria,  the  funeral  procession  issued  from  the  palace. 
Ten  banners  were  borne  around  the  bier,  the  particular 
trophies  of  the  marques,  won  from  the  Moors  by  his 
valor  in  individual  enterprises,  before  king  Ferdinand 
had  commenced  the  war  of  Granada.  The  procession 
was  swelled  by  an  immense  train  of  bishops,  priests, 
and  friars  of  different  orders,  together  with  the  civil 


A  CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   GRANADA. 


291 


and  military  authorities,  and  all  the  chivalry  of  Seville, 
headed  by  the  count  of  Cifuentes,  at  that  time  inten- 
dente  or  commander  of  the  city.  It  moved  slowly  and 
solemnly  through  the  streets,  stopping  occasionally, 
and  chanting  litanies  and  responses.  Two  hundred 
and  forty  waxen  tapers  shed  a  light  like  the  day  about 
the  bier.  The  balconies  and  windows  were  crowded 
with  ladies,  who  shed  tears  as  the  funeral  train  passed 
by  ;  while  the  women  of  the  lower  classes  were  loud 
in  their  lamentations,  as  if  bewailing  the  loss  of  a 
father  or  a  brother.  On  approaching  the  convent  of 
.St.  Augustine,  the  monks  came  forth  with  the  cross 
and  tapers,  and  eight  censers,  and  conducted  the  body 
into  the  church,  where  it  lay  in  state  until  all  the  vigils 
were  performed,  by  the  ditferent  orders  ;  after  which 
it  was  deposited  in  the  family  tomb  of  the  Ponces  in 
the  same  church,  and  the  ten  banners  were  suspended 
over  the  sepulchre.* 


The  tomb  of  the  valiant  Roderigo  Ponce  de  Leon, 
with  his  banners  mouldering  above  it,  remained  for 
ages  an  object  of  veneration  with  all  who  had  read  or 
heard  of  his  virtues  and  achievements.  In  the  year 
1810,  however,  the  chapel  was  sacked  by  the  French, 
its  altars  overturned,  and  the  sepulchres  of  the  family 
of  the  Ponces  shattered  to  pieces.  The  present  duchess 
of  Benevente,  the  worthy  descendant  of  this  illustrious 
and  heroic  line,  has  since  piously  collected  the  ashes 
of  her  ancestors,  restored  the  altar,  and  repaired  the 
chapel.  The  sepulchres,  however,  were  utterly  de- 
stroyed ;  an  inscription  in  gold  letters,  on  the  wall  of 
the  chapel,  to  the  right  of  the  altar,  is  all  that  denotes 
the  place  of  sepulture  of  the  brave  Ponce  de  Leon. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  DEATH  OF  DON 
ALONZO  DE  AGUILAR. 

To  such  as  feel  an  interest  in  the  fortunes  of  the  vali- 
ant Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  the  chosen  friend  and  com- 
panion in  arms  of  Ponce  de  Leon,  marques  of  Cadiz, 
and  one  of  the  most  distinguised  heroes  of  the  war  of 
(iranada,  a  few  particulars  of  his  remarkable  fate  will 
not  be  unacceptable.  They  are  found  among  the  manu- 
scripts of  the  worthy  padre  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  and 
appear  to  have  been  appended  to  this  Chronicle. 

For  several  years  after  the  conquest  of  Granada, 
the  country  remained  feverish  and  unquiet.  The  zeal- 
ous efforts  of  the  catholic  clergy  to  effect  the  conver- 
sion of  the  infidels,  and  the  pious  coercion  used  for 
that  purpose  by  government,  exasperated  the  stubborn 
Moors  of  the  mountains.  Several  missionaries  were 
maltreated  ;  and  in  the  town  of  Dayrin,  two  of  them 
were  seized,  and  e.xhorted,  with  many  menaces,  to 
embrace  the  Moslem  faith  ;  on  their  resolutely  refusing, 
they  were  killed  with  staves  and  stones,  by  the  Moorish 
women  and  children,  and  their  bodies  burnt  to  ashes. f 

Upon  this  event,  a  body  of  christian  cavaliers  as- 
sembled in  Andalusia  to  the  number  of  eight  hundred, 
and,  without  waiting  for  orders  from  the  king,  re- 
venged the  death  of  these  martyrs,  by  plundering  and 
laying  waste  the  Moorish  towns  and  villages.  The 
Moors  fled  to  the  mountains,  and  their  cause  was  es- 
poused by  many  of  their  nation,  who  inhabited  those 
rugged  regions.  The  storm  of  rebellion  began  to 
gather,  and  mutter  its  thunders  in  the  Alpuxarras. 
They  were  echoed  from  the  Serrania  of  Ronda,  ever 
ready  for  rebellion  ;  but  the  strongest  hold  of  the  in- 
surgents was  in  the  Sierra  Vermeja,  or  chain  of  Red 
Mviuntains,  which  lie  near  the  sea,  and  whose  savage 
rocks  and  precipices  may  be  seen  from  Gibraltar. 

When  king  Ferdinand  heard  of  these  tumults,  he  is- 
sued a  proclamation  ordering  all  the  Moors  of  the  in- 
surgent regions  to  leave  them  within  ten  days,  and  re- 
pair to  Castile;  giving  secret  instructions,  however, 


*  Cura  dc  tos  Palacios,  c.  104. 
t  Cura  de  lo%  Palacios,  c.  165. 


th»t  those  who  should  voluntarily  embrace  the  christian 
faith  might  be  permitted  to  remain.  At  the  same 
time,  he  ordered  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  and  the 
counts  of  Urena  and  Cifuentes,  to  march  against  the 
rebels. 

Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  was  at  Cordova  when  he 
received  the  commands  of  the  king.  "What  force  is 
allotted  us  for  this  expedition?"  said  he.  On  being 
told,  he  perceived  that  the  number  of  troops  was  far 
from  adequate.  "  When  a  man  is  dead,"  said  he,  "  we 
send  four  men  into  his  house  to  bring  forth  the  body. 
We  are  now  sent  to  chastise  these  Moors,  who  are 
alive,  vigorous,  in  open  rebellion,  and  ensconced  in 
their  castles;  yet  they  do  not  give  us  man  to  man." 
These  words  of  the  brave  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  were 
afterwards  frequently  repeated;  but  though  he  saw  the 
desperate  nature  of  the  enterprise,  he  did  not  hesitate 
to  undertake  it. 

Don  Alonzo  was  at  that  time  in  the  fifty-first  year  of 
his  age.  He  was  a  veteran  warrior,  in  whom  the  fire 
of  youth  was  yet  unquenched,  though  tempered  by  ex- 
perience. The  greater  part  of  his  life  had  been  passed 
in  the  camp  and  in  the  field,  until  danger  was  as  his 
natural  element.  His  muscular  frame  had  acquired 
the  firmness  of  iron,  without  the  rigidity  of  age.  His 
armor  and  weapons  seemed  to  have  become  a  part  of 
his  nature,  and  he  sat  like  a  mail  of  steel  on  his  power- 
ful war-horse. 

He  took  with  him,  on  this  e.xpedition,  his  son,  Don 
Pedro  de  Cordova,  a  youth  of  bold  and  generous  spirit, 
in  the  freshness  of  his  days,  and  armed  and  arrayed 
with  all  the  bravery  of  a  young  Spanish  cavalier. 
When  the  populace  of  Cordova  beheld  the  veteran 
father,  the  warrior  of  a  thousand  battles,  leading  forth 
his  youthful  son  to  the  field,  they  bethought  themselves 
of  the  family  appellation:  "  Behold,"  cried  they,  "  the 
eagle  teaching  his  young  to  fly!  Long  live  the  valiant 
line  of  Aguilar!  "* 

The  prowess  of  Don  Alonzo,  and  of  his  companions 
in  arms,  was  renowned  throughout  the  Moorish  towns. 
At  their  approach,  therefore,  numbers  of  the  Moors 
submitted,  and  hastened  to  Ronda  to  embrace  Christi- 
anity. Among  the  mountaineers,  however,  there  v.-ere 
many  of  the  Gaudules,  a  fierce  tribe  from  Africa,  too 
proud  of  spirit  to  bend  their  necks  to  the  yoke.  At 
their  head  was  a  Moor  named  El  Feri  of  Ben  Estepar, 
renowned  for  strength  and  courage.  At  his  instiga- 
tions, his  followers  gathered  together  their  families 
and  most  precious  effects,  placed  them  on  mules,  and, 
driving  before  them  their  flocks  and  herds,  abandoned 
their  valleys,  and  retired  up  the  craggy  passes  of  the 
Sierra  Vermeja.  On  the  summit  was  a  fertile  plain, 
surrounded  by  rocks  and  precipices,  which  formed  a 
natural  fortress.  Here  El  Feri  placed  all  the  women 
and  children,  and  all  the  property.  By  his  orders,  his 
followers  piled  great  stones  on  the  rocks  and  cliffs 
which  commanded  the  defiles  and  the  steep  sides  of 
the  mountain,  and  prepared  to  defend  every  pass  that 
led  to  his  place  of  refuge. 

The  christian  commanders  arrived,  and  pitched  their 
camp  before  the  town  of  Monarda,  a  strong  place, 
curiously  fortified,  and  situated  at  the  foot  of  the  high- 
est part  of  the  Sierra  Vermeja.  Here  they  remained 
for  several  days,  unable  to  compel  a  surrender.  They 
were  separated  from  the  skirt  of  the  mountain  by  a 
deep  barranca  or  ravine,  at  the  bottom  of  which  flowed 
a  small  stream.  The  Moors,  commanded  by  El  Feri, 
drew  down  from  their  mountain  height,  and  remained 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  brook,  to  defend  a  pass 
which  led  up  to  their  strong-hold. 

One  afternoon,  a  number  of  christian  soldiers,  in 
mere  bravado,  seized  a  banner,  crossed  the  brook,  and, 
scrambling  up  the  opposite  bank,  attacked  the  Moors. 
They  were  followed  by  numbers  of  their  companions, 
some  in  aid,  some  in  emulation,  but  most  in  hope  of 
booty.  A  sharp  action  ensued  on  the  mountain  side. 
The  Moors  were  greatly  superior  in  number,  and  had 
the  vantage-ground.  When  the  counts  of  Ureiia  and 
Cifuentes  beheld  this  skirmish,  they  asked  Don  Alonzo 

*  A£ut7ar—t\ic  Spanish  for  Eagle 


292 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


de  Aguilar  his  opinion:  "  My  opinion,"  said  he,  "Was 
Riven  at  Cordova,  and  remains  the  same;  this  is  a 
desperate  enterprise:  however,  the  Moors  are  at  hand, 
and  if  they  suspect  weakness  in  us,  it  will  increase 
their  courage  and  our  peril.  Forward,  then,  to  the  at- 
tack, and  I  trust  in  God  we  shall  gain  a  victory."  So 
saying   he  led  his  troops  into  the  battle.* 

On  the  skirts  of  the  mountain  were  several  level 
places,  like  terraces;  here  the  christians  pressed  vali- 
antly upon  the  Moors,  and  had  the  advantage;  but  the 
latter  retreated  to  the  steep  and  craggy  heights,  from 
whence  they  hurled  darts  and  rocks  upon  their  assail- 
ants. They  defended  their  passes  and  defiles  with 
ferocious  valor,  but  were  driven  from  height  to  height, 
until  they  reached  the  plain  on  the  summit  of  the 
mountain,  where  their  wives  and  children  were  shel- 
tered. Here  they  would  have  made  a  stand;  but  Alonzo 
de  Aguilar,  with  his  son  Don  Pedro,  charged  upon 
them  at  the  head  of  three  hundred  men,  and  put  them 
to  flight  with  dreadful  carnage.  While  they  were  pur- 
suing the  flying  enemy,  the  rest  of  the  army,  thinking 
the  victory  achieved,  dispersed  themselves  over  the 
little  plain  in  search  of  plunder.  They  pursued  the 
shrieking  females,  tearing  off  their  necklaces,  brace- 
lets, and  anklets  of  gold;  and  they  found  so  much 
treasure  of  various  kinds  collected  in  this  spot,  that 
they  threw  by  their  armor  and  weapons,  to  load  them- 
selves with  booty. 

Evening  was  closing.  The  christians,  intent  upon 
spoil,  had  ceased  to  pursue  the  Moors,  and  the  latter 
were  arrested  in  their  flight  by  the  cries  of  their  wives 
and  children.  Their  fierce  leader,  El  Feri,  threw  him- 
self before  them:  "Friends,  soldiers,"  cried  he, 
"  whither  do  you  fly  ?  Whither  can  you  seek  refuge, 
where  the  enemy  cannot  follow  you?  Your  wives, 
your  children,  are  behind  you — turn  and  defend  them; 
you  have  r.o  chance  for  safety  but  from  the  weapons 
in  your  hands." 

The  Moors  turned  at  his  words.  They  beheld  the 
christians  scattered  about  the  plain,  many  of  them 
without  armor,  and  all  encumbered  with  spoil.  "  Now 
is  the  time!"  shouted  El  Feri;  "charge  upon  them, 
while  laden  with  your  plunder.  I  will  open  a  path  for 
you!"  He  rushed  to  the  attack,  followed  by  his 
Moors,  with  shouts  and  cries  that  echoed  through  the 
mountains.  The  scattered  christians  were  seized  with 
panic,  and,  throwing  down  their  booty,  began  to  fly  in 
all  directions.  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  advanced  his 
banner,  and  endeavored  to  rally  them.  Finding  his 
horse  of  no  avail  in  these  rocky  heights,  he  dis- 
mounted, and  caused  him  men  to  do  the  same;  he  had 
a  small  band  of  tried  followers,  with  which  he  opposed 
a  bold  front  to  the  Moors,  calling  on  the  scattered 
troops  to  rally  in  the  rear. 

Night  had  completely  closed.  It  prevented  the  Moors 
from  seeing  the  smallness  of  the  force  with  which  they 
were  contending;  and  Don  Alonzo  and  his  cavaliers 
dealt  their  blows  so  vigorously,  that,  aided  by  the 
darkness,  they  seemed  multiplied  to  ten  times  their 
number.  Unfortunately,  a  small  cask  of  gunpowder 
blew  up,  near  to  the  scene  of  action.  It  shed  a  mo- 
mentary but  brilliant  light  over  all  the  plain,  and  on 
every  rock  and  cliff.  The  Moors  beheld,  with  sur- 
prise, that  they  were  opposed  by  a  mere  handful  of 
men,  and  that  the  greater  part  of  the  christians  were 
flying  from  the  field.  They  put  up  loud  shouts  of  tri- 
umph. While  some  continued  the  conflict  with  re- 
doubled ardor,  others  pursued  the  fugitives,  hurling 
after  them  stones  and  darts,  and  discharging  showers 
X  of  arrows.  Many  of  the  christians,  in  their  terror  and 
their  ignorance  of  the  mountains,  rushed  headlong 
from  tile  brinks  of  precipices,  and  were  dashed  in 
pieces. 

Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar  still  maintained  his  ground; 
but,  while  some  of  the  Moors  assailed  him  in  front, 
others  galled  him  with  all  kinds  of  missiles  from  the  im- 
pending cliffs.  Some  of  the  cavaliers,  seeing  the  hope- 
less nature  of  the  conflict,  proposed  that  they  should 
abandon  the  height  and  retreat  down  the  mountain: 


•  BIcda,  1..  5,  c.  36. 


"No,"  said  Don  Alonzo,  proudly;  "  nevet  did  the 
banner  of  the  house  of  Aguilar  retreat  one  foot  in  the 
field  of  battle."  He  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words, 
when  his  son  Don  Pedro  was  stretched  at  his  feet.  A 
stone  hurled  from  a  cliff  had  struck  out  two  of  his 
teeth,  and  a  lance  passed  quivering  through  his  thigh. 
The  youth  attempted  to  rise,  and,  with  one  knee  on 
the  ground,  to  fight  by  the  side  of  his  father.  Don 
Alonzo,  finding  him  wounded,  urged  him  to  quit  the 
field.  "  Fly,  my  son!  "  said  he;  "  let  us  not  put  every 
thing  at  venture  upon  one  hazard.  Conduct  thyself 
as  a  good  christian,  and  live  to  comfort  and  honor  thy 
mother." 

Don  Pedro  still  refused  to  leave  his  side.  Where- 
upon Don  Alonzo  ordered  several  of  his  followers  to 
bear  him  off  by  force.  His  friend  Don  Francisco 
Alvarez  of  Cordova,  taking  him  in  his  arms,  conveyed 
him  to  the  quarters  of  the  count  of  Urefia,  who  had 
halted  on  the  height,  at  some  distance  from  the  scene 
of  battle,  for  the  purpose  of  rallying  and  succoring  the 
fugitives.  Almost  at  the  same  moment,  the  count  be- 
held his  own  son,  Don  Pedro  Giron,  brought  in  griev- 
ously wounded. 

In  the  mean  time,  Don  Alonzo,  with  two  hundred 
cavaliers,  maintained  the  unequal  contest.  Surround- 
ed by  foes,  they  fell,  one  after  another,  like  so  many 
noble  stags  encircled  by  the  hunters.  Don  Alonzo  was 
the  last  survivor,  without  horse,  and  almost  without 
armor — his  corselet  unlaced,  and  his  bosom  gashed 
with  wounds.  Still  he  kept  a  brave  front  towards  the 
enemy,  and,  retiring  between  two  rocks,  defended  him- 
self with  such  valor,  that  the  slain  lay  in  a  heap  before 
him. 

He  was  assailed  in  this  retreat  by  a  Moor  of  sur- 
passing strength  and  fierceness.  The  contest  was  for 
some  time  doubtful;  but  Don  Alonzo  received  a  wound 
in  the  head,  and  another  in  the  breast,  that  made  him 
stagger.  Closing  and  grappling  with  his  foe,  they 
had  a  desperate  struggle,  until  the  christian  cavalier, 
exhausted  by  his  wounds,  fell  upon  his  back.  He  still 
retained  his  grasp  upon  his  enemy:  "Think  not," 
cried  he,  "thou  hast  an  easy  prize;  know  that  I  am 
Don  Alonzo,  he  of  Aguilar!" — "If  thou  art  Don 
Alonzo,"  replied  the  Moor,  "know  that  I  am  El  Feri 
of  Ben  Estepar. "  They  continued  their  deadly  strug- 
gle, and  both  drew  their  daggers;  but  Don  Alonzo  was 
exhausted  by  seven  ghastly  wounds:  while  he  was  yet 
struggling,  his  heroic  soul  departed  from  his  body,  and 
he  expired  in  the  grasp  of  the  Moor. 

Thus  fell  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  the  mirror  of  Anda- 
lusian  chivalry — one  of  the  most  powerful  grandees  of 
Spain,  for  person,  blood,  estate,  and  office.  For  forty 
years  he  had  made  successful  war  upon  the  Moors — in 
childhood  by  his  household  and  retainers,  in  manhood 
by  the  prowess  of  his  arm,  and  in  the  wisdom  and 
valor  of  his  spirit.  His  pennon  had  always  been  fore- 
most in  danger;  he  had  been  general  of  armies,  vice- 
roy of  Andalusia,  and  the  author  of  glorious  enter- 
prises, in  which  kings  were  vanquished,  and  mighty 
alcaydes  and  warriors  laid  low.  He  had  slain  many 
Moslem  chiefs  with  his  own  arm,  and  among  others 
the  renowned  Ali  Atar  of  Loxa,  fighting  foot  to 
foot,  on  the  banks  of  the  Xenel.  His  judgment,  dis- 
cretion, magnanimity,  and  justice  vied  with  his  prow- 
ess. He  was  the  fifth  lord  of  his  warlike  house  that 
fell  in  battle  with  the  Moors. 

"  His  soul,"  observes  the  worthy  padre  Abarca,  "  it 
is  believed,  ascended  to  heaven,  to  receive  the  reward 
of  so  christian  a  captain;  for  that  very  day  he  had 
armed  himself  with  the  sacraments  of  confession  and 
communion."* 

The  Moors,  elated  with  their  success,  pursued  the 
fugitive  christians  down  the  defiles  and  sides  of  the 
mountains.  It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  the 
count  de  Urefia  could  bring  off  a  remnant  of  his  forces 
from  that  disastrous  height.  Fortunately,  on  the  lower 
slope  of  the  mountain,  they  found  the  rear-guard  of  the 
army,  led  by  the  count  de  Cifuentes,  who  had  crossed 
the  brook  and  the  ravine  to  come  to  their  assistance. 


*Abacra,  Anales  dc  Aragon,  Rey  xxx.  cap.  it. 


A   CHRONICLE   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF    GRANADA. 


293 


As  the  fugitives  came  flying  in  headlong  terror  down 
the  mountain,  it  was  with  difficulty  the  count  kept  his 
own  troops  from  giving  way  in  panic,  and  retreating 
in  confusion  across  the  brook.  He  succeeded,  how- 
ever, in  maintaining  order,  in  rallying  the  fugitives, 
and  checking  the  fury  of  the  Moors:  th.en,  taking  his 
station  on  a  rocky  eminence,  he  maintained  his  post 
until  morning;  sometimes  sustaining  violent  attacks, 
at  other  times  rushing  forth  and  making  assaults  upon 
the  enemy.  When  morning  dawned,  the  Moors  ceased 
to  combat,  and  drew  up  to  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 

It  was  then  that  the  christians  had  time  to  breathe, 
and  to  ascertain  the  dreadful  loss  they  had  sustained. 
Among  the  many  v.aliant  cavaliers  who  had  fallen,  was 
Don  Francisco  Ramirez  of  Madrid,  who  had  been  cap- 
tain-general of  artillery  throughout  the  war  of  Grana- 
da, and  had  contributed  greatly  by  his  valor  and  in- 
genuity to  that  renowned  conquest.  But  all  other 
j'riefs  and  cares  were  forgotten,  in  anxiety  for  the  fate 
of  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar.  His  son,  Don  Pedro  de 
Cordova,  had  been  brought  off  with  great  difficulty 
from  the  battle,  and  afterwards  lived  to  be  marques  of 
Priego;  but  of  Don  Alonzo  nothing  was  known,  ex- 
cept that  he  was  left  with  a  handful  of  cavaliers,  fight- 
ing valiantly  against  an  overwhelming  force. 

As  the  rising  sun  lighted  up  the  red  cliffs  of  the 
mountains,  the  soldiers  watched  with  anxious  eyes,  if 
perchance  his  pennon  might  be  descried,  fluttering 
from  any  precipice  or  defile;  but  nothing  of  the  kind 
was  to  be  seen.  The  trumpet-call  was  repeatedly 
sounded,  but  empty  echoes  alone  replied.  A  silence 
reigned  about  the  mountain  summit,  which  showed 
that  the  deadly  strife  was  over.  Now  and  then  a 
wounded  warrior  came  dragging  his  feeble  steps  from 
among  the  clefts  and  rocks;  but,  on  being  questioned, 
he  shook  his  head  mournfully,  and  could  tell  nothing  of 
the  fate  of  his  commander. 

The  tidings  of  this  disastrous  defeat,  and  of  the 
perilous  situation  of  the  survivors,  reached  king  Ferdi- 
nand at  Granada;  he  immediately  marched,  at  the  head 
of  all  the  chivalry  of  his  court,  to  the  mountains  of 
Ronda.  His  presence,  with  a  powerful  force,  soon 
put  an  end  to  the  rebellion.  A  part  of  the  Moors  were 
suffered  to  ransom  themselves,  and  to  embark  for 
Africa;  others  were  made  to  embrace  Christianity;  and 
those  of  the  town  where  the  christian  missionaries  had 
been  massacred,  were  sold  as  slaves.  From  the  con- 
quered Moors,  the  mournful  but  heroic  end  of  Alonzo 
de  Aguilar  was  ascertained. 


On  the  morning  after  the  battle,  when  the  Moors  came 
to  strip  and  bury  the  dead,  the  body  of  Don  Alonzo  was 
found,  among  those  of  more  than  two  hundred  of  his 
followers,  many  of  them  alcaydes  and  cavaliers  of  dis- 
tinction. Though  the  person  of  Don  Alonzo  was  well 
known  to  the  Moors,  being  so  distinguished  among 
them  both  in  peace  and  war,  yet  it  was  so  covered  and 
disfigured  with  wounds,  that  it  could  with  difficulty  be 
recognized.  They  preserved  it  with  great  care,  and, 
on  making  their  submission,  delivered  it  up  to  king 
Ferdinand.  It  was  conveyed  with  great  state  to  Cor- 
dova, amidst  the  tears  and  lamentations  of  all  Anda- 
lusia. When  the  funeral  train  entered  Cordova,  and 
the  inhabitants  saw  the  coffin  containing  the  remains 
of  their  favorite  hero,  and  the  war-horse,  led  in  mourn- 
ful trappings,  on  which  they  had  so  lately  seen  him 
sally  forth  from  their  gates,  there  was  a  general  burst 
of  grief  throughout  the  city.  The  body  was  interred, 
with  great  pomp  and  solemnity,  in  the  church  of  St. 
Hypolito. 

Many  years  afterwards,  his  grand-daughter.  Dona 
Catalina  of  Aguilar  and  Cordova,  marchioness  of 
Priego,  caused  his  tomb  to  be  altered.  On  examining 
the  body,  the  head  of  a  lance  was  found  among  the 
bones,  received  without  doubt  among  the  wounds  of 
his  last  mortal  combat.  The  name  of  this  accomplished 
and  christian  cavalier  has  ever  remained  a  popular 
theme  of  the  chronicler  and  poet,  and  is  endeared  to 
the  public  memory  by  many  of  the  historical  ballads 
and  songs  of  his  country.  For  a  long  time  the  people 
of  Cordova  were  indignant  at  the  brave  count  de  Urefia, 
who  they  thought  had  abandoned  Don  Alonzo  in  his 
extremity;  but  the  Castihan  monarch  acquitted  him  of 
all  charge  of  the  kind,  and  continued  him  in  honor  and 
office.  It  was  proved  that  neither  he  nor  his  people 
could  succor  Don  Alonzo,  or  even  know  of  his  peril, 
from  the  darkness  of  the  night.  There  is  a  mournful 
little  Spanish  ballad  or  romance,  which  breathes  the 
public  grief  on  this  occasion;  and  the  populace,  on  the 
return  of  the  count  de  Urefia  to  Cordova,  assailed  him 
with  one  of  its  plaintive  and  reproachful  verses; — 

Count  Urefia  !  count  Urefia  ! 
Tell  us,  where  is  Don  Alonzo  ! 

(Dezid  Conde  de  Urefia ! 
Don  Alonzo,  dondc  queda?)* 


*  Bleda,  L.  s,  c.  a6. 


Legends  of  the  Conquest  of  Spain. 


PREFACE. 


Few  events  in  history  have  been  so  signal  and  strik- 
ing in  their  main  circumstances,  and  so  overwhelming 
and  enduring  in  their  consequences,  as  that  of  the  con- 
quest of  Spain  by  the  Saracens;  yet  there  are  few 
where  the  motives,  and  characters,  and  actions  of  the 
agents  have  been  enveloped  in  more  doubt  and  con- 
tradiction. As  in  the  memorable  story  of  the  Fall  of 
Troy,  we  have  to  make  out,  as  well  as  we  can,  the 
veritable  details  through  the  mists  of  poetic  fiction; 
yet  poetry  has  so  combined  itself  with,  and  lent  its 
magic  colouring  to,  every  fact,  that,  to  strip  it  away, 
would  be  to  reduce  the  story  to  a  meagre  skeleton  and 
rob  it  of  all  its  charms.  The  storm  of  Moslem  inva- 
sion that  swept  so  suddenly  over  the  peninsula,  silen- 
ced for  a  time  the  faint  voice  of  the  muse,  and  drove 
the  sons  of  learning  from  their  cells.  The  pen  was 
thrown  aside  to  grasp  the  sword  and  spear,  and  men 
were  too  much  taken  up  with  battling  against  the  evils 
which  beset  them  on  every  side,  to  find  time  or  incli- 
nation to  record  them. 

When  the  nation  had  recovered  in  some  degree  from 
the  effects  of  this  astounding  blow,  or  rather,  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  the  tremendous  reverse  which  it 
produced,  and  sage  men  sought  to  inquire  and  write 
the  particulars,  it  was  too  late  to  ascertain  them  in 
their  exact  verity.  The  gloom  and  melancholy  that 
had  overshadowed  the  land,  had  given  birth  to  a  thou- 
sand superstitious  fancies;  the  woes  and  terrors  of  the 
past  were  clothed  with  supernatural  miracles  and  por- 
tents, and  the  actors  in  the  fearful  drama  had  already 
assumed  the  dubious  characteristics  of  romance.  Or 
if  a  writer  from  among  the  conquerors  undertook  to 
touch  upon  the  theme,  it  was  embellished  with  all  the 
wild  extravagancies  of  an  oriental  imagination;  which 
afterwards  stole  into  the  graver  works  of  the  monkish 
historians. 

Hence,  the  earliest  chronicles  which  treat  of  the 
downfall  of  Spain,  are  apt  to  be  tinctured  with  those 
saintly  miracles  which  savour  of  the  pious  labours  of 
the  cloister,  or  those  fanciful  fictions  that  betray  their 
Arabian  authors.  Yet,  from  these  apocryphal  sources, 
the  most  legitimate  and  accredited  Spanish  histories 
have  taken  their  rise,  as  pure  rivers  may  be  traced  up 
to  the  fens  and  mantled  pools  of  a  morass.  It  is  true, 
the  authors,  with  cautious  discrimination,  have  dis- 
carded those  particulars  too  startling  for  belief,  and 
have  culled  only  such  as,  from  their  probability  and 
congruity,  might  be  safely  recorded  as  historical  facts; 
yet,  scarce  one  of  these  but  has  been  connected  in  the 
original  with  some  romantic  fiction,  and,  even  in  its 
divorced  state,  bears  traces  of  its  former  alliance. 

To  discard,  however,  every  thing  wild  and  marvel- 
lous in  this  portion  of  Spanish  history,  is  to  discard 
some  of  its  most  beautiful,  instructive,  and  national 
features;  it  is  to  judge  of  Spain  by  the  standard  of 
probability  suited  to  tamer  and  more  prosaic  countries. 
Spain  is  virtually  a  land  of  poetry  and  romance,  where 
every-day  life  partakes  of  adventure,  and  where  the 
least  agitation  or  excitement  carries  everything  up  into 
extravagant  enterprise  and  daring  exploit.  The  Spani- 
ards, in  all  ages,  have  been  of  swelling  and  braggart 
spirit,  soaring  in  thought,  pompous  in  word,  and  vali- 
ant, though  vain-glorious,  in  deed.     Their  heroic  aims 


have  transcended  the  cooler  conceptions  of  their  neigh- 
bours, and  their  reckless  daring  has  borne  them  on  to 
achievements  which  prudent  enterprise  could  never 
have  accomplished.  Since  the  time,  too,  of  the  con- 
quest and  occupation  of  their  country  by  the  Arabs,  a 
strong  infusion  of  oriental  magnificence  has  entered 
mto  the  national  character,  and  rendered  the  Spaniard 
distmct  from  every  other  nation  of  Europe. 

In  the  following  pages,  therefore,  the  author  has 
ventured  to  dip  more  deeply  into  the  enchanted  fount- 
ams  of  old  Spanish  chronicles,  than  has  usually  been 
done  by  those  who,  in  modern  times,  have  treated  of 
the  eventful  period  of  the  conquest;  but  in  so  doing 
he  trusts  he  will  illustrate  more  fully  the  character  of 
the  people  and  the  times.  He  has  thought  proper  to 
throw  these  records  into  the  form  of  legends,  not 
claiming  for  them  the  authenticity  of  sober  history, 
yet  giving  nothing  that  has  not  historical  foundation! 
All  the  facts  herein  contained,  however  extravagant 
some  of  them  may  be  deemed,  will  be  found  in  the 
works  of  sage  and  reverend  chroniclers  of  yore,  grow- 
mg  side  by  side  with  long  acknowledged  truths,  and 
might  be  supported  by  learned  and  imposing  refer- 
ences in  the  margin. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  DON  RODERICK.* 


CHAPTER  I. 

OF    THE    ANCIENT     INHABITANTS    OF    SPAIN— OF 
THE  MISRULE   OF  WITIZA    THE   WICKED. 

Spain,  or  Iberia,  as  it  was  called  in  ancient  days, 
has  been  a  country  harassed  from  the  earliest  times, 
by  the  invader.  The  Celts,  the  Greeks,  the  Phene- 
cians,  the  Carthagenians,  by  turns,  or  simultaneously, 
infringed  its  territories  ;  drove  the  native  Iberians 
from  their  rightful  homes,  and  established  colonies 
and  founded  cities  in  the  land.  It  subsequently  fell 
into  the  all-grasping  power  of  Rome,  remaining  for 
some  time  a  subjugated  province ;  and  when  that 
gigantic  empire  crumbled  into  pieces,  the  Suevi,  the 
Alani,  and  the  Vandals,  those  barbarians  of  the 
north,  overran  and  ravaged  this  devoted  country, 
and  portioned  out  the  soil  among  them. 

Their  sway  was  not  of  long  duration.  In  the  fifth 
century  the  Goths,  who  were  then  the  allies  of 
Rome,  undertook  the  reconquest  of  Iberia,  and  suc- 
ceeded, after  a  desperate  struggle  of  three  years' 
duration.  They  drove  before  them  the  barbarous 
hordes,  their  predecessors,  intermarried,  and  incor- 


*  Many  of  the  facts  in  this  legend  are  taken  from  an  old  chronicle, 
written  in  quaint  and  antiquated  Spanish,  and  professing  to  be  a 
translation  from  the  Arabian  chronicle  of  the  Moor  Kasis,  by  Mo- 
hammed, a  Mosleni  writer.and  Gil  Perez,  a  Spanish  priest.  It  ir, 
supposed  to  be  a  jiiece  of  literary  mosaic  work,  made  up  from  both 
Spanish  and  Arabian  chronicles  ;  yet,  from  this  work  most  of  the 
Spanish  historians  have  drawn  their  particulars  relative  to  the  foi^ 
tunes  of  Don  Roderick. 

(295) 


296 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


porated  themselves  with  the  original  inhabitants, 
and  founded  a  powerful  and  splendid  empire,  com- 
prising; the  Iberian  peninsula,  the  ancient  Narbon- 
naise,  afterwards  called  Gallia  Gotica,  or  Gothic 
Gaul,  and  a  part  of  the  African  coast  called  Tingi- 
lania.  A  new  nation  was,  in  a  manner,  produced 
by  this  mixture  of  the  Goths  and  Iberians.  Sprang 
from  a  union  of  warrior  races,  reared  and  nurtured 
amidst  the  din  of  arms,  the  Gothic  Spaniards,  if  they 
may  so  be  termed,  were  a  warlike,  unquiet,  yet  high- 
minded  and  heroic  people.  Their  simple  and  ab- 
stemious habits,  their  contempt  for  toil  and  suffer- 
ing, and  their  love  of  daring  enterprise,  fitted  them 
for  a  soldier's  life.  So  addicted  were  they  to  war 
that,  when  they  had  no  external  foes  to  contend 
with,  they  fought  with  one  another ;  and,  when  en- 
gaged in  battle,  says  an  old  chronicler,  the  very 
thunders  and  lightnings  of  heaven  could  not  separate 
them.* 

For  two  centuries  and  a  half  the  Gothic  ])ower  re- 
mained unshaken,  and  the  sceptre  was  wielded  by 
twenty-five  successive  kings.  The  crown  was  elect- 
ive, in  a  council  of  palatines,  composed  of  the 
bishops  and  nobles,  who,  while  they  swore  allegiance 
to  the  newly-made  sovereign,  bound  him  by  a  re- 
ciprocal oath  to  be  faithful  to  his  trust.  Their 
choice  was  made  from  among  the  people,  subject 
only  to  one  condition,  that  the  king  should  be  of 
pure  Gothic  blood.  But  though  the  crown  was 
elective  in  principle,  it  gradually  became  hereditary 
from  usage,  and  the  power  of  the  sovereign  grew  to 
be  almost  absolute.  The  king  was  commander-in- 
chief  of  the  armies ;  the  whole  patronage  of  the 
kingdom  was  in  his  hands ;  he  summoned  and  dis- 
solved the  national  councils  ;  he  made  and  revoked 
laws  according  to  his  pleasure ;  and,  having  ecclesi- 
astical supremacy,  he  exercised  a  sway  even  over 
the  consciences  of  his  subjects. 

The  Goths,  at  the  time  of  their  inroad,  were  stout 
adherents  to  the  Arian  doctrines ;  but  after  a  time 
they  embraced  the  Catholic  faith,  which  was  main- 
tained by  the  native  Spaniards  free  from  many  of  the 
gross  superstitions  of  the  church  at  Rome,  and  this 
unity  of  faith  contributed  more  than  anything  else 
to  blend  and  harmonize  the  two  races  into  one. 
The  bishops  and  other  clergy  were  exemplary  in 
their  lives,  and  aided  to  promote  the  influence  of  the 
laws  and  mamtain  the  authority  of  the  state.  The 
fruits  of  regular  and  secure  government  were  mani- 
fest in  the  advancement  of  agriculture,  commerce, 
and  the  peaceful  arts  ;  and  in  the  increase  of  wealth, 
of  luxury,  and  refinement  ;  but  there  was  a  gradual 
decline  of  the  simple,  hardy,  and  warlike  habits 
that  had  distinguished  the  nation  in  its  semi-barba- 
rous days. 

Such  was  the  state  of  Spain  when,  in  the  year  of 
Redemption  701,  Witiza  was  elected  to  the  Gothic 
throne.  Tlie  beginning  of  his  reign  gave  promise 
of  happy  days  to  Spain.  He  redressed  grievances, 
moderated  the  tributes  of  his  subjects,  and  conducted 
himself  with  mingled  mildness  and  energy  in  the 
administration  of  the  laws.  In  a  little  while,  how- 
ever, he  threw  off  the  mask,  and  showed  himself  in 
his  true  nature,  cruel  and  luxurious. 

Two  of  his  relatives,  sons  of  a  preceding  king, 
awakened  his  jealousy  for  the  security  of  his  throne. 
One  of  them,  named  Favila,  duke  of  Cantabria,  he 
put  to  death,  and  would  have  inflicted  the  same  fate 
upon  his  son  Pelayo,  but  that  the  youth  was  beyond 
his  reach,  being  preserved  by  Providence  for  the 
future  salvation  of  Spain.  The  other  object  of  his 
suspicion  was  Theodofredo,  who  lived  retired  from 


•  Florian  de  Ocampo,  lib.  3,  c.  la,    Justin  Abrev.  Trog.  Pomp. 
L44  Bleda.  Cronica  La,  c.  3. 


court.  The  violence  of  Witiza  reached  him  even  in 
his  retirement.  His  eyes  were  put  out,  and  he  was 
immured  within  a  castle  at  Cordova.  Roderick,  the 
youthful  son  of  Theodofredo,  escaped  to  Italy,  where 
he  received  protection  from  the  Romans. 

Witiza  now  considering  himself  secure  upon  the 
throne,  gave  the  reins  to  his  licentious  passions,  and 
soon,  by  his  tyranny  and  sensuality,  acquired  the 
appellation  of  Witiza  the  Wicked.  Despising  the 
old  Gothic  continence,  and  yielding  to  the  example 
of  the  sect  of  Mahomet,  which  suited  his  lascivious 
temperament,  he  indulged  in  a  plurality  of  wives 
and  concubines,  encouraging  his  subjects  to  do  the 
same.  Nay,  he  even  sought  to  gain  the  sanction  of 
the  church  to  his  excesses,  promulgating  a  law 
by  which  the  clergy  were  released  from  their  vows 
of  celibacy,  and  permitted  to  marry  and  to  entertain 
paramours. 

The  sovereign  Pontiff  Constantine  threatened  to 
depose  and  excommunicate  him,  unless  he  abrogated 
this  licentious  law  ;  but  Witiza  set  him  at  defiance, 
threatening,  like  his  Gothic  predecessor  Alaric,  to 
assail  the  eternal  city  with  his  troops,  and  make 
spoil  of  her  accumulated  treasures.*  •'  We  will 
adorn  our  damsels,"  said  he,  "with  the  jewels  of 
Rome,  and  replenish  our  coffers  from  the  mint  of 
St.  Peter." 

Some  of  the  clergy  opposed  themselves  to  the 
innovating  spirit  of  the  monarch,  and  endeavoured 
from  the  pulpits  to  rally  the  people  to  the  pure 
doctrines  of  their  faith  ;  but  they  were  deposed  froin 
their  sacred  office,  and  banished  as  seditious  mis- 
chief makers.  The  church  of  Toledo  continued 
refractory  ;  the  archbishop  Sindaredo,  it  is  true,  was 
disposed  to  accommodate  hiinself  to  the  corruptions 
of  the  times,  but  the  prebendaries  battled  intrepidly 
against  the  new  laws  of  the  monarch,  and  stood 
manfully  in  defence  of  their  vows  of  chastity.  "  Since 
the  church  of  Toledo  will  not  yield  itself  to  our  will," 
said  Witiza,  "  it  shall  have  two  husbands."  So  say- 
ing, he  appointed  his  own  brother  Oppas,  at  that  time 
archbishop  of  Seville,  to  take  a  seat  with  Sindaredo 
in  the  episcopal  chair  of  Toledo,  and  made  him 
primate  of  Spain.  He  was  a  priest  after  his  own 
heart,  and  seconded  him  in  all  his  profligate  abuses. 

It  was  in  vain  the  denunciations  of  the  church 
were  fulminated  from  the  chair  of  St.  Peter  ;  Witiza 
threw  off  all  allegiance  to  the  Roman  Pontiff,  threat- 
ening with  pain  of  death  those  who  should  obey 
the  papal  mandates.  "  We  will  suffer  no  foreign 
ecclesiastic,  with  triple  crown,"  said  he,  "  to  domi- 
neer over  our  dominions." 

The  Jews  had  been  banished  from  the  country 
during  the  preceding  reign,  but  Witiza  permitted 
them  to  return,  and  even  bestowed  upon  their  syna- 
gogues privileges  of  which  he  had  despoiled  the 
churches.  The  children  of  Israel,  when  scattered 
throughout  the  earth  by  the  fall  of  Jerusalem,  had 
carried  with  them  into  other  lands  the  gainful  arcana 
of  traffic,  and  were  especially  noted  as  opulent  money 
changers  and  curious  dealers  in  gold  and  silver  and 
precious  stones ;  on  this  occasion,  therefore,  they 
were  enabled,  it  is  said,  to  repay  the  monarch  for 
his  protection  by  bags  of  money,  and  caskets  of 
sparkling  gems,  the  rich  product  of  their  oriental 
commerce. 

The  kingdom  at  this  time  enjoyed  external  peace, 
but  there  were  symptoms  of  internal  discontent. 
Witiza  took  the  alarm  ;  he  remeinbered  the  ancient 
turbulence  of  the  nation,  and  its  proneness  to  internal 
feuds.  Issuing  secret  orders,  therefore,  in  all  direc- 
tions, he  dismantled  most  of  the  cities,  and  demolish- 


*  Chron.  de  Luitprando   709.    Alarca,  An.-des  de   Aragon   (ci 
Mahometismo,  FoU  5.) 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


297 


ed  the  castles  and  fortresses  that  might  serve  as 
rallying  points  for  the  factious.  He  disarmed  the 
people  also,  and  converted  the  weapons  of  war  into 
the  implements  of  peace.  It  seemed,  in  fact,  as  if 
the  millennium  were  dawning  upon  the  land,  for  the 
sword  was  beaten  into  a  ploughshare,  and  the  spear 
into  a  pruning-hook. 

While  thus  the  ancient  martial  fire  of  the  nation 
was  extinguished,  its  morals  likewise  were  corrupted. 
The  altars  were  abandoned,  the  churches  closed, 
wide  disorder  and  sensuality  prevailed  throughout 
the  land,  so  that,  according  to  the  old  chroniclers, 
within  the  compass  of  a  few  short  years,  "  Witiza 
the  Wicked  taught  all  Spain  to  sin." 


CHAPTER   II. 


THE  RISE  OF  DON  RODERICK — HIS  GOVERNMENT. 

Woe  to  the  ruler  who  founds  his  hope  of  sway 
on  the  weakness  or  corruption  of  the  people.  The 
very  measures  taken  by  Witiza  to  perpetuate  his 
l)0wer  ensured  his  downfall.  While  the  whole  na- 
tion, under  his  licentious  rule,  was  sinking  into  vice 
and  effeminacy,  and  the  arm  of  war  was  unstrung, 
the  youthful  Roderick,  son  of  Theodofredo,  was 
training  up  for  action  in  the  stern  but  wholesome 
school  of  adversity.  He  instructed  himself  in  the 
use  of  arms ;  became  adroit  and  vigorous  by  varied 
exercises  ;  learned  to  despise  all  danger,  and  inured 
himself  to  hunger  and  watchfulness  and  the  rigour 
of  the  seasons. 

His  merits  and  misfortunes  procured  him  many 
friends  among  the  Romans ;  and  when,  being  ar- 
rived at  a  fitting  age,  he  undertook  to  revenge  the 
wrongs  of  his  father  and  his  kindred,  a  host  of  brave 
and  hardy  soldiers  flocked  to  his  standard.  With 
these  he  made  his  sudden  appearance  in  Spain.  The 
friends  of  his  house  and  the  disaffected  of  all  classes 
hastened  to  join  him,  and  he  advanced  rapidly  and 
without  opposition,  through  an  unarmed  and  ener- 
vated land. 

Witiza  saw  too  late  the  evil  he  had  brought  upon 
himself.  He  made  a  hasty  levy,  and  took  the  field  with 
a  scantily  equipped  and  undisciplined  host,  but  was 
easily  routed  and  made  prisoner,  and  the  whole  king- 
dom submitted  to  Don  Roderick. 

The  ancient  city  of  Toledo,  the  royal  residence  of 
the  Gothic  kings,  was  the  scene  of  high  festivity  and 
solemn  ceremonial  on  the  coronation  of  the  victor. 
Whether  he  was  elected  to  the  throne  according  to 
the  Gothic  usage,  or  seized  it  by  the  right  of  con- 
quest, is  a  matter  of  dispute  among  historians,  but 
all  agree  that  the  nation  submitted  cheerfully  to  his 
sway,  and  looked  forward  to  prosperity  and  happi- 
ness under  their  newly  elevated  monarch.  His  ap- 
pearance and  character  seemed  to  justify  the  antici- 
pation. He  was  in  the  splendour  of  youth,  and  of  a 
majestic  presence.  His  soul  was  bold  and  daring, 
and  elevated  by  lofty  desires.  He  had  a  sagacity 
that  penetrated  the  thoughts  of  men,  and  a  magnifi- 
cent spirit  that  won  all  hearts.  Such  is  the  picture 
which  ancient  writers  give  of  Don  Roderick,  when, 
with  all  the  stern  and  simple  virtues  unimpaired, 
which  he  had  acquired  in  adversity  and  e.xile,  and 
Hushed  with  the  triumph  of  a  pious  revenge,  he  as- 
cended the  Gothic  throne. 

Prosperity,  however,  is  the  real  touchstone  of  the 
human  heart ;  no  sooner  did  Roderick  find  himself 
in  possession  of  the  crown,  than  the  love  of  power 
and  the  jealousy  of  rule  were  awakened  in  his 
breast.     His  first  measure  was  against  Witiza,  who 


was  brought  in  chains  into  his  presence.  Roderick 
beheld  the  captive  monarch  with  an  unpitying  eye, 
remembering  only  his  wrongs  and  cruelties  to  his 
father.  "  Let  the  evils  he  has  inflicted  on  others  be 
visited  upon  his  own  head,"  said  he ;  "  as  he  did 
unto  Theodofredo,  even  so  be  it  done  unto  him."  Sd 
the  eyes  of  Witiza  were  put  out,  and  he  was  thrown 
into  the  same  dungeon  at  Cordova  in  which  Theo- 
dofredo had  languished.  There  he  passed  the  brief 
remnant  of  his  days  in  perpetual  darkness,  a  prey  to 
wretchedness  and  remorse. 

Roderick  now  cast  an  uneasy  and  suspicious  eye 
upon  Evan  and  Siseburto,  the  two  sons  of  Witiza. 
Fearful  lest  they  should  foment  some  secret  rebel- 
lion, he  banished  them  the  kingdom.  They  took 
refuge  in  the  Spanish  dominions  in  Africa,  where 
they  were  received  and  harboured  by  Requila,  gov- 
ernor of  Tangier,  out  of  gratitude  for  favours  which 
he  had  received  from  their  late  father.  There  they 
remained  to  brood  over  their  fallen  fortunes,  and  to 
aid  in  working  out  the  future  woes  of  Spain. 

Their  uncle  Oppas,  bishop  of  Seville,  who  had 
been  made  co-partner,  by  Witiza,  in  the  archepis- 
copal  chair  at  Toledo,  would  have  likewise  fallen 
under  the  suspicion  of  the  king ;  but  he  was  a  man 
of  consummate  art,  and  vast  exterior  sanctity,  and 
won  upon  the  good  graces  of  the  monarch.  He  was 
suffered,  therefore,  to  retain  his  sacred  office  at  Se- 
ville ;  but  the  see  of  Toledo  was  given  in  charge  to 
the  venerable  Urbino ;  and  the  law  of  Witiza  was 
revoked  that  dispensed  the  clergy  from  their  vows 
of  celibacy. 

The  jealousy  of  Roderick  for  the  security  of  his 
crown  was  soon  again  aroused,  and  his  measures 
were  prompt  and  severe.  Having  been  informed 
that  the  governors  of  certain  castles  and  fortresses 
in  Castile  and  Andalusia  had  conspired  against  him, 
he  caused  them  to  be  put  to  death  and  their  strong- 
holds to  be  demolished.  He  now  went  on  to  imitate 
the  pernicious  policy  of  his  predecessor,  throwing 
down  walls  and  towers,  disarming  the  people,  and 
thus  incapacitating  them  from  rebellion.  A  few 
cities  were  permitted  to  retain  their  fortifications, 
but  these  were  intrusted  to  alcaydes  in  whom  he 
had  especial  confidence;  the  greater  part  of  the 
kingdom  was  left  defenceless ;  the  nobles,  who  had 
been  roused  to  temporary  manhood  during  the  re- 
cent stir  of  war,  sunk  back  into  the  inglorious  state 
of  inaction  which  had  disgraced  them  during  the 
reign  of  Witiza,  passing  their  time  in  feasting  and 
dancing  to  the  sound  of  loose  and  wanton  min- 
strelsy.* It  was  scarcely  possible  to  recognize  in  these 
idle  wassailers  and  soft  voluptuaries  the  descendants 
of  the  stern  and  frugal  warriors  of  the  frozen  north ; 
who  had  braved  flood  and  mountain,  and  heat  and 
cold,  and  had  battled  their  way  to  empire  across 
half  a  world  in  arms. 

They  surrounded  their  youthful  monarch,  it  is 
true,  with  a  blaze  of  military  pomp.  Nothing  could 
surpass  the  splendour  of  their  arms,  which  were  em- 
bossed and  enamelled,  and  enriched  with  gold  and 
jewels  and  curious  devices  ;  nothing  could  be  more 
gallant  and  glorious  than  their  array;  it  was  all 
plume  and  banner  and  silken  pageantiy,  the  gorgeous 
trappings  for  tilt  and  tourney  and  courtly  revel ;  but 
the  iron  soul  of  war  was  wanting. 

How  rare  it  is  to  learn  wisdom  from  the  misfor- 
tunes of  others.  With  the  fate  of  Witiza  full  before 
his  eyes,  Don  Roderick  indulged  in  the  same  per- 
nicious errors,  and  was  doomed,  in  like  manner,  to 
prepare  the  way  for  his  own  perdition. 

*  Mariana.  Hist.  Esp.  L6.  c.  ai. 


293 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


CHAPTER  III. 

OF  THE  LOVES  OF  RODERICK  AND  THE  PRINCESS 
ELYATA. 

As  yet  the  heart  of  Roderick,  occupied  by  the 
struggles  of  his  early  lite,  by  warlike  enterprises  and 
by  the  inquietudes  of  newly-gotten  power,  had  been 
insensible  to  the  charms  of  women  ;  but  in  the  pres- 
ent voluptuous  calm,  the  amorous  propensities  of 
his  nature  assumed  their  sway.  There  are  divers 
accounts  of  the  youthful  beauty  who  first  found 
favour  in  his  eyes,  and  was  elevated  by  him  to  the 
throne.  We  follow  in  our  legend  the  details  of  an 
Arabian   Chronicler,*   authenticated   by   a  Spanish 

Coet.t  Let  those  who  dispute  our  facts,  produce 
etter  authority  for  their  contradiction. 
Among  the  few  fortified  places  that  had  not  been 
dismantled  by  Don  Roderick,  was  the  ancient  city 
of  Denia,  situated  on  the  Mediterranean  coast,  and 
defended  on  a  rock-built  castle  that  overlooked  the 
sea. 

The  Alcayde  of  the  castle,  with  many  of  the  people 
of  Denia,  was  one  day  on  his  knees  in  the  chapel, 
imploring  the  Virgin  to  allay  a  tempest  which  was 
strewing  the  coast  with  wrecks,  when  a  sentinel 
brought  word  that  a  Moorish  cruiser  was  standing 
for  the  land.  The  Alcayde  gave  orders  to  ring  the 
alarm  bells,  light  signal  fires  on  the  hill  tops,  and 
rouse  the  country,  for  the  coast  was  subject  to  CFuel 
maraudings  from  the  Barbary  cruisers. 

In  a  little  while  the  horsemen  of  the  neighbour- 
hood were  seen  pricking  along  the  beach,  armed 
with  such  weapons  as  they  could  find,  and  the  Al- 
cayde and  his  scanty  garrison  descended  from  the 
hill.  In  the  mean  time  the  Moorish  bark  came  roll- 
ing and  pitching  towards  the  land.  As  it  drew  near, 
the  rich  carving  and  gilding  with  which  it  was  dec- 
orated, its  silken  bandaroles  and  banks  of  crimson 
oars,  showed  it  to  be  no  warlike  vessel,  but  a  sump- 
tuous galiot  destined  for  state  and  ceremony.  It 
bore  the  marks  of  the  tempest ;  the  masts  were 
broken,  the  oars  shattered,  and  fragments  of  snowy 
sails  and  silken  awnings  were  fluttering  in  the  blast. 

As  the  galiot  grounded  upon  the  sand,  the  im- 
patient rabble  rushed  into  the  surf  to  capture  and 
make  spoil ;  but  were  awed  into  admiration  and 
respect  by  the  appearance  of  the  illustrious  company 
on  board.  There  were  Moors  of  both  sexes  sump- 
tuously arrayed,  and  adorned  with  precious  jewels, 
bearing  the  demeanour  of  ])ersons  of  lofty  rank. 
Among  them  shone  conspicuous  a  youthful  beauty, 
magnificently  attired,  to  whom  all  seemed  to  pay 
reverence. 

Several  of  the  Moors  surrounded  her  with  drawn 
swords,  threatening  death  to  any  that  approached  ; 
others  sprang  from  the  bark,  and  throwing  them- 
selves on  their  knees  before  the  Alcayde,  implored 
him,  by  his  royal  honour  and  courtesy  as  a  knight,  to 
protect  a  royal  virgin  from  injury  and  insult. 

"You  behold  before  you,"  said  they,  "the  only 
daughter  of  the  king  of  Algiers,  the  betrothed  bride 
of  the  son  of  the  king  of  Tunis.  We  were  conduct- 
ing her  to  the  court  of  her  expecting  bridegroom, 
when  a  tempest  drove  us  from  our  course,  and  com- 
pelled us  to  take  refuge  on  your  coast.  Be  not  more 
cruel  than  the  tempest,  but  deal  nobly  with  that 
which  even  sea  and  storm  have  spared." 

The  Alcayde  listened  to  their  prayers.  He  con- 
ducted the  princess  and  her  train  to  the  castle,  where 
every  honour  due  to  her  rank  was  paid  her.  Some 
of  her  ancient  attendants  interceded  for  her  libera- 


*  Pcdida  dc  Espafia  por  Abulcacim  Tarif  Abentarique,  lib.  i. 

t  Ix)pe  de  Vega.  1 


tion,  promising  countless  sums  to  be  paid  by  her 
father  for  her  ransom  ;  but  the  Alcayde  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  all  their  golden  offers.  "  She  is  a  royal 
captive,"  said  he;  "it  belongs  to  my  sovereign  alone 
to  dispose  of  her."  After  she  had  reposed,  therefore, 
for  some  days  at  the  castle,  and  recovered  from  the 
fatigue  and  terror  of  the  seas,  he  caused  her  to  be 
conducted,  with  all  her  train,  in  magnificent  state  to 
the  court  of  Don  Roderick. 

The  beautiful  Elyata*  entered  Toledo  more  like  a 
triumphant  sovereign  than  a  captive.  A  chosen 
band  of  christian  horsemen,  splendidly  armed,  ap- 
peared to  wait  upon  her  as  a  mere  guard  of  honour. 
She  was  surrounded  by  the  Moorish  damsels  of  her 
train,  and  followed  by  her  own  Moslem  guards,  ail 
attired  with  the  magnificence  that  had  been  intended 
to  grace  her  arrival  at  the  court  of  Tunis.  The 
princess  was  arrayed  in  bridal  robes,  woven  in  the 
most  costly  looms  of  the  orient ;  her  diadem  sparkled 
with  diamonds,  and  was  decorated  with  the  rarest 
plumes  of  the  bird  of  paradise,  and  even  the  silken 
trappings  of  her  palfry,  which  swept  the  ground, 
were  covered  with  pearls  and  precious  stones.  As 
this  brilliant  cavalcade  crossed  the  bridge  of  the 
Tagus,  all  Toledo  poured  forth  to  behold  it,  and 
nothing  was  heard  throughout  the  city  but  praises  of 
the  wonderful  beauty  of  the  princess  of  Algiers. 
King  Roderick  came  forth,  attended  by  the  chivalry 
of  his  court,  to  receive  the  royal  captive.  His  re- 
cent voluptuous  life  had  disposed  him  for  tender  and 
amorous  affections,  and  at  the  first  sight  of  the  beau- 
tiful Elyata  he  was  enraptured  with  her  charms. 
Seeing  her  face  clouded  with  sorrow  and  anxiety,  he 
soothed  her  with  gentle  and  courteous  words,  and 
conducting  her  to  a  royal  palace,  "behold,"  said  he, 
"  thy  habitation,  where  no  one  shall  molest  thee ; 
consider  thyself  at  home  in  the  mansion  of  thy 
father,  and  dispose  of  any  thing  according  to  thy 
will." 

Here  the  princess  passed  her  time,  with  the  female 
attendants  who  had  accompanied  her  from  Algiers ; 
and  no  one  but  the  king  was  permitted  to  visit  her, 
who  daily  became  more  and  more  enamoured  of  his 
lovely  captive,  and  sought  by  tender  assiduity  to  gain 
her  affections.  The  distress  of  the  princess  at  her 
captivity  was  soothed  by  this  gentle  treatment.  She 
was  of  an  age  when  sorrow  cannot  long  hold  sway 
over  the  heart.  Accompanied  by  her  youthful  at- 
tendants, she  ranged  the  spacious  apartments  of  the 
palace,  and  sported  among  the  groves  and  alleys  of 
its  garden.  Every  day  the  remembrance  of  the 
paternal  home  grew  less  and  less  painful,  and  the 
king  became  more  and  more  amiable  in  her  eyes,  and 
when,  at  length,  he  offered  to  share  his  heart  and 
throne  with  her,  she  listened  with  downcast  looks 
and  kindling  blushes,  but  with  an  air  of  resignation. 

One  obstacle  remained  to  the  complete  fruition  of 
the  monarch's  wishes,  and  this  was  the  religion  of 
the  princess.  Roderick  forthwith  employed  the  arch- 
bishop of  Toledo  to  instruct  the  beautiful  Elyata  in 
the  mysteries  of  the  christian  faith.  The  female  in- 
tellect is  quick  in  perceiving  the  merits  of  new  doc- 
trines ;  the  archbishop,  therefore,  soon  succeeded  in 
converting,  not  merely  the  princess,  but  most  of  her 
attendants,  and  a  day  was  appointed  for  their  public 
baptism.  The  ceremony  was  performed  with  great 
pomp  and  solemnity,  in  the  presence  of  all  the  nobil- 
ity and  chivalry  of  the  court.  The  princess  and  her 
damsels,  clad  in  white,  walked  on  foot  to  the  cathe- 
dral, while  numerous  beautiful  children,  arrayed  as 
angels,  strewed  their  path  with  flowers ;  and  the 
archbishop  meeting  them  at  the  portal,  received  them, 
as  it  were,  into  the  bosom  of  the  church.    The  prin- 


*  By  some  she  is  called  Zatrx. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


299 


cess  abandoned  her  Moorish  appellation  of  Elyata, 
and  was  baptized  by  the  name  of  Exilona,  by  which 
she  was  thencefortji  called,  and  has  generally  been 
known  in  history. 

The  nuptials  of  Roderick  and  the  beautiful  con- 
vert took  place  shortly  afterwards,  and  were  cele- 
brated with  great  magnificence.  There  were  jousts, 
and  tourneys,  and  banquets,  and  other  rejoicings, 
which  lasted  twenty  days,  and  were  attended  by  the 
principal  nobles  from  all  parts  of  Spain.  After 
these  were  over,  such  of  the  attendants  of  the  prin- 
cess as  refused  to  embrace  Christianity  and  desired 
to  return  to  Africa,  were  dismissed  with  munificent 
presents ;  and  an  embassy  was  sent  to  the  king  of 
Algiers,  to  inform  him  of  the  nuptials  of  his  daughter, 
and  to  proffer  him  the  friendship  of  King  Roderick.* 


CHAPTER  IV. 

OF  COUNT  JULIAN. 

For  a  time  Don  Roderick  lived  happily  with 
his  young  and '  beautiful  queen,  and  Toledo  was 
the  seat  of  festivity  and  splendour.  The  principal 
nobles  throughout  the  kingdom  repaired  to  his  court 
to  pay  him,  homage,  and  to  receive  his'  commands  ; 
and  none  were  more  devoted  in  their  reverence  than 
those  who  were  obnoxious  to  suspicion  from  their 
connexion  w-ith  the  late  king. 

Among  the  foremost  of  these  was  Count  Julian,  a 
man  destined  to  be  infamously  renowned  in  the  dark 
story  of  his  country's  woes.  He  was  of  one  of  the 
proudest  Gothic  families,  lord  of  Consuegra  and 
Algeziras,  and  connected  by  marriage  with  Witiza 
and  the  Bishop  Oppas ;  his  wife,  the  Countess 
Frandina,  being  their  sister.  In  consequence  of  this 
connexion,  and  of  his  own  merits,  he  had  enjoyed 
the  highest  dignities  and  commands,  being  one  of 
the  Espatorios,  or  royal  sword-bearers  ;  an  office  of 
the  greatest  confidence  about  the  person  of  the 
sovereign.  +  He  had,  moreover,  been  entrusted  with 
the  military  government  of  the  Spanish  possessions 
on  the  African  coast  of  the  strait,  which  at  that  time 
were  threatened  by  the  Arabs  of  the  East,  the  fol- 
lowers of  Mahomet,  who  were  advancing  their  vic- 
torious standard  to  the  extremity  of  Western  Africa. 
Count  Julian  established  his  seat  of  government  at 
Ceuta,  the  frontier  bulwark  and  one  of  the  far-famed 
gates  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea.  Here  he  boldly 
faced,  and  held  in  check,  the  torrent  of  Moslem 
invasion. 

Don  Julian  was  a  man  of  an  active,  but  irregular 
genius,  and  a  grasping  ambition  ;  he  had  a  love  for 
power  and  grandeur,  in  which  he  was  joined  by  his 
naughty  countess ;  and  they  could  ill  brook  the 
downfall  of  their  house  as  threatened  by  the  fate  of 
Witiza.  They  had  hastened,  therefore,  to  pay  their 
court  to  the  newly  elevated  monarch,  and  to  assure 
him  of  their  fidelity  to  his  interests. 

Roderick  was  readily  persuaded  of  the  sincerity  of 
Count  Julian  ;  he  was  aware  of  his  merits  as  a 
soldier  and  a  governor,  and  continued  him  in  his  im- 


portant command  :  honouring  him  with  many  other 
marks  of  implicit  confidence.  Count  Julian  sought 
to  confirm  this  confidence  by  every  proof  of  devotion. 
It  was  a  custom  among  the  Goths  to  rear  many  of 
the  children  of  the  most  illustrious  families  in  the 
royal  household.  They  served  as  pages  to  the  king, 
and  handmaids  and  ladies  of  honour  to  the  qjeen, 
and  were  instructed  in  all  manner  of  accomplish- 
ments befitting  their  gentle  blood.  When  about  to 
depart  for  Ceuta,  to  resume  his  command,  Don  Julian 
brought  his  daughter  Florinda  to  present  her  to  the 
sovereigns.  She  was  a  beautiful  virgin  that  had  not 
as  yet  attained  to  womanhood.  "  I  confide  her  to 
your  protection,"  said  he  to  the  king,  "  to  be  unto 
her  as  a  father  ;  and  to  have  her  trained  in  the  paths 
of  virtue.  I  can  leave  with  you  no  dearer  pledge  of 
my  loyalty." 

King  Roderick  received  the  timid  and  blushing 
maiden  into  his  paternal  care  ;  promising  to  watch 
over  her  happiness  with  a  parent's  eye,  and  that  she 
should  be  enrolled  among  the  most  cherished  at- 
tendants of  the  queen.  With  this  assurance  of  the 
welfare  of  his  child.  Count  Julian  departed,  well 
pleased,  for  his  government  at  Ceuta. 


*  '^  Ccmo  esta  Infanta  era  muy  hermosa,  y  el  Rey  [Don  Rodrigo] 
dispuesta  y  gcntil  hombre,  entro  por  medio  el  amor  yaficion,y 
junto  con  el  rcgalo  con  que  la  avia  mandado  hospedar  y  scrvir  ful 
causaqueel  rey  persnadio  esta  Infanta,  que  si  .se  tornava  a  su  leyde 
christiano  la  tomaria  por  muger,  y  que  la  haria  sefiora  de  sus  Rey- 
nos.  Con  esta  persuasion  clla  fue  contenta,  y  aviendose  vuelto 
chrifttiana,  se  caso  con  ella,  y  se  celebraron  sus  bodas  con  muchas 
fiestas  y  regozijos,  como  era  razon." — Abulcassim,  conq'st  de 
Espan,  cap.  3. 

t  Condes  Espatorios  ;  so  called  from  the  drawn  swords  of  ample 
ftize  and  breadth,  with  which  they  kept  guard  in  the  anti-chambers 
of  the  Gothic  Kinjjs.  Comes  Spathariorum,  custodnm  corporis 
Regis  Profeclus.  Hunc  et  Propospatharium  appcUatum  existimo. 
— Patr.  Pant,  de  Offic.  Goth. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE  STORY  OF   FLORINDA. 

The  beautiful  daughter  of  Count  Julian  was  re- 
ceived with  great  favour  by  the  Oueen  Exilona  and 
admitted  among  the  noble  damsels  that  attended 
upon  her  person.  Here  she  lived  in  honour  and  ap- 
parent security,  and  surrounded  by  innocent  de- 
lights. To  gratify  his  queen,  Don  Roderick  had 
built  for  her  rural  recreation  a  palace  without  the  walls 
of  Toledo,  on  the  banks  of  the  Tagus.  It  stood  in 
the  midst  of  a  garden,  adorned  after  the  luxurious 
style  of  the  East.  The  air  was  perfumed  by  fra- 
grant shrubs  and  flowers  ;  the  groves  resounded 
with  the  song  of  the  nightingale,  while  the  gush  of 
fountains  and  water-falls,  and  the  distant  murmur 
of  the  Tagus,  made  it  a  delightful  retreat  during  the 
sultry  days  of  summer.  The  charm  of  perfect  pri- 
vacy also  reigned  throughout  the  place,  for  the  gar- 
den walls  were  high,  and  numerous  guards  kept 
watch  without  to  protect  it  from  all  intrusion. 

In  this  delicious  abode,  more  befitting  an  oriental 
voluptuary  than  a  Gothic  king,  Don  Roderick  was 
accustomed  to  while  away  much  of  that  time  which 
should  have  been  devoted  to  the  toilsome  cares  of 
government.  The  very  security  and  peace  which  he 
had  produced  throughout  his  dominions  by  his  pre- 
cautions to  abolish  the  means  and  habitudes  of  war, 
had  effected  a  disastrous  change  in  his  character.  The 
hardy  and  heroic  qualities  which  had  conducted  him 
to  the  throne,  were  softened  in  the  lap  of  indulgence. 
Surrounded  by  the  pleasures  of  an  idle  and  effemi- 
nate court,  and  beguiled  by  the  example  of  his  de- 
generate nobles,  he  gave  way  to  a  fatal  sensuality 
that  had  lain  dormant  in  his  nature  during  the  vir- 
tuous days  of  his  adversity.  The  mere  love  of  female 
beauty  had  first  enamoured  him  of  Exilona,  and  the 
same  passion,  fostered  by  voluptuous  idleness,  now 
betrayed  him  into  the  commission  of  an  act  fatal  to 
himself  and  Spain.  The  following  is  the  story  of 
his  error  as  gathered  from  an  old  chronicle  and 
legend. 

In  a  remote  part  of  the  palace  was  an  apartment 
devoted  to  the  queen.  It  was  like  an  eastern  harem, 
shut  up  from  the  foot  of  man,  and  where  the  king 
himself  but  rarely  entered.  It  had  its  own  courts, 
and  gardens,  and  fountains,  where  the  queen  was 


300 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


wont  to  recreate  herself  with  her  damsels,  as  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  do  in  the  jealous  privacy  of  her 
father's  palace. 

One  sultry  day,  the  king,  instead  of  taking  his 
siesta,  or  mid-day  slumber,  repaired  to  this  apart- 
ment to  seek  the  society  of  the  queen.  In  passing 
through  a  small  oratory,  he  was  drawn  by  the  sound 
of  female  voices  to  a  casement  overhung  with  myr- 
tles and  jessamines.  It  looked  into  an  interior  gar- 
den or  court,. set  o';'.  with  orange-trees,  in  the  midst 
of  which  was  a  marble  fountain,  surrounded  by  a 
grassy  bank,  enamelled  with  flowers. 

It  was  the  high  noontide  of  a  summer  day,  when, 
in  sultry  Spain,  the  landscape  trembles  to  the  eye, 
and  all  nature  seeks  repose,  except  the  grasshopper, 
that  pipes  his  lulling  note  to  the  herdsman  as  he 
sleeps  beneath  the  shade. 

Around  the  fountain  were  several  of  the  damsels 
of  the  queen,  who,  confident  of  the  sacred  privacy  of 
the  place,  were  yielding  in  that  cool  retreat  to  the 
indulgence  prompted  by  the  season  and  the  hour. 
Some  lay  asleep  on  the  flowery  bank  ;  others  sat  on 
the  margin  of  the  fountain,  talking  and  laughing,  as 
they  bathed  their  feet  in  its  limpid  waters,  and  King 
Roderick  beheld  delicate  limbs  shining  through  the 
wave,  that  might  rival  the  marble  in  whiteness. 

Among  the  damsels  was  one  who  had  come  from 
the  Barbary  coast  with  the  queen.  Her  complexion 
had  the  dark  tinge  of  Mauritanea,  but  it  was  clear 
and  transparent,  and  the  deep  rich  rose  blushed 
through  the  lovely  brown.  Her  eyes  were  black  and 
full  of  fire,  and  flashed  from  under  long  silken  eye- 
lashes. 

A  sportive  contest  arose  among  the  maidens  as  to 
the  comparative  beauty  of  the  Spanish  and  Moorish 
forms  ;  but  the  Mauritanian  damsel  revealed  limbs 
of  voluptuous  symmetry  that  seemed  to  defy  all 
rivalry. 

The  Spanish  beauties  were  on  the  point  ofgiving  up 
the  contest,  when  they  bethought  themselves  of  the 
young  Florinda,  the  daughter  of  Count  Julian,  who 
lay  on  the  grassy  bank,  abandoned  to  a  summer 
slumber.  The  soft  glow  of  youth  and  health  mantled 
on  her  cheek  ;  her  fringed  eyelashes  scarcely  covered 
their  sleeping  orbs ;  her  moist  and  ruby  lips  were 
lightly  parted,  just  revealing  a  gleam  of  her  ivory 
teeth,  while  her  innocent  bosom  rose  and  fell  be- 
neath her  boddice,  like  the  gentle  swelling  and  sink- 
ing of  a  tranquil  sea.  There  was  a  breathing  ten- 
derness and  beauty  in  the  sleeping  virgin,  that  seemed 
to  send  forth  sweetness  like  the  flowers  around  her. 

"  Behold,"  cried  her  companions  exultingly,  "the 
champion  of  Spanish  beauty  !  " 

In  their  playful  eagerness  they  half  disrobed  the  in- 
nocent Florinda  before  she  was  aware.  She  awoke 
in  time,  however,  to  escape  from  their  busy  hands  ; 
but  enough  of  her  charms  had  been  revealed  to  con- 
vince the  monarch  that  they  were  not  to  be  rivalled 
by  the  rarest  beauties  of  Mauritanea. 

From  this  day  the  heart  of  Roderick  was  inflamed 
with  a  fatal  passion.  He  gazed  on  the  beautiful 
Florinda  with  fervid  desire,  and  sought  to  read  in  her 
looks  whether  there  was  levity  or  wantonness  in  her 
bosom ;  but  the  eye  of  the  damsel  ever  sunk  beneath 
his  gaze,  and  remained  bent  on  the  earth  in  virgin 
modesty. 

It  was  in  vain  he  called  to  mind  the  sacred  trust 
reposed  in  him  by  Count  Julian,  and  the  promise  he 
had  given  to  watch  over  his  daughter  with  paternal 
care  ;  his  heart  was  vitiated  by  sensual  indulgence, 
and  the  consciousness  of  power  had  rendered  him 
selfish  in  his  gratifications. 

Being  one  evening  in  the  garden  where  the  queen 
was  diverting  herself  with  her  damsels,  and  coming 
to  the  fountain  where  he  had  behekl  the  innocent 


maidens  at  their  sport,  he  could  no  longer  restrain 
the  passion  that  raged  within  his  breast.  Seating 
himself  beside  the  lountain,  he_called  Florinda  to 
him  to  draw  forth  a  thorn  which  had  pierced  his 
hand.  The  maiden  knelt  at  his  feet,  to  examine  his 
hand,  and  the  touch  of  her  slender  fingers  thrilled 
through  his  veins.  As  she  knelt,  too,  her  amber 
locks  fell  in  rich  ringlets  about  her  beautiful  head,  her 
innocent  bosom  palpitated  beneath  the  crimson  bod- 
dice, and  her  timid  blushes  increased  the  effulgence 
of  her  charms. 

Having  examined  the  monarch's  hand  in  vain,  she 
looked  up  in  his  face  with  artless  perplexity. 

"  Senior,"  said  she,  "  1  can  find  no  thorn,  nor  any 
sign  of  wound." 

Don  Roderick  grasped  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to 
his  heart.  "  It  is  here,  lovely  Florinda  !  "  said  he. 
"  It  is  here  !  and  thou  alone  canst  pluck  it  forth  !  " 

"  My  lord  !  "  exclaimed  the  blushing  and  astonished 
maiden. 

"  Florinda  !  "  said  Don  Roderick,  "  dost  thou  love 
me  .''" 

"  Senior,"  said  she,  "  my  father  taught  me  to  love 
and  reverence  you.  He  confided  me  to  your  care  as 
one  who  would  be  as  a  parent  to  mej  when  he  should 
be  far  distant,  serving  your  majesty  with  life  and 
loyalty.  May  God  incline  your  majesty  ever  to  pro- 
tect me  as  a  father."  So  saying,  the  maiden  dropped 
her  eyes  to  the  ground,  and  continued  kneeling:  but 
her  countenance  had  become  deadly  pale,  and  as  she 
knelt  she  trembled. 

"Florinda,"  said  the  king,  "either  thou  dost  not, 
or  thou  wilt  not  understand  me.  1  would  have  thee 
love  me,  not  as  a  father,  nor  as  a  monarch,  but  as 
one  who  adores  thee.  Why  dost  thou  start  ?  No 
one  shall  know  our  loves ;  and,  moreover,  the  love 
of  a  monarch  inflicts  no  degradation  like  the  love  of 
a  common  man — riches  and  honours  attend  upon  it. 
I  will  advance  thee  to  rank  and  dignity,  and  place 
thee  above  the  proudest  females  of  my  court.  Thy 
father,  too,  shall  be  more  exalted  and  endowed  than 
any  noble  in  my  realm." 

The  soft  eye  of  Florinda  kindled  at  these  words. 
"  Senior,"  said  she,  "  the  line  I  spring  from  can  re- 
ceive no  dignity  by  means  so  vile  ;  and  my  father 
would  rather  die  than  purchase  rank  and  power  by 
the  dishonour  of  his  child.  But  I  see,"  continued 
she,  "  that  your  majesty  speaks  in  this  manner  only 
to  try  me.  You  may  have  thought  me  light  and 
simple,  and  unworthy  to  attend  upon  the  queen.  I 
pray  your  majesty  to  pardon  me,  that  I  have  taken 
your  pleasantry  in  such  serious  part." 

In  this  way  the  agitated  maiden  sought  to  evade 
the  addresses  of  the  monarch,  but  still  her  check  was 
blanched,  and  her  lip  quivered  as  she  spake. 

The  king  pressed  her  hand  to  his  lips  with  fervour. 
"  May  ruin  seize  me,"  cried  he,  "  if  I  speak  to  prove 
thee.  My  heart,  my  kingdom,  are  at  thy  command. 
Only  be  mine,  and  thou  shalt  rule  absolute  mistress 
of  myself  and  my  domams." 

The  damsel  rose  from  the  earth  where  she  had 
hitherto  knelt,  and  her  whole  countenance  glowed 
with  virtuous  indignation.  "  My  lord,"  said  she,  "  I 
am  your  subject,  and  in  your  power;  take  my  life  if 
it  be  your  pleasure,  but  nothing  shall  tempt  me  to 
commit  a  crime  which  would  be  treason  to  the  queen, 
disgrace  to  my  father,  agony  to  my  mother,  and  per- 
dition to  myself."  With  these  words  she  left  the 
garden,  and  the  king,  for  the  moment,  was  too  much 
awed  by  her  indignant  virtue  to  oppose  her  departure. 

We  shall  pass  briefly  over  the  succeeding  events 
of  the  stor)'  of  Florinda,  about  which  so  much  has 
been  said  and  sung  by  chronicler  and  bard  :  for  the 
sober  page  of  history  should  be  carefully  chastened 
from  all  scenes  that  might  inflame  a  wanton  imagi- 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


301 


nation  ;  leaving'  them  to  poems  and  romances,  and 
such  like  liighly  seasoned  works  of  fantasy  and  rec- 
reation. 

Let  it  suffice  to  say,  that  Don  Roderick  pursued 
his  suit  to  the  beautiful  Florinda,  his  passion  being 
more  and  more  inflamed  by  the  resistance  of  the 
virtuous  damsel.  At  length,  forgetting  what  was 
due  to  helpless  beauty,  to  his  own  honour  as  a  knight, 
and  his  word  as  a  sovereign,  he  triumphed  over  her 
weakness  by  base  and  unmanly  violence. 

There  are  not  wanting  those  who  atifirm  that  the 
hapless  Florinda  lent  a  yielding  ear  to  the  solicita- 
tions of  the  monarch,  and  her  name  has  been  treated 
with  opprobrium  in  several  of  the  ancient  chronicles 
and  legendary  ballads  that  have  transmitted,  from 
generation  to  generation,  the  story  of  the  woes  of 
Spain.  In  very  truth,  however,  she  appears  to  have 
been  a  guiltless  victim,  resisting,  as  far  as  helpless 
female  could  resist,  the  arts  and  intrigues  of  a  power- 
ful monarch,  who  had  nought  to  check  the  indulgence 
of  his  will,  and  bewailing  her  disgrace  with  a  poig- 
nancy that  shows  how  dearly  she  had  prized  her 
honour. 

In  the  first  paroxysm  of  her  grief  she  wrote  a  letter 
to  her  father,  blotted  with  her  tears  and  almost  in- 
coherent from  her  agitation.  "  Would  to  God,  my 
father,"  said  she,  "that  the  earth  had  opened  and 
swallowed  me  ere  I  had  been  reduced  to  write  these 
lines.  I  blush  to  tell  thee,  what  it  is  not  proper  to 
conceal.  Alas,  my  father !  thou  hast  entrusted  thy 
Iamb  to  the  guardianship  of  the  lion.  Thy  daughter 
has  been  dishonoured,  the  royal  cradle  of  the  Goths 
polluted,  and  our  lineage  insulted  and  disgraced. 
Hasten,  my  father,  to  rescue  your  child  from  the 
power  of  the  spoiler,  and  to  vindicate  the  honour  of 
your  house." 

When  Florinda  had  written  these  lines,  she  sum- 
moned a  youthful  esquire,  who  had  been  a  page  in 
the  service  of  her  father.  "  Saddle  thy  steed,"  said 
she,  "and  if  thou  dost  aspire  to  knightly  honour,  or 
hope  for  lady's  grace  ;  if  thou  hast  fealty  for  thy 
lord,  or  devotion  to  his  daughter,  speed  swiftly  upon 
my  errand.  Rest  not,  halt  not,  spare  not  the  spur, 
but  hie  thee  day  and  night  until  thou  reach  the  sea  ; 
take  the  first  bark,  and  haste  with  sail  and  oar  to 
Ceuta,  nor  pause  until  thou  give  this  letter  to  the 
count  my  father."  The  youth  put  the  letter  in  his 
bosom.  "  Trust  me,  lady,"  said  he,  "  I  will  neither 
halt,  nor  turn  aside,  nor  cast  a  look  behind,  until  I 
reach  Count  Julian."  He  mounted  his  fleet  steed, 
sped  his  way  across  the  bridge,  and  soon  left  behind 
him  the  verdant  valley  of  the  Tagus. 


CHAPTER  VL 


DON    RODERICK    RECEIVES    AN    EXTRAORDINARY 
EMBASSY. 

The  heart  of  Don  Roderick  was  not  so  depraved 
by  sensuality,  but  that  the  wrong  he  had  been  guilty 
of  toward  the  innocent  Florinda,  and  the  disgrace  he 
had  inflicted  on  her  house,  weighed  heavy  on  his 
spirits,  and  a  cloud  began  to  gather  on  his  once  clear 
and  unwrinkled  brow. 

Heaven,  at  this  time,  say  the  old  Spanish  chroni- 
cles, permitted  a  marvellous  intimation  of  the  wrath 
with  which  it  intended  to  visit  the  monarch  and 
his  people,  in  punishment  of  their  sins  ;  nor  are  we, 
say  the  same  orthodox  writers,  to  startle  and  with- 
hold our  faith  when  we  meet  in  the  page  of  discreet 
and  sober  history  with  these  signs  and  portents, 
which  transcend  the  probabilities  of  ordinary  life ; 
for  the  revolutions  of  empires  and  the  downfall  of 


mighty  kings  are  awful  events,  that  shake  the  physi- 
cal as  well  as  the  moral  world,  and  are  often  an- 
nounced by  forerunning  marvels  and  prodigious 
omens. 

With  such  like  cautious  preliminaries  do  the  wary 
but  credulous  historiographers  of  yore  usher  in  a 
marvellous  event  of  prophecy  and  enchantment, 
linked  in  ancient  story  with  the  fortunes  of  Don  Rod- 
erick, but  which  modern  doubters  would  fain  hold 
up  as  an  apocryphal  tradition  of  Arabian  origin. 

Now,  so  it  happened,  according  to  the  legend,  that 
about  this  time,  as  King  Roderick  was  seated  one 
day  on  his  throne,  surrounded  by  his  nobles,  in  the 
ancient  city  of  Toledo,  two  men  of  venerable  appear- 
ance entered  the  hall  of  audience.  Their  snowy 
beards  descended  to  their  breasts,  and  their  gray 
hairs  were  bound  with  ivy.  They  were  arrayed  in 
white  garments  of  foreign  or  antiquated  fashion, 
which  swept  the  ground,  and  were  cinctured  with 
girdles,  wrought  with  the  signs  of  the  zodiac,  from 
which  were  suspended  enormous  bunches  of  keys  of 
every  variety  of  form.  Having  approached  the 
throne  and  made  obeisance  :  "  Know,  O  king,"  said 
one  of  the  old  men,  "  that  in  days  of  yore,  when 
Hercules  of  Lybia,  surnamed  the  strong,  had  set  up 
his  pillars  at  the  ocean  strait,  he  erected  a  tower  near 
to  this  ancient  city  of  Toledo.  He  built  it  of  prodi- 
gious strength,  and  finished  it  with  magic  art,  shut- 
ting up  within  it  a  fearful  secret,  never  to  be  pene- 
trated without  peril  and  disaster.  To  protect  this 
terrible  mystery  he  closed  the  entrance  to  the  edifice 
with  a  ponderous  door  of  iron,  secured  by  a  great 
lock  of  steel,  and  he  left  a  command  that  every  king 
who  should  succeed  him  should  add  another  lock  to 
the  portal  ;  denouncing  woe  and  destruction  on  him 
who  should  eventually  unfold  the  secret  of  the  tower. 

"  The  guardianship  of  the  portal  was  given  to  our 
ancestors,  and  has  continued  in  our  family,  from  gen- 
eration to  generation,  since  the  days  of  Hercules. 
Several  kings,  from  time  to  time,  have  caused  the 
gate  to  be  thrown  open,  and  have  attempted  to  enter, 
but  have  paid  dearly  for  their  temerity.  Some  have 
perished  within  the  threshold,  others  have  been  over- 
whelmed with  horror  at  tremendous  sounds,  which 
shook  the  foundations  of  the  earth,  and  have  hast- 
ened to  reclose  the  door  and  secure  it  with  its  thou- 
sand locks.  Thus,  since  the  days  of  Hercules,  the 
inmost  recesses  of  the  pile  have  never  been  pene- 
trated by  mortal  man,  and  a  profound  mystery  con- 
tinues to  prevail  over  this  great  enchantment.  This, 
O  king,  is  all  we  have  to  relate  ;  and  our  errand  is  to 
entreat  thee  to  repair  to  the  tower  and  affix  thy  lock 
to  the  portal,  as  has  been  done  by  all  thy  predeces- 
sors." Having  thus  said,  the  ancient  men  made  a 
profound  reverence  and  departed  from  the  presence 
chamber.* 

Don  Roderick  remained  for  some  time  lost  in 
thought  after  the  departure  of  the  men  ;  he  then  dis- 
missed all  his  court  excepting  the  venerable  Urbino, 
at  that  time  archbishop  of  Toledo.  The  long  white 
beard  of  this  prelate  bespoke  his  advanced  age,  and 
his  overhanging  eyebrows  showed  him  a  man  full  of 
wary  counsel. 

"  Father,"  said  the  king,  "I  have  an  earnest  desire 
to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  this  tower."  The  wor- 
thy prelate  shook  his  hoary  head,  "  Beware,  my  son," 
said  he,  "there  are  secrets  hidden  from  man  for  his 
good.  Your  predecessors  for  many  generations  have 
respected  this  mystery,  and  have  increased  in  might 
and  empire.  A  knowledge  of  it,  therefore,  is  not 
material  to  the  welfare  of  your  kingdom.     Seek  not 


•  Pcrdida  de  Espafia  por  Abulcasim  Tarif  Abentarique,  I.  i,  c.  (. 
Cronica  dei  Rey  Don  Rodrigo  por  el  moro  Rasis,  1.  z,  c.  i.     Bleda. 

cron.  cap.  vit. 


302 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


then  to  indulge  a  rash  and  unprofitable  curiosity, 
wltich  is  interdicted  under  such  awful  menaces." 

"  Of  what  importance,"  cried  the  king,  "  are  the 
menaces  of  Hercules,  the  Lyhian .'  was  he  not  a  pa- 
gan ;  and  can  his  enchantments  have  ought  avail 
against  a  believer  in  our  holy  faith  ?  Doubtless  in 
this  tovver  are  locked  up  treasures  of  gold  and  jew- 
els, amassed  in  days  of  old,  the  spoils  of  mighty 
kings,  the  riches  of  the  pagan  world.  My  coffers 
are  exhausted  ;  I  have  need  of  supply  ;  and  surely  it 
would  be  an  acceptable  act  in  the  eyes  of  heaven,  to 
draw  forth  this  wealth  which  lies  buried  under  pro- 
fane and  necromantic  spells,  and  consecrate  it  to 
religious  purposes." 

The  venerable  archbishop  still  continued  to  re- 
monstrate, but  Don  Roderick  heeded  not  his  counsel, 
for  he  was  led  on  by  his  malignant  star.  "  Father," 
said  he,  "  it  is  in  vain  you  attempt  to  dissuade  me. 
My  resolution  is  fixed.  To-morrow  I  will  explore 
the  hidden  mystery,  or  rather  the  hidden  treasures 
of  this  tower." 


CHAPTER  VII. 


STORY   OF  THE    MARVELLOUS   AND    PORTENTOUS 
TOWER. 

The  morning  sun  shone  brightly  upon  the  cliff- 
built  towers  of  Toledo,  when  King  Roderick  issued 
out  of  the  gate  of  the  city  at  the  head  of  a  numerous 
train  of  courtiers  and  cavaliers,  and  crossed  the 
bridge  that  bestrides  the  deep  rocky  bed  of  the 
Tagus.  The  shining  cavalcade  wound  up  the  road 
that  leads  among  the  mountains,  and  soon  came  in 
sight  of  the  necromantic  tower. 

Of  this  renowned  edifice  marvels  are  related  by 
the  ancient  Arabian  and  Spanish  chroniclers,  "  and 
.  1  doubt  much,"  adds  the  venerable  Agapida,  "  wheth- 
er many  readers  will  not  consider  the  whole  as  a 
cunningly  devised  fable,  sprung  from  an  oriental 
imagination ;  but  it  is  not  for  me  to  reject  a  fact 
which  is  recorded  by  all  those  writers  who  are  the 
fathers  of  our  national  history  ;  a  fact,  too,  which  is 
as  well  attested  as  most  of  the  remarkable  events  in 
the  story  of  Don  Roderick.  None  but  light  and  in- 
considerate minds,"  continues  the  good  friar,  "  do 
hastily  reject  the  marvellous.  To  the  thinking  mind 
the  whole  world  is  enveloped  in  mystery,  and  every 
tiling  is  full  of  type  and  portent.  To  such  a  mind 
the  necromantic  tower  of  Toledo  will  appear  as  one 
of  those  wondrous  monuments  of  the  olden  time ; 
one  of  those  Egyptian  and  Chaldaic  piles,  storied 
with  hidden  wisdom  and  mystic  prophecy,  which 
have  been  devised  in  past  ages,  when  man  yet  en- 
joyed an  intercourse  with  high  and  spiritual  natures, 
and  when  human  foresight  partook  of  divination." 

This  singular  tower  was  round  and  of  great  height 
and  grandeur,  erected  upon  a  lofty  rock,  and  sur- 
rounded by  crags  and  precipices.  The  foundation 
was  supported  by  four  brazen  lions,  each  taller  than 
a  cavalier  on  horseback.  The  walls  were  built  of 
small  pieces  of  jasper  and  various  coloured  marbles, 
not  larger  than  a  man's  hand ;  so  subtilely  joined, 
however,  that,  but  for  their- different  hues,  they  might 
be  taken  for  one,  entire  stone.  They  were  arranged 
with  marvellous  cunning  so  as  to  represent  battles 
and  warlike  deeds  of  times  and  heroes  long  since 
])assed  away,  and  the  whole  surface  was  so  admirably 
|)olished  that  the  stones  were  as  lustrous  as  glass, 
and  reflected  the  rays  of  the  sun  with  such  resplen- 
dent brightness  as  to  dazzle  all  beholders.* 

*  From  the  minute  account  of  the  eood  friar,  dr.iwn  from  the 
*ncicnt  chronicles,  it  would  appear  that  the  walls  of  the  tower 
were  pictured  in  mosaic  work. 


King  Roderick  and  his  courtiers  arrived  wonder- 
ing and  amazed  at  the  foot  of  the  rock.  Here  there 
was  a  narrow  arched  way  cut  through  the  living 
stone :  the  only  entrance  to  the  tower.  It  was 
closed  by  a  massive  iron  gate  covered  with  rusty 
locks  of  divers  workmanship  and  in  the  fashion  of 
different  centuries,  which  had  been  affixed  by  the 
predecessors  of  Don  Roderick.  On  either  side  of 
the  portal  stood  the  two  ancient  guardians  of  the 
tower,  laden  with  the  keys  appertaining  to  the  locks. 

The  king  alighted,  and  approaching  the  portals, 
ordered  the  guardians  to  unlock  the  gate.  The 
hoary-headed  men  drew  back  with  terror.  "Alas  !  " 
cried  they,  "what  is  it  your  majesty  requires  of 
us.  Would  you  have  the  mischiefs  of  this  tower 
unbound,  and  let  loose  to  shake  the  earth  to  its 
foundations.'  " 

The  venerable  archbishop  Urbino  likewise  im- 
plored him  not  to  disturb  a  mystery  which  had  been 
held  sacred  from  generation  to  generation  within 
the  memory  of  man,  and  which  even  Caesar  himself, 
when  sovereign  of  Spain,  had  not  ventured  to  in- 
vade. The  youthful  cavaliers,  however,  were  eager 
to  pursue  the  adventure,  and  encouraged  him  in  his 
rash  curiosity. 

"  Come  what  come  may,"  exclaimed  Don  Roder- 
ick, "  1  am  resolved  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  this 
tower."  So  saying,  he  again  commanded  the  guar- 
dians to  unlock  the  portal.  The  ancient  men  obeyed 
with  fear  and  trembling,  but  their  hands  shook  with 
age,  and  when  they  applied  the  keys  the  locks  were 
so  rusted  by  time,  or  of  such  strange  workmanship, 
that  they  resisted  their  feeble  efforts,  whereupon 
the  young  cavaliers  pressed  forward  and  lent  their 
aid.  Still  the  locks  were  so  numerous  and  difficult, 
that  with  all  their  eagerness  and  strength  a  great 
part  of  the  day  was  exhausted  before  the  whole  of 
them  could  be  mastered. 

When  the  last  bolt  had  yielded  to  the  key,  the 
guardians  and  the  reverend  archbishop  again  en- 
treated the  king  to  pause  and  reflect.  "  \Vhatever 
is  within  this  tower,"  said  they,  "  is  as  yet  harmless 
and  lies  bound  under  a  mighty  spell:  venture  not 
then  to  open  a  door  which  may  let  forth  a  flood  of 
evil  upon  the  land."  But  the  anger  of  the  king  was 
roused,  and  he  ordered  that  the  portal  should  be 
instantly  thrown  open.  In  vain,  howexer,  did  one 
after  another  exert  his  strength,  and  equally  in  vain 
did  the  cavaliers  unite  their  forces,  and  apply  their 
shoulders  to  the  gate  ;  though  there  was  neither  bar 
nor  bolt  remaining,  it  was  perfectly  immovable. 

The  patience  of  the  king  was  now  exhausted,  and 
he  advanced  to  apply  his  hand  ;  scarcely,  however, 
did  he  touch  the  iron  gate,  when  it  swung  slowly 
open,  uttering,  as  it  were,  a  dismal  groan,  as  it 
turned  reluctantly  upon  its  hinges.  A  cold,  damp 
wind  issued  forth,  accompanied  by  a  tempestuous 
sound.  The  hearts  of  the  ancient  guardians  quaked 
within  them,  and  their  knees  smote  together ;  but 
several  of  the  youthful  cavaliers  rushed  in,  eager  to 
gratify  their  curiosity,  or  to  signalize  themselves  in 
this  redoubtable  enterprise.  They  had  scarcely  ad- 
vanced a  few  paces,  however,  when  they  recoiled, 
overcome  by  the  baleful  air,  or  by  some  fearful 
vision.*  Upon  this,  the  king  ordered  that  fires 
should  be  kindled  to  dispel  the  darkness,  and  to  cor- 
rect the  noxious  and  long  imprisoned  air ;  he  then 
led  the  way  into  the  interior ;  but,  though  stout  of 
heart,  he  advanced  with  awe  and  hesitation. 

After  proceeding  a  short  distance,  he  entered  a 
hall,  or  anti-chamber,  on  the  opposite  side  of  which 
was  a  door,  and  before  it,  on  a  pedestal,  stood  a  gi- 
gantic figure,  of  the  colour  of  bronze,  and  of  a  ter- 


♦  Bleda.  cronica.  cap.  7. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


303 


rible  aspect.  It  held  a  huge  mace,  which  it  whirled 
incessnntly,  giving  such  cruel  and  resounding  blows 
upon  the  earth  as  to  prevent  all  further  entrance. 

The  king  paused  at  sight  of  this  appalling  figure, 
for  whether  it  were  a  hving  being,  or  a  statue  of 
magic  artitice,  he  could  not  tell.  On  its  breast  was 
a  scroll,  whereon  was  inscribed  in  large  letters,  "  I 
do  my  duty."*  After  a  little  while  Roderick  plucked 
up  heart,  and  addressed  it  with  great  solemnity : 
"Whatever  thou  be,"  said  he,  "know  that  I  come 
not  to  violate  this  sanctuary,  but  to  inquire  into  the 
mystery  it  contains ;  I  conjure  thee,  therefore,  to  let 
me  pass  in  safety." 

Upon  this  the  figure  paused  with  uplifted  mace, 
and  the  king  and  his  train  passed  unmolested  through 
the  door. 

They  now  entered  a  vast  chamber,  of  a  rare  and 
sumptuous  architecture,  difficult  to  be  described. 
The  walls  were  incrusted  with  the  most  precious 
gems,  so  joined  together  as  to  form  one  smooth  and 
perfect  surface.  The  lofty  dome  appeared  to  be  self- 
supported,  and  was  studded  with  gems,  lustrous  as 
the  stars  of  the  firmament.  There  was  neither 
wood,  nor  any  other  common  or  base  material  to 
be  seen  throughout  the  edifice.  There  were  no  win- 
dows or  other  openings  to  admit  the  day,  yet  a  ra- 
diant light  was  spread  throughout  the  place,  which 
seemed  to  shine  from  the  walls,  and  to  render  every 
object  distinctly  visible. 

In  the  centre  of  this  hall  stood  a  table  of  alabas- 
ter of  the  rarest  workmanship,  on  which  was  in- 
scribed in  Greek  characters,  that  Hercules  Alcides, 
the  Theban  Greek,  had  founded  this  tower  in  the 
year  of  the  world  three  thousand  and  six.  Upon 
the  table  stood  a  golden  casket,  richly  set  round 
with  precious  stones,  and  closed  with  a  lock  of 
mother-of-pearl,  and  on  the  lid  were  inscribed  the 
following  words : 

"  In  this  coffer  is  contained  the  mystery  of  the 
tower.  The  hand  of  none  but  a  king  can  open  it ; 
but  let  him  beware  !  for  marvellous  events  will  be 
revealed  to  him,  which  are  to  take  place  before  his 
death." 

King  Roderick  boldly  seized  upon  the  casket. 
The  venerable  archbishop  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
arm,  and  made  a  last  remonstrance.  "  Forbear,  my 
son!"  said  Re,  "desist  while  there  is  yet  time. 
Look  not  into  the  mysterious  decrees  of  Providence. 
God  has  hidden  them  in  mercy  from  our  sight,  and 
it  is  impious  to  rend  the  veil  by  which  they  are  con- 
cealed." 

"  What  have  I  to  dread  from  a  knowledge  of  the 
future  ?  "  replied  Roderick,  with  an  air  ot  haughty 
presumption.  "  If  good  be  destined  me,  I  shall 
enjoy  it  by  anticipation  :  if  evil,  I  sliall  arm  my- 
self to  meet  it."  So  saying  he  rashly  broke  the 
lock. 

Within  the  coffer  he  found  nothing  but  a  linen 
cloth,  folded  between  two  tablets  of  copper.  On 
unfolding  it  he  beheld  painted  on  it  figures  of  men 
on  horseback,  of  fierce  demeanour,  clad  in  turbans 
and  robes  of  various  colours,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Arabs,  with  scimitars  hanging  from  their  necks  and 
cross-bows  at  their  saddle  backs,  and  they  carried 
banners  and  pennons  with  divers  devices.  Above 
them  was  inscribed  in  Greek  characters,  "Rash 
monarch  !  behold  the  men  who  are  to  hurl  thee 
from  thy  throne,  and  subdue  thy  kingdom  !  " 

At  sight  of  these  things  the  king  was  troubled  in 
spirit,  and  dismay  fell  upon  his  attendants.  While 
they  were  yet  regarding  the  paintings,  it  seemed  as 
if  the  figures  began  to  move,  and  a  faint  sound  of 
warlike  tumult  arose  from  the  cloth,  with  the  clash 


'  Idem, 


of  cymbal  and  bray  of  trumpet,  the  neigh  of  steed 
and  shout  of  army ;  but  all  was  heard  indistinctly, 
as  if  afar  off,  or  in  a  reverie  or  dream.  The  more 
they  gazed,  the  plainer  became  the  motion,  and  the 
louder  the  noise ;  and  the  linen  cloth  rolled  forth, 
and  amplified,  and  spread  out,  as  it  were,  a  mighty 
banner,  and  filled  the  hall,  and  mingled  with  the  air, 
until  its  texture  was  no  longer  visible,  or  appeared 
as  a  transparent  cloud.  And  the  shadowy  figures 
became  all  in  motion,  and  the  din  and  uproar  be- 
came fiercer  and  fiercer ;  and  whether  the  whole 
were  an  animated  picture,  or  a  vision,  or  an  array 
of  embodied  spirits,  conjured  up  by  supernatural 
power,  no  one  present  could  tell.  They  beheld  before 
them  a  gre.at  field  of  battle,  where  christians  and 
Moslems  were  engaged  in  deadly  conflict.  They 
heard  the  rush  and  tramp  of  steeds,  the  blast  of 
trump  and  clarion,  the  clash  of  cymbal,  and  the 
stormy  din  of  a  thousand  drums.  There  was  the 
clash  of  swords,  and  maces,  and  battle-axes,  with 
the  whistling  of  arrows  and  the  hurtling  of  darts 
and  lances.  The  christians  quailed  before  the  foe  ; 
the  infidels  pressed  upon  them  and  put  them  to  utter 
rout ;  the  standard  of  the  cross  was  cast  down,  the 
banner  of  Spain  was  trodden  under  foot,  the  air  re- 
sounded with  shouts  of  triumph,  with  yells  of  fury, 
and  with  the  groans  of  dying  men.  Amidst  the  fly- 
ing squadrons  King  Roderick  beheld  a  crowned  war- 
rior, whose  back  was  towards  him,  but  whose  ar- 
mour and  device  were  his  own,  and  who  was 
mounted  on  a -white  steed  that  resembled  his  own 
war  horse  Orelia.  In  the  confusion  of  the  flight,  the 
warrior  was  dismounted  and  was  no  longer  to  be 
seen,  and  Orelia  galloped  wildly  through  the  field  of 
battle  without  a  rider. 

Roderick  staid  to  see  no  more,  but  rushed  from 
the  fatal  hall,  followed  by  his  terrified  attendants. 
They  fled  through  the  outer  chamber,  where  the 
gigantic  figure  with  the  whirling  mace  had  disap- 
peared from  his  pedestal,  and  on  issuing  into  the 
open  air,  they  found  the  two  ancient  guardians  of  the 
tower  lying  dead  at  the  portal,  as  though  they  had 
been  crushed  by  some  mighty  blow.  All  nature, 
which  had  been  clear  and  serene,  was  now  in  wild 
uproar.  The  heavens  were  darkened  by  heavy  clouds  ; 
loud  bursts  of  thunder  rent  the  air,  and  the  earth 
was  deluged  with  rain  and  rattling  hail. 

The  king  ordered  that  the  iron  portal  should  be 
closed,  but  the  door  was  immovable,  and  the  cava- 
liers were  dismayed  by  the  tremendous  turmoil  and 
the  mingled  shouts  and  groans  that  continued  to 
prevail  within.  The  king  and  his  train  hastened 
back  to  Toledo,  pursued  and  pelted  by  the  tempest. 
The  mountains  shook  and  echoed  with  the  thunder, 
trees  were  uprooted  and  blown  down,  and  the  Tagus 
raged  and  roared  and  flowed  above  its  banks.  It 
seemed  to  the  affrighted  courtiers  as  if  the  phantom 
legions  of  the  tower  had  issued  forth  and  mingled 
with  the  storm,  for  amidst  the  claps  of  thunder  and 
the  howling  of  the  wind,  they  fancied  they  heard 
the  sound  of  the  drums  and  trumpets,  the  shouts  of 
armies  and  the  rush  of  steeds.  Thus  beaten  by 
tempest  and  overwhelmed  with  horror,  the  king  and 
his  courtiers  arrived  at  Toledo,  clattering  across  the 
bridge  of  the  Tagus,  and  entering  the  gate  in  head- 
long confusion  as  though  they  had  been  pursued  by 
an  enemy. 

In  the  morning  the  heavens  were  again  serene, 
and  all  nature  was  restored  to  tranquillity.  The  king, 
therefore,  issued  forth  with  his  cavaliers,  and  took 
the  road  to  the  tower,  followed  by  a  great  multitude, 
for  he  was  anxious  once  more  to  close  the  iron  door, 
and  shut  up  those  evils  that  threatened  to  overwhelm 
the  land.  But  lo  !  on  coming  in  sight  of  the  tower, 
a  new  wonder  met  their  eyes.     An  eagle  appeared 


301 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


high  in  the  air,  seeming  to  descend  fronn  heaven." 
He  bore  in  his  bealc  a  burning  brand,  and  lighting 
on  the  summit  of  the  tower,  fanned  the  fire  with  his 
wings.  In  a  little  while  the  edifice  burst  forth  into 
a  blaze  as  though  it  had  been  built  of  rosin,  and  the 
flames  mounted  into  the  air  with  a  brilliancy  more 
dazzling  than  the  sun  ;  nor  did  they  cease  until  every 
stone  was  consumed  and  the  whole  was  reduced  to  a 
heap  of  ashes.  Then  there  came  a  vast  flight  of 
birds,  small  of  size  and  sable  of  hue,  darkening  the 
sky  like  a  cloud  ;  and  they  descended  and  wheeled 
in  circles  round  the  ashes,  causing  so  great  a  wind 
with  their  wings  that  the  whole  was  borne  up  into 
the  air,  and  scattered  throughout  all  Spain,  and 
wherever  a  particle  of  that  ashes  fell  it  was  as  a 
stain  of  blood.  It  is  furthermore  recorded  by  an- 
cient men  and  writers  of  former  days,  that  all  those 
on  whom  this  dust  fell  were  afterwards  slain  in  battle, 
when  the  country  was  conquered  by  the  Arabs,  and 
that  the  destruction  of  this  necromantic  tower  was 
a  sign  and  token  of  the  approaching  perdition  of 
Spain. 

"  Let  all  those,"  concludes  the  cautious  friar, 
"  who  question  the  verity  of  this  most  marvellous  oc- 
currence, consult  those  admirable  sources  of  our 
history,  the  chronicle  of  the  Moor,  Rasis,  and  the 
work  entitled,  the  Fall  of  Spain,  written  by  the  Moor, 
Abulcasim  Tarif  Abentarique.  Let  them  consult, 
moreover,  the  venerable  historian  Bleda,  and  the 
cloud  of  other  Catholic  Spanish  writers,  who  have 
treated  of  this  event,  and  they  will  find  I  have  related 
nothing  th.it  has  not  been  printed  and  published  un- 
der the  inspection  and  sanction  of  our  holy  mother 
church.  God  alone  knoweth  the  truth  of  these  things  ; 
I  speak  nothing  but  what  has  been  handed  down  to 
me  from  times  of  old." 


CHAPTER   Vin. 


COUNT  JULIAN— HIS  FORTUNES  IN  AFRICA. — HE 
HEARS  OF  THE  DISHONOUR  OF  HIS  CHILD — HIS 
CONDUCT  THEREUPON. 

The  course  of  our  legendary  narration  now  re- 
turns to  notice  the  fortunes  of  Count  Julian,  after  his 
departure  from  Toledo,  to  resume  his  government 
on  the  coast  of  Barbary.  He  left  the  Countess 
Frandina  at  Algeziras,  his  paternal  domain,  for  the 
province  under  his  command  was  threatened  with 
invasion.  In  fact,  when  he  arrived  at  Ceuta  he 
found  his  post  in  imminent  danger  from  the  all-con- 
quering Moslems.  The  Arabs  of  the  east,  the  fol- 
lowers of  Mahomet,  having  subjugated  several  of 
the  most  potent  oriental  kingdoms,  had  established 
their  seat  of  empire  at  Damascus,  where,  at  this 
time,  it  was  filled  by  Waled  Almanzor,  sumamed 
"  The  Sword  of  God."  From  thence  the  tide  of 
Moslem  conquest  had  rolled  on  to  the  shores  of  the 
Atlantic,  so  that  all  Almagreb,  or  Western  Africa, 
had  submitted  to  the  standard  of  the  prophet,  with 
the  exception  of  a  portion  of  Tingitania,  lying  along 
the  straits ;  being  the  province  held  by  the  Goths  of 
Spain,  and  commanded  by  Count  Julian.  The  Arab 
invaders  were  a  hundred  thousand  strong,  most  of 
them  veteran  troops,  seasoned  in  warfare  and  accus- 
tomed to  victory.  They  were  led  by  an  old  Arab 
General,  Muza  ben  Nosier,  to  whom  was  confided 
the  government  of  Almagreb ;  most  of  which  he  had 
himself  conquered.  The  ambition  of  this  veteran 
was  to  make  the  Moslem  conquest  complete,  by  ex- 
pelling the  christians  from  the  African  shores  ;  with 
this  view  his  troops  menaced  the  few  remaining 
Gothic  fortresses  of  Tingitania,  while  he  himself  set 


down  in  person  before  the  walls  of  Ceuta.  The 
Arab  chieftain  had  been  rendered  confident  by  con- 
tinual success,  and  thought  nothing  could  resist  his 
arms  and  the  sacred  standard  of  the  prophet.  Im- 
patient of  the  tedious  delays  of  a  siege,  he  led  his 
troops  boldly  against  the  rock-built  towers  of  Ceuta, 
and  attempted  to  take  the  place  by  storm.  The 
onset  was  fierce,  and  the  struggle  desperate ;  the 
swarthy  sons  of  the  desert  were  light  and  vigorous, 
and  of  fiery  spirit,  but  the  Goths,  inured  to  danger 
on  this  frontier,  retained  the  stubborn  valour  of  their 
race,  so  impaired  among  their  brethren  in  Spain. 
They  were  commanded,  too,  by  one  skilled  in  war- 
fare and  ambitious  of  renown.  After  a  vehement 
conflict  the  Moslem  assailants  were  repulsed  from  all 
points,  and  driven  from  the  walls.  Don  Julian  sal- 
lied forth  and  harassed  them  in  their  retreat,  and  so 
severe  was  the  carnage  that  the  veteran  Muza  was 
fain  to  break  up  his  camp  and  retire  confounded  from 
the  siege. 

The  victory  at  Ceuta  resounded  throughout  Tingi- 
tania, and  spread  universal  joy.  On  every  side  were 
heard  shouts  of  exultation  mingled  with  praises  of 
Count  Julian.  He  was  hailed  by  the  people,  wher- 
ever he  went,  as  their  dehverer,  and  blessings  were 
invoked  upon  his  head.  The  heart  of  Count  Julian 
was  lifted  up,  and  his  spirit  swelled  within  him  ;  but 
it  was  with  noble  and  virtuous  pride,  for  he  was  con- 
scious of  having  merited  the  blessings  of  his  country. 
In  the  midst  of  his  exultation,  and  while  the  re- 
joicings of  the  people  were  yet  sounding  in  his  ears, 
the  page  arrived  who  bore  the  letter  from  his  un- 
fortunate daughter. 

"  What  tidings  from  the  king?"  said  the  count, 
as  the  page  knelt  before  him  :  "  None,  my  lord."  re- 
plied the  youth,  "  but  I  bear  a  letter  sent  in  all  haste 
by  the  Lady  Florinda." 

He  took  the  letter  from  his  bosom  and  presented 
it  to  his  lord.  As  Count  Julian  read  it  his  coun- 
tenance darkened  and  fell.  "  This,"  said  he,  bit- 
terly, "  is  my  reward  for  serving  a  tyrant  ;  and  these 
are  the  honours  heaped  on  me  by  my  country  while 
fighting  its  battles  in  a  foreign  land.  May  evil  over- 
take me,  and  infamy  rest  upon  my  name,  if  I  cease 
until  I  have  full  measure  of  revenge,." 

Count  Julian  was  vehement  in  his  passions,  and 
took  no  counsel  in  his  wrath.  His  spirit  was  haughty 
in  the  extreme,  but  destitute  of  true  magnanimity, 
and  when  once  wounded,  turned  to  gall  and  venom. 
A  dark  and  malignant  hatred  entered  into  his  soul, 
not  only  against  Don  Roderick,  but  against  all 
Spain  :  he  looked  upon  it  as  the  scene  of  his  dis- 
grace, a  land  in  which  his  family  was  dishonoured, 
and,  in  seeking  to  avenge  the  wrongs  he  had  suf- 
fered from  his  sovereign,  he  meditated  against  his 
native  country  one  of  the  blackest  schemes  of  treason 
that  ever  entered  into  the  human  heart. 

The  plan  of  Count  Julian  was  to  hurl  King  Rod- 
erick from  his  throne,  and  to  deliver  all  Spain  into 
the  hands  of  the  infidels.  In  concerting  and  execut- 
ing this  treacherous  plot,  it  seemed  as  if  his  whole 
nature  was  changed  ;  every  lofty  and  generous  senti- 
ment was  stifled,  and  he  stooped  to  the  meanest 
dissimulation.  His  first  object  was,  to  extricate  his 
family  from  the  power  of  the  king,  and  to  remove  it 
from  Spain  before  his  treason  should  be  known  ;  his 
next,  to  deprive  the  country  of  its  remaining  means 
of  defence  against  an  invader. 

With  these  dark  purposes  at  heart,  but  with  an 
open  and  serene  countenance,  he  crossed  to  Spain 
and  repaired  to  the  court  at  Toledo.  Wherever  he 
came  he  was  hailed  with  acclamation,  as  a  victorious 
general,  and  appeared  in  the  presence  of  his  sover- 
eign radiant  with  the  victory  at  Ceuta.  Concealing 
from/  King  Roderick  his  knowledge  of  the  outrage 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


305 


upon  his  house,  he  professed  nothing  but  the  most 
devoted  loyahy  and  affection. 

The  king  loaded  him  with  favours  ;  seeking-  to  ap- 
pease his  own  conscience  by  heaping  honours  upon  the 
father  in  atonement  of  the  deadly  wrong  inflicted 
upon  his  child.  He  regarded  Count  Julian,  also,  as 
a  man  able  and  experienced  in  warfare,  and  took  his 
advice  in  all  matters  relating  to  the  military  affairs 
of  the  kingdom.  The  count  magnified  the  dangers 
that  threatened  the  frontier  under  his  command,  and 
prevailed  upon  the  king  to  send  thither  the  best 
horses  and  arms<remaining  from  the  time  of  Witiza, 
there  being  no  need  of  them  in  the  centre  of  Spain, 
in  its  present  tranquil  state.  The  residue,  at  his  sug- 
gestion, was  stationed  on  the  frontiers  of  Gallia  ;  so 
that  the  kingdom  was  left  almost  wholly  without  de- 
fence against  any  sudden  irruption  from  the  south. 

Having  thus  artfully  arranged  his  plans,  and  all 
things  being  prepared  for  his  return  to  Africa,  he 
obtained  permission  to  withdraw  his  daughter  from 
the  court,  and  leave  her  with  her  mother,  the  Count- 
ess Frandina,  who,  he  pretended,  lay  dangerously  ill 
at  Algeziras.  Count  Julian  issued  out  of  the  gate  of 
the  city,  followed  by  a  shining  band  of  chosen  fol- 
lowers, while  beside  him,  on  a  palfrey,  rode  the  pale 
and  weeping  Florinda.  The  populace  hailed  and 
blessed  him  as  he  passed,  but  his  heart  turned  from 
them  with  loathing.  As  he  crossed  the  bridge  of  the 
Tagus  he  looked  back  with  a  dark  brow  upon  Toledo, 
and  raised  his  mailed  hand  and  shook  it  at  the  royal 
palace  of  King  Roderick,  which  crested  the  rocky 
height.  "  A  father's  curse,"  said  he,  "  be  upon  thee 
and  thine  !  may  desolation  fall  upon  thy  dwelling, 
and  confusion  and  defeat  upon  thy  realm  !  " 

In  his  journeyings  through  the  country,  he  looked 
round  him  with  a  malignant  eye ;  the  pipe  of  the 
shepherd,  and  the  song  of  the  husbandman,  were  as 
discord  to  his  soul ;  every  sight  and  sound  of  human 
happiness  sickened  him  at  heart,  and,  in  the  bitter- 
ness of  his  spirit,  he  prayed  that  he  might  see  the 
whole  scene  of  prosperity  laid  waste  with  fire  and 
sword  by  the  invader. 

The  story  of  domestic  outrage  and  disgrace  had 
already  been  made  known  to  the  Countess  Frandina. 
When  the  hapless  Florinda  came  in  presence  of  her 
mother,  she  fell  on  her  neck,  and  hid  her  face  in  her 
bosom,  and  wept;  but  the  countess  shed  never  a 
tear,  for  she  was  a  woman  haughty  of  spirit  and 
strong  of  heart.  She  looked  her  husband  sternly  in 
the  face.  "  Perdition  light  upon  thy  head,"  said 
she,  "  if  thou  submit  to  this  dishonour.  For  my  own 
part,  woman  as  1  am,  I  will  assemble  the  followers 
of  my  house,  nor  rest  until  rivers  of  blood  have 
washed  away  this  stain." 

"Be  satisfied,"  replied  the  count,  "vengeance  is 
on  foot,  and  will  be  sure  and  ample." 

Being  now  in  his  own  domains,  surrounded  by  his 
relatives  and  friends.  Count  Julian  went  on  to  com- 
plete his  web  of  treason.  In  this  he  was  aided  by 
his  brother-in-law,  Oppas,  the  bishop  of  Seville :  a 
man  dark  and  perfidious  as  the  night,  but  devout  in 
demeanour,  and  smooth  and  plausible  in  council. 
This  artful  prelate  had  contrived  to  work  himself 
into  the  entire  confidence  of  the  king,  and  had  even 
prevailed  upon  him  to  permit  his  nephews,  Evan 
and  Siseburto,  the  exiled  sons  of  Witiza,  to  return 
into  Spain.  They  resided  in  Andalusia,  and  were 
now  looked  to  as  fit  instruments  in  the  present  trai- 
torous conspiracy 

By  the  advice  of  the  bishop.  Count  Julian  called  a 
secret  meeting  of  his  relatives  and  adherents  on  a 
wild  rocky  mountain,  not  far  from  Consuegra,  and 
which  still  bears  the  Moorish  appellation  of  "  La 
Sierra  de  Calderin,"  or  the  mountain  of  treason.* 


•  Bleda.    Cap.  5. 


20 


When  all  were  assembled.  Count  Julian  appeared 
among  them,  accompanied  by  the  bishop  and  by  the 
Countess  Frandina.  Then  gathering  around  him 
those  who  were  of  his  blood  and  kindred,  he  revealed 
the  outrage  that  had  been  offered  to  their  house.  He 
represented  to  them  that  Roderick  was  their  legiti- 
mate enemy;  that  he  had  dethroned  Witiza,  their 
relation,  and  had  now  stained  the  honour  of  one  of 
the  most  illustrious  daughters  of  their  line.  The 
Countess  Frandina  seconded  his  words.  She  was  a 
woman  majestic  in  person  and  eloquent  of  tongue, 
and  being  inspired  by  a  mother's  feelings,  her  speech 
aroused  the  assembled  cavaliers  to  fury. 

The  count  took  advantage  of  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  to  unfold  his  plan.  The  main  object  was  to 
dethrone  Don  Roderick,  and  give  the  crown  to  the 
sons  of  the  late  King  Witiza.  By  this  means  they 
would  visit  the  sins  of  the  tyrant  upon  his  head,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  restore  the  regal  honours  to  their 
line.  For  this  purpose  their  own  force  would  be 
sufficient,  but  they  might  procure  the  aid  of  Muza 
ben  Nosier,  the  Arabian  general,  in  Mauritania,  who 
would  no  doubt  gladly  send  a  part  of  his  troops  into 
Spain  to  assist  in  the  enterprise. 

The  plot  thus  suggested  by  Count  Julian  received 
the  unholy  sanction  of  Bishop  Oppas,  who  engaged 
to  aid  it  secretly  with  all  his  influence  and  means : 
for  he  had  great  wealth  and  possessions,  and  many 
retainers.  The  example  of  the  reverend  prelate  de- 
termined all  who  might  otherwise  have  wavered,  and 
they  bound  themselves  by  dreadful  oaths  to  be  true  to 
the  conspiracy.  Count  Julian  undertook  to  proceed  to 
Africa,  and  seek  the  camp  of  Muza,  to  negotiate  for 
his  aid,  while  the  bishop  was  to  keep  about  the  per- 
son of  King  Roderick,  and  lead  him  into  the  net  pre- 
pared for  him. 

All  things  being  thus  arranged.  Count  Julian 
gathered  together  his  treasure,  and  taking  his  wife 
and  daughter  and  all  his  household,  abandoned  the 
country  he  meant  to  betray ;  embarking  at  Malaga 
for  Ceuta.  The  gate  in  the  wall  of  that  city,  through 
which  they  went  forth,  continued  for  ages  to  bear 
the  name  of  Puerta  de  la  Cava,  or  the  gate  of  the 
harlot ;  for  such  was  the  opprobrious  and  unmerited 
appellation  bestowed  by  the  Moors  on  the  unhappy 
Florinda.* 


CHAPTER  IX. 


SECRET  VISIT  OF  COUNT  JULIAN  TO  THE  ARAB 
CAMP.  —  FIRST  EXPEDITION  OF  TARIC  EL 
TUERTO. 

When  Count  Julian  had  placed  his  family  in  se- 
curity in  Ceuta,  surrounded  by  soldiery  devoted  to 
his  fortunes,  he  took  with  him  a  few  confidential  fol- 
lowers, and  departed  in  secret  for  the  camp  of  the 
Arabian  Emir,  Muza  ben  Nosier.  The  camp 
was  spread  out  in  one  of  those  pastoral  valleys 
which  lie  at  the  feet  of  the  Barbary  hills,  with  the 
great  range  of  the  Atlas  mountains  towering  in  the 
distance.  In  the  motley  army  here  assembled  were 
warriors  of  every  tribe  and  nation,  that  had  been 
united  by  pact  or  conquest  in  the  cause  of  Islam. 
There  were  those  who  had  followed  Muza  from  the 
fertile  regions  of  Egypt,  across  the  deserts  of  Barca, 
and  those  who  had  joined  his  standard  from  among 
the  sun-burnt  tribes  of  Mauritania.  There  were 
Saracen  and  Tartar,  Syrian  and  Copt,  and  swarthy 
Moor;  sumptuous  warriors  from  the  civilized  cities 
of  the  east,  and  the  gaunt  and  predatory  rovers  of 
the  desert.  The  greater  part  of  the  army,  however, 
was  composed  of  Arabs  ;  but  differing  greatly  from 


•  Bleda.    Cap.  4. 


306 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  first  rude  hordes  that  enlisted  under  the  banner 
of  Mahomet.  Ahnost  a  century  of  continual  wars 
with  the  cultivated  nations  of  the  east  had  rendered 
them  accomplished  warriors  ;  and  the  occasional  so- 
journ in  luxurious  countries  and  populous  cities,  had 
acquainted  them  with  the  arts  and  habits  of  civilized 
life.  Still  the  roving,  restless,  and  predatory  habits 
of  the  genuine  son  of  Ishmael  prevailed,  in  defiance 
of  every  change  of  clime  or  situation. 

Count  Julian  found  the  Arab  conqueror  Muza  sur- 
rounded by  somewhat  of  oriental  state  and  splendour. 
He  was  advanced  in  life,  but  of  a  noble  presence, 
and  concealed  his  age  by  tinging  his  hair  and  beard 
with  henna.  The  count  assumed  an  air  of  soldier- 
like frankness  and  decision  when  he  came  into  his 
presence.  "Hitherto,"  said  he,  "we  have  been 
enemies,  but  I  come  to  thee  in  peace,  and  it  rests 
with  thee  to  make  me  the  most  devoted  of  thy 
friends.  I  have  no  longer  country  or  king.  Roder- 
ick the  Goth  is  an  usurper,  and  my  deadly  foe ;  he 
has  wounded  my  honour  in  the  tenderest  point,  and 
my  country  affords  me  no  redress.  Aid  me  in  my 
vengeance,  and  I  will  deliver  all  Spain  into  thy 
hands  :  a  land  far  exceeding  in  fertility  and  wealth 
all  the  vaunted  regions  thou  hast  conquered  in 
Tingitania." 

The  heart  of  Muza  leaped  with  joy  at  these  words, 
for  he  was  a  bold  and  ambitious  conqueror,  and, 
having  overrun  all  western  Africa,  had  often  cast  a 
wistful  eye  to  the  mountains  of  Spain,  as  he  beheld 
them  brightening  beyond  the  waters  of  the  strait. 
Still  he  possessed  the  caution  of  a  veteran,  and  feared 
to  engage  in  an  enterprise  of  such  moment,  and  to 
carry  his  arms  into  another  division  of  the  globe, 
witliout  the  approbation  of  his  sovereign.  Having 
drawn  from  Count  Julian  the  particulars  of  his  plan, 
and  of  the  means  he  possessed  to  carry  it  into  effect, 
he  laid  them  before  his  confidential  counsellors  and 
officers,  and  demanded  their  opinion.  "  These  words 
of  Count  Julian,"  said  he,  "may  be  false  and  deceit- 
ful ;  or  he  may  not  possess  the  power  to  fulfil  his 
promises.  The  whole  may  be  a  pretended  treason 
to  draw  us  on  to  our  destruction.  It  is  more  natural 
that  he  should  be  treacherous  to  us  than  to  his 
country." 

Among  the  generals  of  Muza,  was  a  gaunt  swarthy 
veteran,  scarred  with  wounds ;  a  very  Arab,  whose 
great  delight  was  roving  and  desperate  enterprise, 
and  who  cared  for  notning  beyond  his  steed,  his 
lance,  and  scimitar.  He  was  a  native  of  Damascus  ; 
his  name  was  Taric  ben  Zeyad,  but,  from  having 
lost  an  eye,  he  was  known  among  the  Spaniards 
by  the  appellation  of  Taric  el  Tuerto,  or  Taric,  the 
one-eyed. 

The  hot  blood  of  this  veteran  Ishmaelite  was  in  a 
ferment  when  he  heard  of  a  new  country  to  invade, 
and  vast  regions  to  subdue,  and  he  dreaded  lest  the 
cautious  hesitation  of  Muza  should  permit  the  glori- 
ous prize  to  escape  them.  "  You  speak  doubtingly," 
said  he,  "  of  the  words  of  this  christian  cavalier,  but 
their  truth  is  easily  to  be  ascertained.  Give  me  four 
galleys  and  a  handful  of  men,  and  I  will  depart  with 
this  Count  Julian,  skirt  the  christian  coast,  and  bring 
thee  back  tidings  of  the  land,  and  of  his  means  to 
put  it  in  our  power." 

The  words  of  the  veteran  pleased  Muza  ben 
Nosier,  and  he  gave  his  consent ;  and  Taric  de- 
parted with  four  galleys  and  five  hundred  men, 
guided  by  the  traitor  Julian.*  This  first  expedition 
of  the  Arabs  against  Spain  took  place,  according  to 
certain  historians,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  seven 
hundred  and  twelve ;  though  others  differ  on  this 


*  Beuter,  Cron.  Gen.  de  Espafia,  L.  i,  c.  38.    Marmol.  Dcscrip. 
dc  Africa,  L.  3,  c.  10. 


point,  as  indeed  they  do  upon  almost  every  ])oint  in 
this  early  period  of  Spanish  history.  The  date  to 
which  the  judicious  chroniclers  incline,  is  that  of 
seven  hundred  and  ten,  in  the  month  of  July.  It 
would  appear  from  some  authorities,  also,  that  the 
galleys  of  Taric  cruised  along  the  coasts  of  Anda- 
lusia and  Lusitania,  under  the  feigned  character  of 
merchant  barks,  nor  is  this  at  all  improbable,  while 
they  were  seeking  merely  to  observe  the  land,  and 
get  a  knowledge  of  the  harbours.  Wherever  they 
touched.  Count  Julian  despatched  emissaries  to  as- 
semble his  friends  and  adherents  at  an  appointed 
place.  They  gathered  together  secretly  at  Gezira 
Alhadra,  that  is  to  say,  the  Green  Island,  where 
they  held  a  conference  with  Count  Julian  in  presence 
of  Taric  ben  Zeyad.*  Here  they  again  avowed  their 
readiness  to  flock  to  his  standard  whenever  it  should 
be  openly  raised,  and  made  known  their  various 
preparations  for  a  rebellion.  Taric  was  convinced, 
by  all  that  he  had  seen  and  heard,  that  Count  Julian 
had  not  deceived  them,  either  as  to  his  disposition 
or  his  means  to  betray  his  countr)-.  Indulging  his 
Arab  inclinations,  he  made  an  inroad  into  the  land, 
collected  great  spoil  and  many  captives,  and  bore 
off  his  plunder  in  triumph  to  Muza.  as  a  specimen 
of  the  riches  to  be  gained  by  the  conq  lest  of  the 
christian  land.t 


CHAPTER  X. 


LETTER  OF  MUZA  TO   THE  CALIPH.— SECOND   EX- 
PEDITION  OF   TARIC   EL  TUERTO. 

On  hearing  the  tidings  brought  by  Taric  el  Tuerto, 
and  beholding  the  spoil  he  had  collected,  Muza  wrote 
a  letter  to  the  Caliph  Waled  Almanzor,  setting  forth 
the  traitorous  proffer  of  Count  Julian,  and  the  proba- 
bility, through  his  means,  of  making  a  successful  in- 
vasion of  Spain.  "A  new  land,"  said  he,  "  spreads 
itself  out  before  our  delighted  eyes,  and  invites  our 
conquest.  A  land,  too,  that  equals  Syria  in  the  fer-- 
tility  of  its  soil,  and  the  serenity  of  its  sky;  Yemen, 
or  Arabia  the  happy,  in  its  delightful  temperature  ; 
India  in  its  flowers  and  spices  ;  Hegiaz  in  its  fruits 
and  flowers ;  Cathay  in  its  precious  minerals,  and 
Aden  in  the  excellence  of  its  ports  and  harbours.  It 
is  populous  also,  and  wealthy  ;  having  many  splendid 
cities  and  majestic  monuments  of  ancient  art.  What 
is  to  prevent  this  glorious  land  from  becoming  the 
inheritance  of  the  faithful  ?  Already  we  have  over- 
come the  tribes  of  Berbery,  of  Zab,  of  Derar,  of  Za- 
ara,  Mazamuda  and  Sus,  and  the  victorious  standard 
of  Islam  floats  on  the  towers  of  Tangier.  But  four 
leagues  of  sea  separate  us  from  the  opposite  coast. 
One  word  from  my  sovereign,  and  the  conquerors  of 
Africa  will  pour  their  legions  into  Andalusia,  rescue 
it  from  the  domination  of  the  unbeliever,  and  subdue 
it  to  the  law  of  the  Koran."! 

The  caliph  was  overjoyed  with  the  contents  of  the 
letter.  "  God  is  great  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  and  Ma- 
homet is  his  prophet  !  It  has  been  foretold  by  the 
ambassador  of  God  that  his  law  should  extend  to  the 
ultimate  parts  of  the  west,  and  be  carried  by  the 
sword  into  new  and  unknown  regions.  Behold 
another  land  is  opened  for  the  triumphs  of  the  faith- 
ful. It  is  the  will  of  Allah,  and  be  his  sovereign  will 
obeyed."  So  the  caliph  sent  missives  to  Muza, 
authorizing  him  to  undertake  the  conquest. 

Upon  this  there  was  a  great  stir  of  preparation, 
and  numerous  vessels  were  assembled  and  equipped 


*  Bleda.  Cron.  c.  5. 
%  Conde,  part  i.  c.  8. 


+  Conde.  Hist.  Dom  Arab,  part  i,  c-  8. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


307 


at  Tangier  to  convey  the*  invading  army  across  the 
straits.  Twelve  thousand  men  were  chosen  for  this 
expedition :  most  of  them  light  Arabian  troops, 
seasoned  in  warfare,  and  fitted  for  hardy  and  rapid 
enterprise.  Among  them  were  many  horsemen, 
mounted  on  fleet  Arabian  steeds.  The  whole  was 
put  under  the  command  of  the  veteran,  Taric  el 
Tuerto,  or  the  one-eyed,  in  whom  Muza  reposed  im- 
plicit confidence  as  in  a  second  self.  Taric  accepted 
the  command  with  joy;  his  martial  fire  was  roused 
at  the  idea  of  having  such  an  army  under  his  sole 
command,  and  such  a  country  to  overrun,  and  he 
secretly  determined  never  to  return  unless  vic- 
torious. 

He  chose  a  dark  night  to  convey  his  troops  across 
the  straits  of  Hercules,  and  by  break  of  day  they  be- 
gan to  disembark  at  Tarifa  before  the  country  had 
time  to  take  the  alarm.  A  few  christians  hastily  as- 
sembled from  the  neighbourhood  and  opposed  their 
landing,  but  were  easily  put  to  flight.  Taric  stood 
on  the  sea-side,  and  watched  until  the  last  squadron 
had  landed,  and  all  the  horses,  armour,  and  muni- 
tions of  war,  were  brought  on  shore ;  he  then  gave 
orders  to  set  fire  to  the  ships.  The  Moslems  were 
struck  with  terror  when  they  beheld  their  fleet  wrap- 
ped in  flames  and  smoke,  and  sinking  beneath  the 
waves.  "  How  shall  we  escape,"  exclaimed  they, 
"if  the  fortune  of  war  should  be  against  us?" 
"There  is  no  escape  for  the  coward  !  "  cried  Taric, 
"  the  brave  man  thinks  of  none  ;  your  only  chance  is 
victory."  "  But  how  without  ships  shall  we  ever  re- 
turn to  our  homes  .''  "  "  Your  home,"  replied  Taric, 
"  is  before  you ;  but  you  must  win  it  with  your 
swords." 

While  Taric  was  yet  talking  with  his  followers, 
says  one  of  the  ancient  chroniclers,  a  christian 
female  was  descried  waving  a  white  pennon  on  a 
reed,  in  signal  of  peace.  On  being  brought  into  the 
presence  of  Taric,  she  prostrated  herself  before  him. 
"  Senior,"  said  she,  "  I  am  an  ancient  woman  ;  and 
it  is  now  full  sixty  years  past  and  gone  since,  as  I 
was  keeping  vigils  one  winter's  night  by  the  fireside, 
I  heard  my  father,  who  was  an  exceeding  old  man, 
read  a  prophecy  said  to  have  been  written  by  a  holy 
friar ;  and  this  was  the  purport  of  the  prophecy,  that 
a  time  would  arrive  when  our  country  would  be  in- 
vaded and  conquered  by  a  people  from  Africa  of  a 
strange  garb,  a  strange  tongue,  and  a  strange  re- 
ligion. They  were  to  be  led  by  a  strong  and  valiant 
captain,  who  would  be  known  by  these  signs  :  on  his 
right  shoulder  he  would  have  a  hairy  mole,  and  his 
right  arm  would  be  much  longer  than  the  left,  and 
of  such  length  as  to  enable  him  to  cover  his  knee 
with  his  hand  without  bending  his  body. 

Taric  listened  to  the  old  beldame  with  grave  at- 
tention, and  when  she  had  concluded,  he  laid  bare 
his  shoulder,  and  lo  !  there  was  the  mole  as  it  had 
been  described  ;  his  right  arm,  also,  was  in  verity 
found  to  exceed  the  other  in  length,  though  not  to 
the  degree  that  had  been  mentioned.  Upon  this  the 
Arab  host  shouted  for  joy,  and  felt  assured  of  con- 
quest. 

The  discreet  Antonio  Agapida,  though  he  records 
this  circumstance  as  it  is  set  down  in  ancient  chron- 
icle, yet  withholds  his  belief  from  the  pretended 
prophecy,  considering  the  whole  a  cunning  device  of 
Taric  to  increase  the  courage  of  his  troops.  "  Doubt- 
less," says  he,  "  there  was  a  collusion  between  this 
ancient  sybil  and  the  crafty  son  of  Ishmael ;  for 
these  infidel  leaders  were  full  of  damnable  inventions 
to  work  upon  the  superstitious  fancies  of  their  fol- 
lowers, and  to  inspire  them  with  a  blind  confidence 
in  the  success  of  their  arms." 

Be  this  as  it  may,  the  veteran  Taric  took  advan- 
tage of  the  excitement  of  his  soldiery,  and  led  them 


forward  to  gain  possession  of  a  strong-hold,  which 
was,  in  a  manner,  the  key  to  all  the  adjacent  country. 
This  was  a  lofty  mountain  or  promontory  almost 
surrounded  by  the  sea,  and  connected  with  the  main 
land  by  a  narrow  isthmus.  It  was  called  the  rock 
of  Calpe,  and,  like  the  opposite  rock  of  Ccuta,  com- 
manded the  entrance  to  the  Mediterranean  Sea. 
Here  in  old  times,  Hercules  had  set  up  one  of  his 
pillars,  and  the  city  of  Heraclea  had  been  built. 

As  Taric  advanced  against  this  promontory,  he 
was  opposed  by  a  hasty  levy  of  the  christians,  who 
had  assembled  under  the  banner  of  a  Gothic  noble 
of  great  power  and  importance,  whose  domains  lay 
along  the  mountainous  coast  of  the  Mediterranean. 
The  name  of  this  christian  cavalier  was  Theodomir, 
but  he  has  universally  been  called  Tadmir  by  the 
Arabian  historians,  and  is  renowned  as  being  the 
first  commander  that  made  any  stand  against  the 
inroad  of  the  Moslems.  He  was  about  forty  years 
of  age  ;  hardy,  prompt,  and  sagacious ;  and  had  all 
the  Gothic  nobles  been  equally  vigilant  and  shrewd 
in  their  defence,  the  banner  of  Islam  would  never 
have  triumphed  over  the  land. 

Theodomir  had  but  seventeen  hundred  men  under 
his  command,  and  these  but  rudely  armed  ;  yet  he 
made  a  resolute  stand  against  the  army  of  Taric,  and 
defended  the  pass  to  the  promontory  with  great 
valour.  He  was,  at  length,  obliged  to  retreat,  and 
Taric  advanced  and  planted  his  standard  on  the 
rock  of  Calpe,  and  fortified  it  as  his  strong-hold,  and 
as  the  means  of  securing  an  entrance  into  the  land. 
To  commemorate  his  first  victory,  he  changed  the 
name  of  the  prorhontory,  and  called  it  Gibel  Taric, 
or  the  mountain  of  Taric,  but  in  process  of  time  the 
name  has  gradually  been  altered  to  Gibraltar. 

In  the  meantime,  the  patriotic  chieftain  Theodomir, 
having  collected  his  routed  forces,  encamped  with 
them  on  the  skirts  of  the  mountains,  and  summoned 
the  countiy  round  to  join  his  standard.  He  sent  off 
missives  in  all  speed  to  the  king,  imparting  in  brief 
and  blunt  terms  the  news  of  the  invasion,  and  crav- 
ing assistance  with  equal  frankness.  "  Senior,"  said 
he,  in  his  letter,  "  the  legions  of  Africa  are  upon  -is, 
but  whether  they  come  from  heaven  or  earth  I  know 
not.  They  seem  to  have  fallen  from  the  clouds,  for 
they  have  no  ships.  We  have  been  taken  by  sur- 
prise, overpowered  by  numbers,  and  obliged  to  re- 
treat; and  they  have  fortified  themselves  in  our 
territory.  Send  us  aid,  senior,  with  instant  speed, 
or  rather,  come  yourself  to  our  assistance."* 


CHAPTER   XI. 


MEASURES  OF  DON  RODERICK  ON  HEARING  OF 
THE  INVASION. — EXPEDITION  OF  ATAULPHO. 
— VISION    OF    TARIC. 

When  Don  Roderick  heard  that  legions  of  tur- 
baned  troops  had  poured  into  the  land  from  Africa, 
he  called  to  mind  the  visions  and  predictions  of  the 
necromantic  lower,  and  great  fear  came  upon  him. 
But,  though  sunk  from  his  former  hardihood  and 
virtue,  though  enervated  by  indulgence,  and  degraded 
in  spirit  by  a  consciousness  of  crime,  he  was  resolute 
of  soul,  and  roused  himself  to  meet  the  coming 
danger.  He  summoned  a  hasty  levy  of  horse  and 
foot,  amounting  to  forty  thousand  ;  but  now  were 
felt  the  effects  of  the  crafty  counsel  of  Count  Julian, 
for  the  best  of  the  horses  and  armor  intended  for  the 
public  service,  had  been  sent  into  Africa,  and  were 
really  in  possession  of  the  traitors.     Many  nobles,  it 


*  Conde.    Part  I.  c.  9. 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


is  true,  took  the  field  with  the  sumptuous  array  with 
which  they  had  been  accustomed  to  appear  at  tour- 
naments and  jousts,  but  most  of  their  vassals  were 
destitute  of  weapons,  and  cased  in  cuirasses  of 
leather,  or  suits  of  armour  almost  consumed  by  rust. 
They  were  without  discipline  or  animation ;  and 
their  horses,  like  themselves,  pampered  by  slothful 
peace,  were  little  fitted  to  bear  the  heat,  the  dust, 
and  toil,  of  long  campaigns. 

This  army  Don  Roderick  put  under  the  command 
of  his  kinsman  Ataulpho,  a  prince  of  the  royal  blood 
of  the  Goths,  and  of  a  noble  and  generous  nature  ; 
and  he  ordered  him  to  march  with  all  spee:l  to  meet 
the  foe,  and  to  recruit  his  forces  on  the  way  with  the 
troops  of  Theodomir. 

In  the  meantime,  Taric  el  Tuerto  had  received 
large  reinforcement'^  from  Africa,  and  the  adherents 
of  Count  Julian,  and  all  those  discontented  with  the 
sway  of  Don  Roderick,  had  flocked  to  his  standard  ; 
for  many  were  deceived  by  the  representations  of 
Count  Julian,  and  thought  that  the  Arabs  had  come 
to  aid  him  in  placing  the  sons  of  Witiza  upon  the 
throne.  Guided  by  the  count,  the  troops  of  Taric 
penetrated  into  various  parts  of  the  country,  and  laid 
waste  the  land  ;  bringing  back  loads  of  spoil  to  their 
strong-hold  at  the  rock  of  Calpe. 

The  prince  Ataulpho  marched  with  his  army 
through  Andalusia,  and  was  joined  by  Theodomir 
with  his  troops ;  he  met  with  various  detachments 
of  the  enemy  foraging  the  country,  and  had  several 
bloody  skirmishes ;  but  he  succeeded  in  driving 
them  before  him,  and  they  retreated  to  the  rock  of 
Calpe,  where  Taric  lay  gathered  up  with  the  main 
body  of  his  army. 

The  prince  encamped  not  far  from  the  bay  which 
spreads  itself  out  before  the  promontory.  In  the 
evening  he  despatched  the  veteran  Theodomir,  with 
a  trumpet,  to  demand  a  parley  of  the  Arab  chieftain, 
who  received  the  envoy  in  his  tent,  surrounded  by 
his  captains.  Theodomir  was  frank  and  abrupt  in 
speech,  for  the  most  of  his  life  had  been  passed  far 
from  courts.  He  delivered,  in  round  terms,  the 
message  of  the  Prince  Ataulpho ;  upbraiding  the 
Arab  general  with  his  wanton  invasion  of  the  land, 
and  summoning  him  to  surrender  his  army  or  to 
expect  no  mercy. 

The  single  eye  of  Taric  el  Tuerto  glowed  like  a 
coal  of  fire  at  this  message.  "  Tell  your  com- 
mander," replied  he,  "  that  I  have  crossed  the 
strait  to  conquer  Spain,  nor  will  I  return  until  I  have 
accomplished  my  purpose.  Tell  him  I  have  men 
skilled  in  war,  and  armed  in  proof,  with  whose 
aid  I  trust  soon  to  give  a  good  account  of  his  rabble 
host." 

A  murmur  of  applause  passed  through  the  assem- 
blage of  Moslem  captains.  Theodomir  glanced  on 
them  a  look  of  defiance,  but  his  eye  rested  on  a 
renegado  christian,  one  of  his  own  ancient  comrades, 
and  a  relation  of  Count  Julian.  "  As  to  you,  Don 
Greybeard,"  said  he,  "  you  who  turn  apostate  in 
your  declining  age,  I  here  pronounce  you  a  traitor 
to  your  God,  your  king,  and  country;  and  stand 
ready  to  prove  it  this  instant  upon  your  body,  if  field 
be  granted  me." 

The  traitor  knight  was  stung  with  rage  at  these 
words,  for  truth  rendered  them  piercing  to  the  heart. 
He  wonld  have  immediately  answered  to  the  chal- 
lenge, but  Taric  forbade  it,  and  ordered  that  the 
christian  envoy  should  be  conducted  from  the  camp. 
"  'Tis  well,"  replied  Theodomir,  "  God  will  give  me 
the  field  which  you  deny.  Let  yon  hoary  apostate 
look  to  himself  to-morrow  in  the  battle,  for  1  pledge 
myself  to  use  my  lance  upon  no  other  foe  until  it  has 
shed  his  blood  upon  the  native  soil  he  has  betrayed." 
So  saying,  he  left  the  camp,  nor  could  the  Moslem 


chieftains  help  admiring  the  honest  indignation  of 
this  patriot  knight,  while  they  secretly  despised  his 
renegado  adversary. 

The  ancient  Moorish  chroniclers  relate  many  aw- 
ful portents,  and  strange  and  mysterious  visions, 
which  appeared  to  the  commanders  of  either  army 
during  this  anxious  night.  Certainly  it  was  a  night 
of  fearful  suspense,  and  Moslem  and  christian  looked 
forward  with  doubt  to  the  fortune  of  the  coming 
day.  The  Spanish  sentinel  walked  his  pensive 
round,  listening  occ.n.sio!inlly  to  the  vague  sounds 
from  the  distant  rock  o;'  C'dpe,  and  eyeing  it  as  the 
mariner  eyes  the  thunder  cloud,  pregnant  with  terror 
and  destruction.  The  Arabs,  too,  from  their  lofty 
cliffs  beheld  the  numerous  camp-fires  of  the  chris- 
tians gradually  lighted  up,  and  saw  that  they  were  a 
powerful  host ;  at  the  same  time  the  night  breeze 
brought  to  their  ears  the  sullen  roar  of  the  sea  which 
separated  them  from  Africa.  When  they  considered 
their  perilous  situation,  an  army  on  one  side,  with  a 
whole  nation  aroused  to  reinforce  it,  and  on  the 
other  an  impassable  sea,  the  spirits  of  many  of 
the  warriors  were  cast  down,  and  they  repented  the 
day  when  they  had  ventured  into  this  hostile  land. 

Taric  marked  their  despondency,  but  said  noth- 
ing. Scarce  had  the  first  streak  of  morning  light 
trembled  along  the  sea,  however,  when  he  sum- 
moned his  principal  warriors  to  his  tent.  "Be  of 
good  cheer,"  said  he,  "  Allah  is  with  us,  and  has 
sent  his  prophet  to  give  assurance  of  his  aid.  Scarce 
had  I  retired  to  my  tent  last  night,  when  a  man  of  a 
majestic  and  venerable  presence  stood  before  me. 
He  was  taller  by  a  palm  than  the  ordinary  race  of 
men,  his  flowing  beard  was  of  a  golden  hue,  and 
his  eyes  were  so  bright  that  they  seemed  to  send 
forth  flashes  of  fire.  I  have  heard  the  Emir  Baha- 
met,  and  other  ancient  men,  describe  the  prophet, 
whom  they  liad  seen  many  times  while  on  earth, 
and  such  was  his  form  and  lineament.  '  Fear  noth- 
ing, O  Taric,  from  the  morrow,!  said  he,  '  I  will  be 
with  thee  in  the  fight.  Strike  boldly,  then,  and  con- 
quer. Those  of  thy  followers  who  survive  the  battle 
will  have  this  land  for  an  inheritance  ;  for  those  who 
fall,  a  mansion  in  paradise  is  prepared,  and  immortal 
houris  await  their  coming.'  He  spake  and  vanish- 
ed ;  I  heard  a  strain  of  celestial  melody,  and  my 
tent  was  filled  with  the  odours  of  Arabia  the  happy." 
"  Such,"  says  the  Spanish  chroniclers,  "  was  another 
of  the  arts  by  which  this  arch  son  of  Ishmael  sought 
to  animate  the  hearts  of  his  followers ;  and  the  pre- 
tended vision  has  been  recorded  by  the  Arabian 
writers  as  a  veritable  occurrence.  Marvellous,  in- 
deed, was  the  effect  produced  by  it  upon  the  infidel 
soldiery,  who  now  cried  out  with  eagerness  to  be  led 
against  the  foe." 


CHAPTER   XH. 


BATTLE  OF  CALPE,— FATE  OF  ATAULPHO. 

The  gray  summits  of  the  rock  of  Calpe  bright- 
ened with  the  first  rays  of  morning,  as  the  christian 
army  issued  forth  from  its  encampment.  The  Prince 
Ataulpho  rode  from  squadron  to  squadron,  animat- 
ing his  soldiers  for  the  battle.  "  Never  should  we 
sheath  our  swords,"  said  he,  "while  these  infidels 
have  a  footing  in  the  land.  They  are  pent  up  within 
yon  rocky  mountain  ;  we  must  assail  them  in  their 
rugged  hold.  We  have  a  long  day  before  us  ;  let 
not  the  setting  sun  shine  upon  one  of  their  host  who 
is  not  a  fugitive,  a  captive,  or  a  corpse." 

The  words  of  the  prince  were  received  with  shouts, 
and  the  army  moved  towards  the  promontory.  As 
they  advanced,  they  heard  the  clash  of  cymbals  and 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST    OF   SPAIN. 


300 


the  bray  of  trumpets,  and  the  rocky  bosom  of  the 
mountain  glittered  with  helms  and  spears  and  scim- 
itars;  for  the  Arabs,  inspired  with  fresh  confidence 
by  the  words  of  Taric,  were  sallying  forth,  with 
flaunting  banners,  to  the  combat. 

The  gaunt  Arab  chieftain  stood  upon  a  rock  as 
hi.-  troops  marched  by ;  his  buckler  was  at  his  back, 
and  he  brandished  in  his  hand  a  double-pointed 
spear.  Calling  upon  the  several  leaders  by  their 
names,  he  exhorted  them  to  direct  their  attacks 
against  the  christian  captains,  and  especially  against 
Ataulpho,  "  for  the  chiets  being  slain,"  said  he,  "  their 
followers  will  vanish  from  before  us  like  the  morning 
mist." 

The  Gothic  nobles  were  easily  to  be  distinguished 
by  the  splendour  of  their  arms,  but  the  Prince 
Ataulpho  was  conspicuous  above  all  the  rest  for  the 
youthful  grace  and  majesty  of  his  appearance,  and 
the  bravery  of  his  array.  He  was  mounted  on  a 
superb  Andalusian  charger,  richly  caparisoned  with 
crimson  velvet,  embroidered  with  gold.  His  surcoat 
was  of  like  colour  and  adornment,  and  the  plumes 
that  waved  above  his  burnished  helmet,  were  of  the 
purest  white.  Ten  mounted  pages,  magnificently 
attired,  followed  him  to  the  field,  but  their  duty  was 
not  so  much  to  fight  as  to  attend  upon  their  lord, 
and  to  furnish  him  with  steed  or  weapon. 

The  christian  troops,  though  irregular  and  undis- 
ciplined, were  full  of  native  courage ;  for  the  old 
warrior  spirit  of  their  Gothic  sires  still  glowed  in 
their  bosoms.  There  were  two  battalions  of  infantry, 
but  Ataulpho  stationed  them  in  the  rear,  "  for  God 
forbid,"  said  he,  "that  foot-soldiers  should  have  the 
place  of  honour  in  the  battle,  when  I  have  so  many 
valiant  cavaliers."  As  the  armies  drew  nigh  to  each 
other,  however,  it  was  discovered  that  the  advance 
of  the  Arabs  was  composed  of  infantry.  Upon  this 
ti.e  cavaliers  checked  their  steeds,  and  requested 
that  the  foot  soldiery  might  advance  and  disperse 
this  losel  crew,  holding  it  beneath  their  dignity  to 
contend  with  pedestrian  foes.  The  prince,  however, 
commanded  them  to  charge  ;  upon  which,  putting 
spurs  to  their  steeds,  they  rushed  upon  the  foe. 

The  Arabs  stood  the  shock  manfully,  receiving 
the  horses  upon  the  points  of  their  lances  ;  many 
of  the  riders  were  shot  down  with  bolts  from  cross- 
bows, or  stabbed  with  the  poniards  of  the  Moslems. 
The  cavaliers  succeeded,  however,  in  breaking  into 
the  midst  of  the  battalion  and  throwing  it  into  con- 
fusion, cutting  down  some  with  their  swords,  trans- 
piercing others  with  their  spears,  and  trampling 
many  under  the  hoofs  of  their  horses.  At  this  mo- 
ment, they  were  attacked  by  a  band  of  Spanish 
horsemen,  the  recreant  partisans  of  Count  Julian. 
Their  assault  bore  hard  upon  their  countr)men,  who 
were  disordered  by  the  contest  with  the  foot-sol- 
diers, and  many  a  loyal  christian  knight  fell  beneath 
the  sword  of  an  unnatural  foe. 

The  foremost  among  these  recreant  warriors  was 
the  renegado  cavalier  whom  Theodomir  had  chal- 
lenged in  the  tent  of  Taric.  He  dealt  his  blows 
about  him  with  a  powerful  arm  and  with  malignant 
fury,  for  nothing  is  more  deadly  than  the  hatred  of 
an  apostate.  In  the  midst  of  his  career  he  was 
espied  by  the  hardy  Theodomir,  who  came  spurring 
to  the  encounter:  "Traitor,"  cried  he,  "  I  have  kept 
my  vow.  This  lance  has  been  held  sacred  from  all 
other  foes  to  make  a  passage  for  thy  perjured  soul." 
The  renegado  had  been  renowned  for  prowess  before 
he  became  a  traitor  to  his  country,  but  guilt  will  sap 
the  courage  of  the  stoutest  heart!  When  he  beheld 
Theodomir  rushing  upon  him,  he  would  have  turned 
and  fled ;  pride  alone  withheld  him ;  and,  though  an 
admirable  master  of  defence,  he  lost  all  skill  to  ward 
the  attack  of  his  adversary.     At  the  first  assault  the 


lance  of  Theodomir  pierced  him  through  and 
through  ;  he  fell  to  the  earth,  gnashed  his  teeth  as 
he  rolled  in  the  dust,  but  yielded  his  breath  without 
uttering  a  word. 

The  battle  now  became  general,  and  lasted 
throughout  the  morning  with  varying  success.  The 
stratagem  of  Taric,  however,  began  to  produce  its 
effect.  The  christian  leaders  and  most  conspicuous 
cavaliers  were  singled  out  and  severally  assailed  by 
overpowering  numbers.  They  fought  desperately, 
and  performed  miracles  of  prowess,  but  fell,  one  by 
one,  beneath  a  thousand  wounds.  Still  the  battle 
lingered  on  throughout  a  great  part  of  the  day,  and 
as  the  declining  sun  shone  through  the  clouds  of 
dust,  it  seemed  as  if  the  conflicting  hosts  were  wrap- 
ped in  smoke  and  fire. 

The  Prince  Ataulpho  saw  that  the  fortune  of  battle 
was  against  him.  He  rode  about  the  field  calling 
out  the  names  of  the  bravest  of  his  knights,  but  lew 
answered  to  his  call  ;  the  rest  lay  mangled  on  the 
field.  With  this  handful  of  warriors  he  endeavoured 
to  retrieve  the  day,  when  he  was  assailed  by  Ten- 
deros,  a  partisan  of  Count  Julian,  at  the  head  of  a 
body  of  recreant  christians.  At  sight  of  this  new 
adversary,  fire  flashed  from  the  eyes  of  the  prince, 
for  Tenderos  had  been  brought  up  in  his  father's 
palace.  "  Well  dost  thou,  traitor  !  "  cried  he,  "  to 
attack  the  son  of  thy  lord,  who  gave  thee  bread  ; 
thou,  who  hast  betrayed  thy  country  and  thy  God  !  " 

So  saying,  he  seized  a  lance  from  one  of  his  pages, 
and  charged  furiously  upon  the  apostate  ;  but  Ten- 
deros met  him  in  mid  career,  and  the  lance  of  the 
prince  was  shivered  upon  his  shield.  Ataulpho  then 
grasped  his  mace,  which  hung  at  his  saddle  bow, 
and  a  doubtful  fight  ensued.  Tenderos  was  power- 
ful of  frame  and  superior  in  the  use  of  his  weapons, 
but  the  curse  of  treason  seemed  to  paralyse  his  arm. 
He  wounded  Ataulpho  slightly  between  the  greaves 
of  his  armour,  but  the  prince  dealt  a  blow  with 
his  mace  that  crushed  through  helm  and  .scull  and 
reached  the  brains  ;  and  Tenderos  fell  dead  to  earth, 
his  armour  rattling  as  he  fell. 

At  the  same  moment,  a  javelin  hurled  by  an  Arab 
transpierced  the  horse  of  Ataulpho,  which  sunk  be- 
neath him.  The  prince  seized  the  reins  of  the  steed 
of  Tenderos,  but  the  faithful  animal,  as  though  he 
knew  him  to  be  the  foe  of  his  late  lord,  reared  and 
plunged  and  refused  to  let  him  mount.  The  prince, 
however,  used  him  as  a  shield  to  ward  off'  the  press 
of  foes,  while  with  his  sword  he  defended  himself 
against  those  in  front  of  him.  Taric  ben  Zeyad  ar- 
rived at  the  scene  of  conflict,  and  paused  for  a  mo- 
ment in  admiration  of  the  surpassing  prowess  of  the 
prince ;  recollecting,  however,  that  his  fall  would  be 
a  death  blow  to  his  army,  he  spurred  upon  him,  and 
wounded  him  severely  with  his  scimitar.  Before  he 
could  repeat  his  blow,  Theodomir  led  up  a  body  of 
christian  cavaliers  to  the  rescue,  and  Taric  was  part- 
ed from  his  prey  by  the  tumult  of  the  fight.  The 
prince  sank  to  the  earth,  covered  with  wounds  and 
exhausted  by  the  loss  of  blood.  A  faithful  page 
drew  him  from  under  the  hoofs  of  the  horses,  and, 
aided  by  a  veteran  soldier,  an  ancient  vassal  of 
Ataulpho,  conveyed  him  to  a  short  distance  from  the 
scene  of  battle,  by  the  side  of  a  small  stream  that 
gushed  out  from  among  rocks.  They  stanched  the 
blood  that  flowed  from  his  wounds,  and  washed  the 
dust  from  his  face,  and  lay  him  beside  the  fountain. 
The  page  sat  at  his  head,  and  supported  it  on  his 
knees,  and  the  veteran  stood  at  his  feet,  with  his 
brow  bent  and  his  eyes  full  of  sorrow.  The  prince 
gradually  revived,  and  opened  his  eyes.  "  How- 
fares  the  battle  ?  "  said  he.  "  The  struggle  is  hard," 
replied  the  soldier,  "  but  the  day  may  yet  be  ours." 

The  prince  felt  that  the  hour  of  his  death  was  at 


310 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


hand,  and  ordered  that  they  should  aid  him  to  rise 
upon  his  knees.  They  supported  him  between  them, 
and  he  prayed  fervently  for  a  short  time,  when,  find- 
ing his  strength  declining,  he  beckoned  the  veteran  to 
sit  down  beside  him  on  the  rock.  Continuing  to 
kneel,  he  confessed  himself  to  that  ancient  soldier, 
having  no  priest  or  friar  to  perform  that  office  in  this 
hour  of  extiemity.  When  he  had  so  done,  he  sunk 
again  upon  the  earth  and  pressed  it  with  his  lips,  as 
if  he  would  take  a  fond  farewell  of  his  beloved  coun- 
try. The  page  would  then  have  raised  his  head,  but 
found  that  his  lord  had  yielded  up  the  ghost. 

A  number  of  Arab  warriors,  who  came  to  the 
fountain  to  slake  their  thirst,  cut  off  the  head  of  the 
prince  and  bore  it  in  triumph  to  Taric,  crying,  "  Be- 
liold  the  head  of  the  christian  leader."  Taric  im- 
mediately ordered  that  the  head  should  be  put  upon 
the  end  of  a  lance,  together  with  the  surcoat  of  the 
prince,  and  borne  about  the  field  of  battle,  with  the 
sound  of  trumpets,  atabals,  and  cymbals. 

When  the  christians  beheld  the  surcoat,  and  knew 
the  features  of  the  prince,  they  were  struck  with 
horror,  and  heart  and  hand  failed  them.  Theodo- 
mir  endeavoured  in  vain  to  rally  them  ;  they  threw 
by  their  weapons  and  fled  ;  and  they  continued  to 
fly,  and  the  enemy  to  pursue  and  slay  them,  until 
the  darkness  of  the  night.  The  Moslems  then  re- 
turned and  plundered  the  christian  camp,  where 
tliey  found  abundant  spoil. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


TERROR  OF  THE    COUNTRY.— RODERICK    ROUSES 
HIMSELF  TO   ARMS. 

The  scattered  fugitives  of  the  christian  army 
spread  terror  throughout  the  land.  The  inhabit- 
ants of  the  towns  and  villages  gathered  around 
them  as  they  applied  at  their  gates  for  food,  or  lay 
themselves  down  faint  and  wounded  beside  the  pub- 
lic fountains.  When  they  related  the  tale  of  their  de- 
feat, old  men  shook  their  heads  and  groaned,  and 
the  women  uttered  cries  and  lamentations.  So 
strange  and  unlooked-for  a  calamity  filled  them  with 
consternation  and  despair ;  for  it  was  long  since  the 
alarm  of  war  had  sounded  in  their  land,  and  this 
was  a  warfare  that  carried  chains  and  slavery,  and 
all  kinds  of  horrors  in  its  train. 

Don  Roderick  was  seated  with  his  beauteous 
queen,  Exilona,  in  the  royal  palace  which  crowned 
ttie  rocky  summit  of  Toledo,  when  the  bearer  of  ill- 
tidings  came  galloping  over  the  bridge  of  the  Tagus. 
"What  tidings  from  the  army?"  demanded  the 
king,  as  the  panting  messenger  was  brought  into 
his  presence.  "  Tidings  of  great  woe,"  exclaimed 
the  soldier.  "  The  prince  has  fallen  in  battle.  I 
saw  his  head  and  surcoat  upon  a  Moorish  lance,  and 
the  army  was  overthrown  and  fled." 

At  hearing  these  words,  Roderick  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands,  and  for  some  time  sat  in  silence; 
and  all  his  courtiers  stood  mute  and  aghast,  and  no 
one  dared  to  speak  a  word.  In  that  awful  space  of 
time  passed  before  his  thoughts  all  his  errors  and 
his  crimes,  and  all  the  evils  that  had  been  predicted 
in  the  necromartic  tower.  His  mind  was  filled  with 
horror  and  confusion,  for  the  hour  of  his  destruction 
seemed  at  hand  ;  but  he  subdued  his  agitation  by  his 
strong  and  haughty  spirit ;  and  when  he  uncovered 
his  face  no  one  could  read  on  his  brow  the  trouble 
and  agony  of  his  heart.  Still  every  hour  brought 
fresh  tidings  of  disaster.  Messenger  after  messen- 
ger came  spurring  into  the  city,  distracting  it  with 
new  alanns.     The  infidels,  they  said,  were  strength- 


ening themselves  in  the  land :  host  after  host  were 
pouring  in  from  Africa :  the  seaboard  of  Andalusia 
glittered  with  spears  and  scimitars.  Bands  of  tur- 
baned  horsemen  had  overrun  the  plains  of  Sidonia, 
even  to  the  banks  of  the  Guadiana.  Fields  were 
laid  waste,  towns  and  cities  plundered,  the  inhabit- 
ants carried  into  captivity,  and  the  whole  country 
lay  in  smoking  desolation. 

Roderick  heard  all  these  tidings  with  an  un- 
daunted aspect,  nor  did  he  ever  again  betray  sign 
of  consternation  ;  but  the  anxiety  of  his  soul  was 
evident  in  his  warlike  preparations.  He  issued  or- 
ders that  every  noble  and  prelate  of  his  kingdom 
should  put  himself  at  the  head  of  his  retainers  and 
take  the  field,  and  that  every  man  capable  of  bear- 
ing arms  should  hasten  to  his  standard,  bringing 
whate\'er  horse  and  mule  and  weapon  he  possessed  ; 
and  he  appointed  the  plain  of  Cordova  for  the  place 
where  the  army  was  to  assemble.  Throwing  by, 
then,  all  the  trappings  of  his  late  slothful  and  volup- 
tuous life,  and  arming  himself  for  warlike  action,  he 
departed  from  Toledo  at  the  head  of  his  guard,  com- 
posed of  the  flower  of  the  youthful  nobihty.  His 
queen,  Exilona,  accompanied  him,  for  she  craved 
peririission  to  remain  in  one  of  the  cities  of  Anda- 
lusia, that  she  might  be  near  her  lord  in  this  time  of 
peril. 

Among  the  first  who  appeared  to  hail  the  arrival 
of  the  king  at  Cordova,  was  the  Bishop  Oppas,  the 
secret  partisan  of  the  traitor  Julian.  He  brought 
with  him  his  two  nephews,  Evan  and  Siseburto,  the 
sons  of  the  late  king  Witiza,  and  a  great  host  of 
vassals  and  retainers,  all  well  armed  and  appointed  ; 
for  they  had  been  furnished  by  Count  Julian  with  a 
part  of  the  arms  sent  by  the  king  to  Africa.  The 
bishop  was  smooth  of  tongue,  and  profound  in  his 
hypocrisy  ;  his  pretended  zeal  and  devotion,  and  the 
horror  with  which  he  spoke  of  the  treachery  of  his 
kinsman,  imposed  upon  the  credulous  spirit  of  the 
king,  and  he  was  readily  admitted  into  his  most  se- 
cret councils. 

The  alarm  of  the  infidel  invasion  had  spread 
throughout  the  land,  and  roused  the  Gothic  valour 
of  the  inhabitants.  On  receiving  the  orders  of 
Roderick,  every  town  and  hamlet,  every  mountain 
and  valley,  had  sent  forth  its  fighting  men,  and  the 
whole  country  was  on  the  march  towards  Andalusia. 
In  a  Uttle  while  there  were  gathered  together,  on  the 
plain  of  Cordova,  near  fifty  thousand  horsemen,  and 
a  countless  host  of  foot-soldiers.  The  Gothic  nobles 
appeared  in  burnished  armour,  curiously  inlaid  and 
adorned,  with  chains  and  jewels  of  gold,  and  orna- 
ments of  precious  stones,  and  silken  scarfs,  and  sur- 
coats  of  brocade,  or  velvet  richly  embroidered ;  be- 
traying the  luxury  and  ostentation  into  which  they 
had  declined  from  the  iron  hardihood  of  their  war- 
like sires.  As  to  the  common  people,  some  had 
lances  and  shields  and  swords  and  cross-bows,  but 
the  greater  part  were  unarmed,  or  provided  merely 
with  slings,  and  clubs  studded  with  nails,  and  with 
the  iron  iinplements  of  husbandry ;  and  many  had 
made  shields  for  themselves  froin  the  doors  and  win- 
dows of  their  habitations.  They  were  a  prodigious 
host,  and  appeared,  say  the  Arabian  chroniclers,  like 
an  agitated  sea,  but,  though  brave  in  spirit,  they 
possessed  no  knowledge  of  warlike  art,  and  were  in- 
effectual through  lack  of  arms  and  discipline. 

Several  of  the  most  ancient  and  e.xperienced  cava- 
liers, beholding  the  state  of  the  army,  advised  Don 
Roderick  to  await  the  arrival  of  more  regular  troops, 
which  were  stationed  in  Iberia,  Cantabria,  and  Gallia 
Gothica  ;  but  this  counsel  was  strenuously  opposed 
by  the  Bishop  Oppas ;  who  urged  the  king  to  march 
immediately  against  the  infidels.  "  As  yet,"  said  he, 
"  their  number  is  but  limited,  but  every  day  new 


LEGENDS   OF   THE    CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


811 


hosts  arrive  like  flocks  of  locusts,  from  Africa.  They 
will  augment  faster  than  we  ;.  they  are  hving,  too,  at 
our  expense,  and,  while  we  pause,  both  armies  are 
consuming  the  substance  of  the  land." 

King  Roderick  listened  to  the  crafty  counsel  of  the 
bishop,  and  determined  to  advance  without  delay. 
He  mounted  his  war  horse,  Orelia,  and  rode  among 
his  troops  assembled  on  that  spacious  plain,  and 
wherever  he  appeared  he  was  received  with  accla- 
mations ;  for  nothing  so  arouses  the  spirit  of  the 
soldier  as  to  behold  his  sovereign  in  arms.  He  ad- 
dressed them  in  words  calculated  to  touch  their 
beans  and  animate  their  courage.  "  The  Saracens," 
said  he,  "  are  ravaging  our  land,  and  their  object  is  our 
conquest.  Should  they  prevail,  your  very  existence 
as  a  nation  is  at  an  end.  They  will  overturn  your 
altars  ;  trample  on  the  cross  ;  lay  waste  your  cities  ; 
carry  off  your  wives  and  daughters,  and  doom  your- 
selves and  sons  to  hard  and  cruel  slavery.  No  safety 
remains  for  you  but  in  the  prowess  of  your  arms. 
For  my  own  part,  as  I  am  your  king,  so  will  I  be 
your  leader,  and  will  be  the  foremost  to  encounter 
every  toil  and  danger." 

The  soldiery  answered  their  monarch  with  loud 
acclamations,  and  solemnly  pledged  themselves  to 
tight  to  the  last  gasp  in  defence  of  their  country  and 
their  faith.  The  king  then  arranged  the  order  of 
their  march  :  all  those  who  were  armed  with  cuirasses 
and  coats  of  mail  were  placed  in  the  front  and  rear; 
the  centre  of  the  army  was  composed  of  a  promis- 
cuous throng,  without  body  armour,  and  but  scantily 
provided  with  weapons. 

When  they  were  about  to  march,  the  king  called 
to  him  a  noble  cavalier  named  Ramiro,  and  deliver- 
ing him  the  royal  standard,  charged  huTi  to  guard  it 
well  for  the  honour  of  Spain  ;  scarcely,  however,  had 
the  good  knight  received  it  in  his  hand,  when  he  fell 
dead  from  his  horse,  and  the  staff  of  the  standard 
was  broken  in  twain.  Many  ancient  courtiers  who 
were  present,  looked  upon  this  as  an  evil  omen,  and 
counselled  the  king  not  to  set  forward  on  his  march 
that  day  ;  but,  disregarding  all  auguries  and  por- 
tents, he  ordered  the  royal  banner  to  be  put  upon  a 
lance  and  gave  it  in  charge  of  another  standard  bear- 
er :  then  commanding  the  trumpets  to  be  sounded, 
he  departed  at  the  head  of  his  host  to  seek  the  enemy. 

The  field  where  this  great  army  assembled  was 
called,  from  the  solemn  pledge  given  by  the  nobles 
and  the  soldiery,  Kl  campo  de  la  verdad ;  or.  The 
field  of  Truth  ;  a  name,  says  the  sage  chronicler 
Abul  Cassini,  which  it  bears  even  to  the  present  day.* 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

MARCH  OF  THE  GOTHIC  ARMV — ENCAMPMENT  ON 
THE  BANKS  OF  THE  GUADALETE. — MYSTERIOUS 
PREDICTIONS  OF  A  PALMER — CONDUCT  OF  PE- 
USTES  THEREUPON. 

The  hopes  of  Andalusia  revived  as  this  mighty 
host  stretched  in  lengthening  lines  along  its  fertile 
plains ;  from  morn  until  night  it  continued  to  pour 
along,  with  sound  of  drum  and  trumpet ;  it  was  led 
on  by  the  proudest  nobles  and  bravest  cavaliers  in 
the  land,  and,  had  it  possessed  arms  and  discipline, 
might  have  undertaken  the  conquest  of  the  world. 

After  a  few  days'  march,  Don  Roderick  arrived  in 
sight  of  the  Moslem  army,  encamped  on  the  banks 
of  the  Guadalete,t  where  that  beautiful  stream  winds 
through  the  fertile  land  of  Xeres.     The  infidel  host 

*  La  Perdida  de  Espafia.  cap.  g.    Bleda  Lib.  2,  c.  8. 
t  This  name  was  given    to  it  subsequently  by  the  Arabs.     It 
signities  the  River  of  Death.    Vide  Fedruza,  Hist.  Granad.  p,  3.  c.  1. 


was  far  inferior  in  number  to  the  christians,  but  then 
it  was  composed  of  hardy  and  dexterous  troops, 
seasoned  to  war,  and  admirably  armed.  The  camp 
shone  gloriously  in  the  setting  sun,  and  resounded 
with  the  clash  of  cymbal,  the  note  of  the  trumpet, 
and  the  neighing  of  fiery  Arabian  steeds.  There 
were  swarthy  troops  from  every  nation  of  the  Albican 
coast,  together  with  legions  from  Syria  and  Egypt, 
while  the  light  Bedouins  were  careering  about  the 
adjacent  plain.  What  grieved  and  incensed  the 
spirits  of  the  christian  warriors,  however,  was  to  be- 
hold, a  little  apart  from  the  Moslem  host,  an  en- 
campment of  Spanish  cavaliers,  with  the  banner  of 
Count  Julian  waving  above  their  tents.  They  were 
ten  thousand  in  number,  valiant  and  hardy  men,  the 
most  experienced  of  Spanish  soldiery,  most  of  them 
having  served  in  the  African  wars ;  they  were  well 
armed  and  appointed  also,  with  the  weapons  of 
which  the  count  had  beguiled  his  sovereign ;  and  it 
was  a  grievous  sight  to  behold  such  good  soldiers 
arrayed  against  their  country  and  their  faith. 

The  christians  pitched  their  tents  about  the  hour 
of  vespers,  at  a  short  league  distant  from  the  enemy, 
and  remained  gazing  with  anxiety  and  awe  upon 
this  barbaric  host  that  had  caused  such  terror  and 
desolation  in  the  land  :  for  the  first  sight  of  a  hostile 
encampment  in  a  country  disused  to  war,  is  terrible 
to  the  newly  enlisted  soldier.  A  marvellous  occur- 
rence is  recorded  by  the  Arabian  chroniclers  as  hav- 
ing taken  place  in  the  christian  camp,  but  discreet 
Spanish  writers  relate  it  with  much  modification, 
and  consider  it  a  stratagem  of  the  wily  Bishop 
Oppas,  to  sound  the  loyalty  of  the  christian  cava- 
liers. 

As  several  leaders  of  the  army  were  seated  with 
the  bishop  in  his  tent,  conversing  on  the  dubious 
fortunes  of  the  approaching  contest,  an  ancient  pil- 
grim appeared  at  the  entrance.  He  was  bowed 
down  with  years,  his  snowy  beard  descended  to  his 
girdle,  and  he  supported  his  tottering  steps  with  a 
palmer's  staff.  The  cavaliers  rose  and  received  him 
with  great  reverence  as  he  advanced  within  the  tent. 
Holding  up  his  withered  hand,  "woe,  woe  to  Spain  !  " 
exclaimed  he,  "  for  the  vial  of  the  wrath  of  heaven  is 
about  to  be  poured  out.  Listen,  warriors,  and  take 
warning.  Four  months  since,  having  performed  my 
pilgrimage  to  the  sepulchre  of  our  Lord  in  Palestine, 
I  was  on  my  return  towards  my  native  land.  Wearied 
and  way-worn,  I  lay  down  one  night  to  sleep  beneath 
a  palm  tree,  by  the  side  of  a  fountain,  when  I  was 
awakened  by  a  voice  saying  unto  me,  in  soft  accents, 
'  Son  of  sorrow,  why  sleepest  thou  .'  '  I  opened  my 
eyes  and  beheld  one  of  fair  and  beauteous  coun- 
tenance, in  shining  apparel,  and  with  glorious  wings, 
standing  by  the  fountain  ;  and  I  said, '  who  art  thou, 
who  callest  upon  me  in  this  deep  hour  of  the  night .'  ' 

"  '  Fear  not,'  replied  the  stranger,  '  I  am  an  angel 
from  heaven,  sent  to  reveal  unto  thee  tlie  fate  of  thy 
country.  Behold,  the  sins  of  Roderick  have  come  up 
before  God,  and  his  anger  is  kindled  against  him, 
and  he  has  given  him  up  to  be  invaded  and  destroyed. 
Hasten  then  to  Spain,  and  seek  the  camp  of  thy 
countrymen.  Warn  them  that  such  only  shall  be 
saved  as  shall  abandon  Roderick ;  but  those  who 
adhere  to  him  shall  share  his  punishment,  and  shall 
fall  under  the  sword  of  the  invader.'  " 

The  pilgrim  ceased,  and  passed  forth  from  the 
tent ;  certain  of  the  cavaliers  followed  him  to  detain 
him,  that  they  might  converse  further  with  him 
about  these  matters,  but  he  was  no  where  to  be 
found.  The  sentinel  before  the  tent  said,  "  I  saw  no 
one  come  forth,  but  it  was  as  if  a  blast  of  wind 
passed  by  me,  and  there  was  a  rustling  as  of  dry 
leaves." 

The  cavaliers  remained  looking  upon  each  other 


ai2 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


with  astonishment.  The  Bishop  Oppas  sat  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  tlie  ground,  and  shadowed  by  his 
overhanging  brow.  At  length,  breaking  silence,  in 
a  low  and  faltering  voice  :  "  Doubtless,"  said  he, 
"  this  message  is  from  God ;  and  since  he  has  taken 
compassion  upon  us,  and  given  us  notice  of  his  im- 
pending judgment,  it  behoves  us  to  hold  grave  coun- 
cil, and  determine  how  best  we  may  accomplish  his 
will  and  avert  his  displeasure." 

The  chiefs  still  remained  silent  as  men  confound- 
ed. Among  them  was  a  veteran  noble  named  Pelistes. 
He  had  distinguished  himself  in  the  African  wars, 
fighting  side  by  side  with  Count  Julian,  but  the  lat- 
ter had  never  dared  to  tamper  with  his  faith,  for  he 
knew  his  stern  integrity.  Pelistes  had  brought  with 
him  to  the  camp  his  only  son,  who  had  never  drawn 
a  sword  except  in  tourney.  When  the  young  man 
saw  that  the  veterans  held  their  peace,  the  blood 
mantled  in  his  cheek,  and,  overcoming  his  modesty, 
be  broke  forth  with  a  generous  warmth  :  "  I  know 
not,  cavaliers,"  said  he,  "  what  is  passing  in  your 
minds,  but  I  believe  this  pilgrim  to  be  an  envoy 
from  the  devil  ;  for  none  else  could  have  given  such 
dastard  and  perfidious  counsel.  For  my  own  part, 
I  stand  ready  to  defend  my  king,  my  country,  and 
my  faith ;  I  know  no  higher  duty  than  this,  and  if 
God  thinks  fit  to  strike  me  dead  in  the  performance 
of  it,  his  sovereign  will  be  done  !  " 

When  the  young  man  had  risen  to  speak,  his 
father  had  fixed  his  eyes  upon  him  with  a  grave  and 
stern  demeanour,  leaning  upon  a  two-handed  sword. 
As  soon  as  the  youth  had  finished,  Pelistes  embraced 
him  with  a  father's  fondness.  "  Thou  hast  spoken 
well,  my  son,"  said  he  ;  "  if  I  held  my  peace  at  the 
counsel  of  this  losel  pilgrim,  it  was  but  to  hear  thy 
opinion,  and  to  learn  whether  thou  wert  worthy  of 
thy  lineage  and  of  the  training  I  had  given  thee. 
Hadst  thou  counselled  otherwise  than  thou  hast 
done,  hadst  thou  shown  thyself  craven  and  disloyal ; 
so  help  me  God,  I  would  have  struck  off  thy  head 
with  this  weapon  which  I  hold  in  my  hand.  But 
thou  hast  counselled  like  a  loyal  and  a  christian 
knight,  and  1  thank  God  for  having  given  me  a  son 
worthy  to  perpetuate  the  honours  of  my  line.  As  to 
this  pilgrim,  be  he  saint  or  be  he  devil,  I  care  not  ; 
this  much  I  promise,  that  if  I  am  to  die  in  defence 
of  my  country  and  my  king,  my  life  shall  be  a  costly 
purchase  to  the  foe.  Let  each  man  make  the  same 
resolve,  and  I  trust  we  shall  yet  prove  the  pilgrim  a 
lying  prophet."  The  words  of  Pelistes  roused  the 
spirits  of  many  of  the  cavaliers  ;  others,  however, 
remained  full  of  anxious  foreboding,  and  when  this 
fearful  prophecy  was  rumoured  about  the  camp,  as 
it  presently  was  by  the  emissaries  of  the  bishop,  it 
spread  awe  and  dismay  among  the  soldiery. 


CHAPTER   XV. 


SKIRMISHING    OF    THE    ARMIES. — PELISTES    AND 
HIS  SON.— PELISTES  AND  THE  BISHOP. 

On  the  following  day  the  two  armies  remained 
regarding  each  other  with  wary,  but  menacing  aspect. 
About  noontide  King  Roderick  sent  forth  a  chosen 
force  of  five  hundred  horse  and  two  hundred  foot, 
the  best  armed  of  his  host,  to  skirmish  with  the 
enemy,  that,  by  gaining  some  partial  advantage, 
they  might  raise  the  spirits  of  the  army.  They  were 
led  on  by  Theodomir,  the  same  Gothic  noble  who 
had  signalized  himself  by  first  opposing  the  invasion 
of  the  Moslems. 

The  christian  squadrons  paraded  with  flying  pen- 
nons in  the  valley  which  lay  between  the  armies. 


The  Arabs  were  not  slow  in  answering  their  defiance. 
A  large  body  of  horsemen  sallied  forth  to  the  en- 
counter, together  with  three  hundred  of  the  followers 
of  Count  Julian.  There  was  hot  skirmishing  about 
the  field  and  on  the  banks  of  the  river;  many  gal- 
lant feats  were  displayed  on  either  side,  and  many 
valiant  warriors  were  slain.  As  the  night  closed  in, 
the  trumpets  from  either  camp  summoned  the  troops 
to  retire  from  the  combat.  In  this  day's  action  the 
christians  suffered  greatly  in  the  loss  of  their  distin- 
guish''ed  cavaliers ;  for  it  is  the  noblest  spirits  who 
venture  most,  and  lay  themselves  open  to  danger ; 
and  the  Moslem  soldiers  had  instructions  to  single 
out  the  leaders  of  the  adverse  host.  All  this  is  said 
to  have  been  devised  by  the  perfidious  Bishop  Oppas, 
who  had  secret  communications  with  the  enemy, 
while  he  influenced  the  councils  of  the  king ;  and 
who  trusted  that  by  this  skirmishing  warfare  the 
power  of  the  christian  troops  would  be  cut  off,  and 
the  rest  disheartened. 

On   the   following  morning  a  larger   force   was 
ordered  out  to  skirmish,  and  such  of  the  soldiery  as 
were  unarmed  were  commanded  to  stand  ready  to 
seize  the  horses  and  strip  off  the  armour  of  the  killed 
and  wounded.     Among  the  most  illustrious  of  the 
warriors   who    fought   that   day   was    Pelistes,    the 
Gothic  noble  who  had  so  sternly  checked  the  tongue 
of  tl;e  Bishop  Oppas.     He  led  to  the  field  a  large 
body  of  his  own  vassals  and  retainers,  and  of  cava- 
liers trained  up  in  his  house,  who  had  followed  him 
to  the  wars  in   Africa,  and  who  looked   up  to  him 
more  as  a  father  than  a  chieftain.     Beside  him  was 
his  only  son,  who  now  for  the  first  time  was  fleshing 
his   sword   in   battle.     The   conflict   that   day  was 
more  general  and   bloody  than  the  day  preceding ; 
the  slaughter  of  the  christian  warriors  was  immense, 
from  their  lack  of  defensive  armour  ;  and  as  nothing 
could  prevent  the  flower  of  the  Gothic  chivalry  from 
spurring  to  the  combat,  the  field  was  strewed  with 
the  bodies  of  the  youthful  nobles.     None   suffered 
more,  however,  than  the  warriors  of  Pelistes.     Their 
leader  himself  was  bold  and  hardy,  and  prone  to  ex- 
pose himself  to  danger ;  but  years  and  experience 
had  moderated  his  early  fire  ;  his  son,  however,  was 
eager  to  distinguish  himself  in  this,  his  first  essay, 
and  rushed  with  impetuous  ardour  into  the  hottest 
of  the  battle.     In  vain   his  father  called  to  caution 
him  ;  he  was  ever  in  the  advance,  and  seemed  un- 
conscious of  the  perils  that  surrounded  him.     The 
cavaliers  and  vassals  of  his  father  followed  him  with 
devoted  zeal,  and  many  of  them  paid  for  their  loyalty 
with  their  lives.     When  the  trumpets  sounded  in  the 
evening  for  retreat,  the  troops  of  Pelistes  were  the 
last  to  reach   the  camp.     They  came   slowly  and 
mournfully,  and  much  decreased  in  number.     Their 
veteran  commander  was  seated  on  his  war-horse, 
but  the  blood  trickled  from  the  greaves  of  his  armour. 
His  valiant  son  was  borne  on  the  shields  of  his  vas- 
sals ;  when  they  laid  him  on  the  earth  near  to  where 
the  king  was  standing,  they  found  that  the  heroic 
youth    had   expired  of  his  wounds.     The  cavaliers 
surrounded  the  body  and  gave  utterance  to   their 
grief,  bat  the  father  restrained  his  agony,  and  looked 
on  with  the  stern  resignation  of  a  soldier. 

Don  Roderick  surveyed  the  field  of  battle  wi'h  a 
rueful  eye,  for  it  was  covered  with  the  mangled 
bodies  of  his  most  illustrious  warriors ;  he  saw,  too, 
with  anxiety,  that  the  common  people,  unused  to 
war  and  unsustaihed  by  discipline,  v/ere  harassed  by 
incessant  toils  and  dangers,  and  were  coohng  in 
their  zeal  and  courage. 

The  crafty  Bishop  Oppas  marked  the  internal 
trouble  of  the  king,  and  thought  a  favourable  mo- 
ment had  arrived  to  sway  him  to  his  purpose.  He 
called  to  his  mind  the  various  portents  and  prophe- 


LEGENDS    OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


313 


cies  which  had  forerun  their  present  danger.  "  Let 
not  my  lord  the  king,"  said  he,  "  make  light  of  these 
mysterious  revelations,  which  appear  to  be  so  dis- 
astrously fulfilling'.  The  hand  of  heaven  appears  to 
be  against  us.  Destruction  is  impending  over  our 
heads.  Our  troops  are  rude  and  unskilful ;  but 
slightly  armed,  and  much  cast  down  in  spirit.  Bet- 
ter is  it  that  we  should  make  a  treaty  with  the 
enemy,  and,  by  granting  part  of  his  demands,  pre- 
vent the  utter  ruin  of  our  country.  If  such  counsel 
be  acceptable  to  my  lord  the  king,  I  stand  ready  to 
depart  upon  an  embassy  to  the  Moslem  camp." 

Upon  hearing  these  words,  Pelistes,  who  had 
stood  in  mournlul  silence,  regarding  the  dead  body 
of  his  son,  burst  forth  with  honest  indignation.  "  By 
this  good  sword,"  said  he,  "the  man  who  yields 
such  dastard  counsel  deserves  death  from  the  hand 
of  his  countryman  rather  than  from  the  foe ;  and, 
were  it  not  for  the  presence  of  the  king,  may  I  for- 
feit salvation  if  1  would  not  strike  him  dead  upon 
the  spot." 

The  bishop  turned  an  eye  of  venom  upon  Pelistes. 
"My  lord,"  said  he,  "I,  too,  bear  a  weapon,  and 
know  how  to  wield  it.  Were  the  king  not  present, 
you  would  not  dare  to  menace,  nor  should  you  ad- 
vance one  step  without  my  hastening  to  meet  you." 

The  king  interposed  between  the  jarring  nobles, 
and  rebuked  the  impetuosity  of  Pelistes,  but  at  the 
same  time  rejected  the  counsel  of  the  bishop.  "The 
event  of  this  conflict,"  said  he,  "  is  in  the  hand  of 
God  ;  but  never  shall  my  sword  return  to  its  scab- 
bard while  an  infidel  invader  remains  within  the 
land." 

He  then  held  a  council  with  his  captains,  and  it 
was  determined  to  offer  the  enemy  general  battle 
on  the  following  day.  A  herald  was  despatched 
defying  Taric  ben  Zeyad  to  the  contest,  and  the 
defiance  was  gladly  accepted  by  the  Moslem  chief- 
tain.* Don  Roderick  then  formed  the  plan  of  ac- 
tion, and  assigned  to  each  commander  his  several 
station,  after  which  he  dismissed  his  officers,  and 
each  one  sought  his  tent,  to  prepare  by  diligence  or 
repose  for  the  next  day's  eventful  contest. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


TRAITOROUS   MESSAGE  OF  COUNT  JULIAN. 

Taric  ben  Zeyad  had  been  surprised  by  the 
valour  of  the  christian  cavaliers  in  the  recent  bat- 
tles, and  at  the  number  and  apparent  devotion  of 
the  troops  which  accompanied  the  king  to  the  field. 
The  confident  defiance  of  Don  Roderick  increased 
his  surprise.  When  the  herald  had  retired,  he 
turned  an  eye  of  suspicion  on  Count  Julian.  "  Thou 
hast  represented  thy  countrymen,"  said  he,  "  as 
sunk  in  etleminacy  and  lost  to  all  generous  impulse  ; 
yet  I  find  them  fighting  with  the  courage  and  the 
strength  of  lions.  Thou  hast  represented  thy  king 
as  detested  by  his  subjects  and  surrounded  by  secret 
treason,  but  I  behold  his  tents  whitening  the  hills 
and  dales,  while  thousands  are  hourly  flocking  to  his 
standard.  Woe  unto  thee  if  thou  hast  dealt  deceit- 
fully with  us,  or  betrayed  us  with  guileful  words." 

Don  Julian  retired  to  his  tent  in  great  trouble  of 
mind,  and  fear  came  upon  him  that  the  Bishop  Op- 
pas  might  play  him  false  ;  for  it  is  the  lot  of  traitors 
ever  to  distrust  each  other.  He  called  to  him  the 
same  page  who  had  brought  him  the  letter  from 
Florinda,  revealing  the  story  of  her  dishonour. 

"  Thou  knowest,  my  trusty  page,"  said  he,  "  that 
I  have  reared  thee  in  my  household,  and  cherished 
thee  above  all  thy  companions.  If  thou  hast  loyalty 
and  affection  for  thy  lord,  now  is  the  time  to  serve 

•  Bleda,  Cionica, 


him.  Hie  thee  to  the  christian  camp,  and  find  thy 
way  to  the  tent  of  the  Bishop  Oppas.  If  any  one 
.ask  thee  who  thou  art,  tell  them  thou  art  of  the 
household  of  the  bishop,  and  bearer  of  missives  from 
Cordova.  When  thou  art  admitted  to  the  presence 
of  the  bishop,  show  him  this  ring,  and  he  will  com- 
mune with  thee  in  secret.  Then  tell  him  Count 
Julian  greets  him  as  a  brother,  and  demands  how  the 
wrongs  of  his  daughter  Florinda  are  to  be  redressed. 
Mark  well  his  reply,  and  bring  it  word  for  word. 
Have  thy  lips  closed,  but  thine  eyes  and  ears  open  ; 
and  observe  every  thing  of  note  in  the  camp  ol  the 
king.  So,  speed  thee  on  thy  errand — away,  away  !  " 
The  page  hastened  to  saddle  a  Barbary  steed, 
fleet  as  the  wind,  and  of  a  jet  black  colour,  so  as 
not  to  be  easily  discernible  in  the  night.  He  girded 
on  a  sword  and  dagger,  slung  an  Arab  bow  with  a 
quiver  of  arrows  at  his  side,  and  a  buckler  at  his 
shoulder.  Issuing  out  of  the  camp,  he  sought  the 
banks  of  the  Guadalete,  and  proceeded  silently  along 
its  stream,  which  reflected  the  distant  fires  of  the 
christian  camp.  As  he  passed  by  the  place  which 
had  been  the  scene  of  the  recent  conflict,  he  heard, 
from  time  to  time,  the  groan  of  some  expiring  war- 
rior who  had  crawled  among  the  reeds  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  river  ;  and  sometimes  his  steed  stepped 
cautiously  over  the  mangled  bodies  of  the  slain. 
The  young  page  was  unused  to  the  sights  of  war, 
and  his  heart  beat  quick  within  him.  He  was  hailed 
by  the  sentinels  as  he  approached  the  christian 
camp,  and,  on  giving  the  reply  taught  him  by  Count 
Julian,  was  conducted  to  the  tent  of  the  Bishop 
Oppas. 

The  bishop  had  not  yet  retired  to  his  couch. 
When  he  beheld  the  ring  of  Count  Julian,  and  heard 
the  words  of  his  message,  he  saw  that  the  page  was 
one  in  whom  he  might  confide.  "  Hasten  back  to 
thy  lord,"  said  he,  "  and  tell  him  to  have  faith  in  me 
and  all  shall  go  well.  As  yet  1  have  kept  my  troops 
out  of  the  combat.  They  are  all  fresh,  well  armed, 
and  well  appointed.  The  king  has  confided  to  my- 
self, aided  by  the  princes  Evan  and  Siseburto,  the 
command  of  a  wing  of  the  army.  To-morrow,  at 
the  hour  of  noon,  when  both  armies  are  in  the  heat 
of  action,  we  will  pass  over  with  our  forces  to  the 
Moslems.  But  I  claim  the  compact  made  with  Taric 
ben  Zeyad,  that  my  nephews  be  placed  in  dominion 
over  Spain,  and  tributary  only  to  the  Caliph  of  Da- 
mascus." With  this  traitorous  message  the  page  de- 
parted. He  led  his  black  steed  by  the  bridle  to  pre- 
sent less  mark  for  observation,  as  he  went  stumbling 
along  near  the  expiring  fires  of  the  camp.  On  pass- 
ing the  last  outpost,  when  the  guards  were  half 
slumbering  on  their  arms,  he  was  overheard  and 
summoned,  but  leaped  lightly  into  the  saddle  and 
put  spurs  to  his  steed.  An  arrow  whistled  by  his 
ear,  and  two  more  stuck  in  the  target  which  he 
had  thrown  upon  his  back.  The  clatter  of  swift 
hoofs  echoed  behind  him,  but  he  had  learnt  of  the 
Arabs  to  fight  and  fly.  Plucking  a  shaft  from  his 
quiver,  and  turning  and  rising  in  his  stirrups  as  his 
courser  galloped  at  full  speed,  he  drew  the  arrow  to 
the  head  and  launched  it  at  his  pursuer.  The  twang 
of  the  bow-string  was  followed  by  the  crash  of  ar- 
mour, and  a  deep  groan,  as  the  horseman  tumbled  to 
the  earth.  The  page  pursued  his  course  without 
further  molestation,  and  arrived  at  the  Moslem  camp 
before  the  break  of  day. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

LAST   DAY  OF  THE   BATTLE. 
A  LIGHT  had  burned  throughout  the  night  in  the 
tent  of  the  king,  and  anxious  thoughts  and  dismal 


.814 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


visions  troubled  his  repose.  If  he  fell  into  a  slumber, 
he  beheld  in  his  dreams  the  shadowy  phantoms  of 
the  necromantic  tower,  or  the  injured  Florinda,  pale 
and  dishevelled,  imprecating  the  vengeance  of  heaven 
upon  his  head.  In  the  mid-watches  of  the  night, 
when  all  was  silent  except  the  footsteps  of  the 
sentinel,  pacing  before  his  tent,  the  king  rose  from 
his  couch,  and  walking  forth  looked  thoughtfully 
upon  the  martial  scene  before  him.  The  p.ale  cres- 
cent of  the  moon  hung  over  the  Moorish  camp, 
and  dimly  lighted  up  the  windings  of  the  Guadalete. 
The  heart  of  the  king  was  heavy  and  oppressed  ;  but 
he  felt  only  for  himself,  says  Antonio  Ag.ipida ;  he 
thought  nothing  of  the  perils  impending  over  the 
thousands  of  devoted  subjects  in  the  camp  below 
him ;  sleeping,  as  it  were,  on  the  margin  of  their 
graves.  The  faint  clatter  of  distant  hoofs,  as  if  in 
rapid  flight,  reached  the  monarcli's  ear,  but  the 
horsemen  were  not  to  be  descried.  At  that  very  hour, 
and  along  the  shadowy  banks  of  that  river,  here  and 
there  gleaming  with  the  scanty  moonlight,  passed 
the  fugitive  messenger  of  Count  Julian,  with  the  plan 
of  the  ne.xt  day's  treason. 

The  day  had  not  yet  dawned,  when  the  sleepless 
and  impatient  monarch  summoned  his  attendants 
and  arrayed  himself  for  the  field.  He  then  sent  for 
the  venerable  Bishop  Urbino,  who  had  accompanied 
him  to  the  camp,  and,  laying  aside  his  regal  crown,  he 
knelt  with  head  uncovered,  and  confessed  his  sins 
before  the  holy  man.  After  this  a  solemn  mass  was 
performed  in  the  royal  tent,  and  the  eucharist  ad- 
ministered to  the  monarch.  When  these  ceremonies 
were  concluded,  he  besought  the  archbishop  to  depart 
forthwith  for  Cordova,  there  to  await  the  issue  of  the 
battle,  and  to  be  ready  to  bring  forward  reinforce- 
ments and  supplies.  The  archbishop  saddled  his 
mule  and  departed  just  as  the  faint  blush  of  morn- 
ing began  to  kindle  in  the  east.  Already  the  camp 
resounded  with  the  thrilling  call  of  the  trumpet,  the 
clank  of  armour,  and  the  tramp  and  neigh  of  steeds. 
As  the  archbishop  passed  through  the  camp,  he 
looked  with  a  compassionate  heart  on  this  vast  mul- 
titude, of  whom  so  many  were  soon  to  perish.  The 
warriors  pressed  to  kiss  his  hand,  and  many  a  cava- 
lier full  of  youth  and  fire  received  his  benediction, 
who  was  to  lie  stiff  and  cold  before  the  evening. 

When  the  troops  were  marshalled  for  the  field, 
Don  Roderick  prepared  to  sally  forth  in  the  st.ate 
and  pomp  with  which  the  Gothic  kings  were  wont 
to  go  to  battle.  He  was  arrayed  in  robes  of  gold 
brocade ;  his  sandals  were  embroidered  with  pearls 
and  diamonds  ;  he  had  a  sceptre  in  his  hand,  and  he 
wore  a  regal  crown  resplendent  with  inestimable 
jewels.  Thus  gorgeously  apparelled,  he  ascended  a 
lofty  chariot  of  ivory,  the  axle-trees  of  which  were  of 
silver,  and  the  wheels  and  pole  covered  with  plates 
of  burnished  gold.  Above  his  head  was  a  canopy 
of  cloth  of  gold  embossed  with  armorial  devices,  and 
studded  with  precious  stones.*  This  sumptuous 
chariot  was  drawn  by  milk-white  horses,  with  capar- 
isons of  crimson  velvet,  embroidered  with  pearls.  A 
thousand  youthful  cavaliers  surrounded  the  car ;  all 
of  the  noblest  blood  and  bravest  spirit ;  all  knighted 
by  the  king's  own  hand,  and  sworn  to  defend  him  to 
the  last. 

When  Roderick  issued  forth  in  this  resplendent 
state,  says  an  Arabian  writer,  surrounded  by  his 
guards  in  gilded  armour  and  waving  plumes  and 
scarfs  and  surcoats  of  a  thousand  dyes,  it  was  as  if 
the  sun  were  emerging  in  the  dazzling  chariot  of  the 
day  from  amidst  the  glorious  clouds  of  morning. 

As  the  royal  car  rolled  along  in  front  of  the  squad- 
rons, the  soldiers  shouted  with  admiration.  Don 
Roderick  waved  his   sceptre   and  addressed   them 

•  Entrand.  Chron.  an.  Chris.  714. 


from  his  lofty  throne,  reminding  them  of  the  hor- 
ror and  desolation  which  had  already  been  spread 
through  the  land  by  the  invaders.  He  called  upon 
them  to  summon  up  the  ancient  valour  of  their  race 
and  avenge  the  blood  of  their  brethren.  "  One  day 
of  glorious  fighting,"  said  he,  "  and  this  infidel  horde 
will  be  driven  into  the  sea  or  will  perish  beneath 
your  swords.  Forward  bravely  to  the  fight ;  your 
families  are  behind  you  praying  for  your  success; 
the  invaders  of  your  country  are  before  you ;  God 
is  above  to  bless  his  holy  cause,  and  your  king  leads 
you  to  the  field."  The  army  shouted  with  one  ac- 
cord, "  Forward  to  the  foe,  and  death  be  his  portion 
who  shuns  the  encounter  !  " 

The  rising  sun  began  to  shine  along  the  glistening 
waters  of  the  Guadalele  as  the  Moorish  army,  squad- 
ron after  squadron,  came  sweeping  down  a  gentle 
declivity  to  the  sound  of  martial  music.  Their  tur- 
bans and  robes,  of  various  dyes  and  fashions,  gave  a 
splendid  appearance  to  their  host  ;  as  they  marched, 
a  cloud  of  dust  arose  and  partly  hid  them  from  the 
sight,  but  still  there  would  break  forth  flashes  of  steel 
and  gleams  of  burnished  gold,  like  rays  of  vivid 
lightning ;  while  the  sound  of  drum  and  trumpet, 
and  the  lash  of  Moorish  cymbal,  were  as  the  warlike 
thunder  within  that  stormy  cloud  of  battle. 

As  the  armies  drew  near  each  other,  the  sun  dis- 
appeared among  gathering  clouds,  and  the  gloom  of 
the  day  was  increased  by  the  columns  of  dust  which 
rose  from  either  host.  At  length  the  trumpets  sound- 
ed for  the  encounter.  The  battle  commenced  with 
showers  of  arrows,  stones,  and  javelins.  The  chris- 
tian foot-soldiers  fought  to  disadvantage,  the  greater 
part  being  destitute  of  helm  or  buckler.  A  battalion 
of  liglit  Arabian  horsemen,  led  by  a  Greek  renegado 
named  Maguel  el  Rumi,  careered  in  front  of  the 
christian  line,  launching  their  darts,  and  then  wheel- 
ing off  beyond  the  reach  of  the  missiles  hurled  after 
them.  Theodomir  now  brought  up  his  seasoned 
troops  into  the  action,  seconded  by  the  veteran  Pe- 
listes,  and  in  a  little  while  the  battle  became  furious 
and  promiscuous.  It  was  glorious  to  behold  the  old 
Gothic  valour  shining  forth  in  this  hour  of  fearful 
trial.  Wherever  the  Moslems  fell,  the  christians 
rushed  forward,  seized  upon  their  horses,  and  strip- 
ped them  of  their  armour  and  their  weapons.  They 
fought  desperately  and  successfully,  for  they  fought 
for  their  country  and  their  faith.  The  battle  raged 
for  several  hours  ;  the  field  was  strown  with  slain, 
and  the  Moors,  overcome  by  the  multitude  and  fury 
of  their  foes,  began  to  falter. 

When  Taric  beheld  his  troops  retreating  before 
the  enemy,  he  threw  himself  before  them,  and,  rising 
in  his  stirrups,  "  Oh  Moslems  !  conquerors  of  Afri- 
ca ! "  cried  he,  "  whither  would  you  fly  ?  The  sea  is 
behind  you,  the  enemy  before  ;  you  have  no  hope 
but  in  your  valour  and  the  help  of  God.  Do  as  1  do 
and  the  day  is  ours  !  " 

With  these  words  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and 
sprung  among  the  enemy,  striking  to  right  and  left, 
cutting  down  and  destroying,  while  his  steed,  fierce 
as  himself,  trampled  upon  the  foot-soldiers,  and  tore 
them  with  his  teeth.  At  this  moment  a  mighty  shout 
arose  in  various  parts  of  the  field  ;  the  noontide  hour 
had  arrived.  The  Bishop  Oppas  with  the  two 
princes,  who  h.ad  hitherto  kept  their  bands  out  of 
the  fight,  suddenly  went  over  to  the  enemy,  and 
turned  their  weapons  upon  their  astonished  coun- 
trymen. From  that  moment  the  fortune  of  the  day 
was  changed,  and  the  field  of  battle  became  a  scene 
of  wild  confusion  and  bloody  massacre.  The  chris- 
tians knew  not  whom  to  contend  with,  or  whom  to 
trust.  It  seemed  as  if  madness  had  seized  upon 
their  friends  and  kinsmen,  and  that  their  worst  ene- 
mies were  among  themselves. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


815 


The  courage  of  Don  Roderick  rose  with  his  dan- 
ger. Throwing  off  the  cumbrous  robes  of  royalty 
and  descending  from  his  car,  he  sprang  upon  his 
steed  Orelia,  grasped  his  lance  and  buclvler,  and  en- 
deavoured to  rally  his  retreating  troops.  He  was 
surrounded  and  assailed  by  a  multitude  of  his  own 
traitorous  subjects,  but  defended  himself  with  won- 
drous prowess.  The  enemy  thickened  around  him  ; 
his  loyal  band  of  cavaliers  were  slain,  bravely  fight- 
ing in  his  defence  ;  the  last  that  was  seen  of  the  king 
was  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy,  dealing  death  at 
every  blow. 

A  complete  panic  fell  upon  the  christians ;  they 
threw  away  their  arms  and  fled  in  all  directions. 
They  were  pursued  with  dreadful  slaughter,  until 
the  darkness  of  the  night  rendered  it  impossible  to 
distinguish  friend  from  foe.  Taric  then  called  off  his 
troops  from  the  pursuit,  and  took  possession  of  the 
royal  camp ;  and  the  couch  which  had  been  pressed 
so  uneasily  on  the  preceding  night  by  Don  Roderick, 
now  yielded  sound  repose  to  his  conqueror.* 


CHAPTER  XVHI. 


THE  FIELD  OF  BATTLE  AFTER  THE  DEFEAT. — 
THE  FATE  OF  RODERICK. 

On  the  morning  after  the  battle,  the  Arab  leader, 
Taric  ben  Zeyad,  rode  over  the  bloody  held  of  the 
Guadalete,  strewed  with  the  ruins  of  those  splendid 
armies,  which  had  so  lately  passed  like  glorious 
pageants  along  the  river  banks.  There  Moor  and 
christian,  horseman  and  horse,  lay  gashed  with  hid- 
eous wounds;  and  the  river,  still  red  with  blood,  was 
filled  with  the  bodies  of  the  slain.  The  gaunt  Arab 
was  as  a  wolf  roaming  through  the  fold  he  had 
laid  waste.  On  every  side  his  eye  revelled  on 
the  ruin  of  the  country,  on  the  wrecks  of  haughty 
Spain.  There  lay  the  flower  of  her  youthful  chivalry, 
mangled  and  destroyed,  and  the  strength  of  her  yeo- 
manry prostrated  in  the  dust.  The  Gothic  noble  lay 
confounded  with  his  vassals;  the  peasant  with  the 
prince  ;  all  ranks  and  dignities  were  mingled  in  one 
bloody  massacre. 

When  Taric  had  surveyed  the  field,  he  caused  the 
spoils  of  the  dead  and  the  plunder  of  the  camp  to 
be  brought  before  him.  The  booty  was  immense. 
There  were  massy  chains,  and  rare  jewels  of  gold  ; 
pearls  and  precious  stones  ;  rich  silks  and  brocades, 
and  all  other  luxurious  decorations  in  which  the 
Gothic  nobles  had  indulged  in  the  latter  times  of 
their  degeneracy.  A  vast  amount  of  treasure  was 
likewise  found,  which  had  been  brought  by  Roderick 
for  the  expenses  of  the  war. 

Taric  then  ordered  that  the  bodies  of  the  Moslem 
warriors  should  be  interred  ;  as  for  those  of  the  chris- 
tians, they  were  gathered  in  heaps,  and  vast  pyres  of 
wood  were  formed  on  which  they  were  consumed. 
The  flames  of  these  pyres  rose  high  in  the  air,  and 
were  seen  afar  off  in  the  night ;  and  when  the  chris- 
tians beheld  them  from  tlie  neighbouring  hills,  they 
beat  their  breasts  and  tore  their  hair,  and  lamented 
over  them  as  over  the  funeral  fires  of  their  country. 
The  carnage  of  that  battle  infected  the  air  lor  two 
whole  months,  and  bones  were  seen  lying  in  heaps 
upon  the  field  for  more  than  forty  years  ;  nay,  when 
ages  had  past  and  gone,  the  husbandman,  turning  up 
the  soil,  woukl  still  find  fragments  of  Gothic  cuiras- 
ses and  helms,  and  Moorish  scimitars,  the  relics  of 
that  dreadful  fight. 

For  three  days  the  Arabian  horsemen  pursued  the 


•This  battle  is  c.illed  indiscriminately  by  historians  the  battle 
of  Guadalete,  or  of  Xeres,  from  the  neighbourhood  of  that  city. 


flying  christians  ;  hunting  them  over  the  face  of  the 
country  ;  so  that  but  a  scanty  number  of  that  mighty 
host  esca])ed  to  tell  the  tale  of  their  disaster. 

Taric  ben  Zeyad  considered  his  victory  incomplete 
so  long  as  the  Gothic  monarch  survived  ;  he  pro- 
claimed great  rewards,  therefore,  to  whomsoever 
should  bring  Roderick  to  him,  dead  or  alive.  A  dil- 
igent search  was  accordingly  made  in  every  direction, 
but  for  a  long  time  in  vain  ;  at  length  a  soldier 
brought  to  Taric  the  head  of  a  christian  warrior,  on 
which  was  a  cap  decorated  with  feathers  and  precious 
stones.  The  Arab  leader  received  it  as  the  head  of 
the  unfortunate  Roderick,  and  sent  it,  as  a  trophy  of 
his  victory,  to  Muza  ben  Nosier,  who,  in  like  manner, 
transmitted  it  to  the  caliph  at  Damascus.  The 
Spanish  historians,  however,  have  always  denied  its 
identity. 

A  mystery  has  ever  hung,  and  ever  must  continue 
to  hang,  over  the  fate  of  King  Roderick,  in  that  dark 
and  doleful  day  of  Spain.  Whether  he  went  down 
amidst  the  storm  of  battle,  and  atoned  for  his  sins 
and  errors  by  a  patriot  grave,  or  whether  he  survived 
to  repent  of  them  in  hermit  exile,  must  remain 
matter  of  conjecture  and  dispute.  The  learned 
Archbishop  Rodrigo,  who  has  recorded  the  events 
of  this  disastrous  field,  affirms  that  Roderick  fell  be- 
neath the  vengeful  blade  of  the  traitor  Julian,  and 
thus  expiated  with  his  blood  his  crime  against  the 
hapless  Florinda ;  but  the  archbishop  stands  alone 
in  his  record  of  the  fact.  It  seems  generally  admit- 
ted that  Orelia,  the  favourite  war-horse,  was  found 
entangled  in  a  marsh  on  the  borders  of  the  Guada- 
lete, with  the  sandals  and  mantle  and  royal  insig- 
nia of  the  king  lying  close  by  him.  The  river  at 
this  place  ran  broad  and  deep,  and  was  encumbered 
with  the  dead  bodies  of  warriors  and  steeds  ;  it  has 
been  supposed,  therefore,  that  he  perished  in  the 
stream ;  but  his  body  was  not  found  within  its 
waters. 

When  several  years  had  passed  away,  and  men's 
minds,  being  restored  to  some  degree  of  tranquillity, 
began  to  occupy  themselves  about  the  events  of  this 
dismal  day,  a  rumour  arose  that  Roderick  had  es- 
caped from  the  carnage  on  the  banks  of  the  Guada- 
lete, and  was  still  alive.  It  was  said,  that  having 
from  a  rising  ground  caught  a  view  of  the  whole 
field  of  battle,  and  seen  that  the  day  was  lost,  and 
his  army  flying  in  all  directions,  he  likewise  sought 
his  safety  in  flight.  It  is  added,  that  the  Arab  horse- 
men, while  scouring  the  mountains  in  quest  of  fu- 
gitives, found  a  shepherd  arrayed  in  the  royal  robes, 
and  brought  him  before  the  conqueror,  believing  him 
to  be  the  king  himself.  Count  Julian  soon  dispelled 
the  error.  On  being  questioned,  the  trembling  rustic 
declared  that  while  tending  his  sheep  in  the  folds 
of  the  mountains,  there  came  a  cavalier  on  a  horse 
wearied  and  spent  and  ready  to  sink  beneath  the 
spur.  That  the  cavalier  with  an  authoritative  voife 
and  menacing  air  commanded  him  to  exchange  gar- 
ments with  him,  and  clad  himself  in  his  rude  garb  of 
sheep-skin,  and  took  his  crook  and  his  scrip  of  pro- 
visions, and  continued  up  the  rugged  defiles  of  the 
mountains  leading  towards  Castile,  until  he  was  lost 
to  view.* 

This  tradition  was  fondly  cherished  by  many,  who 
clung  to  the  belief  in  the  existence  of  their  monarch 
as  their  main  hope  for  the  redemption  of  Spain.  It 
was  even  affirmed  that  he  had  taken  refuge,  wth 
many  of  his  host,  in  an  island  of  the  "  Ocean  sea," 
from  whence  he  might  yet  return  once  more  to  ele- 
vate his  standard,  and  battle  for  the  recovery  of  his 
throne. 


*  nieda,  Cron.  L.  2.  c.  9.     Abulca-sim  Tarif  Abentariqae,  L.  x. 


316 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Year  after  year,  however,  elapsed,  and  nothing 
was  heard  of  Don  Roderick ;  yet,  lil<e  Sebastian  of 
Portugal,  and  Arthur  of  England,  his  name  con- 
tinued to  be  a  rallying  point  for  popular  faith,  and 
the  mystery  of  his  end  to  give  rise  to  romantic  fa- 
bles. At  length,  when  generation  after  generation 
had  sunk  into  the  grave,  and  near  two  centuries  had 
passed  and  gone,  traces  were  said  to  be  discovered 
that  threw  a  light  on  the  final  fortunes  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Roderick.  At  that  time,  Don  Alphonso  the 
Great,  King  of  Leon,  had  wrested  the  city  of  Viseo 
in  Lusitania  from  the  hands  of  the  Moslems.  As 
his  soldiers  were  ranging  about  the  city  and  its  en- 
virons, one  of  them  discovered  in  a  field,  outside  of 
the  walls,  a  small  chapel  or  hermitage,  with  a  sepul- 
chre in  front,  on  which  was  inscribed  this  epitaph  in 
Gothic  characters : 

HIC      REQUIESCIT      RUDERICUS, 
ULTIMUS    REX     GOTHORUM. 

Here  lies  Roderick, 
The  last  king  of  the  Goths. 

It  has  been  believed  by  many  that  this  was  the 
veritable  tomb  of  the  monarch,  and  that  in  this  her- 
mitage he  had  finished  his  days  in  solitary  penance. 
The  warrior,  as  he  contemplated  the  supposed  tomb 
of  the  once  haughty  Roderick,  forgot  all  his  faults 
And  errors,  and  shed  a  soldier's  tear  over  his  mem- 
ory ;  but  when  his  thoughts  turned  to  Count  Julian, 
his  patriotic  indignation  broke  forth,  and  with  his 
dagger  he  inscribed  a  rude  malediction  on  the  stone. 

"  Accursed,"  said  he,  "  be  the  impious  and  head- 
long vengeance  of  the  traitor  Julian.  He  was  a  mur- 
derer of  his  king ;  a  destroyer  of  his  kindred  ;  a  be- 
trayer of  his  country.  May  his  name  be  bitter  in 
every  mouth,  and  his  memory  infamous  to  all  gener- 
ations !  " 

Here  ends  the  legend  of  Don  Roderick, 


Magno,  aviendo  ganado  la  ciudad  de  Viseo,  encontro 
en  una  iglesia  el  epitafio  que  en  romance  dize — aqui 
yaze  Rodrigo,  ultimo  Rey  de  los  Godos. — Berganza, 
L.  I.  c.  13. 


ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  THE  FOREGOING  LEGEND. 


THE  TOMB   OF   RODERICK. 

The  venerable  Scbastiano,  Bishop  of  Salamanca, 
declares  that  the  inscription  on  the  tomb  at  Viseo 
in  Portugal,  existed  in  his  time,  and  that  he  had  seen 
it.  A  particular  account  of  the  exile  and  hermit  life 
of  Roderick  is  furnished  by  Berganza,  on  the  au- 
thority of  Portuguese  chronicles. 

Algunos  historiadores  Portugueses  asseguran,  que 
el  Rey  Rodrigo,  perdida  la  battalia,  huyo  a  tierra  de 
^Jerida,  y  se  recogio  en  el  monasterio  de  Cauliniano, 
en  donde,  arrepentido  de  sus  culpas,  procure  confes- 
sarlas  con  muchas  lagrimas.  Deseando  mas  retiro, 
y  escogiendo  por  compafiero  a  un  monge  Uamado 
Roman,  y  elevando  la  Imagen  de  Nazareth,  que  Cy- 
riaco  rnonge  de  nacion  griego  avra  traido  de  Jeru- 
salem al  monasterio  de  Cauliniano,  se  subio  a  un 
monte  muy  asper6,  que  estaba  sobre  el  mar,  junto 
al  lugar  de  Pederneyra.  Vivio  Rodrigo  en  compania 
de  el  monge  en  el  hueco  de  una  gruta  por  espacio 
de  un  aiio ;  despues  se  passo  d  la  ermita  de  san 
Miguel,  que  estaba  cerca  de  Viseo,  en  donde  murio 
y  fue  sepultado. 

Puedcse  ver  esta  relacion  en  las  notas  de  Don 
Thomas  Tamayo  sobre  Paulo  cteacano.  El  chroni- 
con  do  san  Millan,  que  llega  hasta  el  ano  883,  deze 
que,  hasta  su  tiempo,  si  ignora  el  fin  del  Rey  Rod- 
rigo.    Pocos  auos  despues  el  Rey  Don  Alonzo  el 


THE  CAVE  OF  HERCULES. 

As  the  story  of  the  necromantic  tower  is  one  of 
the  most  famous  as  well  as  least  credible  points  in 
the  histoi7  of  Don  Roderick,  it  may  be  well  to  for- 
tify or  buttress  it  by  some  account  of  another  marvel 
of  the  city  of  Toledo.  This  ancient  city,  which 
dates  its  existence  almost  from  the  time  of  the  flood, 
claiming  as  its  founder  Tubal,  the  son  of  Japhet,  and 
grandson  of  Noah,*  has  been  the  warrior  hold  of 
many  generations,  and  a  strange  diversity  of  races. 
It  bears  traces  of  the  artifices  and  devices  of  its 
various  occupants,  and  is  full  of  mysteries  and  sub- 
jects for  antiquarian  conjecture  and  perplexity.  It 
is  built  upon  a  high  rocky  promontory,  with  the 
Tagus  brawling  round  its  base,  and  is  overlooked 
by  cragged  and  precipitous  hills.  These  hills  abound 
with  clelts  and  caverns  ;  and  the  promontory  itself, 
on  which  the  city  is  built,  bears  traces  of  vaults  and 
subterraneous  habitations,  which  are  occasionally 
discovered  under  the  ruins  of  ancient  houses,  or  be- 
neath the  churches  and  convents. 

These  are  supposed  by  some  to  have  been  the 
habitations  or  retreats  of  the  primitive  inhabitants  ; 
for  it  was  the  custom  of  the  ancients,  according  to 
Pliny,  to  make  caves  in  high  and  rocky  places,  and 
live  in  them  through  fear  of  Hoods ;  and  such  a  pre- 
caution, says  the  worthy  Don  Pedro  de  Roxas,  in 
his  history  of  Toledo,  was  natural  enough  among 
the  first  Toledans,  seeing  that  they  founded  their 
city  shortly  after  the  deluge,  while  the  memory  of  it 
was  still  fresh  in  their  minds. 

Some  have  supposed  these  secret  caves  and  vaults 
to  have  been  places  of  concealment  of  the  inhabit- 
ants and  their  treasure,  during  times  of  war  and 
violence  ;  or  rude  temples  for  the  performance  of 
religious  ceremonies  in  times  of  persecution.  There 
are  not  wanting  other,  and  grave  writers,  who  give 
them  a  still  darker  purpose.  In  these  caves,  say 
they,  were  taught  the  diabolical  mysteries  of  magic  ; 
and  here  were  performed  those  infernal  ceremonies 
and  incantations  horrible  in  the  eyes  of  God  and 
man.  "  History,"  says  the  worthy  Don  Pedro  de 
Roxas,  "  is  full  of  accounts  that  the  magi  taught  and 
performed  their  magic  and  their  superstitious  rites 
in  profound  caves  and  secret  places ;  because  as  tliis 
art  of  the  devil  was  prohibited  from  the  very  origin 
of  Christianity,  they  always  sought  for  hidden  places 
in  which  to  practise  it."  In  the  time  of  the  Moors 
this  art,  we  are  told,  was  publicly  taught  at  their 
universities,  the  same  as  astronomy,  philosophy,  and 
mathematics,  and  at  no  place  was  it  cultivated  with 
more  success  than  at  Toledo.  Hence  this  city  has 
ever  been  darkly  renowned  for  mystic  science  ;  inso- 
much that  the  magic  art  was  called  by  the  French, 
and  by  other  nations,  the  Arte  Toledana. 

Of  all  the  marvels,  however,  of  this  ancient  pic- 
turesque, romantic,  and  necromantic  city,  none  in 
modern  times  surpass  the  cave  of  Hercules,  if  we 
may  take  the  account  of  Don  Pedro  de  Roxas  for 
authentic.  The  entrance  to  this  cave  is  within  the 
church  of  San  Gincs,  situated  in  nearly  the  highest 
part  of  the  city.  The  portal  is  secured  by  massy 
doors,  opening  within  the  walls  of  the  church,  but 
which  are  kept  rigorously  closed.  The  cavern  ex- 
tends under  the  city  and  beneath  the  bed  of  the 
Tagus  to  the  distance  of  three  leagues  beyond.  It 
is,  in  some  places,  of  rare  architecture,  built  of  small 


•  Salaiar,  Hist.  Gran.  Cardinal,  Prologo,  vol.  i.  pLin  i. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF    SPAIN. 


317 


stones  curiously  wrought,  and  supported  by  columns 
and  arches. 

In  the  year  1 1;46  an  account  of  this  cavern  was 
given  to  the  archbishop  and  cardinal  Don  Juan 
Martinez  Siliceo,  who,  desirous  of  examining  it, 
ordered  the  entrance  to  be  cleaned.  A  number  of 
persons  furnished  with  provisions,  lanterns,  and 
cords,  then  went  in,  and  having  proceeded  about 
half  a  league,  came  to  a  place  where  there  was  a  kind 
of  chapel  or  temple,  having  a  table  or  altar,  with 
several  statues  of  bronze  in  niches  or  on  pedestals. 

While  they  were  regarding  this  mysterious  scene 
of  ancient  worship  or  incantation,  one  of  the  statues 
fell,  with  a  noise  that  echoed  through  the  cavern, 
and  smote  the  hearts  of  the  adventurers  with  terror. 
Recovering  from  their  alarm  they  proceeded  on- 
ward, but  were  soon  again  dismayed  by  a  roaring 
and  rushing  sound  that  increased  as  they  advanced. 
It  was  made  by  a  furious  and  turbulent  stream,  the 
dark  waters  of  which  were  too  deep  and  broad  and 
rapid  to  be  crossed.  By  this  time  their  hearts  were 
so  chilled  with  awe,  and  their  thoughts  so  bewil- 
dered, that  they  could  not  seek  any  other  passiige  by 
which  they  might  advance ;  so  they  turned  back 
and  hastened  out  of  the  cave.  It  was  night-fall 
when  they  sallied  forth,  and  they  were  so  much 
affected  by  the  terror  they  had  undergone,  and  by 
the  cold  and  damp  air  of  the  cavern,  to  which  they 
were  the  more  sensible  from  its  being  in  the  summer, 
that  all  of  them  fell  sick  and  several  of  them  died. 
Whether  the  archbishop  was  encouraged  to  pursue 
his  research  and  gratify  his  curiosity,  the  history 
does  not  mention. 

Alonzo  Telles  de  Meneses,  in  his  history  of  the 
world,  records,  that  not  long  before  his  time  a  boy 
of  Toledo,  being  threatened  with  punishment  by  his 
master,  fled  and  took  refuge  in  this  cave.  Fancying 
liis  pursuer  at  his  heels,  he  took  no  heed  of  the 
obscurity  or  coldness  of  the  cave,  but  kept  groping 
and  blundering  forward,  until  he  came  forth  at  three 
leagues  distance  from  the  city. 

Another  and  very  popular  story  of  this  cave,  cur- 
rent among  the  common  people,  was,  that  in  its 
remote  recesses  lay  concealed  a  great  treasure  of 
gold,  left  there  by  the  Romans.  Whoever  would 
reach  this  precious  hoard  must  pass  through  several 
caves  or  grottoes  ;  each  having  its  particular  terror, 
and  all  under  the  guardianship  of  a  ferocious  dog, 
who  has  the  key  of  all  the  gates,  and  watches  day 
and  night.  At  the  approach  of  any  one  he  shows 
his  teeth,  and  makes  a  hideous  growling ;  but  no 
adventurer  after  wealth  has  had  courage  to  brave  a 
contest  with  this  terrific  cerberus. 

The  most  intrepid  candidate  on  record  was  a 
poor  man  who  had  lost  his  all,  and  had  those  grand 
incentives  to  desperate  enterprise,  a  wife  and  a  large 
family  of  children.  Hearing  the  story  of  this  cave, 
he  determined  to  venture  alone  in  search  of  the 
treasure.  He  accordingly  entered,  and  wandered 
many  hours,  bewildered,  about  the  cave.  Often 
would  he  have  returned,  but  the  thoughts  of  his 
wife  and  children  urged  him  on.  At  length  he  ar- 
rived near  to  the  place  where  he  supposed  the 
treasure  lay  hidden  ;  but  here,  to  his  dismay,  he  be- 
held the  noor  of  the  cavern  strown  with  human 
bones ;  doubtless  the  remains  of  adventurers  like 
himself,  who  had  been  torn  to  pieces. 

Losing  all  courage,  he  now  turned  and  sought  his 
way  out  of  the  cave.  Horrors  thickened  upon  him 
as  he  fled.  He  beheld  direful  phantoms  glaring  and 
gibbering  around  him,  and  heard  the  sound  of  pur- 
suit in  the  echoes  of  his  footsteps.  He  reached  his 
home  overcome  with  affright ;  several  hours  elapsed 
before  he  could  recover  speech  to  tell  his  story,  and 
he  died  on  the  following  day. 


The  judicious  Don  Pedro  de  Roxae  holds  the 
account  of  the  buried  treasure  for  fabulous,  but  the 
adventure  of  this  unlucky  man  for  very  possible  ; 
being  led  on  by  avarice,  or  rather  the  hope  of  re- 
trieving a  desperate  fortune.  He,  moreover,  pro- 
nounces his  dying  shortly  after  coming  forth  as 
very  probable  ;  because  the  darkness  of  the  cave  ; 
its  coldness ;  the  fright  at  finding  the  bones  ;  the 
dread  of  meeting  the  imaginary  dog,  all  joining  to 
operate  upon  a  man  who  was  past  the  prime  of  his 
days,  and  enfeebled  by  poverty  and  scanty  food, 
might  easily  cause  his  death. 

Slany  have  considered  this  cave  as  intended 
originally  for  a  sally  or  retreat  from  the  city  in  case 
it  should  be  taken  ;  an  opinion  rendered  probable, 
it  is  thought,  by  its  grandeur  and  great  extent. 

The  learned  Salazar  de  Mendoza,  however,  in  his 
history  of  the  grand  cardinal  of  Spain,  affirms  it  as 
an  established  fact,  that  it  was  first  wrought  out  of 
the  rock  by  Tubal,  the  son  of  japhet,  and  grandson 
of  Noah,  and  afterwards  repaired  and  greatly  aug- 
mented by  Hercules  the  Egyptian,  who  made  it  his 
habitation  after  he  had  erected  his  pillars  at  the 
straits  of  Gibraltar.  Here,  too,  it  is  said,  he  read 
magic  to  his  followers,  and  taught  them  those  su- 
pernatural arts  by  which  he  accomplished  his  vast 
achievements.  Others  think  that  it  was  a  temple 
dedicated  to  Hercules  ;  as  was  the  case,  according 
to  Pomponius  Mela,  with  the  great  cave  in  the 
rock  of  Gibraltar;  certain  it  is,  that  it  has  always 
borne  the  name  of  "  The  Cave  of  Hercules." 

There  are  not  wanting  some  who  have  insinuated 
that  it  was  a  work  dating  from  the  time  of  the 
Romans,  and  intended  as  a  cloaca  or  sewer  of  (he 
city  ;  but  such  a  grovelling  insinuation  will  be  treated 
with  proper  scorn  by  the  reader,  after  the  nobler 
purposes  to  which  he  has  heard  this  marvellous 
cavern  consecrated. 

From  all  the  circumstances  here  adduced  from 
learned  and  reverend  authors,  it  v/ill  be  perceived 
that  Toledo  is  a  city  fruitful  of  marvels,  and  that 
the  necromantic  tower  of  Hercules  has  more  solid 
foundation  than  most  edifices  of  similar  import  in 
ancient  history. 

The  writer  of  these  pages  will  venture  to  add  the 
result  of  his  personal  researches  respecting  the  far- 
famed  cavern  in  question.  Rambling  about  Toledo 
in  the  year  1826,  in  company  with  a  small  knot  of 
antiquity  hunters,  among  whom  was  an  eminent 
British  painter,*  and  an  English  nobleman,t  who 
has  since  distinguished  himself  in  Spanish  historical 
research,  we  directed  our  steps  to  the  church  of 
San  Gines,  and  inquired  for  the  portal  of  the  secret 
cavern.  The  sacristan  was  a  voluble  and  communi- 
cative man,  and  one  not  likely  to  be  niggard  of  his 
tongue  about  any  thing  he  knew,  or  slow  to  boast  of 
any  marvel  pertaining  to  his  church  ;  but  he  pro- 
fessed utter  ignorance  of  the  existence  of  any  such 
portal.  He  remembered  to  have  heard,  however, 
that  immediately  under  the  entrance  to  the  church 
there  was  an  arch  of  mason-work,  apparently  the 
upper  part  of  some  subterranean  portal  ;  but  that 
all  had  been  covered  up  and  a  pavement  laid  down 
thereon  ;  so  that  whether  it  lead  to  the  magic  cave 
or  the  necromantic  tower  remains  a  mystery,  and 
so  must  remain  until  some  monarch  or  archbishop 
shall  again  have  courage  and  authority  to  break  the 
spell. 


♦Mr.D.  W— kie. 


t  Lord  Mah — n. 


318 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  SUBJUGATION  OF  SPAIN.* 


CHAPTER  I. 


CONSTERNATION  OF  SPAIN. — CONDUCT  OF  THE 
CONQUERORS. — MISSIVES  BETWEEN  TARIC  AND 
MUZA. 

The  overthrow  of  King  Roderick  and  his  army 
on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete,  threw  open  all  south- 
ern Spain  to  the  inroads  of  the  Moslems.  The 
whole  country  fled  before  them  ;  villages  and  ham- 
lets were  hastily  abandoned  ;  the  inhabitants  placed 
their  aged  and  infirm,  their  wives  and  children,  and 
their  most  precious  effects,  on  mules  and  other 
beasts  of  burden,  and,  driving  before  them  their  flocks 
and  herds,  made  for  distant  parts  of  the  land  ;  for 
the  fastnesses  of  the  mountains,  and  for  such  of  the 
cities  as  yet  possessed  walls  and  bulwarks.  Many 
gave  out,  faint  and  weary,  by  the  way,  and  fell  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy  ;  others,  at  the  distant  sight 
of  a  turban  or  a  Moslem  standard,  or  on  hearing  the 
clangour  of  a  trumpet,  abandoned  their  flocks  and 
herds  and  hastened  their  flight  with  their  families. 
If  their  pursuers  gained  upon  them,  they  threw  by 
their  household  goods  and  whatever  was  of  burthen, 
and  thought  themselves  fortunate  to  escape,  naked 
and  destitute,  to  a  place  of  refuge.  Thus  the  roads 
were  covered  with  scattered  flocks  and  herds,  and 
with  spoil  of  all  kind. 

The  Arabs,  however,  were  not  guilty  of  wanton 
cruelty  or  ravage ;  on  the  contrary,  they  conducted 
themselves  with  a  moderation  but  seldom  witnessed 
in  more  civilized  conquerors.  Taric  el  Tuerto, 
though  a  thorough  man  of  the  sword,  and  one  whose 
whole  thoughts  were  warlike,  yet  evinced  wonderful 
judgment  and  discretion.  He  checked  the  predatory 
habits  of  his  troops  with  a  rigorous  hand.  They 
were  forbidden,  under  pain  of  severe  punishment, 
to  molest  any  peaceable  and  unfortified  towns,  or 
any  unarmed  and  unresisting  people,  who  remained 
quiet  in  their  homes.  No  spoil  was  permitted  to  be 
made  excepting  in  fields  of  battle,  in  camps  of  routed 
foes,  or  in  cities  taken  by  the  sword. 

Taric  had  little  need  to  exercise  his  severity  ;  his 
orders  were  obeyed  through  love,  rather  than  fear, 
for  he  was  the  idol  of  his  soldiery.  They  admired 
his  restless  and  daring  spirit,  which  nothing  could 
dismay.  His  gaunt  and  sinewy  form,  his  fiery  eye, 
his  visage  seamed  with  scars,  were  suited  to  the  har- 
dihood of  his  deeds  ;  and  when  mounted  on  his  foam- 
ing steed,  careering  the  field  of  battle  with  quivering 
lance  or  flashing  scimitar,  his  Arabs  would  greet  him 
with  shouts  of  enthusiasm.  Buf  what  endeared  him 
to  them  more  than  all  was  his  soldier-like  contempt 
of  gain.  Conquest  was  his  only  passion  ;  glory  the 
only  reward  he  coveted.  As  to  the  spoil  of  the  con- 
quered, he  shared  it  freely  among  his  followers,  and 
squandered  his  own  portion  with  open  -  handed 
generosity. 

While  Taric  was  pushing  his  triumphant  course 
through  Andalusia,  tidings  of  his  stupendous  victory 
on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete  were  carried  to  Muza 
ben  Nozier.  Messengers  after  messengers  arrived, 
vieing  who  should  most  extol  the  achievements  of 
the  conqueror  and  the  grandeur  of  the  conquest. 

*  In  this  legend  most  of  the  facts  respecting  the  Arab  inroads 
into  Spain  are  on  the  authority  of  Arabian  writers;  who  liad  the 
most  accurate  means  of  information.  'J'hose  relative  to  the  Spaniards 
arc  chiefly  from  old  Spanish  chronicles.  It  is  to  he  remarked  that 
the  Arab  accounts  have  most  the  air  of  verity,  and  the  events  as 
they  relate  them,  are  in  the  ordinary  course  of  common  life.  The 
Spanish  accounts,  on  the  contrary,  arc  full  of  the  marvellous  ;  for 
there  were  no  greater  romancers  than  the  monkish  chroniclers. 


"  Taric,"  said  they,  "  has  overthrown  the  %vhole 
force  of  the  unbelievers  in  one  mighty  battle.  Their 
king  is  slain  ;  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  of 
their  warriors  are  destroyed  ;  the  whole  land  lies  at 
our  mercy ;  and  city  after  city  is  surrendering  to  the 
victorious  arms  of  Taric. " 

The  heart  of  Muza  ben  Nozier  sickened  at  these 
tidings,  and,  instead  cf  rejoicing  at  the  success  of  the 
cause  of  Islam,  he  trembled  with  jealous  fear  lest  the 
triumphs  of  Taric  in  Spain  should  eclipse  his  own 
victories  in  Africa.  He  despatched  missives  to  the 
Caliph  Waled  Almanzor,  informing  him  of  these  new 
conquests,  but  taking  the  whole  glory  to  himself,  and 
making  no  mention  of  the  services  of  Taric  ;  or  at 
least,  only  mentioning  him  incidentally  as  a  subordi- 
nate commander.  "  The  battles,"  said  he,  "  have 
been  terrible  as  the  day  of  judgment ;  but  by  the  aid 
of  Allah  we  have  gained  the  victory." 

He  then  prepared  in  all  haste  to  cross  over  into 
Spain  and  assume  the  command  of  the  conquering 
army ;  and  he  wrote  a  letter  in  advance  to  interrupt 
Taric  in  the  midst  of  his  career.  "  Wherever  this 
letter  may  find  thee,"  said  he,  "I  charge  thee  halt 
with  thy  army  and  await  my  coming.  Thy  force  is 
inadequate  to  the  subjugation  of  the  land,  and  by 
rashly  venturing,  thou  mayst  lose  every  thing.  I  will 
be  with  thee  speedily,  with  a  reinforcement  of  troops 
competent  to  so  great  an  enterprise." 

The  letter  overtook  the  veteran  Taric  while  in  the 
full  glow  of  triumphant  success;  having  overrun 
some  of  the  richest  parts  of  Andalusia,  and  just  re- 
ceived the  surrender  of  the  city  of  Ecija.  As  he  read 
the  letter  the  blood  mantled  in  his  sunburnt  cheek 
and  fire  kindled  in  his  eye,  for  he  penetrated  the  mo- 
tives of  Muza.  He  suppressed  his  wrath,  however, 
and  turning;  with  a  bitter  expression  of  forced  com- 
posure to  his  captains,  "  Unsaddle  your  steeds,"  said 
he,  "  and  plant  your  lances  in  the  earth  ;  set  up  your 
tents  and  take  your  repose  :  for  we  must  await  the 
coming  of  the  Wall  with  a  mighty  force  to  assist  us 
in  our  conquest." 

The  Arab  warriors  broke  forth  with  loud  murmurs 
at  these  words  :  "  What  need  have  we  of  aid,"  cried 
they,  "when  the  whole  country  is  flying  before  us; 
and  what  better  commander  can  we  have  than  Taric 
to  lead  us  on  to  victory?  " 

Count  Julian,  also,  who  was  present,  now  hastened 
to  give  his  traitorous  counsel. 

"  Why  pause,"  cried  he,  "  at  this  precious  moment? 
The  great  army  of  the  Goths  is  vanquished,  and  their 
nobles  are  slaughtered  or  dispersed.  Follow  up  your 
blow  before  the  land  can  recover  from  its  panic. 
Overrun  the  provinces,  seize  upon  the  cities,  make 
yourself  master  of  the  capital,  and  your  conquest  is 
complete."*  • 

The  advice  of  Julian  was  applauded  by  all  the  Arab 
chieftains,  who  were  impatient  of  any  interruption 
in  their  career  of  conquest.  Taric  was  easily  per- 
suaded to  what  was  the  wish  of  his  heart.  Disre- 
garding the  letter  of  Muza,  therefore,  he  prepared  to 
pursue  his  victories.  For  this  purpose  he  ordered  a 
review  of  his  troops  on  the  plain  of  Ecija.  Some 
were  mounted  on  steeds  which  they  had  brought 
from  Africa  ;  the  rest  he  supplied  with  horses  taken 
from  the  christians.  He  repeated  his  general  orders, 
that  they  should  inflict  no  wanton  injury,  nor  plunder 
any  place  that  offered  no  resistance.  They  were  for- 
bidden, also,  to  encumber  themselves  with  booty,  or 
even  with  provisions  ;  but  were  to  scour  the  country 
with  all  speed,  and  seize  upon  all  its  fortresses  and 
strong-holds. 

He  then  divided  his  host  into  three  several  armies. 
One  he  placed  under  the  command  of  the  Greek 


*  Conde,  p.  i.  c,  lo. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


319 


renegado,  Magned  el  Rumi,  a  man  of  desperate 
courage  ;  and  sent  it  against  the  ancient  city  of  Cor- 
dova. Anotlier  was  sent  against  the  city  of  Malaga, 
and  was  led  by  Zayd  ben  Kesadi,  aided  by  the  Bishop 
Oppas.  The  third  was  led  by  Taric  himself,  and 
with  this  he  determined  to  make  a  wide  sweep 
through  the  kingdom.* 


CHAPTER  II. 


CAPTURE   OF  GRANADA. — SUBJUGATION    OF  THE 
ALPUXARRA   MOUNTAINS. 

The  terror  of  the  arms  of  Taric  ben  Zeyad  went 
before  him  ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  report  of  his 
lenity  to  those  who  submitted  without  resistance. 
Wherever  he  appeared,  the  towns,  for  the  most  part, 
sent  forth  some  of  their  principal  inhabitants  to 
proffer  a  surrender ;  for  they  were  destitute  of  forti- 
fications, and  their  fighting  men  had  perished  in 
battle.  They  were  all  received  into  allegiance  to  the 
caliph,  and  were  protected  from  pillage  or  molesta- 
tion. 

After  marching  some  distance  through  the  country, 
he  entered  one  day  a  vast  and  beautiful  plain,  inter- 
spersed with  villages,  adorned  with  groves  and  gar- 
dens, watered  by  winding  rivers,  and  surrounded  by 
lofty  mountains.  It  was  the  famous  vega,  or  plain 
of  Granada,  destined  to  be  for  ages  the  favourite 
abode  of  the  Moslems.  When  the  Arab  conquerors 
beheld  this  delicious  vega,  they  were  lost  in  admira- 
tion ;  for  it  seemed  as  if  the  prophet  had  given  them 
a  paradise  on  earth,  as  a  reward  for  their  services  in 
his  cause. 

Taric  approached  the  city  of  Granada,  which  had 
a  formidable  aspect,  seated  on  lofty  hills  and  fortified 
with  Gothic  walls  and  towers,  and  with  the  red 
castle  or  citadel,  built  in  times  of  old  by  the  Phoeni- 
cians or  the  Romans.  As  the  Arab  chieftain  eyed 
the  place,  he  was  pleased  with  its  stern  warrior  look, 
contrasting  with  the  smiling  beauty  of  its  vega,  and 
the  freshness  and  voluptuous  abundance  of  its  hills 
and  valleys.  He  pitched  his  tentj  before  its  walls, 
and  made  preparations  to  attack  it  with  all  his  force. 

The  city,  however,  bore  but  the  semblance  of 
power.  The  flower  of  its  youth  had  perished  in  the 
battle  of  the  Guadalete ;  many  of  the  principal  in- 
habitants had  fled  to  the  mountains,  and  few  re- 
mained in  the  city  excepting  old  men,  women  and 
children,  and  a  number  of  Jews,  which  last  were 
well  disposed  to  take  part  with  the  conquerors. 
The  city,  therefore,  readily  capitulated,  and  was 
received  into  vassalage  on  favourable  terms.  The 
inhabitants  were  to  retain  their  property,  their  laws, 
and  their  religion  ;  their  churches  and  priests  were 
to  be  respected  ;  and  no  other  tribute  was  required 
of  them  than  such  as  they  had  been  accustomed  to 
pay  to  their  Gothic  kings. 

On  taking  possession  of  Granada,  Taric  garrison- 
ed the  towers  and  castles,  and  left  as  alcayde  or 
governor  a  chosen  warrior  named  Betiz  Aben  Habuz, 
a  native  of  Arabia  Felix,  who  had  distinguished  him- 
self by  his  valour  and  abilities.  This  alcayde  subse- 
quently made  himself  king  of  Granada,  and  built  a 
palace  on  one  of  its  hills  ;  the  remains  of  which  may 
be  seen  at  the  present  day.t 

•  Cronica  de  Espafia,  de  Alonzo  el  Sabio.    P.  3.  c.  i. 

+  The  house  shown  as  the  ancient  residence  of  Aben  Habuz  is 
called  ia  Casx  del  Galto,  or  the  house  of  the  weathercock;  so 
named,  says  Pedraza,  in  his  history  of  Granada,  from  a  bronze 
figure  of  an  Arab  horseman,  arm*d  with  lance  and  buckler,  which 
once  surmounted  it,  and  wiiich  varied  with  every  wind.  On  this 
warlike  weathercock  was  inscribed,  in  Arabic  characters, 

Dice  el  sabio  Aben  Habuz 
Que  asi  se  defiende  el  Andaluz. 


Even  the  delights  of  Granada  had  no  power  to 
detain  the  active  and  ardent  Taric.  To  the  east  of 
the  city  he  beheld  a  lofty  chain  of  mountains,  tower- 
ing to  the  sky,  and  crowned  with  shining  snow. 
These  were  the  "Mountains  of  the  Sun  and  Air;" 
and  the  perpetual  snows  on  their  summits  gave  birth 
to  streams  that  fertilized  the  plains.  In  their  bosoms, 
shut  up  among  cliffs  and  precipices,  were  many  small 
valleys  of  great  beauty  and  abundance.  The  in- 
habitants were  a  bold  and  hardy  race,  who  looked 
upon  their  mountains  as  everlasting  fortresses  that 
could  never  be  taken.  The  inhabitants  of  the  sur- 
rounding country  had  fled  to  these  natural  fast- 
nesses for  refuge,  and  driven  thither  their  flocks 
and  herds. 

Taric  felt  that  the  dominion  he  had  acquired  of 
the  plains  would  be  insecure  until  he  had  penetrated 
and  subdued  these  haughty  mountains.  Leaving 
.■\ben  Habuz,  therefore,  in  command  of  Granada, 
he  marched  with  his  army  across  the  vega,  and 
entered  the  folds  of  the  Sierra,  which  stretch  to- 
wards the  south.  The  inhabitants  fled  with  affright 
on  hearing  the  Moorish  trumpets,  or  beholding  the 
approach  of  the  turbaned  horsemen,  and  plunged 
deeper  into  the  recesses  of  their  mountains.  As  the 
army  advanced,  the  roads  became  more  and  more 
rugged  and  difficult ;  sometimes  climbing  great  rocky 
heights,  and  at  other  times  descending  abruptly  into 
deep  ravines,  the  beds  of  winter  torrents.  The 
mountains  were  strangely  wild  and  sterile ;  broken 
into  cliffs  and  precipices  of  variegated  marble.  At 
their  feet  were  little  valleys  enamelled  with  groves 
and  gardens,  interlaced  with  silver  streams,  and 
studded  with  villages  and  hamlets  ;  but  all  deserted 
by  their  inhabitants.  No  one  appeared  to  dispute 
the  inroad  of  the  Moslems,  who  continued  their 
march  with  increasing  confidence,  their  pennons 
fluttering  from  rock  and  cliff,  and  the  valleys  echoing 
to  the  din  of  trumpet,  drum,  and  cymbal.  At  length 
they  came  to  a  defile  where  the  mountains  seemed 
to  have  been  rent  asunder  to  make  way  for  a  foam- 
ing torrent.  The  narrow  and  broken  road  wound 
along  the  dizzy  edge  of  precipices,  until  it  came  to 
where  a  bridge  was  thrown  across  the  chasm.  It 
was  a  fearful  and  gloomy  pass;  great  beetling  cliffs 
overhung  the  road,  and  the  torrent  roared  below. 
This  awful  defile  has  ever  been  famous  in  the  war- 
like history  of  those  mountains,  by  the  name,  in 
former  times,  of  the  Barranco  de  Toco.s,  and  at 
present  of  the  bridge  of  Tablete.  The  Saracen 
army  entered  fearlessly  into  the  pass  ;  a  part  had 
already  crossed  the  bridge,  and  was  slowly  toiling 
up  the  rugged  road  on  the  opposite  side,  when  great 
shouts  arose,  and  every  cliff  appeared  suddenly 
peopled  with  furious  foes.  In  an  instant  a  deluge 
of  missiles  of  every»sort  was  rained  upon  the  as- 
tonished Moslems.  Darts,  arrows,  javelins,  and 
stones,  came  whistling  down,  singling  out  the  most 
conspicuous  cavaliers ;  and  at  times  great  masses 
of  rock,  bounding  and  thundering  along  the  mount- 
ain side,  crushed  whole  ranks  at  once,  or  hurled 
horses  and  riders  over  the  edge  of  the  precipices. 

It  was  in  vain  to  attempt  to  brave  this  mountain 
warfare.  The  enemy  were  beyond  the  reach  of 
missiles,  and  safe  from  pursuit ;  and  the  horses  of 
the  Arabs  were  here  an  incumbrance  rather  than  an 
aid.     The  trumpets  sounded  a  retreat,  and  the  army 


(In  this  way,  says  Aben  Habuz  the  wise. 
The  Andalusian  his  foe  defies.) 

The  Casa  del  Gallo,  even  until  within  twenty  years,  possessed 
two  great  halls  beautifully  decorated  with  morisco  reliefs.  It  then 
caught  fire  and  was  so  damaged  as  to  require  to  be  ne.irly  rebuilt. 
It  is  now  a  manufactory  of  coarse  canvas,  and  has  nothing  of  the 
Moorish  character  remaining.  It  commands  a  beautiful  view  of 
■the  city  and  the  vega. 


320 


WORKS  ,OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


retired  in  tumult  and  confusion,  harassed  by  the 
enemy  until  extricated  from  the  defile.  Taric,  who 
liad  beheld  cities  and  castles  surrendering  without  a 
blow,  was  enraged  at  being  braved  by  a  mere  horde 
of  mountain  boors,  and  made  another  attempt  to 
penetrate  the  mountains,  but  was  again  waylaid  and 
opposed  with  horrible  slaughter. 

The  fiery  son  of  Ishmael  foamed  with  rage  at  being 
thus  checked  in  his  career  and  foiled  in  his  revenge. 
He  was  on  the  point  of  abandoning  the  attempt,  and 
returning  to  the  vega,  when  a  christian  boor  sought 
liis  camp,  and  was  admitted  to  his  presence.  The 
miserable  wretch  possessed  a  cabin  and  a  little  patch 
of  ground  among  the  mountains,  and  offered,  if  these 
should  be  protected  from  ravage,  to  inform  the  Arab 
commander  of  a  way  by  which  troops  of  horse  might 
be  safely  introduced  into  the  bosom  of  the  Sierra, 
and  the  whole  subdued.  The  name  of  this  caitiff 
was  Fandino,  and  it  deserves  to  be  perpetually  re- 
corded with  ignominy.  His  case  is  an  instance  how 
much  it  is  in  the  power,  at  times,  of  the  most  insig- 
nificant being  to  do  mischief,  and  how  all  the  valour 
of  the  magnanimous  and  the  brave,  may  be  defeated 
by  the  treason  ol'  the  selfish  and  the  despicable. 

Instructed  by  this  traitor,  the  Arab  commander 
caused  ten  thousand  foot-soldiers  and  four  thousand 
horseman,  commanded  by  a  valiant  captain,  named 
Ibrahim  Albuxarra,  to  be  conveyed  by  sea  to  the 
little  port  of  Adra,  at  the  Mediterranean  foot  of  the 
mountains.  Here  they  landed,  and,  guided  by  the 
traitor,  penetrated  to  the  heart  of  the  Sierra,  laying 
every  thing  waste.  The  brave  mountaineers,  thus 
hemmed  in  between  two  armies,  destitute  of  fortresses 
and  without  hope  of  succour,  were  obliged  to  capitu- 
late ;  but  their  valour  was  not  without  avail,  for 
never,  even  in  Spain,  did  vanquished  people  sur- 
render on  prouder  or  more  honourable  terms.  We 
have  named  the  wretch  who  betrayed  his  native 
mountains ;  let  us,  equally,  record  the  name  of  him 
whose  pious  patriotism  saved  them  from  desolation. 
It  was  the  reverend  Bishop  Centerio.  While  the 
warriors  rested  on  their  arms  in  grim  and  menacing 
tranquillity  among  the  cliffs,  this  venerable  prelate 
descended  to  the  Arab  tents  in  the  valley,  to  conduct 
the  capitulation.  In  stipulating  for  the  safety  of  his 
people,  he  did  not  forget  that  they  were  brave  men, 
and  that  they  still  had  weapons  in  their  hands.  He 
obtained  conditions  accordingly.  It  was  agreed  that 
they  should  be  permitted  to  retain  their  houses,  lands, 
and  personal  effects  ;  that  they  sliouid  be  unmolested 
in  their  religion,  and  their  temples  and  priests  re- 
spected ;  and  that  they  should  pay  no  other  tribute 
than  such  as  they  had  been  accustomed  to  render  to 
their  kings.  Should  they  prefer  to  leave  the  country 
and  to  remove  to  any  part  of  christendoin,  they  were 
to  be  allowed  to  sell  their  possessions ;  and  to  take 
with  them  the  money,  and  all  tTieir  other  effects.* 

Ibrahim  Albuxarra  remained  in  command  of  the 
territory,  and  the  whole  sierra,  or  chain  of  mountains, 
took  his  name,  which  has  since  been  slightly  cor- 
rupted into  that  of  the  Alpuxarras.  The  subjuga- 
tion of  this  rugged  region,  however,  was  for  a  long 
time  incomplete  ;  many  of  the  christians  maintained 
a  wild  and  hostile  independence,  living  in  green 
glens  and  scanty  valleys  among  the  heights  ;  and  the 
sierra  of  the  Alpuxarras  has,  in  all  ages,  been  one 
of  the  most  difficult  parts  of  Andalusia  to  be  sub- 
dued. 

CHAPTER   III.  \ 

EXPEDITION    OF    MAGUED    AGAINST   CORDOVA. — 
DEFENCE  OF  THE  PATRIOT   PELISTES. 

While  the  veteran  Taric  was  making  this  wide 
circuit  through  the  land,  the  expedition  under  Ma- 

*  Pedraza,  Hist.  Granad,  p.  3.  c.  a.    Bleda  cronica,  L.  3,  c.  10. 


gued  the  renegado  proceeded  against  the  city  of  Cor- 
dova. The  inhabitants  of  that  ancient  place  had 
beheld  the  great  army  of  Don  Roderick  spreading 
like  an  inundation  over  the  plain  of  the  Guadalquivir, 
and  had  felt  confident  that  it  must  sweep  the  infidel 
invaders  from  the  land.  What  then  was  their  dis- 
may, when  scattered  fugitives,  wild  with  horror  ami 
affright,  brought  them  tidings  of  the  entire  over- 
throw of  that  mighty  host,  and  the  disappearance  of 
the  king!  In  the  midst  of  their  consternation,  the 
Gothic  noble,  Pelistes,  arrived  at  their  gates,  hag- 
gard with  fatigue  of  body,  and  anguish  of  mind,  and 
leading  a  remnant  of  his  devoted  cavaliers,  who  had 
survived  the  dreadful  battle  of  the  Guadalete.  The 
people  of  Cordova  knew  the  valiant  and  steadfast 
spirit  of  Pelistes,  and  rallied  round  him  as  a  last 
hope.  "  Roderick  is  fallen,"  cried  they,  "  and  we 
have  neither  king  nor  captain  ;  be  unto  us  as  a  sov- 
ereign;  take  command  of  our  city,  and  protect  us  in 
this  hour  of  peril  !  " 

The  heart  of  Pelistes  was  free  from  ambition,  and 
was  too  much  broken  by  grief  to  be  llatlered  by  the 
offer  of  command  ;  but  he  felt  above  every  thing  for 
the  woes  of  his  country,  and  was  ready  to  assume 
any  desperate  service  in  her  cause.  "  Your  city,"  said 
he,  "  is  surrounded  by  walls  and  towers,  and  may 
yet  check  the  progress  of  the  foe.  Promise  to  stand 
by  me  to  the  last,  and  1  will  undertake  your  defence.'' 
The  inhabitants  all  promised  implicit  obedience  and 
]  devoted  zeal ;  for  what  will  not  the  inhabitants  of  a 
wealthy  city  promise  and  profess  in  a  moment  of 
alarm.  The  instant,  however,  that  they  heard  of  the 
approach  of  the  Moslem  troops,  the  wealthier  citizens 
packed  up  their  effects  and  fled  to  the  mountains,  or 
to  the  distant  city  of  Toledo.  Even  the  monks  col- 
lected the  riches  of  their  convents  and  churches,  and 
fled.  Pelistes,  though  he  saw  himself  thus  deserted 
by  those  who  had  the  greatest  interest  in  the  safety 
of  the  city,  yet  determined  not  to  abandon  its  de- 
fence. He  had  still  his  faithful  though  scanty  band 
of  cavaliers,  and  a  number  of  fugitives  of  the  army  ; 
in  all  amounting  to  about  four  hundred  men.  He 
stationed  guards,  therefore,  at  the  gates  and  in  the 
towers,  and  made  every  preparation  for  a  desperate 
resistance. 

In  the  meantime,  the  army  of  Moslems  and  apos- 
tate christians  advanced,  under  the  command  of  the 
Greek  renegado,  Magued,  and  guided  by  the  traitor 
Julian.  While  they  were  yet  at  some  distance  from 
the  city,  their  scouts  brought  to  them  a  shepherd, 
whom  they  had  surprised  on  the  banks  of  the  Gua- 
dalquivir. The  trembling  hind  was  an  inhabitant  of 
Cordova,  and  revealed  to  them  the  state  of  the  place, 
and  the  weakness  of  its  garrison. 

"  And  the  walls  and  gates,"  said  Magued,  "  are 
they  strong  and  well  guarded  ?  " 

"  The  walls  are  high,  and  of  wondrous  strength," 
replied  the  shepherd,  "  and  soldiers  hold  watch  at 
the  gates  by  day  and  night.  But  there  is  one  place 
where  the  city  may  be  secretly  entered.  In  a  part 
of  the  wall,  not  far  from  the  bridge,  the  battlements 
are  broken,  and  there  is  a  breach  at  some  height 
from  the  ground.  Hard  by  stands  a  fig-tree,  by  the 
aid  of  which  the  wall  may  easily  be  scaled." 

Having  received  this  information,  Magued  halted 
with  his  army,  and  sent  forvvartl  several  renegado 
christians,  partisans  of  Count  Julian,  who  entered 
Cordova  as  if  flying  before  the  enemy.  On  a  dark 
and  tempestuous  night,  the  Moslems  approached  to 
the  end  of  the  bridge  which  crosses  the  tjuadalquivir, 
and  remained  in  ambush.  Magued  took  a  small 
party  of  chosen  men,  andi  guided  by  the  shepherd, 
forded  the  stream  and  groped  silently  along  the  wall 
to  the  place  where  stood  the  fig-tree.  The  traitors, 
who  had  fraudulently  entered  the  city,  were  ready 
on  the  wall  to  render  assistance.     Magued  ordered 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


321 


his  followers  to  make  use  of  the  long  folds  of  their 
turbans  instead  of  cords,  and  succeeded  without 
difficulty  in  clambering  into  the  breach. 

Drawing  their  scimitars,  they  now  hastened  to  the 
gate  which  opened  towards  the  bridge  ;  the  guards, 
suspecting  no  assault  from  within,  were  taken  by 
surprise,  and  easily  overpowered ;  the  gate  was 
throw^i  open,  and  the  army  that  had  remained  in 
ambush,  rushed  over  the  bridge,  and  entered  with- 
out opposition. 

The  alarm  had  by  this  time  spread  throughout  the 
city ;  but  already  a  torrent  of  armed  men  was  pour- 
ing through  the  streets.  Pelistes  sallied  forth  with 
his  cavaliers  and  such  of  the  soldiery  as  he  could 
collect,  and  endeavoured  to  repel  the  foe  ;  but  every 
effort  was  in  vain.  The  christians  were  slowly 
driven  from  street  to  street,  and  square  to  square, 
disputing  every  inch  of  ground ;  until,  finding  an- 
other body  of  the  enemy  approaching  to  attack  them 
in  rear,  they  took  refuge  in  a  convent,  and  succeeded 
in  throwing  to  and  barring  the  ponderous  doors. 
The  Moors  attempted  to  force  the  gates,  but  were 
assailed  with  such  showers  of  missiles  from  the  win- 
dows and  battlements  that  they  were  obliged  to  re- 
tire. Pelistes  examined  the  convent,  and  found  it 
admirably  calculated  for  defence.  It  was  of  great 
extent,  with  spacious  courts  and  cloisters.  The 
gates  were  massive,  and  secured  with  bolts  and 
bars;  the  walls  were  of  great  thickness;  the  win- 
dows high  and  grated ;  there  was  a  great  tank  or 
cistern  of  water,  and  the  friars,  who  had  fled  from 
the  city,  had  left  behind  a  good  supply  of  provisions. 
Here,  then,  Pelistes  proposed  to  make  a  stand,  and 
to  endeavour  to  hold  out  until  succour  should  arrive 
from  some  other  city.  His  proposition  was  received 
with  shouts  by  his  loyal  cavaliers ;  not  one  of  whom 
but  was  ready  to  lay  down  his  life  in  the  service  of 
his  commander. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


DEFENCE    OF    THE    CONVENT    OF   ST.  GEORGE  BY 
PELISTES. 

For  three  long  and  anxious  months  did  the  good 
knight  Pelistes  and  his  cavaliers  defend  their  sacred 
asylum  against  the  repeated  assaults  of  the  infidels. 
The  standard  of  the  true  faith  was  constantly  dis- 
played from  the  loftiest  tower,  and  a  fire  blazed 
there  throughout  the  night,  as  signals  of  distress  to 
the  surrounding  country.  The  watchman  from  his 
turret  kept  a  wary  look  out  over  the  land,  hoping  in 
every  cloud  of  dust  to  descry  the  glittering  helms  of 
christian  warriors.  The  country,  however,  was  for- 
lorn and  abandoned,  or  if  perchance  a  human  being 
was  perceived,  it  was  some  Arab  horseman,  career- 
ing the  plain  of  the  Guadalquivir  as  fearlessly  as  if  it 
were  his  native  desert. 

Uy  degrees  the  provisions  of  the  convent  were 
consumed,  and  the  cavaliers  had  to  slay  their  horses, 
one  by  one,  for  food.  They  suffered  the  wasting 
miseries  of  famine  without  a  murmur,  and  always 
met  their  commander  with  a  smile.  Pelistes,  how- 
ever, read  their  sufferings  in  their  wan  and  emaciated 
countenances,  and  felt  more  for  them  than  for  him- 
self. He  was  grieved  at  heart  that  such  loyalty  and 
valour  should  only  lead  to  slavery  or  death,  and  re- 
solved to  make  one  desperate  attempt  for  their  de- 
lii'erance.  Assembling  them  one  day  in  the  court 
of  the  convent,  he  disclosed  to  them  his  purpose. 

"  Comrades  and  brothers  in  arms,"  said  he,  "  it  is 
needless  to  conceal  danger  from  brave  men.  Our 
case  is  desperate  ;  our  countrymen  either  know  not 
■21 


or  heed  not  our  situation,  or  have  not  the  means  to 
help  us.  There  is  but  one  chance  of  escape ;  it  is 
full  of  peril,  and,  as  your  leader,  I  claim  the  right  to 
brave  it.  To-morrow  at  break  of  day  I  will  sally 
forth  and  make  for  the  city  gates  at  the  moment  of 
their  being  opened  ;  no  one  will  suspect  a  solitary 
horseman  ;  I  shall  be  taken  for  one  of  those  recreant 
christians  who  have  basely  mingled  with  the  enemy. 
If  I  succeed  in  getting  out  of  the  city  I  will  hasten 
to  Toledo  for  assistance.  In  all  events  I  shall  be 
back  in  less  than  twenty  days.  Keep  a  vigilant  look- 
out toward  the  nearest  mountain.  If  you  behold  five 
lights  blazing  upon  its  summit,  be  assured  I  am  at 
hand  with  succour,  and  prepare  yourselves  to  sally 
forth  upon  the  city  as  I  attack  the  gates.  Should  I 
fail  in  obtaining  aid,  I  will  return  to  die  with  you." 

When  he  had  finished,  his  warriors  would  fain 
have  severally  undertaken  the  enterprise,  and  they 
remonstrated  against  his  exposing  himself  to  such 
peril ;  but  he  was  not  to  be  shaken  from  his  purpose. 
On  the  following  morning,  ere  the  break  of  day,  his 
horse  was  led  forth,  caparisoned,  into  the  court  of 
the  convent,  and  Pelistes  appeared  in  complete 
armour.  Assembling  his  cavaliers  in  the  chapel,  he 
prayed  with  them  for  some  time  before  the  altar  of 
the  holy  Virgin.  Then  rising  and  standing  in  the 
midst  of  them,  "  God  knows,  my  companions,"  said 
he,  "  whether  we  have  any  longer  a  country  ;  if  not, 
better  were  we  in  our  graves.  Loyal  and  true  have 
ye  been  to  me,  and  loyal  have  ye  been  to  my  son, 
even  to  the  hour  of  his  death  ;  and  grieved  am  I 
that  I  have  no  other  means  of  proving  my  love  for 
you,  than  by  adventuring  my  worthless  life  for  your 
deliverance.  All  I  ask  of  you  before  I  go,  is  a  solemn 
promise  to  defend  yourselves  to  the  last  like  brave 
men  and  christian  cavaliers,  and  never  to  renounce 
your  faith,  or  throw  yourselves  on  the  mercy  of  the 
renegado  Magued,  or  the  traitor  Julian."  They  all 
pledged  their  words,  and  took  a  solemn  oath  to  the 
same  effect  before  the  altar. 

Pelistes  then  embraced  them  one  by  one,  and  gave 
them  his  benediction,  and  as  he  did  so  his  heart 
yearned  over  them,  for  he  felt  towards  them,  not 
merely  as  a  companion  in  arms  and  as  a  commander, 
but  as  a  father ;  and  he  took  leave  of  them  as  if  he 
had  been  going  to  his  death.  The  warriors,  on  their 
part,  crowded  round  him  in  silence,  kissing  his  hands 
and  the  hem  of  his  surcoat,  and  many  of  the  stern- 
est shed  tears. 

The  gray  of  the  dawning  had  just  streaked  the 
east,  when  Pelistes  took  lance  in  hand,  hung  his 
shield  about  his  neck,  and  mounting  his  steed,  issued 
quietly  forth  from  a  postern  of  the  convent.  He 
paced  slowly  through  the  vacant  streets,  and  the 
tramp  of  his  steed  echoed  afar  in  that  silent  hour  ; 
but  no  one  suspected,  a  warrior,  moving  thus  singly 
and  tranquilly  in  an  armed  city,  to  be  an  enemy.  He 
arrived  at  the  gate  just  at  the  hour  of  opening ;  a 
foraging  party  was  entering  with  cattle  and  with 
beasts  of  burden,  and  he  passed  unheeded  through 
the  throng.  As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight  of  the 
soldiers  who  guarded  the  gate,  he  quickened  his  pace, 
and  at  length,  galloping  at  full  speed,  succeeded  in 
gaining  the  mountains.  Here  he  paused,  and  alighted 
at  a  solitary  farm-hou.~e  to  breathe  his  panting  steed  ; 
but  had  scarce  put  foot  to  ground.when  he  heard  the 
distant  sound  of  pursuit,  and  beheld  a  horseman  spur- 
ring up  the  mountain. 

Throwing  himself  again  upon  his  steed,  he  aban- 
doned the  road  and  galloped  across  the  rugged 
heights.  The  deep  dry  channel  of  a  torrent  checked 
his  career,  and  his  horse  stumbling  upon  the  margin, 
rolled  with  his  rider  to  the  bottom.  Pelistes  was 
sorely  bruised  by  the  fdll,  and  his  whole  visage  was 
bathed  in  blood.     His  horse,  too,  was  maimed  and 


322 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


unable  to  stand,  so  that  there  was  no  hopf.  of  escape. 
The  enemy  drew  near,  and  proved  to  be  no  other 
than  Magued,  the  renegado  general,  who  had  per- 
feived  him  as  he  issued  forth  from  the  city,  and  had 
followed  singly  in  pursuit.  "  Well  met,  senor  al- 
cayde ! ''  exclaimed  he,  "  and  overtaken  in  good 
time.     Surrender  yourself  my  prisoner." 

Pelistes  made  no  other  reply  than  by  drawing  his 
sword,  bracing  his  shield,  and  preparing  for  defence. 
Magued,  though  an  apostate,  and  a  fierce  warrior, 
possessed  some  sparks  of  knightly  magnanimity. 
Seeing  his  adversary  dismounted,  he  disdained  to 
take  him  at  a  disadvantage,  but,  alighting,  tied  his 
horse  to  a  tree. 

The  conflict  that  ensued  was  desperate  and  doubt- 
ful, for  seldom  had  two  warriors  met  so  well  matched 
or  of  equal  prowess.  Their  shields  were  hacked  to 
pieces,  the  ground  was  strewed  with  fragments  of 
their  armour,  and  stained  with  their  blood.  They 
paused  repeatedly  to  take  breath  ;  regarding  each 
other  with  wonder  and  admiration.  Pelistes,  how- 
ever, had  been  previously  injured  by  his  fall,  and 
fought  to  great  disadvantage.  The  renegado  per- 
ceived it,  and  sought  not  to  slay  him,  but  to  take 
him  alive.  Shifting  his  ground  continually,  he  wea- 
ried his  antagonist,  who  was  growing  weaker  and 
weaker  from  the  loss  of  blood.  At  length  Pelistes 
seemed  to  summon  up  all  his  remaining  strength  to 
make  a  signal  blow  ;  it  was  skilfully  parried,  and  he 
fell  prostrate  upon  the  ground.  The  renegado  ran 
up,  and  putting  his  foot  upon  his  sword,  and  the 
point  of  his  scimitar  to  his  throat,  called  upon  him 
to  ask  his  life  ;  but  Pelistes  lay  without  sense,  and 
as  one  dead.  Magued  then  unlaced  the  helmet  of 
his  vanquished  enemy,  and  seated  himself  on  a  rock 
beside  him,  to  recover  breath.  In  this  situation  the 
warriors  were  found  by  certain  Moorish  cavaliers, 
who  marvelled  much  at  the  traces  of  that  stern  and 
bloody  combat. 

Finding  there  was  yet  life  in  the  christian  knight, 
they  laid  him  upon  one  of  their  horses,  and  aiding 
Magued  to  remount  his  steed,  proceeded  slowly  to 
the  city.  As  the  convoy  passed  by  the  convent,  the 
cavaliers  looked  forth  and  beheld  their  commander 
borne  along  bleeding  and  a  captive.  Furious  at  the 
sight,  they  sallied  forth  to  the  rescue,  but  were  re- 
pulsed by  a  superior  force  and  driven  back  to  the 
great  portal  of  the  church.  The  enemy  entered  pell 
mell  with  them,  fighting  from  aisle  to  aisle,  from  al- 
tar to  altar,  and  in  the  courts  and  cloisters  of  the 
convent.  The  greater  part  of  the  cavaliers  died 
bravely,  sword  in  hand  ;  the  rest  were  disabled  with 
wounds  and  made  prisoners.  The  convent,  which 
was  lately  their  castle,  was  now  made  their  prison, 
and  in  altertimes,  in  commemoration  of  this  event, 
was  consecrated  by  the  name  of  St.  George  of  the 
Captives. 


CHAPTER  V. 


MEETING  BETWEEN  THE  PATRIOT  PELISTES  AND 
THE  TRAITOR  JULIAN. 

The  loyalty  and  prowess  of  the  good  knight  Pe- 
listes had  gained  him  the  reverence  even  of  his  ene- 
mies. He  was  for  a  long  time  disabled  by  his 
wounds,  during  which  he  was  kindly  treated  by  the 
Arab  chieftains,  who  strove  by  every  courteous 
means,  to  cheer  his  sadness  and  make  him  forget 
that  he  was  a  captive.  When  he  was  recovered 
from  his  wounds  they  gave  him  a  magnificent  ban- 
quet, to  testify  their  admiration  of  his  virtues. 

Pelistes  appeared  at  the  banquet  clad  in  sable  ar- 


mour, and  with  a  count'inance  pale  and  dejected,  for 
the  ills  of  his  country  evermore  preyed  upon  his 
heart.  Among  the  assembled  guests  was  Count 
Julian,  who  held  a  high  command  in  the  Moslem 
army,  and  was  arrayed  in  garments  of  mingled 
christian  and  morisco  fashion.  Pelistes  had  been  a 
close  and  bosom  friend  of  Julian  in  former  ti:nes, 
and  had  served  with  him  in  the  wars  in  Africa,  but 
when  the  Count  advanced  to  accost  him  with  his 
wonted  amity,  he  turned  away  in  silence  and  deigned 
not  to  notice  him  ;  neither,  during  the  whole  of  the 
repast,  did  he  address  to  him  ever  a  word,  but 
treated  him  as  one  unknown 

When  the  banquet  was  nearly  at  a  close,  the  dis- 
course turned  upon  the  events  of  the  war,  and  the 
Moslem  chieftains,  in  great  courtesy,  dwelt  upon  the 
merits  of  many  of  the  christian  cavaliers  who  had 
fallen  in  battle,  and  all  extolled  the  valour  of  those 
who  had  recently  perished  in  the  defence  of  the  con- 
vent. Pelistes  remained  silent  for  a  time,  and 
checked  the  grief  which  swelled  within  his  bosom 
as  he  thought  of  his  devoted  cavaliers.  At  length, 
lifting  up  his  voice,  "  Happy  are  the  dead,"  said  he, 
"  for  they  rest  in  peace,  and  are  gone  to  receive  the 
reward  of  their  piety  and  valour !  I  could  mourn 
over  the  loss  of  my  companions  in  arms,  but  they 
have  fallen  with  honour,  and  are  spared  the  wretch- 
edness I  feel  in  witnessing  the  thraldom  of  my  coun- 
try. I  have  seen  my  only  son,  the  pride  and  hope 
of  my  age,  cut  down  at  my  side  ;  I  have  beheld 
kindred  friends  and  followers  falling  one  by  one 
around  me,  and  have  become  so  seasoned  to  those 
losses  that  1  have  ceased  to  weep.  Yet  there  is  one 
man  over  whose  loss  I  will  never  cease  to  grieve. 
He  was  the  loved  companion  of  my  youth,  and  the 
steadfast  associate  of  my  graver  years.  He  was  one 
of  the  most  loyal  of  christian  knights.  As  a  friend 
he  was  loving  and  sincere ;  as  a  warrior  his  achieve- 
ments were  above  all  praise.  What  has  become  of 
hiiTi,  alas  !  I  know  not.  If  fallen  in  battle,  and  I 
knew  where  his  bones  were  laid,  whether  bleaching 
on  the  plains  of  Xeres,  or  buried  in  the  waters  of 
the  Guadalete,  I  would  seek  them  out  and  enshrine 
them  as  the  relics  of  a  sainted  patriot.  Qr  if,  like 
many  of  his  companions  in  arms,  he  should  be  driven 
to  wander  in  foreign  lands,  I  would  join  him  in  his 
hapless  exile,  and  we  would  mourn  together  over  th<» 
desolation  of  our  country." 

Even  the  hearts  of  the  Arab  warriors  were  touched 
by  the  lament  of  the  good  Pelistes,  and  they  said — 
"  Who  was  this  peerless  friend  in  whose  praise  thou 
art  so  fervent  ?  " 
■  "  His  name,"  replied  Pelistes,  "  was  Count  Julian." 

The  Moslem  warriors  stared  with  surprise.  "  No- 
ble cavalier,"  exclaimed  they,  "  has  grief  disordered 
thy  senses  ?  Behold  thy  friend  living  and  standing 
before  thee,  and  yet  thou  dost  not  know  him  !  This, 
this  is  Count  Julian  !  " 

Upon  this,  Pelistes  turned  his  eyes  upon  the  count, 
and  regarded  him  for  a  time  with  a  lofty  and  stern 
demeanour  ;  and  the  countenance  of  Julian  darken- 
ed, and  was  troubled,  and  his  eye  sank  beneath  the 
regard  of  that  loyal  and  honourable  cavalier.  And 
Pelistes  said,  "  In  the  name  of  God,  I  charge  thee, 
man  unknown  !  to  answer.  Dost  thou  presume  to 
call  thyself  Count  Julian  ?  " 

The  count  reddened  with  anger  at  these  words. 
"Pelistes,"  said  he,  "what  means  this  mockery; 
thou  knowest  me  well ;  thou  knowest  me  for  Count 
Julian." 

"  I  know  thee  for  a  base  impostor  ! "  cried  Pelistes. 
"  Count  Julian  was  a  noble  Gothic  knight ;  but  thou 
appearest  in  mongrel  Moorish  garb.  Count  Julian 
was  a  christian,  faithful  and  devout ;  but  I  behold  in 
thee  a  renegado  and  an  infidel.     Count  Julian  was 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


323 


ever  loyal  to  his  king,  and  foremost  in  his  country's 
cause  ;  were  he  living-  he  would  be  the  first  to  put 
shield  on  neck  and  lance  in  rest,  to  clear  the  land  of 
her  invaders;  but  thou  art  a  hoary  traitor!  thy 
hands  are  stained  with  the  royal  blood  of  the  Goths 
and  thou  hast  betrayed  thy  country  and  thy  God. 
Therefore,  I  again  repeat,  man  unknown  !  if  thou 
sayest  thou  art  Count  Julian,  thou  liest  !  My  friend, 
alas,  is  dead ;  and  thou  art  some  fiend  from  hell, 
which  hast  taken  possession  of  his  body  to  dis- 
honour his  memory  and  render  him  an  abhorrence 
among  men  !  "  So  saying,  Pelistes  turned  his  back 
upon  the  traitor,  and  went  forth  from  the  banquet  ; 
leaving  Count  Julian  overwhelmed  with  confusion, 
and  an  object  of  scorn  to  all  the  Moslem  cavaliers. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

HOW  TARIC  EL  TUERTO  CAPTURED  THE  CITY  OF 
TOLEDO  THROUGH  THE  AID  OF  THE  JEWS,  AND 
HOW  HE  FOUND  THE  FAMOUS  TALIS.MANIC 
TABLE  OF  SOLOMON. 

While  these  events  were  passing  in  Cordova,  the 
one-eyed  Arab  general,  Taric  el  Tuerto,  having  sub- 
dued the  city  and  vega  of  Granada,  and  the  Mount- 
ains of  the  Sun  and  Air,  directed  his  march  into 
the  interior  of  the  kingdom  to  attack  the  ancient 
city  of  Toledo,  the  capital  of  the  Gothic  kings.  So 
great  was  the  terror  caused  by  the  rapid  conquests 
of  the  invaders,  that  at  the  very  rumour  of  their  ap- 
proach, many  of  the  inhabitants,  though  thus  in  the 
very  citadel  of  the  kingdom,  abandoned  it  and  fled 
to  the  mountains  with  their  families.  Enough  re- 
mained, however,  to  have  made  a  formidable  de- 
fence ;  and,  as  the  city  was  seated  on  a  lofty  rock, 
surrounded  by  massive  walls  and  towers,  and  almost 
girdled  by  the  Tagus,  it  threatened  a  long  resist- 
ance. The  Arab  warriors  pitched  their  tents  in  the 
vega,  on  the  borders  of  the  river,  and  prepared  for  a 
tedious  siege. 

One  evening,  as  Taric  was  seated  in  his  tent  medi- 
tating on  the  mode  in  which  he  should  assail  this 
rock-built  city,  certain  of  the  patroles  of  the  camp 
brought  a  stranger  before  him.  "  As  we  were  going 
our  rounds,"  said  they,  "  we  beheld  this  man 
lowered  down  with  cords  from  a  tower,  and  he  de- 
livered himself  into  our  hands,  praying  to  be  con- 
ducted to  thy  presence,  that  he  might  reveal  to  thee 
certain  things  important  for  thee  to  know." 

Taric  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  stranger  :  he  was  a 
Jewish  rabbi,  with  a  long  beard  which  spread  upon 
his  gabardine,  and  descended  even  to  his  girdle. 
"  What  hast  thou  to  reveal?  "  said  he  to  the  Israel- 
ite. "  What  I  have  to  reveal,"  replied  the  other, 
"  is  for  thee  alone  to  hear;  command  then,  I  entreat 
thee,  that  these  men  withdraw."  When  they  were 
alone  he  addressed  Taric  in  Arabic  :  "  Know,  O 
leader  of  the  host  of  Islam,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am 
sent  to  thee  on  the  part  of  the  children  of  Israel 
resident  in  Toledo.  We  have  been  oppressed  and 
insulted  by  the  christians  in  the  time  of  their  pros- 
perity, and  now  that  they  are  threatened  with  siege, 
they  have  taken  from  us  all  our  provisions  and  our 
money  ;  they  have  compelled  us  to  work  like  slaves, 
repairing  their  walls;  and  they  oblige  us  to  bear 
arms  and  guard  a  part  of  the  towers.  We  abhor 
their  yoke,  and  are  ready,  if  thou  wilt  receive  us  as 
subjects  and  permit  us  the  free  enjoyment  of  our 
religion  and  our  property,  to  deliver  the  towers  we 
guard  into  thy  hands,  and  to  give  thee  safe  entrance 
into  the  city." 

The  Arab  chief  was  overjoyed  at  this  proposition, 


and  he  rendered  much  honour  to  the  rabbi,  and  gave 
orders  to  clothe  him  in  a  costly  robe,  and  to  perfume 
his  beard  with  essences  of  a  pleasant  odour,  so  that 
he  was  the  most  sweet  smelling  of  his  tribe  ;  and  he 
said,  "  Make  thy  words  good,  and  put  me  in  posses- 
sion of  the  city,  and  I  will  do  all  and  more  than  thou 
hast  required,  and  will  bestow  countless  wealth  upon 
thee  and  thy  brethren." 

Then  a  plan  was  devised  between  them  by  \vhi;h 
the  city  was  to  be  betrayed  and  given  up.  "  But  how 
shall  I  be  secured,"  said  he,  "that  all  thy  tribe  will 
fulfil  what  thou  hast  engaged,  and  that  this  is  not  a 
stratagem  to  get  me  and  my  people  into  your  power  ?" 

"  This  shall  be  thy  assurance,"  replied  the  rabbi : 
"  Ten  of  the  principal  Israelites  will  come  to  this  tent 
and  remain  as  hostages." 

"  It  is  enough,"  said  Taric  ;  and  he  made  oath  to 
accomplish  all  that  he  had  promised  ;  and  the  Jew- 
ish hostages  came  and  delivered  themselves  into  his 
hands. 

On  a  dark  night,  a  chosen  band  of  Moslem  war- 
riors approached  the  part  of  the  walls  guarded  by 
the  Jews,  and  were  secretly  admitted  into  a  postern 
gate  and  concealed  within  a  tower.  Three  thousand 
Arabs  were  at  the  same  time  placed  in  ambush 
among  rocks  and  thickets,  in  a  place  on  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  river,  commanding  a  view  of  the 
city.  On  the  following  morning  Taric  ravaged  the 
gardens  of  the  valley,  and  set  fire  to  the  farm-houses, 
and  then  breaking  up  his  camp  marched  off  as  if 
abandoning  the  siege. 

The  people  of  Toledo  gazed  with  astonishment 
from  their  walls  at  the  retiring  squadrons  of  the  ene- 
my, and  scarcely  could  credit  their  unexpected  de- 
liverance ;  before  night  there  was  not  a  turban  nor 
a  hostile  lance  to  be  seen  in  the  vega.  They  attrib- 
uted it  all  to  the  special  intervention  of  their  patron 
saint,  Leocadia :  and  the  following  day  being  palm 
Sunday,  they  sallied  forth  in  procession,  man,  woman, 
and  child,  to  the  church  of  that  blessed  saint,  which 
it  situated  without  the  walls,  that  they  might  return 
thanks  for  her  marvellous  protection. 

When  all  Toledo  had  thus  poured  itself  forth,  and 
was  marching  with  cross  and  relic  and  solemn  chaunt 
towards  the  chapel,  the  Arabs,  who  had  been  con- 
cealed in  the  tower,  rushed  forth  and  barred  the 
gates  of  the  city.  While  some  guarded  the  gates, 
others  dispersed  themselves  about  the  streets,  sla\ing 
all  who  made  resistance ;  and  others  kindled  a  fire 
and  made  a  column  of  smoke  on  the  top  of  the  cita- 
del. At  sight  of  this  signal,  the  Arabs,  in  ambush, 
beyond  the  river,  rose  with  a  great  shout,  and  at- 
tacked the  multitude  who  were  thronging  to  the 
church  of  St.  Leocadia.  There  was  a  great  massa- 
cre, although  the  people  were  without  arms,  and 
made  no  resistance  ;  and  it  is  said,  in  ancient  chron- 
icles, that  it  was  the  apostate  Bishop  Oppas  who 
guided  the  Moslems  to  their  prey,  and  incited  them 
to  this  slaughter.  The  pious  reader,  says  Fray  An- 
tonio Agapida,  will  be  slow  to  believe  such  turpi- 
tude ;  but  there  is  nothing  more  venomous  than  the 
rancour  of  an  apostate  priest ;  for  the  best  things  in 
this  world,  when  corrupted,  become  the  worst  and 
most  baneful. 

Many  of  the  christians  had  taken  refuge  within  the 
church,  and  h.ad  barred  the  doors,  but  Oppas  com- 
manded that  fire  should  be  set  to  the  portals,  threat- 
ening to  put  every  one  within  to  the  sword.  Hap- 
pily the  veteran  Taric  arrived  just  in  time  to  stay  the 
fury  of  this  reverend  renegade.  He  ordered  the 
trumpets  to  call  off  the  troops  from  the  carnage, 
and  extended  grace  to  all  the  surviving  inhabitants. 
They  were  permitted  to  remain  in  quiet  possession 
of  their  homes  and  effects,  paying  only  a  moderate 
tribute ;  and  they  were  allowed  to  exercise  the  rites 


324 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


of  their  religion  in  the  existing  churches,  to  the  num- 
ber of  seven,  but  were  prohibited  from  erecting  any 
others.  Those  who  preferred  to  leave  the  city,  were 
suffered  to  depart  in  safety,  but  not  to  take  with  them 
any  of  their  wealth. 

Immense  spoil  was  found  by  Taric  in  the  alcazar, 
or  royal  castle,  situated  on  a  rocky  eminence,  in  the 
highest  part  of  the  city.  Among  the  regalia  treas- 
ured up  in  a  secret  chamber,  were  twenty-five  regal 
crowns  of  fine  gold,  garnished  with  jacynths,  ame- 
thysts, diamonds,  and  other  precious  stones.  These 
were  the  crowns  of  the  different  Gothic  kings  who 
had  reigned  in  Spain  ;  it  having  been  the  usage,  on 
the  death  of  each  king,  to  deposit  his  crown  in  this 
treasury,  inscribing  on  it  his  name  and  age.* 

When  Taric  was  thus  in  possession  of  the  city,  the 
Jews  came  to  him  in  procession,  with  songs  and 
dances  and  the  sound  of  timbrel  and  psaltery,  hailing 
him  as  their. lord,  and  reminding  him  of  his  promises. 

The  son  of  Ishmael  kept  his  word  with  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel ;  they  were  protected  in  the  possession 
of  all  their  wealth  and  the  exercise  of  their  religion, 
and  were,  moreover,  rewarded  with  jewels  of  gold 
and  jewels  of  silver,  and  much  monies.t 

A  subsequent  expedition  was  led  by  Taric  against 
tiuadalaxara,  which  surrendered  without  resistance  ; 
he  moreover  captured  the  city  of  Medina  Cell,  where 
he  found  an  inestimable  table  which  had  formed  a 
part  of  the  spoil  taken  at  Rome  by  Alaric,  at  the 
time  that  the  sacred  city  was  conquered  by  the 
Goths.  It  was  composed  of  one  single  and  entire 
emerald,  and  possessed  talismanic  powers ;  for  tra- 
ditions affirm  that  it  was  the  work  of  genii,  and  had 
been  wrought  by  them  for  King  Solomon  the  wise, 
the  son  of  David.  This  .marvellous  relic  was  care- 
fully preserved  by  Taric,  as  the  most  precious  of  all 
his  spoils,  being  intended  by  him  as  a  present  to  the 
caliph ;  and  in  commemoration  of  it  the  city  was 
called  by  the  Arabs,  Medina  Almeyda ;  that  is  to 
say,  "The  City  of  the  Table."J 

Having  made  these  and  other  conquests  of  less 
importance,  and  having  collected  great  quantities  of 
gold  and  sdver,  and  rich  stuffs  and  precious  stones, 
Taric  returned  with  his  booty  to  the  royal  city  of 
Toledo. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


MUZA   BEN   NOZIER;   HIS  ENTRANCE   INTO  SPAIN, 
AND  CAPTURE  OF  CARMONA. 

Let  us  leave  for  a  season  the  bold  Taric  in  his 
triumphant  progress  from  city  to  city,  while  we  turn 
our  eyes  to  Muza  ben  Nozier,  the  renowned  emir  of 
Almagreb,  and  the  commander-in-chief  of  the  Mos- 
lem forces  of  the  west.  When  that  jealous  chieftain 
had  despatched  his  letter  commanding  Taric  to  pause 
and  await  his  coming,  he  immediately  made  every 
preparation  to  enter  Spain  with  a  powerful  reinforce- 
ment, and  to  take  command  of  the  conquering  army. 
He  left  his  eldest  son,  Abdalasis,  in  Caervan,  with 
authority  over  Almagreb,  or  Western  Africa.  This 
Abdalasis  was  in  the  flower  of  his  youth,  and  be- 
loved by  the  soldiery  for  the  magnanimity  and  the 
engaging  affability  which  graced  his  courage. 


*  Conde.  Hist,  de  las;  Arabcs  en  Espafia,  c.  12. 

t  The  stratagem  of  the  Jews  of  Toledo  is  recorded  briefly  by 
Illshop  Lucas  de  Toy,  in  his  chronicle,  but  is  related  at  large 
in  the  chronicle  of  the  Moor  Kasis. 

J  Accoiding  to  Arabian  legends,  this  table  was  a  mirror  reveal- 
inR  all  great  events  ;  insomuch  that  by  looking  on  it  the  possessor 
might  behold  battles  and  sieges  and  feats  of  chivalry,  and  all  ac- 
tions worthy  of  renown  ;  and  might  thus  ascertain  tlie  truth  of  all 
historic  transactions.  It  was  a  mirror  of  history  therefore;  and 
had  very  probably  aided  King  Solomon  in  acquiring  that  prodigi- 
ous knowledge  and  wisdom  f^r  which  he  was  renowned. 


Muza  ben  Nozier  crossed  the  strait  of  Hercules 
with  a  chosen  force  of  ten  thousand  horse  and  eight 
thousand  foot;.  Arabs  and  Africans.  He  was  ac- 
companied by  his  two  sons,  Meruan  and  Abdelola, 
and  by  numerous  illustrious  Arabian  cavaliers  of  the 
tribe  of  the  Koreish.  He  landed  his  shining  legions 
on  the  coast  of  Andalusia,  and  pitched  his  tents 
near  to  the  Guadiana.  There  first  he  received  in- 
telligence of  the  disobedience  of  Taric  to  his  orders, 
and  that,  without  waiting  his  arrival,  Xhe  impetuous 
chieftain  had  continued  his  career,  and  with  his  light 
Arab  squadrons  had  overrun  and  subdued  the  no- 
blest provinces  and  cities  of  the  kingdom. 

The  jealous  spirit  of  Muza  was  still  more  exasper- 
ated by  these  tidings ;  he  looked  upon  Taric  no 
longer  as  a  friend  and  coadjutor,  but  as  an  invidi- 
ous rival,  the  decided  enemy  of  his  glory ;  and  he 
determined  on  his  ruin.  His  first  consideration, 
hovifever,  was  to  secure  to  himself  a  share  in  the 
actual  conquest  of  the  land  before  it  should  be  en- 
tirely subjugated. 

Taking  guides,  therefore,  from  among  his  chris- 
tian captives,  he  set  out  to  subdue  such  parts  of  the 
country  as  had  not  been  visited  by  Taric.  The  first 
place  which  he  assailed  was  the  ancient  city  of  Car- 
mona ;  it  was  not  of  great  magnitude,  but  was  for- 
tified with  high  walls  and  massive  towers,  and  many 
of  the  fugitives  of  the  late  army  had  thrown  them- 
selves into  it. 

The  Goths  had  by  this  time  recovered  from  their 
first  panic  ;  they  had  become  accustomed  to  the 
sight  of  Moslem  troops,  and  their  native  courage 
had  been  roused  by  danger.  Shortly  after  the  Arabs 
had  encamped  befoi  e  their  walls,  a  band  of  cavaliers 
made  a  sudden  sally  one  morning  before  the  break 
of  day,  fell  upon  the  enemy  by  surprise,  killed  above 
three  hundred  of  them  in  their  tents,  and  effected 
their  retreat  into  the  city  ;  leaving  twenty  of  their 
number  dead,  covered  with  honourable  wounds,  and 
in  the  very  centre  of  the  camp. 

On  the  following  day  they  made  another  sally,  and 
fell  on  a  different  quarter  of  the  encampment  ;  but 
the  Arabs  were  on  their  guard,  and  tnet  them  with 
superior  numbers.  After  lighting  fiercely  for  a  time, 
they  were  routed,  and  fled  full  speed  for  the  city, 
with  the  Arabs  hard  upon  their  traces.  The  giiards 
within  feared  to  open  the  gate,  lest  with  their  friends 
they  should  admit  a  torrent  of  enemies.  Seeing 
themselves  thus  shut  out,  the  fugitives  determined 
to  die  like  brave  soldiers  rather  than  surrender. 
Wheeling  suddenly  round ,  they  opened  a  path  through 
the  host  of  their  pursuers,  fought  their  way  back  to 
the  camp,  and  raged  about  it  with  desperate  fury 
until  they  were  all  slain,  at'ter  having  killed  above 
eight  hundred  of  the  enemy.* 

Muza  now  ordered  that  the  place  should  be  taken 
by  storm.  The  Moslems  assailed  it  on  all  sides,  but 
were  vigorously  resisted  ;  many  were  slain  by  showers 
of  stones,  arrows,  and  boiling  pitch,  and  many  who 
had  mounted  with  scaling  ladders  were  thrown  head- 
long from  the  battlements.  The  alcayde,  Galo,  aid- 
ed solely  by  two  men,  defended  a  tower  and  a  por- 
tion of  the  wall ;  killing  and  wounding  with  a  cross- 
bow more  than  eighty  of  the  enemy.  The  attack 
lasted  above  half  a  day,  when  the  Moslems  were  re- 
pulsed with  the  loss  of  fifteen  hundred  men. 

Muza  was  astonished  and  exasperated  at  meeting 
with  such  formidable  resistance  from  so  small  a  city ; 
for  it  was  one  of  the  few  places,  during  that  inemo- 
rable  conquest,  where  the  Gothic  valour  shone  forth 
with  its  proper  lustre.  While  the  Moslem  army  lay 
encamped  before  the  place,  it  was  joined  by  Maguea 
the  renegado,  and  Count  Julian  the  traitor,  with  one 

fAbulcasim.    Penlida  de  Espafia,  L.  z.  c.  13. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


323 


thousand  horsemen  ;  most  of  them  recreant  chris- 
tians, base  betrayers  of  their  country,  and  more 
savage  in  their  warfare  than  the  Arabs  of  the  desert. 
To  find  favour  in  the  eyes  of  Muza,  and  to  evince  his 
devotion  to  the  cause,  the  count  undertook,  by  wily 
stratagem,  to  put  this  gallant  city  in  his  power. 

One  evening,  just  at  twilight,  a  number  of  chris- 
tians, habited  as  travelling  merchants,  arrived  at  one 
of  the  gates,  conducting  a  train  of  mules  laden  with 
arms  and  warlike  munitions.  "  Open  the  gate  quick- 
ly," cried  they,  "we  bring  supplies  for  the  garrison, 
but  the  Arabs  have  discovered,  and  are  in  pursuit  of 
us."  The  gate  was  thrown  open,  the  merchants 
entered  with  their  beasts  of  burden,  and  were  joy- 
fully received.  Meat  and  drink  were  placed  before 
them,  and  after  they  had  refreshed  themselves  they 
retired  to  the  quarters  allotted  to  them. 

These  pretended  merchants  were  Count  Julian  and 
a  number  of  his  partisans.  At  the  hour  of  midnight 
they  stole  forth  silently,  and  assembling  together, 
proceeded  to  what  was  called  the  Gate  of  Cordova. 
Here  setting  suddenly  upon  the  unsuspecting  guards, 
they  put  them  to  the  edge  of  the  sword,  and  throw- 
ing open  the  gates,  admitted  a  great  body  of  the 
Arabs.  The  inhabitants  were  roused  from  their 
sleep  by  sound  of  drum  and  trumpet,  and  the  clat- 
tering of  horses.  The  Arabs  scoured  the  streets ; 
a  horrible  massacre  was  commenced,  in  which  none 
were  spared  but  such  of  the  females  as  were  young 
and  beautiful,  and  fitted  to  grace  the  harems  of  the 
conquerors.  The  arrival  of  Muza  put  an  end  to  the 
pillage  and  the  slaughter,  and  he  granted  favourable 
terms  to  the  survivors.  Thus  the  vahant  little  city 
of  Carmona,  after  nobly  resisting  the  open  assaults 
of  the  infidels,  fell  a  victim  to  the  treachery  of  apos- 
tate christians.* 


CHAPTER  Vni. 


MUZA  MARCHES  AGAINST  THE  CITY  OF  SEVILLE. 

After  the  capture  of  Carmona,  Muza  descended 
into  a  noble  plain,  covered  with  fields  of  grain, 
with  orchards  and  gardens,  through  which  glided 
the  soft  flowing  Guadalquivir.  On  the  borders  of 
the  river  stood  the  ancient  city  of  Seville,  surround- 
ed by  Roman  walls,  and  defended  by  its  golden  tower. 
Understanding  from  his  spies  that  the  city  had  lost 
the  flower  of  its  youth  in  the  battle  of  the  Guadalete, 
Muza  anticipated  but  a  faint  resistance.  A  consider- 
able force,  however,  still  remained  within  the  place, 
and  what  they  wanted  in  numbers  they  made  up  in 
resolution.  For  some  days  they  withstood  the  as- 
saults of  the  enemy,  and  defended  their  walls  with 
great  courage.  Their  want  of  warlike  munitions, 
however,  and  the  superior  force  and  skill  of  the  be- 
sieging army,  left  them  no  hope  of  being  able  to  hold 
out  long.  There  were  two  youthful  cavaliers  of  un- 
common valour  in  the  city.  They  assembled  the 
warriors  and  addressed  them.  "  We  cannot  save  the 
city,"  said  they,  "  but  at  least  we  may  save  our- 
selves, and  preserve  so  many  strong  arms  for  the 
service  of  our  country.  Let  us  cut  our  way  through 
the  infidel  force  and  gain  some  secure  fortress,  from 
whence  we  may  return  with  augmented  numbers  for 
the  rescue  of  the  city." 

The  advice  of  the  young  cavaliers  was  adopted. 
In  the  dead  of  the  night  the  garrison  assembled  to 
the  number  of  about  three  thousand  ;  the  inost  part 
mounted  on  horseback.     Suddenly  sallying  from  one 

•  Cron.  gen.  de  Espalla  por  Alonzo  el  Sabio.  P.  3.  c,  i. 


of  the  gates,  they  rushed  in  a  compact  body  upon  the 
camp  of  the  Saracens,  which  was  negligently  guarded, 
for  the  Moslems  expected  no  such  act  of  desperation. 
The  camp  was  a  scene  of  great  carnage  and  con- 
fusion ;  many  were  slain  on  both  .sides  ;  the  two 
valiant  leaders  of  the  christians  fell  covered  with 
wounds,  but  the  main  body  succeeded  in  forcing 
their  way  through  the  centre  of  the  army,  and  in 
making  their  retreat  to  Beja  in  Lusitania. 

Muza  was  at  a  loss  to  know  the  meaning  of  this 
desperate  sallv.  In  the  morning  he  perceived  the 
gates  of  the  city  wide  open.  A  number  of  ancient 
and  venerable  men  presented  themselves  at  his  tent, 
offering  submission  and  imploring  mercy,  for  none 
were  left  in  the  place  but  the  old,  the  infirm,  and  the 
miserable.  Muza  listened  to  them  with  compassion, 
and  granted  their  prayer,  and  the  only  tribute  he  ex- 
acted was  three  measures  of  wheat  and  three  of 
barley  from  each  house  or  family.  He  placed  a  gar- 
rison of  Arabs  in  the  city,  and  left  there  a  number  of 
Jews  to  form  a  body  of  population.  Having  thus 
secured  two  important  places  in  Andalusia,  he  passed 
the  boundaries  of  the  province,  and  advanced  with 
great  martial  pomp  into  Lusitania. 


CHAPTER   IX. 
MUZA  BESIEGES  THE  CITY  OF  MERIDA. 

The  army  of  Muza  was  now  augmented  to  about 
eighteen  thousand  horsemen,  but  he  took  with  him 
but  few  foot-soldiers,  leaving  them  to  garrison  the 
conquered  towns.  He  met  with  no  resistance  on  his 
entrance  into  Lusitania.  City  after  city  laid  its  keys 
at  his  feet,  and  implored  to  be  received  in  peaceful 
vassalage.  One  city  alone  prepared  for  vigorous 
defence,  the  ancient  Merida,  a  place  of  great  extent, 
uncounted  riches,  and  prodigious  strength.  A  noble 
Goth  named  Sacarus  was  the  governor ;  a  man  of 
consummate  wisdom,  patriotisin,  and  valour.  Hear- 
ing of  the  approach  of  the  invaders,  he  gathered 
within  the  walls  all  the  people  of  the  surrounding 
country,  with  their  horses  and  mules,  their  flocks 
and  herds  and  most  precious  effects.  To  insure  for 
a  long  time  a  supply  of  bread,  he  filled  the  mag- 
azines with  grain,  and  erected  windmills  on  the 
churches.  This  done,  he  laid  waste  the  surrounding 
country  to  a  great  extent,  so  that  a  besieging  army 
would  have  to  encaiup  in  a  desert. 

When  Muza  came  in  sight  of  this  magnificent  city, 
he  was  struck  with  admiration.  He  remained  for 
some  time  gazing  in  silence  upon  its  mighty  walls 
and  lordly  towers,  its  vast  extent,  and  the  stately 
palaces  and  temples  with  which  it  was  adorrved. 
"  Surely,"  cried  he,  at  length,  "all  the  people  of  the 
earth  have  combined  their  power  and  skill  to  enibel- 
lish  and  aggrandize  this  city.  Allah  Achbar  !  Happy 
will  he  be  who  shall  have  the  glory  of  making  such 
a  conquest ! " 

Seeing  that  a  place  so  populous  and  so  strongly 
fortified  would  be  likely  to  maintain  a  long  and  for- 
midable resistance,  he  sent  messengers  to  Africa  to 
his  son  Abdalasis,  to  collect  all  the  forces  that  could 
be  spared  from  the  garrisons  of  Mauritania,  and  to 
hasten  and  reinforce  him. 

While  Muza  was  forming  his  encampment,  desert- 
ers from  the  city  brought  him  word  that  a  chosen 
band  intended  to  sally  forth  at  midnight  and  surprise 
his  camp.  The  Aral)  commander  immediately  took 
measures  to  receive  them  with  a  counter  surprise. 
Having  formed  his  plan,  and  communicated  it  to  his 
principal  officers,  he  ordered  that,  throughout  the 
day,  there  should  be  kept  up  an  appearance  of  negli- 


326 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


gent  confusion  in  liis  encampment.  The  outposts 
were  feebly  guarded  ;  fires  were  lighted  in  various 
places,  as  if  preparing  for  feasting ;  bursts  of  music 
and  shouts  of  revelry  resounded  from  different  quar- 
ters, and  the  whole  camp  seemed  to  be  rioting  in 
careless  security  on  the  plunder  of  the  land.  As 
the  night  advanced,  the  fires  were  gradually  extin- 
guished, and  silence  ensued,  as  if  the  soldiery  had 
sunk  into  deep  sleep  after  the  carousal. 

In  the  meantime,  bodies  of  troops  had  been  se- 
cretly and  silently  marched  to  reinforce  the  outposts  ; 
and  the  renegado  Jvlagued,  with  a  numerous  force, 
had  formed  an  ambuscade  in  a  deep  stone  quarry  by 
which  the  christians  would  have  to  pass.  These 
preparations  being  made,  they  awaited  the  approach 
of  the  enemy  in  breathless  silence. 

About  midnight,  the  chosen  force  intended  for  the 
sally  assembled,  and  the  command  was  confided  to 
Count  Tendero,  a  Gothic  cavalier  of  tried  prowess. 
After  having  heard  a  solemn  mass  and  received  the 
benediction  of  the  priest,  they  marched  out  of  the 
gate  with  all  possible  silence.  They  were  suffered 
to  pass  the  ambuscade  in  the  quarry  without  moles- 
tation :  as  they  approached  the  Moslem  camp,  every 
thing  appeared  quiet,  for  the  foot-soldiers  were  con- 
cealed in  slopes  and  hollows,  and  every  Arab  horse- 
man lay  in  his  armour  beside  his  steed.  The  sen- 
tinels on  the  outposts  waited  until  the  christians 
were  close  at  hand,  and  then  fled  in  apparent  con- 
sternation. 

Count  Tendero  gave  the  signal  for  assault,  and 
the  christians  rushed  confidently  forward.  In  an 
instant  an  uproar  of  drums,  trumpets,  and  shrill 
war-  cries  hurst  forth  from  every  side.  An  army 
seemed  to  spring  up  from  the  earth ;  squadrons  of 
horse  came  thundering  on  them  in  front,  while  the 
quarry  poured  forth  legions  of  armed  warriors  in 
their  rear. 

The  noise  of  the  terrific  conflict  that  took  place 
w->s  heard  on  the  city  walls,  and  answered  by  shouts 
of  exultation,  for  the  christians  thought  it  rose  from 
the  terror  and  confusion  of  the  Arab  camp.  In  a 
little  while,  however,  they  were  undeceived  by  fugi- 
tives from  the  fight,  aghast  with  terror,  and  covered 
with  wounds.  "  Hell  itself,"  cried  they,  "is  on  the 
side  of  these  infidels ;  the  earth  casts  forth  warriors 
and  steeds  to  aid  them.  We  have  fought,  not  with 
men,  but  devils  !  " 

The  greater  part  of  the  chosen  troops  who  had 
sallied,  were  cut  to  pieces  in  that  scene  of  massacre, 
for  they  had  been  confounded  by  the  tempest  of 
battle  which  suddenly  broke  forth  around  them 
Count  Tendero  fought  with  desperate  valour  and 
fell  covered  with  wounds.  His  body  was  found  the 
next  morning,  lying  among  the  slain,  and  trans- 
pierced with  half  a  score  of  lances.  The  renegado 
Magued  cut  off  his  head  and  tied  it  to  the  tail  of  his 
horse,  and  repaired  with  this  savage  trophy  to  the 
tent  of  Muza;  but  the  hostility  of  the  Arab  general 
was  of  a  less  malignant  kind.  He  ordered  that  the 
head  and  body  should  be  placed  together  upon  a 
bier  and  treated  with  becoming  reverence. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  a  train  of  priests  and 
friars  came  forth  from  the  city  to  request  permis- 
sion to  seek  for  the  body  of  the  count.  Muza  de- 
livered it  to  them,  with  many  soldier-like  encomiums 
on  the  valour  of  that  good  cavalier.  The  priests 
covered  it  with  a  pall  of  cloth  of  gold,  and  bore  it 
back  in  melancholy  procession  to  the  city,  where  it 
was  received  with  loud  lamentations. 

The  siege  was  now  pressed  with  great  vigour,  and 
repeated  assaults  were  made,  but  in  vain.  Muza 
.saw  at  length,  that  the  walls  were  too  high  to  be 
scaled,  and  the  gates  too  strong  to  be  burst  open 
without  the  aid  of  engines,  and   he  desisted   from 


i  the  attack  until  machines  for  the  purjjose  could  be 
constructed.  The  governor  suspected  from  this 
cessation  of  active  warfare,  that  the  enemy  flattered 
thetnselves  to  reduce  the  place  by  famine;  he  caused, 
therefore,  large  baskets  of  bread  to  be  thrown  from 
the  wall,  and  sent  a  messenger  to  Muza  to  inform 
him  that  if  his  armv  should  be  in  want  of  bread,  he 
would  supply  it,  having  sufficient  corn  in  his  grana- 
ries for  a  ten  years'  siege.  * 

The  citizens,  however,  did  not  possess  the  un- 
daunted spirit  of  their  governor.  When  they  found 
that  the  Moslems  were  constructing  tremendous 
engines  for  the  destruction  of  their  walls,  they  lost 
all  courage,  and,  surrounding  the  governor  in  a 
clamorous  multitude,  compelled  him  to  send  forth 
persons  to  capitulate. 

The  ambassadors  came  into  the  presence  of  Muza 
with  awe,  for  they  expected  to  find  a  fierce  and 
formidable  warrior  in  one  who  had  filled  the  land 
with  terror  ;  but  to  their  astonishment,  they  beheld 
an  ancient  and  venerable  man,  with  white  hair,  a 
snowy  beard,  and  a  pale  emaciated  countenance. 
He  had  passed  the  previous  night  without  sleep, 
and  had  been  all  day  in  the  field  ;  he  V\as  exhausted, 
therefore,  by  watchfulness  and  fatigue,  and  his  gar- 
ments were  covered  with  dust. 

"What  a  devil  of  a  man  is  this,"  murmured  the 
ambassadors,  one  to  another,  "  to  undertake  such  a 
siege  when  on  the  verge  of  the  grave.  Let  us  de- 
fend our  city  the  best  way  we  can ;  surely  we  can 
hold  out  longer  than  the  life  of  this  gray-beard." 

They  returned  to  the  city,  therefore,  scoffing  at  an 
invader  who  seeined  fitter  to  lean  on  a  crutch  than 
wield  a  lance  ;  and  the  terms  offered  by  Muza,  which 
would  otherwise  have  been  thought  favourable,  were 
scornfully  rejected  by  the  inhabitants.  A  few  days 
put  an  end  to  this  mistaken  confidence.  Abdalasis,  the 
son  of  Muza,  arrived  from  Africa  at  the  head  of  his 
reinforcement ;  he  brought  seven  thousand  horsemen 
and  a  host  of  Barbary  archers,  and  made  a  glorious 
display  as  he  marched  into  the  camp.  The  arrival 
of  this  youthful  warrior  was  hailed  with  great  ac- 
clamations, so  much  had  he  won  the  hearts  of  the 
soldiery  by  the  frankness,  the  suavity,  and  generos- 
ity of  his  conduct.  Immediately  after  his  arrival  a 
grand  assault  was  made  upon  the  city,  and  several 
of  the  huge  battering  engines  being  finished,  they 
v^ere  wheeled  up  and  began  to  thunder  against  the 
walls. 

The  unsteady  populace  were  again  seized  with 
terror,  and,  surrounding  their  governor  with  fresh 
clamours,  obliged  him  to  send  forth  ambassadors  a 
second  time  to  treat  of  a  surrender.  When  admit- 
ted to  the  presence  of  Muza,  the  ambassadors  could 
scarcely  believe  their  eyes,  or  that  this  was  the  same 
withered,  white-headed  old  man  of  whom  they  had 
lately  spoken  with  scoffing.  His  hair  and  beard 
were  tinged  of  a  ruddy  brown  ;  his  countenance  was 
refreshed  by  repose  and  flushed  with  indignation, 
and  he  appeared  a  man  in  the  matured  vigour  of  his 
days.  The  ambassadors  were  struck  with  awe  : 
"Surely,"  whispered  they,  one  to  the  other,  "this 
must  be  either  a  devil  or  a  magician,  who  can  thus 
make  himself  old  and  young  at  pleasure." 

Muza  received  them  haughtily.  "  Hence,"  said 
he,  "and  tell  your  people  I  grant  them  the  same 
terms  I  have  already  proffered,  provided  the  city  be 
instantly  surrendered  ;  but,  by  the  hear!  of  Mahomet, 
if  there  be  any  further  delay,  not  one  mother's  son 
of  ye  shall  receive  mercy  at  my  hands  !  " 

The  deputies  returned  into  the  city  pale  and  dis- 
mayed. "  Go  forth  !  go  forth  !  "  cried  they,  "  and 
accept  whatever  terms  are  offered ;  of  what  avail  i  i 


*  Bleda  cronica.     L.  2.  c.  ii. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


327 


it  to  fight  against  men  who  can  renew  their  youth 
at  pleasure.  Behold,  we  left  the  leader  of  the  infi- 
dels an  old  and  feeble  man,  and  to-day  we  find  him 
youthful  and  vigorous."* 

The  place  was,  therefore,  surrendered  forthwith, 
and  >.^uza  entered  it  in  triumph.  His  terms  were 
merciful.  Those  who  chose  to  remain  were  pro- 
tected in  persons,  possessions,  and  religion  ;  he  took 
the  property  of  those  only  who  abandoned  the  city 
or  had  fallen  in  battle  ;  together  with  all  arms  and 
horses,  and  the  treasures  and  ornaments  of  the 
churches.  Among  these  sacred  spoils  was  found  a 
cup  made  of  a  single  pearl,  which  a  king  of  Spain, 
in  ancient  times,  had  brought  from  the  temple  of 
Jerusalem  when  it  was  destroyed  by  Nebucadonozer. 
This  precious  relic  was  sent  by  Muza  to  the  caliph, 
and  was  placed  in  the  principal  mosque  of  the  city 
of  Damascus.t 

Muza  knew  how  to  esteem  merit  even  in  an  ene- 
my. When  Sacarus,  the  governor  of  Merida.  ap- 
peared before  him,  he  lauded  him  greatly  for  the 
skill  and  courage  he  had  displayed  in  the  defence  of 
his  city ;  and,  taking  off  his  own  scimitar,  which  was 
of  great  value,  girded  it  upon  him  with  his  own 
hands.  "  Wear  this,"  said  he,  "  as  a  poor  memo- 
rial of  my  admiration  ;  a  soldier  of  such  virtue  and 
valour  is  worthy  of  far  higher  honours." 

He  would  have  engaged  the  governor  in  his  serv- 
ice, or  have  persuaded  him  to  remain  in  the  city,  as 
an  illustrious  vassal  of  the  caliph,  but  the  noble- 
minded  Sacarus  refused  to  bend  to  the  yoke  of  the 
conquerors ;  nor  could  he  bring  himself  to  reside 
contentedly  in  his  country,  when  subjected  to  the 
domination  of  the  infidels.  Gathering  together  all 
those  who  chose  to  accompany  him  into  e.xile,  he 
embarked  to  seek  some  country  where  he  might  live 
in  peace  and  in  the  free  exercise  of  his  religion. 
What  shore  these  ocean  pilgrims  landed  upon  has 
never  been  revealed  ;  but  tradition  vaguely  gives  us 
to  believe  that  it  was  some  unknown  island  far  in 
the  bosom  of  the  Atlantic. J 


CHAPTER    X. 


EXPEDITION     OF    ABDALASIS     AGAINST     SEVILLE 
AND  THE    "  LAND  OF  TADMIR." 

After  the  capture  of  Merida,  Muza  gave  a  grand 
banquet  to  his  captains  and  distinguished  warriors, 
in  that  magnificent  city.  At  this  martial  feast  were 
many  Arab  cavaliers  who  had  been  present  in  vari- 
ous battles,  and  they  vied  with  each  other  in  re- 
counting the  daring  enterprises  in  which  they  had 
been  engaged,  and  the  splendid  triumphs  they  had 
witnessed.  While  they  talked  with  ardour  and  ex- 
ultation, Abdalasis,  the  son  of  Muza,  alone  kept  si- 
lence, and  sat  with  a  dejected  countenance.  At 
length,  when  there  was  a  pause,  he  turned  to  his 
father  and  addressed  him  with  modest  earnestness. 
"My  lord  and  father,"  said  he,  "I  blush  to  hear 
your  warriors  recount  the  toils  and  dangers  they 
have  passed,  while  I  have  done  nothing  to  entitle  me 
to  their  companionship.  When  I  return  to  Egypt 
and  present  myself  before  the  caliph,  he  will  ask  me 
of  my  services  in  Spain  ;  what  battle  I  have  gained  ; 
what  town  or  castle  I  have  taken.  How  shall  I  an- 
swer him  ?     If  you  love  me,  then,  as  your  son,  give 


•  Conde,  p.  I.  c.  13.  Ambrosio  de  Morales.  N.  B. — In  the 
chronicle  of  Spain,  composed  by  order  of  Alonzo  the  Wise,  this 
anecdote  is  given  as  having  happened  at  the  siege  of  Seville. 

t  Marmol.  descrip.  de  Africa,  T.  1.  L.  2. 

X  Abulcasim,  Perdida  de  Espalia,  L.  1.  c.  13. 


me  a  command,  intrust  to  me  an  enterprise,  and 
let  me  acquire  a  name  worthy  to  be  mentioned 
among  men." 

The  eyes  of  Muza  kindled  with  joy  at  finding  Ab- 
dalasis thus  amljitious  of  renown  in  arms.  "  Allah 
be  praised  !  "  exclaimed  he,  "  the  heart  of  my  son 
is  in  the  right  place.  It  is  becoming  in  youth  to  look 
upward  and  be  aspiring.  Thy  desire,  Abdalasis, 
shall  be  gratified." 

An  opportunity  at  that  very  time  presented  itself 
to  prove  the  prowess  and  discretion  of  the  youth. 
During  the  siege  of  Merida,  the  christian  troops 
which  had  taken  refuge  at  Beja  had  reinforced  them- 
selves from  Peiiaflor,  and  suddenly  returning,  had 
presented  themselves  before  the  gates  of  the  city  of 
Seville.*  Certain  of  the  christian  inhabitants  threw 
open  the  gates  and  admitted  them.  The  troops 
rushed  to  the  alcazar,  took  it  by  surprise,  and  put 
many  of  the  Moslem  garrison  to  the  sword ;  the 
residue  made  their  escape,  and  fled  to  the  Arab 
camp  before  Merida,  leaving  Seville  in  the  hands  of 
the  christians. 

The  veteran  Muza,  now  that  the  siege  of  Merida 
was  at  an  end,  was  meditating  the  recapture  and 
punishment  of  Seville  at  the  very  time  when  Abda- 
lasis addressed  him.  "  Behold,  my  son,"  exclaimed 
he,  "an  enterprise  worthy  of  thy  ambition.  Take 
with  thee  all  the  troops  thou  hast  brought  from  Af- 
rica ;  reduce  the  city  of  Seville  again  to  subjection, 
and  plant  thy  standard  upon  its  alcazar.  But  stop 
not  there :  carry  thy  conquering  sword  into  the 
southern  parts  of  Spain  ;  thou  wilt  find  there  a  har- 
vest of  glory  yet  to  be  reaped." 

Abdalasis  lost  no  time  in  departing  upon  this 
enterprise.  He  took  with  him  Count  Julian,  Magued 
el  Rumi,  and  the  Bishop  Oppas,  that  he  might  bene- 
fit by  their  knowledge  of  the  country.  When  he 
came  in  sight  of  the  fair  city  of  Seville,  seated  like  a 
queen  in  the  midst  of  its  golden  plain,  with  the 
Guadalquivir  flowing  beneath  its  walls,  he  gazed  up- 
on it  with  the  admiration  of  a  lover,  and  lamented  in 
his  soul  that  he  had  to  visit  it  as  an  avenger.  His 
troops,  however,  regarded  it  with  wrathful  eyes, 
thinking  only  of  its  rebellion  and  of  the  massacre  of 
their  countrymen  in  the  alcazar. 

The  principal  people  of  the  city  had  taken  no  part 
in  this  gallant  but  fruitless  insurrection  ;  and  now, 
when  they  beheld  the  army  of  Abdalasis  encamped 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquivir,  would  fain  have 
gone  forth  to  make  explanations,  and  intercede  for 
mercy.  The  populace,  however,  forbade  any  one  to 
leave  the  city,  and,  barring  the  gates,  prepared  to 
defend  themselves  to  the  last. 

The  place  was  attacked  with  resistless  fury.  The 
gates  were  soon  burst  open  ;  the  Moslems  rushed  in, 
panting  for  revenge.  They  confined  not  their 
slaughter  to  the  soldiery  in  the  alcazar,  but  roamed 
through  every  street,  confounding  the  innocent  with 
the  guilty  in  one  bloody  massacre,  and  it  was  with 
the  utmost  difficulty  that  Abdalasis  could  at  length 
succeed  in  staying  their  sanguinary  career.t 

The  son  of  Muza  proved  himself  as  mild  in  con- 
quest as  he  had  been  intrepid  in  assault.  The 
moderation  and  benignity  of  his  conduct  soothed  the 
terrors  of  the  vanquished,  and  his  wise  precautions 
restored  tranquillity.  Having  made  proper  regula- 
tions for  the  protection  of  the  inhabitants,  he  left  a 
strong  garrison  in  the  place  to  prevent  any  future 
insurrection,  and  then  departed  on  the  further  prose- 
cution of  his  enterprise. 

Wherever  he  went  his  arms  were  victorious  ;  and 
his  victories  were  always  characterised  by  the  same 


♦  Espinosa.  Antq.  y  Grand,  de  Seville.  L.  2.  c  3. 
t  Coude,  P.  I,  c.  14. 


328 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


magnanimity.  At  length  he  arrived  on  the  confines 
of  that  beautiful  region  comprising  lofty  and  pre- 
cipitous mountains  and  rich  and  delicious  plains, 
afterwards  known  by  the  name  of  the  kingdom  of 
Murcia.  All  this  part  of  the  country  was  defended 
by  the  veteran  Theodomir,  who,  by  skilful  manage- 
ment, had  saved  a  remnant  of  his  forces  after  the 
defeat  on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete. 

Theodomir  was  a  stanch  warrior,  but  a  wary  and 
prudent  man.  He  had  experienced  the  folly  of  op- 
posing the  Arabs  in  open  field,  where  their  cavalry 
and  armour  gave  them  such  superiority  ;  on  their 
approach,  therefore,  he  assembled  all  his  people 
capable  of  bearing  arms,  and  took  possession  of  the 
cliffs  and  mountain  passes.  "  Here,"  said  he,  "  a 
simple  goatherd,  who  can  hurl  down  rocks  and 
stones,  is  as  good  as  a  warrior,  armed  in  proof."  In 
this  way  he  checked  and  harassed  the  Moslem  army 
in  all  its  movements  ;  showering  down  missiles  upon 
it  from  overhanging  precipices,  and  waylaying  it  in 
narrow  and  rugged  defiles,  where  a  few  raw  troops 
could  make  stand  against  a  host. 

Theodomir  was  in  a  fair  way  to  baffle  his  foes  and 
oblige  them  to  withdraw  from  his  territories ;  un- 
fortunately, however,  the  wary  veteran  had  two  sons 
with  him,  young  men  of  hot  and  heady  valour,  who 
considered  all  this  prudence  of  their  father  as  savour- 
ing of  cowardice,  and  who  were  anxious  to  try  their 
prowess  in  the  open  field.  "  What  glory,"  said  they, 
"is  to  be  gained  by  destroying  an  enemy  in  this 
way,  from  the  covert  of  rocks  and  thickets  ?  " 

"  You  talk  like  young  men,"  replied  the  veteran. 
"  Glory  is  a  prize  one  may  fight  for  abroad,  but 
safety  is  the  object  when  the  enemy  is  at  the  door." 

One  day,  however,  the  young  men  succeeded  in 
drawing  down  their  father  into  the  plain.  Abdalasis 
immediately  seized  on  the  opportunity  and  threw 
himself  between  the  Goths  and  their  mountain  fast- 
nesses. Theodomir  saw  too  late  the  danger  into 
which  he  was  betrayed.  "  What  can  our  raw  troops 
do,"  said  he,  "  against  those  squadrons  of  horse 
that  move  like  castles  ?  Let  us  make  a  rapid  re- 
treat to  Orihuela  and  defend  ourselves  from  behind 
its  walls." 

"  Father,"  said  the  eldest  son,  "it  is  too  late  to 
retreat ;  remain  here  with  the  reserve  while  my 
brother  and  I  advance.  Fear  nothing;  am  not  I 
your  son,  and  would  I  not  die  to  defend  you  ?  " 

"  In  truth,"  replied  the  veteran,  "  I  have  my  doubts 
whether  you  are  my  son.  But  if  I  remain  here,  and 
you  should  all  be  killed,  where  then  would  be  my 
protection  ?  Come,"  added  he,  turning  to  the  second 
son,  "  1  trust  that  thou  art  virtually  my  son  ;  let  us 
hasten  to  retreat  belbre  it  is  too  late." 

"Father,"  replied  the  youngest,"!  have  not  a 
doubt  that  I  am  honestly  and  thoroughly  your  son, 
and  as  such  I  honour  you ;  but  I  owe  duty  likewise 
to  my  mother,  and  when  I  sallied  to  the  war  she 
gave  me  her  blessing  as  long  as  I  should  act  with 
valour,  but  her  curse  should  I  prove  craven  and  fly 
the  field.  Fear  nothing,  father;  1  will  defend  you 
while  living,  and  even  after  you  are  dead.  You 
shall  never  fail  of  an  honourable  sepulture  among 
your  kindred." 

"A  pestilence  on  ye  both,"  cried  Theodomir, 
"  for  a  brace  of  misbegotten  madmen  !  what  care  I, 
think  ye,  where  ye  lay  my  body  when  I  am  dead. 
One  day's  existence  in  a  hovel  is  worth  an  age  of  in- 
terment in  a  marble  sepulchre.  Come,  my  friends," 
said  he,  turning  to  his  principal  cavaliers,  "  let  us 
leave  these  hot-headed  striplings  and  make  our 
retreat ;  if  we  tarry  any  longer  the  enemy  will  be 
upon  us." 

Upon  this  the  cavaliers  and  proud  hidalgoes  drew 
up  scornfully  and  tossed  their  heads :  "  What  do 


you  see  in  us,"  said  they,  "  that  you  think  we  will 
show  our  backs  to  the  enemy .'  Forward  !  was  ever 
the  good  old  Gothic  watch-word,  and  with  that  will 
we  live  and  die  !  " 

While  time  was  lost  in  these  disputes,  the  Moslem 
army  kept  advancing,  until  retreat  was  no  longer 
practicable.  The  battle  was  tumultuous  and  bloody. 
Theodomir  fought  like  a  lion,  but  it  was  all  in  vain  : 
he  saw  his  two  sons  cut  down  and  the  greater  part 
of  their  rash  companions,  while  his  raw  mountain 
troops  fled  in  all  directions. 

Seeing  there  was  no  longer  any  hope,  he  seized  the 
bridle  of  a  favourite  page  who  was  near  him,  and 
who  was  about  spurring  for  the  mountains.  "  Part 
not  from  me,"  said  he,  "but  do  thou  at  least  attend 
to  my  counsel,  my  son  ;  and,  of  a  truth,  I  believe 
thou  art  my  son  ;  lor  thou  art  the  offspring  of  one  of 
my  handmaids  who  was  kind  unto  me."  And  indeed 
the  youth  marvellously  resembled  him.  Turning 
then  the  reins  of  his  own  steed,  and  giving  him  the 
spur,  he  fled  amain  from  the  field,  followed  by  the 
page  ;  nor  did  he  stop  until  he  arrived  within  the 
walls  of  Orihuela. 

Ordering  the  gates  to  be  barred  and  bolted,  he 
prepared  to  receive  the  enemy.  There  were  but  few 
men  in  the  city  capable  of  bearing  arms,  most  of  the 
youth  having  fallen  in  the  field.  He  caused  the 
women,  therefore,  to  clothe  themselves  in  male  at- 
tire, to  put  on  hats  and  helmets,  to  take  long  reeds 
in  their  hands  instead  of  lances,  and  to  cross  their 
hair  upon  their  chins  in  semblance  of  beards.  With 
these  troops  he  lined  the  walls  and  towers. 

It  was  about  the  hour  of  twilight  that  Abdalasis 
approached  with  his  army,  but  he  paused  when  he 
saw  the  walls  so  numerously  garrisoned.  Then 
Theodomir  took  a  flag  of  truce  in  his  hand,  and  put 
a  herald's  tabard  on  the  page,  and  they  two  sallied 
forth  to  capitulate,  and  were  graciously  received  by 
Abdalasis. 

"  I  come,"  said  Theodomir,  "on  the  behalf  of  the 
commander  of  this  city  to  treat  for  terms  worthy  of 
your  magnanimity  and  of  his  dignity.  You  perceive 
that  the  city  is  capable  of  withstanding  a  long  siege, 
but  he  is  desirous  of  sparing  the  lives  of  his  soldiers. 
Promise  that  the  inhabitants  shall  be  at  liberty  to 
depart  unmolested  with  their  property,  and  the  city 
will  be  delivered  up  to  you  to-morrow  morning  with- 
out a  blow  ;  otherwise  we  are  prepared  to  fight  until 
not  a  man  be  left." 

Abdalasis  was  well  pleased  to  get  so  powerful  a 
place  upon  such  easy  terms,  but  stipulated  that  the 
garrison  should  lay  down  their  arms.  To  this  Theo- 
domir readily  assented,  with  the  exception,  however, 
of  the  governor  and  his  retinue,  which  was  granted 
out  of  consideration  for  his  dignity.  The  articles  of 
capitulation  were  then  drawn  out,  and,  when  Abda- 
lasis had  affixed  his  name  and  seal,  Theodomir  took 
the  pen  and  wrote  his  signature.  "  Behold  in  me," 
said  he,  "  the  governor  of  the  city  !  " 

Abdalasis  was  pleased  with  the  hardihood  of  the 
commander  of  the  place  in  thus  venturing  personally 
into  his  power,  and  entertained  the  veteran  with 
still  greater  honour.  When  Theodomir  returned  to  the 
city,  he  made  known  the  capitulation,  and  charged 
the  inhabitants  to  pack  up  their  effects  during  the 
night  and  be  ready  to  sally  forth  in  the  morning. 

At  the  dawn  of  day  the  gates  were  thrown  open, 
and  Abdalasis  looked  to  see  a  great  force  issuing 
forth,  but,  to  his  surprise,  tieheld  merely  Theodomir 
and  his  page  in  battered  armour,  followed  by  a  mul- 
titude of  old  men,  women,  and  children. 

Abdalasis  waited  until  the  whole  had  come  forth, 
then  turning  to  Theodomir,  "  Where,"  cried  he, 
"  are  the  soldiers  whom  1  saw  last  evening  lining 
the  walls  and  towers  }  " 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


329 


"  Soldiers  have  I  none,"  replied  the  veteran.  "  As 
to  my  garrison,  behold  it  before  you.  With  these 
women  did  I  man  my  walls,  and  this,  my  page,  is 
my  herald,  guard,  and  retinue." 

Upon  this  the  Bishop  Oppas  and  Count  Julian 
exclaimed  that  the  capitulation  was  a  base  fraud 
and  ought  not  to  be  complied  with  ;  but  Abdalasis 
relished  the  stratagem  of  the  old  soldier,  and  order- 
ed that  the  stipulations  of  the  treaty  should  be  faith- 
fully performed.  Nay,  so  high  an  opinion  did  he 
conceive  of  the  subtle  wisdom  of  this  commander, 
that  he  permitted  him  to  remain  in  authority  over 
the  surrounding  country  on  his  acknowledging 
allegiance  and  engaging  to  pay  tribute  to  the  caliph ; 
and  all  that  part  of  Spain,  comprising  the  beautiful 
provinces  of  Murcia  and  Valencia,  was  long  after 
known  by  the  Arabic  name  of  its  defender,  and  is 
still  recorded  in  Arabian  chronicles  as  "  The  land 
of  Tadmir."* 

Having  succeeded  in  subduing  this  rich  and  fruit- 
ful region,  and  having  gained  great  renown  for  his 
generosity  as  well  as  valour,  Abdalasis  returned  with 
the  chief  part  of  his  army  to  the  city  of  Seville. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


MUZA  ARRIVES    AT    TOLEDO.— INTERVIEW    BE- 
TWEEN HIM  AND  TARIC. 

When  Muza  ben  Nozier  had  sent  his  son  Ab- 
dalasis to  subdue  Seville,  he  departed  for  Toledo  to 
call  Taric  to  account  for  his  disobedience  to  his  or- 
ders ;  for,  amidst  all  his  own  successes,  the  prosper- 
ous career  of  that  commander  preyed  upon  his  mind. 
What  can  content  the  jealous  and  ambitious  heart  ? 
As  Muza  passed  through  the  land,  towns  and  cities 
submitted  to  him  without  resistance  ;  he  was  lost  in 
wonder  at  the  riches  of  the  country  and  the  noble 
monuments  of  art  with  which  it  was  adorned ; 
when  he  beheld  the  bridges,  constructed  in  ancient 
times  by  the  Romans,  they  seemed  to  him  the  work, 
not  of  men,  but  of  genii.  Yet  all  these  admirable 
objects  only  made  him  repine  the  more  that  he  had 
not  had  the  exclusive  glory  of  invading  and  subduing 
the  land  ;  and  exasperated  him  the  more  against 
Taric,  for  having  apparently  endeavoured  to  monop- 
olize the  conquest. 

Taric  heard  of  his  approach,  and  came  forth  to 
meet  him  at  Talavera,  accompanied  by  many  of  the 
most  distinguished  companions  of  his  victories,  and 
with  a  train  of  horses  and  mules  laden  with  spoils, 
with  which  he  trusted  to  propitiate  the  favour  of  his 
commander.  Their  meeting  took  place  on  the  banks 
of  the  rapid  river  Tietar,  which  rises  in  the  mount- 
ains of  Placencia  and  throws  itself  into  the  Tagus. 
Muza,  in  former  days,  while  Taric  had  acted  as  his 
subordinate  and  indefatigable  officer,  had  cherished 
and  considered  him  as  a  second  self;  but  now  that  he 
had  started  up  to  be  a  rival,  he  could  not  conceal 
his  jealousy.  When  the  veteran  came  into  his  pres- 
ence, he  regarded  him  for  a  moment  with  a  stern 
and  indignant  aspect.  "  Why  hast  thou  disobeyed 
my  orders  ?  "  said  he.  "  I  comm.anded  thee  to  await 
my  arrival  with  reinforcements,  but  thou  hast  rashly 
overrun  the  country,- endangering  the  loss  of  our 
armies  and  the  ruin  of  our  cause." 

"  I  have  acted,"  replied  Taric,  "  in  such  manner  as 
I  thought  would  best  serve  the  cause  of  Islam,  and 
in  so  doing  1  thought  to  fulfil  the  wishes  of  Muza. 
Whatever  I  have  done  has  been  as  ypur  servant ;  be- 

•  Condc.  P.  I.  Cronica  del  moro  Rasis.  Cron.  gen.  Espada  por 
Alonzo  el  Sabio.    F.  3.  c.  1. 


hold  your  share,  as  commander-in-chief,  of  the  spoils 
which  I  have  collected."  So  saying,  he  produced  an 
immense  treasure  in  silver  and  gold  and  costly  stuffs, 
and  precious  stones,  and  spread  it  before  Muza. 

The  anger  of  the  Arab  commander  was  still  more 
kindled  at  the  sight  of  this  booty,  for  it  proved  how 
splendid  had  been  the  victories  of  Taric  ;  but  he  re- 
strained his  wrath  for  the  present,  and  they  proceed- 
ed together  in  moody  silence  to  Toledo.  Whence 
entered  this  royal  city,  however,  and  ascended  to 
the  ancient  palace  of  the  Gothic  kings,  and  reflected 
that  all  this  had  been  a  scene  of  triumph  to  his  rival, 
he  could  no  longer  repress  his  indignation.  He  de- 
manded of  Taric  a  strict  account  of  all  the  riches  he 
had  gathered  in  Spain,  even  of  the  presents  he  had 
reserved  for  the  caliph,  and,  above  all,  he  made  him 
yield  up  his  favourite  trophy,  the  talismanic  table  of 
Solomon.  When  all  this  was  done,  he  again  up- 
braided him  bitterly  with  his  disobedience  of  orders, 
and  with  the  rashness  of  his  conduct.  "  What  blind 
confidence  in  fortune  thou  hast  shown,"  said  he, 
"  in  overrunning  such  a  country  and  assailing  such 
powerful  cities  with  thy  scanty  force  !  What 
madness,  to  venture  every*  thing  upon  a  desperate 
chance,  when  thou  knewest  I  was  coming  with  a 
force  to  make  the  victory  secure.  All  thy  success  has 
been  owing  to  mere  luck,  not  to  judgment  nor  gener- 
alship." 

He  then  bestowed  high  praises  upon  the  other 
chieftains  for  their  services  in  the  cause  of  Islam, 
but  they  answered  not  a  word,  and  their  counte- 
nances were  gloomy  and  discontented  ;  for  they  felt 
the  injustice  done  to  their  favourite  leader.  As  to 
Taric,  though  his  eye  burned  like  fire,  he  kept  his 
passion  within  bounds.  "  I  have  done  the  best  I 
could  to  serve  God  and  the  caliph,"  said  he  emphat- 
ically ;  "  my  conscience  acquits  me,  and  I  trust  my 
sovereign  will  do  the  same." 

"  Perhaps  he  may,"  replied  Muza,  bitterly,  "  but, 
in  the  meantime,  I  cannot  confide  his  interests  to  a 
desperado  who  is  heedless  of  orders  and  throws 
every  thing  at  hazard.  .Such  a  general  is  unworthy 
to  be  intrusted  with  the  fate  of  armies." 

So  saying,  he  divested  Taric  of  his  command,  and 
gave  it  to  Magued  the  renegado.  The  gaunt  Taric 
still  maintained  an  air  of  stern  composure.  His  only 
words  were,  "  The  caliph  will  do  me  justice  I  "  Muza 
was  so  transported  with  passion  at  this  laconic  de- 
fiance that  he  ordered  him  to  be  thrown  into  prison, 
and  even  threatened  his  life. 

Upon  this,  Magued  el  Rumi,  though  he  had  risen 
by  the  disgrace  of  Taric,  had  the  generosity  to  speak 
out  warmly  in  his  favour.  "  Consider,"  said  he  to 
Muza,  "  what  may  be  the  consequences  of  this  se- 
verity. Taric  has  many  friends  in  the  army ;  his 
actions,  too,  have  been  signal  and  illustrious,  and 
entitle  him  to  the  highest  honours  and  rewards,  in- 
stead of  disgrace  and  imprisonment." 

The  anger  of  Muza,  however,  was  not  to  be  ap- 
peased ;  and  he  trusted  to  justify  his  measures  by 
despatching  missives  to  the  caliph,  complaining  of 
the  insubordination  of  Taric,  and  his  rash  and  head- 
long conduct.  The  result  proved  the  wisdom  of  the 
caution  given  by  Magued.  In  the  course  of  a  little 
while  Muza  received  a  humiliating  letter  from  the 
cali7)h,  ordering  him  to  restore  Taric  to  the  com- 
mand of  the  soldiers  "  whom  he  had  so  gloriously 
conducted  ;"  and  not  to  render  useless  "  one  of  the 
best  swords  in  Islam  !  "  * 

It  is  thus  the  envious  man  brings  humiliation  and 
reproach  upon  himself,  in  endeavouring  to  degrade  a 
meritorious  rival.  When  the  tidings  came  of  the 
justice  rendered  by  the  caliph  to  the  merits  of  the 


*  Conde.    Part  i.  c.  15. 


330 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


veteran,  there  was  general  joy  throug-hout  the  army, 
and  Muza  read  in  the  smiling  countenances  of  every 
one  around  him  a  severe  censure  upon  his  conduct. 
He  concealed,  however,  his  deep  humiliation,  and  af- 
fected to  obey  the  orders  of  his  sovereign  with  great 
alacrity ;  he  released  Taric  from  prison,  feasted  him 
at  his  own  table,  and  then  publicly  replaced  him  at 
the  head  of  his  troops.  The  army  received  its  fa- 
vourite veteran  with  shouts  of  joy,  and  celebrated 
with  rejoicings  the  reconciliation  of  the  command- 
ers ;  but  the  shouts  of  the  soldiery  were  abhorrent 
to  the  ears  of  Muza. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


MUZA  PROSECUTES  THE  SCHEME  OF  CONQUEST. 
— SIEGE  OF  SARAGOSSA. — COMPLETE  SUBJUGA- 
TION  OF  SPAIN. 

The  dissensions,  which  for  a  time  had  distracted 
the  conquering  army,  being  appeased,  and  the  Ara- 
bian generals  being  apparently  once  more  reconciled, 
Muza,  as  commander-in-chief,  proceeded  to  complete 
the  enterprise  by  subjugating  the  northern  parts  of 
Spain.  The  same  expeditious  mode  of  conquest  that 
had  been  sagaciously  adopted  by  Taric,  was  still 
pursued.  The  troops  were  lightly  armed,  and  freed 
from  every  superfluous  incumbrance.  Each  horse- 
man, beside  his  arms,  carried  a  small  sack  of  provis- 
ions, a  copper  vessel  in  which  to  cook  them,  and 
a  skin  which  served  him  for  surcoat  and  for  bed. 
The  infantry  carried  nothing  but  their  arms.  To 
each  regiment  or  squadron  was  allowed  a  limited 
number  of  sumpter  mules  and  attendants ;  barely 
enough  to  carry  their  necessary  baggage  and  sup- 
plies ;  nothing  was  permitted  that  could  needlessly 
diminish  the  number  of  fighting  men,  delay  their 
rapid  movements,  or  consume  their  provisions.  Strict 
orders  were  again  issued,  prohibiting,  on  pain  of 
death,  all  plunder  excepting  the  camp  of  an  enemy, 
or  cities  given  up  to  pillage.* 

The  armies  now  took  their  several  lines  of  march. 
That  under  Taric  departed  towards  the  northeast  ; 
beating  up  the  country  towards  the  source  of  the 
Tagus  ;  traversing  the  chain  of  Iberian  or  Arrago- 
nian  mountains,  and  pouring  down  into  the  plains 
and  valleys  watered  by  the  Ebro.  It  was  wonderful 
to  see,  in  so  brief  a  space  of  time,  such  a  vast  and 
dilhcult  country  penetrated  and  subdued  ;  and  the 
invading  army,  like  an  inundating  flood,  pouring  its 
streams  into  the  most  remote  recesses. 

While  Taric  was  thus  sweeping  the  country  to  the 
northeast,  Muza  departed  in  an  opposite  direction  ; 
yet  purposing  to  meet  him,  and  to  join  their  forces  in 
the  north.  Bending  his  course  westwardly,  he  made 
a  circuit  behind  the  mountains,  and  then,  advancing 
into  the  open  country,  displayed  his  banners  before 
Salamanca,  which  surrendered  without  resistance. 
From  hence  he  continued  on  towards  Astorga,  re- 
ceiving the  terrified  submission  of  the  land  ;  then 
turning  up  the  valley  of  the  Douro,  he  ascended  the 
course  of  that  famous  river  towards  the  east  ;  crossed 
the  Sierra  de  Moncayo,  and,  arriving  on  the  banks 
of  the  Ebro,  marched  down  along  its  stream,  until 
he  approached  the  strong  city  of  Saragossa,  the  cita- 
del of  all  that  part  of  Spain.  In  this  place  had  taken 
refuge  many  of  the  most  valiant  of  the  Gothic  war- 
riors ;  the  remnants  of  armies,  and  fugitives  from 
conquered  cities.  It  was  one  of  the  last  rallying 
points  of  the  land.  When  Muza  arrived,  Taric  had 
already  been  for  some  time  beloie  the  place,  laying 


♦  Conde,  P.  i.    c.  15. 


close  siege  ;  the  inhabitants  were  pressed  i)y  famine, 
and  had  suffered  great  losses  in  repeated  combats  ; 
but  there  was  a  spirit  and  obstuiacy  iti  their  resist- 
ance surpassing  any  thing  that  had  yet  been  witnes.s- 
ed  by  the  invaders. 

Muza  now  took  command  of  the  siege,  and  ordered 
a  general  assault  upon  the  walls.  The  Moslems 
planted  their  scaling  ladders,  and  mounted  with 
their  accustomed  intrepidity,  but  were  vigorously 
resisted  ;  nor  could  all  their  efforts  obtain  them  a 
footing  upon  the  battlements.  While  they  were  thus 
assailing  the  walls.  Count  Julian  ordered  a  heap  of 
combustibles  to  be  placed  against  one  of  the  gates, 
and  set  on  fire.  The  inhabitants  attempted  in  vain 
from  the  barbican  to  extinguish  the  fiames.  They 
burnt  so  fiercely,  that  in  a  little  while  the  gate  fell 
from  the  hinges.  Count  Julian  galloped  into  the  city 
mounted  upon  a  powerful  charger,  himself  and  his 
steed  all  covered  with  mail.  He  was  followed  l)y 
three  hundred  of  his  partisans,  and  supported  by 
Magued,  the  renegado,  with  a  troop  of  horse. 

The  inhabitants  disputed  every  street  and  public 
square  ;  they  made  barriers  of  dead  bodies,  fighting 
behind  these  ramparts  of  their  slaughtered  country- 
men. Every  window  and  roof  was  filled  with  com- 
batants ;  the  very  women  and  children  joined  in  the 
desperate  fight,  throwing  down  stones  and  missiles 
of  all  kinds,  and  scalding  water  upon  the  enemy. 

The  battle  raged  until  the  hour  of  vespers,  when 
the  principal  inhabitants  held  a  parley,  and  capitula- 
ted for  surrender.  Muza  had  been  incensed  at  their 
obstinate  resistance,  which  had  cost  the  lives  of  so 
many  of  his  soldiers  ;  he  knew,  also,  that  in  the  city 
were  collected  the  riches  of  many  of  the  towns  of 
eastern  Spain.  He  demanded,  therefore,  beside  the 
usual  terms,  a  heavy  sum  to  be  paid  down  by  the 
citizens,  called  the  contribution  of  blood  ;  as  by  this 
they  redeemed  themselves  from  the  edge  of  the 
sword.  The  people  were  obliged  to  comply.  They 
collected  all  the  jewels  of  their  richest  families,  and 
all  the  ornaments  of  their  temples,  and  laid  them  at 
the  feet  of  Muza ;  and  placed  in  his  power  many  of 
their  noblest  youths  as  hostages.  A  strong  garrison 
was  then  appointed,  and  thus  the  fierce  city  of  Sara- 
gossa was  subdued  to  the  yoke  of  the  conqueror. 

The  Arab  generals  pursued  their  conquests  even 
to  the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees  ;  Taric  then  descended 
along  the  course  of  the  Ebro,  and  continued  along 
the  Mediterranean  coast ;  subduing  the  famous  city 
of  Valencia,  with  its  rich  and  beautiful  domains,  and 
carrying  the  success  of  his  arms  even  to  Denia. 

Muza  undertook  with  his  host  a  wider  range  of 
conquest.  He  overcame  the  cities  of  Barcelona, 
Gerona,  and  others  that  lay  on  the  skirts  of  the  east- 
ern mountains  ;  then  crossing  into  the  land  of  the 
Franks,  he  captured  the  city  of  Narbonne  ;  in  a  tem- 
ple of  which  he  found  seven  equestrian  images  of 
silver,  which  he  brought  off  as  trophies  of  his  vic- 
tory *  Returning  into  Spain,  he  scoured  its  north- 
ern regions  along  Gallicia  and  the  Asturias  ;  passed 
triumphantly  through  Lusitania,  and  arrived  once 
more  in  Andalusia,  covered  with  laurels  and  enriched 
with  immense  spoils. 

Thus  was  completed  the  subjugation  of  unhappy 
Spain.  All  its  cities  and  fortresses,  and  strong-holds, 
were  in  the  hands  of  the  Saracens,  excepting  some  of 
the  wild  mountain  tracts  that  bordered  the  Atlantic, 
and  extended  towards  the  north.  Here,  then,  the  story 
of  the  conquest  might  conclude,  but  that  the  indefat- 
igable chronicler.  Fray  Antonio  Agapida,  goes  on 
to  lecord  the  fate  of  those  persons  who  were  most 
renowned  in  the  enterprise.  We  shall  follow  his 
steps,  and  avail  ourselves  of  his  information,  labori- 


•  Conde.  P.  i.  c.  16. 


LEGENDS    OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


831 


ously  collected  from  various  sources  ;  and,  truly,  the 
story  of  each  of  the  actors  in  this  great  historical 
drama,  bears  with  it  its  striking  moral,  and  is  full  of 
admonition  and  instruction. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


KEUD  BETWEEN  THE  ARAB  GENERALS. — THEY  ARE 
SUMMONED  TO  APPEAR  BEFORE  THE  CALIPH 
AT  DAMASCUS. — RECEPTION  OF  TARIC. 

The  heart  of  Muza  ben  Nozier  was  now  lifted  up, 
for  he  considered  his  glory  complete.  He  held  a 
sway  that  might  have  gratified  the  ambition  of  the 
proudest  sovereign,  for  all  western  Africa  and  the 
newly  acquired  peninsula  of  Spain  were  obedient  to  his 
rule  ;  and  he  was  renowned  throughout  all  the  lands 
of  Islam  as  the  great  conqueror  of  the  west.  But 
sudden  humiliation  awaited  him  in  the  very  moment 
of  his  highest  triumph. 

Notwithstanding  the  outward  reconciliation  of 
Muza  and  Taric,  a  deep  and  implacable  hostility  con- 
tinued to  e.xist  between  them  ;  and  each  had  busy 
partisans  who  distracted  the  armies  by  their  feuds. 
Letters  were  incessantly  despatched  to  Damascus  by 
either  party,  exalting  the  merits  of  their  own  leader  and 
decrying  his  rival.  Taric  was  represented  as  rash, 
arbitrary,  and  prodigal,  and  as  injuring  the  discipline 
of  the  army,  by  sometimes  treating  it  with  extreme 
rigour,  and  at  othei  times  giving  way  to  licentiousness 
and  profusion.  Muza  was  lauded  as  prudent,  saga- 
cious, dignified,  and  systematic  in  his  dealings.  The 
friends  of  Taric,  on  the  other  hand,  represented  him 
as  brave,  generous,  and  high-minded  ;  scrupulous  in 
reserving  to  his  sovereign  his  rightful  share  of  the 
spoils,  but  distributing  the  rest  bounteously  among 
his  soldiers,  and  thus  increasing  their  alacrity  in  the 
service.  "Muza,  on  the  contrary,"  said  they,  "is 
grasping  and  insatiable  ;  he  levies  intolerable  contri- 
butions and  collects  immense  treasure,  but  sweeps 
it  all  into  his  own  coffers." 

The  caliph  was  at  length  wearied  out  by  these 
complaints,  and  feared  that  the  safety  of  the  cause 
might  be  endangered  by  the  dissensions  of  the  rival 
generals.  He  sent  letters,  therefore,  ordering  them 
to  leave  suitable  persons  in  charge  of  their  several 
commands,  and  appear,  forthwith,  before  him  at 
Damascus. 

Such  was  the  greeting  from  his  sovereign  that 
awaited  Muza  on  his  return  from  the  conquest  of 
northern  Spain.  It  was  a  grievous  blow  to  a  man 
of  his  pride  and  ambition  ;  but  he  prepared  instantly 
to  obey.  He  returned  to  Cordova,  collecting  by  the 
way  all  the  treasures  he  had  deposited  in  various 
places.  At  that  city  he  called  a  meeting  of  his  princi- 
pal officers,  and  of  the  leaders  of  the  faction  of 
apostate  christians,  and  made  them  all  do  homage 
to  his  son  Abdalasis,  as  emir  or  governor  of  Spain. 
He  gave  this  favourite  son  much  sage  advice  for  the 
regulation  of  his  conduct,  and  left  with  him  his 
nephew,  Ayub,  a  man  greatly  honoured  by  the  Mos- 
lems for  his  wisdom  and  discretion  ;  exhorting  Ab- 
dalasis to  consult  him  on  all  occasions  and  consider 
him  as  his  bosom  counsellor.  He  made  a  parting 
address  to  his  adherents,  full  of  cheerful  confidence  ; 
assuring  them  that  he  would  soon  return,  loaded 
with  new  favours  and  honours  by  his  sovereign, 
and  enabled  to  reward  them  all  for  their  faithful 
services. 

When  Muza  sallied  forth  from  Cordova,  to  repair 
to  Damascus,  his  cavalgada  appeared  like  the  sump- 
tuous pageant  of  some  oriental  potentate ;  for  he  had 
numerous  guards  and  attendants  splendidly  armed 
and  arrayed,  together  with  four  hundred  hostages. 


who  were  youthful  cavaliers  of  the  noblest  families 
of  the  Goths,  and  a  great  number  of  captives  of 
both  sexes,  chosen  for  their  beauty,  and  intended  as 
presents  for  the  caliph.  Then  there  was  a  vast  train 
of  beasts  of  burden,  laden  with  the  plunder  of  Spain  ; 
for  he  took  with  him  all  the  wealth  he  had  collected 
in  his  conquests ;  and  all  the  share  that  had  been 
set  apart  for  his  sovereign.  With  this  display  of 
trophies  and  spoils,  showing  the  magnificence  of  the 
land  he  had  conquered,  he  looked  with  confidence 
to  silence  the  calumnies  of  his  foes. 

As  he  traversed  the  valley  of  the  Guadalquivir  he 
often  turned  and  looked  back  wistfully  upon  Cor- 
dova ;  and,  at  the  distance  of  a  league,  when  about 
to  lose  sight  of  it,  he  checked  his  steed  upon  the 
summit  of  a  hill,  and  gazed  for  a  long  time  upon  its 
palaces  and  towers.  "  O  Cordova  !  "  exclaimed  he, 
"  great  and  glorious  art  thou  among  cities,  and 
abundant  in  all  delights.  With  grief  and  sorrow  do 
I  part  from  thee,  for  sure  I  am  it  would  give  me 
length  of  days  to  abide  within  thy  pleasant  walls  !  " 
When  he  had  uttered  these  words,  say  the  Arabian 
chronicles,  he  resumed  his  wayfaring ;  but  his  eyes 
were  bent  ujjon  the  ground,  and  frequent  sighs  be- 
spoke the  heaviness  of  his  heart. 

Embarking  at  Cadiz  he  passed  over  to  Africa 
with  all  his  people  and  effects,  to  regulate  his  gov- 
ernment in  that  country.  He  divided  the  command 
between  his  sons,  Abdelola  and  Meruan,  leaving  the 
former  in  Tangier,  and  the  latter  in  Cairvan.  Thus 
having  secured,  as  he  thought,  the  power  and  pros- 
perity of  his  family,  by  placing  all  his  sons  as  his 
lieutenants  in  the  country  he  had  conquered,  he 
departed  for  Syria,  bearing  with  him  the  sumptuous 
spoils  of  the  west. 

While  Muza  was  thus  disposing  of  his  commands, 
and  moving  cumbrously  under  the  weight  of  wealth, 
the  veteran  Taric  was  more  speedy  and  alert  in 
obeying  the  summons  of  the  caliph.  He  knew  the 
importance,  where  complaints  were  to  be  heard,  of 
being  first  in  presence  of  the  judge ;  beside,  he  was 
ever  ready  to  march  at  a  moment's  warning,  and 
had  nothing  to  impede  him  in  his  movements.  The 
spoils  he  had  made  in  his  conquests  had  either  been 
shared  among  his  soldiers,  or  yielded  up  to  Muza,  or 
squandered  away  with  open-handed  profusion.  He 
appeared  in  Syria  with  a  small  train  of  war-worn 
followers,  and  had  no  other  trophies  to  show  than 
his  battered  armour,  and  a  body  seamed  with  scars. 
He  was  received,  however,  with  rapture  by  the  mul- 
titude, who  crowded  to  behold  one  of  those  conquer- 
ors of  the  west,  whose  wonderful  achievements  were 
the  theme  of  every  tongue.  They  were  charmed 
with  his  gaunt  and  martial  air,  his  hard  sunburnt 
features,  and  his  scathed  eye.  "All  hail,"  cried  they, 
"  to  the  sword  of  Islam,  the  terror  of  the  unbelievers  ! 
Behold  the  true  model  of  a  warrior,  who  despises  gain 
and  seeks  tor  nought  but  glory !  " 

Taric  was  graciously  received  by  the  caliph,  who 
asked  tidings  of  his  victories.  He  gave  a  soldier- 
like account  of  his  actions,  frank  and  full,  without 
any  feigned  modesty,  yet  without  vain-glory.  "Com- 
mander of  the  faithful,"  said  he,  "  I  bring  thee  no 
silver,  nor  gold,  nor  precious  stones,  nor  captives, 
for  what  spoils  I  did  not  share  with  my  soldiers  I 
gave  up  to  Muza  as  my  commander.  How  I  have 
conducted  myself  the  honourable  warriors  of  thy 
host  will  tell  thee ;  nay,  let  our  enemies,  the  chris- 
tians, be  asked  if  1  have  ever  shown  myself  cowardly 
or  cruel  or  rapacious." 

"What  kind  of  people  are  these  christians?"  de- 
manded the  caliph. 

"  The  Spaniards,"  replied  Taric,  "  are  lions  in 
their  castles,  eagles  in  their  saddles,  but  mere  women 
when  on  foot.     When  vanquished  Ihey  escape  like 


832 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


goats  to  the  mountains,  for  they  need  not  see  the 
ground  they  tread  on." 

"And  tell  me  of  the  Moors  of  Barbary." 

"They  are  like  Arabs  in  the  fierceness  and  dex- 
terity of  their  attacks,  and  in  their  knowledge  of  the 
stratagems  of  war ;  they  resemble  them,  too,  in 
feature,  in  fortitude,  and  hospitality;  but  they  are 
the  most  perfidious  people  upon  earth,  and  never 
regard  promise  or  plighted  faith." 

"And  the  people  of  Afranc  ;  what  sayest  thou  of 
them?" 

"  They  arc  infinite  in  number,  rapid  in  the  onset, 
fierce  in  battle,  but  confused  and  headlong  in  flight." 

"And  how  fared  it  with  thee  among  these  peo- 
ple?    Did  they  sometimes  vanquish  thee?  " 

"Never,  by  Allah!"  cried  Taric,  with  honest 
warmth,  "  never  did  a  banner  of  mine  fly  the  field. 
Though  the  enemy  were  two  to  one,  my  Moslems 
never  shunned  the  combat !  " 

The  caliph  was  well  pleased  with  the  martial 
bluntness  of  the  veteran,  and  showed  him  great 
honour ;  and  wherever  Taric  appeared  he  was  the 
idol  of  the  populace. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


MUZA  ARRIVES  AT  DAMASCUS.— HIS  INTERVIEW 
WITH  THE  CALIPH.— THE  TABLE  OF  SOLOMON. 
— A   RIGOROUS  SENTENCE. 

Shortly  after  the  arrival  of  Taric  el  Tuerto  at 
Damascus,  the  caliph  fell  dangerously  ill,  insomuch 
that  his  life  was  despaired  of.  During  his  illness, 
tidings  were  brought  that  Muza  ben  Nozier  had  en- 
tered Syria  with  a  vast  cavalcade,  bearing  all  the 
riches  and  trophies  gained  in  the  western  conquests. 
Now  Suleiman  ben  Abdelmelec,  brother  to  the 
caliph,  was  successor  to  the  throne,  and  he  saw 
tliat  his  brother  had  not  long  to  live,  and  wished  to 
grace  the  commencement  of  his  reign  by  this  triumph- 
ant display  of  the  spoils  of  Christendom  ;  he  sent 
messengers,  therefore,  to  Muza,  saying,  "  The  caliph 
is  ill  and  cannot  receive  thee  at  present ;  I  pray  thee 
tarry  on  the  road  until  his  recovery."  Muza,  how- 
ever, paid  no  attention  to  the  messages  of  Suleiman, 
but  rather  hastened  his  march  to  arrive  before  the 
death  of  the  caliph.  And  Suleiman  treasured  up  his 
conduct  in  his  heart. 

Muza  entered  the  city  in  a  kind  of  triumph,  with 
a  long  train  of  horses  and  mules  and  camels  laden 
with  treasure,  and  with  the  four  hundred  sons  of  Goth- 
ic nobles  as  hostages,  each  decorated  with  a  diadem 
and  a  girdle  of  gold  ;  and  with  one  hundred  christian 
damsels,  whose  beauty  dazzled  all  beholders.  As 
he  passed  through  the  streets  he  ordered  purses  of 
gold  to  be  thrown  among  the  populace,  who  rent 
the  air  with  acclamations.  "  Behold,"  cried  they, 
"  the  veritable  conqueror  of  the  unbelievers  !  Behold 
the  true  model  of  a  conqueror,  who  brings  home 
wealth  to  his  country  ! "  And  they  heaped  bene- 
dictions on  the  head  of  Muza. 

The  caliph  Waled  Almanzor  rose  from  his  couch 
of  illness  to  receive  the  emir ;  who,  when  he  repaired 
to  the  palace,  filled  one  of  its  great  courts  with 
treasures  of  all  kinds  ;  the  halls,  too,  were  thronged 
with  the  youthful  hostages,  magnificently  attired,  and 
with  christian  damsels,  lovely  as  the  houries  of 
paradise.  When  the  caliph  demanded  an  account 
of  the  conquest  of  Spain,  he  gave  it  with  great  elo- 
quence ;  but,  in  describing  the  various  victories,  he 
made  no  mention  of  the  name  of  Taric,  but  spoke 
as  if  every  thing  had  been  effected  by  himself.  He 
then  presented  the  spoils  of  the  christians  as  if  they 


had  been  all  taken  by  his  own  hands ;  and  when  he 
delivered  to  the  caliph  the  miraculous  table  of  Solo- 
mon he  dwelt  with  animation  on  the  virtues  of  that 
inestimable  talisman. 

Upon  this,  Taric,  who  was  present,  could  no 
longer  hold  his  peace.  "  Commander  of  the  faith- 
ful," said  he,  "examine  this  precious  table,  if  any 
part  be  wanting."  The  caliph  examined  the  table, 
which  was  composed  of  a  single  emerald,  and  he 
found  that  one  foot  was  supplied  by  a  foot  of  gold. 
The  caliph  turned  to  Muza  and  said,  "  Where  is  the 
other  foot  of  the  table  ?  "  Muza  answered,  "  I  know 
not ;  one  foot  was  wanting  when  it  came  into  my 
hands."  Upon  this,  Taric  drew  from  beneath  his 
robe  a  foot  of  emerald  of  like  workmanship  to  the 
others,  and  fitting  exactly  to  the  table.  "  Behold,  O 
commander  of  the  faithful !  "  cried  he,  "a  proof  of 
the  real  finder  of  the  table ;  and  so  is  it  with  the 
greater  part  of  the  spoils  exhibited  by  Muza  as 
trophies  of  his  achievements.  It  was  I  who  gained 
them,  and  who  captured  the  cities  in  which  they  were 
found.  If  you  want  proof,  demand  of  these  chris- 
tian cavaliers  here  present,  most  of  whom  1  cap- 
tured ;  demand  of  those  Moslem  warriors  who  aided 
me  in  my  battles." 

Muza  was  confounded  for  a  moment,  but  attempt- 
ed to  vindicate  himself.  "  I  spake,"  said  he,  "as  the 
chief  of  your  armies,  under  whose  orders  and  ban- 
ners this  conquest  was  achieved.  The  actions  of 
the  soldier  are  the  actions  of  the  commander.  In  a 
great  victory  it  is  not  supposed  that  the  chief  of  the 
army  takes  all  the  captives,  or  kills  all  the  slain,  or 
gathers  all  the  booty,  though  all  are  enumerated 
in  the  records  of  his  triumph."  The  caliph,  how- 
ever, was  wroth,  and  heeded  not  his  words.  "  You 
have  vaunted  your  own  deserts,"  said  he,  "  and  have 
forgotten  the  deserts  of  others  ;  nay,  you  have  sought 
to  debase  another  who  has  loyally  served  his  sover- 
eign ;  the  reward  of  your  envy  and  covetousness  be 
upon  your  own  head  !  "  So  saying,  he  bestowed  a 
great  part  of  the  spoils  upon  Taric  and  the  other 
chiefs,  but  gave  nothing  to  Muza  ;  and  the  veteran 
retired  amidst  the  sneers  and  murmurs  of  those 
present.  ' 

In  a  few  days  the  Caliph  Waled  died,  and  was 
succeeded  by  his  brother  Suleiman.  The  new  sover- 
eign cherished  deep  resentment  against  Muza  for 
having  presented  himself  at  court  contrary  to  his 
command,  and  he  listened  readily  to  the  calumnies 
of  his  enemies  ;  for  Muza  had  been  too  illustrious  in 
his  deeds  not  to  have  many  enemies.  All  now  took 
courage  when  they  found  he  v/as  out  of  favour,  and 
they  heaped  slanders  on  his  he.ad  ;  charging  him 
with  embezzling  much  of  the  share  of  the  booty  be- 
longing to  the  sovereign.  The  new  caliph  lent  a 
willing  ear  to  the  accusation,  and  commanded  him 
to  render  up  all  that  he  had  pillaged  from  Spain. 
The  loss  of  his  riches  might  have  been  borne  with 
fortitude' by  Muza,  but  the  stigma  upon  his  fame 
filled  his  heart  with  bitterness.  "  1  have  been  a 
faithful  servant  to  the  throne  from  my  youth  up- 
wards," said  he,  "  and  now  am  I  degraded  in  my  old 
age.  I  care  not  for  wealth,'  I  care  not  for  life,  but 
let  me  not  be  deprived  of  that  honour  which  God 
has  bestowed  upon  me  !  " 

The  caliph  was  still  more  exasperated  at  his  re- 
pining, and  stripped  liim  of  his  commands;  confis- 
cated his  effects ;  fined  him  two  hundred  thousand 
pesants  of  gold,  and  ordered  that  he  should  be 
scourged  and  exposed  to  the  noontide  sun,  and  after- 
wards thrown  into  prison.*  The  populace,  also,  re- 
viled and  scoffed  at  him  in  his  misery,  and  as  they 
beheld  him  led  forth  to  the  public  gaze,  and  fainting 


*  Conde,  P.  1.  c.  17. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


333 


in  the  sun,  they  pointed  at  him  with  derision  and 
exclaimed — "  Behold  the  envious  man  and  the  im- 
postor ;  this  is  he  who  pretended  to  have  conquered 
the  land  of  the  unbelievers  !  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 


CONDUCT  OF  ABD.A.LASIS   AS   EMIR   OF  SPAIN. 

While  these  events  were  happening  in  Syria,  the 
youthful  Abdalasis,  the  son  of  Muza,  remained  as 
emir  or  governor  of  Spain.  He  was  of  a  generous 
and  benignant  disposition,  but  he  was  open  and  con- 
fiding, and  easily  led  away  by  the  opinions  of  those 
he  loved.  Fortunately  his  father  had  left  with  him, 
as  a  bosom  counsellor,  the  discreet  Ayub,  the  neph- 
ew of  Muza ;  aided  by  his  advice,  he  for  some  time 
administered  the  public  affairs  prudently  and  pros- 
perously. 

Not  long  after  the  departure  of  his  father,  he  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  him,  written  while  on  his  jour- 
ney to  Syria  ;  it  was  to  the  following  purport : 

"  Beloved  son  ;  honour  of  thy  lineage  ;  Allah  guard 
thee  from  all  harm  and  peril !  Listen  to  the  words 
of  thy  lather.  Avoid  all  treachery  though  it  should 
promise  great  advantage,  and  trust  not  in  him  who 
counsels  it,  even  though  he  should  be  a  Ijrother. 
The  company  of- traitors  put  far  from  thee  ;  for  how 
canst  thou  be  certain  that  he  who  has  provett  false 
to  others  will  prove  true  to  thee  ?  Beware,  O  my 
son,  of  the  seductions  of  love.  It  is  an  idle  passion 
which  enfeebles  the  heart  and  blinds  the  judgment ; 
it  renders  the  mighty  weak,  and  makes  slaves  of 
princes.  If  thou  shouldst  discover  any  foible  of  a 
vicious  kind  springing  up  in  thy  nature,  pluck  it 
forth,  whatever  pang  it  cost  thee.  Every  error,  while 
new,  may  easily  be  weeded  out,  but  if  suffered  to 
take  root,  it  flourishes  and  bears  seed,  and  produces 
fruit  an  hundred  fold.  Follow  these  counsels,  O  son 
of  my  affections,  and  thou  shalt  live  secure." 

Abdalasis  meditated  upon  this  letter,  for  some 
part  of  it  seemed  to  contain  a  mystery  which  he 
could  not  comprehend.  He  called  to  him  his  cousin 
and  counsellor,  the  discreet  Ayub.  "  What  means 
my  father,"  said  he,  "  in  cautioning  me  against  treach- 
ery and  treason .'  Does  he  think  my  nature  so  base 
that  it  could  descend  to  such  means  ?  " 

Ayub  read  the  letter  attentively.  "  Thy  father," 
said  he,  "would  put  thee  on  thy  guard  against  the 
traitors  Julian  and  Oppas,  and  those  of  their  party 
who  surround  thee.  What  love  canst  thou  expect 
from  men  who  have  been  unnatural  to  their  kindred, 
and  what  loyalty  from  wretches  who  have  betrayed 
their  country .'' " 

Abdalasis  was  satisfied  with  the  interpretation, 
and  he  acted  accordingly.  He  had  long  loathed  all 
communion  with  these  men,  for  there  is  nothing 
which  the  open  ingenuous  nature  so  much  abhors  as 
duplicity  and  treason.  Policy,  too,  no  longer  re- 
quired their  agency ;  they  had  rendered  their  infa- 
mous service,  and  had  no  longer  a  country  to  betray ; 
but  they  might  turn  and  betray  their  employers. 
Abdalasis,  therefore,  removed  them  to  a  distance 
from  his  court,  and  placed  them  in  situations  where 
they  could  do  no  harm,  and  he  warned  his  com- 
manders from  being  in  any  wise  influenced  by  their 
counsels,  or  aided  by  their  arms. 

He  now  confided  entirely  in  his  Arabian  troops, 
and  in  the  Moorish  squadrons  from  Africa,  and  with 
their  aid  he  completed  the  conquest  of  Lusitania  to 
the  ultimate  parts  of  the  Algarbe,  or  west,  even  to 
the  shores  of  the  great  Ocean  sea.*    From  hence  he 

*  Algarbe,  or  Algarbia,  in  Arabic  signifies  the  west,  as  Axarkia 
is  the  east,  Algufia  the  north,  and  Aquibla  the  south.  This  will 
serve  to  explain  some  of  the  geographical  names  on  the  peninsula, 
which  are  of  Arabian  origin. 


sent  his  generals  to  overrun  all  thsse  vast  and  rug- 
ged sierras,  which  rise  like  ramparts  along  the  ocean 
borders  of  the  peninsula ;  and  they  carried  the  stand- 
ard of  Islam  in  triumph  even  to  the  mountains  of 
Biscay,  collecting  all  manner  of  precious  spoil. 

"  It  is  not  enough,  O  Abdalasis,"  said  Ayub, 
"  that  we  conquer  and  rule  this  country  with  the 
sword  ;  if  we  wish  our  dominion  to  be  secure,  we 
must  cultivate  the  arts  of  peace,  and  study  to  secure 
the  confidence  and  promote  the  welfare  of  the  people 
we  have  conquered."  Abdalasis  relished  counsel 
which  accorded  so  well  with  his  own  beneficent 
nature.  He  endeavoured,  therefore,  to  allay  the 
ferment  and  confusion  of  the  conquest;  forbade, 
under  rigorous  punishment,  all  wanton  spoil  or  op- 
pression, and  protected  the  native  inhabitants  in  the 
enjoyment  and  cultivation  of  their  lands,  and  the 
pursuit  of  all  useful  occupations.  By  the  advice  of 
Ayub,  also,  he  encouraged  great  numbers  of  indus- 
trious Moors  and  Arabs  to  emigrate  from  Africa, 
and  gave  them  houses  and  lands  ;  thus  introducing 
a  peaceful  Mahometan  population  into  the  conquered 
provinces. 

The  good  effect  of  the  counsels  of  Ayub  were 
soon  apparent.  Instead  of  a  sudden  but  transient 
influx  of  wealth,  made  by  the  ruin  of  the  land,  which 
left  the  country  desolate,  a  regular  and  permanent 
revenue  sprang  up,  produced  by  reviving  prosperity, 
and  gathered  without  violence.  Abdalasis  ordered 
it  to  be  faithfiiUy  collected,  and  deposited  in  coffers 
by  public  officers  appointed  in  each  province  for  the 
purpose  ;  and  the  whole  was  sent  by  ten  deputies  to 
Damascus  to  be  laid  at  the  feet  of  the  caliph  ;  not  as 
the  spoils  of  a  vanquished  country,  but  as  the  peace- 
ful trophies  of  a  wisely  administered  government. 

The  common  herd  of  warlike  adventurers,  the 
mere  men  of  the  sword,  who  had  thronged  to  Spain 
for  the  purpose  of  ravage  and  rapine,  were  disai> 
pointed  at  being  thus  checked  in  their  career,  and 
at  seeing  the  reign  of  terror  and  violence  drawing  to 
a  close.  What  manner  of  leader  is  this,  said  they, 
who  forbids  us  to  make  spoil  of  the  enemies  of  Islain, 
and  to  enjoy  the  land  we  have  wrested  from  the  un- 
believers .>  The  partisans  of  Julian,  also,  whispered 
their  calumnies.  "  Behold,"  said  they,  "  with  what 
kindness  he  treats  the  enemies  of  your  faith  ;  all  the 
christians  who  have  borne  arms  against  you,  and 
withstood  your  entrance  into  the  land,  are  favoured 
and  protected  ;  but  it  is  enough  for  a  christian  to 
have  befriended  the  cause  of  the  Moslems  to  be 
singled  out  by  Abdalasis  for  persecution,  and  to  be 
driven  with  scorn  from  his  presence." 

These  insinuations  fermented  the  discontent  of 
the  turbulent  and  rapacious  among  the  Moslems, 
but  all  tne  friends  of  peace  and  order  and  good 
government  applauded  the  moderation  of  the  youth- 
ful emir. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 
LOVES  OF  ABDALASIS  AND  EXILONA. 

Abdalasis  had  fixed  his  seat  of  government  at 
Seville,  as  permitting  easy  and  frequent  communica- 
tions with  the  coast  of  Africa.  His  palace  was  of 
noble  architecture,  with  delightful  gardens  extend- 
ing to  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquivir.  In  a  part  of 
this  palace  resided  many  of  the  most  beautiful  chris- 
tian females,  who  were  detained  as  captives,  or 
rather  hostages,  to  insure  the  tranquillity  ot  the  coun- 
try. Those  who  were  of  noble  rank  were  enter- 
tained in  luxury  and  magnificence  ;  slaves  were  ap- 
pointed to  attend  upon  them,  and  they  were  arrayed 
in  the  richest  apparel  and  decorated  with  the  most 


834 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


precious  jewels.  Those  of  tender  age  were  taught 
all  graceful  accomplishments  ;  and  even  where  tasks 
were  imposed,  they  were  of  the  most  elegant  and 
agreeable  kind.  They  embroidered,  they  sang,  they 
danced,  and  passed  their  times  in  pleasing  revelry. 
Many  were  lulled  by  this  easy  and  voluptuous  exist- 
ence ;  the  scenes  of  horror  through  which  they  had 
passed  were  gradually  effaced  from  their  minds,  and 
a  desire  was  often  awakened  of  rendering  themselves 
pleasing  in  the  eyes  of  their  conquerors. 

After  his  return  from  his  campaign  in  Lusitania, 
and  during  the  interv.als  of  public  duty,  Abdalasis 
solaced  himself  in  the  repose  of  this  palace,  and  in 
the  society  of  these  christian  captives.  He  remarked 
one  among  them  who  ever  sat  apart ;  and  neither 
joined  in  the  labours  nor  sports  of  her  companions. 
She  was  lofty  in  her  demeanour,  and  the  others 
always  paid  her  reverence ;  >  et  sorrow  had  given  a 
softness  to  her  charms,  and  rendered  her  beauty 
touching  to  the  heart.  Abdalasis  found  her  one 
day  in  the  garden  with  her  companions  ;  they  had 
adorned  their  heads  with  flowers,  and  were  singing 
the  songs  of  their  country,  but  she  sat  by  herself  and 
wept.  The  youthful  emir  was  moved  by  her  tears, 
and  accosted  her  in  gentle  accents.  "O  fairest  of 
women  !  "  said  he,  "  why  dost  thou  weep,  and  why 
is  thy  heart  troubled  ?  "  "  Alas  !  "  replied  she, 
"  have  I  not  cause  to  weep,  seeing  how  sad  is  my 
condition,  and  how  great  the  height  from  which  1 
have  fallen  ?  In  me  you  behold  the  wretched  Exilo- 
na,  but  lately  the  wife  of  Roderick,  and  the  queen  of 
Spain,  now  a  captive  and  a  slave  !  "  and,  having  said 
these  words,  she  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  earth,  and 
her  tears  began  to  flow  afresh. 

The  generous  feelings  of  Abdalasis  were  aroused 
at  the  sight  of  beauty  and  royalty  in  tears.  He  gave 
orders  that  Exilona  should  be  entertained  in  a  style  be- 
fitting her  former  rank;  he  appointed  a  train  of  female 
attendants  to  wait  upon  her,  and  a  guard  of  honour  to 
protect  her  from  all  intrusion.  All  the  time  that  he 
could  spare  from  public  concerns  was  passed  in  her 
society;  and  he  even  neglected  his  divan,  and  suf- 
fered his  counsellors  to  attend  in  vain,  while  he  lin- 
gered in  the  apartments  and  gardens  of  the  palace, 
listening  to  the  voice  of  Exilona. 

The  discreet  Ajub  saw  the  danger  into  which  he 
was  falling.  "  Oh  Abdalasis,"  said  he,  "  remem- 
ber the  words  of  thy  father.  '  Beware,  my  son,' 
said  he,  '  of  the  seductions  of  love.  It  renders  the 
mighty  weak,  and  makes  slaves  of  princes  !  ' "  A 
blush  kindled  on  the  cheek  of  Abdalasis,  and  he  was 
silent  for  a  moment.  "  Why,"  said  he,  at  length, 
"  do  you  seek  to  charge  me  with  such  weakness.  It 
is  one  thing  to  be  infatuated  by  the  charms  of  a 
woman,  and  another  to  be  touched  by  her  misfor- 
tunes. It  is  the  duty  of  my  station  to  console  a 
princess  who  has  been  reduced  to  the  lowest  humili- 
ation by  the  triumphs  of  our  arms.  In  doing  so  I  do 
but  listen  to  the  dictates  of  true  magnanimity." 

Ayub  was  silent,  but  his  brow  was  clouded,  and 
for  once  Abdalasis  parted  in  discontent  from  his 
counsellor.  In  proportion  as  he  was  dissatisfied 
with  others  or  with  himself,  he  sought  the  society  of 
Exilona,  for  there  was  a  charm  in  her  conversation 
that  banished  every  care.  He  daily  became  more 
and  more  enamoured,  and  Exilona  gradually  ceased 
to  weep,  and  tiegan  to  listen  with  secret  pleasure  to 
the  words  of  her  Arab  lover.  When,  however,  he 
sought  to  urge  his  passion,  she  recollected  the  light 
estimation  in  whicii  her  sex  was  held  by  the  follow- 
ers of  Mahomet,  and  assumed  a  countenance  grave 
and  severe. 

"Fortune,"  said  she,  "has  cast  me  at  thy  feet, 
behold  1  am  thy  captive  and  thy  spoil.  But  though 
my  person  is  in  thy  power,  my  soul  is  unsubdued. 


and  know  that,  should  I  lack  force  to  defend  my 
honour,  I  have  resolution  to  wash  out  all  stain  upon 
it  with  my  blood.  I  trust,  however,  in  thy  courtesy 
as  a  cavalier  to  respect  me  in  my  reverses,  remem- 
bering what  I  have  been,  and  that  though  the  crown 
has  been  wrested  from  my  brow,  the  royal  blood 
still  warms  within  my  veins."* 

The  lofty  spirit  of  Exilona,  and  her  proud  repulse, 
served  but  to  increase  the  passion  of  Abdalasis.  He 
besought  her  to  unite  her  destiny  with  his,  and 
share  his  state  and  power,  promising  that  she  should 
have  no  rival  nor  copartner  in  his  heart.  Whatever 
scruples  the  captive  queen  might  originally  have  felt 
to  a  union  with  one  of  the  conquerors  of  her  lord, 
and  an  enemy  of  her  adopted  faith,  they  were  easily 
vanquished,  and  she  became  the  bride  of  Abdalasis. 
He  would  fain  have  persuaded  her  to  return  to  the 
faith  of  her  fathers  ;  but  though  of  Moorish  origin, 
and  brought  up  in  the  doctrines  of  Islam,  she  was 
too  thorough  a  convert  to  Christianity  to  consent, 
and  looked  back  with  disgust  upon  a  religion  that 
admitted  a  plurality  of  wives. 

When  the  sage  Ayub  heard  of  the  resolution  of 
Abdalasis  to  espouse  Exilona  he  was  in  despair. 
"Alas,  my  cousin!"  said  he,  "what  infatuation 
possesses  thee .'  Hast  thou  then  entirely  forgotten 
the  letter  of  thy  father.'  '  Beware,  my  son,'  said  he, 
'of  love;  it  is  an  idle  passion,  which  enfeebles  the 
heart  and  blinds  the  judgment.'  "  But  Abdalasis 
interrupted  him  with  impatience.  "  My  father," 
said  he,  "  spake  but  of  the  blandishments  of  wanton 
love  ;  against  these  I  am  secured,  by  my  virtuous 
passion  for  Exilona." 

Ayub  would  fain  have  impressed  upon  him  the 
dangers  he  ran  of  awakening  suspicion  in  the  caliph, 
and  discontent  among  the  Moslems,  by  wedding  the 
queen  of  the  conquered  Roderick,  and  one  who  was 
an  enemy  to  the  religion  of  Mahomet ;  but  the 
youthful  lover  only  listened  to  his  passion.  Their 
nuptials  were  celebrated  at  Seville  with  great  pomp 
and  rejoicings,  and  he  gave  his  bride  the  name  of 
Omalisam ;  that  is  to  say,  she  of  the  precious  jew- 
els :t  but  she  continued  to  be  known  among  the 
christians  by  the  name  of  Exilona. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 


FATE  OF   ABDALASIS   AND   EXILONA.— DEATH    OF 
MUZA. 

Possession  instead  of  cooling  the  passion  of 
Abdalasis,  only  added  to  its  force  ;  he  became  blind- 
ly enamoured  of  his  beautiful  bride,  and  consulted 
her  will  in  all  things;  nay,  having  lost  all  relish  for 
the  advice  of  the  discreet  Ayub,  he  was  even  guided 
by  the  counsels  of  his  wife  in  the  affairs  of  govern- 
ment. Exilona,  unfortunately,  had  once  been  a 
queen,  and  she  could  not  remember  her  regal  glories 
without  regret.  She  saw  that  Abdalasis  had  great 
power  in  the  land  ;  greater  even  than  had  been  pos- 
sessed by  the  Gothic  kings  ;  but  she  considered  it 
as  wanting  in  true  splendour  until  his  brows  should 
be  encircled  with  the  outward  badge  of  royalty. 
One  day,  when  they  were  alone  in  the  palace  of 
Seville,  and  the  heart  of  Abdalasis  was  given  up  to 
tenderness,  she  addressed  him  in  fond  yet  timid  ac- 
cents. "  Will  not  my  lord  be  offended,"  said  she, 
"  if  I  make  an  unwelcome  request  ?  "  Abdalasis 
regarded  her  with  a  smile.     "  What  canst  thou  ask 


•  Faxardo.  corona,  Gothica.    T.  I,  P.  492.    Joan,  Mar.  de  reb. 
Hisp.  L.  6,  c.  27. 
t  Conde,  p.  i.  c.  17. 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


33J 


of  me,  Exilona,"  said  he,  "that  it  would  not  be  a 
liappiness  for  me  to  grant  ?  "  Then  Exilona  pro- 
duced a  crown  of  gold,  sparkling  with  jewels,  which 
had  belonged  to  the  king,  Don  Roderick,  and  said, 
"  Behold,  thou  art  king  in  authority,  be  so  in  thy 
outward  state.  There  is  majesty  and  glory  in  a 
a'own  ;  it  gives  a  sanctity  to  power."  Then  put- 
ting the  crown  upon  his  head,  she  held  a  mirror  be- 
fore him  that  he  might  behold  the  majesty  of  his  ap- 
pearance. Abdalasis  chid  her  fondly,  and  put  the 
crown  away  from  him,  but  Exilona  persisted  in  her 
prayer.  "  Never,"  said  she,  "  has  there  been  a  king 
in  Spain  that  did  not  wear  a  crown."  So  Abdalasis 
suffered  himself  to  be  beguiled  by  the  blandishments 
of  his  wife,  and  to  be  invested  with  the  crown  and 
sceptre  and  other  signs  of  royalty.* 

It  is  affirmed  by  ancient  and  discreet  chroniclers, 
that  Abdalasis  only  assumed  this  royal  state  in  the 
privacy  of  his  palace,  and  to  gratify  the  eye  of  his 
youthful  bride ;  but  where  was  a  secret  ever  confined 
within  the  walls  of  a  palace  ?  The  assumption  of  the 
insignia  of  the  ancient  Gothic  kings  was  soon  ru- 
moured about,  and  caused  the  most  violent  suspi- 
cions. The  Moslems  had  already  felt  jealous  of  the 
ascendancy  of  this  beautiful  woman,  and  it  was  now 
confidently  asserted  that  Abdalasis,  won  by  her  per- 
suasions, had  secretly  turned  christian. 

The  enemies  of  Abdalasis,  those  whose  rapacious 
spirits  had  been  kept  in  check  by  the  beneficence  of 
his  rule,  seized  upon  this  occasion  to  ruin  him.  They 
sent  letters  to  Damascus  accusing  him  of  apostasy, 
and  of  an  intention  to  seize  upon  the  throne  in  right 
of  his  wife,  Exilona,  as  widow  of  the  late  King  Rod- 
erick. It  was  added,  that  the  christians  were  pre- 
pared to  flock  to  his  standard  as  the  only  means  of 
regaining  ascendancy  in  their  country. 

These  accusations  arrived  at  Damascus  just  after 
the  accession  of  the  sanguinary  Suleiman  to  the 
throne,  and  in  the  height  of  his  persecution  of  the 
unfortunate  Muza.  The  caliph  waited  for  no  proofs 
in  confirmation;  he  immediately  sent  private  orders 
that  Abdalasis  should  be  put  to  death,  and  that  the 
same  fate  should  be  dealt  to  his  two  brothers  who 
governed  in  Africa,  as  a  sure  means  of  crushing  the 
conspiracy  of  this  ambitious  family. 

The  mandate  for  the  death  of  Abdalasis  was  sent 
to  Abhilbar  ben  Obeidah  and  Zeyd  ben  Nabegat, 
both  of  whom  had  been  cherished  friends  of  Muza, 
and  had  lived  in  intimate  favour  and  companionship 
with  his  son.  When  they  read  the  fatal  parchment, 
the  scroll  fell  from  their  trembling  hands.  "  Can 
such  hostility  exist  against  the  family  of  Muza  ?  "  ex- 
claimed they.  "  Is  this  the  reward  for  such  great 
and  glorious  services  ?  "  The  cavaliers  remained  for 
some  time  plunged  in  horror  and  consternation.  The 
order,  however,  was  absolute,  and  left  them  no  discre- 
tion. "Allah  is  great,"  said  they,  "and  commands 
us  to  obey  our  sovereign."  So  they  prepared  to  ex- 
ecute the  bloody  mandate  with  the  blind  fidelity  of 
Moslems. 

It  was  necessary  to  proceed  with  caution.  The 
open  and  magnanimous  character  of  Abdalasis  had 
won  the  hearts  of  a  great  part  of  the  soldiery,  and 
his  magnificence  pleased  the  cavaliers  who  formed 
his  guard  ;  it  was  feared,  therefore,  that  a  sanguinary 
opposition  would  be  made  to  any  attempt  upon  his 
person.  The  rabble,  however,  had  been  imbittered 
against  him  from  his  having  restrained  their  depre- 
dations, and  because  they  thought  him  an  apostate 
in  his  heart,  secretly  bent  upon  betraying  them  to  the 
christians.  While,  therefore,  the  two  officers  made 
vigilant  dispositions  to  check  any  movement  on  the 
part  of  the  soldiery,  they  let  loose  the  blind  fury  of 

_  *  Cron.  gen.  de  Alonzo  el  Sabio,  p.  3.  Joan.  mar.  de  reb.  Hisp. 
lib.  6.  c.  37.    Conde,  p.  1.  c.  19. 


the  populace  by  publishing  the  fatal  mandate.  In  .■» 
moment  the  city  was  in  a  ferment,  and  there  was  a 
ferocious  emulation  who  should  be  first  to  execute 
the  orders  of  the  caliph. 

Abdalasis  was  at  this  time  at  a  palace  in  the  coun- 
try not  far  from  Seville,  commanding  a  delightful 
view  of  the  fertile  plain  of  the  Guadalquivir.  Hither 
he  was  accustomed  to  retire  from  the  tumult  of  the 
court,  and  to  pass  his  time  among  groves  and  foun- 
tains and  the  sweet  repose  of  gardens,  in  the  .society 
of  Exilona.  It  was  the  dawn  of  day,  the  hour  of 
early  prayer,  when  the  furious  populace  arrived  at 
this  retreat.  Abdalasis  was  offering  up  his  orisons 
in  a  small  mosque  which  he  had  erected  for  the  use 
of  the  neighbouring  peasantry.  Exilona  was  in  a 
chapel  in  the  interior  of  the  palace,  where  her  confes- 
sor, a  holy  friar,  was  performing  mass.  They  were 
both  surprised  at  their  devotions,  and  dragged  forth 
by  the  hands  of  the  rabble.  A  few  guards,  who  at- 
tended at  the  palace,  would  have  made  defence,  but 
they  were  overawed  by  the  sight  of  the  written  man- 
date of  the  caliph. 

The  captives  were  borne  in  triumph  to  Seville. 
All  the  beneficent  virtues  of  Abdalasis  were  forgot- 
ten ;  nor  had  the  charms  of  Exilona  any  effect  in 
softening  the  hearts  of  the  populace.  The  brutal 
eagerness  to  shed  blood,  which  seems  inherent  in 
human  nature,  was  awakened,  and  woe  to  the  vic- 
tims when  that  eagerness  is  quickened  by  religious 
hate.  The  illustrious  couple,  adorned  with  all  the 
graces  of  youth  and  beauty,  were  hurried  to  a  scaf- 
fold in  the  great  square  of  Seville,  and  there  beheaded 
amidst  the  shouts  and  execrations  of  an  infatuated 
multitude.  Their  bodies  were  left  exposed  upon  the 
ground,  and  would  have  been  devoured  by  dogs,  had 
they  not  been  gathered  at  night  by  some  friendly 
hand,  and  Doorly  interred  in  one  of  the  courts  of  their 
late  dwelling. 

Thus  terminated  the  loves  and  lives  of  Abdalasis 
and  Exilona,  in  the  year  of  the  incarnation  seven 
hundred  and  fourteen.  Their  names  were  held  sa- 
cred as  martyrs  to  the  christian  faith  ;  but  many 
read  in  their  untimely  fate  a  lesson  against  ambition 
and  vain-glory ;  having  sacrificed  real  power  and 
substantial  rule  to  the  glittering  bauble  of  a  crown. 

The  head  of  Abdalasis  was  embalmed  and  en- 
closed in  a  casket,  and  sent  to  Syria  to  the  cruel 
Suleiman.  The  messenger  who  bore  it  overtook  the 
caliph  as  he  was  performing  a  pilgrimage  to  Mecca. 
Muza  was  among  the  courtiers  in  his  train,  having 
been  released  from  prison.  On  opening  the  casket 
and  regarding  its  contents,  the  eyes  of  the  tyrant 
sparkled  with  malignant  satisfaction.  Calling  the 
unhappy  father  to  his  side  :  "  Muza,"  said  he,  "  dost 
thou  know  this  head .'  "  The  veteran  recognized  the 
features  of  his  beloved  son,  and  turned  his  face  away 
with  anguish.  "  Yes  !  well  do  I  know  it,"  replied 
he ;  "and  may  the  curse  of  God  light  upon  him  who 
has  destroyed  a  better  man  than  himself !  " 

Without  adding  another  word,  he  retired  to  Mount 
Deran,  a  prey  to  devouring  melancholy.  He  shortly 
after  received  tidings  of  the  death  of  his  two  sons 
whom  he  had  left  in  the  government  of  western  Af- 
rica, and  who  had  fallen  victims  to  the  jealous  sus- 
picions of  the  caliph.  His  advanced  age  was  not 
proof  against  these  repeated  blows,  and  this  utter 
ruin  of  his  late  prosperous  family,  and  he  sank  into 
his  grave  sorrowing  and  broken-hearted. 

Such  was  the  lamentable  end  of  the  conqueror  of 
Spain ;  whose  great  achievements  were  not  sufficient 
to  atone,  in  the  eye  of  his  sovereign,  (or  a  weakness 
to  which  all  men  ambitious  of  renown  are  subject ; 
and  whose  triumphs  eventually  brought  persecution 
upon  himself,  and  untimely  death  upon  his  children. 

Here  ends  the  legend  of  the  Subjugation  of  Spain. 


336 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


LEGEND   OF  COUNT  JULIAN  AND   HIS 
FAMILY. 


In  the  preceding  legends  is  darkly  shadowed  out 
a  true  story  of  the  woes  of  Spain.  It  is  a  story  full 
of  wholesome  admonition,  rebuking  the  insolence  of 
human  pride  and  the  vanity  of  human  ambition,  and 
showing  the  futility  of  all  greatness  that  is  not 
strongly  based  on  virtue.  We  have  seen,  in  brief 
space  of  time,  most  of  the  actors  in  this  historic 
drama  disappearing,  one  by  one,  from  the  scene,  and 
going  down,  conqueror  and  conquered,  to  gloomy 
and  unhonoured  graves.  It  remains  to  close  this 
eventful  history  by  holding  up,  as  a  signal  warning, 
the  fate  of  the  traitor,  whose  perfidious  scheme  of 
vengeance  brought  ruin  on  his  native  land. 

Many  and  various  are  the  accounts  given  in  an- 
cient chronicles  of  the  fortunes  of  Count  Julian  and 
his  family,  and  many  are  the  traditions  on  the  sub- 
ject still  extant  among  the  populace  of  Spain,  and 
perpetuated  in  those  countless  ballads  sung  by  peas- 
ants and  muleteers,  which  spread  a  singular  charm 
over  the  whole  of  this  romantic  land. 

He  who  has  travelled  in  Spain  in  the  true  way  in 
which  the  country  ought  to  be  travelled  ;  sojourning 
in  its  remote  provinces  ;  rambling  among  the  rugged 
defiles  and  secluded  valleys  of  its  mountains ;  and 
making  himself  familiar  with  the  people  in  their  out- 
of-the-way  hamlets,  and  rarely-visited  neighbour- 
hoods, will  remember  many  a  group  of  travellers 
and  muleteers,  gathered  of  an  evening  around  the 
door  or  the  spacious  hearth  of  a  mountain  venta, 
wrapped  in  their  brown  cloaks,  and  listening  with 
grave  and  profound  attention  to  the  long  historic 
ballad  of  some  rustic  troubadour,  either  recited  with 
the  true  ore  rotunda  and  modulated  cadences  of 
Spanish  elocution,  or  chaunted  to  the  tinkling  of  a 
guitar.  In  this  way  he  may  have  heard  the  doleful 
end  of  Count  Julian  and  his  family  recounted  in  tra- 
ditionary rhymes,  that  have  been  handed  down  from 
generation  to  generation.  The  particulars,  however, 
of  the  following  wild  legend  are  chiefly  gathered 
from  the  writings  of  the  pseudo  Moor,  Rasis  ;  how 
far  they  may  be  safely  taken  as  historic  facts  it  is  im- 
possible now  to  ascertain  ;  we  must  content  our- 
selves, therefore,  with  their  answering  to  the  exac- 
tions of  poetic  justice. 

As  yet  every  thing  had  prospered  with  Count 
Julian.  He  had  gratified  his  vengeance;  he  had 
been  successful  in  his  treason,  and  had  acquired 
countless  riches  from  the  ruin  of  his  country.  But 
it  is  not  outward  success  that  constitutes  prosperity. 
The  tree  flourishes  with  fruit  and  foliage  while  blasted 
and  withering  at  the  heart.  Wherever  he  went.  Count 
Julian  read  hatred  in  every  eye.  The  christians  curs- 
exl  him  as  the  cause  of  all  their  woe  ;  the  Moslems  de- 
spised and  distrusted  him  as  a  traitor.  Men  whisper- 
ed together  as  he  approached,  and  then  turned  away 
in  scorn  ;  and  mothers  snatched  away  their  children 
with  horror  if  he  offered  to  caress  them.  He  with- 
ered under  the  execration  of  his  fellow-men,  and, 
last,  and  worst  of  all,  he  began  to  loathe  himself. 
He  tried  in  vain  to  persuade  himself  that  he  had  but 
taken  a  justifiable  vengeance ;  he  felt  that  no  per- 
sonal wrong  can  justify  the  crime  of  treason  to  one's 
country. 

For  a  time,  he  sought  in  luxurious  indulgence  to 
soothe  or  forget  the  miseries  of  the  mind.  He  as- 
sembled round  him  every  pleasure  and  gratification 
that  boundless  wealth  could  purchase,  but  all  in  vain. 
He  had  no  relish  for  the  dainties  of  his  board;  music 
had  no  charm  wherewith  to  lull  his  soul,  and  re- 


morse drove  slumber  from  his  pillow.  He  sent  to 
Ceuta  for  his  wife  Frandina,  his  daughter  Florinda, 
and  his  youthful  son  Al?.rbot ;  hoping  in  the  bosom 
of  his  family  to  find  that  sympathy  and  kindness 
which  he  could  no  longer  meet  with  in  the  world. 
Their  presence,  however,  brought  him  no  alleviation. 
Florinda,  the  daughter  of  liis  heart,  for  whose  sake 
he  bad  undertaken  this  signal  vengeance,  was  sink- 
ing a  victim  to  its  effects.  Wherever  she  went,  she 
found  herself  a  bye-word  of  shame  and  reproach. 
The  outrage  she  had  suffered  was  imputed  to  her  as 
wantonness,  and  her  calamity  was  magnified  into  a 
crime.  The  christians  never  mentioned  her  name 
without  a  curse,  and  the  Moslems,  the  gainers  by  her 
misfortune,  spake  of  her  only  by  the  appellation  of 
Cava,  the  vilest  epithet  they  could  apply  to  woman. 

But  the  opprobrium  of  the  world  was  nothing  to 
the  upbraiding  of  her  own  heart.  She  charged  her- 
self with  all  the  miseries  of  these  disastrous  wars  ; 
the  deaths  of  so  many  gallant  cavaliers  ;  the  con- 
quest and  perdition  of  her  country.  The  anguish  of 
her  mind  preyed  upon  the  beauty  of  her  person. 
Her  eye,  once  soft  and  tender  in  its  expression,  be- 
came wild  and  haggard  ;  her  cheek  lost  its  bloom, 
and  became  hollow  and  pallid,  and  at  times  there 
was  desperation  in  her  words.  When  her  father 
sought  to  embrace  her  she  withdrew  with  shudder- 
ing from  his  arms,  for  she  thought  of  his  treason 
and  the  ruin  it  had  brought  upon  Spain.  Her 
wretchedness  increased  after  her  return  to  her  native 
country,  until  it  rose  to  a  degree  of  frenzy.  One 
day  when  she  was  walking  with  her  parents  in  the 
garden  of  their  palace,  she  entered  a  tower,  and, 
having  barred  the  door,  ascended  to  the  battlements. 
From  thence  she  called  to  them  in  piercing  accents, 
expressive  of  her  insupportable  anguish  a:-'l  desper- 
ate determination.  "  Let  this  city,"  said  she,  •'  be 
henceforth  called  Malacca,  in  memorial  of  the  most 
wretched  of  women,  who  therein  put  an  end  to  her 
days."  So  saying,  she  threw  herself  headlong  from 
the  tower  and  was  dashed  to  pieces.  The  city,  adds 
the  ancient  chronicler,  received  the  name  thus  given 
it,  though  afterwards  softened  to  Malaga,  which  it 
still  retains  in  memory  of  the  tragical  end  of  Florinda. 

The  Countess  Frandina  abandoned  this  scene  of 
woe,  and  returned  to  Ceuta,  accompanied  by  her  in- 
fant son.  She  took  with  her  the  remains  of  her  un- 
fortunate daughter,  and  gave  them  honourable  sep- 
ulture in  a  mausoleum  of  the  chapel  belonging  to 
the  citadel.  Count  Julian  departed  for  Carthagena, 
where  he  remained  plunged  in  horror  at  this  doleful 
event. 

About  this  time,  the  cruel  Suleiman,  having  de- 
stroyed the  family  of  Muza,  had  sent  an  Arab  gen- 
eral, named  Alahor,  to  succeed  Abdalasis  as  emir  or 
governor  of  Spain.  The  new  emir  was  of  a  cruel 
and  suspicious  nature,  and  commenced  his  sway 
with  a  stern  severity  that  soon  made  those  under  his 
command  look  back  with  regret  to  the  easy  rule  of 
Abdalasis.  He  regarded  with  an  eye  of  distrust  the 
renegado  christians  who  had  aided  in  the  conquest, 
and  who  bore  arms  in  the  service  of  the  Moslems  ; 
but  his  deepest  suspicions  fell  upon  Count  Julian. 
"  He  has  been  a  traitor  to  his  own  countrymen," 
said  he,  "  how  can  we  be  sure  that  he  will  not  prove 
traitor  to  us?  " 

A  sudden  insurrection  of  the  christians  who  had 
taken  refuge  in  the  Asturian  mountains,  quickened 
his  suspicions,  and  inspired  him  with  fears  of  some 
dangerous  conspiracy  against  his  power.  In  the 
height  of  his  anxiety,  he  bethought  him  of  a;i  Ara- 
bian sage  named  Yuza,  who  had  accompanied  him 
from  Africa.  This  son  of  science  was  withered  in 
form,  and  looked  as  if  he  had  outhved  the  usual 
term  of  mortal  life.    In  the  course  of  his  studies  and 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


387 


travels  in  the  east,  he  had  collected  the  knowledge 
and  experience  of  ages ;  being  skilled  in  astrology, 
and,  it  is  said,  in  necromancy,  and  possessing  the 
marvellous  gift  of  prophecy  or  divination.  To  this 
expounder  of  mysteries  Alahor  applied  to  learn 
whether  any  secret  treason  menaced  his  safety. 

The  astrologer  listened  with  deep  attention,  and 
overwhelming  brow,  to  all  the  surmises  and  suspi- 
cions of  the  emir,  then  shut  himself  up  to  consult 
his  books  and  commune  with  those  supernatural  in- 
telligences subservient  to  his  wisdom.  At  an  ap- 
pointed hour  the  emir  sought  him  in  his  cell.  It  was 
filled  with  the  smoke  of  perfumes ;  squares  and  cir- 
cles and  various  diagrams  were  described  upon  the 
floor,  and  the  astrologer  was  poring  over  a  scroll  of 
parchment,  covered  with  cabalistic  characters.  He 
received  Alahor  with  a  gloomy  and  sinister  aspect ; 
pretending  to  have  discovered  fearful  portents  in  the 
heavens,  and  to  have  had  strange  dreams  and  mys- 
tic visions. 

"  O  emir,"  said  he,  "  be  on  your  guard  !  treason 
is  around  you  and  in  your  path  ;  your  life  is  in  peril. 
Beware  of  Count  Julian  and  his  family." 

"Enough,"  said  the  emir.  "They  shall  all  die  ! 
Parents  and  children — all  shall  die  ! " 

He  forthwith  sent  a  summons  to  Count  Julian  to 
attend  him  in  Cordova.  The  messenger  found  him 
plunged  in  affliction  for  the  recent  death  of  his 
daughter.  The  count  excused  himself,  on  account 
of  this  misfortune,  from  obeying  the  commands  of 
the  emir  in  person,  but  sent  several  of  his  adherents. 
His  hesitation,  and  the  circumstance  of  his  having 
sent  his  family  across  the  straits  to  Africa,  were 
construed  by  the  jealous  mind  of  the  emir  into  proofs 
of  guilt.  He  no  longer  doubted  his  being  concern- 
ed in  the  recent  insurrections,  and  that  he  had  sent 
his  family  away,  preparatory  to  an  attempt,  by  force 
of  arms,  to  sul)vert  the  Moslem  domination.  In  his 
fury  he  put  to  death  Siseburto  and  Evan,  the  neph- 
ews of  Bishop  Oppas,  and  sons  of  the  former  king, 
Witiza,  suspecting'  them  of  taking  part  in  the  trea- 
son. Thus  did  they  expiate  their  treachery  to  their 
country  in  the  fatal  battle  of  the  Guadalete. 

Alahor  next  hastened  to  Carthagena  to  seize  upon 
Count  Julian.  So  rapid  were  his  movements  that 
the  count  had  barely  time  to  escape  with  fifteen 
cavaliers,  with  whom  he  took  refuge  in  the  strong 
castle  of  Marcuello,  among  the  mountains  of  Arra- 
gon.  The  emir,  enraged  to  be  disappointed  of  his 
prey,  embarked  at  Carthagena  and  crossed  the 
straits  to  Ceuta,  to  make  captives  of  the  Countess 
Frandina  and  her  son. 

The  old  chronicle  from  which  we  take  this  part  of 
our  legend,  presents  a  gloomy  picture  of  the  count- 
ess in  the  stern  fortress  to  which  she  had  fled  for 
refuge ;  a  picture  heightened  by  supernatural  hor- 
rors. These  latter,  the  sagacious  reader  will  admit 
or  reject  according  to  the  measure  of  his  faith  and 
judgment ;  always  remembering  that  in  dark  and 
eventful  times,  like  those  in  question,  involving  the 
destinies  of  nations,  the  downfall  of  kingdoms,  and 
the  crimes  of  rulers  and  mighty  men,  the  hand  of 
fate  is  sometin)es  strangely  visible,  and  confounds 
the  wisdom  of  the  worldly  wise,  by  intimations  and 
portents  above  the  ordinary  course  of  things.  With 
this  proviso,  we  make  no  scruple  to  follow  the  ven- 
erable chronicler  in  his  narration. 

Now  so  it  happened,  that  the  countess  of  Frandina 
was  seated  late  at  night  in  her  chamber  in  the  cita- 
del of  Ceuta,  which  stands  on  a  lofty  rock,  overlook- 
ing the  sea.  She  was  revolving  in  gloomy  thought 
the  late  disasters  of  her  family,  when  she  heard  a 
mournful  noise  hke  that  of  the  sea  breeze  moaning 
about  the  castle  walls.  Raising  her  eyes,  she  be- 
held her  brother,  the  Bishop  Oppas,  at  the  entrance 
22 


of  the  chamber.  She  advanced  to  embrace  him,  but 
he  forbade  her  with  a  motion  of  his  hand,  and  she 
observed  that  he  was  ghastly  pale,  and  that  his  eyes 
glared  as  with  lambent  flames. 

"Touch  me  not,  sister,"  said  he,  with  a  mournful 
voice,  "  lest  thou  be  consumed  by  the  fire  which 
rages  within  me.  Guard  well  thy  son,  for  blood- 
hounds are  upon  his  track.  His  innocence  might 
have  secured  him  the  protection  of  heaven,  but  our 
crimes  have  involved  him  in  our  common  ruin."  He 
ceased  to  speak  and  was  no  longer  to  be  seen.  His 
coming  and  going  were  alike  without  noise,  and  the 
door  of  the  chamber  remained  fast  bolted. 

On  the  following  morning  a  messenger  arrived 
with  tidings  that  the  Bishop  Oppas  had  been  made 
prisoner  in  battle  by  the  insurgent  christians  of  the 
Asturias,  and  had  died  in  fetters  in  a  tower  of  the 
mountains.  The  same  messenger  brought  word 
that  the  Emir  Alahor  had  put  to  death  several  of  the 
friends  of  Count  Julian  ;  had  obliged  him  to  fly  for 
his  life  to  a  castle  in  Arragon,  and  was  embarking 
with  a  formidable  force  for  Ceuta. 

The  Countess  Frandina,  as  has  already  been 
shown,  was  of  courageous  heart,  and  danger  made 
her  desperate.  There  were  fifty  Moorish  soldiers  in 
the  garrison ;  she  feared  that  they  would  prove 
treacherous,  and  take  part  with  their  countrymen. 
Summoning  her  officers,  therefore,  she  informed 
them  of  their  danger,  and  commanded  them  to  put 
those  Moors  to  death.  The  guards  sallied  forth  to 
obey  her  orders.  Thirty-five  of  the  Moors  were  in 
the  great  square,  unsuspicious  of  any  danger,  when 
they  were  severally  singled  out  by  their  executioners, 
and  at  a  concerted  signal,  killed  on  the  spot.  The  re- 
maining fifteen  took  refuge  in  a  tower.  They  saw  the 
armada  of  the  emir  at  a  distance,  and  hoped  to  be 
able  to  hold  out  until  its  arrival.  The  soldiers  of 
the  countess  saw  it  also,  and  made  extraordinary 
efforts  to  destroy  these  internal  enemies  before  they 
should  be  attacked  from  without.  They  made  re- 
peated attempts  to  storm  the  tower,  but  were  as 
often  repulsed  with  severe  loss.  They  then  under- 
mined it,  supporting  its  foundations  by  stanchions 
of  wood.  To  these  they  set  fire  and  withdrew  to  a 
distance,  keeping  up  a  constant  shower  of  missiles 
to  prevent  the  Moors  from  sallying  forth  to  extin- 
guish the  flames.  The  stanchions  were  rapidly  con- 
sumed, and  when  they  gave  way  the  tower  fell  to  the 
ground.  Some  of  the  Moors  were  crushed  among 
the  ruins ;  others  were  flung  to  a  distance  and 
dashed  among  the  rocks ;  those  who  survived  were 
instantly  put  to  the  sword. 

The  fleet  of  the  emir  arrived  at  Ceuta  about  the 
hour  of  vespers.  He  landed,  but  found  the  gates 
closed  against  him.  The  countess  herself  spoke  to 
him  from  a  tower,  and  set  him  at  defiance.  The 
emir  immediately  laid  siege  to  the  city.  He  con- 
sulted the  astrologer  Yuza,  who  told  him  that  for 
seven  days  his  star  would  have  the  ascendant  over 
that  of  the  youth  Alarbot,  but  after  that  time  the 
youth  would  be  safe  from  his  power,  and  would 
effect  his  ruin. 

Alahor  immediately  ordered  the  city  to  be  assailed 
on  every  side,  and  at  length  carried  it  by  storm. 
The  countess  took  refuge  with  her  forces  in  the  cita- 
del and  made  desperate  defence,  but  the  walls  were 
sapped  and  mined,  and  she  saw  that  all  resistance 
would  soon  be  unavaihng.  Her  only  thoughts  now 
were  to  conceal  her  child.  "  Surely,"  said  she,  "  they 
will  not  think  of  seeking  him  among  the  dead."  She 
led  him  therefore  into  the  dark  and  dismal  chapel. 
"  Thou  art  not  afraid  to  be  alone  in  this  darkness, 
my  child,"  said  she. 

"  No,  mother,"  replied  the  boy,  "  darkness  gives 
silence  and  sleep."    She  conducted  him  to  the  tomb 


333 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ofFlorinda.  "Fearest  thou  the  dead,  my  child?" 
"  No,  mother,  the  dead  can  do  no  harm,  and  what 
should  1  fear  from  my  sister?" 

The  countess  opened  the  sepulchre.  "  Listen,  my 
son,"  said  she.  "  There  are  fierce  and  cruel  people 
who  have  come  hither  to  murder  thee.  Stay  here  in 
company  with  thy  sister,  and  be  quiet  as  thou  dost 
value  thy  life  !  "  The  boy,  who  was  of  a  courageous 
nature,  did  as  he  was  bidden,  and  remained  there 
all  that  day,  and  all  the  night,  and  the  next  day  until 
the  third  hour. 

In  the  meantime  the  walls  of  the  citadel  were 
sapped,  the  troops  of  the  emir  poured  in  at  the 
breach,  and  a  great  part  of  the  garrison  was  put  to 
the  sword.  The  countess  was  taken  prisoner  and 
brought  before  the  emir.  She  appeared  in  his  pres- 
ence with  a  haughty  demeanour,  as  if  she  had  been 
a  queen  receiving  homage  ;  but  when  he  demanded 
her  son,  she  faltered  and  turned  pale  and  replied, 
"  My  son  is  with  the  dead." 

"  Countess,"  said  the  emir,  "  I  am  not  to  be  de- 
ceived ;  tell  me  where  you  have  concealed  the  boy, 
or  tortures  shall  wring  from  you  the  secret." 

"  Emir,"  replied  the  countess,  "  may  the  greatest 
torments  be  my  portion,  both  here  and  hereafter,  if 
what  I  speak  be  not  the  truth.  My  darling  child 
lies  buried  with  the  dead." 

The  emir  was  confounded  by  the  solemnity  of  her 
words;  but  the  withered  astrologer  Yuza,  who 
stood  by  his  side  regarding  the  countess  from  be- 
neath his  bushed  eyebrows,  perceived  trouble  in  her 
countenance  and  equivocation  in  her  words.  "  Leave 
this  matter  to  me,"  whispered  he  to  Alahor,  "  1  will 
produce  the  child." 

He  ordered  strict  search  to  be  made  by  the  sol- 
diery, and  he  obliged  the  countess  to  be  always 
present.  When  they  came  to  the  chapel,  her  cheek 
turned  pale  and  her  lip  quivered.  "  This,"  said  the 
subtile  astrologer,  "  is  the  place  of  concealment !  " 

The  search  throughout  the  chapel,  however,  was 
equally  vain,  and  the  soldiers  were  about  to  depart, 
when  Yuza  remarked  a  slight  gleam  of  joy  in  the  eye 
of  the  countess.  "  We  are  leaving  our  prey  behind," 
thought  he,  "  the  countess  is  exulting." 

He  now  called  to  mind  the  words  of  her  assevera- 
tion, that  her  child  was  with  the  dead.  Turnmg 
suddenly  to  the  soldiers  he  ordered  them  to  search 
the  sepulchres.  "  If  you  find  him  not,"  said  he, 
"  drag  forth  the  bones  of  that  wanton  Cava,  that 
they  may  be  burnt,  and  the  ashes  scattered  to  the 
winds." 

The  soldiers  searched  among  the  tombs  and  found 
that  of  Florinda  partly  open.  Within  lay  the  boy  in 
the  sound  sleep  of  childhood,  and  one  of  the  soldiers 
took  him  gently  in  his  arms  to  bear  him  to  the  emir. 

When  the  countess  beheld  that  her  child  was  dis- 
covered, she  rushed  into  the  presence  of  Alahor, 
and,  forgetting  all  her  pride,  threw  herself  upon  her 
knees  before  him. 

"  Mercy  !  mercy  !  "  cried  she  in  piercing  accents, 
"  mercy  on  my  son — my  only  child  !  O  emir  !  listen 
to  a  mother's  prayer,  and  my  lips  shall  kiss  thy  feet. 
As  thou  art  merciful  to  him,  so  may  the  most  high 
God  have  mercy  upon  thee,  and  heap  blessings  on 
thy  head." 

"  Bear  that  frantic  woman  hence,"  said  the  emir, 
"  but  guard  her  well." 

The  countess  was  dragged  away  by  the  soldien' 
without  regard  to  her  struggles  and  her  cries,  and 
confined  in  a  dungeon  of  the  citadel. 

The  child  was  now  brought  to  the  emir.  He  had 
been  awakened  by  the  tumult,  but  gazed  fearlessly 
on  the  stern  countenances  of  the  soldiers.  Had  the 
heart  of  the  emir  been  capable  of  pity,  it  would  have 
been   touched   by  the   tender  youth   and  innocent 


beauty  of  the  child  ;  but  his  heart  was  as  the  nether 
millstone,  and  he  was  bent  upon  the  destruction  of 
the  whole  family  of  Julian.  Calling  to  him  the  as- 
trologer, he  gave  the  child  into  his  charge  with  a 
secret  command.  The  withered  son  of  the  desert 
took  the  boy  by  the  hand,  and  led  him  up  the  wind- 
ing staircase  of  a  tower.  When  they  reached  the 
summit  Yuza  placed  him  on  the  battlements. 

"  Cling  not  to  me,  my  child,"  said  he,  "  there  is 
no  danger."  "Father,  I  fear  not,"  said  the  un- 
daunted boy,  "yet  it  is  a  wondrous  height !  " 

The  child  looked  around  with  delighted  eyes. 
The  breeze  blew  his  curling  locks  from  about  his 
face,  and  his  cheek  glowed  at  the  boundless  pros- 
pect ;  for  the  tower  was  reared  upon  that  lofty 
promontory  on  which  Hercules  founded  one  of  his 
pillars.  The  surges  of  the  sea  were  heard  far  below, 
beating  upon  the  rocks,  the  sea-gull  screamed  and 
wheeled  about  the  foundations  of  the  tower,  and  the 
sails  of  lofty  caraccas  were  as  mere  specks  on  the 
bosom  of  the  deep. 

"  Dost  thou  know  yonder  land  beyond  the  blue 
water?  "  said  Yuza. 

"  It  is  Spain,"  replied  the  boy,  "  it  is  the  land  of 
my  father  and  my  mother." 

"  Then  stretch  forth  thy  hands  and  bless  it,  my 
child,"  said  the  astrologer. 

The  boy  let  go  his  hold  of  the  wall,  and,  as  he 
stretched  forth  his  hands,  the  aged  son  of  Ishmael, 
exerting  all  the  strength  of  his  withered  limbs,  sud- 
denly pushed  him  over  the  battlements.  He  fell 
headlong  from  the  top  of  that  tall  tower,  and  not  a 
bone  in  his  tender  frame  but  was  crushed  ujx>n  the 
rocks  beneath. 

Alahor  came  to  the  foot  of  the  winding  stairs. 

"  Is  the  boy  safe  ?  "  cried  he. 

"He  is  safe,"  replied  Yuza;  "come  and  behold 
the  truth  with  thine  own  eyes." 

The  emir  ascended  the  tower  and  looked  over  the 
battlements,  and  beheld  the  body  of  the  child,  a 
shapeless  mass,  on  the  rocks  far  below,  and  the  sea- 
gulls hovering  about  ;  and  he  gave  orders  that  it 
should  be  thrown  into  the  sea,  which  was  done. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  countess  was  led 
forth  from  her  dungeon  into  the  public  square.  She 
knew  of  the  death  of  her  child,  and  that  her  own 
death  was  at  hand,  but  she  neither  wept  nor  suppli- 
cated. Her  hair  was  dishevelled,  her  eyes  were 
haggard  with  watching,  and  her  cheek  was  as  the 
monumental  stone,  but  there  were  the  remains  of 
commanding  beauty  in  her  countenance,  and  the 
majesty  of  her  presence  awed  even  the  rabble  into 
respect. 

A  multitude  of  Christian  prisoners  were  then 
brought  forth  ;  and  Alahor  cried  out — "  Behold  the 
wife  of  Count  Julian  ;  behold  one  of  that  traitorous 
family  which  has  brought  ruin  upon  yourselves  and 
upon  your  country."  And  he  ordered  that  they 
should  stone  her  to  death.  But  the  christians  drew 
back  with  horror  from  the  deed,  and  said — "  In  the 
hand  of  God  is  vengeance,  let  not  her  blood  be  upon 
our  heads."  Upon  this  the  emir  swore  with  horrid 
imprecations  that  whoever  of  the  captives  refused 
should  himself  be  stoned  to  death.  So  the  cruel  or- 
der was  executed,  and  the  Countess  Frandina  per- 
ished by  the  hands  of  her  countrymen.  Having  thus 
accomplished  his  barbarous  errand,  the  emir  em- 
barked for  Spain,  and  ordered  the  citadel  of  Ceuta 
to  be  set  on  fire,  and  crossed  the  straits  at  night  by 
the  light  of  its  towering  flames. 

The  death  of  Count  Julian,  which  took  place  not 
long  after,  closed  the  tragic  story  of  his  family.  How 
he  died  remains  involved  in  doubt.  Some  assert 
that  the  cruel  Alahor  pursued  him  to  his  retreat 
among  the  mountains,  and,  having  taken  him  pris- 


LEGENDS   OF   THE   CONQUEST   OF   SPAIN. 


339 


oner,  beheaded  him  ;  others  that  the  Moors  confined 
him  in  a  dungeon,  and  put  an  end  to  his  life  with 
lingering  torments ;  while  others  affirm  that  the 
tower  of  the  castle  of  Marcuello,  near  Huesca,  in 
Arragon,  in  which  he  took  refuge,  fell  on  him  and 
crushed  him  to  pieces.  All  agree  that  his  latter  end 
was  miserable  in  the  extreme,  and  his  death  violent. 
The  curse  of  heaven,  which  had  thus  pursued  him 
to  the  grave,  was  extended  to  the  very  place  which 
had  given  him  shelter ;  for  we  are  told  that  the  cas- 
tle is  no  longer  inhabited  on  account  of  the  strange 
and  horrible  noises  that  are  heard  in  it;  and  that 
visions  of  armed  men  are  seen  above  it  in  the  air ; 
which  are  supposed  to  be  the  troubled  spirits  of  the 
apostate  christians  who  favoured  the  cause  of  the 
traitor. 

In  aftertimes  a  stone  sepulchre  was  shown,  outside 
of  the  chapel  of  the  castle,  as  the  tomb  of  Count 
Julian  ;  but  the  traveller  and  the  pilgrim  avoided  it, 
or  bestowed  upon  it  a  malediction  ;  and  the  name  of 
Julian  has  remained  a  bye-word  and  a  scorn  in  the 
land  for  the  warning  of  all  generations.  Such  ever 
be  the  lot  of  him  who  betrays  his  country. 

Here  end  the  legends  of  the  conquest  of  Spain. 

Wriilen  in  the  Alhambra,  June  lo,  1829. 


NOTE  TO  THE  PRECEDING  LEGEND. 


El  licenciado  Ardevines  (Lib.  2.  c.  §.)  dize  que 
dichos  Duendos  caseros,  o  los  del  aire,  hazen  apar- 


acer  exercitos  y  peleas,  como  lo  que  se  cuenta  por 
tradicion  (y  aun  algunos  personas  lo  deponen  como 
testigos  de  vista)  de  la  torre  y  castello  de  Marcuello, 
lugar  al  pie  de  las  montaiias  de  Aragon  (aora  inhab- 
itable, por  las  grandes  y  espantables  ruidos,  que  en  el 
se  oyen)  donde  se  retraxo  el  Conde  Don  Julian, 
causa  de  la  perdicion  de  Espaiia ;  sobre  el  qual  Cas- 
tillo, deze  se  ven  en  el  aire  ciertas  visiones,  como  de 
soldados,  que  el  vulgo  dize  son  los  cavalleros  y  gente 
que  le  favorecian. 

Vide  "  el  Ente  Dislucidado,  por  Fray  Antonio  de 
Fuentalapeua  capuchin.  Seccion  3.  Subseccion  5. 
Instancia  8.     Num.  644." 

As  readers  unversed  in  the  Spanish  language  may 
wish  to  know  the  testimony  of  the  worthy  and  dis- 
creet capuchin  friar,  Antonio  de  Fuentalapeua,  we 
subjoin  a  translation  of  it. 

"The  licentiate  Ardevines,  (Book  11.,  chap.  8,) 
says,  that  the  said  house-fairies,  (or  familiar  spirits,) 
or  those  of  the  air,  cause  the  apparitions  of  armies 
and  battles  ;  such  as  those  which  are  related  in  tra- 
dition, (and  some  persons  even  depose  to  the  truth 
of  them  as  eye-witnesses)  of  the  town  and  castle  of 
Marcuello,  a  fortress  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains  of 
Arragon,  (at  present  uninhabitable,  on  account  of 
the  great  and  frightful  noises  heard  in  it)  the  place 
of  retreat  of  Count  Don  Julian,  the  cause  of  the  per- 
dition of  Spain.  It  is  said  that  certain  apparitions 
of  soldiers  are  seen  in  the  air,  which  the  vulgar  say 
are  those  of  the  courtiers  and  the  people  who  aided 
him." 


Tales  of  a  Traveller. 


PART     FIRST. 


STRANGE  STORIES  BY  A  NERVOUS  GENTLEMAN. 

I'll  tell  you  more ;  there  was  a  fish  taken, 

A  monstrous  fish,  with  a  sword  by's  side,  a  long  sword, 

A  pike  in's  neck,  and  a  gun  in's  nose,  a  huge  gun. 

And  letters  of  mart  in's  mouth,  from  the  Duke  of  Florence. 

Clcantkes.    This  is  a  monstrous  lie. 

Tony.     I  do  confess  it. 
Do  you  think  I'd  tell  you  truths  ? 

Fletcher's  Wife  for  a  Month. 


[The  following  adventures  were  related  to  me  by 
the  same  nervous  gentleman  who  told  me  the  romantic 
tale  of  The  Stout  Gentleman,  published  in  Brace- 
bridge  Hall. 

It  is  very  singular,  that  although  I  expressly  stated 
that  story  to  have  been  told  to  me,  and  described  the 
very  person  who  told  it,  still  it  has  been  received  as  an 
adventure  that  happened  to  myself.  Now,  I  protest  I 
never  met  with  any  adventure  of  the  kind.  I  should 
not  have  grieved  at  this,  had  it  not  been  intimated  by 
the  author  of  Waverley,  in  an  introduction  to  his  ro- 
mance of  Peveril  of  the  Peak,  that  he  was  himself  the 
Stout  Gentleman  alluded  to.  I  have  ever  since  been 
importuned  by  letters  and  questions  from  gentlemen, 
and  particularly  from  ladies  without  number,  touching 
what  I  had  seen  of  the  great  unknown. 

Now,  all  this  is  extremely  tantalizing.  It  is  like  be- 
ing congratulated  on  the  high  prize  when  one  has  drawn 
a  blank  ;  for  I  have  just  as  great  a  desire  as  any  one  of 
the  public  to  penetrate  the  mystery  of  that  very  singu- 
lar personage,  whose  voice  fills  every  corner  of  the 
world,  without  any  one  being  able  to  tell  from  whence 
it  comes.  He  who  keeps  up  such  a  wonderful  and 
whimsical  incognito  :  whom  nobody  knows,  and  yet 
whom  every  body  thinks  he  can  swear  to. 

My  friend,  the  nervous  gentleman,  also,  who  is  a 
man  of  very  shy,  retired  habits,  complains  that  he  has 
been  excessively  annoyed  in  consequence  of  its  getting 
about  in  his  neighbourhood  that  he  is  the  fortunate 
personage.  Insomuch,  that  he  has  become  a  charac- 
ter of  considerable  notoriety  in  two  or  three  country 
towns  ;  and  has  been  repeatedly  teased  to  exhibit  him- 
self at  blue-stocking  parties,  for  no  other  reason  than 
that  of  being  "  the  gentleman  who  has  had  a  glimpse 
of  the  author  of  Waverley." 

Indeed,  the  poor  man  has  grown  ten  times  as  nerv- 
ous as  ever,  since  he  has  discovered,  on  such  good 
authority,  who  the  stout  gentleman  was  ;  and  will 
never  forgive  himself  for  not  having  made  a  more 
resolute  effort  to  get  a  full  sight  of  him.  He  has  anx- 
iously endeavoured  to  call  up  a  recollection  of  what 
he  saw  of  that  portly  personage  ;  and  has  ever  since 
kept  a  curious  eye  on  all  gentlemen  of  more  than  or- 
dinary dimensions,  whom  he  has  seen  getting  into 
stage  coaches.  All  in  vain  !  The  features  he  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  seem  common  to  the  whole  race 
of  stout  gentlemen  ;  and  the  great  unknown  remains 
as  great  an  unknown  as  ever.] 


A  HUNTING  DINNER. 


I  WAS  once  at  a  hunting  dinner,  given  by  a  worthy 
fox-hunting  old  Baronet,  who  kept  Bachelor's  Hall 
in  jovial  style,  in  an  ancient  rook-haunted  family 
mansion,  in  one  of  the  middle  counties.  He  had 
been  a  devoted  admirer  of  the  fair  sex  in  his  young 
days  ;  but  having  travelled  much,  studied  the  sex  in 
various  countries  with  distinguished  success,  and  re- 
turned home  profoundly  instructed,  as  he  supposed, 
in  the  ways  of  woman,  and  a  perfect  master  of  the 
art  of  pleasing,  he  had  the  mortification  of  being 
jilted  by  a  little  boarding  school  girl,  who  was 
scarcely  versed  in  the  accidence  of  love. 

The  Baronet  was  completely  overcome  by  such  an 
incredible  defeat ;  retired  from  the  world  in  disgust, 
put  himself  under  the  government  of  his  housekeeper, 
and  took  to  fox-hunting  hke  a  perfect  Jehu.  What- 
ever poets  mav  say  to  the  contrary,  a  man  will  grow 
out  of  love  as  he  grows  old ;  and  a  pack  of  fox 
hounds  may  chase  out  of  his  heart  even  the  memory 
of  a  boarding  school  goddess.  The  Baronet  was 
when  I  saw  him  as  merry  and  mellow  an  old  bachelor 
as  ever  followed  a  hound  ;  and  the  love  he  had  once 
felt  for  one  woman  had  spread  itself  over  the  whole 
sex  ;  so  that  there  was  not  a  pretty  face  in  the  whole 
country  round,  but  came  in  for  a  share. 

The  dinner  was  prolonged  till  a  late  hour;  for  our 
host  having  no  ladies  in  his  household  to  summon 
us  to  the  drawing  room,  the  bottle  maintained  its 
true  bachelor  sway,  unrivalled  by  its  potent  enemy 
the  tea-kettle.  The  old  hall  in  which  we  dined 
echoed  to  bursts  of  robustious  fox-hunting  merri- 
ment, that  made  the  ancient  antlers  shake  on  the 
walls.  By  degrees,  however,  the  wine  and  wassail 
of  mine  host  began  to  operate  upon  bodies  al- 
ready a  little  jaded  by  the  chase.  The  choice  spirits 
that  flaihed  up  at  the  beginning  of  the  dinner,  spark- 
led for  a  time,  then  gradually  went  out  one  after  an- 
other, or  only  emitted  now  and  then  a  faint  gleam 
from  the  socket.  Some  of  the  briskest  talkers,  who 
had  given  tongue  so  bravely  at  the  first  burst,  lell 
fast  asleep ;  and  none  kept  on  their  way  but  certain 
of  those  long-winded  prosers,  who,  like  short-legged 
hounds,  worry  on  unnoticed  at  the  bottom  of  con- 
versation, but  are  sure  to  be  in  at  the  death.  Even 
these  at  length  subsided  into  silence  ;  and  scarcely 
any  thing  was  heard  but  the  nasal  communications 
of  two  or  three  veteran  masticators,  who,  having 

(341) 


342 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


been  silent  while  awake,  were  indemnifying  the  com- 
pany in  their  sleep. 

At  length  the  announcement  of  tea  and  coffee  in 
the  cedar  parlour  roused  all  hands  from  this  tempo- 
rary torpor.  Every  one  awoke  "marvellously  reno- 
vated, and  while  sipping  the  refreshing  beverage  out 
of  the  Baronet's  old-fashioned  hereditary  china,  be- 
gan to  think  of  departing  for  their  several  homes. 
But  here  a  sudden  difficulty  arose.  While  we  had 
been  prolonging  our  repast,  a  heavy  winter  storm 
had  set  in,  with  snow,  rain,  and  sleet,  driven  by  such 
bitter  blasts  of  wind,  that  they  threatened  to  pene- 
trate to  the  very  bone. 

"  It's  all  in  vain,"  said  our  hospitable  host,  "to 
think  of  putting  one's  head  out  of  doors  in  such 
weather.  So,  gentlemen,  I  hold  you  my  guests  for 
this  night  at  least,  and  will  have  your  quarters  pre- 
pared accordingly." 

The  unruly  weather,  which  became  more  and 
more  tempestuous,  rendered  the  hospitable  sugges- 
tion unanswerable.  The  only  question  was,  whether 
such  an  unexpected  accession  of  company,  to  an  al- 
ready crowded  house,  would  not  put  the  housekeeper 
to  her  trumps  to  accommodate  them. 

"  Pshaw,"  cried  mine  host,  "  did  you  ever  know 
of  a  Bachelor's  Hall  that  was  not  elastic,  and  able  to 
accommodate  twice  as  many  as  it  could  hold  ?  "  So 
out  of  a  good-humoured  pique  the  housekeeper  was 
summoned  to  consultation  before  us  all.  The  old 
lady  appeared,  in  her  gala  suit  of  faded  brocade, 
which  rustled  with  flurry  and  agitation,  for  in  spite 
of  mine  host's  bravado,  she  was  a  little  perplexed. 
But  in  a  bachelor's  house,  and  with  bachelor  guests, 
these  matters  are  readily  managed.  There  is  no  lady 
of  the  house  to  stand  upon  squeamish  points  about 
lodging  guests  in  odd  holes  and  corners,  and  expos- 
ing the  shabby  parts  of  the  establishment.  A  bach- 
elor's housekeeper  is  used  to  shifts  and  emergencies. 
After  much  worrying  to  and  fro,  and  divers  consul- 
tations about  the  red  room,  and  the  blue  room,  and 
the  chintz  room,  and  the  damask  room,  and  the  little 
room  with  the  bow  window,  the  matter  was  finally 
arranged. 

When  all  this  was  done,  we  were  once  more  sum- 
moned to  the  standing  rural  amusement  of  eating. 
The  time  that  had  been  consumed  in  dozing  after 
dinner,  and  in  the  refreshment  and  consultation  of 
the  cedar  parlour,  was  sufficient,  in  the  opinion  of 
the  rosy-faced  butler,  to  engender  a  reasonable  appe- 
tite for  supper.  A  slight  repast  had  therefore  been 
tricked  up  from  the  residue  of  dinner,  consisting  of 
cold  sirloin  of  beef;  hashed  venison;  a  devilled  leg 
of  a  turkey  or  so,  and  a  few  other  of  those  light  arti- 
cles taken  by  country  gentlemen  to  ensure  sound 
sleep  and  heavy  snoring. 

The  nap  after  dinner  had  brightened  up  every  one's 
wit  ;  and  a  great  deal  of  excellent  humour  was  ex- 
pended upon  the  perplexities  of  mine  host  and  his 
housekeeper,  by  certain  married  gentlemen  of  the 
company,  who  considered  themselves  privileged  in 
joking  with  a  bachelor's  establishment.  From  this 
the  banter  turned  as  to  what  quarters  each  would 
find,  on  being  thus  suddenly  billeted  in  so  antiquated 
a  mansion. 

"  By  my  soul,"  said  an  Irish  captain  of  dragoons, 
one  of  the  most  merry  and  boisterous  of  the  party — 
"  by  my  soul,  but  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  some 
of  those  good-looking  gentlefolks  that  hang  along 
the  walla,  should  walk  about  the  rooms  of  this  stormy 
night.;  or  if  I  should  find  the  ghost  of  one  of  these 
long-waisted  ladies  turning  into  my  bed  in  mistake 
for  her  grave  in  the  church-yard." 

"  Do  you  believe  in  ghosts,  then  ?  "  said  a  thin, 
hatchet-faced  gentleman,  with  projecting  eyes  like  a 
lobster. 


I  had  remarked  this  last  personage  throughout 
dinner-time  for  one  of  those  incessant  questioners, 
who  seem  to  have  a  craving,  unhealthy  appetite  in 
conversation.  He  never  seemed  satisfied  with  the 
whole  of  a  story ;  never  laughed  when  others  laughed  ; 
but  always  put  the  joke  to  the  question.  He  could 
never  enjoy  the  kernel  of  the  nut,  but  pestered  him- 
self to  get  more  out  of  the  shell. 

"Do  you  believe  in  ghosts,  then  ?  "  said  the  in- 
quisitive gentleman. 

"  Faith,  but  I  do,"  replied  the  jovial  Irishman ; 
"  I  was  brought  up  in  the  fear  and  belief  of  them  ; 
we  had  a  Benshec  in  our  own  family,  honey." 

"  A  Benshee — and  vv'hat's  that  ?  "  cried  the  ques- 
tioner. 

"  Why  an  old  lady  ghost  that  tends  upon  your 
real  Milesian  families,  and  wails  at  their  window  to 
let  them  know  when  some  of  them  are  to  die." 

"  A  mighty  pleasant  piece  of  information,"  cried 
an  elderly  gentleman,  with  a  knowing  look  and  a 
flexible  nose,  to  which  he  could  give  a  whimsical 
twist  when  he  wished  to  be  waggish. 

"  By  my  soul,  but  I'd  have  you  know  it's  a  piece 
of  distinction  to  be  waited  upon  by  a  Benshee.  It's 
a  proof  that  one  has  pure  blood  in  one's  v^ns.  But, 
egad,  now  we're  talking  of  ghosts,  there  never  was 
a  house  or  a  night  better  fitted  than  the  present  for 
a  ghost  adventure.  Faith,  Sir  John,  haven't  you 
such  a  thing  as  a  haunted  chamber  to  put  a  guest 
in?" 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  Baronet,  smiling,  "  I  might 
accommodate  you  even  on  that  point." 

"Oh,  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,  my  jewel.  » 
Some  dark  oaken  room,  with  ugly  wo-begone  por- 
traits that  stare  dismally  at  one,  and  about  which 
the  housekeeper  has  a  power  of  delightful  stories  of 
love  and  murder.  And  then  a  dim  lamp,  a  table 
with  a  rusty  sword  across  it,  and  a  spectre  all  in 
white  to  draw  aside  one's  curtains  at  midnight — " 

"  In  truth,"  said  an  old  gentleman  at  one  end 
of  the  table,  "you  put  me  in  mind  of  an  anec- 
dote—" 

"  Oh,  a  ghost  story  !  a  ghost  story ! "  was  vo- 
ciferated round  the  board,  every  one  edging  his  chair 
a  little  nearer. 

The  attention  of  the  whole  company  was  now 
turned  upon  the  speaker.  He  was  an  old  gentle- 
man, one  side  of  whose  face  was  no  match  for  the 
other.  The  eyelid  drooped  and  hung  down  like  an 
unhinged  window  shutter.  Indeed,  the  whole  side 
of  his  head  was  dilapidated,  and  seemed  like  the 
wing  of  a  house  shut  up  and  haunted.  I'll  warrant 
that  side  was  well  stuffed  with  ghost  stories. 
There  was  a  universal  demand  for  the  tale. 
"  Nay,"  said  the  old  gentleman, "  it's  a  mere  anec- 
dote—and a  very  commonplace  one  ;  but  such  as  it 
is  you  shall  have  it.  It  is  a  story  that  I  once  heard 
my  uncle  tell  when  I  was  a  boy.  But  whether  as 
having  happened  to  himself  or  to  another,  I  cannot 
recollect.  But  no  matter,  it's  very  likely  it  happened 
to  himself,  for  he  was  a  man  very  apt  to  meet  with 
strange  adventures.  I  have  heard  him  tell  of  others 
much  more  singular.  At  any  rate,  we  will  suppose 
it  happened  to  himself." 

"What  kind  of  man  was  your  uncle?"  said  the 
questioning  gentleman. 

"  Why,  he  was  rather  a  dry,  shrewd  kind  of  body ; 
a  great  traveller,  and  fond  of  telling  his  adventures." 
"  Pray,  how  old  might  he  have  been  when  this 
happened  ?  " 

"When  what  happened?"  cried  the  gentleman 
with  the  flexible  nose,  impatiently — "Egad,  you 
have  not  given  any  thing  a  chance  to  happen — 
come,  never  mind  our  untlt's  age  ;  let  us  have  his 
adventures." 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


343 


The  inquisitive  gentleman  being  for  the  moment 
silenced,  the  old  gentleman  with  the  haunted  head 
proceeded. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  UNCLE. 


Many  years  since,  a  long  time  before  the  French 
revolution,  my  uncle  had  passed  several  months  at 
Paris.  The  English  and  French  were  on  better 
terms,  in  those  days,  than  at  present,  and  mingled 
cordially  together  in  society.  The  English  went 
abroad  to  spend  money  then,  and  the  French  were 
always  ready  to  help  them  :  they  go  abroad  to  save 
money  at  present,  and  that  they  can  do  without 
French  assistance.  Perhaps  the  travelling  English 
were  fewer  and  choicer  then,  than  at  present,  when 
the  whole  nation  has  broke  loose,  and  inundated  the 
continent.  At  any  rate,  they  circulated  more  readily 
and  currently  in  foreign  society,  and  my  uncle, 
during  hjs  residence  in  Paris,  made  many  very  inti- 
mate acquaintances  among  the  French  noblesse. 

Some  time  afterwards,  he  was  making  a  journey 
in  the  winter-time,  in  that  part  of  Normandy  called 
the  Pays  de  Caux,  when,  as  evening  was  closing  in, 
he  perceived  the  turrets  of  an  ancient  chateau  rising 
out  of  the  trees  of  its  walled  park,  each  turret  with 
its  high  conical  roof  of  gray  slate,  like  a  candle  with 
an  extinguisher  on  it. 

"  To  whom  does  that  chateau  belong,  friend  ?  " 
cried  my  uncle  to  a  meagre,  but  fiery  postillion,  who, 
with  tremendous  jack  boots  and  cocked  hat,  was 
floundering  on  before  him. 

"  To  Monseigneur  the  Marquis  de ,"  said  the 

postillion,  touching  his  hat,  partly  out  of  respect  to 
my  uncle,  and  partly  out  of  reverence  to  the  noble 
name  pronounced.  My  uncle  recollected  the  Marquis 
for  a  particular  friend  in  Paris,  who  had  often  ex- 
pressed a  wish  to  see  him  at  his  paternal  chateau. 
My  uncle  was  an  old  traveller,  one  that  knew  how 
to  turn  things  to  account.  He  revolved  for  a  few 
moments  in  his  mind  how  agreeable  it  would  be  to 
his  friend  the  Marquis  to  be  surprised  in  this  sociable 
way  by  a  pop  visit ;  and  how  much  more  agreeable 
to  himself  to  get  into  snug  quarters  in  a  chateau, 
and  have  a  relish  of  the  Marquis's  well-known  kitch- 
en, and  a  smack  of  his  superior  champagne  and 
burgundy ;  rather  than  take  up  with  the  miserable 
lodgement,  and  miserable  fare  of  a  country  inn.  In 
a  few  minutes,  therefore,  the  meagre  postillion  was 
cracking  his  whip  like  a  very  devil,  or  like  a  true 
Frenchman,  up  the  long  straight  avenue  that  led  to 
the  chateau. 

You  have  no  doubt  all  seen  French  chateaus,  as 
every  body  travels  in  France  now-a-days.  This  was 
one  of  the  oldest ;  standing  naked  and  alone,  in  the 
midst  of  a  desert  of  gravel  walks  and  cold  stone  ter- 
races ;  with  a  cold-looking  formal  garden,  cut  into 
angles  and  rhomboids;  and  a  cold  leafless  park, 
divided  geometrically  by  straight  alleys  ;  and  two  or 
three  noseless,  cold-looking  statues  without  any  cloth- 
ing ;  and  fountains  spouting  cold  water  enough  to 
make  one's  teeth  chatter.  At  least,  such  was  the 
feeling  they  imparted  on  the  wintry  day  of  my  uncle's 
visit ;  though,  in  hot  summer  weather,  I'll  warrant 
there  was  glare  enough  to  scorch  one's  eyes  out. 

The  smacking  of  the  postillion's  whip,  which  grew 
more  and  more  intense  the  nearer  they  approached, 
frightened  a  flight  of  pigeons  out  of  the  dove-cote, 
and  rooks  out  of  the  roofs  ;  and  finally  a  crew  of 
servants  out  of  the  chateau,  with  the  Marquis  at  their 
head.     He  was  enchanted  to  see  my  uncle ;  for  his 


chateau,  like  the  house  of  our  worthy  host,  had  not 
many  more  guests  at  the  time  than  it  could  accommo- 
date. So  he  kissed  my  uncle  on  each  cheek,  after 
the  French  fashion,  and  ushered  him  into  the  castle. 

The  Marquis  did  the  honours  of  his  house  with  the 
urbanity  of  his  country.  In  fact,  he  was  proud  of 
his  old  family  chateau ;  for  part  of  it  was  extremely 
old.  There  was  a  tower  and  chapel  that  had  been 
built  almost  before  the  memory  of  man  ;  but  the  rest 
was  more  modern  ;  the  castle  having  been  nearly  de- 
molished during  the  wars  of  the  League.  The  Mar- 
quis dwelt  upon  this  event  with  great  satisfaction, 
and  seemed  really  to  entertain  a  grateful  feeling 
towards  Henry  IV.,  for  having  thought  his  paternal 
mansion  worth  battering  down.  He  had  many  sto- 
ries to  tell  of  the  prowess  of  his  ancestors,  and  sev- 
eral skull-caps,  helmets,  and  cross-bows  to  show; 
and  divers  huge  boots  and  buff  jerkins,  that  had  been 
worn  by  the  Leaguers.  Above  all,  there  was  a  two- 
handled  sword,  which  he  could  hardly  wield  ;  but 
which  he  displayed  as  a  proof  that  there  had  been 
giants  in  his  family. 

In  truth,  he  was  but  a  small  descendant  from  such 
great  warriors.  When  you  looked  at  their  bluff 
visages  and  brawny  limbs,  as  depicted  in  their  por- 
traits, and  then  at  the  little  Marquis,  with  his  spindle 
shanks ;  his  sallow  lanthern  visage,  flanked  with  a 
pair  of  powdered  ear-locks,  or  ailes  de  pigeon,  that 
seemed  ready  to  fly  away  with  it ;  you  would  hardly 
believe  him  to  be  of  the  same  race.  But  when  you 
looked  at  the  eyes  that  sparkled  out  like  a  beetle's 
from  each  side  of  his  hooked  nose,  you  saw  at  once 
that  he  inherited  all  the  fiery  spirit  of  his  forefathers. 
In  fact,  a  Frenchman's  spirit  never  exhales,  how- 
ever his  body  way  dwindle.  It  rather  rarifies,  and 
grows  more  inflammable,  as  the  earthy  particles 
diminish  ;  and  I  have  seen  valour  enough  in  a  little 
fiery-hearted  French  dwarf,  to  have  furnished  out  a 
tolerable  giant. 

When  once  the  Marquis,  as  he  was  wont,  put  on 
one  of  the  old  helmets  that  were  stuck  up  in  his  hall ; 
though  his  head  no  more  filled  it  than  a  dry  pea  its 
pease  cod  ;  yet  his  eyes  sparkled  from  the  bottom  of 
the  iron  cavern  with  the  brilliancy  of  carbuncles,  and 
when  he  poised  the  ponderous  two-handled  sword 
of  his  ancestors,  you  would  have  thought  you  saw 
the  doughty  little  David  wielding  the  sword  of  Go- 
liah,  which  was  unto  him  like  a  weaver's  beam. 

However,  gentlemen,  I  am  dwelling  too  long  on 
this  description  of  the  Marquis  and  his  chateau  ;  but 
you  must  excuse  me ;  he  was  an  old  friend  of  my 
uncle's,  and  whenever  my  uncle  told  the  story,  he 
was  always  fond  of  talking  a  great  deal  about  his 
host — Poor  little  Marquis  !  He  was  one  of  that 
handful  of  gallant  courtiers,  who  made  such  a  de-  • 
voted,  but  hopeless  stand  in  the  cause  of  their  sov- 
ereign, in  the  chateau  of  the  Tuilleries,  against  the 
irruption  of  the  mob,  on  the  sad  tenth  of  August. 
He  displayed  the  valour  of  a  preux  French  chevalier 
to  the  last ;  flourished  feebly  his  little  court  sword 
with  a  sa-sa !  in  face  of  a  whole  legion  of  sans- 
citlottes  ;  but  was  pinned  to  the  wall  like  a  butterfly, 
by  the  pike  of  a  poissarde,  and  his  heroic  soul  was 
borne  up  to  heaven  on  his  ailes  de  pigeon. 

But  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  my  story ;  to 
the  point  then  : — -When  the  hour  arrived  for  retiring 
for  the  night,  my  uncle  was  shown  to  his  room,  in  a 
venerable  old  tower.  It  was  the  oldest  part  of  th« 
chateau,  and  had  in  ancient  times  been  the  Donjon 
or  stronghold  ;  of  course  the  chamber  was  none  of 
the  best.  The  Marquis  had  put  him  there,  how- 
ever, because  he  knew  him  to  be  a  traveller  of  taste, 
and  fond  of  antiquities  ;  and  also  because  the  better 
apartments  were  already  occupied.  Indeed,  he  per- 
fectly reconciled  my  uncle  to  his  quarters  by  mention- 


314 


AVORKS    OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ing  the  great  personages  who  had  once  inhabited 
them,  all  of  whom  were  in  some  way  or  other  con- 
nected with  the  family.  If  you  would  take  his  word 
for  it,  John  Baliol,  or,  as  he  called  him,  Jean  de  Bail- 
leul,  had  died  of  chagrin  in  this  very  chamber  on 
hearing  of  the  success  of  his  rival,  Robert  the  Bruce, 
at  the  battle  of  Bannockburn  ;  and  when  he  added 
that  the  Duke  de  Guise  had  slept  in  it  during  the 
wars  of  the  League,  my  uncle  was  fain  to  felicitate 
himself  upon  being  honoured  with  such  distinguished 
quarters. 

The  night  was  shrewd  and  windy,  and  the  cham- 
ber none  of  the  warmest.  An  old,  long-faced,  long- 
bodied  servant  in  quaint  livery,  who  attended  upon 
my  uncle,  threw  down  an  armful  of  wood  beside  the 
fire-place,  gave  a  queer  look  about  the  room,  and 
then  wished  him  bon  repos,  with  a  grimace  and  a 
shrug  that  would  have  been  suspicious  from  any  other 
than  an  old  French  servant.  The  chamber  had  in- 
deed a  wild,  crazy  look,  enough  to  strike  any  one  who 
had  read  romances  with  apprehension  and  forebod- 
ing. The  windows  were  high  and  narrow,  and  had 
once  been  loop-holes,  but  had  been  rudely  enlarged, 
as  well  as  the  extreme  thickness  of  the  walls  would 
permit ;  and  the  ill-fitted  casements  ratded  to  every 
breeze.  You  would  have  thought,  on  a  windy  night, 
some  of  the  old  Leaguers  were  tramping  and  clank- 
ing about  the  apartment  in  their  huge  boots  and 
rattling  spurs.  A  door  which  stood  ajar,  and  like  a 
true  French  door  would  stand  ajar,  in  spite  of  every 
reason  and  effort  to  the  contrary,  opened  upon  a 
long,  dark  corridor,  that  led  the  Lord  knows  whither, 
and  seemed  just  made  for  ghosts  to  air  themselves 
in,  when  they  turned  out  of  their  graves  at  midnight. 
The  wind  would  spring  up  into  a  hoarse  murmur 
through  this  passage,  and  creak  the  door  to  and  fro, 
as  if  son-.i  dubious  ghost  were  balancing  in  its  mind 
whether  to  come  in  or  not.  In  a  word,  it  was  pre- 
cisely the  kind  of  comfortless  apartment  that  a  ghost, 
if  ghost  there  were  in  the  chateau,  would  single  out 
for  its  favourite  lounge. 

My  uncle,  however,  though  a  man  accustomed  to 
meet  with  strange  adventures,  apprehended  none  at 
the  time.  He  made  several  attempts  to  shut  the 
door,  but  in  vain.  Not  that  he  apprehended  any 
thing,  for  he  was  too  old  a  traveller  to  be  daunted 
by  a  wild-looking  apartment ;  but  the  night,  as  I 
have  said,  was  cold  and  gusty,  something  like  the 
present,  and  the  wind  howled  about  the  old  turret, 
])retty  much  as  it  does  round  this  old  mansion  at 
this  moment ;  and  the  breeze  from  the  long  dark 
corridor  came  in  as  damp  and  chilly  as  if  from  a 
dungeon.  My  uncle,  therefore,  since  he  could  not 
close  the  door,  threw  a  quantity  of  wood  on  the  fire, 
which  soon  sent  up  a  flame  in  the  great  wide- 
mouthed  chimney  that  illumined  the  whole  chamber, 
and  made  the  shadow  of  the  tongs  on  the  opposite 
wall,  look  like  a  long-legged  giant.  My  uncle  now 
clambered  on  top  of  the  half  score  of  mattresses 
which  form  a  French  bed,  and  which  stood  in  a 
deep  recess ;  then  tucking  himself  snugly  in,  and 
burying  himself  up  to  the  chin  in  the  bed-clothes, 
he  lay  looking  at  the  fire,  and  listening  to  the  wind, 
and  chuckling  to  think  how  knowingly  he  had  come 
over  his  friend  the  Marquis  for  a  night's  lodgings : 
and  so  he  fell  asleep. 

He  had  not  taken  above  half  of  his  first  nap,  when 
he  was  awakened  by  the  clock  of  the  chateau,  in  the 
turret  over  his  chamber,  which  struck  midnight.  It 
was  just  such  an  old  clock  as  ghosts  are  fond  of.  It 
had  a  deep,  dismal  tone,  and  struck  so  slowly  and 
tediously  that  my  uncle  thought  it  would  never  have 
done.  He  counted  and  counted  till  he  was  confi- 
dent he  counted  thirteen,  and  then  it  stopped. 

The  fire  had  burnt  low,  and  the  blaze  of  the  last 


faggot  was  almost  expiring,  burning  in  small  blue 
flames,  which  now  and  then  lengthened  up  into 
little  white  gleams.  My  uncle  lay  with  his  eyes  half 
closed,  and  his  nightcap  drawn  almost  down  to  his 
nose.  His  fancy  was  already  wandering,  and  began 
to  mingle  up  the  present  scene  with  the  crater  of 
Vesuvius,  the  French  opera,  the  Coliseum  at  Rome, 
Dolly's  chop-house  in  London,  and  all  the  farrago 
of  noted  places  with  which  the  brain  of  a  traveller  is 
crammed — in  a  word,  he  was  just  falling  asleep. 

Suddenly  he  was  aroused  by  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps that  appeared  to  be  slowly  pacing  along  the 
corridor.  My  uncle,  as  I  have  often  heard  him  say 
himself,  was  a  man  not  easily  frightened  ;  so  he  lay 
quiet,  supposing  that  this  might  be  some  other 
guest,  or  some  servant  on  his  way  to  bed.  The 
footsteps,  however,  approached  the  door ;  the  door 
gently  opened ;  whether  of  its  own  accord,  or  whether 
pushed  open,  my  uncle  could  not  distinguish : — a 
figure  all  in  white  glided  in.  It  was  a  female,  tall 
and  stately  in  person,  and  of  a  most  commanding 
air.  Her  dress  was  of  an  ancient  fashion,  ample  in 
volume  and  sweeping  the  floor.  She  walked  up  to 
the  fire-place  without  regarding  my  uncle ;  who 
raised  his  nightcap  with  one  hand,  and  stared  ear- 
nestly at  her.  She  remained  for  some  time  standing 
by  the  fire,  which  flashing  up  at  intervals  cast  blue 
and  white  gleams  of  light  that  enabled  my  uncle  to 
remark  her  appearance  minutely. 

Her  face  was  ghastly  pale,  and  perhaps  rendered 
still  more  so  by  the  blueish  light  of  the  fire.  It  pos- 
sessed beauty,  but  its  beauty  was  saddened  by  care 
and  anxiety.  There  was  the  look  of  one  accus- 
tomed to  trouble,  but  of  one  whom  trouble  could 
not  cast  down  nor  subdue ;  for  there  was  still  the 
predominating  air  of  proud,  unconquerable  resolu- 
tion. Such,  at  least,  was  the  opinion  formed  by  my 
uncle,  and  he  considered  himself  a  great  physiogno- 
mist. 

The  figure  remained,  as  I  said,  for  some  time  Ly 
the  fire,  putting  out  first  one  hand,  then  the  other, 
then  each  foot  alternately,  as  if  warming  itself;  for 
your  ghosts,  if  ghost  it  really  was,  are  apt  to  be 
cold.  My  uncle  furthermore  remarked  that  it  wore 
high-heeled  shoes,  after  an  ancient  fashion,  with 
paste  or  diamond  buckles,  that  sparkled  as  though 
they  were  alive.  At  length  the  figure  turned  gently 
round,  casting  a  glassy  look  about  the  apartment, 
which,  as  it  passed  over  my  uncle,  made  his  blood 
run  cold,  and  chilled  the  very  marrow  in  his  bones. 
It  then  stretched  its  arms  toward  heaven,  clasped 
its  hands,  and  wringing  them  in  a  supplicating  man- 
ner, glided  slowly  out  of  the  room. 

My  uncle  lay  for  some  time  meditating  on  this 
visitation,  for  (as  he  remarked  when  he  told  me  the 
story)  though  a  man  of  firmness,  he  was  also  a  man 
of  reflection,  and  did  not  reject  a  thing  because  it 
was  out  of  the  regular  course  of  events.  However, 
being,  as  I  have  before  said,  a  great  traveller,  and 
accustomed  to  strange  adventures,  he  drew  his 
nightcap  resolutely  over  his  eyes,  turned  his  back  to 
the  door,  hoisted  the  bed-clothes  high  over  his 
shoulders,  and  gradually  fell  asleep. 

How  long  he  slept  he  could  not  say,  when  he  was 
awakened  by  the  voice  of  some  one  at  his  bed-side. 
He  turned  round  and  beheld  the  old  French  servant, 
with  his  ear-locks  in  tight  buckles  on  each  side  of 
a  long, .  lanthorn  face,  on  which  habit  had  deeply 
wrinkled  an  everlasting  smile.  He  made  a  thousand 
grimaces  and  asked  a  thousand  pardons  for  disturb- 
ing Monsieur,  but  the  morning  was  considerably 
advanced.  While  my  uncle  was  dressing,  he  called 
vaguely  to  mind  the  visitor  of  the  preceding  night. 
He  asked  the  ancient  domestic  what  lady  was  in  the 
1  habit  of  rambling  about  this  part  of  the  chateau  at 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


845 


night.  The  old  valet  shrugged  his  shoulders  as 
high  as  his  head,  laid  one  hand  on  his  bosom,  tlirew 
open  the  otlier  with  every  finger  extended  ;  made  a 
most  whimsical  grimace,  which  he  meant  to  be  com- 
plimentary: 

"  It  was  not  tor  him  to  know  any  thing  of  les 
iraves  fortunes  of  Monsieur." 

My  uncle  saw  there  was  nothing  satisfactory  to  be 
learnt  in  this  quarter.  After  breakfast  he  was  walk- 
ing with  the  Marquis  through  the  modern  apart- 
ments of  the  chateau ;  sliding  over  the  well-waxed 
floors  of  silken  saloons,  amidst  furniture  rich  in  gild- 
ing and  brocade  ;  until  they  came  to  a  long  picture 
gallery,  containing  many  portraits,  some  in  oil  and 
some  in  chalks. 

Here  was  an  ample  field  for  the  eloquence  of  his 
host,  who  had  all  the  family  pride  of  a  nobleman  of 
the  ancien  regime.  There  was  not  a  grand  name  in 
Normandy,  and  hardly  one  in  France,  that  was  not, 
in  some  way  or  other,  connected  with  his  house. 
My  uncle  stood  listening  with  inward  impatience, 
resting  sometimes  on  one  leg,  sometimes  on  the 
other,  as  the  little  Marquis  descanted,  with  his  usual 
fire  and  vivacity,  on  the  achievements  of  his  ances- 
tors, whose  portraits  hung  along  the  wall ;  from  the 
martial  deeds  of  the  stern  warriors  in  steel,  to  the 
gallantries  and  intrigues  of  the  blue-eyed  gentlemen, 
with  fair  smiling  faces,  powdered  ear-locks,  laced  ruf- 
fles, and  pink  and  blue  siik  coats  and  breeches  ;  not 
forgetting  the  conquests  of  the  lovely  shepherdesses, 
with  hoop  petticoats  and  waists  no  thicker  than  an 
hour  glass,  who  appeared  ruling  over  their  sheep 
and  their  swains  with  dainty  crooks  decorated  with 
fluttering  ribbands. 

In  the  midst  of  his  friend's  discourse  my  uncle's 
eyes  rested  on  a  full-length  portrait,  which  struck 
him  as  being  the  very  counterpart  of  his  visitor  of  the 
preceding  night. 

"  .Methinks,"  said  he,  pointing  to  it,  "  I  have  seen 
the  original  of  this  portrait." 

"  Pardonnez  moi,"  replied  the  Marquis  politely, 
"  that  can  hardly  be,  as  the  lady  has  been  dead  more 
than  a  hundred  years.  That  was  the  beautiful 
Duchess  de  Longueville,  who  figured  during  the 
minority  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth." 

"  And  was  there  any  thing  remarkable  in  her 
history  ?  " 

Never  was  question  more  unlucky.  The  little 
Marquis  immediately  threw  himself  into  the  attitude 
of  a  man  about  to  tell  a  long  story.  In  fact,  my 
uncle  had  pulled  upon  himself  the  whole  history  of 
the  civil  war  of  the  Fronde,  in  which  the  beautiful 
Duchess  had  played  so  distinguished  a  part.  Turen- 
ne,  Coligni,  Mazarin,  were  called  up  from  their 
graves  to  grace  his  narration  ;  nor  were  the  affairs 
of  the  Barricadoes,  nor  the  chivalry  of  the  Pert- 
cocheres  forgotten.  My  uncle  began  to  wish  him- 
self a  thousand  leagues  off  from  the  Marquis  and  his 
merciless  memory,  when  suddenly  the  little  man's 
recollections  took  a  more  interesting  turn.  He  was 
relating  the  imprisonment  of  the  Duke  de  Longue- 
ville, with  the  Princes  Conde  and  Conti,  in  the 
chateau  of  Vincennes,  and  the  ineffectual  efforts  of 
the  Duchess  to  rouse  the  sturdy  Normans  to  their 
rescue.  He  had  come  to  that  part  where  she 
was  invested  by  the  royal  forces  in  the  chateau  of 
Dieppe,  and  in  imminent  danger  of  falling  into 
their  hands. 

"The  spirit  of  the  Duchess,"  proceeded  the  Mar- 
quis, "  rose  with  her  trials.  It  was  astonishing  to 
see  so  delicate  and  beautiful  a  being  buffet  so 
resolutely  with  hardships.  She  determined  on  a 
desperate  means  of  escape.  One  dark  unruly  night, 
she  issued  secretly  out  of  a  small  postern  gate  of 
the  castle,  which  the  enemy  had  neglected  to  guard. 


She  was  followed  by  her  female  attendants,  a  few 
domestics,  and  some  gallant  cavaliers  who  still  re- 
mained faithful  to  her  fortunes.  Her  object  was  to 
gain  a  small  port  about  two  leagues  distant,  where 
she  had  privately  provided  a  vessel  for  her  escape  in 
case  of  emergency. 

The  little  band  of  fugitives  were  obliged  to  per- 
form the  distance  on  foot.  When  they  arrived  at 
the  port  the  wind  was  high  and  stormy,  the  tide  con- 
trary, the  vessel  anchored  far  off  in  the  road,  and  no 
means  of  getting  on  board,  but  by  a  fishing  shallop 
tliat  lay  tossing  like  a  cockle  shell  on  the  edge  of  the 
surf.  The  Duchess  determined  to  risk  the  attempt. 
The  seamen  endeavoured  to  dissuade  her,  but  the 
imminence  of  her  danger  on  shore,  and  the  magnan- 
imity of  her  spirit  urged  her  on.  She  had  to  be 
borne  to  the  shallop  in  the  arms  of  a  mariner.  Such 
was  the  violence  of  the  wind  and  waves,  that  he  tal- 
tered,  lost  his  foothold,  and  let  his  precious  burthen 
fall  into  the  sea. 

"  The  Duchess  was  nearly  drowned ;  but  partly 
through  her  own  struggles,  partly  by  the  exertions 
of  the  seamen,  she  got  to  land.  As  soon  as  she  had 
a  little  recovered  strength,  she  insisted  on  renewing 
the  attempt.  The  storm,  however,  had  by  this  timo 
become  so  violent  as  to  set  all  efforts  at  defiance. 
To  delay,  was  to  be  discovered  and  taken  prisoner. 
As  the  only  resource  left,  she  procured  horses ; 
mounted  with  her  female  attendants  en  croupe  be- 
hind the  gallant  gentlemen  who  accompanied  her ; 
and  scoured  the  country  to  seek  some  temporary 
asylum. 

"  While  the  Duchess,"  continued  the  Marquis, 
laying  his  forefinger  on  my  uncle's  breast  to  arouse 
his  flagging  attention,  "  while  the  Duchess,  poor 
lady,  was  wandering  amid  the  tempest  in  this  dis- 
consolate manner,  she  arrived  at  this  chateau.  Her 
approach  caused  some  uneasiness  ;  for  the  clatter- 
ing of  a  troop  of  horse,  at  dead  of  night,  up  the 
avenue  of  a  lonely  chateau,  in  those  unsettled  times, 
and  in  a  troubled  part  of  the  country,  was  enough  to 
occasion  alarm. 

"  A  tall,  broad-shouldered  chasseur,  armed  to  the 
teeth,  galloped  ahead,  and  announced  the  name  of 
the  visitor.  All  uneasiness  was  dispelled.  The 
household  turned  out  with  flambeaux  to  receive  her, 
and  never  did  torches  gleam  on  a  more  weather- 
beaten,  travel  -  stained  band  than  came  tramping 
into  the  court.  Such  pale,  care-worn  faces,  such 
bedraggled  dresses,  as  the  poor  Duchess  and  her 
females  presented,  each  seated  behind  her  cavalier  ; 
while  half  drenched,  half  drowsy  pages  and  attend- 
ants seemed  ready  to  fall  from  their  horses  with 
sleep  and  fatigue. 

"  The  Duchess  was  received  with  a  hearty  wel- 
come by  ray  ancestors.  She  was  ushered  into  the 
Hall  of  the  chateau,  and  the  fires  soon  crackled  and 
blazed  to  cheer  herself  and  her  train  ;  and  every  spit 
and  stewpan  was  put  in  requisition  to  prepare  ample 
refreshments  for  the  wayfarers. 

"  She  had  a  right  to  our  hospitalities,"  continued 
the  little  Marquis,  drawing  himself  up  with  a  slight 
degree  of  stateliness,  "  for  she  was  related  to  our 
family.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was  :  Her  father,  Henry 
de  Bourbon,  Prince  of  Gondii — " 

"  But  did  the  Duchess  pass  the  night  in  the  cha- 
teau.'" said  my  uncle  rather  abruptly,  terrified  at 
the  idea  of  getting  involved  in  one  of  the  Marquis's 
genealogical  discussions. 

"  Oh,  as  to  the  Duchess,  she  was  put  into  the 
apartment  you  occupied  last  night;  which,  at  that 
time,  was  a  kind  of  state  apartment.  Her  followers 
were  quartered  in  the  chambers  opening  upon  the 
neighbouring  corridor,  and  her  favourite  page  slept 
in  an  adjoining  closet.     Up  and  down  the  corridor 


346 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


walked  the  great  chasseur,  who  had  announced  her 
arrival,  and  who  acted  as  a  kind  of  sentinel  or 
guard.  He  was  a  dark,  stern,  powerful-looking  fel- 
low, and  as  the  light  of  a  lamp  in  the  corridor  fell 
upon  his  deeply-marked  face  and  sinewy  form,  he 
seemed  capable  of  defending  the  castle  with  his  sin- 
gle arm. 

"  It  was  a  rough,  rude  night ;  about  this  time  of 
the  year. — Apropos— now  I  think  of  it,  last  night  was 
the  anniversary  of  her  visit.  1  may  well  remember 
the  precise  date,  for  it  was  a  night  not  to  be  forgot- 
ten by  our  house.  There  is  a  singular  tradition  con- 
cerning it  in  our  family."  Here  the  Marquis  hesi- 
tated, and  a  cloud  seemed  to  gather  about  his  bushy 
eyebrows.  "  There  is  a  tradition — that  a  strange 
occurrence  took  place  that  night — a  strange,  myste- 
rious, inexplicable  occurrence." 

Here  he  checked  himself  and  paused. 

"  Did  it  relate  to  that  lady.'  "  inquired  my  uncle, 
eagerly. 

"  It  was  past  the  hour  of  midnight,"  resumed  the 
Marquis—"  when  the  whole  chateau — " 

Here  he  paused  again — my  uncle  made  a  move- 
ment of  anxious  curiosity. 

"Excuse  me,"  said  the  Marquis — a  slight  blush 
streaking  liis  sullen  visage.  "  There  are  some  cir- 
cumstances connected  with  our  family  history  whifh 
1  do  not  like  to  relate.'  That  was  a  rude  period.  A 
time  of  great  crimes  among  great  men  :  for  you 
know  high  blood,  when  it  runs  wrong,  will  not  run 
tamely  like  blood  of  the  canaille — poor  lady  ! — But 
I  have  a  little  family  pride,  that — excuse  me — we 
will  change  the  subject  if  you  please." — 

My  uncle's  curiosity  was  piqued.  The  pompous 
and  magnificent  introduction  had  led  him  to  expect 
something  wonderful  in  the  story  to  which  it  served 
as  a  kind  of  avenue.  He  had  no  idea  of  being 
cheated  out  of  it  by  a  sudden  fit  of  unreasonable 
squeamishness.  Besides,  being  a  traveller,  in  quest 
of  information,  he  considered  it  his  duty  to  inquire 
into  every  thing. 

The  Marquis,  however,  evaded  every  question. 

"  Well,"  said  my  uncle,  a  little  petulantly,  "  what- 
ever you  may  think  of  it,  I  saw  that  lady  last  night." 

The  Marquis  stepped  back  and  gazed' at  him  with 
surprise. 

"She  paid  me  a  visit  in  my  bed-chamber." 

The  Marquis  pulled  out  his  snuff-box  with  a  shrug 
and  a  smile ;  taking  it  no  doubt  for  an  awkward 
piece  of  English  pleasantry,  which  politeness  re- 
quired him  to  be  charmed  with.  My  uncle  went  on 
gravely,  however,  and  related  the  whole  circum- 
stance. The  Marquis  heard  him  through  with  pro- 
found attention,  holding  his  snuff-box  unopened  in 
his  hand.  When  the  story  was  finished  he  tapped 
on  the  lid  of  his  box  deliberately ;  took  a  long  so- 
norous pinch  of  snuff — 

"  Bah  !  "  said  the  Marquis,  and  walked  toward  the 
other  end  of  the  gallery. — 


Here  the  narrator  paused.  The  company  waited 
for  some  time  for  him  to  resume  his  narrative;  but 
he  continued  silent. 

"  Well,"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman,  "  and 
what  did  your  uncle  say  then  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  the  other. 

"  And  what  did  the  Marquis  say  farther?  " 

"  Nothing." 

"  And  is  that  all  ?  " 

"  That  is  all,"  said  the  narrator,  filling  a  glass  of 
wine. 

"  1  surmise,"  said  the  shrewd  old  gentleman  with 
the  waggish  nose — "  I  surmise  it  was  the  old  house- 
keeper walking  her  rounds  to'  see  that  all  was  right." 


"  Bah  ! "  said  the  narrator.  "  my  uncle  was  too 
much  accustomed  to  strange  sights  not  to  know  a 
ghost  from  a  housekeeper  !  " 

There  was  a  murmur  round  the  table  half  of  mer- 
riment, half  of  disappointment.  I  was  inclined  to 
think  the  old  gentleman  had  really  an  afterpart  of 
his  story  in  reserve  ;  but  he  sipped  his  wine  and  said 
nothing  more ;  and  there  was  an  odd  expression 
about  his  dilapidated  countenance  that  left  me  in 
doubt  whether  he  were  in  drollery  or  earnest. 

"Egad,"  said  the  knowing  gentleman  with  the 
flexible  nose,  "  this  story  of  your  uncle  puts  me  in 
mind  of  one  that  used  to  be  told  of  an  aunt  of  mine, 
by  the  mother's  side ;  though  I  don't  know  that  it 
will  bear  a  comparison  ;  as  the  good  lady  was  not 
quite  so  prone  to  meet  with  strange  adventures. 
But  at  any  rate,  you  shall  have  it." 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  AUNT. 


My  aunt  was  a  lady  of  large  frame,  strong  mind, 
and  great  resolution  ;  she  was  what  might  be  termed 
a  very  manly  woman.  My  uncle  was  a  thin,  puny 
little  man,  very  meek  and  acquiescent,  and  no  match 
for  my  aunt.  It  was  observed  that  he  dwindled  and 
dwindled  gradually  away,  from  the  day  of  his  mar- 
riage. His  wife's  powerful  mind  was  too  much  for 
him  ;  it  wore  him  out.  My  aunt,  however,  took  all  pos- 
sible care  of  him,  had  half  the  doctors  in  town  to  pre- 
scribe for  him,  made  him  take  all  their  prescriptions, 
willy  nilly,  and  dosed  him  with  physic  enough  to 
cure  a  whole  hospital.  All  was  in  vain.  My  uncle 
grew  worse  and  worse  the  more  dosing  and  nursing 
he  underwent,  until  in  the  end  he  added  another  to 
the  long  list  of  matrimonial  victims,  who  have  been 
killed  with  kindness. 

"  And  was  it  his  ghost  that  appeared  to  her  ?  " 
asked  the  inquisitive  gentleman,  who  had  questioned 
the  former  story-teller. 

"  You  shall  hear,"  replied  the  narrator: — My  aunt 
took  on  mightily  for  the  death  of  her  poor  dear  hus- 
band !  Perhaps  she  felt  some  compunction  at  hav- 
ing given  him  so  much  physic,  and  nursed  him  into 
his  grave.  At  any  rate,  she  did  all  that  a  widow 
could  do  to  honour  his  memory.  She  spared  no  ex- 
pense in  either  the  quantity  or  quality  of  her  mourn- 
ing weeds;  she  wore  a  miniature  of  him  about  her 
neck,  as  large  as  a  little  sun  dial ;  and  she  had  a  full- 
length  portrait  of  him  always  hanging  in  her  bed 
chamber.  All  the  world  extolled  her  conduct  to  the 
skies ;  and  it  was  determined,  that  a  woman  who 
behaved  so  well  to  the  memory  of  one  husband,  de- 
served soon  to  get  another. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  she  went  to  take 
up  her  residence  in  an  old  country  seat  in  Derby- 
shire, which  had  long  been  in  the  care  of  merely  a 
steward  and  housekeeper.  She  took  most  of  her 
servants  with  her,  intending  to  make  it  her  principal 
abode.  The  house  stood  in  a  lonely,  wild  part  of  the 
country,  among  the  gray  Derbyshire  hills ;  with  a 
murderer  hanging  in  chains  on  a  bleak  height  in  full 
view. 

The  servants  from  town  were  half  frightened  out 
of  their  wits,  at  the  idea  of  living  in  such  a  dismal, 
pagan-looking  place  ;  especially  when  they  got  to- 
gether in  the  servants'  hall  in  the  evening,  and  com- 
pared notes  on  all  the  hobgoblin  stories  they  had 
picked  up  in  the  course  of  the  day.  Thev  were 
afraid  to  venture  alone  about  the  forlorn  black-look- 
ing chambers.  My  ladies'  maid,  who  was  troubled 
with  nerves,  declared  she  could  never  sleep  alone  in 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


347 


such  a  "gashly,  rumrmginj  old  building;  "  and  the 
lootman,  who  was  a  kind-hearted  young  fellow,  did 
all  in  his  power  to  cheer  her  up. 

My  aunt,  herself,  seemed  to  be  struck  with  the 
lonely  appearance  of  the  house.  Before  she  went  to 
bed,  therefore,  she  examined  well  the  fastenings  of 
the  doors  and  windows,  locked  up  the  plate  with 
her  own  hands,  and  carried  the  keys,  together  with 
a  little  box  of  money  and  jewels,  to  her  own  room  ; 
for  she  was  a  notable  woman,  and  always  saw  to  all 
things  herself  Having  put  the  keys  under  her  pil- 
low, and  dismissed  her  maid,  she  sat  by  her  toilet 
arranging  her  hair ;  for,  being,  in  spite  of  her  grief 
for  my  uncle,  rather  a  buxom  widow,  she  was  a  little 
particular  about  her  person.  She  sat  for  a  little 
while  looking  at  her  face  in  the  glass,  first  on  one 
side,  then  on  the  other,  as  ladies  are  apt  to  do,  when 
they  would  ascertain  if  they  have  been  in  good  looks  ; 
for  a  roystering  country  squire  of  the  neighbourhood, 
with  whom  she  had  flirted  when  a  girl,  had  called 
that  day  to  welcome  her  to  the  country. 

All  of  a  sudden  she  thought  she  heard  something 
move  behind  her.  She  looked  hastily  round,  but 
there  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  Nothing  but  the 
grimly  painted  portrait  of  her  poor  dear  man,  which 
had  been  hung  against  the  wall.  She  gave  a  heavy 
sigh  to  his  memory,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do, 
whenever  she  spoke  of  him  in  company  ;  and  went 
on  adjusting  her  night-dress.  Her  sigh  was  re- 
echoed ;  or  answered  by  a  long-drawn  breath.  She 
looked  round  again,  but  no  one  was  to  be  seen.  She 
ascribed  these  sounds  to  the  wind,  oozing  through 
the  rat  holes  of  the  old  mansion  ;  and  proceeded 
leisurely  to  put  her  hair  in  papers,  when,  all  at  once, 
she  thought  she  perceived  one  of  the  eyes  of  the 
portrait  move. 

"  The  back  of  her  head  being  towards  it  !  "  said 
the  storj'-teller  with  the  ruined  head,  giving  a  know- 
ing winic  on  the  sound  side  of  his  visage — "  good  !  " 

"  Yes,  sir  !  "  replied  drily  the  narrator,  "  her  back 
being  towards  the  portrait,  but  her  eye  fixed  on  its 
reflection  in  the  glass." 

Well,  as  I  was  saying,  she  perceived  one  of  the 
eyes  of  the  portrait  move.  So  strange  a  circum- 
stance, as  you  may  well  suppose,  gave  her  a  sudden 
shock.  To  assure  herself  cautiously  of  the  fact,  she 
put  one  hand  to  her  forehead,  as  if  rubbing  it ; 
peeped  through  her  fingers,  and  moved  the  candle 
with  the  other  hand.  The  light  of  the  taper  gleamed 
on  the  eye,  and  was  reflected  from  it.  She  was  sure 
it  moved.  Nay,  more,  it  seemetl  to  give  her  a  wink, 
as  she  had  sometimes  known  her  husband  to  do 
when  living !  It  struck  a  momentary  chill  to  her 
heart ;  for  she  was  a  lone  woman,  and  felt  herself 
fearfully  situated. 

The  chill  was  but  transient.  My  aunt,  who  was 
almost  as  resolute  a  personage  as  your  uncle,  sir, 
(turning  to  the  old  story-teller,)  became  instantly 
calm  and  collected.  She  went  on  adjusting  her  dress. 
She  even  hummed  a  favourite  air,  and  did  not  make 
a  single  false  note.  She  casually  overturned  a  dress- 
ing box  ;  took  a  candle  and  picked  up  the  articles 
leisurely,  one  by  one,  from  the  floor ;  pursued  a  roll- 
ing pin-cushion  that  was  making  the  best  of  its  way 
under  the  bed  ;  then  opened  the  door ;  looked  for  an 
instant  into  the  corridor,  as  if  in  doubt  whether  to 
go ;  and  then  walked  quietly  out. 

She  hastened  down-stairs,  ordered  the  servants  to 
arm  themselves  with  the  first  weapons  that  came  to 
hand,  placed  herself  at  their  head,  and  returned  al- 
most immediately. 

Her  hastily  levied  army  presented  a  formidable 
force.  The  steward  had  a  rusty  blunderbuss  ;  the 
coachman  a  loaded  whip ;  the  footman  a  pair  of 
horse  pistols ;  the  cook  a  huge  chopping  knife,  and 


the  butler  a  bottle  in  each  hand.  My  aunt  led  the 
van  with  a  red-hot  poker ;  and,  in  my  opinion,  she 
was  the  most  formidable  of  the  party.  The  waiting 
maid  brought  up  the  rear,  dreading  to  stay  alone  in 
the  servants'  hall,  smelling  to  a  broken  bottle  of 
volatile  salts,  and  expressing  her  terror  of  the  ghost- 
eses. 

"Ghosts!"  said  my  aunt  resolutely,  "I'll  singe 
their  whiskers  for  them  !  " 

They  entered  the  chamber.  All  was  still  and  un- 
disturbed as  when  she  left  it.  They  approached  the 
portrait  of  my  uncle. 

"  Pull  me  down  that  picture  !  "  cried  my  aunt. 

A  heavy  groan,  and  a  sound  like  the  chattering 
of  teeth,  was  heard  from  the  portrait.  The  servants 
shrunk  back.  The  maid  uttered  a  faint  shriek,  and 
clung  to  the  footman. 

"  Instantly  ! "  added  my  aunt,  with  a  stamp  of  the 
foot. 

The  picture  was  pulled  down,  and  from  a  recess 
behind  it,  in  which  had  formerly  stood  a  clock,  they 
hauled  forth  a  round-shouldered,  black-bearded  var- 
let,  with  a  knife  as  long  as  my  arm,  but  trembling 
all  over  like  an  aspen  leaf. 

"  Well,  and  who  was  he  ?  No  ghost,  I  suppose  ! " 
said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  A  knight  of  the  post,"  replied  the  narrator, 
"  who  had  been  smitten  witl^  the  worth  of  the 
wealthy  widow ;  or  rather  a  marauding  Tarquin, 
who  had  stolen  into  her  chamber  to  violate  her 
purse  and  rifle  her  strong  box  when  all  the  house 
should  be  asleep.  In  plain  terms,"  continued  he, 
"  the  vagabond  was  a  loose  idle  fellow  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, who  had  once  been  a  servant  in  the  house, 
and  had  been  employed  to  assist  in  arranging  it  for 
the  reception  of  its  mistress.  He  confessed  that  he 
had  contrived  his  hiding-place  for  his  nefarious  pur- 
poses, and  had  borrowed  an  eye  from  the  portrait  by 
way  of  a  reconnoitering  hole." 

"And  what  did  they  do  with  him — did  they  hang 
him  ?  "  resumed  the  questioner. 

"Hang  him? — how  could  they?"  exclaimed  a 
beetle-browed  barrister,  with  a  hawk's  nose — "the 
offence  was  not  capital — no  robbery  nor  assault  had 
been  committed — no  forcible  entry  or  breakmg  into 
the  premises — " 

"  My  aunt,"  said  the  narrator,  "  was  a  woman  of 
spirit,  and  apt  to  take  the  law  into  her  own  hands. 
She  had  her  own  notions  of  cleanliness  also.  She 
ordered  the  fellow  to  be  drawn  through  the  horse- 
pond  to  cleanse  away  all  offences,  and  then  to  be 
well  rubbed  down  with  an  oaken  towel." 

"  And  what  became  of  him  afterwards  ?  "  said  the 
inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  I  do  not  exactly  know — I  believe  he  was  sent  on 
a  voyage  of  improvement  to  Botany  Bay." 

"  And  your  aunt — "  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman 
— "I'll  warrant  she  took  care  to  make  her  maid 
sleep  in  the  room  with  her  after  that" 

"  No,  sir,  she  did  better — she  gave  her  hand  short- 
ly after  to  the  roystering  squire ;  for  she  used  to 
observe  it  was  a  dismal  thing  for  a  woman  to  sleep 
alone  in  the  country." 

"  She  was  right,"  observed  the  inquisitive  gentle- 
man, nodding  his  head  sagaciously— "  but  I  am 
sorry  they  did  not  hang  that  fellow." 

It  was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  the  last  narrator 
had  brought  his  tale  to  the  most  satisfactory  con- 
clusion ;  though  a  country  clergyman  present  re- 
gretted that  the  uncle  and  aunt,  who  figured  in  the 
different  stories,  had  not  been  married  together. 
They  certainly  would  have  been  well  matched. 

"  But  I  don't  see,  after  all,"  said  the  inquisitive 
gentleman,  "  that  there  was  any  ghost  in  this  last 
story." 


348 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


"Oh,  if  it's  ghosts  you  want,  honey,"  cried  the 
Irish  captain  of  dragoons,  "if  it's  ghOsts  you  want, 
you  shall  have  a  whole  regiment  of  them.  And 
since  these  gentlemen  have  been  giving  the  adven- 
tures of  their  uncles  and  aunts,  faith  and  I'll  e'en 
give  you  a  chapter  too,  out  of  my  own  family  history." 


THE  BOLD  DRAGOON; 

OR,  THE  ADVENTURE  OF  MY  GRANDFATHER. 


My  grandfather  was  a  bold  dragoon,  for  it's  a 
profession,  d'ye  see,  that  has  run  in  the  family.  All 
my  forefathers  have  been  dragoons  and  died  upon 
the  field  of  honour  except  myself,  and  I  hope  my 
posterity  may  be  able  to  say  the  same ;  however,  I 
don't  mean  to  be  vainglorious.  Well,  my  grand- 
father, as  I  said,  was  a  bold  dragoon,  and  had  served 
in  the  Low  Countries.  In  fact,  he  was  one  of  that 
very  army,  which,  according  to  my  uncle  Toby, 
"  swore  so  terribly  in  Flanders."  He  could  swear  a 
good  stick  himself;  and,  moreover,  was  the  very  man 
that  introduced  the  doctrine  Corporal  Trim  men- 
tions, of  radical  heat  and  radical  moisture  ;  or,  in 
other  words,  the  mode  of  keeping  out  the  damps  of 
ditch  water  by  burnt  brandy.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
it's  nothing  to  the  purport  of  my  story.  I  only  tell 
it  to  show  you  that  my  grandfather  was  a  man  not 
easily  to  be  humbugged.  He  had  seen  service  ;  or, 
according  to  his  own  phrase,  "he  had  seen  the 
divil  " — and  that's  saying  everything. 

Well,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was  on  his  way 
to  England,  for  which  he  intended  to  embark  at 
Ostend  ; — bad  luck  to  the  place  for  one  where  I  was 
kept  by  storms  and  head  winds  for  three  long  days, 
and  the  divil  of  a  jolly  companion  or  pretty  face  to 
comfort  me.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  my  grandfather 
was  on  his  way  to  England,  or  rather  to  Ostend — 
no  matter  which,  it's  all  the  same.  So  one  evening, 
towards  nightfall,  he  rode  joUily  into  Bruges.  Very 
like  you  all  know  Bruges,  gentlemen,  a  queer,  old- 
fashioned  Flemish  town,  once  they  say  a  great  place 
for  trade  and  money-making,  in  old  times,  when  the 
Mynheers  were  in  their  glory;  but  almost  as  large 
and  as  empty  as  an  Irishman's  pocket  at  the  present 
day.  Well,  gentlemen,  it  was  the  time  of  the  annual 
fair.  All  Bruges  was  crowded ;  and  the  canals 
swarmed  with  Dutch  boats,  and  the  streets  swarm- 
ed with  Dutch  merchants ;  and  there  was  hardly 
any  getting  along  for  goods,  wares,  and  merchan- 
dises, and  peasants  in  big  breeches,  and  women  in 
half  a  score  of  petticoats. 

My  grandfather  rode  joUily  along,  in  his  easy, 
slashing  way,  for  he  was  a  saucy,  sunshiny  fellow — 
staring  about  him  at  the  motley  crowd,  and  the  old 
houses  with  gable  ends  to  the  street  and  storks' 
nests  on  the  chimneys ;  winking  at  the  ya  vrouws 
who  showed  their  faces  at  the  windows,  and  joking 
the  women  right  and  left  in  the  street;  all  of  whom 
laughed  and  took  it  in  amazing  good  part ;  for 
though  he  did  not  know  a  word  of  their  language, 
yet  he  had  always  a  knack  of  making  himself  under- 
stood among  the  women. 

Well,  gentlemen,  it  being  the  time  of  the  annual 
fair,  all  the  town  was  crowded  ;  every  inn  and  tavern 
full,  and  my  grandfather  applied  in  vain  from  one  to 
the  other  for  admittance.  At  length  he  rode  up  to 
an  old  rackety  inn  that  looked  ready  to  fall  to  pieces, 
and  which  all  the  rats  would  have  run  away  from,  if 
they  could  have  found  room  in  any  other  house  to 
put  their  heads.     It  was  just  such  a  queer  building 


as  j-ou  see  in  Dutch  pictures,  with  a  tall  roof  that 
reached  up  into  the  clouds ;  and  as  many  garrets, 
one  over  the  other,  as  the  seven  heavens  of  Ma- 
homet. Nothing  had  saved  it  from  tumbling  down 
but  a  stork's  nest  on  the  chimney,  which  always 
brings  good  luck  to  a  house  in  the  Low  Countries  ; 
and  at  the  very  time  of  my  grandfather's  arrival, 
there  were  two  of  these  long-legged  birds  of  grace, 
standing  like  ghosts  on  the  chimney  top.  Faith, 
but  they've  kept  the  house  on  its  legs  to  this  very 
day  ;  for  you  may  see  it  any  time  you  pass  through 
Bruges,  as  it  stands  there  yet ;  only  it  is  turned  into 
a  brewery — a  brewery  of  strong  Flemish  beer  ;  at 
least  it  was  so  when  I  came  that  way  after  the  battle 
of  Waterloo. 

My  grandfather  eyed  the  house  curiously  as  he 
approached.  It  might  not  altogether  have  struck 
his  fancy,  had  he  not  seen  in  large  letters  over  the 
door, 

HEER  VERKOOPT  MAN  GOEDEN  DRANK. 

My  grandfather  had  learnt  enough  of  the  language 
to  know  that  the  sign  promised  good  liquor.  "  This 
is  the  house  for  me,"  said  he,  stopping  short  before 
the  door. 

The  sudden  appearance  of  a  dashing  dragoon  was 
an  event  in  an  old  inn,  frequented  only  by  the  peace- 
ful sons  of  traffick.  A  rich  burgher  of  Antwerp,  a 
stately  ample  man,  in  a  broad  Flemish  hat,  and  who 
was  the  great  man  and  great  patron  of  the  establish- 
ment, sat  smoking  a  clean  long  pipe  on  one  side  of 
the  door ;  a  fat  little  distiller  of  Geneva  from  Schie- 
dam, sat  smoking  on  the  other,  and  the  bottle-nosed 
host  stood  in  the  door,  and  the  comely  hostess,  in 
crimped  cap,  beside  him  ;  and  the  hostess'  daugh- 
ter, a  plump  Flanders  lass,  with  long  gold  pendants 
in  her  ears,  was  at  a  side  window. 

"Humph!"  said  the  rich  burgher  of  Antwerp, 
with  a  sulky  glance  at  the  stranger. 

"  Der  duyvel  1 "  sad  the  fat  little  distiller  of  Schie- 
dam. 

The  landlord  saw  with  the  quick  glance  of  a  pub- 
lican that  the  new  guest  was  not  at  all,  at  all,  to  the 
taste  of  the  old  ones ;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did 
not  himself  like  my  grandfather's  saucy  eye.  He 
shook  his  head — "  Not  a  garret  in  the  house  but  was 
full." 

"  Not  a  garret ! "  echoed  the  landlady. 

"  Not  a  garret ! "  echod  the  daughter. 

The  burgher  of  Antwerp  and  the  little  distiller  of 
Schiedam  continued  to  smoke  their  pipes  sullenly, 
eyed  the  enemy  askance  from  under  their  broad  hats, 
but  said  nothing. 

My  grandfather  was  not  a  man  to  be  browbeaten. 
He  threw  the  reins  on  his  horse's  neck,  cocked  his 
hat  on  one  side,  stuck  one  arm  akimbo,  slapped  his 
broad  thigh  with  the  other  hand — 

"  Faith  and  troth  ! "  said  he,  "  but  I'll  sleep  in  this 
house  this  very  night !  " 

My  grandfather  had  on  a  tight  pair  of  buckskins 
— the  slap  went  to  the  landlady's  heart. 

He  followed  up  the  vow  by  jumping  off  his  horse, 
and  making  his  way  past  the  staring  Mynheers  into 
the  public  room.  May  be  you've  been  in  the  bar- 
room of  an  old  Flemish  inn — faith,  but  a  handsome 
chamber  it  was  as  you'd  wish  to  see  ;  with  a  brick 
floor,  a  great  fire-place,  with  the  whole  Bible  history 
in  glazed  tiles ;  and  then  the  manteF-piece,  pitching 
itself  head  foremost  out  of  the  wall,  with  a  whole 
regiment  of  cracked  tea-pots  and  earthen  jugs  pa- 
raded on  it ;  not  to  mention  half  a  dozen  great  Delft 
platters  hung  about  the  room  by  way  of  pictures  ; 
and  the  little  bar  in  one  corner,  and  the  bouncing 
bar-maid  inside  of  it  with  a  red  calico  cap  and  yellow 
ear-drops. 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


849 


My  grandfather  snapped  his  fingers  over  his  head, 
as  he  cast  an  eye  round  the  room  :  "  Faith,  this  is 
tlie  very  house  I've  been  lool<ing  after,"  said  he. 

There  was  some  farther  show  of  resistance  on  the 
part  of  the  garrison,  but  my  grandfather  was  an  old 
soldier,  and  an  Irishman  to  boot,  and  not  easily  re- 
pulsed, especially  after  he  had  got  into  the  fortress. 
So  he  blarney 'd  the  landlord,  kissed  the  landlord's 
wife,  tickled  the  landlord's  daughter,  chucked  the  bar- 
maid under  the  chin  ;  and  it  was  agreed  on  all  hands 
that  it  would  be  a  thousand  pities,  and  a  burning 
shame  into  the  bargain,  to  turn  such  a  bold  dragoon 
into  the  streets.  So  they  laid  their  heads  together, 
that  is  to  say,  my  grandfather  and  the  landlady,  and 
it  was  at  length  agreed  to  accommodate  him  with 
an  old  chamber  that  had  for  some  time  been  shut  up. 

"Some  say  it's  haunted!"  whispered  the  land- 
lord's daughter,  "  but  you're  a  bold  dragoon,  and  I 
dare  say  don't  fear  ghosts." 

"  The  divil  a  bit !  "  said  my  grandfather,  pinching 
her  plump  cheek ;  "  but  if  I  should  be  troubled  by 
ghosts,  I've  been  to  the  Red  Sea  in  my  time,  and 
have  a  jjleasant  way  of  laying  them,  my  darling !  " 

And  then  he  whispered  something  to  the  girl 
which  made  her  laugh,  and  give  him  a  good-hu- 
moured bo.x  on  the  ear.  In  short,  there  was  nobody 
knew  better  how  to  make  his  way  among  the  petti- 
coats than  my  grandfather. 

In  a  little  while,  as  was  his  usual  way,  he  took 
complete  possession  of  the  house  :  swaggering  all 
over  it ; — into  the  stable  to  look  after  his  horse  ; 
into  the  kitchen  to  look  after  his  supper.  He  had 
something  to  say  or  do  with  every  one  ;  smoked 
with  the  Dutchmen  ;  drank  with  the  Germans ; 
slapped  the  men  on  the  shoulders,  tickled  the  women 
under  the  ribs  : — never  since  the  days  of  Ally  Croaker 
had  such  a  raiding  blade  been  seen.  The  landlord 
stared  at  him  with  astonishment ;  the  landlord's 
daughter  hung  her  head  and  giggled  whenever  he 
came  near;  and  as  he  turned  his  back  and  swag- 
gered along,  his  tight  jacket  setting  off  his  broad 
shoulders  and  plump  buckskins,  and  his  long  sword 
trailing  by  his  side,  the  maids  whispered  to  one  an- 
other— "  What  a  proper  man  !  " 

At  supper  my  grandfather  took  command  of  the 
table  d'hote  as  though  he  had  been  at  home  ;  helped 
every  body,  not  forgetting  himself ;  talked  with  every 
caie,  whetlier  he  understood  their  language  or  not ; 
and  made  his  way  into  the  intimacy  of  the  rich 
burgher  of  Antwerp,  who  had  never  been  known  to 
be  sociable  with  any  one  during  his  life.  In  fact,  he 
revolutionized  the  whole  establishment,  and  gave  it 
such  a  rouse,  that  the  very  house  reeled  with  it.  He 
outsat  every  one  at  table  excepting  the  little  fat  dis- 
tiller of  Schiedam,  who  had  sat  soaking  for  a  long 
time  before  he  broke  forth  ;  but  when  he  did,  he  was 
a  very  devil  incarnate.  He  took  a  violent  affection 
for  my  grandfather ;  so  they  sat  drinking,  and  smok- 
ing, and  telling  stories,  and  singing  Dutch  and  Irish 
songs,  without  understanding  a  word  each  other 
said,  until  the  little  Hollander  was  fairly  swampt 
with  his  own  gin  and  water,  and  carried  off  to  bed, 
whooping  and  hiccuping,  and  trolling  the  burthen 
of  a  Low  Dutch  love  song. 

Well,  gentlemen,  my  grandfather  was  shown  to  his 
quarters,  up  a  huge  staircase  composed  of  loads  of 
hewn  timber  ;  and  through  long  rigmarole  passages, 
hung  with  blackened  paintings  of  fruit,  and  fish,  and 
game,  and  country  frolicks,  and  huge  kitchens,  and 
portly  burgomasters,  such  as  you  see  about  old- 
fashioned  Flemish  inns,  till  at  length  he  arrived  at 
his  room. 

An  old-times  chamber  it  was,  sure  enough,  and 
crowded  with  all  kinds  of  trumpery.  It  looked  like 
an  infirmary  for  decayed  and  superannuated  furni- 


ture ;  where  every  thing  diseased  and  disabled  was 
sent  to  nurse,  or  to  be  forgotten.  Or  rather,  it  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  general  congress  of  old  legiti- 
mate moveables,  where  every-  kind  and  country  had 
a  representative.  No  two  chairs  were  alike  :  such 
high  backs  and  low  backs,  and  leather  bottoms  and 
worsted  bottoms,  and  straw  bottoms,  and  no  bot- 
toms ;  and  cracked  marble  tables  with  curiously 
carved  legs,  holding  balls  in  their  claws,  as  though 
they  were  going  to  play  at  ninepins. 

My  grandfather  made  a  bow  to  the  motley  assem- 
blage as  he  entered,  and  having  undressed  himself, 
placed  his  light  in  the  fire-place,  asking  pardon  of  the 
tongs,  which  seemed  to  be  making  love  to  the  shovel 
in  the  chimney  corner,  and  whispering  soft  nonsense 
in  its  ear. 

The  rest  of  the  guests  were  by  this  time  sound 
asleep  ;  for  your  Mynheers  are  huge  sleepers.  The 
house  maids,  one  by  one,  crept  up  yawning  to  their 
atticks,  and  not  a  female  head  in  the  inn  was  laid  on 
a  pillow  that  night  without  dreaming  of  the  Bold 
Dragoon. 

My  grandfather,  for  his  part,  got  into  bed,  and 
drew  over  him  one  of  those  great  bags  of  down,  un- 
der which  they  smother  a  man  in  the  Low  Coun- 
tries ;  and  there  he  lay,  melting  between  two  feather 
beds,  like  an  anchovy  sandwich  between  two  slices 
of  toast  and  butter.  He  was  a  warm-comple.\ioned 
man,  and  this  smothering  played  the  very  deuce  with 
him.  So,  sure  enough,  in  a  little  while  it  seemed  as 
if  a  legion  of  imps  were  twitching  at  him,  and  all  the 
blood  in  his  veins  was  in  fever  heat. 

He  lay  still,  however,  until  all  the  house  was  quiet, 
excepting  the  snoring  of  the  Mynheers  from  the  dif- 
ferent chambers ;  who  answered  one  another  in  all 
kinds  of  tones  and  cadences,  like  so  many  bull- frogs 
in  a  swamp.  The  quieter  the  house  became,  the 
more  unquiet  became  my  grandfather.  He  waxed 
warmer  and  warmer,  until  at  length  the  bed  became 
too  hot  to  hold  him. 

"  May  be  the  maid  had  warmed  it  too  much  ?  " 
said  the  curious  gentleman  inquiringly. 

"  I  rather  think  the  contrary,"  replied  the  Irish- 
man. "  But  be  that  as  it  may,  it  grew  too  hot  for 
my  grandfather." 

"?"aith  there's  no  standing  this  any  longer,"  says 
he  ;  so  he  jumped  out  of  bed  and  went  strolling  about 
the  house. 

"  What  for.'  "  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  Why,  to  cool  himself  to  be  sure,"  replied  the 
other,  "  or  perhaps  to  find  a  more  comfortable  bed — 

or  perhaps but  no  matter  what  he  went  for — he 

never  mentioned  ;  and  there's  no  use  in  taking  up 
our  time  in  conjecturing." 

Well,  my  grandfather  had  been  for  some  time  ab- 
sent from  his  room,  and  was  returning,  perlectly 
cool,  when  just  as  he  reached  the  door  he  heard  a 
strange  noise  within.  He  paused  and  listened.  It 
seemed  as  if  some  one  was  trying  to  hum  a  tune  in 
defiance  of  the  asthma.  He  recollected  the  report  of 
the  room's  being  haunted  ;  but  he  was  no  believer  in 
ghosts.  So  he  pushed  the  door  gently  ajar,  and 
peeped  in. 

Egad,  gentlemen,  there  was  a  gambol  carrying  on 
within  enough  to  have  astonished  St.  Anthony. 

By  the  light  of  the  fire  he  saw  a  pale  weazen-faced 
fellow  in  a  long  flannel  gown  and  a  tall  white  night- 
cap with  a  tassel  to  it,  who  sat  by  the  fire,  with  a 
bellows  under  his  arm  byway  of  bagpipe,  from  which 
he  forced  the  asthmatical  music  that  had  bothered 
my  grandfather.  As  he  played,  too,  he  kept  twitch- 
ing about  with  a  thousand  queer  contortions  ;  nod- 
ding his  head  and  bobbing  about  his  tasselled  night- 
cap. 

My  grandfather  thought  this  \'ery  odd,  and  mighty 


360 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


presumptuous,  and  was  about  to  demand  what  busi- 
ness he  had  to  play  his  wind  instruments  in  another 
gentleman's  quarters,  when  a  new  cause  of  astonish- 
ment met  his  eye.  From  the  opposite  side  ot'the  room 
a  loniT-backed,  bandy-legged  chair,  covered  with 
leather,  and  studded  all  over  in  a  coxcomical  fashion 
with  little  brass  nails,  got  suddenly  into  motion ; 
thrust  out  first  a  claw  foot,  then  a  crooked  arm,  and 
at  length,  making  a  leg,  slided  gracefully  up  to  an 
easy  chair,  of  tarnished  brocade,  with  a  hole  in  its 
bottom,  and  led  it  gallantly  out  in  a  ghostly  minuet 
about  the  floor. 

The  musician  now  played  fiercer  and  fiercer,  and 
bobbed  his  head  and  his  nightcap  about  like  mad. 
By  degrees  the  dancing  mania  seemed  to  seize  upon 
all  the  other  pieces  of  furniture.  The  antique,  long- 
bodied  chairs  paired  off  in  couples  and  led  down  a 
country  dance  ;  a  f  hree-lcgged  stool  danced  a  horn- 
pipe, though  horribly  puzzled  by  its  supernumerary 
leg  ;  while  the  amorous  tongs  seized  the  shovel  round 
the  waist,  and  whirled  it  about  the  room  in  a  Ger- 
man waltz.  In  short,  all  the  moveables  got  in  mo- 
tion, capering  about ;  pirouetting,  hands  across,  right 
and  left,  like  so  many  devils,  all  except  a  great  clothes- 
press,  which  kept  curtseying  and  curtseying,  like  a 
dowager,  in  one  corner,  in  exquisite  time  to  the  mu- 
sic ; — being  either  too  corpulent  to  dance,  or  perhaps 
at  a  loss  for  a  partner. 

My  grandfather  concluded  the  latter  to  be  the 
reason  ;  so,  being,  like  a  true  Irishman,  devoted  to 
the  sex,  and  at  all  times  ready  for  a  frolick,  he 
bounced  into  the  room,  calling  to  the  musician  to 
strike  up  "  Paddy  O'Rafferty,"  capered  up  to  the 
clothes-press  and  seized  upon  two  handles  to  lead 
her  out : — When,  whizz  ! — the  whole  revel  was  at  an 
end.  The  chairs,  tables,  tongs,  and  shovel  slunk  in 
an  instant  as  quietly  into  their  places  as  if  nothing 
had  happened  ;  and  the  musician  vanished  up  the 
chimney,  leaving  the  bellows  behind  him  in  his 
hurry.  My  grandfather  found  himself  seated  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  with  the  clothes-press  sprawling 
before  him,  and  the  two  handles  jerked  off  and  in 
his  hands. 

"  Then  after  all,  this  was  a  mere  dream ! "  said 
the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  The  divil  a  bit  of  a  dream  ! "  replied  the  Irish- 
man :  "  there  never  was  a  truer  fact  in  this  world. 
Faith,  I  should  have  liked  to  see  any  man  tell  my 
grandfather  it  was  a  dream." 

Well,  gentlemen,  as  the  clothes-press  was  a 
mighty  heavy  body,  and  my  grandfather  likewise, 
particularly  in  rear,  you  may  easily  suppose  two  such 
heavy  bodies  coming  to  the  ground  would  make  a 
bit  of  a  noise.  Faith,  the  old  mansion  shook  as 
though  it  had  mistaken  it  for  an  earthquake.  The 
whole  garrison  was  alarmed.  The  landlord,  who 
slept  just  below,  hurried  up  with  a  candle  to  inquire 
the  cause,  but  with  all  his  haste  his  daughter  had 
hurried  to  the  scene  of  uproar  before  him.  The 
landlord  was  followed  by  the  landlady,  who  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  bouncing  bar-maid,  who  was  followed 
by  the  simpering  chambermaids  all  holding  together, 
as  well  as  they  could,  such  garments  as  they  had 
first  lain  hands  on  ;  but  all  in  a  terrible  hurry  to  see 
what  the  devil  was  to  pay  in  the  chamber  of  the 
bold  dragoon. 

My  grandfather  related  the  marvellous  scene  he 
had  witnessed,  and  the  prostrate  clothes-press,  and 
the  broken  handles,  bore  testimony  to  the  fact.  There 
was  no  contesting  such  evidence ;  particularly  with 
a  lad  of  my  grandfather's  complexion,  who  seemed 
able  to  make  good  every  word  either  with  sword  or 
shillelah.  So  the  landlord  scratched  his  head  and 
looked  silly,  as  he  was  apt  to  do  when  puzzled.  The 
landlady  scratched — no,  she  did  not  scratch  her  head. 


— but  she  knit  her  brow,  and  did  not  seem  half  pleased 
with  the  explanation.  But  the  landlady's  daughter 
corroborated  it  by  recollecting  that  the  last  person 
who  had  dwelt  in  that  chamber  was  a  famous  jug- 
gler who  had  died  of  St.  Vitus's  dance,  and  no 
doubt  had  infected  all  the  furniture. 

This  set  all  things  to  rights,  particularly  when  the 
chambermaids  declared  that  they  had  all  witnessed 
strange  carryings  on  in  that  room  ; — and  as  they  de- 
clared this  "upon  their  honours,"  there  could  not 
remain  a  doubt  upon  the  subject. 

"And  did  your  grandfather  go  to  bed  again  in 
that  room  ?  "  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman. 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell.  Where  he  passed 
the  rest  of  the  night  was  a  secret  he  never  disclosed. 
In  fact,  though  he  had  seen  much  service,  he  was 
but  indifferently  acquainted  with  geography,  and  apt 
to  make  blunders  in  his  travels  about  inns  at  night, 
that  it  would  have  puzzled  him  sadly  to  account  for 
in  the  morning." 

"  Was  he  ever  apt  to  walk  in  his  sleep  ?  "  said  the 
knowing  old  gentleman. 

"Never  that  I  heard  of." 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  MYSTERIOUS  PIC- 
TURE. 


As  one  story  of  the  kind  produces  another,  and 
as  all  the  company  seemed  fully  engrossed  by  the 
topic,  and  disposed  to  bring  their  relatives  and  an- 
cestors upon  the  scene,  there  is  no  knowing  how 
many  more  ghost  adventures  we  might  have  heard, 
had  not  a  corpulent  old  fox-hunter,  who  had  slept 
soundly  through  the  whole,  now  suddenly  awakened, 
with  a  loud  and  long-drawn  yawn.  The  sound 
broke  the  charm  ;  the  ghosts  took  to  flight  as  though 
it  had  been  cock-crowing,  and  there  was  a  universal 
move  for  bed. 

"  And  now  for  the  haunted  chamber,"  said  the 
Irish  captain,  taking  his  candle. 

"Aye,  who's  to  be  the  hero  of  the  night.'  "  said 
the  gentleman  with  the  ruined  head. 

"  "That  we  shall  see  in  the  morning,"  said  the  old 
gentleman  with  the  nose  :  "  whoever  looks  pale  and 
grizzly  will  have  seen  the  ghost." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Baronet,  "  there's 
many  a  true  thing  said  in  jest.  In  fact,  one  of  you 
will  sleep  in  a  room  to-night " 

"  What — a  h.-iunted  room  }  a  haunted  room  ?  I 
claim  the  adventure — and  I — and  I — and  I,"  cried  a 
dozen  guests,  talking  and  laughing  at  the  same  time. 

"  No— no,"  said  mine  host,  "there  is  a  secret 
about  one  of  my  rooms  on  which  I  feel  disposed  to 
try  an  experiment.  So,  gentlemen,  none  of  you  shall 
know  who  has  the  haunted  chamber,  until  circum- 
stances reveal  it.  I  will  not  even  know  it  myself,  but 
will  leave  it  to  chance  and  the  allotment  of  the 
housekeeper.  At  the  same  time,  if  it  will  be  any 
satisfaction  to  you,  1  will  observe,  for  the  honour  of 
my  paternal  mansion,  that  there's  scarcely  a  cham- 
ber in  it  but  is  well  worthy  of  being  haunted." 

We  now  separated  for  the  night,  and  each  went 
to  his  allotted  room.  Mine  was  in  one  wing  of  the 
building,  and  I  could  not  but  smile  at  its  resem- 
blance in  style  to  those  eventful  apartments  de- 
scribed in  the  tales  of  the  supper  table.  It  was 
spacious  and  gloomy,  decorated  with  lamp-black 
portraits,  a  bed  of  ancient  damask,  with  a  tester 
sufficiently  lofty  to  grace  a  couch  of  state,  and  a 
number  of  massive  pieces  of  old-fashioned  furniture. 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


351 


I  drew  a  great  claw-footed  arm-cliair  before  the 
wide  tire-place  ;  stirred  up  the  fire  ;  sat  looking  into 
It,  and  musing  upon  the  odd  stories  I  had  heard  ; 
until,  pardy  overcome  by  the  fatigue  of  the  day's 
hunting,  and  partly  by  the  wine  and  wassail  of  mine 
host,  I  fell  asleep  in  my  chair. 

The  uneasiness  of  my  position  made  my  slumber 
troubled,  and  laid  me  at  the  mercy  of  all  kinds  of 
wild  and  fearful  dreams  ;  now  it  was  that  my  per- 
fidious dinner  and  supper  rose  in  rebellion  against 
my  peace.  I  was  hag-ridden  by  a  fat  saddle  of  mut- 
ton ;  a  plum  pudding  weighed  like  lead  upon  my 
conscience  ;  the  merry  thought  of  a  capon  filled  me 
with  horrible  suggestions ;  and  a  devilled  leg  of  a 
turkey  stalked  in  all  kinds  of  diabolical  shapes 
through  my  imagination.  In  short,  I  had  a  violent 
fit  of  the  nightmare.  Some  strange  indefinite  evil 
seemed  hanging  over  me  that  I  could  not  avert ; 
something  terrible  and  loathsome  oppressed  me  that 
I  could  not  shake  off.  I  was  conscious  of  being 
asleep,  and  strove  to  rouse  myself,  but  every  effort 
redoubled  the  evil ;  until  gasping,  struggling,  almost 
strangling,  I  suddenly  sprang  bolt  upright  in  my 
chair,  and  awoke. 

The  light  on  the  mantel-piece  had  burnt  low, 
and  the  wick  was  divided  ;  there  was  a  great  wind- 
ing sheet  made  by  the  dripping  wa.x,  on  the  side 
towards  me.  The  disordered  taper  emitted  a  broad 
flaring  flame,  and  threw  a  strong  light  on  a  paint- 
ing over  the  fire-place,  which  I  had  not  hitherto 
observed. 

It  consisted  merely  of  a  head,  or  rather  a  face, 
that  appeared  to  be  staring  full  upon  me,  and  with 
an  expression  that  was  startling.  It  was  without  a 
frame,  and  at  the  first  glance  I  could  hardly  persuade 
myself  that  it  was  not  a  real  face,  thrusting  itself 
out  of  the  dark  oaken  pannel.  I  sat  in  my  chair 
gazing  at  it,  and  the  more  1  gazed  the  more  it  dis- 
quieted me.  I  had  never  before  been  affected  in  the 
same  way  by  any  painting.  The  emotions  it  caused 
were  strange  and  indefinite.  They  were  something 
like  what  I  have  heard  ascribed  to  the  eyes  of  the 
basilisk ;  or  like  that  mysterious  influence  in  reptiles 
t£,rmed  fascination.  I  passed  my  hand  over  my 
eyes  several  times,  as  if  seeking  instinctively  to  brush 
away  this  allusion — in  vain — they  instantly  reverted 
to  the  picture,  and  its  chilling,  creeping  influence 
Over  my  flesh  was  redoubled. 

I  looked  around  the  room  on  other  pictures,  either 
to  divert  my  attention,  or  to  see  whether  the  same 
effect  would  be  produced  by  them.  Some  of  them 
were  grim  enough  to  produce  the  effect,  if  the  mere 
grimness  of  the  painting  produced  it — no  such  thing. 
My  eye  passed  over  them  all  with  perfect  indiffer- 
ence, but  the  moment  it  reverted  to  this  visage  over 
the  fire-place,  it  was  as  if  an  electric  shock  darted 
through  me.  The  other  pictures  were  dim  and 
faded  ;  but  this  one  protruded  from  a  plain  black 
ground  in  the  strongest  relief,  and  with  wonderful 
truth  of  colouring.  The  expression  was  that  of 
agony— the  agony  of  intense  bodily  pain ;  but  a 
menace  scowled  upon  the  brow,  and  a  few  sprink- 
lings of  blood  added  to  its  ghastliness.  Yet  it  was 
not  all  these  characteristics — it  was  some  horror  of 
the  mind,  some  inscrutable  antipathy  awakened  by 
this  picture,  which  harrowed  up  my  feelings. 

I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that  this  was  chimeri- 
cal ;  that  my  brain  was  confused  by  the  fumes  of 
mine  host's  good  cheer,  and,  in  some  measure,  by 
the  odd  stories  about  paintings  which  had  been  told 
at  supper.  I  determined  to  shake  off  these  vapours 
of  the  mind  ;  rose  from  my  chair,  and  walked  about 
the  room;  snapped  my  fingers;  rallied  myself; 
laughed  aloud.  It  was  a  forced  laugh,  and  the 
echo  of  it  in  the  old  chamber  jarred  upon  my  ear.    I 


walked  to  the  window  ;  tried  to  discern  the  land- 
scape through  the  glass.  It  was  pitch  darkness,  and 
howling  storm  without ;  and  as  I  heard  the  wind 
moan  among  the  trees,  I  caught  a  reflection  of  this 
accursed  visage  in  the  pane  of  glass,  as  though  it 
were  staring  through  the  window  at  me.  Even  the 
reflection  of  it  was  thrilling. 

How  was  this  vile  nervous  fit,  for  such  I  now  per- 
suaded myself  it  was,  to  be  conquered  ?  I  deter- 
mined to  force  myself  not  to  look  at  the  painting, 
but  to  undress  quickly  and  get  into  bed.  I  began  to 
undress,  but  in  spite  of  every  effort  I  could  not  keep 
myself  from  stealing  a  glance  every  now  and  then 
at  the  picture ;  and  a  glance  was  now  sufficient  to 
distress  me.  Even  when  my  back  was  turned  to  it, 
the  idea  of  this  strange  face  behind  me,  peering  over 
my  shoulder,  was  insufferable.  I  threw  off  my 
clothes  and  hurried  into  bed  ;  but  still  this  visage 
gazed  upon  me.  I  had  a  full  view  of  it  from  my 
bed,  and  for  some'time  could  not  take  my  eyes  from 
it.     I  had  grown  nervous  to  a  dismal  degree. 

I  put  out  the  light,  and  tried  to  force  myself  to 
sleep ; — aU  in  vain  !  The  fire  gleaming  up  a  little, 
threw  an  uncertain  light  about  the  room,  leaving, 
however,  the  region  of  the  picture  in  deep  shadow. 
What,  thought  1,  if  this  be  the  chamber  about  which 
mine  host  spoke  as  having  a  mystery  reigning  over 
it .' — I  had  taken  his  words  merely  as  spoken  in 
jest ;  might  they  have  a  real  import  ?  1  looked 
around.  The  faintly-lighted  apartment  had  all  the 
qualifications  requisite  for  a  haunted  chamber.  It 
began  in  my  infected  imagination  to  assume  strange 
appearances.  The  old  portraits  turned  paler  and 
paler,  and  blacker  and  blacker ;  the  streaks  of  light 
and  shadow  thrown  among  the  quaint  old  articles  of 
furniture,  gave  them  singular  shapes  and  characters. 
There  was  a  huge  dark  clothes-press  of  antique  form, 
gorgeous  in  brass  and  lustrous  with  wax,  that  began 
to  grow  oppressive  to  me. 

Am  I  then,  thought  I,  indeed,  the  hero  of  the 
haunted  room  ?  Is  there  really  a  spell  laid  upon 
me,  or  is  this  all  some  contrivance  of  mine  host,  to 
raise  a  laugh  at  my  expense?  The  idea  of  being 
hag-ridden  by  my  own  fancy  all  night,  and  then 
bantered  on  my  haggard  looks  the  next  day  was  in- 
tolerable ;  but  the  very  idea  was  sufficient  to  pro- 
duce the  effect,  and  to  render  me  still  more  nervous. 
Pish,  said  I,  it  can  be  no  such  thing.  How  could 
my  worthy  host  imagine  that  I,  or  any  man  would  be 
so  worried  by  a  mere  picture  ?  It  is  my  own  dis- 
eased imagination  that  torments  me.  I  turned  in 
my  bed,  and  shifted  from  side  to  side,  to  try  to  fall 
asleep  ;  but  all  in  vain.  When  one  cannot  get 
asleep  by  lying  quiet,  it  is  seldom  that  tossing  about 
will  efTect  the  purpose.  The  fire  gradually  went  out 
and  left  the  room  in  darkness.  Still  I  had  the  idea 
of  this  inexplicable  countenance  gazing  and  keeping 
watch  upon  nie  through  the  darkness.  Nay,  what 
was  worse,  the  very  darkness  seemed  to  give  it  addi- 
tional power,  and  to  multiply  its  terrors.  It  was 
like  having  an  unseen  enemy  hovering  about  one  in 
the  night.  Instead  of  having  one  picture  now  to 
worry  me,  I  had  a  hundred.  I  fancied  it  in  every 
direction.  And  there  it  is,  thought  I, — and  there, 
and  there, — with  its  horrible  and  mysterious  ex- 
pression, sfiU  gazing  and  gazing  on  me.  No — if  I 
must  suffer  this  strange  and  dismal  influence,  it 
were  better  face  a  single  foe,  than  thus  be  haunted 
by  a  thousand  images  of  it. 

Whoever  has  been  in  such  a  state  of  nervous  agi- 
tation, must  know  that  the  longer  it  continues,  the 
more  uncontroulable  it  grows ;  the  very  air  of  the 
chamber  seemed  at  length  infected  by  the  baleful 
presence  of  this  picture.  I  fancied  it  hovering  over 
me.     I  almost  felt  the  fearful  visage  from  the  wall 


352 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


approachinjT  my  face, — it  seemed  breathing  upon 
me.  This  is  not  to  be  borne,  said  I,  at  length, 
springing  out  of  bed.  I  can  stand  this  no  longer.  I 
shall  only  tumble  and  toss  about  here  all  night ; 
make  a  very  spectre  of  myself,  and  become  the  hero 
of  the  haunted  chamber  in  good  earnest.  Whatever 
be  the  consequence,  I'll  quit  this  cursed  room,  and 
seek  a  night's  rest  elsewhere.  They  can  but  laugh 
at  me  at  all  events,  and  they'll  be  sure  to  have  the 
laugh  upon  me  if  I  pass  a  sleepless  night  and  show 
them  a  haggard  and  wo-begone  visage  in  the 
morning. 

All  this  was  half  muttered  to  myself,  as  I  hastily 
slipped  on  my  clothes  ;  which  having  done,  I  gropei 
my  w.iy  out  of  the  room,  and  down-stairs  to  the 
drawing-room.  Here,  after  tumbling  over  two  or 
three  pieces  of  furniture,  I  made  out  to  reach  a 
sofa,  and  stretching  myself  upon  it  determined  to 
bivouack  there  for  the  night. 

The  moment  I  found  myself  out  of  the  neighbour- 
hood of  that  strange  picture,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
charm  were  broken.  All  its  influence  was  at  an  end. 
I  felt  assured  that  it  was  confined  to  its  own  dreary 
chamber,  for  I  had,  with  a  sort  of  instinctive  caution, 
turned  the  key  when  I  closed  the  door.  I  soon 
calmed  down,  theretbre,  into  a  state  of  tranquillity ; 
from  that  into  a  drowsiness,  and  finally  into  a  deep 
sleep ;  out  of  which  I  did  not  awake,  until  the  house- 
maid, with  her  besom  and  her  matin  song,  came  to 
put  the  room  in  order.  She  stared  at  hnding  me 
stretched  upon  the  sofa ;  but  I  presume  circum- 
stances of  the  kind  were  not  uncommon  after  hunt- 
ing dinners,  in  her  master's  bachelor  establishment ; 
for  she  went  on  with  her  song  and  her  work,  and 
took  no  farther  heed  of  me. 

I  had  an  unconquerable  repugnance  to  return  to 
my  chamber  ;  so  I  found  my  way  to  the  butler's 
quarters,  made  my  toilette  in  the  best  way  circum- 
stances would  permit,  and  was  among  the  first  to 
appear  at  the  breakfast  table.  Our  breakfast  was  a 
substantial  fox-hunter's  repast,  and  the  company 
were  generally  assembled  at  it.  When  ample  justice 
had  been  done  to  the  tea,  coffee,  cold  meats,  and 
humming  ale,  for  all  these  were  furnished  in  abun- 
dance, according  to  the  tastes  of  the  different  guests, 
the  conversation  began  to  break  out,  with  all  the 
liveliness  and  freshness  of  morning  mirth. 

"  But  who  is  the  hero  of  the  haunted  chamber? — 
Who  has  seen  the  ghost  last  night.'"  said  the  in- 
quisitive gentleman,  rolling  his  lobster  eyes  about 
the  table. 

The  question  set  every  tongue  in  motion  ;  a  vast 
deal  of  bantering ;  criticizing  of  countenances  ;  of 
mutual  accusation  and  retort  took  place.  Some  had 
drunk  deep,  and  some  were  unshaven,  so  that  there 
were  suspicious  faces  enough  in  the  assembly.  I 
alone  could  not  enter  with  ease  and  vivacity  into  the 
joke.  I  felt  tongue-tied — embarrassed.  A  recol- 
lection of  what  I  had  seen  and  felt  the  preceding 
night  still  haunted  my  mind.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
mysterious  picture  still  held  a  thrall  upon  me.  I 
thought  also  that  our  host's  eye  was  turned  on  me 
with  an  air  of  curiosity.  In  short,  I  was  conscious 
that'I  was  the  hero  of  the  night,  and  felt  as  if  every 
one  might  read  it  in  my  looks. 

The  jokes,  however,  passed  over,  and  no  .suspicion 
seemed  to  attach  to  me.  I  was  just  congratulating 
myself  on  my  escape,  when  a  servant  came  in,  say- 
ing, that  the  gentleman  who  had  slept  on  the  sofa  in 
the  drawing-room,  had  left  his  watch  under  one  of 
the  pillows.     My  repeater  was  in  his  hand. 

"What!"  said  the  inquisitive  gentleman,  "did 
any  gentleman  sleep  on  the  sofa?  " 

"  Soho  !  soho  !  a  hare — a  hare  !  "  cried  the  old 
gentleman  with  the  flexible  nose. 


I  could  not  avoid  acknowledging  the  watch,  and 
was  rising  in  great  confusion,  when  a  boisterous  old 
squire  who  sat  beside  me,  exclaimed,  slapping  me 
on  the  shoulder,  "  'Sblood,  lad  !  thou'rt  the  man  as 
has  seen  the  ghost  I  " 

The  attention  of  the  company  was  immediately 
turned  to  me  ;  if  my  face  had  been  pale  the  moment 
before,  it  now  glowed  almost  to  burning.  I  tried  to 
laugh,  but  could  only  make  a  grimace ;  and  found 
all  the  muscles  of  my  face  twitching  at  sixes  and 
sevens,  and  totally  out  of  all  controul. 

It  takes  but  little  to  raise  a  laugh  among  a  set  of 
fox-hunters.  There  was  a  world  of  merriment  and 
joking  at  my  expense  ;  and  as  I  never  relished  a  joke 
overmuch  when  it  was  at  my  own  expense,  I  began 
to  feel  a  Httle  nettled.  I  tried  to  look  cool  and  calm 
and  to  restrain  my  pique ;  but  the  coolness  and 
calmness  of  a  man  in  a  passion  are  confounded 
treacherous. 

Gentlemen,  said  I,  with  a  slight  cocking  of  the 
chin,  and  a  bad  attempt  at  a  smile,  this  is  all  very 
pleasant — ha  I  ha  ! — very  pleasant — but  I'd  have  you 
know  I  am  as  little  superstitious  as  any  of  you — ha  ! 
ha  ! — and  as  to  any  thing  like  timidity — you  may 
smile,  gentlemen — but  I  trust  there  is  no  one  here 

means  to  insinuate  that. As  to  a  room's  being 

haunted,  I  repeat,  gentlemen — (growing  a  little  warm 
at  seeing  a  cursed  grin  breaking  out  round  me) — as 
to  a  room's  being  haunted,  I  have  as  little  faith  in 
such  silly  stories  as  any  one.  But,  since  you  put  the 
matter  home  to  ine,  I  will  say  that  I  have  met  with 
something  in  my  room  strange  and  inexplicable  to 
me— (a  shout  of  laughter).  Gentlemen,  I  am  serious 
— I  know  well  what  I  am  saying — I  am  calm,  gentle- 
men, (striking  my  fist  upon  the  table) — by  heaven  I 
am  calm.  I  am  neither  trifling,  nor  do  I  wish  to  be 
trifled  with — (the  laughter  of  the  company  suppress- 
ed with  ludicrous  attempts  at  gravity.)  There  is  a 
picture  in  the  room  in  which  1  was  put  last  night, 
that  has  had  an  effect  upon  me  the  most  singular 
and  incomprehensible. 

"  A  picture !  "  said  the  old  gentleman  with  the 
haunted  head.  "  A  picture  ! "  cried  the  narrator 
with  the  waggish  nose.  "A  picture!  a  picture!" 
echoed  several  voices.  Here  there. was  an  ungov- 
ernable peal  of  laughter. 

I  could  not  contain  myself  I  started  up  from  my 
seat — looked  round  on  the  company  with  fiery  indig- 
nation— thrust  both  my  hands  into  my  pockets,  and 
strode  up  to  one  of  the  windows,  as  though  I  would 
have  walked  through  it.  I  stopped  short ;  looked 
out  upon  the  landscape  without  distinguishing  a 
feature  of  it ;  and  felt  my  gorge  rising  almost  to  suffo- 
cation. 

Mine  host  saw  it  was  time  to  interfere.  He  had 
maintained  an  air  of  gravity  through  the  whole  of 
the  scene,  and  now  stepped  forth  as  if  to  shelter 
me  from  the  overwhelming  merriment  of  my  com- 
panions. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  I  dishke  to  spoil  sport, 
but  you  have  had  your  laugh,  and  the  joke  of  the 
haunted  chamber  has  been  enjoyed.  I  must  now 
take  the  part  of  my  guest.  I  must  not  only  vindi- 
cate him  from  your  pleasantries,  but  I  must  recon- 
cile him  to  himself,  for  I  suspect  he  is  a  little  out  of 
humour  with  his  own  feelings  ;  and  above  all,  I  must 
crave  his  pardon  for  having  made  him  the  subject  of 
a  kind  of  experiment. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  there  is  something  strange  and 
peculiar  in  the  chamber  to  which  our  friend  was 
shown  last  night.  There  is  a  picture  which  pos- 
sesses a  singular  and  mysterious  influence  ;  and  with 
which  there  is  connected  a  very  curious  story.  It  is 
a  picture  to  which  I  attach  a  value  from  a  variety  of 
circumstances ;    and    though    I    have    often    been 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


353 


tempted  to  destroy  it,  from  the  odd  and  uncomfort- 
able sensations  it  produces  in  every  one  that  beholds 
it ;  yet  I  have  never  been  able  to  prevail  upon  my- 
self to  make  the  sacrifice.  It  is  a  picture  I  never 
like  to  look  upon  myself;  and  which  is  held  in  awe 
by  all  my  servants.  1  have,  therefore,  banished  it  to 
a  room  but  rarely  used ;  and  should  have  had  it  cov- 
ered last  night,  had  not  the  nature  of  our  conversa- 
tion, and  the  whimsical  talk  about  a  haunted  cham- 
ber tempted  me  to  let  it  remain,  by  way  of  experi- 
ment, whether  a  stranger,  totally  unacquainted  with 
its  stor}',  would  be  affected  by  it." 

The  words  of  the  Baronet  had  turned  every 
thought  into  a  different  channel ;  all  were  anxious 
to  hear  the  story  of  the  mysterious  pictnre  ;  and  for 
myself,  so  strongly  were  my  feelings  interested,  that 
I  forgot  to  feel  piqued  at  the  experiment  which  my 
host  had  made  upon  my  nerves,  and  joined  eagerly 
in  the  general  entreaty. 

As  the  morning  was  stormy,  and  precluded  all 
egress,  my  host  was  glad  of  any  means  of  entertain- 
ing his  company  ;  so  drawing  his  arm-chair  beside 
the  fire,  he  began — 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  MYSTERIOUS 
STRANGER. 


Many  years  since,  when  I  was  a  young  man,  and 
had  just  left  Oxford,  I  was  sent  on  the  grand  tour 
to  finish  my  education.  I  believe  my  parents  had 
tried  in  vain  to  inoculate  me  with  wisdom  ;  so  they 
sent  me  to  mingle  with  society,  in  hopes  I  might 
take  it  the  natural  way.  Such,  afleast,  appears  to 
be  the  reason  for  which  nine-tenths  of  our  young- 
sters are  sent  abroad. 

In  the  course  of  my  tour  I  remained  some  time  at 
Venice.  The  romantic  character  of  the  place  de- 
lighted me  ;  I  was  very  much  amused  by  the  air  of 
adventure  and  intrigue  that  prevailed  in  this  region 
of  masks  and  gondolas ;  and  I  was  exceedingly 
smitten  Ijy  a  pair  of  languishing  black  eyes,  that 
played  upon  my  heart  from  under  an  Italian  mantle. 
So  I  persuaded  myself  that  I  was  lingering  at  Ven- 
ice to  study  men  and  manners.  At  least  I  per- 
suaded my  friends  so,  and  that  answered  all  my 
purpose.  Indeed,  I  was  a  little  prone  to  be  struck 
by  peculiarities  in  character  and  conduct,  and  my 
imagination  was  so  full  of  romantic  associations 
with  Italy,  that  I  was  always  on  the  lookout  for  ad- 
venture. 

Every  thing  chimed  in  with  such  a  humour  in  this 
old  mermaid  of  a  city.  My  suite  of  apartments  were 
in  a  proud,  melancholy  palace  on  the  grand  canal, 
formerly  the  residence  of  a  Magnifico,  and  sump- 
tuous with  the  traces  of  decayed  grandeur.  My 
gondolier  was  one  of  the  shrewdest  of  his  class, 
active,  merry,  intelligent,  and,  like  his  brethren,  se- 
cret as  the  grave;  that  is  to  say,  secret  to  all  the 
world  except  his  master.  I  had  not  had  him  a  week 
before  he  put  me  behind  all  the  curtains  in  Venice. 
I  liked  the  silence  and  mystery  of  the  place,  and 
when  I  sometimes  saw  from  my  window  a  black 
gondola  gliding  mysteriously  along  in  the  dusk  of 
the  evening,  with  nothing  visible  but  its  little  glim- 
mering lantern,  I  would  jump  into  my  own  zendu- 
letto,  and  give  a  signal  for  pursuit.  But  I  am  run- 
ning away  from  my  subject  with  the  recollection  of 
youthful  follies,  said  the  Baronet,  checking  himself; 
"let  me  come  to  the  point." 

Among  my  familiar  resorts  was  a  Cassino  under 
23 


the  Arcades  on  one  side  of  the  grand  square  of  St. 
Mark.  Here  I  used  frequently  to  lounge  and  take 
my  ice  on  those  warm  summer  nights  when  in  Italy 
every  body  lives  abroad  until  morning.  I  was  seated 
here  one  evening,  when  a  groupe  of  Italians  took 
seat  at  a  table  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  saloon. 
Their  conversation  was  gay  and  animated,  and  car- 
ried on  with  Italian  vivacity  and  gesticulation. 

I  remarked  among  them  one  young  man,  however, 
who  appeared  to  take  no  share,  and  find  no  enjoy- 
ment in  the  conversation  ;  though  he  seemed  to  force 
himself  to  attend  to  it.  He  was  tall  and  slender,  and 
of  extremely  prepossessing  appearance.  His  features 
were  fine,  though  emaciated.  He  had  a  profusion  of 
black  glossy  hair  that  curled  lightly  about  his  head, 
and  contrasted  with  the  extreme  paleness  of  his 
countenance.  His  brow  was  haggard  ;  deep  furrows 
seemed  to  have  been  ploughed  into  his  visage  by 
care,  not  by  age,  for  he  was  evidently  in  the  prime 
of  youth.  His  eye  was  full  of  expression  and  fire, 
but  wild  and  unsteady.  He  seemed  to  be  tormented 
by  some  strange  fancy  or  apprehension.  In  spite  of 
every  effort  to  fix  his  attention  on  the  conversation  of 
his  companions,  I  noticed  that  every  now  and  then 
he  would  turn  his  head  slowly  round,  give  a  glance 
over  his  shoulder,  and  then  withdraw  it  with  a  sud- 
den jerk,  as  if  something  painful  had  met  his  eye. 
This  was  repeated  at  intervals  of  about  a  minute , 
and  he  appeared  hardly  to  have  got  over  one  shock, 
before  I  saw  him  slowly  preparing  to  encounter  an- 
other. 

After  sitting  some  time  in  the  Cassino,  the  party 
paid  for  the  refreshments  they  had  taken,  and  depart- 
ed. The  young  man  was  the  last  to  leave  the  saloon, 
and  I  remarked  him  glancing  behind  him  in  the  same 
way,  just  as  he  passed  out  at  the  door.  1  could  not 
resist  the  impulse  to  rise  and  follow  him ;  for  I  was 
at  an  age  when  a  romantic  feeling  of  curiosity  is 
easily  awakened.  The  party  walked  slowly  down  the 
Arcades,  talking  and  laughing  as  they  went.  They 
crossed  the  Piazzetta,  but  paused  in  the  middle  of  it 
to  enjoy  the  scene.  It  was  one  of  those  moonlight 
nights  so  brilliant  and  clear  in  the  pure  atmosphere 
of  Italy.  The  moon-beams  streamed  on  the  tall 
tower  of  St.  Mark,  and  lighted  up  the  magnificent 
front  and  swelling  domes  of  the  Cathedral.  The 
party  expressed  their  delight  in  animated  terms.  I 
kept  my  eye  upon  the  young  man.  He  alone  seem- 
ed abstracted  and  self-occupied.  I  noticed  the  same 
singular,  and,  as  it  were,  furtive  glance  over  the 
shoulder  that  had  attracted  my  attention  in  the  Cas- 
sino. The  party  moved  on,  and  I  followed ;  they 
passed  along  the  walks  called  the  Broglio  ;  turned  the 
corner  of  the  Ducal  palace,  and  getting  into  a  gon- 
dola, glided  swiftly  away. 

The  countenance  and  conduct  of  this  young  man 
dwelt  upon  my  mind.  There  was  something  in  his 
appearance  that  interested  me  exceedingly.  I  met 
him  a  day  or  two  after  in  a  gallery  of  paintings.  He 
was  evidently  a  connoisseur,  for  he  always  singled 
out  the  most  masterly  productions,  and  the  few  re- 
marks drawn  from  him  by  his  companions  showed 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  art.  His  own 
taste,  however,  ran  on  singular  extremes.  On  Salva- 
tor  Rosa  in  his  most  savage  and  solitary  scenes ;  on 
Raphael,  Titian,  and  Corregio  in  their  softest  delinea- 
tions of  female  beauty.  On  these  he  would  occa- 
sionally gaze  with  transient  enthusiasm.  But  this 
seemed  only  a  momentary  forgetful ness.  Still  would 
recur  that  cautious  glance  behind,  and  always  quickly 
withdrawn,  as  though  something  terrible  had  met 
his  view. 

I  encountered  him  frequently  afterwards.  At  the 
theatre,  at  balls,  at  concerts  ;  at  the  promenades  in 
the  gardens  of  San  Georgio  ;  at  the  g^otesaue  exhi- 


354 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


bitions  in  the  square  of  St.  Mark  ;  among  the  throng 
ol  merchants  on  the  Exchange  by  the  Rialto.  Jle 
seemed,  in  fact,  to  seek  crowds  ;  to  hunt  after  bustle 
ftnd  amusement ;  yet  never  to  take  any  interest  in 
either  the  business  or  gayety  of  the  scene.  F.ver  an 
air  of  painful  thought,  of  wretched  abstraction  ;  and 
ever  that  strange  and  recurring  movement,  of  glanc- 
ing fearfully  over  the  shoulder.  1  did  not  know  at 
first  but  this  might  be  caused  by  apprehension  of  ar- 
rest ;  or  perhaps  from  dread  of  assassination.  But,  if 
so,  why  should  he  go  thus  continually  abroad  ;  why 
expose  himself  at  all  times  and  in  all  places  .' 

I  became  anxious  to  know  this  stranger.  I  was 
drawn  to  him  by  that  romantic  sympathy  that  some- 
times draws  young  men  towards  each  other.  His 
melancholy  threw  a  charm  about  him  in  my  eyes, 
which  was  no  doubt  heightened  by  the  touching  ex- 
pression of  his  countenance,  and  the  manly  graces  of 
his  person  ;  for  manly  beauty  has  its  effect  even 
upon  man.  I  had  an  Englishman's  habitual  diffi- 
dence and  awkwardness  of  address  to  contend  with  ; 
but  I  subdued  it,  and  from  frequently  meeting  him 
in  the  Cassino,  gradually  edged  myself  into  his  ac- 
quaintance. I  had  no  reserve  on  his  part  to  con- 
tend with.  He  seemed  on  the  contrary  to  court  so- 
ciety ;  and  in  fact  to  seek  any  thing  rather  than  be 
alone. 

When  he  found  I  really  took  an  interest  in  him  he 
threw  himself  entirely  upon  my  friendship.  He  clung 
to  me  like  a  drowning  man.  He  would  walk  with 
me  for  hours  up  and  down  the  place  of  St.  Mark — 
or  he  would  sit  until  night  was  far  advanced  in  my 
apartment ;  he  took  rooms  under  the  same  roof  with 
me  ;  and  his  constant  request  was,  that  I  would  per- 
mit him,  when  it  did  not  incommode  me,  to  sit  by 
me  in  my  saloon.  It  was  not  that  he  seemed  to 
take  a  particular  delight  in  my  conversation ;  but 
rather  that  he  craved  the  vicinity  of  a  human  be- 
ing ;  and  above  all,  of  a  being  that  sympathized  with 
him.  "  I  have  often  heard,"  said  he,  "  of  the  sincerity 
of  Englishmen — thank  God  I  have  one  at  length  for 
a  friend  !  " 

Yet  he  never  seemed  disposed  to  avail  himself  of 
my  sympathy  other  than  by  mere  companionship. 
He  never  sought  to  unbosom  himself  to  me  ;  there 
appeared  to  be  a  settled  corroding  anguish  in  his 
bosom  that  neither  could  be  soothed  "  by  silence  nor 
by  .speaking."  A  devouring  melancholy  preyed 
upon  his  heart,  and  seemed  to  be  drying  up  the  very 
blood  in  his  veins.  It  was  not  a  soft  melancholy — 
the  disease  of  the  affections  ;  but  a  parching,  wither- 
ing agony.  I  could  see  at  times  that  his  mouth  was 
dry  and  feverish  ;  he  almost  panted  rather  than 
breathed  ;  his  eyes  were  bloodshot ;  his  cheeks  pale 
and  livid  ;  with  now  and  then  faint  streaks  athwart 
them — baleful  gleams  of  the  fire  that  was  consum- 
ing his  heart.  As  my  arm  was  within  his,  I  felt 
him  press  it  at  times  with  a  convulsive  motion  to 
his  side  ;  his  hands  would  clinch  themselves  involun- 
tarily, and  a  kind  of  shudder  would  run  through  his 
frame.  I  reasoned  with  him  about  his  melancholy, 
and  sought  to  draw  from  him  the  cause — he  shrunk 
from  all  confiding.  "  Do  not  seek  to  know  it,"  said 
he,  "  you  could  not  relieve  it  if  you  knew  it ;  you 
would  not  even  seek  to  relieve  it — on  the  contrary,  I 
should  lose  your  sympathy;  and  that,"  said  he,  press- 
ing my  hand  convulsively,  "  that  I  feel  has  become 
too  dear  to  me  to  risk." 

I  endeavoured  to  awaken  hope  within  him.  He 
was  young ;  life  had  a  thousand  pleasures  in  store  for 
him ;  there  is  a  healthy  reaction  in  the  youthful 
heart ;  it  medicines  its  own  wounds — "  Come,  come," 
said  1,  "there  is  no  grief  so  great  that  youth  cannot 
outgrow  it." — "No!  no!"  said  he,  clinching  his 
teeth,  and  striking  repeatedly,  with  the  energy  of 


despair,  upon  his  bosom — "  It  is  here— here — deep- 
rooted  ;  draining  my  heart's  blood.  It  grows  and 
grows,  while  my  heart  withers  and  withers  !  I  have 
a  dreadful  monitor  that  gives  me  no  repose — that 
follows  me  step  by  step ;  and  will  foUov/  me  step  by 
step,  until  it  pushes  me  into  my  grave  !  " 

As  he  said  this  he  gave  involuntarily  one  of  those 
fearful  glances  over  his  shoulder,  and  shrunk  back 
with  more  than  usual  horror.  I  could  not  resist  the 
temptation  to  allude  to  this  movement,  which  1  sup- 
posed to  be  some  mere  malady  of  the  nerves.  The 
moment  I  mentioned  it  his  face  became  crimsoned 
and  convulsed — he  grasped  me  by  both  hands  :  "  For 
God's  sake,"  exclaimed  he,  with  a  piercing  agony  of 
voice — "  never  allude  to  that  again  ;  let  us  avoid  this 
subject,  my  friend :  you  cannot  relieve  me,  indeed 
you  cannot  relieve  me  ;  but  you  may  add  to  the  tor- 
ments I  suffer ; — at  some  future  day  you  shall  know 
all." 

I  never  resumed  the  subject ;  for  however  much 
my  curiosity  might  be  aroused,  I  felt  too  true  a  com- 
passion for  his  sufferings  to  increase  them  by  my  in- 
trusion. I  sought  various  ways  to  divert  his  mind, 
and  to  arouse  him  from  the  constant  meditations  in 
which  he  was  plunged.  He  saw  my  efforts,  and 
seconded  them  as  far  as  in  his  power,  for  there  was 
nothing  moody  or  wayward  in  his  nature  ;  on  the 
contrary,  there  was  something  frank,  generous,  un- 
assuming, in  his  whole  deportment.  All  the  sen- 
timents that  he  uttered  were  noble  and  lofty.  He 
claimed  no  indulgence ;  he  asked  no  toleration. 
He  seemed  content  to  carry  his  load  of  misery  in  si- 
lence, and  only  sought  to  carry  it  by  my  side.  There 
was  a  mute  beseeching  manner  about  him,  as  if  he 
craved  companionship  as  a  charitable  boon  ;  and  a 
tacit  thankfulness  in  his  looks,  as  if  he  felt  grateful  to 
me  for  not  repulsing  him. 

I  felt  this  melancholy  to  be  infectious.  It  stole 
over  my  spirits  ;  interfered  with  all  my  gay  pursuits, 
and  gradually  saddened  my  life  ;  yet  1  could  not  pre- 
vail upon  myself  to  shake  off  a  being  who  seemed  to 
hang  upon  me  for  support.  In  truth,  the  generous 
traits  of  character  that  beamed  through  all  this 
gloom  had  penetrated  to  my  heart.  His  bounty  was 
lavish  and  open-handed.  His  charity  melting  and 
spontaneous.  Not  confined  to  mere  donations, 
which  often  humiliate  as  much  as  they  relieve.  The 
tone  of  his  voice,  the  beam  of  his  eye,  enhanced  every 
gift,  and  surprised  the  poor  suppliant  with  that  rarest 
and  sweetest  of  charities,  the  charity  not  merely  of 
the  hand,  but  of  the  heart.  Indeed,  his  liberality 
seemed  to  have  som.ething  in  it  of  self-abasement 
and  expiation.  He  humbled  himself,  in  a  manner, 
before  the  mendicant.  "  What  right  have  1  to  ease 
and  affluence,"  would  he  murmur  to  himself,  "  when 
innocence  wanders  in  misery  and  rags.'  " 

The  Carnival  time  arrived.  I  had  hoped  that  the 
gay  scenes  which  then  presented  themselves  might 
have  some  cheering  effect.  I  mingled  with  him  in 
the  motley  throng  that  crowded  the  place  of  St.  Mark. 
We  frequented  operas,  masquerades,  balls.  All  in 
vain.  The  evil  kept  growing  on  him  ;  he  became 
more  and  more  haggard  and  agitated.  Often,  after 
we  had  returned  from  one  of  these  scenes  of  revelry, 
I  have  entered  his  room,  and  found  him  lying  on  his 
face  on  the  sofa :  his  hands  clinched  in  his  fine  hair, 
and  his  whole  countenance  bearing  traces  of  the 
convulsions  of  his  mind. 

The  Carnival  passed  away ;  the  season  of  Lent 
succeeded  ;  Passion  week  arrived.  We  attended  one 
evening  a  solemn  service  in  one  of  the  churches  ;  in 
the  course  of  which  a  grand  piece  of  vocal  and  in- 
strumental music  was  performed  relating  to  the  death 
of  our  Saviour. 

I  had  remarked  that  he  was  always  powerfully 


TALES   OF   A    TRAVELLER. 


365 


affected  by  music ;  on  this  occasion  he  was  so  in  an 
extraordinary  degree.  As  the  pealing  notes  swelled 
through  the  lofty  aisles,  he  seemed  to  kindle  up  with 
fervour.  His  eyes  rolled  upwards,  until  nothing  but 
the  whites  were  visible ;  his  hands  were  clasped  to- 
gether, until  the  fingers  were  deeply  imprinted  in  the 
flesh.  When  the  music  expressed  the  dying  agony, 
his  face  gradually  sunk  upon  his  knees ;  and  at  the 
touching  words  resounding  through  the  church, 
"  Jesu  mori,"  sobs  burst  from  him  uncontrouled.  I 
had  never  seen  him  weep  before  ;  his  had  always 
been  agony  rather  than  sorrow.  1  augured  well  from 
the  circumstance.  I  let  him  weep  on  uninterrupted. 
When  the  service  was  ended  we  left  the  church.  He 
hung  on  my  arm  as  we  walked  homewards,  with 
something  of  a  softer  and  more  subdued  manner ; 
instead  of  that  nervous  agitation  I  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  witness.  He  alluded  to  the  service  we  had 
heard.  "  Music,"  said  he,  "  is  indeed  the  voice  of 
heaven  ;  never  before  have  I  felt  more  impressed  by 
the  story  of  the  atonement  of  our  Saviour.  Yes,  my 
friend,"  said  he,  clasping  his  hands  with  a  kind  of 
transport,  "  I  know  that  my  Redeemer  liveth." 

We  parted  for  the  night.  His  room  was  not  far 
from  mine,  and  I  heard  him  for  some  time  busied  in 
it.  I  fell  asleep,  but  was  awakened  before  daylight. 
The  young  man  stood  by  my  bed-side,  dressed  for 
travelling.  He  held  a  sealed  pacquet  and  a  large 
parcel  in  his  hand,  which  he  laid  on  the  table. 
"Farewell,  my  friend,"  said  he,  "I  am  about  to  set 
forth  on  a  long  journey;  but,  before  I  go,  I  leave 
with  you  these  remembrances.  In  this  pacquet  you 
will  find  the  particulars  of  my  story.  When  you  read 
them,  1  shall  be  far  away  ;  do  not  remember  me  with 
aversion.  You  have  been,  indeed,  a  friend  to  me. 
You  have  poured  oil  into  a  broken  heart, — but  you 
could  not  heal  it. — Farewell^et  me  kiss  your  hand 
— I  am  unworthy  to  embrace  you."  He  sunk  on  his 
knees,  seized  my  hand  in  despite  of  my  efforts  to  the 
contrary,  and  covered  it  with  kisses.  I  was  so  sur- 
prised by  all  this  scene  that  I  had  not  been  able  to 
say  a  word. 

But  we  shall  meet  again,  said  I,  hastily,  as  I  saw 
him  hurrying  towards  the  door. 

"  Never— never  in  this  world  !  "  said  he  solemnly. 
He  sprang  once  more  to  my  bed-side — seized  mv 
hand,  pressed  it  to  his  heart  and  to  his  lips,  and 
rushed  out  of  the  room. 

Here  the  Baronet  paused.  He  seemed  lost  in 
thought,  and  sat  looking  upon  the  floor  and  drum- 
ming with  his  fingers  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 

"  And  did  this  mysterious  personage  return  ?  " 
said  the  inquisitive  gentleman.  "  Never !"  replied 
the  Baronet,  with  a  pensive  shake  of  the  head  :  "  I 
never  saw  him  again."  And  pray  what  has  all  this 
to  do  with  the  picture?  inquired  the  old  gentleman 
with  the  nose— "True!"  said  the  questioner — "Is 
it  the  portrait  of  this  crack-brained  Italian  }  "  "  No!" 
said  the  Baronet,  drily,  not  half  liking  the  appellation 
given  to  his  hero  ;  but  this  picture  was  inclosed  in 
the  parcel  he  left  with  me.  The  sealed  pacquet  con- 
tained its  explanation.  There  was  a  request  on  the 
outside  that  I  would  not  open  it  until  six  months  had 
elapsed.  I  kept  my  promise,  in  spite  of  my  curiosity. 
I  have  a  translation  of  it  by  me,  and  had  meant  to 
read  it,  by  way  of  accounting  for  the  mystery  of  the 
chamber,  but  I  fear  I  have  already  detained  the 
company  too  long. 

Here  there  was  a  general  wish  expressed  to  have 
the  manuscript  read  ;  particularly  on  the  part  of  the 
inquisitive  gentleman.  So  the  worthy  Baronet  drew 
out  a  fairly  written  manuscript,  and  wiping  his  spec- 
tacles, read  aloud  the  following  story : — 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  YOUNG   ITALIAN. 


I  WAS  bom  at  Naples.  My  parents,  though  of 
noble  rank,  were  limited  in  fortune,  or  rather  my 
father  was  ostentatious  beyond  his  means,  and  ex- 
pended so  much  in  his  palace,  his  equipage,  and  his 
retinue,  that  he  was  continually  straightened  in  his 
pecuniary  circumstances.  I  was  a  younger  son,  and 
looked  upon  v,'ith  indifference  by  my  father,  who, 
from  a  principle  of  family  pride,  wished  to  leave  all 
his  property  to  my  elder  brother. 

I  showed,  when  quite  a  child,  an  extreme  sensi- 
bility. Every  thing  affected  me  violently.  While 
yet  an  infant  in  my  mother's  arms,  and  before  I  had 
learnt  to  talk,  I  could  be  wrought  upon  to  a  wonder- 
ful degree  of  anguish  or  delight  by  the  power  of 
music.  As  I  grew  older  my  feelings  remained  equal- 
ly acute,  and  I  was  easily  transported  into  paroxysms 
of  pleasure  or  rage.  It  was  the  amusement  of  my 
relatives  and  of  the  domestics  to  play  upon  this  irri- 
table temperament.  1  was  moved  to  tears,  tickled 
fo  laughter,  provoked  to  fury,  for  the  entertainment 
of  company,  who  were  amused  by  such  a  tempest 
of  mighty  passion  in  a  pigmy  frame.  They  little 
thought,  or  perhaps  little  heeded  the  dangerous  sen- 
sibilities they  were  fostering.  I  thus  became  a  little 
creature  of  passion,  before  reason  was  developed. 
In  a  short  time  I  grew  too  old  to  be  a  plaything,  and 
then  I  became  a  torment.  The  tricks  and  passions  I 
had  been  teased  into  became  irksome,  and  I  was 
disliked  by  my  teachers  for  the  very  lessons  they  had 
taught  me. 

My  mother  died  ;  and  my  power  as  a  spoiled  child 
was  at  an  end.  There  was  no  longer  any  necessity 
to  humour  or  tolerate  me,  for  there  was  nothing  to 
be  gained  by  it,  as  I  was  no  favourite  of  my  father. 
I  therefore  experienced  the  fate  of  a  spoiled  child  in 
such  situation,  and  was  neglected,  or  noticed  only 
to  be  crossed  and  contradicted.  Such  was  the  early 
treatment  of  a  heart,  which,  if  I  am  judge  of  it  at  all, 
was  naturally  disposed  to  the  extremes  of  tender- 
ness and  affection. 

My  father,  as  I  have  already  said,  never  liked  me 
— in  fact,  he  never  understood  me ;  he  looked  upon 
me  as  wilful  and  wayward,  as  deficient  in  natural 
affection  : — it  was  the  stateliness  of  his  own  manner ; 
the  loftiness  and  grandeur  of  his  own  look  that  had 
repelled  me  from  his  arms.  I  always  pictured  him 
to  myself  as  I  had  seen  him  clad  in  his  senatorial 
robes,  rustling  with  pomp  and  pride.  The  magnifi- 
cence of  his  person  had  daunted  my  strong  imagina- 
tion. I  could  never  approach  him  with  the  confiding 
affection  of  a  child. 

My  father's  feelings  were  wrapped  up  in  my  elder 
brother.  He  was  to  be  the  inheritor  of  the  family  title 
and  the  family  dignity,  and  every  thing  was  sacrificed 
to  him — I,  as  well  as  everything  else.  It  was  deter- 
mined to  devote  me  to  the  church,  that  so  my  hu- 
mours and  myself  might  be  removed  out  of  the  way, 
either  of  tasking  my  father's  time  and  trouble,  or  in- 
terfering with  the  interests  of  my  brother.  At  an 
early  age,  therefore,  before  my  mind  had  dawned 
upon  the  world  and  its  delights,  or  known  any  thing 
of  it  beyond  the  precincts  of  my  father's  palace,  I  was 
sent  to  a  convent,  the  superior  of  which  was  my  un- 
cle, and  was  confided  entirely  to  his  care. 

My  uncle  was  a  man  totally  estranged  from  the 
world  ;  he  had  never  relished,  for  he  had  never  tasted 
its  pleasures ;  and  he  deemed  rigid  self-denial  as  the 
great  basis  of  Christian  virtue.  He  considered  every 
one's  temperament  like  his  own  ;  or  at  least  he  made 
them  conform  to  it.  His  character  and  habits  had 
an  influence  over  the  fraternity  of  which  he  was  su- 


J6 


AVORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


perior.  A  more  gloomy  saturnine  set  of  beings  were 
never  assembled  together.  The  convent,  too,  was 
calculated  to  awaken  sad  and  solitary  thoughts.  It 
was  situated  in  a  gloomy  gorge  of  those  mountains 
away  south  of  Vesuvius.  All  distant  views  were 
shut  out  by  sterile  volcanic  heights.  A  mountain 
stream  raved  beneath  its  walls,  and  eagles  screamed 
about  its  turrets. 

I  had  been  sent  to  this  place  at  so  tender  an  age 
as  soon  to  lose  all  distinct  recollection  of  the  scenes 
I  had  left  behind.  As  my  mind  expanded,  therefore, 
it  formed  its  idea  of  the  world  from  the  convent  and 
its  vicinity,  and  a  dreary  world  it  appeared  to  me. 
An  early  tinge  ot  melancholy  was  thus  infused  into 
my  character  ;  and  the  dismal  stories  of  the  monks, 
about  devils  and  evil  spirits,  with  which  they  affright- 
ed my  young  imagination,  gave  me  a  tendency  to 
superstition,  which  I  could  never  effectually  shake 
off.  They  took  the  same  delight  to  work  upon  my 
ardent  feelings  that  had  been  so  mischievously  exer- 
cised by  my  father's  household. 

I  can  recollect  the  horrors  with  which  they  fed 
my  heated  fancy  during  an  eruption  of  Vesuvius^. 
We  were  distant  from  that  volcano,  with  mount- 
ains between  us  ;  but  its  convulsive  throes  shook 
the  solid  foundations  of  nature.  Earthquakes  threat- 
ened to  topple  down  our-convent  towers.  A  lurid, 
baleful  light  hung  in  the  heavens  at  night,  and 
showers  of  ashes,  borne  by  the  wind,  fell  in  our  nar- 
row valley.  The  monks  talked  of  the  earth  being 
honey-combed  beneath  us  ;  of  streams  of  molten  lava 
raging  through  its  veins ;  of  caverns  of  sulphurous 
flames  roaring  in  the  centre,  the  abodes  of  demons 
and  the  damned  ;  of  fiery  gulfs  ready  to  yawn  be- 
neath our  feet.  All  these  tales  were  told  to  the  dole- 
ful accompaniment  of  the  mountain's  thunders,  whose 
low  bellowing  made  the  walls  of  our  convent  vibrate. 

One  of  ihe  monks  had  been  a  painter,  but  had  re- 
tired from  the  world,  and  embraced  this  dismal  life 
in  expiation  of  some  crime.  He  was  a  melancholy 
man,  who  pursued  his  art  in  the  solitude  of  his  cell, 
but  made  it  a  source  of  penance  to  him.  His  em- 
ployment was  to  portray,  either  on  canvas  or  in 
waxen  models,  the  human  face  and  human  form,  in 
the  agonies  of  death,  and  in  all  the  stages  of  dissolu- 
tion and  decay.  The  fearful  mysteries  of  the  charnel 
house  were  unfolded  in  his  labours — the  loathsome 

banquet  of  the  beetle  and  the  worm. 1  turn  with 

shuddering  even  from  the  recollection  of  his  works. 
Yet,  at  that  time,  my  strong,  but  ill-directed  imag- 
ination seized  with  ardour  upon  his  instructions  in 
his  art.  Any  thing  was  a  variety  from  the  dry 
studies  and  monotonous  duties  of  the  cloister.  In  a 
little  while  I  became  expert  with  my  pencil,  and  my 
gloomy  productions  were  thought  worthy  of  decorat- 
ing some  of  the  altars  of  the  chapel. 

In  this  dismal  way  was  a  creature  of  feeling  and 
fancy  brought  up.  Every  thing  genial  and  amiable  in 
my  nature  was  repressed,  and  nothing  brought  out 
but  what  was  unprofitable  and  ungracious.  I  was 
ardent  in  my  temperament  ;  quick,  mercurial,  imptt- 
uous,  formed  to  be  a  creature  all  love  and  adoration,; 
but  a  leaden  hand  was  laid  on  all  my  liner  qualities. 
I  was  taught  nothing  but  fear  and  hatred.  I  hated 
my  uncle,  I  hated  the  monks,  I  hated  the  convent  in 
which  1  was  immured.  I  hated  the  world,  and  I 
almost  hated  myself,  for  being,  as  I  supposed,  so 
hating  and  hateful  an  animal. 

When  I  had  nearly  attained  the  age  of  sixteen,  I 
was  suffered,  on  one  occasion,  to  accompany  one  of 
the  brethren  on  a  mission  to  a  distant  part  of  the 
country.  We  soon  left  behind  us  the  gloomy  valley 
in  which  I  had  been  pent  up  for  so  many  years,  and 
after  a  short  journey  among  the  mountains,  emerged 
upon  the  voluptuous  landscape  that  spreads  itself 


about  the  Bay  of  Naples.  Heavens!  how  transport- 
ed was  I,  when  I  stretched  my  gaze  over  a  vast  reach 
of  delicious  sunny  country,  gay  with  groves  and  vine- 
yards ;  with  Vesuvius  rearing  its  forked  summit  to 
my  right ;  the  blue  Mediterranean  to  my  left,  with 
its  enchanting  coast,  studded  with  shining  towns 
and  sumptuous  villas;  and  Naples,  my  nativ'e  Na- 
ples, gleaming  far,  far  in  the  distance. 

Good  God  !  was  this  the  lovely  world  from  v.  h;i,h 
I  had  been  excluded  !  I  had  reached  that  age  when 
the  sensibilities  are  in  all  their  bloom  and  freshness. 
Mine  had  been  checked  and  chilled.  They  now  burst 
forth  with  the  suddenness  of  a  retarded  spring.  My 
heart,  hitherto  unnaturally  shrunk  up,  expanded  into 
a  riot  of  vague,  but  delicious  emotions.  The  beauty 
of  nature  intoxicated,  bewildered  me.  The  song  of 
the  peasants  ;  their  cheerful  looks  ;  their  happy  avo- 
cations ;  the  picturesque  gayety  of  their  dresses; 
their  rustic  music  ;  their  dances  ;  all  broke  upon  me 
like  witchcraft.  My  soul  responded  to  the  music ; 
my  heart  danced  in  my  bosom.  All  the  men  ap- 
peared amiable,  all  the  women  lovely. 

I  returned  to  the  convent,  that  is  to  say,  my  body 
returned,  but  my  heart  and  soul  never  entered  there 
again.  I  could  not  forget  this  glimpse  of  a  beautiful 
and  a  happy  world  ;  a  world  so  suited  to  my  natural 
character.  I  had  felt  so  happy  while  in  it ;  so  dif- 
ferent a  being  from  what  I  felt  myself  when  in  the 
convent— that  tomb  of  the  living.  I  contrasted  the 
countenances  of  the  beings  I  had  seen,  full  of  fire 
and  freshness  and  enjoyment,  with  the  pallid,  leaden, 
lack-lustre  visages  of  the  monks ;  the  music  of  the 
dance,  with  the  droning  chant  of  the  chapel.  I  had 
before  found  the  exercises  of  the  cloister  wearisome  ; 
they  now  became  intolerable.  The  dull  round  of 
duties  wore  away  my  spirit;  my  nerves  became 
irritated  by  the  fretful  tinkling  of  the  convent  bell ; 
evermore  dinging  among  the  mountain  echoes  ;  ever- 
more calling  me  from  my  repose  at  night,  my  pencil 
by  day,  to  attend  to  some  tedious  and  mechanical 
ceremony  of  devotion. 

I  was  not  of  a  nature  to  meditate  long,  without 
putting  my  thoughts  into  action.  My  spirit  had  been 
suddenly  aroused,  and  was  now  all  awake  within 
me.  I  watched  my  opportunity,  fled  from  the  con- 
vent, and  made  my  way  on  foot  to  Naples.  As  I 
entered  its  gay  and  crowded  streets,  and  beheld  the 
variety  and  stir  of  life  around  me,  the  luxury  of  pal- 
aces, the  splendour  of  equipages,  and  the  panto-' 
mimic  animation  of  the  motley  populace,  I  seemed 
as  if  awakened  to  a  world  of  enchantment,  and 
solemnly  vowed  that  nothing  should  force  me  back 
to  the  monotony  of  the  cloister. 

I  had  to  inquire  my  way  to  my  father's  palace,  for 
I  had  been  so  young  on  leaving  it,  that  I  knew  not 
its  situation.  I  found  some  difficulty  in  getting  ad- 
mitted to  my  father's  presence,  for  the  domestics 
scarcely  knew  that  there  was  such  a  being  as  myself 
in  existence,  and  my  monastic  dress  did  not  operate 
in  my  favour.  Even  my  father  entertained  no  recol- 
lection of  my  person.  I  told  him  my  name,  threw 
myself  at  his  feet,  implored  his  forgiveness,  and 
entreated  that  I  might  not  be  sent  back  to  the  con- 
vent. 

He  received  me  with  the  condescension  of  a 
patron  rather  than  the  kindness  of  a  parent.  He 
listened  patiently,  but  coldly  to  my  tale  of  monastic 
grievances  and  disgusts,  and  promised  to  think  what 
else  could  be  done  for  me.  'This  coldness  blighted 
and  drove  back  all  the  frank  affection  of  my  nature 
that  was  ready  to  spring  forth  at  the  least  warmth 
of  parental  kindness.  All  my  early  feelings  towards 
my  father  revived ;  I  agpin  looked  up  to  him  as  the 
stately  magnificent  being  that  had  daunted  my 
childish  imagination,  and  felt  as  if  I  had  no  pre- 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


357 


tensions  to  his  sympathies.  My  brother  engross- 
ed all  his  care  and  love ;  he  inherited  his  nature, 
and  carried  himself  towards  me  with  a  protecting 
rather  than  a  fraternal  air.  It  wounded  my  pride, 
which  was  great.  I  could  brook  condescension  from 
my  father,  for  I  looked  up  to  him  with  awe  as  a 
superior  being ;  but  I  could  not  Drook  patronage 
from  a  brother,  who,  I  felt,  was  intellectually  my  m- 
ferior.  The  servants  perceived  that  I  was  an  unwel- 
come intruder  in  the  paternal  mansion,  and,  menial- 
like, they  treated  me  with  neglect.  Thus  baffled  at 
every  point ;  my  affections  outraged  wherever  they 
would  attach  themselves,  I  became  sullen,  silent,  and 
desponding.  My  feelings  driven  back  upon  myself, 
entered  and  preyed  upon  my  own  heart.  I  remained 
for  some  days  an  unwelcome  guest  rather  than  a 
restored  son  in  my  father's  house.  I  was  doomed 
never  to  be  properly  known  there.  I  was  made,  by 
wrong  treatment,  strange  even  to  myself;  and  they 
judged  of  me  from  iny  strangeness. 

I  was  startled  one  day  at  the  sight  of  one  of  the 
monks  of  my  convent,  gliding  out  of  my  father's 
room.  He  saw  me,  but  pretended  not  to  notice  me  ; 
and  this  very  hypocrisy  made  me  suspect  something. 
I  had  become  sore  and  susceptible  in  my  feelings ; 
every  thing  inflicted  a  wound  on  them.  In  this 
state  of  mmd  1  was  treated  with  marked  disrespect 
by  a  pampered  minion,  the  favourite  servant  of  my 
father.  All  the  pride  and  passion  of  my  nature  rose 
in  an  instant,  and  I  struck  him  to  the  earth. 

My  father  was  passing  by  ;  he  stopped  not  to  in- 
quire the  reason,  nor  indeed  could  he  read  the  long 
course  of  mental  sufferings  which  were  the  real 
cause.  He  rebuked  me  with  anger  and  scorn ;  he 
summoned  all  the  haughtiness  of  his  nature,  and 
grandeur  of  his  look,  to  give  weight  to  the  contume- 
ly with  which  he  treated  me.  I  felt  I  had  not  de- 
ser\'ed  it — I  felt  that  I  was  not  appreciated— 1  felt 
that  I  had  that  within  me  which  merited  better 
treatment ;  my  heart  swelled  against  a  father's  in- 
justice. I  broke  through  my  habitual  awe  of  him. 
1  replied  to  him  with  impatience ;  my  hot  spirit 
flushed  in  my  cheek  and  kindled  in  my  eye,  but  my 
sensitive  heart  swelled  as  quickly,  and  before  I  had 
half  vented  my  passion  I  felt  it  suffocated  and 
quenched  in  my  tears.  My  father  was  astonished 
and  incensed  at  this  turning  of  the  worm,  and  or- 
dered me  to  my  chamber.  I  retired  in  silence, 
choaking  with  contending  emotions. 

1  had  not  been  long  there  when  I  overheard 
voices  in  an  adjoining  apartment.  It  was  a  con- 
sultation between  my  father  and  the  monk,  about 
the  means  of  getting  me  back  quietly  to  the  convent. 
My  resolution  was  taken.  I  had  no  longer  a  home 
nor  a  father.  That  very  night  I  left  the  paternal 
roof.  1  got  on  board  a  vessel  about  making  sail 
from  the  liarbour,  and  abandoned  myself  to  the  wide 
world.  No  matter  to  what  port  she  steered  ;  any 
part  of  so  beautiful  a  world  was  better  than  my  con- 
vent. No  matter  where  I  was  cast  by  fortune  ;  any 
place  would  be  more  a  home  to  me  than  the  home  I 
had  left  behind.  The  vessel  was  bound  to  Genoa. 
We  arrived  there  after  a  voyage  of  a  few  days. 

As  I  entered  the  harbour,  between  the  moles 
which  embrace  it,  and  beheld  the  amphitheatre  of 
palaces  and  churches  and  splendid  gardens,  rising 
one  above  another,  1  felt  at  once  its  title  to  the  ap- 
pellation of  Genoa  the  Superb.  I  landed  on  the 
mole  an  utter  stranger,  without  knowing  what  to  do, 
or  whither  to  direct  my  steps.  No  matter;  I  was 
released  from  the  thraldom  of  the  convent  and  the 
humiliations  of  home  !  When  I  traversed  the  Strada 
Baibi  and  the  Strada  Nuova,  those  streets  of  palaces, 
and  gazed  at  the  wonders  of  architecture  around 
me ;  when  1  wandered  at  close  of  day,  amid  a  gay 


throng  of  the  brilliant  and  the  beautiful,  through  the 
green  alleys  of  the  Aqua  Verdi,  or  among  the  col- 
onnades and  terraces  of  the  magnificent  Doria  Gar- 
dens ;  I  thought  it  impossible  to  be  ever  otherwise 
than  happy  in  Genoa. 

A  few  days  sufficed  to  show  me  my  mistake.  My 
scanty  purse  was  exhausted,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  experienced  the  sordid  distress  of  penury. 
I  had  never  known  the  want  of  money,  and  had 
never  adverted  to  the  possibility  of  such  an  evil.  I 
was  ignorant  of  the  world  and  all  its  ways  ;  and 
when  first  the  idea  of  destitution  came  over  my  niind 
its  effect  was  withering.  I  was  wandering  pensively 
through  the  streets  which  no  longer  delighted  my 
eyes,  when  chance  led  my  steps  into  the  magnificent 
church  of  the  Annunciata. 

A  celebrated  painter  of  the  day  was  at  that  mo- 
ment superintending  the  placing  of  one  of  his  pict- 
ures over  an  altar.  The  proficiency  which  I  had  ac- 
quired in  his  art  during  my  residence  in  the  convent 
had  made  me  an  enthusiastic  amateur.  I  was  struck, 
at  the  first  glance,  with  the  painting.  It  was  the  face 
of  a  Madonna.  .So  innocent,  so  lovely,  such  a  divine 
expression  of  maternal  tenderness  !  I  lost  for  the 
moment  all  recollection  of  myself  in  the  enthusiasm 
of  my  art.  I  clasped  my  hands  together,  and  uttered 
an  ejaculation  of  delight.  The  painter  perceived  my 
emotion.  He  was  flattered  and  gratified  by  it.  My 
air  and  manner  pleased  him,  and  he  accosted  me. 
I  felt  too  much  the  want  of  friendship  to  repel  the 
advances  of  a  stranger,  and  there  was  something  in 
this  one  so  benevolent  and  winning  that  in  a  mo- 
ment he  gained  my  confidence. 

I  told  him  my  story  and  my  situation,  concealing 
only  my  name  and  rank.  He  appeared  strongly  in- 
terested by  my  recital  ;  invited  me  to  his  house,  and 
from  that  time  1  became  his  favourite  pupil.  He 
thought  he  perceived  in  me  exfraordinary  talents  for 
the  art,  and  his  encomiums  awakened  all  my  ardour. 
What  a  blissful  period  of  my  existence  was  it  that  1 
passed  beneath  his  roof.  Another  being  seemed  cre- 
ated within  me,  or  rather,  all  that  was  amiable  and 
excellent  was  drawn  out.  1  was  as  recluse  as  ever  I 
had  been  at  the  convent,  but  how  different  was  my 
seclusion.  My  time  was  spent  in  storing  my  mind 
with  lofty  and  poetical  ideas ;  in  meditating  on  all 
that  was  striking  and  noble  in  history  or  fiction  ;  in 
studying  and  tracing  all  that  was  sublime  and  beau- 
tiful in  nature.  I  was  always  a  visionary,  imagina- 
tive being,  but  now  my  reveries  and  imaginings  all 
elevated  me  to  rapture. 

I  looked  up  to  my  master  as  to  a  benevolent  ge- 
nius that  had  opened  to  me  a  region  of  enchantment. 
I  became  devotedly  attached  to  him.  He  was  not  a 
native  of  Genoa,  but  had  been  drawn  thither  by  the 
solicitation  of  several  of  the  nobility,  and  had  re- 
sided there  but  a  few  years,  for  the  completion  of 
certain  works  he  had  undertaken.  His  health  was 
delicate,  and  he  had  to  confide  much  of  the  filling  up 
of  his  designs  to  the  pencils  of  his  scholars.  He 
considered  me  as  particularly  happy  in  delineating 
the  human  countenance ;  in  seizing  upon  character- 
istic, though  fleeting  expressions,  and  fixing  them 
powerfully  upon  my  canvas.  I  was  emploj'ed  con- 
tinually, therefore,  in  sketching  faces,  and  often  when 
some  particular  grace  or  beauty  or  expression  was 
wanted  in  a  countenance,  it  was  entrusted  to  my 
pencil.  My  benefactor  was  fond  of  bringing  me  for- 
ward ;  and  partly,  perhaps,  through  my  actual  skill, 
and  partly  by  his  partial  praises,  1  began  to  be  noted 
for  the  expression  of  my  countenances. 

Among  the  various  works  which  he  had  under- 
taken, was  an  historical  piece  for  one  of  the  palaces 
of  Genoa,  in  which  were  to  be  introduced  the  like- 
nesses of  several  of  the  familv.     Among  these  was 


353 


WORKS    OF    WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


cne  entrusted  to  my  pencil.  It  was  that  of  a  young 
girl,  who  as  yet  was  in  a  convent  for  her  education. 
She  came  out  for  the  purpose  of  sitting  for  the  pict- 
ure. I  first  saw  her  in  an  apartment  of  one  of  the 
sumptuous  palaces  of  Genoa.  She  stood  before  a 
casement  that  looked  out  upon  the  bay  :  a  stream  of 
vernal  sunshine  fell  upon  her,  and  shed  a  kind  of 
glory  round  her  as  it  lit  up  the  rich  crimson  cham- 
ber. She  was  but  sixteen  years  of  age — and  oh,  how 
lovely  !  The  scene  broke  upon  me  like  a  mere  vision 
of  spring  and  youth  and  beauty.  1  could  have  fallen 
down  and  worshipped  her.  She  was  like  one  of 
those  fictions  of  poets  and  painters,  when  they  would 
express  the  beau  ideal  that  haunts  their  minds  with 
shapes  of  indescribable  perfection. 

I  was  permitted  to  sketch  her  countenance  in 
various  positions,  and  I  fondly  protracted  the  study 
that  was  undoing  me.  The  more  I  gazed  on  her  the 
more  1  became  enamoured  ;  there  was  something 
almost  painful  in  my  intense  admiration.  1  was  but 
nineteen  years  of  age;  shy,  diffident,  and  inexpe- 
rienced. I  was  treated  with  attention  and  encour- 
agement, for  my  youth  and  my  enthusiasm  in  my  art 
had  won  favour  for  me  ;  and  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  there  was  something  in  my  air  and  manner  that 
inspired  interest  and  respect.  Still  the  kindness  with 
which  I  was  treated  could  not  dispel  the  embarrass- 
me»t  into  which  my  own  imagination  threw  me 
when  in  presence  of  this  lovely  being.  It  elevated 
her  into  something  almost  more  than  mortal.  She 
seemed  too  exquisite  for  earthly  use ;  too  delicate 
and  exalted  for  human  attainment.  As  I  sat  tracing 
her  charms  on  my  canvas,  with  my  eyes  occasion- 
ally rivetted  on  her  features,  I  drank  in  delicious 
poison  that  made  me  giddy.  My  heart  alternately 
gushed  with  tenderness,  and  ached  with  despair. 
Now  I  became  more  than  ever  sensible  of  the  vio- 
lent fires  that  had  lain  dormant  at  the  bottom  of  my 
soul.  You  who  are  born  in  a  more  temperate 
climate  and  under  a  cooler  sky,  have  little  idea  of  the 
violence  of  passion  in  our  southern  bosoms. 

A  few  days  finished  my  task  ;  Bianca  returned  to 
her  convent,  but  her  image  remained  indelibly  im- 
pressed upon  my  heart.  It  dwelt  on  my  imagina- 
tion ;  it  became  my  pervading  idea  of  beauty.  It 
had  an  effect  even  upon  my  pencil ;  I  became  noted 
for  my  felicity  in  depicting  female  loveliness  ;  it  was 
but  because  I  multiplied  the  image  of  Bianca.  I 
soothed,  and  yet  fed  my  fancy,  by  introducing  her  in 
all  the  productions  of  my  master.  I  have  stood  with 
delight  in  one  of  the  chapels  of  the  Annunciata,  and 
heard  the  crowd  extol  the  seraphic  beauty  of  a  saint 
which  I  had  painted  ;  I  have  seen  them  bow  down 
in  adoration  before  the  painting :  they  were  bowing 
before  the  loveliness  of  Bianca. 

I  existed  in  this  kind  of  dream,  I  might  almost  say 
delirium,  for  upwards  of  a  year.  Such  is  the  tenacity 
of  my  imagination  that  the  image  which  was  formed 
in  it  continued  in  all  its  power  and  freshness.  In- 
deed, I  was  a  solitary,  meditative  being,  much  given 
to  reverie,  and  apt  to  foster  ideas  which  had  once 
taken  strong  possession  of  me.  I  was  roused  from 
this  fond,  melancholy,  delicious  dream  by  the  death 
of  my  worthy  benefactor.  I  cannot  describe  the 
pangs  his  death  occasioned  me.  It  left  me  alone  and 
almost  broken-hearted.  He  bequeathed  to  me  his 
little  property;  which,  from  the  liberality  of  his  dis- 
position and  his  expensive  style  of  living,  was  indeed 
but  small  ;  and  he  most  particularly  recommended 
me,  in  dying,  to  the  protection  of  a  nobleman  who 
had  been  his  patron. 

The  latter  was  a  man  who  passed  for  munificent. 
He  was  a  lover  and  an  encourager  of  the  arts,  and 
evidently  wished  to  be  thought  so.  He  fancied  he 
saw  in  me  indications  of  future  excellence ;  my  pen- 


cil Iiad  already  attracted  attention ;  he  took  me  at 
once  under  his  protection  ;  seeing  that  I  was  over- 
whelmed with  grief,  and  incapable  of  exerting  my- 
self in  the  mansion  of  my  late  benefactor,  he  invited 
me  to  sojourn  for  a  time  m  a  villa  which  he  possessed 
on  the  border  of  the  sea,  in  the  picturesque  neigh- 
bourhood of  Sestri  da  Ponenti. 

1  found  at  the  villa  the  Count's  only  son  Filippo  : 
he  was  nearly  of  my  age,  prepossessing  in  his  ap- 
pearance, and  fascinating  in  his  manners ;  he  at- 
tached himself  to  me,  and  seemed  to  court  my  good 
opinion.  I  thought  there  was  something  of  profes- 
sion in  his  kindness,  and  of  caprice  in  his  disposi- 
tion ;  but  I  had  nothing  else  near  me  to  attach  my- 
self to,  and  my  heart  felt  the  need  of  something  to 
repose  itself  upon.  His  education  had  been  neg- 
lected ;  he  looked  upon  me  as  his  superior  in  mental 
powers  and  acquirements,  and  tacitly  acknowledged 
my  superiority.  I  felt  that  I  was  his  equal  in  birth, 
and  that  gave  an  independence  to  my  manner,  which 
had  its  effect.  The  caprice  and  tyranny  I  saw 
sometimes  exercised  on  others,  over  whom  he  had 
power,  were  never  manifested  towards  me.  We 
became  intimate  friends,  and  frequent  companions. 
Still  I  loved  to  be  alone,  and  to  indulge  in  the  reve- 
ries of  my  own  imagination,  among  the  beautiful 
scenery  by  which  I  was  surrounded. 

The  villa  stood  in  the  midst  of  ornamented  grounds, 
finely  decorated  with  statues  and  fountains,  and  laid 
out  into  groves  and  alleys  and  shady  bowers.  It 
commanded  a  wide  view  of  the  Mediterranean,  and 
the  picturesque  Ligurian  coast.  Every  thing  was 
assembled  here  that  could  gratify  the  taste  or  agree- 
ably occupy  the  mind.  Soothed  by  the  tranquillity  of 
this  elegant  retreat,  the  turbulence  of  my  feelings 
gradually  subsided,  and,  blending  with  the  romantic 
spell  that  still  reigned  over  my  imagination,  pro- 
duced a  soft  voluptuous  melancholy. 

I  had  not  been  long  under  the  roof  of  the  Count, 
when  our  solitude  was  enlivened  by  another  inhab- 
itant. It  was  a  daughter  of  a  relation  of  the  Count, 
who  had  lately  died  in  reduced  circumstances,  be- 
queathing this  only  child  to  his  protection.  I  had 
heard  much  of  her  beauty  from  Filippo,  but  my  fancy 
had  become  so  engrossed  by  one  idea  of  beauty  as 
not  to  admit  of  any  other.  We  were  in  the  central 
saloon  of  the  villa  when  she  arrived.  She  was  still 
in  mourning,  and  approached,  leaning  on  the  Count's 
arm.  As  they  ascended  the  marble  portico,  I  was 
struck  by  the  elegance  of  her  figure  and  movement, 
by  the  grace  with  which  the  ?nezzaro,  the  bewitching 
veil  of  Genoa,  was  folded  about  her  slender  form. 
They  entered.  Heavens !  what  was  my  surprise 
when  I  beheld  Bianca  before  me.  It  was  herself ; 
pale  with  grief ;  but  still  more  matured  in  loveliness 
than  when  I  had  last  beheld  her.  The  time  that 
had  elapsed  had  developed  the  graces  of  her  person ; 
and  the  sorrow  she  had  undergone  had  diffused  over 
her  countenance  an  irresistible  tenderness. 

She  blushed  and  trembled  at  seeing  me,  and  tears 
rushed  into  her  eyes,  for  she  remembered  in  whose 
company  she  had  been  accustomed  to  behold  me. 
For  my  part,  I  cannot  express  what  were  my  emo- 
tions. By  degrees  I  overcame  the  extreme  shyness 
that  had  formerly  paralyzed  me  in  her  presence.  We 
were  drawn  together  by  sympathy  of  situation.  We 
had  each  lost  our  best  friend  in  the  world  ;  we  were 
each,  in  some  measure,  thrown  upon  the  kindness 
of  others.  When  I  came  to  know  her  intellectually, 
all  my  ideal  picturings  of  her  were  confirmed.  Her 
newness  to  the  world,  her  delightful  susceptibility  to 
every  thing  beautiful  and  agreeable  in  nature,  re- 
minded me  of  my  own  emotions  when  first  I  escaped 
from  the  convent.  Her  rectitude  of  thinking  delight- 
ed my  judgment ;  the  sweetness  of  her  nature  wrap- 


TALES    OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


359 


ped  itself  round  my  heart ;  and  then  her  young  and 
tender  and  budding  loveliness,  sent  a  delicious  mad- 
ness to  my  brain. 

I  gazed  upon  her  with  a  kind  of  idolatry,  as  some- 
thing more  than  mortal ;  and  I  felt  humiliated  at 
the  idea  of  my  comparative  unworthiness.  Yet  she 
was  mortal ;  and  one  of  mortality's  most  susceptible 
and  loving  compounds  ;  for  she  loved  me  ! 

How  first  I  discovered  the  transporting  truth  I 
cannot  recollect ;  I  believe  it  stole  upon  me  by  de- 
grees, as  a  wonder  past  hope  or  belief.  We  were 
both  at  such  a  tender  and  lovmg  age  ;  in  constant 
intercourse  with  each  other ;  mingling  in  the  same  | 
elegant  pursuits;  for  music,  poetry,  and  painting' 
were  our  mutual  delights,  and  we  were  almost  sepa- 
rated from  society,  among  lovely  and  romantic 
scenery  !  Is  it  strange  that  two  young  hearts  thus 
brought  together  should  readily  twine  round  each 
other .' 

Oh,  gods !  what  a  dream — a  transient  dream  !  of  un- 
alloyed delight  then  passed  over  my  soul !  Then  it  was 
that  the  world  around  me  was  indeed  a  paradise,  for 
I  had  woman — lovely,  delicious  woman,  to  share  it 
with  me.  How  often  have  I  rambled  over  the  pictur- 
esque shores  of  Sestri,  or  climbed  its  wild  mountains, 
with  the  coast  gemmed  with  villas,  and  the  blue  sea 
far  below  me,  and  the  slender  Pharo  of  Genoa  on  its 
romantic  promontory  in  the  distance  ;  and  as  I  sus- 
tained the  faltering  steps  of  Bianca,  have  thought 
there  could  no  unhappiness  enter  into  so  beautiful  a 
world.  Why,  oh,  why  is  this  budding  season  of  life 
and  love  so  transient — why  is  this  rosy  cloud  of  love 
that  sheds  such  a  glow  over  the  morning  of  our  days 
so  prone  to  brew  up  into  the  whirlwind  and  the 
storm  ! 

1  was  the  first  to  awaken  from  this  blissful  de- 
lirium of  the  affections.  I  had  gained  Bianca's 
heart ;  what  was  I  to  do  with  it .'  I  had  no  wealth 
nor  prospects  to  entitle  me  to  her  hand.  Was  1  to 
take  advantage  of  her  ignorance  of  the  world,  of  her 
confiding  affection,  and  draw  her  down  to  my  own 
poverty?  Was  this  requiting  the  hospitality  of  the 
Count  ? — was  this  requiting  the  love  of  Bianca  ? 

Now  first  1  began  to  feel  that  even  successful  love 
may  have  its  bitterness.  A  corroding  care  gathered 
about  my  heart.  I  moved  about  the  palace  like  a 
guilty  being.  1  felt  as  if  I  had  abused  its  hospitality 
— as  if  I  were  a  thief  within  its  walls.  I  could  no 
longer  look  with  unembarrassed  mien  in  the  coun- 
tenance of  the  Count.  I  accused  myself  of  perfidy 
to  him,  and  I  thought  he  read  it  in  my  looks,  and 
began  to  distrust  and  despise  me.  His  manner  had 
always  been  ostentatious  and  condescending,  it  now 
appeared  cold  and  haughty.  Filippo,  too,  became 
reserved  and  distant ;  or  at  least  I  suspected  him  to 
be  so.  Heavens  1— was  this  mere  coinage  of  my 
brain  :  was  I  to  become  suspicious  of  all  the  world  ? 
— a  poor  surmising  wretch  ;  watching  looks  and 
gestures  ;  and  torturing  myself  with  misconstruc- 
tions. Or  if  true — was  I  to  remain  beneath  a  roof 
where  I  was  merely  tolerated,  and  linger  there  on 
sufterance?  "This  is  not  to  be  endured!"  ex- 
claimed I ;  "  I  will  tear  myself  from  this  state  of  self- 
abasement  ;  1  will  break  through   this   fascination 

and  fly Fly  ? — whither  ? — from    the  world  .' — for 

where  is  the  world  when  I  leave  Bianca  behind 
me  !  " 

My  spirit  was  naturally  proud,  and  swelled  within 
me  at  the  idea  of  being  looked  upon  with  contumely. 
Many  times  I  was  on  the  point  of  declaring  my 
family  and  rank,  and  asserting  my  equality,  in  the 
presence  of  Bianca,  when  I  thouglit  her  relatives  as- 
sumed an  air  of  superiority.  But  the  feeling  was 
transient.  I  considered  myself  discarded  and  con- 
temned by  my   family ;   and   had  solemnly  vowed 


never  to  own  relationship  to  them,  until  they  them- 
selves should  claim  it. 

The  struggle  of  my  mind  preyed  upon  my  happi- 
ness and  my  health.  It  seemed  as  if  the  uncertainty 
of  being  loved  would  be  less  intolerable  than  thus  to 
be  assured  of  it,  and  yet  not  dare  to  enjoy  the  con- 
viction. I  was  no  longer  the  enraptured  admirer  of 
Bianca  ;  1  no  longer  hung  in  ecstasy  on  the  tones  of 
her  voice,  nor  drank  in  with  insatiate  gaze  the  beauty 
of  her  countenance.  Her  very  smiles  ceased  to  de- 
light me,  for  I  felt  culpable  in  having  won  them. 

She  could  not  but  be  sensible  of  the  change  in 
me,  and  inquired  the  cause  with  her  usual  frankness 
and  simplicity.  I  could  not  evade  the  inquiry,  for 
my  heart  was  full  to  aching.  I  told  her  all  the  con- 
flict of  my  soul  ;  my  devouring  passion,  my  bitter 
self-upbraiding.  "Yes!"  said  I,  "  I  am  unworthy 
of  you.  1  am  an  offcast  fi  om  my  family — a  wander- 
er— a  nameless,  homeless  wanderer,  with  nothing 
but  poverty  for  my  portion,  and  yet  I  have  dared  to 
love  you — have  dared  to  aspire  to  your  love  !  " 

My  agitation  moved  her  to  tears  ;  but  she  saw 
nothing  in  my  situation  so  hopeless  as  I  had  depicted 
it.  Brought  up  in  a  convent,  she  knew  nothing  of 
the  world,  its  wants,  its  cares  ; — and  indeed,  what 
woman  is  a  worldly  casuist  in  matters  of  the  heart  ! 
— Nay,  more — she  kindled  into  a  sweet  enthusiasm 
when  she  spoke  of  my  fortunes  and  myself.  We 
had  dwelt  together  on  the  works  of  the  famous  mas- 
ters. I  had  related  to  her  their  histories ;  the  high 
reputation,  the  influence,  the  magnificence  to  which 
they  had  attained  ; — the  companions  of  princes,  the 
favourites  of  kings,  the  pride  and  boast  of  nations. 
All  this  she  applied  to  me.  Her  love  saw  nothing 
in  their  greatest  productions  that  I  was  not  able  to 
achieve ;  and  when  I  saw  the  lovely  creature  glow 
with  fervour,  and  her  whole  countenance  radiant 
with  the  visions  of  my  glory,  which  seemed  break- 
ing upon  her,  I  was  snatched  up  for  the  moment 
into  the  heaven  of  her  own  imagination. 

I  am  dwelling  too  long  upon  this  part  of  my  story  ; 
yet  I  cannot  help  lingering  over  a  period  of  my  life, 
on  which,  with  all  its  cares  and  conflicts,  I  look  back 
with  fondness  ;  for  as  yet  my  soul  was  unstained  by 
a  crime.  I  do  not  know  what  might  have  been  the 
result  of  this  struggle  between  pride,  delicacy,  and 
passion,  had  I  not  read  in  a  Neapolitan  gazette  an 
account  of  the  sudden  death  of  my  brother.  It  was 
accompanied  by  an  earnest  inquiry  for  intelligence 
concerning  me,  and  a  prayer,  should  this  notice  meet 
my  eye,  that  I  would  hasten  to  Naples,  to  comfort  an 
infirm  and  afflicted  father. 

I  was  naturally  of  an  affectionate  disposition  ;  but 
my  brother  had  never  been  as  a  brother  to  me  ;  I  had 
long  considered  myself  as  disconnected  from  him, 
and  his  death  caused  me  but  little  emotion.  The 
thoughts  of  my  father,  infirm  and  suffering,  touched 
me,  however,  to  the  quick  ;  and  when  1  thought  of 
him,  that  lofty  magnificent  being,  now  bowed  down 
and  desolate,  and  suing  to  me  for  comfort,  all  my  re- 
sentment for  past  neglect  was  subdued,  and  a  glow 
of  filial  affection  was  awakened  within  me. 

The  predominant  feeling,  however,  that  overpow- 
ered all  others  was  transport  at  the  sudden  change 
in  my  whole  fortunes.  A  home — a  name— rank — 
we.-ilth  awaited  me ;  and  love  painted  a  still  more 
rapturous  prospect  in  the  distance.  I  hastened  to 
Bianca,  and  threw  myself  at  her  feet.  "  Oh,  Bianca,'' 
exclaimed  1,  "  at  length  I  can  claim  you  for  my  own. 
I  am  no  longer  a  nameless  adventurer,  a  neglected, 
rejected  outcast.  Look — read,  behold  the  tidings 
that  restore  me  to  my  name  and  to  myself !  " 

I  will  not  dwell  on  the  scene  that  ensued.  Bianca 
rejoiced  in  the  reverse  of  my  situation,  because  she 
saw  it  lightened  my  heart  of  a  load  of  care  ;  for  her 


363 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


own  part  she  had  loved  me  for  myself,  arvd  had  never 
doubted  that  my  own  merits  would  command  both 
fame  and  fortune. 

I  now  felt  all  my  native  pride  buoyant  within  me. 
I  no  longer  walked  with  my  eyes  bent  to  the  dust ; 
hope  elevated  them  to  the  skies ;  my  soul  was  lit  up 
with  fresh  fires,  and  beamed  from  my  countenance. 

I  wished  to  mnpart  the  change  in  my  circumstances 
to  the  Count  ;  to  let  him  know  who  and  what  I  was, 
and  to  make  formal  proposals  for  the  hand  of  Bianca  ; 
but  the  Count  was  absent  on  a  distant  estate.  I 
opened  my  whole  soul  to  Filippo.  Now  first  I  told 
him  of  my  passion  ;  of  the  doubts  and  fears  that  had 
distracted  me,  and  of  the  tidings  that  had  suddenly 
dispelled  them.  He  overwhelmed  me  with  congratu- 
lations and  with  the  warmest  expressions  of  sym- 
pathy. I  embraced  him  in  the  fullness  of  my  heart. 
I  felt  compunctious  for  having  suspected  him  of  cold- 
ness, and  asked  him  forgiveness  for  having  ever 
doubted  his  friendship. 

Nothing  is  so  warm  and  enthusiastic  as  a  sudden 
expansion  of  the  heart  between  young  men.  Filippo 
entered  into  our  concerns  with  the  most  eager  inter- 
est. He  was  our  confidant  and  counsellor.  It  was 
determined  that  I  should  hasten  at  once  to  Naples 
to  re-establish  myself  in  my  father's  affections  and 
my  paternal  home,  and  the  moment  the  reconcilia- 
tion was  effected  and  my  father's  consent  insured,  I 
should  return  and  demand  Bianca  of  the  Count. 
Filippo  engaged  to  secure  his  father's  acquiescence  ; 
indeed,  he  undertook  to  watch  over  our  interests,  and 
was  the  channel  through  which  we  were  to  corre- 
spond. 

My  parting  with  Bianca  was  tender — delicious — 
agonizing.  It  was  in  a  little  pavilion  of  the  garden 
which  had  been  one  of  our  favourite  resorts.  How 
often  and  often  did  I  return  to  have  one  more  adieu 
— to  have  her  look  once  more  on  me  in  speechless 
emotion — to  enjoy  once  more  the  rapturous  sight  of 
those  tears  streaming  down  her  lovely  cheeks — to 
seize  once  more  on  that  delicate  hand,  the  frankly 
accorded  pledge  of  love,  and  cover  it  with  tears  and 
kisses  !  Heavens  !  There  is  a  delight  even  in  the 
parting  agony  of  two  lovers  worth  a  thousand  tame 
pleasures  of  the  world.  I  have  her  at  this  moment 
before  my  eyes — at  the  window  of  the  pavilion,  put- 
ting aside  the  vines  that  clustered  about  the  casement 
— her  light  form  beaming  forth  in  virgin  white — her 
countenance  all  tears  and  smiles — sending  a  thou- 
sand and  a  thousand  adieus  after  me,  as,  hesitating, 
in  a  delirium  of  fondness  and  agitation,  I  faltered  my 
way  down  the  avenue. 

As  the  bark  bore  me  out  of  the  harbour  of  Genoa, 
how  eagerly  my  eyes  stretched  along  the  coast  of 
Sestri,  till  it  discerned  the  villa  gleaming  from  among 
trees  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  As  long  as  day 
lasted,  I  gazed  and  gazed  upon  it,  till  it  lessened  and 
lessened  to  a  mere  white  speck  in  the  distance ;  and 
still  my  intense  and  fixed  gaze  discerned  it,  when  all 
other  objects  of  the  coast  had  blended  into  indistinct 
confusion,  or  were  lost  in  the  evening  gloom. 

Oh  arriving  at  Naples,  I  hastened  to  my  paternal 
home.  My  heart  yearned  for  the  long-withheld 
blessing  of  a  father's  love.  As  I  entered  the  proud 
portal  of  the  ancestral  palace,  my  emotions  were  so 
great  that  I  could  not  speak.  No  one  knew  me. 
The  servants  gazed  at  me  with  curiosity  and  surprise. 
A  few  years  of  intellectual  elevation  and  develop- 
ment had  made  a  prodigious  change  in  the  poor  i 
fugitive  stripling  from  the  convent.  Still  that  no 
one  should  know  me  in  my  rightful  home  was  over- 
powering. I  felt  like  the  prodigal  son  returned.  I 
was  a  stranger  in  the  house  of  my  father.  I  burst 
into  tears,  and  wept  aloud.  When  I  made  myself 
known,  however,  all  was  changed.     I  who  had  once 


been  almost  repulsed  from  its  walls,  and  forced  to  fly 
as  an  exile,  was  welcomed  back  with  acclamation, 
with  servility.  One  of  the  servants  hastened  to  pre- 
pare my  father  for  my  reception  ;  my  eagerness  to 
receive  the  paternal  embrace  was  so  great  that  I  could 
not  await  his  return  ;  but  hurried  after  him. 

What  a  spectacle  met  my  eyes  as  I  entered  the 
chamber.  My  father,  whom  I  had  left  in  the  pride 
of  vigourous  age,  whose  noble  and  majestic  bearing 
had  so  awed  my  young  imagination,  was  bowed 
down  and  withered  into  decrepitude.  A  paralysis  had 
ravaged  his  stately  form,  and  left  it  a  shaking  ruin. 
He  sat  propped  up  in  his  chair,  with  pale,  relaxed 
visage  and  glassy,  wandering  eye.  His  intellects 
had  evidently  shared  in  the  ravage  of  his  frame. 
The  servant  was  endeavouring  to  make  him  compre- 
hend the  visitor  that  was  at  hand.  I  tottered  up  to 
hiin  and  sunk  at  his  feet.  All  his  past  coldness  and 
neglect  were  forgotten  in  his  present  sufferings.  I  re- 
membered only  that  he  was  my  parent,  and  that  I 
had  deserted  him.  I  clasped  his  knees ;  my  voice 
was  almost  stifled  with  convulsive  sobs.  "  Pardon 
— pardon — oh  my  father  !  "  was  all  that  I  could  utter. 
His  apprehension  seemed  slowly  to  return  to  him. 
He  gazed  at  me  for  some  moments  with  a  vague, 
inquiring  look ;  a  convulsive  treinor  quivered  about  his 
lips  ;  he  feebly  extended  a  shaking  hand,  laid  it  upon 
my  head,  and  burst  into  an  infantine  flow  of  tears. 

From  that  moment  he  would  scarcely  spare  me 
from  his  sight.  I  appeared  the  only  object  that  his 
heart  responded  to  in  the  world  :  all  else  was  as  a 
blank  to  him.  He  had  almost  lost  the  powers  of 
speech,  and  the  reasoning  faculty  seemed  at  an  end. 
He  was  mute  and  passive  ;  excepting  that  fits  of 
child-like  weeping  would  sometimes  come  over  him 
without  any  immediate  cause.  If  I  left  the  room  at 
any  time,  his  eye  was  incessantly  fixed  on  the  door 
till  my  return,  and  on  my  entrance  there  was  another 
gush  of  tears. 

To  talk  with  him  of  my  concerns,  in  this  ruined  state 
of  mind,  would  have  been  worse  than  useless  :  to 
have  left  him,  for  ever  so  short  a  time,  would  have 
been  cruel,  unnatural.  Here  then  was  a  new  trial 
for  my  affections.  I  wrote  to  Bianca  an  account  of 
my  return  and  of  my  actual  situation ;  painting  in 
colours  vivid,  for  they  were  true,  the  torments  I  suf- 
fered at  our  being  thus  separated  ;  for  to  the  youth- 
ful lover  every  day  of  absence  is  an  age  of  love  lost. 
I  enclosed  the  letter  in  one  to  Filippo,  who  was  the 
channel  of  our  correspondence.  I  received  a  reply 
from  him  full  of  friendship  and  sympathy  ;  from  Bi- 
anca full  of  assurances  of  affection  and  constancy. 

Week  after  week,  month  after  month  elapsed, 
without  making  any  change  in  my  circumstances. 
The  vital  flame,  which  had  seemed  nearly  extinct 
when  first  I  met  my  father,  kept  fluttering  on  with- 
out any  apparent  diminution.  I  watched  him  con- 
stantly, faithfully — I  had  almost  said  patiently.  I 
knew  that  his  death  alone  would  set  me  free  ;  yet  I 
never  at  any  moment  wished  it.  I  felt  too  glad  to  be 
able  to  make  any  atonement  for  past  disobedience  ; 
and,  denied  as  I  had  been  all  endearments  of  rela- 
tionship in  my  early  days,  my  heart  yearned  towards 
a  father,  who,  in  his  age  and  helplessness,  had  thrown 
himself  entirely  on  me  for  comfort.  My  passion  for  Bi- 
anca gained  daily  more  force  from  absence;  by  constant 
meditation  it  wore  itself  a  deeper  and  deeper  channel. 
I  made  no  new  friends  nor  acquaintance  ;  sought  none 
of  the  pleasures  of  Naples  which  my  rank  and  fortune 
threw  open  to  me.  Mine  was  a  heart  that  confined 
itself  to  few  objects,  but  dwelt  upon  those  with  the 
intenser  passion.  To  sit  by  my  father,  and  adminis- 
ter to  his  wants,  and  to  meditate  on  Bianca  in  the 
silence  of  his  chamber,  was  my  constant  habit. 
Sometimes  I  amused  myself  with  my  pencil  in  por- 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


3G1 


\ 


traying  the  imasje  that  was  ever  present  to  my  imag- 
ination. I  transferred  to  canvas  every  lool(  and  smile 
of  hers  that  dwelt  in  my  heart.  I  showed  them  to 
my  father  in  hopes  of  awakening  an  interest  in  his 
bosom  for  the  mere  shadow  of  my  love  ;  but  he  was 
too  far  sunk  in  intellect  to  take  any  more  than  a 
child-like  notice  of  them. 

When  1  received  a  letter  from  Bianca  it  was  a  new 
source  of  solitary  luxury.  Her  letters,  it  is  true,  were 
less  and  less  frequent,  but  they  were  always  full  of 
assurances  of  unabated  affection.  They  breathed 
not  the  frank  and  innocent  warmth  with  which  she 
expressed  herself  in  conversation,  but  I  accounted 
for  it  from  the  embarrassment  which  inexperienced 
minds  have  often  to  express  themselves  upon  paper. 
Filippo  assured  me  of  her  unaltered  constancy.  They 
both  lamented  in  the  strongest  terms  our  continued 
separation,  though  they  did  justice  to  the  filial  feel- 
ing that  kept  me  by  my  father's  side. 

Nearly  eighteen  months  elapsed  in  this  protracted 
exile.  To  me  they  were  so  many  ages.  Ardent  and 
impetuous  by  nature,  I  scarcely  know  how  I  should 
have  supported  so  long  an  absence,  had  I  not  felt  as- 
sured that  the  faith  of  Bianca  was  equal  to  my  own. 
At  length  my  father  died.  Life  went  from  him  al- 
most imperceptibly.  I  hung  over  him  in  mute  afflic- 
tion, and  watched  the  expiring  spasms  of  nature. 
His  last  faltering  accents  whispered  repeatedly  a 
blessing  on  me — alas  !  how  has  it  been  fulfilled  ! 

When  I  had  paid  due  honours  to  his  remains,  and 
laid  them  in  the  tomb  of  our  ancestors,  1  arranged 
briefly  my  affairs  ;  put  them  in  a  posture  to  be  easily 
at  my  command  from  a  distance,  and  embarked  once 
more,  with  a  bounding  heart  for  Genoa. 

Our  voyage  was  propitious,  and  oh  !  what  was  my 
rapture  when  first,  in  the  dawn  of  morning,  I  saw  the 
shadowy  summits  of  the  Apennines  rising  almost 
like  clouds  above  the  horizon.  The  sweet  breath  of 
summer  just  moved  us  over  the  long  wavering  bil- 
lows that  were  rolling  us  on  towards  Genoa.  By 
degrees  the  coast  of  Sestri  rose  like  a  sweet  creation 
of  enchantment  from  the  silver  bosom  of  the  deep. 
1  beheld  the  line  of  villages  and  palaces  studding  its 
borders.  My  eye  reverted  to  a  well-known  point, 
and  at  length,  from  the  confusion  of  distant  objects, 
it  singled  out  the  villa  which  contained  Bianca.  It 
was  a  mere  speck  in  the  landscape,  but  glimmering 
from  afar,  the  polar  star  of  my  heart. 

Again  I  gazed  at  it  for  a  livelong  summer's  day ; 
but  oh  how  different  the  emotions  between  departure 
and  return.  It  now  kept  growing  and  growing,  in- 
stead of  lessening  and  lessening  on  my  sight.  My 
heart  seemed  to  dilate  with  it.  I  looked  at  it 
through  a  telescope.  I  gradually  defined  one  feature 
after  another.  The  balconies  of  the  central  saloon 
where  first  I  met  Bianca  beneath  its  roof;  the  ter- 
race where  we  so  often  had  passed  the  delightful 
summer  evenings  ;  the  awning  that  shaded  her 
chamber  window — I  almost  fancied  I  saw  her  form 
beneath  it.  Could  she  but  know  her  lover  was  in  the 
bark  whose  white  sail  now  gleamed  on  the  sunny 
bosom  of  the  sea  !  My  fond  impatience  increased 
as  we  neared  the  coast.  The  ship  seemed  to  lag 
lazily  over  the  billows ;  I  could  almost  have  sprung 
into  the  sea  and  swam  to  the  desired  shore. 

The  shadows  of  evening  gradually  shrouded  the 
scene,  but  the  moon  arose  in  all  her  fullness  and 
beauty,  and  shed  the  tender  light  so  dear  to  lovers, 
over  the  romantic  coast  of  Sestri.  My  whole  soul 
was  bathed  in  unutterable  tenderness.  I  anticip.ated 
the  heavenly  evenings  I  should  pass  in  wandering 
with  Bianca  by  the  light  of  that  blessed  moon. 

It  was  late  at  night  before  we  entered  the  harbour. 
As  early  next  morning  as  I  could  get  released  from 
the  formalities  of  landing  I  threw  myself  on  horse- 


back and  hastened  to  the  villa.  As  I  galloped  round 
the  rocky  promontory  on  which  stands  the  Faro, 
and  saw  the  coast  of  Sestri  opening  upon  me,  a 
thousand  anxieties  and  doubts  suddenly  sprang  up 
in  my  bosom.  There  is  something  fearful  in  return- 
ing to  those  we  love,  while  yet  uncertain  what  ills 
or  changes  absence  may  have  effected.  The  tur- 
bulence of  my  agitation  shook  my  very  frame.  I 
spurred  my  horse  to  redoubled  speed  ;  he  was  cov- 
ered with  foam  when  we  both  arrived  panting  at  the 
gateway  that  opened  to  the  grounds  around  the  vil- 
la. I  left  my  horse  at  a  cottage  and  walked  through 
the  grounds,  that  I  might  regain  tranquillity  for  the 
approaching  interview.  I  chid  myself  for  having 
suffered  mere  doubts  and  surmises  thus  suddenly  to 
overcome  me ;  but  I  was  always  prone  to  be  carried 
away  by  these  gusts  of  the  feelings. 

On  entering  the  garden  every  thing  bore  the  same 
look  as  when  I  had  left  it ;  and  this  unchanged  as- 
pect of  things  reassured  me.  There  were  the  alleys 
in  which  I  had  so  often  walked  with  Bianca  ;  the 
same  shades  under  which  we  had  so  often  sat  dur- 
ing the  noontide  heat.  There  were  the  same  flowers 
of  which  she  was  fond  ;  and  which  appeared  still 
to  be  under  the  ministry  of  her  hand.  Every  thing 
around  looked  and  breathed  of  Bianca ;  hope  and 
joy  flushed  in  my  bosom  at  every  step.  I  passed  a 
little  bower  in  which  we  had  often  sat  and  read  to- 
gether. A  book  and  a  glove  lay  on  the  bench.  It 
was  Bianca's  glove ;  it  was  a  volume  of  the  Metes- 
tasio  I  had  given  her.  The  glove  lay  in  my  favour- 
ite passage.  I  clasped  them  to  my  heart.  "  All  is 
safe  !  "  exclaimed  I,  with  rapture,  "  she  loves  me  ! 
she  is  still  my  own  !  " 

I  bounded  lightly  along  the  avenue  down  which 
I  had  faltered  so  slowly  at  my  departure.  I  beheld 
her  favourite  pavilion  which  had  witnessed  our  part- 
ing scene.  The  window  was  open,  with  the  same 
vine  clambering  about  it,  precisely  as  when  she 
waved  and  wept  me  an  adieu.  Oh  !  how  transport- 
ing was  the  contrast  in  my  situation.  As  I  passed 
near  the  pavilion,  I  heard  the  tones  of  a  female 
voice.  They  thrilled  through  me  with  an  appeal  to 
my  heart  not  to  be  mistaken.  Before  1  could  think, 
I  felt  they  were  Bianca's.  For  an  instant  I  paused, 
overpowered  with  agitation.  1  feared  to  break  in 
suddenly  upon  her.  I  softly  ascended  the  steps  of 
the  pavilion.  The  door  was  open.  I  saw  Bianca 
seated  at  a  table ;  her  back  was  towards  me ;  she 
was  warbling  a  soft  inelancholy  air,  and  was  occu- 
pied in  drawing.  A  glance  sufficed  to  show  me  that 
she  was  copying  one  of  my  own  paintings.  I  gazed 
on  her  for  a  moment  in  a  delicious  tumult  of  emo- 
tions. She  paused  in  her  singing ;  a  heavy  sigh,  al- 
most a  sob  followed.  I  could  no  longer  contain 
myself.  "  Bianca  !  "  exclaimed  I,  in  a  half  smother- 
ed voice.  She  started  at  the  sound  ;  brushed  back 
the  ringlets  that  hung  clustering  about  her  face ; 
darted  a  glance  at  me ;  uttered  a  i)iercing  shriek, 
and  would  have  fallen  to  the  earth,  had  1  not  caught 
her  in  my  arms. 

"  Bianca  !  my  own  Bianca  !  "  exclaimed  i,  folding 
her  to  my  bosom  ;  my  voice  stifled  in  sobs  of  con- 
vulsive joy.  She  lay  in  my  arms  without  sense  or 
motion.  Alarmed  at  the  effects  of  my  own  pre- 
cipitation, I  scarce  knew  what  to  do.  I  tried  by  a 
thousand  endearing  words  to  call  her  back  to  con- 
-sciousness.  She  slowly  recovered,  and  half  opening 
her  eyes — "where  am  I.'"  murmured  she  faintly. 
"  Here,"  exclaimed  I,  pressing  her  to  my  bosom, 
"  Here  !  close  to  the  heart  that  adores  you  ;  in  the 
arms  of  your  faithful  Ottavio  !  " 

"  Oh  no  !  no  !  no  !  "  shrieked  she,  starting  in'o 
sudden  life  and  terror — "  away  !  away  !  leave  me  ! 
leave  me  ! " 


332 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


She  tore  herself  from  my  arms  ;  rushed  to  a  cor- 
ner of  the  saloon,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
hands,  as  if  the  very  sight  of  me  were  baleful.  I 
was  thunderstruck — I  could  not  believe  my  senses. 
I  loUowed  her,  trembling,  confounded.  I  endeav- 
oured to  take  her  hand,  but  she  shrunk  from  my  very 
touch  with  horror. 

"  Good  heavens,  Bianca,"  exclaimed  I,  "  what  is 
tlie  meaning  of  this  ?  Is  this  my  reception  after  so 
long  an  absence  ?  Is  this  the  love  you  professed  for 
me?  " 

At  the  mention  of  love,  a  shuddering  ran  through 
her.  She  turned  to  me  a  face  wild  with  anguish. 
"  No  more  of  that !  no  more  of  that !  "  gasped  she — 
"  talk  not  to  me  of  love — I — I — am  married  !  " 

I  reeled  as  if  I  had  received  a  mortal  blow.  A 
sickness  struck  to  my  very  heart.  I  caught  at  a 
window  frame  for  support.  For  a  moment  or  two, 
every  thing  was  chaos  around  me.  When  I  recovered, 
I  beheld  Bianca  lying  on  a  sofa  ;  her  face  buried  in 
the  pillow,  and  sobbing  convulsively.  Indignation 
at  her  fickleness  for  a  moment  overpowered  every 
other  feeling. 

"Faithless — perjured — •"  cried  I,  striding  across 
the  room.  But  another  glance  at  that  beautiful  be- 
ing in  distress,  checked  all  my  wrath.  Anger  could 
not  dwell  together  with  her  idea  in  my  soul 

"Oh,  Bianca,"  exclaimed  I,  in  anguish,  "could  I 
have  dreamt  of  this ;  could  I  have  suspected  you 
would  have  been  false  to  me  ?  " 

She  raised  her  face  all  streaming  with  tears,  all 
disordered  with  emotion,  and  gave  me  one  appeal- 
ing look — "  False  to  you  ! — they  told  me  you  were 
dead  !  " 

"What,"  said  I,  "in  spite  of  our  constant  corre- 
spondence ?  " 

She  gazed  wildly  at  me  —  "  correspondence  ! — 
what  correspondence  ?  " 

"  Have  you  not  repeatedly  received  and  replied  to 
my  letters  ?  " 

She  clasped  her  hands  with  solemnity  and  fer- 
vour— "  As  I  hope  for  mercy,  never  !  " 

A  horrible  surmise  shot  through  my  brain — "Who 
told  you  I  was  dead  .'  " 

"  It  was  reported  that  the  ship  in  which  you  em- 
barked for  Naples  perished  at  sea." 

"  But  who  told  you  the  report  ?  " 

She  paused  for  an  instant,  and  trembled — 

"  Filippo  ! '' 

"  May  the  God  of  heaven  curse  him  ! "  cried  I, 
extendmg  my  clinched  fists  aloft. 

"Oh  do  not  curse  him — do  not  curse  him  !  "  ex- 
claimed she — "  He  is — he  is — my  husband  !  " 

This  was  all  that  was  wanting  to  unfold  the  per- 
fidy that  had  been  practised  upon  me.  My  blood 
boiled  like  liquid  fire  in  my  veins.  I  gasped  with 
rage  too  great  for  utterance.  I  remamed  for  a  time 
bewildered  by  the  whirl  of  horrible  thoughts  that 
rushed  through  my  mind.  The  poor  victim  of  de- 
ception before  me  thought  it  was  with  her  I  was  in- 
censed. She  faintly  murmured  forth  her  exculpa- 
tion. I  will  not  dwell  upon  it.  I  saw  in  it  '^ore 
than  she  meant  to  reveal.  I  saw  with  a  glance  how 
both  of  us  had  been  betrayed.  " 'Tis  well  !  "  mut- 
tered I  to  myself  in  smothered  accents  of  concen- 
trated fury.     "  He  shall  account  to  me  for  this  !  " 

Bianca  overheard  me.  New  terror  flashed  in  her 
countenance.  "  For  mercy's  sake  do  not  meet  him 
— say  nothing  of  what  has  passed — for  my  sake  say 
nothing  to  him — I  only  shall  be  the  sufferer  ! " 

A  new  suspicion  darted  across  my  mind  — 
"  What  !  "  exclaimed  I — "do  you  then  fear  him — is 
he  unkind  to  you^tell  me,"  reiterated  I,  grasping 
her  hand  and  looking  her  eagerly  in  the  face — "  tell 
•m^—darcs  he  to  use  you  harshly  !  " 


"  No  !  no  !  no  !  "  cried  she  faltering  and  embar- 
rassed ;  but  the  glance  at  her  face  had  told  me  vol- 
umes. 1  saw  in  her  pallid  and  wasted  features  ;  in  the 
prompt  terror  and  subdued  agony  of  her  eye  a  whole 
history  of  a  mind  broken  down  by  tyranny.  Great 
God  !  and  was  this  beauteous  flower  snatched  from 
me  to  be  thus  trampled  upon .''  The  idea  roused  me 
to  madness.  1  clinched  my  teeth  and  my  hands  ;  I 
foamed  at  the  mouth  ;  every  passion  seemed  to  have 
resolved  itself  into  the  fury  that  like  a  lava  boiled 
within  my  heart.  Bianca  shrunk  from  me  in  speech- 
less affright.  As  I  strode  by  the  window  my  eye 
darted  down  the  alley.  Fatal  moment  I  I  beheld 
Filippo  at  a  distance  !  My  brain  was  in  deliiium — I 
sprang  from  the  pavilion,  and  was  before  him  with 
the  quickness  of  lightning.  He  saw  me  as  I  came 
rushing  upon  him  — he  turned  pale,  looked  wildly  to 
right  and  left,  as  if  he  would  have  fled,  and  trem- 
bling drew  his  sword  : — 

"  Wretch !  "  cried  I,  "  well  may  you  draw  your 
weapon  !  " 

I  spake  not  another  word  —  I  snatched  forth  a 
stiletto,  put  by  the  sword  which  trembled  in  his 
hand,  and  buried  my  poniard  in  his  bosom.  He  fell 
with  the  blow,  but  my  rage  was  unsated.  I  sprang 
upon  him  with  the  blood-thirsty  feeUng  of  a  tiger ; 
redoubled  my  blows ;  mangled  him  in  my  frenzy, 
grasped  him  by  the  throat,  until  with  reiterated 
wounds  and  strangling  convulsions  he  expired  in  my 
grasp.  I  remained  glanng  on  the  countenance, 
horrible  in  death,  that  seemed  to  stare  back  with  its 
|)rotruded  eyes  upon  me.  Piercing  shrieks  roused 
me  from  my  delirium.  1  looked  round  and  beheld 
Bianca  flying  distractedly  towards  us.  My  brain 
whirled.  I  waited  not  to  meet  her,  but  fled  from 
the  scene  of  horror.  1  fled  forth  from  the  garden 
like  another  Cain,  a  hell  within  my  bosom,  and  a 
curse  upon  my  head.  I  fled  without  knowing 
whither  —  almost  without  knowing  why — my  only 
idea  was  to  get  farther  and  farther  from  the  horrors 
I  had  left  behind  ;  as  if  I  could  throw  space  between 
myself  and  my  conscience.  I  fled  to  the  Apennines, 
and  wandered  for  days  and  days  among  their  savage 
heights.  How  I  existed  1  cannot  tell — what  rocks 
and  precipices  I  braved,  and  how  I  braved  them,  I 
know  not.  I  kept  on  and  on — trying  to  outtravel 
the  curse  that  clung  to  me.  Alas,  the  shrieks  of 
Bianca  rung  for  ever  in  my  car.  The  horrible 
countenance  of  my  victim  was  for  ever  before  my 
eyes.  "  The  blood  of  Filippo  cried  to  me  from  the 
ground."  Rocks,  trees,  and  torrents  all  resounded 
with  my  crime. 

Then  it  was  I  felt  how  much  more  insupportable 
is  the  anguish  of  remorse  than  every  other  mental 
pang.  Oh  !  could  I  but  have  cast  off"  this  crime  that 
festered  in  my  heart ;  could  I  but  have  regained  the 
innocence  that  reigned  in  my  breast  as  I  entered  the 
garden  at  Sestri ;  could  I  but  have  restored  my  vic- 
tim to  life,  I  felt  as  if  1  could  look  on  with  transport 
even  though  Bianca  were  in  his  arms. 

By  degrees  this  frenzied  fever  of  remorse  settled 
into  a  permanent  malady  of  the  mind.  Into  one  c4" 
the  most  horrible  that  ever  poor  wretch  was  cursed 
with.  Wherever  I  went,  the  countenance  of  him  I 
had  slain  appeared  to  follow  me.  Wherever  I  turned 
my  head  1  beheld  it  behind  me,  hideous  with  the 
contortions  of  the  dying  moment.  I  have  tried  in 
every  way  to  escape  from  this  horrible  phantom ; 
but  in  vain.  I  know  not  whether  it  is  an  illusion  of 
the  mind,  the  consequence  of  my  dismal  education 
at  the  convent,  or  whether  a  phantom  really  sent  by 
heaven  to  punish  me ;  but  there  it  ever  is — at  all 
times — in  all  places — nor  has  time  nor  habit  had 
any  effect  in  familiarizing  me  with  its  terrors.  I 
have   travelled   from   place  to  place,   plunged   into 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


363 


amusements — tried  dissipation  and  distraction  of 
every  kind— all — all  in  vain. 

I  once  had  recourse  to  my  pencil  as  a  desperate 
experiment.  I  painted  an  exact  resemblance  of  this 
phantom  face.  I  placed  it  before  me  in  hopes  that  by 
constantly  contemplating  the  copy  I  might  diminish 
the  effect  of  the  original.  But  I  only  doubled  instead 
of  diminishing  the  misery. 

Such  is  the  curse  that  has  clung  to  my  footsteps 
— that  has  made  my  life  a  burthen — but  the  thoughts 
of  death,  terrible.  God  knows  what  I  have  suffered. 
What  days  and  days,  and  nights  and  nights,  of 
sleepless  torment.  What  a  never-dying  worm  has 
preyed  upon  my  heart ;  what  an  unquenchable  tire 
has  burned  within  my  brain.  He  knows  the  wrongs 
that  wrought  upon  my  poor  weak  nature  ;  that  con- 
verted the  tenderest  of  affections  into  the  deadliest 
of  fury.  He  knows  best  whether  a  frail  erring 
creature  has  expiated  by  long-enduring  torture  and 
measureless  remorse,  the  crime  of  a  moment  of  mad- 
ness. Often,  often  have  I  prostrated  myself  in  the 
dust,  and  implored  that  he  would  give  me  a  sign  of 
his  forgiveness,  and  let  me  die. 

Thus  far  had  I  written  some  time  since.  I  had 
meant  to  leave  this  record  of  misery  and  crime  with 
you,  to  be  read  when  I  should  be  no  more.  My 
prayer  to  heaven  has  at  length  been  heard.  You 
were  witness  to  my  emotions  last  evening  at  the  per- 
formance of  the  Miserere ;  when  the  vaulted  temple 
resounded  with  the  words  of  atonement  and  redemp- 
tion. I  heard  a  voice  speaking  to  me  from  the  midst 
of  the  music  ;  I  heard  it  rising  above  the  pealing  of 
the  organ  and  the  voices  of  the  choir ;  it  spoke  to 
me  in  tones  of  celestial  melody  ;  it  promised  mercy 
and  forgiveness,  but  demanded  from  me  full  expia- 
tion. 1  go  to  make  it.  To-morrow  1  shall  be  on 
ray  way  to  Genoa  to  surrender  myself  to  justice. 


You  who  have  pitied  my  sufferings ;  who  have 
poured  the  balm  of  sympathy  into  my  wounds,  do 
not  shrink  from  my  memory  with  abhorrence  now 
that  you  know  my  story.  Recollect,  when  you  read 
of  my  crime  I  shall  have  atoned  for  it  with  my 
blood  !  

When  the  Baronet  had  finished,  there  was  an  uni- 
versal desire  expressed  to  see  the  painting  of  this 
frightful  visage.  After  much  entreaty  the  Baronet 
consented,  on  condition  that  they  should  only  visit  it 
one  by  one.  He  called  his  housekeeper  and  gave 
her  charge  to  conduct  the  gentlemen  singly  to  the 
chamber.  They  all  returned  varying  in  their  stories : 
some  affected  in  one  way,  some  in  another ;  some 
more,  some  less  ;  but  all  agreeing  that  there  was  a 
certain  something  about  the  painting  that  had  a  very 
odd  effect  upon  the  feelings. 

I  stood  in  a  deep  bow  window  with  the  Baronet, 
and  could  not  help  expressing  my  wonder.  "  After 
all,"  said  I,  "  there  are  certain  mysteries  in  our  nat- 
ure, certain  inscrutable  impulses  and  influences,  that 
warrant  one  in  being  sujjerstitious.  Who  can  ac- 
count for  so  many  persons  of  different  characters 
being  thus  strangely  affected  by  a  mere  painting?  " 

"  And  especially  when  not  one  of  them  has  seen 
it  1 "  said  the  Baronet  with  a  smile. 

"  How  .'  "  exclaimed  I,  "  not  seen  it  ?  " 

"  Not  one  of  them  !  "  replied  he,  laying  his  finger 
on  his  lips  in  sign  of  secrecy.  "  I  saw  that  some  of 
them  were  in  a  bantering  vein,  and  I  did  not  choose 
that  the  memento  of  the  poor  Italian  should  be  made 
a  jest  of.  So  1  gave  the  housekeeper  a  hint  to  show 
them  all  to  a  different  chamber  !  " 


Thus  end  the  Stories  of  the  Nervous  Gentleman, 


Tales  of  a  Traveller. 


PART    SECOND. 


BUCKTHORNE  AND  HIS  FRIENDS. 

'*  'Tis  a  very  good  world  that  we  live  in. 

To  lend,  or  to  spend,  or  to  give  in  ; 

But  to  beg,  or  to  borrow,  or  get  a  man's  own, 

'Tis  the  very  worst  world,  sir,  that  ever  was  known.'* 

Lines  from  an  Inn  Window. 


LITERARY  LIFE. 


Among  the  great  variety  of  characters  which  fall 
in  a  traveller's  way,  1  became  acquainted  during  my 
sojourn  in  London,  with  an  eccentric  personage  of 
the  name  of  Buckthorne.  He  was  a  literary  man, 
had  lived  much  in  the  metropolis,  and  had  acquired 
a  great  deal  of  curious,  though  unprofitable  knowl- 
edge concerning  it.  He  was  great  observer  of 
character,  and  could  give  the  natural  history  of  every 
odd  animal  that  presented  itself  in  this  great  wilder- 
ness of  men.  Finding  me  very  curious  about  literary 
life  and  literary  characters,  he  took  much  pains  to 
gratify  my  curiosity. 


"  The  literary  world  of  England,"  said  he  to  me 
on;- day,  "  is  made  up  of  a  number  of  little  fraterni- 
ties, each  existing  merely  for  itself,  and  thinking  the 
rest  of  the  world  created  only  to  look  on  and  admire. 
It  may  be  resembled  to  the  firmament,  consisting  of 
a  number  of  systems,  each  composed  of  its  own 
central  sun  with  its  revolving  train  of  moons  and 
satellites,  all  acting  in  the  most  harmonious  concord  ; 
but  the  comparison  fails  in  part,  inasmuch  as  the 
literary  world  has  no  general  concord.  Each  sys- 
tem acts  independently  of  the  rest,  and  indeed  con- 
siders all  other Itars  as  mere  exhalations  and  tran- 
sient meteors,  beaming  for  a  while  with  false  fires, 
but  doomed  soon  to  fall  and  be  forgotten  ;  while  its 
own  luminaries  are  the  lights  of  the  universe,  des- 


334 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


lined  to  increase  in  splendour  and  to  shine  steadily 
on  to  immortality." 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  how  is'a  man  to  get  a  peep 
into  one  of  these  systems  you  talk  of?  1  presume 
an  intercourse  with  authors  is  a  kind  of  intellectual 
exchange,  where  one  must  bring  his  commodities  to 
barter,  and  always  give  a  quid  pro  quo." 

"  Pooh,  pooh — how  you  mistake,"  said  Buckthorne, 
smiling:  "you  must  never  think  to  become  popular 
among  wits  by  shining.  They  go  into  society  to 
shine  themselves,  not  to  admire  the  brilliancy  of 
others.  I  thought  as  you  do  when  I  first  cultivated 
the  society  of  men  of  letters,  and  never  went  to  a 
blue  stocking  coterie  without  studying  my  part  be- 
forehand as  diligently  as  an  actor.  The  consequence 
was,  I  soon  got  the  name  of  an  intolerable  proser, 
and  should  in  a  little  while  have  been  completely 
excommunicated  had  I  not  changed  my  plan  of 
operations.  From  thenceforth  I  became  a  most 
assiduous  listener,  or  if  ever  I  were  eloquent,  it  was 
tete-a-tete  with  an  author  in  praise  of  his  own  works, 
or  what  is  nearly  as  acceptable,  in  disparagement 
of  the  works  of  his  contemporaries.  If  ever  he 
spoke  favourably  of  the  productions  of  some  par- 
ticular friend,  I  ventured  boldly  to  dissent  from  him, 
and  to  prove  that  his  friend  was  a  blockhead ;  and 
much  as  people  say  of  the  pertinacity  and  irritability 
of  authors,  I  never  found  one  to  take  offence  at  my 
contradictions.  No,  no,  sir,  authors  are  particularly 
candid  in  admitting  the  faults  of  their  friend;. 

"Indeed,  1  was  extremely  sparing  of  my  remarks 
on  all  modern  works,  excepting  to  make  sarcastic 
observations  on  the  most  distinguished  writers  of 
the  day.  I  never  ventured  to  praise  an  author  that 
had  not  been  dead  at  least  half  a  century;  and  even 
then  I  was  rather  cautious  ;  for  you  must  know  that 
many  old  writers  have  been  enlisted  under  the  ban- 
ners of  different  sects,  and  their  merits  have  become 
as  complete  topics  of  party  prejudice  and  dispute,  as 
the  merits  of  living  statesmen  and  politicians.  Nay, 
there  have  been  whole  periods  of  literature  absolute- 
ly taboo' d,  to  use  a  South  Sea  phrase.  It  is,  for  ex- 
ample, as  much  as  a  man's  reputation  is  worth,  in 
some  circles,  to  say  a  word  in  praise  of  any  writers 
of  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  or  even  of 
Queen  Anne  ;  they  being  all  declared  to  be  French- 
men in  disguise." 

"  And  pray,  then,"  said  I,  "  when  am  I  to  know 
that  I  am  on  safe  grounds ;  being  totally  unac- 
quainted with  the  literary  landmarks  and  the  boun- 
dary lines  of  fashionable  taste  .'  " 

"  Oh,"  replied  he,  "  there  is  fortunately  one  tract 
of  literature  that  forms  a  kind  of  neutral  ground,  on 
which  all  the  literary  world  meet  amicably ;  lay 
down  their  weapons  and  even  run  riot  in  their  ex- 
cess of  good  humour,  and  this  is,  the  reigns  of 
Elizabeth  and  James.  Here  you  may  praise  away 
at  a  venture  ;  here  it  is  'cut  and  come  again,"  and 
the  more  obscure  the  author,  and  the  more  quaint 
and  crabbed  his  style,  the  more  your  admiration  will 
smack  of  the  real  relish  of  the  connoisseur ;  whose 
taste,  like  that  of  an  epicure,  is  always  for  game  that 
has  an  antiquated  flavour. 

"But,"  continued  he,  "as  you  seem  anxious  to 
know  something  of  literary  society  I  will  take  an 
opportunity  to  introduce  you  to  some  coterie,  where 
the  talents  of  the  day  are  assembled.  I  cannot 
promise  you,  however,  that  they  will  be  of  the  first 
order.  Some  how  or  other,  our  great  geniuses  are 
not  gregarious,  they  do  not  go  m  flocks,  but  fly 
singly  in  general  society.  They  prefer  mingling, 
like  common  men,  with  the  multitufle  ;  and  are  apt 
to  carry  nothing  of  the  author  about  them  but  the 
reputation.  It  is  only  the  inferior  orders  that  herd 
together,  acquire  strength  and  importance  by  their 


confederacies,  and  bear  all  the  distinctive  character- 
istics of  their  species." 


A  LITERARY  DINNER. 


A  FEW  days  after  this  conversation  with  Mr. 
Buckthorne,  he  called  upon  me,  and  took  me  with 
him  to  a  regular  literary  dinner.  It  was  given  by  a 
great  bookseller,  or  rather  a  company  of  booksellers, 
whose  firm  surpassed  in  length  even  that  of  Shad- 
rach,  Meschach,  and  Abed-nego. 

I  was  surprised  to  find  between  twenty  and  thirty 
guests  assembled,  most  of  whom  I  had  never  seen 
before.  Buckthorne  explained  this  to  me  by  in- 
forming me  that  this  was  a  "  business  dinner,"  or 
kind  of  field  day,  which  the  house  gave  about  twice 
a  year  to  its  authors.  It  is  true,  they  did  occasion- 
ally give  sriug  dinners  to  three  or  four  literary  men 
at  a  time,  but  then  these  were  generally  select  au- 
thors ;  favourites  of  the  public  ;  such  as  had  arrived 
at  their  sixth  and  seventh  editions.  "There  are," 
said  he,  "  certain  geographical  boundaries  in  the 
land  of  literature,  and  you  may  judge  tolerably  well 
of  an  author's  popularity,  by  the  wine  his  bookseller 
gives  him.  An  author  crosses  the  port  line  about 
the  third  edition  and  gets  info  claret,  but  when  he 
has  reached  the  sixth  and  seventh,  he  may  revel  in 
champagne  and  burgundy." 

"And  pray,"  said  I,  "  how  far  may  these  gentle- 
men have  reached  that  I  see  around  me  ;  are  any  of 
these  claret  drinkers.''" 

"  Not  exactly,  not  exactly.  You  find  at  these  great 
dinners  the  common  steady  run  of  authors,  one,  two, 
edition  men  ;  or  if  any  others  are  invited  they  are 
aware  that  it  is  a  kind  of  republican  meeting. — You 
understand  me — a  meeting  of  the  republic  of  letters, 
and  that  they  must  expect  nothing  but  plain  substan- 
tial fare." 

These  hints  enabled  me  to  comprehend  more  fully 
the  arrangement  of  the  table.  "The  two  ends  were 
occupied  by  two  partners  of  the  house.  And  the 
host  seemed  to  have  adopted  Addison's  ideas  as  to 
the  literary  precedence  of  his  guests.  A  popular  poet 
had  the  post  of  honour,  opposite  to  whom  was  a  hot- 
pressed  traveller  in  quarto,  with  plates.  A  grave- 
looking  antiquarian,  who  had  produced  several  solid 
works,  which  were  much  quoted  and  little  read,  was 
treated  with  great  respect,  and  seated  next  to  a  neat, 
dressy  gentleman  in  black,  who  had  written  a  thin, 
genteel,  hot-pressed  octavo  on  political  economy, 
that  was  getting  into  fashion.  Several  three-volume 
duodecimo  men  of  fair  currency  were  placed  about 
the  centre  of  the  table  ;  while  the  lower  end  was 
taken  up  with  small  poets,  translators,  and  authors, 
who  had  not  as  yet  risen  into  much  notice. 

The  conversation  during  dinner  was  by  fits  and 
starts ;  breaking  out  here  and  there  in  various  parts 
of  the  table  in  small  flashes,  and  ending  in  smoke. 
The  poet  who  had  the  confidence  of  a  man  on  good 
terms  with  the  world  and  independent  of  his  book- 
seller, was  very  gay  and  brilliant,  and  said  many 
clever  things,  which  set  the  partner  next  him  in  a 
roar,  and  delighted  all  the  company.  The  other 
partner,  however,  maintained  his  sedateness,  and 
kept  carving  on,  with  the  air  of  a  thorough  man  of 
business,  intent  upon  the  occupation  of  the  momert. 
His  gravity  was  explained  to  me  by  my  friend  Buck- 
thorne. He  informed  me  that  the  concerns  of  the 
house  were  admirably  distributed  among  the  partners. 
"Thus, for  instance,"  said  he,  "the  grave  gentleman 
is  the  carving  partner  who  attends  to  the  joints,  and 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


365 


the  other  is  the  laughing  partner  who  attends  to 
the  jokes." 

The  general  conversation  was  chiefly  carried  on 
at  the  upper  end  of  the  table ;  as  the  authors  there 
seemed  to  possess  the  greatest  courage  of  the 
tongue.  As  to  the  crew  at  the  lower  end,  if  they 
did  not  make  much  figure  in  talking,  they  did  in  eat- 
ing. Never  was  there  a  more  determined,  inveter- 
ate, thoroughly-sustained  attack  on  the  trencher, 
than  by  this  phalanx  of  masticators.  When  the 
cloth  was  removed,  and  the  wine  began  to  circu- 
late, they  grew  very  merry  and  jocose  among  them- 
selves. Their  jokes,  however,  if  by  chance  any  of 
them  reached  the  upper  end  of  the  table,  seldom 
produced  much  effect.  Even  the  laughing  partner 
did  not  seem  to  think  it  necessary  to  honour  them 
with  a  smile  ;  which  my  neighbour  Buckthorne  ac- 
counted for,  by  informing  me  that  there  was  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  popularity  to  be  obtained,  before  a 
bookseller  could  afford  to  laugh  at  an  author's  jokes. 

Among  this  crew  of  questionable  gentlemen  thus 
seated  below  the  salt,  my  eye  singled  out  one  in  par- 
ticular. He  was  rather  shabbily  dressed ;  though 
he  had  evidently  made  the  most  of  a  rusty  black 
coat,  and  wore  his  shirt-frill  plaited  and  puffed  out 
voluminously  at  the  bosom.  His  face  was  dusky, 
but  florid — perhaps  a  little  too  florid,  particularly 
about  the  nose,  though  the  rosy  hue  gave  the  greater 
lustre  to  a  twinkling  black  eye.  He  had  a  little  the 
look  of  a  boon  companion,  with  that  dash  of  the 
poor  devil  in  it  which  gives  an  inexpressibly  mellow 
tone  to  a  man's  humour.  I  had  seldom  seen  a  face 
of  richer  promise ;  but  never  was  promise  so  ill 
kept.  He  said  nothing ;  ate  and  drank  with  the 
keen  appetite  of  a  gazetteer,  and  scarcely  stopped 
to  laugh  even  at  the  good  jokes  from  the  upper  end 
of  the  table.  I  inquired  who  he  was.  Buckthorne 
looked  at  him  attentively.  "Gad,"  said  he,  "I 
have  seen  that  face  before,  but  where  I  cannot  recol- 
lect. He  cannot  be  an  author  of  any  note.  I  sup- 
pose some  writer  of  sermons  or  grinder  of  foreign 
travels." 

After  dinner  we  retired  to  another  room  to  take 
tea  and  coffee,  where  we  were  reinforced  by  a  cloud 
of  inferior  guests.  Authors  of  small  volumes  in 
boards,  and  pamphlets  stitched  in  blue  paper. 
These  had  not  as  yet  arrived  to  the  importance  of 
a  dinner  invitation,  but  were  invited  occasionally  to 
pass  the  evening  "in  a  friendly  way."  They  were 
very  respectful  to  the  partners,  and  indeed  seemed 
to  stand  a  little  in  awe  of  them ;  but  they  paid  very 
devoted  court  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  and  were  ex- 
travagantly fond  of  the  children.  I  looked  round 
for  the  poor  devil  author  in  the  rusty  black  coat  and 
magnificent  frill,  but  he  had  disappeared  immediately 
after  leaving  the  table  ;  having  a  dread,  no  doubt,  of 
the  glaring  light  of  a  drawing-room.  Finding  noth- 
ing farther  to  interest  my  attention,  I  took  my  de- 
parture as  soon  as  coffee  had  been  served,  leaving 
the  port  and  the  thin,  genteel,  hot-pressed,  octavo 
gentlemen,  masters  of  the  field. 


THE  CLUB  OF  QUEER  FELLOWS. 


I  THINK  it  was  but  the  very  next  evening  that  in 
coming  out  of  Covent  Garden  Theatre  with  my  ec- 
centric friend  Buckthorne,  he  proposed  to  give  me 
another  peep  at  life  and  character.  Finding  me  will- 
ing for  any  research  of  the  kind,  he  took  me  through 
a  variety  of  the  narrow  courts  amd  lanes  about  Covent 
Garden,  until  we  stopped  before  a  tavern  from  which 


we  heard  the  bursts  of  merriment  of  a  jovial  party. 
There  would  be  a  loud  peal  of  laughter,  then  an  in- 
terval, then  another  peal,  as  if  a  prime  wag  were  tell- 
ing a  story.  After  a  little  while  there  was  a  song, 
and  at  the  close  of  each  stanza  a  hearty  roar  and  a 
vehement  thumping  on  the  table. 

"This  is  the  place,"  whispered  Buckthorne.  "It 
is  the  '  Club  of  Queer  Fellows.'  A  great  resort  of 
the  small  wits,  third-rate  actors,  and  newspaper 
critics  of  the  theatres.  Any  one  can  go  in  on  pay- 
ing a  shilling  at  the  bar  for  the  use  of  the  club." 

We  entered,  therefore,  without  ceremony,  and  took 
our  seats  at  a  lone  table  in  a  dusky  corner  of  the 
room.  The  club  was  assembled  round  a  table,  on 
which  stood  beverages  of  various  kinds,  according  to 
the  taste  of  the  individual.  The  members  were  a  set 
of  queer  fellows  indeed  ;  but  v/hat  was  my  surprise 
on  recognizing  in  the  prime  wit  of  the  meeting  the 
poor  devil  author  whom  I  had  remarked  at  the  book- 
sellers' dinner  for  his  promising  face  and  his  com- 
plete taciturnity.  Matters,  however,  were  entirely 
changed  with  him.  There  he  was  a  mere  cypher : 
here  he  was  lord  of  the  ascendant  ;  the  choice  spirit, 
the  dominant  genius.  He  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
table  with  his  hat  on,  and  an  eye  beaming  even 
more  luminously  than  his  nose.  He  had  a  quiz  and 
a  fillip  for  every  one,  and  a  good  thing  on  every  oc- 
casion. Nothing  could  be  said  or  done  without 
eliciting  a  spark  from  him  ;  and  I  solemnly  declare  1 
have  heard  much  worse  wit  even  from  noblemen. 
His  jokes,  it  must  be  confessed,  were  rather  wet,  but 
they  suited  the  circle  in  which  he  presided.  The 
company  were  in  that  maudlin  mood  when  a  little 
wit  goes  a  great  way.  Every  time  he  opened  his 
lips  there  was  sure  to  be  a  roar,  and  sometimes  be- 
fore he  had  time  to  speak. 

We  were  lortunate  enough  to  enter  in  time  for  a  gle& 
composed  by  him  expressly  for  the  club,  and  which 
he  sang  with  two  boon  companions,  who  would  have 
been  worthy  subjects  for  Hogarth's  pencil.  As  they 
were  each  provided  with  a  written  copy,  I  was  en- 
abled to  procure  the  reading  of  it. 

Merrily,  merrily  push  round  the  glass. 

And  merrily  trull  the  glee, 
For  he  who  won't  drink  till  he  wink  is  an  ass, 

So  neighbour  I  drink  to  thee. 
Merrily.merrily  puddle  thy  nose, 

Until  it  right  rosy  shall  be  ; 
For  a  jolly  red  nose,  I  speak  under  the  rose. 

Is  a  sign  of  good  company. 

We  waited  until  the  party  broke  up,  and  no  one 
but  the  wit  remained.  He  sat  at  the  table  with  his 
legs  stretched  under  it,  and  wide  apart ;  his  hands 
in  his  breeches  pockets ;  his  head  drooped  upon  his 
breast ;  and  gazing  with  lack-lustre  countenance  on 
an  empty  tankard.  His  gayety  was  gone,  his  fire 
completely  quenched. 

My  companion  approached  and  startled  him  from 
his  fit  of  brown  study,  introducing  himself  on  the 
strength  of  their  having  dined  together  at  the  book- 
sellers'. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  he,  "  it  seems  to  me  I  have 
seen  you  before ;  your  face  is  surely  the  face  of  an 
old  acquaintance,  though  for  the  life  of  me  I  cannot 
tell  where  I  have  known  you." 

"  Very  likely,"  replied  he  with  a  smile ;  "  many  of 
my  old  friends  have  forgotten  me.  Though,  to  tell 
the  truth,  my  memory  in  this  instance  is  as  bad  as 
your  own.  If,  however,  it  will  assist  your  recollec- 
tion in  any  way,  my  name  is  Thomas  Dribble,  at 
your  service." 

"  What,  Tom  Dribble,  who  was  at  old  Birchell's 
scliool  in  Warwickshire  .'  " 

"  The  same,"  said  the  other,  coolly.  "  Why,  then 
we  are  old  schoolmates,  though  it's  no  wonder  you 


3GG 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


don't  recollect  me.  I  was  your  junior  by  several 
years  ;  don't  you  recollect  little  Jack  Buckthorne  .•'  " 

Here  then  ensued  a  scene  of  school-fellow  recog- 
nition ;  and  a  world  of  talk  about  old  school  times 
and  school  pranks.  Mr.  Dribble  ended  by  observing-, 
with  a  heavy  sigh,  '•  that  times  were  sadly  changed 
since  those  days." 

"Faith,  Mr.  Dribble,"  said  I,  "you  seem  quite  a 
different  man  here  from  what  you  were  at  dinner.  I 
had  no  idea  that  you  had  so  much  stuff  in  you. 
There  you  were  all  silence  ;  but  here  you  absolutely 
keep  the  table  in  a  roar." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  sir,"  leplied  he,  with  a  shake  of  the 
head  and  a  shrug  of  the  shoulder,  "  I'm  a  mere  glow 
worm.  I  never  shine  by  daylight.  Besides,  it's  a 
hard  thing  for  a  poor  devil  of  an  author  to  shine  at 
the  table  of  a  rich  bookseller.  Who  do  you  think 
would  laugh  at  any  thing  I  could  say,  when  I  had 
some  of  the  current  wits  of  the  day  about  me  ?  But 
here,  though  a  poor  devil,  I  am  among  still  poorer 
devils  than  myself;  men  who  look  up  to  me  as  a 
man  of  letters  and  a  bel  esprit,  and  all  my  jokes  pass 
as  sterling  gold  from  the  mint." 

"  You  surely  do  yourself  injustice,  sir,"  said  I  ;  "  I 
have  certainly  heard  more  good  things  from  you  this 
evening  than  from  any  of  those  beaux  esprits  by 
whom  you  appear  to  have  been  so  daunted." 

"  Ah,  sir  !  but  they  have  luck  on  their  side  ;  they 
are  in  the  fashion — there's  nothing  like  being  in 
fashion.  A  man  that  has  once  got  his  character  up 
for  a  wit,  is  always  sure  of  a  laugh,  say  what  he  may. 
He  may  utter  as  much  nonsense  as  he  pleases,  and 
aH  will  pass  current.  No  one  stops  to  question  the 
coin  of  a  rich  man  ;  but  a  poor  devil  cannot  pass  off 
either  a  joke  or  a  guinea,  without  its  being  examined 
on  both  sides.  Wit  and  coin  are  always  doubted 
•with  a  threadbare  coat. 

"  For  my  part,"  continued  he,  giving  his  hat  a 
twitch  a  little  more  on  one  side,  "  for  my  part,  I  hate 
your  fine  dinners  ;  there's  nothing,  sir,  like  the  free- 
dom of  a  chop-house.  I'd  rather,  anytime,  have  my 
steak  and  tankard  among  my  own  set,  than  drink 
claret  and  eat  venison  with  your  cursed  civil,  elegant 
company,  who  never  laugh  at  a  good  joke  from  a 
poor  devil,  for  fear  of  its  being  vulgar.  A  good  joke 
grows  in  a  wet  soil  ;  it  flourishes  in  low  places,  but 
withers  on  your  d — d  high,  dry  grounds.  I  once 
kept  high  company,  sir,  until  I  nearly  ruined  myself; 
I  grew  so  dull,  and  vapid,  and  genteel.  Nothing 
saved  me  but  being  arrested  by  my  landlady  and 
thrown  into  prison  ;  where  a  course  of  catch-clubs, 
eight-penny  ale,  and  poor-devil  company,  manured 
my  mind  and  brought  it  back  to  itself  again." 

As  it  was  now  growing  late  we  parted  for  the 
evening ;  though  I  felt  anxious  to  know  more  of  this 
practical  philosopher.  I  was  glad,  therefore,  when 
Buckthorne  proposed  to  have  another  meeting  to 
talk  over  old  school  times,  and  inquired  his  school- 
mate's address.  The  latter  seemed  at  first  a  little 
shy  of  naming  his  lodgings ;  but  suddenly  assuming 
an  air  of  hardihood — "  Green  Arbour  court,  sir,"  ex- 
claimed he—"  number  —  in  Green  Arbour  court. 
You  must  know  the  place.  Classic  ground,  sir  ! 
classic  ground  !  It  was  there  Goldsmith  wrote  his 
Vicar  of  Wakefield.  I  always  like  to  live  in  literary 
haunts." 

1  was  amused  with  this  whimsical  apology  for 
shabby  quarters.  On  our  way  homewards  Buck- 
thorne assured  me  that  this  Dribble  had  been  the 
prime  wit  and  great  wag  of  the  school  in  their  boy- 
ish days,  and  one  of  those  unlucky  urchins  denomi- 
nated bright  geniuses.  As  he  perceived  me  curious 
respecting  his  old  schoolmate,  he  promised  to  take 
nie  with  him  in  his  proposed  visit  to  Green  Arbour 
court. 


A  few  mornings  afterwards  he  called  upon  me, 
and  we  set  forth  on  our  expedition.  He  led  me 
through  a  variety  of  singular  alleys,  and  courts,  and 
blind  passages  ;  for  he  appeared  to  be  profoundly 
versed  in  all  the  intricate  geography  of  the  metropo- 
lis. At  length  we  came  out  upon  Fleet  Market,  and 
traversing  it,  turned  up  a  narrow  street  to  the  bot- 
tom of  a  long  steep  flight  of  stone  steps,  named 
Break-neck  Stairs.  These,  he  told  me,  led  up  to 
Green  Arbour  court,  and  that  down  them  poor 
Goldsmith  might  many  a  time  have  risked  his  neck. 
When  we  entered  the  court,  I  could  not  but  smile  to 
think  in  what  out-of-the-way  corners  genius  pro- 
duces her  bantlings  !■  And  the  muses,  those  capri- 
cious dames,  who,  forsooth,  so  often  refuse  to  visit 
palaces,  and  deny  a  single  smile  to  votaries  in 
splendid  studies  and  gilded  drawing-rooms, — what 
holes  and  burrows  will  they  frequent  to  lavish  their 
favours  on  some  ragged  disciple  ! 

This  Green  Arbour  court  I  found  to  be  a  small 
square  of  tall  and  miserable  houses,  the  very  intes- 
tines of  which  seemed  turned  inside  out,  to  judge 
from  the  old  garments  and  frippery  that  fluttered 
from  every  window.  It  appeared  to  be  a  region  of 
washerwomen,  and  lines  were  stretched  about  the 
little  square,  on  which  clothes  were  dangling  to  dry; 
Just  as  we  entered  the  square,  a  scuffle  took  place 
between  two  viragos  about  a  disputed  right  to  a 
washtub,  and  immediately  the  whole  community 
was  in  a  hubbub.  Heads  in  mob  caps  popped  out 
of  every  window,  and  such  a  clamour  of  tongues  en- 
sued that  I  was  fain  to  stop  my  ears.  Every  Amazon 
took  part  with  one  or  other  of  the  disputants,  and 
brandished  her  arms  dri])ping  with  soapsuds,  and 
fired  away  from  her  window  as  from  the  embrazure 
of  a  fortress  ;  while  the  swarms  of  children  nestled 
and  cradled  in  every  procreant  chamber  of  this  hive, 
waking  with  the  noise,  set  up  their  shrill  pipes  to 
swell  the  general  concert. 

Poor  Goldsmith  !  what  a  time  must  he  have  had 
of  it,  with  his  quiet  disposition  and  nervous  habits, 
penned  up  in  this  den  of  noise  and  vulgarity.  How 
strange  that  while  everj'  sight  and  sound  was  sufii- 
cient  to  embitter  the  heart  and  fill  it  with  misanthropy, 
his  pen  should  be  dropping  the  honey  of  Hybla. 
Yet  it  is  inore  than  probable  that  he  drew  many  of 
his  inimitable  pictures  of  low  life  froin  the  scenes 
which  surrounded  him  in  this  abode.  The  circum- 
stance of  Mrs.  Tibbs  being  obliged  to  wash  her  hus- 
band's two  shirts  in  a  neighbour's  house,  who  re- 
fused to  lend  her  washtub,  may  have  been  no  sport 
of  fancy,  but  a  fact  passing  under  his  own  eye.  His 
landlady  may  have  sat  for  the  picture,  and  Beau 
Tibbs'  scanty  wardrobe  have  been  a  fac -simile  of 
his  own. 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  we  found  our  way 
to  Dribble's  lodgings.  They  were  up  two  pair  of 
stairs,  in  a  room  that  looked  upon  the  court,  and 
when  we  entered  he  was  seated  on  the  edge  of  his 
bed,  writing  at  a  broken  table.  He  received  us, 
however,  with  a  free,  open,  poor  devil  air,  that  was 
irresistible.  It  is  true  he  did  at  first  appear  slightly 
confused  ;  buttoned  up  his  waistcoat  a  little  higher 
and  tucked  in  a  stray  frill  of  linen.  But  he  recol- 
lected himself  in  an  instant ;  gave  a  half  swagger, 
half  leer,  as  he  stepped  forth  to  receive  us;  drew  a 
three-legged  stool  for  Mr.  Buckthorne ;  pointed  me 
to  a  lumbering  old  damask  chair  that  looked  like  a 
dethroned  monarch  in  exile,  and  b.ide  us  welcoine  to 
his  garret. 

We  soon   got   engaged  in   conversation.     Buck 
thorne  and  he  had  much  to  say  about  early  school 
scenes;  and  as  nothing  opens  a  man's  heart  more 
than  recollections  of  the  kind,  we  soon  drew  from 
him  a  brief  outline  of  his  literary  career. 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


367 


THE  POOR  DEVIL  AUTH3R. 


I  BEGAN  life  unluckily  by  being  the  wag:  and 
bright  fellow  at  school  ;  and  I  had  the  farther  mis- 
fortune of  becoming  the  great  genius  of  my  native 
village.  My  father  was  a  country  attorney,  and  in- 
tended that  I  should  succeed  him  in  business  ;  but 
I  had  too  much  genius  to  study,  and  he  was  too 
fond  of  my  genius  to  force  it  into  the  traces.  So  I 
fell  into  bad  company  and  took  to  bad  habits.  Do 
not  mistake  me.  I  mean  that  I  fell  into  the  company 
of  village  literati  and  village  blues,  and  took  to  writ- 
ing village  poetry. 

It  was  quite  the  fashion  in  the  village  to  be  liter- 
ary. We  had  a  little  knot  of  choice  spirits  who  as- 
sembled frequently  together,  formed  ourselves  into  a 
Literary,  Scientific,  and  Philosophical  Society,  and 
fancied  ourselves  the  most  learned  philos  in  exist- 
ence. Every  one  had  a  great  character  assigned 
him,  suggested  by  some  casual  habit  or  affectation. 
One  heavy  fellow  drank  an  enormous  quantity  of 
tea ;  rolled  in  his  arm-chair,  talked  sententiously, 
pronounced  dogmatically,  and  was  considered  a  sec- 
ond Ur.  Johnson  ;  another,  who  happened  to  be  a 
curate,  uttered  coarse  jokes,  wrote  doggerel  rhymes, 
and  was  the  Swift  of  our  association.  Thus  we  had 
also  our  Popes  and  Goldsmiths  and  Addisons,  and 
a  blue-stocking  lady,  whose  drawing-room  we  fre- 
quented, who  corresponded  about  nothing  with  all 
the  world,  and  wrote  letters  with  the  stiffness  and 
formality  of  a  printed  book,  was  cried  up  as  another 
Mrs.  Montagu.  I  was,  by  common  consent,  the 
juvenile  prodig\',  the  poetical  youth,  the  great  genius, 
the  pride  and  hope  of  the  village,  through  whom  it 
was  to  become  one  day  as  celebrated  as  Stratford- 
on-Avon. 

My  father  died  and  left  me  his  blessing  and  his 
business.  His  blessing  brought  no  money  into  my 
pocket  ;  and  as  to  his  business  it  soon  deserted  me : 
for  I  was  busy  writing  poetry,  and  could  not  attend 
to  law ;  and  my  clients,  though  they  had  great  re- 
spect for  my  talents,  had  no  faith  in  a  poetical  at- 
torney. 

I  lost  my  business  therefore,  spent  my  money,  and 
finished  my  poem.  It  was  the  Pleasures  of  Melan- 
choly, and  was  cried  up  to  the  skies  by  the  whole 
circle.  The  Pleasures  of  Imagination,  the  Pleasures 
of  Hope,  and  the  Pleasures  of  Memory,  though  each 
had  placed  its  author  in  the  first  rank  of  poets,  were 
blank  prose  in  comparison.  Our  Mrs.  Montagu 
would  cry  over  it  from  beginning  to  end.  It  was 
pronounced  by  all  the  members  of  the  Literary,  Sci- 
entic,  and  Philosophical  Society  the  greatest  poem 
of  the  age,  and  all  anticipated  the  noise  it  would 
make  in  the  great  world.  There  was  not  a  doubt 
but  the  London  booksellers  would  be  mad  after  it, 
and  the  only  fear  of  my  friends  was,  that  I  would 
make  a  sacrifice  by  selling  it  too  cheap.  Every  time 
they  talked  the  matter  over  they  increased  the  price. 
They  reckoned  up  the  great  sums  given  for  the  po- 
ems of  certain  popular  writers,  and  determined  that 
mine  was  worth  more  than  all  put  together,  and 
ought  to  be  paid  for  accordingly.  For  my  part,  I 
was  modest  in  my  expectations,  and  determined  that 
I  would  be  satisfied  with  a  thousand  guineas.  So  I 
put  my  poem  in  my  pocket  and  set  off  for  London. 

My  journey  was  joyous.  My  heart  was  light  as 
my  purse,  and  my  head  full  of  anticipations  of  fame 
and  fortune.  With  what  s.velling  pride  did  I  cast 
my  eyes  upon  old  London  from  the  heights  of  High- 
gate.  I  was  like  a  general  looking  down  upon  a 
place  he  expects  to  conquer.  The  great  metropolis 
lay  stretched  before  me,  buried  under  a  home-made 


cloud  of  murky  smoke,  that  wrapped  it  from  the 
brightness  of  a  sunny  day,  and  formed  for  it  a  kind 
of  artificial  bad  weather.  At  the  outskirts  of  the 
city,  away  to  the  west,  the  smoke  gradually  de- 
creased until  all  was  clear  and  sunny,  and  the  view 
stretched  uninterrupted  to  the  blue  line  of  the  Kent- 
ish Hills. 

My  eye  turned  fondly  to  where  the  mighty  cupola 
of  St.  Paul's  swelled  dimly  through  this  misty  chaos, 
and  I  pictured  to  myself  the  solemn  realm  of  learn- 
ing that  lies  about  its  base.  How  soon  should  the 
Pleasures  of  Melancholy  throw  this  world  of  book- 
sellers and  printers  into  a  bustle  of  business  and  de- 
light !  How  soon  should  I  hear  my  name  repeated 
by  printers'  devils  throughout  Pater  Nostcr  Row, 
and  Angel  Court,  and  Ave  Maria  Lane,  until  Amen 
corner  should  echo  back  the  sound  ! 

Arrived  in  town,  I  repaired  at  once  to  the  most 
fashionable  publisher.  Every  new  author  patron- 
izes him  of  course.  In  fact,  it  had  been  determined 
in  the  village  circle  that  he  should  be  the  fortunate 
man.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  vaingloriously  I  walked 
the  streets ;  my  head  was  in  the  clouds.  I  felt  the 
airs  of  heaven  playing  about  it,  and  fancied  it  al- 
ready encircled  by  a  halo  of  literary  glory.  As  I 
passed  by  the  windows  of  bookshops,  I  anticipated 
the  time  when  my  work  would  be  shining  among  the 
hotpressed  wonders  of  the  day  ;  and  my  face,  scratch- 
ed on  copper,  or  cut  in  wood,  figuring  in  fellowship 
with  those  of  Scott  and  Byron  and  Moore. 

When  I  applied  at  the  publisher's  house  there  was 
something  in  the  loftiness  of  my  air,  and  the  dingi- 
ness  of  my  dress,  that  struck  the  clerks  with  rever- 
ence. They  doubtless  took  me  for  some  person  of 
consequence,  probably  a  digger  of  Greek  roots,  or  a 
penetrator  of  pyramids.  A  proud  man  in  a  dirty 
shirt  is  always  an  imposing  character  in  the  world 
of  letters  ;  one  must  feel  intellectually  secure  before 
he  can  venture  to  dress  shabbily ;  none  but  a  great 
scholar  or  a  great  genius  dares  to  be  dirty ;  so  I  was 
ushered  at  once  to  the  sanctum  sanctorum  of  this 
high  priest  of  Minerva. 

The  publishing  of  books  is  a  very  different  affair 
now-a-days,  from  what  it  was  in  the  time  of  Bernard 
Lintot.  I  found  the  publisher  a  fashionably-dressed 
man,  in  an  elegant  drawing-room,  furnished  with 
sofas  and  portraits  of  celebrated  authors,  and  cases 
of  splendidly  bound  books.  He  was  writing  letters 
at  an  elegant  table.  This  was  transacting  business 
in  style.  The  place  seemed  suited  to  the  magnificent 
publications  that  issued  from  it.  I  rejoiced  at  the 
choice  I  had  made  of  a  publisher,  for  1  always  liked 
to  encourage  men  of  taste  and  spirit. 

I  stepped  up  to  the  table  with  the  lofty  poetical 
port  that  I  had  been  accustomed  to  maintain  in  our 
village  circle;  though  I  threw  in  it  something  of  a 
patronizing  air,  such  as  one  feels  when  about  to 
make  a  man's  fortune.  The  publisher  paused  with 
his  pen  in  his  hand,  and  seemed  waiting  in  mute 
suspense  to  know  what  was  to  be  announced  by  so 
singular  an  apparition. 

I  put  him  at  his  ease  in  a  moment,  for  I  felt  that 
I  had  but  to  come,  see,  and  conquer.  I  made  known 
my  name,  and  the  name  of  my  poem  ;  produced  my 
precious  roll  of  blotted  manuscript,  laid  it  on  the 
taible  with  an  emphasis,  and  told  him  at  once,  to 
save  time  and  come  directly  to  the  point,  the  price 
was  one  thousand  guineas. 

I  had  given  him  no  time  to  speak,  nor  did  he  seem 
so  inclined.  He  continued  looking  at  me  for  a  mo- 
ment with  an  air  of  whimsical  perplexity  ;  scanned 
me  from  head  to  foot ;  looked  dovm  at  the  manu- 
script,_  then  up  again  at  me,  then  pointed  to  a  chair ; 
and  whistling  softly  to  himself,  went  on  writing  his 
letter. 


3G8 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


I  sat  for  some  time  waiting  his  reply,  supposing 
he  was  making  up  his  mind  ;  but  he  only  paused 
occasionally  to  take  a  fresh  dip  of  ink  ;  to  stroke  his 
chin  or  the  tip  of  his  nose,  and  then  resumed  his 
writing.  It  was  evident  his  mind  was  intently  occu- 
pied upon  some  other  subject  ;  but  I  had  no  idea 
that  any  other  subject  should  be  attended  to  and  my 
poem  lie  unnoticed  on  the  table.  I  had  supposed 
that  every  thing  would  make  way  for  the  Pleasures 
of  Melancholy. 

My  gorge  at  length  rose  within  me.  I  took  up 
my  manuscript ;  thrust  it  into  my  pocket,  and  walked 
out  of  the  room  ;  making  some  noise  as  I  went,  to 
let  my  departure  be  heard.  The  publisher,  how- 
ever, was  too  much  busied  in  minor  concerns  to 
notice  it.  I  was  suffered  to  walk  down-stairs  with- 
out being  called  back.  I  sallied  forth  into  the  street, 
but  no  clerk  was  sent  after  me ;  nor  did  the  pub- 
lisher call  after  me  from  the  drawing-room  window. 
I  have  been  told  since,  that  he  considered  me  either 
a  madman  or  a  fool.  I  leave  you  to  judge  how 
much  he  was  in  the  wrong  in  his  opinion. 

When  I  turned  the  corner  my  crest  fell.  I  cooled 
down  in  my  pride  and  my  expectations,  and  reduced 
my  terms  with  the  next  bookseller  to  whom  I  ap- 
plied. I  had  no  better  success :  nor  with  a  third : 
nor  with  a  fourth.  I  then  desired  the  booksellers  to 
make  an  offer  themselves ;  but  the  deuce  an  offer 
would  they  make.  They  told  me  poetry  was  a  mere 
drug ;  everybody  wrote  poetry ;  the  market  was 
overstocked  with  it.  And  then,  they  said,  the  title  of 
my  poem  was  not  taking:  that  pleasures  of  all  kinds 
were  worn  threadbare ;  nothing  but  horrors  did 
now-a-days,  and  even  these  were  almost  worn  out. 
Tales  of  pirates,  robbers,  and  bloody  Turks  might 
answer  tolerably  well  ;  but  then  they  must  come 
from  some  established  well-known  name,  or  the 
public  would  not  look  at  them. 

At  last  I  offered  to  leave  my  poem  with  a  book- 
seller to  read  it  and  judge  lor  himself.  "  Why, 
really,  my  dear  Mr. — a — a— I  forget  your  name," 
said  he,  cutting  an  eye  at  my  rusty  coat  and  shabby 
gaiters,  "  really,  sir,  we  are  so  pressed  with  business 
just  now,  and  have  so  many  manuscripts  on  hand  to 
read,  that  we  have  not  time  to  look  at  any  new  pro- 
duction, but  if  you  can  call  again  in  a  week  or  two, 
or  say  the  middle  of  next  month,  we  may  be  able  to 
look  over  your  writings  and  give  you  an  answer. 
Don't  forget,  the  month  after  next — good  morning, 
sir — happy  to  see  you  any  time  you  are  passing 
this  way" — so  saying  he  bowed  me  out  in  the  civil- 
est  way  imaginable.  In  short,  sir,  instead  of  an 
eager  competition  to  secure  my  poem  I  could  not 
even  get  it  read  !  In  the  mean  time  I  was  harassed 
by  letters  from  my  friends,  wanting  to  know  when 
the  work  was  to  appear ;  who  was  to  be  my  pub- 
lisher ;  but  above  all  things  warning  me  not  to  let  it 
go  too  cheap. 

There  was  but  one  alternative  left.  I  determined 
to  publish  the  poem  myself;  and  to  have  my  triumph 
over  the  booksellers,  when  it  should  become  the 
fashion  of  the  day.  I  accordingly  published  the 
Pleasures  of  Melancholy  and  ruined  myself.  Ex- 
cepting the  copies  sent  to  the  reviews,  and  to  my 
friends  in  the  country,  not  one,  1  believe,  ever  left 
the  bookseller's  warehouse.  The  printer's  bill  drain- 
ed my  purse,  and  the  only  notice  that  was  taken  of 
my  work  was  contained  in  the  advertisements  paid 
for  by  myself. 

I  could  have  borne  all  this,  and  have  attributed  it 
as  usual  to  the  mismanagement  of  the  publisher,  or 
the  want  of  taste  in  the  public ;  and  could  have 
made  the  usual  appeal  to  posterity :  but  my  village 
friends  would  not  let  me  rest  in  quiet.  They  were 
picturing  me  to  themselves  feasting  with  the  great, 


communing  with  the  literary,  and  in  the  high  course 
of  fortune  and  renown.  Every  little  while,  some  one 
came  to  me  with  a  letter  of  introduction  from  the 
village  circle,  recommending  him  to  my  attentions, 
and  requesting  that  I  would  make  him  known  in 
society ;  with  a  hint  that  an  introduction  to  the 
house  of  a  celebrated  literary  nobleman  would  be 
extremely  agreeable. 

I  determined,  therefore,  to  change  my  lodgings, 
drop  my  correspondence,  and  disappear  altogether 
from  the  view  of  my  village  admirers.  Besides,  I 
was  anxious  to  make  one  more  poetic  attempt.  I 
was  by  no  means  disheartened  by  the  failure  of  my 
first.  My  poem  was  evidently  too  didactic.  The 
public  was  wise  enough.  It  no  longer  read  for  in- 
struction. "  They  want  horrors,  do  they?  "said  I, 
"  I'failh,  then  they  shall  have  enough  of  them."  So 
I  looked  out  for  some  quiet  retired  place,  where  I 
might  be  out  of  reach  of  my  friends,  and  have  leisure 
to  cook  up  some  delectable  dish  of  poetical  "  hell- 
broth." 

I  had  some  difficulty  in  finding  a  place  to  my 
mind,  when  chance  threw  me  in  the  way  of  Canon- 
bury  Castle.  It  is  an  ancient  brick  tower,  hard  by 
"  merry  Islington  ;  "  the  remains  of  a  hunting-seat 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  where  she  took  the  pleasures  of 
the  country,  when  the  neighbourhood  was  all  wood- 
land. What  gave  it  particulai-  interest  in  my  eyes, 
was  the  circumstance  that  it  had  been  the  residence 
of  a  poet.  It  was  here  Goldsmith  resided  when  he 
wrote  his  Deserted  Village.  I  was  shown  the  very 
apartment.  It  was  a  relique  of  the  original  style  of 
the  castle,  with  pannelled  wainscots  and  gotlijc 
windows.  I  was  pleased  with  its  air  of  antiquity, 
and  with  its  having  been  the  residence  of  poor  Goldy. 
"Goldsmith  was  a  pretty  poet,"  said  I  to  myself,  "a 
very  pretty  poet ;  though  rather  of  the  old  school. 
He  did  not  think  and  feel  so  strongly  as  is  the 
fashion  now-a-days  :  but  had  he  lived  in  these  times 
of  hot  hearts  and  hot  heads,  he  would  have  written 
quite  differently." 

In  a  few  days  I  was  quietly  established  in  my  new 
quarters ;  my  books  all  arranged,  my  writing  desk 
placed  by  a  window  looking  out  into  the  fields  ;  and 
I  felt  as  snug  as  Robinson  Crusoe,  when  he  had 
finished  his  bower.  For  several  days  I  enjoyed  all 
the  novelty  of  change  and  the  charms  which  grace 
a  new  lodgings  before  one  has  found  out  their  de- 
fects. I  rambled  about  the  fields  where  I  fancied 
Goldsmith  had  rambled.  I  explored  merry  Islington  ; 
ate  my  solitary  dinner  at  the  Black  Bull,  which  ac- 
cording to  tradition  was  a  country  seat  of  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  and  would  sit  and  sip  my  wine  and  muse 
on  old  times  in  a  quaint  old  room,  where  many  a 
council  had  been  held. 

All  this  did  very  well  for  a  few  days  :  I  was  stimu- 
lated by  novelty ;  inspired  by  the  associations  awak- 
ened in  my  mind  by  these  curious  haunts,  and  began 
to  think  I  felt  the  spirit  of  composition  stirring  within 
me ;  but  Sunday  came,  and  with  it  the  whole  city 
world,  swarming  about  Canonbury  Castle.  1  could 
not  open  my  window  but  I  was  stunned  with  shouts 
and  noises  from  the  cricket  ground.  The  late  quiet 
road  beneath  my  window  was  alive  with  the  tread  of 
feet  and  clack  of  tongues ;  and  to  complete  my 
misery,  I  found  that  my  quiet  retreat  was  absolutely 
a  "  show  house  !  "  the  tower  and  its  contents  being 
shown  to  strangers  at  sixpence  a  head. 

There  was  a  perpetual  tramping  up-stairs  of  citi- 
zens and  their  families,  to  look  about  the  country 
from  the  top  of  the  tower,  and  to  take  a  peep  at  the 
city  through  the  telescope,  to  try  if  they  could  dis- 
cern their  own  chimneys.  And  then,  in  the  midst  ot 
a  vein  of  thought,  or  a  moment  of  inspiration,  I  was 
interrupted,  and  all  my  ideas  put  to  flight,  by  my 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


369 


intoIeraMe  landlady's  tapping-  at  the  door,  and 
asking  me,  if  I  would  "jist  please  to  let  a  lady  and 
gentleman  come  in  to  take  a  look  at  Mr.  Goldsmith's 
room." 

If  you  know  any  thing  what  an  author's  study  is,  and 
what  an  author  is  himself,  you  must  know  that  there 
was  no  standing  this.  I  put  a  positive  interdict  on 
my  room's  being  exhibited  ;  but  then  it  was  shown 
when  1  was  absent,  and  my  papers  put  in  confusion  ; 
and  on  returning  home  one  day,  I  absolutely  found 
a  cursed  tradesman  and  his  daughters  gaping  over 
my  manuscripts  ;  and  my  landlady  in  a  panic  at  my 
appearance.  I  tried  to  make  out  a  little  longer  by 
taking  the  key  in  my  pocket,  but  it  would  not  do.  I 
overheard  mine  hostess  one  day  telling  some  of  her 
customers  on  the  stairs  that  the  room  was  occupied 
by  an  author,  who  was  always  in  a  tantrum  if  inter- 
rupted ;  and  I  immediately  perceived,  by  a  slight 
noise  at  the  door,  that  they  were  peeping  at  me 
through  the  key-hole.  By  the  head  of  Apollo,  but 
this  was  quite  too  much  !  witli  all  my  eagerness  for 
fame,  and  my  ambition  of  the  stare  of  the  million, 
I  had  no  idea  of  being  e.xhibited  by  retail,  at  sixpence 
a  head,  and  that  through  a  key-hole.  So  I  bade 
adieu  to  Canonbury  Castle,  merry  Islington,  and  the 
haunts  of  poor  Goldsmith,  without  having  advanced 
a  single  line  in  my  labours. 

My  next  quarters  were  at  a  small  white-washed 
cottage,  which  stands  not  far  from  Hempstead,  just 
on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  looking  over  Chalk  farm,  and 
Cambden  town,  remarkable  for  the  rival  houses  of 
Mother  Red  Cap  and  Mother  Black  Cap ;  and  so 
across  Crackskull  common  to  the  distant  city. 

The  cottage  is  in  no  wise  remarkable  in  itself; 
but  1  regarded  it  with  reverence,  for  it  had  been  the 
asylum  of  a  persecuted  author.  Hither  poor  Steele 
had  retreated  and  lain  perdue  when  persecuted  by 
creditors  and  bailiffs  ;  those  immemorial  plagues  of 
authors  and  free-spirited  gentlemen  ;  and  here  he 
had  written  many  numbers  of  the  Spectator.  It 
was  from  hence,  too,  that  he  had  despatched  those 
little  notes  to  his  lady,  so  full  of  affection  and  whim- 
sicality ;  in  which  the  fond  husband,  the  careless  gen- 
tleman, and  the  shifting  spendthrift,  were  so  oddly 
blended.  I  thought,  as  1  first  eyed  the  window  of 
his  apartment,  that  I  could  sit  within  it  and  write 
volumes. 

No  such  thing!  It  was  haymaking  season,  and, 
as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  immediately  opposite  the 
cottage  was  a  little  alehouse  with  the  sign  of  the 
load  of  hay.  Whether  it  was  there  in  Steele's  time 
or  not  I  cannot  say ;  but  it  set  all  attempt  at  con- 
ception or  inspiration  at  defiance.  It  was  the  resort 
of  all  the  Irish  h.aymakers  who  mow  the  broad  fields 
in  the  neighbourhood  ;  and  of  drovers  and  teamsters 
who  travel  that  road.  Here  would  they  gather  in 
the  endless  summer  twilight,  or  by  the  light  of  the 
harvest  moon,  and  sit  round  a  table  at  the  door ; 
and  tipple,  and  laugh,  and  quarrel,  and  fight,  and 
sing  drowsy  songs,  and  dawdle  away  the  hours  until 
the  deep  solemn  notes  of  St.  Paul's  clock  would  warn 
the  varlets  home. 

In  the  day-time  I  was  still  less  able  to  write.  It 
was  broad  summer.  The  haymakers  were  at  work 
in  the  fields,  and  the  perfume  of  the  new-mown  hay 
brought  with  it  the  recollection  of  my  native  fields. 
So  instead  of  remaining  in  my  room  to  write,  I  went 
wandering  about  Primrose  Hill  and  Hempstead 
Heights  and  Shepherd's  Field,  and  all  those  Arca- 
dian scenes  so  celebrated  by  London  bards.  1  can- 
not tell  you  how  many  delicious  hours  I  have  passed 
lying  on  the  cocks  of  new-mown  hay,  on  the  pleas- 
ant slopes  of  some  of  those  hills,  inhaling  the  fra- 
grance of  the  fields,  while  the  summer  liy  buzzed 
about  me,  or  the  grasshopper  leaped  into  my  bosom  ; 
■24. 


and  how  I  have  gazed  with  half-shut  eye  upon  the 
smoky  mass  of  London,  and  listened  to  the  distant 
sound  of  its  population,  and  pitied  the  poor  sons  of 
earth,  toiling  in  its  bowels,  like  Gnomes  in  "  the 
dark  gold  mine." 

People  may  say  what  they  please  about  Cockrey 
pastorals ;  but  after  all,  there  is  a  vast  deal  of  rural 
beauty  about  the  western  vicinity  of  London ;  and 
any  one  that  has  1  joked  down  upon  the  valley  of 
Westend,  with  its  soft  bosom  of  green  pasturage, 
lying  open  to  the  south,  and  dotted  with  cattle  ;  the 
steeple  of  Hempstead  rising  among  rich  groves  on 
the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  the  learned  height  of  Har- 
row in  the  distance  ;  will  confess  that  never  h,as  he 
seen  a  more  absolutely  rural  landscape  in  the  vicinity 
of  a  great  metropolis. 

Still,  however,  I  found  myself  not  a  whit  the  better 
off  for  my  frequent  change  of  lodgings ;  and  I 
began  to  discover  that  in  literature,  as  in  trade,  the 
old  proverb  holds  good,  "  a  rolling  stone  gathers  no 
moss." 

The  tranquil  beauty  of  the  country  played  the  very 
vengeance  with  me.  I  could  not  mount  my  fancy 
into  the  termagant  vein.  I  could  not  conceive, 
amidst  the  smiling  landscape,  a  scene  of  blood  and 
murder  ;  and  the  smug  citizens  in  breeches  and  gait- 
ers, put  all  ideas  of  heroes  and  bandits  out  of  my 
brain.  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  dulcet  subjects. 
"  The  pleasures  of  spring" — "the  pleasures  of  soli- 
tude " — "  the  pleasures  of  tranquillity  " — "  the  pleas- 
ures of  sentiment  " — nothing  but  pleasures  ;  and  I 
had  the  painful  experience  of  "  the  pleasures  of  mel- 
ancholy" too  strongly  in  my  recollection  to  be  b>e- 
guiled  by  them. 

Chance  at  length  befriended  me.  I  had  frequently 
in  my  ramblings  loitered  about  Hempstead  Hill ; 
which  is  a  kind  of  Parnassus  of  the  metropolis.  At 
such  times  I  occasionally  took  my  dinner  at  Jack 
Straw's  Castle.  It  is  a  country  inn  so  named.  The 
very  spot  where  that  notorious  rebel  and  his  follow- 
ers held  their  council  of  war.  It  is  a  favourite  resort 
of  citizens  when  rurally  inclined,  as  it  commands  fine 
fresh  air  and  a  good  view  of  the  city. 

I  sat  one  day  in  the  public  room  of  this  inn,  rumi- 
nating over  a  beefsteak  and  a  pint  of  port,  when  my 
imagination  kindled  up  with  ancient  and  heroic 
images.  I  had  long  wanted  a  theme  and  a  hero ; 
both  suddenly  broke  upon  my  mind  ;  I  determined  to 
write  a  poem  on  the  history  of  Jack  Straw.  I  was 
so  full  of  my  subject  that  I  was  fearful  of  being  an- 
ticipated. I  wondered  that  none  of  the  poets  of  the 
day,  in  their  researches  after  ruffian  heroes,  had  ever 
thought  of  Jack  Straw.  I  went  to  work  pell-mell, 
blotted  several  sheets  of  paper  with  choice  floating 
thoughts,  and  battles,  and  descriptions,  to  be  ready 
at  a  moment's  warning.  In  a  few  days'  time  I 
sketched  out  the  skeleton  of  my  jieem,  and  nothing 
was  wanting  but  to  give  it  flesh  and  blood.  I  used 
to  take  my  manuscript  and  stroll  about  Caen  Wood, 
and  read  aloud  ;  and  would  dine  at  the  castle,  by  way 
of  keeping  up  the  vein  of  thought. 

I  was  taking  a  meal  there,  one  day,  at  a  rather 
late  hour,  in  the  public  room.  There  was  no  other 
company  but  one  man,  who  sat  enjoying  his  pint  of 
port  at  a  window,  and  noticing  the  passers-by.  He 
was  dressed  in  a  green  shooting  coat.  His  counte- 
nance was  strongly  marked.  He  had  a  hooked  nose, 
a  romantic  eye,  excepting  that  it  had  something  of  a 
squint  ;  and  altogether,  as  I  thought,  a  poetical  style 
of  head.  I  was  quite  taken  with  the  man,  for  you 
must  know  I  am  a  little  of  a  physiognomist :  I  set 
him  down  at  once  for  either  a  poet  or  a  philosopher. 

As  I  like  to  make  new  acquaintances,  considering 
every  man  a  volume  of  human  nature,  I  soon  fell  into 
conversation  with  the  stranger,  who,  I  was  pleased  to 


370 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


find,  was  by  no  means  difficult  of  access.  After  I 
had  dined,  I  joined  him  at  the  window,  and  we  be- 
came so  sociable  that  I  proposed  a  bottle  of  wine 
together ;  to  which  he  most  cheerfully  assented. 

I  was  too  full  of  my  poem  to  keep  long  quiet  on 
the  .subject,  and  began  to  talk  about  the  origin  of  the 
tavern,  and  the  history  of  Jack  .Straw.  I  found  my 
new  acquaintance  to  be  perfectly  at  home  on  the 
topic,  and  to  jump  exactly  with  my  humour  in  every 
respect.  I  became  elevated  by  the  wine  and  the 
conversation.  In  the  fullness  of  an  author's  feel- 
ings, I  told  him  of  my  projected  poem,  and  repeat- 
ed some  passages;  and  he  was  in  raptures.  He  was 
evidently  of  a  strong  poetical  turn. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  tilling  my  glass  at  the  same  time, 
"our  poets  don't  look  at  home.  I  don't  see  why  we 
need  go  out  of  old  England  for  robbers  and  rebels 
to  write  about.  I  like  your  Jack  Straw,  sir.  He's  a 
home-made  hero.  I  like  him,  sir.  I  like  him  ex- 
ceedingly. He's  English  to  the  back  bone,  damme. 
Give  me  honest  old  England,  after  all ;  them's  my 
sentiments,  sir  ! " 

"I  honour  your  sentiments,"  cried  I  zealously. 
"They  are  exactly  my  own.  An  English  ruffian  for 
poetry  is  as  good  a  ruffian  for  poetiy  as  any  in  Italy 
or  Germany,  or  the  Archipelago ;  but  it  is  hard  to 
make  our  poets  think  so." 

"  More  shame  for  them  !  "  replied  the  man  in 
green.  "  What  a  plague  would  they  have .'  What 
have  we  to  do  with  their  Archipelagos  of  Italy  and 
Germany  ?  Haven't  we  heaths  and  commons  and 
high-ways  on  our  own  little  island  ?  Aye,  and  stout 
feHows  to  pad  the  hoof  over  them  too .''  Come,  sir, 
my  service  to  you — I  agree  with  your  perfectly." 

"  Poets  in  old  times  had  right  notions  on  this  sub- 
ject," continued  I  ;  "  witness  the  fine  old  ballads 
about  Robin  Hood,  Allen  A'Dale,  and  other  staunch 
blades  of  yore." 

"  Right,  sir,  right,"  interrupted  he.  "  Robin 
Hood  !  He  was  the  lad  to  cry  stand  !  to  a  man, 
and  never  flinch." 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  I,  "  they  had  famous  bands  of  rob- 
bers in  the  good  old  times.  Those  were  glorious 
poetical  days.  The  merry  crew  of  Sherwood  Forest, 
who  led  such  a  roving  picturesque  life,  '  under  the 
greenwood  tree.'  I  have  often  wished  to  visit  their 
haunts,  and  tread  the  scenes  of  the  exploits  of  Friar 
Tuck,  and  Clym  of  the  Clough,  and  Sir  William  of 
Cloudeslie." 

"Nay,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman  in  green,  "we 
have  had  several  very  pretty  gangs  since  their  day. 
Those  gallant  dogs  that  kept  about  the  great  heaths 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  London  ;  about  Bagshot, 
and  Hounslow,  and  Black  Heath,  for  instance — come, 
sir,  my  service  to  you.     You  don't  drink." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  I,  emptying  my  glass — "  I  sup- 
pose you  have  heard  of  the  famous  Turpin,  who  was 
born  in  this  very  village  of  Hempstead,  and  who  used 
to  lurk  with  his  gang  in  Epping  Forest,  about  a 
hundred  years  since." 

"  Have  1  ?  "  cried  he^"  to  be  sure  I  have  !  A 
hearty  old  blade  that ;  sound  as  pitch.  Old  Turpen- 
tine ! — as  we  used  to  call  him.  A  famous  fine  fellow, 
sir." 

"  Well,  sir,"  continued  I,  "  I  have  visited  Waltham 
Abbey,  and  Chinkford  Church,  merely  from  the 
stories  I  heard,  when  a  boy,  of  his  exploits  there, 
and  I  have  searched  Epping  Forest  for  the  cavern 
where  he  used  to  conceal  himself.  You  must  know," 
added  I,  "  that  I  am  a  sort  of  amateur  of  highway- 
men. They  were  dashing,  daring  fellows  ;  the  last 
apologies  that  we  had  for  the  knight  errants  of  yore. 
Ah,  sir  !  the  country  has  been  sinking  gradually  into 
tameness  and  commonplace.  We  are  losing  the  old 
English  spirit.     The  bold  knights  of  the  post  have 


all  dwindled  down  into  lurking  footpads  and  sneak- 
ing pick-pockets.  There's  no  such  thing  as  a  dash- 
ing gentleman-like  robbery  committed  now-a-days 
on  the  king's  highway.  A  man  may  roll  from  one 
end  of  England  to  the  other  in  a  drowsy  coach  or 
jingling  post-chaise  without  any  other  adventure 
than  that  of  being  occasionally  overturned,  sleeping 
in  damp  sheets,  or  having  an  ill-cooked  dinner. 

"  We  hear  no  more  of  public  coaches  being  stop- 
ped and  robbed  by  a  well-mounted  gang  of  resolute 
fellows  with  pistols  in  their  hands  and  crapes  over 
their  faces.  What  a  pretty  poetical  incident  was  it 
for  example  in  domestic  life,  for  a  family  carriage, 
on  its  way  to  a  country  seat,  to  be  attacked  about 
dusk ;  the  old  gentleman  eased  of  his  purse  and 
watch,  the  ladies  of  their  necklaces  and  ear-rings,  by 
a  politely-spoken  highwayman  on  a  blood  mare, 
who  afterwards  leaped  the  hedge  and  galloped 
across  the  country,  to  the  admiration  of  Miss  Caro- 
lina the  daughter,  who  would  write  a  long  and  ro- 
mantic account  of  the  adventure  to  her  friend  Miss 
Juliana  in  town.  Ah,  sir  !  we  meet  with  nothing  of 
such  incidents  now-a-days." 

"That,  sir," — said  my  companion,  taking  advan- 
tage of  a  pause,  when  1  stopped  to  recover  breath 
and  to  take  a  glass  of  wine,  which  he  had  just  poured 
out — "  that,  sir,  craving  your  pardon,  is  not  owing 
to  any  want  of  old  English  pluck.  It  is  the  effect  of 
this  cursed  system  of  banking.  People  do  not  travel 
with  bags  of  gold  as  they  did  formerly.  They  have 
post  notes  and  drafts  on  bankers.  To  rob  a  coach 
is  like  catching  a  crow ;  where  you  have  nothing 
but  carrion  flesh  and  feathers  for  your  pains.  But  a 
coach  in  old  times,  sir,  was  as  rich  as  a  Spanish 
galleon.  It  turned  out  the  yellow  boys  bravely ; 
and  a  private  carriage  was  a  cool  hundred  or  two  at 
least." 

I  cannot  express  how  much  I  was  delighted  with 
the  sallies  of  my  new  acquaintance.  He  told  me 
that  he  often  frequented  the  castle,  and  would  be 
glad  to  know  more  of  me ;  and  I  promised  myself 
many  a  pleasant  afternoon  with  him,  when  I  should 
read  him  my  poem,  as  it  proceeded,  and  benefit  by 
his  remarks ;  for  it  was  evident  he  had  the  true 
poetical  feeling. 

"  Come,  sir  I  "  said  he,  pushing  the  bottle,  "  Dam- 
me I  like  you  ! — You're  a  man  after  my  own  heart ; 
I'm  cursed  slow  in  making  new  acquaintances  in 
general.  One  must  stand  on  the  reserve,  you  know. 
But  when  I  meet  with  a  man  of  your  kidney,  damme 
my  heart  jumps  at  Oiice  to  him.  Them's  my  senti- 
ments, sir.  Come,  sir,  here's  Jack  Straw's  health  ! 
I  presume  one  can  drink  it  now-a-days  without 
treason  !  " 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  I  gayly,  "and  Dick 
Turpin's  into  the  bargain  !  " 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  the  man  in  green,  "those  are  the 
kind  of  men  for  poetry.  The  Newgate  kalendar, 
sir  !  the  Newgate  kalendar  is  your  only  reading  ! 
There's  the  place  to  look  for  bold  deeds  and  dashing 
fellows. " 

We  were  so  much  pleased  with  each  other  that 
we  sat  until  a  late  hour.  I  insisted  on  paying  the 
bill,  for  both  my  purse  and  my  heart  were  full ;  and 
I  agreed  that  he  should  pay  the  score  at  our  next 
meeting.  As  the  coaches  had  all  gone  that  run 
between  Hempstead  and  London  he  had  to  return 
on  foot.  He  was  so  delighted  with  the  idea  of  my 
poem  that  he  could  talk  of  nothing  else.  He  made 
me  repeat  such  passages  as  I  could  remember,  and 
though  I  did  it  in  a  very  mangled  manner,  having  a 
wretched  memory,  yet  he  was  in  raptures. 

Eveiy  now  and  then  he  would  break  out  with 
some  scrap  which  he  would  misquote  most  terribly, 
but  would  rub  his  hands  and  exclaim,  "By  Jupiter, 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


371 


that's  line  .  that's  noble  !  Damme,  sir,  if  I  can  con- 
ceive liow  you  hit  upon  such  ideas  !  " 

I  must  confess  1  did  not  always  relish  his  mis- 
quotations, which  sometimes  made  absolute  non- 
sense of  the  passages  ;  but  what  author  stands  upon 
trifles  when  he  is  praised  ?  Never  had  I  spent  a 
more  delightful  evening.  I  did  not  perceive  how 
the  time  (lew.  I  could  not  bear  to  separate,  but 
continued  walking  on,  arm  in  arm  with  him  past 
my  lodgings,  through  Cambden  town,  and  across 
CrackscuU  Common,  talking  the  whole  way  about 
my  poem. 

When  we  were  half-way  across  the  common  he 
interrupted  me  in  the  midst  of  a  quotation  by  telling 
me  that  this  had  been  a  famous  place  for  footpads, 
and  was  still  occasionally  infested  by  them  ;  and  that 
a  man  had  recently  been  shot  there  in  attempting  to 
defend  himself. 

"  The  more  fool  he  !  "  cried  I.  "  A  man  is  an 
idiot  to  risk  life,  or  even  limb,  to  save  a  paltry  purse 
of  money.  It's  quite  a  different  case  from  that  of  a 
duel,  where  one's  honour  is  concerned.  For  my 
part,"  added  I,  "  I  should  never  think  of  making 
resistance  against  one  of  those  desperadoes." 

"  Say  you  so  }  "  cried  my  friend  in  green,  turning 
suddenly  upon  me,  and  putting  a  pistol  to  my  breast, 
"  Why,  then  have  at  you,  my  lad  ! — come,  disburse  ! 
empty  !  unsack  !  " 

In  a  word,  I  found  that  the  muse  had  played  me 
another  of  her  tricks,  and  had  betrayed  me  into  the 
hands  of  a  footpad.  There  was  no  time  to  parley; 
he  made  me  turn  my  pockets  inside  out  ;  and  hear- 
ing the  sound  of  distant  footsteps,  he  made  one  fell 
swoop  upon  purse,  watch,  and  all,  gave  me  a  thwack 
over  my  unlucky  pate  that  laid  me  sprawling  on  the 
ground  ;  and  scampered  away  with  his  booty. 

I  saw  no  more  of  my  friend  in  green  until  a  year 
or  two  afterwards  ;  when  I  caught  a  sight  of  his  poet- 
ical countenance  among  a  crew  of  scapegraces, 
heavily  ironed,  who  were  on  the  way  for  transporta- 
tion. He  recognized  me  at  once,  tipped  me  an  im- 
pudent wink,  and  asked  me  how  I  came  on  with  the 
history  of  Jack  Straw's  castle. 

The  catastrophe  at  CrackscuU  Common  put  an  end 
to  my  summer's  campaign.  I  was  cured  of  my  po- 
etical enthusiasm  for  rebels,  robbers,  and  highway- 
men. I  was  put  out  of  conceit  of  my  subject,  and 
what  was  worse,  1  was  lightened  of  my  purse,  in 
which  was  almost  every  farthing  I  had  in  the  world. 
So  I  abandoned  Sir  Richard  Steele's  cottage  in  de- 
spair, and  crept  into  less  celebrated,  though  no  less 
poetical  and  airy  lodgings  in  a  garret  in  town. 

I  see  you  are  growing  weary,  so  I  will  not  de^Jain 
you  with  any  more  of  my  luckless  attempts  to  get 
astride  of  Pegasus.  Still  I  could  not  consent  to  give 
up  the  trial  and  abandon  those  dreams  of  renown  in 
which  I  had  indulged.  How  should  I  ever  be  able 
to  look  the  literary  circle  of  my  native  village  in  the 
face,  if  I  were  so  completely  to  falsify  their  predic- 
tions. For  some  time  longer,  therefore,  I  continued 
to  write  for  fame,  and  of  course  was  the  most  mis- 
erable dog  in  existence,  besides  being  in  continual 
risk  of  starvation. 

I  have  many  a  time  strolled  sorrowfully  along, 
with  a  sad  heart  and  an  empty  stomach,  about  five 
o'clock,  and  looked  wistfully  down  the  areas  in  the 
west  end  of  the  town ;  and  seen  through  the  kitchen 
windows  the  fires  gleaming,  and  the  joints  of  meat 
turning  on  the  spits  and  dripping  with  gravy ;  and 
the  cook  maids  beating  up  puddings,  or  trussing  tur- 
keys, and  have  felt  for  the  moment  that  if  I  could 
but  have  the  run  of  one  of  those  kitchens,  Apollo 
and  the  muses  might  have  the  hungry  heights  of 
Parnassus  for  me.  Oh,  sir!  talk  of  meditations 
among  the  tombs — they  are  nothing  so  melancholy 


as  the  meditations  of  a  poor  devil  without  penny 
in  pouch,  along  a  line  of  kitchen  windows  towards 
dinner-time. 

At  length,  when  almost  reduced  to  famine  and 
despair,  the  idea  all  at  once  entered  my  head,  that 
perhaps  I  was  not  so  clever  a  fellow  as  the  village 
and  myself  had  supposed.  It  was  the  salvation  of 
me.  The  moment  the  idea  popped  into  my  brain, 
it  brought  conviction  and  comfort  with  it.  I  awoke 
as  from  a  dream.  I  gave  up  immortal  fame  to  those 
who  could  live  on  air ;  took  to  writing  for  mere 
bread,  and  have  ever  since  led  a  very  tolerable  life 
of  it.  There  is  no  man  of  letters  so  much  at  his 
ease,  sir,  as  he  that  has  no  character  to  gain  or  lose. 
I  had  to  train  myself  to  it  a  little,  however,  and  to 
clip  my  wings  short  at  first,  or  they  would  have  car- 
ried me  up  into  poetry  in  spite  of  myself.  So  I  de- 
termined to  begin  by  the  opposite  extreme,  and 
abandoning  the  higher  regions  of  the  craft,  I  came 
plump  down  to  the  lowest,  and  turned  creeper. 

"Creeper,"  interrupted  I,  "and  pray  what  is 
that.'"  Oh,  sir!  I  see  you  are  ignorant  of  the 
language  of  the  craft ;  a  creeper  is  one  who  furnishes 
the  newspapers  with  paragraphs  at  so  much  a  line  ; 
one  that  goes  about  in  quest  of  misfortunes  ;  attends 
the  Bow-street  office  ;  the  courts  of  justice  and  every 
other  den  of  mischief  and  iniquity.  We  are  paid  at 
the  rate  of  a  penny  a  line,  and  as  we  can  sell  the 
same  paragraph  to  almost  every  paper,  we  some- 
times pick  up  a  very  decent  day's  work.  Now  and 
then  the  muse  is  unkind,  or  the  day  uncommonly 
quiet,  and  then  we  rather  starve ;  and  sometimes 
the  unconscionable  editors  will  clip  our  paragraphs 
when  they  are  a  little  too  rhetorical,  and  snip  off 
twopence  or  threepence  at  a  go.  I  have  many  a 
time  had  my  pot  of  porter  snipped  off  of  my  dinner 
in  this  way;  and  have  had  to  dine  with  dry  lips. 
However,  I  cannot  complain.  I  rose  gradually  in 
the  lower  ranks  of  the  craft,  and  am  now,  I  thmk,  in 
the  most  comfortable  region  of  literature. 

"  And  prav,"  said  I,  "  what  may  you  be  at  pres- 
ent?" 

"  At  present,"  said  he,  "  I  am  a  regular  job  writer, 
and  turn  my  hand  to  anything.  I  work  up  the  writ- 
ings of  others  at  so  much  a  sheet  ;  turn  off  transla- 
tions ;  write  second-rate  articles  to  fill  up  reviews 
and  magazines ;  compile  traveb  and  voyages,  and 
furnish  theatrical  criticisms  for  the  newspapers.  All 
this  authorship,  you  perceive,  is  anonymous ;  it 
gives  no  reputation,  except  among  the  trade,  where 
I  am  considered  an  author  of  all  work,  and  am  al- 
ways sure  of  employ.  That's  the  only  reputation  I 
want.  I  sleep  soundly,  without  dread  of  duns  or 
critics,  and  leave  immortal  fame  to  those  that  choose 
to  fret  and  fight  about  it.  Take  my  word  for  it,  the 
only  happy  author  in  this  world  is  he  who  is  below 
the  care  of  reputation." 

The  preceding  anecdotes  of  Buckthorne's  early 
schoolmate,  and  a  variety  of  peculiarities  which  I 
had  remarked  in  himself,  gave  me  a  strong  curiosity 
to  know  something  of  his  own  history,  'fhere  was 
a  dash  of  careless  good  humour  about  him  that 
pleased  me  exceedingly,  and  at  times  a  svhimsical 
tinge  of  melancholy  ran  through  his  humour  that 
gave  it  an  additional  relish.  He  had  evidently  been 
a  little  chilled  and  buffeted  by  fortune,  without  being 
soured  thereby,  as  some  fruits  become  mellower  and 
sweeter,  from  having  been  bruised  or  frost-bitten. 
He  smiled  when  I  expressed  my  desire.  "  I  have  no 
great  story,"  said  he,  "  to  relate.  A  mere  tissue  of 
errors  and  follies.  But,  such  as  it  is,  you  shall  have 
one  epoch  of  it,  by  which  you  may  judge  of  the  rest." 
And  so,  without  any  farther  prelude,  he  gave  me  the 
following  anecdotes  of  his  early  adventures. 


372 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


BUCKTHORNE,  OR  THE  YOUNG  MAN  OF 
GREAT  EXPECTATIONS. 


I  WAS  bom  to  very  little  property,  but  to  great 
expectations  ;  which  is  perhaps  one  of  the  most  un- 
lucky fortunes  that  a  man  can  be  born  to.  My 
father  was  a  country  gentleman,  the  last  of  a  very 
ancient  and  honourable,  but  decayed  family,  and  re- 
sided in  an  old  hunting  lodge  in  Warwickshire.  He 
was  a  keen  sportsman  and  lived  to  the  extent  of  his 
moderate  income,  so  that  I  had  little  to  expect  from 
that  quarter ;  but  then  I  had  a  rich  uncle  by  the 
mother's  side,  a  penurious,  accumulating  curmudg- 
eon, who  if  was  confidently  expected  would  make 
me  his  heir ;  because  he  was  an  old  bachelor ;  be- 
cause I  was  named  after  him,  and  because  he  hated 
all  the  world  except  myself. 

He  was,  in  fact,  an  inveterate  hater,  a  miser  even 
in  misanthropy,  and  hoarded  up  a  grudge  as  he  did 
a  guinea.  Thus,  though  my  mother  was  an  only 
sister,  he  had  never  forgiven  her  marriage  with  my 
father,  against  whom  he  had  a  cold,  still,  immove- 
able pique,  which  had  lain  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart, 
like  a  stone  in  a  well,  ever  since  they  had  been 
school  boys  together.  My  mother,  however,  con- 
sidered me  as  the  intermediate  being  that  was  to 
bring  every  thing  again  into  harmony,  for  she  looked 
upon  me  as  a  prodigy — God  bless  her !  My  heart 
overflows  whenever  I  recall  her  tenderness :  she  was 
the  most  excellent,  the  most  indulgent  of  mothers. 
I  was  her  only  child  ;  it  was  a  pity  she  had  no  more, 
for  she  had  fondness  of  heart  enough  to  have  spoiled 
a  dozen  ! 

I  was  sent,  at  an  early  age,  to  a  public  school 
sorely  against  my  mother's  wishes,  but  my  father  in- 
sisted that  it  was  the  only  way  to  make  boys  hardy. 
The  school  was  kept  by  a  conscientious  prig  of  the 
ancient  system,  who  did  his  duty  by  the  boys  in- 
trusted to  his  care ;  that  is  to  say,  we  were  flogged 
soundly  when  we  did  not  get  our  lessons.  We  were 
put  into  classes  and  thus  flogged  on  in  droves  along 
the  highways  of  knowledge,  in  much  the  same  man- 
ner as  cattle  are  driven  to  market,  where  those  that 
are  heavy  in  gait  or  short  in  leg  have  to  suffer  for 
the  superior  alertness  or  longer  limbs  of  their  com- 
panions. 

For  my  part,  I  confess  it  with  shame,  I  was  an  in- 
corrigible laggard.  I  have  always  had  the  poetical 
feeling,  that  is  to  say,  I  have  always  been  an  idle 
fellow  and  prone  to  play  the  v.igabond.  I  used  to 
get  away  from  my  books  anj  school  whenever  I 
could,  and  ramble  about  the  fields.  I  was  sur- 
rounded by  seductions  for  such  a  temperament. 
The  school-house  was  an  old-fashioned  white- 
washed mansion  of  wood  and  plaister,  standing  on 
the  skirts  of  a  beautiful  village.  Close  by  it  was  the 
venerable  church  with  a  tall  Gothic  spire.  Before  it 
spread  a  lovely  green  valley,  with  a  little  stream 
glistening  along  through  willow  groves  ;  while  a  Hne 
of  blue  hills  that  bounded  the  landscape  gave  rise  to 
many  a  summer  day  dream  as  to  the  iairy  land  that 
lay  beyond. 

In  spite  of  all  the  scourgings  I  suffered  at  that 
school  to  make  me  love  my  book,  I  cannot  but  look 
back  upon  the  place  with  fondness.  Indeed,  I  con- 
sidered this  frequent  flagellation  as  the  common  lot 
of  humanity,  and  the  regular  mode  in  which  scholars 
were  made.  My  kind  mother  used  to  lament  over 
my  details  of  the  sore  trials  I  underwent  in  the  cause 
of  learning ;  but  my  father  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her 
expostulations.  He  had  been  flogged  through  school 
himself,  and  swore  there  was  no  other  way  of  mak- 


ing a  man  of  parts  ;  though,  let  me  speak  it  with  all 
due  reverence,  my  father  was  but  an  indifferent  illus- 
tration of  his  own  theory,  for  he  was  considered  a 
grievous  blockhead. 

My  poetical  temperament  evinced  itself  at  a  very 
early  period.  The  village  church  was  attended  every 
Sunday  by  a  neighbouring  squire — the  lord  of  the 
manor,  whose  park  stretched  quite  to  the  village, 
and  whose  spacious  country  seat  seemed  to  take  the 
church  under  its  protection.  Indeed,  you  would 
have  thought  the  church  had  been  consecrated  to 
him  instead  of  to  the  Deity.  The  parish  clerk  bowed 
low  before  him,  and  the  vergers  humbled  themselves 
into  the  dust  in  his  presence.  He  always  entered  a 
little  late  and  with  soine  stir,  striking  his  cane  em- 
phatically on  the  ground  ;  swaying  his  hat  in  his 
hand,  and  looking  loftily  to  the  right  and  left,  as  he 
walked  slowly  up  the  aisle,  and  the  parson,  who  al- 
ways ate  his  Sunday  dinner  with  him,  never  com- 
menced service  until  he  appeared.  He  sat  with  his 
family  in  a  large  pew  gorgeously  lined,  humbhng 
himself  devoutly  on  velvet  cushions,  and  reading 
lessons  of  meekness  and  lowliness  of  spirit  out  of 
splendid  gold  and  morocco  prayer-books.  When- 
ever the  parson  spoke  of  the  difficulty  of  a  rich  man's 
entenng  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  the  eyes  of  the  con- 
gregation would  turn  towards  the  "  grand  pew," 
and  I  thought  the  squire  seemed  pleased  with  the 
application. 

The  pomp  of  this  pew  and  the  aristocratical  air  of 
the  family  struck  my  imagination  wonderfully,  and  I 
fell  desperately  in  love  with  a  little  daughter  of  the 
squire's  about  twelve  years  of  age.  This  freak  of 
fancy  made  me  more  truant  from  my  studies  than 
ever.  I  used  to  stroll  about  the  squire's  park,  and 
would  lurk  near  the  house,  to  catch  glimpses  of  this 
little  damsel  at  the  windows,  or  playmg  about  the 
lawns,  or  walking  out  with  her  governess. 

I  had  not  enterprise  or  impudence  enough  to  ven- 
ture froin  my  concealment  ;  indeed,  I  felt  like  an  ar- 
rant poacher,  until  I  read  one  or  two  of  Ovid's  Meta- 
morphoses, wlien  I  pictured  myself  as  some  sylvan 
deity,  and  she  a  coy  wood  nymph  of  whom  I  was  in 
pursuit.  There  is  soinething  extremely  delicious  in 
these  early  awakenings  of  the  tender  passion.  I  can 
feel,  even  at  this  moment,  the  thrilling  of  my  boyish 
bosom,  whenever  by  chance  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  white  frock  fluttering  among  the  shrubbery.  I 
now  began  to  read  poetry.  I  carried  about  in  my 
bosom  a  volume  of  Waller,  which  I  had  purloined 
from  my  mother's  library  ;  and  1  applied  to  my  little 
fair  one  all  the  compliments  lavished  upon  Sach- 
arissa. 

At  length  I  danced  with  her  at  a  school  ball.  I 
was  so  awkward  a  booby,  that  I  dared  scarcely  speak 
to  her ;  I  was  filled  with  awe  and  embarrassment  in 
her  presence  ;  but  I  was  so  inspired  that  my  poetical 
tem|)erament  for  the  first  time  broke  out  in  verse  ; 
and  I  fabricated  some  glowing  lines,  in  which  I  be- 
rhymed the  little  lady  under  the  favourite  name  of 
Sacharissa.  1  slipped  the  verses,  trembling  and 
blushing,  into  her  hand  the  next  Sunday  as  she  came 
out  of  church.  The  little  prude  handed  them  to  her 
mamma ;  the  mamma  handed  them  to  the  squire  ; 
the  squire,  who  had  no  soul  for  poetry,  sent  them  in 
dudgeon  to  the  school-master ;  and  the  school-master, 
with  a  barbarity  worthy  of  the  dark  ages,  gave  me  a 
sound  and  peculiarly  humiUating  flogging  for  thus 
trespassing  upon  Parnassus. 

This  was  a  sad  outset  for  a  votary  of  the  muse.  It 
ought  to  have  cured  me  of  my  passion  for  poetry ; 
but  it  only  confirmed  it,  for  I  felt  the  spirit  of  a 
martyr  rising  within  me.  What  was  as  v/ell,  per- 
haps, it  cured  me  of  my  passion  for  the  young  lady ; 
for  i  felt  so  indignant  at  the  ignominious  horsing  I 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


373 


had  incurred  in  celebrating  her  charms,  that  I  could 
not  hold  up  my  head  in  church. 

Fortunately  for  my  wounded  sensibility,  the  mid- 
summer holydays  came  on,  and  I  returned  home. 
My  mother,  as  usual,  inquired  into  all  my  school  con- 
cerns, my  little  pleasures,  and  cares,  and  sorrows ; 
for  boyhood  has  its  share  of  the  one  as  well  as  of  the 
others.  1  told  her  all,  and  she  was  indignant  at  the 
treatment  I  had  experienced.  She  fired  up  at  the 
arrogance  of  the  squire,  and  the  prudery  of  the 
daughter ;  and  as  to  the  school-master,  she  wondered 
where  was  the  use  of  having  school-masters,  and  why 
boys  could  not  remain  at  home  and  be  educated  by 
tutors,  under  the  eye  of  their  mothers.  She  asked 
to  see  the  verses  I  had  written,  and  she  was  delight- 
ed with  them  ;  for  to  confess  the  truth,  she  had  a 
pretty  taste  in  poetry.  She  even  showed  them  to  the 
parson's  wife,  who  protested  they  were  charming, 
and  the  parson's  three  daughters  insisted  on  each 
having  a  copy  of  them. 

All  this  was  exceedingly  balsamic,  and  I  was  still 
more  consoled  and  encouraged,  when  the  young 
ladies,  who  were  the  blue-stockings  of  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  had  read  Dr.  Johnson's  lives  quite  through, 
assured  my  mother  that  great  geniuses  never  studied, 
but  were  always  idle ;  upon  which  I  began  to  sur- 
mise that  I  was  myself  something  out  of  the  com- 
mon run.  My  father,  however,  was  of  a  very  differ- 
ent opinion,  for  when  my  mother,  in  the  pride  of  her 
heart,  showed  him  my  copy  of  verses,  he  threw  them 
out  of  the  window,  asking  her  "  if  she  meant  to  make 
a  ballad  monger  of  the  boy."  But  he  was  a  careless, 
common-thinking  man,  and  I  cannot  say  that  I  ever 
loved  him  much  ;  my  mother  absorbed  all  my  fihal 
affection. 

I  used  occasionally,  during  holydays,  to  be  sent  on 
short  visits  to  the  uncle,  who  was  to  make  me  his 
heir ;  they  thought  it  would  keep  me  in  his  mind, 
and  render  him  fond  of  me.  He  was  a  withered, 
anxious-looking  old  fellow,  and  lived  in  a  desolate 
old  country  seat,  which  he  suffered  to  go  to  ruin  from 
absolute  niggardliness.  He  kept  but  one  man-serv- 
ant, who  had  Hved,  or  rather  starved,  with  him  for 
years.  No  woman  was  allowed  to  sleep  in  the  house. 
A  daughter  of  the  old  servant  lived  by  the  gate,  in 
what  had  been  a  porter's  lodge,  and  was  permitted 
to  come  into  the  house  about  an  hour  each  day,  to 
make  the  beds,  and  cook  a  morsel  of  provisions. 

The  park  that  surrounded  the  house  was  all  run 
wild ;  the  trees  grown  out  of  shape  ;  the  fish-ponds 
stagnant ;  the  urns  and  statues  fallen  from  their 
pedestals  and  buried  among  the  rank  grass.  The 
hares  and  pheasants  were  so  little  molested,  except 
by  poachers,  that  they  bred  in  great  abundance,  and 
sported  about  the  rough  lawns  and  weedy  avenues. 
To  guard  the  premises  and  frighten  off  robbers,  of 
whom  he  was  somewhat  apprehensive,  and  visitors, 
whom  he  held  in  almost  equal  awe,  my  uncle  kept 
two  or  three  blood-hounds,  who  were  always  prowl- 
ing round  the  house,  and  were  the  dread  of  the 
neighbouring  peasantry.  They  were  gaunt  and  half- 
starved,  seemed  ready  to  devour  one  from  mere 
hunger,  and  were  an  effectual  check  on  any  stranger's 
approach  to  this  wizard  castle. 

Such  was  my  uncle's  house,  which  I  used  to  visit 
now  and  then  during  the  holydays.  I  was,  as  1  have 
before  said,  the  old  man's  favourite ;  that  is  to  say, 
he  did  not  hate  me  so  much  as  he  did  the  rest  of  the 
world.  I  had  been  apprised  of  his  character,  and 
cautioned  to  cultivate  his  good-will;  but  I  was  too 
young  and  careless  to  be  a  courtier ;  and  indeed  have 
never  been  sufiiciently  studious  of  my  interests  to  let 
them  govern  my  feelings.  However,  we  seemed  to 
jog  on  very  well  together  ;  and  as  my  visits  cost  him 
almost  nothing,  they  did  not  seem  to  be  very  un- 


welcome. I  brought  with  me  my  gun  and  fishing- 
rod,  and  half  supplied  the  table  from  the  park  and 
the  fish-ponds. 

Our  meals  were  solitary  and  unsocial.  My  uncle 
rarely  spoke  ;  he  pointed  for  whatever  he  wanted, 
and  the  servant  perfectly  understood  him.  Indeed, 
his  man  John,  or  Iron  John,  as  he  was  called  in  the 
neighbourhood,  was  a  counterpart  of  his  master. 
He  was  a  tall,  bony  old  fellow,  with  a  dry  wig  that 
seemed  made  of  cow's  tail,  and  a  face  as  tough  as 
though  it  had  been  made  of  bull's  hide.  He  was 
generally  clad  in  a  long,  patched  livery  coat,  taken 
out  of  the  wardrobe  of  the  house  ;  and  which  bagged 
loosely  about  him,  having  evidently  belonged  to  some 
corpulent  predecessor,  in  the  more  plenteous  days  of 
the  mansion.  From  long  habits  of  taciturnity,  the 
hinges  of  his  jaws  seemed  to  have  grown  absolutely 
rusty,  and  it  cost  him  as  much  effort  to  set  them  ajar, 
and  to  let  out  a  tolerable  sentence,  as  it  would  have 
done  to  set  open  the  iron  gates  of  the  park,  and  let 
out  the  family  carriage  that  was  dropping  to  pieces 
in  the  coach-house. 

1  cannot  say,  however,  but  that  I  was  for  some 
time  amused  with  my  uncle's  peculiarities.  Even  the 
very  desolateness  of  the  establishment  had  some- 
thing in  it  that  hit  my  fancy.  When  the  weather 
was  fine  I  used  to  amuse  myself,  in  a  solitary  way, 
by  rambling  about  the  park,  and  coursing  like  a  colt 
across  its  lawns.  The  hares  and  pheasants  seemed 
to  stare  with  surprise,  to  see  a  human  being  walking 
these  forbidden  grounds  by  day-light.  Sometimes  I 
amused  myself  by  jerking  stones,  or  shooting  at 
birds  with  a  bow  and  arrows  ;  for  to  have  used  a 
gun  would  have  been  treason.  Now  and  then  my 
path  was  crossed  by  a  little  red-headed,  ragged- 
tailed  urchin,  the  son  of  the  woman  at  the  lodge, 
who  ran  wild  about  the  premises.  I  tried  to  draw 
him  into  familiarity,  and  to  make  a  companion  ot 
him  ;  but  he  seemed  to  have  imbibed  the  strange,  un- 
social character  of  every  thing  around  him  ;  and 
always  kept  aloof;  so  I  considered  him  as  another 
Orson,  and  amused  myself  with  shooting  at  him  with 
my  bow  and  arrows,  and  he  would  hold  up  his 
breeches  with  one  hand,  and  scamper  away  like  a 
deer. 

There  was  something  in  all  this  loneliness  and 
wildness  strangely  pleasing  to  me.  The  great  sta- 
bles, empty  and  weather-broken,  with  the  names  of 
favourite  horses  over  the  vacant  stalls  ;  the  windows 
bricked  and  boarded  up ;  the  broken  roofs,  garri- 
.soned  by  rooks  and  jackdaws ;  all  had  a  singularly 
forlorn  appearance :  one  would  have  concluded  the 
house  to  be  totally  uninhabited,  were  it  not  for  a  lit- 
tle thread  of  blue  smoke,  which  now  and  then  curled 
up  like  a  corkscrew,  from  the  centre  of  one  of  the 
wide  chimneys,  when  my  uncle's  starveling  meal  was 
cooking. 

My  uncle's  room  was  in  a  remote  corner  of  the 
building,  strongly  secured  and  generally  locked.  I 
was  never  admitted  into  this  strong-hold,  where  the 
old  man  would  remain  for  the  greater  part  of  the 
time,  drawn  up  like  a  veteran  spider  in  the  citadel 
of  his  web.  "The  rest  of  the  mansion,  however,  was 
open  to  me,  and  I  sauntered  about  it  unconstrained. 
The  damp  and  rain  which  beat  in  through  the  broken 
windows,  crumbled  the  paper  from  the  walls  ;  mould- 
ered the  pictures,  and  gradually  destroyed  the  furni- 
ture. I  loved  to  rove  about  the  wide,  waste  cham- 
bers in  bad  weather,  and  listen  to  the  howling  of  the 
wind,  and  the  banging  about  of  the  doors  and  win- 
dow-shutters. I  pleased  myself  with  the  idea  how 
completely,  when  1  came  to  the  estate,  I  would  reno- 
vate all  things,  and  make  the  old  building  ring  with 
merriment,  till  it  was  astonished  at  its  own  jocundity. 

The  chamber  which  I  occupied  on  these  visits  was 


874 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  same  that  had  been  my  mother's,  when  a  girl. 
There  was  stiil  the  toilet-table  other  own  adorning; 
the  landscapes  of  her  own  drawing.  She  had  never 
seen  it  since  her  marriage,  but  would  often  ask  me 
if  every  thing  was  still  the  same.  All  was  just  the 
same  ;  for  1  loved  that  chamber  on  her  account,  and 
had  taken  pains  to  put  every  thing  in  order,  and  to 
mend  all  the  flaws  in  the  windows  with  my  own 
hands.  I  anticipated  the  time  when  I  should  once 
more  welcome  her  to  the  house  of  her  fathers,  and 
restore  her  to  this  little  nestling-place  of  her  child- 
hood. 

At  length  my  evil  genius,  or,  what  perhaps  is  the 
same  thing,  the  muse,  inspired  me  with  the  notion  of 
rhyming  again.  My  uncle,  who  never  went  to 
church,  used  on  Sundays  to  read  chapters  out  of 
the  Bible ;  and  Iron  John,  the  woman  from  the 
lodge,  and  myself,  were  his  congregation.  It  seemed 
to  be  all  one  to  him  what  he  read,  so  long  as  it  was 
something  from  the  Bible  :  sometimes,  therefore,  it 
would  be  the  Song  of  Solomon  ;  and  this  withered 
anatomy  would  read  about  being  "stayed  with  flag- 
gons  and  comforted  with  apples,  for  he  was  sick  of 
love.''  Sometimes  he  would  hobble,  with  spectacle 
on  nose,  through  whole  chapters  of  hard  Hebrew 
names  in  Deuteronomy  ;  at  which  the  poor  woman 
would  sigh  and  groan  as  if  wonderfully  moved.  His 
favourite  book,  however,  was  "The  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress ;  "  and  when  he  came  to  that  part  which  treats 
of  Doubting  Castle  and  Giant  Despair,  I  thought  in- 
variably of  him  and  his  desolate  old  country  seat. 
So  much  did  the  idea  amuse  me,  that  I  took  to 
scribbling  about  it  under  the  trees  in  the  park ;  and 
in  a  few  days  had  made  some  progress  in  a  poem,  in 
which  I  had  given  a  description  of  the  place,  under 
the  name  of  Doubting  Castle,  and  personified  my 
uncle  as  Giant  Despair. 

I  lost  my  poem  somewhere  about  the  house,  and 
I  soon  suspected  that  my  uncle  had  found  it ;  as  he 
harshly  intimated  to  me  that  I  could  return  home, 
and  that  I  need  not  come  and  see  him  again  until 
he  should  send  for  me. 

Just  about  this  time  my  mother  died. — I  cannot 
dwell  upon  the  circumstance ;  my  heart,  careless  and 
wayworn  as  it  is,  gushes  with  the  recollection.  Her 
death  was  an  event  that  perhaps  gave  a  turn  to  all 
my  after  fortunes.  With  her  died  all  that  made 
home  attractive,  for  my  father  was  harsh,  as  1  have 
before  said,  and  had  never  treated  me  with  kindness. 
Not  that  he  exerted  any  unusual  severity  towards 
me,  but  it  was  his  way.  I  do  not  complain  of  him. 
In  fact,  I  have  never  been  much  of  a  complaining 
disposition.  I  seem  born  to  be  buffeted  by  friends 
and  fortune,  and  nature  has  made  me  a  careless  en- 
durer  of  buffetings. 

I  now.  however,  began  to  grow  very  impatient  of 
remaining  at  school,  to  be  flogged  for  things  that  I 
did  not  like.  I  longed  for  variety,  especially  now 
that  1  had  not  my  uncle's  to  resort  to,  by  way  of  di- 
versifying the  dullness  of  school  with  the  dreariness 
of  his  country  seat.  I  was  now  turned  of  sixteen  ; 
tall  for  my  age,  and  full  of  idle  fancies.  I  had  a  rov- 
ing, inextinguishable  desire  to  see  different  kinds  of 
life,  and  different  orders  of  society;  and  this  vagrant 
humour  had  been  fostered  in  me  by  Tom  Dribble, 
the  prime  wag  and  great  genius  of  the  school,  who 
had  all  the  rambling  propensities  of  a  poet. 

I  used  to  set  at  my  desk  in  the  school,  on  a  fine 
summer's  day,  and  instead  of  studying  the  book 
which  lay  open  before  me,  my  eye  was  gazing 
through  the  window  on  the  green  fields  and  blue 
hills.  How  I  envied  the  happy  groups  seated  on 
the  tops  of  stage-coaches,  chatting,  and  joking,  and 
laughing,  as  they  were  whirled  by  the  school-house, 
on  their  way  to  the  metropolis.     Even  the  wagon- 


ers trudging  along  beside  their  ponderous  teams, 
and  traversing  the  kingdom,  from  one  end  to  the 
other,  were  objects  of  envy  to  me.  I  fancied  to  my- 
self what  adventures  they  must  experience,  and  what 
odd  scenes  of  life  they  must  witness.  All  this  was, 
doubtless,  the  poetical  temperament  working  within 
me,  and  tempting  me  forth  into  a  world  of  its  own 
creation,  which  I  mistook  for  the  world  of  real  life. 

While  my  mother  lived,  this  strong  propensity  to 
rove  was  counteracted  by  the  stronger  attractions 
of  home,  and  by  the  powerful  ties  of  affection, 
which  drew  me  to  her  side  ;  but  now  that  she  was 
gone,  the  attractions  had  ceased  ;  the  ties  were 
severed.  I  had  no  longer  an  anchorage  ground  for 
my  heart ;  but  was  at  the  mercy  of  every  vagrant 
impulse.  Nothing  but  the  narrow  allowance  on 
which  my  father  kept  me,  and  the  consequent  penury 
of  my  purse,  prevented  ine  from  mounting  the  top  of 
a  stage-coach  and  launching  myself  adrift  on  the 
great  ocean  of  life. 

Just  about  this  time  the  village  was  agitated  for 
a  day  or  two,  by  the  passing  through  of  several 
caravans,  containing  wild  beasts,  and  other  specta- 
cles for  a  great  fair  annually  held  at  a  neighbouring 
town. 

I  had  never  seen  a  fair  of  any  consequence,  and 
my  curiosity  was  powerfully  awakened  by  this  bustle 
of  preparation.  I  gazed  with  respect  and  wonder 
at  the  vagrant  personages  who  accompanied  these 
caravans.  I  loitered  about  the  village  inn,  listening 
with  curiosity  and  delight  to  the  slang  talk  and  cant 
jokes  of  the  showmen  and  their  followers ;  and 
I  felt  an  eager  desire  to  witness  this  fair,  which 
my  fancy  decked  out  as  something  wonderfully  fine. 

A  holyday  afternoon  presented,  when  I  could  be 
absent  from  the  school  from  noon  until  evening.  A 
wagon  was  going  from  the  village  to  the  fair.  I 
could  not  resist  the  temptation,  nor  the  eloquence  of 
Tom  Dribble,  who  was  a  truant  to  the  very  heart's 
core.  We  hired  seats,  and  sat  off  full  of  boyish  ex- 
pectation. I  promised  myself  that  I  would  but  take 
a  peep  at  the  land  of  promise,  and  hasten  back  again 
before  my  absence  should  be  noticed. 

Heavens  !  how  happy  I  was  on  arriving  at  the 
fair !  How  I  was  enchanted  with  the  world  of  fun 
and  pageantry  around  me  !  The  humours  of  Punch  ; 
the  feats  of  the  equestrians ;  the  magical  tricks  of 
the  conjurors  !  But  what  principally  caught  my  at- 
tention was — an  itinerant  theatre ;  where  a  tragedy, 
pantomime,  and  farce  were  all  acted  in  the  course  of 
halt  an  hour,  and  more  of  the  drainatis  persona; 
murdered,  than  at  either  Drury  Lane  or  Covent 
Garden  in  a  whole  evening.  I  have  since  seen  many 
a  play  performed  by  the  best  actors  in  the  world,  but 
never  have  I  derived  half  the  delight  from  any  that  I 
did  from  this  first  representation. 

There  was  a  ferocious  tyrant  in  a  skull  cap  like  an 
inverted  porringer,  and  a  dress  of  red  baize,  magnifi- 
cently embroidered  with  giit  leather;  with  his  face 
so  be-vvhiskered  and  his  eyebrows  so  knit  and  ex- 
panded with  burnt  cork,  that  he  made  my  heart 
quake  within  me  as  he  stamped  about  the  little 
stage.  I  was  enraptured  too  with  the  surpassing 
beauty  of  a  distressed  damsel,  in  faded  pink  silk, 
and  dirty  white  muslin,  whom  he  held  in  cruel  cap- 
tivity by  way  of  gaining  her  affections ;  and  who 
wept  and  wrung  her  hands  and  flourished  a  ragged 
pocket  handkerchief  from  the  top  of  an  impregnable 
tower,  of  the  size  of  a  band-box. 

Even  after  1  had  come  out  from  the  play,  I  could 
not  tear  myself  from  the  vicinity  of  the  theatre;  but 
lingered,  gazing,  and  wondering,  and  laughing  at 
the  dramatis  personae,  as  they  performed  their  antics, 
or  danced  upon  a  stage  in  Iront  of  the  booth,  to 
decoy  a  new  set  of  spectators. 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


372 


I  was  so  bewildered  by  the  scene,  and  so  lost  in 
the  crowd  of  sensations  that  kept  swarming  upon 
me,  that  I  was  lilce  one  entranced.  1  lost  my  com- 
panion Tom  Dribble,  in  a  tumult  and  scuffle  that 
took  place  near  one  of  the  shows,  but  I  was  too 
much  occupied  in  mind  to  think  long  about  him.  I 
strolled  about  until  dark,  when  the  fair  was  lighted 
up,  and  a  new  scene  of  magic  opened  upon  me. 
The  illumination  of  the  tents  and  booths  ;  the  bril- 
liant effect  of  the  stages  decorated  with  lamps,  with 
dramatic  groups  Haunting  about  thein  in  gaudy 
dresses,  contrasted  splendidly  with  the  surrounding 
darkness;  while  the  uproar  of  drums,  trumpets,  fid- 
dles, hautboys,  and  cymbals,  mingled  with  the  ha- 
rangues of  the  showmen,  the  squeaking  of  Punch,  and 
the  shouts  and  laughter  of  the  crowd,  all  united  to 
complete  my  giddy  distraction. 

Time  flew  without  my  perceiving  it.  When  I 
came  to  myself  and  thought  of  the  school,  I  hastened 
to  return.  I  inquired  for  the  wagon  in  which  I  had 
come :  it  had  been  gone  for  hours.  I  asked  the  time  : 
it  was  almost  midnight !  A  sudden  quaking  seized 
me.  How  was  I  to  get  back  to  school  ?  1  was  too 
weary  to  make  the  journey  on  foot,  and  I  knew  not 
where  to  apply  for  a  conveyance.  Even  if  I  should 
find  one,  could  I  venture  to  disturb  the  school-house 
long  after  midnight  ?  to  arouse  that  sleeping  lion, 
the  usher,  in  the  very  midst  of  his  night's  rest  ? 
The  idea  was  too  dreadfi'l  for  a  delinquent  school- 
boy. All  the  horrors  of  return  rushed  upon  me — 
my  absence  must  long  before  this  have  been  re- 
marked— and  absent  for  a  whole  night  ! — a  deed  of 
darkness  not  easily  to  be  expiated.  The  rod  of  the 
pedagogue  budded  forth  into  tenfold  terrors  before 
my  affrighted  fancy.  1  pictured  to  myself  punish- 
ment and  humiliation  in  every  variety  of  form ;  and 
my  heart  sickened  at  the  picture.  Alas  !  how  often 
are  the  petty  ills  of  boyhood  as  painful  to  our  tender 
natures,  as  arc  the  sterner  evils  of  manhood  to  our 
robuster  minds. 

1  wandered  about  among  the  booths,  and  I  might 
have  derived  a  lesson  from  my  actual  feehngs,  how 
much  the  charms  of  this  world  depend  upon  our- 
selves ;  for  I  no  longer  saw  anything  gay  or  delight- 
ful in  the  revelry  around  me.  At  length  I  lay  down, 
wearied  and  perplexed,  behind  one  of  the  large  tents, 
and  covering  myself  with  the  margin  of  the  tent 
cloth,  to  keep  off  the  night  chill,  1  soon  fell  asleep. 

I  had  not  slept  long,  when  I  was  awakened  by 
the  noise  of  merrinTent  within  an  adjoining  booth. 
It  was  the  itinerant  theatre,  rudely  constructed  of 
boards  and  canvas.  I  peeped  through  an  aperture, 
and  saw  the  whole  dramatis  personas,  t'ragedy, 
comedy,  pantomimi-,  all  refreshing  themselves  after 
the  final  dismissal  of  their  auditors.  They  were 
merry  and  gamesome,  and  made  their  flimsy  theatre 
ring  with  their  laughter.  I  was  astonished  to  see 
the  tragedy  tyrant  in  red  baize  and  fierce  whiskers, 
who  had  made  my  heart  quake  as  he  strutted  about 
the  boards,  now  transformed  into  a  fat,  good  hu- 
moured fellow  ;  the  beaming  porringer  laid  aside 
from  his  brow,  and  his  jolly  face  washed  from  all 
the  terrors  of  burnt  cork.  I  was  delighted,  too,  to 
see  the  distressed  damsel  in  faded  silk  and  dirty 
muslin,  who  had  trembled  under  his  tyranny,  and 
afflicted  me  so  much  by  her  sorrows  ;  now  seated 
familiarly  on  his  knee,  and  quaffing  from  the  same 
tankard.  Harlequin  lay  asleep  on  one  of  the  benches  ; 
and  monks,  satyrs,  and  vestal  virgins  were  grouped 
together,  laughing  outrageously  at  a  broad  story, 
told  by  an  unhappy  count,  who  had  been  barba- 
rously murdered  in  the  tragedy. 

This  was,  indeed,  novelty  to  me.  It  was  a  peep 
into  another  planet.  I  gazed  and  listened  with  in- 
tense curiosity  and  enjoyment.     They  had  a  thou- 


sand odd  stories  and  jokes  about  the  events  of  the 
day,  and  burlesque  descriptions  and  mimickings  of 
the  spectators  who  had  been  admiring  them.  Their 
conversation  was  full  of  allusions  to  their  adventures 
at  different  places,  where  they  had  exhibited  ;  the 
characters  they  had  met  with  in  different  villages ; 
and  the  ludicrous  difficulties  in  which  they  had  occa- 
sionally been  involved.  All  past  cares  and  troubles 
were  now  turned  by  these  thoughtless  beings  into 
matter  of  merriment ;  and  made  to  contribute  to  the 
gayety  of  the  moment.  They  had  been  moving  from 
fair  to  fair  about  the  kingdom,  and  were  the  next 
morning  to  set  out  on  their  way  to  London. 

My  resolution  was  taken.  I  crept  from  my  nest, 
and  scrambled  through  a  hedge  into  a  neighbouring 
field,  where  I  went  to  work  to  make  a  tatterdemahon 
of  myself.  I  tore  my  clothes  ;  soiled  them  with  dirt  ; 
begrimed  my  face  and  hands  ;  and,  crawling  near  one 
of  the  booths,  purloined  an  old  hat,  and  left  my  new 
one  in  its  place.  It  was  an  honest  theft,  and  I  hope 
may  not  hereafter  rise  up  in  judgment  against  me. 

I  now  ventured  to  the  scene  of  merrymaking,  and. 
presenting  myself  before  the  dramatic  corps,  offered 
myself  as  a  volunteer.  I  felt  terribly  agitated  and 
abashed,  for  "  never  before  stood  I  in  such  a  pres- 
ence." I  had  addressed  myself  to  the  manager  of 
the  company.  He  was  a  fat  man  dressed  in  dirty 
white  ;  with  a  red  sash  fringed  with  tinsel,  swathed 
round  his  body.  His  face  was  smeared  with  paint, 
and  a  majestic  plume  towered  from  an  old  spangled 
black  bonnet.  He  was  the  Jupiter  tonans  of  this 
Olympus,  and  was  surrounded  by  the  inferior  gods 
and  goddesses  of  his  court.  He  sat  on  the  end  of  a 
bench,  by  a  table,  with  one  arm  akimbo  and  the 
other  extended  to  the  handle  of  a  tankard,  which  he 
had  slowly  set  down  from  his  lips,  as  he  surveyed 
me  from  head  to  foot.  It  was  a  moment  of  awful 
scrutiny,  and  I  fancied  the  groups  around  all  watch- 
ing us  in  silent  suspense,  and  waiting  for  the  imperial 
nod. 

He  questioned  me  as  to  who  I  was ;  what  were 
my  qualifications ;  and  what  terms  I  expected.  I 
passed  myself  off  for  a  discharged  servant  from  a 
gentleman's  family ;  and  as,  happily,  one  does  not 
require  a  special  recommendation  to  get  admitted 
into  bad  company,  the  questions  on  that  head  were 
easily  satisfied.  As  to  my  accomplishments,  I  would 
spout  a  little  poetry,  and  knew  several  scenes  of 
plays,  which  I  had  learnt  at  school  exhibitions.     I 

could  dance  ,  that  was  enough  ;    no  further 

questions  were  asked  me  as  to  accomplishments  ;  it 
was  the  very  thing  they  wanted  ;  and,  as  I  asked  no 
wages,  but  merely  meat  and  drink,  and  safe  conduct 
about  the  world,  a  bargain  was  struck  in  a  moment. 

Behold  me,  therefore,  transformed  of  a  sudden, 
from  a  gentleman  student  to  a  dancing  buffoon  ;  for 
such,  in  fact,  was  the  character  in  which  I  made  my 
debut.  I  was  one  of  those  who  formed  the  groups  in 
the  dramas,  and  werS  principally  employed  on  the 
stage  in  front  of  the  booth,  to  attract  company.  I  was 
equipped  as  a  satyr,  in  a  dress  of  drab  frize  that  fitted 
to  my  shape  ;  with  a  great  laughing  mask,  ornamented 
with  huge  ears  and  short  horns.  I  was  pleased  with 
the  disguise,  because  it  kept  me  from  the  danger  of 
being  discovered,  whilst  we  were  in  that  part  of  the 
country ;  and,  as  I  had  merely  to  dance  and  make 
antics,  the  character  was  favourable  to  a  debutant, 
being  almost  on  a  par  with  Simon  Snug's  part  of  the 
Lion,  which  required  nothing  but  roaring. 

I  cannot  tell  you  how  happy  I  was  at  this  sudden 
change  in  my  situation.  I  felt  no  degradation,  for  I 
had  seen  too  little  of  society  to  be  thoughtful  about 
the  differences  of  rank ;  and  a  boy  of  sixteen  is  sel- 
dom aristocratical.  I  had  given  up  no  friend  ;  for 
there  seemed  to  be  no  one  in  the  world  that  cared 


876 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


for  me,  now  my  poor  mother  was  dead.  I  had  given 
up  no  pleasure  ;  for  ray  pleasure  was  to  ramble  about 
and  indulge  the  flow  of  a  poetical  imagination  ;  and 
1  now  enjoyed  it  in  perfection.  There  is  no  life  so 
truly  poetical  as  that  of  a  dancing  buffoon. 

It  may  be  said  that  all  this  argued  grovelling  incli- 
nations. I  do  not  think  so  ;  not  that  I  mean  to  vin- 
dicate myself  in  any  great  degree  ;  I  know  too  well 
what  a  whimsical  compound  I  am.  But  in  this  in- 
stance I  was  seduced  by  no  love  of  low  company,  nor 
disposition  to  indulge  in  low  vices.  I  have  always 
despised  the  brutally  vulgar  ;  and  I  have  always  had 
a  disgust  at  vice,  whether  in  high  or  low  life.  I  was 
governed  merely  by  a  sudden  and  thoughtless  im- 
pulse. I  had  no  idea  of  resorting  to  this  profession 
as  a  mode  of  life  ;  or  of  attaching  myself  to  these 
people,  as  my  future  class  of  society.  I  thought 
merely  of  a  temporary  gratification  of  my  curiosity, 
and  an  indulgence  of  my  humours.  I  had  already  a 
strong  relish  for  the  peculiarities  of  character  and 
the  varieties  of  situation,  and  I  have  always  been 
fond  of  the  comedy  of  life,  and  desirous  of  seeing  it 
through  all  its  shifting  scenes. 

In  mingling,  therefore,  among  mountebanks  and 
buffoons  I  was  protected  by  the  very  vivacity  of  imag- 
ination which  had  led  me  among  them.  I  moved 
about  enveloped,  as  it  were,  in  a  protecting  delu- 
sion, which  my  fancy  spread  around  me.  I  assimi- 
lated to  these  people  only  as  they  struck  me  poetical- 
ly ;  their  whimsical  ways  and  a  certain  picturesqueness 
in  their  mode  of  life  entertained  me  ;  but  I  was  nei- 
ther amused  nor  corrupted  by  their  vices.  In  short, 
I  mingled  among  them,  as  Prince  Hal  did  among  his 
graceless  associates,  merely  to  gratify  my  humour. 

I  did  not  investigate  my  motives  in  this  manner, 
at  the  time,  for  I  was  too  careless  and  thoughtless 
to  reason  about  the  matter  ;  but  I  do  so  nov/,  when 
I  lock  back  with  trembling  to  think  of  the  ordeal  to 
which  I  unthinkingly  exposed  myself,  and  the  man- 
ner in  which  I  passed  through  it.  Nothing,  I  am 
convinced,  but  the  poetical  temperament,  that  hur- 
ried me  into  the  scrape,  brought  me  out  of  it  with- 
out my  becoming  an  arrant  vagabond. 

Full  of  the  enjoyment  of  the  moment,  giddy  with 
the  wildness  of  animal  spirits,  so  rapturous  in  a  boy, 
1  capered,  I  danced,  I  played  a  thousand  fantastic 
tricks  about  the  stage,  in  the  villages  in  which  we  ex- 
hibited ;  and  I  was  universally  pronounced  the  most 
agreeable  monster  that  had  ever  been  seen  in  those 
parts.  My  disappearance  from  school  had  awakened 
my  father's  anxiety  ;  for  I  one  day  heard  a  descrip- 
tion of  myself  cried  before  the  very  booth  in  which  I 
was  exhibiting ;  with  the  offer  of  a  reward  for  any 
intelligence  of  me.  I  had  no  great  scruple  about 
letting  my  father  suffer  a  little  uneasiness  on  my  ac- 
count ;  it  would  punish  him  for  past  indifference,  and 
would  make  him  value  me  the  more  when  he  found 
me  again.  I  have  wondered  that  some  of  my  com- 
rades did  not  recognize  in  me  the  stray  sheep  that 
was  cried  ;  but  they  were  all,  no  doubt,  occupied  by 
their  own  concerns.  They  were  all  labouring  seri- 
ously in  their  antic  vocations,  lor  folly  was  a  mere 
trade  with  most  of  them,  and  they  often  grinned  and 
capered  with  heavy  hearts.  With  me,  on  the  con- 
trary, it  was  all  real.  I  acted  con  amore,  and  rattled 
and  laughed  from  the  irrepressible  gayety  of  my 
spirits.  It  is  true  that,  now  and  then,  I  started  and 
looked  grave  on  receiving  a  sudden  thwack  from  the 
wooden  sword  of  Harlequin,  in  the  course  of  my 
gambols  ;  as  it  brought  to  mind  the  birch  of  my 
school-master.  But  I  soon  got  accustomed  to  it ; 
and  bore  all  the  cuffing,  and  kicking,  and  tumWing 
about,  that  form  the  practical  wit  of  your  itinerant 
pantomime,  with  a  good  humour  that  made  me  a 
prodigious  favourite. 


The  country  campaign  of  the  troupe  was  soon  at 
an  end,  and  we  set  off  for  the  metropolis,  to  perform 
at  the  fairs  which  are  held  it  its  vicinity.  The 
greater  part  of  our  theatrical  property  was  sent  on 
direct,  to  be  in  a  state  of  preparation  for  the  open- 
ing of  the  fairs ;  while  a  detachment  of  the  company 
travelled  slowly  on,  foraging  among  the  villages.  I 
was  amused  with  the  desultory,  hap-hazard  kind  of 
life  we  led  ;  here  to-day,  and  gone  to-morrow.  Some- 
times revelling  in  ale-houses;  sometimes  feasting 
under  hedges  in  the  green  fields.  When  audiences 
were  crowded  and  business  profitable,  we  fared  well, 
and  when  otherwise,  we  fared  scantily,  and  con- 
soled ourselves  with  anticipations  of  the  next  day's 
success. 

At  length  the  increasing  frequency  of  coaches 
hurrying  past  us,  covered  with  passengers ;  the  in- 
creasing number  of  carriages,  carts,  wagons,  gigs, 
droves  of  cattle  and  flocks  of  sheep,  all  thronging 
the  road  ;  the  snug  country  boxes  with  trim  flower 
gardens  twelve  feet  square,  and  their  trees  twelve 
feet  high,  all  powdered  with  dust  ;  and  the  innumer- 
able seminaries  for  young  ladies  and  gentlemen,  situ- 
ated along  the  road,  for  the  benefit  of  country  air 
and  rural  retirement  :  all  these  insignia  announced 
that  the  mighty  London  was  at  hand.  The  hurry, 
and  the  crowd,  and  the  bustle,  and  the  noise,  and 
the  dust,  increased  as  we  proceeded,  until  I  saw  the 
great  cloud  of  smoke  hanging  in  the  air,  hke  a  canopy 
of  state,  over  this  queen  of  cities. 

In  this  way,  then,  did  I  enter  the  metropolis  ;  a 
strolling  vagabond  ;  on  the  top  of  a  caravan  with  a 
crew  of  v.agabonds  about  me  ;  but  I  was  as  happy 
as  a  prince,  for,  like  Prince  Hal,  1  felt  myself  superior 
to  my  situation,  and  knew  that  I  could  at  any  time 
cast  it  off  and  emerge  into  my  proper  sphere. 

How  my  eyes  sparkled  as  we  passed  Hyde-park 
corner,  and  I  saw  splendid  equipages  rolling  by,  with 
powdered  footmen  behind,  in  rich  liveries,  and  fine 
nosegays,  and  gold-headed  canes  ;  and  with  lovely 
women  within,  so  sumptuously  dressed  and  so  sur- 
passingly fair.  I  was  always  extremely  sensible  to 
female  beauty ;  and  here  I  saw  it  in  all  its  fascina- 
tion ;  for,  whatever  may  be  said  of  "  beauty  unadorn- 
ed," there  is  something  almost  awful  in  female  love- 
liness decked  out  in  jewelled  state.  The  swan-like 
neck  encircled  with  diamonds;  the  raven  locks, 
clustered  with  pearls  ;  the  ruby  glowing  on  the 
snowy  bosom,  are  objects  that  I  could  never  contem- 
plate without  emotion  ;  and  a  dazzling  white  arm 
clasped  with  bracelets,  and  taper  transparent  lingers 
laden  with  sparkling  rings,  are  to  me  irresistible.  My 
very  eyes  ached  as  I  gazed  at  the  high  and  courtly 
beauty  that  passed  before  me.  It  surpassed  all  that 
my  imagination  had  conceived  of  the  sex.  I  shrunk, 
for  a  moment,  into  shame  at  the  company  in  which 
I  was  placed,  and  repined  at  the  vast  distance  that 
seemed  to  intervene  between  me  and  these  magnifi- 
cent beings. 

I  forbear  to  give  a  detail  of  the  happy  life  which 
I  led  about  the  skirts  of  the  metropolis,  playing  at 
the  various  fairs,  held  there  during  the  latter  part  of 
spring  and  the  beginning  of  summer.  This  continual 
change  from  place  to  place,  and  scene  to  scene,  fed 
my  imagination  with  novelties,  and  kept  my  spirits 
in  a  perpetual  state  of  excitement. 

As  I  was  tall  of  my  age  I  aspired,  at  one  time,  to 
play  heroes  in  tragedy  ;  but  after  two  or  th'  ee  trials, 
I  was  pronounced,  by  the  manager,  totally  unfit  for 
the  line  ;  and  our  first  tragic  actress,  who  was  a  large 
woman,  and  held  a  small  hero  in  abhorrence,  con- 
firmed his  decision. 

The  fact  is,  I  had  .attempted  to  give  point  to  lan- 
guage which  had  no  point,  ,and  nature  to  scenes 
which  had  no  nature.     They  said  I  did  not  till  ou^ 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


377 


my  characters  ;  and  they  were  rig-ht.  The  charac- 
ters had  all  been  prepared  for  a  different  sort  of  man. 
Our  tragedy  hero  was  a  round,  robustious  fellow, 
with  an  amazing  voice ;  who  stamped  and  slapped 
his  breast  until  his  wig  shook  again  ;  and  who  roar- 
ed and  bellowed  out  his  bombast,  until  every  phrase 
swelled  upon  the  ear  like  the  sound  of  a  kettle-drum. 
I  might  as  well  have  attempted  to  fill  out  his  clothes 
as  his  characters.  When  we  had.  a  dialogue  together, 
I  was  nothing  before  him,  with  my  slender  voice  and 
discriminating  manner.  I  might  as  well  have  at- 
tempted to  parry  a  cudgel  with  a  small  sword.  If 
he  found  me  in  any  way  gaining  ground  upon  him, 
he  would  take  refuge  in  his  mighty  voice,  and  throw 
his  tones  like  peals  of  thunder  at  me,  until  they  were 
drowned  in  the  still  louder  thunders  of  applause  from 
the  audience.    ' 

To  tell  the  truth,  I  suspect  that  I  was  not  shown 
fair  play,  and  that  there  was  management  at  the 
bottom;  for  without  vanity,  I  think  I  was  a  better 
actor  than  he.  As  I  had  not  embarked  in  the  vaga- 
bond line  through  ambition,  I  did  not  repine  at  lack 
of  preferment ;  but  I  was  grieved  to  find  that  a  va- 
grant life  was  not  without  its  cares  and  an.xieties, 
and  that  jealousies,  intrigues,  and  mad  ambition 
were  to  be  found  even  among  vagabonds. 

Indeed,  as  I  became  more  familiar  with  my  situa- 
tion, and  the  delusions  of  fancy  began  to  fade  away, 
I  discovered  that  my  associates  were  not  the  happy 
careless  creatures  I  had  at  first  imagined  them. 
They  were  jealous  of  each  other's  talents  ;  they  quar- 
relled about  parts,  the  same  as  the  actors  on  the 
grand  theatres  ;  they  quarrelled  about  dresses  ;  and 
there  was  one  robe  of  yellow  silk,  trimmed  with  red, 
and  a  head-dress  of  three  rumpled  ostrich  feathers, 
which  were  continually  setting  the  ladies  of  the  com- 
pany by  the  ears.  Even  those  who  had  attained  the 
highest  honours  were  not  more  happy  than  the  rest ; 
for  Mr.  Flimsey  himself,  our  first  tragedian,  and  ap- 
parently a  jovial,  good-humoured  fellow,  confessed 
to  me  one  day,  in  the  fullness  of  his  heart,  that  he 
was  a  miserable  man.  He  had  a  brother-in-law,  a 
relative  by  marriage,  though  not  by  blood,  who  was 
manager  of  a  theatre  in  a  small  country  town.  And 
this  same  brother,  ("  a  little  more  than  kin,  but  less 
than  kind,")  looked  down  upon  him,  and  treated 
him  with  contumely,  because  forsooth  he  was  but  a 
strolling  player.  I  tried  to  console  him  with  the 
thoughts  of  the  vast  applause  he  daily  received,  but 
it  was  all  in  vain.  He  declared  that  it  gave  him  no  de- 
light, and  that  he  should  never  be  a  happy  man  until 
the  name  of  Flimsey  rivalled  the  name  of  Crimp. 

How  little  do  thoS2  before  the  scenes  know  of 
what  passes  behind  ;  how  little  can  they  judge,  from 
the  countenances  of  actors,  of  what  is  passing  in 
their  hearts.  I  have  known  two  lovers  quarrel  like 
cats  behind  the  scenes,  who  were,  the  moment  after, 
to  fly  into  each  other's  embraces.  And  I  have 
dreaded,  when  our  Belvidera  was  to  take  her  fare- 
well kiss  of  her  Jafiier,  lest  she  should  bite  a  piece 
out  of  his  cheek.  Our  tragedian  was  a  rough  joker 
off  the  stage ;  our  prime  clown  the  most  peevish 
mortal  living.  The  latter  used  to  go  about  snapping 
and  snarling,  with  a  broad  laugh  painted  on  his 
countenance ;  and  I  can  assure  you  that,  whatever 
may  be  said  of  the  gravity  of  a  monkey,  or  the  mel- 
ancholy of  a  gibed  cat,  there  is  no  more  melancholy 
creature  in  existence  than  a  mountebank  off  duty. 

The  only  thing  in  which  all  parties  agreed  was  to 
backbite  the  manager,  and  cabal  against  his  regula- 
tions. This,  however,  I  have  since  discovered  to  be 
a  common  trait  of  human  nature,  and  to  take  place 
in  all  communities.  It  would  seem  to  be  the  main 
business  of  man  to  repine  at  government.  In  all 
situations  of  life  into  which  I  have  looked,  I  have 


found  mankind  divided  into  two  grand  parties ; — 
those  who  ride  and  those  who  are  ridden.  The 
great  struggle  of  life  seems  to  be  which  shall  keep 
in  the  saddle.  This,  it  appears  to  me,  is  the  funda- 
mental principle  of  politics,  whether  in  great  or  little 
life.  However,  I  do  not  mean  to  moralize ;  but  one 
cannot  always  sink  the  philosopher. 

Well,  then,  to  return  to  myself.  It  was  deter- 
mined, as  I  said,  that  I  was  not  fit  for  tragedy,  and, 
unluckily,  as  my  study  was  bad,  having  a  very  poor 
memory,  I  was  pronounced  unfit  for  comedy  also : 
besides,  the  line  of  young  gentlemen  was  already  en- 
grossed by  an  actor  with  whom  I  could  not  pretend 
to  enter  into  competition,  he  having  filled  it  for  al- 
most half  a  century'.  I  came  down  again  therefore 
to  pantomime.  In  consequence,  however,  of  the 
good  offices  of  the  manager's  lady,  who  had  taken  a 
liking  to  me,  I  was  promoted  from  the  part  of  the 
satyr  to  that  of  the  lover  ;  and  with  my  face  patched 
and  painted,  a  huge  cravat  of  paper,  a  steeple- 
crowned  hat,  and  dangling,  long-skirted,  sky-blue 
coat,  was  metamorphosed  into  the  lover  of  Colum- 
bine. My  part  did  not  call  for  much  of  the  tender 
and  sentimental.  I  had  merely  to  pursue  the  fugi- 
tive fair  one  ;  to  have  a  door  now  and  then  slammed 
in  my  face;  to  run  my  head  occasionally  against  a 
post  ;  to  tumble  and  roll  about  with  Pantaloon  and 
the  clown  ;  and  to  endure  the  hearty  thwacks  of 
Harlequin's  wooden  sword. 

As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  my  poetical  tempera- 
ment began  to  ferment  within  me,  and  to  work  out 
new  troubles.  The  inflammatory  air  of  a  great  me- 
tropolis added  to  the  rural  scenes  in  which  the  fairs 
were  held  ;  such  as  Greenwich  Park ;  Epping  For- 
est ;  and  the  lovely  valley  of  West  End,  had  a  power- 
ful effect  upon  me.  While  in  Greenwich  Park  I  was 
witness  to  the  old  holyday  games  of  running  dovvn 
hill  ;  and  kissing  in  the  ring ;  and  then  the  firmament 
of  blooming  faces  and  blue  eyes  that  would  be  turned 
towards  me  as  I  was  playing  antics  on  the  stage  ;  all 
these  set  my  young  blood,  and  my  poetical  vein,  in 
full  flow.  In  short,  I  played  my  character  to  the 
life,  and  became  desperately  enamoured  of  Colum- 
bine. She  was  a  trim,  well-made,  tempting  girl, 
with  a  roguish,  dimpling  face,  and  fine  chestnut  hair 
clustering  all  about  it.  The  moment  I  got  fairly 
smitten,  there  was  an  end  to  all  playing.  I  was  such 
a  creature  of  fancy  and  feeling  that  I  could  not  put 
on  a  pretended,  when  I  was  powerfully  affected  by  a 
real  emotion.  I  could  not  sport  with  a  fiction  that 
came  so  near  to  the  fact.  I  became  too  natural  in 
my  acting  to  succeed.  And  then,  what  a  situation 
for  a  lover !  I  was  a  mere  striplmg,  and  she  played 
with  my  passion ;  for  girls  soon  grow  more  adroit 
and  knowing  in  these  matters  than  your  awkward 
youngsters.  What  agonies  had  I  to  suffer.  Every 
time  that  she  danced  in  front  of  the  booth  and  made 
such  liberal  displays  of  her  charms,  1  was  in  tor- 
ment. To  complete  my  miser)-,  I  had  a  real  rival  in 
Harlequin ;  an  active,  vigorous,  knowing  varlet  of 
six  and-twenty.  What  had  a  raw,  inexperienced 
youngster  like  me  to  hope  from  such  a  competition  ? 

I  had  still,  however,  some  advantages  in  my  fa- 
vour. In  spite  of  my  change  of  life,  I  retained  that 
indescribable  something  which  always  distinguishes 
the  gentleman  ;  that  something  which  dwells  in  a 
man's  air  and  deportment,  and  not  in  his  clothes; 
and  which  it  is  as  difficult  for  a  gentleman  to  put 
off  as  for  a  vulgar  fellow  to  put  on.  The  company 
generally  felt  it,  and  used  to  call  me  little  gentleman 
jack.  The  girl  felt  it  too ;  and  in  spite  of  her  pre- 
dilection for  my  powerful  rival,  she  liked  to  flirt  with 
me.  This  only  aggravated  my  troubles,  by  increas- 
ing my  passion,  and  awakening  the  jealousy  of  her 
parti- coloured  lover. 


378 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


AI.is !  think  what  I  suffered,  at  being'  obliged  to 
keep  up  an  ineffectual  chase  after  my  Columbine 
through  whole  pantomimes;  to  see  her  carried  off 
in  the  vigorous  arms  of  the  happy  Harlequin  ;  and 
to  be  obliged,  instead  of  snatching  her  from  him,  to 
tumble  sprawling  with  Pantaloon  and  the  clown  ; 
and  bear  the  infernal  and  degrading  thwacks  of  my 
rival's  weapon  of  lath  ;  which,  may  heaven  confound 
him !  (excuse  my  passion)  the  villain  laid  on  with  a 
malicious  good-will ;  nay,  I  could  absolutely  hear  him 
chuckle  and  laugh  beneath  his  accursed  mask. — I 
beg  pardon  for  growing  a  little  warm  in  my  narra- 
tion. I  wish  to  be  cool,  but  these  recollections  will 
sometimes  agitate  me.  I  have  heard  and  read  of 
many  desperate  and  deplorable  situations  of  lovers  ; 
but  none,  I  think,  in  which  true  love  was  ever  exposed 
to  so  severe  and  peculiar  a  trial. 

This  could  not  last  long.  Flesh  and  blood,  at 
least  such  flesh  and  blood  as  mine,  could  not  bear  it. 
I  had  repeated  heart-burnings  and  quarrels  with  my 
rival,  in  which  he  treated  me  with  the  mortifying  for- 
bearance of  a  man  towards  a  child.  Had  he  quar- 
relled outright  with  me,  I  could  have  stomached  it ; 
at  least  I  should  have  known  what  part  to  take  ;  but 
to  be  humoured  and  treated  as  a  child  in  the  pres- 
ence of  my  mistress,  when  1  felt  all  the  bantam 
spirit  of  a  little  man  swelling  within  me— gods,  it 
was  insufferable  ! 

At  length  we  were  exhibiting  one  day  at  West 
End  fair,  which  was  at  that  time  a  very  fashionable 
resort,  and  often  beleaguered  by  gay  equipages  from 
town.  Among  the  spectators  that  filled  the  front 
row  of  our  little  canvas  theatre  one  afternoon,  when 
I  had  to  figure  in  a  pantomime,  was  a  party  of  young 
ladies  from  a  boarding-school,  with  their  governess. 
Guess  my  confusion,  when,  in  the  midst  of  my  an- 
tics, I  beheld  among  the  number  my  quondam 
riaitie  ;  her  whom  I  had  berhymed  at  school  ;  her  for 
whose  charms  I  had  smarted  so  severely  ;  the  cruel 
Sacharissa !  What  was  worse,  I  fancied  slie  recol- 
lected me ;  and  was  repeating  the  story  of  my 
humiliating  flagellation,  for  I  saw  her  whispering 
her  companions  and  her  governess.  I  lost  all  con- 
sciousness of  the  part  I  was  acting,  and  of  the  ])lace 
where  I  was.  I  felt  shrunk  to  nothing,  and  could 
have  crept  into  a  rat-hole — unluckily,  none  was  open 
to  receive  me.  Before  I  could  recover  from  my 
confusion,  I  was  tumbled  over  by  Pantaloon  and 
the  clown  ;  and  I  felt  the  sword  of  Harlequin  mak- 
ing vigorous  assaults,  in  a  manner  most  degrading 
to  my  dignity. 

Heaven  and  earth  !  was  I  again  to  suffer  martyr- 
dom in  this  ignominious  manner,  in  the  knowledge, 
and  even  before  the  very  eyes  of  this  most  beautiful, 
but  most  disdainful  of  fair  ones  ?  All  my  long- 
smothered  wrath  broke  out  at  once  ;  the  dormant 
feehngs  of  the  gentleman  arose  within  me  ;  stung  to 
the  quick  by  intolerable  mortification,  I  sprang  on 
my  feet  in  an  instant ;  leaped  upon  Harlequin  like  a 
young  tiger  ;  tore  off  his  mask  ;  buffeted  him  in  the 
face,  and  soon  shed  more  blood  on  the  stage  than 
had  been  spilt  upon  it  during  a  whole  tragic  cam- 
paign of  battles  and  murders. 

As  soon  as  Harlequin  recovered  from  his  surprise 
he  returned  my  assault  with  interest.  I  was  nothing 
in  his  hands  I  was  game  to  be  sure,  for  I  was  a 
gentleman  ;  but  he  had  the  clownish  advantages  of 
bone  and  muscle.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  have  fought 
even  unto  the  death  ;  and  I  was  likely  to  do  so  ;  for 
he  was,  according  to  the  vulgar  phrase,  "  putting 
my  head  into  Chancery,"  when  the  gentle  Colum- 
bine flew  to  my  assistance.  God  bless  the  women  ; 
they  are  always  on  the  side  of  the  weak  and  the  op- 
pressed. 

The  battle  now  became  general ;   the   dramatis 


persons  nanged  on  cither  side.  The  manager  inter- 
fered in  vain.  In  vain  were  his  spangled  black  bon- 
net and  towering  white  feathers  seen  whisking  about, 
and  nodding,  and  bobbing,  in  the  thickest  of  the 
fight.  Warriors,  ladies,  priests,  satvrs,  kings,  queens, 
gods  and  goddesses,  all  joined  pell-mell  in  the  fray. 
Never,  since  the  conflict  under  the  walls  of  Troy, 
had  there  been  such  a  chance  medley  warfare  of 
combatants,  human  and  divine.  The  audience  ap- 
plauded, the  ladies  shrieked  and  fled  from  the 
theatre,  and  a  scene  of  discord  ensued  that  baffles 
all  description. 

Nothing  but  the  interference  of  the  peace  officers 
restored  some  degree  of  order.  The  havoc,  how- 
ever, that  had  been  made  among  dresses  and  deco- 
rations put  an  end  to  all  farther  acting  for  that  day. 
The  battle  over,  the  next  thing  was  to  inquire  why 
it  was  begun  ;  a  common  question  among  politicians, 
after  a  bloody  and  unprofitable  war  ;  and  one  not 
always  easy  to  be  answered.  It  was  soon  traced  to 
me,  and  my  unaccountable  transport  of  passion, 
which  they  could  only  attribute  to  my  having  run  a 
muck.  The  manager  was  judge  and  jury,  and 
plaintiff  into  the  bargain,  and  in  such  cases  justice 
is  always  speedily  administered.  He  came  out  of 
the  fight  as  sublime  a  wreck  as  the  Santissima 
Trinidada.  His  gallant  plumes,  which  once  tower- 
ed aloft,  were  drooping  about  his  ears.  His  robe  of 
state  hung  in  ribbands  from  his  back,  and  but  ill 
concealed  the  ravages  he  had  suffered  in  the  rear. 
He  had  received  kicks  and  cuffs  from  all  sides, 
during  the  tumult ;  for  every  one  took  the  oppor- 
tunity of  slyly  gratifying  some  lurking  grudge  on  his 
fat  carcass.  He  was  a  discreet  man,  and  did  not 
choose  to  declare  war  with  all  his  company;  so  he 
swore  all  those  kicks  and  cuffs  had  been  given  by 
me,  and  1  let  him  enjoy  the  opinion.  Some  wounds 
he  bore,  however,  which  were  the  incontestible 
traces  of  a  woman's  warfare.  His  sleek  rosy  cheek 
was  scored  by  trickling  furrows,  which  were  ascribed 
to  the  nails  of  my  intrepid  and  devoted  Columbine. 
The  ire  of  the  monarch  was  not  to  be  appeased. 
He  had  suffered  in  his  person,  and  he  had  suffered 
in  his  purse  ;  his  dignity  too  had  been  insulted,  and 
that  went  for  something  ;  for  dignity  is  always  more 
irascible  the  more  petty  the  potentate.  He  wreaked 
his  wrath  upon  the  beginners  of  the  affray,  and 
Columbine  and  myself  were  discharged,  at  once, 
from  the  company. 

Figure  me,  then,  to  yourself,  a  stripling  of  little 
more  than  sixteen  ;  a  gentleman  by  birth  ;  a  vaga- 
bond by  trade  ;  turned  adrift  upon  the  world  ;  mak- 
ing the  best  of  my  way  through  the  crowd  of  West 
End  fair ;  my  mountebank  dress  fluttering  in  rags 
about  me ;  the  weeping  Columbine  hanging  upon 
my  arm,  in  splendid,  but  tattered  finery ;  the  tears 
coursing  one  by  one  down  her  face  ;  carrying  ofif 
the  red  paint  in  torrents,  and  literally  "preying  upon 
her  damask  cheek." 

The  crowd  made  way  for  us  as  we  passed  and 
hooted  in  our  rear.  I  felt  the  ridicule  of  my  situa- 
tion, but  had  too  much  gallantry  to  desert  this  fair 
one,  who  had  sacrificed  every  thing  for  me.  Having 
wandered  through  the  fair,  we  emerged,  like  another 
Adam  and  Eve,  into  unknown  regions,  and  "  had 
the  world  before  us  where  to  choose."  Never  was 
a  more  disconsolate  pair  seen  in  the  soft  valley  of 
West  End.  The  luckless  Columbine  cast  back 
many  a  lingering  look  at  the  fair,  which  seemed  to 
put  on  a  more  than  usual  splendour ;  its  tents,  and 
booths,  and  parti-coloured  groups,  all  brightening 
in  the  sunshine,  and  gleaming  among  the  trees  ;  and 
its  gay  ffags  and  streamers  playing  and  fluttering  in 
the  light  summer  airs.  With  a  heavy  sigh  she  would 
lean  on  my  arm  and  proceed.    I  had  no  hope  or  con- 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


379 


solation  to  give  her ;  but  she  had  linked  herself  to 
my  fortunes,  and  she  was  too  much  of  a  woman  to 
desert  me. 

Pensive  and  silent,  then,  we  traversed  the- beauti- 
ful fields  that  lie  behind  Hempstead,  and  wandered 
on,  u.ilil  the  fiddle,  and  the  hautboy,  and  the  shout, 
and  the  laugh,  were  swallowed  up  in  the  deep  sound 
of  the  big-  bass  drum,  and  even  that  died  away  into 
a  distant  rumble.  We  passed  along  the  pleasant 
sequestered  walk  of  Nightingale  lane.  For  a  pair 
of  lovers  what  scene  could  be  more  propitious  ? — 
But  such  a  pair  of  lovers  !  Not  a  nightingale  sang 
to  soothe  us :  the  very  gypsies  who  were  encamped 
there  during  the  fair,  made  no  offer  to  tell  the  for- 
tunes of  such  an  ill-omened  couple,  whose  fortunes, 
1  suppose,  they  thought  too  legibly  written  to  need 
an  interpreter  ;  and  the  gypsey  children  crawled  into 
their  cabins  and  peeped  out  fearfully  at  us  as  we 
went  by.  For  a  moment  1  paused,  and  was  almost 
tempted  to  turn  gypsey,  but  the  poetical  feeling  for 
the  present  was  fully  satisfied,  and  I  passed  on. 
Thus  we  travelled,  and  travelled,  like  a  prince  and 
princess  in  nursery  chronicle,  until  we  had  traversed 
a  part  of  Hempstead  Heath  and  arrived  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  Jack  Straw's  castle. 

Here,  wearied  and  dispirited,  we  seated  ourselves 
on  the  margin  of  the  hill,  hard  by  the  very  mile 
stone  where  Whittington  of  yore  heard  the  Bow 
bells  ring  out  the  presage  of  his  future  greatness. 
Alas !  no  bell  rung  in  invitation  to  us,  as  we  looked 
disconsolately  upon  the  distant  city.  Old  London 
seemed  to  wrap  itself  up  unsociably  in  its  mantle  of 
brown  smoke,  and  to  offer  no  encouragement  to 
such  a  couple  of  tatterdemalions. 

For  once,  at  least,  the  usual  course  of  the  panto- 
mime was  reversed.  Harlequin  was  jilted,  and  the 
lover  had  carried  off  Columbine  in  good  earnest. 
But  what  was  I  to  do  with  her?  I  had  never  con- 
templated such  a  dilemma  ;  and  I  now  felt  that  even 
a  fortunate  lover  may  be  embarrassed  by  his  good 
fortune.  I  really  knew  not  what  was  to  become  of 
me  ;  for  I  had  still  the  boyish  fear  of  returning  home  ; 
standing  in  awe  of  the  stern  temper  of  my  father, 
and  dreading  the  ready  arm  of  the  pedagogue.  And 
even  if  I  were  to  venture  home,  what  was  I  to  do 
with  Columbine.'  I  could  not  take  her  in  my  hand, 
and  throw  myself  on  my  knees,  and  crave  his  for- 
giveness and  his  blessing  according  to  dramatic 
usage.  The  very  dogs  would  have  chased  such  a 
draggle-tailed  beauty  from  the  grounds. 

In  the  midst  of  my  doleful  dumps,  some  one 
tapped  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  looking  up  I  saw  a 
couple  of  rough  sturdy  fellows  standing  behind  me. 
Not  knowing  what  to  expect  I  jurnped  on  my  legs, 
and  was  preparing  again  to  make  battle ;  but  I  was 
tripped  up  and  secured  in  a  twinkling. 

"Come,  come,  young  master,"  said  one  of  the  fel- 
lows in  a  gruff,  but  good-humoured  tone,  "  don't 
let's  have  any  of  your  tantrums  ;  one  would  have 
thought  you  had  had  swing  enough  for  this  bout. 
Come,  it's  high  time  to  leave  off  harlequinading, 
and  go  home  to  your  father." 

In  fact  I  had  a  couple  of  Bow  street  officers  hold 
of  me.  The  cruel  Sacharissa  had  proclaimed  who  I 
was,  and  that  a  reward  had  been  offered  throughout 
the  country  for  any  tidings  of  me  ;  and  they  had 
seen  a  description  of  me  which  had  been  forwarded 
to  the  police  office  in  town.  Those  harpies,  there- 
fore, for  the  inere  sake  of  filthy  lucre,  were  resolved 
to  deliver  me  over  into  the  hands  of  my  father  and 
the  clutches  of  my  pedagogue. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  swore  I  would  not  leave  my 
faithful  and  atflicted  Columbine.  It  was  in  vain  that 
1  tore  myself  from  their  grasp,  and  flew  to  her ;  and 
vowed  to  protect  her ;  and  wiped  the  tears  from  her 


cheek,  and  with  them  a  whole  blush  that  might  have 
vied  with  the  carnation  for  brilliancy.  My  persecu- 
tors were  inflexible  ;  they  even  seemed  to  exult  in 
our  distress  ;  and  to  enjoy  this  theatrical  display  of 
dirt,  and  finery,  and  tribulation.  I  was  carried  off 
in  despair,  leaving  my  Columbine  destitute  in  the 
wide  world  ;  but  many  a  look  of  agony  did  I  cast 
back  at  her,  as  she  stood  gazing  |)iteously  after  me 
from  the  brink  of  Hempstead  Hill ;  so  forlorn,  so 
fine,  so  ragged,  so  bedraggled,  yet  so  beautiful. 

Thus  ended  iny  first  peep  into  the  world.  I  re- 
turned home,  rich  in  good-for-nothing  experience, 
and  dreading  the  reward  I  was  to  receive  for  my 
improvement.  My  reception,  however,  was  quite 
different  from  what  I  had  expected.  My  father  had 
a  spice  of  the  devil  in  him,  and  did  not  seem  to  like 
me  the  worse  for  my  freak,  which  he  termed  "  sow- 
ing my  wild  oats."  He  happened  to  have  several  of 
his  sporting  friends  to  dine  with  him  the  very  day  of 
my  return  ;  they  made  me  tell  some  of  my  advent- 
ures, and  laughed  heartily  at  them.  One  old  fellow, 
with  an  outrageously  red  nose,  took  to  me  huge- 
ly. I  heard  him  whisper  to  my  father  that  I  was  a 
lad  of  mettle,  and  might  make  something  clever ;  to 
which  my  father  replied  that  "  I  had  good  points,  but 
was  an  ill-broken  whelp,  and  required  a  great  deal 
of  the  whip."  Perhaps  this  very  conversation  raised 
me  a  little  in  his  esteem,  for  I  found  the  red-nosed 
old  gentleman  was  a  veteran  fox-hunter  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, for  whose  opinion  my  father  had  vast  def- 
erence. Indeed,  I  believe  he  would  have  pardoned 
any  thing  in  me  more  readily  than  poetry ;  which  he 
called  a  cursed,  sneaking,  puling,  housekeeping  em- 
ployment, the  bane  of  all  true  manhood.  He  swore 
it  was  unworthy  of  a  youngster  of  my  expectations, 
who  was  one  day  to  have  so  great  an  estate,  and 
would  be  able  to  keep  horses  and  hounds  and  hire 
poets  to  write  songs  for  him  into  the  bargain. 

I  had  now  satisfied,  for  a  time,  my  roving  pro- 
pensity. I  had  exhausted  the  poetical  feeling.  I 
had  been  heartily  buffeted  out  of  my  love  for  theat- 
rical display.  I  felt  humiliated  by  my  exposure,  and 
was  willing  to  hide  my  head  anywhere  for  a  season  ; 
so  that  1  might  be  out  of  the  way  of  the  ridicule  of 
the  world  ;  for  I  found  folks  not  altogether  so  indul- 
gent abroad,  as  they  were  at  my  father's  table.  I 
could  not  stay  at  home  ;  the  house  was  intolerably 
doleful  now  that  my  mother  was  no  longer  there  to 
cherish  me.  Every  thing  around  spoke  mournfully 
of  her.  The  little  flower-garden  in  which  she  de- 
lighted, was  all  in  disorder  and  overrun  with  weeds. 
I  attempted,  for  a  day  or  two,  to  arrange  it,  but  my 
heart  grew  heavier  and  heavier  as  I  laboured. 
Every  little  broken-down  flower,' that  I  had  seen  her 
rear  so  tenderly,  seemed  to  plead  in  mute  eloquence 
to  my  feolings.  There  was  a  favourite  honeysuckle 
which  I  had  seen  her  often  training  with  assiduity, 
and  had  heard  her  say  it  should  be  the  pride  of  her 
garden.  I  found  it  grovelling  along  the  ground, 
tangled  and  wild,  and  twining  round  eveiy  worth- 
less weed,  and  it  struck  me  as  an  emblem  of  myself: 
a  mere  scatterling,  running  to  waste  and  useless- 
ness.     I  could  work  no  longer  in  the  garden. 

My  father  sent  me  to  pay  a  visit  to  my  uncle,  by 
way  of  keeping  the  old  gentleman  in  mind  of  me.  I 
was  received,  as  usual,  without  any  expression  of 
discontent ;  which  we  always  considered  equivalent 
to  a  hearty  welcome.  Whether  he  had  ever  heard 
of  my  strolling  freak  or  not  I  could  not  discover  ;  he 
and  his  man  were  both  so  taciturn.  I  spent  a  day 
or  two  roaming  about  the  dreary  mansion  and  neg- 
lected park  ;  and  felt  at  one  time,  I  believe,  a  touch 
of  poetry,  for  I  was  tempted  to  drown  myself  in  a 
fish-pond ;  I  rebuked  the  evil  spirit,  however,  and  it 
left  me.     I  found  the  same  red-headed  boy  running 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


wild  about  the  park,  but  I  felt  in  no  humour  to  hunt 
him  at  present.  On  the  contrarj-,  I  tried  to  coax 
him  to  me,  and  to  make  friends  with  him,  but  the 
young  savage  was  untameable. 

When  I  returned  from  my  uncle's  I  remained  at 
home  for  some  time,  for  my  father  was  disposed,  he 
said,  to  make  a  man  of  me.  He  took  me  out  hunt- 
ing with  him,  and  I  became  a  great  favourite  of  the 
red-nosed  squire,  because  I  rode  at  every  thing; 
never  refused  the  boldest  leap,  and  was  always  sure 
to  be  in  at  the  death.  I  used  often,  however,  to  of- 
fend my  father  at  hunting  dinners,  by  taking  the 
wrong  side  in  politics.  My  father  was  amazingly 
ignorant — so  ignorant,  in  fact,  as  not  to  know  that 
he  knew  nothing.  He  was  staunch,  however,  to 
church  and  king,  and  full  of  old-fashioned  preju- 
dices. Now,  I  had  picked  up  a  little  knowledge  in 
politics  and  religion,  during  my  rambles  with  the 
strollers,  and  found  myself  capable  of  setting  him 
right  as  to  many  of  his  antiquated  notions.  I  felt 
it  my  duty  to  do  so ;  we  were  apt,  therefore,  to 
differ  occasionally  in  the  political  discussions  that 
sometimes  arose  at  these  hunting  dinners. 

I  was  at  that  age  when  a  man  knows  least  and  is 
most  vain  of  his  knowledge;  and  when  he  is  ex- 
tremely tenacious  in  defencfing  his  opinion  upon  sub- 
jects about  which  he  knows  nothing.  My  father  was 
a  hard  man  for  any  one  to  argue  with,  for  he  never 
knew  when  he  was  refuted.  I  sometimes  posed  him 
a  little,  but  then  he  had  one  argument  that  always 
settled  the  question  ;  he  would  threaten  to  knock  me 
down.  I  believe  he  at  last  grew  tired  of  me,  because 
I  both  out-talked  and  outrode  him.  The  red-nosed 
squire,  too,  got  out  of  conceit  of  me,  because  in  the 
heat  of  the  chase,  I  rode  over  him  one  day  as  he  and 
his  horse  lay  sprawling  in  the  dirt.  My  father,  there- 
fore, thought  it  high  time  to  send  me  to  college ; 
and  accordingly  to  Trinity  College  at  Oxford  was  I 
sent. 

1  had  lost  my  habits  of  study  while  at  home  ;  and 
I  was  not  likely  to  find  them  again  at  college.  I 
found  that  study  was  not  the  fashion  at  college,  and 
that  a  lad  of  spirit  only  ate  his  terms ;  and  grew 
wise  by  dint  of  knife  and  fork.  I  was  always  prone 
to  follow  the  fashions  of  the  company  into  which  I 
fell ;  so  I  threw  by  my  books,  and  became  a  man  of 
spirit.  As  my  father  made  me  a  tolerable  allow- 
ance, notwithstanding  the  narrowness  of  his  income, 
having  an  eye  always  to  my  great  expectations,  1 
was  enabled  to  appear  to  advantage  among  my 
fellow-students.  I  cultivated  all  kinds  of  sports  and 
exercises.  I  was  one  of  the  most  expert  oarsmen 
that  rowed  on  the  Isis.  I  boxed  and  fenced.  I  was 
a  keen  huntsman,  and  my  chambers  in  college  were 
always  decorated  with  whips  of  all  kinds,  spurs, 
foils,  and  boxing  gloves.  A  pair  of  leatheu  breeches 
would  seem  to  be  throwing  one  leg  out  of  the  half- 
open  drawers,  and  empty  bottles  lumbered  the  bot- 
tom of  every  closet. 

I  soon  grew  tired  of  this,  and  relapsed  into  my 
vein  of  mere  poetical  indulgence.  I  was  charmed 
with  Oxford,  for  it  was  full  of  poetry  to  me.  I 
thought  I  should  never  grow  tired  of  wandering 
about  its  courts  and  cloisters  ;  and  visiting  the  dif- 
ferent college  halls.  I  used  to  love  to  get  in  places 
surrounded  by  the  colleges,  where  all  modern  build- 
ings were  screened  from  the  sight ;  and  to  walk 
about  them  in  twilight,  and  see  the  professors  and 
students  sv/eeping  along  in  the  dusk  in  their  caps 
and  gowns.  There  was  complete  delusion  in  the 
scene.  It  seemed  to  transport  me  among  the  edi- 
fices and  the  people  of  old  times.  1 1  was  a  great 
luxury,  too,  for  me  to  attend  the  evening  service  in 
the  new  college  chapel,  and  to  hear  the  fine  organ 
and  the  choir  swelling  an  anthem  in  that  solemn 


building;  where  painting  and  music  and  architecture 
seem  to  combine  their  grandest  effects. 

1  became  a  loiterer,  also,  about  the  Bodleian  li- 
brary, and  a  great  dipper  into  books ;  but  too  idle  to 
follow  any  course  of  study  or  vein  of  research.  One 
of  my  favourite  haunts  was  the  beautiful  walk,  bor- 
dered by  lofty  elms,  along  the  Isis,  under  the  old 
gray  walls  of  Magdalen  College,  which  goes  by  the 
name  of  Addison's  Walk ;  and  was  his  resort  when 
a  student  at  the  college.  I  used  to  take  a  volume 
of  poetry  in  my  hand,  and  stroll  up  and  down  this 
walk  for  hours. 

My  father  came  to  see  me  at  college.  He  asked 
me  how  I  came  on  with  my  studies  ;  and  what  kind 
of  hunting  there  was  in  the  neighbourhood.  He  ex- 
amined my  sporting  apparatus  ;  wanted  to  know  if 
any  of  the  professors  were  fox  -  hunters ;  and 
whether  they  were  generally  good  shots ;  for  he 
suspected  this  reading  so  much  was  rather  hurtful 
to  the  sight.  Such  was  the  only  person  to  whom  I 
was  responsible  for  my  improvement :  is  it  matter 
of  wonder,  therefore,  that  I  became  a  confirmed 
idler  ? 

I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  but  I  cannot  be  idle  long 
without  getting  in  love.  I  became  deeply  smitten 
with  a  shopkeeper's  daughter  in  the  high  street ; 
who  in  fact  was  the  admiration  of  many  of  the  stu- 
dents. I  wrote  several  sonnets  in  praise  of  her,  and 
spent  half  of  mv  pocket-money  at  the  shop,  in  buy- 
ing articles  which  I  did  not  want,  that  I  might  have 
an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her.  Her  father,  a 
severe-looking  old  gentleman,  with  bright  silver 
buckles  and  a  crisp,  curled  wig,  kept  a  strict  guard 
on  her ;  as  the  fathers  generally  do  upon  their 
daughters  in  Oxford  ;  and  well  they  may.  I  tried  to 
get  into  his  good  graces,  and  to  be  sociable  with 
him ;  but  in  vain.  I  said  several  good  things  in  his 
shop,  but  he  never  laughed ;  he  had  no  relish  for 
wit  and  humour.  He  was  one  of  those  dry  old  gen- 
tlemen who  keep  youngsters  at  bay.  He  had  already 
brought  up  two  or  three  daughters,  and  was  experi- 
enced in  the  ways  of  students.  He  was  as  knowing 
and  wary  as  a  gray  old  badger  that  has  often  been 
hunted.  To  see  him  on  Sunday,  so  stiff  and 
starched  in  his  demeanour;  so  precise  in  his  dress; 
with  his  daughter  under  his  arm,  and  his  ivory- 
headed  cane  in  his  hand,  was  enough  to  deter  all 
graceless  youngsters  from  approaching. 

I  managed,  however,  in  spite  of  his  vigilance,  to 
have  several  conversations  with  the  daughter,  as  I 
cheapened  articles  in  the  shop.  I  made  terrible 
long  bargains,  and  examined  the  articles  over  and 
over,  before  T purchased.  In  the  meantime,  I  would 
convey  a  sonnet  or  an  acrostic  under  cover  of  a 
piece  of  cambric,  or  slipped  into  a  pair  of  stockings  ; 
I  would  whisper  soft  nonsense  into  her  ear  as  I  hag- 
gled about  the  price  ;  and  would  squeeze  her  hand 
tenderly  as  I  received  my  halfpence  of  change,  in  a 
bit  of  whity-brown  paper.  Let  this  serve  as  a  hint 
to  all  haberdashers,  who  have  pretty  daughters  for 
shop-girls,  and  young  students  for  customers.  I  do 
not  know  whether  my  words  and  looks  were  very 
eloquent ;  but  my  poetry  was  irresistible ;  for,  to 
tell  the  truth,  the  girl  had  some  literary  taste,  and 
was  seldom  without  a  book  from  the  circulating 
library. 

By  the  divine  power  of  poetry,  therefore,  which  is 
irresistible  with  the  lovely  sex,  did  I  subdue  the  heart 
of  this  fair  little  haberdasher.  We  carried  on  a  sen- 
timental correspondence  for  a  time  across  the  coun- 
ter, and  I  supplied  her  with  rhyme  by  the  stocking- 
ful.  At  length  I  prevailed  on  her  to  grant  me  an 
assignation.  But  how  was  it  to  be  effected  ?  Her 
father  kept  her  always  under  his  eye;  she  never 
walked  out  alone ;  and  the  house  was  locked  up  the 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


381 


moment  that  the  shop  was  shut.  All  these  difTicul- 
ties  served  but  to  give  zest  to  the  adventure.  I  pro- 
posed that  the  assignation  should  be  in  her  own 
chamber,  into  which  I  would  climb  at  night.  The 
plan  was  irresistible.  A  cruel  father,  a  secret  lo\er, 
and  a  clandestine  meeting !  All  the  little  girl's 
studies  from  the  circulating  library  seemed  about 
to  be  realized.  But  what  had  I  in  view  in  making 
this  assignation  ?  Indeed  I  know  not.  I  had  no 
evil  intentions ;  nor  can  I  say  that  I  had  any  good 
ones.  I  liked  the  girl,  and  wanted  to  have  an  op- 
portunity of  seeing  more  of  her;  and  the  assignation 
was  made,  as  I  have  done  many  things  else,  heed- 
lessly and  without  forethought.  I  asked  myself  a 
few  questions  of  the  kind,  after  all  my  arrangements 
were  made ;  but  the  answers  were  very  unsatisfac- 
tory. "  Am  I  to  ruin  this  poor  thoughtless  girl  ?  " 
said  I  to  myself.  "  No  !  "  was  the  prompt  and  in- 
dignant answer.  "Am  I  to  run  away  v.ith  her .' " 
"Whither — and  to  what  purpose.'"  "  Well,  then, 
am  I  to  marry  her.'  " — "  Pah  !  a  man  of  my  expecta- 
tions marry  a  shopkeeper's  daughter  !  "      "  What, 

then,  am  I  to  do  with  her?  "     "  Hum — why. Let 

me  get  into  her  chamber  first,  and  then  consider  " — 
and  so  the  self-examination  ended. 

Well,  sir,  "  come  what  come  might,"  I  stole  un- 
der cover  of  the  darkness  to  the  dwelling  of  my  dul- 
cinea.  All  was  quiet.  At  the  concerted  signal  her 
window  was  gently  opened.  It  was  just  above  the 
projecting  bow-window  of  her  father's  shop,  which 
assisted  me  in  mounting.  The  house  was  low,  and 
I  was  enabled  to  scale  the  fortress  with  tolerable 
ease.  I  clambered  with  a  beating  heart ;  I  reached 
the  casement ;  I  hoisted  my  body  half  into  the  cham- 
ber and  was  welcomed,  not  by  the  embraces  of  my 
expecting  fair  one,  but  by  the  grasp  of  the  crabbed- 
looking  old  father  in  the  crisp  curled  wig. 

I  extricated  myself  from  his  clutches  and  endeav- 
oured to  make  my  retreat ;  but  I  was  confounded 
by  his  cries  of  thieves  I  and  robbers !  I  was 
bothered,  too,  by  his  Sunday  cane ;  which  was 
amazingly  busy  about  my  head  as  1  descended  ;  and 
against  which  my  hat  was  but  a  poor  protection. 
Never  before  had  I  an  idea  of  the  activity  of  an  old 
man's  arm,  and  hardness  of  the  knob  of  an  ivory- 
headed  cane.  In  my  hurry  and  confusion  I  missed 
my  footing,  and  fell  sprawling  on  the  pavement.  I 
was  immediately  surrounded  by  myrmidons,  who  I 
doubt  not  were  on  the  watch  for  me.  Indeed,  I  was 
in  no  situation  to  escape,  for  1  had  sprained  my  ankle 
in  the  fall,  and  could  not  stand.  I  was  seized  as  a 
housebreaker ;  and  to  exonerate  myself  from  a 
greater  crime  I  had  to  accuse  myself  of  a  less.  I 
made  known  who  I  was,  and  why  I  came  there. 
Alas !  the  varlets  knew  it  already,  and  were  only 
amusing  themselves  at  my  expense.  My  perfidious 
muse  had  been  playing  me  one  of  her  slippery  tricks. 
The  old  curmudgeon  of  a  fuher  had  found  my  son- 
nets and  acrostics  hid  away  in  holes  and  corners  of 
his  shop ;  he  had  no  taste  for  poetrv  like  his  daugh- 
ter, and  had  instituted  a  rigorous  though  silent  ob- 
servation. He  had  moused  upon  our  letters  ;  de- 
tected the  ladder  of  ropes,  and  prepared  every  thing 
for  my  reception.  Thus  was  I  ever  doomed  to  be 
led  into  scrapes  by  the  muse.  Let  no  man  hence- 
forth carry  on  a  secret  amour  in  poetry. 

The  old  man's  ire  was  in  some  measure  appeased 
by  the  pummelling  of  my  head,  and  the  anguish  of 
my  sprain  ;  so  he  did  not  put  me  to  death  on  the  spot. 
He  was  even  humane  enough  to  furnish  a  shutter,  on 
which  I  was  carried  back  to  college  like  a  wounded 
warrior.  The  porter  was  roused  to  admit  me;  the 
college  gate  was  thrown  open  for  my  entry  ;  the  affair 
was  blazed  abroad  the  next  morning,  and  became 
the  joke  of  the  college  from  the  buttery  to  the  hall. 


I  had  leisure  to  repent  during  several  weeks'  con- 
finement by  my  sprain,  which  I  passed  in  translating 
Boethius'  Consolations  of  Philosophy.  I  received  a 
most  tender  and  ill-spelled  letter  from  my  mistress, 
who  had  been  sent  to  a  relation  in  Coventry.  She 
protested  her  innocence  of  my  misfortunes,  and 
vowed  to  be  true  to  me  "  till  death."  I  took  no 
notice  of  the  letter,  for  I  was  cured,  for  the  present, 
both  of  love  and  poetry.  Women,  however,  are 
more  constant  in  their  attachments  than  men,  what- 
ever philosophers  may  say  to  the  contrary.  I  am 
assured  that  she  actually  remained  faithful  to  her 
vow  for  several  months ;  but  she  had  to  deal  with  a 
cruel  father  whose  heart  was  as  hard  as  the  knob  of 
his  cane.  He  was  not  to  be  touched  by  tears  or 
poetry  ;  but  absolutely  compelled  her  to  marry  a 
reputable  young  tradesman  ;  who  made  her  a  happy 
woman  in  spite  of  herself,  and  of  all  the  rules  of 
romance  ;  and  what  is  more,  the  mother  of  several 
children.  They  are  at  this  very  day  a  thriving  couple, 
and  keep  a  snug  corner  shop,  just  opposite  the  figure 
of  Peeping  Tom  at  Coventry. 

I  will  not  fatigue  you  by  any  more  details  of  my 
studies  at  Oxford,  though  they  were  not  always  as 
severe  as  these  ;  nor  did  1  always  pay  as  dear  for  my 
lessons.  People  may  say  what  they  please,  a  studious 
life  has  its  charms,  and  there  are  many  places  more 
gloomy  than  the  cloisters  of  a  university. 

To  be  brief,  then,  I  lived  on  in  my  usual  miscel- 
laneous marmer,  gradually  getting  a  knowledge  of 
good  and  evil,  until  I  had  attained  my  twenty-first 
year.  I  had  scarcely  come  of  age  when  I  heard  of 
the  sudden  death  of  my  father.  The  shock  was 
severe,  for  though  he  had  never  treate^  me  with 
kindness,  still  he  was  my  father,  and  at  his  death  I 
felt  myself  alone  in  the  world. 

I  returned  home  to  act  as  chief  mourner  at  his 
funeral.  It  was  attended  by  many  of  the  sportsmen 
of  the  county  ;  for  he  was  an  important  member  of 
their  fraternity.  According  to  his  request  his  favour- 
ite hunter  was  led  after  the  hearse.  The  red-nosed 
fox-hunter,  who  had  taken  a  little  too  much  wine  at 
the  bouse,  made  a  maudlin  eulogy  of  the  deceased, 
and  wished  to  give  the  view  halloo  over  the  grave ; 
but  he  was  rebuked  by  the  rest  of  the  company. 
They  all  shook  me  kindly  by  the  hand,  said  many 
consolatory  things  to  me,  and  invited  me  to  become 
a  member  of  the  hunt  in  my  father's  place. 

When  I  found  myself  alone  in  my  paternal  home, 
a  crowd  of  gloomy  feelings  came  thronging  upon  me. 
It  was  a  place  that  always  seemed  to  sober  me,  and 
bring  me  to  reflection.  Now,  especially,  it  looked  so 
deserted  and  melancholy;  the  furniture  displaced 
about  the  room  ;  the  chairs  in  groups,  as  their  de- 
parted Oicupants  had  sat,  either  in  whispering  tete- 
i-tetes,  or  gossiping  clusters ;  the  bottles  and  de- 
canters and  wine-glasses,  half  emptied,  and  scattered 
about  the  tables — all  dreary  traces  of  a  funeral 
festival.  I  entered  the  little  breakfasting  room. 
There  were  my  father's  whip  and  spurs  hanging  by 
the  fire-place,  and  his  favourite  pointer  lying  on  the 
hearth-rug.  The  poor  animal  came  fondling  about 
me,  and  licked  my  hand,  though  he  had  never  before 
noticed  me  ;  and  then  he  looked  round  the  room, 
and  whined,  and  wagged  his  tail  slightly,  and  gazed 
wistfully  in  my  face.  1  felt  the  full  force  of  the  ap- 
peal. "  Poor  Dash  ! "  said  I,  "  we  are  both  alone  in 
the  world,  with  nobody  to  care  for  us,  and  we'll  take 
care  of  one  another."  The  dog  never  quitted  me 
afterwards. 

I  could  not  go  into  my  mother's  room  :  my  heart 
swelled  when  I  passed  within  sight  of  the  door. 
Her  portrait  hung  in  the  parlour,  just  over  the  place 
where  she  used  to  sit.  As  I  cast  my  eyes  on  it  I 
thought  it  looked  at  me  with  tenderness,  and  I  burst 


38? 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


into  tears.  My  heart  had  long  been  seared  by  liv- 
ing in  public  schools,  and  buffeting'  about  among 
strangers  who  cared  nothing  for  me  ;  but  the  recol- 
lection of  a  mother's  tenderness  was  overcoming. 

I  was  not  of  an  age  or  a  temperament  to  be  long 
depressed.  There  was  a  reaction  in  my  system  that 
always  brought  me  up  again  after  every  pressure; 
and  indeed  my  spirits  were  most  buoyant  after  a 
temporary  prostration.  I  settled  tlie  concerns  of  the 
estate  as  soon  as  possible  ;  realized  my  property, 
which  was  not  very  considerable,  but  which  ap- 
peared a  vast  deal  to  me,  having  a  poetical  eye  that 
magnified  every  thing  ;  and  finding  myself,  at  the  end 
of  a  few  months,  free  of  all  farther  business  or  re- 
straint, I  determined  to  go  to  London  and  enjoy  my- 
self. Why  should  not  I .'' — I  was  young,  animated, 
joyous ;  had  plenty  of  funds  for  present  pleasures, 
and  njy  uncle's  estate  in  the  perspective.  Let  those 
mope  at  college  and  pore  over  books,  thought  I,  who 
have  their  way  to  make  in  the  world ;  it  would  be 
ridiculous  drudgery  in  a  youth  of  my  expectations. 

Well,  sir,  away  to  London  I  rattled  in  a  tandem, 
determined  to  take  the  town  gayly.  I  passed  through 
■  se\'eral  of  the  villages  where  I  had  playetl  the  jack- 
pudding  a  few  years  before  ;  and  I  visited  the  scenes 
of  many  of  my  adventures  and  follies,  merely  from 
that  feeling  of  melancholy  pleasure  which  we  have 
in  stepping  again  in  the  footprints  of  foregone  ex- 
istence, even  when  they  have  passed  among  weeds 
and  briars.  I  made  a  circuit  in  the  latter  part  of  my 
journey,  so  as  to  take  in  West  End  and  Hempstead, 
the  scenes  of  my  last  dramatic  exploit,  and  of  the 
battle  royal  of  the  booth.  -•  As  I  drove  along  the 
ridge  of  Hempstead  Hill,  by  Jack  Straw's  castle,  I 
paused  at  the  spot  where  Columbine  and  I  had  sat 
down  so  disconsolately  in  our  ragged  finery,  and 
looked  dubiously  upon  London.  I  almost  expected 
to  see  her  again,  standing  on  the  hill's  brink,  "  like 
Niobe  all  tears  ;  " — mournful  as  Babylon  in  ruins  ! 

"  Poor  Columbine !  "  said  I,  with  a  heavy  sigh, 
"  thou  wert  a  gallant,  generous  girl — a  true  woman, 
faithful  to  the  distressed,  and  ready  to  sacrifice  thy- 
self in  the  cause  of  worthless  man  !  " 

I  tried  to  whistle  off  the  recollection  of  her ;  for 
there  Wiis  always  something  of  self-reproach  with  it. 
[  drove  gayly  along  the  road,  enjoying  the  stare  of 
hostlers  and  stable-boys  as  I  managed  my  horses 
knowingly  down  the  steep  street  of  Hempstead ; 
when,  just  at  the  skirts  of  the  village,  one  of  the 
traces  of  my  leader  came  loose.  1  pulled  up ;  and 
as  the  animal  was  restive  and  my  servant  a  bungler, 
I  called  for  assistance  to  the  robustious  master  of  a 
snug  ale-house,  who  stood  at  his  door  with  a  tankard 
in  his  hand.  He  came  readily  to  assist  me,  followed 
by  his  wife,  with  her  bosom  half  open,  a  child  in  her 
arms,  and  two  more  at  her  heels.  I  stared  for  a  mo- 
ment as  if  doubting  my  eyes.  I  could  not  be  mis- 
taken ;  in  the  fat,  beer-blown  landlord  of  the  ale- 
house I  recognized  my  old  rival  Harlequin,  and  in  his 
slattern  spouse,  the  once  trim  and  dimpling  Colum- 
bine. 

The  change  of  my  looks,  from  youth  to  manhood, 
and  the  change  of  my  circumstances,  prevented  them 
from  recognizing  me.  They  could  not  suspect,  in 
the  dashing  young  buck,  fashionably  dressed,  and 
driving  his  own  equipage,  their  former  comrade,  the 
painted  beau,  with  old  peaked  hat  and  long,  flimsy, 
sky-blue  coat.  My  heart  yearned  with  kindness 
towards  Columbine,  and  I  was  glad  to  see  her  es- 
tablishment a  thriving  one.  As  soon  as  the  harness 
was  adjusted,  I  tossed  a  small  purse  of  gold  into  her 
ample  bosom  ;  and  then,  pretending  to  give  my 
horses  a  hearty  cut  of  the  whipi  I  made  the  lash  curl 
with  a  whistling  about  the  sleek  sides  of  ancient 
Harlequin.     The   horses  dashed  off  like  lightning. 


and  I  was  whirled  out  of  sight,  before  either  of  the 
parties  could  get  over  their  surprise  at  my  liberal 
donations.  I  have  always  considered  this  as  one  c*" 
the  greatest  proofs  of  my  poetical  genius.  It  was 
distributing  poetical  justice  in  perfection. 

I  now  entered  London  en  cavalier,  and  became  a 
blood  upon  town.  I  took  fashionable  lodgings  in  the 
West  End  ;  employed  the  first  tailor  ;  frequented  the 
regular  lounges;  gambled  a  little;  lost  my  money 
good-humouredly,  and  gained  a  number  of  fashion- 
able good-tbr-nothing  acquaintances.  Had  I  had 
more  industry  and  ambition  in  my  nature,  I  might 
have  worked  my  way  to  the  very  height  of  fashion, 
as  I  saw  many  laborious  gentlemen  doing  around  me. 
But  it  is  a  toilsome,  an  anxious,  and  an  unhappy  life  ; 
there  are  few  beings  so  sleepless  and  miserable  us 
your  cultivators  of  fashionable  smiles. 

I  was  quite  content  with  that  kind  of  society  which 
forms  the  frontiers  of  fashion,  and  may  be  easily 
taken  possession  of.  I  found  it  a  light, -easy,  pro- 
ductive soil.  I  had  but  to  go  about  and  sow  visiting 
cards,  and  I  reaped  a  whole  harvest  of  invitations. 
Indeed,  my  figure  and  address  were  bv  no  means 
against  me.  It  was  whispered,  too,  among  the  young 
ladies,  that  I  was  prodigiously  clever,  and  wrote 
poetry ;  and  the  old  ladies  had  ascertained  that  I  was 
a  young  gentleman  of  good  family,  handsome  fortune, 
and  "great  expectations." 

I  now  was  carried  away  by  the  hurry  of  gay  life, 
so  intoxicating  to  a  young  man  ;  and  which  a  man 
of  poetical  temperament  enjoys  so  highly  on  his  first 
tasting  of  it.  That  rapid  variety  of  sensations  ;  that 
whirl  of  brilliant  objects  ;  that  succession  of  pungent 
pleasures.  I  had  no  time  for  thought ;  I  only  felt.  I 
never  attempted  to  write  poetry  ;  my  poetry  seemed 
all  to  go  off  by  transpiration.  I  lived  poetry  ;  it  was 
all  a  poetical  dream  to  me.  A  mere  sensualist 
knows  nothing  of  the  delights  of  a  splendid  metropo- 
lis. He  lives  in  a  round  of  animal  gratifications  and 
heartless  habits.  But  to  a  young  man  of  poetical 
feelings  it  is  an  ideal  world  ;  a  scene  of  enchantment 
and  delusion ;  his  imagination  is  in  perpetual  excite- 
ment, and  gives  a  spiritual  zest  to  every  pleasure. 

A  season  of  town-life  somewhat  sobered  me  of  my 
intoxication  ;  or  rather  I  was  rendered  more  serious 
by  one  of  my  old  complaints^l  fell  in  love.  It  was 
with  a  very  pretty,  though  a  very  haughty  fair  one, 
who  had  come  to  London  under  the  care  of  an  old 
maiden  aunt,  to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  a  winter  in 
town,  and  to  get  married.  There  was  not  a  doubt 
of  her  commanding  a  choice  of  lovers  ;  for  she  had 
long  been  the  belle  of  a  little  cathedral  town  ;  and 
one  of  the  prebendaries  had  absolutely  celebrated  her 
beauty  in  a  copy  of  Latin  verses. 

I  paid  my  court  to  her,  and  was  favouiably  received 
both  by  her  and  her  aunt.  Nay,  I  had  a  marked 
preference  shown  me  over  the  younger  son  of  a  needy 
Baronet,  and  a  captain  of  dragoons  on  half  pay.  I 
did  not  absolutely  take  the  field  in  form,  for  I  was 
determined  not  to  be  precipitate  ;  but  I  drove  my 
equipage  frequently  through  the  street  in  which  she 
lived,  and  was  always  sure  to  see  her  at  the  window, 
generally  with  a  book  in  her  hand.  I  resumed  my 
knack  at  rhyming,  and  sent  her  a  long  copy  of  verses  ; 
anonymously  to  be  sure ;  but  she  knew  my  hand- 
writing. They  displayed,  however,  the  most  delight- 
ful ignorance  on  the  subject.  The  young  lady  showed 
them  to  me ;  wondered  who  they  could  be  written 
by;  and  declared  there  was  nothing  in  this  world 
she  loved  so  much  as  poetry  :  while  the  maiden  aunt 
would  put  her  pinching  spectacles  on  her  nose,  and 
read  them,  with  blunders  in  sense  and  sound,  that 
were  excruciating  to  an  author's  ears ;  protesting 
there  was  nothing  equal  to  them  in  the  whole  elegant 
extracts. 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


38:5 


The  fashionable  season  closed  without  my  ad- 
venturing to  mal<e  a  declaration,  though  I  certainly 
had  encouragement.  I  was  not  perfectly  sure  that  1 
had  effected  a  lodgement  in  the  young  lady's  heart ; 
and,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  aunt  overdid  her  part,  and 
was  a  little  too  extravagant  in  her  liking  of  me.  I 
knew  that  maiden  aunts  were  not  apt  to  be  captiva- 
ted by  the  mere  personal  merits  of  their  nieces'  ad- 
mirers, and  I  wanted  to  ascertain  how  much  of  all 
this  favour  I  owed  to  my  driving  an  equipage  and 
having  great  expectations. 

I  had  received  many  hints  how  charming  their 
native  town  was  during  the  summer  months  ;  what 
pleasant  society  they  had  ;  and  what  beautiful  drives 
about  the  neighbourhood.  They  had  not,  therefore, 
returned  home  long,  before  I  made  my  appearance 
in  dashing  style,  driving  down  the  principal  street. 
It  is  an  easy  thing  to  put  a  little  quiet  cathedral 
town  in  a  buzz.  The  very  next  morning  I  was  seen 
at  prayers,  seated  in  the  pew  of  the  reigning  belle. 
All  the  congregation  was  in  a  flutter.  Thi  prebends 
eyed  me  from  their  stalls  ;  questions  were  whispered 
about  the  isles  after  service,  "  who  is  he  ?  "  and 
"what  is  he?  "and  the  replies  were  as  usual — "A 
young  gentleman  of  good  family  and  fortune,  and 
great  expectations." 

I  was  pleased  with  the  peculiarities  of  a  cathedral 
town,  where  1  found  I  was  a  personage  of  some  con- 
sequence. I  was  quite  a  brilliant  acquisition  to  the 
young  ladies  of  the  cathedral  circle,  who  were  glad 
to  have  a  beau  that  was  not  in  a  black  coat  and 
clerical  wig.  You  must  know  that  there  was  a  vast 
distinction  between  the  classes  of  society  of  the 
town.  As  it  was  a  place  of  some  trade,  there  were 
many  wealthy  inhabitants  among  the  commercial 
and  manufacturing  classes,  who  lived  in  style  and 
gave  many  entertainments.  Nothing  of  trade,  how- 
ever, was  admitted  into  the  cathedral  circle — faugh  ! 
the  thing  could  not  be  thought  of.  The  cathedral 
circle,  therefore,  was  apt  to  be  very  select,  very  dig- 
nified, and  very  dull.  They  had  evening  parties,  at 
wl.ich  the  old  ladies  played  cards  with  the  prebends, 
and  the  young  ladies  sat  and  looked  on,  and  shifted 
from  one  chair  to  another  about  the  room,  until  it  was 
time  to  go  home. 

It  was  difficult  to  get  up  a  ball,  from  the  want  of 
partners,  the  cathedral  circle  being  very  deficient  in 
dancers ;  and  on  those  occasions,  there  was  an  oc- 
casional drafting  among  the  dancing  men  of  the 
other  circle,  who,  however,  were  generally  regarded 
with  great  reserve  and  condescension  by  the  gentle- 
men in  powdered  wigs.  Several  of  the  young  ladies 
assured  me,  in  confidence,  that  they  had  often  looked 
with  a  wistful  eye  at  the  gayety  of  the  other  circle, 
where  there  was  such  plenty  of  young  beaux,  and 
where  they  all  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves  so  merrily  ; 
but  that  it  would  be  degradation,  to  think  of  descend- 
ing from  their  sphere. 

I  admired  the  degree  of  old-fashioned  ceremony 
and  superannuated  courtesy  that  prevailed  in  this 
little  place.  The  bowings  and  courtseyings  that 
would  take  place  about  the  cathedral  porch  after 
morning  service,  where  knots  of  old  gentlemen  and 
ladies  would  collect  together  to  ask  after  each  other's 
health,  and  settle  the  card  party  for  the  evening. 
The  little  presents  of  fruits  and  delicacies,  and  the 
thousand  petty  messages  that  would  pass  from  house 
to  house  ;  for  in  a  tranquil  community  like  this,  liv- 
ing entirely  at  ease,  and  having  little  to  do,  little 
duties  and  little  civilities  and  little  amusements,  fill 
up  the  day.  I  have  smiled,  as  I  looked  from  my 
window  on  a  quiet  street  near  the  cathedral,  in  the 
middle  of  a  warm  summer  day,  to  see  a  corpulent 
powdered  footman  in  rich  livery,  carrying  a  small  tart 
on  a  large  silver  salver.     A  dainty  titbit,  sent,  no 


doubt,  by  some  worthy  old  dowager,  to  top  off  the 
dinner  of  her  favourite  prebend. 

Nothing  could  be  more  delectable,  also,  than  the 
breaking  up  of  one  of  their  evening  card  parties. 
-Such  shaking  of  hands  ;  such  mobbing  up  in  cloaks 
and  tippets  !  There  were  two  or  three  old  sedan 
chairs  that  did  the  duty  of  the  whole  place  ;  though 
the  greater  part  made  their  exit  in  clogs  or  pattens, 
with  a  footman  or  waiting-maid  carrying  a  lanthorn 
in  advance ;  and  at  a  certain  hour  of  the  night  the 
clank  of  pattens  and  the  gleam  of  these  jack  Ian- 
thorns,  here  and  there,  about  the  quiet  little  town, 
gave  notice  that  the  cathedral  card  party  had  dis- 
solved, and  the  luminaries  were  severally  seeking 
their  homes.  To  such  a  community,  therefore,  or  at 
least  to  the  female  part  of  it,  the  accession  of  a  gay, 
dashing  young  beau  was  a  matter  of  some  impor- 
tance. The  old  ladies  eyed  me  with  complacency 
through  their  spectacles,  and  the  young  ladies  pro- 
nounced me  divine.  Every  body  received  me  favour- 
ably, excepting  the  gentleman  who  had  written  the 
Latin  verses  on  the  belle. — Not  that  he  was  jealous 
of  my  success  with  the  lady,  for  he  had  no  preten- 
sions to  her ;  but  he  heard  my  verses  praised  wher- 
ever he  went,  and  he  could  not  endure  a  rival  with 
the  muse. 

I  was  thus  carrying  every  thing  before  me.  I  was 
the  Adonis  of  the  cathedral  circle  ;  when  one  even- 
ing there  was  a  public  ball  which  was  attended  like- 
wise by  the  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood.  I  took 
great  pains  with  my  toilet  on  the  occasion,  and  I  had 
never  looked  better.  I  had  determined  that  night  to 
make  my  grand  assault  on  the  heart  of  the  young 
lady,  to  batter  it  with  all  my  forces,  and  the  next 
morning  to  demand  a  surrender  in  due  form. 

1  entered  the  ball-room  amidst  a  buzz  and  flutter, 
which  generally  took  place  among  the  young  ladies 
on  my  appearance.  I  was  in  fine  spirits  ;  for  to  tell 
the  truth,  I  had  exhilarated  myself  by  a  cheerful 
glass  of  wine  on  the  occasion.  I  talked,  and  rat- 
tled, and  said  a  thousand  silly  things,  slap-dash,  with 
all  the  confidence  of  a  man  sure  of  his  auditors  ; 
and  every  thing  had  its  effect. 

In  the  midst  of  my  triumph  I  observed  a  little 
knot  gathering  together  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
room.  By  degrees  it  increased.  A  tittering  broke 
out  there ;  and  glances  were  cast  round  at  me,  and 
then  there  would  be  fresh  tittering.  Some  of  the 
young  ladies  would  hurry  away  to  distant  parts  of 
the  room,  and  whisper  to  their  friends;  wherever 
they  went  there  was  still  this  tittering  and  glancing 
at  me.  I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  all  this. 
I  looked  at  myself  from  head  to  foot ;  and  peeped  at 
my  back  in  a  glass,  to  see  if  any  thing  was  odd 
about  my  person  ;  any  awkward  exposure ;  any 
whimsical  tag  hanging  out — no— every  thing  was 
right.     I  was  a  perfect  picture. 

I  determined  that  it  must  be  some  choice  saying 
of  mine,  that  was  bandied  about  in  this  knot  of 
merry  beauties,  and  I  determined  to  enjoy  one  of  my 
good  things  in  the  rebound. 

I  stepped  gently,  therefore,  up  the  room,  smiling 
at  every  one  as  I  passed,  who  I  must  say  all  smiled 
and  tittered  in  return.  I  approached  the  group, 
smirking  and  perking  my  chin,  like  a  man  who  is  full 
of  pleasant  feeling,  and  sure  of  being  well  received. 
The  cluster  of  little  belles  opened  as  I  advanced. 

Heavens  and  earth  !  whom  should  I  perceive  in 
the  midst  of  them,  but  my  early  and  tormenting 
flame,  the  everlasting  Sacharissa  1  She  was  grown 
up,  it  is  true,  into  the  full  beauty  of  womanhood,  but 
showed  by  the  provoking  merriment  of  her  counte- 
nance, that  she  perfectly  recollected  me,  and  the 
ridiculous  flagellations  of  which  she  had  twice  been 
the  cause. 


334 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


I  saw  at  once  the  exterminating  cloud  of  ridicule 
that  was  bursting'  over  me.  My  crest  fell.  The 
flame  of  love  went  suddenly  out  in  my  bosom  ;  or 
was  extinguished  by  overwhelming  shame.  How  1 
got  down  the  room  I  know  not  ;  I  fancied  every  one 
tittering  at  me.  Just  as  I  reached  the  door,  I  caught 
a  glance  of  my  mistress  and  her  aunt  listening  to  the 
whispers  of  my  poetic  rival ;  the  old  lady  raising  her 
hands  and  eyes,  and  the  face  of  the  young  one  light- 
ed up  with  scorn  ineffable.  I  paused  to  see  no  more  ; 
but  made  two  steps  from  the  top  of  the  stairs  to  the 
bottom.  The  next  morning,  before  sunrise,  I  beat  a 
retreat ;  and  did  not  feel  the  blushes  cool  from  my 
tingling  cheeks,  until  I  had  lost  sight  of  the  old 
towers  of  the  cathedral. 

I  now  returned  to  town  thoughtful  and  crestfallen. 
My  money  was  nearly  spent,  for  I  had  lived  freely 
and  without  calculation.  The  dream  of  love  was 
over,  and  the  reign  of  pleasure  at  an  end.  I  deter- 
mined to  retrench  while  I  had  yet  a  trifle  left  ;  so 
selling  my  equipage  and  horses  for  half  their  value, 
I  quietly  put  the  money  in  my  pocket,  and  turned 
pedestrian.  I  had  not  a  doubt  that,  with  my  great 
expectations,  I  could  at  any  time  raise  funds,  either 
on  usury  or  by  borrowing;  but  I  was  principled 
against  both  one  and  the  other ;  and  resolved,  by 
strict  economy,  to  make  my  slender  purse  hold  out, 
until  my  uncle  should  give  up  the  ghost ;  or  rather, 
the  estate. 

I  staid  at  home,  therefore,  and  read,  and  would 
have  written  ;  but  I  had  already  suffered  too  much 
from  my  poetical  productions,  which  had  generally 
involved  me  in  some  ridiculous  scrape.  I  gradually 
acquired  a  rusty  look,  and  had  a  straightened,  money- 
borrowing  air,  upon  which  the  world  began  to  shy 
me.  I  have  never  felt  disposed  to  quarrel  with  the 
world  for  its  conduct.  It  has  always  used  me  well. 
When  I  have  been  flush,  and  gay,  and  disposed  for 
society,  it  has  caressed  me  ;  and  when  I  have  been 
pinched,  and  reduced,  and  wished  to  be  alone,  why. 
It  has  left  me  alona  ;  and  what  inore  could  a  man 
desire.' — Take  my  word  for  it,  this  world  is  a  more 
obliging  world  than  people  generally  represent  it. 

Well,  sir,  in  the  midst  of  my  retrenchment,  my  re- 
tirement, and  my  studiousness,  I  received  news  that 
my  uncle  was  dangerously  ill.  I  hastened  on  the 
wings  of  an  heir's  affections  to  receive  his  dying 
breath  and  his  last  testament.  1  found  him  attended 
by  his  faithful  valet,  old  Iron  John  ;  by  the  woman 
who  occasionally  worked  about  the  house  ;  and  by 
the  foxy-headed  boy,  young  Orson,  whom  I  had  occa- 
sionally hunted  about  the  park. 

Iron  John  gasped  a  kind  of  asthmatical  salutation 
as  I  entered  the  room,  and  received  me  with  some- 
thing almost  like  a  smile  of  welcome.  The  woman 
.sat  blubbering  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  ;  and  the  foxy- 
headed  Orson,  who  had  now  grown  up  to  be  a  lub- 
berly lout,  stood  gazing  in  stupid  vacancy  at  a 
distance. 

My  uncle  lay  stretched  upon  his  back.  The  cham- 
ber was  without  fire,  or  any  of  the  comforts  of  a  sick- 
room. The  cobwebs  flaunted  from  the  ceiling.  The 
tester  was  covered  with  dust,  and  the  curtains  were 
tattered.  From  underneath  the  bed  peeped  out  one 
end  of  his  strong  box.  Against  the  wainscot  were 
suspended  rusty  blunderbusses,  horse  pistols,  and  a 
cut-and-thrust  sword,  with  which  he  had  fortified  his 
room  to  defend  his  life  and  treasure.  He  had  em- 
ployed no  physician  during  his  illness,  and  from  the 
scanty  relics  lying  on  the  table,  seemed  almost  to 
have  denied  himself  the  assistance  of  a  cook. 

When  I  entered  the  room  he  was  lying  motionless ; 
his  eyes  fixed  and  his  mouth  open  ;  at  the  first  look 
I  thought  him  a  corpse.  The  noise  of  my  entrance 
made  him  turn  his  head.     At  the  sight  of  me  a 


ghastly  smile  came  over  his  face,  and  his  glazing  eye 
gleamed  with  satisfaction.  It  was  ttie  only  smile  he 
had  ever  given  me,  and  it  went  to  my  heart.  "  Poor 
old  man  !  "  thought  1,  "  why  would  you  not  let  me 
love  you? — Why  would  you  force  me  to  leave  you 
thus  desolate,  when  I  see  that  my  presence  has  the 
power  to  cheer  you  }  " 

"  Nephew,"  said  he,  after  several  efforts,  and  in  a 
low  gasping  voice — "  I  am  glad  you  are  come.  I 
shall  now  die  with  satisfaction.  Look,"  said  he,  rais- 
ing his  withered  hand  and  pointing — •"  look— in  that 
box  on  the  table  you  will  find  that  I  have  not  forgot- 
ten you." 

I  pressed  his  hand  to  my  heart,  and  the  tears 
stood  in  m.y  eyes.  I  sat  down  by  his  bed-.side,  and 
watched  him,  but  he  never  spoke  again.  My  pres- 
ence, however,  gave  him  evident  satisfaction  —  for 
every  now  and  then,  as  he  looked  at  me,  a  vague 
smile  would  come  over  his  visage,  and  he  would  fee- 
bly point  to  the  sealed  box  on  the  table.  As  the  day 
wore  away,  his  life  seemed  to  wear  away  with  it. 
Towards  sunset,  his  hand  sunk  on  the  bed  and  lay 
motionless  ;  his  eyes  grew  glazed  ;  his  mouth  re- 
mained open,  and  thus  he  gradually  died. 

I  could  not  but  feel  shocked  at  this  absolute  ex- 
tinction of  my  kindred.  I  dropped  a  tear  of  real 
sorrow  over  this  strange  old  man,  who  had  thus  re- 
served his  smile  of  kindness  to  his  death-bed  ;  like  an 
evening  sun  after  a  gloomy  day,  just  shining  out  to 
set  in  darkness.  Leaving  the  corpse  in  charge  of  the 
domestics,  I  retired  for  the  night. 

It  was  a  rough  night.  The  winds  seemed  as  if 
singing  my  uncle's  requiem  about  the  inansion  ;  and 
the  bloodhounds  howled  without  as  if  they  knew  of 
the  death  of  their  old  master.  Iron  John  almost 
grudged  me  the  tallow  candle  to  burn  in  my  apart- 
ment and  light  up  its  dreariness  ;  so  accustomed  had 
he  been  to  starveling  economy.  I  could  not  sleep. 
The  recollection  of  my  uncle's  dying  scene  and  the 
dreary  sounds  about  the  house,  affected  my  mind. 
These,  however,  were  succeeded  by  plans  for  the 
future,  and  I  lay  awake  the  greater  part  of  the  night, 
indulging  the  poetical  anticipation,  how  soon  I  would 
make  these  old  walls  ring  with  cheerful  life,  and  re- 
store the  hospitality  of  my  mother's  ancestors. 

My  uncle's  funeral  was  decent,  but  private.  I 
knew  there  was  nobody  that  respected  his  inem- 
ory ;  and  I  was  determined  that  none  should  be 
summoned  to  sneer  over  his  funeral  wines,  and 
make  merry  at  his  grave.  He  was  buried  in  the 
church  of  the  neighbouring  village,  though  it  was 
not  the  burying  place  of  his  race  ;  but  he  had  ex- 
pressly enjoined  that  he  should  not  be  buried  with 
his  family  ;  he  had  quarrelled  with  the  most  of  them 
when  living,  and  he  carried  his  resentments  even 
into  the  grave. 

I  defrayed  the  expenses  of  the  funeral  out  of  my 
own  purse,  that  I  might  have  done  with  the  under- 
takers at  once,  and  clear  the  ill-omened  birds  from 
the  premises.  1  invited  the  parson  of  the  parish,  and 
the  lawyer  from  the  village  to  attend  at  the  house 
the  next  morning  and  hear  the  reading  of  the  will. 
I  treated  them  to  an  excellent  breakfast,  a  profusion 
that  had  not  been  seen  at  the  house  for  many  a 
year.  As  soon  as  the  breakfast  things  were  removed, 
I  suminoned  Iron  John,  the  woman,  and  the  boy, 
for  I  was  particular  in  having  every  one  ])resent  and 
proceeding  regularly.  The  box  was  jilaced  on  the 
table.  All  was  silence.  I  broke  the  seal ;  raised 
the  lid ;  and  beheld — not  the  will,  but  my  accursed 
poem  of  Doubting  Castle  and  Giant  Despair  ! 

Could  any  mortal  have  conceived  that  this  old 
withered  man  ;  so  taciturn,  and  apparently  lost  to 
feeling,  could  have  treasured  up  for  years  the 
thoughtless  pleasantry  of  a  boy,  to  punish  him  with 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


885 


such  rruel  ingenuity  ?  I  now  could  account  for  his 
(lying  smile,  the  only  one  he  had  ever  given  me.  He 
had  been  a  grave  man  all  his  life  ;  it  was  strange  that 
lie  should  die  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  joke  ;  and  it  was 
hard  that  that  joke  should  be  at  my  expense. 

The  lawyer  and  the  parson  seemed  at  a  loss  to 
comprehend  the  matter.  "  Here  must  be  some  mis- 
take," said  the  lawyer,  "there  is  no  will  here." 

"Oh,"  said  Iron  John,  creaking  forth  his  rusty 
jaws,  "  if  it  is  a  will  you  are  looking  for,  I  believe  I 
can  find  one." 

He  retired  with  the  same  singular  smile  with 
which  he  had  greeted  me  on  my  arrival,  and  which 
I  now  apprehended  boded  me  no  good.  In  a  little 
while  he  returned  with  a  will  perfect  at  all  points, 
properly  signed  and  scaled  and  witnessed  ;  worded 
with  horrible  correctness ;  in  which  he  left  large 
legacies  to  Iron  John  and  his  daughter,  and  the 
residue  of  his  fortune  to  the  foxy-headed  boy  ;  who, 
to  my  utter  astonishment,  was  his  son  by  this  very 
woman  ;  he  having  married  her  privately  ;  and,  as  I 
verily  believe,  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  have  an 
heir,  and  so  baulk  my  father  and  his  issue  of  the  in- 
heritance. There  was  one  little  proviso,  in  which 
he  mentioned  that  having  discovered  his  nephew  to 
have  a  pretty  turn  for  poetry,  he  presumed  he  had 
110  occasion  for  wealth :  he  recommended  him,  how- 
ever, to  the  patronage  of  his  heir ;  and  requested 
that  he  might  have  a  garret,  rent  free,  in  Doubting 
Castle. 


GRAVE  REFLECTIONS  OF 
MAN. 


A  DISAPPOINTED 


Mr.  Buckthorne  had  paused  at  the  death  of 
his  uncle,  and  the  downfall  of  his  great  expectations, 
which  formed,  as  he  said,  an  epoch  in  his  history ; 
and  it  was  not  until  some  little  time  afterwards,  and 
in  a  very  sober  mood,  that  he  resumed  his  parti- 
coloured narrative. 

After  leaving  the  domains  of  my  defunct  uncle, 
.said  he,  when  the  gate  closed  between  me  and  what 
was  once  to  have  been  mine,  I  felt  thrust  out  naked 
into  the  world,  and  completely  abandoned  to  for- 
tune. What  was  to  become  of  me?  I  had  been 
l)rought  up  to  nothing  but  expectations,  and  they 
had  all  been  disappointed.  I  had  no  relations  to 
look  to  for  counsel  or  assistance.  The  world  seemed 
all  to  have  died  away  from  me.  Wave  after  wave 
of  relationship  had  ebbed  off,  and  I  was  left  a  mere 
hulk  upon  the  strand.  I  am  not  apt  to  be  greatly 
cast  down,  but  at  this  time  I  felt  sadly  disheartened. 
I  could  not  realize  my  situation,  nor  form  a  con- 
jecture how  I  was  to  get  forward. 

I  was  now  to  endeavour  to  make  money.  The 
idea  was  new  and  strange  to  me.  It  was  like  being 
asked  to  discover  the  philosopher's  stone.  I  had 
never  thought  about  money,  other  than  to  put  my 
hand  into  my  pocket  and  find  it,  or  if  there  were 
none  there,  to  wait  until  a  new  supply  came  from 
home.  I  had  considered  life  as  a  mere  space  of  time 
to  be  filled  up  with  enjoyments  ;  but  to  have  it  por- 
tioned out  into  long  hours  and  days  of  toil,  merely 
that  I  might  gain  bread  to  give  me  strength  to  toil 
on  ;  to  labour  but  for  the  purpose  of  perpetuating  a 
life  of  labour  w.ns  new  and  appalling  to  me.  This 
may  appear  a  very  simple  matter  to  some,  but  it  will 
be  understood  by  every  unlucky  wight  in  my  pre- 
dicament, who  has  had  the  misfortune  of  being  born 
to  great  expectations. 

1  passed  several  days  in  rambling  about  the  scenes 
25 


of  my  boyhood  ;  partly  because  I  absolutely  did  not 
know  what  to  do  with  myself,  and  partly  because  I 
did  not  know  that  I  should  ever  see  them  again.  I 
clung  to  them  as  one  clings  to  a  wreck,  though  he 
knows  he  must  eventually  cast  himself  loose  and 
swim  for  his  life.  I  sat  down  on  a  hill  within  sight 
of  my  paternal  home,  but  I  did  not  venture  to  ap- 
proach it,  for  I  felt  compunction  at  the  thoughtless- 
ness with  which  I  had  dissipated  my  pattimony. 
But  was  I  to  blame,  when  I  had  the  rich  possessions 
of  my  curmudgeon  of  an  uncle  in  expectation  .' 

The  new  possessor  of  the  place  was  making  great 
alterations.  The  house  was  almost  rebuilt.  The 
trees  which  stood  about  it  were  cut  down ;  mv 
mother's  flower-garden  was  thrown  into  a  lawn  ;  all 
was  undergoing  a  change.  I  turned  by  back  upon 
it  with  a  sigh,  and  rambled  to  another  part  of  the 
country. 

How  thoughtful  a  little  adversity  makes  one.  As 
I  came  within  sight  of  the  school-house  where  I  had 
so  often  been  flogged  in  the  cause  of  wisdom,  you 
would  hardly  have  recognized  the  truant  boy  who 
but  a  few  years  since  had  eloped  so  heedlessly  from 
its  walls.  I  leaned  over  the  paling  of  the  play- 
ground, and  watched  the  scholars  at  their  games, 
and  looked  to  see  if  there  might  not  be  some  urchin 
among  them,  like  I  was  once,  full  of  gay  dreams 
about  life  and  the  world.  The  play-ground  seemed 
smaller  than  when  I  used  to  sport  about  it.  The 
house  and  park,  too,  of  the  neighbouring  squire,  the 
father  of  the  cruel  Sacharissa,  had  shrunk  in  size  and 
diminished  in  magnificence.  The  distant  hills  no 
longer  appeared  so  far  off,  and,  alas !  no  longer 
awakened  ideas  of  a  fair>'  land  beyond. 

As  I  was  rambling  pensively  through  a  neighbour- 
ing meadow,  in  which  I  had  many  a  time  gathered 
primroses,  I  met  the  very  pedagogue  who  had  been 
the  tyrant  and  dread  of  my  boyhood.  I  had  some- 
times vowed  to  myself,  when  suffering  under  his  rod, 
that  I  would  have  my  revenge  if  ever  I  met  him  when 
I  had  grown  to  be  a  man.  The  time  had  come;  but 
I  had  no  disposition  to  keep  my  vow.  The  few  years 
which  had  matured  me  into  a  vigorous  man  had 
shrunk  him  into  decrepitude.  He  appeared  to  have 
had  a  paralytic  stroke.  I  looked  at  him,  and  won- 
dered that  this  poor  helpless  mortal  could  have  been 
an  object  of  terror  to  me !  That  I  should  have 
watched  with  anxiety  the  glance  of  that  failing  eye, 
or  dreaded  the. power  of  that  trembling  hand  1  He 
tottered  feebly  along  the  path,  and  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  getting  over  a  stile.  I  ran  and  assisted  him. 
He  looked  at  me  with  surprise,  but  did  not  recog- 
nize me,  and  made  a  low  bow  of  humility  and  thanks. 
I  had  no  disposition  to  make  myself  known,  for  I 
felt  that  I  had  nothing  to  boast  of.  The  pains  he 
had  taken  and  the  pains  he  had  inflicted  had  been 
equally  useless.  His  repeated  predictions  were  fully 
verified,  and  I  felt  that  little  Jack  Buckthorne,  the 
idle  boy,  had  grown  up  to  be  a  very  good-for-nothing 
man. 

This  is  all  very  comfortless  detail ;  but  as  I  have 
told  you  of  my  follies,  it  is  meet  that  I  show  you  how 
for  once  I  was  schooled  for  them. 

The  most  tlioughtless  of  mortals  will  some  time 
or  other  have  this  day  of  gloom;  when  he  will  be 
compelled  to  reflect.  I  felt  on  this  occasion  as  if  I 
had  a  kind  of  penance  to  perform,  and  I  made  a  pil- 
grimage in  e.xpiation  of  my  past  levity. 

Having  passed  a  night  at  Leamington,  I  set  off  by 
a  private  path  which  leads  up  a  hill,  through  a 
grove,  and  across  quiet  fields,  until  1  came  to  the 
small  village,  or  rather  hamlet  of  Lenington.  I 
sought  the  village  church.  It  is  an  old  low  edifice  of 
gray  stone  on  the  brow  of  a  small  hill,  looking  over 
fertile  fields  to  where  the  proud  towers  of  Warwick 


3SG 


WORKS   OF  AVASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Castle  lifted  themselves  against  the  distant  horizon. 
A  part  of  the  church-yard  is  shaded  by  large  trees. 
Under  one  of  these  my  mother  lay  buried.  You 
have,  no  doubt,  thought  me  a  light,  heartless  being. 
I  thought  myself  so — but  there  are  moments  of  ad- 
versity which  let  us  into  some  feelings  of  our  nature, 
to  which  we  might  otherwise  remain  perpetual  stran- 
gers. 

I  sought  my  mother's  grave.  The  weeds  were 
already  matted  over  it,  and  the  tombstone  was  half 
hid  among  nettles.  I  cleared  them  away  and  they 
stung  my  hands  ;  but  I  was  heedless  of  the  pain,  for 
my  heart  ached  too  severely.  I  sat  down  on  the 
grave,  and  read  over  and  over  again  the  epitaph  on 
the  .stone.  It  was  simple,  but  it  was  true.  I  had 
written  it  myself.  I  had  tried  to  write  a  poetical 
epitaph,  but  in  vain ;  my  feelings  refused  to  utter 
themselves  in  rhyme.  My  heart  had  gradually  been 
filling  during  my  lonely  wanderings ;  it  was  now 
charged  to  the  brim  and  overflowed.  I  sank  upon 
the  grave  and  buried  my  face  in  the  tall  grass  and 
wept  like  a  child.  Yes,  I  wept  in  manhood  upon  the 
grave,  as  I  had  in  infancy  upon  the  bosom  of  my 
mother.  Alas  !  how  little  do  we  appreciate  a  moth- 
er's tenderness  while  living  !  How  heedless  are  we, 
in  youth,  of  all  her  anxieties  and  kindness.  But 
when  she  is  dead  and  gone ;  when  the  cares  and 
coldness  of  the  world  come  withering  to  our  hearts  ; 
when  we  find  how  hard  it  is  to  find  true  sympathy, 
how  few  love  us  for  ourselves,  how  few  will  befriend 
us  in  our  misfortunes ;  then  it  is  we  think  of  the 
mother  we  have  lost.  It  is  true  I  had  always  loved 
my  mother,  even  in  my  most  heedless  days ;  but  1 
felt  how  inconsiderate  and  ineffectual  had  been  my 
love.  My  heart  melted  as  I  retraced  the  days  of  in- 
fancy, when  I  was  led  by  a  mother's  hand  and  rock- 
ed to  sleep  in  a  mother's  arms,  and  was  without  care 
or  sorrow.  "  Oh,  my  mother  !  "  exclaimed  I,  bury- 
ing my  face  again  in  the  grass  of  the  grave — "  Oh, 
that  1  were  once  more  by  your  side ;  sleeping,  never 
to  wake  again,  on  the  cares  and  troubles  of  this 
world  !  " 

I  am  not  naturally  of  a  morbid  temperament,  and 
the  violence  of  my  emotion  gradually  exhausted  it- 
self. It  was  a  hearty,  honest,  natural  discharge  of 
griefs  which  had  been  slowly  accumulating,  and 
gave  me  wonderful  relief.  I  rose  from  the  gjrave  as 
if.  I  had  been  offering  up  a  sacrifice,  and  I  felt  as  if 
that  sacrifice  had  been  accepted. 

I  sat  down  again  on  the  grass,  and  plucked,  one 
by  one,  the  weeds  from  her  grave  ;  the  tears  trickled 
more  slowly  down  my  cheeks,  and  ceased  to  be  bitter. 
It  was  a  comfort  to  think  that  she  had  died  before 
sorrow  and  poverty  came  upon  her  child,  and  that 
all  his  great  expectations  were  blasted. 

I  leaned  my  cheek  upon  my  hand  and  looked 
upon  the  landscape.  Its  quiet  beauty  soothed  me. 
The  whistle  of  a  peasant  from  an  adjoining  field 
came  cheerily  to  my  ear.  I  seemed  to  respire  hope 
and  comfort  with  the  free  air  that  whispered  through 
the  leaves  and  played  lightly  with  my  hair,  and  dried 
the  tears  upon  my  cheek.  A  lark,  rising  from  the 
field  before  me,  and  leaving,  as  it  were,  a  stream  of 
song  behind  him  as  he  rose,  lifted  my  fancy  with 
him.  He  hovered  in  the  air  just  above  the  place 
where  the  towers  of  Wanvick  Castle  marked  the 
horizon  ;  and  seemed  as  if  fluttering  with  delight  at 
his  own  melody.  "  Surely,"  thought  I,  "  if  there 
were  such  a  thing  as  transmigration  of  souls,  this 
might  be  taken  for  some  poet,  let  loose  from  earth, 
but  still  revelling  in  song,  and  carolling  about  fair 
fields  and  lordly  towns." 

At  this  moment  the  long  forgotten  feeling  of 
poetry  rose  within  me.  A  thought  sprung  at  once 
mto  my  mind  :  "I  will  become  an  author,"  said  I. 


"  I  have  hitherto  indulged  in  poetry  as  a  pleasure, 
and  it  has  brought  me  nothing  but  pain.  Let  me 
try  what  it  will  do,  when  I  cultivate  it  with  devotion 
as  a  pursuit." 

The  resolution,  thus  suddenly  aroused  within  mt, 
heaved  a  load  from  off  my  heart.  I  felt  a  confidence 
in  it  from  the  very  place  where  it  was  formed.  It 
seemed  as  though  my  mother's  spirit  whispered  it 
to  me  from  her  grave.  "  I  will  henceforth,"  said  I, 
"endeavour  to  be  all  that  she  fondly  imagined  me. 
I  will  endeavour  to  act  as  if  she  were  witness  of 
my  actions.  I  will  endeavour  to  acquit  myself  in 
such  manner,  that  when  I  revisit  her  grave  there 
may,  at  least,  be  no  compunctious  bitterness  in  my 
tears." 

I  bowed  down  and  kissed  the  turf  in  solemn  at- 
testation of  my  vow.  I  plucked  some  primroses 
that  were  growing  there  and  laid  them  ne.xt  my 
heart.  I  left  the  church-yard  with  my  spirits  once 
more  lifted  up,  and  set  out  a  third  time  for  London, 
in  the  character  of  an  author. 


Here  my  companion  made  a  pause,  and  I  waited 
in  anxious  suspense  ;  hoping  to  have  a  whole  volume 
of  literary  lite  unfolded  to  me.  He  seemed,  how- 
ever, to  have  sunk  into  a  fit  of  pensive  musing;  and 
when  after  some  time  I  gently  roused  him  by  a  ques- 
tion or  two  as  to  his  literary  career.  "  No,"  said  he 
smiling,  "  over  that  part  of  my  story  I  wish  to  leave 
a  cloud.  Let  the  mysteries  of  the  craft  rest  sacred 
for  me.  Let  those  who  have  never  adventured  inio 
the  republic  of  letters,  still  look  upon  it  as  a  fairy 
land.  Let  them  suppose  the  author  the  very  being 
they  picture  him  from  his  works :  I  am  not  the  man 
to  mar  their  illusion.  I  am  not  the  man  to  hint, 
while  one  is  admiring  the  silken  web  of  Persia, 
that  it  has  been  spun  from  the  entrails  of  a  miser- 
able worm." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  you  will  tell  me  nothing  of 
your  literary  history,  let  me  know  at  least  if  you 
have  had  any  farther  intelligence  from  Doubting 
Castle." 

"  Willingly,"  replied  he,  "  though  I  have  but  little 
to  communicate." 


THE  BOOBY  SQUIRE. 


A  LONG  time  elapsed,  said  Buckthorne,  without 
my  receiving  any  accounts  of  my  cousin  and  his 
estate.  Indeed,  1  felt  so  much  soreness  on  the  sub- 
ject, that  I  wished,  if  possible,  to  shut  it  from  my 
thoughts.  At  length  chance  took  me  into  that  part 
of  the  country,  and  I  could  not  refrain  from  making 
some  inquiries. 

I  learnt  that  my  cousin  had  grown  up  ignorant, 
self-willed,  and  clownish.  His  ignorance  and  clown- 
ishness  had  prevented  his  mingling  with  the  neigh- 
bouring gentry.  In  spite  of  his  great  fortune  he  had 
been  unsuccessful  in  an  attempt  to  gain  the  hand  of 
the  daughter  of  the  parson,  and  had  at  length  shrunk 
into  the  limits  of  such  society  as  a  mere  man  of 
wealth  can  gather  in  a  country  neighbourhood. 

He  kept  horses  and  hounds  and  a  roaring  table, 
at  which  were  collected  the  loose  livers  of  the  coun- 
try round,  and  the  shabby  gentlemen  of  a  village  in 
the  vicinity.  When  he  could  get  no  other  company 
he  would  smoke  and  drink  with  his  own  servants, 
who  in  their  turns  fleeced  and  despised  him.  Still, 
with  all  this  apparent  prodigality,  he  had  a  leaven 
of  the  old  man  in  him,  which  showed  that  he  was 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


837 


his  true-born  son.  He  lived  far  within  his  income, 
was  vulgar  in  his  expenses,  and  penurious  on  many 
points  on  which  a  gentleman  would  be  extravagant. 
His  house  servants  were  obliged  occasionallj'  to 
work  on  the  estate,  and  part  of  the  pleasure  grounds 
were  ploughed  up  and  devoted  to  husbandry. 

His  table,  though  plentiful,  was  coarse  ;  his  liquors 
strong  and  bad  ;  and  more  ale  and  whiskey  were 
e.xpended  in  his  establishment  than  generous  wine. 
He  was  loud  and  arrogant  at  his  own  table,  and 
exacted  a  rich  man's  homage  from  his  vulgar  and 
obsequious  guests. 

As  to  Iron  John,  his  old  grandfather,  he  had 
grown  impatient  of  the  tight  hand  his  own  grandson 
kept  over  him,  and  quarrelled  with  him  soon  after  he 
came  to  the  estate.  The  old  man  had  retired  to  a 
neighbouring  village  where  he  lived  on  the  legacy  of 
his  late  master,  in  a  small  cottage,  and  was  as  sel- 
dom seen  out  of  it  as  a  rat  out  of  his  hole  in  day- 
light. 

The  cub,  like  Caliban,  seemed  to  have  an  instinct- 
ive attachment  to  his  mother.  She  resided  with  him  ; 
but,  from  long  habit,  she  acted  more  as  servant  than 
as  mistress  of  the  mansion  ;  for  she  toiled  in  all  the 
domestic  drudgery,  and  was  oftener  in  the  kitchen 
than  the  parlour.  Such  was  the  information  which 
I  collected  of  my  rival  cousin,  who  had  so  unexpect- 
edly elbowed  me  out  of  all  my  expectations. 

I  now  felt  an  irresistible  hankering  to  pay  a  visit 
to  this  scene  of  my  boyhood  ;  and  to  get  a  peep  at 
the  odd  kind  of  life  that  was  passing  within  the 
mansion  of  my  maternal  ancestors.  1  determined 
to  do  so  in  disguise.  My  booby  cousin  had  never 
seen  enough  of  me  to  be  very  familiar  with  my  coun- 
tenance, and  a  few  years  make  great  difference  be- 
tween youth  and  manhood.  I  understood  he  was  a 
breeder  of  cattle  and  proud  of  his  stock.  I  dressed 
myself,  therefore,  as  a  substantial  farmer,  and  with 
the  assistance  of  a  red  scratch  that  came  low  down 
on  my  forehead,  made  a  complete  change  in  my 
physiognomy. 

It  was  past  three  o'clock  when  I  arrived  at  the 
gate  of  the  park,  and  was  admitted  by  an  old  woman, 
who  was  washing  in  a  dilapidated  building  which  had 
once  been  a  porter's  lodge.  I  advanced  up  the  re- 
mains of  a  noble  avenue,  many  of  the  trees  of  which 
had  been  cut  down  and  sold  for  timber.  The  grounds 
were  in  scarcely  better  keeping  than  during  my  un- 
cle's lifetime.  The  grass  was  overgrown  with  weeds, 
and  the  trees  wanted  pnming  and  clearing  of  dead 
branches.  Cattle  were  grazing  about  the  lawns, 
and  ducks  and  geese  swimming  in  the  tish-ponds. 

The  road  to  the  house  bore  very  few  traces  of 
carriage  wheels,  as  my  cousin  received  few  visitors 
but  such  as  came  on  foot  or  horseback,  and  never 
used  a  carriage  himself.  Once,  indeed,  as  I  was 
told,  he  had  had  the  old  family  carriage  drawn  out 
from  among  the  dust  and  cobwebs  of  the  coach-house 
and  furbished  up,  and  had  drove,  with  his  mother, 
to  the  village  church  to  take  formal  possession  of 
the  family  pew ;  but  there  was  such  hooting  and 
laughing  after  them  as  they  passed  through  the  vil- 
lage, and  such  giggling  and  bantering  about  the 
church  door,  that  the  pageant  had  never  made  a 
reappearance. 

As  I  approached  the  house,  a  legion  of  whelps 
sallied  out  barking  at  me,  accompanied  by  the  low 
howling,  rather  than  barking,  of  two  old  worn-out 
blood-hounds,  which  I  recognized  for  the  ancient  life- 
guards of  my  uncle.  The  house  had  still  a  neglected, 
random  appearance,  though  much  altered  for  the 
better  since  my  last  visit.  Several  of  the  windows 
were  broken  and  patched  up  with  boards  ;  and  oth- 
ers had  been  bricked  up  to  save  taxes.  I  observed 
smoke,  however,  rising  from  the  chimneys ;  a  phe- 


nomenon rarely  witnessed  in  the  ancient  establish- 
ment. On  passing  that  part  of  the  house  where  the 
dining-room  was  situated,  I  heard  the  sound  of  bois- 
terous merriment ;  where  three  or  four  voices  were 
talking  at  once,  and  oaths  and  laughter  were  hor- 
ribly mingled. 

The  uproar  of  the  dogs  had  brought  a  ser\'ant  to 
the  door,  a  tall,  hard-fisted  country  clown,  with  a 
livery  coat  put  over  the  under-garments  of  a  plough- 
man. I  requested  to  see  the  master  of  the  house, 
but  was  told  he  was  at  dinner  with  some  "gemmen" 
of  the  neighbourhood.  I  made  known  my  business 
and  sent  in  to  know  if  I  might  talk  with  the  master 
about  his  cattle  ;  for  I  felt  a  great  desire  to  have  a 
peep  at  him  at  his  orgies.  Word  was  returned  that 
he  was  engaged  with  company,  and  could  not  attend 
to  business,  but  that  if  I  would  "step  in  and  take  a 
drink  of  something,  I  was  heartily  welcome."  I  ac- 
cordingly entered  the  hall,  where  whips  and  hats  of 
all  kinds  and  shapes  were  lying  on  an  oaken  table; 
two  or  three  clownish  servants  were  lounging  about ; 
every  thing  had  a  look  of  confusion  and  carelessness. 

The  apartments  through  which  I  passed  had  the 
same  air  of  departed  gentility  and  sluttish  house- 
keeping. The  once  rich  curtains  were  faded  and 
dusty  ;  the  furniture  greased  and  tarnished.  On 
entering  the  dining-room  I  found  a  number  of  odd, 
vulgar-looking,  rustic  gentlemen  seated  round  a  table, 
on  which  were  bottles,  decanters,  tankards,  pipes, 
and  tobacco.  Several  dogs  were  lying  about  the 
room,  or  sitting  and  watching  their  masters,  and 
one  was  gnawing  a  bone  under  a  side-table. 

The  master  of  the  feast  sat  at  the  head  of  the 
board.  He  was  greatly  altered.  He  had  grown 
thick-set  and  rather  gummy,  with  a  fiery,  foxy  head 
of  hair.  There  was  a  singular  mixture  of  foolishness, 
arrogance,  and  conceit  in  his  countenance.  He  was 
dressed  in  a  vulgarly  fine  style,  with  leather  breech- 
es, a  red  waistcoat,  and  green  coat,  and  was  evi- 
dently, like  his  guests,  a  little  flushed  with  drinking. 
The  whole  company  stared  at  me  with  a  whimsical 
muggy  look,  like  men  whose  senses  were  a  little 
obfruscated  by  beer  rather  than  wine. 

My  cousin,  (God  forgive  me  !  the  appellation  sticks 
in  my  throat.)  my  cousin  invited  me  with  awkward 
civility,  or,  as  he  intended  it,  condescension,  to  sit  to 
the  table  and  drink.  We  talked,  as  usual,  about  the 
weather,  the  crops,  politics,  and  hard  times.  My 
cousin  was  a  loud  politician,  and  evidently  accus- 
tomed to  talk  without  contradiction  at  his  own  table. 
He  was  amazingly  loyal,  and  talked  of  standing  by 
the  throne  to  the  last  guinea,  "  as  every  gentleman 
of  fortune  should  do."  The  village  exciseman,  who 
was  half  asleep,  could  just  ejaculate,  "  very  true,"  to 
every  thing  he  said. 

The  conversation  turned  upon  cattle  ;  he  boasted 
of  his  breed,  his  mode  of  managing  it,  and  of  the 
general  management  of  his  estate.  This  unluckily 
drew  on  a  history  of  the  place  and  of  the  family. 
He  spoke  of  my  late  uncle  with  the  greatest  irrever- 
ence, which  I  could  easily  forgive.  He  mentioned 
my  name,  and  my  blood  began  to  boil.  He  described 
my  frequent  visits  to  my  uncle  when  I  was  a  lad,  and 
I  found  the  varlet,  even  at  that  time,  imp  as  he  was, 
had  known  that  he  was  to  inherit  the  estate. 

He  described  the  scene  of  my  uncle's  death,  and 
the  opening  of  the  will,  with  a  degree  of  coarse 
humour  that  I  had  not  expected  from  him  ;  and, 
vexed  as  I  was,  I  could  not  help  joining  in  the  laugh  ; 
for  I  have  always  relished  a  joke,  even  though  made 
at  my  own  expense.  He  went  on  to  speak  of  my 
various  pursuits ;  my  strolling  freak,  and  that  some- 
what nettled  rhe.  At  length  he  talked  of  my  parents. 
He  ridiculed  my  father:  I  stomached  even  that, 
though  with  great   difficulty.     He   mentioned   mv 


388 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


mother   with   a  sneer — and   in   an   instant   he   lay 
sprawling  at  my  feet. 

Here  a  scene  of  tumult  succeeded.  The  table  was 
nearly  overturned.  Bottles,  glasses,  and  tankards 
rolled  crashing  and  clattering  about  the  floor.  The 
company  seized  hold  of  both  of  us  to  keep  us  from 
doing  farther  mischief.  I  struggled  to  get  loose,  for 
1  was  boiling  with  fury.  My  cousin  defied  me  to 
strip  and  fight  him  on  the  lawn.  I  agreed  ;  for  I 
felt  the  strength  of  a  giant  in  me,  and  I  longed  to 
pummel  him  soundly. 

Away  then  we  were  borne.  A  ring  was  formed. 
I  had  a  second  assigned  me  in  true  boxing  style.  My 
cousin,  as  he  advanced  to  fight,  said  something  about 
liis  generosity  in  showing  me  such  fair  play,  when  I 
had  made  such  an  unprovoked  attack  upon  him  at 
ills  own  table. 

"  Stop  there  !  "  cried  I,  in  a  rage — "  unprovoked  ! 
— know  that  I  am  John  Buckthorne,  and  you  have 
insulted  the  memory  of  my  mother." 

The  lout  was  suddenly  struck  by  what  I  said.  He 
drew  back  and  reflected  for  a  moment. 

"  Nay,  damn  it,"  said  he,  "  that's  too  much — that's 
clear  another  thing.  I've  a  mother  myself,  and  no 
one  shall  speak  ill  of  her,  bad  as  she  is." 

He  paused  again.  Nature  seemed  to  have  a  rough 
struggle  in  his  rude  bosom. 

"  Damn  it,  cousin,"  cried  he,  "  I'm  sorry  for  what 
I  said.  Thou'st  served  me  right  in  knocking  me 
down,  and  I  like  thee  the  better  for  it.  Here's  my 
hand.  Come  and  live  with  me,  and  damme  but  the 
best  room  in  the  house,  and  the  best  horse  in  the 
stable,  shall  be  at  thy  service." 

I  declare  to  you  I  was  strongly  moved  at  this  in- 
stance of  nature  breaking  her  way  through  such  a 
lump  of  flesh.  I  forgave  the  fellow  in  a  moment  all 
his  crimes  of  having  been  born  in  wedlock  and  in- 
heriting my  estate.  I  shook  the  hand  he  offered  me, 
to  convince  him  that  I  bore  him  no  ill  will ;  and 
then  making  my  way  through  the  gaping  crowd  of 
toad-eaters,  bade  adieu  to  my  uncle's  domains  for- 
ever. This  is  the  last  I  have  seen  or  heard  of  my 
cousin,  or  of  the  domestic  concerns  of  Doubting 
Castle. 


THE  STROLLING   MANAGER. 


As  I  was  walking  one  morning  with  Buckthorne, 
near  one  of  the  principal  theatres,  he  directed  my  at- 
tention to  a  group  of  those  equivocal  beings  that 
may  often  be  seen  hovering  about  the  stage-doors  of 
theatres.  They  were  marvellously  ill-favoured  in 
their  attire,  their  coats  buttoned  up  to  their  chins; 
yet  they  wore  their  hats  smartly  on  one  side,  and  had 
a  certain  knowing,  dirty-gentlemanlike  air,  which  is 
common  to  the  subalterns  of  the  drama.  Buck- 
thorne knew  them  well  by  early  experience. 

These,  said  he,  are  the  ghosts  of  departed  kings 
and  heroes  ;  fellows  who  sway  sceptres  and  trunch- 
eons ;  command  kingdoms  and  armies ;  and  after 
giving  away  realms  and  treasures  over  night,  have 
scarce  a  shilling  to  pay  for  a  breakfast  in  the  morn- 
ing. Yet  they  have  the  true  vagabond  abhorrence 
of  all  useful  and  industrious  employment ;  and  they 
have  their  pleasures  too  :  one  of  which  is  to  lounge 
in  this  way  in  the  sunshine,  at  the  stage-door,  during 
rehearsals,  and  make  hackneyed  theatrical  jokes  on 
all  passers-by. 

Nothing  is  more  traditional  and  legitimate  than 
the  stage.  Old  scenery,  old  clothes,  oH  sentiments, 
old  ranting,  and  old  jokes,  are  handed  down  from 
generation  to  generation ;  and  will  probably  continue 


to  be  so,  until  time  shall  be  no  more.  Every  hanger- 
on  of  a  theatre  becomes  a  wag  by  inheritance,  and 
flourishes  about  at  tap-rooms  and  six-penny  clubs, 
with  the  property  jokes  of  the  green-room. 

While  amusing  ourselves  with  reconnoitring  this 
group,  we  noticed  one  in  particular  who  appeared 
to  be  the  oracle.  He  was  a  weather-beaten  veteran, 
a  littled  bronzed  by  time  and  beer,  who  had,  no 
doubt,  grown  gray  in  the  parts  of  robbers,  cardinals, 
Roman  senators,  and  walking  noblemen. 

"  There's  something  in  the  set  of  that  hat,  and  the 
turn  of  that  physiognomy,  that  is  extremely  familiar 
to  me,"  said  Buckthorne.  He  looked  a  little  closer. 
"  I  cannot  be  mistaken,"  added  he,  "  that  must  be 
my  old  brother  of  the  truncheon,  Flimsey,  the  tragic 
hero  of  the  strolling  company." 

It  was  he  in  fact.  The  poor  fellow  showed  evident 
signs  that  times  went  hard  with  him  ;  he  was  so 
finely  .and  shabbily  dressed.  His  coat  was  some- 
what threadbare,  and  of  the  Lord  Townlv  cut ; 
single-breasted,  and  scarcely  capable  of  meeting  in 
front  of  his  body  ;  which,  from  long  intimacy,  had 
acquired  the  symmetry  and  robustness  of  a  beer- 
barrel.  He  wore  a  pair  of  dingy  white  stockinet 
pantaloons,  which  had  much  ado  to  reach  his  waist- 
coat ;  a  great  quantity  of  dirty  cravat ;  and  a  pair  of 
old  russet-coloured  tragedy  boots. 

When  his  companions  had  dispersed,  Buckthorne 
drew  him  aside  and  made  himself  known  to  him. 
The  tragic  veteran  could  scarcely  recognize  him,  or 
believe  that  he  was  really  his  quondam  associate 
"  little  gentleman  Jack."  Buckthorne  invited  him  to 
a  neighl)ouring  cofl^ee-house  to  talk  over  old  times; 
and  in  the  course  of  a  little  while  we  were  put  in 
possession  of  his  history  in  brief. 

He  had  continued  to  act  the  heroes  in  the  strolling 
company  for  some  time  after  Buckthorne  had  left  it, 
or  rather  h.ad  been  driven  from  it  so  abruptly.  At 
length  the  manager  died,  and  the  troop  was  thrown 
into  confusion.  Every  one  aspired  to  the  crown; 
every  one  was  for  taking  the  lead  ;  and  the  manager's 
widow,  although  a  tragedy  queen,  and  a  brimstone 
to  boot,  pronounced  it  utterly  impossible  to  keep  any 
controul  over  such  a  set  of  tempestuous  rascallions. 

Upon  this  hint  I  spoke,  said  Flimsey — I  stepped 
forward,  and  offered  my  services  in  the  most  effectual 
way.  They  were  accepted.  In  a  week's  time  I 
married  the  widow  and  succeeded  to  the  throne. 
"  The  funeral  baked  meats  did  coldly  furnish  forth 
the  marriage  table,"  as  Hamlet  says.  But  the  ghost 
of  my  predecessor  never  haunted  me  ;  and  I  inherit- 
ed crowns,  sceptres,  bowls,  daggers,  and  all  the  stage 
trappings  and  trumpery,  not  omitting  the  widow, 
without  the  least  molestation. 

I  now  led  a  flourishing  life  of  it ;  for  our  company 
was  pretty  strong  and  attractive,  and  as  my  wife  and 
I  took  the  heavy  parts  of  tragedy,  it  was  a  great 
saving  to  the  treasury.  We  carried  off  the  palm  from 
all  the  rival  shows  at  country  fairs  ;  and  I  assure  you 
we  have  even  drawn  full  houses,  and  been  applauded 
by  the  critics  at  Bartlemy  fair  itself,  though  we  had 
Astley's  troupe,  the  Irish  giant,  and  "the  death  of 
Nelson  "  in  wax-work  to  contend  against. 

I  soon  began  to  experience,  however,  the  cares  of 
command.  I  discovered  that  there  were  cabals 
breaking  out  in  the  company,  headed  by  the  clown, 
who  you  may  recollect  was  a  terribly  peevish,  frac- 
tious fellow,  and  always  in  ill-humour.  I  had  a  great 
mind  to  turn  him  off  at  once,  but  I  could  not  do 
without  him,  for  there  was  not  a  droller  scoundrel 
on  the  stage.  His  very  shape  was  comic,  for  he  had 
but  to  turn  his  back  upon  the  audience  and  all  the 
ladies  were  ready  to  die  with  laughing.  He  felt  his 
importance,  and  took  advantage  of  it.  He  would 
keep  the  audience  in  a  continual  roar,  and  then  come 


TALES   OF   A    TRAVELLER. 


389 


behind  the  scenes  and  fret  and  fume  and  play  the 
very  devil.  I  excused  a  great  deal  in  him,  however, 
knowing  that  comic  actors  are  a  little  prone  to  this 
infirmity  of  temper. 

I  had  another  trouble  of  a  nearer  and  dearer  nat- 
ure to  struggle  with;  wliich  was,  the  affection  of 
my  wife.  As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  she  took  it  into 
her  head  to  be  very  fond  of  me,  and  became  intoler- 
ably jealous.  I  could  not  keep  a  pretty  girl  in  the 
company,  and  hardly  dared  embrace  an  ugly  one, 
even  when  my  part  required  it.  I  have  known  her 
to  reduce  a  fine  lady  to  tatters,  "  to  very  rags,"  as 
Hamlet  says,  in  an  instant,  and  destroy  one  of  the 
very  best  dresses  in  the  wardrobe ;  merely  because 
she  saw  me  kiss  her  at  the  side  scenes  ; — though  I 
give  you  my  honour  it  was  done  merely  by  way  of 
rehearsal. 

This  was  doubly  annoying,  because  I  have  a 
natural  liking  to  pretty  faces,  and  wish  to  have  them 
about  me ;  and  because  they  are  indispensable  to 
the  success  of  a  company  at  a  fair,  where  one  has 
to  vie  with  so  many  rival  theatres.  But  when  once 
a  jealous  wife  gets  a  freak  in  her  head  there's  no  use 
in  talking  of  interest  or  any  thing  else.  Egad,  sirs, 
1  have  more  than  once  trembled  when,  during  a  fit 
of  her  tantrums,  she  was  playing  high  tragedy,  and 
flourishing  her  tin  dagger  on  the  stage,  lest  she 
should  give  way  to  her  humour,  and  stab  some 
fancied  rival  in  good  earnest. 

I  went  on  better,  however,  than  could  be  expected, 
considering  the  weakness  of  my  flesh  and  the  violence 
of  my  rib.  I  had  not  a  much  worse  time  of  it  than 
old  Jupiter,  whose  spouse  was  continually  ferreting 
out  some  new  intrigue  and  making  the  heavens  al- 
most too  hot  to  hold  him. 

At  length,  as  luck  would  have  it,  we  were  per- 
forming at  a  country  fair,  when  I  understood  the 
theatre  of  a  neighbouring  town  to  be  vacant.  I  had 
always  been  desirous  to  be  enrolled  in  a  settled 
company,  and  the  height  of  my  desire  was  to  get  on 
a  par  with  a  brother-in-law,  who  was  manager  of  a 
regular  theatre,  and  who  had  looked  down  upon  me. 
Here  was  an  opportunity  not  to  be  neglected.  I 
concluded  an  agreement  with  the  proprietors,  and  in 
a  few  days  opened  the  theatre  with  great  eclat. 

Behold  me  now  at  the  summit  of  my  ambition, 
"the  high  top-gallant  of  my  joy,"  as  Thomas  says. 
No  longer  a  chieftain  of  a  wandering  tribe,  but  the 
monarch  of  a  legitimate  throne — ^and  entitled  to  call 
even  the  great  potentates  of  Covent  Garden  and 
Drury  Lane  cousin. 

You  no  doubt  think  my  happiness  complete. 
Alas,  sir!  I  was  one  of  the  most  uncomfortable 
dogs  living.  No  one  knows,  who  has  not  tried,  the 
miseries  of  a  manager ;  but  above  all,  of  a  country 
manager — no  one  can  conceive  the  contentions  and 
quarrels  within  doors,  the  oppressions  and  vexations 
from  without. 

I  was  pestered  with  the  bloods  and  loungers  of  a 
country  town,  who  infested  my  green-room,  and 
played  the  mischief  among  my  actresses.  But  there 
was  no  shaking  them  off  It  would  have  been  ruin 
to  affront  them ;  for,  though  troublesome  friends, 
they  would  have  been  dangerous  enemies.  Then 
there  were  the  village  critics  and  village  amateurs, 
who  were  continually  tormenting  me  with  advice, 
and  getting  into  a  passion  if  I  would  not  take  it : — 
especially  the  village  doctor  and  the  village  attorney ; 
who  had  both  been  to  London  occasionally,  and 
knew  what  acting  should  be. 

I  had  also  to  manage  as  arrant  a  crew  of  scape- 
graces as  were  ever  collected  together  within  the 
walls  of  a  theatre.  I  had  been  obliged  to  combine 
my  original  troupe  with  some  of  the  former  troupe  of 
the  theatre,  who  were  favourites  with  the  public. 


Here  was  a  mixture  that  produced  perpetual  ferment. 
They  were  all  the  time  either  fighting  or  frolicking 
with  each  other,  and  I  scarcely  knew  which  mood 
was  least  troublesome.  If  they  quarrelled,  every 
thing  went  wrong ;  and  if  they  were  friends,  they 
were  continually  playing  off  some  confounded  prank 
upon  each  other,  or  upon  me  ;  for  I  had  unhappily 
acquired  among  them  the  character  of  an  easy,  good- 
natured  fellow,  the  worst  character  that  a  manager 
can  possess. 

Their  waggery  at  times  drove  me  almost  crazy  ; 
for  there  is  nothing  so  vexatious  as  the  hackneyed 
tricks  and  hoaxes  and  pleasantries  of  a  veteran  band 
of  theatrical  vagabonds.  I  relished  them  well  enough, 
it  is  true,  while  I  was  merely  one  of  the  company, 
but  as  manager  I  found  them  detestable.  They  were 
incessantly  bringing  some  disgrace  upon  the  theatre 
by  their  tavern  frolicks,  and  their  pranks  about  the 
country  town.  All  my  lectures  upon  the  importance 
of  keeping  up  the  dignity  of  the  profession,  and  the 
respectability  of  the  company  were  in  vain.  The 
villains  could  not  sympathize  with  the  delicate  feel- 
ings of  a  man  in  station.  They  even  trifled  with  the 
seriousness  of  stage  business.  I  have  had  the  whole 
piece  interrupted  and  a  crowded  audience  of  at  least 
twenty-five  pounds  kept  waiting,  because  the  actors 
had  hid  away  the  breeches  of  Rosalind ;  and  have 
known  Hamlet  stalk  solemnly  on  to  deliver  his  solil- 
oquy, with  a  dish-clout  pinned  to  his  skirts.  Such 
are  the  baleful  consequences  of  a  manager's  getting 
a  character  for  good  nature. 

I  was  intolerably  annoj  ed,  too,  by  the  great  actors, 
who  came  down  starring,  as  it  is  called,  from  Lon- 
don. Of  all  baneful  influences,  keep  me  from  that 
of  a  London  star.  A  first-rate  actress,  going  the 
rounds  of  the  country  theatres,  is  as  bad  as  a  blazing 
comet,  whisking  about  the  heavens,  and  shaking 
fire,  and  plagues,  and  discords  from  its  tail. 

The  moment  one  of  these  "  heavenly  bodies  "  ap- 
peared on  my  horizon.  I  v\as  sure  to  be  in  hot  water. 
My  theatre  was  overrun  by  provincial  dandies,  cop- 
per-washed counterfeits  of  Bond-street  loungers ; 
who  are  always  proud  to  be  in  the  train  of  an  actress 
from  town,  and  anxious  to  be  thought  on  exceeding 
good  terms  with  her.  It  was  really  a  relief  to  me 
when  some  random  young  nobleman  would  come  in 
pursuit  of  the  bait,  and  awe  all  this  small  fry  to  a 
distance.  I  have  always  felt  myself  more  at  ease 
with  a  nobleman  than  with  the  dandy  of  a  country 
town. 

And  then  the  injuries  I  suffered  in  my  personal 
dignity  and  my  managerial  authority  from  the  visits 
of  these  great  London  actors.  Sir,  1  was  no  longer 
master  of  myself  or  my  throne.  I  was  hectored  and 
lectured  in  my  own  green-room,  and  made  an  abso- 
lute nincompoop  on  my  own  stage.  There  is  no 
tyrant  so  absolute  and  capricious  as  a  London  star 
at  a  countiy  theatre. 

I  dreaded  the  sight  of  all  of  them  ;  and  yet  if  I 
did  not  engage  them,  I  was  sure  of  having  the  pub- 
lic clamourous  against  me.  They  drew  full  houses, 
and  appeared  to  be  making  my  fortune ;  but  they 
swallowed  up  all  the  profits  by  their  insatiable  de- 
mands. They  were  absolute  tape-worms  to  my  little 
theatre;  the  more  it  took  in,  the  poorer  it  grew. 
They  were  sure  to  leave  me  with  an  exhausted  pub- 
lic, empty  benches,  and  a  score  or  two  of  affronts  to 
settle  among  the  townsfolk,  in  consequence  of  mis- 
understandings about  the  taking  of  places. 

But  the  worst  thing  1  had  to  undergo  in  my  man- 
agerial career  vs'as  patronage.  Oh,  sir,  of  all  things 
deliver  me  from  the  patronage  of  the  great  people 
of  a  country  town.  It  was  my  ruin.  You  must  know 
that  this  town,  though  small,  was  filled  with  feuds, 
and  parties,  and  great  folks  ;  being  a  busy  little  trad- 


390 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


ing  and  manufacturing  town.  The  mischief  was, 
that  their  greatness  was  of  a  kind  not  to  be  settled 
by  reference  to  the  court  calendar,  or  college  of  her- 
aldry-. It  was  therefore  the  most  quarrelsome  kind 
of  greatness  in  existence.  You  smile,  sir,  but  let  me 
tell  you  there  are  no  feuds  more  furious  than  the 
frontier  feuds,  which  take  place  on  these  "  debat- 
able lands  "  of  gentility.  The  most  violent  dispute 
that  I  ever  knew  in  high  life,  was  one  that  occurred 
at  a  country  town,  on  a  question  of  precedence  be- 
tween the  ladies  of  a  manufacturer  of  pins,  and  a 
manufacturer  of  needles. 

At  the  town  where  1  was  situated  there  were  per- 
petual altercations  of  the  kind.  The  head  manu- 
facturer's lady,  for  instance,  was  at  daggers  draw- 
ings with  the  head  shopkeeper's,  and  both  were  too 
rich  and  had  too  many  friends  to  be  treated  lightly. 
The  doctor's  and  lawyer's  ladies  held  their  heads 
still  higher ;  but  they  in  their  turn  were  kept  in 
check  by  the  wife  of  a  country  banker,  who  kept  her 
own  carriage ;  while  a  masculine  widow  of  cracked 
character,  and  second-hand  fashion,  who  lived  in  a 
large  house,  and  was  in  some  way  related  to  nobil- 
ity, looked  down  uiion  them  all.  She  had  been  ex- 
iled from  the  great  world,  but  here  she  ruled  abso- 
lute. To  be  sure  her  manners  were  not  over-ele- 
gant, nor  her  fortune  over-large ;  but  then,  sir,  her 
blood — oh,  her  blood  carried  it  all  hollow ;  there 
was  no  withstanding  a  woman  with  such  blood  in 
her  veins. 

After  all,  she  had  frequent  battles  for  precedence 
at  balls  and  assemblies,  with  some  of  the  sturdy 
dames  of  the  neighbourhood,  who  stood  upon  their 
wealth  and  their  reputations ;  but  then  she  had  two 
dashing  daughters,  who  dressed  as  fine  as  dragons, 
and  had  as  high  blood  as  their  mother,  and  second- 
ed her  in  every  thing.  So  they  carried  their  point 
with  high  heads,  and  every  body  hated,  abused,  and 
stood  in  awe  of  the  Fantadlins. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  fashionable  world  in  this 
self-important  little  town.  Unluckily  I  was  not  as 
well  acquainted  with  its  politics  as  I  should  have 
been.  1  had  found  myself  a  stranger  and  in  great 
))erplexities  during  my  first  season;  I  determined, 
therefore,  to  put  myself  under  the  patronage  of 
some  powerful  name,  and  thus  to  take  the  field 
with  the  prejudices  of  the  public  in  my  favour.  I 
cast  round  my  thoughts  for  the  purpose,  and  in  an 
evil  hour  they  fell  upon  Mrs.  Fantadlin.  No  one 
seemed  to  me  to  have  a  more  absolute  sway  in  the 
world  of  fashion.  I  had  always  noticed  that  her 
party  slammed  the  box  door  the  loudest  at  the  the- 
atre ;  had  most  beaux  attending  on  them  ;  and  talked 
and  laughed  loudest  during  the  performance  ;  and 
then  the  Miss  Fantadlins  wore  always  more  feathers 
and  flowers  than  any  other  ladies  ;  and  used  quizzing 
glasses  incessantly.  The  first  evening  of  my  thea- 
tre's reopening,  therefore,  was  announced  in  llaring 
capitals  on  the  play  bills,  "under  the  patronage  of 
the  Honourable  Mrs.  P'antadlin." 

Sir,  the  whole  community  flew  to  arms  !  The 
banker's  wife  felt  her  dignity  grievously  insulted  at 
not  having  the  preference  ;  her  husband  being  high 
bailiff,  and  the  richest  man  in  the  place.  She  imme- 
diately issued  invitations  for  a  large  party,  for  the 
night  of  the  performance,  and  asked  many  a  lady  to 
it  whom  she  never  had  noticed  before.  The  fashion- 
able world  had  long  groaned  under  the  tyranny  of 
the  Fantadlins,  and  were  glad  to  make  a  common 
cause  against  this  new  instance  of  assumption. — 
Presume  to  patronize  the  theatre  !  insufferable ! 
Those,  too,  who  had  never  before  been  noticed  by 
the  banker's  lady,  were  ready  to  enlist  in  any  quar- 
rel, for  the  honour  of  her  acquaintance.  All  minor 
feuds  were  therefore  forgotten.     The  doctor's  lady 


and  the  lawyer's  lady  met  together  ;  and  the  manu- 
facturer's lady  and  the  shopkeeper's  lady  kissed  each 
other ;  and  all,  headed  by  the  banker's  lady,  voted 
the  theatre  a  bore,  and  determined  to  encourage 
nothing  but  the  Indian  Jugglers,  and  Mr.  Walker's 
Eidonianeon. 

Alas  for  poor  Pillgarlick  !  .  I  little  knew  the  mis- 
chief that  was  brewing  against  me.  My  box  book 
remained  blank.  The  evening  arrived,  but  no  au- 
dience. The  music  struck  up  to  a  tolerable  pit  and 
gallery,  but  no  fashionables  !  I  peeped  anxiously 
from  behind  the  curtain,  but  the  time  passed  away  ; 
the  play  was  retarded  until  pit  and  gallery  became 
furious ;  and  I  had  to  raise  the  curtain,  and  play  my 
greatest  part  in  tragedy  to  "a  beggarly  account  of 
empty  boxes." 

It  is  true  the  Fantadlins  came  late,  as  was  their 
custom,  and  entered  like  a  tempest,  with  a  flutter  of 
feathers  and  red  shawls ;  but  they  were  evidently 
disconcerted  at  finding  they  had  no  one  to  admire 
and  envy  them,  and  were  enraged  at  this  glaring  de- 
fection of  their  fashionable  followers.  All  the  beau- 
monde  were  engaged  at  the  banker's  lady's  rout. 
They  remamed  for  some  time  in  solitary  and  uncom- 
fortable state,  and  though  they  had  the  theatre  al- 
most to  themselves,  yet,  for  the  first  time,  they 
talked  in  whispers.  They  left  the  house  at  the 
end  of  the  first  piece,  and  I  never  saw  them  after- 
wards. 

Such  was  the  rock  on  which  I  split.  I  never  got 
over  the  patronage  of  the  Fantadlin  family.  It  be- 
came the  vogue  to  abuse  the  theatre  and  declare  the 
performers  shocking.  An  equestrian  troupe  opened  a 
circus  in  the  town  about  the  same  time,  and  rose  on 
my  ruins.  My  house  was  deserted  ;  my  actors  grew 
discontented  because  they  were  ill  paid  ;  my  door 
became  a  hammering-place  for  every  bailiff  in  the 
county ;  and  my  wife  became  more  and  more 
shrewish  and  tormenting,  the  more  I  wanted  com- 
fort. 

The  establishment  now  became  a  scene  of  confu- 
sion and  peculation.  I  was  considered  a  ruined 
man,  and  of  course  fair  game  for  every  one  to  pluck 
at,  as  every  one  plunders  a  sinking  ship.  Day  after 
day  some  of  the  troupe  deserted,  and  like  deserting 
soldiers,  carried  off  their  arms  and  accoutrements 
with  them.  In  this  manner  my  wardrobe  took  legs 
and  walked  away ;  my  finery  strolled  all  over  the 
country  ;  my  swords  and  daggers  glittered  in  eveiy 
barn  ;  until  at  last  my  tailor  made  "  one  fell  swoop," 
and  carried  oft  three  dress  coats,  half  a  dozen 
doublets,  and  nineteen  pair  of  flesh-coloured  panta- 
loons. 

This  was  the  "be  all  and  the  end  all  "  of  my  for- 
tune. I  no  longer  hesitated  what  to  do.  Hgad, 
thought  I,  since  stealing  is  the  order  of  the  day,  I'll 
steal  too.  So  I  secretly  gathered  together  the  jewels 
of  my  wardrobe  ;  packed  up  a  hero's  dress  in  a  hand- 
kerchief, slung  it  on  the  end  of  a  tragedy  sword,  and 
quietly  stole  off  at  dead  of  night — "  the  bell  then 
beating  one," — leaving  my  queen  and  kingdom  to  the 
mercy  of  my  rebellious  subjects,  and  my  merciless 
foes,  the  biim-bailiffs. 

Such,  sir,  was  the  "  end  of  all  my  greatness."  I 
was  heartily  cured  of  all  passion  for  governing,  and 
returned  once  more  into  the  ranks.  I  had  for  some 
time  the  usual  run  of  an  actor's  life.  I  played  in 
various  country  theatres,  at  fairs,  and  in  barns; 
sometimes  hard  pushed  ;  'sometimes  flush,  until  on 
one  occasion  I  came  within  an  ace  of  making  my 
fortune,  and  becoming  one  of  the  wonders  of  the 
age. 

I  was  playing  the  part  of  Richard  the  Third  in  a 
country  barn,  and  absolutely  "  out-Heroding  Herod." 
An  agent  of  one  of  the  great  London  theatres  was 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


391 


present.  He  was  on  the  lookout  for  something 
that  might  be  got  up  as  a  prodigy.  The  theatre,  it 
seems,  was  in  desperate  condition— nothing  but  a 
miracle  could  save  it.  He  pitched  upon  me  for  that 
miracle.  I  had  a  remarkable  bluster  in  my  style,  and 
swagger  in  my  gait,  and  having  taken  to  drink  a  little 
during  my  troubles,  my  voice  was  somewhat  crack- 
ed ;  so  that  it  seemed  like  two  voices  run  into  one. 
The  thought  struck  the  agent  to  bring  me  out  as  a 
theatrical  wonder ;  as  the  restorer  of  natural  and 
legitimate  acting ;  as  the  only  one  who  could  under- 
stand and  act  Shakspeare  rightly.  He  waited  upon 
me  the  next  morning,  and  opened  his  plan.  I 
shrunk  from  it  with  becoming  modesty  ;  for  well  as 
I  thought  of  myself,  I  felt  myself  unworthy  of  such 
praise. 

"  'Sblood,  man  !  "  said  he,  "  no  praise  at  all.  You 
don't  imagine  that  1  think  you  all  this.  I  only  want 
the  public  to  think  so.  Nothing  so  easy  as  gulling  the 
public  if  you  only  set  up  a  prodigy.  You  need  not 
try  to  act  well,  you  must  only  act  furiously.  No 
matter  what  you  do,  or  how  you  act,  so  that  it  be 
but  odd  and  strange.  We  will  have  all  the  pit 
packed,  and  the  newspapers  hired.  Whatever  you 
do  different  from  famous  actors,  it  shall  be  insisted 
that  you  are  right  and  they  were  wrong.  If  you 
rant,  it  shall  be  pure  passion  ;  if  you  are  vulgar,  it 
shall  be  a  touch  of  nature.  Every  one  shall  be  pre- 
pared to  fall  into  raptures,  and  shout  and  yell,  at  cer- 
tain points  which  you  shall  make.  If  you  do  but 
escape  pelting  the  first  night,  your  fortune  and  the 
fortune  of  the  theatre  is  made." 

I  set  off  for  London,  therefore,  full  of  new  hopes. 
1  was  to  be  the  restorer  of  Shakspeare  and  nature, 
and  the  legitimate  drama  ;  my  very  swagger  was  to 
be  heroic,  and  my  cracked  voice  the  standard 
of  elocution.  Alas,  sir  !  my  usual  luck  attended  me. 
Before  I  arrived  in  the  metropolis,  a  rival  wonder 
had  appeared.  A  woman  who  could  dance  the 
slack  rope,  and  run  up  a  cord  from  the  stage  to  the 
gallery  with  fire-works  all  round  her.  She  was 
seized  on  by  the  management  with  avidity  ;  she  was 
the  saving  of  the  great  national  theatre  for  the  sea- 
son. Nothing  was  talked  of  but  Madame  Saqui's 
fire-works  and  flame-coloured  pantaloons  ;  and  nat- 
ure, Shakspeare,  the  legitimate  drama,  and  poor  Pill- 
garlick  were  completely  left  in  the  lurch. 

However,  as  the  manager  was  in  honour  bound  to 
provide  for  me,  he  kept  his  word.  It  had  been  a 
turn-up  of  a  die  whether  I  should  be  Alexander  the 
Great  or  Alexander  the  coppersmith  :  the  latter  car- 
red  it.  I  could  not  be  put  at  the  head  of  the  drama, 
so  I  was  put  at  the  tail.  In  other  words,  I  was  en- 
rolled among  the  number  of  what  are  called  useful 
men  ;  who,  let  me  tell  you,  are  the  only  comfortable 
actors  on  the  stage.  We  are  safe  from  hisses  and 
below  the  hope  of  applause.  We  fear  not  the  suc- 
cess of  rivals,  nor  dread  the  critic's  pen.  So 
long  as  we  get  the  words  of  our  parts,  and  they  are 
not  often  many,  it  is  all  we  care  for.  We  have 
our  own  merriment,  our  own  friends,  and  our  own 
admirers  ;  for  every  actor  has  his  friends  and  admi- 
rers, from  the  highest  to  the  lowest.  The  first-rate 
actor  dines  with  the  noble  amateur,  and  entertains  a 
fashionable  table  with  scraps  and  songs  and  theatri- 
cil  slip-slop.  The  second-rate  actors  have  their 
second-rate  friends  and  admirers,  with  whom  they 
likewise  spout  tragedy  and  talk  slip-slop ;  and  so 
down  even  to  us  ;  who  have  our  friends  and  admirers 
among  spruce  clerks  and  aspiring  apprentices,  who 
treat  us  to  a  dinner  now  and  then,  and  enjoy  at 


tenth  hand  the  same  scraps  and  songs  and  slip-slop 
that  have  been  served  up  by  our  more  fortunate 
brethren  at  the  tables  of  the  great. 

I  now,  for  the  first  time  in  my  theatrical  life,  knew 
what  true  pleasure  is.  I  have  known  enough  of  no- 
toriety to  pity  the  poor  devils  who  are  called  favour- 
ites of  the  public.  I  would  rather  be  a  kitten  in  the 
arms  of  a  spoiled  child,  to  be  one  moment  petted 
and  pampered,  and  the  next  moment  thumped  over 
the  head  with  the  spoon.  I  smile,  too,  to  see  our 
leading  actors,  fretting  themselves  with  envy  and 
jealousy  about  a  trumpery  renown,  questionable  in 
its  quality  and  uncertain  in  its  duration.  I  laugh, 
too,  though  of  course  in  my  sleeve,  at  the  bustle  and 
importance  and  trouble  and  perplexities  of  our  man- 
ager, who  is  harassing  himself  to  death  in  the  hope- 
less effort  to  please  every  body. 

I  have  found  among  my  fellow  subalterns  two  or 
three  quondam  managers,  who,  like  myself,  have 
wielded  the  sceptres  of  country  theatres  ;  and  we 
have  many  a  sly  joke  together  at  the  expense  of  the 
manager  and  the  public.  Sometimes,  too,  we  meet 
like  deposed  and  exiled  kings,  talk  over  the  events 
of  our  respective  reigns ;  moralize  over  a  tankard 
of  ale,  and  laugh  at  the  humbug  of  the  great  and 
little  world  ;  which,  I  take  it,  is  the  very  essence  of 
practical  philosophy. 


Thus  end  the  anecdotes  of  Buckthorne  and  his 
friends.  A  few  mornings  after  our  hearing  the  his- 
tory of  the  ex-manager,  he  bounced  into  my  room 
before  I  was  out  of  bed. 

"Give  me  joy!  give  me  joy!"  said  he,  rubbing 
his  hands  with  the  utmost  glee,  "  my  great  expecta- 
tions are  realized  !  " 

1  stared  at  him  with  a  look  of  wonder  and  inquiry. 

"  My  booby  cousin  is  dead  !  "  cried  he,  "  may  he 
rest  in  peace  !  He  nearly  broke  his  neck  in  a  fall 
from  his  horse  in  a  fox-chase.  By  good  luck  he  lived 
long  enough  to  make  his  will.  He  has  made  me  his 
heir,  partly  out  of  an  odd  feeling  of  retributive  jus- 
tice, and  partly  because,  as  he  says,  none  of  his  own 
family  or  friends  knew  how  to  enjoy  such  an  estate. 
I'm  off  to  the  country  to  take  possession.  I've  done 
with  authorship. — ^That  for  the  critics  !  "  said  he, 
snapping  his  fingers.  "Come  down  to  Doubting 
Castle  when  I  get  settled,  and  egad  !  I'll  give  you  a 
rouse."  So  saying  he  shook  me  heartily  by  the  hand 
and  bounded  off  in  high  spirits. 

A  long  time  elapsed  before  I  heard  from  him 
again.  Indeed,  it  was  but  a  short  time  since  that  1 
received  a  letter  written  in  the  happiest  of  moods. 
He  was  getting  the  estate  into  fine  order,  every  thing 
Went  to  his  wishes,  and  what  was  more,  he  was  mar- 
ried to  Sacharissa :  who,  it  seems,  had  always  enter- 
tained an  ardent  though  secret  attachment  for  him, 
which  he  fortunately  discovered  just  after  coming  to 
his  estate. 

"  I  find,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  little  given  to  the 
sin  of  authorship,  which  I  renounce.  If  the  anec- 
dotes I  have  given  you  of  my  story  are  of  any  in- 
terest, you  may  make  use  of  them ;  but  come  down 
to  Doubting  Castle  and  see  how  we  live,  and  I'll 
give  you  my  whole  London  life  over  a  social  glass  ; 
and  a  rattling  history  it  shall  be  about  authors  and 
reviewers."  

If  ever  I  visit  Doubting  Castle,  and  get  the  his- 
tory he  promises,  the  public  shall  be  sure  to  heat 
of  it. 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


Tales  of  a  Traveller. 


PART     THIRD. 


THE  ITALIAN   BANDITTI. 


THE  INN  AT  TERRACINA. 


Crack  !  crack  !  crack  !  crack  !  crack  ! 

"  Here  comes  the  estafette  from  Naples,"  said  mine 
host  of  the  inn  at  Terracina,  "bring  out  the  relay." 

The  estafette  came  as  usual  galloping  up  the  road, 
brandishing  over  his  head  a  short-handled  whip,  with 
a  long  knotted  lash  ;  every  smack  of  which  made  a 
report  like  a  pistol.  He  was  a  tight  square-set  young 
fellow,  in  the  customary  uniform — a  smart  blue  coat, 
ornamented  with  facings -and  gold  lace,  but  so  short 
behind  as  to  reach  scarcely  below  his  waistband,  and 
cocked  up  not  unlike  the  tail  of  a  wren.  A  cocked 
hat,  edged  with  gold  lace  ;  a  pair  of  stiff  riding  boots  ; 
but  instead  of  the  usual  leathern  breeches  he  had  a 
fragment  of  a  pair  of  drawers  that  scarcely  furnished 
an  apology  for  modesty  to  hide  behind. 

The  estafette  galloped  up  to  the  door  and  jumped 
from  his  horse. 

"  A  glass  of  rosolio,  a  fresh  horse,  and  a  pair  of 
breeches,"  said  he,  "  and  quickly — I  am  behind  my 
time,  and  must  be  off." 

"  San  Genaro  !  "  replied  the  host,  "  why,  where 
hast  thou  left  thy  garment .'  " 

"Among  the  robbers  between  this  and  Fondi." 

"  What !  rob  an  estafette  !  I  never  heard  of  such 
folly.     What  could  they  hope  to  get  from  thee  ?  " 

"  My  leather  breeches  !  "  replied  the  estafette. 
"  They  were  bran  ntw,  and  shone  like  gold,  and  hit 
the  fancy  of  the  captain." 

"  Well,  these  fellows  grow  worse  and  worse.  To 
meddle  with  an  estafette  !  And  that  merely  for  the 
sake  of  a  pair  of  leather  breeches  !  " 

The  robbing  of  a  government  messenger  seemed 
to  strike  the  host  with  more  astonishment  than  any 
other  enormity  that  had  taken  place  on  the  road  ;  and 
indeed  it  was  the  first  time  so  wanton  an  outrage  had 
been  committed  ;  the  robbers  generally  taking  care 
not  to  meddle  with  any  thing  belonging  to  govern- 
ment. 

The  estafette  was  by  this  time  equipped  ;  for  he 
had  not  lost  an  instant  in  making  his  preparations 
while  talking.  The  relay  was  ready  :  the  rosolio 
tossed  off.      He  grasped  the  reins  and  the  stirrup. 

"  Were  there  many  robbers  in  the  band  ?  "  said  a 
handsome,  dark  young  man,  stepping  forward  from 
the  door  of  the  inn. 

"  As  formidable  a  band  as  ever  I  saw,"  said  the 
estafette,  springing  into  the  saddle. 

"  Are  they  cruel  to  travellers .'  "  said  a  beautiful 
young  Venetian  lady,  who  had  been  hanging  on  the 
gentleman's  arm. 

"  Cruel,  sig-nora  !  "  echoed  the  estafette,  giving  a 
glance  at  the  lady  as  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse. 
"  Corpo  del  Bacco  !  they  stiletto  all  the  men,  and  as 
to  the  women " 

Crack  !  crack  !  crack  !  crack  !  crack  !  —  the  last 
words  were  drowned  in  the  smacking  of  the  whip, 
and  away  galloped  the  estafette  along  the  road  to 
the  Pontine  marshes. 


"  Holy  Virgin !  "  ejaculated  the  fair  Venetian, 
"  what  will  become  of  us  !  " 

The  inn  of  Terracina  stands  just  outside  of  the 
walls  of  the  old  town  of  that  name,  on  the  frontiers 
of  the  Roman  territory-.  A  little,  lazy,  Italian  town, 
the  inhabitants  of  which,  apparently  heedless  and 
listless,  are  said  to  be  little  better  than  the  brigands 
which  surround  them,  and  indeed  are  half  of  them 
supposed  to  be  in  some  way  or  other  connected  with 
the  robbers.  A  vast,  rocky  height  rises  perpendicu- 
larly above  it,  with  the  ruins  of  the  castle  of  Theo- 
doric  the  Goth,  crowning  its  summit;  before  it 
spreads  the  wide  bosom  of  the  Mediterranean,  that 
sea  without  flux  or  reflux.  There  seems  an  idle  pause 
in  every  thing  about  this  place.  The  port  is  without 
a  sail,  excepting  that  once  in  a  while  a  solitary  feluc- 
ca may  be  seen,  disgorging  its  holy  cargo  of  baccala, 
the  meagre  provision  for  the  Quaresima  or  Lent. 
The  naked  watch  towers,  rising  here  and  there  along 
the  coast,  speak  of  pirates  and  corsairs  which  hover 
about  these  shores :  while  the  low  huts,  as  stations 
for  soldiers,  which  dot  the  distant  road,  as  it  winds 
through  an  olive  grove,  intimate  that  in  the  ascent 
there  is  danger  for  the  traveller  and  facility  for  the 
bandit. 

Indeed,  it  is  between  this  town  and  Fondi  that  the 
road  to  Naples  is  mostly  infested  by  banditti.  It 
winds  among  rocky  and  solitary  places,  where  the 
robbers  are  enabled  to  see  the  traveller  from  a  dis- 
tance, from  the  brows  of  hills  or  impending  preci- 
pices, and  to  lie  in  wait  for  him,  at  the  lonely  and 
difficult  passes. 

At  the  time  that  the  estafette  made  this  sudden  ap- 
pearance, almost  in  ciierpo,  the  audacity  of  the  rob-  ■ 
bers  had  risen  to  an  unparalleled  height.  They  had 
their  spies  and  emissaries  in  every  town,  village,  and 
osteria,  to  give  them  notice  of  the  quality  and  move- 
ments of  travellers.  They  did  not  scruple  to  send 
messages  into  the  country  towns  and  villas,  demand- 
ing certain  sums  of  money,  or  articles  of  dress  and 
luxury  ;  with  menaces  of  vengeance  in  case  of  refu- 
sal. They  had  plundered  carriages  ;  carried  people 
of  rank  and  fortune  into  the  mountains  and  obliged 
them  to  write  for  heavy  ransoms  ;  and  had  commit- 
ted outrages  on  females  who  had  fallen  in  their 
power. 

The  police  exerted  its  rigour  in  vain.  The  brigands 
were  too  numerous  and  powerful  for  a  weak  police. 
They  were  countenanced  and  cherished  by  several 
of  the  villages  ;  and  though  now  and  then  the  limbs 
of  malefactors  hung  blackening  in  the  trees  near 
which  they  had  committed  some  atrocity  ;  or  their 
heads  stuck  upon  posts  in  iron  cages  made  some 
dreary  part  of  the  road  still  more  dreary,  still  they 
seemed  to  strike  dismay  into  no  bosom  but  that  of 
the  traveller. 

The  dark,  handsome  young  man,  and  the  Vene- 
tian lady,  whom  I  have  mentioned,  had  arrived  early 
that  afternoon  in  a  private  carriage,  drawn  by  mules 
and  attended  by  a  single  servant.  They  had  been 
recently  married,  were  spending  the  honeymoon  in 
travelling  through  these  delicious  countries,  and  were 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


393 


on  their  way  to  visit  a  rich  aunt  of  the  young  lady's 
at  Naples. 

The  lady  was  young',  and  tender  and  timid.  The 
stories  she  had  heard  along  the  road  had  hlled  her 
with  apprehension,  not  more  for  herself  than  for  her 
husband ;  for  though  she  had  been  married  almost 
a  month,  she  still  loved  him  almost  to  idolatry. 
When  she  reached  Terracina  the  rumours  of  the 
road  had  increased  to  an  alarming  magnitude ;  and 
the  sight  of  two  robbers'  skulls  grinning  in  iron 
cages  on  each  side  of  the  old  gateway  of  the  town 
brought  her  to  a  pause.  Her  husband  had  tried  in 
vain  to  reassure  her.  They  had  lingered  all  the 
afternoon  at  the  inn,  until  it  was  too  late  to  think  of 
starting  that  evening,  and  the  parting  words  of  the 
estafstte  completed  her  affright. 

"Let  us  return  to  Rome,"  said  she,  putting  her 
arm  within  her  husband's,  and  drawing  towards  him 
as  if  for  protection — "  let  us  return  to  Rome  and  give 
up  this  visit  to  Naples." 

"And  give  up  the  visit  to  your  aunt,  too,"  said 
the  husband. 

"  Nay — what  is  my  aunt  in  comparison  with  your 
safety,"  said  she,  looking  up  tenderly  in  liis  face. 

There  was  something  in  her  tone  and  manner  that 
showed  she  'really  was  thinking  more  of  her  hus- 
band's safety  at  that  moment  than  of  her  own;  and 
being  recently  married,  and  a  match  of  pure  affec- 
tion, too,  it  is  very  possible  that  she  was.  At  least 
her  husband  thought  so.  Indeed,  any  one  who  has 
heard  the  sweet,  musical  tone  of  a  Venetian  voice, 
and  the  melting  tenderness  of  a  Venetian  phrase, 
and  felt  the  soft  witchery  of  a  Venetian  eye,  would 
not  wonder  at  the  husband's  believing  whatever  they 
professed. 

He  clasped  the  white  hand  that  had  been  laid 
within  his,  put  his  arm  round  her  slender  waist,  and 
drawing  her  fondly  to  his  bosom — "This  night  at 
least,"  said  he,  "we'll  pass  at  Terracina." 

Crack  !  crack  !  crack  !  crack  !  crack  ! 

Another  apparition  of  the  road  attracted  the  at- 
tention of  mine  host  and  his  guests.  From  the  road 
across  the  Pontine  marshes,  a  carriage  drawn  by 
half  a  dozen  horses,  came  driving  at  a  furious  pace 
— the  postilions  smacking  their  whips  like  mad,  as 
is  the  case  when  conscious  of  the  greatness  or  the 
munificence  of  their  fare.  It  was  a  landaulet,  with 
a  servant  mounted  on  the  dickey.  The  compact, 
highly  finished,  yet  proudly  simple  construction  of 
the  carriage ;  the  quantity  of  neat,  well-arranged 
trunks  and  conveniences  ;  the  loads  of  box  coats  and 
upper  benjamins  on  the  dickey— and  the  fresh,  burly, 
gruff-lookmg  face  at  the  window,  proclaimed  at  once 
that  it  was  the  equipage  of  an  Englishman. 

"  Fresh  horses  to  Fondi,"  said  the  Englishman, 
as  the  landlord  came  bowing  to  the  carriage  door. 

"  Would  not  his  Excellenza  alight  and  take  some 
refreshment  ?  " 

"  No — he  did  not  mean  to  eat  until  he  got  to 
Fondi ! " 

"  But  the  horses  will  be  some  time  in  getting 
ready — " 

"  Ah — that's  always  the  case — nothing  but  delay 
in  this  cursed  country." 

"  If  his  Excellenza  would  only  walk  into  the 
house — " 

"  No,  no,  no  ! — I  tell  you  no  ! — I  want  nothing 
but  horses,  and  as  quick  as  possible.  John  !  see 
that  the  horses  are  got  ready,  and  don't  let  us  be 
kept  here  an  hour  or  two.  Tell  him  if  we're  delayed 
over  the  time,  I'll  lodge  a  complaint  with  the  post- 
master." 

John  touched  his  hat,  and  set  off  to  obey  his 
master's  orders,  with  the  taciturn  obedience  of  an 
English  servant.     He  was  a  ruddy,  round-faced  fal- 


low, with  hair  cropped  close ;  a  short  coat,  drab 
breeches,  and  long  gaiters ;  and  appeared  to  have 
almost  as  much  contempt  as  his  master  for  every 
thing  around  him. 

In  the  meantime  the  Englishman  got  out  of  the 
carriage  and  walked  up  and  down  before  the  inn, 
with  his  hands  in  his  pockets :  taking  no  notice  of 
the  crowd  of  idlers  who  were  gazing  at  hiri  and  his 
equipage.  He  was  tall,  stout,  and  well  made  : 
dressed  with  neatness  and  precision,  wore  a  travel- 
ling-cap of  the  colour  of  gingerbread,  and  had  rather 
an  unhappy  expression  about  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  ;  partly  from  not  having  yet  made  his  d.nner, 
and  partly  from  not  having  been  able  to  get  on  at  a 
greater  rate  than  seven  miles  an  hour.  Not  that  he 
had  any  other  cause  for  haste  than  an  Englishman's 
usual  hurry  to  get  to  the  end  of  a  journey  ;  or,  to  use 
the  regular  phrase,  "to  get  on." 

Aher  some  time  the  servant  returned  from  the 
stable  with  as  sour  a  look  as  his  master. 

"  Are  the  horses  ready,  John  ?  " 

"  No,  sir — I  never  saw  such  a  place.  There's  no 
getting  anything  done.  I'  think  yo-ir  honour  had 
better  step  into  the  house  and  get  something  to  eat ; 
it  will  be  a  long  while  before  we  get  to  Fundy." 

"D n   the  house— it's  a  mere  trick — I'll  not 

eat  any  thing,  just  to  spite  them,"  said  the  English- 
man, still  more  crusty  at  the  prospect  of  being  so 
long  without  his  dinner. 

"  They  say  your  honour's  very  wrong,"  said  John, 
"to  set  off  at  this  late  hour.  Tlie  road's  full  of 
highwaj^nen." 

"  Mere  tales  to  get  custom." 

"  The  estafettc  which  passed  us  was  stopped  by 
a  whole  gang,"  said  John,  increasing  his  emphasis 
with  each  additional  piece  of  information. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

"They  robbed  him  of  his  breeches,"  said  John, 
giving  at  the  same  time  a  hitch  to  his  own  waist- 
band. 

"  All  humbug  !  " 

Here  the  dark,  handsome  young  man  stepped  for- 
ward and  addressing  the  Englishman  very  politely 
in  broken  English,  invited  him  to  partake  of  a 
repast  he  was  about  to  make.  "Thank'ee,"  said 
the  Englisman,  thrusting  his  hands  deeper  into  his 
pockets,  and  casting  a  slight  side  glance  of  sus- 
picion at  the  young  man,  as  if  he  thought  from  his 
civility  he  must  have  a  design  upon  his  i)urse. 

"  VVe  shall  be  most  happy  if  you  will  tlo  us  that 
favour,"  said  the  lady,  in  her  soft  Venetian  dialect. 
There  was  a  sweetness  in  her  accents  that  was  most 
persuasive.  The  Englishman  cast  a  look  upon  her 
countenance ;  her  beauty  was  still  more  eloquent. 
His  features  instantly  relaxed.  He  made  an  at- 
tempt at  a  civil  bow.  "  With  great  pleasure,  sig- 
nora,"  said  he. 

In  short,  the  eagerness  to  "get  on  "  was  suddenly 
slackened;  the  determination  to  famish  himself  as 
far  as  Fondi  by  way  of  punishing  the  landlord  was 
abandoned ;  John  chose  the  best  apartment  in  the 
inn  for  his  master's  reception,  and  preparations  were 
made  to  remain  there  until  morning. 

The  carriage  was  unpacked  of  such  of  its  contents 
as  were  indispensable  for  the  night.  There  was  the 
usual  parade  of  trunks  and  writing-desks,  and  port- 
folios, and  dressing-boxes,  and  those  other  oppress- 
ive conveniences  which  burthen  a  comfortable  man. 
The  observant  loiterers  about  the  inn  door,  wrapped 
up  in  great  dirt-coloured  cloaks,  with  only  a  hawk's 
eye  uncovered,  made  m.any  remarks  to  each  other  on 
this  quantity  of  luggage  that  seemed  enough  for  an 
army.  And  the  domestics  of  the  inn  talked  with 
wonder  of  the  splendid  dressing-case,  with  its  gold 
and  silver  furniture  that  was  spread  Qut  on  the  toi- 


894 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


lette  table,  and  the  bag  of  gold  that  chinked  as  it 
was  taken  out  of  tlie  trunk.  The  strange  "  Milor's  " 
wealth,  and  the  treasures  he  carried  about  him,  were 
the  talk,  that  evening,  over  all  Terracina. 

The  Englishman  took  some  time  to  make  his 
ablutions  and  arrange  his  dress  for  table,  and  after 
considerable  labour  and  effort  in  putting  himself  at 
his  ease,  made  his  appearance,  with  stiff  white  cravat, 
his  clothes  free  from  the  least  speck  of  dust,  and  ad- 
justed with  precision.  He  made  a  formal  bow  on 
entering,  which  no  doubt  he  meant  to  be  cordial. 
but  which  any  one  else  would  have  considered  cool, 
and  took  his  seat. 

The  supper,  as  it  was  termed  by  the  Italian,  or 
dinner,  as  the  Englishman  called  it,  was  now  served. 
Heaven  and  earth,  and  the  waters  under  the  earth, 
had  been  moved  to  furnish  it,  for  there  were  birds  of 
the  air  and  beasts  of  the  earth  and  fish  of  the 
sea.  The  Englishman's  servant,  too,  had  turned 
the  kitchen  topsy-turvy  in  his  zeal  to  cook  his  master 
a  beefsteak;  and  made  his  appearance  loaded  with 
ketchup,  and  soy,  and  Cayenne  pepper,  and  Hai-vey 
sauce,  and  a  bottle  of  port  wine,  from  that  ware- 
house, the  carriage,  in  which  his  master  seemed 
desirous  of  carrying  England  about  the  world  with 
him.  Every  thing,  however,  according  to  the  En- 
glishman, was  execrable.  The  tureen  of  soup  was  a 
black  sea,  with  livers  and  limbs  and  fragments  of  all 
kinds  of  birds  and  beasts,  floating  like  wrecks  about 
it.  A  meagre  winged  animal,  which  my  host  called 
a  delicate  chicken,  was  too  delicate  for  his  stomach, 
for  it  had  evidently  died  of  a  consumption.  The 
macaroni  was  smoked.  The  beefsteak  was  tough 
buffalo's  flesh,  and  the  countenance  of  mine  host 
confirmed  the  assertion.  Nothing  seemed  to  hit 
his  palate  but  a  dish  of  stewed  eels,  of  which  he  ate 
with  great  relish,  but  had  nearly  refunded  them 
when  told  that  they  were  vipers,  caught  among  the 
rocks  of  Terracina,  and  esteemed  a  great  delicacy. 

In  short,  the  Englishman  ate  and  growled,  and 
ate  and  growled,  like  a  cat  eating  in  company,  pro- 
nouncing himself  poisoned  by  every  dish,  yet  eating 
on  in  defiance  of  death  and  the  doctor.  The  Vene- 
tian lady,  not  accustoined  to  English  travellers,  al- 
most repented  having  persuaded  him  to  the  meal ; 
for  though  very  gracious  to  her,  he  was  so  crusty  to 
all  the  world  beside,  that  she  stood  in  awe  of  him. 
There  is  nothing,  however,  that  conquers  John 
Bull's  crustiness  sooner  than  eating,  whatever  may 
be  the  cookery  ;•  and  nothing  brings  him  into  good 
humour  with  his  company  sooner  than  eating  to- 
gether ;  the  Englishman,  therefore,  had  not  half 
linished  his  repast  and  his  bottle,  before  he  began 
to  think  the  Venetian  a  ver)'  tolerable  fellow  for  a 
foreigner,  and  his  wife  almost  handsome  enough  to 
be  an  Englishwoman. 

In  the  course  of  the  repast  the  tales  of  robbers 
which  harassed  the  mind  of  the  fair  Venetian,  were 
brought  into  discussion.  The  landlord  and  the 
waiter  served  up  such  a  number  of  them  as  they 
served  up  the  dishes,  that  they  almost  frightened 
away  the  poor  lady's  appetite.  Among  these  was 
the  story  of  the  school  of  Terracina,  still  fresh  in 
every  mind,  where  the  students  were  carried  up  the 
mountains  by  the  banditti,  in  hoi)es  of  ransom,  and 
one  of  them  massacred,  to  bring  the  parents  to 
terms  for  the  others.  There  was  a  story  also  of  a 
gentleman  of  Rome,  who  delayed  remitting  the  ran- 
som demanded  for  his  son,  detained  by  the  banditti, 
and  received  one  of  his  son's  ears  in  a  letter  with 
information  that  the  other  would  be  remitted  to  him 
soon,  if  the  money  were  not  forthcoming,  and  that 
in  this  way  he  would  receive  the  boy  by  instalments 
until  he  came  to  terms. 

The  fair  Venetian  shuddered  as  she  heard  these 


tales.  The  landlord,  like  a  true  story-teller,  doubled 
the  dose  when  he  saw  how  it  operated.  He  was  just 
proceeding  to  relate  the  misfortunes  of  a  great  En- 
glish lord  and  his  fainily,  when  the  Englishman, 
tired  of  his  volubility,  testily  interrupted  him,  and 
pronounced  these  accounts  mere  traveller's  tales,  or 
the  exaggerations  of  peasants  and  innkeepers.  The 
landlord  was  indignant  at  the  doubt  levelled  at  his 
stories,  and  the  innuendo  levelled  at  his  cloth ;  he 
cited  half  a  dozen  stories  still  more  terrible,  to  cor- 
roborate those  he  had  already  told. 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  them,"  said  the  En- 
glishman. 

"  But  the  robbers  had  been  tried  and  executed." 

"All  a  farce  !  " 

"  But  their  heads  were  stuck  up  along  the  road." 

"  Old  skulls  accumulated  during  a  centurv." 

The  landlord  muttered  to  himself  as  he  went  out 
at  the  door,  "San  Genaro,  come  sono  singolari 
questi  Inglesi." 

A  fresh  hubbub  outside  of  the  inn  announced  the 
arrival  of  more  tra\'ellers ;  and  from  the  variety  of 
voices,  or  rather  clamours,  the  clattering  of  horses' 
hoofs,  the  rattling  of  wheels,  and  the  general  uproar 
both  within  and  without,  the  arrival  seemed  to  be 
numerous.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  procaccio,  and  its 
convoy — a  kind  of  caravan  of  merchandise,  that  sets 
out  on  stated  days,  under  an  escort  of  soldiery  to 
protect  it  from  the  robbers.  Travellers  avail  them- 
selves of  the  occasion,  and  many  carriages  accom- 
pany the  procaccio.  It  was  a  long  time  before 
either  landlord  or  waiter  returned,  being  hurried 
away  by  the  tempest  of  new  custom.  When  mine 
host  appeared,  there  was  a  smile  of  triumph  on  his 
countenance. — "  Perhaps,"  said  he,  as  he  cleared 
away  the  table,  "perhaps  the  signor  has  not  heard 
of  what  has  happened." 

"What?"  said  the  Englishman,  drily. 

"  Oh,  the  .procaccio  has  arrived,  and  has  brought 
accounts  of  fresh  exploits  of  the  robbers,  signor." 

"  Pish  ! " 

"  There's  more  news  of  the  English  Milor  and  his 
family,"  said  the  host,  emphatically. 

"  An  English  lord. — What  English  lord  ?  " 

"  Milor  Popkin." 

"  Lord  Popkin .'     I  never  heard  of  such  a  title  !  " 

"  O  Sicuro — a  great  nobleman  that  passed  through 
here  lately  with  his  Milady  and  daughters — a  mag- 
nifico — one  of  the  grand  councillors  of  London — un 
almanno. " 

"  Afmanno  —  almanno  ?  —  tut !  he  means  al- 
derman." 

"  Sicuro,  aldermanno  Popkin,  and  the  principezza 
Popkin,  and  the  signorina  Popkin  !  "  said  mine  host, 
triumphantly.  He  would  now  have  entered  into  a 
full  detail,  but  was  thwarted  by  the  Englishman, 
who  seemed  determined  not  to  credit  or  indulge  him 
in  his  stories.  An  Italian  tongue,  however,  is  not 
easily  checked  :  that  of  mine  host  continued  to  run 
on  with  increasing  volubility  as  he  conveyed  the 
fragments'  of  the  repast  out  of  the  room,  and  the 
last  that  could  be  distinguished  of  his  voice,  as  it 
died  away  along  the  corridor,  was  the  constant  re- 
currence of  the  favourite  word  Popkin — Popkin — 
Popkin — pop— pop — pop. 

The  arrival  of  the  procaccio  had  indeed  filled  the 
house  with  stories  as  it  had  with  guests.  The  En- 
glishman and  his  companions  walked  out  after  sup- 
per into  the  great  hall,  or  common  room  of  the  inn, 
which  runs  through  the  centre  building;  a  gloomy, 
dirty-looking  apartment,  with  tables  placed  in  vari- 
ous parts  of  it,  at  which  some  of  the  travellers  were 
seated  in  groups,  while  others  strolled  about  in  fam- 
ished impatience  for  their  evening's  meal.  As  the 
procaccio  was  a  kind  of  caravan  of  travellers,  there 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


395 


were  people  of  every  class  and  country,  who  had  | 
come  in  all  kinds  of  vehicles  ;  and  though  they  kept  i 
in  some  measure  in  separate  parties,  yet  the  being 
united  under  one  common  escort  had  jumbled  them 
into  companionship  on  the  road.  Their  formidable 
number  and  the  formidable  guard  that  accompanied 
them,  had  prevented  any  molestation  from  the  ban- 
ditti ;  but  every  carriage  had  its  tale  of  wonder,  and 
one  vied  with  another  in  the  recital.  Not  one  but 
had  seen  groups  of  robbers  peering  over  the  rocks  ; 
or  their  guns  peeping  out  from  among  the  bushes, 
or  had  been  reconnoitred  by  some  suspicious-looking 
fellow  with  scowling  eye,  who  disappeared  on  seeing 
the  guard. 

The  fair  Venetian  listened  to  all  these  stories  with 
that  eager  curiosity  with  which  we  seek  to  pamper 
any  feeling  of  alarm.  Even  the  Englishman  began 
to  feel  interested  in  the  subject,  and  desirous  of 
gaining  itiore  correct  information  than  these  mere 
■flying  reports.  He  mingled  in  one  of  the  groups 
which  appeared  to  be  the  most  respectable,  and 
which  was  assembled  round  a  tall,  tliin  person,  with 
long  Roman  nose,  a  high  forehead,  and  lively  prom- 
ine.Tt  eye,  beaming  from  under  a  green  velvet  trav- 
elling-cap with  gold  tassel.  He  was  holding  forth 
with  all  the  fluency  of  a  man  who  talks  well  and 
likes  to  exert  his  talent.  He  was  of  Rome;  a  sur- 
geon by  profession,  a  poet  by  choice,  and  one  who 
was  something  of  an  improvvisatore.  He  soon  gave 
the  Englishman  abundance  of  information  respect- 
ing the  banditti.  "  The  fact  is,"  said  he,  "  that 
many  of  the  people  in  the  villages  among  the  mount- 
ains are  robbers,  or  rather  the  robbers  find  perfect 
asylum  among  them.  They  range  over  a  vast  ex- 
tent of  wild  impracticable  country,  along  the  chain 
of  Apennines,  bordering  on  different  states;  they 
know  all  the  difficult  passes,  the  short  cuts  and 
strong-holds.  They  are  secure  of  the  good-will  of 
the  poor  and  peaceful  inhabitants  of  those  regions, 
whom  they  never  disturb,  and  whom  they  often  en- 
rich. Indeed,  they  are  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of  il- 
legitimate heroes  among  the  mountain  villages,  and 
some  of  the  frontier  towns,  where  they  dispose  of 
their  plunder.  From  these  mountains  they  keep  a 
look-out  upon  the  plains  and  valleys,  and  meditate 
their  descents. 

"  The  road  to  Fondi,  which  you  are  about  to 
travel,  is  one  of  the  places  most  noted  for  their  ex- 
ploits. It  is  overlooked  from  some  distance  by  little 
hamlets,  perched  upon  heights.  From  hence,  the 
brigands,  like  hawks  in  their  nests,  keep  on  the 
watch  for  such  travellers  as  are  likely  to  afford 
either  booty  or  ransom.  The  windings  of  the  road 
enable  thein  to  see  carriages  long  before  they  pass,  so 
that  they  have  time  to  get  to  some  advantageous  lurk- 
ing-place from  whence  to  pounce  upon  their  prey." 

"  But  why  does  not  the  police  interfere  and  root 
them  out.'  ''  said  the  Englishman. 

"The  police  is  too  weak  and  the  banditti  are  too 
strong,"  rephed  the  improvvisatore.  "  To  root  them 
out  would  be  a  more  difiicult  task  than  you  imagine. 
They  are  connected  and  identified  with  the  people 
of  the  villages  and  the  peasantry  generally ;  the  nu- 
merous bands  have  an  understanding  with  each 
other,  and  with  people  of  various  conditions  in  all 
parts  of  the  country.  They  know  all  that  is  going 
on  ;  a  gens  d' amies  cannot  stir  without  their  being 
aware  of  it.  They  have  their  spies  and  emissaries 
in  every  direction ;  they  lurk  about  towns,  villages, 
inns, — mingle  in  every  crowd,  pervade  every  place 
of  resort.  I  should  not  be  surprised,"  said  he, 
"  if  some  one  should  be  supervising  us  at  this  mo- 
ment." 

The  fair  Venetian  looked  round  fearfully  and 
turned  pale. 


"  One  peculiarity  of  the  Italian  banditti,"  con- 
tinued the  improvvisatore,  "  is  that  they  wear  a  kind 
of  uniform,  or  rather  costume,  which  designates  their 
profession.  This  is  probably  done  to  take  away  from 
its  skulking  lawless  character,  and  to  give  it  some- 
thing of  a  military  air  in  the  eyes  of  the  common 
people ;  or  perhaps  to  catch  by  outward  dash  and 
show  the  fancies  of  the  young  men  of  the  villages. 
These  dresses  or  costumes  are  often  rich  and  fanci- 
ful. Some  wear  jackets  and  breeches  of  bright  col- 
ours, richly  embroidered  ;  broad  belts  of  cloth  ;  or 
sashes  of  silk  net ;  broad,  high-crowned  hats,  deco- 
rated with  feathers  or  variously-coloured  ribbands, 
and  silk  nets  for  the  hair. 

"  Many  of  the  robbers  are  peasants  who  follow 
ordinary  occupations  in  the  villages  for  a  part  of  the 
year,  and  take  to  the  mountains  for  the  rest.  Some 
only  go  out  for  a  season,  as  it  were,  on  a  hunting  ex- 
pedition, and  then  resume  the  dress  and  habits  of 
common  life.  Many  of  the  young  men  of  the  vil- 
lages take  to  this  kind  of  life  occasionally  from  a 
mere  love  of  adventure,  the  wild  wandering  spirit  of 
youth  and  the  contagion  of  bad  example  ;  but  it  is 
remarked  that  they  can  never  after  brook  a  long 
continuance  in  settled  life.  They  get  fond  of  the 
unbounded  freedom  and  rude  license  they  enjoy ; 
and  there  is  something  in  this  wild  mountain  life 
checquered  by  adventure  and  peril,  that  is  wonder- 
fully fascinating,  independent  of  the  gratification  of 
cupidity  by  the  plunder  of  the  wealthy  traveller." 

Here  the  improvvisatore  was  interrupted  by  a 
lively  Neapolitan  lawyer.  "  Your  mention  of  the 
younger  robbers,"  s.aid  he,  "puts  me  in  mind  of  an 
adventure  of  a  learned  doctor,  a  friend  of  mine, 
which  happened  in  this  very  neighbourhood. 

A  wish  was  of  course  expressed  to  hear  the  advent- 
ure of  the  doctor  by  all  except  the  improvvisatore, 
who,  being  fond  of  talking  and  of  hearing  himself 
talk,  and  accustomed  moreover  to  harangue  without 
interruption,  looked  rather  annoyed  at  being  checked 
when  in  full  career. 

The  Neapolitan,  however,  took  no  notice  of  his 
chagrin,  but  related  the  following  anecdote. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  LITTLE  ANTIQUARY. 


My  friend  the  doctor  was  a  thorough  antiquary : 
a  little,  rusty,  musty  old  fellow,  always  groping 
among  ruins.  He  relished  a  building  as  you  En- 
glishmen relish  a  cheese,  the  more  mouldy  and 
crumbling  it  was,  the  more  it  was  to  his  taste.  A 
shell  of  an  old  nameless  temple,  or  the  cracked  walls 
of  a  broken-down  amphitheatre,  would  throw  him 
into  raptures  ;  and  he  took  more  delight  in  these 
crusts  and  cheese  parings  of  antiquity  than  in  tlic 
best-conditioned  modern  edifice. 

He  had  taken  a  maggot  into  his  brain  at  one  time 
to  hunt  after  the  ancient  cities  of  the  Pelasgi  which 
are  said  to  exist  to  this  day  among  the  mountains  of 
the  Abruzzi ;  but  the  condition  of  which  is  strangely 
unknown  to  antiquaries.  It  is  said  that  he  had 
made  a  great  many  valuable  notes  and  memoran- 
dums on  the  subject,  which  he  always  carried  about 
with  him,  either  for  the  purpose  of  frequent  refer- 
ence, or  because  he  feared  the  precious  documents 
might  fall  into  the  hands  of  brother  antiquaries.  He 
had  therefore  a  large  pocket  behind,  in  which  he 
carried  them,  banging  against  his  rear  as  he  walked. 

Be  this  as  it  may  ;  happening  to  pass  a  few  days 
at  Terracina,  in  the  course  of  his  researches,  he  one 
day  mounted  the  rocky  cliffs  which  overhang  the 


396 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


town,  to  visit  the  castle  of  Theodoric.  He  was  grop- 
ing about  these  ruins,  towards  the  hour  of  sunset, 
biiried  in  his  reflections, — his  wils  no  doubt  wool- 
gathering among  the  Goths  and  Romans,  when  he 
heard  footsteps  behind  him. 

He  turned  and  beheld  five  or  six  young  fellows, 
of  rough,  saucy  demeanour,  clad  m  a  singular 
manner,  half  peasant,  half  huntsman,  with  fusils  in 
their  hands.  Their  whole  appearance  and  car- 
riage left  him  in  no  doubt  into  what  company  he 
had  fallen. 

The  doctor  was  a  feeble  little  man,  poor  in  look 
and  poorer  in  purse.  He  had  but  little  money  in  his 
pocket  ;  but  he  had  certain  valuables,  such  as  an 
old  silver  watch,  thick  as  a  turnip,  with  figures  on  it 
large  enough  for  a  clock,  and  a  set  of  seals  at  the 
end  of  a  steel  chain,  that  dangled  half  down  to  his 
knees  ;  all  which  were  of  precious  esteem,  being 
family  reliques.  He  had  also  a  seal  ring,  a  veritable 
antique  intaglio,  that  covered  half  his  knuckles  ;  but 
what  he  most  valued  was,  the  precious  treatise  on 
the  Pelasgian  cities,  which  he  would  gladly  have 
given  all  the  money  in  his  pocket  to  have  had  safe 
at  the  bottom  of  his  trunk  in  Terracina. 

However,  he  plucked  up  a  stout  heart  ;  at  least  as 
stout  a  heart  as  he  could,  seeing  that  he  was  but  a 
puny  little  man  at  the  best  of  times.  So  he  wished 
the  hunters  a  "  buon  giomo."  They  returned  his 
salutation,  giving  the  old  gentleman  a  sociable 
slap  on  the  back  that  made  his  heart  leap  into  his 
throat. 

They  fell  into  conversation,  and  walked  for  some 
time  together  among  the  heights,  the  doctor  wishing 
them  all  the  while  at  the  bottom  of  the  crater  of 
Vesuvius.  At  length  they  came  to  a  small  osteria 
on  the  mountain,  where  they  proposed  to  enter 
and  have  a  cup  of  wine  together.  The  doctor  con- 
sented ;  though  he  would  as  soon  have  been  invited 
to  drink  hemlock. 

One  of  the  gang  remained  sentinel  at  the  door ; 
the  others  swaggered  into  the  house  ;  stood  their 
fusils  in  a  corner  of  the  room ;  and  each  drawing 
a  pistol  or  stiletto  out  of  his  belt,  laid  it,  v;ith  some 
emphasis,  on  the  table.  They  now  called  lustily  for 
wine  ;  drew  benches  round  the  tatjle,  and  hailing 
the  doctor  as  though  he  had  been  a  boon  companion 
of  long  standing,  insisted  upon  his  sitting  down  and 
making  merry.  He  complied  v.-ith  forced  grimace, 
Viut  with  fear  and  trembling ;  sitting  on  the  edge  of 
his  bench  ;  supping  down  heartburn  with  every  drop 
of  liquor  ;  eyeing  ruefully  the  black  muzzled  pistols, 
and  cold,  naked  stilettos.  They  pushed  the  bottle 
bravely,  and  plied  him  vigorously  :  sang,  laughed, 
told  excellent  stories  of  robberies  and  combats,  and 
the  little  doctor  was  fain  to  laugh  at  these  cut-throat 
pleasantries,  though  his  heart  was  dying  away  at 
the  very  bottom  of  his  bosom. 

By  their  own  account  they  were  young  men  from 
the  villages,  who  had  recently  taken  up  this  line  of 
life  in  the  mere  wild  caprice  of  youth.  They  talked 
of  their  exploits  as  a  sportsman  talks  of  his  amuse- 
ments. To  shoot  down  a  traveller  seemed  of  little 
more  consequence  to  them  than  to  shoot  a  hare. 
They  spoke  with  rapture  of  the  glorious  roving  life 
they  led  ;  free  as  birds ;  here  to-day,  gone  to-mor- 
row ;  ranging  the  forests,  climbing  the  rocks,  scour- 
ing the  valleys;  the  world  their  own  wherever  they 
could  lay  hold  of  it ;  full  purses,  merry  companions  ; 
pretty  women. — The  little  antiquary  got  fuddled  with 
their  talk  and  their  wine,  for  they  did  not  spare 
bumpers.  He  half  forgot  his  fears,  his  seal  ring,  and 
his  family  watch ;  even  the  treatise  on  the  Pelasgian 
cities  which  was  warming  under  him,  for  a  time 
faded  from  his  memory,  in  the  glowing  picture  which 
they  drew.     He  declares  that  he  no  longer  wonders 


at  the  prevalence  of  this  robber  mania  among  the 
mountains ;  for  he  felt  at  the  time,  that  had  he  been 
a  young  man  and  a  strong  man,  and  had  there 
been  no  danger  of  the  galleys  in  the  background, 
he  should  have  been  half  tempted  himself  to  turn 
bandit. 

At  length  the  fearful  hour  of  separating  arrived. 
The  doctor  was  suddenly  called  to  himself  and  his 
fears,  by  seeing  the  robbers  resume  their  weapons. 
He  now  quaked  for  his  valuables,  and  above  all  for 
his  antiquarian  treatise.  He  endeavoured,  however, 
to  look  cool  and  unconcerned  ;  and  drew  from  out 
of  his  deep  pocket  a  long,  lank,  leathern  purse,  far 
gone  in  consumption,  at  the  bottom  of  which  a  few 
coin  chinked  with  the  trembling  of  his  hand. 

The  chief  of  the  party  observed  his  movement  ; 
and  laying  his  hand  upon  the  antiquary's  shoulder — 
"  Harkee  !  Signer  Dottore  !  "  said  he,  "  we  have  drank 
together  as  friends  and  comrades,  let  us  part  as  such. 
We  understand  you  ;  we  know  who  and  what  you 
are  ;  for  we  know  who  every  body  is  that  sleeps  at 
Terracina,  or  that  puts  foot  upon  the  road.  You 
are  a  rich  man,  but  you  carry  all  your  wealth  in  your 
head.  We  can't  get  at  it,  and  we  should  not  know 
what  to  do  with  it,  if  we  could.  I  see  you  are  un- 
easy about  your  ring;  but  don't  worry  your  mind; 
it  is  not  worth  taking ;  you  think  it  an  antique,  but 
it's  a  counterfeit — a  mere  sham." 

Here  the  doctor  would  have  put  in  a  word,  for  his 
antiquarian  pride  was  touched. 

"  Nay,  nay,"  continued  the  other,  "  we've  no  time 
to  dispute  about  it.  Value  it  as  you  please.  Come, 
you  are  a  brave  little  old  signor — one  more  cup  of 
wine  and  we'll  pay  the  reckoning.  No  compliments 
—  I  insist  on  it.  So — now  make  the  best  of  your 
way  back  to  Terracina ;  it's  growing  late — buono 
viaggio  ! — and  hark'ee,  take  care  how  you  wander 
among  these  mountains." 

They  shouldered  their  fusils,  sprang  gayly  up  the 
rocks,  and  the  little  doctor  hobbled  back  to  Terra- 
cina, rejoicing  that  the  robbers  had  let  his  seal  ring, 
his  watch,  and  his  treatise  escape  unmoleste:l,  though 
rather  nettled  that  they  should  have  pronounced  his 
veritable  intaglio  a  counterfeit. 

The  improvvisatore  had  shown  mnny  symptoms  of 
impatience  during  this  recital.  He  saw  his  theme  in 
danger  of  being  taken  out  of  his  hands  by  a  rival 
story-teller,  which  to  an  able  talker  is  always  a 
serious  grievance ;  it  was  also  in  danger  of  being 
taken  away  by  a  Neapolitan,  and  that  was  still  more 
vexatious ;  as  the  members  of  the  different  Italian 
states  have  an  incessant  jealousy  of  each  other  in  all 
things,  great  and  small.  He  took  advantage  of  the 
first  pause  of  the  Neapolitan  to  catch  hold  again  of 
the  thread  of  the  conversation. 

"  As  1  was  saying,"  resumed  he,  "  the  prevalence 
of  these  banditti  is  so  extensive  ;  their  power  so 
combined  and  interwoven  with  other  ranks  of  so- 
ciety— " 

"  For  that  matter,"  said  the  Neapolitan,  "I  have 
heard  that  your  government  has  had  some  under- 
standing with  these  gentry,  or  at  least  winked  at 
them." 

"  My  government  .>  "  said  the  Roman,  impatiently. 

"  Aye — they  say  that  Cardinal  Gonsalvi — " 

"  Hush  !  '■  said  the  Roman,  holding  up  his  finger, 
and  rolling  liis  large  eyes  about  the  room. 

"  Nay — I  only  repeat  what  I  heard  commonly 
rumoured  in  Rome,"  replied  the  other,  sturdily.  "It 
was  whispered  that  the  Cardinal  had  been  up  to  the 
mountain,  and  had  an  interview  with  some  of  the 
chiefs.  And  I  have  been  told  that  when  honest 
people  have  been  kicking  their  heels  in  the  Cardinal's 
anti-chamber,  waiting  by  the  hour  for  admittance, 
one  of  these  stiletto-looking  fellows  has  elbowed  his 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


397 


Way  throuirh  the  crowd,  and  entered  without  cere- 
mony into  the  Cardinal's  presence." 

"1  know,"  replied  the  Roman,  "that  there  have 
been  such  reports ;  and  it  is  not  impossible  that 
government  may  have  made  use  of  these  men  at  par- 
ticular p.;riods,  such  as  at  the  time  of  your  abortive 
revolution,  when  your  carbonari  were  so  busy  with 
their  machinations  all  over  the  country.  The  infor- 
mation that  men  like  these  could  collect,  who  were 
familiar,  not  merely  with  all  the  recesses  and  secret 
places  of  the  mountains,  but  also  with  all  the  dark 
and  dangerous  recesses  of  society,  and  knew  all  that 
was  plotting  in  the  world  of  mischief;  the  uti  ity  of 
such  instruments  in  the  hands  of  government  was 
too  obvious  to  be  overlooked,  and  Cardinal  Gonsalvi 
as  a  politic  statesman,  may,  perhaps,  have  made  use 
of  them  ;  for  it  is  well  known  the  robbers,  with  all 
their  atrocities,  are  respectful  towards  the  church, 
and  devout  in  their  religion." 

"  Religion  ! — religion  ?  "  echoed  the  Englishman. 

"  Yes — religion  !  "  repeated  the  improvvisatore. 
"  Scarce  one  of  them  but  will  cross  himself  and  say 
his  prayers  when  he  hears  in  his  mountain  fastness 
the  matin  or  the  ave  maria  bells  sounding  from  the 
valleys.  They  will  often  confess  themselves  to  the 
village  priests,  to  obtain  absolution  ;  and  occasion- 
ally visit  the  village  churches  to  pray  at  some  favourite 
shrine.  1  recollect  an  instance  in  point :  I  was  one 
evening  in  the  village  of  Frescati,  which  lies  below 
the  mountains  of  Abruzzi.  The  people,  as  usual  in 
tine  evenings  in  our  Italian  towns  and  villages,  were 
standing  about  in  groups  in  the  public  square,  con- 
versing and  amusing  themselves.  I  observed  a  tall, 
muscular  fellow,  wrapped  in  a  great  mantle,  passing 
across  the  square,  but  skulking  along  in  the  dark,  as 
if  avoiding  notice.  The  i)eople,  too,  seemed  to  draw 
back  as  he  passed.  It  was  whispered  to  me  that  he 
was  a  notorious  bandit." 

"  But  why  was  he  not  immediately  seized  ?  "  said 
the  Englishman. 

"  Because  it  was  nobody's  business  ;  because  no- 
body wished  to  incur  the  vengeance  of  his  comrades  ; 
because  there  were  not  sufficient  gens  d'armes  near 
to  insure  security  against  the  numbers  of  desperadoes 
he  might  have  at  hand  ;  because  the  gens  d'armes 
might  not  have  received  particular  instructions  with 
respect  to  him,  and  might  not  feel  disposed  to  en- 
gage in  the  hazardous  conflict  without  compulsion. 
In  short,  I  might  give  you  a  thousand  reasons,  rising 
out  of  the  state  of  our  government  and  manneis,  not 
one  of  which  after  all  might  appear  satisfactory." 

The  Englishman  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an 
air  of  contempt. 

"  I  have  been  told,"  added  the  Roman,  rather 
quickly,  "that  even  in  your  metropolis  of  London, 
notorious  thieves,  well  known  to  the  police  as  such, 
walk  the  streets  at  noon-day,  in  search  of  their  prey, 
and  are  not  molested  unless  caught  in  the  very  act 
of  robbery." 

The  Englishman  gave  another  shrug,  but  with  a 
different  expression. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  fixed  my  eye  on  this  daring  wolf 
thus  prowling  through  the  fold,  and  saw  him  enter 
a  church.  1  was  curious  to  witness  his  devotions. 
You  know  our  spacious,  magnificent  churches.  The 
one  in  which  he  entered  was  vast  and  shrouded  in 
the  dusk  of  evening.  At  the  extremity  of  the  long 
aisles  a  couple  of  tapers  feebly  glimmered  on  the 
grand  altar.  In  one  of  the  side  chapels  was  a  votive 
candle  placed  before  the  image  of  a  saint.  Before 
this  image  the  robber  had  prostrated  himself.  His 
mantle  partly  falling  off  from  his  shoulders  as  he 
knelt,  revealed  a  form  of  Herculean  strength ;  a 
Stiletto  and  pistol  glittered  in  his  belt,  and  the  light 
falling  on  his  countenance  showed  features  not  un- 


handsome, but  strongly  and  fiercely  charactered. 
As  he  prayed  he  became  vehemently  agitated  ;  his 
lips  quivered  ;  sighs  and  murmurs,  almost  groans 
burst  from  him  ;  he  beat  his  breast  with  violence, 
then  clasped  his  hands  and  wrung  them  convulsively 
as  he  extended  them  towards  the  image.  Never  had 
I  seen  such  a  terrific  picture  of  remorse.  I  felt  fear- 
ful of  being  discovered  by  him,  and  withdrew. 
Shortly  after  I  saw  him  issue  from  the  church  wrap- 
ped in  his  mantle  ;  he  recrossdd  the  square,  and 
no  doubt  returned  to  his  mountain  with  disbur- 
thened  conscience,  ready  to  incur  a  fresh  arrear  of 
crime." 

The  conversation  was  here  taken  up  by  two  other 
travellers,  recently  arrived,  Mr.  Hobbs  and  Mr. 
Dobbs,  a  linen-draper  and  a  green-grocer,  just  re- 
turning from  a  tour  in  Greece  and  the  Holy  Land  : 
and  who  were  full  of  the  stoiy  of  Alderman  Popkins. 
They  were  astonished  that  the  robbers  should  dare 
to  molest  a  man  of  his  importance  on  'change  ;  he 
being  an  eminent  dry-salter  of  Throgmorton-street, 
and  a  magistrate  to  boot. 

In  fact,  the  story  of  the  Popkins  family  was  but 
too  true  ;  it  was  attested  by  too  many  present  to  be 
for  a  moment  doubted  ;  and  from  the  contradictory 
and  concordant  testimony  of  half  a  score,  all  eager 
to  relate  it,  the  company  were  enabled  to  make  out 
all  the  particulars. 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  THE  POPKINS  FAMILY. 


It  was  but  a  few  days  before  that  the  carriage  of 
Alderman  Popkins  had  driven  up  to  the  inn  of  Terra- 
cina.  Those  who  have  seen  an  English  family  car- 
riage on  the  continent,  must  know  the  sensation  it 
produces.  It  is  an  epitome  of  England  ;  a  little 
morsel  of  the  old  island  rolling  about  the  world — 
every  thing  so  compact,  so  snug,  so  finished  and 
fitting.  The  wheels  that  roll  on  patent  axles  with- 
out rattling ;  the  body  that  hangs  so  well  on  its 
springs,  yielding  to  every  motion,  yet  proof  against 
every  shock.  The  ruddy  faces  gaping  out  of  the 
windows ;  sometimes  of  a  portly  old  citizen,  some- 
times of  a  voluminous  dowager,  and  sometimes  of 
a  fine  fresh  hoyden,  just  from  boarding  school. 
And  then  the  dickeys  loaded  with  well-dressed  serv- 
ants, beef-fed  and  bluff;  looking  down  from  their 
heights  with  contempt  on  all  the  world  around  ; 
profoundly  ignorant  of  the  country  and  the  people, 
and  devoutly  certain  that  every  thing  not  English 
must  be  wrong. 

Such  was  the  carriage  of  Alderman  Popkins,  as  it 
made  its  appearance  at  Terracina.  The  courier  who 
had  preceded  it,  to  order  horses,  and  who  was  a 
Neapolitan,  had  given  a  magnificent  account  of  the 
riches  and  greatness  of  his  master,  blundering  with 
all  an  Italian's  splendour  of  imagination  about  the 
alderman's  titles  and  dignities;  the  host  had  added 
his  usual  share  of  exaggeration,  so  that  by  the  time 
the  alderman  drove  up  to  the  door,  he  was  Milor — 
Magnifico— Principe — the  Lord  knows  what ! 

The  alderman  was  advised  to  take  an  escort  to 
Fondi  and  Itri,  but  he  refused.  It  was  as  much  as 
a  man's  life  was  worth,  he  said,  to  stop  him  on  the 
king's  highway ;  he  would  complain  of  it  to  the 
ambassador  at  Naples ;  he  would  make  a  national 
affair  of  it.  The  principezza  Popkins,  a  fresh,  moth- 
erly dame,  seemed  perfectly  secure  in  the  protection 
of  her  husband,  so  omnipotent  a  man  in  the  city. 
The  signorini  Popkins,  two  fine  bouncing  girls,  look- 
ed to  their  brother  "Tom,  who  had  taken  lessons 


393 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


in  boxing  ;  and  as  to  the  dandy  himself,  he  was  sure 
no  scaramouch  of  an  Italian  robber  would  dare  to 
meddle  with  an  Englishman.  The  landlord  shrug-ged 
his  shoulders  and  turned  out  the  palms  of  his  hands 
with  a  true  Italian  grimace,  and  the  carriage  of 
Milor  Popkins  rolled  on. 

They  passed  through  several  very  suspicious  places 
without  any  molestation.  The  Misses  Popkins,  who 
were  veiy  romantic,  and  had  learnt  to  draw  in  water 
colours,  were  enchanted  with  the  savage  scenery 
around ;  it  was  so  like  what  they  had  read  in  Mrs. 
Radcliffi's  romances,  they  should  like  of  all  things 
to  make  sketches.  At  length,  the  carriage  arrived  at 
a  place  where  the  road  wound  up  a  long  hill.  Mrs. 
Popkins  had  sunk  into  a  sleep ;  the  young  ladies 
were  reading  the  last  works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott  and 
Lord  Byron,  and  the  dandy  was  hectoring  the  postil- 
ions from  the  coach  box.  The  alderman  got  out,  as 
he  said,  to  stretch  his  legs  up  the  hill.  It  was  a  long 
winding  ascent,  and  obliged  him  every  now  and 
then  to  stop  and  blow  and  wipe  his  forehead  with 
many  a  pish  !  and  phew !  being  rather  pursy  and 
short  of  wind.  As  the  carriage,  however,  was  far 
behind  him,  and  toiling  slowly  under  the  weight  of 
so  many  well-stuffed  trunks  and  well-stuffed  travel- 
lers, he  had  plenty  of  time  to  walk  at  leisure. 

On  a  jutting  point  of  rock  that  overhung  the  road 
nearly  at  the  summit  of  the  hill,  just  where  the  route 
began  again  to  descend,  he  saw  a  solitary  man  seat- 
ed, who  appeared  to  be  tending  goats.  Alderman 
Popkins  Wds  one  of  your  shrewd  travellers  that  al- 
ways like  to  be  picking  up  small  information  along 
the  road,  so  he  thought  he'd  just  scramble  up  to 
the  honest  man,  and  have  a  little  talk  with  him  by 
way  of  learning  the  news  and  getting  a  lesson  in 
Italian.  As  he  drew  near  to  the  peasant  he  did  not 
half  like  his  looks.  He  was  partly  reclining  on  the 
rocks  wrapped  in  the  usual  long  mantle,  which,  with 
his  slouched  hat,  only  left  a  part  of  a  swarthy  visage, 
with  a  keen  black  eye,  a  beetle  brow,  and  a  fierce 
moustache  to  bs  seen.  He  had  whistled  several 
times  to  his  dog  which  was  roving  about  the  side  of 
the  hill.  As  the  alderman  approached  he  rose  and 
greeted  him.  When  standing  erect  he  seemed  al- 
most gigantic,  at  least  in  the  eyes  of  Alderman  Pop- 
kins ;  who,  however,  being  a  short  man,  might  be 
deceived. 

The  latter  would  gladly  now  have  been  back  in 
the  carriage,  or  even  on  'change  m  London,  for  he 
.was  by  no  means  well  pleased  with  his  company. 
However,  he  determined  to  put  the  best  face  on 
matters,  and  was  beginning  a  conversation  about 
the  state  of  the  weather,  tne  baddishness  of  the 
crops,  and  the  price  of  goats  in  that  part  of  the 
country,  when  he  heard  a  violent  screaming.  He 
ran  to  the  edge  of  the  rock,  and,  looking  over,  saw 
away  down  the  road  his  carriage  surrounded  by  rob- 
bers. One  held  down  the  fat  footman,  another  had 
the  dandy  by  his  starched  cravat,  with  a  pistol  to  his 
head  ;  one  was  rummaging  a  portmanteau,  another 
rummaging  the  prmcipezza's  pockets,  while  the  two 
Misses  Popkins  were  screaming  from  each  window 
of  the  carriage,  and  their  wailing  maid  squalling 
from  the  dickey. 

Alderman  Popkins  felt  all  the  fury  of  the  parent 
and  the  magistrate  roused  within  him.  He  grasped 
his  cane  and  was  on  the  point  of  scrambling  down 
the  rocks,  either  to  assault  the  robbers  or  to  read 
the  riot  act,  when  he  was  suddenly  grasped  by  the 
arm.  It  was  by  his  friend  the  goatherd,  whose  cloak, 
falling  partly  off,  discovered  a  belt  stuck  full  of  pis- 
tols and  stilettos.  In  short,  he  found  himself  in  the 
clutches  of  the  captain  of  the  band,  who  had  station- 
ed himself  on  the  rock  to  look  out  for  travellers  and 
to  give  notice  to  his  men. 


A  sad  ransacking  took  place.  Trunks  were  turned 
inside  out,  and  all  the  finery  and  the  frippery  of  the 
Popkins  family  scattered  about  the  road.  Such  a 
chaos  of  Venice  beads  and  Roman  mosaics  ;  and 
Paris  bonnets  of  the  young  ladies,  mingled  with  the 
alderman's  night-caps  and  lamb's  wool  stockings, 
and  the  dandy's  hair-brushes,  stays,  and  starched 
cravats. 

The  gentlemen  were  eased  of  their  purses  and 
their  watches ;  the  ladies  of  their  jewels,  and  the 
whole  party  were  on  the  point  of  being  carried  up 
into  the  mountain,  when  fortunately  the  appearance 
of  soldiery  at  a  distance  obliged  the  robbers  to  make 
off  with  the  spoils  they  had  secured,  and  leave  the 
Popkins  family  to  gather  together  the  remnants  of 
their  effects,  and  make  the  best  of  their  way  to 
Fondi. 

When  safe  arrived,  the  alderman  made  a  terrible 
blustering  at  the  inn ;  threatened  to  complain  to  the 
ambassador  at  Naples,  and  was  ready  to  shake  his 
cane  at  the  whole  country.  The  dandy  had  many 
stories  to  tell  of  his  scuffles  with  the  brigands,  who 
overpowered  him  merely  by  numbers.  As  to  the 
Misses  Popkins,  they  were  quite  delighted  with  the 
adventure,  and  were  occupied  the  whole  evening  in 
writing  it  in  their  journals.  They  declared  the  cap- 
tain of  the  band  to  be  a  most  romantic-looking  man  ; 
they  dared  to  say  some  unfortunate  lover,  or  exiled 
nobleman  :  and  several  of  the  band  to  be  very  hand- 
some young  men — "quite  picturesque  !  " 

"  In  verity,"  said  mine  host  of  Terracina,  "they 
say  the  captain  of  the  band  is  tinffalant  uomo." 

"  A  gallant  man  !  "  said  the  Englishman.  "  I'd 
have  your  gallant  man  hang'd  Hke  a  dog  !  " 

"  To  dare  to  meddle  with  Englishmen  !  "  said  Mr. 
Hobbs. 

"  And  such  a  family  as  the  Popkinses  !  "  said  Mr. 
Dobbs. 

"  They  ought  to  come  upon  the  county  for  dam- 
ages !  "  said  Mr.  Hobbs. 

"  Our  ambassador  should  make  a  complaint  to  the 
government  of  Naples,"  said  Mr.  Dobbs. 

"  They  should  be  requested  to  drive  these  rascals 
out  of  the  country,"  said  Hobbs. 

"  If  they  did  not,  we  should  declare  war  against 
them  !  "  said  Dobbs. 

The  Englishman  was  a  little  wearied  by  this  story, 
and  by  the  ultra  zeal  of  his  countrymen,  and  was 
glad  when  a  summons  to  their  supper  relieved  him 
from  the  crowd  of  travellers.  He  walked  out  with 
his  Venetian  friends  and  a  young  Frenchman  of  an 
interesting  demeanour,  who  had  become  sociable 
with  them  in  the  course  of  the  conversation.  They 
directed  their  steps  toward  the  sea,  which  was  lit 
up  by  the  rising  moon.  The  Venetian,  out  of  polite- 
ness, left  his  beautiful  wife  to  be  escorted  by  the 
Englishman.  The  latter,  however,  either  from  shy- 
ness or  reserve,  did  not  avail  himself  of  the  civility, 
but  walked  on  without  offering  his  arm.  The  fair 
Venetian,  with  all  her  devotion  to  her  husband,  was 
a  little  nettled  at  a  want  of  gallantry  to  which  her 
charms  had  rendered  her  unaccustomed,  and  took 
the  proffered  arm  of  the  Frenchman  with  a  pretty 
air  of  pique,  which,  however,  was  entirely  lost  upon 
the  phlegmatic  delinquent. 

Not  far  distant  from  the  inn  they  came  to  where 
there  was  a  body  of  soldiers  on  the  beach,  encircling 
and  guarding  a  number  of  galley  slaves,  who  were 
permitted  to  refresh  themselves  in  the  evening  breeze, 
and  to  sport  and  roll  upon  the  sand. 

"  It  was  difficult,"  the  Frenchman  observed,  "  to 
conceive  a  more  frightful  mass  of  crime  than  was 
here  collected.  The  parricide,  the  fratricide,  the  in- 
fanticide, who  had  first  fled  from  justice  and  turned 
mountain  bandit,  and  then,  bv  betraying  his  brother 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


399 


desperadoes,  had  bought  a  commutation  of  punish- 
ment, and  the  privilegje  of  wallowing  on  the  shore  for 
an  hour  a  day,  with  this  wretched  crew  of  mis- 
creants I  " 

The  remark  of  the  Frenchman  had  a  strong  effect 
upon  the  company,  particularly  upon  the  Venetian 
lady,  who  shuddered  as  she  cast  a  timid  look  at  this 
horde  of  wretches  at  their  evening  relaxation.  "  They 
seemed,"  she  said,  "  like  so  many  serpents,  wreathing 
and  twisting  together." 

The  Frenchman  now  adverted  to  the  stories  they 
had  been  listening  to  at  the  inn,  adding,  that  if  they 
had  any  farther  curiosity  on  the  subject,  he  could 
recount  an  adventure  which  happened  to  himself 
among  the  robbers,  and  which  might  give  them  some 
idea  of  the  habits  and  manners  of  those  beings. 
There  was  an  air  of  modesty  and  frankness  about 
the«Frenchman  which  had  gained  the  good-will  of 
the  whole  party,  not  even  excepting  the  Englishman. 
They  all  gladly  accepted  his  proposition  ;  and  as  they 
strolled  slowly  up  and  down  the  sea-shore,  he  related 
the  following  adventure. 


THE  PAINTER'S  ADVENTURE. 


I  AM  an  historical  painter  by  profession,  and  re- 
sided for  some  time  in  the  family  of  a  foreign  prince, 
at  his  villa,  about  fifteen  miles  from  Rome,  among 
some  of  the  most  interesting  scenery  of  Italy.  It  is 
situated  on  the  heights  of  ancient  Tusculum.  In  its 
neighbourhood  are  the  ruins  of  the  villas  of  Cicero, 
Sylla,  Lucullus,  Rufinus,  and  other  illustrious  Ro- 
mans, who  sought  refuge  here  occasionally,  from 
their  toils,  in  the  bosom  of  a  soft  and  luxurious  re- 
pose. From  the  midst  of  delightful  bowers,  refreshed 
by  the  pure  mountain  breeze,  the  eye  looks  over  a 
romantic  landscape  full  of  poetical  and  historical  as- 
sociations. The  Albanian  mountains,  Tivoli,  once 
the  favourite  residence  of  Horace  and  Mascenas  ;  the 
vast  deserted  Campagna  with  the  liber  running 
through  it,  and  St.  Peter's  dome  swelling  in  the 
midst,  the  monument — as  it  were,  over  the  grave  of 
ancient  Rome. 

I  assisted  the  prince  in  the  researches  which  he 
was  making  among  the  classic  ruins  of  his  vicinity. 
His  exertions  were  highly  successful.  Many  wrecks 
of  admirable  statues  and  fragments  of  exquisite 
sculpture  were  dug  up ;  monuments  of  the  taste  and 
magnificence  that  reigned  in  the  ancient  Tusculan 
abodes.  He  had  studded  his  villa  and  its  grounds 
with  statues,  relievos,  vases,  and  sarcophagi,  thus 
retrieved  from  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 

The  mode  of  life  pursued  at  the  villa  was  delight- 
fully serene,  diversified  by  interesting  occupations 
and  elegant  leisure.  Every  one  passed  the  day  ac- 
cording to  his  pleasure  or  occupation  ;  and  we  all 
assembled  in  a  cheerful  dinner  party  at  sunset.  It 
was  on  the  fourth  of  November,  a  beautiful  serene 
day,  that  we  had  assembled  in  the  saloon  at  the 
sound  of  the  first  dinner-bell.  The  family  were  sur- 
prised at  the  absence  of  the  prince's  confessor.  They 
waited  for  him  in  vain,  and  at  length  placed  them- 
selves at  table.  They  first  attributed  his  absence  to 
his  having  prolonged  his  customary  walk  ;  and  the 
first  part  of  the  dinner  passed  without  any  uneasi- 
ness. When  tlie  dessert  was  served,  however,  without 
his  making  his  appearance,  they  began  to  feel  anx- 
ious. They  feared  he  might  have  been  taken  ill  in 
some  alley  of  the  woods  ;  or,  that  he  might  have 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  robbers.  At  the  interval  of 
a  small  valley  rose  the  mountains  of  the  Abruzzi,  the 


strong-hold  of  banditti.  Indeed,  the  neighlwurhood 
had,  for  some  time,  been  infested  by  them  ;  and  Bar- 
bone,  a  notorious  bandit  chief,  had  often  been  met 
prowling  about  the  solitudes  of  Tusculum.  The  dar- 
ing enterprises  of  these  ruffians  were  well  known  ; 
the  objects  of  their  cupidity  or  vengeance  were  inse- 
cure even  in  palaces.  As  yet  they  had  respected  the 
possessions  of  the  prince  ;  but  the  idea  of  such  dan- 
gerous spirits  hovering  about  the  neighbourhood  was 
sufficient  to  occasion  alarm. 

The  fears  of  the  company  increased  as  evening 
closed  in.  The  prince  ordered  out  forest  guards,  and 
domestics  with  flam.beaux  to  search  for  the  confes- 
sor. They  had  not  departed  long,  when  a  slight  noise 
was  heard  in  the  corridor  of  the  ground  floor.  The 
family  were  dining  on  the  first  floor,  and  the  remain- 
ing domestics  were  occupied  in  attendance.  There 
was  no  one  on  the  ground  floor  at  this  moment  but 
the  housekeeper,  the  laundress,  and  three  field  la- 
bourers, who  were  resting  themselves,  and  convers- 
ing with  the  women. 

I  heard  the  noise  from  below,  and  presuming  it  to 
be  occasioned  by  the  return  of  the  absentee,  I  left 
the  table,  and  hastened  down-stairs,  eager  to  gam 
intelligence  that  might  relieve  the  anxiety  of  the 
prince  and  princess.  I  had  scarcely  reached  the  last 
step,  when  I  beheld  before  me  a  man  dressed  as  a 
bandit ;  a  carbine  in  his  hand,  and  a  stiletto  and  pis- 
tols in  his  belt.  His  countenance  had  a  mingled  ex- 
pression of  ferocity  and  trepidation.  He  sprang  upon 
me,  and  exclaimed  exultingly,  "  Ecco  il  principe  !  " 

I  saw  at  once  into  what  hands  I  had  fallen,  but 
endeavoured  to  summon  up  coolness  and  presence 
of  mind.  A  glance  towards  the  lower  end  of  the 
corridor  showed  me  several  ruffians,  clothed  and 
armed  in  the  same  manner  with  the  one  who  had 
seized  me.  They  were  guarding  the  two  females 
and  the  field  labourers.  The  robber,  who  held  me 
firmly  by  the  collar,  demanded  repeatedly  whether 
or  not  I  were  the  prince.  His  object  evidently  was 
to  carry  off  the  prince,  and  extort  an  immense  ran- 
som. He  was  enraged  at  receiving  none  but  vague 
replies  ;  for  I  felt  the  importance  of  misleading  him. 

A  sudden  thought  struck  me  how  1  might  extri- 
cate myself  from  his  clutches.  I  was  unarmed,  it  is 
true,  but  1  was  vigorous.  His  companions  were  at 
a  distance.  By  a  sudden  exertion  I  might  wrest  my- 
self from  him  and  spring  up  the  staircase,  whither  he 
would  not  dare  to  follow  me  singly.  The  idea  was 
put  in  execution  as  soon  as  conceived.  The  ruffian's 
throat  was  bare :  with  my  right  hand  I  seized  h;m 
by  it,  just  between  the  mastoides  ;  with  my  left  hand 
I  grasped  the  arm  which  held  the  carbine.  The 
suddenness  of  my  attack  took  him  completely  una- 
wares ;  and  the  strangling  nature  of  my  grasp  para- 
lyzed him.  He  choked  and  faltered.  I  felt  his  hand 
relaxing  its  hold,  and  was  on  the  point  of  jerking 
myself  away  and  darting  up  the  staircase  before  he 
could  recover  himself,  when  I  was  suddenly  seized 
by  some  one  from  behind. 

I  had  to  let  go  my  grasp.  The  bandit,  once  more 
released,  fell  upon  me  with  fury,  and  gave  me  sev- 
eral blows  with  the  butt  end  of  his  carbine,  one  of 
which  wounded  me  severely  in  the  forehead,  and 
covered  me  with  blood.  He  took  advantage  of  my 
being  stunned  to  rifle  me  of  my  watch  and  whatever 
valuables  I  harl  about  my  person. 

When  I  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  blow.  I 
heard  the  voice  of  the  chief  of  the  banditti,  who  ex- 
claimed :  "  Quello  e  il  principe,  siamo  contente,  au- 
diamo  !"  (It  is  the  prince,  enough,  let  us  be  off.) 
The  band  immediately  closed  round  me  and  dragged 
me  out  of  the  palace,  bearing  off  the  three  labourers 
likewise. 

I  had  no  hat  on,  and  the  blood  was  flowing  from 


ioo 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


my  wound  ;  I  managed  to  staunch  it,  however,  witli 
my  pocket-handkerchief,  which  I  bound  round  my 
forehead.  The  captain  of  the  band  conducted  me  in 
triumph,  supposing  me  to  be  the  prince.  We  had 
gone  some  distance  before  he  learnt  his  mistake  from 
one  of  the  labourers.  His  rage  was  terrible.  It  was 
too  late  to  return  to  the  villa  and  endeavour  to  re- 
trieve his  error,  for  by  this  time  the  alarm  must  have 
been  given,  and  every  one  in  arms.  He  darted  at 
me  a  furious  look;  swore  I  had  deceived  him,  and 
caused  him  to  miss  his  fortune ;  and  told  me  to  pre- 
pare for  death.  The  rest  of  the  robbers  wen;  equally 
furious.  I  saw  their  hands  upon  their  poniards  ; 
and  I  knew  that  death  was  seldom  an  empty  menace 
with  these  ruffians. 

The  labourers  saw  the  peril  into  which  their  in- 
formation had  betrayed  me,  and  eagerly  assure.l  the 
captain  that  I  was  a  man  for  whpm  the  prince  would 
pay  a  great  ransom.  This  produced  a  pause.  For 
my  part,  I  cannot  say  that  I  had  been  much  dis- 
mayed by  their  menaces.  I  mean  not  to  make  any 
boast  of  courage  ;  but  I  have  been  so  schooled  to 
hardship  during  the  late  revolutions,  and  have  beheld 
death  around  me  in  so  many  perilous  and  disastrous 
-scenes  that  I  have  become,  in  some  measure,  callous 
to  its  terrors.  The  frequent  hazard  of  life  makes  a 
man  at  length  as  reckless  of  it  as  a  gambler  of  his 
money.  To  their  threat  of  death,  I  replied  :  "  That 
the  sooner  it  was.  executed,  the  better."  This  reply 
seemed  to  astonish  the  captain,  and  the  prospect  of 
ransom  held  out  by  the  labourers,  had,  no  doubt,  a 
still  greater  effect  on  him.  He  considered  for  a  mo- 
ment :  assumed  a  calmer  manner,  and  made  a  sign 
to  his  companions,  who  had  remained  waiting  for 
my  death  warrant  "  Forward,"  said  he,  "  we  will 
see  about  this  matter  by  and  bye." 

We  descended  rapidly  towards  the  road  of  la  Mo- 
lara,  which  leads  to  Rocca  Priori.  In  the  midst  of 
this  road  is  a  solitary  inn.  The  captain  ordered  the 
troop  to  halt  at  the  distance  of  a  pistol  shot  from  it ; 
and  enjoined  profound  silence.  He  then  approached 
the  threshold  alone  with  noiseless  steps.  He  exam- 
ined the  outside  of  the  door  very  narrowly,  and  then 
returning  precipitately,  made  a  sign  for  the  troop  to 
continue  its  march  in  silence.  It  has  since  been 
ascertained  that  this  was  one  of  those  infamous 
inns  which  are  the  secret  resorts  of  banditti.  The 
innkeeper  had  an  understanding  with  the  captain, 
as  he  most  probably  had  with  the  chiefs  of  the  dif- 
ferent bands.  When  any  of  the  patroles  and  gens 
d'armes  were  quartered  at  his  house,  the  brigands 
were  warned  of  it  by  a  preconcerted  signal  on  the 
door ;  when  there  was  no  such  signal,  they  might 
enter  with  safety  and  be  sure  of  welcome.  Many  an 
isolated  inn  among  the  lonely  parts  of  the  Roman 
territories,  and  especially  on  the  skirts  of  the  mount- 
ains, have  the  same  dangerous  and  suspicious  char- 
acter. They  are  places  where  the  banditti  gather 
information ;  where  they  concert  their  plans,  and 
where  the  unwary  traveller,  remote  from  hearing  or 
assistance,  is  sometimes  betrayed  to  the  stiletto  of 
the  midnight  murderer. 

After  pursuing  our  road  a  little  farther,  we  struck 
off  towards  the  woody  mountains  which  envelope 
Rocca  Priori.  Our  march  was  long  and  painful, 
with  many  circuits  and  windings  ;  at  length  we 
clambered  a  steep  ascent,  covered  with  a  thick  for- 
est, and  when  we  had  reached  the  centre,  I  was  told 
to  seat  myself  on  the  earth.  No  sooner  had  1  done 
so,  than  at  a  sign  from  their  chief,  the  robbers  sur- 
rounded me,  and  spreading  their  great  cloaks  from 
one  to  the  other,  formed  a  kind  of  pavilion  of  man- 
tles, to  which  their  bodies  might  be  said  to  seem  as 
columns.  The  captain  then  struck  a  light,  and  a 
Hambeau  was  lit  immediately.     The  mantles  were 


extended  to  prevent  the  light  of  the  flambeau  from 
being  seen  through  the  forest.  Anxious  as  was  my 
situation,  1  could  not  look  round  upon  this  screen 
of  dusky  drapeiy,  relieved  by  the  bright  colours  of 
the  robbers'  under-dresses,  the  gleaming  of  their 
weapons,  and  the  variety  of  strong-;narked  counte- 
nances, lit  up  by  the  flambeau,  without  admiring 
I  he  picturesque  effect  of  the  scene.  It  was  quite 
theatrical. 

The  captain  now  held  an  ink-horn,  and  giving  me 
pen  and  paper,  ordered  me  to  write  what  he  should 
dictate.  I  obeyed.  It  was  a  demand,  couched  in 
the  style  of  robber  eloquence,  "  that  the  prince 
should  send  three  thousand  dollars  for  my  ransom, 
or  that  my  death  should  be  the  consequence  of  a 
refusal." 

I  knew  enough  of  the  desperate  character  of  these 
beings  to  feel  assured  this  was  not  an  idle  menace. 
Their  only  mode  of  insuring  attention  to  their  de- 
mands, is  to  make  the  infliction  of  the  penalty  in- 
evitable. I  saw  at  once,  however,  that  the  demand 
was  preposterous,  and  made  in  improper  language. 

I  told  the  captain  so,  and  assured  him,  that  so  ex- 
travagant a  sum  would  never  be  granted  ;  "  that  I 
was  neither  a  friend  or  relative  of  the  prince,  but  a 
mere  artist,  employed  to  execute  certain  paintings. 
That  I  had  nothing  to  offer  as  a  ransom  but  the 
price  of  my  labours ;  if  this  were  not  sufficient,  my 
life  was  at  their  disposal :  it  was  a  thing  on  which  I 
sat  but  little  value." 

I  was  the  more  hardy  in  my  reply,  because  I  saw 
that  coolness  and  hardihood  had  an  effect  upon  the 
robbers.  It  is  true,  as  I  finished  speaking  the  cap- 
tain laid  his  hand  upon  his  stiletto,  but  he  restrained 
himself,  and  snatching  the  letter,  folded  it,  and 
ordered  me,  in  a  peremptory  tone,  to  address  it  to 
the  prince.  He  then  despatched  one  of  the  labour- 
ers with  it  to  Tusculum,  who  promised  to  return  with 
all  possible  speed. 

The  robbers  now  prepared  themselves  for  sleep, 
and  I  was  told  that  I  might  do  the  same.  They 
spread  their  great  cloaks  on  the  ground,  and  lay 
down  around  me.  One  was  stationed  at  a  little  dis- 
tance to  keep  watch,  and  was  relieved  every  two 
hours.  The  strangeness  and  wildness  of  this  mount- 
ain bivouac,  among  lawless  beings  whose  hands 
seemed  ever  ready  to  grasp  the  stiletto,  and  with 
whom  life  was  so  trivial  and  insecure,  was  enough 
to  banish  repose.  The  coldness  of  the  earth  and  of 
the  dew,  however,  had  a  still  greater  effect  than 
mental  causes  in  disturbing  my  rest.  The  airs  waft- 
ed to  these  mountains  from  the  distant  Mediter- 
ranean diffused  a  great  chilliness  as  the  night  ad- 
vanced. An  expedient  suggested  itself.  I  called 
one  of  my  fellow  prisoners,  the  labourers,  and  made 
him  lie  down  beside  me.  Whenever  one  of  my  limbs 
became  chilled  I  approached  it  to  the  robust  limb 
of  my  neighbour,  and  borrowed  some  of  his  warmth. 
In  this  way  I  was  able  to  obtain  a  little  sleep. 

Day  at  length  dawned,  and  I  was  roused  from  my 
slumber  by  the  voice  of  the  chieftain.  He  desired 
me  to  rise  and  follow  him.  I  obeyed.  On  consider- 
ing his  physiognomy  attentively,  it  appeared  a  little 
softened.  He  even  assisted  me  in  scrambling  up  the 
steep  forest  among  rocks  and  brambles.  Habit  had 
made  him  a  vigorous  mountaineer;  but  I  found  it 
excessively  toilsome  to  climb  those  rugged  heights. 
We  arrived  at  length  at  the  summit  of  the  mountain. 

Here  it  was  that  I  felt  all  the  enthusiasm  of  my 
art  suddenly  awakened ;  and  I  forgot,  in  an  instant, 
all  perils  and  fatigues  at  this  magnificent  view  of  the 
sunri.se  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains  of  Abruzzi.  It 
was  on  these  heights  that  Hannibal  first  pitched  his 
camp,  and  pointed  out  Rome  to  his  followers.  The 
eye  embraces  a  vast  extent  of  country.     The  minor 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


401 


height  of  Tusculum,  with  its  villas,  and  its  sacred 
ruins,  h'e  below ;  the  Sabine  hills  and  the  Albanian 
mountains  stretch  on  either  hand,  and  beyond  Tus- 
culum and  Frescati  spreads  out  the  immense  Cam- 
pagna,  with  its  line  of  tombs,  and  here  and  there  a 
broken  aqueduct  stretching  across  it,  and  the  towers 
and  domes  of  the  eternal  city  in  the  midst. 

Fancy  this  scene  lit  up  by  the  glories  of  a  rising 
sun,  and  jjursting  upon  my  sight,  as  I  looked  forth 
from  among,  the  majestic  forests  of  the  Abruzzi. 
Fancy,  too,  the  savage  foreground,  made  still  more 
savage  by  groups  of  the  banditti,  armed  and  dressed 
in  their  wild,  picturesque  manner,  and  you  will  not 
wonder  that  the  enthusiasm  of  a  painter  for  a  mo- 
ment overpowered  all  his  other  feelings. 

The  banditti  were  astonished  at  my  admiration  of 
a  scene  which  familiarity  had  made  so  common  in 
their  eyes.  I  took  advantage  of  their  halting  at  this 
spot,  drew  forth  a  quire  of  drawing-paper,  and  began 
to  sketch  the  features  of  the  landscape.  The  height, 
on  which  I  was  seated,  was  wild  and  solitary,  sepa- 
rated from  the  ridge  of  Tusculum  by  a  valley  nearly 
three  miles  wide  ;  though  the  distance  appeared  less 
from  the  purity  of  the  atmosphere.  This  height  was 
one  of  the  favourite  retreats  of  the  banditti,  com- 
manding a  look-out  over  the  country ;  while,  at  the 
same  time,  it  was  covered  with  forests,  and  distant 
from  the  populous  haunts  of  men. 

While  I  was  sketching,  my  attention  was  called 
off  for  a  moment  by  the  cries  of  birds  and  the  bleat- 
ings  of  sheep.  I  looked  around,  but  could  see  noth- 
ing of  the  animals  that  uttered  them.  They  were 
repeated,  and  appeared  to  come  from  the  summits 
of  the  trees.  On  looking  more  narrowly,  I  perceived 
six  of  the  robbers  perched  on  the  tops  of  oaks,  which 
grew  on  the  breezy  crest  of  the  mountain,  and  com- 
manded an  uninterrupted  prospect.  From  hence 
they  were  keeping  a  look-out,  like  so  many  vultures  ; 
casting  their  eyes  into  tlie  depths  of  the  valley  below 
us ;  communicating  with  each  other  by  signs,  or 
holding  discourse  in  sounds,  which  might  be  mis- 
taken by  the  wayfarer  for  the  cries  of  hawks  and 
crows,  or  the  bleating  of  the  mountain  flocks.  After 
they  had  reconnoitred  the  neighbourhood,  and 
finished  their  singular  discourse,  they  descended 
from  their  airy  |K;rch,  and  returned  to  their  prison- 
ers. The  captain  posted  three  of  them  at  three 
naked  sides  of  the  mountain,  while  he  remained  to 
guard  us  with  what  appeared  his  most  trusty  com- 
panion. 

1  had  my  book  of  sketches  in  my  hand  ;  he  re- 
quested to  see  it,  and  after  having  run  his  eye  over 
it,  expressed  himself  convinced  of  the  truth  of  my 
assertion,  that  I  was  a  painter.  I  thought  I  saw  a 
gleam  of  good  feeling  dawning  in  him,  and  deter- 
mined to  avail  myself  of  it.  I  knew  that  the  worst 
of  men  have  their  good  points  and  their  accessible 
sides,  if  one  would  but  study  them  carefully.  Indeed, 
there  is  a  singular  mixture  in  the  character  of  the 
Italian  robber.  With  reckless  ferocity,  he  often 
mingles  traits  of  kindness  and  good  humour.  He  is 
often  not  radically  bad,  but  driven  to  his  course  of 
life  by  some  unpremeditated  crime,  the  effect  of 
those  sudden  bursts  of  passion  to  which  the  Italian 
temperament  is  prone.  This  has  compelled  him  to 
take  to  the  mountains,  or,  as  it  is  technically  termed 
among  them,  "  andare  in  Campagna."  He  has  be- 
come a  robber  by  profession ;  but  like  a  soldier, 
when  not  in  action,  he  can  lay  aside  his  weapon  and 
his  fierceness,  and  become  like  other  men. 

I  took  occasion  from  the  observations  of  the  cap- 
tain on  my  sketchings,  to  fall  into  conversation  with 
hifn.  I  found  him  sociable  and  communicative. 
By  degrees  I  became  completely  at  my  ease  with 
him.  1  had  fancied  I  perceived  about  him  a  degree 
26 


of  self-love,  which  I  determined  to  make  use  of.  I 
assumed  an  air  of  careless  frankness,  and  told  him 
that,  as  artist,  I  pretended  to  the  power  of  judg- 
ing of  the  physiognomy;  that  I  thought  I  perceived 
something  in  his  features  and  demeanour  which  an- 
nounced him  worthy  of  higher  fortunes.  That  he 
was  not  formed  to  exercise  the  profession  to  which 
he  had  abandoned  himself;  that  he  had  talents  and 
qualities  fitted  for  a  nobler  sphere  of  action  ;  that  he 
had  but  to  change  his  course  of  life,  and  in  a  legiti- 
mate career,  the  same  courage  and  endowments 
which  now  made  him  an  object  of  terror,  would  en- 
sure him  the  applause  and  admiration  of  society. 

I  had  not  mistaken  my  man.  My  discourse  both 
touched  and  excited  him.  He  seized  my  hand, 
pressed  it,  and  replied  with  strong  emotion,  "  You 
have  guessed  the  truth  ;  you  have  judged  me  rightly." 
He  remained  for  a  moment  silent ;  then  with  a  kind 
of  efibrt  he  resumed.  "  I  will  tell  you  some  particu- 
lars of  my  life,  and  you  will  perceive  that  it  was  the 
oppression  of  others,  rather  than  my  own  crimes, 
that  drove  me  to  the  mountains.  I  sought  to  serve 
my  fellow-men,  and  they  have  persecuted  me  from 
among  them."  We  seated  ourselves  on  the  grass, 
and  the  robber  gave  me  the  following  anecdotes  of 
his  history. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  BANDIT  CHIEFTAIN. 


I  AM  a  native  of  the  village  of  Prossedi.  My 
father  was  easy  enough  in  circumstances,  and  we 
lived  peaceably  and  independently,  cultivating  our 
fields.  All  went  on  well  with  us  until  a  new  chief  of 
the  sbirri  was  sent  to  our  village  to  take  command 
of  the  police.  He  was  an  arbitrary  fellow,  prying 
into  every  thing,  and  practising  all  sorts  of  vexations 
and  oppressions  in  the  discharge  of  his  office. 

I  was  at  that  time  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  had 
a  natural  love  of  justice  and  good  neighbourhood. 
I  had  also  a  little  education,  and  knew  something  of 
history,  so  as  to  be  able  to  judge  a  little  of  men  and 
their  actions.  All  this  inspired  me  with  hatred  for 
this  paltry  despot.  My  own  family,  also,  became  the 
object  of  his  suspicion  or  dislike,  and  felt  more  than 
once  the  arbitrary  abuse  of  his  power.  These  things 
worked  together  on  my  mind,  and  I  gasped  after  ven- 
geance. My  character  was  always  ardent  and  ener- 
getic ;  and  acted  upon  by  my  love  of  justice,  de- 
termined me  by  one  blow  to  rid  the  country  of  the 
tyrant. 

Full  of  my  project  I  rose  one  morning  before 
peep  of  day,  and  concealing  a  stiletto  under  my 
waistcoat— here  you  see  it ! — (and  he  drew  forth  a 
long  keen  poniard) — I  lay  in  wait  for  him  in  the  out- 
skirts of  the  village.  I  knew  all  his  haunts,  and  his 
habit  of  making  his  rounds  and  prowling  about  like 
a  wolf,  in  the  gray  of  the  morning;  at  length  I  met 
him  and  attacked  him  with  fury.  He  was  armed, 
but  I  took  him  unawares,  and  was  fuU  of  youth  and 
vigour.  1  gave  him  repeated  blows  to  make  sure 
work,  and  laid  him  Hfeless  at  my  feet. 

When  I  was  satisfied  that  I  had  done  for  him,  I 
returned  with  all  haste  to  the  village,  but  had  the  ill- 
luck  to  meet  two  of  the  sbirri  as  1  entered  it.  They 
accosted  me  and  asked  if  I  had  seen  their  chief.  I 
assumed  an  air  of  tranquillity,  and  told  them  I  had 
not.  They  continued  on  their  way,  and,  within  a 
few  hours,  brough't  back  the  dead  body  to  Prossedi. 
Their  suspicions  of  me  being  already  awakened,  I 
was  arrested  and  thrown  into  prison.  Here  I  lay 
several  weeks,  when  the  prince,  who  was  Seigneur  of 


402 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


Prossedi,  directed  judicial  proceedings  against  me. 
1  was  brought  to  trial,  and  a  witness  was  produced 
who  pretended  to  have  seen  me  not  far  from  the 
bleeding  body,  and  Hying  with  precipitation,  so  1 
was  condemned  to  the  galleys  for  thirty  years. 

"  Curse  on  such  laws,"  vociferated  the  bandit, 
foaming  with  rage;  "curse  on  such  a  government, 
.ind  ten  thousand  curses  on  the  prince  who  caused 
me  to  be  adjudged  so  rigorously,  while  so  many 
other  Roman  princes  harbour  and  protect  assassins 
a  thousand  times  more  culpable.  What  had  I  done 
but  what  was  inspired  by  a  love  of  justice  and  my 
country  ?  Why  was  my  act  more  culpable  than  that 
of  Brutus,  when  he  sacrificed  Cassar  to  the  cause  of 
liberty  and  justice  ?  " 

There  was  something  at  once  both  lofty  and  ludi- 
crous in  the  rhapsody  of  this  robber  chief,  thus  as- 
sociating himself  with  one  of  the  great  names  of  an- 
tiquity. It  showed,  however,  that  he  had  at  least  the 
merit  of  knowing  the  remarkable  facts  in  the  history 
of  his  country.  He  became  more  calm,  and  resumed 
his  narrative. 

I  was  conducted  to  Civita  Vecchia  in  fetters.  My 
heart  was  burning  with  rage.  I  had  been  married 
scarce  six  months  to  a  woman  whom  1  passionately 
loved,  and  who  was  pregnant.  My  family  was  in 
despair.  For  a  long  time  I  made  unsuccessful  efforts 
to  break  my  chain.  At  length  I  found  a  morsel  of 
iron  which  I  hid  carefully,  and  endeavoured  with  a 
pointed  flint  to  fashion  it  into  a  kind  of  file.  I  occu- 
pied my.self  in  this  work  during  the  night-time,  and 
when  it  was  finished,  I  made  out,  after  a  long  time,  to 
sever  one  of  the  rings  of  my  chain.  My  flight  was 
successful. 

I  wandered  for  several  weeks  in  the  mountains 
which  surround  Prossedi,  and  found  means  to  inform 
my  wife  of  the  place  where  I  was  concealed.  She 
came  often  to  see  me.  I  had  determined  to  put  my- 
self at  the  head  of  an  armed  band.  -She  endeav- 
oured for  a  long  time  to  dissuade  me  ;  but  finding 
my  resolution  fixed,  she  at  length  united  in  my  pro- 
ject of  vengeance,  and  brought  me,  herself,  my  pon- 
iard. 

By  her  means  I  communicated  with  several  brave 
fellows  of  the  neighbouring  villages,  who  I  knew  to 
be  ready  to  take  to  the  mountains,  and  only  panting 
for  an  opportunity  to  exercise  their  daring  spirits 
We  soon  formed  a  combination,  procured  arms,  and 
we  have  had  ample  opportunities  of  revenging  our- 
selves for  the  wrongs  and  injuries  which  most  of  us 
have  suffered.  Every  thing  has  succeeded  with  us 
until  now,  and  had  it  not  been  for  our  blunder  in 
mistaking  you  for  the  prince,  our  fortunes  would 
have  been  made. 

Here  the  robber  concluded  his  story.  He  had 
talked  himself  into  complete  companionship,  and 
assured  me  he  no  longer  bore  me  any  grudge  for  the 
error  of  which  I  had  been  the  innocent  cause.  He 
even  professed  a  kindness  for  me,  and  wished  me  to 
remain  some  time  with  them.  He  promised  to  give 
me  a  sight  of  certain  grottos  which  they  occupied 
beyond  Villetri,  and  whither  they  resorted  during 
the  intervals  of  their  expeditions.  He  assured  me 
that  they  led  a  jovial  life  there  ;  had  plenty  of  good 
cheer;  slept  on  beds  of  moss,  and  were  waited  upon 
by  young  and  beautiful  females,  whom  I  might  take 
for  models. 

I  confess  I  felt  my  curiosity  roused  by  his  descrip- 
tions of  ihese  grottos  and  their  inhabitants :  they 
realized  those  scenes  in  robber-stor)'  which  I  had  al- 
ways looked  upon  as  mere  creations  of  the  fancy.  I 
should  gladly  have  accepted  his  invitation,  and  paid 
a  visit  to  those  caverns,  could  I  have  felt  more  secure 
in  my  coropaay. 


I  began  to  find  my  situation  less  painful.  I  had 
evidently  propitiated  the  good-will  of  the  chieftain, 
and  hoped  that  he  might  release  me  for  a  moderate 
ransom.  A  new  alarm,  however,  awaited  me. 
While  the  captain  was  looking  out  with  impatience 
for  the  return  of  the  messenger  who  had  been  sent 
to  the  prince,  the  sentinel  who  had  been  posted  on 
the  side  of  the  mountain  facing  the  plain  of  la  Mo- 
lara,  came  running  towards  us  with  precipitation. 
"We  are  betrayed!"  exclaimed  he.  -"The  police 
of  Frescati  are  after  us.  A  party  of  carabiniers 
have  just  stopped  at  the  inn  below  the  mountain." 
Then  laying  his  hand  on  his  stiletto,  he  swore,  with 
a  terrilile  oath,  that  if  they  made  the  least  movement 
towards  the  mountain,  my  life  and  the  lives  of  my 
fellow-prisoners  should  answer  for  it. 

The  chieftain  resumed  all  his  ferocity  of  demean- 
our, and  approved  of  what  his  companion  said ;  but 
when  the  latter  had  returned  to  his  post,  he  turned 
to  me  with  a  softened  air:  "1  must  act  as  chief," 
said  he.  "  and  humour  my  dangerous  subalterns.  It 
is  a  law  with  us  to  kill  our  prisoners  rather  than  suf- 
fer them  to  be  rescued ;  but  do  not  be  alarmed.  In 
case  we  are  surprised  keep  by  me  ;  fly  with  us,  and 
1  will  consider  myself  responsible  for  your  life." 

There  was  nothing  very  consolatory  in  this  ar- 
rangement, which  would  have  placed  me  between 
two  dangers  ;  I  scarcely  knew,  in  case  of  flight,  which 
I  should  have  most  to  apprehend  from,  the  carbines 
of  the  pursuers,  or  the  stilettos  of  the  pursued.  I 
remained  silent,  however,  and  endeavoured  to  main- 
tain a  look  of  tranquillity. 

For  an  hour  was  I  kept  in  this  state  of  peril  and 
anxiety.  The  robbers,  crouching  among  their  leafy 
coverts,  kept  an  eagle  watch  upon  the  carabiniers 
below,  as  they  loitered  about  the  inn  ;  sometimes 
lolling  about  the  portal ;  sometimes  disappearing 
for  several  minutes,  then  sallying  out,  examining 
their  weapons,  pointing  in  different  directions  and 
apparently  asking  questions  about  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  not  a  movement  or  gesturt  was  lost  upon  the 
keen  eyes  of  the  brigands.  At  length  we  were  re- 
lieved from  our  apprehensions.  The  carabiniers  hav- 
ing finished  their  refreshment,  seized  their  arms,  con- 
tinued along  the  valley  towards  the  great  road,  and 
gradually  left  the  mountain  behind  them.  "  I  lelt 
almost  certain,"  said  the  chief,  "  that  they  could 
not  be  sent  after  us.  They  know  too  well  how  pris- 
oners have  fared  in  our  hands  on  similar  occasions. 
Our  laws  in  this  respect  are  inflexible,  and  are  neces- 
sary for  our  safety.  If  we  once  flinched  from  them, 
there  would  no  longer  be  such  thing  as  a  ransom  to 
be  procured." 

There  were  no  signs  yet  of  the  messenger's  re- 
turn. I  was  preparing  to  resume  my  sketching, 
when  the  captain  drew  a  quire  of  paper  trom  his 
knapsack — "Come,"  said  he,  laughing,  "you  are  a 
painter;  take  my  likeness.  The  leaves  of  your  port- 
folio are  small;  draw  it  on  this."  I  gladly  con- 
sented, for  it  was  a  study  that  seldom  presents  itself 
to  a  painter.  I  recollected  that  Salvator  Rosa  in  his 
youth  had  voluntarily  sojourned  for  a  time  among 
the  banditti  of  Calabria,  and  had  filled  his  mind 
with  the  savage  scenery  and  savage  associates  by 
which  he  was  surrounded.  I  seized  my  pencil  with 
enthusiasm  at  the  thought.  I  found  the  captain 
the  most  docile  of  subjects,  and  after  various  shift- 
ings  of  position,  I  placed  him  in  an  attitude  to  my 
mind. 

Picture  to  yourself  a  stern,  muscular  figure,  in 
fanciful  bandit  costume,  with  pistols  and  poniards  in 
belt,  his  brawny  neck  bare,  a  handkerchief  loosely 
thrown  around  it,  and  the  two  ends  in  front  strung 
with  rings  of  all  kinds,  the  spoils  of  travellers  ;  rel- 
iques  and  medals  hung  on  his  breast ;  his  hat  deco- 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


403 


rated  with  various-coloured  ribbands  ;  his  vest  and 
short  breeches  of  bright  colours  and  finely  embroi- 
dered ;  his  leg's  in  buskins  or  leggins.  Fancy  him  on 
a  mountain  height,  among  wild  rocks  and  rugged 
oaks,  leaning  on  his  carbine  as  if  meditating  some 
exploit,  while  far  below  are  beheld  villages  and  villas, 
the  scenes  of  his  maraudings,  with  the  wide  Cam- 
pagna  dimly  extending  in  the  distance. 

The  robber  was  pleased  with  the  sketch,  and 
seemed  to  admire  himself  upon  paper.  I  had 
scarcely  finished,  when  the  labourer  arrived  who 
had  been  sent  for  my  ransom.  He  had  reached 
Tusculum  two  hours  after  midnight.  He  brought 
me  a  letter  from  the  prince,  who  was  in  bed  at  the 
time  of  his  arrival.  As  I  had  predicted,  he  treated 
the  demand  as  extravagant,  but  offered  five  hundred 
dollars  for  my  ransom.  Having  no  money  by  him 
at  the  moment,  he  had  sent  a  note  for  the  amount, 
payable  to  whomever  should  conduct  me  safe  and 
sound  to  Rome.  I  presented  the  note  of  hand  to 
the  chif  ftain  ;  he  received  it  with  a  shrug.  "  Of 
what  use  are  notes  of  hand  to  us.'  "  said  he,  "  who 
can  we  send  with  you  to  Rome  to  receive  it  ?  We 
are  all  marked  men,  known  and  described  at  every 
gate  and  military  post,  and  village  church-door. 
No,  we  must  have  gold  and  silver ;  let  the  sum  be 
paid  in  cash  and  you  shall  be  restored  to  liberty." 

The  captain  again  placed  a  sheet  of  paper  before 
me  to  communicate  his  determination  to  the  prince. 
When  I  had  finished  the  letter  and  took  the  sheet 
from  the  quire,  I  found  on  the  opposite  side  of  it  the 
portrait  which  I  had  just  been  tracing.  I  was  about 
to  tear  it  off  and  give  it  to  the  chief. 

"  Hold,"  said  he,  "  let  it  go  to  Rome ;  let  them 
see  what  kind  of  looking  fellow  I  am.  Perhaps  the 
prince  and  his  friends  may  form  as  good  an  opinion 
of  me  from  my  face  as  you  have  done." 

This  was  said  sportively,  yet  it  was  evident  there 
was  vanity  lurking  at  the  bottom.  Even  this  wary, 
distrustful  chief  of  banditti  forgot  for  a  moment  his 
usual  foresight  and  precaution  in  the  common  wish 
to  be  admired.  He  never  reflected  what  use  might 
be  made  of  tliis  portrait  in  his  pursuit  and  convic- 
tion. 

The  letter  was  folded  and  directed,  and  the  mes- 
senger departed  again  for  Tusculum.  It  was  now 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  as  yet  we  had 
eaten  nothing.  In  spite  of  all  my  anxiety,  I  began 
to  feel  a  craving  appetite.  I  was  glad,  therefore,  to 
hear  the  captain  talk  .something  of  eating.  He  ob- 
served that  for  three  days  and  nights  they  had  been 
lurking  about  among  rocks  and  woods,  meditating 
their  expedition  to  Tusculum,  during  which  all  their 
provisions  had  been  exhausted.  He  should  now 
take  measures  to  procure  a  supply.  Leaving  me, 
therefore,  in  the  charge  of  his  comrade,  in  whom  he 
appeared  to  have  implicit  confidence,  he  departed, 
assuring  me  that  in  less  than  two  hours  we  should 
make  a  good  dinner.  Where  it  was  to  come  from 
was  an  enigma  to  me,  though  it  was  evident  these 
beings  had  their  secret  friends  and  agents  through- 
out the  country. 

Indeed,  the  inhabitants  of  these  mountains  and  of 
the  valleys  which  they  embosom  are  a  rude,  half  civil- 
ized set.  The  towns  and  villages  among  the  forests 
of  the  Abruzzi,  shut  up  from  the  rest  of  the  world, 
are  almost  like  savage  dens.  It  is  wonderful  that 
such  rude  abodes,  so  little  known  and  visited,  should 
be  embosomed  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  most 
travelled  and  civilized  countries  of  Europe.  Among 
these  regions  the  robber  prowls  unmolested  ;  not  a 
mountaineer  hesitates  to  give  him  secret  harbour 
and  assistance.  The  shepherds,  however,  who  tend 
their  flocks  among  the  mountains,  are  the  favourite 
emissaries  of  the  robbers,  when   they  would  send 


messages  down  to  the  valleys  either  for  ransom  or 
supplies.-  The  shepherds  of  the  Abruzzi  are  as  wild 
as  the  scenes  they  frequent.  They  are  clad  in  a 
rude  garb  of  black  or  brown  sheep-skin  ;  they  have 
high  conical  hats,  and  coarse  sandals  of  cloth  bound 
round  their  legs  with  thongs,  similar  to  those  worn 
by  the  robbers.  They  carry  long  staffs,  on  which  as 
they  lean  they  form  picturesque  objects  in  the  lonely 
landscape,  and  they  are  followed  by  their  ever-con- 
stant companion,  the  dog.  They  are  a  curious,  ques- 
tioning set,  glad  at  any  time  to  relieve  the  monotony 
of  their  solitude  by  the  conversation  of  the  passer-by, 
and  the  dog  will  lend  an  attentive  ear,  and  put  on  as 
sagacious  and  inquisitive  a  look  as  his  master. 

But  I  am  wandering  from  my  story.  I  was  now 
left  alone  with  one  of  the  robbers,  the  confidential 
companion  of  the  chief.  He  was  the  youngest  and 
most  vigorous  of  the  band,  and  though  his  counte- 
nance had  something  of  that  dissolute  fierceness  which 
seems  natural  to  this  desperate,  lawless  mode  of  life, 
yet  there  were  traits  of  manly  beauty  about  it.  As 
an  artist  I  could  not  but  admire  it.  I  had  remarked 
in  him  an  air  of  abstraction  and  reverie,  and  at 
times  a  movement  of  inward  suffering  and  impa- 
tience. He  now  sat  on  the  ground  ;  his  elbows  on 
his  knees,  his  head  resting  between  his  clenched 
fists,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  earth  with  an  expres- 
sion of  sad  and  bitter  rumination.  I  had  grown 
familiar  with  him  from  repeated  conversations,  and 
had  found  him  superior  in  mind  to  the  rest  of  the 
band.  1  was  anxious  to  seize  every  opportunity  of 
sounding  the  feelings  of  these  singular  beings.  I 
fancied  1  read  in  the  countenance  of  this  one  traces 
of  self-condemnation  and  remorse ;  and  the  ease 
with  which  I  had  drawn  forth  the  confidence  of  the 
chieftain,  encouraged  me  to  hope  the  same  with  his 
followers. 

After  a  little  preliminary  conversation  I  ventured 
to  ask  him  if  he  did  not  feel  regret  at  having  aban- 
doned his  family  and  taken  to  this  dangerous  profes- 
sion. "I  feel,"  replied  he,  "but  one  regret,  and 
that  will  end  only  with  my  life  ;  "  as  he  said  this  he 
pressed  his  clenched  fists  upon  his  bosom,  drew  his 
breath  through  his  set  teeth,  and  added  with  deep 
emotion,  "  I  have  something  within  here  that  stifles 
me ;  it  is  like  a  burning  iron  consuming  my  very 
heart.  I  could  tell  you  a  miserable  story,  but  not 
now — another  time." — He  relapsed  into  his  former 
position,  and  sat  with  his  head  between  his  hands, 
muttering  to  himself  in  broken  ejaculations,  and 
what  appeared  at  times  to  be  curses  and  maledic- 
tions. I  saw  he  was  not  in  a  mood  to  be  disturbed, 
so  I  left  him  to  himself  In  a  little  time  the  exhaus- 
tion of  his  feelings,  and  probably  the  fatigues  he  had 
undergone  in  this  expedition,  began  to  produce- 
drowsiness.  He  struggled  with  it  for  a  time,  but  the 
warmth  and  sultriness  of  mid-day  made  it  irresistible, 
and  he  at  length  stretched  himself  upon  the  herbage 
and  fell  asleep. 

I  now  beheld  a  chance  of  escape  within  my  reach. 
My  guard  lay  before  me  at  my  mercy.  His  vigorous 
limbs  relaxed  by  sleep  ;  his  bosom  open  for  the  blow  ; 
his  carbine  slipped  from  his  nerveless  grasp,  and 
lying  by  his  side ;  his  stiletto  half  out  of  the  pocket 
in  which  it  was  usually  carried.  But  two  of  his 
comrades  were  in  sight,  and  those  at  a  considerable 
distance,  on  the  edge  of  the  mountain  ;  their  backs 
turned  to  us,  and  their  attention  occupied  in  keep- 
ing a  look-out  upon  the  plain.  Through  a  strip  of 
intervening  forest,  and  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  descent. 
I  beheld  the  village  of  Rocca  Priori.  To  have  se- 
cured the  carbine  of  the  sleeping  brigand,  to  have 
seized  upon  his  poniard  and  have  plunged  it  in  his 
heart,  would  have  been  the  work  of  an  instant. 
Should  he  die  without  noise,  I  might  dart  through 


404 


W0RK;S   of   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  forest  and  down  to  Rocca  Priori  before  my  flight 
might  be  discovered.  In  case  of  alarm,  I  should  still 
have  a  fair  start  of  the  robbers,  and  a  chance  of  get- 
ting beyond  the  reach  of  their  shot. 

Here  then  was  an  opportunity  for  both  escape  and 
vengeance ;  perilous,  indeed,  but  powerfully  tempt- 
ing. Had  my  situation  been  more  critical  I  could 
not  have  resisted  it.  I  reflected,  however,  for  a 
moment.  The  attempt,  if  successful,  would  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  sacrifice  of  my  two  fellow  prisoners, 
who  were  sleeping  profoundly,  and  could  not  be 
awakened  in  time  to  escape.  The  labourer  who  had 
gone  after  the  ransom  might  also  fall  a  victim  to  the 
rage  of  the  robbers,  without  the  money  which  he 
brought  being  saved.  Besides,  the  conduct  of  the 
chief  towards  me  made  me  feel  certain  of  speedy  de- 
liverance. These  reflections  overcame  the  tirst  pow- 
erful impulse,  and  I  calmed  the  turbulent  agitation 
which  it  had  awakened. 

1  again  took  out  my  materials  for  drawing,  and 
amused  myself  with  sketching  the  magnificent  pros- 
l)ect.  It  was  now  about  noon,  and  every  thing 
seemed  sunk  into  repose,  like  the  bandit  that  lay 
sleeping  before  me.  The  noon-tide  stillness  that 
reigned  over  these  mountains,  the  vast  landscape 
below,  gleaming  with  distant  towns  and  dotted  with 
various  habitations  and  signs  of  life,  yet  all  so  silent, 
had  a  powerful  effect  upon  my  mind.  The  inter- 
mediate valleys,  too,  that  lie  among  mountains  have 
a  peculiar  air  of  solitude.  Few  sounds  are  heard  at 
mid-day  to  break  the  quiet  of  Uie  scene.  Sometimes 
the  whistle  of  a  solitary  muleteer,  lagging  with  his 
lazy  animal  along  the  road  that  winds  through  the 
centre  of  the  valley  ;  sometimes  the  faint  piping  of  a 
shepherd's  reed  from  the  side  of  the  mountain,  or 
sometimes  the  bell  of  an  ass  slowly  pacing  along, 
followed  by  a  monk  with  bare  feet  and  bare  shining 
head,  and  carrying  provisions  to  the  convent. 

I  had  continued  to  sketch  for  some  time  among 
my  sleeping  companions,  when  at  length  I  saw  the 
captain  of  the  band  approaching,  followed  by  a 
peasant  leading  a  mule,  on  which  was  a  well-filled 
sack.  I  at  first  apprehended  that  this  was  some 
new  prey  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  robbers,  but 
the  contented  look  of  the  peasant  soon  relieved  me, 
and  I  was  rejoiced  to  hear  that  it  was  our  promised 
repast.  The  brigands  now  came  running  from 
the  three  sides  of  the  mountain,  having  the  quick 
scent  of  vultures.  Every  one  busied  himself  in 
unloading  the  mule  and  relieving  the  sack  of  its 
contents. 

The  first  thing  that  made  its  appearance  was  an 
enormous  ham  of  a  colour  and  plumpness  that 
would  have  inspired  the  pencil  of  Teniers.  It  was 
followed  by  a  large  cheese,  a  bag  of  boiled  chestnuts, 
a  little  barrel  of  wine,  and  a  quantity  of  good  house- 
hold bread.  Every  thing  was  arranged  on  the  grass 
with  a  degree  of  symmetry,  and  the  captain  present- 
ing me  his  knife,  requested  me  to  help  myself.  We 
all  seated  ourselves  round  the  viands,  and  nothing 
was  heard  for  a  time  but  the  sound  of  vigorous 
mastication,  or  the  gurgling  of  the  barrel  of  wine  as 
it  revolved  briskly  about  the  circle.  My  long  fasting 
and  the  mountain  air  and  exercise  had  given  me  a 
keen  appetite,  and  never  did  repast  appear  to  me 
more  excellent  or  picturesque. 

From  time  to  time  one  of  the  band  was  despatched 
to  keep  a  look-out  upon  the  plain  :  no  enemy  was  at 
hand,  and  the  dinner  was  undisturbed. 

The  peasant  received  nearly  twice  the  value  of  his 
provisions,  and  set  off"  down  the  mountain  highly 
satisfied  with  his  bargain.  I  felt  invigorated  by  the 
hearty  meal  I  had  made,  and  notwithstanding  that 
the  wound  I  had  received  the  evening  before  was 
painful,  yet  I  could  not  but  feel  extremely  interested 


and  gratified  by  the  singular  scenes  continually  pre- 
sented to  me.  Every  thing  seemed  pictured  about 
these  wild  beings  and  their  haunts.  Their  bivouacs, 
their  groups  on  guard,  their  indolent  noon-tide  repose 
on  the  mountain  brow,  their  rude  repast  on  the 
herbage  among  rocks  and  trees,  every  thing  pre- 
sented a  study  for  a  painter.  But  it  was  towards  the 
approach  of  evening  that  I  felt  the  highest  enthusiasm 
awakened. 

The  setting  sun,  declining  beyond  the  vast  Cam- 
pagna,  shed  its  rich  yellow  beams  on  the  woody 
summits  of  the  Abruzzi.  Several  mountains  crown- 
ed with  snow  shone  brilliantly  in  the  distance,  con- 
trasting their  brightness  with  others,  which,  thrown 
into  shade,  assumed  deep  tints  of  purple  and  violet. 
As  the  evening  advanced,  the  landscape  darkened 
into  a  sterner  character.  The  immense  solitude 
around  ;  the  wild  mountains  broken  into  rocks  and 
precipices,  intermingled  with  vast  oak,  cork,  and 
chestnuts  ;  and  the  groups  of  banditti  in  the  fore- 
ground, reminded  me  of  those  savage  sce.nes  of 
Salvator  Rosa. 

To  beguile  the  time  the  captain  proposed  to  his  com- 
rades to  spread  before  me  their  jewels  and  cameos, 
as  I  must  doubtless  be  a  judge  of  such  articles,  and 
able  to  inform  them  of  their  nature.  He  set  the 
example,  the  others  followed  it,  and  in  a  few  moments 
I  saw  the  grass  before  me  sparkling  with  jewels  and 
gems  that  would  have  delighted  the  eyes  of  an  anti- 
quary or  a  fine  lady.  Among  them  were  several 
precious  jewels  and  antique  intaglios  and  cameos  of 
great  value,  the  spoils  doubtless  of  travellers  of  dis- 
tinction. I  found  that  they  were  in  the  habit  of 
selling  their  booty  in  the  frontier  towns.  As  these 
in  general  were  thinly  and  poorly  peopled,  and  little 
frequented  by  travellers,  they  could  offer  no  market 
for  such  valuable  articles  of  taste  and  luxury.  I  sug- 
gested to  them  the  certainty  of  their  readily  obtain- 
ing great  prices  for  these  gems  among  the  rich 
strangers  with  which  Rome  was  thronged. 

The  impression  made  upon  their  greedy  minds 
was  immediately  apparent.  One  of  the  band,  a 
young  man,  and  the  least  known,  requested  permis- 
sion of  the  captain  to  depart  the  following  day  in 
disguise  for  Rome,  for  the  purpose  of  traffick ; 
promising  on  the  faith  of  a  bandit  (a  sacred  pledge 
amongst  them)  to  return  in  two  days  to  any  place 
he  might  appoint.  The  captain  consented,  and  a 
curious  scene  took  place.  The  robbers  crowded 
round  him  eagerly,  confiding  to  him  such  of  their 
jewels  as  they  wished  to  dispose  of,  and  giving  him 
instructions  what  to  demand.  There  was  bargain- 
ing and  exchanging  and  selling  of  trinkets  among 
themselves,  and  1  beheld  my  watch,  which  had  a 
chain  and  valuable  seals,  purchased  by  the  young 
robber  merchant  of  the  ruffian  who  had  plundered 
me,  for  sixty  dollars.  I  now  conceived  a  faint  hope 
that  if  it  went  to  Rome,  I  might  somehow  or  other 
regain  possession  of  it. 

In  the  meantime  day  declined,  and  no  messenger 
returned  from  Tusculum. 

The  idea  of  passing  another  night  in  the  woods 
was  extremely  disheartening;  for  I  began  to  be 
satisfied  with  what  I  had  seen  of  robber  life.  The 
chieftain  now  ordered  his  men  to  follow  him,  that  he 
might  station  them  at  their  posts,  adding,  that  if 
the  messenger  did  not  return  before  night  they  must 
shift  their  quarters  to  some  other  place. 

I  was  again  left  alone  with,  the  young  bandit  who 
had  before  guarded  me :  he  had  the  same  gloomy 
air  and  haggard  eye,  with  now  and  then  a  bitter 
sardonic  smile.  I  was  determined  to  probe  this 
ulcerated  heart,  and  reminded  him  of  a  kind  of 
promise  he  had  given  me  to  tell  me  the  cause  of 
his  suffering. 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


405 


It  seemed  to  me  as  if  these  troubled  spirits  were 
glad  of  an  opportunity  to  disburthen  themselves ; 
and  of  having  some  fresh  undiseased  mind  with 
which  they  could  communicate.  I  had  hardly  made 
the  request  but  he  seated  himself  by  my  side,  and 
gave  me  his  story  in,  as  nearly  as  1  can  recollect,  the 
following  words. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  YOUNG  RCBBER. 


I  WAS  bom  at  the  little  town  of  Frosinone,  which 
lies  at  the  skirts  of  the  Abruzzi.  My  father  had 
made  a  little  property  in  trade,  and  gave  me  some 
education,  as  he  intended  me  for  the  church,  but  I 
had  kept  gay  company  too  much  to  relish  the  cowl, 
so  I  grew  up  a  loiterer  about  the  place.  I  was  a 
heedless  fellow,  a  little  quarrelsome  on  occasions, 
but  good-humoured  in  the  main,  so  I  made  my  way 
very  well  for  a  time,  until  I  fell  in  love.  There  lived 
in  our  town  a  surveyor,  or  land  bailiff,  of  the  prince's, 
who  had  a  young  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl  of  six- 
teen. She  was  looked  upon  as  something  better 
than  the  common  run  of  our  townsfolk,  and  kept  al- 
most entirely  at  home.  I  saw  her  occasionally,  and 
became  madlv  in  love  with  her,  she  looked  so  fresh 
and  tender,  and  so  different  from  the  sunburnt  fe- 
males to  whom  I  had  been  accustomed. 

As  my  father  kept  me  in  money,  I  always  dressed 
well,  and  took  all  opportunities  of  showing  myself  to 
advantage  in  the  eyes  of  the  little  beauty.  I  used  to 
see  her  at  church  ;  and  as  I  could  play  a  little  upon 
the  guitar,  I  gave  her  a  tune  sometimes  under  her 
window  of  an  evening;  and  I  tried  to  have  interviews 
with  her  in  her  father's  vineyard,  not  far  from  the 
town,  where  she  sometimes  walked.  She  was  evi- 
dently pleased  with  me,  but  she  was  young  and  shy, 
and  her  father  kept  a  strict  eye  upon  her,  and  took 
alarm  at  my  attentions,  for  he  had  a  bad  opinion  of 
me,  and  looked  for  a  better  match  for  his  daughter. 
I  became  furious  at  the  difficulties  thrown  in  my 
way,  having  been  accustomed  always  to  easy  success 
among  the  women,  being  considered  one  of  the 
smartest  young  fellows  of  the  place. 

Her  father  brought  home  a  suitor  for  her ;  a  rich 
farmer  from  a  neighbouring  town.  The  wedding- 
day  was  appointed,  and  preparations  were  making. 
I  got  sight  of  her  at  her  window,  and  I  thought  she 
looked  sadly  at  me.  I  determined  the  match  should 
not  take  place,  cost  what  it  might.  I  met  her  in- 
tended bridegroom  in  the  market-place,  and  could 
not  restrain  the  expression  of  my  rage.  A  few  hot 
words  passed  between  us,  when  1  drew  my  stiletto, 
and  stabbed  him  to  the  heart.  I  fled  to  a  neighbour- 
ing church  for  refuge  ;  and  with  a  little  money  I  ob- 
tained absolution  ;  but  I  did  not  dare  to  venture  from 
my  asylum. 

At  that  time  our  captain  was  forming  his  troop. 
He  had  known  me  from  boyhood,  and  hearing  of 
my  situation,  came  to  me  in  secret,  and  made  such 
offers,  that  I  agreed  to  enhst  myself  among  his  fol- 
lowers. Indeed,  I  had  more  than  once  thought  of 
taking  to  this  mode  of  life,  having  known  several 
brave  fellows  of  the  mountains,  who  used  to  spend 
their  money  freely  among  us  youngsters  of  the  town. 
I  accordingly  left  my  asylum  late  one  night,  repaired 
to  the  appomted  place  of  meeting;  took  the  oaths 
prescribed,  and  became  one  of  the  troop.  We  were 
for  some  time  in  a  distant  part  of  the  mountains,  and 
our  wild  adventurous  kind  of  life  hit  my  fancy  won- 
derfully, and  diverted  my  thoughts.  At  length  they 
returned  with  all  their  violence  to  the  recollection  of 


Rosetta.  The  solitude  in  which  I  often  found  my- 
self gave  me  time  to  brood  over  her  image,  and  as  [ 
have  kept  watch  at  night  over  our  sleeping  camp  in 
the  mountains,  my  feelings  have  been  roused  almost 
to  a  fever. 

At  length  we  shifted  our  ground,  and  determined 
to  make  a  descent  upon  the  road  between  Terracina 
and  Naples.  In  the  course  of  our  expedition,  we 
passed  a  day  or  two  in  the  woody  mountains  which 
rise  above  Frosinone.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  felt 
when  I  looked  down  upon  the  place,  and  distinguish- 
ed the  residence  of  Rosetta.  I  determined  to  have 
an  interview  with  her ;  but  to  what  purpose  ?  I 
could  not  expect  that  she  would  quit  her  home,  and 
accompany  me  in  my  hazardous  life  among  the 
mountains.  She  had  been  brought  up  too  tenderly 
for  that ;  and  when  I  looked  upon  the  women  who 
were  associated  with  some  of  our  troop,  I  could  not 
have  borne  the  thoughts  of  her  being  their  compan- 
ion. All  return  to  my  former  life  was  likewise  hope- 
less ;  for  a  price  was  set  upon  my  head.  Still  1 
determined  to  see  her;  the  very  hazard  and  fruit- 
lessness  of  the  thing  made  me  furious  to  accom- 
plish it. 

It  is  about  three  weeks  since  I  persuaded  our  cap- 
tain to  draw  down  to  the  vicinity  of  Frosinone,  in 
hopes  of  entrapping  some  of  its  principal  inhabit- 
ants, and  compelling  them  to  a  ransom.  We  were 
lying  in  ambush  towards  evening,  not  far  from  the 
vineyard  of  Rosetta's  father.  I  stole  quietly  from 
my  companions,  and  drew  near  to  reconnoitre  the 
place  of  her  frequent  walks. 

How  my  heart  beat  when,  among  the  vines,  I  be- 
held the  gleaming  of  a  white  dress  I  I  knew  it  must 
be  Rosetta's ;  it  being  rare  for  any  female  of  the 
place  to  dress  in  white.  I  advanced  secretly  and 
without  noise,  until  putting  aside  the  vines,  I  stood 
suddenly  before  her.  She  uttered  a  piercing  shriek, 
but  I  seized  her  in  my  arms,  put  my  hand  upon  her 
mouth  and  conjured  her  to  be  silent.  I  poured  out 
all  the  frenzy  of  my  passion  ;  offered  to  renounce  my 
mode  of  life,  to  put  my  fate  in  her  hands,  to  tly  with 
her  where  we  might  live  in  safety  together.  All  that 
I  could  say,  or  do,  would  not  pacify  her.  Instead  of 
love,  horror  and  affright  seemed  to  have  taken  pos- 
session of  her  breast. — She  struggled  partly  from  my 
grasp,  and  filled  the  air  with  her  cries.  In  an  in- 
stant the  captain  and  the  rest  of  my  companions 
were  around  us.  I  would  have  given  anything  at 
that  moment  had  she  been  safe  out  of  our  hands, 
and  in  her  father's  house.  It  was  too  late.  The 
captain  pronounced  her  a  prize,  and  ordered  that 
she  should  be  borne  to  the  mountains.  I  represent- 
ed to  him  that  she  was  my  prize,  that  I  had  a  pre- 
vious claim  to  her ;  and  I  mentioned  my  former  at- 
tachment. He  sneered  bitteriy  in  reply ;  observed 
that  brigands  had  no  business  with  village  intrigues, 
and  that,  according  to  the  laws  of  the  troop,  all 
spoils  of  the  kind  were  determined  by  lot.  Love  and 
jealousy  were  raging  in  my  heart,  but  I  had  to 
choose  between  obedience  and  death.  I  surrender- 
ed her  to  the  captain,  and  we  made  for  the  mount- 
ains. 

She  was  overcome  by  affright,  and  her  steps  were 
so  feeble  and  faltering,  that  it  was  necessary  to  sup- 
port her.  I  could  not  endure  the  idea  that  my  com- 
rades should  touch  her,  and  assuming  a  forced  tran- 
quillity, begged  that  she  might  be  confided  to  me,  as 
one  to  whom  she  was  more  accustomed.  The  cap- 
tain regarded  me  for  a  moment  with  a  searching  look, 
but  I  bore  it  without  flinching,  and  he  consented.  I 
took  her  in  my  arms :  she  was  almost  senseless. 
Iler  head  rested  on  my  shoulder,  her  mouth  was  near 
to  mine.  I  felt  her  breath  on  my  face,  and  it  seemed 
to  fan  the  flame  which  devoured  me.     Oh,  God  !  to 


406 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING 


have  this  glowing  treasure  in  my  arms,  and  yet  to 
think  it  was  not  mine  ! 

We  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain.  I  as- 
cended it  with  difficulty,  particularly  where  the 
woods  were  thick ;  but  I  would  not  relinquish  my 
delicious  burthen.  I  reflected  with  rage,  however, 
that  I  must  soon  do  so.  The  thoughts  that  so  deli- 
cate a  creature  must  be  abandoned  to  my  rude  com- 
panions, maddened  me.  I  felt  tempted,  the  stiletto 
in  my  hand,  to  cut  my  way  through  them  all,  and 
bear  her  off  in  triumph.  I  scarcely  conceived  the 
idea,  before  I  saw  its  rashness ;  but  my  brain  was 
fevered  with  the  thought  that  any  but  myself  should 
enjoy  her  charms.  I  endeavoured  to  outstrip  my 
companions  by  the  quickness  of  my  movements; 
and  to  get  a  little  distance  ahead,  in  case  any  fa- 
vourable opportunity  of  escape  should  present.  Vain 
effort !  The  voice  of  the  captain  suddenly  ordered 
a  halt.  I  trembled,  but  had  to  obey.  The  poor  girl 
partly  opened  a  languid  eye,  but  was  without  strength 
or  motion.  I  laid  her  upon  the  grass.  The  captain 
darted  on  me  a  terrible  look  of  suspicion,  and  or- 
dered me  to  scour  the  woods  with  my  companions, 
in  search  of  some  shepherd  who  might  be  sent  to 
her  father's  to  demand  a  ransom. 

I  s.aw  at  once  the  peril.  To  resist  with  violence 
was  certain  death  ;  but  to  leave  her  alone,  in  the 
power  of  the  captain  I — I  spoke  out  then  with  a 
fervour  inspired  by  my  passion  and  my  despair.  I 
reminded  the  captain  that  I  was  the  first  to  seize 
her ;  that  she  was  my  prize,  and  that  my  previous 
attachment  for  her  should  make  her  sacred  among 
my  companions.  1  insisted,  therefore,  that  he  should 
pledge  me  his  word  to  respect  her;  otherwise  I 
should  refuse  obedience  to  his  orders.  His  only  re- 
ply was,  to  cock  his  carbine  ;  and  at  the  signal  my 
comrades  did  the  same.  They  laughed  with  cruelty 
at  my  impotent  rage.  What  could  I  do  ?  I  felt  the 
madness  of  resistance.  I  was  menaced  on  all  hands, 
and  my  companions  obliged  me  to  follow  them.  She 
remained  alone  with  the  chief — yes,  alone — and  al- 
most lifeless  ! — 

Here  the  robber  paused  in  his  recital,  overpowered 
by  his  emotions.  Great  drops  of  sweat  stood  on  his 
forehead ;  he  panted  rather  than  breathed ;  his 
brawny  bosom  rose  and  fell  like  the  waves  of  a 
troubled  sea.  When  he  had  become  a  little  calm, 
he  continued  his  recital. 

I  was  not  long  in  finding  a  shepherd,  said  he.  I 
ran  with  the  rapidity  of  a  deer,  eager,  if  possible,  to 
get  back  before  what  I  dreaded  might  take  place. 
I  had  left  my  companions  far  behind,  and  I  rejoined 
them  before  they  had  reached  one-half  the  distance 
I  had  made.  I  hurried  therii  back  to  the  place  where 
we  had  left  the  captain.  As  we  approached,  I  be- 
held him  seated  by  the  side  of  Rosetta.  His  triumph- 
ant look,  and  the  desolate  condition  of  the  unfortu- 
nate girl,  left  me  no  doubt  of  her  fate.  I  know  not 
how  1  restrained  my  fury. 

It  was  with  e.Ktreme  difficulty,  and  by  guiding  her 
hand,  that  she  was  made  to  trace  a  few  characters, 
requesting  her  father  to  send  three  hundred  dollars 
as  her  ransom.  The  letter  was  despatched  by  the 
shepherd.  When  he  was  gone,  the  chief  turned 
sternly  to  me  :  "  You  have  set  an  example,"  said  he, 
"  of  mutiny  and  self-will,  which  if  indulged  would 
be  ruinous  to  the  troop.  Had  I  treated  you  as  our 
laws  require,  this  bullet  would  have  been  driven 
through  your  brain.  But  you  are  an  old  friend  :  I 
have  borne  patiently  with  your  fury  and  your  folly  ; 
I  have  even  protected  you  from  a  foolish  passion  that 
would  have  unmanned  you.  As  to  this  girl,  the  laws 
of  our  association  must  have  their  course."  So  say- 
ing, he  gave  his  commands,  lots  were  drawn,  and 
the  helpless  girl  was  abandoned  to  the  troop. 


Here  the  robber  paused  again,  pinting  with  fury, 
and  it  was  some  moments  before  he  could  resume 
his  story. 

Hell,  said  he,  was  raging  in  my  heart.  I  beheld 
the  impossibility  of  avenging  myself,  and  I  felt  that, 
according  to  the  articles  in  which  we  stood  bound  to 
one  another,  the  captain  was  in  the  right.  I  rushed 
with  frenzy  from  the  place.  I  threw  mvself  upon  the 
earth  ;  tore  up  the  grass  with  my  hands,  and  beat 
my  head,  and  gnashed  my  teeth  in  agony  and  rage. 
When  at  length  I  returned,  I  beheld  the  wretched 
victim,  pale,  dishevelled ;  her  dress  torn  and  dis- 
ordered. An  emotion  of  pity  for  a  moment  subdued 
my  fiercer  feelings.  I  bore  her  to  the  foot  of  a  tree, 
and  leaned  her  gently  against  it.  I  took  my  gourd, 
which  was  filled  with  wine,  and  applying  it  to  her 
lips,  endeavoured  to  make  her  swallow  a  little.  To 
what  a  condition  was  she  recovered  !  She,  whom  I 
had  once  seen  the  pride  of  Frosinone,  who  but  a  short 
time  before  I  had  beheld  sporting  in  her  father's 
vineyard,  so  fresh  and  beautiful  and  happy  !  Her 
teeth  were  clenched  ;  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  ; 
her  form  without  motion,  and  in  a  state  of  absolute 
insensibility.  I  hung  over  her  in  an  agony  of  recol- 
lection of  all  that  she  had  been,  and  of  anguish  at 
what  I  now  beheld  her.  I  darted  round  a  look  of 
horror  at  my  companions,  who  seemed  like  so  many 
fiends  exulting  in  the  downfall  of  an  angel,  and  I 
felt  a  horror  at  myself  for  being  their  accomplice. 

The  captain,  always  suspicious,  saw  with  his  usual 
penetration  what  was  passing  within  me,  and  ordered 
me  to  go  upon  the  ridge  of  woods  to  keep  a  look-out 
upon  the  neighbourhood  and  await  the  return  of  the 
shepherd.  1  obeyed,  of  course,  .stifling  the  fury  that 
raged  within  me,  though  1  felt  for  the  moment  that 
he  was  my  most  deadly  foe. 

On  my  way,  however,  a  ray  of  reflection  came 
across  my  mind.  I  perceived  that  the  captain  was 
but  following  with  strictness  the  terrible  laws  to 
which  we  had  sworn  fidehty.  That  the  passion  by 
which  I  had  been  blinded  might  widi  justice  have 
been  fatal  to  me  but  for  his  forbearance  ;  that  he  had 
penetrated  my  soul,  and  had  taken  precautions,  by 
sending  me  out  of  the  way,  to  prevent  my  committing 
any  excess  in  my  .anger.  From  that  instant  I  felt 
that  I  was  capable  of  pardoning  him. 

Occupied  with  these  thoughts,  1  arrived  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountain.  The  country  was  solitary  and 
secure  ;  and  in  a  short  time  I  beheld  the  shepherd  at 
a  distance  crossing  the  plain.  I  hastened  to  meet 
him.  He  had  obtamed  nothing.  He  had  found  the 
father  plunged  in  the  deepest  distress.  He  had  read 
the  letter  with  violent  emotion,  and  then  calming 
himself  with  a  sudden  exertion,  he  had  replied  coldly, 
"  My  daughter  has  been  dishonoured  by  those 
wretches  ;  let  her  be  returned  without  ransom,  or  let 
her  die  !  " 

I  shuddered  at  this  reply.  I  knew,  according  to 
the  laws  of  our  troop,  her  death  was  inevitable.  Our 
oaths  required  it.  I  felt,  nevertheless,  that,  not 
having  been  able  to  have  her  to  myself,  I  could  be- 
come her  executioner  I 

The  robber  again  paused  with  agitation.  I  sat 
musing  upon  his  last  frightful  words,  which  proved 
to  what  excess  the  passions  may  be  carried  when 
escaped  from  all  moral  restraint.  There  was  a  hor- 
rible verity  in  this  story  that  reminded  me  of  some 
of  the  tragic  fictions  of  Dante. 

We  now  come  to  a  fatal  moment,  resumed  the 
bandit.  After  the  report  of  the  shepherd,  1  returned 
with  him,  and  the  chieftain  received  from  his  lips  the 
refusal  of  the  father.  At  a  signal,  which  we  all  un- 
derstood, we  followed  him  some  distance  from  the 
victim.  He  there  pronounced  her  sentence  of  death. 
Every  one  stood  ready  t )  execute  his  order ;  but  I 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


407 


Interfered.  I  observed  that  there  was  something  due 
to  pity,  as  well  as  to  justice.  That  I  was  as  ready 
as  any  one  to  approve  the  implacable  law  which  was 
to  serve  as  a  warning  to  all  those  who  hesitated  to 
pay  the  ransoms  demanded  for  our  prisoners,  but 
that,  though  the  sacrifice  was  proper,  it  ought  to  be 
made  without  cruelty.  The  night  is  approaching, 
continued  I ;  she  will  soon  be  wrapped  in  sleep  :  let 
her  then  be  despatched.  All  that  I  now  claim  on 
the  score  of  former  fondness  for  her  is,  let  me  strike 
the  blow.  I  will  do  it  as  surely,  but  more  tenderly 
than  another. 

Several  raised  their  voices  against  my  proposition, 
but  the  captain  imposed  silence  on  them.  He  told 
me  1  might  conduct  her  into  a  thicket  at  some  dis- 
tance, and  he  relied  upon  my  promise. 

I  hastened  to  seize  my  prey.  There  was  a  forlorn 
kind  of  triumph  at  having  at  length  become  her  ex- 
clusive possessor.  I  bore  her  otT  into  the  thickness 
of  the  forest.  She  remained  in  the  same  state  of  in- 
sensibility and  stupor.  I  was  thankful  that  she  did 
not  recollect  me  ;  for  had  she  once  murmured  my 
name,  I  should  have  been  overcome.  She  slept  at 
length  in  the  arms  of  him  who  was  to  poniard  her. 
Many  were  the  conflicts  I  underwent  before  I  could 
bring  myself  to  strike  the  blow.  My  heart  had  be- 
come sore  by  the  recent  conflicts  it  had  undergone, 
and  I  dreaded  lest,  by  procrastination,  some  other 
should  become  her  executioner.  When  her  repose 
had  continued  for  some  time,  I  separated  myself 
gently  from  her,  that  I  might  not  disturb  her  sleep, 
and  seizing  suddenly  my  poniard,  plunged  it  into 
her  bosom.  A  painful  and  concentrated  murmur, 
but  without  any  convulsive  movement,  accompanied 
her  last  sigh.     So  perished  this  unfortunate. 

He  ceased  to  speak.  I  sat  horror-struck,  covering 
my  face  with  my  hands,  seeking,  as  it  were,  to  hide 
from  myself  the  frightful  images  he  had  presented  to 
my  mind.  I  was  roused  from  this  silence  by  the 
voice  of  the  captain.  "  You  sleep,"  said  he,  "  and  it 
is  time  to  be  off.  Come,  we  must  abandon  this 
height,  as  night  is  setting  in,  and  the  messenger  is 
not  returned.  I  will  post  some  one  on  the  mountain 
edge,  to  conduct  him  to  the  place  where  we  shall 
[lass  the  night." 

This  was  no  agreeable  news  to  me.  I  was  sick  at 
heart  with  the  dismal  story  1  had  heard.  1  was  har- 
assed and  fatigued,  and  the  sight  of  the  banditti  be- 
gan to  grow  insupportable  to  me. 

The  captain  assembled  his  comrades.  We  rapidly 
descended  the  forest  which  we  had  mounted  with  so 
much  difficulty  in  the  morning,  and  soon  arrived  in 
what  appeared  to  be  a  trequented  road.  The  rob- 
bers proceeded  with  great  caution,  carrying  their 
guns  cocked,  and  looking  on  every  side  with  wary 
and  suspicious  eyes.  They  were  apprehen.sive  of  en- 
countering the  civic  patrole.  We  left  Rocca  Priori 
behind  us.  There  was  a  fountain  near  by,  and  as  I 
was  e.\cessively  thirsty,  I  begged  permission  to  stop 
and  drink.  The  captain  himself  went,  and  brought 
me  water  in  his  hat.  We  pursued  our  route,  when, 
at  the  extremity  of  an  alley  which  crossed  the  road, 
I  perceived  a  female  on  horseback,  dressed  in  white. 
She  was  alone.  I  recollected  the  fate  of  the  poor 
girl  in  the  story,  and  trembled  for  her  safety. 

One  of  the  brigands  saw  her  at  the  same  instant, 
and  plunging  into  the  bushes,  he  ran  precipitately  in 
the  direction  towards  her.  Stopping  on  the  border 
of  the  alley,  he  put  one  knee  to  the  ground,  presented 
his  carbine  ready  for  menace,  or  to  shoot  her  horse 
if  she  attempted  to  fly,  and  in  this  way  awaited  her 
approach.  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  her  with  intense 
anxiety.  I  felt  tempted  to  shout,  and  warn  her  of  her 
danger,  though  my  own  destruction  would  have  been  \ 


the  consequence.  It  was  awful  to  see  this  tiger 
crouching  ready  for  a  bound,  and  the  poor  innocent 
victim  wandering  unconsciously  near  him.  Nothing 
but  a  mere  chance  could  save  her.  To  my  joy,  the 
chance  turned  in  her  favour.  She  seemed  almost 
accidentally  to  take  an  opposite  path,  which  led  out- 
side of  the  wood,  where  the  robber  dare  not  venture. 
To  this  casual  deviation  she  owed  her  safety. 

I  could  not  imagine  why  the  captain  of  the  band 
had  ventured  to  such  a  distance  from  the  height,  on 
which  he  had  placed  the  sentinel  to  watch  the  return 
of  the  messenger.  He  seemed  himself  uneasy  at  the 
risk  to  which  he  exposed  himself.  His  movements 
were  rapid  and  uneasy ;  I  could  scarce  keep  pace 
with  him.  At  length,  after  three  hours  of  what 
might  be  termed  a  forced  march,  we  mounted  the 
extremity  of  the  same  woods,  the  summit  of  which 
we  had  occupied  during  the  day ;  and  I  learnt  with 
satisfaction,  that  we  had  reached  our  quarters  for  the 
night.  "  You  must  be  fatigued,"  said  the  chieftain  ; 
"  but  it  was  necessary  to  survey  the  environs,  so  as 
not  to  be  surprised  during  the  night.  Had  we  met 
with  the  famous  civic  guard  of  Rocca  Priori  you 
would  have  seen  fine  sport."  Such  was  the  indefat- 
igable precaution  and  forethought  of  this  robber 
chief,  who  really  gave  continual  evidences  of  military 
talent. 

The  night  was  magnificent.  The  moon  rising 
above  the  horizon  in  a  cloudless  sky,  faintly  lit  up 
the  grand  features  of  the  mountains,  while  lights 
twinkling  here  and  there,  like  terrestrial  stars,  in  the 
wide,  dusky  expanse  of  the  landscape,  betrayed  the 
lonely  cabins  of  the  shepherds.  Exhausted  by  fatigue, 
and  by  the  many  agitations  I  had  experienced,  I  pre- 
pared to  sleep,  soothed  by  the  hope  of  approaching 
deliverance.  The  captain  ordered  his  companions 
to  collect  some  dry  moss  ;  he  arranged  witli  his  own 
hands  a  kind  of  mattress  and  pillow  of  it,  and  gave 
me  his  ample  mantle  as  a  covering.  I  could  not  but 
feel  both  surprised  and  gratified  by  such  unexpected 
attentions  on  the  part  of  this  benevolent  cut-throat : 
for  there  is  nothmg  more  striking  than  to  find  the 
ordinary  charities,  which  are  matters  of  course  in 
common  life,  flourishing  by  the  side  of  such  stern 
and  sterile  crime.  It  is  like  finding  the  tender  flow- 
ers and  fresh  herbage  of  the  valley  growing  among 
the  rocks  and  cinders  of  the  volcano. 

Before  I  fell  asleep,  I  had  some  farther  discourse 
with  the  captain,  who  seemed  to  put  great  confidence 
in  me.  He  referred  to  our  previous  conversation  of 
the  morning ;  told  me  he  was  weary  of  his  hazardous 
profession  ;  that  he  had  acquired  sufficient  property, 
and  was  anxious  to  return  to  the  world  and  lead  a 
peaceful  life  in  the  bosom  of  his  family.  He  wished 
to  know  whether  it  was  not  in  my  power  to  procure 
him  a  passport  for  the  United  States  of  America.  I 
applauded  his  good  intentions,  and  promised  to  do 
every  thing  in  my  power  to  promote  its  success.  We 
then  parted  for  the  night.  I  stretched  myself  upon 
my  couch  of  moss,  which,  after  my  fatigues,  felt  like 
a  bed  of  down,  and  sheltered  by  the  robber's  mantle 
from  all  humidity,  1  slept  soundly  without  waking, 
until  the  signal  to  arise. 

It  was  nearly  six  o'clock,  and  the  day  was  just 
dawning.  As  the  place  where  we  had  passed  the 
night  was  too  much  exposed,  we  moved  up  into  the 
thickness  of  the  woods.  A  fire  was  kindled.  While 
there  was  any  flaine,  the  mantles  were  again  ex- 
tended round  it ;  but  when  nothing  remained  but 
glowing  cinders,  they  were  lowered,  and  the  robbers 
seated  themselves  in  a  circle. 

The  scene  before  me  reminded  me  of  some  of  those 
described  by  Homer.  There  wanted  only  the  victim 
on  the  coals,  and  the  sacred  knife,  to  cut  off  the  suc- 
culent parts,  and  distribute  them  around.     My  com- 


408 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


panions  might  have  rivalled  the  grim  warriors  of 
Greece.  In  place  of  the  noble  repasts,  however,  of 
Achilles  and  Agamemnon,  I  beheld  displayed  on  the 
grass  the  remains  of  the  ham  which  had  sustained 
so  vigorous  an  attack  on  the  preceding  evening,  ac- 
companied by  the  reliques  of  the  bread,  cheese,  and 
wine. 

We  had  scarcely  commenced  our  frugal  breakfast, 
when  I  heard  again  an  imitation  of  the  bleating  of 
sheep,  similar  to  what  I  had  heard  the  day  before. 
The  captain  answered  it  in  the  same  tone.  Two 
men  were  soon  after  seen  descending  from  the 
woody  height,  where  we  had  passed  tlie  preceding 
evening.  On  nearer  approach,  they  proved  to  be  the 
sentinel  and  the  messenger.  The  captain  rose  and 
went  to  meet  them.  He  made  a  signal  for  his  com- 
rades to  join  him.  They  had  a  short  conference, 
and  then  returning  to  me  with  eagerness,  "  Your 
ransom  is  paid,"  said  he;  "you  are  free  !  " 

Though  I  had  anticipated  deliverance,  I  cannot 
tell  you  what  a  rush  of  delight  these  tidings  gave  me. 
I  cared  not  to  finish  my  repast,  but  prepare'l  to  de- 
part. The  captain  took  me  by  the  hand  ;  requested 
permission  to  write  to  me,  and  begged  me  not  to  for- 
get the  passport.  I  replied,  that  I  hoped  to  be  of 
effectual  service  to  him,  and  that  I  relied  on  his  hon- 
our to  return  the  prince's  note  for  five  hundred  dol- 
lars, now  that  the  cash  was  paid.  He  regarded  me 
for  a  moment  with  surprise  ;  then,  seeming  to  recol- 
lect himself,  "  E  giusto,"  said  he,  "  eccolo — adio  !  "* 
He  delivered  me  the  note,  pressed  my  hand  once 
more,  and  we  separated.  The  labourers  were  permit- 
ted to  follow  mc,  and  we  resumed  with  joy  our  road 
towards  Tusculum. 


The  artist  ceased  to  speak  ;  the  party  continued 
for  a  few  moments  to  pace  the  shore  of  Terracina  in 
silence.  The  story  they  had  heard  had  made  a  deep 
impression  on  them,  particularly  on  the  fair  Venetian, 
who  had  gradually  regained  her  husband's  arm.  At 
the  part  that  related  to  the  young  girl  of  Frosinone, 
she  had  been  violently  affected  ;  sobs  broke  from  her; 
she  clung  close  to  her  husband,  and  as  she  looked 
up  to  him  as  if  for  protection,  the  moon-beams  shin- 
ing on  her  beautifully  fair  countenance  showed  it 
paler  than  usual  with  terror,  while  tears  glittered  in 
her  fine  dark  eyes.  "  O  caro  mio  ! "  would  she  mur- 
mur, shuddering  at  every  atrocious  circumstance  of 
the  story. 

"  Corragio,  mia  vita  !"  was  the  reply,  as  the  hus- 
band gently  and  fondly  tapped  the  white  hand  that 
lay  upon  his  arm. 

The  Englishman  alone  preserved  his  usual  phlegm, 
and  the  fair  Venetian  was  piqued  at  it. 

She  had  pardoned  him  a  want  of  gallantry  to- 
wards herself,  though  a  sin  of  omission  seldom  met 
with  in  the  gallant  climate  of  Italy,  but  the  quiet 
coolness  which  he  maintained  in  matters  which  so 
much  affected  her,  and  the  slow  credence  which  he 
had  given  to  the  stories  which  had  filled  her  with 
alarm,  were  quite  vexatious. 

"  Santa  Maria  !  "  said  she  to  her  husband  as  they 
retired  for  the  night,  "  what  insensible  beings  these 
English  are  !  " 

In  the  morning  all  was  bustle  at  the  inn  at  Terra- 
cina. 

The  procaccio  had  departed  at  day-break,  on  its 
route  towards  Rome,  but  the  Englishman  was  yet  to 
start,  and  the  departure  of  an  English  equipage  is 
always  enough  to  keep  an  inn  in  a  bustle.  On  this 
occasion  there  was  more  than  usual  stir ;  for  the 
Englishman  having  much  property  about  him,  and 


*  It  is  just — there  it  is — adieu  f 


having  been  convinced  of  the  real  danger  of  the 
road,  had  applied  to  the  police  and  obtained,  by  ilint 
of  liberal  pay,  an  escort  of  eight  dragoons  and 
twelve  foot-soldiers,  as  far  a  Fondi. 

Perhaps,  too,  there  might  have  been  a  little  osten- 
tation at  bottom,  from  which,  with  great  delicacy  be 
it  spoken,  English  travellers  are  not  always  exempt ; 
though  to  say  the  truth,  he  had  nothing  of  it  in  his 
manner.  He  moved  about  taciturn  and  reserved  as 
usual,  among  the  gaping  crowd,  in  his  gingerbread- 
coloured  travelling  cap,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
He  ga\'e  laconic  orders  to  John  as  he  packed  away  the 
thousand  and  one  indispensable  conveniencies  of  the 
night,  double  loaded  his  pistols  with  great  sang-froid, 
and  deposited  them  in  the  pockets  of  the  carriage, 
taking  no  notice  of  a  pair  of  keen  eyes  gazing  on 
him  from  among  the  herd  of  loitering  idlers.  "The 
fair  Venetian  now  came  up  with  a  request  made  in 
her  dulcet  tones,  that  he  would  permit  their  carriage 
to  proceed  under  protection  of  his  escort.  The 
Englishman,  who  was  busy  loading  another  pair  of 
pistols  for  his  servant,  and  held  the  ramrod  between 
his  teeth,  nodded  assent  as  a  matter  of  course,  but 
without  lifting  up  his  eves.  The  fair  Venetian  was 
not  accustomed  to  such  indifference.  "  O  Dio  !  " 
ejaculated  she  softly  as  she  retired,  "  come  sono 
freddi  questi  Inglesi."  At  length  off  they  set  in  gal- 
lant style,  the  eight  dragoons  prancing  in  front,  the 
twelve  foot-soldiers  marching  in  rear,  and  tlie  car- 
riages moving  slowly  in  the  centre  to  enable  the  in- 
fantry to  keep  pace  with  them.  They  had  pro- 
ceeded but  a  few  hundred  yards  when  it  was  dis- 
covered that  some  indispensable  article  had  been  left 
behind. 

In  fact,  the  Englishman's  purse  was  missing,  and 
John  was  despatched  to  the  inn  to  search  for  it. 

This  occasioned  a  little  delay,  and  the  carriage  of 
the  Venetians  drove  slowly  on.  John  came  back  out 
of  breath  and  out  of  humour  ;  the  purse  was  not  to 
be  found  ;  his  master  was  irritated  ;  he  recollected  the 
very  place  where  it  lay ;  the  cursed  Italian  servant 
had  pocketed  it.  Jolm  was  again  sent  back.  He  re- 
turned once  more,  without  the  purse,  but  with  the 
landlord  and  the  whole  household  at  his  heels.  A 
thousand  ejaculations  and  protestations,  accom- 
panied by  all  sorts  of  grimaces  and  contortions.  "  No 
purse  had  been  seen — his  excellenza  must  be  mis- 
taken." 

No — his  excellenza  was  not  mistaken  ;  the  purse 
lay  on  the  marble  table,  under  the  mirror  :  a  green 
purse,  half  full  of  gold  and  silver.  Again  a  thou- 
sand grimaces  and  contortions,  and  vows  by  San 
Genario,  that  no  purse  of  the  kind  had  been  seen. 

The  Englishman  became  furious.  "  The  waiter 
had  pocketed  it.     The  landlord  was  a  knave.     The 

inn  a  den  of  thieves — it  was  a  d d  country — he 

had  been  cheated  and  plundered  from  one  end  of  it 
to  the  other — bht  he'd  have  satisfaction — he'd  drive 
right  off  to  the  police." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  ordering  the  postilions  to 
turn  back,  when,  on  rising,  he  displaced  the  cushion 
of  the  carriage,  and  the  purse  of  money  fell  chinking 
to  the  floor. 

All   the  blood   in  his  body  seemed  to  rush  into 

his   face.      "  D n   the  purse,"    said   he,   as   he 

snatched  it  up.  He  dashed  a  handful  of  money  on 
the  ground  before  the  pale,  cringing  waiter.  "  There 
— be  off,"  cried  he;  "John,  order  the  postilions  to 
drive  on." 

Above  half  an  hour  had  been  exhausted  in  this  al- 
tercation. The  Venetian  carriage  h.ad  loitered  along  ; 
its  passengers  looking  out  from  time  to  time,  and  ex- 
pecting the  escort  every  moment  to  follow.  They 
had  gradually  turned  an  angle  of  the  road  that  shut 
them  out  of  sight.     The  little  army  was  again  in 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


409 


motion,  and  made  a  very  picturesque  appearance  as 
it  wound  along'  at  the  bottom  of  the  rocks  ;  the 
morning-  sunshine  beaming  upon  the  weapons  of  the 
soldiery. 

The  Englishman  lolled  back  in  his  carriage,  vexed 
with  himself  at  what  had  passed,  and  consequently 
out  of  humour  with  all  the  world.  As  this,  however, 
is  no  uncommon  case  with  gentlemen  who  travel  for 
their  pleasure,  it  is  hardly  worthy  of  remark. 

They  had  wound  up  from  the  coast  among  the 
hills,  and  came  to  a  part  of  the  road  that  admitted 
oJ"  some  prospect  ahead. 

"  I  see  nothing  of  the  lady's  carriage,  sir,"  said 
John,  leaning  over  from  the  coach  box. 

"  Hang  the  lady's  carriage  !  "  said  the  English- 
man, crustily ;  "don't  plague  me  about  the  lady's 
carriage ;  must  I  be  continually  pestered  with 
strangers  ?  " 

John  said  not  another  word,  for  he  understood  his 
master's  mood.  The  road  grew  more  wild  and  lone- 
ly ;  they  were  slowly  proceeding  in  a  foot  pace  up  a 
hill  ;  the  dragoons  were  some  distance  ahead,  and 
had  just  reached  the  summit  of  the  hill,  when  they 
uttered  an  exclamation,  or  rather  shout,  and  galloped 
forward.  The  Englishman  was  roused  from  his  sulky 
reverie.  He  stretched  his  head  from  the  carriage, 
which  had  attained  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Before  him 
extended  a  long  hollow  defile,  commanded  on  one 
side  by  rugged  precipitous  heights,  covered  with 
bushes  and  scanty  forest  trees.  At  some  distance 
he  beheld  the  carriage  of  the  Venetians  overturned  ; 
a  numerous  gang  of  desperadoes  were  rifling  it ;  the 
young  man  and  his  servant  were  overpowered  and 
partly  stripped,  and  the  lady  was  in  the  hands  of 
two  of  the  ruffians.  The  Englishman  seized  his 
pistols,  sprang  from  the  carriage,  and  called  upon 
John  to  follow  him.  In  the  meantime,  as  the  dra- 
goons came  forward,  the  robbers  who  were  busy 
with  the  carriage  quitted  their  spoil,  formed  them- 
selves in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  taking  deliberate 
aim,  fired.  One  of  the  dragoons  fell,  another  was 
wounded,  and  the  whole  were  for  a  moment  checked 
and  thrown  in  confusion.  The  robbers  loaded  again 
in  an  instant.  The  dragoons  had  discharged  their 
carbines,  but  without  apparent  effect ;  they  received 
another  volley,  which,  though  none  fell,  threw  them 
again  into  confusion.  The  robbers  were  loading  a 
second  time,  when  they  saw  the  foot-soldiers  at 
hand. — "  Soampa  via  !  "  was  the  word.  They  aban- 
doned their  prey,  and  retreated  up  the  rocks  ;  the 
soldiers  after  them.  They  fought  from  cliff  to  cliff, 
and  bush  to  bush,  the  robbers  turning  every  now 
and  then  to  fire  upon  their  pursuers ;  the  soldiers 
scrambling  after  them,  and  discharging  their  mus- 
kets whenever  they  could  get  a  chance.  Sometimes 
a  soldier  or  a  robber  was  shot  down,  and  came 
tumbling  ainong  the  cliffs.  The  dragoons  kept 
firing  from  below,  whenever  a  robber  came  in  sight. 

The  Englishman  had  hastened  to  the  scene  of 
action,  and  the  balls  discharged  at  the  dragoons  had 
whistled  past  him  as  he  advanced.  One  object,  how- 
ever, engrossed  his  attention.  It  was  the  beautiful 
Venetian  lady  in  the  hands  of  two  of  the  robbers, 
who,  during  the  confusion  of  the  fight,  carried  her 
shrieking  up  the  mountains.  He  saw  her  dress 
gleaming  among  the  bushes,  and  he  sprang  up  the 
rocks  to  intercept  the  robbers  as  they  bore  off  their 
prey.  The  ruggedness  of  the  steep  and  the  entangle- 
ments of  the  bushes,  delayed  and  impeded  him.  He 
lost  sight  of  the  lady,  but  was  still  guided  by  her 
cries,  which  grew  fainter  and  fainter.  They  were 
off  to  the  left,  while  the  report  of  muskets  showed 
that  the  battle  was  raging  to  the  right. 

At  length  he  came  upon  what  appeared  to  be  a 
rugged  foot-parth,  faintly  worn  in  a  gully  of  the  rock, 


and  beheld  the  ruffians  at  some  distance  hurrying 
the  lady  up  the  defile.  One  of  them  hearing  his  ap- 
proach let  go  his  prey,  advanced  towards  him,  and 
levelling  the  carbine  which  had  been  slung  on  his 
back,  fired.  The  ball  whizzed  through  the  English- 
man's hat,  and  carried  with  it  some  of  his  hair.  He 
returned  the  fire  with  one  of  his  pistols,  and  the  robber 
fell.  The  other  brigand  now  dropped  the  lady,  and 
drawing  a  long  pistol  from  his  belt,  fired  on  his  ad- 
versary with  deliberate  aim  ;  the  ball  passed  between 
his  left  arm  and  his  side,  slightly  wounding  the  arm. 
The  Englishman  advanced  and  discharged  his  re- 
maining pistol,  which  wounded  the  robber,  but  not 
severely.  The  brigand  drew  a  stiletto,  and  rushed 
upon  his  adversary,  v/ho  eluded  the  blow,  receiving 
merely  a  slight  wound,  and  defended  himself  with 
his  pistol,  which  had  a  spring  bayonet.  They  closed 
with  one  another,  and  a  desperate  struggle  ensued. 
The  robber  was  a  square-built,  thick-set  man,  power- 
ful, muscular,  and  active.  The  Englishman,  though 
of  larger  frame  and  greater  strength,  was  less  active 
and  less  accustomed  to  athletic  exercises  and  feats 
of  hardihood,  but  he  showed  himself  practised  and 
skilled  in  the  art  of  defence.  They  were  on  a  craggy 
height,  and  the  Englishman  perceived  that  his  an- 
tagonist was  striving  to  press  him  to  the  edge. 

A  side  glance  showed  him  also  the  robber  whom 
he  had  first  wounded,  scrambling  up  to  the  assistance 
of  his  comrade,  stiletto  in  hand.  He  had,  in  fact, 
attained  the  summit  of  the  cliff,  and  the  Englishman 
saw  him  within  a  few  steps,  when  he  heard  suddenly 
the  report  of  a  pistol  and  the  ruffian  fell.  The  shot 
came  from  John,  who  had  arrived  just  in  time  to 
save  his  master. 

The  remaining  robber,  exhausted  by  loss  of  blood 
and  the  violence  of  the  contest,  showed  signs  of 
faltering.  His  adversary  pursued  his  advantage  ; 
pressed  on  him,  and  as  his  strength  relaxed,  dashed 
him  headlong  from  the  precipice.  He  looked  after  him 
and  saw  him  lying  inotionless  among  the  rocks  below. 

The  Englishman  now  sought  the  fair  Venetian. 
He  found  her  senseless  on  the  ground.  With  his 
servant's  assistance  he  bore  her  down  to  the  road, 
where  her  husband  was  raving  like  one  distracted. 

The  occasional  discharge  of  fire-arms  along  the 
height  showed  that  a  retreating  fight  was  still  kept 
up  by  the  robbers.  The  carriage  was  righted ;  the 
I'^g'S'igs  was  hastily  rejilaced  ;  the  Venetian,  trans- 
ported with  joy  and  gratitude,  took  his  lovely  and 
senseless  burthen  in  his  arms,  and  the  party  resumed 
their  route  towards  Fondi,  escorted  by  the  dragoons, 
leaving  the  foot-soldiers  to  ferret  out  the  banditti. 

While  on  the  way  John  dressed  his  master's 
wounds,  which  were  found  not  to  be  serious. 

Before  arriving  at  Fondi  the  fair  Venetian  had 
recovered  from  her  swoon,  and  was  made  conscious 
of  her  safety  and  of  the  mode  of  her  deliverance. 
Her  transports  were  unbounded  ;  and  mingled  with 
them  were  enthusiastic  ejaculations  of  gratitude  to 
her  deliverer.  A  thousand  times  did  she  reproach 
herself  for  having  accused  him  of  coldness  and  in- 
sensibility. The  moment  she  saw  him  she  rushed 
into  his  arms,  and  clasped  him  round  the  neck  with 
all  the  vivacity  of  her  nation. 

Never  was  man  more  embarrassed  by  the  em- 
braces of  a  fine  woman. 

"  My  deliverer  !  my  angel !  "  exclaimed  she. 

"  Tut !  tut  I  "  said  the  Englishman. 

"  You  are  wounded  !  "  shrieked  the  fair  Venetian, 
as  she  saw  the  blood  upon  his  clothes. 

"  Pooh — nothing  at  all  I  " 

"  O  Dio  !  "  exclaimed  she,  clasping  him  again 
round  the  neck  and  sobbing  on  his  bosom. 

"Pooh!"  said  the  Englishman,  looking  some- 
what foolish ;  "  this  is  all  nonsense." 


410 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING 


Tales  of  a  Traveller. 


PART     FOURTH. 


THE    MONEY    DIGGERS. 

FOUND  AMONG  THE  PAPERS  OF  THE  LATE  DIEDRICH    KNICKERBOCKER. 

Now  I  remember  those  old  women's  words 
Who  in  my  youth  would  tell  me  winter's  tales  ; 
And  speak  of  spirits  and  ghosts  that  glide  by  night 
About  the  place  where  treasure  hath  been  hid. 

Marlow's  Jew  of  Malta. 


HELL  GATE. 


About  six  miles  from  tlie  renowned  city  of  the 
Manliattoes,  and  in  tiiat  Sound,  or  arm  of  tlie  sea, 
whicli  passes  between  the  main  land  and  Nassau  or 
Long-Island,  there  is  a  narrow  strait,  where  the 
current  is  violently  compressed  between  shouldering' 
promontories,  and  horribly  irritated  and  perplexed 
by  rocks  and  shoals.  Being  at  the  best  of  times  a 
veiy  violent,  hasty  current,  it  takes  these  impedi- 
ments in  mighty  dudgeon  ;  boiling  in  whirlpools  ; 
brawling  and  fretting  in  ripples  and  breakers  ;  and, 
in  short,  indulging  in  all  kinds  of  wrong-headed 
paroxysms.  At  such  times,  wo  to  any  unlucky  vessel 
that  ventures  within  its  clutches. 

This  termagant  humour  is  said  to  prevail  only  at 
half  tides.  At  low  water  it  is  as  pacific  as  any  other 
stream.  As  the  tide  rises,  it  begins  to  fret ;  at  half 
tide  it  rages  and  roars  as  if  bellowing  for.  more 
water ;  but  when  the  tide  is  full  it  relapses  again 
into  quiet,  and  for  a  time  seems  almost  to  sleep  as 
soundly  as  an  alderman  after  dinner.  It  may  be 
compared  to  an  inveterate  hard  drinker,  who  is  a 
peaceable  fellow  enough  when  he  has  no  liquor  at  all, 
or  when  he  has  a  skin  full,  but  when  half  seas  over 
plays  the  very  devil. 

This  mighty,  blustering,  bullying  little  strait  was 
a  place  of  great  difficulty  and  danger  to  the  Dutch 
navigators  of  ancient  days  ;  hectoring  their  tub-built 
barks  in  a  most  unruly  style ;  whirling  them  about, 
in  a  manner  to  make  any  but  a  Dutchman  giddy, 
and  not  unfrequently  stranding  them  upon  rocks  and 
reefs.  Whereupon  out  of  sheer  spleen  they  denomi- 
nated it  Hellegat  (literally  Hell  Gut)  and  solemnly 
gave  it  over  to  the  devil.  This  appellation  has  since 
been  aptly  rendered  into  English  by  the  name  of  Hell 
Gate  ;  and  into  nonsense  by  the  name  of  Hurl  Gate, 
according  to  certain  foreign  intruders  who  neither 
understood  Dutch  nor  English. — May  St.  Nicholas 
confound  them  ! 

From  this  strait  to  the  city  of  the  Manhattoes  the 
borders  of  the  Sound  are  greatly  diversified  ;  in  one 
part,  on  the  eastern  shore  of  the  island  of  Mannahata 
and  opposite  Blackwell's  Island,  being  very  much 
broken  and  indented  by  rocky  nooks,  overhung  with 
trees  which  give  them  a  wild  and  romantic  look. 

The  flux  and  reflux  of  the  tide  through  this  part 
of  the  Sound  is  extremely  rapid,  and  the  navigation 
troublesome,  by  reason  of  the  whirling  eddies  and 
counter  currents.  I  speak  this  froin  experience, 
having  been  much  of  a  navigator  of  these  small  seas 
in  my  boyhood,  and  having  more  than  once  run  the 


risk  of  shipwreck  and  drowning  in  the  course  of 
divers  holyday  voyages,  to  which  in  common  with 
the  Dutch  urchins  I  was  rather  prone. 

In  the  midst  of  this  perilous  strait,  and  hard  by  a 
group  of  rocks  called  "  the  Hen  and  Chickens,"  there 
lay  in  my  boyish  days  the  wreck  of  a  vessel  which 
had  been  entangled  in  the  whirlpools  and  stranded 
during  a  storm.  There  was  some  wild  story  about 
this  being  the  wreck  of  a  pirate,  and  of  some  bloody 
murder,  connected  with  it,  which  I  cannot  now 
recollect.  Indeed,  the  desolate  look  of  this  forlorn 
hulk,  and  the  fearful  place  where  it  lay  rotting,  were 
sufficient  to  awaken  strange  notions  concerning  it. 
A  row  of  timber  heads,  blackened  by  time,  peered 
above  the  surface  at  high  water;  but  at  low  tide  a 
considerable  part  of  the  hull  was  bare,  and  its  great 
ribs  or  timbers,  partly  stripped  of  their  planks,  look- 
ed like  the  skeleton  of  some  sea  monster.  There 
was  also  the  stump  of  a  mast,  with  a  few  ropes  and 
blocks  swinging  about  and  whistlnig  in  the  wind, 
while  the  sea  gull  wheeled  and  screamed  around 
this  melancholy  carcass. 

The  stories  connected  with  this  wreck  made  it  an 
object  of  great  awe  to  my  boyish  fancy  ;  but  in  truth 
the  whole  neighbourhood  was  full  of  fable  and  ro- 
mance for  me,  abounding  with  traditions  about 
pirates,  hobgoblins,  and  buried  money.  As  I  grew 
to  more  mature  years  I  made  many  researches  after 
the  truth  of  these  strange  traditions ;  for  1  have  al- 
ways been  a  curious  investigator  of  the  valuable,  but 
obscure  branches  of  the  history  of  my  native  province. 
I  found  infinite  difficulty,  however,  in  arriving  at  any 
precise  information.  In  seeking  to  dig  up  one  fact 
it  is  incredible  the  number  of  fables  which  I  un- 
earthed ;  for  the  whole  course  of  the  Sound  seemed 
in  my  younger  days  to  be  like  the  straits  of  Pylorus 
of  yore,  the  very  region  of  fiction.  I  will  say  nothing 
of  the  Devil's  Stepping  Stones,  by  which  that  arch 
fiend  made  his  retreat  from  Connecticut  to  Long- 
Island,  seeing  that  the  sul)ject  is  likely  to  be  learn- 
edly treated  by  a  worthy  friend  and  contemporary 
historian*  whom  I  have  furnished  with  particulars 
thereof.  Neither  will  I  say  anything  of  the  black 
man  in  a  three-cornered  hat,  seated  in  the  stern  of 
a  jolly  boat  who  used  to  be  seen  about  Hell  Gate  in 
stormy  weather ;  and  who  went  by  the  name  of  the 
Pirate's  Spuke,  or  Pirate's  Ghost,  because  I  never 
could  meet  with  any  person  of  stanch  credibility  who 
professed  to  have  seen  this  spectrum ;  unless  it  were 
the  widow  of  Manus  Conklin,  the  blacksmith  of  Frog's 


*  For  a  very  interesting  account  of  the  Devil  and  his  Stepping 
Stones,  see  the  learned  memoir  read  before  the  New-Yorlt  Historical 
Society  since  the  death  of  Mr.  Kniclcerbocker,  by  his  friend,  an 
eminent  jurist  of  the  place. 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


411 


Neck ;  but  then,  poor  woman,  she  was  a  Httle  pur- 
blind, and  might  have  been  mistaken  ;  though  they 
said  she  saw  farther  than  other  folks  in  the  dark. 

All  this,  however,  was  but  little  satisfactory  in 
regard  to  the  tales  of  buried  money  about  which 
I  was  most  curious ;  and  the  following  was  all  that 
I  could  for  a  long  time  collect  that  had  anything  like 
an  air  of  authenticity. 


KIDD  THE  PIRATE. 


In  old  times,  just  after  the  territory  of  the  New 
Netherlands  had  been  wrested  from  the  hands  of 
their  High  Mightinesses,  the  Lords  States  General 
of  Holland,  by  Charles  the  Second,  and  while  it  was 
as  yet  in  an  unquiet  state,  the  province  was  a  favour- 
ite resort  of  adventurers  of  all  kinds,  and  particu- 
larly of  buccaneers.  These  were  piratical  rovers  of 
the  deep,  who  made  sad  work  in  times  of  peace 
among  the  Spanish  settlements  and  Spanish  mer- 
chant ships.  They  took  advantage  of  the  easy  access 
to  the  harbour  of  the  Manhattoes,  and  of  the  laxity 
of  its  scarcely-organized  government,  to  make  it  a 
kind  of  rendezvous,  where  they  might  dispose  of 
their  ill-gotten  spoils,  and  concert  new  depredations. 
Crews  of  these  desperadoes,  the  runagates  of  every 
country  and  clime,  might  be  seen  swaggering,  in 
open  day,  about  the  streets  of  the  little  burgh  ;  el- 
bowing its  quiet  Mynheers ;  trafficking  away  their 
rich  outlandish  plunder,  at  half  price,  to  the  wary 
merchant,  and  then  squandering  their  gains  in  tav- 
erns ;  drinking,  gambling,  singing,  swearing,  shout- 
ing, and  astounding  the  neighbourhood  with  sudden 
brawl  and  ruffian  revelry. 

At  length  the  indignation  of  government  was 
aroused,  and  it  was  determined  to  ferret  out  this  ver- 
min brood  from  the  colonies.  Great  consternation 
took  place  among  the  pirates  on  finding  justice  in 
pursuit  of  them,  and  their  old  haunts  turned  to 
places  of  peril.  They  secreted  their  money  and 
jewels  in  lonely  out-of-the-way  places ;  buried  them 
about  the  wild  shores  of  the  rivers  and  sea-coast, 
and  dispersed  themselves  over  the  face  of  the  coun- 
try. 

Among  the  agents  employed  to  hunt  them  by  sea 
was  the  renowned  Captain  Kidd.  He  had  long  been 
a  hardy  adventurer,  a  kind  of  equivocal  borderer, 
half  trader,  half  smuggler,  with  a  tolerable  dash  of 
the  pickaroon.  He  had  traded  for  some  time  among 
the  pirates,  lurking  about  the  seas  in  a  little  rakish, 
musquito-built  vessel,  prying  into  all  kinds  of  odd 
places,  as  busy  as  a  Mother  Gary's  chicken  in  a  gale 
of  wind. 

This  nondescript  personage  was  pitched  upon  by 
government  as  the  very  man  to  command  a  vessel 
fitted  out  to  cruise  against  the  pirates,  since  he  knew 
all  their  haunts  and  lurking-places :  acting  upon  the 
shrewd  old  maxim  of  "setting  a  rogue  to  catch  a 
rogue."  Kidd  accordingly  sailed  from  New- York  in 
the  Adventure  galley,  gallantly  armed  and  duly  com- 
missioned, and  steered  his  course  to  the  Madeiras, 
to  Bonavista,  to  Madagascar,  and  cruised  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  Red  Sea.  Instead,  however,  of  mak- 
ing war  upon  the  pirates  he  turned  pirate  himself : 
captured  friend  or  foe  ;  enriched  himself  with  the 
spoils  of  a  wealthy  Indiaman,  manned  by  Moors, 
though  commanded  by  an  Englishman,  and  having 
disposed  of  his  prize,  had  the  hardihood  to  return  to 
Boston,  laden  with  wealth,  with  a  crew  of  his  com- 
rades at  his  heels. 

His  fame  had  preceded  him.  The  alarm  was  given 
of  the  reappearance  of  this  cut-purse  of  the  ocean. 


Measures  were  taken  for  his  arrest ;  but  he  had  time, 
it  is  said,  to  bury  the  greater  part  of  his  treasures. 
He  even  attempted  to  draw  his  sword  and  defend 
himself  when  arrested  ;  but  was  secured  and  thrown 
into  prison,  with  several  of  his  followers.  They 
were  carried  to  England  in  a  frigate,  where  they 
were  tried,  condemned,  and  hanged  at  Execution 
Dock.  Kidd  died  hard,  for  the  rope  with  which  he 
was  first  tied  up  broke  with  his  weight,  and  he  tum- 
bled to  the  ground  ;  he  was  tied  up  a  second  time, 
and  effectually  ;  from  whence  arose  the  story  of  his 
having  been  twice  hanged. 

Such  is  the  main  outline  of  Kidd's  history ;  but  it 
has  given  birth  to  an  innumerable  progeny  of  tradi- 
tions. The  circumstance  of  his  having  buried  great 
treasures  of  gold  and  jewels  after  returning  from 
his  cruising  set  the  brains  of  all  the  good  people 
along  the  coast  in  a  ferment.  There  were  rumours 
on  rumours  of  great  sums  found  here  and  there; 
sometimes  in  one  part  of  the  country,  sometimes  in 
another ;  of  trees  and  rocks  bearing  mysterious 
marks;  doubtless  indicating  the  spots  where  treasure 
lay  hidden.  Of  coins  found  with  Moorish  charac- 
ters, the  plunder  of  Kidd's  eastern  prize,  but  which 
the  common  people  took  for  diabolical  or  magic  in- 
scriptions. 

Some  reported  the  spoils  to  have  been  buried  in 
solitary  unsettled  places  about  Plymouth  and  Cape 
Cod  ;  many  other  parts  of  the  eastern  coast,  also,  ' 
and  various  places  in  Long-Island  Sound,  have  been 
gilded  by  these  rumours,  and  have  been  rans.acked 
by  adventurous  money-diggers. 

In  all  the  stories  of  these  enterprises  the  devil 
played  a  conspicuous  part.  Either  he  was  concili- 
ated by  ceremonies  and  invocations,  or  some  bargain 
or  compact  was  made  with  him.  Still  he  was  sure 
to  play  the  money-diggers  some  slippery  trick. 
Some  had  succeeded  so  far  as  to  touch  the  iron  chest 
which  contained  the  treasure,  when  some  baffling 
circumstance  was  sure  to  take  place.  Either  the 
earth  would  fall  in  and  fill  up  the  pit,  or  some  direful 
noise  or  apparition  would  throw  the  party  into  a 
panic  and  frighten  them  from  the  place ;  and  some- 
times the  devil  himself  would  appear  and  bear  off 
the  prize  from  their  very  grasp  ;  and  if  they  visited 
the  place  on  the  next  day,  not  a  trace  would  be  seen 
of  their  labours  of  the  preceding  night. 

Such  were  the  vague  rumours  which  for  a  long 
time  tantalized  without  gratifying  my  curiosity  on 
the  interesting  subject  of  these  pirate  traditions. 
There  is  nothing  in  this  world  so  hard  to  get  at  as 
truth.  I  sought  among  my  favourite  sources  of  au- 
thentic information,  the  oldest  inhabitants,  and  par- 
ticularly the  old  Dutch  wives  of  the  province ;  but 
though  I  flatter  myself  I  am  better  versed  than  most 
men  in  the  curious  history  of  my  native  province, 
yet  for  a  long  time  my  inquiries  were  unattended 
with  any  substantial  result. 

At  length  it  happened,  one  calm  day  in  the  latter 
part  of  summer,  that  I  was  relaxing  myself  from  the 
toils  of  severe  study  by  a  day's  amusement  in  fishing 
in  those  v/aters  which  had  been  the  favourite  resort 
of  my  boyhood.  I  was  in  company  with  several 
worthy  burghers  of  my  native  city.  Our  sport  was 
indifferent ;  the  fish  did  not  bite  freely  ;  and  we  had 
frequently  changed  our  fishing  ground  without  bet- 
tering our  luck.  We  at  length  anchored  close  under 
a  ledge  of  rocky  coast,  on  the  eastern  side  of  the 
island  of  Mannahata.  It  was  a  still,  warm  day.  The 
stream  whirled  and  dimpled  by  us  without  a  wave 
or  even  a  ripple,  and  every  thing  was  so  calm  and 
quiet  that  it  was  almost  startUng  when  the  kingfisher 
would  pitch  himself  from  the  branch  of  some  diy 
tree,  and  after  suspending  himself  for  a  moment  in 
the  air  to  take  his  aim,  would  souse  into  the  smooth 


412 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


water  after  his  prey.  While  we  were  lolling  in  our 
boat,  half  drowsy  with  the  warm  stillness  of  the  day 
and  the  dullness  of  our  sport,  one  of  our  party,  a 
worthy  alderman,  was  overtaken  by  a  slumber,  and, 
as  he  dozed,  suffered  the  sinker  of  his  drop-line  to 
lie  upon  the  bottom  of  the  river.  On  waking,  he 
found  he  had  caught  something  of  importance,  from 
the  weight ;  on  drawing  it  to  the  surface,  we  were 
much  surprised  to  find  a  long  pistol  of  very  curious 
and  outlandish  fashion,  which,  from  its  rusted  condi- 
tion, and  its  stock  being  worm-eaten  and  covered 
with  barnacles,  appeared  to  have  been  a  long  time 
under  water.  The  unexpected  appearance  of  this 
document  of  warfare  occasioned  much  speculation 
among  my  pacific  companions.  One  supposed  it  to 
have  fallen  there  during  the  revolutionary  war.  An- 
other, from  the  peculiarity  of  its  fashion,  attributed 
it  to  the  voyagers  in  the  earliest  days  of  the  settle- 
ment ;  perchance  to  the  renowned  Adrian  Block, 
who  explored  the  Sound  and  discovered  Block  Island, 
since  so  noted  for  its  cheese.  But  a  third,  alter  re- 
garding it  for  some  time,  pronounced  it  to  be  of 
veritable  Spanish  workmanship. 

"I'll  warrant,"  said  he,  "if  this  pistol  could  talk 
it  would  tell  strange  stories  of  hard  fights  among 
the  Spanish  Dons.  I've  not  a  doubt  but  it's  a 
relique  of  the  buccaneers  of  old  times." 

"  Like  enough,"  said  another  of  the  party.  "  There 
was  Bradish  the  pirate,  who  at  the  time  Lord  Bella- 
mont  made  such  a  stir  after  the  buccaneers,  buried 
money  and  jewels  somewhere  in  these  parts  or  on 
Long-Island  ;  and  then  there  was  Captain  Kidd — " 

"  Ah,  that  Kidd  was  a  daring  dog,"  said  an  iron- 
faced  Cape  Cod  whaler.  "  There's  a  fine  old  song 
about  him,  all  to  the  tune  of 

^  My  name  is  Robert  Kidd, 
As  1  sailed,  as  1  sailed.* 

And  it  tells  how  he  gained  the  devil's  good  graces 
by  burying  the  Bible  : 

*  I  had  the  Bible  in  my  hand. 
As  1  sailed,  as  I  sailed, 
And  1  buried  it  in  the  sand. 
As  1  sailed.* 

Egad,  if  this  pistol  had  belonged  to  him  I  should  set 
some  store  by  it  out  of  sheer  curiosity.  Ah,  well, 
there's  an  odd  story  1  have  heard  about  one  Tom 
Walker,  who,  they  say,  dug  up  some  of  Kidd's  buried 
money ;  and  as  the  fish  don't  seem  to  bite  at  present, 
I'll  tell  it  to  you  to  pass  away  time." 


THE  DEVIL  AND  TOM  WALKER. 


A  FEW  miles  from  Boston,  in  Massachusetts,  there 
is  a  deep  inlet  winding  several  miles  into  the  interior 
of  the  country'  from  Charles  Bay,  and  terminating  in 
a  thickly-wooded  swamp,  or  morass.  On  one  side  of 
this  inlet  is  a  beautiful  dark  grove  ;  on  the  opposite 
side  the  land  rises  abruptly  from  the  water's  edge, 
into  a  high  ridge  on  which  grow  a  few  scattered 
oaks  of  great  age  and  immense  size.  It  was  under 
one  of  these  gigantic  trees,  according  to  old  stories, 
that  Kidd  the  pirate  buried  his  treasure.  The  inlet 
allowed  a  facility  to  bring  the  money  in  a  boat  secretly 
and  at  night  to  the  very  foot  of  the  hill.  The  eleva- 
tion of  the  place  permitted  a  good  look-out  to  be  kept 
that  no  one  was  at  hand,  while  the  remarkable  trees 
formed  good  landmarks  by  which  the  place  might 
easily  be  found  again.  The  old  stories  add,  more- 
over, that  the  devil  presided  at  the  hiding  of  the 
money,  and  took  it  under  his  guardianship ;  but  this,  it 


is  well  known,  he  always  does  with  buried  treasure, 
particularly  when  it  has  been  ill  gotten.  Be  that  as 
it  may,  Kidd  never  returned  to  recover  his  wealth  ; 
being  shortly  after  seized  at  Boston,  sent  out  to  En- 
gland, and  there  hanged  for  a  pirate. 

About  the  year  1727,  just  at  the  time  when  earth- 
quakes were  prevalent  in  New-England,  and  shook 
many  tall  sinners  down  upon  their  knees,  there  lived 
near  this  place  a  meagre  miserly  fellow  of  the  name 
of  Tom  Walker.  He  had  a  wife  as  miserly  as  him- 
self; they  were  so  miserly  that  they  even  conspired 
to  cheat  each  other.  Whatever  the  woman  could 
lay  hands  on  she  hid  away  ;  a  hen  could  not  cackle 
but  she  was  on  the  alert  to  secure  the  new-laid  egg. 
Her  husband  was  continually  prying  about  to  de- 
tect her  secret  hoards,  and  many  and  fierce  were  the 
conflicts  that  took  place  about  what  ought  to  have 
been  common  property.  They  lived  in  a  forlorn- 
looking  house,  that  stood  alone  and  had  an  air  of 
starvation.  A  few  straggling  savin  trees,  emblems 
of  sterility,  grew  near  it;  no  smoke  ever  curled  from 
its  chimney  ;  no  traveller  stopped  at  its  door.  A 
miserable  horse,  whose  ribs  were  as  articulate  as  the 
bars  of  a  gridiron,  stalked  about  a  field  where  a  thin 
carpet  of  moss,  scarcely  covering  the  ragged  beds 
of  pudding-stone,  tantalized  and  balked  his  hunger  ; 
and  sometimes  he  would  lean  his  head  over  the 
fence,  look  piteously  at  the  passer-by,  and  seem  to 
petition  deliverance  from  this  land  of  famine.  The 
house  and  its  inmates  had  altogether  a  bad  name. 
Tom's  wife  was  a  tall  termagant,  fierce  of  temper, 
loud  of  tongue,  and  strong  of  arm.  Her  voice  was 
often  heard  in  wordy  warfare  with  her  husband  ;  and 
his  face  sometimes  showed  signs  that  their  conflicts 
were  not  confined  to  words.  No  one  ventured,  how- 
ever, to  interfere  between  them  ;  the  lonely  way- 
farer shrunk  within  himself  at  the  horrid  clamour  and 
clapper-clawing ;  eyed  the  den  of  discord  askance, 
and  hurried  on  his  way,  rejoicing,  if  a  bachelor,  in 
his  celibacy. 

One  day  that  Tom  Walker  had  been  to  a  distant 
part  of  the  neighbourhood,  he  took  what  he  consid- 
ered a  short  cut  homewards  through  the  swamp. 
Like  most  short  cuts,  it  was  an  ill-chosen  route.  The 
swamp  was  thickly  grown  with  great  gloomy  pines 
and  hemlocks,  some  of  them  ninety  feet  high  ;  which 
made  it  dark  at  noon-day,  and  a  retreat  for  all  the 
owls  of  the  neighbourhood.  It  was  full  of  pits  and 
quagmires,  partly  covered  with  weeds  and  mosses  ; 
where  the  green  surface  often  betrayed  the  traveller 
into  a  gulf  of  black  smothering  mud  ;  there  were 
also  dark  and  stagnant  pools,  the  abodes  of  the  tad- 
pole, the  bull-frog,  and  the  water-snake,  and  where 
trunks  of  pines  and  hemlocks  lay  half  drowned, 
half  rotting,  looking  Uke  alligators,  sleeping  in  the 
mire. 

Tom  had  long  been  picking  his  way  cautiously 
through  this  treacherous  forest ;  stepping  from  tuft 
to  tuft  of  rushes  and  roots  which  afforded  precarious 
footholds  among  deep  sloughs  ;  or  pacing  carefully, 
like  a  cat,  along  the  prostrate  trunks  of  trees  ;  star- 
tled now  and  then  by  the  sudden  screaming  of  the 
bittern,  or  the  quacking  of  a  wild  duck,  rising  on  the 
wing  from  some  solitary  pool.  At  length  he  arrived 
at  a  piece  of  firm  ground,  which  ran  out  like  a  penin- 
sula into  the  deep  bosom  of  the  swamp.  It  had 
been  one  of  the  strong-holds  of  the  Indians  during 
their  wars  with  the  first  colonists.  Here  they  had 
thrown  up  a  kind  of  fort  which  they  had  looked  upon 
as  almost  impregnable,  and  had  used  as  a  place  of 
refuge  for  their  squaws  and  children.  Nothing  re- 
mained of  the  Indian  fort  but  a  few  embankments 
gradually  sinking  to  the  level  of  the  surrounding 
earth,  and  already  overgrown  in  part  by  oaks  and 
other  forest   trees,  the  foliage  of  which  formed  a 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


413 


contrast  to  the  dark  pines  and  hemlocks  of  the 
swamp. 

It  was  late  in  the  dusk  of  evening  that  Tom 
Walker  reached  the  old  fort,  and  he  paused  there  for 
a  while  to  rest  himself.  Any  one  but  he  would  have 
felt  unwilling  to  linger  in  this  lonely,  melancholy 
place,  for  the  common  people  had  a  bad  opinion  of 
it  from  the  stories  banded  down  from  the  time  of 
the  Indian  wars  ;  when  it  was  asserted  that  the  sav- 
ages held  incantations  here  and  made  sacrifices  to 
the  evil  spirit.  Tom  Walker,  however,  was  not  a 
man  to  be  troubled  with  any  fears  of  the  kind. 

He  reposed  himself  for  some  time  on  the  trunk  of 
a  fallen  hemlock,  listening  to  the  boding  cry  of  the 
tree-toad,  and  delving  with  his  walking-staff  into  a 
mound  of  black  mould  at  his  feet.  As  he  turned  up 
the  soil  unconsciously,  his  staff  struck  against  some- 
thing hard.  He  raked  it  out  of  the  vegetable  mould, 
and  lo  !  a  cloven  skull  with  an  Indian  tomahawk 
buried  deep  in  it,. lay  before  him.  The  rust  on  the 
weapon  showed  the  time  that  had  elapsed  since  this 
death  blow  had  been  given.  It  was  a  dreary  me- 
mento of  the  fierce  struggle  that  had  taken  place 
in  this  last  foothold  of  the  Indian  warriors. 

"  Hum])h  !  "  said  Tom  Walker,  as  he  gave  the 
skull  a  kick  to  shake  the  dirt  from  it. 

"  Let  that  skull  alone  !  "  said  a  gruff  voice. 

Tom  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  beheld  a  great  black 
man,  seated  directly  opposite  him  on  the  stump  of  a 
tree.  He  was  exceedingly  surprised,  having  neither 
seen  nor  heard  any  one  approach,  and  he  was  still 
more  perplexed  on  observing,  as  well  as  the  gather- 
ing gloom  would  permit,  that  the  stranger  was  nei- 
ther negro  nor  Indian.  It  is  true,  he  was  dressed 
in  a  rude,  half  Indian  garb,  and  had  a  red  belt  or 
sash  swathed  round  his  body,  but  his  face  was  nei- 
ther black  nor  copper  colour,  but  swarthy  and  dingy 
and  begrimed  with  soot,  as  if  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  toil  among  fires  and  forges.  He  had  a 
shock  of  coarse  black  hair,  that  stood  out  from  his 
head  in  all  directions ;  and  bore  an  a.\e  on  his  shoul- 
der. 

He  scowled  for  a  moment  at  Tom  with  a  pair  of 
g^reat  red  eyes. 

"  Wliat  are  you  doing  in  my  grounds?"  said  the 
black  man,  with  a  hoarse  growling  voice. 

"  Your  grounds  ?  "  said  Tom,  with  a  sneer ;  "  no 
more  your  grounds  than  mine  :  they  belong  to  Dea- 
con Peabody." 

"  Deacon  Peabody  be  d d,"  said  the  stranger, 

"as  I  flatter  myself  he  will  be,  if  he  does  not  look 
more  to  his  own  sins  and  less  to  his  neighbour's. 
Look  yonder,  and  see  how  Deacon  Peabody  is  far- 
ing." 

Tom  looked  in  the  direction  that  the  stranger 
pointed,  and  beheld  one  of  the  great  trees,  fair  and 
flourishing  without,  but  rotten  at  the  core,  and  saw 
that  it  had  been  nearly  hewn  through,  so  that  the 
first  high  wind  was  likely  to  blow  it  down.  On  the 
bark  of  the  tree  was  scored  the  name  of  Deacon  Pea- 
body. He  now  looked  round  and  found  most  of  the 
tall  trees  marked  with  the  names  of  some  great  men 
of  the  colony,  and  all  more  or  less  scored  by  the 
axe.  The  one  on  which  he  had  been  seated,  and 
which  had  evidently  just  been  hewn  down,  bore  the 
name  ofCrowninshield;  and  he  recollected  a  mighty 
rich  man  of  that  name,  who  made  a  vulgar  display 
of  wealth,  which  it  was  whispered  he  had  acquired 
by  buccaneering. 

"  He's  just  ready  for  burning ! "  said  the  black 
man,  with  a  growl  of  triumph.  "  You  see  I  am 
likely  to  have  a  good  stock  of  firewood  for  winter." 

"But  what  right  have  you,"  said  Tom,  "to  cut 
down  Deacon  Peabody 's  timber  ?  " 

"  The  right  of  prior  claim,"  said  the  other.  "  This 


woodland  belonged  to  me  long  before  one  of  your 
white-faced  race  put  foot  upon  the  soil." 

"  And  pray,  who  are  you,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  ?  " 
said  Tom. 

"Oh,  I  go  by  various  names.  I  am  the  Wild 
Huntsman  in  some  countries ;  the  Black  Miner  in 
others.  In  this  neighbourhood  I  am  known  by  the 
name  of  the  Black  Woodsman.  I  am  he  to  whom 
the  red  men  devoted  this  spot,  and  now  and  then 
roasted  a  white  man  by  way  of  sweet-smelling  sac- 
rifice. Since  the  red  men  have  been  e.vterminated 
by  you  white  savages,  I  amuse  myself  by  presiding 
at  the  persecutions  of  quakers  and  anabaptists ;  I 
am  the  great  patron  and  prompter  of  slave  dealers, 
and  the  grand  master  of  the  Salem  witches." 

"The  upshot  of  all  which  is,  that,  if  I  mistake 
not,"  said  Tom,  sturdily,  "you  are  he  commonly 
called  Old  Scratch." 

"  The  same  at  your  service  !  "  replied  the  black 
man,  with  a  half  civil  nod. 

Such  was  the  opening  of  this  interview,  according 
to  the  old  story,  though  it  has  almost  too  familiar 
an  air  to  be  credited.  One  would  think  that  to 
meet  with  such  a  singular  personage  in  this  wild, 
lonely  place,  would  have  shaken  any  man's  nerves  : 
but  Tom  was  a  hard-minded  fellow,  not  easily  daunt- 
ed, and  he  had  lived  so  long  with  a  termagant  wife, 
that  he  did  not  even  fear  the  devil. 

It  is  said  that  after  this  commencement,  they  had 
a  long  .md  earnest  conversation  together,  as  Tom 
returned  homewards.  The  black  man  told  him  of 
great  sums  of  money  which  had  been  buried  by 
Kidd  the  pirate,  under  the  oak  trees  on  the  high 
ridge  not  far  from  the  morass.  All  these  were  un- 
der his  command  and  protected  by  his  power,  so 
that  none  could  find  them  but  such  as  propitiated 
his  favour.  These  he  offered  to  place  within  Tom 
Walker's  reach,  having  conceived  an  especial  kind- 
ness for  him  :  but  they  were  to  be  had  only  on  cer- 
tain conditions.  What  these  conditions  were,  may 
easily  be  surmised,  though  Tom  never  disclosed 
them  publicly.  They  must  have  been  very  hard,  for 
he  required  time  to  think  of  them,  and  he  was  not 
a  man  to  stick  at  trifles  where  money  was  in  view. 
When  they  had  reached  the  edge  of  the  swamp  the 
stranger  paused. 

"  \Vhat  proof  have  I  that  all  you  have  been  tell- 
ing me  is  true  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  There  is  my  signature,"  said  the  black  man, 
pressing  his  finger  on  Tom's  forehead.  So  saying, 
he  turned  off  among  the  thickets  of  the  swamp,  and 
seemed,  as  Tom  said,  to  go  down,  down,  down,  into 
the  earth,  until  nothing  but  his  head  and  shoulders 
could  be  seen,  and  so  on  until  he  totally  disap- 
peared. 

When  Tom  reached  home  he  found  the  black 
print  of  a  finger  burnt,  as  it  were,-  into  his  forehead, 
which  nothing  could  obliterate. 

The  first  news  his  wife  had  to  tell  him  was  the 
sudden  death  of  Absalom  Crowninshield,  the  rich 
buccaneer.  It  was  announced  in  the  papers  with 
the  usual  flourish,  that  "  a  great  man  had  fallen  in 
Israel." 

Tom  recollected  the  tree  which  his  black  friend 
had  just  hewn  down,  and  which  was  ready  for  burn- 
ing. "Let  the  freebooter  roast,"  said  Tom,  "who 
cares  ! "  He  now  felt  convinced  that  all  he  had 
heard  and  seen  was  no  illusion. 

He  was  not  prone  to  let  his  wife  into  his  confi- 
dence ;  but  as  this  was  an  uneasy  secret,  he  willingly 
shared  it  with  her.  All  her  avarice  was  awakened 
at  the  mention  of  hidden  gold,  and  she  urged  her 
husband  to  comply  with  the  black  man's  terms  and 
secure  what  would  make  them  wealthy  for  life. 
However  Tom  might  have  felt  disposed  to  sell  him- 


414 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


self  to  the  devil,  he  was  determined  not  to  do  so  to 
oblige  his  wife ;  so  he  flatly  refused  out  of  the  mere 
spirit  of  contradiction.  Many  and  bitter  were  the 
quarrels  they  had  on  the  subject,  but  the  more  she 
talked  the  more  resolute  was  Tom  not  to  be  damnefl 
to  please  her.  At  length  she  determined  to  flrivc 
the  bargain  on  her  own  account,  and  if  she  suc- 
ceeded, to  keep  all  the  gain  to  herself 

Being  of  the  same  fearless  temperas  her  husband, 
she  s.at  off  for  the  old  Indian  fort  towards  the  close 
of  a  summer's  day.  She  was  many  hours  absent. 
When  she  came  back  she  was  reserved  and  sullen 
in  her  replies.  She  spoke  something  of  a  black  man 
whom  she  had  met  about  twilight,  hewing  at  the 
root  of  a  tall  tree.  He  was  sulky,  however,  and 
would  not  come  to  terms ;  she  was  to  go  again 
with  a  propitiatory  offering,  but  what  it  was  she 
forbore  to  say. 

The  next  evening  she  sat  off  again  for  the  swamp, 
with  her  apron  heavily  laden.  Tom  waited  and 
waited  for  her,  but  in  vain :  midnight  came,  but  she 
did  not  make  her  appearance  ;  morning,  noon,  night 
returned,  but  still  she  did  not  come.  Tom  now  grew 
uneasy  for  her  safety  ;  especially  as  he  found  she  had 
carried  off  in  her  apron  the  silver  teapot  and  spoons 
and  every  portable  article  of  value.  Another  night 
elapsed,  another  morning  came;  but  no  wife.  In  a 
word,  she  was  never  heard  of  more. 

What  was  her  real  fate  nobody  knows,  in  con- 
sequence of  so  many  pretending  to  know.  It  is  one 
of  those  facts  that  have  t)ecome  confounded  by  a 
variety  of  historians.  Some  asserted  that  she  lost 
her  way  among  the  tangled  mazes  of  the  swamp  and 
sunk  into  some  pit  or  slough  ;  others,  more  unchari- 
table, hinted  that  she  had  eloped  with  the  household 
booty,  and  made  off  to  some  other  province ;  while 
others  assert  that  the  tempter  had  decoyed  her  into 
a  dismal  quagmire,  on  top  of  which  her  hat  was 
found  lymg.  In  confirmation  of  this,  it  was  said  a 
great  black  man  with  an  axe  on  his  shoulder  was 
seen  late  that  very  evenmg  coming  out  of  the  swamp, 
carrj'ing  a  bundle  tied  in  a  check  apron,  with  an  air 
of  surly  triumph. 

The  most  current  and  probable  story,  however, 
observes  that  Tom  Walker  grew  so  anxious  about 
the  fate  of  his  wife  and  his  property  that  he  sat  out  at 
length  to  seek  them  both  at  the  Indian  fort.  During 
a  long  summer's  afternoon  he  searched  about  the 
gloomy  place,  but  no  wife  was  to  be  seen.  He  called 
her  name  repeatedly,  but  she  was  no  where  to  be 
heard.  The  bittern  alone  responded  to  his  voice,  as 
he  flew  screaming  by  ;  or  the  bull-frog  croaked  dole- 
fully from  a  neighbouring  pool.  At  length,  it  is 
said,  just  in  the  brown  hour  of  twilight,  when  the 
owls  began  to  hoot  and  the  bats  to  flit  about,  his 
attention  was  attracted  by  the  clamour  of  carrion 
crows  that  were  hovering  about  a  cypress  tree.  He 
looked  and  beheld  a  bundle  tied  in  a  check  apron 
and  hanging  in  the  branches  of  the  tree  ;  with  a 
great  vulture  perched  hard  by,  as  if  keeping  watch 
upon  it.  He  leaped  with  joy,  for  he  recognized  his 
wife's  apron,  and  supposed  it  to  contain  the  house- 
hold valuables. 

"  Let  us  get  hold  of  the  property,"  said  he  con- 
solingly to  himself,  "  and  we  will  endeavour  to  do 
without  the  woman." 

As  he  scrambled  up  the  tree  the  vulture  spread  its 
wide  wings,  and  sailed  off  screaming  into  the  deep 
shadows  of  the  forest.  Tom  seized  the  check  apron, 
but,  vvoful  sight !  found  nothing  but  a  heart  and 
liver  tied  up  in  it. 

Such,  according  to  the  most  authentic  old  story, 
was  all  that  was  to  be  found  of  Tom's  wife.  She 
had  probably  attempted  to  deal  with  the  black  man 
as  she  had  been  accustomed  to  deal  with  her  hus- 


band ;  but  though  a  female  scold  is  generally  con- 
sidered a  match  for  the  devil,  yet  in  this  instance  she 
appears  to  have  had  the  worst  of  it.  She  must  have 
died  game,  however :  from  the  part  that  remained 
unconquered.  Indeed,  it  is  said  Tom  noticed  many 
prints  of  cloven  feet  deeply  stamped  about  the  tree, 
and  several  handfuls  of  hair,  that  looked  as  if  they 
had  been  plucked  from  the  coarse  black  shock  of 
the  woodsman.  Toin  knew  his  wife's  prowess  by 
experience.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  looked 
at  the  signs  of  a  fierce  clapper-clawing.  "  F^gad," 
said  he  to  himself,  "  Old  Scratch  must  have  had  a 
tough  time  of  it ! " 

Tom  consoled  himself  for  the  loss  of  his  property 
by  the  loss  of  his  wife  ;  for  he  was  a  little  of  a  phi- 
losopher. He  even  felt  something  like  gratitude  to- 
wards the  black  woodsman,  who  he  considered  had 
done  him  a  kindness.  He  sought,  therefore,  to  cul- 
tivate a  farther  acquaintance  with  him,  but  for  some 
time  without  success  ;  the  old  black  legs  played  shy, 
for  whatever  people  may  think,  he  is  not  always  to 
be  had  for  calling  for;  he  knows  how  to  play  his 
cards  when  pretty  sure  of  his  gaine. 

At  length,  it  is  said,  when  delay  had  whetted 
Tom's  eagerness  to  the  quick,  and  prepared  him  to 
agree  to  any  thing  rather  than  not  gain  the  promised 
treasure,  he  met  the  black  man  one  evening  in  his 
usual  woodman  dress,  with  his  axe  on  his  shoulder, 
sauntering  along  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  and  hurn- 
ming  a  tune.  He  affected  to  receive  Tom's  advance 
with  great  indifference,  made  brief  replies,  and  went 
on  humming  his  tune. 

By  degrees,  however,  Tom  brought  him  to  busi- 
ness, and  they  began  to  haggle  about  the  terms  on 
which  the  former  was  to  have  the  pirate's  treasure. 
There  was  one  condition  which  need  not  be  men- 
tioned, being  generally  understood  in  all  cases  where 
the  devil  grants  favours  ;  but  there  were  others  about 
which,  though  of  less  importance,  he  was  inflexibly 
obstinate,  He  insisted  that  the  money  found  through 
his  means  should  be  employed  in  his  service.  He 
proposed,  therefore,  that  Tom  should  employ  it  in 
the  black  traffick  ;  that  is  to  say,  that  he  should  fit 
out  a  slave  ship.  This,  however,  Tom  resolutely 
refused ;  he  was  bad  enough,  in  all  conscience ; 
but  the  devil  himself  could  not  tempt  him  to  turn 
slave  dealer. 

Finding  Tom  so  squeamish  on  this  point,  he  did 
not  insist  upon  it,  but  proposed  instead  that  he 
should  turn  usurer ;  the  devil  being  extremely  anxi- 
ous for  the  increase  of  usurers,  looking  upon  them  as 
his  peculiar  people. 

To  this  no  objections  were  made,  for  it  was  just 
to  Tom's  taste. 

"  You  shall  open  a  broker's  shop  in  Boston  next 
month,"  said  the  black  man. 

"  I'll  do  it  to-morrow,  if  you  wish,"  said  Tom 
Walker. 

"  You  shall  lend  money  at  two  per  cent,  a  month." 

"Egad,  I'll  charge  four!  "  replied  Tom  Walker. 

"  You  shall  extort  bonds,  foreclose  mortgages,  drive 
the  merchant  to  bankruptcy " 

"  I'll  drive  him  to  the  d 1,"  cried  Tom  Walker. 

eagerly. 

"  You  are  the  usurer  for  my  money  !  "  said  the 
black  legs,  with  delight.  "  When  will  you  want  the 
rhino  ?  " 

"This  very  night." 

"  Done  !  "  said  the  devil. 

"Done!"  said  Tom  Walker.  —  So  they  shook 
hands,  and  struck  a  bargain. 

A  few  days'  time  saw  Tom  Walker  seated  behind 
his  desk  in  a  counting  house  in  Boston.  His  repu- 
tation for  a  ready-moneyed  man,  who  would  lend 
money  out  for  a  good  consideration,  soon  spread 


TALES   OF    A   TRAVELLER. 


415 


abroad.  Every  body  remembers  the  days  of  Gov- ' 
amor  Belcher,  when  money  was  particularly  scarce. 
It  was  a  time  of  paper  credit.  The  country  had  been 
deluged  with  government  bills  ;  the  famous  Land 
Bank  had  been  established  ;  there  had  been  a  rage 
for  speculating ;  the  people  had  run  mad  with 
schemes  for  new  settlements  ;  for  building  cities  in 
the  wilderness  ;  land  jobbers  went  about  with  maps 
of  grants,  and  townships,  and  Kldorados,  lying  no- 
body knew  where,  but  which  every  body  was  ready 
to  purchase.  In  a  word,  the  great  speculating  fever 
which  breaks  out  every  now  and  then  in  the  country', 
had  raged  to  an  alarming  degree,  and  every  body 
was  dreaming  of  making  sudden  fortunes  from  noth- 
ing. As  usual,  the  fever  had  subsided  ;  the  dream 
had  gone  off,  and  the  imaginary  fortunes  with  it ; 
the  patients  were  left  in  doleful  plight,  and  the  whole 
country  resounded  with  the  consequent  cry  of  "  hard 
times." 

At  this  propitious  time  of  public  distress  did  Tom 
Walker  set  up  as  a  usurer  m  Boston.  His  door  was 
soon  thronged  by  customers.  The  needy  and  the 
adventurous  ;  the  gambling  speculator  ;  the  dream- 
ing land  jobber;  the  thriftless  tradesman;  the  mer- 
chant with  cracked  credit ;  in  short,  every  one  driven 
to  raise  money  by  desperate  means  and  desperate 
Bacrifices,  hurried  to  Tom  Walker. 

Thus  Tom  was  the  universal  friend  of  the  needy, 
and  he  acted  like  a  "  friend  in  need  ;  "  that  is  to  say, 
he  always  exacted  good  pay  and  good  security.  In 
proportion  to  the  distress  of  the  applicant  was  the 
hardness  of  his  terms.  He  accumulated  bonds  and 
mortgages  ;  gradually  squeezed  his  customers  closer 
and  closer ;  and  sent  them,  at  length,  dry  as  a  sponge 
from  his  door. 

In  this  way  he  made  money  hand  over  hand  ;  be- 
came a  rich  and  mighty  man,  and  exalted  his  cocked 
hat  upon  'change.  He  built  himself,  as  usual,  a  vast 
house,  out  of  ostentation  ;  but  left  the  greater  part 
of  it  unfinished  and  unfurnished  out  of  parsimony. 
He  even  set  up  a  carriage  in  the  fullness  of  his  vain- 
glory, though  he  nearly  starved  the  horses  which 
drew  it ;  and  as  the  ungreased  wheels  groaned  and 
screeched  on  the  axle-trees,  you  would  have  thought 
you  heard  the  souls  ot  the  poor  debtors  he  was 
squeezing. 

As  Tom  wa.xed  old,  however,  he  grew  thoughtful. 
Having  secured  the  good  things  of  this  world,  he  be- 
gan to  feel  anxious  about  those  of  the  next.  He 
thought  with  regret  on  the  bargain  he  had  made  with 
his  black  friend,  and  set  his  wits  to  work  to  cheat 
him  out  of  the  conditions.  He  became,  therefore, 
all  of  a  sudden,  a  violent  church-goer.  He  prayed 
loudly  and  strenuously  as  if  heaven  were  to  be  taken 
by  force  of  lungs.  Indeed,  one  might  always  tell 
when  he  had  sinned  most  during  the  week,  by  the 
clamour  of  his  Sunday  devotion.  The  quiet  chris- 
tians who  had  been  modestly  and  steadfastly  travel- 
ling Zionward,  were  struck  with  self-reproach  at  see- 
ing themselves  so  suddenly  outstripped  in  their  career 
by  this  new-made  convert.  Tom  was  as  rigid  in  re- 
ligious, as  in  money  matters  ;  he  was  a  stern  super- 
visor and  censurer  of  his  neighbours,  and  seemed  to 
think  every  sin  entered  up  to  their  account  became  a 
credit  on  his  own  side  of  the  page.  He  even  talked 
of  the  expediency  of  reviving  the  persecution  of  qua- 
kers  and  anabaptists.  In  a  word,  Tom's  zeal  became 
as  notorious  as  his  riches. 

Still,  in  spite  of  all  this  strenuous  attention  to 
forms,  Tom  had  a  lurking  dread  that  the  devil,  after 
all,  would  have  his  due.  That  he  might  not  be  taken 
unawares,  therefore,  it  is  said  he  always  carried  a 
small  Bible  in  his  coat  pocket.  He  had  also  a  great 
folio  Bible  on  his  counting-house  desk,  and  would 
frequently  be  found  reading  it  when  people  called  on 


business  ;  on  such  occasions  he  would  lay  his  green 
spectacles  on  the  book,  to  mark  the  place,  while  he 
turned  round  to  drive  some  usurious  bargain. 

Some  say  that  Tom  grew  a  little  crack-brained  in 
his  old  days,  and  that  fancying  his  end  approaching, 
he  had  his  horse  new  shod,  saddled  and  bridled,  and 
buried  with  his  feet  uppermost ;  because  he  supposed 
that  at  the  last  day  the  world  would  be  turned  up- 
side down  ;  in  which  case  he  should  find  his  horse 
standmg  ready  for  mounting,  and  he  was  determine^ 
at  the  worst  to  give  his  old  friend  a  run  for  it.  This, 
however,  is  probably  a  mere  old  wives'  fable.  If  he 
really  did  take  such  a  precaution  it  was  totally  super- 
flous  ;  at  least  so  says  the  authentic  old  legend,  which 
closes  his  story  in  the  following  manner : 

On  one  hot  afternoon  in  the  dog  days,  just  as  a  terri- 
ble black  thunder-gust  was  coming  up,  Tom  sat  in  his 
counting-house  in  his  white  linen  cap  and  India  silk 
morning-gown.  He  vi-as  on  the  point  of  foreclosing 
a  mortgage,  by  which  he  would  complete  the  ruin 
of  an  unlucky  land  speculator  for  whom  he  had  pro- 
fessed the  greatest  friendship.  The  poor  land  job- 
ber begged  him  to  grant  a  few  months'  indulgence. 
Tom  had  grown  testy  and  irritated  and 'refused  an- 
other day. 

"  My  family  will  be  ruined  and  brought  upon  the 
parish,"  said  the  land  jobber.  "  Charity  begins  at 
home,"  replied  Tom,  "I  must  take  care  of  myself  in 
these  hard  times." 

"  You  have  made  so  much  money  out  of  me,"  said 
the  speculator. 

Tom  lost  his  patience  and  his  piety—"  The  devil 
take  me,"  said  he,  "  if  I  have  made  a  farthing  !  " 

Just  then  there  were  three  loud  knocks  at  the 
street  door.  He  stepped  out  to  see  who  was  there. 
A  black  man  was  holding  a  black  horse  which 
neighed  and  stamped  with  impatience. 

"Tom,  you're  come  for!"  said  the  black  fellow, 
gruffly.  Tom  shrunk  back,  but  too  late.  He  had 
left  his  little  Bible  at  the  bottom  of  his  coat  pocket, 
and  his  big  Bible  on  the  desk  buried  under  the  mort- 
gage he  was  about  to  foreclose  :  never  was  sinner 
taken  mors  unawares.  The  black  man  whisked  him 
like  a  child  astride  the  horse  and  away  he  galloped 
in  the  midst  of  a  thunder-storm.  The  clerks  stuck 
their  pens  behind  their  ears  and  stared  after  him 
from  the  windows.  Away  went  Tom  Walker,  dash- 
ing down  the  streets  ;  his  white  cap  bobbing  up  and 
down  ;  his  morning-gown  fluttering  in  the  wind,  and 
his  steed  striking  fire  out  of  the  pavement  at  every 
bound.  When  the  clerks  turned  to  look  for  the 
black  man  he  had  disappeared. 

Tom  Walker  never  returned  to  foreclose  the  mort- 
gage. A  countryman  who  lived  on  the  borders  of 
the  swamp,  reported  that  in  the  height  of  the  thun- 
der-gust he  had  heard  a  great  clattering  of  hoofs  and 
a  howling  along  the  road,  and  that  when  he  ran  to 
the  window  he  just  caught  sight  of  a  figure,  such  as 
I  have  described,  on  a  horse  that  galloped  like  mad 
across  the  fields,  over  the  hills  and  down  into  the 
black  hemlock  swamp  towards  the  old  Indian  fort; 
and  that  shortly  after  a  thunderbolt  fell  in  that 
direction  which  seemed  to  set  the  whole  forest  in  a 
blaze. 

The  good  people  of  Boston  shook  their  heads  and 
shrugged  their  shoulders,  but  had  been  so  much 
accustomed  to  witches  and  goblins  and  tricks  of  the 
devil  in  all  kinds  of  shapes  from  the  first  settlement 
of  the  colony,  that  they  were  not  so  much  horror- 
struck  as  might  have  been  expected.  Trustees  were 
appointed  to  take  charge  of  Tom's  effects.  There 
was  nothing,  however,  to  administer  upon.  On 
searching  his  coffers  all  his  bonds  and  mortgages 
were  found  reduced  to  cinders.  In  place  of  gold  and 
silver,  his  iron  chest  was  filled  with  chips  and  shav.. 


416 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ings  ;  two  skeletons  lay  in  his  stable  instead  of  his 
half-starved  horses,  and  the  very  next  day  his  great 
house  took  fire  and  was  burnt  to  the  ground. 

Such  was  the  end  of  Tom  Walker  and  his  ill- 
gotten  wealth.  Let  all  griping  money-brokers  lay 
this  story  to  heart.  The  truth  of  it  is  not  to  be 
doubted.  The  very  hole  under  the  oak  trees,  from 
whence  he  dug  Kidd's  money,  is  to  be  seen  to  this 
day ;  and  the  neighbouring  swamp  and  old  Indian 
fort  is  often  haunted  in  stormy  nights  by  a  figure  on 
Miorseback,  in  a  morning-gown  and  white  cap,  which 
is  doubtless  the  troubled  spirit  of  the  usurer.  In 
fact,  the  story  has  resolved  itself  into  a  proverb,  and 
is  the  origin  of  that  popular  saying  prevalent  through- 
out New-England,  of"  The  Devil  and  Tom  Walker." 


Such,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  was  the  tenor 
of  the  tale  told  by  the  Cape  Cod  whaler.  There 
were  divers  trivial  particulars  which  I  have  omitted, 
and  which  whiled  away  the  morning  very  pleasantly, 
until  the  time  of  tide  favourable  for  fishing  being 
passed,  it  was  proposed  that  we  should  go  to  land, 
and  refresh  ourselves  under  the  trees,  until  the  noon- 
tide heat  should  have  abated. 

We  accordingly  landed  on  a  delectable  part  of  the 
island  of  Mannahatta,  in  that  shady  and  embowered 
tract  formerly  under  dominion  of  the  ancient  family 
of  the  Hardenbrooks.  It  was  a  spot  well  known  to 
me  in  the  course  of  the  aquatic  expeditions  of  my 
boyhood.  Not  far  from  where  we  landed,  was  an 
old  Dutch  family  vault,  in  the  side  of  a  bank,  which 
had  been  an  object  of  great  awe  and  fable  among 
my  school-boy  associates.  There  were  several  mould- 
ering coffins  within  ;  but  what  gave  it  a  fearful  in- 
terest with  us,  was  its  being  connected  in  our  minds 
with  the  pirate  wreck  which  lay  among  the  rocks  of 
Hell  Gate.  There  were  also  stories  of  smuggling 
connected  with  it,  particularly  during  a  time  that 
this  retired  spot  was  owned  by  a  noted  burgher 
called  Ready  Money  Prevost ;  a  man  of  whom  it  was 
whispered  that  he  had  many  and  mysterious  dealings 
with  parts  beyond  seas.  All  these  thingjs,  however, 
had  been  jumbled  together  in  our  minds  in  that 
vague  way  in  which  such  things  are  mingled  up  in 
the  tales  of  boyhood. 

While  I  was  musing  upon  these  matters  my  com- 
panions had  spread  a  repast,  from  the  contents  of 
our  well-stored  pannier,  and  we  solaced  ourselves 
during  the  warm  sunny  hours  of  mid-day  under  the 
shade  of  a  broad  chestnut,  on  the  cool  grassy  carpet 
that  swept  down  to  the  water's  edge.  While  lolling 
on  the  grass  I  summoned  up  the  dusky  recollections 
of  my  boyhood  respecting  this  place,  and  repeated 
them  like  the  imperfectly  remembered  traces  of  a 
dream,  for  the  entertainment  of  my  companions. 
When  I  had  finished,  a  worthy  old  burgher,  John 
Josse  Vandermoere,  the  same  who  once  related  to 
me  the  adventures  of  Dolph  Heyliger,  broke  silence 
and  observed,  that  he  recollected  a  story  about 
money-<ligging  which  occurred  in  this  very  neigh- 
bourhood. As  we  knew  him  to  be  one  of  the  most 
authentic  narrators  of  the  province  we  begged  him 
to  let  us  have  the  particulars,  and  .accordingly,  while 
we  refreshed  ourselves  with  a  clean  long  pipe  of 
Blase  Moore's  tobacco,  the  authentic  John  Josse 
Vandermoere  related  the  following  tale. 


WOLFERT  WEBBER;  OR,  GOLDEN  DREAMS. 


In  the  year  of  grace  one  thousand  seven  hundred 
and — blank — for  1  do  not  remember  the  precise  date ; 


however,  it  was  somewhere  in  the  early  part  of  the 
last  century,  there  lived  in  the  ancient  city  of  the 
Manhattoes  a  worthy  burgher,  Wolfert  Webber  by 
name.  He  was  descended  from  old  Cobus  Webber 
of  the  Brille  in  Holland,  one  of  the  original  settlers, 
famous  for  introducing  the  cultivation  of  cabbages, 
and  who  came  over  to  the  province  during  the  pro- 
tectorship of  Oloffe  Van  Kortlandt,  otherwise  called 
the  Dreamer. 

The  field  in  which  Cobus  Webber  first  planted 
himself  and  his  cabbages  had  remained  ever  since  in 
the  family,  who  continued  in  the  same  line  of  hus- 
bandry, with  that  praiseworthy  perseverance  for 
which  our  Dutch  burghers  are  noted.  The  whole 
family  genius,  during  several  generations,  was  de- 
voted to  the  study  and  development  of  this  one 
noble  vegetable  ;  and  to  this  concentration  of  intel- 
lect may  doubtless  be  ascribed  the  prodigious  size 
and  renown  to  which  the  Webber  cabbages  attained. 

The  Webber  dynasty  continued  in  uninterrupted 
succession ;  and  never  did  a  line  give  more  unques- 
tionable proofs  of  legitimacy.  The  eldest  son  suc- 
ceeded to  the  looks,  as  well  as  the  territory  of  his 
sire  ;  and  had  the  portraits  of  this  line  of  tranquil  po- 
tentates been  taken,  they  would  have  presented  a 
row  of  heads  marvellously  resembling  in  shape  and 
magnitude  the  vegetables  over  which  they  reigned. 

The  seat  of  government  continued  unchanged  in 
the  fam.ily  mansion ; — a  Dutch-built  house,  with  a 
front,  or  rather  gable-end  of  yellow  brick,  tapering 
to  a  point,  with  the  customary  iron  weathercock  at 
the  top.  Every  thing  about  the  building  bore  the  air 
of  long-settled  ease  and  security.  Flights  of  martins 
peopled  the  little  coops  nailed  against  the  walls,  and 
swallows  built  their  nests  under  the  eaves  ;  and  every 
one  knows  that  these  house-loving  birds  bring  good 
luck  to  the  dwelling  where  they  take  up  their  abode. 
In  a  bright  sunny  morning  in  early  summer,  it  was 
delectable  to  hear  their  cheerful  notes,  as  they  sported 
about  in  the  pure,  sweet  air,  chirping  forth,  as  it 
were,  the  greatness  and  prosperity  of  the  Webbers. 

Thus  quietly  and  comfortably  did  this  excellent 
family  vegetate  under  the  shade  of  a  mighty  button- 
wood  tree,  which  by  little  and  little  grew  so  great  as 
entirely  to  overshadow  their  palace.  The  city  grad- 
ually spread  its  suburbs  round  their  domain.  Houses 
sprung  up  to  interrupt  their  prospects.  The  rural 
lanes  in  the  vicinity  began  to  grow  into  the  bustle 
and  populousness  of  streets ;  in  short,  with  all  the 
habits  of  rustic  life  they  began  to  find  themselves  the 
inhabitants  of  a  city.  Still,  however,  they  maintained 
their  hereditary  character,  and  hereditary  possessions, 
with  all  the  tenacity  of  petty  German  princes  in  the 
midst  of  the  Empire.  Wolfert  was  the  last  of  the 
fine,  and  succeeded  to  the  patriarchal  bench  at  the 
door,  under  the  family  tree,  and  swayed  the  sceptre 
of  his  fathers,  a  kind  of  rural  potentate  in  the  midst 
of  a  metropolis. 

To  share  the  cares  and  sweets  of  sovereignty,  he 
had  taken  unto  himself  a  help-mate,  one  of  that  ex- 
cellent kind  called  stirring  women  ;  that  is  to  say, 
she  was  one  of  those  notable  little  housewives  who 
are  always  busy  when  there  is  nothing  to  do.  Her 
activity,  however,  took  one  particular  direction  ;  her 
whole  life  seemed  devoted  to  intense  knitting ; 
whether  at  home  or  abroad  ;  walking  or  sitting,  her 
needles  were  continually  in  motion,  and  it  is  even 
affirmed  that  by  her  unwearied  industry  she  very 
nearly  supplied  her  household  with  stockings  through- 
out the  year.  This  worthy  couple  were  blessed  with 
one  daughter,  who  was  brought  up  with  great  tender- 
ness and  care  ;  uncommon  pains  had  been  taken  with 
her  education,  so  that  she  could  stitch  in  every  va- 
riety of  way ;  make  all  kinds  of  pickles  and  preserves, 
and  mark  her  own  name  on  a  sampler.    'The  inflo 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


417 


ence  of  her  taste  was  seen  also  in  the  family  garden, 
where  the  ornamental  began  to  mingle  with  the  use- 
ful ;  whole  rows  of  fiery  marigolds  and  splendid 
hollyhocks  bordered  the  cabbage-beds ;  and  gigan- 
tic sunflowers  lolled  their  broad,  jolly  faces  over  the 
fences,  seeming  to  ogle  most  affectionately  the  pass- 
ers-by. 

Thus  reigned  and  vegetated  Wolfert  Webber  over 
his  paternal  acres,  peaceably  and  contentedly.  Not 
but  that,  like  all  other  sovereigns,  he  had  his  oc- 
casional cares  and  vexations.  The  growth  of  his 
native  city  sometimes  caused  him  annoyance.  His 
little  territory  gradually  became  hemmed  in  by  streets 
and  houses,  which  intercepted  air  and  sunshine.  He 
was  now  and  then  subject  to  the  irruptions  of  the 
border  population,  that  infest  the  streets  of  a  metrop- 
olis, who  would  sometimes  make  midnight  forays  in- 
to his  dominions,  and  carry  off  captive  whole  pla- 
toons of  his  noblest  subjects.  Vagrant  swine  would 
make  a  descent,  too,  now  and  then,  when  the  gate 
was  left  open,  and  lay  all  waste  before  them ;  and 
mischievous  urchins  would  often  decapitate  the  illus- 
trious sunflowers,  the  glory  of  the  garden,  as  they 
lolled  their  heads  so  fondly  over  the  walls.  Still  all 
these  were  petty  grievances,  which  might  now  and 
then  ruffle  the  surface  of  his  mind,  as  a  summer 
breeze  will  ruffle  the  surface  of  a  mill-pond  ;  but  they 
could  not  disturb  the  deep-seated  quiet  of  his  soul. 
He  would  but  seize  a  trusty  staff,  that  stood  behind 
the  door,  issue  suddenly  out,  and  anoint  the  back 
of  the  aggressor,  whether  pig  or  urchin,  and  then  re- 
turn within  doors,  marvellously  refreshed  and  tran- 
quillized. 

The  chief  cause  of  anxiety  to  honest  Wolfert,  how- 
ever, was  the  growing  prosperity  of  the  city.  The 
expenses  of  living  doubled  and  trebled  ;  but  he  could 
not  double  and  treble  the  magnitude  of  his  cabbages  ; 
and  the  number  of  competitors  prevented  the  in- 
crease of  price ;  thus,  therefore,  while  every  one 
around  him  grew  richer,  Wolfert  grew  poorer,  and 
he  could  not,  for  the  life  of  him,  perceive  how  the 
evil  was  tJ  be  remedied. 

This  growing  care,  which  increased  from  day  to 
day,  had  its  gradual  effect  upon  our  worthy  burgher ; 
insomuch,  that  it  at  length  implanted  two  or  three 
wrinkles  on  his  brow  ;  things  unknown  before  in  the 
family  of  the  Webbers ;  and  it  seemed  to  pinch  up 
the  corners  of  his  cocked  hat  into  an  expression  of 
anxiety,  totally  opposite  to  the  tranquil,  broad-brim- 
med, low-crowned  beavers  of  his  illustrious  progen- 
itors. 

Perhaps  even  this  would  not  have  materially  dis- 
turbed the  serenity  of  his  mind  had  he  had  only 
himself  and  his  wife  to  care  for;  but  there  was  his 
daughter  gradually  growing  to  maturity ;  and  all  the 
world  knows  when  daughters  begin  to  ripen  no  fruit 
or  flower  requires  so  much  looking  after.  I  have  no 
talent  at  describing  female  charms,  else  fain  would  I 
depict  the  progress  of  this  little  Dutch  beauty.  How 
her  blue  eyes  grew  deeper  and  deeper,  and  her  cherry 
Hps  redder  and  redder;  and  how  she  ripened  and 
ripened,  and  rounded  and  rounded  in  the  opening 
breath  of  sixteen  summers,  until,  in  her  seventeenth 
spring,  she  seemed  ready  to  burst  out  of  her  boddice, 
like  a  half-blown  rose-bud. 

Ah,  well-a-day  !  could  I  but  show  her  as  she  was 
then,  tricked  out  on  a  Sunday  morning,  in  the  hered- 
itary finery  of  the  old  Dutch  clothes-press,  of  which 
her  mother  had  confided  to  her  the  key.  The  wed- 
ding dress  of  her  grandmother,  modernized  for  use, 
with  sundry  ornaments,  handed  down  as  heirlooms 
in  the  family.  Her  pale  brown  hair  smoothed  with 
buttermilk  in  flat  waving  lines  on  each  side  of  her 
fair  forehead.  The  chain  of  yellow  virgin  gold,  that 
encircled  her  neck  ;  the  little  cross,  that  just  rested 
27 


at  the  entrance  of  a  soft  valley  of  happiness,  as  if  it 
would  sanctify  the  place.  The — but  pooh  ! — it  is  not 
for  an  old  man  like  me  to  be  prosing  about  female 
beauty:  suffice  it  to  say.  Amy  had  attained  her 
seventeenth  year.  Long  since  had  her  sampler  ex- 
hibited hearts  in  couples  desperately  transfixed  wiih 
arrows,  and  true  lovers'  knots  worked  in  deep  blue 
silk ;  and  it  was  evident  she  began  to  languish  for 
some  more  interesting  occupation  than  the  rearing 
of  sunflowers  or  pickling  of  cucumbers. 

At  this  critical  period  of  female  existence,  when 
the  heart  within  a  damsel's  bosom,  like  its  emblem, 
the  miniature  which  hangs  without,  is  apt  to  be  en- 
grossed by  a  single  image,  a  new  \isitor  began  to 
make  his  appearance  under  the  roof  of  Wolfert 
Webber.  This  was  Dirk  Waldron,  the  only  son  of 
a  poor  widow,  but  who  could  boast  of  more  fathers 
than  any  lad  in  the  province ;  for  his  mother  had 
had  four  husbands,  and  this  only  child,  so  that 
though  born  in  her  last  wedlock,  he  might  fairly 
claim  to  be  the  tardy  fruit  of  a  long  course  of  culti- 
vation. This  son  of  four  fathers  united  the  merits 
and  the  vigour  of  his  sires.  If  he  had  not  a  great 
family  before  him,  he  seemed  likely  to  have  a  great 
one  after  him  ;  for  you  had  only  to  look  at  the  fresh 
gamesome  youth,  to  see  that  he  was  formed  to  be 
the  founder  of  a  mighty  race. 

This  youngster  gradually  became  an  intimate 
visitor  of  the  family.  He  talked  little,  but  he  sat 
long.  He  filled  the  father's  pipe  when  it  was  empty, 
gathered  up  the  mother's  knitting-needle,  or  ball  of 
worsted  when  it  fell  to  the  ground ;  stroked  the 
sleek  coat  of  the  tortoise-shell  cat,  and  replenished 
the  tea-pot  for  the  daughter  from  the  bright  copper 
kettle  that  sung  before  the  fire.  All  these  quiet  little 
offices  may  seem  of  trifling  import,  but  when  true 
love  is  translated  into  Low  Dutch,  it  is  in  this  way 
that  it  eloquently  expresses  itself  They  were  not 
lost  upon  the  Webber  family.  The  winning  young- 
ster found  mar\'elious  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the 
mother ;  the  tortoise-shell  cat,  albeit  the  most  staid 
and  demure  of  her  kind,  gave  indubitable  signs  of 
approbation  of  his  visits,  the  tea-kettle  seemed  to 
sing  out  a  cheering  note  of  welcome  at  his  approach, 
and  if  the  sly  glances  of  the  daughter  might  be 
rightly  read,  as  she  sat  bridling  and  dimpling,  and 
sewing  by  her  mother's  side,  she  was  not  a  whit  be- 
hind Dame  Webber,  or  grimalkin,  or  the  tea-kettle 
in  good-will. 

Wolfert  alone  saw  nothing  of  what  was  going  on. 
Profoundly  wrapt  up  in  meditation  on  the  growth  of 
the  city  and  his  cabbages,  he  sat  looking  in  the  fire, 
and  puffing  his  pipe  in  silence.  One  night,  however, 
as  the  gentle  Amy,  according  to  custom,  lighted  her 
lover  to  the  outer  door,  and  he,  according  to  custom, 
took  his  parting  salute,  the  smack  resounded  so 
vigourously  through  the  long,  silent  entry,  as  to 
startle  even  the  dull  ear  of  Wolfert.  He  was  slowly 
roused  to  a  new  source  of  anxiety.  It  had  never 
entered  into  his  head,  that  this  mere  child,  who,  as 
it  seemed  but  the  other  day,  had  been  climbing 
about  his  knees,  and  playing  with  dolls  and  baby- 
houses,  could  all  at  once  be  thinking  of  love  and 
matrimony.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  examined  into  the 
fact,  and  really  found  that  while  he  had  been  dream- 
ing of  other  matters,  she  had  actually  grown  into  a 
woman,  and  what  was  more,  had  fallen  in  love. 
Here  were  new  cares  for  poor  Wolfert.  He  was  a 
kind  father,  but  he  was  a  prudent  man.  The  young 
man  was  a  very  stirring  lad  ;  but  then  he  had  neither 
money  nor  land.  Wolfert's  ideas  all  ran  in  one 
channel,  and  he  saw  no  alternative  in  case  of  a  mar- 
riage, but  to  portion  off  the  young  couple  with  a 
corner  of  his  cabbage  garden,  the  whole  of  which 
was  barely  sufficient  for  the  support  of  his  family. 


418 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Like  a  prudent  father,  therefore,  he  determined  to 
nip  this  passion  in  the  bud,  and  forbade  the  youngf- 
ster  the  house,  though  sorely  did  it  go  against  his 
fatherly  heart,  and  many  a  silent  tear  did  it  cause  in 
the  bright  eye  of  his  daughter.  She  showed  herself, 
however,  a  pattern  of  filial  piety  and  obedience. 
She  never  pouted  and  sulked  ;  she  never  flew  in  the 
face  of  parental  authority;  she  never  fell  into  a 
passion,  or  fell  into  hysterics,  as  many  romantic 
novel-read  young  ladies  would  do.  Not  she,  indeed  ! 
She  was  none  such  heroical  rebellious  trumpery,  I 
warrant  ye.  On  the  contrary,  she  acquiesced  like 
an  obedient  daughter ;  shut  the  street-door  in  her 
lover's  face,  and  if  ever  she  did  grant  him  an  inter- 
view, it  was  either  out  of  the  kitchen  window,  or 
over  the  garden  fence. 

Wolfert  was  deeply  cogitating  these  things  in  his 
mind,  and  his  brow  wrinkled  with  unusual  care,  as 
he  wended  his  way  one  Saturday  afternoon  to  a  rural 
inn,  about  two  miles  from  the  city.  It  was  a  favour- 
ite resort  of  the  Dutch  part  of  the  community  from 
being  always  held  by  a  Dutch  line  of  landlords,  and 
retaining  an  air  and  relish  of  the  good  old  times.  It 
was  a  Dutch-built  house,  that  had  probably  been  a 
country  seat  of  some  opulent  burgher  in  the  early 
time  of  the  settlement.  It  stood  near  a  point  of  land, 
called  Corlears  Hook,  which  stretches  out  into  the 
Sound,  and  against  which  the  tide,  at  its  flux  and 
reflux,  sets  with  extraordinary  rapidity.  The  vener- 
able and  somewhat  crazy  mansion  was  distinguished 
from  afar,  by  a  grove  of  elms  and  sycamores  that 
seemed  to  wave  a  hospitable  invitation,  while  a  few 
weeping  willows  with  their  dank,  drooping  foliage, 
resembling  falling  waters,  gave  an  idea  of  coolness, 
that  rendered  it  an  attractive  spot  during  the  heats 
of  summer. 

Here,  therefore,  as  I  said,  resorted  many  of  the  old 
inhabitants  of  the  Manhattoes,  where,  while  some 
played  at  the  shuffle-board  and  quoits  and  ninepins, 
others  smoked  a  deliberate  pipe,  and  talked  over 
public  afiairs. 

It  was  on  a  blustering  autumnal  afternoon  that 
Wolfert  made  his  visit  to  the  inn.  The  grove  of  elms 
and  willows  was  stripped  of  its  leaves,  which  whirled 
in  rustling  eddies  about  the  fields.  The  ninepin  al- 
ley was  deserted,  for  the  premature  chilliness  of  the 
day  had  driven  the  company  within  doors.  As  it 
was  Saturday  afternoon,  the  habitual  club  was  in 
session,  composed  principally  of  regular  Dutch 
burghers,  though  mingled  occasionally  with  persons 
of  various  character  and  country,  as  is  natural  in  a 
place  of  such  motley  population. 

Beside  the  fire-place,  and  in  a  huge  leather-bot- 
tomed arm-chair,  sat  the  dictator  of  this  little  world, 
the  venerable  Rem,  or,  as  it  was  pronounced,  Ramm 
Rapelye.  He  was  a  man  of  Walloon  race,  and  illus- 
trious for  the  antiquity  of  his  line,  his  great  grand- 
mother having  been  the  first  white  child  born  in  the 
province.  But  he  was  still  more  illustrious  for  his 
wealth  and  dignity :  he  had  long  filled  the  noble  of- 
fice of  alderman,  and  was  a  man  to  whom  the  gov- 
ernor himself  took  off  his  hat.  He  had  maintained 
possession  of  the  leathern-bottomed  chair  from  time 
iirameraorial ;  and  had  gradually  waxed  in  bulk  as  he 
sat  in  his  seat  of  government,  until  in  the  course  of 
years  he  filled  its  whole  magnitude.  His  word  was 
decisive  with  his  subjects  ;  for  he  was  so  rich  a  man, 
that  he  was  never  expected  to  support  any  opinion 
by  argument.  The  landlord  waited  on  him  with 
peculiar  officiousness  ;  not  that  he  paid  better  than 
his  neighbours,  but  then  the  coin  of  a  rich  man 
seems  always  .to  be  so  much  more  acceptable.  The 
landlord  had  always  a  pleasant  word  and  a  joke,  to 
insinuate  in  .the  ear  of  the  august  Ramm.  It  is  true, 
Ramm   never   laughed,  and,  indeed,  maintained   a 


mastiff-like  gravity,  and  even  surliness  of  aspect,  yet 
he  now  and  then  rewarded  mine  host  with  a  token 
of  approbation  ;  which,  though  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  a  kind  of  grunt,  yet  delighted  the  landlord 
more  than  a  broad  laugh  from  a  poorer  man. 

"  This  will  be  a  rough  night  for  the  money-dig- 
gers," said  mine  host,  as  a  gust  of  wind  howled 
round  the  house,  and  rattled  at  the  windows. 

"  What,  are  they  at  their  works  again  }  "  said  an 
English  half-pay  captain,  with  one  eye,  who  was  a 
frequent  attendant  at  the  inn. 

"  Aye,  are  they,"  said  the  landlord,  "  and  well  may 
they  be.  They've  had  luck  of  late.  They  say  a 
great  pot  of  money  has  been  dug  up  in  the  field,  just 
behind  Stuyvesant's  orchard.  Folks  think  it  must 
have  been  buried  there  in  old  times,  by  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant,  the  Dutch  Governor." 

"  Fudge  !  "  said  the  one-eyed  man  of  war,  as  he 
added  a  small  portion  of  water  to  a  bottom  of 
brandy. 

"  Well,  you  may  believe,  or  not,  as  you  please," 
said  mine  host,  somewhat  nettled  ;  "  but  every  body 
knows  that  the  old  governor  buried  a  great  deal  of 
his  money  at  the  time  of  the  Dutch  troubles,  when 
the  English  red-coats  seized  on  the  province.  They 
say,  too,  the  old  gentleman  walks ;  aye,  and  in  the 
very  same  dress  that  he  wears  in  the  picture  which 
hangs  up  in  the  family  house." 

"  Fudge  !  "  said  the  half-pay  officer. 

"  Fudge,  if  you  please  ! — But  didn't  Corney  Van 
Zandt  see  him  at  midnight,  stalking  about  in  the 
meadow  with  his  wooden  leg,  and  a  drawn  sword  in 
his  hand,  that  flashed  like  fire.'  And  what  can  he 
be  walking  for,  but  because  people  have  been  troub- 
ling the  place  where  he  buried  his  money  in  old 
times  ?  " 

Here  the  landlord  was  interrupted  by  several  gut- 
tural sounds  from  Ramm  Rapelye,  betokening  that 
he  was  labouring  with  the  unusual  production  of  an 
idea.  As  he  was  too  great  a  man  to  be  slighted  by 
a  prudent  publican,  mine  host  respectfully  paused 
until  he  should  deliver  himself.  The  corpulent  frame 
of  this  mighty  burgher  now  gave  all  the  symptoms 
of  a  volcanic  mountain  on  the  point  of  an  eruption. 
First,  there  was  a  certain  heaving  of  the  abdomen, 
not  unlike  an  earthquake  ;  then  was  emitted  a  cloud 
of  tobacco  smoke  from  that  crater,  his  mouth  ;  then 
there  was  a  kind  of  rattle  in  the  throat,  as  if  the  idea 
were  working  its  way  up  through  a  region  of  phlegm  ; 
then  there  were  several  disjointed  members  of  a 
sentence  thrown  out,  ending  in  a  cough  ;  at  length 
his  voice  forced  its  way  in  the  slow,  but  absolute 
tone  of  a  man  who  feels  the  weight  of  his  purse,  if 
not  of  his  ideas ;  every  portion  of  his  speech  being 
marked  by  a  testy  puff  of  tobacco  smoke. 

"  Who  talks  of  old  Peter  Stuyvesant's  walking? — 
puff — Have  people  no  respect  tor  persons  ? — puff" — 
puff — Peter  Stuyvesant  knew  better  what  to  do  with 
his  money  than  to  bury  it^puff — I  know  the  Stuyve- 
sant family — puff — every  one  of  them — puff— not  a 
more  respectable  family  in  the  province — puff — old 
standers — puff — warm  householders — puff — none  of 
your  upstarts — puft" — puft — puff. — Don't  talk  to  me 
of  Peter  Stuyvesant's  walking — puff— puff— puff — 
puff" 

Here  the  redoubtable  Ramm  contracted  his  brow, 
clasped  up  his  mouth,  till  it  wrinkled  at  each  corner, 
and  redoubled  his  smoking  with  such  vehemence, 
that  the  cloudy  volumes  soon  wreathed  round  his 
head,  as  the  smoke  envelopes  the  awful  summit  of 
iMount  Etna. 

A  general  silence  followed  the  sudden  rebuke  of 
this  very  rich  man.  The  subject,  however,  was  too 
interesting  to  be  readily  abandoned.  The  conversa- 
tion soon  broke  forth  again  from  the  lips  of  Peechy 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


419 


Prauw  Van  Hook,  the  chronicler  of  the  club,  one  of 
those  narrative  old  men  who  seem  to  g^row  inconti- 
nent of  words,  as  they  grow  old,  until  their  talk 
flows  Irom  them  almost  involuntarily. 

Peechy,  who  could  at  any  time  tell  as  many  stories 
in  an  evening  as  his  hearers  could  digest  in  a  month, 
now  resumed  the  conversation,  by  affirming  that,  to 
his  knowledge,  money  had  at  different  times  been 
dug  up  in  various  parts  of  the  island.  The  lucky 
persons  who  had  discovered  them  had  always 
dreamt  of  them  three  times  beforehand,  and  what 
was  worthy  of  remark,  these  treasures  had  never 
been  found  but  by  some  descendant  of  the  good  old 
Dutch  families,  which  clearly  proved  that  they  had 
been  buried  by  Dutchmen  in  the  olden  time. 

"Fiddle-stick  with  your  Dutchmen!''  cried  the 
half-pay  officer.  "  The  Dutch  had  nothing  to  do 
with  them.  They  were  all  buried  by  Kidd,  the  pi- 
rate, and  his  crew." 

Here  a  key-note  was  touched  that  roused  the 
whole  company.  The  name  of  Captain  Kidd  was 
like  a  talisman  in  those  times,  and  was  associated 
with  a  thousand  marvellous  stories. 

The  half-pay  officer  was  a  man  of  great  weight 
among  the  peaceable  members  of  the  club,  by  rea- 
son of  his  military  character,  and  of  the  gunpow- 
der scenes  which,  by  his  own  account,  he  had  wit- 
nessed. 

The  golden  stories  of  Kidd,  however,  were  reso- 
lutely rivalled  by  the  tales  of  Peechy  Prauw,  who, 
rather  than  suffer  his  Dutch  progenitors  to  be 
eclipsed  by  a  foreign  freebooter,  enriched  every  spot 
in  the  neighbourhood  with  the  hidden  wealth  of  Pe- 
ter Stuyvesant  and  his  contemporaries. 

Not  a  word  of  this  conversation  was  lost  upon 
Wolfert  Webber.  He  returned  pensively  home,  full 
of  magnificent  ideas  of  buried  riches.  The  soil  of 
his  native  island  seemed  to  be  turned  into  gold-dust ; 
and  every  field  teemed  with  treasure.  His  head  al- 
most reeled  at  the  thought  how  often  he  must  have 
heedlessly  rambled  over  places  where  countless  sums 
lay,  scarcely  covered  by  the  turf  beneath  his  feet. 
His  mind  was  in  a  vertigo  with  this  whirl  of  new 
ideas.  As  he  came  in  sight  of  the  venerable  man- 
sion of  his  forefathers,  and  the  little  realm  where 
the  Webbers  had  so  long  and  so  contentedly  flour- 
ished, his  gorge  rose  at  the  narrowness  of  his  des- 
tiny. 

'*  Unlucky  Wolfert !  "  exclaimed  he,  "others  can 
go  to  bed  and  dream  themselves  into  whole  mines 
of  wealth ;  they  have  but  to  seize  a  spade  in  the 
morning,  and  turn  up  doubloons  like  potatoes ;  but 
thou  must  dream  of  hardship,  and  rise  to  poverty — 
must  dig  thy  field  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  and 
— and  yet  raise  nothing  but  cabbages  !  " 

Wolfert  Webber  went  to  bed  with  a  heavy  heart; 
and  it  was  long  before  the  golden  visions  that  dis- 
turbed his  brain,  permitted  him  to  sink  into  repose. 
The  same  visions,  however,  extended  into  his  sleep- 
ing thoughts,  and  assumed  a  more  definite  form.  He 
dreamt  that  he  had  discovered  an  immense  treasure 
in  the  centre  of  his  garden.  At  every  stroke  of  the 
spade  he  laid  bare  a  golden  ingot ;  diamond  crosses 
sparkled  out  of  the  dust ;  bags  of  money  turned  up 
their  bellies,  corpulent  with  pieces  of  eight,  or  ven- 
erable doubloons ;  and  chests,  wedged  close  with 
moidores,  ducats,  and  pistareens,  yawned  before  his 
ravished  eyes,  and  vomited  forth  their  glittering  con- 
tents. 

Wolfert  awoke  a  poorer  man  than  ever.  He  had 
no  heart  to  go  about  his  daily  concerns,  which  ap- 
peared so  paltry  and  profitless  ;  but  sat  all  day  long 
\n  the  chimney-comer,  picturing  to  himself  ingots 
and  heaps  of  gold  in  the  fire.  The  next  night  his 
dream  was  repeated.     He  was  again  in  his  garden, 


digging,  and  laying  open  stores  of  hidden  wealth. 
There  was  something  very  singular  in  this  repeti- 
tion. He  passed  another  day  of  reverie,  and 
though  it  was  cleaning-day,  and  the  house,  as 
usual  in  Dutch  households,  completely  topsy-turv7, 
yet  he  sat  unmoved  amidst  the  general  uproar. 

The  third  night  he  went  to  bed  with  a  palpitating 
heart.  He  put  on  his  red  nightcap,  wrong  side  out- 
wards for  good  luck.  It  was  deep  midnight  before 
his  anxious  mind  could  settle  itself  into  sleep. 
Again  the  golden  dream  was  repeated,  and  again 
he  saw  his  garden  teeming  with  ingots  and  monej- 
bags. 

Wolfert  rose  the  next  morning  in  complete  bewil- 
derment. A  dream  three  times  repeated  was  never 
known  to  lie ;  and  if  so,  his  fortune  was  made. 

In  his  agitation  he  put  on  his  waistcoat  with  the 
hind  part  before,  and  this  was  a  corroboration  ot 
good  luck.  He  no  longer  doubted  that  a  huge 
store  of  money  lay  buried  somewhere  in  his  cab- 
bage-field, coyly  waiting  to  be  sought  for,  and  he 
half  repined  at  having  so  long  been  scratching  about 
the  surface  of  the  soil,  instead  of  digging  to  the 
centre. 

He  took  his  seat  at  the  breakfast-table  full  of 
these  speculations;  asked  his  daughter  to  put  a 
lump  of  gold  into  his  tea,  and  on  handing  his  wife 
a  plate  of  slap-jacks,  begged  her  to  help  herself  to 
a  doubloon. 

His  grand  care  now  was  how  to  secure  this  im- 
mense treasure  without  its  being  known.  Instead 
of  working  regularly  in  his  grounds  in  the  day-lime, 
he  now  stole  from  his  bed  at  night,  and  with  spadu 
and  pickaxe,  went  to  work  to  rip  up  and  dig  about 
his  paternal  acres,  from  one  end  to  the  other.  In  a 
little  time  the  whole  garden,  which  had  presented 
such  a  goodly  and  regular  appearance,  with  its  pha- 
lanx of  cabbages,  like  a  vegetable  army  in  battle  ar- 
ray, was  reduced  to  a  scene  of  devastation,  while 
the  relentless  Wolfert,  with  nightcap  on  head,  and 
lantern  and  spade  in  hand,  stalked  through  the 
slaughtered  ranks,  the  destroying  angel  ot  his  own 
vegetable  world. 

Every  morning  bore  testimony  to  the  ravages  of 
the  preceding  night  in  cabbages  of  all  ages  and  con- 
ditions, from  the  tender  sprout  to  the  full-grown 
head,  piteously  rooted  from  their  quiet  beds  like 
worthless  weeds,  and  left  to  wither  in  the  sunshine. 
It  was  in  vain  Wolfert 's  wife  remonstrated ;  it  was 
in  vain  his  darling  daughter  wept  over  the  destruc- 
tion of  some  favourite  marygold.  "  Thou  shalt  have 
gold  of  another  guess-sort,"  he  would  cry,  chucking 
her  under  the  chin  ;  "  thou  shalt  have  a  string  of 
crooked  ducats  for  thy  wedding-necklace,  my  child.  " 
His  family  began  really  to  fear  that  the  poor  man's 
wits  were  diseased.  He  muttered  in  his  sleep  at 
night  of  mines  of  wealth,  of  pearls  and  diamonds 
and  bars  of  gold.  In  the  day-time  he  was  moody 
and  abstracted,  and  walked  about  as  if  in  a  trance. 
Dame  Webber  held  frequent  councils  with  all  the 
old  women  of  the  neighbourhood,  not  omitting  the 
parish  dominie ;  scarce  an  hour  in  the  day  but  a 
knot  of  them  might  be  seen  wagging  their  white 
caps  together  round  her  door,  while  the  poor  woman 
made  some  piteous  recital.  The  daughter,  too,  was 
fain  to  seek  for  more  frequent  consolation  from  the 
stolen  interviews  of  her  favoured  swain,  Dirk  Wal- 
dron.  The  delectable  little  Dutch  songs  with  which 
she  used  to  dulcify  the  house  grew  less  and  less  fre- 
quent, and  she  would  forget  her  sewing  and  look 
wistfully  in  her  father's  face  as  he  sat  pondering  by 
the  fireside.  Wolfert  caught  her  eye  one  day  fixed 
on  him  thus  anxiously,  and  for  a  moment  was  roused 
from  his  golden  reveries — "Cheer  up,  my  girl,"  said 
he,  exultingly,  "  why  dost  thou  droop  ? — thou  shalt 


420 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


hold  up  thy  head   one  day  with  the and  the 

Schermerhoms,  the  Van  Homes,  and  the  Van 
Dams— the  patroon  himself  shall  be  glad  to  get  thee 
for  his  son  !  " 

Amy  shook  her  head  at  this  vain-glorious  boast, 
and  was  more  than  ever  in  doubt  of  the  soundness 
of  the  good  man's  intellect. 

In  the  meantime  Wolfert  went  on  digging,  but 
the  field  was  extensive,  and  as  his  dream  had  indi- 
cated no  precise  spot,  he  had  to  dig  at  random.  The 
winter  set  in  before  one-tenth  of  the  scene  of  promise 
had  been  explored.  The  ground  became  too  frozen 
and  the  nights  too  cold  for  the  labours  of  the  spade. 
No  sooner,  however,  did  the  returning  warmth  of 
spring  loosen  the  soil,  and  the  small  frogs  begin  to 
pipe  in  the  meadows,  but  Wolfert  resumed  his  la- 
bours with  renovated  zeal.  Still,  however,  the  hours 
of  industry  were  reversed.  Instead  of  working  cheer- 
ily all  day,  planting  and  setting  out  his  vegetables, 
he  remained  thoughtfully  idle,  until  the  shades  of 
night  summoned  him  to  his  secret  labours.  In  this 
way  he  continued  to  dig  from  night  to  night,  and 
week  to  vi'eek,  and  month  to  month,  but  not  a  stiver 
did  he  find.  On  the  contrary,  the  more  he  digged 
the  poorer  he  grew.  The  rich  soil  of  his  garden  was 
digged  away,  and  the  sand  and  gravel  from  beneath 
were  thrown  to  the  surface,  until  the  whole  field 
presented  an  aspect  of  sandy  barrenness. 

In  the  meantime  the  seasons  gradually  rolled  on. 
The  little  frogs  that  had  piped  in  the  meadows  in 
early  spring,  croaked  as  bull-frogs  in  the  brooks 
during  the  summer  heats,  and  then  sunk  into  silence. 
The  peach  tree  budded,  blossomed,  and  lx)re  its 
fruit.  The  swallows  and  martins  came,  twittered 
about  the  roof,  built  their  nests,  reared  their  young, 
held  their  congress  along  the  eaves,  and  then  winged 
their  flight  in  search  of  another  spring.  The  cater- 
pillar spun  its  winding-sheet,  dangled  in  it  from  the 
great  buttonwood  tree  that  shaded  the  house,  turned 
into  a  moth,  fluttered  with  the  last  sunshine  of  sum- 
mer, and  disappeared  ;  and  finally  the  leaves  of  the 
buttonwood  tree  turned  yellow,  then  brown,  then 
rustled  one  by  one  to  the  ground,  and  whirling  about 
in  little  eddies  of  wind  and  dust,  whispered  that  win- 
ter was  at  hand. 

Wolfert  gradually  awoke  from  his  dream  of  wealth 
as  the  year  declined.  He  had  reared  no  crop  to 
supply  the  wants  of  his  household  during  the  sterility 
of  winter.  The  season  was  long  and  severe,  and  for 
the  first  time  the  family  was  really  straightened  in 
its  comforts.  By  degrees  a  revulsion  of  thought  took 
place  in  Wolfert's  mind,  common  to  those  whose 
golden  dreams  have  been  disturbed  by  pinching  re- 
alities. The  idea  gradually  stole  upon  him  that  he 
should  come  to  want.  He  already  considered  him- 
.self  one  of  the  most  unfortunate  men  in  the  province, 
having  lost  such  an  incalculable  amount  of  undiscov- 
ered treasure,  and  now,  when  thousands  of  pounds 
had  eluded  his  search,  to  be  perplexed  for  shillings 
and  pence  was  cruel  in  the  extreme. 

Haggard  care  gathered  about  his  brow  ;  he  went 
about  with  a  money-seeking  air,  his  eyes  bent  down- 
wards into  the  dust,  and  carrying  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  as  men  are  apt  to  do  when  they  have  noth- 
ing else  to  put  into  them.  He  could  not  even  pass 
the  city  almshouse  without  giving  it  a  rueful  glance, 
as  if  destined  to  be  his  future  abode. 

The  strangeness  of  his  conduct  and  of  his  looks 
occasioned  much  speculation  and  remark.  For  a 
long  time  he  was  suspected  of  being  crazy,  and  then 
every  body  pitied  him ;  at  length  it  began  to  be  sus- 
pected that  he  was  poor,  and  then  every  body  avoided 
him. 

The  rich  old  burghers  of  his  acquaintance  met  him 
outside  of  the  door  when  he  called,  entertained  him 


hospitably  on  the  threshold,  pressed  him  warmly  by 
the  hand  on  parting,  shook  their  heads  as  he  walked 
away,  with  the  kind-hearted  expression  of  "  poor 
Wolfert,"  and  turned  a  corner  nimbly,  if  by  chance 
they  saw  him  approaching  as  they  walked  the  streets. 
Even  the  barber  and  cobbler  of  the  neighbourhood, 
and  a  tattered  tailor  in  an  alley  hard  by,  three  of  the 
poorest  and  merriest  rogues  in  the  world,  eyed  him 
with  that  abundant  sympathy  which  usually  attends 
a  lack  of  means  ;  and  there  is  not  a  doubt  but  their 
pockets  would  have  been  at  his  command,  only  that 
they  happened  to  be  empty. 

Thus  every  body  deserted  the  Webber  mansion, 
as  if  poverty  were  contagious,  like  the  plague  ;  every 
body  but  honest  Dirk  Waldron,  who  still  kept  up  his 
stolen  visits  to  the  daughter,  and  indeed  seemed  to 
wax  more  affectionate  as  the  fortunes  of  his  mistress 
were  on  the  wane. 

Many  months  had  elapsed  since  Wolfert  had  fre- 
quented his  old  resort,  the  rural  inn.  He  was  taking 
a  long  lonely  walk  one  Saturday  afternoon,  musing 
over  his  wants  and  disappointments,  when  his  feet 
took  instinctively  their  wonted  direction,  and  on 
awaking  out  of  a  reverie,  he  found  himself  before 
the  door  of  the  inn.  For  some  moments  he  hesi- 
tated whether  to  enter,  but  his  heart  yearned  for 
companionship ;  and  where  can  a  ruined  man  find 
better  companionship  than  at  a  tavern,  where  there 
is  neither  sober  example  nor  sober  advice  to  put  him 
out  of  countenance  ? 

Wolfert  found  several  of  the  old  frequenters  of  the 
tavern  at  their  usual  posts,  and  seated  in  their  usual 
places ;  but  one  was  missing,  the  great  Ramm  Ra- 
pelye,  who  for  many  years  had  filled  the  chair  of 
state.  His  place  was  supplied  by  a  stranger,  who 
seemed,  however,  completely  at  home  in  the  chair 
and  the  tavern.  He  was  rather  under-size,  but  deep>- 
chested,  square,  and  muscular.  His  bro.ad  shoul- 
ders, double  joints,  and  bow-knees,  gave  tokens  of 
prodigious  strength.  His  face  was  dark  and  weather- 
beaten  ;  a  deep  scar,  as  if  from  the  slash  of  a  cutlass, 
had  almost  divided  his  nose,  and  made  a  gash  in  his 
upper  lip,  through  which  his  teeth  shone  like  a  bull- 
dog's. A  mass  of  iron  gray  hair  gave  a  grizzly  finish 
to  his  hard-favoured  visage.  His  dress  was  of  an 
amphibious  character.  He  wore  an  old  hat  edged 
with  tarnished  lace,  and  cocked  in  martial  style,  on 
one  side  of  his  head  ;  a  rusty  blue  military  coat  with 
brass  buttons,  and  a  wide  pair  of  short  petticoat 
trowsers,  or  rather  breeches,  for  they  were  gathered 
up  at  the  knees.  He  ordered  every  body  about  him 
with  an  authoritative  air;  talked  in  a  brattling  voice, 
that  sounded  like  the  crackling  of  thorns  under  a 
pot ;  damned  the  landlord  and  servants  with  perfect 
impunity,  and  was  waited  upon  with  greater  obsequi- 
ousness than  had  ever  been  shown  to  the  mighty 
Ramm  himself. 

Wolfert's  curiosity  was  awakened  to  know  who 
and  what  was  this  stranger  who  had  thus  usurped 
absolute  sway  in  this  ancient -domain.  He  could 
get  nothing,  however,  but  vague  information.  Peechy 
Prauw  took  him  aside,  into  a  remote  corner  of  the 
hall,  and  there  in  an  under-voice,  and  with  great 
caution,  imparted  to  him  all  that  he  knew  on  the 
subject.  The  inn  had  been  aroused  several  months 
before,  on  a  dark  stormy  night,  by  repealed  long 
shouts,  that  seemed  hke  the  bowlings  of  a  wolf. 
They  came  from  the  water-side ;  and  at  length 
were  distinguished  to  be  hailing  the  house  in  the 
seafaring  manner.  "  House-a-hoy  ! "  The  land- 
lord turned  out  with  his  head  waiter,  tapster,  hostler, 
and  errand  boy — that  is  to  say,  with  his  old  negro 
Cuff.  On  approaching  the  place  from  whence  the 
voice  proceeded,  they  found  this  amphibious-looking 
personage  at   the  water's  edge,   quite   alone,   and 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


421 


seated  on  a  great  oaken  sea-chest.  How  he  came 
there,  whether  he  had  been  set  on  shore  from  some 
boat,  or  had  floated  to  land  on  his  chest,  nobody  could 
tell,  for  he  did  not  seem  disposed  to  answer  questions, 
and  there  was  something-  in  his  looks  and  manners 
that  put  a  stop  to  all  questioning.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
he  took  possession  of  a  corner  room  of  the  inn,  to 
which  his  chest  was  removed  with  great  difficulty. 
Here  he  had  remained  ever  since,  keeping  about  the 
inn  and  its  vicinity.  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  he  disap- 
peared for  one,  two,  or  three  days  at  a  time,  going 
and  returning  without  giving  any  notice  or  account 
of  his  movements.  He  always  appeared  to  have 
plenty  of  money,  though  often  of  very  strange,  out- 
landish coinage ;  and  he  regularly  paid  his  bill  every 
evening  before  turning  in. 

He  had  fitted  up  his  room  to  his  own  fancy,  hav- 
ing slung  a  hammock  from  the  ceiling  instead  of  a 
bed,  and  decorated  the  walls  with  rusty  pistols  and 
cutlasses  of  foreign  workmanship.  A  great  part  of 
his  time  was  passed  in  this  room,  seated  by  the 
window,  which  commanded  a  wide  view  of  the 
Sound,  a  short  old-fashionc^d  jiipe  in  his  mouth,  a  glass 
of  rum  toddy  at  his  elbow,  and  a  pocket  telescope  in 
his  hand,  with  which  he  reconnoitred  every  boat 
that  moved  upon  the  water.  Large  square-rigged 
vessels  seemed  to  excite  but  little  attention ;  but  the 
moment  he  descried  any  thing  with  a  shoulder-of- 
mutton  sail,  or  that  a  barge,  or  yawl,  or  jolly  boat 
hove  in  sight,  up  went  the  telescope,  and  he  examin- 
ed it  with  the  most  scrupulous  attention. 

All  this  might  have  passed  without  much  notice, 
for  in  those  times  the  province  was  so  much  the  re- 
sort of  adventurers  of  all  characters  and  climes  that 
any  oddity  in  dress  or  behaviour  attracted  but  little 
attention.  But  in  a  little  while  this  strange  sea 
monster,  thus  strangely  cast  up  on  dry  land,  began 
to  encroach  upon  the  long-established  customs  and 
customers  of  the  place  ;  to  interfere  in  a  dictatorial 
manner  in  the  affairs  of  the  ninepin  alley  and  the 
bar-room,  until  in  the  end  he  usurped  an  absolute 
command  over  the  little  inn.  It  was  in  vain  to  at- 
tempt to  withstand  his  authority.  He  was  not  ex- 
actly qtiarrelsome,  but  boisterous  and  peremptory, 
like  one  accustomed  to  tyrannize  on  a  quarter  deck  ; 
and  there  was  a  dare-devil  air  about  every  thing  he 
said  and  did,  that  inspired  a  wariness  in  all  bystand- 
ers. Even  the  half-pay  officer,  so  long  the  hero 
of  the  club,  was  soon  silenced  by  him  ;  and  the 
quiet  burghers  stared  with  wonder  at  seeing  their 
inflammable  man  of  war  so  readily  and  quietly  ex- 
tinguished. 

And  then  the  tales  that  he  would  tell  were  enough 
to  make  a  peaceable  man's  hair  stand  on  end. 
There  was  not  a  sea  fight,  or  marauding  or  free- 
booting  adventure  that  had  happened  within  the  last 
twenty  years  but  he  seemed  perfectly  versed  in  it. 
He  delighted  to  talk  of  the  exploits  of  the  buc- 
caneers in  the  West-Indies  and  on  the  Spanish 
Main.  How  his  eyes  would  glisten  as  he  described 
the  waylaying  of  treasure  ships,  the  desperate  fights, 
yard  arm  and  yard  arm — broadside  and  broadside — 
the  boarding  and  capturing  of  large  Spanish  gal- 
leons !  with  what  chuckling  relish  would  he  describe 
the  descent  upon  some  rich  Spanish  colony ;  the 
rifling  of  a  church  ;  the  sacking  of  a  convent  !  You 
would  have  thought  you  heard  some  gormandizer 
dilating  upon  the  roasting  a  savory  goose  at  Michael- 
mas as  he  described  the  roasting  of  some  Spanish 
Don  to  make  him  discover  his  treasure — a  detail 
given  with  a  minuteness  that  made  every  rich  old 
burgher  present  turn  uncomfortably  in  his  chair.  All 
this  would  be  told  with  infinite  glee,  as  if  he  con- 
sidered it  an  excellent  joke ;  and  then  he  would  give 
such  a  tyrannical  leer  in  the  face  of  his  next  neigh- 


bour, that  the  poor  man  would  be  fain  to  laugh  out  of 
sheer  faint-heartedness.  If  any  one,  however,  pre 
tended  to  contradict  him  in  any  of  his  stones  he  was 
on  fire  in  an  instant.  His  very  cocked  hat  assumed 
a  momentary  fierceness,  and  seemed  to  resent  the 
contradiction. — "  How  the  devil  should  you  know  as 
well  as  I  !  I  tell  you  it  was  as  I  say  ! "  and  he 
would  at  the  same  time  let  slip  a  broadside  of 
thundering  oaths  and  tremendous  sea  phrases,  such 
as  had  never  been  heard  before  within  those  peace- 
ful walls. 

Indeed,  the  worthy  burghers  began  to  surmise  that 
he  knew  more  of  these  stories  than  mere  hearsay. 
Day  after  day  their  conjectures  concerning  him  grew 
more  and  more  wild  and  fearful.  The  strangeness 
of  his  manners,  the  mystery  that  surrounded  him,  all 
made  him  something  incomprehensible  in  their  eyes. 
He  was  a  kind  of  monster  of  the  deep  to  them — he 
was  a  merman— he  was  behemoth — he  was  levia- 
than— in  short,  they  knew  not  what  he  was. 

The  domineering  spirit  of  this  boisterous  sea  ur- 
chin at  length  grew  quite  intolerable.  He  was  no 
respecter  of  persons ;  he  contradicted  the  richest 
burghers  without  hesitation  ;  he  took  possession  ot 
the  sacred  elbow  chair,  which  time  out  of  mind  had 
been  the  seat  of  sovereignty  of  the  illustrious  Ramm 
Rapelye.  Nay,  he  even  went  so  far  in  one  of  his 
rough  jocular  moods,  as  to  slap  that  mighty  burgher 
on  the  back,  drink  his  toddy  and  wink  in  his  face,  a 
thing  scarcely  to  be  believed.  From  this  time  Ramm 
Rapelye  appeared  no  more  at  the  inn  ;  his  example 
was  followed  by  several  of  the  most  eminent  custom- 
ers, who  were  too  rich  to  tolerate  being  bullied  out  of 
their  opinions,  or  being  obliged  to  laugh  at  another 
man's  jokes.  The  landlord  was  almost  in  despair, 
but  he  knew  not  how  to  get  rid  of  this  sea  monster 
and  his  sea-chest,  which  seemed  to  have  grown  like 
fixtures,  or  excrescences  on  his  establishment. 

Such  was  the  account  whispered  cautiously  in 
Wolfert's  ear,  by  the  narrator,  Peechy  Prauw,  as  he 
held  him  by  the  button  in  a  corner  of  the  hall,  casting 
a  wary  glance  now  and  then  towards  the  door  of  the 
bar-room,  lest  he  should  be  overheard  by  the  terrible 
hero  of  his  tale. 

Wolfert  took  his  seat  in  a  remote  part  of  the  room 
in  silence ;  impressed  with  profound  awe  of  this  un- 
known, so  versed  in  freebooting  history.  It  was  to 
him  a  wonderful  instance  of  the  revolutions  of  mighty 
empires,  to  find  the  venerable  Ramm  Rapelye  thus 
ousted  from  the  throne  ;  a  rugged  tarpaulin  dictating 
from  his  elbow  chair,  hectoring  the  patriarchs,  and 
filling  this  tranquil  little  realm  with  brawl  and 
bravado. 

The  stranger  was  on  this  evening  in  a  more  than 
usually  communicative  mood,  and  was  narrating  a 
number  of  astounding  stories  of  plunderings  and 
burnings  upon  the  high  seas.  He  dwelt  upon  them 
with  peculiar  relish,  heightening  the  frightful  par- 
ticulars in  proportion  to  their  effect  on  his  peaceful 
auditors.  He  gave  a  long  swaggering  detail  of  the 
capture  of  a  Spanish  merchantman.  She  was  laying 
becalmed  during  a  long  summer's  day,  just  off  from 
an  island  which  was  one  of  the  lurking  places  of  the 
pirates.  They  had  reconnoitred  her  with  their  spy- 
glasses from  the  shore,  and  ascertained  her  charac- 
ter and  force.  At  night  a  picked  crew  of  daring 
fellows  set  off  for  her  in  a  whale  boat.  They  ap- 
proached with  muffled  oars,  as  she  lay  rocking  idly 
with  the  undulations  of  the  sea  and  her  sails  flapping 
against  the  masts.  They  were  close  under  her  stem 
before  the  guard  on  deck  was  aware  of  their  aji- 
proach.  The  alarm  was  given  ;  the  pirates  threw 
hand  grenades  on  deck  and  sprang  up  the  main 
chains  sword  in  hand. 

The  crew  flew  to  arms,  but  in  great  confusion  ; 


422 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


some  were  shot  down,  others  took  refuge  in  the  tops ; 
others  were  driven  overboard  and  drowned,  while 
others  fouglit  hand  to  hand  from  the  main  deck  to 
the  quarter  deck,  disputing  gallantly  every  inch  of 
ground.  There  were  three  Spanish  gentlemen  on 
board  with  their  ladies,  who  made  the  most  desper- 
ate resistance ;  they  defended  the  companion-way,  cut 
down  several  of  their  assailants,  and  fought  like  very 
devils,  for  they  were  maddened  by  the  shrieks  of  the 
ladies  from  the  cabin.  One  oi"  the  Dons  was  old  and 
soon  despatched.  The  other  two  kept  their  ground 
vigourously,  even  though  the  captain  of  the  pirates 
was  among  their  assailants.  Just  then  there  was  a 
shout  of  victory  from  the  main  deck.  "  The  ship  is 
ours  !  "  cried  the  pirates. 

One  of  the  Dons  immediately  dropped  his  sword 
and  surrendered  ;  the  other,  who  was  a  hot-headed 
youngster,  and  just  married,  gave  the  captain  a  slash 
in  the  face  that  laid  all  open.  The  captain  just  made 
out  to  articulate  the  w^ords  "  no  quarter." 

"And  what  did  they  do  with  their  prisoners?" 
said  Peechy  Prauw,  eagerly. 

"  Threw  them  all  overboard  !  "  said  the  merman. 

A  dead  pause  followed  this  reply.  Peechy  Prauw 
shrunk  quietly  back  like  a  man  who  had  unwarily 
stolen  upon  the  lair  of  a  sleeping  lion.  The  honest 
burghers  cast  fearful  glances  at  the  deep  scar  slashed 
across  the  visage  of  the  stranger,  and  moved  their 
chairs  a  little  farther  off.  The  seaman,  however, 
smoked  on  without  moving  a  muscle,  as  though  he 
either  did  not  perceive  or  did  not  regard  the  unfa- 
vourable effect  he  had  produced  upon  his  hearers. 

The  half-pay  officer  was  the  first  to  break  the 
silence  ;  for  he  was  continually  tempted  to  make  in- 
effectual head  against  this  tyrant  of  the  seas,  and  to 
regain  his  lost  consequence  in  the  eyes  of  his  ancient 
companions.  He  now  tried  to  match  the  gunpowder 
tales  of  the  stranger  by  others  equally  tremendous. 
Kidd,  as  usual,  was  his  hero,  concerning  whom  he 
seemed  to  have  picked  up  many  of  the  floating  tradi- 
tions of  the  province.  The  seaman  had  always 
evinced  a  settled  pique  against  the  red-faced  war- 
rior. On  this  occasion  he  listened  with  peculiar  im- 
patience. He  sat  with  one  arm  a-kimbo,  the  other 
elbow  on  a  table,  the  hand  holding  on  to  the  small 
pipe  he  was  pettishly  puffing ;  his  legs  crossed, 
drumming  with  one  foot  on  the  groynd  and  casting 
every  now  and  then  the  side  glance  of  a  basilisk  at 
the  prosing  captain.  At  length  the  latter  spoke  of 
Kidd's  having  ascended  the  Hudson  with  some  of  his 
crew,  to  land  his  plunder  in  secrecy. 

"  Kidd  up  the  Hudson  !  "  burst  forth  the  seaman, 
with  a  tremendous  oath ;  "  Kidd  never  was  up  the 
Hudson  ! " 

"I  tell  you  he  was,"  said  the  other.  "Aye,  and 
they  say  he  buried  a  quantity  of  trea,sure  on  the  little 
flat  that  runs  out  into  the  river,  called  the  Devil's 
Dans  Kammer." 

"  The  Devil's  Dans  Kammer  in  your  teeth  !  " 
cried  the  seaman.  "  I  tell  you,  Kidd  never  was  up 
the  Hudson — what  a  plague  do  you  know  of  Kidd 
and  his  haunts  ?  " 

"  What  do  I  know  ?  "  echoed  the  half-pay  officer ; 
"  why,  I  was  in  London  at  the  time  of  his  trial,  aye, 
and  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  him  hanged  at 
Execution  Dock." 

"  Then,  sir,  let  me  tell  you  that  you  saw  as  pretty 
a  fellow  hanged  as  ever  trod  shoe  leather.  Aye  !  " 
putting  his  face  nearer  to  that  of  the  officer,  "  and 
there  was  many  a  Coward  looked  on,  that  might 
much  better  have  swung  in  his  stead." 

The  half-pay  oflicei  was  silenced ;  but  the  indig- 
nation thus  pent  up  in  his  bosom  glowed  with  intense 
vehemence  in  his  single  eye,  which  kindled  like  a 
coal. 


Peechy  Prauw,  who  never  could  remain  silent, 
now  took  up  the  word,  and  in  a  pacifying  tone  ob- 
served that  the  gentleman  certainly  was  in  tlie  right. 
Kidd  never  did  bury  money  up  the  Hudson,  nor  in- 
deed in  any  of  those  parts,  though  many  affirm  the 
fact.  It  was  Bradish  and  others  of  the  buccaneers 
who  had  buried  money,  some  said  in  Turtle  Bay, 
others  on  Long-Island,  others  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Hell  Gate.  Indeed,  added  he,  I  recollect  an  ad- 
venture of  Mud  Sam,  the  negro  fisherman,  many 
years  ago,  which  some  think  had  something  to  do 
with  the  buccaneers.  As  we  are  all  friends  here,  and 
as  it  will  go  no  farther,  I'll  tell  it  to  you. 

"  Upon  a  dark  night  many  years  ago,  as  Sam  was 
returning  from  fishmg  in  Hell  Gate — ■" 

Here  the  story  was  nipped  in  the  bud  by  a  sudden 
movement  from  the  unknown,  who,  laying  his  iron 
fist  on  the  table,  knuckles  downward,  with  a  quiet  force 
that  indented  the  very  boards,  and  looking  grimly 
over  his  shoulder,  vvith  the  grin  of  an  angry  bear. 
"  Heark'ee,  neighbour,"  said  he,  with  significant  nod- 
ding of  the  head,  "you'd  better  let  the  buccaneers 
and  their  money  alone — they're  not  for  old  men  and 
old  woinen  to  meddle  with.  They  fought  hard  for 
their  money,  they  gave  body  and  soul  for  it,  and 
wherever  it  lies  buried,  depend  upon  it  he  must  have 
a  tug  with  the  devil  who  gets  it." 

This  sudden  explosion  was  succeeded  by  a  blank 
silence  throughout  the  room.  Peechy  Prauw  shrunk 
within  himself,  and  even  the  red-faced  officer  turned 
pale.  Wolfert,  who,  from  a  dark  corner  of  the  room, 
had  listened  with  intense  eagerness  to  all  this  talk 
about  buried  treasure,  looked  with  mingled  awe  and 
reverence  on  this  bold  buccaneer,  for  such  he  really 
suspected  him  to  be.  There  was  a  chinking  of  gold 
and  a  sparkling  of  jewels  in  all  his  stories  about  the 
Spanish  Main  that  gave  a  value  to  every  period,  and 
Wolfert  would  have  given  any  thing  for  the  rummag- 
ing of  the  ponderous  sea-chest,  which  his  imagina- 
tion crammed  full  of  golden  chalices  and  crucifixes 
and  jolly  round  bags  of  doubloons. 

The  dead  stillness  that  had  fallen  upon  the  com- 
pany was  at  length  interrupted  by  the  stranger,  who 
pulled  out  a  prodigio\is  watch  of  curious  and  ancient 
workmanship,  and  which  in  Wolfert's  eyes  had  a  de- 
cidedly Spanish  look.  On  touching  a  spring  it  struck 
ten  o'clock ;  upon  which  the  sailor  called  for  his 
reckoning,  and  having  paid  it  out  of  a  handful  of 
outlandish  coin,  he  drank  off  the  remainder  of  his 
beverage,  and  without  taking  leave  of  any  one,  rolled 
out  of  the  room,  muttering  to  himself  as  he  stamped 
up-stairs  to  his  chamber. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  company  could  re- 
cover from  the  silence  into  which  they  had  been 
thrown.  The  very  footsteps  of  the  stranger,  which 
were  heard  now  and  then  as  he  traversed  his  cham- 
ber, inspired  awe. 

Still  the  conversation  in  which  they  had  been  en- 
gaged was  too  interesting  not  to  be  resumed.  A 
heavy  thunder-gust  had  gathered  up  unnoticed  while 
they  were  lost  in  talk,  and  the  torrents  of  rain 
that  fell  forbade  all  thoughts  of  setting  off  for  home 
until  the  storm  should  subside.  They  drew  nearer 
together,  therefore,  and  entreated  the  worthy  Peechy 
Prauw  to  continue  the  tale  which  had  been  so  dis- 
courteously interrupted.  He  readily  complied,  whis- 
pering, however,  in  a  tone  scarcely  above  his  breath, 
and  drowned  occasionally  by  the  rolling  of  the  thunder 
and  he  would  pause  every  now  and  then,  and  listen 
with  evident  awe,  as  he  heard  the  heavy  footsteps  of 
the  stranger  pacing  overhead. 

The  following  is  the  purport  ot  his  story. 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


423 


THE  ADVENTURE  OF  SAM,  THE  BLACK  FISH- 
ERMAN. 

COMMONLY  DENOMINATED  MUD  SAM. 


Every  body  knows  Mud  Sam,  the  old  negro  fish- 
erman who  has  fished  about  the  Sound  for  the  last 
twenty  or  thirty  years.  Well,  it  is  now  many  years 
since  that  Sam,  who  was  then  a  young  fellow,  and 
worked  on  the  farm  of  Killian  Suydam  on  Long 
Island,  having  finished  his  work  early,  was  fishing, 
one  still  summer  evening,  just  about  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Hell  Gate.  He  was  in  a  light  skiff,  and 
being  well  acquainted  with  the  currents  and  eddies, 
he  had  been  able  to  shift  his  station  with  the  shift- 
ing of  the  tide,  from  the  Hen  and  Chickens  to  the 
Hog's  back,  and  from  the  Hog's  back  to  the  Pot, 
and  from  the  Pot  to  the  Frying-pan ;  but  in  the 
eagerness  of  his  sport  Sam  did  not  see  that  the  tide 
was  rapidly  ebbing ;  until  the  roaring  of  the  whirl- 
pools and  rapids  warned  him  of  his  danger,  and  he 
had  some  difficulty  in  shooting  his  skiff  from  among 
the  rocks  and  breakers,  and  getting  to  the  point  of 
Blackwell's  Island.  Here  he  cast  anchor  for  some 
time,  waiting  the  turn  of  the  tide  to  enable  him  to 
return  homewards.  As  the  night  set  in  it  grew 
blustering  and  gusty.  Dark  clouds  came  bundling 
up  in  the  west ;  and  now  and  then  a  growl  of  thun- 
der or  a  flash  of  lightning  told  that  a  summer  storm 
was  at  hand.  Sam  pulled  over,  therefore,  under  the 
lee  of  Manhattan  Island,  and  coasting  along  came 
to  a  snug  nook,  just  under  a  steep  beetling  rock, 
where  he  fastened  his  skiff  to  the  root  of  a  tree  that 
shot  out  from  a  clelt  and  spread  its  broad  branches 
like  a  canopy  over  the  water.  The  gust  came  scour- 
ing along ;  the  wind  threw  up  the  river  in  white 
surges ;  the  rain  rattled  among  the  leaves,  the  thun- 
der bellowed  worse  than  that  which  is  now  bellow- 
ing, the  lightning  seemed  to  lick  up  the  surges  of  the 
stream  ;  but  Sam,  snugly  sheltered  under  rock  and 
tree,  lay  crouched  in  his  skiff,  rocking  upon  the  bil- 
lows until  he  fell  asleep.  When  he  awoke  all  was 
quiet.  The  gust  had  passed  away,  and  only  now 
and  then  a  faint  gleam  of  lightning  in  the  east 
showed  which  way  it  had  gone.  The  night  was 
dark  and  moonless ;  and  from  the  state  of  the  tide 
Sam  concluded  it  was  near  midnight.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  making  loose  his  skiff  to  return  home- 
wards, when  he  saw  a  light  gleaming  along  the  water 
from  a  distance,  which  seemed  rapidly  approach- 
ing. As  it  drew  near  he  perceived  it  came  from  a 
lanthorn  in  the  bow  of  a  boat  which  was  gliding 
along  under  shadow  of  the  land.  It  pulled  up  in  a 
small  cove,  close  to  where  he  was.  A  man  jumped 
on  shore,  and  searching  about  with  the  lanthorn  ex- 
claimed, "  This  is  the  place — here's  the  Iron  ring." 
The  boat  was  then  made  fast,  and  the  man  return- 
ing on  board,  assisted  his  comrades  in  conveying 
something  heavy  on  shore.  As  the  light  gleamed 
among  them,  Sam  saw  that  they  were  five  stout,  des- 
perate-looking fellows,  in  red  woollen  caps,  with  a 
leader  in  a  three-cornered  hat,  and  that  some  of 
them  were  armed  with  dirks,  or  long  knives,  and 
pistols.  They  talked  low  to  one  another,  and  occa- 
sionally in  some  outlandish  tongue  which  he  could 
not  understand. 

On  landing  they  made  their  way  among  the  bushes, 
taking  turns  to  relieve  each  other  in  lugging  their 
burthen  up  the  rocky  bank.  Sam's  curiosity  was 
now  fully  aroused,  so  leaving  his  skiff  he  clambered 
silently  up  the  ridge  that  overlooked  their  path. 
They  had  stopped  to  rest  for  a  moment,  and  the 
leader  was  looking  about  among  the  bushes  with  his 


lanthorn.  "  Have  you  brought  the  spades  ?  "  said 
one.  "  They  are  here,"  replied  another,  who  had 
them  on  his  shoulder.  "  We  must  dig  deep,  where 
there  will  be  no  risk  of  discovery,"  said  a  third. 

A  cold  chill  ran  through  Sam's  veins.  He  fancied 
he  saw  before  him  a  gang  of  murderers,  about  lo 
bury  their  victim.  His  knees  smote  together.  In 
his  agitation  he  shook  the  branch  of  a  tree  with 
which  he  was  supporting  himself  as  he  looked  over 
the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  cried  one  of  the  gang.  "  Some 
one  stirs  among  the  bushes  !  " 

The  lanthorn  was  held  up  in  the  direction  of  the 
noise.  One  of  the  red-caps  cocked  a  pistol,  and 
pointed  it  towards  the  very  place  where  Sam  was 
standing.  He  stood  motionless — breathless  ;  expect- 
ing the  next  moment  to  be  his  last.  Fortunately  his 
dnigy  complexion  was  in  his  favour,  and  made  no 
glare  among  the  leaves. 

"  'Tis  no  one,"  said  the  man  with  the  lanthorn. 
"  What  a  plague  !  you  would  not  fire  off  your  pistol 
and  alarm  the  country." 

The  pistol  was  uncocked ;  the  burthen  was  re- 
sumed, and  the  party  slowly  toiled  along  the  bank. 
Sam  watched  them  as  they  went ;  the  light  sending 
back  fitful  gleams  through  the  dripping  bushes,  and 
it  was  not  till  they  were  fairly  out  of  sight  that  he 
ventured  to  draw  breath  freely.  He  now  thought 
of  getting  back  to  his  boat,  and  making  his  escape 
out  of  the  reach  of  such  dangerous  neighbours  ;  but 
curiosity  was  all-powerful  with  poor  Sam.  He  hesi- 
tated and  lingered  and  listened.  By  and  bye  he 
heard  the  strokes  of  spades. 

"  They  are  digging  the  grave  !  "  said  he  to  him- 
self; and  the  cold  sweat  started  upon  his  forehead. 
Every  stroke  of  a  spade,  as  it  sounded  through  the 
silent  groves,  went  to  his  heart ;  it  was  evident  there 
was  as  little  noise  made  as  possible  ;  every  thing  had 
an  air  of  mystery  and  secrecy.  Sam  had  a  great 
relish  for  the  horrible, — a  tale  of  murder  was  a  treat 
for  him  ;  and  he  was  a  constant  attendant  at  execu- 
tions. He  could  not,  therefore,  resist  an  impulse,  in 
spite  of  every  danger,  to  steal  nearer,  and  overlook 
the  villains  at  their  work.  He  crawled  along  cau- 
tiously, therefore,  inch  by  inch  ;  stepping  with  the 
utmost  care  among  the  dry  leaves,  lest  their  rustling 
should  betray  him.  He  came  at  length  to  where  a 
steep  rock  intervened  between  him  and  the  gang ; 
he  saw  the  light  of  t'neir  lanthorn  shining  up  against 
the  branches  of  the  trees  on  the  other  side.  Sam 
slowly  and  silently  clambered  up  the  surface  of  the 
rock,  and  raising  his  head  above  its  naked  edge,  be- 
held the  villains  immediately  below  him,  and  so  near 
that  though  he  dreaded  discovery  he  dared  not  with- 
draw lest  the  least  movement  should  be  heard.  In 
this  way  he  remained,  with  his  round  black  face 
peering  above  the  edge  of  the  rock,  like  the  sun  just 
emerging  above  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  or  the 
round-cheeked  moon  on  the  dial  of  a  clock. 

The  red-caps  had  nearly  finished  their  work ;  the 
grave  was  filled  up,  and  they  were  carefully  replacing 
the  turf  This  done,  they  scattered  dry  leaves  over 
the  place.  "  And  now,"  said  the  leader,  "  I  defy  the 
devil  himself  to  find  it  out." 

"  The  murderers  !  "  exclaimed  Sam,  involuntarily. 
The  whole  gang  started,  and  looking  up,  beheld 
the  round,  black  head  of  Sam  just  above  them.  His 
white  eyes  strained  half  out  of  their  orbits  ;  his  white 
teeth  chattering,  and  his  whole  visage  shining  with 
cold  perspiration. 

"  We're  discovered  !  "  cried  one. 
"  Down  with  him  I  "  cried  another. 
Sam  heard  the  cocking  of  a  pistol,  but  did  not 
pause  for  the  report.     He  scrambled  over  rock  and 
stone,  through  bush  and  briar ;  rolled  down  banks  like 


424 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


a  hedge-hogf ;  scrambled  up  others  like  a  catamount. 
In  every  direction  he  heard  some  one  or  other  of  the 
gang-  hemming  him  in.  At  length  he  reached  the 
rocky  ridge  along  the  river;  one  of  the  red-caps  was 
hard  behind  him.  A  steep  rock  like  a  wall  rose  di- 
rectly in  his  way  ;  it  seemed  to  cut  off  all  retreat, 
when  he  espied  the  strong  cord-like  branch  of  a 
grape-vine,  reaching  half  way  down  it.  He  sprang 
at  it  with  the  force  of  a  desperate  man,  seized  it  with 
both  hands,  and  being  young  and  agile,  succeeded  in 
swinging  himself  to  the  summit  of  the  cliff.  Here  he 
stood  in  full  relief  against  the  sky,  when  the  red-cap 
cocked  his  pistol  and  fired.  The  ball  whistled  by 
Sam's  head.  With  the  lucky  thought  of  a  man  in  an 
emergency,  he  uttered  a  yell,  fell  to  the  ground,  and 
detacfied  at  the  same  time  a  fragment  of  the  rock, 
which  tumbled  with  a  loud  splash  into  the  river. 

"  I've  done  his  business,"  said  the  red-cap,  to  one 
or  two  of  his  comrades  as  they  arrived  panting. 
"He'll  tell  no  tales,  except  to  the  nshes  in  the  river." 

His  pursuers  now  turned  off  to  meet  their  com- 
panions. Sam  sliding  silently  down  the  surface  of 
the  rock,  let  himself  quietly  into  his  skiff,  cast  loose 
the  fastening,  and  abandoned  himself  to  the  rapid 
current,  which  in  that  place  runs  like  a  mill-stream, 
and  soon  swept  him  off  from  the  neighbourhood.  It 
was  not,  however,  until  he  had  drifted  a  great  dis- 
tance that  he  ventured  to  ply  his  oars ;  when  he 
made  his  skiff  dart  like  an  arrow  through  the  strait 
of  Hell  Gate,  never  heeding  the  danger  of  Pot,  Fry- 
ing-pan, or  Hog's-back  itself;  nor  did  he  feel  him- 
self thoroughly  secure  until  safely  nestled  in  bed  in 
the  cockloft  of  the  ancient  farm-house  of  the  Suy- 
dams. 

Here  the  worthy  Peechy  paused  to  take  breath 
and  to  take  a  sip  of  the  gossip  tankard  that  stood  at 
his  elbow.  His  auditors  remained  with  open  mouths 
and  outstretched  necks,  gaping  like  a  nest  of  swal- 
lows for  an  additional  mouthful. 

"And  is  that  all  ?  "  exclaimed  the  half-pay  officer. 

"  That's  all  that  belongs  to  the  story,"  said  Peechy 
Prauw. 

"  And  did  Sam  never  find  out  what  was  buried  by 
the  red-caps?"  said  Wolfert,  eagerly;  whose  mind 
was  haunted  by  nothing  but  ingots  and  doubloons. 

"Not  that  I  know  of;  he  had  no  time  to  spare 
from  his  work;  and  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not  like 
to  run  the  risk  of  another  race  among  the  rocks.  Be- 
sides, how  should  he  recollect  the  spot  where  the 
grave  had  been  digged  ?  every  thing  would  look  dif- 
ferent by  daylight.  And  then,  where  was  the  use 
of  looking  for  a  dead  body,  when  there  was  no 
chance  of  hanging  the  murderers.'' " 

"Aye,  but  are  you  sure  it  was  a  dead  body  they 
buried  .■'  "  said  Wolfert. 

"To  be  sure,"  cried  Peechy  Prauw,  exultingly. 
"  Does  it  not  haunt  in  the  neighbourhood  to  this 
very  day  ?  " 

"  Haunts  !  "  exclaimed  several  of  the  party,  open- 
ing their  eyes  still  wider  and  edging  their  chairs  still 
closer. 

"  Aye,  haunts,"  repeated  Peechy  ;  "  has  none  of 
you  heard  of  father  red-cap  that  haunts  the  old  burnt 
farm-house  in  the  woods,  on  the  border  of  the  Sound, 
near  Hell  Gate  ?  " 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,  I've  heard  tell  of  something 
of  the  kind,  but  then  I  took  it  for  some  old  wives' 
fable." 

"Old  wives'  fable  or  not,"  said  Peechy  Prauw, 
"that  farm-house  stands  hard  by  the  very  spot.  It's 
been  unoccupied  time  out  of  mind,  and  stands  in  a 
wild,  lonely  part  of  the  coast ;  but  those  who  fish  in 
the  neighbourhood  have  often  heard  strange  noises 
there ;  and  lights  have  been  seen  about  the  wood  at 
night ;  and  an  old  fellow  in  a  red  cap  has  been  seen 


at  the  windows  more  than  once,  which  people  take 
to  be  the  ghost  of  the  body  that  was  buried  there. 
Once  upon  a  time  three  soldiers  took  shelter  in  the 
building  for  the  night,  and  rummaged  it  from  top  to 
bottom,  when  they  found  old  father  red-cap  astride 
of  a  cider-barrel  in  the  cellar,  with  a  jug  in  one  hand 
and  a  goblet  in  the  other.  He  offered  them  a  drink 
out  of  his  goblet,  but  just  as  one  of  the  soldiers  was 
putting  it  to  his  mouth — Whew  !  a  flash  of  fire 
blazed  through  the  cellar,  blinded  every  m.other's 
son  of  them  for  several  minutes,  and  when  they  re- 
covered their  eye-sight,  jug,  goblet,  and  red-cap  had 
vanished,  and  nothing  but  the  empty  cider-barrel  re- 
mained." 

Here  the  half-pay  officer,  who  was  growing  very 
muzzy  and  sleepy,  and  nodding  over  his  liquor,  with 
half-extinguished  eye,  suddenly  gleamed  up  like  an 
expiring  rushlight. 

"  That's  all  humbug  ! "  said  he,  as  Peechy  finished 
his  last  story. 

"  Well,  I  don't  vouch  for  the  truth  of  it  myself," 
said  Peechy  Prauw,  "  though  all  the  world  knows 
that  there's  something  strange  about  the  house  and 
grounds ;  but  as  to  the  story  of  jMud  Sam,  I  believe 
it  just  as  well  as  if  it  had  happened  to  myself." 

The  deep  interest  taken  in  this  conversation  by 
the  company,  had  made  them  unconscious  of  the  up- 
roar that  prevailed  abroad  among  the  elements, 
when  suddenly  they  were  all  electrified  by  a  tre- 
mendous clap  of  thunder.  A  lumbering  crash  fol- 
lowed instantaneously  that  made  the  building  shake 
to  its  foundation.  All  started  from  their  seats, 
imagining  it  the  shock  of  an  earthquake,  or  that  old 
father  red-cap  was  coming  among  them  in  all  his 
terrors.  They  listened  for  a  moment,  but  only  heard 
the  rain  pelting  against  the  windows,  and  the  wind 
howling  among  the  trees.  The  explosion  was  soon 
explained  by  tlie  apparition  of  an  old  negro's  bald 
head  thrust  in  at  the  door,  his  white  goggle  eyes 
contrasting  with  his  jetty  poll,  which  was  wet  with 
rain  and  shone  like  a  bottle.  In  a  jargon  but  half 
intelligible  he  announced  that  the  kitchen  chimney 
had  been  struck  with  lightning. 

A  sullen  pause  of  the  storm,  which  now  rose  and 
sunk  in  gusts,  produced  a  momentary  stillness.  In 
this  interval  the  report  of  a  musket  was  heard,  and 
a  long  shout,  almost  like  a  yell,  resounded  from  the 
shore.  Every  one  crowded  to  the  window ;  another 
musket  shot  was  heard,  and  another  long  shout, 
that  mingled  wildly  with  a  rising  blast  of  wind.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  cry  came  up  from  the  bosom  of 
the  waters ;  for  though  incessant  flashes  of  light- 
ning spread  a  light  about  the  shore,  no  one  was  to 
be  seen. 

Suddenly  the  window  of  the  room  overhead  was 
opened,  and  a  loud  halloo  uttered  by  the  mysterious 
stranger.  Several  bailings  passed  from  one  party  to 
the  other,  but  in  a  language  which  none  of  the  com- 
pany in  the  bar-room  could  understand ;  and  present- 
ly they  heard  the  window  closed,  and  a  great  noise 
overhead  as  if  all  the  furniture  were  pulled  and 
hauled  about  the  room.  The  negro  servant  was 
summoned,  and  shortly  after  was  seen  assisting  the 
veteran  to  lug  the  ponderous  sea-chest  down-stairs. 

The  landlord  was  in  amazement.  "  What,  you 
are  not  going  on  the  water  in  such  a  storm  ?  " 

"  Storm  !  "  said  the  other,  scornfully,  "  do  you  call 
such  a  sputter  of  weather  a  storm  ?  " 

"  You'll  get  drenched  to  the  skin — You'll  catch 
your  death  ! "  said  Peechy  Prauw,  affectionately. 

"  Thunder  and  lightning !  "  exclaimed  the  merman, 
"don't  preach  about  weather  to  a  man  that  has 
cruised  in  whirlwinds  and  tornadoes." 

The  obsequious  Peechy  was  again  struck  dumb. 
The  voice  from  the  water  was  again  heard  in  a  tone 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


425 


of  impatience  ;  the  bystanders  stared  with  redoubled 
awe  at  this  man  of  storms,  which  seemed  to  have 
come  up  out  of  the  deep  and  to  be  called  back  to  it 
again.  As,  with  the  assistance  of  the  negro,  he 
slowly  bore  his  ponderous  sea-chest  towards  the 
shore,  they  eyed  it  with  a  superstitious  feeling;  half 
doubting  whether  he  were  not  really  about  to  em- 
bark upon  it,  and  launch  forth  upon  the  wild  waves. 
They  followed  him  at  a  distance  with  a  lanthorn. 

"  Douse  the  light ! "  roared  the  hoarse  voice  from 
the  water.     "  No  one  wants  lights  here  !  " 

"  Thunder  and  lightning ! "  exclaimed  the  veteran  ; 
"  back  to  the  house  with  you  !  " 

Wolfert  and  his  companions  shrunk  back  in  dis- 
may. Still  their  curiosity  would  not  allow  them  en- 
tirely to  withdraw.  A  long  sheet  of  lightning  now 
flickered  across  the  waves,  and  discovered  a  boat, 
filled  with  men,  just  under  a  rocky  point,  rising  and 
sinking  with  the  heaving  surges,  and  swashing  the 
water  at  every  heave.  It  was  with  difficulty  held  to 
the  rocks  by  a  boat  hook,  for  the  current  rushed 
furiously  round  the  point.  The  veteran  hoisted  one 
end  of  the  lumbering  sea-chest  on  the  gunwale  of 
the  boat ;  he  seized  the  handle  at  the  other  end  to 
lift  it  in,  when  the  motion  propelled  the  boat  from 
the  shore ;  the  chest  slipped  off  from  the  gunwale, 
sunk  into  the  waves,  and  pulled  the  veteran  head- 
long after  it.  A  loud  shriek  was  uttered  by  all  on 
shore,  and  a  volley  of  execrations  by  those  on  board  ; 
but  boat  and  man  were  hurried  away  by  the  rushing 
swiftness  of  the  tide.  A  pitchy  darkness  succeeded  ; 
Wolfert  Webber  indeed  fancied  that  he  distinguished 
a  cry  for  help,  and  that  he  beheld  the  drowning  man 
beckoning  for  assistance  ;  but  when  the  lightning 
again  gleamed  along  the  water  all  was  drear  and 
void.  Neither  man  nor  boat  was  to  be  seen  ;  noth- 
ing but  the  dashing  and  weltering  of  the  waves  as 
they  hurried  past. 

The  company  returned  to  the  tavern,  for  they 
could  not  leave  it  before  the  storm  should  subside. 
They  resumed  their  seats  and  gazed  on  each  other 
with  dismay.  The  whole  transaction  had  not  occu- 
pied five  miTiutes  and  not  a  dozen  words  had  been 
spoken.  When  they  looked  at  the  oaken  chair  they 
could  scarcely  realize  the  fact  that  the  strange  being 
who  had  so  lately  tenanted  it,  full  of  life  and  Hercu- 
lean vigour,  should  already  be  a  corpse.  There  was 
the  very  glass  he  had  just  drunk  from  ;  there  lay  the 
ashes  from  the  pipe  which  he  had  smoked  as  it  were 
with  his  last  breath.  As  the  worthy  burghers  pon- 
dered on  these  things,  they  felt  a  terrible  conviction 
of  the  uncertainty  of  human  existence,  and  each  felt 
as  if  the  ground  on  which  he  stood  was  rendered 
less  stable  by  this  awful  example. 

As,  however,  the  most  of  the  company  were  pos- 
sessed of  that  valuable  philosophy  which  enables  a 
man  to  bear  up  with  fortitude  against  the  misfortunes 
of  his  neighbours,  they  soon  managed  to  console 
themselves  for  the  tragic  end  of  the  veteran.  The 
landlord  was  happy  that  the  poor  dear  man  had  paid 
his  reckoning  before  he  went. 

"  He  came  in  a  storm,  and  he  went  in  a  storm  ;  he 
came  in  the  night,  and  he  went  in  the  night ;  he 
came  nobody  knows  from  whence,  and  he  has  gone 
nobody  knows  where.  For  aught  I  know  he  has 
gone  to  sea  once  more  on  his  chest  and  may  land  to 
bother  some  people  on  the  other  side  of  the  world  ! 
Though  it's  a  thousand  pities,"  added  the  landlord, 
"  if  he  has  gone  to  Davy  Jones  that  he  had  not  left 
his  sea-chest  behind  him." 

"The  sea-chest !  St.  Nicholas  preserve  us  !  "  said 
Peechy  Prauw.  "  I'd  not  have  had  that  sea-chest  in 
the  house  for  any  money;  I'll  warrant  he'd  come 
racketing  after  it  at  nights,  and  making  a  haunted 
house  of  the  inn.    And  as  to  his  going  to  sea  on  his 


chest,  I  recollect  what  happened  to  Skipper  Onder- 
donk's  ship  on  his  vogage  from  Amsterdam. 

"  The  boatswain  died  during  a  storm,  so  they 
wrapped  him  up  in  a  sheet,  and  put  him  in  his  own 
sea-chest,  and  threw  him  overboard ;  but  they  neg- 
lected in  their  hurry-skurry  to  say  prayers  over  him 
— and  the  storm  raged  and  roared  louder  than  ever, 
and  they  saw  the  dead  man  seated  in  his  chest,  with 
his  shroud  for  a  sail,  coming  hard  after  the  ship ; 
and  the  sea  breaking  before  him  in  great  sprays  like 
tire,  and  there  they  kept  scudding  day  after  day  and 
night  after  night,  expecting  every  moment  to  go  to 
wreck ;  and  every  night  they  saw  the  dead  boat- 
swain in  his  sea-chest  trying  to  get  up  v;ith  them, 
and  they  heard  his  whistle  above  the  blasts  of  wind, 
and  he  seemed  to  send  great  seas  mountain  high 
after  them,  that  would  have  swamped  the  ship  if 
they  had  not  put  up  the  dead  lights.  And  so  it  went 
on  till  they  lost  sight  of  him  in  the  fogs  of  Newfound- 
land, and  supposed  he  had  veered  ship  and  stood 
for  Dead  Man's  Isle.  So  much  for  burying  a  man 
at  sea  without  saying  prayers  over  him." 

The  thunder-gust  which  had  hitherto  detained  the 
company  was  now  at  an  end.  The  cuckoo  clock  in 
the  hall  struck  midnight ;  every  one  pressed  to  depart, 
for  seldom  was  such  a  late  hour  trespassed  on  by  these 
quiet  burghers.  As  they  sallied  forth  they  found  the 
heavens  once  more  serene.  The  storm  which  had 
lately  obscured  them  had  rolled  away,  and  lay  piled 
up  in  fleecy  masses  on  the  horizon,  lighted  up  by  the 
bright  crescent  of  the  moon,  which  looked  like  a 
silver  lamp  hung  up  in  a  palace  of  clouds. 

The  dismal  occurrence  of  the  night,  and  the  dis- 
mal narrations  they  had  made,  had  left  a  supersti- 
tious feeling  in  every  mind.  They  cast  a  fearful 
glance  at  the  spot  where  the  buccaneer  had  disap- 
peared, almost  expecting  to  see  him  sailing  on  his 
chest  in  the  cool  moonshine.  The  trembling  rays 
glittered  along  the  waters,  but  all  was  placid ;  and 
the  current  dimpled  over  the  spot  where  he  had 
gone  down.  The  party  huddled  together  in  a  little 
crowd  as  they  repaired  homewards ;  particularly 
when  they  passed  a  lonely  field  where  a  man  had 
been  murdered  ;  and  he  who  had  farthest  to  go  and 
had  to  complete  his  journey  alone,  though  a  veteran 
sexton,  and  accustomed,  one  would  think,  to  ghosts 
and  goblins,  yet  went  a  long  way  round,  rather  than 
pass  by  his  own  church-yard. 

Wolfert  Webber  had  now  carried  home  a  fresh 
stock  of  stories  and  notions  to  ruminate  upon.  His 
mind  was  all  of  a  whirl  with  these  freebooting  tales  ; 
and  then  these  accounts  of  pots  of  money  and  Span- 
ish treasures,  buried  here  and  there  and  every  where 
about  the  rocks  and  bays  of  this  wild  shore,  made 
him  almost  dizzy. 

"  Blessed  St.  Nicholas  ! "  ejaculated  he,  half  aloud, 
"  is  it  not  possible  to  come  upon  one  of  these  golden 
hoards,  and  so  make  one's  self  rich  in  a  twinkling. 
How  hard  that  I  must  go  on,  delving  and  delving, 
day  in  and  day  out,  merely  to  make  a  morsel  of 
bread,  when  one  lucky  stroke  of  a  spade  might  en- 
able me  to  ride  in  my  carriage  for  the  rest  of  my 
hfe  ! " 

As  he  turned  over  in  his  thoughts  all  that  had 
been  told  of  the  singular  adventure  of  the  black 
fisherman,  his  imagination  gave  a  totally  different 
complexion  to  the  tale.  He  saw  in  the  gang  of  red- 
caps nothing  but  a  crew  of  pirates  burying  their 
spoils,  and  his  cupidity  was  once  tnore  awakened  by 
the  possibility  of  at  length  getting  on  the  traces  of 
some  of  this  lurking  wealth.  Indeed,  his  infected 
fancy  tinged  every  thing  with  gold.  He  (elt  like  the 
greedy  inhabitant  of  Bagdad,  when  his  eye  had  been 
greased  with  the  magic  ointment  of  the  dervise,  that 
gave  him  to  see  all  the  treasures  of  the  earth.     Cas- 


426 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


kets  of  buried  jewels,  chests  of  ingots,  bags  of  out- 
landish coins,  seemed  to  court  him  from  their  con- 
cealments, and  supplicate  him  to  relieve  them  from 
their  untimely  graves. 

On  making  private  inquiries  about  the  grounds 
said  to  be  haunted  by  father  red-cap,  he  was  more 
and  more  confirmed  in  his  surmise.  He  learned  that 
the.  place  had  several  times  been  visited  by  experi- 
enced money-diggers,  who  had  heard  Mud  Sam's 
story,  though  none  of  them  had  met  with  success. 
On  the  contrary,  they  had  always  been  dogged  with 
id  luck  of  some  kind  or  other,  in  consequence,  as 
Wolfert  concluded,  of  their  not  going  to  work  at  the 
proper  time,  and  with  the  proper  ceremonials.  The 
last  attempt  had  been  made  by  Cobus  Quackenbos, 
who  dug  for  a  whole  night  and  met  with  incredible 
difficulty,  for  as  fast  as  he  threw  one  shovel  full  of 
earth  out  of  the  hole,  two  were  thrown  in  by  invisi- 
ble hands.  He  succeeded  so  far,  however,  as  to  un- 
cover an  iron  chest,  when  there  was  a  terrible  roar- 
ing, and  ramping,  and  raging  of  uncouth  figures 
about  the  hole,  and  at  length  a  shower  of  blows, 
dealt  by  invisible  cudgels,  that  fairly  belaboured  him 
off  the  forbidden  ground.  This  Cobus  Quackenbos 
had  declared  on  his  death-bed,  so  that  there  could 
not  be  any  doubt  of  it.  He  was  a  man  that  had 
devoted  many  years  of  his  life  to  money-digging,  and 
it  was  thought  would  have  ultimately  succeeded,  had 
he  not  died  suddenly  of  a  brain  fever  in  the  alms-house. 

Wolfert  Webber  was  now  in  a  worry  of  trepida- 
tion and  impatience  ;  fearful  lest  some  rival  advent- 
urer should  get  a  scent  of  the  buried  gold.  He 
determined  privately  to  seek  out  the  negro  fisher- 
man and  get  him  to  serve  as  guide  to.  the  place 
where  he  had  witnessed  the  mysterious  scene  of 
interment.  Sam  was  easily  found  ;  for  he  was  one 
of  those  old  habitual  beings  that  live  about  a  neigh- 
bourhood until  they  wear  themselves  a  place  in  the 
public  mind,  and  become,  in  a  manner,  public  char- 
acters. There  was  not  an  unlucky  urchin  about 
town  that  did  not  know  Mud  Sam  the  fisherman, 
and  think  that  he  had  a  right  to  play  his  tricks  upon 
the  old  negro.  Sam  was  an  amphibious  kind  of 
animal,  something  more  of  a  fish  than  a  man  ;  he  had 
led  the  life  of  an  otter  for  more  than  half  a  century, 
about  the  shores  of  the  bay,  and  the  fishing  grounds 
of  the  Sound.  He  passed  the  greater  part  of  his 
time  on  and  in  the  water,  particularly  about  Hell 
Gate ;  and  might  have  been  taken,  in  bad  weather, 
for  one  of  the  hobgoblins  that  used  to  haunt  that 
strait.  There  would  he  be  seen,  at  all  times,  and  in 
all  weathers ;  sometimes  in  his  skiff,  anchored  among 
the  eddies,  or  prowling,  like  a  shark,  about  some 
wreck,  where  the  fish  are  supposed  to  be  most 
abundant.  Sometimes  seated  on  a  rock  from  hour 
to  hour,  looming  through  mist  and  drizzle,  like  a 
solitary  heron  watching  for  its  prey.  He  was  well 
acquainted  with  every  hole  and  corner  of  the  Sound  ; 
from  the  Wallabout  to  Hell  Gate,  and  from  Hell 
Gate  even  unto  the  Devil's  Stepping  Stones  ;  and  it 
was  even  affirmed  that  he  knew  all  the  fish  in  the 
river  by  their  christian  names. 

Wolfert  found  him  at  his  cabin,  which  was  not 
much  larger  than  a  tolerable  dog-house.  It  was  rudely 
constructed  of  fragments  of  wrecks  and  drift-wood, 
and  built  on  the  rocky  shore,  at  the  foot  of  the  old 
fjrt,  just  about  what  at  present  forms  the  point  of 
the  Battery.  A  "  most  ancient  and  fish-like  smell " 
pervaded  the  place.  Oars,  paddles,  and  fishing-rods 
were  leaning  against  the  wall  of  the  fort ;  a  net 
was  spread  on  the  sands  to  dry ;  a  skiff  was  drawn 
up  on  the  beach,  and  at  the  door  of  his  cabin  lay 
Mud  Sam  himself,  indulging  in  a  true  negro's  luxury 
— sleeping  in  the  sunshine. 

Many  years  had  passed  away  since  the  time  of 


Sam's  youthful  adventure,  and  the  snows  of  many  a 
winter  had  grizzled  the  knotty  wool  upon  his  head. 
He  perfectly  recollected  the  circumstances,  however, 
for  he  had  often  been  called  upon  to  relate  them, 
though  in  his  version  of  the  story  he  differed  in  many 
points  from  Peechy  Prauvv ;  as  is  not  unfrequently 
the  case  with  authentic  historians.  As  to  the  sub- 
sequent researches  of  money-diggers,  Sam  knew 
nothing  about  them  ;  they  were  matters  quite  out  ot 
his  Hne ;  neither  did  the  cautious  Wolfert  care  to 
disturb  his  thoughts  on  that  point.  His  only  wish 
was  to  secure  the  old  fisherman  as  a  pilot  to  the  spot, 
and  this  was  readily  effected.  The  long  time  that 
had  intervened  since  his  nocturnal  adventure  had 
effaced  all  Sam's  awe  of  the  place,  and  the  promise 
of  a  trifling  reward  roused  him  at  once  from  his 
sleep  and  his  sunshine. 

The  tide  was  adverse  to  making  the  expedition  by 
water,  and  Wolfert  was  too  impatient  to  get  to  the 
land  of  promise,  to  wait  for  its  turning ;  they  set  off, 
therefore,  by  land.  A  walk  of  four  or  five  miles 
brought  them  to  the  edge  of  a  wood,  which  at 
that  time  covered  the  greater  part  of  the  eastern 
side  of  the  island.  It  was  just  beyond  the  pleasant 
region  of  Bloomen-dael.  Here  they  struck  into  a 
long  lane,  straggling  among  trees  and  bushes,  very 
much  overgrown  with  weeds  and  mullein  stalks  as  if 
but  seldom  used,  and  so  completely  overshadowed 
as  to  enjoy  but  a  kind  of  twilight.  Wild  vines  en- 
tangled the  trees  and  flaunted  in  their  faces  ;  bram- 
bles and  briars  caught  their  clothes  as  they  passed  ; 
the  garter-snake  glided  across  their  path  ;  the  spot- 
ted toad  hopped  and  waddled  before  them,  and  the 
restless  cat-bird  mewed  at  them  from  every  thicket. 
Had  Wolfert  Webber  been  deeply  read  in  romantic 
legend  he  might  have  fancied  himself  entering  upon 
forbidden,  enchanted  ground  ;  or  that  these  were 
some  of  the  guardians  set  to  keep  a  watch  upon  buried 
treasure.  As  it  was,  the  loneliness  of  the  place,  and 
the  vkiild  stories  connected  with  it,  had  their  effect 
upon  his  mind. 

On  reaching  the  lower  end  of  the  lane  they  found 
themselves  near  the  shore  of  the  Sound,  in  a  kind  of 
amphitheatre,  surrounded  by  forest  trees.  The  area 
had  once  been  a  grass-plot,  but  was  now  shagged 
with  briars  and  rank  weeds.  At  one  end,  and  just 
on  the  river  bank,  was  a  ruined  building,  little  better 
than  a  heap  of  rubbish,  with  a  stack  of  chimneys 
rising  like  a  solitary  tower  out  of  the  centre.  The 
current  of  the  Sound  rushed  along  just  below  it; 
with  wildly-grown  trees  drooping  their  branches  into 
its  waves. 

Wolfert  had  not  a  doubt  that  this  was  the  haunted 
house  of  lather  red-cap,  and  called  to  mind  the 
story  of  Peechy  Prauw.  The  evening  was  approach- 
ing, and  the  light  falling-  dubiously  among  these 
places,  gave  a  melancholy  tone  to  the  scene,  well 
calculated  to  foster  any  lurking  leeling  of  awe  or 
superstition.  The  night-hawk,  wheeling  about  in 
the  highest  regions  of  the  air,  emitted  his  peevish, 
boding  cry.  The  woodpecker  gave  a  lonely  tap  now 
and  then  on  some  hollow  tree,  and  the  fire-bird,*  as 
he  streamed  by  them  with  his  deep-red  plumage, 
seemed  like  some  genius  flitting  about  this  region  of 
mystery. 

They  now  came  to  an  -inclosure  that  had  once 
been  a  garden.  It  extended  along  the  foot  of  a 
rocky  ridge,  but  was  little  better  than  a  wilderness 
of  weeds,  with  here  and  there  a  matted  rose-bush, 
or  a  peach  or  plum  tree  grown  wild  and  ragged,  and 
covered  with  moss.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  garden 
they  passed  a  kind  of  vault  in  the  side  of  the  bank, 
facing  the  water.     It  had  the  look  of  a  root-house. 


*  Orchard  Creole. 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


427 


The  door,  though  decayed,  was  still  strong,  and  ap- 
peared to  have  been  recently  patched  up.  Wolfert 
pushed  it  open.  It  gave  a  harsh  grating  upon  its 
hinges,  and  striking  against  something  like  a  box,  a 
rattling  sound  ensued,  and  a  skull  rolled  on  the  floor. 
Wolfert  drew  back  shuddering,  but  was  reassured  on 
being  informed  by  Sam  that  this  was  a  family  vault 
belonging  to  one  of  the  old  Dutch  families  that  own- 
ed this  estate  ;  an  assertion  which  was  corroborated 
by  the  sight  of  coffins  of  various  sizes  piled  within. 
Sam  had  been  familiar  with  all  these  scenes  when  a 
boy,  and  now  knew  that  he  could  not  be  far  from  the 
place  of  which  they  were  in  quest. 

They  now  made  their  way  to  the  water's  edge, 
scrambling  along  ledges  of  rocks,  and  having  often 
to  hold  by  shrubs  and  grape-vines  to  avoid  slipping 
into  the  deep  and  hurried  stream.  At  length  they 
came  to  a  small  cove,  or  rather  indent  of  the  shore. 
It  was  protected  by  steep  rocks  and  overshadowed 
by  a  thick  copse  of  oaks  and  chestnuts,  so  as  to  be 
sheltered  and  almost  concealed.  The  beach  sloped 
gradually  within  the  cove,  but  the  current  swept 
deep  and  black  and  rapid  along  its  jutting  points. 
Sam  paused ;  raised  his  remnant  of  a  hat,  and 
scratclied  his  grizzled  poll  for  a  moment,  as  he  re- 
garded this  nook  :  then  suddenly  clapping  his  hands, 
he  stepped  exultingly  forward,  and  pointed  to  a  large 
iron  ring,  stapled  firmly  in  the  rock,  just  where  a 
broad  shelve  of  stone  furnished  a  commodious  land- 
ing-place. It  was  the  very  spot  where  the  red-caps 
had  landed.  Years  had  changed  the  more  perishable 
features  of  the  scene  ;  but  rock  and  iron  yield  slowly 
to  the  influence  of  time.  On  looking  more  narrowly, 
Wolfert  remarked  three  crosses  cut  in  the  rock  just 
above  the  ring,  which  had  no  doubt  some  mysterious 
signification.  Old  Sam  now  readily  recognized  the 
overhanging  rock  under  which  his  skiff  had  been 
sheltered  during  the  thunder-gust.  To  follow  up 
the  course  which  the  midnight  gang  had  taken,  how- 
ever, was  a  harder  task.  His  mind  had  been  so 
much  taken  up  on  that  eventful  occasion  by  the  per- 
sons of  the  drama,  as  to  pay  hut  little  attention  to  the 
scenes;  and  places  look  different  by  night  and  day. 
After  wandering  about  for  soine  time,  however,  they 
came  to  an  opening  among  the  trees  which  Sam 
thought  resembled  the  place.  There  was  a  ledge 
of  rock  of  moderate  height  like  a  wall  on  one  side, 
which  Sam  thought  might  be  the  very  ridge  from 
which  he  overlooked  the  diggers.  Wolfert  examined 
it  narrowly,  and  at  length  described  three  crosses 
similar  to  those  above  the  iron  ring,  cut  deeply  into 
the  face  of  the  rock,  but  nearly  obliterated  by  the 
moss  that  had  gro-vn  on  them.  His  heart  leaped 
with  joy,  for  he  doubted  not  but  they  were  the  pri- 
vate marks  of  the  buccaneers,  to  denote  the  places 
where  their  treasure  lay  buried.  All  now  that  re- 
mained was  to  ascertain  the  precise  spot ;  for  other- 
wise he  might  dig  at  random  without  coming  upon 
the  spoil,  and  he  had  already  had  enough  of  such 
prohtless  labour.  Here,  however,  Sam  was  perfectly 
at  a  loss,  and,  indeed,  perplexed  him  by  a  variety  of 
opinions ;  for  his  recollections  were  all  contused. 
Sometimes  he  declared  it  inust  have  been  at  the  foot 
of  a  inulberry  tree  hard  by ;  then  it  was  just  beside 
a  great  white  stone  ;  then  it  must  have  been  under 
a  small  green  knoll,  a  short  distance  from  the  ledge 
of  rock ;  until  at  length  Woltert  became  as  bewil- 
dered as  hiinself. 

The  shadows  of  evening  were  now  spreading  them- 
selves over  the  woods,  and  rock  and  tree  began  to 
mingle  together.  It  was  evidently  too  late  to  attempt 
any  thing  farther  at  present ;  and,  indeed,  Wolfert 
had  come  unprepared  with  implements  to  prosecute 
his  researches.  Satisfied,  therefore,  with  having  as- 
certained the  place,  he  took  note  of  all  its  landmarks, 


that  he  might  recognize  it  again,  and  set  out  on  his 
return  homeward,  resolved  to  prosecute  this  golden 
enterprise  without  delay. 

The  leading  anxiety  which  had  hitherto  absorbed 
every  feeling  being  now  in  some  measure  appeased, 
fancy  began  to  wander,  and  to  conjure  up  a  thousand 
shapes  and  chimeras  as  he  returned  through  this 
haunted  region.  Pirates  hanging  in  chains  seemed 
to  swing  on  every  tree,  and  he  almost  expected  to 
see  some  Spanish  Don,  with  his  throat  cut  from  ear 
to  ear,  rising  slowly  out  of  the  ground,  and  shaking 
the  ghost  of  a  money-bag. 

Their  way  back  lay  through  the  desolate  garden, 
and  Wolfert's  nerves  had  arrived  at  so  sensitive  a 
state  that  the  flitting  of  a  bird,  the  rustling  of  a  leaf, 
or  the  falling  of  a  nut  was  enough  to  startle  him.  As 
they  entered  the  confines  of  the  garden,  they  caught 
sight  of  a  figure  at  a  distance  advancing  slowly  up 
one  of  the  walks  and  bending  under  the  weight  of  a 
burthen.  They  paused  and  regarded  him  attentively. 
He  wore  what  appeared  to  be  a  woollen  cap,  and 
still  more  alarming,  of  a  most  sanguinary  red.  The 
figure  moved  slowly  on,  ascended  the  bank,  and 
stopped  at  the  very  door  of  the  sepulchral  vault. 
Just  before  entering  it  he  looked  around.  What  was 
the  horror  of  W'olfert  when  he  recognized  the  grizzly 
visage  of  the  drowned  buccaneer.  He  uttered  an 
ejaculation  of  horror.  The  figure  slowly  raised  his 
iron  fist  and  shook  it  with  a  terrible  menace.  Wol- 
fert did  not  pause  to  see  more,  but  hurried  off  as 
fast  as  his  legs  could  carry  him,  nor  was  Sam  slow 
in  following  at  his  heels,  having  all  his  ancient  ter- 
rors revived.  Away,  then,  did  they  scramble,  through 
bush  and  brake,  horribly  frightened  at  every  bramble 
that  tagged  at  their  skirts,  nor  did  they  pause  to 
breathe,  until  they  had  blundered  th<"'"  way  through 
this  perilous  wood  and  had  fairly  'cached  the  high- 
road to  the  city. 

Several  days  elapsed  before  Wolfert  could  sum- 
mon courage  enough  to  prosecute  the  enterprise,  so 
much  had  he  been  dismayed  by  the  apparition, 
whether  living  or  dead,  of  the  grizzly  buccaneer.  In 
the  meantime,  what  a  conflict  of  mind  did  he  suffer  ! 
He  neglected  all  his  concerns,  was  moody  and  rest- 
less all  day,  lost  his  appetite ;  wandered  in  his 
thoughts  and  words,  and  committed  a  thousand 
blunders.  His  rest  was  broken;  and  when  he  fell 
asleep,  the  nightmare,  in  shape  of  a  huge  money-bag, 
sat  squatted  upon  his  breast.  He  babbled  about  in- 
calculable sums  ;  fancied  himself  engaged  in  money- 
digging;  threw  the  bed-clothes  right  and  left,  in  the 
idea  that  he  was  shovelling-  among  the  dirt,  groped 
under  the  bed  in  quest  ol  the  treasure,  and  lugged 
forth,  as  he  supposed,  an  inestimable  pot  of  gold. 

Dame  Webber  and  her  daughter  were  in  despair 
at  what  they  conceived  a  returning  touch  of  insanity. 
There  are  two  family  oracles,  one  or  other  of  which 
Dutch  housewives  consult  in  all  cases  of  great  doubt 
and  perplexity :  the  dominie  and  the  doctor.  In 
the  present  instance  they  repaired  to  the  doctor. 
There  was  at  that  time  a  little,  dark,  mouldy  man  of 
medicine  famous  among  the  old  wives  of  the  Man- 
hattoes  for  his  skill  not  only  in  the  healing  art,  but  in 
all  matters  of  strange  and  mysterious  nature.  His 
name  was  Dr.  Knipperhausen,  but  he  was  more 
commonly  known  by  the  appellation  of  the  High 
German  doctor.*  To  him  did  the  poor  woinen  re- 
pair for  counsel  and  assistance  touching  the  mental 
vagaries  of  Wolfert  Webber. 

They  found  the  doctor  seated  in  his  little  study, 
clad  in  his  dark  camblet  robe  of  knowledge,  with  his 
black  velvet  cap,  after  the  manner  of  Boorhaave,  Van 


•  The  same,  no  doubt,  of  whom  mention  is  made  in  the  history 
ofDolph  Hcyliger. 


428 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


Helmont,  and  other  medical  sages  :  a  pair  of  green 
spectacles  set  in  black  horn  upon  his  clubbed  nose, 
and  poring  over  a  German  folio  that  seemed  to  re- 
flect back  the  darkness  of  his  physiognomy.  The 
doctor  listened  to  their  statement  of  the  symptoms 
of  Wolfert's  malady  with  profound  attention  ;  but 
when  they  came  to  mention  his  raving  about  buried 
money,  the  little  man  pricked  up  his  ears.  Alas,  poor 
women  !  they  little  knew  the  aid  they  had  called  in. 

Dr.  Knipperhausen  had  been  half  his  life  engaged 
in  seeking  the  short  cuts  to  fortune,  in  quest  of  which 
so  many  a  long  lifetime  is  wasted.  He  had  passed 
some  years  of  his  youth  in  the  Harz  mountains  of 
Germany,  and  had  derived  much  valuable  instruc- 
tion from  the  miners,  touching  the  mode  of  seeking 
treasure  buried  in  the  earth.  He  had  prosecuted 
his  studies  also  under  a  travelling  sage  who  united 
all  the  mysteries  of  medicine  with  magic  and  leger- 
demain. His  mind,  therefore,  had  become  stored 
with  all  kinds  of  mystic  lore :  he  had  dabbled  a  little 
in  astrology,  alchemy,  and  divination  ;  knew  how  to 
detect  stolen  money,  and  to  tell  where  springs  of 
water  lay  hidden  ;  in  a  word,  by  the  dark  nature  of 
his  knowledge  he  had  acquired  the  name  of  the  High 
German  doctor,  which  is  pretty  nearly  equivalent  to 
that  of  necromancer.  The  doctor  had  often  heard 
rumours  of  treasure  being  buried  in  various  parts  of 
the  island,  and  had  long  been  anxious  to  get  on  the 
traces  of  it.  No  sooner  were  Wolfert's  waking  and 
sleeping  vagaries  confided  to  him,  than  he  beheld  in 
them  the  confirmed  symptoms  of  a  case  of  money- 
digging,  and  lost  no  time  in  probing  it  to  the  bot- 
tom. Wolfert  had  long  been  sorely  depressed  in 
mind  by  the  golden  secret,  and  as  a  family  physician 
is  a  kind  of  father  confessor,  he  was  glad  of  the  op- 
portunity of  unburthening  himself.  So  far  from 
curing,  the  doctor  caught  the  malady  from  his  patient. 
The  circumstances  unfolded  to  him  awakened  all  his 
cupidity  ;  he  had  not  a  doubt  of  money  being  buried 
somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  mysterious 
crosses,  and  offered  to  join  Wolfert  in  the  search. 
He  informed  him  that  much  secrecy  and  caution 
must  be  observed  in  enterprises  of  the  kind ;  that 
money  is  only  to  be  digged  for  at  night ;  with  certain 
forms  and  ceremonies ;  the  burning  of  drugs  ;  the 
repeating  of  myslic  words,  and  above  all,  that  the 
seekers  must  be  provided  with  a  divining  rod,  which 
had  the  wonderful  property  of  pointing  to  the  very 
spot  on  the  surface  of  the  earth  under  which  treasure 
lay  hidden.  As  the  doctor  had  given  much  of  his 
mind  to  these  matters,  he  charged  himself  with  all 
the  necessary  preparations,  and,  as  the  quarter  of  the 
moon  was  propitious,  he  undertook  to  have  the 
divining  rod  ready  by  a  certain  night.* 

Wolfert's  heart  leaped  with  joy  at  having  met  with 
so  learned  and  able  a  coadjutor.  Every  thing  went 
on  secretly,  but  swimmingly.  The  doctor  had  many 
consultations  with  his  patient,  and  the  good  women 
of  the  household  lauded  the  comforting  effect  of  his 
visits.  In  the  meantime  the  wonderful  divining  rod, 
that  great  key  to  nature's  secrets,  was  duly  prepared. 

*  The  following  note  was  found  appended  to  this  paper  in  the 
bandwritln,?  of  Mr.  Knickerbocker.  "There  has  been  much  writ- 
ten against  tlie  divining  rod  by  those  light  minds  who  are  ever  ready 
to  scoff  at  the  mysteries  of  nature,  but  I  fully  join  with  Dr.  Knip- 

Krhausen  in  .giving  it  my  faith.  I  shall  not  insist  upon  its  efficacy 
discovering  the  concealment  of  stolen  goods,  the  boundary-stones 
of  fields,  the  traces  of  robbers  and  murderers,  or  even  the  existence 
of  subterraneous  springs  and  streams  of  water :  albeit,  I  think  these 
properties  not  to  be  easily  discredited  ;  but  of  its  potency  in  dis- 
covering veins  of  prccio'is  metal,  and  hidden  sums  of  money  and 
jewels,  I  have  not  tho  least  doubt.  Some  said  that  the  rod  turned 
only  in  the  hands  of  persons  who  had  been  born  in  particular  months 
of  the  year;  hence  astrologers  had  recourse  to  planetary  Influence 
when  they  would  procure  a  talisman.  Others  declared  tha:  the 
properties  of  the  rod  were  either  an  effect  of  chance,  or  the  fraud  of 
the  holder,  or  the  work  of  the  devil.  Thus  sayeth  the  reverend 
Father  Gaspard  Schott  in  his  Treatise  on  Magic.  '  Propter  base  et 
limilia  argumenta  nud.ictcr  ego  pronuncio  vim  conversivam  virgulx 


The  doctor  had  thumbed  over  all  his  books  of  knowl- 
edge for  the  occasion ;  and  Mud  Sam  was  engaged 
to  take  them  in  his  skiff  to  the  scene  of  enterprise  ; 
to  work  with  spade  and  pick-axe  in  unearthing  the 
treasure ;  and  to  freight  his  bark  with  the  weighty 
spoils  they  were  certain  of  finding. 

At  length  the  appointed  night  arrived  for  this  per- 
ilous undertaking.  Before  Wolfert  left  his  home  he 
counselled  his  wife  and  daughter  to  go  to  bed,  and 
feel  no  alarm  if  he  should  not  return  during  the  night. 
Like  reasonable  women,  on  being  told  not  to  feel 
alarm  they  fell  immediately  into  a  panic.  They  saw 
at  once  by  his  manner  that  something  unusual  was 
in  agitation  ;  all  their  fears  about  the  unsettled  state 
of  his  mind  were  roused  with  tenfold  force :  they 
hung  about  him  entreating  him  not  to  expose  him- 
self to  the  night  air,  but  all  in  vain.  When  Wolfert 
was  once  mounted  on  his  hobb)',  it  was  no  easy  mat- 
ter to  get  him  out  of  the  saddle.  It  was  a  clear 
starlight  night,  when  he  issued  out  of  the  portal  of 
the  Webber  palace.  He  wore  a  large  flapped  hat 
tied  under  the  chin  with  a  handkerchief  of  his  daugh- 
ter's, to  secure  him  from  the  night  damp,  while  Dame 
Webber  threw  her  long  red  cloak  about  his  shoul- 
ders, and  fastened  it  round  his  neck. 

The  doctor  had  been  no  less  carefully  armed  and 
accoutred  by  his  housekeeper,  the  vigilant  Frau  Ilsy  ; 
and  sallied  forth  in  his  camblet  robe  by  way  of  sur- 
tout ;  his  black  velvet  cap  under  his  cocked  hat,  a 
thick  clasped  book  under  his  arm,  a  basket  of  drugs 
and  dried  herbs  in  one  hand,  and  in  the  other  the 
miraculous  rod  of  divination. 

The  great  church  clock  struck  ten  as  Wolfert  and  the 
doctor  passed  by  the  church-yard,  and  the  watchman 
bawled  in  hoarse  voice  a  long  and  doleful  "all's  well  !" 
A  deep  sleep  had  already  fallen  upon  this  primitive 
little  burgh  :  nothing  disturbed  this  awful  silence, 
excepting  now  and  then  the  bark  of  some  profligate 
night-walking  dog,  or  the  serenade  of  some  roman- 
tic cat.  It  is  true,  Wolfert  fancied  more  than  once 
that  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  stealthy  footfall  at  a  dis- 
tance behind  them  ;  but  it  might  have  been  merely 
the  echo  of  their  own  steps  echoing  along  the  quiet 
streets.  He  thought  also  at  one  time  that  he  saw  a 
tall  figure  skulking  after  them — stopping  when  they 
stopped,  and  moving  on  as  they  proceeded  ;  but  the 
dim  and  uncertain  lamp  light  threw  such  vague 
gleams  and  shadows,  that  this  might  all  have  been 
mere  fancy. 

They  found  the  negro  fisherman  waiting  for  them, 
smoking  his  pipe  in  the  stern  of  his  skiff,  which  was 
moored  just  in  front  of  his  little  cabin.  A  pick-axe 
and  spade  were  lying  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  with 
a  dark  lanthorn,  and  a  stone  bottle  of  good  Dutch 
courage,  in  which  honest  Sam  no  doubt  put  even 
more  faith  than  Dr.  Knipperhausen  in  his  drugs. 

Thus  then  did  these  three  worthies  embark  in  their 
cockle-shell  of  a  skiff  upon  this  nocturnal  expedition, 
with  a  wisdom  and  valour  equalled  only  by  the  three 
wise  men  of  Gotham,  who  adventured  to  sea  in  a 
bow!.     The  tide  was  rising  and  running  rapidly  up 


befurcatse  nequaquam  naturalem  esse,  sed  vel  casu  vel  fraude  vir- 
gulam  tractantis  vel  ope  diaboli,'  etc. 

"  Georglus  Agricula  also  was  of  opinion  that  it  was  a  mere  de- 
lusion of  the  devil  to  inveigle  the  avaricious  and  unwary  into  his 
clutches,  and  in  his  treatise  '  de  re  Metnllica,'  lays  particular  stress 
on  the  mysterious  words  pronounced  by  those  persons  who  em- 
ployed the  divining  rod  during  his  time.  But  1  make  not  a  doubt 
that  the  tlivining  rod  is  one  of  those  secrets  of  natural  inagic,  the 
mystery  of  which  is  to  be  explained  by  the  sympathies  existing  be- 
tween physical  things  operated  upon  by  the  planets,  and  rendered 
efficacious  by  the  strong  faith  of  the  individual.  Let  the  divining 
rod  be  properly  gathered  at  the  proper  time  of  the  moon,  cut  into 
the  proper  form,  used  with  the  necessary  ceremonies,  and  with  a 
perfect  faith  in  its  efficacy,  and  I  can  confidently  recommend  It  to 
my  fellow-citizens  as  an  infallible  means  of  discovering  the  various 

e laces  on  the  Island  of  the  Manhattoes  where  treasure  hath  been 
uried  in  the  olden  time. 

"D.  K." 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


429 


the  Sound.  The  current  bore  them  along,  almost  I 
without  the  aid  of  an  oar.  The  profile  of  the  town 
lay  all  in  shadow.  Here  and  there  a  light  feebly 
glimmered  from  some  sick  chamber,  or  from  the 
cabin  window  of  some  vessel  at  anchor  in  the 
stream.  Not  a  cloud  obscured  the  deep  starry  firma- 
ment, the  lights  of  which  wavered  on  the  surface  of 
the  placid  river  ;  and  a  shooting  meteor,  streaking 
its  pale  course  in  the  very  direction  they  were  tak- 
ing, was  interpreted  by  the  doctor  into  a  most  pro- 
pitious omen. 

In  a  little  while  they  glided  by  the  point  of  Cor- 
lears  Hook  with  the  rural  inn  which  had  been  the 
scene  of  such  night  adventures.  The  family  had  re- 
tired to  rest,  and  the  house  was  dark  and  still.  Wol- 
fert  felt  a  chill  pass  over  him  as  they  passed  the 
point  where  the  buccaneer  had  disappeared.  He 
pointed  it  out  to  Dr.  Knipperhausen.  While  regard- 
ing it,  they  thought  they  saw  a  boat  actually  lurking 
at  the  very  place  ;  but  the  shore  cast  such  a  shadow 
over  the  border  of  the  water  that  they  could  discern 
nothing  distinctly.  They  had  not  proceeded  far  when 
they  heard  the  low  sounds  of  distant  oars,  as  if  cau- 
tiously pulled.  Sam  plied  his  oars  with  redoubled 
vigour,  and  knowing  all  the  eddies  and  currents  of 
the  stream,  soon  left  their  followers,  if  such  they  were, 
far  astern.  In  a  little  while  they  stretched  across 
Turtle  bay  and  Kip's  bay,  then  shrouded  themselves 
in  the  deep  shadows  of  the  Manhattan  shore,  and 
glided  swiftly  along,  secure  from  observation.  At 
length  Sam  shot  his  skiff  into  a  little  cove,  darkly 
embowered  by  trees,  and  made  it  fast  to  the  well 
known  iron  ring.  They  now  landed,  and  lighting  the 
lanthorn,  gathered  their  various  implements  and  pro- 
ceeded slowly  through  the  bushes.  Every  sound 
startled  them,  even  that  of  their  footsteps  among  the 
dry  leaves  ;  and  the  hooting  of  a  screech  owl,  froin 
the  shattered  chimney  of  father  red-cap's  ruin,  made 
their  blood  run  cold. 

In  spite  of  all  Wolfert's  caution  in  taking  note  of 
the  landmarks,  it  was  some  time  before  they  could 
find  the  open  place  among  the  trees,  where  the 
treasure  was  supposed  to  be  buried.  At  length  they 
came  to  the  ledge  of  rock  ;  and  on  examining  its  sur- 
face by  the  aid  of  the  lanthorn,  Wolfert  recognized 
the  three  mystic  crosses.  Their  hearts  beat  quick, 
for  the  momentous  trial  was  at  hand  that  was  to  de- 
termine their  hopes. 

The  lanthorn  was  now  held  by  Wolfert  Webber, 
while  the  doctor  produced  the  divining  rod.  It  was 
a  forked  twig,  one  end  of  which  was  grasped  firmly 
in  each  hand,  while  the  centre,  forming  the  stem, 
pointed  perpendicularly  upwards.  The  doctor  moved 
this  wand  about,  within  a  certain  distance  of  the 
earth,  from  place  to  place,  but  for  some  time  with- 
out any  effect,  while  Wolfert  kept  the  light  of  the 
lanthorn  turned  full  upon  it,  and  watched  it  with  the 
most  breathless  interest.  At  length  the  rod  began 
slowly  to  turn.  The  doctor  grasped  it  with  greater 
earnestness,  his  hand  trembling  with  the  agitation  of 
his  mind.  The  wand  continued  slowly  to  turn,  until 
at  length  the  stem  had  reversed  its  position,  and 
pointed  perpendicularly  downward ;  and  remained 
pointing  to  one  spot  as  fixedly  as  the  needle  to  the 
pole. 

"  This  is  the  spot !  "  said  the  doctor  in  an  almost 
inaudible  tone. 
Wolfert's  heart  was  in  his  throat. 
"  Shall  I  dig?  "  said  Sam,  grasping  the  spade. 
"  Pots  tausends,  no  ! "    replied  the  little  doctor, 
hastily.     He  now  ordered  his  companions  to  keep 
close  by  him  and  to  maintain  the  most  inflexible 
silence.     That  certain  precautions  must  be  taken  and 
ceremonies  used  to  prevent  the  evil  spirits  which 
keep  about  buried  treasure  from  doing  them  any 


harm.  The  doctor  then  drew  a  circle  round  the 
place,  enough  to  include  the  whole  party.  He  next 
gathered  dry  twigs  and  leaves,  and  made  a  fire,  upon 
which  he  threw  certain  drugs  and  dried  herbs  which 
he  had  brought  in  his  basket.  A  thick  smoke  rose, 
diffusing  a  potent  odour,  savouring  marvellously  of 
brimstone  and  assafoetida,  which,  however  grateful 
h;  might  be  to  the  olfactory  nei-\'es  of  spirits,  nearly 
strangled  poor  Wolfert,  and  produced  a  fit  of  cough- 
ing and  wheezing  that  made  the  whole  grove  re- 
sound. Doctor  Knipperhausen  then  unclasped  the 
volume  which  he  had  brought  under  his  arm,  which 
was  printed  in  red  and  black  characters  in  German 
text.  While  Wolfert  held  the  lanthorn,  the  doctor, 
by  the  aid  of  his  spectacles,  read  off  several  forms  of 
conjuration  in  Latin  and  German.  He  then  ordered 
Sam  to  seize  the  pick-axe  and  proceed  to  work. 
The  close-bound  soil  gave  obstinate  signs  of  not 
having  been  disturbed  for  many  a  year.  After  hav- 
ing picked  his  way  through  the  surface,  Sam  came 
to  a  bed  of  sand  and  gravel,  which  he  threw  briskly 
to  right  and  left  with  the  spade. 

"Hark!"  said  Wolfert,  who  fancied  he  heard 
a  trampling  among  the  dry  leaves,  and  a  rustling 
through  the  bushes.  Sam  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
they  listened.  No  footstep  was  near.  The  bat  flit- 
ted about  them  in  silence ;  a  bird  roused  from  its 
nest  by  the  light  which  glared  up  among  the  trees, 
flew  circling  about  the  flame.  In  the  profound  still- 
ness of  the  woodland  they  could  distinguish  the  cur- 
rent rippling  along  the  rocky  shore,  and  the  distant 
murmuring  and  roaring  of  Hell  Gate. 

Sam  continued  his  labours,  and  had  already  digged 
a  considerable  hole.  The  doctor  stood  on  the  edge, 
reading  formulas  every  now  and  then  from  the  black 
letter  volume,  or  throwing  more  drugs  and  herbs 
upon  the  fire  ;  while  Wolfert  bent  anxiously  over  the 
pit,  watching  every  stroke  of  the  spade.  Any  one 
witnessing  the  scene  thus  strangely  lighted  up  by 
fire,  lanthorn,  and  the  reflection  of  Wolfert's  red 
mantle,  might  have  mistaken  the  little  doctor  for 
some  foul  magician,  busied  in  his  incantations,  and 
the  grizzled-headed  Sam  as  some  swart  goblin,  obe- 
dient to  his  commands. 

At  length  the  spade  of  the  fisherman  struck  upon 
something  that  sounded  hollow.    The  sound  vibrated 
to  Wolfert's  heart.     He  struck  his  spade  again. 
"  'Tis  a  chest,"  said  Sam. 

"  Full  of  gold,  I'll  warrant  it ! "  cried  Wolfert, 
clasping  his  hands  with  rapture. 

Scarcely  had  he  uttered  the  words  when  a  sound 
from  overhead  caught  his  ear.  He  cast  up  his  eyes, 
and  lo  !  by  the  expiring  light  of  the  fire  he  beheld, 
just  over  the  disk  of  the  rock,  what  appeared  to  be 
the  grim  visage  of  the  drowned  buccaneer,  grinning 
hideously  down  upon  him.  , 

Wolfert  gave  a  loud  cry  and  let  fall  the  lanthorn. 
His  panic  communicated  itself  to  his  companioui. 
The  negro  leaped  out  of  the  hole,  the  doctor  dropped 
his  book  and  basket  and  began  to  pray  in  German. 
All  was  horror  and  confusion.  The  hre  was  scat- 
tered about,  the  lanthorn  extinguished.  In  their 
hurry-skurry  they  ran  against  and  confounded  one 
another.  They  fancied  a  legion  of  hobgoblins  let 
loose  upon  them,  and  that  they  saw  by  the  fitful 
gleams  of  the  scattered  embers,  strange  figures  in 
red  caps  gibbering  and  ramping  around  them.  The 
doctor  ran  one  way.  Mud  Sam  another,  and  Wolfert 
made  for  the  water  side.  As  he  plunged  struggling 
onwards  through  bush  and  brake,  he  heard  the  tread 
of  some  one  in  pursuit.  He  scrambled  frantically 
forward.  The  footsteps  gained  upon  him.  He  felt 
himself  grasped  by  his  cloak,  when  suddenly  his 
pursuer  was  attacked  in  turn  :  a  fierce  fight  and 
struggle  ensued — a  pistol  was  discharged  that  lit  up 


433 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


rock  and  bush  for  a  period,  and  showed  two  figures 
grappling-  together — all  was  then  darker  than  ever. 
The  contest  continued — the  comhatants  clenched 
each  other,  and  panted  and  groaned,  and  rolled 
among  the  rocks.  There  was  snarling  and  growling 
as  of  a  cur,  mingled  with  curses  in  which  Wolfert 
fancied  he  could  recognize  the  voice  of  the  bucca- 
neer. He  would  fain  have  tied,  but  he  was  on  the 
brink  of  a  precipice  and  could  go  no  farther. 

Again  the  parties  were  on  their  feet ;  again  there 
was  a  tugging  and  struggling,  as  if  strength  alone 
could  decide  the  combat,  until  one  was  precipitated 
from  the  brow  of  the  cliff  and  sent  headlong  into  the 
deep  stream  that  whirled  below.  Wolfert  heard  the 
plunge,  and  a  kind  of  strangling  bubbling  murmur, 
but  the  darkness  of  the  night  hid  every  thing  from 
view,  and  the  swiftness  of  the  current  swept  every 
thing  instantly  out  of  hearing.  One  of  the  combat- 
ants was  disposed  of,  but  whether  friend  or  foe  Wol- 
fert could  not  tell,  nor  whether  they  might  not  both 
be  foes.  He  heard  the  survivor  approach,  and  his 
terror  revived.  He  saw,  where  the  profile  of  the 
rocks  rose  against  the  horizon,  a  human  form  ad- 
vancing. He  could  not  be  mistaken  :  it  must  be  the 
buccaneer.  Whither  should  he  fly  !  a  precipice  was 
on  one  side  ;  a  murderer  on  the  other.  The  enemy 
approached  :  he  was  close  at  hand.  Wolfert  at- 
tempted to  let  himself  down  the  face  of  the  cliff. 
His  cloak  caught  in  a  thorn  that  grew  on  the  edge. 
He  was  jerked  from  off  his  feet  and  held  dangling 
in  the  air,  half  choaked  by  the  string  with  which  his 
careful  wile  had  fastened  the  garment  round  his 
neck.  Wolfert  thought  his  last  moment  had  arrived  ; 
already  had  he  committed  his  soul  to  St.  Nicholas, 
when  the  string  broke  and  he  tumbled  down  the 
bank,  bumping  from  rock  to  rock  and  bush  to  bush, 
and  leaving  the  red  cloak  fluttering  like  a  bloody 
banner  in  the  air. 

It  was  a  long  while  before  Wolfert  came  to  him- 
self. When  he  opened  his  eyes  the  ruddy  streaks 
of  the  morning  were  already  shooting  up  the  sky. 
He  found  himself  lying  in  the  bottom  of  a  boat,  griev- 
ously battered.  He  attempted  to  sit  up,  but  was  too 
sore  and  stiff  to  move.  A  voice  requested  him  in 
friendly  accents  to  lie  still.  He  turned  his  eyes  to- 
wards the  speaker  :  it  was  Dirk  Waldron.  He  had 
dogged  the  party,  at  the  earnest  request  of  Dame 
Webber  and  her  daughter,  who,  with  the  laudable 
curiosity  of  their  sex,  had  pried  into  the  secret  con- 
sultations of  Wolfert  and  the  doctor.  Dirk  had  been 
completely  distanced  in  following  the  light  skiff  of 
the  fisherman,  and  had  just  come  in  time  to  rescue 
the  poor  money-digger  from  his  pursuer. 

Thus  ended  this  perilous  enterprise.  The  doctor 
and  Mud  Sam  severally  found  their  way  back  to  the 
Mjinhattoes,  each  having  some  dreadful  tale  of  peril 
to  relate.  As  to  poor  Wolfert,  instead  of  returning 
in  triumph,  laden  with  bags  of  gold,  he  was  borne 
home  on  a  shutter,  followed  by  a  rabble  rout  of  curi- 
ous urchins.  His  wife  and  daughter  saw  the  dismal 
pageant  I'rom  a  distance,  and  alarmed  the  neigh- 
bourhood with  their  cries :  they  thought  the  poor 
man  had  suddenly  settled  the  great  debt  of  nature 
in  one  of  his  wayward  moods.  Finding  him,  how- 
ever, still  living,  they  had  him  conveyed  speedily  to 
bed,  and  a  jury  of  old  matrons  of  the  neighbourhood 
assembled  to  determine  how  he  should  be  doctored. 
The  whole  town  was  in  a  buzz  with  the  story  of  the 
money-diggers.  Many  repaired  to  the  scene  of  the 
previous  night's  adventures  :  but  though  they  found 
the  very  place  of  the  digging,  they  discovered  noth- 
ing that  compensated  for  their  trouble.  Some  say 
they  found  the  fragments  of  an  oaken  chest  and  an 
iron  pot-lid,  which  savoured  strongly  of  hidden 
money ;  and  that  in  the  old  family  vault  there  were 


traces  of  bales  and  boxes,  but  this  is  all  very  du- 
bious. 

In  fact,  the  secret  of  all  this  story  has  never  to 
this  day  been  discovered  :  whether  any  treasure  was 
ever  actually  buried  at  that  place  ;  whether,  if  so,  it 
was  carried  off  at  night  by  those  who  had  buried  it ; 
or  whether  it  still  remains  there  under  the  guardian- 
ship of  gnomes  and  spirits  until  it  shall  be  properly 
sought  for,  is  all  matter  of  conjecture.  For  my  part 
I  incline  to  the  latter  opinion ;  and  make  no  doubt 
that  great  sums  lie  buried,  both  there  and  in  many 
other  parts  of  this  island  and  its  neighbourhood, 
ever  since  the  times  of  the  buccaneers  and  the 
Dutch  colonists;  and  I  would  earnestly  recom- 
mend the  search  after  them  to  such  of  my  fellow- 
citizens  as  are  not  engaged  m  any  other  specula- 
tions. 

There  were  many  conjectures  formed,  also,  as  to 
who  and  what  was  the  strange  man  of  the  seas  who 
had  domineered  over  the  little  fraternity  at  Corlears 
Hook  for  a  time  ;  disappeared  so  strangely,  and  re- 
appeared so  fearfully.  Some  supposed  him  a  smug- 
gler stationed  at  that  place  to  assist  his  comrades  in 
landing  their  goods  among  the  rocky  coves  of  the 
island.  Others  that  he  was  a  buccaneer  ;  one  of  the 
ancient  comrades  either  of  Kidd  or  Bradish,  returned 
to  convey  away  treasures  formerly  hidden  in  the  vi- 
cinity. The  only  circumstance  that  throws  any 
thing  like  a  vague  light  over  this  mysterious  matter 
is  a  report  which  prevailed  of  a  strange  foreign-built 
shallop,  with  the  look  of  a  piccaroon,  having  been 
seen  hoveringabout  the  Sound  for  several  days  with- 
out landing  or  reporting  herself,  though  boats  were 
seen  going  to  and  from  her  at  night :  and  that  she 
was  seen  standing  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  harbour, 
in  the  gray  of  the  dawn  after  the  catastrophe  of  the 
money-diggers. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  another  report,  also, 
which  I  confess  is  rather  apocryphal,  of  the  bucca- 
neer, who  was  supposed  to  have  been  drowned,  be- 
ing seen  before  daybreak,  with  a  lanthorn  in  his  hand, 
seated  astride  his  great  sea-chest  and  sailing  through 
Hell  Gate,  which  just  then  began  to  roar  and  bellow 
with  redoubled  fury. 

While  all  the  gossip  world  was  thus  filled  with 
talk  and  rumour,  poor  Wolfert  lay  sick  and  sorrow- 
ful in  his  bed,  bruised  in  body  and  sorely  beaten 
down  in  mind.  His  wife  and  daughter  did  all  they 
could  to  bind  up  his  wounds  both  corporal  and  spir- 
itual. The  good  okl  dame  never  stirred  from  his 
bedside,  where  she  sat  knitting  from  morning  till 
night;  while  his  daughter  busied  herself  about  him 
with  the  fondest  care.  Nor  did  they  lack  assistance 
from  abroad.  Whatever  may  be  said  of  the  desei- 
tions  of  friends  in  distress,  they  had  no  complaint 
of  the  kind  to  make.  Not  an  old  wife  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood but  abandoned  her  work  to  crowd  to  the 
mansion  of  Wolfert  Webber,  inquire  after  his  health 
and  the  particulars  of  his  story.  Not  one  came, 
moreover,  without  her  little  pipkin  of  pennyroyal, 
sage,  balm,  or  other  herb-tea,  delighted  at  an  oppor- 
tunity of  signalizing  her  kindness  and  her  doctor- 
ship.  What  drenchings  did  not  the  poor  Wolfert 
undergo,  and  all  in  vam.  It  was  a  moving  sight  to 
behold  him  wasting  away  day  by  day ;  growing 
thinner  and  thinner  and  ghastlier  and  ghastlier,  and 
staring  with  rueful  visage  from  under  an  old  patch- 
work counterpane  upon  the  jury  of  matrons  kindly 
assembled  to  sigh  and  groan  and  look  unhappy 
around  him. 

Dirk  Waldron  was  the  only  being  that  seemed  to 
shed  a  ray  of  sunshine  into  this  house  of  mourning. 
He  came  in  with  cheery  look  and  manly  spirit,  and 
tried  to  reanimate  the  expiring  heart  of  the  poor 
money-digger,  but  it  was  all  in  vain,     Wolfert  was 


TALES   OF   A   TRAVELLER. 


431 


completely  clone  over. — If  any  thing  was  wanting  to 
complete  his  despair,  it  was  a  notice  served  upon 
him  in  the  midst  of  his  distress,  that  the  corporation 
were  about  to  run  a  new  street  through  the  very  cen- 
tre of  his  cabbage  garden.  He  saw  nothing  before 
him  but  poverty  and  ruin;  his  last  reliance,  the 
garden  of  his  forefathers,  was  to  be  laid  waste,  and 
what  then  was  to  become  of  his  poor  wife  and  child  ? 

His  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  they  followed  the  du- 
tiful Amy  out  of  the  room  one  morning.  Dirk  Wal- 
dron  was  seated  beside  him  ;  Wolfert  grasped  his 
hand,  pointed  after  his  daughter,  and  for  the  first 
time  since  his  illness  broke  the  silence  he  had  main- 
tained. 

"  I  am  going  !  "  said  he,  shaking  his  head  feebly, 
"and  when  I  am  gone — my  poor  daughter — " 

"  Leave  her  to  me,  father !  "  said  Dirk,  manfully 
— "  I'll  take  care  of  her  !  " 

Wolfert  looked  up  in  the  face  of  the  cheery, 
strapping  youngster,  and  saw  there  was  none  better 
able  to  take  care  of  a  woman. 

"Enough,"  said  he,  "she  is  yours! — and  now 
fetch  me  a  lawyer — let  me  make  my  will  and  die." 

The  lawyer  was  brought  —  a  dapper,  bustling, 
round-headed  little  man,  Roorback  (or  RoUebuck,  as 
it  was  pronounced)  by  name.  At  the  sight  of  him 
the  women  broke  into  loud  lamentations,  for  they 
looked  upon  the  signing  of  a  will  as  the  signing  of  a 
death-warrant.  Wolfert  made  a  feeble  motion  for 
them  to  be  silent.  Poor  Amy  buried  her  face  and 
her  grief  in  the  bed-curtain.  Dame  Webber  re- 
sumed her  knitting  to  hide  her  distress,  which  be- 
trayed itself,  however,  in  a  pellucid  tear,  that 
trickled  silently  down  and  hung  at  the  end  of  her 
peaked  nose ;  while  the  cat,  the  only  unconcerned 
member  of  the  family,  played  with  the  good  dame's 
ball  of  worsted,  as  it  rolled  about  the  floor. 

Wolfert  lay  on  his  back,  his  nightcap  drawn  over 
his  forehead  ;  his  eyes  closed  ;  his  whole  visage  the 
picture  of  death.  He  begged  the  lawyer  to  be  brief, 
for  he  felt  his  end  approaching,  and  that  he  had  no 
time  to  lose.  The  lawyer  nibbed  his  pen,  spread 
out  his  paper,  and  prepared  to  write. 

"  I  give  and  bequeath,"  said  Wolfert,  faintly,  "my 
small  farm — " 

"  What — all  !  "  exclaimed  the  lawyer. 

Wolfert  half  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  upon  the 
lawyer. 

"  Yes — all,"  said  he. 

"  What !  all  that  great  patch  of  land  with  cab- 
bages and  sunflowers,  which  the  corporation  is  just 
going  to  run  a  main  street  through  ?  " 

"  The  same,"  said  Wolfert,  with  a  haavy  sigh  and 
sinking  back  upon  his  pillow. 

"  I  wish  him  joy  that  inherits  it  ! "  said  the 
little  lawyer,  chuckling  and  rubbing  his  hands  in- 
voluntarily. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Wolfert,  again  open- 
ing his  eyes. 

"  That  he'll  be  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the 
place ! "  cried  little  Rollebuck. 

The  expiring  Wolfert  seemed  to  step  back  from 
the  threshold  of  existence  :  his  eyes  again  lighted 
up  ;  he  raised  himself  in  his  bed,  shoved  back  his  red 
worsted  nightcap,  and  stared  broadly  at  the  lawyer. 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  exclaimed  he. 

"  Faith,  but  I  do  !  "  rejoined  the  other.  "  Why, 
when  that  great  field  and  that  piece  of  meadow  come 


to  be  laid  out  in  streets,  and  cut  up  into  snug  build- 
ing lots — why,  whoever  owns  them  need  not  pull  off 
his  hat  to  the  patroon  !  " 

"  Say  you  so?  "  cried  Wolfert,  half  thrusting  one 
leg  out  of  bed,  "  why,  then  I  think  I'll  not  make  my 
will  yet  ! " 

To  the  surprise  of  every  body  the  dying  man  actu- 
ally recovered.  The  vital  spark  which  had  glim- 
mered faintly  in  the  socket,  received  fresh  fuel 
from  the  oil  of  gladness,  which  the  little  law'ver 
poured  into  his  soul.  It  once  more  burnt  up  into  a 
flame. 

Give  physic  to  the  heart,  ye  who  would  revive  the 
body  of  a  spirit-broken  man!  In  a  few  days  Wol- 
fert left  his  room  ;  in  a  few  days  more  his  table  was 
covered  with  deeds,  plans  of  streets  and  building 
lots.  Little  Rollebuck  was  constantly  with  him, 
his  right-hand  man  and  adviser,  and  instead  of  mak- 
ing his  will,  assisted  in  the  more  agreeable  task  of 
making  his  fortune.  In  fact,  Wolfert  Webber  was 
one  of  those  worthy  Dutch  burghers  of  the  Manhat- 
toes  whose  fortunes  have  been  made,  in  a  manner, 
in  spite  of  themselves  ;  who  have  tenaciously  held 
on  to  their  hereditary  acres,  raising  turnips  and  cab- 
bages about  the  skirts  of  the  city,  hardly  able  to 
make  both  ends  meet,  until  the  corporation  has 
cruelly  driven  streets  through  their  abodes,  and 
they  have  suddenly  awakened  out  of  a  lethargy,  and, 
to  their  astonishment,  found  themselves  rich  men. 

Before  many  months  had  elapsed  a  great  bustling 
street  passed  through  the  very  centre- of  the  Webber 
garden,  just  where  Wolfert  had  dreamed  of  finding 
a  treasure.  His  golden  dream  was  accomplished  ; 
he  did  indeed  find  an  unlooked-for  source  of  wealth  ; 
for,  when  his  paternal  lands  were  distributed  into 
building  lots,  and  rented  out  to  safe  tenants,  instead 
of  producing  a  paltry  crop  of  cabbages,  they  returned 
him  an  abundant  crop  of  rents ;  insomuch  that  on 
quarter  day,  it  was  a  goodly  sight  to  see  his  tenants 
rapping  at  his  door,  from  morning  to  night,  each 
with  a  little  round-bellied  bag  of  money,  the  golden 
produce  of  the  soil. 

The  ancient  mansion  of  his  forefathers  was  still 
kept  up,  but  instead  of  being  a  little  yellow-fronted 
Dutch  house  in  a  garden,  it  now  stood  boldly  in  the 
midst  of  a  street,  the  grand  house  of  the  neighbour- 
hood ;  for  Wolfert  enlarged  it  with  a  wing  on  each 
side,  and  a  cupola  or  tea  room  on  top,  where  he 
might  climb  up  and  smoke  his  pipe  in  hot  weather ; 
and  in  the  course  of  time  the  whole  mansion  was 
overrun  by  the  chubby-faced  progeny  of  Amy  Web- 
ber and  Dirk  Waldron. 

As  Wolfert  waxed  old  and  rich  and  corpulent,  he 
also  set  up  a  great  gingerbread-coloured  carriage 
drawn  by  a  pair  of  black  Flanders  mares  .with  tails 
that  swept  the  ground ;  and  to  commemorate  the 
origin  of  his  greatness  he  had  for  a  crest  a  full- 
blown cabbage  painted  on  the  pannels,  with  the 
pithy  motto  Silts  JSopt :  that  is  to  say,  all  head; 
meaning  thereby  that  he  had  risen  by  sheer  head- 
work. 

To  fill  the  measure  of  his  greatness,  in  the  fullness 
of  time  the  renowned  Ramm  Rapelye  slept  with  his 
fathers,  and  Wolfert  Webber  succeeded  to  the  leath- 
ern-bottomed arm-chair  in  the  inn  parlour  at  Cor- 
lears  Hook  ;  where  he  long  reigned  greatly  honour- 
ed and  respected,  insomuch  that  he  was  never 
known  to  tell  a  story  without  its  being  believed,  nor 
to  utter  a  joke  without  its  being  laughed  at. 


Bracebridge  Hall;  or,  The  Humourists. 


-A.  li^EXDLE-H:". 


BY    GEOFFREY    CRAYON,    Gent. 


Under  this  cloud  I  walk.  Gentlemen  ;  pardon  my  rude  assault. 
I  am  a  traveller,  who,  having  surveyed  most  of  the  terrestrial 
auHles  of  this  globe,  am  hither  arrived,  to  peruse  this  little  spot. 

Christmas  Ordinary. 


THE    AUTHOR. 


Worthy  Reader ! 

On  again  taking  pen  in  hand,  I  would  fain  make  a 
few  observations  at  the  outset,  by  way  of  bespeaking 
a  right  understanding.  The  volumes  which  I  have 
already  published  have  met  with  a  reception  far  be- 
yond my  most  sanguine  expectations.  I  would  will- 
ingly attribute  this  to  their  intrinsic  merits  ;  but,  in 
spite  of  the  vanity  of  authorship,  I  cannot  but  be 
sensible  that  their  success  has,  in  a  great  measure, 
been  owing  to  a  less  flattering  cause.  It  has  been  a 
matter  of  marvel,  to  my  European  readers,  that  a 
man  from  the  wilds  of  America  should  express  him- 
self in  tolerable  English.  I  was  looked  upon  as  some- 
thing new  and  strange  in  literature  ;  a  kind  of  demi- 
savage,  with  a  feather  in  his  hand,  instead  of  on  his 
head  ;  and  there  was  a  curiosity  to  hear  what  such  a 
being  had  to  say  about  civilized  society. 

This  novelty  is  now  at  an  end,  and  of  course  the 
feeling  of  indulgence  which  it  produced.  I  must  now 
expect  to  bear  the  scrutiny  of  sterner  criticism,  and  to 
be  measured  by  the  same  standard  with  contemporary 
writers  ;  and  the  very  favour  which  has  been  shown 
to  my  previous  writings,  will  cause  these  to  be  treated 
with  the  greater  rigour  ;  as  there  is  nothing  for  which 
the  world  is  apt  to  punish  a  man  more  severely,  than 
for  having  been  over-praised.  On  this  head,  there- 
fore, I  wish  to  forestall  the  censoriousness  of  the 
reader ;  and  I  entreat  he  will  not  think  the  worse  of 
me  for  the  many  injudicious  things  that  may  have 
been  said  in  my  commendation. 

I  am  aware  that  I  often  travel  over  beaten  ground, 
and  treat  of  subjects  that  have  already  been  discussed 
by  abler  pens.  Indeed,  various  authors  have  been 
mentioned  as  my  models,  to  whom  I  should  feel 
flattered  if  I  thought  I  bore  the  slightest  resemblance  ; 
but  in  truth  I  write  after  no  model  that  I  am  conscious 
of,  and  I  write  with  no  idea  of  imitation  or  competi- 
tion. In  venturing  occasionally  on  topics  that  have 
already  been  almost  exhausted  by  English  authors,  I 
do  it,  not  with  the  presumption  of  challenging  a  com- 
parison, but  with  the  hope  that  some  new  interest 
may  be  given  to  such  topics,  when  discussed  by  the 
pen  of  a  stranger. 

If,  therefore,  I  should  sometimes  be  found  dwell- 
ing with  fondness  on  subjects  that  are  trite  and  com- 
monplace with  the  reader,  I  beg  that  the  circumstances 
under  which  I  write  may  be  kept  in  recollection. 
Having  been  born  and  brought  up  in  a  new  country, 
yet  educated  from  infancy  in  the  literature  of  an  old 
one,  my  mind  was  early  filled  with  historical  and 
28 


poetical  associations,  connected  with  places,  and  man- 
ners, and  customs  of  Europe  ;  but  which  could  rarely 
be  applied  to  those  of  my  own  country.  To  a  mind 
thus  peculiarly  prepared,  the  most  ordinary  objects 
and  scenes,  on  arriving  in  Europe,  are  full  of  strange 
matter  and  interesting  novelty.  England  is  as  classic 
ground  to  an  American  as  Italy  is  to  an  Englishman  ; 
and  old  London  teems  with  as  much  historical  asso- 
ciation as  mighty  Rome. 

Indeed,  it  is  difficult  to  describe  the  whimsical  med- 
ley of  ideas  that  throng  upon  his  mind,  on  landing 
among  English  scenes.  He,  for  the  first  time,  sees  a 
world  about  which  he  has  been  reading  and  thinking 
in  every  stage  of  his  existence.  The  recollected  iaeaj 
of  infancy,  youth,  and  manhood  ;  of  the  nursery,  the 
school,  and  the  study,  come  swarming  at  once  upon 
him  ;  and  his  attention  is  distracted  between  great 
and  little  objects  ;  each  of  which,  perhaps,  awakens 
an  equally  delightful  train  of  remembrances. 

But  what  more  especially  attracts  his  notice,  are 
those  peculiarities  which  distinguish  an  old  country 
and  an  old  state  of  society  from  a  new  one.  I  have 
never  yet  grown  familiar  enough  with  the  crumbling 
monuments  of  past  ages,  to  blunt  the  intense  interest 
with  which  I  at  first  beheld  them.  Accustomed  always 
to  scenes  where  history  was,  in  a  manner,  in  anticipa- 
tion ;  where  every  thing  in  art  was  new  and  progress- 
ive, and  pointed  to  the  future  rather  than  to  the  past ; 
where,  in  short,  the  works  of  man  gave  no  ideas  but 
those  of  young  existence,  and  prospective  improve- 
ment ;  there  was  something  inexpressibly  touching  in 
the  sight  of  enormous  piles  of  architecture,  gray  with 
antiquity,  and  sinking  into  decay.  I  cannot  describe 
the  mute  but  deep-felt  enthusiasm  with  which  I  have 
contemplated  avast  monastic  ruin,  like  Tintern  Abbey, 
buried  in  the  bosom  of  a  quiet  valley,  and  shut  up 
from  the  world,  as  though  it  had  existed  merely  for  it- 
self ;  or  a  warrior  pile,  like  Conway  Castle,  standing  in 
stern  loneliness  on  its  rocky  height,  a  mere  hollow  yet 
threatening  phantom  of  departed  power.  They  spread 
a  grand,  and  melancholy,  and,  to  me,  an  unusual  charm 
over  the  landscape  ;  I,  for  the  first  time,  beheld  signs 
of  national  old  age,  and  empire's  decay,  and  proofs 
of  the  transient  and  perishing  glories  of  art,  amidst  the 
ever-springing  and  reviving  fertility  of  nature. 

But,  in  fact,  to  me  every  thing  was  full  of  matter ; 
the  footsteps  of  history  were  every  where  to  be  traced  ; 
and  poetry  had  breathed  over  and  sanctified  the  land. 
I  experienced  the  delightful  freshness  of  feeling  of  a 
child,  to  whom  every  thing  is  new.  I  pictured  to  my- 
self a  set  of  inhabitants  and  a  mode  of  life  for  every 
habitation  that  I  saw,  from  the  aristocratical  mansion, 
amidst  the  lordly  repose  of  stately  groves  and  solitary 
parks,  to  the  straw-thatched  cottage,  with  its  scanty 
garden  and  its  cherished  woodbine.    I  thought  I  nevei 

(133) 


43! 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


could  be  sated  with  the  sweetness  and  freshness  of  a 
country  so  completely  carpeted  with  verdure  ;  where 
every  air  breathed  of  the  balmy  pasture,  and  the 
honey-suckled  hedge.  I  was  continually  coming  upon 
some  little  document  of  poetry,  in  the  blossometl  haw- 
thorn, the  daisy,  the  cowslip,  the  primrose,  or  some 
other  simple  object  that  has  received  a  supernatural 
value  from  the  muse.  The  first  time  that  I  heard  the 
song  of  the  nightingale,  I  was  intoxicated  more  by  the 
delicious  crowd  of  remembered  associations  than  by 
the  melody  of  its  notes  ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  the 
thrill  of  ecstasy  with  which  I  first  saw  the  lark  rise,  al- 
most from  beneath  my  feet,  and  wing  its  musical  flight 
up  into  the  morning  sky. 

In  this  way  I  traversed  England,  a  grown-up  child, 
delighted  by  every  object,  great  and  small  ;  and  be- 
traying a  wondering  ignorance,  and  simple  enjoyment, 
that  provoked  many  a  stare  and  a  smile  from  my  wiser 
and  more  experienced  fellow-travellers.  Such  too  was 
the  odd  confusion  of  associations  that  kept  breaking 
upon  me,  as  I  first  approached  London.  One  of  my 
earliest  wishes  had  been  to  see  this  great  metropolis. 
I  had  read  so  much  about  it  in  the  earliest  books  that 
had  been  put  into  my  infant  hands  ;  and  I  had  heard 
so  much  about  it  from  those  around  me  who  had  come 
from  the  "old  countries."  I  was  familiar  with  the 
names  of  its  streets,  and  squares,  and  public  places, 
before  I  knew  those  of  my  native  city.  It  was,  to  me, 
the  great  centre  of  the  world,  round  which  every  thing 
seemed  to  revolve.  I  recollect  contemplating  so  wist- 
fully, when  a  boy,  a  paltry  little  print  of  the  Thames, 
and  London  Bridge,  and  St.  Paul's,  that  was  in  front 
of  an  old  magazine  ;  and  a  picture  of  Kensington 
Gardens,  with  gentlemen  in  three-cornered  hats  and 
broad  skirts,  and  ladies  in  hoops  and  lappets,  that 
hung  up  in  my  bed-room  ;  even  the  venerable  cut  of 
St.  John's  Gate,  that  has  stood,  time  out  of  mind,  in 
front  of  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  was  not  without 
its  charms  to  me  ;  and  I  envied  the  odd-looking  little 
men  that  appeared  to  be  loitering  about  its  arches. 

How  then  did  my  heart  warm  when  the  towers  of 
Westminster  Abbey  were  pointed  out  to  me,  rising 
above  the  rich  groves  of  St.  James's  Park,  with  a  thin 
blue  haze  about  their  gray  pinnacles  !  I  could  not  be- 
hold this  great  mausoleum  of  what  is  most  illustrious 
in  our  paternal  history,  without  feeling  my  enthusiasm 
in  a  glow.  With  what  eagerness  did  I  explore  every 
part  of  the  metropolis  !  I  was  not  content  with  those 
matters  which  occupy  the  dignified  research  of  the 
learned  traveller  ;  I  delighted  to  call  up  all  the  feel- 
ings of  childhood,  and  to  seek  after  those  objects 
which  had  been  the  wonders  of  my  infancy.  London 
Bridge,  so  famous  in  nursery  song ;  the  far-famed 
Monument ;  Gog  and  Magog,  and  the  Lions  in  the 
Tower,  all  brought  back  many  a  recollection  of  in- 
fantine delight,  and  of  good  old  beings,  now  no  more, 
who  had  gossiped  about  them  to  my  wondering  ear. 
Nor  was  it  without  a  recurrence  of  childish  interest, 
that  I  first  peeped  into  Mr.  Newberry's  shop,  in  St. 
Paul's  Church-yard,  that  fountain-head  of  literature. 
Mr.  Newberry  was  the  first  that  ever  filled  my  infant 
mind  with  the  idea  of  a  great  and  good  man.  He 
published  all  the  picture-books  of  the  day  ;  and,  out 
of  his  abundant  love  for  children,  he  charged  "  nothing 
for  either  paper  or  print,  and  only  a  penny-halfpenny 
for  the  binding  !  " 

I  have  mentioned  these  circrmstances,  worthy  read- 
er, to  show  you  the  whimsical  crowd  of  associations 
that  are  apt  to  beset  my  mind  on  mingling  among 
English  scenes.  I  hope  they  thay,  in  some  measure, 
plead  my  apology,  should  I  be  found  harping  upon 
stale  and  trivial  themes,  or  indulging  an  over-fondness 
for  any  thing  antique  and  obsolete.  I  know  it  is  the 
humour,  not  to  say  cant  of  the  day,  to  run  riot  about 
old  times,  old  books,  old  customs,  and  old  buildings  ; 
with  myself,  however,  as  far  as  I  have  caught  the  con- 
tagion, the  feeling  is  genuine.  To  a  man  from  a 
young  country,  all  old  things  are  in  a  manner  new  ; 
and  he  may  surely  be  excused  in  being  a  little  curious 
about  antiquities,  whose  native  land,  unfortunately, 
cannot  boast  of  a  single  ruin. 


Having  been  brought  up,  also,  in  the  comparative 
simplicity  of  a  republic,  I  am  apt  to  be  struck  with 
even  the  ordinary  circumstances  incident  to  an  aris- 
tocratical  state  of  society.  If,  however,  I  should  at 
any  time  amuse  myself  by  pointing  out  some  of  the 
eccentricities,  and  some  of  the  poetical  characteristics 
of  the  latter,  I  would  not  be  understood  as  pretending 
to  decide  upon  its  political  merits.  My  only  aim  is  to 
paint  characters  and  manners.  I  am  no  politician. 
The  more  I  have  considered  the  study  of  politics,  the 
more  I  have  found  it  full  of  perplexity  ;  and  I  have 
contented  myself,  as  I  have  in  my  religion,  with  the 
faith  in  which  I  was  brought  up,  regulating  my  own 
conduct  by  its  precepts  ;  but  leaving  to  abler  heads 
the  task  of  making  converts. 

I  shall  continue  on,  therefore,  in  the  course  I  have 
hitherto  pursued  ;  looking  at  things  poetically,  rather 
than  politically  ;  describing  them  as  they  are,  rather 
than  pretending  to  point  out  how  they  should  be  ;  and 
endeavouring  to  see  the  world  in  as  pleasant  a  light 
as  circumstances  will  permit. 

I  have  always  had  an  opinion  that  much  good  might 
be  done  by  keeping  mankind  in  good-humour  with  one 
another.  I  may  be  wrong  in  my  philosophy,  but  I 
shall  continue  to  practise  it  until  convinced  of  its  fal- 
lacy. When  I  discover  the  world  to  be  all  that  it  has 
been  represented  by  sneering  cynics  and  whining  poets, 
I  will  turn  to  and  abuse  it  also  ;  in  the  meanwhile, 
worthy  reader,  I  hope  you  will  not  think  lightly  of  me, 
because  I  cannot  believe  this  to  be  so  very  bad  a  world 
as  it  is  represented. 

Thine  truly, 

GEOFFREY  CRAYON. 


THE  HALL. 


The  ancient  house,  and  the  best  for  housekeeping  in  this  county 
or  the  next ;  and  though  the  master  of  it  write  but  squire,  I  know 
no  lord  like  him.  Merry  Beggars. 

The  reader,  if  he  has  perused  the  volumes  of  the 
Sketch-Book,  will  probably  recollect  something  of 
the  Bracebridg-e  family,  with  which  I  once  passed  a 
Christmas.  I  am  now  on  another  visit  to  the  Hall, 
having  been  invited  to  a  wedding  which  i;  shortly 
to  take  place.  The  Squire's  second  son,  Guy,  a  fine, 
spirited  young  captain  in  the  anny,  is  about  to  be 
married  to  his  father's  ward,  the  fair  Julia  Temple- 
ton.  A  gathering  of  relations  and  friends  has  al- 
ready commenced,  to  celebrate  the  joyful  occasion ; 
for  the  old  gentleman  is  an  enemy  to  quiet,  private 
weddings.  "There  is  nothing,"  he  says,  "like 
launching  a  young  couple  gayly,  and  cheering  them 
from  the  shore  ;  a  good  outset  is  half  the  voyage." 

Before  proceeding  any  farther,  I  would  beg  that 
the  .Squire  might  not  be  confounded  with  that  class 
of  hard-riding,  fox  hunting  gentlemen  so  often  de- 
scribed, and,  in  fact,  so  nearly  extinct  in  England. 
1  use  this  rural  title  partly  becau.se  it  is  his  universal 
appellation  throughout  the  neighbourhood,  and  part- 
ly because  it  saves  me  the  frequent  repetition  of  his 
name,  which  is  one  of  those  rough  old  English 
names  at  which  Frenchmen  exclaim  in  despair. 

The  Squire  is,  in  fact,  a  lingering  specimen  of  the 
old  English  country  gentleman  ;  rusticated  a  little 
by  living  alirost  entirely  on  his  estate,  and  some- 
thing of  a  humourist,  as  Englishmen  are  apt  to  be- 
coine  when  they  have  an  opportunity  of  living  in 
their  own  way.  I  like  his  hobby  passing  well,  how- 
ever, which  is,  a  bigoted  devotion  to  old  English 
manners  and  customs  ;  it  jumps  a  little  with  my  own 
humour,  having  as  yet  a  lively  and  unsated  curiosity 
about  the  ancient  and  genuine  characteristics  of  my 
"  father  land." 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


435 


There  are  some  traits  about  the  Squire's  family, 
also,  which  appear  to  me  to  be  national.  It  is  one 
of  those  old  aristocratical  families,  which,  I  believe, 
ar-j  peculiar  to  England,  and  scarcely  understood  in 
other  countries ;  that  is  to  say,  families  of  the  an- 
cient gentry,  who,  though  destitute  of  titled  rank, 
maintain  a  high  ancestral  pride ;  who  look  down 
upon  all  nobility  of  recent  creation,  and  would  con- 
sider it  a  sacrifice  of  dignity  to  merge  the  venerable 
name  of  their  house  in  a  modern  title. 

This  feeling  is  very  much  fostered  by  the  impor- 
tance which  they  enjoy  on  their  hereditary  domains. 
The  family  mansion  is  an  old  manor-house,  standing 
in  a  retired  and  beautiful  part  of  Yorkshire.  Its  in- 
habitants have  been  always  regarded,  through  the 
surrounding  country,  as  "  the  great  ones  of  the 
earth  ;  "  and  the  little  village  near  the  Hall  looks  up 
to  the  Squire  with  almost  feudal  homage.  An  old 
manor-house,  and  an  old  family  of  this  kind,  are 
rarely  to  be  met  with  at  the  present  day ;  and  it  is 
probably  the  peculiar  humour  of  the  Squire  that  has 
retained  this  secluded  specimen  of  English  house- 
keeping in  something  like  the  genuine  old  style. 

I  am  again  quartered  in  the  panelled  chamber,  in 
the  antique  wing  of  the  house.  The  prospect  from 
the  window,  however,  has  quite  a  different  aspect 
from  that  which  it  wore  on  my  winter  visit.  Though 
early  in  the  month  of  April,  yet  a  few  warm,  sun- 
shiny days  have  drawn  forth  the  beauties  of  the 
spring,  which,  I  think,  are  always  most  captivating 
on  their  first  opening.  Tne  parterres  of  the  old- 
fashioned  garden  are  gay  with  flowers ;  and  the 
gardener  has  brought  out  his  exotics,  and  placed 
them  along  the  stone  balustrades.  The  trees  are 
clothed  with  green  buds  and  tender  leaves.  When 
1  throw  open  my  jingling  casement,  I  smell  the  odour 
of  mignonette,  and  hear  the  hum  of  the  bees  from 
the  flowers  against  the  sunny  wall,  with  the  varied 
song  of  the  throstle,  and  the  cheerful  notes  of  the 
tuneful  little  wren. 

While  sojourning  in  this  strong-hold  of  old  fash- 
ions, it  is  my  intention  to  make  occasional  sketches 
of  the  scenes  and  characters  before  me.  I  would 
have  it  understood,  however,  that  I  am  not  writing 
a  novel,  and  have  nothing  of  intricate  plot,  or  mar- 
vellous adventure,  to  promise  the  reader.  The  Hall 
of  which  I  treat,  has,  for  aught  I  know,  neither  trap- 
door, nor  sliding-panel,  nor  donjon-keep:  and  indeed 
appears  to  have  no  mystery  about  it.  The  family  is 
a  worthy,  well-meaning  family,  that,  in  all  probability, 
will  eat  and  drink,  and  go  to  bed,  and  get  up  regu- 
larly, from  one  end  of  my  work  to  the  other ;  and 
the  Squire  is  so  kind-hearted  an  old  gentleman,  that 
I  see  no  likelihood  of  his  throwing  any  kind  of  dis- 
tress in  the  way  of  the  approaching  nuptials.  In  a 
word,  I  cannot  foresee  a  single  extraordinary  event 
that  is  likely  to  occur  in  the  whole  term  of  my  sojourn 
at  the  Hall. 

1  tell  this  honestly  to  the  reader,  lest,  when  he 
finds  me  dallying  along,  through  every-day  English 
scenes,  he  may  hurry  ahead,  in  hopes  of  meeting 
with  some  marvellous  adventure  further  on.  I  invite 
him,  on  the  contrary,  to  ramble  gently  on  with  me, 
as  he  would  saunter  out  into  the  fields,  stopping  oc- 
casionally to  gather  a  flower,  or  listen  to  a  bird,  or 
admire  a  prospect,  without  any  anxiety  to  arrive  at 
the  end  of  his  career.  .Should  I,  however,  in  the 
course  of  my  loiterings  about  this  old  mansion,  see 
or  hear  any  thing  curious,  that  might  serve  to  vary 
the  monotony  of  this  every-day  life,  I  shall  not  fail 
to  report  it  for  the  reader's  entertainment  : 

For  freshest  wits  I  know  will  soon  be  wearle 

Of  any  book,  how  grave  so  e'er  it  be. 
Except  It  have  odd  matter,  strange  and  merrie, 
Well  sauc'd  with  lies  and  glared  all  with  glee.* 


*  Mirror  for  Magistrates 


THE  BUSY  MAN. 


A  decayed  gentleman,  who  lives  most  upon  his  own  mirth  and 
my  master's  means,  and  much  good  do  him  with  it.  He  does  hold 
my  master  up  with  his  stories,  and  songs,  and  catches,  and  such 
tncks  and  jigs,  you  would  admire — he  is  with  him  now. 

yovial  Cretv. 

Bv  no  one  has  my  return  to  the  Hall  been  more 
heartily  greeted  than  by  Mr.  Simon  Bracebridge,  or 
.Master  Simon,  as  the  Squire  most  commonly  calls 
him.  I  encountered  him  just  as  I  entered  the  park, 
where  he  was  breaking  a  pointer,  and  he  received 
me  with  all  the  hospitable  cordiality  with  which  a 
man  welcomes  a  friend  to  another  one's  house.  I 
have  already  introduced  him  to  the  reader  as  a  brisk 
old  bachelor-looking  little  man  ;  the  wit  and  super- 
annuated beau  of  a  large  family  connexion,  and  the 
Squire's  factotum.  I  found  him,  as  usual,  full  of 
bustle  ;  with  a  thousand  petty  things  to  do,  and  per- 
sons to  attend  to,  and  in  chirping  good-humour  ;  for 
there  are  few  happier  beings  than  a  busy  idler ;  that 
is  to  say,  a  man  who  is  eternally  busy  about  noth- 
ing. 

I  visited  him,  the  morning  after  my  arrival,  in  his 
chamber,  which  is  in  a  remote  corner  of  the  man- 
sion, as  he  says  he  likes  to  be  to  himself,  and  out  of 
the  way.  He  has  fitted  it  up  in  his  own  taste,  so 
that  it  is  a  perfect  epitome  of  an  old  bachelor's  no- 
tions of  convenience  and  arrangement.  The  furni- 
ture is  made  up  of  odd  pieces  from  all  parts  of  the 
house,  chosen  on  account  of  their  suiting  his  no- 
tions, or  fitting  some  corner  of  his  apartment ;  and 
he  is  very  eloquent  in  praise  of  an  ancient  elbow- 
chair,  from  which  he  takes  occasion  to  digress  into 
a  censure  on  modern  chairs,  as  having  degenerated 
from  the  dignity  and  comfort  of  high-backed  antiq- 
uity. 

Adjoining  to  his  room  is  a  small  cabinet,  which 
he  calls  his  study.  Here  are  some  hanging  shelves, 
of  his  own  construction,  on  which  are  several  old 
works  on  hawking,  hunting,  and  farriery,  and  a  col- 
lection or  two  of  poems  and  songs  of  the  reign  of 
Elizabeth,  which  he  studies  out  of  compliment  to  the 
Squire  ;  together  with  the  Novelist's  Magazine,  the 
Sporting  Magazine,  the  Racing  Calendar,  a  volume 
or  two  of  the  Newgate  Calendar,  a  book  of  peerage, 
and  another  of  heraldry. 

His  sporting  dresses  hang  on  pegs  in  a  small 
closet ;  and  about  the  walls  of  his  apartment  are 
hooks  to  hold  his  fishing-tackle,  whips,  spurs,  and  a 
favourite  fowling-piece,  curiously  wrought  and  in- 
laid, which  he  inherits  from  his  grandfather.  He 
has,  also,  a  couple  of  old  single-keyed  flutes,  and  a 
fiddle  which  he  has  repeatedly  patched  and  mended 
himself,  affirming  it  to  be  a  veritable  Cremona ; 
though  I  have  never  heard  him  extract  a  single  note 
from  it  that  was  not  enough  to  make  one's  blood 
run  cold. 

From  this  little  nest  his  fiddle  will  often  be  heard, 
in  the  stillness  of  mid-day,  drowsily  sawing  some 
long-forgotten  tune  ;  for  he  prides  himself  on  having 
a  choice  collection  of  good  old  English  music,  and 
will  scarcely  have  any  thing  to  do  with  modern  com- 
posers. The  time,  however,  at  which  his  musical 
powers  are  of  most  use,  is  now  and  then  of  an  even- 
ing, when  he  plays  for  the  children  to  dance  in  the 
hall,  and  he  passes  among  them  and  the  servants  for 
a  perfect  Orpheus. 

His  chamber  also  bears  evidence  of  his  various 
avocations  :  there  are  half-copied  sheets  of  music ; 
designs  for  needle-work ;  sketches  of  landscapes, 
very  indifferently  executed  ;  a  camera  lucida  ;  a  magic 
lantern,  for  which  he  is  endeavouring  to  paint 
glasses  ;  in  a  word,  it  is  the  cabinet  of  a  man  of 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


many  accomplishments,  who  knows  a  little  of  every 
thing,  and  does  nothing  well. 

Al'ter  I  had  spent  some  time  in  his  apartment,  ad- 
miring the  ingenuity  of  his  small  inventions,  he  toolc 
me  about  the  establishment,  to  visit  the  stables,  dog- 
kennel,  and  other  dependencies,  in  which  he  ap- 
peared like  a  general  visiting  the  different  quarters 
of  his  camp ;  as  the  Squire  leaves  the  control  of  all 
these  matters  to  him,  when  he  is  at  the  Hall.  He 
inquired  into  the  state  of  the  horses;  examined  their 
feet ;  prescribed  a  drench  for  one,  and  bleeding  for 
another;  and  then  took  me  to  look  at  his  own  horse, 
on  the  merits  of  which  he  dwelt  with  great  prolix- 
ity, and  which,  I  noticed,  had  the  best  stall  in  the 
stable. 

After  this  I  was  taken  to  a  new  toy  of  his  and  the 
Squire's,  which  he  termed  the  falconry,  where  there 
Were  several  unhappy  birds  in  durance,  completing 
their  education.  Among  the  number  was  a  fine  fal- 
con, which  Master  Simon  had  in  especial  training, 
and  he  told  me  that  he  would  show  me,  in  a  few 
days,  some  rare  sport  of  the  good  old-fashioned 
kind.  In  the  course  of  our  round,  I  noticed  that  the 
grooms,  game-keeper,  whippers-in,  and  other  retain- 
ers, seemed  all  to  be  on  somewhat  of  a  familiar  foot- 
ing with  Master  Simon,  and  fond  of  having  a  joke 
with  him,  though  it  was  evident  they  had  great  def- 
erence for  his  opinion  in  matters  relating  to  their 
functions. 

There  was  one  exception,  however,  in  a  testy  old 
huntsman,  as  hot  as  a  pepper-corn  ;  a  meagre,  wiry 
old  fellow,  in  a  threadbare  velvet  jockey  cap,  and  a 
pair  of  leather  breeches,  that,  from  much  wear, 
shone,  as  though  they  had  been  japanned.  He  was 
very  contradictory  and  pragmatical,  and  apt,  as  I 
thought,  to  differ  from  Master  Simon  nov/  and  then, 
out  of  mere  captiousness.  This  was  particularly  the 
case  with  respect  to  the  treatment  of  the  hawk, 
which  the  old  man  seemed  to  have  under  his  pecul- 
iar care,  and,  according  to  Master  Siinon,  was  in  a 
fair  way  to  ruin :  the  latter  had  a  vast  deal  to  say 
about  casting,  and  imping,  and  gleaming,  and  en- 
seaming,  and  giving  the  hawk  the  rangle,  which  I 
saw  was  all  heathen  Greek  to  old  Christy ;  but  he 
maintained  his  point  notwithstanding,  and  seemed 
to  hold  all  this  technical  lore  in  utter  disrespect. 

I  was  surprised  with  the  good-humour  with  which 
Master  Simon  bore  his  contradictions,  till  he  ex- 
plained tlie  matter  to  me  afterwards.  Old  Christy  is 
the  most  ancient  servant  in  the  place,  having  lived 
among  dogs  and  horses  the  greater  part  of  a  century, 
and  been  in  the  service  of  Mr.  Bracebridge's  lather. 
He  knows  the  pedigree  of  every  horse  on  the  place, 
and  has  bestrode  the  great-great-grandsires  of  most 
of  them.  He  can  give  a  circumstantial  detail  of 
every  fox-hunt  for  the  last  sixty  or  seventy  years, 
and  has  a  history  for  every  stag's  head  about  the 
house,  and  every  hunting  trophy  nailed  to  the  door 
of  the  dog-kennel. 

All  the  present  race  have  grown  up  under  his  eye, 
and  humour  him  in  his  old  age.  He  once  attended 
the  Squire  to  Oxford,  when  he  was  a  student  there, 
and  enlightened  the  whole  university  with  his  hunt- 
ing lore.  All  this  is  enough  to  make  the  old  man 
opinionated,  since  he  finds,  on  all  these  matters  of 
first-rate  importance,  he  knows  more  than  the  rest 
of  the  world.  Indeed,  Master  Simon  had  been  his 
pupil,  and  acknowledges  that  he  derived  his  first 
knowledge  in  hunting  from  the  instructions  of 
Christy ;  and  I  much  question  whether  the  old  man 
does  not  still  look  upon  him  rather  as  a  greenhorn. 

On  our  return  homewards,  as  we  were  crossing 
the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house,  we  heard  the  porter's 
bell  ring  at  the  lodge,  and  shortly  afterwards,  a  kind 
of  cavalcade  advanced  slowly  up  the  avenue.     At 


sight  of  it  my  companion  paused,  considered  it  for 
a  moment,  and  then,  making  a  sudden  exclamation, 
hurried  away  to  meet  it.  As  it  approached,  I  dis- 
covered a  fair,  fresh-looking  elderly  lady,  dressed  in 
an  old- fashioned  riding-habit,  with  a  broad-brimmed 
white  beaver  hat,  such  as  may  be  seen  in  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds'  paintings.  She  rode  a  sleek  white  pony, 
and  was  followed  by  a  footman  in  rich  livery,  mount- 
ed on  an  over-fed  hunter.  At  a  little  distance  in  the 
rear  came  an  ancient  cumbrous  chariot,  drawn  by 
two  very  corpulent  horses,  driven  by  as  corpulent  a 
coachman,  beside  whom  sat  a  page  dressed  in  a  fan- 
ciful green  livery.  Inside  of  the  chariot  was  a  starch- 
ed prim  personage,  with  a  look  somewhat  between 
a  lady's  companion  and  a  lady's  maid  ;  and  two 
pampered  curs,  that  showed  their  ugly  faces,  and 
barked  out  of  each  window. 

There  was  a  general  turning  out  of  the  garrison, 
to  receive  this  new  comer.  The  Squire  assisted  her 
to  alight,  and  saluted  her  affectionately  ;  the  fair 
Julia  flew  into  her  arms,  and  they  embraced  with  the 
romantic  fervour  of  boarding-school  friends :  she 
was  escorted  into  the  house  by  Julia's  lover,  towards 
whom  she  showed  distinguished  favour ;  and  a  line 
of  the  old  servants,  who  had  collected  in  the  Hall, 
bowed  most  profoundly  as  she  passed. 

I  observed  that  Master  Simon  was  most  assiduous 
and  devout  in  his  attentions  upon  this  old  lady.  He 
walked  by  the  side  of  her  pony,  up  the  avenue  ;  and, 
while  she  was  receiving  the  salutations  of  the  rest  of 
the  family,  he  took  occasion  to  notice  the  fat  coach- 
man ;  to  pat  the  sleek  carriage  horses,  and,  above 
all,  to  say  a  civil  word  to  my  lady's  gentlewoman, 
the  prime,  sour-looking  vestal  in  the  chariot. 

I  had  no  more  of  his  company  for  the  rest  of  the 
morning.  He  was  swept  off  in  the  vortex  that  fol- 
lowed in  the  wake  of  this  lady.  Once  indeed  he 
paused  for  a  moment,  as  he  was  hurrying  on  some 
errand  of  the  good  lady's,  to  let  me  know  that  this 
was  Lady  Lillycraft,  a  sister  of  the  Squire's,  of  large 
fortune,  which  the  captain  would  inherit,  and  that 
her  estate  lay  in  one  of  the  best  sporting  counties  in* 
all  England. 


FAMILY  SERVANTS. 


Verily  old  servants  are  the  vor.chers  of  worthy  housekeeping. 
They  are  like  rats  in  a  mansion,  or  mites  in  a  cheese,  bespeaking 
the  antiquity  and  fatness  of  their  abode. 

In  my  casual  anecdotes  of  the  Hall,  I  may  often 
be  tempted  to  dwell  on  circumstances  of  a  trite  and 
ordinary  nature,  from  their  appearing  to  me  illus- 
trative of  genuine  national  character.  It  seems  to 
be  the  study  of  the  Squire  to  adhere,  as  much  as 
possible,  to  what  he  cousiders  the  old  landinarks  of 
English  manners.  His  servants  all  understand  his 
ways,  and  for  the  most  part  have  been  accustomed 
to  them  from  infancy;  so  that,  upon  the  whole,  his 
household  presents  one  of  the  few  tolerable  specimens 
that  can  now  be  met  with,  of  the  establishment  of 
an  English  country  gentleman  of  the  old  school. 

By  the  by,  the  servants  are  not  the  least  charac- 
teristic part  of  the  household :  the  housekeeper,  for 
instance,  has  been  born  and  brought  up  at  the  Hall, 
and  has  never  been  twenty  miles  from  it ;  yet  she 
has  a  stately  air,  that  would  not  disgrace  a  lady  that 
had  figured  at  the  court  of  Queen  Elizabeth. 

I  am  half  inclined  to  think  that  she  has  caught  it 
from  living  so  much  among  the  old  family  pictures. 
It  may,  however,  be  owing  to  a  consciousness  of  her 
importance  in  the  sphere  in  which  she  has  always 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


437 


moved  ;  for  she  is  greatly  respected  in  the  neigh- 
bouring village,  and  among  the  farmers'  wives,  and 
has  high  authority  in  the  household,  ruling  over  the 
servants  with  quiet,  but  undisputed  sway. 

She  is  a  thin  old  lady,  with  blue  eyes  and  pointed 
nose  and  chin.  Her  dress  is  alwavs  the  same  as  to 
fashion.  She  wears  a  small,  well-starched  ruff,  a 
laced  stomacher,  full  petticoats,  and  a  gown  festoon- 
ed and  open  in  front,  which,  on  particular  occasions, 
is  of  ancient  silk,  the  legacy  of  some  former  dame  of 
the  family,  or  an  inheritance  from  her  mother,  who 
was  housekeeper  before  her.  I  hare  a  reverence  for 
these  old  garments,  as  I  make  no  doubt  they  have 
figured  about  these  apartments  in  days  long  past, 
when  they  have  set  off  the  charms  of  some  peerless 
family  beauty ;  and  I  have  sometimes  looked  from 
the  old  housekeeper  to  the  neighbouring  portraits, 
to  see  whether  I  could  not  recognize  her  antiquated 
brocade  in  the  dress  of  some  one  of  those  long- 
waisted  dames  that  smile  on  me  from  the  walls. 

Her  hair,  which  is  quite  white,  is  frizzed  out  in 
front,  and  she  wears  over  it  a  small  cap,  nicely  plait- 
ed, and  brought  down  under  the  chin.  Her  manners 
are  simple  and  primitive,  heightened  a  little  by  a 
proper  dignity  of  station. 

The  Hall  is  her  world,  and  the  history  of  the  fam- 
ily the  only  history  she  knows,  excepting  that  which 
she  has  read  in  the  Bible.  She  can  give  a  biography 
of  every  portrait  in  the  picture  gallery,  and  is  a  com- 
plete family  chronicle. 

She  is'  treated  with  great  consideration  by  the 
Squire.  Indeed,  Master  Simon  tells  me  that  there 
is  a  traditional  anecdote  current  among  the  serv- 
ants, of  the  Squire's  having  been  seen  kissing  her 
in  the  picture  gallery,  when  they  were  both  young. 
As,  however,  nothing  further  was  ever  noticed  be- 
tween them,  the  circumstance  caused  no  great 
scandal ;  only  she  was  observed  to  take  to  reading 
Pamela  shortly  afterwards,  and  refused  the  hand 
of  the  village  inn-keeper,  whom  she  had  previously 
smiled  on. 

The  old  butler,  who  was  formerly  footman,  and  a 
rejected  admirer  of  hers,  used  to  tell  the  anecdote 
now  and  then,  at  those  little  cabals  that  will  occa- 
sionally take  place  among  the  most  orderly  serv- 
ants, arising  from  the  common  propensity  of  the 
governed  to  talk  against  administration  ;  but  he  has 
left  it  off,  of  late  years,  since  he  has  risen  into 
place,  and  shakes  his  head  rebukingly  when  it  is 
mentioned. 

It  is  certain  that  the  old  lady  will,  to  this  day,  dwell 
on  the  looks  of  the  Squire  when  he  was  a  young 
man  at  college ;  and  she  maintains  that  none  of  his 
sons  can  compare  with  their  father  when  he  was  of 
their  age,  and  was  dressed  out  in  his  full  suit  of  scar- 
let, with  his  hair  craped  and  powdered,  and  his  three- 
cornered  hat. 

She  has  an  orphan  niece,  a  pretty,  soft-hearted 
baggage,  named  Phoebe  Wilkins,  who  has  been 
transplanted  to  the  Hall  within  a  year  or  two,  and 
been  nearly  spoiled  for  any  condition  of  life.  She  is 
a  kind  of  attendant  and  companion  of  the  fair  Ju- 
lia's ;  and  from  loitering  about  the  young  lady's 
apartments,  reading  scraps  of  novels,  and  inheriting 
second-hand  finery,  has  become  something  between 
a  waiting-maid  and  a  slipshod  fine  lady. 

She  js  considered  a  kind  of  heiress  among  the 
servants,  as  she  will  inherit  all  her  aunt's  property; 
which,  if  report  be  true,  must  be  a  round  sum  of 
good  golden  guineas,  the  accumulated  wealth  of 
two  housekeepers'  savings ;  not  to  mention  the 
hereditary  wardrobe,  and  the  many  little  valuables 
and  knick-knacks,  treasured  up  in  the  housekeepers' 
room.  Indeed,  the  old  housekeeper  has  the  reputa- 
tion, among  the  servants  and  the  villagers,  of  being 


passing  rich  ;  and  there  is  a  japanned  chest  of  draw- 
ers, and  a  large  iron-bound  coffer  in  her  room,  which 
are  supposed,  by  the  house-maids,  to  hold  treasures 
of  wealth. 

The  old  lady  is  a  great  friend  of  Master  Simon, 
who,  indeed,  pays  a  little  court  to  her,  as  to  a  person 
high  in  authority  ;  and  they  have  many  discussions 
on  points  of  family  history,  in  which,  notwithstand- 
ing his  extensive  information,  and  pride  of  knovvl- 
edge,  he  commonly  admits  her  superior  accuracy. 
He  seldom  returns  to  the  Hall,  after  one  of  his  visits 
to  the  other  branches  of  the  family,  without  bringing 
Mrs.  Wilkins  some  remembrance  from  the  ladies  uf 
the  house  where  he  has  been  staying. 

Indeed,  all  the  chiklren  of  the  house  look  up  to 
the  old  lady  with  habitual  respect  and  attachment, 
and  she  seems  almost  to  consider  them  as  her  own, 
from  their  having  grown  up  under  her  eye.  The 
Oxonian,  however,  is  her  favourite,  probably  from 
being  the  youngest,  though  he  is  the  most  mischiev- 
ous, and  has  been  apt  to  play  tricks  upon  her  from 
boyhood. 

I  cannot  help  mentioning  one  little  ceremony, 
which,  I  believe,  is  peculiar  to  the  Hall.  After  the 
cloth  is  removed  at  dinner,  the  old  housekeeper  sails 
into  the  room  and  stands  behind  the  Squire's  chair, 
when  he  fills  her  a  glass  of  wine  with  his  own  hands, 
in  which  she  drinks  the  health  of  the  company  in  a 
truly  respectful  yet  dignified  manner,  and  then  re- 
tires. The  Squire  received  the  custom  from  his  fa- 
ther, and  has  always  continued  it. 

There  is  a  peculiar  character  about  the  servants 
of  old  English  families  that  reside  principally  in  the 
country.  They  have  a  quiet,  orderly,  respectful 
mode  of  doing  their  duties.  They  are  always  neat 
in  their  persons,  and  appropriately,  and  if  I  may  use 
the  phrase,  technically  dressed  ;  they  move  about  the 
house  without  hurry  or  noise ;  there  is  nothing  of 
the  bustle  of  employment,  or  the  voice  of  command  ; 
nothing  of  that  obtrusive  housewifery  that  amounts 
to  a  torment.  You  are  not  persecuted  by  the  pro- 
cess of  making  you  comfortable  ;  yet  every  thing  is 
done,  and  is  done  well.  The  work  of  the  house  is 
performed  as  if  by  magic,  but  it  is  the  magic  of  sys- 
tem. Nothing  is  done  by  fits  and  starts,  nor  at  awk- 
ward seasons ;  the  whole  goes  on  like  well-oiled 
clock-work,  where  there  is  no  noise  nor  jarring  in  its 
operations. 

English  servants,  in  general,  are  not  treated  with 
great  indulgence,  nor  rewarded  by  many  commenda- 
tions; for  the  English  are  laconic  and  reserved  to- 
ward their  domestics ;  but  an  approving  nod  and  a 
kind  word  from  master  or  mistress,  goes  as  far  here, 
as  an  excess  of  praise  or  indulgence  elsewhere.  Nei- 
ther do  servants  often  exhibit  any  animated  marks 
of  affection  to  their  employers ;  yet,  thougli  quiet, 
they  are  strong  in  their  attachments  ;  and  the  recip- 
rocal regard  of  masters  and  servants,  though  not 
ardently  expressed,  is  powerful  and  lasting  in  old 
English  families. 

The  title  of  "  an  old  family  servant  "  carries  with 
it  a  thousand  kind  associations,  in  all  parts  of  the 
world ;  and  there  is  no  claim  upon  the  home-bred 
charities  of  the  heart  more  irresistible  than  that  of 
having  been  "born  in  the  house."  It  is  common  to 
see  gray-headed  domestics  of  this  kind  attached  to 
an  English  family  of  the  "  old  school,"  who  continue 
in  it  to  the  day  of  their  death,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
steady,  unaffected  kindness,  and  the  performance  of 
faithful,  unofficious  duty.  I  think  such  instances  of 
attachment  speak  well  for  both  master  and  servant, 
and  the  frequency  of  them  speaks  well  for  national 
character. 

These  obseri'ations,  however,  hold  good  only  with 
families  of  the  description  I  have  mentioned ;  and 


438 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


with  such  as  are  somewhat  retired,  and  pass  tlie 
Sreater  part  of  their  time  in  the  country.  '  As  to  the 
powdered  menials  that  throng  the  halls  of  fashion- 
able town  residences,  they  equally  reflect  the  char- 
acter of  the  establishments  to  which  they  belong; 
and  I  know  no  more  complete  epitomes  of  dissolute 
heartlessness  and  p.ampered  inutility. 

But,  the  good  "  old  family  servant !  " — the  one 
who  has  always  been  linked,  in  idea,  with  the  home 
of  our  heart ;  who  has  led  us  to  school  in  the  days 
of  prattling  childhood  ;  who  has  been  the  confidant 
of  our  boyish  cares,  and  schemes,  and  enterprises  ; 
who  has  hailed  us  as  we  came  home  at  vacations, 
and  been  the  promoter  of  all  our  holiday  sports ; 
who,  when  we,  in  wandering  manhood,  have  left  the 
paternal  roof,  and  only  return  thither  at  intervals — 
will  welcome  us  with  a  joy  inferior  only  to  that  of 
our  parents  ;  who,  now  grown  gray  and  infirm  with 
age,  still  totters  about  the  house  of  our  fathers,  in 
fond  and  faithful  servitude ;  who  claims  us,  in  a 
manner,  as  his  own  ;  and  hastens  with  querulous 
eagerness  to  anticipate  his  fellow-domestics  in  wait- 
ing upon  us  at  table ;  and  who,  when  we  retire  at 
night  to'the  chamber  that  still  goes  by  our  name,  will 
linger  about  the  room  to  have  one  more  kind  look, 
and  one  more  pleasant  word  about  times  that  are 
l,ast — who  does  not  experience  towards  such  a  being 
a  feeling  of  almost  filial  affection  ? 

1  have  met  with  several  instances  of  epitaphs  on 
the  gravestones  of  such  valuable  domestics,  recorded 
with  the  simple  truth  of  natural  feeling.  I  have  two 
before  me  at  this  moment ;  one  copied  from  a  tomb- 
stone of  a  church-yard  in  Warwickshire : 

"  Here  lieth  the  body  of  Joseph  Batte,  confidential 
servant  to  George  Birch,  Esq.,  of  Hamstead  Hall. 
His  grateful  friend  and  master  caused  this  inscrip- 
tion to  be  written  in  memory  of  his  discretion,  fidel- 
i'y,  diligence,  and  continence.  He  died  (a  bachelor) 
aged  84,  having  lived  44  years  in  the  same  family." 

The  other  was  taken  from  a  tombstone  in  Eltham 
church-yard : 

"  Here  lie  the  remains  of  Mr.  James  Tappy,  who 
departed  this  life  on  the  8th  of  September,  1818, 
aged  84,  after  a  faithful  service  of  60  years  in  one 
family;  by  each  individual  of  which  he  lived  re- 
spected, and  died  lamented  by  the  sole  survivor." 

Few  monuments,  even  of  the  illustrious,  have 
given  me  the  glow  about  the  heart  that  I  felt  wliile 
copying  this  honest  epitaph  in  the  church  yard  of 
Eltham.  I  sympathized  with  this  "  sole  survivor  "  of 
a  family  mourning  over  the  grave  of  the  faithful  fol- 
lower of  his  race,  who  had  been,  no  doubt,  a  living 
memento  of  times  and  friends  that  had  passed  away  ; 
and  in  considering  this  record  of  long  and  devoted 
service,  I  called  to  mind  the  touching  speech  of  Old 
Adam,  in  "As  You  Like  It,"  when  tottering  after 
the  youthful  son  of  his  ancient  master ; 

"  Master,  go  on,  and  I  will  follow  thee 
To  the  last  gasp,  with  love  and  loyalty  !  '* 

Note.— I  cannot  but  mention  a  tablet  which  I  have  seen  some- 
where in  the  chapel  of  Windsor  Castle,  put  up  by  the  late  king  to 
the  memory  of  a  family  servant,  who  had  been  a  faithful  attendant 
of  his  lamented  daughter,  the  Princess  Amelia.  George  III.  pos- 
sessed much  of  the  strong  domestic  feeling  of  the  old  English 
country  gentleman  ;  and  it  is  an  incident  curious  in  monumental 
history,  afld  creditable  to  the  human  heart,  a  monarch  erecting  a 
mouument  in  hoDour  of  the  humble  virtues  of  a  menial. 


THE  WIDOW. 


she  was  so  charitable  and  pitious 
She  would  weep  if  tliat  she  saw  a  mous 
Caught  in  a  trap,  if  it  were  dead  or  bled  ; 
Ot  small  hounds  had  she,  that  she  fed 
With  rost  flesh,  milke,  and  w.istel  bread, 
But  sore  wept  she  if  any  of  them  were  dead, 
Or  if  man  smote  them  with  a  yard  smart. 

Chaucek. 

Notwithstanding  the  whimsical  parade  made 
by  Lady  Lillycraft  on  her  arrival,  she  has  none  of 
the  petty  stateliness  that  I  had  imagined  ;  but,  on 
the  contrary,  she  has  a  degree  of  nature  and  simple- 
heartedness,  if  I  may  use  the  phrase,  that  mingles 
well  with  her  old-fashioned  manners  and  harmless 
ostentation.  She  dresses  in  rich  silks,  with  long 
waist ;  she  rouges  considerably,  and  her  hair,  which 
is  nearly  white,  is  frizzed  out,  and  put  up  with  pins. 
Her  face  is  pitted  with  the  small-pox,  but  the  deli- 
cacy of  her  features  shows  that  she  mav  once  have 
been  beautiful ;  and  she  has  a  very  fair  and  well- 
shaped  hand  and  arm,  of  which,  if  I  mistake  not,  the 
good  lady  is  still  a  little  vain. 

I  have  had  the  curiosity  to  gather  a  few  particu- 
lars concerning  her.  She  was  a  great  belle  in  town, 
between  thirty  and  forty  years  since,  and  reigned  for 
two  seasons  with  all  the  insolence  of  beauty,  refus- 
ing several  excellent  ofters  ;  when,  unfortunately,  she 
was  robbed  of  her  charms  and  her  lovers  by  an  at- 
tack of  the  small-pox.  She  retired  immediately  into 
the  country,  where  she  some  time  after  inherited  an 
estate,  and  married  a  baronet,  a  former  admirer, 
whose  passion  had  suddenly  revived  ;  "  havii>g,"  as 
he  said,  "  always  loved  her  mind  rather  than  her 
person." 

The  baronet  did  not  enjoy  her  mind  and  fortune 
above  six  months,  and  had  scarcely  grown  very  tired 
of  her,  when  he  broke  his  neck  in  a  fo.\-chase,  and 
left  her  free,  rich,  and  disconsolate.  She  has  re- 
mained on  her  estate  in  the  country  ever  since,  and 
has  never  shown  any  desire  to  return  to  town,  and 
revi.sit  the  scene  of  her  early  triumphs  and  fatal 
malady.  All  her  favourite  recollections,  however, 
revert  to  that  short  period  of  her  youthful  beauty. 
She  has  no  idea  of  town  but  as  it  was  at  that  time  ; 
and  continually  forgets  that  the  place  and  people 
must  have  changed  inaterially  in  the  course  of  nearly 
half  a  century.  She  will  often  speak  of  the  toasts  of 
those  days  as  if  still  reigning ;  and,  until  very  re- 
cently, used  to  talk  with  delight  of  the  royal  family, 
and  the  beauty  of  the  young  princes  and  princesses. 
She  cannot  be  brought  to  think  of  the  present  king 
otherwise  than  as  an  elegant  young  man,  rather 
wild,  but  who  danced  a  minuet  divinely ;  and  before 
he  came  to  the  crown,  would  often  mention  him  as 
the  "  sweet  young  prince." 

She  talks  also  of  the  walks  in  Kensington  Garden, 
where  the  gentlemen  appeared  in  gold-laced  coats, 
and  cocked  hats,  and  the  ladies  in  hoops,  and  swept 
so  proudly  along  the  grassy  avenues  ;  and  she  thinks 
the  ladies  let  themselves  sadly  down  in  their  dignity, 
when  they  gave  up  cushioned  head-dresses,  and  iiigh- 
heeled  shoes.  She  has  much  to  say  too  of  the  officers 
who  were  in  the  train  of  her  admirers  ;  and  speaks 
familiarly  of  many  wild  young  blades,  that  are  now, 
perhaps,  hobbling  about  watering-places  with  crutches 
and  gouty  shoes. 

Whether  the  taste  the  good  lady  had  of  matrimony 
discouraged  her  or  not,  I  cannot  say  ;  but  though  her 
merits  and  her  riches  have  attracted  many  suitors, 
she  has  never  been  tempted  to  venture  again  into 
the  happy  state.  This  is  singular,  too,  for  she  seems 
of  a  most  soft  and  susceptible  heart ;  is  always  talk- 
ing of  love  and  connubial  felicity,  and   is  a  great 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


439 


stickler  for  old-fashioned  gallantry,  devoted  attentions, 
and  eternal  constancy,  on  the  part  of  the  gentlemen. 
She  lives,  however,  after  her  own  taste.  Her  house, 
I  am  told,  must  have  been  built  and  furnished  about 
the  time  of  Sir  Charles  Grandison :  every  thing 
about  it  is  somewhat  formal  and  stately ;  but  has 
been  softened  down  into  a  degree  of  voluptuousness, 
characteristic  of  an  old  lady,  very  tender-hearted 
and  romantic,  and  that  loves  her  ease.  The  cushions 
of  the  great  arm-chairs,  and  wide  sofas,  almost  bury 
you  when  you  sit  down  on  them.  Flowers  of  the 
most  rare  and  delicate  kind  are  placed  about  the 
rooms,  and  on  little  japanned  stands  ;  and  sweet  bags 
He-  about  the  tables  and  mantel-pieces.  The  house  is  | 
full  of  pet  dogs,  Angola  cats,  and  singing  birds,  who 
are  as  carefully  waited  upon  as  she  is  herself. 

She  is  dainty  in  her  living,  and  a  little  of  an  epi- 
cure, living  on  white  meats,  and  little  lady-like  dishes, 
though  her  servants  have  substantial  old  English  fare, 
as  their  looks  bear  witness.  Indeed,  they  are  so  in- 
dulged, that  they  are  all  spoiled  ;  and  when  they  lose 
their  present  place,  they  will  be  tit  for  no  other. 
Her  ladj'ship  is  one  of  those  easy-tempered  beings 
that  are  always  doomed  to  be  much  liked,  but  ill 
served  by  their  domestics,  and  cheated  by  all  the 
world. 

Much  of  her  time  is  passed  in  reading  novels,  of 
which  she  has  a  most  extensive  library,  and  has  a 
constant  supply  from  the  publishers  in  town.  Her 
erudition  in  this  line  of  literature  is  immense ;  she 
has  kept  pace  with  the  press  for  half  a  century. 
Her  mind  is  stuffed  with  love-tales  of  all  kinds,  from 
the  stately  amours  of  the  old  books  of  chivalry,  down 
to  the  last  blue-covered  romance,  reeking  from  the 
press  ;  though  she  evidently  gives  the  preference  to 
those  that  came  out  in  the  days  of  her  youth,  and 
when  she  was  tirst  in  love.  She  maintains  that  there 
are  no  novels  written  now-a-days  equal  to  Pamela 
and  Sir  Charles  Grandison  ;  and  she  places  the  Cas- 
tle of  Otranto  at  the  head  of  all  romances. 

She  does  a  vast  deal  of  good  in  her  neighbourhood, 
and  is  imposed  upon  by  every  beggar  in  the  county. 
She  is  the  benefactress  of  a  village  adjoining  to  her 
estate,  and  takes  an  especial  interest  in  all  its  love 
affairs.  She  knows  of  every  courtship  that  is  going 
on ;  every  lovelorn  damsel  is  sure  to  find  a  patient 
listener  and  a  sage  adviser  in  her  ladyship.  She  takes 
great  pains  to  reconcile  all  love-quarrels,  and  should 
any  faithless  swain  persist  in  his  inconstancy,  he  is 
sure  to  draw  on  himself  the  good  lady's  violent  in- 
tlignation. 

I  have  learned  these  particulars  partly  from  Frank 
Bracebridge,  and  partly  from  Master  Simon.  I  am 
now  able  to  account  for  the  assiduous  attention  of 
the  latter  to  her  ladyship.  Her  house  is  one  of  his 
favourite  resorts,  where  he  is  a  very  important  per- 
sonage. He  makes  her  a  visit  of  business  once  a 
year,  when  he  looks  into  all  her  affairs  ;  which,  as 
she  is  no  manager,  are  apt  to  get  into  confusion.  He 
examines  the  books  of  the  overseer,  and  shoots  about 
the  estate,  which,  he  says,  is  well  stocked  with  game, 
notwithstanding  that  it  is  poached  by  all  the  vaga- 
bonds in  the  neighbourhood. 

It  is  thought,  as  I  before  hinted,  that  the  captain 
will  inherit  the  greater  part  of  her  property,  having 
always  been  her  chief  favourite ;  for,  in  fact,  she  is 
partial  to  a  red  coat.  She  has  now  come  to  the  Hall 
to  be  present  at  his  nuptials,  having  a  great  disposi- 
tion to  interest  herself  in  all  matters  of  love  and 
matrimony. 


THE  LOVERS. 


Rise  up,  my  lovo,  my  fair  one,  and  come  away  ;  for  lo  the  winter 
is  past,  tfic  rain  is  over  and  pone  ;  the  flowers  appear  on  the  earth, 
the  timo  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of  the 
turtle  is  heard  in  the  land.  Song  of  Solomon. 

To  a  man  who  is  a  little  of  a  philosopher,  and  a 
bachelor  to  boot ;  and  who,  by  dint  of  some  experi- 
ence in  the  follies  of  life,  begins  to  look  with  a  learn- 
ed eye  upon  the  ways  of  man,  and  eke  of  woman  ; 
to  such  a  man,  I  say,  there  is  something  very  enter- 
taining in  noticing  the  conduct  of  a  pair  of  young 
lovers.  It  may  not  be  as  grave  and  scientific  a  study 
as  the  loves  of  the  plants,  but  it  is  certainly  as  inter- 
esting. 

I  have,  therefore,  derived  much  pleasure,  since  my 
arrival  at  the  Hall,  from  observing  the  fair  Julia  and 
her  lover.  She  has  all  the  delightful,  blushing  con- 
sciousness of  an  artless  girl,  inexperienced  in  coquetry, 
who  has  made  her  first  conquest ;  while  the  captain 
regards  her  with  that  mixture  of  fondness  and  ex- 
ultation with  which  a  youthful  lover  is  apt  to  con- 
template so  beauteous  a  prize. 

I  observed  them  yesterday  in  the  garden,  advanc- 
ing along  one  of  the  retired  walks.  The  sun  was 
shining  with  delicious  warmth,  making  great  masses 
of  bright  verdure,  and  deep  blue  shade.  The  cuckoo, 
that  "harbinger  of  spring,"  was  faintly  heard  from  a 
distance ;  the  thrush  piped  from  the  hawthorn  ;  and 
the  yellow  butterflies  sported,  and  toyed,  and  co- 
quetted in  the  air. 

The  fair  Julia  was  learving  on  her  lover's  arm,  list- 
ening to  his  conversation,  with  her  eyes  cast  down, 
a  soft  blush  on  her  cheek,  and  a  quiet  smile  on  her 
lips,  while  in  the  hand  that  hung  negligently  by  her 
side  was  a  bunch  of  flowers.  In  this  way  they  were 
sauhtering  slowly  along;  and  when  I  considered  them 
and  the  scene  in  which  they  were  moving,  I  could 
not  but  think  it  a  thousand  pities  that  the  season 
should  ever  change,  or  that  young  people  should  ever 
grow  older,  or  that  blossoms  should  give  way  to  fruit, 
or  that  lovers  should  ever  get  married. 

From  what  I  have  gathered  of  family  anecdote,  I 
understand  that  the  fair  Julia  is  the  daughter  of  a 
favourite  college  friend  of  the  Squire ;  who,  after 
leaving  Oxford,  had  entered  the  army,  and  served 
for  many  years  in  India,  where  he  was  mortally 
wounded  in  a  skirmish  with  the  natives.  In  his 
last  moments  he  had,  with  a  faltering  pen,  recom- 
mended his  wife  and  daughter  to  the  kindness  of  his 
early  friend. 

The  widow  and  her  child  returned  to  England 
helpless  and  almost  hopeless.  When  Mr.  Brace- 
bridge  received  accounts  of  their  situation,  he  has- 
tened to  their  relief.  He  reached  them  just  in  time 
to  soothe  the  last  moments  of  the  mother,  who  was 
dying  of  a  consumption,  and  to  inake  her  happy 
iri  the  assurance  that  her  child  should  never  want  a 
protector. 

The  good  Squire  returned  with  his  prattling  charge 
to  his  strong-hold,  where  he  had  brought  her  up  with 
a  tenderness  truly  paternal.  As  he  has  taken  some 
pains  to  superintend  her  education,  and  form  her  taste, 
she  has  grown  up  with  many  of  his  notions,  and  con- 
siders him  the  wisest,  as  well  as  the  best  of  men. 
Much  of  her  time,  too,  has  been  passed  with  Lady 
Lillycraft,  who  has  instructed  her  in  the  manners  of 
the  old  school,  and  enriched  her  mind  with  all  kinds 
of  novels  and  romances.  Indeed,  her  ladyship  has 
had  a  great  hand  in  promoting  the  match  between 
Julia  and  the  captain,  having  had  them  together  at 
her  country-seat,  the  moment  she  found  there  was 
an  attachment  growing  up  between  them  ;  the  good' 


uo 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


lady  being  never  so  happy  as  when  she  has  a  pair  of 
turtles  cooing  about  her. 

I  have  been  pleased  to  see  the  fondness  with  which 
the  fair  Julia  is  regarded  by  the  old  servants  at  the 
Hall.  She  has  been  a  pet  with  them  from  childhood, 
and  even/  one  seems  to  lay  some  claim  to  her  educa- 
tion ;  so  that  it  is  no  wonder  that  she  should  be  ex- 
tremely accomplished.  The  gardener  taught  her  to 
rear  flowers,  of  which  she  is  extremely  fond.  Old 
Christy,  the  pragmatical  huntsman,  softens  when  she 
approaches  ;  and  as  she  sits  lightly  and  gracefully  in 
her  saddle,  claims  the  merit  of  having  taught  her  to 
ride  ;  while  the  housekeeper,  who  almost  looks  upon 
her  as  a  daughter,  intimates  that  she  first  gave  her  an 
insight  into  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet,  having  been 
dressing-maid,  in  her  young  days,  to  the  late  Mrs. 
Bracebridge.  I  am  inclined  to  credit  this  last  claim, 
as  I  have  noticed  that  the  dress  of  the  young  lady 
had  an  air  of  the  old  school,  though  managed  with 
rvitive  taste,  and  that  her  hair  was  put  up  very  much 
in  the  style  of  Sir  Peter  Lely's  portraits  in  the  pict- 
ure gallery. 

Her  very  musical  attainments  partake  of  this  old- 
fashioned  character,  and  most  of  her  songs  are  such 
as  are  not  at  the  present  day  to  be  found  on  the 
piano  of  a  modern  performer.  I  have,  however, 
seen  so  much  of  modern  fashions,  modern  accom- 
plishments, and  modern  fine  ladies,  that  I  relish  this 
tinge  of  antiquated  style  in  so  young  and  lovely  a 
girl  ;  and  I  have  had  as  much  pleasure  in  hearing  her 
warble  one  of  the  old  songs  of  Herrick,  or  Carew, 
or  Suckling,  adapted  to  some  simple  old  melody,  as 
I  have  had  from  listening  to  a  lady  amateur  sky-lark 
it  up  and  down  through  the  finest  bravura  of  Ros- 
sini or  Mozart. 

We  have  \'ery  pretty  music  in  the  evenings,  occa- 
sionally, between  her  and  the  captain,  assisted  some- 
times by  Master  Simon,  who  scrapes,  dubiously, 
on  his  violin  ;  being  very  apt  to  get  out,  and  to 
halt  a  note  or  two  in  the  rear.  Sometimes  he  even 
thrums  a  little  on  the  piano,  and  takes  a  part  in  a 
trio,  in  which  his  voice  can  generally  be  distinguish- 
ed by  a  certain  quavering  tone,  and  an  occasional 
false  note. 

I  was  praising  the  fair  Julia's  performance  to  him, 
after  one  of  her  songs,  when  I  found  he  took  to  him- 
self the  whole  credit  of  having  formed  her  musical 
taste,  assuring  me  that  she  was  very  apt ;  and,  indeed, 
summing  up  her  whole  character  in  his  knowing 
way,  by  adding,  that  "  she  was  a  very  nice  girl,  and 
had  no  nonsense  about  her." 


FAMILY  RELIQUE8. 


My  Infelice's  face,  her  brow,  her  eye, 

The  dimple  on  her  cheek  :  and  such  sweet  skill 

Hath  from  the  cunning  workman's  pencil  flown, 

These  lips  look  fresh  and  lively  as  her  own. 

False  colours  last  after  the  true  be  dead. 

Of  all  the  roses  grafted  on  her  cheeks, 

Of  all  the  graces  dancing  in  her  eyes, 

Of  all  the  music  set  upon  her  tongue, 

Of  all  that  was  past  woman's  excellence 

In  her  white  bosom  ;  look,  a  painted  board 

Circumscribes  all !  Dekker. 

An  old  English  family  mansion  is  a  fertile  subject 
for  study.  It  abounds  with  illustrations  of  former 
times,  and  traces  of  the  tastes,  and  humours,  and 
manners  of  successive  generations.  The  alterations 
and  additions,  in  different  styles  of  architecture ;  the 
furniture,  plate,  pictures,  hangings  ;  the  warlike  and 
sporting  implements  of  different  ages  and  fancies ; 
all  furnish  food  for  curious  and  amusing  speculation. 
As  the  Squire  is  very  careful  in  collecting  and  pre- 


serving all  family  reliques,  the  Hall  is  full  of  remem- 
brances of  the  kind.  In  looking  about  the  establish- 
ment, I  can  picture  to  myself  the  characters  and 
habits  that  have  prevailed  at  different  eras  of  the 
family  history.  I  have  mentioned,  on  a  former  oc- 
casion, the  armour  of  the  crusader  which  hangs  up 
in  the  Hall.  There  are  also  several  jack-boots,  witli 
enormously  thick  soles  and  high  heels,  that  belongetl 
to  a  set  of  cavaliers,  who  filled  the  Hall  with  the  din 
and  stir  of  arms  during  the  time  of  the  Covenanters. 
A  number  of  enonnous  drinking  vessels  of  antique 
fashion,  with  huge  Venice  glasses,  and  green-hock- 
glasses,  with  the  apostles  in  relief  on  them,  remain 
as  monuments  of  a  generation  or  two  of  hard  livers, 
that  led  a  life  of  roaring  revelry,  and  first  introduced 
the  gout  into  the  family. 

I  shall  pass  over  several  more  such  indications  of 
temporary  tastes  of  the  Squire's  predecessors  ;  but  I 
cannot  forbear  to  notice  a  pair  of  antlers  in  the  great 
hall,  which  is  one  of  the  trophies  of  a  hard-riding 
squire  of  former  times,  who  was  the  Nimrod  of  these 
parts.  There  are  many  traditions  of  his  wonderful 
feats  in  hunting  still  existing,  which  are  related  by 
old  Christy,  the  huntsman,  who  gets  exceedingly 
nettled  if  they  are  in  the  least  doubted.  Indeed', 
there  is  a  frightful  chasm,  a  few  miles  from  the  Hall, 
which  goes  by  the  name  of  the  Squire's  Leap,  from 
his  having  cleared  it  in  the  ardour  of  the  chase ; 
there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact,  for  old  Christy 
shows  the  very  dints  of  the  horse's  hoofs  on  the  rocks 
on  each  side  of  the  chasm. 

Master  Simon  holds  the  memory  of  this  squire  in 
great  veneration,  and  has  a  number  of  extraordinary 
stories  to  tell  concerning  him,  which  he  repeats  at 
all  hunting  dinners ;  and  I  am  told  that  they  wax 
more  and  more  marvellous  the  older  they  grow.  He 
has  also  a  pair  of  Rippon  spurs  which  belonged  to 
this  mighty  hunter  of  yore,  and  which  he  only  wears 
on  particular  occasions. 

The  place,  however,  which  abounds  most  with 
mementos  of  past  times,  is  the  picture  gallery ;  and 
there  is  something  strangely  pleasing,  though  melan- 
choly, in  considering  the  long  rows  of  portraits  which 
compose  the  greater  part  of  the  collection.  They 
furnish  a  kind  of  narrative  of  the  lives  of  the  family 
worthies,  which  I  am  enabled  to  read  with  the  as- 
sistance of  the  venerable  housekeeper,  who  is  the 
family  chronicler,  prompted  occasionally  by  Master 
Simon.  There  is  the  progress  of  a  fine  lady,  for  in- 
stance, through  a  variety  of  portraits.  One  repre- 
sents her  as  a  little  girl,  with  a  long  waist  and  hoop, 
holding  a  kitten  in  her  arms,  and  ogling  the  spectator 
out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  as  if  she  could  not 
turn  her  head.  In  another,  we  find  her  in  the  fresh- 
ness of  youthful  beauty,  when  she  was  a  celebrated 
belle,  and  so  hard-hearted  as  to  cause  several  unfor- 
tunate gentlemen  to  run  desperate  and  write  bad 
poetry.  In  another,  she  is  depicted  as  a  stately 
dame,  in  the  maturity  of  her  charms ;  next  to  the 
portrait  of  her  husband,  a  gallant  colonel  in  full- 
bottomed  wig  and  gold-laced  hat,  who  was  killed 
abroad ;  and,  finally,  her  monument  is  in  the  church, 
the  spire  of  which  may  be  seen  from  the  window-, 
where  her  effigy  is  carved  in  marble,  and  represents 
her  as  a  venerable  dame  of  seventy-six. 

In  like  manner,  I  have  followed  some  of  the  family 
great  men  through  a  series  of  pictures,  from  early 
boyhood  to  the  robe  of  dignity,  or  truncheon  of  com- 
mand ;  and  so  on  by  degrees,  until  they  were  gar- 
nered up  in  the  common  repository,  the  neighbouring 
church. 

There  is  one  group  that  particularly  interested 
me.  It  consisted  of  four  sisters,  of  nearly  the  same 
age,  who  fiourished  about  a  century  since,  and,  if  I 
may  judge  from  their  portraits,  were  extremely  beau- 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


441 


fifu!.  I  can  imagine  what  a  scene  of  gayety  and  ro- 
mance this  old  mansion  must  have  been,  when  they 
were  in  the  heyday  of  their  charms  ;  when  they 
passed  like  beautiful  visions  through  its  halls,  or 
stepped  daintily  to  music  in  the  revels  and  dances  of 
the  cedar  gallei7  ;  or  printed,  with  delicate  feet,  the 
velvet  verdure  of  these  lawns.  How  must  they  have 
been  looked  up  to  with  mingled  love,  and  pride,  and 
reverence  by  the  old  family  servants  ;  and  followed 
with  almost  painful  admiration  by  the  aching  eyes 
of  rival  admirers  !  How  must  melody,  and  song,  and 
tender  serenade,  have  breathed  about  these  courts, 
and  their  echoes  whispered  to  the  loitering  tread  of 
lovers  !  How  must  these  very  turrets  have  made  the 
hearts  of  the  young  galliards  thrill,  as  they  first  dis- 
cerned them  from  afar,  rising  from  among  the  trees, 
and  pictured  to  themselves  the  beauties  casketed  like 
gems  within  these  walls !  Indeed,  I  have  discovered 
about  tiie  place  several  faint  records  of  this  reign  of 
love  and  romance,  when  the  Hall  was  a  kind  of 
Court  of  Beauty. 

Several  of  the  old  romances  in  the  library  have 
marginal  notes  expressing  sympathy  and  approba- 
tion, where  there  are  long  speeches  extolling  ladies' 
charms,  or  protesting  eternal  fidelity,  or  bewailing 
the  cruelty  of  some  tyrannical  fair  one.  The  inter- 
views, and  declarations,  and  parting  scenes  of  tender 
lovers,  also  bear  the  marks  of  having  been  frequently 
read,  and  are  scored  and  marked  with  notes  of  ad- 
miration, and  have  initials  written  on  the  margins  ; 
most  of  which  annotations  have  the  day  of  the  month 
and  year  annexed  to  them.  Several  of  the  windows, 
too,  have  scraps  of  poetry  engraved  on  them  with 
diamonds,  taken  from  the  writings  of  the  fair  Mrs. 
Philips,  the  once  celebrated  Orinda.  Some  of  these 
seem  to  have  been  inscribed  by  lovers  ;  and  others, 
in  a  delicate  and  unsteady  hand,  and  a  little  inaccu- 
rate in  the  spelling,  have  evidently  been  written  by 
the  young  ladies  themselves,  or  by  female  friends, 
who  have  been  on  visits  to  the  Hall.  Mrs.  Philips 
seems  to  have  been  their  favourite  author,  and  they 
have  distributed  the  names  of  her  heroes  and  hero- 
ines among  their  circle  of  intimacy.  Sometimes,  in  a 
male  hand,  the  verse  bewails  the  cruelty  of  beauty, 
and  the  sufferings  of  constant  love  ;  while  in  a  female 
hand  it  prudishly  confines  itself  to  lamenting  the 
parting  of  female  friends.  The  bow-window  of  my 
bed-room,  which  has,  doubtless,  been  inhabited  by 
«  one  of  these  beauties,  has  several  of  these  inscrip- 

tions. I  have  one  at  this  moment  before  my  eyes, 
called  "  Camilla  parting  with  Leonora  :  " 

'■  How  perish'd  is  the  joy  that's  past, 
'I  he  present  how  unsteady  ! 
What  comfort  can  be  great  and  last. 
When  this  is  gone  already?  " 

And  close  by  it  is  another,  written,  perhaps,  by  some 
adventurous  lover,  who  had  stolen  into  the  lady's 
chamber  during  her  absence : 

"tHEODOSIUS  to  CAMILLA. 

I'd  rather  in  your  favour  live, 

Than  in  a  lasting  name  ; 
And  much  a  greater  rate  would  give 

For  happiness  than  fame. 

THEODOSIUS.     1700." 

When  I  look  at  these  faint  records  of  gallantry  and 
tenderness  ;  when  I  contemplate  the  fading  portraits 
of  these  beautiful  girls,  and  think,  too,  that  they  have 
long  since  bloomed,  reigned,  grown  old,  died,  and 
passed  away,  and  with  them  all  their  graces,  their 
triumphs,  their  rivalries,  their  admirers ;  the  whole 
empire  of  love  and  pleasure  in  which  they  ruled — 
"all  dead,  all  buried,  all  forgotten,"  I  find  a  cloud  of 
melancholy  stealing  over  the  present  gayeties  around 
me.     I  was  gazing,  in  a  musing  mood,  this  very 


morning,  at  the  portrait  of  the  lad)  whose  husband 
was  killed  abroad,  when  the  fair  Julia  entered  the 
gallery,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  the  captain.  The  sun 
shone  through  the  row  of  windows  on  her  as  she 
passed  along,  and  she  seemed  to  beam  out  each  time 
into  brightness,  and  relapse  into  shade,  until  the  door 
at  the  bottom  of  the  gallery  closed  after  her.  I  felt 
a  sadness  of  heart  at  the  idea,  that  this  was  an  em- 
blem of  her  lot :  a  few  more  years  of  sunshine  and 
shade,  and  all  this  life  and  loveliness,  and  enjoyment, 
will  have  ceased,  and  nothing  be  left  to  commemo- 
rate this  beautiful  being  but  one  more  perishable  por- 
trait ;  to  awaken,  perhaps,  the  trite  speculations  of 
some  future  loiterer,  like  myself,  when  I  and  my 
scribblings  shall  have  lived  through  our  brief  exist- 
ence, and  been  forgotten. 


AN   OLD   SOLDIER. 


I've  worn  some  leather  out  abroad  ;  let  out  a  heathen  soul  or  two  ; 
fed  this  eood  sword  with  the  black  blood  of  pagan  Christians; 
converted  a  few  infidels  with  it. —  But  let  that  pass. 

The  Ordinary. 

The  Hall  was  thrown  into  some  little  agitation,  a 
few  days  since,  by  the  arrival  of  General  Harbottle. 
He  had  been  expected  for  several  days,  and  had  been 
looked  for,  rather  impatiently,  by  several  of  the 
family.  Master  Simon  assured  me  that  I  would  like 
the  general  hugely,  for  he  was  a  blade  of  the  old 
school,  and  an  excellent  table  companion.  Lady 
Lillycraft,  also,  appeared  to  be  somewhat  fluttered, 
on  the  morning  of  the  general's  arrival,  for  he  had 
been  one  of  her  early  adinirers  ;  and  she  recollected 
him  only  as  a  dashing  young  ensign,  just  come  upon 
the  town.  She  actually  spent  an  hour  longer  at  her 
toilette,  and  made  her  appearance  with  her  hair  un- 
commonly frizzed  and  powdered,  and  an  additional 
quantity  of  rouge.  She  was  evidently  a  little  sur- 
prised and  shocked,  therefore,  at  finding  the  lithe, 
dashing  ensign  transformed  into  a  corpulent  old  gen- 
eral, with  a  double  chin  ;  though  it  was  a  perfect 
picture  to  witness  their  salutations  ;  the  graciousness 
of  her  profound  curtsy,  and  the  air  of  the  old  school 
with  which  the  general  took  off  his  hat,  swayed  it 
gently  in  his  hand,  and  bowed  his  powdered  head. 

All  this  bustle  and  anticipation  has  caused  me  to 
study  the  general  with  a  little  more  attention  than, 
perhaps,  I  should  otherwise  have  done  ;  and  the  few 
days  that  he  has  already  passed  at  the  Hall  have  en- 
abled me,  I  think,  to  furnish  a  tolerable  likeness  of 
him  to  the  reader. 

He  is,  as  Master  Simon  observed,  a  soldier  of  the 
old  school,  with  powdered  head,  side  locks,  and  pig- 
tail. His  face  is  shaped  like  the  stern  of  a  Dutch 
man-of-war,  narrow  at  top  and  wide  at  bottom,  with 
full  rosy  cheeks  and  a  double  chin  ;  so  that,  to  use 
the  cant  of  the  day,  his  organs  of  eating  may  be  said 
to  be  powerfully  developed. 

The  general,  though  a  veteran,  has  seen  very  little 
active  service,  except  the  taking  of  Seringapatam, 
which  forms  an  era  in  his  history.  He  wears  a  large 
emerald  in  his  bosom,  and  a  diamond  on  his  finger, 
which  he  got  on  that  occasion,  and  whoever  is  un- 
lucky enough  to  notice  either,  is  sure  to  involve  him- 
self in  the  whole  history  of  the  siege.  To  judge 
from  the  general's  conversation,  the  taking  of  Seiin- 
gapatam  is  the  most  important  affair  that  has  oc- 
curred for  the  last  century. 

On  the  approach  of  warlike  times  on  the  continent, 
he  was  rapidly  promoted  to  get  him  out  of  the  wiy 
of  younger  officers  of  merit ;  until,  having  been 
hoisted  to  the  rank  of  general,  he  was  quietly  laid  on 


412 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  shelf.  Since  that  time,  his  campaigns  have  been 
principally  confined  to  watering'-placcs ;  where  he 
drinks  the  waters  for  a  slight  touch  of  the  liver  which 
he  got  in  India  ;  and  plays  whist  with  old  dowagers, 
with  whom  he  has  flirted  in  his  younger  days.  Indeed, 
he  talks  of  all  the  fine  women  of  the  last  half  century, 
and,  according  to  hints  which  he  now  and  then 
drops,  has  enjoyed  the  particular  smiles  of  many  of 
them. 

He  has  seen  considerable  garrison  duty,  and  can 
speak  of  almost  every  place  famous  for  good  quarters, 
and  where  the  inhabitants  give  good  dinners.  He  is 
a  diner  out  of  first-rate  currency,  when  in  town ; 
being  invited  to  one  place,  because  he  has  been  seen 
at  another.  In  the  same  way  he  is  invited  about  the 
country-seats,  and  can  describe  half  the  seats  in  the 
kingdom,  from  actual  observation  ;  nor  is  any  one 
better  versed  in  court  gossip,  and  the  pedigrees  and 
intermarriages  of  the  nobility. 

As  the  general  is  an  old  bachelor,  and  an  old  beau, 
and  there  are  several  ladies  at  the  Hall,  especially 
his  quondam  flame  Lady  Jocelyne,  he  is  put  rather 
upon  his  gallantry.  He  commonly  passes  some  time, 
therefore,  at  his  toilette,  and  takes  the  field  at  a  late 
hour  every  morning,  with  his  hair  dressed  out  and 
powdered,  and  a  rose  in  his  button-hole.  After  he 
has  breakfasted,  he  walks  up  and  down  the  terrace 
in  the  sunshine,  humming  an  air,  and  hemming  be- 
tween every  stave,  carrying  one  hand  behind  his 
back,  and  with  the  other  touching  his  cane  to  the 
ground,  and  then  raising  it  up  to  his  shoulder. 
Should  he,  in  these  morning  promenades,  meet  any 
of  the  elder  ladies  of  the  family,  as  he  frequently 
does  Lady  Lillycraft,  his  hat  is  immediately  in  his 
hand,  and  it  is  enough  to  remind  one  of  those  courtly 
groups  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  in  old  prints  of 
Windsor  terrace,  or  Kensington  garden. 

He  talks  frequently  about  "  the  service,"  and  is 
fond  of  hummmg  the  old  song, 

Why,  soldiers,  why. 

Should  we  be  melancholy,  boys  ? 

Why,  soldiers,  why, 

Whose  business  't  is  to  die  ! 

I  cannot  discover,  however,  that  the  general  has 
ever  run  any  great  risk  of  dying,  excepting  from  an 
apoplexy  or  an  indigestion.  He  criticises  all  the 
battles  on  the  continent,  and  discusses  the  merits  of 
the  commanders,  but  never  fails  to  bring  the  conver- 
sation, ultimately,  to  Tippoo  Saib  and  Seringapatam. 
I  am  told  that  lire  general  was  a  perfect  champion  at 
drawing-rooms,  parades,  and  watering-places,  during 
the  late  war,  and  was  looked  to  with  hope  and  con- 
fidence by  many  an  old  lady,  when  labouring  under 
the  terror  of  Buonaparte's  invasion. 

He  is  thoroughly  loyal,  and  attends  punctually  on 
levees  when  in  town.  He  has  treasured  up  many 
remarkable  sayings  of  the  late  king,  particulaily  one 
which  the  king  made  to  him  on  a  field-day,  compli- 
menting him  on  the  excellence  of  his  horse.  He  ex- 
tols the  whole  royal  family,  but  especially  the  present 
king,  whom  he  pronounces  the  most  perfect  gentle- 
man and  best  whist-player  in  Europe.  The  general 
swears  rather  more  than  is  the  fashion  of  the  present 
day  ;  but  it  was  the  mode  in  the  old  school.  He  is, 
however,  veiy  strict  in  religious  matters,  and  a 
staunch  churchman.  He  repeats  the  responses  very 
loudly  in  church,  and  is  emphatical  in  praying  for 
the  king  and  royal  family. 

At  table,  his  loyalty  waxes  very  fervent  with  his 
second  bottle,  and  the  song  of  "  God  save  the  King  " 
puts  him  into  a  perfect  ecstacy.  He  is  amazingly 
well  contented  with  the  present  state  of  things,  and 
apt  to  get  a  little  impatient  at  any  talk  about  national 
ruin  and  agricultural  distress.  He  says  he  has  trav- 
elled about  the  country  as  much  as  any  man,  and  has 


met  with  nothing  but  prosperity ;  and  to  confess  the 
truth,  a  great  part  of  his  time  is  spent  in  visiting  from 
one  country-seat  to  another,  and  riding  about  the 
parks  of  his  friends.  "  They  talk  of  public  distress," 
said  the  general  this  day  to  me,  at  dinner,  as  he 
smacked  a  glass  of  rich  burgundy,  and  cast  his  eyes 
about  the  ample  board  ;  "  they  talk  of  public  distress, 
but  where  do  we  find  it,  sir  ?  I  see  none.  I  see  no 
reason  why  any  one  has  to  complain.  Take  my  word 
for  it,  sir,  this  talk  about  public  distress  is  all  hum- 
bug!  " 


THE  WIDOW'S  RETINUE. 


Little  dogs  and  all ! — Lear, 

In  giving  an  account  of  the  arrival  of  Lady  Lilly- 
craft  at  the  Hall,  I  ought  to  have  mentioned  the 
entertainment  which  I  derived  from  Vifitnessing  the 
unpacking  of  her  carriage,  and  the  disposing  of  her 
retinue.  There  is  something  extremely  amusing  to 
me  in  the  number  of  factitious  wants,  the  loads  of 
imaginary  conveniences,  but  real  encumbrances,  with 
which  the  luxurious  are  apt  to  burthen  themselves. 
I  like  to  watch  the  whimsical  stir  and  display  about 
one  of  these  petty  progresses.  The  number  of  ro- 
bustious footmen  and  retainers  of  all  kinds  bustling 
about,  with  looks  of  infinite  gravity  and  importance, 
to  do  almost  nothing.  The  number  of  heavy  trunks, 
and  parcels,  and  bandboxes  belonging  to  my  lady ; 
and  the  solicitude  exhibited  about  some  humble, 
odd-looking  box,  by  my  lady's  maid  ;  the  cushions 
piled  in  the  carriage  to  make  a  soft  seat  still  softer, 
and  to  prevent  the  dreaded  possibility  of  a  jolt;  the 
smelling-bottles,  the  cordials,  the  baskets  of  biscuit 
and  fruit;  the  new  publications;  all  provided  to 
guard  against  hunger,  fatigue,  or  ennui  ;  the  led 
horses,  to  vary  the  mode  of  travelling  ;  and  all  this 
preparation  and  parade  to  move,  perhaps,  some 
very  good-for-nothing  personage  about  a  little  space 
of  earth  ! 

I  do  not  mean  to  apply  the  latter  part  of  these 
observations  to  Lady  Lillycraft,  for  whose  simple  kind- 
heartedness  I  have  a  very  great  respect,  and  who  is 
really  a  most  amiable  and  worthy  being.  I  cannot 
refrain,  however,  from  mentioning  some  of  the  mot- 
ley retinue  she  has  brought  with  her ;  and  which, 
indeed,  bespeak  the  overflowing  kindness  of  her  nat- 
ure, which  requires  her  to  be  surrounded  with  ob- 
jects on  which  to  lavish  it. 

In  the  first  place,  her  ladyship  has  a  pampered 
coachman,  with  a  red  face,  and  cheeks  that  hang 
down  like  dew-laps.  He  evidently  domineers  over 
her  a  little  with  respect  to  the  fat  horses ;  and  only 
drives  out  when  he  thinks  proper,  and  when  he 
thinks  it  will  be  "good  for  the  cattle." 

Siie  has  a  favourite  page,  to  attend  upon  her  per- 
son ;  a  handsome  boy  of  about  twelve  years  of  age, 
but  a  mischievous  varlet,  very  much  spoiled,  and  in 
a  fair  way  to  be  good  for  nothing.  He  is  dressed  in 
green,  with  a  profusion  of  gold  cord  and  gilt  buttons 
about  his  clothes.  She  always  has  one  or  two  attend- 
ants of  the  kind,  who  are  replaced  by  others  as  soon 
as  they  grow  to  fourteen  years  of  age.  She  has 
brought  two  dogs  with  her,  also,  out  of  a  number 
of  pets  which  she  maintains  at  home.  One  is  a  fat 
spaniel,  called  Zephyr — though  heaven  defend  me 
from  such  a  zephyr  !  He  is  fed  out  of  all  shape  and 
comfort  ;  his  eyes  are  nearly  strained  out  of  his 
head  ;  he  wheezes  with  corpulency,  and  cannot  walk 
without  great  difficulty.  The  other  is  a  little,  old, 
gray,  muzzled  curmudgeon,  with  an  unhappy  eye, 
that  kindles  like  a  coal  if  you  only  look  at  him  ■  his 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


443 


nose  turns  up ;  his  mouth  is  drawn  into  wrinkles,  so 
as  to  show  his  teeth  ;  in  short,  he  has  altogether  the 
look  of  a  dog-  far  gone  in  misanthropy,  and  totally 
sick  of  the  world.  When  he  walks,  he  has  his  tail 
curled  up  so  tight  that  it  seems  to  lilt  his  feet  from 
the  ground  ;  and  he  seldom  makes  use  of  more  than 
three  legi  at  a  time,  keeping  the  other  drawn  up  as 
a  reserve.     This  last  wretch  is  called  Beauty. 

These  dogs  are  full  of  elegant  ailments,  unknown 
to  vulgar  dogs ;  and  are  petted  and  nursed  by  Lady 
Lillycraft  wiih  the  tenderest  kmdness.  They  are 
pampered  and  fed  with  delicacies  by  their  fellow- 
minion,  the  page  ;  but  their  stomachs  are  often  weak 
and  out  of  order,  so  that  they  cannot  eat ;  though  I 
have  now  and  then  seen  the  page  give  them  a  mis- 
chievous pinch,  or  thwack  over  the  head,  when  his 
distress  was  not  by.  They  have  cushions  for  their 
express  use,  on  which  they  lie  before  the  fire,  and 
yet  are  apt  to  shiver  and  moan  if  there  is  the  least 
ilrau;!-ht  of  air.  When  any  one  enters  the  room, 
they  make  a  most  tyrannical  barking  that  is  abso- 
lutely deafening.  They  are  insolent  to  all  the  other 
dogs  of  the  establishment.  There  is  a  noble  stag- 
hound,  a  great  favourite  of  the  Squire's,  who  is  a 
privileged  visitor  to  the  parlour ;  but  the  moment  he 
makes  his  appearance,  these  intruders  fly  at  him 
with  furious  rage;  and  I  have  admired  the  sovereign 
indifference  and  contempt  with  which  he  seems  to 
look  down  upon  his  puny  assailants.  When  her 
ladyship  drives  out,  these  dogs  are  generally  carried 
with  her  to  take  the  air;  when  they  look  out  of  each 
windoiv  of  the  carriage,  and  bark  at  all  vulgar  pe- 
destrian dogs.  These  dogs  arc  a  continual  source 
of  misery  to  the  household  :  as  they  are  always  in 
the  way,  they  every  now  and  then  get  their  toes 
trod  on,  and  then  there  is  a  yelping  on  their  part, 
and  a  loud  lamentation  on  the  part  of  their  mistress, 
that  fills  the  room  with  clamour  and  confusion. 

Lastly,  there  is  her  ladyship's  waiting-gentle- 
woman, Mrs.  Hannah,  a  prim,  pragmatical  old  maid  ; 
one  of  the  most  intolerable  and  intolerant  virgins 
that  ever  lived.  She  has  kept  her  virtue  by  her  un- 
til it  has  turned  sour,  and  now  every  word  and  look 
smacks  of  verjuice.  She  is  the  very  opposite  to  her 
mistress,  for  one  hates,  and  the  other  loves,  all  man- 
kind. How  they  first  came  together  1  caimot  imag- 
ine ;  but  they  have  lived  together  for  many  years ; 
and  theabigail's  temper  being  tart  and  encroaching, 
and  her  ladyship's  easy  and  yielding,  the  former  has 
got  the  complete  upper  hand,  and  tyrannizes  over 
the  good  lady  in  secret. 

Lady  Lillycraft  now  and  then  complains  of  it,  in 
great  confidence,  to  her  friends,  but  hushes  up  the 
subject  immediately,  if  Mrs.  Hannah  makes  her  ap- 
pearance. Indeed,  she  has  been  so  accustomed  to 
be  attended  by  her,  that  she  thinks  she  could  not  do 
without  her ;  though  one  great  study  of  her  lile,  is 
to  keep  Mrs.  Hannah  in  good-humour,  by  little  pres- 
ents and  kindnesses. 

Master  Simon  has  a  most  devout  abhorrence, 
mingled  with  awe,  for  this  ancient  spinster.  He 
told  me  the  other  day,  in  a  whisper,  that  she  was  a 
cursed  brimstone — in  fact,  he  added  another  epithet, 
which  I  would  not  repeat  for  the  world.  I  have  re- 
marked, however,  that  he  is  always  extremely  civil 
to  her  when  they  meet. 


READY-MONEY  JACK. 


My  purse,  it  is  my  privy  wyfc. 
This  song  I  dare  both  svng  and  say. 
It  keepeth  men  from  grievous  stryfe 
When  every  man  for  himself  shall  pay. 
As  I  ryde  in  ryche  array 
For  gold  and  silver  men  wyll  me  floryshe  ; 
But  thys  matter  I  dare  well  saye, 
Every  gramercy  myne  own  purse. 

Book  of  Hunting. 

On  the  skirts  of  the  neighVjouring  village,  there 
lives  a  kind  of  small  potentate,  who,  for  aught  I 
know,  is  a  representative  of  one  of  the  most  ancient 
legitimate  lines  of  the  present  day  ;  for  the  empire 
over  which  he  reigns  has  belonged  to  his  family  time 
out  of  mind.  His  territories  comprise  a  considerable 
number  of  good  fat  acres  ;  and  his  seat  of  power  is 
in  an  old  farm-house,  where  he  enjoys,  unmolested, 
the  stout  oaken  chair  of  his  ancestors.  The  person- 
age to  whom  1  allude  is  a  sturdy  old  yeoman  of  the 
name  of  John  Tibbets,  or  rather,  Ready-Money  Jack 
Tibbets,  as  he  is  called  throughout  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

The  first  place  where  he  attracted  my  attention 
was  in  the  church-yard  on  Sunday:  where  he  sat 
on  a  tombstone  after  the  service,  with  his  hat  a  little 
on  one  side,  holding  forth  to  a  small  circle  of  audi- 
tors;  and,  as  I  presumed,  expounding  the  law  and 
the  prophets  ;  until,  on  drawing  a  little  nearer,  I 
found  he  was  only  expatiating  on  the  merits  of  a 
brown  horse.  He  presented  so  faithful  a  picture  of 
a  substantial  English  yeoman,  such  as  he  is  often  de- 
scribed in  books,  heightened,  indeed,  by  some  little 
finery,  peculiar  to  himself,  that  I  could  not  but  take 
note  of  his  whole  appearance. 

He  was  between  fifty  and  sixty,  of  a  strong,  mus- 
cular frame,  and  at  least  six  feet  high,  with  a  physi- 
ognomy as  grave  as  a  lion's,  and  set  off  with  short, 
curling,  iron-gray  locks.  His  shirt-collar  was  turned 
down,  and  displayed  a  neck  covered  with  the  same 
short,  curling,  gray  hair ;  and  he  wore  a  coloured 
silk  neckcloth,  tied  very  loosely,  and  tucked  in  at 
the  bosom,  with  a  green  paste  brooch  on  the  knot. 
His  coat  was  of  dark  green  cloth,  with  silver  buttons, 
on  each  of  which  was  engraved  a  stag,  with  his  own 
name,  John  Tibbets,  underneath.  He  had  an  inner 
waistcoat  of  figured  chintz,  between  which  and  his 
coat  was  another  of  scarlet  cloth,  unbuttoned.  His 
breeches  were  also  left  unbuttoned  at  the  knees,  not 
from  any  slovenliness,  but  to  show  a  broad  pair  of 
scarlet  garters.  His  stockings  were  blue,  with  white 
clocks  ;  he  wore  large  silver  shoe-buckles  ;  a  broad 
paste  buckle  in  his  hatband  ;  his  sleeve-buttons  were 
gold  seven-shilling  pieces  ;  and  he  had  two  or  three 
guineas  hanging  as  ornaments  to  his  watch-chain. 

On  making  some  inquiries  about  him,  I  gathered 
that  he  was  descended  from  a  line  of  farmers,  that 
had  always  lived  on  the  same  spot,  and  own  the  same 
property ;  and  that  half  of  the  church-yard  was  taken 
up  with  the  tombstones  of  his  race.  He  has  all  his 
life  been  an  important  character  in  the  place.  When 
a  youngster,  he  was  one  of  the  most  roaring  blades 
of  the  neighbourhood.  No  one  could  mated  him  at 
wrestling,  pitching  the  bar,  cudgel  play,  and  other 
athletic  exercises.  Like  the  renowned  Pinner  of 
Wakefield,  he  was  the  village  champion  ;  carried  off 
the  prize  at  all  the  fairs,  and  threw  his  gauntlet  at 
the  country  round.  Even  to  this  day,  the  old  people 
talk  of  his  prowess,  and  undervalue,  in  comparison, 
all  heroes  of  the  green  that  have  succeeded  him  ; 
nay,  they  say,  that  if  Ready-Money  Jack  were  to 
take  the  field  even  now,  there  is  no  one  could  stand 
before  him. 

When  Jack's  father  died,  the  neighbours  shook 


444 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON  IRVING. 


their  heads,  and  predicted  that  young  hopeful  would 
soon  make  way  with  the  old  homestead  ;  but  Jack 
falsified  all  their  predictions.  Tlie  moment  he  suc- 
ceeded to  the  paternal  farm,  he  assumed  a  new  char- 
acter ;  took  a  wife  ;  attended  resolutely  to  his  affairs, 
and  became  an  industrious,  thrifty  farmer.  With  the 
fam'ly  property,  he  inherited  a  set  of  old  family 
maxims,  to  which  he  steadily  adhered.  He  saw  to 
<  vei7  thing-  liimself ;  put  his  own  hand  to  the  plough  ; 
worked  hard ;  ate  heartily ;  slept  soundly ;  paid  for 
every  thing  in  cash  down  ;  and  never  danced,  ex- 
cept he  could  do  it  to  the  music  of  his  own  money 
in  both  pockets.  He  has  never  been  without  a  hun- 
dred or  two  pounds  in  gold  by  him,  and  never  allows 
a  debt  to  stand  unpaid.  This  has  gained  him  his 
current  name,  of  which,  by  the  by,  he  is  a  little 
proud  ;  and  has  caused  him  to  be  looked  upon  as  a 
very  wealthy  man  by  all  the  village. 

Notwithstanding  his  thrift,  however,  he  has  never 
denied  himself  the  amusements  of  life,  but  has  taken 
a  share  in  every  passing  pleasure.  It  is  his  maxim, 
that  "  he  that  works  hard  can  afford  to  play."  He 
is,  therefore,  an  attendant  at  all  the  country  fairs  and 
wakes,  and  has  signalized  himself  by  feats  of  strength 
and  prowess  on  every  village  green  in  the  shire.  He 
often  makes  his  appearance  at  horse-races,  and  sports 
his  half-guinea,  and  even  his  guinea  at  a  time  ;  keeps 
a  good  horse  for  his  own  riding,  and  to  this  day  is 
fond  of  following  the  hounds,  and  is  generally  in  at 
the  death.  He  keeps  up  the  rustic  revels,  and  hos- 
pitalities too,  for  which  his  paternal  farm-house  has 
always  been  noted  ;  has  plenty  of  good  cheer  and 
dancing  at  harvest-home,  and,  above  all,  keeps  the 
"  merry  night,"*  as  it  is  termed,  at  Christmas. 

With  all  his  love  of  amusement,  however,  Jack  is 
by  no  means  a  boisterous,  jovial  companion.  He  is 
seldom  known  to  laugh  even  in  the  midst  of  his 
gayety ;  but  maintains  the  same  grave,  lion-like  de- 
meanour. He  is  very  slow  at  comprehending  a  joke  ; 
and  is  apt  to  sit  puzzling  at  it  with  a  perplexed  look, 
while  the  rest  of  the  company  is  in  a  roar.  This 
gravity  has,  perhaps,  grown  on  him  with  the  growing 
weight  of  his  character  ;  for  he  is  gradually  rising 
into  patriarchal  dignity  in  his  native  place.  Though 
he  no  longer  takes  an  active  part  in  athletic  sports, 
yet  he  always  presides  at  them,  and  is  appealed  to 
on  all  occasions  as  umpire.  He  maintains  the  peace 
on  the  village  green  at  holiday  games,  and  quells  all 
brawls  and  quarrels  by  collaring  the  i)arties  and 
shaking  them  heartily,  if  refractory.  No  one  ever 
pretends  to  raise  a  hand  against  him,  or  to  contend 
against  his  decisions  ;  the  young  men  having  grown 
up  in  habitual  awe  of  his  prowess,  and  in  implicit 
deference  to  him  as  the  champion  and  lord  of  the 
green. 

He  is  a  regular  frequenter  of  the  village  inn,  the 
landlady  having  been  a  sweetheart  of  his  in  early 
life,  and  he  having  always  continued  on  kind  terms 
with  her.  He  seldom,  however,  drinks  any  thing 
but  a  draught  of  ale ;  smokes  his  pipe,  and  pays  his 
reckoning  before  leaving  the  tap-room.  Here  he 
"gives  his  little  senate  laws;"  decides  bets,  which 
are  very  generally  referred  to  him ;  determines  upon 
the  characters  and  qualities  of  horses  ;  and,  indeed, 
plays  now  and  then  the  part  of  a  judge,  in  settling 
petty  disputes  between  neighbours,  which  otherwise 
mignt  have  been  nursed  by  country  attorneys  into 
tolerable  law-suits.  Jack  is  very  candid  and  impar- 
tial in  his  decisions,  but  he  has  not  a  head  to  carry 
a  long  argument,  and  is  vei7  apt  to  get  perplexed 


*  Merry  Night— a  rustic  laerry-making  in  a  farm-house  about 
Christmas,  common  in  some  parts  of  Yorksliire.  There  is  abun- 
dance of  homely  fare,  tea.  cakes.  frui:,aiidale  ;  various  feats  of  affili- 
ty,  amusing  games,  romping,  dancing,  and  kissing  withal.  They 
commonly  Drcak  up  at  midnight. 


and  out  of  patience  if  there  is  much  pleading.  He 
generally  breaks  through  the  argument  with  a  strong 
voice,  and  brings  matters  to  a  summary  conclusion, 
by  pronouncing  what  he  calls  the  "  upshot  of  the 
business,"  or,  in  other  words,  "  the  long  and  the 
short  of  the  matter." 

Jack  once  made  a  journey  to  London,  a  great 
many  years  since,  which  has  furnished  him  with 
topics  of  conversation  ever  since.  He  saw  the  old 
king  on  the  terrace  at  Windsor,  who  stopped,  and 
pointed  him  out  to  one  of  the  princesses,  being  prob- 
ably struck  with  Jack's  truly  yeoman-like  appear- 
ance. This  is  a  favourite  anecdote  with  him,  and 
has  no  doubt  had  a  great  effect  in  making  him  a 
most  loyal  subject  ever  since,  in  spite  of  taxes  and- 
poors'  rates.  He  was  also  at  Bartholomew  fair, 
where  he  had  half  the  buttons  cut  off  his  coat ;  and 
a  gang  of  pickpockets,  attracted  by  his  external 
show  of  gold  and  silver,  made  a  regular  attempt  to 
hustle  him  as  he  was  gazing  at  a  show  ;  but  for  once 
they  found  that  they  had  caught  a  tartar ;  for  Jack 
enacted  as  great  wonders  among  the  gang  as  Sam- 
son did  among  the  Philistines.  One  of  his  neigh- 
bours, who  had  accompanied  him  to  town,  and  was 
with  him  at  the  fair,  brought  back  an  account  of  his 
exploits,  which  raised  the  pride  of  the  whole  village  ; 
who  considered  their  champion  as  having  subdued 
all  London,  and  eclipsed  the  achievements  of  Friar 
Tuck,  or  even  the  renowned  Robin  Hood  himself. 

Of  late  years,  the  old  fellow  has  begun  to  take  the 
world  easily ;  he  works  less,  and  indulges  in  greater 
leisure,  his  son  having  grown  up,  and  succeeded  to 
him  both  in  the  labours  of  the  farm,  and  the  exploits 
of  the  green.  Like  all  sons  of  distinguished  men, 
however,  his  father's  renown  is  a  disadvantage  to 
him,  for  he  can  never  come  up  to  public  expectation. 
Though  a  fine  active  fellow  of  three-and-twenty,  and 
quite  the  "  cock  of  the  walk,"  yet  the  old  people  de- 
clare he  is  nothing  like  what  Ready-Money  Jack 
was  at  his  time  of  life.  The  youngster  himself  ac- 
knowledges his  inferiority,  and  has  a  wonderful  opin- 
ion of  the  old  man,  who  indeed  taught  him  all  his 
athletic  accomplishments,  and  holds  such  a  sway 
over  him,  that  I  am  told,  even  to  this  day,  he  would 
have  no  hesitation  to  take  him  in  hands,  if  he  re- 
belled against  paternal  government. 

The  Squire  holds  Jack  in  very  high  esteem,  and 
shows  him  to  all  his  visitors,  as  a  specimen  of  old 
English  "  heart  of  oak."  He  frequently  calls  at  his 
house,  and  tastes  some  of  his  home-brewed,  which 
is  excellent.  He  made  Jack  a  present  of  old  Tusser's 
"Hundred  Points  of  good  Husbandrie,"  which  has 
furnished  him  with  reading  ever  since,  and  is  his 
text-book  and  manual  in  all  agricultural  and  domes- 
tic concerns.  He  has  made  dog's-ears  at  the  most 
favourite  passages,  and  knows  many  of  the  poetical 
maxims  by  heart. 

Tibbets,  though  not  a  man  to  be  daunted  or  flat- 
tered by  high  acquaintances  ;  and  though  he  cher- 
ishes a  sturdy  independence  of  mind  and  manner, 
yet  is  evidently  gratihed  by  the  attentions  of  the 
Squire,  whom  he  has  known  from  boyhood,  and  pro- 
nounces '"a  true  gentleman  every  inch  of  him."  He 
is  also  on  excellent  terms  with  Master  Simon,  who 
is  a  kind  of  privy  counsellor  to  the  family  ;  but  his 
great  favourite  is  the  O.xonian,  whom  he  taught  to 
wrestle  and  play  at  quarter-staff  when  a  boy,  and 
considers  the  most  promising  young  gentleman  in 
the  whole  country. 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


415 


BACHELORS. 


The  Bachelor  most  joyfully 

In  pleasant  plight  doth  pass  his  dales, 

Goodfellowship  and  companie 

He  doth  maintain  and  keep  alwaies. 

Even's  Old  Ballads. 

There  is  no  character  in  the  comedy  of  human 
life  that  is  more  difficult  to  play  well,  than  that  of  an 
old  Bachelor.  When  a  single  gentleman,  therefore, 
arrives  at  that  critical  period  when  he  begins  to  con- 
sider it  an  impertinent  question  to  be  asked  his  age, 
1  would  advise  him  to  look  well  to  his  ways.  This 
period,  it  is  true,  is  much  later  with  some  men  than 
with  others ;  I  have  witnessed  more  than  once  the 
meeting  of  two  wrinkled  old  lads  of  this  kind,  who 
had  not  seen  each  other  for  several  years,  and  have 
been  amused  by  the  amicable  exchange  of  compli- 
ments on  each  other's  appearance,  that  takes  place 
on  such  occasions.  There  is  always  one  invariable 
observation  :  '■  Why,  bless  my  soul !  you  look  younger 
than  when  I  last  saw  you!"  Whenever  a  man's 
friends  begin  to  compliment  him  about  looking  young, 
he  may  be  sure  that  they  think  he  is  growing  old. 

I  am  led  to  make  these  remarks  by  the  conduct  of 
Master  Simon  and  the  general,  who  have  become 
great  cronies.  As  the  former  is  the  youngest  by 
many  years,  he  is  regarded  as  quite  a  youthful  blade 
by  the  general,  who  moreover  looks  upon  him  as  a 
man  of  great  wit  and  prodigious  acquirements.  I 
have  already  hinted  that  Master  Simon  is  a  family 
lieau,  and  considered  rather  a  young  fellow  by  all 
the  elderly  ladies  of  the  connexion  ;  for  an  old  bach- 
elor, in  an  old  family  connexion,  is  something  like  an 
actor  in  a  regular  dramatic  corps,  who  seems  to 
"  flourish  in  immortal  youth,"  and  will  continue  to  play 
the  Romeos  and  Rangers  for  half  a  century  together. 

Master  Simon,  too,  is  a  little  of  the  chameleon, 
and  takes  a  different  hue  with  every  different  com- 
panion :  he  is  very  attentive  and  officious,  and  some- 
what sentimental,  with  Lady  Lillycraft  ;  copies  out 
little  namby-pamby  ditties  and  love-songs  for  her, 
and  draws  quivers,  and  doves,  and  darts,  and  Cupids, 
to  be  worked  on  the  comers  of  her  pocket-handker- 
chiefs. He  indulges,  however,  in  very  considerable 
latitude  with  the  other  married  ladies  of  the  family ; 
and  has  many  sly  pleasantries  to  whisper  to  them, 
that  provoke  an  equivocal  laugh  and  a  tap  of  the  fan. 
But  when  he  gets  among  young  company,  such  as 
Frank  Bracebridge,  the  Oxonian,  and  the  general, 
he  is  apt  to  put  on  the  mad  wag,  and  to  talk  in  a  very 
bachelor-like  strain  about  the  sex. 

In  this  he  has  been  encouraged  by  the  example  of 
the  general,  whom  he  looks  up  to  as  a  man  that  has 
seen  the  world.  The  general,  in  fact,  tells  shocking 
stories  after  dinner,  when  the  ladies  have  retired, 
which  he  gives  as  some  of  the  choice  things  that  are 
served  up  at  the  MuUigatawney  club  ;  a  knot  of  boon 
companions  in  London.  He  also  repeats  the  fat 
jokes  of  old  Major  Pendergast,  the  wit  of  the  club, 
and  which,  though  the  general  can  hardly  repeat 
them  for  laughing,  always  ir)ake  Mr.  Bracebridge 
look  grave,  he  having  a  great  antipathy  to  an  inde- 
cent jest.  In  a  word,  the  general  is  a  complete  in- 
stance of  the  declension  in  gay  life,  by  which  a  young 
man  of  pleasure  is  apt  to  cool  down  into  an  obscene 
old  gentleman. 

I  saw  him  and  Master  Simon,  an  evening  or  two 
since,  conversing  with  a  buxom  milkmaid  in  a  mead- 
ow ;  and  from  their  elbowing  each  other  now  and 
then,  and  the  general's  shaking  his  shoulders,  blow- 
ing up  his  cheeks,  and  breaking  out  into  a  short  tit 
of  irrepressible  laughter,  I  had  no  doubt  they  were 
playing  the  mischief  with  the  girl. 

As  1  looked  at  them  through  a  hedge,  I  could  not 


but  think  they  would  have  made  a  tolerable  group 
for  a  modern  picture  of  Susannah  and  the  two  elders. 
It  is  true,  the  girl  seemed  in  nowise  alarmed  at  the 
force  of  the  enemy ;  and  I  question,  had  either  of 
them  been  alone,  whether  she  would  not  have  been 
more  than  they  would  have  ventured  to  encounter. 
Such  veteran  roysters  are  daring  wags  when  to- 
gether, and  will  put  any  female  to  the  blush  with 
their  jokes;  but  they  are  as  quiet  as  Iambs  when 
they  fall  singly  into  the  clutches  of  a  fme  woman. 

In  spite  of  the  general's  years,  he  evidently  is  a 
little  vain  of  his  person,  and  ambitious  of  conquests. 
I  have  observed  him  on  Sunday  in  church,  t;yeing 
the  country  girls  most  suspiciously ;  and  have  seen 
him  leer  upon  them  with  a  downright  amorous  look, 
even  when  he  has  been  gallanting  Lady  Lillycraft, 
with  great  ceremony,  through  the  church-yard.  The 
general,  in  fact,  is  a  veteran  in  the  service  of  Cupid, 
rather  than  of  Mars,  having  signalized  himself  in  all 
the  garrison  towns  and  country  quarters,  and  seen 
service  in  every  ball-room  of  England.  Not  a  cele- 
brated beauty  but  he  has  laid  siege  to ;  and  if  his 
word  may  be  taken  in  a  matter  wherein  no  man  is 
apt  to  be  over-veracious,  it  is  incredible  the  success 
he  has  had  with  the  fair.  At  present  he  is  like  a 
worn-out  warrior,  retired  from  service  ;  but  who  still 
cocks  his  beaver  WMth  a  military  air,  and  talks  stoutly 
of  fighting  whenever  he  comes  within  the  smell  of 
gunpowder. 

I  have  heard  him  speak  his  mind  very  freely  over 
his  bottle,  about  the  folly  of  the  captain  in  taking;  a 
wile ;  as  he  thinks  a  young  soldier  should  care  tor 
nothing  but  his  "  bottle  and  kind  landlady."  But, 
in  fact,  he  says  the  service  on  the  continent  has 
had  a,,sad  effect  upon  the  young  men  ;  they  have 
been  ruined  by  light  wines  and  French  quadrilles. 
"  They've  nothing,"  he  says,  "  of  the  spirit  of  the  old 
service.  There  are  none  of  your  six-bottle  men  left, 
that  were  the  souls  of  a  mess  dinner,  and  used  to 
play  the  very  deuce  among  the  women." 

As  to  a  bachelor,  the  general  affirms  that  he  is  a 
free  and  easy  man,  with  no  baggage  to  take  care  of 
but  his  portmanteau  ;  but  a  married  man,  with  his 
wife  hanging  on  his  arm,  always  puts  him  in  mind  of 
a  chamber  candlestick,  with  its  extinguisher  hitched 
to  it.  I  should  not  mind  all  this,  if  it  were  merely 
confined  to  the  general;  but  I  fear  he  will  be  the 
ruin  of  my  friend.  Master  Simon,  who  already  begins 
to  echo  his  heresies,  and  to  talk  in  the  style  of  a  gen- 
tleman that  has  seen  life,  and  lived  upon  the  town. 
Indeed,  the  general  seems  to  have  taken  Master 
Simon  in  hand,  and  talks  of  showing  him  the  lions 
when  he  comes  to  town,  and  of  introducing  him  to  a 
knot  of  choice  spirits  at  the  MuUigatawney  club ; 
which,  I  understand,  is  composed  of  old  nabobs, 
officers  in  the  Company's  employ,  and  other  "  men 
of  Ind,"  that  have  seen  service  in  the  East,  and  re- 
turned home  burnt  out  with  curry,  and  touched  with 
the  liver  complaint.  They  have  their  regijlar  club, 
where  they  eat  MuUigatawney  soup,  smoke  the 
hookah,  talk  about  Tippoo  Saib,  Seringapatam,  and 
tiger-hunting;  and  are  tediously  agreeable  in  each 
other's  company. 


WIVES. 


Believe  me,  man,  there  is  no  greater  blisse 
Than  is  the  quiet  joy  of  loving  wife  ; 
Which  whoso  wants,  half  of  himselfc  doth  misse* 
Friend  without  change,  playfellow  without  strife, 
Food  without  fulnesse,  counsaile  without  pride, 
Is  this  sweet  doubling  of  our  single  life. 

Sir  p.  Sidney. 

There  is  so  much  talk  about  matrimony  g'oing  on 
around  me,  in  consequence  of  the  approaching  event 


44G 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


for  which  we  are  assembled  at  the  Hall,  that  I  con- 
fess I  find  my  thoughts  singularly  exercised  on  the 
subject.  Indeed,  all  the  bachelors  of  the  establish- 
ment secnn  to  be  passing  through  a  kind  of  fiery  or- 
deal ;  for  Lady  Lillycraft  is  one  of  those  tender,  ro- 
rnance-read  dames  of  the  old  school,  whose  mind  is 
filled  with  flames  and  darts,  and  who  breathe  nothing 
but  constancy  and  wedlock.  She  is  for  ever  im- 
mersed in  the  concerns  of  the  heart ;  and,  to  use  a 
poetical  phrase,  is  perfectly  surrounded  by  "  the  pur- 
ple light  of  love."  The  very  general  seems  to  feel 
the  influence  of  this  sentimental  atmosphere  ;  to 
rnelt  as  he  approaches  her  ladyship,  and,  for  the 
time,  to  forget  all  his  heresies  about  matrimony  and 
the  sex. 

The  good  lady  is  generally  surrounded  by  little 
documents  of  her  prevalent  taste  ;  novels  of  a'tender 
nature  ;  richly  bound  little  books  of  poetrv,  that  are 
filled  with  sonnets  and  love  tales,  and  perfumed  with 
rose-leaves ;  and  she  has  always  an  album  at  hand, 
for  which  she  claims  the  contributions  of  all  her 
friends.  On  looking  over  this  last  repository,  the 
other  day,  I  found  a  series  of  poetical  extracts,  in 
the  Squire's  hand-writing,  which  might  have  been 
intended  as  matrimonial  hints  to  his  ward.  I  was  so 
much  struck  with  several  of  them,  that  I  took  the 
liberty  of  copying  them  out.  They  are  from  the  old 
play  of  Thomas  Davenport,  published  in  1661,  en- 
titled "  The  City  Night-Cap  ;  "  in  which  is  drawn  out 
and  exemplified,  in  the  part  of  Abstemia,  the  charac- 
ter of  a  patient  and  faithful  wife,  which.  I  think, 
might  vie  with  that  of  the  renowned  Griselda. 

I  have  often  thought  it  a  pity  that  plays  and  novels 
should  always  end  at  the  wedding,  and  should  not 
give  us  another  act,  and  another  volume,  to  let  us 
know  how  the  hero  and  heroine  conducted  them- 
selves when  married.  Their  main  object  seems  to 
be  merely  to  instruct  young  ladies  how  to  get  hus- 
bands, but  not  how  to  keep  them :  now  this  last,  I 
speak  it  with  all  due  diffidence,  appears  to  me  to  be 
a  desideratum  in  inodern  married  life.  It  is  appalling 
to  those  who  have  not  yet  adventured  into  the  holy 
state,  to  see  how  soon  the  flame  of  romantic  love 
burns  out,  or  rather  is  quenched  in  matrimony  ;  and 
how  deplorably  the  passionate,  poetic  lover  declines 
into  the  phlegmatic,  prosaic  husband.  I  am  inclined 
to  attribute  this  very  much  to  the  defect  just  men- 
tioned in  the  plays  and  novels,  which  form  so  impor- 
tant a  branch  of  study  of  our  young  ladies ;  and 
which  teach  them  how  to  be  heroines,  but  leave 
them  totally  at  a  loss  when  they  come  to  be  wives. 
The  play  from  which  the  quotations  before  me  were 
made,  however,  is  an  exception  to  this  remark ;  and 
1  cannot  refuse  myself  the  pleasure  of  adducing  some 
of  them  for  the  benefit  of  the  reader,  and  for  the 
honour  of  an  old  writer,  who  has  bravely  attempted 
to  awaken  dramatic  interest  in  favour  of  a  woman, 
even  after  she  was  married  ! 

The  following  is  a  commendation  of  Abstemia  to 
her  husband  Lorenzo : 

She's  modest,  but  not  suHen,  and  loves  silence  ; 

Not  that  she  wants  apt  words,  (for  when  she  speaks, 

She  inflames  love  with  wonder,)  but  because 

She  calls  wise  silence  the  soul's  harmony. 

She's  truly  chaste  ;  yet  such  a  foe  to  coyness. 

The  poorest  call  her  courteous  ;  and  which  is  excellent, 

(Though  fair  and  young)  she  shuns  to  expose  herself 

To  the  opinion  of  strange  eyes.     She  either  seldom 

Or  never  walks  abroad  but  in  your  company, 

And  then  with  such  sweet  bashfulness,  as  if 

She  were  venturing  on  crack'd  ice,  and  takes  delight 

To  step  into  the  print  your  foot  hath  made. 

And  will  follow  you  whole  fields;  so  she  will  drive 

Tediousness  out  of  time,  with  her  sweet  character. 

Notwithstanding  all  this  excellence,  Abstemia  has 
the  misfortune  to  incur  the  unmerited  jealousy  of  her 
husband.  Instead,  however,  of  resenting  his  harsh 
treatment  with  clamorous  upbraidings,  and  with  the 


stormy  violence  of  high,  windy  virtue,  by  which  the 
sparks  of  anger  are  so  often  blown  into  a  flame,  she 
endures  it  with  the  meekness  of  conscious,  but  pa- 
tient, virtue  ;  and  makes  the  following  beautiful  ap- 
peal to  a  friend  who  has  witnessed  her  long  suffering  : 

Hast  thotl  not  seen  me 

Bear  all  his  injuries,  as  the  ocean  suffers 
The  angry  bark  to  plough  through  her  bosom, 
And  yet  is  presently  so  smooih,  the  eye 
Cannot  perceive  where  the  wide  wound  was  made? 

Lorenzo,  being  wrought  on  by  false  representa- 
tions, at  length  repudiates  her.  To  the  last,  however, 
she  maintains  her  patient  sweetness,  and  her  love  for 
him,  in  spite  of  his  cruelty.  She  deplores  his  error, 
even  more  than  his  unkindness  ;  and  laments  the  de- 
lusion which  has  turned  his  very  affection  into  a 
source  of  bitterness.  There  is  a  moving  pathos  in 
her  parting  address  to  Lorenzo,  after  their  divorce  : 

Farewell.  Lorenzo, 

Whom  my  soul  doth  love  :  if  you  e'er  marry, 
May  you  meet  a  good  wife  ;  so  good,  that  you 
May  not  suspect  her,  nor  may  she  be  wortny 
Of  your  suspicion  ;  and  if  you  hear  hereafter 
That  1  am  dead,  inquire  but  my  last  words, 
And  you  shall  know  that  to  the  last  I  lov'd  you. 
And  when  you  walk  forth  with  your  second  choice 
Into  the  plea*;ant  fields,  and  by  chance  talk  of  me. 
Imagine  that  yo.i  see  me,  lean  and  pale, 

Strewing  your  path  with  flowers. 

But  may  she  never  live  to  pay  my  debts  :  (weeps) 

If  but  in  thought  she  wrong  you,  may  she  die 
In  the  conception  of  the  injury. 
Pray  make  me  wealthy  with  one  kiss;  farewell,  sir: 
Let  it  not  grieve  you  when  you  shall  remember 
That  I  w.as  innocent ;  nor  this  forget. 
Though  innocence  here  suffer,  sign,  and  groan, 
She  walks  but  thorow  thorns  to  find  a  throne. 

In  a  short  time  Lorenzo  discovers  his  error,  and 
the  innocence  of  his  injured  wife.  In  the  transports 
of  his  repentance,  he  calls  to  mind  all  her  feminine 
excellence;  her  gentle,  uncomplaining,  womanly 
fortitude  under  wrongs  and  sorrows : 

Oh,  Abstemia  1 

How  lovely  thou  lookest  now  I  now  thou  appearest 
Chaster  than  is  the  morning's  modesty 
That  rises  with  a  blush,  over  whose  bosom 
The  western  wind  creeps  softly  ;  now  I  remember 
How,  when  she  sat  at  tabl^,  her  obedient  eye 
Would  dwell  on  mine,  as  if  it  were  not  well. 
Unless  it  look'd  where  I  look'd  ;  oh  how  proud 
She  was,  when  she  could  cross  herself  to  please  me  I 
But  where  now  is  this  fair  soul  ?     Like  a  silver  cloud 
She  hath  wept  herself,  I  fear,  into  the  dead  sea. 
And  win  be  found  no  more. 

It  is  but  doing  right  by  the  reader,  if  interested  in 
the  fate  of  Abstemia  by  the  preceding  extracts,  to 
say,  that  she  was  restored  to  the  arms  and  affections 
of  her  husband,  rendered  fonder  than  ever,  by  that 
disposition  in  every  good  heart,  to  atone  for  past  in- 
justice, by  an  overflowing  measure  of  returning 
kindness  : 

Thou  wealth,  worth  more  than  kingdoms  ;  I  am  now 

Confirmed  past  all  suspicion  ;  thou  art  far 

Sweeter  in  thy  sincere  truth  than  a  sacrifice 

Deck'd  up  for  death  with  garlands.     The  Indian  winds 

That  blow  from  off  the  coast  and  cheer  the  sailor 

With  the  sweet  savour  of  their  spices,  want 

The  delight  flows  in  thee. 

I  have  been  more  affected  and  interested  by  this 
little  dramatic  picture,  than  by  many  a  popular  love 
tale ;  though,  as  I  said  before,  I  do  not  think  it 
likely  either  Abstemia  or  patient  Grizzle  stand  much 
chance  of  being  taken  for  a  model.  Still  I  like  to 
see  poetry  now  and  then  extending  its  views  beyond 
the  wedding-day,  and  teaching  a  lady  how  to  make 
herself  attractive  even  after  marriage.  There  is  no 
great  need  of  enforcing  on  an  unmarried  lady  the 
necessity  of  being  agreeable  ;  nor  is  there  any  great 
art  requisite  in  a  youthful  beauty  to  enable  her  to 
please.  Nature  has  multiplied  attractions  around 
her.  Youth  is  in  itself  attractive.  The  freshness  of 
budding  beauty  needs  no  foreign  aid  to  set  it  off;  it 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


44'; 


pleases  merely  because  it  is  fresh,  and  budding',  and 
beautiful.  But  it  is  ibr  the  married  state  that  a 
woman  needs  the  most  instruction,  and  in  which  she 
should  be  most  on  her  guard  to  maintain  her  powers 
of  pleasing-.  No  woman  can  expect  to  be  to  her 
husband  all  that  he  fancied  her  when  he  was  a  lover. 
Men  are  always  doomed  to  be  duped,  not  so  much 
by  the  arts  of  the  sex,  as  by  their  own  imaginations. 
They  are  always  wooing  goddesses,  and  marrying 
mere  mortals.  A  woman  should,  therefore,  ascer- 
tain what  was  the  charm  that  rendered  her  so  fas- 
cinating when  a  girl,  and  endeavour  to  keep  it  up 
when  she  has  become  a  wife.  One  great  thing  un- 
doubtedly was,  the  chariness  of  herself  and  her  con- 
duct, which  an  unmarried  female  always  observes. 
She  should  maintain  the  same  niceness  and  reserve 
in  her  person  and  habits,  and  endeavour  still  to 
preserve  a  freshness  and  virgin  delicacy  in  the  eye  of 
her  husband.  She  should  remember  that  the  prov- 
ince of  woman  is  to  be  wooed,  not  to  woo  ;  to  be 
caressed,  not  to  caress.  Man  is  an  ungrateful  being 
in  love  ;  bounty  loses  instead  of  winning  him.  The 
secret  of  a  woman's  power  does  not  consist  so  much 
in  giving,  as  in  withholding.  A  woman  may  give 
up  too  much  even  to  her  husband.  It  is  to  a  thou- 
sand little  delicacies  of  conduct  that  she  must  trust 
to  keep  alive  passion,  and  to  protect  herself  from 
that  dangerous  familiarity,  that  thorough  acquaint- 
ance with  every  weakness  and  imperfection  incident 
to  matrimony.  By  these  means  she  may  still  main- 
tain her  power,  though  she  has  surrendered  her 
person,  and  may  continue  the  romance  of  love  even 
beyond  the  honeymoon. 

"She  that  hath  a  wise  husband,"  says  Jeremy 
Taylor,  "  must  entice  him  to  an  eternal  dearnesse  by 
the  veil  of  modesty,  and  the  grave  robes  of  chastity, 
the  ornament  of  meekness,  and  the  jewels  of  faith 
and  charity.  She  must  have  no  painting  but  blush- 
ings ;  her  brightness  must  be  purity,  and  she  must 
shine  round  about  with  sweetness  and  friendship ; 
and  she  shall  be  pleasant  while  she  lives,  and  desired 
when  she  dies." 

I  have  wandered  into  a  rambling  series  of  remarks 
on  a  trite  subject,  and  a  dangerous  one  for  a  bach- 
elor to  meddle  with.  That  I  may  not,  however, 
appear  to  confine  my  observations  entirely  to  the 
wife,  I  will  conclude  with  another  quotation  from 
Jeremy  Taylor,  in  which  the  duties  of  both  parties 
are  mentioned  ;  while  I  would  recommend  his  ser- 
mon on  the  marriage-ring  to  all  those  who,  wiser 
than  myself,  are  about  entering  the  happy  state  of 
wedlock. 

'■  There  is  scarce  any  matter  of  duty  but  it  con- 
cerns them  both  alike,  and  is  cnly  distinguished  by 
names,  and  hath  its  variety  by  circumstances  and 
little  accidents :  and  what  in  one  is  called  love,  in 
the  other  is  called  reverence  ;  and  what  in  the  wife 
is  obedience,  the  same  in  the  man  is  duty.  He  pro- 
vides, and  she  dispenses  ;  he  gives  commandments, 
and  she  rules  by  them  ;  he  rules  her  by  authority, 
and  she  rules  him  by  love  ;  she  ought  by  all  means 
to  please  him,  and  he  must  by  no  means  displease 
her." 


STORY  TELLING. 


A  FAVOURITE  evening  pastime  at  the  Hr.II,  and 
one  which  the  worthy  Squire  is  fond  of  promoting, 
is  story  telling,  "  a  good,  old-fashioned  fire-side 
amusement,"  as  he  terms  it.  Indeed,  I  believe  he 
promotes  it,  chiefly,  because  it  was  one  of  the  choice 
recreations  in  those  days  of  yore,  when  ladies  and 


gentlemen  were  not  much  in  the  habit  of  reading. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  he  will  often,  at  supper-table, 
when  conversation  flags,  call  on  some  one  or  other 
of  the  company  for  a  story,  as  it  was  formerly  the 
custom  to  call  for  a  song;  and  it  is  edifying  to  see 
the  exemplary  patience,  and  even  satisfaction,  with 
which  the  good  old  gentleman  will  sit  and  listen  to 
some  hackneyed  tale  that  he  has  heard  for  at  least  a 
hundred  times. 

In  this  way,  one  evening,  the  current  of  anecdotes 
and  stories  ran  upon  mysterious  personages  that  have 
figured  at  different  times,  and  filled  the  world  with 
doubt  and  conjecture  ;  such  as  the  Wandering  Jew, 
the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask,  who  tormented  the 
curiosity  of  all  Europe  ;  the  Invisible  Girl,  and  last, 
though  not  least,  the  Pig-faced  Lady. 

At  length,  one  of  the  company  was  called  upon 
that  had  the  most  unpromising  physiognomy  for  a 
story  teller,  that  ever  I  had  seen.  He  was  a  thin, 
pale,  weazen-faced  man,  extremely  nervous,  that  h?d 
sat  at  one  corner  of  the  table,  shrunk  up,  as  it  were, 
into  himself,  and  almost  swallowed  up  in  the  cape  of 
his  coat,  as  a  turtle  in  its  shell. 

The  very  demand  seemed  to  throw  him  into  a 
nervous  agitation  ;  yet  he  did  not  refuse.  He  emerged 
his  head  out  of  his  shell,  made  a  few  odd  grimaces 
and  gesticulations,  before  he  could  get  his  muscles 
into  order,  or  his  voice  under  command,  and  then 
offered  to  give  some  account  of  a  mysterious  person- 
age that  he  had  recently  encountered  in  the  course 
of  his  travels,  and  one  whom  he  thoughtfully  entitled 
to  being  classed  with  the  Man  with  the  Iron  Mask. 

I  was  so  much  struck  with  his  extraordinary  nar- 
rative, that  I  have  written  it  out  to  the  best  of  my 
recollection,  for  the  amusement  of  the  reader.  I 
think  it  has  in  it  all  the  elements  of  that  mysterious 
and  romantic  narrative,  so  greedily  sought  after  at 
the  present  day. 


THE  STOUT  GENTLEMAN. 

A  STAGE-COACH  ROMANCE. 


"  ril  cross  it,  though  it  blast  me  !  ^'*— Hamlet. 

It  was  a  rainy  Sunday,  in  the  gloomy  month  of 
November.  I  had  been  detained,  in  the  course  of  a 
journey,  by  a  slight  indisposition,  from  which  1  was 
recovering ;  but  I  was  still  feverish,  and  was  obliged 
to  keep  within  doors  all  day,  in  an  inn  of  the  small 
town  of  Derby.  A  wet  Sunday  in  a  country  inn  ! — 
whoever  has  had  the  luck  to  experience  one  can 
alone  judge  of  my  situation.  The  rain  pattered 
against  the  casements ;  the  bells  tolled  for  church 
with  a  melancholy  sound.  I  went  to  the  windows, 
in  quest  of  something  to  amuse  the  eye  ;  but  it  seem- 
ed as  if  I  had  been  placed  completely  out  of  the  reach 
of  all  amusement.  The  windows  of  my  bed-room 
looked  out  among  tiled  roofs  and  stacks  of  chimneys, 
while  those  of  my  sitting-room  commanded  a  lull 
view  of  the  stable-yard.  I  know  of  nothing  more  cal- 
culated to  make  a  man  sick  of  this  world,  than  .-i 
stable-yard  on  a  rainy  day.  The  place  was  littered 
with  wet  straw,  that  had  been  kicked  about  by 
travellers  and  stable-boys.  In  one  corner  was  a 
stagnant  pool  of  water,  surrounding  an  island  of 
muck;  there  were  several  half-drowned  fowls  crowd- 
ed together  under  a  cart,  among  which  was  a  miser- 
able, crest-fallen  cock,  drenched  out  of  all  life  and 
spirit ;  his  drooping  tail  matted,  as  it  were,  into  a 
single  feather,  along  which  the  water  trickled  from 
his   back ;   near  the  cart  was  a  half-dozing  cow. 


448 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


chewing  the  cud,  and  standing  patiently  to  be  rained 
on,  with  wreaths  of  vapour  rising  from  her  reeking 
hide  ;  a  wall-eyed  horse,  tired  of  the  loneliness  of  the 
stable,  was  poking  his  spectral  head  out  of  the  win- 
dow, with  the  rain  dripping  on  it  from  the  eaves; 
an  unhappy  cur,  chained  to  a  dog-house  hard  by, 
uttered  something  every  now  and  then,  between  a 
bark  and  a  yelp  ;  a  drab  of  a  kitchen-wench  tramped 
backwards  and  forwards  through  the  yard  in  pattens, 
looking  as  sulky  as  the  weather  itself;  every  thing, 
in  short,  was  comfortless  and  forlorn,  excepting  a 
crew  of  hard-drinking  ducks,  assembled  like  boon 
companions  round  a  puddle,  and  making  a  riotous 
noise  over  their  liquor. 

I  was  lonely  and  listless,  and  wanted  amusement. 
My  room  soon  became  insupportable.  I  abandoned 
it,  and  sought  what  is  technically  called  the  travel- 
lers'-room.  This  is  a  public  room  set  apart  at  most 
inns  for  the  accommodation  of  a  class  of  wayfarers 
called  travellers,  or  riders;  a  kind  of  commercial 
knights-errant,  who  are  incessantly  scouring  the  king- 
dom in  gigs,  on  horseback,  or  by  coach.  They  are 
the  only  successors  that  I  know  of,  at  the  present 
day,  to  the  knights-errant  of  yore.  They  lead  the 
same  kind  of  roving  adventurous  life,  only  changing 
the  lance  for  a  driving-whip,  the  buckler  for  a  pat- 
tern-card, and  the  coat  of  mail  for  an  upper  Benja- 
min. Instead  of  vindicating  the  charms  of  peerless 
beauty,  they  rove  about,  spreading  the  fame  and 
standing  of  some  substantial  tradesman  or  manufac- 
turer, and  are  ready  at  any  time  to  bargain  in  his 
name  ;  it  being  the  fashion  now-a-days,  to  trade,  in- 
stead of  fight,  with  one  another.  As  the  room  of 
the  hotel,  in  the  good  old  fighting  times,  would  be 
hung  round  at  night  with  the  armour  of  wayworn 
warriors,  such  as  coats  of  mail,  falchions,  and  yawn- 
ing helmets  ;  so  the  travellers'-room  is  garnished 
with  the  harnessing  of  their  successors,  with  box- 
coats,  whips  of  all  kinds,  spurs,  gaiters,  and  oil-cloth 
covered  hats. 

I  was  in  hopes  of  finding  some  of  these  worthies 
to  talk  with,  but  was  disappointed.  There  were,  in- 
deed, two  or  three  in  the  room  ;  but  I  could  make 
nothing  of  them.  One  was  just  finishing  his  break- 
fast, quarrelling  with  his  bread  and  butter,  and  huff- 
ing the  waiter ;  another  buttoned  on  a  pair  of  gaiters, 
with  many  execrations  at  Boots  for  not  having  clean- 
ed his  shoes  well ;  a  third  sat  drumining  on  the  table 
with  his  fingers,  and  looking  at  the  rain  as  it  streamed 
down  the  window-glass ;  they  all  appeared  infected 
by  the  weather,  and  disappeared,  one  after  the  other, 
without  exchanging  a  word. 

I  sauntered  to  the  window,  and  stood  gazing  at  the 
people  picking  their  way  to  church,  with  petticoats 
hoisted  mid-leg  high,  and  dripping  umbrellas.  The 
bell  ceased  to  toll,  and  the  streets  became  silent.  1 
then  amused  myself  with  watching  the  daughters  of 
a  tradesman  opposite  ;  who,  being  confined  to  the 
house  for  fear  of  wetting  their  Sunday  finery,  played 
off  their  charms  at  the  front  windows,  to  fascinate 
the  chance  tenants  of  the  inn.  They  at  length  were 
summoned  away  by  a  vigilant  vinegar-faced  mother, 
and  1  had  nothing  further  from  without  to  amuse  me. 

What  was  I  to  do  to  pass  away  the  long-lived 
day .'  I  was  sadly  nervous  and  lonely ;  and  every 
thing  about  an  inn  seems  calculated  to  make  a  dull 
day  ten  times  duller.  Old  newspapers,  smelling  of 
beer  and  tobacco-smoke,  and  which  I  had  already 
read  half-a-dozen  times — good-for-nothing  books, 
that  were  worse  than  rainy  weather.  I  bored  myself 
to  death  with  an  old  volume  of  the  Lady's  Magazine. 
I  read  all  the  commonplaced  names  of  ambitious 
travellers  scrawled  on  the  panes  of  glass  ;  the  eter- 
nal families  of  the  Smiths,  and  the  Browns,  and  the 
Jacksons,  and  the  Johnsons,  and  all  the  other  sons ; 


and  I  deciphered  several  scraps  of  fatiguing  inn- 
window  poetry  which  I  have  met  with  in  all  parts 
of  the  world. 

The  day  continued  lowering  and  gloomy ;  the 
slovenly,  ragged,  spongy  clouds  drifted  heavily 
along  ;  there  was  no  variety  even  in  the  rain  :  it 
was  one  dull,  continued,  monotonous  patter — patter 
— patter,  excepting  that  now  and  then  I  was  en- 
livened by  the  idea  of  a  brisk  shower,  from  the 
rattling  of  the  drops  upon  a  passing  umbrella. 

It  was  quite  refreshing  (if  I  may  be  allowed  a 
hackneyed  phrase  of  the  day)  when,  in  the  course 
of  the  inorning,  a  horn  blew,  and  a  stage-coach 
whirled  through  the  street,  with  outside  passengers 
stuck  all  over  it,  cowering  under  cotton  umbrellas, 
and  seethed  together,  and  reeking  with  the  steams 
of  wet  box-coats  and  upper  Benjamins. 

The  sound  brought  out  from  their  lurking-places 
a  crew  of  vagabond  boys,  and  vagabond  dogs,  and 
the  carroty-headed  hostler,  and  that  nondescript 
animal  ycleped  Boots,  and  all  the  other  vagabond 
race  that  infest  the  purlieus  of  an  inn;  but  the  bustle 
was  transient ;  the  coach  again  whirled  on  its  way  ; 
and  boy  and  dog,  and  hostler  and  Boots,  all  slunk 
back  again  to  their  holes  ;  the  street  again  became 
silent,  and  the  rain  continued  to  rain  on.  In  fact, 
there  was  no  hope  of  its  clearing  up  ;  the  barometer 
pointed  to  rainy  weather;  mine  hostess'  tortoise- 
shell  cat  sat  by  the  fire  washing  her*  face,  and  rub- 
bing her  paws  over  her  ears ;  and,  on  referring  to 
the  almanac,  I  found  a  direful  prediction  stretching 
from  the  top  of  the  page  to  the  bottom  through  the 
whole  month,  "  expect — much — rain — about — this — 
time." 

I  was  dreadfully  hipped.  The  hours  seemed  as  if 
they  would  never  creep  by.  The  very  ticking  of  the 
clock  became  irksome.  At  length  the  stillness  of 
the  house  was  interrupted  by  the  ringing  of  a  bell. 
Shortly  after,  I  heard  the  voice  of  a  waiter  at  the 
bar:  "The  stout  gentleinan  in  No.  13  wants  his 
breakfast.  Tea  and  bread  and  butter  with  ham  and 
eggs  ;  the  eggs  not  to  be  too  much  done." 

In  such  a  situation  as  mine,  every  incident  is  of 
importance.  Here  was  a  subject  of  speculation  pre- 
sented to  iTiy  mind,  and  ample  exercise  for  iny  imag- 
ination. I  am  prone  to  paint  pictures  to  myself,  and 
on  this  occasion  I  had  soine  materials  to  work  upon. 
Had  the  guest  up-stairs  been  mentioned  as  Mr. 
Smith,  or  Mr.  Brown,  or  Mr.  Jackson,  or  Mr.  John- 
son, or  merely  as  "the  gentleman  in  No.  13,"  it 
would  have  been  a  perfect  blank  to  me.  I  should 
have  thought  nothing  of  it ;  but  "  The  stout  gen- 
tleman !  " — the  very  name  had  something  in  it  of  the 
picturesque.  It  at  once  gave  the  size  ;  it  embodied 
the  personage  to  my  mind's  eye,  and  my  fancy  did 
the  rest. 

He  was  stout,  or,  as  some  term  it,  lusty;  in  all 
probability,  therefore,  he  was  advanced  in  lile,  some 
people  expanding  as  they  grow  old.  By  his  break- 
fasting rather  late,  and  in  his  own  room,  he  must  be 
a  man  accustomed  to  live  at  his  ease,  and  above  the 
necessity  of  early  rising;  no  doubt  a  round,  rosy, 
lusty  old  gentleman. 

There  was  another  violent  ringing.  The  stout 
gentleman  was  impatient  for  his  breakfast.  He  was 
evidently  a  man  of  importance  ;  "  well-to-do  in  the 
world  ; "  accustomed  to  be  proinptly  waited  upon ; 
of  a  keen  appetite,  and  a  little  cross  when  hungry; 
"perhaps,'  thought  I,  "he  may  be  some  London 
Alderman  ;  or  who  knows  but  he  may  be  a  Member 
of  Parliament.''  " 

The  breakfast  was  sent  up  and  there  was  a  short 
interval  of  silence ;  he  was,  doubtless,  making  the 
tea.  Presently  there  was  a  violent  ringing,  and  be- 
fore it  could  be  answered,  another  ringing  still  more 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


449 


violent.  "  Bless  me  !  what  a  choleric  old  gentle- 
man!" The  waiter  came  clown  in  a  huff.  The  but- 
ter was  rancid,  the  eggs  were  overdone,  the  ham 
was  too  salt : — the  stout  gentleman  was  evidently 
nice  in  his  eating ;  one  of  those  who  eat  and  growl, 
and  keep  the  waiter  on  the  trot,  and  live  in  a  state 
militant  with  the  household. 

The  hostess  got  into  a  fume.  I  should  observe 
that  she  was  a  brisk,  coquettish  woman  ;  a  little  of  a 
shrew,  and  something  of  a  slammerkin,  but  very 
pretty  withal ;  with  a  nincompoop  for  a  husband,  as 
shrews  are  apt  to  have.  She  rated  the  servants 
roundly  for  their  negligence  in  sending  up  so  bad  a 
breakfast,  but  said  not  a  word  against  tlie  stout  gen- 
tleman ;  by  which  I  clearly  perceived  that  he  must 
be  a  man  of  consequence,  entitled  to  make  a  noise 
and  to  give  trouble  at  a  country  inn.  Other  eggs, 
and  ham,  and  bread  and  butter,  were  sent  up.  They 
appeared  to  be  more  graciously  received ;  at  least 
there  was  no  further  complaint. 

I  had  not  made  many  turns  about  the  travellers '- 
room,  when  there  was  another  ringing.  Shortly  af- 
terwards there  was  a  stir  and  an  inquest  about  the 
house.  The  stout  gentleman  wanted  the  Times  or 
the  Chronicle  newspaper.  I  set  liim  down,  there- 
fore, for  a  whig;  or  rather,  from  his  being  so  abso- 
lute and  lordly  where  he  had  a  chance,  I  suspected 
him  of  being  a  radical.  Hunt,  1  had  heard,  was  a 
large  man;  "who  knows,"  thought  I,  "but  it  is 
Hunt  himself!  " 

My  curiosity  began  to  be  awakened.  I  inquired 
of  the  waiter  who  was  this  stout  gentleman  that  was 
making  all  this  stir  ;  but  I  could  get  no  information  : 
nobody  seemed  to  know  his  name.  The  landlords 
of  bustling  inns  seldom  trouble  their  heads  about  the 
names  or  occupations  of  their  transient  guests.  The 
colour  of  a  coat,  the  shape  or  size  of  the  person,  is 
enough  to  suggest  a  travellmg  name.  It  is  either  the 
tall  gentleman,  or  the  short  gentleman,  or  the  gentle- 
man in  black,  or  the  gentleman  in  snuff-colour;  or, 
as  m  the  present  instance,  the  stout  gentleman.  A 
designation  of  the  kind  once  hit  on  answers  every 
purpose,  and  saves  all  further  inquiry. 

Rain — rain — rain  !  pitiless,  ceaseless  rain  !  No 
such  thing  as  putting  a  foot  out  of  doors,  and  no  oc- 
cupation nor  amusement  within.  By  and  by  I  heard 
some  one  walking  overhead.  It  was  in  the  stout 
gentleman's  room.  He  evidently  was  a  large  man, 
by  the  heaviness  of  his  tread  ;  and  an  old  man, 
from  his  wearing  such  creaking  soles.  "  He  is 
doubtless,"  thought  I,  "  some  rich  old  square-toes, 
of  regular  liabits,  and  is  now  taking  exercise  after 
breakfast." 

I  now  read  all  the  advertisements  of  coaches  and 
hotels  that  were  stuck  about  the  mantel-piece.  The 
Lady's  Magazine  had  become  an  abomination  to  me  ; 
it  was  as  tedious  as  the  day  itself  I  wandered  out, 
not  knowing  what  to  do,  and  ascended  again  to  my 
room.  I  had  not  been  there  long,  when  there  was  a 
squall  from  a  neighbouring  bed-room.  A  door  open- 
ed and  slammed  violently  ;  a  chamber-maid,  that  I 
had  remarked  for  having  a  ruddy,  good-humoured 
face,  went  down-stairs  in  a  violent  flurry.  The  stout 
;'  gentleman  had  been  rude  to  h^r. 

This  sent  a  whole  host  of  my  deductions  to  the 
deuce  in  a  moment.  This  unknown  personage  could 
not  be  an  old  gentleman ;  for  old  gentlemen  are  not 
apt  to  be  so  obstreperous  to  chamber-maids.  He 
could  not  be  a  young  gentleman  ;  for  young  gentle- 
men are  not  apt  to  ins])ire  such  indignation.  He 
must  be  a  middle-aged  man,  and  confounded  ugly 
into  the  bargain,  or  the  girl  would  not  have  taken 
the  matter  in  such  terrible  dudgeon.  I  confess  I  was 
sorely  puzzled. 

In  a  few  minutes  I  heard  the  voice  of  my  landlady. 
29 


I  caught  a  glance  of  her  as  she  came  tramping  up- 
stairs ;  her  face  glowing,  her  cap  flaring,  her  tongue 
wagging  the  whole  way.  "  She'd  have  no  such  doings 
in  her  house,  she'd  warrant  !  If  gentlemen  did  spend 
money  freely,  it  was  no  rule.  She'd  have  no  servant 
maids  of  hers  treated  in  that  way,  when  they  were 
about  their  work,  that's  what  she  wouldn't !  " 

As  I  hate  squabbles,  particularly  with  women,  and 
above  all  with  pretty  women,  I  slunk  back  into  my 
room,  and  partly  closed  the  door  ;  but  my  curiosity 
was  too  much  excited  not  to  listen.  The  landlady 
marched  intrepidly  to  the  enemy's  citadel,  and  enter- 
ed it  with  a  storm  :  the  door  closed  after  her.  I 
heard  her  voice  in  high  windy  clamour  for  a  moment 
or  two.  Then  it  gradually  subsided,  like  a  gust  of 
wind  in  a  garret ;  then  there  was  a  laugh  ;  then  I 
heard  nothing  more. 

After  a  little  while,  my  landlady  came  out  with  an 
odd  smile  on  her  face,  adjusting  her  cap,  which  was 
a  little  on  one  side.  As  she  went  down-stairs,  I  heard 
the  landlord  ask  her  what  was  the  matter ;  she  said, 
"  Nothing  at  all,  only  the  girl's  a  fool." — 1  was  more 
than  ever  perplexed  what  to  make  of  this  unaccount- 
able personage,  who  could  put  a  good-natured  cham- 
ber-maid in  a  passion,  and  send  away  a  termagant 
landlady  in  smiles.  He  could  not  be  so  old,  nor  cross, 
nor  ugly  either. 

I  had  to  go  to  work  at  his  picture  again,  and  to 
paint  him  entirely  different.  I  now  set  him  down 
for  one  of  those  stout  gentlemen  that  are  frequently 
met  with,  swaggering  about  the  doors  of  country 
inns.  Moist,  merry  fellows,  in  Belcher  handker- 
chiefs, whose  bulk  is  a  little  assisted  by  malt  liquors. 
Men  who  have  seen  the  world,  and  been  sworn  at 
Highgate;  who  are  used  to  tavern  life;  up  to  all 
the  tricks  of  tapsters,  and  knowing  in  the  ways 
of  sinful  publicans.  Free-livers  on  a  small  scale  ; 
who  are  prodigal  within  the  compass  of  a  guinea ; 
who  call  all  the  waiters  by  name,  touzle  the  maids, 
gossip  with  the  landlady  at  the  bar,  and  prose  ovef 
a  pint  of  port,  or  a  glass  of  negus,  after  dinner. 

The  morning  wore  away  in  forming  of  these  and 
similar  surmises.  As  fast  as  I  wove  one  system  of 
belief,  some  movement  of  the  unknown  would  com- 
pletely overturn  it,  and  throw  all  my  thoughts  again 
into  confusion.  Such  are  the  solitary  operations  of 
a  feverish  mind.  I  w.as,  as  I  have  said,  extremely 
nervous  ;  and  the  continual  meditation  on  the  con- 
cerns of  this  invisible  personage  began  to  have  its 
effect : — I  was  getting  a  fit  of  the  fidgets. 

Dinner-time  came.  I  hoped  the  stout  gentleman 
might  dine  in  the  travellers'-room,  and  that  I  might 
at  length  get  a  view  of  his  person  ;  but  no— he  had 
dinner  served  in  his  own  room.  What  could  be  the 
meaning  of  this  solitude  and  mystery  ?  He  could  not 
be  a  radical  ;  there  was  something  too  aristocratical 
in  thus  keeping  himself  apart  from  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  condemning  himself  to  his  own  dull  com- 
pany throughout  a  rainy  day.  And  then,  too,  he  lived 
too  well  for  a  discontented  politician.  He  seemed 
to  expatiate  on  a  variety  of  dishes,  and  to  sit  over 
!  his  wine  like  a  jolly  friend  of  good  living.  Indeed, 
my  doubts  on  this  head  were  soon  at  an  end ;  for  he 
could  not  have  finished  his  first  bottle  before  I  could 
faintly  hear  him  humming  a  tune  ;  and  on  listening, 
I  found  it  to  be  "  God  save  the  King."  'Twas  plain, 
then,  he  was  no  radical,  but  a  faithful  subject ;  one 
that  grew  loyal  over  his  bottle,  and  was  ready  to 
stand  by  king  and  constitution,  when  he  could  stand 
by  nothing  else.  But  who  could  he  be  ?  My  con- 
jectures began  to  run  wild.  Was  he  not  some  per- 
sonage of  distinction,  travelling  incog.  ?  "  God 
knows  !  "  said  I,  .at  my  wit's  end  ;  "  it  may  be  one  of 
the  royal  family  lor  aught  I  know,  for  they  are  all 
stout  gentlemen  !  " 


450 


AVORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


The  weather  continued  rainy.  The  mysterious 
unknown  kept  his  room,  and,  as  far  as  I  could  judge, 
his  chair,  for  I  did  not  hear  liirn  move.  In  the  mean- 
time, as  the  day  advanced,  the  travellers'-room  be- 
gan to  be  frequented.  Some,  who  had  just  arrived, 
came  in  liuttoned  up  in  box-coats  ;  others  came  home, 
who  had  been  dispersed  about  the  town.  Some  took 
their  dinners,  and  some  their  tea.  Had  I  been  in  a 
different  mood,  I  should  have  found  entertainment 
in  studying  this  peculiar  class  of  men.  There  were 
two  especially,  who  were  regular  wags  of  the  road, 
and  up  to  all  the  standing  jokes  of  travellers.  They 
had  a  thousand  sly  things  to  say  to  the  waiting-maid, 
whom  they  called  Louisa,  and  Ethelinda,  and  a  dozen 
other  fine  names,  changing  the  name  every  time,  and 
chuckling  amazingly  at  their  own  waggery.  My 
mind,  however,  had  become  completely  engrossed 
by  the  stout  gentleman.  He  had  kept  my  fancy  in 
chase  during  a  long  day,  and  it  was  not  now  to  be 
diverted  from  the  scent. 

The  evening  gradually  wore  away.  The  travellers 
read  the  papers  two  or  three  times  over.  Some  drew 
round  the  fire,  and  told  long  stories  about  their  horses, 
about  their  adventures,  their  overturns,  and  breakings 
down.  They  discussed  the  credits  of  different  mer- 
chants and  different  inns ;  and  the  two  wags  told 
several  choice  anecdotes  of  pretty  chamber-maids, 
and  kind  landladies.  All  this  passed  as  they  were 
quietly  taking  what  they  called  their  night-caps,  that 
is  to  say,  strong  glasses  of  brandy  and  water  and 
sugar,  or  some  other  mixture  of  the  kind  ;  after  which 
they  one  after  another  rang  for  "  Boots  "  and  the 
chamber-maid,  and  walked  off  to  bed  in  old  shoes 
cut  down  into  marvellously  uncomfortable  slippers. 

There  was  only  one  man  left ;  a  short-legged,  long- 
bodied,  plethoric  fellow,  with  a  very  large,  sandy 
head.  He  sat  by  himself,  with  a  glass  of  port  wine 
negus,  and  a  spoon ;  sipping  and  stirring,  and  medi- 
tating and  sipping,  until  nothing  was  left  but  the 
spoon.  He  gradually  fell  asleep  bolt  upright  in  his 
chair,  with  the  empty  glass  standing  before  him  ;  and 
the  candle  seemed  to  fall  asleep  too,  for  the  wick 
grew  long,  and  black,  and  cabbaged  at  the  end,  and 
dimmed  the  little  light  that  remained  in  the  chamber. 
The  gloom  that  now  prevailed  was  contagious. 
Around  hung  the  shapeless,  and  almost  spectral,  box- 
coats  of  departed  travellers,  long  since  buried  in 
deep  sleep,  i  only  heard  the  ticking  of  the  clock, 
with  the  deep-drawn  breathings  of  the  sleeping 
topers,  and  the  drippings  of  the  rain,  drop— drop — 
drop,  from  the  eaves  of  the  house.  The  church- 
bells  chimed  midnight.  All  at  once  the  stout  gentle- 
man began  to  walk  overhead,  pacing  slowly  back- 
wards and  forwards.  There  was  something  ex- 
tremely awful  in  all  this,  especially  to  one  in  my 
state  of  nerves.  These  ghastly  great-coats,  these 
guttural  breathings,  and  the  creaking  footsteps  of  this 
mysterious  being.  His  steps  grew  fainter  and  fainter, 
and  at  length  died  away.  I  could  bear  it  no  longer. 
I  was  wound  up  to  the  desperation  of  a  hero  of  ro- 
mance. "  Be  he  who  or  what  he  may,"  said  I  to 
myself,  "  I'll  have  a  sight  of  him  !  "  I  seized  a  cham- 
ber candle,  and  hurried  up  to  number  13.  The  door 
stood  ajar.  I  hesitated — I  entered:  the  room  was 
deserted.  There  stood  a  large,  broad-bottomed  el- 
bow chair  at  a  table,  on  which  was  an  empty  tum- 
bler, and  a  "  Times  "  newspaper,  and  the  room  smelt 
powerfully  of  Stilton  cheese. 

The  mysterious  stranger  had  evidently  but  just  re- 
tired. I  turned  off,  sorely  disappointed,  to  my  room, 
which  had  been  changed  to  the  front  of  the  house. 
As  I  went  along  the  corridor,  I  saw  a  large  pair  of 
boots,  with  dirty,  waxed  tops,  standing  at  the  door 
of  a  bed-chamber.  They  doubtless  belonged  to  the 
unknown  ;  but  it  would  not  do  to  disturb  so  redoubt- 


able a  personage  in  his  den  ;  he  might  discharge  a 
pistol,  or  something  worse,  at  my  head.  I  went  to 
bed,  therefore,  and  lay  awake  half  the  night  in  a 
terrible  nervous  state  ;  and  even  when  I  fell  asleep, 
I  was  still  haunted  in  my  dreams  by  the  idea  of  the 
stout  gentleman  and  his  wax-topped  boots. 

I  slept  rather  late  the  next  morning,  and  waa 
awakened  by  some  stir  and  bustle  in  the  house,  which 
I  could  not  at  first  comprehend  ;  until  getting  more 
awake,  I  found  there  was  a  mail-coach  starting  from 
the  door.  Suddenly  there  was  a  cry  from  below, 
"The  gentleman  has  forgot  his  umbrella!  look  for 
the  gentleman's  umbrella  in  No.  13  !  "  I  heard  an 
immediate  scampering  of  a  chamber-maid  along  the 
passage,  and  a  shrill  reply  as  she  ran,  "  Here  it  is  ! 
here's  the  gentleman's  umbrella  !  " 

The  mysterious  stranger  then  was  on  the  point  of 
setting  off.  This  was  the  only  chance  I  should  ever 
have  of  knowing  him.  I  sprang  out  of  bed,  scram- 
bled to  the  window,  snatched  aside  the  curtains,  and 
just  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  rear  of  a  person  getting 
in  at  the  coach-door.  The  skirts  of  a  brown  coat 
parted  behind,  and  gave  me  a  full  view  of  the  broad 
disk  of  a  pair  of  drab  breeches.  The  door  closed — 
"  all  right !  "  was  the  word — the  coach  whirled  off: — 
and  that  was  all  I  ever  saw  of  the  stout  gentleman  ! 


FOREST  TREES. 


"A  living  gallery  of  aged  trees." 

One  of  the  favourite  themes  of  boasting  with  the 
Squire,  is  the  noble  trees  on  his  estate,  which,  in 
truth,  has  some  of  the  finest  that  I  have  seen  in  En- 
gland. There  is  something  august  and  solemn  in 
the  great  avenues  of  stately  oaks  that  gather  their 
branches  together  high  in  air,  and  seem  to  reduce 
the  pedestrians  beneath  them  to  mere  pigmies.  "An 
avenue  of  oaks  or  elms,"  the  Squire  observes,  "  is 
the  true  colonnade  that  should  lead  to  a  gentleman's 
house.  As  to  stone  and  marble,  any  one  ran  rear 
them  at  once — they  are  the  work  of  the  day ;  but 
commend  me  to  the  colonnades  that  have  grovvn  old 
and  great  with  the  family,  and  tell  by  their  grandeur 
how  long  the  family  has  endured." 

The  Squire  has  great  reverence  for  certain  ven- 
erable trees,  gray  with  moss,  which  he  considers  as 
the  ancient  nobility  of  his  domain.  There  is  the 
ruin  of  an  enormous  oak,  which  has  been  so  much 
battered  by  time  and  tempest,  that  scarce  any  thing 
is  left  ;  though  he  says  Christy  recollects  when,  in 
his  boyhood,  it  was  healthy  and  flourishing,  until  it 
was  struck  by  lightning.  It  is  now  a  mere  trunk, 
with  one  twisted  bough  stretching  up  into  the  air, 
leaving  a  green  branch  at  the  end  of  it.  Tliis  sturdy 
wreck  is  much  valued  by  the  Squire  ;  he  calls  it  his 
standard-bearer,  and  compares  it  to  a  veteran  war- 
rior beaten  down  in  battle,  but  bearing  up  his  banner 
to  the  last.  He  has  actually  had  a  fence  built  round 
it,  to  protect  it  as  much  as  possible  from  further 
injury. 

It  is  with  great  difficulty  that  the  Squire  can  ever 
be  brought  to  have  any  tree  cut  down  on  his  estate. 
To  some  he  looks  with  reverence,  as  having  been 
planted  by  his  ancestors ;  to  others  with  a  kind  of 
paternal  affection,  as  having  been  planted  by  him- 
self; and  he  feels  a  degree  of  awe  in  bringing  down, 
with  a  few  strokes  of  the  axe,  what  it  has  cost  cen- 
turies to  build  up.  I  confess  I  cannot  but  sympa- 
thize, in  some  degree,  with  the  good  Squire  on  the 
subject.  Though  brought  up  in  a  country  overrun 
with  forests,  where  trees  are  apt  to  be  considered 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


451 


mere  encumbrances,  and  to  be  laid  low  without 
hesitation  or  remorse,  yet  I  could  never  see  a  fine 
tree  hewn  down  without  concern.  The  poets,  who 
are  naturally  lovers  of  trees,  as  they  are  of  every 
thing  that  is  beautiful,  have  artfully  awakened  great 
interest  in  their  favour,  by  representing  them  as  the 
habitations  of  sylvan  deities ;  insomuch  that  every 
great  tree  had  its  tutelar  genius,  or  a  nymph,  whose 
existence  was  limited  to  its  duration.  Evelyn,  in  his 
Sylva,  makes  several  pleasing  and  fanciful  allusions 
to  this  superstition.  "As  the  fall,"  says  he,  "of  a 
very  aged  oak,  giving  a  crack  like  thunder,  has  often 
been  heard  at  many  miles'  distance ;  constrained 
though  I  often  am  to  fell  them  with  reluctancy,  I 
do  not  at  any  time  remember  to  have  heard  the 
groans  of  those  nymphs  (grieving  to  be  dispossessed 
of  their  ancient  habitations)  without  some  emotion 
and  pity."  And  again,  in  alluding  to  a  violent 
storm  that  had  devastated  the  woodlands,  he  says, 
"  iMethinks  1  still  hear,  sure  I  am  that  I  still  feel,  the 
dismal  groans  of  our  forests  ;  the  late  dreadful  hurri- 
cane having  subverted  so  many  thousands  of  goodly 
oaks,  prostrating  the  trees,  laying  them  in  ghastly 
postures,  like  whole  regiments  fallen  in  battle  by  the 
sword  of  the  conqueror,  and  crushing  all  that  grew 
beneath  them.  The  public  accounts,"  he  adds, 
"  reckon  no  less  than  three  thousand  brave  oaks  m 
one  part  only  of  the  forest  of  Dean  blown  down." 

I  have  paused  more  than  once  in  the  wilderness 
of  America,  to  contemplate  the  traces  of  some  blast 
of  wind,  which  seemed  to  have  rushed  down  from 
the  clouds,  and  ripped  its  way  through  the  bosom  of 
the  woodlands ;  rooting  up,  shivering,  and  splinter- 
ing the  stoutest  trees,  and  leaving  a  long  track  of 
desolation.  There  was  something  awful  in  the  vast 
havoc  made  among  these  gigantic  plants ;  and  in 
considering  their  magnificent  remams,  so  rudely 
torn  and  mangled,  and  hurled  down  to  perish  pre- 
maturely on  their  native  soil,  I  was  conscious  of  a 
strong  movement  of  the  sympathy  so  feelingly  ex- 
pressed by  Evelyn.  I  recollect,  also,  hearing  a 
traveller  of  poetical  temperament  expressing  the 
kind  of  horror  which  he  felt  on  beholding  on  the 
banks  of  the  Missouri,  an  oak  of  prodigious  size, 
which  had  been,  in  a  manner,  overpowered  by  an 
enormous  wild  grape-vine.  The  vine  had  clasped  its 
huge  folds  round  the  trunk,  and  from  thence  had 
wound  about  every  branch  and  twig,  until  the 
mighty  tree  had  withered  in  its  embrace.  It  seemed 
like  Laocoon  struggling  inefTectually  in  the  hideous 
coils  of  the  monster  Python.  It  was  the  lion  of 
trees  perishing  in  the  embraces  of  a  vegetable  boa. 

I  am  fond  of  listening  to  the  conversation  of  En- 
glish gentlemen  on  rural  concerns,  and  of  noticing 
with  what  taste  and  discrimination,  and  what  strong, 
unaffected  interest  they  will  discuss  topics,  which,  in 
other  countries,  are  abandoned  to  mere  woodmen, 
or  rustic  cultivators.  I  have  heard  a  noble  earl 
descant  on  park  and  forest  scenery  with  the  science 
and  feeling  of  a  painter.  He  dwelt  on  the  shape 
and  beauty  of  particular  trees  on  his  estate,  with  as 
much  pride  and  technical  precision  as  though  he 
had  been  discussing  the  merits  of  statues  in  his  col- 
lection. I  found  that  he  had  even  gone  considerable 
distances  to  examine  trees  which  were  celebrated 
among  rural  amateurs  ;  for  h  seems  that  trees,  like 
horses,  have  their  established  points  of  excellence ; 
and  that  there  are  some  in  England  which  enjoy 
very  extensive  celebrity  among  tree-fanciers,  from 
being  perfect  in  their  kind. 

There  is  something  nobly  simple  and  pure  in  such 
a  taste  :  it  argues,  I  think,  a  sweet  and  generous 
nature,  to  have  this  strong  relish  for  the  be.auties  of 
vegetation,  and  this  friendship  for  the  hardy  and 
glorious  sons  of  the  forest.     There  is  a  grandeur  of 


thought  connected  with  this  part  of  rural  economy. 
It  is,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  figure,  the  heroic  line 
of  husbandry.  It  is  worthy  of  liberal,  and  free-born, 
and  aspiring  men.  He  who  plants  an  oak,  looks 
forward  to  future  ages,  and  plants  for  posterity. 
Nothing  can  be  less  selfish  than  this.  He  cannot 
expect  to  sit  in  its  shade,  nor  enjoy  its  shelter  ;  but 
he  exults  in  the  idea  that  the  acorn  which  he  has 
buried  in  the  earth  shall  grow  up  into  a  lofty  pile, 
and  shall  keep  on  flourishing,  and  increasing,  and 
benefiting  mankind,  long  after  he  shall  h.ave  ceased 
to  tread  his  paternal  fields.  Indeed,  it  is  the  nature 
of  such  occupations  to  lift  the  thoughts  above  mere 
worldliness.  As  the  leaves  of  trees  are  said  to  .al)- 
sorb  all  noxious  qualities  of  the  air,  and  to  breathe 
forth  a  purer  atmosphere,  so  it  seems  to  me  as  if 
they  drew  from  us  all  sordid  and  angry  passions, 
and  breathed  forth  peace  and  philanthropy.  There 
is  a  serene  and  settled  majesty  in  woodland  scenery, 
that  enters  into  the  soul,  and  dilates  and  elevates  it, 
and  fills  it  with  noble  inclinations!  The  ancient  and 
hereditary  groves,  too,  that  embower  this  island,  are 
most  of  them  full  of  story.  They  are  haunted  by 
the  recollections  of  great  spirits  of  past  ages,  who 
have  sought  for  relaxation  among  them  from  the 
tumult  of  arms,  or  the  toils  of  state,  or  have  wooed 
the  muse  beneath  their  shade.  Who  can  walk,  with 
soul  unmoved,  among  the  stately  groves  of  Pens- 
hurst,  where  the  gallant,  the  amiable,  the  elegant 
Sir  Philip  Sidney  passed  his  boyhood  ;  or  can  look 
without  fondness  upon  the  tree  that  is  said  to  have 
been  planted  on  his  birth-day ;  or  can  ramble  ?mong 
the  classic  bowers  of  Hagley ;  or  can  pause  among 
the  solitudes  of  Windsor  Forest,  and  look  at  the 
oaks  around,  huge,  gray,  and  time-worn,  like  the 
old  castle  towers,  and  not  feel  as  if  he  were  sur- 
rounded by  so  many  monuments  of  long-enduring 
glory  ?  It  is,  when  viewed  in  this  light,  that  planted 
groves,  and  stately  avenues,  and  cultivated  parks, 
have  an  advantage  over  the  more  luxuriant  beauties 
of  unassisted  nature.  It  is  that  they  teem  witli 
moral  associations,  and  keep  up  the  ever-interesting 
story  of  human  existence. 

It  is  incumbent,  then,  on  the  high  and  generous 
spirits  of  an  ancient  nation,  to  cherish  these  sacred 
groves  that  surround  their  ancestral  mansions,  and 
to  perpetuate  them  to  their  descendants.  Repub- 
lican as  I  am  by  birth,  and  brought  up  as  1  have 
been  in  republican  principles  and  haliits,  I  can  feel 
nothing  of^  the  servile  reverence  for  titled  rank, 
merely  because  it  is  titled  ;  but  I  trust  that  I  am 
neither  churl  nor  bigot  in  my  creed.  I  can  both  sec 
and  feel  how  hereditary  distinction,  when  it  falls  to 
the  lot  of  a  generous  mind,  may  elevate  that  mind 
into  true  nobility.  It  is  one  of  the  effects  of  heredi- 
tary rank,  when  it  falls  thus  happily,  that  it  multi- 
plies the  duties,  and,  as  it  were,  extends  the  exist- 
ence of  the  possessor.  He  does  not  feel  himself  a 
mere  individual  link  in  creation,  responsible  only  for 
his  own  brief  term  of  being.  He  carries  back  his 
existence  in  proud  recollection,  and  he  extends  it 
forward  in  honourable  anticipation.  He  lives  with 
his  ancestry,  and  he  lives  with  his  posterity.  To 
both  does  he  consider  himself  involved  in  deep  re- 
sponsibilities. As  he  has  received  much  from  those 
that  have  gone  before,  so  he  feels  bound  to  transmit 
much  to  those  who  are  to  come  after  him.  His  do- 
mestic undertakings  seem  to  imply  a  longer  existence 
than  those  of  ordinary  men  ;  none  are  so  apt  to 
build  and  plant  for  future  centuries,  as  noble-spirited 
men,  who  have  received  their  heritages  from  fore- 
gone ages. 

I  cannot  but  applaud,  therefore,  the  fondness  and 
pride  with  which  1  have  noticed  English  gentlemen. 
of  generous   temperaments,   and   high   aristocratic 


452 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


feelings,  contemplating  those  magnificent  trees, 
which  rise  like  towers  and  pyramids,  from  the  midst 
of  their  paternal  lands.  There  is  an  affinity  between 
all  nature,  animate  and  inanimate :  the  oak,  in  the 
pride  and  lustihood  of  its  growth,  seems  to  me  to 
lake  its  range  with  the  lion  and  the  eagle,  and  to 
assimilate,  in  the  grandeur  of  its  attributes,  to  heroic 
and  intellectual  man.  With  its  mighty  pillar  rising 
straight  and  direct  towards  heaven,  bearing  up  its 
leafy  honours  from  the  impurities  of  earth,  and  sup- 
porting them  aloft  in  free  air  and  glorious  sunshine, 
it  is  an  emblem  of  what  a  true  nobleman  should  be  ; 
a  refuge  for  the  weak,  a  shelter  for  the  oppressed,  a 
defence  for  the  defenceless  ;  warding  off  from  them 
the  peltings  of  the  storm,  or  the  scorching  rays  of 
arbitrary  power.  He  who  is  this,  is  an  ornament 
and  a  blessing  to  his  native  land.  He  who  is  other- 
wise, abuses  his  eminent  advantages ;  abuses  the 
grandeur  and  prosperity  which  he  has  drawn  from 
the  bosom  of  his  country.  Should  tempests  arise, 
and  lie  be  laid  prostrate  by  the  storm,  who  would 
mouni  over  his  fall .'  Should  he  be  borne  down  by 
the  oppressive  hand  of  power,  who  would  murmur 
at  his  fate  ? — ■"  Why  cumbereth  he  the  ground  ?  " 


A  LITERARY  ANTIQUARY. 


Printed  bookes  he  conteranes,  as  a  novelty  of  this  latter  age  ; 
but  a  manuscript  he  pores  on  everlastingly  ;  especially  if  the  cover 
be  all  moth-eaten,  and  the  dust  make  a  parenthesis  betweene 
every  syllable.  Mico-Cosmographie,  1628. 

The  Squire  receives  great  sympathy  and  support, 
in  his  antiquated  humours,  from  the  parson,  of  whom 
I  made  some  mention  on  my  former  visit  to  the  Hall, 
and  who  acts  as  a  kind  of  family  chaplain.  He  has 
been  cherished  by  the  Squire  almost  constantly, 
since  the  time  that  they  were  fellow-students  at  Ox- 
ford ;  for  it  is  one  of  the  peculiar  advantages  of  these 
great  universities,  that  they  often  link  the  poor 
scholar  to  the  rich  patron,  by  early  and  heart-felt 
ties,  that  last  through  life,  without  the  usual  humili- 
ations of  dependence  and  patronage.  Under  the 
fostering  protection  of  the  Squire,  therefore,  the  lit- 
tle parson  has  pursued  his  studies  in  peace.  Having 
lived  almost  entirely  among  books,  and  those,  too, 
old  books,  he  is  quite  ignorant  of  the  world,  and  his 
mind  is  as  antiquated  as  the  garden  at  the  Hall, 
where  the  flowers  are  all  arranged  in  formal  beds, 
and  the  yew-trees  clipped  into  urns  and  peacocks. 

His  taste  for  literary  antiquities  was  first  imbibed 
in  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford  ;  where,  when  a 
student,  he  passed  many  an  hour  foraging  among 
the  old  manuscripts.  He  has  since,  at  different 
times,  visited  most  of  the  curious  libraries  in  En- 
gland, and  has  ransacked  many  of  the  cathedrals. 
With  all  his  quaint  and  curious  learning,  he  has 
nothing  of  arrogance  or  pedantry ;  but  that  unaf- 
fected earnestness  and  guileless  simplicity  which 
seem  to  belong  to  the  literary  antiquary. 

He  is  a  dark,  mouldy  little  man,  and  rather  dry  in 
his  manner;  yet,  on  his  favourite  theine,  he  kindles 
up,  and  at  times  is  even  eloquent.  No  fox-hunter, 
recounting  his  last  day's  sport,  could  be  more  ani- 
mated than  I  have  seen  the  worthy  parson,  when  re- 
lating his  search  after  a  curious  docuinent,  which  he 
had  traced  from  library  to  library,  until  he  fairly  un- 
earthed it  in  the  dusty  chapter-house  of  a  cathedral. 
When,  too,  he  describes  some  venerable  luanuscript, 
with  its  rich  illuminations,  its  thick  creamy  vellum, 
its  glossy  ink,  and  the  odour  of  the  cloisters  that 
seemed  to  exhale  from  it,  he  rivals  the  enthusiasm 


of  a  Parisian  epicure,  expatiating  on  the  merits  of  a 
Perigord  pie,  or  a  Patte  de  Strasbourg. 

His  brain  seems  absolutely  haunted  with  love-sick 
dreams  about  gorgeous  old  works  in  "silk  linings, 
triple  gold  bands,  and  tinted  leather,  locked  up  in 
wire  cases,  and  secured  from  the  vulgar  hands  of  the 
mere  reader ;  "  and,  to  continue  the  happy  expres- 
sions of  an  ingenious  writer,  "  dazzling  one's  eyes 
like  eastern  beauties,  peering  through  their  jealous- 
ies."* 

He  has  a  great  desire,  however,  to  read  such  works 
in  the  old  libraries  and  chapter-houses  to  which  they 
belong;  for  he  thinks  a  black-letter  volume  reads 
best  in  one  of  those  venerable  chambers  where  the 
light  struggles  through  dusty  lancet  windows  and 
painted  glass  ;  and  that  it  loses  half  its  zest,  if  taken 
away  from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  quaintly-carved 
oaken  book-case  and  Gothic  reading-desk.  At  his 
suggestion,  the  Squire  has  had  the  library  furnished 
in  this  antique  taste,  and  several  of  the  windows 
glazed  with  painted  glass,  that  they  may  throw  a 
properly  tempered  light  upon  the  pages  of  their  fa- 
vourite old  authors. 

The  parson,  I  am  told,  has  been  for  some  time 
meditating  a  commentary  on  Strutt,  Brand,  and 
Douce,  in  which  he  means  to  detect  them  in  sundry 
dangerous  errors  in  respect  to  popular  games  and 
superstitions ;  a  work  to  which  the  Squire  looks  for- 
ward with  great  interest.  He  is.  also,  a  casual  con- 
tributor to  that  long-established  repository  of  na- 
tional customs  and  antiquities,  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine,  and  is  one  of  those  that  every  now  and 
then  make  an  inquiry  concerning  some  obsolete  cus- 
tom or  rare  legend  ;  nay,  it  is  said  that  several  of  his 
communications  have  been  at  least  six  inches  in 
length.  He  frequently  receives  parcels  by  coach  from 
different  parts  of  the  kingdom,  containing  mouldy 
volumes  and  almost  illegible  inanuscripts ;  for  it  is 
singular  what  an  active  correspondence  is  kept  up 
among  literary  antiquaries,  and  how  soon  the  fame 
of  any  rare  volume,  or  unique  copy,  just  discovered 
among  the  rubbish  of  a  library,  is  circulated  among 
them.  The  parson  is  more  busy  than  common  just 
now,  being  a  little  flurried  by  an  advertisement  of  a 
work,  said  to  be  preparing  for  the  press,  on  the  my- 
thology of  the  middle  ages.  The  little  man  has  long 
been  gathering  together  all  the  hobgoblin  tales  he 
could  collect,  illustrative  of  the  superstitions  of 
former  times  ;  and  he  is  in  a  complete  fever  lest  this 
formidable  rival  should  take  the  field  before  him. 

Shortly  after  my  arrival  at  the  Hall,  I  called  at 
the  parsonage,  in  company  with  Mr.  Bracebridge 
and  the  general.  The  parson  had  not  been  seen  for 
several  days,  which  was  a  matter  of  some  surprise, 
as  he  was  an  almost  daily  visitor  at  the  Hall.  We 
found  him  in  his  study ;  a  small  dusky  chamber, 
lighted  by  a  lattice  window  that  looked  into  the 
church-yard,  and  was  overshadowed  by  a  yew-tree. 
His  chair  was  surrounded  by  folios  and  quartos,  piled 
upon  the  floor,  and  his  table  was  covered  with  books 
and  manuscripts.  The  cause  of  his  seclusion  was  a 
work  which  he  had  recently  received,  anil  with  which 
he  had  retired  in  rapture  from  the  world,  and  shut 
himself  up  to  enjoy  a  literary  honeymoon  undisturbed. 
Never  did  boarding-school  girl  devour  the  pages  of 
a  sentimental  novel,  or  Don  C2uixote  a  chivalrous  ro- 
mance, with  more  intense  delight  than  did  the  little 
man  banquet  on  the  pages  of  this  deUcious  work. 
It  was  Dibdin's  Bibliographical  Tour;  a  work  cal- 
culated to  have  as  intoxicating  an  effect  on  the  im- 
aginations of  literary  antiquaries,  as  the  adventures 
of  the  heroes  of  the  round  table,  on  all  true  knights  ; 
or  the  tales  of  the  early  American  voyagers  on  the 


*  D'Israeli — Curiosities  of  Literature. 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


453 


ardent  spirits  of  the  ag^e,  filling  them  with  dreams  of 
Mexican  and  Peruvian  mines,  and  of  the  golden 
realm  of  El  Dorado. 

The  good  parson  had  looked  forward  to  this  bih- 
liographical  expedition  as  of  far  greater  iinportance 
than  those  to  Africa  or  the  North  Pole.  With  what 
eagerness  had  he  seized  upon  the  history  of  the 
enterprise !  with  what  interest  had  he  followed  the 
redoubtable  bibliographer  and  his  graphical  squire 
in  their  adventurous  roamings  among  Norman  cas- 
tles, and  cathedrals,  and  French  libraries,  and  Ger- 
man convents  and  universities  ;  penetrating  into  the 
prison-houses  of  vellum  manuscripts,  and  exquisitely 
illuminated  missals,  and  revealing  their  beauties  to 
the  world  ! 

When  the  parson  had  finished  a  rapturous  eulogy 
on  this  most  curious  and  entertaining  work,  he  drew 
forth  from  a  little  drawer  a  manuscript,  lately  re- 
ceived from  a  correspondent,  which  had  perplexed 
him  sadly.  It  was  written  in  Norman  French,  in 
very  ancient  characters,  and  so  faded  and  mouldered 
away  as  to  be  almost  illegible.  It  was  apparently 
an  old  Norman  drinking  song,  that  might  have  been 
brought  over  by  one  of  William  the  Conqueror's  ca- 
rousing followers.  The  writing  was  just  legible 
enough  to  keep  a  keen  antiquity-hunter  on  a  doubt- 
ful chase  ;  here  and  there  he  would  be  completely 
thrown  out,  and  then  there  would  be  a  few  words 
so  plainly  written  as  to  put  him  on  the  scent  again. 
In  this  way  he  had  been  led  on  for  a  whole  day,  until 
he  had  found  himself  completely  at  fault. 

The  squire  endeavoured  to  assist  him,  but  was 
equally  baffled.  The  old  general  listened  for  some 
time  to  the  discussion,  and  then  asked  the  parson  if 
he  had  read  Captain  Morris's,  or  George  Stevens's, 
or  Anacreon  Moore's  bacchanalian  songs  ?  On  the 
c'her  replying  in  the  negative,  "Oh,  then,"  said  the 
general,  with  a  sagacious  nod,  "  if  you  want  a  drink- 
ing song,  I  can  furnish  you  with  the  latest  collection 
— 1  did  not  know  you  had  a  turn  for  those  kind  of 
things  ;  and  I  can  lend  you  the  Encyclopedia  of  Wit 
into  the  bargain.  I  never  travel  without  them ; 
they're  excellent  reading  at  an  inn." 

It  would  not  be  easy  to  describe  the  odd  look  of 
surprise  and  perplexity  of  the  parson,  at  this  propo- 
sal ;  or  the  difficulty  the  Squire  had  in  making  the 
general  comprehend,  that  though  a  jovial  song  of  the 
present  day  was  but  a  foolish  sound  in  the  ears  of 
wisdom,  and  beneath  the  notice  of  a  learned  man, 
yet  a  trowl,  written  by  a  tosspot  several  hundred 
years  since,  was  a  matter  worthy  of  the  gravest  re- 
search, and  enough  to  set  whole  colleges  by  the 
ears. 

I  have  since  pondered  much  on  this  matter,  and 
have  figured  to  myself  what  may  be  the  fate  of  our 
current  literature,  when  retrieved,  piecemeal,  by  fu- 
ture antiquaries,  from  among  the  rubbish  of  ages. 
What  a  Magnus  Apollo,  for  instance,  will  Moore  be- 
come, among  sober  divines  and  dusty  schoolmen  ! 
Even  his  festive  and  amatory  songs,  which  are  now 
the  mere  quickeners  of  our  social  moments,  or  the 
delights  of  our  drawing-rooms,  will  then  become 
matters  of  laborious  research  and  painful  collation 
How  many  a  grave  professor  will  then  waste  his 
midnight  oil,  or  worry  his  brain  through  a  long 
morning,  endeavouring  to  restore  the  pure  text,  or 
illustrate  the  biographical  hints  of  "Come,  tell  me, 
says  Rosa,  as  kissing  and  kissed  ;"  and  how  many 
an  arid  old  bookworm,  like  the  worthy  little  parson, 
will  give  up  in  despair,  after  vainly  strivinof  to  fill  up 
some  fatal  hiatus  in  "  Fanny  of  Timmol  ! ' 

Nor  is  it  merely  such  exquisite  authors  as  Moore 
that  are  doomed  to  consume  the  oil  of  future  anti- 
quaries. Many  a  poor  scribbler,  who  is  now,  ap- 
parently, sent  to  oblivion  by  pastry-cooks  and  cheese- 


mongers, will  then    rise   again   in   fragments,   and 
flourish  in  learned  immortality. 

After  all,  thought  I,  time  is  not  such  an  invariable 
destroyer  as  he  is  represented.  If  he  pulls  down,  he 
likewise  builds  up ;  if  he  impoverishes  one,  he  en- 
riches another  ;  his  very  dilapidations  furnish  matter 
for  new  works  of  controversy,  and  his  rust  is  more 
precious  than  the  most  costly  gilding.  Under  his 
plastic  hand,  trifles  rise  into  importance ;  the  non- 
sense of  one  age  becomes  the  wisdom  of  another; 
the  levity  of  the  wit  gravitates  into  the  learning  of 
the  pedant,  and  an  ancient  farthing  moulders  into 
infinitely  more  value  than  a  modern  guinea. 


THE  FARM-HOUSE. 


**  Love  and  Il.^v 

Are  thick  sown,  but  come  up  full  of  thistles." 

Beaumont  and  rLErciIEK. 

I  WAS  SO  much  pleased  with  the  anecdotes  which 
were  told  me  of  Ready-Money  Jack  Tibbets,  that  I 
got  Master  Simon,  a  day  or  two  since,  to  take  me  to 
his  house.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  farm-house  built 
with  brick,  with  curiously  twisted  chimneys.  It 
stood  at  a  little  distance  from  the  road,  with  a  south- 
ern exposure,  looking  upon  a  soft  green  slope  Of 
meadow.  There  was  a  small  garden  in  front,  with 
a  row  of  bee-hives  humming  among  beds  of  sweet 
herbs  and  flowers.  Well-scoured  milking  tubs,  with 
bright  copper  hoops,  hung  on  the  garden  paling. 
Fruit  trees  were  trained  up  against  the  cottage,  and 
pots  of  flowers  stood  in  the  windows.  A  fat,  super- 
annuated mastiff  lay  in  the  sunshine  at  the  door  ;  with 
a  sleek  cat  sleeping  peacefully  across  him. 

Mr.  Tibbets  was  from  home  at  the  time  of  our 
calling,  but  we  were  received  with  hearty  and  homely 
welcome  by  his  wife ;  a  notable,  motherly  woman, 
and  a  complete  pattern  for  wives ;  since,  according 
to  Master  Simon's  account,  she  never  contradicts 
honest  Jack,  and  yet  manages  to  hav^:  her  own  way, 
and  to  control  him  in  every  thing. 

She  received  us  in  the  main  room  of  the  house,  a 
kind  of  parlour  and  hall,  with  great  brown  beams  of 
timber  across  it,  which  Mr.  Tibbets  is  apt  to  point 
out  with  .some  exultation,  observing,  that  they  don't 
put  such  timber  in  houses  now-a-days.  The  furni- 
ture was  old-fashioned,  strong,  and  highly  polished  ; 
the  walls  were  hung  with  coloured  prints  of  the  story 
of  the  Prodigal  Son,  who  was  represented  in  a  red 
coat  and  leather  breeches.  Over  the  fire-place  was 
a  blunderbuss,  and  a  hard-favoured  likeness  of 
Ready-Money  Jack,  taken  when  he  was  a  young 
man,  by  the  same  artist  that  painted  the  tavern  sign  ; 
his  mother  having  taken  a  notion  that  the  Tibbets' 
had  as  much  right  to  have  a  gallery  of  family  por- 
traits as  the  folks  at  the  Hall. 

The  good  dame  pressed  us  very  much  to  take 
some  refreshment,  and  tempted  us  with  a  variety  of 
household  dainties,  so  that  we  were  glad  to  com- 
pound by  tasting  some  of  her  home-made  wines. 
While  we  were  there,  the  son  and  heir-apparent 
came  home  ;  a  good-looking  young  fellow,  and  some- 
thing of  a  rustic  beau.  He  took  us  over  the  premises, 
and  showed  us  the  whole  establishment.  An  air  of 
homely  but  substantial  plenty  prevailed  throughout ; 
every  thing  was  of  the  best  materials,  and  in  the  best 
condition.  Nothing  was  out  of  place,  or  ill  made  ; 
and  you  saw  every  where  the  signs  of  a  man  that 
took  care  to  have  the  worth  of  his  money,  and  that 
paid  as  he  went. 

The  farm-yard  was  well  stocked ;  under  a  shed 


454 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


was  a  taxed  cart,  in  trim  order,  in  vvliich  Ready- 
Money  Jack  took  his  wife  about  the  country.  His 
well-fed  horse  neighed  from  the  stable,  and  wiien  led 
out  into  the  yard,  to  use  the  words  of  young  Jack, 
"  he  shone  like  a  bottle  ; "  for  he  said  the  old  man 
made  it  a  rule  that  every  thing  about  him  should 
fare  as  well  as  he  did  himself. 

I  was  pleased  to  see  the  jiride  which  the  young 
fellow  seemed  to  have  of  his  father.  He  gave  us 
several  particulars  concerning  his  habits,  which  were 
pretty  much  to  the  effect  of  those  I  have  already 
mentioned.  He  had  never  suffered  an  account  to 
stand  in  his  life,  always  providing  the  money  before 
he  purchased  any  thing ;  and,  if  possible,  paying  in 
gold  and  silver.  He  had  a  great  dislike  to  paper 
money,  and  seldom  went  without  a  considerable  sum 
in  gold  about  him.  On  my  observing  that  it  was  a 
wonder  he  had  never  been  waylaid  and  robbed,  the 
young  fellow  smiled  at  the  idea  of  any  one  venturing 
upon  such  an  exploit,  for  I  believe  he  thinks  the  old 
man  would  be  a  match  for  Robin  Hood  and  all  his 
sang- 

I  have  noticed  that  Master  Simon  seldom  goes 
into  any  house  without  having  a  world  of  private 
talk  with  some  one  or  other  of  the  family,  being  a 
kind  of  universal  counsellor  and  confidant.  We  had 
not  been  long  at  the  farm,  before  the  old  dame  got 
him  into  a  corner  of  her  parlour,  where  they  had  a 
long,  whispering  conference  together ;  in  which  I 
saw,  by  his  shrugs,  that  there  v/ere  some  dubious 
matters  discussed,  and  by  his  nods  that  he  agreed 
with  every  thing  she  said. 

After  we  had  come  out,  the  young  man  accom- 
panied us  a  little  distance,  and  then,  drawing  Master 
Simon  aside  into  a  green  lane,  they  walked  and  talk- 
ed- together  for  nearly  half  an  hour.  Master  Simon, 
who  has  the  usual  propensity  of  confidants  to  blab 
every  thing  to  the  next  friend  they  meet  with,  let  me 
know  that  there  was  a  love  affair  in  question  ;  the 
young  fellow  having  been  smitten  with  the  charms 
of  Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  pretty  niece  of  the  house- 
keeper at  the  Hall.  Like  most  other  love  concerns, 
it  had  brought  its  troubles  and  perplexities.  Dame 
Tibbets  had  long  been  on  intimate,  gossiping  terms 
with  the  housekeeper,  who  often  visited  the  farm- 
house ;  but  when  the  neighbours  spoke  to  her  of  the 
likelihood  of  a  match  between  her  son  and  Phoebe 
Wilkins,  "  Marry  come  up  !  "  she  scouted  the  very 
idea.  The  girl  had  acted  as  lady's  maid ;  and  it 
was  beneath  the  blood  of  the  Tibbets',  who  had  lived 
on  their  own  lands  time  out  of  mind,  and  owed 
reverence  and  thanks  to  nobody,  to  have  the  heir- 
apparent  marry  a  servant  ! 

These  vapourings  had  faithfully  been  carried  to 
the  housekeeper's  ear,  by  one  of  their  mutual  go- 
between  friends.  The  old  housekeeper's  blood,  if 
not  as  ancient,  was  as  quick  as  that  of  Dame  Tib- 
bets. She  had  been  accustomed  to  carry  a  high 
head  at  the  Hall,  and  among  the  villagers ;  and  her 
faded  brocade  rustled  with  indignation  at  the  slight 
cast  upon  her  alliance  by  the  wile  of  a  petty  farmer. 
She  maintained  that  her  niece  had  been  a  companion 
rather  than  a  waiting-maid  to  the  young  ladies. 
"  Thank  heavens,  she  was  not  obliged  to  work  for 
her  living,  and  was  as  idle  as  any  young  lady  in  the 
land  ;  and  when  somebody  died,  would  receive  some- 
thing that  would  be  worth  the  notice  of  some  folks, 
with  all  their  ready  money." 

A  bitter  feud  had  thus  taken  place  between  the 
two  worthy  dames,  and  the  young  people  were  for- 
bidden to  think  of  one  another.  As  to  young  Jack, 
he  was  too  much  in  love  to  reason  upon  the  matter; 
and  being  a  little  heady,  and  not  standing  in  much 
awe  of  his  mother,  was  ready  to  sacrifice  the  whole 
dignity  of  the  Tibbets'  to  his  passion.    He  had  lately, 


however,  had  a  violent  quarrel  with  his  mistress,  in 
consequence  of  some  coquetry  on  her  part,  and  at 
present  stood  aloof.  The  politic  mother  was  exert- 
ing all  her  ingenuity  to  widen  this  accidental  breach  ; 
but,  as  is  most  commonly  the  case,  the  more  she 
meddled  with  this  perverse  inclination  of  the  son,  the 
stronger  it  grew.  In  the  meantime,  old  Ready- 
Money  was  kept  completely  in  the  dark  ;  both  parties 
were  in  awe  and  uncertainty  as  to  what  might  be 
liis  way  of  taking  the  matter,  and  dreaded  to  awaken 
the  sleeping  lion.  Between  father  and  son,  there- 
fore, the  worthy  Mrs.  Tibbets  was  full  of  business, 
and  at  her  wit's  end.  It  is  true  there  was  no  great 
danger  of  honest  Ready-Money's  finding  the  thing 
out,  if  left  to  himself;  for  he  was  of  a  most  unsus- 
picious temper,  and  by  no  means  quick  of  appre- 
hension ;  but  there  was  daily  risk  of  his  attention 
being  aroused,  by  the  cobwebs  which  his  indefati- 
gable wife  was  continually  spinning  about  his  nose. 

Such  is  the  distracted  state  of  politics,  in  the  do- 
mestic empire  of  Ready-Money  Jack ;  which  only 
shows  the  intrigues  and  internal  dangers  to  which 
the  best-regulated  governments  are  liable.  In  this 
perplexed  situation  of  their  affairs,  both  mother 
and  son  have  applied  to  Master  Simon  for  counsel  ; 
and,  with  all  his  experience  in  meddhng  with  other 
people's  concerns,  he  tinds  it  an  exceedingly  difficult 
part  to  play,  to  agree  with  both  parties,  seeing  that 
their  opinions  and  wishes  are  so  diametrically  op- 
posite. 


HORSEMANSHIP. 


A  coach  was  a  strange  monster  in  those  days,  and  the  sight  pot 
both  horse  and  man  into  amazement.  Some  said  it  was  a  great 
crabshell  brought  out  of  China,  and  some  imagined  it  to  be  one  of 
the  pagan  temples,  in  which  the  canibals  adored  the  divell. 

Taylor,  the  Wateu  Poet. 

I  HAVE  made  casual  mention,  more  than  once,  of 
one  of  the  Squire's  antiquated  retainers,  old  Christy, 
the  huntsman.  I  find  that  his  crabbed  humour  is  a 
source  of  much  entertainment  among  the  young  men 
of  the  family;  the  Oxonian,  particularly,  takes  a  mis- 
chievous pleasure,  now  and  then,  in  slyly  rubbing  the 
old  man  against  the  grain,  and  then  smoothing  him 
down  again  ;  for  the  old  fellow  is  as  ready  to  bristle 
up  his  back  as  a  porcupine.  He  rides  a  venerable 
hunter  called  Pepper,  which  is  a  counterpart  of  him- 
self, a  heady  cross-grained  animal,  that  frets  the  flesh 
off  its  bones  ;  bites,  kicks,  and  plays  all  manner  of 
villainous  tricks.  He  is  as  tough,  and  nearly  a^ 
old  as  his  rider,  who  has  ridden  him  time  out  of 
mind,  and  is,  indeed,  the  only  one  that  can  do  any 
thing  with  him.  Sometimes,  however,  they  have  a 
complete  quarrel,  and  a  dispute  for  mastery,  and 
then,  I  am  told,  it  is  as  good  as  a  farce  to  see  the 
heat  they  both  get  into,  and  the  wrong-headed  con- 
test that  ensues  ;  for  they  are  quite  knowing  in  each 
other's  ways,  and  in  the  art  of  teasing  and  fretting 
each  other.  Notwithstanding  these  doughty  brawls, 
however,  there  is  nothing  that  nettles  old  Christy 
sooner  than  to  question  the  merits  of  the  horse ; 
which  he  upholds  as  tenaciously  as  a  faithful  hus- 
band will  vindicate  the  virtues  of  the  termagant 
spouse,  that  gives  him  a  curtain  lecture  every  night 
of  his  life. 

The  young  men  call  old  Christy  their  "  professor 
of  equitation  ; "  and  in  accounting  for  the  appella- 
tion, they  let  me  into  some  particulars  of  the  Squire's 
mode  of  bringing  up  his  children.  There  is  an  odd 
mixture  of  eccentricity  and  good  sense  in  all  the 
opinions  of  my  worthy  host.     His  mind  is  like  mod- 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


455 


^rn  Gothic,  where  plain  brick-work  is  set  off  with 
pointed  arches  and  quaint  tracery.  Though  the 
main  ground-work  of  his  opinions  is  correct,  yet  he 
has  a  thousand  little  notions,  picked  up  from  old 
books,  which  stand  out  whimsically  on  the  surface 
of  his  mind. 

Thus,  in  educating  his  boys,  he  chose  Peachem, 
Markam,  and  such  like  old  English  writers,  for  his 
manuals.  At  an  early  age  he  took  the  lads  out  of 
iheir  mother's  hands,  w'ho  was  disposed,  as  mothers 
are  apt  to  be,  to  make  fine,  orderly  children  of  them, 
that  should  keep  out  of  sun  and  rain  and  never  soil 
their  hands,  nor  tear  their  clothes. 

In  place  of  this,  the  Squire  turned  them  loose  to 
run  free  and  wild  about  the  park,  without  heeding 
wind  or  weather.  He  was,  also,  particularly  atten- 
tive in  making  them  bold  and  expert  horsemen  ;  and 
these  were  the  days  when  old  Christy,  the  huntsman, 
enjoyed  great  importance,  as  the  lads  were  put  under 
his  care  to  practise  them  at  the  leaping-bars,  and  to 
keep  an  eye  upon  them  in  the  chase. 

The  Squire  always  objected  to  their  riding  in  car- 
riages of  any  kind,  and  is  still  a  little  tenacious  on 
this  point.  He  often  rails  against  the  universal  use 
of  carriages,  and  quotes  the  words  of  honest  Nashc 
to  that  eflisct.  "  It  was  thought,"  says  Nashe,  in  his 
yuaternio,  "  a  kind  of  solecism,  and  to  savour  of 
t-ffeminacy,  for  a  young  gentleman  in  the  flourishing 
lime  of  his  fge  to  creep  into  a  coach,  and  to  shroud 
himself  from  wind  and  weather :  our  great  delight 
was  to  outbrave  the  blustering  Boreas  upon  a  great 
horse  ;  to  arm  and  prepare  ourselves  to  go  with  Mars 
and  Bellona  into  the  field,  was  our  sport  and  pas- 
time ;  coaches  and  caroches  we  left  unto  them  for 
whom  they  were  first  invented,  for  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, and  decrepit  age  and  impotent  people." 

The  Squire  insists  that  the  English  gentlemen  have 
lost  much  of  their  hardiness  and  manhood,  since  the 
introduction  of  carriages.  "  Compare,"  he  will  say, 
"  the  fine  gentleman  of  former  times,  ever  on  horse- 
back, booted  and  spurred,  and  travel-stained,  but 
open,  frank,  manly,  and  chivalrous,  with  the  fine 
gentleman  of  the  present  day,  full  of  affectation  and 
effeminacy,  rolling  along  a  turnpike  in  his  voluptuous 
vehicle.  The  young  men  of  those  days  were  ren- 
dered brave,  and  lolty,  and  generous  in  their  notions, 
by  almost  living  in  their  saddles,  and  having  their 
foaming  steeds  '  like  proud  seas  under  them.'  There 
is  something,"  he  adds,  "  in  bestriding  a  fine  horse 
that  makes  a  man  feel  more  than  mortal.  He  seems 
to  have  doubled  his  nature,  and  to  have  added  to  his 
own  courage  and  sagacity  the  power,  the  speed, 
and  stateliness  of  the  superb  animal  on  which  he  is 
mounted." 

"  It  is  a  great  delight,"  says  old  Nashe,  "  to  see  a 
young  gentleman  with  his  skill  and  cunning,  by  his 
voice,  rod,  and  spur,  better  to  manage  and  to  com- 
mand the  great  IJucephalus,  than  the  strongest  Milo, 
with  all  his  strength  ;  one  while  to  see  him  make 
him  tread,  trot,  and  gallop  the  ring ;  and  one  after 
to  see  him  make  him  gather  up  roundly ;  to  bear  his 
head  steadily  ;  to  run  a  full  career  swiftly  ;  to  stop  a 
sudden  lightly ;  anon  after  to  see  him  make  him  ad- 
vance, to  yerke,  to  go  back,  and  sidelong,  to  turn 
on  either  hand  ;  to  gallop  the  gallop  galliard  ;  to  do 
the  capriole,  the  chambetta,  and  dance  the  curvetty." 

In  conformity  to  these  ideas,  the  Squire  had  them 
all  on  horseback  at  an  early  age,  and  made  them  ride, 
slapdash,  about  the  country,  without  flinching  at 
hedge,  or  ditch,  or  stone  wall,  to  the  imminent  dan- 
ger of  their  necks. 

Even  the  fair  Julia  was  partially  included  in  this 
system;  and,  under  the  instructions  of  old  Christy,  has 
become  one  of  the  best  horsewomen  in  the  county. 
The  Squire  says  it  is  better  than  all  the  cosmetics 


and  sweeteners  of  the  breath  that  ever  were  in- 
vented. He  extols  the  horsemanship  of  the  ladies  in 
former  times,  when  Queen  Elizabeth  would  scarcely 
suffer  the  rain  to  stop  her  accustomed  ride.  "And 
then  think,"  he  will  say,  "  what  nobler  and  sweeter 
beings  it  made  them.  What  a  difference  must  there 
be,  both  in  mind  and  body,  between  a  joyous,  high- 
spirited  dame  of  those  days,  glowing  with  health  and 
exercise,  freshened  by  every  breeze  that  blows,  seat- 
ed loftily  and  gracefully  on  her  saddle,  with  plume 
on  head,  and  hawk  on  hand,  and  her  descendant  ot 
the  present  day,  the  pale  victim  of  routs  and  ball- 
rooms, sunk  languidly  in  one  corner  of  an  enervating 
carri.age." 

The  Squire's  equestrian  system  has  been  attended 
with  great  success;  for  his  sons,  havingpassed  through 
the  whole  course  of  instruction  without  breaking  neck 
or  limb,  are  now  healthful,  spirited,  and  active,  and 
have  the  true  Englishman's  love  for  a  horse.  If  their 
manliness  and  frankness  are  praised  in  their  father's 
hearing,  he  quotes  the  old  Persian  maxim,  and  says, 
they  have  been  taught  "  to  ride,  to  shoot,  and  to 
speak  the  truth." 

It  is  true,  the  Oxonian  has  now  and  then  practised 
the  old  gentleman's  doctrines  a  little  in  the  extreme. 
He  is  a  gay  youngster,  rather  fonder  of  his  horse 
than  his  book,  with  a  little  dash  of  the  dandy  ;  though 
the  ladies  all  declare  that  he  is  "  the  flower  of  the 
flock."  The  first  year  that  he  was  sent  to  Oxford, 
he  had  a  tutor  appointed  to  overlook  him,  a  dry  chip 
of  the  university.  When  he  returned  home  in  the 
vacation,  the  Squire  made  many  inquiries  about  how 
he  liked  his  college,  his  studies,  and  his  tutor. 

"  Oh,  as  to  my  tutor,  sir,  I've  parted  with  him 
some  time  since." 

"  You  have  !  and,  pray,  why  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  sir,  hunting  was  all  the  go  at  our  college, 
and  I  was  a  little  short  of  funds  ;  so  I  discharged  my 
tutor,  and  took  a  horse,  you  know." 

".^h,  I  was  not  aware  of  that,  Tom,"  said  the 
Squire,  mildly. 

When  Tom  returned  to  college,  his  allowance 
was  doubled,  that  he  might  be  enabled  to  keep  both 
horse  and  tutor. 


LOVE  SYMPTOMS. 


I  will  now  begin  to  sigh,  read  poets,  look  pale,  go  neatly,  and  be 
most  apparently  in  love.  Mabston. 

I  SHOULD  not  be  surprised,  if  we  should  have  an- 
other pair  of  turtles  at  the  Hall ;  for  Master  Simon 
has  informed  me,  in  great  confidence,  that  he  sus- 
pects the  general  of  some  design  upon  the  suscei> 
tible  heart  of  Lady  Lillycraft.  1  have,  indeed,  noticed 
a  growing  attention  and  courtesy  in  the  veteran  to- 
wards her  ladyship ;  he  softens  very  much  in  her 
company,  sits  by  her  at  table,  and  entertains  her 
with  long  stories  about  Seringapatam,  and  pleasant 
anecdotes  of  the  MuUigatawney  club.  I  have  even 
seen  him  present  her  with  a  full-biown  rose  from  the 
hot-house,  in  a  style  of  the  most  captivating  gal- 
lantry, and  it  was  accepted  with  great  suavity  and 
graciousness  ;  for  her  ladyship  delights  in  receiving 
the  homage  and  attention  of  the  sex/ 

Indeed,  the  general  was  one  of  the  earliest  ad- 
mirers that  dangled  in  her  train,  during  her  short 
reign  of  beauty;  and  they  flirted  together  for  half  a 
season  in  London,  some  thirty  or  forty  years  since. 
She  reminded  him  lately,  in  the  course  of  a  conver- 
sation about  former  days,  of  the  time  when  he  used 
to  ride  a  white  horse,  and  to  canter  so  gallantly  by 


456 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  side  of  her  carriag^e  in  Hyde  Park  ;  whereupon  I 
have  remarked  that  the  veteran  has  regularly  es- 
corted her  since,  when  she  rides  out  on  horseback  ; 
and,  I  suspect,  he  almost  persuades  himself  that  he 
makes  as  captivating  an  appearance  as  in  his  youth- 
ful days. 

It  would  be  an  interesting  and  memorable  circum- 
stance in  the  chronicles  of  Cupid,  if  this  spark  of 
the  tender  passion,  after  lying-  dormant  for  such  a 
length  of  time,  should  again  be  fanned  into  a  flame, 
from  amidst  the  ashes  of  two  burnt-out  hearts.  It 
would  be  an  instance  of  perdurable  fidelity,  worthy 
of  being  placed  beside  those  recorded  in  one  of  the 
Squire's  favourite  tomes,  commemorating  the  con- 
stancy of  the  olden  times ;  in  which  times,  we  are 
told,  "  Men  and  vvymmen  coulde  love  togyders 
seven  yeres,  and  no  licours  lustes  were  betwene 
them, and  thenne  was  love,  trouthe,  and  feythfulnes; 
and  lo  in  lyke  wyse  was  used  love  in  King  Arthur's 
dayes."  * 

Still,  however,  this  may  be  nothing  but  a  little  ven- 
.erable  flirtation,  the  general  being  a  veteran  dangler, 
and  the  good  lady  habituated  to  these  kind  of  atten- 
tions. Master  Simon,  on  the  other  hand,  thinks  the 
general  is  looking  about  him  with  the  wary  eye  of 
an  old  campaigner  ;  and,  now  that  he  is  on  the 
wane,  is  desirous  of  getting  into  warm  winter-quar- 
ters. Much  allowance,  however,  must  be  made  for 
Master  Simon's  uneasiness  on  the  subject,  for  he 
looks  on  Lady  Lillycraft's  house  as  one  of  his  strong- 
holds, where  he  is  lord  of  the  ascendant ;  and,  with 
all  his  admiration  of  the  general,  I  much  doubt 
whether  he  would  like  to  see  him  lord  of  the  lady 
and  the  establishment. 

There  are  certain  other  symptoms,  notwithstand- 
ing, that  give  an  air  of  probability  to  Master  Simon's 
intimations.  Thus,  for  instance,  I  have  observed 
that  the  general  has  been  very  assiduous  in  his  atten- 
tions to  her  ladyship's  dogs,  and  has  several  times 
exposed  his  fingers  to  imminent  jeopardy,  in  at- 
tempting to  pat  Beauty  on  the  head.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  his  advances  to  the  mistress  will  be  more 
favourably  received,  as  all  his  overtures  towards  a 
caress  are  greeted  by  the  pestilent  little  cur  with 
a  wary  kindling  of  the  eye,  and  a  most  venomous 
growl. 

He  has,  moreover,  been  very  complaisant  towards 
my  lady's  gentlewoman,  the  immaculate  Mrs.  Han- 
nah, whom  he  used  to  speak  of  in  a  way  that  I  do 
not  choose  to  mention.  Whether  she  has  the  same 
suspicions  with  Master  Simon  or  not,  I  cannot  say; 
but  she  receives  his  civilities  with  no  better  grace 
than  the  implacable  Beauty  ;  unscrewing  her  mouth 
into  a  most  acid  smile,  and  looking  as  though  she 
could  bite  a  piece  out  of  him.  In  short,  the  poor 
general  seems  to  ha,ve  as  formidable  foes  to  contend 
with,  as  a  hero  of  ancient  fairy  tale ;  who  had  to 
fight  his  way  to  his  enchanted  princess  through  fe- 
rocious monsters  of  every  kind,  and  to  encounter  the 
brimstone  terrors  of  some  fiery  dragon. 

There  is  still  another  circumstance,  which  inclines 
me  to  give  very  considerable  credit  to  Master  Si- 
mon's suspicions.  Lady  Lillycraft  is  very  fond  of 
quoting  poetry,  and  the  conversation  often  turns 
upon  it,  on  which  occasions  the  general  is  thrown 
completely  out.  It  happened  the  other  day  that 
Spenser's  Fairy  Queen  was  the  theme  for  the  greater 
part  of  the  morning,  and  the  poor  general  sat  per- 
fectly silent.  I  found  him  not  long  after  in  the  li- 
brary, with  spectacles  on  nose,  a  book  in  his  hand, 
and  fast  asleep.  On  my  approach,  he  awoke,  slipt 
the  spectacles  into  his  pocket,  and  began  to  read 
very  attentively.     After  a  little  while  he  put  a  paper 

•  Morte  d' Arthur, 


in  the  place,  and  laid  the  volume  aside,  which  I  per- 
ceived was  the  Fairy  Queen.  I  have  had  the  curi- 
osity to  watch  how  he  got  on  in  his  poetical 
studies ;  but  though  I  have  repeatedly  seen  him 
with  the  book  in  his  hand,  yet  I  find  the  paper  has 
not  advanced  above  three  or  four  pages ;  the 
general  being  extremely  apt  to  fall  asleep  when  he 
reads. 


FALCONRY. 


Ne  is  there  hawk  which  mantleth  on  her  perch. 

Whether  high  tow'ring  or  accousttng  low. 
But  I  the  measure  of  her  flight  doe  search, 
And  all  her  prey  and  all  her  diet  know. 

Spenser. 

There  are  several  grand  sources  of  lamentation 
furnished  to  the  worthy  Squire,  by  the  improvement 
of  society  and  the  grievous  advancement  of  knowl- 
edge ;  among  which  there  is  none,  I  believe,  that 
causes  him  more  frequent  regret  than  the  unfortu- 
nate invention  of  gunpowder.  To  this  he  continu- 
ally traces  the  decay  of  some  favourite  custom,  and, 
indeed,  the  general  downfall  of  all  chivalrous  and 
romantic  usages.  "English  soldiers,"  he  says, 
"  have  never  been  the  men  they  were  in  the  days  of 
the  cross-bow  and  the  long-bow ;  when  they  de- 
pended upon  the  strength  of  the  arm,  and  the  En- 
glish archer  could  draw  a  cloth-yard  shaft  to  the  head. 
These  were  the  times  when,  at"  the  battles  of  Cressy, 
Poictiers,  and  Agincourt,  the  French  chivalry  was 
completely  destroyed  by  the  bowmen  of  England. 
The  yeomanry,  too,  have  never  been  what  they  were, 
when,  in  times  of  peace,  they  were  constantly  exer- 
cised with  the  bow,  and  archery  w.as  a  favourite  holi- 
day pastime." 

Among  the  other  evils  which  have  followed  in  the 
train  of  this  fatal  invention  of  gunpowder,  the  Squire 
classes  the  total  decline  of  the  noble  art  of  falconry. 
"Shooting,"  he  says,  "is  a  skulking,  treacherous, 
solitary  sport,  in  comparison ;  but  hawking  was  a 
gallant,  open,  sunshiny  recreation  ;  it  was  the  gener- 
ous sport  of  hunting  carried  into  the  skies." 

"It  was,  moreover,"  he  says,  "according  to 
Braithwate,  the  stately  amusement  of  '  high  and 
mounting  spirits ; '  for  as  the  old  Welsh  proverb 
affirms  in  those  times,  'you  might  know  a  gentle- 
man by  his  hawk,  horse,  and  grayhound.'  Indeed, 
a  cavalier  was  seldom  seen  abroad  without  his  hawk 
on  his  fist;  and  even  a  lady  of  rank  did  not  think 
•herself  completely  equipped,  in  riding  forth,  unless 
she  had  a  tassel-gentel  held  by  jesses  on  her  delicate 
hand.  It  W'as  thought  in  those  excellent  days,  ac- 
cording to  an  old  writer,  '  quite  sufficient  for  noble- 
men to  winde  their  horn,  and  to  carry  their  hawke 
fair;  and  leave  study  and  learning  to  the  children  of 
mean  people.' " 

Knowing  the  good  Squire's  hobby,  therefore,  I 
have  not  been  surprised  at  finding  that,  among  the 
various  recreations  of  former  times  which  he  has 
endeavoured  to  revive  in  the  little  world  in  which 
he  rules,  he  has  bestowed  great  attention  on  the 
noble  art  of  falconry.  In  this  he,  of  course,  has  been 
seconded  by  his  indefatigable  coadjutor.  Master 
Simon ;  and  even  the  parson  has  thrown  consider- 
able light  on  their  labours,  by  various  hints  on  the 
subject,  which  he  has  met  with  in  old  English  works. 
As  to  the  precious  work  of  that  famous  darre,  Juliana 
Barnes  ;  the  Gentleman's  Academie,  by  Markham  ; 
and  the  other  well-known  treatises  that  were  the 
manuals  of  ancient  sportsmen,  they  have  them  at 
their  fingers'  ends ;  but  they  have  more  especially 
studied  some  old  tapestry  in  the  house,  whereon  Ls 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


457 


represented  a  party  of  cavaliers  and  stately  dames, 
with  doublets,  caps,  and  Haunting  feathers,  mounted 
on  horse,  with  attendants  on  foot,  all  in  animated 
pursuit  of  the  game. 

The  Squire  has  discountenanced  the  killing  of  any 
hawks  in  his  neighbourhood,  but  gives  a  liberal  bounty 
for  all  that  are  brought  him  alive  ;  so  that  the  Hall  is 
well  stocked  with  all  kinds  of  birds  of  prey.  On 
these  he  and  Master  Simon  have  exhausted  their 
patience  and  ingenuity,  endeavouring  to  "  reclaim  " 
them,  as  it  is  termed,  and  to  train  them  up  for  the 
sport ;  but  they  have  met  with  continual  checks  and 
disappointments.  Their  feathered  school  has  turned 
out  the  most  untractable  and  graceless  scholars  :  nor 
is  it  the  least  of  their  trouble  to  drill  the  retainers 
who  were  to  act  as  ushers  under  them,  and  to  take 
immediate  charge  of  these  refractory  birds.  Old 
Christy  and  the  gamekeeper  both,  for  a  time,  set 
their  faces  against  the  whole  plan  of  education; 
Christy  having  been  nettled  at  hearing  what  he 
terms  a  wild-goose  chase  put  on  a  par  with  a  fox- 
hunt ;  and  the  gamekeeper  having  always  been  ac- 
customed to  look  upon  hawks  as  arrant  poachers, 
which  it  was  his  duty  to  shoot  down,  and  nail,  in 
terrorem,  against  the  out-houses. 

Christy  has  at  length  taken  the  matter  in  hand, 
but  has  done  still  more  mischief  by  his  intermed- 
dling. He  is  as  positive  and  wrong-headed  about 
this,  as  he  is  about  hunting.  Master  Simon  has  con- 
tinual disputes  with  him,  as  to  feeding  and  training 
the  hawks.  He  reads  to  him  long  passages  from 
the  old  authors  I  have  mentioned  ;  but  Christy,  who 
cannot  read,  has  a  sovereign  contempt  for  all  book- 
knowledge,  and  persists  in  treating  the  hawks  ac- 
cording to  his  own  notions,  which  are  drawn  from 
his  experience,  in  younger  days,  in  the  rearing  of 
game-cocks. 

The  consequence  is,  that,  between  these  jarring 
systems,  the  poor  birds  have  had  a  most  trying  and 
unhappy  time  of  it.  Many  have  fallen  victims  to 
Christy's  feeding  and  Master  Simon's  physicking ; 
for  the  latter  has  gone  to  work  secundum  artem,  and 
has  given  them  all  the  vomitings  and  scourings  laid 
down  in  the  books ;  never  were  poor  hawks  so  fed 
and  physicked  before.  Others  have  been  lost  by  be- 
ing but  half  "  reclaimed,"  or  tamed  ;  for  on  being 
taken  into  the  field,  they  have  "raked"  after  the 
game  quite  out  of  hearing  of  the  call,  and  never  re- 
turned to  school. 

All  these  disappointments  had  been  petty,  yet  sore 
grievances  to  the  Squire,  and  had  made  him  to  de- 
spond about  success.  He  has  lately,  however,  been 
made  happy  by  the  receipt  of  a  fine  Welsh  falcon, 
which  Master  Simon  terms  a  stately  highflyer.  It  is 
a  present  from  the  Squire's  friend.  Sir  Watkyn  Wil- 
liams Wynne ;  and  is,  no  doubt,  a  descendant  of 
some  ancient  line  of  Welsh  princes  of  the  air,  that 
have  long  lorded  it  over  their  kingdom  of  clouds, 
from  Wynnstay  to  the  very  summit  of  Snowden,  or 
the  brow  of  Penmanmawr. 

Ever  since  the  Squire  received  this  invaluable 
present,  he  has  been  as  impatient  to  sally  forth 
and  make  proof  of  it,  as  was  Don  Quixote  to  assay 
his  suit  of  armour.  There  have  been  some  demurs 
as  to  whether  the  bird  was  in  proper  health  and 
training;  but  these  have  been  overruled  by  the 
vehement  desire  to  play  with  a  new  toy  ;  and  it  has 
been  determined,  right  or  wrong,  in  season  or  out 
of  season,  to  have  a  day's  sport  in  hawking  to- 
morrow. 

The  Hall,  as  usual,  whenever  the  Squire  is  about 
to  make  some  new  sally  on  his  hobby,  is  all  agog 
with  the  thing.  Miss  Templeton,  who  is  brought  up 
in  reverence  for  all  her  guardian's  humours,  has 
proposed  to  be  of  the  party ;    and  Lady  Lillycraft 


has  talked  also  of  riding  out  to  the  scene  of  action 
and  looking  on.  This  has  gratified  the  old  gentle- 
man extremely ;  he  hails  it  as  an  auspicious  omen 
of  the  revival  of  falcomy,  and  does  not  despair  but 
the  time  will  come  when  it  will  be  again  the  pride  of 
a  fine  lady  to  carry  about  a  noble  falcon,  in  psefer- 
ence  to  a  parrot  or  a  lap-dog. 

I  have  amused  myself  with  the  bustling  prepara- 
tions of  that  busy  spirit.  Master  Simon,  and  the 
continual  thwartings  he  receives  from  that  genuine 
son  of  a  pepper-box,  old  Christy.  They  have  had 
half-a-dozen  consultations  about  how  the  hawk  is  tc 
be  prepared  for  the  morning's  sport.  Old  Nimrod,  as 
usual,  has  always  got  in  a  pet,  upon  which  Master 
Simon  has  invariably  given  up  the  point,  observing, 
in  a  good-humoured  tone,  "Well,  well,  have  it  your 
own  way,  Christy ;  only  don't  put  yourself  in  a  pas- 
sion ;"  a  reply  which  always  nettles  the  old  man  ten 
times  more  than  ever. 


HAWKING. 


The  soaring  hawK,  irom  fist  that  flies, 

Her  falconer  doth  constrain 
Some  times  to  range  the  ground  about 

To  find  her  out  again  ; 
And  if  by  sight  or  sound  of  bell, 

His  falcon  he  may  see, 
Wo  ho  !  he  cries,  with  cheerful  voice — 

The  gladdest  man  is  he. 

Hand/ul  o/Pleamnt  Deliles. 

At  an  early  hour  this  morning,  the  Hall  was  in  a 
bustle  preparing  for  the  sport  of  the  day.  I  heard 
Master  Simon  whistling  and  singing  under  my  win- 
dow at  sunrise,  as  he  was  preparing  the  jesses  for 
the  hawk's  legs,  and  could  distinguish  now  and  then 
a  stanza  of  one  of  his  favourite  old  ditties : 

*'  In  peascnd  time,  when  hound  to  horn 
Gives  note  that  buck  be  kill'd  ; 
A^d  little  boy,  with  pipe  of  corn, 
*s  tending  sheep  a-field,"  *tc. 

A  hearty  breakfast,  well  flanked  by  cold  meats, 
was  served  up  in  the  great  hall.  The  whole  garrison 
of  retainers  and  hangers-on  were  in  motion,  re-en- 
forced by  volunteer  idlers  from  the  village.  The 
horses  were  led  up  and  down  before  the  door  ;  every 
body  had  something  to  say,  and  something  to  do,  and 
hurried  hither  and  thither ;  there  was  a  diret'ul  yelp- 
ing of  dogs;  .some  that  were  to  accompany  us  being 
eager  to  set  off",  and  others  that  were  to  stay  at  home 
being  whipped  back  to  their  kennels.  In  short,  for 
once,  the  good  Squire's  mansion  might  have  been 
taken  as  a  good  specimen  of  one  of  the  rantipole 
establishments  of  the  good  old  feudal  times. 

Breakfast  being  finished,  the  cnivalry  of  the  Hall 
prepared  to  take  the  field.  The  fair  Julia  was  of  the 
party,  in  a  hunting-dress,  with  a  light  plume  of  feath- 
ers in  her  ridmg-hat.  As  she  mounted  her  favourite 
galloway,  I  remarked,  with  pleasure,  that  old  Christy 
forgot  his  usual  crustiness,  and  hastened  to  adjust 
her  saddle  and  bridle.  He  touched  his  cap,  as  she 
smiled  on  him,  and  thanked  him ;  and  then,  looking 
round  at  the  other  attendants,  gave  a  knowing  no.l 
of  his  head,  in  which  I  read  pride  and  exultation  at 
the  charming  appearance  of  his  pupil. 

Lady  Lillycraft  had  likewise  determined  to  wit- 
ness the  sport.  She  was  dressed  in  her  broad  white 
beaver,  tied  under  the  chin,  and  a  riding-habit  of  thj 
last  century.  She  rode  her  sleek,  ambling  pony,  whose 
motion  was  as  easy  as  a  rocking-chair ;  and  was 
gallantly  escorted  by  the  general,  who  looked  not 
unlike  one  of  the  doughty  heroes  in  the  old  prints  of 
the  battle  of  Blenheim.     The  parson,  likewise,  ac- 


458 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


companied  her  on  the  other  side  ;  for  this  was  a 
learned  amusement,  in  which  he  took  great  interest ; 
and,  indeed,  had  given  much  counsel,  from  his  l<no\vl- 
edge  of  old  customs. 

At  lengtli  every  thing  was  arranged,  and  off  we 
set  (I'om  the  Hall.  The  exercise  on  horseback  puts 
one  in  fine  spirits  ;  and  the  scene  was  gay  and  ani- 
mating-. The  young  men  of  the  family  accompanied 
Miss  Templeton.  She  sat  lightly  and  gracefully  in 
her  saddle,  her_  plumes  dancing  and  waving  in  the 
air ;  and  the  group  had  a  charming  effect,  as  they 
ajjpeared  and  disappeared  among  the  trees,  cantering 
along,  with  the  bounding  animation  of  youth.  The 
Squire  and  Master  Simon  rode  together,  accompanied 
by  old  Christy,  mounted  on  Pepper.  The  latter  bore 
the  hawk  on  his  fist,  as  he  insisted  the  bird  was  most 
accustomed  to  him.  There  was  a  rabble  rout  on 
foot,  composed  of  retainers  from  the  Hall,  and  some 
idlers  from  the  village,  with  two  or  three  spaniels, 
for  the  purpose  of  starting  the  game. 

A  kind  of  corps  de  reserve  came  on  quietly  in  the 
rear,  composed  of  Lady  Lillycraft,  General  Harbottle, 
the  parson,  and  a  fat  footman.  Her  ladyship  ambled 
gently  along  on  her  pony,  while  the  general,  mount- 
ed on  a  tall  hunter,  looked  down  upon  her  with  an 
air  of  the  most  protecting  gallantry. 

For  my  part,  being  no  sportsman,  I  kept  with  this 
last  party,  or  rather  lagged  behind,  that  I  might  take 
in  the  whole  picture ;  and  the  parson  occasionally 
slackened  his  pace,  and  jogged  on  in  company  with 
me. 

The  sport  led  us  at  some  distance  from  the  Hall, 
in  a  soft  meadow,  reeking  with  the  moist  verdure  of 
spring.  A  little  river  ran  through  it,  bordered  by 
willows,  which  had  put  forth  their  tender  early 
foliage.  The  sportsmen  were  in  quest  of  herons, 
which  were  said  to  keep  about  this  stream. 

There  was  some  disputing,  already,  among  the 
leaders  of  the  sport.  The  Squire,  Master  Simon,  and 
old  Christy,  came  every  now  and  then  to  a  pause,  to 
consult  together,  like  the  field  officers  in  an  army ; 
and  I  saw,  by  certain  motions  of  the  head,  that 
Christy  was  as  positive  as  any  old  wrong-headed 
German  commander. 

As  we  were  prancing  up  this  quiet  meadow,  every 
sound  we  made  was  answered  by  a  distinct  echo, 
from  the  sunny  wall  of  an  old  building,  that  lay  on 
the  opposite  margin  of  the  stream  ;  and  1  paused  to 
listen  to  this  "  spirit  of  a  sound,''  which  seems  to 
love  such  quiet  and  beautiful  places.  The  parson 
informed  me  that  this  was  the  ruin  of  an  ancient 
grange,  and  was  supposed,  by  the  country  people, 
to  be  haunted  by  a  dobbie,  a  kind  of  rural  sprite, 
something  like  Robin-good-fellow.  They  often  fan- 
cied the  echo  to  be  the  voice  ot  the  dobbie  answer- 
mg  them,  and  were  rather  shy  of  disturbing  it  after 
dark.  He  added,  that  the  Squire  was  very  careful 
of  this  ruin,  on  account  of  the  superstition  connected 
with  it.  As  I  considered  this  local  habitation  of  an 
"airy  nothing,"  I  called  to  mind  the  fine  description 
of  an  echo  in  Webster's  Duchess  of  Mall'ry : 

"  Yond  side  o'  th'  river  lies  a  wall, 

Piece  of  a  cloister,  which,  in  my  opinion, 
Gives  the  best  echo  that  you  ever  heard  : 
So  plain  in  the  distinction  of  our  words, 
That  many  have  supposed  it  a  spirit 
That  answers." 

The  parson  went  on  to  comment  on  a  pleasing 
and  fanciful  appellation  which  the  Jews  of  old  gave 
to  the  echo,  which  they  called  Bathkool,  that  is  to 
.say,  "  the  daughter  of  the  voice ;  "  they  considered 
it  an  oracle,  supplying  in  the  second  temple  the 
want  of  the  urim  ancl  thummim,  with  which  the 
first  was  honoured.*  The  Uttle  man  was  just  entering 


*  Bekker*s  Monde  enchant^. 


very  largely  and  learnedly  u|ion  the  subject,  when  we 
were  startled  by  a  prodigious  bawling,  shouting,  and 
yelping.  A  flight  of  crovv's,  alarmed  by  the  approach 
of  our  forces,  had  suddenly  rose  from  a  meadow;  a 
cry  was  put  up  by  the  rabble  rout  on  foot — "  Now, 
Christy  !  now  is  your  time,  Christy  !  "  The  Squire 
and  Master  -Simon,  who  were  beating  up  the  river 
banks  in  quest  of  a  heron,  called  out  eagerly  to 
Christy  to  keep  quiet ;  the  old  man,  vexed  and  be- 
wildered by  the  confusion  of  voices,  completely  lost 
his  head ;  in  his  flurry  he  slipped  off  the  hood,  cast 
off  the  falcon,  and  away  flew  the  crows,  and  away 
soared  the  hawk. 

I  had  paused  on  a  rising  ground,  close  to  Lady 
Lillycraft  and  her  escort,  from  whence  I  had  a  good 
view  of  the  sport.  I  was  pleased  with  the  appear- 
ance of  the  party  in  the  meadow,  riding  along  in  the 
direction  that  the  bird  flew ;  their  bright  beaming 
faces  turned  up  to  the  bright  skies  as  they  watched 
the  game  ;  the  attendants  on  foot  scampering  along, 
looking  up,  and  calling  out ;  and  the  dogs  bounding 
and  yelping  with  clamorous  sympathy. 

The  hawk  had  singled  out  a  quarry  from  among 
the  carrion  crew.  It  was  curious  to  see  the  efforts 
of  the  two  birds  to  get  above  each  other ;  one  to 
make  the  fatal  swoop,  the  other  to  avoid  it.  Now 
they  crossed  athwart  a  bright  feathery  cloud,  and 
now  they  were  against  the  clear  blue  sky.  I  confess, 
being  no  sportsman,  I  was  more  interested  for  the 
poor  bird  that  was  striving  for  its  life,  than  for  the 
hawk  that  was  playing  the  part  of  a  mercenary 
soldier.  At  length  the  hawk  got  the  upper  hand, 
and  made  a  rushing  stoop  at  her  quarry,  but  the 
latter  made  as  sudden  a  surge  downwards,  and 
slanting  up  again,  evaded  the  blow,  screaming  and 
making  the  best  of  his  way  for  a  dry  tree  on  the 
brow  of  a  neighbouring  hill ;  while  the  hawk,  dis- 
appointed of  her  blow,  soared  up  again  into  the  air, 
and  appeared  to  be  "  raking  "  off  It  was  in  vain 
old  Christy  called,  and  whistled,  and  endeavoured  to 
lure  her  down  :  she  paid  no  regard  to  him ;  and, 
indeed,  his  calls  were  drowned  in  the  shouts  and 
yelps  of  the  army  of  militia  that  had  followed  him 
into  the  field. 

Just  then  an  exclamation  from  Lady  Lillycraft 
made  me  turn  my  head.  I  beheld  a  complete  con- 
fusion among  the  sportsmen  in  the  little  vale  below 
us.  They  were  galloping  and  running  towards  the 
edge  of  a  bank  ;  and  I  was  shocked  to  see  Miss 
Templeton's  horse  galloping  at  large  without  his 
rider.  I  rode  to  the  place  to  which  the  others  were 
hurrying,  and  when  I  reached  the  bank,  which  al- 
inost  overhung  the  stream,  I  saw  at  the  foot  of  it, 
the  fair  Julia,  pale,  bleeding,  and  apparently  lifeless, 
supported  in  the  arms  of  her  frantic  lover. 

In  galloping  heedlessly  along,  with  her  eyes  turned 
upward,  she  had  unwarily  approached  too  near  the 
bank ;  it  had  given  way  with  her,  and  she  and  her 
horse  had  been  precipitated  to  the  pebbled  margin 
of  the  river. 

1  never  saw  greater  consternation.  The  captain 
was  distracted  ;  Lady  Lillycraft  fciinting  ;  the  Squire 
in  dismay,  and  Master  Simon  at  his  wits'  ends.  The 
beautiful  creature  at  length  showed  signs  of  return- 
ing life  :  she  opened  her  eyes  ;  looked  around  her 
upon  the  anxious  group,  and  comprehending  in  a 
moment  the  nature  of  the  scene,  gave  a  sweet  smile, 
and  putting  her  hand  in  her  lover's,  exclaimed, 
feebly,  "  1  am  not  much  hurt,  Guy !  "  I  could  have 
taken  her  to  my  heart  for  that  single  exclamation. 

It  was  found,  indeed,  that  she  had  escaped  almost 
miraculously,  with  a  contusion  on  the  head,  a  sprain- 
ed ankle,  and  some  slight  bruises.  After  her  wound 
was  stanched,  she  was  taken  to  a  neighbouring  cot- 
tage, until  a  carriage  could  be  summoned  to  convey 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


459 


her  home ;  and  when  this  had  arrived,  the  caval- 
cade, wliich  had  issued  forth  so  gaily  on  this  enter- 
prise, returned  slowly  and  pensively  to  the  Hall. 

I  had  been  charmed  by  the  generous  spirit  shown 
by  this  young  creature,  who,  amidst  pain  and  danger, 
had  been  anxious  only  to  relieve  the  distress  of  those 
around  her.  I  was  gratified,  therefore,  by  the  uni- 
versal concern  displayed  by  the  domestics  on  our 
return.  They  came  crowding  down  the  avenue, 
each  eager  to  render  assistance.  The  butler  stood 
ready  witli  some  curiously  delicate  cordial ;  the  old 
liousekeeper  was  provided  with  half-a-dozen  nos- 
trums, pre])ared  by  her  own  hands,  according  to  the 
family  receipt-book;  while  her  niece,  the  melting 
I'hoebe,  having  no  other  way  of  assisting,  stood 
wringing  her  hands,  and  weeping  aloud. 

The  most  material  effect  that  is  likely  to  follow 
this  accident,  is  a  postponement  of  the  nuptials, 
which  were  close  at  hand.  Though  I  commiserate 
the  impatience  of  the  captain  on  that  accolint,  yet  I 
shall  not  otherwise  be  sorry  at  the  delay,  as  it  will 
give  me  a  better  opportunity  of  studying  the  char- 
acters here  assembled,  with  which  I  grow  more  and 
more  entertained. 

I  cannot  but  perceive  that  the  worthy  Squire  is 
quite  disconcerted  at  the  unlucky  result  of  his  hawk- 
ing experiment,  and  this  unfortunate  illustration  of 
his  eulogy  on  female  equitation.  Old  Christy,  too, 
is  very  waspish,  having  been  sorely  twitted  by  Master 
Simon  for  having  let  his  hawk  fly  at  carrion.  As  to 
the  falcon,  in  the  confusion  occasioned  by  the  fair 
Julia's  disaster,  the  bird  was  totally  forgotten.  I 
make  no  doubt  she  has  made  the  best  of  her  way 
back  to  the  hospitable  Hall  of  Sir  Watkyn  Williams 
Wynne ;  and  may  very  possibly,  at  this  present 
writing,  be  pluming  her  wings  among  the  breezy 
bo  .vers  of  Wynnstay. 


ST.  MARK'S  EVE. 


O  't  is  a  fearful  thing  to  be  no  more. 

Or  if  to  be,  to  wander  after  death  ! 

To  walk  as  spirits  do,  in  br.-ikes  all  day, 

And,  when  the  darkness  comes,  to  glide  in  paths 

That  lead  to  graves ;  and  in  the  silent  vault. 

Where  lies  your  own  pale  shroud,  to  hover  o'er  it, 

Striving  to  enter  your  forbidden  corpse. 

Dryden. 

The  conversation  this  evening  at  the  supper-table 
took  a  curious  turn,  on  the  subject  of  a  superstition, 
formerly  very  prevalent  in  this  part  of  the  country, 
relative  to  the  present  night  of  the  year,  which  is 
the  Eve  of  St.  Mark's.  It  was  believed,  the  parson 
informed  us,  that  if  any  one  would  watch  in  the 
church  porch  on  tliis  eve,  for  three  successive  years, 
from  eleven  to  one  o'clock  at  night,  he  would  see,  on 
the  third  year,  the  shades  of  those  of  the  parish  who 
were  to  die  in  the  course  of  the  year,  pass  by  him  into 
church,  clad  in  their  usual  apparel. 

Dismal  as  such  a  sight  would  be,  he  assured  us 
that  it  was  formerly  a  frequent  thing  for  persons  to 
make  the  necessary  vigils.  He  had  known  more  than 
one  instance  in  his  time.  One  old  woman,  who 
pretended  to  have  seen  this  phantom  procession,  was 
an  object  of  great  awe  for  the  whole  year  .after- 
wards, and  caused  much  uneasiness  and  mischief 
If  she  shook  her  head  mysteriously  at  a  person,  it 
was  like  a  death-warrant ;  and  she  had  nearly  caused 
the  death  of  a  sick  person,  by  looking  ruefully  in  at 
the  window. 

There  was  also  an  old  man,  not  many  years  since, 
of  a  sullen,  melancholy  temperament,  who  had  kept 
two  vigils,  and   began   to  excite  some  talk   in   the 


village,  when,  fortunately  for  the  public  comfort,  he 
died  shortly  after  his  third  watching ;  very  probably 
from  a  cold  that  he  had  taken,  as  the  night  was  tem- 
pestuous. It  was  reported  about  the  village,  how- 
ever, that  he  had  seen  his  own  phantom  pass  by  him 
into  the  church. 

This  led  to  the  mention  of  another  superstition  of 
an  equally  strange  and  melancholy  kind,  which, 
however,  is  chiefly  confined  to  Wales.  It  is  respect- 
ing what  are  called  corpse-candles,  little  wandering 
fires,  of  a  pale  bluish  light,  that  move  about  like 
tapers  in  the  open  air,  and  are  supposed  to  desig- 
nate the  way  some  corpse  is  to  go.  One  was  seen 
at  Lanyler,  late  at  night,  hovering  up  and  down, 
along  the  bank  of  the  Istwith,  and  was  watched  by 
the  neighbours  until  they  were  tired,  and  went  to 
bed.  Not  long  afterwards  there  came  a  comely 
country  lass,  from  Montgomeryshire,  to  see  her 
friends,  who  dwelt  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river. 
She  thought  to  ford  the  stream  at  the  very  place 
where  the  light  had  been  first  seen,  but  was  dissuaded 
on  account  of  the  height  of  the  flood.  She  walked  to 
and  fro  along  the  bank,  just  where  the  candle  had 
moved,  waiting  for  the  subsiding  of  the  water.  She 
at  length  endeavoured  to  cross,  but  the  poor  girl 
was  drowned  in  the  attempt.* 

There  was  something  mournful  in  this  little  anec- 
dote of  rural  superstition,  that  seemed  to  affect  all 
the  listeners.  Indeed,  it  is  curious  to  remark  how 
completely  a  conversation  of  the  kind  will  absorb 
the  attention  of  a  circle,  and  sober  down  its  gayety, 
however  boisterous.  By  degrees  I  noticed  that  every 
one  was  leaning  forward  over  the  table,  with  eyes 
earnestly  fixed  upon  the  parson  ;  and  at  the  mention 
of  corpse-candles  which  had  been  seen  about  the 
chamber  of  a  young  lady  who  died  on  the  eve  of  her 
wedding-day.  Lady  Lillycraft  turned  pale. 

I  have  witnessed  the  introduction  of  stories  of  the 
kind  into  various  evening  circles ;  they  were  often 
commenced  in  jest,  and  listened  to  with  smiles  ;  but 
I  never  knew  the  most  gay  or  the  most  enlightened 
of  audiences,  that  were  not,  if  the  conversation  con- 
tinued for  any  length  of  time,  completely  and  sol- 
emnly interested  in  it.  There  is,  I  believe,  a  degree 
of  superstition  lurking  in  every  mind ;  and  I  doubt 
if  any  one  can  thoroughly  examine  all  his  secret 
notions  and  impulses,  without  detecting  it,  hidden, 
perh.aps,  even  from  himself.  It  seems,  in  fact,  to  be 
a  part  of  our  nature,  like  instinct  in  animals,  acting 
independently  of  our  reason.  It  is  often  found  ex- 
isting in  lofty  natures,  especially  those  that  are 
poetical  and  aspiring.  A  great  and  extraordinary 
poet  of  our  day,  whose  life  and  writings  evince  a 
mind  subject  to  powerful  exaltations,  is  said  to  be- 
lieve in  omens  and  secret  intimations.  Caesar,  it  is 
well  known,  was  greatly  under  the  influence  of  such 
belief;  and  Napoleon  had  his  good  and  evil  days, 
and  his  presiding  star. 

As  to  the  worthy  parson,  I  have  no  doubt  that  he 
is  strongly  inclined  to  superstition.  He  is  naturally 
credulous,  and  passes  so  much  of  his  time  searching 
out  popular  traditions  and  supernatural  tales,  that 
his  mind  has  probably  become  infected  by  them. 
He  h.as  lately  been  immersed  in  the  Demonolatria 
of  Nicholas  Remigus,  concerning  supernatural  oc- 
currences in  Lorraine,  and  the  writings  of  Joachimus 
Camerius,  called  by  Vossius  the  Phoenix  of  Germany  ; 
and  he  entertains  the  ladies  with  stories  from  them, 
that  make  them  almost  afraid  to  go  to  bed  at  night. 
I  have  been  charmed  myself  with  some  of  the  wild 
little  superstitions  which  he  has  adduced  from  Blef- 
kenius,  Scheffer,  and  others,  such  as  those  of  the 
Laplanders  about  the  domestic  spirits  which  wake 


•  Aubrey's  Miscel. 


460 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


them  at  night,  and  summon  them  to  go  and  fish  ;  of 
Thor,  the  deity  of  thunder,  who  has  power  of  hfe 
and  death,  health  and  sickness,  and  who,  armed  with 
the  rainbow,  shoots  his  arrows  at  those  evil  demons 
that  live  on  the  tops  of  rocks  and  mountains,  and 
infest  the  lakes  ;  of  the  Juhles  or  Juhlafolket,  vagrant 
troops  of  spirits,  which  roam  the  air,  and  wander  up 
and  down  by  forests  and  mountains,  and  the  moon- 
light sides  of  hills. 

The  parson  never  openly  professes  his  belief  in 
ghosts,  but  I  have  remarked  that  he  has  a  suspicious 
way  of  pressing  great  names  into  the  defence  of 
supernatural  doctrines,  and  making  philosophers  and 
saints  fight  for  him.  He  expatiates  at  large  on  the 
opinions  of  the  ancient  philosophers  about  larves, 
or  nocturnal  phantoms;  the  spirits  of  the  wicked, 
which  wandered  like  exiles  about  the  earth ;  and 
about  those  spiritual  beings  which  abode  in  the  air, 
but  descended  occasionally  to  earth,  and  mingled 
among  mortals,  acting  as  agents  between  them  and 
the  gods.  He  quotes  also  from  Philo  the  rabbi, 
the  contemporary  of  the  apostles,  and,  according  to 
some,  the  friend  of  St.  Paul,  who  says  that  the  air  is 
full  of  spirits  of  different  ranks ;  some  destined  to 
exist  for  a  time  in  mortal  bodies,  from  which  being 
emancipated,  they  pass  and  repass  between  heaven 
and  earth,  as  agents  or  messengers  in  the  service  of 
the  deity. 

But  the  worthy  little  man  assumes  a  bolder  tone, 
when  he  quotes  from  the  fathers  of  the  church  ;  such 
as  St.  Jerome,  who  gives  it  as  the  opinion  of  all  the 
doctors,  that  the  air  is  filled  with  powers  opposed  to 
each  other ;  and  Lactantius,  who  says  that  corrupt 
and  dangerous  spirits  wander  over  the  earth,  and 
seek  to  console  themselves  for  their  own  fall  by 
effecting  the  ruin  of  the  human  race ;  and  Clemens 
Alexandrinus,  who  is  of  opinion  that  the  souls  of  the 
blessed  have  knowledge  of  what  passes  among  men, 
the  same  as  angels  have. 

I  am  now  alone  in  my  chamber,  but  these  themes 
have  taken  such  hold  of  my  imagination,  that  I 
cannot  sleep.  The  room  in  which  I  sit  is  just  fitted 
to  foster  such  a  state  of  mind.  The  walls  are  hung 
with  tapestry,  the  figures  of  which  are  faded,  and 
look  like  unsubstantial  shapes  melting  away  from 
sight.  Over  the  fire-place  is  the  portrait  of  a  lady, 
who,  according  to  the  housekeeper's  tradition,  pined 
to  death  for  the  loss  of  her  lover  in  the  battle  of 
Blenheim.  She  has  a  most  pale  and  plaintive  coun- 
tenance, and  seems  to  fix  her  eyes  mournfully  upon 
me.  The  family  have  long  since  retired.  I  have 
heard  their  steps  die  away,  and  the  distant  doors 
clap  to  after  them.  The  murmur  of  voices,  and  the 
peal  of  remote  laughter,  no  longer  reach  the  ear. 
The  clock  from  the  church,  in  which  so  many  of  the 
former  inhabitants  of  this  house  lie  buried,  has 
chimed  the  awful  hour  of  midnight. 

I  have  sat  by  the  window  and  mused  upon  the 
dusky  landscape,  watching  the  lights  disappearing, 
one  by  one,  from  the  distant  village  ;  and  the  moon 
rising  in  her  silent  majesty,  and  leading  up  all  the 
silver  pomp  of  heaven.  As  I  have  gazed  upon  these 
quiet  groves  and  shadowy  lawns,  silvered  O'.'er,  and 
imperfectly  lighted  by  streaks  of  dewy  moonshine, 
my  mind  has  been  crowded  by  "  thick-coming  fan- 
cies "  concerning  those  spiritual  beings  which 

*'  walk  the  earth 

Unseen,  both  when  we  wake  and  when  we  sleep." 

Are  there,  indeed,  such  beings .'  Is  this  space  between 
us  and  the  deity  filled  up  by  innumerable  orders  of 
spiritual  beings,  forming  the  same  gradations  between 
the  human  soul  and  divine  perfection,  that  we  see 
prevailing  from  humanity  downwards  to  the  meanest 
insect  ?     It  is  a  sublime  and  beautiful  doctrine,  in- 


culcated by  the  early  fathers,  that  there  are  guardian 
angels  appointed  to  watch  over  cities  and  nations  ; 
to  take  care  of  the  welfare  of  good  men,  and  to 
guard  and  guide  the  steps  of  helpless  infancy.  "Noth- 
ing," says  St.  Jerome,  "gives  us  a  greater  idea  of 
the  dignity  of  our  soul,  than  that  God  has  given  each 
of  us,  at  the  moment  of  our  birth,  an  angel  to  have 
care  of  it." 

Even  the  doctrine  of  departed  spirits  returning  to 
visit  the  scenes  and  beings  which  were  dear  to  them 
during  the  body's  existence,  though  it  has  been  de- 
based by  the  absurd  superstitions  of  the  vulgar,  in 
itself  is  awfully  solemn  and  sublime.  However 
lightly  it  may  be  ridiculed,  yet  the  attention  involun- 
tarily yielded  to  it  whenever  it  is  made  the  subject  of 
serious  discussion ;  its  prevalence  in  all  ages  and 
countries,  and  even  among  newly-discovered  nations, 
that  have  had  no  previous  interchange  of  thought 
with  other  parts  of  the  world,  prove  it  to  be  one  of 
those  mysteries,  and  almost  instinctive  beliefs,  to 
which,  if  left  to  ourselves,  we  should  naturally  in- 
cline. 

In  spite  of  all  the  pride  of  reason  and  philosophy 
a  vague  doubt  will  still  lurk  in  the  mind,  and  per- 
haps will  never  be  perfectly  eradicated  ;  as  it  is  con- 
cerning a  matter  that  does  not  admit  of  positive 
demonstration.  Every  thing  connected  with  our  spir- 
itual nature  is  full  of  doubt  and  diflicult\'.  "  We  are 
fearfully  and  wonderfully  made  ;  "  we  are  surround- 
ed by  mysteries,  and  we  are  mysteries  even  to  our- 
selves. Who  yet  has  been  able  to  comprehend  and 
describe  the  nature  of  the  sofll,  its  connexion  with 
the  body,  or  in  what  part  of  the  frame  it  is  situated  ? 
We  know  merely  that  it  does  exist  ;  but  whence  it 
came,  and  when  it  entered  into  us,  and  how  it  is 
retained,  and  where  it  is  seated,  and  how  it  operates, 
are  all  matters  of  mere  speculation,  and  contradictory 
theories.  If,  then,  we  are  thus  ignorant  of  this 
spiritual  essence,  even  while  it  forms  a  part  of  our- 
selves, and  is  continually  present  to  our  conscious- 
ness, how  can  we  pretend  to  ascertain  or  to  deny  its 
powers  and  operations  when  released  from  its  fleshy 
prison-house  ?  It  is  more  the  manner,  therefore,  in 
which  this  superstition  has  'oeen  degraded,  than  its 
intrinsic  absurdity,  that  has  brought  it  into  contempt. 
Raise  it  above  the  frivolous  purposes  to  which  it  has 
been  applied,  strip  it  of  the  gloom  and  horror  with 
which  it  has  been  surroiinded,  and  there  is  none  of 
the  whole  circle  of  visionary  creeds  that  could  more 
delightfully  elevate  the  imagination,  or  more  tenderly 
affect  the  heart.  It  would  become  a  sovereign  com- 
fort at  the  bed  of  death,  soothing  the  bitter  tear 
wrung  from  us  by  the  agony  of  our  mortal  separation. 
What  could  be  more  consoling  than  the  idea,  that 
the  souls  of  those  whom  \Ve  once  loved  were  permit- 
ted to  return  and  watch  over  our  welfare  ? — that  af- 
fectionate and  guardian  spirits  sat  by  our  pillows 
when  we  slept,  keeping  a  vigil  over  our  most  helpless 
hours  ? — that  beauty  and  innocence  w'hich  had  lan- 
guished into  the  tomli,  yet  smiled  unseen  around  us, 
revealing  themselves  in  those  blest  dreains  wherein 
we  live  over  again  the  hours  of  past  endearment  ? 
A  belief  of  this  kind  would,  I  should  think,  be  a  new- 
incentive  to  virtue ;  rendering  us  circumspect  even 
in  our  most  secret  moments,  from  the  idea  that  those 
we  once  loved  and  honoured  were  invisible  witnesses 
ot  all  our  actions. 

It  would  take  away,  too,  from  that  loneliness  and 
destitution  which  we  are  apt  to  feel  more  and  more 
as  we  get  on  in  our  pilgrimage  through  the  w'ilder- 
ness  of  this  world,  and  find  that  those  who  set  forward 
with  us,  lovingly  and  cheerily,  on  the  journey,  have, 
one  by  one,  dropped  away  from  our  side.  Place  the 
superstition  in  this  light,  and  I  confess  I  should  like 
to  be  a  believer  in  it.     I  see  nothing  in  it  that  is  in- 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


4G1 


compatible  with  the  tender  ami  merciful  nature  of 
our  religion,  nor  rt?volting  to  the  wishes  and  affec- 
tions of  the  heart. 

There  are  departed  beings  that  I  have  loved  as  I 
never  again  shall  love  in  this  world  ; — that  have  loved 
me  as  I  never  again  shall  be  loved  !  If  such  beings 
do  ever  retain  in  their  blessed  spheres  the  attach- 
ments which  they  felt  on  earth — if  they  take  an  in- 
terest in  the  poor  concerns  of  transient  mortality, 
and  are  permitted  to  hold  communion  with  those 
whom  they  have  loved  on  earth,  I  feel  as  if  now,  at 
this  deep  liour  of  night,  in  this  silence  and  soHtude, 
I  could  receive  their  visitation  with  the  most  solemn, 
but  unalloyed  delight. 

In  truth,  such  visitations  would  be  too  happy  for 
this  world  ;  they  would  be  incompatible  with  the 
nature  of  this  imperfect  state  of  being.  We  are  here 
placed  in  a  mere  scene  of  spiritual  thraldom  and 
restraint.  Our  souls  are  shut  in  and  limited  by 
bounds  and  barriers ;  shackled  by  mortal  infirmities, 
and  subject  to  all  the  gross  impediments  of  matter. 
In  vain  would  they  seek  to  act  independently  of  the 
body,  and  to  mingle  together  in  spiritual  intercourse. 
They  can  only  act  here  through  their  fleshy  organs. 
Their  earthly  loves  are  made  up  of  transient  em- 
braces and  long  separations.  The  most  intimate 
friendship,  of  what  brief  and  scattered  portions  of 
time  does  it  consist !  We  take  each  other  by  the 
hand,  and  we  exchange  a  few  words  and  looks  of 
kindness,  and  we  rejoice  together  for  a  few  short 
moments — -and  then  days,  months,  years  intervene, 
and  we  see  and  know  nothing  of  each  other.  Or, 
granting  that  we  dwell  together  for  the  full  season 
of  this  our  mortal  life,  the  grave  soon  closes  its  gates 
between  us,  and  then  our  spirits  are  doomed  to  re- 
main in  separation  and  widowhood  ;  until  they  meet 
again  in  that  more  perfect  state  of  being,  where  soul 
will  dwell  with  soul  in  blissful  communion,  and  there 
will  be  neither  death,  nor  absence,  nor  any  thing  else 
to  interrupt  our  felicity. 


%*  In  the  foregoing  paper,  I  have  alluded  to  the 
writings  of  some  of  the  old  Jewish  rabbins.  They 
abound  with  wild  theories ;  but  among  them  are 
many  truly  poetical  flights ;  and  their  ideas  are  often 
very  beautifully  expressed.  Their  speculations  on  the 
nature  of  angels  are  curious  and  fanciful,  though 
much  resembling  the  doctrines  of  the  ancient  phi- 
losophers. In  the  writings  of  the  Rabbi  Eleazer  is 
an  account  of  the  temptation  of  our  first  parents, 
and  the  fall  of  the  angels,  which  the  parson  pointed 
out  to  me  as  having  probably  furnished  some  of  the 
groundwork  for  "Paradise  ^ost." 

According  to  Eleazer,  the  ministering  angels  said 
to  the  Deity,  "  What  is  there  in  man,  that  thou 
makest  him  of  such  importance  ?  Is  he  any  thing 
else  tfian  vanity.'  for  he  can  scarcely  reason  a  little 
on  terrestrial  things."  To  whicli  God  replied,  "  Do 
you  imagine  that  I  will  be  exalted  and  glorified  only 
by  you  here  above  ?  I  am  the  same  below  that  I  am 
here.  Who  is  there  among  you  that  can  call  all  the 
creatures  by  their  names?  "  There  was  none  found 
among  them  that  could  do  so.  At  that  moment 
Adam  arose,  and  called  all  the  creatures  by  their 
names.  Seeing  which,  the  ministering  angels  .said 
among  themselves,  "  Let  us  consult  together  how 
we  may  cause  Adam  to  sin  against  the  Creator, 
otherwise  he  will  not  fail  to  become  our  master." 

Sammael,  %vho  was  a  great  prince  in  the  heavens, 
was  present  at  this  council,  with  the  saints  of  the 
first  order,  and  the  seraphim  of  six  bands.  Sammael 
chose  several  out  of  the  twelve  orders  to  accompany 
him,  and  descended  below,  for  the  purpose  of  visit- 
ing all  the  creatures  which  God  had  created.     He 


found  none  more  cunning  and  more  fit  to  do  evil 
than  the  serpent. 

The  Rabbi  then  treats  of  the  seduction  and  the 
fall  of  man  ;  of  the  consequent  fall  of  the  demon, 
and  the  punishment  which  God  inflicted  on  Adam, 
Eve,  and  the  serpent.  "  He  made  them  all  come 
before  him  ;  pronounced  nine  maledictions  on  Adam 
and  Eve,  and  condemned  them  to  suffer  death  ;  and 
he  precipitated  Sammael  and  all  his  band  from 
heaven.  He  cut  off  the  feet  of  the  serpent,  which 
had  before  the  figure  of  a  camel,  (Sammael  having 
been  mounted  on  him,)  and  he  cursed  him  among 
all  beasts  and  animals." 


GENTILITY. 


True  Gentrie  standetti  in  the  trade 

Of  virtuous  life,  not  in  the  fleshy  line  ; 
For  bloud  is  knit,  but  Gentrie  is  divine. 

Mirror  /or  Mngistraies. 

I  HAVE  mentioned  some  peculiarities  of  the  Squire 
in  the  education  of  his  sons ;  but  I  would  not  have 
it  thought  that  his  instructions  were  directed  chiefly 
to  their  personal  accomplishments.  He  took  great 
pains  also  to  form  their  minds,  and  to  inculcate 
what  he  calls  good  old  English  principles,  such  as 
are  laid  down  in  the  writings  of  Peachem  and  his 
contemporaries.  There  is  one  author  of  whom  he 
cannot  speak  without  indignation,  which  is  Ches- 
terfield. He  avers  that  he  did  much,  for  a  time, 
to  injure  the  true  national  character,  and  to  intro- 
duce, instead  of  open,  manly  sincerity,  a  hollow,  ])er- 
fidious  courtliness.  "  His  maxims,"  he  affirms,  "  were 
calculated  to  chill  the  delightful  enthusiasm  of  youth  ; 
to  make  them  ashamed  of  that  romance  which  is  the 
dawn  of  generous  manhood,  and  to  impart  to  them 
a  cold  polish  and  a  premature  worldliness. 

"  Many  of  Lord  Chesterfield's  maxims  would  make 
a  young  man  a  mere  man  of  pleasure  ;  but  an  En- 
glish gentleman  should  not  be  a  mere  man  of  pleas- 
ure. He  has  no  right  to  such  selfish  indulgence. 
His  ease,  his  leisure,  his  opulence,  are  debts  due  to 
his  country,  which  he  must  ever  stand  ready  to  dis- 
charge. He  should  be  a  man  at  all  points ;  simple, 
frank,  courteous,  intelligent,  accomplished,  and  in- 
formed ;  upright,  intrepid,  and  disinterested ;  one 
that  can  mingle  among  freemen  ;  that  can  cope  with 
statesmen  ;  that  can  champion  his  country  and  its 
rights,  either  at  home  or  abroad.  In  a  country  like 
England,  where  there  is  such  free  and  unbounded 
scope  for  the  exertion  of  intellect,  and  where  opin- 
ion and  example  have  such  weight  with  the  people, 
every  gentleman  of  fortune  and  leisure  should  feel 
himself  bound  to  employ  him;elf  in  some  way  to- 
wards promoting  the  prosperity  or  glory  of  the  na- 
tion. In  a  country  where  intellect  and  action  are 
trammelled  and  restrained,  men  of  rank  and  fortune 
may  become  idlers  and  triflers  with  impunity  ;  but 
an  English  coxcomb  is  inexcusable ;  and  this,  per- 
haps, is  the  reason  why  he  is  the  most  offensive  and 
insupportable  coxcomb  in  the  world." 

The  Squire,  as  Frank  Bracebridge  informs  me, 
would  often  hold  forth  in  this  manner  to  his  sons, 
when  they  were  about  leaving  the  paternal  roof;  one 
to  travel  abroad,  one  to  go  to  the  army,  and  one  to 
the  university.  He  used  to  have  them  with  him  in 
the  library,  which  is  hung  with  the  portraits  of  Syd- 
ney, Surrey,  Raleigh,  Wyat,  and  others.  "  Look  at 
those  moilels  of  true  English  gentlemen,  my  sons," 
he  would  say  with  enthusiasm  ;  "  those  were  men 
that  wreathed  the  graces  of  the  most  delicate  and 


m 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


refined  taste  around  the  stern  virtues  of  the  soldier; 
that  mingled  what  was  gentle  and  gracious,  with 
what  was  hardy  and  manly ;  that  possessed  the  true 
chivalry  of  spirit,  which  is  the  exalted  essence  of 
manhood.  They  are  the  lights  by  which  the  youth 
of  the  country  should  array  themselves.  They  were 
the  patterns  and  idols  of  their  country  at  home  ; 
they  were  the  illustrators  of  its  dignity  abroad. 
'  Surrey,'  says  Camden,  '  was  the  first  nobleman  that 
illustrated  his  high  birth  with  the  beauty  of  learning. 
He  was  acknowledged  to  be  the  gallantest  man,  the 
politest  lover,  and  the  completest  gentleman  of  his 
time.'  And  as  to  Wyat,  his  friend  Surrey  most  ami- 
ably testifies  of  him,  that  his  person  was  majestic 
and  beautiful,  his  visage  '  stern  and  mild  ; '  that  he 
sung,  and  played  the  lute  with  remarkable  sweetness  ; 
spoke  foreign  languages  with  grace  and  fluency,  and 
possessed  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  wit.  And  see 
what  a  high  commendation  is  passed  upon  these  il- 
lustrious iriends :  '  They  were  the  two  chieftains, 
who,  having  travelled  into  Italy,  and  there  tasted  the 
sweet  and  stately  measures  and  style  of  the  Italian 
poetry,  greatly  polished  our  rude  and  homely  man- 
ner of  vulgar  poetry  from  what  it  had  been  before, 
and  therefore  may  be  justly  called  the  reformers  of 
our  English  poetry  and  style.'  And  Sir  Philip  Syd- 
ney, who  has  left  us  such  monuments  of  elegant 
thought,  and  generous  sentiment,  and  who  illustrated 
his  chivalrous  spirit  so  gloriously  in  the  field.  And 
Sir  W^alter  Raleigh,  the  elegant  courtier,  the  intrepid 
soldier,  the  enterprising  discoverer,  the  enlightened 
philosopher,  the  magnanimous  martyr.  These  are 
the  men  for  English  gentlemen  to  study.  Chester- 
field, with  his  cold  and  courtly  maxims,  would  have 
chilled  and  impoverished  such  spirits.  He  would 
have  blighted  all  the  budding  romance  of  their  tem- 
peraments. Sydney  would  never  have  written  his 
Arcadia,  nor  Surrey  have  challenged  the  world  in 
vindication  of  the  beauties  of  his  Geraldine.  These 
are  the  men,  my  sons,"  the  Squire  will  continue, 
"  that  show  to  what  our  national  character  may  be 
exalted,  when  its  strong  and  powerful  qualities  are 
duly  wrought  up  and  refined.  The  solidest  bodies 
are  capable  of  the  highest  polish ;  and  there  is  no 
character  that  may  be  wrought  to  a  more  exquisite 
and  unsullied  brightness,  than  that  of  the  true  En- 
glish gentleman." 

When  Guy  was  about  to  depart  for  the  army,  the 
Squire  again  took  him  aside,  and  gave  him  a  long 
exhortation.  He  warned  him  against  that  affecta- 
tion of  cool-blooded  indifference,  which  he  was  told 
was  cultivated  by  the  young  British  officers,  among 
whom  it  was  a  study  to  "  sink  the  soldier  "  in  the 
mere  man  of  fashion.  "  A  soldier,"  said  he,  "  with- 
out pride  and  enthusiasm  in  his  profession,  is  a  mere 
sanguinary  hireling.  Nothing  distinguishes  him  from 
the  mercenary  bravo,  but  a  spirit  of  patriotism,  or  a 
thirst  for  glory.  It  is  the  fashion  now-a-days,  my 
son,"  said  he,  "to  laugh  at  the  spirit  of  chivalry; 
when  that  spirit  is  really  extinct,  the  profession  of 
the  soldier  becomes  a  mere  trade  of  blood."  He 
then  set  before  him  the  conduct  of  Edward  the  Black 
Prince,  who  is  his  mirror  of  chivalry ;  valiant,  gener- 
ous, affable,  humane  ;  gallant  in  the  field.  But  when 
he  came  to  dwell  on  his  courtesy  toward  his  prison- 
er, the  king  of  France ;  how  he  received  him  in  his 
tent,  rather  as  a  conqueror  than  as  a  captive ;  at- 
tended on  him  at  table  like  one  of  his  retinue ;  rode 
uncovered  beside  him  on  his  entry  into  London, 
mounted  on  a  common  palfrey,  while  his  prisoner 
was  mounted  in  state  on  a  white  steed  of  stately 
beauty  ;  the  tears  of  enthusiasm  stood  in  the  old 
gentleman's  eyes. 

Finally,  on  taking  leave,  the  good  Squire  put  in 
his  son's  hands,  as  a  manual,  one  of  his  favourite  old 


volumes,  the  life  of  the  Chevalier  Bayard,  by  Gode- 
froy ;  on  a  blank  page  of  which  he  had  written  an 
extract  from  the  Morte  d'Arthur,  containing  the 
eulogy  of  Sir  Ector  over  the  body  of  Sir  Launcelot 
of  the  Lake,  which  the  Squire  considers  as  compris- 
ing the  excellencies  of  a  true  soldier.  "  Ah,  Sir 
Launcelot  !  thou  wert  head  of  all  Christian  knights  ; 
now  there  thou  liest :  thou  were  never  matched  of 
none  earthly  knights-hands.  And  thou  wert  the 
curtiest  knight  that  ever  bare  shield.  And  thou 
were  the  truest  friend  to  thy  lover  that  ever  bestrood 
horse  ;  and  thou  were  the  truest  lover  of  a  sinfull 
man  that  ever  loved  woman.  And  thou  were  the 
kindest  man  that  ever  strook  with  sword  ;  and  thou 
were  the  goodliest  person  that  ever  came  among  the 
presse  of  knights.  And  thou  were  the  meekest  man 
and  the  gentlest  that  ever  eate  in  hall  among  ladies. 
And  thou  were  the  sternest  knight  to  thy  mortal  foe 
that  ever  put  speare  in  the  rest." 


FORTUNE-TELLING. 


Each  city,  each  town,  and  every  village. 

Affords  us  either  an  alms  or  pillage. 

And  if  the  weather  he  cold  and  raw, 

Then  in  a  barn  we  tumble  on  straw. 

If  warm  and  fair,  by  yea-cock  and  nay-cock. 

The  fields  will  afford  us  a  hedge  or  a  hay-cock. 

Merry  Bfg'gars* 

As  I  was  walking  one  evening  with  the  Oxonian, 
Master  Simon,  and  the  general,  in  a  meadow  not  far 
from  the  village,  we  heard  the  sound  of  a  fiddle, 
rudely  played,  and  looking  in  the  direction  from 
whence  it  came,  we  saw  a  thread  of  smoke  curling 
up  from  among  the  trees.  The  sound  of  music  is 
always  attractive  ;  for,  wherever  there  is  music,  there 
is  good-humour,  or  good-will.  We  passed  along  a 
footpath,  and  had  a  peep  through  a  break  in  the 
hedge,  at  the  musician  and  his  party,  when  the  Ox- 
onian gave  us  a  wink,  and  told  us  that  if  we  would 
follow  him  we  should  have  some  sport. 

It  proved  to  be  a  gipsy  encampment,  consisting  of 
three  or  four  little  cabins,  or  tents,  made  of  blankets 
and  sail-cloth,  spread  over  hoops  that  were  stuck  in 
the  ground.  It  was  on  one  side  of  a  green  lane, 
close  under  a  hawthorn  hedge,  with  a  broad  beech- 
tree  spreading  above  it.  A  small  rill  tinkled  along 
close  by,  through  the  fresh  sward,  that  looked  like  a 
carpet. 

A  tea-kettle  was  hanging  by  a  crooked  piece  of 
iron,  over  a  fire  made  froin  dry  sticks  and  leaves, 
and  two  old  gipsies,  in  red  cloaks,  sat  crouched  on 
the  grass,  gossiping  over  their  evening  cup  of  tea ; 
for  these  creatures,  though  they  live  in  the  open  air, 
have  their  ideas  of  fireside  comforts.  There  were 
two  or  three  children  sleeping  on  the  straw  with 
which  the  tents  were  littered  ;  a  couple  of  donkeys 
were  grazing  in  the  lane,  and  a  thievish-looking  dog 
was  lying  before  the  fire.  Some  of  the  younger 
gipsies  were  dancing  to  the  music  of  a  fiddle,  played 
by  a  tall,  slender  stripling,  in  an  old  frock-coat,  with 
a  peacock's  feather  stuck  in  his  hat-band. 

As  we  approached,  a  gipsy  girl,  with  a  pair  of  fine, 
roguish  eyes,  came  up,  and,  as  usual,  offered  to  tell 
our  fortunes.  I  could  not  but  admire  a  certain  de- 
gree of  slattern  elegance  about  the  baggage.  Her 
long  black  silken  hair  was  curiously  plaited  in  nu- 
merous small  braids,  and  negligently  put  up  in  a 
picturesque  style  that  a  painter  might  have  been 
proud  to  have  devised. 

Her  dress  was  of  figured  chintz,  rather  ragged, 
and  not  over-clean,  but  of  a  variety  of  most  liar- 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


463 


monious  and  agreeable  colours ;  for  these  beings 
have  a  singularly  fine  eye  for  colours.  Her  straw 
hat  was  in  her  iiand,  and  a  red  cloak  thrown  over 
one  arm. 

The  Oxonian  offered  at  once  to  have  his  fortune 
told,  and  the  girl  began  with  the  usual  volubility  of 
her  race ;  but  he  drew  her  on  one  side,  near  the 
hedge,  as  he  said  he  had  no  idea  of  having  his  secrets 
crverheard.  I  saw  he  was  talking  to  her  instead  of 
she  to  him,  and  by  his  glancing  towards  us  now  and 
then,  that  he  was  giving  the  baggage  some  private 
hints.  When  they  returned  to  us,  he  assumed  a 
very  serious  air.  "  Zounds  !  "  said  he,  "  it's  very 
astonishing  how  these  creatures  come  by  their 
knowledge ;  this  girl  has  told  me  some  things  that  I 
thought  no  one  knew  but  myself!  "  The  girl  now 
assailed  the  general:  "Come,  your  honour,"  said 
she,  "  I  see  by  your  face  you're  a  lucky  man  ;  but 
you're  not  happy  in  your  mind ;  you're  not,  indeed, 
sir;  but  have  a  good  heart,  and  give  me  a  good 
piece  of  silver,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  nice  fortune." 

The  general  had  received  all  her  approaches  with 
a  banter,  and  had  suffered  her  to  get  hold  of  his 
hand  ;  but  at  the  mention  of  the  piece  of  silver,  he 
hemmed,  looked  grave,  and,  turning  to  us,  asked  if 
we  had  not  better  continue  our  walk.  "  Come,  my 
master,"  said  the  girl,  archly,  "you'd  not  be  in  such 
a  burr}',  if  you  knew  all  that  I  could  tell  you  about 
a  fair  lady  that  has  a  notion  for  you.  Come,  sir ; 
old  love  burns  strong ;  there's  many  a  one  comes  to 
see  weddings,  that  go  away  brides  themselves." — 
Here  the  girl  whispered  something  in  a  low  voice, 
at  which  the  general  coloured  up,  was  a  little  flut- 
tered, and  suffered  himself  to  be  drawn  aside  under 
the  hedge,  where  he  appeared  to  listen  to  her  with 
great  earnestness,  and  at  the  end  paid  her  half-a- 
Ofown  with  the  air  of  a  man  that  has  got  the  worth 
of  his  money.  The  girl  next  made  her  attack  upon 
Master  Simon,  who,  however,  was  too  old  a  bird  to 
be  caught,  knowing  that  it  would  end  in  an  attack 
upon  his  purse,  about  which  he  is  a  little  sensitive. 
As  he  has  a  great  notion,  however,  of  being  con- 
sidered a  royster,  he  chucked  her  under  the  chin, 
played  her  off  with  rather  broad  jokes,  and  put  on 
something  of  the  rake-helly  air,  that  we  see  now  and 
then  assumed  on  the  stage,  by  the  sad-boy  gentle- 
men of  the  old  school.  "  Ah,  your  honour,"  said 
the  girl,  with  a  malicious  leer,  "  you  were  not  in  such 
a  tantrum  last  year,  when  I  told  you  about  the 
widow,  you  know  who ;  but  if  you  had  taken  a 
friend's  advice,  you'd  never  have  come  away  from 
Doncaster  races  with  a  flea  in  your  ear  !  "  There 
was  a  secret  sting  in  this  speech,  that  seemed  quite 
to  disconcei  t  Master  Simon.  He  jerked  away  his 
hand  in  a  pet,  smacked  his  whip,  whistled  to  his 
dogs,  and  intimated  that  it  was  high  time  to  go 
home.  The  girl,  however,  was  determined  not  to 
lose  her  harvest.  She  now  turned  upon  me,  and,  as 
I  have  a  weakness  of  spirit  where  there  is  a  pretty 
face  concerned,  she  soon  wheedled  me  out  of  my 
money,  and,  in  return,  read  me  a  fortune;  which, 
if  it  prove  true,  and  I  am  determined  to  believe  it, 
will  make  me  one  of  the  luckiest  men  in  the  chroni- 
cles of  Cupid. 

I  saw  that  the  O.Konian  was  at  the  bottom  of  all 
this  oracular  mystery,  and  was  disposed  to  amuse 
himself  with  the  general,  whose  tender  approaches 
to  the  widow  have  attracted  the  notice  of  the  wag. 
I  was  a  little  curious,  however,  to  know  the  meaning 
of  the  dark  hints  which  had  so  suddenly  disconcerted 
Master  Simon  ;  and  took  occasion  to  fall  in  the  rear 
with  the  O.xonian  on  our  way  home,  when  he  laughed 
heartily  at  my  ciuestions,  and  gave  me  ample  informa- 
tion on  the  subject. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  Master  Simon  has 


met  with  a  sad  rebuff  since  my  Christmas  visit  to 
the  Hall.  He  used  at  that  time  to  be  joked  about  a 
widow,  a  fine  dashing  woman,  as  he  privately  in- 
formed me.  I  had  supposed  the  pleasure  he  betrayed 
on  these  occasions  resulted  from  the  usual  fondness 
of  old  bachelors  for  being  teased  about  getting  mar- 
ried, and  about  flirting,  and  being  fickle  and  fals>'- 
hearted.  I  am  assured,  however,  that  Master  Simon 
had  really  persuaded  himself  the  widow  had  a  kind- 
ness for  him  ;  in  consequence  of  which,  he  had  been 
at  some  extraordinary  expense  in  new  clothes,  and 
had  actually  got  Frank  Bracebridge  to  order  him  a 
coat  from  Stultz.  He  began  to  throw  out  hints  about 
the  importance  of  a  man's  settling  himself  in  life  be- 
fore he  grew  old  ;  he  would  look  grave,  whenever  the 
widow  and  matrimony  were  mentioned  in  the  same 
sentence  ;  and  privately  asked  the  opinion  of  the 
Squire  and  parson  about  the  prudence  of  marrying  a 
widow  with  a  rich  jointure,  but  who  had  several 
children. 

An  important  member  of  a  great  family  connexion 
cannot  harp  much  upon  the  theme  of  matrimony, 
without  its  taking  wind ;  and  it  soon  got  buzzed 
about  that  Mr.  Simon  Bracebridge  was  actually  gone 
to  Doncaster  races,  with  a  new  horse  ;  but  that  he 
meant  to  return  in  a  curricle  with  a  lady  by  his  side. 
Master  Simon  did,  indeed,  go  to  the  races,  and  that 
with  a  new  horse  ;  and  the  dashing  widow  did  make 
her  appearance  in  a  curricle  ;  but  it  was  unfortunate- 
ly driven  by  a  strapping  young  Irish  dragoon,  with 
whom  even  Master  Simon's  self-complacency  would 
not  allow  him  to  venture  into  competition,  and  to 
whom  she  was  married  shortly  after. 

It  was  a  matter  of  sore  chagrin  to  Master  Simon 
for  several  months,  having  never  before  been  fully 
committed.  The  dullest  head  in  the  family  had  a 
joke  upon  him  ;  and  there  is  no  one  that  likes  less  to 
be  bantered  than  an  absolute  joker.  He  took  refuge 
for  a  time  at  Lady  Lillycraft's,  until  the  matter  should 
blow  over  ;  and  occupied  himself  by  looking  over 
her  accounts,  regulating  the  village  choir,  and  incul- 
cating loyalty  into  a  pet  bulfinch,  by  teaching  hiin 
to  whistle  "  God  save  the  King." 

He  has  now  pretty  nearly  recovered  from  the  mor- 
tification ;  holds  up  his  head,  and  laughs  as  much  as 
any  one  ;  again  affects  to  pity  married  men,  and  is 
particularly  facetious  about  widows,  when  Lady 
Lillycraft  is  not  by.  His  only  time  of  trial  is  when 
the  general  gets  hold  of  him,  who  is  infinitely  heavy 
and  persevering  in  his  waggery,  and  will  interweave 
a  dull  joke  through  the  various  topics  of  a  whole 
dinner-time.  Master  Simon  often  parries  these  at- 
tacks by  a  stanza  from  his  old  work  of  "Cupid's 
Solicitor  for  Love  : " 

**  'Tis  in  vain  to  wooe  a  widow  over  long, 

In  once  or  twice  her  mind  you  may  perceive  ; 
Widows  are  subtle,  be  they  old  or  young. 
And  by  theii  wiles  young  men  they  will  deceive." 


LOVE-CHARMS. 


Come,  do  not  weep,  my  girl. 

Forget  him,  pretty  Pensiveness  :  there  will 
Come  others,  every  day,  as  good  as  he. 

Sir  J.  SucKLiNT.. 

The  approach  of  a  wedding  in  a  family  is  always 
an  event  of  great  importance,  but  particularly  so  in 
a  household  like  this,  in  a  retired  part  of  the  country. 
Master  Simon,  who  is  a  pervading  spirit,  and,  throug.'- 
means  of  the  butler  and  housekeeper,  knows  every 
thing  that  goes  forward,  tells  me  that  the  maid  ser\ - 
ants  are  continually  trying  their  fortunes,  and  that 


464 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


the  servants'-hall  has  of  late  been  quite  a  scene  of 
incantation. 

It  is  amusing  to  notice  how  the  oddities  of  the  head 
of  a  family  flow  down  through  all  the  branches.  The 
Squire,  in  the  indulgence  of  his  love  of  every  thing 
that  smacks  of  old  times,  has  held  so  many  grave 
conversations  with  the  parson  at  table,  about  popular 
superstitions  and  traditional  rites,  that  they  have  been 
carried  from  the  parlour  to  the  kitchen  by  the  listen- 
ing domestics,  and,  being  apparently  sanctioned  by 
such  high  authority,  the  whole  house  has  become 
infected  by  them. 

The  servants  are  all  versed  in  the  common  modes 
of  trying  luck,  and  the  charms  to  insure  constancy. 
They  read  their  fortunes  by  drawing  strokes  in  the 
ashes,  or  by  repeating  a  form  of  words,  and  looking 
in  a  pail  of  water.  St.  Mark's  Eve,  I  am  told,  was 
a  busy  time  with  them  ;  being  an  appointed  night 
for  certain  mystic  ceremonies.  Several  of  them 
sowed  hemp-seed  to  be  reaped  by  their  true  lovers  ; 
and  they  even  ventured  upon  the  solemn  and  fearful 
preparation  of  the  dumb-cake.  This  must  be  done 
fasting,  and  in  silence.  The  ingredients  are  handed 
down  in  traditional  form  :  "  An  eggshell  full  of  salt, 
an  eggshell  full  of  malt,  and  an  eggshell  full  of  bar- 
ley-meal." When  the  cake  is  ready,  it  is  put  upon 
a  pan  over  the  tire,  and  the  future  husband  will  ap- 
pear, turn  the  cake,  and  retire ;  but  if  a  word  is 
spoken  or  a  fast  is  broken  during  this  awful  cere- 
mony, there  is  no  knowing  what  horrible  conse- 
quences would  ensue ! 

The  experiments,  in  the  present  instance,  came  to 
no  result ;  they  that  sowed  the  hemp-seed  forgot  the 
magic  rhyme  that  they  were  to  pronounce — so  the 
true  lover  never  appeared  ;  and  as  to  the  dumb-cake, 
what  between  the  awful  stillness  they  had  to  keep, 
and  the  awfulness  of  the  midnight  hour,  their  hearts 
failed  them  when  they  had  put  the  cake  in  the  pan  ; 
.so  that,  on  the  striking  of  the  great  house-clock  in 
the  servants'-hall,  they  were  seized  with  a  sudden 
panic,  and  ran  out  of  the  room,  to  which  they  did 
j)ot  return  until  morning,  when  they  found  the  mystic 
cake  burnt  to  a  cinder. 

The  most  persevering  at  these  spells,  however,  is 
Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  housekeeper's  niece.  As  she 
is  a  kind  of  privileged  personage,  and  rather  idle,  she 
has  more  time  to  occupy  herself  with  these  matters. 
She  has  always  had  her  head  full  of  love  and  matri- 
mony. She  knows  the  dream-book  by  heart,  and  is 
quite  an  oracle  among  the  little  girls  of  the  family, 
who  always  come  to  her  to  interpret  their  dreams  in 
the  mornings. 

During  the  present  gayety  of  the  house,  however, 
the  poor  girl  has  worn  a  face  full  of  trouble  ;  and,  to 
use  the  housekeeper's  words,  "  has  fallen  into  a  sad 
hystericky  way  lately."  It  seems  that  she  was  born 
and  brought  up  in  the  village,  where  her  father  was 
parish-clerk,  and  she  was  an  early  playmate  and 
sweetheart  of  young  Jack  Tibbets.  Since  she  has 
come  to  live  at  the  Hall,  however,  her  head  has  been 
a  little  turned.  Being  very  pretty,  and  naturally 
genteel,  she  has  been  much  noticed  and  indulged  ; 
and  being  the  housekeeper's  niece,  she  has  held  an 
equivocal  station  between  a  servant  and  a  compan- 
ion. She  has  learnt  something  of  fashions  and  no- 
tions among  the  young  ladies,  which  have  effected 
quite  a  metamorphosis  ;  insomuch  that  her  finery  it 
church  on  Sundays  has  given  mortal  offence  to  her 
former  intimates  in  the  village.  This  has  occasioned 
the  misrepresentations  which  have  awakened  the 
implacable  family  pride  of  Dame  Tibbets.  But  what 
is  worse,  Phoebe,  having  a  spice  of  coquetry  in  her 
disposition,  showed  it  on  one  or  two  occasions  to  her 
lover,  which  produced  a  downright  quarrel  ;  and 
lack,  being  very   proud   and   fiery,  has  absolutely 


turned  his  back  upon  her  for  several  successive 
Sundays. 

The  poor  girl  is  full  of  sorrow  and  repentance,  and 
would  fain  make  up  with  her  lover ;  but  he  feels  his 
security,  and  stands  aloof.  In  this  he  is  doubtless 
encouraged  by  his  mother,  who  is  continually  re- 
minding him  what  he  owes  to  his  family  ;  for  this 
same  family  pride  seems  doomed  to  be  the  eternal 
bane  of  lovers. 

As  I  hate  to  see  a  pretty  face  in  trouble,  I  have 
felt  quite  concerned  for  the  luckless  Phoebe,  ever 
since  I  heard  her  story.  It  is  a  sad  thing  to  be 
thwarted  in  love  at  any  time,  but  particularly  so  at 
this  tender  season  of  the  year,  when  every  living 
thing,  even  to  the  very  butterfly,  is  sporting  with  its 
mate  ;  and  the  green  fields,  and  the  budding  groves, 
and  the  singing  of  the  birds,  and  the  sweet  smell  of 
the  flowers,  are  enough  to  turn  the  head  of  a  love- 
sick girl.  1  am  told  that  the  coolness  of  young 
Ready-Money  lies  very  heavy  at  poor  Phoebe's  heart. 
Instead  of  singing  about  the  house  as  formerly,  she 
goes  about  pale  and  sighing,  and  is  apt  to  break  into 
tears  when  her  companions  are  full  of  merriment. 

Mrs.  Hannah,  the  vestal  gentlewoman  of  my  Lady 
Lillycraft,  has  had  long  talks  and  walks  with  Phoebe, 
up  and  down  the  a\enue  of  an  evening;  and  has  en- 
deavoured to  squeeze  some  of  her  own  verjuice  into 
the  other's  milky  nature.  She  speaks  with  contempt 
and  abhorrence  of  the  whole  sex,  and  advises  Phoebe 
to  despise  all  the  men  as  heartily  as  she  does.  But 
Phoebe's  loving  temper  is  not  to  be  curdled  ;  she  has 
no  such  thing  as  hatred  or  contempt  for  mankind  in 
her  whole  composition.  She  has  all  the  simple  fond- 
ness of  heart  of  poor,  weak,  loving  woman  ;  and  her 
only  thoughts  at  present  are  how  to  conciliate  and 
reclaim  her  wayward  swain. 

The  spells  and  love-charms,  which  are  matters  of 
sport  to  the  other  domestics,  are  serious  concerns 
with  this  love-stricken  damsel.  She  is  continually 
trying  her  fortune  in  a  variety  of  ways.  1  am  told 
that  she  has  absolutely  fasted  for  six  Wednesdays 
and  three  Fridays  successively,  having  understood 
that  it  was  a  sovereign  charm  to  insure  being  mar- 
ried to  one's  liking  within  the  year.  She  carries 
about,  also,  a  lock  of  her  sweetheart's  hair,  and  a 
riband  he  once  gave  her,  being  a  mode  of  producing 
constancy  in  a  lover.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to 
try  her  fortune  by  the  moon,  which  has  always  had 
much  to  do  with  lovers'  dreams  and  fancies.  For 
this  purpose,  she  went  out  in  the  night  of  the  full 
moon,  knelt  on  a  stone  in  the  meadow,  and  repeated 
the  old  traditional  rhyme  : 

**  All  hail  to  thee,  moon,  all  hail  to  thee  ; 
1  pray  thee,  good  moon,  now  show  to  me 
The  youth  wTio  my  future  husband  shall  be." 

When  she  came  back  to  the  house,  she  was  faint 
and  pale,  and  went  immediately  to  bed.  The  next 
morning  she  told  the  porter's  wife  that  she  had  seen 
some  oiie  close  by  the  hedge  in  the  ineadow,  which 
she  was  sure  was  young  Tibbets ;  at  any  rate,  she 
had  dreamt  of  him  all  night ;  both  of  which,  the  old 
dame  assured  her,  were  most  happy  signs.  It  has 
since  turned  out  that  the  person  in  the  meadow  was 
old  Christy,  the  huntsman,  who  was  walking  his 
nightly  rounds  with  the  great  stag-hound  ;  so  that 
Phoebe's  faith  in  the  charm  is  completely  shaken. 


THE  LIBRARY. 


Yesterday  the  fair  Julia  m.ade  her  first  appear- 
ance down-stairs  since  her  accident  ;  and  the  sight 
of  her  spread  an  universal  cheerfulness  through  the 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


465 


household.  She  was  extremely  pale,  however,  and 
could  not  walk  without  pain  and  difficulty.  She  was 
assisted,  theretbre,  to  a  sofa  in  the  library,  which  is 
pleasant  and  retired,  looking  out  among  trees  ;  and 
so  quiet,  that  the  little  birds  come  hopping  upon  the 
windows,  and  peering  curiously  into  the  apartment. 
Here  several  of  the  family  gathered  round,  and  de- 
vised means  to  amuse  her,  and  make  the  day  pass 
pleasantly.  Lady  Lillycraft  lamented  the  want  of 
some  new  novel  to  while  away  the  time  ;  and  was 
almost  in  a  pet,  because  the  "  Author  of  Waverley  " 
had  not  produced  a  work  for  the  last  three  months. 

There  was  a  motion  made  to  call  on  the  parson 
for  some  of  his  old  legends  or  ghost  stories  ;  but 
to  this  Lady  Lillycraft  objected,  as  they  were  apt 
to  give  her  the  vapours.  General  Harbottle  gave  a 
minute  account,  for  the  sixth  time,  of  the  disaster 
of  a  friend  in  India,  who  had  his  leg  bitten  off  by  a 
tiger,  whilst  he  was  hunting  ;  and  was  proceeding 
to  menace  the  company  with  a  chapter  or  two  about 
Tippoo  Saib. 

At  length  the  captain  bethought  himself  and  said, 
he  believed  he  had  a  manuscript  tale  lying  in  one 
corner  of  his  campaigning  trunk,  which,  if  he  could 
find,  and  the  company  were  desirous,  he  would  read 
to  them.  The  offer  was  eagerly  accepted.  He  re- 
tired, and  soon  returned  with  a  roll  of  blotted  manu- 
script, in  a  very  gentlemanlike,  but  nearly  illegible, 
hand,  and  a  great  part  written  on  cartridge-paper. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  scribblings,"  said  he,  "  of  my 
poor  friend,  Charles  Lightly,  of  the  dragoons.  He 
was  a  curious,  romantic,  studious,  fanciful  fellow  ; 
the  favourite,  and  often  the  unconscious  butt  of  his 
t'eliow-officers,  who  entertained  themselves  with  his 
eccentricities.  He  was  in  some  of  the  hardest  serv- 
ice in  the  peninsula,  and  distinguished  himself  by 
his  gallantry.  When  the  intervals  of  duty  per- 
mitted, he  was  fond  of  roving  about  the  country, 
visiting  noted  places,  and  was  extremely  fond  of 
Moorish  ruins.  When  at  his  quarters,  he  was  a  great 
scribbler,  and  passed  much  of  his  leisure  with  his 
pen  in  his  hand. 

"As  I  wasamuch  youngerofficer,  and  a  very  young 
man,  he  took  me,  in  a  manner,  under  his  care,  and 
we  became  close  friends.  He  used  often  to  read 
his  writings  to  me,  having  a  great  confidence  in  my 
taste,  for  I  always  praised  them.  Poor  fellow  !  he 
was  shot  down,  close  by  me,  at  Waterloo.  We  lay 
wounded  together  for  some  time,  during  a  hard  con- 
test that  took  place  near  at  hand.  As  I  was  least 
hurt,  I  tried  to  relieve  him,  and  to  stanch  the  blood 
which  flov/ed  from  a  wound  in  his  breast.  He  lay 
with  his  head  in  my  lap,  and  looked  up  thankfully  in 
my  face,  but  shook  his  head  faintly,  and  made  a 
sign  that  it  was  all  over  with  him  ;  and,  indeed,  he 
died  a  few  minutes  afterwards,  just  as  our  men 
had  repulsed  the  enemy,  and  came  to  our  relief.  I 
have  his  favourite  dog  and  his  pistols  to  this  day, 
and  several  of  his  manuscripts,  which  he  gave 
to  me  at  different  times.  The  one  I  am  now  going 
to  read,  is  a  tale  which  he  said  he  wrote  in  Spain, 
during  the  time  that  he  lay  ill  of  a  wound  received  at 
.Salamanca." 

We  now  arranged  ourselves  to  hear  the  story.  The 
captain  seated  himself  on  the  sofa,  beside  the  fair 
Julia,  who  1  had  noticed  to  be  somewhat  affected  by 
the  picture  he  had  carelessly  drawn  of  wounds  and 
dangers  in  a  field  of  battle.  She  now  leaned  her  arm 
fondly  on  his  shoulder,  and  her  eye  glistened  as  it 
rested  on  the  manuscript  of  the  poor  literary  dra- 
goon. Lady  Lillycraft  buried  herself  in  a  deep,  well- 
cushioned  elbow-chair.  Her  dogs  were  nestled  on 
soft  mats  at  her  feet ;  and  the  gallant  general  took 
his  station  in  an  arm-chair,  at  her  side,  and  toyed 
with  her  elegantly  ornamented  work-bag.  The  rest 
30 


of  the  circle  being  all  equally  well  accommodated, 
the  captain  began  his  story  ;  a  copy  of  which  I  have 
procured  for  the  benefit  of  the  reader. 


THE  STUDENT  OF  SALAMANCA. 


What  a  life  do  I  lead  with  my  master  j  nothing  but  bUwing 
of  bellowes,  beating  of  spirits,  and  scraping  of  croslets !  It  is 
a  very  secret  science,  for  none  almost  can  understand  the  lan- 
guage of  it.  Sublimation,  almigation,  calcination,  rubification, 
albification,  and  fermentation  ;  with  as  many  termes  impos- 
sible to  be  uttered  as  the  arte  to  be  compassed. 

Lilly's  Gallatkea. 

Once  upon  a  time,  in  the  ancient  city  of  Granada, 
there  sojourned  a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Antonio 
de  Castros.  He  wore  the  garb  of  a  student  of  Sala- 
manca, and  was  pursuing  a  course  of  reading  in  the 
library  of  the  university  ;  and,  at  intervals  of  leisure, 
indulging  his  curiosity  by  examining  those  remains 
of  Moorish  magnificence  for  which  Granada  is  re- 
nowned. 

Whilst  occupied  in  his  studies,  he  frequently 
noticed  an  old  man  of  a  singular  appearance,  who 
was  likewise  a  visitor  to  the  library.  He  was 
lean  and  withered,  though  apparently  more  from 
study  than  from  age.  His  eyes,  though  bright  and 
visionaiy,  were  sunk  in  his  head,  and  thrown  into 
shade  by  overhanging  eyebrows.  His  dress  was 
always  the  same  :  a  black  doublet ;  a  short  black 
cloak,  very  rusty  and  threadbare  ;  a  small  ruff  and  a 
large  overshadowing  hat. 

His  appetite  for  knowledge  seemed  insatiable.  He 
would  pass  whole  days  in  the  library,  absorbed  in 
study,  consulting  a  multiplicity  of  authors,  as  thcjgh 
he  were  pursuing  some  interesting  subject  through 
all  its  ramifications  ;  so  that,  in  general,  when  even- 
ing came,  he  was  almost  buried  among  books  and 
manuscripts. 

The  curiosity  of  Antonio  was  excited,  and  he  in- 
quired of  the  attendants  concerning  the  stranger. 
No  one  could  give  him  any  information,  excepting 
that  he  had  been  for  some  time  past  a  casual  fre- 
quenter of  the  library  ;  that  his  reading  lay  chiefly 
among  works  treating  of  the  occult  sciences,  and 
that  he  was  particularly  curious  in  his  inquiries  after 
Arabian  manuscripts.  They  added,  that  he  never 
held  communication  with  any  one,  excepting  to  ask 
for  particular  works  ;  that,  after  a  fit  of  studious  ap- 
plication, he  would  disappear  for  several  days,  and 
even  weeks,  and  when  he  revisited  the  library,  he 
would  look  more  withered  and  haggard  than  ever. 
The  student  felt  interested  by  this  account ;  he  was 
leading  rather,  a  desultory  life,  and  had  all  that  ca- 
pricious curiosity  which  springs  up  in  idleness.  He 
determined  to  make  himself  acquainted  with  this 
book-worm,  and  find  out  who  and  what  he  was. 

The  next  time  that  he  saw  the  old  man  at  the  li- 
brary, he  commenced  his  approaches  by  requesting 
permission  to  look  into  one  of  the  volumes  with 
which  the  unknown  appeared  to  have  done.  The 
latter  merely  bowed  his  head,  in  token  of  assent. 
After  pretending  to  look  through  the  volume  with 
great  attention,  he  returned  it  with  many  acknowl- 
edginents.    The  stranger  made  no  reply. 

"  May  I  ask,  senor,"  said  Antonio,  with  some  hes- 
itation, "  may  I  ask  what  you  are  searching  after  in 
all  these  books.' " 

The  old  man  raised  his  head,  with  an  expression 
of  surprise,  at  having  his  studies  interrupted  for  the 
first  time,  and  by  so  intrusive  a  question.  He  sur- 
veyed the  student  with  a  side  glance  from  head  to 


466 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


foot :  "  Wisdom,  my  son,"  said  he,  calmly';  "  and 
the  search  requires  every  moment  of  my  attention." 
He  then  cast  his  eyes  upon  his  book,  and  resumed 
his  studies. 

"  But,  father,"  said  Antonio,  "cannot  you  spare  a 
moment  to  point  out  the  road  to  others  ?  It  is  to 
experienced  travellers  like  you,  that  we  strang'ers  in 
the  paths  of  knowledge  must  look  for  directions  on 
our  journey." 

The  stranger  looked  disturbed  :  "  I  have  not  time 
enough,  my  son,  to  learn,"  said  he,  "  much  less  to 
teach.  I  am  ignorant  myself  of  the  path  of  true 
knowledge ;  how  then  can  I  show  it  to  others  }  " 

"  Well,  but  father—" 

"  Senor,"  said  the  old  man,  mildly,  but  earnestly, 
"  you  must  see  that  I  have  but  few  steps  more  to 
the  grave.  In  that  short  space  have  I  to  accom- 
plish the  whole  business  of  my  existence.  I  have  no 
time  for  words ;  every  word  is  as  one  grain  of 
sand  of  my 'glass  wasted.    Suffer  me  to  be  alone." 

There  was  no  replying  to  so  complete  a  closing 
of  the  door  of  intimacy.  The  student  found  him- 
self calmly  but  totally  repulsed.  Though  curious 
and  inquisitive,  yet  he  was  naturally  modest,  and  on 
after-thoughts  he  blushed  at  his  own  intrusion.  His 
mind  soon  became  occupied  by  other  objects.  He 
passed  several  days  wandering  among  the  moulder- 
ing piles  of  Moorish  architecture,  those  melancholy 
monuments  of  an  elegant  and  voluptuous  people. 
He  paced  the  deserted  halls  of  the  Alhambra,  the 
paradise  of  the  Moorish  kings.  He  visited  the  great 
court  of  the  lions,  famous  for  the  perfidious  mas- 
sacre of  the  gallant  Abencerrages.  He  gazed  with 
admiration  at  its  mosaic  cupolas,  gorgeously  painted 
in  gold  and  azure ;  its  basins  of  marble,  its  alabas- 
ter vase,  supported  by  lions,  and  stoiied  with  in- 
scriptions. 

His  imagination  kindled  as  he  wandered  among 
these  scenes.  They  were  calculated  to  awaken  all 
the  enthusiasm  of  a  youthful  mind.  Most  of  the 
halls  have  anciently  been  beautified  by  fountains. 
The  fine  taste  of  the  Arabs  delighted  in  the  spark- 
ling purity  and  reviving  freshness  of  water ;  and 
they  erected,  as  it  were,  altars  on  every  side,  to  that 
delicate  element.  Poetry  mingles  with  architecture 
in  the  Alhambra.  It  breathes  along  the  very  walls. 
Wherever  Antonio  turned  his  eye,  he  beheld  inscrip- 
tions in  Arabic,  wherein  the  perpetuity  of  Moorish 
power  and  splendour  within  these  walls  was  confi- 
dently predicted.  Alas  !  how  has  the  prophecy  been 
falsified  !  Many  of  the  basins,  where  the  fountains 
had  once  thrown  up  their  sparkling  showers,  were 
dry  and  dusty.  Some  of  the  palaces  were  turned 
into  gloomy  convents,  and  the  barefoot  monk  paced 
through  those  courts,  which  had  once  glittered  with 
the  array,  and  echoed  to  the  music,  of  Moorish  chiv- 
alry. 

In  the  course  of  his  rambles,  the  student  more 
than  once  encountered  the  old  man  of  the  library. 
He  Was  always  alone,  and  so  full  of  thought  as  not 
to  notice  any  one  about  him.  He  appeared  to  be 
intent  upon  studying  those  half-buried  inscriptions, 
which  are  found,  here  and  there,  among  the  Moor- 
ish ruins,  and  seem  to  murmur  from  the  earth  the 
tale  of  former  greatness.  The  greater  part  of  these 
tiave  since  been  translated  ;  but  they  were  supposed 
by  many  at  the  time,  to  contain  symbolical  revela- 
tions, and  golden  maxims  of  the  Arabian  sages  and 
astrologers.  As  Antonio  saw  the  stranger  appar- 
ently deciphering  these  inscriptions,  he  felt  an  eager 
longing  to  make  his  acquaintance,  and  to  participate 
in  his  curious  researches ;  but  the  repulse  he  had 
raet  with  at  the  library  deterred  him  from  making 
any  further  advances. 

He  had  directed  his  steps  one  evening  to  the  sa- 


cred mount,  which  overlooks  the  beautiful  valley  wa- 
tered by  the  Darro,  the  fertile  plain  of  the  Vega,  and 
all  that  rich  diversity  of  vale  and  mountain  that 
surrounds  Granada  with  an  earthly  paradise.  It  was 
twilight  when  he  found  himself  at  the  place,  where, 
at  the  present  day,  are  situated  the  chapels,  known 
by  the  name  of  the  Sacred  Furnaces.  They  ^rs  so 
called  from  grottoes,  in  which  some  of  the  primitive 
saints  are  said  to  have  been  burnt.  At  the  time  of 
Antonio's  visit,  the  place  was  an  object  of  much  cu- 
riosity. In  an  excavation  of  these  grottoes,  several 
manuscripts  had  recently  been  discovered,  engraved 
on  plates  of  lead.  They  were  written  in  the  Ara- 
bian language,  excepting  one,  which  was  in  un- 
known characters.  The  Pope  had  issued  a  bull, 
forbidding  any  one,  under  pain  of  excommunication, 
to  speak  of  these  manuscripts.  The  prohibition 
had  only  excited  the  greater  curiosity ;  and  many 
reports  were  whispered  about,  that  these  manu- 
scripts contained  treasures  of  dark  and  forbidden 
knowledge. 

As  Antonio  was  examining  the  place  from  whence 
these  mysterious  manuscripts  had  been  drawn,  he 
again  observed  the  old  man  of  the  library  wandering 
among  the  ruins.  His  curiosity  was  now  fully 
awakened ;  the  time  and  place  served  to  stimulate 
it.  He  resolved  to  watch  this  groper  after  secret 
and  forgotten  lore,  and  to  trace  him  to  his  habita- 
tion. There  was  something  like  adventure  in  the 
thing,  that  charmed  his  romantic  disposition.  He 
followed  the  stranger,  therefore,  at  a  little  distance ; 
at  first  cautiously,  but  he  soon  observed  him  to  be 
so  wrapped  in  his  own  thoughts,  as  to  take  little 
heed  of  external  objects. 

They  passed  along  the  skirts  of  the  mountain,  and 
then  by  the  shady  banks  of  the  Darro.  They  pur- 
sued their  way,  for  some  distance  from  Granada, 
along  a  lonely  road  that  led  among  the  hills.  The 
gloom  of  evening  was  gathering,  and  it  was  quite 
dark  when  the  stranger  stopped  at  the  portal  of  a 
solitary  mansion. 

It  appeared  to  be  a  mere  wing,  or  ruined  frag- 
ment, of  what  had  once  been  a  pile  of  some  conse- 
quence. The  walls  were  of  great  thickness  ;  the 
windows  narrow,  and  generally  secured  by  iron  bars. 
The  door  was  of  planks,  studded  with  iron  spikes, 
and  had  been  of  great  strength,  though  at  present  it 
was  much  decayed.  At  one  end  of  the  mansion 
was  a  ruinous  tower,  in  the  Moorish  style  of  archi- 
tecture. The  edifice  had  probably  been  a  country 
retreat,  or  castle  of  pleasure,  during  the  occupation 
of  Granada  by  the  Moors,  and  rendered  sufficiently 
strong  to  withstand  any  casual  assault  in  those  war- 
like times. 

The  old  man  knocked  at  the  portal.  A  light  ap- 
peared at  a  small  window  just  above  it,  and  a  female 
head  looked  out :  it  might  have  served  as  a  model 
for  one  of  Raphael's  saints.  The  hair  was  beauti- 
fully braided,  and  gathered  in  a  silken  net ;  and  the 
complexion,  as  well  as  could  be  judged  from  the 
light,  was  that  soft,  rich  brunette,  so  becoming  in 
southern  beauty. 

"  It  is  I,  my  child,"  said  the  old  man.  The  face 
instantly  disappeared,  and  soon  after  a  wicket-door 
in  the  large  portal  opened.  Antonio,  who  had  ven- 
tured near  to  the  building,  caught  a  transient  sight 
of  a  delicate  female  form.  A  pair  of  fine  black  eyes 
darted  a  look  of  surprise  at  seeing  a  stranger  hover- 
ing near,  and  the  door  was  precipitately  closed. 

There  was  something  in  this  sudden  gleam  of 
beauty  that  wonderfully  struck  the  imagination  of 
the  student.  It  was  li'ke  a  brilliant,  flashing  from 
its  dark  casket.  He  sauntered  alx)ut,  regarding  the 
gloomy  pile  with  increasing  interest.  A  few  simple, 
wild  notes,  from  among  some  rocks  and  trees  at  a 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


467 


little  distance,  attracted  his  attention.  He  found 
there  a  group  of  Gitanas,  a  vagabond  gipsy  race, 
which  at  that  time  abounded  in  Spain,  and  lived  in 
hovels  and  caves  of  the  hills  about  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Granada.  Some  were  busy  about  a  fire, 
and  others  were  listening  to  the  uncouth  music 
which  one  of  their  companions,  seated  on  a  ledge  of 
the  rock,  was  making  with  a  split  reed. 

Antonio  endeavoured  to  obtain  some  information 
of  them,  concerning  the  old  building  and  its  inhab- 
itants. The  one  who  appeared  to  be  their  spokes- 
man was  a  gaunt  fellow,  with  a  subtle  gait,  a  whis- 
pering voice,  and  a  sinister  roll  of  the  eye.  He 
shrugged  his  shoulders  on  the  student's  inquiries, 
and  said  that  all  was  not  right  in  that  building.  An 
old  man  inhabited  it,  whom  nobody  knew,  and 
whose  family  appeared  to  be  only  a  daughter  and  a 
female  servant.  He  and  his  companions,  he  added, 
lived  up  among  the  neighbouring  hills ;  and  as  they 
had  been  about  at  night,  they  had  often  seen  strange 
lights,  and  heard  strange  sounds  from  the  tower. 
Some  of  the  country  people,  who  worked  in  the 
vineyards  among  the  hills,  believed  the  old  man  to 
be  one  that  dealt  in  the  black  art,  and  were  not 
over-fond  of  passing  near  the  tower  at  night;  "but 
for  our  parts,"  said  the  Gitano,  "we  are  not  a  people 
that  trouble  ourselves  much  with  fears  of  that  kind." 

The  student  endeavoured  to  gain  more  precise  in- 
formation, but  they  had  none  to  furnish  him.  They 
began  to  be  solicitous  for  a  compensation  for  what 
they  had  already  imparted;  and,  recollecting  the 
loneliness  of  the  place,  and  the  vagabond  character 
of  his  companions,  he  was  glad  to  give  them  a 
gratuity,  and  to  hasten  homewards. 

He  sat  down  to  his  studies,  but  his  brain  was  too 
full  of  what  he  had  seen  and  heard ;  his  eye  was 
upon  the  page,  but  his  fancy  still  returned  to  the 
tower ;  and  he  was  continually  picturing  the  little 
window,  with  the  beautiful  head  peeping  out ;  or  the 
door  half  open,  and  the  nymph-like  form  within.  He 
retired  to  bed,  but  the  same  object  haunted  his 
dreams.  He  was  young  and  susceptible ;  and  the 
excited  state  of  his  feelings,  from  wandering  among 
the  abodes  of  departed  grace  and  gallantry,  had 
predisposed  him  for  a  sudden  impression  from  fe- 
male beauty. 

The  next  morning,  he  strolled  again  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  tower.  It  was  still  more  forlorn,  by  the 
broad  glare  of  day,  than  in  the  gloom  of  evening. 
The  walls  were  crumbling,  and  weeds  and  moss 
were  growing  in  every  crevice.  It  had  the  look  of  a 
prison,  rather  than  a  dwelling-house.  In  one  angle, 
however,  he  remarked  a  window  which  seemed  an  ex- 
ception to  the  surrounding  squalidness.  There  was 
a  curtain  drawn  within  it,  and  flowers  standing  on 
the  window-stone.  Whilst  he  was  looking  at  it,  the 
curtain  was  partially  vvithdrawn,  and  a  delicate 
white  arm,  of  the  most  beautiful  roundness,  was  put 
fortli  to  water  the  flowers. 

The  student  made  a  noise,  to  attract  the  attention 
of  the  fair  florist.  He  succeeded.  The  curtain  was 
further  drawn,  and  he  had  a  glance  of  the  same 
lovely  face  he  had  seen  the  evening  before  ;  it  was 
but  a  mere  glance — the  curtain  again  fell,  and  the 
casement  closed.  All  this  was  calculated  to  excite 
the  feelings  of  a  romantic  youth.  Had  he  seen  the 
unknown  under  other  circumstances,  it  is  probable 
that  he  would  not  have  been  struck  with  her  beauty ; 
but  this  appearance  of  being  shut  up  and  kept  apart, 
gave  her  the  value  of  a  treasured  gem.  He  passed 
and  repassed  before  the  house  several  times  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  but  saw  nothing  more.  He  was 
there  again  in  the  evening.  The  whole  aspect  of 
the  house  was  dreary.  The  narrow  windows  emit- 
ted no  rays  of  cheerful  light,  to  indicate  that  there 


was  social  life  within.  Antonio  listened  at  the 
portal,  but  no  sound  of  voices  reached  his  ear.  Just 
then  he  heard  the  clapping  to  of  a  distant  door,  and 
fearing  to  be  detected  in  the  unworthy  act  of  eaves- 
dropping, he  precipitately  drew  off  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  road,  and  stood  in  the  shadow  of  a 
ruined  archway. 

He  now  remarked  a  light  from  a  window  in  the 
tower.  It  was  fitful  and  changeable ;  commonly 
feeble  and  yellowish,  as  if  from  a  lamp;  with  an  oc- 
casional glare  of  some  vivid  metallic  colour,  followed 
by  a  dusky  glow.  A  column  of  dense  smoke  would 
now  and  then  rise  in  the  air,  and  hang  like  a  canopy 
over  the  tower.  There  was  altogether  such  a  loneliness 
and  seeming  mystery  about  the  building  and  its  inhab- 
itants, that  Antonio  was  half  inclined  to  indulge  the 
country  people's  notions,  and  to  fancy  it  the  den  of 
some  powerful  sorcerer,  and  the  fair  damsel  he  had 
seen  to  be  some  spell-bound  beauty. 

After  some  time  had  elapsed,  a  light  appeared  in 
the  window  where  he  had  seen  the  beautiful  arm. 
The  curtain  was  down,  but  it  was  so  thin  that  he 
could  perceive  the  shadow  of  some  one  passing  and 
repassing  between  it  and  the  light.  He  fancied  that 
he  could  distinguish  that  the  form  was  delicate  ;  and, 
from  the  alacrity  of  its  movements,  it  was  evidently 
youthful.  He  had  not  a  doubt  but  this  was  the  bed- 
chamber of  his  beautiful  unknown. 

Presently  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  gfuitar,  and  a 
female  voice  singing.  He  drew  near  cautiously,  and 
listened.  It  was  a  plaintive  Moorish  ballad,  and  he 
recognized  in  it  the  lamentations  of  one  of  the  Aben- 
cerrages  on  leaving  the  walls  of  lovely  Granada.  It 
was  full  of  passion  and  tenderness.  It  spoke  of  the 
delights  of  early  life  ;  the  hours  of  love  it  had  enjoy- 
ed on  the  banks  of  the  Darro,  and  among  the  blissful 
abodes  of  the  Alhambra.  It  bewailed  the  fallen  hon- 
ours of  the  Abencerrages,  and  imprecated  vengeance 
on  their  oppressors.  Antonio  was  affected  by  the 
music.  It  singularly  coincided  with  the  place.  It 
was  like  the  voice  of  past  times  echoed  in  the  pres- 
ent, and  breathing  among  the  monuments  of  its 
departed  glory. 

The  voice  ceased ;  after  a  time  the  light  dis- 
appeared, and  all  was  still.  "  She  sleeps  !  "  said  An- 
tonio, fondly.  He  lingered  about  the  building,  with 
the  devotion  with  which  a  lover  lingers  about  the 
bower  of  sleeping  beauty.  The  rising  moon  threw 
its  silver  beams  on  the  gray  walls,  and  glittered  on 
the  casement.  The  late  gloomy  landscape  gradually 
became  flooded  with  its  radiance.  Poinding,  therefore, 
that  he  could  no  longer  move  about  in  obscurity,  and 
fearful  that  his  loiterings  might  be  observed,  he  reluc- 
tantly retired. 

The  curiosity  which  had  at  first  drawn  the  young 
man  to  the  tower,  was  now  seconded  by  feelings  of 
a  more  romantic  kind.  His  studies  were  almost  en- 
tirely abandoned.  He  maintained  a  kind  of  blockade 
of  the  old  mansion  ;  he  would  take  a  book  with  him, 
and  pass  a  great  part  of  the  day  under  the  trees  in  its 
vicinity  ;  keeping  a  vigilant  eye  upon  it,  and  endeav- 
ouring to  ascertain  what  were  the  walks  of  his  mys- 
terious charmer.  He  found,  however,  that  she  never 
went  out  except  to  ma.ss,  when  she  was  accompanied 
by  her  father.  He  waited  at  the  door  of  the  church, 
and  offered  her  the  holy  water,  in  the  hope  of  touch- 
ing her  hand  ;  a  little  office  of  gallantry  common  in 
Catholic  countries.  She,  however,  modestly  declined 
without  raising  her  eyes  to  see  who  made  the  offer, 
and  always  took  it  herself  from  the  font.  She  was 
attentive  in  her  devotion  ;  her  eyes  were  never  taken 
from  the  altar  or  the  priest ;  and,  on  returning  home, 
her  countenance  was  almost  entirely  concealed  by 
her  mantilla. 

Antonio  had  now  carried  on  the  pursuit  for  several 


46S 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


days,  and  was  hourly  getting  more  and  more  interest- 
ed in  the  chase,  but  never  a  step  nearer  to  the  game. 
His  lurkings  about  the  house  had  probably  been  no- 
ticed, for  he  no  longer  saw  the  fair  face  at  the  win- 
dow, nor  the  v/hite  arm  put  forth  to  water  the  flowers. 
His  only  consolation  was  to  repair  nightly  to  his  post 
of  observation,  and  listen  to  her  warbling ;  and  if 
by  chance  he  could  catch  a  sight  of  her  shadow, 
])assing  and  repassing  before  the  window,  he  thought 
himself  most  fortunate. 

As  he  was  indulging  in  one  of  these  evening  vigils, 
which  were  complete  revels  of  the  imagination,  the 
sound  of  approaching  footsteps  made  him  withdraw 
into  the  deep  shadow  of  the  ruined  archway  oppo- 
site to  the  tower.  A  cavalier  approached,  wrapped  in 
a  large  Spanish  cloak.  He  paused  under  the  window 
of  the  tower,  and  alter  a  little  while  began  a  sere- 
nade, accompanied  by  his  guitar,  in  the  usual  style 
of  Spanish  gallantry.  His  voice  was  rich  and  manly  ; 
he  touched  the  instrument  with  skill,  and  sang  with 
amorous  and  impassioned  eloquence.  The  plume  of 
his  hat  was  buckled  by  jewels  that  sparkled  in  the 
noon-beams ;  and  as  he  played  on  the  guitar,  his 
cloak  falling  off  from  one  shoulder,  showed  him  to 
be  richly  dressed.  It  was  evident  that  he  was  a 
person  of  rank. 

The  idea  now  flashed  across  Antonio's  mind,  that 
the  affections  of  his  unknown  beauty  might  be  en- 
gaged. She  was  young,  and  doubtless  susceptible  ; 
and  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  Spanish  females  to  be 
deaf  and  insensible  to  music  and  admiration.  The 
surmise  brought  with  it  a  feeling  of  dreariness.  There 
was  a  pleasant  dream  of  several  days  suddenly  dis- 
pelled. He  had  never  before  experienced  any  thing 
of  the  tender  passion  ;  and,  as  its  morning  dreams 
are  always  delightful,  he  would  fain  have  continued 
in  the  delusion. 

"  But  what  have  I  to  do  with  her  attachments?  " 
thought  he  ;  "  I  have  no  claim  on  her  heart,  nor  even 
on  her  acquaintance.  How  do  I  know  that  she  is 
worthy  of  affection  ?  Or  if  she  is,  must  not  so  gallant 
a  lover  as  this,  with  his  jewels,  his  rank,  and  his 
detestable  inusic,  have  completely  captivated  her  ? 
What  idle  humour  is  this  that  I  have  fallen  into  ?  I 
must  again  to  my  books.  Study,  study,  will  soon 
chase  away  all  these  idle  fancies  !  " 

The  more  he  thought,  however,  the  more  he  be- 
came entangled  in  the  spell  which  his  lively  imagi- 
nation had  woven  round  him ;  and  now  that  a  rival 
had  appeared,  in  addition  to  the  other  obstacles  that 
environed  this  enchanted  beauty,  she  appeared  ten 
times  more  lovely  and  desirable.  It  was  some  slight 
consolation  to  him  to  perceive  that  the  gallantry  of 
the  unknown  met  with  no  apparent  return  from  the 
tower.  The  light  at  the  window  was  extinguished. 
The  curtain  remained  undrawn,  and  none  of  the 
customary  signals  were  given  to  intimate  that  the 
serenade  was  accepted. 

The  cavalier  lingered  for  some  time  about  the 
place,  and  sang  several  other  tender  airs  with  a 
taste  and  feeling  that  made  Antonio's  heart  ache  ;  at 
length  he  slowly  retired.  The  student  remained 
with  folded  anus,  leaning  against  the  ruined  arch, 
endeavouring  to  summon  up  resolution  enough  to 
depart ;  but  there  was  a  romantic  fascination  that 
still  enchained  him  to  the  place.  "It  is  the  last 
time,"  said  he,  willing  to  compromise  between  his 
feelings  and  his  judgment,  "  it  is  the  last  time  ;  then 
let  me  enjoy  the  dream  a  few  moments  longer." 

As  his  eye  ranged  about  the  old  building  to  take  a 
farewell  look,  he  observed  the  strange  light  in  the 
tower,  which  he  had  noticed  on  a  former  occasion. 
It  kept  beaming  up,  and  declining,  as  before.  A 
pillar  of  smoke  rose  in  the  air,  and  hung  in  sable 
volumes.     It  was  evident  the  old  man  was  busied  in 


some  of  those  operations  that  had  gained  him  the 
reputation  of  a  sorcerer  throughout  the  neighbour- 
hood. 

Suddenly  an  intense  and  brilliant  glare  shone 
through  the  casement,  followed  by  a  loud  n-port, 
and  then  a  fierce  and  ruddy  glow.  A  figure  appear- 
ed at  the  window,  uttering  cries  of  agony  or  alarm, 
but  immediately  disappeared,  and  a  body  of  smoke 
and  flame  whirled  out  of  the  narrow  aperture.  An- 
tonio rushed  to  the  portal,  and  knocked  at  it  with 
vehemence.  He  was  only  answered  by  loud  shrieks, 
and  found  that  the  females  were  already  in  helpless 
consternation.  With  an  exertion  of  desperate  strength 
he  forced  the  wicket  from  its  hinges,  and  rushed  into 
the  house. 

He  found  himself  in  a  small  vaulted  hall,  and,  by 
the  light  of  the  moon  which  entered  at  the  door,  he 
saw  a  staircase  to  the  left.  He  hurried  up  it  to  a 
narrow  corridor,  through  which  was  rolling  a  volume 
of  smoke.  He  found  here  the  two  females  in  a  frantic 
state  of  alarm  ;  one  of  them  clasped  her  hands,  and 
implored  him  to  save  her  father. 

The  corridor  terminated  in  a  spiral  flight  of  steps, 
leading  up  to  the  tower.  He  sprang  up  it  to  a  small 
door,  through  the  chinks  of  which  came  a  glow  of 
light,  and  smoke  was  spuming  out.  He  burst  it  open, 
and  found  himself  in  an  antique  vaulted  chamber, 
furnished  with  a  furnace  and  various  chemical  ap- 
paratus. A  shattered  retort  lay  on  the  stone  floor; 
a  quantity  of  combustibles,  nearly  consumed,  with 
various  half-burnt  books  and  papers,  were  sending 
up  an  expiring  flame,  and  filling  the  chamber  with 
stifling  smoke.  Just  within  the  threshold  lay  the  re- 
puted conjuror.  He  was  bleeding,  his  clothes  were 
scorched,  and  he  appeared  lifeless.  Antonio  caught 
him  up,  and  bore  him  down  the  stairs  to  a  chamber, 
in  which  there  was  a  light,  and  laid  him  on  a  bed. 
The  female  domestic  was  despatched  lor  such  ap- 
pliances as  the  house  afforded  ;  but  the  daughter 
threw  herself  frantically  beside  her  parent,  and  could 
not  be  reasoned  out  of  her  alarm.  Her  dress  was 
all  in  disorder ;  her  dishevelled  hair  hung  in  rich 
confusion  about  her  neck  and  bosom,  and  never 
was  there  beheld  a  lovelier  picture  of  terror  and 
affliction. 

The  skilful  assiduities  of  the  scholar  soon  pro- 
duced signs  of  returning  animation  in  his  patient. 
The  old  man's  wounds,  though  severe,  were  not 
dangerous.  They  had  evidently  been  produced  by 
the  bursting  of  the  retort ;  in  his  bewilderment  he 
had  been  enveloped  in  the  stifling  metallic  vapours, 
which  had  overpowered  his  feeble  frame,  and  had 
not  Antonio  arrived  to  his  assistance,  it  is  possible 
he  might  never  have  recovered. 

By  slow  degrees  he  came  to  his  senses.  He  look- 
ed about  with  a  bewildered  air  at  the  chamber,  the 
agitated  group  around,  and  the  student  who  was 
leaning  over  him. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  said  he  wildly. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  his  daughter  uttered  a 
faint  exclamation  of  delight.  "  My  poor  Inez  !  "  said 
he,  embracing  her;  then,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
head,  and.  taking  it  away  stained  with  blood,  he 
seemed  suddenly  to  recollect  himself,  and  to  be  over- 
come with  emotion. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  he,  "  all  is  ever  with  me  !  all  gone  ! 
all  vanished  !  gone  in  a  moment !  the  labour  of  a 
lifetime  lost ! " 

His  daughter  attempted  to  soothe  him,  but  he  be- 
came slightly  delirious,  and  raved  incoherently  about 
malignant  demons,  and  about  the  habjtation  of  the 
green  lion  being  destroyed.  His  wounds  being  dress- 
ed, and  such  other  remedies  administered  as  his 
situation  required,  he  sunk  into  a  state  of  quiet. 
Antonio  now  turned  his  attention  to  the  daughter. 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


46fl 


whose  sufferings  had  been  little  inferior  to  those  of 
her  father.  Having-  with  great  difficulty  succeeded 
in  tranquillizing  her  fears,  he  endeavoured  to  prevail 
upon  her  to  retire,  and  seek  the  repose  so  necessary 
to  her  frame,  proffering  to  remain  by  her  father  until 
morning.  "  I  am  a  stranger,"  said  he,  "  it  is  true, 
»nd  my  offer  may  appear  intrusive;  but  1  see  you 
are  lonely  and  helpless,  and  I  cannot  help  venturing 
over  the  limits  of  mere  ceremony.  Should  you  feel 
any  scruple  or  doubt,  however,  say  but  a  word,  and 
I  will  instantly  retire." 

There  was  a  frankness,  a  kindness,  and  a  modesty, 
mingled  in  Antonio's  deportment,  that  inspired  in- 
stant confidence  ;  and  his  simple  scholar's  garb  was 
a  recommendation  in  the  house  of  poverty.  The  fe- 
males consented  to  resign  the  sufferer  to  his  care,  as 
they  would  be  the  better  able  to  attend  to  him  on  the 
morrow.  On  retiring,  the  old  domestic  was  profuse 
in  her  benedictions  ;  the  daughter  only  looked  her 
thanks;  but  as  they  shone  through  the  tears  that 
filled  her  fine  black  eyes,  the  student  thought  them  a 
thousand  times  the  most  eloquent. 

Here,  then,  he  was,  by  a  singular  turn  of  chance, 
completely  housed  within  this  mysterious  mansion. 
When  left  to  himself,  and  the  bustle  of  the  scene 
was  over,  his  heart  throbbed  as  he  looked  round  the 
chamber  in  which  he  was  sitting.  It  was  the  daugh- 
ter's room,  the  promised  land  toward  which  he  had 
cast  so  many  a  longing  gaze.  The  furniture  was  old, 
and  had  probably  belonged  to  the  building  in  its 
prosperous  days  ;  but  every  thing  was  arranged  with 
propriety.  The  flowers  that  he  had  seen  her  attend 
stood  in  the  window  ;  a  guitar  leaned  against  a  table, 
on  which  stood  a  crucifi.x,  and  before  it  lay  a  missal 
and  a  rosaiy.  There  reigned  an  air  of  purity  and 
serenity  about  this  little  nestling-place  of  innocence  ; 
it  was  the  emblem  of  a  chaste  and  quiet  mind.  Some 
tew  articles  of  female  dress  lay  on  the  chairs  ;  and 
there  was  the  very  bed  on  which  she  had  slept — the 
pillow  on  which  her  soft  cheek  had  reclined  !  The 
poor  .scholar  was  treading  enchanted  ground ;  for 
what  fairy  land  has  more  of  magic  in  it,  than  the 
bed-chamber  of  innocence  and  beauty.? 

From  various  expressions  of  the  old  man  in  his 
ravings,  and  from  what  he  had  noticed  on  a  subse- 
quent visit  to  the  tower,  to  see  that  the  fire  was  ex- 
tmguished,  Antonio  had  gathered  that  his  patient  was 
an  alchymist.  The  philosopher's  stone  was  an  object 
eagerly  sought  after  by  visionaries  in  those  days  ;  but 
in  consequence  of  the  superstitious  prejudices  of  the 
times,  and  the  frequent  persecutions  of  its  votaries, 
they  were  apt  to  pursue  their  experiments  in  secret ; 
in  lonely  houses,  in  caverns  and  ruins,  or  in  the 
privacy  of  cloistered  cells. 

In  the  course  of  the  night,  the  old  man  had  several 
fits  of  restlessness  and  delirium  ;  he  would  call  out 
upon  Theophrastus,  and  Geber,  and  Albertus  Mag- 
nus, and  other  sages  of  his  art  ;  and  anon  would 
murmur  about  fermentation  and  projection,  until, 
toward  daylight,  he  once  more  sunk  into  a  salutary 
sleep.  When  the  morning  sun  darted  his  rays  into 
the  casement,  the  fair  Inez,  attended  by  the  female 
domestic,  came  blushing  into  the  chamber.  The  stu- 
dent now  took  his  leave,  having  himself  need  of  re- 
pose, but  obtaining  ready  permission  to  return  and 
inquire  after  the  sufferer. 

When  he  called  again,  he  found  the  alchymist  lan- 
guid and  in  pain,  but  apparently  suffering  more  in 
mind  than  in  body.  His  delirium  had  left  him,  and 
he  had  been  informed  of  the  particulars  of  his  deliv- 
erance, and  of  the  subsequent  attentions  of  the 
scholar.  He  could  do  little  more  than  look  his 
thanks,  but  Antonio  did  not  require  them  ;  his  own 
heart  repaid  him  for  all  that  he  had  done,  and  he 
almost  rejoiced  in  the  disaster  that  had  gained  him 


an  entrance  into  this  mysterious  habitation.  The  al- 
chymist was  so  helpless  as  to  need  much  assistance ; 
Antonio  remained  with  him,  therefore,  the  greater 
part  of  the  day.  He  repeated  his  visit  the  next  dav, 
and  the  next.  Every  day  his  company  seemed  more 
pleasing  to  the  invalid  ;  and  every  day  he  felt  his  in- 
terest in  the  latter  increasing.  Perhaps  the  presence 
of  the  daughter  might  have  been  at  the  bottom  of 
this  solicitude. 

He  had  frequent  and  long  conversations  with  the 
alchymist.  He  found  him,  as  men  of  his  pursuits 
were  apt  to  be,  a  mixture  of  enthusiasm  and  simplic- 
ity ;  of  curious  and  extensive  reading  on  points  of 
little  utility,  with  great  inattention  to  the  every-day 
occurrences  of  life,  and  profound  ignorance  of  the 
world.  He  was  deeply  versed  in  singular  and  ob- 
scure branches  of  knowledge,  and  much  given  to 
visionary  speculations.  Antonio,  whose  mind  was 
of  a  romantic  cast,  had  himself  given  some  attention 
to  the  occult  sciences,  and  he  entered  upon  these 
themes  with  an  ardour  that  delighted  the  philoso- 
pher. Their  conversations  frequently  turned  upon 
astrology,  divination,  and  the  great  secret.  The  old 
man  would  forget  his  aches  and  wounds,  rise  up  like 
a  spectre  in  his  bed,  and  kindle  into  eloquence  on  his 
favourite  topics.  When  gently  admonished  of  his 
situation,  it  would  but  prompt  him  to  another  sally 
of  thought. 

"  Alas,  my  son  ! "  he  would  say,  "  is  not  this  very 
decrepitude  and  sufferir.g  another  proof  of  the  im- 
portance of  those  secrets  with  which  we  are  sur- 
rounded.'  Why  are  we  trammelled  by  disease, 
withered  by  old  age,  and  our  spirits  quenched,  as  it 
were,  within  us,  but  because  we  have  lost  those  se- 
crets of  life  and  youth  which  were  known  to  our 
parents  before  their  fall  ?  To  regain  these,  have 
philosophers  been  ever  since  aspiring;  but  just  as 
they  are  on  the  point  of  securing  the  precious  secrets 
for  ever,  the  brief  period  of  life  is  at  an  end  ;  they 
die,  and  with  them  all  their  wisdom  and  experience. 
'  Nothing,'  as  De  Nuysment  observes,  '  nothing  is 
wanting  for  man's  perfection  but  a  longer  life,  less 
crossed  with  sorrows  and  maladies,  to  the  attaining 
of  the  full  and  perfect  knowledge  of  things.'  " 

At  length  Antonio  so  far  gained  on  the  heart  of 
his  patient,  as  to  draw  from  hhn  the  outlines  of  his 
story. 

Felix  de  Vasques,  the  alchymist,  was  a  native  of 
Castile,  and  of  an  ancient  and  honourable  line. 
Early  in  life  he  had  married  a  beautiful  female,  a 
descendant  from  one  of  the  Moorish  families.  The 
marriage  displeased  his  father,  who  considered  the 
pure  Spanish  blood  contaminated  by  this  foreign 
mixture.  It  is  true,  the  lady  traced  her  descent  from 
one  of  the  Abencerrages,  the  inost  gallant  of  Moor- 
ish cavaliers,  who  had  embraced  the  Christian  faith 
on  being  exiled  from  the  walls  of  Granada.  The  in- 
jured pride  of  the  father,  however,  was  not  to  be 
appeased.  He  never  saw  his  son  afterwards,  and  on 
dying  left  hipa  but  a  scanty  portion  of  his  estate  ;  be- 
queathing the  residue,  in  the  piety  and  bitterness  of 
his  heart,  to  the  erection  of  convents,  and  the  per- 
formance of  masses  for  souls  in  purgatory.  Don 
Felix  resided  for  a  long  time  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Valladolid,  in  a  state  of  embarrassment  and  ob- 
scurity. He  devoted  himself  to  intense  study,  having, 
while  at  the  university  of  Salamanca,  imbibed  a  taste 
for  the  secret  sciences.  He  was  enthusiastic  and 
speculative ;  he  went  on  from  one  branch  o(  knowl- 
edge to  another,  until  he  became  zealous  in  the 
search  after  the  grand  Arcanum. 

He  had  at  first  engaged  in  the  pursuit  with  the 
hopes  of  raising  himself  from  his  present  obscurity, 
and  resuming  the  rank  and  dignity  to  which  his  birth 
entitled  him ;  but,  as  usual,  it  ended  in  absorbing 


470 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


ever/  thought,  and  becoming  the  business  of  his 
existence.  He  was  at  length  aroused  from  this  men- 
tal abstraction,  by  the  calamities  of  his  household. 
A  malignant  fever  swept  off  his  wife  and  all  his  chil- 
dren, excepting  an  infant  daughter.  These  losses  for 
a  time  overwhelmed  and  stupefied  him.  His  home 
iiad  in  a  manner  died  away  from  around  him,  and 
he  felt  lonely  and  forlorn.  When  his  spirit  revived 
within  him,  he  determined  to  abandon  the  scene  of 
Ids  humiliation  and  disaster  ;  to  bear  away  the  child 
that  was  still  left  him,  beyond  the  scene  of  conta- 
gion, and  never  to  return  to  Castile  until  he  should 
be  enabled  to  reclaim  the  honours  of  his  line. 

He  had  ever  since  been  wandering  and  unsettled 
in  his  abode; — sometimes  the  resident  of  populous 
dties,  at  other  times  of  absolute  solitudes.  He  had 
searched  libraries,  meditated  on  inscriptions,  visited 
adepts  of  different  countries,  and  sought  to  gather 
and  concentrate  the  rays  which  had  been  thrown  by 
various  minds  upon  the  secrets  of  alchymy.  He  had 
at  one  time  travelled  quite  to  Padua  to  search  for 
the  manuscripts  of  Pietro  d'Abano,  and  to  inspect 
an  urn  which  had  been  dug  up  near  Este,  supposed 
to  have  been  buried  by  Maximus  Olybius,  and  to 
have  contained  the  grand  elixir.* 

While  at  Padua,  he  had  met  with  an  adept  versed 
in  Arabian  lore,  who  talked  of  the  invaluable  manu- 
scripts that  must  remain  in  the  Spanish  libraries, 
preserved  from  the  spoils  of  the  Moorish  academies 
and  universities  ;  of  the  probability  of  meeting  with 
precious  unpublished  writings  of  (ieber,  and  Alfara- 
bius,  and  Avrcenna,  the  great  physicians  of  the  Ara- 
bian schools,  who,  it  was  well  known,  had  treated 
much  of  alchymy ;  but,  above  all,  he  spoke  of  the 
Arabian  tablets  of  lead,  which  had  recently  been  dug 
up  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Granada,  and  which,  it 
was  confidently  believed  among  adepts,  contained 
the  lost  secrets  of  the  art. 

The  indefatigable  alchymist  once  more  bent  his 
steps  for  Spain,  full  of  renovated  hope.  He  had 
made  his  way  to  Granada :  he  had  wearied  himself 
in  the  study  of  Arabic,  in  deciphering  inscriptions, 
in  rummaging  libraries,  and  exploring  every  possible 
trace  left  by  the  Arabian  sages. 

In  all  his  wanderings,  he  had  been  accompanied 
l)y  Inez  through  the  rough  and  the  smooth,  the  pleas- 
ant and  the  adverse  ;  never  complaining,  but  rather 
seeki  ng  to  soothe  his  cares  by  her  innocent  and  playful 
caresses.  Her  instruction  had  been  the  employment 
and  the  delight  of  his  hours  of  relaxation.  She 
had  grown  up  while  they  were  wandering,  and  had 
scarcely  ever  known  any  home  but  by  his  side.  He 
was  family,  friends,  home,  every  thing  to  her.  He 
had  carried  her  in  his  arms,  when  they  first  began 
their  wayfaring ;  had  nestled  her,  as  an  eagle  does 
its  young,  among  the  rocky  heights  of  the  Sierra 
Morena ;  she  had  sported  about  him  in  childhood, 
in  the  solitudes  of  the  Bateucas;  had  followed  him, 
as  a  lamb  does  the  shepherd,  over  the  rugged  Pyr- 
enees, and  into  the  fair  plains  of  Languedoc  ;  and 
now  she  was  grown  up  to  support  his  feeble  steps 
among  the  ruined  abodes  of  her  maternal  ancestors. 

His  property  had  gradually  wasted  away,  in  the 
course  of  his  travels  and  his  experiments.  Still  hope, 
the  constant  attendant  of  the  alchymist,  had  led  him 

*  This  urn  was  found  in  15,^3.  It  contained  a  lesser  one,  in 
which  was  a  burning  lamp  betwixt  two  small  vials,  the  one  of  gold, 
the  other  of  silver,  both  of  them  lull  of  a  very  clear  liquor.  On 
the  largest  was  an  inscription,  staling  that  Maximus  Olybius  shut 
lip  in  this  small  vessel  elements  which  he  had  prepared  with  great 
toil.  There  were  many  disquisitions  among  the  learned  on  the 
subject.  It  was  the  most  received  opinion,  that  this  Maximus 
(.Hybius  was  an  inhabitant  of  Padua,  that  he  had  discovered  the 
great  secret,  and  that  these  vessels  contained  liquor,  one  to  trans- 
mute metals  to  gold,  the  other  to  silver.  The  peasants  who 
found  the  urns,  imagining  this  precious  liquor  to  be  common 
water,  spilt  every  drop,  so  that  the  art  of  transmuting  metals  re- 
mains as  much  a  secret  as  ever. 


on  ;  ever  on  the  point  of  reaping  the  reward  of  his 
labours,  and  ever  disappointed.  \Vith  the  credulity 
that  often  attended  his  art,  he  attributed  many  of  his 
disappointments  to  the  machinations  of  the  malig- 
nant spirits  that  beset  the  paths  of  the  alchymist 
and  torment  him  in  his  solitary  labours.  "  It  i?  their 
constant  endeavour,"  he  observed,  "  to  close  up 
every  avenue  to  those  sublime  truths,  which  would 
enable  man  to  rise  above  the  abject  state  into  which 
he  has  fallen,  and  to  return  to  his  original  perfec- 
tion." To  the  evil  offices  of  these  demons,  he  at- 
tributed his  late  disaster.  He  had  been  on  the  very 
verge  of  the  glorious  discovery  ;  never  were  the  in- 
dications more  completely  auspicious  ;  all  was  going 
on  prosperously,  when,  at  the  critical  moment  which 
should  have  crovyned  his  labours  with  success,  and 
have  placed  him  at  the  very  summit  of  huinan  power 
and  felicity,  the  bursting  of  a  retort  had  reduced  his 
laboratory  and  himself  to  ruins. 

"I  must  now,"  said  he,  "give  up  at  the  very 
threshold  of  success.  My  books  and  papers  are 
burnt ;  my  apparatus  is  broken.  I  am  too  old  to 
bear  up  against  these  evils.  The  ardour  that  once 
inspired  me  is  gone  ;  my  poor  frame  is  exhausted  by 
study  and  watchfulness,  and  this  last  mislbrtune  has 
hurried  me  towards  the  grave."  He  concluded  in  a 
tone  of  deep  dejection.  Antonio  endeavoured  to 
comfort  and  reassure  him  ;  but  the  poor  alchymist 
had  for  once  awakened  to  a  consciousness  of  the 
worldly  ills  that  were  gathering  around  him,  and 
had  sunk  into  despondency.  After  'a  pause,  and 
some  thoughtfulness  and  perplexity  of  brow,  Anto- 
nio ventured  to  make  a  proposal. 

"  I  have  long,"  said  he,  "been  filled  with  a  love 
for  the  secret  sciences,  but  have  felt  too  ignorant 
and  diffident  to  give  myself  up  to  them.  You  have 
acquired  experience ;  you  have  amassed  the  knowl- 
edge of  a  lifetime  ;  it  were  a  pity  it  should  be  thrown 
away.  You  say  you  are  too  old  to  renew  the  toils 
of  the  laboratory  ;  suffer  me  to  undertake  them. 
Add  your  knowledge  to  my  youth  and  activity,  and 
what  shall  we  not  accomplish  ?  As  a  probationary 
fee,  and  a  fund  on  which  to  proceed,  I  will  bring  in- 
to the  common  stock  a  sum  of  gold,  the  residue  of  a 
legacy,  which  has  enabled  me  to  complete  my  edu- 
cation. A  poor  scholar  cannot  boast  much  ;  but  I 
trust  we  shall  soon  put  ourselves  beyond  the  reach 
of  want ;  and  if  we  should  fail,  why,  1  must  depend, 
like  other  scholars,  upon  my  brains  to  carry  me 
through  the  world." 

The  philosopher's  spirits,  however,  were  more  de- 
pressed than  the  student  had  imagined.  This  last 
shock,  following  in  the  rear  of  so  many  disappoint- 
ments, had  alinost  destroyed  the  reaction  of  his  mind. 
The  fire  of  an  enthusiast,  however,  is  never  so  low 
but  that  it  may  be  blown  again  into  a  flame.  By 
degrees,  the  old  man  was  cheered  and  reanimated 
by  the  buoyancy  and  ardour  of  his  sanguine  com- 
panion. He  at  length  agreed  to  accept  of  the  serv- 
ices of  the  student,  and  once  more  to  renew  his  ex- 
periments. He  objected,  however,  to  using  the  stu- 
dent's gold,  notwithstanding  that  his  own  was  nearly 
exhausted  ;  but  this  objection  was  soon  overcome  ; 
the  student  insisted  on  making  it  a  cominon  stock 
and  common  cause  ;— and  then  how  absurd  was  any 
delicacy  about  such  a  trifle,  with  men  who  looked 
forward  to  discovering  the  philosopher's  stone  ! 

While,  therefore,  the  alchymist  was  slowly  recov- 
ering, the  student  busied  himself  in  getting  the 
laboratory  once  more  in  order.  It  was  strewed  with 
the  wrecks  of  retorts  and  alembics,  with  old  cruci- 
bles, boxes  and  phials  of  powders  and  tinctures,  and 
half-burnt  books  and  manuscripts. 

As  soon  as  the  old  man  was  sufficiently  recovered, 
the  studies  and  experiments  were  renewed.     The 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


471 


student  became  a  privileg-ed  and  frequent  visitor, 
and  was  indefatigable  in  bis  toils  in  the  laboratory. 
The  philosopher  daily  derived  new  zeal  and  spirits 
from  the  animation  of  his  disciple.  He  was  now 
enabled  to  prosecute  the  enterprise  with  continued 
exertion,  having  so  active  a  coadjutor  to  divide  the 
toil.  While  he  was  poring  over  the  writings  of 
Sandivogius,  and  Philalethes,  and  Dominus  de  Nuys- 
ment,  and  endeavouring  to  comprehend  the  sym- 
bolical language  in  which  they  have  locked  up  their 
mysteries,  Antonio  would  occupy  himself  among  the 
retorts  and  crucibles,  and  keep  the  furnace  in  a  per- 
petual glow. 

With  all  his  zeal,  however,  for  the  discovery  of  the 
golden  art,  the  feelings  of  the  student  had  not  cooled 
as  to  the  object  that  first  drew  him  to  this  ruinous 
mansion.  During  the  old  man's  illness,  he  had  fre- 
quent opportunities  of  being  near  the  daughter  ;  and 
every  day  made  him  more  sensible  to  her  charms. 
There  was  a  pure  simplicity,  and  an  almost  passive 
gentleness,  in  her  manners ;  yet  with  all  this  was 
mingled  something,  whether  mere  maiden  shyness, 
or  a  consciousness  of  high  descent,  or  a  dash  of  Cas- 
tilian  pride,  or  perhaps  all  united,  that  prevented  un- 
due familiarity,  and  made  her  difficult  of  approach. 
The  danger  of  her  father,  and  the  measures  to  be 
taken  for  his  relief,  had  at  first  overcome  this  coy- 
ness and  reserve  ;  but  as  he  recovered  and  her  alarm 
subsided,  she  seemed  to  shrink  from  the  familiarity 
she  had  indulged  with  the  youthful  stranger,  and  to 
become  every  day  more  shy  and  silent. 

Antonio  had  read  many  books,  but  this  was  the 
first  volume  of  womankind  that  he  had  ever  studied. 
He  had  been  captivated  with  the  very  title-page  ;  but 
the  further  he  read,  the  more  he  was  delighted.  She 
=eemed  formed  to  love ;  her  soft  black  eye  rolled 
languidly  under  its  long  silken  lashes,  and  wherever 
it  turned,  it  would  linger  and  repose  ;  there  was  ten- 
derness in  every  beam.  To  him  alone  she  was  re- 
served and  distant.  Now  that  the  common  cares  of 
the  sick-room  were  at  an  end,  he  saw  little  more  of 
her  than  before  his  admission  to  the  house.  Some- 
times he  met  her  on  his  way  to  and  from  the  labora- 
tory, and  at  such  times  there  was  ever  a  smile  and  a 
blush  ;  but,  after  a  simple  salutation,  she  glided  on 
and  disappeared. 

" 'Tis  plain,"  thought  Antonio,  "my  presence  is 
indifferent,  if  not  irksome  to  her.  She  has  noticed 
my  admiration,  and  is  determined  to  discourage  it ; 
nothing  but  a  feeling  of  gratitude  prevents  her  treat- 
ing me  with  marked  distaste— and  then  has  she  not 
another  lover,  rich,  gallant,  splendid,  musical.'  how 
can  I  suppose  she  would  turn  her  eyes  from  so  bril- 
liant a  cavalier,  to  a  poor  obscure  student,  raking 
among  the  cinders  of  her  father's  laboratory  ?  " 

Indeed,  the  idea  of  the  amorous  serenader  con- 
tinually haunted  his  mind.  He  felt  convinced  that 
he  was  a  favoured  lover;  yet,  if  so,  why  did  he  not 
frequent  the  tower  ? — why  did  he  not  make  his  ap- 
proaches by  noon-day  ?  There  was  mystery  in  this 
eaves-dropping  and  musical  courtship.  Surely  Inez 
could  not  be  encouraging  a  secret  intrigue  !  Oh ! 
no  !  she  was  too  artless,  too  pure,  too  ingenuous  ! 
But  then  the  Spanish  females  were  so  prone  to  love 
and  intrigue  ;  and  music  and  moonlight  were  so 
seductive,  and  Inez  had  such  a  tender  soul  languish- 
ing in  every  look. — "  Oh  !  "  would  the  poor  scholar 
e.xclaim,  clasping  his  hands,  "  oh,  that  I  coultl  but 
once  behold  those  loving  eyes  beaming  on  me  with 
affection  !  " 

It  is  incredible  to  those  who  have  not  experienced 
it,  on  what  scanty  aliment  human  life  and  human 
love  may  be  supported.  A  dry  crust,  thrown  now 
and  then  to  a  starving  man,  will  give  him  a  new 
lease  of  existence  ;  and  a  faint  smile,  or  a  kind  look. 


bestowed  at  casual  intervals,  will  keep  a  lover  loving 
on,  when  a  man  in  his  sober  senses  would  despair. 

When  Antonio  found  himself  alone  in  the  labora- 
tory, his  mind  would  be  haunted  by  one  of  these 
looks,  or  smiles,  which  he  had  received  in  passing. 
He  would  set  it  in  every  possible  light,  and  argue  on 
it  with  all  the  self-pleasing,  self-teasing  logic  of  a 
lover. 

The  country  around  him  was  enough  to  awaken 
that  voluptuousness  of  feeling  so  favourable  to  the 
growth  of  passion.  The  window  of  the  tower  rose 
above  the  trees  of  the  romantic  valley  of  the  Darro, 
and  looked  down  upon  some  of  the  loveliest  scenery 
of  the  Vega,  where  groves  of  citron  and  orange  were 
refreshed  by  cool  springs  and  brooks  of  the  purest 
water.  The  Xenel  and  the  Darro  wound  their  shin- 
ing streams  along  the  plain,  and  gleamed  from 
among  its  bowers.  The  surrounding  hills  were 
covered  with  vineyards,  and  the  mountains,  crowned 
with  snow,  seemed  to  melt  into  the  blue  sky.  The 
delicate  airs  that  played  about  the  tower  were  per- 
fumed by  the  fragrance  of  myrtle  and  orange-bbs- 
soms,  and  the  ear  was  charmed  with  the  fond  war- 
bling of  the  nightingale,  which,  in  these  happy  regions, 
sings  the  whole  day  long.  Sometimes,  too,  there 
was  the  idle  song  of  the  muleteer,  sauntering  along 
the  solitary  road  ;  or  the  notes  of  the  guitar,  from 
some  group  of  peasants  dancing  in  the  shade.  All 
these  were  enough  to  fill  the  head  of  a  young  lover 
with  poetic  fancies ;  and  Antonio  would  picture  to 
himself  how  he  could  loiter  among  those  happy 
groves,  and  wander  by  those  gentle  rivers,  and  love 
away  his  life  with  Inez. 

He  felt  at  times  impatient  at  his  own  weakness, 
and  would  endeavour  to  brusli  away  these  cobwebs 
of  the  mind.  He  would  turn  his  thoughts,  with  sud- 
den effort,  to  his  occult  studies,  or  occupy  himself  in 
some  perplexing  process ;  but  often,  when  he  had 
partially  succeeded  in  fixing  his  attention,  the  sound 
of  Inez's  lute,  or  the  soft  notes  of  her  voice,  would 
come  stealing  upon  the  stillness  of  the  chamber,  and, 
as  it  were,  floating  round  the  tower.  There  was  no 
great  art  in  her  performance  ;  but  Antonio  thought 
he  had  never  heard  music  comparable  to  this.  It 
was  perfect  witchcraft  to  hear  her  warble  forth  some 
of  her  national  melodies ;  those  Httle  Spanish  ro- 
mances and  Moorish  ballads,  that  transport  the  hearer, 
in  idea,  to  the  banks  of  the  Guadalquivir,  or  the 
walls  of  the  Alhambra,  and  make  hiin .  dream  of 
beauties,  and  balconies,  and  moonlight  serenades. 

Never  was  poor  student  more  sadly  beset  than 
Antonio.  Love  is  a  troublesome  companion  in  a 
study,  at  the  best  of  times ;  but  in  the  laboratory 
of  an  alchymist,  his  intrusion  is  terribly  disastrous. 
Instead  of  attending  to  the  retorts  and  crucibles,  and 
watching  the  process  of  some  experiment  intrusted 
to  his  charge,  the  student  would  get  entranced  in 
one  of  these  love-dreams,  from  which  he  would  often 
be  aroused  by  some  fatal  catastrophe.  The  philoso- 
pher, on  returning  from  his  researches  in  the  libra- 
ries, would  find  every  thing  gone  wrong,  and  Antonio 
in  despair  over  the  ruins  of  the  whole  day's  work. 
The  old  man,  however,  took  all  quietly,  for  his  had 
been  a  life  of  experiment  and  failure. 

"  We  must  have  patience,  my  son,"  would  ht'  say, 
"  as  all  the  great  masters  that  have  gone  before  us 
have  had.  Errors,  and  accidents,  and  delays  are 
what  we  have  to  contend  with.  Did  not  Pontanus 
err  two  hundred  times,  before  he  could  obtain  even 
the  matter  on  which  to  found  his  experiments  ?  The 
great  Flamel,  too,  did  he  not  labour  four-and-twenty 
years,  before  he  ascertained  the  first  agent  ?  What 
difficulties  and  hardships  did  not  Cartilaceus  en- 
counter, at  the  very  threshold  of  his  discoveries? 
And  Bernard  de  Treves,  even  after  he  had  attained 


472 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


a  knowledge  of  all  the  requisites,  was  he  not  delayed 
lull  three  years  ?  What  you  consider  accidents,  my 
son,  are  the  machinations  of  our  invisible  enemies. 
The  treasures  and  golden  secrets  of  nature  are  sur- 
rounded by  spirits  hostile  to  man.  The  air  about  us 
teems  with  them.  They  lurk  in  the  fire  of  the  fur- 
nace, in  the  bottom  of  the  crucible,  and  the  alembic, 
and  are  ever  on  the  alert  to  take  advantage  of  those 
moments  when  our  minds  are  wandering  from  in- 
tense meditation  on  the  great  truth  that  we  are 
seeking.  We  must  only  strive  the  more  to  purify 
ourselves  from  those  gross  and  earthly  feelings 
which  becloud  the  soul,  and  prevent  her  Irom  pierc- 
ing into  nature's  arcana." 

"  Alas  !  "  thought  Antonio,  "  if  to  be  purified  from 
all  earthly  feeling  requires  that  I  should  cease  to  love 
Inez,  I  fear  I  shall  never  discover  the  philosopher's 
stone  !  " 

In  this  way,  matters  went  on  for  some  time,  at  the 
alchymist's.  Day  after  day  was  sending  the  stu- 
dent's gold  in  vapour  up  the  chimney  ;  every  blast 
of  the  furnace  made  him  a  ducat  the  poorer,  without 
apparently  helping  him  a  jot  nearer  to  the  golden 
secret.  Still  the  young  man  stood  by,  and  saw  piece 
after  piece  disappearing  without  a  murmur:  he  had 
daily  an  opportunity  ot  seeing  Inez,  and  felt  as  if  her 
favour  would  be  better  than  silver  or  gold,  and  that 
every  smile  was  worth  a  ducat. 

Sometimes,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening,  when  the 
toils  of  the  laboratory  happened  to  be  suspended,  he 
would  walk  with  the  alchymist  in  what  had  once 
been  a  garden  belonging  to  the  mansion.  There 
were  still  the  remains  of  terraces  and  balustrades, 
and  here  and  there  a  marble  urn,  or  mutilated  statue 
overturned,  and  buried  among  weeds  and  flowers  run 
wild.  It  was  the  favourite  resort  of  the  alchymist 
in  his  hours  of  relaxation,  where  he  would  give  full 
scope  to  his  \isionary  flights.  His  mind  was  tinct- 
ured with  the  Rosicrucian  doctrines.  He  believed  in 
elementary  beings ;  some  favourable,  others  adverse 
to  his  pursuits  ;  and,  in  the  exaltation  of  his  fancy, 
had  often  imagined  that  he  held  communion  with 
'l^  them  in  his  solitary  walks,  about  the  whispering 
groves  and  echoing  walls  of  this  old  garden. 

When  accompanied  by  Antonio,  he  would  prolong 
these  evening  recreations.  Indeed,  he  sometimes  did 
it  out  of  consideration  for  his  disciple,  for  he  feared 
lest  his  too  close  application,  and  his  incessant  seclu- 
sion in  the  tower,  should  be  injurious  to  his  health. 
He  was  delighted  and  surprised  by  this  extraordinary 
zeal  and  perseverance  in  so  young  a  tyro,  and  looked 
upon  him  as  destined  to  be  one  of  the  great  lumina- 
ries of  the  art.  Lest  the  student  should  repine  at 
the  time  lost  in  these  relaxations,  the  good  alchymist 
-would  fill  them  up  with  wholesome  knowledge,  in 
matters  connected  with  their  pursuits  ;  and  would 
walk  up  and  down  the  alleys  with  his  disciple,  im- 
parting oral  instruction,  like  an  ancient  philosopher. 
In  all  his  visionary  schemes,  there  breathed  a  spirit 
of  lofty,  though  chimerical  philanthropy,  that  won 
the  admiration  of  the  scholar.  Nothing  sordid  nor 
sensual,  nothing  petty  nor  selfish,  seemed  to  enter 
into  his  views,  in  respect  to  the  grand  discoveries  he 
was  anticipating.  On  the  contrary,  his  imagination 
kindled  with  conceptions  of  widely  dispensated  hap- 
piness. He  looked  forward  to  the  time  when  he 
should  be  able  to  go  about  the  earth,  relieving  the 
indigent,  comforting  the  distressed  ;  and,  by  his  un- 
limited means,  devising  and  executing  plans  for  the 
complete  extirpation  of  poverty,  and  all  its  attendant 
sufferings  and  crimes.  Never  were  grander  schemes 
for  general  good,  for  the  distribution  of  Ijoundless 
wealth  and  universal  competence,  devised  than  by 
this  poor,  indigent  alchymist  in  his  ruined  tower. 

Antonio  would  attend  these   peripatetic  lectures 


with  all  the  ardour  of  a  devotee  ;  but  there  was  an- 
other circumstance  which  may  have  given  a  secret 
charm  to  them.  The  garden  was  the  resort  also  of 
Inez,  where  she  took  her  walks  of  recreation ;  the 
only  exercise  that  her  secluded  life  permitted.  As 
Antonio  was  duteously  pacing  by  the  side  of  his 
instructor,  he  would  often  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
daughter,  walking  pensively  about  the  alleys  in  the 
soft  twilight.  Sometimes  they  would  meet  her  un- 
expectedly, and  the  heart  of  the  student  would  throb 
with  agitation.  A  blush  too  would  crimson  the 
cheek  of  Inez,  but  still  she  passed  on  and  never  joined 
them. 

He  had  remained  one  evening  until  rather  a  late 
hour  with  the  alchymist  in  this  favourite  resort.  It 
was  a  delightful  night  after  a  sultry  day,  and  the 
balmy  air  of  the  garden  was  peculiarly  revising. 
The  old  man  was  seated  on  a  fragment  of  a  pedes- 
tal, looking  like  a  part  of  the  ruin  on  which  he  sat. 
He  was  edifying  his  pupil  by  long  lessons  of  wisdom 
from  the  stars,  as  they  shone  out  with  brilliant  lustre 
in  the  dark-blue  vault  of  a  southern  sky ;  for  he  was 
deeply  versed  in  Behmen,  and  other  of  the  Rosicru- 
cians,  and  talked  much  of  the  signature  of  earthly 
things  and  passing  events,  which  may  be  discerned 
in  the  heavens  ;  of  the  power  of  the  stars  over  cor- 
poreal beings,  and  their  influence  on  the  fortunes  of 
the  sons  of  men. 

By  degrees  the  moon  rose  and  shed  her  gleaming 
light  among  the  groves.  Antonio  apparently  listened 
with  fixed  attention  to  the  s.ige,  but  his  ear  was 
drinking  in  the  melody  of  Inez's  voice,  who  was  sing- 
ing to  her  lute  in  one  of  the  moonlight  glades  of  the 
garden.  The  old  man,  having  exhausted  his  theme, 
sat  gazing  in  silent  reverie  at  the  heavens.  Antonio 
could  not  resist  an  inclination  to  steal  a  look  .at  this 
coy  beauty,  who  was  thus  playing  the  part  of  the 
nightingale,  so  sequestered  and  musical.  Leaving 
the  alchymist  in  his  celestial  reverie,  he  stole  gently 
along  one  of  the  alleys.  The  music  had  ceased,  and 
he  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of  voices.  He  came 
to  an  angle  of  a  copse  that  had  screened  a  kind  of 
green  recess,  ornamented  by  a  marble  fountain.  The 
moon  shone  full  upon  the  place,  and  by  its  light  he 
beheld  his  unknown,  serenading  rival  at  the  feet  of 
Inez.  He  was  detaining  her  by  the  hand,  which  he 
covered  with  kisses  ;  but  at  sight  of  Antonio  he 
started  up  and  half  drew  his  sword,  while  Inez,  dis- 
engaged, fled  back  to  the  house. 

All  the  jealous  doubts  and  fears  of  Antonio  were 
now  confirmed.  He  did  not  remain  to  encounter  the 
resentment  of  his  happy  rival  at  being  thus  inter- 
rupted, but  turned  from  the  place  in  sudden  wretch- 
edness of  heart.  That  Inez  should  love  another, 
would  have  been  misery  enough  ;  but  that  she  should 
be  capable  of  a  dishonourable  amour,  shocked  him 
to  the  soul.  The  idea  of  deception  in  so  young  and 
apparently  artless  a  being,  brought  with  it  that  sudden 
distrust  in  human  nature,  so  sickening  to  a  youthful 
and  ingenuous  mind;  but  when  bethought  of  the  kind, 
simple  parent  she  was  deceiving,  whose  affections  all 
centered  in  her,  he  felt  for  a  moment  a  sentiment  ol 
indignation,  and  almost  of  aversion. 

He  found  the  alchymist  still  seated  in  his  visionary 
contemplation  of  the  moon.  "  Come  hither,  my  son,  ' 
said  he,  with  his  usual  enthusiasm,  "  come,  read  with 
me  ill  this  vast  volume  of  wisdom,  thus  nightly  un- 
folded for  our  perusal.  Wisely  did  the  Chaldean 
sages  affirm,  that  the  heaven  is  as  a  mystic  page, 
uttering  speech  to  those  who  can  rightly  understand  ; 
warning  them  of  good  and  evil,  and  instructing  them 
in  the  secret  decrees  of  fate." 

The  student's  heart  ached  for  his  venerable  master ; 
and,  for  a  moment,  he  felt  the  futility  of  his  occult 
wisdom.     "  Alas !  poor  old  man  !  "  thought  he,  "  of 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


473 


whai  avails  all  thy  study?  Little  dost  thou  dream, 
while  busied  in  airy  speculations  among  the  stars, 
what  a  treason  against  thy  happiness  is  going  on  under 
thine  eyes  ;  as  it  were,  in  thy  very  bosom! — Oh  Inez  ! 
Inez  '  where  shall  we  look  for  truth  and  innocence, 
where  shall  we  repose  confidence  in  woman,  if  even 
you  can  deceive  ?  " 

It  was  a  trite  apostrophe,  such  as  ever)-  lover  makes 
when  he  finds  his  mistress  not  quite  such  a  goddess 
•  as  he  had  painted  her.  With  the  student,  however, 
it  sprung  from  honest  anguish  of  heart.  He  returned 
to  his  lodgings,  in  pitiable  confusion  of  mind.  He  now 
deplored  the  infatuation  that  had  led  him  on  until 
his  feelings  were  so  thoroughly  engaged.  He  resolved 
to  abandon  his  pursuits  at  the  tower,  and  trust  to 
absence  to  dispel  the  fascination  by  which  he  had 
been  spell-bound.  He  no  longer  thirsted  after  the 
discovery  of  the  grand  elixir :  the  dream  of  alchymy 
was  over ;  for,  without  Inez,  what  was  the  value  of 
the  philosopher's  stone  ? 

He  rose,  after  a  sleepless  night,  with  the  determina- 
tion of  taking  his  leave  of  the  alchymist,  and  tearing 
himself  from  Granada.  For  several  days  did  he  rise 
with  the  same  resolution,  and  every  night  saw  him 
come  back  to  his  pillow,  to  repine  at  his  want  of 
resolution,  and  to  make  fresh  determinations  for  the 
morrow.  In  the  meanwhile,  he  saw  less  of  Inez  than 
ever.  She  no  longer  walked  in  the  garden,  but  re- 
mained almost  entirely  in  her  apartment.  When  she 
met  him,  she  blushed  more  than  usual  ;  and  once 
hesitated,  as  if  she  would  have  spoken  ;  but,  after  a 
temporaiy  embarrassment,  and  still  deeper  blushes, 
she  made  some  casual  observation,  and  retired.  An- 
tonio read,  in  this  confusion,  a  consciousness  of  fault, 
and  of  that  fault's  being  discovered.  "  What  could 
she  have  wished  to  communicate  ?  Perhaps  to  ac- 
count for  the  scene  in  the  garden  ; — but  how  can  she 
account  for  it,  or  why  should  she  account  for  it  to 
me  ?  What  am  I  to  her  ? — or  rather,  what  is  she  to 
me  ?  "  exclaimed  he,  impatiently,  with  a  new  resolu- 
tion to  break  through  these  entanglements  of  the 
heart,  and  fly  from  this  enchanted  spot  for  ever. 

He  was  returning  that  very  night  to  his  lodgings, 
full  of  this  excellent  determination,  when,  in  a  shad- 
owy part  of  the  road,  he  passed  a  person  whom  he 
recognised,  by  his  height  and  form,  for  his  rival :  he 
was  going  in  the  direction  of  the  tower.  If  any  lin- 
gering doubts  remained,  here  was  an  opportunity  of 
settling  them  completely.  He  determined  to  follow 
this  unknown  cavalier,  and,  under  favour  of  the 
darkness,  observe  his  movements.  If  he  obtained 
access  to  the  tower,  or  in  any  way  a  favourable  re- 
ception, Antonio  felt  as  if  it  would  be  a  relief  to  his 
mind,  and  would  enable  him  to  fix  his  wavering  reso- 
lution. 

The  unknown,  as  he  came  near  the  tower,  was 
more  cautious  and  stealthy  in  his  approaches.  He 
was  joined  under  a  clump  of  tr^es  by  another  person, 
and  they  had  much  whispering  together.  A  light  was 
burning  in  the  chamber  of  Inez;  the  curtain  was 
down,  but  the  casement  was  left  open,  as  the  night 
was  warm.  After  some  time,  the  light  was  extin- 
guished. A  considerable  interval  elapsed.  The  cava- 
lier and  his  companion  remained  under  covert  of  the 
trees,  as  if  keeping  watch.  At  length  they  approached 
the  tower,  with  silent  and  cautious  steps.  The  cava- 
lier received  a  dark-lantern  from  his  companion, 
and  threw  off  his  cloak.  The  other  then  softly 
brought  something  from  the  clump  of  trees,  which 
Antonio  perceived  to  be  a  light  ladder  :  he  placed  it 
against  the  wall,  and  the  serenader  gently  ascended. 
A  sickening  sensation  came  over  Antonio.  Here  was 
indeed  a  confirmation  of  every  fear.  He  was  about 
to  leave  the  place,  never  to  return,  when  he  heard  a  ^ 
stifled  shriek  from  Inez's  chamber.  I 


In  an  instant,  the  fellow  that  stood  at  the  foot  of 
the  ladder  lay  prostrate  on  the  ground.  Antonio 
wrested  a  stiletto  from  his  nerveless  hand,  and  hur- 
ried up  the  ladder.  He  sprang  in  at  the  window, 
and  found  Inez  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  his  fancied 
rival:  the  latter,  disturbed  from  his  prey,  caught 
up  his  lantern,  turned  its  light  full  upon  Antonio, 
and,  drawing  his  sword,  made  a  furious  assault  ; 
luckily  the  student  saw  the  light  gleam  along  the 
blade,  and  parried  the  thrust  with  the  stiletto.  A 
fierce,  but  unequal  combat  ensued.  Antonio  fought 
exposed  to  the  full  glare  of  the  light,  while  his  an- 
tagonist was  in  shadow  :  his  stiletto,  too,  was  but  a 
poor  defence  against  a  rapier.  He  saw  that  nothing 
would  save  him  but  closing  with  his  adversary,  and 
getting  within  his  weapon  :  he  rushed  furiously  upon 
him,  and  gave  him  a  severe  blow  with  the  stiletto  ; 
but  received  a  wound  in  return  from  the  shortened 
sword.  At  the  same  moment,  a  blow  was  inflicted 
from  behind,  by  the  confederate,  who  had  ascended 
the  ladder;  it  felled  him  to  the  floor,  and  his  antag- 
onists made  their  escape. 

By  this  time,  the  cries  of  Inez  had  brought  her 
father  and  the  domestic  into  the  room.  Antonio  was 
found  weltering  in  his  blood,  and  senseless.  He  was 
conveyed  to  the  chamber  of  the  alchymist,  who  now 
repaid  in  kind  the  attentions  which  the  student  had 
once  bestowed  upon  him.  Among  his  varied  knowl- 
edge he  possessed  some  skill  in  surgery,  which  at 
this  moment  was  of  more  value  than  even  his  chym- 
ical  lore.  He  stanched  and  dressed  the  wounds  of  . 
his  disciple,  which  on  examination  proved  less  des- 
perate than  he  had  at  first  apprehended.  For  a  few 
days,  however,  his  case  was  anxious,  and  attended 
with  danger.  The  old  man  watched  over  him  with 
the  afifection  of  a  parent.  He  felt  a  double  debt  of 
gratitude  towards  him,  on  account  of  his  daughter 
and  himself;  he  loved  him  too  as  a  faithful  and  zeal- 
ous disciple  ;  and  he  dreaded  lest  the  world  should 
be  deprived  of  the  promising  talents  of  so  aspiring 
an  alchymist. 

An  excellent  constitution  soon  medicined  his 
wounds ;  and  there  was  a  balsam  in  the  looks  and 
words  of  Inez,  that  had  a  healing  effect  on  the  still 
severer  wounds  which  he  carried  in  his  heart.  She 
displayed  the  strongest  interest  in  his  safety ;  she 
called  him  her  deliverer,  her  preserver.  It  seemed 
as  if  her  grateful  disposition  sought,  in  the  warmth 
of  its  acknowledgments,  to  repay  him  for  past  cold- 
ness. But  what  most  contributed  to  Antonio's  re- 
covery, was  her  explanation  concerning  his  suppo,sed 
rival.  It  was  some  time  since  he  had  first  beheld 
her  at  church,  and  he  had  ever  since,  persecuted  her 
with  his  attentions.  He  had  beset  her  in  her  walks, 
until  she  had  been  obliged  to  confine  herself  to  the 
house,  except  when  accompanied  by  her  father.  He 
had  besieged  her  with  letters,  serenades,  and  every 
art  by  which  he  could  urge  a  vehement,  but  clandes- 
tine and  dishonourable  suit.  The  scene  in  the  garden 
was  as  much  of  a  surprise  to  her  as  to  Antonio.  Her 
persecutor  had  been  attracted  by  her  voice,  and  had 
found  his  way  over  a  ruined  part  of  the  wall.  He 
h.ad  come  upon  her  unawares  ;  was  detaining  her  by 
force,  and  pleading  his  insulting  passion,  when  the 
appearance  of  the  student  interrupted  him,  and  en- 
abled her  to  make  her  escape.  She  had  forborne  to 
mention  to  her  father  the  persecution  which  she 
suffered;  she  wished  to  spare  him  unavailing  anxiety 
and  distress,  and  had  determined  to  confine  herself 
more  rigorously  to  tlie  house ;  though  it  appeared 
that  even  here  she  had  not  been  safe  from  his  daring 
enterprise. 

Antonio  inquired  whether  she  knew  the  name  of 
this  impetuous  admirer?  She  replied  that  he  had 
made  his  advances  under  a  fictitious  name  ;  but  that 


474 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


she  had  heard  him  once  called  by  the  name  of  Don 
Ambrosio  de  Loxa. 

Antonio  knew  him,  by  report,  for  one  of  the  most 
determined  and  dangerous  libertines  in  all  Granada. 
Artful,  accomplished,  and,  if  he  chose  to  be  so,  in- 
sinuating ;  but  daring  and  headlong  in  the  pursuit  of 
his  pleasures ;  violent  and  implacable  in  his  resent- 
ments. He  rejoiced  to  find  that  Inez  had  been  proof 
against  his  seductions,  and  had  been  inspired  with 
aversion  by  his  splendid  profligacy  ;  but  he  trembled 
to  think  of  the  dangers  she  had  run,  and  he  felt 
solicitude  about  the  dangers  that  must  yet  environ 
her. 

At  present,  however,  it  was  probable  the  enemy 
had  a  temporary  quietus.  The  traces  of  blood  had 
been  found  for  some  distance  from  the  ladder,  until 
they  were  lost  among  thickets  ;  and  as  nothing  had 
been  heard  or  seen  of  him  since,  it  was  concluded 
that  he  had  beea  seriously  wounded. 

As  the  student  recovered  from  his  wounds,  he  was 
enabled  to  join  Inez  and  her  father  in  their  domestic 
intercourse.  The  chamber  in  which  they  usually  met 
had  probably  been  a  saloon  of  state  in  former  times. 
The  floor  was  of  marble  ;  the  walls  partially  covered 
with  remains  of  tapestry ;  the  chairs,  richly  carved 
and  gilt,  were  crazed  with  age,  and  covered  with 
tarnished  and  tattered  brocade.  Against  the  wall 
hung  a  long  rusty  rapier,  the  only  relic  that  the  old 
man  retained  of  the  chivalry  of  his  ancestors.  There 
might  have  been  something  to  provoke  a  smile,  in 
the  contrast  between  the  mansion  and  its  inhabitants  ; 
between  present  poverty  and  the  graces  of  departed 
grandeur ;  but  the  fancy  of  the  student  had  thrown 
so  much  romance  about  the  edifice  and  its  inmates, 
that  every  thing  was  clothed  with  charms.  The 
philosopher,  with  his  broken-down  pride,  and  his 
strange  pursuits,  seemed  to  comport  with  the  mel- 
ancholy ruin  he  inhabited  ;  and  there  was  a  native 
elegance  of  spirit  about  the  daughter,  that  showed 
she  would  have  graced  the  mansion  in  its  happier 
days. 

What  delicious  moments  were  these  to  the  student ! 
Inez  was  no  longer  coy  and  reserved.  She  was  nat- 
urally artless  and  confiding  ;  though  the  kind  of  per- 
secution she  had  experienced  from  one  admirer  had 
rendered  her,  for  a  time,  suspicious  and  circumspect 
toward  the  other.  She  now  felt  an  entire  confidence 
in  the  sincerity  and  worth  of  Antonio,  mingled  with 
an  overflowing  gratitude.  When  her  eyes  met  his, 
they  beamed  with  sympathy  and  kindness  ;  and  An- 
tonio, no  longer  haunted  by  the  idea  of  a  favoured 
rival,  once  more  aspired  to  success. 

At  these  domestic  meetings,  however,  he  had  little 
opportunity  of  paying  his  court,  e.xcept  by  looks. 
The  alchymist,  supposing  him,  like  himself,  absorbed 
in  the  study  of  alchymy,  endeavoured  to  cheer  the 
tediousness  of  his  recovery  by  long  conversations  on 
the  art.  He  even  brought  several  of  his  half-burnt 
volumes,  which  the  student  had  once  rescued  from 
the  flames,  and  rewarded  him  for  their  preservation, 
by  reading  copious  passages.  He  would  entertain 
him  with  the  great  and  good  acts  of  Flamel,  which 
he  effected  through  means  of  the  philosopher's  stone, 
relieving  widows  and  orphans,  founding  hospitals, 
building  churches,  and  what  not ;  or  with  the  inter- 
rogatories of  King  Kalid,  and  the  answers  of  Mori- 
enus,  the  Roman  hermit  of  Hierusalem  ;  or  the  pro- 
lound  questions  which  Elardus,  a  necromancer  of  the 
province  of  Catalonia,  put  to  the  devil,  touching  the 
secrets  of  alchymy,  and  the  devil's  replies. 

All  these  were  couched  in  occult  language,  almost 
unintelligible  to  the  unpractised  ear  of  the  disciple. 
Indeed,  the  old  man  delighted  in  the  mystic  phrases 
and  symbolical  jargon  in  which  the  writers  that  have 
treated  of  alchymy  have  wrapped  their  communica- 


tions ;  rendering  them  incomprehensible  e.xcept  to 
the  initiated.  With  what  rapture  would  he  elevate 
his  voice  at  a  triumphant  passage,  announcing  the 
grand  discovery!  "Thou  shall  see,"  would  he  ex- 
claim, in  the  words  of  Henry  Kuhnrade,*  "  the  stone 
of  the  philosophers  (our  king)  go  forth  of  the  bed- 
chamber of  his  glassy  sepulchre  into  the  theatre  of 
this  world  ;  that  is  to  say,  regenerated  and  made 
perfect,  a  shining  carbuncle,  a  most  temperate  splen- 
dour, whose  most  subtle  and  depurated  parts  are  in- 
separable, united  into  one  with  a  concordial  mixture, 
exceeding  equal,  transparent  as  chrystal,  shining  red 
like  a  ruby,  permanently  colouring  or  ringing,  fixt  in 
all  temptations  or  tryals  ;  yea,  in  the  examination  of 
the  burning  sulphur  itself,  and  the  devouring  waters, 
and  in  the  most  vehement  persecution  of  the  fire, 
always  incombustible  and  permanent  as  a  salaman- 
der !  " 

The  student  had  a  high  veneration  for  the  fathers 
of  alchymy,  and  a  profound  respect  for  his  instructor  ; 
but  what  was  Henry  Kuhnrade,  Geber,  Lully,  or 
even  Albertus  Magnus  himself,  compared  to  the 
countenance  of  Inez,  which  presented  such  a  page 
of  beauty  to  his  perusal  ?  While,  therefore,  the 
good  alchymist  was  doling  out  knowledge  by  the 
hour,  his  disciple  would  forget  books,  alchymy,  every 
thing  but  the  lovely  object  before  him.  Inez,  too, 
unpractised  in  the  science  of  the  heart,  was  gradual- 
ly becoming  fascinated  by  the  silent  attentions  of  her 
lover.  Day  by  day,  she  seemed  more  and  more  per- 
plexed by  the  kindling  and  strangely  pleasing  emo- 
tions of  her  bosom.  Her  eye  was  often  cast  down 
in  thought.  Blushes  stole  to  her  cheek  without  any 
apparent  cause,  and  light,  half- suppressed  sighs 
would  follow  these  short  fits  of  musing.  Her  little 
ballads,  though  the  same  that  she  had  always  sung, 
yet  breathed  a  more  tender  spirit.  Either  the  tones 
of  her  voice  were  more  soft  and  touching,  or  some 
passages  were  delivered  with  a  feeling  which  she  had 
never  before  given  them.  Antonio,  beside  his  love 
for  the  abstruse  sciences,  had  a  pretty  turn  for  music  ; 
and  never  did  philosopher  touch  the  guitar  more  taste- 
fully. As,  by  degrees,  he  conquered  the  mutual  em- 
barrassment that  kept  them  asunder,  he  ventured  to 
accompany  Inez  in  some  of  her  songs.  He  had  a 
voice  full  of  fire  and  tenderness  :  as  he  sang,  one 
would  have  thought,  from  the  kindling  blushes  of  his 
companion,  that  he  had  been  pleading  his  own  pas- 
sion in  her  ear.  Let  those  who  would  keep  two 
youthful  hearts  asunder,  beware  of  music.  Oh  !  this 
leaning  over  chairs,  and  conning  the  .same  music- 
book,  and  entwining  of  voices,  and  melting  away  in 
harmonies ! — the  German  waltz  is  nothing  to  it. 

The  worthy  alchymist  saw  nothing  of  all  this. 
His  mind  could  admit  of  no  idea  that  was  not  con- 
nected with  the  discovery  of  the  grand  arcanum, 
and  he  supposed  his  youthful  coadjutor  equally  de- 
voted. He  was  a  mere  child  as  to  human  nature ; 
and,  as  to  the  passion  of  love,  whate\er  he  might 
once  have  felt  of  it,  he  had  long  since  forgotten  that 
there  was  such  an  idle  passion  in  existence.  But, 
while  he  dreamed,  the  silent  amour  went  on.  The 
very  quiet  and  seclusion  of  the  place  were  favour- 
able to  the  growth  of  romantic  passion.  The  open- 
ing bud  of  love  was  able  to  put  forth  leaf  by  leaf, 
without  an  adverse  wind  to  check  its  growth.  There 
was  neither  officious  friendship  to  chill  by  its  advice, 
nor  insidious  envy  to  wither  by  its  sneers,  nor  an 
observing  world  to  look  on  and  stare  it  out  of  coun- 
tenance. There  was  neither  declaration,  nor  vow, 
nor  any  other  form  of  Cupid's  canting  school.  Their 
hearts  mingled  together,  and  understood  each  other 
without  the  aid  of  language.     They  lapsed  into  the 


*  Amphitheatre  of  the  Eternal  WUdom. 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


473 


full  current  of  affection,  unconscious  of  its  depth, 
and  thoughtless  of  the  rocks  that  might  lurk  beneath 
its  surface.  Happy  lovers  !  who  wanted  nothing  to 
make  their  felicity  complete,  but  the  discovery  of  the 
philosopher's  stone  ! 

At  length,  Antonio's  health  was  sufficiently  re- 
stoied  to  enable  him  to  return  to  his  lodgings  in  Gra- 
nada. He  felt  uneasy,  however,  at  leaving  the  tower, 
while  lurking  danger  might  surround  its  almost  de- 
fenceless inmates.  He  dreaded  lest  Don  Ambrosio, 
recovered  from  his  wounds,  might  plot  some  new 
attempt,  by  secret  art,  or  open  violence.  From  all 
that  he  had  heard,  he  knew  him  to  be  too  implaca- 
ble to  suffer  his  defeat  to  pass  unavenged,  and  too 
rash  and  fearless,  when  his  arts  were  unavailing,  to 
stop  at  any  daring  deed  in  the  accomplishment  of 
his  purposes.  He  urged  his  apprehensions  to  the  al- 
chymist  and  his  daughter,  and  proposed  that  they 
should  abandon  the  dangerous  vicinity  of  Granada. 

"  I  have  relations,"  said  he,  "  in  Valentia,  poor 
indeed,  but  worthy  and  affectionate.  Among  them 
you  will  find  friendship  and  quiet,  and  we  may  there 
pursue  our  labours  unmolested."  He  went  on  to 
paint  the  beauties  and  delights  of  Valentia,  with  all 
the  fondness  of  a  native,  and  all  the  eloquence  with 
which  a  lover  paints  the  fields  and  groves  which  he 
is  picturing  as  the  future  scenes  of  his  happiness. 
His  eloquence,  backed  by  the  apprehensions  of  Inez, 
was  successful  with  the  alchymist,  who,  indeed,  had 
led  too  unsettled  a  life  to  be  particular  about  the 
place  of  his  residence ;  and  it  was  determined,  that, 
as  soon  as  Antonio's  health  was  perfectly  restored, 
they  should  abandon  the  tower,  and  seek  the  deli- 
cious neighbourhood  of  Valentia.* 

To  recruit  his  strength,  the  student  suspended  his 
toils  in  the  laboratory,  and  spent  the  few  remaining 
days,  before  departure,  in  taking  a  farewell  look  at 
the  enchanting  environs  of  Granada.  He  felt  return- 
ing health  and  vigour,  as  he  inhaled  the  pure  temper- 
ate breezes  that  play  about  its  hills  ;  and  the  happy 
state  of  his  mind  contributed  to  his  rapid  recovery. 
Inez  was  often  the  companion  of  his  walks.  Her  de- 
scent, by  the  mother's  side,  from  one  of  the  ancient 
Moorish  families,  gave  her  an  interest  in  this  once 
favourite  seat  of  Arabian  power.  She  gazed  with 
enthusiasm  upon  its  magnificent  monuments,  and  her 
memory  was  filled  with  the  traditional  tales  and  bal- 
lads of  Moorish  chivalry.  Indeed,  the  solitary  life 
she  had  led,  and  the  visionary  turn  of  her  father's 
mind,  had  produced  an  effect  upon  her  character, 
and  given  it  a  tinge  of  what,  in  modern  days,  would 
be  termed  romance.  All  this  was  called  into  full 
force  by  this  new  passage  ;  for,  when  a  woman  first 
begins  to  love,  life  is  all  romance  to  her. 

In  one  of  their  evening  strolls,  they  had  ascended 
to  the  mountain  of  the  Sun,  where  is  situated  the 
Gencraliffe,  the  palace  of  pleasure,  in  the  days  of 
Moorish  dominion,  but  now  a  gloomy  convent  of 
Capuchins.  They  had  wandered  about  its  garden, 
among  groves  of  orange,  citron,  and  cypress,  where 
the  waters,  leaping  in  torrents,  or  gushing  in  foun- 
tains, or  tossed  aloft  in  sparkling  jets,  fill  the  air  with 
music  and  freshness.  There  is  a  melancholy  mingled 
with  all  the  beauties  of  this  garden,  that  gradually 
stole  over  the  feelings  of  the  lovers.  The  place  is 
full  of  the  sad  story  of  past  times.    It  was  the  favour- 

*  Here  are  the  strongest  silks,  the  sweetest  wines,  the  excellent'st 
almonds,  the  best  oyls,  and  beautifull'st  females  of  all  Spain.  The 
very  bruit  animals  make  themselves  beds  of  rosemary,  and  other 
fragrant  flowers  hereabouts  ;  and  when  one  is  at  sea,  if  the  winde 
blow  from  the  shore,  tie  may  smell  this  soyl  before  he  come  in  sight 
of  it,  many  leagues  off,  by  the  strong  odoriferous  scent  it  casts.  As 
it  is  the  most  pleasant,  so  it  is  also  the  temperat'st  clime  of  all  Spain, 
and  they  commonlycall  it  the  second  Italy,  which  made  the  Moors, 
whereof  many  thousands  were  disterrM,  and  banish'd  hence  to 
Barbary,  to  think  that  Paradise  was  in  that  part  of  the  heavens 
which  hung  over  this   itie. — Howell's  Letters* 


ite  abode  of  the  lovely  queen  of  Granada,  where  she 
was  surrounded  by  the  delights  of  a  gay  and  volup- 
tuous court.  It  was  here,  too,  amidst  her  own  bow- 
ers of  roses,  that  her  slanderers  laid  the  base  story  of 
her  dishonour,  and  struck  a  fatal  blow  to  the  line  of 
the  gallant  Abencerrages. 

The  whole  garden  has  a  look  of  ruin  and  neglect. 
Many  of  the  fountains  are  dry  and  broken  ;  the 
streams  have  wandered  from  their  marble  channels, 
and  are  choked  by  weeds  and  yellow  leaves.  The 
reed  whistles  to  the  wind,  where  it  had  once  sport- 
ed among  roses,  and  shaken  perfume  from  the 
orange-blossom.  The  convent-bell  flings  its  sullen 
sound,  or  the  drowsy  vesper-hymn  floats  along  these 
solitudes,  which  once  resounded  with  the  song,  and 
the  dance,  and  the  lover's  serenade.  Well  may  the 
Moors  lament  over  the  loss  of  this  earthly  paradise  ; 
well  may  they  remember  it  in  their  prayers,  and  be- 
seech Heaven  to  restore  it  to  the  faithful ;  well  may 
their  ambassadors  smite  their  breasts  when  they  be- 
hold these  monuments  of  their  race,  and  sit  down 
and  weep  among  the  fading  glories  of  Granada  ! 

It  is  impossible  to  wander  about  these  scenes  of 
departed  love  and  gaiety,  and  not  feel  the  tenderness 
of  the  heart  awakened.  It  was  then  that  Antonio 
first  ventured  to  breathe  his  passion,  and  to  express 
by  words  what  his  eyes  had  long  since  so  eloquently 
revealed.  He  made  his  avowal  with  fervour,  but 
with  frankness.  He  had  no  gay  prospects  to  hold 
out :  he  was  a  poor  scholar,  dependent  on  his  "  good 
spirits  to  feed  and  clothe  him."  But  a  woman  in 
love  is  no  interested  calculator.  Inez  listened  to 
him  with  downcast  eyes,  but  in  them  was  a  humid 
gleam  that  showed  her  heart  was  with  him.  She 
had  no  prudery  in  her  nature  ;  and  she  had  not 
been  sufficiently  in  society  to  acquire  it.  She  loved 
him  with  all  the  absence  of  worldliness  of  a  gen- 
uine woman  ;  and,  amidst  timid  smiles  and  blushes, 
he  drew  from  her  a  modest  acknowledgment  of  her 
affection. 

They  wandered  about  the  garden,  with  that  sweet 
intoxication  of  the  soul  which  none  but  happy  lovers 
know.  The  world  about  them  was  all  fairyland; 
and,  indeed,  it  spread  forth  one  of  its  fairest  scenes 
before  their  eyes,  as  if  to  fulfil  their  dream  of  earthly 
happiness.  They  looked  out  from  between  groves  of 
orange,  upon  the  towers  of  Granada  below  them  ; 
the  magnificent  plain  of  the  Vega  beyond,  streaked 
with  evening  sunshine,  and  the  distant  hills  tinted 
with  rosy  and  purple  hues :  it  seemed  an  emblem  of 
the  happy  future,  that  love  and  hope  were  decking 
out  for  them. 

As  if  to  make  the  scene  complete,  a  group  of  An- 
dalusians  struck  up  a  dance,  in  one  of  the  vistas  of 
the  garden,  to  the  guitars  of  two  wandering  musi- 
cians. The  Spanish  music  is  wild  and  plaintive,  yet 
the  people  dance  to  it  with  spirit  and  enthusiasm. 
The  picturesque  figures  of  the  dancers ;  the  girls 
with  their  hair  in  silken  nets  that  hung  in  knots  and 
tassels  down  their  backs,  their  mantillas  floating 
round  their  graceful  forms,  their  slender  feet  peeping 
from  under  their  basquinas,  their  arms  tossed  up  in 
the  air  to  play  the  castanets,  had  a  beautiful  effect 
on  this  airy  height,  with  the  rich  evening  landsca[)e 
spreading  out  below  them. 

When  the  dance  was  ended,  two  of  the  parties 
approached  Antonio  and  Inez  ;  one  of  them  began 
a  soft  and  tender  Moorish  ballad,  accompanied  by 
the  other  on  the  lute.  It  alluded  to  the  story  of  the 
garden,  the  wrongs  of  the  fair  queen  of  Granada,  and 
the  misfortunes  of  the  Abencerrages.  It  was  one  of 
those  old  ballads  that  abound  in  this  part  of  Spain, 
and  live,  like  echoes,  about  the  ruins  of  Moorish 
greatness.  The  heart  of  Inez  was  at  that  moment 
open  to  every  tender  impression  ;  the  tears  rose  into 


476 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


her  eyes,  as  she  listened  to  the  tale.  The  singer  ap- 
proached nearer  to  her  ;  she  was  striking  in  her 
appearance  ; — young,  beautiful,  with  a  mixture  of 
wildness  and  melancholy  in  her  fine  black  eyes. 
She  fixed  them  mournfully  and  expressively  on  Inez, 
and,  suddenly  varying  her  manner,  sang  another  bal- 
lad, which  treated  of  impending  danger  and  treach- 
erj'.  All  this  might  have  passed  for  a  mere  accident- 
al caprice  of  the  singer,  had  there  not  been  some- 
thing in  her  look,  manner,  and  gesticulation  that 
made  it  pointed  and  startling. 

Inez  was  about  to  ask  the  meaning  of  this  evidently 
personal  application  of  the  song,  when  she  was  in- 
terrupted by  Antonio,  who  gently  drew  her  from  the 
place.  Whilst  she  had  been  lost  in  attention  to  the 
music,  he  had  remarked  a  group  of  men,  in  the 
shadows  of  the  trees,  whispering  together.  They 
were  enveloped  in  the  broad  hats  and  great  cloaks 
so  much  worn  by  the  Spanish,  and,  while  they  were 
regarding  himself  and  Inez  attentively,  seemed  anx- 
ious to  avoid  observation.  Not  knowing  Vv-hat  might 
be  their  character  or  intention,  he  hastened  to  quit 
a  place  where  the  gathering  shadows  of  evening 
might  expose  them  to  intrusion  and  insult.  On  their 
way  down  the  hill,  as  they  passed  through  the  wood 
of  elms,  mingled  with  poplars  and  oleanders,  that 
skirts  the  road  leading  from  the  Alhambra,  he  again 
saw  these  men  apparently  following  at  a  distance  ; 
and  he  afterwards  caught  sight  of  them  among  the 
trees  on  the  banks  of  the  Darro.  He  said  nothing 
on  the  subject  to  Inez,  nor  her  father,  for  he  would 
not  awaken  unnecessary  alarm  ;  but  he  felt  at  a  loss 
how  to  ascertain  or  to  avert  any  machinations  that 
might  be  devising  against  the  helpless  inhabitants  of 
the  tower. 

He  took  his  leave  of  them  late  at  night,  full  of  this 
perplexity.  As  he  left  the  dreary  ofd  pile,  he  saw 
some  one  lurking  in  the  shadow  of  the  wall,  appar- 
ently watching  his  movements.  He  hastened  after 
the  figure,  but  it  glided  away,  and  disappeared  among 
some  ruins.  Shortly  after  he  heard  a  low  whistle, 
which  was  answered  from  a  little  distance.  He  had 
no  longer  a  doubt  but  that  some  mischief  was  on 
foot,  and  turned  to  hasten  back  to  the  tower,  and 
put  its  inmates  on  their  guard.  He  had  scarcely 
turned,  however,  before  he  found  himself  suddenly 
seized  from  behind  by  some  one  of  Herculean 
strength.  His  struggles  were  in  vain ;  he  was  sur- 
rounded by  armed  men.  One  threw  a  mantle  over 
him  that  stifled  his  cries,  and  enveloped  him  in  its 
folds ;  and  he  was  hurried  off  with  irresistible  ra- 
pidity. 

The  next  day  passed  without  the  appearance  of 
Antonio  at  the  alchymist's.  Another,  and  another  day 
succeeded,  and  yet  he  did  not  come ;  nor  had  any 
thing  been  heard  of  him  at  his  lodgings.  His  absence 
caused,  at  first,  surprise  and  conjecture,  and  at  length 
alarm.  Inez  recollected  the  singular  intimations  of 
the  ballad-singer  upon  the  mountain,  which  seemed 
to  warn  her  of  impending  danger,  and  her  mind  was 
full  of  vague  forebodings.  She  sat  listening  to  every 
sound  at  the  gate,  or  footstep  on  the  stairs.  She 
would  take  up  her  guitar  and  strike  a  few  notes,  but 
it  would  not  do ;  her  heart  was  sickening  with  sus- 
pense and  anxiety.  She  had  never  before  felt  what 
it  was  to  be  really  lonely.  She  now  was  conscious 
of  the  force  of  that  attachment  which  had  taken 
possession  of  her  breast ;  for  never  do  we  know  how 
much  we  love,  never  do  we  know  how  necessary  the 
object  of  our  love  is  to  our  happiness,  until  we  ex- 
perience the  weary  void  of  separation. 

The  philosopher,  too,  felt  the  absence  of  his  disciple 
almost  as  sensibly  as  did  his  daughter.  The  animat- 
ing buoyancy  of  the  youth  had  inspired  him  with  new 
ardour,  and  had  given  to  his  labours  the  charm  of 


full  companionship.  However,  he  had  resources  and 
consolations  of  which  his  daughter  was  destitute. 
His  pursuits  were  of  a  nature  to  occupy  every 
thought,  and  keep  the  spirits  in  a  state  of  continual 
excitement.  Certain  indications,  too,  had  lately  man- 
ifested themselves,  of  the  most  favourable  nature. 
Forty  days  and  forty  nights  had  the  process  gone  on 
successfully;  the  old  man's  hopes  were  constantly 
rising,  and  he  now  considered  the  glorious  moment 
once  more  at  hand,  when  he  should  obtain  not  merely 
the  major  lunaria,  but  likewise  the  tinctura  Solaris, 
the  means  of  multiplying  gold,  and  of  prolonging  ex- 
istence. He  remained,  therefore,  continually  shut  up 
in  his  laboratory,  watching  his  furnace  ;  for  a  mo- 
ment's inadvertency  might  once  more  defeat  all  his 
expectations. 

He  was  sitting  one  evening  at  one  of  his  solitary 
vigils,  wrapped  up  in  meditation  ;  the  hour  was  late, 
and  his  neighbour,  the  owl,  was  hooting  from  the 
battlement  of  the  tower,  when  he  heard  the  door 
open  behind  him.  Supposing  it  to  be  his  daughter 
coming  to  take  her  leave  of  him  for  the  night,  as  was 
her  frequent  practice,  he  called  her  by  name,  but  a 
harsh  voice  met  his  ear  in  reply.  He  was  grasped 
by  the  arms,  and,  looking  up,  perceived  three  strange 
men  in  the  chamber.  He  attempted  to  shake  them 
off,  but  in  vain.  He  called  for  help,  bat  they  scoffed 
at  his  cries.  "  Peace,  dotard  !  "  cried  one  :  "  think'st 
thou  the  servants  of  the  most  holy  inquisition  are  to 
be  daunted  by  thy  clamours  ?  Comrades,  away  with 
him  ! " 

Without  heeding  his  remonstrances  and  entreaties, 
they  seized  upon  his  books  and  papers,  took  some 
note  of  the  apartment,  and  the  utensils,  and  then 
bore  him  off  a  prisoner. 

Inez,  left  to  herself,  had  passed  a  sad  and  lonely 
evening;  seated  by  a  casement  which  looked  into 
the  garden,  she  had  pensively  watched  star  alter 
star  sparkle  out  of  the  blue  depths  of  the  sky,  and 
was  indulging  a  crowd  of  anxious  thoughts  about  her 
lover,  until  the  rising  tears  began  to  flow.  She  was 
suddenly  alarmed  by  the  sound  of  voices,  that  seemed 
to  come  from  a  distant  part  of  the  mansion.  There 
was,  not  long  after,  a  noise  of  several  persons  de- 
scending the  stairs.  Surprised  at  these  unusual 
sounds  in  their  lonely  habitation,  she  remained  for  a 
few  moments  in  a  state  of  trembling,  yet  indistinct 
apprehension,  when  the  servant  rushed  into  the  room, 
with  terror  in  her  countenance,  and  informed  her 
that  her  father  was  carried  off  by  armed  men. 

Inez  did  not  stop  to  hear  further,  but  flew  down- 
stairs to  overtake  them.  She  had  scarcely  passed  the 
threshold,  when  she  found  herself  in  the  grasp  of 
strangers. — ■"  Away  !  — away  !  "  cried  she,  wildly; 
"do  not  stop  me — let  me  follow  my  father." 

"We  come  to  conduct  you  to  him,  senora,"  said 
one  of  the  men,  respectfully. 

"  Where  is  he,  then  ?  " 

"  He  is  gone  to  Granada,"  replied  the  man  :  "an 
unexpected  circumstance  requires  his  presence  there 
immediately  ;  but  he  is  among  friends." 

"  We  have  no  friends  in  Granada,"  said  Inez, 
drawing  back;  but  then  the  idea  of  Antonio  rushed 
into  her  mind ;  something  relating  to  him  might 
have  called  her  father  thither.  "Is  senor  Antonio 
de  Castros  with  him  ?  "  demanded  she,  with  agita- 
tion. 

"I  know  not,  senora,"  replied  the  man.  "It 
is  very  possible.  I  only  know  that  your  father  is 
among  friends,  and  is  anxious  for  you  to  follow 
him." 

"  Let  us  go,  then,"  cried  she,  eagerly.  The  men 
led  her  a  little  distance  to  where  a  mule  was  wait- 
ing, and,  assisting  her  to  mount,  they  conducted  her 
slowly  towards  the  city. 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


477 


Granada  was  on  that  evening  a  scene  of  fanciful 
revel.  It  was  one  of  the  festivals  of  the  Maestranza, 
an  association  of  the  nobility  to  keep  up  some  of  the 
gallant  customs  of  ancient  chivalry.  There  had 
been  a  representation  of  a  tournament  in  one  of 
the  squares ;  the  streets  would  still  occasionally  re- 
sound with  the  beat  of  a  solitary  drum,  or  the  bray 
of  a  trumpet  from  some  straggling  party  of  revellers. 
Sometimes  they  were  met  by  cavaliers,  richly  dressed 
in  ancient  costumes,  attended  by  their  squires ;  and 
at  one  time  they  passed  in  sight  of  a  palace  bril- 
liantly illuminated,  from  whence  came  the  mingled 
sounds  of  music  and  the  dance.  Shortly  after,  they 
came  to  the  square  where  the  mock  tournament  had 
been  held.  It  was  thronged  by  the  populace,  recre- 
ating themselves  among  booths  and  stalls  where  re- 
freshments were  sold,  and  the  glare  of  torches 
showed  the  temporary  galleries,  and  gay-coloured 
awnings,  and  armorial  trophies,  and  other  parapher- 
nalia of  the  show.  The  conductors  of  Inez  endeav- 
oured to  keep  out  of  observation,  and  to  traverse  a 
gloomy  part  of  the  square ;  but  they  were  detained 
at  one  place  by  the  pressure  of  a  crowd  surrounding 
a  party  of  wandering  inusicians,  singing  one  of  those 
ballads  of  which  the  Spanish  populace  are  so  pas- 
sionately fond.  The  torches  which  were  held  by 
some  of  the  crowd,  threw  a  strong  mass  of  light 
upon  Inez,  and  the  sight  of  so  beautiful  a  being, 
without  mantilla  or  veil,  looking  so  bewildered,  and 
conducted  by  men  who  seemed  to  take  no  gratifica- 
tion in  the  surrounding  gaiety,  occasioned  expres- 
sions of  curiosity.  One  of  the  ballad-singers  ap- 
proached, and  striking  her  guitar  with  peculiar  ear- 
nestness, began  to  sing  a  doleful  air,  full  of  sinister 
forebodings.  Inez  started  with  surprise.  It  was 
the  same  ballad-singer  that  had  addressed  her. in 
the  garden  of  the  Generaliffe.  It  was  the  same  air 
that  she  had  then  sung.  It  spoke  of  impending 
dangers ;  they  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  thickening 
around  her.  She  was  anxious  to  speak  with  the 
girl,  and  to  ascertain  whether  she  really  had  a 
knowledge  of  any  definite  evil  that  was  threatening 
her ;  but,  as  she  attempted  to  address  her,  the 
mule,  on  which  she  rode,  was  suddenly  seized,  and 
led  forcibly  through  the  throng  by  one  of  her  con- 
ductors, while  she  saw  another  addressing  men- 
acing words  to  the  ballad-singer.  The  latter  raised 
her  hand  with  a  warning  gesture,  as  In^z  lost  sight 
of  her. 

While  she  was  yet  lost  in  perplexity,  caused  by 
this  singular  occurrence,  they  stopped  at  the  gate  of 
a  large  mansion.  One  of  her  attendants  knocked, 
the  door  was  opened,  and  they  entered  a  paved 
court.  "Where  are  we?"  demanded  Inez,  with 
anxiety.  "  At  the  house  of  a  friend,  senora,"  re- 
plied the  man.  "  Ascend  this  staircase  with  me, 
and  in  a  moment  you  will  meet  your  father." 

They  ascended  a  staircase,  that  led  to  a  suite  of 
splendid  apartments.  They  passed  through  several, 
until  they  came  to  an  inner  chamber.  The  door 
opened — some  one  approached ;  but  what  was  her 
terror  at  perceiving,  not  her  father,  but  Don  Am- 
brosio ! 

The  men  who  had  seized  upon  the  alchymist  had, 
at  least,  been  more  honest  in  their  professions. 
They  were,  indeed,  familiars  of  the  inquisition.  He 
was  conducted  in  silence  to  the  gloomy  prison  of 
that  horrible  tribunal.  It  was  a  mansion  whose 
very  aspect  withered  joy,  and  almost  shut  out  hope. 
It  was  one  of  those  hideous  abodes  which  the  bad 
passions  of  men  conjure  up  in  this  fair  world,  to  ri- 
val the  fancied  dens  of  demons  and  the  accursed. 

Day  after  day  went  heavily  by,  without  any  thing 
to  mark  the  lapse  of  time,  but  the  decline  and  reap- 
pearance of  the  light  that  feebly  glimmered  through 


the  narrow  window  of  the  dungeon  in  which  the  un- 
fortunate alchymist  was  buried  rather  than  confined. 
His  mind  was  harassed  with  uncertainties  and  fears 
about  his  daughter,  so  helpless  and  inexperienced. 
He  endeavoured  to  gather  tidings  of  her  from  the 
man  who  brought  his  daily  portion  of  food.  The 
fellow  stared,  as  if  astonished  at  being  asked  a  ques- 
tion in  that  mansion  of  silence  and  mystery,  but  de- 
parted without  saying  a  word.  Every  succeeding 
attempt  was  equally  fruitless. 

The  poor  alchymist  was  oppressed  by  many  griefs  ; 
and  it  was  not  the  least,  that  he  had  been  again  in- 
terrupted in  his  labours  on  the  very  point  of  success. 
Never  was  alchymist  so  near  attaining  the  golden 
secret — a  little  longer,  and  all  his  hopes  would  have 
been  realized.  The  thoughts  of  these  disappoint- 
ments afflicted  him  more  even  than  the  fear  of  all 
that  he  might  suffer  from  the  merciless  inquisition. 
His  waking  thoughts  would  follow  him  into  his 
dreams.  He  would  be  transported  in  fancy  to  his 
laboratory,  busied  again  among  retorts  and  alem- 
bics, and  surrounded  by  LuUy,  by  D'Abano,  by  Oly- 
bius,  and  the  other  masters  of  the  sublime  art.  The 
moment  of  projection  would  arrive  ;  a  seraphic  form 
would  rise  out  of  the  furnace,  holding  forth  a  vessel 
containing  the  precious  elixir  ;  but,  before  he  could 
grasp  the  prize,  he  would  awake,  and  find  himself 
in  a  dungeon. 

All  the  devices  of  inquisitorial  ingenuity  were  em- 
ployed to  ensnare  the  old  man,  and  to  draw  from 
him  evidence  that  might  be  brought  against  himself, 
and  might  corroborate  certain  secret  information 
that  had  been  given  against  him.  He  had  been  ac- 
cused of  practising  necromancy  and  judicial  astrol- 
ogy, and  a  cloud  of  evidence  had  been  secretly 
brought  forward  to  substantiate  the  charge.  It 
would  be  tedious  to  enumerate  all  the  circum- 
stances, apparently  corroborative,  which  had  been 
industriously  cited  by  the  secret  accuser.  The 
silence  which  prevailed  about  the  tower,  its  deso- 
lateness,  the  very  quiet  of  its  inhabitants,  had  been 
adduced  as  proofs  that  something  sinister  was  per- 
petrated within.  The  alchymist's  conversations  and 
soliloquies  in  the  garden  had  been  overheard  and 
misrepresented.  The  lights  and  strange  appear- 
ances at  night,  in  the  tower,  were  given  with  vio- 
lent exaggerations.  Shrieks  and  yells  were  said  to 
have  been  heard  from  thence  at  midnight,  when,  it 
was  confidently  asserted,  the  old  man  raised  familiar 
spirits  by  his  incantations,  and  even  compelled  the 
dead  to  rise  from  their  graves,  and  answer  to  his 
questions. 

The  alchyrnist,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
inquisition,  was  kept  in  complete  ignorance  of  his 
accuser ;  of  the  witnesses  produced  against  him ; 
even  of  the  crimes  of  which  he  was  accused.  He 
was  examined  generally,  whether  he  knew  why  he 
was  arrested,  and  was  conscious  of  any  guilt  that 
might  deserve  the  notice  of  the  holy  office  ?  He  was 
examined  as  to  his  country,  his  life,  his  habits,  his 
pursuits,  his  actions,  and  opinions.  The  old  man 
was  frank  and  simple  in  his  replies ;  he  was  con- 
scious of  no  guilt,  capable  of  no  art,  practised  in  no 
dissimulation.  After  receiving  a  general  admoni- 
tion to  bethink  himself  whether  he  had  not  com- 
mitted any  act  deserving  of  punishment,  and  to 
prepare,  by  confession,  to  secure  the  well-known 
mercy  of  the  tribunal,  he  was  remanded  to  his  cell. 

He  was  now  visited  in  his  dungeon  by  crafty 
familiars  of  the  inquisition ;  who,  under  pretence  of 
sympathy  and  kindness,  came  to  beguile  the  tedious- 
ness  of  his  imprisonment  with  friendly  conversation. 
They  casually  introduced  the  subject  of  alchymy,  on 
which  they  touched  with  great  caution  and  pre- 
tended indifference.     There  was   no   need  of  such 


478 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


craftiness.  The  honest  enthusiast  had  no  suspicion 
in  his  nature  :  the  moment  they  touched  upon  his 
favourite  theme,  he  forgot  his  misfortunes  and  im- 
prisonment, and  brol<e  forth  into  rhapsodies  about 
the  divine  science. 

The  conversation  was  artfully  turned  to  the  dis- 
cussion of  elementary  beings.  The  alchymist  readily 
avowed  his  belief  in  them  ;  and  that  there  had  been 
instances  of  their  attending  upon  philosophers,  and 
administering  to  their  wishes.  He  related  many 
miracles  said  to  have  been  performed  by  ApoUonius 
Thyaneus,  through  the  aid  of  spirits  or  demons  ;  in- 
somuch that  he  was  set  up  by  the  heathens  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  Messiah ;  and  was  even  regarded  with 
reverence  by  many  Christians.  The  familiars  eagerly 
demanded  whether  he  believed  ApoUonius  to  be  a 
true  and  worthy  philosopher.  The  unaffected  piety 
of  the  alchymist  protected  him  even  in  the  midst  of 
h'ls  simplicity ;  for  he  condemned  ApoUonius  as  a 
sorcerer  and  an  impostor.  No  art  could  draw  from 
him  an  admission  that  he  had  ever  employed  or  in- 
voked spiritual  agencies  in  the  prosecution  of  his 
pursuits,  though  he  believed  himself  to  have  been 
frequently  impeded  by  their  invisible  interference. 

The  inquisitors  were  sorely  ve.xed  at  not  being 
able  to  inveigle  him  into  a  confession  of  a  criminal 
nature ;  they  attributed  their  failure  to  craft,  to  ob- 
stinacy, to  every  cause  but  the  right  one,  namely, 
that  the  harmless  visionary  had  nothing  guilty  to 
confess.  They  had  abundant  proof  of  a  secret  nature 
against  him  ;  but  it  was  the  practice  of  the  inquisi- 
tion to  endeavour  to  procure  confession  from  the 
prisoners.  An  auto  da  fe  was  at  hand  ;  the  worthy 
fathers  were  eager  for  his  conviction,  for  they  were 
always  anxious  to  have  a  good  number  of  culprits 
condemned  to  the  stake,  to  grace  these  solemn  tri- 
umpfs.  He  was  at  length  brought  to  a  final  exam- 
ination. 

The  chamber  of  trial  was  spacious  and  gloomy. 
At  one  end  was  a  huge  crucifix,  the  standard  of  the 
inquisition.  A  long  table  extended  through  the 
centre  of  the  room,  at  which  sat  the  inquisitors  and 
their  secretary  ;  at  the  other  end,  a  stool  was  placed 
for  the  prisoner. 

He  was  brought  in,  according  to  custom,  bare- 
headed and  bare-legged.  He  was  enfeebled  by  con- 
finement and  affliction  ;  by  constantly  brooding  over 
the  unknown  fate  of  his  child,  and  the  disastrous 
interruption  of  his  experiments.  He  sat  bowed  down 
and  listless ;  his  head  sunk  upon  his  breast ;  his 
whole  appearance  that  of  one  "  past  hope,  abandon- 
ed, and  by  himself  given  over." 

The  accusation  alleged  against  him  was  now 
brought  forward  in  a  specific  form  ;  he  was  called 
upon  by  name,  Felix  de  Vasquez,  formerly  of  Cas- 
tile, to  answer  to  the  charges  of  necromancy  and 
demonology.  He  was  told  that  the  charges  were 
amply  substantiated ;  and  was  asked  whether  he 
was  ready,  by  full  confession,  to  throw  himself  upon 
the  well-known  mercy  of  the  holy  inquisition. 

The  philosopher  testified  some  slight  surprise  at 
the  nature  of  the  accusation,  but  simply  replied,  "  I 
am  innocent." 

"  What  proof  have  you  to  give  of  your  inno- 
cence? " 

"  It  rather  remains  for  you  to  prove  your  charges," 
said  the  old  man.  "  I  am  a  stranger  and  a  sojourner 
in  the  land,  and  know  no  one  out  of  the  doors  of  my 
dwelling.  I  can  give  nothing  in  my  vindication  but 
the  word  of  a  nobleman  and  a  Castilian." 

The  inquisitor  shook  his  head,  and  went  on  to  re- 
peat the  various  inquiries  that  had  before  been  made 
as  to  his  mode  of  life  and  pursuits.  The  poor  alchy- 
mist was  too  feeble  and  too  weary  at  heart  to  make 
any  but  brief  replies.     He  requested  that  some  man 


of  science  might  examine  his  laboratory,  and  all  his 
books  and  papers,  by  which  it  would  be  made 
abundantly  evident  that  he  was  merely  engaged  in 
the  study  of  alchymy. 

To  this  the  inquisitor  observed,  that  alchymy  had 
become  a  mere  covert  for  secret  and  deadly  sins. 
That  the  practisers  of  i'.  were  apt  to  scruple  at  no 
means  to  satisfy  their  inordinate  greediness  of  gold. 
Some  had  been  known  to  use  spells  and  impious 
ceremonies ;  to  conjure  the  aid  of  evil  spirits  ;  nay, 
even  to  sell  their  souls  to  the  enemy  of  mankind,  so 
that  they  might  riot  in  boundless  wealth  while 
living. 

The  poor  alchymist  had  heard  all  patiently,  or,  at 
least,  passively.  He  had  disdained  to  vindicate  his 
name  otherwise  than  by  his  word ;  he  had  smiled 
at  the  accusations  of  sorcery,  when  applied  merely 
to  himself;  but  when  the  sublime  art,  which  had 
been  the  study  and  passion  of  his  life,  was  assailed, 
he  could  no  longer  listen  in  silence.  His  head  grad- 
ually rose  from  his  bosom  ;  a  hectic  colour  came  in 
faint  streaks  to  his  cheek  ;  played  about  there,  dis- 
appeared, returned,  and  at  length  kindled  into  a 
burning  glow.  The  clammy  dampness  dried  from 
his  forehead  ;  his  eyes,  which  had  nearly  been  ex- 
tinguished, lighted  up  again,  and  burned  with  their 
wonted  and  visionary  fires.  He  entered  into  a  vin- 
dication of  his  favourite  art.  His  voice  at  first  was 
feeble  and  broken ;  but  it  gathered  'strength  as  he 
proceeded,  until  it  rolled  in  a  deep  and  sonorous 
volume.  He  gradually  rose  from  his  seat,  as  he  rose 
with  his  subject ;  he  threw  back  the  scanty  black 
mantle  which  had  hitherto  wrapped  his  limbs  ;  the 
very  uncouthness  of  his  form  and  looks  gave  an  im- 
pressive effect  to  what  he  uttered  ;  it  was  as  though 
a  corpse  had  become  suddenly  animated. 

He  repelled  with  scorn  the  aspersions  cast  upon 
alchymy  by  the  ignorant  and  vulgar.  He  affirmed 
it  to  be  the  mother  of  all  art  and  science,  citing  the 
opinions  of  Paracelsus,  Sandivogius,  Raymond  Lully, 
and  others,  in  support  of  his  assertions.  He  main- 
tained that  it  was  pure  and  innocent  and  honourable 
both  in  its  purposes  and  means.  What  were  its  ob- 
jects ?  The  perpetuation  of  life  and  youth,  and  the 
production  of  gold.  "  The  elixir  vitas,"  said  he,  "  is 
no  charmed  potion,  but  merely  a  concentration  of 
those  elements  of  vitality  which  nature  has  scattered 
through  her  works.  The  philosopher's  stone,  or  tinct- 
ure, or  powder,  as  it  is  variously  called,  is  no  necro- 
mantic talisman,  but  consists  simply  of  those  particles 
which  gold  contains  within  itself  for  its  reproduction  ; 
for  gold,  like  other  things,  has  its  seed  within  itself, 
though  bound  up  with  inconceivable  firmness,  from 
the  vigour  of  innate  fixed  salts  and  sulphurs.  In 
seeking  to  discover  the  elixir  of  life,  then,"  con- 
tinued he,  "  we  seek  only  to  apply  some  of  nature's 
own  specifics  against  the  disease  and  decay  to  which 
our  bodies  are  subjected ;  and  what  else  does  the 
physician,  when  he  tasks  his  art,  and  uses  subtle 
compounds  and  cunning  distillations,  to  revive  our 
languishing  powers,  and  avert  the  stroke  of  death 
for  a  season .'' 

"  In  seeking  to  multiply  the  precious  metals,  also, 
we  seek  but  to  germinate  and  multiply,  by  natural 
means,  a  particular  species  of  nature's  productions  ; 
and  what  else  does  the  husbandman,  who  consults 
times  and  seasons,  and,  by  what  might  be  deemed 
a  natural  magic,  from  the  mere  scattering  of  his 
hand,  covers  a  whole  plain  with  golden  vegetation  .' 
The  mysteries  of  our  art,  it  is  true,  are  deeply  and 
darkly  hidden  ;  but  it  requires  so  much  the  more 
innocence  and  purity  of  thought,  to  penetrate  unto 
them.  No,  father !  the  true  alchymist  must  be  pure 
in  mind  and  body ;  he  must  be  temperate,  patient, 
chaste,  watchful,  meek,  humble,  devout.     '  My  son,' 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


479 


saj-s  Hermes  Trismeg-estes,  the  great  master  of  our 
art,  '  my  son,  I  recommend  you  above  all  things  to 
fear  God.'  And  indeed  it  is  only  by  devout  castiga- 
tion  of  the  senses,  and  purification  of  the  soul  that 
the  alchymist  is  enabled  to  enter  into  the  sacred  cham- 
bers of  truth.  '  Labour,  pray,  and  read,'  is  the  motto 
of  our  science.  As  De  Nuysment  well  observes, 
'  These  high  and  singular  favours  are  granted  unto 
none,  save  only  unto  the  sons  of  God,  (that  is  to 
say,  the  virtuous  and  devout,)  who,  under  his  pa- 
ternal benediction,  have  obtained  the  opening  of  the 
same,  by  the  helping  hand  of  the  queen  of  arts,  divine 
Philosophy.'  Indeed,  so  sacred  has  the  nature  of  this 
knowleage  been  considered,  that  we  are  told  it  has 
four  times  been  expressly  communicated  by  God  to 
man,  having  made  a  part  of  that  cabalistical  wisdom 
which  was  revealed  to  Adam  to  console  him  for  the 
loss  of  Paradise  ;  and  to  Moses  in  the  bush,  and  to 
Solomon  in  a  dream,  and  to  Esdras  by  the  angel. 

"  So  far  from  demons  and  malign  spirits  being  the 
friends  and  abettors  of  the  alchymist,  they  are  the 
continual  foes  with  which  he  has  to  contend.  It  is 
their  constant  endeavour  to  shut  up  the  avenues  to 
those  truths  which  would  enable  him  to  rise  above 
the  abject  state  into  which  he  has  fallen,  and  return 
to  that  excellence  which  was  his  original  birthright. 
For  what  would  be  the  effect  of  this  length  of  days, 
and  this  abundant  wealth,  but  to  enable  the  possess- 
or to  go  on  from  art  to  art,  from  science  to  science, 
with  energies  unimpaired  by  sickness,  uninterrupted 
by  death  .'  For  this  have  sages  and  philosophers  shut 
themselves  up  in  cells  and  solitudes ;  buried  them- 
selves in  caves  and  dens  of  the  earth  ;  turning  from 
the  joys  of  life,  and  the  pleasance  of  the  world  ;  en- 
during scorn,  poverty,  persecution.  For  this  was 
Raymond  LuUy  stoned  to  death  in  Mauritania.  For 
this  did  the  immortal  Pietro  D'Abano  suffer  perse- 
cution at  Padua,  and,  when  he  escaped  from  his  op- 
pressors by  death,  was  despitefuUy  burnt  in  effigy. 
For  this  have  illustrious  men  of  all  nations  intrep- 
idly suffered  martyrdom.  For  this,  if  unmolested, 
have  they  assiduously  employed  the  latest  hour  of 
life,  the  expiring  throb  of  existence ;  hoping  to  the 
last  that  they  might  yet  seize  upon  the  prize  for 
which  they  had  struggled,  and  pluck  themselves  back 
even  from  the  very  jaws  of  the  grave  ! 

"  For,  when  once  the  alchymist  shall  have  attained 
the  object  of  his  toils  ;  when  the  sublime  secret  shall 
be  revealed  to  his  gaze,  how  glorious  will  be  the 
change  in  his  condition  !  How  will  he  emerge  from 
his  solitary  retreat,  like  the  sun  breaking  forth  from 
the  darksome  chamber  of  the  night,  and  darting  his 
beams  throughout  the  earth  !  Gifted  with  perpetual 
youth  and  boundless  riches,  to  what  heights  of  wis- 
dom may  he  attain  !  How  may  he  carry  on,  uninter- 
rupted, the  thread  of  knowledge,  which  has  hitherto 
been  snapped  at  the  death  of  e.ach  philosopher  !  And, 
as  the  increase  of  wisdom  is  the  increase  of  virtue, 
how  may  he  become  the  benefactor  of  his  fellow- 
men  ;  dispensing,  with  liberal  but  cautious  and  dis- 
criminating hand,  that  inexhaustible  wealth  which  is 
at  his  disposal ;  banishing  poverty,  which  is  the  cause 
of  so  much  sorrow  and  wickedness ;  encouraging 
the  arts ;  promoting  discoveries,  and  enlarging  all  the 
means  of  virtuous  enjoyment  I  His  life  will  be  the 
connecting  band  of  generations.  History  will  live 
in  his  recollection ;  distant  ages  will  speak  with  his 
tongue.  The  nations  of  the  earth  will  look  to  him 
as  their  preceptor,  and  kings  will  sit  at  his  feet  and 
learn  wisdom.  Oh  glorious  !  oh  celestial  alchymy  ! " — 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  inquisitor,  who 
had  suffered  him  to  go  on  thus  far,  in  hopes  of  gath- 
ering something  from  his  unguarded  enthusiasm. 
"  Senor,"  said  he,  "  this  is  all  rambling,  visionary 
talk.    You  are  charged  with  sorcery,  and  in  defence 


you  give  us  a  rhapsody  about  alchymy.  Have  you 
nothing  better  than  this  to  offer  in  your  defence  .'  " 

The  old  man  slowly  resumed  his  seat,  but  did  not 
deign  a  reply.  The  fire  that  had  beamed  in  his  eye 
gradually  expired.  His  cheek  resumed  its  wonted 
paleness  ;  but  he  did  not  relapse  into  inanity.  He 
sat  with  a  steady,  serene,  patient  look,  like  one  pre- 
pared not  to  contend,  but  to  suffer. 

His  trial  continued  for  a  long  time,  with  cruel 
mockery  of  justice,  for  no  witnesses  were  ever  in  this 
court  confronted  with  the  accused,  and  the  latter 
had  continually  to  defend  himself  in  the  dark.  Some 
unknown  and  powerful  enemy  had  alleged  charges 
against  the  unfortunate  alchymist,  but  who  he  could 
not  imagine.  Stranger  and  sojourner  as  he  was  in 
the  land,  solitary  and  harmless  in  his  pursuits,  how 
could  he  have  provoked  such  hostility?  The  tide 
of  secret  testimony,  however,  was  too  strong  against 
him  ;  he  was  convicted  of  the  crime  of  magic,  and 
condemned  to  expiate  his  sins  at  the  stake,  at  the 
approaching  auto  da  fe. 

While  the  unhappy  alchymist  was  undergoing  his 
trial  at  the  inquisition,  his  daughter  was  exposed  to 
trials  no  less  severe.  Don  Ambrosio,  into  whose 
hands  she  had  fallen,  was,  as  has  before  been  inti- 
mated, one  of  the  most  daring  and  lawless  profligates 
in  all  Granada.  He  was  a  man  of  hot  blood  and 
fiery  passions,  who  stopped  at  nothing  in  the  gratifi- 
cation of  his  desires ;  yet  with  all  this  he  possessed 
manners,  address,  and  accomplishments,  that  had 
made  him  eminently  successful  among  the  sex.  From 
the  palace  to  the  cottage  he  had  extended  his  amor- 
ous enterprises  ;  his  serenades  harassed  the  slum- 
bers of  half  the  husbands  in  Granada ;  no  balcony 
was  too  high  for  his  adventurous  attempts,  nor  any 
cottage  too  lowly  for  his  pertidious  seductions.  Yet 
he  was  as  fickle  as  he  was  ardent ;  success  had  made 
him  vain  and  capricious ;  he  had  no  sentiment  to  at- 
tach him  to  the  victim  of  his  arts  ;  and  many  a  pale 
cheek  and  fading  eye,  lan^ishing  amidst  the  spark- 
ling of  jewels,  and  many  a  breaking  heart,  throbbing 
under  the  rustic  boddice,  bore  testimony  to  his  tri- 
umphs and  his  faithlessness. 

He  was  sated,  however,  by  easy  conquests,  and 
wearied  of  a  life  of  continual  and  prompt  gratifica- 
tion. There  had  been  a  degree  of  difficulty  and 
enterprise  in  the  pursuit  of  Inez  that  he  had  never  be- 
fore experienced.  It  had  aroused  him  from  the  mo- 
notony of  mere  sensual  life,  and  stimulated  him  with 
the  charm  of  adventure.  He  had  become  an  epicure 
in  pleasure;  and  now  that  he  had  this  coy  beauty  in 
his  power,  he  was  determined  to  protract  his  enjoy- 
ment, by  the  gradual  conquest  of  her  scruples  and 
downfall  of  her  virtue.  He  was  vain  of  his  person 
and  address,  which  he  thought  no  woman  could  long 
withstand  ;  and  it  was  a  kind  of  trial  of  skill  to  en- 
deavour to  gain,  by  art  and  fascination,  what  he  was 
secure  of  obtaining  at  any  time  by  violence. 

When  Inez,  therefore,  was  brought  into  his  pres- 
ence by  his  emissaries,  he  affected  not  to  notice  her 
terror  and  surprise,  but  received  her  with  formal  and 
stately  courtesy.  He  was  too  wary  a  fow  ler  to  flut- 
ter the  bird  when  just  entangled  in  the  net.  To  her 
eager  and  wild  inquiries  about  her  father,  he  begged 
her  not  to  be  alarmed  ;  that  he  was  safe,  and  had 
been  there,  but  was  engaged  elsewhere  in  an  affair 
of  moment,  from  which  he  would  soon  return  ;  in 
the  meantime,  he  had  left  word  that  she  should 
await  his  return  in  patience.  After  some  stately  ex- 
pressions of  general  civility,  Don  Ambrosio  made  a 
ceremonious  bow  and  retired. 

The  mind  of  Inez  was  full  of  trouble  and  perplex- 
ity. The  stately  formality  of  Don  Ambrosio  was  so 
unexpected  as  to  check  the  accusations  and  re- 
proaches that  were  springing  to  her  lips.     Had  he 


480 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


had  evil  designs,  would  he  have  treated  her  with 
such  frigid  ceremony  when  he  had  her  in  his  power? 
But  why,  then,  was  she  brought  to  his  house  ?  Was 
not  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  Antonio  con- 
nected with  this  ?  A  thought  suddenly  darted  into 
her  mind.  Antonio  had  again  met  with  Don  Am- 
brosio — they  had  fought — Antonio  was  wounded — 
perhaps  dying  !  It  was  him  to  whom  her  father  had 
gone — it  was  at  his  request  that  Don  Ambrosio  had 
sent  for  them,  to  soothe  his  dying  moments  !  These, 
and  a  thousand  such  horrible  suggestions,  harassed 
her  mind  ;  but  she  tried  in  vain  to  get  information 
from  the  domestics  ;  they  knew  nothing  but  that  her 
father  had  been  there,  had  gone,  and  would  soon 
return. 

Thus  passed  a  night  of  tumultuous  thought,  and 
vague  yet  cruel  apprehensions.  She  knew  not  what 
to  do  or  what  to  believe — whether  she  ought  to  fly, 
or  to  remain ;  but  if  to  fly,  how  was  she  to  extricate 
herself? — -and  where  was  she  to  seek  her  father? 
As  the  day  dawned  without  any  intelligence  of  him, 
her  alarm  increased  ;  at  length  a  message  was 
brought  from  him,  saying  that  circumstances  pre- 
vented his  return  to  her,  but  begging  her  to  hasten 
to  him  without  delay. 

With  an  eager  and  throbbing  heart  did  she  set 
forth  with  the  men  that  were  to  conduct  her.  She 
little  thought,  however,  that  she  was  merely  changing 
her  prison-house.  Don  Ambrosio  had  feared  lest 
•she  should  be  traced  to  his  residence  in  Granada ; 
or  that  he  might  be  interrupted  there  before  he  could 
accomplish  his  plan  of  seduction.  He  had  her  now 
conveyed,  therefore,  to  a  mansion  which  he  possessed 
in  one  of  the  mountain  solitudes  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Granada ;  a  lonely,  but  beautiful  retreat. 
In  vain,  on  her  arrival,  did  she  look  around  for  her 
father  or  Antonio  ;  none  but  strange  faces  met  her 
eye ;  menials,  profoundly  respectful,  but  who  knew 
nor  saw  any  thing  but  what  their  master  pleased. 

She  had  scarcely  arrived  before  Don  Ambrosio 
made  his  appearance,  less  stately  in  his  manner,  but 
still  treating  her  with  the  utmost  delicacy  and  defer- 
ence. Inez  was  too  much  agitated  and  alarmed  to 
be  baffled  by  his  courtesy,  and  became  vehement  in 
her  demand  to  be  conducted  to  her  father. 

Don  Ambrosio  now  put  on  an  appearance  of  the 
greatest  embarrassment  and  emotion.  After  some 
delay,  and  much  pretended  confusion,  he  at  length 
confessed  that  the  seizure  of  her  father  was  all  a 
stratagem  ;  a  mere  false  alarm,  to  procure  him  the 
present  opportunity  of  having  access  to  her,  and  en- 
deavouring to  mitigate  that  obduracy,  and  conquer 
that  repugnance,  which  he  declared  had  almost 
driven  him  to  distraction. 

He  assured  her  that  her  father  was  again  at  home 
in  safety,  and  occupied  in  his  usual  pursuits ;  having 
been  fully  satisfied  that  his  daughter  was  in  honour- 
able hands,  and  would  soon  be  restored  to  him.  It 
was  in  vain  that  she  threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and 
implored  to  be  set  at  liberty ;  he  only  replied  by 
gentle  entreaties,  that  she  would  pardon  the  seeming 
violence  he  had  to  use ;  and  that  she  would  trust  a 
little  while  to  his  honour.  "You  are  here,"  said  he, 
"  absolute  mistress  of  every  thing :  nothing  shall  be 
said  or  done  to  offend  you>:  I  will  not  even  intrude 
upon  your  ear  the  unhappy  passion  that  is  devouring 
my  heart.  Should  you  require  it,  I  will  even  absent 
myself  from  your  presence ;  but  to  part  with  you 
entirely  at  present,  with  your  mind  full  of  doubts 
and  resentments,  would  be  worse  than  death  to  me. 
No,  beautiful  Inez,  you  must  first  know  me  a  little 
better,  and  know  by  my  conduct  that  my  passion  for 
you  is  as  delicate  and  respectful  as  it  is  vehement." 

The  assurance  of  her  father's  safety  had  relieved 
Inez  from  one  cause  of  torturing  anxiety,  only  to 


render  her  fears  the  more  violent  on  her  own  ac- 
count. Don  Ambrosio,  however,  continued  1o  treat 
her  with  artful  deference,  that  insensibly  lulled  her 
apprehensions.  It  is  true  she  found  herself  a  captive, 
but  no  advantage  appeared  to  be  taken  of  her  help- 
lessness. She  soothed  herself  with  the  idea  that  a 
little  while  would  suffice  to  convince  Don  Ambrosio 
of  the  fallacy  of  his  hopes,  and  that  he  would  be  in- 
duced to  restore  her  to  her  home.  Her  transports 
of  terror  and  affliction,  therefore,  subsided,  in  a  few 
days,  into  a  passive,  yet  anxious  melanchol)',  with 
which  she  awaited  the  hoped-for  event. 

In  the  meanwhile,  all  those  artifices  were  employ- 
ed that  are  calculated  to  charm  the  senses,  ensnare 
the  feelings,  and  dissolve  the  heart  into  tenderness. 
Don  Ambrosio  was  a  master  of  the  subtle  arts  of 
seduction.  His  very  mansion  breathed  an  enervating 
atmosphere  of  languor  and  delight.  It  was  here, 
amidst  twilight  saloons  and  dreamy  chambers,  bur- 
ied among  groves  of  orange  and  myrtle,  that  he  shut 
himself  up  at  times  from  the  prying  world,  and  gave 
free  scope  to  the  gratification  of  his  pleasures. 

The  apartments  were  furnished  in  the  most  sump- 
tuous and  voluptuous  manner ;  the  silken  couches 
swelled  to  the  touch,  and  sunk  in  downy  softness 
beneath  the  slightest  pressure.  The  paintings  and 
statues,  all  told  some  classic  tale  of  love,  managed, 
however,  with  an'  insidious  delicacy ;  which,  while 
it  banished  the  grossness  that  might  disgust,  was  the 
more  calculated  to  excite  the  imagination.  There 
the  blooming  Adonis  was  seen,  not  breaking  away 
to  pursue  the  boisterous  chase,  but  crowned  with 
flowers,  and  languishing  in  the  embraces  of  celestial 
beauty.  There  Acis  wooed  his  Galatea  in  the  shade, 
with  the  Sicilian  sea  spreading  in  halcyon  serenity 
before  them.  There  were  depicted  groups  of  fawns 
and  dryads,  fondly  reclining  in  summer  bowers,  and 
listening  to  the  liquid  piping  of  the  reed  ;  or  the 
wanton  satyrs,  surprising  some  wood-nymph  during 
her  noontide  slumber.  There,  too,  on  the  storied 
tapestry,  might  be  seen  the  chaste  Diana,  stealing, 
in  the  mystery  of  moonlight,  to  kiss  the  sleeping 
Endymion  ;  while  Cupid  and  Psyche,  entwined  in 
i.Timortal  marble,  breathed  on  each  other's  lips  the 
early  kiss  of  love. 

The  ardent  rays  of  the  sun  were  excluded  from 
these  balmy  halls ;  soft  and  tender  music  from  un- 
seen musicians  floated  around,  seeming  to  mingle 
with  the  perfumes  that  were  exhaled  from  a  thou- 
sand flowers.  At  night,  when  the  moon  shed  a  fairy 
light  over  the  scene,  the  tender  serenade  would  rise 
from  among  the  bowers  of  the  garden,  in  which  the 
fine  voice  of  Don  Ambrosio  might  olten  be  distin- 
guished ;  or  the  amorous  flute  would  be  heard  along 
the  mountain,  breathing  in  its  pensive  cadences  the 
very  soul  of  a  lover's  melancholy. 

Various  entertainments  were  also  devised  to  dis- 
pel her  loneliness,  and  to  charm  away  the  idea  of 
confinement.  Groups  of  Andalusian  dancers  per- 
formed, in  the  splendid  saloons,  the  various  pictur- 
esque dances  of  their  country ;  or  represented  little 
amorous  ballets,  which  turned  upon  some  pleasing 
scene  of  pastoral  coquetry  and  courtship.  Sometimes 
there  were  bands  of  singers,  who,  to  the  romantic 
guitar,  warbled  forth  ditties  full  of  passion  and  ten- 
derness. 

Thus  all  about  her  enticed  to  pleasure  and  volup- 
tuousness ;  but  the  heart  of  Inez  turned  with  distaste 
from  this  idle  mockery.  The  tears  would  rush  into 
her  eyes,  as  her  thoughts  reverted  from  this  scene 
of  profligate  splendour,  to  the  humble  but  virtuous 
home  from  whence  she  had  been  betrayed  ;  or  if  the 
witching  power  of  music  ever  soothed  her  into  a 
tender  reverie,  it  was  to  dwell  with  fondness  on  the 
image  of  Antonio.    But  if  Don  Ambrosio,  deceived 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


481 


by  (Ill's  transient  calm,  should  attempt  at  such  time 
to  whisper  his  passion,  she  would  start  as  from  a 
dream,  and  recoil  from  him  with  involuntary  shud- 
dering. 

She  had  passed  one  long  day  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary sadness,  and  in  the  evening  a  band  of  these 
hired  performers  were  exerting  all  the  animating 
powers  of  song  and  dance  to  amuse  her.  But  while 
the  lofty  saloon  resounded  with  their  warblings,  and 
the  light  sound  of  feet  upon  its  marble  pavement 
kept  time  to  the  cadence  of  the  song,  poor  Inez,  with 
her  face  buried  in  the  silken  couch  on  which  she  re- 
clined, was  only  rendered  more  wretched  by  the 
sound  of  gaiety. 

At  length  her  attention  was  caught  by  the  voice 
of  one  of  the  singers,  that  brought  with  it  some  in- 
definite recollections.  She  raised  her  head,  and  cast 
an  anxious  look  at  the  performers,  who,  as  usual, 
were  at  the  lower  end  of  the  saloon.  One  of  them 
advanced  a  little  before  the  others.  It  was  a  female, 
dressed  in  a  fanciful,  pasioral  garb,  suited  to  the 
character  she  was  sustaining ;  but  her  countenance 
was  not  to  be  mistaken.  It  was  the  same  ballad- 
singer  that  had  twice  crossed  her  path,  and  given 
her  mysterious  intimations  of  the  lurking  mischief 
that  surrounded  her.  When  the  rest  of  the  perform- 
ances were  concluded,  she  seized  a  tambourine,  and, 
tossing  it  aloft,  danced  alone  to  the  melody  of  her 
own  voice.  In  the  course  of  her  dancing,  she  ap- 
proached to  where  Inez  reclined  :,and  as  she  struck 
the  tambourine,  contrived  dexterously  to  throw  a 
folded  paper  on  the  couch.  Inez  seized  it  with 
avidity,  and  concealed  it  in  her  bosom.  The  singing 
and  dancing  were  at  an  end  ;  the  motley  crew  re- 
tired ;  and  Inez,  left  alone,  hastened  with  anxiety  to 
unfold  the  paper  thus  mysteriously  conveyed.  It  was 
written  in  an  agitated,  and  almost  illegible  hand- 
writing :  "  Be  on  your  guard  !  you  are  surrounded 
by  treachery.  Trust  not  to  the  forbearance  of  Don 
Ambrosio  ;  you  are  marked  out  lor  his  prey.  An 
humble  victim  to  his  perfidy  gives  you  this  warning; 
she  is  encompassed  by  too  many  dangers  to  be  more 
explicit. — Your  father  is  in  the  dungeons  of  the  in- 
quisition !  " 

The  brain  of  Inez  reeled,  as  she  read  this  dreadful 
scroll.  She  was  less  filled  with  alarm  at'  her  own 
danger,  than  horror  at  her  father's  situation.  The 
moment  Don  Ambrosio  appeared,  she  rushed  and 
threw  herself  at  his  feet,  imploring  him  to  save  her 
father.  Don  Ambrosio  stared  with  astonishment ; 
but  immediately  regaining  his  self  possession,  en- 
deavoured to  soothe  her  by  his  blandishments,  and 
by  assurances  that  her  father  was  in  safety.  She  was 
not  to  be  pacified ;  her  fears  were  too  much  aroused 
to  be  trifled  with.  She  declared  her  knowledge  of 
her  father's  being  a  prisoner  of  the  inquisition,  and 
reiterated  her  frantic  supplications  that  he  would 
save  him. 

Den  Ambrosio  paused  for  a  moment  in  perplexity, 
but  we.s  too  adroit  to  be  easily  confounded.  "  That 
your  father  is  a  prisoner,"  replied  he,  "  I  have  long 
known.  I  have  concealed  it  from  you,  to  save  you 
from  fruitless  anxiety.  You  now  know  the  real 
reason  of  the  restraint  I  have  put  upon  your  liberty : 
I  have  been  protecting  instead  of  detaining  you. 
Every  exertion  has  been  made  in  your  father's  favour; 
but  1  regret  to  say,  the  proofs  of  the  offences  of 
which  he  stands  charged  have  been  too  strong  to  be 
controverted.  Still,"  added  he,  "I  have  it  in  my 
power  to  save  him  ;  I  have  influence,  I  have  means 
at  my  beck ;  it  may  involve  me,  it  is  true,  in  difficul- 
ties, perhaps  in  disgrace ;  but  what  would  I  not  do, 
in  the  hope  of  being  rewarded  by  your  favour.' 
Speak,  beautiful  Inez,"  said  he,  his  eyes  kindling 
with  sudden  eagerness ;  "  it  is  with  you  to  say  the 
31 


word  that  seals  your  father's  fate.  One  kind  word 
— say  but  you  will  be  mine,  and  you  will  behold  me 
at  your  feet,  your  father  at  liberty  and  in  affluence, 
and  we  shall  all  be  happy  !  " 

Inez  drew  back  from  him  with  scorn  and  disbelief. 
"  My  father,"  exclaimed  she,  "  is  too  innocent  and 
blameless  to  be  convicted  of  crime ;  this  is  some 
base,  some  cruel  artifice  !  "  Don  Ambrosio  repeated 
his  asseverations,  and  with  them  also  his  dishonour- 
able proposals  ;  but  his  eagerness  overshot  its  mark  ; 
her  indignation  and  her  incredulity  were  alike 
awakened  by  his  base  suggestions ;  and  he  retired 
from  her  presence,  checked  and  awed  by  the  sudden 
pride  and  dignity  of  her  demeanour. 

The  unfortunate  Inez  now  became  a  prey  to  the 
most  harrowing  anxieties.  Don  Ambrosio  saw  that 
the  mask  had  fallen  from  his  face,  and  that  the 
nature  of  his  machinations  was  revealed.  He  had 
gone  too  far  to  retrace  his  steps,  and  assume  the 
affectation  of  tenderness  and  respect ;  indeed,  he 
was  mortified  and  incensed  at  her  insensibility  to  his 
attractions,  and  now  only  sought  to  subdue  her 
through  her  fears.  He  daily  represented  to  her  the 
dangers  that  threatened  her  lather,  and  that  it  was 
in  his  power  alone  to  avert  them.  Inez  was  still  in- 
credulous. She  was  too  ignorant  of  the  nature  of 
the  inquisition,  to  know  that  even  innocence  was 
not  always  a  protection  from  its  cruelties ;  and  she 
confided  too  surely  m  the  virtue  of  her  father,  to  be- 
lieve that  any  accusation  could  prevail  against  him. 

At  length  Don  Ambrosio,  to  give  an  effectual  blow 
to  her  confidence,  brought  her  the  proclamation  of 
the  approaching  auto  da  fe,  in  which  the  prisoners 
were  enumerated.  She  glanced  her  eye  over  it,  and 
beheld  her  father's  name,  condemned  to  the  stake 
for  sorcery ! 

For  a  moment  she  stood  tranrfxed  with  horror. 
Don  Ambrosio  seized  upon  the  transient  calm. 
"  Think,  now,  beautiful  Inez,"  said  he,  with  a  tone 
of  affected'tenderness,  "  his  life  is  still  in  your  hands  ; 
one  word  from  you,  one  kind  word,  and  I  can  yet 
save  him." 

"  Monster  !  wretch  !  "  cried  she,  coming  to  herself, 
and  recoiling' from  him  with  insuperable  abhorrence  : 
" 'Tis  you  that  are  the  cause  of  this — 'tis  you  that 
are  his  murderer  !  "  Then,'  wringing  her  hands,  she 
broke  forth  into  exclamations  of  the  most  frantic 
agony. 

The  perfidious  Ambrosio  saw  the  torture  of  her 
soul,  and  anticipated  from  it  a  triumph.  He  saw  that 
she  was  in -no  mood,  during  her  present  paroxysm, 
to  listen  to  his  words  ;  but  he  trusted  that  the  hor- 
rors of  lonely  rumination  would  break  down  her 
spirit,  and  subdue  her  to  his  will.  In  this,  however, 
he  was  disappointed.  Many  were  the  vicissitudes  of 
mind  of  the  wretched  Inez  ;  at  one  time,  she  would 
embrace  his  knees,  with  piercing  supplications  ;  at 
another,  she  would  shrink  with  nervous  horror  at  his 
very  approach  ;  but  any  intimation  of  his  passion 
only  excited  the  same  emotion  of  loathing  and  de- 
testation. 

At  length  the  fatal  day  drew  nigh.  "  To-morrow," 
said  Don  Ambrosio,  as  he  left  her  one  evening,  "  to- 
morrow is  the  auto  da  fe.  To-morrow  you  will  hear 
the  sound  of  the  bell  that  tolls  your  father  to  his 
death.  You  will  almost  see  the  smoke  that  rises 
from  the  funeral  pile.  I  leave  you  to  yourself.  It  is 
yet  in  my  power  to  save  him.  Think  whether  you 
can  stand  to-morrow's  horrors  without  shrinking ! 
Think  whether  you  can  endure  the  after-reflection,, 
that  you  were  the  cause  of  his  death,  and  that 
merely  through  a  perversity  in  refusing  proffered 
happiness." 

What  a  night  was  it  to  Inez ! — her  heart  already 
harassed  and  almost  broken,  by  repeated  and  pro- 


482 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


traded  anxieties  ;  her  strength  wasted  and  enfeebled. 
On  every  side,  horrors  awaited  her  ;  her  father's 
death,  her  own  dishonour — there  seemed  no  escape 
from  misery  or  perdition.  "Is  tliere  no  relief  from 
man — no  pity  in  heaven  ?  "  exclaimed  she.  "  What — 
what  have  we  done,  that  we  should  be  thus  wretch- 
ed ?  •• 

As  the  dawn  approached,  the  fever  of  her  mind 
arose  to  agony ;  a  thousand  times  did  she  try  the 
doors  and  windows  of  her  apartment,  in  the  desper- 
ate hope  of  escaping.  Alas !  with  all  the  splendour 
of  her  prison,  it  was  too  faithfully  secured  for  her 
weak  hands  to  work  deliverance.  Like  a  poor  bird, 
that  beats  its  wings  against  its  gilded  cage,  until  it 
sinks  panting  in  despair,  so  she  threw  herself  on  the 
floor  in  hopeless  anguish.  Her  blood  grew  hot  in 
her  veins,  her  tongue  was  parched,  her  temples 
throbbed  with  violence,  she  gasped  rather  than 
breathed ;  it  seemed  as  if  her  brain  was  on  fire. 
"  Blessed  Virgin  !  "  exclaimed  she,  clasping  her  hands 
and  turning  up  her  strained  eyes,  "  look  down  with 
pity,  and  support  me  in  this  dreadful  hour  I  " 

Just  as  the  day  began  to  dawn,  she  heard  a  key 
turn  softly  in  the  door  of  her  apartment.  She  dread- 
ed lest  it  should  be  Don  Ambrosio ;  and  the  very 
thought  of  him  gave  her  a  sickening  pang.  It  was  a 
female  clad  in  a  rustic  dress,  with  her  face  concealed 
by  her  mantilla.  She  stepped  silently  into  the  room, 
looked  cautiously  round,  and  then,  uncovering  her 
face,  revealed  the  well-known  features  of  the  ballad- 
singer.  Inez  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise, 
almost  of  joy.  The  unknown  started  back,  pressed 
her  finger  on  her  lips  enjoining  silence,  and  beckoned 
her  to  follow.  She  hastily  wrapped  herself  in  her 
veil,  and  obeyed.  They  passed  with  quick,  but  noise- 
less steps  through  an  antechamber,  across  a  spacious 
hall,  and  along  a  corridor  ;  all  was  silent ;  the  house- 
hold was  yet  locked  in  sleep.  They  came  to  a  door, 
to  which  the  unknown  applied  a  key.  Inez's  heart 
misgave  her  ;  she  knew  not  but  some  new  treachery 
w.as  menacing  her;  she  laid  her  cold  hand  on  the 
stranger's  arm:  "Whither  are  you  leading  me?" 
said  she.  "  To  liberty,"  replied  the  other,  in  a  whis- 
per. 

"  Do  you  know  the  passages  about  this  mansion  ?  " 

"  But  too  well !  "  replied  the  girl,  with  a  melancholy 
shake  of  the  head.  There  was  an  expression  of  sad 
veracity  in  her  countenance,  that  was  not  to  be  dis- 
trusted. The  door  opened  on  a  small  terrace,  which 
was  overlooked  by  several  windows  of  the  mansion. 

"  We  must  move  acro.ss  this  quickly,"  said  the  girl, 
"  or  we  may  be  observed." 

They  glided  over  it,  as  if  scarce  touching  the 
ground.  A  flight  of  steps  led  down  into  the  garden  ; 
a  wicket  at  the  bottom  was  readily  unbolted  :  they 
passed  with  breathless  velocity  along  one  of  the  al- 
leys, still  in  sight  of  the  mansion,  in  which,  however, 
no  person  appeared  to  be  stirring.  At  length  they 
came  to  a  low  private  door  in  the  wall,  partly  hidden 
by  a  fig-tree.  It  was  secured  by  rusty  bolts,  that  re- 
fused to  yield  to  their  feeble  efforts. 

"Holy  Virgin!"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  "what 
is  to  be  done  ?  one  moment  more,  and  we  may  be 
discovered." 

She  seized  a  stone  that  lay  near  by :  a  few  blows, 
and  the  bolt  flew  back ;  the  door  grated  harshly  as 
they  opened  it,  and  the  next  moment  they  found 
themselves  in  a  narrow  road. 

"  Now,"  said  the  stranger,  "  for  Granada  as 
quickly  as  possible  !  The  nearer  we  approach  it, 
the  safer  we  shall  be  ;  for  the  road  will  be  more 
frequented." 

"The  imminent  risk  they  ran  of  being  pursued  and 
taken,  gave  supernatural  strength  to  their  limbs  ; 
they  flew,  rather  than  ran.     The  day  had  dawned  ; 


the  crimson  streaks  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon  gave 
tokens  of  the  approaching  sunrise  ;  already  the  light 
clouds  that  floated  in  the  western  sky  were  tinged 
with  gold  and  purple;  though  the  broad  plain  of 
the  Vega,  which  now  began  to  open  upon  their 
view,  was  covered  with  the  dark  haze  of  morning. 
As  yet  they  only  passed  a  few  straggling  peasants  on 
the  road,  who  could  have  yielded  them  no  assistance 
in  case  of  their  being  overtaken.  They  continued 
to  hurry  forward,  and  had  gained  a  considerable 
distance,  when  the  strength  of  Inez,  which  had  only 
been  sustained  by  the  fever  of  her  mind,  began  to 
yield  to  fatigue :  she  slackened  her  pace,  and  fal- 
tered. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  she,  "  my  limbs  fail  me  !  I  can  go 
no  farther  !  " 

"  Bear  up,  bear  up,"  replied  her  companion,  cheer- 
ingly  ;  "  a  little  farther,  and  we  shall  be  safe  :  look  ! 
yonder  is  Granada,  just  showing  itself  in  the  valley 
below  us.  A  little  farther,  and  we  shall  come  to  the 
main  road,  and  then  we  shall  find  plenty  of  passen- 
gers to  piotect  us." 

Inez,  encouraged,  made  fresh  efforts  to  get  for- 
ward, but  her  weaiy  limbs  were  unequal  to  the  ea- 
gerness of  her  mind  ;  her  mouth  and  throat  were 
parched  by  agony  and  terror:  she  gasped  for  breath, 
and  leaned  for  support  against  a  rock.  "  It  is  all  in 
vain  !  "  exclaimed  she  ;  "  I  feel  as  though  I  should 
faint." 

"  Lean  on  me,"  said  the  other  ;  "  let  us  get  into 
the  shelter  of  yon  thicket,  that  will  conceal  us  from 
the  view;  I  hear  the  sound  of  water,  which  will 
refresh  you." 

With  much  difficulty  they  reached  the  thicket, 
which  overhung  a  small  mountain-stream,  just  where 
its  sparkling  waters  leaped  over  the  rock  and  fell 
into  a  natural  basin.  Here  Inez  sank  upon  the 
ground,  exhausted.  Her  companion  brought  water 
in  the  palms  of  her  hands,  and  bathed  her  pallid 
temples.  The  cooling  drops  revived  her ;  she  was 
enabled  to  get  to  the  margin  of  the  stream,  and  drink 
of  its  crystal  current  ;  then,  reclining  her  head  on  the 
bosom  of  her  deliverer,  she  was  first  enabled  to  mur- 
mur forth  her  heartfelt  gratitude. 

"  Alas  !  "  said  the  other,  "  I  deserve  no  thanks  ;  I 
deserve  not  the  good  opinion  you  express.  In  me 
you  behold  a  victim  of  Don  Ambrosio's  arts.  In 
early  years  he  seduced  me  from  the  cottage  of  my 
parents  :  look  !  at  the  foot  of  yonder  blue  mountain, 
in  the  distance,  lies  my  native  village :  but  it  is  no 
longer  a  home  for  me.  From  thence  he  lured  me, 
when  I  was  too  young  for  reflection  ;  he  educated 
me,  taught  me  various  accomplishments,  made  me 
sensible  to  love,  to  splendour,  to  refinement ;  then, 
having  grown  weary  of  me,  he  neglected  me,  and 
cast  me  upon  the  world.  Happily  the  accomplish- 
ments he  taught  me  have  kept  me  from  utter  want  ; 
and  the  love  with  which  he  inspired  me  has  kept 
me  from  farther  degradation.  Yes  !  I  confess  my 
weakness  ;  all  his  perfidy  and  wrongs  cannot  efface 
him  from  my  heart.  I  have  been  brought  up  to  love 
him  ;  I  have  no  other  idol :  I  know  him  to  be  base, 
yet  I  cannot  help  adoring  him.  I  am  content  to 
mingle  among  the  hireling  throng  that  administer  to 
his  amusements,  that  I  may  still  hover  about  him, 
and  linger  in  those  halls  where  I  once  reigned  mis- 
tress. What  merit,  then,  have  I  in  assisting  your 
escape  ?  I  scarce  know  whether  1  am  acting  Irom 
sympathy  and  a  desire  to  rescue  another  victim  irom 
his  power  ;  or  jealousy,  and  an  eagerness  to  remove 
too  powerful  a  rival !  " 

While  she  was  yet  speaking,  the  sun  rose  in  all  its 
splendour ;  first  lighting  up  the  mountain  summits, 
then  stealing  down  height  by  height,  until  its  rays 
gilded  the  domes  and  towers  of  Granada,  which 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


483 


they  could  partially  see  from  between  the  trees, 
below  them.  Just  then  the  heavy  tones  of  a  bell 
came  sounding  from  a  distance,  echoing,  in  sullen 
clang,  along  the  mountain.  Inez  turned  pale  at  the 
sound.  She  knew  it  to  be  the  great  bell  of  the  cathe- 
dral, rung  at  sunrise  on  the  day  of  the  auto  da  fe,  to 
give  note  of  funeral  preparation.  Every  stroke  beat 
upon  her  heart,  and  inflicted  an  absolute,  corporeal 
pang.  She  started  up  wildly.  "  Let  us  be  gone  !  " 
cried  she  ;  "  there  is  not  a  moment  for  delay  !  " 

"  Stop  !  "  exclaimed  the  other;  "  yonder  are  horse- 
men coming  over  the  brow  of  that  distant  height  ; 
if  I  mistake  not,  Don  Ambrosio  is  at  their  head. — 
Alas  !  'tis  he  !  we  are  lost.  Hold  !  "  continued  she  ; 
"  give  me  your  scarf  and  veil ;  wrap  yourself  in  this 
mantilla.  I  will  fly  up  yon  footpath  that  leads  to  the 
heights.  I  will  let  the  veil  flutter  as  I  ascend  ;  per- 
haps they  may  mistake  me  for  you,  and  they  must 
dismount  to  follow  me.  Do  you  hasten  forward : 
you  will  soon  reach  the  main  road.  You  have  jewels 
on  your  fingers :  bribe  the  first  muleteer  you  meet,  to 
assist  you  on  your  way." 

All  this  was  said  with  hurried  and  breathless  ra- 
pidity. The  exchange  of  garments  was  made  in  an 
instant.  The  girl  darted  up  the  mountain-path,  her 
white  veil  fluttering  among  the  dark  shrubbery,  while 
Inez,  inspired  with  new  strength,  or  rather  new 
terror,  flew  to  the  road,  and  trusted  to  Providence  to 
guide  her  tottering  steps  to  Granada. 

All  Granada  was  in  agitation  on  the  morning  of 
this  dismal  day.  The  heavy  bell  of  the  cathedral 
continued  to  utter  its  clanging  tones,  that  pervaded 
everj-  part  of  the  city,  summoning  all  persons  to  the 
tremendous  spectacle  that  was  about  to  be  exhib- 
ited. The  streets  through  which  the  procession 
was  to  pass  were  crowded  with  the  populace.  The 
windows,  the  roofs,  every  place  that  could  admit  a 
face  or  a  foothold,  were  alive  with  spectators.  In 
the  great  square,  a  spacious  scaffolding,  like  an 
amphitheatre,  was  erected,  where  the  sentences  ot 
the  prisoners  were  to  be  read,  and  the  sermon  of 
faith  to  be  preached  ;  and  close  by  were  the  stakes 
prepared,  where  the  condemned  were  to  be  burnt  to 
death.  Seats  were  arranged  for  the  great,  the  gay, 
the  beautiful ;  for  such  is  the  horrible  curiosity  of 
human  nature,  that  this  cruel  sacrifice  was  attended 
with  more  eagerness  than  a  theatre,  or  even  a  bull- 
feast 

As  the  day  advanced,  the  scaffolds  and  balconies 
were  filled  with  expecting  multitudes ;  the  sun  shone 
brightly  upon  fair  faces  and  gallant  dresses ;  one 
would  have  thought  it  some  scene  of  elegant  festiv- 
ity, instead  of  an  exhibition  of  human  agony  and 
death.  Hut  what  a  different  spectacle  and  ceremony 
was  this,  from  those  which  Granada  exhibited  in  the 
days  of  her  Moorish  splendour !  "  Her  galas,  her 
tournaments,  her  sports  of  the  ring,  her  fetes  of  St. 
John,  her  music,  her  Zambras,  and  admirable  tilts 
of  canes  !  Her  serenades,  her  concerts,  her  songs 
in  Generaliffe  !  The  costly  liveries  of  the  Abencer- 
rages,  their  exquisite  inventions,  the  skill  and  valour 
of  the  Alabaces,  the  superb  dresses  of  the  Zegries, 
Mazas,  and  Gomeles  !  "  * — All  these  were  at  an  end. 
The  days  of  chivalry  were  over.  Instead  of  the 
prancing  cavalcade,  with  neighing  steed  and  lively 
trumpet ;  with  burnished  lance,  and  helm,  and 
buckler ;  with  rich  confusion  of  plume,  and  scarf, 
and  banner,  where  purple,  and  scarlet,  and  green, 
and  orange,  and  every  gay  colour,  were  mingled 
with  cloth  of  gold  and  fair  embroidery ;  instead  of 
this,  crept  on  the  gloomy  pageant  of  superstition,  in 
cowl  and  sackcloth ;  with  cross  and  coffin,  and 
frightful  symbols  of  human  suffering.     In  place  of 


•  Rodd's  Civil  Wan  of  Granada. 


the  frank,  hardy  knight,  open  and  brave,  with  his 
lady's  favour  in  his  casque,  and  amorous  motto  on 
his  shield,  looking,  by  gallant  deeds,  to  win  the 
smile  of  beauty,  came  the  shaven,  unmanly  monk, 
with  downcast  eyes,  and  head  and  heart  bleached  in 
the  cold  cloister,  secretly  exulting  in  this  bigot 
triumph. 

The  sound  of  the  bells  gave  notice  that  the  disma! 
procession  was  advancing.  It  passed  slowly  through 
the  principal  streets  of  the  city,  bearing  in  advance 
the  awful  banner  of  the  Holy  ORice.  The  prisoners 
walked  singly,  attended  by  confessors,  and  guarded 
by  familiars  of  the  inquisition.  They  were  ckid  in 
different  garments,  according  to  the  nature  of  their 
punishments ;  those  who  were  to  sufTer  death  wore 
the  hideous  Samarra,  painted  with  flames  and  de- 
mons. The  procession  was  swelled  by  choirs  of 
boys,  different  religious  orders  and  public  dignita- 
ries, and  above  all,  by  the  fathers  of  the  faith,  mov- 
ing "  with  slow  pace,  and  profound  gravity,  truly 
triumphing  as  becomes  the  principal  generals  of  that 
great  victory."* 

As  the  sacred  banner  of  the  inquisition  advanced, 
the  countless  throng  sunk  on  their  knees  before  it ; 
they  bowed  their  faces  to  the  very  earth  as  it  passed, 
and  then  slowly  rose  again,  like  a  great  undulating 
billow.  A  murmur  of  tongues  prevailed  as  the  pris- 
oners approached,  and  eager  eyes  were  strained, 
and  fingers  pointed,  to  distinguish  the  different  or- 
ders of  penitents,  whose  habits  denoted  the  degree 
of  punishment  they  were  to  undergo.  But  as  those 
drew  near  whose  frightful  garb  marked  them  as 
destined  to  the  flames,  the  noise  of  the  rabble  sub- 
sided ;  they  seemed  almost  to  hold  in  their  breath  ; 
filled  with  that  strange  and  dismal  interest  with 
which  we  contemplate  a  human  being  on  the  verge 
of  suffering  and  death. 

It  is  an  awful  thing — a  voiceless,  noiseless  multi- 
tude !  The  hushed  and  gazing  stillness  of  the  sur- 
rounding thousands,  heaped  on  walls,  and  gates,  and 
roofs,  and  hanging,  as  it  were,  in  clusters,  height- 
ened the  effect  of  the  pageant  that  moved  drearily 
on.  The  low  murmuring  of  the  priests  could  now 
be  heard  in  prayer  and  exhortation,  with  the  faint 
responses  of  the  prisoners,  and  now  and  then  the 
voices  of  the  choir  at  a  distance,  chanting  the  litanies 
of  the  saints. 

The  faces  of  the  prisoners  were  ghastly  and  dis- 
consolate. Even  those  who  had  been  pardoned,  and 
wore  the  Sanbenito,  or  penitential  garment,  bore 
traces  of  the  horrors  they  had  undergone.  Some 
were  feeble  and  tottering,  from  long  confinement ; 
some  crippled  and  distorted  by  various  tortures  ; 
every  countenance  was  a  dismal  page,  on  which 
might  be  read  the  secrets  of  their  prison-house.  But 
in  the  looks  of  those  condemned  to  death,  there  was 
something  fierce  and  eager.  They  seemed  men 
harrowed  up  by  the  past,  and  desperate  as  to  the 
future.  They  were  anticipating,  with  spirits  fevered 
by  despair,  and  fixed  and  clenched  determination, 
tlie  vehement  struggle  with  agony  and  death  which 
they  were  shortly  to  undergo.  .Some  cast  now  and 
then  a  wild  and  anguished  look  about  them,  upon 
the  shining  day  ;  the  "sun-bright  palaces,"  the  gay, 
the  beautiful  world,  which  they  wers  soon  to  quit 
forever;  or  a  glance  of  sudden  indignation  at  the 
thronging  thousands,  happy  in  liberty  and  life,  who 
seemed,  in  contemplating  their  frightful  situation,  to 
e.xult  in  their  own  comparative  security. 

One  among  the  condemned,  however,  was  an  ex- 
ception to  these  remarks.  It  was  an  aged  man, 
somewhat  bowed  down,  with  a  serene,  though  de- 
jected countenance,  and  a  beaming,  melancholy  eye. 


*  Gonsalvius,  p.  135, 


484 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


It  was  the  alchymist.  The  populace  looked  upon 
him  with  a  degree  of  compassion,  which  they  were 
not  prone  to  feel  towards  criminals  condemned  by 
the  inquisition  ;  but  when  they  were  told  that  he  was 
convicted  of  the  crime  of  magic,  they  drew  back 
with  awe  and  abhorrence. 

The  procession  had  reached  the  grand  square. 
The  first  part  had  already  mounted  the  scaffolding, 
and  the  condemned  were  approaching.  The  press 
of  the  populace  became  excessive,  and  was  repelled, 
as  it  were,  in  billows  by  the  guards.  Just  as  the 
condemned  were  entering  the  square,  a  shrieking 
was  heard  among  the  crowd.  A  female,  pale,  frantic, 
dishevelled,  was  seen  struggling  through  the  multi- 
tude. "  My  father  !  my  father  !  "  was  all  the  cry  she 
uttered,  but  it  thrilled  through  every  heart.  The 
crowd  instinctively  drew  back,  and  made  way  for 
her  as  she  advanced. 

The  poor  alchymist  had  made  his  peace  with 
Heaven,  and,  by  a  hard  struggle,  had  closed  his 
heart  upon  the  world,  when  the  voice  of  his  child 
called  him  once  more  back  to  worldly  thought  and 
qgony.  He  turned  towards  the  well-known  voice  ; 
his  knees  smote  together;  he  endeavoured  to  stretch 
forth  his  pinioned  arms,  and  felt  himself  clasped  in 
the  embraces  of  his  child.  The  emotions  of  both 
were  too  agonizing  for  utterance.  Convulsive  sobs 
and  broken  exclamations,  and  embraces  more  of 
anguish  than  tenderness,  were  all  that  passed  be- 
tween them.  The  procession  was  interrupted  for  a 
moment.  The  astonished  monks  and  familiars  were 
filled  with  involuntary  respect,  at  the  agony  of  nat- 
ural affection.  Ejaculations  of  pity  broke  from  the 
crowd,  touched  by  the  filial  piety,  the  extraordinary 
and  hopeless  anguish,  of  so  young  and  beautiful  a 
being. 

Every  attempt  to  soothe  her,  and  prevail  on  her 
to  retire,  was  unheeded  ;  at  length  they  endeavoured 
to  separate  her  from  her  father  by  force.  The  move- 
ment roused  her  from  her  temporary  abandonment. 
With  a  sudden  paro-xysm  of  fury,  she  snatched  a 
sword  from  one  of  the  familiars.  Her  late  pale 
countenance  was  flushed  with  rage,  and  fire  flashed 
from  her  once  soft  and  languishing  eyes.  The  guards 
shrunk  back  with  awe.  There  was  something  in  this 
filial  frenzy,  this  feminine  tenderness  wrought  up  to 
desperation,  that  touched  even  their  hardened  hearts. 
They  endeavoured  to  pacify  her,  but  in  vain.  Her 
eye  was  eager  and  quick,  as  the  she-wolf's  guarding 
her  young.  With  one  arm  she  pressed  her  father  to 
her  bosom,  with  the  other  she  menaced  every  one 
that  approached. 

The  patience  of  the  guards  was  soon  exhausted. 
They  had  held  back  in  awe,  but  not  in  fear.  With 
all  her  desperation  the  weapon  was  soon  wrested 
from  her  feeble  hand,  and  she  was  borne  shrieking 
and  struggling  among  the  crowd.  The  rabble  mur- 
mured compassion  ;  but  such  was  the  dread  inspired 
by  the  inquisition,  that  no  one  attempted  to  interfere. 

The  procession  again  resumed  its  march.  Inez 
was  ineffectually  struggling  to  release  herself  from 
the  hands  of  the  familiars  that  detained  her,  when 
suddenly  she  saw  Don  Ambrosio  before  her. 
•'  Wretched  girl !  "  exclaimed  he  with  fury,  "  why 
have  you  fled  from  your  friends  ?  Deliver  her,"  said 
he  to  the  familiars,  "to  my  domestics  ;  she  is  under 
my  protection." 

His  creatures  advanced  to  seize  her.  "  Oh,  no  1 
oh,  no!"  cried  she,  with  new  terrors,  and  chnging 
to  the  familiars,  "  I  have  fled  from  no  friends.  He 
is  not  my  protector !  He  is  the  murderer  of  my 
father  ! " 

The  familiars  were  perplexed  ;  the  crowd  pressed 
on,  with  eager  curiosity.  "Stand  off!"  cried  the 
fier)'   Ambrosio,  da.shing  the   throng  from   around 


him.  Then  turning  to  the  familiars,  with  sudden 
moderation,  "  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  deliver  this 
poor  girl  to  me.  Her  distress  has  turned  her  brain  ; 
she  has  escaped  from  her  friends  and  protectors  this 
morning;  but  a  little  quiet  and  kind  treatment  will 
restore  her  to  tranquillity." 

"  I  am  not  mad  !  1  am  not  mad  ! "  cried  s!ie,  ve- 
hemently. "  Oh,  save  me  ! — save  me  from  these 
men  !  I  have  no  protector  on  earth  but  my  father, 
and  him  they  are  murdering  !  " 

The  familiars  shook  their  heads ;  her  wildness 
corroborated  the  assertions  of  Don  Ambrosio,  and 
his  apparent  rank  commanded  respect  and  belief. 
They  relinquished  their  charge  to  him,  and  he  was 
consigning  the  struggling  Inez  to  his  creatures. 

"  Let  go  your  hold,  villain  ! "  cried  a  voice  from 
among  the  crowd — and  Antonio  was  seen  eagerly 
tearing  his  way  through  the  press  of  people. 

"  Seize  him  !  seize  him  !  "  cried  Don  Ambrosio 
to  the  familiars,  "  'tis  an  accomplice  of  the  sorcer- 
er's." 

"  Liar  !  "  retorted  Antonio,  as  he  thrust  the  mob 
to  the  right  and  left,  and  forced  himself  to  the  spot. 

The  sword  of  Don  Ambrosio  flashed  in  an  instant 
from  the  scabbard ;  the  student  was  armed,  and 
equally  alert.  There  was  a  fierce  clash  of  weapons : 
the  crowd  made  way  for  them  as  they  fought,  and 
closed  again,  so  as  to  hide  them  from  the  view  of 
Inez.  All  was  tumult  and  confusion  for  a  moment ; 
when  there  was  a  kind  of  shout  from  the  specta- 
tors, and  the  mob  again  opening,  she  beheld,  as  she 
thought,  Antonio  weltering  in  his  blood. 

This  new  shock  was  too  great  for  her  already  over- 
strained intellects.  A  giddiness  seized  upon  her; 
every  thing  seemed  to  whirl  before  her  eyes ;  she 
gasped  some  incoherent  words,  and  sunk  senseless 
upon  the  ground. 

Days — weeks  elapsed,  before  Inez  returned  to  con- 
sciousness. At  length  she  opened  her  eyes,  as  if  out 
of  a  troubled  sleep.  She  was  lying  upon  a  magnifi- 
cent bed,  in  a  chamber  richly  furnished  with  pier- 
glasses,  and  massive  tables  inlaid  with  silver,  of  ex- 
quisite workmanship.  The  walls  were  covered  with 
tapestry  ;  the  cornices  rithly  gilded  ;  through  the 
door,  which  stood  open,  she  perceived  a  superb  sa- 
loon, with  statues  and  crystal  lustres,  and  a  magnifi- 
cent suite  of  apartments  beyond.  The  casements  of 
the  room  were  open  to  admit  the  soft  breath  of 
summer,  which  stole  in,  laden  with  perfumes  from  a 
neighbouring  garden  ;  from  whence,  also,  the  re- 
freshing sound  of  fountains  and  the  sweet  notes  of 
birds  came  in  mingled  music  to  her  ear. 

Female  attendants  were  moving,  with  noiseless 
step,  about  the  chamber  ;  but  she  feared  to  address 
them.  She  doubted  whether  this  were  not  all  delu- 
sion, or  whether  she  was  not  still  in  the  palace  of 
Don  Ambrosio,  and  that  her  escape,  and  all  its  cir- 
cumstances, had  not  been  but  a  feverish  dn^am.  She 
closed  her  eyes  again,  endeavouring  to  recall  the  past, 
and  to  separate  the  real  from  the  imaginary.  The 
last  scenes  of  consciousness,  however,  rushed  too 
forcibly,  with  all  their  horrors,  to  her  mind  to  be 
doubted,  and  she  turned  shuddering  from  the  rec- 
ollection, to  gaze  once  more  on  the  quiet  and  serene 
magnificence  around  her.  As  she  again  opened  her 
eyes,  they  rested  on  an  object  that  at  once  dispelled 
every  alarm.  At  the  head  of  her  bed  sat  a  venerable 
form,  watching  over  her  with  a  look  of  fond  anxiety 
— it  was  her  father  ! 

I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  scene  that  en- 
sued ;  nor  the  moments  of  rapture  which  more  than 
repaid  all  the  sufferings  that  her  affectionate  heart 
had  undergone.  As  soon  as  their  feelings  had  become 
more  calm,  the  alchymist  stepped  out  of  the  room 
to  introduce  a  stranger,  to  whom  he  was  indebted 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


485 


for  his  life  and  liberty.  He  returned,  leading  in  An- 
tonio, no  long^cr  in  his  poor  scholar's  garb,  but  in  the 
rich  dress  of  a  nobleman. 

The  feelings  of  Inez  were  almost  overpowered  by 
these  sudden  reverses,  and  it  was  some  time  before 
she  was  sufficiently  composed  to  comprehend  the  ex- 
planation of  this  seeming  romance. 

It  appeared  that  the  lover,  who  had  sought  her 
affections  in  the  lowly  guise  of  a  student,  was  only 
son  and  heir  of  a  powerful  grandee  of  Valentia.  He 
had  been  placed  at  the  university  of  Salamanca  ;  but 
a  lively  curiosity,  and  an  eagerness  for  adventure, 
had  induced  him  to  abandon  the  university,  without 
his  father's  consent,  and  to  visit  various  parts  of 
Spain.  His  rambling  inclination  satisfied,  he  had 
remained  incognito  for  a  time  at  Granada,  until,  by 
farther  study  and  self-regulation,  he  could  prepare 
himself  to  return  home  with  credit,  and  atone  for  his 
transgressions  against  paternal  authority. 

How  hard  he  had  studied,  does  not  remain  on 
record.  All  that  we  know  is  his  romantic  adventure 
of  the  tower.  It  was  at  first  a  mere  youthful  caprice, 
excited  by  a  glimpse  of  a  beautiful  face.  In  be- 
coming a  disciple  of  the  alchymist,  he  probably 
thought  of  nothing  more  than  pursuing  a  light  love 
affair.  Farther  acquaintance,  however,  had  com- 
pletely fixed  his  affections ;  and  he  had  determined 
to  conduct  Inez  and  her  father  to  Valentia,  and  to 
trust  to  her  merits  to  secure  his  father's  consent  to 
their  union. 

In  the  meantime,  he  had  been  traced  to  his  con- 
cealment. His  father  had  received  intelligence  of 
his  being  entangled  in  the  snares  of  a  mysterious  ad- 
venturer and  his  daughter,  and  likely  to  become  the 
dupe  of  the  fascinations  of  the  latter.  Trusty  emis- 
saries had  been  despatched  to  seize  upon  him  by 
main  force,  and  convey  i.im  without  delay  to  the 
paternal  home. 

What  eloquence  he  had  used  with  his  father,  to 
convince  him  of  the  innocence,  the  honour,  and  the 
high  descent  of  the  alchymist,  and  of  the  exalted 
worth  of  his  daughter,  does  not  appear.  All  that 
we  know  is,  that  the  father,  though  a  very  pas- 
sionate, was  a  very  reasonable  man,  as  appears  by 
his  consenting  that  his  son  should  return  to  Gra- 
nada, and  conduct  Inez  as  his  affianced  bride  to 
Valentia. 

Away,  then,  Don  Antonio  hurried  back,  full  of 
joyous  anticipations.  He  still  forbore  to  throw  off 
his  disguise,  fondly  picturing  to  himself  what  would 
be  the  surprise  of  Inez,  when,  having  won  her  heart 
and  hand  as  a  poor  wandering  scholar,  he  should 
raise  her  and  her  father  at  once  to  opulence  and 
splendour. 

On  his  arrival  he  had  been  shocked  at  finding 
the  tower  deserted  by  its  inhabitants.  In  vain  he 
sought  for  intelligence  concerning  them  ;  a  mystery 
hung  over  their  disappearance  which  he  could  not 
penetrate,  until  he  was  thunderstruck,  on  accidentally 
reading  a  list  of  the  prisoners  at  the  impending  auto 
da  fe,  to  find  the  name  of  his  venerable  master  among 
the  condemned. 

It  was  the  very  morning  of  the  execution.  The 
procession  was  already  on  its  way  to  the  grand 
square.  Not  a  moment  was  to  be  lost.  The  grand 
inquisitor  was  a  relation  of  Don  Antonio,  though 
they  had  never  met.  His  first  impulse  was  to  make 
himself  known  ;  to  exert  all  his  family  influence,  the 
weight  of  his  name,  and  the  power  of  his  eloquence, 
in  vindication  of  the  alchymist.  But  the  grand  in- 
quisitor was  already  proceeding,  in  all  his  pomp,  to 
the  place  where  the  fatal  ceremony  was  to  be  per- 
formed. How  was  he  to  be  approached  .'  Antonio 
threw  himself  into  the  crowd,  in  a  fever  of  anxiety, 
and  was   forcing  his  way  to  the   scene  of  horror. 


where  he  arrived  just  in  time  to  rescue  Inez,  as  has 
been  mentioned. 

It  was  Don  Ambrosio  that  fell  in  their  contest. 
Being  desperately  wounded,  and  thinking  his  end 
approaching,  he  had  confessed  to  an  attending  father 
of  the  inquisition,  that  he  was  the  sole  cause  of  the 
alchymist's  condemnation,  and  that  the  evidence  on 
which  it  was  grounded  was  altogether  false.  The 
testimony  of  Don  Antonio  came  in  corroboration  of 
this  avowal ;  and  his  relationship  to  the  grand  in- 
quisitor had,  in  all  probability,  its  proper  weight. 
Thus  was  the  poor  alchymist  snatched,  in  a  man- 
ner, from  the  very  flames ;  and  so  great  had  been 
the  sympathy  awakened  in  his  case,  that  for  once 
a  populace  rejoiced  at  being  disappointed  of  an  exe- 
cution. 

The  residue  of  the  story  may  readily  be  imagined, 
by  every  one  versed  in  this  valuable  kind  of  histor\-. 
Don  Antonio  espoused  the  lovely  Inez,  and  took 
her  and  her  father  with  him  to  Valentia.  As 
she  had  been  a  loving  and  dutiful  daughter,  so  she 
proved  a  true  and  tender  wife.  It  was  not  long 
before  Don  Antonio  succeeded  to  hi&  father's  titles 
and  estates,  and  he  and  his  fair  spouse  were  re- 
nowned for  being  the  handsomest  and  happiest 
couple  in  all  Valentia. 

As  to  Don  Ambrosio,  he  partially  recovered  to 
the  enjoyment  of  a  broken  constitution  and  a  blasted 
name,  and  hid  his  remorse  and  disgrace  in  a  con- 
vent ;  while  the  poor  victim  of  his  arts,  who  had  as- 
sisted Inez  in  her  escape,  unable  to  conquer  the  early 
passion  that  he  had  awakened  in  her  bosom,  though 
convinced  of  the  baseness  of  the  object,  retired  from 
the  world,  and  became  an  humble  sister  in  a  nun- 
nery. 

"The  worthy  alchymist  took  up  his  abode  with  his 
childrenr  A  pavilion,  in  the  garden  of  their  palace, 
was  assigned  to  him  as  a  laboratory,  where  he  re- 
sumed his  researches  with  renovated  ardour,  after 
the  grand  secret.  He  was  now  and  then  assisted  by 
his  son-in-law  ;  but  the  latter  slackened  grievously  in 
his  zeal  and  diligence,  after  marriage.  Still  he  would 
listen  with  profound  gravity  and  attention  to  the  old 
man's  rhapsodies,  and  his  quotations  from  Paracel- 
sus, Sandivogius,  and  Pietro  D'Abano,  which  daily 
grew  longer  and  longer.  In  this  way  the  good  al- 
chymist lived  on  quietly  and  comfortably,  to  what  is 
called  a  good  old  age,  that  is  to  say,  an  age  that  is 
good  for  nothing;  and  unfortunately  for  mankind, 
was  hurried  out  of  life  in  his  ninetieth  year,  just  as 
he  was  on  the  point  of  discovering  the  Philosopher's 
Stone. 


Such  was  the  story  of  the  captain's  friend,  with 
which  we  whiled  away  the  morning.  The  captain 
was,  every  now  and  then,  interrupted  by  questions 
and  remarks,  which  I  have  not  mentioned,  lest  I 
should  break  the  continuity  of  the  tale.  He  was  a 
little  disturbed,  also,  once  or  twice,  by  the  general, 
who  fell  asleep,  and  breathed  rather  hard,  to  the 
great  horror  and  annoyance  of  Lady  Lillycraft.  In 
a  long  and  tender  love  scene,  also,  which  was  par- 
ticularly to  her  ladyship's  taste,  the  unlucky  general, 
having  his  head  a  little  .sunk  upon  his  breast,  kept 
making  a  sound  at  regular  intervals,  very  much  like 
the  word  ptsA,  long  drawn  out.  At  length  he  made 
an  odd  abrupt  guttural  sound,  that  suddenly  awoke 
him  ;  he  hemmed,  looked  about  with  a  slight  degree 
of  consternation,  and  then  began  to  play  with  her 
ladyship's  work-bag,  which,  however,  she  rather 
pettishly  withdrew.  The  steady  sound  of  the  cap- 
tain's voice  was  still  too  potent  a  soporific  for  the 
poor  general ;  he  kept  gleaming  up  and  sinking  in 
the  socket,  until  the  cessation  of  the  tale  again  roused 


436 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


him,  when  he  started  awake,  put  his  foot  clown  upon 
Lady  Lillycraft's  cur,  the  sleeping-  Beauty,  which 
yelped  and  seized  him  by  the  leg-,  and,  in  a  moment, 
the  whole  library  resounded  with  yelpings  and  ex- 
clamations. Never  did  man  more  completely  mar 
his  fortunes  while  he  was  asleep.  Silence  being  at 
length  restored,  the  company  expressed  their  thanks 
to  the  captain,  and  gave  various  opinions  of  the 
story.     The  parson's  mind,  I  found,  had  been  con- 


tinually running  upon  the  leaden  manuscripts,  men- 
tioned in  the  beginning,  as  dug  up  at  Granada,  and 
he  put  several  eager  questions  to  the  captain  on  the 
subject.  The  general  could  not  well  make  out  the 
drift  of  the  story,  but  thought  it  a  little  confused. 
"  I  am  glad,  however,"  said  he,  "  that  they  burnt  the 
old  chap  of  the  tower ;  I  have  no  doubt  he  was  a 
notorious  impostor." 

[end  of  vol.  one.] 


Bracebridge  Hall:  or,  The  Humourists. 


BY    GEOFFREY    CRAYON,    GENT. 


VOLUME  SECOND. 


Under  this  cloud  I  walk,  Gentlemen  ;  pardon  my  rude  assault. 
I  am  a  traveller,  who,  having  surveyed  most  of  the  terrestrial  angles 
of  this  globe,  am  hither  arrived,  to  peruse  this  little  spot. 

Chkistmas  Ordinary. 


ENGLISH  COUNTRY  GENTLEMEN, 


His  certain  life,  that  never  can  deceive  him. 
Is  full  of  thousand  sweets,  and  rich  content ; 

The  smooth-leaved  beeches  in  the  field  receive  him 
With  coolest  shade,  till  noontide's  heat  be  spent. 

His  life  is  neither  tost  in  boiterous  seas 

Or  the  vexatious  world  j  or  lost  in  slothful  ease. 

Pleased  and  full  blest  he  lives,  when  he  his  God  can  please, 

Phineas  Fletcher. 

I  T.-VKE  great  pleasure  in  accompanying  the  Squire 
in  his  perambulations  about  his  estate,  in  which  he 
is  often  attended  by  a  kind  of  cabinet  council.  His 
prime  minster,  the  steward,  is  a  very  worthy  and 
honest  old  man,  that  assumes  a  right  of  way  ;  that  is 
to  sa)-,  a  right  to  have  his  own  way,  from  having 
lived  time  out  of  mind  on  the  place.  He  loves  the 
estate  even  better  than  he  does  the  Squire ;  and 
thwarts  the  latter  sadly  in  many  of  his  projects  of 
improvement,  being  a  little  prone  to  disapprove  of 
every  plan  that  does  not  originate  with  himself. 

In  the  course  of  one  of  these  perambulations,  I 
have  known  the  Squire  to  point  out  some  important 
alteration  which  he  was  contemplating,  in  the  dispo- 
sition or  cultivation  of  the  grounds ;  this,  of  course, 
would  be  opposed  by  the  steward,  and  a  long  argu- 
ment would  ensue,  over  a  stile,  or  on  a  rising  piece 
of  ground,  until  the  Squire,  who  has  a  high  opinion 
of  the  other's  ability  and  integrity,  would  be  fain  to 
give  up  the  point.  This  concession,  I  observed, 
would  immediately  mollify  the  old  man ;  and,  aftei 
walking  over  a  field  or  two  in  silence,  with  his  hands 
behind  his  back,  chewing  the  cud  of  reflection,  he 
would  suddenly  turn  to  the  Squire,  and  observe,  that 
"  he  had  been  turning  the  matter  over  in  his  mind, 
and,  upon  the  whole,  he  believed  he  would  take  his 
honour's  advice." 

Christy,  the  huntsman,  is  another  of  the  Squire's 
occasional  attendants,  to  whom  he  continually  refers 
in  all  matters  of  local  history,  as  to  a  chronicle  of 
the  estate,  having,  in  a  manner,  been  acquainted 
with  many  of  the   trees,  from   the  very  time    that 


they  were  acorns.  Old  Nimrod,  as  has  been  shown, 
is  rather  pragmatical  in  those  points  of  knowledge 
on  which  he  values  himself;  but  the  Squire  rarely 
contradicts  him,  and  is,  in  fact,  one  of  the  most  in- 
dulgent potentates  that  ever  was  henpecked  by  his 
ministry. 

He  often  laughs  about  it  himself,  and  evidently 
yields  to  these  old  men  more  from  the  bent  of  his 
own  humour  than  from  any  want  of  proper  author- 
ity. He  likes  this  honest  independence  of  old  age, 
and  is  well  aware  that  these  trusty  followers  love 
and  honour  him  in  their  hearts.  He  is  perfectly  at 
ease  about  his  own  dignity,  and  the  respect  of  those 
around  him  ;  nothing  disgusts  him  sooner  than  any 
appearance  of  fawning  or  sycophancy. 

I  really  have  seen  no  display  of  royal  state,  that 
could  compare  with  one  of  the  Squire's  progresses 
about  his  paternal  fields  and  through  his  hereditary 
woodlands,  with  several  of  these  faithful  adherents 
about  him,  and  followed  by  a  body-guard  of  dogs. 
He  encourages  a  frankness  and  manliness  of  deport- 
ment among  his  dependants,  and  is  the  personal 
friend  of  his  tenants ;  inquiring  into  their  concerns, 
and  assisting  them  in  times  of  difficulty  and  hardship. 
This  has  rendered  him  one  of  the  most  popular,  and 
of  course  one  of  the  happiest,  of  landlords. 

Indeed,  1  do  not  know  a  more  enviable  condition 
of  life,  than  that  of  an  English  gentleman,  of  sound 
judgment  and  good  feelings,  who  passes  the  greater 
part  of  his  time  on  an  hereditary  estate  in  the  country. 
From  the  excellence  of  the  roads,  and  the  rapidity 
and  exactness  of  the  public  conveyances,  he  is  en- 
abled to  command  all  the  comforts  and  conven- 
iences, all  the  intelligence  and  novelties  of  the  capital, 
while  he  is  removed  from  its  hurry  and  distraction. 
He  has  ample  means  of  occupation  and  amusement, 
within  his  own  domains  ;  he  may  diversify  his  time, 
by  rural  occupations,  by  rural  sports,  by  studv,  and 
by  the  delights  of  friendly  society  collected  within 
his  own  hospitable  halls. 

Or,  if  his  views  and  feelings  are  of  a  more  exten- 
sive and  liberal  nature,  he  has  it  greatly  in  his  power 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


487 


to  do  good,  and  to  have  that  good  immediately  re- 
flected back  upon  himself.  He  can  render  essential 
services  to  his  country,  by  assisting  in  the  disinterest- 
ed administration  of  the  laws  ;  by  watching  over  the 
opinions  and  principles  of  the  lower  orders  around 
him ;  by  diffusing  among  thein  those  lights  which 
may  be  important  to  their  welfare ;  by  mingling 
frankly  among  them,  gaining  their  confidence,  be- 
coming the  immediate  auditor  of  their  complaints, 
informing  himself  of  their  wants,  making  himself  a 
channel  through  which  their  grievances  may  be 
quietly  communicated  to  the  ])roper  sources  of  miti- 
gation and  relief  ;  or  by  becoming,  if  need  be,  the 
intrepid  and  incorruptible  guardian  of  their  liber- 
ties— the  enlightened  champion  of  their  rights. 

All  thisi-it  appears  to  me,  can  be  done  without 
any  sacrifice  of  personal  dignity,  without  any  de- 
grading arts  of  popularity,  without  any  truckling  to 
vulgar  prejudices  or  concurrence  in  vulgar  clamour ; 
but  by  the  steady  influence  of  sincere  and  friendly 
counsel,  of  fair,  upright,  and  generous  deportment. 
Whatever  may  be  said  of  English  mobs  and  English 
demagogues,  I  have  never  met  with  a  people  more 
open  to  reason,  more  considerate  in  their  tempers, 
more  tractable  by  argument  in  the  roughest  times, 
than  tlie  English.  They  are  remarkably  quick  at  dis- 
cerning and  appreciating  whatever  is  manly  and  hon- 
ourable. They  are,  by  nature  and  habit,  methodical 
and  orderly  ;  and  they  feel  the  value  of  all  that  is 
regular  and  respectable.  They  may  occasionally  be 
deceived  by  sophistry,  and  excited  into  turbulence 
by  public  distresses  and  the  misrepresentations  of  de- 
signing men  ;  but  open  their  eyes,  and  they  will 
eventually  rally  round  the  landmarks  of  steady  truth 
and  deliberate  good  sense.  They  are  fond  of  estab- 
lished customs ;  they  are  fond  of  long-established 
names  ;  and  that  love  of  order  and  quiet  which  char- 
acterizes the  nation,  gives  a  vast  influence  to  the 
descendants  of  the  old  families,  whose  forefathers 
have  been  lords  of  the  soil  from  time  immemorial. 

It  is  when  the  rich  and  well-educated  and  highly- 
privileged  classes  neglect  their  duties,  when  they 
neglect  to  study  the  interests,  and  conciliate  the 
affections,  and  instruct  the  opinions,  and  champion 
the  rights  of  the  people,  that  the  latter  become  dis- 
contented and  turbulent,  and  fall  into  the  hands  of 
demagogues  :  the  demagogue  always  steps  in,  where 
the  patriot  is  wanting.  There  is  a  common  high- 
handed cant  among  the  high-feeding,  and,  as  they 
fancy  themselves,  high-minded  men,  about  putting 
down  the  mob  ;  but  all  true  physicians  know  that 
it  is  better  to  sweeten  the  blood  than  attack  the  tu- 
mour, to  apply  the  emollient  rather  than  the  cautery. 
It  is  absurd,  in  a  country  like  England,  where  there 
is  so  much  freedoin,  and  such  a  jealousy  of  right, 
for  any  man  to  assume  an  aristocratical  tone,  and  to 
talk  superciliously  of  the  common  people.  There  is 
no  rank  that  makes  him  independent  of  the  opinions 
and  affections  of  his  fellow-men  ;  there  is  no  rank 
nor  distinction  that  severs  him  from  his  fellow-sub- 
jects ;  and  if,  by  any  gradual  neglect  or  assumption 
on  the  one  side,  and  discontent  and  jealousy  on  the 
other,  the  orders  of  society  should  really  separate, 
let  those  vv'ho  stand  on  the  eminence  beware  that  the 
chasm  is  not  mining  at  their  feet.  The  orders  of 
society,  in  all  well-constituted  governments,  are 
mutually  bound  together,  and  important  to  each 
other ;  there  can  be  no  such  thing  in  a  free  govern- 
ment as  a  vacuum  ;  and  whenever  one  is  likely  to 
take  place,  by  the  drawing  off  of  the  rich  and  intelli- 
gent from  the  poor,  the  bad  passions  of  society  will 
rush  in  to  fill  up  the  space,  and  rend  the  whole 
asunder. 

Though  born  and  brought  up  in  a  republic,  and 
more  and  more  confirmed  in  republican  principles 


by  every  year's  observation  and  experience,  yet  I  am 
not  insensible  to  the  excellence  that  may  exist  in 
other  forms  of  government,  nor  to  the  fact  that  they 
may  be  more  suitable  to  the  situation  and  circum- 
stances of  the  countries  in  which  they  exist :  I  have 
endeavoured  rather  to  look  at  them  as  they  are,  and 
to  observe  how  they  are  calculated  to  effect  the  end 
which  they  propose.  Considering,  therelore,  the 
mixed  nature  of  the  government  of  this  country,  and 
its  representative  form,  I  have  looked  with  admira- 
tion at  the  manner  in  which  the  wealth  and  influence 
and  intelligence  were  spread  over  its  whole  surface  ; 
not  as  in  some  monarchies,  drained  from  the  coun- 
try, and  collected  in  towns  and  cities.  I  have  con- 
sidered the  great  rural  establishments  of  the  nobility, 
and  the  lesser  establishments  of  the  gentry,  as  so 
many  reservoirs  of  wealth  and  intelligence  distributed 
about  the  kingdom,  apart  from  the  towns,  to  irrigate, 
freshen,  and  fertilize  the  surrounding  country.  I 
have  looked  upon  them,  too,  as  the  august  retreat  of 
patriots  and  statesmen,  where,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
honourable  independence  and  elegant  leisure,  they 
might  train  up  their  minds  to  appear  in  those  legis- 
lative assemblies,  whose  debates  and  decisions  form 
the  study  and  precedents  of  other  nations,  and  in- 
volve the  interests  of  the  world. 

I  have  been  both  surprised  and  disappointed,  there- 
fore, at  finding  that  on  this  subject  I  was  often  in- 
dulging in  ah  Utopian  dream,  rather  than  a  well- 
founded  opinion.  I  have  been  concerned  at  finding 
that  these  fine  estates  were  too  often  involved,  and 
mortgaged,  or  placed  in  the  hands  of  creditors,  and 
the  owners  exiled  from  their  paternal  lands.  There 
is  an  extravagance,  I  am  told,  that  runs  parallel  with 
wealth  ;  a  lavish  expenditure  among  the  great ;  a 
senseless  competition  among  the  aspiring ;  a  heed- 
less, joyless  dissipation  among  all  the  upper  ranks, 
that  often  beggars  even  these  splendid  establishments, 
breaks  down  the  pride  and  principles  of  their  posses- 
sors, and  makes  too  many  of  them  mere  place-hunt- 
ers, or  shifting  absentees.  It  is  thus  that  so  many 
are  thrown  into  the  hands  of  government ;  and  a 
court,  which  ought  to  be  the  most  pure  and  honour- 
able in  Europe,  is  so  often  degraded  by  noble,  but 
importunate  time-servers.  It  is  thus,  too,  that  so 
many  become  exiles  from  their  native  land,  crowd- 
ing the  hotels  of  foreign  countries,  and  expending 
upon  thankless  strangers  the  wealth  so  hardly  drain- 
ed from  their  laborious  peasantry.  I  have  looked 
upon  these  latter  with  a  mixture  of  censure  and  con- 
cern. Knowing  the  almost  bigoted  fondness  of  an 
Englishman  for  his  native  home,  I  can  conceive  what 
must  be  their  compunction  and  regret,  when,  amidst, 
the  sunburnt  plains  of  France,  they  call  to  mind  the 
green  fields  of  England  ;  the  hereditary  groves  which 
they  have  abandoned  ;  and  the  hospitable  roof  of 
their  fathers,  which  they  have  left  desolate,  or  to  be 
inhabited  by  strangers.  But  retrenchment  is  no  plea 
for  abandonment  of  country.  They  have  risen  with 
the  prosperity  of  the  land  ;  let  them  abide  its  fluctua- 
tions, and  conform  to  its  fortunes.  It  is  not  for  the 
rich  to  fly,  because  the  country  is  suffering  :  let  them 
share,  in  their  relative  proportion,  the  common  lot ; 
they  owe  it  to  the  land  that  has  elevated  them  to 
honour  and  affluence.  When  the  poor  have  to  di- 
minish their  scanty  morsels  of  bread  ;  when  they 
have  to  compound  with  the  cravings  of  nature,  and  . 
study  with  how  little  they  can  do,  and  not  be  starved  ; 
it  is  not  then  for  the  rich  to  fly,  and  diminish  still 
farther  the  resources  of  the  poor,  that  they  them- 
selves may  live  in  splendour  in  a  cheaper  country. 
Let  them  rather  retire  to  their  estates,  and  there 
practise  retrenchment.  Let  them  return  to  that 
noble  simplicity,  that  practical  good  sense,  that 
honest  pride,  which  form  the  foundation  of  true  En- 


m 


AVORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


glish  character,  and  from  them  they  may  again  rear 
the  edifice  of  fair  and  honourable  prosperity. 

On  the  rural  habits  of  the  English  nobility  and 
gentry,  on  the  manner  in  which  they  discharge  their 
duties  of  their  patrimonial  possessions,  depend 
greatly  the  virtue  and  welfare  of  the  nation.  So 
long  as  they  pass  the  greater  part  of  their  time  in 
the  quiet  and  purity  of  the  country  ;  surrounded  by 
the  monuments  of  their  illustrious  ancestors  ;  sur- 
rounded by  every  thing  that  can  inspire  generous 
pride,  noble  emulation,  and  amiable  and  magnani- 
mous sentiment ;  so  long  they  are  safe,  and  in  them 
the  nation  may  repose  its  interests  and  its  honour. 
But  the  moment  that  they  become  the  servile  throng- 
ers  of  court  avenues,  and  give  themselves  up  to  the 
political  intrigues  and  heartless  dissipations  of  the 
metropolis,  that  moment  they  lose  the  real  nobility 
of  their  natures,  and  become  the  mere  leeches  of  the 
country. 

That  the  great  majority  of  nobility  and  gentry  in 
England  are  endowed  with  high  notions  of  honour 
and  independence,  I  thoroughly  believe.  They  have 
evidenced  it  lately  on  very  important  questions,  and 
have  given  an  example  of  adherence  to  principle,  in 
preference  to  party  and  power,  that  must  have  as- 
tonished many  of  the  venal  and  obsequious  courts  of 
Europe.  Such  are  the  glorious  effects  of  freedom, 
when  infused  into  a  constitution.  But  it  seems  to 
me,  that  they  are  apt  to  forget  the  positive  nature 
of  their  duties,  and  to  fancy  that  their  eminent  privi- 
leges are  only  so  many  means  of  self-indulgence. 
They  should  recollect,  that  in  a  constitution  like  that  of 
England,  the  titled  orders  are"intended  to  be  as  useful 
as  they  are  ornamental,  and  it  is  their  virtues  alone 
that  can  render  them  both.  Their  duties  are  divided 
between  the  sovereign  and  the  subjects  ;  surrounding 
and  giving  lustre  and  dignity  to  the  throne,  and  at 
the  same  time  tempering  and  mitigating  its  rays,  un- 
til they  are  transmitted  in  mild  and  genial  radiance 
to  the  people.  Born  to  leisure  and  opulence,  they 
owe  the  exercise  of  their  talents,  and  the  expenditure 
of  their  wealth,  to  their  native  countr)'.  They  may 
be  compared  to  the  clouds  ;  which,  being  drawn  up 
by  the  sun,  and  elevated  in  the  heavens,  reflect  and 
magnify  his  splendour  ;  while  they  repay  the  earth, 
from  which  they  derive  their  sustenance,  by  return- 
ing their  treasures  to  its  bosom  in  fertilizing  showers. 


A  BACHELOR'S  CONFESSIONS. 


"  ril  live  a  private,  pensive  single  life." 

TAe  Collier  cf  Croydon. 

I  WAS  sitting  in  my  room,  a  morning  or  two  since, 
reading,  when  some  one  tapped  at  the  door,  and 
Master  Simon  entered.  He  had  an  unusually  fresh 
appearance ;  he  had  put  on  a  bright  green  riding- 
coat,  with  a  bunch  of  violets  in  the  button-hole,  and 
had  the  air  of  an  old  bachelor  trying  to  rejuvenate 
himself.  He  had  not,  however,  his  usual  briskness 
and  vivacity  ;  but  loitered  about  the  room  with  some- 
what of  absence  of  manner,  humming  the  old  song — 
"  Go,  lovely  rose,  tell  her  that  wastes  her  time  and 
me  ; "  and  then,  leaning  against  the  window,  and 
looking  upon  the  landscape,  he  uttered  a  very  audi- 
ble sigh.  As  I  had  not  been  accustomed  to  see 
Master  Simon  in  a  pensive  mood,  1  thought  there 
might  be  some  vexation  preying  on  his  mind,  and  I 
endeavoured  to  introduce  a  cheerful  strain  of  con- 
versation ;  but  he  was  not  in  the  vein  to  follow  it  up, 
and  proposed  that  we  should  take  a  walk. 


It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  of  that  soft  vernal 
temperature,  that  seems  to  thaw  all  the  frost  out 
of  one's  blood,  and  to  set  all  nature  in  a  ferment. 
The  very  fishes  felt  its  influence  ;  the  cautious  trout 
ventured  out  of  his  dark  hole  to  seek  his  mate  ;  the 
roach  and  the  dace  rose  up  to  the  surface  of  the 
brook  to  bask  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  amorous  frog 
piped  from  among  the  rushes.  If  ever  an  oyster  can 
really  fall  in  love,  as  has  been  said  or  sung,  it  must 
be  on  such  a  morning. 

The  weather  certainly  had  its  effect  even  upon 
Master  Simon,  for  he  seemed  obstinately  bent  upon 
the  pensive  mood.  Instead  of  stepping  briskly  along, 
smacking  his  dog-whip,  whistling  quaint  ditties,  or 
telling  sporting  anecdotes,  he  leaned  on  my  arm, 
and  talked  about  the  approaching  nuptials  ;  from 
whence  he  made  several  digressions  upon  the  char- 
acter of  womankind,  touched  a  little  upon  the  tender 
passion,  and  made  sundry  very  excellent,  though 
rather  trite,  observations  upon  disappointments  in 
love.  It  was  evident  that  he  had  something  on  his 
mind  which  he  wished  to  impart,  but  felt  awkward 
in  approaching  it.  I  was  curious  to  see  to  what  this 
strain  would  lead  ;  but  was  determined  not  to  assist 
him.  Indeed,  1  mischievously  pretended  to  turn  the 
conversation,  and  talked  of  his  usual  topics,  dogs, 
horses,  and  hunting  ;  but  he  was  very  brief  in  his 
replies,  and  invariably  got  back,  by  hook  or  by  crook, 
into  the  sentimental  vein. 

At  length  we  came  to  a  clump  of  trees  that  over- 
hung a  whispering  brook,  with  a  rustic  bench  at 
their  feet.  The  trees  were  grievously  scored  with 
letters  and  devices,  which  had  grown  out  of  all  shape 
and  size  by  the  growth  of  the  bark  ;  and  it  appeared 
that  this  grove  had  served  as  a  kind  of  register  of 
the  family  loves  from  time  immemorial.  Here  Master 
Simon  made  a  pause,  pulled  up  a  tuft  of  flowers, 
threw  them  one  by  one  into  the  water,  and  at  length, 
turning  somewhat  abruptly  upon  me,  asked  me  if  I 
had  ever  been  in  love.  I  confess  the  question  star- 
tled me  a  little,  as  I  am  not  over-fond  ot  making  con- 
fessions of  my  amorous  follies ;  and  above  all,  should 
never  dream  of  choosing  my  friend  Master  Simon 
for  a  confidant.  He  did  not  wait,  however,  for  a 
reply;  the  inquiry  was  merely  a  prelude  to  a  confes- 
sion on  his  own  part,  and  after  several  circumlocu- 
tions and  whimsical  preambles,  he  fairly  disburthened 
himself  of  a  very  tolerable  story  of  his  having  been 
crossed  in  love. 

The  reader  will,  very  probably,  suppose  that  it  re- 
lated to  the  gay  widow  who  jilted  him  not  long  since 
at  Doncaster  races  ; — no  such  thing.  It  was  about 
a  sentimental  passion  that  he  once  had  for  a  most 
beautiful  young  lady,  who  wrote  poetry  and  played 
on  the  harp.  He  used  to  serenade  her  ;  and,  in- 
deed, he  described  several  tender  and  gallant  scenes, 
in  which  he  was  evidently  picturing  himself  in  his 
mind's  eye  as  some  elegant  hero  of  romance,  though, 
unfortunately  for  the  tale,  I  only  saw  him  as  he  stood 
before  me,  a  dapper  little  old  bachelor,  with  a  face 
like  an  apple  that  has  dried  with  the  bloom  on  it. 

What  were  the  particulars  of  this  tender  tale,  I 
have  already  forgotten  ;  indeed,  I  listened  to  it  with 
a  heart  like  a  very  pebble-stone,  having  hard  work  to 
repress  a  smile  while  Master  Simon  was  putting  on 
the  amorous  swain,  uttering  every  now  and  then  a 
sigh,  and  endeavouring  to  look  sentimental  and  mel- 
ancholy. 

All  that  I  recollect  is  that  the  lady,  according  to 
his  account,  was  certainly  a  little  touched  ;  for  she 
used  to  accept  all  the  music  that  he  copied  for  her 
harp,  and  all  the  patterns  that  he  drew  for  her  dress- 
es ;  and  he  began  to  flatter  himself,  after  a  long 
course  of  delicate  attentions,  that  he  was  gradually 
fanning  up  a  gentle  flame  in  her  heart,  when  she 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


489 


suddenly  accepted  the  hand  of  a  rich,  boisterous, 
fox-hunting'  baronet,  without  either  music  or  senti- 
ment, who  carried  her  by  storm  after  a  fortnight's 
courtship. 

Master  Simon  could  not  help  concluding  by  some 
observation  about  "  modest  merit,"  and  the  power 
of  gold  over  the  sex.  As  a  remembrance  of  his 
passion,  he  pointed  out  a  heart  carvfd  on  the  bark 
of  one  of  the  trees ;  but  which,  in  the  process  of 
time,  had  grown  out  into  a  large  excrescence ;  and 
he  showed  me  a  lock  of  her  hair,  which  he  wore  in 
a  true-lover's  knot,  in  a  large  gold  brooch. 

I  have  seldom  met  with  an  old  bachelor  that  had 
not,  at  some  time  or  other,  his  nonsensical  moment, 
when  he  would  become  tender  and  sentimental,  talk 
about  the  concerns  of  the  heart,  and  have  some  con- 
fession of  a  delicate  nature  to  make.  Almost  every 
man  has  some  little  trait  of  romance  in  his  life,  which 
he  looks  back  to  with  fondness,  and  about  which  he 
is  apt  to  grow  garrulous  occasionally.  He  recollects 
himself  as  he  was  at  the  time,  young  and  gamesome  ; 
and  forgets  that  his  hearers  have  no  other  idea  of 
the  hero  of  the  tale,  but  such  as  he  may  appear  at 
the  time  of  telling  it ;  peradventure,  a  withered, 
whimsical,  spindle-shanked  old  gentleman.  With 
married  men,  it  is  true,  this  is  not  so  frequently  the 
case  :  their  amorous  romance  is  apt  to  decline  after 
marriage  ;  why,  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  imagine  ; 
but  with  a  bachelor,  though  it  may  slumber,  it  never 
dies.  It  is  always  liable  to  break  out  again  in  tran- 
sient flashes,  and  never  so  much  as  on  a  spring 
morning  in  the  country ;  or  on  a  winter  evening 
when  seated  in  his  solitary  chamber  stirring  up  the 
fire  and  talking  of  matrimony. 

The  moment  that  Master  Simon  had  gone  through 
his  confession,  and,  to  use  the  common  phrase,  "  had 
made  a  clean  breast  of  it,"  he  became  quite  himself 
again.  He  had  settled  the  point  which  had  been 
worrying  his  mind,  and  doubtless  considered  himself 
established  as  a  man  of  sentiment  in  my  opinion. 
Before  we  had  finished  our  morning's  stroll,  he  was 
singing  as  blithe  as  a  grasshopper,  whistling  to  his 
dogs,  and  telling  droll  stories  ;  and  I  recollect  that 
he  was  particularly  facetious  that  day  at  dinner  on 
the  subject  of  matrimony,  and  uttered  several  excel- 
lent jokes,  not  to  be  found  in  Joe  Miller,  that  made 
the  bride  elect  blush  and  look  down  ;  but  set  all  the 
old  gentlemen  at  the  table  in  a  roar,  and  absolutely 
brought  tears  into  the  general's  eyes. 


ENGLISH  GRAVITY. 


*'Merrie   England!" 

A  Ttcieni  Phrase, 

There  is  nothing  so  rare  as  for  a  man  to  ride  his 
hobby  without  molestation.  I  find  the  Squire  has 
not  so  undisturbed  an  indulgence  in  his  humours  as 
I  had  imagined  ;  but  has  been  repeatedly  thwarted 
of  late,  and  has  suffered  a  kind  of  well-meaning  per- 
secution from  a  Mr.  Faddy,  an  old  gentleman  of 
some  weight,  at  least  of  purse,  who  has  recently 
moved  into  the  neighbourhood.  He  is  a  worthy  and 
substantial  manufacturer,  who,  having  accumulated 
a  large  fortune  by  dint  of  steam-engines  and  spinping- 
jennies,  has  retired  from  business,  and  set  up  for  a 
country  gentleman.  He  has  taken  an  old  country- 
seat,  and  refitted  it ;  and  painted  and  plastered  it, 
until  it  looks  not  unlike  his  own  manufactory.  He 
has  been  particularly  careful  in  mending  the  walls 
and  hedges,  and  putting  up  notices  of  spring-guns 
and  man-traps  in  every  part  of  his  premises.   Indeed, 


he  shows  great  jealousy  about  his  territorial  rights, 
having  stopped  up  a  footpath  that  led  across  his 
fields,  and  given  warning,  in  staring  letters,  that  who- 
ever was  found  trespassing  on  those  grounds  would 
be  prosecuted  with  the  utmost  rigour  of  the  law. 
He  has  brought  into  the  country  with  him  all  the 
practical  maxims  of  town,  and  the  bustling  habits  of 
business ;  and  is  one  of  those  sensible,  useful,  pros- 
ing, troublesome,  intolerable  old  gentlemen,  that  go 
about  wearying  and  worrying  society  with  excellent 
plans  for  public  utility. 

He  is  very  much  disposed  to  be  on  intimate  terms 
with  the  Squire,  and  calls  on  him  every  now  and 
then,  with  some  project  for  the  good  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, which  happens  to  run  diametrically  oppo- 
site to  some  one  or  other  of  the  Squire's  peculiar 
notions  ;  but  which  is  "  too  sensible  a  measure  "  to 
be  openly  opposed.  He  has  annoyed  him  excessively, 
by  enforcing  the  vagrant  laws  ;  persecuting  the  gip- 
sies, and  endeavouring  to  suppress  country  wakes 
and  holiday  games ;  which  he  considers  great  nui- 
sances, and  reprobates  as  causes  of  the  deadly  sin  of 
idleness. 

There  is  evidently  in  all  this  a  little  of  the  osten- 
tation of  newly-acquired  consequence  ;  the  trades- 
man is  gradually  swelling  into  the  aristocrat ;  and  he 
begins  to  grow  excessively  intolerant  of  every  thing 
that  is  not  genteel.  He  has  a  great  deal  to  say  about 
"the  common  people;"  talks  much  of  his  park,  his 
preserves,  and  the  necessity  of  enforcing  the  game- 
laws  more  strictly  ;  and  makes  frequent  use  of  the 
phrase,  "  the  gentry  of  the  neighbourhood." 

He  came  to  the  Hall  lately,  with  a  face  full  of 
business,  that  he  and  the  Squire,  to  use  his  own 
words,  "  might  lay  their  heads  together,"  to  hit  upon 
some  mode  of  putting  a  stop  to  the  frolicking  at  the 
village  on  the  approaching  May-day.  It  drew,  he 
said,  idle  people  together  from  all  parts  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, who  spent  the  day  fiddling,  dancing,  and 
carousing,  instead  of  staying  at  home  to  work  for 
their  families. 

Now,  as  the  Squire,  unluckily,  is  at  the  bottom  of 
these  May-day  revels,  it  may  be  supposed  that  the 
suggestions  of  the  sagacious  Mr.  Faddy  were  not  re- 
ceived with  the  best  grace  in  the  world.  It  is  true, 
the  old  gentleman  is  too  courteous  to  show  any  tem- 
per to  a  guest  in  his  own  house  ;  but  no  sooner  was 
he  gone,  than  the  indignation  of  the  Squire  found 
vent,  at  having  his  poetical  cobwebs  invaded  by  this 
buzzing,  blue-bottle  fly  of  traffic.  In  his  warmth,  he 
inveighed  against  the  whole  race  of  manufacturers, 
who,  I  found,  were  sore  disturbers  of  his  comfort. 
"  Sir,"  said  he,  with  emotion,  "  it  makes  my  heart 
bleed,  to  see  all  our  fine  streams  dammed  up,  and 
bestrode  by  cotton-mills  ;  our  valleys  smoking  with 
steam-engines,  and  the  din  of  the  hammer  and  the 
loom  scaring  away  all  our  rural  delight.  What's  to 
become  of  merry  old  England,  when  its  manor- 
houses  are  all  turned  into  manufactories,  and  its 
sturdy  peasantry  into  pin-makers  and  stocking- 
weavers  .'  1  have  looked  in  vain  for  merry  Sherwood, 
and  all  the  greenwood  haunts  of  Robin  Hood  ;  the 
whole  country  is  covered  with  manufacturing  towns. 
I  have  stood  on  the  ruins  of  Dudley  Castle,  and 
looked  round,  with  an  aching  heart,  on  what  were 
once  its  feudal  domains  of  verdant  and  beautiful 
country.  Sir,  I  beheld  a  mere  campus  phlegr;e  :  a 
region  of  fire  ;  reeking  with  coal-pits,  and  furnaces, 
and  smelting-houses,  vomitmg  forth  flames  and 
smoke.  The  pale  and  ghastly  people,  toiling  among 
vile  exhalations,  looked  more  like  demons  than  hu- 
man beings  ;  the  clanking  wheels  and  engines,  seen 
through  the  murky  atmosphere,  looked  like  instru- 
ments of  torture  in  this  pandemonium.  What  is  to 
become  of  the  country,  with  these  evils  rankling  in 


490 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


its  very  core?  Sir,  these  manufacturers  will  be  the 
ruin  of  our  rural  manners ;  they  will  destroy  the 
national  character ;  they  will  not  leave  materials  for 
a  single  line  of  poetry  !  " 

The  Squire  is  apt  to  wax  eloquent  on  such  themes  ; 
and  I  could  hardly  help  smilinjj  at  this  whimsical 
lamentation  over  national  industry  and  public  im- 
provement. I  am  told,  however,  that  he  really 
grieves  at  the  growing  spirit  of  trade,  as  destroying 
the  charm  of  life.  He  considers  every  new  short- 
hand mode  of  doing  things,  as  an  inroad  of  snug 
sordid  method  ;  and  thinks  that  this  will  soon  be- 
come a  mere  matter-of-fact  world,  where  life  will  be 
reduced  to  a  mathematical  calculation  of  conveni- 
ences, and  every  thing  will  be  done  by  steam. 

He  maintains,  also,*that  the  nation  has  declined 
in  its  free  and  joyous  spirit,  in  proportion  as  it  has 
turned  its  attention  to  commerce  and  manufactures  ; 
and  that,  in  old  times,  when  England  was  an  idler, 
it  was  also  a  merrier  little  island.  In  support  of  this 
opinion,  he  adduces  the  frequency  and  splendour  of 
ancient  festivals  and  merry-makings,  and  the  hearty 
spirit  with  which  they  were  kept  up  by  all  classes  of 
people.  His  memory  is  stored  with  the  accounts 
given  by  Stow,  in  his  Survey  of  London,  of  the  holi- 
day revels  at  the  inns  of  court,  the  Christmas  mum- 
meries, and  the  masquings  and  bonfires  about  the 
streets.  London,  he  says,  in  those  days,  resembled 
the  continental  cities  in  its  picturesque  manners  and 
amusements.  The  court  used  to  dance  after  dinner, 
on  public  occasions.  After  the  coronation  dinner  of 
Richard  IL  for  example,  the  king,  the  prelates,  the 
nobles,  the  knights,  and  the  rest  of  the  company, 
danced  in  Westminster  Hall  to  the  music  of  the 
minstrels.  The  example  of  the  court  was  followed 
by  the  middling  classes,  and  so  down  to  the  lowest, 
and  the  whole  nation  was  a  dancing,  jovial  nation. 
He  quotes  a  lively  city  picture  of  the  times,  given  by 
-Stow,  which  resembles  the  lively  scenes  one  may 
often  see  in  the  gay  city  of  Paris  ;  for  he  tells  us  that 
on  holidays,  after  evening  prayers,  the  maidens  in 
London  used  to  assemble  before  the  door,  in  sight 
of  their  masters  and  dames,  and  while  one  played  on 
a  timbrel,  the  others  danced  for  garlands,  hanged 
athwart  the  street. 

"  Where  will  we  meet  with  such  merry  groups 
novv-a-days  ?  "  the  Squire  will  exclaim,  shaking  his 
head  mournfully; — ^"and  then  as  to  the  gaiety 
that  prevailed  in  dress  throughout  all  ranks  of  so- 
ciety, and  made  the  very  streete  so  tine  and  pictur- 
esque: 'I  have  myself,'  says  Gervaise  Markham, 
'  met  an  ordinary  tapster  in  his  silk  stockings,  gar- 
ters deep  fringed  with  gold  lace,  the  rest  of  his 
apparel  suitable,  with  cloak  lined  with  velvet ! ' 
Nashe,  too,  who  wrote  in  1593,  exclaims  at  the 
finery  of  the  nation :  '  England,  the  player's  stage 
of  gorgeous  attire,  the  ape  of  all  nations'  super- 
fluities, the  continual  masquer  in  outlandish  habili- 
ments.' " 

Such  are  a  few  of  the  authorities  quoted  by  the 
Squire,  by  way  of  contrasting  what  he  supposes  to 
have  been  the  former  vivacity  of  the  nation  with  its 
present  monotonous  character.  "  John  Bull,"  he 
will  say,  "  was  then  a  gay  cavalier,  with  his  sword 
by  his  side  and  a  feather  in  his  cap  ;  but  he  is  now  a 
plodding  citizen,  in  snuff-coloured  coat  and  gaiters." 

By  the  by,  there  really  appears  to  have  been 
some  change  in  the  national  character,  since  the 
days  of  which  the  Squire  is  so  fond  of  talking ; 
those  days  when  this  little  island  acquired  its  favour- 
ite old  title  of  "merry  England."  This  may  be 
attributed  in  part  to  the  growing  hardships  of  the 
times,  and  the  necessity  of  turning  the  whole  atten- 
tion to  the  means  of  subsistence ;  but  England's 
gayest  customs  prevailed  at  times  when  her  common 


people  enjoyed  comparatively  few  of  the  comforts 
and  conveniences  that  they  do  at  present.  It  may 
be  still  more  attributed  to  the  universal  spirit  of 
gain,  and  the  calculating  habits  that  commerce  has 
introduced  ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  attribute  it  chiefly 
to  the  gradual  increase  of  the  liberty  of  the  subject, 
and  the  growing  freedom  and  activity  of  opinion. 

A  free  people  are  apt  to  be  grave  and  thoughtful. 
They  have  high  and  important  matters  to  occupy 
their  minds.  They  feel  that  it  is  their  right,  their 
interest,  and  their  duty,  to  mingle  in  public  con- 
cerns, and  to  watch  over  the  general  welfare.  The 
continual  exercise  of  the  mind  on  political  topics 
gives  intenser  habits  of  thinking,  and  a  more  serious 
and  earnest  demeanour.  A  nation  becomes  less  gay, 
but  more  intellectually  active  and  vigorous.  It 
evinces  less  play  of  the  fancy,  but  more  power  of 
the  imagination  ;  less  taste  and  elegance,  but  more 
grandeur  of  mind  ;  less  animated  vivacity,  but  deeper 
enthusiasm. 

It  is  when  men  are  shut  out  of  the  regions  of 
manly  thought,  by  a  despotic  government ;  when 
every  grave  and  lofty  theme  is  rendered  perilous  to 
discussion  and  almost  to  reflection ;  it  is  then  that 
they  turn  to  the  safer  occupations  of  taste  and 
amusement ;  trifles  rise  to  importance,  and  occupy 
the  craving  activity  of  intellect.  No  being  is  more 
void  of  care  and  reflection  than  the  slave  ;  none 
dances  more  gayly,  in  his  intervals  of  labour ;  but 
make  him  free,  give  him  rights  and  interests  to  guard, 
and  he  becomes  thoughtful  and  laborious. 

The  French  are  a  gayer  people  than  the  English. 
Why  ?  Partly  from  temperament,  perhaps  ;  but  great- 
ly because  tliey  have  been  accustomed  to  govern- 
ments which  surrounded  the  free  exercise  of  thought 
with  danger,  and  where  he  only  was  safe  who  shut 
his  eyes  and  ears  to  public  events,  and  enjoyed  the 
passing  pleasure  of  the  day.  Within  late  years,  they 
have  had  more  opportunity  of  exercising  their  minds  ; 
and  within  late  years,  the  national  character  has 
essentially  changed.  Never  did  the  French  enjoy 
such  a  degree  of  freedom  as  they  do  at  this  moment ; 
and  at  this  moment  the  French  are  comparatively  a 
grave  people. 


GIPSIES. 


What's  that  to  absolute  freedom  ;  Fuch  as  the  very  beggars  have  ; 
to  feast  and  revel  here  to-day,  and  yonder  to-morrow  ;  next  day 
where  they  please;  and  so  on  still,  the  whole  country  or  kingdom 
over  ?     There's  liberty  !  the  birds  of  the  air  can  t.ike  no  more. 

Jovial  Crew. 

Since  the  meeting  with  the  gipsies,  which  I  have 
related  in  a  former  paper,  I  have  observed  several 
of  them  haunting  the  purlieus  of  the  Hall,  in  spite 
of  a  positive  interdiction  of  the  Squire.  They  are 
part  of  a  gang  that  has  long  kept  about  this  neigh- 
bourhood, to  the  great  annoyance  of  the  farmers, 
whose  poultry-yards  often  suffer  from  their  noc- 
turnal invasions.  They  are,  however,  in  some 
measure  patronized  by  the  Squire,  who  considers 
the  race  as  belonging  to  the  good  old  times  ;  which, 
to  confess  the  private  truth,  seem  to  have  abounded 
with  good-for-nothing  characters. 

This  roving  crew  is  called  "  Starlight  Tom's  Gang," 
from  the  name  of  its  chieftain,  a  notorious  poacher. 
I  have  heard  repeatedly  of  the  misdeeds  of  this 
"  minion  of  the  moon  ;  "  for  every  midnight  depre- 
dation that  takes  place  in  park,  or  fold,  or  farm-yard, 
is  laid  to  his  charge.  Starlight  Tom,  in  fact,  answers 
to  his  name ;  he  seems  to  walk  in  darkness,  and, 
like  a  fox,  to  be  traced  in  the  morning  by  the  mis- 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


491 


cliief  he  has  done.  He  reminds  me  of  that  fearful 
personage  in  the  nursery  rhyme : 

Who  goes  round  the  house  at  night? 

None  but  bloody  Tom  ! 
Who  steals  all  the  sheep  at  night? 

None  but  one  by  one  ! 

In  short,  Starlight  Tom  is  the  scape-goat  of  the 
neighbourhood,  but  so  cunning  and  adroit,  that  there 
is  no  detecting  him.  Old  Christy  and  the  game- 
keeper have  watched  many  a  night,  in  hopes  of  en- 
trapping him ;  and  Christy  often  patrols  the  park 
with  his  dogs,  for  the  purpose,  but  all  in  vain.  It  is 
said  that  the  Squire  winks  hard  at  his  misdeeds, 
having  an  indulgent  feeling  towards  the  vagabond, 
because  of  his  being  very  expert  at  all  kinds  of  games, 
a  great  shot  with  the  cross-bow,  and  the  best  mor- 
ris-dancer in  the  country. 

The  Squire  also  suffers  the  gang  to  lurk  unmo- 
lested about  the  skirts  of  his  estate,  on  condition 
that  they  do  not  come  about  the  house.  The  ap- 
proaching wedding,  however,  has  made  a  kind  of 
Saturnalia  at  the  Hall,  and  has  caused  a  suspen- 
sion of  all  sober  rule.  It  has  produced  a  great 
sensation  throughout  the  female  part  of  the  house- 
hold ;  not  a  housemaid  but  dreams  of  wedding 
favours,  and  has  a  husband  running  in  her  head. 
Such  a  time  is  a  harvest  for  the  gipsies :  there  is  a 
public  footpath  leading  across  one  part  of  the  park, 
by  which  they  have  free  ingress,  and  they  are  con- 
tinually hovering  about  the  grounds,  telling  the 
servant-girls'  fortunes,  or  getting  smuggled  in  to  the 
young  ladies. 

I  believe  the  Oxonian  amuses  himself  very  much 
by  furnishing  them  with  hints  in  private,  and  be- 
wildering all  the  weak  brains  in  the  house  with 
their  wonderful  revelations.  The  general  certainly 
was  very  much  astonished  by  the  communications 
made  to  him  the  other  evening  by  the  gipsy  girl : 
he  kept  a  wary  silence  towards  us  on  the  subject, 
and  affected  to  treat  it  lightly ;  but  I  have  noticed 
that  he  has  since  redoubled  his  attentions  to  Lady 
Lillycraft  and  her  dogs. 

I  have  seen  also  Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  house- 
keeper's pretty  and  love-sick  niece,  holding  a  long 
conference  with  one  of  these  old  sibyls  behind  a 
large  tree  in  the  avenue,  and  often  looking  round  to 
see  that  she  was  not  observed.  I  make  no  doubt  that 
she  was  endeavouring  to  get  some  favourable  augury 
about  the  result  of  her  love  -  quarrel  with  young 
Ready-Money,  as  oracles  have  always  been  more 
consulted  on  love  affairs  than  upon  any  thing  else.  I 
fear,  however,  that  in  this  instance  the  response  was 
not  so  favourable  as  usual ;  for  1  perceived  poor 
Phoebe  returning  pensively  towards  the  house,  her 
head  hanging  down,  her  hat  in  her  hand,  and  the 
riband  trailing  along  the  ground. 

At  another  time,  as  I  turned  a  corner  of  a  terrace, 
at  the  bottom  of  the  garden,  just  by  a  clump  of 
trees,  and  a  large  stone  urn,  I  came  upon  a  bevy  of 
the  young  girls  of  the  family,  attended  by  this  same 
Phoebe  Wilkins.  I  was  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  the 
meaning  of  their  blushing  and  giggling,  and  their 
apparent  agitation,  until  I  saw  the  red  cloak  of  a 
gipsy  vanishing  among  the  shrubbery.  A  few  mo- 
ments after,  I  caught  sight  of  Master  Simon  and  the 
Oxonian  stealing  along  one  of  the  walks  of  the  gar- 
den, chuckling  and  laughing  at  their  successful  wag- 
gery ;  having  evidently  put  the  gipsy  up  to  the  thing, 
and  instructed  her  what  to  say. 

After  all,  there  is  something  strangely  pleasing  in 
these  tamperings  with  the  future,  even  where  we 
are  convinced  of  the  fallacy  of  the  prediction. 
It  is  singular  how  willingly  the  mind  will  half  de- 
ceive itself,  and  with  what  a  degree  of  awe  we  will 
listen   to   these   babblers   about   futurity.     For  my 


part,  I  cannot  feel  angry  with  these  poor  vagabonds, 
that  seek  to  deceive  us  into  bright  hopes  and  ex- 
pectations. I  have  always  been  something  of  a  castle- 
builder,  and  have  found  my  liveliest  pleasures  to 
arise  from  the  illusions  which  fancy  has  cast  over 
commonplace  realities.  As  I  get  on  in  life,  I  find  it 
more  difficult  to  deceive  myself  in  this  delightful 
manner;  and  I  should  be  thankful  to  any  prophet, 
however  false,  that  would  conjure  the  clouds  which 
hang  over  futurity  into  palaces,  and  all  its  doubtful 
regions  into  fairy-land. 

The  Squire,  who,  as  I  have  observed,  has  a  pri- 
vate good-vvili  towards  gipsies,  has  suffered  con- 
siderable annoyance  on  their  account.  Not  that  they 
requite  his  indulgence  with  ingratitude,  for  they  do 
not  depredate  very  flagrantly  on  his  estate;  but 
because  their  pilferings  and  misdeeds  occasion  loud 
murmurs  in  the  village.  I  can  readily  understand 
the  old  gentleman's  humour  on  this  point ;  I  have 
a  great  toleration  for  all  kinds  of  vagrant  sunshiny 
existence,  and  must  confess  I  take  a  pleasure  in 
observing  the  ways  of  gipsies.  The  English,  who 
are  accustomed  to  them  from  childhood,  and  often 
suffer  from  their  petty  depredations,  consider  them 
as  mere  nuisances ;  but  I  have  been  very  much 
struck  with  their  peculiarities.  I  like  to  behold 
their  clear  olive  complexions,  their  romantic  black 
eyes,  their  raven  locks,  their  lithe,  slender  figures ; 
and  hear  them  in  low  silver  tones  dealing  forth 
magnificent  promises  of  honours  and  estates,  of 
world's  wealth,  and  ladies'  love. 

Their  mode  of  life,  too,  has  something  in  it  very 
fanciful  and  picturesque.  They  are  the  free  deni- 
zens of  nature,  and  maintain  a  primitive  indepen- 
dence, in  spite  of  law  and  gospel;  of  county  gaols 
and  country  magistrates.  It  is  curious  to  see  this 
obstinate  adherence  to  the  wild,  unsettled  habits  of 
savage  life  transmitted  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, and  preserved  in  the  midst  of  one  of  the  most 
cultivated,  populous,  and  systematic  countries  in  the 
world.  They  are  totally  distinct  from  the  busy, 
thrifty  people  about  them.  They  seem  to  be,  like  the 
Indians  of  America,  either  above  or  below  the  ordi- 
nary cares  and  anxieties  of  mankind.  Heedless  of 
power,  of  honours,  of  wealth  ;  and  indifferent  to  the 
fluctuations  of  times  ;  the  rise  or  fall  of  grain,  or 
stock,  or  empires,  they  seem  to  laugh  at  the  toiling, 
fretting  world  around  them,  and  to  live  according 
to  the  philosophy  of  the  old  song : 

*'  Who  would  ambition  shun, 

And  loves  to  lie  i'  the  sun, 

Seeking  the  food  he  eats. 

And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, 

Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  ; 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy, 
But  winter  and  rough  weather." 

In  this  way,  they  wander  from  county  to  county; 
keeping  about  the  purlieus  of  villages,  or  in  plen- 
teous neighbourhoods,  where  there  are  fat  farms 
and  rich  country-seats.  .Their  encampments  are 
generally  made  in  some  beautiful  spot — either  a 
green  shady  nook  of  a  road ;  or  on  tlie  border  of  a 
common,  under  a  sheltering  hedge  ;  or  on  the  skirts 
of  a  fine  spreading  wood.  They  are  always  to  be 
found  lurking  about  fairs,  and  races,  and  rustic 
gatherings,  wherever  there  is  pleasure,  and  throng, 
and  idleness.  They  are  the  oracles  of  milk-maids 
and  simple  serving-girls ;  and  sometimes  have  even 
the  honour  of  perusing  the  white  hands  of  gentle- 
men's daughters,  when  rambling  about  their  fathers' 
grounds.  They  are  the  bane  of  good  housewives 
and  thrifty  farmers,  and  odious  in  the  eyes  of  coun- 
try justices;  but,  like  all  other  vagabond  beings,  they 
have  something  to  commend  them  to  the  fancy. 
They  are  among  the  last  traces,  in  these  matter-ot- 


492 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


fact  days,  of  the  motley  population  of  former  times  ; 
and  are  whimsically  associated  in  my  mind  with  fur- 
ies and  witches,  Robin  Goodfellow,  Robin  Hood,  and 
the  other  fantastical  personages  of  poetry. 


MAY-DAY  CUSTOMS. 


Happy  the  a^e,  and  harmless  were  the  dayes, 

(For  then  true  love  and  amity  was  found,) 
When  every  village  did  a  May-pole  raise. 

And  Whitsun  ales  and  May-games  did  abound  : 
And  all  the  lusty  yonlcers  in  a  rout, 
With  merry  lasses  daunc'd  the  rod  about, 
Then  friendship  to  their  banquets  bid  the  guests, 
And  poore  men  far'd  the  better  for  their  feasts. 

Pasquil's  Palinodia, 

The  month  of  April  has  nearly  passed  away,  and 
we  are  fast  approachincf  that  poetical  day,  which 
was  considered,  in  old  times,  as  the  boundary  that 
parted  the  frontiers  of  winter  and  summer.  With  all 
its  caprices,  however,  I  like  the  month  of  April.  I 
like  these  laughing  and  crying  days,  when  sun  and 
shade  seem  to  run  in  billows  over  the  landscape.  I 
like  to  see  the  sudden  shower  coursing  over  the 
meadow,  and  giving  all  nature  a  greener  smile  ;  and 
the  bright  sunbeams  chasing  the  flying  cloud,  and 
turning  ail  its  drops  into  diamonds. 

I  was  enjoying  a  morning  of  the  kind,  in  company 
with  the  Squire,  in  one  of  the  finest  parts  of  the 
park.  We  were  skirting  a  beautiful  grove,  and  he 
was  giving  me  a  kind  of  biographical  account  of 
several  of  his  favourite  forest  trees,  when  he  heard 
the  strokes  of  an  axe  from  the  midst  of  a  thick 
copse.  The  Squire  paused  and  listened,  with  man- 
ifest signs  of  uneasiness.  He  turned  his  steps  in  the 
direction  of  the  sound.  The  strokes  grew  louder 
and  louder  as  we  advanced ;  there  was  evidently  a 
vigorous  arm  wielding  the  axe.  The  Squire  quick- 
ened his  pace,  but  in  vain ;  a  loud  crack,  and  a  suc- 
ceeding crash,  told  that  the  mischief  had  been  done, 
and  some  child  of  the  forest  laid  low.  When  we 
came  to  the  place,  we  found  Master  Simon  and  sev- 
eral others  standing  about  a  tall  and  beautifully 
straight  young  tree,  which  had  just  been  felled. 

The  Squire,  though  a  man  of  most  harmonious 
dispositions,  was  completely  put  out  of  tune  by  this 
circumstance.  He  felt,  like  a  monarch  witnessing 
the  murder  of  one  of  his  liege  subjects,  and  demand- 
ed, with  some  asperity,  the  meaning  of  the  outrage. 
It  turned  out  to  be  an  affair  of  Master  Simon's,  who 
had  selected  the  tree,  from  its  height  and  straight- 
ness,  for  a  May- pole,  the  old  one  which  stood  on  the 
village  green  being  unfit  for  farther  service.  If  any 
thing  could  have  soothed  the  ire  of  my  worthy  host, 
it  would  have  been  the  reflection  that  his  tree  had 
fallen  in  so  good  a  cause ;  and  I  saw  that  there  was 
a  great  struggle  between  his  fondness  for  his  groves, 
and  his  devotion  to  May-day.  He  could  not  con- 
template the  prostrate  tree,  however,  without  indulg- 
ing in  lamentation,  and  making  a  kind  of  funeral 
eulogy,  like  Mark  Antony  over  the  body  of  Cresar ; 
and  he  forbade  that  any  tree  should  thenceforward 
be  cut  down  on  his  estate,  without  a  warrant  from 
himself;  being  determined,  he  said,  to  hold  the  sov- 
ereign power  of  life  and  death  in  his  own  hands. 

This  mention  of  the  May-pole  struck  my  attention, 
and  1  inquired  whether  the  old  customs  connected 
with  it  were  really  kept  up  in  this  part  of  the  coun- 
trj'.  The  Squire  shook  his  head  mournfully ;  and  I 
found  I  had  touched  on  one  of  his  tender  points,  for 
he  grew  quite  melancholy  in  bewailing  the  total  de- 
cline of  old  May-day.  Though  it  is  regularly  cele- 
brated in  the  neighbouring  village,  yet  it  has  been 


merely  resuscitated  by  the  worthy  Squire,  and  Is 
kept  up  in  a  forced  state  of  existence  at  his  expense. 
He  meets  with  continual  discouragements  ;  and  finds 
great  difficulty  in  getting  the  country  bumpkins  to 
play  their  parts  tolerably.  He  manages  to  have 
every  year  a  "  Queen  of  the  May ;  "  but  as  to  Robin 
Hood,  Friar  Tuck,  the  Dragon,  the  Hobby-Horse, 
and  all  the  other  motley  crew  that  used  to  enliven 
the  day  with  their  mummery,  he  has  not  ventured  to 
introduce  them. 

Still  I  look  forward  with  some  interest  to  the 
promised  shadow  of  old  May-day,  even  though  it  be 
but  a  shadow ;  and  I  feel  more  and  more  pleased 
with  the  whimsical  yet  harmless  hobby  of  my  host, 
which  is  surrounding  him  with  agreeable  associa- 
tions, and  making  a  little  world  of  poetry  about  him. 
Brought  up,  as  I  have  been,  in  a  new  country,  I  may 
appreciate  too  highly  the  faint  vestiges  of  ancient 
customs  which  I  now  and  then  meet  with,  and  the 
interest  I  express  in  them  may  provoke  a  smile  from 
those  who  are  negligently  suffering  them  to  pass 
away.  But  with  whatever  indifference  they  may  be 
regarded  by  those  "  to  the  manner  born,"  yet  in  my 
mind  the  lingering  flavour  of  them  imparts  a  charm 
to  rustic  life,  which  nothing  else  could  readily  supply. 

1  shall  never  forget  the  delight  I  felt  on  first  see- 
ing a  May-pole.  It  was  on  the  banks  of  the  Dee, 
close  by  the  picturesque  old  bridge  that  stretches 
across  the  river  from  the  quaint  little  city  of  Chester. 
I  had  already  been  carried  back  into  former  days, 
by  the  antiquities  of  that  venerable  place;  the  ex- 
amination of  which  is  equal  to  turning  over  the 
pages  of  a  black-letter  volume,  or  gazing  on  the 
pictures  in  Froissart.  The  May-pole  on  the  margin 
of  that  poetic  stream  completed  the  illusion.  My 
fancy  adorned  it  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  .and  peo- 
pled the  green  bank  with  all  the  dancing  revelry  of 
May-day.  The  mere  sight  of  this  May-pole  gave  a 
glow  to  my  feelings,  and  spread  a  charm  over  the 
country  for  the  rest  of  the  day  ;  and  as  I  traversed 
a  part  of  the  fair  plain  of  Cheshire,  and  the  beauti- 
ful borders  of  Wales,  and  looked  from  among  swell- 
ing hills  down  a  long  green  valley,  through  which 
"the  Deva  wound  its  wizard  stream,"  my  imagina- 
tion turned  all  into  a  perfect  Arcadia. 

Whether  it  be  owing  to  such  poetical  associations 
early  instilled  into  my  mind,  or  whether  there  is,  as 
it  were,  a  sympathetic  revival  and  budding  forth 
of  the  feelings  at  this  season,  certain  it  is,  that  I 
always  experience,  wherever  1  may  be  placed,  a  de- 
lightful expansion  of  the  heart  at  the  return  of  May. 
It  is  said  that  birds  about  this  time  will  become 
restless  in  their  cages,  as  if  instinct  with  the  season, 
conscious  of  the  revelry  that  is  going  on  in  the 
groves,  and  impatient  to  break  from  their  bondage, 
and  join  in  the  jubilee  of  the  year.  In  Hke  manner  I 
have  felt  myself  excited,  even  in  the  midst  of  the 
metropolis,  when  the  windows,  which  had  been 
churlishly  closed  all  winter,  were  again  thrown  open 
to  receive  the  balmy  breath  of  May  ;  when  the  sweets 
of  the  country  were  breathed  into  the  town,  and 
flowers  were  cried  about  the  streets.  I  have  con- 
sidered the  treasures  of  flowers  thus  poured  in,  as  so 
many  missives  from  nature,  inviting  us  forth  to  en- 
joy the  virgin  beauty  of  the  year,  before  its  freshness 
is  exhaled  by  the  heats  of  sunny  summer. 

One  can  readily  imagine  what  a  gay  scene  it  must 
have  been  in  jolly  old  London,  when  the  doors  were 
decorated  with  flowering  branches,  when  every  hat 
was  decked  with  hawthorn,  and  Robin  Hood,  P'riar 
Tuck,  Maid  Marian,  the  morris-dancers,  and  all  the 
other  fantastic  masks  and  revellers,  were  perform- 
ing their  antics  about  the  Maypole  in  every  part  of 
the  city. 

I  am  not  a  bigoted  admirer  of  old  times  and  old 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


493 


cusloms,  merely  because  of  tlieir  antiquity:  but 
wliile  1  rejoice  in  the  decline  of  many  of  the  rude 
usages  and  coarse  amusements  of  former  days,  I 
cannot  but  regret  that  this  innocent  and  fanciful 
festival  has  fallen  into  disuse.  It  seemed  appropriate 
to  this  verdant  and  pastoral  country,  and  calculated 
to  light  up  the  too-pervading  gravity  of  the  nation. 
I  value  every  custom  that  tends  to  infuse  poetical 
feeling  into  the  common  people,  and  to  sweeten  and 
soften  the  rudeness  of  rustic  manners,  without  des- 
troying their  simplicity.  Indeed,  it  is  to  the  decline 
of  this  happy  simplicity,  that  the  decline  of  this 
custom  may  be  traced  ;  and  the  rural  dance  on  the 
green,  and  the  homely  May-day  pageant,  have 
gradually  disappeared,  in  proportion  as  the  peasantry 
have  become  expensive  and  artificial  in  their  pleas- 
ures, and  too  knowing  for  simple  enjoyment. 

Some  attempts,  the  Squire  inlbrms  me,  have  been 
made  of  late  years,  by  men  of  both  taste  and  learn- 
ing, to  rally  back  the  popular  feeling  to  these  stand- 
ards of  primitive  simplicity;  but  the  time  has  gone 
by,  the  feeling  has  become  chilled  by  habits  of  gain 
and  traffic,  the  country  apes  the  manners  and  amuse- 
ments of  the  town,  and  little  is  heard  of  May-day  at 
present,  except  from  the  lamentations  of  authors, 
who  sigh  after  it  from  among  the  brick  walls  of  the 
city : 

"  For  O,  for  O,  the  Hobby-Horse  is  forgot." 


VILLAGE  WORTHIES. 


Nay,  I  tell  you,  I  am  so  well  beloved  in  our  town,  that  not  the 
worst  dog  in  the  street  will  hurt  my  little  finger. 

CoUitr  0/  Croydon. 

As  the  neighbouring  village  is  one  of  those  out- 
of-the-way,  but  gossiping,  little  places  where  a  small 
matter  makes  a  great  stir,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  the  approach  of  a  festival  like  that  of  May-day 
can  be  regarded  with  indifference,  especially  since  it 
is  made  a  matter  of  such  moment  by  the  great  folks 
at  the  Hall.  Master  Simon,  who  is  the  faithful  fac- 
totum of  the  worthy  Squire,  and  jumps  with  his  hu- 
mour in  every  thing,  is  frequent  just  now  in  his  visits 
to  the  village,  to  give  directions  for  the  impending 
fete ;  and  as  I  have  taken  the  liberty  occasionally  of 
accomjjanying  him,  I  have  been  enabled  to  get  some 
insight  into  the  characters  and  internal  politics  of 
this  very  sagacious  little  community. 

Master  Simon  is  in  fact  the  Caesar  of  the  village. 
It  is  true  the  Squire  is  the  protecting  power,  but  his 
factotum  is  the  active  and  busy  agent.  He  inter- 
meddles in  all  its  concerns,  is  acquainted  with  all 
the  inhabitants  and  their  domestic  history,  gives 
counsel  to  the  old  folks  in  their  business  matters, 
and  the  young  folks  in  their  love  affairs,  and  enjoys 
the  proud  satisfaction  of  being  a  great  man  in  a 
little  world. 

He  is  the  dispenser,  too,  of  the  Squire's  charity, 
which  is  bounteous  ;  and,  to  do  Master  Simon  jus- 
tice, he  performs  this  part  of  his  functions  with  great 
alacrity.  Indeed,  I  have  been  entertained  with  the 
mixture  of  bustle,  importance,  and  kind-heartedness 
which  he  displays.  He  is  of  too  vivacious  a  tempera- 
ment to  comfort  the  afflicted  by  sitting  down,  mo- 
ping and  whining,  and  blowing  noses  in  concert ;  but 
goes  whisking  about  like  a  sparrow,  chirping  conso- 
lation into  every  hole  and  corner  of  the  village.  I 
have  seen  an  old  woman,  in  a  red  cloak,  hold  him 
for  half  an  hour  together  with  some  long  phthisical 
tale  of  distress,  which  Master  Simon  listened  to 
with  many  a  bob  of  the  head,  smack  of  his  dog- 
whip,  and  other  symptoms  of  impatience,  though  he 


afterwards  made  a  most  faithful  and  circumstantia. 
report  of  the  case  to  the  Squire.  I  have  watched 
him,  too,  during  one  of  his  pop  visits  into  the  cot- 
tage of  a  superannuated  villager,  who  is  a  pensioner 
of  the  Squire,  where  he  fidgeted  about  the  room 
without  sitting  down,  made  many  excellent  off-hand 
reflections  with  the  old  invalid,  who  was  jiropped 
up  in  his  chair,  about  the  shortness  of  life,  the  cer- 
tainty of  death,  and  the  necessity  of  preparing  for 
"  that  awful  change  ; "  quoted  several  texts  of  script- 
ure very  incorrectly,  but  much  to  the  edification  of 
the  cottager's  wife  ;  and  on  coming  out,  pinched  the 
daughter's  rosy  cheek,  and  wondered  what  was  in 
the  young  men  that  such  a  pretty  face  did  not  get  a 
husband. 

He  has  also  his  cabinet  counsellors  in  the  village, 
with  whom  he  is  very  busy  just  now,  preparing  for 
the  May-day  ceremonies.  Among  these  is  the  vil- 
lage tailor,  a  pale-faced  fellow,  that  plays  the  clar- 
ionet in  the  church  choir ;  and,  being  a  great  mu- 
sical genius,  has  frequent  meetings  of  the  band  at  his 
house,  where  they  •'  make  night  hideous  "  by  their 
concerts.  He  is,  in  consequence,  high  in  favour  with 
Master  Simon  ;  and,  through  his  influence,  has  the 
making,  or  rather  marring,  of  all  the  liveries  of  the 
Hall  ;  which  generally  look  as  though  they  had  been 
cut  out  by  one  of  those  scientific  tailors  of  the  Fly- 
ing Island  of  Laputa,  who  took 'measure  of  their 
customers  with  a  quadrant.  The  tailor,  in  fact, 
might  rise  to  be  one  of  the  moneyed  men  of  the  vil- 
lage, was  he  not  rather  too  prone  to  gossip,  and  keep 
holidays,  and  give  concerts,  and  blow  all  his  sub- 
stance, real  and  personal,  through  his  clarionet; 
which  literally  keeps  him  poor,  both  in  body  and 
estate.  He  has  for  the  present  thrown  by  all  his 
regular  work,  and  suffered  the  breeches  of  the  vil- 
lage to  go  unmade  and  unmended,  while  he  is  occu- 
pied in  making  garlands  of  party-coloured  rags,  in 
imitation  of  flowers,  for  the  decoration  of  the  May- 
pole. 

Another  of  Master  Simon's  counsellors  is  the 
apothecary,  a  short  and  rather  fat  man,  with  a  pair 
of  prominent  eyes,  that  diverge  like  those  of  a  lob- 
ster. He  is  the  village  wise  man  ;  very  sententious, 
and  full  of  profound  remarks  on  shallow  subjects. 
Master  Simon  often  quotes  his  sayings,  and  men- 
tions him  as  rather  an  extraordinary  man  ;  and  even 
consults  him  occasionally,  in  desperate  cases  of  the 
dogs  and  horses.  Indeed,  he  seems  to  have  been 
overwhelmed  by  the  apothecary's  philosophy,  which 
is  exactly  one  observation  deep,  consisting  of  indis- 
putable maxims,  such  as  may  be  gathered  from  the 
mottoes  of  tobacco-boxes.  I  had  a  specimen  of  his 
philosophy,  in  my  very  first  conversation  with  him  ; 
in  the  course  of  which  he  observed,  with  great  so- 
lemnity and  emphasis,  that  "  man  is  a  compound  of 
wisdom  and  folly  ;  "  upon  which  Master  Simon,  who 
had  hold  of  my  arm,  pressed  very  hard  upon  it,  and 
whispered  in  my  ear,  "  that's  a  devilish  shrewd  re- 
mark ! " 


THE  SCHOOLMASTER. 


There  will  no  mosse  stick  to  the  stone  of  Sislphus,  no  grasse 
hang  on  the  heclcs  of  Mercury,  no  butter  cleave  on  the  bread  of  a 
traveller.  For  as  the  eagle  at  every  flight  loseth  _a  feather,  which 
makcth  her  bauld  in  her  age,  to  the  traveller  in  every  country 
loseth  some  fleece,  which  raaketh  him  a  beggar  in  his  youth,  by 
buying  that  for  a  pound  which  he  cannot  sell  again  for  ;.  ponny— 
repentance.  Lilly's  Euphues, 

Among  the  worthies  of  the  village  that  enjoy  the 
peculiar  confidence  of  Master  Simon,  is  one  who  has 
struck  my  fancy  so  much  that  I  have  thought  him 


494 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


wonhy  of  a  separate  notice.  It  is  Slingsby,  the 
schoolmaster,  a  thin,  elderly  man,  rather  threadbare 
and  slovenly,  somewhat  indolent  in  manner,  and 
with  an  easy,  good-humoured  look,  not  often  met 
with  in  his  craft.  I  have  been  interested  in  his  fa- 
vour by  a  few  anecdotes  which  I  have  picked  up  con- 
cerning- him. 

He  is  a  native  of  the  village,  and  was  a  contem- 
porary and  playmate  of  Ready-Money  Jack  in  the 
days  of  their  boyhood.  Indeed,  they  carried  on  a 
kind  of  league  of  mutual  good  offices.  Slingsby 
was  rather  puny,  and  withal  somewhat  of  a  coward, 
but  very  apt  at  his  learning;  Jack,  on  the  contrary, 
was  a  bully-boy  out  of  doors,  but  a  sad  laggard  at 
his  books.  Slingsby  helped  Jack,  therefore,  to  all 
his  lessons ;  Jack  fought  all  Slingsby's  battles  ;  and 
they  were  inseparable  friends.  This  mutual  kind- 
ness continued  even  after  they  left  the  school,  not- 
withstanding the  dissimilarity  of  their  characters. 
Jack  took  to  ploughing  and  reaping,  and  prepared 
himself  to  till  his  paternal  acres ;  while  the  other 
loitered  negligently  on  in  the  path  of  learning,  until 
he  penetrated  even  into  the  confines  of  Latin  and 
mathematics. 

In  an  unlucky  hour,  however,  he  took  to  reading 
voyages  and  travels,  and  was  smitten  with  a  desire 
to  see  the  woi  Id.  This  desire  increased  upon  him 
as  he  grew  up  ;  so',  early  one  bright,  sunny  morning, 
he  put  all  his  effects  in  a  knapsack,  slung  it  on  his 
back,  took  staff  in  hand,  and  called  in  his  way  to 
take  leave  of  his  early  schoolmate.  Jack  was  just 
going  out  with  the  plough  :  the  friends  shook  hands 
over  the  farm-house  gate ;  Jack  drove  his  team 
a-field,  and  Slingsby  whistled  "  Over  the  hills  and  far 
away,"  and  sallied  forth  gayly  to  "  seek  his  fortune." 

Years  and  years  passed  by,  and  young  Tom 
Slingsby  was  forgotten  ;  when,  one  mellow  Sunday 
afternoon  in  autumn,  a  thin  man,  somewhat  ad- 
vanced in  life,  with  a  coat  out  at  elbows,  a  pair  of 
old  nankeen  gaiters,  and  a  few  things  tied  in  a  hand- 
kerchief and  slung  on  the  end  of  a  stick,  was  seen 
loitering  through  the  village.  He  appeared  to 
regard  several  houses  attentively,  to  peer  into  the 
windows  that  were  open,  to  eye  the  villagers  wist- 
fully as  they  returned  from  church,  and  then  to  pass 
some  time  in  the  church-yard  reading  the  tomb- 
stones. 

At  length  he  found  his  way  to  the  farm-house  of 
Ready-Money  Jack,  but  paused  ere  he  attempted  the 
wicket ;  contemplating  the  picture  of  substantial  in- 
dependence before  him.  In  the  porch  of  the  house 
sat  Ready-Money  Jack,  in  his  Sunday  dress  ;  with 
his  hat  upon  his  head,  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  his 
tankard  before  him,  the  monarch  of  all  he  surveyed. 
Beside  him  lay  his  fat  house-dog.  The  varied  sounds 
of  poultry  were  heard  from  the  well-stocked  farm- 
yard ;  the  bees  hummed  from  their  hives  in  the  gar- 
den ;  the  cattle  lowed  in  the  rich  meadow ;  while  the 
crammed  barns  and  ample  stacks  bore  proof  of  an 
abundant  harvest. 

The  stranger  opened  the  gate  and  advanced  dubi- 
ously toward  the  house.  The  mastiff  growled  at  the 
sight  of  the  suspicious-looking  intruder  ;  but  was  im- 
mediately silenced  by  his  master,  who,  taking  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  awaited  with  inquiring  aspect 
the  address  of  this  equivocal  personage.  The  stranger 
eyed  old  Jack  for  a  moment,  so  portly  in  his  dimen- 
sions, and  decked  out  in  gorgeous  apparel ;  then  cast 
a  glance  upon  his  own  thread-bare  and  starveling 
condition,  and  the  scanty  bundle  which  he  held  in 
his  hand ;  then  giving  his  shrunk  waistcoat  a  twitch 
to  make  it  meet  its  receding  waistband,  and  casting 
another  look,  half  sad,  half  humorous,  at  the  sturdy 
yeoman,  "I  suppose,"  said  he,  "Mr.  Tibbets,  you 
have  forgot  old  times  and  old  playmates." 


The  latter  gazed  at  him  with  .scrutinizing  look, 
but  acknowledged  that  he  had  no  recollection  of 
him. 

"Like  enough,  like  enough,"  said  the  stranger; 
"  every  body  seems  to  have  forgotten  poor  Slings- 
by I  " 

"  Why,  no,  sure  !  it  can't  be  Tom  .Slingsby  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  it  is,  though  !  "  replied  the  stranger, 
shaking  his  head. 

Ready-Money  Jack  was  on  his  feet  in  a  twinkling  ; 
thrust  out  his  hand,  gave  his  ancient  crony  the  gripe 
of  a  giant,  and  slapping  the  other  hand  on  a  bench, 
"  Sit  down  there,"  cried  he,  "  Tom  Slingsby  !  " 

A  long  conversation  ensued  about  old  times,  while 
Slingsby  was  regaled  with  the  best  cheer  that  the 
farm-house  afforded  ;  for  he  was  hungry  as  well  as 
wayworn,  and  had  the  keen  appetite  of  a  poor  pe- 
destrian. The  early  playmates  then  talked  over  their 
subsequent  lives  and  adventures.  Jack  had  but  little 
to  relate,  and  was  never  good  at  a  long  story.  A 
prosperous  life,  passed  at  home,  has  little  incident 
for  narrative  ;  it  is  only  poor  devils,  that  are  tossed 
about  the  world,  that  are  the  true  heroes  of  story. 
Jack  had  stuck  by  the  paternal  farm,  followed  the 
same  plow  that  his  forefathers  had  driven,  and  had 
waxed  richer  and  richer  as  he  grew  older.  As  to 
Tom  Slingsby,  he  was  an  exemplification  of  the  old 
proverb,  "a  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss."  He 
had  sought  his  fortune  about  the  world,  without  ever 
finding  it,  being  a  thing  oftener  found  at  home  than 
abroad.  He  had  been  in  all  kinds  of  situations,  and 
had  learned  a  dozen  different  modes  of  making  a  liv- 
ing ;  but  had  found  his  way  back  to  his  native  village 
rather  poorer  than  when  he  left  it,  his  knapsack  hav- 
ing dwindled  down  to  a  scanty  bundle. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  the  Squire  was  passing  by 
the  farm-house  that  very  evening,  and  called  there, 
as  is  often  his  custom.  He  found  the  two  school- 
mates still  gossiping  in  the  porch,  and,  according  to 
the  good  old  Scottish  song,  "  taking  a  cup  of  kmd- 
ness  yet,  for  auld  lang  syne."  The  Squire  was 
struck  by  the  contrast  in  appearance  and  fortunes 
of  these  early  playmates.  Ready-Money  Jack,  seated 
in  lordly  state,  surrounded  by  the  good  things  of  this 
life,  with  golden  guineas  hanging  to  his  very  watch- 
chain,  and  the  poor  pilgrim  Slingsby,  thin  as  a 
weasel,  with  all  his  worldly  effects,  his  bundle,  hat, 
and  walking-staff,  lying  on  the  ground  beside  him. 

The  good  Squire's  heart  warmed  towards  the 
luckless  cosmopolite,  lor  he  is  a  little  prone  to  like 
such  half-vagrant  characters.  He  cast  about  in  his 
mind  how  he  should  contrive  once  more  to  anchor 
Slingsby  in  his  native  village.  Honest  Jack  had  al- 
ready offered  him  a  present  shelter  under  his  roof,  in 
spite  of  the  hints,  and  winks,  and  half  remonstrances 
of  the  shrewd  Dame  Tibbets  ;  but  how  to  provide 
for  his  permanent  maintenance,  was  the  question. 
Luckily  the  Squire  bethought  himself  that  the  village 
school  was  without  a  teacher.  A  little  further  con- 
versation convinced  him  that  Slingsby  was  as  fit  for 
that  as  for  any  thing  else,  and  in  a  day  or  two  he  was 
seen  swaying  the  rod  of  empire  in  the  very  school- 
house  where  he  had  often  been  horsed  in  the  days 
of  his  boyhood. 

Here  he  has  remained  for  several  years,  and,  be- 
ing honoured  by  the  countenance  of  the  Squire,  and 
the  fast  friendship  of  Mr.  Tibbets,  he  has  grown  into 
much  importance  and  consideration  in  the  village. 
I  am  told,  however,  that  he  still  shows,  now  and 
then,  a  degree  of  restlessness,  and  a  disposition  to 
rove  abroad  again,  and  see  a  little  more  of  the 
world ;  an  inclination  which  seems  particularly  to 
haunt  him  about  spring-time.  There  is  nothing  so 
difficult  to  conquer  as  the  vagrant  humour,  when 
once  it  has  been  fully  indulged. 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


495 


Since  I  have  heard  these  anecdotes  of  poor  Slings- 
by,  I  have  more  than  once  mused  upon  the  picture 
presented  by  him  and  his  schoolmate,  Ready-Money 
Jack,  on  their  coming  together  again  after  so  long  a 
separation.  It  is  difficult  to  determine  between  lots 
in  life,  where  each  one  is  attended  with  its  peculiar 
discontents.  He  who  never  leaves  his  home  repines 
at  his  monotonous  existence,  and  envies  the  travel- 
ler, whose  life  is  a  constant  tissue  of  wonder  and  ad- 
venture ;  while  he  who  is  tossed  about  the  world, 
looks  back  with  many  a  sigh  to  the  safe  and  quiet 
j_  shore  which  he  has  abandoned.  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing, however,  that  the  man  that  stays  at  home,  and 
cultivates  the  comforts  and  pleasures  daily  springing 
;  up  around  him,  stands  the  best  chance  for  happi- 
'  ness.  There  is  nothing  so  fascinating  to  a  young 
mind  as  the  idea  of  travelling;  and  there  is  very 
witchcraft  in  the  old  phrase  found  in  every  nursery 
tale,  of  "going  to  seek  one's  fortune."  A  continual 
change  of  place,  and  change  of  object,  promises  a 
continual  succession  of  adventure  and  gratification 
of  curiosity.  But  there  is  a  limit  to  all  our  enjoy- 
ments, and  every  desire  bears  its  death  in  its  very 
gratification.  Curiosity  languishes  under  repeated 
stimulants,  novelties  cease  to  excite  surprise,  until  at 
length  we  cannot  wonder  even  at  a  miracle. 

He  who  has  sallied  forth  into  the  world,  like  poor 
Slingsby,  full  of  sunny  anticipations,  finds  too  soon 
how  different  the  distant  scene  becomes  when 
visited.  The  smooth  place  roughens  as  he  ap- 
proaches ;  the  wild  place  becomes  tame  and  barren  ; 
the  fairy  tints  that  beguiled  him  on,  still  fly  to  the 
distant  hill,  or  gather  upon  the  land  he  has  left 
behind ;  and  every  part  of  the  landscape  seems 
greener  than  the  spot  he  stands  on. 


THE  SCHOOL 


But  to  come  down  from  ereat  men  and  higher  matters  to  my  little 
shildren  and  poor  school-house  again  ;  I  will,  God  willing,  go  for- 
ward orderly,  as  I  purposed,  to  instruct  children  and  young  men  both 
for  learning  and  manners.  Roger  Ascham. 

Having  given  the  reader  a  slight  sketch  of  the 
village  schoolmaster,  he  may  be  curious  to  learn 
something  concerning  his  school.  As  the  Squire 
takes  much  interest  in  the  education  of  the  neigh- 
bouring children,  he  put  into  the  hands  of  the  teach- 
er, on  first  installing  him  in  office,  a  copy  of  Roger 
Ascham's  Schoolmaster,  and  advised  him,  moreover, 
to  con  over  that  portion  of  old  Peacham  which  treats 
of  the  duty  of  masters,  and  which  condemns  the 
favourite  method  of  making  boys  wise  by  flagella- 
tion. 

He  exhorted  Slingshy  not  to  break  down  or  de- 
press the  free  spirit  of  the  boys,  by  harshness  and 
slavish  fear,  but  to  lead  them  freely  and  joyously  on 
in  the  path  of  knowledge,  making  it  pleasant  and 
desirable  in  their  eyes.  He  wished  to  see  the  vouth 
trained  up  in  the  manners  and  habitudes  of  the 
peasantry  of  the  good  old  times,  and  thus  to  lay  a 
foundation  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  favourite 
object,  the  revival  of  old  English  customs  and  char- 
acter. He  recommended  that  all  the  ancient  holi- 
days should  be  obser\'ed,  and  that  the  sports  of  the 
boys,  in  their  hours  of  play,  should  be  regulated 
according  to  the  standard  authorities  laid  down  in 
Strutt,  a  copy  of  whose  invaluable  work,  decorated 
with  plates,  was  deposited  in  the  school-house. 
Above  all,  he  exhorted  the  pedagogue  to  abstain 
from  the  use  of  birch,  an  instrument  of  instruction 
which  the  good   Squire  regards  with   abhorrence. 


as  fit  only  for  the  coercion  of  brute  natures  that 
cannot  be  reasoned  with. 

Mr.  Slingsby  has  followed  the  Squire's  instruc- 
tions, to  the  best  of  his  disposition  and  abilities.  He 
never  flogs  the  boys,  because  he  is  too  easy,  good- 
humoured  a  creature  to  inflict  pain  on  a  worm. 
He  is  bountiful  in  holidays,  because  he  loves  holi- 
days himself,  and  has  a  sympathy  with  the  urchins' 
impatience  of  confinement,  from  having  divers 
times  experienced  its  irksomeness  during  the  time 
that  he  was  seeing  the  world.  As  to  sports  and 
pastimes,  the  boys  are  faithfully  exercised  in  all 
that  are  on  record,  quoits,  races,  prison-bars,  tipcat, 
trap-ball,  bandy-ball,  wrestling,  leaping,  and  what 
not.  The  only  misfortune  is,  that  having  banished 
the  birch,  honest  Slingsby  has  not  studied  Roger 
Ascham  sufficiently  to  find  out  a  substitute ;  or 
rather,  he  has  not  the  management  in  his  nature 
to  apply  one ;  his  school,  therefore,  though  one  of 
the  happiest,  is  one  of  the  most  unruly  in  the 
country ;  and  never  was  a  pedagogue  more  liked, 
or  less  heeded  by  his  disciples,  than  Slingsby. 

He  has  lately  taken  a  coadjutor  worthy  of  him- 
self, being  another  stray  sheep  that  has  returned 
to  the  village  fold.  This  is  no  other  than  the  son 
of  the  musical  tailor,  who  had  bestowed  some  cost 
upon  his  education,  hoping  to  see  him  one  day  ar- 
rive at  the  dignity  of  an  exciseman,  or  at  least  of 
a  parish  clerk.  The  lad  grew  up,  however,  as  idle 
and  musical  as  his  father ;  and,  being  captivated 
by  the  drum  and  fife  of  a  recruiting  party,  he 
followed  them  off  to  the  army.  He  returned  not 
long  since,  out  of  money,  and  out  at  the  elbows, 
the  prodigal  son  of  the  village.  He  remained  for 
some  time  lounging  about  the  place  in  half-tatter- 
ed soldier's  dress,  with  a  foraging-cap  on  one  side 
of  his  head,  jerking  stones  across  the  brook,  or 
loitering  about  the  tavern-door,  a  burthen  to  his 
father,  and  regarded  with  great  coldness  by  all  warm 
householders. 

Something,  however,  drew  honest  Slingsby  to- 
wards the  youth.  It  might  be  the  kindness  he  bore 
to  his  father,  who  is  one  of  the  schoolmaster's 
great  cronies  ;  it  might  be  that  secret  sympathy 
which  draws  men  of  vagrant  propensities  toward 
each  other  ;  for  there  is  something  truly  magnetic 
in  the  vagabond  feeling ;  or  it  might  be,  that  he 
remembered  the  time  when  he  himself  had  come 
back,  like  this  youngster,  a  wreck,  to  his  native 
place.  At  any  rate,  whatever  the  motive,  Slingsby 
drew  towards  the  youth.  They  had  many  conver- 
sations in  the  village  tap-room  about  foreign  parts, 
and  the  various  scenes  and  places  they  had  witness- 
ed during  their  wayfaring  about  the  world.  The 
more  Slingsby  talked  with  him,  the  more  he  found 
him  to  his  taste ;  and  finding  him  almost  as  learned 
as  himself,  he  forthwith  engaged  him  as  an  assistant, 
or  usher,  in  the  school. 

Under  such  admirable  tuition,  the  school,  as  may 
be  supposed,  flourishes  apace  ;  and  if  the  scholars 
do  not  become  versed  in  all  the  holiday  accomplish- 
ments of  the  good  old  times,  to  the  Squire's  heart's 
content,  it  will  not  be  the  fault  of  their  teachers. 
The  prodigal  son  has  become  almost  as  popular 
among  the  boys  as  the  pedagogue  himself  His  in- 
structions are  not  limited  to  school  hours  ;  and  hav- 
ing inherited  the  musical  taste  an.d  talents  of  his 
father,  he  has  bitten  the  whole  school  with  the 
mania.  He  is  a  great  hand  at  beating  a  drum, 
which  is  often  heard  rumbling  from  the  rear  of  the 
school-house.  He  is  teaching  half  the  boys  of  the 
village,  also,  to  play  the  fife,  and  the  pandean  pipes  ; 
and  they  \veary  the  whole  neighbourhood  with  their 
vague  pipings,  as  they  sit  perched  on  stiles,  or  loiter- 
ing about  the  barn-doors  in  the  evenings.     Among 


496 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  other  exercises  of  the  school,  also,  he  has  intro- 
duced the  ancient  art  of  archery,  one  of  the  Squire's 
favourite  themes,  with  such  success,  that  the  whip- 
sters roam  in  truant  bands  about  the  neighbourhood, 
practising  with  their  bows  and  arrows  upon  the  birds 
of  the  air,  and  the  beasts  of  the  field  ;  and  not  un- 
frequently  making  a  foray  into  the  Squire's  domains, 
to  the  great  indignation  of  the  gamekeepers.  In  a 
word,  so  completely  are  the  ancient  English  customs 
and  habits  cultivated  at  this  school,  that  I  should 
not  be  surprised  if  the  Squire  should  live  to  see  one 
of  his  poetic  visions  realized,  and  a  brood  reared  up, 
worthy  successors  to  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry 
gang  of  outlaws. 


A  VILLAGE    POLITICIAN. 


I  am  a  rogue  if  I  do  not  think  I  was  designed  for  the  helm  of  state  ; 
I  am  so  full  of  nimble  stratagems,  that  1  should  have  ordered  affairs, 
and  carried  it  against  the  stream  of  a  faction,  with  as  much  ease  as 
a  skipper  would  laver  against  the  wind.  The  Goblins, 

In  one  of  my  visits  to  the  village  with  Master 
Simon,  he  proposed  that  we  should  stop  at  the  inn, 
which  he  wished  to  show  me,  as  a  specimen  of  a 
real  country  inn,  the  head-quarters  of  village  gossips. 
I  had  remarked  it  before,  in  my  perambulations  about 
the  place.  It  has  a  deep,  old-fashioned  porch,  lead- 
ing into  a  large  hall,  which  serves  for  tap-room  and 
travellers'-room  ;  having  a  wide  fire-place,  with  high- 
backed  settles  on  each  side,  where  the  wise  men  of 
the  village  gossip  over  their  ale,  and  hold  their  ses- 
sions during  the  long  winter  evenings.  The  land- 
lord is  an  easy,  indolent  fellow,  shaped  a  little  like 
one  of  his  own  beer-barrels,  and  is  apt  to  stand  gos- 
siping at  his  door,  with  his  wig  on  one  side,  and  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  whilst  his  wife  and  daughter 
attend  to  customers.  His  wife,  however,  is  fully  com- 
petent to  manage  the  establishment ;  and,  indeed, 
from  long  habitude,  rules  over  all  the  frequenters  of 
the  tap-room  as  completely  as  if  they  were  her  de- 
pendants instead  of  her  patrons.  Not  a  veteran  ale- 
bibber  but  pays  homage  to  her,  having,  no  doubt, 
been  often  in  her  arrears.  I  have  already  hinted  that 
she  is  on  very  good  terms  with  Ready-Money  Jack. 
He  was  a  sweetheart  of  hers  in  early  life,  and  has 
always  countenanced  the  tavern  on  her  account.  In- 
deed, he  is  quite  the  "  cock  of  the  walk  "  at  the  tap- 
room. 

As  we  approached  the  inn,  we  heard  some  one 
talking  with  great  volubility,  and  distinguished  the 
ominous  words,  "  taxes,"  "  poor's  rates,"  and  "  agri- 
cultural distress."  It  proved  to  be  a  thin,  loquacious 
fellow,  who  had  penned  the  landlord  up  in  one  corner 
of  the  porch,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets  as  usual, 
listening  with  an  air  of  the  most  vacant  acquiescence. 

The  sight  seemed  to  have  a  curious  effect  on 
Master  Simon,  as  he  squeezed  my  arm,  and,  altering 
his  course,  sheered  wide  of  the  porch,  as  though  he 
had  not  had  any  idea  of  entering.  This  evident 
evasion  induced  me  to  notice  the  orator  more  par- 
ticularly. He  was  meagre,  but  active  in  his  make, 
with  a  long,  pale,  bilious  face ;  a  black  beard,  so  ill- 
shaven  as  to  bloody  his  shirt-collar,  a  feverish  eye, 
and  a  hat  sharpened  up  at  the  sides,  into  a  most 
pragmatical  shape.  He  had  a  newspaper  in  his  hand, 
and  seemed  to  be  commenting  on  its  contents,  to  the 
thorough  conviction  of  mine  host. 

At  sight  of  Master  Simon,  the  landlord  was  evi- 
dently a  httle  flurried,  and  began  to  rub  his  hands, 
edge  away  from  his  corner,  and  make  several  pro- 
found publican  bows  ;  while  the  orator  took  no  other 


notice  of  my  companion  than  to  talk  rather  louder 
than  before,  and  with,  as  I  thought,  something  of  an 
air  of  defiance.  Master  Simon,  however,  as  I  have 
before  said,  sheered  off  from  the  porch,  and  passed 
on,  pressing  my  arm  within  his,  and  whispering,  as 
we  got  by,  in  a  tone  of  awe  and  horror,  "  That's  a 
radical  1  he  reads  Cobbctt !  " 

I  endeavoured  to  get  a  more  particular  account  of 
him  from  my  companion,  but  he  seemed  unwilling 
even  to  talk  about  him,  answering  only  in  general 
terms,  that  he  was  "  a  cursed  busy  fellow,  that  had  a 
confounded  trick  of  talking,  and  was  apt  to  bother 
one  about  the  national  debt,  and  such  nonsense;" 
from  which  I  suspected  that  Master  Simon  had  been 
rendered  wary  of  him  by  some  accidental  encounter 
on  the  field  of  argument ;  for  these  radicals  are  con- 
tinually roving  about  in  quest  of  wordy  warfare,  and 
never  so  happy  as  when  they  can  tilt  a  gentleman 
logician  out  of  his  saddle. 

On  subsequent  inquiry,  my  suspicions  have  been 
confirmed.  1  find  the  radical  has  but  recently  found 
his  way  into  the  village,  where  he  threatens  to  com- 
mit fearful  devastations  with  his  doctrines.  He  has 
already  made  two  or  three  complete  converts,  or  new 
lights  ;  has  shaken  the  faith  of  several  others  ;  and 
has  grievously  puzzled  the  brains  of  many  of  the  oldest 
villagers,  who  had  never  thought  about  politics,  or 
scarce  any  thing  else,  during  their  whole  lives. 

He  is  lean  and  meagre  from  the  constant  restless- 
ness of  mind  and  body;  worrying  about  with  news- 
papers and  pamphlets  in  his  pockets,  which  he  is 
ready  to  pull  out  on  all  occasions.  He  has  shocked 
several  of  the  staunchest  villagers,  by  talking  lightly 
of  the  Squire  and  his  family,;  and  hinting  that  it 
would  be  better  the  park  should  be  cut  into  small 
farms  and  kitchen-gardens,  or  feed  good  mutton  in- 
stead of  worthless  deer. 

He  is  a  great  thorn  in  the  side  of  the  Squire,  who 
is  sadly  afraid  that  he  will  introduce  politics  into  the 
village,  and  turn  it  into  an  unhappy,  thinking  com- 
munity. He  is  a  still  greater  grievance  to  Master 
Simon,  who  has  hitherto  been  able  to  sway  the 
political  opinions  of  the  place,  without  much  cost  of- 
learning  or  logic  ;  but  has  been  much  puzzled  of  late 
to  weed  out  the  doubts  and  heresies  already  sown  by^ 
this  champion  of  reform.  Indeed,  the  latter  has 
taken  complete  command  at  the  tap-room  of  the 
tavern,  not  so  much  because  he  has  convinced,  as 
because  he  has  out-talked  all  the  old-established 
oracles.  The  apothecary,  with  all  his  philosophy, 
was  as  nought  before  him.  He  has  convinced  and 
converted  the  landlord  at  least  a  dozen  times ;  who, 
however,  is  liable  to  be  convinced  and  converted  the 
other  way,  by  the  next  person  with  whom  he  talks.  ' 
It  is  true  the  radical  has  a  violent  antagonist  in  the 
landlady,  who  is  vehemently  loyal,  and  thoroughly 
devoted  to  the  king.  Master  Simon,  and  the  Squire. 
She  now  and  then  comes  out  upon  the  reformer  with 
all  the  fierceness  of  a  cat-o'-mountain,  and  does  not 
spare  her  own  soft-headed  husband,  for  listening  to 
what  she, terms  such  "low-lived  politics."  What 
makes  the  good  woman  the  more  violent,  is  the  per- 
fect coolness  with  which  the  radical  listens  to  her 
attacks,  drawing  his  face  up  into  a  provoking  super- 
cilious smile;  and  when  she  has  talked  herself  out 
of  breath,  quietly  asking  her  for  a  taste  of  her  home- 
brewed. 

The  only  person  that  is  in  any  way  a  match  for 
this  redoubtable  politician,  is  Ready-Money  Jack 
Tibbets,  who  maintains  his  stand  in  the  tap-room, 
in  defiance  of  the  radical  and  all  his  works.  Jack 
is  one  of  the  most  loyal  men  in  the  country,  without 
being  able  to  reason  about  the  matter.  He  has  that 
admirable  quality  for  a  tough  arguer,  also,  that  he 
never  knows  when  he  is  beat.     He  has  half-a-dozen 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


497 


old  maxims,  which  he  advances  on  all  occasions,  and 
though  his  antagonist  may  overturn  them  never  so 
often,  yet  he  always  brings  them  anew  to  the  field. 
He  is  like  the  robber  in  Ariosto,  who,  though  his 
head  might  be  cut  off  half-a-hundred  times,  yet 
whipped  it  on  his  shoulders  again  in  a  twinkling, 
and  returned  as  sound  a  man  as  ever  to  the  charge. 
Whatever  does  not  square  with  Jack's  simple  and 
obvious  creed,  he  sets  down  for  "  French  politics  ;  " 
for,  notwithstanding  the  p>eace,  he  cannot  be  per- 
suaded that  the  French  are  not  still  laying  plots  to 
ruin  the  nation,- and  to  get  hold  of  the  Bank  of  En- 
gland. The  radical  attempted  to  overwhelm  him, 
one  day,  by  a  long  passage  from  a  newspaper ;  but 
Jack  neither  reads  nor  believes  in  newspapers.  In 
reply,  he  gave  him  one  of  the  stanzas  which  he  has 
by  heart  from  his  favourite,  and  indeed  only  author, 
old  Tusser,  and  which  he  calls  his  Golden  Rules : 

Leave  princes'  affairs  undescanted  on, 
And  tend  to  such  doings  as  stand  thee  upon  ; 
Fear  Ciod,  and  offend  not  the  king  nor  his  laws, 
And  keep  thyself  out  of  the  magistrate's  claws. 

When  Tibbets  had  pronounced  this  with  great 
emphasis,  he  pulled  out  a  well-filled  leathern  purse, 
took  out  a  handful  of  gold  and  silver,  paid  his  score 
at  the  bar  with  great  punctuality,  returned  his 
money,  piece  by  piece,  into  his  purse,  his  purse  into 
his  pocket,  which  he  buttoned  up  ;  and  then,  giving 
his  cudgel  a  stout  thump  upon  the  floor,  and  bidding 
the  radical  "good-morning,  sir  !  "  with  the  tone  of  a 
man  who  conceives  he  has  completely  done  for  his 
antagonist,  he  walked  with  lion  -  like  gravity  out 
of  the  house.  Two  or  three  of  Jack's  admirers 
who  were  present,  and  had  been  afraid  to  take  the 
field  themselves,  looked  upon  this  as  a  perfect  triumph, 
and  winked  at  each  other  when  the  radical's  back  was 
turned.  "  Ay,  ay  !  "  said  mine  host,  as  soon  as  the 
radical  was  out  of  hearing,  "let  old  Jack  alone  ;  I'll 
warrant  he'll  give  him  his  own  !  " 


THE  ROOKERY, 


But  crawing;  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 
In  still  repeated  circles,  screaming  loud  ; 
The  jay,  the  pie.  and  e  en  the  boding  owl. 
That  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me. 

CowpER. 

In  a  grove  of  tall  oaks  and  beeches,  that  crowns 
a  terrace-walk,  just  on  the  skirts  of  the  garden,  is 
an  ancient  rookery,  which  is  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant provinces  in  the  Squire's  rural  domains. 
The  old  gentleman  sets  great  store  by  his  rooks, 
and  will  not  suffer  one  of  them  to  be  killed  :  in  con- 
sequence of  which,  they  have  increased  amazingly  ; 
the  tree-tops  are  loaded  with  their  nests  ;  they  have 
encroached  upon  the  great  avenue,  and  have  even 
established,  in  times  long  past,  a  colony  among  the 
elms  and  pines  of  the  church-yard,  which,  like  other 
distant  colonies,  has  already  thrown  off  allegiance  to 
the  mother  country. 

The  rooks  are  looked  up  by  the  Squire  as  a  very 
ancient  and  honourable  line  of^  gentry,  highly  aristo- 
cratical  in  their  notions,  fond  of  place,  and  attached 
to  church  and  state  ;  as  their  building  so  loftily, 
keeping  about  churches  and  cathedrals,  and  in  the 
\enerable  groves  of  old  castles  and  manor-houses, 
sufficiently  manifests.  The  good  opinion  thus  ex- 
pressed by  the  Squire  put  me  upon  observing  more 
narrowly  these  very  respectable  birds,  for  I  confess, 
to  my  shame,  I  had  been  apt  to  confound  them  with 
their  cousins-german  the  crows,  to  whom,  at  the 
32 


first  glance,  they  bear  so  great  a  family  resemblance. 
Nothing,  it  seems,  could  be  more  unjust  or  injurious 
th.in  such  a  mistake.  The  rooks  and  crows  are, 
among  the  feathered  tribes,  what  the  Spaniards  and 
Portuguese  are  among  nations,  the  least  loving,  in 
consequence  of  their  neighbourhood  and  similarity. 
The  rooks  are  old  established  ho'jsekeepers,  high- 
minded  gentlefolk,  that  have  had  their  hereditary 
abodes  time  out  of  mind  ;  but  as  to  the  poor  crows, 
they  are  a  kind  of  vagabond,  predatory,  gipsy  race, 
roving  about  the  country  without  any  settled  home  ; 
"their  hands  are  against  everybody,  and  every  body's 
against  them  ;  "  and  they  are  gibbeted  in  every 
corn-field.  Master  Simon  assures  me  that  a  female 
rook,  that  should  so  far  forget  herself  as  to  consort 
with  a  crow,  would  inevitably  be  disinherited,  and 
indeed  would  be  totally  discarded  by  all  her  ganteel 
acquaintance. 

The  Squire  is  very  watchful  over  the  interests  and 
concerns  of  his  sable  neighbours.  As  to  Master 
Simon,  he  even  pretends  to  know  many  of  theni  by 
sight,  and  to  have  given  names  to  them ;  he  points 
out  several,  which  he  says  are  old  heads  of  families, 
and  compares  them  to  worthy  old  citizens,  before- 
hand in  the  world,  that  wear  cocked  hats,  and  silver 
buckles  in  their  shoes.  Notwithstanding  the  pro- 
tecting benevolence  of  the  Squire,  and  their  being 
residents  in  his  empire,  they  seem  to  acknowledge 
no  allegiance,  and  to  hold  no  intercourse  or  intima- 
cy. Their  airy  tenements  are  built  almost  out  of 
the  reach  of  gun-shot ;  and,  notwithstanding  their 
vicinity  to  the  Hail,  they  maintain  a  most  reserved 
and  distrustful  shyness  of  mankind. 

There  is  one  season  of  the  year,  however,  which 
brings  all  birds  in  a  manner  to  a  level,  and  tames 
the  pride  of  the  loftiest  high-flyer— which  is  the 
season  of  building  their  nests.  This  takes  place 
early  in  the  spring,  when  the  forest  trees  first  begin 
to  show  their  buds;  the  long,  withy  ends  of  the 
branches  to  turn  green  ;  when  the  wild  strawberry, 
and  other  herbage  of  the  sheltered  woodlands,  put 
forth  their  tender  and  tinted  leaves ;  and  the  daisy 
and  the  primrose  peep  from  under  the  hedges.  At 
this  time  there  is  a  general  bustle  among  the  feath- 
ered tribes ;  an  incessant  fluttering  about,  and  a 
cheerful  chirping;  indicative,  like  the  germination 
of  the  vegetable  world,  of  the  reviving  life  and  fe- 
cundity of  the  year. 

It  is  then  that  the  rooks  forget  their  usual  stateli- 
ness  and  their  shy  and  lofty  habits.  Instead  of  keep- 
ing up  in  the  high  regions  of  the  air,  swinging  on  the 
breezy  tree-tops,  and  looking  down  with  sovereign 
contempt  upon  the  humble  crawlers  upon  earth,  they 
are  fain  to  throw  off"  for  a  time  the  dignity  of  the 
gentleman,  to  come  down  to  the  ground,  and  put  on 
the  pains-taking  and  industrious  character  of  a  la- 
bourer. They  now  lose  their  natural  shyness,  become 
fearless  and  familiar,  and  may  be  seen  plying  about 
in  all  directions,  with  an  air  of  great  assiduity,  in 
search  of  building  materials.  Every  now  and  then 
your  path  will  be  crossed  by  one  of  these  busy  old 
gentlemen,  worrying  about  with  awkward  gait,  as  if 
troubled  with  the  gout,  or  with  corns  on  his  toes, 
casting  about  many  a  prying  look,  turning  down 
first  one  eye,  then  the  other,  in  earnest  consideration, 
upon  every  straw  he  meets  with ;  until,  espying 
some  mighty  twig,  large  enough  to  make  a  rafter  for 
his  air-castle,  he  will  seize  upon  it  with  avidity, 
and  hurry  .away  with  it  to  the  tree-top ;  fearing,  ap- 
parently, lest  you  should  dispute  with  him  the  invalu- 
able prize. 

Like  other  castle-builders,  these  airy  architects 
seem  rather  fanciful  in  the  materials  with  which 
they  build,  and  to  like  those  most  which  come  from 
a  distance.   Thus,  though  there  are  abundance  of  dry 


498 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


twigs  on  the  surrounding  trees,  yet  they  never  think 
of  making  use  of  them,  but  go  foraging  in  distant 
lands,  and  come  sailing  home,  one  by  one,  from  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  each  bearing  in  his  bill  some 
precious  piece  of  timber. 

Nor  must  I  avoid  mentioning,  what  I  grieve  to  say, 
rather  derogates  from  the  grave  and  honourable 
chafdCiet  of  these  ancient  gentlefolk ;  that,  during 
the  architectural  season,  they  are  subject  to  great 
dissensions  among  themselves  ;  that  they  make  no 
scruple  to  defraud  and  plunder  each  other  ;  and  that 
sometimes  the  rookery  is  a  scene  of  hideous  brawl 
and  commotion,  in  consequence  of  some  delinquency 
of  the  kind.  One  of  the  partners  generally  remains 
on  the  nest,  to  guard  it  from  depredation  and  I 
have  seen  severe  contests,  when  some  sly  neighbour 
has  endeavoured  to  filch  away  a  tempting  rafter  that 
had  captivated  his  eye.  As  I  am  not  willing  to  ad- 
mit any  suspicion  hastily,  that  should  throw  a  stigma 
on  the  general  character  of  so  worshipful  a  people,  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  these  larcencies  are  very 
much  discountenanced  by  the  higher  classes,  and 
even  rigorously  punished  by  those  in  authority ;  for  I 
have  now  and  then  seen  a  whole  gang  of  rooks  fall 
upon  the  nest  of  some  individual,  pull  it  all  to  pieces, 
carry  off  the  spoils,  and  even  buffet  the  luckless  pro- 
prietor. I  have  concluded  this  to  be  some  signal 
punishment  inflicted  upon  him,  by  the  officers  of  the 
police,  for  some  pilfering  misdemeanour  ;  or,  perhaps, 
that  it  was  a  crev/  of  bailiffs  carrying  an  execution 
into  his  house. 

I  have  been  amused  with  another  of  their  move- 
ments during  the  building  season.  The  steward  has 
suffered  a  considerable  number  of  sheep  to  graze  on 
a  lawn  near  the  house,  somewhat  to  the  annoyance 
of  the  Squire,  who  thinks  this  an  innovation  on  the 
dignity  of  a  park,  which  ought  to  be  devoted  to  deer 
only.  Be  this  as  it  may,  there  is  a  green  knoll,  not 
far  from  the  drawing-room  window,  where  the  ewes 
and  lambs  are  accustomed  to  assemble  towards 
evening,  for  the  benefit  of  the  setting  sun.  No 
sooner  were  they  gathered  here,  at  the  time  when 
these  politic  birds  were  building,  than  a  stately  old 
rook,  who  Master  Simon  assured  me  was  the  chief 
magistrate  of  this  community,  would  settle  down 
upon  the  head  of  one  of  the  ewes,  who,  seeming 
conscious  of  this  condescension,  would  desist  from 
grazing,  and  stand  fixed  in  motionless  reverence  of 
her  august  burthen  ;  the  rest  of  the  rookery  would 
then  come  wheeling  down,  in  imitation  of  their  lead- 
er, until  every  ewe  had  two  or  three  of  them  cav.'ing, 
and  fluttering,  and  battling  upon  her  back.  Whether 
they  requited  the  submission  of  the  sheep,  by  levy- 
ing a  contribution  upon  their  fleece  for  the  benefit  of 
the  rookery,  I  am  not  certain ;  though  I  presume 
they  followed  the  usual  custom  of  protecting  powers. 
The  latter  part  of  May  is  the  time  of  great  tribula- 
tion among  the  rookeries,  when  the  young  are  just 
able  to  leave  their  nests,  and  balance  themselves  on 
the  neighbouring  branches.  Now  comes  on  the  sea- 
son of  "  rook  shooting ;  "  a  terrible  slaughter  of  the 
innocents.  The  Squire,  of  course,  prohibits  all  in- 
'.vasion  of  the  kind  on  his  territories  ;  but  I  am  told 
ithat  a  lamentable  havoc  takes  place  in  the  colony 
about  the  old  church.  Upon  this  devoted  common- 
wealth the  village  charges  "  with  all  its  chivalry." 
'Every  idle  wight  that  is  lucky  enough  to  possess  an 
old  gun  or  blunderbuss,  together  with  all  the  archery 
of  Slingsby's  school,  take  the  field  on  the  occasion. 
Jn  vain  does  the  little  parson  interfere,  or  remon- 
strate, in  angry  tones  from  his  study  window  that 
looks  into  the  churchyard,;  there  is  a  continual  pop- 
ping, from  morning  till  night.  Being  no  great 
marksmen,  their  shots  are  not  often  effective ;  but 
every  now  and  theru  agreat  shout  from  the  besieg- 


ing army  of  bumpkins  makes  known  the  downfall  of 
some  unlucky  squab  rook,  which  comes  to  the  ground 
with  the  emphasis  of  a  squashed  apple-dumpling. 

Nor  is  the  rookery  entirely  free  from  other  troubles 
and  disasters.  In  so  aristocratical  and  lofty-minded 
a  community,  which  boasts  so  much  ancient  blood 
and  hereditary  pride,  it  is  natural  to  suppose  that 
questions  of  etiquette  will  sometimes  arise  and 
affairs  of  honour  ensue.  In  fact,  this  is  very  often 
the  case ;  bitter  quarrels  break  out  between  indi- 
viduals, which  produce  sad  scufilings  on  tree-tops, 
and  I  have  more  than  once  seen  a  regular  duel  take 
place  between  two  doughty  heroes  of  the  rooken,-. 
Their  field  of  battle  is  generally  the  air ;  and  their 
contest  is  managed  in  the  most  scientific  and  elegant 
manner  ;  wheeling  round  and  round  each  other,  and 
towering  higher  and  higher,  to  get  the  vantage- 
ground,  until  they  sometimes  disappear  in  the  clouds 
before  the  combat  is  determined. 

They  have  also  fierce  combats  now  and  then  with 
an  invading  hawk,  and  will  drive  him  off  from  their 
territories  by  a  posse  comitattis.  They  are  also  ex- 
tremely tenacious  of  their  domains,  and  will  suffer 
no  other  bird  to  inhabit  the  grove  or  its  vicinity. 
There  was  a  very  ancient  and  respectable  old  bach- 
elor owl,  that  had  long  had  his  lodgings  in  a  comer 
of  the  grove,  but  has  been  fairly  ejected  by  the 
rooks  ;  and  has  retired,  disgusted  with  the  world,  to 
a  neighbouring  wood,  where  he  leads  the  life  of  a 
hermit,  and  makes  nightly  complaints  of  his  ill- 
treatment. 

The  hootings  of  this  unhappy  gentleman  may  gen- 
erally be  heard  in  the  still  evenings,  when  the  rooks 
are  all  at  rest ;  and  I  have  often  listened  to  them  of 
a  moonlight  night  with  a  kind  of  mysterious  gratifi- 
cation. This  gray-bearded  misanthrope,  of  course, 
is  highly  respected  by  the  Squire  ;  but  the  servants 
have  superstitious  notions  about  him,  and  it  would 
be  difficult  to  get  the  daiiy-maid  to  venture  after 
dark  near  to  the  wood  which  he  inhabits. 

Beside  the  private  quarrels  of  the  rooks,  there  are 
other  misfortunes  to  which  they  are  liable,  and  which 
often  bring  distress  into  the  most  respectable  fami- 
lies of  the  rookery.  Having  the  true  baronial  spirit 
of  the  good  old  feudal  times,  they  are  apt  now  and 
then  to  issue  forth  from  their  castles  on  a  foray,  and 
to  lay  the  plebeian  fields  of  the  neighbouring  country 
under  contribution  ;  in  the  course  of  which  chival- 
rous expeditions,  they  now  and  then  get  a  shot  from 
the  rusty  artillery  of  some  refractory  farmer.  Occa- 
sionally, too,  while  they  are  quietly  takmg  the  air 
beyond  the  park  boundaries,  they  have  the  incaution 
to  come  within  the  reach  of  the  truant  bowmen  of 
Slingsby's  school,  and  receive  a  flight  shot  from 
some  unlucky  urchin's  arrow.  In  such  case,  the 
wounded  adventurer  will  sometimes  have  just 
strength  enough  to  bring  himself  home,  and,  giving 
up  the  ghost  at  the  rookery,  will  hang  dangling  "  all 
abroad  "  on  a  bough,  like  a  thief  on  a  gibbet — an 
awful  warning  to  his  friends,  and  an  object  of  great 
commiseration  to  the  Squire. 

But,  maugre  all  these  untoward  incidents,  the 
rooks  have,  upon  the  whole,  a  happy  holiday  life  of 
it.  When  their  young  are  reared  and  fairly  launched 
upon  their  native  element,  the  air,  the  cares  of  the 
old  folks  seem  over,  and  they  resume  all  their  aristo- 
cratical dignity  and  idleness.  I  have  envied  them 
the  enjoyment  which  they  appear  to  have  in  their 
ethereal  heights,  sporting  with  clamorous  exultation 
about  their  lofty  bowers ;  sometimes  hovering  over 
them,  sometimes  partially  alighting  upon  the  top- 
most branches,  and  there  balancing  with  outstretched 
wings  and  swinging  in  the  breeze.  Sometimes  they 
seem  to  take  a  fashionable.drive  to  the  church  and 
amuse  themselves  by  circling  in  airy  rings  about  its 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


499 


spire ;  at  other  times  a  mere  garrison  is  left  at  home 
to  mount  guard  in  their  stronghold  at  the  grove, 
while  the  rest  roam  abroad  to  enjoy  the  fine  weather. 
About  sunset  the  garrison  gives  notice  of  their  re- 
turn ;  their  faint  cawing  will  be  heard  from  a  great 
distance,  and  they  will  be  seen  far  off  like  a  sable 
cloud,  and  then  nearer  and  nearer,  until  they  all 
come  soaring  home.  Then  they  perform  several 
grand  circuits  in  the  air  over  the  Hall  and  garden, 
wheeling  closer  and  closer  until  they  gradually  settle 
down,  when  a  prodigious  cawing  takes  place,  as 
though  they  were  relating  their  day's  adventures. 

I  like  at  such  times  to  walk  about  these  dusky 
groves,  and  hear  the  various  sounds  of  these  air)' 
people  roosted  so  high  above  me.  As  the  gloom  in- 
creases, their  conversation  subsides,  and  they  seem 
to  be  gradually  dropping  asleep ;  but  every  now  and 
then  there  is  a  querulous  note,  as  if  some  one  vv'as 
quarrelling  for  a  pillow,  or  a  little  more  of  the  blank- 
et. It  is  late  in  the  evening  before  they  completely 
sink  to  repose,  and  then  their  old  anchorite  neigh- 
bour, the  owl,  begins  his  lonely  hootings  from  his 
bachelor's-hall  in  the  wood. 


MAY-DAY. 


It  is  the  choice  time  of  the  year, 
For  the  violets  now  appear  ; 
Now  the  rose  receives  its  birth, 
And  pretty  primrose  decks  the  earth. 

Then  to  the  May-pole  come  away, 

For  it  is  now  a  holiday. 

Acteon  and  Diana. 

As  I  was  lying  in  bed  this  morning,  enjoying  one 
of  those  half  dreams,  half  reveries,  which  are  so 
pleasant  in  the  country,  when  the  birds  are  singing 
about  the  window,  and  the  sunbeams  peeping 
through  the  curtains,  I  was  roused  by  the  sound 
of  music.  On  going  down-stairs  I  found  a  number 
of  villagers,  dressed  in  their  holiday  clothes,  bearing 
a  pole  ornamented  with  garlands  and  ribands,  and 
accompanied  by  the  village  band  of  music,  under  the 
direction  of  the  tailor,  the  pale  fellow  who  plays  on 
the  clarionet.  They  had  all  sprigs  of  hawthorn,  or, 
as  it  is  called,  "  the  May,"  in  their  hats,  and  had 
brought  green  branches  and  flowers  to  decorate  the 
Hall  door  and  windows.  They  had  come  to  give 
notice  that  the  May-pole  was  reared  on  the  green, 
and  to  invite  the  household  to  witness  the  sports. 
The  Hall,  according  to  custom,  became  a  scene  of 
hurry  and  delighted  confusion.  The  servants  were 
all  agog  with  May  and  music ;  and  there  was  no 
keeping  either  the  tongues  or  the  feet  of  the  maids 
quiet,  who  were  anticipating  the  sports  of  the  green 
and  the  evening  dance. 

I  repaired  to  the  village  at  an  early  hour,  to  enjoy 
the  merry-making.  The  morning  was  pure  and 
sunny,  such  as  a  May  morning  is  always  described. 
The  fields  were  white  with  daisies,  the  hawthorn 
was  covered  with  its  fragrant  blossoms,  the  bee 
hummed  about  every  bank,  and  the  swallow  played 
high  in  the  air  about  the  village  steeple.  It  was  one 
of  those  genial  days  when  we  seem  to  draw  in  pleas- 
ure with  the  very  air  we  breathe,  and  to  feel  happy 
we  know  not  why.  Whoever  has  felt  the  worth  of 
worthy  man,  or  has  doted  on  lovely  woman,  will,  on 
such  a  day,  call  them  tenderly  to  mind,  and  feel  his 
heart  all  alive  with  long-buried  recollections.  "  For 
thenne,"  says  the  excellent  romance  of  King  Arthur, 
"  lovers  call  ageyne  to  their  mynde  old  gentilnes  and 
old  servyse,  and  many  kind  dedes  that  were  forgotten 
by  neglygence." 


Before  reaching  the  village,  I  saw  the  May-pole 
towering  above  the  cottages  with  its  gay  garlands 
and  streamers,  and  heard  the  sound  of  music.  I 
found  that  there  had  been  booths  set  up  near  it,  for 
the  reception  of  company ;  and  a  bower  of  green 
branches  and  flowers  for  the  Queen  of  May,  a  fresh, 
rosy-cheeked  girl  of  the  village. 

A  band  of  morris-dancers  were  capering  on  the 
green  in  their  fantastic  dresses,  jingling  with  hawks' 
bells,  with  a  boy  dressed  up  as  Maid  Marian,  and 
the  attendant  fool  rattling  his  box  to  collect  contri- 
butions from  the  bystanders.  The  gipsy-women  too 
were  already  plying  their  mystery  in  by-corners  of 
the  village,  reading  the  hands  of  the  simple  country 
girls,  and  no  doubt  promising  them  all  good  hus- 
bands and  tribes  of  children. 

The  Squire  made  his  appearance  in  the  course  of 
the  morning,  attended  by  the  parson,  and  was  re- 
ceived with  loud  acclamations.  He  mingled  among 
the  country  people  throughout  the  day,  giving  and 
receiving  pleasure  wherever  he  went.  The  amuse- 
ments of  the  day  were  under  the  management  of 
Slingsby,  the  schoolmaster,  who  is  not  merely  lord 
of  misrule  in  his  school,  but  master  of  the  revels  to 
the  village.  He  was  bustling  about,  with  the  per- 
plexed and  anxious  air  of  a  man  who  has  the  op- 
pressive burthen  of  promoting  other  people's  merri- 
ment upon  his  mind.  He  had  involved  himself  in  a 
dozen  scrapes,  in  consequence  of  a  politic  intrigue, 
which,  by-the-by.  Master  Simon  and  the  Oxonian 
were  at  the  bottom  of,  which  had  for  object  the  elec- 
tion of  the  Queen  of  May.  He  had  met  with  vio- 
lent opposition  from  %  faction  of  ale-drinkers,  who 
were  in  favour  of  a  bouncing  bar-maid,  the  daughter 
of  the  innkeeper ;  but  he  had  been  too  strongly 
backed  not  to  carry  his  point,  though  it  shows  that 
these  rural  crowns,  like  all  others,  are  objects  of 
great  ambition  and  heart-burning.  I  am  told  that 
Master  Simon  takes  great  interest,  though  in  an 
underhand  way,  in  the  election  of  these  May-day 
Queens,  and  that  the  chaplet  is  generally  secured 
for  some  rustic  beauty  that  has  found  favour  in  his 
eyes. 

In  the  course  of  the  day,  there  were  various  games 
of  strength  .and  agility  on  the  green,  at  which  a  knot 
of  village  veterans  presided,  as  judges  of  the  lists. 
Among  these  I  perceived  that  Ready-Money  Jack 
took  the  lead,  looking  with  a  learned  and  critical 
eye  on  the  merits  of  the  different  candidates ;  and, 
though  he  was  very  laconic,  and  sometimes  merely 
expressed  himself  by  a  nod,  yet  it  was  evident  that 
his  opinions  far  outweighed  those  of  the  most  loqua- 
cious. 

Young  Jack  Tibbets  was  the  hero  of  the  day,  and 
carried  off  most  of  the  prizes,  though  in  some  of  the 
feats  of  agility  he  was  rivalled  by  the  "  prodigal  son," 
who  appeared  much  in  his  element  on  this  occasion  ; 
but  his  most  formidable  competitor  was  the  notori- 
ous gipsy,  the  redoubtable  "  Starlight  Tom."  I  was 
rejoiced  at  having  an  opportunity  of  seeing  this 
"  minion  of  the  moon"  in  broad  daylight.  I  found 
him  a  tall,  swarthy,  good-looking  fellow,  with  a  lofty 
air,  something  like  what  I  have  seen  in  an  Indian 
chieftain  ;  and  with  a  certain  lounging,  easy,  and  al- 
most graceful  carriage,  which  I  have  often  remarked 
in  beings  of  the  lazaroni  order,  that  lead  an  idle 
loitering  life,  and  have  a  gentlemanlike  contempt  of 
labour. 

Master  Simon  and  the  old  general  reconnoitred 
the  ground  together,  and  indulged  a  vast  deal  of 
harmless  raking  among  the  buxom  country  girls. 
Master  Simon  would  give  some  of  them  a  kiss  on 
meeting  with  them,  and  would  ask  after  their  sisters, 
for  he  is  acquainted  with  most  of  the  farmers'  fami- 
[  lies.     Sometimes  he  would  whisper,  and  affect  to 


500 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


talk  mischievously  with  them,  and,  if  bantered  on 
the  subject,  would  turn  it  off  with  a  laugh,  though 
it  was  evident  he  liked  to  be  suspected  of  being  a 
gay  Lothario  amongst  them. 

He  had  much  to  say  to  the  farmers  about  their 
farms  ;  and  seemed  to  know  all  their  horses  by  name. 
There  was  an  old  fellow,  with  round  ruddy  face,  and 
a  night-cap  under  his  hat,  the  village  wit,  who  took 
.several  occasions  to  crack  a  joke  with  him  in  the 
hearing  of  his  companions,  to  whom  he  would  turn 
and  wink  hard  when  Master  Simon  had  passed. 

The  harmony  of  the  day,  however,  had  nearly,  at 
one  time,  been  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  the 
radical  on  the  ground,  with  two  or  three  of  his  dis- 
ciples. He  soon  got  engaged  in  argument  in  the 
very  thick  of  the  throng,  above  which  I  could  hear 
his  voice,  and  now  and  then  see  his  meagre  hand, 
half  a  mile  out  of  the  sleeve;  elevated  in  the  air  in 
violent  gesticulation,  and  flourishing  a  pamphlet  by 
way  of  truncheon.  He  was  decrying  these  idle  non- 
sensical amusements  in  time  of  public  distress,  when 
it  was  every  one's  business  to  think  of  other  matters, 
and  to  be  miserable.  The  honest  village  logicians 
could  make  no  stand  against  him,  e.specially  as  he 
was  seconded  by  his  proselytes  ;  when,  to  their  great 
joy.  Master  Simon  and  the  general  came  drifting 
down  into  the  field  of  action.  I  saw  that  Master 
.Simon  was  for  making  off,  as  soon  as  he  found  him- 
.self  in  the  neighbourhood  of  this  fire-sliip;  but  the 
general  was  too  loyal  to  suffer  such  talk  in  his  hear- 
ing, and  thought,  no  doubt,  that  a  look  and  a  word 
from  a  gentleman  would  be  sufficient  to  shut  up  so 
shabby  an  orator.  The  lattef,  however,  was  no  re- 
specter of  persons,  but  rather  seemed  to  exult  in 
having  such  important  antagonists.  He  talked  with 
greater  volubility  than  ever,  and  soon  drowned  them 
in  declamation  on  the  subject  of  taxes,  poor's  rates, 
and  the  national  debt.  Master  Simon  endeavoured 
to  brush  along  in  his  usual  excursive  manner,  which 
liad  always  answered  amazingly  well  with  the  vil- 
lagers ;  but  the  radical  was  one  of  those  pestilent 
fellows  that  pin  a  man  down  to  facts ;  and,  indeed, 
lie  had  two  or  three  pamphlets  in  his  pocket,  to  sup- 
port every  thing  he  advanced  by  printed  documents. 
The  general,  too,  found  himself  betrayed  into  a  more 
-serious  action  than  his  dignity  could  brook ;  and 
looked  like  a  mighty  Dutch  Indiaman,  grievously 
peppered  by  a  petty  privateer.  It  was  in  vain  that 
he  swelled  and  looked  big,  and  talked  large,  and 
endeavoured  to  make  up  by  pomp  of  manner  for 
poverty  of  matter;  every  home-thrust  of  the  radical 
made  him  wheeze  like  a  bellows,  and  seemed  to  let 
a  volume  of  wind  out  of  him.  In  a  word,  the  two 
worthies  from  the  Hall  were  completely  dumbfound- 
ed, and  this  too  in  the  presence  of  several  of  Master 
Simon's  staunch  admirers,  who  had  always  looked 
up  to  him  as  infallible.  I  do  not  know  how  he  and 
the  general  would  have  managed  to  draw  their  forces 
decently  from  the  field,  had  there  not  been  a  match 
at  grinning  through  a  horse-collar  announced, 
whereupon  the  radical  retired  with  great  expression 
of  contempt,  and,  as  soon  as  his  back  was  turned, 
the  argument  was  carried  against  him  all  hollow. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  pack  of  stuff,  general .'  " 
said  Master  Simon  ;  "  there's  no  talking  with  one  of 
these  chaps,  when  he  once  gets  that  confounded 
Cobbett  in  his  head." 

"  S'blood,  sir  !  "  said  the  general,  wiping  his  fore- 
head, "  such  fellows  ought  all  to  be  transported  !  " 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  day,  the  ladies  from  the 
Hall  paid  a  visit  to  the  green.  The  fair  Julia  made 
her  appearance  leaning  on  her  lover's  arm,  and 
looking  extremely  pale  and  interesting.  As  she  is 
a  great  favourite  in  the  village,  where  she  has  been 
known  from  childhood ;  and  as  her  late  accident  had 


been  much  talked  about,  the  sight  of  her  caused  very 
manifest  delight,  and  some  of  the  old  women  of  the 
village  blessed  her  sweet  face  as  she  passed. 

While  they  were  walking  about,  I  noticed  the 
schoolmaster  in  earnest  conversation  with  the  young 
girl  that  represented  the  Queen  of  May,  evidently 
endeavouring  to  spirit  her  up  to  some  formidable 
undertaking.  At  length,  as  the  party  from  the  Hall 
approached  her  bower,  she  came  forth,  faltering  at 
every  step,  until  she  reached  the  spot  where  the  fair 
Julia  stood  between  her  lover  and  Lady  Lillycraft. 
The  little  Queen  then  took  the  chaplet  of  flowers 
from  her  head,  and  attempted  to  put  it  on  that  of 
the  bride  elect ;  but  the  confusion  of  both  was  so 
great,  that  the  wreath  would  have  fallen  to  the 
ground,  had  not  the  officer  caught  it,  and,  laughing, 
placed  it  upon  the  blushing  brows  of  his  mistress. 
There  was  something  charming  in  the  very  embar- 
rassment of  these  two  young  creatures,  both  so  beau- 
tiful, yet  so  different  in  their  kinds  of  beauty.  Master 
Simon  told  me,  afterwards,  that  the  Queen  of  May 
was  to  have  spoken  a  few  verses  which  the  school- 
master had  written  for  her ;  but  that  she  had  neither 
wit  to  understand,  nor  memory  to  recollect  them. 
"  Besides,"  added  he,  "  between  you  and  I,  she  mur- 
ders the  king's  English  abominably  ;  so  she  has  act- 
ed the  part  of  a  wise  woman,  in  holding  her  tongue, 
and  trusting  to  her  pretty  face." 

Among  the  other  characters  from  the  Hall  was 
Mrs.  Hannah,  my  Lady  Lillycraft 's  gentlewoman ; 
to  my  surprise,  she  was  escorted  by  old  Christy,  the 
huntsman,  and  followed  by  his  ghost  of  a  grayhound  ; 
but  I  find  they  are  very  old  acquaintances,  being 
drawn  together  by  some  sympathy  of  disposition. 
Mrs.  Hannah  moved  about  with  starched  dignity 
among  the  rustics,  who  drew  back  from  her  with 
more  awe  than  they  did  from  her  mistress.  Her 
mouth  seemed  shut  as  with  a  clasp  ;  excepting  that 
I  now  and  then  heard  the  word  '•  fellows  !  "  escape 
from  between  her  lips,  as  she  got  accidentally  jostled 
in  the  crowd. 

But  there  was  one  other  heart  present  that  did 
not  enter  into  the  merriment  of  tlie  scene,  which  was 
that  of  the  simple  Phoebe  Wilkins,  the  housekeeper's 
niece.  The  poor  girl  has  continued  to  pine  and 
whine  for  some  time  past,  in  consequence  of  the 
obstinate  coldness  of  her  lover ;  never  was  a  little 
flirtation  more  severely  punished.  She  appeared 
this  day  on  the  green,  gallanted  by  a  smart  servant 
out  of  livery,  and  had  evidently  resolved  to  try  the 
hazardous  experiment  of  awakening  the  jealousy  of 
her  lover.  She  was  dressed  in  her  very  best ;  affect- 
ed an  air  of  great  gaiety  ;  talked  loud  and  girlishly, 
and  laughed  when  there  was  nothing  to  laugh  at. 
There  was,  however,  an  aching,  heavy  heart  in  the 
poor  baggage's  bosom,  in  spite  of  all  her  levity.  Her 
eye  turned  every  now  and  then  in  quest  of  her  reck- 
less lover,  and  her  cheek  grew  pale,  and  her  fictitious 
gaiety  vanished,  on  seeing  him  paying  his  rustic 
homage  to  the  little  May-day  Queen. 

My  attention  was  now  diverted  by  a  fresh  stir  and 
bustle.  Music  was  heard  from  a  distance ;  a  banner 
was  seen  advancing  up  the  road,  preceded  by  a  rustic 
band  playing  something  like  a  march,  and  followed 
by  a  sturdy  throng  of  country  lads,  the  chivalry  of  a 
neighbouring  and  rival  village. 

No  soonei  had  they  reached  the  green,  than  they 
challenged  the  heroes  of  the  day  to  new  trials  of 
strength  and  activity.  Several  gymnastic  contests 
ensued,  for  the  honour  of  the'respective  villages.  In 
the  course  of  these  exercises,  young  Tibbets  and  the 
champion  of  the  adverse  party  had  an  obstinate 
match  at  wrestling.  They  tugged,  and  strained, 
and  panted,  without  either  getting  the  mastery, 
until  both  came  to  the  ground,  and  rolled  upon  the 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


501 


green.  Just  then,  the  disconsolate  Phoebe  came  by. 
She  saw  her  recreant  lover  in  fierce  contest,  as  she 
thought,  and  in  danger.  In  a  moment  pride,  pique, 
and  coquetry,  were  forgotten  ;  she  rushed  into  the 
ring,  seized  upon  the  rival  champion  by  the 
hair,  and  was  on  the  point  of  wreaking  on  him  her 
puny  vengeance,  when  a  buxom,  strapping  country 
lass,  the  sweetheart  of  the  prostrate  swain,  pounced 
upon  her  like  a  hawk,  and  would  have  stripped  her 
of  her  fine  plumage  in  a  twinkling,  had  she  also  not 
been  seized  in  her  turn. 

A  complete  tumult  ensued.  The  chivalry  of  the 
two  villages  became  embroiled.  Blows  began  to  be 
dealt,  and  sticks  to  be  flourished.  Phoebe  was  car- 
ried off  from  the  field  in  hysterics.  In  vain  did  the 
sages  of  the  village  interfere.  The  sententious 
apothecary  endeavoured  to  pour  the  soothing  oil  of 
his  philosophy  upon  this  tempestuous  sea  of  passion, 
but  was  tumbled  into  the  dust.  Slingsby,  the  peda- 
gogue, who  is  a  great  lover  of  peace,  went  into  the 
midst  of  the  throng,  as  marshal  of  the  day,  to  put  an 
end  to  the  commotion  ;  but  was  rent  in  twain,  and 
came  out  with  his  garment  hanging  in  two  strips 
from  his  shoulders ;  upon  which  the  prodigal  son 
dashed  in  with  fury,  to  revenge  the  insult  which  his 
patron  had  sustained.  The  tumult  thickened ;  I 
caught  glimpses  of  the  jockey-cap  of  old  Christy, 
like  the  helmet  of  a  chieftain,  bobbing  about  in  the 
midst  of  the  scuffle ;  whilst  Mistress  Hannah,  sepa- 
rated from  her  doughty  protector,  was  squalling  and 
striking  at  right  and  left  with  a  faded  parasol ;  be- 
ing tossed  and  tousled  about  by  the  crowd  in  such 
wise  as  never  happened  to  maiden  gentlewoman 
before. 

At  length  I  beheld  old  Ready-Money  Jack  mak- 
ing his  way  into  the  very  thickest  of  the  throng; 
tearing  it,  as  it  were,  apart,  and  enforcing  peace. 
vi  et  armis.  It  was  surprising  to  see  the  sudden 
quiet  that  ensued.  The  storm  settled  down  at  once 
into  tranquillity.  The  parties,  having  no  real  grounds 
of  hostility,  were  readily  pacified,  and  in  fact  were 
a  little  at  a  loss  to  know  why  and  how  they  had  got 
by  the  ears.  Slingsby  was  speedily  stitched  together 
again  by  his  friend  the  tailor,  and  resumed  his  usual 
good-humour.  Mrs.  Hannah  drew  on  one  side,  to 
plume  her  rumpled  feathers  ;  and  old  Christy,  hav- 
ing repaired  his  damages,  took  her  under  his  arm, 
and  they  swept  back  again  to  the  Hall,  ten  times 
more  bitter  against  mankind  than  ever. 

The  Tibbets  family  alone  seemed  slow  in  recover- 
ing from  the  agitation  of  the  scene.  Young  Jack 
was  evidently  very  much  moved  by  the  heroism  of 
the  unlucky  Phoebe.  His  mother,  who  had  been 
summoned  to  the  field  of  action  by  news  of  the 
affray,  was  in  a  sad  panic,  and  had  need  of  all  her 
management  to  keep  him  from  following  his  mis- 
tress, and  coming  to  a  perfect  reconciliation. 

What  heightened  the  alarm  and  perplexity  of  the 
good  managing  dame  was,  that  the  matter  had 
aroused  the  slow  apprehension  of  old  Ready-Money 
himself;  who  was  very  much  struck  by  the  intrepid 
interference  of  so  pretty  and  delicate  a  girl,  and  was 
sadly  puzzled  to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  vio- 
lent agitation  in  his  family. 

When  all  this  came  to  the  ears  of  the  Squire,  he 
was  grievously  scandalized  that  his  May-day  fSte 
should  have  been  disgraced  by  such  a  brawl.  He 
ordered  Phoebe  to  appear  before  him  ;  but  the  girl 
was  so  frightened  and.distressed,  that  she  came  sob- 
bing and  trembling,  and,  at  the  first  question  he 
asked,  fell  again  into  hysterics.  Lady  Lillycraft,  who 
had  understood  that  there  was  an  affair  of  the  heart 
at  the  bottom  of  this  distress,  immediately  took  the 
girl  into  great  favour  and  protection,  and  made  her 
peace  with  the  Squire.   This  was  the  only  thing  that 


disturbed  the  harmony  of  the  day,  if  we  except  the 
discomfiture  of  Master  Simon  and  the  general  l5y  the 
radical.  Upon  the  whole,  therefore,  the  Squire  had 
very  fair  reason  to  be  satisfied  that  he  had  rode  his 
hobby  throughout  the  day  without  any  other  molesta- 
tion. 

The  reader,  learned  in  these  matters,  will  perceive 
that  all  this  was  but  a  faint  shadow  of  the  once  gay 
and  fanciful  rites  of  May.  The  peasantry  have  lost 
the  proper  feeling  for  these  rites,  and  have  grown 
almost  as  strange  to  them  as  the  boors  of  La 
Mancha  were  to  the  customs  of  chivalry,  in  the  days 
of  the  valorous  Don  Quixote.  Indeed,  I  considered 
it  a  proof  of  the  discretion  with  which  the  Squire 
rides  his  hobby,  that  he  had  not  pushed  the  thing 
aiiy  farther,  nor  attempted  to  revive  many  obsolete 
usages  of  the  day,  which,  in  the  present  matter-of- 
fact  times,  would  appear  affected  and  absurd.  I 
must  say,  though  I  do  it  under  the  rose,  the  general 
brawl  in  which  this  festival  had  nearly  terminated, 
has  made  me  doubt  whether  these  rural  customs  of 
the  good  old  times  were  always  so  very  loving  and 
innocent  as  we  are  apt  to  fancy  them  ;  and  whether 
the  peasantry  in  those  times  were  really  so  Arcadian 
as  they  have  been  fondly  represented.  I  begin  to 
fear — 

"Those  days  were  never  ;  airy  dream 

Sat  for  the  picture,  and  the  poet's  hand, 
Imparting  substance  to  an  empty  shade, 
Imposed  a  gay  delirium  for  a  truth. 
Grant  it ;  1  still  must  envy  them  an  age 
That  favoilr'd  such  a  dream." 


THE  MANUSCRIPT. 


Yesterday  was  a  day  of  quiet  and  repose,  after 
the  bustle  of  May-day.  During  the  morning,  I 
joined  the  ladies  in  a  small  sitting-room,  the  win- 
dows of  which  came  down  to  the  floor,  and  opened 
upon  a  terrace  of  the  garden,  which  was  set  out  with 
delicate  shrubs  and  flowers.  The  soft  sunshine  that 
fell  into  the  room  through  the  branches  of  trees  that 
overhung  the  windows,  the  sweet  smell  of  the  flow- 
ers, and  the  singing  of  the  birds,  seemed  to  produce 
a  pleasing  yet  calming  effect  on  the  whole  party  ; 
for  some  time  elapsed  without  any  one  speaking. 
Lady  Lillycraft  and  Miss  Templeton  were  sitting  by 
an  elegant  work-table,  near  one  of  the  windows, 
occupied  with  some  pretty  lady-like  work.  The 
captain  was  on  a  stool  at  his  mistress'  feet,  looking 
over  some  music ;  and  poor  Phoebe  Wilkins,  who 
has  always  been  a  kind  of  pet  among  the  ladies,  but 
who  has  risen  vastly  in  favour  with  Lady  Lillycraft, 
in  consequence  of  some  tender  confessions,  sat  in 
one  corner  of  the  room,  with  swoln  eyes,  working 
pensively  at  some  of  the  fair  Julia's  wedding  orna- 
ments. 

The  silence  was  interrupted  by  her  ladyship,  who 
suddenly  proposed  a  task  to  the  captain.  "  I  am  in 
your  debt,"  said  she,  "  for  that  tale  you  read  to  us 
the  other  day ;  I  will  now  furnish  one  in  return,  if 
you'll  read  it :  and  it  is  just  suited  to  this  sweet  May 
morning,  for  it  is  all  about  love  !  " 

The  proposition  seemed  to  delight  every  one  pres- 
ent. The  captain  smiled  assent.  Her  ladyship  rung 
for  her  page,  and  despatched  him  to  her  room  for 
the  manuscript.  "As  the  captain,"  said  she,  "gave 
us  an  account  of  the  author  of  his  story,  it  is  but 
right  I  should  give  one  of  mine.  It  was  written  by 
the  parson  of  the  parish  where  I  reside.  He  is  a 
thin,  elderly  man,  of  a  delicate  constitution,  but  pos- 
itively one  of  the  most  charming  men  that  ever 


602 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


lived.  He  lost  his  wife  a  few  years  since ;  one  of 
the  sweetest  women  you  ever  saw.  He  has  two 
sons,  whom  he  educates  himself ;  both  of  whom  al- 
ready write  delightful  poetry.  His  parsonage  is  a 
lovely  place,  close  by  the  church,  all  overrun  with 
ivy  and  honeysuckles ;  with  the  sweetest  flower- 
g'arden  about  it ;  for,  you  know,  our  counti-y  clergy- 
men are  almost  always  fond  of  flowers,  and  make 
their  parsonages  perfect  pictures. 

"  His  living  is  a  very  good  one,  and  he  is  very 
much  beloved,  and  does  a  great  deal  of  good  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  among  the  poor.  And  then  such 
sermons  as  he  preaches  !  Oh,  if  you  could  only  hear 
one  taken  from  a  text  in  Solomon's  Song,  all  about 
love  and  matrimony,  one  of  the  sweetest  things  you 
ever  heard  !  He  preaches  it  at  least  once  a  year,  in 
spring-time,  for  he  knows  I  am  fond  of  it.  He  always 
dines  with  me  on  Sundays,  and  often  brings  me  some 
of  the  sweetest  pieces  of  poetry,  all  about  the  pleas- 
ures of  melancholy,  and  such  subjects,  that  make  me 
cry  so,  you  can't  think.  I  wish  he  would  publish.  I 
think  he  has  some  things  as  sweet  as  any  thing  of 
Moore  or  Lord  Byron.  • 

"  He  fell  into  very  ill  health  some  time  ago,  and 
was  advised  to  go  to  the  continent ;  and  I  gave  him 
no  peace  until  he  went,  and  promised  to  take  care 
of  his  two  boys  until  he  returned. 

"  He  was  gone  for  above  a  year,  and  was  quite  re- 
stored. When  he  came  back,  he  sent  me  the  tale 
I'm  going  to  show  you. — Oh,  here  it  is  ! "  said  she, 
as  the  page  put  in  her  hands  a  beautiful  box  of  satin- 
wood.  She  unlocked  it,  and  from  among  several 
parcels  of  notes  on  embossed  paper,  cards  of  cha- 
rades, and  copies  of  verses,  she  drew  out  a  crimson 
\  cWet  case,  that  smelt  very  much  of  perfumes.  From 
mis  she  took  a  manuscript,  daintily  written  on  gilt- 
edged  vellum  paper,  and  stitched  with  a  light  blue 
riband.  This  she  handed  to  the  captain,  who  read 
the  following  tale,  which  I  have  procure^i  for  the 
entertainment  of  the  reader. 


ANNETTE  DELARBRE. 


The  soldier  frae  the  war  returns. 
And  the  merchant  from  the  main, 
But  I  hae  parted  with  my  love, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again, 

My  dear, 
And  ne'er  to  meet  again. 

When  day  is  gone,  and  night  is  come. 
And  a'  are  boun  to  sleep, 
I  think^n  them  that's  far  awa 
The  lee-Iang  night,  and  weep. 

My  dear. 
The  lee-lang  night,  and  weep. 

Old  Scotch  Ballad. 

In  the  course  of  a  tour  that  I  once  made  in 
Lower  Normandy,  I  remained  for  a  day  or  two  at 
the  old  town  of  Honfleur,  which  stands  near  the 
mouth  of  the  Seine.  It  was  the  time  of  a  fete,  and 
all  the  world  was  thronging  in  the  evening  to  dance 
at  the  fair,  held  before  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of 
(Irace.  As  I  like  all  kinds  of  innocent  merry-making, 
I  joined  the  throng, 

The  chapel  is  situated  at  the  top  of  a  high  hill,  or 
promontory,  from  whence  its  bell  may  be  heard  at  a 
distance  by  the  mariner  at  night.  It  is  said  to  have 
given  the  name  to  tlie  port  of  Havre-de-Grace,  which 
lies  directly  opposite,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Seine. 
The  road  u|)  to  the  chapel  went  in  a  zigzag  course,along 
the  brow  of  the  steep  coast ;  it  was  shaded  by  trees, 
from  between  which  I  had  beautiful  peeps  at  the  an- 
cient towers  of  Honfleur  below,  the  varied  scenery 


of  the  opposite  shore,  the  white  buildings  of  Havre 
in  the  distance,  and  the  wide  sea  beyond.  The  road 
was  enlivened  by  groups  of  peasant  girls,  in  their 
bright  crimson  dresses  and  tall  caps  ;  and  I  found  all 
the  flower  of  the  neighbourhood  assembled  on  the 
green  that  crowns  the  summit  of  the  hill. 

The  chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace  is  a  favourite 
resort  of  the  inhabitants  of  Honfleur  and  its  vicinity, 
both  for  pleasure  and  devotion.  At  this  little  chapel, 
prayers  are  put  up  by  the  mariners  of  the  port  pre- 
vious to  their  voyages,  and  by  their  friends  during 
their  absence  ;  and  votive  offerings  are  hung  about 
its  walls,  in  fulfilment  of  vows  made  during  times  of 
shipwreck  and  disaster.  The  chapel  is  surrounded 
by  trees.  Over  the  portal  is  an  image  of  the  Virgin 
and  child,  with  an  inscription  which  struck  me  as 
being  quite  poetical : 

**  Etoile  de  la  raer,  priez  pour  nous  !  '* 
(Star  of  the  sea,  pray  for  us.) 

On  a  level  spot  near  the  chapel,  under  a  giove  of 
noble  trees,  the  populace  dance  on  fine  summer 
evenings  ;  and  here  are  held  frequent  fairs  and  fetes, 
which  assemble  all  the  rustic  beauty  of  the  loveliest 
parts  of  Lower  Normandy.  The  present  was  an  oc- 
casion of  the  kind.  Booths  and  tents  were  erected 
among  the  trees ;  there  were  the  usual  displays 
of  finery  to  tempt  the  rural  coquette,  and  of  won- 
derful shows  to  entice  the  curious  :  mountebanks 
were  exerting  their  eloquence  ;  jugglers  and  for- 
tune-tellers astonishing  the  credulous  ;  while  whole 
rows  of  grotesque  saints,  in  wood  and  wax-work, 
were  offered  for  the  purchase  of  the  jjious. 

The  fete  had  assembled  in  one  view  all  the  pictur- 
esque costumes  of  the  Pays  d'Auge,  and  the  Cote 
de  Caux.  I  beheld  tall,  stately  caps,  and  trim  bod- 
dices,  according  to  fashions  which  have  been  lianded 
down  from  mother  to  daughter  for  centuries,  the 
exact  counterparts  of  those  worn  in  the  time  of  the 
Conqueror ;  and  which  surprised  me  by  their  faith- 
ful resemblance  to  those  which  I  had  seen  in  the 
old  pictures  of  Froissart's  Chronicles,  and  in  the 
paintings  of  illuminated  manuscripts.  Any  one, 
also,  that  has  been  in  Lovfer  Normandy,  must  have 
remarked  the  beauty  of  the  peasantry,  and  that  air 
of  native  elegance  that  prevails  among  them.  It  is 
to  this  country,  undoubtedly,  that  the  English  owe 
their  good  looks.  It  was  from  hence  that  tlie  bright 
carnation,  the  fine  blue  eye,  the  light,  auburn  hair, 
passed  over  to  England  in  the  train  of  the  Con- 
queror, and  filled  the  land  with  beauty. 

The  scene  before  me  was  perfectly  enchanting : 
the  assemblage  of  so  many  fresh  and  blooming 
faces  ;  the  gay  groups  in  fanciful  dresses  ;  some  dan- 
cing on  the  green,  others  strolling  about,  or  seated 
on  the  grass ;  the  fine  clumps  of  trees  in  the  fore- 
ground, bordering  the  brow  of  this  airy  height,  and 
the  broad  green  sea,  sleeping  in  summer  tranquillity, 
in  the  distance. 

Whilst  I  was  regarding  this  animated  picture,  I 
was  struck  with  the  appearance  of  a  beautiful  girl, 
who  passed  through  the  crowd  without  seeming  to 
take  any  interest  in  their  amusements.  She  was 
slender  and  delicate  in  her  form  ;  she  had  not  the 
bloom  upon  her  cheek  that  is  usual  among  the  peas- 
antry of  Normandy,  and  her  blue  eyes  had  a  singu- 
lar and  melancholy  expression.  She  was  accom- 
panied by  a  venerable-looking  man,  whom  I  pre- 
sumed to  be  her  father.  'There  was  a  whisper 
among  the  bystanders,  and  a  wistful  look  after  her 
as  she  passed  ;  the  young  men  touched  their  hats, 
and  some  of  the  children  followed  her  at  a  little  dis- 
tance, watching  her  movements.  She  approached 
the  edge  of  the  hill,  where  there  is  a  little  platform, 
from  whence  the  people  of  Honfleur  look  out  for 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


503 


Lhe  approach  of  vessels.  Here  she  stood  for 
some  time  waving  her  handkerchief,  though  there 
was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  two  or  three  fishing- 
boats,  like  mere  specks  on  the  bosom  of  the  distant 
ocean. 

These  circumstances  excited  my  curiosity,  and  I 
made  some  inquiries  about  her,  which  were  answer- 
ed with  readiness  and  intelligence  by  a  priest  of  the 
neighbouring  chapel.  Our  conversation  drew  to- 
gether several  of  the  by-standers,  each  of  whom  had 
something  to  communicate,  and  from  them  all  I 
gathered  the  following  particulars. 

Annette  Delarbre  was  the  only  daughter  of  one 
of  the  higher  order  of  farmers,  or  small  proprietors, 
as  they  are  called,  who  lived  at  Pont  I'Eveque,  a 
pleasant  village  not  far  from  Honfleur,  in  that  rich 
pastoral  part  of  Lower  Normandy  called  the  Pays 
d'Auge.  Annette  was  the  pride  and  delight  of  her 
parents,  and  was  brought  up  with  the  fondest  indulg- 
ence. She  was  gay,  tender,  petulant,  and  suscep- 
tible. All  her  feelings  were  quick  and  ardent  ;  and 
having  never  experienced  contradiction  or  restraint, 
she  was  little  practised  in  self-control :  nothing  but 
the  native  goodness  of  her  heart  kept  her  from  run- 
ning continually  into  error. 

Lven  while  a  child,  her  susceptibility  was  evinced 
in  an  attachment  which  she  formed  to  a  playmate, 
Eugene  La  p'orgue,  the  only  son  of  a  widow,  who 
lived  in  the  neighbourhood.  Their  childish  love 
was  an  epitome  of  maturer  passion ;  it  had  its 
caprices,  and  jealousies,  and  quarrels,  and  recon- 
ciliations. It  was  assuming  something  of  a  graver 
character,  as  Annette  entered  her  fifteenth  and  Eu- 
guene  his  nineteenth  year,  when  he  was  suddenly 
carried  off  to  the  army  by  the  conscription. 

It  was  a  heavy  blow  to  his  widowed  mother,  for 
he  was  her  only  pride  and  comfort  ;  but  it  was  one 
of  those  sudden  bereavements  which  mothers  were 
perpetually  doomed  to  feel  in  France,  during  the 
time  that  continual  and  bloody  wars  were  incessantly 
draining  her  youth.  It  was  a  temporary  affliction 
also  to  Annette,  to  lose  her  lover.  With  tender 
embraces,  half  childish,  half  womanish,  she  parted 
from  him.  The  tears  streamed  from  her  blue  eyes, 
as  she  bound  a  braid  of, her  fair  hair  round  his 
wrist ;  but  the  smiles  still'  broke  through ;  for  she 
was  yet  too  young  to  feel  hc^v  serious  a  thing  is 
separation,  and  how  many  chances  there  are,  when 
parting  in  this  wide  world,  against  our  ever  meeting 
again. 

Weeks,  months,  years  flew  by.  Annette  increased 
in  beauty  as  she  increased  in  years,  and  was  the 
reigning  belle  of  the  neighbourhood.  Her  time 
passed  innocently  and  happily.  Her  father  was  a 
man  of  some  consequence  in  the  rural  community, 
and  his  house  was  the  resort  of  the  gayest  of  the 
village.  Annette  held  a  kind  of  rural  court ;  she 
was  always  surrounded  by  companions  of  her  own 
age,  among  whom  she  alone  unrivalled.  Much  of 
their  time  was  passed  in  making  lace,  the  prevalent 
manufacture  of  th:  neighbourhood.  As  they  sat 
at  this  delicate  and  feminine  labour,  the  merry 
tale  and  sprightly  song  went  round ;  none  laughed 
with  a  lighter  heart  than  Annette ;  ^nd  if  she 
sang,  her  voice  was  perfect  melody.  Their  even- 
ings were  enlivened  by  the  dance,  or  by  those 
pleasant  social  games  so  prevalent  among  the 
French  ;  and  when  she  appeared  at  the  village  ball 
on  Sunday  evenings,  she  was  the  theme  of  universal 
admiration. 

As  she  was  a  rural  heiress,  she  did  not  want  for 
suitors.  Many  advantageous  offers  were  made  her, 
but  she  refused  them  all.  She  laughed  at  the  pre- 
tended pangs  of  her  admirers,  and  triumphed  over 
tliem  with  the  caprice  of  buoyant  youth  and  con- 


scious beauty.  With  all  her  apparent  levity,  how- 
ever, could  any  one  have  read  the  story  of  her  heart, 
they  might  have  traced  in  it  some  fond  remembrance 
of  her  early  playmate,  not  so  deeply  graven  as  to 
be  painful,  but  too  deep  to  be  easily  obliterated  ; 
and  they  might  have  noticed,  amidst  all  her  gaiety, 
the  tenderness  that  marked  her  manner  towards 
the  mother  of  Eugene.  She  would  often  steal  away 
from  her  youthful  companions  and  their  amuse- 
ments, to  pass  whole  days  with  the  good  widow ; 
listening  to  her  fond  talk  about  her  boy,  and  blush- 
ing with  secret  pleasure,  when  his  letters  were  read, 
at  finding  herself  a  constant  theme  of  recollection 
and  inquiry. 

At  length  the  sudden  return  of  peace,  which  sent 
many  a  warrior  to  his  native  cottage,  brought  back 
Eugene,  a  young  sun-burnt  soldier,  to  the  village.  I 
need  not  say  how  rapturously  his  return  was  greeted 
by  his  mother,  who  saw  in  him  the  pride  and  staff 
of  her  old  age.  He  h.ad  risen  in  the  service  by  his 
merits ;  but  brought  away  little  from  the  wars,  ex- 
cepting a  soldier-like  air,  a  gallant  name,  and  a  scar 
across  the  forehead.  He  brought  back,  however,  a 
nature  unspoiled  by  the  camp.  He  was  frank,  open, 
generous,  and  ardent.  His  heart  was  quick  and 
kind  in  its  impulses,  and  was  perhaps  a  little  solter 
from  having  suffered :  it  was  full  ot  tenderness  for 
Annette.  He  had  received  frequent  accounts  of  her 
from  his  mother ;  and  the  mention  of  her  kindness 
to  his  lonely  parent,  had  rendered  her  doubly  dear 
to  him.  He  had  been  wounded ;  he  had  been  a 
prisoner  ;  he  had  been  in  various  troubles,  but  had 
always  preserved  the  braid  of  her  hair,  which  she 
had  bound  round  his  arm.  It  had  been  a  kind  of 
talisman  to  him  ;  he  had  many  a  time  looked  upon 
it  as  he  lay  on  the  hard  ground,  and  the  thought 
that  he  might  one  day  see  Annette  again,  and  the 
fair  fields  about  his  native  village,  had  cheered  his 
heart,  and  enabled  him  to  bear  up  against  every 
hardship. 

He  had  left  Annette  almost  a  child — he  found 
her  a  blooming  woman.  If  he  had  loved  her  before, 
he  now  adored  her.  Annette  was  equally  struck 
with  the  improvement  which  time  had  made  in  her 
lover.  She  noticed,  with  secret  admiration,  his 
superiority  to  the  other  young  men  of  the  village  ; 
the  frank,  lofty,  military  air,  that  distinguished  him 
from  all  the  rest  at  their  rural  gatherings.  The 
more  she  saw  him,  the  more  her  light,  playful 
fondness  of  former  years  deepened  into  ardent  and 
powerful  affection.  But  Annette  was  a  rural  belle. 
She  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  dominion,  and  had 
been  rendered  wilful  and  capricious  by  constant 
indulgence  at  home,  and  admiration  abroad.  She 
was  conscious  of  her  power  over  Eugene,  and  de- 
lighted in  exercising  it.  She  sometimes  treated 
him  with  petulant  caprice,  enjoying  the  pain  which 
she  inflicted  by  her  frowns,  from  the  idea  how  soon 
she  would  chase  it  away  again  by  her  smiles.  She 
took  a  pleasure  in  alarming  his  fears,  by  affecting  a 
temporary  preference  to  some  one  or  other  of  his 
rivals  ;  and  then  would  delight  in  allaying  them,  by 
an  ample  measure  of  returning  kindness.  Perhaps 
there  wis  some  degree  of  vanity  gratified  by  all 
this  ;  it  might  be  a  matter  of  triumph  to  show  her 
absolute  power  over  the  young  soldier,  who  was 
the  universal  object  of  female  admiration.  Eugene, 
however,  was  of  too  serious  and  ardent  a  nature 
to  be  trifled  with.  He  loved  too  fervently  not  to  be 
filled  with  doubt.  He  saw  Annette  surrounded  by 
admirers,  and  full  of  animation  ;  the  gayest  among 
the  gay  at  all  their  rural  festivities,  and  apparently 
most  gay  when  he  was  most  dejected.  Every  one 
saw  through  this  caprice,  but  himself;  every  one 
saw  that  in  reality  she  doted  on  him ;  but  Eugene 


60i 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


alone  suspected  the  sincerity  of  her  affection.  For 
some  time  he  bore  this  coquetry  with  secret  im- 
patience and  distrust;  but  his  feelings  grew  sore 
and  irritable,  and  overcame  liis  self-command.  A 
slight  misunderstanding  took  place  ;  a  quarrel  en- 
sued. Annette,  unaccustomed  to  be  thwarted  and 
contradicted,  and  full  of  the  insolence  of  youthful 
beauty,  assumed  an  air  of  disdain.  She  refused  all 
explanations  to  her  lover,  and  they  parted  in  anger. 
That  very  evening  Eugene  saw  her,  full  of  gaiety, 
dancing  with  one  of  his  rivals ;  and  as  her  eye 
caught  his,  fixed  on  her  with  unfeigned  distress,  it 
sparl<lcd  with  more  than  usual  vivacity.  It  was  a 
finishing  blow  to  his  hopes,  already  so  much  im- 
paired by  secret  distru.st.  Pride  and  resentment 
both  struggled  in  his  breast,  and  seemed  to  rouse 
his  spirit  to  all  its  wonted  energy.  He  retired  from 
her  presence,  with  the  hasty  determination  never  to 
see  her  again. 

A  woman  is  more  considerate  in  affairs  of  love 
than  a  man  ;  because  love  is  more  the  study  and 
business  of  her  life.  Annette  soon  repented  of  her 
indiscretion  ;  she  felt  that  she  had  used  her  lover 
unkindly  ;  she  felt  that  she  had  tri.f.ed  with  his  sin- 
cere and  generous  r.ature — and  then  he  looked  so 
handsome  when  he  parted  after  their  quarrel — his 
fine  features  lighted  up  by  indignation.  She  had 
intended  making  up  with  him  at  the  evening  dance  ; 
but  his  sudden  departure  prevented  her.  She  now 
promised  lierself  that  when  next  they  met  she 
would  amply  repay  him  by  the  sweets  of  a  perfect 
reconciliation,  and  that,  thenceforward,  she  would 
never — never  tease  him  more  !  That  promise  was 
not  to  be  fulfilled.  Day  after  day  passed  —  but 
Eugene  did  not  make  his  appearance.  Sunday 
evening  came,  the  usual  time  when  all  the  gaiety 
of  the  village  assembled — but  Eugene  was  not  there. 
She  inquired  after  him  ;  he  had  left  the  village.  She 
now  became  alarmed,  and,  forgetting  all  coyness  and 
affected  indifference,  called  on  Eugene's  mother  for 
.an  explanation.  She  found  her  full  of  affiiction,  and 
learnt  with  surprise  and  consternation  that  Eugene 
had  gone  to  sea. 

while  his  feelings  were  yet  smarting  with  her 
affected  disdain,  and  his  heart  a  prey  to  alternate 
indignation  and  despair,  he  had  suddenly  embraced 
an  invitation  which  had  repeatedly  been  made  him 
by  a  relation,  who  was  fitting  out  a  ship  from  the 
port  of  Honfleur,  and  who  wished  him  to  be  the 
companion  of  his  voyage.  Absence  appeared  to 
him  the  only  cure  for  his  unlucky  passion  ;  and  in 
the  temporary  transports  of  his  feelings,  there  was 
something  gratifying  in  the  idea  of  having  half  the 
world  intervene  between  them.  The  hurry  neces- 
sary for  his  departure  left  no  time  for  cool  reflec- 
tion ;  it  rendered  him  deaf  to  the  remonstrances  of 
his  afflicted  mother,  ^e  hastened  to  Honfleur  just 
in  time  to  make  the  needful  preparations  for  the 
voyage ;  and  the  first  news  that  Annette  received 
of  this  sudden  determination  was  a  letter  delivered 
by  his  mother,  returning  her  pledges  of  affection, 
particularly  the  long-treasured  braid  of  her  hair,  and 
bidding  her  a  last  farewell,  in  terms  more  full  of  sor- 
row and  tenderness  than  upbraiding. 

This  was  the  first  stroke  of  real  anguish  that 
Annette  had  ever  received,  and  it  overcame  her. 
The  vivacity  of  her  spirits  were  apt  to  hurry  her 
to  extremes ;  she  for  a  time  gave  way  to  ungovern- 
able transports  of  affliction  and  remorse,  and  mani- 
fested, in  the  violence  of  her  grief,  the  real  ardour 
of  her  affection.  The  thought  occurred  to  her  that 
the  ship  might  not  yet  have  sailed  ;  she  seized  on 
the  hope  with  eagerness,  and  hastened  with  her 
father  to  Honfleur.  The  ship  had  sailed  that  very 
morning.     From  the   heights  above  the  town  she 


saw  it  lessening  to  a  speck  on  the  broad  bosom  of 
the  ocean,  and  before  evening  the  white  sail  had 
faded  from  her  sight.  She  turned  full  of  anguish  to 
the  neighbouring  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace, 
and  throwing  herself  on  the  pavement,  poured  out 
prayers  and  tears  for  the  safe  return  of  her  lover. 

When  she  returned  home,  the  cheerfulness  of  her 
spirits  was  at  an  end.  She  looked  back  with  remorse 
and  self-upbraiding  at  her  past  caprices  ;  she  turned 
with  distaste  from  the  adulation  of  her  admirers,  and 
had  no  longer  any  relish  for  the  amusements  of  the 
village.  With  humiliation  and  difiidence,  she  sought 
the  widowed  mother  of  Eugene ;  but  was  received 
by  her  with  an  overflowing  heart ;  for  she  only  beheld 
in  Annette  one  who  could  sympathize  in  her  doting 
fondness  for  her  son.  It  seemed  some  alleviation  of 
her  remorse  to  sit  by  the  mother  all  day,  to  study 
her  wants,  to  beguile  her  hccwy  hours,  to  hang  about 
her  with  the  caressing  endearments  of  a  daughter, 
and  to  seek  by  every  means,  if  possible,  to  supply  the 
place  of  the  son,  whom  she  reproached  herself  with 
having  driven  away. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  ship  made  a  prosperous 
voyage  to  her  destined  port.  Eugene's  mother  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  him,  in  which  he  lamented  the 
precipitancy  of  his  departure.  The  voyage  had  given 
him  time  for  sober  reflection.  If  Annette  had  been 
unkind  to  him,  he  ought  not  to  have  forgotten  what 
was  due  to  his  mother,  who  was  now  advanced  in 
years.  He  accused  himself  of  selfishness,  in  only 
listening  to  the  suggestions  of  his  own  inconsiderate 
p.issions.  He  promised  to  return  with  the  ship,  to 
make  his  mind   up  to  his  disappointment,  and  to 

think  of  nothing  but  making  his  mother  happy 

"  And  when  he  does  return,"  said  Annette,  clasping 
her  hands  with  transport,  "  it  shall  not  be  my  fault 
if  he  ever  leaves  us  again." 

The  time  approached  for  the  ship's  return.  She 
was  daily  expected,  when  the  weather  became  dread- 
!  fully  tempestuous.  Day  after  day  brought  news  of 
i  vessels  foundered,  or  driven  on  shore,  and  the  coast 
was  strewed  with  wrecks.  Intelligence  was  received 
of  the  looked-for  ship  having  been  seen  dismasted  in 
a  violent  storm,  and  the  greatest  fe.ars  were  enter- 
tained for  her  safety. 

Annette  never  left  the  side  of  Eugene's  mother. 
She  watched  every  change  of  her  countenance  with 
painful  solicitude,  and  endeavoured  to  cheer  her  with 
hopes,  while  her  own  mind  was  racked  by  anxiety. 
She  tasked  her  efforts  to  be  gay  ;  but  it  was  a  forced 
and  unnatural  gaiety  :  a  sigh  from  the  mother  would 
completely  clu.'ck  it ;  and  when  she  could  no  longer 
restrain  the  rising  tears,  she  would  hurry  away  and 
pour  out  her  agony  in  secret.  Every  anxious  look, 
every  anxious  inquiry  of  the  mother,  whenever  a  door 
opened,  or  a  strange  face  appeared,  was  an  arrow  to 
her  soul.  She  considered  every  disappointment  as  a 
p.ang  of  her  own  infliction,  and  her  heart  sickened 
under  the  careworn  expression  of  the  maternal  eye. 
At  length  this  suspense  became  insupportable. 
She  left  the  village  and  hastened  to  Honfleur,  hoping 
every  hour,  every  moment,  to  receive  some  tidings 
of  her  lover.  She  paced  the  pier,  and  wearied  the 
seamen  of  the  port  with  her  inquiries.  She  made  a 
daily  pilgrimage  to  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of  Grace  ; 
hung  votive  garlands  on  the  wall,  and  passed  hours 
either  kneeling  before  the  altar,  or  looking  out  from 
the  brow  of  the  hill  upon  the  angry  sea. 

At  length  word  was  brought  that  the  long-wished- 
for  vessel  was  in  sight.  She  was  seen  standing  into 
the  mouth  of  the  Seine,  sh.-ittered  and  crippled,  bear- 
ing marks  of  having  been  sadly  tempest- tost.  There 
was  a  general  joy  diffused  by  her  return  ;  and  there 
was  not  a  brighter  eye,  nor  a  lighter  heart,  than  An- 
nette's, in  the  little  port  of  Honfleur.    The  ship  came 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


505 


to  anchor  in  the  river,  and  shortly  after  a  boat  put  off 
for  the  shore.  The  populace  crowded  down  to  the 
pier-head,  to  welcome  it.  Annette  stood  blushing, 
and  smiling,  and  trembling,  and  weeping ;  for  a  thou- 
sand painfully-pleasing  emotions  agitated  her  breast 
at  the  thoughts  of  the  meeting  and  reconciliation 
about  to  take  place. 

Her  heart  throbbed  to  pour  itself  out,  and  atone 

»to  her  gallant  lover  for  all  its  errors.     At  one  mo- 
ment she  would  place  herself  in  a  conspicuous  situ- 
ation, where  she  might  catch  his  view  at  once,  and 
surprise  him  by  her  welcome  ;  but  the  next  moment 
a  doubt  would  come  across  her  mind,  and  she  would 
WL:     shrink  among  the  throng,  trembling  and  faint,  and 
^K,     gasping  with  her  emotions.     Her  agitation  increased 
B      as  the  boat  drew  near,  until  it  became  distressing; 
K      and  it  was  almost  a  relief  to  her  when  she  perceived 
■''•      that  her  lover  was  not  there.     She  presumed  that 
some  accident  had  detained  him  on  board  of  the  ship  ; 
and  she  felt  that  the  delay  would  enable  her  to  gather 
more  self-possession  for  the  meeting.     As  the  boat 
neared  the  shore,  many  inquiries  were  made,  and 
&r      laconic  answers  returned.     At  length  Annette  heard 
B      some  inquiries  after  her  lover.     Her  heart  palpitated 
K      — there  was  a  moment's  pause  :  the  reply  was  brief, 
Jm       but  awful.   He  had  been  washed  from  the  deck,  with 
two  of  the  crew,  in  the  midst  of  a  stormy  night,  when 
it  was  impossible  to  render  any  assistance.    A  pierc- 
ing shriek  broke  from  among  the  crowd ;  and  An- 
nette had  nearly  fallen  into  the  waves. 

The  sudden  revulsion  of  feelings  after  such  a 
transient  gleam  of  happiness,  was  too  much  for  her 
haras.sed  frame.  She  was  carried  home  senseless. 
Her  life  was  for  some  time  despaired  of,  and  it  was 
uionths  before  she  recovered  her  health ;  but  she  , 
never  had  perfectly  recovered  her  mind :  it  still  re- 
mained unsettled  with  respect  to  her  lover's  fate. 

"The  subject,"  continued  my  informer,  "is  never 
mentioned  in  her  hearing  ;  but  she  sometimes  speaks 
of  it  herself,  and  it  seems  as  though  there  were  some 
vague  train  of  impressions  in  her  mind,  in  which 
hope  and  fear  are  strangely  mingled — some  imper- 
fect idea  of  her  lover's  shipwreck,  and  yet  some  ex- 
pectation of  his  return. 

"  Her  parents  have  tried  every  means  to  cheer  her, 
and  to  banish  thfte  gloomy  images  from  her  thoughts. 
They  assemble  round  her  the  young  companions  in 
whose  society  she  used  to  delight ;  and  they  will  work, 
and  chat,  and  sing,  and  laugh,  as  formerly  ;  but  she 
will  sit  silently  among  them,  and  will  sometimes 
weep  in  the  midst  of  their  gaiety  ;  and,  if  spoken  to, 
will  make  no  reply,  but  look  up  with  streaming  eyes, 
and  sing  a  dismal  little  song,  which  she  has  learned 
somewhere,  about  a  shipwreck.  It  makes  every  one's 
heart  ache  to  see  her  in  this  way,  for  she  used  to  be 
the  happiest  creature  in  the  village. 

"  She  passes  the  greater  part  of  the  time  with 
Eugene's  mother ;  whose  only  consolation  is  her 
society,  and  who  dotes  on  her  with  a  mother's  ten- 
derness. She  is  the  only  one  that  has  perfect  influ- 
ence over  Annette  in  every  mood.  The  poor  girl 
seems,  as  formerly,  to  make  an  effort  to  be  cheerful 
in  her  company  ;  but  will  sometimes  gaze  upon  her 
with  the  most  piteous  look,  and  then  kiss  h'er  gray 
hairs,  and  fall  on  her  neck  and  weep. 

"  She  is  not  always  melancholy,  however ;  she  has 
occasional  intervals,  when  she  will  be  bright  and 
animated  for  days  together  ;  but  there  is  a  degree  of 
wildness  attending  these  fits  of  gaiety,  that  prevents 
their  yielding  any  satisfaction  to  her  friends.  At 
such  times  she  will  arrange  her  room,  which  is  all 
covered  with  pictures  of  ships  and  legends  of  saints  ; 
and  will  wreathe  a  white  chaplet,  as  if  for  a  wedding, 
and  prepare  wedding  ornaments.  She  will  listen 
anxiously  at  the  door,  and  look  frequently  out  at  the 


window,  as  if  expecting  some  one's  arrival.  It  is 
supposed  that  at  such  times  she  is  looking  for  her 
lover's  return ;  hut,  as  no  one  touches  upon  the 
theme,  nor  mentions  his  name  in  her  presence, 
the  current  of  her  thoughts  is  mere  matter  of  con- 
jecture. Now  and  then  she  will  make  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  chapel  of  Notre  Dame  de  Grace ;  where  she 
will  pray  for  hours  at  the  altar,  and  decorate  the  im- 
ages with  wreaths  that  she  had  woven  ;  or  will  wave 
her  handkerchief  from  the  terrace,  as  you  have  seen, 
if  there  is  any  vessel  in  the  distance." 

Upwards  of  a  year,  he  informed  me,  had  now 
elapsed  without  effacing  from  her  mind  this  singular 
taint  of  insanity ;  still  her  friends  hoped  it  might 
gradually  wear  away.  They  had  at  one  time  re- 
moved her  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country,  in  hopes 
that  absence  from  the  scenes  connected  with  her 
story  might  have  a  salutary  effect;  but,  when  her 
periodical  melancholy  returned,  she  became  more 
restless  and  wretched  than  usual,  and,  secretly  es- 
caping from  her  friends,  set  out  on  foot,  without 
knowing  the  road,  on  one  of  her  pilgrimages  to  the 
chapel. 

This  little  story  entirely  drew  my  attention  from 
the  gay  scene  of  the  fete,  and  fixed  it  upon  the  beau- 
tiful Annette.  While  she  was  yet  standing  on  the 
terrace,  the  vesper-bell  was  rung  from  the  neigh- 
bouring chapel.  She  listened  for  a  moment,  and 
then  drawing  a  small  rosary  from  her  bosom,  walked 
in  that  direction.  Several  of  the  peasantry  followed 
her  in  silence  ;  and  I  felt  too  much  interested,  not  to 
do  the  3ame. 

The  chapel,  as  I  said  before,  is  in  the  midst  of  a 
grove,  on  the  high  promontory.  The  inside  is  hung 
round  with  little  models  of  ships,  and  rude  paintings 
of  wrecks  and  perils  at  sea,  and  providential  deliver- 
ances— the  votive  offerings  of  captains  and  crews 
that  have  been  saved.  On  entering,  Annette  paused 
for  a  moment  before  a  picture  of  the  Virgin,  which, 
I  observed,  had  recently  been  decorated  with  a 
wreath  of  artificial  flowers.  When  she  reached  the 
middle  of  the  chapel  she  knelt  down,  and  those  who 
followed  her  involuntarily  did  the  same  at  a  little 
distance.  The  evening  sun  shone  softly  through  the 
checkered  grove  into  one  window  of  the  chapel.  A 
perfect  stillness  reigned  within  ;  and  this  stillness 
was  the  more  impressive  contrasted  with  the  distant 
sound  of  music  and  merriment  from  the  fair.  I 
could  not  take  my  eyes  off  from  the  poor  suppliant ; 
her  lips  moved  as  she  told  her  beads,  but  her  prayers 
were  breathed  in  silence.  It  might  have  been  mere 
fancy  excited  by  the  scene,  that,  as  she  raised  her 
eyes  to  heaven,  I  thought  they  had  an  expression 
truly  seraphic.  But  I  am  easily  affected  by  female 
beauty,  and  there  was  something  in  this  mi.<ture  of 
love,  devotion,  and  partial  insanity,  that  was  inex- 
pressibly touching. 

As  the  poor  girl  left  the  chapel,  there  was  a  sweet 
serenity  in  her  looks  ;  and  I  was  told  that  she  would 
return  home,  and  in  all  probability  be  calm  and 
cheerful  for  days,  and  even  weeks ;  in  which  time 
it  was  supposed  that  hope  predominated  in  her 
mental  malady ;  and  that,  when  the  dark  side  of 
her  mind,  as  her  friends  call  it,  was  about  to  turn 
up,  it  would  be  known  by  her  neglecting  her  distaff 
on  her  lace,  singing  plaintive  songs,  and  weeping  in 
silence. 

She  passed  on  from  the  chapel  without  noticing 
the  fete,  but  smiling  and  speaking  to  many  as  she 
passed.  I  followed  her  with  my  eye  as  she  descend- 
ed the  winding  road  towards  Honfleur,  leaning  on 
her  father's  arm.  "  Heaven,"  thought  I,  "  has  ever 
its  store  of  balms  for  the  hurt  mind  and  wounded 
spirit,  and  may  in  time  rear  up  this  broken  flower  to 
be  once  more  the  pride  and  joy  of  the  valley.     The 


506 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


very  delusion  in  wliich  the  poor  girl  walks,  may  be 
one  of  those  mists  kindly  diffused  by  Providence  over 
the  regions  of  thought,  when  they  become  too  fruit- 
ful of  misery.  The  veil  may  gradually  be  raised 
which  obscures  the  horizon  of  her  mind,  as  she  is 
enabled  steadily  and  calmly  to  contemplate  the  sor- 
rows at  present  hidden  in  mercy  from  her  view." 

On  my  return  from  Paris,  about  a  year  afterwards, 
I  turned  off  from  the  beaten  route  at  Rouen,  to  re- 
visit some  of  the  most  striking  scenes  of  Lower  Nor- 
mandy. Having  passed  througli  the  lovely  country 
of  the  Pays  d'Auge,  I  reached  Honfleur  on  a  fine 
afternoon,  intending  to  cross  to  Havre  the  next 
morning,  and  embark  for  'England.  As  I  had  no 
better  way  of  passing  the  evening,  I  strolled  up  the 
hill  to  enjoy  the  fine  prospect  from  the  chapel  of 
Notre  Dame  de  Grace ;  and  while  there,  I  thought  of 
inquiring  after  the  fateof  poor  Annette  Delarbre.  The 
priest  who  had  told  me  her  story  was  officiating  at 
vespers,  after  Vvihich  I  accosted  him,  and  learnt  from 
him  the  remaining  circumstances.  He  told  me  that 
from  the  time  I  had  seen  her  at  the  chapel,  her  dis- 
order took  a  sudden  turn  for  the  worse,  and  her 
health  rapidly  declined.  Her  cheerful  intervals  be- 
came shorter  and  less  frequent,  and  attended  with 
more  incoherency.  She  grew  languid,  silent,  and 
moody  in  her  melancholy  ;  her  form  was  wasted,  her 
looks  pale  and  disconsolate,  and  it  was  feared  she 
would  never  recover.  She  became  impatient  of  all 
sounds  of  gaiety,  and  was  never  so  contented  as 
when  Eugene's  mother  was  near  her.  The  good 
woman  watched  over  her  with  patient,  yearning 
solicitude ;  and  in  seeking  to  beguile  her  sorrows, 
would  half  forget  her  own.  Sometimes,  as  she  sat 
looking  upon  her  pallid  face,  the  tears  would  fill  her 
eyes,  which,  when  Annette  perceived,  she  would 
anxiously  wipe  them  away,  and  tell  her  not  to  grieve, 
for  that  Eugene  would  soon  return ;  and  then  she 
would  affect  a  forced  gaiety,  as  in  former  times,  and 
sing  a  lively  air ;  but  a  sudden  recollection  would 
come  over  her,  and  she  would  burst  into  tears,  hang 
on  the  poor  mother's  neck,  and  entreat  her  not  to 
curse  her  for  having  destroyed  her  son. 

Just  at  this  time,  to  the  astonishment  of  every  one, 
news  was  received  of  Eugene ;  who,  it  appeared, 
was  still  living.  When  almost  drowned,  he  had  for- 
tunately seized  upon  a  spar  which  had  been  washed 
from  the  ship's  deck.  Finding  himself  nearly  ex- 
hausted, he  had  fastened  himself  to  it,  and  floated 
for  a  day  and  night,  until  all  sense  had  left  him. 
On  recovering,  he  had  found  himself  on  board  a 
vessel  bound  to  India,  but  so  ill  as  not  to  move  with- 
out assistance.  His  health  had  continued  precari- 
ous throughout  the  voyage  ;  on  arriving  in  India,  he 
had  experienced  many  vicissitudes,  and  had  been 
transferred  from  ship  to  ship,  and  hospital  to 
hospital.  His  constitution  had  enabled  him  to  strug- 
gle through  every  hardship ;  and  he  was  now  in  a 
distant  port,  waiting  only  for  the  sailing  of  a  ship  to 
return  home. 

Great  caution  was  necessarj-  in  imparting  these 
tidings  to  the  mother,  and  even  then  she  was  nearly 
overcome  by  the  transports  of  her  joy.  But  how  to 
impart  them  to  Annette,  was  a  matter  of  still  greater 
perplexity.  Her  state  of  mind  had  been  so  morbid ; 
she  had  been  subject  to  such  violent  changes,  and 
the  cause  of  her  derangement  had  been  of  such  an  in- 
consolable and  hopeless  kind,  that  her  friends  had 
always  forborne  to  tamper  with  her  feelings.  They 
had  never  even  hinted  at  the  subject  of  her  griefs, 
nor  encouraged  the  theme  when  she  adverted  to  it, 
but  had  passed  it  over  in  silence,  hoping  that  time 
would  gradually  wear  the  traces  of  it  Irom  her  recol- 
lection, or,  at  least,  would  render  them  less  painful. 


They  now  felt  at  a  loss  how  to  undeceive  her  even 
in  her  misery,  lest  the  sudden  recurrence  of  happi- 
ness might  confirm  the  estrangement  of  her  reason, 
or  might  overpower  her  enfeebled  frame.  They 
ventured,  however,  to  probe  those  wounds  which 
they  formerly  did  not  dare  to  touch,  for  they  now  had 
the  balm  to  pour  into  them.  They  led  the  conversa- 
tion to  those  topics  which  they  had  hitherto  shun- 
ned, and  endeavoured  to  ascertain  the  current  of  her 
thoughts  in  those  varying  moods  that  had  formerly 
perplexed  them.  They  found,  however,  that  her 
mind  was  even  more  affected  than  they  had  imagined. 
All  her  ideas  were  confused  and  wandering.  Her 
bright  and  cheerful  moods,  which  now  grew  seldomer 
than  ever,  were  all  the  effects  of  mental  delusion. 
At  such  times  she  had  no  recollection  of  her  lover's 
having  been  in  danger,  but  was  only  anticipating 
his  arrival.  "  When  the  winter  has  ])assed  away," 
said  she,  "  and  the  trees  put  on  their  blossoms,  and 
the  swallow  comes  back  over  the  sea,  he  will  return." 
When  she  was  drooping  and  desponding,  it  was  in 
vain  to  remind  her  of  what  she  had  said  in  her  gayer 
moments,  and  to  assure  her  that  Eugene  would  in- 
deed return  shortly.  She  wept  on  in  silence,  and  ap- 
peared insensible  to  their  words.  But  at  times  her 
agitation  became  violent,  when  she  would  upbraid 
herself  with  having  driven  Eugene  from  his  mother, 
and  brought  sorrow  on  her  gray  hairs.  Her  mind 
admitted  but  one  leading  idea  at  a  time,  which  noth- 
ing could  divert  or  efface  ;  or  if  they  ever  succeeded 
in  interrupting  the  current  of  her  fancy,  it  only  be- 
came the  more  incoherent,  and  increased  the  lever- 
ishness  that  preyed  upon  both  mind  and  body.  Her 
friends  felt  more  alarm  for  her  than  ever,  for  they 
feared  that  her  senses  were  irrecoverably  gone,  and 
her  constitution  completely  undermined. 

In  the  mean  time,  Eugene  returned  to  the  village. 
He  was  violently  affected,  when  the  story  of  Annette 
was  told  him.  With  bitterness  of  heart  he  upbraided 
his  own  rashness  and  infatuation  that  had  hurried 
him  away  from  her,  and  accused  himself  as  the 
author  of  all  her  woes.  His  mother  would  describe 
to  him  all  the  anguish  and  remorse  of  poor  Annette  ; 
the  tenderness  with  which  she  clung  to  her,  and  en- 
deavoured, even  in  the  midst  of  her  insanity,  to  con- 
sole her  for  the  loss  of  her  son,  and  the  touching  ex- 
pressions of  affection  that  were  mingled  with  her 
most  incoherent  wanderings  of  thought,  until  his 
feelings  would  be  wound  up  to  agony,  and  he  would 
entreat  her  to  desist  from  the  recital.  They  did 
not  dare  as  yet  to  bring  him  into  Annette's  sight ; 
but  he  was  permitted  to  see  her  when  she  was 
sleeping.  The  tears  streamed  down  his  sun-burnt 
cheeks,  as  he  contemplated  the  ravages  which  grief 
and  malady  had  made  ;  and  his  heart  swelled  almost 
to  breaking,  as  he  beheld  round  her  neck  the  very 
braid  of  hair  which  she  once  gave  him  in  token  of 
girlish  affection,  and  which  he  had  returned  to  her 
in  anger. 

At  length  the  physician  that  attended  her  de- 
termined to  adventure  upon  an  experiment,  to  take 
advantage  of  one  of  those  cheerful  moods  when  her 
mind  was  visited  by  hope,  and  to  endeavour  to  in- 
graft, as  it  were,  the  reality  upon  the  delusions  of 
her  fancy.  These  moods  had  now  become  very  rare, 
for  nature  was  sinking  under  the  continual  pressure 
of  her  mental  malady,  and  the  principle  of  reaction 
was  daily  growing  weaker.  Every  effort  was  tried 
to  bring  on  a  cheerful  interval  of  the  kind.  Several 
of  her  most  favourite  companions  were  kept  contin- 
ually about  her ;  they  chatted  gayly,  they  laughed, 
and  sang,  and  danced  ;  but  Annette  reclined  with 
languid  frame  and  hollow  eye,  and  took  no  part  in 
their  gaiety.  At  length  the  winter  was  gone ;  the 
I  trees  put  forth  their  leaves ;  the  swallows  began  to 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


507 


build  in  the  eaves  of  the  house,  and  the  robin  and 
wren  piped  all  day  beneath  the  window.  Annette's 
spirits  gradually  revived.  She  began  to  deck  her 
person  with  unusual  care ;  and  bringing  forth  a 
basket  of  artificial  flowers,  she  went  to  work  to 
wreathe  a  bridal  chaplet  of  white  roses.  Her  com- 
panions asked  her  why  she  prepared  the  chaplet. 
"  What !  "  said  she  with  a  smile,  "  have  you  not  no- 
ticed the  trees  putting  on  their  wedding  dresses  of 
blossoms  ?  Has  not  the  swallow  flown  back  over 
the  sea?  Do  you  not  know  that  the  time  is  come 
for  Eugene  to  return  ?  that  he  will  be  home  to-mor- 
row, and  that  on  Sunday  we  are  to  be  married  ?  " 

Her  words  were  repeated  to  the  physician,  and  he 
seized  on  them  at  once.  He  directed  that  her  idea 
should  be  encouraged  and  acted  upon.  Her  words 
were  echoed  through  the  house.  Every  one  talked 
of  the  return  of  Eugene,  as  a  matter  of  course  ;  they 
congratulated  her  upon  her  approaching  happiness, 
and  assisted  her  in  her  preparations.  The  next 
morning,  the  same  theme  was  resumed.  She  was 
dressed  out  to  receive  her  lover.  Every  bosom 
fluttered  with  anxiety.  A  cabriolet  drove  into  the 
village.  "  Eugene  is  coming  !  "  was  the  cry.  She 
saw  him  alight  at  the  door,  and  rushed  with  a  shriek 
into  his  arms. 

Her  friends  trembled  for  the  result  cf  this  critical 
experiment;  but  she  did  not  sink  under  it,  for  her 
fancy  had  prepared  her  for  his  return.  She  was  as 
one  in  a  dream,  to  whom  a  tide  of  unlooked-for  pros- 
perity, that  would  have  overwhelmed  his  waking 
reason,  seems  but  the  natural  current  of  circum- 
stances. Her  conversation,  however,  showed  that 
her  senses  were  wandering.  There  was  an  absolute 
forgetfulness  of  all  past  sorrow — a  wild  and  feverish 
gaiety,  that  at  times  was  incoherent. 

The  next  morning,  she  awoke  languid  and  ex- 
hausted. All  the  occurrences  of  the  preceding  day 
had  passed  av/ay  from  her  mind,  as  though  they  had 
been  the  mere  illusions  of  her  fancy.  She  rose 
melancholy  and  abstracted,  and,  as  she  dressed  her- 
self, was  heard  to  sing  one  of  her  plaintive  ballads. 
When  she  entered  the  parlour,  her  eyes  were  swoln 
with  weeping.  She  heard  Eugene's  voice  without, 
and  started.  She  passed  her  hand  across  her  fore- 
head, and  stood  musing,  like  one  endeavouring  to 
recall  a  dream.  Eugene  entered  the  room,  and  ad- 
vanced towards  her  ;  she  looked  at  him  with  an 
eager,  searching  look,  murmured  some  indistinct 
words,  and,  before  he  could  reach  her,  sank  upon 
the  floor. 

She  relapsed  into  a  wild  and  unsettled  state  of 
mind ;  but  now  that  the  first  shock  was  over,  the 
physician  ordered  that  Eugene  should  keep  con- 
tinually in  her  sight.  Sometimes  she  did  not  know 
him  ;  at  other  times  she  would  talk  to  him  as  if  he 
were  going  to  sea,  and  would  implore  him  not  to 
part  from  her  in  anger ;  and  when  he  was  not  pres- 
ent, she  would  speak  of  him  as  if  buried  in  the  ocean, 
and  would  sit,  with  clasped  hands,  looking  upon  the 
ground,  the  picture  of  despair. 

As  the  agitation  of  her  feelings  subsided,  and  her 
frame  recovered  from  the  shock  which  it  had  re- 
ceived, she  became  more  placid  and  coherent.  Eu- 
gene kept  almost  continually  near  her.  He  formed 
the  real  object  round  which  her  scattered  ideas  once 
more  gathered,  and  which  linked  them  once  more 
with  the  realities  of  life.  But  her  changeful  disorder 
now  appeared  to  take  a  new  turn.  She  became 
languid  and  inert,  and  would  sit  for  hours  silent, 
and  almost  in  a  state  of  letharg)'.  If  roused  from 
this  stupor,  it  seemed  as  if  her  mind  would  make 
some  attempts  to  follow  up  a  train  of  thought,  but 
would  soon  become  confused.  She  would  regard 
every  one  that  approached  her  with  an  anxious  and 


inquiring  eye,  that  seemed  continually  to  disappoint 
itself.  Sometimes,  as  her  lover  sat  holding  her  hand, 
she  would  look  pensively  in  his  face  without  saying  a 
word,  until  his  heart  was  os'ercome ;  and  after  these 
transient  fits  of  intellectual  exertion,  she  would  sink 
again  into  lethargy. 

By  degrees,  this  stupor  increased ;  her  mind  ap- 
peared to  have  subsided  into  a  stagnant  and  almost 
death-like  calm.  For  the  greater  part  of  the  time, 
her  eyes  were  closed ;  her  face  almost  as  fixed  and 
passionless  as  that  of  a  corpse.  She  no  longer  took 
any  notice  of  surrounding  objects.  There  was  an 
awfulness  in  this  tranquillity,  that  filled  her  friends 
with  apprehensions.  The  physician  ordered  that 
she  should  be  kept  perfectly  quiet ;  or  that,  if  she 
evinced  any  agitation,  she  should  be  gently  lulled, 
like  a  child,  by  some  favourite  tune. 

She  remained  in  this  state  for  hours,  hardly  seem- 
ing to  breathe,  and  apparently  sinking  into  the  sleep 
of  death.  Her  chamber  was  profoundly  still.  The 
attendants  moved  about  it  with  noiseless  tread ; 
every  thing  was  communicated  by  signs  and  whispers. 
Her  lover  sat  by  her  side,  watching  her  with  painful 
anxiety,  and  fearing  that  every  breath  which  stole 
from  her  pale  lips  would  be  the  last. 

At  length  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh  ;  and,  from  some 
convulsive  motions,  appeared  to  be  troubled  in  her 
sleep.  Her  agitation  increased,  accompanied  by  an 
indistinct  moaning.  One  of  her  companions,  remem- 
bering the  physician's  instructions,  endeavoured  to 
lull  her  by  singing,  in  a  low  voice,  a  tender  little  air, 
which  was  a  particular  favourite  of  Annette's.  Prob- 
ably it  had  some  connexion  in  her  mind  with  her 
own  story ;  for  every  fond  girl  has  some  ditty  of  the 
kind,  linked  in  her  thoughts  with  sweet  and  sad  re- 
membrances. 

As  she  sang,  the  agitation  of  Annette  subsided. 
A  streak  of  faint  colour  came  into  her  cheeks  ;  her 
eyelids  became  swoln  with  rising  tears,  which  trem- 
bled there  for  a  moment,  and  then,  stealing  forth, 
coursed  down  her  pallid  cheek.  When  the  song  was 
ended,  she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  about  her,  as 
one  awakening  in  a  strange  place. 

"  Oh,  Eugene  !  Eugene  !  "  said  she,  "  it  seems  as 
if  I  have  had  a  long  and  dismal  dream  ;  what  has 
happened,  and  what  has  been  the  matter  with  me .'  " 
The  questions  were  embarrassing ;  and  before 
they  could  be  answered,  the  physician,  who  was  in 
the  next  room,  entered.  She  took  him  by  the  hand, 
looked  up  in  his  face,  and  made  the  same  inquiry. 
He  endeavoured  to  put  her  off  with  some  evasive 
answer ; — "  No,  no  ! "  cried  she,  "  I  know  I  have 
been  ill,  and  I  have  been  dreaming  strangely.  1 
thought  Eugene  had  left  us — and  that  he  had  gone 
to  sea — and  that — and  that  he  was  drowned  ! — But 
he  Aas  been  to  sea !  "  added  she,  earnestly,  as  recol- 
lection kept  flashing  upon  her,  "  and  he  has  been 
wrecked — and   we  were  all   so  wretched — and   he 

came   home   again   one    bright   morning— and 

Oh  !  "  said  she,  pressing  her  hand  against  her  fore- 
head, with  a  sickly  smile,  "  I  see  how  it  is ;  all  has 
not  been  right  here :  I  begin  to  recollect — but  it  is 
all  past  now — Eugene  is  here !  and  his  mother  is 
happy — and  we  shall  never — never  part  again — shall 
we,  Eugene  ?  " 

She  sunk  back  in  her  chair,  exhausted  ;  the  tears 
streamed  down  her  cheeks.  Her  companions  hov- 
ered round  her,  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  this 
sudden  dawn  of  reason.  Her  lover  sobbed  aloud. 
She  opened  her  eyes  again,  and  looked  upon  them 
with  an  air  of  the  sweetest  acknowledgment.  "  You 
are  all  so  good  to  me  !  "  said  she,  faintly. 

The  physician  drew  the  father  aside.  "Your 
daughter's  mind  is  restored,"  said  he  ;  "  she  is  sen- 
sible that  she  has  been  deranged  ;  she  is  growing 


508 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


conscious  of  the  past,  and  conscious  of  tlie  present. 
All  that  now  remains  is  to  keep  her  calm  and  quiet 
until  her  health  is  re-established,  and  then  let  her  be 
married  in  God's  name  !  " 

"  The  wedding  took  place,"  continued  the  good 
priest,  "  but  a  short  time  since  ;  they  were  here  at 
the  last  fete  during  their  honeymoon,  and  a  hand- 
somer and  happier  couple  was  not  to  be  seen  as 
they  danced  under  yonder  trees.  The  young  man, 
his  wife,  and  mother,  now  live  on  a  fine  farm  at 
Pont  I'Eveque ;  r  nd  that  model  of  a  ship  which  you 
see  yonder,  with  white  flowers  wreathed  round  it,  is 
Annette's  offering  of  thanks  to  Our  Lady  of  Grace, 
for  having  listened  to  her  prayers,  and  protected  her 
lover  in  the  hour  of  peril." 


The  captain  having  finished,  there  was  a  moment- 
ary silence.  The  tender-hearted  Lady  Lillycraft, 
who  knew  the  story  by  heart,  had  led  the  way  in 
weeping,  and  indeed  had  often  begun  to  shed  tears 
before  they  had  come  to  the  right  place. 

The  fair  Julia  was  a-little  flurried  at  the  passage 
where  wedding  preparations  were  mentioned  ;  but  the 
auditor  most  affected  was  the  simple  Phcebe  Wilkins. 
She  had  gradually  dropt  her  work  in  her  lap,  and 
sat  sobbing  through  the  latter  part  of  the  story, 
until  towards  the  end,  when  the  happy  reverse  had 
nearly  produced  another  scene  of  hysterics.  "Go, 
take  this  case  to  my  roorri  again,  child,"  said  Lady 
Lillycraft,  kindly,  "and  don't  cry  so  much." 

"1  won't,  an't  please  your  ladyship,  if  I  can  help 
it ;— but  I'm  glad  they  made  all  up  again,  and  were 
married." 

By  the  way,  the  case  of  this  lovelorn  damsel 
begins  to  make  some  talk  in  the  household,  espec- 
ially among  certain  little  ladies,  not  far  in  their  teens, 
of  whom  she  has  made  confidants.  She  is  a  great 
favourite  with  them  all,  but  particularly  so  since  she 
has  confided  to  them  her  love  secrets.  They  enter 
into  her  concerns  with  all  the  violent  zeal  and  over- 
whelming sympathy  with  which  little  boarding- 
school  ladies  engage  in  the  politics  of  a  love  affair. 

I  have  noticed  them  frequently  clustering  about 
her  in  private  conferences,  or  walking  up  and  down 
the  garden  terrace  under  ray  window,  listening  to 
some  long  and  dolorous  story  of  her  afflictions ;  of 
which  I  could  now  and  then  distinguish  the  ever- 
recurring  phrases,  "says  he,"  and  "says  she." 

I  accidentally  interrupted  one  of  these  little  coun- 
cils of  war,  when  they  were  all  huddled  together 
under  a  tree,  and  seemed  to  be  earnestly  consider- 
ing some  interesting  document.  The  flutter  at  my 
approach  showed  that  there  were  some  secrets  under 
discussion  ;  and  I  observed  the  disconsolate  Phosbe 
crumpling  into  her  bosom  either  a  love-letter  or  an 
old  valentine,  and  brushing  away  the  tears  from  her 
cheeks. 

The  girl  is  a  good  girl,  of  a  soft  melting  nature, 
and  shows  her  concern  at  the  cruelty  of  her  lover 
only  in  tears  and  drooping  looks  ;  but  with  the  little 
ladies  who  have  espoused  her  cause,  it  sparkles  up 
into  fiery  indignation :  and  I  have  noticed  on  Sunday 
many  a  glance  darted  at  the  pew  of  the  Tibbets's, 
enough  even  to  melt  down  the  silver  buttons  on  old 
Ready-Money's  jacket. 


TRAVELLING, 


A  citizen,  for  recreation  sake, 

To  see  the  country  would  ajourney  take 

Some  dozen  mile,  or  very  little  more  ; 

Taking  his  leave  with  friends  two  months  before. 

With  drinking  healths,  and  shaking  by  the  hand, 

As  he  had  travail'd  to  some  new-found  land. 

Doctor  Merrie~Man^  1609. 

The  Squire  has  lately  received  another  shock  in 
the  saddle,  and  been  almost  unseated  by  his  mar- 
plot neighbour,  the  indefatigable  Mr.  Faddy,  who 
rides  his  jog-trot  hobby  with  equal  zeal ;  and  is  so 
bent  upon  improving  and  reforming  the  neighbour- 
hood, that  the  Squire  thinks,  in  a  little  while,  it  will 
be  scarce  worth  living  in.  The  enormity  that  has 
thus  discomposed  my  worthy  host,  is  an  attempt  of 
the  manufacturer  to  have  a  line  of  coaches  estab- 
lished, that  shall  diverge  from  the  old  route,  and 
pass  through  the  neighbouring  village. 

I  believe  I  have  mentioned  that  the  Hall  is  situ- 
ated in  a  retired  part  of  the  country,  at  a  distance 
from  any  great  coach-road ;  insomuch  that  the  ar- 
rival of  a  traveller  is  apt  to  make  every  one  look  out 
of  the  window,  and  to  cause  some  talk  among  the 
ale-drinkers  at  the  little  inn.  I  was  at  a  loss,  there- 
fore, to  account  for  the  Squire's  indignation  at  a 
measure  apparently  fraught  with  convenience  and 
advantage,  until  I  found  that  the  conveniences  of 
travelling  were  among  his  greatest  grievances. 

In  fact,  he  rails  against  stage-coaches,  post- 
chaises,  and  turnpike-roads,  as  serious  causes  of  the 
corruption  of  English  rural  manners.  They  have 
given  facilities,  he  says,  to  evei7  humdrum  citizen  to 
trundle  his  fariiily  about  the  kingdom,  and  have  sent 
the  follies  and  fashions  of  town,  whirling,  in  coach- 
loads, to  the  remotest  parts  of  the  island.  The 
whole  country,  he  says,  is  traversed  by  these  flying 
cargoes  ;  every  by-road  is  explored  by  enterprising 
tourists  from  Cheapside  and  the  Poultry,  and  every 
gentleman's  park  and  lawns  invaded  by  cockney 
sketchers  of  both  sexes,  with  portable  chairs  and 
portfolios  for  drawing. 

He  laments  over  this,  as  destroying  the  charm  of 
privacy,  and  interrupting  the  quiet  of  country  life  ; 
but  more  especially  as  affecting  the  sirnplicity  of  the 
peasantry,  and  filling  their  heads  with  half-city  no- 
tions. A  great  coach-inn,  he  says,  is  enough  to  ruin 
the  manners  of  a  whole  village.  It  creates  a  horde 
of  sots  and  idlers ;  makes  gapers  and  gazers  and 
newsmongers  of  the  common  people,  and  knowing 
jockeys  of  the  country  bumpkins. 

The  Squire  has  something  of  the  old  feudal  feeling. 
He  looks  back  with  regret  to  the  "  good  old  times" 
when  journeys  were  only  made  on  horseback,  and  the 
extraordinary  difficulties  of  travelling,  owing  to  bad 
roads,  bad  accommodations,  and  highway  robbers, 
seemed  to  separate  each  village  and  hamlet  from  the 
rest  of  the  worid.  The  lord  of  the  manor  was  then 
a  kind  of  monarch  in  the  little  realm  around  him. 
He  held  his  court  in  his  paternal  hall,  and  was  looked 
up  to  with  almost  as  much  loyalty  and  deference  as 
the  king  himself.  Every  neighbourhood  was  a  little 
world  within  itself,  having  its  local  manners  and 
customs,  its  local  history  and  local  opinions.  The 
inhabitants  were  fonder  of  their  homes,  and  thought 
less  of  wandering.  It  was  looked  upon  as  an  expe- 
dition to  travel  out  of  sight  of  the  parish  steeple ; 
and  a  man  that  had  been  to  London  was  a  village 
oracle  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

What  a  difference  between  the  mode  of  travelling 
in  those  days  and  at  present  I  At  that  time,  when 
a  gentleman  went  on  a  distant  visit,  he  sallied  forth 
like  a  knight-errant  on  an  enterprise,  and  every  fam- 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


509 


il)  excursion  was  a  pageant.  How  splendid  and 
fanciful  must  one  of  those  domestic  cavalcades  have 
been,  where  the  beautiful  dames  were  mounted  on 
palfreys  magnificently  caparisoned,  with  embroidered 
harness,  all  tinkling  with  silver  bells,  attended  by 
cavaliers  richly  attired  on  prancing  steeds,  and  fol- 
lowed by  pages  and  serving-men,  as  we  see  them 
represented  in  old  tapestry !  The  gentry,  as  they 
travelled  about  in  those  days,  were  like  moving  pict- 
ures. They  delighted  the  eyes  and  awakened  the 
admiration  of  the  common  people,  and  passed  before 
them  like  superior  beings ;  and,  indeed,  they  were 
so ;  there  was  a  hardy  and  healthful  exercise  con- 
nected with  this  equestrian  style  that  made  them 
generous  and  noble. 

In  his  fondness  for  the  old  style  of  travelling,  the 
Squire  makes  most  of  his  journeys  on  horseback, 
though  he  laments  the  modern  deficiency  of  incident 
on  the  road,  from  the  want  of  fellow-wayfarers,  and 
the  rapidity  with  which  every  one  else  is  whirled 
along  in  coaches  and  post-chaises.  In  the  "  good 
old  times,"  on  the  contrary,  a  cavalier  jogged  on 
through  bog  and  mire,  from  town  to  town  and  ham- 
let to  hamlet,  conversing  with  friars  and  franklins, 
and  all  other  chance  companions  of  the  road  ;  be- 
guiling the  way  with  travellers'  talcs,  which  then 
were  truly  wonderful,  for  every  thing  beyond  one's 
neighbourhood  was  full  of  marvel  and  romance  ;  stop- 
ping .it  night  at  some  "  hostel,"  where  the  bush  over 
the  door  proclaimed  good  wine,  or  a  pretty  hostess 
made  bad  wine  palatable  ;  meeting  at  supper  with 
travellers,  or  listening  to  the  song  or  merry  story  of 
the  host,  who  was  generally  a  boon  companion,  and 
presided  at  his  own  board  ;  for,  according  to  old 
Tusser's  "  Innholder's  Posie," 

*'  At  meales  my  friend  who  vitleth  here 
And  sitteth  with  his  host. 
Shall  both  be  sure  of  better  cheere, 
And  ^scape  with  lesser  cost," 

The  Squire  is  fond,  too,  of  stopping  at  those  inns 
which  may  be  met  with  here  and  there  in  ancient 
houses  of  wood  and  plaster,  or  calimanco  houses,  as 
they  are  called  by  antiquaries,  with  deep  porches, 
diamond-paned  bow-windows,  pannelled  rooms,  and 
great  fire-places.  He  will  prefer  them  to  more  spa- 
cious and  modern  inns,  and  would  cheerfully  put  up 
with  bad  cheer  and  bad  accommodations  in  the  grat- 
ification of  his  humour.  They  give  him,  he  says,  the 
feelings  of  old  times,  insomuch  that  he  almost  ex- 
pects in  the  dusk  of  the  evening  to  see  some  party 
of  weary  travellers  ride  up  to  the  door  with  plumes 
and  mantles,  trunk-hose,  wide  boots,  and  long  ra- 
piers. 

The  good  Squire's  remarks  brought  to  mind  a 
visit  that  I  once  paid  to  the  Tabbard  Inn,  famous  for 
being  the  place  of  assemblage  from  whence  Chau- 
cer's pilgrims  set  forth  for  Canterbury.  It  is  in  the 
borough  of  Southwark,  not  far  from  London  Bridge, 
and  bears,  at  present,  the  name  of  "  the  Talbot."  It 
has  sadly  declined  in  dignity  since  the  days  of  Chau- 
cer, being  a  mere  rendezvous  and  packing-place  of 
the  great  wagons  that  travel  into  Kent.  "The  court- 
yard, which  was  anciently  the  mustering-place  of  the 
pilgrims  previous  to  their  departure,  was  now  lum- 
bered with  huge  wagons.  Crates,  boxes,  hampers, 
and  baskets,  containing  the  good  things  of  town  and 
country,  were  piled  about  them ;  while,  among  the 
straw  and  litter,  the  motherly  hens  scratched  and 
clucked,  with  their  hungry  broods  at  their  heels. 
Instead  of  Chaucer's  motley  and  splendid  throng,  I 
only  saw  a  group  of  wagoners  and  stable-boys  enjoy- 
ing a  circulating  pot  of  ale  ;  while  a  long-bodied  dog 
sat  by,  with  head  on  one  side,  ear  cocked  up,  and 
wistful  gaze,  as  if  waiting  for  his  turn  at  the  tankard. 

Notwithstanding  this   grievous  declension,  how- 


ever, I  was  gratified  at  perceiving  that  the  present 
occupants  were  not  unconscious  of  the  poetical  re- 
nown of  their  mansion.  An  inscription  over  the 
gateway  proclaimed  it  to  be  the  inn  where  Chaucer's 
pilgrims  slept  on  the  night  previ'ous  to  their  depart- 
ure ;  and  at  the  bottom  of  the  yard  was  a  magnifi- 
cent sign  representing  them  in  the  act  of  sallying 
forth.  I  was  pleased,  too,  at  noticing  that  though 
the  present  inn  was  comparatively  modern,  yet  the 
form  of  the  old  inn  was  preserved.  There  were 
galleries  round  the  yard,  as  in  old  times,  on  which 
opened  the  chambers  of  the  guests.  To  these  an- 
cient inns  have  antiquaries  ascribed  the  present 
forms  of  our  theatres.  Plays  were  originally  acted 
in  inn-yards.  The  guests  lolled  over  the  galleries, 
which  answered  to  our  modern-dress  circle  ;  the 
critical  mob  clustered  in  the  yard,  instead  of  the  pil  ; 
and  the  groups  gazing  from  the  garret-windows 
were  no  bad  representatives  of  the  gods  of  the  shil- 
ling gallery.  When,  therefore,  the  drama  grew  im- 
portant enough  to  have  a  house  of  its  own,  the  ar- 
chitects took  a  hint  for  its  construction  from  the 
yard  of  the  ancient  "hostel." 

I  was  so  well  pleased  at  finding  these  remem- 
brances of  Chaucer  and  his  poem,  that  1  ordered  my 
dinner  in  the  little  parlour  of  the  Talbot.  Whilst  it 
was  preparing,  1  sat  at  the  window  musing  and  gaz- 
ing into  the  court-yard,  and  conjuring  up  recollec- 
tions of  the  scenes  depicted  in  such  lovely  colours  by 
the  poet,  until,  by  degrees,  boxes,  bales  and  hampers, 
boys,  wagoners  and  dogs,  faded  from  sight,  and  my 
fancy  peopled  the  place  with  the  motley  throng 
of  Canterbury  pilgrims.  The  galleries  once  more 
swarmed  with  idle  gazers,  in  the  rich  dresses  of  Chau- 
cer's time,  and  the  whole  cavalcade  seemed  to  pass 
before  me.  There  was  the  stately  knight  on  sober 
steed,  who  had  ridden  in  Christendom  and  heathen- 
esse, and  had  "  foughten  for  cur  faith  at  Tramis- 
sene  ;" — and  his  son,  the  young  squire,  a  lover,  and 
a  lusty  bachelor,  with  curled  locks  and  gay  embroid- 
ery ;  a  bold  rider,  a  dancer,  and  a  writer  of  verses, 
singing  and  fluting  all  day  long,  and  "  fresh  as  the 
month  of  May  ; " — and  his  "  knot-headed  "  yeoman  ; 
a  bold  forester,  in  green,  with  horn,  and  baudrick, 
and  dagger,  a  mighty  bow  in  hand,  and  a  sheaf  of 
peacock  arrows  shining  beneath  his  belt ; — and  the 
coy,  smiling,  simple  nun,  with  her  gray  eyes,  her 
small  red  mouth,  and  fair  forehead,  her  dainty  per- 
son clad  in  featly  cloak  and  " 'ypinched  wimple," 
her  choral  beads  about  her  arm,  her  golden  brooch 
with  a  love  motto,  and  her  pretty  oath  by  Saint 
Eloy ; — and  the  merchant,  solemn  in  speech  and 
high  on  horse,  with  forked  beard  and  "  Flaundrish 
bever  hat  ; " — and  the  lusty  monk,  "  full  fat  and  in 
good  point,"  with  berry  brown  palfrey,  his  hood  fast- 
ened with  gold  pin,  wrought  with  a  love-knot,  his 
bald  head  shining  like  glass,  and  his  face  glistening 
as  though  it  had  been  anointed ;  and  the  lean,  logi- 
cal, sententious  clerk  of  Oxenforde,  upon  his  half- 
starved,  scholar-like  horse  ; — and  the  bowsing  somp- 
nour,  with  fiery  cherub  face,  all  knobbed  with  pim- 
ples, an  eater  of  garlic  and  onions,  and  drinker  of 
"strong  wine,  red  as  blood,"  that  carried  a  cake  for 
a  buckler,  and  babbled  Latin  in  his  cups  ;  of  whose 
brimstone  visage  "  children  were  sore  aferd  ;" — and 
the  buxom  wife  of  Bath,  the  widow  of  five  husbands, 
upon  her  ambling  nag,  with  her  hat  broad  as  a  buck- 
ler, her  red  stockings  and  sharp  spurs  ; — and  the 
slenfler,  choleric  reeve  of  Norfolk,  bestriding  his 
good  gray  stot ;  with  close-shaven  beard,  his  hair 
cropped  round  his  ears,  long,  lean,  calfless  legs,  and 
a  rusty  blade  by  his  side  ; — and  the  jolly  Limitour, 
with  lisping  tongue  and  twinkling  eye,  well-beloved 
franklins  and  housewives,  a  great  promoter  of  mar- 
riages among  young  women,  known  at  the  taverns 


510 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


in  every  town,  and  by  every  "  hosteler  and  gay  taps- 
tere."  In  short,  before  I  was  roused  from  my  rev- 
erie by  the  less  poetical  but  more  substantial  appa- 
rition of  a  smoking  beef-steak,  I  had  seen  the  whole 
cavalcade  issue  forth  from  the  hostel-gate,  with  the 
brawny,  double-jointed,  red-haired  miller,  playing 
the  bagpipes  before  them,  and  the  ancient  host  of 
the  Tabbard  giving  them  his  farewell  God-send  to 
Canterbury. 

When  1  told  the  Squire  of  the  existence  of  this 
legitimate  descendant  of  the  ancient  Tabbard  Inn, 
his  eyes  absolutely  glistened  with  delight.  He  de- 
termined to  hunt  it  up  the  very  first  time  he  visited 
London,  and  to  eat  a  dinner  there,  and  drink  a  cup 
of  mine  host's  best  wine  in  memory  of  old  Chaucer. 
The  general,  who  happened  to  be  present,  immedi- 
ately begged  to  be  of  the  party ;  for  he  liked  to  en- 
courage these  long-established  houses,  as  they  are 
apt  to  have  choice  old  wines. 


POPULAR  SUPERSTITIONS. 


Farewell  rewards  and  fairies. 

Good  housewives  now  may  s.iy  ; 
For  now  fowle  sluts  in  dairies 

Do  fare  as  well  as  they ; 
And  though  they  sweepe  their  hearths  no  lesse 

Than  maids  were  wont  todoo, 
Yet  who  of  late  for  cleanlinesse 

Finds  sixpence  in  her  shooe  ?  Bishop  Corbet. 

I  HAVE  mentioned  the  Squire's  fondness  for  the 
marvellous,  and  his  predilection  for  legends  and 
romances.  His  library  contains  a  curious  collection 
of  old  works  of  this  kind,  which  bear  evident  marks 
of  having  been  much  read.  In  his  great  love  for 
all  that  is  antiquated,  he  cherishes  popular  supersti- 
tions, and  listens,  with  very  grave  attention,  to  every 
tale,  however  strange  ;  so  that,  through  his  counte- 
nance, the  household,  and,  indeed,  the  whole  neigh- 
bourhood, is  well  stocked  with  wonderful  stories ; 
and  if  ever  a  doubt  is  expressed  of  any  one  of  them, 
the  narrator  will  generally  observe,  that  "  the  Squire 
thinks  there's  something  in  it." 

The  Hall  of  course  comes  in  for  its  share,  the 
common  people  having  always  a  propensity  to 
furnish  a  great  superannuated  building  of  the  kind 
with  supernatural  inhabitants.  The  gloomy  gal- 
leries of  such  old  family  mansions ;  the  stately 
chambers,  adorned  with  grotesque  carvings  and 
faded  paintings ;  the  sounds  that  vaguely  echo 
about  them  ;  the  moaning  of  the  wind ;  the  cries  of 
rooks  and  ravens  from  the  trees  and  chimney-tops ; 
all  produce  a  state  of  mind  favourable  to  supersti- 
tious fancies. 

In  one  chamber  of  the  Hall,  just  opposite  a  door 
which  opens  upon  a  dusky  passage,  there  is  a  full- 
length  portrait  of  a  warrior  in  armour ;  when,  on 
suddenly  turning  into  the  passage,  I  have  caught  a 
sight  of  the  portrait,  thrown  into  strong  relief  by  the 
dark  pannelling  against  which  it  hangs,  I  have  more 
than  once  been  startled,  as  though  it  were  a  figure 
advancing  towards  me. 

To  superstitious  minds,  therefore,  predisposed  by 
the  strange  and  melancholy  stories  that  are  con- 
nected with  family  paintings,  it  needs  but  little 
stretch  of  fancy,  on  a  moonlight  night,  or  by  the 
flickering  light  of  a  candle,  to  set  the  old  pictures  on 
the  walls  in  motion,  sweeping  in  their  robes  and 
trains  about  the  galleries. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  Squire  confesses  that  he 
used  to  take  a  pleasure  in  his  younger  days  in  setting 
marvellous  stories  afloat,  and  connecting  them  with 
the  lonely  and  peculiar  places  of  the  neighbourhood. 


Whenever  he  read  any  legend  of  a  striking  nattre, 
he  endeavoured  to  transplant  it,  and  give  it  a  local 
habitation  among  the  scenes  of  his  boyhood.  Many  of 
these  stories  took  root,  and  he  says  he  is  often  amused 
with  the  odd  shapes  in  which  they  will  come  back 
to  him  in  some  old  woman's  narrative,  after  they 
have  been  circulating  for  years  among  the  peasantry, 
and  undergoing  rustic  additions  and  amendments. 
Among  these  may  doubtless  be  numbered  that  of 
the  crusader's  ghost,  which  I  have  mentioned  in 
the  account  of  my  Christmas  visit ;  and  another 
about  the  hard-riding  Squire  of  yore  ;  the  family 
Nimrod  ;  who  is  sometimes  heard  in  stormy  winter 
nights,  galloping,  with  hound  and  horn,  over  a  wild 
moor  a  few  miles  distant  from  the  Hall.  This  I  ap- 
prehend to  have  had  its  origin  in  the  famous  story 
of  the  wild  huntsman,  the  favourite  goblin  in  German 
tales  ;  though,  by-the-by,  as  I  was  talking  on  the  sub- 
ject with  Master  Simon  the  other  evening  in  the 
dark  avenue,  he  hinted  that  he  had  himself  once  or 
twice  heard  odd  sounds  at  night,  very  like  a  pack 
of  hounds  in  cry  ;  and  that  once,  as  he  was  returning 
rather  late  from  a  hunting  dinner,  he  had  seen  a 
strange  figure  galloping  along  this  same  moor ; 
but  as  he  was  riding  rather  fast  at  the  time,  and  in  a 
hurry  to  get  home,  he  did  not  stop  to  ascertain  what 
it  was. 

Popular  superstitions  are  fast  fading  away  in 
England,  owing  to  the  general  diffusion  of  knowl- 
edge, and  the  bustling  intercourse  kept  up  through- 
out the  country ;  still  they  have  their  strong-holds 
and  lingering  places,  and  a  retired  neighbourhood 
like  this  is  apt  to  be  one  of  them.  The  parson  tells 
me  that  he  meets  with  many  traditional  beliefs 
and  notions  among  the  common  people,  which  he 
has  been  able  to  draw  from  them  in  the  course  of 
familiar  conversation,  though  they  are  rather  shy 
of  avowing  them  to  strangers,  and  particularly  to 
"  the  gentry,"  who  are  apt  to  laugh  at  them.  He 
says  there  are  several  of  his  old  parishioners  who 
remember  when  the  village  had  its  bar-guest,  or 
bar-ghost — a  spirit  supposed  to  belong  to  a  town 
or  village,  and  to  predict  any  impending  misfortune 
by  midnight  shrieks  and  wailings.  The  last  time 
it  was  heard  was  just  before  the  death  of  Mr.  Brace- 
bridge's  father,  who  was  much  beloved  throughout 
the  neighbourhood  ;  though  there  are  not  wanting 
some  obstinate  unbelievers,  who  insisted  that  it  was 
nothing  but  the  howling  of  a  watch-dog.  I  have 
been  greatly  delighted,  however,  at  meeting  with 
some  traces  of  my  old  favourite,  Robin  Goodfellow, 
though  under  a  different  appellation  from  any  of 
those  by  which  I  have  heretofore  heard  him  called. 
The  parson  assures  me  that  many  of  the  peasantry 
believe  in  household  goblins,  called  Dubbies,  which 
live  about  particular  farms  and  houses,  in  the  same 
way  that  Robin  Goodfellow  did  of  old.  Sometimes 
they  haunt  the  barns  and  outhouses,  and  now  and 
then  will  assist  the  farmer  wonderfully,  by  getting 
in  all  his  hay  or  corn  in  a  single  night.  In  general, 
however,  they  prefer  to  live  within  doors,  and  are 
fond  of  keeping  about  the  great  hearths,  and  bask- 
ing, at  night,  after  the  family  have  gone  to  bed,  by 
the  glowing  embers.  When  put  in  particular  good- 
humour  by  the  warmth  of  their  lodgings,  and  the 
tidiness  of  the  house-maids,  they  will  overcome  their 
natural  laziness,  and  do  a  vast  deal  of  household 
work  before  morning  ;  churning  the  cream,  brewing 
the  beer,  or  spinning  all  the  good  dame's  flax.  All 
this  is  precisely  the  conduct  of  Robin  Goodtellow, 
described  so  charmingly  by  Milton : 

"  Tells  how  the  drudging  goblin  sweat 
To  earn    his  cream-bowl  duly  set. 
When  in  one  night,  ere  glimpse  of  morn, 
His  shadowy  flail  had  thresh  d  the  com 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


511 


That  ten  day-labourers  could  not  end  ; 
Then  lays  him  down  the  Ir.bber-fiend, 
And,  stretch'd  out  all  the  chimney's  length, 
Basks  at  the  fire  his  hairy  strength, 
And  crop-full,  out  of  door  he  flings 
Ere  the  hrst  cock  his  matin  rings." 

But  beside  these  household  Dubbies,  there  are 
others  of  a  more  gloomy  and  unsocial  nature,  that 
keep  about  lonely  barns  at  a  distance  from  any 
dwelling-house,  or  about  ruins  and  old  bridges. 
These  are  full  of  mischievous  and  often  malignant 
tricks,  and  are  fond  of  playing  pranks  upon  benight- 
ed travellers.  There  is  a  story,  among  the  old  peo- 
ple, of  one  that  haunted  a  ruined  mill,  just  by  a 
bridge  that  crosses  a  small  stream  ;  how  that,  late 
one  night,  as  a  traveller  was  passing  on  horseback, 
the  Dubbie  jumped  up  behind  him,  and  grasped  him 
so  close  round  the  body  that  he  had  no  power  to 
help  himself,  but  expected  to  be  squeezed  to  death  : 
luckily  his  heels  were  loose,  with  which  he  plied  the 
sides  of  his  steed,  and  was  carried,  with  the  wonder- 
ful instinct,  of  a  traveller's  horse,  straight  to  the 
village  inn.  Had  the  inn  been  at  any  greater  dis- 
tance, there  is  no  doubt  but  he  would  have  been 
strangled  to  death  ;  as  it  was,  the  good  people  were 
a  long  time  in  bringing  him  to  his  senses,  and  it  was 
remarked  that  the  first  sign  he  showed  of  returning 
consciousness  was  to  call  for  a  bottom  of  brandy. 

These  mischievous  Dubbies  bear  much  resem- 
blance in  their  natures  and  habits  to  those  sprites 
which  Heywood,  in  his  Heirarchie,  calls  pugs  or 
hobgoblins : 

" Their  dwelling*  be 

In  corners  of  old  houses  least  frequented 

Or  beneath  stacks  of  wood,  and  these  convented. 

Make  fearfull  noise  in  butteries  and  in  dairies; 

Robin  Ooodfellow  some,  some  call  them  fairies. 

In  solitarie  rooms  these  uprores  keep. 

And  beate  at  doores,  to  wake  men  from  their  slepe. 

Seeming  to  force  lockes,  be  they  nere  so  strong, 

And  keeping  Christmasse  gambols  all  night  long. 

Pots,  gl.-isses.  trenchers,  dishes,  pannes  and  kettles. 

They  will  make  dance  about  the  shelves  and  settles, 

As  if  about  the  kitchen  tost  and  cast. 

Yet  in  the  morning  nothing  found  misplac*t. 

Others  such  houses  to  their  use  have  fitted. 

In  which  base  murthers  have  been  once  committed. 

Some  have  their  fearful  habitations  taken 

In  desolate  houses,  ruin'd  and  forsaken." 

In  the  account  of  our  unfortunate  hawking  expe- 
dition, I  mentioned  an  instance  of  one  of  these 
sprites,  supposed  to  haunt  the  ruined  grange  that 
stands  in  a  lonely  meadow,  and  has  a  remarkable 
echo.  The  parson  informs  me,  also,  that  the  belief 
was  once  very  prevalent,  that  a  household  Dubbie 
kept  about  the  old  farm-house  of  the  Tibbets.  It  has 
long  been  traditional,  he  says,  that  one  of  these 
good-natured  goblins  is  attached  to  the  Tibbets' 
family,  and  came  with  them  when  they  moved  into 
this  part  of  the  country ;  for  it  is  one  of  the  peculiari- 
ties of  these  household  sprites,  that  they  attach 
themselves  to  the  fortunes  of  certain  families,  and 
follow  them  in  all  their  removals. 

There  is  a  large  old-fashioned  fire-place  in  the 
farm-house,  which  affords  fine  quarters  for  a  chim- 
ney-corner sprite  that  likes  to  lie  warm  ;  especially 
as  Ready- Money  Jack  keeps  up  rousing  fires  in  the 
winter-time.  The  old  people  of  the  village  recollect 
many  stories  about  this  goblin,  that  were  current  in 
their  young  days.  It  was  thought  to  have  brought 
good  luck  to  the  house,  and  to  be  the  reason  why 
the  Tibbets  were  always  beforehand  in  the  worM, 
and  why  their  farm  was  always  in  better  order,  their 
hay  got  in  .sooner,  and  thtir  com  better  stacked,  than 
that  of  their  neighbours.  The  present  Mrs.  Tibbets, 
at  the  time  of  her  courtship,  had  a  number  of  these 
stories  told  her  by  the  country  gossips  ;  and  when 
married,  was  a  little  fearful  about  living  in  a  house 
where  such  a  liobgoblin  was  said  to  haunt :  Jack, 
however,  who  has  always  treated  this  story  with 


great  contempt,  assured  her  that  there  was  no  spirit 
kept  about  his  house  that  he  could  not  at  any  time 
lay  in  the  Red  Sea  with  one  flourish  of  his  cudgel. 
Still  his  wife  has  never  got  completely  over  her  no- 
tions on  the  subject,  but  has  a  horseshoe  nailed  on 
the  threshold,  and  keeps  a  branch  of  rauntry,  or 
mountain  ash,  with  its  red  berries,  suspended  from 
one  of  the  great  beams  in  the  parlour — a  sure  pro- 
tection from  all  evil  spirits. 

These  stories,  however,  as  I  before  observed,  are 
fast  fading  away,  and  in  another  generation  or  two 
will  probably  be  completely  forgotten.  There  is 
something,  however,  about  these  rural  superstitions, 
that  is  extremely  pleasing  to  the  imagination  ;  par- 
ticularly those  which  relate  to  the  good-humoured 
race  of  household  demons,  and  indeed  to  the  whole 
fairy  mythology.  The  English  have  given  an  inex- 
plicable charm  to  these  superstitions,  by  the  manner 
in  which  they  have  associated  them  with  whatever 
is  most  homefelt  and  delightful  in  nature.  I  do  not 
know  a  more  fascinating  race  of  beings  than  these 
little  fabled  people,  that  haunted  the  southern  sides 
of  hills  and  mountains,  lurked  in  flowers  and  about 
fountain-heads,  glided  through  key-holes  into  ancient 
halls,  watched  over  farm-houses  and  dairies,  danced 
on  the  green  by  summer  moonlight,  and  on  the 
kitchen  -  hearth  in  winter.  They  seem  to  accord 
with  the  nature  of  English  housekeeping  and  En- 
glish scenery.  I  always  have  them  in  mind,  when  I 
see  a  fine  old  English  mansion,  with  its  wide  hall 
and  spacious  kitchen ;  or  a  venerable  farm-house, 
in  which  there  is  so  much  fireside  comfort  and  good 
housewifery.  There  was  something  of  national 
character  in  their  love  of  order  and  cleanliness  ;  in 
the  vigilance  with  which  they  watched  over  the 
economy  of  the  kitchen,  and  the  functions  of  the 
servants ;  munificently  rewarding,  with  silver  six- 
pence in  shoe,  the  tidy  housemaid,  but  venting  iheir 
direful  wrath,  in  midnight  bobs  and  pinches,  upon 
the  sluttish  dairymaid.  I  think  I  can  trace  the  good 
effects  of  this  ancient  fairy  sway  over  household  con- 
cerns, in  the  care  that  prevails  to  the  present  day 
among  English  housemaids,  to  put  their  kitchens  in 
order  before  they  go  to  bed. 

I  have  said,  too,  that  these  fairy  superstitions  seemed 
to  me  to  accord  with  the  nature  of  English  scenery. 
They  suit  these  small  landscapes,  which  are  divided  by 
honeysuckled  hedges  into  sheltered  fields  and  mead- 
ows, where  the  grass  is  mingled  with  daisies,  butter- 
cups, and  harebells.  When  I  first  found  myself 
among  English  scenery,  I  was  continually  reminded 
of  the  sweet  pastoral  images  which  distinguish  their 
fairy  mythology  ;  and  when  for  the  first  time  a  circle 
in  the  grass  was  pointed  out  to  me  as  one  of  the 
rings  where  they  were  formerly  supposed  to  have 
held  their  moonlight  revels,  it  seemed  for  a  mometit 
as  if  fairy-land  were  no  longer  a  fable.  Brown,  in  his 
Britannia's  Pastorals,  gives  a  picture  of  the  kind  of 
scenery  to  which  I  allude  : 

** A  pleasant  tnead 

Where  fairies  oflen  did  their  measures  tread  ; 
Which  in  the  meadows  makes  such  circles  green, 
As  if  wiih  garlands  it  had  crowned  been. 
Wittiin  one  of  these  rounds  was  to  be  seen 
A  hillock  rise,  where  oft  the  fairy  queen 
At  twilight  sat." 

And  there  is  another  picture  of  the  same,  in  a  poem 
ascribed  to  Ben  Jonson. 

'*  By  wells  and  rills  in  meadows  green, 
\Vc  nightly  dance  our  heyday  guise, 

And  to  our  fairy  king  and  queen 

We  chant  our  moonlight  minstrelsies." 

Indeed,  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  older  British 
poets,  with  that  true  feeling  for  nature  which  dis- 
tinguishes them,  have  closely  adhered  to  the  simple 


512 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


and  familiar  imagery  which  they  found  in  these  pop- 
ular superstitions  ;  and  have  thus  given  to  their  fairy 
mythology  those  continual  allusions  to  the  farm- 
house and  the  dairy,  the  green  meadow  and  the 
fountain-head,  that  till  our  minds  with  the  delightful 
associations  of  rural  life.  It  is  curious  to  observe 
how  the  most  beautiful  fictions  have  their  origin 
among  the  rude  and  ignorant.  There  is  an  inde- 
scribable charm  about  the  illusions  with  which  chi- 
merical ignorance  once  clothed  every  subject.  These 
twihght  views  of  nature  are  often  more  captivating 
than  any  which  are  revealed  by  the  rays  of  enlight- 
ened philosophy.  The  most  accomplished  and  po- 
etical minds,  therefore,  have  been  fain  to  search  back 
into  these  accidental  conceptions  of  what  are  termed 
barbarous  ages,  and  to  draw  from  them  their  finest 
imagery  and  machinery.  If  we  look  through  our 
most  admired  poets,  we  shall  find  that  their  minds 
have  been  impregnated  by  these  popular  fancies,  and 
that  those  have  succeeded  best  who  have  adhered 
closest  to  the  simplicity  of  their  rustic  originals. 
Such  is  the  case  with  Shakspeare  in  his  Midsummer- 
Night's  Dream,  which  so  minutely  describes  the  em- 
ployments and  amusements  of  fairies,  and  embodies 
all  the  notions  concerning  them  which  were  current 
among  the  vulgar.  It  is  thus  that  poetry  in  England 
has  echoed  back  every  rustic  note,  softened  into  per- 
fect melody ;  it  is  thus  that  it  has  spread  its  channs 
over  every-day  life,  displacing  nothing,  taking  things 
as  it  found  them,  but  tinting  them  up  with  its  own 
magical  hues,  until  every  green  hill  and  fountain- 
head,  every  fresh  meadow,  nay,  every  humble  flower, 
is  full  of  song  and  story. 

I  am  dwelling  too  long,  perhaps,  upon  a  thread- 
bare subject ;  yet  it  brings  up  with  it  a  thousand  de- 
licious recollections  of  those  happy  days  of  child- 
hood, when  the  imperfect  knowledge  I  have  since 
obtained  had  not  yet  dav;iied  upon  my  mind,  and 
when  a  fairy  tale  was  true  history  to  me.  I  have 
often  been  so  transported  by  the  pleasure  of  these 
recollections,  as  almost  to  wish  that  I  had  been  born 
in  the  days  when  the  fictions  of  poetry  were  be- 
lieved. Even  now  I  cannot  look  upon  those  fanciful 
creations  of  ignorance  and  credulity,  without  a  lurk- 
ing regret  that  they  have  all  passed  away.  The  ex- 
perience of  my  early  days  tells  me,  that  they  were 
sources  of  exquisite  delight ;  and  I  sometimes  ques- 
tion whether  the  naturalist  who  can  dissect  the 
rtowers  of  the  field,  receives  half  the  pleasure  from 
contemplating  them,  that  he  did  who  considered 
them  the  abode  of  elves  and  fairies.  I  feel  convinced 
that  the  true  interests  and  solid  happiness  of  man 
are  promoted  by  the  advancement  of  truth  ;  yet  I 
cannot  but  mourn  over  the  pleasant  errors  which  it 
has  trampled  down  in  its  progress.  The  fauns  and 
sylphs,  the  household  sprite,  the  moonlight  revel, 
Oberon,  Queen  Mab,  and  the  delicious  realms  of 
fairy-land,  all  vanish  Ijefore  the  light  of  true  philos- 
ophy ;  but  who  does  not  sometimes  turn  with  dis- 
taste from  the  cold  realities  of  morning,  and  seek  to 
recall  the  sweet  visions  of  the  night  ? 


THE  CULPRIT. 


From  fire,  from  water,  and  all  things  amiss. 
Deliver  the  house  of  an  honest  justice. 

Tht  Widow. 

The  serenity  of  the  Hall  has  been  suddenly  in- 
terrupted by  a  very  important  occurrence.  In  the 
course  of  this  morning  a  possfi  of  villagers  was  seen 
trooping  up  the  avenue,  with  bovs  shouting  in  ad- 


vance. As  it  drew  near,  we  perceived  Ready-Money 
Jack  Tibbets  striding  along,  wielding  his  cudgel  in 
one  hand,  and  with  the  other  grasping  the  collar  of 
a  tall  fellow,  whom,  on  still  nearer  approach,  we  rec- 
ognised for  the  redoubtable  gipsy  hero.  Starlight 
Tom.  He  was  now,  however,  completely  cowed 
and  crestfallen,  and  his  courage  seemed  to  have 
quailed  in  the  iron  gripe  of  the  lion-hearted  Jack. 

The  whole  gang  of  gipsy  women  and  children 
came  draggling  in  the  rear ;  some  in  tears,  others 
making  a  violent  clamour  about  the  ears  of  old 
Ready-Money,  who,  however,  trudged  on  in  silence 
with  his  prey,  heeding  their  abuse  as  little  as  a  hawk 
that  has  pounced  upon  a  barn-door  hero  regards 
the  outcries  and  cacklings  of  his  whole  feathered 
seraglio. 

He  had  passed  through  the  village  on  his  way  to 
the  Hall,  and  of  course  had  made  a  great  sensation 
in  that  most  excitable  place,  where  ever}'  event  is  a 
matter  of  gaze  and  gossip.  The  report  flew  like 
wildfire,  that  Starlight  Tom  was  in  custody.  The 
ale-drinkers  forthwith  abandoned  the  tap-room ; 
Slingsby's  school  broke  loose,  and  master  and  boys 
swelled  the  tide  that  came  rolling  at  the  heels  of  old 
Ready-Money  and  his  captive. 

The  uproar  increased,  as  they  approached  the 
Hall;  it  aroused  the  whole  garrison  of  dogs,  and 
the  crew  of  hangers-on.  The  great  mastiff  barked 
from  the  dog-house  ;  the  staghound,  and  the  gray- 
hound,  and  the  spaniel,  issued  barking  from  the  hall- 
door,  and  my  Lady  Lillycraft's  little  dogs  ramped 
and  barked  from  the  parlour  window.  I  remarked, 
however,  that  the  gipsy  dogs  made  no  reply  to  all 
these  menaces  and  insults,  but  crept  close  to  the 
gang,  looking  round  with  a  guilty,  poaching  air,  and 
now  and  then  glancing  up  a  dubious  eye  to  their 
owners  ;  which  shows  that  the  moral  dignity,  even 
of  dogs,  may  be  ruined  by  bad  company  ! 

When  the  throng  reached  the  front  of  the  house, 
they  were  brought  to  a  halt  by  a  kind  of  ad\  anced 
guard,  composed  of  old  Christy,  the  gamekeeper,  and 
two  or  three  servants  of  the  house,  who  had  been 
brought  out  by  the  noise.  The  common  herd  of  the 
village  fell  back  with  respect ;  the  boys  were  driven 
back  by  Christy  and  his  compeers  ;  while  Ready- 
Money  Jack  maintained  his  ground  and  his  hold  of 
the  prisoner,  and  was  surrounded  by  the  tailor,  the 
schoolmaster,  and  several  other  dignitaries  of  the 
village,  and  by  the  clamorous  brood  of  gipsies,  who 
were  neither  to  be  silenced  nor  intimidated. 

By  this  time  the  whole  household  were  brought 
to  the  doors  and  windows,  and  the  Squire  to  the 
portal.  An  audience  was  demanded  by  Ready-Money 
Jack,  who  had  detected  the  prisoner  in  the  very  act 
of  sheep-stealing  on  his  domains,  and  had  borne  him 
off  to  be  examined  before  the  Squire,  who  is  in  the 
commission  of  the  peace. 

A  kind  of  tribunal  was  immediately  held  in  the 
servants'  hall,  a  large  chamber,  with  a  stone  floor, 
and  a  long  table  in  the  centre,  at  one  end  of  which, 
just  under  an  enormous  clock,  was  placed  the  Squire's 
chair  of  justice,  while  Master  Simon  took  his  place 
at  the  table  as  clerk  of  the  court.  An  attempt  had 
been  made  by  old  Christy  to  keep  out  the  gipsy  gang, 
but  in  vain,  and  they,  with  the  village  worthies,  and 
the  hoiisehold,  half  filled  the  hall.  The  old  house- 
keeper and  the  butler  were  in  a  panic  at  this  danger- 
ous irruption.  They  hurried  away  all  the  valuable 
things  and  portable  articles  that  were  at  hand,  and 
even  kept  a  dragon  watch  on  the  gipsies,  lest  they 
should  carry  off  the  house  clock,  or  the  deal  table. 

Old  Christy,  and  his  faithful  coadjutor  the  game- 
keeper, acted  as  constables  to  guard  the  prisoner, 
triumphing  in  having  at  last  got  this  terrible  offender 
in  their  clutches.     Indeed,  I  am  inclined  to  thmk  the 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


513 


old  man  bore  some  peevish  recollection  of  having 
been  handled  rather  roughly  by  the  gipsy,  in  the 
chance-medley  affair  of  May-day. 

Silence  was  now  commanded  by  Master  Simon  ; 
but  it  was  difficult  to  be  enforced,  in  such  a  motley 
assemblage.  There  was  a  continual  snarling  and 
yelping  of  dogs,  and,  as  fast  as  it  was  quelled  in  one 
corner,  it  broke  out  in  another.  The  poor  gipsy  curs, 
who,  like  errant  thieves,  could  not  hold  up  their 
heads  in  an  honest  house,  were  worried  and  insulted 
by  the  gentlemen  dogs  of  the  estabhshment,  without 
offering  to  make  resistance ;  the  very  curs  of  ray 
Lady  Lillycraft  bullied  them  with  impunity. 

The  examination  was  conducted  with  great  mild- 
ness and  indulgence  by  the  Squire,  partly  from  the 
kindness  of  his  nature,  and  partly,  I  suspect,  because 
his  heart  yearned  towards  the  culprit,  who  had  found 
great  favour  in  his  eyes,  as  I  have  already  observed, 
from  the  skill  he  had  at  various  times  displayed  in 
archery,  morris-dancing,  and  other  obsolete  accom- 
plishments. Proofs,  however,  were  too  strong. 
Ready-Money  Jack  told  his  story  in  a  straight-for- 
ward, independent  way,  nothing  daunted  by  the 
presence  in  which  he  found  himself.  He  had  suf- 
fered from  various  depredations  on  his  sheepfold  and 
poultry-yard,  and  had  at  length  kept  watch,  and 
caught  the  delinquent  in  the  very  act  of  making  off 
with  a  sheep  on  his  shoulders. 

Tibbets  was  repeatedly  interrupted,  in  the  course 
of  his  testimony,  by  the  culprit's  mother,  a  furious 
old  beldam.e,  with  an  insufferable  tongue,  and  who, 
in  fact,  was  several  times  kept,  with  some  difficulty, 
from  flying  at  him  tooth  and  nail.  The  wife,  too,  of 
the  prisoner,  whom  I  am  told  he  does  not  beat  above 
halt-a-dozea  times  a  week,  completely  interested  Lady 
Lillycraft  in  her  husband's  behalf,  by  her  tears  and 
supplications  ;  and  several  of  the  other  gipsy  women 
were  awa'Kening  strong  sympathy  among  the  young 
girls  and  maid-servants  in  the  back-ground.  The 
pretty,  black-eyed  gipsy  girl,  whom  I  have  mentioned 
on  a  lormcr  occasion  as  the  sibyl  that  read  the  for- 
tunes of  the  general,  endeavoured  to  wheedle  that 
doughty  warrior  into  their  interests,  and  even  made 
some  approaches  to  her  old  acquaintance.  Master 
Simon  ;  hut  was  repelled  by  the  latter  with  all  the 
dignity  of  office,  having  assumed  a  look  of  gravity 
and  importance  suitable  to  the  occasion. 

I  was  a  little  surprised,  at  first,  to  find  honest 
Slingsby,  the  schoolmaster,  rather  opposed  to  his 
old  crony  Tibbets,  and  coming  forward  as  a  kind  of 
advocate  for  the  accused.  It  seems  that  he  had 
taken  compassion  on  the  forlorn  fortunes  of  Starlight 
■fom,  and  had  been  trying  his  eloquence  in  his  favour 
trie  whole  way  from  the  village,  but  without  effect. 
During  the  examination  of  Ready-Money  Jack, 
Slingsby  had  stood  like  "dejected  Pity  at  his  side," 
seeking  eveiy  now  and  then,  by  a  soft  word,  to 
soothe  any  exacerbation  of  his  ire,  or  to  qualify  any 
harsh  expression.  He  now  ventured  to  make  a  few 
observations  to  the  Squire,  in  palliation  of  the  delin- 
quent's ofience ;  but  poor  Slingsby  spoke  more  from 
the  heart  than  the  head,  and  was  evidently  actuated 
merely  by  a  general  sympathy  for  every  poor  devil  in 
trouble,  and  a  liberal  toleration  for  all  kinds  of  vaga- 
bond existence. 

The  ladies,  too,  large  and  small,  with  the  kind- 
heartedness  of  the  sex,  were  zealous  on  the  side  of 
mercy,  and  interceded  strenuously  with  the  Squire ; 
insomuch  that  the  prisoner,  finding  himself  unex- 
pectedly surrounded  by  active  friends,  once  more 
reared  his  crest,  and  seemed  disposed,  for  a  time,  to 
put  on  the  air  of  injured  innocence.  The  Squire, 
however,  with  all  his  benevolence  of  heart,  and  his 
lurking  weakness  towards  the  prisoner,  was  too  con- 
scientious to  swerve  from  the  strict  path  of  justice. 
£3 


There  was  abundant  concurring  testimony  that  made 
the  proof  of  guilt  incontrovertible,  and  Starlight 
Tom's  mittimus  was  made  out  accordingiy. 

The  sympathy  of  the  ladies  was  now  greater  than 
ever;  they  even  made  some  attempts  to  mollify  the 
ire  of  Ready-Money  Jack  ;  but  that  sturdy  potentate 
had  been  too  much  incensed  by  the  repeated  incur- 
sions that  had  been  made  into  his  territories  by  the 
predatory  band  of  Starlight  Tom,  and  he  was  re- 
solved, he  said,  to  drive  the  "  varment  reptiles  "  out 
of  the  neighbourhood.  To  avoid  all  further  impor- 
tunities, as  soon  as  the  mittimus  was  made  out,  he 
girded  up  his  loins,  and  strode  back  to  his  seat  of 
empire,  accompanied  by  his  interceding  friend, 
Slingsby,  and  followed  by  a  detachment  of  the  gipsy 
gang,  who  hung  on  his  rear,  assailing  him  witfi 
mingled  prayers  and  execrations. 

The  question  now  was,  how  to  dispose  of  the 
prisoner — a  matter  of  great  moment  in  this  peaceful 
establishment,  where  so  formidable  a  character  as 
Starlight  Tom  was  like  a  hawk  entrapped  in  a  dove- 
cote. As  the  hubbitb  and  examination  had  occupied 
a  considerable  time,  it  was  too  late  in  the  day  to 
send  him  to  the  county  prison,  and  that  of  the  village 
was  sadly  out  of  repair,  from  long  want  of  occupa- 
tion. Old  Christy,  who  took  great  interest  in  the 
affair,  proposed  that  the  culprit  should  be  committed 
for  the  night  to  an  upper  loft  of  a  kind  of  tower  in 
one  of  the  outhouses,  where  he  and  the  gamekeeper 
would  mount  guard.  After  much  deliberation,  this 
measure  was  adopted  ;  the  premises  in  question  were 
examined  and  made  secure,  and  Christy  and  his 
trusty  ally,  the  one  armed  with  a  fowling-piece,  the 
other  with  an  ancient  blunderbuss,  turned  out  as 
sentries  to  keep  watch  over  this  donjon-keep. 

Such  is  the  momentous  affair  that  has  just  taken 
place,  and  it  is  an  event  of  too  great  moment  in  this 
quiet  little  world,  not  to  turn  it  completely  topsy- 
turvy. Labour  is  at  a  stand  :  the  house  has  been  a 
scene  of  confusion  the  whole  evening.  It  has  been 
beleagured  by  gipsy  women,  with  their  children  on 
their  backs,  wailing  and  lamenting ;  while  the  old 
virago  of  a  mother  has  cruised  up  and  down  the 
lawn  in  front,  shaking  her  head,  and  muttering  to 
herself,  or  now  and  then  breaking  into  a  paroxysm 
of  rage,  brandishing  her  fist  at  the  Hall,  and  de- 
nouncing ill-luck  upon  Ready-Money  Jack,  and  even 
upon  the  Squire  himself. 

Lady  Lillycraft  has  given  repeated  audiences  to 
the  culprit's  weeping  wife,  at  the  Hall  door  ;  and  the 
servant  maids  have  stolen  out,  to  confer  with  the 
gipsy  \#omen  under  the  trees.  As  to  the  little  ladies 
of  the  family,  they  are  all  outrageous  on  Ready-Money 
Jack,  whom  they  look  upon  in  the  light  of  a  tyran- 
nical giant  of  fairy  tale.  Phoebe  Wilkins,  contrary 
to  her  usual  nature,  is  the  only  one  that  is  pitiless  in 
the  affair.  She  thinks  Mr.  Tibbets  quite  in  the 
right ;  and  thinks  the  gipsies  deserve  to  be  punished 
severely,  for  meddling  with  the  sheep  of  the  Tib- 
be  ts's. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  females  of  the  family  evinced 
all  the  provident  kindness  of  the  sex,  ever  ready  to 
soothe  and  succour  the  distressed,  right  or  wrong. 
Lady  Lillycraft  has  had  a  mattress  taken  to  the  out- 
house, and  comforts  and  delicacies  of  all  kinds  have 
been  taken  to  the  prisoner;  even  the  little  girls  have 
sent  their  cakes  and  sweetmeats;  so  that.  I'll  war- 
rant, the  vagabond  has  never  fared  so  well  in  his  life 
before.  Old  Christy,  it  is  true,  looks  upon  every 
thing  with  a  wary  eye ;  struts  about  with  his  blun- 
derbuss with  the  air  of  a  veteran  campaigner,  and 
will  hardly  allow  himself  to  be  spoken  to.  "The  gipsy 
women  dare  not  come  within  gun-shot,  and  every 
tatterdemalion  of  a  boy  has  been  frightened  from  the 
park.     The  old  fellow  is  determined  to  lodge  Star- 


514 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


light  Tom  in  prison  with  his  own  hands  ;  and  hopes, 
he  says,  to  see  one  of  the  poaching  crew  made  an 
example  of. 

I  doubt,  after  all,  whether  the  worthy  Squire  is 
not  the  greatest  sufferer  in  the  whole  affair.  His 
honourable  sense  of  duty  obliges  him  to  be  rigid,  but 
the  overflowing  kindness  of  his  nature  makes  this  a 
grievous  trial  to  him. 

He  is  not  accustomed  to  have  such  demands  upon 
his  justice,  in  his  truly  patriarchal  domain  ;  and  it 
wounds  his  benevolent  spirit,  that  while  prosperity 
and  happiness  are  flowing  in  thus  bounteously  upon 
him,  he  should  have  to  inflict  misery  upon  a  fellow- 
being. 

He  has  been  troubled  and  cast  down  the  whole 
evening ;  took  leave  of  the  family,  on  going  to  bed, 
with  a  sigh,  instead  of  his  usual  hearty  and  affec- 
tionate tone  ;  and  will,  in  all  probability,  have  a  far 
more  sleepless  night  than  his  prisoner.  Indeed,  this 
unlucky  afiair  has  cast  a  damp  upon  the  whole 
household,  as  there  appears  to  be  an  universal 
opinion  that  the  unlucky  culprit  will  come  to  the 
gallows. 

Morning.  —  The  clouds  of  last  evening  are  all 
blown  over.  A  load  has  been  taken  from  the  Squire's 
heart,  and  every  face  is  once  more  in  smiles.  The 
gamekeeper  made  his  appearance  at  an  early  hour, 
completely  shamefaced  and  crestfallen.  Starlight 
Tom  had  made  his  escape  in  the  night ;  how  he  had 
got  out  of  the  loft,  no  one  could  tell :  the  Devil,  they 
think,  must  have  assisted  him.  Old  Christy  was  so 
mortified  that  he  would  not  show  his  face,  but  had 
shut  himself  up  in  his  stronghold  at  the  dog-kennel, 
and  would  not  be  spoken  with.  What  has  particu- 
larly relieved  the  Squire,  is,  that  there  is  very  little 
likelihood  of  the  culprit's  being  retaken,  having  gone 
off  on  one  of  the  old  gentleman's  best  hunters. 


FAMILY  MISFORTUNES. 


The  ni^ht  has  been  unruly ;  where  we  l.iy, 
The  chimneys  were  blown  down. 

Maciei/t. 

We  have  for  a  day  or  two  past  had  a  flaw  of  un- 
ruly weather,  which  has  intruded  itself  into  this  fair 
and  flowery  month,  and  for  a  time  has  quite  marred 
the  beauty  of  the  landscape.  Last  night,  the  storm 
attained  its  crisis  ;  the  rain  beat  in  torrentsfigainst 
the  casements,  and  the  wind  piped  and  blustered 
about  the  old  Hall  with  quite  a  wintry  vehemence. 
The  morning,  however,  dawned  clear  and  serene; 
the  face  of  the  heavens  seemed  as  if  newly  washed, 
and  the  sun  shone  with  a  brightness  that  was  un- 
dimmed  by  a  single  vapour.  Nothing  over-head 
gave  traces  of  the  recent  storm  ;  but  on  looking  from 
my  window,  I  beheld  sad  ravage  among  the  shrubs 
and  flowers  ;  the  garden-walks  had  formed  the  chan- 
nels for  little  torrents  ;  trees  were  lopped  of  their 
branches  ;  and  a  small  silver  stream  that  wound 
through  the  park,  and  ran  at  the  bottom  of  the  lawn, 
had  swelled  into  a  turbid  yellow  sheet  of  water. 

In  an  establishment  like  this,  where  the  mansion 
is  vast,  ancient,  and  somewhat  afflicted  with  the  in- 
firmities of  age,  and  where  there  are  numerous  and 
extensive  dependencies,  a  storm  is  an  event  of  a  very 
grave  nature,  and  brings  in  its  train  a  multiplicity  of 
cares  and  disasters. 

While  the  Squire  was  taking  his  breakfast  in  the 
great  hall,  he  was  continually  interrupted  by  some 
bearer  of  ill-tidings  from  some  part  or  other  of  his 
dom.ains ;  he  appeared  to  me  like  the  commander  of 


a  besieged  city,  after  some  grand  assault,  receiving 
at  his  headquarters  reports  of  damages  sustained  in 
the  various  quarters  of  the  place.  At  one  time  the 
housekeeper  brought  him  intelligence  of  a  chimney 
blown  down,  and  a  desperate  leak  sprung  in  the 
roof  over  the  picture  gallery,  which  threatened  to 
obliterate  a  whole  generation  of  his  ancestors.  Then 
the  steward  came  in  with  a  doleful  story  of  the  mis- 
chief done  in  the  woodlands ;  while  the  gamekeeper 
bemoaned  the  loss  of  one  of  his  finest  bucks,  whose 
bloated  carcass  was  seen  floating  along  the  svvoln 
current  of  the  river. 

When  the  Squire  issued  forth,  he  was  accosted, 
before  the  door,  by  the  old,  paralytic  gardener,  with 
a  face  full  of  trouble,  reporting,  as  I  supposed,  the 
devastation  of  his  flower-beds,  and  the  destruction 
of  his  wall-fruit.  I  remarked,  however,  that  his  in- 
telligence caused  a  peculiar  expression  of  concern, 
not  only  with  the  Squire  and  Master  Simon,  but  with 
the  fair  Julia  and  Lady  Lillycraft,  vv'ho  happened  to 
be  present.  From  a  few  words  which  reached  my 
ear,  I  found  there  was  some  tale  of  domestic  calam- 
ity in  the  case,  and  that  some  unfortunate  family  had 
been  rendered  houseless  by  the  storm.  Many  ejacu- 
lations of  pity  broke  from  the  ladies  ;  I  heard  the 
expressions  of  "  poor,  helpless  beings,"  and  "  un- 
fortunate little  creatures,"  several  times  repeated  ; 
to  which  the  old  gardener  replied  by  veiy  melan- 
choly shakes  of  the  head. 

I  felt  so  interested,  that  I  could  not  help  calling  to 
the  gardener,  as  he  was  retiring,  and  asking  what 
unfortunate  family  it  was  that  had  suffered  so  se- 
verely ?  The  old  man  touched  his  hat,  and  gazed 
at  me  for  an  instant,  as  if  hardly  comprehending  my 
question.  "  Family  !  "  replied  he,  "  there  be  no  fam- 
ily in  the  case,  your  honour ;  but  here  have  been  sad 
mischief  done  in  the  rookery  !  " 

I  had  noticed,  the  day  before,  that  the  high  and 
gusty  winds  which  prevailed  had  occasioned  great 
disquiet  among  these  airy  householders  ;  their  nests 
being  all  filled  with  young,  who  were  in  danger  of 
being  tilted  out  of  their  iree-rocked  cradles.  Indeed, 
the  old  birds  themselves  seemed  to  have  hard  work 
to  maintain  a  foothold ;  some  kept  hovering  and 
cawing  in  the  air  ;  or,  if  they  ventured  to  alight, 
they  had  to  hold  fast,  flap  their  wings,  and  spread 
their  tails,  and  thus  remain  see-sawing  on  the  top- 
most twigs. 

In  the  course  of  the  night,  however,  an  awful 
calamity  had  taken  place  in  this  most  sage  and 
politic  community.  There  was  a  great  tree,  the 
tallest  in  the  grove,  which  seemed  to  have  been  a 
kind  of  court-end  of  the  metropolis,  and  crowded 
with  the  residence  of  those  whom  Master  Simon 
considers  the  nobility  and  gentry.  A  decayed  limb 
of  this  tree  had  given  way  with  the  violence  of 
this  storm,  and  had  come  down  with  all  its  air- 
castles. 

One  should  be  well  aware  of  the  humours  of  the 
good  Squire  and  his  household,  to  understand  the 
general  concern  expressed  at  this  disaster.  It  was 
quite  a  public  calamity  in  this  rural  empire,  and  all 
seemed  to  feel  for  the  poor  rooks  as  for  fellow-citi- 
zens in  distress 

The  ground  had  been  strewed  with  the  callow- 
young,  which  were  now  cherished  in  the  aprons 
and  bosoms  of  the  maid-servants,  and  the  little 
ladies  of  the  family.  I  was  pleased  with  this  touch 
of  nature  ;  this  feminine  sympathy  in  the  sufferings 
of  the  offspring,  and  the  maternal  anxiety  of  the 
parent  birds. 

It  was  interesting,  too,  to  witness  the  general  agi- 
tation and  distress  that  seemed  to  prevail  through- 
out the  feathered  community ;  the  common  cause 
that  was  made  of  it ;  and  the  incessant  hovering 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


515 


md  fluttering,  and  lamenting,  that  tooI<  place  in  the 
whole  rookery.  There  is  a  cord  of  sympathy,  that 
runs  through  the  whole  feathered  race,  as  to  any 
misfortunes  of  the  young;  and  the  cries  of  a 
wounded  bird  in  the  breeding  season  will  throw  a 
whole  grove  in  a  flutter  and  an  alarm.  Indeed,  why 
should  I  confine  it  to  the  feathered  tribe  ?  Nature 
seems  to  me  to  have  implanted  an  exquisite  sympa- 
thy on  this  subject,  which  extends  through  all  her 
works.  It  is  an  invariable  attribute  of  the  female 
heart,  to  melt  at  the  cry  of  early  helplessness,  and 
to  take  an  instinctive  interest  in  the  distresses  of  the 
parent  and  its  young.  On  the  present  occasion,  the 
ladies  of  the  family  were  full  of  pity  and  commisera- 
tion ;  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  look  that  Lady 
Lillycraft  gave  the  general,  on  his  observing  that  the 
young  birds  would  make  an  excellent  curry,  or  an 
especial  good  rook-pie. 


LOVERS'  TROUBLES. 


The  poor  soul  sat  singin?  by  a  sycamore  tree. 

Sing  all  a  green  willow  ; 
Her  hand  on  her  bosom,  her  head  on  her  knee, 

Sing  willow,  willow,  wiUow  ; 
Sing  all  a  green  willow  must  be  my  garland. 

Old  Song. 

The  fair  Julia  having  nearly  recovered  from  the 
effects  of  her  hawking  disaster,  it  begins  to  be 
thought  high  time  to  appoint  a  day  for  the  wed- 
ding. As  every  domestic  event  in  a  venerable  and 
aristocratic  family  connexion  like  this  is  a  matter 
of  moment,  the  fixing  upon  this  important  day  has 
of  course  given  rise  to  much  conference  and  debate. 

Some  slight  ditticulties  and  demurs  have  lately 
sprung  up,  originating  in  the  peculiar  humours  that 
are  prevalent  at  the  Hall.  Thus,  I  have  overheard 
a  very  solemn  consultation  between  Lady  Lillycraft, 
the  parson,  and  Master  Simon,  as  to  whether  the 
marriage  ought  not  to  be  postponed  until  the  coming 
month. 

With  all  the  charms  of  the  flowery  month  of  May, 
there  is,  I  find,  an  ancient  prejudice  against  it  as  a 
marrying  month.  An  old  proverb  says,  "Towed 
in  May  is  to  wed  poverty."  Now,  as  Lady  Lillycraft 
is  very  much  given  to  believe  in  lucky  and  unlucky 
times  and  seasons,  and  indeed  is  very  superstitious 
on  all  points  relating  to  the  tender  passion,  this  old 
proverb  seems  to  have  taken  great  hold  upon  her 
mind.  .She  recollects  two  or  three  instances,  in 
her  own  knowledge,  of  matches  that  took  place  in 
this  month,  and  proved  very  unfortunate.  Indeed,- 
an  own  cousin  of  hers,  who  married  on  a  May- 
day, lost  her  husband  by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  after 
they  had  lived  happily  together  for  twenty  years. 

The  parson  appeared  to  give  great  weight  to  her 
ladyship's  objections,  and  acknowledged  the  exist- 
ence of  a  prejijdice  of  the  kind,  not  merely  confined 
to  modern  times,  but  prevalent  likewise  among  the 
ancients.  In  confirmation  of  this,  he  quoted  a  pas- 
sage from  Ovid,  which  had  a  great  effect  on  Lady 
Lillycraft,  being  given  in  a  language  which  she  did 
not  understand.  Even  Master  Simon  was  staggered 
by  it ;  for  he  listened  with  a  puzzled  air ;  and  then, 
shaking  his  head,  sagaciously  observed,  that  Ovid 
was  certainly  a  very  wise  man. 

From  this  sage  conference  I  likewise  gathered 
several  other  important  pieces  of  information,  rela- 
tive to  weddings ;  such  as  that,  if  two  were  celebra- 
ted in  the  same  church,  on  the  same  day,  the  first 
would  be  happy,  the  second  unfortunate.  If,  on  go- 
ing to   church,   the   bridal   party  should   meet  the 


funeral  of  a  female,  it  was  an  omen  that  the  bride 
would  die  first;  if  of  a  male,  the  bridegroom.  If  the 
newly-married  couple  were  to  dance  together  on 
their  wedding-day,  the  wife  would  thenceforth  rule 
the  roast ;  with  many  other  curious  and  unquestion- 
able facts  of  the  same  nature,  all  which  made  me 
ponder  more  than  ever  upon  the  perils  which  sur- 
round this  happy  state,  and  the  thoughtless  ignorance 
of  mortals  as  to  the  awful  risks  they  run  in  venturing 
upon  it.  I  abstain,  however,  from  enlarging  upon 
this  topic,  having  no  incUnation  to  promote  the  in- 
crease of  bachelors. 

Notwithstanding  the  due  weight  which  the  Squire 
gives  to  traditional  saws  and  ancient  opinions,  yet 
I  am  happy  to  find  that  he  makes  a  firm  stand  for 
the  credit  of  this  loving  month,  and  brings  to  his  aid 
a  whole  legion  of  poetical  authorities ;  all  which,  I 
presume,  have  been  conclusive  with  the  young  couple, 
as  I  understand  they  are  perfectly  willing  to  marry 
in  May,  and  abide  the  consequences.  In  a  few  days, 
therefore,  the  wedding  is  to  take  place,  and  the  Hall 
is  in  a  buzz  of  anticipation.  The  housekeeper  is 
bustling  about  from  morning  till  night,  with  a  look 
full  of  business  and  importance,  having  a  thousand 
arrangements  to  make,  the  Squire  intending  to  keep 
open  house  on  the  occasion  ;  and  as  to  the  house- 
maids, you  cannot  look  one  of  them  in  the  face,  but 
the  rogue  begins  to  colour  up  and  simper. 

While,  however,  this  leadirig  love  affair  is  going 
on  with  a  tranquillity  quite  inconsistent  with  the 
rules  of  romance,  I  cannot  say  that  the  under-])lots 
are  equally  propitious.  The  "  opening  bud  of  love  " 
between  the  general  and  Lady  Lillycraft  seems  to 
have -experienced  some  blight  in  the  course  of  this 
genial  season.  I  do  not  think  the  general  has  ever 
been  able  to  retrieve  the  ground  he  lost,  when  he 
fell  asleep  during  the  captain's  story.  Indeed, 
Master  Simon  thmks  his  case  is  completely  desper- 
ate, her  ladyship  having  determined  that  he  is  quite 
destitute  of  sentiment. 

The  season  has  been  equally  unpropitious  to  the 
lovelorn  Phoebe  Wilkins.  I  fear  the  reader  will  be 
impatient  at  having  this  humble  amour  so  often  al- 
luded to  ;  but  I  confess  I  am  apt  to  take  a  great 
interest  in  the  love  troubles  of  simple  girls  of  this 
class.  Few  people  have  an  idea  of  the  world  of  care 
and  perplexity  that  these  poor  damsels  have,  in  man- 
aging the  affairs  of  the  heart. 

We  talk  and  write  about  the  tender  passion  ;  we 
give  it  all  the  colourings  of  sentiment  and  romance, 
and  lay  the  scene  of  its  influence  in  high  life  ;  but, 
after  all,  I  doubt  whether  its  sway  is  not  more  abso- 
lute among  females  of  an  humbler  sphere.  How 
often,  could  we  but  look  into  the  heart,  should  we 
find  the  sentiment  throbbing  in  all  its  violence  in  the 
bosom  of  the  poor  lady's-maid,  rather  than  in  that 
of  the  brilliant  beauty  she  is  decking  out  for  con- 
quest ;  whose  brain  is  probably  bewildered  with 
beaux,  ball-rooms,  and  wax-light  chandeliers. 

With  these  humble  beings,  love  is  an  honest,  en- 
grossing concern.  They  have  no  ideas  of  settle- 
ments, establishments,  equipages,  and  pin-money. 
The  heart— the  heart,  is  all-in-all  with  them,  poor 
things  !  There  is  seldom  one  of  them  but  has  her 
love  cares,  and  love  secrets ;  her  doubts,  and  hopes, 
and  fears,  equal  to  those  of  any  heroine  of  romance, 
and  ten  times  as  sincere.  And  then,  too,  there  is 
her  secret  hoard  of  love  documents  ; — the  broken 
sixpence,  the  gilded  brooch,  the  lock  of  hair,  the  un- 
intelligible love  scrawl,  all  treasured  up  in  her  box 
of  Sunday  finery,  for  private  contemplation. 

How  many  crosses  and  trials  is  she  exposed  to 
from  some  lynx-eyed  dame,  or  staid  old  vestal  of  a 
mistress,  who  keeps  a  dragon  watch  over  her  virtue, 
and  scouts  the  lover  from  the  door !     But  then,  how 


iil6 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


sweet  are  the  little  love  scenes,  snatched  at  distant 
intervals  of  holiday,  and  fondly  dwelt  on  through 
many  a  long  day  of  household  labour  and  confine- 
ment I  If  in  the  country,  it  is  the  dance  at  the  fair 
or  wake,  the  interview  in  the  churchyard  after  ser- 
\ice,  or  the  evening  stroll  in  the  green  lane.  If  in 
town,  it  is  perhaps  merely  a  stolen  moment  of  deli- 
cious talk  between  the  bars  of  the  area,  fearful  every 
instant  of  being  seen  ;  and  then,  how  lightly  will 
the  simple  creature  carol  all  day  afterwards  at  her 
labour ! 

Poor  baggage  1  after  all  her  crosses  and  difficulties, 
when  she  marries,  what  is  it  but  to  exchange  a  life 
of  comparative  ease  and  comfort,  for  one  of  toil  and 
uncertainty .'  Perhaps,  too,  the  lover  for  whom  in 
the  fondness  of  her  nature  she  has  committed  her- 
self to  fortune's  freaks,  turns  out  a  worthless  churl, 
the  dissolute,  hard-hearted  husband  of  low  life  ;  who, 
taking  to  the  ale-house,  leaves  her  to  a  cheerless 
home,  to  labour,  penury,  and  child-bearing. 

When  I  see  poor  Phoebe  going  about  with  droop- 
ing eye,  and  her  head  hanging  "all  o'  one  side,"  I 
cannot  help  calling  to  mind  the  pathetic  little  picture 
drawn  by  Desdemona  : — 

My  mother  had  a  maid,  called  Barbara  ; 
She  was  in  love  ;  and  he  she  loved  proved  mad, 
And  did  forsake  her;  she  had  a  song  of  willow. 
An  old  thing  'twas  ;  but  it  express'd  her  fortune, 
And  she  died  singing  it. 

I  hope,  however,  that  a  better  lot  is  in  reserve  for 
Phoebe  Wilkins,  and  that  she  may  yet  "  rule  the 
roast,"  in  the  ancient  empire  of  the  Tibbets  !  She 
is  not  fit  to  battle  with  hard  hearts  or  hard  times. 
She  was,  I  am  told,  the  pet  of  her  poor  mother,  who 
was  proud  of  the  beauty  of  her  child,  and  brought 
her  up  more  tenderly  than  a  village  girl  ought  to  be  ; 
and  ever  since  she  has  been  left  an  orphan,  the  good 
ladies  at  the  Hall  have  completed  the  softening  and 
spoiling  of  her. 

I  have  recently  observed  her  holding  long  confer- 
ences in  the  church-yard,  and  up  and  down  one  of 
the  lanes  near  the  village,  with  Slingsby,  the  school- 
master. I  at  first  thought  the  pedagogue  might  be 
touched  with  the  tender  malady  so  prevalent  in  these 
parts  of  late;  but  I  did  him  injustice.  Honest 
Slingsby,  it  seems,  was  a  friend  and  crony  of  her 
late  father,  the  parish  clerk  ;  and  is  on  intimate  terms 
with  the  Tibbets  family.  Prompted,  therefore,  by 
his  good-will  towards  all  parties,  and  secretly  insti- 
gated, perhaps,  by  the  managing  dame  Tibbets,  he 
has  underiaken  to  talk  with  Phoebe  upon  the  subject. 
He  gives  her,  however,  but  little  encouragement. 
Slingsby  has  a  formidable  opinion  of  the  aristocrati- 
cal  feeling  of  old  Ready-Money,  and  thinks,  if 
Phoebe  were  even  to  make  the  matter  up  with  the 
son,  she  would  find  the  father  totally  hostile  to  the 
match.  The  poor  damsel,  therefore,  is  reduced  al- 
most to  despair ;  and  Slingsby,  who  is  too  good-nat- 
ured not  to  sympathize  in  her  distress,  has  advised 
her  to  give  up  all  thoughts  of  young  Jack,  and  has 
proposed  as  a  substitute  his  learned  coadjutor,  the 
prodigal  son.  He  has  even,  in  the  fullness  of  his 
heart,  offered  to  give  up  the  school-house  to  them  ; 
though  it  would  leave  him  once  more  adrift  in  the 
wide  world. 


THE  .HISTORIAN. 


Hermione,  Pray  yon  sit  by  us, 

And  tell's  a  tale. 

Mamttitts.  Merry  or  sad  shall't  be  ? 

Hermione.  As  merry  as  you  will. 

Mtintilius.        _  A  sad  tale's  best  for  winter. 

I  have  one  of  sprites  and  goblins. 

Hermione.  Let's  have  that,  sir. 

Winter  s  Tale. 

As  this  is  a  story-telling  age,  I  have  been  tempted 
occasionally  to  give  the  reader  one  of  the  many  tales 
that  are  served  up  with  supper  at  the  Hall.  I  might, 
indeed,  have  furnished  a  series  almost  equal  in  num- 
ber to  the  Arabian  Nights;  but  some  were  rather 
hackneyed  and  tedious;  others  I  did  not  feel  war- 
ranted in  betraying  into  print  ;  and  many  more  were 
of  the  old  general's  relating,  and  turned  principally 
upon  tiger-hunting,  elephant-riding,  and  Seringapa- 
tam  ;  enlivened  by  the  wonderful  deeds  of  Tippoo 
.Saib,  and  the  excellent  jokes  of  Major  Pendergast. 

I  had  all  along  maintained  a  quiet  post  at  a  corner 
of  the  table,  where  I  had  been  able  to  indulge  my 
humour  undisturbed :  listening  attentively  when 
the  story  was  very  good,  and  dozing  a  little  when  it 
was  rather  dull,  which  I  consider  the  perfection  of 
auditorship. 

I  was  roused  the  other  evening  from  a  slight  trance 
into  which  I  had  fallen  during  one  of  the  general's 
histories,  by  a  sudden  call  from  the  Squire  to  furnish 
some  entertainment  of  the  kind  in  my  turn.  Having 
been  so  profound  a  listener  to  others,  I  could  not  in 
conscience  refuse ;  but  neither  my  memory  nor  in- 
vention being  ready  to  answer  so  unexpected  a  de- 
mand, I  begged  leave  to  read  a  manuscript  tale  from 
the  pen  of  my  fellow-countryman,  the  late  Mr. 
Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  the  historian  of  New  York. 
As  this  ancient  chronicler  may  not  be  better  known 
to  my  readers  than  he  was  to  the  company  at  the 
Hall,  a  word  or  two  concerning  him  inay  not  be 
amiss,  before  proceeding  to  his  manuscript. 

Diedrich  Knickerbocker  was  a  native  of  New- 
York,  a  descendant  from  one  of  the  ancient  Dutch 
families  which  originally  settled  that  province,  and  re- 
mained there  after  it  was  taken  possession  of  by  the 
English  in  1664.  The  descendants  of  these  Dutch 
families  still  remain  in  villages  and  neighbourhoods  in 
various  parts  of  the  country,  retaining  with  singular 
obstinacy,  the  dresses,  manners,  and  even  language  of 
their  ancestors,  and  forming  a  ver)'  distinct  and  curi- 
ous feature  in  the  motley  population  of  the  State. 
In  a  hamlet  whose  spire  may  be  seen  from  New- 
York,  rising  from  above  the  brow  of  a  hill  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  Hudson,  many  of  the  old  folks, 
even  at  the  present  day,  speak  English  with  an  ac- 
cent, and  the  Dominie  preaches  in  Dutch  ;  and  so 
completely  is  the  hereditary  love  of  quiet  and  silence 
maintained,  that  in  one  of  these  drowsy  villages,  in 
the  middle  of  a  warm  summer's  day,  the  buzzing  of 
a  stout  blue-bottle  fiy  will  resound  from  one  end  of 
the  place  to  the  other. 

\Vith  the  laudable  hereditary  feeling  thus  kept  up 
among  these  worthy  people,  did  Mr.  Knickerbocker 
undertake  to  write  a  history  of  his  native  city, 
comprising  the  reign  of  its  three  Dutch  governors 
during  the  time  that  it  was  yet  under  the  domination 
of  the  Hogeninogens  of  Holland.  In  the  execution 
of  this  design,  the  little  Dutchman  has  displayed 
great  historical  research,  and  a  wonderful  conscious- 
ness of  the  dignity  of  his  subject.  His  work,  how- 
ever, has  been  so  little  understood,  as  to  be  pro- 
nounced a  mere  work  of  humour,  satirizing  the  fol- 
lies of  the  times,  both  in  politics  and  morals,  and 
gfiving  whimsical  views  of  human  nature. 

Be  this  as  it  may : — among  the  papers  left  behind 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


517 


him  were  several  tales  of  a  lighter  nature,  apparently 
thrown  together  from  materials  which  he  had  gath- 
erefl  during  his  profound  researches  for  liis  historj', 
and  which  he  seems  to  have  cast  by  with  neglect,  as 
unworthy  of  publication.  Some  of  these  have  fallen 
into  my  hands,  by  an  accident  which  it  is  needless 
at  present  to  mention  ;  and  one  of  these  very  stories, 
with  its  prelude  in  the  words  of  Mr.  Knickerbocker, 
I  undertook  to  read,  by  way  of  acquitting  myself  of 
the  debt  which  I  owed  to  the  other  story-tellers  at 
the  Hall.  I  subjoin  it,  for  such  of  my  readers  as  are 
fond  of  stories.* 


THE  HAUNTED  HOUSE. 

FROM  THE  MSS.  OF  THE  LATE  DIEDRICH 
KNICKERBOCKER. 


Formerly,  almost  every  place  had  a  house  of  this  kind.  If  a  house 
was  seated  on  some  melancholy  place,  or  built  in  some  old  roman- 
tic manner,  or  if  any  particular  accident  had  happened  in  it,  such 
as  murder,  sudden  death,  or  the  like,  to  be  sure  that  house  had  a 
mark  set  upon  it,  and  was  afterwards  esteemed  the  habitation  of  a 
ghost.  Bourne's /i«//^M/V/«. 

In  the  neighbourhood  of  the  ancient  city  of  the 
Manhattoes,  there  stood,  not  very  many  years  since, 
an  old  mansion,  which,  when  I  was  a  boy,  went  by 
the  name  of  the  Haunted  House.  It  was  one  of  the 
very  few  remains  of  the  architecture  of  the  early 
Dutch  settlers,  and  must  have  been  a  house  of  some 
consequence  at  the  time  when  it  was  built.  It  con- 
sisted of  a  centre  and  two  wings,  the  gable-ends  of 
which  were  shaped  like  stairs.  It  was  built  partly 
of  wood,  and  partly  of  small  Dutch  bricks,  such  as 
the  worthy  colonists  brought  with  them  from  Hol- 
land, befoj-e  they  discovered  that  bricks  could  be 
manufactured  elsewhere.  The  house  stood  remote 
from  the  road,  in  the  centre  of  a  large  field,  with  an 
avenue  of  old  locustt  trees  leading  up  to  it,  several  of 
which  had  been  shivered  by  lightning,  and  two  or 
three  blown  down.  A  few  apple-trees  grew  strag- 
gling about  the  field  ;  there  were  traces  also  of  what 
had  been  a  kitchen-garden ;  but  the  fences  were 
broken  down,  the  vegetables  had  disappeared,  or 
had  grown  wild,  and  turned  to  little  better  than 
weeds,  with  here  and  there  a  ragged  rose-bush,  or  a 
tall  sunflower  shooting  up  from  among  brambles, 
and  hanging  its  head  sorrowfully,  as  if  contemplat- 
ing the  surrounding  desolation.  Part  of  the  roof  of 
the  old  house  had  fallen  in,  the  windows  were  shat- 
tered, the  panels  of  the  doors  broken,  and  mended 
with  rough  boards  ;  and  there  were  two  rusty  weath- 
ercocks at  the  ends  of  the  house,  which  made  a  great 
jingling  and  whistling  as  they  whirled  about,  but  al- 
wa)'S  pointed  wrong.  The  appearance  of  the  whole 
place  was  forlorn  and  desolate,  at  the  best  of  times  ; 
but,  in  unruly  weather,  the  howling  of  the  wind  about 
the  crazy  old  mansion,  the  screeching  of  the  weath- 


•  I  find  that  the  tale  of  Rip  Van  Winkle,  given  in  the  Sketch- 
Book,  has  been  discovered  by  divers  writers  m  magazines  to  have 
been  founded  on  a  little  German  tradition,  and  the  matter  has 
been  revealed  to  the  world  as  if  it  were  a  foul  instance  of  plagiarism 
marvellously  brought  to  light.  In  a  note  which  follows  that  tale, 
I  had  alluded  to  the  superstition  on  which  it  was  founded,  and  I 
thouht  a  mere  allusion  was  sufficient,  as  the  tradition  was  so 
n->tohous  as  to  be  inserted  in  almost  every  collection  of  German 
legends.  I  had  seen  it  myself  in  three.  I  could  hardly  have  hoped, 
iherelore,  in  the  present  age,  when  every  source  of  ghost  and  gob- 
lin story  is  ransacked,  that  the  origin  of  the  tale  would  escape  dis- 
covery. In  fact,  I  had  considered  popular  traditions  of  the  kind 
SIS  fair  foundations  for  authors  of  fiction  to  build  upon,  and  made 
use  of  the  one  in  question  accordingly.  I  am  not  disposed  to  con- 
test the  matter,  however,  and  indeed  consider  myself  so  com- 
pletely overpaid  by  the  public  for  my  trivial  performances,  that  I 
am  content  to  submit  to  any  deduction,  which,  in  their  after- 
thoughts, they  may  think  proper  to  make. 

t  Acacias. 


ercocks,  the  slamming  and  banging  of  a  few  loose 
window-shutters,  had  altogether  so  wild  and  dreary 
an  effect,  that  the  neighbourhood  stood  perfectly  in 
awe  of, the  place,  and  pronounced  it  the  rendezvous 
of  hobgoblins.  I  recollect  the  old  building  well ;  for 
I  remember  how  many  times,  when  an  idle,  unlucky 
urchin,  I  have  prowled  round  its  precincts,  with  some 
of  my  graceless  companions,  on  holiday  afternoons, 
when  out  on  a  freebooting  cruise  amopg  the  or- 
chards. There  was  a  tree  standing  near  the  house, 
that  bore  the  most  beautiful  and  tempting  fruit ;  but 
then  it  was  on  enchanted  ground,  for  the  place  was 
so  charmed  by  frightful  stories  that  we  dreaded  to 
approach  it.  Sometimes  we  would  venture  in  a  body, 
and  get  near  the  Hesperian  tree,  keeping  an  eye  upon 
the  old  mansion,  and  darting  fearful  glances  into  its 
shattered  window  ;  when,  just  as  we  were  about  to 
seize  upon  our  prize,  an  exclamation  from  some  one 
of  the  gang,  or  an  accidental  noise,  would  throw  us 
all  into  a  panic,  and  we  would  scamper  headlong 
from  the  place,  nor  stop  until  we  had  got  quite  into 
the  road.  Then  there  were  sure  to  be  a  host  of  fear- 
ful anecdotes  told  of  strange  cries  and  groans,  or  of 
some  hideous  face  suddenly  seen  staring  out  of  one 
of  the  windows.  By  degrees  we  ceased  to  venture 
into  these  lonely  grounds,  but  would  stand  at  a  dis- 
tance and  throw  stones  at  the  building;  and  there 
was  something  fearfully  pleasing  in  the  sound,  as 
they  rattled  along  the  roof,  or  sometimes  struck  .some 
jingling  fragments  of  glass  out  of  the  windows. 

The  origin  of  this  house  was  lost  in  the  obscurity 
that  covers  the  early  period  of  the  province,  while 
under  the  government  of  their  high  mightinesses 
the  states-general.  Some  reported  it  to  have  been  a 
country  residence  of  Wilhelmus  Kieft,  commonly 
called  the  Testy,  one  of  the  Dutch  governors  of 
New-Amsterdam  ;  others  said  that  it  had  been  built 
by  a  naval  commander  who  served  under  Van 
Tromp,  and  who,  on  being  disappointed  of  prefer- 
ment, retired  from  the  service  in  disgust,  became  a 
philosopher  through  sheer  spite,  and  brought  over 
all  his  wealth  to  the  province,  that  he  might  live  ac- 
cording to  his  humour,  and  despise  the  world.  The 
reason  of  its  having  fallen  to  decay,  was  likewise  a  inat- 
ter  of  dispute  ;  some  said  that  it  was  in  chancery,  and 
had  already  cost  more  than  its  v\orth  in  legal  expenses; 
but  the  most  current,  and,  of  course,  the  most  prob- 
able account,  was  that  it  was  haunted,  and  that  no- 
body could  live  quietly  in  it.  There  can,  in  fact,  be 
very  little  doubt  that  this  last  was  the  case,  there 
were  so  many  corroborating  stories  to  prove  it, — not 
an  old  woman  in  the  neighbourhood  but  could  fur- 
nish at  least  a  score.  There  was  a  gray-headed  cur- 
mudgeon of  a  negro  that  lived  hard  by,  who  had  a 
whole  budget  of  them  to  tell,  many  of  which  had 
happened  to  himself.  I  recollect  many  a  time  stop- 
ping with  my  schoolmates,  and  getting  him  to  relate 
some.  The  old  crone  lived  in  a  hovel,  in  the  midst 
of  a  small  patch  of  potatoes  and  Indian  corn,  which 
his  master  had  given  him  on  setting  him  free.  He 
would  come  to  us,  with  his  hoe  in  his  hand,  and  as 
we  sat  perched,  like  a  row  of  swallows,  on  the  rail 
of  the  fence,  in  the  mellow  twilight  of  a  summer 
evening,  he  would  tell  us  such  fearful  stories,  accom- 
panied by  such  awful  rollings  of  his  white  eyes,  that 
we  were  almost  afraid  of  our  own  footsteps  as  we 
returned  home  afterwards  in  the  dark. 

Poor  old  Pompey!  many  years  are  past  since  he 
died,  and  went  to  keep  company  with  the  ghosts  he 
was  so  fond  of  talking  about.  He  was  buried  in  a 
corner  of  his  own  little  potato-patch ;  the  plow 
soon  passed  over  his  grave,  and  levelled  it  with  the 
rest  of  the  field,  and  nobody  thought  any  more  of 
the  gray-headed  negro.  By  a  singular  chance,  I  was 
strolling  in  that  neighbourhood  several  years  after 


518 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


wards,  when  I  had  grown  up  to  be  a  young'  man, 
and  I  found  a  knot  ol'  gossips  speculating  on  a  skull 
which  had  just  been  turned  up  by  a  plowshare. 
They  of  course  determined  it  to  be  the  remains  of 
some  one  that  had  been  murdered,  and  they  had 
raked  up  with  it  some  of  the  traditionary  tales  of  the 
haunted  house.  I  knew  it  at  once  to  be  the  relic  of 
poor  Pompey,  but  1  held  my  tongue ;  for  I  am  too 
considerate  of  other  people's  enjoyment,  ever  to  mar 
a  story  of  a  ghost  or  a  murder.  I  took  care,  how- 
ever, to  see  the  bones  of  my  old  friend  once  more 
buried  in  a  place  where  they  were  not  likely  to  be 
disturbed.  As  I  sat  on  the  turf  and  watched  the 
interment,  I  fell  into  a  long  conversation  with  an  old 
gentleman  of  the  neighbourhood,  John  Josse  Vander- 
moere,  a  pleasant  gossiping  man,  whose  whole  life 
was  spent  in  hearing  and  telling  the  news  of  the 
province.  He  recollected  old  Pompey,  and  his 
stories  about  the  Haunted  House ;  but  he  assured 
me  he  could  give  me  one  still  more  strange  than  any 
that  Pompey  had  related  :  and  on  my  expressing  a 
great  curiosity  to  hear  it,  he  sat  down  beside  me  on 
the  turf,  and  told  the  following  tale.  I  have  en- 
deavoured to  give  it  as  nearly  as  possible  in  his 
words ;  but  it  is  now  many  years  since,  and  I  am 
grown  old,  and  my  memory  is  not  over-good.  I 
cannot  therefore  vouch  for  the  language,  but  I  am 
always  scrupulous  as  to  facts.  D.  K. 


OOLPH  HEYLIGER. 


"I  take  the  town  of  Concord,  where  I  dwell, 
All  Kilborn  be  niy  witness,  if  I  were  not 
Begot  in  bashfulness,  brought  up  in  shamefaccdness  : 
Let  'un  bring  a  dog  but  to  my  vace  that  can 
Zay  I  have  beat  'un,  and  without  a  vault  ; 
Or  but  a  cat  will  swear  upon  a  book, 
I  have  as  much  as  zet  a  vire  her  tail. 
And  I'll  give  hiim  or  her  a  crown  for  'mends." 

Tale  of  a  Tub. 

In  the  early  time  of  the  province  of  New-York, 
while  it  groaned  under  the  tyranny  of  the  English 
governor.  Lord  Cornbury,  who  carried  his  cruelties 
towards  the  Dutch  inhabitants  so  far  as  to  allow  no 
Dominie,  or  schoolmaster,  to  officiate  in  their  lan- 
guage, without  his  special  license  ;  about  this  time, 
there  lived  in  the  jolly  little  old  city  of  the  Manhat- 
toes,  a  kind  motherly  dame,  known  by  the  name  of 
Uanie  Heyligcr.  She  was  the  widow  of  a  Dutch 
sea-captain,  who  died  suddenly  of  a  fever,  in  conse- 
quence of  working  too  hard,  and  eating  too  heartily, 
at  the  time  when  all  the  inhabitants  turned  out  in 
a  panic,  to  fortify  the  place  against  the  invasion  ot 
a  small  French  privateer.*  He  left  her  with  very 
little  money,  and  one  infant  son,  the  only  survivor 
of  several  children.  The  good  woman  had  need  of 
much  management,  to  make  both  ends  meet,  and 
keep  up  a  decent  appearance.  However,  as  her 
husband  had  fallen  a  victim  to  his  zeal  for  the 
public  safety,  it  was  universally  agreed  that  "  some- 
thing ought  to  be  done  for  the  widow ; "  and  on 
the  hopes  of  this  "  something "  she  lived  tolera- 
bly for  some  years ;  in  the  meantime,  every  body 
pitied  and  spoke  well  of  her  ;  and  that  helped  along. 

She  lived  in  a  small  house,  in  a  small  street,  called 
Garden-street,  very  probably  from  a  garden  which 
may  have  flourished  there  some  time  or  other.  As 
her  necessities  every  year  grew  greater,  and  the 
talk  of  the  public  about  doing  "  something  for  her  " 
grew  less,  she  had  to  cast  about  for  some  mode  of 
doing  something  for  herself,  by  way  of  helping  out 


her  slender  means,  and  maintaining  her  independ- 
ence, of  which  she  was  somewhat  tenacious. 

Living  in  a  mercantile  town,  she  had  caught  some- 
thing of  the  spirit,  and  determined  to  venture  a  little 
in  the  great  lottery  of  commerce.  On  a  sudden, 
therefore,  to  the  great  surprise  of  the  street,  there 
appeared  at  her  window  a  grand  array  of  ginger- 
bread kings  and  queens,  with  their  arms  stuck 
a-kimbo,  alter  the  invariable  royal  inanner.  There 
were  also  several  broken  tumblers,  some  filled  with 
sugar-plums,  some  with  marbles ;  there  were,  more- 
over, cakes  of  various  kinds,  and  barley  sugar,  and 
Holland  dolls,  and  wooden  horses,  with  here  and 
there  gilt-covered  picture-books,  and  now  and  then 
a  skein  of  thread,  or  a  dangling  pound  of  candles. 
At  the  door  of  the  house  sat  the  good  old  dame's 
cat,  a  decent  demure-looking  personage,  that  seem- 
ed to  scan  every  body  that  passed,  to  criticise  their 
dress,  and  now  and  then  to  stretch  her  neck,  and 
look  out  with  sudden  curiosity,  to  see  what  was 
going  on  at  the  other  end  of  the  street ;  but  if  by 
chance  any  idle  vagabond  dog  came  by,  and  offered 
to  be  uncivil — hoity-toity  ! — how  she  would  bristle 
up,  and  growl,  and  spit,  and  strike  out  her  paws  ! 
she  was  as  indignant  as  ever  was  an  ancient  and 
ugly  spinster,  on  the  approach  of  some  graceless 
profligate. 

But  though  the  good  woman  had  to  come  down 
to  those  humble  means  of  subsistence,  yet  she  still 
kept  up  a  feeling  of  family  pride,  having  descended 
from  the  Vanderspiegels,  of  Amsterdam  ;  and  she 
had  the  family  arms  painted  and  framed,  and  hung 
over  her  mantel-piece.  She  was,  in  truth,  much 
respected  by  all  the  poorer  people  of  the  place  ;  her 
house  was  quite  a  resort  of  the  old  wives  of  the 
neighbourhood ;  they  would  drop  in  there  of  a  win- 
ter's afternoon,  as  she  sat  knitting  on  one  side  of  her 
fire-place,  her  cat  purring  on  the  other,  and  the  tea- 
kettle singing  before  it  ;  and  they  would  gossip  with 
her  until  late  in  the  evening.  There  was  always  an 
arm-chair  for  Peter  de  Groodt,  sometimes  called 
Long  Peter,  and  sometimes  Peter  Longlegs,  the 
clerk  and  sexton  of  the  little  Lutheran  church,  who 
was  her  great  crony,  and  indeed  the  oracle  of  her 
fire-side.  Nay,  the  Dominie  himself  did  not  disdain, 
now  and  then,  to  step  in,  converse  about  the  state 
of  her  mind,  and  take  a  glass  of  her  special  good 
cherry-brandy.  Indeed,  he  never  failed  to  call  on 
new-year's  day,  and  wish  her  a  happy  new  year; 
and  the  good  dame,  who  was  a  little  vain  on  some 
points,  always  piqued  herself  on  giving  hira  as  large 
a  cake  as  any  one  in  town. 

I  have  said  that  she  had  one  son.  He  was  the 
ckild  of  her  old  age  ;  but  could  hardly  be  called  the 
comfort — for,  of  all  unlucky  urchins,  Dolph  Heyliger 
was  the  most  mischievous.  Not  that  the  whipster 
was  really  vicious  ;  he  was  only  full  of  fun  and  frolic, 
and  had  that  daring,  gamesome  spirit,  which  is  ex- 
tolled in  a  rich  man's  child,  but  execrated  in  a  poor 
man's.  He  was  continually  getting  into  scrapes  :  his 
mother  was  incessantly  harassed  with  complaints 
of  some  waggish  pranks  which  he  had  played  off; 
bills  were  sent  in  for  windows  that  he  had  broken  ; 
in  a  word,  he  had  not  reached  his  fourteenth  year 
before  he  was  jironounced,  by  all  the  neighbourhood, 
to  be  a  "  wicked  dog,  the  wickedest  dog  in  the 
street !  "  Nay,  one  old  gentleman,  in  a  claret-col- 
oured coat,  with  a  thin  red  face,  and  ferret  eyes, 
went  so  far  as  to  assure  dame  Heyliger,  that  her  son 
would,  one  day  or  other,  come  to  the  gallows  ! 

Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  the  poor  old  soul 
loved  her  boy.  It  seemed  as  though  she  loved  him 
the  better,  the  worse  he  behaved ;  and  that  he  grew 
more  in  her  favour,  the  more  he  grew  out  of  favour 
with  the  world.     Mothers  are  foolish,  fond-hearted 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


519 


beings ;  there's  no  reasoning  tliera  out  of  their  do- 
tage ;  and,  indeed,  this  poor  woman's  child  was  all 
that  was  left  to  love  her  in  this  world ; — so  we  must 
not  think  it  hard  that  she  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  her 
good  friends,  who  sought  to  prove  to  her  that  Dalph 
would  come  to  a  halter. 

To  do  the  varlet  justice,  too,  he  was  strongly  at- 
tached to  his  parent.  He  would  not  willingly  have 
given  her  pain  on  any  account ;  and  when  he  had 
been  doing  wrong,  it  was  but  for  him  to  catch  his 
poor  mother's  eye  fixed  wistfully  and  sorrowfully 
upon  him,  to  fill  his  heart  with  bitterness  and  contri- 
tion. But  he  was  a  heedless  youngster,  and  could 
not,  for  the  life  of  him,  resist  any  new  temptation  to 
fun  and  mischief.  Though  quick  at  his  learning, 
whenever  he  could  be  brought  to  apply  himself,  yet 
he  was  always  prone  to  be  led  away  byidle  company, 
and  would  play  truant  to  hunt  alter  birds'-nests,  to 
rob  orchards,  or  to  swim  in  the  Hudson. 

In  this  way  he  grew  up,  a  tall,  lubberly  boy ;  and 
his  mother  began  to  be  greatly  perplexed  what 
to  do  with  him,  or  how  to  put  him  in  a  way  to  do 
for  himself;  for  he  had  acquired  such  an  unlucky 
reputation,  that  no  one  seemed  willing  to  employ 
him. 

Many  were  the  consultations  that  she  held  with 
Peter  de  Groodt,  the  clerk  and  sexton,  who  was  her 
prime  counsellor.  Peter  was  as  much  perplexed  as 
herself,  for  he  had  no  great  opinion  of  the  boy,  and 
thought  he  would  never  come  to  good.  He  at  one 
time  advised  her  to  send  him  to  sea — a  piece  of  ad- 
vice only  given  in  the  most  desperate  cases  ;  but 
Dame  Heyliger  would  not  listen  to  such  an  idea ; 
she  could  not  think  of  letting  Dolph  go  out  of  her 
sight.  She  was  sitting  one  day  knitting  by  her  fire- 
side, in  great  perplexity,  when  the  sexton  entered 
with  an  air  of  unusual  vivacity  and  briskness.  He 
had  just  come  from  a  funeral.  It  had  been  that  of 
a  boy  of  Dolph's  years,  who  had  been  apprentice  to 
a  famous  German  doctor,  and  had  died  of  a  con- 
sumption. It  is  true,  there  had  been  a  whisper  that 
the  deceased  had  been  brought  to  his  end  by  being 
made  the  subject  of  the  doctor's  experiments,  on 
which  he  was  apt  to  try  the  effects  of  a  new  com- 
pound, or  a  quieting  draught.  This,  however,  it  is 
likely,  was  a  mere  scandal ;  at  any  rate,  Peter  de 
Groodt  did  not  think  it  worth  mentioning  ;  though, 
had  we  time  to  philosophize,  it  would  be  a  curious 
matter  for  speculation,  why  a  doctor's  family  is  apt 
to  be  so  lean  and  cadaverous,  and  a  butcher's  so 
jolly  and  rubicund. 

Peter  de  Groodt,  as  I  said  before,  entered  the 
house  of  Dame  Heyliger,  with  unusual  alacrity.  He 
was  full  of  a  bright  idea  that  had  popped  into  his 
head  at  the  funeral,  and  over  which  he  had  chuckled 
as  he  shovelled  the  earth  into  the  grave  of  the  doc- 
tor's disciple.  It  had  occurred  to  him,  that,  as  the 
situation  of  the  deceased  was  vacant  at  the  doctor's, 
it  would  be  the  very  place  for  Dolph.  The  boy  had 
parts,  and  could  pound  a  pestle  and  run  an  errand 
with  any  boy  in  the  town — and  what  more  was 
wanted  in  a  student  ? 

The  suggestion  of  the  sage  Peter  was  a  vision  of 
glor,'  to  the  mother.  She  already  saw  Dolph,  in  her 
mind's  eye,  with  a  cane  at  his  nose,  a  knocker  at  his 
door,  and  an  M.  D.  at  the  end  of  his  name — one  of 
the  established  dignitaries  of  the  town. 

The  matter,  once  undertaken,  was  soon  effected  ; 
the  sexton  had  some  influence  with  the  doctor,  they 
having  had  much  dealing  together  in  the  way  of 
their  separate  professions  ;  and  the  very  next  morn- 
ing he  called  and  conducted  the  urchin,  clad  in  his 
Sunday  clothes,  to  undergo  the  inspection  of  Dr. 
Karl  Lodovick  Knipperhausen. 

They  found  the  doctor  seated  in  an  elbow-chair, 


in  one  corner  of  his  study,  cr  laboratory,  with  a  large 
volume,  in  German  print,  before  him.  He  was  a 
short,  fat  man,  with  a  dark,  square  face,  rendered 
more  dark  by  a  black  velvet  cap.  He  had  a  little, 
nobbed  nose,  not  unlike  the  ace  of  spades,  with  a 
pair  of  spectacles  gleaming  on  each  side  of  his  dusky 
countenance,  like  a  couple  of  bow-windows. 

Dolph  felt  struck  with  awe,  on  entering  into  the 
presence  of  this  learned  man  ;  and  gazed  about  hitn 
with  boyish  wonder  at  the  furniture  of  this  chamber 
of  knowledge,  which  appeared  to  him  almost  as  the 
den  of  a  inagician.  In  the  centre  stood  a  claw-footed 
table,  with  pestle  and  mortar,  phials  and  gallipots, 
and  a  pair  of  small,  burnished  scales.  At  one  end 
was  a  heavy  clothes-press,  turned  into  a  receptacle 
for  drugs  and  compounds  ;  against  which  hung  the 
doctor's  hat  and  cloak,  and  gold-headed  cane,  and 
on  the  top  grinned  a  human  skull.  Along  the  mantel- 
piece v/ere  glass  vessels,  in  which  were  snakes  and 
lizards,  and  a  human  foetus  preserved  in  spirits.  A 
closet,  the  doors  of  which  were  taken  off,  contained 
three  whole  shelves  of  books,  and  some,  too,  of  mighty 
folio  dimensions — a  collection,  the  like  of  which  Dolph 
had  never  before  beheld.  As,  however,  the  library 
did  not  take  up  the  whole  of  the  closet,  the  doctor's 
thrifty  housekeeper  had  occupied  the  rest  with  pots 
of  pickles  and  preserves  ;  and  had  hung  about  the 
room,  among  awful  implements  of  the  healing  art, 
strings  of  red  pepper  and  corpulent  cucumbers,  care- 
fully preserved  for  seed. 

Peter  de  Groodt,  and  his  proteg^,  were  received 
with  great  gravity  and  stateliness  by  the  doctor,  who 
was  a  very  wise,  dignified  little  man,  and  never 
smiled.  He  surveyed  Dolph  from  head  to  foot,  above, 
and  under,  and  through  his  spectacles  ;  and  the  poor 
lad's  heart  quailed  as  these  great  glasses  glared  on 
him  like  two  full  moons.  The  doctor  heard  all  that 
Peter  de  Groodt  had  to  say  in  favour  of  the  youthful 
candidate ;  and  then,  wetting  his  thumb  with  the 
end  of  his  tongue,  he  began  deliberately  to  turn  over 
page  after  page  of  the  great  black  volume  before 
him.  At  length,  after  many  hums  and  haws,  and 
strokings  of  the  chin,  and  all  that  hesitation  and  de- 
liberation with  which  a  wise  man  proceeds  to  do 
what  he  intended  to  do  from  the  very  first,  the  doc- 
tor agreed  to  take  the  lad  as  a  disciple  ;  to  give  him 
bed,  board,  and  clothing,  and  to  instruct  him  in  the 
healing  art ;  in  return  for  which,  he  was  to  have  his 
services  until  his  twenty-first  year. 

Behold,  then,  our  hero,  all  at  once  transformed 
from  an  unlucky  urchin,  running  wild  about  the 
streets,  to  a  student  of  medicine,  diligently  pounding 
a  pestle,  under  the  auspices  of  the  learned  Doctor 
Karl  Lodovich  Knipperhausen.  It  was  a  happy 
transition  for  his  fond  old  mother.  She  was  delighted 
with  the  idea  of  her  boy's  being  brought  up  worthy 
of  his  ancestors;  and  anticipated  the  day  when  he 
would  be  able  to  hold  up  his  head  with  the  lawyer, 
that  lived  in  the  large  house  opposite;  or,  peradven- 
ture,  with  the  Dominie  himself. 

Doctor  Knipperhausen  was  a  native  of  the  Palati- 
nate of  Germany ;  from  whence,  in  company  with 
many  of  his  countrymen,  he  had  taken  refuge  in  En- 
gland, on  account  of  religious  persecution.  He  was 
one  of  nearly  three  thousand  Palatines,  who  came 
over  from  England  in  1 710,  under  the  protection  of 
Governor  Hunter.  Where  the  doctor  had  studied, 
how  he  had  acquired  his  medical  knowledge,  and 
where  he  had  received  his  diploma,  it  is  hard  at 
present  to  say,  for  nobody  knew  at  the  time  ;  yet  it 
is  certain  that  his  profound  skill  and  abstruse  knowl- 
edge were  the  talk  and  wonder  of  the  common 
people,  far  and  near. 

His  practice  was  totally  different  from  that  of  any 
other  physician ;  consisting  in  mysterious  compounds. 


620 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


known  only  to  himself,  in  the  preparing  and  ad- 
ministering of  which,  it  was  said,  he  always  consult- 
ed the  stars.  So  high  an  opinion  was  entertained  of 
his  skill,  particularly  by  the  German  and  Dutch  in- 
habitants, that  they  always  resorted  to  him  in  des- 
perate cases.  He  was  one  of  those  infallible  doctors, 
that  are  always  effecting  sudden  and  surprising  cures, 
when  the  patient  has  been  given  up  by  all  the  regular 
physicians  ;  unless,  as  is  shrewdly  observed,  the  case 
lias  been  left  too  long  before  it  was  put  into  their 
hands.  The  doctor's  library  was  the  talk  and  man'el 
of  the  neighbourhood,  I  might  almost  say  of  the  en- 
tire burgh.  The  good  people  looked  with  reverence 
at  a  man  that  had  read  three  whole  shelves  full  of 
books,  and  some  of  them,  too,  as  large  as  a  family 
Bible.  There  were  many  disputes  among  the  mem- 
bers of  the  httle  Lutheran  church,  as  to  which  was 
the  wisest  man,  the  doctor  or  the  Dominie.  Some 
of  his  admirers  even  went  so  far  as  to  say,  that  he 
knew  more  than  the  governor  himself — in  a  word,  it 
was  thought  that  there  was  no  end  to  his  knowledge  ! 

No  sooner  was  Dolph  received  into  the  doctor's 
family,  than  he  was  put  in  possession  of  the  lodging 
of  his  predecessor.  It  was  a  garret-room  of  a  steep- 
roofed  Dutch  house,  where  the  rain  patted  on  the 
shingles,  and  the  lightning  gleamed,  and  the  wind 
piped  through  the  crannies  in  stormy  weather ;  and 
where  whole  troops  of  hungry  rats,  like  Don  Cos- 
sacks, galloped  about  in  defiance  of  traps  and  rats- 
bane. 

He  was  soon  up  to  his  cars  in  medical  studies, 
being  employed,  morning,  noon,  and  night,  in  rolling 
pills,  filtering  tinctures,  or  pounding  the  pestle  and 
mortar,  in  one  corner  of  the  laboratory ;  while  the 
doctor  would  take  his  seat  in  another  corner,  when 
he  had  nothing  else  to  do,  or  expected  visitors,  and, 
arrayed  in  his  morning-gown  and  velvet  cap,  would 
pore  over  the  contents  of  some  folio  volume.  It  is 
true,  that  the  regular  thumping  of  Dolph's  pestle,  or, 
jjerhaps,  the  drowsy  buzzing  of  the  summer  flies, 
would  now  and  then  lull  the  little  man  into  a  slum- 
ber ;  but  then  his  spectacles  were  always  wide  awake, 
and  studiously  regarding  the  book. 

There  was  another  personage  in  the  house,  how- 
ever, to  whom  Dolph  was  obliged  to  pay  allegiance. 
Though  a  bachelor,  and  a  man  of  such  great  dignity 
and  importance,  yet  the  doctor  was,  like  many  other 
wise  men,  subject  to  petticoat  government.  He  was 
completely  under  the  sway  of  his  housekeeper;  a 
spare,  busy,  fretting  housewife,  in  a  little,  round, 
quilted,  German  cap,  with  a  huge  bunch  of  keys 
jingling  at  the  girdle  of  an  exceedingly  long  waist. 
Frau  Ils^  (or  Frow  Ilsy,  as  it  was  pronounced)  had 
accompanied  him  in  his  various  migrations  from 
Germany  to  England,  and  from  England  to  the 
province ;  managing  his  establishment  and  himself 
too  :  ruling  him,  it  is  true,  with  a  gentle  hand,  but 
carrying  a  high  hand  with  all  the  world  beside. 
How  she  had  acquired  such  ascendency,  1  do  not 
pretend  to  say.  People,  it  is  true,  did  talk — but  have 
not  people  been  prone  to  talk  ever  since  the  world 
began  ?  Who  can  tell  how  women  generally  con- 
trive to  get  the  upper  hand  ?  A  husband,  it  is  true, 
may  now  and  then  be  master  in  his  own  house ;  but 
who  ever  knew  a  bachelor  that  was  not  managed  by 
his  housekeeper  ? 

Indeed,  Frau  lisy's  power  was  not  confined  to  the 
doctor's  household.  She  was  one  of  those  prying 
gossips  that  know  every  one's  business  better  than 
they  do  themselves  ;  and  whose  all-seeing  eyes,  and 
all-telling  tongues,  are  terrors  throughout  a  neigh- 
bourhood. 

Nothing  of  any  moment  transpired  in  the  world 
of  scandal  of  this  little  burgh,  but  it  was  known  to 
Frau  Ilsy.     She  had  her  crew  of  cronies,  that  were 


perpetually  hurrying  to  her  little  parlour,  with  some 
precious  bit  of  news ;  nay,  she  would  sometimes 
discuss  a  whole  volume  of  secret  history,  as  she  held 
the  street-door  ajar,  and  gossiped  with  one  of  these 
garrulous  cronies  in  the  very  teeth  of  a  December 
blast. 

Between  the  doctor  and  the  housekeeper,  it  may 
easily  be  supposed  that  Dolph  had  a  busy  life  of  it. 
.'\s  Frau  Ilsy  kept  the  keys,  and  literally  ruled  the 
roast,  it  was  starvation  to  offend  her,  though  he 
found  the  study  of  her  temper  more  perplexing 
even  than  that  of  medicine.  When  not  busy  in  the 
laboratory,  she  kept  him  running  hither  and  thither 
on  her  errands  ;  and  on  Sundays  he  was  obliged  to 
accompany  her  to  and  from  church,  and  carry  her 
Bible.  Many  a  time  has  the  poor  varlet  stood 
shivering  and  blowing  his  fingers,  or  holding  his 
frost-bitten  nose,  in  the  church-yard,  while  Ilsy  and 
her  cronies  were  huddled  together,  wagging  their 
heads,  and  tearing  some  unlucky  character  to  pieces. 

With  all  his  advantages,  however,  Dolph  made 
very  slow  progress  in  his  art.  This  was  no  fault 
of  the  doctor's,  certainly,  for  he  took  unwearied 
pains  with  the  lad,  keeping  him  close  to  the  pestle 
and  mortar,  or  on  the  trot  about  town  with  phials 
and  pill-boxes  ;  and  if  he  ever  flagged  in  his  in- 
dustry, which  he  was  rather  apt  to  do.  the  doctor 
would  fly  into  a  passion,  and  ask  him  if  he  ever 
expected  to  learn  his  profession,  unless  he  applied 
himself  closer  to  the  study.  The  fact  is,  he  still  re- 
tained the  fondness  for  sport  and  mischief  that 
had  marked  his  childhood  ;  the  habit,  indeed,  had 
strengthened  with  his  years,  and  gained  force  from 
being  thwarted  and  constrained.  He  daily  grew 
more  and  more  untractable,  and  lost  favour  in  the 
eyes  both  of  the  doctor  and  the  housekeeper. 

In  the  meantime  the  doctor  went  on,  waxing 
wealthy  and  renowned.  He  was  famous  for  his 
skill  in  managing  cases  not  laid  down  in  the  books. 
He  had  cured  several  old  women  and  young  girls  of 
witchcraft ;  a  terrible  complaint,  nearly  as  prev- 
alent in  the  province  in  those  days  as  hydrophobia 
is  at  present.  He  had  even  restored  one  strapping 
country  girl  to  perfect  health,  who  had  gone  so 
far  as  to  vomit  crooked  pins  and  needles  ;  which  is 
considered  a  desperate  stage  of  the  malady.  It  was 
whispered,  also,  that  he  was  possessed  of  the  art 
of  preparing  love-powders ;  and  many  applications 
had  he  in  consequence  from  love-sick  patients  of 
both  sexes.  But  all  these  cases  formed  the  mys- 
terious part  of  his  practice,  in  which,  according  to 
the  cant  phrase,  "  secrecy  and  honour  might  be 
depended  on."  Dolph,  therefore,  was  obliged  to 
turn  out  of  the  study  whenever  such  consultations 
occurred,  though  it  is  said  he  learnt  more  of  the 
secrets  of  the  art  at  the  key-hole,  than  by  all  the  rest 
of  his  studies  put  together. 

As  the  doctor  increased  in  wealth,  he  began  to 
extend  his  possessions,  and  to  look  forward,  like 
other  great  men,  to  the  time  when  he  should  retire 
to  the  repose  of  a  country-seat.  For  this  purpose 
he  had  purchased  a  farm,  or,  as  the  Dutch  settlers 
called  it,  a  bowerie,  a  few  miles  from  town.  It  had 
been  the  residence  of  a  wealthy  family,  that  had 
returned  some  time  since  to  Holland.  A  large 
mansion-house  stood  in  the  centre  of  it,  very  much 
out  of  repair,  and  which,  in  consequence  of  certain 
reports,  had  received  the  appellation  of  the  Haunt- 
ed House.  Either  from  these  reports,  or  from  its 
actual  dreariness,  the  doctor  had  found  it  impos- 
sible to  get  a  tenant ;  and,  that  the  place  might 
not  fall  to  ruin  before  he  could  reside  in  it  himself, 
he  had  placed  a  country  boor,  with  his  family,  in 
one  wing,  with  the  privilege  of  cultivating  the  farm 
on  shares. 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


521 


r 


The  doctor  now  felt  all  the  dignity  of  a  land- 
holder rising  within  him.  He  had  a  little  of  the 
German  pride  of  territory  in  his  composition,  and 
almost  looked  upon  himself  as  owner  of  a  princi- 
pality. He  began  to  complain  of  the  fatigue  of 
business ;  and  was  fond  of  riding  out  "  to  look  at 
his  estate."  His  little  expeditions  to  his  lands  were 
attended  with  a  bustle  and  parade  that  created  a 
sensation  throughout  the  neighbourhood.  His  wall- 
eyed horse  stood,  stamping  and  whisking  off  the 
flies,  for  a  full  hour  before  the  house.  Then  the 
doctor's  saddle-bags  would  be  brought  out  and  ad- 
justed ;  then,  after  a  little  while,  his  cloak  would 
be  rolled  up  and  strapped  to  the  saddle ;  then  his 
umbrella  would  be  buckled  to  the  cloak  ;  while,  in 
the  meantime,  a  group  of  ragged  boys,  that  obser- 
vant class  of  beings,  would  gather  before  the  door. 
At  length,  the  doctor  would  issue  forth,  in  a  pair 
of  jack-boots  that  reached  above  his  knees,  and  a 
cocked  hat  flapped  down  in  front.  As  he  was  a 
short,  fat  man,  he  took  some  time  to  mount  into 
the  saddle ;  and  when  there,  he  took  some  time  to 
have  the  saddle  and  stirrups  properly  adjusted,  en- 
joying the  wonder  and  admiration  of  the  urchin 
crowd.  Even  after  he  had  set  off,  he  would  pause 
in  the  middle  of  the  street,  or  trot  back  two  or  three 
times  to  give  some  parting  orders  ;  which  were  an- 
swered by  the  housekeeper  from  the  door,  or  Dolph 
from  the  study,  or  the  black  cook  from  the  cellar,  or 
the  chambermaid  from  the  garret-window  ;  and  there 
were  generally  some  last  words  bawled  after  him, 
just  as  he  was  turning  the  corner. 

The  whole  neighbourhood  would  be  aroused  by 
this  pomp  and  circumstance.  The  cobbler  would 
leave  his  last ;  the  barber  would  thrust  out  his  frizzed 
head,  with  a  comb  sticking  in  it ;  a  knot  would  col- 
lect at  the  grocer's  door  ;  and  the  word  would  be 
buzzed  from  one  end  of  the  street  to  the  other, 
"  The  doctor's  riding  out  to  his  country-seat  ! " 

These  were  golden  moments  for  Dolph.  No 
sooner  was  the  doctor  out  of  sight,  than  pestle  and 
mortar  were  abandoned  ;  the  laboratory  was  left  to 
take  care  of  itself,  and  the  student  was  off  on  some 
madcap  frolic. 

Indeed,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  youngster,  as  he 
grew  up,  seemed  in  a  fair  way  to  fulfil  the  prediction 
of  the  old  claret-coloured  gentleman.  He  was  the 
ringleader  of  all  holiday  sports,  and  midnight  gam- 
bols ;  ready  for  all  kinds  of  mischievous  pranks,  and 
harebrained  adventures. 

There  is  nothing  so  troublesome  as  a  hero  on  a 
small  scale,  or,  rather,  a  hero  in  a  small  town.  Dolph 
soon  became  the  abhorrence  of  all  drowsy,  house- 
keeping old  citizens,  who  hated  noise,  and  had  no 
relish  for  waggery.  The  good  dames,  too,  considered 
him  as  little  better  than  a  reprobate,  gathered  their 
daughters  under  their  wings  whenever  he  ap- 
proached, and  pointed  him  out  as  a  warning  to  their 
sons.  No  one  seemed  to  hold  him  in  much  regard, 
excepting  the  wild  striplings  of  the  place,  who  were 
captivated  by  his  open-hearted,  daring  manners,  and 
the  negroes,  who  always  look  upon  every  idle,  do- 
nothing  youngster  as  a  kind  of  gendeman.  Even 
the  good  Peter  de  Groodt,  who  had  considered  him- 
self a  kind  of  patron  of  the  lad,  began  to  despair  of 
him ;  and  would  shake  his  head  dubiously,  as  he 
listened  to  a  long  complaint  from  the  housekeeper, 
and  simied  a  glass  of  her  raspberry  brandy. 

Still  nis  mother  was  not  to  be  wearied  out  of  her 
affection,  by  all  the  waywardness  of  her  boy ;  nor 
disheartened  by  the  stories  of  his  misdeeds,  with 
which  her  good  friends  were  continually  regaling 
her.  She  had,  it  is  true,  very  little  of  the  pleasure 
which  rich  people  enjoy,  in  always  hearing  their 
children  praised ;  but  she  considered  all  this  ill-will 


as  a  kind  of  persecution  which  he  suffered,  and  she 
liked  him  the  better  on  that  account.  She  saw  him 
growing  up,  a  fine,  tall,  good-looking  youngster,  anil 
she  looked  at  him  with  the  secret  pride  of  a  mother's 
heart.  It  was  her  great  desire  that  Dolph  should 
appear  like  a  gentleman,  and  all  the  money  she 
could  save  went  towards  helping  out  his  pocket  and 
his  wardrobe.  She  would  look  out  of  the  window 
after  him,  as  he  sallied  forth  in  his  best  array,  and 
her  heart  would  yearn  with  delight  ;  and  once,  when 
Peter  de  Groodt,  struck  with  the  youngster's  gallant 
appearance  on  a  bright  Sunday  morning,  observed, 
"  Well,  after  all,  Dolph  does  grow  a  comely  fellow  I  " 
the  tear  of  pride  started  into  the  mother's  eye:  "Ah, 
neighbour  !  neighbour  !  "  exclaimed  she,  "  they  may 
say  what  they  please  ;  poor  Dolph  will  yet  hold  up 
his  head  with  the  best  of  them." 

Dolph  Heyliger  had  now  nearly  attained  his  one- 
and-twentieth  year,  and  the  term  of  his  medical 
studies  was  just  expiring ;  yet  it  must  be  confessed 
that  he  knew  little  more  of  the  profession  than  when 
he  first  entered  the  doctor's  doors.  This,  however, 
could  not  be  from  want  of  quickness  of  parts,  for  he 
showed  amazing  aptness  in  mastering  other  branches 
of  knowledge,  which  ho  could  only  have  studied  at 
intervals.  He  was,  for  instance,  a  sure  marksman, 
and  won  all  the  geese  and  turkeys  at  Christmas  holi- 
days. He  was  a  bold  rider ;  he  was  famous  for  leap- 
ing and  wrestling;  he  played  tolerably  on  the  fiddle  ; 
could  swim  like  a  fish  ;  and  was  the  best  hand  in  the 
whole  place  at  fives  or  nine-pins. 

All  these  accomplishments,  however,  procured  him 
no  favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  doctor,  who  grew  more 
and  more  crabbed  and  intolerant,  the  nearer  the 
term  of  apprenticeship  approached.  Frau  llsy,  too, 
was  for  ever  finding  some  occasion  to  raise  a  windy 
tempest  about  his  ears ;  and  seldom  encountered 
him  about  the  house,  without  a  clatter  of  the  tongue  ; 
so  that  at  length  the  jingling  of  her  keys,  as  she  ai> 
proached,  was  to  Dolph  like  the  ringing  of  the 
prompter's  bell,  that  gives  notice  of  a  theatrical 
thunder-storm.  Nothing  but  the  infinite  good- 
humour  of  the  heedless  youngster,  enabled  him  to 
bear  all  this  domestic  tyranny  without  open  rebel- 
lion. It  vvas  evident  that  the  doctor  and  liis  house- 
keeper were  preparing  to  beat  the  poor  youth  out  of 
the  nest,  the  moment  his  term  should  have  expired  ; 
a  shorthand  mode  which  the  doctor  had  of  providing 
for  useless  disciples. 

Indeed,  the  little  man  had  been  rendered  more 
than  usually  irritable  lately,  in  consequence  of  va- 
rious cares  and  vexations  which  his  country  estate 
had  brought  upon  him.  The  doctor  had  been  re- 
peatedly annoyed  by  the  rumours  and  talcs  which 
prevailed  concerning  the  old  mansion  ;  and  found  it 
difficult  to  prevail  even  upon  the  countrj'man  and 
his  family  to  remain  there  rent-free.  Every  time  he 
rode  out  to  the  farm,  he  was  teased  by  soine  fresh 
complaint  of  strange  noises  and  fearful  sights,  with 
which  the  tenants  were  disturbed  at  night  ;  and  the 
doctor  would  come  home  fretting  and  fuming,  and 
vent  his  spleen  upon  the  whole  household.  It  was 
indeed  a  sore  grievance,  that  affected  him  both  in 
pride  and  purse.  He  was  threatened  with  an  abso- 
lute loss  of  the  profits  of  his  property ;  and  then, 
what  a  blow  to  his  territorial  consequence,  to  be  the 
landlord  of  a  haunted  house  ! 

It  was  observed,  however,  that  with  all  his  vexa- 
tion, the  doctor  never  proposed  to  sleep  in  the  house 
hitriself;  nay,  he  could  never  be  prevailed  upon  to 
remain  in  the  premises  after  dark,  but  made  the  best 
of  his  way  for  town,  as  soon  as  the  bats  began  to  flit 
about  in  the  twilight.  The  fact  was,  the  doctor  had 
a  secret  belief  in  ghosts,  having  passed  the  early 
'i  part  of  his  life  in  a  country  where  tbey  particularly 


522 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


abound  ;  and  indeed  the  stor)-  went,  that,  when  a 
boy,  he  had  once  seen  the  devil  upon  the  Hartz 
mountains  in  Germany. 

At  length,  the  doctor's  vexations  on  this  head 
were  brought  to  a  crisis.  One  morning,  as  he  sat 
dozing  over  a  volume  in  his  study,  he  was  suddenly 
started  from  his  slumbers  by  the  bustling  in  of  the 
housekeeper. 

"  Here's  a  fine  to  do!  "  cried  she,  as  she  entered 
the  room.  "  Here's  Claus  Hopper  come  in,  bag  and 
baggage,  from  the  farm,  and  swears  he'll  have  noth- 
ing more  to  do  with  it.  The  whole  family  have  been 
frightened  out  of  their  wits ;  for  there's  such  racket- 
ing and  rummaging  about  the  old  house,  that  they 
can't  sleep  quiet  in  their  beds !  " 

"  Uonner  und  blitzen  ! "  cried  the  doctor,  impa- 
tiently; "will  they  never  have  done  chattering  about 
that  house  ?  What  a  pack  of  fools,  to  let  a  few  rats 
and  mice  frighten  them  out  of  good  quarters  !  " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  the  housekeeper,  wagging  her 
head  knowingly,  and  piqued  at  having  a  good  ghost 
story  doubted,  "  there's  more  in  it  than  rats  and 
mice.  All  the  neighbourhood  talks  about  the  house; 
and  then  such  sights  have  been  seen  in  it  !  Peter  de 
Groodt  tells  me,  that  the  family  that  sold  you  the 
house  and  went  to  Holland,  dropped  several  strange 
hints  about  it,  and  said,  'they  wished  you  joy  of  your 
bargain  ; '  and  you  know  yourself  there's  no  getting 
any  family  to  live  in  it." 

"  Peter  de  Groodt's  a  ninny — an  old  woman,"  said 
the  doctor,  peevishly  ;  "  I'll  warrant  he's  been  filling 
these  people's  heads  full  of  stories.  It's  just  like  his 
nonsense  about  the  ghost  that  haunted  the  church 
belfry,  as  an  excuse  for  not  ringing  the  bell  that  cold 
night  when  Harmanus  Brinkerhoff's  house  was  on 
fire.     Send  Claus  to  me." 

Claus  Hopper  now  made  his  appearance  :  a  simple 
country  lout,  full  of  awe  at  finding  himself  in  the  very 
study  of  Dr.  Knipperhausen,  and  too  much  embar- 
rassed to  enter  into  much  detail  of  the  matters  that 
had  caused  his  alarm.  He  stood  twirling  his  hat  in 
one  hand,  resting  sometimes  on  one  leg,  sometimes 
on  the  other,  looking  occasionally  at  the  doctor,  and 
now  and  then  stealing  a  fearful  glance  at  the  death's- 
head  that  seemed  ogling  him  from  the  top  of  the 
clothes-press. 

The  doctor  tried  every  means  to  persuade  him  to 
return  to  the  farm,  but  all  in  vain  ;  he  maintained  a 
dogged  determination  on  the  subject ;  and  at  the 
close  of  every  argument  or  solicitation,  would  make 
the  same  brief,  inflexible  reply,  "  Ich  kan  nicht,  myn- 
heer." The  doctor  was  a  "  little  pot,  and  soon  hot;  " 
his  patience  was  exhausted  by  these  continual  vexa- 
tions about  his  estate.  The  stubborn  refiisal  of  Claus 
Hopper  seemed  to  him  like  flat  rebellion  ;  his  temper 
suddenly  boiled  over,  and  Claus  was  glad  to  make  a 
rapid  retreat  to  escape  scalding. 

When  the  bumpkin  got  to  the  housekeeper's  room, 
he  found  Peter  de  Groodt,  and  several  other  true  be- 
lievers, ready  to  receive  him.  Here  he  indemnified 
himself  for  the  restraint  he  had  suffered  in  the  study, 
and  opened  a  budget  of  stories  about  the  haunted 
house  that  astonished  all  his  hearers.  The  house- 
keeper believed  them  all,  if  it  was  only  to  spite  the 
doctor  for  having  received  her  intelligence  so  un- 
courteously.  Peter  de  Groodt  matched  them  with 
many  a  wonderful  legend  of  the  times  of  the  Dutch 
dynasty,  and  of  the  Devil's  Stepping-stones;  and  of 
the  pirate  that  was  hanged  at  Gibbet  Island,  and 
contmued  to  swing  there  at  night  long  after  the  gal- 
lows was  taken  down ;  and  of  the  ghost  of  the  un- 
fortunate Governor  Leisler,  who  was  hanged  for 
treason,  which  haunted  the  old  fort  and  the  govern- 
ment house.  The  gossiping  knot  dispersed,  each 
charged  with  direful  intelligence.    The  sexton  dis- 


burdened himself  at  a  vestry  meeting  that  was  held 
that  very  day,  and  the  black  cook  forsook  her  kitchen, 
and  spent  half  the  day  at  the  street  pump,  that  gos- 
siping place  of  servants,  dealing  forth  the  news  to 
all  that  came  for  water.  In  a  little  time,  the  whole 
town  was  in  a  buzz  with  tales  about  the  haunted 
house.  Some  said  that  Claus  Hopper  had  seen  the 
devil,  while  others  hinted  that  the  house  was  haunted 
by  the  ghosts  of  some  of  the  patients  whom  the  doc- 
tor liad  physicked  out  of  the  world,  and  that  was  the 
reason  why  he  did  not  venture  to  live  in  it  himself. 

All  this  put  the  little  doctor  in  a  terrible  fume. 
He  threatened  vengeance  on  any  one  who  should 
affect  the  value  of  his  property  by  exciting  popular 
prejudices.  He  complained  loudly  of  thus  being  in 
a  manner  dispossessed  of  his  territories  by  mere 
bugbears  ;  but  he  secretly  determined  to  have  the 
house  exorcised  by  the  Dominie.  Great  was  his  re- 
lief, therefore,  when,  in  the  midst  of  his  perplexities, 
Dolph  stepped  forward  and  undertook  to  garrisjn 
the  haunted  house.  The  youngster  had  been  listen- 
ing to  all  the  stories  of  Claus  Hopper  and  Peter  de 
Groodt :  he  was  fond  of  adventure,  he  loved  the 
marvellous,  and  his  imagination  had  become  quite 
excited  by  these  tales  of  wonder.  Besides,  he  had 
led  such  an  uncomfortable  life  at  the  doctor's,  being 
subjected  to  the  intolerable  thraldom  of  early  hours, 
that  he  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  having  a 
house  to  himself,  even  though  it  should  be  a  haunted 
one.  His  offer  was  eagerly  accepted,  and  it  was  de- 
terinined  that  he  should  mount  guard  that  very  night. 
His  only  stipulation  was,  that  the  enterprise  should 
be  kept  secret  from  his  mother  ;  for  he  knew  the 
poor  soul  would  not  sleep  a  wink,  if  she  knew  that 
her  son  was  waging  war  with  the  powers  of  darkness. 

When  night  came  on,  he  set  out  on  this  perilous 
expedition.  The  old  black  cook,  his  only  friend  in 
the  household,  had  provided  him  with  a  little  mess 
for  supper,  and  a  rushlight ;  and  she  tied  round  his 
neck  an  amulet,  given  her  by  an  African  conjuror, 
as  a  charm  against  evil  spirits.  Dolph  was  escorted 
on  his  way  by  the  doctor  and  Peter  de  Groodt,  who 
had  agreed  to  accompany  him  to  the  house,  and  to 
see  him  safe  lodged.  The  night  vvas  overcast,  and 
it  was  very  dark  when  they  arrived  at  the  grounds 
which  surrounded  the  mansion.  The  sexton  led  the 
way  with  a  lantern.  As  they  walked  along  the  ave- 
nue of  acacias,  the  fitful  light,  catching  from  bush  to 
bush,  and  tree  to  tree,  often  startled  the  doughty 
Peter,  and  made  him  fall  back  upon  his  followers  ; 
and  the  doctor  grabbled  still  closer  hold  of  Dolph's 
arm,  observing  that  the  ground  was  very  slippery 
and  uneven.  At  one  time  they  were  nearly  ]m\.  to  a 
total  rout  by  a  bat,  which  came  flitting  about  the 
lantern  ;  and  the  notes  of  the  insects  from  the  trees, 
and  the  frogs  from  a  neighbouring  pond,  formed  a 
most  drowsy  and  doleful  concert.    ■ 

The  front  door  of  the  mansion  opened  with  a  grat- 
ing sound,  that  made  the  doctor  turn  pale.  They 
entered  a  tolerably  large  hall,  such  as  is  common  in 
American  country-houses,  and  which  serves  for  a 
sitting-room  in  warm  weather.  From  hence  they 
went  up  a  wide  staircase,  that  groaned  and  creaked 
as  they  trod,  every  step  making  its  particular  note, 
like  the  key  of  a  harpsichord.  This  led  to  another 
hall  on  the  second  story,  from  whence  they  entered 
the  room  where  Dolph  was  to  sleep.  It  was  large, 
and  scantily  furnished;  the  shutters  were  closed; 
but  as  they  were  much  broken,  there  was  no  want 
of  a  circulation  of  air.  It  appeared  to  have  been  that 
sacred  chamber,  known  among  Dutch  housewives  by 
the  name  of  "  the  best  bed-room  ;  "  which  is  the  best 
furnished  room  in  the  house,  but  in  which  scarce  any 
body  is  ever  permitted  to  sleep.  Its  splendour,  how- 
ever, was  all  at  an  end.     There  were  a  few  broken 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


523 


articles  of  furniture  about  the  room,  and  in  the  cen- 
tre stood  a  heavy  deal  table  and  a  large  arm-chair, 
both  of  which  had  the  look  of  being-  coeval  with  the 
mansion.  The  fire-place  was  wide,  and  had  been 
faced  with  Dutch  tiles,  representing  scripture  stories  ; 
but  some  of  them  had  fallen  out  of  their  places,  and 
lay  shattered  about  the  hearth.  The  sexton  had  lit 
the  rushlight ;  and  the  doctor,  looking  fearfully  about 
the  room,  was  just  exhorting  Dolph  to  be  of  good 
cheer,  and  to  pluck  up  a  stout  heart,  when  a  noise  in 
the  chimney,  like  voices  and  struggling,  struck  a 
sudden  panic  into  the  sexton.  He  took  to  his  heels 
with  the  lantern ;  the  doctor  followed  hard  after 
him  ;  the  stairs  groaned  and  creaked  as  they  hurried 
down,  increasing  their  agitation  and  speed  by  its 
noises.  The  front  door  slammed  after  them  ;  and 
Dolph  heard  them  scrabbling  down  the  avenue,  till 
the  sound  of  their  feet  was  lost  in  the  distance.  That 
he  did  not  join  in  this  precipitate  retreat,  might  have 
been  owing  to  his  possessing  a  little  more  courage 
than  his  companions,  or  perhaps  that  he  had  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  cause  of  their  dismay,  in  a  nest  of 
chimney  swallows,  that  came  tumbling  down  into 
the  fire-place. 

Being  now  left  to  himself,  he  secured  the  front 
door  by  a  .strong  bolt  and  bar  ;  and  having  seen  that 
the  other  entrances  were  fastened,  he  returned  to  his 
desolate  chamber.  Having  made  his  supper  from 
the  basket  which  the  good  old  cook  had  provided, 
he  locked  the  chamber  door,  and  retired  to  rest  on  a 
mattress  in  one  corner.  The  night  was  calm  and 
still ;  and  nothing  broke  upon  the  profound  quiet 
but  the  lonely  chirping  of  a  cricket  from  the  chimney 
of  a  distant  chamber.  The  rushlight,  which  stood 
in  the  centre  of  the  deal  table,  shed  a  feeble  yellow 
ray,  dimly  illumining  the  chamber,  and  making  un- 
couth shapes  and  shadows  on  the  walls,  from  the 
clothes  which  Dolph  had  thrown  over  a  chair. 

With  all  his  boldness  of  heart,  there  was  some- 
thing subduing  in  this  desolate  scene ;  and  he  felt 
his  spirits  flag  within  him,  as  he  lay  on  his  hard  bed 
and  gazed  about  the  room.  He  was  turning  over  in 
his  mind  his  idle  habits,  his  doubtful  prospects,  and 
now  and  then  heaving  a  heavy  sigh,  as  he  thought 
on  his  poor  old  mother  ;  for  there  is  nothing  like  the 
silence  and  loneliness  of  night  to  bring  dark  shad- 
ows over  the  brightest  mind.  Ry-and-by,  he  thought 
he  heard  a  sound  as  if  some  one  was  walking  below 
stairs.  He  listened,  and  distinctly  heard  a  step  on 
the  great  staircase.  It  approached  solemnly  and 
slowly,  tramp — tramp — tramp  I  It  was  evidently  the 
tread  of  some  heavy  personage ;  and  yet  how  could 
he  have  got  into  the  house  without  making  a  noise .' 
He  had  examined  all  the  fastenings,  and  was  certain 
that  every  entrance  was  secure.  Still  the  steps  ad- 
vanced, trami) — tramp — tramp  !  It  was  evident  that 
the  person  approaching  could  not  be  a  robber — the 
step  was  too  loud  and  deliberate ;  a  robber  would 
either  be  stealthy  or  precipitate.  And  now  the  foot- 
steps had  ascended  the  staircase ;  they  were  slowly 
advancing  along  the  passage,  resounding  through 
the  silent  and  empty  apartments.  The  very  cricket 
had  ceased  its  melancholy  note,  and  nothing  inter- 
rupted their  awful  distinctness.  The  door,  which 
had  been  locked  on  the  inside,  slowly  swung  open, 
as  if  self-moved.  The  footsteps  entered  the  room  ; 
but  no  one  was  to  be  seen.  They  passed  slowly  and 
audibly^across  it,  tramp — tramp — tramp  !  but  what- 
ever made  the  sound  was  invisible.  Dolph  rubbed 
his  eyes,  and  stared  about  him  ;  he  could  see  to  ev- 
ery part  of  the  dimly-lighted  chamber ;  all  was  va- 
cant ;  yet  still  he  heard  those  mysterious  footsteps, 
solemnly  walking  about  the  chamber.  They  ceased, 
and  all  was  dead  silence.  There  was  something 
more  appalling  in  this  invisible  visitation,  than  there 


would  have  been  in  anything  that  addressed  itself  to 
the  eyesight.  It  was  awfully  vague  and  indefinite. 
He  felt  his  heart  beat  against  his  ribs ;  a  cold  sweat 
broke  out  upon  his  forehead  ;  he  lay  for  some  time 
in  a  state  of  violent  agitation  ;  nothing,  however, 
occurred  to  increase  his  alarm.  His  light  gradually 
burnt  down  into  the  socket,  and  he  fell  asleep. 
When  he  awoke  it  was  broad  daylight ;  the  sun  was 
peering  through  the  cracks  of  the  window-shutters, 
and  the  birds  were  merrily  singing  about  the  house. 
The  bright,  cheery  day  soon  put  to  flight  all  the 
terrors  of  the  preceding  night.  Dolph  laughed,  or 
rather  tried  to  laugh,  at  all  that  had  passed,  and 
endeavoured  to  persuade  himself  that  it  was  a  mere 
freak  of  the  imagination,  conjured  up  by  the  stories 
he  had  heard  ;  but  he  was  a  little  puzzled  to  find 
the  door  of  his  room  locked  on  the  inside,  notwith- 
standing that  he  had  positively  seen  it  swing- open 
as  the  footsteps  had  entered.  He  returned  to  town 
in  a  state  of  considerable  perplexity ;  but  he  de- 
termined to  say  nothing  on  the  subject,  until  his 
doubts  were  either  confirmed  or  removed  by  an- 
other night's  watching.  His  silence  was  a  grievous 
disappointment  to  the  gossips  who  had  gathered  at 
the  doctor's  mansion.  They  had  prepared  their 
minds  to  hear  direful  tales ;  and  they  were  almost 
in  a  rage  at  being  assured  that  he  had  nothing  to 
relate. 

The  next  night,  then,  Dolph  repeated  his  vigil. 
He  now  entered  the  house  with  some  trepidation. 
He  was  particular  in  examining  the  fastenings  of  all 
the  doors,  and  securing  them  well.  He  locked  the 
door  of  his  chamber,  and  placed  a  chair  against  it ; 
then,  having  despatched  his  supper,  he  threw  him- 
self on  his  mattress  and  endeavoured  to  sleep.  It 
was  all  in  vain — a  thousand  crowding  fancies  kept 
him  waking.  The  time  slowly  dragged  on,  as  if 
minutes  were  spinning  out  themselves  into  hours 
As  the  night  advanced,  he  grew  more  and  more 
nervous ;  and  he  almost  started  from  his  couch, 
when  he  heard  the  mysterious  footstep  again  on  the 
staircase.  Up  it  came,  as  before,  solemnly  and 
slowly,  tramp  —  tramp  —  tramp  !  It  approached 
along  the  passage  ;  the  door  again  swung  open,  as 
if  there  had  been  neither  lock  nor  impediment,  and 
a  strange-looking  figure  stalked  into  the  room.  It 
was  an  elderly  man,  large  and  robust,  clothed  in  the 
old  Flemish  fashion.  He  had  on  a  kind  of  short 
cloak,  with  a  garment  under  it,  belted  round  the 
v^-aist ;  trunk  hose,  with  great  bunches  or  bows  at 
the  knees ;  and  a  pair  of  russet  boots,  very  large  at 
top,  and  standing  widely  from  his  legs.  His  hat 
was  broad  and  slouched,  with  a  feather  trailing 
over  one  side.  His  iron-gray  hair  hung  in  thick 
masses  on  his  neck ;  and  he  had  a  short  grizzled 
beard.  He  walked  slowly  round  the  room,  as  if  ex- 
amining that  all  was  safe;  then,  hanging  his  hat  on 
a  peg  beside  the  door,  he  sat  down  in  the  elbow- 
chair,  and,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table,  he  fixed 
his  eyes  on  Dolph  with  an  unmoving  and  deadening 
stare. 

Dolph  was  not  naturally  a  coward  ;  but  he  had 
been  brought  up  in  an  implicit  belief  in  ghosts  and 
goblins.  A  thousand  stories  came  swarming  to  his 
mind,  that  he  had  heard  about  this  building  ;  and  as 
he  looked  at  this  strange  personage,  with  his  un- 
couth garb,  his  pale  visage,  his  grizzly  beard,  and  his 
fixed,  staring,  fish-hke  eye,  his  teeth  began  to  chat- 
ter, his  hair  to  rise  on  his  head,  and  a  cold  sweat  to 
break  out  all  over  his  body.  How  long  he  remained 
in  this  situation  he  could  not  tell,  for  he  was  like  one 
fascinated.  He  could  not  take  his  gaze  off  from  the 
spectre  ;  but  lay  staring  at  him  with  his  whole  intel- 
lect absorbed  in  the  contemplation.  The  old  man 
remained  seated  behind  the  table,  without  stirring. 


524 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


or  turning  an  eye,  always  keeping  a  dead  steady 
glare  upon  Dolph.  At  length  the  household  cock 
from  a  neighbouring  farm  clapped  his  wings,  and 
gave  a  loud  cheerful  crow  that  rung  over  the  fields. 
At  the  sound,  the  old  man  slowly  rose  and  took 
down  his  hat  from  the  peg ;  the  door  opened  and 
closed  after  him ;  he  was  heard  to  go  slowly  down 
the  staircase — tramp — tramp — tramp!  —  and  when 
he  had  got  to  the  bottom,  all  was  again  silent.  Dolph 
lay  and  listened  earnestly  ;  counted  every  footfall ; 
listened  and  listened  if  the  steps  should  return — un- 
til, exhausted  by  watching  and  agitation,  he  fell  into 
a  troubled  sleep. 

Daylight  again  brought  fresh  courage  and  assur- 
ance. He  would  fain  have  considered  all  that  had 
passed  as  a  mere  dream ;  yet  there  stood  the  chair 
in  which  the  unknown  had  seated  himself;  there 
was  the  table  on  which  he  had  leaned ;  there  was 
the  peg  on  which  he  had  hung  his  hat  ;  and  there 
was  the  door,  locked  precisely  as  he  himself  had 
locked  it,  with  the  chair  placed  against  it.  He  hast- 
ened down  stairs  and  examined  the  doors  and  win- 
dows;  all  were  exactly  in  the  same  state  in  which 
he  had  left  them,  and  there  was  no  apparent  way  by 
which  any  being  could  have  entered  and  left  the 
house  without  leaving  some  trace  behind.  "  Pooh  !  " 
said  Dolph  to  himself,  "  it  was  all  a  dream  ;" — but 
it  would  not  do  ;  the  more  he  endeavoured  to  shake 
the  scene  off  from  his  mind,  the  more  it  haunted 
him. 

Though  he  persisted  in  a  strict  silence  as  to  all 
that  he  had  seen  or  heard,  yet  his  looks  betrayed  the 
uncomfortable  night  that  he  had  passed.  It  was 
evident  that  there  was  something  wonderful  hidden 
under  this  mysterious  reserve.  The  doctor  took  him 
into  the  study,  locked  the  door,  and  sought  to  have 
a  full  and  confidential  communication ;  but  he  could 
get  nothing  out  of  him.  Frau  llsy  took  him  aside 
into  the  pantry,  but  to  as  little  purpose ;  and  Peter 
de  Groodt  held  him  by  the  button  for  a  full  hour  in 
the  church-yard,  the  very  place  to  get  at  the  bottom 
of  a  ghost  story,  but  came  off  not  a  whit  wiser  than 
the  rest.  It  is  always  the  case,  however,  that  one 
truth  concealed  makes  a  dozen  current  lies.  It  is 
like  a  guinea  locked  up  in  a  bank,  that  has  a  dozen 
paper  representatives.  Before  the  day  was  over,  the 
neighbourhood  was  full  of  reports.  Some  said  that 
Dolph  Heyliger  watched  in  the  haunted  house  with 
pistols  loaded  with  silver  bullets  ;  others,  that  he 
had  a  long  talk  with  the  spectre  without  a  head  ; 
others,  that  Doctor  Knipperhausen  and  the  sexton 
had  been  hunted  down  the  Bowery  lane,  and  quite 
into  town,  by  a  legion  of  ghosts  of  their  customers. 
Some  shook  their  heads,  and  thought  it  a  shame  that 
the  doctor  should  put  Dolph  to  pass  the  night  alone 
in  that  dismal  house,  where  he  might  be  spirited 
away,  no  one  knew  whither ;  while  others  observed, 
with  a  shrug,  that  if  the  devil  did  carry  off  the  young- 
ster, it  would  be  but  taking  his  own. 

These  rumours  at  length  reached  the  ears  of  the 
good  dame  Heyliger,  and,  as  may  be  supposed,  threw 
her  into  a  terrible  alarm.  For  her  son  to  have  op- 
posed himself  to  danger  from  living  foes,  would  have 
been  nothing  so  dreadful  in  her  eyes  as  to  dare  alone 
the  terrors  of  the  haunted  house.  She  hastened  to 
the  doctor's,  and  passed  a  great  part  of  the  day  in 
attempting  to  dissuade  Dolph  from  repeating  his 
vigil  ;  she  told  him  a  score  of  tales,  w-hich  her  gos- 
siping friends  had  just  related  to  her,  of  persons  who 
had  been  carried  off  when  watching  alone  in  old  ru- 
inous houses.  It  was  all  to  no  effect.  Dolph's  pride, 
as  well  as  curiosity,  was  piqued.  He  endeavoured 
to  calm  the  apprehensions  of  his  mother,  and  to  as- 
sure her  that  there  was  no  truth  in  all  the  rumours 
she  had  heard;  she  looked  at  him  dubiously,  and 


shook  her  head  ;  but  finding  his  determination  was 
not  to  be  shaken,  she  brought  him  a  little  thick 
Dutch  Bible,  with  brass  clasps,  to  take  with  him,  as 
a  sword  wherewith  to  fight  the  powers  of  darkness ; 
and,  lest  that  might  not  be  sufficient,  the  housekeeper 
gave  him  the  Heidelburgh  catechism  by  way  of 
dagger. 

The  next  night,  therefore,  Dolph  took  up  his  quar- 
ters for  the  third  time  in  the  old  mansion.  Whether 
dream  or  not,  the  same  thing  was  repeated.  To- 
wards midnight,  when  every  thing  was  still,  the 
same  sound  echoed  through  the  empty  halls- 
tramp — tramp — tramp  !  The  stairs  were  again  as- 
cended ;  the  door  again  swung  open  ;  the  old  man 
entered,  walked  round  the  room,  hung  up  his  hat, 
and  seated  himself  by  the  table.  The  same  fear  and 
trembling  came  over  poor  Dolph,  though  not  in  so 
violent  a  degree.  He  lay  in  the  same  way,  motion- 
less and  fascinated,  staring  at  the  figure,  which  re- 
garded him,  as  before,  with  a  dead,  fixed,  chilling 
gaze.  In  this  way  they  remained  for  a  long  time, 
till,  by  degrees,  Dolph's  courage  began  gradually  to 
revive.  Whether  alive  or  dead,  this  being  had  cer- 
tainly some  object  in  his  visitation  ;  and  he  recollect- 
ed to  have  heard  it  said,  that  spirits  have  no  power 
to  speak  until  they  are  spoken  to.  Summoning  up 
resolution,  therefore,  and  making  two  or  three  at- 
tempts before  he  could  get  his  parched  tongue  in 
motion,  he  addressed  the  unknown  in  the  most  sol- 
emn form  of  adjuration  that  he  could  recollect,  and 
demanded  to  know  what  was  the  motive  of  his  visit. 

No  sooner  had  he  finished,  than  the  old  man  rose, 
took  down  his  hat,  the  door  opened,  and  he  went 
out,  looking  back  upon  Dolph  just  as  he  crossed  the 
threshold,  as  if  expecting  him  to  follow.  The  young- 
ster did  not  hesitate  an  instant.  He  took  the  candle 
in  his  hand,  and  the  Bible  under  his  arm,  and  obeyed 
the  tacit  invitation.  The  candle  emitted  a  feeble,  un- 
certain ray  ;  but  still  he  could  see  the  figure  before 
him,  slowly  descend  the  stairs.  He  followed,  trem- 
bling. When  it  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs,  it  turned  through  the  hall  towards  the  back 
door  of  the  mansion.  Dolph  held  the  light  over  the 
balustrades ;  but,  in  his  eagerness  to  catch  a  sight 
of  the  unknown,  he  flared  his  feeble  taper  so  sud- 
denly, that  it  went  out.  Still  there  was  sufficient 
light  from  the  pale  moonbeams,  that  fell  through  a 
narrow  window,  to  give  him  an  indistinct  view  of 
the  figure,  near  the  door.  He  followed,  therefore, 
down  stairs,  and  turned  towards  the  place ;  but 
when  he  had  got  there,  the  unknown  had  disap- 
peared. The  door  remained  fast  barred  and  bolted  ; 
there  was  no  other  mode  of  exit;  yet  the  being, 
whatever  he  might  be,  was  gone.  He  unfastened 
the  door,  and  looked  out  into  the  fields.  It  was  a 
hazy,  moonlight  night,  so  that  the  eye  could  distin- 
guish objects  at  some  distance.  He  thought  he  saw 
the  unknown  in  a  footpath  that  led  from  the  door. 
He  was  not  mistaken ;  but  how  had  he  got  out  of 
the  house  ?  He  did  not  pause  to  think,  but  followed 
on.  The  old  man  proceeded  at  a  measured  pace, 
without  looking  about  him,  his  footsteps  sounding 
on  the  hard  ground.  He  passed  through  the  or- 
chard of  apple-trees  that  stood  near  the  house,  always 
keeping  the  footpath.  It  led  to  a  well,  situated  in  a 
little  hollow,  which  had  supplied  the  farm  with 
water.  Just  at  this  well,  Dolph  lost  sight  of  him. 
He  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  looked  again;  but  nothing 
was  to  be  seen  of  the  unknown.  He  reached  the 
well,  but  nobody  was  there.  All  the  surrounding 
ground  was  open  and  clear  ;  there  was  no  bush  nor 
hiding-place.  He  looked  down  the  well,  and  saw, 
at  a  great  depth,  the  reflection  of  the  sky  in  the  still 
water.  After  remaining  here  for  some  time,  without 
seeing  or  hearing  any  thing  more  of  his  mysterious 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


525 


conductor,  he  returned  to  the  house,  full  of  awe  and 
wonder.  He  bolted  the  door,  groped  his  way  back 
to  bed,  and  it  was  long  before  he  could  compose 
himself  to  sleep. 

His  dreams  were  strange  and  troubled.  He 
thought  he  was  following  the  old  man  along  the 
side  of  a  great  river,  until  they  came  to  a  vessel  that 
was  on  the  point  of  sailing;  and  that  his  conductor 
led  him  on  board  and  vanished.  He  remembered 
the  commander  of  the  vessel,  a  short  swarthy  man, 
with  crisped  black  hair,  blind  of  one  eye,  and  lame 
of  one  leg ;  but  the  rest  of  his  dream  was  very  con- 
fused. Sometimes  he  was  sailing ;  sometimes  on 
shore ;  now  amidst  storms  and  tempests,  and  now 
wandering  quietly  in  unknown  streets.  The  figure 
of  the  old  man  was  strangely  mingled  up  with  the 
incidents  of  the  dream  ;  and  the  whole  distinctly 
wound  up  by  his  finding  himself  on  board  of  the 
vessel  again,  returning  home,  with  a  great  bag  of 
money! 

When  he  woke,  the  gray,  cool  light  of  dawn  was 
streaking  the  horizon,  and  the  cocks  passing  the 
reveil  from  farm  to  farm  throughout  the  country. 
He  rose  more  harassed  and  perplexed  than  ever. 
He  was  singularly  confounded  by  all  that  he  had 
seen  and  dreamt,  and  began  to  doubt  whether  his 
mind  was  not  affected,  and  whether  all  that  was 
passing  in.  his  thoughts  might  not  be  mere  feverish 
fantasy.  In  his  present  state  of  mind,  he  did  not 
feel  disposed  to  return  immediately  to  the  doctor's, 
and  undergo  the  cross-questioning  of  the  household. 
He  made  a  scanty  breakfast,  therefore,  on  the  re- 
mains of  the  last  night's  provisions,  and  then  wan- 
dered out  into  the  fields  to  meditate  on  all  that  had 
befallen  him.  Lost  in  thought,  he  rambled  about, 
gradually  approaching  the  town,  until  the  morning 
was  far  advanced,  when  he  was  roused  by  a  hurry 
and  bustle  around  him.  He  found  himself  near  the 
water's  edge,  in  a  throng  of  people,  hurrying  to  a 
pier,  where  there  was  a  vessel  ready  to  make  sail. 
He  was  unconsciously  carried  along  by  the  im- 
pulse of  the  crowd,  and  found  that  it  was  a  sloop, 
on  the  point  of  sailing  up'  the  Hudson  to  Albany. 
There  was  much  leave-taking  and  kissing  of  old 
women  and  children,  and  great  activity  in  carrying 
on  board  baskets  of  bread  and  cakes,  and  provisions 
of  all  kinds,  notwithstanding  the  mighty  joints  of 
meat  that  dangled  over  the  stern  ;  for  a  voyage  to 
Albany  was  an  e.xpedition  of  great  moment  in  those 
days.  The  commander  of  the  sloop  was  hurrying 
about,  and  giving  a  world  of  orders,  which  were  not 
very  strictly  attended  to ;  one  man  being  busy  in 
lighting  his  pipe,  and  another  in  sharpening  his 
snicker-snee. 

The  appearance  of  the  commander  suddenly 
caught  Dolph's  attention.  He  was  short  and  swarthy, 
with  crisped  black  hair ;  blind  of  one  eye,  and  lame 
of  one  leg — the  very  commander  that  he  had  seen  in 
his  dream  !  Surprised  and  aroused,  he  considered  the 
scene  more  attentively,  and  recalled  still  further 
traces  of  his  dream :  the  appearance  of  the  vessel, 
of  the  river,  and  of  a  variety  of  other  objects,  ac- 
corded with  the  imperfect  images  vaguely  rising  to 
recollection. 

As  he  stood  musing  on  these  circumstances,  the 
captain  suddenly  called  out  to  him  in  Dutch,  "  Step 
on  board,  young  man,  or  you'll  be  left  behind  !  "  He 
was  st£irtled  by  the  summons  ;  he  saw  that  the  sloop 
was  cast  loose,  and  was  actually  moving  from  the 
pier ;  it  seemed  as  if  he  was  actuated  by  some  irre- 
sistible impulse ;  he  sprang  upon  the  deck,  and  the 
next  moment  the  sloop  was  hurried  off  by  the  wind 
and  tide.  Dolph's  thoughts  and  feelings  were  all  in 
tumult  and  confusion.  He  had  been  strongly  worked 
upon  by  the  events  that  had  recently  befallen  him, 


and  could  not  but  think  that  there  was  some  con- 
nexion between  his  present  situation  and  his  last 
night's  dream.  He  felt  as  if  he  was  under  supernat- 
ural influence;  and  he  tried  to  assure  liiniself  with 
an  old  and  favourite  maxim  of  his,  that  "  one  way 
or  other,  all  would  turn  out  for  the  best."  For  a 
moment,  the  indignation  of  the  doctor  at  his  de- 
parture without  leave,  passed  across  his  mind — but 
that  was  matter  of  little  moment.  Then  he  thought 
of  the  distress  of  his  mother  at  his  strange  disap- 
pearance, and  the  idea  gave  him  a  sudden  pang  ;  he 
would  have  entreated  to  be  put  on  shore  ;  but  he 
knew  with  such  wind  and  tide  the  entreaty  would 
have  been  in  vain.  Then,  the  inspiring  love  of  nov- 
elty and  adventure  came  rushing  in  full  tide  through 
his  bosom  ;  he  felt  himself  launched  strangely  and 
suddenly  on  the  world,  and  under  full  way  to  ex- 
plore the  regions  of  wonder  that  lay  up  this  mighty 
river,  and  beyond  those  blue  mountains  that  had 
bounded  his  horizon  since  childhood.  While  he  was 
lost  in  this  whirl  of  thought,  the  sails  strained  to  the 
breeze  ;  the  shores  seemed  to  hurry  away  behind 
him ;  and,  before  he  perfectly  recovered  his  self- 
possession,  the  sloop  was  ploughing  her  way  past 
Spiking-devil  and  Yonkers,  and  the  tallest  chminey 
of  the  Manhattoes  had  faded  from  his  sight. 

I  have  said,  that  a  voyage  up  the  Hudson  in  those 
days  was  an  undertaking  of  some  moment ;  indeed, 
it  was  as  much  thought  of  as  a  voyage  to  Europe  is 
at  present.  The  sloops  were  often  many  days  on 
the  way  ;  the  cautious  navigators  taking  in  sail  when 
it  blew  fresh,  and  coming  to  anchor  at  night  ;  and 
stopping  to  send  the  boat  ashore  for  milk  for  tea, 
without  which  it  was  impossible  for  the  worthy  old 
lady  passengers  to  subsist.  And  there  were  the 
much-talked-of  perils  of  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  the 
highlands.  In  short,  a  prudent  Dutch  burgher 
would  talk  of  such  a  voyage  for  months,  and  even 
years,  beforehand  ;  and  never  undertook  it  without 
putting  his  affairs  in  order,  making  his  will,  and  hav- 
ing prayers  said  for  him  in  the  Low  Dutch  churches. 

In  the  course  of  such  a  voyage,  therefore,  Dolph 
was  satisfied  he  would  have  time  enough  to  relloct, 
and  to  make  up  his  mind  as  to  what  he  should  do 
when  he  arrived  at  Albany.  The  captain,  with  his 
blind  eye  and  lame  leg,  would,  it  is  true,  bring  his 
strange  dream  to  mind,  and  perplex  him  sadly  for  a 
few  moments;  but,  of  late,  his  life  had  been  made 
up  so  much  of  dreams  and  realities,  his  nights  and 
days  had  been  so  jumbled  together,  that  he  seemed 
to  be  moving  continually  in  a  delusion.  There  is 
always,  however,  a  kind  of  vagabond  consolation  in 
a  man's  having  nothing  in  this  world  to  lose  ;  with 
this  Dolph  comforted  his  heart,  and  determined  to 
make  the  most  of  the  present  enjoyment. 

In  the  second  day  of  the  voyage  they  came  to  the 
highlands.  It  was  the  latter  part  of  a  calm,  sultry 
day,  that  they  floated  gently  with  the  tide  between 
these  stern  mountains.  There  was  that  perfect 
quiet  which  prevails  over  nature  in  the  languor  of 
summer  heat ;  the  turning  of  a  plank,  or  the  acci- 
dental falling  of  an  oar  on  deck,  was  echoed  from 
the  mountain  side  and  reverberated  along  the  shores ; 
and  if  by  chance  the  captain  gave  a  shout  of  com- 
mand, there  were  airy  tongues  that  mocked  it  from 
every  cliff. 

Dolph  gazed  about  him  in  mute  delight  and  won- 
der, at  these  scenes  of  nature's  magnificence.  To 
the  left  the  Dunderberg  reared  its  woody  precipices, 
height  over  height,  forest  over  forest,  away  into  the 
deep  summer  sky.  To  the  right  strutted  forth  the 
bold  promontory  of  Anthony's  Nose,  with  a  solitary 
eagle  wheeling  about  it ;  while  beyond,  mountain 
succeeded  to  mountain,  until  they  seemed  to  lock 
their  arms  together,  and  confine  this  mighty  river  in 


52G 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


their  embraces.  There  was  a  feeling  of  quiet  luxury 
in  gazing-  at  the  broati,  green  bosoms  here  and  there 
scooped  out  among  the  precipices ;  or  at  woodlands 
high  in  air,  nodding  over  the  edge  of  some  beet- 
ling blufit,  and  their  foliage  all  transparent  in  the 
yellow  sunshine. 

In  the  midst  of  his  admiration,  Dolph  remarked  a 
pile  of  bright,  snowy  clouds  peering  above  the  west- 
ern heights.  It  was  succeeded  by  another,  and 
another,  each  seemingly  pushing  onwards  its  prede- 
cessor, and  towering,  with  dazzling  brilliancy,  in  the 
deep-blue  atmosphere  :  and  now  muttering  peals  of 
thunder  were  famtly  heard  rolling  behind  the  mount- 
ains. The  river,  hitherto  still  and  glassy,  reflecting 
pictures  of  the  sky  and  land,  now  showed  a  dark 
ripple  at  a  distance,  as  the  breeze  came  creeping  up 
it.  The  fish-hawks  wheeled  and  screamed,  and 
sought  their  nests  on  the  high  dry  treps  ;  the  crows 
flew  clamorously  to  the  crevices  of  the  rocks,  and 
all  nature  seemed  conscious  of  the  approaching 
thunder-gust. 

The  clouds  now  rolled  in  volumes  over  the  mount- 
ain tops ;  their  summits  still  bright  and  snowy,  but 
the  lower  parts  of  an  inky  blackness.  The  rain  be- 
gan to  patter  down  in  broad  and  scattered  drops  ; 
the  wind  freshened,  and  curled  up  the  waves ;  at 
length  it  seemed  as  it  the  bellying  clouds  were  torn 
open  by  the  mountain  tops,  and  complete  torrents 
of  rain  came  rattling  down.  The  lightning  leaped 
fron".  cloud  to  cloud,  and  streamed  quivering  against 
the  rocks,  splitting  and  rending  the  stoutest  forest 
trees.  The  thunder  burst  in  tremendous  explosions  ; 
the  peals  were  echoed  from  inountain  to  mountain  ; 
they  crashed  upon  Dunderberg,  and  rolled  up  the 
long  defile  of  the  highlands,  each  headland  making 
a  new  echo,  until  old  Bull  hill  seemed  to  bellow  back 
the  storm. 

For  a  time  the  scudding  rack  and  mist,  and  the 
sheeted  rain,  almost  hid  the  landscape  from  the 
sight.  There  was  a  fearful  gloom,  illumined  still 
more  fearfully  by  the  streams  of  lightning  which 
glittered  among  the  rain-drops.  Never  had  Uolph 
beheld  such  an  absolute  warring  of  the  elements  :  it 
seemed  as  if  the  storm  was  tearing  and  rending  its 
way  through  this  mountain  defile,  and  had  brought 
all  the  artillery  of  heaven  into  action. 

The  vessel  was  hurried  on  by  the  increasing  wind, 
until  she  came  to  where  the  river  makes  a  sudden 
bend,  the  only  one  in  the  whole  course  of  its  majes- 
tic career.*  Just  as  they  turned  the  point,  a  violent 
flaw  of  wind  came  sweeping  down  a  mountain  gully, 
bending  the  forest  before  it,  and,  in  a  moment,  lash- 
ing up  the  river  into  white  froth  and  foam.  The 
captain  s^aw  the  danger,  and  cried  out  to  lower  the 
sail.  Before  the  order  could  be  obeyed,  the  flaw- 
struck  the  sloop,  and  threw  her  on  her  beam-ends. 
Every  thing  was  now  fright  and  confusion  :  the  flap- 
ping of  the  sails,  the  whistling  and  rushing  of  the 
wind,  the  bawling  of  the  captain  and  crew,  the 
shrieking  of  the  passengers,  all  mingled  with  the 
rolling  and  bellowing  of  the  thunder.  In  the  midst 
of  the  uproar,  the  sloop  righted  ;  at  the  same  tiine 
the  mainsail  shifted,  the  boom  came  sweeping  the 
quarter-deck,  and  Dolph,  who  was  gazing  unguard- 
edly at  the  clouds,  lound  himself,  in  a  moment, 
floundering  in  the  river. 

For  once  in  his  life,  one  of  his  idle  accomplish- 
ments was  of  use  to  him.  The  many  truant  hours 
which  he  had  devoted  to  sporting  in  the  Hud- 
son, had  inade  him  an  expert  swimmer ;  yet,  with 
all  his  strength  and  skill,  he  found  great  difficulty  in 
reaching  the  shore.  His  disappearance  from  the 
deck  had  not  been  noticed  by  the  crew,  who  were 


*  This  must  have  been  the  bend  at  West-Point. 


all  occupied  by  their  own  danger.  The  sloop  was 
driven  along  with  inconceivable  rapidity.  She  had 
hard  work  to  weather  a  long  promontory  on  the 
eastern  shore,  round  which  the  river  turned,  and 
which  completely  shut  her  from  Dolph's  view. 

It  was  on  a  point  of  the  western  shore  that  he 
landed,  and,  scrambling  up  the  rocks,  he  threw  him- 
self, faint  and  exhausted,  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  By 
degrees,  the  thunder-gust  passed  over.  The  clouds 
rolled  away  to  the  east,  where  they  lay  piled  in  feathery 
masses,  tinted  with  the  last  rosy  rays  of  the  sun. 
The  distant  play  of  the  lightning  might  be  seen 
about  the  dark  bases,  and  now  and  then  might  be 
heard  the  faint  muttering  of  the  thurtder.  Dolph 
rose,  and  sought  about  to  see  if  any  path  led  from 
the  shore ;  but  all  was  savage  and  trackless.  The 
rocks  were  piled  upon  each  other ;  great  trunks  of 
trees  lay  shattered  about,  as  they  had  been  blown 
down  by  the  strong  winds  which  draw  through  these 
mountains,  or  had  fallen  through  age.  The  rocks, 
too,  were  overhung  with  wild  vines  and  briars,  which 
completely  matted  themselves  together,  and  opposed 
a  barrier  to  all  ingress ;  every  movement  that  he 
made,  shook  down  a  shower  from  the  dripping  foli- 
age. He  attempted  to  scale  one  of  these  almost 
perpendicular  heights ;  but,  though  strong  and 
agile,  he  found  it  an  Herculean  undertaking.  Often 
he  was  supported  merely  by  crumbling  projections 
of  the  rock,  and  sometimes  he  clung  t6  roots  and 
branches  of  trees,  and  hung  almost  suspended  in 
the  air.  The  wood-pigeon  came  cleaving  his  whist- 
ling flight  by  him,  and  the  eagle  screamed  from 
the  brow  of  the  impending  cliff'.  As  he  was  thus 
clambering,  he  was  on  the  point  of  seizing  hold  of 
a  shrub  to  aid  his  ascent,  when  something  rustled 
among  the  leaves,  and  he  saw  a  snake  quivering 
along  like  lightning,  almost  from  under  his  hand.  It 
coiled  itself  up  immediately,  in  an  attitude  of  defi- 
ance, with  flattened  head,  distended  jaws,  and  quick- 
ly-vibrating tongue,  that  played  like  a  little  flame 
about  its  mouth.  Dolph's  heart  turned  faint  within 
him,  and  he  had  wcll-nigh  let  go  his  hold,  and  tum- 
bled down  the  precipice.  The  serpent  stood  on  the  de- 
fensive but  for  an  instant ;  it  was  an  instinctive  move- 
ment of  defence  ;  and  finding  there  was  no  attack, 
it  glided  away  into  a  cleft  of  the  rock.  Dolph's  eye 
followed  with  fearfiil  intensity ;  and  he  saw  at  a 
glance  that  he  was  in  the  vicinity  of  a. nest  of  adders, 
that  lay  knotted,  and  writhing,  and  hissing  in  the 
chasm.  He  hastened  with  all  speed  to  escape  from 
so  frightful  a  neighbourhood.  His  imagination  was 
full  of  this  new  horror ;  he  saw  an  adcler  in  every 
curling  vine,  and  heard  the  tail  of  a  rattlesnake  in 
every  dry  leaf  that  rustled. 

At  length  he  succeeded  in  scrambling  to  the  sum- 
mit of  a  precipice  ;  but  it  was  covered  by  a  dense 
forest.  Wherever  he  could  gain  a  look-out  between 
the  trees,  he  saw  that  the  coast  rose  in  heights  and 
cliffs,  one  rising  beyond  another,  until  huge  mount- 
ains overtopped  the  whole.  There  were  no  signs 
of  cultivation,  nor  any  smoke  curling  amongst  the 
trees,  to  indicate  a  human  residence.  Every  thing 
was  wild  and  solitary.  As  he  was  standing  on  the 
edge  of  a  precipice  that  overlooked  a  deep  ravine 
fringed  with  trees,  his  feet  detached  a  great  frag- 
ment of  rock  ;  it  fell,  crashing  its  way  through  the 
tree  tops,  down  into  the  chasm.  A  loud  whoop,  or 
rather  yell,  issued  from  the  bottom  of  the  glen  ;  the 
moment  after,  there  was  the  report  of  a  gun  ;  and  a 
ball  came  whistling  over  his  head,  cutting  the  twigs 
and  leaves,  and  burying  itself  deep  in  the  bark  of  a 
chestnut-tree. 

Dolph  did  not  wait  for  a  second  shot,  but  made  a 
precipitate  retreat ;  fearing  every  moment  to  hear 
the  enemy  in  pursuit.     He  succeeded,  however,  in 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


returning  unmolested  to  the  shore,  and  determined  j 
to  penetrate  no  farther  into  a  country  so  beset  with  i 
savage  perils. 

He  sat  himself  down,  dripping,  disconsolately,  on 
a  wet  stone.     What  was  to  be  done  ?  where  was  he  j 
to  shelter  himself?     The   hour   of  repose  was  ap- 

Eroaching  ;  the  birds  were  seeking"  their  nests,  the 
at  began  to  flit  about  in  the  twilight,  and  the  night- 
hawk,  soaring  high  in  heaven,  seemed  to  be  calling 
out  the  stars.     Night  gradually  closed  in,  and  wrap- 

Eed  every  thing  in  gloom  ;  and  though  it  was  the 
itter  part  of  summer,  yet  the  breeze,  stealing  along 
the  river,  and  among  these  dripping  forests,  was 
chilly  and  penetrating,  especially  to  a  half-drowned 
man. 

As  he  sat  drooping  and  despondent  in  this  com- 
fortless condition,  he  perceived  a  light  gleaming 
through  the  trees  near  the  shore,  where  the  winding 
of  the  river  made  a  deep  bay.  It  cheered  him  with 
the  hopes  that  here  might  be  some  human  habita- 
tion, where  he  might  get  something  to  appease  the 
clamorous  cravings  of  his  stomach,  and,  what  was 
equally  necessary  in  his  shipwrecked  condition,  a 
comfortable  shelter  for  the  night.  It  was  with  ex- 
treme difficulty  that  he  made  his  way  towards  the 
light,  along  ledges  of  rocks  down  which  he  was  in 
danger  of  sliding  into  the  river,  and  over  great 
trunks  of  fallen  trees ;  some  of  which  had  been 
blown  down  in  the  late  storm,  and  lay  so  thickly 
together,  that  he  had  to  struggle  through  their 
branches.  At  length  he  came  to  the  brow  of  a  rock 
that  overhung  a  small  dell,  from  whence  the  light 
proceeded.  It  was  from  a  fire  at  the  foot  of  a  great 
tree,  that  stood  in  the  midst  of  a  grassy  interval,  or 
plat,  among  the  rocks.  The  fire  cast  up  a  red  glare 
among  the  g^ay  crags  and  impending  trees ;  leaving 
chasms  of  deep  gloom,  that  resembled  entrances  to 
caverns.  A  small  brook  rippled  close  by,  betrayed 
by  the  quivering  reflection  ot  the  flame.  There  were 
two  figures  moving  about  the  fire,  and  others  squat- 
ted before  it.  As  they  were  between  him  and  the 
light,  they  were  in  complete  shadow ;  but  one  of 
them  happening  to  move  round  to  the  opposite  side, 
Dolph  was  startled  at  perceiving,  by  the  full  glare 
falling  on  painted  features,  and  glittering  on  silver 
ornaments,  that  he  was  an  Indian.  He  now  looked 
more  narrowly,  and  saw  guns  leaning  against  a  tree, 
and  a  dead  body  lying  on  the  ground. 

Dolph  began  to  doubt  whether  he  was  not  in  a 
worse  condition  than  before ;  here  was  the  very  foe 
that  had  fired  at  him  from  the  glen.  He  endeavoured 
to  retreat  quietly,  not  caring  to  entrust  himself  to 
these  half-human  beings  in  so  savage  and  lonely  a 
place.  It  was  too  late :  the  Indian,  with  that  eagle 
quickness  of  eye  so  remarkable  in  his  race,  perceived 
something  stirring  among  the  bushes  on  the  rock : 
he  seized  one  of  the  guns  that  leaned  against  the 
tree  ;  one  moment  more,  and  Dolph  might  have  had 
his  passion  for  adventure  cured  by  a  bullet.  He 
hallooed  loudly,  with  the  Indian  salutation  of  friend- 
ship:  the  whole  party  sprang  upon  their  feet;  the 
salutation  was  returned,  and  the  straggler  was  in- 
vited to  join  them  at  the  fire.  ' 

On  approaching,  he  found,  to  his  consolation,  that 
the  party  was  composed  of  white  men  as  well  as 
Indians.  One,  who  was  evidently  the  principal  per- 
sonage, or  commander,  was  seated  on  the  trunk  of  a 
tree  before  the  fire.  He  was  a  large,  stout  man, 
somewhat  advanced  in  life,  but  hale  and  hearty. 
His  face  was  bronzed  almost  to  the  colour  of  an 
Indian's ;  he  had  strong  but  rather  jovial  features, 
an  aquiline  nose,  and  a  mouth  shaped  like  a  mastiff's. 
His  face  was  half  thrown  in  shade  by  a  broad  hat, 
with  a  buck's-tail  in  it.  His  gray  hair  hung  short  in 
his  neck.     He  wore  a  hunting-frock,  with  Indian 


leggings,  and  moccasons,  and  a  tomahawk  in  the 
broad  wampum  belt  round  his  waist.  As  Dolph 
caught  a  distinct  view  of  his  person  and  features,  he 
was  struck  with  something  that  reminded  him  of  the 
old  man  of  the  haunted  house.  The  man  before  him. 
however,  was  different  in  his  dress  and  age  ;  he  was 
more  cheery,  too,  in  his  aspect,  and  it  was  hard  to 
define  where  the  vague  resemblance  lay— but  are- 
semblance  there  certainly  was.  Dolph  felt  some 
degree  of  awe  in  approaching  him  ;  but  was  assured 
by  the  frank,  hearty  welcome  with  which  he  was  re- 
ceived. As  he  cast  his  eyes  about,  too,  he  was  still 
further  encouraged,  by  perceiving  that  the  dead  body, 
which  had  caused  him  some  alarm,  was  that  of  a 
deer ;  and  his  satisfaction  was  complete,  in  discern- 
ing, by  the  savoury  steams  which  issued  from  a  kettle 
suspended  by  a  hooked  stick  over  the  fire,  that  there 
was  a  part  cooking  for  the  evening's  repast. 

He  now  found  that  he  had  fallen  in  with  a  ram- 
bling hunting  party  ;  such  as  often  took  place  in  those 
days  among  the  settlers  along  the  river.  The  hunter 
is  always  hospitable;  and  nothing  makes  men  more 
social  and  unceremonious,  than  meeting  in  the  wil- 
derness. The  commander  of  the  party  poured  him 
out  a  dram  of  cheering  liquor,  which  he  gave  him 
with  a  merry  leer,  to  warm  his  heart ;  and  ordered 
one  of  his  followers  to  fetch  some  garments  from  a 
pinnace,  which  was  moored  in  a  cove  close  by, 
while  those  in  which  our  hero  was  drippmg  might 
be  dried  before  the  fire. 

Dolph  found,  as  he  had  suspected,  that  the  shot 
from  the  glen,  which  had  come  so  near  giving  him 
his  quietus  when  on  the  precipice,  was  from  the  party 
before  him.  He  had  nearly  crushed  one  of  thein  by 
the  fragment  of  rock  which  he  had  detached  ;  and  the 
jovial  old  hunter,  in  the  broad  hat  and  buck-tail,  had 
fired  at  the  place  where  he  saw  the  bushes  move, 
supposing  it  to  be  some  wild  animal.  He  laughed 
heartily  at  the  blunder ;  it  being  what  is  considered 
an  exceeding  good  joke  among  hunters  ;  "  but  faith, 
my  lad,"  said  he,  "  if  I  had  but  caught  a  glimpse  of 
you  to  take  sight  at,  yoij  would  have  followed  the 
rock.  Antony  Vander  Heyden  is  seldom  known  to 
miss  his  aim."  These  last  words  were  at  once  a 
clue  to  Dolph's  curiosity ;  and  a  few  questions  let 
him  completely  into  the  character  of  the  man  before 
him,  and  of  his  band  of  woodland  rangers.  The 
commander  in  the  broad  hat  and  hunting-frock  was 
no  less  a  personage  than  the  Heer  Antony  Vander 
Heyden,  of  Albany,  of  whom  Dolph  had  many  a  time 
heard.  He  was,  in  fact,  the  hero  of  many  a  story  ; 
being  a  man  of  singular  humours  and  whimsical 
habits,  that  were  matters  of  wonder  to  his  quiet 
Dutch  neighbours.  As  he  was  a  man  of  property, 
having  had  a  father  Ijefore  hi.Ti,  from  whom  he  in- 
herited large  tracts  of  wild  land,  and  whole  barrels 
full  of  wampum,  he  could  indulge  his  humours  with- 
out control.  Instead  of  staying  quietly  at  home  ;  eat- 
ing and  drinking  at  regular  meal  times  ;  amusing 
himself  by  smoking  his  pipe  on  the  bench  before  the 
door,  and  then  turning  into  a  comfortable  bed  at 
night ;  he  delighted  in  all  kinds  of  rough,  wild  expe- 
ditions. He  was  never  so  happy  as  when  on  a  hunt- 
ing party  in  the  wilderness,  sleeping  under  trees  or 
bark  sheds,  or  cruising  down  the  river,  or  on  some 
woodland  lake,  fishing  and  fowling,  and  living  the 
Lord  knows  how. 

He  was  a  great  friend  to  Indians,  and  to  an  Indian 
mode  of  life ;  which  he  considered  true  natural 
liberty  and  manly  enjoyment.  When  at  home,  he 
had  always  several  Indian  hangers-on,  who  loitered 
about  his  house,  sleeping  like  hounds  in  the  sunshine, 
or  preparing  hunting  and  fishing-tackle  for  some  new 
expeduion,  or  shooting  at  marks  with  bosvs  and  ar- 
rows. 


528 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


Over  these  vagrant  being's,  Heer  Antony  had  as 
perfect  command  as  a  huntsman  over  his  pack ; 
though  they  were  great  nuisances  to  the  regular 
people  of  his  neighbourhood.  As  he  was  a  rich  man, 
no  one  ventured  to  thwart  his  humours ;  indeed,  he 
had  a  hearty,  joyous  manner  about  him,  that  made 
him  universally  popular.  He  would  troll  a  Dutch 
song,  as  he  tramped  along  the  street;  hail  everyone 
a  mile  off;  and  when  he  entered  a  house,  he  would 
slap  the  good  man  familiarly  on  the  back,  shake  him 
by  the  hand  till  he  roared,  and  kiss  his  wife  and 
daughters  before  his  face — in  short,  there  was  no 
pride  nor  ill-humour  about  Heer  Antony. 

Besides  his  Indian  hangers-on,  he  had  three  or 
four  humble  friends  among  the  white  men,  who 
looked  up  to  him  as  a  patron,  and  had  the  run  of  his 
kitchen,  and  the  favour  of  being  taken  with  him  oc- 
casionally on  his  expeditions.  It  was  with  a  medley 
of  such  retainers  that  he  was  at  present  on  a  cruise 
along  the  shores  of  the  Hudson,  in  a  pinnace  which 
he  kept  for  his  own  recreation.  There  were  two 
white  men  with  him,  dressed  partly  in  the  Indian 
style,  with  moccasons  and  hunting-:hirts  ;  the  rest 
of  his  crew  consisted  of  four  favourite  Indians.  They 
had  been  prowling  about  the  river,  without  any 
definite  object,  until  they  found  themselves  in  the 
highlands  ;  where  they  had  passed  two  or  three  days, 
hunting  the  deer  which  still  lingered  among  these 
mountains. 

"It  is  a  lucky  circumstance,  young  man,"  said 
Antony  Vander  Heyden,  "  that  you  happened  to  be 
knocked  overboard  to-day,  as  to-morrow  morning 
we  start  early  on  our  return  homewards,  and  you 
might  then  have  looked  in  vain  for  a  meal  among 
the  mountains — but  come,  lads,  stir  about  !  stir 
about  !  Let's  see  what  prog  we  have  for  supper ; 
the  kettle  has  boiled  long  enough ;  my  stomach  cries 
cupboard  ;  and  I'll  warrant  our  guest  is  in  no  mood 
to  dally  with  his  trencher." 

There  was  a  bustle  now  in  the  little  encampment. 
One  took  off  the  kettle,  and  turned  a  part  of  the  con- 
tents into  a  huge  wooden  bowl ;  another  prepared  a 
flat  rock  for  a  table ;  whife  a  third  brought  various 
utensils  from  the  pinnace,  which  was  moored  close  by; 
and  Heer  Antony  himself  brought  a  flask  or  two  of 
precious  liquor  from  his  own  private  locker — know- 
ing his  boon  companions  too  well  to  trust  any  of  them 
with  the  key. 

A  rude  but  hearty  repast  was  soon  spread  ;  con- 
sisting of  venison  smoking  from  the  kettle,  with 
cold  bacon,  boiled  Indian  corn,  and  mighty  loaves  of 
good  brown  household  bread.  Never  had  Dolph 
made  a  more  delicious  repast ;  and  when  he  had 
washed  it  down  with  two  or  three  draughts  from 
the  Heer  Antony's  flask,  and  felt  the  jolly  liquor 
sending  its  warmth  through  his  veins,  and  glowing 
round  his  very  heart,  he  would  not  have  changed  his 
situation,  no,  not  with  the  governor  of  the  province. 

The  Heer  Antony,  too,  grew  chirping  and  joyous  ; 
told  half-a-dozen  fat  stories,  at  which  his  white  fol- 
lowers laughed  immoderately,  though  the  Indians,  as 
usual,  maintained  an  invincible  gravity. 

"  This  is  your  true  life,  my  boy  !  "  said  he,  slapping 
Dolph  on  the  shoulder ;  "  a  man  is  never  a  man  till 
he  can  defy  wind  and  weather,  range  woods  and 
wilds,  sleep  under  a  tree,  and  live  on  bass-wood 
leaves  ! ' ' 

And  then  would  he  sing  a  stave  or  two  of  a  Dutch 
drinking  song,  swaying  a  short  squab  Dutch  bottle 
in  his  hand,  while  his  myrmidons  would  join  in 
chorus,  until  the  woods  echoed  again  ; — as  the  good 
old  song  has  it : 

*'  They  all  with  a  shout  made  the  elements  ring, 
So  soon  as  the  office  was  o'er  ; 
To  feasting  they  went  with  true  merriment. 
And  tippled  strong  liquor  giilore.^* 


In  the  midst  of  his  jovialty,  however,  Heer  Antony 
did  not  lose  sight  of  discretion.  Though  he  pushed 
the  bottle  without  reserve  to  Dolph,  yet  he  always 
took  care  to  help  his  followers  himself,  knowing  the 
beings  he  had  to  deal  with  ;  and  he  was  particular 
in  granting  but  a  moderate  allowance  to  the  Indians. 
The  repast  being  ended,  the  Indians  having  drunk 
their  liquor  and  smoked  their  pipes,  now  vvrapped 
themselves  in  their  blankets,  stretched  themselves 
on  the  ground  with  their  feet  to  the  fire,  and  soon 
fell  asleep,  like  so  many  tired  hounds.  The  rest  of 
the  party  remained  chatting  befc  e  the  fire,  which 
the  gloom  of  the  forest,  and  the  dampness  of  the  air 
from  the  late  storm,  rendered  extremely  grateful  and 
comforting.  The  conversation  gradually  moderated 
from  the  hilarity  of  supper-time,  and  turned  upon 
hunting  adventures,  and  exploits  and  perils  in  the 
wilderness ;  many  of  which  were  so  strange  and  im- 
probable, that  I  will  not  venture  to  repeat  them,  lest 
the  veracity  of  Antony  Vander  Heyden  and  his  com- 
rades should  be  brought  into  question.  There  were 
many  legendary  tales  told,  also,  about  the  river,  and 
the  settlements  on  its  borders  ;  in  which  valuable 
kind  of  lore,  the  Heer  Antony  seemed  deeply  versed. 
As  the  sturdy  bush-beater  sat  in  the  twisted  root  of 
a  tree,  that  served  him  for  a  kind  of  arm-chair,  deal- 
ing forth  these  wild  stories,  with  the  fire  gleaming  on 
his  strongly- marked  visage,  Dolph  was  again  repeat- 
edly perplexed  by  something  that  reminded  him  of 
the  phantom  of  the  haunted  house  ;  some  vague  re- 
semblance, that  could  not  be  fi.xed  upon  any  precise 
feature  or  lineament,  but  which  pervaded  the  general 
air  of  his  countenance  and  figure. 

The  circumstance  of  Dolph's  falling  overboard  being 
again  discussed,  led  to  the  relation  of  divers  disasters 
and  singular  mishaps  that  had  befallen  voyagers  on 
this  great  river,  particularly  in  the  earlier  periods  of 
colonial  history  ;  most  of  which  the  Heer  deliberately 
attributed  to  supernatural  causes.  Dolph  stared  at 
this  suggestion  ;  but  the  old  gentleman  assured  him 
that  it  was  very  currently  believed  by  the  settlers 
along  the  river,  that  these  highlands  were  under  the 
dominion  of  supernatural  and  mischievous  beings, 
which  seemed  to  have  taken  some  pique  against  the 
Dutch  colonists  in  the  early  time  of  the  settlement. 
In  consequence  of  this,  they  have  ever  since  taken 
particular  delight  in  venting  their  spleen,  and  indulg- 
ing their  humours,  upon  the  Dutch  skippers  ;  both- 
ering them  with  flaws,  head  winds,  counter  currents, 
and  all  kinds  of  imj)ediments ;  insomuch,  that  a 
Dutch  navigator  was  always  obliged  to  be  exceed- 
ingly wary  and  deliberate  in  his  proceedings ;  to 
come  to  anchor  at  dusk  ;  to  drop  his  peak,  or  take  in 
sail,  whenever  he  saw  a  swag-bellied  cloud  rolling 
over  the  mountains  ;  in  short,  to  take  so  many  pre- 
cautions, that  he  was  often  apt  to  be  an  incredible 
time  in  toiling  up  the  river. 

Some,  he  said,  believed  these  mischievous  powers 
of  the  air  to  be  evil  spirits  conjured  up  by  the  Indian 
wizards,  in  the  early  times  of  the  province,  to  re- 
venge themselves  on  the  strangers  who  had  dispos- 
sessed them  of  their  country.  They  even  attributed 
to  their  incantations  the  misadventure  which  befell 
the  renowned  Hendrick  Hudson,  when  he  sailed  so 
gallantly  up  this  river  in  quest  of  a  north-west  pas- 
sage, and,  as  he  thought,  run  his  ship  aground ; 
which  they  aftirm  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a 
spell  of  these  same  wizards,  to  prevent  his  getting  to 
China  in  this  direction. 

The  greater  part,  however,  Heer  Antony  observed, 
accounted  for  all  the  extraordinary  circumstances  at- 
tending this  river,  and  the  perplexities  of  the  skip- 
pers which  navigated  it,  by  the  old  legend  of  the 
Storm-ship,  which  haunted  Point-no-point.  On  find- 
ing Dolph  to  be  utterly  ignorant  of  this  tradition. 


BRACEBRIDGE    HALL. 


529 


the  Heer  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  with  surprise, 
and  wondered  where  he  had  passed  his  life,  to  be  un- 
informed on  so  important  a  point  of  history.  To 
pass  away  the  remainder  of  the  evening,  therefore, 
he  undertoolc  the  tale,  as  far  as  his  memory  would 
serve,  in  the  very  words  in  which  it  had  been  written 
out  by  Mynheer  Selyne,  an  early  poet  of  the  Nevv- 
Nederlandts.  Giving,  then,  a  stir  to  the  hre,  that 
sent  up  its  sparks  among  the  trees  like  a  little  volcano, 
he  adjusted  himself  comfortably  in  his  root  of  a  tree  ; 
and  throwing  back  his  head,  and  closing  his  eyes  for 
a  few  moments,  to  summon  up  his  recollection,  he 
related  the  following  legend. 


THE  STORM-SHI?. 


In  the  golden  age  of  the  province  of  the  New- 
Netherlands,  when  it  was  under  the  sway  of  Wouter 
Van  Twiller,  otherwise  called  the  Doubter,  the  peo- 
ple of  the  Manhattoes  were  alarmed,  one  sultry  af- 
ternoon, just  about  the  time  of  the  summer  solstice, 
by  a  tremendous  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning. 
The  rain  descended  in  such  torrents,  as  absolutely 
to  spatter  up  and  smoke  along  the  ground.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  thunder  rattled  and  rolled  over  the 
very  roofs  of  the  houses ;  the  lightning  was  seen  to 
play  about  the  church  of  St.  Nicholas,  and  to  strive 
three  times,  in  vain,  to  strike  its  weather-cock. 
Garret  Van  Home's  new  chimney  was  split  almost 
from  top  to  bottom ;  and  Doffue  Mildeberger  was 
struck  speechless  from  his  bald-faced  mare,  just  as 
he  was  riding  into  town.  In  a  word,  it  was  one  of 
those  unparalleled  storms,  that  only  happen  once 
within  the  memory  of  that  venerable  personage, 
known  in  all  towns  by  the  appellation  of  "  the  oldest 
inhabitant." 

Great  was  the  terror  of  the  good  old  women  of 
the  Manhattoes.  They  gathered  their  children  to- 
gether, and  took  refuge  in  the  cellars  ;  after  having 
hung  a  shoe  on  the  iron  point  of  every  bed-post, 
lest  it  should  attract  the  lightning.  At  length  the 
storm  abated  ;  the  thunder  sunk  into  a  growl ;  and 
the  setting  sun,  breaking  from  under  the  fringed  bor- 
ders of  the  clouds,  made  the  broad  bosom  of  the 
bay  to  gleam  like  a  sc:a  of  molten  gold. 

The  word  was  given  from  the  fort,  that  a  ship  was 
standing  up  the  bay.  It  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth,  and  street  to  street,  and  soon  put  the  little 
capital  in  a  bustle.  The  arrival  of  a  ship,  in  those 
early  times  of  the  settlement,  was  an  event  of  vast 
importance  to  the  inhabitants.  It  brought  them 
news  from  the  old  world,  from  the  land  of  their 
birth,  from  which  they  were  so  completely  severed : 
to  the  yearly  ship,  to,  they  looked  for  their  supply  of 
luxuries,  of  finery,  of  comforts,  and  almost  of  nec- 
essaries. The  good  vrouw  could  not  have  her  new 
cap,  nor  new  gown,  until  the  arrival  of  the  ship ; 
the  artist  waited  for  it  for  his  tools,  the  burgomaster 
for  his  pipe  and  his  supply  of  Hollands,  the  school- 
boy for  his  top  and  marbles,  and  the  lordly  land- 
holder for  the  bricks  with  which  he  was  to  build  his 
new  mansion.  Thus  every  one,  rich  and  poor,  great 
and  small,  looked  out  for  the  arrival  of  the  ship.  It 
was  the  .great  yearly  event  of  the  town  of  New-Am- 
sterdam ;  and  from  one  end  of  the  year  to  the  other, 
the  ship — the  ship — the  ship — was  the  continual 
topic  of  conversation. 

The  news  from  the  fort,  therefore,  brought  all  the 

populace  down  to  the  battery,  to  behold  the  wished- 

for  sight.     It  was  not  exactly  the  time  when  she  had 

been  expected  to  arrive,  and  the  circumstance  was  a 

34 


matter  of  some  speculation.  Many  were  the  groups 
collected  about  the  battery.  Here  and  there  might 
be  seen  a  burgomaster,  of  slow  and  pompous  grav- 
ity, giving  his  opinion  with  great  confidence  to  a 
crowd  of  old  women  and  idle  boys.  At  another 
place  was  a  knot  of  old  weatherbeaten  fellows,  who 
had  been  seamen  or  fishermen  in  their  times,  and 
were  great  authorities  on  such  occasions ;  these 
gave  different  opinions,  and  caused  great  disputes 
among  their  several  adherents :  but  the  man  most 
looked  up  to,  and  followed  and  watched  by  the 
crowd,  was  Hans  Van  Pelt,  an  old  Dutch  sea- 
captain  retired  from  service,  the  nautical  oracle  of 
the  place.  He  reconnoitred  the  ship  through  an 
ancient  telescope,  covered  with  tarry  canvas, 
hummed  a  Dutch  tune  to  himself,  and  said  nothing. 
A  hum,  however,  from  Hans  Van  Pelt  had  always 
more  weight  with  the  public  than  a  speech  from  an- 
other man. 

In  the  meantime,  the  ship  became  more  distinct 
to  the  naked  eye :  she  was  a  stout,  round  Dutch- 
built  vessel,  with  high  bow  and  poop,  and  bearing 
Dutch  colours.  The  evening  sun  gilded  her  bellying 
canvas,  as  she  came  riding  over  the  long  waving  bil- 
lows. The  sentinel  who  had  given  notice  of  her 
approach,  declared,  that  he  first  got  sight  of  her 
when  she  was  in  the  centre  of  the  bay ;  and  that  she 
broke  suddenly  on  his  sight,  just  as  if  she  had  came 
out  of  the  bosom  of  the  black  thunder-cloud.  The 
bystanders  looked  at  Hans  Van  Pelt,  to  see  what  he 
would  say  to  this  report :  Hans  Van  Pelt  screwed 
his  mouth  closer  together,  and  said  nothing ;  upon 
which  some  shook  their  heads,  and  others  shrugged 
their  shoulders. 

The  ship  was  now  repeatedly  hailed,  but  made  no 
reply,  and,  passing  by  the  fort,  stood  on  up  the  Hud- 
son. A  gun  was  brought  to  bear  on  her,  and,  with 
some  difficulty,  loaded  and  fired  by  Hans  Van  Pelt, 
the  garrison  not  being  expert  in  artillery.  The  shot 
seemed  absolutely  to  pass  through  the  ship,  and  to 
skip  along  the  water  on  the  other  side,  but  no  notice 
was  taken  of  it !  W,hat  was  strange,  she  had  all  her 
sails  set,  and  sailed  right  against  wind  and  tide, 
which  were  both  down  the  river.  Upon  this  Hans 
Van  Pelt,  who  was  likewise  harbour-master,  ordered 
his  boat,  and  set  off  to  board  her;  but  after  rowing 
two  or  three  hours,  he  returned  without  success. 
Sometimes  he  would  get  within  one  or  two  hundred 
yards  of  her,  and  then,  in  a  twinkling,  she  would  be 
half  a  mile  off.  Some  said  it  was  because  his  oars- 
men, who  were  rather  pursy  and  short-winded, 
stopped  every  now  and  then  to  take  breath,  and 
spit  on  their  hands  ;  but  this,  it  is  probable,  was  a 
mere  scandal.  He  got  near  enough,  however,  to  see 
the  crew  ;  who  were  all  dressed  in  the  Dutch  style, 
the  officers  in  doublets  and  high  hats  and  feathers : 
not  a  word  was  spoken  by  any  one  on  board  ;  they 
stood  as  motionless  as  so  many  statues,  and  the  ship 
seemed  as  if  left  to  her  own  government.  Thus  she 
kept  on,  away  up  the  river,  lessening  and  lessening 
in  the  evening  sunshine,  until  she  faded  from  sight, 
like  a  little  white  cloud  melting  away  in  the  summer 
sky. 

The  appearance  of  this  ship  threw  the  governor 
into  one  of  the  deepest  doubts  that  ever  beset  him 
in  the  whole  course  of  his  administration.  Fears 
were  entertained  for  the  security  of  the  infant  settle- 
ments on  the  river,  lest  this  might  be  an  enemy's 
ship  in  disguise,  sent  to  take  possession.  The  gov- 
ernor called  together  his  council  repeatedly  to  assist 
him  with  their  conjectures.  He  sat  in  his  chair  of 
state,  built  of  timber  from  the  sacred  forest  of  the 
Hague,  and  smoking  his  long  jasmine  pipe,  and 
listened  to  all  that  his  counsellors  had  to  say  on  a 
subject  about  which   they   knew   nothing;  but,  in 


680 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


spite  of  all  the  conjecturing  of  the  sagest  and  oldest 
heads,  the  governor  still  continued  to  doubt. 

Messengers  were  despatched  to  different  places  on 
the  river ;  but  they  returned  without  any  tidings — 
the  ship  had  made  no  port.  Day  after  day,  and 
week  alter  week,  elapsed  ;  but  she  never  returned 
down  the  Hudson.  As,  however,  the  council  seemed 
solicitous  for  intelligence,  they  had  it  in  .abundance. 
The  captains  of  the  sloops  seldom  arrived  without 
bringing  .some  report  of  having  seen  the  strange 
ship  at  different  parts  of  the  river  ;  sometimes  near 
the  Palisadoes ;  .sometimes  off  Croton  Point,  and 
sometimes  in  the  highlands  ;  but  she  never  was  re- 
ported as  having  been  seen  above  the  highlands. 
The  crews  of  the  sloops,  it  is  true,  generally  differed 
among  themselves  in  their  accounts  of  these  appari- 
tions ;  but  they  may  have  arisen  from  the  uncertain 
situations  in  which  they  saw  her.  Sometimes  it  was 
by  the  flashes  of  the  thunder-storm  lighting  up  a 
pitchy  night,  and  giving  glimpses  of  her  careering 
across  Tappaan  Zee,  or  the  wide  waste  of  Haverstraw 
Bay.  At  one  moment  she  would  appear  close  upon 
them,  as  if  likely  to  run  them  down,  and  would 
throw  them  into  great  bustle  and  alarm  ;  but  the 
next  flash  would  show  her  far  oflT,  always  .sailing 
against  the  wind.  Sometimes,  in  quiet  moonlight 
nights,  she  would  be  seen  under  some  high  bluff  of 
the  highlands,  all  in  deep  shadow,  excepting  her 
top-sails  glittering  in  the  moonbeams  ;  by  the  time, 
however,  that  the  voyagers  would  reach  the  place, 
there  would  be  no  ship  to  be  seen ;  and  when  they 
had  passed  on  for  some  distance,  and  looked  back, 
behold  !  there  she  was  again  with  her  top-sails  in  the 
moonshine  !  Her  appearance  was  always  just  after, 
or  just  before,  or  just  in  the  midst  of,  unruly  weather  ; 
and  she  was  known  by  all  the  skippers  and  voyagers 
of  the  Hudson,  by  the  name  of  "  the  storm-ship." 

These  reports  perplexed  the  governor  and  his 
council  more  than  ever ;  and  it  would  be  endless  to 
repeat  the  conjectures  and  opinions  that  were  utter- 
ed on  the  subject.  Some  quoted  cases  in  point,  of 
ships  seen  off  the  coast  of  New-England,  navigated 
by  witches  and  goblins.  Old  Hans  Van  Pelt,  who 
had  been  more  than  once  to  the  Dutch  colony  at  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope,  insisted  that  this  must  be  the 
Flying  Dutchman  which  had  so  long  haunted  Table 
Bay,  but,  being  unable  to  make  port,  had  now  sought 
another  harbour.  Others  suggested,  that,  if  it  really 
was  a  supernatural  apparition,  as  there  was  every 
natural  reason  to  believe,  it  might  be  Hendrick 
Hudson,  and  his  crew  of  the  Half-Moon  ;  who,  it 
was  well-known,  had  once  run  aground  in  the  upper 
part  of  the  river,  in  seeking  a  north-west  passage  to 
China.  This  opinion  had  very  little  weight  with  the 
governor,  but  it  passed  current  out  of  doors  ;  for  in- 
deed it  had  already  been  reported,  that  Hendrick 
Hudson  and  his  crew  haunted  the  Kaatskill  Mount- 
ain ;  and  it  appeared  very  reasonable  to  suppose, 
that  his  ship  might  infest  the  river,  where  the  enter- 
prise was  baffled,  or  that  it  might  bear  the  shadowy 
iCrcw  to  their  periodical  revels  in  the  mountain. 

Other  events  occurred  to  occupy  the  thoughts  and 
doubts  of  the  sage  Wouter  and  his  council,  and  the 
storm-ship  ceased  to  be  a  subject  of  deliberation  at 
the  board.  It  continued,  however,  to  be  a  matter 
of  popular  belief  and  marvellous  anecdote  through 
the  whole  time  of  the  Dutch  government,  and  par- 
ticularly just  before  the  capture  of  New-Amsterdam, 
and  the  subjugation  of  the  province  by  the  English 
squadron.  About  that  time  the  storm-ship  was  re- 
peatedly seen  in  the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  about  Wee- 
hawk,  and  even  down  as  far  as  Hoboken ;  and  her 
appearance  was  supposed  to  be  ominous  of  the  ap- 
proaching squall  in  public  affairs,  and  the  downfall 
of  Dutch  domination. 


Since  that  time,  we  have  no  authentic  accounts  of 
her ;  though  it  is  said  she  still  haunts  the  highlands, 
and  cruises  about  Point-no-point.  People  who  Hve 
along  the  river,  insist  that  they  sometimes  see  her  in 
summer  moonlight ;  and  that  in  a  deep  still  mid- 
night, they  have  heard  the  chant  of  her  crew,  as  if 
heaving  the  lead ;  but  sights  and  sounds  are  so  de- 
ceptive along  the  mountainous  shores,  and  about  the 
wide  bays  and  long  reaches  of  this  great  river,  that  I 
confess  I  have  very  strong  doubts  upon  the  subject. 

It  is  certain,  nevertheless,  that  strange  things 
have  been  seen  in  these  highlands  in  storms,  which 
are  considered  as  connected  with  the  old  story  of 
the  ship.  The  captains  of  the  river  craft  talk  of  a 
little  bulbous-bottomed  Dutch  goblin,  in  trunk  hose 
and  sugar-loafed  hat,  with  a  speaking  trumpet  in  his 
hand,  which  they  say  keeps  about  the  Dunderburg.* 
They  declare  they  have  heard  him,  in  stormy  weath- 
er, in  the  midst  of  the  turmoil,  giving  orders  in  Low 
Dutch  for  the  piping  up  of  a  fresh  gust  of  wind,  or 
the  rattling  off  of  another  thunder-clap.  That  some- 
times he  has  been  seen  surrounded  by  a  crew  of 
little  imps  in  broad  breeches  and  short  doublets ; 
tumbling  head-over-heels  in  the  rack  and  mist,  and 
playing  a  thousand  gambols  in  the  air ;  or  buzzing 
like  a  swarm  of  flies  about  Antony's  Nose ;  and 
that,  at  such  times,  the  hurry-scurry  of  the  storm 
was  always  greatest.  One  time,  a  sloop,  in  passing 
by  the  Dunderberg,  was  overtaken  by  a  thunder- 
gust,  that  came  scouring  round  the  mountain,  and 
seemed  to  burst  just  over  the  vessel.  Though  tight 
and  well  ballasted,  yet  she  laboured  dreadfully,  until 
the  water  came  over  the  gunwale.  All  the  crew 
were  amazed,  when  it  was  discovered  that  there  was 
a  little  white  sugar-loaf  hat  on  the  mast-head,  which 
was  known  at  once  to  be  that  of  the  Heer  of  the 
Dunderberg.  Nobody,  however,  dared  to  climb  to 
the  mast-head,  and  get  rid  of  this  terrible  hat.  The 
sloop  continued  labouring  and  rocking,  as  if  she 
would  have  rolled  her  mast  overboard.  She  seemed 
in  continual  danger  either  of  upsetting  or  of  running 
on  shore.  In  this  way  she  drove  quite  through  the 
highlands,  until  she  had  passed  Pollopol's  Island, 
where,  it  is  said,  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Dunderberg 
potentate  ceases.  No  sooner  had  she  passed  this 
bourne,  than  the  little  hat,  all  at  once,  spun  up  into 
the  air  like  a  top,  whirled  up  all  the  clouds  into  a 
vortex,  and  hurried  them  back  to  the  summit  of  the 
Dunderberg,  while  the  sloop  righted  herself,  and 
sailed  on  as  quietly  as  if  in  a  mill-pond.  Nothing 
saved  her  from  utter  wreck,  but  the  fortunate  cir- 
cumstance of  having  a  horse-shoe  nailed  against  the 
mast — a  wise  precaution  against  evil  spirits,  which 
has  since  been  adopted  by  all  the  Dutch  captains 
that  navigate  this  haunted  river. 

There  is  another  story  told  of  this  foul-weather 
urchin,  by  Skipper  Daniel  Ouslesticker,  of  Fish-Hill, 
who  was  never  known  to  tell  a  lie.  He  declared, 
that,  in  a  severe  squall,  he  saw  him  seated  astride  of 
his  bowsprit,  riding  the  sloop  ashore,  full  butt  against 
Antony's  Nose  ;  and  that  he  was  exorcised  by 
Dominie  Van  Gieson,  of  Esopus,  who  happened  to 
be  on  board,  and  who  sung  the  hymn  of  St.  Nicholas  ; 
whereupon  the  goblin  threw  himself  up  in  the  air 
like  a  ball,  and  went  off  in  a  whirlwind,  carrying 
away  with  him  the  nightcap  of  the  Dominie's  wife ; 
which  was  discovered  the  next  Sunday  morning 
hanging  on  the  weather-cock  of  Esopus  church 
steeple,  at  least  forty  miles  off !  After  several  events 
of  this  kind  had  taken  place,  the  regular  skippers  of 
the  river,  for  a  long  tiine,  did  not  venture  to  pass  the 
Dimderberg,  without  lowering  their  peaks,  out  of 
homage  to  the  Heer  of  the  mountain  ;  and  it  was  ob- 


*  (',  *.,  the  "Thunder-Mountain,"  so  called  from  its  echoes. 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


531 


sen-ed  that  all  such  as  paid  this  tribute  of  respect 
were  suffered  to  pass  unmolested.* 


"  Such,"  said  Antony  Vander  Heyden,  "  are  a  few 
of  the  stories  written  down  by  Selyne  the  poet  con- 
cerninof  this  storm-ship;  which  he  affirms  to  have 
brought  this  colony  of  mischievous  imps  into  the 
province,  from  some  old  ghost-ridden  country  of 
Europe.  1. could  give  you  a  host  more,  if  necessary  ; 
for  all  tlie  accidents  that  so  often  befall  the  river 
craft  in  the  higfilands,  are  said  to  be  tricks  played 
off  by  these  imps  of  the  Dunderberg;  but  I  see 
that  you  are  nodding,  so  let  us  turn  in  for  the 
night." 

The  moon  had  just  raised  her  silver  horns  above 
the  round  back  of  old  Bull-Hill,  and  lit  up  the  gray 
rocks  and  shagged  forests,  and  glittered  on  the  wav- 
ing bosom  of  the  river.  The  night-dew  was  falling, 
and  the  late  gloomy  mountains  began  to  soften,  and 
put  on  a  gray  aerial  tint  in  the  dewy  light.  The 
hunters  stirred  the  fire,  and  threw  on  fresh  fuel  to 
qualify  the  damp  of  the  night  air.  They  then  pre- 
pared a  bed  of  branches  and  dry  leaves  under  a  ledge 
of  rocks,  for  Dolph  ;  while  Antony  Vander  Heyden, 
wrapping  himself  up  in  a  huge  coat  made  of  skins, 
stretched  himself  before  the  fire.  It  was  some  time, 
however,  before  Dolph  could  close  his  eyes.  He  lay 
contemplating  the  strange  scene  before  him :  the 
wild  woods  and  rocks  around — the  fire,  throwing  fit- 
ful gleams  on  the  faces  of  the  sleeping  savages — and 
the  Heer  Antony,  too,  who  so  singularly,  yet  vague- 
ly, reminded  him  of  the  nightly  visitant  to  the  haunted 
house.  Now  and  then  he  heard  the  cry  of  some 
animal  from  the  forest ;  or  the  hooting  of  the  owl ; 
or  the  notes  of  the  whip-poor-will,  which  seemed  to 
.abound  among  these  solitudes;  or  the  splash  of  a 
sturgeon,  leaping  out  of  the  river,  and  falling  back 
full  length  on  its  placid  surface.  He  contrasted  all 
this  with  his  .accustomed  nest  in  the  garret-room  of 
the  doctor's  mansion  ;  where  the  only  sounds  he 
heard  at  night  were  the  church-clock  telling  the 
hour ;  the  drowsy  voice  of  the  watchman,  drawling 
out  all  was  well ;  the  deep  snoring  of  the  doctor's 
clubbed  nose  from  below  stairs ;  or  the  cautious 
labours  of  some  carpenter  rat  gnawing  in  the  wains- 
cot. His  thoughts  then  wandered  to  his  poor  old 
mother :  what  would  she  think  of  his  mysterious  dis- 
appearance.' — what  anxiety  and  distress  would  she 
not  suffer .'  This  was  the  thought  that  would  con- 
tinually intrude  itself,  to  mar  his  present  enjoyment. 
It  broug;ht  with  it  a  feeling  of  pain  and  compunction, 
and  he  fell  asleep  with  the  tears  yet  standing  in  his 
eyes. 

Were  this  a  mere  tale  of  fancy,  here  would  be  a 
fine  opportunity  for  weaving  in  strange  adventures 
among  these  wild  mountains  and  roving  hunters  ; 
and,  after  involving  my  hero  in  a  variety  of  perils  and 
difficulties,  rescuing  him   from   them   all   by  some 

♦Among  the  superstitions  which  prevailed  in  thecolonies  during 
the  early  times  of  the  settlements,  there  seems  to  have  been  a  singu- 
lar one  about  phantom  ships.  The  superstitious  fancies  of  men  are 
always  apt  to  turn  upon  those  objects  which  concern  their  daily  oc- 
cupations. The  solitary  ship,  which,  from  year  to  year,  came  like 
a  raven  in  the  wilderness,  bringing  to  the  inhabitants  of  a  settle- 
ment the  comforts  of  life  from  the  world  from  which  they  were  cut 
off,  was  apt  to  be  present  to  their  dreams,  whether  sleeping  or  wak- 
ing. The  accidental  sight  from  shore,  of  a  sail  gliding  along  the 
horizon,  in  those,  as  yet,  lonely  seas,  was  apt  to  be  a  matter  of  much 
talk  anil  speculation.  There  is  mention  made  in  one  of  the  early 
New-England  writers,  of  a  ship  navigated  by  witches,  with  a  great 
horse  that  stood  by  the  mainmast.  I  have  met  with  another  story, 
somewhere,  of  a  ship  that  drove  on  shore,  in  fair,  sunny,  tranquil 
weather,  with  sails  all  set,  and  a  table  spread  in  the  cabin,  as  if  to 
regale  a  nutnber  of  guests,  yet  not  a  living  being  on  board.  These 
phantom  ships  always  sailed  in  the  eye  of  the  wind  ;  or  plowed  their 
way  with  great  velocity,  making  the  smooth  sea  foam  before  their 
bows,  when  not  a  breath  of  air  was  stirring. 

Moore  has  finely  wrought  up  one  of  these  legends  of  the  sea  into 
a  little  tale  which,  within  a  small  compass,  contains  the  very  es- 
sence of  this  species  of  supernatural  fiction.  1  allude  to  his  Spectre- 
Ship  bound  to  Dead-roan *s  Isle. 


miraculous  contrivance :  but  as  this  is  absolutely  a 
true  story,  I  must  content  myself  with  simple  facts, 
and  keep  to  probabilities. 

At  an  early  hour  the  next  day,  therefore,  after  a 
hearty  morning's  meal,  the  encampment  broke  up, 
and  our  adventurers  embarked  in  the  pinnace  of 
Antony  Vander  Heyden.  There  being  no  wind  for 
the  sails,  the  Indians  rowed  her  gently  along,  keep- 
ing time  to  a  kind  of  chant  of  one  of  the  white  men. 
The  day  was  serene  and  beautiful ;  the  river  without 
a  wave ;  and  as  the  vessel  cleft  the  glassy  water,  it 
left  a  long,  undulating  track  behind.  Thi;  crows, 
who  had  scented  the  hunters'  banquet,  were  already 
gathering  and  hovering  in  the  air,  just  where  a  col- 
ume  of  thin,  blue  smoke,  rising  from  among  the 
trees,  showed  the  place  of  their  last  night's  quarters. 
As  they  coasted  along  the  bases  of  the  mountains, 
the  Heer  Antony  pointed  out  to  Dolph  a  bald  eagle, 
the  sovereign  of  these  regions,  who  sat  perched  on  a 
dry  tree  that  projected  over  the  river ;  and,  with  eye 
turned  upwards,  seemed  to  be  drinking  in  the  splen- 
dour of  the  morning  sun.  Their  approach  disturbed 
the  monarch's  meditations.  He  first  spread  one 
wing,  and  then  the  other ;  balanced  himself  for  a 
moment ;  and  then,  quitting  his  perch  with  dignified 
composure,  wheeled  slowly  over  their  heads.  Dolph 
snatched  up  a  gun,  and  sent  a  whistling  ball  after 
him,  that  cut  some  of  the  feathers  from  his  wing ; 
the  report  of  the  gun  leaped  sharply  from  rock  to 
rock,  and  awakened  a  thousand  echoes  ;  but  the 
monarch  of  the  air  sailed  calmly  on,  ascending  higher 
and  higher,  and  wheeling  widely  as  he  ascended, 
soaring  up  the  green  bosom  of  the  woody  mountain, 
until  he  disappeared  over  the  brow  of  a  beetling 
precipice.  Dolph  felt  in  a  manner  rebuked  by  this 
proud  tranquillity,  and  almost  reproached  himself 
for  having  so  wantonly  insulted  this  majestic  bird. 
Heer  Antony  told  him,  laughing,  to  remember  that 
he  was  not  yet  out  of  the  territories  of  the  lord  of  the 
Dunderberg  ;  and  an  old  Indian  shook  his  head,  and 
observed  that  there  was  bad  luck  in  killing  an  eagle 
— the  hunter,  on  the  contrary,  should  always  leave 
him  a  portion  of  his  spoils. 

Nothing,  however,  occurred  to  molest  them  on 
their  voyage.  They  passed  pleasantly  through 
magnificent  and  lonely  scenes,  until  they  came  to 
where  Pollopol's  Island  lay,  like  a  floating  bower, 
at  the  extremity  of  the  highlands.  Here  they  landed, 
until  the  heat  of  the  day  should  abate,  or  a  breeze 
spring  up,  that  might  supersede  the  labour  of  the 
oar.  .Some  prepared  the  mid-day  meal,  while  others 
reposed  under  the  shade  of  the  trees  in  luxurious 
summer  indolence,  looking  drowsily  forth  upon  the 
beauty  of  the  scene.  On  the  one  side  were  the  high- 
lands, vast  and  cragged,  feathered  to  the  top  with 
forests,  and  throwing  their  shadows  on  the  glassy 
water  that  dimpled  at  their  feet.  On  the  other  side 
was  a  wide  expanse  of  the  river,  like  a  broad  lake, 
with  long  sunny  reaches,  and  green  headlands  ;  and 
the  distant  line  of  Shawungunk  mountains  waving 
along  a  clear  horizon,  or  checkered  by  a  fleecy 
cloud. 

But  I  forbear  to  dwell  on  the  particulars  of  their 
cruise  along  the  river  ;  this  vagrant,  amphibious  life, 
careering  across  silver  sheets  of  water ;  coasting  wild 
woodland  shores  ;  banqueting  on  shady  promontories, 
with  the  spreading  tree  overhead,  the  river  curling 
its  light  foam  to  one's  feet,  and  distant  mountain, 
and  rock,  and  tree,  and  snowy  cloud,  and  deep-blue 
sky,  all  mingling  in  summer  beauty  before  one  ;  all 
this,  though  never  cloying  in  the  enjoyment,  would  be 
but  tedious  in  narration. 

When  encamped  by  the  water-side,  some  of  the 
party  would  go  into  the  woods  and  hunt ;  others 
would  fish  :  sometimes  they  would  amuse  themselves 


682 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


by  shooting  at  a  mark,  by  leaping,  by  running, 
by  wrestling ;  and  Dolph  gained  great  favour  in 
the  eyes  of  Antony  Vander  Heyden,  by  his  skill 
and  adroitness  in  all  these  exercises ;  which  the 
Heer  considered  as  the  highest  of  manly  accomplish- 
ments. 

Thus  did  they  coast  jollily  on,  choosing  only  the 
pleasant  hours  for  voyaging ;  sometimes  in  the  cool 
mornnig  dawn,  sometimes  in  the  sober  evening  twi- 
light, and  sometimes  when  the  moonshine  spangled 
the  crisp  curling  waves  that  whispered  along  the 
sides  of  their  little  bark.  Never  had  Dolph  felt  so 
completely  in  his  element ;  never  had  he  met  with 
any  thing  so  completely  to  his  taste  as  this  wild, 
hap-hazard  life.  He  was  the  very  man  to  second 
Antony  Vander  Heyden  in  his  rambling  humours, 
and  gained  continually  on  his  affections.  The  heart 
of  the  old  bushwhacker  yearned  toward  the  young 
man,  who  seemed  thus  growing  up  in  his  own  like- 
ness ;  and  as  they  approached  to  the  end  of  their 
voyage,  he  could  not  help  inquiring  a  little  into  his 
history.  Dolph  frankly  told  him  his  course  of  life, 
his  severe  medical  studies,  his  little  proficiency,  and 
his  very  dubious  prospects.  The  Heer  was  shocked 
to  find  that  such  amazing  talents  and  accomplish- 
ments were  to  be  cramped  and  buried  under  a 
doctor's  wig.  He  had  a  sovereign  contempt  for  the 
healing  art,  having  never  had  any  other  physician 
than  the  butcher.  He  bore  a  mortal  grudge  to  all 
kinds  of  study  also,  ever  since  he  had  been  Hogged 
about  an  unintelligible  book  when  he  was  a  boy. 
But  to  think  that  a  young  fellow  like  Dolph,  of  such 
wonderful  abilities,  who  could  shoot,  fish,  run,  jump, 
ride,  and  wrestle,  should  be  obliged  to  roll  pills  and 
administer  juleps  for  a  living — 'twas  monstrous  !  He 
told  Dolph  never  to  despair,  but  to  "  throw  physic 
to  the  dogs;"  for  a  young  fellow  of  his  prodigious 
talents  could  never  fail  to  make  his  way.  "  As  you 
seem  to  have  no  acquaintance  in  Albany,"  said 
Heer  Antony,  "you  shall  go  home  with  me,  and  re- 
main under  my  roof  until  you  can  look  about  you  ; 
and  in  the  meantime  we  can  take  an  occasional  bout 
at  shooting  and  fishing,  for  it  is  a  pity  such  talents 
should  lie  idle." 

Dolph,  who  was  at  the  mercy  of  chance,  was  not 
hard  to  be  persuaded.  Indeed,  on  turning  over 
matters  in  his  mind,  which  he  did  very  sagely  and 
deliberately,  he  could  not  but  think  that  Antony 
Vander  Heyden  was,  "  some  how  or  other,"  con- 
nected with  the  story  of  the  Haunted  House  ;  that 
the  misadventure  in  the  highlands,  which  had  thrown 
them  so  strangely  together,  was,  "  some  how  or 
other,"  to  work  out  something  good  :  in  short,  there 
is  nothing  so  convenient  as  this  "some  how  or 
other"  way  of  accommodating  one's-self  to  circum- 
stances ;  it  is  the  mainstay  of  a  heedless  actor, 
and  tardy  reasoner,  like  Dolph  Heyliger ;  and  he 
who  can,  in  this  loose,  easy  way,  link  foregone  evil 
to  anticipated  good,  possesses  a  secret  of  happiness 
almost  equal  to  the  philosopher's  stone. 

On  their  arrival  at  Albany,  the  sight  of  Dolph's 
companion  seemed  to  cause  universal  satisfaction. 
Many  were  the  greetings  at  the  river  side,  and  the 
salutations  in  the  streets  :  the  dogs  bounded  before 
him ;  the  boys  whooped  as  he  passed  ;  every  body 
seemed  to  know  Antony  Vander  Heyden.  Dolph 
followed  on  in  silence,  admiring  the  neatness  of  this 
worthy  burgh ;  for  in  those  days  Albany  was  in  all 
its  glory,  and  inhabited  almost  exclusively  by  the 
descendants  of  the  original  Dutch  settlers,  for  it 
had  not  as  yet  been  discovered  and  colonized  by 
the  restless  people  of  New-England.  Every  thing 
was  quiet  and  orderly  ;  every  thing  was  conducted 
calmly  and  leisurely ;  no  hurry,  no  bustle,  no  strug- 
gling and   scrambling  for  existence.      The    grass 


grew  about  the  unpaved  streets,  and  relieved  the 
eye  by  its  refreshing  verdure.  The  tall  sycamores 
or  pendant  willows  shaded  the  houses,  with  cater- 
pillars swinging,  in  long  silken  strings,  from  their 
branches,  or  moths,  fluttering  about  like  coxcombs, 
in  joy  at  their  gay  transformation.  The  houses 
were  built  in  the  old  Dutch  style,  with  the  gable- 
ends  towards  the  street.  The  thrifty  housewile 
was  seated  on  a  bench  before  her  door,  in  close 
crimped  cap,  bright  flowered  gown,  and  white 
apron,  busily  employed  in  knitting.  The  husband 
smoked  his  pipe  on  the  opposite  bench,  and  the 
little  pet  negro  girl,  seated  on  the  step  at  her 
mistress'  feet,  was  industriously  plying  her  needle. 
The  swallows  sported  about  the  eaves,  or  skimmed 
along  the  streets,  and  brought  back  some  rich  booty 
for  their  clamorous  young ;  and  the  little  house- 
keeping wren  flew  in  and  out  of  a  Lilliputian 
house,  or  an  old  hat  nailed  again.st  the  wall.  The 
cows  were  coming  home,  lowing  through  the  streets, 
to  be  milked  at  their  owner's  door ;  and  if,  per- 
chance, there  were  any  loiterers,  some  negro  urchin, 
with  a  long  goad,  was  gently  urging  them  home- 
wards. 

As  Dolph's  companion  passed  on,  he  received  a 
tranquil  nod  from  the  burghers,  and  a  friendly  word 
from  their  wives ;  all  calling  him  familiarly  by  the 
name  of  Antony ;  for  it  was  the  custom  in  this 
strong-hold  of  the  patriarchs,  where  they  had  all 
grown  up  together  from  childhood,  to  call  every  one 
by  the  Christian  name.  The  Heer  did  not  pause  to 
have  his  usual  jokes  with  them,  for  he  was  impatient 
to  reach  his  home.  At  length  they  arrived  at  his 
mansion.  It  was  of  some  magnitude,  in  the  Dutch 
style,  with  large  iron  figures  on  the  gables,  that  gave 
the  date  of  its  erection,  and  showed  that  it  had  been 
built  in  the  earliest  times  of  the  settlement. 

The  news  of  Heer  Antony's  arrival  had  preceded 
him  ;  and  the  whole  household  was  on  the  look-out. 
A  crew  of  negroes,  large  and  small,  had  collected  in 
front  of  the  house  to  receive  him.  The  old,  white- 
headed  ones,  who  had  grown  gray  in  his  service, 
grinned  for  joy  and  made  many  awkward  bows  and 
grimaces,  and  the  little  ones  capered  about  his  knees. 
But  the  most  happy  being  in  the  household  was  a 
little,  plump,  blooming  lass,  his  only  child,  and  the 
darling  of  his  heart.  She  came  bounding  out  ot  the 
house  ;  but  the  sight  of  a  strange  young  man  with 
her  father  called  up,  for  a  moment,  all  the  bashful- 
ness  of  a  homebred  damsel.  Dolph  gazed  at  her  with 
wonder  and  delight ;  never  had  he  seen,  as  he  thought, 
any  thing  so  coiuely  in  the  shape  of  woman.  She 
was  dressed  in  the  good  old  Dutch  taste,  with  long 
stays,  and  full,  short  petticoats,  so  admirably  adapted 
to  show  and  set  off  the  female  form.  Her  hair,  turned 
up  under  a  small  round  cap,  displayed  the  fairness 
of  her  forehead  ;  she  had  fine,  blue,  laughing  eyes ; 
a  trim,  slender  waist,  and  soft  swell — but,  in  a  word, 
she  was  a  little  Dutch  divinity ;  and  Dolph,  who 
never  stopt  half-way  in  a  new  impulse,  fell  desper- 
ately in  love  with  her. 

Dolph  was  now  ushered  into  the  house  with  a 
hearty  welcome.  In  the  interior  was  a  mingled  dis- 
play of  Heer  Antony's  taste  and  habits,  and  of  the 
opulence  of  his  predecessors.  The  chambers  were 
furnished  with  good  old  mahogany ;  the  beaufets  and 
cupboards  glittered  with  embossed  silver,  and  paint- 
ed china.  Over  the  parlour  fire-place  was,  as  usual, 
the  family  coat-of-arms,  painted  and  framed  ;  above 
which  was  a  long  duck  fowling-piece,  flanked  by  an 
Indian  pouch,  and  a  powder-horn.  The  room  was 
decorated  with  many  Indian  articles,  such  as  pipes 
of  peace,  tomahawks,  scalping- knives,  hunting- 
pouches,  and  belts  of  wampum ;  and  there  were 
various  kinds  of  fishing  tackle,  and  two  or  three 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


533 


fowling-pieces  in  the  corners.  The  household  affairs 
seemed  to  lie  conducted,  in  some  measure,  after  the 
master's  humours  ;  corrected,  perhaps,  by  a  little 
quiet  management  of  the  daughter's.  There  was  a 
degree  of  patriarchal  simplicity,  and  good-humoured 
indulgence.  The  negroes  came  into  the  room  with- 
out being  called,  merely  to  look  at  their  master,  and 
hear  of  his  adventures  ;  they  would  stand  listening 
at  the  door  until  he  had  finished  a  story,  and  then  go 
off  on  a  broad  grin,  to  repeat  it  in  the  kitchen.  A 
couple  of  pet  negro  children  were  playing  about  the 
floor  with  the  dogs,  and  sharing  with  them  their 
bread  and  butter.  All  the  domestics  looked  hearty 
and  happy  ;  and  when  the  table  was  set  for  the  even- 
ing repast,  the  variety  and  abundance  of  good  house- 
hold luxuries  bore  testimony  to  the  openhanded  lib- 
erality of  the  Heer,  and  the  notable  housewifery  of 
his  daughter. 

In  the  evening  there  dropped  in  several  of  the 
worthies  of  the  place,  the  Van  Rennsellaers,  and  the 
Gansevoorts,  and  the  Rosebooms,  and  others  of 
Antony  Vander  Heyden's  intimates,  to  hear  an  ac- 
count of  his  expedition  ;  for  he  was  the  Sinbad  of 
Albany,  and  his  exploits  and  adventures  were  favour- 
ite topics  of  conversation  among  the  inhabitants. 
While  these  sat  gossiping  together  about  the  door 
of  the  hall,  and  telling  long  twilight  stories,  Dolph 
was  cozily  seated,  entertaining  the  daughter  on  a 
window-bench.  He  had  already  got  on  intimate 
terms ;  for  those  were  not  times  of  false  reserve  and 
idle  ceremony ;  and,  besides,  there  is  something 
wonderfully  propitious  to  a  lover's  suit,  in  the  de- 
lightful dusk  of  a  long  summer  evening ;  it  gives 
courage  to  the  most  timid  tongue,  and  hides  the 
blushes  of  the  bashful.  The  stars  alone  twinkled 
brightly ;  and  now  and  then  a  fire-fly  streamed  his 
transient  light  before  the  window,  or,  wandering  into 
the  room,  flew  gleaming  about  the  ceiling. 

What  Dolph  whispered  in  her  ear,  that  long  sum- 
mer evening,  it  is  impossible  to  say  :  his  words  were 
so  low  and  indistinct,  that  they  never  reached 
the  ear  of  the  historian.  It  is  probable,  how- 
ever, that  they  were  to  the  purpose  ;  for  he 
had  a  natural  talent  at  pleasing  the  sex,  and  was 
never  long  in  company  with  a  petticoat  without  pay- 
ing proper  court  to  it.  In  the  meantime,  the  visit- 
ors, one  by  one,  departed  ;  Antony  Vander  Heyden, 
v.'ho  had  fairly  talked  himself  silent,  sat  nodding 
alone  in  his  chair  by  the  door,  when  he  was  sudden- 
ly aroused  by  a  hearty  salute  with  which  Uolph  Hey- 
liger  had  unguardedly  rounded  off  one  of  his  periods, 
and  which  echoed  through  the  still  chamber  like  the 
report  of  a  pistol.  The  Heer  started  up,  rubbed  his 
eyes,  called  for  lights,  and  observed,  that  it  was  high 
time  to  go  to  bed  ;  though,  on  parting  for  the  night, 
he  squeezed  Dolph  heartily  by  the  hand,  looked 
kindly  in  his  face,  and  shook  his  head  knowingly  ; 
for  the  Heer  well  remembered  what  he  himself  had 
been  at  the  youngster's  age. 

The  chamber  in  which  our  hero  was  lodged  was 
spacious,  and  panelled  with  oak.  It  was  furnished 
with  clothes-presses,  and  mighty  chests  of  drawers, 
well  waxed,  and  glittering  with  brass  ornaments. 
These  contained  ample  stock  of  family  linen  ;  for 
the  Dutch  housewives  had  always  a  laudable  pride 
in  showing  off  their  household  treasures  to  strangers. 

Dolph's  mind,  however,  was  too  full  to  take  par- 
ticular note  of  the  objects  around  him  ;  yet  he  could 
not  help  continually  comparing  the  free,  open-hearted 
cheeriness  of  this  establishment  with  the  starveling, 
sordid,  joyless  housekeeping  at  Doctor  Knipperhau- 
sen's.  Still  there  was  something  that  marred  the 
enjoyment— the  idea  that  he  must  take  leave  of  his 
hearty  host  and  pretty  hostess  and  cast  himself  once 
more  adrift  upon  the  world.     To  linger  here  would 


be  folly  ;  he  should  only  get  deeper  in  love  ;  and  for 
a  poor  varlet  like  himself  to  aspire  to  the  daughter 
of  the  great  Heer  Vander  Heyden — it  was  madness 
to  think  of  such  a  thing!  The  very  kindness  that 
the  girl  had  shown  towards  him  prompted  him,  on 
reflection,  to  hasten  his  departure ;  it  would  be  a 
poor  return  for  the  frank  hospitality  of  his  host  to 
entangle  his  daughter's  heart  in  an  injudicious  at- 
tachment. In  a  word,  Dolph  was  like  many  other 
young  reasoners,  of  exceeding  good  hearts  and  giddy 
heads,  who  think  after  they  act,  and  act  differently 
from  what  they  think  ;  who  make  excellent  determi- 
nations overnight  and  forget  to  keep  them  the  next 
morning. 

"This  is  a  fine  conclusion,  truly,  of  my  voyage," 
said  he,  as  he  almost  buried  himself  in  a  sumptuous 
feather-bed,  and  drew  the  fresh  white  sheets  up  to 
his  chin.  "  Here  am  I,  instead  of  finding  a  bag  of 
money  to  carry  home,  launched  in  a  strange  place, 
with  scarcely  a  stiver  in  my  pocket ;  and,  what  is 
worse,  have  jumped  ashore  up  to  my  very  ears  in 
love  into  the  bargain.  However,"  added  he,  after 
some  pause,  stretching  himself  and  turninjf  himself 
in  bed,  "  I'm  in  good  quarters  for  the  present,  at 
least ;  so  I'll  e'en  enjoy  the  present  moment,  and  let 
the  next  take  care  of  itself;  I  dare  say  all  will  work 
out,  '  some  how  or  other,'  for  the  best." 

As  he  said  these  words,  he  reached  out  his  hand 
to  extinguish  the  candle,  when  he  was  suddenly 
struck  with  astonishment  and  dismay,  for  he  thought 
he  beheld  the  phantom  of  the  haunted  house  staring 
on  him  from  a  dusky  part  of  the  chamber.  A  sec- 
ond look  reassured  him,  as  he  perceived  that  what 
he  had  taken  for  the  spectre  was,  in  fact,  nothing 
but  a  Flemish  portrait,  that  hung  in  a  shadowy  cor- 
ner just  behind  a  clothes-press.  It  was,  however, 
the  precise  representation  of  his  nightly  visitor  :— the 
same  cloak  and  belted  jerkin,  the  same  grizzled  beard 
and  fixed  eye,  the  same  broad  slouched  hat,  with  a 
feather  hanging  over  one  side.  Dolph  now  called  to 
mind  the  resemblance  he  had  frequently  remarked 
between  his  host  and  the  old  man  of  the  haunted 
house  ;  and  was  fully  convinced  that  they  were  in 
some  way  connected,  and  that  some  especial  destiny 
had  governed  his  voyage.  He  lay  gazing  on  the 
portrait  with  almost  as  much  awe  as  he  had  gazed 
on  the  ghostly  original,  until  the  shrill  house-clock 
warned  him  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour.  He  put  out 
the  light ;  but  remained  for  a  long  time  turning  over 
these  curious  circumstances  and  coincidences  in  his 
mind,  until  he  fell  asleep.  His  dreams  partook  of 
the  nature  of  his  waking  thoughts.  He  fancied  that 
he  still  lay  gazing  on  the  picture,  until,  by  degrees, 
it  became  animated  ;  that  the  figure  descended  from 
the  wall  and  walked  out  of  the  room  ;  that  he  fol- 
lowed it  and  found  hi.mself  by  the  well,  to  which  the 
old  man  pointed,  smiled  on  him,  and  disappeared. 

In  the  morning  when  Dolph  waked,  he  found  his 
host  standing  by  liis  bed-side,  who  gave  him  a  hearty 
morning's  salutation,  and  asked  him  how  he  had 
slept.  Dolph  answered  cheerily  ;  but  took  occasion 
to  inquire  about  the  portrait  that  hung  against  the 
wall.  "  Ah,"  said  Heer  Antony,  "  that's  a  portrait 
of  old  Killian  Vander  Spiegel,  once  a  burgomaster 
of  Amsterdam,  who,  on  some  popular  troubles,  aban- 
doned Holland  and  came  over  to  the  province  during 
the  government  of  Peter  Stuyvesant.  He  was  my 
ancestor  by  the  mother's  side,  and  an  old  miserly 
curmudgeon  he  was.  When  the  English  took  pos- 
session of  New-Amsterdam  in  1664,  he  retired  into 
the  country.  He  fell  into  a  melancholy,  apprehend- 
ing that  his  wealth  would  be  taken  from  him  and 
that  he  would  come  to  beggary.  He  turned  all  his 
property  into  cash,  and  used  to  hide  it  away.  He 
was  for  a  year  or  two  concealed  in  various  places, 


C3i 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


fancying  himself  sought  after  by  the  Eng'lish,  to  strip 
him  of  his  wealth  ;  and  finally  was  found  dead  in  his 
bed  one  morning,  without  any  one  being  able  to  dis- 
cover wliere  he  had  concealed  the  greater  part  of  his 
money." 

When  his  host  had  left  the  room,  Dolph  remained 
for  some  time  lost  in  thought.  His  whole  mind  was 
occupied  by  what  he  had  heard.  Vander  Spiegel 
was  his  mother's  family  name  ;  and  he  recollected 
to  have  heard  her  speak  of  this  veiy  Killian  Vander 
Spiegel  as  one  of  her  ancestors.  He  had  heard  her 
say,  too,  that  her  father  was  Killian's  rightful  heir, 
only  that  the  old  man  died  without  leaving  any  thing 
to  be  inherited.  It  now  appeared  that  lleer  Antony 
was  likewise  a  descendant,  and  perhaps  an  heir  also, 
of  this  poor  rich  man  ;  and  that  thus  the  Heyligcrs 
and  the  Vander  Heydens  were  remotely  connected. 
•'  What,"  thought  he,  "  if,  after  all,  this  is  the  inter- 
pretation of  my  dream,  that  this  is  the  way  I  am  to 
make  my  fortune  by  this  voyage  to  Albany,  and  that 
I  am  to  find  the  old  man's  hidden  wealth  in  the  bot- 
tom of  that  well  ?  But  what  an  odd,  round-about 
mode  of  communicating  the  matter !  Why  the 
plague  could  not  the  old  goblin  have  told  me  about 
the  well  at  once,  without  sending  me  all  the  way  to 
Albany  to  hear  a  story  that  was  to  send  me  all  the 
way  back  again  ?" 

"These  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind  while  he 
was  dressing.  He  descended  the  stairs,  full  of  per- 
plexity, when  the  bright  face  of  Marie  Vander  Hey- 
den  suddenly  beamed  in  smiles  upon  him,  and  seemed 
to  give  him  a  clue  to  the  whole  mystery.  "  After 
all,"  thought  he,  "  the  old  goblin  is  in  the  right.  If 
1  am  to  gel  his  wealth,  he  means  that  I  shall  marry 
his  pretty  descendant ;  thus  both  branches  of  the 
family  will  be  again  united,  and  the  property  go  on 
in  the  proper  channel." 

No  sooner  did  this  idea  enter  his  head,  than  it  car- 
ried conviction  with  it.  He  was  now  all  impatience 
to  hurry  back  and  secure  the  treasure,  which,  he  did 
not  doubt,  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  well,  and  which 
he  feared  every  moment  might  be  discovered  by  some 
other  person.  "  Who  knows,"  thought  he,  "  but 
this  night-walking  old  fellow  of  the  haunted  house 
may  be  in  the  habit  of  haunting  every  visitor,  and 
may  give  a  hint  to  some  shrewder  fellow  than  my- 
self, who  will  take  a  shorter  cut  to  the  well  than  by 
the  way  of  Albany.' "  He.wished  a  thousand  times 
that  the  babbling  old  ghost  was  laid  in  the  Red  Sea, 
and  his  rambling  portrait  with  him.  He  was  in  a 
perfect  fever  to  depart.  Two  or  three  days  elapsed 
before  any  opportunity  presented  for  returning  down 
the  river.  They  were  ages  to  Dolph,  notwithstand- 
ing that  he  was  basking  in  the  smiles  of  the  pretty 
Marie,  and  daily  getting  more  and  more  enamoured. 

At  length  the  very  sloop  from  which  he  had  been 
knocked  overboard,  prepared  to  make  sail.  Dolph 
made  an  awkward  apology  to  his  host  for  his  sudden 
departure.  Antony  Vander  Heyden  was  sorely  as- 
tonished. He  had  concerted  half-a-dozen  excursions 
into  the  wilderness  ;  and  his  Indians  were  actually 
pre])aring  for  a  grand  expedition  to  one  of  the  lakes. 
He  took  Dolph  aside,  and  exerted  his  eloquence  to 
get  him  to  abandon  all  thoughts  of  business,  and  to 
remain  with  him — but  in  vain  ;  and  he  at  length  gave 
up  the  attempt,  observing,  "that  it  was  a  thousand 
pities  so  fine  a  young  man  should  throw  himself 
away."  Heer  Antony,  however,  gave  him  a  hearty 
shake  by  the  hand  at  parting,  with  a  favourite  fowl- 
ing-piece, and  an  invitation  to  come  to  his  house 
whenever  he  revisited  Albany.  The  pretty  little  Marie 
said  nothing  ;  but  as  he  gave  her  a  farewell  kiss,  her 
dimpled  cheek  turned  pale,  and  a  tear  stood  in  her 
eye. 

Dolph  sprang  lightly  on  board  of  the  vessel.   They 


hoisted  sail ;  the  wind  was  fair ;  they  soon  lost  sight 
of  Albany,  and  its  green  hills,  and  embowered 
islands.  They  were  wafted  gayly  past  the  Kaats- 
kill  mountains,  whose  fairy  heights  were  bright  and 
cloudless.  They  passed  prosperously  through  the 
highlands,  without  any  molestation  from  the  Dun- 
derberg  goblin  and  his  crew  ;  they  swept  on  across 
Haverstraw  Bay,  and  by  Croton  Point,  and  through 
the  Tappaan  Zee,  and  under  the  Palisadoes,  until,  in 
the  afternoon  of  the  third  day,  they  saw  the  prom- 
ontory of  Hoboken,  hanging  like  a  cloud  in  the  air; 
and,  shortly  after,  the  roofs  of  the  Manhattoes  rising 
out  of  the  water. 

Dolph's  first  care  was  to  repair  to  his  mother's 
house  ;  for  he  was  continually  goaded  by  the  idea  of 
the  uneasiness  she  must  experience  on  his  account. 
He  was  puzzling  his  brains,  as  he  went  along,  to  think 
how  he  should  account  for  his  absence,  without  be- 
traying the  secrets  of  the  haunted  house.  In  the 
midst  of  these  cogitations,  he  entered  the  street  in 
which  his  mother's  house  was  situated,  when  he  was 
thunderstruck  at  beholding  it  a  heap  of  ruins. 

There  had  evidently  been  a  great  fire,  which  had 
destroyed  several  large  houses,  and  the  humble  dwell- 
ing of  poor  dame  Heyliger  had  been  involved  in  the 
conflagration.  The  walls  were  not  so  completely 
destroyed  but  that  Dolph  could  distinguish  some 
traces  of  the  scene  of  his  childhood.  The  fire-place, 
about  which  he  had  often  played,  still  remained,  or- 
namented with  Dutch  tiles,  illustrating  passages  in 
Bible  history,  on  which  he  had  many  a  time  gazed 
with  admiration.  Among  the  rubbish  lay  the  wreck 
of  the  good  dame's  elbow-chair,  from  which  she  had 
given  him  so  many  a  wholesome  precept  ;  and  hard 
by  it  was  the  family  Bible,  with  brass  clasps;  now, 
alas  !  reduced  almost  to  a  cinder. 

P'or  a  moment  Dolph  was  overcoine  by  this  dismal 
sight,  for  he  was  seized  with  the  fear  that  his  mother 
had  perished  in  the  flames.  He  was  relieved,  how- 
ever, from  this  horrible  apprehension,  by  one  of  the 
neighbours  who  happened  to  come  by,  and  who  in- 
formed him  that  his  mother  was  yet  alive. 

The  good  woman  had,  indeed,  lost  eveiy  thing  by 
this  unlooked-for  calamity ;  for  the  populace  had 
been  so  intent  upon  saving  the  fine  furniture  of  her  rich 
neighbours,  that  the  little  tenement,  and  the  little  all 
of  poor  dame  Heyliger,  had  been  suffered  to  consume 
without  interruption ;  nay,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
gallant  assistance  of  her  old  crony,  Peter  de  Groodt, 
the  worthy  dame  and  her  cat  might  have  shared  the 
fate  of  their  habitation. 

As  it  was,  she  had  been  overcome  with  fright  and 
affliction,  and  lay  ill  in  body,  and  sick  at  heari.  The 
public,  however,  had  showed  her  its  wonted  kind- 
ness. The  furniture  of  her  rich  neighbours  being,  as 
far  as  possible,  rescued  from  the  flames ;  themselves 
duly  and  ceremoniously  visited  and  condoled  with  on 
the  injury  of  their  property,  and  their  ladies  commis- 
erated on  the  agitation  of  their  nerves  ;  the  public,  at 
length,  began  to  recollect  something  about  poor 
dame  Heyliger.  She  forthwith  became  again  a  sub- 
ject of  universal  sympathy ;  every  body  pitied  more 
than  ever  ;  and  if  pity  could  but  have  been  coined 
into  cash — good  Lord  !  how  rich  she  would  have 
been  ! 

It  was  now  determined,  in  good  earnest,  that  some- 
thing ought  to  be  done  for  her  without  delay.  The 
Dominic,  therefore,  put  up  prayers  for  her  on  Sun- 
day, in  which  all  the  congregation  joined  most 
heartily.  Even  Cobus  Groesbeck,  the  alderman,  and 
Mynheer  Milledollar,  the  great  Dutch  merchant, 
stood  up  in  their  pews,  and  did  not  spare  their  voices 
on  the  occasion  ;  and  it  was  thought  the  prayers  of 
such  great  men  could  not  but  have  their  due  weight. 
Doctor  Knipperhausen,  too,  visited  her  profession- 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


535 


ally,  and  gave  lier  abundance  of  advice  gratis,  and 
was  universally  lauded  for  his  charity.  As  to  her 
old  friend,  Peter  de  Groodt,  he  was  a  poor  man, 
whose  pity,  and  prayers,  and  advice  could  be  of  but 
little  avail,  so  he  gave  her  all  that  was  in  his  power 
—he  gave  her  shelter. 

To  the  humble  dwelling  of  Peter  de  Groodt,  then, 
did  Dolph  turn  his  steps.  On  his  way  thither,  he  re- 
called ail  the  tenderness  and  kindness  of  his  simple- 
hearted  parent,  her  indulgence  of  his  errors,  her 
blindness  to  his  faults  ;  and  then  he  bethought  him- 
self of  his  own  idle,  harum-scarum  life.  "I've  been 
a  sad  scape-grace,"  said  Dolph,  shaking  his  head 
sorrowfully.  "  I've  been  a  complete  sink-pocket, 
that's  the  truth  of  it ! — But,"  added  he,  briskly,  and 
clasping  his  hands,  "only  let  her  live — only  let  her 
live  — and  I'll  show  myself  indeed  a  son  !  " 

As  Dolph  approached  the  house,  he  met  Peter  de 
Groodt  coming  out  of  it.  The  old  man  started  back 
aghast,  doubting  whether  it  was  not  a  ghost  that 
stood  before  him.  It  being  bright  daylight,  however, 
Peter  soon  plucked  up  heart,  satisfied  that  no  ghost 
dare  show  his  face  in  such  clear  sunshine.  Dolph 
now  learned  from  the  worthy  sexton  the  consterna- 
tion and  rumour  to  which  his  mysterious  disappear- 
ance had  given  rise.  It  had  been  universally  believed 
that  he  had  been  spirited  away  by  those  hobgoblin 
gentry  that  infested  the  haunted  house ;  and  old 
Abraham  Vandozer,  who  lived  by  the  great  button- 
wood  trees,  at  the  three-mile  stone,  affirmed,  that 
he  had  heard  a  terrible  noise  in  the  air,  as  he  was 
going  home  late  at  night,  which  seemed  just  as  if  a 
tiight  of  wild  geese  were  overhead,  passing  off  to- 
wards the  northward.  The  haunted  house  was,  in 
consequence,  looked  upon  with  ten  times  more  awe 
than  ever;  nobody  would  venture  to  pass  a  night  in 
it  for  the  world,  and  even  the  doctor  had  ceased  to 
make  his  expeditions  to  it  in  the  day-time. 

It  required  some  preparation  before  Dolph's  re- 
turn could  be  made  known  to  his  mother,  the  poor 
soul  having  bewailed  him  as  lost ;  and  her  spirits 
having  been  sorely  broken  down  by  a  number  of 
comforters,  who  daily  cheered  her  with  stories  of 
ghosts,  and  of  people  carried  away  by  the  devil.  He 
found  her  confined  to  her  bed,  with  the  other  mem- 
ber of  the  Heyliger  family,  the  good  dame's  cat, 
purring  beside  her,  but  sadly  singed,  and  utterly  de- 
spoiled of  those  whiskers  which  were  the  glory  of 
her  physiognomy.  The  poor  woman  threw  her  arms 
about  Dolph's  neck  :  "  iVIy  boy  !  my  boy  I  art  thou 
still  alive  ?  "  For  a  time  she  seemed  to  have  forgot- 
ten all  her  losses  and  troubles,  in  her  joy  at  his  re- 
turn. Even  the  sage  grimalkin  showed  indubitable 
signs  of  joy,  at  the  return  of  the  youngster.  She 
saw,  perhaps,  that  they  were  a  forlorn  and  undone 
family,  and  felt  a  touch  of  that  kindliness  which  fel- 
low-sufferers only  know.  But,  in  truth,  cats  are  a 
slandered  people ;  they  have  more  affection  in  them 
than  the  world  commonly  gives  them  credit  for. 

The  good  dame's  eyes  glistened  as  she  saw  one 
being,  at  least,  beside  herself,  rejoiced  at  her  son's 
return.  "  Tib  knows  thee  !  poor  dumb  beast  I  "  said 
she,  smoothing  down  the  mottled  coat  of  her  favour- 
ite; then  recollecting  herself,  with  a  melancholy 
shake  of  the  head,  "  Ah,  my  poor  Dolph !  "  exclaimed 
she,  "  thy  mother  can  help  thee  no  longer !  She 
can  no  longer  help  herself !  What  will  become  of 
thee,  my  poor  boy  !  " 
_  "  Mother,"  said  Dolph,  "  don't  talk  in  that  strain  ; 
I've  been  too  long  a  charge  upon  you  ;  it's  now  my 
part  to  take  care  of  you  in  your  old  days.  Come  ! 
be  of  good  heart !  you,  and  I,  and  Tib,  will  all  see 
better  days.  I'm  here,  you  see,  young,  and  sound,  and 
hearty  ;  then  don't  let  us  despair  ;  I  dare  say  things 
will  all,  some  how  or  other,  turn  out  for  the  best." 


While  this  scene  was  going  on  with  the  Heyligei 
family,  the  news  was  carried  to  Doctor  Knipper- 
hausen,  of  the  safe  return  of  his  disciple.  The  little 
doctor  scarcely  knew  whether  to  rejoice  or  be  sorry 
at  the  tidings.  He  was  happy  at  having  the  foul  re- 
ports which  had  prevailed  concerning  his  country 
mansion  thus  disproved ;  but  he  grieved  at  having 
his  disciple,  of  whom  he  had  supposed  himself  fairly 
disencumbered,  thus  drifting  back,  a  heavy  charge 
upon  his  hands.  While  he  was  balancing  between 
these  two  feelings,  he  was  determined  by  the  coun- 
sels of  Frau  Ilsy,  who  advised  him  to  take  advantage 
of  the  truant  absence  of  the  youngster,  and.  shut  the 
door  upon  him  for  ever. 

At  the  hour  of  bed-time,  therefore,  when  it  was 
supposed  the  recreant  disciple  would  seek  his  old 
quarters,  every  thing  was  prepared  for  his  reception. 
Dolph,  having  talked  his  mother  into  a  state  of  tran- 
quillity, sought  the  mansion  ot  his  quondam  master, 
and  raised  the  knocker  with  a  faltering  hand.  Scarce- 
ly, however,  had  it  given  a  dubious  rap,  when  the 
doctor's  head,  in  a  red  night-cap,  popped  out  of  one 
window,  and  the  housekeeper's,  in  a  white  night- 
cap, out  of  another.  He  was  now  greeted  with  a 
tremendous  volley  of  hard  names  and  hard  language, 
mingled  with  invaluable  pieces  of  advice,  such  as  are 
seldom  ventured  to  be  given  excepting  to  a  friend  in 
distress,  or  a  culprit  at  the  bar.  In  a  few  moments, 
not  a  window  in  the  street  but  had  its  particular 
night-cap,  listening  to  the  shrill  treble  of  Frau  Ilsy, 
and  the  guttural  croaking  of  Dr.  Knipperhausen  ; 
and  the  word  went  from  window  to  window,  "  Ah  ! 
here's  Dolph  Heyliger  come  back,  and  at  his  old 
pranks  again."  In  short,  poor  Dolph  found  he  was 
likely  to  get  nothing  from  the  doctor  but  good  ad- 
vice— a  commodity  so  abundant  as  even  to  be  thrown 
out  of  the  window  ;  so  he  was  fain  to  beat  a  retreat, 
and  take  up  his  quarters  for  the  night  under  the 
lowly  roof  of  honest  Peter  de  Groodt. 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  Dolph  was 
out  at  the  haunted  house.  Every  thing  looked  just 
as  he  had  left  it.  The  fields  were  grass-grown  and 
matted,  and  it  appeared  as  if  nobody  had  traversed 
them  since  his  departure.  With  palpitating  heart, 
he  hastened  to  the  well.  He  looked  down  into  it, 
and  saw  that  it  was  of  great  depth,  with  water  at 
the  bottom.  He  had  provided  himself  with  a  strong 
line,  such  as  the  fishermen  use  on  the  banks  of  New- 
foundland. At  the  end  was  a  heavy  plummet  and  a 
large  fish-hook.  With  this  he  began  to  sound  the 
bottom  of  the  well,  and  to  angle  about  in  the  water. 
He  found  that  the  water  was  of  some  depth  ;  there 
appeared  also  to  be  much  rubbish,  stones  from  the 
top  having  fallen  in.  Several  times  his  hook  got  en- 
tangled, and  he  came  near  breaking  his  line.  Now 
and  then,  too,  he  hauled  up  mere  trash,  such  as  the 
skull  of  a  horse,  an  iron  hoop,  and  a  shattered  iron- 
bound  bucket.  He  had  now  been  several  hours  em- 
ployed without  finding  any  thing  to  repay  his  trouble, 
or  to  encourage  him  to  proceed.  He  began  to  think 
himself  a  great  fool,  to  be  thus  decoyed  into  a  wild- 
goose-chase  by  mere  dreams,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  throwing  hne  and  all  into  the  well,  and  giving  up 
all  further  angling. 

"  One  more<ast  of  the  line,"  said  he,  "and  that 
shall  be  the  last."  As  he  sounded,  he  felt  the 
plummet  slip,  as  it  were,  through  the  interstices  of 
loose  stones ;  and  as  he  drew  back  the  line,  he  felt 
that  the  hook  had  taken  hold  of  something  heavy. 
He  h.ad  to  manage  his  line  with  great  caution,  lest  it 
should  be  broken  by  the  strain  upon  it.  By  degrees, 
the  rubbish  that  lay  upon  the  article  which  he  had 
hooked  gave  way ;  he  drew  it  to  the  surface  of  the 
water,  and  what  was  his  rapture  at  seeing  .something 
like  silver  glittering  at  the  end  of  his  line  !     Almost 


686 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


breathless  with  anxiety,  he  drew  it  up  to  the  mouth 
of  the  well,  suqirised  at  its  great  weight,  and  fearing 
every  instant  that  his  hook  would  slip  from  its  hold, 
and  his  prize  tumble  again  to  the  bottom.  At  length 
he  landed  it  safe  beside  the  well.  It  was  a  great 
silver  porringer,  of  an  ancient  form,  richly  embossed, 
and  with  armorial  bearings,  similar  to  those  over  his 
mother's  mantel-piece,  engraved  on  its  side.  The 
lid  was  fastened  down  by  several  twists  of  wire; 
Dolph  loosened  them  with  a  trembling  hand,  and 
on  lifting  the  lid,  behold  !  the  vessel  was  tilled  with 
broad  golden  pieces,  of  a  coinage  which  he  had 
never  seen  before !     It  was  evident  he  had  lit  on  the 

Elace  where  Killian  Vander  Spiegel  had  concealed 
is  treasure. 

Fearful  of  being  seen  by  some  straggler,  he  cau- 
tiously retired,  and  buried  his  pot  of  money  in  a 
secret  place.  He  now  spread  terrible  stories  aljout 
the  haunted  house,  and  deterred  every  one  from 
approaching  it,  while  he  made  frequent  visits  to  it  in 
stormy  days,  when  no  one  was  stirring  in  the  neigh- 
bouring fields  ;  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  did  not 
care  to  venture  there  in  the  dark.  For  once  in  his 
life  he  was  diligent  and  industrious,  and  followed  up 
his  new  trade  of  angling  with  such  perseverance  and 
success,  that  in  a  little  while  he  had  hooked  up 
wealth  enough  to  make  him,  in  those  moderate 
days,  a  rich  burgher  for  life. 

it  would  be  tedious  to  detail  minutely  the  rest  of 
this  story : — to  tell  how  he  gradually  managed  to 
bring  his  property  into  use  without  exciting  surprise 
and  inquiry — how  he  satisfied  all  scruples  with  re- 
gard to  retaining  the  property,  and  at  the  same  time 
gratified  his  own  feelings,  by  marrj'ing  the  pretty 
Marie  Vander  Heyden — and  how  he  and  Heer  An- 
tony had  many  a  merry  and  roving  expedition  to- 
gether. 

I  must  not  omit  to  say,  however,  that  Dolph  took 
his  mother  home  to  live  with  him,  and  cherished  her 
in  her  old  days.  The  good  dame,  too,  had  the  satis- 
faction of  no  longer  hearing  her  son  made  the  theme 
of  censure  ;  on  the  contrary,  he  grew  daily  in  public 
esteem  ;  every  body  spoke  well  ot  him  and  his  wines, 
and  the  lordliest  burgomaster  was  never  known  to 
decline  his  invitation  to  dinner.  Dolph  often  re- 
lated, at  his  own  table,  the  wicked  pranks  which 
had  once  been  the  abhorrence  of  the  town  ;  but  they 
were  now  considered  excellent  jokes,  and  the  gravest 
dignitary  was  fain  to  hold  his  sides  when  listening  to 
them.  No  one  was  more  struck  with  Dolph's  in- 
creasing merit,  than  his  old  master  the  doctor ;  and 
so  forgiving  was  Dolph,  that  he  absolutely  employed 
the  doctor  as  his  family  physician,  only  taking  care 
that  his  prescriptions  should  be  always  thrown  out 
of  the  window.  His  mother  had  often  her  junto  of 
old  cronies,  to  take  a  snug  cup  of  tea  with  her  in 
her  comfortable  little  parlour  ;  and  Peter  de  Groodt, 
as  he  sat  by  the  fire-side,  with  one  of  her  grand- 
children on  his  knee,  would  many  a  time  congratu- 
late her  upon  her  son  turning  out  so  great  a  man  ; 
UDon  which  the  good  old  soul  would  wag  her  head 
with  exultation,  and  exclaim,  "  Ah,  neighbour,  neigh- 
bour !  did  I  not  say  that  Dolph  would  one  day  or 
other  hold  up  his  head  with  the  best  of  them  ?" 

Thus  did  Dolph  Heyliger  go  on,  cheerily  and 
prosperously,  growing  merrier  as  he  grew  older  and 
wiser,  and  completely  falsifying  the  old  proverb 
about  money  got  over  the  devil's  back  ;  for  he  made 
good  use  of  his  wealth,  and  became  a  distinguished 
citizen,  and  a  valuable  member  of  the  community. 
He  was  a  great  promoter  of  public  institutions,  such 
as  beef-steak  societies  and  catch-clubs.  He  presided 
at  all  public  dinners,  and  was  the  first  that  intro- 
duced turtle  from  the  West  Indies.  He  improved 
the  breed  of  ra<;e-horses  and  game-cocks,  and  was 


so  great  a  patron  of  modest  merit,  that  any  one  who 
could  sing  a  good  song,  or  tell  a  good  story,  was 
sure  to  find  a  place  at  his  table. 

He  was  a  member,  too,  of  the  corporation,  made 
several  laws  for  the  protection  of  game  and  oysters, 
and  bequeathed  to  the  board  a  large  silver  punch- 
bowl, made  out  of  the  identical  porringer  before 
mentioned,  and  which  is  in  the  possession  of  the 
corporation  to  this  very  day. 

Finally,  he  died,  in  a  florid  old  age,  of  an  apo- 
plexy, at  a  corporation  feast,  and  was  buried  with 
great  honours  in  the  yard  of  the  little  Dutch  church 
in  Garden-street,  where  his  tombstone  may  still  be 
seen,  with  a  modest  epitaph  in  Dutch,  by  his  friend 
Mynheer  Justus  Benson,  an  ancient  and  excellent 
poet  of  the  province. 

The  foregoing  tale  rests  on  better  authority  than 
most  tales  of  the  kind,  as  I  have  it  at  second-hand 
from  the  lips  of  Dolph  Heyliger  himself.  He  never 
related  it  till  towards  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  and 
then  in  great  confidence,  (for  he  was  very  discreet), 
to  a  few  of  his  particular  cronies  at  his  own  table 
over  a  supernumerary  bowl  of  punch  ;  and,  strange 
as  the  hobgoblin  parts  of  the  story  may  seem,  there 
never  was  a  single  doubt  exjiressed  on  the  subject 
by  any  of  his  guests.  It  may  not  be  amiss,  before 
concluding,  to  observe  that,  in  addition  to  his  other 
accomplishments,  Dolph  Heyliger  was  noted  for 
being  the  ablest  drawer  of  the  long-bow  in  the 
whole  province. 


THE  WEDDING. 


No  more,  no  more,  much  honour  aye  betide 
The  lofty  bridegroom  and  the  lovely  bride  ; 
That  all  of  their  succeeding  days  may  say. 
Each  day  appears  like  to  a  wedding-day. 

BRAiTHWArrs. 

Notwithstanding  the  doubts  and  demurs  of 
Lady  Lillycraft,  and  all  the  grave  objections  that 
were  conjured  up  against  the  month  of  May,  yet  the 
wedding  has  at  length  happily  taken  place.  It  was 
celebrated  at  the  village  church,  in  presence  of  a 
numerous  company  of  relatives  and  friends,  and 
many  of  the  tenantry.  The  Squire  must  needs  have 
something  of  the  old  ceremonies  observed  on  the 
occasion  ;  so,  at  the  gate  of  the  church-yard,  several 
little  girls  of  the  village,  dressed  in  white,  were  in 
readiness  with  baskets  of  flowers,  which  they  strew- 
ed before  the  bride  ;  and  the  butler  bore  before  her 
the  bride-cup,  a  great  silver  embossed  bowl,  one  of 
the  family  relics  from  the  days  of  the  hard  drinkers. 
This  was  filled  with  rich  wine,  and  decorated  with  a 
branch  of  rosemary,  tied  with  gay  ribands,  according 
to  ancient  custom. 

"  Happy  is  the  bride  that  the  sun  shines  on,"  says 
the  old  proverb  ;  and  it  was  as  sunny  and  auspicious 
a  morning  as  heart  could  wish.  The  bride  looked 
uncommonly  beautiful ;  but,  in  fact,  what  woman 
does  not  look  interesting  on  her  wedding-day  ?  I 
know  no  sight  more  charming  and  touching  than 
that  of  a  young  and  timid  bride,  in  her  robes  of 
virgin  white,  led  up  trembling  to  the  altar.  When 
I  thus  behold  a  lovely  girl,  in  the  tenderness  of  her 
years,  forsaking  the  house  of  her  fathers  and  the 
home  of  her  childhood;  and,  with  the  implicit  con- 
fiding, and  the  sweet  self-abandonment,  which  be- 
long to  woman,  giving  up  all  the  world  for  the  man 
of  her  choice  :  when  I  hear  her,  in  the  good  old 
language  of  the  ritual,  yielding  herself  to  him  "  for 
better  for  worse,  for  richer  fjr  poorer,  in  sickness 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


537 


and  in  health,  to  love,  honour,  and  obey,  till  death 
us  do  part,"  it  brings  to  my  mind  the  beautiful  and 
affecting  self-devotion  of  Ruth :  "  Whither  thou 
jjoest  I  will  go,  and  where  thou  lodgest  I  will  lodge  ; 
thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my 
God." 

The  fair  Julia  was  supported  on  the  trying  oc- 
casion by  Lady  Lillycraft,  whose  heart  was  over- 
flowing with  its  wonted  sympathy  in  all  matters  of 
love  and  matrimony.  As  the  bride  approached  the 
alter,  her  face  would  be  one  moment  covered  with 
blushes,  and  the  next  deadly  pale  ;  and  she  seemed 
£dmost  ready  to  shrink  from  sight  among  her  female 
companions. 

I  do  not  know  what  it  is  that  makes  every  one 
serious,  and,  as  it  were,  awe-struck,  at  a  marriage 
ceremony — which  is  generally  considered  as  an 
occasion  of  festivity  and  rejoicing.  As  the  cere- 
mony was  performing,  I  oljserved  many  a  rosy  face 
among  the  country  girls  turn  pale,  and  I  did  not 
see  a  smile  throughout  the  church.  The  young 
ladies  from  the  Hall  were  almost  as  much  frightened 
as  if  it  had  been  their  own  case,  and  stole  many  a 
look  of  sympathy  at  their  trembling  companion.  A 
tear  stood  in  the  eye  of  the  sensitive  Lady  Lilly- 
craft  ;  and  as  to  Phoebe  Wilkins,  who  was  present, 
she  absolutely  wept  and  sobbed  aloud  ;  but  it  is 
hard  to  tell,  half  the  time,  what  these  fond  foolish 
creatures  are  crying  about. 

The  captain,  too,  though  naturally  gay  and  un- 
concerned, was  much  agitated  on  the  occasion  ;  and, 
in  attempting  to  put  the  ring  upon  the  bride's  finger, 
dropped  it  on  the  floor ;  which  Lady  Lillycraft  has 
since  assured  me  is  a  very  lucky  omen.  Even  Master 
Simon  had  lost  his  usual  vivacity,  and  had  assumed 
a  most  whimsically  solemn  face,  which  he  is  apt  to 
do  on  all  occasions  of  ceremony.  He  had  much 
whispering  with  the  parson  and  parish-clerk,  for  he 
is  always  a  busy  personage  in  the  scene,  and  he  echo- 
ed the  clerk's  amen  with  a  solemnity  and  devotion 
that  edified  the  whole  assemblage. 

The  moment,  however,  that  the  ceremony  was 
over,  the  transition  was  magical.  The  bride-cup 
was  passed  round,  according  to  ancient  usage,  for 
the  company  to  drink  to  a  happy  union  ;  every  one's 
feelings  seemed  to  break  forth  from  restraint. 
Master  Simon  had  a  world  of  bachelor  pleasantries 
to  utter  ;  and  as  to  the  gallant  general,  he  bowed 
and  cooed  about  the  dulcet  Lady  Lillycraft,  like  a 
mighty  cock-pigeon  about  his  dame. 

'The  villagers  gathered  in  the  church-yard,  to 
cheer  the  happy  couple  as  they  left  the  church  ;  and 
the  musical  tailor  had  marshalled  his  band,  and  set 
up  a  hideous  discord,  as  the  blushing  and  smiling 
bride  passed  through  a  lane  of  honest  peasantry  to 
her  carriage.  The  children  shouted,  and  threw  up 
their  hats ;  the  bells  rung  a  merry  peal,  that  set 
all  the  crows  and  rooks  flying  and  cawing  about 
the  air,  and  threatened  to  bring  down  the  battle- 
ments of  the  old  tower;  and  there  was  a  continual 
popping  off  of  rusty  fire-locks  from  every  part  of 
the  neighbourhood. 

The  prodigal  son  distinguished  himself  on  the 
occasion,  having  hoisted  a  flag  on  the  top  of  the 
school-house,  and  kept  the  village  in  a  hubbub 
from  sunrise,  with  the  sound  of  drum  and  fife 
and  pandean  pipe ;  in  which  species  of  music 
several  of  his  scholars  are  making  wonderful  pro- 
ficiency. In  his  great  zeal,  however,  he  had  nearly 
done  mischief ;  for  on  returning  from  church,  the 
horses  of  the  bride's  carriage  took  fright  from  the 
discharge  of  a  row  of  old  gun-barrels,  which  he 
had  mounted  as  a  park  of  artillery  in  front  of  the 
school-house,  to  give  the  captain  a  military  salute  as 
he  passed. 


The  day  passed  off  with  great  rustic  rejoicing 
Tables  were  spread  under  the  trees  in  the  park, 
where  all  the  peasantry  of  the  neighbourhood 
were  regaled  with  roast-beef  and  jilum-pudding 
and  oceans  of  ale.  Ready-Money  Jack  presided  at 
one  of  the  tables,  and  became  so  full  of  good  cheer, 
as  to  unbend  from  his  usual  gravity,  to  sing  a  song 
out  of  all  tune,  and  give  two  or  three  shouts  of 
laughter,  that  almost  electrified  his  neighbours, 
like  so  many  peals  of  thunder.  The  schoolmaster 
and  the  apothecary  vied  with  each  other  in  making 
speeches  over  their  liquor;  and  there  were  occa- 
sional glees  and  musical  performances  by  the 
village  band,  that  must  have  frightened  every  fawn 
and  dryad  from  the  park.  Even  old  Christy,  who 
had  got  on  a  new  dress  from  top  to  toe,  and  shone 
in  all  the  splendour  of  bright  leather  breeches  and 
an  enormous  wedding  favour  in  his  cap,  forgot  his 
usual  crustiness,  became  inspired  by  wine  and  wassel, 
and  absolutely  danced  a  hornpipe  on  one  of  the 
tables,  with  all  the  grace  and  agility  of  a  manikin 
hung  upon  wires. 

Equal  gaiety  reigned  within  doors,  where  a  large 
party  of  friends  were  entertained.  Every  one  laughed 
at  his  own  pleasantry,  without  attending  to  that  of 
his  neighbours.  Loads  of  bride-cake  were  distribu- 
ted. The  young  ladies  were  all  busy  in  pass- 
ing morsels  of  it  through  the  wedding-ring  to  dream 
on,  and  I  myself  assisted  a  few  little  boarding-school 
girls  in  putting  up  a  quantity  for  their  companions, 
which  I  have  no  doubt  will  set  all  the  little  heads  in 
the  school  gadding,  for  a  week  at  least. 

After  dinner,  all  the  company,  great  and  small, 
gentle  and  simple,  abandoned  themselves  to  the 
dance  :  not  the  modem  quadrille,  with  its  graceful 
gravitv,  but  the  merry,  social,  old  country-dance ; 
the  true  dance,  as  the  Squire  says,  for  a  wedding  oc- 
casion, as  it  sets  all  the  world  jigging  in  couples, 
hand  in  hand,  and  makes  every  eye  and  every  heart 
dance  merrily  to  the  music.  According  to  frank  old 
usage,  the  gentlefolks  of  the  Hall  mingled  for  a  time 
in  the  dance  of  the  peasantry,  who  had  a  great  tent 
erected  for  a  ball-room  ;  and  I  think  I  never  saw 
Master  Simon  more  in  his  element,  than  when  fig- 
uring about  among  his  rustic  admirers,  as  master  of 
the  ceremonies ;  and,  with  a  mingled  air  of  protec- 
tion and  gallantry,  leading  out  the  quondam  Queen 
of  May,  all  blushing  at  the  signal  honour  conferred 
upon  her. 

In  the  evening  the  whole  village  was  illuminated, 
excepting  the  house  of  the  radical,  who  has  not 
shown  his  face  during  the  rejoicings.  There  was  a 
display  of  fire-works  at  the  school-house,  got  up  by 
the  prodigal  son,  which  had  well-nigh  set  fire  to  the 
building.  The  Squire  is  so  much  pleased  with  the  ex- 
traordinary services  of  this  last  mentioned  worthy,  that 
he  talks  of  enrolling  him  in  his  list  of  valuable  retain- 
ers, and  promoting  him  to  some  important  post  on 
the  estate  ;  peradventure  to  be  falconer,  if  the  hawks 
can  ever  be  brought  into  proper  training. 

There  is  a  well-known  old  proverb,  that  says  "one 
wedding  makes  many," — or  something  to  the  same 
purpose  ;  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  holds 
good  in  the  present  instance.  I  have  seen  several 
flirtations  among  the  young  people,  that  have  been 
brought  together  on  this  occasion  ;  and  a  great  deal 
of  strolling  about  in  pairs,  among  the  retired  walks 
and  blossoming  shrubberies  of  the  old  garden  :  and 
if  groves  were  really  given  to  whispering,  as  poets 
would  fain  make  us  believe,  Heaven  knows  what  love 
tales  the  grave-looking  old  trees  about  this  venera- 
ble country-seat  might  blab  to  the  world. 

The  general,  too,  has  waxed  very  zealous  in  his 
devotions  within  the  last  few  days,  as  the  time  of  her 
ladyship's  departure   approaches.     I  observed  him 


538 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING 


casting  many  a  tender  look  at  her  during  tlie  wed- 
ding dinner,  wliile  the  courses  were  changing; 
though  he  was  always  liable  to  be  interrupted  in  his 
adoration  by  the  appearance  of  any  new  delicacy. 
The  general,  in  fact,  has  arrived  at  that  time  of  life 
when  the  heart  and  the  stomach  maintain  a  kind  of 
balance  of  power,  and  when  a  man  is  apt  to  be  per- 
plexed in  his  affections  between  a  fine  woman  and  a 
truffled  turkey.  Her  ladyship  was  certainly  rivalled, 
through  the  whole  of  the  first  course,  by  a  dish  of 
stewed  carp  ;  and  there  was  one  glance,  which  was 
evidently  intended  to  be  a  point-blank  shot  at  her 
heart,  and  could  scarcely  have  failed  to  effect  a  prac- 
ticable breach,  had  it  not  unluckily  been  directed 
away  to  a  tempting  breast  of  lamb,  in  which  it  im- 
mediately produced  a  formidable  incision. 

Thus  did  this  faithless  general  go  on,  coquetting 
during  the  whole  dinner,  and  committing  an  infidel- 
ity with  every  new  dish  ;  until,  in  the  end,  he  was  so 
overpowered  by  the  attentions  he  had  paid  to  fish, 
flesh,  and  fowl ;  to  pastry,  jelly,  cream,  and  blanc- 
mange, that  he  seemed  to  sink  within  himself:  his 
eyes  swam  beneath  their  lids,  and  their  fire  was  so 
much  slackened,  that  he  could  no  longer  discharge  a 
single  glance  that  would  reach  across  the  table. 
Upon  the  whole,  1  fear  the  general  ate  himself  into 
as  much  disgrace,  at  this  memorable  dinner,  as  I 
have  seen  him  sleep  himself  into  on  a  former  occa- 
sion. 

I  am  told,  moreover,  that  young  Jack  Tibbets  was 
so  touched  by  the  wedding  ceremony,  at  which  he 
was  present,  and  so  captivated  by  the  sensibility  of 
poor  Phoebe  Wilkins,  who  certainly  looked  all  the 
better  for  her  tears,  that  he  had  a  reconciliation  with 
her  that  very  day,  after  dinner,  in  one  of  the  groves 
of  the  park,  and  danced  with  her  in  the  evening  ;  to 
the  complete  confusion  of  all  Dame  Tibbets'  domes- 
tic politics.  I  met  them  walking  together  in  the 
park,  shortly  after  the  reconciliation  must  have  taken 
place.  Young  Jack  carried  himself  gayly  and  man- 
fully ;  but  Phoebe  hung  her  head,  blushing,  as  I  ap- 
|)roached.  However,  just  as  she  passed  me,  and 
dropped  a  curtsy,  I  caught  a  shy  gleam  of  her  eye  from 
under  her  bonnet ;  but  it  was  immediately  cast  down 
again.  I  saw  enough  in  that  single  gleam,  and  in  the 
involuntary  smile  that  dimpled  about  her  rosy  lips,  to 
feel  satisfied  that  the  little  gipsy's  heart  was  happy 
again. 

What  is  more.  Lady  Lillycraft,  with  her  usual  be- 
nevolence and  zeal  in  all  matters  of  this  tender  nature, 
on  hearing  of  the  reconciliation  of  the  lovers,  under- 
took the  critical  task  of  breaking  the  matter  to 
Ready  -  Money  Jack.  She  thought  there  was  no 
time  like  the  present,  and  attacked  the  sturdy  old 
yeoman  that  very  evening  in  the  park,  while  his  heart 
was  yet  lifted  up  with  the  Squire's  good  cheer.  Jack 
was  a  little  surprised  at  being  drawn  aside  by  her 
ladyship,  but  was  not  to  be  flurried  by  such  an  hon- 
our :  he  was  still  more  surprised  by  the  nature  of 
her  communication,  and  by  this  first  intelligence  of 
an  affair  which  had  been  passing  under  his  eye.  He 
listened,  however,  with  his  usual  gravity,  as  her  lady- 
ship represented  the  advantages  of  the  match,  the 
good  qualities  of  the  girl,  and  the  distress  which  she 
had  lately  suffered :  at  length  his  eye  began  to  kin- 
dle, and  his  hand  to  play  with  the  head  of  his  cudgel. 
Lady  Lillycraft  saw  that  something  in  the  narrative 
had  gone  wrong,  and  hastened  to  mollify  his  rising 
ire  by  reiterating  the  soft-hearted  Phoebe's  merit  and 
fidelity,  and  her  great  unhappiness  ;  when  old  Ready- 
Money  suddenly  interrupted  her  by  e.xclaiming,  that 
if  Jack  did  not  marry  the  wench,  he'd  break  every 
bone  in  his  body  !  The  match,  therefore,  is  consid- 
ered a  settled  thing:  Dame  Tibbets  and  the  house- 
keeper have  made  friends,  and  drank  tea  together ; 


and  Phoebe  has  again  recovered  her  good  looks  and 
good  spirits,  and  is  carolling  from  morning  till  night 
like  a  lark. 

But  the  most  whimsical  caprice  of  Cupid  is  one 
that  I  should  be  almost  afraid  to  mention,  did  I  not 
know  that  1  was  writing  for  readers  well  experienced 
in  the  waywardness  of  this  most  mischievous  deity. 
The  morning  after  the  wedding,  therefore,  while 
Lady  Lillycraft  was  making  preparations  for  her  de- 
parture, an  audience  was  requested  by  her  immacu- 
late hand -maid,  Mrs.  Hannah,  who,  with  much 
primming  of  the  mouth,  and  many  maidenly  hesita- 
tions, requested  leave  to  stay  behind,  and  that  Lady 
Lillycraft  would  supply  her  place  with  some  other 
servant.  Her  ladyship  was  astonished  :  "  What ! 
Hannah  going  to  quit  her,  that  had  lived  with  her 
so  long ! " 

"  Why,  one  could  not  help  it ;  one  must  settle  in 
life  some  time  or  other." 

The  good  lady  was  still  lost  in  amazement ;  at 
length,  the  secret  was  gasped  from  the  dry  lips  of  the 
maiden  gentlewoman ;  "  She  had  been  some  time 
thinking  of  changing  her  condition,  and  at  length 
had  given  her  word,  last  evening,  to  Mr.  Christy,  the 
huntsman." 

How,  or  when,  or  where  this  singular  courtship 
had  been  carried  on,  I  have  not  been  able  to  learn  ; 
nor  how  she  has  been  able,  with  the  vinegar  of  her 
disposition,  to  soften  the  stony  heart  of  old  Nimrod  : 
so,  however,  it  is,  arid  it  has  astonished  every  one. 
With  all  her  ladyship's  love  of  match-making,  this 
last  fume  of  Hymen's  torch  has  been  too  much  for 
her.  She  has  endeavoured  to  reason  with  Mrs. 
Hannah,  but  all  in  vain  ;  her  mind  was  made  up, 
and  she  grew  tart  on  the  least  contradiction.  Lady 
Lillycraft  applied  to  the  Squire  for  his  interference. 
"She  did  not  know  what  she  should  do  without 
Mrs.  Hannah,  she  had  been  used  to  have  her  about 
her  so  long  a  time."  < 

The  Squire,  on  the  contrary,  rejoiced  in  the  match, 
as  relieving  the  good  lady  from  a  kind  of  toilet-tyrant, 
under  whose  sway  she  had  suffered  for  years.  In- 
stead of  thwarting  the  affair,  therefore,  he  has  given 
it  his  full  countenance ;  and  declares  that  he  will  set 
up  the  young  couple  in  one  of  the  best  cottages  on 
his  estate.  The  approbation  of  the  Squire  has  been 
followed  by  that  of  the  whole  household  ;  they  all 
declare,  that  if  ever  matches  are  really  made  in 
heaven,  this  must  have  been  ;  for  that  old  Christy 
and  Mrs.  Hannah  were  as  evidently  formed  to  be 
linked  together,  as  ever  were  pepper-bo.x  and  vine- 
gar-cruet. 

As  soon  as  this  matter  was  arranged,  Lady  Lilly- 
craft took  her  leave  of  the  family  at  the  Hall ;  taking 
with  her  the  captain  and  his  blushing  bride,  who  are 
to  pass  the  honeymoon  with  her.  Master  Simon 
accompanied  them  on  horseback,  and  indeed  means 
to  rideon  ahead  to  make  preparations.  The  general, 
who  was  fishing  in  vain  for  an  invitation  to  her  seat, 
handed  her  ladyship  into  the  carriage  with  a  heavy 
sigh ;  upon  which  his  bosom  friend.  Master  Simon, 
who  was  just  mounting  his  horse,  gave  me  a  know- 
ing wink,  made  an  abominably  wry  face,  and,  lean- 
ing from  his  saddle,  whispered  loudly  in  my  ear,  "  It 
won't  do  !  "  Then,  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  away 
he  cantered  off.  The  general  stood  for  some  time 
waving  his  hat  after  the  carriage  as  it  rolled  down 
the  avenue,  until  he  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  sneezing, 
from  exposing  his  head  to  the  cool  breeze.  I  observed 
that  he  returned  rather  thoughtfully  to  the  house ; 
whistling  softly  to  himself,  with  his  hands  behind 
his  back,  and  an  exceedingly  dubious  air. 

The  company  have  new  almost  all  taken  their 
departure;  I  have  determined  to  do  the  same  to- 
morrow morning ;  and  I  hope  my  reader  may  not 


BRACEBRIDGE   HALL. 


539 


think  that  I  have  already  lingered  too  long  at  the 
Hall.  I  have  been  tempted  to  do  so,  however, 
because  1  thought  I  had  lit  upon  one  of  the  retired 
places  where  there  are  yet  some  ti'aces  to  be  met 
with  of  old  English  character.  A  little  while  hence, 
and  all  these  will  probably  have  passed  away.  Ready- 
Money  Jack  will  sleep  with  his  fathers :  the  good 
Squire,  and  all  his  peculiarities,  will  be  buried  in  the 
neighbouring  church.  The  old  Hall  will  be  modern- 
ized into  a  fashionable  country-seat,  or,  peradventure, 
a  manufactory.  The  park  will  be  cut  up  into  petty 
farms  and  kitchen-gardens.  A  daily  coach  will  run 
through  the  village  ;  it  will  become,  like  all  other 
commonplace  villages,  thronged  with  coachmen, 
post-boys,  tipplers,  and  politicians :  and  Christmas, 
May-day,  and  all  the  other  hearty  merry-makings 
of  the  "good  old  times,"  will  be  forgotten. 


THE  AUTHOR'S  FAREWELL. 


And  so  without  more  circumstance  at  all, 
1  hold  It  fit  that  we  shake  hands  and  part. 

IfamUt. 

Having  taken  leave  of  the  Hall  and  its  inmates, 
and  brought  the  history  of  my  visit  to  something 
Hke  a  close,  there  seems  to  remain  nothing  further 
than  to  make  my  bow,  and  exit.  It  is  my  foible, 
however,  to  get  on  such  companicuiable  terms  with 
my  reader  in  the  course  of  a  work,  that  it  really 
costs  me  some  pain  to  part  with  him ;  and  I  am  apt 
to  keep  him  by  the  hand,  and  have  a  few  farewell 
words  at  the  end  of  my  last  volume. 

When  I  cast  an  eye  back  upon  the  work  I  am  just 
concluding,  I  cannot  but  be  sensible  how  full  it  must 
be  of  errors  and  imperfections :  indeed,  how  should 
it  be  otherwise,  writing  as  I  do  about  subjects  and 
scenes  with  which,  as  a  stranger,  I  am  but  partially 
acquainted  ?  Many  will  doubtless  find  cause  to 
smile  at  very  obvious  blunders  which  I  may  have 
made  ;  and  many  may,  perhaps,  be  offended  at  what 
they  may  conceive  prejudiced  representations.  Some 
will  think  I  might  have  said  much  more  on  such 
subjects  as  may  suit  their  peculiar  tastes  ;  whilst 
others  will  think  I  had  done  wiser  to  have  left  those 
subjects  entirely  alone. 

Jt  will  probably  be  said,  too,  by  some,  that  I  view 
England  with  a  partial  eye.  Perhaps  I  do;  for  I  can 
never  forget  that  it  is  my  "  father  land."  And  yet, 
the  circumstances  under  which  I  have  viewed  it  have 
by  no  means  been  such  as  were  calculated  to  pro- 
duce favourable  impressions.  For  the  greater  part 
of  the  time  that  I  have  resided  in  it,  I  have  lived  al- 
most unknowing  and  unknown ;  seeking  no  favours, 
and  receiving  none:  "a  stranger  and  a  sojourner  in 
the  land,"  and  subject  to  all  the  chills  and  neglects 
that  are  the  common  lot  of  the  stranger. 

When  I  consider  these  circumstances,  and  recol- 
lect how  often  1  have  taken  up  my  pen,  with  a  mind 
ill  at  ease,  and  spirits  much  dejected  and  cast  down, 
1  cannot  but  think  I  was  not  likely  to  err  ori  the  fa- 
vourable side  of  the  picture.  The  opinions  I  have 
given  of  English  character  have  been  the  result  of 
much  quiet,  dispassionate,  and  varied  observation. 
It  is  a  character  not  to  be  hastily  studied,  for  it  al- 
ways puts  on  a  repulsive  and  ungracious  aspect  to  a 
stranger.  Let  those,  then,  who  condemn  my  repre- 
sentations as  too  favourable,  obsei-ve  this  people  as 
closely  and  deliberately  as  I  have  done,  and  they 
will,  probably,  change  their  opinion.  Of  one  thing, 
at  any  rate,  1  am  certain,  that  I  have  spoken  hon- 
estly  and   sincerely,  from   the    convictions    of   my 


mind,  and  the  dictates  of  my  heart.  When  I  first 
published  my  former  writings,  it  was  with  no  hope 
of  gaining  favour  in  English  eyes,  for  I  little  thought 
they  were  to  become  current  out  of  my  own  coun- 
try: and  had  I  merely  sought  popularity  among  my 
own  countrymen,  I  should  have  taken  a  more  direct 
and  obvious  way,  by  gratifying  rather  than  rebuking 
the  angry  feelings  that  were  then  prevalent  against 
England. 

And  here  let  me  acknowledge  my  warm,  my 
thankful  feelings,  at  the  effect  produced  by  one  of 
my  trivial  lucubrations.  I  allude  to  the  essay  in  the 
Sketch-Book,  on  the  subject  of  the  literary  feuds  be- 
tween England  and  America.  I  cannot  express  the 
heartfelt  delight  I  have  experienced,  at  the  unex- 
pected sympathy  and  approbation  with  wliich  those 
remarks  have  been  received  on  both  sides  of  the  At- 
lantic. I  speak  this  not  from  any  paltry  feelings  of 
gratified  vanity ;  for  I  attribute  the  effect  to  no  merit 
of  my  pen.  The  paper  in  question  was  brief  and 
casual,  and  the  ideas  it  conveyed  were  simple  and  ob- 
vious. "  It  was  the  cause :  it  was  the  cause  "  alone. 
There  was  a  predisposition  on  the  part  of  my  read- 
ers to  be  favourably  affected.  My  countrymen  re- 
sponded in  heart  to  the  filial  feelings  I  had  avowed 
in  their  name  towards  the  parent  country :  and  there 
was  a  generous  sympathy  in  every  English  bosom 
towards  a  solitary  individual,  lifting  up  his  voice  in 
a  strange  land,  to  vindicate  the  injured  character  of 
his  nation.  There  are  some  causes  so  sacred  as  to 
carry  with  them  an  irresistible  appeal  to  every  vir- 
tuous bosom  ;  and  he  needs  but  little  power  of  elo- 
quence, who  defends  the  honour  of  his  wife,  his 
mother,  or  his  country. 

I  hail,  therefore,  the  success  of  that  brief  paper, 
as  showing  how  much  good  may  be  done  by  a  kind 
word,  however  feeble,  when  spoken  in  season — as 
showing  how  much  dormant  good-feeling  actually 
exists  in  each  country,  towards  the  other,  which  only 
wants  the  slightest  -spark  to  kindle  it  into  a  genial 
flame — as  showing,  in  fact,  what  I  have  all  along 
believed  and  asserted,  that  the  two  nations  would 
grow  together  in  esteem  and  amity,  if  meddling  and 
malignant  spirits  would  but  throw  by  their  mischiev- 
ous pens,  and  leave  kindred  hearts  to  the  kindly  im- 
pulses of  nature. 

I  once  more  assert,  and  I  assert  it  with  increased 
conviction  of  its  truth,  that  there  exists,  among  the 
great  majority  of  my  countrymen,  a  favourable  feel- 
ing toward  England.  I  repeat  this  assertion,  be- 
cause I  think  it  a  truth  that  cannot  too  often  be  re- 
iterated, and  because  it  has  met  with  some  contra- 
diction. Among  all  the  liberal  and  enlightened 
minds  of  my  countrymen,  among  all  those  which 
eventually  give  a  tone  to  national  opinion,  there  ex- 
ists a  cordial  desire  to  be  on  terms  of  courtesy  and 
friendship.  But  at  the  same  time,  there  exists  in 
those  very  minds  a  distrust  of  reciprocal  good-will 
on  the  part  of  England.  They  have  been  ren- 
dered morbidly  sensitive  by  the  attacks  made  upon 
their  country  by  the  English  press  ;  and  their  occa- 
sional irritability  on  this  subject  has  been  misinter- 
preted into  a  settled  and  unnatural  hostility. 

For  my  part,  I  consider  this  jealous  sensibility  as 
belonging  to  generous  natures.  I  should  look  upon 
my  countrymen  as  fallen  indeed  from  that  independ- 
ence of  spirit  which  is  their  birth-gift ;  as  fallen  in- 
deed from  that  pride  of  character  which  they  inherit 
from  the  proud  nation  from  which  they  sprung, 
could  they  tamely  sit  down  under  the  infliction  of 
contumely  and  insult.  Indeed,  the  very  impatience 
which  they  show  as  to  the  misrepresentations  of 
the  press,  proves  their  respect  for  English  opinion, 
and  their  desire  for  English  amity ;  for  there  is  never 
jealousy  where  there  is  not  strong  regard. 


540 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING'. 


It  is  easy  to  say,  that  these  attacks  are  all  the 
effusions  of  worthless  scribblers,  and  treated  with 
silent  contempt  by  the  nation  ;  but,  alas  !  the  slan- 
ders of  the  scribbler  travel  abroad,  and  the  silent 
contempt  of  the  nation  is  only  known  at  home. 
With  England,  then,  it  remains,  as  I  have  formerly 
asserted,  to  promote  a  mutual  spirit  of  conciliation  ; 
she  has  but  to  hold  the  language  of  friendship  and 
respect,  and  she  is  secure  of  the  good-will  of  every 
American  bosom. 

In  expressing  these  sentiments,  I  would  utter 
nothing  that  should  commit  the  proper  spirit  of  my 
countrymen.  We  seek  no  boon  at  England's  hands: 
we  ask  nothing  as  a  favour.  Her  friendship  is  not 
necessary,  nor  would  her  hostility  be  dangerous  to 
our  well-being.  We  ask  nothing  from  abroad  that 
we  cannot  reciprocate.  But  with  respect  to  En- 
gland, we  have  a  warm  feeling  of  the  heart,  the 
glow  of  consanguinity  that  still  lingers  in  our 
blood.  Interest  apart — past  differences  forgotten 
— we  extend  the  hand  of  old  relationship.  We 
merely  ask,  do  not  estrange  us  from  you  ;  do  not 
destroy  the  ancient  tie  of  blood  ;  do  not  let  scoffers 
and  slanderers  drive  a  kindred  nation  from  your 
side ;  we  would  fain  be  friends ;  do  not  compel  us 
to  be  enemies. 

There  needs  no  better  rallying-ground  for  interna- 
tional amity,  than  that  furnished  by  an  eminent  En- 
glish writer :  "  There  is,"  says  he,  "  a  sacred  bond 
between  us  of  blood  and  of  language,  which  no  cir- 
cumstances can  break.  Our  literature  must  always 
be  theirs ;  and  though  their  laws  are  no  longer  the 
same  as  ours,  we  have  the  same  Bible,  and  we  ad- 
dress our  common  Father  in  the  same  prayer.  Na- 
tions are  too  ready  to  admit  that  they  have  natural 
enemies  ;  why  should  they  be  less  willing  to  believe 
that  they  have  natural  friends?  "* 

To  the  magnanimous  spirits  of  both  countries 
must  we  trust  to  carry  such  a  natural  alliance  of  af- 
fection into  full  effect.  To  pens  more  powerful  than 
mine,  I  leave  the  noble  task  of  promoting  the  cause 
of  national  amity.  To  the  intelligent  and  enlightened 
of  my  own  country,  I  address  my  parting  voice,  en- 
treating them  to  show  themselves  superior  to  the 
petty  attacks  of  the  ignorant  and  the  worthless,  and 
still  to  look  with  dispassionate  and  philosophic  eye 
to  the  moral  character  of  England,  as  the  intellectual 
source  of  our  rising  greatness  ;  while  I  appeal  to 
every  generous-minded  Englishman  from  the  slanders 
which  disgrace  the  press,  insult  the  understanding, 
and  belie  the  magnanimity  of  his  country  :  and  I  in- 


*  From  an  article  (said  to  be  by  Robert  Soutbey,  Esq.)  published 
in  the  Quarterly  Review.  It  is  to  be  lamented  that  that  publica- 
tion should  so  often  forget  the  generous  text  here  given  ! 


I  vite  him  to  look  to  America,  as  to  a  kindred  na- 
j  tion,  worthy  of  its  origin  ;  giving,  in  the  healthy 
vigour  of  its  growth,  the  best  of  comments  on  its 
parent  stock  ;  and  reflecting,  in  the  dawning  bright- 
ness of  its  fame,  the  moral  effulgence  of  British 
glory. 

I  am  sure  that  such  an  appeal  will  not  be  made  in 
vain.  Indeed,  I  have  noticed,  for  some  time  past, 
an  essential  change  in  English  sentiment  with  regard 
to  America.  In  parliament,  that  fountain-head  of 
public  opinion,  there  seems  to  be  an  emulation,  on 
both  sides  of  the  house,  in  holding  the  language  of 
courtesy  and  friendship.  The  same  spirit  is  daily 
becoming  more  and  more  prevalent  in  good  society. 
There  is  a  growing  curiosity  concerning  my  country  ; 
a  craving  desire  for  correct  information,  that  cannot 
fail  to  lead  to  a  favourable  understanding.  The 
scoffer,  I  trust,  has  had  his  day ;  the  time  of  the 
slanderer  is  gone  by ;  the  ribald  jokes,  the  stale 
commonplaces,  which  have  so  long  passed  current 
when  America  was  the  theme,  are  now  banished  to 
the  ignorant  and  the  vulgar,  or  only  perpetuated  by 
the  hireling  scribblers  and  traditional  jesters  of  the 
press.  The  intelligent  and  high-minded  now  pride 
themselves  upon  making  America  a  study. 

But  however  my  feelings  may  be  understood  or 
reciprocated  on  either  side  of  the  Atlantic,  I  utter 
them  without  reserve,  for  I  have  ever  found  that  to 
speak  frankly  is  to  speak  safely.  I  am  not  so  sanguine 
as  to  believe  that  the  two  nations  are  ever  to  be 
bound  together  by  any  romantic  ties  of  feeling  ;  but 
I  believe  that  much  may  be  done  towards  keeping 
alive  cordial  sentiments,  were  every  well-disposed 
mind  occasionally  to  throw  in  a  simple  word  of 
kindness.  If  I  have,  indeed,  produced  any  such 
effect  by  my  writings,  it  will  be  a  soothing  retlection 
to  me,  that  for  once,  in  the  course  of  a  rather  negli- 
gent life,- 1  have  been  useful;  that  for  once,  by  the 
casual  exercise  of  a  pen  which  has  been  in  general 
but  too  unprofitably  employed,  I  have  awakened  a 
cord  of  sympathy  between  the  land  of  my  fathers 
and  the  dear  land  that  gave  me  birth. 

In  the  spirit  of  these  sentiments,  I  now  take  my 
farewell  of  the  paternal  soil.  With  anxious  eye  do 
I  behold  the  clouds  of  doubt  and  difficulty  that  are 
lowering  over  it,  and  earnestly  do  I  hope  that  they 
may  all  clear  up  into  serene  and  settled  sunshine. 
In  bidding  this  last  adieu,  my  heart  is  filled  with 
fond,  yet  melancholy  emotions  ;  and  still  I  linger, 
and  still,  like  a  child  leaving  the  venerable  abodes 
of  his  forefathers,  I  turn  to  breathe  forth  a  filial 
benediction :  "  Peace  be  within  thy  walls,  oh,  En- 
gland !  and  plenteousness  within  thy  palaces  ;  for 
my  brethren  and  my  companions'  sake  1  will  now 
say,  Peace  be  within  thee  !  " 


A  History  of  New-York, 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  WORLD  TO  THE  END  OF  THE  DUTCH  DYNASTY. 

CONTAINING, 

AMONG  MANY  SURPRISING  AND  CURIOUS  MATTERS, 

THE  UNUTTERABLE  PONDERINGS  OF  WALTER  THE  DOUBTER, 

THE  DISASTROUS  PROJECTS  OF  WILLIAM  THE  TESTY,  AND 

THE  CHIVALRIC  ACHIEVEMENTS  OF  PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG, 

THE   THREE   DUTCH   QOVEKNORS   OF   NEW-AMSTEKDAM. 

BEING  THE    ONLY  AUTHENTIC   HISTORY  OF   THE  TIMES    THAT  EVER  HATH  BEEN  OR 

EVER  WILL  BE  PUBLISHED. 


BY  DIEDRICH   KNICKERBOCKER, 


©£  faiaarttiJi  iie  in  Juister  lag, 
fflit  feomt  mtt  klaari)tiiJ  aan  b«n  iaj. 


ACCOUNT  OF  THE  AUTHOR. 


It  was  some  time,  if  I  recollect  right,  in  the  early 
part  of  the  autumn  of  1808,  that  a  stranger  applied  for 
lodgings  at  the  Independent  Columbian  Hotel  in  Mul- 
berry-street, of  which  I  am  landlord.  He  was  a  small, 
brisk-looking  old  gentleman,  dressed  in  a  rusty  black 
coat,  a  pair  of  olive  velvet  breeches,  and  a  small  cocked 
hat.  He  had  a  few  gray  hairs  plaited  and  clubbed  be- 
hind, and  his  beard  seemed  to  be  of  some  eight-and- 
forty  hours'  growth.  The  only  piece  of  finery  which 
he  bore  about  him,  was  a  bright  pair  of  square  silver 
shoe-buckles,  and  all  his  baggage  was  contained  in  a 
pair  of  saddle-bags,  which  he  carried  under  his  arm. 
His  whole  appearance  was  something  out  of  the  com- 
mon run  ;  and  my  wife,  who  is  a  very  shrewd  body, 
at  once  set  him  down  for  some  eminent  country  school- 
master. 

As  the  Independent  Columbian  Hotel  is  a  very  small 
house,  I  was  a  little  puzzled  at  first  where  to  put  him  ; 
but  my  wife,  who  seemed  taken  with  his  looks,  would 


needs  pUt  him  in  her  best  chamber,  which  is  genteelly 
set  off  with  the  profiles  of  the  whole  family,  done  in 
black,  by  those  two  great  painters,  Jarvis  and  Wood ; 
and  commands  a  very  pleasant  view  of  the  new  grounds 
on  the  Collect,  together  with  the  rear  of  the  Poor- 
House  and  Bridewell,  and  a  full  front  of  the  Hospital ; 
so  that  it  is  the  cheerfulest  room  in  the  whole  house. 

During  the  whole  time  that  he  stayed  with  us,  we 
found  him  a  very  worthy,  good  sort  of  an  old  gentle- 
man, though. a  little  queer  in  his  ways.  He  would 
keep  in  his  room  for  days  together,  and  if  any  of  the 
children  cried,  or  made  a  noise  about  his  door,  he 
would  bounce  out  in  a  great  passion,  with  his  hands 
full  of  papers,  and  say  something  about  "deranging 
his  ideas ; "  which  made  my  wife  believe  sometimes 
that  he  was  not  altogether  compos.  Indeed,  there  was 
more  than  one  reason  to  make  her  think  so,  for  his 
room  was  always  covered  with  scraps  of  paper  and 
old  mouldy  books,  laying  about  at  si.xes  and  sevens, 
which  he  would  never  let  any  body  touch  ;  for  he  said 
he  had  laid  them  all  away  in  their  proper  places,  so 
that  he  might  know  where  to  find  them  ;  though  for 
that  matter,  he  was  half  his  time  worrying  about  the 

(541) 


542 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


house  in  search  of  some  book  or  writing  which  he  had 
carefully  put  out  of  the  way.  I  shall  never  forget 
what  a  pother  he  once  made,  because  my  wife  cleaned 
out  his  room  when  his  back  was  turned,  and  put  every 
thing  to  rights  ;  for  he  swore  he  would  never  be  able 
to  get  his  papers  in  order  again  in  a  twelvemonth. 
Upon  this  my  wife  ventured  to  ask  him  what  he  did 
with  so  many  books  and  papers  ?  and  he  told  her  that 
he  was  "seeking  for  immortality;"  which  made  her 
think,  more  than  ever,  that  the  poor  old  gentleman's 
head  was  a  little  cracked. 

He  was  a  very  inquisitive  body,  and  when  not  in  his 
room  was  continually  poking  about  town,  hearing  all 
the  news,  and  prying  into  every  thing  that  was  going 
on  :  this  was  particularly  the  case  about  election  time, 
When  he  did  nothing  but  bustle  about  from  poll  to  poll, 
attending  all  ward  meetings  and  committee  rooms  ; 
though  I  could  never  find  that  he  took  part  with  either 
side  of  the  question.  On  the  contrary,  he  would  come 
home  and  rail  at  both  parties  with  great  wrath — and 
plainly  proved  one  day,  to  the  satisfaction  of  my  wife 
and  three  old  ladies  who  were  drinking  tea  with  her, 
that  the  two  parties  were  like  two  rogues,  each  tugging 
at  a  skirt  of  the  nation  ;  and  that  in  the  end  they 
would  tear  the  very  coat  off  its  back,  and  expose  its 
nakedness.  Indeed,  he  was  an  oracle  among  the 
neighbours,  who  would  collect  around  him  to  hear 
him  talk  of  an  afternoon,  as  he  smoked  his  pipe  on 
the  bench  before  the  door ;  and  I  really  believe  he 
would  have  brought  over  the  whole  neighbourhood  to 
his  own  side  of  the  question,  if  they  could  ever  have 
found  out  what  it  was. 

He  was  very  much  given  to  argue,  or,  as  he  called 
it,  philosophize,  about  the  most  trifling  matter ;  and  to 
do  him  justice,  I  never  knew  any  body  that  was  a 
match  for  him,  except  it  was  a  grave-looking  old  gen- 
tleman who  called  now  and  then  to  see  him,  and  often 
posed  him  in  an  argument.  But  this  is  nothing  sur- 
prising, as  I  have  since  found  out  this  stranger  is  the 
city  librarian  ;  and,  of  course,  must  be  a  man  of  great 
learning :  and  I  have  my  doubts,  if  he  had  not  some 
hand  in  the  following  history. 

As  our  lodger  had  been  a  long  time  with  us,  and  we 
had  never  received  any  pay,  my  wife  began  to  be 
somewhat  uneasy,  and  curious  to  find  out  who  and 
what  he  was.  She  accordingly  made  bold  to  put  the 
question  to  his  friend,  the  librarian,  who  replied  in  his 
dry  way  that  he  was  one  of  the  literati,  which  she  sup- 
posed to  mean  some  new  party  in  politics.  I  scorn  to 
push  a  lodger  for  his  pay;  so  I  let  day  after  day  pass 
on  without  dunning  the  old  gentleman  for  a  farthing : 
but  my  wife,  who  always  takes  these  matters  on  her- 
self, and  is,  as  I  said,  a  shrewd  kind  of  a  woman,  at 
last  got  out  of  patience,  and  hinted,  that  she  thought 
it  high  time  "  some  people  should  have  a  sight  of  some 
people's  money."  To  which  the  old  gentleman  re- 
plied, in  a  mighty  touchy  manner,  that  she  need  not 
make  herself  uneasy,  for  that  he  had  a  treasure  there, 
fpointing  to  his  saddle-bags,)  worth  her  whole  house 
put  together.  This  was  the  only  answer  we  could 
ever  get  from  him  ;  and  as  my  wife,  by  some  of  those 
odd  ways  in  which  women  find  out  every  thing,  learnt 
that  he  was  of  very  great  connexions,  being  related  to 
the  Knickerbockers  of  Scaghtikoke,  and  cousin-german 
to  the  Congressman  of  that  name,  she  did  not  like  to 


treat  him  uncivilly.  What  is  more,  she  even  offered, 
merely  by  way  of  making  things  easy,  to  let  him  live 
scot-free,  if  he  would  teach  the  children  their  letters  ; 
and  to  try  her  best  and  get  her  neighbours  to  send 
their  children  also  ;  but  the  old  gentleman  took  it  in 
such  dudgeon,  and  seemed  so  affronted  at  being  taken 
for  a  schoolmaster,  that  she  never  dared  speak  on  the 
subject  again. 

About  two  months  ago,  he  went  out  of  a  morning, 
with  a  bundle  in  his  hand — and  has  never  been  heard 
of  since.  All  kinds  of  inquiries  were  made  after  him, 
but  in  vain.  I  wrote  to  his  relations  at  Scaghtikoke, 
but  they  sent  for  answer,  that  he  had  not  been  there 
since  the  year  before  last,  when  he  had  a  great  dispute 
with  the  Congressman  about  politics,  and  left  the  place 
in  a  huff,  and  they  had  neither  heard  nor  seen  any 
thing  of  him  from  that  time  to  this.  I  must  own  I  felt 
very  much  worried  about  the  poor  old  gentleman,  for 
I  thought  something  bad  must  have  happened  to  him, 
that  he  should  be  missing  so  long,  and  never  return  to 
pay  his  bill.  I  therefore  advertised  him  in  the  news- 
papers, and  though  my  melancholy  advertisement 
was  published  by  several  humane  printers,  yet  I  have 
never  been  able  to  learn  any  thing  satisfactory  about 
him. 

My  wife  now  said  it  was  high  time  to  take  care  of 
ourselves,  and  see  if  he  had  left  any  thing  behind  in 
his  room,  that  would  pay  us  for  his  board  and  lodging. 
We  found  nothing,  however,  but  some  old  books  and 
musty  writings,  and  his  saddle-bags,  which,  being 
opened  in  the  presence  of  the  librarian,  contained  only 
a  few  articles  of  worn-out  clothes,  and  a  large  bundle 
of  blotted  paper.  On  looking  over  this,  the  librarian 
told  us,  he  had  no  doubt  it  was  the  treasure  which  the 
old  gentleman  had  spoke  about ;  as  it  proved  to  be  a 
most  excellent  and  faithful  History  of  New-York, 
which  he  advised  us  by  all  means  to  publish :  assuring 
us  that  it  would  be  so  eagerly  bought  up  by  a  discern- 
ing public,  that  he  had  no  doubt  it  would  be  enough  to 
pay  our  arrears  ten  times  over.  Upon  this  we  got  a 
very  learned  schoolmaster,  who  teaches  our  children, 
to  prepare  it  for  the  press,  which  he  accordingly  has 
done ;  and  has,  moreover,  added  to  it  a  number  of 
valuable  notes  of  his  own. 

This,  therefore,  is  a  true  statement  of  my  reasons 
for  having  this  work  printed,  without  waiting  for  the 
consent  of  the  author :  and  I  here  declare,  that  if  he 
ever  returns,  (though  I  much  fear  some  unhappy  acci- 
dent has  befallen  him,)  I  stand  ready  to  account  with 
him  like  a  true  and  honest  man.  Which  is  all  at 
present. 

From  the  public's  humble  Serv't. 

Seth  Handaside. 
Independent  Columbian  Hotel,  ) 
New  -  York,  f 


The  foregoing  account  of  the  author  was  prefixed  to 
the  first  edition  of  this  work.  Shortly  after  its  publi- 
cation a  letter  was  received  from  him,  by  Mr.  Handa- 
side, dated  at  a  small  Dutch  village  on  the  banks  of 
the  Hudson,  whither  he  had  travelled  for  the  purpose 
of  inspecting  certain  ancient  records.  As  this  was 
one  of  those  few  and  happy  villages,  into  which  news- 


A   HISTORY    OF   NEW-YORK. 


543 


papers  never  find  their  way,  it  is  not  a  matter  of  sur- 
prise, that  Mr.  Kniclcerbocker  should  never  have  seen 
the  numerous  advertisements  that  were  made  concern- 
ing him  ;  and  that  he  should  learn  of  the  publication 
of  his  history  by  mere  accident. 

He  expressed  much  concern  at  its  premature  ap- 
pearance, as  thereby  he  was  prevented  from  making 
several  important  corrections  and  alterations  ;  as  well 
as  from  profiting  by  many  curious  hints  which  he  had 
collected  during  his  travels  along  the  shores  of  the 
Tappaan  Sea,  and  his  sojourn  at  Haverstraw  and 
Esopus. 

Finding  that  there  was  no  longer  any  immediate 
necessity  for  his  return  to  New-York,  he  extended  his 
journey  up  to  the  residence  of  his  relations  at  Scagh- 
tikoke.  On  his  way  thither,  he  stopped  for  some  days 
at  Albany,  for  which  city  he  is  known  to  have  enter- 
tained a  great  partiality.  He  found  it,  however,  con- 
siderably altered,  and  was  much  concerned  at  the  in- 
roads and  improvements  which  the  Yankees  were  mak- 
ing, and  the  consequent  decline  of  the  good  old  Dutch 
manners.  Indeed,  he  was  informed  that  these  in- 
truders were  making  sad  innovations  in  all  parts  of 
the  State ;  where  they  had  given  great  trouble  and 
vexation  to  the  regular  Dutch  settlers,  by  the  introduc- 
tion of  turnpike  gates  and  country  school-houses.  It 
is  said  also,  that  Mr.  Knickerbocker  shook  his  head 
sorrowfully  at  noticing  the  gradual  decay  of  the  great 
Vander  Heyden  palace  ;  but  was  highly  indignant  at 
finding  that  the  ancient  Dutch  church,  which  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  street,  had  been  pulled  down,  since 
his  last  visit. 

The  fame  of  Mr.  Knickerbocker's  history  having 
reached  even  to  Albany,  he  received  much  flattering 
attention  from  its  worthy  burghers,  some  of  whom, 
however,  pointed  out  two  or  three  very  great  errors  he 
had  fallen  into,  particularly  that  of  suspending  a  lump 
of  sugar  over  the  Albany  tea-tables,  which,  they  as- 
sured him,  had  been  discontinued  for  some  years  past. 
Several  families,  moreover,  were  somewhat  piqued 
that  their  ancestors  had  not  been  mentioned  in  his 
work,  and  showed  great  jealousy  of  their  neighbours 
who  had  been  thus  distinguished  ;  while  the  latter,  it 
must  be  confessed,  plumed  themselves  vastly  there- 
upon ;  considering  these  recordings  in  the  light  of  let- 
ters-patent of  nobility,  establishing  their  claims  to  an- 
cestry— which,  in  this  republican  country,  is  a  matter 
of  no  little  solicitude  and  vain-glory. 

It  is  also  said,  that  he  enjoyed  high  favour  and 
countenance  from  the  governor,  who  once  asked  him 
to  dinner,  and  was  seen  two  or  three  times  to  shake 
hands  with  him,  when  they  met  in  the  street;  which 
certainly  was  going  great  lengths,  considering  that 
they  differed  in  politics.  Indeed,  certain  of  the  gov- 
ernor's confidential  friends,  to  whom  he  could  venture 
to  speak  his  mind  freely  on  such  matters,  have  as- 
sured us,  that  he  privately  entertained  a  considerable 
good-will  for  our  author — nay,  he  even  once  went  so 
far  as  to  declare,  and  that  openly,  too,  and  at  his  own 
table,  just  after  dinner,  that  "  Knickerbocker  was  a 
very  well-meaning  sort  of  an  old  gentleman,  and  no 
fool."  From  all  which,  many  have  been  led  to  sup- 
pose, that  had  our  author  been  of  different  politics, 
and  written  for  the  newspapers,  instead  of  wasting  his 
talents  on  histories,  he  might  have  risen  to  some  post 


of  honour  and  profit ;  peradventure,  to  be  a  notary 
public,  or  even  a  Justice  in  the  Ten  Pound  Court. 

Beside  the  honours  and  civilities  already  mentioned, 
he  was  much  caressed  by  the  literati  of  Albany;  par- 
ticularly by  Mr.  John  Cook,  who  entertained  him  very 
hospitably  at  his  circulating  library  and  reading-room, 
where  they  used  to  drink  Spa  water,  and  talk  about 
the  ancients.  He  found  Mr.  Cook  a  man  after  his  own 
heart — of  great  literary  research,  and  a  curious  col- 
lector of  books.  At  parting,  the  latter,  in  testimony 
of  friendship,  made  him  a  present  of  the  two  oldest 
works  in  his  collection  ;  which  were  the  earliest  edi- 
tion of  the  Hiedelburgh  Catechism,  and  Adrian  Vander 
Donck's  famous  account  of  the  New-Netherlands  ;  by 
the  last  of  which,  Mr.  Knickerbocker  profited  greatly 
in  this  his  second  edition. 

Having  passed  some  time  very  agreeably  at  Albany, 
our  author  proceeded  to  Scaghtikoke  ;  where,  it  is  but 
justice  to  say,  he  was  received  with  open  arms,  and 
treated  with  wonderful  loving-kindness.  He  was  much 
looked  up  to  by  the  family,  being  the  first  historian  of 
the  name  ;  and  was  considered  almost  as  great  a  man 
as  his  cousin  the  Congressman — with  whom,  by-the- 
bye,  he  became  perfectly  reconciled,  and  contracted  a 
strong  friendship. 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  kindness  of  his  relations, 
and  their  great  attention  to  his  comforts,  the  old  gen- 
tleman soon  became  restless  and  discontented.  His 
history  being  published,  he  had  no  longer  any  busi- 
ness to  occupy  his  thoughts,  or  any  scheme  to  excite 
his  hopes  and  anticipations.  This,  to  a  busy  mind 
like  his,  was  a  truly  deplorable  situation  ;  and,  had  he 
not  been  a  man  of  inflexible  morals  and  regular  habits, 
there  would  have  been  great  danger  of  his  taking  to 
politics,  or  drinking — both  which  pernicious  vices  we 
daily  see  men  driven  to,  by  mere  spleen  and  idleness. 

It  is  true,  he  sometimes  employed  himself  in  pre- 
paring a  second  edition  of  his  history,  wherein  he  en- 
deavoured to  correct  and  improve  many  passages  with 
which  he  was  dissatisfied,  and  to  rectify  some  mistakes 
that  had  crept  into  it ;  for  he  was  particularly  anxious 
that  his  work  should  be  noted  for  its  authenticity, 
which,  indeed,  is  the  very  life  and  soul  of  history. — 
But  the  glow  of  composition  had  departed^he  had  to 
leave  many  places  untouched,  which  he  would  fain 
have  altered  ;  and  even  where  he  did  make  alterations, 
he  seemed  always  in  doubt  whether  they  were  for  the 
better  or  the  worse. 

After  a  residence  of  some  time  at  Scaghtikoke,  he 
began  to  feel  a  strong  desire  to  return  to  New-York, 
which  he  ever  regarded  with  the  warmest  affection  ; 
not  merely  because  it  was  his  native  city,  but  because 
he  really  considered  it  the  very  best  city  in  the  whole 
world.  On  his  return,  he  entered  into  the  full  enjoy- 
ment of  the  advantages  of  a  literary  reputation.  He 
was  continually  importuned  to  write  advertisements, 
petitions,  hand-bills,  and  productions  of  similar  im- 
port ;  and,  although  he  never  meddled  with  the  public 
papers,  yet  had  he  the  credit  of  writing  innumerable 
essays,  and  smart  things,  that  appeared  on  all  subjects, 
and  all  sides  of  the  question  ;  in  all  which  he  was 
clearly  detected  "by  his  style." 

He  contracted,  moreover,  a  considerable  debt  at  the 
post-oflice,  in  consequence  of  the  numerous  letters  he 
received  from  authors  and  printers  soliciting  his  sub- 


Mi 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


scription  ;  and  he  was  applied  to  by  every  charitable 
society  for  yearly  donations,  which  he  gave  very 
cheerfully,  considering  these  applications  as  so  many 
compliments.  He  was  once  invited  to  a  great  cor- 
poration dinner  ;  and  was  even  twice  summoned  to 
attend  as  a  juryman  at  the  court  of  quarter  sessions. 
Indeed,  so  renowned  did  he  become,  that  he  could  no 
longer  pry  about,  as  formerly,  in  all  holes  and  corners 
of  the  city,  according  to  the  bent  of  his  humour,  un- 
noticed and  uninterrupted  ;  but  several  times  when  he 
has  been  sauntering  the  streets,  on  his  usual  rambles 
of  observation,  equipped  with  his  cane  and  cocked 
hat,  the  little  boys  at  play  have  been  known  to  cry, 
"there  goes  Diedrich  !" — at  which  the  old  gentleman 
seemed  not  a  little  pleased,  looking  upon  these  saluta- 
tions in  the  light  of  the  praises  of  posterity. 

In  a  word,  if  we  take  into  consideration  all  these 
various  honours  and  distinctions,  together  with  an 
exuberant  eulogium,  passed  on  him  in  the  Port  Folio 
— (with  which,  we  are  told,  the  old  gentleman  was 
so  much  overpowered,  that  he  was  sick  for  two  or 
three  days) — it  must  be  confessed,  that  few  authors 
have  ever  lived  to  receive  such  illustrious  rewards, 
or  have  so  completely  enjoyed  in  advance  their  own 
immortality. 

After  his  return  from  Scaghtikoke,  Mr.  Knicker- 
bocker took  up  his  residence  at  a  little  rural  retreat, 
which  the  Stuyvesants  had  granted  him  on  the  family 
domain,  in  gratitude  for  his  honourable  mention  of 
their  ancestor.  It  was  pleasantly  situated  on  the  bor- 
ders of  one  of  the  salt  marshes  beyond  Corlear's  Hook  : 
subject,  indeed,  to  be  occasionally  overflowed,  and 
much  infested,  in  the  summer-time,  with  musquitoes  ; 
but  otherwise  very  agreeable,  producing  abundant 
crops  of  salt  grass  and  bull-rushes. 

Here,  we  are  sorry  to  say,  the  good  old  gentleman 
fell  dangerously  ill  of  a  fever,  occasioned  by  the 
neighbouring  marshes.  When  he  found  his  end  ap- 
proaching, he  disposed  of  his  worldly  affairs,  leaving 
the  bulk  of  his  fortune  to  the  New- York  Historical 
Society ;  his  Hiedelburgh  Catechism,  and  Vander 
Donck's  work,  to  the  city  library  ;  and  his  saddle- 
bags to  Mr.  Handaside.  He  forgave  all  his  enemies, 
— that  is  to  say,  all  who  bore  any  enmity  towards 
him  ;  for  as  to  himself,  he  declared  he  died  in  good- 
vrill  with  all  the  world.  And,  after  dictating  several 
kind  messages  to  his  relations  at  Scaghtikoke,  as  well 
as  to  certain  of  our  most  substantial  Dutch  citizens, 
he  expired  in  the  arms  of  his  friend  the  librarian. 

His  remains  were  interred,  according  to  his  own 
request,  in  St.  Mark's  churchyard,  close  by  the  bones 
of  his  favourite  hero,  Peter  Stuyvesant :  and  it  is 
rumoured,  that  the  Historical  Society  have  it  in  mind 
to  erect  a  wooden  monument  to  his  memory  in  the 
Bowling-Green. 


TO  THE  PUBLIC. 


"To  rescue  from  oblivion  the  memory  of  former 
incidents,  and  to  render  a  just  tribute  of  renown  to 
the  many  great  and  wonderful  transactions  of  our 
Dutch  progenitors,  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  native  of 


the  city  of  New-York,  produces  this  historical  essay."* 
Like  the  great  Father  of  History,  whose  words  I  have 
just  quoted,  I  treat  of  times  long  past,  over  which  the 
twilight  of  uncertainty  had  already  thrown  its  shadows, 
and  the  night  of  forgetfulness  was  about  to  descend 
for  ever.  With  great  solicitude  had  I  long  beheld  the 
early  history  of  this  venerable  and  ancient  city  gradu- 
ally slipping  from  our  grasp,  trembling  on  the  lips  of 
narrative  old  age,  and  day  by  day  dropping  piecemeal 
into  the  tomb.  In  a  little  while,  thought  I,  and  those 
reverend  Dutch  burghers,  who  serve  as  the  tottering 
monuments  of  good  old  times,  will  be  gathered  to 
their  fathers  ;  their  children,  engrossed  by  the  empty 
pleasures  or  insignificant  transactions  of  the  present 
age.  will  neglect  to  treasure  up  the  recollections  of  the 
past,  and  posterity  will  search  in  vain  for  memorials 
of  the  days  of  the  Patriarchs.  The  origin  of  our  city 
will  be  buried  in  eternal  oblivion,  and  even  the  names 
and  achievements  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  William 
Kieft,  and  Peter  Stuyvesant,  be  enveloped  in  doubt 
and  fiction,  like  those  of  Romulus  and  Remus,  of 
Charlemagne,  King  Arthur,  Rinaldo,  and  Godfrey  of 
Bologne. 

Determined,  therefore,  to  avert  if  possible  this 
threatened  misfortune,  I  industriously  set  myself  to 
work,  to  gather  together  all  the  fragments  of  our  in- 
fant history  which  still  existed,  and  like  my  revered 
prototype,  Herodotus,  where  no  written  records  could 
be  found,  I  have  endeavoured  to  continue  the  chain 
of  history  by  well-authenticated  traditions. 

In  this  arduous  undertaking,  which  has  been  the 
whole  business  of  a  long  and  solitary  life,  it  is  in- 
credible the  number  of  learned  authors  I  have  con- 
sulted ;  and  all  but  to  little  purpose.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  though  such  multitudes  of  excellent  works 
have  been  written  about  this  country,  there  are  none 
extant  which  give  any  full  and  satisfactory  account 
of  the  early  history  of  New- York,  or  of  its  three  first 
Dutch  governors.  I  have,  however,  gained  much 
valuable  and  curious  matter,  from  an  elaborate  manu- 
script written  in  exceeding  pure  and  classic  Low  Dutch, 
excepting  a  few  errors  in  orthography,  which  was  found 
in  the  archives  of  the  Stuyvesant  family.  Many  le- 
gends, letters,  and  other  documents  have  I  likewise 
gleaned,  in  my  researches  among  the  family  chests 
and  lumber  garrets  of  our  respectable  Dutch  citizens  ; 
and  I  have  gathered  a  host  of  well -authenticated 
traditions  from  divers  excellent  old  ladies  of  my  ac- 
quaintance, who  requested  that  their  names  might  not 
be  mentioned.  Nor  must  I  neglect  to  acknowledge 
how  greatly  I  have  been  assisted  by  that  admirable 
and  praiseworthy  institution,  the  New-York  Histor- 
ical Society,  to  which  I  here  publicly  return  my  sin- 
cere acknowledgments. 

In  the  conduct  of  this  inestimable  work,  I  have 
adopted  no  individual  model  ;  but,  on  the  contrary, 
have  simply  contented  myself  with  combining  and 
concentrating  the  excellencies  of  the  most  approved 
ancient  historians.  Like  Zenophon,  I  have  maintain- 
ed the  utmost  impartiality,  and  the  strictest  adherence 
to  truth,  throughout  my  history.  I  have  enriched  it, 
after  the  manner  of  Sallust,  with  various  characters 
of  ancient  worthies,  drawn  at  full  length  and  faith- 


•  Beloe's  Herodotus. 


A   HISTORY   OF  NEW-YORK. 


545 


fully  coloured.  I  have  seasoned  it  with  profound 
political  speculations  like  Thucydides,  sweetened  it 
with  the  graces  of  sentiment  like  Tacitus,  and  infused 
into  the  whole  the  dignity,  the  grandeur,  and  magnifi- 
cence of  Livy. 

I  am  aware  that  I  shall  incur  the  censure  of  numer- 
ous very  learned  and  judicious  critics,  for  indulging 
too  frequently  in  the  bold  excursive  manner  of  my 
favourite  Herodotus.  And  to  be  candid,  I  have  found 
it  impossible  always  to  resist  the  allurements  of  those 
pleasing  episodes,  which,  like  flowery  banks  and  fra- 
grant bowers,  beset  the  dusty  road  of  the  historian,  and 
entice  him  to  turn  aside,  and  refresh  himself  from  his 
wayfaring.  But  I  trust  it  will  be  found  that  I  have 
always  resumed  my  staff,  and  addressed  myself  to  my 
weary  journey  with  renovated  spirits,  so  that  both 
my  readers  and  myself  have  been  benefited  by  the  re- 
laxation. 

Indeed,  though  it  has  been  my  constant  wish  and 
uniform  endeavour  to  rival  Polybius  himself,  in  ob- 
serving the  requisite  unity  of  History,  yet  the  loose 
and  unconnected  manner  in  which  many  of  the  facts 
herein  recorded  have  come  to  hand,  rendered  such 
an  attempt  extremely  difficult.  This  difficulty  was  like- 
wise increased,  by  one  of  the  grand  objects  contem- 
plated in  my  work,  which  was  to  trace  the  rise  of  sun- 
dry customs  and  institutions  in  this  best  of  cities,  and 
to  compare  them,  when  in  the  germ  of  infancy,  with 
what  they  are  in  the  present  old  age  of  knowledge 
and  improvement. 

But  the  chief  merit  on  which  I  value  myself,  and 
found  my  hopes  for  future  regard,  is  that  faithful  ve- 
racity with  which  I  have  compiled  this  invaluable  little 
work  ;  carefully  winnowing  away  the  chaff  of  hypoth- 
esis, and  discarding  the  tares  of  fable,  which  are  too 
apt  to  spring  up  and  choke  the  seeds  of  truth  and 
wholesome  knowledge.— Had  I  been  anxious  to  cap- 
tivate the  superficial  throng,  who  skim  like  swallows 
over  the  surface  of  literature  ;  or  had  I  been  anxious 
to  commend  my  writings  to  the  pampered  palates  of 
literary  epicures,  I  might  have  availed  myself  of  the 
obscurity  that  overshadows  the  infant  years  of  our  city, 
to  introduce  a  thousand  pleasing  fictions.  But  I  have 
scrupulously  discarded  many  a  pithy  tale  and  marvel- 
lous adventure,  whereby  the  drowsy  ear  of  summer 
indolence  might  he  enthralled  ;  jealousy  maintaining 
that  fidelity,  gravity,  and  dignity,  which  should  ever 
distinguish  the  historian.  "For  a  writer  of  this  class," 
observes  an  elegant  critic,  "  must  sustain  the  character 
of  a  wise  man,  writing  for  the  instruction  of  posterity  ; 
one  who  has  studied  to  inform  himself  well,  who  has 
pondered  his  subject  with  care,  and  addresses  himself 
o  our  judgment,  rather  than  to  our  imagination." 

Thrice  happy,  therefore,  is  this  our  renowned  city, 
in  having  incidents  worthy  of  swelling  the  theme  of 
history  ;  and  doubly  thrice  happy  is  it  in  having  such 
a  historian  as  myself  to  relate  them.  For  after  all, 
gentle  reader,  cities  of  themselves,  and,  in  fact,  empires 
of  themselves,  are  nothing  without  a  historian.  It  is 
the  patient  narrator  who  records  their  prosperity  as 
they  rise — who  blazons  forth  the  splendour  of  their 
noontide  meridian— who  props  their  feeble  memorials 
as  they  totter  to  decay — who  gathers  together  their 
scattered  fragments  as  they  rot — and  who  piously,  at 
length,  collects  their  ashes  into  the  mausoleum  of  his 
35 


work,  and  rears  a  monument  that  will  transmit  their 
renown  to  all  succeeding  ages. 

What  has  been  the  fate  of  many  fair  cities  of  an- 
tiquity, whose  nameless  ruins  encumber  the  plains  of 
Europe  and  Asia,  and  awaken  the  fruitless  inquiry  of 
the  traveller  ?  They  have  sunk  into  dust  and  silence 
— they  have  perished  from  remembrance,  for  want  of 
a  historian  !  The  philanthropist  may  weep  over  their 
desolation — the  poet  may  wander  among  their  mould- 
ering arches  and  broken  columns,  and  indulge  the 
visionary  flights  of  his  fancy  —  but  alas  !  alas  !  the 
modern  historian,  whose  pen,  like  my  own,  is  doomed 
to  confine  itself  to  dull  matter  of  fact,  seeks  in  vain 
among  their  oblivious  remains  for  some  memorial  that 
may  tell  the  instructive  tale  of  their  glory  and  their  ruin. 

"Wars,  conflagrations,  deluges,"  says  Aristotle, 
"destroy  nations,  and  with  them  all  their  monuments, 
their  discoveries,  and  their  vanities. — The  torch  of 
science  has  more  than  once  been  extinguished  and  re- 
kindled— a  few  individuals,  who  have  escaped  by  acci- 
dent, reunite  the  thread  of  generations." 

The  same  sad  misfortune  which  has  happened  to  so 
many  ancient  cities,  will  happen  again,  and  from  the 
same  sad  cause,  to  nine-tenths  of  those  which  now 
flourish  on  the  face  of  the  globe.  With  most  of  them, 
the  time  for  recording  their  early  history  is  gone  by  ; 
their  origin,  their  foundation,  together  with  the  event- 
ful period  of  their  youth,  are  for  ever  buried  in  the 
rubbish  of  years  ;  and  the  same  would  have  been  the 
case  with  this  fair  portion  of  the  earth,  if  I  had  not 
snatched  it  from  obscurity  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  at 
the  moment  that  those  matters  herein  recorded  were 
about  entering  into  the  wide-spread  insatiable  maw  of 
oblivion — if  I  had  not  dragged  them  out,  as  it  were,  by 
the  very  locks,  just  as  the  monster's  adamantine  fangs 
were  closing  upon  them  for  ever  !  And  here  have  I, 
as  before  observed,  carefully  collected,  collated,  and 
arranged  them,  scrip  and  scrap,  "pimt  en  punt,  gat  en 
gat,"  and  commenced  in  this  little  work,  a  history  to 
serve  as  a  foundation,  on  which  other  historians  may 
hereafter  raise  a  noble  superstructure,  swelling  in  pro- 
cess of  time,  until  Kniekerbocker^ s  New-  York  may  be 
equally  voluminous  with  Gibbon's  Rome,  or  Hume  and 
Smollet's  England  ! 

And  now  indulge  me  for  a  moment,  while  I  lay 
down  my  pen,  skip  to  some  little  eminence  at  the  dis- 
tance of  two  or  three  hundred  years  ahead  ;  and,  cast- 
ing back  a  bird's-eye  glance  over  the  waste  of  years 
that  is  to  roll  between,  discover  myself — little  I  ! — at 
this  moment  the  progenitor,  prototype,  and  precursor 
of  them  all,  posted  at  the  head  of  this  host  of  literary 
worthies,  with  my  book  under  my  arm,  and  New-York 
on  my  back,  pressing  forward,  like  a  gallant  com- 
mander, to  honour  and  immortality. 

Such  are  the  vain-glorious  imaginings  that  will  now 
and  then  enter  into  the  brain  of  the  author — that  ir- 
radiate, as  with  celestial  light,  his  solitary  chamber, 
cheering  his  weary  spirits,  and  animating  him  to  per- 
severe in  his  labours.  And  I  have  freely  given  utter- 
ance to  these  rhapsodies,  whenever  they  have  occurred  ; 
not,  I  trust,  from  an  unusual  spirit  of  egotism,  but 
merely  that  the  reader  may  for  once  have  an  idea, 
how  an  author  thinks  and  feels  while  he  is  writing — 
a  kind  of  knowledge  very  rare  and  curious,  and  much 
to  be  desired. 


546 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


BOOK    I. 

CONTAINING  DIVERS  INGENIOUS  THEORIES  AND 
rHILOSOPHIC  SPECULA  1  IONS,  CONCERNING  THE 
CREATION  AND  POPULATION  OF  THE  WORLD, 
AS  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  HISTORY  OF  NEW 
YORK. 


CHAPTER  1. 

DESCRIPTION   OF  THE  WORLD. 

ACCORDING  to  the  best  authorities,  the  world  in 
which  we  dwell  is  a  huge,  opaque,  reflecting,  inani- 
mate mass,  floating  in  the  vast  ethereal  ocean  of 
infinite  space,  ft  has  the  form  of  an  orange,  being 
an  oblate  spheroid,  curiously  flattened  at  opposite 
parts,  for  the  insertion  of  two  imaginary  poles,  which 
are  supposed  to  penetrate  and  unite  at  the  centre ; 
thus  forming  an  axis  on  which  the  mighty  orange 
turns  with  a  regular  diurnal  revolution. 

The  transitions  of  light  and  darkness,  whence  pro- 
ceed the  alternations  of  day  and  night,  are  produced 
by  this  diurnal  revolution  successively  presenting  the 
different  parts  of  the  earth  to  the  rays  of  the  sun. 
■  The  latter  is,  according  to  the  best,  that  is  to  say,  the 
latest  accounts,  a  luminous  or  fiery  body,  of  a  pro- 
digious magnitude,  from  which  this  world  is  driven 
by  a  centrifugal  or  repelling  power,  and  to  which 
it  is  drawn  by  a  centripetal  or  attractive  force, 
otherwise  called  the  attraction  of  gravitation  ;  the 
combination,  or  rather  the  counteraction,  of  these 
two  opposing  impulses  producing  a  circular  and 
annual  revolution.  Hence  result  the  different  sea- 
sons of  the  year,  viz.,  spring,  summer,  autumn,  and 
winter. 

This  I  believe  to  be  the  most  approved  modern 
theory  on  the  subject — though  there  be  many  phi- 
losophers who  have  entertained  very  different  opin- 
ions ;  some,  too,  of  them  entitled  to  much  deference 
from  their  great  antiquity  and  illustrious  characters. 
Thus  it  was  advanced  by  some  of  the  ancient  sages, 
that  the  earth  was  an  extended  plain,  supported  by 
vast  pillars ;  and  by  others,  that  it  rested  on  the  head 
of  a  snake,  or  the  back  of  a  huge  tortoise — but  as 
they  did  not  provide  a  resting-place  for  either  the 
pillars  or  the  tortoise,  the  whole  theory  fell  to  the 
ground,  for  want  of  proper  foundation. 

The  Brahmins  assert,  that  the  heavens  rest  upon 
the  earth,  and  the  sun  and  moon  swim  therein  like 
fishes  in  the  water,  moving  from  east  to  west  by  day, 
and  gliding  along  the  edge  of  the  horizon  to  their 
original  stations  during  the  night  ;*  while,  .according 
to  the  pauranicas  of  India,  it  is  a  vast  plain,  encircled 
by  seven  oceans  of  milk,  nectar,  and  other  delicious 
iliquids  ;  that  it  is  studded  with  seven  mountains,  and 
ornamented  in  the  centre  by  a  mountainous  rock  of 
burnished  gold  ;  and  that  a  great  dragon  occasion- 
ally swallows  up  the  moon,  which  accounts  for  the 
phenomena  af  lunar  eclipses.t 

Beside  these,  and  many  other  equally  sage  opin- 
iions,  we  have  the  profound  conjectures  of  Aboul- 
Hassan-Aly,  son  of  Al  Khan,  son  of  Aly,  son  of 
Abderrahman,  son  of  Abdallah,  son  of  Masoud-el- 
Had-^heli,  who  is  commonly  called  Masoudi,  and 
surnamed  Cothbeddin,  but  who  takes  the  humble 
title  of  Laheb-ar-rasoul,  which  me.ans  the  companion 
of  the  ambassador  of  God.  He  has  written  a  uni- 
versal history,  entitled  "  Mouroudge-ed-dharab,  or 
the  Golden   Meadows,  and  the  Mines  of  Precious 


Stones."*  In  this  valuable  work  he  has  related  the 
history  of  the  world,  from  the  creation  down  to  the 
moment  of  writing  ;  which  was  under  the  Caliphate 
of  Mothi  Billah,  in  the  month  Dgioumadi-el-aoual 
of  the  336th  year  Of  the  Hegira  or  flight  of  the 
Prophet.  He  informs  us  that  the  earth  is  a  huge 
bird,  Mecca  and  Medina  constituting  the  head,  Persia 
and  India  the  right  wing,  the  land  of  Gog  the  left 
wing,  and  Africa  the  tail.  He  informs  us,  moreover, 
that  an  earlh  has  existed  before  the  present,  (which 
he  considers  as  a  mere  chicken  of  7,000  years)  that 
it  has  undergone  divers  deluges,  and  that,  according 
to  the  opinion  of  some  well-informed  Brahmins  of 
his  acquaintance,  it  will  be  renovated  every  seventy- 
thousandth  hazarouam  ;  each  hazarouam  consisting 
of  12,000  years. 

These  are  a  few  of  the  many  contradictory  opinions 
of  philosophers  concerning  the  earth,  and  we  find 
that  the  learned  have  had  equal  perplexity  as  to  the 
nature  of  the  sun.  Some  of  the  ancient  philosophers 
have  affirmed  that  it  is  a  vast  wheel  of  brilliant  fire  ;+ 
others,  that  it  is  merely  a  mirror  or  sphere  of  trans- 
parent crystal;]:  and  a  third  class,  at  the  head  of 
whom  stands  Anaxagoras,  maintained  that  it  was 
nothing  but  a  huge  ignited  mass  of  iron  or  stone — 
indeed,  he  declared  the  heavens  to  be  merely  a  vault 
of  stone— and  that  the  stars  were  stones  whirled  up- 
ward from  the  earth,  and  set  on  fire  by  the  velocity 
of  its  revolutions.§  But  I  give  little  attention  to  the 
doctrines  of  this  philosopher,  the  people  of  Athens 
having  fully  refuted  them,  by  banishing  him  from 
their  city  ;  a  concise  mode  of  answering  unwelcome 
doctrines,  much  resorted  to  in  former  days.  Another 
sect  of  philosophers  do  declare,  that  certain  fiery 
particles  exhale  constantly  from  the  earth,  which 
concentrating  in  a  single  point  of  the  firmament  by 
day,  constitute  the  sun,  but  being  scattered  and  ram- 
bling about  in  the  dark  at  night,  collect  in  various 
points,  and  form  stars.  These  are  regularly  burnt 
out  and  extinguished,  not  unlike  to  the  lamps  in  our 
streets,  and  require  a  fresh  supply  of  exhalations  for 
the  next  occasion. j 

It  is  even  recorded,  that  at  certain  remote  and 
obscure  periods,  in  consequence  of  a  great  scarcity 
of  fuel,  the  sun  has  been  completely  burnt  out,  and 
sometimes  not  rekindled  for  a  month  at  a  time  ;  —a 
most  melancholy  circumstance,  the  very  idea  of 
which  gave  vast  concern  to  Heraclitus,  that  worthy 
weeping  philosopher  of  antiquity.  In  addition  to 
these  various  speculations,  it  was  the  opinion  of 
Her.schel,  that  the  sun  is  a  magnificent,  habitable 
abode  ;  the  light  it  furnishes  arising  from  certain 
empyreal,  luminous  or  phosphoric  clouds,  switnming 
in  its  transparent  atmosphere.^ 

But  we  will  not  enter  farther  at  present  into  the 
nature  of  the  sun,  that  being  an  inquiry  not  imme- 
diately necessary  to  the  development  of  this  history  ; 
neither  will  we  embroil  ourselves  in  any  more  of  the 
endless  disputes  of  philosophers  touching  the  form 
of  this  globe,  but  content  ourselves  with  the  theory 
advanced  in  the  beginning  of  this  chapter,  and  will 
proceed  to  illustrate,  by  experiment,  the  complexity 
of  motion  therein  ascribed  to  this  our  rotatory 
planet. 

Professor  Von   Poddingcoft  (or  Puddinghead,  as 


*  Faria  y  Souza.    Mick.  Tjus.  note  b.  7 
tSir  W.  Jones,  Diss.  Antiq.  Ind.  Zod. 


*  Mss.  Bibliot,  Roi.  Fr. 

t  Plutarch  de  Placitis  Philosoph.  lib.  iii,  cap.  20. 

t  .\chill.  Tat.  Isag.  cap.  19.  Ap.  Petav.  t.  iii.  p.  81.  Stob.  Eclog. 
Phys.  lib.  i.  p.  56.     Plut.  de  Plac.  Phi. 

§  Diogenes  I.aertius  in  Anaxag.  1.  ii.  sec.  8.  Plat.  Apol.  t.  i.  p.  96. 
Pint,  de  Plac.  Philo.     Xenoph.  Mem.  1.  iv.  p.  815. 

\  Aristot.  Meteor.  1.  ii.  c.  2.  Idem.  Probl.  sec.  15.  Stob.  EcL 
Phys.  1.  i.  p.  55.  IJruck.  Hist.  Phil.  t.  i.  p.  1154,  &c. 

1  Philos.  Trans.  1795,  p.  72.  Idem.  1801,  p.  265.  .Nich.  Philos. 
Journ.  i.  p.  13. 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


547 


the  nnme  may  be  rendered  into  English,)  was  long 
celebrated  in  the  university  of  Leyden,  for  profound 
gravity  of  deportment,  and  a  talent  of  going  to  sleep 
in  the  midst  of  examinations,  to  the  infinite  relief  of 
his  hopeful  students,  who  thereby  worked  their  way 
through  college  with  great  ease  and  little  study.  In 
the  course  of  one  of  his  lectures,  the  learned  profes- 
sor, seizing  a  bucket  of  water,  swung  it  round  his 
head  at  arm's-length.  The  impulse  with  which  he 
threw  the  vessel  from  him,  being  a  centrifugal  force, 
the  retention  of  his  arm  operating  as  a  centripetal 
power,  and  the  bucket,  which  was  a  substitute  for  the 
earth,  describing  a  circular  orbit  round  about  the 
globular  head  and  ruby  visage  of  Professor  Von  Pod- 
dingcoft,  which  formed  no  bad  representation  of  the 
sun.  All  of  these  particulars  were  duly  explained  to 
the  class  of  gaping  students  around  him.  He  ap- 
prized them,  moreover,  that  the  same  principle  of 
gravitation,  which  retained  the  water  in  the  bucket, 
restrains  the  ocean  from  flying  from  the  earth  in  its 
rapid  revolutions  ;  and  he  farther  informed  them, 
that  should  the  motion  of  the  earth  be  suddenly 
checked,  it  would  incontinently  fall  into  the  sun, 
through  the  centripetal  force  of  gravitation  ;  a  most 
ruinous  event  to  this  planet,  and  one  which  would 
also  obscure,  though  it  most  probably  would  not  ex- 
tinguish, the  solar  luminary-.  An  unlucky  stripling, 
one  of  those  vagrant  geniuses  who  seem  sent  into 
the  world  merely  to  annoy  worthy  men  of  the  pud- 
dinghead  order,  tlesirous  of  ascertaining  the  correct- 
ness of  the  experiment,  suddenly  arrested  the  arm  of 
the  professor,  just  at  the  moment  that  the  bucket 
was  in  its  zenith,  which  immediately  descended  with 
astonishing  precision  upon  the  head  of  the  philoso- 
pher. A  hallow  sound,  and  a  red-hot  hiss,  attended 
the  contact ;  but  the  theory  was  in  the  amplest  man- 
ner illustrated,  for  the  unfortunate  bucket  perished 
in  the  conflict ;  but  the  blazing  countenance  of  Pro- 
fessor Von  Poddingcoft  emerged  from  amidst  the 
waters,  glowing  fiercer  than  ever  with  unutterable 
indignation,  whereby  the  students  were  marvellously 
edified,  and  departed  considerably  wiser  than  before. 

It  is  a  mortifying  circumstance,  which  greatly  per- 
plexes many  a  philosopher,  that  Nature  often  refuses 
to  second  his  efforts  ;  so  that  after  having  invented 
one  of  the  most  ingenious  and  natural  theories  im- 
aginable, she  will  have  the  perverseness  to  act  di- 
rectly in  the  teeth  of  it.  This  is  a  manifest  and  un- 
merited grievance,  since  it  throws  the  censure  of  the 
vulgar  and  unlearned  entirely  upon  the  philosopher; 
whereas  the  fault  is  to  be  ascribed  to  dame  Nature, 
who,  with  the  proverbial  fickleness  of  her  sex,  is  con- 
tinually indulging  in  coquetries  and  caprices;  and 
who  seems  to  take  pleasure  in  violating  all  philo- 
sophic rules,  and  jilting  the  most  learned  and  inde- 
fatigable of  her  adorers.  Thus  it  happened  with  re- 
spect to  the  foregoing  explanation  of  the  motion  of 
our  planet ;  it  appears  that  the  centrifugal  force  has 
long  since  ceased  to  operate,  while  its  antagonist  re- 
mains in  undiminished  potency :  the  world,  there- 
fore, ought,  in  strict  propriety,  to  tumble  into  the 
sun  ;  philosophers  were  convinced  that  it  would  do 
so,  and  awaited  in  anxious  impatience  the  fulfilment 
of  their  prognostics.  But  the  untoward  planet  per- 
tinaciously continued  her  course,  notwithstanding 
that  she  had  reason,  philosophy,  and  a  whole  univer- 
sity of  learned  professors,  opposed  to  her  conduct. 
The  philosophers  took  this  in  very  ill  part,  and  it  is 
thought  they  would  never  have  pardoned  the  slight 
which  they  conceived  put  upon  them  by  the  world, 
had  not  a  good-natured  professor  kindly  officiated  as 
a  mediator  between  the  parties  and  effiscted  a  recon- 
ciliation. 

Finding  the  world  would  not  accommodate  itself 
to  the  theory,  he  wisely  accommodated  the  theory  to 


the  world :  he  informed  his  brother  philosophers 
that  the  circular  motion  of  the  earth  round  the  sun 
was  no  sooner  engendered  by  the  conflicting  impulses 
above  described,  than  it  became  a  regular  revolution, 
independent  of  the  causes  which  gave  it  origin.  His 
learned  brethren  readily  joined  in  the  opinion,  heartily 
glad  of  any  explanation  that  would  decently  extricale 
them  from  their  embarrassment — and  ever  since  that 
era  the  world  has  been  left  to  take  her  own  course, 
and  to  revolve  around  the  sun  in  such  orbit  as  she 
thinks  proper. 


CHAPTER  n. 

COSMOGONY,  OR  CREATION  OF  THE  WORLD  ;  WITH 
A  MULTITUDE  OF  EXCELLENT  THEORIES,  BY 
WHICH  THE  CREATION  OF  A  WORLD  IS  SHOWN 
TO  BE  NO  SUCH  DIFFICULT  MATTER  AS  COM- 
MON FOLK  WOULD  IMAGINE. 

Having  thus  briefly  introduced  my  reader  to  the 
world,  and  given  him  some  idea  of  its  form  and  sit- 
uation, he  will  naturally  be  curious  to  know  from 
whence  it  came,  and  how  it  was  created.  And,  in- 
deed, the  clearing  up  of  these  points  is  absolutely 
essential  to  my  history,  inasmuch  as  if  this  world 
had  not  been  formed,  it  is  more  than  probable  that 
this  renowned  island  on  which  is  situated  the  city 
of  New-York,  would  never  have  had  an  existence. 
The  regular  course  of  my  history,  therefore,  requires 
that  I  should  proceed  to  notice  the  cosmogony,  or 
formation  of  this  our  globe. 

And  now  1  give  my  readers  fair  warning,  that  I 
am  about  to  plunge,  for  a  chapter  or  two,  into  as 
complete  a  labyrinth  as  ever  historian  was  perplexed 
withal ;  therefore,  I  advise  them  to  take  fast  hold 
of  my  skirts,  and  keep  close  at  my  heels,  venturing 
neither  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left,  lest  they 
get  bemired  in  a  slough  of  unintelligible  learning,  or 
have  their  brains  knocked  out  by  some  of  those  hard 
Greek  names  which  will  be  flying  about  in  all  direc- 
tions. But  should  any  of  them  be  too  indolent  or 
chicken-hearted  to  accompany  me  in  this  perilous 
undertaking,  they  had  better  take  a  short  cut  round, 
and  wait  for  me  at  the  beginning  of  some  smoother 
chapter. 

Of  the  creation  of  the  world,  we  have  a  thousand 
contradictory  accounts;  and  though  a  very  satisfac- 
tory one  is  furnished  us  by  divine  revelation,  yet 
every  philosopher  feels  himself  in  honour  bound  to 
filrnish  us  with  a  better.  As  an  impartial  historian, 
I  consider  it  my  duty  to  notice  their  several  theories, 
by  which  mankind  have  been  so  exceedingly  edified 
and  instructed. 

Thus  it  was  the  opinion  of  certain  ancient  sages, 
that  the  earth  and  the  whole  system  of  the  universe 
was  the  deity  himself;*  a  doctrine  most  strenuously 
maintained  by  Zenophanes  and  the  whole  tribe  of 
Eleatics,  as  also  by  Itrabo  and  the  sect  of  peripa- 
tetic philosophers.  Pythagoras  likewise  inculcated 
the  famous  numerical  system  of  the  monad,  dyad, 
and  triad,  and  by  means  of  his  sacred  quaternary 
elucidated  the  formation  of  the  world,  the  arcana  of 
nature,  and  the  principles  both  of  music  and  morals.t 
Other  sages  adhered  to  the  mathematical  system  of 
squares  and  triangles ;  the  cube,  the  pyramid,  and 
the  sphere,  the  tetrahedron,  the  octahedron,  the  icos- 
ahedron,  and  the  dodecahedron. J     While  others  ad- 


*  Aristot.  ap.  Cic.  lib.  i.  cap.  3. 

+  Aristot.  Metaph,  lib.  i.  c.  ^.  Idem,  dc  Coelo,  I.  iii.  c.  I.  Roii*- 
seau  mem.  sur.  Miisique  ancien.  p.  39,  Plutarch  de  Plac  Philus. 
lib.  i.  cap.  3. 

X  Tim.  Locr.  ap.  Pla:o.  t.  iii.  p.  90. 


R4B 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


vocated  the  great  elementary  theory,  which  refers 
the  construction  of  our  globe,  and  all  that  it  con- 
tains, to  the  combination  of  four  material  elements — 
air,  earth,  fire,  and  water;  with  the  assistance  of  a 
fifth,  an  immaterial  and  vivifying  principle. 

Nor  must  I  omit  to  mention  the  great  atomic  sys- 
tem, taught  by  old  Moschus,  before  the  siege  of  Troy; 
revived  by  Democritus,  of  laughing  memory;  im- 
proved by  Epicurus,  that  king  of  good  fellows,  and 
modernized  by  the  fanciful  Descartes. 

But  I  decline  inquiring,  whether  the  atoms,  of 
which  the  earth  is  said  to  be  composed,  are  eternal 
or  recent ;  whether  they  are  animate  or  inanimate  ; 
whether,  agreeably  to  the  opinion  of  the  atheists, 
they  were  fortuitously  aggre  lated,  or,  as  the  theists 
maintain,  were  arranged  by  a  supreme  intelligence.* 
Whether,  in  fact,  the  earth  be  an  insensate  clod,  or 
whether  it  be  animated  by  a  soul  ;t  which  opinion 
was  strenuously  maintained  by  a  host  of  philosophers, 
at  the  head  of  whom  stands  the  great  Plato,  that 
temperate  sage,  who  threw  the  cold  water  of  philos- 
ophy on  the  form  of  sexual  intercourse,  and  inculca- 
ted the  doctrine  of  Platonic  love — an  exquisitely  re- 
fined intercourse,  but  much  better  adapted  to  the 
ideal  inhabitants  of  his  imaginary  island  of  Atlantis 
than  to  the  sturdy  race,  composed  of  rebellious  flesh 
and  blood,  which  populates  the  little  matter-of-fact 
island  we  inhabit. 

Beside  these  systems,  we  have,  moreover,  the  po- 
etical theogony  of  old  Hesiod,  who  generated  the 
whole  universe  in  the  regular  mode  of  procreation  ; 
and  the  plausible  opinion  of  others,  that  the  earth 
was  hatched  from  the  great  egg  of  night,  which 
fioated  in  chaos,  and  was  cracked  by  the  horns  of 
the  celestial  bull.  To  illustrate  this  last  doctrine, 
Burnet,  in  his  theory  of  the  earth,!  ^''■^  favoured  us 
with  an  accurate  drawing  and  description,  both  of 
the  form  and  texture  of  this  mundane  egg ;  which  is 
found  to  bear  a  marvellous  resemblance  to  that  of  a 
goose.  Such  of  my  readers  as  take  a  proper  interest 
in  the  origin  of  this  our  planet,  will  be  pleased  to 
learn,  that  the  most  profound  sages  of  antiquity, 
among  the  Egyptians,  Chaldeans,  Persians,  Greeks, 
and  Latins,  have  alternately  assisted  at  the  hatch- 
ing of  this  strange  bird,  and  that  their  cacklings 
have  been  caught,  and  continued  in  different  tones 
and  inflections,  from  philosopher  to  philosopher,  unto 
the  present  day. 

But  while  briefly  noticing  long-celebrated  systems 
of  ancient  sages,  let  me  not  pass  over  with  neglect 
those  of  other  philosophers  ;  which,  though  less  uni- 
versal and  renowned,  have  equal  claims  to  attention, 
and  equal  chance  for  correctness.  Thus  it  is  record- 
ed by  the  Brahmins,  in  the  pages  of  their  inspired 
Shastah,  that  the  angel  Bistnoo,  transforming  him- 
self into  a  great  boar,  plunged  into  the  watery  abyss, 
and  brought  up  the  earth  on  his  tusks.  Then  issued 
from  him  a  mighty  tortoise,  and  a  mighty  snake ; 
and  Bistnoo  placed  the  snake  erect  upon  the  back 
of  the  tortoise,  and  he  placed  the  earth  upon  the 
head  of  the  snake. § 

The  negro  philosophers  of  Congo  affirm  that  the 
world  was  made  by  the  hands  of  angels,  excepting 
their  own  country,  which  the  Supreme  Being  con- 
structed himself,  that  it  might  be  supremely  excel- 
lent. And  he  took  great  pains  with  the  inhabitants, 
.nnd  made  them  very  black,  and  beautiful ;  and  when 
he  had  finished  the  first  man,  he  was  well  pleased 
with   him,  and  smoothed  him  over  the  face ;  and 


*  Aristot.  Nat.  Auscult.  1.  ii.  cap.  6.  Aristoph.  Melaph.  lib.  i. 
cap.  3.  Cic.  de  Nat.  Deor.  lib.  i.  cap.  to.  Justin.  Mart.  oral,  ad 
gent.  p.  so. 

t  Mosheim  in  Cudw.  lib.  i.  cap.  4.  Tim.  de  anim.  mund  ap. 
Plat.  lib.  iii.  Mem.  de  TAcad.  des  Belles  Lettr.  t.  xxxii.  p,  19.  et 
al. 

;  Book  i.  ch.  5.  S  Holwell.    Gent  Philosophy. 


hence  his  nose,  and  the  nose  of  all  his  descendants, 
became  flat. 

The  Mohawk  philosophers  tell  us,  that  a  pregnant 
woman  fell  down  from  heaven,  and  that  a  tortoise 
took  her  upon  its  back,  because  every  place  was 
covered  with  water ;  and  that  the  woman,  sitting 
upon  the  tortoise,  paddled  with  her  hands  in  the 
water,  and  raked  up  the  earth,  whence  it  finally 
happened  that  the  earth  became  higher  than  the 
water.  * 

But  I  forbear  to  quote  a  number  more  of  these 
ancient  and  outlandish  philosophers,  whose  deplora- 
ble ignorance,  in  despite  of  all  their  erudition,  com- 
pelled them  to  write  in  languages  which  but  few  of 
my  readers  can  understand ;  and  I  shall  proceed 
briefly  to  notice  a  few  more  intelligible  and  fashion- 
able theories  of  their  modern  successors. 

And,  first,  I  shall  mention  the  great  Buffon,  who 
conjectures  that  this  globe  was  originally  a  globe  of 
liquid  fire,  scintillated  from  the  body  of  the  sun,  by 
the  percussion  of  a  comet,  as  a  spark  is  generated 
by  the  collision  of  Hint  and  steel.  That  at  first  it 
was  surrounded  by  gross  vapours,  which,  cooling 
and  condensing  in  process  of  time,  constituted,  ac- 
cording to  their  densities,  earth,  watfer,  and  air ; 
which  gradually  arranged  themselves,  according  to 
their  respective  gravities,  round  the  burning  or  vitri- 
fied mass  that  formed  their  centre. 

Hutton,  on  the  contrary,  supposes  that  the  waters 
at  first  were  universally  paramount ;  >atid  he  terrifies 
himself  with  the  idea  that  the  earth  must  be  eventu- 
ally washed  away  by  the  force  of  rain,  rivers,  and 
mountain  torrents,  until  it  is  confounded  with  the 
ocean,  or,  in  other  words,  absolutely  dissolves  into 
itself.— Sublime  idea !  far  surpassing  that  of  the 
tender-hearted  damsel  of  antiquity,  who  wept  her- 
self into  a  fountain  ;  or  the  good  dame  of  Narbonne 
in  France,  who,  for  a  volubility  of  tongue  unusual  in 
her  sex,  was  doomed  to  peel  five  hundred  thousand 
and  thirty-nine  ropes  of  onions,  and  actually  run  out 
at  her  eyes  before  half  the  hideous  task  was  accom- 
plished. 

Whiston,  the  same  ingenious  philosopher  who 
rivalled  Ditton  in  his  researches  after  the  longitude, 
(for  which  the  mischief-loving  Swift  discharged  on 
their  heads  a  most  savoury  stanza,)  has  distinguished 
himself  by  a  very  admirable  theory  respecting  the 
earth.  He  conjectures  that  it  was  originally  a  chaotic 
comet,  which  being  selected  for  the  abode  of  man, 
was  removed  from  its  eccentric  orbit,  and  whirled 
round  the  sun  in  its  present  regular  motion  ;  by 
which  change  of  direction,  order  succeeded  to  con- 
fusion in  the  arrangement  of  its  component  parts. 
The  philosopher  adds,  that  the  deluge  was  produced 
by  an  uncourteous  salute  from  the  watery  tail  of 
another  comet ;  doubtless  through  sheer  envy  of  its 
improved  condition  :  thus  furnishing  a  melancholy 
proof  that  jealousy  may  prevail,  even  among  the 
heavenly  bodies,  and  discord  interrupt  that  celestial 
harmony  of  the  spheres  so  melodiously  sung  by  the 
poets. 

But  I  pass  over  a  variety  of  excellent  theories, 
among  which  are  those  of  Burnet,  and  Woodward, 
and  Whitehurst ;  regretting  extremely  that  my  time 
will  not  suffer  me  to  give  them  the  notice  they  de- 
serve— and  shall  conclude  with  that  of  the  renowned 
Dr.  Darwin.  This  learned  Theban,  who  is  as  much 
distinguished  for  rhyme  as  reason,  and  for  good- 
natured  credulity  as  serious  research,  and  who  has 
recommended  himself  wonderfully  to  the  good  graces 
of  the  ladies,  by  letting  them  into  all  the  gallantries, 
amours,  intrigues,  and   other  topics   of  scandal  of 


•Johannes  Mcgapolensis, Jun.  Account  of  Maquaas  or  Mohawk 
Indians.     1644. 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


549 


the  court  of  Flora,  has  fallen  upon  a  theory  worthy 
of  his  combustible  imagination.  According  to  his 
opinion,  the  huge  mass  of  chaos  took  a  sudden  oc- 
casion to  explode,  like  a  barrel  of  gunpowder,  and  in 
that  act  exploded  the  sun — which  in  its  flight,  by  a 
similar  convulsion,  exploded  the  earth — which  in 
like  guise  exploded  the  moon — and  thus  by  a  con- 
catenation of  explosions,  the  whole  solar  system  was 
produced,  and  set  most  systematically  in  motion  !  * 

By  the  great  variety  of  theories  here  alluded  to, 
every  one  of  which,  if  thoroughly  examined,  will  be 
found  surprisingly  consistent  in  all  its  parts,  my 
unlearned  readers  will  perhaps  be  led  to  conclude, 
that  the  creation  of  a  world  is  not  so  difficult  a  task 
as  they  at  first  imagined.  I  have  shown  at  least  a 
score  of  ingenious  methods  in  which  a  world  could 
be  constructed  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  had  any 
of  the  philosophers  above  quoted  the  use  of  a  good 
manageable-comet,  and  the  philosophical  warehouse 
chaos  at  his  command,  he  would  engage  to  manu- 
facture a  planet  as  good,  or,  if  vou  would  take  his 
word  for  it,  better  than  this  we  inhabit. 

And  here  I  cannot  help  noticing  the  kindness  of 
Providence,  in  creating  comets  for  the  grea!  relief  ot 
bewildered  philosophers.  By  their  assistance  more 
sudden  evolutions  and  transitions  are  effected  in  the 
system  of  nature,  than  are  wrought  in  a  pantomimic 
exhibition,  by  the  wonder-working  sword  of  Harle- 
quin. Should  one  of  our  modern  sages,  in  his  the- 
oretical flights  among  the  stars,  ever  find  himself 
lost  in  the  clouds,  and  in  danger  of  tumbling  into 
the  abyss  of  nonsense  and  absurdity,  he  has  but  to 
seize  a  comet  by  the  beard,  mount  astride  of  its  tail, 
and  away  he  gallops  in  triumph,  like  an  enchanter 
on  his  hippogriff",  or  a  Connecticut  witch  on  her 
broom-stick,  "to  sweep  the  cobwebs  out  of  the  sky." 

There  is  an  old  and  vulgar  saying  about  a  "  beg- 
gar on  horseback,"  which  I  would  not  for  the  world 
have  applied  to  these  reverend  philosophers  :  but  I 
must  confess  that  some  of  them,  when  they  are 
mounted  on  one  of  those  fiery  steeds,  are  as  wild  in 
their  curvetings  as  was  Phaton  of  yore,  when  he  as- 
pired to  manage  the  chariot  of  Phoebus.  One  drives 
his  comet  at  full  speed  against  the  sun,  and  knocks 
the  world  out  of  him  with  the  mighty  concussion  ; 
another,  more  moderate,  makes  his  comet  a  mere 
beast  of  burden,  carrying  the  sun  a  regular  supply  of 
food  and  fagots  ;  a  third,  of  more  combustible  dispo- 
sition, threatens  to  throw  his  comet,  like  a  bomb- 
shell, into  the  world  and  blow  it  up  like  a  powder- 
magazine  ;  while  a  fourth,  with  no  great  delicacy  to 
this  planet  and  its  inhabitants,  in.sinuates  that  some 
day  or  other  his  comet — my  modest  pen  blushes 
while  I  write  it— shall  absolutely  turn  tail  upon  our 
world  and  deluge  it  with  water  !— Surely,  as  I  have 
already  observed,  comets  were  intended  by  Provi- 
dence for  the  benefit  of  philosophers,  to  assist  them 
in  manufacturing  theories. 

And  now,  having  adduced  several  of  the  most 
prominent  theories  that  occur  to  my  recollection,  I 
leave  my  judicious  readers  at  full  liberty  to  choose 
among  them.  They  are  all  serious  speculations  of 
learned  men— all  differ  essentially  from  each  other — 
and  all  have  the  same  title  to  belief.  It  has  ever 
been  the  task  of  one  race  of  philosophers  to  demolish 
the  works  of  their  predecessors,  and  elevate  more 
splendid  fantasies  in  their  stead,  which  in  their  turn 
are  demolished  and  replaced  by  the  air-castles  of  a 
succeeding  generation.  Thus  it  would  seem  that 
knowledge  and  genius,  of  which  we  make  such  great 
parade,  consist  but  in  detecting  the  errors  and  ab- 
surdities of  those  who  have  gone  before,  and  devis- 
ing new  errors  and  absurdities,  to  be  detected  by 

•iJarw.  Bot.  Garden.  Part.  I.  Cant.  !.  1.  105. 


those  who  are  to  come  after  us.  Theories  are  the 
mighty  soap-bubbles  with  which  the  grown-up  chil- 
dren of  science  amuse  themselves — while  the  honest 
vulgar  stand  gazing  in  stupid  admiration,  and  dignify 
these  learned  vagaries  with  the  name  of  wisdom  ! — 
Surely,  Socrates  was  right  in  his  opinion,  that  phi- 
losophers are  but  a  soberer  sort  of  madmen,  busying 
themselves  in  things  totally  incomprehensible,  or 
which,  if  they  could  be  comprehended,  would  be 
found  not  worth  the  trouble  of  discovery. 

For  my  own  part,  until  the  learned  have  come  to 
an  agreement  among  themselves,  I  shall  content  my- 
self with  the  account  handed  down  to  us  by  Moses  ; 
in  which  I  do  but  follow  the  example  of  our  inge- 
nious neighbours  of  Connecticut ;  who  at  their  first 
settlement  proclaimed  that  the  colony  should  be 
governed  by  the  laws  of  God — until  they  had  time  to 
make  better. 

One  thing,  however,  appears  certain  —  from  the 
unanimous  authority  of  the  before-quoted  philoso- 
phers, supported  by  the  evidence  of  our  own  senses, 
(which,  though  very  apt  to  deceive  us,  may  be  cau- 
tiously admitted  as  additional  testimony,)  it  appears, 
I  say,  and  I  make  the  assertion  deliberately,  without 
fear  of  contradiction,  that  this  globe  really  was  cre- 
ated, and  that  it  is  composed  oi  land  and  luater.  It 
farther  appears  that  it  is  curiously  divided  and  par- 
celled out  into  continents  and  islands,  among  which 
I  boldly  declare  the  renowned  Island  of  New- 
York  will  be  found  by  any  one  who  seeks  for  it  in 
its  proper  place. 


CHAPTER   in. 

HOW  THAT  FAMOUS  NAVIGATOR,  NOAH,  WAS 
SHAMEFULLY  NICKNAMED  ;  AND  HOW  HE  COM- 
MITTED AN  UNPARDONABLE  OVERSIGHT  IN 
NOT  HAVING  FOUR  SONS.  WITH  THE  GREAT 
TROUBLE  OF  PHILOSOPHERS  CAUSED  THEREBY, 
AND  THE  DISCOVERY  OF  AMERICA. 

NOAH,  who  is  the  first  sea-faring  man  we  read  of, 
begat  three  sons,  Shem,  Ham,  and  Japhet.  Authors, 
it  is  true,  are  not  wanting  who  affirm  that  the  pa- 
triarch had  a  number  of  other  children.  Thus  Bero- 
sus  makes  him  father  of  the  gigantic  Titans  ;  Meth- 
odius gives  him  a  son  called  Jonithus,  or  Jonicus, 
and  others  have  mentioned  a  son  named  Thuiscon, 
from  whom  descended  the  Teutons  or  Teutonic,  or, 
in  other  words,  the  Dutch  nation. 

I  regret  exceedingly  that  the  nature  of  my  plan 
will  not  permit  me  to  gratify  the  laudable  curiosity 
of  my  readers,  by  investigating  minutely  the  history 
of  the  great  Noah.  Indeed,  such  an  undertaking 
would  be  attended  with  more  trouble  than  many 
people  would  imagine ;  for  the  good  old  patriarch 
seems  to  have  been  a  great  traveller  in  his  day,  and 
to  have  passed  under  a  different  name  in  every  coun- 
try that  he  visited.  The  Chaldeans,  for  instance, 
give  us  his  history,  merely  altering  his  name  into 
Xisuthrus — a  trivial  alteration,  which,  to  a  historian 
skilled  in  etymologies,  will  appear  wholly  unimpor- 
tant. It  appears,  likewise,  that  he  had  exchanged 
his  tarpawling  and  quadrant  among  the  Chaldeans 
for  the  gorgeous  insignia  of  royalty,  and  appears  as 
a  monarch  in  their  annals.  The  Egyptians  celebrate 
him  under  the  name  of  Osiris  ;  the  Indians,  as  Menu  ; 
the  Greek  and  Roman  writers  confound  him  with 
Ogyges,  and  the  Theban  with  Deucalion  and  Saturn. 
But  the  Chinese,  who  deservedly  rank  among  the 
most  extensive  and  authentic  historians,  inasmuch 
as  they  have  known  the  world  much  longer  than  any 
one  else,  declare  that  Noah  was  no  other  than  Fohi ; 


550 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


and  what  gives  this  assertion  some  air  of  credibility 
is,  that  it  is  a  Tact,  admitted  by  the  most  enlightened 
Hterati,  that  Noah  travelled  into  China  at  the  time 
of  the  building  of  the  tower  of  Babel,  (probably  to 
improve  himself  in  the  study  of  languages,)  and  the 
learned  Dr.  Shuckford  gives  us  the  additional  infor- 
mation, that  the  ark  rested  on  a  mountain  on  the 
Irontiers  of  China. 

From  this  mass  of  rational  conjectures  and  sage 
hypotheses,  many  satisfactory  deductions  might  be 
drawn ;  but  1  shall  content  myself  with  the  simple 
fact  slated  in  the  Bible,  viz  ,  that  Noah  begat  three 
sons,  Shem,  Ham,  and  Japhet.  It  is  astonishing  on 
what  remote  and  obscure  contingencies  the  great 
affairs  of  this  world  depend,  and  how  events  the 
most  distant,  and  to  the  common  observer  uncon- 
nected, are  inevitably  consequent  the  one  to  the 
other.  It  remains  for  the  philosopher  to  discover 
these  mysterious  affinities,  and  it  is  the  proudest  tri- 
umph of  his  skill  to  detect  and  drag  forth  some 
latent  chain  of  causation,  which  at  first  sight  appears 
a  paradox  to  the  inexperienced  observer.  Thus 
many  of  my  readers  will  doubtless  wonder  what  con- 
nexion the  family  of  Noah  can  possibly  have  with 
this  history — and  many  will  stare  when  informed 
that  the  whole  history  of  this  quarter  of  the  world 
has  taken  its  character  and  course  from  the  simple 
circumstance  of  the  patriarch's  having  but  three 
sons — but  to  explain  : 

Noah,  we  are  told  by  sundry  very  credible  histo- 
rians, becoming  sole  surviving  heir  and  proprietor  of 
the  earth  in  fee  simple,  after  the  deluge,  like  a  good 
father,  portioned  out  his  estate  among  his  children. 
To  Shem  he  gave  Asia ;  to  Ham,  Africa  ;  and  to 
Japhet,  Europe.  Now  it  is  a  thousand  times  to  be 
lamented  that  he  had  but  three  sons,  for  had  there 
l)een  a  fourth,  he  would  doubtless  have  inherited 
America  ;  which,  of  course,  would  have  been  drag- 
ged forth  from  its  obscurity  on  the  occrsion;  and 
thus  many  a  hard-working  historian  and  philosopher 
would  have  been  spared  a  prodigious  mass  of  weary 
conjecture  respecting  the  first  discovery  and  popula- 
tion of  this  country.  Noah,  however,  having  pro- 
vided for  his  three  sons,  looked  in  all  probability 
upon  our  country  as  mere  wild  unsettled  land,  and 
said  nothing  about  it  ;  and  to  this  unpardonable 
taciturnity  of  the  patriarch,  may  we  ascribe  the  mis- 
fortune that  America  did  not  come  into  the  world  as 
early  as  the  other  quarters  of  the  globe. 

It  is  true,  some  writers  have  vindicated  him  from 
this  misconduct  towards  posterity,  and  asserted  that 
he  really  did  discover  America.  Thus  it  was  the 
opinion  of  Mark  Lescarbot,  a  French  writer,  pos- 
sessed of  that  ponderosity  of  thought  and  profound- 
ness of  reflection  so  peculiar  to  his  nation,  that  the 
immediate  descendants  of  Noah  peopled  this  quarter 
of  the  globe,  and  that  the  old  patriarch  himself,  who 
still  retained  a  passion  for  the  sea-faring  life,  super- 
intended the  transmigration.  The  pious  and  en- 
lightened father,  Charlevoix,  a  French  Jesuit,  re- 
markable for  his  aversion  to  the  marvellous,  common 
to  all  great  travellers,  is  conclusively  of  the  same 
opinion ;  nay,  he  goes  still  farther,  and  decides  upon 
the  manner  in  which  the  discovery  was  effected, 
which  was  by  sea,  and  under  the  immediate  direction 
of  the  great  Noah.  "  I  have  already  observed,"  ex- 
claims the  good  father,  in  a  tone  of  becoming  indig- 
nation, '•  that  it  is  an  arbitrary  supposition  that  the 
grand-clyldren  of  Noah  were  not  able  to  penetrate 
into  the  new  world,-or  that  they  never  thought  of  it. 
In  effect,  I  can  see  no  reason  that  can  justify  such  a 
notion.  Who  can  seriously  believe  that  Noah  and 
ills  immediate  descendants  knew  less  than  we  do,  and 
that  the  builder  and  pilot  of  the  greatest  ship  that 
ever  was,  a  ship  which  was  formed  to  traverse  an  un- 


bounded ocean,  and  nad  so  many  shoals  and  quick- 
sands to  guard  against,  should  be  ignorant  of,  or 
should  not  have  communicated  to  his  descendants, 
the  art  of  sailing  on  the  ocean .'  "  Therefore,  they 
did  sail  on  the  ocean  —  therefore,  they  sailed  to 
America  —  therefore,  America  was  discovered  by 
Noah  ! 

Now  all  this  exquisite  chain  of  reasoning,  wdiich  is 
so  strikingly  characteristic  of  the  good  father,  being 
addressed  to  the  faith,  rather  than  the  understanding, 
is  flatly  opposed  by  Hans  de  Laert,  who  declares  it 
a  real  and  most  ridiculous  paradox,  to  suppose  that 
Noah  ever  entertained  the  thought  of  discovering 
America ;  and  as  Hans  is  a  Dutch  writer,  I  am  in- 
clined to  believe  he  must  have  been  much  better  ac- 
quainted with  the  worthy  crew  of  the  ark  than  his 
competitors,  and  of  course  possessed  of  more  accurate 
sources  of  information.  It  is  astonishing  how  inti- 
mate historians  do  daily  become  with  the  patriarchs 
and  other  great  men  of  antiquity.  As  intimacy  in- 
proves  with  time,  and  as  the  learned  are  particularly 
inquisitive  and  familiar  in  their  acquaintance  with  the 
ancients,  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  some  future  wri- 
ters should  gravely  give  us  a  picture  of  men  and  man- 
ners as  ihey  existed  before  the  flood,  far  more  copious 
and  accurate  than  the  Bible  ;  and  that,  in  the  course 
of  another  century,  the  log-book  of  the  good  Noah 
should  be  as  current  among  historians,  as  the  voyages 
of  Captain  Cook,  or  the  renowned  history  of  Robin- 
son Crusoe. 

I  shall  not  occupy  my  time  by  discussing  the  huge 
mass  of  additional  suppositions,  conjectures,  and 
probabilities,  respecting  the  first  discovery  of  this 
country,  with  which  unhappy  historians  overload 
themselves,  in  their  endeavours  to  satisfy  the  doubts 
of  an  incredulous  world.  It  is  painful  to  see  these 
laborious  wights  pantmg,  and  toiling,  and  sweating 
under  an  enormous  burden,  at  the  very  outset  of  their 
works,  which,  on  being  opened,  turns  out  to  be  noth- 
ing but  a  mighty  bundle  of  straw.  As,  however,  by 
unwearied  assiduity,  they  seem  to  have  established 
the  fact,  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  the  world,  that  this 
country  has  been  discovered,  I  shall  avail  myself  of 
their  useful  labours  to  be  extremely  brief  upon  this 
point. 

I  shall  not,  therefore,  stop  to  inquire,  whether 
America  was  first  discovered  by  a  wandering  vessel 
of  that  celebrated  Phoenician  fleet,  which,  according 
to  Herodotus,  circumnavigated  Africa;  or  by  that 
Carthaginian  expedition,  which  Pliny,  the  naturalist, 
informs  us,  discovered  the  Canary  Islands;  or  whether 
it  was  settled  by  a  temporary  colony  from  Tyre,  as 
hinted  by  Aristotle  and  Seneca.  I  shall  neither  in- 
quire whether  it  was  first  discovered  by  the  Chinese, 
as  Vossius  with  great  shrewdness  advances  ;  nor  by 
the  Norwegians  in  1002,  under  Biorn  ;  nor  by  Behem, 
the  German  navigator,  as  Mr.  Otto  has  endeavoured 
to  prove  to  the  scavans  of  the  learned  city  of  Phila- 
delphia. 

Nor  shall  I  investigate  the  more  modem  claims  of 
the  Welsh,  founded  on  the  voyage  of  prince  Madoc 
in  the  eleventh  century,  who  having  never  returned, 
it  has  since  been  wisely  concluded  that  he  must  have 
gone  to  America,  and  that  for  a  plain  reason — if  he 
did  not  go  there,  where  else  could  he  have  gone.? — 
a  question  which  most  Socratically  shuts  out  all 
farther  dispute. 

Laying  aside,  therefore,  all  the  conjectures  above 
mentioned,  with  a  multitude  of  others,  equally  satis- 
factory, I  shall  take  for  granted  the  vulgar  opinion, 
that  America  was  discovered  on  the  12th  of  October, 
1492,  by  Christovallo  Colon,  a  Genoese,  who  has 
been  clumsily  nicknamed  Columbus,  but  for  what 
reason  1  cannot  discern.  Of  the  voyages  and  ad- 
ventures of  this  Colon,  I  shall  say  nothing,  seeing 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


551 


that  they  are  already  sufficiently  known.  Nor  shall 
I  undertake  to  prove  that  this  country  should  have 
been  called  Colonia,  after  his  name,  that  being  no- 
toriously self-evident. 

Having  thus  happily  got  my  readers  on  this  side 
of  the  Atlantic,  I  picture  them  to  myself,  all  impa- 
tience to  enter  upon  the  enjoyment  of  the  land  of 
promise,  and  in  full  expectation  that  I  will  imme- 
diately deliver  it  into  their  possession.  But  if  I  do, 
may  I  ever  forfeit  the  reputation  of  a  regular-bred 
historian  !  No — no — most  curious  and  thrice  learned 
readers,  (for  thrice  learned  ye  are,  if  ye  have  read 
all  that  has  gone  before,  and  nine  times  learned  shall 
ye  be,  if  ye  read  that  which  comes  after,)  we  have 
yet  a  world  of  work  before  us.  Think  you  the  first 
discoverers  of  this  fair  quarter  of  the  globe  had  noth- 
ing to  do  but  go  on  shore  and  find  a  country  ready 
laid  out  and  cultivated  like  a  garden,  wherein  they 
might  revel  at  their  ease  .'  No  such  thing — they  had 
forests  to  cut  down,  underwood  to  grub  up,  marshes 
to  drain,  and  savages  to  exterminate. 

In  like  manner,  I  have  sundry  doubts  to  clear 
away,  questions  to  resolve,  and  paradoxes  to  explain, 
before  I  permit  you  to  range  at  random  ;  but  these 
difficulties  once  overcome,  we  shall  be  enabled  to 
jog  on  right  merrily  through  the  rest  of  our  history. 
Thus  my  work  shall,  in  a  manner,  echo  the  nature 
of  the  subject,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  sound  of 
poetry  has  been  found  by  certain  shrewd  critics  to 
echo  the  sense — this  being  an  improvement  in  his- 
tory, which  I  claim  the  merit  of  having  invented. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

SHOWING  THE  GREAT  DIFFICULTY  PHILOSO- 
PHERS HAVE  HAD  IN  PEOPLING  AMERICA — 
AND  HOW  THE  ABORIGINES  CAME  TO  BE  BE- 
GOTTEN By  ACCIDENT — TO  THE  GREAT  RE- 
LIEF AND   SATISFACTION   OF  THE  AUTHOR. 

The  next  inquiry  at  which  we  arrive  in  the  regu- 
lar course  of  our  history,  is  to  ascertain,  if  possible, 
how  this  country  was  originally  peopled— a  point 
fruitful  of  incredible  embarrassment ;  for  unless  we 
prove  that  the  aborigines  did  absolutely  come  from 
somewhere,  it  will  be  immediately  asserted  in  this 
age  of  scepticism  that  they  did  not  come  at  all  ;  and 
if  they  did  not  come  at  all,  then  was  this  country 
never  populated — a  conclusion  perfectly  agreeable 
to  the  rules  of  logic,  but  wholly  irreconcilable  to 
every  feeling  of  humanity,  inasmuch  as  it  must  syllo- 
gistically  prove  fatal  to  the  innumerable  aborigines 
of  this  populous  region. 

To  avert  so  dire  a  sophism,  and  to  rescue  from 
logical  annihilation  so  many  millions  of  fellovv'-creat- 
ures,  how  many  wings  of  geese  have  been  plundered  ! 
what  oceans  of  ink  have  been  benevolently  drained  ! 
and  how  many  capacious  heads  of  learned  historians 
have  been  addled,  and  for  ever  confounded  !  I  pause 
with  reverential  awe,  when  I  contemplate  the  pon- 
derous tomes,  in  different  languages,  with  which  they 
have  endeavoured  to  solve  this  question,  so  important 
to  the  happiness  of  society,  but  so  involved  in  clouds 
of  impenetrable  obscurity.  Historian  after  historian 
has  engaged  in  the  endless  circle  of  hypothetical  argu- 
ment, and  after  leading  us  a  weary  chase  through 
octavos,  quartos,  and  folios,  has  let  us  out  at  the  end 
of  his  work  just  as  wise  as  we  were  at  the  beginning. 
It  was  doubtless  some  philosophical  wild-goose  chase 
of  the  kind  that  made  the  old  poet  Macrobius  rail  in 
such  a  passion  at  curiosity,  which  he  anathematizes 
most  heartily,  as  "  an  irksome,  agonizing  care,  a 
superstitious  industry  about  unprofitable  things,  an 


itching  humour  to  see  what  is  not  to  be  seen,  and  to 
be  doing  what  signifies  nothing  when  it  is  done." 
But  to  proceed : 

Of  the  claims  of  the  children  of  Noah  to  the  origi- 
nal population  of  this  country,  I  shall  say  nothing,  as 
they  have  already  been  touched  upon  in  my  last 
chapter.  The  claimants  next  in  celebrity,  are  the 
descendants  of  Abraham.  Thus  Christoval  Colon 
(vulgarly  called  Columbus)  when  he  first  discovered 
the  gold  mines  of  Hispaniola,  immediately  con- 
cluded, with  a  shrewdness  that  would  have  done 
honour  to  a  philosopher,  that  he  had  found  the 
ancient  Ophir,  from  whence  Solomon  procured  the 
gold  for  embellishing  the  temple  at  Jerusalem  :  nay. 
Colon  even  imagined  that  he  saw  the  remains  of 
furnaces  of  veritable  Hebraic  construction,  employed 
in  refining  the  precious  ore. 

So  golden  a  conjecture,  tinctured  with  such  fasci- 
nating extravagance,  was  too  tempting  not  to  be  im- 
mediately snapped  at  by  the  gudgeons  of  learning ; 
and  accordingly,  there  were  divers  profound  writers, 
ready  to  swear  to  its  correctness,  and  to  bring  in 
their  usual  load  of  authorities,  and  wise  surmises, 
wherewithal  to  prop  it  up.  Vetablus  and  Robertus 
Stephens  declared  nothing  could  be  more  clear — 
Arius  Montanus,  without  the  least  hesitation,  asserts 
that  Mexico  was  the  true  Ophir,  and  the  Jews  the 
early  settlers  of  the  country.  While  Possevin,  Becan, 
and  several  other  sagacious  writers,  lug  in  a  sup- 
posed prophecy  of  the  fourth  book  of  Esdras,  which 
being  inserted  in  the  mighty  hypothesis,  like  the  key- 
stone of  an  arch,  gives  it,  in  their  opinion,  perpetual 
durability. 

Scarce,  however,  have  they  completed  their  goodly 
superstructure,  than  in  trudges  a  phalanx  of  opposite 
authors,  with  Hans  de  Laert,  the  great  Dutchman,  at 
their  head,  and  at  one  blow  tumbles  the  whole  fabric 
about  their  years.  Hans,  in  fact,  contradicts  outright 
all  the  Israelitish  claims  to  the  first  settlement  of  this 
country,  attributing  all  those  equivocal  symptoms, 
and  traces  of  Christianity  and  Judaism,  which  have 
been  said  to  be  found  in  divers  provinces  of  the  new 
world,  to  the  Devil,  who  has  always  affected  to 
counterfeit  the  worship  of  the  true  deity.  "  A  re- 
mark," says  the  knowing  old  Padre  d'Acosta,  "  made 
by  all  good  authors  who  have  spoken  of  the  religion 
of  nations  newly  discovered,  and  founded  besides  on 
the  authority  of  the  fathers  of  the  church." 

Some  writers  again,  among  whom  it  is  with  great 
regret  I  am  compelled  to  mention  Lopez  de  Gomara, 
and  Juan  de  Leri,  insinuate  that  the  Canaanites, 
being  driven  from  the  land  of  promise  by  the  Jews, 
were  seized  with  such  a  panic  that  they  fied  without 
looking  behind  them,  until,  stopping  to  take  breath, 
they  found  themselves  safe  in  America.  As  they 
brought  neither  their  national  language,  manners,  nor 
features  with  them,  it  is  supposed  they  left  them  be- 
hind in  the  hurry  of  their  flight — I  cannot  give  my 
faith  to  this  opinion. 

I  pass  over  the  supposition  of  the  learned  Grotius, 
who  being  both  an  ambassador  and  a  Dutchman  to 
boot,  is  entitled  to  great  respect ;  that  North  America 
was  peopled  by  a  strolling  company  of  Norwegians, 
and  that  Peru  was  founded  by  a  colony  from  China 
— Manco  or  Mango  Capac,  the  first  Incas,  being 
himself  a  Chinese.  Nor  shall  I  more  than  barely 
mention,  that  father  Kircher  ascribes  the  settlement 
of  America  to  the  Egyptians,  Rudbeck  to  the  Scan- 
dinavians, Charron  to  the  Gauls,  Juffredus  Petri  to  a 
skating  party  from  Friesland,  Milius  to  the  Celta;, 
Marinocus  the  Sicilian  to  the  Romans,  Le  Compte 
to  the  Phoenicians,  Postel  to  the  Moors,  Martyn 
d'Angleria  to  the  Abyssinians,  together  with  the 
sage  surmise  of  De  Laert,  that  England,  Ireland,  and 
the  Orcades  may  contend  for  that  honour. 


ZS2 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Nor  will  1  bestow  any  mor;  attention  or  credit  to 
the  idea  that  America  is  the  fairy  region  of  Zipangri, 
described  by  that  dreaming  traveller,  Marco  Polo, 
the  Venetian  ;  or  that  it  comprises  the  visionary 
island  of  Atlantis,  described  by  Plato.  Neither  will 
I  stop  to  investigate  the  heathenish  assertion  of 
Paracelsus,  that  each  hemisphere  of  the  globe  was 
originally  furnished  with  an  Adam  and  Eve — or  the 
more  flattering  opinion  of  Dr.  Romayne,  supported 
by  many  nameless  authorities,  that  Adam  was  of  the 
Indian  race — or  the  startling  conjecture  of  Buffon, 
Helvetius,  and  Darwin,  so  highly  honourable  to  man- 
kind, that  the  whole  human  species  is  accidentally 
descended  from  a  remarkable  family  of  monkeys  ! 

This  last  conjecture,  I  must  own,  came  upon  me 
very  suddenly  and  very  ungraciously.  I  have  often 
beheld  the  clown  in  a  pantomime,  while  gazing  in 
stupid  wonder  at  the  e,xtravagant  gambols  of  a  har- 
lequin, all  at  once  electrified  by  a  sudden  stroke  of 
the  wooden  sword  across  his  shoulders.  Little  did  I 
think  at  such  times,  that  it  would  ever  fall  to  my  lot 
to  be  treated  with  equal  discourtesy ;  and  that  while 
I  was  quietly  beholding  these  grave  philosophers, 
emulating  the  eccentric  transformations  of  the  hero 
of  pantomime,  they  would  on  a  sudden  turn  upon  me 
and  my  readers,  and  with  one  hypothetical  flourish 
metamorphose  us  into  beasts !  I  determined  from 
that  moment  not  to  burn  my  fingers  with  any  more 
of  their  theories,  but  content  myself  with  detailing 
the  different  methods  by  which  they  transported  the 
descendants  of  these  ancient  and  respectable  mon- 
keys to  this  great  field  of  theoretical  warfare. 

This  was  done  either  by  migrations  by  land  or 
transmigrations  by  water.  Thus,  Padre  Joseph 
D'Acosta  enumerates  three  passages  by  land — first 
by  the  north  of  Europe,  secondly  by  the  north  of 
Asia,  and  thirdly  by  regions  southward  of  the  straits 
of  Magellan.  The  learned  Grotius  marches  his  Nor- 
wegians by  a  pleasant  route  across  frozen  rivers  and 
arms  of  the  sea,  through  Iceland,  Greenland,  Estoti- 
land,  and  Naremberga :  and  various  writers,  among 
whom  are  Angleria,  De  Hornn,  and  Buffon,  anxious 
for  the  accommodation  of  these  travellers,  have  fas- 
tened the  two  continents  together  by  a  strong  chain 
of  deductions — by  which  means  they  could  pass  over 
dry-shod.  But  should  even  this  fail,  Pinkerton,  that 
industrious  old  gentleman  who  compiles  books  and 
manufactures  geographies,  has  constructed  a  natural 
bridge  of  ice,  from  continent  to  continent,  at  the  dis- 
tance of  four  or  five  miles  from  Behring's  straits — 
for  which  he  is  entitled  to  the  grateful  thanks  of  all 
the  wandering  aborigines  who  ever  did  or  ever  will 
pass  over  it. 

It  is  an  evil  much  to  be  lamented,  that  none  of  the 
worthy  writers  above  quoted  could  ever  commence 
his  work,  without  immediately  declaring  hostilities 
against  every  writer  who  had  treated  of  the  same 
subject.  In  this  particular,  authors  may  be  compared 
to  a  certain  sagacious  bird,  which,  in  building  its 
nest,  is  sure  to  pull  to  pieces  the  nests  of  all  the  birds 
in  the  neighbourhood.  This  unhappy  propensity 
tends  grievously  to  impede  the  progress  of  sound 
knowledge.  Theories  are  at  best  but  brittle  produc- 
tions, and  when  once  committed  to  the  stream, 
they  should  take  care  that,  like  the  notable  pots 
which  were  fellow-voyagers,  they  do  not  crack  each 
other. 

My  chief  surprise  is,  that  among  the  many  writers 
I  have  noticed,  no  one  has  attempted  to  prove  that 
this  country  was  peopled  from  the  moon — or  that 
the  first  inhabitants  floated  hither  on  islands  of  ice, 
as  white  bears  cruise  about  the  northern  oceans — or 
that  they  were  conveyed  hither  by  balloons,  as  mod- 
em aeronauts  pass  from  Dover  to  Calais — or  by 
witchcraft,  as  Simon  Magus  posted  among  the  stars 


— or  after  the  manner  of  the  renowned  Scythian 
Abaris,  who,  like  the  New-England  witches  on  full- 
blooded  broomsticks,  made  most  unheard-of  journevs 
on  the  back  of  a  golden  arrow,  given  him  by  the 
Hyperborean  Apollo. 

But  there  is  still  one  mode  left  by  which  this  coun- 
try could  have  been  peopled,  which  I  have  reserved 
for  the  last,  because  I  consider  it  worth  all  the  rest : 
it  is — iy  accident !  Speaking  of  the  islands  of  Solo- 
mon, New-Guinea,  and  New-Holland,  the  profound 
father  Charlevoix  observes,  "  in  fine,  all  these  coun- 
tries are  peopled,  and  it  is  possible  some  have  been 
so  l>y  accident.  Now  if  it  could  have  hai^pened  in 
that  manner,  why  might  it  not  have  been  atthe  same 
time,  and  by  the  same  means,  with  the  other  part  of 
the  globe .' "  This  ingenious  mode  of  deducing 
certain  conclusions  from  possible  premises,  is  an  im- 
provement in  syllogistic  skill,  and  proves  the  good 
father  superior  even  to  Archimedes,  for  he  can  turn 
the  world  without  any  thing  to  rest  his  lever  upon. 
It  is  only  surpassed  by  the  dexterity  with  which  the 
sturdy  old  Jesuit,  in  another  place,  cuts  the  gordian 
knot. — "  Nothing,"  says  he,  "  is  more  easy.  The  in- 
habitants of  both  hemispheres  are  certainly  the  de- 
scendants of  the  same  father.  The  common  father 
of  mankind  received  an  express  order  from  Heaven 
to  people  the  world,  and  accordingly  it  has  beenpeo- 
plcd.  To  bring  this  about,  it  was  necessary  to  over- 
come all  difficulties  in  the  way,  and  they  hive  also 
been  overcome ! "  Pious  logician  !  How  does  he 
put  all  the  herd  of  laborious  theorists  to  the  blush, 
by  explaining,  in  five  words,  what  it  has  cost  them 
volumes  to  prove  they  knew  nothing  about. 

From  all  the  authorities  here  quoted,  and  a  variety 
of  others  which  I  have  consulted,  but  which  are 
omitted  through  fear  of  fatiguing  the  unlearned 
reader — I  can  only  draw  the  following  conclusions, 
which  luckily,  however,  are  sufficient  for  my  purpose 
— First,  that  this  part  of  the  world  has  actually  been 
peopled,  (Q.  E.  D.)  to  support  which  we  have  living 
proofs  in  the  numerous  tribes  of  Indians  that  inhabit 
it.  Secondly,  that  it  has  been  peopled  in  five  hun- 
dred different  ways,  as  proved  by  a  cloud  of  authors, 
who,  from  the  positiveness  of  their  assertions,  seem 
to  have  been  eye-witnesses  to  the  fact.  Thirdly,  that 
the  people  of  this  country  had  a  variety  of  fathers, 
which,  as  it  may  not  be  thought  much  to  their  credit 
by  the  common  run  of  readers,  the  less  we  say  on 
the  subject  the  better.  The  question,  therefore,  I 
trust,  is  for  ever  at  rest. 


CHAPTER   V. 

IN  WHICH  THE  AUTHOR  PUTS  A  MIGHTY  QUES- 
TION TO  THE  ROUT  BY  THE  ASSISTANCE  OF 
THE  MAN  IN  THE  MOON— WHICH  NOT  ONLY 
DELIVERS  THOUSANDS  OF  PEOPLE  FROM  GREAT 
EMBARRASSMENT,  BUT  LIKEWISE  CONCLUDES 
THIS  INTRODUCTORY   BOOK. 

The  writer  of  a  history  may,  in  some  respects,  be 
likened  unto  an  adventurous  knight,  who  having 
undertaken  a  perilous  enterprise,  by  way  of  establish- 
ing his  fame,  feels  bound  in  honour  and  chivalry,  to 
turn  back  for  no  difficulty  nor  hardship,  and  never  to 
shrink  or  quail,  whatever  enemy  he  may  encounter. 
Under  this  impression,  I  resolutely  draw  my  pen, 
and  fall  to,  with  might  and  main,  at  those  doughty 
questions  and  subtle  paradoxes,  which,  like  fiery 
dragons  and  bloody  giants,  beset  the  entrance  to  my 
history,  and  would  fain  repulse  me  from  the  very 
threshold.  And  at  this  moment  a  gigantic  question 
has  started   up,  which   I  must  needs  take  by  the 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


663 


beard  and  utterly  subdue,  before  I  can  advance  an- 
other step  in  my  historic  undertaking ;  but  I  trust 
this  will  be  the  last  adversary  I  shall  have  to  contend 
with,  and  that  in  the  next  book  I  shall  be  enabled  to 
conduct  my  readers  in  triumph  into  the  body  of  my 
work. 

The  question  which  has  thus  suddenly  arisen,  is, 
what  right  had  the  first  discoverers  of  America  to 
land  and  take  possession  of  a  countr)',  without  first 
gaining  the  consent  of  its  inhabitants,  or  yielding' 
them  an  adequate  compensation  for  their  territory? 
— a  question  which  has  withstood  many  fierce  as- 
saults, and  has  given  much  distress  of  mind  to  multi- 
tudes of  kind-hearted  folk.  And,  indeed,  until  it  be 
totally  vanquished,  and  put  to  rest,  the  worthy  peo- 
ple of  America  can  by  no  means  enjoy  the  soil  they 
inhabit,  with  clear  right  and  title,  and  quiet,  unsul- 
lied consciences. 

The  first  source  of  right,  by  which  property  is  ac- 
quired in  a  country,  is  DISCOVERY.  For  as  all  man- 
kind have  an  equal  right  to  any  thing  which  has 
never  before  been  appropriated,  so  any  nation  that 
discovers  an  uninhabited  country,  and  takes  posses- 
sion thereof,  is  considered  as  enjoying  full  property, 
and  absolute,  unquestionable  empire  therein.* 

This  proposition  being  admitted,  it  follows  clearly 
that  the  Europeans  who  first  visited  America  were 
the  real  discoverers  of  the  same ;  nothing  being  nec- 
essary to  the  establishment  of  this  fact,  but  simply 
to  prove  that  it  was  totally  uninhabited  by  man. 
This  would,  at  first,  appear  to  be  a  point  of  some 
difficulty,  for  it  is  well  known  that  this  quarter  of  the 
world  abounded  with  certain  animals  that  walked 
erect  on  tv/o  feet,  had  something  of  the  human 
countenance,  uttered  certain  unintelligible  sounds 
very  much  like  language  ;  in  short,  had  a  marvellous 
resemblance  to  human  beings.  But  the  zealous  and 
enlightened  fathers,  who  accompanied  the  discover- 
ers, for  the  purpose  of  promoting  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  by  establishing  fat  monasteries  and  bishoprics 
on  earth,  soon  cleared  up  this  point,  greatly  to  the 
satisfaction  of  his  holiness  the  Pope,  and  of  all  Chris- 
tian voyagers  and  discoverers. 

They  plainly  proved,  and  as  there  were  no  Indian 
writers  arose  on  the  other  side,  the  fact  was  con- 
sidered as  fully  admitted  and  established,  that  the 
two-legged  race  of  animals  before  mentioned  were 
mere  cannibals,  detestable  monsters,  and  many  of 
them  giants — which  last  description  of  vagrants  have, 
since  the  time  of  Gog,  Magog,  and  Goliath,  been 
considered  as  outlaws,  and  have  received  no  quarter 
in  either  history,  chivalry,  or  song.  Indeed,  even  the 
philosophic  Bacon  declared  the  Americans  to  be 
people  proscribed  by  the  laws  of  nature,  inasmuch  as 
they  had  a  barbarous  custom  of  sacrificing  men,  and 
feeding  upon  man's  flesh. 

Nor  are  these  all  the  proofs  of  their  utter  barbar- 
ism :  among  many  other  writers  of  discernment, 
Ulloa  tells  us,  "  their  imbecility  is  so  visible,  that  one 
can  hardly  form  an  idea  of  them  different  from  what 
one  has  of  the  brutes.  Nothing  disturbs  the  tran- 
quillity of  their  souls,  equally  insensible  to  disasters 
and  to  prosperity.  Though  half  naked,  they  are  as 
contented  as  a  monarch  in  his  most  splendid  array. 
Fear  makes  no  impression  on  them,  and  respect  as 
little."  All  this  is  furthermore  supported  by  the  au- 
thority of  M.  BougUer :  "  It  is  not  easy,"  says  he, 
"  to  describe  the  degree  of  their  indifference  for 
wealth  and  all  its  advantages.  One  does  not  well 
know  what  motives  to  propose  to  them,  when  one 
would  persuade  them  to  any  service.  It  is  vain  to 
offer  them  money ;  they  answer  that  they  are  not 
hungry."     And  Vanegas  confirms  the  whole,  assur- 


•  Grotius  Puffendorf,  b.  v.  c.  4.    Vattd,  b.  i.  c.  18,  etc. 


ing  us  that  "ambition  they  have  none,  and  arc  more 
desirous  of  being  thought  strong  than  valiant.  The 
objects  of  ambition  with  us — honour,  fame,  reputa- 
tion, riches,  posts,  and  distinctions — are  unknown 
among  them.  So  that  this  powerful  spring  of  action, 
the  cause  of  so  much  seeming  good  and  retl  evil  in 
the  world,  has  no  power  over  them.  In  a  word,  these 
unhappy  mortals  may  be  compared  to  children,  in 
whom  the  development  of  reason  is  not  completed." 

Now  all  these  peculiarities,  although  in  the  unen- 
lightened states  of  Greece  they  would  have  entitled 
their  possessors  to  immortal  honour,  as  having  re- 
duced to  practice  those  rigid  and  abstemious  maxims, 
the  mere  talking  about  which  acquired  certain  old 
Greeks  the  reputation  of  sages  and  philosophers ; — 
yet,  were  they  clearly  proved  in  the  present  instance 
to  betoken  a  most  abject  and  brutified  nature,  totally 
beneath  the  human  character.  But  the  benevolent 
fathers,  who  had  undertaken  to  turn  these  unhappy 
savages  into  dumb  beasts,  by  dint  of  argument,  ad- 
vanced still  stronger  proofs  ;  for  as  certain  divines  of 
the  sixteenth  century,  and  among  the  rest,  LuUus. 
affirm — the  Americans  go  naked,  and  have  no  beards  ! 
— "  They  have  nothing,"  says  Lullus,  "  of  the  reason- 
able animal,  except  the  mask." — And  even  that  mask 
was  allowed  to  avail  them  but  little,  for  it  was  soon 
found  that  they  were  of  a  hideous  copper  complexion 
— and  being  of  a  copper  complexion,  it  was  all  the 
same  as  if  they  were  negroes — and  negroes  are 
black,  "and  black,"  said  the  pious  fathers,  devoutly 
crossing  themselves,  "is  the  colour  of  the  Devil !  " 
Therefore,  so  far  from  being  able  to  own  property, 
they  had  no  right  even  to  personal  freedoin — for 
liberty  is  too  radiant  a  deity  to  inhabit  such  gloomy 
temples.  All  which  circumstance  plaiidy  convinced 
the  righteous  followers  of  Cortes  and  I'izarro,  that 
these  miscreants  had  no  title  to  the  soil  that  they  in- 
fested— that  they  were  a  perverse,  illiterate,  dumb, 
beardless,  black-seed — mere  wild  beasts  of  the  forests, 
and,  like  them,  should  either  be  subdued  or  extermi- 
nated. 

From  the  foregoing  arguments,  therefore,  and  a 
variety  of  others  equally  conclusive,  which  1  forbear 
to  enumerate,  it  is  clearly  evident  that  this  fair 
quarter  of  the  globe,  when  first  visited  by  Europeans, 
was  a  howling  wilderness,  inhabited  by  nothing  but 
wild  beasts  ;  and  that  the  transatlantic  visitors  ac- 
quired an  incontrovertible  property  therein,  by  the 
rij^/ti  of  discmiery. 

This  right  being  fully  established,  we  now  come 
to  the  next,  which  is  the  right  acquired  by  cultivation. 
"The  cultivation  of  the  soil,"  we  are  told,  "  is  an  ob- 
ligation imposed  by  nature  on  mankind.  The  whole 
world  is  appointed  for  the  nourishment  of  its  in- 
habitants :  but  it  would  be  incapable  of  doing  it,  was 
it  uncultivated.  Every  nation  is  then  obliged  by  the 
law  of  nature  to  cultivate  the  ground  that  has  fallen 
to  its  share.  Those  people,  like  the  ancient  Germans 
and  modern  Tartars,  who,  having  fertile  countries, 
disdain  to  cultivate  the  earth,  and  choose  to  live  by 
rapine,  are  wanting  to  themselves,  and  deserve  to  be 
exterminated  as  savage  and  pernicious  beasts.* 

Now  it  is  notorious,  that  the  savages  knew  nothing 
of  agriculture,  v/hen  first  discovered  by  the  Euro- 
peans, but  lived  a  most  vagabond,  disorderly,  un- 
righteous life,  —  rambling  from  place  to  place,  and 
prodigally  rioting  upon  the  spontaneous  luxuries  of 
nature,  without  tasking  her  generosity  to  yield  them 
any  thing  more ;  whereas  it  has  been  most  unquestion- 
ably shown,  that  Heaven  intended  the  earth  should  be 
ploughed  and  sown,  and  manured,  and  laid  out  into 
cities,  and  towns,  and  farms,  and  country-seats,  and 
pleasure  grounds,  and  public  gardens,  all  which  the 


*  Vattel,  b.  i.  ch.  17. 


554 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Indians  knew  nothing'  about — therefore,  they  did  not 
improve  the  talents  Providence  had  bestowed  on 
them — therefore,  they  were  careless  stewards — there- 
fore, they  had  no  right  to  the  soil — therefore,  they 
deserved  to  l)e  exterminated. 

It  is  true,  the  savages  might  plead  that  they  drew 
all  the  benefits  from  the  land  which  their  simple 
wants  required — they  found  plenty  of  game  to  hunt, 
which,  together  with  the  roots  and  uncultivated  fruits 
of  the  earth,  furnished  a  sufficient  variety  for  their 
frugal  repasts  ; — and  that  as  Heaven  merely  designed 
the  earth  to  form  the  abode,  and  satisfy  the  wants  of 
man  ;  so  long  as  those  purposes  were  answered,  the 
will  of  Heaven  was  accomplished. — But  this  only 
proves  how  undeserving  they  were  of  the  blessings 
around  them — they  were  so  much  the  more  savages, 
for  not  having  more  wants  ;  for  knowledge  is  in  some 
degree  an  increase  of  desires,  and  it  is  this  superiority, 
both  in  the  number  and  magnitude  of  his  desires,  that 
distinguishes  the  man  from  the  beast.  Therefore,  the 
Indians,  in  not  having  more  wants,  were  very  unrea- 
sonable animals  ;  and  it  was  but  just  that  they  should 
make  way  for  the  Europeans,  who  had  a  thousand 
wants  to  their  one,  and,  therefore,  would  turn  the 
earth  to  more  account,  and  by  cultivating  it,  more 
truly  fulfil  the  will  of  Heaven.  Besides — Grotius 
and  Lauterbach,  and  Puffendorff,  and  Titus,  and 
many  wise  men  beside,  who  have  considered  the 
matter  properly,  have  determined  that  the  property 
of  a  country  cannot  be  acquired  by  hunting,  cutting 
wood,  or  drawing  water  in  it — nothing  but  precise 
demarcation  of  limits,  and  the  intention  of  cultivation, 
can  establish  the  possession.  Now,  as  the  savages 
(probably  from  never  having  read  the  authors  above 
quoted)  had  never  complied  with  any  of  these  neces- 
sary forms,  it  plainly  followed  that  they  had  no  right 
to  the  soil,  but  that  it  was  completely  at  the  disposal 
of  the  first  comers,  who  had  more  knowledge,  more 
wants,  and  more  elegant,  that  is  to  say,  artiticia!  de- 
sires than  themselves. 

In  entering  upon  a  newly-discovered,  uncultivated 
country,  therefore,  the  new  comers  were  but  taking 
possession  of  what,  according  to  the  aforesaid  doc- 
trine, was  their  own  property — therefore,  in  opposing 
them,  the  savages  were  invading  their  just  rights,  in- 
fringing the  immutable  laws  of  Nature,  and  coun- 
teracting the  will  of  Heaven — therefore,  they  were 
guilty  of  impiety,  burglary,  and  trespass  on  the  case, 
— therefore,  they  were  hardened  offenders  against 
God  and  man — therefore,  they  ought  to  be  extermi- 
nated. 

But  a  more  irresistible  right  than  either  that  I 
have  mentioned,  and  one  which  will  be  the  most 
readily  admitted  by  my  reader,  provided  he  be  blessed 
with  bowels  of  charity  and  philanthropy,  is  the  right 
acquired  by  civilization.  All  the  world  knows  the 
lamentable  state  in  which  these  poor  savages  were 
found— not  only  deficient  in  the  comlorts  of  life,  but 
what  is  still  worse,  most  piteously  and  unfortunate- 
ly blind  to  the  miseries  of  their  situation.  But  no 
.sooner  did  the  benevolent  inhabitants  of  Europe  be- 
hold their  sad  condition,  than  they  immediately  went 
to  work  to  meliorate  and  improve  it.  They  intro- 
duced among  them  rum,  gin,  brandy,  and  the  other 
comforts  of  life — and  it  is  astonishing  to  read  how 
soon  the  poor  savages  learned  to  estimate  these  bless- 
ings—they likewise  made  known  to  them  a  thousand 
remedies,  by  which  the  most  inveterate  diseases  are 
alleviated  and  healed ;  and  that  they  might  compre- 
hend the  benefits  and  enjoy  the  comforts  of  these 
medicines,  they  previously  introduced  among  them 
the  diseases  which  they  were  calculated  to  cure.  By 
these,  and  a  variety  of  other  methods  was  the  condi- 
tion of  these  poor  savages  wonderfully  improved  ; 
they  acquired  a  thousand  wants,  of  which  they  had 


before  been  ignorant ;  and  as  he  has  most  sources  of 
happiness  who  has  most  wants  to  be  gratified,  they 
were  doubtlessly  rendered  a  much  happier  race  of 
beings. 

But  the  most  important  branch  of  civilization,  and 
which  has  most  strenuously  been  e.xtoUed  by  the 
zealous  and  pious  fathers  of  the  Romish  Church,  is 
the  introduction  of  the  Christian  faith.  It  was  truly 
a  sight  that  might  well  inspire  horror,  to  behold  these 
savages  stumbling  among  the  dark  mountains  of  pa- 
ganism, and  guilty  of  the  most  horrible  ignorance  of 
religion.  It  is  true,  they  neither  stole  nor  defrauded  ; 
they  were  sober,  frugal,  continent,  and  faithful  to 
their  word ;  but  though  they  acted  right  habitually, 
it  was  all  in  vain,  unless  they  acted  so  from  precept. 
The  new  comers,  therefore,  used  every  method  to  in- 
duce them  to  embrace  and  practise  the  true  religion 
— except  indeed  that  of  setting  them  the  example. 

But  notwithstanding  all  these  complicated  labours 
for  their  good,  such  was  the  unparalleled  obstinacy  of 
these  stubborn  wretches,  that  they  ungratefully  re- 
fused to  acknowledge  the  strangers  as  their  benefac- 
tors, and  persisted  in  disbelieving  the  doctrines  they 
endeavoured  to  inculcate ;  most  insolently  alleging, 
that  from  their  conduct,  the  advocates  of  Christianity 
did  not  seem  to  believe  in  it  themselves.  Was  not 
this  too  much  for  human  patience .' — would  not  one 
suppose  that  the  benign  visitants  from  Europe,  pro- 
voked at  their  incredulity,  and  discouraged  by  their 
stiff-necked  obstinacy,  would  for  ever  have  abandon- 
ed their  shores,  and  consigned  them  to  their  original 
ignorance  and  misery  ? — But  no — so  zealous  were 
they  to  effect  the  temporal  comfort  and  eternal  sal- 
vation of  these  pagan  infidels,  that  they  even  pro- 
ceeded from  the  milder  means  of  persuasion,  to  the 
more  painful  and  troublesome  one  of  persecution,  let 
loose  among  them  whole  troops  of  fiery  monks  and 
furious  bloodhounds— purified  them  by  fire  and  sword, 
by  stake  and  fagot ;  in  consequence  of  which  inde- 
fatigable measures,  the  cause  of  Christian  love  and 
charity  was  so  rapidly  advanced,  that  in  a  very  few 
years  not  one-fifth  of  the  number  of  unbelievers  ex- 
isted in  South  America  that  were  found  there  at  tl^ 
time  of  its  discovery. 

What  stronger  right  need  the  European  settlers 
advance  to  the  country  than  this.''  Have  not  whole 
nations  of  uninformed  savages  been  made  acquainted 
with  a  thousand  imperious  wants  and  indispensable 
comforts,  of  which  they  were  before  wholly  igno- 
rant?—  Have  they  not  been  literally  hunted  and 
smoked  out  of  the  dens  and  lurking-places  of  igno- 
rance and  infidelity,  and  absolutely  .scourged  into 
the  right  path  ? — Have  not  the  temporal  things,  the 
vain  baubles  and  filthy  lucre  of  this  world,  which 
were  too  apt  to  engage  their  worldly  and  selfish 
thoughts,  been  benevolently  taken  from  them  ?  and 
have  they  not,  instead  thereof,  been  taught  to  set 
their  affections  on  things  above.'' — And  finally,  to 
use  the  words  of  a  reverend  Spanish  father,  in  a  let- 
ter to  his  superior  in  Spain — "  Can  any  one  have  the 
presumption  to  say,  that  these  savage  pagans  have 
yielded  any  thing  more  than  an  inconsiderable  rec- 
ompense to  their  benefactors,  in  surrendering  to 
them  a  little  pitiful  tract  of  this  dirty  sublunary 
planet,  in  exchange  for  a  glorious  inheritance  in  the 
kingdom  of  heaven  !  " 

Here,  then,  are  three  complete  and  undeniable 
sources  of  right  established,  any  one  of  which  was 
more  than  ample  to  establish  a  property  in  the 
newly-discovered  regions  of  America.  Now,  so  it 
has  happened  in  certain  parts  of  this  delightful 
quarter  of  the  globe,  that  the  right  of  discovery  has 
been  so  strenuously  a.sserted — the  influence  of  culti- 
vation so  industriously  extended,  and  the  progress 
of  salvation  and  civilization  so  zealously  prosecuted. 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


55J 


that,  what  with  their  attendant  wars,  persecutions, 
oppressions,  diseases,  and  other  partial  evils  that 
often  hang  on  the  skirts  of  great  benefits — the  sav- 
age aborigines  have,  somehow  or  another,  been  ut- 
terly annihilated — and  this  all  at  once  brings  me  to 
a  fourth  right,  which  is  worth  all  the  others  put  to- 
gether.—  For  the  original  claimants  to  the  soil  being 
all  dead  and  buried,  and  no  one  remaining  to  inherit 
or  dispute  the  soil,  the  Spaniards,  as  the  next  imme- 
diate occupants,  entered  upon  the  possession  as 
clearly  as  the  hangman  succeeds  to  the  clothes  of 
the  malefactor — and  as  they  have  Blackstone,*  and 
all  the  learned  expounders  of  the  law  on  their  side, 
t^ey  may  set  all  actions  of  ejectment  at  defiance — 
and  this  last  right  may  be  entitled  the  RIGHT  BY 
EXTERMINATION,  or,  in  Other  words,  the  RIGHT  by 

GUNPOWDER. 

But  lest  any  scruples  of  conscience  shouldTemain 
on  this  head,  and  to  settle  the  question  of  right  for 
ever,  his  holiness  Pope  Alexander  VI.  issued  a  bull, 
by  which  he  generously  granted  the  newly-discov- 
ered quarter  of  the  globe  to  the  Spaniards  and  Por- 
tuguese ;  who,  thus  having  law  and  gospel  on  their 
side,  and  being  inflamed  with  great  spiritual  zeal, 
showed  the  pagan  savages  neither  favour  nor  affec- 
tion, but  prosecuted  the  work  of  discovery,  coloniza- 
tion, civilization,  and  extermination,  with  ten  times 
more  fury  than  ever. 

Thus  were  the  European  worthies  who  first  dis- 
covered America,  clearly  entitled  to  the  soil ;  and 
not  only  entitled  to  the  soil,  but  likewise  to  the  eter- 
nal thanks  of  these  infidel  savages,  for  having  come 
so  far,  endured  so  many  perils  by  sea  and  land,  and 
taken  such  unwearied  pains,  for  no  other  purpose 
but  to  improve  their  forlorn,  uncivilized,  and  hea- 
thenish condition — for  having  made  them  acquainted 
with  the  comforts  of  life ;  for  having  introduced 
among  them  the  light  of  religion  ;  and,  finally,  for 
having  hurried  them  out  of  the  world,  to  enjoy  its 
reward ! 

But  as  argument  is  never  so  well  understood  by 
us  selfish  mortals  as  when  it  comes  home  to  our- 
selves, and  as  I  am  particularly  anxious  that  this 
question  should  be  put  to  rest  for  ever,  I  will  suppose 
a  parallel  case,  by  way  of  arousing  the  candid  atten- 
tion of  my  readers. 

Let  us  suppose,  then,  that  the  inhabitants  of  the 
moon,  by  astonishing  advancement  in  science,  and 
by  profound  insight  into  that  lunar  philosophy,  the 
mere  tlickerings  of  which  have  of  late  years  dazzled 
the  feeble  optics,  and  addled  the  shallow  brains  of 
the  good  people  of  our  globe — ^let  us  suppose,  I  say, 
that  the  inhabitants  of  the  moon,  by  these  means, 
had  arrived  at  such  a  command  of  their  energies, 
such  an  enviable  state  oi perfectibility,  as  to  control 
the  elements,  and  navigate  the  boundless  regions  of 
space.  Let  us  suppose  a  roving  crew  of  these  soar- 
ing philosophers,  in  the  course  of  an  aerial  voyage 
of  discovery  among  the  stars,  should  chance  to  alight 
upon  this  outlandish  planet. 

And  here  I  beg  my  readers  will  not  have  the  un- 
charitableness  to  smile,  as  is  too  frequently  the  fault 
of  volatile  readers,  when  perusing  the  grave  specu- 
lations of  philosophers.  I  am  far  from  indulging  in 
any  sportive  vein  at  present ;  nor  is  the  supposition 
I  have  been  making  so  wild  as  many  may  deem  it. 
It  has  long  been  a  very  serious  and  anxious  question 
with  me,  and  many  a  time  and  oft,  in  the  course  of 
my  overwhelming  cares  and  contrivances  for  the 
welfare  and  protection  of  this  my  native  planet,  have 
I  lain  awake  whole  nights  debating  in  my  mind, 
whether  it  were  most  probable  we  should  first  dis- 
cover and  civilize  the  moon,  or  the  moon  discover 


•  Bl   Com.  b.  ii.  c.  I. 


and  civilize  our  globe.  Neither  would  the  prodigy 
of  sailing  in  the  air  and  cruising  among  the  stars  be 
a  whit  more  astonishing  and  incomprehensible  to  us, 
than  was  the  European  mystery  of  navigating  float- 
ing castles,  through  the  world  of  waters,  to  the  sim- 
ple savages.  We  have  already  discovered  the  art  of 
coasting  along  the  aerial  shores  of  our  planet,  by 
means  of  balloons,  as  the  savages  had  of  venturing 
along  their  sea-coasts  in  canoes  ;  and  the  disparity 
between  the  former,  and  the  aerial  vehicles  of  the 
philosophers  from  the  moon,  might  not  be  greater 
than  that  between  the  bark  canoes  of  the  savages 
and  the  mighty  ships  of  their  discoverers.  I  might 
here  pursue  an  endless  chain  of  similar  speculations  ; 
but  as  they  would  be  unimportant  to  my  subject,  I 
abandon  them  to  my  reader,  particularly  if  he  be  a 
philosopher,  as  matters  well  worthy  of  his  attentive 
consideration. 

To  return  then  to  my  supposition — let  us  suppose 
that  the  aerial  visitants  I  have  mentioned,  possessed 
of  vastly  superior  knowledge  to  ourselves;  that  is  to 
say,  possessed  of  superior  knowledge  in  the  art  of 
extermination — riding  on  hippogriffs — defended  with 
impenetrable  armour — armed  with  concentrated  sun- 
beams, and  provided  with  vast  engines,  to  hurl  enor- 
mous moonstones  :  in  short,  let  us  suppose  them,  if 
our  vanity  will  permit  the  supposition,  as  superior  to 
us  in  knowledge,  and  consequently  in  power,  as  the 
Europeans  were  to  the  Indians,  when  they  first  dis- 
covered them.  All  this  is  very  possible  ;  it  is  only 
our  self-sufficiency  that  makes  us  think  otherwise ; 
and  I  warrant  the  poor  savages,  before  they  had  any 
knowledge  of  the  white  men,  armed  in  all  the  terrors 
of  glittering  steel  and  tremendous  gunpowder,  were 
as  perfectly  convinced  that  they  themselves  were  the 
wisest,  the  most  virtuous,  powerful,  and  perfect  of 
created  beings,  as  are  at  this  present  moment  the 
lordly  inhabitants  of  Old  England,  the  volatile  popu- 
lace of  France,  or  even  the  self-satisfied  citizens  of 
this  most  enlightened  republic. 

Let  us  suppose,  moreover,  that  the  aerial  voyagers, 
finding  this  planet  to  be  nothing  but  a  howling  wil- 
derness, inhabited  by  us,  poor  savages  and  wild 
beasts,  shall  take  formal  possession  of  it  in  the  name 
of  his  most  gracious  and  philosophic  excellency,  the 
man  in  the  moon.  Finding,  however,  that  their 
numbers  are  incompetent  to  hold  it  in  complete  sub- 
jection, ou  account  of  the  ferocious  barbarity  of  its 
inhabitants,  they  shall  take  our  worthy  President, 
the  King  of  England,  the  Emperor  of  Hayti,  the 
mighty  Bonaparte,  and  the  great  King  of  Bantam, 
and  returning  to  their  native  planet,  shall  carry  them 
to  court,  as  were  the  Indian  chiefs  led  about  as  spec- 
tacles in  the  courts  of  Europe. 

Then  making  such  obeisance  as  the  etiquette  of 
the  court  requires,  they  shall  address  the  puissant 
man  in  the  moon,  in,  as  near  as  I  can  conjecture, 
the  following  terms : 

"  Most  serene  and  mighty  Potentate,  whose  do- 
minions extend  as  far  as  eye  can  reach,  who  rideth 
on  the  Great  Bear,  useth  the  sun  as  a  looking-glass, 
and  maintaineth  unrivalled  control  over  tides,  mad- 
men, and  sea-crabs ;  We,  thy  liege  subjects,  have 
just  returned  from  a  voyage  of  discovery,  in  the 
course  of  which  we  have  landed  and  taken  posses- 
sion of  that  obscure  little  dirty  planet  which  thou  be- 
holdest  rolling  at  a  distance.  The  five  uncouth 
monsters  which  we  have  brought  into  this  augtist 
presence  were  once  very  important  chiefs  among 
their  fellow-savages,  who  are  a  race  of  beings  totally 
destitute  of  the  common  attributes  of  humanity ;  and 
differing  in  eveiy  thing  from  the  inhabitants  of  the 
moon,  inasmuch  as  they  carry  their  heads  upon  their 
shoulders,  instead  of  under  their  arms — have  two 
eyes  instead  of  one — are  utterly  destitute  of  tails,  and 


666 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


of  a  variety  of  unseemly  complexions,  particularly 
of  a  horrible  whiteness — instead  of  pea-green. 

"  We  have,  moreover,  found  these  miserable  sav- 
ages sunk  into  a  state  of  the  utmost  ignorance  and 
depn.vity.  every  man  shamelessly  living  with  his  own 
wife,  and  rearing  his  own  children,  instead  of  in- 
dulging in  that  community  of  wives  enjoined  by  the 
law  of  nature,  as  expounded  by  the  philosophers  of 
the  moon.  In  a  word,  they  have  scarcely  a  gleam  of 
true  philosophy  among  them,  but  are,  in  fact,  utter 
heretics,  ignoramuses,  and  barbarians.  Taking  com- 
passion, therefore,  on  the  sad  condition  of  these  sub- 
lunary wretches,  we  have  endeavoured,  while  we 
remained  on  their  planet,  to  introduce  among  them 
the  light  of  reason — and  the  comforts  of  the  moon. 
We  have  treated  them  to  mouthfuls  of  moonshine, 
and  draughts  of  nitrous  oxyde,  which  they  swallowed 
with  incredible  voracity,  particularly  the  females; 
and  we  have  likewise  endeavoured  to  instil  into  them 
the  precepts  of  lunar  philosophy.  We  have  insisted 
upon  their  renouncing  the  contemptible  shackles  of 
religion  and  common  sense,  and  adoring  the  pro- 
found, omnipotent,  and  all-perfect  energy,  and  the 
ecstatic,  immutable,  immoveable  perfection.  But 
such  was  the  unparalleled  obstinacy  of  these  wretch- 
ed savages,  th.at  they  persisted  in  cleaving  to  their 
wives,  and  adhering  to  their  religion,  and  absolutely 
set  at  nought  the  sublime  doctrines  of  the  moon- 
nay,  among  other  abominable  heresies,  they  even 
went  so  far  as  blasphemously  to  declare,  that  this 
ineffable  planet  was  made  of  nothing  more  nor  less 
than  green  cheese  !  " 

At  these  words,  the  great  man  in  the  moon  (being 
a  very  profound  philosopher)  shall  fall  into  a  terrible 
passion,  and  possessing  equal  authority  over  things 
that  do  not  belong  to  him,  as  did  whilome  his  holi- 
ness the  Pope,  shall  forthwith  issue  a  formidable 
bull,  specifying,  "That,  whereas  a  certain  crew  of 
Lunatics  have  lately  discovered,  and  taken  posses- 
sion of,  a  newly  discovered  planet  called  the  earth — 
and  that  whereas  it  is  inhabited  by  none  but  a  race 
of  two-legged  animals,  that  carry  their  heads  on 
their  shoulders  instead  of  under  their  arms  ;  cannot 
talk  the  lunatic  language ;  have  two  eyes  instead  of 
one  ;  are  destitute  of  tails,  and  of  a  horrible  white- 
ness, instead  of  pea-green — therefore,  and  for  a  va- 
riety of  other  excellent  reasons,  they  are  considered 
fncapable  of  possessing  any  property  in  the  planet 
they  infest,  and  the  right  and  title  to  it  are  confirmed 
to  its  original  discoverers. — And  furthermore,  the 
colonists  who  are  now  about  to  depart  to  the  afore- 
said planet  are  authorized  and  commanded  to  use 
every  means  to  convert  these  infidel  savages  from 
the  darkness  of  Christianity,  and  make  them  thor- 
ough and  absolute  Lunatics." 

In  consequence  of  this  benevolent  bull,  our  philo- 
sophic benefactors  go  to  work  with  hearty  zeal. 
They  seize  upon  our  fertile  territories,  scourge  us 
from  our  rightful  possessions,  relieve  us  from  our 
wives,  and  when  we  are  unreasonable  enough  to 
complain,  they  will  turn  upon  us  and  say  :  Miserable 
barbarians  !  ungrateful  wretches  !  have  we  not  come 
thousands  of  miles  to  improve  your  worthless  planet? 
have  we  not  fed  you  with  moonshine  ?  have  we  not 
intoxicated  you  with  nitrous  oxyde .''  does  not  our 
moon  give  you  light  every  night,  and  have  you  the 
baseness  to  murmur,  when  we  claim  a  pitiful  return 
for  all  these  benefits?  But  finding  that  we  not  only 
persist  in  absolute  contempt  of  their  reasoning  and 
tlisbelief  in  their  philosophy,  but  even  go  so  far  as 
daringly  to  defend  our  property,  their  patience  shall 
be  exhausted,  and  they  shall  resort  to  their  superior 
powers  of  argument;  hunt  us  with  hippogriffs,  trans- 
fix us  with  concentrated  sun-beams,  demolish  our 
cities  with  moon-stones  ;  until  having,  by  main  force, 


converted  us  to  the  true  faith,  they  shall  graciously 
permit  us  to  exist  in  the  torrid  deserts  of  Arabia,  or 
the  frozen  regions  of  Lapland,  there  to  enjoy  the 
blessings  of  civilization  and  the  charms  of  lunar 
philosophy,  in  much  the  same  manner  as  the  re- 
formed and  enlightened  savages  of  this  country  are 
kindly  suffered  to  inhabit  the  inhospitable  forests  of 
the  north,  or  the  impenetrable  wilderness  of  South 
America. 

Thus,  I  hope,  I  have  clearly  proved,  and  strikingly 
illustrated,  the  right  of  the  early  colonists  to  the  pos- 
session of  this  country ;  and  thus  is  this  gigantic 
question  completely  vanquished  ;  so  having  manfully 
surmounted  all  obstacles,  and  subdued  all  opposition, 
what  remains  but  that  I  should  forthwith  conduct  my 
readers  into  the  city  which  we  have  been  so  long  in 
a  manner  besieging  ?  But  hold — before  I  proceed 
another  step,  I  must  pause  to  take  breath,  and  re- 
cover from  the  excessive  fatigue  I  have  undergone, 
in  preparing  to  begin  this  most  accurate  of  histories. 
And  in  this  I  do  but  imitate  the  example  of  a  re- 
nowned Dutch  tumbler  of  antiquity,  who  took  a 
start  of  three  miles  for  the  purpose  of  jumping  over 
a  hill,  but  having  run  himself  out  of  breath  by  the 
time  he  reached  the  foot,  sat  himself  quietly  down 
for  a  few  moments  to  blow,  and  then  walked  over 
it  at  his  leisure. 


BOOK 


TREATING  OF    THE    FIRST    SETTLEMENT    OF  THE 
PROVINCE  OF  NIEUW  NEDERLANDTS. 


CHAPTER   L 


IN  WHICH  ARE  CONTAINED  DIVERS  REASONS  WHY 
A  MAN  SHOULD  NOT  WRITE  IN  A  HURRY. 
ALSO,  OF  MASTER  HENDRICK  HUDSON,  HIS 
DISCOVERY  OF  A  STRANGE  COUNTRY  —  AND 
HOW  HE  WAS  MAGNIFICENTLY  REWARDED  BY 
THE  MAGNIFICENCE  OF  THEIR  HIGH  MIGHTI- 
NESSES. 

My  great-grandfather,  by  the  mother's  side,  Her- 
manns Van  Clattercop,  when  employed  to  build  the 
large  stone  church  at  Rotterdam,  which  stands  about 
three  hundred  yards  to  your  left  after  you  turn  off 
from  the  Boomkeys,  and  which  is  so  conveniently 
constructed,  that  all  the  zealous  Christians  of  Rotter- 
dam prefer  sleeping  through  a  sermon  there  to  any 
other  church  in  the  city — my  great-grandfather,  I 
say,  when  employed  to  build  that  famous  church, 
did,  in  the  first  place,  send  to  Delft  for  a  box  of  long 
pipes;  then,  having  purchased  a  new  spitting-box 
and  a  hundred  weight  of  the  best  Virginia,  he  sat 
himself  down,  and  did  nothing  for  the  space  of  three 
months  but  smoke  most  laboriously.  Then  did  he 
spend  full  three  months  more  in  trudging  on  foot, 
and  voyaging  in  trekschuit,  from  Rotterdam  to 
Amsterdam — to  Delft — to  Haerlem — to  Leyden— to 
the  Hague,  knocking  his  head  and  breaking  his  pipe 
against  every  church  in  his  road.  Then  did  he  ad- 
vance gradually  nearer  and  nearer  to  Rotterdam, 
until  he  came  in  full  sight  of  the  identical  spot  where- 
on the  diurch  v?as  to  be  built.  Then  did  he  spend 
three  months  longer  in  walking  round  it  and  round 
it,  contemplating  it,  first  from  one  point  of  view,  and 
then  from  another — now  would  he  be  paddled  by  it 
on  the  canal — now  would  he  peep  at  it  through  a 
telescope,  from  the  other  side  of  the  Meuse,  and  now 
would  he  take  a  bird's-eye  glance  at  it,  from  the  top 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


of  one  of  those  gigantic  windmills  which  protect  the 
gates  of  the  city.  The  good  folks  of  the  place  were 
on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation  and  impatience — not- 
withstanding all  the  turmoil  of  my  great-grandfather, 
not  a  symptom  of  the  church  was  yet  to  be  seen  ; 
they  even  began  to  fear  it  would  never  be  brought 
into  the  world,  but  that  its  great  projector  would  lie 
down  and  die  in  labour  of  the  mighty  plan  he  had 
conceived.  At  length,  having  occupied  twelve  good 
months  in  puffing  and  paddling,  and  talking  and 
walking — having  travelled  over  all  Holland,  and  even 
taken  a  peep  into  France  and  Germany — having 
smoked  five  hundred  and  ninety-nine  pipes,  and 
three  hundred  weight  of  the  best  Virginia  tobacco — 
my  great-grandfather  gathered  together  all  that 
knowing  and  industrious  class  of  citizens  who  prefer 
attending  to  any  body's  business  sooner  than  their 
own,  and  having  pulled  off  his  coat  and  five  pair  of 
breeches,  he  advanced  sturdily  up,  and  laid  the 
corner-stone  of  the  church,  in  the  presence  of  the 
whole  multitude — just  at  the  commencement  of  the 
thirteenth  month. 

In  a  simijar  manner,  and  with  the  example  of  my 
worthy  ancestor  full  before  my  eyes,  have  I  proceeded 
in  writing  this  most  authentic  history.  The  honest 
Rotterdamers  no  doubt  thought  my  great-grandfather 
was  doing  nothing  at  all  to  the  purpose,  while  he 
was  making  such  a  world  of  prefatory  bustle,  about 
the  building  of  his  church — and  many  of  the  inge- 
nious inhabitants  of  this  fair  city  will  unquestionably 
suppose  that  all  the  preliminary  chapters,  with  the 
discovery,  population,  and  final  settlement  of  Amer- 
ica, were  totally  irrelevant  and  superfluous — and  that 
the  main  business,  the  history  of  New-York,  is  not  a 
jot  more  advanced  than  if  I  had  never  taken  up  my 
pen.  Never  were  wise  people  more  mistaken  in 
their  conjectures  ;  in  consequence  of  going  to  work 
slowly  and  deliberately,  the  church  came  out  of 
my  grandfather's  hands  one  of  the  most  sumptuous, 
goodly,  and  glorious  edifices  in  the  known  world — 
excepting  that,  like  our  magnificent  capitol,  at  Wash-, 
ington,  it  was  begun  on  so  grand  a  scale  that  the 
good  folks  could  not  afford  to  finish  more  than  the 
wing  of  it.  So,  likewise,  I  trust,  if  ever  I  am  able 
to  finish  this  work  on  the  plan  I  have  commenced, 
(of  which,  in  simple  truth,  I  sometimes  have  my 
doubts,)  it  will  be  found  that  1  have  pursued  the 
latest  rules  of  my  art,  as  exemplified  in  the  writings 
of  all  the  great  American  historians,  and  wrought  a 
very  large  history  out  of  a  small  subject — which 
now-a-days  is  considered  one  of  the  great  triumphs 
of  historic  skill.  To  proceed,  then,  with  the  thread 
of  my  story. 

In  the  ever-memorable  year  of  our  Lord,  1609,  on 
a  Saturday  morning,  the  five-and-twentieth  day  of 
March,  old  style,  did  that  "  worthy  and  irrecoverable 
discoverer,  (as  he  has  justly  been  called,)  Master 
Henry  Hudson,"  set  sail  from  Holland  in  a  stout  ves- 
sel called  the  Half  Moon,  being  employed  by  the 
Dutch  East  India  Company,  to  seek  a  north-west 
passage  to  China. 

Henry  (or,  as  the  Dutch  historians  call  him,  Hen- 
drick)  Hudson,  was  a  sea-faring  man  of  renown, 
who  had  learned  to  smoke  tobacco  under  Sir  Walter 
Raleigh,  and  is  said  to  have  been  the  first  to  intro- 
duce it  into  Holland,  which  gained  him  much  popu- 
larity in  that  country,  and  caused  him  to  find  great 
favour  in  the  eyes  of  their  High  Mightinesses,  the 
Lords  States  General,  and  also  of  the  honourable 
West  India  Company.  He  was  a  short,  square, 
brawny  old  gentleman,  with  a  double  chin,  a  mastiff 
mouth,  and  a  broad  copper  nose,  which  was  sup- 
posed in  those  days  to  have  acquired  its  fiery  hue 
from  the  constant  neighbourhood  of  his  tobacco- 
pipe. 


He  wore  a  true  Andrea  Ferrara,  tucked  in  a 
leathern  belt,  and  a  commodore's  cocked  hat  on  one 
side  of  his  head.  He  was  remarkable  for  always 
jerking  up  his  breeches  when  he  gave  out  his  orders  ; 
and  his  voice  sounded  not  unlike  the  brattling  of  a 
tin  trumpet^owing  to  the  number  of  hard  north- 
westers which  he  had  swallowed  in  the  course  of 
his  sea-faring. 

Such  was  Hendrick  Hudson,  of  whom  we  have 
heard  so  much,  and  know  so  little :  and  I  have  been 
thus  particular  in  his  description,  for  the  benefit  of 
modern  painters  and  statuaries,  that  they  may  rep- 
resent him  as  he  was;  and  not,  according  to  their 
common  custom  with  modern  heroes,  make  him 
look  like  Caisar,  or  Marcus  Aurelius,  or  the  Apollo 
of  Belvidere. 

As  chief  mate  and  favourite  companion,  the  com- 
modore chose  master  Robert  Juet,  of  Limehouse,  in 
England.  By  some  his  name  has  been  spelled  Chewit, 
and  ascribed  to  the  circumstance  of  his  h.aving  been 
the  first  man  that  ever  chewed  tobacco ;  but  this  1 
believe  to  be  a  mere  flippancy ;  more  especially  as 
certain  of  his  progeny  are  living  at  this  day,  who 
write  their  name  Juet.  He  was  an  old  comrade  and 
early  schoolmate  of  the  great  Hudson,  with  whom 
he  had  often  played  truant  and  sailed  chip  boats 
in  a  neighbouring  pond,  when  they  were  little  boys 
— from  whence  it  is  said  the  commodore  first 
derived  his  bias  towards  a  sea-faring  life.  Certain 
it  is,  that  the  old  people  about  Limehouse  declared 
Robert  Juet  to  be  an  unlucky  urchin,  prone  to 
mischief,  that  would  one  day  or  other  come  to  the 
gallows. 

He  grew  up  as  boys  of  that  kind  often  grow  up,  a 
rambling,  heedless  varlet,  tossed  about  in  all  quarters 
of  the  world — meeting  with  more  perils  and  wonders 
than  did  Sinbad  the  Sailor,  without  growing  a  whit 
more  wise,  prudent,  or  ill-natured.  Under  every 
misfortune,  he  comforted  himself  with  a  quid  of  to- 
bacco, and  the  truly  philosophic  maxim,  that  "it 
will  be  all  the  sam.e  thing  a  hundred  years  hence." 
He  was  skilled  in  the  art  of  carving  anchors  and  true- 
lovers'  knots  on  the  bulk-heads  and  quarter-railings, 
and  was  considered  a  great  wit  on  board  ship,  in 
consequence  of  his  playing  pranks  on  every  body 
around,  and  now  and  theli  even  making  a  wry  face 
at  old  Hendrick,  when  his  back  was  turned. 

To  this  universal  genius  are  we  indebted  for  many 
particulars  concerning  this  voyage ;  of  which  he 
wrote  a  histoiy,  at  the  request  of  the  commodore, 
who  had  an  unconquerable  aversion  to  writing  him- 
self, from  having  received  so  many  floggings  about  it 
when  at  school.  To  supply  the  deficiencies  of  mas- 
ter Juet's  journal,  which  is  written  with  true  log- 
book brevity,  I  have  availed  myself  of  divers  family 
traditions,  handed  down  from  my  great-great-grand- 
father, who  accompanied  the  expedition  m  the  capac- 
ity of  cabin-boy. 

From  all  that  I  can  learn,  few  incidents  worthy 
of  remark  happened  in  the  voyage  ;  and  it  morti- 
fies me  exceedingly  that  I  have  to  admit  so  noted 
an  expedition  into  my  work,  without  making  any 
more  of  it. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  the  voyage  was  prosperous  and 
tranquil — the  crew,  being  a  patient  people,  much 
given  to  slumber  and  vacuity,  and  but  little  troubled 
with  the  disease  of  thinking — a  malady  of  the  mind, 
which  is  the  sure  breeder  of  discontent.  Hudson  had 
laid  in  abundance  of  gin  and  sour-crout,  and  every 
man  was  allowed  to  sleep  quietly  at  his  post  linless 
the  wind  blew.  True  it  is,  some  slight  dissatisfaction 
was  shown  on  two  or  three  occasions,  at  certain  un- 
reasonable conduct  of  Commodore  Hudson.  Thus, 
for  instance,  he  forbore  to  shorten  sail  when  the  wind 
was  light,  and  the  weather  serene,  which  was  con- 


658 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


sidered,  anions^  the  most  ex])ericnced  Dutch  seamen, 
as  certain  •weather-breeders,  or  prognostics,  that  the 
weather  would  change  for  the  worse.  He  acted, 
moreover,  in  direct  cntradiction  to  that  ancient  and 
sage  rule  of  the  Dutch  navigators,  who  always  took 
in  sail  at  night — put  the  helm  a-port,  and  turned  in 
— by  which  precaution  they  had  a  good  night's  rest 
— were  sure  of  knowing  where  they  were  the  next 
morning,  and  stood  but  little  chance  of  running  down 
a  continent  in  the  dark.  He  likewise  prohibited  the 
seamen  from  wearing  more  than  five  jackets  and  six 
pair  of  breeches,  under  pretence  of  rendering  them 
more  alert ;  and  no  man  was  permitted  to  go  aloft, 
and  hand  in  sails  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  as  is  the 
invariable  Dutch  custom  at  the  present  day.  All 
these  grievances,  though  they  might  ruffle  for  a  mo- 
ment the  constitutional  tranquillity  of  the  honest 
Dutch  tars,  made  but  transient  impression  ;  they  eat 
hugely,  drank  profusely,  and  slept  immeasurably,  and 
being  under  the  especial  guidance  of  Providence,  the 
ship  was  safely  conducted  to  the  coast  of  America  ; 
where,  after  sundry  unimportant  touchings  and  stand- 
ing off  and  on,  she  at  length,  on  the  fourth  day  of 
-September,  entered  that  majestic  bay,  which  at  this 
day  expands  its  ample  bosom  before  the  city  of  New- 
York,  and  which  had  never  before  been  visited  by 
any  European.* 

It  has  been  traditionary  in  our  family,  that  when 
the  great  navigator  was  first  blessed  with  a  view  of 
this  enchanting  island,  he  was  observed,  for  the  first 
and  only  time  in  his  life,  to  exhibit  strong  symptoms 
of  astonishment  and  admiration.  He  is  said  to  have 
turned  to  Master  Juet,  and  uttered  these  remarkable 
words,  while  he  pointed  towards  this  paradise  of  the 
new  world — "  See  !  there  I  " — and  thereupon,  as  was 
always  his  way  when  he  was  uncommonly  pleased, 
he  did  puff  out  such  clouds  of  dense  tobacco-smoke, 
that  in  one  minute  the  vessel  was  out  of  sight  of 
land,  and  master  Juet  was  fain  to  wait  until  the 
winds  dispersed  this  impenetrable  fog. 

It  was  indeed — as  my  great-great-grandfather  used 
to  say — though  in  truth  I  never  heard  him,  for  he 
died,  as  might  be  expected,  before  I  was  born — "  it 
was  indeed  a  spot  on  which  the  eye  might  have 
revelled  for  ever,  in  ever-new  and  never-ending 
beauties."  The  island  of  Mannahata  spread  wide 
before  them,  like  som-e  sweet  vision  of  fancy,  or  some 
fair  creation  of  industrious  magic.  Its  hills  of  smil- 
ing green  swelled  gently  one  above  another,  crowned 
with  lofty  trees  of  luxuriant  growth  ;  some  pointing 
their  tapering  foliage  towards  the  clouds,  which  were 
gloriously  transparent ;   and  others   loaded   with  a 


♦  True  it  is — .-ind  I  am  not  ignorant  of  the  fact,  that  in  a  cer- 
tain apocryphal  book  of  voy.iges.  compiled  by  one  Hakluyt,  is 
to  be  found  a  letter  written  to  Francis  the  First,  by  one  Gio- 
vanne,  or  John  Verazzani.  on  which  some  writers  are  inclined 
to  found  a  belief  that  this  delightful  bay  had  been  visited  nearly 
a  century  previous  to  the  voyage  of  the  enterprising  Hudson. 
Now  this  (albeit  it  has  met  with  the  countenance  of  certain 
very  judicious  and  learned  men)  I  hold  in  utter  disbelief,  and 
that  for  various  good  and  substantial  reasons :  First,  Because 
on  strict  examination  it  will  be  found,  that  the  description  given 
by  this  Verazzani  applies  about  as  well  to  the  bay  of  New-York 
as  it  does  to  my  night-cap.  Secondly,  Because  that  this  John 
Verazzani,  for  whom  I  already  begin  to  feel  a  most  bitter  en- 
mity, is  a  native  of  P'lorence  ;  and  every  body  knows  the  crafty 
wiles  of  these  losel  Florentines,  by  which  they  filched  away  the 
laurels  from  the  brows  of  the  immortal  Colon,  (vulgarly  called 
Columbus.)  and  bestowed  them  on  their  othcious  townsman, 
Amerigo  Vespucci  ;  and  I  make  no  doubt  they  are  equally 
ready  to  rob  the  illustrious  Hudson  of  the  credit  of  discovering 
this  beautiful  island,  adorned  by  the  city  of  New  -  York,  and 
placing  it  beside  their  usurped  discovery  of  South  America. 
And,  thirdly,  I  award  my  decision  in  favour  of  the  pretensions 
of  Hendrick  Hudson,  inasmuch  as  his  expedition  sailed  from 
Holland,  being  truly  and  absolutely  a  Dutch  enterprise  —  and 
though  all  the  proofs  of  the  world  were  introduced  on  the  other 
side,  I  would  set  them  at  nought,  as  undeserving  my  attention. 
If  these  three  reasons  be  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  every  burgher 
of  this  ancient  city— all  I  can  s.iy  is,  they  are  degenerate  descend- 
ants i^rom  their  venerable  Dutch  ancestors,  and  totally  unworthy 
the  trouble  of  convincin,^.  Thus,  therefore^  the  title  of  Hendrick 
Hudson  to  his  renowned  discovery  is  fully  vindicated. 


verdant  burthen  of  clambering  vines,  bowing  their 
branches  to  the  earth,  that  was  covered  with  flow- 
ers. On  the  gentle  declivities  of  the  hills  were  scat- 
tered, in  gay  profusion,  the  dog-wood,  the  sumach, 
and  the  wild  brier,  whose  scarlet  berries  and  white 
blossoms  glowed  brightly  among  the  deep  green  of 
the  surrounding  foliage  ;  and  here  and  there  a  curl- 
ing column  of  smoke  rising  from  the  little  glens  that 
opened  along  the  shore,  seemed  to  promise  the 
weary  voyagers  a  welcome  at  the  hands  of  their 
fellow-creatures.  As  they  stood  gazing  with  en- 
tranced attention  on  the  scene  before  them,  a  red 
man,  crowned  with  feathers,  issued  from  one  of 
these  glens,  and  after  contemplating  in  silent  w'on- 
der  the  gallant  ship,  as  she  sat  like  a  stately  swan 
swimming  on  a  silver  lake,  sounded  the  war-whoop, 
and  bounded  into  the  woods  like  a  wild  deer,  to  the 
utter  astonishment  of  the  phlegmatic  Dutchmen,  who 
had  never  heard  such  a  noise,  or  witnessed  such  a 
caper,  in  their  whole  lives. 

Of  the  transactions  of  our  adventurers  with  the 
savages,  and  how  the  latter  smoked  copper  pipes, 
and  ate  dried  currants ;  how  they  brought  great 
store  of  tobacco  and  oysters  ;  how  they  shot  one  of 
the  ship's  crew,  and  how  he  was  buried,  I  shall  say 
nothing ;  being  that  1  consider  them  unimportant  to 
my  history.  After  tarrying  a  few  days  in  the  bay,  in 
order  to  refresh  themselves  after  their  sea-faring,  our 
voyagers  weighed  anchor,  to  explore  a  mighty  river 
wliich  emptied  into  the  bay.  This  river,  it  is  said, 
was  known  among  the  savages  by  the  name  of  the 
Shatetnuck ;  though  we  are  assured,  in  an  excellent 
little  history  published  in  1674,  by  John  Josselyn, 
Gent.,  that  it  was  called  the  Mohegan,^  and  master 
Richard  Bloome,  who  wrote  some  time  afterwards, 
asserts  the  same — so  that  I  very  much  incline  in 
favour  of  the  opinion  of  these  two  honest  gentlemen. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  up  this  river  did  the  adventurous 
Hendrick  proceed,  little  doubting  but  it  would  turn 
out  to  be  the  much-looked-for  passage  to  China  ! 

The  journal  goes  on  to  make  mention  of  divers 
interviews  between  the  crew  and  the  natives,  in  the 
voyage  up  the  river ;  but  as  they  would  be  imperti- 
nent to  my  history,  I  shall  pass  over  them  in  silence, 
except  the  following  dry  joke,  played  off  by  the  old 
commodore  and  his  school-fellow,  Robert  Juet,  which 
does  such  vast  credit  to  their  experimental  philoso- 
phy, that  I  cannot  refrain  from  inserting  it.  "Our 
master  and  his  mate  determined  to  try  some  of  the 
chiefe  men  of  the  countrey,  whether  they  had  any 
treacherie  in  them.  So  they  tooke  them  downe  into 
the  cabin  and  gave  them  so  much  wine  and  aqua 
vitae,  that  they  were  all  merrie  ;  and  one  of  them 
had  his  wife  with  him,  which  sate  so  modestly,  as 
any  of  our  countrey  women  would  do  in  a  strange 
place.  In  the  end  one  of  them  was  drunke,  which 
had  been  aboarde  of  our  ship  all  the  time  that  we 
had  been  there,  and  that  was  strange  to  them,  for 
they  could  not  tell  how  to  take  it."t 

Having  satisfied  himself  by  this  ingenious  experi- 
ment, that  the  natives  were  an  honest,  social  race  of 
jolly  roysters,  who  had  no  objection  to  a  drinking 
bout,  and  were  very  merry  in  their  cups,  the  old 
commodore  chuckled  hugely  to  himself,  and  thrust- 
ing a  double  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  cheek,  directed 
master  Juet  to  have  it  carefully  recorded,  for  the 
satisfaction  of  all  the  natural  philosophers  of  the 
university  of  Leyden — which  done,  he  proceeded  on 
his  voyage,  with  great  self-complacency.  After  sail- 
ing, however,  above  a  hundred  miles  up  the  river, 
he  found  the  watery  world  around  him  began  to 
grow  more  shallow  and  confined,  the  current  more 


•  This  river  is  likewise  laid  down  in  Ogilvy's  map  as  Manhattan 
-Noordt — Montaigne  and  Mauritius  river, 
t  Juet*s  Journ.  Purch,  Pil. 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


559 


rapid,  and  perfectly  fresh — phenomena  not  uncom- 
mon in  the  ascent  of  rivers,  but  which  puzzled  the 
honest  Dutchmen  prodigiously.  A  consultation  was 
therefore  called,  and  having  deliberated  full  six 
hours,  they  were  brought  to  a  determination,  by  the 
ship's  running  aground — whereupon  they  un  mimous- 
ly  concluded,  that  there  was  but  little  chance  of  getting 
to  China  in  this  direction.  A  boat,  however,  was 
despatched  to  explore  higher  up  the  river,  which,  on 
its  return,  confirmed  the  opinion — upon  this  the  ship 
was  warped  off  and  put  about,  with  great  difficulty, 
lieing,  like  most  of  her  sex,  exceedingly  hard  to  gov- 
ern ;  and  the  adventurous  Hudson,  according  to  the 
account  of  my  great-great-grandfather,  returned 
down  the  river — with  a  prodigious  flea  in  his  ear  ! 

Being  satisfied  that  there  was  little  likelihood  of 
getting  to  China,  unless,  like  the  blind  man,  he  re- 
turned from  whence  he  sat  out,  and  took  a  fresh 
start,  he  forthwith  recrossed  the  sea  to  Holland, 
where  he  was  received  with  great  welcome  by  the 
honourable  East  India  Company,  who  were  very 
much  rejoiced  to  see  him  come  back  safe — with  their 
ship ;  and  at  a  large  and  respectable  meeting  of  the 
first  merchants  and  burgomasters  of  Amsterdam,  it 
was  unanimously  determined,  that  as  a  munificent 
reward  for  the  eminent  services  he  had  performed, 
and  the  important  discovery  he  had  made,  the  great 
river  Mohegan  should  be  called  after  his  name ! — 
and  it  continues  to  be  called  Hudson  river  unto  this 
very  day. 


CHAPTER  n. 

CONTAINING  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  A  MIGHTY  ARK, 
WHICH  FLOATED,  UNDER  THE  PROTECTION  OF 
ST.  NICHOLAS,  FROM  HOLLAND  TO  GIBBET  ISL- 
AND— THE  DESCENT  OF  THE  STRANGE  ANIMALS 
THEREFROM— A  GREAT  VICTORY,  AND  A  DE- 
SCRIPTION OF  THE  ANCIENT  VILLAGE  OF  COM- 
MUNIPAW. 

The  delectable  accounts  given  by  the  great  Hud- 
son, and  master  Juet,  of  the  country  they  had  dis- 
covered, excited  not  a  little  talk  and  speculation 
among  the  good  people  of  Holland.  Letters-patent 
were  granted  by  government  to  an  association  of 
merchants,  called  the  West  India  Company,  for  the 
exclusive  trade  on  Hudson  river,  on  which  they 
erected  a  trading  house  called  Fort  Aurania,  or 
Orange,  from  whence  did  spring  the  great  city  of 
Albany.  But  I  forbear  to  dwell  on  the  various 
commercial  and  colonizing  enterprises  which  took 
place ;  among  which  was  that  of  Mynheer  Adrian 
Block,  who  discovered  and  gave  a  name  to  Block 
Island,  since  famous  for  its  cheese — and  shall  barely 
confine  myself  to  that  which  gave  birth  to  this  re- 
nowned city. 

It  was  some  three  or  four  years  after  the  return  of 
the  immortal  Hendrick,  that  a  crew  of  honest.  Low 
Dutch  colonists  set  sail  from  the  city  of  Amsterdam 
for  the  shores  of  America.  It  is  an  irreparable  loss 
to  history,  and  a  great  proof  of  the  darkness  of  the 
age,  and  the  lamentable  neglect  of  the  noble  art  of 
book-making,  since  so  industriously  cultivated  by 
knowing  sea-captains,  and  learned  supercargoes,  that 
an  expedition  so  interesting  and  important  in  its  re- 
sults, should  be  passed  over  in  utter  silence.  To  my 
great-great-grandfather  am  I  again  indebted  for  the 
few  facts  I  am  enabled  to  give  concerning  it — he 
having  once  more  embarked  for  this  country,  with 
a  full  determination,  as  he  said,  of  ending  his  days 
here — and  of  begetting  a  race  of  Knickerbockers, 
that  should  rise  to  be  great  men  in  the  land. 


The  ship  in  which  these  illustrious  adventurers 
set  sail  was  called  the  Gcede  Vroifw,  or  good  woman, 
in  compliment  to  the  wife  of  the  President  of  the 
West  India  Company,  who  was  allowed  by  every 
body  (except  her  husband)  to  be  a  sweet-tempered 
lady — -when  not  in  liquor.  It  was  in  truth  a  most 
gallant  vessel,  of  the  most  approved  Dutch  construc- 
tion, and  made  by  the  ablest  ship-carpenters  of  Am- 
sterdam, who,  it  is  well  known,  always  model  their 
ships  after  the  fair  forms  of  their  countrywomen. 
Accordingly,  it  had  one  hundred  feet  in  the  beam, 
one  hundred  feet  in  the  keel,  and  one  hundred  feet 
from  the  bottom  of  the  stern-post  to  the  tafferel. 
Like  the  lieauteous  model,  who  was  declared  to  be 
the  greatest  belle  in  Amsterdam,  it  was  full  in  the 
bows,  with  a  pair  of  enormous  cat-heads,  a  copper 
bottom,  and,  withal,  a  most  prodigious  poop  ! 

The  architect,  who  was  somewhat  of  a  religious 
man,  far  from  decorating  the  ship  with  pagan  idols, 
such  as  Jupiter,  Neptune,  or  Hercules  (wliich  hea- 
thenish abominations,  I  have  no  doubt,  occasion  the 
misfortunes  and  shipwreck  of  many  a  noble  vessel,) 
he,  1  say,  on  the  contrary,  did  laudably  erect  for  a 
head,  a  goodly  image  of  St.  Nicholas,  equipped  with 
a  low,  broad-brimmed  hat,  a  huge  pair  of  Flemish 
trunk-hose,  and  a  pipe  that  reached  to  the  end  of  the 
bowsprit.  Thus  gallantly  furnished,  the  staunch  ship 
floated  sideways,  like  a  majestic  goose,  out  of  the 
harbour  of  the  great  city  of  Amsterdam,  and  all  the 
bells,  that  were  not  otherwise  engaged,  rang  a  triple 
bobmajor  on  the  joyful  occasion. 

My  great-great-grandfather  remarks,  that  the  voy- 
age was  uncommonly  prosperous,  for,  being  under 
the  especial  care  of  the  ever-revered  St.  Nicholas, 
the  Goede  Vrouw  seemed  to  be  endowed  with  qual- 
ities unknown  to  common  vessels.  Thus  she  made 
as  much  lee-way  as  head-way,  could  get  along  very 
nearly  as  fast  with  the  wind  a-head,  as  when  it  was 
a-poop — and  was  particularly  great  in  a  calm  ;  in 
conse(|uence  of  which  singular  advantages,  she  made 
out  to  accomplish  her  vovage  in  a  very  few  months, 
and  came  to  anchor  at  the  mouth  of  the  Hudson,  a 
little  to  the  east  of  Gibbet  Island. 

Here  lifting  up  their  eyes,  they  beheld,  on  what  is 
at  present  called  the  Jersey  shore,  a  small  Indian 
village,  pleasantly  embowered  in  a  grove  of  spread- 
ing elms,  and  the  natives  all  collected  on  the  beach, 
gazing  in  stupid  admiration  at  the  Goede  Vrouw.  A 
boat  was  immediately  despatched  to  enter  into  a 
treaty  with  them,  and  approaching  the  shore,  hailed 
them  through  a  trumpet  in  the  most  friendly  terms  ; 
but  so  horribly  confounded  were  these  poor  savages 
at  the  tremendous  and  uncouth  sound  of  the  Low 
Dutch  language,  that  they  one  and  all  took  to  their 
heels,  and  scampered  over  the  Bergen  hills ;  nor  did 
they  stop  until  they  had  buried  themselves,  head  and 
ears,  in  the  marshes  on  the  other  side,  where  they  all 
miserably  perished  to  a  man — and  their  bones  being 
collected  and  decently  covered  by  the  Tammany 
Society  of  that  day,  formed  that  singular  mound 
called  Rattlesnake  Hill,  which  rises  out  of  the 
centre  of  the  salt  marshes,  a  little  to  the  east  of  the 
Newark  Causeway. 

Animated  by  this  unlooked-for  victory,  our  valiant 
heroes  sprang  ashore  in  triumph,  took  possession 
of  the  soil  as  conquerors  in  the  name  of  their  High 
Mightinesses  the  Lords  States  General  ;  and  march- 
ing fearlessly  forward,  carried  the  village  of  COMMU- 
NIPAW  by  storm,  notwithstanding  that  it  was  vigor- 
ously defended  by  some  half-a  score  of  old  squaws 
and  pappooses.  On  looking  about  them,  they  were 
so  transported  with  the  excellencies  of  the  place, 
that  they  had  very  little  doubt  the  blessed  St. 
Nicholas  had  guided  them  thither,  as  the  very  spot 
whereon  to  settle  their  colony.     The  softness  of  the 


5G0 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


soil  was  wonderfully  adapted  to  the  driving  of  piles  ; 
the  swamps  and  marshes  around  them  afforded 
ample  opportunities  for  the  constructing-  of  dikes 
and  dams  ;  the  shallowness  of  the  shore  was  pecul- 
iarly favourable  to  the  building  of  docks — in  a  word, 
this  spot  abounded  with  all  the  requisites  for  the 
foundation  of  a  great  Dutch  city.  On  making  a 
faithful  report,  therefore,  to  the  crew  of  the  Goede 
Vrouw,  they  one  and  all  determined  that  this  was 
the  destined  end  of  their  voyage.  Accordingly  they 
descended  from  the  Goede  Vrouw,  men,  women, 
and  children,  in  goodly  groups,  as  did  the  animals 
of  yore  from  the  ark,  and  formed  themselves  into  a 
thriving  settlement,  which  they  called  by  the  Indian 
name  Communipaw. 

As  all  the  world  is  doubtless  perfectly  acquainted 
with  Communipaw,  it  may  seem  somewhat  super- 
fluous to  treat  of  it  in  the  present  work ;  but  my 
readers  will  please  to  recollect,  that  notwithstanding 
it  is  my  chief  desire  to  satisfy  the  present  age,  yet  I 
write  likewise  for  posterity,  and  have  to  consult  the 
understanding  and  curiosity  of  some  half  a  score  of 
centuries  yet  to  come ;  by  which  time,  perhaps,  were 
it  not  for  this  invaluable  history,  the  great  Communi- 
paw, like  Babylon,  Carthage,  Nineveh,  and  other 
great  cities,  might  be  perfectly  extinct — sunk  and 
forgotten  in  its  own  mud — its  inhabitants  turned  into 
oysters,*  and  even  its  situation  a  fertile  subject  of 
learned  controversy  and  hard-headed  investigation 
among  indefatigable  historians.  Let  me  then  piously 
rescue  from  oblivion  the  humble  relics  of  a  place 
which  was  the  egg  from  whence  was  hatched  the 
mighty  city  of  New-York ! 

Communipaw  is  at  present  but  a  small  village 
l)leasantly  situated,  among  rural  scenery,  on  that 
beauteous  part  of  the  Jersey  shore  which  was  known 
in  ancient  legends  by  the  name  of  Pavonia,t  and 
commands  a  grand  prospect  of  the  superb  bay  of 
New-York.  It  is  within  but  half  an  hour's  sail  of 
the  latter  place,  provided  you  have  a  fair  wind,  and 
may  be  distinctly  seen  from  the  city.  Nay,  it  is  a 
well-known  fact,  which  I  can  testify  from  my  own 
experience,  that  on  a  clear  still  summer  evening,  you 
may  hear,  from  the  Battery  of  New- York,  the  ob- 
streperous peals  of  broad-mouthed  laughter  of  the 
Duich  negroes  at  Communipaw,  who,  like  most 
other  negroes,  are  famous  for  their  risible  powers. 
This  is  peculiarly  the  case  on  Sunday  evenings,  when, 
it  is  remarked  by  an  ingenious  and  observant  philos- 
opher, who  has  made  great  discoveries  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  this  city,  that  they  always  laugh  loudest 
— which  he  attributes  to  the  circumstance  of  their 
having  their  holiday  clothes  on. 

These  negroes,  in  fact,  like  the  monks  in  the  dark 
ages,  engross  all  the  knowledge  of  the  place,  and  be- 
ing infinitely  more  adventurous  and  more  knowing 
than  their  masters,  cany  on  all  the  foreign  trade; 
making  frequent  voyages  to  town  in  canoes  loaded 
with  oysters,  buttermilk,  and  cabbages.  They  are 
great  astrologers,  predicting  the  different  changes  of 
weather  almost  as  accurately  as  an  almanac — they 
are  moreover  exquisite  performers  on  three-stringed 
fiddles :  in  whistling,  they  almost  boast  the  far-famed 
powers  of  Orpheus's  lyre,  for  not  a  horse  or  an  ox 
in  the  place,  when  at  the  plough  or  before  the  wagon, 
will  budge  a  foot  until  he  hears  the  well-known 
whistle  of  his  black  driver  and  companion. — And 
from  their  amazing  skill  at  casting  up  accounts  upon 
their  fingers,  they  are  regarded  with  as  much  venera- 
tion as  were  the  disciples  of  Pythagoras  of  yore, 
when  initiated  into  the  sacred  quaternary  of  num- 
bers. 


As  to  the  honest  burghers  of  Communipaw,  like 
wise  men  and  sound  philosophers,  they  never  look 
beyond  their  pipes,  nor  trouble  their  heads  about  any 
affairs  out  of  their  immediate  neighbourhood  ;  so  that 
they  live  in  profound  and  enviable  ignorance  of  all 
the  troubles,  anxieties,  and  revolutions  of  this  dis- 
tracted planet.  I  am  even  told  that  many  among 
them  do  verily  believe  that  Holland,  of  which  they 
have  heard  so  much  from  tradition,  is  situated  some- 
where on  Long  Island — that  Spiking-dei'il  and  the 
Narrows  are  the  two  ends  of  the  world — that  the 
country  is  still  under  the  dominion  of  their  High 
Mightinesses,  and  that  the  city  of  New- York  still  goes 
by  the  name  of  Nieuw  Amsterdam.  They  meet  every 
Saturday  afternoon  at  the  only  tavern  in  the  place, 
w-hich  bears  as  a  sign,  a  square-headed  likeness  of 
the  Prince  of  Orange,  where  they  smoke  a  silent 
pipe,  by  way  of  promoting  social  conviviality,  and 
invariably  drink  a  mug  of  cider  to  the  success  of 
Admiral  Van  Tromp,  who  they  imagine  is  still 
sweeping  the  British  channel,  with  a  broom  at  his 
mast-head. 

Communipaw,  in  short,  is  one  of  the  numerous 
little  villages  in  the  vicinity  of  this  most  beautiful  of 
cities,  which  are  so  many  strong-holds  and  fastnesses, 
whither  the  primitive  manners  of  our  Dutch  fore- 
fathers have  retreated,  and  where  they  are  cherished 
with  devout  and  scrupulous  strictness.  The  dress  of 
the  original  settlers  is  handed  down  inviolate,  from 
father  to  son — the  identical  broad-brimmed  hat, 
broad-skirted  coat,  and  broad-bottomed  breeches 
continue  from  generation  to  generation  ;  and  several 
gigantic  knee-buckles  of  massy  silver  are  still  in 
wear,  that  made  gallant  display  in  the  days  of  the 
patriarchs  of  Communipaw.  The  language  likewise 
continues  unadulterated  by  barbarous  innovations  ; 
and  so  critically  correct  is  the  village  schoolmaster 
in  his  dialect,  that  his  reading  of  a  Low  Dutch  psalm 
has  much  the  same  effect  on  the  nerves  as  the  filing 
of  a  handsaw. 


*  Men  by  inaction  degenerate  into  oysters. — Kaimes, 
t  Pavonia,  in  the  ancient  maps,  is  given  to  a  tract  of  country 
extending  from  about  Hoboken  to  Amboy. 


CHAPTER   III. 

IN  WHICH  IS  SET  FORTH  THE  TRUE  ART  OF 
MAKINO  A  BARGAIN— TOGETHER  WITH  THE 
MIRACULOUS  ESCAPE  OF  A  GREAT  METROPOLIS 
IN  A  FOG— AND  THE  BIOGRAPHY  OF  CERTAIN 
HEROES  OF  COMMUNIPAW. 

Having,  in  the  trifling  dig^ression  which  concluded 
the  last  chapter,  discharged  the  filial  duty  which  the 
city  of  New-York  owed  to  Communipaw,  as  being 
the  mother  settlement ;  and  having  given  a  faithful 
picture  of  it  as  it  stands  at  present,  1  return  with  a 
soothing  sentiment  of  self-approbation,  to  dwell  upon 
its  eariy  history.  The  crew  of  the  Goede  Vrouw 
being  soon  reinforced  by  fresh  importations  from 
Holland,  the  settlement  went  jollily  on,  increasing  in 
magnitude  and  prosperity.  The  neighbouring  Indians 
in  a  short  time  became  accustomed  to  the  uncouth 
sound  of  the  Dutch  language,  and  an  intercourse 
gradually  took  place  between  them  and  the  new 
comers.  The  Indians  were  much  given  to  long  talks, 
and  the  Dutch  to  long  silence— in  this  particular, 
therefore,  they  accommodated  each  other  completely. 
The  chiefs  would  make  long  speeches  about  the  big 
bull,  the  wabash,  and  the  great  spirit,  to  which  the 
others  would  listen  very  attentively,  smoke  their 
pipes,  and  grunt  yah  viyn-her — whereat  the  jioor 
savages  were  wondrously  delighted.  They  instructed 
the  new  setders  in  the  best  art  of  curing  and  smok- 
ing tobacco,  while  the  latter,  in  return,  made  them 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


561 


drunk  with  true  Hollands — and  then  learned  them 
the  art  of  making  bargains. 

A  brisk  trade  for  furs  was  soon  opened  :  the  Dutch 
traders  were  scrupulously  honest  in  their  dealings, 
and  purchased  by  weight,  establishing  it  as  an  inva- 
riable table  of  avoirdupois,  that  the  hand  of  a  Dutch- 
man weighed  one  pound,  and  his  foot  two  pounds.  It 
is  true,  the  simple  Indians  were  often  puzzled  by  the 
great  disproportion  between  bulk  and  weight,  for  let 
them  place  a  bundle  of  furs,  never  so  large,  in  one 
scale,  and  a  Dutchman  put  his  hand  or  foot  in  the 
other,  the  bundle  was  sure  to  kick  the  beam — never 
was  a  package  of  furs  known  to  weigh  more  than  two 
pounds  in  the  market  of  Communipaw  ! 

This  is  a  singular  fact— but  I  have  it  direct  from 
my  great-great-grandfather,  who  had  risen  to  con- 
siderable importance  in  the  colony,  being  promoted 
to  the  office  of  weighmaster,  on  account  of  the  un- 
common heaviness  of  his  foot. 

The  Dutch  possessions  in  this  part  of  the  globe 
began  now  to  assume  a  very  thriving  appearance, 
and  were  comprehended  under  the  general  title  of 
Nieuw  Nederlandts,  on  account,  as  the  sage  Vander 
Donck  observes,  of  their  great  resemblance  to  the 
Dutch  Netherlands — which  indeed  was  truly  re- 
markable, excepting  that  the  former  were  rugged  and 
mountainous,  and  the  latter  level  and  marshy.  About 
this  time  the  tranquillity  of  the  Dutch  colonists  was 
doomed  to  suffer  a  temporary  interruption.  In  1614, 
Captain  Sir  Samuel  Argal,  sailing  under  a  commission 
from  Dale,  governor  of  Virginia,  visited  the  Dutch 
settlements  on  Hudson  River,  and  demanded  their 
submission  to  the  English  crown  and  Virgmian  do- 
minion.— To  this  arrogant  demand,  as  they  were  in 
no  condition  to  resist  it,  they  submitted  for  the  time 
like  discreet  and  reasonable  men. 

It  does  not  appear  that  the  valiant  Argal  molested 
the  settlement  of  Communipaw ;  on  the  contrary,  I 
am  told  that  when  his  vessel  first  hove  in  sight,  the 
worthy  burghers  were  seized  with  such  a  panic,  that 
they  fell  to  smoking  their  pipes  with  astonishing  ve- 
hemence ;  insomuch  that  they  quickly  raised  a  cloud, 
which,  combining  with  the  surrounding  woods  and 
marshes,  completely  enveloped  and  concealed  their 
beloved  village,  and  overhung  the  fair  regions  of  Pa- 
vonia  ; — so  that  the  terrible  Captain  Argal  passed  on, 
totally  unsuspicious  that  a  sturdy  little  Dutch  settle- 
ment lay  snugly  couched  in  the  mud,  under  cover  of 
all  this  pestilent  vapour.  In  commemoration  of  this 
fortunate  escape,  the  worthy  inhabitants  have  con- 
tinued to  smoke,  almost  without  intermission,  unto 
this  very  day ;  which  is  said  to  be  the  cause  of  the 
remarkable  fog  that  often  hangs  over  Communipaw 
of  a  clear  afternoon. 

Upon  the  departure  of  the  enemy,  our  magnani- 
mous ancestors  took  full  six  months  to  recover  their 
wind,  having  been  exceedingly  discomposed  by  the 
consternation  and  hurry  of  affairs.  They  then  called 
a  council  of  safety  to  smoke  over  the  state  of  the 
province.  After  six  months  more  of  mature  deliber- 
ation, during  which  nearly  five  hundred  words  were 
spoken,  and  almost  as  much  tobacco  was  smoked  as 
would  have  served  a  certain  modern  general  through 
a  whole  winter's  campaign  of  hard  drinking,  it  was 
determined  to  fit  out  an  armament  of  canoes,  and 
despatch  them  on  a  voyage  of  discovery  ;  to  search 
if,  peradventure,  some  more  sure  and  formidable 
position  might  not  be  found,  where  the  colony  would 
be  less  subject  to  vexatious  visitations. 

This  perilous  enterprise  was  intrusted  to  the  su- 
perintendence of  Mynheers  Oloffe  Van  Kortlandt, 
Abraham  Hardenbroeck,  Jacobus  Van  Zandt,  and 
Winant  Ten  Broeck — four  indubitably  great  men, 
but  of  whose  history,  although  I  have  made  diligent 
inquiry,  I  can  learn  but  little,  previous  to  their  leav- 
•6G 


ing  Holland.  Nor  need  this  occasion  much  surprise  ; 
for  adventurers,  like  prophets,  though  they  make 
great  noise  abroad,  have  seldom  much  celebrity  in 
their  own  countries ;  but  this  much  is  certain,  that 
the  overflowings  and  offscourings  of  a  country  are 
invariably  composed  of  the  richest  parts  of  the  soil. 
And  here  I  cannot  help  remarking  how  convenient 
it  would  be  to  many  of  our  great  men  and  great  fam- 
ilies of  doubtful  origin,  could  they  have  the  privilege 
of  the  heroes  of  yore,  who,  whenever  their  origin  was 
involved  in  obscurity,  modestly  announced  them- 
selves descended  from  a  god — and  who  never  visited 
a  foreign  country  but  what  they  told  some  cock-and- 
bull  stories  about  their  being  kings  and  princes  at 
home.  This  venal  trespass  on  the  truth,  though  it 
has  occasionally  been  played  off  by  some  pseudo 
marquis,  baronet,  and  other  illustrious  foreigner,  in 
our  land  of  good-natured  credulity,  has  been  com- 
pletely discountenanced  in  this  sceptical  matter-of- 
fact  age — and  I  even  question  whether  any  tender 
virgin,  who  was  accidentally  and  unaccountably  en- 
riched with  a  bantling,  would  save  her  character  at 
parlour  firesides  and  evening  tea-parties  by  ascribing 
the  phenomenon  to  a  swan,  a  shower  of  gold,  or  a 
river-god. 

Thus  being  denied  the  benefit  of  mythology  and 
classic  fable,  I  should  have  been  completely  at  a  loss 
as  to  the  early  biography  of  my  heroes,  had  not  a 
gleam  of  light  been  thrown  upon  their  origin  from 
their  names. 

By  this  simple  means,  have  I  been  enabled  to 
gather  some  particulars  concerning  the  adventurers 
in  question.  Van  Kortlandt,  for  instance,  was  one  of 
those  peripatetic  philosophers  who  tax  Providence 
for  a  livelihood,  and,  like  Diogenes,  enjoy  a  free  and 
unencumbered  estate  in  sunshine.  He  was  usually 
arrayed  in  garments  suitable  to  his  fortune,  being 
curiously  fringed  and  fangled  by  the  hand  of  time  ; 
and  was  helmeted  with  an  old  fragment  of  a  hat, 
which  had  acquired  the  shape  of  a  sugar-loaf;  and 
so  far  did  he  carry  his  contempt  for  the  adventitious 
distinction  of  dress,  that  it  is  said  the  remnant  of  a 
shirt,  which  covered  his  back,  and  dangled  like  a 
pocket-handkerchief  out  of  a  hole  in  his  breeches, 
was  never  washed  except  by  the  bountiful  showers 
of  heaven.  In  this. garb  was  he  usually  to  be  seen, 
sunning  himself  at  noon-day,  with  a  herd  of  philoso- 
phers of  the  same  sect,  on  the  side  of  the  great  canal 
of  Amsterdam.  Like  your  nobility  of  Europe,  he 
took  his  name  of  Kortlandt  (or  lackland)  from  his 
landed  estate,  which  lay  somewhere  in  terra  incog- 
nita. 

Of  the  next  of  our  worthies,  might  I  have  had  the 
benefit  of  mythological  assistance,  the  want  of  which 
I  have  just  lamented,  I  should  have  made  honourable 
mention,  as  boasting  equally  illustrious  pedigree  with 
the  proudest  hero  of  antiquity.  His  name  of  Van 
Zandt,  which  being  freely  translated,  signifies, /r(j;« 
the  rt?/r/,  meaning,  beyond  a  doubt,  that,  like  Triptole- 
mus,  Themis,  the  Cyclops  and  the  Titans,  he  sprang 
from  dame  Terra,  or  the  earth  1  This  supposition  is 
strongly  corroborated  by  his  size,  for  it  is  well  known 
that  all  the  progeny  of  mother  .earth  were  of  a  gigan- 
tic stature ;  and  Van  Zandt,  we  are  told,  was  a  tall, 
raw-boned  man,  above  six  feet  high — with  an  aston- 
ishing hard  head.  Nor  is  this  origin  of  the  illus- 
trious Van  Zandt  a  whit  more  improbable  or  repug- 
nant to  belief  than  what  is  related  and  universally 
admitted  of  certain  of  our  greatest,  or  rather  richest 
men  ;  who,  we  are  told  with  the  utmost  gravity,  did 
originally  spring  from  a  dunghill  ! 

Of  the   third   hero,  but   a   faint   description   has 

reached  to  this  time,  which  mentions  that  he  was  a 

sturdy,  obstinate,  burly,  bustling  little  man  :  and  from 

!  being  usually  equipped  with  an  old  pair  of  buckskins.. 


562 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


was  familiarly  dubbed  Harden  Broeck,  or   Tough 
Breeches. 

Ten  Broeck  completed  this  junto  of  adventurers. 
It  is  a  singular,  but  ludicrous  fact,  which,  were  I  not 
scrupulous  in  recording  the  whole  truth,  I  should 
almost  be  tempted  to  pass  over  in  silence,  as  incom- 
patible with  the  gravity  and  dignity  of  history,  that 
this  worthy  gentleman  should  likewise  have  been 
nicknamed  from  the  most  whimsical  part  of  his  dress. 
In  fact,  the  small-clothes  seems  to  have  been  a  very 
important  garment  in  the  eyes  of  our  venerated  an- 
cestors, owing  in  all  probability  to  its  really  being 
the  largest  article  of  raiment  among  them.  The 
name  of  Ten  Broeck,  or  Tin  Broeck,  is  indifferently 
translated  into  Ten  Breeches  and  Tin  Breeches — 
the  High  Dutch  commentators  incline  to  the  former 
opinion ;  and  ascribe  it  to  his  being  the  first  who  in- 
troduced into  the  settlement  the  ancient  Dutch  fash- 
ion of  wearing  ten  pair  of  breeches.  But  the  most 
elegant  and  ingenious  writers  on  the  subject  declare 
in  favour  of  Tin,  or  rather  Thin  Breeches ;  from 
whence  they  infer,  that  he  was  a  poor,  but  meriy 
rogue,  whose  galligaskins  were  none  of  the  soundest, 
and  who  was  the  identical  author  of  that  truly  philo- 
sophical stanza : 

**  Then  why  should  we  quarrel  for  riches, 
Or  any  such  glittering  toys  ? 
A  li^ht  heart  and  thin  pair  of  breeches. 

Will  go  through  the  world,  my  brave  boys !  '* 

Such  was  the  gallant  junto  chosen  to  conduct  this 
voyage  into  unknown  realms  ;  and  the  whole  was 
put  under  the  superintending  care  and  direction  of 
Oloffe  Van  Kortlandt,  who  was  held  in  great  rever- 
ence among  the  sages  of  Communipaw,  for  the 
variety  and  darkness  of  his  knowledge.  Having,  as 
I  before  observed,  passed  a  great  part  of  his  life  in 
the  open  air,  among  the  peripatetic  philosophers  of 
Amsterdam,  he  had  become  amazingly  well  acquaint- 
ed with  the  aspect  of  the  heavens,  and  could  as  ac- 
curately determine  when  a  storm  was  brewing,  or  a 
squall  rising,  as  a  dutiful  husband  can  foresee,  from 
the  brow  of  his  spouse,  when  a  tempest  is  gathering 
about  his  ears.  He  was  moreover  a  great  seer  of 
ghosts  and  goblins,  and  a  firm  believer  in  omens ; 
but  what  especially  recommended  him  to  public  con- 
fidence was  his  marvellous  talent  at  dreaming,  for 
there  never  was  any  thing  of  consequence  happened 
at  Communipaw  but  what  he  declared  he  had  pre- 
viously dreamt  it ;  being  one  of  those  infallible  proph- 
ets who  always  predict  events  after  they  have  come 
to  pass. 

This  supernatural  gift  was  as  highly  valued  among 
the  burghers  of  Pavonia,  as  it  was'  among  the  en- 
lightened nations  of  antiquity.  The  wise  Ulysses 
was  more  indebted  to  his  sleeping  than  his  waking 
moments  for  all  his  subtle  achievements,  and  seldom 
undertook  any  great  exploit  without  first  soundly 
sleeping  upon  it ;  and  the  same  may  be  truly  said  of 
the  good  Van  Kortlandt,  who  was  thence  aptly  de- 
nominated, Oloffe  the  Dreamer. 

This  cautious  commander,  having  chosen  the 
crews  that  should  accompany  him  in  the  proposed 
expedition,  exhorted  them  to  repair  to  their  homes, 
take  a  good  night's  rest,  settle  all  family  affairs,  and 
make  their  wills,  before  departing  on  this  voyage 
into  unknown  realms.  And  indeed  this  last  was  a 
precaution  always  taken  by  our  forefathers,  even  in 
after  times,  when  they  became  more  adventurous, 
and'voyaged  to  Haverstraw,  or  Kaatskill,  or  Groodt 
Esopus,  or  any  other  far  country  that  lay  beyond  the 
great  waters  of  the  Tappaan  Zee. 


CHAPTER    IV. 

HOW  THE  HEROES  OF  COMMUNIPAW  VOYAGED 
TO  HELL-GATE,  AND  HOW  THEY  WERE  RE- 
CEIVED  THERE. 

And  now  the  rosy  blush  of  morn  began  to  man- 
tle in  the  east,  and  soon  the  rising  sun,  emerging 
from  amidst  golden  and  purple  clouds,  shed-  his 
blithesome  rays  on  the  tin  weathercocks  of  Com- 
munipaw. It  was  that  delicious  season  of  the  year, 
when  nature,  breaking  from  the  chilling  thraldom 
of  old  winter,  like  a  blooming  damsel  from  the  tyr- 
anny of  a  sordid  old  father,  threw  herself,  blushing 
with  ten  thousand  charms,  into  the  arms  of  youthful 
spring.  Ever)'  tufted  copse  and  blooming  grove  re- 
sounded with  the  notes  of  hymenial  love.  The 
very  insects,  as  they  sipped  the  dew  that  gemmed 
the  tender  grass  of  the  meadows,  joined  in  the  joy- 
ous epithalamium — the  virgin  bud  timidly  put  forth 
its  blushes,  "  the  voice  of  the  turtle  was  heard  in 
the  land,"  and  the  heart  of  man  dissolved  away  in 
tenderness.  Oh  !  sweet  Theocritus !  had  I  thine 
oaten  reed,  wherewith  thou  erst  didst  charm  the 
gay  Sicilian  plains. — Or  oh  !  gentle  Bion !  thy  pas- 
toral pipe,  wherein  the  happy  swains  of  the  Lesbian 
isle  so  much  delighted,  then  might  I  attempt  to  sing, 
in  soft  Bucolic  or  negligent  Idyllium,  the  rural  beau- 
ties of  the  scene — but  having  nothing,  save  this 
jaded  goose-quill,  wherewith  to  wing  my  flight,  I 
must  fain  resign  all  poetic  disportings  of  the  fancy, 
and  pursue  my  narrative  in  humbie  prose  ;  comfort- 
ing myself  with  the  hope,  that  though  it  may  not 
steal  so  sweetly  upon  the  imagination  of  my  reader, 
yet  may  it  commend  itself,  with  virgin  modesty,  to 
his  better  judgment,  clothed  in  the  chaste  and  sim- 
ple garb  of  truth. 

No  sooner  did  the  first  rays  of  cheerful  Phoebus 
dart  into  the  windows  of  Communipaw,  than  the 
little  settlement  was  all  in  motion.  Forth  issued 
from  his  castle  the  sage  Van  Kortlandt,  and  seizing 
a  conch-shell,  ble.v  a  far- resounding  blast,  that  soon 
summoned  all  his  lusty  followers.  Then  did  they 
trudge  resolutely  down  to  the  water-side,  escorted 
by  a  multitude  of  relatives  and  friends,  who  all  went 
down,  as  the  common  phrase  expresses  it,  "  to  see 
them  off."  And  this  shows  the  antiquity  of  those 
long  family  processions,  often  seen  in  our  city, 
composed  of  all  ages,  sizes,  and  sexes,  laden  with 
bundles,  and  bandboxes,  escorting  some  bevy  of 
country  cousins  about  to  depart  for  home  in  a  mar- 
ket-boat. 

The  good  Oloffe  bestowed  his  forces  in  a  squad- 
ron of  three  canoes,  and  hoisted  his  Hag  on  board  a 
little  round  Dutch  boat,  shaped  not  unlike  a  tub, 
which  had  formerly  been  the  jolly-boat  of  the  Goede 
Vrouw.  And  now  all  being  embarked,  they  bade 
farewell  to  the  gazing  throng  upon  the  beach,  who 
continued  shouting  alter  them,  even  when  out  of 
hearing,  wishing  them  a  happy  voyage,  advising 
them  to  take  good  care  of  themselves,  and  not  to 
get  drowned — with  an  abundance  other  of  those 
sage  and  invaluable  cautions,  generally  given  by 
landsmen  to  such  as  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships, 
and  adventure  upon  the  deep  waters.  In  the  mean- 
while, the  voyagers  cheerily  urged  their  course 
across  the  crystal  bosom  of  the  bay,  and  soon  lift 
behind  them  the  green  shores  of  ancient  Pavonia. 

And  first  they  touched  at  two  small  islands  which 
lie  nearly  opposite  Communipaw,  and  which  are  said 
to  have  been  brought  into  existence  about  the  time 
of  the  great  irruption  of  the  Hudson,  when  it  broke 
through  the  Highlands,  and  made  its  way  to  the 
ocean.*     For  in  this  tremendous  uproar  of  the  vva- 


*  It  is  a  matter  long  since  established  by  certain  of  our  philoso- 
phers, that  is  to  say,  h-ving  been  often  advanced,  and  never  con- 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


a63 


ters,  we  are  told  that  many  huge  fragments  of  rock 
and  land  were  rent  from  the  mountains  and  swept 
down  by  this  runaway  river  for  sixty  or  seventy 
miles ;  where  some  of  them  ran  aground  on  the 
shoals  just  opposite  Communipaw,  and  formed  the 
identical  islands  in  question,  while  others  drifted  out 
to  sea  and  were  never  heard  of  more.  A  sufficient 
proof  of  the  fact  is,  that  the  rock  which  forms  the 
bases  of  these  islands  is  exactly  similar  to  that  of 
the  Highlands,  and,  moreover,  one  of  our  philoso- 
phers, who  has  diligently  compared  the  agreement 
of  their  respective  surfaces,  has  even  gone  so  far  as 
to  assure  me,  in  confidence,  that  Gibbet  Island  was 
originally  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  wart  on  An- 
thony's Nose.* 

Leaving  these  wonderful  little  isles,  they  next 
coasted  by  Governor's  Island,  since  terrible  from 
its  frowning  fortress  and  grinning  batteries.  They 
would  by  no  means,  however,  land  upon  this  island, 
since  they  doubted  much  it  might  be  the  abode  of 
demons  and  spirits  which  in  those  days  did  greatly 
abound  throughout  this  savage  and  pagan  country. 

Just  at  this  time  a  shoal  of  jolly  porpoises  came 
rolling  and  tumbling  by,  turning  up  their  sleek  sides 
to  the  sun,  and  spouting  up  the  briny  element  in 
sparkling  showers.  No  sooner  did  the  sage  Oloffe 
mark  this,  than  he  was  greatly  rejoiced.  "  This," 
exclaimed  he,  "if  I  mistake  not,  augurs  well— the 
porpoise  is  a  fat,  well-conditioned  fish— a  burgomas- 
ter among  fishes — his  looks  betoken  ease,  plenty, 
and  prosperity — I  greatly  admire  this  round,  fat  fish, 
and  doubt  not  but  this  is  a  happy  omen  of  the  suc- 
cess of  our  undertaking."  So  saying,  he  directed 
his  squadron  to  steer  in  the  track  of  these  alderman 
fishes. 

Turning,  therefore,  directly  to  the  left,  they  swept 
up  the  strait  vulgarly  called  the  East  River.  And 
here  the  rapid  tide  which  courses  through  this  strait, 
seizing  on  the  gallant  tub  in  .which  Commodore  Van 
Kortlandt  had  embarked,  hurried  it  forward  with  a 
velocity  unparalleled  in  a  Dutch  boat,  navigated  by 
Dutchmen ;  insomuch  that  the  good  commodore, 
who  had  all  his  lite  long  been  accustomed  only  to 
the  drowsy  navigation  of  canals,  was  more  than 
ever  convinced  that  they  were  in  the  hands  of  some 
supernatural  power,  and  that  the  jolly  porpoises 
were  towing  them  to  some  fair  haveri  that  was  to 
fulfill  all  their  wishes  and  expectations. 

Thus  borne  away  by  the  resistless  current,  they 
doubled  that  boisterous  point  of  land  since  called 
Corlear's  Hook.f  and  leaving  to  the  right  the  rich 
winding  cove  of  the  Wallabout,  they  drifted  into  a 
magnificent  expanse  of  water,  surrounded  by  pleas- 
ant shores,  whose  verdure  was  exceedingly  refreshing 
to  the  eye.  While  the  voyagers  were  looking  around 
them,  on  what  they  conceived  to  be  a  serene  and 
sunny  lake,  they  beheld  at  a  distance  a  crew  of  paint- 
ed savages,  busily  employed  in  fishing,  who  seemed 
more  like  the  genii  of  this  romantic  region — their 
slender  canoe  lightly  balanced  like  a  feather  on  the 
undulating  surface  of  the  bay. 

At  sight  of  these,  the  hearts  of  the  heroes  of  Com- 
munipaw were  not  a  little  troubled.  But  as  good 
fortune  would  have  it,  at  the  bow  of  the  commodore's 
boat  was  stationed  a  very  valiant  man,  named  Hen- 


tradicted.it  has  grown  to  be  pretty  nigh  equal  to  a  settled  fact, 
that  the  Hudson  was  originally  a  lake,  dammed  up  by  the  mount- 
ains of  the  Highlands.  In  process  of  time,  however,  becoming 
very  mighty  and  obstreperous,  and  the  mountains  waxing  pursy, 
dropsical,  and  weak  in  the  back,  by  reason  of  their  extreme  old 
age.  it  suddenly  rose  upon  them,  and  after  a  violent  struggle 
effected  its  escape.  This  is  said  to  have  come  to  pass  in  very  re- 
mole  time  ;  probably  before  that,  rivers  had  lost  the  art  of  running 
up  hill.  The  foregoing  is  a  theory  in  which  I  do  not  pretend  to  be 
skilled,  notwithstanding  that  I  do  fully  give  it  my  belief. 

♦  A  promontory  in  the  Highlands. 

+  Properly  spelt  koeck^  (/.  e.^  a  point  of  land.) 


drick  Kip,  (which  being  interpreted,  means  chicken, 
a  name  given  him  in  token  of  his  courage.)  No 
sooner  did  he  behold  these  varlet  heathens  than  he 
trembled  with  excessive  valour,  and  although  a  good 
half  mile  distant,  he  seized  a  musquetoon  that  lay  at 
hand,  and  turning  away  his  head,  fired  it  most  intrep- 
idly in  the  face  of  the  blessed  sun.  The  blundering 
weapon  recoiled  and  gave  the  valiant  Kip  an  igno- 
minious kick,  that  laid  him  prostrate  with  uplifted 
heels  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  But  such  was  the 
effect  of  this  tremendous  fire,  that  the  wild  men  of 
the  woods,  struck  with  consternation,  seized  hastily 
upon  their  paddles,  and  shot  away  into  one  of  the 
deep  inlets  of  the  Long  Island  shore. 

This  signal  victory  gave  new  spirits  to  the  hardy 
voyagers,  and  in  honour  of  the  achievement  they 
gave  the  name  of  the  valiant  Kip  to  the  surrounding 
bay,  and  it  has  continued  to  be  called  KlP'S  Bay 
from  that  time  to  the  present.  The  heart  of  the  good 
Van  Kortlandt — who,  having  no  land  of  his  own,  was 
a  great  admirer  of  other  people's — expanded  at  the 
sumptuous  prospect  of  rich,  unsettled  country  around 
him,  and  falling  into  a  delicious  reverie,  he  straight- 
way began  to  riot  in  the  possession  of  vast  me.idows 
of  salt  marsh  and  interminable  patches  of  cabbages. 
From  this  delectable  vision  he  was  all  at  once  awak- 
ened by  the  sudden  turning  of  the  tide,  which  would 
soon  have  hurried  him  from  this  land  of  promise,  had 
not  the  discreet  navigator  given  signal  to  steer  for 
shore ;  where  they  accordingly  landed  hard  by  the 
rocky  heights  of  Bellevue — that  happy  retreat,  where 
our  jolly  aldermen  eat  for  the  good  of  the  city,  and 
fatten  the  turtle  that  are  sacrificed  on  civic  solefti- 
nities. 

Here,  seated  on  the  greensward,  by  the  side  of  a 
small  stream  that  ran  sparkling  among  the  grass,  they 
refreshed  themselves  after  the  toils  of  the  seas,  by 
feasting  lustily  on  the  ample  stores  which  they  had 
provided  for  this  perilous  voj'age.  Thus  having  well 
fortified  their  deliberative  powers,  they  fell  into  an 
earnest  consultation,  what  was  farther  to  be  done. 
This  was  the  first  council  dinner  ever  eaten  at  Belb- 
vue  by  Christian  burghers,  and  here,  as  tradition  re- 
lates, did  originate  the  great  family  feud  between  the 
Hardenbroccks  and  the  Tenbroecks,  which  after- 
wards had  a  singular  influence  on  the  building  of  the 
city.  The  sturdy  Hardenbroeck,  whose  eyes  had 
been  wondrously  delighted  with  the  salt  marshes 
that  spread  their  reeking  bosoms  along  the  coast,  at 
the  bottom  of  Kip's  Bay,  counselled  Viy  all  means  to 
return  thither,  and  found  the  intended  city.  This 
was  strenuously  opposed  by  the  unbending  Ten 
Broeck,  and  many  testy  arguments  passed  between 
them.  The  particulars  of  the  controversy  have  not 
reached  us,  which  is  ever  to  be  lamented  ;  this  much 
is  certain,  that  the  sage  Oloffe  put  an  end  to  the  dis- 
pute, by  determining  to  explore  still  farther  in  the 
route  which  the  mysterious  porpoises  had  so  clearly 
pointed  out — whereupon  the  sturdy  Tough  Breeches 
abandoned  the  expedition,  took  possession  of  a  neigh- 
bouring hill,  and  in  a  fit  of  great  wrath  peopled  all 
that  tract  of  country,  which  has  continued  to  be  in- 
habited by  the  Hardenbroccks  unto  this  very  daj'. 

By  this  time  the  jolly  Phoebus,  like  some  wanton 
urchin  sporting  on  the  side  of  a  green  hill,  began  to 
roll  down  the  declivity  of  the  heavens  ;  and  now,  the 
tide  having  once  more  turned  in  their  favour,  the 
resolute  Pavonians  again  committed  taemselves 
to  its  discretion,  and  coasting  along  the  western 
shores,  were  borne  towards  the  straits  of  Blackwell's 
Island. 

And  here  the  capricious  wanderings  of  the  current 
occasioned  not  a  little  marvel  and  perplexity  to  these 
illustrious  mariners.  Now  would  they  be  caught  by 
the  wanton  eddies,  and,  sweeping  round  a  jutting 


564 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


point,  would  wind  deep  into  some  romantic  little 
cove,  that  indented  the  fair  island  of  Manna-hata ; 
now  were  they  hurried  narrowly  by  the  very  basis 
of  impending  rocks,  mantled  with  the  flaunting  grape- 
vine, and  crowned  with  groves  that  threw  a  broad 
shade  on  the  waves  beneath ;  and  anon  they  were 
borne  away  into  the  mid-channel,  and  wafted  along 
with  a  rapidity  that  very  much  discomposed  the  sage 
Van  Kortlandt,  who,  as  he  saw  the  land  swiftly 
receding  on  either  side,  began  exceedingly  to  doubt 
that  terra  firma  was  giving  them  the  slip. 

Wherever  the  voyagers  turned  their  eyes,  a  new 
creation  seemed  to  bloom  around.  No  signs  of 
human  thrift  appeared  to  check  the  delicious  wildness 
of  nature,  who  here  revelled  in  all  her  luxuriant  va- 
riety. Those  hills,  now  bristled,  like  the  fretful  por- 
cupine, with  rows  of  poplars,  (vain  upstart  plants  ! 
minions  of  wealth  and  fashion  !)  were  then  adorned 
with  the  vigorous  natives  of  the  soil ;  the  lordly  oak, 
the  generous  chestnut,  the  graceful  elm — while  here 
and  there  the  tulip-tree  reared  his  majestic  head,  the 
giant  of  the  forest. — Where  now  are  seen  the  gay 
retreats  of  luxury — villas  half  buried  in  twilight 
bowers,  whence  the  amorous  flute  oft  breathes  the 
sighings  of  some  city  swain — there  the  fish-hawk 
built  his  solitary  nest,  on  some  dry  trees  that  over- 
looked his  watery  domain.  The  timid  deer  fed  un- 
disturbed along  those  shores  now  hallowed  by  the 
lover's  moonlight  walk,  and  printed  by  the  slender 
foot  of  beauty  ;  and  a  savage  solitude  extended  over 
those  happy  regions  where  now  are  reared  the 
stately  towers  of  the  Jones's,  the  Schermerhomes, 
and  the  Rhinelanders. 

Thus  gliding  in  silent  wonder  through  these  new 
and  unknown  scenes,  the  gallant  squadron  of  Pa- 
vonia  swept  by  ttie  foot  of  a  promontory  that  strutted 
forth  boldly  into  the  waves,  and  seemed  to  frown 
upon  them  as  they  brawled  against  its  base.  This 
is  the  bluff  well  known  to  modern  mariners  by  the 
name  of  Grade's  point,  from  the  fair  castle  which, 
like  an  elephant,  it  canies  upon  its  back.  And  here 
broke  upon  their  view  a  wild  and  varied  prospect, 
where  land  and  water  were  beauteously  intermin- 
gled, as  though  they  had  combined  to  heighten  and 
set  off  each  other's  charms.  To  their  riglit  lay  the 
sedgy  point  of  Blackwell's  Island,  drest  in  the  fresh 
garniture  of  living  green — beyond  it  stretched  the 
pleasant  coast  of  Sundswick,  and  the  small  harbour 
well  known  by  the  name  of  Hallet's  Cove — a  place 
infamous  in  latter  days,  by  reason  of  its  being  the 
haunt  of  pirates  who  infest  these  seas,  robbing  or- 
chards and  watermelon  patches,  and  insulting  gen- 
tlemen navigators  when  voyaging  in  their  pleasure- 
boats.  To  the  left  a  deep  bay,  or  rather  creek, 
gracefully  receded  between  shores  fringed  with  for- 
ests, and  forming  a  kind  of  vista,  through  which 
were  beheld  the  sylvan  regions  of  Haerlem,  Morris- 
ania.  and  East  Chester.  Here  the  eye  reposed  with 
delight  on  a  richly-wooded  country,  diversified  by 
tufted  knolls,  shadowy  intervals,  and  waving  lines  of 
upland  swelling  above  each  other ;  while  over  the 
whole  the  purple  mists  of  spring  diffused  a  hue  of 
soft  voluptuousness. 

Just  before  them  the  grand  course  of  the  stream, 
making  a  sudden  bend,  wound  among  embowered 
])romontories  and  shores  of  emerald  verdure,  that 
seemed  to  melt  into  the  wave.  A  character  of  gen- 
tleness and  mild  fertility  prevailed  around.  The  sun 
had  just  descended,  and  the  thin  haze  of  twilight, 
like  a  transparent  veil  drawn  over  the  bosom  of  vir- 
gin beauty,  heightened  the  charms  which  it  half 
concealed. 

Ah  !  witching  scenes  of  foul  delusion  !  Ah  !  hap- 
less voyagers,  gazing  with  simple  wonder  on  these 
Circean  shores  I     Such,  alas !    are  they,  poor  easy 


souls,  who  listen  to  the  seductions  of  a  wicked  world 
— treacherous  are  its  smiles  !  fatal  its  caresses  ! 
He  who  yields  to  its  enticements  launches  upon  a 
whelming  tide,  and  trusts  his  feeble  bark  among  the 
dimpling  eddies  of  a  whirlpool !  And  thus  it  fared 
with  the  worthies  of  Pavonia,  who  little  mistrusting 
the  guileful  scene  before  them,  drifted  quietly  on, 
until  they  were  aroused  by  an  uncommon  tossing 
and  agitation  of  their  vessels.  For  now  the  late 
dimpling  current  began  to  brawl  around  them,  and 
the  waves  to  boil  and  foam  with  horrific  furv.  Awak- 
ened as  if  from  a  dream,  the  astonished  Oloffe  bawled 
aloud  to  put  about,  but  his  words  were  lost  amid 
the  roaring  of  the  waters.  And  now  ensued  a  scene 
of  direful  consternation — at  one  time  they  were  borne 
with  dreadful  velocity  among  tumultuous  breakers; 
at  another,  hurried  down  boisterous  rapids.  Now 
they  were  nearly  dashed  upon  the  Hen  and  Chick- 
ens ;  (infamous  rocks  ! — more  voracious  than  Scylla 
and  her  whelps ;)  and  anon  they  seemed  sinking  into 
yawning  gulfs,  that  threatened  to  entomb  them  be- 
neath the  waves.  All  the  elements  combined  to 
produce  a  hideous  confusion.  The  waters  raged — 
the  winds  howled — and  as  they  were  hurried  along, 
several  of  the  astonished  mariners  beheld  the  rocks 
and  trees  of  the  neighbouring  shores  driving  through 
the  air ! 

At  length  the  mighty  tub  of  Commodore  Van 
Kortlandt  was  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  that  tremen- 
dous whirlpool  called  the  Pot,  where  it  was  whirled 
about  in  giddy  mazes,  until  the  senses  of  the  good 
commander  and  his  crew  were  overpowered  by  the 
horror  of  the  scene  and  the  strangeness  of  the  revo- 
lution. 

How  the  gallant  squadron  of  Pavonia  was  snatched 
from  the  jaws  of  this  modern  Charybdis,  has  never 
been  truly  made  known,  for  so  many  survived  to  tell 
the  tale,  and,  what  is  still  more  wonderful,  told  it  in 
so  many  different  ways,  that  there  has  ever  prevailed 
a  great  variety  of  opinions  on  the  subject. 

As  to  the  commodore  and  his  crew,  when  they 
came  to  their  senses  they  found  themselves  stranded 
on  the  Long  Island  shore.  The  worthy  commodore, 
indeed,  used  to  relate  many  and  wonderful  stories  of 
his  adventures  in  this  time  of  peril  ;  how  that  he  saw 
spectres  flying  in  the  air,  and  heard  the  yelling  of 
hobgoblins,  and  put  his  hand  into  the  Pot  when  they 
were  whirled  around  and  found  the  water  scalding 
hot,  and  beheld  several  uncouth-looking  beings  seat- 
ed on  rocks  and  skimming  it  with  huge  ladles — but 
particularly  he  declared,  with  great  exultation,  that 
he  saw  the  losel  porpoises,  which  had  betrayed  them 
into  this  peril,  some  broiling  on  the  Gridiron  and 
others  hissing  in  the  Frying-pan  ! 

These,  however,  were  considered  by  many  as  mere 
phantasies  of  the  commodore's  imagination,  while 
he  lay  in  a  trance  ;  especially  as  he  was  known  to  be 
given  to  dreaming;  and  the  truth  of  them  has  never 
been  clearly  ascertained.  It  is  certain,  however, 
that  to  the  accounts  of  Oloffe  and  his  followers  may 
be  traced  the  various  traditions  handed  down  of  this 
marvellous  strait — as  how  the  devil  has  been  seen 
there,  sitting  astride  of  the  Hog's  Back  and  playing 
on  the  fiddle — how  he  broils  tish  there  before  a 
storm  ;  and  many  other  stories,  in  which  we  must 
be  cautious  of  putting  too  much  faith.  In  conse- 
quence of  all  these  territic  circumstances,  the  Pavo- 
nian  commander  gave  this  pass  the  name  of  He/le- 
gal, or  as  it  has  been  interpreted,  Hell-gaie  ;  *  which 
it  continues  to  bear  at  the  present  day. 


*  This  is  a  narrow  strait  in  the  Sound,  at  the  distance  of  six  miles 
above  New-York.  It  is  dangerous  to  shipping,  unless  under  the 
care  of  skilful  pilots,  by  reason  of  numerous  rocks,  shelves,  and 
whirlpools.  These  have  received  sundry  appellations,  such  as  the 
Gridiron,  Frying-pan,  Hog's  I3ack,  Pot.  &c..  andarevcry  violent 
and  turbulent  at  certain  times  of  the  tide.    Certain  wise  men,  who 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


565 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOW  THE  HEROES  OF  COMMUNIPAW  RETURNED 
SOMEWHAT  WISER  THAN  THEY  WENT — AND 
HOW  THE  SAGE  OLOFFE  DREAMED  A  DREAM — 
AND  THE  DREAM  THAT  HE   DREAMED. 

The  darkness  of  night  had  dosed  upon  this  dis- 
astrous day,  and  a  doleful  night  was  it  to  the  ship- 
wrecked Pavonians,  whose  ears  were  incessantly 
assailed  with  the  raging  of  the  elements,  and  the 
howling  of  the  hobgoblins  that  infested  this  perfidi- 
ous strait.  But  when  the  morning  dawned,  the  hor- 
rors of  the  preceding  evening  had  passed  away  ; 
rapids,  breakers,  and  whirlpools  had  disappeared  ; 
the  stream  again  ran  smooth  and  dimpling,  and  hav- 
ing changed  its  tide,  rolled  gently  back,  towards  the 
quarter  where  lay  their  much-regretted  home. 

The  woe-begone  heroes  of  Communipaw  eyed  each 
other  with  rueful  countenances ;  their  squadron  had 
been  totally  dispersed  by  the  late  disaster.  Some 
were  cast  upon  the  western  shore,  where,  headed  by 
one  Ruleff  Hopper,  they  took  possession  of  all  the 
country  laying  about  the  six-mile  stone  ;  which  is 
held  by  the  Hoppers  at  this  present  writing. 

The  Waldrons  were  driven  by  stress  of  weather 
to  a  distant  coast,  where,  having  with  them  a  jug  of 
genuine  Hollands,  they  were  enabled  to  conciliate 
the  savages,  setting  up  a  kind  of  tavern ;  from 
whence,  it  is  said,  did  spring  the  fair  town  of  Haer- 
lem,  in  which  their  descendants  have  ever  since  con- 
tinued to  be  reputable  publicans.  As  to  the  Suy- 
dams,  they  were  thrown  upon  the  Long  Island  coast, 
and  may  still  be  found  in  those  parts.  But  the  most 
singular  luck  attended  the  great  Ten  Broeck,  who, 
falling  overboard,  was  miraculously  preserved  from 
sinking  by  the  multitude  of  his  nether  garments. 
Thus  buoyed  up,  he  floated  on  the  waves,  like  a 
merman,  or  like  the  cork  float  of  an  angler,  until  he 
landed  safely  on  a  rock,  where  he  was  found  the 
next  morning,  busily  drying  his  many  breeches  in 
the  sunshine. 

I  forbear  to  treat  of  the  long  consultation  of  our 
adventurers  — how  they  determined  that  it  would  not 
do  to  found  a  city  in  this  diabolical  neighbourhood — 
and  how  at  length,  with  fear  and  trembling,  they 
ventured  once  more  upon  the  briny  element,  and 
steered  their  course  back  for  Communipaw.  Suffice 
it,  in  simple  brevity,  to  say,  that  after  toiling  back 
through  the  scenes  of  their  yesterday's  voyage,  they 
at  length  opened  the  southern  point  of  Manna-hata, 
and  gained  a  distant  view  of  their  beloved  Commu- 
nipaw. 

And  liere  they  were  opposed  by  an  obstinate  eddy, 
that  resisted  all  the  efforts  of  the  exhausted  mari- 
ners. Weary  and  dispirited,  they  could  no  longer 
make  head  against  the  power  of  the  tide,  or  rather, 
as  some  will  have  it,  of  old  Neptune,  who,  anxious 
to  guide  them  to  a  spot  whereon  should  be  founded 
his  stronghold  in  this  western  world,  sent  half  a 
score  of  potent  billows,  that  rolled  the  tub  of  Com- 
modore Van  Kortlandt  high  and  dry  on  the  shores 
of  Manna-hata. 

Having  thus  in  a  manner  been  guided  by  super- 
natural power  to  this  delightful  island,  their  first  care 
was  to  light  a  fire  at  the  foot  of  a  large  tree,  that 
stood  upon  the  point  at  present  called  the  Battery. 


instruct  the?;e  modem  days  have  softened  the  above  characteristic 
name  into //«r/-^a^f,  which  means  nothing.  1  leave  them  to  give 
their  own  etymology.  The  name  as  given  by  our  author  is  sup- 
ported by  the  map  in  Vander  Doner's  history,  published  in  1656 — 
by  Ogilvie's  history  of  America.  1671 — as  also  by  a  journal  still  ex- 
tant, written  in  the  i6th  century,  and  to  be  found  in  Hazard's  State 
Papers.  And  an  old  MS.,  written  in  French,  speaking  of  various 
alteraticns  in  names  about  this  city,  observes,  "  De  Heile-gat  trou 
d'liiife:    ils  ont  fait  Hell-gate.     Porte  d'Enfer." 


Then  gathering  together  great  store  of  oysters  which 
abounded  on  the  shore,  and  emptying  the  contents 
of  their  wallets,  they  prepared  and  made  a  sumptu- 
ous council  repast.  The  worthy  Van  Kortlandt  was 
observed  to  be  particularly  zealous  in  his  devotions  to 
the  trencher  ;  for  having  the  cares  of  the  expedition 
especially  committed  to  his  care,  he  deemed  it  in- 
cumbent on  him  to  eat  profoundly  for  the  public 
good.  In  proportion  as  he  filled  himself  to  the  very 
brim  with  the  dainty  viands  before  him,  did  the  heart 
of  this  excellent  burgher  rise  up  towards  his  throat, 
until  he  seemed  crammed  and  almost  choked  with 
good  eating  and  good  nature.  And  at  such  times  it 
is,  when  a  man's  heart  is  in  his  throat,  that  he  may 
more  truly  be  said  to  speak  from  it,  and  his  speeches 
abound  with  kindness  and  good-fellowship.  Thus 
the  worthy  Oloffe  having  swallowed  the  last  possible 
morsel,  and  washed  it  down  with  a  fervent  potation, 
felt  his  heart  yearning,  and  his  whole  frame  in  a 
manner  dilating  with  unbounded  benevolence.  Every 
thing  around  him  seemed  excellent  and  delightful ; 
and,  laying  his  hands  on  each  side  of  his  capacious 
peripher)',  and  rolling  his  half-closed  eyes  around  on 
the  beautiful  diversity  of  land  and  water  before  him. 
he  exclaitned,  in  a  fat  half-smothered  voice,  "  what 
a  charming  prospect !  "  The  words  died  away  in  his 
throat — he  seemed  to  ponder  on  the  fair  scene  for  a 
moment— his  eye-lids  heavily  closed  over  their  orbs 
— his  head  drooped  upon  his  bosom — he  slowly  sunk 
upon  the  green  turf,  and  a  deep  sleep  stole  gradu- 
ally upon  him. 

And  the  sage  Oloffe  dreamed  a  dream — and  lo,  the 
good  St.  Nicholas  came  riding  over  the  tops  of  the 
trees,  in  that  self-same  wagon  wherein  he  brings  his 
yearly  presents  to  children,  and  he  came  and  de- 
scended hard  by  where  the  heroes  of  Communipaw 
had  made  their  late  repast.  And  the  shrewd  Van 
Kortlandt  knew  him  by  his  broad  hat,  his  long  pipe, 
and  the  resemblance  which  he  bore  to  the  figure  on 
the  bow  of  the  Goede  Vrouw.  And  he  lit  his  pipe 
by  the  fire,  and  sat  himself  down  and  smoked  ;  and 
as  he  smoked,  the  smoke  from  his  pipe  ascended  into 
the  air,  and  spread  like  a  cloud  overhead.  And 
Oloffe  bethought  him,  and  he  hastened  and  climbed 
up  to  the  top  of  one  of  the  tallest  trees,  and  saw  that 
the  smoke  spread  over  a  great  extent  of  country — 
and  as  he  considered  it  more  attentively,  he  fancied 
that  the  great  volume  of  smoke  assumed  a  variety  of 
marvellous  forms,  where  in  dim  obscurity  he  saw 
shadowed  out  palaces  and  domes  and  lofty  spires,  all 
of  which  lasted  but  a  moment,  and  then  faded  away, 
until  the  whole  rolled  off,  and  nothing  but  the  green 
woods  were  left.  And  when  St.  Nicholas  had  smoked 
his  pipe,  he  twisted  it  in  his  hat-band,  and  laying  his 
finger  beside  his  nose,  gave  the  astonished  Van 
Kortlandt  a  very  significant  wink,  then  mounting  his 
wagon,  he  returned  over  the  tree-tops  and  disap- 
peared. 

And  Van  Kortlandt  awoke  from  his  sleep  greatly 
instructed,  and  he  aroused  his  companions,  and  re- 
lated to  them  his  dream,  and  interpreted  it.  that  it 
was  the  will  of  St.  Nicholas  that  they  should  settle 
down  and  build  the  city  here.  And  that  the  smoke 
of  the  pipe  was  a  type  how  vast  should  be  the  extent 
of  the  city ;  inasmuch  as  the  volumes  of  its  smoke 
should  spread  over  a  wide  extent  of  country.  And 
they  all,  with  one  voice,  assented  to  this  interpreta- 
tion, excepting  Mynheer  Ten  Broeck,  who  declared 
the  meaning  to  be  that  it  should  be  a  city  wherein  a 
little  fire  should  occasion  a  great  smoke,  or  in  other 
words,  a  very  vapouring  little  city — both  which  in- 
terpretations have  strangely  come  to  pass  ! 

The  great  object  of  their  perilous  expedition,  there- 
fore, being  thus  happily  accomplished,  the  voyagers 
returned  merrily  to  Communipaw,  where  they  were 


668 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


received  with  great  rejoicings.  And  here  calling  a 
general  meeting  of  all  the  wise  men  and  the  digni- 
taries of  Pavonia,  they  related  the  whole  history  of 
their  voyage,  and  of  the  dream  of  Oloffe  Van  Kort- 
landt.  And  the  people  lifted  up  their  voices  and 
blessed  the  good  St.  Nicholas,  and  from  that  lime 
forth  the  sage  Van  Kortlandt  was  held  more  in 
honour  than  ever,  for  his  great  talent  at  dreaming, 
and  was  pronounced  a  most  useful  citizen  and  a  right 
good  man — when  he  was  asleep. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


CONTAINING  AN  ATTEMPT  AT  ETYMOLOGY — AND 
OF  THE  FOUNDING  OF  THE  GREAT  CITY  OF 
NEW  AMSTERDAM. 

The  original  name  of  the  island  wherein  the  squad- 
ron of  Communipaw  was  thus  propitiously  thrown, 
is  a  matter  of  some  dispute,  and  has  already  under- 
gone considerable  vitiation — a  melancholy  proof  of 
the  instability  of  all  sublunary  things,  and  the  vanity 
of  all  our  hopes  of  lasting  fame  !  for  who  can  expect 
his  name  will  live  to  posterity,  when  even  the  names 
of  mighty  islands  are  thus  soon  lost  in  contradiction 
and  uncertainty? 

The  name  most  current  at  the  present  day,  and 
which  is  likewise  countenanced  by  the  great  histo- 
rian Vander  Donck,  is  Manhattan  ;  which  is  said 
to  have  originated  in  a  custom  among  the  squaws,  in 
the  early  settlement,  of  wearing  men's  hats,  as  is 
still  done  among  many  tribes.  "  Hence,"  as  we  are 
told  by  an  old  governor  who  was  somewhat  of  a  wag, 
and  flourished  almost  a  century  since,  and  had  paid 
a  visit  to  the  wits  of  Philadelphia,  "  hence  arose  the 
appellation  of  man-hat-on,  first  given  to  the  Indians, 
and  afterwards  to  the  island  " — a  stupid  joke  ! — but 
well  enough  for  a  governor. 

Among  the  more  venerable  sources  of  information 
on  this  subject,  is  that  valuable  history  of  the  Amer- 
ican possessions,  written  by  Master  Richard  Blome 
in  1687,  wherein  it  is  called  Manhadaes  and  Mana- 
hanent ;  nor  must  I  forget  the  excellent  little  book, 
full  of  precious  matter,  of  that  authentic  historian, 
John  josselyn,  Gent.,  who  expressly  calls  it  Mana- 
daes. 

Another  etymology  still  more  ancient,  and  sanc- 
tioned by  the  countenance  of  our  ever-to-be-lament- 
ed Dutch  ancestors,  is  that  found  in  certain  letters 
still  extant  ;*  which  passed  between  the  early  gov- 
ernors and  their  neighbouring  powers,  wherein  it  is 
called  indifferently  Monhattoes  —  Munhatos,  and 
Manhattoes,  which  are  evidently  unimportant  varia- 
tions of  the  same  name  ;  for  our  wise  forefathers  set 
httle  store  by  those  niceties  either  in  orthography  or 
orthoepy,  which  form  the  sole  study  and  ambition  of 
many  learned  men  and  women  of  this  hypercritical 
age.  This  last  name  is  said  to  be  derived  from  the 
great  Indian  spirit  Manetho,  who  was  supposed  to 
make  this  island  his  favourite  abode,  on  account  of 
its  uncommon  delights.  For  the  Indian  traditions 
affirm  that  the  bay  was  once  a  translucid  lake,  filled 
with  silver  and  golden  fish,  in  the  midst  of  which  lay 
this  beautiful  island,  covered  with  every  variety  of 
fruits  and  flowers  ;  but  that  the  sudden  irruption  of 
the  Hudson  laid  waste  these  blissful  scenes,  and 
Manetho  took  his  flight  beyond  the  great  waters  of 
Ontario. 

These,  however,  are  fabulous  legends  to  which 
very  cautious  credence  must  be  given ;  and  although 
I  am  willing  to  admit  the  last  quoted  orthography 


*  Vide  Hazard's  Col.  State  Papers. 


of  the  name,  as  very  suitable  for  prose,  yet  is  there 
another  one  founded  on  still  more  ancient  and  indis- 
putable authority,  which  I  particularly  delight  in, 
seeing  that  it  is  at  once  poetical,  melodious,  and  sig- 
nificant— and  this  is  recorded  in  the  before-mention- 
ed voyage  of  the  great  Hudson,  written  by  Master 
Juet ;  who  clearly  and  correctly  calls  it  Manna- 
HATA — that  is  to  say,  the  island  of  Manna,  or  in 
other  words — "  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey  !  " 

It  having  been  solemnly  resolved  that  the  seat  of 
empire  should  be  transferred  from  the  green  shores 
of  Pavonia  to  this  delectable  island,  a  vast  multitude 
embarked,  and  migrated  across  the  mouth  of  the 
Hudson,  under  the  guidance  of  Oloffe  the  Dreamer, 
who  was  appointed  protector  or  patron  to  the  new 
settlement. 

And  here  let  me  bear  testimony  to  the  matchless 
honesty  and  magnanimity  of  our  worthy  forefathers, 
who  purchased  the  soil  of  the  native  Indians  before 
erecting  a  single  roof— a  circumstance  singular  and 
almost  incredible  in  the  annals  of  discovery  and  col- 
onization. 

The  first  settlement  was  made  on  the  south-west 
point  of  the  island,  on  the  very  spot  where  the  good 
St.  Nicholas  had  appeared  in  the  dream.  Here  they 
built  a  mighty  and  impregnable  fort  and  trading 
house,  called  Fort  Amsterdam,  which  stood  on 
that  eminence  at  present  occupied  by  the  custom- 
house, with  the  open  space  now  called  the  Bowling- 
Green  in  front. 

Around  this  potent  fortress  was  soon  seen  a  nu- 
merous progeny  of  little  Dutch  houses,  with  tiled 
roofs,  all  which  seemed  most  lovingly  to  nestle  under 
its  walls,  like  a  brood  of  half-fledged  chickens  shel- 
tered under  the  wings  of  the  mother  hen.  The 
whole  was  surrounded  by  an  inclosure  of  strong 
palisadoes,  to  guard  against  any  sudden  irruption  of 
the  savages,  who  wandered  in  hordes  about  the 
swamps  and  forests  that  extended  over  those  tracts 
of  country  at  present  called  Broadway,  Wall-street, 
William-street,  and  Pearl-street. 

No  sooner  was  the  colony  once  planted,  than  it 
took  root  and  throve  amazingly ;  for  it  would  seem 
that  this  thrice-favoured  island  is  like  a  munificent 
dunghill,  where  every  foreign  weed  finds  kindly 
nourishment,  and  soon  shoots  up  and  expands  to 
greatness. 

And  now  the  infant  settlement  having  advanced 
in  age  and  stature,  it  was  thought  high  time  it  should 
receive  an  honest  Christian  name,  and  it  was  ac- 
cordingly called  New-Amsterdam.  It  is  true,  there 
were  some  advocates  for  the  original  Indian  name, 
and  many  of  the  best  writers  ol  the  province  did 
long  continue  to  call  it  by  the  title  of  "  Manhattoes ;  " 
but  this  was  discountenanced  by  the  authorities,  as 
being  heathenish  and  savage.  Besides,  it  was  con- 
sidered an  excellent  and  praiseworthy  measure  to 
name  it  after  a  great  city  of  the  old  world  ;  as  by 
that  means  it  was  induced  to  emulate  the  greatness 
and  renown  of  its  namesake — in  the  manner  that 
little  snivelling  urchins  are  called  after  great  states- 
men, saints,  and  worthies  and  renowned  generals  of 
yore,  upon  which  they  all  industriously  copy  their 
examples,  and  come  to  be  very  mighty  men  in  their 
day  and  generation. 

The  thriving  state  of  the  settlement,  and  the  rapid 
increase  of  houses,  gradually  awakened  the  good 
Oloffe  from  a  deep  lethargy,  into  which  he  had  fallen 
after  the  building  of  the  fort.  He  now  began  to  think 
it  was  time  some  plan  should  be  devised  on  which 
the  increasing  town  should  be  built.  Summoning, 
therefore,  his  counsellors  and  coadjutors  together, 
they  took  pipe  in  mouth,  and  forthwith  sunk  into  a 
very  sound  deliberation  on  the  subject. 

At  the  very  outset  of  the  business  an  unexpected 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


567 


difference  of  opinion  arose,  and  I  mention  it  with 
mucli  sorrowing,  as  being-  tlie  first  altercation  on 
record  in  tfie  councils  of  New-Amsterdam.  It  was 
a  breaicing  fortii  of  the  grudge  and  heartburning  that 
had  existed  between  those  two  eminent  burghers, 
Mynheers  Tenbroeck  and  Hardenbroeck,  ever  since 
their  unhappy  altercation  on  the  coast  of  Bellevue. 
The  great  Hardenbroeck  had  waxed  very  wealthy 
and  ])owerful,  from  his  domains,  which  embraced 
the  whole  chain  of  Apulean  mountains  that  stretched 
along  the  gulf  of  Kip's  Bay,  and  from  part  of  which 
his  descendants  have  been  expelled  in  latter  ages  by 
the  powerful  clans  of  the  Jones's  and  the  Schermer- 
hornes. 

An  ingenious  plan  for  the  city  was  ofTered  by  Myn- 
heer Tenbroeck,  who  proposed  that  it  should  be  cut 
up  and  intersected  by  canals,  after  the  manner  of  the 
most  admired  cities  in  Holland.  To  this  Mynheer 
Hardenbroeck  was  diametrically  opposed,  suggesting 
in  place  thereof,  that  they  should  run  out  docks  and 
wharves,  by  means  of  piles  driven  into  the  bottom 
of  the  river,  on  which  the  town  should  be  built.  By 
these  means,  said  he  triumphantly,  shall  we  rescue  a 
considerable  space  of  territory  from  these  immense 
rivers,  and  build  a  city  that  shall  rival  Amsterdam, 
Venice,  or  any  amphibious  city  in  Europe.  To  this 
proposition.  Ten  Broeck  (or  Ten  Breeches)  replied, 
svith  a  look  of  as  much  scorn  as  he  could  possibly 
assume.  He  cast  the  utmost  censure  upon  the  plan 
of  his  antagonist,  as  being  preposterous,  and  against 
the  very  order  of  things,  as  he  would  leave  to  every 
true  Hollander.  "  For  what,"  said  he,  "  is  a  town 
without  canals .' — it  is  a  body  without  veins  and 
arteries,  and  must  perish  for  want  of  a  free  circula- 
tion of  the  vital  fluid." — Tough  Breeches,  on  the 
contrary,  retorted  with  a  sarcasm  upon  his  antago- 
nist, who  was  somewhat  of  an  arid,  dry-boned  habit ; 
he  remarked,  that  as  to  the  circulation  of  the  blood 
being  necessary  to  existence.  Mynheer  Ten  Breeches 
was  a  living  contradiction  to  hi^  own  assertion ;  for 
every  body  knew  there  had  not  a  drop  of  blood  cir- 
culated through  his  wind-dried  carcass  for  good  ten 
years,  and  yet  there  was  not  a  greater  busy-body  in 
the  whole  colony.  Personalities  have  seldom  much 
effect  in  making  converts  in  argument  — nor  have  I 
ever  seen  a  man  convinced  of  error  by  being  con- 
victed of  deformity.  At  least  such  was  not  the  case 
at  present.  Ten  Breeches  was  very  acrimonious  in 
reply,  and  Tough  Breeches,  who  was  a  sturdy  little 
man,  and  never  gave  up  the  last  word,  rejoined  with 
increasing  spirit — Ten  Breeches  had  the  advantage 
of  the  greatest  volubility,  but  Tough  Breeches  had 
that  invaluable  coat  of  mail  in  argument  called  ob- 
stinacy—  Ten  Breeches  had,  therefore,  the  most 
mettle,  but  Tough  Breeches  the  best  bottom — so 
that  though  Ten  Breeches  made  a  dreadful  clatter- 
ing about  his  ears,  and  battered  and  belaboured  him 
with  hard  words  and  sound  arguments,  yet  Tough 
Breeches  hung  on  most  resolutely  to  the  last.  They 
parted,  therefore,  as  is  usual  in  all  arguments  where 
both  parties  are  in  the  right,  without  coming  to  any 
conclusion— but  they  hated  each  other  most  heartily 
for  ever  after,  and  a  similar  breach  with  that  between 
the  houses  of  Capulet  and  Montague  did  ensue 
between  the  families  of  Ten  Breeches  and  Tough 
Breeches. 

1  would  not  fatigue  my  reader  with  these  dull  mat- 
ters of  fact,  but  that  my  duty,  as  a  faithful  historian, 
requires  that  I  should  be  particular— and,  in  truth, 
as  1  am  now  treating  of  the  critical  period,  when 
our  city,  like  a  young  twig,  first  received  the  twists 
and  turns  that  have  since  contributed  to  give  it  the 
present  picturesque  irregularity  for  which  it  is  cele- 
brated, I  cannot  be  too  minute  in  detailing  their  first 
causes. 


After  the  unhappy  altercation  I  have  just  mention- 
ed, I'do  not  find  that  any  thing  farther  was  said  on 
the  subject  worthy  of  being  recorded.  The  council, 
consisting  of  the  largest  and  oldest  heads  in  the  com- 
munity, met  regularly  once  a  week,  to  ponder  on  this 
momentous  subject.  But  either  they  were  deterred 
by  the  war  of  words  they  had  witnessed,  or  they 
were  naturally  averse  to  the  exercise  of  the  tongue, 
and  the  consequent  exercise  of  the  brains— certain 
it  is,  the  most  profound  silence  was  maintained — the 
question  as  usual  lay  on  the  table — the  members 
quietly  smoked  their  pipes,  making  but  few  laws, 
without  ever  enforcing  any,  and  in  the  meantime 
the  affairs  of  the  settlement  went  on — as  it  pleased 
God. 

As  most  of  the  council  were  but  little  skilled  in 
the  mystery  of  combining  pot-hooks  and  hangers, 
they  determined  most  judiciously  not  to  puzzle  either 
themselves  or  posterity  with  voluminous  records. 
The  secretary,  however,  kept  the  minutes  of  the 
council  with  tolerable  precision,  in  a  large  vellum 
folio,  fastened  with  massy  brass  clasps  ;  the  journal 
of  each  meeting  consisted  but  of  two  lines,  stating  in 
Dutch,  that  "  the  council  sat  this  day,  and  smoked 
twelve  pipes,  on  the  affairs  of  the  colony." — By 
which  it  appears  that  the  first  settlers  did  not  regu- 
late their  time  by  hours,  but  pipes,  in  the  same  man- 
ner as  they  measure  distances  in  Holland  at  this  very 
time  ;  an  admirably  exact  measurement,  as  a  pipe  in 
the  mouth  of  a  true-born  Dutchman  is  never  liable 
to  those  accidents  and  irregularities  that  are  con- 
tinually putting  our  clocks  out  of  order.  It  is  said, 
moreover,  that  a  regular  smoker  was  appointed  as 
council  clock,  whose  duty  was  to  sit  at  the  elbow 
of  the  president  and  smoke  incessantly  :  every  puff 
marked  a  division  of  time  as  exactly  as  a  second- 
hand, and  the  knocking  out  of  the  ashes  of  his  pipe 
was  equivalent  to  striking  the  hour. 

In  this  manner  did  the  profound  council  of  New- 
Amsterdam  smoke,  and  doze,  and  ponder,  from 
week  to  week,  month  to  month,  and  year  to  year,  in 
what  manner  they  should  construct  their  infant  set- 
tlement— meanwhile,  the  town  took  care  of  itself, 
and  like  a  sturdy  brat  which  is  suffered  to  run  about 
wild,  unshackled  by  clouts  and  bandages,  and  other 
abominations  by  which  your  notable  nurses  and  sage 
old  women  cripple  and  disfigure  the  children  of  men, 
increased  so  rapidly  in  strength  and  magnitude,  that 
before  the  honest  burgomasters  had  determined 
upon  a  plan,  it  was  too  late  to  put  it  in  execution — 
whereupon  they  wisely  abandoned  the  subject  al- 
together. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


HOW  THE  CITY  OF  NEW  -  AMSTERDAM  WAXED 
GREAT,  UNDER  THE  PROTECTION  OF  OLOFFE 
THE  DREAMER. 

There  is  something  exceedingly  delusive  in  thus 
looking  back,  through  the  long  vista  of  departed 
years,  and  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  fairy  realms  of 
antiquity  that  lie  beyond.  Like  some  goodly  land- 
scape melting  into  distance,  they  receive  a  thousand 
charms  from  their  very  obscurity,  and  the  fancy  de- 
lights to  fill  up  their  outlines  with  graces  and  excel- 
lencies of  its  own  creation.  Thus  beam  on  my  imag- 
ination those  happier  days  of  our  city,  when  as  yet 
New-Amsterdam  was  a  mere  pastoral  town,  shroud- 
ed in  groves  of  sycamore  and  willows,  and  surrounded 
by  trackless  forests  and  wide-spreading  waters,  that 
seemed  to  shut  out  all  the  cares  and  vanities  of  a 
wicked  world. 

In  those  days  did  this  embryo  city  present  the 
rare  and  noble  spectacle  of  a  community  governed 


568 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


without  laws  ;  and  thus  being  left  to  its  own  course, 
and  the  fostering  care  of  Providence,  increased  as 
rapidly  as  though  it  had  been  burthened  with  a  dozen 
panniers-full  of  those  sage  laws  that  are  usually  heap- 
ed on  the  backs  of  young  cities — in  order  to  make 
thsm  grow.  And  in  this  particular  I  greatly  admire 
.  the  wisdom  and  sound  knowledge  of  human  nature, 
displayed  by  the  sage  Oloffe  the  Dreamer,  and  his 
fellow-legislators.  For  my  part,  I  have  not  so  bad 
an  opinion  of  mankind  as  many  of  my  brother  philos- 
ophers. I  do  not  think  poor  human  nature  so  sorry 
a  piece  of  workmanship  as  they  would  make  it  out  to 
be  ;  and  as  far  as  I  have  observed,  I  am  fully  satisfied 
that  man,  if  left  to  himself,  would  about  as  readily  go 
right  as  wTong.  It  is  only  this  eternally  sounding  in 
his  ears  that  it  is  his  duty  to  go  right,  that  makes  him 
go  the  very  reverse.  The.noble  independence  of  his 
nature  revolts  at  this  intolerable  tyranny  of  law,  and 
the  perpetual  interference  of  officious  morality,  which 
is  ever  besetting  his  path  with  finger-posts  and  di- 
rections to  "  keep  to  the  right,  as  the  law  directs  ;  " 
and  like  a  spirited  urchin,  he  turns  directly  contrary, 
and  gallops  through  mud  and  mire,  over  hedges  and 
ditches,  merely  to  show  that  he  is  a  lad  of  spirit,  and 
out  of  his  leading-strings.  And  these  opinions  are 
amply  substantiated  by  what  I  have  above  said  of 
our  worthy  ancestors ;  who  never  being  be-preached 
and  be-lectured,  and  guided  and  governed  by  statutes 
and  laws  and  by-laws,  as  are  their  more  enlightened 
descendants,  did  one  and  all  demean  themselves 
honestly  and  peaceably,  out  of  pure  ignorance,  or  in 
other  words,  because  they  knew  no  better. 

Nor  must  I  omit  to  record  one  of  the  earliest 
measures  of  this  infant  settlement,  inasmuch  as  it 
shows  the  ))iety  of  our  forefathers,  and  that,  like 
good  Christians,  they  were  always  ready  to  serve 
God,  after  they  had  first  served  themselves.  Thus, 
having  quietly  settled  themselves  down,  and  provided 
for  their  own  comfort,  they  bethought  themselves  of 
testifying  their  gratitude  to  the  great  and  good  St. 
Nicholas,  for  his  protecting  care  in  guiding  them  to 
this  delectable  abode.  To  this  end  they  built  a  fair 
and  goodly  chapel  withm  the  fort,  which  they  con- 
secrated to  his  name  ;  whereupon  he  immediately 
took  the  town  of  New-Amsterdam  under  his  pecul- 
iar patronage,  and  he  has  ever  since  been,  and  I 
devoutly  hope  will  ever  be,  the  tutelar  saint  of  this 
excellent  city. 

I  am  moreover  told  that  there  is  a  little  legendary 
book,  somewhere  extant,  written  in  Low  Dutch, 
which  says  that  the  image  of  this  renowned  saint, 
which  whilome  graced  the  bowsprit  of  the  Goede 
Vrouw,  was  elevated  in  front  of  this  chapel,  in  the 
very  centre  of  what,  in  modern  days,  is  called  the 
Bowling-Green.  And  the  legend  further  treats  of 
divers  miracles  wrought  by  the  mighty  pipe  which 
the  saint  held  in  his  mouth  ;  a  whiff  of  which  was  a 
sovereign  cure  for  an  indigestion — an  invaluable 
relic  in  this  colony  of  brave  trenchermen.  As,  how- 
ever, in  spite  of  the  most  diligent  search,  I  cannot 
lay  rny  hands  upon  this  little  book,  1  must  confess 
that  1  eiitertain  considerable  doubt  on  the  subject. 

Thus  benignly  fostered  by  the  good  St.  Nicholas, 
the  burghers  of  New-Amsterdam  beheld  their  settle- 
ment increase  in  magnitude  and  population,  and 
soon  become  the  metropolis  of  divers  settlements, 
and  an  extensive  territory.  Already  had  the  disas- 
trous pride  of  colonies  and  dependencies,  those  banes 
of  a  sound-hearted  empire,  entered  into  their  imag- 
inations; and  Fort  Aurania  on  the  Hudson,  Fort 
Nas.sau  on  the  Delaware,  and  Fort  Goede  Iloep  on 
the  Connecticut  river,  seemed  to  be  the  darling  off- 
spring of  the  venerable  council.*  Thus  prosperously, 

•  The  province  about  this  time,  extended  on  the  north  to  Fort 
Aurania,  or  Orange  (now  the  city  of  Albany,)  situated  about  160 


to  all  appearance,  did  the  province  of  New-Nether- 
lands advance  in  power  ;  and  the  early  history  of  its 
metropolis  presents  a  fair  page,  unsullied  by  crime 
or  calamity. 

Hordes  of  painted  savages  still  lurked  about  the 
tangled  forests  and  rich  bottoms  of  the  unsettled 
part  of  the  island — the  hunter  pitched  his  rude  bovver 
of  skins  and  bark  beside  the  rills  that  ran  through 
the  cool  and  shady  glens ;  while  here  and  there 
might  be  seen  on  some  sunny  knoll,  a  group  of  In- 
dian wigwams,  whose  smoke  rose  above  the  neigh- 
bouring trees,  and  floated  in  the  transparent  at- 
mosphere. By  degrees,  a  mutual  good-will  had 
grown  up  between  these  wandering  beings  and  the 
burghers  of  New-Amsterdam.  Our  benevolent  fore- 
fathers endeavoured  as  much  as  possible  to  meliorate 
their  situation,  by  giving  them  gin,  rum,  and  glass 
beads,  in  exchange  for  their  peltries  ;  for  it  seems  the 
kind-hearted  Dutchmen  had  conceived  a  great  friend- 
ship for  their  savage  neighbours,  on  account  of  their 
being  pleasant  men  to  trade  with,  and  little  skilled  in 
the  art  of  making  a  bargain. 

Now  and  then  a  crew  of  these  half-human  sons  of 
the  forest  would  make  their  appearance  in  the  streets 
of  New- Amsterdam,  fantastically  painted  and  dec- 
orated with  beads  and  flaunting  feathers,  sauntering 
about  with  an  air  of  listless  indifference — sometimes 
in  the  market-place,  instructing  the  little  Dutch 
boys  in  the  use  of  the  bow  and  arrow — at  other 
times,  inflamed  with  liquor,  svvaggering  and  whoop- 
ing and  yelling  about  the  town  like  so  many  fiends, 
to  the  great  dismay  of  all  the  good  wives,  who 
would  hurry  their  children  into  the  house,  fasten  the 
doors,  and  throw  water  upon  the  enemy  from  the 
garret-windows.  It  is  worthy  of  mention  here,  that 
our  forefathers  were  very  particular  in  holding  up  these 
wild  men  as  excellent  domestic  examples — and  for 
reasons  that  may  be  gathered  from  the  history  of 
master  Ogilby,  who  tells  us,  that  "  for  the  least  of- 
fence the  bridegroom  soundly  beats  his  wife  and 
turns  her  out  of  doors,  and  marries  another,  inso- 
much that  some  of  them  have  every  year  a  new 
wife."  Whether  this  awful  example  had  any  influ- 
ence or  not,  history  does  not  mention  ;  but  it  is  cer- 
tain that  our  grandmothers  were  miracles  of  fidelity 
and  obedience. 

True  it  is,  that  the  good  understanding  between 
our  ancestors  and  their  savage  neighbours  was 
liable  to  occasional  interruptions  ;  and  I  have  heard 
my  grandmother,  who  was  a  very  wise  old  woman, 
and  well  versed  in  the  history  of  these  parts,  tell  a 
long  story,  of  a  winter's  evening,  about  a  battle  be- 
tween the  New-Amsterdamers  and  the  Indians, 
which  was  known  by  the  name  of  the  I'cack  War, 
and  which  took  place  near  a  peach  orchard,  in  a 
dark  glen,  which  for  a  long  while  went  by  the  name 
of  the  Murderer's  Valley. 

The  legend  of  this  sylvan  war  was  long  current 
among  the  nurses,  old  wives,  and  other  ancient 
chroniclers  of  the  place  ;  but  time  and  improvement 
have  almost  obliterated  both  the  tradition  and  the 
scene  of  battle  ;  for  what  was  once  the  blood-stained 
valley  is  now  in  the  centre  of  this  populous  city,  and 
known  by  the  name  of  Dey-street. 

The  accumulating  wealth  and  consequence  of 
New-Amsterdam  and  its  dependencies  at  length 
awakened  the  tender  solicitude  of  the  mother  coun- 

miles  up  the  Hudson  river.  Indeed,  the  province  claimed  quite  to 
the  river  St.  Lawrence  ;  but  this  claim  was  not  much  insisted  on  at 
the  time,  as  the  country  beyond  Fort  Aurania  was  a  perfect  wilder- 
ness. On  the  south,  the  province  reached  to  Fort  Nassau,  on  the 
South  river,  since  called  the  Delaware  ;  and  on  the  east,  it  extend- 
ed to  the  Varshe  (or  fresh)  river,  now  the  Connecticut.  On  this 
last  frontier  was  likewise  erected  a  fort  or  tradint;  house,  much 
about  the  spot  where  at  present  is  situated  the  pleasant  town  of 
Hartford.  This  w.as  called  Fort  Goede  Hoep,  (or  Cnod  Hope)  and 
was  intended  as  well  for  the  purposes  of  trade,  as  of  defence. 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


569 


try  ;  who,  finding  it  a  tliriving  and  opulent  colony, 
and  that  it  promised  to  yield  great  profit,  and  no 
trouble,  all  at  once  became  wonderfully  anxious 
about  its  safety,  and  began  to  load  it  with  tokens  of 
regard,  in  the  same  manner  that  your  knowing  peo- 
ple are  sure  to  overwhelm  rich  relations  with  their 
afTection  and  loving-kindness. 

The  usual  marks  of  protection  shown  by  mother 
countries  to  wealthy  colonies  were  forthwith  mani- 
fested— the  first  care  always  being  to  send  rulers  to 
the  new  settlement,  with  orders  to  squeeze  as  much 
revenue  from  it  as  it  will  yield.  Accordingly,  in  the 
year  of  our  Lord  1629,  Mynheer  WOUTER  Van 
TWILLER  was  appointed  governor  of  the  province 
of  Nieuw-Nederlandts,  under  the  commission  and 
control  of  their  High  Mightinesses,  the  Lords  States 
General  of  the  United  Netherlands,  and  the  privi- 
leged West  India  Company. 

This  renowned  old  gentleman  arrived  at  New- 
Amsterdam  in  the  merry  month  of  June,  the  sweet- 
est month  in  all  the  year ;  when  Dan  Apollo  seems 
to  dance  up  the  transparent  firmament — when  the 
robin,  the  thrush,  and  a  thousand  other  wanton 
songsters  make  the  woods  to  resound  with  amorous 
ditties,  and  the  luxurious  little  boblincon  revels 
among  the  clover  blossoms  of  the  meadows — all 
which  happy  coincidence  persuaded  the  old  dames 
of  New-Amsterdam,  who  were  skilled  in  the  art  of 
foretelling  events,  that  this  was  to  be  a  happy  and 
prosperous  administration. 

But  as  it  would  be  derogatory  to  the  consequence 
of  the  first  Dutch  governor  of  the  great  province  of 
Nieuw-Nederlandts,  to  be  thus  scurvily  introduced 
at  the  end  of  the  chapter,  I  will  put  an  end  to  this 
second  book  of  my  history,  that  I  may  usher  him  in 
with  more  dignity  in  the  beginning  of  my  next. 


•BOOK  III. 

IN  WHICH  IS  RECORDED  THE  GOLDEN  REIGN  OF 
WOUTER  VAN  TWILLER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

OF  THE  RENOWNED  WALTER  VAN  TWILLER — HIS 
UNPARALLELED  VIRTUES — AND  LIKEWISE  HIS 
UNUTTERABLE  WISDOM  IN  THE  LAW-CASE  OF 
WANDLE  SCHOONHOVEN  AND  BARENT  BLEECK- 
ER — AND  THE  GREAT  ADMIRATION  OF  THE 
PUBLIC  THEREAT. 

Grievous  and  very  much  to  be  commiserated  is 
the  task  of  the  feeling  historian  who  writes  the  his- 
tory of  his  native  land.  If  it  fall  to  his  lot  to  be  the 
sad  recorder  of  calamity  or  crime,  the  mournful  page 
is  watered  with  his  tears — nor  can  he  recall  the  most 
prosperous  and  blissful  era,  without  a  melancholy 
sigh  at  the  reflection  that  it  has  passed  away  lor 
ever  I  I  know  not  whether  it  be  owing  to  an  im- 
moderate love  for  the  simplicity  of  former  times,  or 
to  that  certain  tenderness  of  heart  incident  to  all 
sentimental  historians ;  but  I  candidly  confess  that  I 
cannot  look  back  on  the  happier  davs  of  our  city, 
which  I  now  describe,  without  a  sad  dejection  of  the 
spirits.  With  a  faltering  hand  do  I  withdraw  the 
curtain  of  oblivion  that  veils  the  modest  merit  of 
our  venerable  ancestors,  and  as  their  figures  rise  to 
my  mental  vision,  liumble  myself  before  the  mighty 
shades. 


Such  are  my  feelings  when  I  revisit  the  family 
mansion  of  the  Knickerbockers,  and  spend  a  lonely 
hour  in  the  chamber  where  hang  the  portraits  of  my 
forefathers,  shrouded  in  dust,  like  the  forms  they 
represent.  With  pious  reverence  do  I  gaze  on  the 
countenances  of  those  renowned  burghers,  who  have 
preceded  me  in  the  steady  march  of  existence — 
whose  sober  and  temperate  blood  now  meanders 
through  my  veins,  flowing  slower  ;ind  slower  in  its 
feeble  conduits,  until  its  current  shall  soon  be  stop- 
ped for  ever  ! 

These,  say  I  to  myself,  are  but  frail  memorials  of 
the  mighty  men  who  flourished  in  the  days  of  the 
patriarchs ;  but  who,  alas,  have  long  since  moulder- 
ed in  that  tomb  towards  which  my  steps  are  insen- 
sibly and  irresistibly  hastening !  As  I  pace  the 
darkened  chamber,  and  lose  myself  in  melancholy 
musings,  the  shadowy  images  around  me  almost 
seem  to  steal  once  more  into  existence — their  coun- 
tenances to  assume  the  animation  of  life — their  eyes 
to  pursue  me  in  every  movement !  Carried  away  by 
the  delusions  of  fancy,  I  almost  imagine  myself  sur- 
rounded by  the  shades  of  the  departed,  and  holding 
sweet  converse  with  the  worthies  of  antiquity  !  Ah, 
hapless  Diedrich  !  born  in  a  degenerate  age,  aban- 
doned to  the  bufTetings  of  fortune — a  stranger  and 
a  weary  pilgrim  in  thy  native  land — blest  with  no 
weeping  wife,  nor  family  of  helpless  children  ;  but 
doomed  to  wander  neglected  through  those  crowded 
streets,  and  elbowed  by  foreign  upstarts  from  those 
fair  abodes  where  once  thine  ancestors  held  sover- 
eign empire  I 

Let  me  not,  however,  lose  the  historian  in  the  man. 
nor  suffer  the  dating  recollections  of  age  to  overcome 
me,  while  dwelling  with  fond  garrulity  on  the  virtu- 
ous days  of  the  patriarchs — on  those  sweet  days  of 
simplicity  and  ease,  which  never  more  will  dawn  on 
the  lovely  island  of  Manna-hata  ! 

The  renowned  Wouter  (or  Walter)  Van  Twiller 
was  descended  from  a  long  line  of  Dutch  burgo- 
masters, who  had  successively  dozed  away  their 
lives,  and  grown  fat  upon  the  bench  of  magistracy 
in  Rotterdam  ;  and  who  had  comported  themselves 
with  such  singular  wisdom  and  propriety,  that  they 
were  never  either  heard  or  talked  of — which,  next  to 
being  universally  applauded,  should  be  the  object  of 
ambition  of  all  sage  magistrates  and  rulers 

The  surname  ot  Twiller  is  said  to  be  a  corruption 
of  the  original  Twijjler,  which  in  Knglish  means 
doubter  ;  a  name  admirably  descriptive  of  his  delib- 
erative habits.  For,  though  he  was  a  man  shut  up 
within  himself  like  an  oyster,  and  of  such  a  profound- 
ly reflective  turn,  that  he  scarcely  ever  spoke  except 
in  monosyllables,  yet  did  he  never  make  up  his  mind 
on  any  doubtful  point.  This  was  clearly  accounted 
for  by  his  adherents,  who  affirmed  that  he  always 
conceived  every  object  on  so  comprehensive  a  scale 
that  he  had  not  room  in  his  head  to  turn  it  over  and 
examine  both  sides  of  it,  so  that  he  always  remained 
in  doubt,  merely  in  consequence  of  the  astonishing 
magnitude  of  his  ideas  ! 

There  are  two  opposite  ways  by  which  some  men 
get  into  notice — one  by  talking  a  vast  deal  and  think- 
ing a  little,  and  the  other  by  holding  their  tongues, 
and  not  thinking  at  all.  By  the  first,  many  a  vapour- 
ing, superficial  pretender  acquires  the  reputation  of  a 
man  of  quick  parts — by  the  other,  many  a  vacant 
dunderpate,  like  the  owl,  the  stupidest  of  birds, 
comes  to  be  complimented  by  a  discerning  world 
with  all  the  attributes  of  wisdom.  This,  by  the  way, 
is  a  mere  casual  remark,  which  I  would  not  for  the 
universe  have  it  thought  1  apply  to  Governor  Van 
Twiller.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  very  wise 
I  Dutchinan,  for  he  never  said  a  foolish  thing — and  of 
I  such  invincible  gravity,  that  he  was  never  known  to 


5T0 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


laugh,  or  even  to  smile,  through  the  course  of  a  long 
and  prosperous  life.  Certain,  however,  it  is,  there 
never  was  a  matter  proposed,  however  simple,  and 
on  which  your  common  narrow-minded  mortals 
would  rashly  determine,  at  the  first  glance,  but  what 
the  renowned  Wouter  put  on  a  mighty,  mysterious, 
vacant  kind  of  look,  shook  his  capacious  head,  and, 
having  smoked  for  five  minutes  with  redoubled  ear- 
nestness, sagely  observed,  that  "  he  had  his  doubts 
about  the  matter  "—which  in  process  of  time  gained 
him  the  character  of  a  man  slow  in  belief,  and  not 
easily  imposed  on. 

The  person  of  this  illustrious  old  gentleman  was 
as  regularly  formed,  and  nobly  proportioned,  as 
though  it  had  been  moulded  by  the  hands  of  some 
cunning  Dutch  statuary,  as  a  model  of  majesty  and 
lordly  grandeur.  He  was  exactly  five  feet  six  inches 
in  height,  and  six  feet  five  inches  in  circumference. 
His  head  was  a  perfect  sphere,  and  of  such  stupen- 
dous dimensions,  that  dame  Nature,  with  all  her  sex's 
ingenuity,  would  have  been  puzzled  to  construct  a 
neck  capable  of  supporting  it ;  wherefore  she  wisely 
declined  the  attempt,  and  settled  it  firmly  on  the  top 
of  his  back-bone,  just  between  the  shoulders.  His 
body  was  of  an  oblong  form,  particularly  capacious 
at  bottom  ;  which  was  wisely  ordered  by  Providence, 
seeing  that  he  was  a  man  of  sedentary  habits,  and 
very  averse  to  the  idle  labour  of  walking.  His  legs, 
though  exceeding  short,  were  sturdy  in  proportion 
to  the  weight  they  had  to  sustain  ;  so  that  when 
erect  he  had  not  a  little  the  appearance  of  a  robust- 
ious beer-barrel,  standing  on  skids.  His  face,  that 
infallible  index  of  the  mind,  presented  a  vast  expanse, 
perfectly  unfurrowed  or  deformed  by  any  of  those 
lines  and  angles  which  disfigure  the  human  counte- 
nance with  what  is  termed  expression.  Two  small 
gray  eyes  twinkled  feebly  in  the  midst,  like  two  stars 
ol  lesser  magnitude  in  the  hazy  firmament ;  and  his 
full-fed  cheeks,  which  seemed  to  have  taken  toll  of 
every  thing  that  went  into  his  mouth,  were  curiously 
mottled  and  streaked  with  dusky  red,  like  a  Spitzen- 
berg  apple. 

His  habits  were  as  regular  as  his  person.  He 
daily  took  his  four  stated  meals,  appropriating  ex- 
actly an  hour  to  each  ;  he  smoked  and  doubted  eight 
hours,  and  he  slept  the  remaining  twelve  of  the  tbur- 
and-twenty.  Such  was  the  renowned  Wouter  Van 
Twiller — a  true  philosopher,  for  his  mind  was  either 
elevated  above,  or  tranquilly  settled  below,  the  cares 
and  perplexities  of  this  world.  He  had  lived  in  it 
for  years,  without  feeling  the  least  curiosity  to  know 
whether  the  sun  revolved  round  it,  or  it  round  the 
sun  ;  and  he  had  watched,  for  at  least  half  a  century, 
the  smoke  curling  from  his  pipe  to  the  ceiling,  with- 
out once  troubling  his  head  with  any  of  those  numer- 
ous theories,  by  which  a  philosopher  would  have 
perplexed  his  brain,  in  accounting  for  its  rising  above 
•the  surrounding  atmosphere. 

In  his  council  he  presided  with  great  state  and 
solemnity.  He  sat  in  a  huge  chair  of  solid  oak,  hewn 
in  the  celebrated  forest  of  the  Hague,  fabricated  by 
an  experienced  timmerman  of  Amsterdam,  and 
curiously  carved  about  the  arms  and  feet,  into  exact 
imitations  of  gigantic  eagle's  claws.  Instead  of  a 
sceptre,  he  swayed  a  long  Turkish  pipe,  wrought 
with  jasmin  and  amber,  which  had  been  presented 
to  a  Stadtholder  of  Holland,  at  the  conclusion  of  a 
treaty  with  one  of  the  petty  Barbary  powers.  In  this 
stately  chair  would  he  sit,  and  this  magnificent  pipe 
would  he  smoke,  shaking  his  right  knee  with  a  con- 
stant motion,  and  fixing  his  eye  for  hours  together 
upon  a  little  print  of  Amsterdam,  which  hung  in  a 
black  frame  against  the  opposite  wall  of  the  council 
chamber.  Nay,  it  has  even  been  said,  that  when 
any  deliberation  of  extraordinary  length  and  intricacy 


was  on  the  carpet,  the  renowned  Wouter  would 
absolutely  shut  his  eyes  for  full  two  hours  at  a  time, 
that  he  might  not  be  disturbed  by  external  objects — 
and  at  such  times  the  internal  commotion  of  his 
mind  was  evinced  by  certain  regular  guttural  sounds, 
which  his  admirers  declared  were  merely  the  noise 
of  conflict,  made  by  his  contending  doubts  and 
opinions. 

It  is  with  infinite  difficulty  I  have  been  enabled  to 
collect  these  biographical  anecdotes  of  the  great  man 
under  consideration.  The  facts  respecting  him  were 
so  scattered  and  vague,  and  divers  of  them  so  ques- 
tionable in  point  of  authenticity,  that  I  have  had  to 
give  up  the  search  alter  many,  and  decline  the  ad- 
mission of  still  more,  which  would  have  tended  to 
heighten  the  colouring  of  his  portrait. 

I  have  been  the  more  anxious  to  delineate  fully 
the  person  and  habits  of  the  renowned  Van  Twiller, 
from  the  consideration  that  he  was  not  only  the  first, 
but  also  the  best  governor  that  ever  presided  over 
this  ancient  and  respectable  province  ;  and  so  tran- 
quil and  benevolent  was  his  reign,  that  I  do  not  find 
throughout  the  whole  of  it,  a  single  instance  of  any 
offender  being  brought  to  punishment — a  most  indu- 
bitable sign  of  a  merciful  governor,  and  a  case  un- 
paralleled, excepting  in  the  reign  of  the  illustrious 
King  Log,  from  whom,  it  is  hinted,  the  renowned 
Van  Twiller  was  a  lineal  descendant. 

The  very  outset  of  the  career  of  this  excellent 
magistrate  was  distinguished  by  an  example  of  legal 
acumen,  that  gave  flattering  presage  of  .a  wise  and 
equitable  administration.  The  morning  after  he  had 
been  solemnly  installed  in  office,  and  at  the  moment 
that  he  was  making  his  breakfast,  from  a  prodigious 
earthen  dish,  filled  with  milk  and  Indian  pudding,  he 
was  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  one 
Wandle  Schoonhoven,  a  very  important  old  burgher 
of  New-Amsterdam,  who  complained  bitterly  of  one 
Barent  Bleecker,  inasmuch  as  he  fraudulently  refused 
to  come  to  a  settlement  of  accounts,  seeing  that  there 
was  a  heavy  balance  in  favour  of  the  said  Wandle. 
Governor  Van  Twiller,  as  I  have  already  observed, 
was  a  man  of  few  words  ;  he  was  likewise  a  mortal 
enemy  to  multiplying  writings — or  being  disturbed 
at  his  breakfast.  Having  listened  attentively  to  the 
statement  of  Wandle  Schoonhoven,  giving  an  occa- 
sional grunt,  as  he  shovelled  a  spoonful  of  Indian 
pudding  into  his  mouth — either  as  a  sign  that  he  rel- 
ished the  dish,  or  comprehended  the  story — he  called 
unto  him  his  constable,  and  pulling  out  of  his  breeches 
pocket  a  huge  jack-knife,  despatched  it  after  the  de- 
fendant as  a  summons,  accompanied  by  his  tobacco- 
box  as  a  warrant. 

This  summary  process  was  as  effectual  in  those 
simple  days  as  was  the  seal-ring  of  the  great  Haroun 
Alraschid  among  the  true  believers.  "The  two  par- 
ties being  confronted  before  him,  each  produced  a 
bookof  accounts  written  in  a  language  and  character 
that  would  have  puzzled  any  but  a  High  Dutch  com- 
mentator, or  a  learned  decipherer  of  Egyptian  obe- 
lisks, to  understand.  The  sage  Wouter  took  them 
one  after  the  other,  and  having  poised  them  in  his 
hands,  and  attentively  counted  over  the  number  of 
leaves,  fell  straightway  into  a  very  great  doubt,  and 
smoked  for  half  an  hour  without  saying  a  word  ;  at 
length,  laying  his  finger  beside  his  nose,  and  shutting 
his  eyes  for  a  moment,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  has 
just  caught  a  subtle  idea  by  the  tail,  he  slowly  took 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  puffed  forth  a  column  of 
tobacco-smoke,  and  with  marvellous  gravity  and  so- 
lemnity pronounced — that  having  carefully  counted 
over  the  leaves  and  weighed  the  books,  it  was  found, 
that  one  was  just  as  thick  and  as  heavy  as  the  other 
— therefore  it  was  the  final  opinion  of  the  court  that 
the  accounts  were  equally  balar.ced— therefore  Wan- 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


571 


die  should  give  Barent  a  receipt,  and  Barent  should 
give  Waudle  a  receipt — and  the  constable  should  pa)' 
the  costs. 

This  decision  being  straightway  made  known,  dif- 
fused general  joy  throughout  New-Amsterdam,  lor 
the  people  immediately  perceived,  that  they  had  a 
very  wise  and  equitable  magistrate  to  rule  over  them. 
But  its  happiest  effect  was,  that  not  another  law-suit 
took  place  throughout  the  whole  of  his  administra- 
tion— and  the  office  of  constable  fell  into  such 
decay,  that  there  was  not  one  of  those  losel  scouts 
known  in  the  province  for  many  years.  I  am  the 
more  particular  in  dwelling  on  this  transaction, 
not  only  because  I  deem  it  one  of  the  most  sage 
and  righteous  judgments  on  record,  and  well 
worthy  the  attention  of  modern  magistrates,  but 
because  it  was  a  miraculous  event  in  the  history 
of  the  renowned  Wouter — being  the  only  time  he 
was  ever  known  to  come  to  a  decision  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  life. 


CHAPTER  II. 

CONTAINING  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  GRAND 
COUNCIL  OF  NEW-AMSTERDAM.  AS  ALSO  DIVERS 
ESPECIAL  GOOD  PHILOSOPHICAL  REASONS  WHY 
AN  ALDFR.MAN  SHOULD  BE  FAT — WITH  OTHER 
PARTICULARS  TOUCHING  THE  STATE  OF  THE 
PROVINCE. 

In  treating  of  the  early  governors  of  the  province, 
I  must  caution  my  readers  against  confounding  them, 
in  point  of  dignity  and  power,  with  those  worthy 
gentlemen,  who  are  whimsically  denominated  gov- 
ernors in  this  enlightened  republic — a  set  of  unhappy 
victims  of  popularity,  who  are  in  f:ict  the  most  de- 
|)endent,  henpecked  beings  in  the  community  :  doom- 
ed to  bear  the  secret  goadingsand  corrections  of  their 
own  party,  and  the  sneers  and  revilings  of  the  whole 
world  beside ; — set  up,  like  geese  at  Christmas  holy- 
days,  to  be  pelted  and  shot  at  by  every  whipster  and 
vagabond  in  the  land.  On  the  contrary,  the  Dutch 
governors  enjoyed  that  uncontrolled  authority  vested 
in  all  commanders  of  distant  colonies  or  territories. 
They  were  in  a  manner  absolute  despots  in  their 
little  domains,  lording  it,  if  so  disposed,  over  both 
law  and  gospel,  and  accountable  to  none  but  the 
mother  country ;  which  it  is  well  known  is  astonish- 
ingly deaf  to  all  complaints  against  its  governors, 
provided  they  discharge  the  main  duty  of  their  sta- 
tion— squeezing  out  a  good  revenue.  This  hint  will 
be  of  importance,  to  prevent  my  readers  from  being 
seized  with  doubt  and  incredulity,  whenever,  in  the 
course  of  this  authentic  history,  they  encounter  the 
uncommon  circumstance  of  a  governor  acting  with 
independence,  and  in  opposition  to  the  opinions 
of  the  multitude. 

To  assist  the  doubtful  Wouter  in  the  arduous  busi- 
ness of  legislation,  a  board  of  magistrates  was  ap- 
pointed, which  presided  immediately  over  the  police. 
This  potent  body  consisted  of  a  schout  or  bailiff,  with 
powers  between  those  of  the  present  mayor  and 
sheriff — five  burgermeesters,  who  were  equivalent  to 
aldermen,  and  five  schepens,  who  officiated  as  scrubs, 
subdevils,  or  bottle-holders  to  the  burgermeesters,  in 
the  same  manner  as  do  assistant  aldermen  to  their 
principals  at  the  present  day  ;  it  being  their  duty  to 
fill  the  pipes  of  the  lordly  burgermeesters — hunt  the 
markets  for  delicacies  for  corporation  dinners,  and  to 
discharge  such  other  little  offices  of  kindness  as  were 
occasionally  required.  It  was,  moreover,  tacitly  un- 
derstood, though  not  specifically  enjoined,  that  they 
should  consider  themselves  as  butts  for  the  blunt  wits 


of  the  burgermeesters,  and  should  laugh  most  hearti- 
ly at  all  their  jokes  ;  but  this  last  was  a  duty  as  rarely 
called  in  action  in  those  days  as  it  is  at  present,  and 
was  shortly  remitted,  in  consequence  of  the  tragical 
death  of  a  fat  little  schepen — who  actually  died  of 
suffocation,  in  an  unsuccessful  effort  to  force  a  laugh 
at  one  of  the  burgermeester  Van  Zandt's  best  jokes. 

In  return  for  these  humble  services,  they  were  per- 
mitted to  sayjfes  and  no  at  the  council  board,  and  to 
have  that  enviable  privilege,  the  run  of  the  public 
kitchen — being  graciously  permitted  to  eat,  and  drink, 
and  smoke,  at  all  those  snug  junketings  and  public 
gormandizings,  for  which  the  ancient  magistrates 
were  equally  famous  with  their  modern  successors. 
The  post  of  schepen,  therefore,  like  that  of  assistant 
alderman,  was  eagerly  coveted  by  all  your  burghers 
of  a  certain  description,  who  have  a  huge  reUsh  for 
good  feeding,  and  an  humble  ambition  to  be  great 
men  in  a  small  way — who  thirst  after  a  little  brief 
authority,  that  shall  render  them  the  terror  of  the 
alms-house  and  the  bridewell  —  that  shall  enable 
them  to  lord  it  over  obsequious  poverty,  vagrant 
vice,  outcast  prostitution,  and  hunger-driven  dishon- 
esty— that  shall  give  to  their  beck  a  hound-like  pack 
of  catch -poles  and  bum -bailiffs  — tenfold  greater 
rogues  than  the  culprits  they  hunt  down  ! — My  read- 
ers will  excuse  this  sudden  warmth,  which  I  confess 
is  unbecoming  of  a  grave  historian — but  I  have  a 
mortal  antipathy  to  catch  poles,  bum-bailiffs,  and 
little  great  men. 

The  ancient  magistrates  of  this  city  corresponded 
with  those  of  the  present  time  no  less  in  form,  mag- 
nitude, and  intellect,  than  in  prerogative  and  privi- 
lege. The  burgomasters,  like  our  aldermen,  were 
generally  chosen  by  weight — and  not  only  the  weight 
of  the  body,  but  likewise  the  weight  of  the  head.  It 
is  a  maxim  practically  observed  in  all  honest,  plain- 
thinking,  regular  cities,  that  an  alderman  should  be 
fat — and  the  wisdom  of  this  can  be  proved  to  a  cer- 
tainty. That  the  body  is  in  some  measure  an  image 
of  the  mind,  or  rather  that  the  mind  is  moulded  to 
the  body,  like  melted  lead  to  the  clay  in  which  it  is 
cast,  has  been  insisted  on  by  many  philosophers,  who 
have  made  human  nature  their  peculiar  study — for 
as  a  learned  gentleman  of  our  own  city  observes, 
"  there  is  a  constant  relation  between  the  moral 
character  of  all  intelligent  creatures,  and  their  physi- 
cal constitution— between  their  habits  and  the  struct- 
ure of  their  bodies."  Thus  we  see,  that  a  lean, 
spare,  diminutive  body,  is  generally  accompanied  by 
a  petulant,  restless,  meddling  mind — either  the  mind 
wears  down  the  body,  by  its  continual  motion  ;  or 
else  the  body,  not  affording  the  mind  sufficient 
house-room,  keeps  it  continually  in  a  state  of  fretful- 
ness,  tossing  and  worrying  about  from  the  uneasiness 
of  its  situation.  Whereas  your  round,  sleek,  fat,  un- 
wieldy periphery  is  ever  attended  by  a  mind  like  it- 
self, tranquil,  torpid,  and  at  «&se ;  and  we  may  al- 
ways observe,  that  your  well-fed,  robustious  burghers 
are  in  general  very  tenacious  of  their  ease  and  com- 
fort ;  being  great  enemies  to  noise,  discord,  and  dis- 
turbance—and surely  none  are  more  likely  to  study 
the  public  tranquillity  than  those  who  are  so  careful 
of  their  own.  Who  ever  hears  of  fat  men  heading  a 
riot,  or  herding  together  in  turbulent  mobs .?— no — 
no — it  is  your  lean,  hungry  men,  who  are  continually 
worrying  society,  and  setting  the  whole  community 
by  the  ears. 

The  divine  Plato,  whose  doctrines  are  not  suffi- 
ciently attended  to  by  philosophers  of  the  present 
age,  allows  to  every  man  three  souls — one  immortal 
and  rational,  seated  in  the  brain,  that  it  may  over- 
look and  regulate  the  body — a  second  consisting  of 
the  surly  and  irascible  passions,  which,  like  belliger- 
ent powers,  lie  encamped  around  the  heart — a  third 


572 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


mortal  and  sensual,  destitute  of  reason,  gross  and 
brutal  in  its  propensities,  and  enchained  in  the  belly, 
that  it  may  not  disturb  the  divine  soul,  by  its  raven- 
ous howlings.  Now,  according  to  this  excellent 
theory,  what  can  be  more  clear,  than  that  your  fat 
alderman  is  most  likely  to  have  the  most  regular  and 
well-conditioned  mind.  His  head  is  like  a  huge, 
spherical  chamber,  containing  a  prodigious  mass  of 
soft  brains,  whereon  the  rational  soul  lies  softly  and 
snugly  couched,  as  on  a  feather  bed  ;  and  the  eyes, 
which  are  the  windows  of  the  bed-chamber,  are  usu- 
ally half  closed,  that  its  slumberings  may  not  be  dis- 
turbed by  external  objects.  A  mind  thus  comfortably 
lodged,  and  protected  from  disturbance,  is  manifestly 
most  likely  to  perform  its  functions  with  regularity 
and  ease.  By  dint  of  good  feeding,  moreover,  the 
mortal  and  malignant  soul,  which  is  confined  in  the 
belly,  and  which,  by  its  raging  and  roaring,  puts  the 
irritable  soul  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  heart  in  an 
intolerable  passion,  and  thus  renders  men  crusty  and 
quarrelsome  when  hungry,  is  completely  pacified, 
silenced,  and  put  to  rest — whereupon  a  host  of  hon- 
est good-fellow  qualities  and  kind-hearted  affections, 
which  had  lain  perdue,  slyly  peeping  out-of  the  loop- 
holes of  the  heart,  finding  this  Cerberus  asleep,  do 
pluck  up  their  spirits,  turn  out  one  and  all  in  their 
holyday  suits,  ?nd  gambol  up  and  down  the  dia- 
phragm— disposing  their  possessor  to  laughter,  good- 
humour,  and  a  thousand  friendly  offices  towards  his 
fellow-mortals. 

As  a  board  of  magistrates,  formed  on  this  model, 
think  but  very  little,  they  are  the  less  likely  to  differ 
and  wrangle  about  favourite  opinions — and  as  they 
generally  transact  business  upon  a  hearty  dinner, 
they  are  naturally  disposed  to  be  lenient  and  indul- 
gent in  the  administration  of  their  duties.  Charle- 
magne was  conscious  of  this,  and,  therefore  (a  piti- 
ful measure,  for  which  I  can  never  forgive  him),  or- 
dered in  his  cartularies,  that  no  judge  should  hold  a 
court  of  justice,  except  in  the  morning,  on  an  empty 
stomach — a  rule,  which,  I  warrant,  bore  hard  upon 
all  the  poor  culprits  in  his  kingdom.  The  more  en- 
lightened and  humane  generation  of  the  present  day 
have  taken  an  opposite  course,  and  have  so  man- 
aged, that  the  aldermen  are  the  best-fed  men  in  the 
community ;  feasting  lustily  on  the  fat  things  of  the 
land,  and  gorging  so  heartily  oysters  and  turtles, 
that  in  process  of  time  they  acquire  the  activity  of 
the  one,  and  the  form,  the  waddle,  and  the  green  fat 
ot  the  other.  The  consequence  is,  as  I  have  just 
said,  these  luxurious  feastings  do  produce  such  a 
dulcet  equanimity  and  repose  of  the  soul,  rational 
and  irrational,  that  their  transactions  are  proverbial 
for  unvarying  monotony — and  the  profound  laws 
which  they  enact  in  their  dozing  moments,  amid 
the  labours  of  digestion,  are  quietly  suffered  to  re- 
main as  dead-letters,  and  never  enforced,  when 
awake.  In  a  word,  your  fair,  round-bellied  burgo- 
master, like  a  full-fed  mastiff,  dozes  quietly  at  the 
house-door,  always  at  home,  and  always  at  hand  to 
watch  over  its  safety — but  as  to  electing  a  lean,  med- 
dling candidate  to  the  office,  as  has  now  and  then 
been  done,  I  would  as  lief  put  a  grayhound  to  watch 
the  house,  or  a  race-horse  to  drag  an  ox-wagon. 

The  burgomasters  then,  as  I  have  already  men- 
tioned, were  wisely  chosen  by  weight,  and  the 
schepens,  or  assistant  aldermen,  were  appointed 
to  attend  upon  them,  and  help  them  eat ;  but  the 
latter,  in  the  course  of  time,  when  they  had  been  fed 
and  fattened  into  sufficient  bulk  of  body  and  drow- 
siness of  brain,  became  very  eligible  candidates  for 
the  burgomasters'  chairs,  having  fairly  eaten  them- 
selves into  office,  as  a  mouse  eats  his  way  into  a 
comfortable  lodgement  in  a  goodly,  blue-nosed, 
skimmed-milk,  New-England  cheese. 


Nothing  could  equal  the  profound  deliberations 
that  took  place  between  the  renowned  Wouter  and 
these  his  worthy  compeers,  unless  it  be  the  sage  di- 
vans of  some  of  our  modern  corporations.  They 
would  sit  for  hours  smoking  and  dozing  over  public 
affairs,  without  speaking  a  word  to  interrupt  that 
perfect  stillness  so  necessary  to  deep  reflection. 
Under  the  sober  sway  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  and 
these  his  worthy  coadjutors,  the  infant  settlement 
waxed  vigorous  apace,  gradually  emerging  from  the 
swamps  and  forests,  and  exhibiting  that  mingled  ap- 
pearance of  town  and  country,  customary  in  new 
cities,  and  which  at  this  day  may  be  witnessed  in 
the  city  of  Washington — that  immense  metropolis, 
which  makes  so  glorious  an  appearance  on  paper. 

It  was  a  pleasing  sight,  in  those  times,  to  behold 
the  honest  burgher,  like  a  patriarch  of  yore,  seated 
on  the  bench  at  the  door  of  his  whitewashed  house, 
under  the  shade  of  some  gigantic  sycamore  or  over- 
hanging willow.  Here  would  he  smoke  his  pipe  of 
a  sultry  afternoon,  enjoying  the  soft  southern  breeze, 
and  listening  with  silent  gratulation  to  the  cluckmg 
of  his  hens,  the  cackling  of  his  geese,  and  the  so- 
norous grunting  of  his  swine  ;  that  combination  of 
farm-yard  melody,  which  may  truly  be  said  to  have 
a  silver  sound,  inasmuch  as  it  conveys  a  certain  as- 
surance of  profitable  marketing. 

The  modern  spectator,  who  wanders  through  the 
streets  of  this  populous  city,  can  scarcely  form  an 
idea  of  the  different  appearance  they  presented  in 
the  primitive  days  of  tlie  Doubter.  The  busy  hum 
of  multitudes,  the  shouts  of  revelry,  the  rumbling 
equipages  of  fashion,  the  rattling  of  accursed  carts, 
and  all  the  spirit-grieving  sounds  of  brawling  com- 
merce, were  unknown  in  the  settlement  of  New- 
Amsterdam.  The  grass  grew  quietly  in  the  high- 
ways—  the  bleating  sheep  and  frolicsome  calves 
sported  about  the  verdant  ridge  where  now  the 
Broadway  loungers  take  their  morning  stroll — the 
cunning  fox  or  ravenous  wolf  skulked  in  the  woods, 
where  now  are  to  be  seen  the  dens  of  Gomez  and 
his  righteous  fraternity  of  money-brokers — -and 
flocks  of  vociferous  geese  cackled  about  the  fields, 
where  now  the  great  Tammany  wigwam  and  the 
patriotic  tavern  of  Martling  echo  with  the  wrang- 
lings  of  the  mob. 

In  these  good  times  did  a  true  and  enviable  equal- 
ity of  rank  and  property  prevail,  equally  removed 
from  the  arrogance  of  wealth,  and  the  servility  and 
heart-burnings  of  repining  poverty — and  what  in  my 
mind  is  still  more  conducive  to  tranquillity  and  har- 
mony among  friends,  a  happy  equality  of  intellect 
was  likewise  to  be  seen.  The  minds  of  the  good 
burghers  of  New-Amsterdam  seemed  all  to  have 
been  cast  in  one  mould,  and  to  be  those  honest, 
blunt  minds,  which,  like  certain  manufactures,  are 
made  by  the  gross,  and  considered  as  exceedingly 
good  for  common  use. 

Thus  it  happens  that  your  true  dull  minds  are  gen- 
erally preferred  for  public  employ,  and  especially 
promoted  to  city  honours ;  your  keen  intellects,  like 
razors,  being  considered  too  sharp  for  common  serv- 
ice. I  know  that  it  is  common  to  rail  at  the  un- 
equ.al  distribution  of  riches,  as  the  great  source  of 
jealousies,  broils,  and  heart-breakings ;  whereas,  for 
my  part,  I  verily  believe  it  is  the  sad  inequality  of  in- 
tellect that  prevails,  that  embroils  communities  more 
than  any  thing  else ;  and  I  have  remarked  that  your 
knowing  people,  who  are  so  much  wiser  than  any 
body  else,  are  eternally  keeping  society  in  a  ferment. 
Ha])pily  for  New-Amsterdam,  nothing  of  the  kind 
was  known  within  its  walls — the  very  words  of  leani- 
ing,  education,  taste,  and  talents  were  unheard  of — 
a  bright  genius  was  an  animal  unknown,  and  a  blue- 
stocking lady  would  have   been   regarded  with   as 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


573 


much  wonfler  as  a  horne'J  frog  or  a  fiery  dragon. 
No  man,  in  fact,  seemed  to  know  more  than  his 
neighbour,  nor  any  man  to  Icnow  more  than  an  hon- 
est man  ought  to  know,  who  has  nobody's  business 
to  mind  but  his  own  ;  the  parson  and  the  council 
clerk  were  the  only  men  that  could  read  in  the  com- 
munity, and  the  sage  Van  Twiller  always  signed  his 
name  with  a  cross. 

Thrice  happy  and  ever  to  be  envied  little  burgh  ! 
existing  in  all  the  security  of  harmless  insignificance 
— unnoticed  and  unenvied  by  the  world,  without  am- 
liition,  without  vain-glory,  without  riches,  without 
learning,  and  all  their  train  of  carking  cares — and  as 
of  yore,  in  the  better  days  of  man,  the  deities  were 
wont  to  visit  him  on  earth  and  bless  his  rural  habi- 
tations, so  we  are  told,  in  the  sylvan  days  of  New- 
Amsterdam,  the  good  St.  Nicholas  would  often  make 
his  appearance  in  his  beloved  city,  of  a  holyday  after- 
noon, riding  jollily  among  the  tree-tops,  or  over  the 
roofs  of  the  houses,  now  and  then  drawing  forth 
magnificent  presents  from  his  breeches  pockets,  and 
dripping  them  down  the  chimneys  of  his  favourites. 
Whereas  in  these  degenerate  days  of  iron  and  brass, 
he  never  shows  us  the  light  of  his  countenance,  nor 
ever  visits  us,  save  one  night  in  the  year ;  when  he 
rattles  down  the  chimneys  of  the  descendants  of  the 
patriarchs,  confining  his  presents  merely  to  the  chil- 
dren, in  token  of  the  degeneracy  of  the  parents. 

Such  are  the  comfortable  and  thriving  effects  of  a 
fat  government.  The  province  of  the  New-Nether- 
lands, destitute  of  wealth,  possessed  a  sweet  tran- 
quillity that  wealth  could  never  purchase.  There 
were  neither  public  commotions,  nor  private  quar- 
rels ;  neither  parties,  nor  sects,  nor  schisms  ;  neither 
persecutions,  nor  trials,  nor  punishments  ;  nor  were 
there  counsellors,  attorneys,  catch-poles,  or  hangmen. 
Every  man  attended  to  what  little  business  he  was 
lucky  enough  to  have,  or  neglected  it  if  he  pleased, 
without  asking  the  opinion  of  his  neighbour.  In  those 
days,  nobody  meddled  with  concerns  above  his  com- 
prehension, nor  thrust  his  nose  into  other  people's 
affairs ;  nor  neglected  to  correct  his  own  conduct, 
and  reform  his  own  character,  in  his  zeal  to  pull  to 
pieces  the  characters  of  others — but  in  a  word,  every 
respectable  citizen  eat  when  he  was  not  hungry, 
drank  when  he  was  not  thirsty,  and  went  regularly 
to  bed  when  the  sun  set,  and  the  fowls  went  to  roost, 
whether  he  were  sleepy  or  not ;  all  which  tended  so 
remarkably  to  the  population  of  the  settlement,  that 
I  am  told  every  dutiful  wife  throughout  New-Am- 
sterdam made  a  point  of  enriching  her  husband  with 
at  least  one  child  a  year,  and  very  often  a  brace^ 
this  superabundance  of  good  things  clearly  constitut- 
ing the  true  luxury  of  life,  according  to  the  favourite 
Dutch  maxim,  that  "  more  than  enough  constitutes  a 
feast."  Every  thing,  therefore,  went  on  exactly  as 
it  should  do ;  and  in  the  usual  words  employed  by 
historians  to  express  the  welfare  of  a  country,  "  the 
profoundest  tranquihity  and  repose  reigned  through- 
out the  province." 


CHAPTER  III. 

HOW  THE  TOWN  OF  NEW-AMSTERDAM  AROSE 
OUT  OF  MUD,  AND  CAME  TO  BE  MARVELLOUS- 
LY POLISHED  AND  POLITE— TOGETHER  WITH 
A  PICTURE  OF  THE  MANNERS  OF  OUR  GREAT- 
GREAT-GRANDFATHERS. 

Manifold  are  the  tastes  and  dispositions  of  the 
enlightened  literati,  who  turn  over  the  pages  of  his- 
tory. Some  there  be,  whose  hearts  are  brimful  of 
the  yest  of  courage,  and  whose  bosoms  do  work,  and 


swell,  and  foam,  with  untried  valour,  like  a  barrel  of 
new  cider,  or  a  train-band  captain,  fresh  from  under 
the  hands  of  his  tailor.  This  doughty  class  of  readers 
can  be  satisfied  with  nothing  but  bloody  battles  and 
horrible  encounters  ;  they  must  be  continually  storm- 
ing forts,  sacking  cities,  springing  mines,  marching 
up  to  the  muzzles  of  cannon,  charging  bayonet 
through  every  page,  and  revelling  in  gunpowder  and 
carnage.  Others,  who  are  of  a  less  martial,  but  equally 
ardent  imagination,  and  who,  withal,  are  a  little 
given  to  the  marvellous,  will  dwell  with  wondrous 
satisfaction  on  descriptions  of  prodigies,  unheard-of 
events,  hairbreadth  escapes,  hardy  adventures,  and 
all  those  astonishing  narrations  that  just  amble  along 
the  boundary  line  of  possibility.  A  third  class,  who, 
not  to  speak  slightly  of  them,  are  of  a  lighter  turn, 
and  skim  over  the  records  of  past  times,  as  they  do 
over  the  edifying  pages  of  a  novel,  merely  for  relaxa- 
tion and  innocent  amusement,  do  singularly  delight 
in  treasons,  executions,  Sabine  rapes,  Tarquin  out- 
rages, conflagrations,  murders,  and  all  the  other  cat- 
alogue of  hideous  crimes,  that,  like  cayenne  in  cook- 
ery, do  give  a  pungency  and  flavour  to  the  dull  detail 
of  history — while  a  fourth  class,  of  more  philosophic 
habits,  do  diligently  pore  over  the  musty  chronicles 
of  time,  to  investigate  the  operations  of  the  human 
kind,  and  watch  the  gradual  changes  in  men  and 
manners,  effected  by  the  progress  of  knowledge,  the 
vicissitudes  of  events,  or  the  influence  of  situation. 

If  the  three  first  classes  find  but  little  wherewithal 
to  solace  themselves  in  the  tranquil  reign  of  Wouter 
Van  Twiller,  I  entreat  them  to  exert  their  patience 
for  a  while,  and  bear  with  the  tedious  picture  of  hap- 
piness, prosperity,  and  peace,  which  my  duty  as  a 
faithful  historian  obliges  me  to  draw ;  and  1  promise 
them  that  as  soon  as  I  can  possibly  light  upon  any 
thing  horrible,  uncommon,  or  impossible,  it  shall  go 
hard,  but  I  will  make  it  afford  them  entertainment. 
This  being  promised,  I  turn  with  great  com])lacency 
to  the  fourth  class  of  my  readers,  who  are  men,  or, 
if  possible,  women,  after  my  own  heart  ;  grave,  phi- 
losophical, and  investigating ;  fond  of  analyzing  char- 
acters, of  taking  a  start  from  first  causes,  and  so 
hunting  a  nation  down,  through  all  the  mazes  of  in- 
novation and  improvement.  Such  will  naturally  be 
anxious  to  witness  the  first  development  of  the  newly- 
hatched  colony,  and  the  primitive  manners  and  cus- 
toms prevalent  among  its  inhabitants,  during  the 
halcyon  reign  of  Van  Twiller,  or  the  Doubter. 

I  will  not  grieve  their  patience,  however,  by  de- 
scribing minutely  the  increase  and  improvement  of 
New-Amsterdam.  Their  own  imaginations  will 
doubtless  present  to  them  the  good  burghers,  like  so 
inany  pains-taking  and  persevering  beavers,  slowly 
and  surely  pursuing  their  labours — they 'will  behold 
the  prosperous  transformation  from  the  rude  log-hut 
to  the  stately  Dutch  mansion,  with  brick  front,  glazed 
windows,  and  tiled  roof — from  the  tangled  thicket  to 
the  luxuriant  cabbage  garden  ;  and  from  the  skulking 
Indian  to  the  ponderous  burgomaster.  In  a  word, 
they  will  picture  to  themselves  the  steady,  silent,  and 
undeviating  march  to  prosperity,  incident  to  a  city 
destitute  of  pride  or  ambition,  cherished  by  a  fat 
government,  and  whose  citizens  do  nothing  in  a 
hurry. 

The  sage  council,  as  has  been  mentioned  in  a  pre- 
ceding chapter,  not  being  able  to  determine  upon  any 
plan  for  the  building  of  their  city — the  cows,  in  a 
laudable  fit  of  patriotism,  took  it  under  their  pecul- 
iar charge,  and  as  they  went  to  and  from  pasture, 
established  paths  through  the  bushes,  on  each  side 
of  which  the  good  folks  built  their  houses ;  which  is 
one  cause  of  the  rambling  and  picturesque  turns  and 
labyrinths,  which  distinguish  certain  streets  of  New- 
York  at  this  very  day. 


5U 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


The  houses  of  the  higher  class  were  generally  con- 
structed of  wood,  excepting-  the  gable  end,  which  was 
of  small  black  and  yellow  Dutch  bricks,  and  always 
faced  on  the  street,  as  our  ancestors,  like  their  de- 
scendants, were  very  much  gi\-en  to  outward  show, 
and  were  noted  for  putting  the  best  leg  foremost. 
The  house  was  always  furnished  with  abundance  of 
large  doors  and  small  windows  on  every  floor  ;  the 
date  of  its  erection  was  curiously  designated  by  iron 
figures  on  the  front ;  and  on  the  top  of  the  roof  was 
perched  a  fierce  little  weathercock,  to  let  the  family 
into  the  important  secret  which  way  the  wind  blew. 
These,  like  the  weathercocks  on  the  tops  of  our 
steeples,  pointed  so  many  different  ways,  that  every 
man  could  have  a  wind  to  his  mind  ; — the  most 
staunch  and  loyal  citizens,  however,  always  went 
according  to  the  weathercock  on  the  top  of  the 
governor's  house,  which  was  certainly  the  most  cor- 
rect, as  he  had  a  trusty  servant  emploved  every  morn- 
ing to  climb  up  and  set  it  to  the  right  quarter. 

In  those  good  days  of  simplicity  and  sunshine,  a 
passion  for  cleanliness  was  the  leading  principle  in 
domestic  economy,  and  the  universal  test  of  an  able 
housewife — a  character  which  formed  the  utmost 
ambition  of  ourunenlightened  grandmothers.  The 
front  door  was  never  opened  except  on  marriages, 
funerals,  new-years'  days,  the  festival  of  St.  Nicholas, 
or  some  such  great  occasion.  It  was  ornamented 
witli  a  gorgeous  brass  knocker,  curiously  wrought, 
sometimes  in  the  device  of  a  dog,  and  sometimes  of 
a  lion's  head,  and  was  daily  burnished  with  such  re- 
ligious zeal,  that  it  was  ofttimes  worn  out  by  the 
very  precautions  taken  for  its  preservation.  The 
whole  house  was  constantly  in  a  state  of  inundation, 
under  the  discipline  of  mops  and  brooms  and  scrub- 
bing-brushes ;  and  the  good  housewives  of  those  days 
were  a  kind  of  amphibious  animal,  delighting  exceed- 
ingly to  be  dabbling  in  water — insomuch  that  a  his- 
torian of  the  day  gravely  tells  us,  that  many  of  his 
townswomen  grew  to  have  webbed  fingers  like  unto 
a  duck  ;  and  some  of  them,  he  had  little  doubt,  could 
the  matter  be  examined  into,  would  be  found  to  have 
the  tails  of  mermaids — but  this  1  look  upon  to  be  a 
mere  sport  of  fancy,  or  what  is  worse,  a  wilful  mis- 
representation. 

The  grand  parlour  was  the  sanctum  sanctorum, 
where  the  passion  for  cleaning  was  indulged  without 
control.  In  this  sacred  apartment  no  one  was  per- 
mitted to  enter,  excepting  the  mistress  and  her  con- 
fidential maid,  who  visited  it  once  a  week,  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  it  a  thorough  cleaning,  and  putting 
things  to  rights — always  taking  the  precaution  of 
leaving  their  shoes  at  the  door,  and  entering  devoutly 
in  their  stocking-feet.  After  scrubbing  the  floor, 
sprinkling  ft  with  fine  white  sand,  which  was  cu- 
riously stroked  into  angles,  and  curves,  and  rhom- 
boids, with  a  broom — after  washing  the  windows, 
rubbing  and  polishing  the  furniture,  and  putting  a 
new  bunch  of  evergreens  in  the  fire-place — the 
window-shutters  were  again  closed  to  keep  out  the 
flies,  and  the  room  carefully  locked  up  until  the  revo- 
lution of  time  brought  round  the  weekly  cleaning 
day. 

As  to  the  family,  they  always  entered  in  at  the 
gate,  and  most  generally  lived  in  the  kitchen.  To 
have  seen  a  numerous  household  assembled  around 
the  fire,  one  would  have  imagined  that  he  was  trans- 
ported back  to  those  happy  days  of  primeval  sim- 
plicity, which  float  before  our  imaginations  like  golden 
visions.  The  fire-places  were  of  a  truly  patriarchal 
magnitude,  where  the  whole  family,  old  and  young, 
master  and  servant,  black  and  white,  nay,  even  the 
very  cat  and  dog,  enjoyed  a  community  of  privilege, 
and  had  each  a  right  to  a  corner.  Here  the  old 
burgher  would  sit  in  perfect  silence,  puffing  his  pipe, 


looking  in  the  fire  with  half-shut  eyes,  and  thinking 
of  nothing  for  hours  together;  the  goede  vrouw  on 
the  opposite  side  would  employ  herself  diligently  in 
spinning  yarn,  or  knitting  .stockings.  The  young  folks 
would  crowd  around  the  hearth,  listening  with  breath- 
less attention  to  some  old  crone  of  a  negro,  who  was 
the  oracle  of  the  family,  and  who,  perched  like  a 
raven  in  a  corner  of  the  chimney,  would  croak  forth 
for  a  long  winter  afternoon  a  string  of  incredible 
stories  about  New-England  witches — grisly  ghosts, 
horses  without  heads — and  hairbreadth  escapes  and 
bloody  encounters  among  the  Indians. 

In  those  happy  days  a  well-regulated  family  always 
rose  with  the  dawn,  dined  at  eleven,  and  went  to  bed 
at  sun-down.  Dinner  was  invariably  a  private  meal, 
and  the  fat  old  burghers  showed  incontestible  symp- 
toms of  disapprobation  and  uneasiness  at  being  sur- 
prised by  a  visit  from  a  neighbour  on  such  occasions. 
But  though  our  worthy  ancestors  were  thus  singu- 
larly averse  to  giving  dinners,  yet  they  kept  up  the 
social  bands  of  intimacy  by  occasional  banquetings, 
called  tea-parties. 

These  fashionable  parties  were  generally  confined 
to  the  higher  classes,  or  noblesse,  that  is  to  say,  such 
as  kept  their  own  cows,  and  drove  their  own  wagons. 
The  company  commonly  assembled  at  three  o'clock, 
and  went  away  about  six,  unless  it  was  in  winter- 
time, when  the  fashionable  hours  were  a  little  earlier, 
that  the  ladies  might  get  home  before  dark.  The  tea- 
table  was  crowned  with  a  huge  earthen  dish,  well 
stored  with  slices  of  fat  pork,  fried  brown,  cut  up  into 
morsels,  and  swimming  in  gravy.  The  company  be- 
ing seated  around  the  genial  board,  and  each  furnish- 
ed with  a  fork,  evinced  their  dexterity  in  lanching 
at  the  fattest  pieces  in  this  mighty  dish — in  much  the 
same  manner  as  sailors  harpoon  porpoises  at  sea,  or 
our  Indians  spear  salmon  in  the  lakes.  Sometimes 
the  table  was  graced  with  immense  apple  pies,  or 
saucers  full  of  preserved  peaches  and  pears ;  but  it 
was  always  sure  to  boast  an  enormous  dish  of  balls 
of  sweetened  dough,  fried  in  hog's  fat,  and  called 
doughnuts,  or  olykoeks — a  delicious  kind  of  cake,  at 
present  scarce  known  in  this  city,  excepting  in  genu- 
ine Dutch  families. 

The  tea  was  served  out  of  a  majestic  delft  tea-pot, 
ornamented  with  paintings  of  fat  little  Dutch  shep- 
herds and  shepherdesses  tending  pigs — with  boats 
sailing  in  the  air,  and  houses  built  in  the  clouds,  and 
sundry  other  ingenious  Dutch  fantasies.  The  beaux 
distinguished  themselves  by  their  adroitness  in  re- 
plenishing this  pot  from  a  huge  copper  tea-kettle, 
which  would  have  made  the  pigmy  macaronies  of 
these  degenerate  days  sweat  merely  to  look  at  it. 
To  sweeten  the  beverage,  a  lump  of  sugar  was  laid 
beside  each  cup — and  the  company  alternately  nib- 
bled and  sipped  with  great  decorum,  until  an  im- 
provement was  introduced  by  a  shrewd  and  economic 
old  lady,  which  was  to  suspend  a  large  lump  directly 
over  the  tea-table,  by  a  string  from  the  ceiling,  so 
that  it  could  be  swung  from  mouth  to  mouth — an 
ingenious  expedient  which  is  still  kept  up  by  some 
families  in  Albany;  but  which  prevails  without  ex- 
ception in  Communipaw,  Bergen,  Flatbush,  and  all 
our  uncontaminated  Dutch  villages. 

At  these  primitive  tea-parties  the  utmost  propriety 
and  dignity  of  deportment  prevailed.  No  flirting 
norcoqueting — no  gamblingof  old  ladies,  nor  hoyden 
chattering  and  romping  of  young  ones — no  self-satis- 
fied struttings  of  wealthy  gentlemen,  with  their  brains 
in  their  pockets— nor  amusing  conceits,  and  monkey 
divertisements,  of  smart  young  gentlemen  with  no 
brains  at  all.  On  the  contrary,  the  young  ladies 
seated  themselves  demurely  in  their  rush-l)ottometi 
chairs,  and  knit  their  own  woollen  stockings;  nor 
ever  opened  their  lips,  excepting  to  say,  ^a^a  Mynher, 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


575 


or  yah  yah  Vroww,  to  any  question  that  was  asked 
them  ;  behaving,  in  all  things,  like  decent,  well-edu- 
cated damsels.  As  to  the  gentlemen,  each  of  them 
tranquilly  smoked  his  pipe,  and  seemed  lost  in  con- 
templation of  the  blue  and  white  tiles  with  which 
the  fire-places  were  decorated  ;  wherein  sundrj'  pas- 
sages of  scripture  were  piously  portrayed — Tobit 
and  his  dog  figured  to  great  advantage ;  Haman 
swung  conspicuously  on  his  gibbet  ;  and  Jonah  ap- 
peared most  manfully  bouncing  out  of  the  whale, 
like  Harlequin  through  a  barrel  of  fire. 

The  parties  broke  up  without  noise  and  without 
confusion.  They  were  carried  home  by  their  own 
carriages,  that  is  to  say,  by  the  vehicles  Nature  had 
provided  them,  excepting  such  of  the  wealthy  as 
could  afford  to  keep  a  wagon.  The  gentlemen  gal- 
lantly attended  their  fair  ones  to  their  respedive 
abodes,  and  took  leave  of  them  with  a  hearty  smack 
at  the  door ;  which,  as  it  was  an  established  piece 
of  etiquette,  done  in  perfect  simplicity  and  honesty 
of  heart,  occasioned  no  scandal  at  that  time,  nor 
should  it  at  the  present — if  our  great-grandfathers 
approved  of  the  custom,  it  would  argue  a  great  want 
of  reverence  in  their  descendants  to  say  a  word 
against  it. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

CONTAINING  FURTHER  PARTICULARS  OF  THE 
GOLDEN  AGE,  AND  WHAT  CONSTITUTED  A  FINE 
LADY  AND  GENTLEMAN  IN  THE  DAYS  OF  WAL- 
TER THE  DOUBTER. 

In  this  dulcet  period  of  my  history,  when  the 
beauteous  island  of  Manna-hata  presented  a  scene, 
the  very  counterpart  of  those  glowing  pictures  drawn 
of  the  golden  reign  of  Saturn,  there  was,  as  I  have 
before  obser\'ed,  a  happy  ignorance,  an  honest  sim- 
plicity, prevalent  among  its  inhabitants,  which,  were 
1  even  able  to  depict,  would  be  but  little  understood 
by  the  degenerate  age  for  which  I  am  doomed  to 
write.  Even  the  female  sex,  those  arch  innovators 
upon  the  tranquillity,  the  honesty,  and  gray-beard 
customs  of  society,  seemed  for  a  while  to  conduct 
themselves  with  incredible  sobriety  and  comeliness. 

Their  hair,  untortured  by  the  abominations  of  art, 
was  scrupulously  pomatumed  back  from  their  fore- 
heads with  a  candle,  and  covered  with  a  little  cap  of 
quilted  calico,  which  fitted  exactly  to  their  heads. 
Their  petticoats  of  linsey-woolsey  were  striped  with 
a  variety  of  gorgeous  dyes— though  I  must  confess 
these  gallant  garments  were  rather  short,  scarce 
reaching  below  the  knee  ;  but  then  they  made  up  in 
the  number,  which  generally  equalled  that  of  the 
gentlemen's  small-clothes ;  and  what  is  still  more 
praiseworthy,  they  were  all  of  their  own  manufac- 
ture— of  which  circumstance,  as  may  well  be  sup- 
posed, they  were  not  a  little  vain. 

These  were  the  honest  days,  in  which  every  wom- 
an staid  at  home,  read  the  Bible,  and  wore  pockets 
— ay,  and  that  too  of  a  goodly  size,  fashioned  with, 
patchwork  into  many  curious  devices,  and  ostenta- 
tiously worn  on  the  outside.  These,  in  fact,  were 
convenient  receptacles,  where  all  good  housewives 
carefully  stowed  away  such  things  as  they  wished  to 
have  at  hand  ;  by  which  means  they  often  came  to 
be  incredibly  crammed — and  I  remember  there  was 
a  story  current  when  I  was  a  boy,  that  the  lady  of 
Wouter  Van  Twiller  once  had  occasion  to  empty  her 
right  pocket  in  search  of  a  wooden  ladle,  and  the 
utensil  was  discovered  lying  among  some  rubbish  in 
one  corner — but  we  must  not  give  too  much  faith  to 
all  these  stories ;  the  anecdotes  of  those  remote 
periods  being  very  subject  to  exaggeration. 


Besides  these  notable  pockets,  they  likewise  wore 
scissors  and  pincushions  suspended  from  their  girdles 
by  red  ribands,  or,  among  the  more  opulent  and 
showy  classes,  by  brass,  and  even  silver  chains,  in- 
dubitable tokens  of  thrifty  housewives  and  indus- 
trious spinsters.  1  cannot  say  much  in  vindication 
of  the  shortness  of  the  petticoats  ;  it  doubtless  was 
introduced  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the  stockings  a 
chance  to  be  seen,  which  were  generally  of  blue 
worsted,  w-ith  magnificent  red  clocks — or  perhaps  to 
display  a  well-turned  ankle,  and  a  neat,  though  serv- 
iceable, foot,  set  off  by  a  high-heeled  leathern  shoe, 
with  a  large  and  splendid  silver  buckle.  Thus  we 
find  that  the  gentle  sex  in  all  ages  have  shown  the 
same  disposition  to  infringe  a  little  upon  the  laws  of 
decorum,  in  order  to  betray  a  lurking  beauty,  or 
gratify  an  innocent  love  of  finery. 

From  the  sketch  here  given,  it  will  be  seen  that 
our  good  grandmothers  differed  considerably  in  their 
ideas  of  a  fine  figure  from  their  scantily-dressed  de- 
scendants of  the  present  day.  A  fine  lady,  in  those 
times,  waddled  under  more  clothes,  even  on  a  fair 
summer's  day,  than  would  have  clad  the  whole  bevy 
of  a  modern  ball-room.  Nor  were  they  the  less  ad- 
mired by  the  gentlemen  in  consequence  thereof.  On 
the  contrary,  the  greatness  of  a  lover's  passion  seem- 
ed to  increase  in  proportion  to  the  magnitude  of  its 
object— and  a  voluminous  damsel,  arrayed  in  a  dozen 
of  petticoats,  was  declared  by  a  Low  Dutch  sonnet- 
teer  of  the  province  to  be  radiant  as  a  sunflower, 
and  luxuriant  as  a  full-blown  cabbage.  Certain  it  is, 
that  in  those  days,  the  heart  of  a  lover  could  not  con- 
tain more  than  one  lady  at  a  time  ;  whereas  the  heart 
of  a  modern  gallant  has  often  room  enough  to  ac- 
commodate half-a-dozen.  The  reason  of  which  I 
conclude  to  be,  that  either  the  hearts  of  the  gentle- 
men have  grown  larger,  or  the  persons  of  the  ladies 
smaller— this,  however,  is  a  question  for  physiologists 
to  determine. 

But  there  was  a  secret  charm  in  these  petticoats, 
which  no  doubt  entered  into  the  consideration  of  the 
prudent  gallants.  The  wardrobe  of  a  lady  was  in 
those  days  her  only  fortune ;  and  she  who  had  a 
good  stock  of  petticoats  and  stockings  was  as  ab- 
solutely an  heiress  .as  is  a  Kamtschatka  damsel  with 
a  store  of  bear-skins,  or  a  Lapland  belle  with  a 
plenty  of  reindeer.  The  ladies,  therefore,  were  very 
anxious  to  display  these  powerful  attractions  to  the 
greatest  advantage  ;  and  the  best  rooms  in  the  bouse, 
instead  of  being  adorned  with  caricatures  of  dame 
Nature,  in  water-colours  and  needle-work,  were  al- 
ways hung  round  with  abundance  of  home-spun 
garments,  the  manufacture  and  the  property  of  the 
females — a  piece  of  laudable  ostentation  that  still 
prevails  among  the  heiresses  of  our  Dutch  villages. 

The  gentlemen,  in  fact,  who  figured  in  the  circles 
of  the  gay  world  in  these  ancient  times,  correspond- 
ed, in  most  particulars,  with  the  beauteous  damsels 
whose  smiles  they  were  ambitious  to  deserve.  True 
it  is,  their  merits  would  make  but  a  very  inconsider- 
able impression  upon  the  heart  of  a  modern  fiir  : 
they  neither  drove  their  curricles  nor  sported  their 
tandems,  tor  as  yet  those  gaudy  vehicles  were  not 
even  dreamt  of — neither  did  they  distinguish  them- 
selves by  their  brilliancy  at  the  table  and  their  conse- 
quent rencontres  with  watchmen,  for  our  forefathers 
were  of  too  pacific  a  disposition  to  need  those  guar- 
dians of  the  night,  every  soul  throughout  the  town 
being  sound  asleep  before  nine  o'clock.  Neither  did 
they  estabhsh  their  claims  to  gentility  at  the  expense 
of  their  tailors — for  as  yet  those  offenders  against 
the  pockets  of  society  and  the  tranqdillity  of  all  as- 
piring young  gentlemen  were  unknown  in  New- 
Amsterdam  ;  every  good  housewife  made  the  clothes 
of  her  husband  and  family,  and  even  the  goede  vrouvv 


578 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


of  Van  Twiller  himself  thought  it  no  disparagement 
to  cut  out  her  husband's  Hnsey-woolsey  galligaskins. 

Not  l)ut  w  hat  there  were  some  two  or  three  young- 
sters who  manifested  the  first  dawnings  of  what  is 
called  fire  and  spirit — who  held  all  labour  in  con- 
tempt ;  skulked  about  docks  and  market-places ; 
loitered  in  the  sunshine ;  squandered  what  little 
money  they  could  procure  at  hustle-cap  and  chuck- 
farthing  ;  swore,  boxed,  fought  cocks,  and  raced 
their  neighbours'  horses — in  short,  who  promised  to 
be  the  wonder,  the  talk,  and  abomination  of  the  town, 
bad  not  their  stylish  career  been  unfortunately  cut 
short  by  an  affair  of  honour  with  a  whipping-post. 

Far  other,  however,  was  the  truly  fashionable  gen- 
tleman of  those  days — his  dress,  which  served  for 
both  morning  and  evening,  street  and  drawing- 
room,  was  a  linsey-woolsey  coat,  made,  perhaps,  by 
the  fair  hands  of  the  mistress  of  his  affections,  and 
gallantly  bedecked  with  abundance  of  large  brass 
buttons — half  a  score  of  breeches  heightened  the 
proportions  of  his  figure — his  shoes  were  decorated 
by  enormous  copper  buckles — a  low-crowned,  broad- 
brimmed  hat  o\'ershadowed  his  burly  visage,  and  his 
hair  dangled  down  his  back  in  a  prodigious  queue 
of  eel-skin. 

Thus  equipped,  he  would  manfully  sally  forth  with 
pipe  in  mouth,  to  besiege  some  fair  damsel's  obdu- 
rate heart — not  such  a  pipe,  good  reader,  as  that 
which  Acis  did  sweetly  tune  in  praise  of  his  Galatea, 
hut  one  of  true  delft  manufacture,  and  furnished  with 
a  charge  of  fragrant  tobacco.  With  this  would  he 
resolutely  set  himself  down  before  the  fortress,  and 
rarely  failed,  in  the  process  of  time,  to  smoke  the  fair 
enemy  into  a  surrender,  upon  honourable  terms. 

Such  was  the  happy  reign  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller, 
celebrated  in  many  a  long-forgotten  song  as  the  real 
golden  age,  the  rest  being  nothing  but  counterfeit 
copper-washed  coin.  In  that  delightful  period  a 
sweet  and  holy  calm  reigned  over  the  whole  prov- 
ince. The  burgomaster  smoked  his  pipe  in  peace — 
the  substantial  solace  of  his  domestic  cares,  after  her 
daily  toils  were  done,  sat  soberly  at  the  door,  with 
her  arms  crossed  over  her  apron  of  snowy  white, 
without  being  insulted  by  ribald  street-walkers,  or 
vagabond  boys — those  unlucky  urchins,  who  do  so 
infest  our  streets,  displaying  under  the  roses  of  youth 
the  thorns  and  briars  of  iniquity.  Then  it  was  that 
the  lover  with  ten  breeches,  and  the  damsel  with 
))etticoats  of  half  a  score,  indulged  in  all  the  innocent 
endearments  of  virtuous  love,  without  fear  and  with- 
out reproach;  for  what  had  that  virtue  to  fear  which 
was  defended  by  a  shield  of  good  linsey-woolseys, 
equal  at  least  to  the  seven  bull-hides  of  the  invinci- 
ble Ajax .' 

Ah  I  blissful,  and  never-to-be-forgotten  age  !  when 
every  thing  was  better  than  it  has  ever  been  since, 
or  ever  will  be  again — when  Buttermilk  Channel  was 
quite  dry  at  low  water — when  the  shad  in  the  Hud- 
son were  all  salmon,  and  when  the  moon  shone  with 
a  pure  and  resplendent  whiteness,  instead  of  that 
melancholy  yellow  light  which  is  the  consequence  of 
her  sickening  at  the  abominations  she  every  night 
witnesses  in  this  degenerate  city  ! 

Happy  would  it  have  been  for  New-Amsterdam, 
could  it  always  have  existed  in  this  state  of  blissful 
ignorance  and  lowly  simplicity — but,  alas  !  the  days 
of  childhood  are  too  sweet  to  last !  Cities,  like  men, 
grow  out  of  them  in  time,  and  are  doomed  alike  to 
grow  into  the  bustle,  the  cares,  and  miseries  of  the 
world.  Let  no  man  congratulate  himself  when  he 
beholds  the  child  of  his  bosom  or  the  city  of  his  birth 
increasing  in  magnitude  and  importance — let  the 
history  of  his  own  life  teach  him  the  dangers  of  the 
one,  and  tliis  excellent  little  history  of  Manna-hata 
convince  him  of  the  calamities  of  the  other. 


CHAPTER  V. 

IN  WHICH  THE  READER  IS  BEGUILED  INTO  A  DE- 
LECTABLE WALK  WHICH  ENDS  VERY  DIFFER- 
ENTLY FROM  WHAT  IT  COMMEN'CED. 

In  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred and  four,  en  a  fine  afternoon,  in  the  glowing 
month  of  September,  I  took  my  customary  walk 
upon  the  Battery,  which  is  at  once  the  pride  and 
bulwark  of  this  ancient  and  impregnable  city  of 
New- York.  The  ground  on  which  1  trod  was  hal- 
lowed by  recollections  of  the  past,  and  as  I  slowly, 
wandered  through  the  long  alley  of  poplars,  which 
like  so  many  birch-brooms  standing  on  end,  diffused 
a  melancholy  and  lugubrious  shade,  my  imagination 
drew  a  contrast  between  the  surrounding  scenery, 
and  what  it  was  in  the  classic  days  of  our  forefathers. 
Where  the  government-house  by  name,  but  the  cus- 
tom-house by  occupation,  proudly  reared  its  brick 
walls  and  wooden  pillars,  there  whilome  stood  the 
low  but  substantial,  red-tiled  mansion  of  the  re- 
nowned Wouter  Van  Twiller.  Around  it  the  mighty 
bulwarks  of  Fort  Amsterdam  frowned  defiance  to 
every  absent  foe  ;  but,  like  many  a  whiskered  war- 
rior and  gallant  militia  captain,  confined  their  mar- 
tial deeds  to  frowns  alone.  The  mud  breastworks 
had  long  been  levelled  with  the  earth,  and  their  site 
converted  into  the  green  lawns  and  leafy  alleys  of  the 
Battery;  where  the  gay  apprentice  sported  his  Sunday 
coat,  and  the  laborious  mechanic,  relieved  from  the 
dirt  and  drudgery  of  the  week,  poured  his  weekly  tale 
of  love  into  the  half  averted  ear  of  the  sentimental 
chambermaid.  The  capacious  bay  still  presented 
the  same  expansive  sheet  of  water,  studded  with 
islands,  sprinkled  with  fishing-boats,  and  bounded 
with  shores  of  picturesque  beauty.  But  the  dark  forests 
which  once  clothed  these  shores  had  been  violated 
by  the  savage  hand  of  cultivation  ;  and  their  tangled 
mazes,  and  impenetrable  thickets,  had  degenerated 
into  teeming  orchards  and  waving  fields  of  grain. 
Even  Governor's  Island,  once  a  smiling  garden,  ap- 
pertaining to  the  sovereigns  of  the  province,  was 
now  covered  with  fortifications,  inclosing  a  tremen- 
dous blockhouse — so  that  this  once  peaceful  island 
resembled  a  fierce  little  warrior  in  a  big  cocked  hat, 
breathing  gunpowder  and  defiance  to  the  world  ! 

For  some  time  did  I  indulge  in  this  pensive  train 
of  thought ;  contrasting,  in  sober  sadness,  the  pres- 
ent day  with  the  hallowed  years  behind  the  mount- 
ains ;  lamenting  the  melancholy  progress  of  im- 
provement, and  praising  the  zeal  with  which  our 
worthy  burghers  endeavour  to  preserve  the  wrecks 
of  venerable  customs,  prejudices,  and  errors,  from 
the  overwheliTiing  tide  of  modern  innovation — when 
by  degrees  my  ideas  took  a  different  turn,  and  I 
insensibly  awakened  to  an  enjoyment  of  the  beauties 
around  me. 

It  was  one  of  those  rich  autumnal  days,  which 
Heaven  particularly  bestows  upon  the  beauteous 
island  of  Manna-hata  and  its  vicinity — not  a  floating 
cloud  obscured  the  azure  firmament — the  sun,  rolling 
in  glorious  splendour  through  his  ethereal  course, 
seemed  to  expand  his  honest  Dutch  countenance 
into  an  unusual  expression  of  benevolence,  as  he 
smiled  his  evening  salutation  upon  a  city  which  he 
delights  to  visit  with  his  most  bounteous  beams  —the 
very  winds  seemed  to  hold  in  their  breaths  in  mute 
attention,  lest  they  should  ruffle  the  tranquillity  of  the 
hour — and  the  waveless  bosom  of  the  bay  presented 
a  polished  mirror,  in  which  Nature  beheld  herself 
and  smiled.  The  standard  of  our  city,  reserved,  like 
a  choice  handkerchief,  for  days  of  gala,  hung  motion- 
less on  the  flag-staff,  which  forms  the  handle  to  a 
gigantic  churn ;  and  even  the  tremulous  leaves  of 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


57. 


the  poplar  and  the  aspen  ceased  to  vibrate  to  the 
breath  of  heaven.  Every  thing  seemed  to  acquiesce 
in  the  profound  repose  of  nature.  The  formidable 
eigh teen-pounders  slept  in  the  einbrasures  of  the 
wooden  batteries,  seemingly  gathering  fresh  strength 
to  Hght  the  battles  of  their  country  on  the  next 
fourth  of  July — the  solitary  drum  on  Governor's  Isl- 
and forgot  to  call  the  garrison  to  their  shovels — the 
evening  gun  had  not  yet  sounded  its  signal  for  all 
the  regular,  well-meaning  poultry  throughout  the 
country  to  go  to  roost ;  and  the  fleet  of  canoes,  at 
anchor  between  Gibbet  Island  and  Communipaw, 
slumbered  on  their  rakes,  and  suffered  the  innocent 
oysters  to  lie  for  a  while  unmolested  in  the  soft  mud 
of  their  native  bank  ! — My  own  feelings  sympathized 
with  the  contagious  tranquillity,  and  I  should  infal- 
libly have  dozed  upon  one  of  those  fragments  of 
benches,  which  our  benevolent  magistrates  have 
provided  for  the  benefit  of  convalescent  loungers, 
had  not  the  extraordinary  inconvenience  of  the 
couch  set  all  repose  at  defiance. 

In  the  midst  of  this  slumber  of  the  soul,  my  atten- 
tion was  attracted  to  a  black  speck,  peering  above 
the  western  horizon,  just  in  the  rear  of  Bergen 
steeple — gradually  it  augments,  and  overhangs  the 
would-be  cities  of  Jersey,  Harsimus,  and  Hoboken, 
which,  like  three  jockies,  are  starting  on  the  course 
of  existence,  and  jostling  each  other  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  race.  Now  it  skirts  the  long  shore 
of  ancient  Pavonia,  spreading  its  wide  shadows  from 
the  high  settlements  at  Weehawk  quite  to  the  laza- 
retto and  quarantine,  erected  by  the  sagacity  of  our 
police  for  the  embarrassment  of  commerce — now  it 
climbs  the  serene  vault  of  heaven,  cloud  rolling  over 
cloud,  shrouding  the  orb  of  day,  darkening  the  vast 
expanse,  and  bearing  thunder  and  hail  and  tempest 
in  its  bosom.  The  earth  seems  agitated  at  the  con- 
fusion of  the  heavens — the  late  waveless  mirror  is 
lashed  into  furious  waves,  that  roll  in  hollow  mur- 
murs to  the  shore — the  oyster-boats  that  erst  sported 
in  the  placid  vicinity  ot  Gibbet  Island,  now  hurry 
affrighted  to  the  land — the  poplar  writhes  and  twists 
and  whistles  in  the  blast — torrents  of  drenching 
rain  and  sounding  hail  deluge  the  Battery-walks — 
the  gates  are  thronged  by  apprentices,  servant-maids, 
and  little  Frenchmen,  with  pocket-handkerchiefs 
over  their  hats,  scampering  from  the  storm — the 
late  beauteous  prospect  presents  one  scene  of  an- 
archy and  wild  uproar,  as  though  old  Chaos  had 
resumed  his  reign,  and  was  hurling  back  into  one 
vast  turmoil  the  conflicting  elements  of  nature. 

Whether  I  fled  from  the  fury  of  the  storm,  or  re- 
mained boldly  at  my  post,  as  our  gallant  train-band 
captains  who  march  their  soldiers  through  the  rain 
without  flinching,  are  points  which  I  leave  to  the 
conjecture  of  the  reader.  It  is  possible  he  may  be 
a  little  perplexed  also  to  know  the  reason  why  1  in- 
troduced this  tremendous  tempest  to  disturb  the 
serenity  of  my  work.  On  this  latter  point  I  will 
gratuitously  instruct  his  ignorance.  The  panorama 
view  of  the  Battery  was  given  merely  to  gratify  the 
reader  with  a  correct  description  of  that  celebrated 
place,  and  the  parts  adjacent — secondly,  the  storm 
was  played  off  partly  to  give  a  little  bustle  and  life 
to  this  tranquil  part  of  my  work,  and  to  keep  my 
drowsy  readers  from  falling  asleep — and  partly  to 
serve  as  an  overture  to  the  tempestuous  times  that 
are  about  to  assail  the  pacific  province  of  Nieuw- 
Nederlandts — and  that  overhang  the  slumberous  ad- 
ministration of  the  renowned  Wouter  Van  Twiller. 
It  is  thus  the  experienced  playwright  puts  all  the 
fiddles,  the  French  horns,  the  kettledrums,  and  trump- 
ets of  his  orchestra  in  requisition,  to  usher  in  one 
of  those  horrible  and  brimstone  uproars  called  melo- 
dramas— and  it  is  thus  he  discharges  his  thunder, 
37 


his  lightning,  his  rosin,  and  saltpetre,  preparatory  to 
the  rising  of  a  ghost,  or  the  murdering  of  a  hero. — 
We  will  now  proceed  with  our  history. 

Whatever  may  be  advanced  by  philosophers  to 
the  contrary,  I  am  of  opinion,  that,  as  to  nations, 
the  old  maxim,  that  "  honesty  is  the  best  policy,"  is 
a  sheer  and  ruinous  mistake.  It  might  have  answer- 
ed well  enough  in  the  honest  times  when  it  was 
made,  but  in  these  degenerate  days,  if  a  nation  pre- 
tends to  rely  merely  upon  the  justice  of  its  dealings, 
it  will  fare  something  like  an  honest  man  among 
thieves,  who,  unless  he  have  something  more  than 
his  honesty  to  defiend  upon,  stands  but  a  poor  chance 
of  profiting  by  his  company.  Such  at  least  was  the 
case  with  the  guileless  government  of  the  New 
Netherlands  ;  which,  like  a  worthy  unsuspicious  old 
burgher,  quietly  settled  itself  down  into  the  city  of 
New-Amsterdam,  as  into  a  snug  elbow-chair—and 
fell  into  a  comfortable  nap — while,  in  the  meantime, 
its  cunning  neighbours  stepped  in  and  picked  its 
pockets.  Thus  may  we  ascribe  the  commencement 
of  all  the  woes  of  this  great  province,  and  its  mag- 
nificent metropolis,  to  the  tranquil  security,  or,  to 
speak  more  accurately,  to  the  unfortunate  honesty, 
of  its  government.  But  as  I  dislike  to  begin  an  im- 
portant part  of  my  history  towards  the  end  of  a 
chapter  ;  and  as  my  readers,  like  myself,  must  doubt- 
less be  exceedingly  fatigued  with  the  long  walk  we 
have  taken,  and  the  tempest  we  have  sustained — I 
hold  it  meet  we  shut  up  the  book,  smoke  a  pipe,  and 
having  thus  refreshed  our  spirits,  take  a  fair  start  in 
the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

FAITHFULLY  DESCRIBING  THE  INGENIOUS  PEO- 
PLE OF  CONNECTICUT  AND  THEREABOUTS — 
SHOWING,  MOREOVER,  THE  TRUE  MEANING  OF 
LIBERTY  OF  CONSCIENCE,  AND  A  CURIOUS  DE- 
VICE AMONG  THESE  STURDY  BARBARIANS,  TO 
KEEP  UP  A  HARMONY  OF  INTERCOURSE,  AND 
PROMOTE  POPULATION. 

That  my  readers  may  the  more  fully  comprehend 
the  extent  of  the  calamity,  at  this  very  moment  im- 
pending over  the  honest,  unsuspecting  province  of 
Nieuw  Nederlandts,  and  its  dubious  governor,  it  is 
necessary  that  I  should  give  some  account  of  a  horde 
of  strange  barbarians,  bordering  upon  the  eastern 
frontier. 

Now  so  it  came  to  pass,  that  many  years  previous 
to  the  time  of  which  we  are  treating,  the  sage  cabi- 
net of  England  had  adopted  a  certain  national  creed, 
a  kind  of  public  walk  of  faith,  or  rather  a  religious 
turnpike,  in  which  every  loyal  subject  was  directed 
to  travel  to  Zion — taking  care  to  pay  the  toll-gath- 
erers by  the  way. 

Albeit,  a  certain  shrewd  race  of  men,  being  very 
much  given  to  indulge  their  own  opinions,  on  all 
manner  of  subjects,  (a  propensity  exceedingly  offen- 
sive to  your  free  governments  of  Europe,)  did  most 
presuinptuously  dare  to  think  for  themselves  in  mat- 
ters of  religion,  exercising  what  they  considered  a 
natural  and  unextinguishable  right — the  liberty  of 
conscience. 

As,  however,  they  possessed  that  ingenious  habit 
of  mind  which  always  thinks  aloud  ;  which  rides 
cock-a-hoop  on  the  tongue,  and  is  for  ever  galloping 
into  other  people's  ears,  it  naturally  followed  'hat 
their  liberty  of  conscience  likewise  implied  liberty  of 
speech,  which  being  freely  indulged,  soon  put  the 
country  in  a  hubbub,  and  aroused  the  pious  indigna-- 
tion  of  the  vigilant  fathers  of  the  church. 


578 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


The  usual  methods  were  adopted  to  reclaim  them, 
that  in  those  days  were  considered  so  efficacious  in 
bringing  back  stray  sheep  to  the  fold  ;  that  is  to  say, 
they  were  coaxed,  they  were  admonished,  they  were 
menaced,  they  were  buffeted — line  upon  line,  precept 
upon  precept,  lash  upon  lash,  here  a  little  and  there 
a  great  deal,  were  exhausted  without  mercy,  and 
without  success ;  until  at  length  the  worthy  pastors 
of  the  church,  wearied  out  by  their  unparalleled 
stubbornness,  were  driven,  in  the  excess  of  their  ten- 
der mercy,  to  adopt  the  scripture  text,  and  literally 
"  heaped  live  embers  on  their  heads." 

Nothing,  however,  could  subdue  that  invincible 
spirit  of  independence  which  has  ever  distinguished 
this  singular  race  of  people,  so  that  rather  than  sub- 
mit to  such  horrible  tyranny,  they  one  and  all  em- 
barked for  the  wilderness  of  America,  where  they 
might  enjoy,  unmolested,  the  inestimable  luxury  of 
talking.  No  sooner  did  they  land  on  this  loquacious 
soil,  than,  as  if  they  had  caught  the  disease  from  the 
climate,  they  all  lifted  up  their  voices  at  once,  and 
for  the  space  of  one  whole  year  did  keep  -up  such  a 
joyful  clamour,  that  we  are  told  they  frightened 
every  bird  and  beast  out  of  the  neighbourhood,  and 
so  completely  dumbfounded  certain  fish,  which 
abound  on  their  coast,  that  they  have  been  called 
dumb-fish  ever  since. 

From  this  simple  circumstance,  unimportant  as  it 
may  seem,  did  first  originate  that  renowned  privilege 
so  loudly  boasted  of  throughout  this  country^which 
is  so  eloquently  exercised  in  newspapers,  pamphlets, 
ward  meetings,  pot-house  committees,  and  congres- 
sional deliberations — which  established  the  right  of 
talking  without  ideas  and  without  information — of 
misrepresenting  public  affairs — of  decrying  public 
measures — of  aspersing  great  characters,  and  de- 
stroying little  ones  ;  in  short,  that  grand  palladium 
of  our  country,  the  liberty  of  speech. 

The  simple  aborigines  of  the  land  for  a  while  con- 
templated these  strange  folk  in  utter  astonishment, 
but  discovering  that  they  wielded  harmless  though 
noisy  weapons,  and  were  a  lively,  ingenious,  good- 
humoured  race  of  men,  they  became  very  friendly 
and  sociable,  and  gave  them  the  name  of  Yanokies, 
which  in  the  Mais-Tchusaeg  (or  Massachusett)  lan- 
giiage  signifies  silent  men — a  waggish  appellation, 
since  shortened  into  the  familiar  epithet  of  YANKEES, 
which  they  retain  unto  the  present  day. 

True  it  is,  and  my  fidelity  as  a  historian  will  not 
allow  me  to  pass  it  over  in  silence,  that  the  zeal  of 
these  good  people,  to  maintain  their  rights  and  privi- 
leges unimpaired,  did  for  a  while  betray  them  into 
errors,  which  it  is  easier  to  pardon  than  defend. 
Having  served  a  regular  apprenticeship  in  the  school 
of  persecution,  it  behoved  them  to  show  that  they 
had  become  proficients  in  the  art.  They  accordingly 
employed  their  leisure  hours  in  banishing,  scourging, 
or  hanging  divers  heretical  Papists,  Quakers,  and 
Anabaptists,  for  daring  to  abuse  the  liberty  of  con- 
science:  which  they  now  clearly  proved  to  imply 
nothing  more  than  that  every  man  should  think  as 
he  pleased  in  matters  of  religion — provided  he 
thought  right ;  for  otherwise  it  would  be  giving  a 
latitude  to  damnable  heresies.  Now  as  they  (the 
majority)  were  perfectly  convinced,  that  they  alone 
thought  right,  it  consequently  followed,  that  who- 
ever thought  different  from  them  thought  wrong — 
and  whoever  thought  wrong,  and  obstinately  per- 
sisted in  not  being  convinced  and  converted,  was  a 
flagrant  violator  of  the  inestimable  liberty  of  con- 
science, and  a  corrupt  and  infectious  member  of  the 
body  politic,  and  deserved  to  be  lopped  off  and  cast 
into  the  fire. 

Now  I'll  warrant  there  are  hosts  of  my  readers, 
ready  at  once  to  lift  up  their  hands  and  eyes,  with 


that  virtuous  indignation  with  which  we  always  con- 
template the  faults  and  errors  of  our  neighbours,  and 
to  exclaim  at  these  well-meaning,  but  mistaken  peo- 
ple, for  inflicting  on  others  the  injuries  they  had  suf- 
fered themselves — for  indulging  the  preposterous 
idea  of  convincing  the  mind  by  tormenting  the  body, 
and  establishing  the  doctrine  of  charity  and  forbear- 
ance by  intolerant  persecution.  But,  in  simple  truth, 
what  are  we  doing  at  this  very  day,  and  in  this  very 
enlightened  nation,  but  acting  upon  the  very  same 
principle,  in  our  political  controversies  ?  Have  we 
not,  within  but  a  few  years,  released  ourselves  from 
the  shackles  of  a  government  which  cruelly  denied 
us  the  privilege  of  governing  ourselves,  and  using  in 
full  latitude  that  invaluable  member,  the  tongue  f 
and  are  we  not  at  this  very  moment  striving  our 
best  to  tyrannize  over  the  opinions,  tie  up  the 
tongues,  or  ruin  the  fortunes  of  one  another  ?  What 
are  our  great  political  societies,  but  mere  political  in- 
quisitions—  our  pot-house  committees,  but  little 
tribunals  of  denunciation — our  newspapers,  but  mere 
whipping-posts  and  pillories,  where  unfortunate  indi- 
viduals are  pelted  with  rotten  eggs — and  our  council 
of  appointment,  but  a  grand  auto  da  fe,  where 
culprits  are  annually  sacrificed  for  their  political 
heresies  ? 

Where,  then,  is  the  difference  in  principle  between 
our  measures  and  those  you  are  so  ready  to  condemn 
among  the  people  I  am  treating  of  ?  There  is  none  ; 
the  difference  is  merely  circumstantial.  Thus  we  de- 
nounce, instead  of  banishing — we  libel,  instead  of 
scourging — we  turn  out  of  office,  instead  of  hanging 
— and  where  they  burnt  an  offender  in  propria  per- 
sona, we  either  tar  and  feather  or  burn  hi?n  in  effigy 
— this  political  persecution  being,  somehow  or  other, 
the  grand  palladium  of  our  liberties,  and  an  incon- 
trovertible proof  that  this  is  a  free  country  I 

But  notwithstanding  the  fervent  zeal  with  which 
this  holy  war  was  prosecuted  against  the  whole  race 
of  unbelievers,  we  do  not  find  that  the  population  of 
this  new  colony  was  in  any  wise  hindered  thereby  ; 
on  the  contrary,  they  multiplied  to  a  degree  which 
would  be  incredible  to  any  man  unacquainted  with 
the  marvellous  fecundity  of  this  growing  country. 

This  amazing  increase  may,  indeed,  be  partly  as- 
cribed to  a  singular  custom  prevalent  among  them, 
commonly  known  by  the  name  of  bundling — a  super- 
stitious rite  observed  by  the  young  people  of  both 
sexes,  with  which  they  usually  terminated  their 
festivities ;  and  which  was  kept  up  with  religious 
strictness  by  the  more  bigoted  and  vulgar  part  of  the 
community.  This  ceremony  was  Likewise,  in  those 
primitive  times,  considered  as  an  indispensable  pre- 
liminary to  matrimony  ;  their  courtships  commencing 
where  ours  usually  finish — by  which  means  they  ac- 
quired that  intimate  acquaintance  with  each  other's 
good  qualities  before  marriage,  which  has  been  pro- 
nounced by  philosophers  the  sure  basis  of  a  happy 
union.  Thus  early  did  this  cunning  and  ingenious 
people  display  a  shrewdness  at  making  a  bargain, 
which  has  ever  since  distinguished  them — and  a 
strict  adherence  to  the  good  old  vulgar  maxim  about 
"  buying  a  pig  in  a  poke." 

To  this  sagacious  custom,  therefore,  do  I  chiefly 
attribute  the  unparalleled  increase  of  the  Yanokie  or 
Yankee  tribe  ;  for  it  is  a  certain  fact,  well  authenti- 
cated by  court  records  and  parish  registers,  that 
wherever  the  practice  of  bundling  prevailed,  theie 
was  an  amazing  number  of  sturdy  brats  annually 
born  unto  the  State,  without  the  license  of  the  law, 
or  the  benefit  of  clergy.  Neither  did  the  irregularity, 
of  their  birth  operate  in  the  least  to  their  disparage- 
ment. On  the  contrary,  they  grew  up  a  long-sided, 
raw-boned,  hardy  race  of  whoreson  whalers,  wood- 
cutters, fishermen,  and  pedlers,  and  strapping  corn- 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


579 


fed  wenches;  who  by  their  united  efforts  tended 
marvellously  towards  populating  those  notable  tracts 
of  country  called  Nantucket,  Piscataway,  and  Cape 
Cod. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

HOW  THESE  SINGULAR  BARBARIANS  TURNED  OUT 
TO  BE  NOTORIOUS  SQUATTERS  —  HOW  THEY 
BUILT  AIR  CASTLES,  AND  ATTEMPTED  TO  INI- 
TIATE THE  NEDERLANDERS  IN  THE  MYSTERY 
OF  BUNDLING. 

In  the  last  chapter  I  have  given  a  faithful  and  un- 
prejudiced account  of  the  origin  of  that  singular  race 
of  people,  inhabiting  the  country  eastward  of  the 
Nieuw  Nederlandts ;  but  I  have  yet  to  mention  cer- 
tain peculiar  habits  which  rendered  them  exceedingly 
obnoxious  to  our  ever-honoured  Dutch  ancestors. 

The  most  prominent  of  these  was  a  certain  ram- 
bling propensity,  with  which,  like  the  sons  of  Ish- 
mael,  they  seem  to  have  been  gifted  by  Heaven,  and 
which  continually  goads  them  on,  to  shift  their  resi- 
dence from  place  to  place,  so  that  a  Yankee  farmer 
is  in  a  constant  state  of  migration  ;  tarrying  occa- 
sionally here  and  there ;  clearing  lands  for  other  peo- 
ple to  enjoy,  building  houses  lor  others  to  inhabit, 
and  in  a  manner  may  be  considered  the  wandering 
Arab  of  America. 

His  first  thought,  on  coming  to  the  years  of  man- 
hood, is  to  settle  himself  in  the  world — which  means 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  to  begin  his  rambles. 
To  this  end  he  takes  unto  himself  for  a  wife  some 
buxom  country  heiress,  passing  rich  in  red  ribands, 
,dass  beads,  and  mock  tortoise-shell  combs,  with  a 
^■hite  gown  and  morocco  shoes  for  Sunday,  and 
leeply  skilled  in  the  mystery  of  making  apple  sweet- 
.neats,  long  sauce,  and  pumpkin  pie. 

Having  thus  provided  himself,  like  a  pedler,  with 
I  heavy  knapsack,  wherewith  to  regale  his  shoulders 
through  the  journey  of  life,  he  literally  sets  out  on 
the  peregrination.  His  whole  family,  household  fur- 
niture, and  farming  utensils,  are  hoisted  into  a  cov- 
ered cart ;  his  own  and  his  wife's  wardrobe  packed 
up  in  a  firkin — which  done,  he  shoulders  his  axe, 
takes  staff  in  hand,  whistles  "  Yankee  Doodle,"  and 
trudges  off  to  the  woods,  as  confident  of  the  protec- 
tion of  Providence,  and  relying  as  cheerfully  upon  his 
own  resources,  as  did  ever  a  patriarch  of  yore,  when 
he  journeyed  into  a  strange  country  of  the  Gentiles. 
Having  buried  himself  in  the  wilderness,  he  builds 
himself  a  log  hut,  clears  away  a  corn-field  and  pota- 
to-patch, and  Providence  smiling  upon  his  labours, 
is  soon  surrounded  by  a  snug  farm  and  some  half  a 
score  of  flaxen-headed  urchins,  who,  by  their  size, 
seem  to  have  sprung  all  at  once  out  of  the  earth,  like 
a  crop  of  toad-stools. 

But  it  is  not  the  nature  of  this  most  indefatigable 
of  speculators  to  rest  contented  with  any  state  of 
sublunary  enjoyment  —  improvement  is  his  darling 
passion,  and  having  thus  improved  his  lands,  the 
next  care -is  to  provide  a  mansion  worthy  the  resi- 
dence of  a  landholder.  A  huge  palace  of  pine  boards 
immediately  springs  up  in  the  midst  of  the  wilder- 
ness, large  enough  for  a  parish  church,  and  furnished 
with  windows  of  all  dimensions,  but  so  rickety  and 
flimsy  withal,  that  every  blast  gives  it  a  fit  of  the  ague. 

By  the  time  the  outside  of  this  mighty  air  castle  is 
completed,  either  the  funds  or  the  zeal  of  our  adven- 
turer are  exhausted,  so  that  he  barely  manages  to 
half  finish  one  room  within,  where  the  whole  family 
burrow  together — while  the  rest  of  the  house  is  de- 
voted to  the  curing  of  pumpkins,  or  storing  of  car- 
rots and  potatoes,  and  is  decorated  with  fanciful  fes- 


toons of  dried  apples  and  peaches.  The  outside 
remaining  unpainted,  grows  venerably  black  with 
time;  the  family  wardrobe  is  laid  under  contribution 
for  old  hats,  petticoats,  and  breeches,  to  stuff  into  the 
broken  windows,  while  the  four  winds  of  heaven 
keep  up  a  whistling  and  howling  about  this  aerial 
palace,  and  play  as  many  unruly  gambols,  as  they 
did  of  yore  in  the  cave  of  old  yEolus. 

The  humble  log  hut,  which  whilome  nestled  this 
improving  family  snugly  within  its  narrow  but  com- 
fortable walls,  stands  hard  by,  in  ignominious  con- 
trast, degraded  into  a  cow-house  or  pig-sty  ;  and  the 
whole  scene  reminds  one  forcibly  of  a  fable,  which 
I  am  surprised  has  never  been  recorded,  of  an  aspir- 
ing snail,  who  abandoned  his  humble  habitation, 
which  he  had  long  filled  with  great  respectabijity,  to 
crawl  into  the  empty  shell  of  a  lobster — where  he 
would  no  doubt  have  resided  with  great  style  and 
splendour,  the  envy  and  hate  of  all  the  pains-taking 
snails  in  his  neighbourhood,  had  he  not  accidentally 
perished  with  cold,  in  one  comer  of  his  stupendous 
mansion. 

Being  thus  completely  settled,  and,  to  use  his  own 
words,  "  to  rights,"  one  would  imagine  that  he  would 
begin  to  enjoy  the  comforts  of  his  situation,  to  read 
newspapers,  talk  politics,  neglect  his  own  business, 
and  attend  to  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  like  a  useful 
and  patriotic  citizen  ;  but  now  it  is  that  his  wayward 
disposition  begins  again  to  operate.  He  soon  grows 
tired  of  a  spot  where  there  is  no  longer  any  room 
for  improvement — sells  his  farm,  air  castle,  petticoat 
windows  and  all,  reloads  his  cart,  shoulders  his  axe, 
puts  himself  at  the  head  of  his  family,  and  wanders 
away  in  search  of  new  lands — again  to  fell  trees — 
again  to  clear  corn-fields — again  to  build  a  shingle 
palace,  and  again  to  sell  off  and  wander. 

Such  were  the  people  of  Connecticut,  who  bor- 
dered upon  the  eastern  frontier  of  Nieuw  Neder- 
landts ;  and  my  readers  may  easily  imagine  what  ob- 
noxious neighbours  this  light-hearted  but  restless 
tribe  must  have  been  to  our  tranquil  progenitors. 
If  they  cannot,  I  would  ask  them,  if  they  have  ever 
known  one  of  our  regular,  well-organized  Dutch 
families,  whom  it  hath  pleased  Heaven  to  afflict  with 
the  neighbourhood  of  a  French  boarding-house  .'  The 
honest  old  burgher  cannot  take  his  afternoon's  pipe 
on  the  bench  before  his  door,  but  he  is  persecuted 
with  the  scraping  of  fiddles,  the  chattering  of  women, 
and  the  squalling  of  children — he  cannot  sleep  at 
night  for  the  horrible  melodies  of  some  amateur,  who 
chooses  to  serenade  the  moon,  and  display  his  ter- 
rible proficiency  in  execution,  on  the  clarionet,  the 
hautboy,  or  some  other  soft-toned  instrument— nor 
can  he  leave  the  street  door  open,  but  his  house  is 
defiled  by  the  unsavoury  visits  of  a  troop  of  pug  dogs, 
who  even  sometimes  carry  their  loathsome  ravages 
into  the  sanctum  sanctorum,  the  parlour  ! 

If  my  readers  have  ever  witnessed  the  sufferings 
of  such  a  family,  so  situated,  they  may  form  some 
idea  how  our  worthy  ancestors  were  distressed  by 
their  mercurial  neighbours  of  Connecticut. 

Gangs  of  these  marauders,  we  are  told,  penetrated 
into  the  New-Netherland  settlements,  and  threw 
whole  villages  into  consternation  by  their  unparalleled 
volubility,  and  their  intolerable  inquisitiveness — two 
evil  habits  hitherto  unknown  in  those  parts,  or  on'y 
known  to  be  abhorred  ;  for  our  ancestors  were  noted 
as  being  men  of  truly  Spartan  taciturnity,  and  who 
neither  knew  nor  cared  aught  about  any  body's  con- 
cerns but  their  own.  Many  enormities  were  com- 
mitted on  the  highways,  where  several  unoffending 
burghers  were  brought  to  a  stand,  and  tortured  with 
questions  and  guesses,  which  outrages  occasioned  as 
much  vexation  and  heartburning  as  does  the  modern 
right  of  search  on  the  high  seas. 


580 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Great  jealousy  did  they  likewise  stir  up,  by  their 
Intermeddling  and  successes  among  the  divine  sex  ; 
for  being  a  race  of  brisk,  hkely,  pleasant-tongued 
varlets,  they  soon  seduced  the  light  affections  of  the 
sinnple  damsels  from  their  ponderous  Dutch  gallants. 
Among  other  hideous  customs,  they  attempted  to  in- 
troduce among  them  that  of  bundling,  which  the 
Dutch  lasses  of  the  Nederlandts,  with  that  eager  pas- 
sion for  novelty  and  foreign  fashions  natural  to  their 
sex,  seemed  very  well  inclined  to  follow,  but  that 
their  mothers,  being  more  experienced  in  the  world 
and  better  acquainted  with  men  and  things,  strenu- 
ously discountenanced  all  such  outlandish  innova- 
tions. 

But  what  chiefly  operated  to  embroil  our  ances- 
tors with  these  strange  folk,  was  an  unwarrantable 
liberty  which  they  occasionally  took  of  entering  in 
hordes  into  the  territories  of  the  New-Netherlands, 
and  settling  themselves  down,  without  leave  or  li- 
cense, to  improve  the  land,  in  the  manner  I  have  be- 
fore noticed.  This  unceremonious  mode  of  taking 
possesion  of  new  land  was  technically  termed  squat- 
ting, and  hence  is  derived  the  appellation  of  squat- 
ters; a  name  odious  in  the  ears  of  all  great  landholders, 
and  which  is  given  to  those  enterprising  worthies 
who  seize  upon  land  first,  and  take  their  chance  to 
•make  good  their  title  to  it  afterwards. 

All  these  grievances,  and  many  others  which  were 
constantly  accumulating,  tended  to  form  that  dark 
and  portentous  cloud,  which,  as  I  observed  in  a  for- 
mer chapter,  was  slowly  gathering  over  the  tranquil 
province  of  New-Netherlands.  The  Jjacific  cabinet 
of  Van  TwiUer,  however,  as  will  be  perceived  in  the 
sequel,  bore  them  all  with  a  magnanimity  that  re- 
<lounds  to  their  immortal  credit— becoming  by  pas- 
sive endurance  inured  to  this  increasing  mass  of 
wrongs  ;  like  that  mighty  man  of  old,  who  by  dint  of 
carrying  about  a  calf  from  the  time  it  was  born,  con- 
tinued to  carry  it  without  difficulty  when  it  had 
grown  to  be  an  ox. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


HOW  THE  FORT  GOED  HOOP  WAS  FEARFULLY 
BELEAGUERED— HOW  THE  RENOWNED  WOUTER 
FELL  INTO  A  PROFOUND  DOUBT,  AND  HOW 
HE  FINALLY  EVAPORATED. 

By  this  time  my  readers  must  fully  perceive  what 
an  arduous  task  I  have  undertaken — collecting  and 
collating,  with  painful  minuteness,  the  chronicles  of 
past  times,  whose  events  almost  defy  the  powers  of 
research — exploring  a  little  kind  of  Herculaneum  of 
history,  which  had  lain  nearly  for  ages  buried  under 
the  rubbish  of  years,  and  almost  totally  forgotten — 
rakingup  the  limbs  and  fragments  of  disjointed  facts, 
and  endeavouring  to  put  them  scrupulously  together, 
so  as  to  restore  them  to  their  original  form  and  con- 
nexion— now  lugging  forth  the  character  of  an  al- 
most forgotten  hero,  like  a  mutilated  statue — now 
deciphering  a  half-defaced  inscription,  and  now 
lighting  upon  a  mouldering  manusctipt,  which,  after 
painful  study,  scarce  repays  the  trouble  of  perusal. 

In  such  case,  how  much  has  the  reader  to  depend 
upon  the  honour  and  probity  of  his  author,  lest,  like 
a  cunning  antiquarian,  he  either  impose  upon  him 
some  spurious  fabrication  of  his  own,  for  a  precious 
relic  from  antiquity — or  else  dress  up  the  dismem- 
bered fragment  with  such  false  trappings,  that  it  is 
scarcely  possible  to  distinguish  the  truth  from  the 
fiction  with  which  it  is  enveloped  !  This  is  a  griev- 
ance which  I  have  more  than  once  had  to  lament, 
m  the  course  of  my  wearisome  researches  among  the 


works  of  my  fellow-historians,  who  have  strangely 
disguised  and  distorted  the  facts  respecting  this  coun- 
try ;  and  particularly  respecting  the  great  province 
of  New-Netherlands;  as  will  be  perceived  by  any 
who  will  take  the  trouble  to  compare  their  romantic 
effusions,  tricked  out  in  the  meretricious  gauds  of 
fable,  with  this  authentic  history. 

I  have  had  more  vexations  of  this  kind  to  encoun- 
ter, in  those  parts  of  my  history  which  treat  of  the 
transactions  on  the  eastern  border,  than  in  any  oth- 
er, in  consequence  of  the  troops  of  historians  who 
have  infested  those  quarters,  and  have  shown  the 
honest  people  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts  no  mercy  in 
their  works.  Among  the  rest,  Mr.  Benjamin  Trum- 
bull arrogantly  declares,  that "  the  Dutch  were  always 
mere  intruders."  Now  to  this  I  shall  make  no  other 
reply  than  to  proceed  in  the  steady  narration  of  my 
history,  which  will  contain  not  only  proofs  that  the 
Dutch  had  clear  title  and  possession  in  the  fair  val- 
leys of  the  Connecticut,  and  that  they  were  wrong- 
fully dispossessed  thereof — but  likewise,  that  they 
have  been  scandalously  maltreated  ever  since  by  the 
misrepresentations  of  the  crafty  historians  of  New- 
England.  And  in  this  I  shall  be  guided  by  a  spirit 
of  truth  and  impartiality,  and  a  regard  to  immortal 
fame — for  I  would  not  wittingly  dishonour  my  work 
by  a  single  falsehood,  misrepresentation,  or  preju- 
dice, though  it  should  gain  our  forefathers  the  whole 
country  of  New-England. 

It  was  at  an  early  period  of  the  province,  and  pre- 
vious to  the  arrival  of  the  renowned  Wouter,  that 
the  cabinet  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts  purchased  the 
lands  about  the  Connecticut,  and  established,  for 
their  superintendence  and  protection,  a  fortified  post 
on  the  banks  of  the  river,  which  was  called  Fort 
Coed  Hoop,  and  was  situated  hard  by  the  present 
fair  city  of  Hartford.  The  command  of  this  impor- 
tant post,  together  with  the  rank,  title,  and  appoint- 
ment of  commissary,  were  given  in  charge  to  the 
gallant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet,  or,  as  some  historians 
will  have  it.  Van  Curlis — a  most  doughty  soldier, 
of  that  stomach  ful  class  of  which  we  have  such 
numbers  on  parade  davs  —  who  are  famous  for 
eating  all  they  kill.  He  was  of  a  very  soldierlike  ap- 
pearance, and  would  have  been  an  exceeding  tall 
man  had  his  legs  been  in  proportion  to  his  body  • 
but  the  latter  being  long,  and  the  former  uncom- 
monly short',  it  gave  him  the  uncouth  appearance  of 
a  tall  man's  body  mounted  upon  a  little  man's  legs. 
He  made  up  for  this  turnspit  construction  of  body 
by  throwing  his  legs  to  such  an  extent  when  he 
marched,  that  you  would  have  sworn  he  had  on  the 
identical  seven-league  boots  of  the  far-lamed  Jack 
the  giant-killer;  and  so  astonishingly  high  did  he 
tread,  on  any  great  militaiy  occasion,  that  his  sol- 
diers were  ofttimes  alarmed,  lest  he  should  trampl* 
himself  underfoot. 

But  notwithstanding  the  erection  of  this  fort,  and 
the  appointment  of  this  ugly  little  man  of  war  as  a 
commander;  the  intrepid  Yankees  continued  those 
daring  interlopings,  which  I  have  hinted  at  in  my  last 
chapter  ;  and  taking  advantage  of  the  character 
which  the  cabinet  of  Wouter  Van  Tvviller  soon  ac- 
quired, for  profound  and  phlegmatic  tranquillity — did 
audaciously  invade  the  territories  of  the  Nieuw- 
Nederlandts,  and  squat  themselves  down  within  the 
very  jurisdiction  of  Fort  Coed  Hoop. 

On  beholding  this  outrage,  the  long-bodied  Van 
Curlet  proceeded  as  became  a  prompt  and  valiant 
officer.  He  immediately  protested  against  these  un- 
warrantable encroachments,  in  Low  Dutch,  by  way 
of  inspiring  more  terror,  and  forthwith  despatched  a 
copy  of  the  protest  to  the  governor  at  New-.'Vmster- 
dam,  together  with  a  long  and  bitter  account  of  the 
aggressions  of  the  enemy.     This  done,  he  ordered 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


S81 


men,  one  and  all,  to  be  of  good  cheer — shut  the  gate 
of  the  fort,  smoked  three  pipes,  went  to  bed,  and 
awaited  the  result  with  a  resolute  and  intrepid  tran- 
quillity that  greatly  animated  his  adherents,  and  no 
doubt  struck  sore  dismay  and  affright  into  the  hearts 
of  the  enemy. 

Now  it  came  to  pass,  that  about  this  time  the  re- 
nowned Wouter  Van  Twiller,  full  of  years  and  hon- 
ours, and  council  dinners,  had  reached  that  period 
of  life  and  faculty  which,  according  to  the  great  Gul- 
liver, entitles  a  man  to  admission  into  the  ancient 
order  of  Struldbruggs.  lie  employed  his  time  in 
smoking  his  Turkish  pipe,  amid  an  assembly  of  sages 
equally  enlightened  and  nearly  as  venerable  as  him- 
self, and  who,  for  their  silence,  their  gravity,  their 
wisdom,  and  their  cautious  averseness  to  coming  to 
any  conclusion  in  business,  are  only  to  be  equalled 
by  certain  profound  corporations  which  I  have  known 
in  my  lime.  Upon  reading  the  protest  of  the  gallant 
Jacobus  Van  Curlet,  therefore,  his  excellency  fell 
straightway  into  one  of  the  deepest  doubts  that  ever 
he  was  known  to  encounter  ;  his  capacious  head 
gradually  drooped  on  his  chest,  he  closed  his  eyes, 
and  inclined  his  ear  to  one  side,  as  if  listening  with 
great  attention  to  the  discussion  that  was  going  on 
in  his  belly  ;  which  all  who  knew  him  declared  to 
be  the  huge  court-house  or  council  chamber  of  his 
thoughts  ;  forming  to  his  head  what  the  House  of 
Representatives  do  to  the  Senate.  An  inarticulate 
sound,  very  much  resembling  a  snore,  occasionally 
escaped  him — but  the  nature  of  this  internal  cogita- 
tion was  never  known,  as  he  never  opened  his  lips 
on  the  subject  to  man,  woman,  or  child.  In  the 
meantime,  the  protest  of  Van  Curlet  laid  quietly  on 
the  table,  where  it  served  to  light  the  pipes  of  the 
venerable  sages  assembled  in  council  ;  and  in  the 
great  smoke  which  they  raised,  the  gallant  Jacobus, 
nis  protest,  and  his  mighty  Fort  Goed  Hoop,  were 
soon  as  completely  beclouded  and  forgotten  as  is  a 
question  of  emergency  swallowed  up  in  the  speeches 
and  resolution  of  a  modern  session  of  Congress. 

There  are  certain  emergencies  when  your  pro- 
found legislators  and  sage  deliberative  councils  are 
mightily  in  the  way  of  a  nation  ;  and  when  an  ounce 
of  hairbrained  decision  is  worth  a  pound  of  sage 
doubt  and  cautious  discussion.  Such,  at  least,  was 
the  case  at  present ;  for  while  the  renowned  Wouter 
Van  Twiller  was  daily  battling  with  his  doubts,  and 
his  resolution  growing  weaker  and  weaker  in  the 
contest,  the  enemy  pushed  farther  and  farther  into 
his  territories,  and  assumed  a  most  formidable  ap- 
pearance in  the  neighbourhood  of  Fort  Goed  Hoop. 
Here  they  founded  the  mighty  town  of  Piquag,  or, 
as  it  has  since  been  called,  Weathersfield,  a  place 
which,  if  we  may  credit  the  assertion  of  that  worthy 
historian,  John  Josselyn,  Gent.,  "  hath  been  infamous 
by  reason  of  the  witches  therein." — And  so  daring 
did  these  men  of  Piquag  become,  that  they  extended 
those  plantations  of  onions,  for  which  their  town  is 
illustrious,  under  the  very  noses  of  the  garrison  of 
Fort  Goed  Hoop — insomuch  that  the  honest  Dutch- 
men could  not  look  toward  that  quarter  without 
tears  in  their  eyes. 

This  crying  injustice  was  regarded  with  proper 
indignation  by  the  gallant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet.  He 
absolutely  trembled  with  the  amazing  violence  of  his 
choler,  and  the  exacerbations  of  his  valour ;  which 
seemed  to  be  the  more  turbulent  in  their  workings, 
from  the  length  of  the  body  in  which  they  were  agi- 
tated. He  forthwith  proceeded  to  strengthen  his 
redoubts,  heighten  his  breastworks,  deepen  his  fosse, 
and  fortify  his  position  with  a  double  row  of  abattis  ; 
after  which  valiant  precautions,  he  despatched  a 
fresh  courier  with  tremendous  accounts  of  his  peril- 
ous situation 


The  courier  chosen  to  bear  these  alarming  des- 
patches was  a  fat,  oily  little  man,  as  being  least  liable 
to  be  worn  out,  or  to  lose  leather  on  the  journey  ;  and 
to  insure  his  speed,  he  was  mounted  on  the  fleetest 
wagon-horse  in  the  garrison,  remarkable  for  his 
length  of  limb,  largeness  of  bone,  and  hardness  of  trot ; 
and  so  tall,  that  the  little  messenger  was  obliged  to 
climb  on  his  back  be  means  of  his  tail  and  crupi)er. 
Such  extraordinary  speed  did  he  make,  that  he  ar- 
rived at  Fort  Amsterdam  in  little  less  than  a  month, 
though  the  distance  was  full  two  hundred  pipes,  or 
about  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles. 

The  extraordinary  appearance  of  this  portentous 
stranger  would  have  thrown  the  whole  town  of  New- 
Amsterdam  into  a  quandary,  had  the  good  people 
troubled  themselves  about  any  thing  more  than  their 
domestic  affairs.  With  an  appearance  of  great  hurry 
and  business,  and  smoking  a  short  travelling  pipe,  he 
proceeded  on  a  long  swing  trot  through  the  muddy 
lanes  of  the  metropolis,  demolishing  whole  batches 
of  dirt  pies,  which  the  little  Dutch  children  were 
making  in  the  road  ;  and  for  which  kind  of  pastry 
the  children  of  this  city  have  ever  been  famous.  On 
arriving  at  the  governor's  house,  he  climbed  down 
from  his  steed  in  great  trepidation  ;  roused  the  gray- 
headed  door-keeper,  old  Skaats,  who,  like  his  lineal 
descendant  and  faithful  representative,  the  venerable 
crier  of  our  court,  was  nodding  at  his  post — rattled 
at  the  door  of  the  council  chamber,  and  startled  the 
members  as  they  were  dozing  over  a  plan  for  es- 
tablishing a  public  market. 

,^t  that  very  moment  a  gentle  grunt,  or  rather  a 
deep-drawn  snore,  was  heard  from  the  chair  of  the 
governor;  a  whiff  of  smoke  was  at  the  same  instant 
observed  to  escape  from  his  lips,  and  a  light  cloud  to 
ascend  from  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  The  council  of 
course  supposed  him  engaged  in  deep  sleep  for  the 
good  of  the  community,  and,  according  to  custom  in 
all  such  cases  established,  every  man  bawled  out  si- 
lence, in  order  to  maintain  tranquillity ;  when,  of  a 
sudden,  the  door  flew  open,  and  the  little  courier  strad- 
dled into  the  apartment,  cased  to  the  middle  in  a  pair 
of  Hessian  boots,  which  he  had  got  into  for  the  sake 
of  expedition.  In  his  right  hand  he  held  forth  the 
ominous  despatches,  and  with  his  left  he  grasped 
firmly  the  waistband  of  his  galligaskins,  which  had 
unfortunately  given  way,  in  the  exertion  of  descend- 
ing from  his  horse.  He  stumped  resolutely  up  to  the 
governor,  and  with  more  hurry  than  perspicuity,  de- 
livered his  message.  But  fortunately  his  ill  tidings 
came  too  late  to  ruffle  the  tranquillity  of  this  most 
tranquil  of  rulers.  His  venerable  excellency  had 
just  breathed  and  smoked  his  last — his  lungs  and 
his  pipe  having  been  exhausted  together,  and  his 
peaceful  soul  having  escaped  in  the  last  whiff  that 
curled  from  his  tobacco-pipe.  In  a  word,  the  re- 
nowned Walter  the  Doubter,  who  had  so  often 
slumbered  with  his  contemporaries,  nov,r  slept  with 
his  fathers,  aud  Wilhelmus  Kieft  governed  in  his 
stead. 

BOOK   IV. 

CONTAINING  THE  CHRONICLES  OF  THE  REIGN  OF 
WILLIAM  THE  TESTY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

SHOWING  THE  NATURE  OF  HISTORY  IN  GENERAL  ; 
CONTAINING  FURTHERMORE  THE  UNIVERSAL 
ACQUIREMENTS  OF  WILLIAM  THE  TESTY,  AND 
HOW  A  MAN  MAY  LEARN  SO  MUCH  AS  TO 
RENDER  HIMSELF   GOOD   FOR  NOTHING. 

When  the  lofty  Thucydides  is  about  to  enter  upon 
his  description  of  the  plague  that  desolated  Athens, 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


one  of  his  modem  commentators  assures  the  reader, 
that  the  history  is  now  going  to  be  exceeding  solemn, 
serious,  and  pathetic ;  and  hints,  with  that  air  of 
chuckling  gratulation  with  which  a  good  dame  draws 
forth  a  choice  morsel  from  a  cupboard  to  regale  a 
favourite,  that  this  plague  will  give  his  history  a  most 
agreeable  variety. 

In  like  manner  did  my  heart  leap  within  me,  when 
I  came  to  the  dolorous  dilemma  of  Fort  Good  Hope, 
which  I  at  once  perceived  to  be  the  forerunner  of  a 
series  of  great  events  and  entertaining  disasters. 
Such  are  the  true  subjects  for  the  historic  pen.  For 
what  is  history,  in  fact,  but  a  kind  of  Newgate  calen- 
dar, a  register  of  the  crimes  and  miseries  that  man 
has  inflicted  on  his  fellow-man  ?  It  is  a  huge  libel  on 
human  nature,  to  which  we  industriously  add  page 
after  page,  volume  after  volume,  as  if  we  were  build- 
ing up  a  monument  to  the  honour,  rather  than  the 
infamy  of  our  species.  If  we  turn  over  the  pages  of 
these  chronicles  that  man  has  written  of  himself, 
what  are  the  characters  dignified  by  the  appellation 
of  great,  and  held  up  to  the  admiration  of  posterity  ? 
Tyrants,  robbers,  conquerors,  renowned  only  for  the 
magnitude  of  their  misdeeds,  and  the  stupendous 
wrongs  and  miseries  they  have  inflicted  on  mankind 
— warriors,  who  have  hired  themselves  to  the  trade 
of  blood,  not  from  motives  of  virtuous  patriotism,  or 
to  protect  the  injured  and  defenceless,  but  merely  to 
gain  the  vaunted  glory  of  being  adroit  and  success- 
ful in  massacring  their  fellow-beings  !  What  are  the 
great  events  that  constitute  a  glorious  era .' — The  fall 
of  empires — the  desolation  of  happy  countries  — 
splendid  cities  smoking  in  their  ruins — the  proudest 
works  of  art  tumbled  in  the  dust — the  shrieks  and 
groans  of  whole  nations  ascending  unto  heaven  ! 

It  is  thus  that  historians  may  be  said  to  thrive  on 
the  miseries  of  mankind,  like  birds  of  prey  that 
hover  over  the  field  of  battle,  to  fatten  on  the  mighty 
dead.  It  was  observed  by  a  great  projector  of  in- 
land lock-navigation,  that  rivers,  lakes,  and  oceans 
were  only  formed  to  feed  canals.  In  like  manner  I 
am  tempted  to  believe  that  plots,  conspiracies,  wars, 
victories,  and  massacres  are  ordained  by  Providence 
only  as  food  for  the  historian. 

It  is  a  source  of  great  delight  to  the  philosopher 
in  studying  the  wonderful  economy  of  nature,  to 
trace  the  mutual  dependencies  of  things,  how  they 
are  created  reciprocally  for  each  other,  and  how  the 
most  noxious  and  apparently  unnecessary  animal  has 
its  uses.  Thus  those  swarms  of  flies,  which  are  so 
often  execrated  as  useless  vermin,  are  created  for  the 
sustenance  of  spiders — and  spiders,  on  the  other 
hand,  are  evidently  made  to  devour  flies.  So  those 
heroes  who  have  been  such  scourges  to  the  world 
were  bounteously  provided  as  themes  for  the  poet 
and  the  historian,  while  the  poet  and  the  historian 
were  destined  to  record  the  achievements  of  heroes ! 

These,  and  many  similar  reflections,  naturally  arose 
in  my  mind,  as  I  took  up  my  pen  to  commence  the 
reign  of  William  Kieft :  for  now  the  stream  of  our 
history,  which  hitherto  has  rolled  in  a  tranquil  cur- 
rent, is  about  to  depart  for  ever  from  its  peaceful 
haunts,  and  brawl  through  many  a  turbulent  and 
rugged  scene.  Like  some  sleek  ox,  vvhich,  having  fed 
and  fattened  in  a  rich  clover-field,  lies  sunk  in  luxu- 
rious repose,  and  will  bear  repeated  taunts  and 
blows,  before  it  heaves  its  unwieldy  limbs  and  clum- 
sily arouses  from  its  slumbers ;  so  the  province  of 
the  Nieuw-Nederlandts,  having  long  thrived  and 
grown  corpulent,  under  the  prosperous  reign  of  the 
Doubter,  was  reluctantly  awakened  to  a  melancholy 
conviction,  that,  by  patient  sufferance,  its  grievances 
had  become  so  numerous  and  aggravating,  that  it 
was  preferable  to  repel  than  endure  them.  The 
reader  will  now  witness  the   manner  in  which   a 


peaceful  community  advances  towards  a  state  of  war ; 
which  it  is  too  apt  to  approach,  as  a  horse  does  a 
drum,  with  much  prancing  and  parade,  but  with 
little  progress — and  too  often  with  the  wrong  end 
foremost. 

WiLHELMUS  KlEFT,  who,  in  1634,  ascended  the 
gubernatorial  chair  (to  borrow  a  favourite,  though 
clumsy  appellation  of  modern  phraseologists,)  was 
in  form,  ieature,  and  character,  the  very  reverse  of 
Wouter  Van  Twiller,  his  renowned  predecessor. 
He  was  of  very  respectable  descent,  his  father  being 
Inspector  of  Windmills  in  the  ancient  town  of 
Saardam  ;  and  our  hero,  we  are  told,  made  very  cu- 
rious investigations  into  the  nature  and  operations 
of  those  machines  when  a  boy,  which  is  one  reason 
why  he  afterwards  came  to  be  so  ingenious  a  gov- 
ernor. His  name,  according  to  the  most  ingenious 
etymologists,  was  a  corruption  of  Kyver,  that  is  to 
say,  wrangler  or  scolder,  and  expressed  the  hereditary' 
disposition  of  his  family ;  which  for  nearly  two  cen- 
turies had  kept  the  windy  town  of  Saardam  in  hot 
water,  ami  produced  more  tartars  and  brimstones 
than  arly  ten  families  in  the  place — and  so  truly  did 
Wilhelmus  Kieft  inherit  this  family  endowment,  that 
he  had  scarcely  been  a  year  in  the  discharge  of  his 
government,  before  he  was  universally  known  by  the 
appellation  of  WILLIAM  THE  TESTY. 

He  was  a  brisk,  waspish,  little  old  gentleman,  who 
had  dried  and  withered  away,  partly  through  the 
natural  process  of  years,  and  partly  from  being 
parched  and  burnt  up  by  his  fiery  soul ;  which 
blazed  like  a  vehement  rushlight  in  his  bosom,  con- 
stantly inciting  him  to  most  valorous  broils,  alterca- 
tions, and  misadventures.  I  have  heard  it  observed 
by  a  profound  and  philosophical  judge  of  human  nat- 
ure, that  if  a  woman  waxes  fat  as  she  grows  old,  the 
tenure  of  her  life  is  very  precarious,  but  if  haply  she 
withers,  she  lives  for  ever — such  likewise  was  the 
case  with  William  the  Testy,  who  grew  tougher  in 
proportion  as  he  dried.  He  was  some  such  a  little 
Dutchman  as  we  may  now  and  then  see  stumping 
briskly  about  the  streets  of  our  city,  in  a  broad- 
skirted  coat,  with  huge  buttons,  an  old-fashioned 
cocked-hat  stuck  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  a  cane 
as  high  as  his  chin.  His  visage  was  broad,  and  his 
features  sharp,  his  nose  turned  up  with  the  most  pet- 
ulant curl ;  his  cheeks  were  scorched  into  a  dusky 
red — doubtless  in  consequence  of  the  neighbourhood 
of  two  fierce  little  gray  eyes,  through  which  his  torrid 
soul  beamed  with  tropical  fervour.  The  corners  of 
his  mouth  were  curiously  modelled  into  a  kind  of 
fretwork,  not  a  little  resembling  the  wrinkled  pro- 
boscis of  an  irritable  pug  dog — in  a  word,  he  was 
one  of  the  most  positive,  restless,  ugly  little  men  that 
ever  put  himself  in  a  passion  about  nothing. 

Such  were  the  personal  endowments  of  William 
tlie  Testy  ;  but  it  was  the  sterling  riches  of  his  mind 
that  raised  him  to  dignity  and  power.  In  his  youth 
he  had  passed  with  great  credit  through  a  celebrated 
academy  at  the  Hague,  noted  for  producing  finished 
scholars  with  a  despatch  unequalled,  except  by  cer- 
tain of  our  American  colleges.  Here  he  skirmished 
very  smartly  on  the  frontiers  of  several  of  the  sci- 
ences, and  made  so  gallant  an  inroad  in  the  dead  lan- 
guages, as  to  bring  off  captive  a  host  of  Greek  nouns 
and  Latin  verbs,  together  with  divers  pithy  saws  and 
apophthegms,  all  which  he  constantly  paraded  in 
conversation  and  writing,  with  as  much  vain-glory  as 
would  a  triumphant  general  of  yore  display  the  spoils 
of  the  countries  he  had  ravaged.  He  had,  moreover, 
puzzled  himself  considerably  with  logic,  in  which  he 
had  advanced  so  far  as  to  attain  a  very  familiar  ac- 
quaintance, by  name  at  least,  with  the  whole  family 
of  syllogisfns  and  dilemmas ;  but  what  he  chiefly 
valued  himself  on,  was  his  knowledge  of  metaphysics, 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


583 


in  which,  having  once  upon  a  time  ventured  too 
deeply,  he  came  well-nigh  being  smothered  in  a 
slough  of  unintelligible  learning — a  fearful  penl,  from 
the  effects  of  which  he  never  perfectly  recovered. 
Thi.s,  I  must  confess,  was  in  some  measure  a  mis- 
fortune ;  for  he  never  engaged  in  argument,  of  which 
he  was  exceeding  fond,  but  what,  between  logical 
deductions  and  metaphysical  jargon,  he  soon  in- 
volved himself  and  his  subject  in  a  fog  of  contradic- 
tions and  perplexities,  and  then  would  get  into  a 
mighty  passion  with  his  adversary  for  not  being  con- 
vinced gratis. 

It  is  in  knowledge  as  in  swimming :  he  who  osten- 
tatiously sports  and  flounders  on  the  surface,  makes 
more  noise  and  splashing,  and  attracts  more  atten- 
tion, than  the  industrious  pearl-diver,  who  plunges 
in  search  of  treasures  to  the  bottom..  The  "  universal 
acquirements  "  of  William  Kieft  were  the  subject  of 
great  marvel  and  admiration  among  his  countrymen 
— he  figured  about  at  the  Hague  with  as  much  vain- 
glory as  does  a  profound  Bonze  at  Pekin,  who  has 
mastered  half  the  letters  of  the  Chinese  alphabet  ; 
and,  in  a  word,  was  unanimously  pronounced  an 
universal  genius ! — I  have  known  many  universal 
geniuses  in  my  time,  though,  to  speak  my  mind  freely, 
I  never  knew  one,  who,  for  the  ordinary  purposes  of 
life,  was  worth  his  weight  in  straw — but,  for  the  pur- 
poses of  government,  a  little  sound  judgment,  and 
plain  common  sense,  is  worth  all  the  sparkling  genius 
that  ever  wrote  poetry,  or  invented  theories. 

Strange  as  it  may  sound,  therefore,  the  universal 
acquirements  of  the  illustrious  Wilhelmus  were  very- 
much  in  his  way ;  and  had  he  been  a  less  learned 
man,  it  is  possible  he  would  have  been  a  much 
greater  governor.  He  was  exceedingly  fond  of  try- 
ing philosophical  and  political  experiments ;  and 
having  stuffed  his  head  full  of  scraps  and  remnants 
of  ancient  republics,  and  oligarchies,  and  aristocra- 
cies, and  monarchies,  and  the  laws  of  Solon,  and 
Lycurgus,  and  Charondas,  and  the  imaginary  com- 
monwealth of  Plato,  and  the  Pandects  of  Justinian, 
and  a  thousand  other  fragments  of  venerable  antiq- 
uity, he  was  for  ever  bent  upon  introducing  some 
one  or  other  of  them  into  use ;  so  that  between  one 
contradictory  measure  and  another,  he  entangled  the 
government  of  the  little  province  of  Nieuw-Neder- 
landts  in  more  knots,  during  his  administration,  than 
half-a-dozen  successors  could  have  untied. 

No  sooner  had  this  bustling  little  man  been  blown 
by  a  whiff  of  fortune  into  the  seat  of  government, 
than  he  called  together  his  council,  and  delivered  a 
vei7  animated  speech  on  the  affairs  of  the  province. 
As  every  body  knows  what  a  glorious  opportunity  a 
governor,  a  president,  or  even  an  etnperor,  has,  of 
drubbing  his  enemies  in  his  speeches,  messages,  and 
bulletins,  where  he  has  the  talk  all  on  his  own  side, 
they  may  be  sure  the  high-mettled  William  Kieft  did 
not  suffer  so  favourable  an  occasion  to  escape  him, 
of  evincing  that  gallantry  of  tongue,  common  to  all 
able  legislators.  Before  he  commenced,  it  is  re- 
corded that  he  took  out  his  pocket-handkerchief,  and 
gave  a  very  sonorous  blast  of  the  nose,  according  to 
the  usual  custom  of  great  orators.  This,  in  general, 
I  believe,  is  intended  as  a  signal  trumpet,  to  call  the 
attention  of  the  auditors,  but  with  William  the  Testy 
it  boasted  a  more  classic  cause,  for  he  had  read  of 
the  singular  expedient  of  that  famous  demagogue, 
Caius  Gracchus,  who,  when  he  harangued  the  Ro- 
man ])opulace,  modulated  his  tones  by  an  oratorical 
flute  or  pitchpipe. 

This  preparatory  symphony  being  performed,  he 
commenced  by  expressing  an  humble  sense  of  his 
own  want  of  talents — his  utter  unworthiness  of  the 
honour  conferred  upon  him,  and  his  humiliating  inca- 
pacity to  discharge  the  important  duties  of  his  new 


station — in  short,  he  expressed  so  contemptible  an 
opinion  of  himself,  that  many  simple  country  mem- 
bers present,  ignorant  that  these  were  mere  words 
of  course,  always  used  on  such  occasions,  were  very 
uneasy,  and  "even  felt  wroth  that  he  should  accept 
an  office,  for  which  he  was  consciously  so  inadequate. 

He  then  proceeded  in  a  manner  highly  classic  and 
profoundly  erudite,  though  nothing  at  all  to  the  pur- 
pose, being  nothing  more  than  a  pompous  account 
of  all  the  governments  of  ancient  Greece,  and  the 
wars  of  Rome  and  Carthage,  together  with  the  rise 
and  fall  of  sundry  outlandish  empires,  about  which 
the  assembly  knew  no  more  than  their  great-grand- 
children yet  unborn.  Thus  having,  after  the  manner 
of  your  learned  orators,  convinced  the  audience  that 
he  was  a  man  of  many  words  and  great  erudition, 
he  at  length  came  to  the  less  important  part  of  his 
speech,  the  situation  of  the  province — and  here  he 
soon  worked  himself  into  a  fearful  rage  against  the 
Yankees,  whom  he  compared  to  the  Gauls  who  deso- 
lated Rome,  and  the  Goths  and  Vandals  who  over- 
ran the  fairest  plains  of  Europe — nor  did  he  forget 
to  mention,  in  terms  of  adequate  opprobrium,  the 
insolence  with  which  they  had  encroached  upon  the 
territories  of  New-Netherlands,  and  the  unparalleled 
audacity  with  which  they  had  commenced  the  town 
of  New-Plymouth,  and  planted  the  onion-patches  of 
Weathersfield,  under  the  very  walls  of  Fort  Goed 
Hoop. 

Having  thus  artfully  wrought  up  his  tale  of  terror 
to  a  climax,  he  assumed  a  self-satisfied  look,  and  de- 
clared, with  a  nod  of  knowing  import,  that  he  had 
taken  measures  to  put  a  final  stop  to  these  encroach- 
ments— that  he  had  been  obliged  to  have  recourse 
to  a  dreadful  engine  of  warfare,  lately  invented,  aw- 
ful in  its  effects,  but  authorized  by  direful  necessity. 
In  a  word,  he  was  resolved  to  conquer  the  Yankees 
—by  proclamation  ! 

For  this  purpose  he  had  prepared  a  tremendous 
instrument  of  the  kind,  ordering,  commanding,  and 
enjoining  the  intruders  aforesaid,  forthwith  to  re- 
move, depart,  and  withdraw  from  the  districts,  re- 
gions, and  territories  aforesaid,  under  pain  of  suffer- 
ing all  the  penalties,  forfeitures,  and  punishments  in 
such  case  made  and  provided.  This  proclamation, 
he  assured  them,  would  at  once  exterminate  the 
enemy  from  the  face  of  the  country,  and  he  pledged 
his  valour  as  a  governor,  that  within  two  months  af- 
ter it  was  published,  not  one  stone  should  remain  oh 
another  in  any  of  the  towns  which  they  had  built. 

The  council  remained  for  some  time  silent  after 
he  had  finished ;  whether  struck  dumb  with  admira- 
tion at  the  brilliancy  of  his  project,  or  put  to  sleep 
by  the  length  of  his  harangue,  the  history  of  the 
times  does  not  mention.  Suffice  it  to  .say,  they  at 
length  gave  a  universal  grunt  of  acquiescence — the 
proclamation  was  immediately  despatched  with  due 
ceremony,  having  the  great  seal  of  the  province, 
which  was  about  the  size  of  a  buckwheat  pancake, 
attached  to  it  by  a  broad  red  riband.  Governor 
Kieft  having  thus  vented  his  indignation,  felt 
greatly  relieved — adjourned  the  council — put  on  his 
cocked  hat  and  corduroy  small-clothes,  and  mount- 
ing a  tall,  raw-boned  charger,  trotted  out  to  his 
country-seat,  which  was  situated  in  a  sweet,  se- 
questered swamp,  now  called  Dutch-street,  but  more 
commonly  known  by  the  name  of  Dog's  Misery. 

Here,  like  the  good  Numa,  he  reposed  from  the 
toils  of  legislation,  taking  lessons  in  government, 
not  from  the  nyinph  Egeria,  but  from  the  honoured 
wife  of  his  bosom ;  who  was  one  of  that  peculiar 
kind  of  females,  sent  upon  earth  a  little  after  the 
flood,  as  a  punishment  for  the  sins  of  mankind,  and 
commonly  known  by  the  appellation  of  knowing 
women.    In  fact,  my  duty  as  a  historian  obliges  me 


5U 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


to  make  known  a  circumstance  which  was  a  great 
secret  at  the  time,  and  consequently  was  not  a  sub- 
ject of  scandal  at  more  than  half  the  tea-tables  in 
New-Amsterdam,  but  which,  like  many  other  great 
secrets,  has  leaked  out  in  the  lapse  of  years — and 
this  was,  that  the  great  Wilhelmus  the  Testy, 
though  one  of  the  most  potent  little  men  that  ever 
breathed,  yet  submitted  at  home  to  a  species  of 
government,  neither  laid  down  in  Aristotle  nor 
Plato ;  in  short,  it  partook  of  the  nature  of  a  pure, 
unmixed  tyranny,  and  is  familiarly  denominated 
petticoat  government. — An  absolute  sway,  which, 
though  exceedingly  common  in  these  modern  days, 
was  very  rare  among  the  ancients,  if  we  may  judge 
from  the  rout  made  about  the  domestic  economy  of 
honest  Socrates  ;  which  is  the  only  ancient  case  on 
record. 

The  great  Kieft,  however,  warded  off  all  the 
sneers  and  sarcasms  of  his  particular  friends,  who 
are  ever  ready  to  joke  with  a  man  on  sore  points 
of  the  kind,  by  alleging  that  it  was  a  government 
of  his  own  election,  to  which  he  submitted  through 
choice  ;  adding  at  the  same  time  a  profound  maxim 
which  he  had  found  in  an  ancient  author,  that  "  he 
who  would  aspire  to  govern,  should  first  learn  to 
obey." 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN  WHICH  ARE  RECORDED  THE  SAGE  PROJECTS 
OF  A  RULER  OF  UNIVERSAL  GENIUS  — THE 
ART  OF  FIGHTING  BY  PROCLAMATION— AND 
HOW  THAT  THE  VALIANT  JACOBUS  VAN  CUR- 
LET  CAME  TO  BE  FOULLY  DISHONOURED  AT 
FORT  GOED   HOOP. 

Never  was  a  more  comprehensive,  a  more  expe- 
ditious, or,  what  is  still  better,  a  more  economical 
measure  devised,  than  this  of  defeating  the  Yankees 
by  proclamation — an  expedient,  likewise,  so  humane, 
so  gentle  and  pacific,  there  were  ten  chances  to  one 
in  favour  of  its  succeeding, — but  then  there  was  one 
chance  to  ten  that  it  would  not  succeed — as  the  ill- 
natured  fates  would  have  it,  that  single  chance  car- 
ried the  day.  The  proclamation  was  perfect  in  all 
its  parts,  well  constructed,  well  written,  well  sealed, 
and  well  published — all  that  was  wanting  to  insure 
its  effect  was  that  the  Yankees  should  stand  in  awe 
of  it ;  but,  provoking  to  relate,  they  treated  it  with 
the  most  absolute  contempt,  applied  it  to  an  un- 
seemly purpose,  and  thus  did  the  first  warlike  proc- 
lamation come  to  a  shameful  end — a  fate  which  I 
am  credibly  informed  has  befallen  but  too  many  of 
its  successors. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Wilhelmus  Kieft  could 
be  persuadetl,  by  the  united  efforts  of  all  his  coun- 
sellors, that  his  war  measures  had  failed  in  produc- 
ing any  effect.  On  the  contrary,  he  flew  in  a  passion 
whenever  any  one  dared  to  question  its  efficacy ; 
and  swore  that,  though  it  was  slow  in  operating,  yet 
when  once  it  began  to  work,  it  would  soon  purge 
the  land  of  these  rapacious  intruders.  Time,  how- 
ever, that  test  of  all  experiments,  both  in  philosophy 
and  politics,  at  length  convinced  the  great  Kieft 
that  his  proclamation  was  abortive ;  and  that  not- 
withstanding he  had  waited  nearly  four  years  in  a 
state  of  constant  irritation,  yet  he  was  still  farther 
off  than  ever  from  the  object  of  his  wishes.  His 
implacable  adversaries  in  the  east  became  more  and 
more  troublesome  in  their  encroachments,  and 
founded  the  thriving  colony  of  Hartford  close  upon 
the  skirts  of  Fort  Goed  Hoop.  They,  moreover, 
commenced  the  fair  settlement  of  New -Haven 
(otherwise  called  the  Red  Hills)  within  the  domains 


of  their  High  Mightinesses — while  the  onion-patches 
of  Piquag  were  a  continual  eyesore  to  the  garrison 
of  Van  Curlet.  Upon  beholding,  therefore,  the  in- 
efficacy  of  his  measure,  the  sage  Kieft,  like  many  a 
worthy  practitioner  of  physic,  laid  the  blame  not  to 
the  metiicine,  but  to  the  quantity  administered,  and 
resolutely  resolved  to  double  the  dose. 

In  the  year  1638,  therefore,  that  being  the  fourth 
year  of  his  reign,  he  fulminated  against  them  a  sec- 
ond proclamation,  of  heavier  metal  than  the  former ; 
written  in  thundering  long  sentences,  not  one  word 
of  which  was  under  five  syllables.  This,  in  fact,  was 
a  kind  of  non-intercourse  bill,  forbidding  and  pro- 
hibiting all  commerce  and  connexion  between  any 
and  every  of  the  said  Yankee  intruders,  and  the  said 
fortified  post  of  Fort  Goed  Hoop,  and  ordering,  com- 
manding, and  advising  all  his  trusty,  loyal,  and  well- 
beloved  subjects  to  furnish  them  with  no  supplies  of 
gin,  gingerbread,  or  sour-crout ;  to  buy  none  of  their 
pacing  horses,  measly  pork,  apple  -  brandy,  Yankee 
rum,  cider-water,  apple  sweetmeats,  Weathersfield 
onions,  tin-ware,  or  wooden  bowls,  but  to  starve  and 
exterminate  them  from  the  face  of  the  land. 

Another  pause  of  a  twelvemonth  ensued,  during 
which  this  proclamation  received  the  same  attention 
and  experienced  the  same  fate  as  the  first.  In  truth, 
it  was  rendered  of  no  avail  by  the  heroic  spirit  of  the 
Nederlanders  themselves.  No  sooner  were  they  pro- 
hibited the  use  of  Yankee  merchandise,  than  it  imme- 
diately became  indispensable  to  their  very  existence. 
The  men  who  all  their  lives  had  been  content  to 
drink  gin  and  ride  Esopus  switch-tails,  now  swore 
that  it  was  sheer  tyranny  to  deprive  them  of  apple- 
brandy and  Narraghanset  pacers ;  and  as  to  the 
women,  they  declared  there  was  no  comfort  in  life 
without  Weathersfield  onions,  tin  kettles,  and  wooden 
bowls.  So  they  all  set  to  work,  with  might  and  main, 
to  carry  on  a  smuggling  trade  over  the  borders  ;  and 
the  province  was  as  full  as  ever  of  Yankee  wares, — 
with  this  difference,  that  those  who  used  them  had 
to  pay  double  price,  for  the  trouble  and  risk  incurred 
in  breaking  the  laws. 

A  signal  benefit  arose  from  these  measures  of  Wil- 
liam the  Testy.  The  efforts  to  evade  them  had  a 
marvellous  effect  in  sharpening  the  intellects  of  the 
people.  They  were  no  longer  to  be  governed  without 
laws,  as  in  the  time  of  Oloffe  the  Dreamer;  nor 
would  the  jack-knife  and  tobacco-box  of  Walter  the 
Doubter  have  any  more  served  as  a  judicial  process. 
The  old  Nederlandt  maxim,  that  "  honesty  is  the  best 
policy,"  was  scouted  as  the  bane  of  all  ingenious  en- 
terprise. To  use  a  modem  phrase,  "  a  great  impulse 
had  been  given  to  the  public  mind  ;"  and  from  the 
time  of  this  first  experience  in  smuggling,  we  may 
perceive  a  vast  increase  in  the  number,  intricacy,  and 
severity  of  laws  and  statutes— a  sure  proof  of  the  in- 
creasing keenness  of  public  intellect. 

A  twelvemonth  having  elapsed  since  the  issuing 
of  the  proclamation,  the  gallant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet 
despatched  his  annual  messenger,  with  his  customary 
budget  of  complaints  and  entreaties.  Whether  the 
regular  interval  of  a  year,  intervening  between  the 
arrival  of  Van  Curlet's  couriers,  was  occasioned  by 
the  systematic  regularity  of  his  movements,  or  by  the 
immense  distance  at  which  he  was  stationed  from  the 
seat  of  government,  is  a  matter  of  uncertainty.  Some 
have  ascribed  it  to  the  slowness  of  his  messengers, 
who,  as  1  have  before  noticed,  were  chosen  from  the 
shortest  and  fattest  of  his  garrison,  as  least  likely  to 
be  worn  out  on  the  road  ;  and  who,  being  pursy, 
short-winded  little  men,  generally  travelled  fifteen 
miles  a  day,  and  then  laid  by  a  whole  week  to  rest. 
All  these,  however,  are  matters  of  conjecture  ;  and  I 
rather  think  it  may  be  ascribed  to  the  immemorial 
maxim  of  this  worthy  country — and  which  has  ever 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


385 


I 


influenced  all  its  public  transactions — not  to  do  things 
in  a  iiurry. 

The  gallant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet,  in  his  despatches, 
respectfully  represented  that  several  years  had  now 
elapsed  since  his  first  application  to  his  late  excel- 
lency, Wouter  Van  Twiller ;  during  which  interval 
his  garrison  had  been  reduced  nearly  one-eighth,  by 
the  death  of  two  of  his  most  valiant  and  corpulent 
soldiers,  who  had  accidentally  over-eaten  themselves 
on  some  fat  salmon,  caught  in  the  Varsche  river. 
He  further  stated,  that  the  enemy  persisted  in  their 
inroads,  taking  no  notice  of  the  fort  or  its  inhabitants : 
but  squatting  themselves  down,  and  forming  settle- 
ments all  around  it  ;  so  that,  in  a  little  while,  he 
should  find  himself  inclosed  and  blockaded  by  the 
enemy,  and  totally  at  their  mercy. 

But  among  the  most  atrocious  of  his  grievances,  I 
find  the  following  still  on  record,  which  may  ser^e 
to  show  the  bloody-minded  outrages  of  these  savage 
intruders,  "  In  the  meantime,  they  of  Hartford  have 
not  onely  usurped  and  taken  in  the  lands  of  Connecti- 
cott,  although  unrighteously  and  against  the  lawes 
of  nations,  but  have  hindered  our  nation  in  sowing 
theire  own  purchased  broken  up  lands,  but  have  also 
sowed  them  with  corne  in  the  night,  which  the  Neth- 
erlanders  had  broken  up  and  intended  to  sowe  :  and 
have  beaten  the  servants  of  the  high  and  mighty  the 
honored  companie,  which  were  labouring  upon  theire 
master's  lands,  from  theire  lands,  with  sticks  and 
plow  staves  in  hostile  manner  laming,  and  among 
the  rest,  struck  Ever  Duckings*  a  hole  in  his  head, 
with  a  stick,  so  that  the  blood  ran  downe  very  strongly 
downe  upon  his  body." 

But  what  is  still  more  atrocious — 

"  Those  of  Hartford  sold  a  hogg,  that  belonged  to 
the  honored  companie,  under  pretence  that  it  had 
.eaten  of  theire  grounde  grass,  when  they  had  not 
any  foot  of  inheritance.  They  proffered  the  hogg 
for  ^s.  if  the  commissioners  would  have  given  ^s.  for 
damage ;  which  the  commissioners  denied,  because 
noe  man's  own  hogg  (as  men  used  to  say)  can  tres- 
pass upon  his  owne  master's  grounde."t 

The  receipt  of  this  melancholy  intelligence  in- 
censed the  whole  community — there  was  something 
in  it  that  spoke  to  the  dull  comprehension,  and  touch- 
ed the  obtuse  feelings,  even  of  the  puissant  vulgar, 
who  generally  require  a  kick  in  the  rear  to  awaken 
their  slumbering  dignity.  I  have  known  my  pro- 
found fellow-citizens  bear,  without  murmur,  a  thou- 
sand essential  infringements  of  their  rights,  merely 
because  they  were  not  immediately  obvious  to  their 
senses— but  the  moment  the  unlucky  Pearce  was 
shot  upon  our  coasts,  the  whole  body  politic  was  in 
a  ferment — so  the  enlightened  Nederlanders,  though 
they  had  treated  the  encroachments  of  their  eastern 
neighbours  with  but  little  regard,  and  left  their  quill- 
valiant  governor  to  bear  the  whole  brunt  of  war 
with  his  single  pen — yet  now  every  individual  felt 
his  head  broken  in  the  broken  head  of  Duckings — 
and  the  unhappy  fate  of  their  fellow-citizen  the  hog 
being  impressed,  carried  and  sold  into  captivity, 
awakened  a  grunt  of  sympathy  from  every  bosom. 

The  governor  and  council,  goaded  by  the  clamours 
of  the  multitude,  now  set  themselves  earnestly  to 
deliberate  upon  what  was  to  be  done. — Proclama- 
tions had  at  length  fallen  into  temporary  disrepute  : 
some  were  for  sending  the  Yankees  a  tribute,  as  we 
make  peace-offering  to  the  petty  Barbary  powers,  or 
as  the  Indians  sacrifice  to  the  devil ;  others  were  for 
buying  them  out,  but  this  was  opposed,  as  it  would 
be  acknowledging  their  title  to  the  land  they  had 

•  This  name  is  no  doubt  misspelt.  In  some  old  Dutch  MSS.  of 
the  time,  we  find  the  name  of  Evert  Duyckingh,  who  is  unquestion- 
ably the  unfortunate  hero  above  alluded  to. 

t  Haz.  Col.  State  Papers. 


seized.  A  variety  of  measures  were,  as  usual  in 
such  cases,  produced,  discussed,  and  abandoned  ; 
and  the  council  had  at  last  to  adopt  the  means, 
which  being  the  most  common  and  obvious,  had 
been  knowingly  overlooked — for  your  amazing  acute 
politicians  are  for  ever  looking  through  telescopes, 
which  only  enable  them  to  see  such  objects  as  are 
far  off,  and  unattainable,  but  which  incapacitate 
them  to  see  such  things  as  are  in  their  reach,  and 
obvious  to  all  simple  folks,  who  are  content  to  look 
with  the  naked  eyes  Heaven  has  given  them.  The 
profound  council,  as  I  have  said,  in  the  pursuit  after 
Jack-o'-lanterns,  accidentally  stumbled  on  the  very 
measure  they  were  in  need  of:  which  was  to  raise 
a  body  of  troops,  and  despatch  them  to  the  relief  and 
reenforcement  of  the  garrison.  This  measure  was 
carried  into  such  pompt  operation,  that  in  less  than 
twelve  months,  the  whole  expedition,  consisting  of 
a  sergeant  and  twelve  men,  was  ready  to  march ; 
and  was  reviewed  for  that  purpose,  in  the  public 
square,  now  known  by  the  name  of  the  Bowling- 
Green.  Just  at  this  juncture,  the  whole  community 
was  thrown  into  consternation,  by  the  sudden  arrival 
of  the  gallant  Jacobus  Van  Curlet,  who  came  strag- 
gling into  town  at  the  head  of  his  crew  of  tatterde- 
malions, and  bringing  the  melancholy  tidings  of  his 
own  defeat,  and  the  capture  of  the  redoubtable  post 
of  Fort  Goed  Hoop  by  the  ferocious  Yankees. 

The  fate  of  this  important  fortress  is  an  impressive 
warning  to  all  military  commanders.  It  was  neither 
carried  by  storm  nor  famine  ;  no  practicable  breach 
was  effected  by  cannon  or  mines  ;  no  magazines 
were  blown  up  by  red-hot  shot,  nor  were  the  bar- 
racks demolished,  or  the  garrison  destroyed,  by  the 
bursting  of  bombshells.  In  fact,  the  place  was 
taken  by  a  stratagem  no  less  singular  than  effectual ; 
and  one  that  can  never  fail  of  success,  whenever  an 
opportunity  occurs  of  putting  it  in  practice.  Happy 
am  I  to  add,  for  the  credit  of  our  illustrious  ances- 
tors, that  it  was  a  stratagem,  which  though  it  im- 
peached the  vigilance,  yet  left  the  bravery  of  the  in- 
trepid Van  Curlet  and  his  garrison  perfectly  free 
from  reproach. 

It  appears  that  the  crafty  Yankees,  having  heard 
of  the  regular  habits  of  the  garrison,  watched  a  fa- 
vourable opportunity,  and  silently  introduced  the.r.- 
selves  into  the  fort,  about  the  middle  of  a  sultry  day  ; 
when  its  vigilant  defenders,  having  .gorged  themselves 
with  a  hearty  dinner,  and  smoked  out  their  pipes, 
were  one  and  all  snoring  most  obstreperously  at  their 
posts,  little  dreaming  of  so  disastrous  an  occurrence. 
The  enemy  most  inhumanly  seized  Jacobus  Van 
Curlet  and  his  sturdy  myrmidons  by  the  nape  of  the 
neck,  gallanted  them  to  the  gate  of  tlie  fort,  and  dis- 
missed them  severally,  with  a  kick  on  the  crupper, 
as  Charles  the  Twelfth  dismissed  the  heavy-bottom- 
ed Russians,  after  the  battle  of  Narva — only  taking 
care  to  give  two  kicks  to  Van  Curlet,  as  a  signal 
mark  of  distinction. 

A  strong  garrison  was  immediately  established  in 
the  fort,  consisting  of  twenty  long  sided,  hard-fisted 
Yankees,  with  Weathersfield  onions  stuck  in  their 
hats  by  way  of  cockades  and  feathers — long  rusty 
fowling-pieces  for  muskets— hasty-pudding,  dumb- 
fish,  pork  and  molasses,  for  stores  ;  and  a  huge 
pumpkin  was  hoisted  on  the  end  of  a  pole,  as  a 
standard — liberty  caps  not  having  yet  come  into 
fashion. 


586 


WORKS  OF    WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


CHAPTER  III. 

CONIAINING  THE  FEARFUL  WRATH  OF  WILLIAM 
THE  TESTY,  AND  THE  GREAT  DOLOUR  OF  THE 
NEW-AMSTERDAMMERS,  BECAUSE  OF  THE  AF- 
FAIR OF  FORT  GOED  HOOP — AND,  MOREOVER, 
HOW  WILLIAM  THE  TESTY  DID  STRONGLY 
FORTIFY  THE  CITY  —  TOGETHER  WITH  THE 
EXPLOITS  OF    STOFFEL   BRINK.ERHOFF. 

Language  cannot  express  the  prodigious  fury 
into  which  the  testy  Wilhehiius  Kieft  was  thro.vn  by 
this  provoking  intelhgence.  For  three  good  hours 
tlie  rage  of  the  little  man  was  too  great  for  words, 
or  rather  the  words  were  too  great  for  him  ;  and  he 
was  nearly  choked  by  some  dozen  huge,  misshapen, 
nine-cornered  Dutch  oaths,  that  crowded  all  at  once 
into  his  gullet.  Having  blazed  off  the  first  broad- 
side, he  kept  up  a  constant  firing  for  three  whole 
days — anathematizing  the  Yankees,  man,  woman, 
and  child,  body  and  soul,  for  a  set  of  dieven,  schob- 
bejaken,  deugenieten,  twist-zoekeren,  loozcn-schalk- 
.en,  blaes-kaken,  kakken-beddci,  and  a  thousand 
other  names,  of  which,  unfortunately  for  posterity, 
history  does  not  make  mention.  Finally,  he  swore 
that  he  would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  such  a 
squatting,  bundling,  guessing,  questioning,  swap- 
ping, pumpkin-eating,  molasses-daubing,  shingle- 
splitting,  cider-watering,  horse-jockeying,  notion- 
peddling  crew — that  they  might  stay  at  Fort  Coed 
Hoop  and  rot,  before  he  would  dirty  his  hands  by 
attempting  to  drive  them  away ;  in  proof  of  which, 
he  ordered  the  new-raised  troops  to  be  marched 
forthwith  into  winter  quarters,  although  it  was  not 
as  yet  quite  mid-summer.  Governor  Kieft  faithfully 
kept  his  word,  and  his  adversaries  as  faithfully  ke])t 
their  post ;  and  thus  the  glorious  river  Connecticut, 
and  all  the  gay  valleys  through  which  it  rolls,  to- 
gether with  the  salmon,  shad,  and  other  fish  within 
its  waters,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  victorious 
Yankees,  by  whom  they  are  held  at  this  very  day. 

Great  despondency  seized  upon  the  city  of  New- 
Amsterdam,  in  consequence  of  these  melancholy 
events.  The  name  of  Yankee  became  as  terrible 
among  our  good  ancestors  as  was  that  of  Gaul 
among  the  ancient  Romans ;  and  all  the  sage  old 
women  of  the  province  used  it  as  a  bugbear,  where- 
with to  frighten  their  unruly  children  into  obedience. 

The  eyes  of  all  the  province  were  now  turned  upon 
their  governor,  to  know  what  he  would  do  for  the 
protection  of  the  common  weal,  in  these  days  of 
darkness  and  peril.  Great  apprehensions  prevailed 
among  the  reflecting  part  of  the  cominunity,  especial- 
ly the  old  women,  that  these  terrible  warriors  of  Con- 
necticut, not  content  with  the  conquest  of  Fort  Goed 
Hoop,  would  incontinently  march  on  to  New-Amster- 
dam and  take  it  by  storm — and  as  these  old  ladies, 
through  means  of  the  governor's  spouse,  who,  as 
has  been  already  hinted,  was  "  the  better  horse," 
had  obtained  considerable  inlluence  in  public  affairs, 
keeping  the  province  under  a  kind  of  petticoat  gov- 
ernment, it  was  determined  that  measures  should  be 
taken  for  the  effective  fortification  of  the  city. 

Now  it  happened,  that  at  this  time  there  sojourned 
in  New-Amsterdam  one  Anthony  Van  Corlear,*  a 
jolly  fat  Dutch  trumpeter,  of  a  pleasant  burly  visage, 
famous  for  his  long  wind  and  his  huge  whiskers,  and 
who,  as  the  story  goes,  could  twang  so  potently  up- 
on his  instrument,  as  to  produce  an  effect  upon  all 
within  hearing,  as  though  ten  thousand  bag-pipes 


*  David  Pietrez  De  Vrtes^  in  his  *'  Reyze  nacr  Nicuw-Ncderlant 
onder  het  year  1640."  makes  mention  01  one  CorUar^  a  trumpeter 
in  Fort  Amsterdam,  who  gave  name  to  Corlear's  Hook,  and  who 
was  doubtless  this  same  champion  described  by  Mr.  Knickerbocker. 
— Editor. 


were  singing  right  lustily  i'  the  nose.  Him  did  the 
illustrious  Kieft  pick  out  as  the  man  of  all  the  world 
most  fitted  to  be  the  champion  of  New-Amsterdam, 
and  to  garrison  its  fort ;  making  little  doubt  but  that 
his  instrument  would  be  as  effectual  and  offensive  in 
war  as  was  that  of  the  Paladin  Astolpho,  or  the 
more  classic  horn  of  Alecto.  It  would  have  done 
one's  heart  good  to  have  seen  the  governor  snapping 
his  fingers  and  fidgeting  with  delight,  while  his 
sturdy  trumpeter  strutted  up  and  down  the  ramparts, 
fearlessly  twanging  his  trumpet  in  the  face  of  the 
whole  world,  like  a  thrice-valorous  editor  daringly 
insulting  all  the  principalities  and  powers — on  the 
other  side  of  the  Atlantic. 

Nor  was  he  content  with  thus  strongly  garrison- 
ing the  fort,  but  he  likewise  added  exceedingly  to  its 
strength,  by  furnishing  it  with  a  formidable  battery 
of  quaker  guns — rearing  a  stupendous  flag-staff  in 
the  centre,  which  overtopped  the  whole  city — and, 
moreover,  by  building  a  great  windmill  on  one  of  the 
bastions.*  This  last,  to  be  sure,  was  somewhat  of  a 
novelty  in  the  art  of  fortification,  but,  as  I  have  al- 
ready observed,  William  Kieft  was  notorious  for  in- 
novations and  experiments  ;  and  traditions  do  affirm, 
that  he  was  much  given  to  mechanical  inventions — 
constructing  patent  smoke-jacks — carts  that  went 
before  the  horses,  and  especially  erecting  windmills, 
for  which  machines  he  had  acquired  a  singular  pre- 
dilection in  his  native  town  of  Saardam. 

All  these  scientific  vagaries  of  the  little  governor 
were  cried  up  with  ecstasy  by  his  adherents,  as 
proofs  of  his  universal  genius — but  there  were  not 
wanting  ill-natured  grumblers,  who  railed  at  him  as 
employing  his  mind  in  frivolous  pursuits,  and  de- 
voting that  time  to  smoke-jacks  and  windmills  which 
should  have  been  occupied  in  the  more  important 
concerns  of  the  province.  Nay,  they  even  went  so 
far  as  to  hint,  once  or  twice,  that  his  head  was 
turned  by  his  experiments,  and  that  he  really 
thought  to  manage  his  government  as  he  did  his 
mills — by  mere  wind  ! — such  are  the  illiberalily  and 
slander  to  which  enlightened  rulers  are  ever  subject. 

Notwithstanding  all  the  measures,  therefore,  of 
William  the  Testy,  to  place  the  city  in  a  posture  of 
defence,  the  inhabitants  continued  in  great  alarm 
and  despondency.  But  fortune,  who  seems  always 
careful,  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  to  throw  a  bone  for 
hope  to  gnaw  upon,  that  the  starveling  elf  may  be 
J<ept  alive,  did  about  this  time  crown  the  arms  of  the 
province  with  success  in  another  quarter,  and  thus 
cheered  the  drooping  hearts  of  the  forlorn  Neder- 
landers ;  otherwise,  there  is  no  knowing  to  what 
lengths  they  might  have  gone  in  the  excess  of  their 
sorrowing — "  for  grief,"  says  the  profound  historian 
of  the  seven  champions  of  Christendom,  "  is  com- 
panion with  despair,  and  despair  a  procurer  of  in- 
iainous  death  ! " 

Among  the  numerous  inroads  of  the  mosstroopers 
of  Connecticut,  which  for  some  time  past  had  occa- 
sioned such  great  tribulation,  I  should  particularly 
have  mentioned  a  settlement  made  on  the  eastern 
part  of  Long  Island,  at  a  place  which,  from  the  pe- 
culiar excellence  of  its  shell-fish,  was  called  Oyster 
Bay.  This  was  attacking  the  province  in  the  most 
sensible  jjart,  and  occasioned  great  agitation  at  New- 
Amsterdam. 

It  is  an  incontrovertible  fact,  well  known  to  skilful 
physiologists,  that  the  high  road  to  the  affections  is 
through  the  throat ;  and  this  may  be  accounted  for 
on  the  same  principles  which  I  have  already  quoted 
in  my  strictures  on  fat  aldermen.  Nor  is  the  fact 
unknown  to  the  world  at  large ;   and  hence  do  we 


*Dc  Yries  mentions  that  this  windmill  stoodon  the  south-east 
bastion  ■  and  it  is  likewise  to  be  seen,  together  with  the  fiag-sta£f,  in 
Justus  Banker's  View  of  New-Amsterdam. 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


5S7 


observe,  that  the  surest  way  to  gain  the  hearts  of  the 
milhon,  is  to  feed  them  well — and  that  a  man  is 
never  so  disposed  to  flatter,  to  please  and  serve  an- 
other, as  when  he  is  feeding  at  his  expense ;  which 
is  one  reason  why  your  rich  men,  who  give  frequent 
dinners,  have  such  abundance  of  sincere  and  faithful 
friends.  It  is  on  this  principle  that  our  knowing 
leaders  of  parties  secure  the  affections  of  their  par- 
tisans, by  rewarding  them  bountifully  with  loaves 
and  fishes ;  and  entrap  the  suffrages  of  the  greasy 
mob,  by  treating  them  with  bull  feasts  and  roasted 
oxen.  I  have  known  many  a  man,  in  this  same  city, 
acquire  considerable  importance  in  society,  and 
usurp  a  large  share  of  the  good-will  of  his  enlighten- 
ed fellow-citizens,  when  the  only  thing  that  could  be 
said  in  his  eulogium  was,  that  "he  gave  a  good  din- 
ner, and  kept  excellent  wine." 

Since,  then,  the  heart  and  the  stomach  are  so 
•learly  allied,  it  follows  conclusively  that  what  affects 
the  one,  must  sympathetically  affect  the  other.  Now, 
it  is  an  equally  incontrovertible  fact,  that  of  all  offer- 
ings to  the  stomach,  there  is  none  more  grateful  than 
the  testaceous  marine  animal,  known  commonly  by 
the  vulgar  name  of  Oyster.  And  in  such  great  rev- 
erence has  it  ever  been  held,  by  my  gormandizing 
fellow-citizens,  that  temples  have  been  dedicated  to 
it,  time  out  of  mind,  in  every  street,  lane,  and  alley 
throughout  this  well-fed  city.  It  is  not  to  be  ex- 
pected, therefore,  that  the  seizing  of  Oyster  Bay,  a 
place  abounding  with  their  favourite  delicacy,  would 
be  tolerated  by  the  inhabitants  of  New-Amsterdam. 
An  attack  upon  their  honour  they  might  have  par- 
doned ;  even  the  massacre  of  a  few  citizens  might 
have  been  passed  over  in  silence ;  but  an  outrage 
that  affected  the  larders  of  the  great  city  of  New- 
Amsterdam,  and  threatened  the  stomachs  of  its  cor- 
pulent burgomasters,  was  too  serious  to  pass  unre- 
venged.  —  The  whole  council  was  unanimous  in 
opinion,  that  the  intruders  should  me  immediately 
driven  by  force  of  arms  from  Oyster  Bay  and  its 
vicinity,  and  a  detachment  was  accordingly  des- 
patched for  the  purpose,  under  the  command  of  one 
Stoffel  Brinkerhoff,  or  Brinkerhoofd,  {i.e.  Stoffel,  the 
head-breaker,)  so  called  because  he  was  a  man  of 
mighty  deeds,  famous  throughout  the  whole  extent 
of  Nieuw-Nederlandts  for  his  skill  at  quarter-staff; 
and  for  size,  he  would  have  been  a  match  for  Col- 
brand,  the  Danish  champion,  slain  by  Guy  of  War- 
wick. 

Stoffel  Brinkerhoff  was  a  man  of  few  words,  but 
prompt  actions — one  of  your  straight-going  officers, 
who  march  directly  forward,  and  do  their  orders 
without  making  any  parade.  He  used  no  extraordi- 
nary speed  in  his  movements,  but  trudged  steadily  on, 
through  Nineveh  and  Babylon,  and  Jericho  and  Pat- 
chog,  and  the  mighty  town  of  Quag,  and  various 
other  renowned  cities  of  yore,  which,  by  some  unac- 
countable witchcraft  of  the  Yankees,  have  been 
strangely  transplanted  to  Long  Island,  until  he  ar- 
rived in  the  neighbourhood  of  Oyster  Bay. 

Here  was  he  encountered  by  a  tumultuous  host  of 
valiant  warriors,  headed  by  Preserved  Fish,  and  Hab- 
bakuk  Nutter,  and  Return  Strong,  and  Zerubbabel 
Fisk,  and  Jonathan  Doolittle,  and  Determined  Cock  ! 
— at  the  sound  of  whose  names  the  courageous 
Stoffel  verily  believed  that  the  whole  parliament  of 
Praise-God-Barebones  had  been  let  loose  to  discomfit 
him.  Finding,  however,  that  this  formidable  body 
was  composed  merely  of  the  "  select  men  "  of  the 
settlement,  armed  with  no  other  weapon  but  their 
tongues,  and  that  they  had  issued  forth  with  no  other 
intent  than  to  meet  him  on  the  field  of  argument — 
he  succeeded  in  putting  them  to  the  rout  with  little 
difficulty,  and  completely  broke  up  their  settlement. 
Without  waiting  to  write  an  account  of  his  victorj- 


on  the  spot,  and  thus  letting  the  enemy  slip  through 
his  fingers,  while  he  was  securing  his  own  laurels,  as 
a  more  experienced  general  v\ould  have  done,  the 
brave  Stoffel  thought  of  nothing  but  completing  his 
enterprise,  and  utterly  driving  the  Yankees  from  the 
island.  This  hardy  enterprise  he  performed  in  much 
the  same  manner  as  he  had  been  accustomed  to  drive 
his  oxen  ;  for  as  the  Yankees  fled  before  him,  he 
pulled  up  his  breeches  and  trudged  steadily  after 
them,  and  would  infallibly  have  driven  them  into  the 
sea,  had  they  not  begged  for  quarter,  and  agreed  to 
pay  tribute. 

The  news  of  this  achievement  was  a  seasonable 
restorative  to  the  spirits  of  the  citizens  of  New-Am- 
sterdam. To  gratify  them  still  more,  the  governor 
resolved  to  astonish  them  with  one  of  those  gorgeous 
spectacles,  known  in  the  days  of  classic  antiquity,  a 
full  account  of  which  had  been  flogged  into  his  mem- 
ory, when  a  school-boy  at  the  Hague.  A  grand  tri- 
umph, therefore,  was  decreed  to  Stoffel  Brinkerhoff, 
who  made  his  triumphant  entrance  into  town  riding 
on  a  Naraganset  pacer ;  five  pumpkins,  which,  like 
Roman  eagles,  had  served  the  enemy  for  standards, 
were  carried  before  him  — fifty  cart-loads  of  oysters, 
five  hundred  bushels  of  Weathersfield  onions,  a  hun- 
dred quintals  of  codfish,  two  hogsheads  of  molasses, 
and  various  other  treasures,  were  exhibited  as  the 
spoils  and  tribute  ot  the  Yankees ;  while  three  no- 
torious counterfeiters  of  IVIanhattan  notes*  were  led 
captive,  to  grace  the  hero's  triumph.  The  proces- 
sion was  enlivened  by  martial  music  from  the  trum))- 
et  of  Anthony  Van  Corlear,  the  champion,  accom- 
panied by  a  select  band  of  boys  and  negroes  per- 
forming on  the  national  instruments  of  rattle-bones 
and  clam-shells.  The  citizens  devoured  the  spoils 
in  sheer  gladness  of  heart — every  man  did  honour  to 
the  conqueror,  by  getting  devoutly  drunk  on  New- 
England  rum— and  the  learned  Wilhelmus  Kieft, 
calling  to  mind,  in  a  momentary  fit  of  enthusiasm 
and  generosity,  that  it  was  customary  among  the  an- 
cients to  honour  their  victorious  generals  with  public 
statues,  passed  a  gracious  decree,  by  which  every 
tavern-keeper  was  permitted  to  paint  the  head  of  the 
intrepid  Stoffel  on  his  sign  ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PHILOSOPHICAL  REFLECTIONS  ON  THE  FOLLY  OF 
BEING  HAPPY  IN  TIMES  OF  PROSPERITY — SUN- 
DRY TROUBLES  ON  THE  SOUTHERN  FRONTIERS 
— HOW  WILLIAM  THE  TESTY  HAD  WELL  NIGH 
RUINED  THE  PROVINCE  THROUGH  A  CABALIS- 
TIC WORD— AS  ALSO  THE  SECRET  EXPEDITION 
OF  JAN  JANSEN  ALPENDAM,  AND  HIS  ASTON- 
ISHING REWARD. 

If  we  could  but  get  a  peep  at  the  tally  of  dame 
Fortune,  where,  like  a  notable  landlady,  she  regu- 
larly chalks  up  the  debtor  and  creditor  accounts  of 
mankind,  we  should  find  that,  upon  the  whole,  good 
and  evil  are  pretty  near  balancerl  in  this  world  ;  and 
that  though  we  may  for  a  long  while  revel  in  the  very 
lap  of  prosperity,  the  time  will  at  length  come  when 
we  must  ruefully  pay  off  the  reckoning.  Fortune, 
in  fact,  is  a  pestilent  shrew,  and  withal  a  most  inex- 
orable creditor;  for  though  she  may  indulge  her  fa- 
vourites in  long  credits,  and  overwhelm  them  with 


•  This  is  one  of  those  trivial  anachronisms,  that  now  and  then 
occur  in  the  course  of  this  otherwise  authentic  history.  How  could 
Manhattan  notes  be  counterfeited,  when  as  yet  Banks  were  un- 
Itnown  in  this  country  ? — and  our  simple  progenitors  had  not  even 
dreamt  of  those  inexhaustible  mines  of  pa^er  opulence. — Print 
Dev. 


688 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


her  favours,  yet  sooner  or  later  she  brings  up  her 
arrears  with  the  rigour  of  an  experienced  publican, 
and  washes  out  her  scores  with  their  tears.  "  Since," 
says  good  old  Boetius,  "  no  man  can  retain  her  at  his 
pleasure,  and  since  her  flight  is  so  deeply  lamented, 
what  are  her  favours  but  sure  prognostications  of 
approaching  trouble  and  calamity  ?  " 

There  is  nothing  that  more  moves  my  contempt 
at  the  stupidity  and  want  of  reflection  of  my  fellow- 
men,  than  to  behold  them  rejoicing,  and  indulging 
in  security  and  self-confidence,  in  times  of  prosperity. 
To  a  wise  man,  who  is  blessed  with  the  light  of  rea- 
son, those  are  the  very  moments  of  an.xiely  and  ap- 
prehension ;  well  knowing  that  according  to  the  sys- 
tem of  things,  happiness  is  at  best  but  transient— 
and  that  the  higher  he  is  elevated  by  the  capricious 
breath  of  fortune,  the  lower  must  be  his  proportion- 
ate depression.  Whereas,  he  who  is  overwhelmed 
by  calamity,  has  the  less  chance  of  encountering 
fresh  disasters,  as  a  man  at  the  bottom  of  a  ladder 
runs  very  little  risk  of  breaking  his  neck  by  tumbling 
to  the  top. 

This  is  the  very  essence  of  true  wisdom,  which 
consists  in  knowing  when  we  ought  to  be  miserable  ; 
and  was  discovered  much  about  the  same  time  with 
that  invaluable  secret,  that  "  every  thing  is  vanity 
and  ve.xation  of  spirit ;"  in  consequence  of  which 
maxim,  your  wise  men  have  ever  been  the  unhap- 
piest  of  the  human  race  ;  esteeming  it  as  an  infalli- 
ble mark  of  genius  to  be  distressed  without  reason — 
since  any  man  may  be  miserable  in  time  of  misfor- 
tune, but  it  is  the  philosopher  alone  who  can  dis- 
cover cause  for  grief  in  the  very  hour  of  prosperity. 

According  to  the  principle  I  have  just  advanced, 
we  find  that  the  colony  of  New-Netherlands,  which, 
under  the  reign  of  the  renowned  Van  Twiller,  had 
flourished  in  such  alarming  and  fatal  serenity,  is 
now  paying  for  its  former  welfare,  and  discharging 
the  enormous  debt  of  comfort  which  it  contracted. 
Foes  harass  it  from  different  quarters ;  the  city  of 
New-Amsterdam,  while  yet  in  its  infancy,  is  kept  in 
constant  alarm  ;  and  its  valiant  commander,  William 
the  Testy,  answers  the  vulgar,  but  expressive  idea, 
of  "  a  man  in  a  peck  of  troubles." 

While  busily  engaged  repelling  his  bitter  enemies 
the  Yankees  on  one  side,  we  find  him  suddenly  mo- 
lested in  another  quarter,  and  by  other  assailants. 
A  vagrant  colony  of  Swedes,  under  the  conduct  of 
Peter  Minnewits,  and  professing  allegiance  to  that 
redoubtable  virago,  Christina,  queen  of  Sweden,  had 
settled  themselves  and  erected  a  fort  on  South  (or 
Delaware)  River — within  the  boundaries  claimed  by 
the  government  of  the  New-Netherlands.  History 
is  mute  as  to  the  particulars  of  their  first  landing, 
and  their  real  pretensions  to  the  soil ;  and  this  is  the 
more  to  be  lamented,  as  this  same  colony  of  Swedes 
will  hereafter  be  found  most  materially  to  affect  not 
only  the  interests  of  the  Nederlanders,  but  of  the 
world  at  large ! 

In  whatever  manner,  therefore,  this  vagabond  col- 
oi.y  of  Swedes  first  took  possession  of  tlie  country, 
it  is  certain  that  in  1638  they  established  a  fort,  and 
Minnewits,  according  to  the  off-hand  usage  of  his 
contemporaries,  declared  himself  governor  of  all  the 
adjacent  country,  under  the  name  of  the  province  of 
New  Sweden.  No  sooner  did  this  reach  the  ears 
of  the  choleric  Wilhelmus,  than,  like  a  true-spirited 
chieftain,  he  immediately  broke  into  a  violent  rage, 
and  calling  together  his  council,  belaboured  the 
Swedes  most  lustily  in  the  longest  speech  that  had 
ever  been  heard  in  the  colony,  since  the  memorable 
dispute  of  Ten  Breeches  and  Tough  Breeches.  Hav- 
ing thus  given  vent  to  the  first  ebullitions  of  his  in- 
dignation, he  had  resort  to  his  favourite  measure  of 
proclamation,  and  despatched  one,  piping  hot,  in  the 


first  year  of  his  reign,  informing  Peter  Minnewits 
that  the  whole  territory,  bordering  on  the  South 
river,  had,  time  out  of  mind,  been  in  possession  of 
the  Dutch  colonists,  having  been  "  beset  with  forts, 
and  sealed  with  their  blood." 

The  latter  sanguinary  sentence  would  convey  an 
idea  of  direful  war  and  bloodshed,  were  we  not  re- 
lieved by  the  information  that  it  merely  related  to  a 
fray,  in  which  some  half-a-dozen  Dutchmen  had  been 
killed  by  the  Indians,  in  their  benevolent  attempts  to 
establish  a  colony  and  promote  civilization.  By  this 
it  will  be  seen,  that  William  Kieft,  though  a  very- 
small  man,  delighted  in  big  expressions,  and  was 
much  given  to  a  praiseworthy  figure  of  rhetoric,  gen- 
erally cultivated  by  your  little  great  men,  called  hy- 
perbole— a  figure  which  has  been  found  of  infinite 
service  among  many  of  his  class,  and  which  has 
helped  to  swell  the  grandeur  of  many  a  mighty,  self- 
important,  but  windy  chief  magistrate.  Nor  can  I 
refrain  in  this  place  from  observing  how  much  my 
beloved  country  is  indebted  to  this  same  figure  of 
hyperbole,  for  supporting  certain  of  her  greatest 
characters — statesmen,  orators,  civilians,  and  divines; 
who,  by  dint  of  big  words,  inflated  periods,  and  windy 
doctrines,  are  kept  afloat  on  the  surface  of  society, 
as  ignorant  swimmers  are  buoyed  up  by  blown  blad- 
ders. 

The  proclamation  against  Minnewits  concluded 
by  ordering  the  self-dubbed  governor,  and  his  gang 
of  Swedish  adventurers,  immediately  to  leave  the 
country,  under  penalty  of  the  high  displeasure  and 
inevitable  vengeance  of  the  puissant  government  of 
the  Nieuw-Nederlandts.  This  "  strong  measure," 
however,  does  not  seem  to  have  had  a  whit  more 
effect  than  its  predecessors  which  had  been  thunder- 
ed against  the  Yankees — the  Swedes  resolutely  held 
on  to  the  territory  they  had  taken  possession  of — 
whereupon  matters  for  the  present  remained  in 
statu  quo. 

That  Wilhelmus  Kieft  should  put  up  with  this  in 
Solent  obstinacy  in  the  Swedes,  would  appear  incom- 
patible with  his  valorous  temperament ;  but  we  find 
that  about  this  time  the  little  man  had  his  hands  full, 
and,  what  with  one  annoyance  and  another,  was 
kept  continually  on  the  bounce. 

There  is  a  certain  description  of  active  legislators, 
who,  by  shrewd  manageinent,  contrive  always  to 
have  a  hundred  irons  on  the  anvil,  every  one  of 
which  must  be  immediately  attended  to  ;  who  conse- 
quently are  ever  full  of  temporary  shifts  and  expe- 
dients, patching  up  the  public  welfare,  and  cobbling 
the  national  affairs,  so  as  to  make  nine  holes  where 
they  mend  one — stopping  chinks  and  flaws  with 
whatever  comes  first  to  hand,  like  the  Yankees  I 
have  mentioned,  stuffing  old  clothes  in  broken  win- 
dows. Of  this  class  of  statesmen  was  William  the 
Testy — and  had  he  only  been  blessed  with  po\^'ers 
equal  to  his  zeal,  or  his  zeal  been  disciplined  by  a 
little  discretion,  there  is  very  little  doubt  that  he 
would  liave  made  the  greatest  governor  of  his  size 
on  record — the  renowned  governor  of  the  island  of 
Barataria  alone  excepted. 

The  great  defect  of  Wilhelmus  Kieft 's  policy  was, 
that  though  no  man  could  be  more  ready  to  stand 
forth  in  an  hour  of  emergency,  yet  he  was  so  intent 
upon  guarding  the  national  pocket,  that  he  suffered 
the  enemy  to  break  its  head — in  other  words,  what- 
ever precaution  for  public  safety  he  adopted,  he  was 
so  intent  upon  rendering  it  cheap,  that  he  invariably 
rendered  it  ineffectual.  All  this  was  a  remote  con- 
sequence of  his  profound  education  at  the  Hague — 
where,  having  acquired  a  smattering  of  knowledge, 
he  was  ever  after  a  great  Conner  of  indexes,  contin- 
ually dipping  into  books,  without  ever  studying  to 
the  bottom  of  any  subject ;  so  that  he  had  the  scum 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


589 


of  all  kinds  of  authors  fermenting  in  his  pericranium. 
In  some  of  these  title-page  researches,  he  unluckily 
stumbled  over  a  grand  political  cabalistic  word, 
which,  with  his  customary  facility,  he  immediately 
incorporated  into  his  great  scheme  of  government, 
to  the  irretrievable  injury  and  delusion  of  the  honest 
province  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts,  and  the  eternal  mis- 
leading of  all  experimental  rulers. 

In  vain  have  I  pored  over  the  theurgia  of  the 
Chaldeans,  the  cabala  of  the  Jews,  the  necromancy 
of  the  Arabians,  the  magic  of  the  Persians,  the  hocus- 
pocus  of  the  English,  the  witchcraft  of  the  Yankees, 
or  the  powwowing  of  the  Indians,  to  discover  where 
the  little  man  first  laid  eyes  on  this  terrible  word. 
Neither  the  Sephir  Jetzirah,  that  famous  cabalistic 
volume,  ascribed  to  the  patriarch  Abraham  ;  nor  the 
pages  of  Zohar,  containing  the  mysteriesof  the  cabala, 
recorded  by  the  learned  rabbi  Simon  Sochaides,  yield 
any  light  to  my  inquiries — nor  am  1  in  the  least  bene- 
fited by  my  painful  researches  in  the  Shem-ham- 
phorah  of  Benjamin,  the  wandering  Jew,  though  it 
enabled  Davidus  Elm  to  make  a  ten  days'  journey 
in  twenty-four  hours.  Neither  can  I  perceive  the 
slightest  affinity  in  the  Tetragrammaton,  or  sacred 
name  of  four  letters,  the  profoundest  word  of  the  He- 
brew cabala ;  a  mystery  sublime,  ineffable,  and  in- 
communicable— and  the  letters  of  which,  Jod-He- 
Vau-He,  having  been  stolen  by  the  pagans,  consti- 
tuted their  great  name,  Jao  or  Jove.  In  short,  in 
all  my  cabalistic,  theurgic,  necromantic,  magical, 
and  astrological  researches,  from  the  Tetractys  of 
Pythagoras  to  the  recondite  works  of  Breslaw  and 
Mother  Bunch,  I  have  not  discovered  the  least  ves- 
tige of  an  origin  of  this  word,  nor  have  I  discovered 
any  word  of  sufficient  potency  to  counteract  it. 

Not  to  keep  my  reader  in  any  suspense,  the  word 
which  had  so  wonderfully  arrested  the  attention  of 
William  tlie  Testy,  and  which  in  German  characters 
had  a  particularly  black  and  ominous  aspect,  on 
being  fairly  translated  into  the  English,  is  no  other 
than  ECONOMY— a  talismanic  term,  which,  by  con- 
stant use  and  frequent  mention,  has  ceased  to  be  for- 
midable in  our  eyes,  but  which  has  as  terrible  potency 
as  any  in  the  arcana  of  necromancy. 

When  pronounced  in  a  national  assembly,  it  has 
an  immediate  effect  in  closing  the  hearts,  beclouding 
the  intellects,  drawing  the  purse-strings  and  button- 
ing the  breeches-pockets  of  all  philosophic  legislators. 
Nor  arc  its  effects  on  the  eyes  less  wonderful.  It 
produces  a  contraction  of  the  retina,  an  obscurity  of 
the  crystalline  lens,  a  viscidity  of  the  vitreous,  and  an 
inspissation  of  the  aqueous  humours,  an  induration 
of  the  tunica  sclerotica  and  a  convexity  of  the  cor- 
nea ;  insomuch  that  the  organ  of  vision  loses  its 
strength  and  perspicuity,  and  the  unfortunate  patient 
becomes  myopes,  or,  in  plain  English,  purblind  ;  per- 
ceiving only  the  amount  of  immediate  expense,  with- 
out being  able  to  look  farther,  and  regard  it  in  con- 
nexion with  the  ultimate  object  to  be  effected — "  So 
that,"  to  quote  the  words  of  the  eloquent  Burke, 
"  a  briar  at  his  nose  is  of  greater  magnitude  than  an 
oak  at  five  hundred  yards'  distance."  Such  are  its 
instantaneous  operations,  and  the  results  are  still 
inore  astonishing.  By  its  magic  influence,  seventy- 
fours  shrink  into  frigates — frigates  into  sloops,  and 
sloops  into  gun-boats. 

This  all-potent  word,  which  served  as  his  touch- 
stone in  politics,  at  once  explains  the  whole  system 
of  proclamations,  protests,  empty  threats,  windmills, 
trumpeters,  and  paper  war,  carried  on  by  Wilhelmus 
the  Testy— and  we  may  trace  its  operations  in  an 
armament  which  he  fitted  out  in  1642,  in  a  moment 
of  great  wrath,  consisting  of  two  sloops  and  thirty 
men,  under  the  command  of  Mynheer  Jan  Jansen 
Alpendam,  as  admiral  of  the  fleet,  and  commander- 


in-chief  of  the  forces.  This  formidable  expedition, 
which  can  only  be  paralleled  by  some  of  the  daring 
cruises  of  our  infant  navy  about  the  bay  and  up  the 
Sound,  was  intended  to  drive  the  Marx'landers  from 
the  Schuylkill,  of  which  they  had  recently  taken  pos- 
session— and  which  was  claimed  as  part  of  the  prov- 
ince of  New-Nederlandts — for  it  appears  that  at  this 
time  our  infant  colony  was  in  that  enviable  state,  so 
much  coveted  by  ambitious  nations,  that  is  to  say, 
the  government  had  a  vast  extent  of  territory,  part 
of  which  it  enjoyed,  and  the  greater  part  of  which  it 
had  continually  to  quarrel  about. 

Admiral  Jan  Jansen  Alpendam  was  a  man  of  great 
mettle  and  prowess,  and  no  way  dismayed  at  the 
character  of  the  enemy,  who  were  represented  as  a 
gigantic,  gunpowder  race  of  men,  who  lived  on  hoe- 
cakes  and  bacon,  drank  mint-juleps  and  apple-toddy, 
and  were  exceedingly  expert  at  boxing,  biting,  goug- 
ing, tar  and  feathering,  and  a  variety  of  other  atliletic 
accomplishments,  which  they  had  borrowed  from 
their  cousins-german  and  prototypes,  the  Virginians, 
to  whom  they  have  ever  borne  considerable  resem- 
blance. Notwithstanding  all  these  alarming  repre- 
sentations, the  admiral  entered  the  Schuylkill  most 
undauntedly  with  his  fleet,  and  arrived  without  dis- 
aster or  opposition  at  the  place  of  destination. 

Here  he  attacked  the  enemy  in  a  vigorous  speech 
in  Low  Dutch,  which  the  wary  Kieft  had  previously 
put  in  his  pocket ;  wherein  he  courteously  com- 
menced by  calling  them  a  pack  of  lazy,  touting, 
dram-drinking,  cock-fighting,  horse-racing,  slave- 
driving,  tavern-haunting.  Sabbath-breaking,  mulatto- 
breeding  upstarts — and  concluded  by  ordering  them 
to  evacuate  the  country  immediately — to  which  they 
most  laconically  replied  in  plain  English,  "  they'd  see 
him  d d  first." 

Now  this  was  a  reply  for  which  neither  Jan  Jansen 
Alpendam  nor  Wilhelmus  Kieft  had  made  any  cal- 
culation—and finding  himself  totally  unprepared  to 
answer  so  terrible  a  rebuff  with  suitable  hostility,  he 
concluded  that  his  wisest  course  was  to  return  home 
and  report  progress.  He  accordingly  sailed  back  to 
New-Amsterdam,  where  he  was  received  with  great 
honours,  and  considered  as  a  pattern  for  all  com- 
manders ;  having  achieved  a  most  hazardous  enter- 
prise, at  a  trifling  expense  of  treasure,  and  without 
losing  a  single  man  to  the  State  ! — He  was  unani- 
mously called  the  deliverer  of  his  country,  (an  ap- 
pellation liberally  bestowed  on  all  great  men  ;)  his 
two  sloops,  having  done  their  duty,  were  laid  up  (or 
dry-docked)  in  a  cove  now  called  the  Albany  basin, 
where  they  quietly  rotted  in  the  mud  ;  and  to  im- 
mortalize his  name,  they  erected,  by  subscription,  a 
magnificent  shingle  monument  on  the  top  of  Flatten- 
barrack  hill,  which  lasted  three  whole  years  ;  when 
it  fell  to  pieces  and  was  burnt  for  firewood. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOW  WILLIAM  THE  TESTY  ENRICHED  THE  PROV- 
INCE BY  A  MULTITUDE  OF  LAWS,  AND  CAME 
TO  BE  THE  PATRON  OF  LAWYERS  AND  BUM- 
BAILIFFS— AND  HOW  THE  PEOPLE  BECAME  EX- 
CEEDINGLY ENLIGHTENED  AND  UNHAPPY  UN- 
DER  HIS   INSTRUCTIONS. 

Among  the  many  wrecks  and  fragments  of  ex- 
alted wisdom  which  have  floated  down  the  stream 
of  time,  from  venerable  antiquity,  and  have  been 
carefully  picked  up  by  those  humble,  but  industrious 
wights,  who  ply  along  the  shores  of  literature,  we 
find  the  following  sage  ordinance  of  Charondas,  the 
Locrian  legislator.     Anxious  to  preserve  the  ancient 


690 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


laws  of  the  state  from  the  additions  and  improve-  j 
ments  of  profound  "country  members,"  or  officious 
candidates  for  popularity,  he  ordained  that  whoever 
proposed  a  new  law,  should  do  it  with  a  halter  about 
his  neck  ;  so  that  in  case  his  proposition  was  re- 
jected, they  just  hung  him  up — and  there  the  matter 
ended. 

This  salutary  institution  had  such  an  effect,  that 
for  more  than  two  hundred  years  there  was  only  one 
trifling  alteration  in  the  criminal  code — and  the 
whole  race  of  lawyers  starved  to  death  for  want  of 
employment.  The  consequence  of  this  was,  that  the 
Locrians,  being  unprotected  by  an  overwhelming 
load  of  excellent  laws,  and  undefended  by  a  stand- 
ing army  of  pettifoggers  and  sheriff 's  officers,  lived 
very  lovingly  together,  and  were  such  a  happy  peo- 
ple, that  they  scarce  make  any  figure  throughout  the 
whole  Grecian  history — for  it  is  well  known  that 
none  but  your  unlucky,  quarrelsome,  rantipole  na- 
tions make  any  noise  in  the  world. 

Well  would  it  have  been  for  William  the  Testy, 
had  he  haply,  in  the  course  of  his  "  universal  ac- 
quirements," stumbled  upon  this  precaution  of  the 
good  Charondas.  On  the  contrary,  he  conceived 
tliat  the  true  policy  of  a  legislator  was  to  multiply 
laws,  and  thus  secure  the  property,  the  persons,  and 
the  morals  of  the  people,  by  surrounding  them  in  a 
manner  with  men-traps  and  spring-guns,  and  beset- 
ting even  the  sweet  sequestered  walks  of  private  life 
with  quickset  hedges,  so  that  a  man  could  scarcely 
turn,  without  the  risk  of  encountering  some  of  these 
pestiferous  protectors.  Thus  was  he  continually 
coining  petty  laws  for  every  petty  offence  that  oc- 
curred, until  in  time  they  became  too  numerous  to 
be  remembered,  and  remained  like  those  of  certain 
modern  legislators,  mere  dead-letters — revived  occa- 
sionally for  the  purpose  of  individual  oppression,  or 
to  entrap  ignorant  offenders. 

Petty  courts  consequently  began  to  appear,  where 
the  law  was  administered  with  nearly  as  much  wis- 
dom and  impartiality  as  in  those  august  tribunals, 
the  alderman's  and  justice's  courts  of  the  present 
day.  The  plaintiff  was  generally  favoured,  as  being 
a  customer  and  bringing  business  to  the  shop  ;  the 
offences  of  the  rich  were  discreetly  winked  at — for 
fear  of  hurting  the  feelings  of  their  friends ; — but  it 
could  never  be  laid  to  the  charge  of  the  vigilant 
burgomasters,  that  they  suffered  vice  to  skulk  un- 
punished, under  the  disgraceful  rags  of  poverty. 

About  this  time  may  we  date  the  first  introduction 
of  capital  punishments  —  a  goodly  gallows  being 
erected  on  the  water-side,  about  where  Whitehall 
stairs  are  at  present,  a  little  to  the  east  of  the  Bat- 
tery. Hard  by  also  was  erected  another  gibbet  of  a 
very  strange,  uncouth,  and  unmatchable  description, 
but  on  which  the  ingenious  William  Kieft  valued 
himself  not  a  little,  being  a  punishment  entirely  of 
his  own  invention. 

It  was  for  loftiness  of  altitude  not  a  whit  inferior 
to  that  of  Haman,  so  renowned  in  Bible  history ; 
but  the  marvel  of  the  contrivance  was,  that  the  cul- 
prit, instead  of  being  suspended  by  the  neck,  accord- 
ing to  venerable  custom,  was  hoisted  by  the  waist- 
band, and  was  kept  for  an  hour  together  dangling 
and  sprawling  between  heaven  and  earth — to  the  in- 
finite entertainment  and  doubtless  great  edification 
of  the  multitude  of  respectable  citizens,  who  usually 
attend  upon  exhibitions  of  the  kind. 

It  is  incredible  how  the  little  governor  chuckled 
at  beholding  caitiff  vagrants  and  sturdy  beggars 
thus  swinging  by  the  crupper,  and  cutting  antic 
gambols  in  the  air.  He  had  a  thousand  pleasantries 
and  mirthful  conceits  to  utter  upon  these  occasions. 
He  called  them  his  dandle-lions — his  wild-fowl — his 
high-flyers —  his  spread-eagles — his  goshawks — his 


scarecrows,  and  finally  his  ttallows-birds,  which  in- 
genious appellation,  though  originally  confined  to 
worthies  who  had  taken  the  air  in  this  strange  man- 
ner, has  since  grown  to  be  a  cant  name  givi-n  to  all 
candidates  for  legal  elev.ation.  This  punishment, 
moreover,  if  we  may  credit  the  assertions  of  certain 
grave  etymologists,  gave  the  first  hint  for  a  kind  of 
harnessing,  or  strapping,  by  which  our  forefathers 
braced  up  their  multifarious  breeches,  and  which  has 
of  late  years  been  revived,  and  continues  to  be  worn 
at  the  present  day. 

Such  were  the  admirable  improvements  of  Wil- 
liam Kieft  in  criminal  law — nor  was  his  civil  code 
less  a  matter  of  wonderment ;  and  much  does  it 
grieve  me  that  the  limits  of  my  work  will  not  suffer 
me  to  expatiate  on  both,  with  the  prolixity  they  de- 
ser\'e.  Let  it  suffice  then  to  say,  that  in  a  little 
while  the  blessings  of  innumerable  laws  became  no- 
toriously apparent.  It  was  soon  found  necessary  to 
have  a  certain  class  of  men  to  expound  and  confound 
them — divers  pettifoggers  accordingly  made  their 
appearance,  under  whose  protecting  care  the  com- 
munity was  soon  set  together  by  the  ears. 

I  would  not  here  be  thought  to  insinuate  any  thing 
derogatory  to  the  profession  of  the  law,  or  to  its  dig- 
nified members.  Well  am  1  aware,  that  we  have  in 
this  ancient  city  innumerable  worthy  gentlemen  who 
have  embraced  that  honourable  order,  not  for  the 
sordid  love  of  filthy  lucre,  nor  the  selfish  cravings  of 
renown,  but  through  no  other  motives  but  a  fervent 
zeal  for  the  correct  administration  of  justice,  and  a 
generous  and  disinterested  devotion  to  the  interests 
of  their  fellow-citizens  ! — Sooner  would  I  throw  this 
trusty  pen  into  the  flames,  and  cork  up  my  ink-bot- 
tle for  ever,  than  infringe  even  for  a  nail's  breadth 
upon  the  dignity  of  this  truly  benevolent  class  of 
citizens — on  the  contrary,  I  allude  solely  to  that 
crew  of  caitifi"  scouts,  who,  in  these  latter  days  of 
evil,  have  become  so  numerous — who  infest  the 
skirts  of  the  profession,  as  did  the  recreant  Cornish 
knights  the  honourable  order  of  chivalry  —  who, 
under  its  auspices,  commit  their  depredations  on  so- 
ciety— who  thrive  by  quibbles,  quirks,  and  chicanery, 
and,  like  vermin,  swarm  most  where  there  is  most 
corruption. 

Nothing  so  soon  awakens  the  malevolent  passions, 
as  the  facility  of  gratification.  The  courts  of  law 
would  never  be  so  constantly  crowded  with  petty, 
vexatious,  and  disgraceful  suits,  were  it  not  for  the 
herds  of  pettifogging  lawyers  that  infest  them. 
These  tamper  with  the  passions  of  the  lower  and 
more  ignorant  classes  ;  who,  as  if  poverty  were  not 
a  sufficient  misery  in  itself,  are  always  ready  to 
heighten  it  by  the  bitterness  of  litigation.  They  are 
in  law  what  quacks  are  in  medicine — exciting  the 
malady  for  the  purpose  of  profiting  by  the  cure,  and 
retarding  the  cure  for  the  purpose  of  augmenting 
the  fees.  Where  one  destroys  the  constitution,  the 
other  impoverishes  the  purse  ;  and  it  may  likewise 
be  observed,  that  a  patient,  who  has  once  been  un- 
der the  hands  of  a  quack,  is  ever  after  dabbling  in 
drugs,  and  poisoning  himself  with  infallible  reme- 
dies ;  and  an  ignorant  man,  who  has  once  meddled 
vvitli  the  law  under  the  auspices  of  one  of  these  em- 
pirics, is  for  ever  after  embroiling  himself  with  his 
neighbours,  and  impoverishing  himself  with  success- 
ful law-suits. — My  readers  will  excuse  this  digres- 
sion, into  which  I  have  been  unwarily  betrayed  ;  but 
I  could  not  avoid  giving  a  cool,  unprejudiced  account 
of  an  abomination  too  prevalent  in  this  excellent 
city,  and  with  the  effects  of  which  I  am  unluckily 
acquainted  to  my  cost ;  having  been  nearly  ruined 
by  a  law-suit,  which  was  unjustly  decided  against 
me — and  my  ruin  having  been  completed  by  another, 
which  was  decided  in  my  favour. 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


591 


It  has  been  remarked  by  the  observant  writer  of 
the  Stuyvesant  manuscript,  that  under  the  adminis- 
tration of  Wilhelmus  Kieft  the  disposition  of  the  in- 
habitants of  New-Amsterdam  experienced  an  essen- 
tial change,  so  that  they  became  very  meddlesome 
and  factious.  The  constant  exacerbations  of  temper 
into  which  the  little  governor  was  thrown  by  the 
maraudings  on  his  frontiers,  and  his  unfortunate  pro- 
pensity to  experiment  and  innovation,  occasioned  him 
to  keep  his  council  in  a  continual  worry — and  the 
council  being,  to  the  people  at  large,  what  yest  or 
leaven  is  to  a  batch,  they  threw  the  whole  community 
into  a  ferment — and  the  people  at  large  being  to  the 
city  what  the  mind  is  to  the  body,  the  unhappy  com- 
motions they  underwent  operated  most  disastrously 
»upon  New-Amsterdam — insomuch,  that  in  certain 
of  their  paroxysms  of  consternation  and  perplexity, 
they  begat  several  of  the  most  crooked,  distorted, 
and  abominable  streets,  lanes,  and  alleys,  with  which 
this  metropolis  is  disfigured. 

But  the  worst  of  the  matter  was,  that  just  about 
this  time  the  mob,  since  called  the  sovereign  people, 
like  Balaam's  ass,  began  to  grow  more  enlightened 
than  its  rider,  and  exhibited  a  strange  desire  of  gov- 
erning itself.  This  was  another  effect  of  the  "  uni- 
versal acquirements"  of  William  the  Testy.  In 
some  of  his  pestilent  researches  among  the  rubbish  of 
antiquity,  he  was  struck  with  admiration  at  the  in- 
stitution of  public  tables  among  the  Lacedaemonians, 
where  they  discussed  topics  of  a  general  and  interest- 
ing nature — at  the  schools  of  the  philosophers,  where 
they  engaged  in  profound  disputes  upon  politics  and 
morals — where  gray-beards  were  taught  the  rudi- 
ments of  wisdom,  and  youths  learned  to  become  lit- 
tle men  before  they  were  boys.  "  There  is  nothing," 
said  the  ingenious  Kieft,  shutting  up  the  book,  "  there 
is  nothing  more  essential  to  the  well-management  of 
a  country,  than  education  among  the  people  :  the 
basis  of  a  good  government  should  be  laid  in  the 
public  mind." — Now  this  was  true  enough,  but  it 
was  ever  the  wayward  fate  of  William  the  Testy, 
that  when  he  thought  right,  he  was  sure  to  go  to 
work  wrong.  In  the  present  instance,  he  could 
scarcely  eat  or  sleep  until  he  had  set  on  foot  brawl- 
ing debating  societies  among  the  simple  citizens  of 
New-Amsterdam.  This  was  the  one  thing  wanting 
to  complete  his  confusion.  The  honest  Dutch  burgh- 
ers, though  in  truth  but  little  given  to  argument  or 
wordy  altercation,  yet  by  dint  of  meeting  often  to- 
gether, fuddling  themselves  with  strong  drink,  be- 
clouding their  brains  with  tobacco-smoke,  and  listen- 
ing to  the  harangues  of  some  half-a-dozen  oracles, 
soon  became  exceedingly  wise,  and — as  is  always  the 
case  where  the  mob  is  politically  enlightened — ex- 
ceedingly discontented.  They  found  out,  with  won- 
derful quickness  of  discernment,  the  fearful  error  in 
which  they  had  indulged,  in  fancying  themselves  the 
happiest  people  in  creation — and  were  fortunately 
convinced,  that,  all  circumstances  to  the  contrary 
notwithstanding,  they  were  a  very  unhappy,  deluded, 
and  consequently  ruined  people. 

In  a  short  time,  the  quidnuncs  of  New-Amsterdam 
formed  themselves  into  sage  juntos  of  political  croak- 
ers, who  daily  met  together  to  groan  over  political 
affairs,  and  make  themselves  miserable ;  thronging 
to  these  unhappy  assemblages,  with  the  same  eager- 
ness that  zealots  have  in  all  ages  abandoned  the 
milder  and  more  peaceful  paths  of  religion,  to  crowd 
to  the  howling  convocations  of  fanaticism.  We  are 
naturally  prone  to  discontent,  and  avaricious  after 
imaginary  causes  of  lamentation  —  like  lubberly 
monks,  we  belabour  our  own  shoulders,  and  seem  to 
take  a  vast  satisfaction   in  the  music  of  our  own 

f roans.    Nor  is  this  said  for  the  sake  of  paradox ; 
ally  experience  shows  the  truth  of  these  observa- 


tions. It  is  almost  impossible  to  elevate  the  spirits 
of  a  man  groaning  under  ideal  calamities  ;  but  noth- 
ing is  more  easy  than  to  render  him  wretched,  though 
on  the  pihnacle  of  felicity ;  as  it  is  a  Herculean  task 
to  hoist  a  man  to  the  top  of  a  steeple,  though  the 
merest  child  can  topple  him  off  thence. 

In  the  sage  assemblages  I  have  noticed,  the  reader 
will  at  once  perceive  the  faint  germs  of  those  sapient 
convocations  called  popular  meetings,  prevalent  at 
our  day.  Thither  resorted  all  those  idlers  and 
"squires  of  low  degree,"  who,  like  mgs,  hang  loose 
upon  the  back  of  society,  and  are  ready  to  be  blown 
away  by  every  wind  of  doctrine.  Cobblers  aban- 
doned their  stalls,  and  hastened  thither  to  give  les- 
sons on  political  economy — blacksmiths  left  their 
handicraft  and  suffered  their  own  fires  to  go  out, 
while  they  blew  the  bellows  and  stirred  up  the  fire 
of  faction  ;  and  even  tailors,  though  but  the  shreds 
and  patches,  the  ninth  parts  of  humanity,  neglected 
their  own  measures  to  attend  to  the  measures  of 
government. — Nothing  was  wanting  but  half-a-dozen 
newspapers  and  patriotic  editors,  to  have  completed 
this  public  illumination,  and  to  have  thrown  the 
whole  province  in  an  uproar  I 

I  should  not  forget  to  mention,  that  these  popular 
meetings  were  held  at  a  noted  tavern  ;  for  houses  of 
that  description  have  always  been  found  the  most 
fostering  nurseries  of  politics  ;  abounding  with  those 
genial  streams  which  give  strength  and  sustenance 
to  faction.  We  are  told  that  the  ancient  Germans 
had  an  admirable  mode  of  treating  any  question  of 
importance ;  they  first  deliberated  upon  it  when 
drunk,  and  afterwards  reconsidered  it  when  sober. 
The  shrewder  mobs  of  America,  who  dislike  having 
two  minds  upon  a  subject,  both  determine  and  act 
upon  it  drunk  ;  by  which  means  a  world  of  cold  and 
tedious  speculation  is  dispensed  with — and  as  it  is  uni- 
versally allowed,  that  when  a  man  is  drunk  he  sees 
double,  it  follows  most  conclusively  that  he  sees 
twice  as  well  as  his  sober  neighbours. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

OF  THE  GREAT  PIPE  PLOT — AND  OF  THE  DOLOR- 
OUS PERPLEXITIES  INTO  WHICH  WILLIAM  THE 
TESTY  WAS  THROWN,  BY  REASON  OF  HIS  HAV- 
ING ENLIGHTENED  THE  MULTITUDE. 

WiLHELMUS  Kieft,  as  has  already  been  made 
manifest,  was  a  great  legislator  upon  a  small  scale. 
He  was  of  an  active,  or  rather  a  busy  mind  ;  that  is 
to  say,  his  was  one  of  those  small,  but  brisk  minds, 
which  make  up  by  bustle  and  constant  motion  for 
the  want  of  great  scope  and  power.  He  had,  when 
quite  a  youngling,  been  impressed  with  the  advice  of 
Solomon,  "  go  to  the  ant,  thou  sluggard ;  consider  her 
ways  and  be  wise ;"  in  conformity  to  which,  he  had 
ever  been  of  a  restless,  ant-like  turn,  worrying  hither 
and  thither,  busying  himself  about  little  matters, 
with  an  air  of  great  importance  and  anxiety — layirigf 
up  wisdom  by  the  morsel,  and  often  toiling  and  puff- 
ing at  a  grain  of  mustard-seed,  under  the  full  con- 
viction that  he  was  moving  a  mountain. 

Thus  we  are  told,  that  once  upon  a  time,  in  one 
of  his  fits  of  mental  bustle,  which  he  termed  deliber- 
ation, he  framed  an  unlucky  law,  to  prohibit  the  uni- 
versal practice  of  smoking.  This  he  proved,  by 
mathematical  demonstration,  to  be,  not  merely  a 
heavy  tax  on  the  public  pocket,  but  an  incredible 
consumer  of  time,  a  great  encourager  of  idleness, 
and,  of  course,  a  deadly  bane  to  the  prosperity  and 
morals  of  the  people.  Ill-fated  Kieft !  had  he  lived 
in  this  enlightened  and   libel-loving  age,   and  at- 


S92 


WORKS   OF    WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


tempted  to  subvert  the  inestimable  liberty  of  the 
press,  he  could  not  have  struck  more  closely  on  the 
sensibilities  of  the  million. 

The  populace  were  in  as  violent  a  turmoil  as  the 
constitutional  gravity  of  their  deportment  would  per- 
mit— a  mob  of  factious  citizens  had  even  the  hardi- 
hood to  assemble  before  the  governor's  house,  where, 
setting  themselves  resolutely  down,  like  a  besieging 
army  before  a  fortress,  they  one  and  all  fell  to  smok- 
ing with  a  determined  perseverance,  that  seemed  as 
though  it  were  their  intention  to  smoke  him  into 
terms.  The  testy  William  issued  out  of  his  man- 
sion like  a  wrathful  spider,  and  demanded  to  know 
the  cause  of  this  seditious  assemblage,  and  this  law- 
less fumigation  ;  to  which  these  sturdy  rioters  made 
no  other  reply,  than  to  loll  back  phlegmatically  in 
their  seats,  and  puff  away  with  redoubled  fury ; 
whereby  they  raised  such  a  murky  cloud,  that  the 
governor  was  fain  to  take  refuge  in  the  interior  of 
his  castle. 

The  governor  immediately  perceived  the  object 
of  this  unusual  tumult,  and  that  it  would  be  impos- 
sible to  suppress  a  practice,  which,  by  long  indul- 
gence, had  become  a  second  nature.  And  here  I 
would  observe,  partly  to  explain  why  1  have  so  often 
made  mention  of  this  practice  in  my  history,  that  it 
was  inseparably  connected  with  all  the  affairs,  both 
public  and  private,  of  our  revered  ancestors.  The 
pipe,  in  fact,  was  never  from  the  mouth  of  the  true- 
laorn  Nederlander.  It  was  his  companion  in  soli- 
tude, the  relaxation  of  his  gayer  hours,  his  counsel- 
lor, liis  consoler,  his  joy,  his  pride  ;  in  a  word,  he 
seemed  to  think  and  breathe  through  his  pipe. 

When  William  the  Testy  bethought  himself  of  all 
these  matters,  which  he  certainly  did,  although  a  lit- 
tle too  late,  he  came  to  a  compromise  with  the  besieg- 
ing multitude.  The  result  was,  that  though  he  con- 
tinued to  permit  the  custom  of  smoking,  yet  did  he 
abolish  the  fair  long  pipes  which  were  used  in  the 
days  of  Wouter  Van  TwiUer,  denoting  ease,  tran- 
quillity, and  sobriety  of  deportment ;  and,  in  place 
thereof,  did  introduce  little,  captious,  short  pipes, 
two  inclies  in  length  ;  which,  he  observed,  could  be 
st'xk  in  one  corner  of  the  mouth,  or  twisted  in  the 
hat-band,  and  would  not  be  in  the  way  of  business. 
By  this  the  multitude  seemed  somewhat  appeased, 
and  dispersed  to  their  habitations.  Thus  ended  this 
alarming  insurrection,  which  was  long  known  by  the 
name  of  the  pipe  plot,  and  which,  it  has  been  some- 
what quaintly  observed,  did  end,  like  most  other 
plots,  seditions,  and  conspiracies,  in  mere  smoke. 

But  mark,  oh  reader  !  the  deplorable  consequences 
that  did  afterwards  result.  The  smoke  of  these  vil- 
lainous little  pipes,  continually  ascending  in  a  cloud 
about  the  nose,  penetrated  into,  and  befogged  the 
cerebellum,  dried  up  all  the  kindly  moisture  of  the 
brain,  and  rendered  the  people  that  used  them  as 
vapourish  and  testy  as  their  renowned  little  governor 
— nay,  what  is  more,  from  a  goodly,  burly  race  of 
folk,  they  became,  like  our  worthy  Dutch  farmers, 
who  smoke  short  pipes,  a  lantern-jawed,  smoke- 
dried,  leathern-hided  race  of  men. 

Nor  was  this  all,  for  from  hence  may  we  date  the 
rise  of  parties  in  this  province.  Certain  of  the  more 
wealthy  and  important  burghers  adhering  to  the  an- 
cient (ashion,  formed  a  kind  of  aristocracy,  which 
went  by  the  appellation  of  the  Long  I'ipes — while 
the  lower  orders,  submitting  to  the  innovation,  which 
they  found  to  be  more  convenient  in  their  handicraft 
employments,  and  to  leave  them  more  liberty  of  ac- 
tion, were  branded  with  the  plebeian  name  of  Short 
I'ipes.  A  third  party  likewise  sprang  up,  differing 
from  both  the  other,  headed  by  the  descendants  of 
the  famous  Robert  Chewit,  the  companion  of  the 
great  Hudson,     These  entirely  discarded  the  use  of 


pipes,  and  took  to  chewing  tobacco,  and  hence  they 
were  called  Quids.  It  is  worthy  of  notice,  that  this 
last  appellation  has  since  come  to  be  invariably  ap- 
plied to  those  mongrel  or  third  parties,  that  will 
sometimes  spring  up  between  two  great  contending 
parties,  as  a  mule  is  produced  between  a  horse  and 
an  ass. 

And  here  I  would  remark  the  great  benefit  of  these 
party  distinctions,  by  which  the  people  at  large  are 
saved  the  vast  trouble  of  thinking.  Hesiod  divides 
mankind  into  three  classes :  those  who  think  for 
themselves,  those  who  let  others  think  for  them,  and 
those  who  will  neither  do  one  nor  the  other.  The 
second  class,  liowever,  comprises  the  great  mass  of 
society;  and  hence  is  the  origin  of  party,  by  which 
is  meant  a  large  body  of  people,  some  lew  of  whom 
think,  and  all  the  rest  talk.  The  former,  who  are 
called  the  leaders,  marshal  out  and  discipline  the 
latter,  teaching  them  what  they  must  approve — what 
they  must  hoot  at — what  they  must  say — whom  they 
must  support — but,  above  all,  whom  they  must  hate 
— for  no  man  can  be  a  right  good  partisan,  unless  he 
be  a  determined  and  thorough-going  hater. 

But  when  the  sovereign  people  are  thus  properly 
broken  to  the  harness,  yoked,  curbed,  and  reined,  it 
is  delectable  to  see  with  what  docility  and  harmony 
they  jog  onward,  through  mud  and  mire,  at  the  will 
of  their  drivers,  dragging  the  dirt-carts  of  faction  at 
their  heels.  How  many  a  patriotic  member  of  Con- 
gress have  I  seen,  who  would  never  have  known  how 
to  make  up  his  mind  on  any  question,  and  might 
have  run  a  great  risk  of  voting  right  by  mere  acci- 
dent, had  he  not  had  others  to  think  lor  him,  and  a 
file-leader  to  vote  after  ! 

Thus  then  the  enlightened  inhabitants  of  the  Man- 
hattoes,  being  divided  into  parties,  were  enabled  to 
organize  dissension,  and  to  oppose  and  hate  one 
another  more  accurately.  And  now  the  great  busi- 
ness of  politics  went  bravely  on — the  parties  assem- 
bling in  separate  beer-houses,  and  smoking  at  each 
other  with  implacable  animosity,  to  the  great  support 
of  the  state,  and  emolument  of  the  tavern-keepers. 
Some,  indeed,  who  were  more  zealous  than  the  rest, 
went  farther,  and  began  to  bespatter  one  another 
with  numerous  very  hard  names  and  scandalous  lit- 
tle words,  to  be  found  in  the  Dutch  language ;  every 
partisan  believing  religiously  that  he  was  serving  his 
country,  when  he  traduced  the  character  or  impov- 
erished the  pocket  of  a  political  adversary.  But,  how- 
ever they  might  differ  between  themselves,  all  parties 
agreed  on  one  point,  to  cavil  at  and  condemn  every 
measure  of  government,  whether  right  or  wrong  ;  for 
as  the  governor  was  by  his  station  independent  of 
their  power,  and  was  not  elected  by  their  choice,  and 
as  he  had  not  decided  in  favour  of  either  faction, 
neither  of  them  was  interested  in  his  success,  or  in 
the  prosperity  of  the  country,  while  under  his  ad- 
ministration. 

"  Unhappy  William  Kieft  ! "  exclaims  the  sage 
writer  of  the  Stuyvesant  manuscript — "  doomed  to 
contend  with  enemies  too  knowing  to  be  entrapped, 
and  to  reign  over  a  people  too  wise  to  be  governed  ! " 
All  his  expeditions  against  his  enemies  were  baffled 
and  set  at  nought,  and  all  his  measures  for  the  public 
safety  were  cavilled  at  by  the  people.  Did  he  pro- 
pose levying  an  efficient  body  of  troops  for  internal 
defence— the  mob,  that  is  to  say  those  vagabond 
members  of  the  community  who  have  nothing  to 
lose,  immediately  took  the  alarm,  vociferated  that 
their  interests  were  in  danger — that  a  standing  army 
was  a  legion  of  moths,  preying  on  the  pockets  of 
society  ;  a  rod  of  iron  in  the  hands  of  government ; 
and  that  a  government  with  a  military  force  at  its 
command  would  inevitably  swell  into  a  despotism. 
Did  he,  as  was  but  too  commonly  the  case,  defer 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


593 


preparation  until  the  moment  of  emergency,  and  then 
nastily  collect  a  handful  of  undisciplined  vagrants — 
the  measure  was  hooted  at  as  feeble  and  inadequate, 
as  trifling  with  the  public  dignity  and  safety,  and  as 
lavishing  the  public  funds  on  impotent  enterprises. 
Did  he  resort  to  the  economic  measure  of  proclama- 
tion— he  was  laughed  at  by  the  Yankees  ;  did  he 
back  it  by  non-intercourse — it  was  evaded  and  coun- 
teracted by  his  own  subjects.  Whichever  way  he 
turned  himself,  he  was  beleaguered  and  distracted 
by  petitions  of  "  numerous  and  respectable  meet- 
ings," consisting  of  some  half-a-dozen  brawling  pot- 
house politicians — all  of  which  he  read,  and,  what  is 
worse,  all  of  which  he  attended  to.  The  consequence 
was,  that  by  incessantly  changing  his  measures,  he 
gave  none  of  them  a  fair  trial ;  and  by  listening  to 
the  clamours  of  the  mob,  and  endeavouring  to  do 
every  thing,  he,  in  sober  truth,  did  nothing. 

I  would  not  have  it  supposed,  however,  that  he 
took  all  these  memorials  and  interferences  good- 
naturedly,  for  such  an  idea  would  do  injustice  to  his 
valiant  spirit ;  on  the  contrary,  he  never  received  a 
piece  of  advice  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  with- 
out first  getting  into  a  passion  with  the  giver.  But 
I  have  ever  observed  that  your  passionate  little  men, 
like  small  boats  with  large  sails,  are  the  easiest  upset 
or  blown  out  of  their  course  ;  and  this  is  demonstra- 
ted by  Governor  Kieft,  who,  though  in  temperament 
as  hot  as  an  old  radish,  and  with  a  mind,  the  terri- 
tory of  which  was  subjected  to  perpetual  whirlwinds 
and  tornadoes,  yet  never  failed  to  be  carried  away  by 
the  last  piece  of  advice  that  was  blown  into  his  ear. 
Lucky  was  it  for  him  that  his  power  was  not  de- 
pendent upon  the  greasy  multitude,  and  that  as  yet 
the  populace  did  not  possess  the  important  privilege 
of  nominating  their  chief  magistrate!  They,  how- 
ever, did  their  best  to  help  along  public  affairs  ;  pes- 
tering their  governor  incessantly,  by  goading  him  on 
with  harangues  and  petitions,  and  then  thwarting  his 
tiery  spirit  with  reproaches  and  memorials,  like  Sun- 
day jockies  managing  an  unlucky  devil  of  a  hack- 
horse — so  that  Wilhelmus  Kieft  may  be  said  to  have 
been  kept  either  on  a  worry  or  a  hand-gallop  through- 
out the  whole  of  his  administration. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

CONTAINING  DIVERS  FEARFUL  ACCOUNTS  OF 
BORDER  WARS,  AND  THE  FLAGRANT  OUTRAGES 
OF  THE  MOSSTROOPERS  OF  CONNECTICUT — 
WITH  THE  RISE  OF  THE  GREAT  AMPHYCTIONIC 
COUNCIL  OF  THE  EAST,  AND  THE  DECLINE  OF 
WILLIAM  THE  TESTY. 

It  was  asserted  by  the  wise  men  of  ancient  times, 
who  were  intimately  acquainted  with  these  matters, 
that  at  the  gate  of  Jupiter's  palace  lay  two  huge  tuns, 
the  one  filled  with  blessings,  the  other  with  misfor- 
tunes— and  it  verily  seems  as  if  the  latter  had  been 
completely  overturned  and  left  to  deluge  the  unlucky 
province  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts.  Among  the  many 
internal  and  external  causes  of  irritation,  the  inces- 
sant irruptions  of  the  Yankees  upon  his  frontiers 
were  continually  adding  fuel  to  the  inflammable  tem- 
per of  William  the  Testy.  Numerous  accounts  of 
these  molestations  may  still  be  found  among  the 
records  of  the  times ;  for  the  commanders  on  the 
frontiers  were  especially  careful  to  evince  their  vigi- 
lance and  zeal  by  striving  who  should  send  home 
the  most  frequent  and  voluminous  budgets  of  com- 
plaints— as  your  faithful  servant  is  eternally  running 
with  complaints  to  the  parlour,  of  the  petty  squab- 
bles and  misdemeanours  of  the  kitchen. 
38 


Far  be  it  from  me  to  insinuate,  however,  that  our 
worthy  ancestors  indulged  in  groundless  alarms  ;  on 
the  contrary,  they  were  daily  suffering  a  repetition 
of  cruel  wrongs,*  not  one  of  which  but  was  a  suffi- 
cient reason,  according  to  the  maxims  of  national 
dignity  and  honour,  for  throwing  the  whole  universe 
into  hostility  and  confusion. 

Oh,  ye  powers !  into  what  indignation  did  every 
one  of  these  outrages  throw  the  philosophic  William  ! 
letter  after  letter,  protest  after  protest,  proclamation 
after  proclamation,  bad  Latin,  worse  English,  and 
hideous  Low  Dutch  were  exhausted  in  vain  upon 
the  inexorable  Yankees ;  and  the  four-and-twenty 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  which,  excepting  his  cham- 
pion, the  sturdy  trumpeter  Van  Corlear,  composed 
the  only  standing  army  he  had  at  his  command, 
were  never  off  duty  throughout  the  whole  of  his  ad- 
ministration. Nor  was  Antony  the  trumpeter  a 
whit  behind  his  patron  in  fiery  zeal ;  but  like  a  faith- 
ful champion  of  the  public  safety,  on  the  arrival  of 
every  fresh  article  of  news,  he  was  sure  to  sound  his 
trumpet  from  the  ramparts,  with  most  disastrous 
notes,  throwing  the  people  into  violent  alarms,  and 
disturbing  their  rest  at  all  times  and  seasons — which 
caused  him  to  be  held  in  very  great  regard,  the  pub- 
lic pampering  and  rewarding  him,  as  we  do  brawl- 
ing editors  for  similar  services. 

I  am  well  aware  of  the  perils  that  environ  me  in 
this  part  of  my  history.  While  raking  with  curious 
hands,  but  pious  heart,  among  the  mouldering  re- 
mains of  former  days,  anxious  to  draw  therefrom  the 
honey  of  wisdom,  I  may  fare  somewhat  like  that 
valiant  worthy,  Samson,  who,  in  meddling  with  the 
carcass  of  a  dead  lion,  drew  a  swarm  of  bees  about 
his  ears.  Thus,  while  narrating  the  many  misdeeds 
of  the  Yanokie  or  Yankee  tribe,  it  is  ten  chances  to 
one  but  I  offend  the  morbid  sensibilities  of  certain 
of  their  unreasonable  descendants,  who  may  fly  out 
and  raise  such  a  buzzing  about  this  unlucky  head  of 
mine,  that  I  shall  need  the  tough  hide  of  an  Achilles 
or  an  Orlando  Furioso  to  protect  me  from  their 
stings. 

Should  such  be  the  case,  I  should  deeply  and  sin- 
cerely lament — not  my  misfortune  in  giving  offence — 
but  the  wrong-headed  perverseness  of  an  ill-natured 
generation,  in  taking  offence  at  any  thing  I  say. 
That  their  ancestors  did  use  my  ancestors  ill,  is  true, 
and  I  am  very  sorry  for  it.  I  would,  with  all  my 
heart,  the  fact  were  otherwise ;  but  as  I  am  record- 
ing the  sacred  events  of  history,  I'd  not  bate  one 
nail's  breadth  of  the  honest  truth,  though  1  were 
sure  the  whole  edition  of  my  work  should  be  bought 
up  and  burnt  by  the  common  hangman  of  Connec- 
ticut. And  in  sooth,  now  that  these  testy  gentlemen 
have  drawn  me  out,  I  will  make  bold  to  go  farther 
and  observe,  that  this  is  one  of  the  grand  purposes 
for  which  we  impartial  historians  are  sent  into  the 
world — to  redress  wrongs  and  render  justice  on  the 
heads  of  the  guilty.     So  that,  though  a  powerful  na- 


♦  From  amone  a  multitude  of  bitter  grievances  still  on  record,  I 
select  a  few  of  the  most  atrocious,  and  leave  my  readers  to  judge 
if  our  ancestors  were  not  justifiable  in  getting  into  u  very  valiant 
passion  on  the  occasion. 

"  24  June,  1641.  Some  of  Hartford  have  taken  a  hogK  out  of  the 
vlact  or  common,  and  shut  it  up  out  of  meer  hate  or  other  preju- 
dice, causing  it  to  starve  for  hunger  in  the  stye  !  " 

"  26  July.  The  foremencioned  English  did  again  drive  the 
Companie's  hoggs  out  of  the  vlact  of  Sicojoke  into  Hartford  ;  con- 
tending daily  with  reproaches,  blows,  beatmg  the  people  with  all 
disgrace  that  tliey  could  imagine." 

"  May  20,  1642.  The  English  of  Hartford  have  violently  cut 
loose  a  horse  of  the  honoured  Companie's,  that  stood  bound  upon 
the  common  or  vlact." 

"  May  g,  1643.  The  Companie's  hordes  pastured  upon  the  Com- 
panie's crouna,  were  driven  away  by  them  of  Connecticott  or 
Hartforcl,  and  the  herdsmen  lustily  beaten  with  hatchets  and 
sticks." 

**  16.  Again  they  sold  a  young  hogg  belonging  to  the  Compa- 
nie,  which  piggs  had  pastured  on  the  Companie's  land." 

Hax*  Col,  State  Papers, 


591 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


tion  may  wrong  its  neighbours  with  temporary  im- 
punity, yet  sooner  or  later  a  historian  springs  up 
who  wreal<;s  ample  chastisement  on  it  in  return. 

Thus  these  mosstroopers  of  the  east  little  thought, 
I'll  warrant  it,  while  they  were  harassing  the  inoffen- 
sive province  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts,  and  driving  its 
unhappy  governor  to  his  wit's  end,  that  a  historian 
should  ever  arise  and  give  them  their  own  with 
interest.  Since,  then,  I  am  but  performing  my  bounden 
duty  as  a  historian,  in  avenging  the  wrongs  of  our 
revered  ancestors,  I  shall  make  no  further  apology ; 
and  indeed,  when  it  is  considered  that  I  have  all 
these  ancient  borderers  of  the  east  in  my  power,  and 
at  the  mercy  of  my  pen,  I  trust  that  it  will  be  admit- 
ted I  conduct  myself  with  great  humanity  and 
moderation. 

To  resume,  then,  the  course  of  my  history.  Ap- 
pearances to  the  eastward  began  now  to  assume  a 
more  formidable  aspect  than  ever — for  I  would  have 
you  note  that  hitherto  the  province  had  been  chiefly 
molested  by  its  immediate  neighbours,  the  people  of 
Connecticut,  particularly  of  Hartlbrd ;  which,  if  we 
may  judge  from  ancient  chronicles,  was  the  strong- 
liold  of  these  sturdy  mosstroopers,  from  whence  they 
sallied  forth,  on  their  daring  incursions,  carrying 
terror  and  devastation  into  the  barns,  the  hen- 
roosts, and  pig-styes  of  our  revered  ancestors. 

Albeit,  about  the  year  1643,  the  people  of  the  east 
country,  inhabiting  the  colonies  of  Massachusetts, 
Connecticut,  New-Plymouth,  and  New-Haven,  gath- 
ered together  into  a  mighty  conclave,  and  after  buz- 
zing and  debating  for  many  days,  like  a  political  hive 
of  bees  in  swarming  time,  at  length  settled  them- 
selves into  a  formidable  confederation,  under  the 
title  of  the  United  Colonies  of  New-England.  By 
this  union,  they  pledged  themselves  to  stand  by  one 
another  in  all  perils  and  assaults,  and  to  co-operate 
in  all  measures,  offensive  and  defensive,  against  the 
surrounding  savages,  among  which  were  doubtlessly 
included  our  honoured  ancestors  of  the  Manhattoes  ; 
and  to  give  more  strength  and  system  to  this  con- 
federation, a  general  assembly  or  grand  council  was 
to  be  annually  held,  composed  of  representatives 
from  each  of  the  provinces. 

On  receiving  accounts  of  this  combination,  Wil- 
helmus  Kieft  was  struck  with  consternation,  and,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  whole  life,  forgot  to  bounce,  at 
hearing  an  unwelcome  piece  of  intelligence — which 
a  venerable  historian  of  the  time  observes,  was 
especially  noticed  among  the  politicians  of  New- 
Amsterdam.  The  truth  was,  on  turning  over  in  his 
mind  all  that  he  had  read  at  the  Hague,  about  leagues 
and  combinations,  he  found  that  this  was  an  exact 
imitation  of  the  Amphyctionic  council,  by  which  the 
states  of  Greece  were  enabled  to  attain  to  such 
power  and  supremacy,  and  the  very  idea  made  his 
heart  to  quake  for  the  safety  of  his  empire  at  the 
Manhattoes. 

He  strenuously  insisted  that  the  whole  object  of 
this  confederation  was  to  drive  the  Nederlanders  out 
of  their  fair  domains ;  and  always  flew  into  a  great 
rage  if  any  one  presumed  to  doubt  the  probability 
of  his  conjecture.  Nor  was  he  wholly  unwarranted 
ill  such  a  suspicion;  for  at  the  very  first  annual 
meeting  of  the  grand  council,  held  at  Boston,  (which 
governor  Kieft  denominated  the  Delphos  of  this  truly 
classic  league,)  strong  representations  were  made 
against  the  Nederlanders,  forasmuch  as  that  in  their 
dealings  with  the  Indians,  they  carried  on  a  traffic 
in  "guns,  powther,  and  shott — a  trade  damnable 
and  injurious  to  the  colonists."*  Not  but  what  cer- 
tain of  the  Connecticut  traders  did  likewise  dabble  a 
little  in  this  "  damnable  traffic  " — but  then  they  al- 


*  Haz.  Col.  State  Papers. 


ways  sold  the  Indians  such  scurvy  guns,  that  they 
burst  at  the  first  discharge — and  consequently  hurt 
no  one  but  these  pagan  savages. 

The  rise  of  this  potent  confederacy  was  a  death- 
blow to  the  glory  of  William  the  Testy,  for  from  that 
day  forward,  it  was  remarked  by  many,  he  never 
held  up  his  head,  but  appeared  quite  crestfallen. 
His  subsequent  reign,  therefore,  affords  but  scanty 
food  for  the  historic  pen — we  find  the  grand  council 
continually  augmenting  in  power,  and  threatening  to 
overwhelm  the  province  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts ; 
while  Wilhelmus  Kieft  kept  constantly  fulminating 
proclamations  and  protests,  like  a  shrewd  sea-cap- 
tain firing  off  carronades  and  swivels,  in  order  to 
break  and  disperse  a  waterspout — but  alas  !  they 
had  no  more  effect  than  it  they  had  been  so  many 
blank  cartridges. 

The  last  document  on  record  of  this  learned, 
philosophic,  but  unfortunate  little  man,  is  a  long  let- 
ter to  the  council  of  the  Amphyctions,  wherein,  in 
the  bitterness  of  his  heart,  he  rails  at  the  people  of 
New-Haven,  or  Red  Hills,  for  their  uncourteous  con- 
tempt of  his  protest,  levelled  at  them  for  squatting 
within  the  province  of  their  High  Mightinesses. 
From  this  letter,  which  is  a  model  of  epistolary 
writing,  abounding  with  pithy  apophthegms  and 
classic  figures,  my  limits  will  barely  allow  me  to  ex- 
tract the  following  recondite  passage  : — "  Certainly 
when  we  heare  the  Inhabitants  of  New-Hartford 
complayninge  of  us,  we  seem  to  heare  Esop's  wolfe 
complayninge  of  the  lamb,  or  the  admonition  of  the 
younge  man,  who  cryed  out  to  his  mother,  chideing 
with  her  neighboures,  '  Oh  Mother  revile  her,  lest 
she  first  take  up  that  practice  against  you.'  But  be- 
ing taught  by  precedent  passages,  we  received  such 
an  answer  to  our  protest  from  the  inhabitants  of 
New-Haven  as  we  expected  ;  the  Eagle  always  de- 
spiscth  the  Beetle  Fly ;  yet  notwithstanding  we  do 
undauntedly  continue  on  our  purpose  of  pursuing  our 
own  right,  by  just  arms  and  righteous  means,  and 
doe  hope  without  scruple  to  execute  the  express 
commands  of  our  superiors."*  To  show  that  this 
last  sentence  was  not  a  mere  empty  menace,  he  con- 
cluded his  letter  by  intrepidly  protesting  against  the 
whole  council,  as  a  horde  of  squatters  and  inter- 
lopers, inasmuch  as  they  held  their  meeting  at  New- 
Haven,  or  the  Red-Hills,  which  he  claimed  as  being 
within  the  province  of  the  New-Netherlands. 

Thus  end  the  authenticated  chronicles  of  the  reign 
of  William  the  Testy — for  henceforth,  in  the  trou- 
bles, the  perplexities,  and  the  confusion  of  the  times, 
he  seems  to  have  been  totally  overlooked,  and  to 
have  slipped  for  ever  through  the  fingers  of  scrupu- 
lous history.  Indeed,  for  some  cause  or  other  which 
I  cannot  divine,  there  appears  to  have  been  a  combi- 
nation among  historians  to  sink  his  very  name  into 
oblivion,  in  consequence  of  which  they  have  one  and 
all  forborne  even  to  speak  of  his  exploits.  This 
shows  how  important  it  is  for  great  men  to  cultivate 
the  favour  of  the  learned,  if  tliey  are  ambitious  of 
honour  and  renown.  "  Insult  not  the  dervise,"  said 
a  wise  caliph  to  his  son,  "  lest  thou  offend  thine  his- 
torian ;"  and  many  a  mighty  man  of  the  olden  time, 
had  he  observed  so  obvious  a  maxim,  might  ha\'e 
escaped  divers  cruel  wipes  of  the  pen,  which  have 
been  drawn  across  his  character. 

It  has  been  a  matter  of  deep  concern  to  me,  that 
such  d.arkness  and  obscurity  should  hang  over  the 
latter  days  of  the  illustrious  Kieft  —  for  he  was  a 
mighty  and  great  little  man,  worthy  of  being  utterly 
renowned,  seeing  that  he  was  the  first  potentate  that 
introduced  into  this  land  the  art  of  fighting  by  proc- 
lamation, and  defending  a  country  by  trumpeter! 


•  Vide  Haz.  Col.  State  Papers. 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


595 


and  windmills — an  economic  and  humane  mode  of 
warfare,  since  revived  with  great  applause,  and 
which  promises,  if  it  can  ever  be  carried  into  full 
effect,  to  save  great  trouble  and  treasure,  and  spare 
infinitely  more  bloodshed  than  either  the  discovery 
of  gunpowder,  or  the  invention  of  torpedoes. 

It  is  true,  that  certain  of  the  early  provincial  poets, 
of  whom  there  were  great  numbers  in  the  Nieuw- 
Nederlandts,  taking  advantage  of  the  mysterious 
exit  of  William  the  Testy,  have  fabled,  that  like 
Romulus,  he  was  translated  to  the  skies,  and  forms 
a  very  fiery  little  star,  somewhere  on  the  left  claw  of 
the  crab ;  while  others,  equally  fanciful,  declare  that 
he  had  experienced  a  fate  similar  to  that  of  the  good 
King  Arthur ;  who,  we  are  assured  by  ancient  bards, 
was  carried  away  to  the  delicious  abodes  of  fairy 
land,  where  he  still  exists,  in  pristine  worth  and 
vigour,  and  will  one  day  or  another  return  to  restore 
the  gallantry,  the  honour,  and  the  immaculate  pro- 
bity which  prevailed  in  the  glorious  days  of  the 
Round  Table.* 

All  these,  however,  are  but  pleasing  fantasies,  the 
cobweb  visions  of  those  dreaming  varlets,  the  poets, 
to  which  I  would  not  have  my  judicious  reader  at- 
tach any  credibility.    Neither  am  I  disposed  to  yield 

•  The  old  Welch  bards  believed  that  king  Artlmr  was  not  dead. 
but  carried  awaic  by  the  fairies  into  some  pleasant  place,  where  he 
(hold  remaine  for  a  time,  and  then  returne  againe  and  reigne  in  as 
great  authority  as  ^yzr.—Hollinsshed. 

The  Britons  suppose  that  he  shall  come  yet  and  conquere  all 
Britaigne,  for  ccrtes,  this  is  the  prophicye  of  Merlyn— He  say'd 
that  his  deth  shall  be  doubteous ;  and  said  soth,  for  men  thereof 
yet  have  donbte  and  shuUen  for  ever  more — for  men  wyt  not 
whether  that  he  iyveth  or  is  dede.— Z>tf  Leetu  Chron, 


any  credit  to  the  assertion  of  an  ancient  and  rather 
apocryphal  historian,  who  alleges  that  the  ingenious 
Wilhelmus  was  annihilated  by  the  blowing  down  of 
one  of  his  windmills— nor  to  that  of  a  writer  of  later 
times,  who  affirms  that  he  fell  a  victim  to  a  philo- 
sophical experiment,  which  he  had  for  many  years 
been  vainly  striving  to  accomplish  ;  having  the  mis- 
fortune to  break  his  neck  from  the  garret-window  of 
the  stadt-house,  in  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  catch 
swallows,  by  sprinkling  fresh  salt  upon  their  tails. 

The  most  probable  account,  and  to  which  I  am 
inclined  to  give  my  implicit  faith,  is  contained  in  a 
very  obscure  tradition,  which  declares,  that  what 
with  the  constant  troubles  on  his  frontiers — the  in- 
cessant schemings  and  projects  going  on  in  his  own 
pericranium — the  memorials,  petitions,  remonstran- 
ces, and  sage  pieces  of  advice  from  divers  respectable 
meetings  of  the  sovereign  people — together  with  the 
refractory  disposition  of  his  council,  who  were  sure 
to  differ  from  him  on  every  point,  and  uniformly  to 
be  in  the  wrong — all  these,  I  say,  did  eternally  oper- 
ate to  keep  his  mind  in  a  kind  of  furnace  heat,  until 
he  at  length  became  as  completely  burnt  out  as  a 
Dutch  family  pipe  which  has  passed  through  three 
generations  of  hard  smokers.  In  this  manner  did 
the  choleric  but  magnanimous  William  the  Testy 
undergo  a  kind  of  animal  combustion,  consuming 
away  like  a  farthing  rush-light — so  that,  when  grim 
Death  finally  snuffed  him  out,  there  was  scarce  left 
enough  of  him  to  bury  ! 

[END  OF  VOL.  ONE]. 


A  History  of  New-York, 


FROM  THE 


BEGINNING  OF  THE  WORLD  TO  THE  END  OF  THE  DUTCH  DYNASTY. 

By  Diedrich  Knickerbocker. 


VOLUME  SECOND. 


BOOK    V. 

CONTAINING  THE  FIRST  PART  OF  THE  REIGN 
OF  PETER  STUYVESANT,  AND  HIS  TROUBLES 
WITH  THE  AMPHYCTIONIC  COUNCIL. 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN  WHICH  THE  DEATH  OF  A  GREAT  MAN  IS 
SHOWN  TO  BE  NO  VERY  INCONSOLABLE  MAT- 
TER OF  SORROW — AND  HOW  PETER  STUYVES- 
ANT ACQUIRED  A  GREAT  NAME  FROM  THE 
UNCOMMON   STRENGTH   OF   HIS    HEAD. 

To  a  profound  philosopher,  like  myself,  who  am 
apt  to  see  clear  through  a  subject,  where  the  pene- 
tration of  ordinary  people  extends  but  half-way, 
there  is  no  fact  more  simple  and  manifest,  than  that 
the  death  of  a  great  man  is  a  matter  of  very  little 
importance.     Much  as  we  may  think  of  ourselves, 


and  much  as  we  may  excite  the  empty  plaudits  of 
the  million,  it  is  certain  that  the  greatest  among  us 
do  actually  fill  but  an  exceeding  small  space  in  the 
world ;  and  it  is  equally  certain,  that  even  that  small 
space  is  quickly  supplied  when  we  leave  it  vacant. 
"  Of  what  consequence  is  it,"  said  Pliny,  "  that  in- 
dividuals appear,  or  make  their  exit.'  the  world  is  a 
theatre  whose  scenes  and  actors  are  continually 
changing."  Never  did  philosopher  speak  more  cor- 
rectly ;  and  I  only  wonder  that  so  wise  a  remark 
could  have  existed  so  many  ages,  and  mankind  not 
have  laid  it  more  to  heart.  Sage  follows  on  in  the 
footsteps  of  sage ;  one  hero  just  steps  out  of  his  tri- 
umphal car  to  make  way  for  the  hero  who  comes  af- 
ter him  ;  and  of  the  proudest  monarch  it  is  merely 
said,  that — "  he  slept  with  his  fathers,  and  his  suc- 
cessor reigned  in  his  stead." 

The  world,  to  tell  the  private  truth,  cares  but  little 
for  their  loss,  and  if  left  to  itself  would  soon  forget 
to  grieve ;  and  though  a  nation  has  often  been  fig- 
uratively drowned  in  tears  on  the  death  of  a  great 
man,  yet  it  is  ten  chances  to  one  if  an  individual 


596 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


tear  has  been  shed  on  the  occasion,  excepting-  from 
the  forlorn  pen  of  some  hungry  author.  It  is  the 
historian,  the  biographer,  and  the  poet,  who  have 
the  whole  burden  of  grief  to  sustain  ;  who — kind 
souls ! — like  undertakers  in  England,  act  the  part 
of  chief  mourners — who  inflate  a  nation  with  sighs 
it  never  heaved,  and  deluge  it  with  tears  it  never 
dreamt  of  shedding.  Thus,  while  the  patriotic 
author  is  weeping  and  howling,  in  prose,  in  blank 
verse,  and  in  rhyme,  and  collecting  the  drops  of 
public  sorrow  into  his  volume,  as  into  a  lachrymal 
vase,  it  is  more  than  probable  his  fellow-citizens 
are  eating  and  drinking,  fiddling  and  dancing,  as 
utterly  ignorant  of  the  bitter  lamentations  made  in 
their  name,  as  are  those  men  of  straw,  John  Doe 
and  Richard  Roe,  of  the  plaintiffs  for  whom  they 
are  generously  pleased  on  divers  occasions  to  be- 
come sureties. 

The  most  glorious  and  praiseworthy  hero  that 
ever  desolated  nations,  might  have  mouldered  into 
oblivion  among  the  rubbish  of  his  own  monument, 
did  not  some  historian  take  him  into  favour,  and 
benevolently  transmit  his  name  to  posterity — and 
much  as  the  valiant  William  Kieft  worried,  and 
bustled,  and  turmoiled,  while  he  had  the  destinies 
of  a  whole  colony  in  his  hand,  I  question  seriously 
whether  he  will  not  be  obliged  to  this  authentic  his- 
tory for  all  his  future  celebrity. 

His  exit  occasioned  no  convulsion  in  the  city  of 
New-Amsterdam  or  its  vicinity :  the  earth  trembled 
not,  neither  did  any  stars  shoot  from  their  spheres — 
the  heavens  were  not  shrouded  in  black,  as  poets 
would  fain  persuade  us  they  have  been  on  the  unfor- 
tunate death  of  a  hero — the  rocks  (hard-hearted  var- 
lets  !)  melted  not  into  tears,  nor  did  the  trees  hang 
their  heads  in  silent  sorrow ;  and  as  to  the  sun,  he 
laid  abed  the  next  night,  just  as  long,  and  showed 
as  jolly  a  face  when  he  arose,  as  he  ever  did  on  the 
same  day  of  the  month  in  any  year,  either  before  or 
since.  The  good  people  of  New-Amsterdam,  one 
and  all,  declared  that  he  had  been  a  very  busy,  act- 
ive, busthng  little  governor;  that  he  was  "the  fa- 
ther of  his  country  " — that  he  was  "  the  noblest 
work  of  God  " — that  "  he  was  a  man,  take  him  for 
all  in  all,  they  ne'er  should  look  upon  his  like  again  " 
— together  with  sundry  other  civil  and  affectionate 
speeches,  that  are  regularly  said  on  the  death  of  all 
great  men;  after  which  they  smoked  their  pipes, 
thought  no  more  about  him,  and  Peter  Stuyvesant 
succeeded  to  his  station. 

Peter  Stuyvesant  was  the  last,  and,  like  the  re- 
nowned Wouter  Van  Twiller,  he  was  also  the  best 
of  our  ancient  Dutch  governors :  Wouter  having 
surpassed  all  who  preceded  him,  and  Peter,  or  Piet, 
as  he  was  sociably  called  by  the  old  Dutch  burghers, 
who  were  ever  prone  to  familiarize  names,  having 
never  been  equalled  by  any  successor.  He  was,  in 
fact,  the  very  man  fitted  by  Nature  to  retrieve  the 
desperate  fortunes  of  her  beloved  province,  had  not 
the  fates,  those  most  potent  and  unrelenting  of  all 
ancient  spinsters,  destined  them  to  inextricable  con- 
fusion. 

To  say  merely  that  he  was  a  hero  would  be  doing 
him  great  injustice — he  was  in  truth  a  combination 
of  heroes — for  he  was  of  a  sturdy,  rawbone  make, 
like  Ajax  Telamon,  with  a  pair  of  round  shoulders 
that  Hercules  would  have  given  his  hide  for,  (mean- 
ing his  lion's  hide,)  when  he  undertook  to  ease  old 
Atlas  of  his  load.  He  was,  moreover,  as  Plutarch 
describes  Coriolanus,  not  only  terrible  for  the  lorce 
of  his  arm,  but  likewise  of  his  voice,  which  sounded 
as  though  it  came  out  of  a  barrel ;  and  like  the  self- 
same warrior,  he  possessed  a  sovereign  contempt  for 
the  sovereign  people,  and  an  iron  aspect,  which  was 
enough  of  itself  to  make  the  very  bowels  of  his  ad- 


versaries quake  with  terror  and  dismay.  All  this 
martial  excellency  of  appearance  was  inexpressibly 
heightened  by  an  accidental  advantage,  with  which 
I  am  surprised  that  neither  Homer  nor  Virgil  have 
graced  any  of  their  heroes.  This  was  nothing  less 
than  a  wooden  leg,  which  was  the  only  prize  he  had 
gained,  in  bravely  fighting  the  battles  of  his  coun- 
try, but  of  which  he  was  so  proud,  that  he  was 
often  heard  to  declare  he  valued  it  more  than  all 
his  other  limbs  put  together;  indeed,  so  highly  did 
he  esteem  it,  that  he  had  it  gallantly  enchased  and 
relieved  with  silver  devices,  which  caused  it  to  be 
related  in  divers  histories  and  legends  that  he  wore 
a  silver  leg.''' 

Like  that  choleric  warrior,  Achilles,  he  was  some- 
what subject  to  extempore  bursts  of  passion,  which 
were  ofttimes  rather  unpleasant  to  his  favourites  and 
attendants,  whose  perceptions  he  was  apt  to  quicken, 
after  the  manner  of  his  illustrious  imitator,  Peter 
the  Great,  by  anointing  their  shoulders  with  his 
walking-staff. 

Though  I  cannot  find  that  he  had  read  Plato,  or 
Aristotle,  or  Hobbes,  or  Bacon,  or  Algernon  Sydney, 
or  Tom  Paine,  yet  did  he  sometimes  manifest  a 
shrewdness  and  sagacity  in  his  measures,  that  one 
would  hardly  expect  from  a  man  who  did  not  know 
Greek,  and  had  never  studied  the  ancients.  True  it 
is,  and  I  confess  it  with  sorrow,  that  he  had  an  un- 
reasonable aversion  to  experiments,  and  was  fond  of 
governing  his  province  after  the  simplest  manner — 
but  then  he  contrived  to  keep  it  in  better  order  than 
did  the  erudite  Kieft,  though  he  had  all  the  philoso- 
phers ancient  and  modern  to  assist  and  perplex  him. 
I  must  likewise  own  that  he  made  but  very  few  laws, 
but  then  again  he  took  care  that  those  few  were 
rigidly  and  impartially  enlorced — and  I  do  not  know 
but  justice  on  the  whole  was  as  well  administered  as 
if  there  had  been  volumes  of  sage  acts  and  statutes 
yearly  made,  and  daily  neglected  and  forgotten. 

He  was,  in  fact,  the  very  reverse  of  his  predeces- 
sors, being  neither  tranquil  and  inert,  like  Walter  the 
Doubter,  nor  restless  and  fidgeting,  like  William  the 
Testy  ;  but  a  man,  or  rather  a  governor,  of  such  un- 
common activity  and  decision  of  mind  that  he  ne\'er 
sought  or  accepted  the  advice  of  others ;  depending 
confidently  upon  his  single  head,  as  did  the  heroes  of 
yore  upon  their  single  arms,  to  work  his  way  through 
all  difficulties  and  dangers.  To  tell  the  simple  truth, 
he  wanted  no  other  requisite  for  a  perfect  statesman, 
than  to  think  alw.iys  right,  for  no  one  can  deny  that 
he  always  acted  as  he  thought;  and  if  he  wanted  in 
correctness,  he  made  up  for  it  in  perseverance — an 
excellent  quality !  since  it  is  surely  more  dignified 
for  a  ruler  to  be  persevering  and  consistent  in  error, 
than  wavering  and  contradictory,  in  endeavouring  to 
do  what  is  right.  This  much  is  certain — and  it  is  a 
maxim  worthy  the  attention  of  all  legislators,  both 
great  and  small,  who  stand  shaking  in  the  wind,  with- 
out knowing  which  way  to  steer — a  ruler  who  acts 
according  to  his  own  will  is  sure  of  pleasing  himself, 
while  he  who  seeks  to  satisfy  the  wishes  and  whims 
of  others,  runs  a  great  risk  of  pleasing  nobody.  The 
clock  that  stands  still,  and  points  steadfastly  in  one 
direction,  is  certain  of  being  right  twice  in  the  four- 
and-twenty  hours — while  others  may  keep  going  con- 
tinually, and  continually  be  going  wrong. 

Nor  did  this  magnanimous  virtue  escape  the  dis- 
cernment of  the  good  people  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts  ; 
on  the  contrary,  so  high  an  opinion  had  they  of  the 
independent  mind  and  vigorous  intellect  of  their 
new  governor,  that  they  universally  called  him  Hard- 
koppii,^  Piet,  or  Peter  the  Headstrong — a  great  com- 
phment  to  his  understanding ! 


♦  See  the  histories  of  Masters  Josselyn  and  Blome. 


A   HISTORY   OF  NEW-YORK. 


597 


If  from  all  that  I  have  said  thou  dost  not  gather, 
worthy  reader,  that  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  a  tough, 
sturdy,  valiant,  weather-beaten,  mettlesome,  obsti- 
nate, leathern-sided,  lion-hearted,  generous-spirited 
old  governor,  either  I  have  written  to  but  little  pur- 
pose, or  thou  art  very  dull  at  drawing  conclusions. 

This  most  excellent  governor,  whose  character  I 
have  thus  attempted  feebly  to  delineate,  commenced 
his  administration  on  the  29th  of  May,  1647;  a  re- 
markably stormy  day,  distinguished  in  all  the  alma- 
nacs of  the  time  which  have  come  down  to  us,  by 
the  name  of  Windy  Friday.  As  he  was  very  jealous 
of  his  personal  and  official  dignity,  he  was  inaugu- 
rated into  office  with  great  ceremony  ;  the  goodly 
oaken  chair  of  the  renowned  Wouter  Van  Twiller 
being  carefully  preserved  for  such  occasions,  in  like 
manner  as  the  chair  and  stone  were  reverentially 
preserved  at  Schone,  in  Scotland,  for  the  coronation 
of  the  Caledonian  monarchs. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention,  that  the  tempestuous 
state  of  the  elements,  together  with  its  being  that 
unlucky  day  of  the  week,  termed  "  hanging  day," 
did  not  fail  to  excite  much  grave  speculation  and 
divers  very  reasonable  apprehensions  among  the  more 
ancient  and  enlightened  inhabitants  ;  and  several  of 
the  sager  sex,  who  were  reputed  to  be  not  a  little 
skilled  in  the  mysteries  of  astrology  and  fortune- 
telling,  did  declare  outright  that  they  were  omens 
of  a  disastrous  administration — an  event  that  came 
to  be  lamentably  verified,  and  which  proves,  beyond 
dispute,  the  wisdom  of  attending  to  those  preter- 
natural intimations  furnished  by  dreams  and  visions, 
the  flying  of  birds,  falling  of  stones,  and  cackling  of 
geese,  on  which  the  sages  and  rulers  of  ancient  times 
placed  such  reliance — or  to  those  shootings  of  stars, 
eclipses  of  the  moon,  howlmgs  of  dogs,  and  flarings 
of  candles,  carefully  noted  and  interpreted  by  the 
oracular  sybils  of  our  day  ;  who,  in  my  huml)le  opin- 
ion, are  the  legitimate  inheritors  and  preservers  of 
the  ancient  science  of  divination.  This  much  is  cer- 
tain, that  governor  Stuyvesant  succeeded  to  the  chair 
of  state  at  a  turbulent  period  ;  when  foes  thronged 
and  threatened  from  without ;  when  anarchy  and 
stiff-necked  opposition  reigned  rampant  within  ; 
when  the  authority  of  their  High  Mightinesses  the 
Lords  States  General,  though  founded  on  the  broad 
Dutch  bottom  of  unoffending  imbecility ;  though 
supported  by  economy,  and  defended  by  speeches, 
protests,  and  proclamations,  yet  tottered  to  its  very 
centre  ;  and  when  the  great  city  of  New-Amster- 
dam, though  fortified  by  flag-staffs,  trumpeters,  and 
windmills,  seemed  like  some  fair  lady  of  easy 
virtue,  to  lie  open  to  attack,  and  ready  to  yield  to 
the  first  invader. 


CHAPTER   n. 

SHOWING  HOW  PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG  BE- 
STIRRED HIMSELF  AMONG  THE  RATS  AND  COB- 
WEBS, ON  ENTERING  INTO  OFFICE  —  AND  THE 
PERILOUS  MISTAKE  HE  WAS  GUILTY  OF,  IN  HIS 
DEALINGS  WITH  THE  AMPHYCTIONS. 

The  very  first  movements  of  the  great  Peter,  on 
taking  the  reins  of  government,  displayed  the  mag- 
nanimity of  his  mind,  though  they  occasioned  not  a 
little  marvel  and  uneasiness  among  the  people  of  the 
Manhattoes.  Finding  himself  constantly  interrupted 
by  the  opposition,  and  annoyed  by  the  advice,  of  his 
privy  council,  the  members  of  which  had  acquired 
the  unreasonable  habit  of  thinking  and  speaking  for 
themselves  during  the  preceding  reign,  he  determined 
at  once  to  put  a  stop  to  such  grievous  abominations. 
Scarcely,  therefore,  had  he  entered  upon  his  authori- 


ty, than  he  turned  out  of  office  all  those  meddlesome 
spirits  that  composed  the  factious  cabinet  of  William 
the  Testy ;  in  place  of  whom  he  chose  unto  himself 
counsellors  from  those  fat,  somniferous,  respectable 
families,  that  had  flourished  and  slumbered  under 
the  easy  reigpi  of  Walter  the  Doubter.  All  these  he 
caused  to  be  furnished  with  abundance  of  fair  long 
pipes,  and  to  be  regaled  with  frequent  corporation 
dinners,  admonishing  them  to  smoke,  and  eat,  and 
sleep  for  the  good  of  the  nation,  while  he  took  all 
the  burden  of  government  upon  his  own  shoulders — 
an  arrangement  to  which  they  gave  hearty  acqui- 
escence. 

Nor  did  he  stop  here,  but  made  a  hideous  rout 
among  the  inventions  and  expedients  of  his  learned 
predecessor  —  demolishing  his  flagstaffs  and  wind- 
mills, which,  like  mighty  giants,  guarded  the  ram- 
parts of  New-Amsterdam — pitching  to  the  duyvel 
whole  batteries  of  quaker  guns — rooting  up  his  pat- 
ent gallows,  where  caitiff  vagabonds  were  suspended 
by  the  waistband — and,  in  a  word,  turning  topsy- 
turvy the  whole  philosophic,  economic,  and  windmill 
system  of  the  immortal  sage  of  Saardam. 

The  honest  folks  of  New-Amsterdam  began  to 
quake  now  for  the  fate  of  their  matchless  champion, 
Antony  the  trumpeter,  who  had  acquired  prodigious 
favour  in  the  eyes  of  the  women,  by  means  of  his 
whiskers  and  his  trumpet.  Him  did  Peter  the  Head- 
strong cause  to  be  brought  into  his  presence,  and 
eyeing  him  for  a  moment  from  head  to  foot,  with  a 
countenance  that  would  have  appalled  any  thing  else 
than  a  sounder  of  brass — "  Prythee,  who  and  what 
art  thou?"  said  he. — "  Sire,"  replied  the  other,  in 
no  wise  dismayed, — "  for  my  name,  it  is  Antony  Van 
Corlear  —  for  my  parentage,  I  am  the  son  of  my 
mother  —  for  my  profession,  I  am  champion  and 
garrison  of  this  great  city  of  New-Amsterdam." — 
"I  doubt  me  much,"  said  Peter  Stuyvesant,  " that 
thou  art  some  scurvy  costardmonger  knave — how 
didst  thou  acquire  this  paramount  honour  and  dig- 
nity .'  " — "  Marry,  sir,"  replied  the  other,  "  like  many 
a  great  man  before  me,  simply  by  sounding  my  own 
trumpet." — "  Ay,  is  it  so  ?  "  quoth  the  governor, 
"  why,  then,  let  us  have  a  relish  of  thy  art."  Where- 
upon he  put  his  instrument  to  his  lips,  and  sounded 
a  charge  with  such  a  tremendous  outset,  such  a  de- 
lectable quaver,  and  such  a  triumphant  cadence,  that 
it  was  enough  to  make  your  heart  leap  out  of  your 
mouth  only  to  be  within  a  mile  of  it.  Like  as  a  war- 
worn charger,  while  sporting  in  peacetiil  plains,  if  by 
chance  he  hear  the  strains  of  martial  music,  pricks 
up  his  ears,  and  snorts  and  paws  and  kindles  at  the 
noise,  so  did  the  heroic  soul  of  the  mighty  Peter  joy 
to  hear  the  clangour  of  the  trumpet ;  for  of  him  might 
truly  be  said  what  was  recorded  of  the  renowned 
St.  George  of  England,  "  there  was  nothing  in  all  the 
world  that  more  rejoiced  his  heart,  than  to  hear  the 
pleasant  sound  of  war,  and  see  the  soldiers  brandish 
forth  their  steeled  weapons."  Casting  his  eyes  more 
kindly,  therefore,  upon  the  sturdy  Van  Corlear,  and 
finding  him  to  be  a  jolly,  fat  little  man,  shrewd  in  his 
discourse,  yet  of  great  discretion  and  immeasurable 
wind,  lie  straightway  conceived  a  vast  kindness  for 
him,  and  discharging  him  from  the  troublesome  duty 
of  garrisoning,  defending,  and  alarming  the  city,  ever 
after  retained  him  about  his  person,  as  his  chief  fa- 
vourite, confidential  envoy,  and  trusty  'squire.  In- 
stead of  disturbing  the  city  with  disastrous  notes,  he 
was  instructed  to  play  so  as  to  delight  the  governor 
while  at  his  repasts,  as  did  the  minstrels  of  yore  in 
the  days  of  glorious  chivalry — and  on  all  public  oc- 
casions to  rejoice  the  ears  of  the  people  with  warlike 
melody — thereby  keeping  alive  a  noble  and  martial 
spirit. 

Many  other  alterations  and  reformations,  both  for 


598 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  better  and  for  the  worse,  did  the  governor  make, 
of  which  my  time  will  not  serve  me  to  record  the 
particulars ;  suffice  it  to  say,  he  soon  contrived  to 
make  the  province  feel  that  he  was  its  master,  and 
treated  the  soverei,!jn  people  with  such  tyrannical 
rigour,  that  they  were  all  fain  to  hold  their  tongues, 
stay  at  home,  and  attend  to  their  business  ;  insomuch 
that  party  feuds  and  distinctions  were  almost  forgot- 
ten, and  many  thriving  keepers  of  taverns  and  dram- 
shops were  utterly  ruined  for  want  of  business. 

Indeed,  the  critical  state  of  public  affairs  at  this 
time  demanded  the  utmost  vigilance  and  promptitude. 
The  formidable  council  of  the  Amphyctions,  which 
had  caused  so  much  tribulation  to  the  unfortunate 
Kieft,  still  continued  augmenting  its  forces,  and 
threatened  to  link  within  its  union  all  the  mighty 
principalities  and  powers  of  the  east.  In  the  very 
year  following  the  inauguration  of  Governor  Stuy- 
vesant,  a  grand  deputation  departed  from  the  city 
of  Providence  (famous  for  its  dusty  streets  and  beau- 
teous women,)  in  behalf  of  the  puissant  plantation 
of  Rhode  Island,  praying  to  be  admitted  into  the 
league. 

The  following  mention  is  made  of  this  application, 
in  certain  records  of  that  assemblage  of  worthies, 
which  are  still  extant.* 

"  Mr.  Will  Cottington  and  captain  Partridg  of 
Rhoode-Iland  presented  this  insewing  request  to  the 
commissioners  in  wrighting — 

"  Our  request  and  motion  is  in  behalfe  of  Rhoode- 
Jland,  that  wee  the  Ilanders  of  Rhoode-Iland  may  be 
rescauied  into  combination  with  all  the  united  colo- 
nyes  of  New-England  in  a  firme  and  perpetuall  league 
of  friendship  and  amity  of  ofence  and  defence,  mu- 
tuall  advice  and  succor  upon  all  just  occasions  for 
our  mutuall  safety  and  wellfaire,  &c. 

Will  Cottington, 
Alicxsander  Partridg." 

There  is  certainly  something  in  the  very  physi- 
ognomy of  this  document  that  might  well  inspire 
apprehension.  The  name  of  Alexander,  however 
misspelt,  has  been  warlike  in  every  age  ;  and  though 
its  fierceness  is  in  some  measure  softened  by  being 
coupled  with  the  gentle  cognomen  of  Partridge,  still, 
like  the  colour  of  scarlet,  it  bears  an  exceeding  great 
resemblance  to  the  sound  of  a  trumpet.  From  the 
style  of  the  letter,  moreover,  and  the  soldier-like  ig- 
norance of  orthography  displayed  by  the  noble  cap- 
tain Alicxsander  Partridg  in  spelling  his  own  name, 
we  may  picture  to  ourselves  this  mighty  man  of 
Rhodes,  strong  in  arms,  potent  in  the  field,  and  as 
great  a  scholar  as  though  he  had  been  educated 
among  that  learned  people  of  Thrace,  who,  Aristotle 
assures  us,  could  not  count  beyond  the  number  four. 

But,  whatever  might  be  the  threatening  aspect  of 
this  famous  confederation,  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  not 
a  man  to  be  kept  in  a  state  of  incertitude  and  vague 
apprehension ;  he  liked  nothing  so  much  as  to  meet 
danger  face  to  face,  and  take  it  by  the  beard.  De- 
termined, therefore,  to  put  an  end  to  all  these  petty 
maraudings  on  the  borders,  he  wrote  two  or  three 
categorical  letters  to  the  grand  council ;  which, 
though  neither  couched  in  bad  Latin,  nor  yet  graced 
by  rhetorical  tropes  about  wolves  and  lambs,  and 
beetle-flies,  yet  had  more  effect  than  all  the  elaborate 
epistles,  protests,  and  proclamations  of  his  learned 
predecessor  put  together.  In  consequence  of  his  urgent 
propositions,  the  great  confederacy  of  the  east  agreed 
to  enter  into  a  final  acjjustment  of  grievances  and 
settlement  of  boundaries,  to  the  end  that  a  perpetual 
and  happy  peace  might  take  place  between  the  two 
powers.     For  this  purpose.  Governor  Stuyvesant  de- 


•  Haz.  Col,  Sute  Papen, 


puted  two  ambassadors  to  negotiate  with  commis- 
sioners from  the  grand  council  of  the  league ;  and  a 
treaty  was  solemnly  concluded  at  Hartford.  On  re- 
ceiving intelligence  of  this  event,  the  whole  commu- 
nity was  in  an  uproar  of  exultation.  The  trumpet 
of  the  sturdy  Van  Corlear  sounded  all  day  with  joy- 
ful clangour  from  the  ramparts  of  Fort  Amsterdam, 
and  at  night  the  city  was  magnificently  illuminated 
with  two  hundred  and  fifty  tallow  candles  ;  besides 
a  barrel  of  tar,  which  was  burnt  before  the  governor's 
house,  on  the  cheering  aspect  of  public  affairs. 

And  now  my  worthy  reader  is,  doubtless,  like  the 
great  and  good  Peter,  congratulating  himself  with  the 
idea,  that  his  feelings  will  no  longer  be  molested  bv 
afflicting  details  of  stolen  horses,  broken  heads,  im- 
pounded hogs,  and  all  the  other  catalogue  of  heart- 
rending cruelties  that  disgraced  these  border  wars. 
But  if  he  should  indulge  in  such  expectations,  it  is  a 
proof  that  he  is  but  little  versed  in  the  paradoxical 
ways  of  cabinets  ;  to  convince  him  of  which,  I  solicit 
his  serious  attention  to  my  next  chapter,  wherein  I 
will  show  that  Peter  Stuyvesant  has  already  com- 
mitted a  great  error  in  politics ;  and  by  effecting  a 
peace,  has  materially  hazarded  the  tranquillity  of  the 
province. 


CHAPTER    III. 


CONTAINING  DIVERS  SPECULATIONS  ON  WAR  AND 
NEGOTIATIONS— SHOWING  THAT  A  TREATY  OF 
PEACE  IS  A   GREAT   NATIONAL   EVIL. 

It  was  the  opinion  of  that  poetical  philosopher, 
Lucretius,  that  war  was  the  original  state  of  man, 
whom  he  described  as  being  primitively  a  savage 
beast  of  prey,  engaged  in  a  constant  state  of  hostility 
with  his  own  species  ;  and  that  this  ferocious  spirit 
was  tamed  and  meliorated  by  society.  The  same 
opinion  has  been  advocated  by  Hobbes  ;*  nor  have 
there  been  wanting  many  other  philosophers,  to  ad- 
mit and  defend  it. 

For  my  part,  though  prodigiously  fond  of  these 
valuable  speculations,  so  complimentary  to  human 
nature,  yet,  in  this  instance,  I  am  inclined  to  take  the 
proposition  by  halves,  believing,  with  Horace,t  that 
though  war  may  have  been  originally  the  favourite 
amusement  and  industrious  employment  of  our  pro- 
genitors, yet,  like  many  other  excellent  habits,  so  far 
from  being  meliorated,  it  has  been  cultivated  and  con- 
firmed by  refinement  and  civilization,  and  increases 
in  exact  proportion  as  we  approach  towards  that 
state  of  perfection  which  is  the  ne  plus  ultra  of 
modern  philosophy. 

The  first  conllict  between  man  and  man  was  the 
mere  exertion  of  physical  force,  unaided  by  auxiliary 
weapons — his  arm  was  his  buckler,  his  fist  was  his 
mace,  and  a  broken  head  the  catastrophe  of  his 
encounters.  The  battle  of  unassisted  strength  was 
succeeded  bv  the  more  rugged  one  of  stones  and 
clubs,  and  war  assumed  a  sanguinary  aspect.  As 
man  advanced  in  refinement,  as  his  faculties  ex- 
panded, and  his  sensibilities  became  more  exquisite, 
he  grew  rapidly  more  ingenious  and  experienced  in 
the  art  of  murdering  his  fellow-beings.  He  invented 
a  thousand  devices  to  defend  and  to  assault — the 
helmet,  the  cuirass,  and  the  buckler,  the  sword,  the 
dart,  and  the  javelin,  prepared  him  to  elude  the 
wound,  as  well  as  to  lanch  the  blow.     Still  urging 


*  Hobbes'  Leviathan.     Part  i,  chap.  13. 

t  Quum  prorepserunt  primis  animalia  terris, 

Mutuum  ac  turpc  pecus,  glandem  atque  cubilia  propter, 

Unguibus  et  pugnis,  dcin  fustibus,  atque  ita  porro 

Pugnabant  armis,  quse  post  fabricaverat  usus. 

Hor.  Sat.  1.  i.  s.  3. 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


599 


on,  in  the  brilliant  and  philanthropic  career  of  inven- 
tion, he  enlarges  and  heiglitens  his  powers  of  de- 
fence and  injury— the  Aries,  the  Scorpio,  the  Balista, 
and  the  Catapulta,  give  a  horror  and  sublimity  to 
war,  and  magnify  its  glory  by  increasing  its  desola- 
tion. Still  insatiable,  though  armed  with  machinery 
that  seemed  to  reach  the  limits  of  destructive  inven- 
tion, and  to  yield  a  power  of  injury  commensurate 
even  with  the  desires  of  revenge — still  deeper  re- 
searches must  be  made  in  the  diabolical  arcana. 
With  furious  zeal  he  dives  into  the  bowels  of  the 
earth  ;  he  toils  midst  poisonous  minerals  and  deadly 
salts — the  sublime  discovery  of  gunpowder  blazes 
upon  the  world — and  finally,  the  dreadful  art  of  fight- 
ing by  proclamation  seems  to  endow  the  demon  of 
war  with  ubiquity  and  omnipotence  ! 

This,  indeed,  is  grand  ! — this,  indeed,  marks  the 
powers  of  mind,  and  bespeaks  that  divine  endow- 
ment of  reason  which  distinguishes  us  from  the  ani- 
mals, our  inferiors.  The  unenlightened  brutes  con- 
tent themselves  with  the  native  force  which  Provi- 
dence has  assigned  them.  The  angry  bull  butts  with 
his  horns,  as  did  his  progenitors  before  him — the 
lion,  the  leopard,  and  the  tiger  seek  only  with  their 
talons  and  their  fangs  to  gratify  their  sanguinary 
fury;  and  even  the  subtle  serpent  darts  the  same 
venom  and  uses  the  same  wiles  as  did  his  sire  before 
the  flood.  Man  alone,  blessed  with  the  inventive 
mind,  goes  on  from  discovery  to  discovery — enlarges 
and  multiplies  his  powers  of  destruction  ;  arrogates 
the  tremendous  weapons  of  Deity  itself,  and  tasks 
creation  to  assist  him  in  murdering  his  brother 
worm  ! 

In  proportion  as  the  art  of  war  has  increased  in 
improvement,  has  the  art  of  preserving  peace  ad- 
vanced in  equal  ratio  ;  and,  as  we  have  discovered, 
in  this  age  of  wonders  and  inventions,  that  a  procla- 
mation is  the  most  formidable  engine  in  war,  so 
have  we  disco\ered  the  no  less  ingenious  mode  of 
maintaining  peace  by  perpetual  negotiations. 

A  treaty,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  a  negotiation, 
therefore,  according  to  the  acceptation  of  experienced 
statesmen,  learned  in  these  matters,  is  no  longer  an 
attempt  to  accommodate  differences,  to  ascertain 
rights,  and  to  establish  an  equitable  exchange  of 
kind  oflices ;  but  a  contest  of  skill  between  two 
powers,  which  shall  overreach  and  take  in  the  other. 
It  is  a  cunning  endeavour  to  obtain,  by  peaceable 
manoeuvre  and  the  chicanery  of  cabinets,  those  ad- 
vantages which  a  nation  would  otherwise  have 
wrested  by  force  of  arms  :  in  the  same  manner  that  a 
conscientious  highwayman  reforms  and  becomes  an 
excellent  and  praiseworthy  citizen,  contenting  him- 
self with  cheating  his  neighbour  out  of  that  property 
he  would  formerly  have  seized  with  open  violence. 

In  fact,  the  only  time  when  two  nations  can  be 
said  to  be  in  a  state  of  perfect  amity,  is  when  a  ne- 
gotiation is  open  and  a  treaty  pending.  Then,  as 
there  are  no  stipulations  entered  into,  no  bonds  to 
restrain  the  will,  no  specific  limits  to  awaken  the 
captious  jealousy  of  right  implanted  in  our  nature,  as 
each  party  has  some  advantage  to  hope  and  expect 
from  the  other,  then  it  is  that  the  two  nations  are  so 
gracious  and  friendly  to  each  other ;  their  ministers 
professing  the  highest  mutual  regard,  exchanging 
billetsdoux,  making  fine  speeches,  and  indulging  in 
all  those  diplomatic  flirtations,  coquetries,  and  fond- 
lings, that  do  so  marvellously  tickle  the  good-humour 
of  the  respective  nations.  Thus  it  may  paradoxically 
be  said,  that  there  is  never  so  good  an  understand- 
ing between  two  nations  as  when  there  is  a  little 
misunderstanding — and  that  so  long  as  there  are  no 
terms,  they  are  on  the  best  terms  in  the  world  ! 

I  do  not  by  any  means  pretend  to  claim  the  merit 
of  having  made  the  above  political  discovery.    It  has, 


in  fact,  long  been  secretly  acted  upon  by  certain  en- 
lightened cabinets,  and  is,  together  with  divers  other 
notable  theories,  privately  copied  out  of  the  common- 
place book  of  an  illustrious  gentleman,  who  has  been 
member  of  Congress  and  enjoyed  the  unlimited  con- 
fidence of  heads  of  departments.  To  this  principle 
may  be  ascribed  the  wonderful  ingenuity  that  has 
been  shown  of  late  years  in  protracting  and  inter- 
rupting negotiations.  Hence  the  cunning  measure 
of  appointing  as  ambassador  some  political  pettifog- 
ger skilled  in  delays,  sophisms,  and  misapprehen- 
sions, and  dexterous  in  the  art  of  baffling  argument 
— or  some  blundering  statesman,  whose  errors  and 
misconstructions  may  be  a  plea  for  refusing  to  ratify 
his  engagements.  And  hence,  too,  that  most  nota- 
ble expedient,  so  popular  with  our  government,  of 
sending  out  a  brace  of  ambassadors ;  who,  having 
each  an  individual  will  to  consult,  character  to  estab- 
lish, and  interest  to  promote,  you  may  as  well  look 
for  unanimity  and  concord  between  two  lovers  with 
one  mistress,  two  dogs  wdth  one  bone,  or  two  naked 
rogues  with  one  pair  of  breeches.  This  disagree- 
ment, therefore,  is  continually  breeding  delays  and 
impediments,  in  consequence  of  which  the  negotia- 
tion goes  on  swimmingly — insomuch  as  there  is  no 
prospect  of  its  ever  coming  to  a  close.  Nothing  is 
lost  by  these  delays  and  obstacles  but  time,  and  in  a 
negotiation,  according  to  the  theory  I  have  exposed, 
all  time  lost  is  in  reality  so  much  time  gained — with 
what  delightful  paradoxes  does  modern  political 
economy  abound ! 

Now  all  that  I  have  here  advanced  is  so  notori- 
ously true,  that  I  almost  blush  to  take  up  the  time 
of  my  readers  with  treating  of  matters  which  must 
many  a  time  have  stared  them  in  the  face.  But  the 
proposition  to  which  I  would  most  earnestly  call 
their  attention,  is  this — that  though  a  negotiation  be 
the  most  harmonizing  of  all  national  transactions, 
yet  a  treaty  of  peace  is  a  great  political  evil,  and  one 
of  the  most  fruitful  sources  of  war. 

I  have  rarely  seen  an  instance  of  any  special  con- 
tract between  individuals,  that  did  not  produce  jeal- 
ousies, bickerings,  and  often  downright  ruptures  be- 
tween them  ;  nor  did  I  ever  know  of  a  treaty  be- 
tween two  nations,  that  did  not  occasion  continual 
misunderstandings.  How  many  worthy  country 
neighbours  have  1  known,  who,  after  living  in  peace 
and  good-fellowship  for  years,  have  been  thrown  into 
a  state  of  distrust,  cavilling,  and  animosity,  by  some 
ill-starred  agreement  about  fences,  runs  of  water, 
and  stray  cattle.  And  how  many  well-meaning  na- 
tions, who  would  otherwise  have  remained  in  the 
most  amicable  disposition  towards  each  other,  have 
been  brought  to  sword's  points  about  the  infringe- 
ment or  misconstruction  of  some  treaty,  which  in  an 
evil  hour  they  had  concluded  by  way  of  making  their 
amity  more  sure  ! 

Treaties,  at  best,  are  but  complied  with  so  long  as 
interest  requires  their  fulfilment ;  consequently,  they 
are  virtually  binding  on  the  weaker  party  only,  or, 
in  plain  truth,  they  are  not  binding  at  all.  No  na- 
tion will  wantonly  go  to  war  with  another,  if  it  has 
nothing  to  gain  thereby,  and,  therefore,  needs  no 
treaty  to  restrain  it  from  violence;  and  if  it  have  any 
thing  to  gain,  I  much  question,  from  what  I  have 
witnessed  of  the  righteous  conduct  of  nations, 
whether  any  treaty  could  be  made  so  strong  that  it 
could  not  thrust  the  sword  through — nay,  I  would 
hold,  ten  to  one,  the  treaty  itself  would  be  the  very 
source  to  which  resort  would  be  had,  to  find  a  pre- 
text for  hostilities. 

Thus,  therefore,  I  conclude— that  though  it  is  the 
best  of  all  policies  for  a  nation  to  keep  up  a  constant 
negotiation  with  its  neighbours,  yet  it  is  the  summit 
of  folly  for  it  ever  to  be  beguiled  into  a  treaty ;  for 


600 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


then  comes  on  the  non-fulfihnent  and  infraction, 
then  remonstrance,  then  altercation,  then  retalia- 
tion, then  recrimination,  and  finally  open  war.  In 
a  word,  negotiation  is  like  courtship,  a  time  of  sweet 
words,  gallant  speeches,  soft  looks,  and  endearing 
caresses ;  but  the  marriage  ceremony  is  the  signal 
for  hostilities. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


HOW  PETER  STUYVESANT  WAS  GREATLY  BELIED 
BY  HIS  ADVERSARIES,  THE  MOSSTROOPERS^ 
AND   HIS   CONDUCT  THEREUPON. 

If  my  pains-taking  reader  be  not  somewhat  per- 
plexed, in  the  course  of  the  ratiocination  of  my  last 
chapter,  he  will  doubtless  at  one  glance  perceive 
that  the  great  Peter,  in  concluding  a  treaty  with  his 
eastern  neighbours,  was  guilty  of  a  lamentable  error 
and  heterodoxy  in  politics.  To  this  unlucky  agree- 
ment may  justly  be  ascribed  a  world  of  little  in- 
fringements, altercations,  negotiations,  and  bicker- 
ings, which  afterwards  took  place  between  the  irre- 
proachable Stuyvesant,  and  the  evil-disposed  council 
of  Amphyctions.  All  these  did  not  a  little  disturb 
the  constitutional  serenity  of  the  good  burghers  of 
Manna-hata  ;  but  in  sooth  they  were  so  very  pitiful 
in  their  nature  and  effects,  that  a  grave  historian, 
who  grudges  the  time  spent  in  any  thing  less  than 
recording  the  fall  of  empires,  and  the  revolution  of 
worlds,  would  think  them  unworthy  to  be  inscribed 
on  his  sacred  page. 

The  reader  is,  therefore,  to  take  it  for  granted, 
though  I  scorn  to  waste  in  the  detail  that  time 
which  my  fui"rowed  brow  and  trembling  hand  in- 
form me  is  invaluable,  that  all  the  while  the  great 
Peter  was  occupied  in  those  tremendous  and  bloody 
contests  that  I  shall  shortly  rehearse,  there  was  a 
continued  series  of  little,  dirty,  snivelling  skirmishes, 
scourings,  broils,  and  maraudings,  made  on  the  east- 
ern frontiers,  by  the  mosstroopers  of  Connecticut. 
But,  like  that  mirror  of  chivalry,  the  sage  and  val- 
ourous  Don  Quixote,  I  leave  these  petty  contests  for 
some  future  Sancho  Panza  of  a  historian,  while  I 
reserve  my  prowess  and  my  pen  for  achievements 
of  higher  dignity. 

Now  did  the  great  Peter  conclude,  that  his  la- 
bours had  come  to  a  close  in  the  east,  and  that  he 
had  nothing  to  do  but  apply  himself  to  the  internal 
prosperity  of  his  beloved  Manhattoes.  Though  a 
man  of  great  modesty,  he  could  not  help  boasting 
that  he  had  at  length  shut  the  temple  of  Janus,  and 
that,  were  all  rulers  like  a  certain  person  who 
should  be  nameless,  it  would  never  be  opened 
again.  But  the  exultation  of  the  worthy  governor 
was  put  to  a  speedy  check ;  for  scarce  was  the  treaty 
concluded,  and  hardly  was  the  ink  dried  on  the  pa- 
])er,  before  the  crafty  and  discourteous  council  of  the 
league  sought  a  new  pretence  for  re-illuming  the 
flames  of  discord. 

It  seems  to  be  the  nature  of  confederacies,  repub- 
lics, and  such  like  powers,  that  want  the  true  mas- 
culine character,  to  indulge  exceedingly  in  certain 
feminine  panics  and  suspicions.  Like  some  good 
lady  of  delicate  and  sickly  virtue,  who  is  in  constant 
dread  of  having  her  vestal  purity  contaminated  or 
seduced,  and  who,  if  a  man  do  but  take  her  by  the 
hand,  or  look  her  in  the  face,  is  ready  to  cry  out, 
ripe  !  and  ruin  ! — so  these  squeamish  governments 
are  perpetually  on  the  alarm  for  the  virtue  of  the 
country  ;  every  manly  measure  is  a  violation  of  the 
constitution — every  monarchy  or  other  masculine 
government  around  them  is  laying  snares  for  their 
seduction  ;  and  they  are  for  ever  detecting  infernal 


plots,  by  which  they  were  to  be  betrayed,  dishon- 
oured, and  "  brought  upon  the  town." 

If  any  proof  were  wanting  of  the  truth  of  these 
opinions,  I  would  instance  the  conduct  of  a  certain 
republic  of  our  day ;  who,  good  dame,  has  already 
withstood  so  many  plots  and  conspiracies  against  her 
virtue,  and  has  so  often  come  near  being  made  "  no 
better  than  she  should  be."  1  would  notice  her  con- 
stant jealousies  of  poor  old  England,  who,  by  her 
own  account,  has  been  incessantly  trying  to  sap  her 
honour ;  though,  from  my  soul,  I  never  could  believe 
the  honest  old  gentleman  meant  her  any  rutleness. 
Whereas,  on  the  contrar)',  I  think  I  have  several 
times  caught  her  squeezing  hands  and  indulging  in 
certain  amorous  oglings  with  that  sad  fellow  Buona- 
parte— who  all  the  world  knows  to  be  a  great  de- 
spoiler  of  national  virtue,  to  have  ruined  all  the  em- 
pires in  his  neighbourhood,  and  to  have  debauched 
every  republic  that  came  in  his  way — but  so  it  is, 
these  rakes  seem  always  to  gain  singular  favour  with 
the  ladies. 

But  I  crave  pardon  of  my  reader  for  thus  wander- 
ing, and  will  endeavour  in  some  measure  to  apply 
the  foregoing  remarks;  for  in  the  year  1651,  we  are 
told,  the  great  confederacy  of  the  east  accused  the 
immaculate  Peter — the  soul  of  honour  and  heart  of 
steel— that  by  divers  gifts  and  promises  he  had  been 
secretly  endeavouring  to  instigate  the  Narrohigan- 
sett,  (or  Narraganset)  Mohaque,  and  Pequot  Indians, 
to  surprise  and  massacre  the  Yankee  settlements. 
"  For,"  as  the  council  slanderously  observed,  "  the 
Indians  round  about  for  divers  hundred  miles  cer- 
cute,  seeme  to  have  drunke  deep  of  an  intoxicating 
cupp,  att  or  from  the  Manhatoes  against  the  English, 
whoe  have  sought  their  good,  both  in  bodily  and 
spirituall  respects." 

History  does  not  make  mention  how  the  great 
council  of  the  Amphyctions  came  by  this  precious 
plot ;  whether  it  was  honestly  bought  at  a  fair  mar- 
ket price,  or  discovered  by  sheer  good  fortune — it  is 
certain,  however,  that  they  examined  divers  Indians, 
who  all  swore  to  the  fact  as  sturdily  as  though  they 
had  been  so  many  Christian  troopers ;  and  to  be 
more  sure  of  their  veracity,  the  sage  council  previous- 
ly made  every  mother's  son  of  them  devoutly  drunk, 
remembering  an  old  and  trite  proverb,  which  it  is 
not  necessary  for  me  to  repeat. 

Though  descended  from  a  family  which  suffered 
much  injury  from  the  losel  Yankees  of  those  times — ■ 
my  great-grandfather  having  had  a  yoke  of  oxen  and 
his  best  pacer  stolen,  and  having  received  a  pair  of 
black  eyes  and  a  bloody  nose  in  one  of  these  border 
wars ;  and  my  grandfather,  when  a  very  little  boy 
tending  pigs,  having  been  kidnapped  and  severely 
flogged  by  a  long-sided  Connecticut  schoolmaster — 
yet  I  should  have  passed  over  all  these  wrongs  with 
forgiveness  and  oblivion — I  could  even  have  suffered 
them  to  have  broken  Evert  Ducking's  head,  to  have 
kicked  the  doughty  Jacobus  Van  Curlet  and  his  rag- 
ged regiment  out  of  doors,  carried  every  hog  into 
captivity,  and  depopulated  every  hen-roost  on  the 
face  of  the  earth,  with  perfect  impunity. — But  this 
wanton  attack  upon  one  of  the  inost  gallant  and  ir- 
reproachable heroes  of  modern  times  is  too  much 
even  for  me  to  digest,  and  has  overset,  with  a  single 
puff,  the  patience  of  the  historian,  and  the  forbear- 
ance of  the  Dutchman. 

Oh,  reader,  it  was  false  ! — I  swear  to  thee,  it  was 
false  !  if  thou  hast  any  respect  to  my  word — if  the 
undeviating  character  for  veracity,  which  I  have  en- 
deavoured to  maintain  throughout  this  work,  has  its 
due  weight  with  thee,  thou  wilt  not  give  thy  faith  to 
this  tale  of  slander  ;  for  I  pledge  my  honour  and  my 
immortal  fame  to  thee,  that  the  gallant  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant was  not  only  innocent  of  this  foul  conspiracy, 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


601 


but  would  have  suffered  his  right  arm,  or  even  his 
wooden  leg,  to  consume  with  slow  and  everlasting 
flames,  rather  than  attempt  to  destroy  his  enemies  in 
mv  other  way  than  open,  generous  warfare — beshrew 
Jiose  caitiff  scouts,  that  conspired  to  sully  his  honest 
name  by  such  an  imputation  ! 

Peter  Stuyvesant,  though  he  perhaps  had  never 
leard  of  a  knight-errant,  yet  had  he  as  true  a  heart 
3f  chivalry  as  ever  beat  at  the  round  table  of  King 
Arthur.  There  was  a  spirit  of  native  gallantry,  a 
noble  and  generous  hardihood  diffused  through  his 
rugged  manners,  which  altogether  gave  unquestion- 
able tokens  of  a  heroic  mind.  He  was,  in  truth,  a 
hero  of  chivalry,  struck  off  by  the  hand  of  Nature 
at  a  single  heat,  and  though  she  had  taken  no  far- 
ther care  to  polish  and  retine  her  workmanship,  he 
stood  forth  a  miracle  of  her  skill. 

But,  not  to  be  figurative,  (a  fault  in  historic  writ- 
ing which  I  particularly  eschew,)  the  great  Peter 
possessed,  in  an  eminent  degree,  the  seven  renowned 
and  noble  virtues  of  knighthood,  which,  as  he  had 
never  consulted  authors  in  the  disciplining  and  culti- 
vating of  his  mind,  I  verily  believe  must  have  been 
implanted  in  the  corner  of  his  heart  by  dame  Nature 
herself — where  they  flourished  among  his  hardy 
qualities  like  so  many  sweet  wild  flowers,  shooting 
forth  and  thriving  with  redundant  luxuriance  among 
stubborn  rocks.  Such  was  the  mind  of  Peter  the 
Headstrong,  and  if  my  admiration  for  it  has,  on  this 
occasion,  transported  my  style  beyond  the  sober 
gravity  which  becomes  the  laborious  scribe  of  his- 
toric events,  I  can  plead  as  an  apology,  that  though 
a  little  gray-headed  Dutchman  arrived  almost  at  the 
bottom  of  the  down-hill  of  life,  I  still  retain  some 
portion  of  that  celestial  fire  which  sparkles  in  the  eye 
of  youth,  when  contemplating  the  virtues  and  achieve- 
ments of  ancient  worthies.  Blessed,  thrice  and  nine 
limes  blessed  be  the  good  St.  Nicholas — that  I  have 
escaped  the  influence  of  that  chilling  apathy,  which 
too  often  freezes  the  sympathies  of  age  ;  which,  like 
a  churlish  spirit,  sits  at  the  portals  of  the  heart,  re- 
pulsing every  genial  sentiment,  and  paralyzing  every 
spontaneous  glow  of  enthusiasm  ! 

No  sooner,  then,  did  this  scoundrel  imputation  on 
his  honour  reach  the  ear  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  than 
he  proceeded  in  a  manner  which  would  have  re- 
dounded to  his  credit,  even  though  he  had  studied 
for  years  in  the  library  of  Don  Quixote  himself  He 
immediately  despatched  his  valiant  trumpeter  and 
.squire,  Antony  Van  Corlear,  with  orders  to  ride 
night  and  day,  as  herald,  to  the  Amphyctionic  coun- 
cil, reproaching  them,  in  terms  of  noble  indignation, 
for  giving  ear  to  the  slanders  of  heathen  infidels, 
against  the  character  of  a  Christian,  a  gentleman, 
and  a  soldier — and  declaring,  that  as  to  the  treach- 
erous and  bloody  plot  alleged  against  him,  whoever 
affirmed  it  to  be  true,  lied  in  his  teeth  ! — to  prove 
which,  he  defied  the  president  of  the  council  and  all 
his  compeers,  or,  if  they  pleased,  their  puissant 
champion,  captain  Alicxsander  Partridg,  that  mighty 
man  of  Rhodes,  to  meet  him  in  single  combat,  where 
he  would  trust  the  vindication  of  his  innocence  to 
the  prowess  of  his  arm. 

This  challenge  being  delivered  with  due  ceremony, 
Antony  Van  Corlear  sounded  a  trumpet  of  defiance 
before  the  whole  council,  ending  with  a  most  horrific 
and  nasal  twang,  full  in  the  face  of  Captain  Partridg, 
who  almost  jumped  out  of  his  skin  in  an  ecstasy  of 
astonishment  at  the  noise.  This  done,  he  mounted 
a  tall  Flanders  mare,  which  he  always  rode,  and 
trotted  merrily  towards  the  Manhattoes — passing 
through  Hartford,  and  Piquag,  and  Middletown,  and 
all  the  other  border  towns — twanging  his  trumpet 
like  a  very  devil,  so  that  the  sweet  valleys  and  banks 
of  the  Connecticut  resounded  with  the  warlike  melody 


— and  stopping  occasionally  to  eat  pumpkin  pies, 
dance  at  country  frolics,  and  bundle  with  the  beau- 
teous lasses  of  those  parts — whom  he  rejoiced  ex- 
ceedingly with  his  soul-stirring  instrument. 

But  the  grand  council,  being  composed  of  consid- 
erate men,  had  no  idea  of  running  a  tilting  with  such 
a  fier)'  hero  as  the  hardy  Peter — on  the  contrary, 
they  sent  him  an  answer  couched  in  the  meekest,  the 
most  mild,  and  provoking  terms,  in  which  they  as- 
sured him  that  his  guilt  was  pro\ed  to  their  perfect 
satisfaction,  by  the  testimony  of  divers  sober  and 
respectable  Indians,  and  concluding  with  this  truly 
amiable  paragraph — "  For  youre  confidant  denialls 
of  the  Barbarous  plott  charged  will  waigh  little  in 
balance  against  such  evidence,  soe  that  we  must  still 
require  and  seeke  due  satisfaction  and  cecurite,  so 
we  rest.  Sir, 

Youres  in  wayes  of  Righteousness,  &c." 

I  am  aware  that  the  above  transaction  has  been 
differently  recorded  by  certain  historians  of  the  east, 
and  elsewhere  ;  who  seem  to  have  inherited  the  bit- 
ter enmity  of  their  ancestors  to  the  brave  Peter — 
and  much  good  may  their  inheritance  do  them. 
These  declare,  that  Peter  Stuyvesant  requested  to 
have  the  charges  against  him  inquired  into,  by  com- 
missioners to  be  appointed  for  the  purpose  ;  and  yet, 
that  when  such  commissioners  were  appointed,  he 
refused  to  submit  to  their  examination.  In  this  art- 
ful account,  there  is  but  the  semblance  of  truth — he 
did,  indeed,  most  gallantly  offer,  when  that  he  found 
a  deaf  ear  was  turned  to  his  challenge,  to  submit  his 
conduct  to  the  rigorous  inspection  of  a  court  of  hon- 
our— but  then  he  expected  to  find  it  an  august  tribu- 
nal, composed  of  courteous  gentlemen,  the  governors 
and  nobility  of  the  confederate  plantations,  and  of  the 
province  of  New-Netherlands ;  where  he  might  be 
tried  by  his  peers,  in  a  manner  worthy  of  his  rank 
and  dignity — whereas,  let  me  perish,  if  they  did  not 
send  to  the  Manhattoes  two  lean-sided,  hungry  petti- 
foggers, mounted  on  Narraganset  pacers,  with  saddle- 
bags under  their  bottoms,  and  green  satchels  under 
their  arms,  as  though  they  were  about  to  beat  the 
hoof  from  one  county  court  to  another  in  search  of  a 
law-suit. 

The  chivalric  Peter,  as  might  be  expected,  took  no 
notice  of  these  cunning  varlets  ;  who,  with  profes- 
sional industry,  fell  to  prying  and  sifting  about,  in 
quest  oi  ex  parte  evidence  ;  perplexing  divers  simple 
Indians  and  old  women,  with  their  cross-questioning, 
until  they  contradicted  and  forswore  themselves 
most  horribly.  Tlius  having  fulfilled  their  errand  to 
their  own  satisfaction,  they  returned  to  the  grand 
council  with  their  satchels  and  saddle-bags  stuffed 
full  of  villainous  rumours,  apocryphal  stories,  and  out- 
rageous calumnies, — for  all  which  the  great  Peter 
did  not  care  a  tobacco-stopper ;  but,  I  warrant  me, 
had  they  attempted  to  play  off  the  same  trick  upon 
William  the  Testy,  be  would  have  treated  them  both 
to  an  aerial  gambol  on  his  patent  gallows. 

The  grand  council  of  the  east  held  a  very  solemn 
meeting,  on  the  return  of  their  envoys ;  and  after 
they  had  pondered  a  long  time  on  the  situation  of 
affairs,  were  upon  the  point  of  adjourning  without 
being  able  to  agree  upon  any  thing.  At  this  critical 
moment,  one  of  those  meddlesome,  indefatigable 
spirits,  who  endeavour  to  establish  a  character  for 
patriotism  by  blowing  the  bellows  of  party,  until  the 
whole  furnace  of  politics  is  red-hot  with  sparks  and 
cinders — and  who  have  just  cunning  enough  to  know 
that  there  is  no  time  so  favourable  for  getting  on  the 
people's  backs  as  when  they  are  in  a  state  of  turmoil, 
and  attending  to  every  body's  business  but  their  own 
— this  aspiring  imp  of  faction,  who  was  called  a  great 
politician,  because  he  had  secured  a  seat  in  council 
by  calumniating  all  his  opponents— he,  1  say,  con- 


602 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ceived  this  a  fit  opportunity  to  strike  a  blow  that 
should  secure  his  popularity  among  his  constituents 
who  lived  on  the  borders  of  Nieuw-Nederlandt,  and 
were  the  greatest  poachers  in  Christendom,  except- 
ing the  Scotch  border  nobles.  Like  a  second  Peter 
the  Hermit,  therefore,  he  stood  forth  and  preached 
up  a  crusade  against  Peter  Stuyvesant,  and  his  de- 
voted city. 

He  made  a  speech  which  lasted  six  hours,  accord- 
mg  to  the  ancient  custom  in  these  parts,  in  which  he 
represented  the  Dutch  as  a  race  of  impious  heretics, 
who  neither  believed  in  witchcraft,  nor  the  sovereign 
virtues  of  horse-shoes — who  left  their  country  for 
the  lucre  of  gain,  not  like  themselves,  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  liberty  of  conscience — who,  in  short,  were  a 
race  of  mere  cannibals  and  anthropophagi,  inasmuch 
as  they  never  eat  cod-fish  on  Saturday,  devoured 
swine's  flesh  without  molasses,  and  held  pumpkins 
in  utter  contempt. 

This  speech  had  the  desired  effect,  for  the  coun- 
cil, being  awakened  by  the  sergeant-at-arms,  rubbed 
their  eyes,  and  declared  that  it  was  just  and  politic 
to  declare  instant  war  against  these  unchristian  anti- 
pumpkinites.  But  it  was  necessary  that  the  people 
at  large  should  first  be  prepared  for  this  measure ; 
and  for  this  purpose  the  arguments  of  the  orator 
were  preached  from  the  pulpit  for  several  Sundays 
subsequent,  and  earnestly  recommended  to  the  con- 
sideration of  every  good  Christian,  who  professed 
as  well  as  practiced  the  doctrines  of  meekness,  char- 
ity, and  the  forgiveness  of  injuries.  This  is  the  first 
time  we  hear  of  the  "drum  ecclesiastic  "  beating  up 
for  political  recruits  in  our  country ;  and  it  proved 
of  such  signal  efficacy,  that  it  has  since  been  called 
into  frequent  service  throughout  our  Union.  A  cun- 
ning politician  is  often  found  skulking  under  the 
clerical  robe,  with  an  outside  all  religion,  and  an  in- 
side all  political  rancour.  Things  spiritual  and  things 
temporal  are  strangely  jumbled  together,  like  poi- 
sons and  antidotes  on  an  apothecary's  shelf;  and 
instead  of  a  devout  sermon,  the  simple  church-going 
folk  have  often  a  political  pamphlet  thrust  down  their 
throats,  labelled  with  a  pious  text  from  Scripture. 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOW  THE  NEW-AMSTERDAMMERS  BECAME  GREAT 
IN  ARMS,  AND  OF  THE  DIREFUL  CATASTROPHE 
OF  A  MIGHTY  ARMY — TOGETHER  WITH  PETER 
STUYVESANT'S  MEASURES  TO  FORTIFY  THE 
CITY  —  AND  HOW  HE  WAS  THE  ORIGINAL 
FOUNDER  OF  THE  BATTERY. 

But,  notwithstanding  that  the  grand  council,  as  I 
have  already  shown,  were  amazingly  discreet  in  their 
proceedings  respecting  the  New-Netherlands,  and 
conducted  the  whole  with  almost  as  much  silence 
and  mystery  as  does  the  sage  British  cabinet  one 
of  its  ill-starred  secret  expeditions — yet  did  the  ever- 
watchful  Peter  receive  as  full  and  accurate  informa- 
tion of  every  movement  as  does  the  court  of  France 
of  all  the  notable  enterprises  I  have  mentioned.  He 
accordingly  sat  himself  to  work,  to  render  the  machi- 
nations of  his  bitter  adversaries  abortive. 

I  know  that  many  will  censure  the  precipitation 
of  this  stout-hearted  old  governor,  in  that  he  hurried 
into  the  expenses  of  fortification,  without  ascertain- 
ing whether  they  were  necessary,  by  prudently  wait- 
ing until  the  enemy  was  at  the  door.  But  they  should 
recollect  that  Peter  Stuyvesant  had  not  the  benefit 
of  an  insight  into  the  modern  arcana  of  politics,  and 
was  strangely  bigoted  to  certain  obsolete  maxims  of 
the  old  school ;  among  which  he  firmly  believed,  that 


to  render  a  country  respected  abroad,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  make  it  formidable  at  home — and  that  a  na- 
tion should  place  its  reliance  for  peace  and  security 
more  upon  its  own  strength,  than  on  the  justice  or 
good-will  of  its  neighbours.  He  proceeded,  there- 
fore, with  all  diligence,  to  put  the  province  and  me- 
tropolis in  a  strong  posture  of  defence. 

Among  the  few  remnants  of  ingenious  inventions 
which  remained  from  the  days  of  William  the  Testy 
were  those  impregnable  bulwarks  of  public  safety 
militia  laws  ;  by  which  the  inhabitants  were  obliged 
to  turn  out  twice  a  year,  with  such  militar\'  equip- 
ments— as  it  pleased  God  ;  and  were  put  under  the 
command  of  very  valiant  tailors,  and  man-milliners, 
who  though  on  ordinary  occasions  the  meekest,  pip- 
pin-hearted little  men  in  the  world,  were  very  devils 
at  parades  and  courts-martial,  when  they  had  cocked 
hats  on  their  heads,  and  swords  by  their  sides.  Un- 
der the  instructions  of  these  periodical  warriors,  the 
gallant  train-bands  made  marvellous  proficiency  in 
the  mystery  of  gunpowder.  They  were  taught  to 
face  to  the  right,  to  wheel  to  the  left,  to  snap  off 
empty  fire-locks  without  winking,  to  turn  a  corner 
without  any  great  uproar  or  irregularity,  and  to 
march  through  sun  and  rain  from  one  end  of  the 
town  to  the  other  without  flinching — until  in  the  end 
they  became  so  valorous,  that  they  fired  off  blank 
cartridges,  without  so  much  as  turning  away  their 
heads — could  hear  the  largest  field-piece  discharged, 
without  stopping  their  ears,  or  falling  into  much  con- 
fusion— and  would  even  go  through  all  the  fatigues 
and  perils  of  a  summer  day's  parade,  without  having 
their  ranks  much  thinned  by  desertion  ! 

True  it  is,  the  genius  of  this  truly  pacific  people 
was  so  little  given  to  war,  that  during  the  intervals 
which  occurred  between  field  d.ays,  they  generally 
contrived  to  forget  all  the  military  tuition  they  had 
received  ;  so  that  when  they  reappeared  on  parade, 
they  scarcely  knew  the  butt-end  of  the  musket  from 
the  muzzle,  and  invariably  mistook  the  right  shoulder 
for  the  left — a  mistake  which,  however,  was  soon 
obviated  by  chalking  their  left  arms.  But  whatever 
might  be  their  blunders  and  awkwardness,  the  saga- 
cious Kieft  declared  them  to  be  of  but  little  impor- 
tance^since,  as  he  judiciously  observed,  one  cam- 
paign would  be  of  more  instruction  to  them  than  a 
hundred  parades ;  for  though  two-thirds  of  them 
might  be  food  for  powder,  yet  such  of  the  other 
third  as  did  not  run  away  would  become  most  expe- 
rienced veterans. 

The  great  Stuyvesant  had  no  particular  veneration 
for  the  ingenious  experiments  and  institutions  of  his 
shrewd  predecessor,  and  among  other  things  held 
the  militia  system  in  very  considerable  contempt, 
which  he  was  often  heard  to  call  in  joke — for  he 
was  sometimes  fond  of  a  joke — governor  Kieft's 
broken  reed.  As,  however,  the  present  emer- 
gency was  pressing,  he  was  obliged  to  avail 
himself  of  such  means  of  defence  as  were  next  at 
hand,  and  accordingly  appointed  a  general  inspec- 
tion and  parade  of  the  train-bands.  But  oh  !  Mars 
and  Bellona,  and  all  ye  other  powers  of  war,  both 
great  and  small,  what  a  turning  out  was  here ! — 
Here  came  men  without  officers,  and  officers  without 
men — long  fowling-pieces,  and  short  blunderbusses 
— muskets  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  some  without  bay- 
onets, others  without  locks,  others  without  stocks, 
and  many  without  either  lock,  stock,  or  barrel — 
cartridge-boxes,  shot-belts,  powder-horns,  swords, 
hatchets,  snicker-snees,  crow-bars,  and  broomsticks, 
all  mingled  higgledy  piggledy — like  one  of  our  con- 
tinental armies  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  revolu- 
tion. 

This  sudden  transformation  of  a  pacific  commu- 
nity into  a  band  of  warriors,  is  doubtless  what  is 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


603 


meant,  in  modern  days,  by  "  putting'  a  nation  in 
armour,"  and  "  fixing  it  in  an  attitude  " — in  which 
armour  and  attitude  it  makes  as  martial  a  figure, 
and  as  likely  to  acquit  itself  with  as  much  prowess 
as  the  renowned  Sancho  Panza,  when  suddenly 
equipped  to  defend  his  island  of  Barataria. 

The  sturdy  Peter  eyed  this  ragged  regiment  with 
some  such  rueful  aspect  as  a  man  would  eye  the 
devil ;  but  knowing,  like  a  wise  man,  that  all  he  had 
to  do  was  to  make  the  best  out  of  a  bad  bargain,  he 
determined  to  give  his  heroes  a  seasoning.  Having, 
therefore,  drilled  them  through  the  manual  exercise 
over  and  over  again,  he  ordered  the  fifes  to  strike  up 
a  quick  march,  and  trudged  his  sturdy  troops  back- 
wards and  forwards  about  the  streets  of  New-Am- 
sterdam, and  the  fields  adjacent,  until  their  short 
legs  ached,  and  their  fat  sides  sweated  again.  But 
this  was  not  all ;  the  martial  spirit  of  the  old  gov- 
ernor caught  fire  from  the  sprightly  music  of  the  fife, 
and  he  resolved  to  try  the  mettle  of  his  troops,  and 
give  them  a  taste  of  the  hardships  of  iron  war.  To 
this  end  he  encamped  them,  as  the  shades  of  evening 
fell,  upon  a  hill  formerly  called  Bunker's  Hill,  at 
some  distance  from  the  town,  with  a  full  intention 
of  initiating  them  into  the  discipline  of  camps,  and 
of  renewing,  the  next  day,  the  toils  and  perils  of  the 
field.  But  so  it  came  to  pass,  that  in  the  night  there 
fell  a  great  and  heavy  rain,  which  descended  in  tor- 
rents upon  the  camp,  and  the  mighty  army  strangely 
melted  away  before  it ;  so  that  when  Gaffer  Phoebus 
came  to  shed  his  morning  beams  upon  the  place, 
saving  Peter  Stuyvesant  and  his  trumpeter.  Van 
Corlear,  scarce  one  was  to  be  found  of  all  the  multi- 
tude that  had  encamped  there  the  night  before. 

This  awful  dissolution  of  his  army  would  have  ap- 
palled a  commander  of  less  nerve  than  Peter  Stuy- 
vesant ;  but  he  considered  it  as  a  matter  of  but 
small  importance,  though  he  thenceforward  regard- 
ed the  militia  system  with  ten  times  greater  con- 
tempt than  ever,  and  took  care  to  provide  himself 
with  a  good  garrison  of  chosen  men,  whom  he  kept 
in  pay,  of  whom  he  boasted  that  they  at  least  pos- 
sessed the  quality,  indispensable  in  soldiers,  of  being 
water-proof. 

The  next  care  of  the  vigilant  Stuyvesant  was  to 
strengthen  and  fortify  New-Amsterdam.  For  this 
purpose,  he  caused  to  be  built  a  strong  picket  fence, 
that  reached  across  the  island,  from  river  to  river, 
being  intended  to  protect  the  city  not  merely  from 
the  sudden  invasions  of  foreign  enemies,  but  likewise 
from  the  incursions  of  the  neighbouring  savages.* 

Some  traditions,  it  is  true,  have  ascribed  the  build- 
ing of  this  wall  to  a  later  period,  but  they  are  wholly 
incorrect ;  for  a  memorandum  in  the  Stuyvesant 
manuscript,  dated  towards  the  middle  of  the  gov- 
ernor's reign,  mentions  this  wall  particularly,  as  a 
very  strong  and  curious  piece  of  workmanship,  and 
the  admiration  of  all  the  savages  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. And  it  mentions,  moreover,  the  alarming  cir- 
cumstance of  a  drove  of  stray  cows  breaking  through 
the  grand  wall  of  a  dark  night ;  by  which  the  whole 
community  of  New-Amsterdam  was  thrown  into  a 
terrible  panic. 

In  addition  to  this  great  wall,  he  cast  up  several 
outworks  to  Fort  Amsterdam,  to  protect  the  sea- 
board, at  the  point  of  the  island.  These  consisted 
of  formidable  mud  batteries,  solidly  faced,  after  the 

•In  an  antique  view  of  New-Amsterdam,  taken  some  years 
after  the  above  period,  is  a  representation  of  tliis  wall,  which 
stretched  along  the  course  of  Wall-street,  so  called  in  com- 
memoration of  this  great  bulwark.  One  gate,  called  the  Land- 
Poort,  opened  upon  Broadway,  hard  by  where  at  present  stands 
the  Trinity  Church  ;  and  another,  called  the  Water  -  Poort, 
stood  about  where  the  Tontine  Coffee -House  is  at  present — 
opening  upon  Smits  Vleye,  or  as  it  is  commonly  called.  Smith 
Jly,  then  a  marshy  valley,  with  a  creek  or  inlet  extending  up  what 
wc  call  Maiden-lane. 


manner  of  the  Dutch  ovens,  common  in  those  days, 
with  clam-shells. 

These  frowning  bulwarks,  in  process  of  time,  came 
to  be  pleasantly  overrun  by  a  verdant  carpet  of  grass 
and  clover,  and  their  high  embankments  overshadow- 
ed by  wide-spreading  sycamores,  among  whose  foliage 
the  httle  birds  sported  about,  rejoicing  the  ear  with 
their  melodious  notes.  The  old  burghers  would  re- 
pair of  an  afternoon  to  smoke  their  pipes  under  the 
shade  of  their  branches,  contemplating  the  golden 
sun  as  he  gradually  sunk  into  the  west,  an  emblem 
of  that  tranquil  end  towards  w'hich  themselves  were 
hastening — while  the  young  men  and  the  damsels  of 
the  town  would  take  many  a  moonlight  stroll  among 
these  favourite  haunts,  watching  the  silver  beams  of 
chaste  Cynthia  tremble  along  the  calm  bosom  of  the 
bay,  or  light  up  the  white  sail  of  some  gliding  bark, 
and  interchanging  the  honest  vows  of  constant  affec- 
tion. Such  was  the  origin  of  that  renowned  walk. 
The  Battery,  which,  though  ostensibly  devoted  to 
the  purpose  of  war,  has  ever  been  consecrated  to  the 
sweet  delights  of  peace.  The  favourite  walk  of  de- 
clining age — the  healthful  resort  of  the  feeble  invalid 
— the  Sunday  refreshment  of  the  dusty  tradesman — 
the  scene  of  many  a  boyish  gambol — the  rendezvous 
of  many  a  tender  assignation — the  comfort  of  the 
citizen — the  ornament  of  New- York,  and  the  pride 
of  the  lovely  island  of  Manna-hata. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


HOW  THE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  EAST  COUNTRY  WERE 
SUDDENLY  AFFLICTED  WITH  A  DIABOLICAL 
EVIL  —  AND  THEIR  JUDICIOUS  MEASURES  FOR 
THE  EXTIRPATION  THEREOF. 

Having  thus  provided  for  the  temporary  security 
of  New-Amsterdam,  and  guarded  it  against  any  sud- 
den surprise,  the  gallant  Peter  took  a  hearty  pinch 
of  snuff,  and,  snapping  his  fingers,  set  the  great 
council  of  Amphyctions,  and  their  champion,  the 
doughty  Alicxsander  Partridg,  at  defiance.  It  is 
impossible  to  say,  notwithstanding,  what  might  have 
been  the  issue  of  this  affair,  had  not  the  council  been 
all  at  once  involved  in  sad  perplexity,  and  as  much 
dissension  sown  among  its  members,  as  of  yore  was 
stirred  up  in  the  camp  of  the  brawling  warriors  of 
Greece. 

The  council  of  the  league,  as  I  have  shown  in  my 
last  chapter,  had  already  announced  its  hostile  deter- 
minations, and  already  was  the  mighty  colony  of 
New-Haven,  and  the  puissant  town  of  Piquag,  oth- 
erwise called  Weathersfield — famous  for  its  onions 
and  its  witches — and  the  great  trading  house  of 
Hartford,  and  all  the  other  redoubtable  border 
towns,  in  a  prodigious  turmoil,  furbishing  up  their 
rusty  fowling-pieces,  and  shouting  aloud  lor  war  ;  by 
which  they  anticipated  easy  conquests,  and  gorgeous 
spoils,  from  the  little  fat  Dutch  villages.  But  this 
joyous  brawling  was  soon  silenced  by  the  conduct 
of  the  colony  of  Massachusetts.  Struck  with  the 
gallant  spirit  of  the  brave  old  Peter,  and  convinced 
by  the  chivalric  frankness  and  heroic  warmth  of  his 
vindication,  they  refused  to  believe  him  guilty  of  the 
infamous  plot  most  wrongfully  laid  at  his  door.  With 
a  generosity  for  which  I  would  yield  them  immortal 
honour,  they  declared  that  no  determination  of  the 
grand  council  of  the  league  should  bind  the  general 
court  of  Massachusetts  to  join  in  an  offensive  war 
which  should  appear  to  such  general  court  to  be 
unjust.* 


*  Haz.  Col.  State  Papers. 


604 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


This  refusal  immediately  involved  the  colony  of 
Massachusetts  and  the  other  combined  colonies  in 
very  serious  difficulties  and  disputes,  and  would  no 
doubt  have  produced  a  dissolution  of  the  confederacy, 
but  that  the  council  of  Amphyctions,  finding  that 
they  could  not  stand  alone,  if  mutilated  by  the  loss 
of  so  important  a  member  as  Massachusetts,  were 
fain  to  abandon  for  the  present  their  hostile  machi- 
nations against  the  Manhattoes.  Such  is  the  marvel- 
lous energy  and  the  puissance  of  those  confederacies, 
composed  of  a  number  of  sturdy,  self-willed,  discord- 
ant parts,  loosely  banded  together  by  a  puny  general 
governirent.  As  it  was,  however,  the  warlike  towns 
of  Connecticut  had  no  cause  to  deplore  this  disap- 
pointment of  their  martial  ardour  ;  for  by  my  faith — 
though  the  combined  powers  of  the  league  might 
have  been  too  potent,  in  the  end,  for  the  robustious 
warriors  of  the  Manhattoes  —  yet  in  the  interim 
would  the  lion-hearted  Peter  and  his  myrmidons 
have  choked  the  stomachful  heroes  of  Piquag  with 
their  own  onions,  and  have  given  the  other  little 
border  towns  such  a  scouring,  that  1  warrant  they 
would  have  had  no  stomach  to  squat  on  the  land,  or 
invade  the  hen-roost  of  a  New-Nederlander,  for  a 
century  to  come. 

Indeed,  there  was  more  than  one  cause  to  divert 
the  attention  of  the  good  people  of  the  east,  from 
their  hostile  purposes  ;  for  just  about  this  time  were 
they  horribly  beleaguered  and  harassed  by  the  in- 
roads of  the  prince  of  darkness,  divers  of  whose 
liege  subjects  they  detected,  lurking  within  their 
camp,  all  of  whom  they  incontinently  roasted  as  so 
many  spies  and  dangerous  enemies.  Not  to  speak 
in  parables,  we  are  informed,  that  at  this  juncture 
the  New-England  provinces  were  exceedingly  troub- 
led by  multitudes  of  losel  witches,  who  wrought 
strange  devices  to  beguile  and  distress  the  multi- 
tude ;  and  notwithstanding  numerous  judicious  and 
bloody  laws  had  been  enacted  against  all  "  solemn 
conversing  or  compacting  with  the  divil,  by  way  of 
conjuracon  or  the  like,"*  yet  did  the  dark  crime  of 
witchcraft  continue  to  increase  to  an  alarming  de- 
gree, that  would  almost  transcend  belief,  were  not 
the  fact  too  well  authenticated  to  be  even  doubted 
for  an  instant. 

What  is  particularly  worthy  of  admiration  is,  that 
this  terrible  art,  which  so  long  has  baffled  the  pain- 
ful researches  and  abstruse  studies  of  philosophers, 
astrologers,  alchymists,  theurgists,  and  other  sages, 
was  chiefly  confined  to  the  most  ignorant,  decrepit, 
and  ugly  old  women  in  the  community,  who  had 
scarcely  more  brains  than  the  broomsticks  they  rode 
upon. 

When  once  an  alarm  is  €ounded,  the  public,  who 
love  dearly  to  be  in  a  panic,  are  not  long  in  want 
of  proofs  to  support  it — raise  but  the  cry  of  yellow 
fever,  and  immediately  every  headache,  and  indi- 
gestion, and  overflowing  of  the  bile,  is  pronounced 
the  terrible  epidemic.  In  like  manner,  in  the  present 
instance,  whoever  was  troubled  with  colic  or  lum- 
bago, was  sure  to  be  bewitched  ;  and  woe  to  any 
unlucky  old  woman  that  lived  m  his  neighbourhood. 
Such  a  howling  abomination  could  not  be  suffered  to 
remain  long  unnoticed,  and  it  accordingly  soon  at- 
tracted the  fiery  indignation  of  the  sober  and  reflect- 
ive part  of  the  community — more  especially  of  those, 
who,  whilome,  had  evinced  so  much  active  benevo- 
lence in  the  conversion  of  Quakers  and  Anabaptists. 
The  grand  council  of  the  Amphyctions  publicly  set 
their  faces  against  so  deadly  and  dangerous  a  sin  ; 
and  a  severe  scrutiny  took  place  after  those  nefarious 
witches,  who  were  easily  detected  by  devil's  pinches, 
black  cats,  broomsticks,  and  the   circumstance  of 


their  only  being  able  to  weep  three  tears,  and  those 
out  of  the  left  eye. 

It  is  incredible  the  number  of  offences  that  were 
detected,  "  for  every  one  of  which,"  says  the  pro- 
found and  reverend  Cotton  Mather,  in  that  excellent 
work,  the  History  of  New-England — "  we  have  such 
a  sufficient  evidence,  that  no  reasonable  man  in  this 
whole  country  ever  did  question  them  ;  and  it  will 
be  unreasonable  to  do  it  in  any  other. "'^ 

Indeed,  that  authentic  and  judicious  historian, 
John  Josselyn,  Gent.,  furnishes  us  with  unquestion- 
able facts  on  this  subject.  "  There  are  none,"  ob- 
serves he,  "  that  beg  in  this  countr)',  but  there  be 
witches  too  many — bottle-bellied  witches  and  others, 
that  produce  many  strange  apparitions,  if  you  will 
believe  report,  of  a  shallop  at  sea  manned  with  wom- 
en—and of  a  ship,  and  great  red  horse  standing 
by  the  mainmast ;  the  ship  being  in  small  cove  to 
the  eastward,  vanished  of  a  sudden,"  etc. 

The  number  of  delinquents,  however,  and  their 
magical  devices,  were  not  more  remarkable  than 
their  diabolical  obstinacy.  Though  exhorted  in  the 
most  solemn,  persuasive,  and  affectionate  manner,  to 
confess  themselves  guilty,  and  be  burnt  for  the  good 
of  religion,  and  the  entertainment  of  the  public :  yet 
did  they  most  pertinaciously  persist  in  asserting  their 
innocence.  Such  incredible  obstinacy  was  in  itself 
deserving  of  immediate  punishment,  and  was  suffi- 
cient proof,  if  proof  were  necessary,  that  they  were 
in  league  with  the  devil,  who  is  perverseness  itself. 
But  their  judges  were  just  and  merciful,  and  were, 
determined  to  punish  none  that  were  not  convicted 
on  the  best  of  testimony  ;  not  that  they  needed  any 
evidence  to  satisfy  their  own  minds,  for,  like  true  and 
experienced  judges,  their  minds  were  perfectly  made 
up,  and  they  were  thoroughly  satisfied  of  the  guilt 
of  the  prisoners,  before  they  proceeded  to  try  them  ; 
but  still  something  was  necessary  to  convince  the 
community  at  large — to  quiet  those  prying  quidnuncs 
who  should  come  after  them — in  short,  the  world 
must  be  satisfied.  Oh,  the  world — the  world  ! — all 
the  world  knows  the  world  of  trouble  the  world  is 
eternally  occasioning ! — The  worthy  judges,  there- 
fore, were  driven  to  the  necessity  of  sifting,  detect- 
ing, and  making  evident  as  noon-day,  matters  which 
were  at  the  commencement  all  clearly  understood 
and  firmly  decided  upon  in  their  own  pericraniums — 
so  that  it  may  truly  be  said  that  the  witches  were 
burnt  to  gratify  the  populace  of  the  day — but  were 
tried  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  whole  world  that 
should  come  after  them. 

Finding,  therefore,  that  neither  exhortation,  sound 
reason,  nor  friendly  entreaty  had  any  avail  on  these 
hardened  offenders,  they  resorted  to  the  more  urgent 
arguments  of  the  torture,  and  having  thus  abso- 
lutely wrung  the  truth  from  their  stubborn  lips, 
they  condemned  them  to  undergo  the  roasting  due 
unto  the  heinous  crimes  they  had  confessed.  Some 
even  carried  their  perverseness  so  far  as  to  expire 
under  the  torture,  protesting  their  innocence  to  the 
last ;  but  these  were  looked  upon  as  thoroughly  and 
absolutely  possessed  by  the  devil,  and  the  pious  by- 
standers only  lamented  that  they  had  not  lived  a  lit- 
tle longer,  to  have  perished  in  the  flames. 

In  the  city  of  Ephesus,  we  are  told  that  the 
plague  was  expelled  by  stoning  a  ragged  old  beggar 
I  to  death,  whom  Appolonius  pointed  out  as  being 
the  evil  spirit  that  caused  it,  and  who  actually 
showed  himself  to  be  a  demon,  by  changing  into  a 
shagged  dog.  In  like  manner,  and  by  measures 
equally  sagacious,  a  salutary  check  was  given  to  this 
growing  evil.  The  witches  were  all  burnt,  banished, 
or  panic-struck,  and  in  a  little  while  there  was  not 


*  New-Plymouth  Record. 


*  Mather's  Hist.  New-Eng.,  b.  6.  ch.  7. 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


605 


an  ugly  old  woman  to  be  found  throughout  New- 
England — which  is  doubtless  one  reason  why  .nil  the 
young  women  there  are  so  handsome.  Those  hon- 
est lolk  who  had  suffered  from  their  incantations 
gradually  recovered,  excepting  such  as  had  lieen 
afflicted  with  twitches  and  aches,  which,  however, 
assumed  the  less  alarming  aspect  of  rheumatism, 
sciatics,  and  lumbagos — and  the  good  people  of 
New-England,  abandoning  the  study  of  the  occult 
sciences,  turned  their  attention  to  the  more  profit- 
able hocus-pocus  of  trade,  and  soon  became  expert 
in  the  legerdemain  art  of  turning  a  penny.  Still, 
however,  a  tinge  of  the  old  leaven  is  discernible, 
even  unto  this  day,  in  their  characters — witches  oc- 
casionally start  up  among  them  in  different  dis- 
guises, as  physicians,  civilians,  and  divines.  The 
people  at  large  show  a  keenness,  a  cleverness,  and 
a  profundity  of  wisdom  that  savours  strongly  of 
witchcraft — and  it  has  been  remarked,  that  when- 
ever any  stones  fall  from  the  moon,  the  greater  part 
of  them  are  sure  to  tumble  into  New-England  ! 


CHAPTER  VII. 


WHICH  RECORDS  THE  RISE  AND  RENOWN  OF  A 
VALIANT  COM.VIANDER,  SHOWING  THAT  A 
MAN,  LIKE  A  BLADDER,  MAY  BE  PUFFED  UP 
TO  GREATNESS  AND  ^IMPORTANCE  BY  MERE 
WIND. 

When  treating  of  these  tempestuous  times,  the 
unknown  writer  of  the  Stuyvesant  manuscript 
breaks  out  into  a  vehement  apostrophe,  in  praise 
of  the  good  St.  Nicholas  ;  to  whose  protecting  care 
he  entirely  ascribes  the  strange  dissensions  that 
broke  out  in  the  council  of  the  Amphyctions,  and 
the  direful  witchcraft  that  prevailed  in  the  east  coun- 
try— whereby  the  hostile  machinations  against  the 
Nederlanders  were  for  a  time  fi-ustrated,  and  his  fa- 
vourite city  of  New-Amsterdam  preserved  from  im- 
minent peril  and  deadly  warfare.  Darkness  and 
lowering  superstition  hung  over  the  fair  valleys  of 
the  east ;  the  pleasant  banks  of  the  Connecticut  no 
longer  echoed  with  the  sounds  of  rustic  gayety; 
direful  phantoms  and  portentous  apparitions  were 
seen  in  the  air^gliding  spectrums  haunted  every 
wild  brook  and  dreary  glen — strange  voices,  made 
by  viewless  forms,  were  heard  in  desert  solitudes — 
and  the  border  towns  were  so  occupied  in  detecting 
and  punishing  the  knowing  old  women  who  had  pro- 
duced these  alarming  appearances,  that  for  a  while 
the  province  of  Nieuw-Nederlandt  and  its  inhabit- 
ants were  totally  forgotten. 

The  great  Peter,  therefore,  finding  that  nothing 
was  to  be  immediately  apprehended  from  his  eastern 
neighbours,  turned  himself  about,  with  a  praise- 
worthy vigilance  that  ever  distinguished  him,  to  put 
a  stop  to  the  insults  of  the  Swedes.  These  freeboot- 
ers, my  attentive  reader  will  recollect,  had  begun  to 
be  very  troublesome  towards  the  latter  part  of  the 
reign  of  William  the  Testy,  having  set  the  procla- 
mations of  that  doughty  little  governor  at  nought, 
and  put  the  intrepid  Jan  Jansen  Alpendam  to  a  per- 
fect nonplus ! 

Peter  Stuyvesant,  however,  as  has  already  been 
shown,  was  a  governor  of  different  habits  and  turn 
of  mind — without  more  ado,  he  immediately  issued 
orders  for  raising  a  corps  of  troops  to  be  stationed 
on  the  southern  frontier,  under  the  command  of  brig- 
adier-general Jacobus  Van  Poffenburgh.  This  illus- 
trious warrior  had  risen  to  great  importance  during 
the  reign  of  Wilhelmus  Kieft,  and  if  histories  speak 
jue,  was  second  in  command  to  the  hapless  Van 


Curlet,  when  he  and  his  ragged  regiment  were  inhu- 
manly kicked  out  of  Fort  Good  Hope  by  the  Yan- 
kees. In  consequence  of  having  been  in  such  a 
"  memorable  affair,"  and  of  having  received  more 
wounds  on  a  certain  honourable  part  that  shall  be 
nameless  than  any  of  his  comrades,  he  was  ever  after 
considered  as  a  hero,  who  had  "seen  some  service." 
Certain  it  is,  he  enjoyed  the  unlimited  confidence  and 
friendship  of  WiUjam  the  Testy ;  who  would  sit  for 
hours,  and  listen  with  wonder  to  his  gunpowder  nar- 
ratives of  surprising  victories— he  had  never  gained; 
and  dreadful  battles — from  which  he  had  run  away. 

It  was  tropically  observed  by  honest  old  Socrates, 
that  heaven  had  infused  into  some  men  at  their  birth 
a  portion  of  intellectual  gold ;  into  others  of  intel- 
lectual silver;  while  others  were  bounteously  fur- 
nished out  with  abundance  of  brass  and  iron — now 
of  this  last  class  was  undoubtedly  the  great  General 
Van  Poffenburgh  ;  and  from  the  display  he  continu- 
ally made  thereof,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  dame 
Nature,  who  will  sometimes  be  partial,  had  lilessed 
him  with  enough  of  those  valuable  materials  to  have 
fitted  up  a  dozen  ordinary  braziers.  But  what  is 
most  to  be  admired  is,  that  he  contrived  to  pass  off 
all  his  brass  and  copper  upon  Wilhelmus  Kieft,  who 
was  no  great  judge  of  base  coin,  as  pure  and  genu- 
ine gold.  The  consequence  was,  that  upon  the  res- 
ignation of  Jacobus  Van  Curlet,  who,  after  the  loss 
of  Fort  Good  Hope,  retired,  like  a  veteran  general, 
to  live  under  the  shade  of  his  laurels,  the  mighty 
"copper  captain  "  was  promoted  to  his  station.  This 
he  filled  with  great  importance,  always  stj'ling  him- 
self "  commander-in-chief  of  the  armies  of  New 
Netherlands ;"  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  armies, 
or  rather  army,  consisted  of  a  handful  of  hen-steal- 
ing, bottle-bruising  ragamufifins. 

Such  was  the  character  of  the  warrior  appointed 
by  Peter  Stuyvesant  to  defend  his  southern  frontier ; 
nor  may  it  be  uninteresting  to  my  reader  to  have  a 
glimpse  of  his  person.  He  was  not  very  tall,  but 
notwithstanding,  a  huge,  full-bodied  man,  whose  bulk 
did  not  so  much  arise  from  his  being  fat,  as  windy  ; 
being  so  completely  inflated  with  his  own  impor- 
tance, that  he  resembled  one  of  those  bags  of  wind 
which  yEolus,  in  an  incredible  fit  of  generosity,  gave 
to  that  wandering  warrior  Ulysses. 

His  dress  comported  with  his  character,  for  he  had 
almost  as  much  brass  and  copper  without  as  nature 
had  stored  away  within — his  coat  was  crossed  and 
slashed,  and  carbonadoed  with  stripes  of  copper 
lace,  and  swathed  round  the  body  with  a  crimson 
sash,  of  the  size  and  texture  of  a  fishing-net,  doubt- 
less to  keep  his  valiant  heart  from  bursting  through 
his  ribs.  His  head  and  whiskers  were  profusely 
powdered,  from  the  midst  of  which  his  full-blooded 
face  glowed  like  a  fiery  furnace ;  and  his  magnani- 
mous soul  seemed  ready  to  bounce  out  at  a  pair  of 
large,  glassy,  blinking  eyes,  which  projected  like  those 
of  a  lobster. 

1  swear  to  thee,  worthy  reader,  if  report  belie  not 
this  warrior,  I  would  give  all  the  money  in  my  pocket 
to  have  seen  him  accoutred  cap-a-pie,  in  martial  ar- 
ray— booted  to  the  middle — sashed  to  the  chin — col- 
lared to  the  ears — whiskered  to  the  teeth — crowned 
with  an  overshadowing  cocked  hat,  and  girded  with 
a  leathern  belt  ten  inches  broad,  from  which  trailed 
a  falchion,  of  a  length  that  I  dare  not  mention.  Thus 
equipped,  he  strutted  about,  as  bitter-looking  a  man 
of  war  as  the  far-famed  More  of  More  Hall,  when 
he  sallied  forth,  armed  at  all  points,  to  slay  the 
Dragon  of  Wantley.* 


*"  Had  you  but  seen  him  in  his  dress 

How  fierce  he  loolc'd  and  how  big : 
You  would  have  thought  him  for  to  be 
Some  Egyptian  Porcupig. 


606 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Notwithstanding  all  these  great  endowments  and 
transcendent  qualities  of  this  renowned  general,  I 
must  confess  he  was  not  exactly  the  kind  of  man  that 
the  gallant  Peter  would  have  chosen  to  command 
his  troops — but  the  truth  is,  that  in  those  days  the 
province  did  not  abound,  as  at  present,  in  great  mil- 
itary characters ;  who,  like  so  many  Cincinnatuses, 
people  every  little  village — marshalling  out  cabbages 
instead  of  soldiers,  and  signalizing  themselves  in  the 
corn-field,  instead  of  the  field  of  battle  ; — who  have 
surrendered  the  toils  of  war  for  the  more  useful  but 
inglorious  arts  of"  peace ;  and  so  blended  the  laurel 
with  the  olive,  that  you  may  have  a  general  for  a 
landlord,  a  colonel  for  a  stage-driver,  and  your  horse 
shod  by  a  valiant  "captain  of  volunteers."  The  re- 
doubtable General  Van  Poffenburgh,  therefore,  was 
appointed  to  the  command  of  the  new-levied  troops, 
chiefly  because  there  were  no  competitors  for  the 
station,  and  partly  because  it  would  have  been  a 
breach  of  military  etiquette  to  have  appointed  a 
younger  officer  over  his  head — an  injustice  which 
the  great  Peter  would  have  rather  died  than  have 
committed. 

No  sooner  did  this  thrice-valiant  copper  captain 
receive  marching  orders,  than  he  conducted  his  army 
undauntedly  to  the  southern  frontier ;  through  wild 
lands  and  savage  deserts ;  over  insurmountable  moun- 
tains, across  impassable  floods,  and  through  impene- 
trable forests  ;  subduing  a  vast  tract  of  uninhabited 
country,  and  encountering  more  perils,  according  to 
his  own  account,  than  did  ever  the  great  Xenophon 
in  his  far-famed  retreat  with  his  ten  thousand  Gre- 
cians. All  this  accomplished,  he  established  on  the 
.South  (or  Delaware)  river,  a  redoubtable  redoubt, 
named  FORT  Casimir,  in  honour  of  a  favourite  pair 
of  brimstone-coloured  trunk  breeches  of  the  gov- 
ernor. As  this  fort  will  be  found  to  give  rise  to  very 
important  and  interesting  events,  it  may  be  worth 
while  to  notice  that  it  was  afterwards  called  Nieuw- 
Amstei,  and  was  the  original  germ  of  the  present 
flourishing  town  of  New-Castle,  an  appellation 
erroneously  substituted  for  No  Castle,  there  neither 
being,  nor  ever  having  been,  a  castle,  or  any  thing 
of  the  kind,  upon  the  premises. 

The  Swedes  did  not  suffer  tamely  this  menacing 
movement  of  the  Nederlanders ;  on  the  contrary, 
Jan  Printz,  at  that  time  governor  of  New-Sweden, 
issued  a  protest  against  what  he  termed  an  encroach- 
ment upon  his  jurisdiction.  But  Van  Poffenburgh 
had  become  too  well  versed  in  the  nature  of  procla- 
mations and  protests,  while  he  served  under  William 
the  Testy,  to  be  in  any  wise  daunted  by  such  paper 
warfare.  His  fortress  being  finished,  it  would  have 
done  any  man's  heart  good  to  behold  into  what  a 
magnitude  he  immediately  swelled.  He  would  stride 
in  and  out  a  dozen  times  a  day,  surveying  it  in  front 
and  in  rear ;  on  this  side  and  on  that.  Then  would 
he  dress  himself  in  full  regimentals,  and  strut  back- 
wards ant!  forwards,  for  hours  together,  on  the  top 
of  his  little  rampart — like  a  vain-glorious  cock-pigeon 
vapouring  on  the  top  of  his  coop.  In  a  word,  un- 
less my  readers  have  noticed,  with  curious  eye,  the 
jjctty  commander  of  one  of  our  little,  snivelling  mili- 
tary posts,  swelling  with  all  the  vanity  of  new  regi- 
mentals, and  the  pomposity  derived  from  command- 
ing a  handfuU  of  tatterdemalions,  I  despair  of  giving 
them  any  adequate  idea  of  the  prodigious  dignity  of 
General  Van  Poffenburgh. 

It  is  recorded,  in  the  delectable  romance  of  Pierce 
Forest,  that  a  young  knight  being  dubbed  by  king 


'  He  frighted  all,  cats,  dogs,  and  all, 

Each  cow,  each  horse,  and  each  hog; 
For  fear  they  did  flee,  for  they  took  him  to  be 
Some  strange  outlandish  hedge-hog." 

Ballad  of  Drag.  0/  Want. 


Alexander,  did  incontinently  gallop  into  an  adjoining 
forest,  and  belaboured  the  trees  with  such  might  and 
main,  that  the  whole  court  was  convinced  that  he 
was  the  most  potent  and  courageous  gentleman  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  In  like  manner  the  great  Van 
Poffenburgh  would  ease  off  that  valorous  spleen, 
which  like  wind  is  so  apt  to  grow  unruly  in  the 
stomachs  of  new-inade  soldiers,  impelling  them  to 
box-lobby  brawls  and  broken-headed  quarrels.  For 
at  such  times,  when  he  found  his  martial  spirit  wax- 
ing hot  within  him,  he  would  prudently  sally  forth 
into  the  fields,  and  lugging  out  his  trusty  sabre, 
would  lay  about  him  most  lustily,  decapitating  cab- 
bages by  platoons ;  hewing  down  whole  phalanxes 
of  sunflowers,  which  he  termed  gigantic  Swedes ; 
and  if,  peradventure,  he  espied  a  colony  of  honest, 
big-bellied  pumpkins  quietly  basking  themselves  in 
the  sun,  "  Ah,  caitiff  Yankees,"  would  he  roar,  "  have 
I  caught  ye  at  last  ?  " — so  saying,  with  one  sweep 
of  his  sword,  he  would  cleave  the  unhappy  vegetables 
from  their  chins  to  their  waistbands ;  by  which 
warlike  havoc  his  choler  being  in  some  sort  allayed, 
he  would  return  to  his  garrison  with  a  full  conviction 
that  he  was  a  very  miracle  of  military  prowess. 

The  next  ambition  of  General  Van  Poffenburgh 
was  to  be  thought  a  strict  disciplinarian.  Well 
knowing  that  discipline  is  the  soul  of  all  military  en- 
terprise, he  enforced  it  with  the  most  rigorous  pre- 
cision ;  obliging  every  man  to  turn  out  his  toes  and 
hold  up  his  head  on  parade,  and  prescribing  the 
breadth  of  their  ruffles  to  all  such  as  had  any  shirts 
to  their  backs. 

Having  one  day,  in  the  course  of  his  devout  re- 
searches in  the  Bible,  (for  the  pious  Eneas  himself 
could  not  exceed  him  in  outward  religion,)  encoun- 
tered the  history  of  Absalom  and  his  melancholy  end, 
the  general,  in  an  evil  hour,  issued  orders  for  crop- 
ping the  hair  of  both  officers  and  men  throughout 
the  garrison.  Now  it  came  to  pass,  that  among  his 
officers  was  one  Kildermeester,  a  sturdy  veteran, 
who  had  cherished,  through  the  course  of  a  long  life, 
a  rugged  mop  of  hair,  not  a  little  resembling  the 
shag  of  a  Newfoundland  dog,  terminating  with  an 
immoderate  queue  like  the  handle  of  a  frying-pan ; 
and  queued  so  tightly  to  his  head,  that  his  eyes  and 
mouth  generally  stood  ajar,  and  his  eyebrows  were 
drawn  up  to  the  top  of  his  forehead.  It  may  natural- 
ly be  supposed  that  the  possessor  of  so  goodly  an  ap- 
pendage would  resist  with  abhorrence  an  order  con- 
demning it  to  the  shears.  On  hearing  the  general 
orders,  he  discharged  a  tempest  of  veteran,  soldier- 
like oaths,  and  dunder  and  blixums  — swore  he  would 
break  any  man's  head  who  attempted  to  meddle  with 
his  tail — queued  it  stiffer  than  ever,  and  whisked 
it  about  the  garrison  as  fiercely  as  the  tail  of  a 
crocodile. 

The  eel-skin  queue  of  old  Kildermeester  became 
instantly  an  affair  of  the  utmost  importance.  The 
commander-in-chief  was  too  enlightened  an  officer 
not  to  perceive  that  the  discipline  of  the  garrison,  the 
subordination  and  good  order  of  the  armies  of  the 
Nieuw-Nederlandts,  the  consequent  safety  of  the 
whole  province,  and  ultimately  the  dignity  and  pros- 
perity of  their  High  Mightinesses,  the  Lords  States 
General,  but  above  all,  the  dignity  of  the  great  Gen- 
eral Van  Poffenburgh,  all  imperiously  demanded  the 
docking  of  that  stubborn  queue.  He  therefore  de- 
termined that  old  Kildermeester  should  be  publicly 
shorn  of  his  glories  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  gar- 
rison—the old  man  as  resolutely  stood  on  the  de- 
fensive— whereupon  the  general,  as  became  a  great 
man,  was  highly  exasperated,  and  the  offender  was 
arrested  and  tried  by  a  court-martial  for  mutiny,  de- 
sertion, and  all  the  other  list  of  offences  noticed  in 
the  articles  of  war,  ending  with  a  "  videlicet,  in  wear- 


A    HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


607 


ing  an  oel-skin  queue,  three  feet  long,  contrary  to 
orders."  -Then  came  on  arraignments,  and  trials, 
and  pleadings ;  and  the  wliole  country  was  in  a  fer- 
ment about  this  unfortunate  queue.  As  it  is  well 
known  that  the  commander  of  a  distant  frontier 
post  has  the  power  of  acting  pretty  much  after  his 
own  will,  there  is  little  doubt  that  the  veteran  would 
have  been  hanged  or  shot  at  least,  had  he  not  luckily 
fallen  ill  of  a  fever,  through  mere  chagrin  and  inorti- 
fication  —  and  most  flagitiously  deserted  from  all 
earthly  command,  with  his  beloved  locks  unviolated. 
His  obstinacy  remained  unshaken  to  the  very  last 
moment,  when  he  directed  that  he  should  be  carried 
to  his  grave  with  his  eel-skin  queue  sticking  out  of  a 
hole  in  his  coffin. 

This  magnanimous  affair  obtained  the  general 
great  credit  as  an  excellent  disciplinarian,  but  it  is 
hinted  that  he  was  ever  after  subject  to  bad  dreams 
and  fearful  visitations  in  the  night — when  the  grizzly 
spectrum  of  old  Kildermeester  would  stand  sentinel 
by  his  bed-side,  erect  as  a  pump,  his  enormous  queue 
strutting  out  like  the  handle. 


BOOK   VI 


CONTAINING  THE  SECOND  PART  OF  THE  REIGN  OF 
PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG,  AND  HIS  GALLANT 
ACHIEVEMENTS  ON  THE  DELAWARE. 


CHAPTER    r. 

IN  WHICH  IS  EXHIBITED  A  WARLIKE  PORTRAIT 
OF  THE  GREAT  PETER  —  AND  HOW  GENERAL 
VAN  POFFENBURGH  DISTINGUISHED  HIMSELF 
AT   FORT  CASIMIR. 

Hitherto,  most  venerable  and  courteous  reader, 
have  I  shown  thee  the  administration  of  the  valorous 
Stuyvesant,  under  the  mild  moonshine  of  peace,  or 
rather  the  grim  tranquillity  of  awful  expectation  ;  but 
now  the  war-drum  rumbles  from  afar,  the  brazen 
trumpet  brays  its  thrilling  note,  and  the  rude  clash  of 
hostile  arms  speaks  fearful  prophecies  of  coming 
troubles.  The  gallant  warrior  starts  from  soft  repose, 
from  golden  visions,  and  voluptuous  ease ;  where,  in 
the  dulcet,  "  piping  time  of  peace,"  he  sought  sweet 
solace  after  all  his  toils.  No  more  in  beauty's  syren 
lap  reclined,  he  weaves  fair  garlands  for  his  lady's 
brows  ;  no  more  entwines  with  flowers  his  shining 
sword,  nor  through  the  live-long  lazy  summer's  day 
chants  forth  his  lovesick  soul  in  madrigals.  To  man- 
hood roused,  he  spurns  the  amorous  fiute  ;  doffs  from 
his  brawny  back  the  robe  of  peace,  and  clothes  his 
pampered  limbs  in  panoply  of  steel.  O'er  his  dark 
brow,  where  late  the  myrtle  waved,  where  wanton 
roses  breathed  enervate  love,  he  rears  the  beaming 
casque  and  nodding  plume  ;  grasps  the  bright  shield 
and  shakes  the  ponderous  lance  ;  or  mounts  with 
eager  pride  his  fiery  steed,  and  burns  for  deeds  of 
glorious  chivalry  ! 

But  soft,  worthy  reader!  I  would  not  have  you 
imagine,  that  any  preux  chevalier,  thus  hideously  be- 
girt with  iron,  existed  in  the  city  of  New-Amster- 
dam. This  is  but  a  lofty  and  gigantic  mode  in  which 
heroic  writers  always  talk  of  war,  thereby  to  give  it 
a  noble  and  imposing  aspect ;  equipping  our  warriors 
with  bucklers,  helms,  and  lances,  and  such  like  out- 
landish and  obsolete  weapons,  the  like  of  which  per- 
chance they  had  never  seen  or  heard  of;  in  the  same 
manner  that  a  cunning  statuary  arrays  a  modern 


general  or  an  admiral  in  the  accoutrements  of  a 
Caesar  or  an  Alexander.  The  simple  truth,  then,  of 
all  this  oratorical  flourish  is  this — that  the  valiant 
Peter  Stuyvesant  all  of  a  sudden  found  it  necessary 
to  scour  his  trusty  blade,  which  too  long  had  rusted 
in  its  scabbard,  and  prepare  himself  to  undergo  those 
hardy  toils  of  war  in  which  his  mighty  soul  so  much 
delighted. 

Methinks  I  at  this  moment  behold  him  in  my  im- 
agination— or  rather,  I  behold  his  goodly  portrait, 
which  still  hangs  up  in  the  family  mansion  of  the 
Stuyvesants — arrayed  in  all  the  'terrors  of  a  true 
Dutch  general.  His  regimental  coat  of  German 
blue,  gorgeously  decorated  with  a  goodly  show  of 
large  brass  buttons  reaching  from  his  waistband  to 
his  chin.  The  voluminous  skirts  turned  up  at  the 
corners,  and  separating  gallantly  behind,  so  as  to  dis- 
play the  seat  of  a  sumptuous  pair  of  brimstone- 
coloured  trunk  breeches — a  graceful  style  still  preva- 
lent among  the  warriors  of  our  day,  and  which  is  in 
conformity  to  the  custom  of  ancient  heroes,  who 
scorned  to  defend  themselves  in  the  rear. — His  face 
rendered  exceedingly  terrible  and  warlike  by  a  pair 
of  black  mustachios  ;  his  hair  strutting  out  on  each 
side  in  stiffly  pomatumed  ear-locks,  and  descending 
in  a  rat-tail  queue  below  his  waist ;  a  shining  stock 
of  black  leather  supporting  his  chin,  and  a  little  but 
fierce  cocked  hat  stuck  with  a  gallant  and  fiery  air 
over  his  left  eye.  Such  was  the  chivalric  port  of 
Peter  the  Headstrong ;  and  when  he  made  a  sudden 
halt,  planted  himself  firmly  on  his  solid  supporter, 
with  his  wooden  leg  inlaid  with  silver,  a  little  in  ad- 
vance, in  order  to  strengthen  his  position,  his  right 
hand  grasping  a  gold-headed  cane,  his  left  resting 
upon  the  pummel  of  his  sword ;  his  head  dressing 
spiritedly  to  the  right,  with  a  most  appalling  and 
hard-favoured  frown  upon  his  brow — -he  presented 
altogether  one  of  the  most  commanding,  bitter-look- 
ing, and  soldier-like  figures  that  ever  strutted  upon 
canvas.  Proceed  we  now  to  inquire  the  cause  of 
this  warlike  preparation. 

The  encroaching  disposition  of  the  Swedes,  on  the 
South,  or  Delaware  river,  has  been  duly  recorded  in 
the  chronicles  of  the  reign  of  William  the  Testy. 
These  encroachments  having  been  endured  with 
that  heroic  inagnanimity  which  is  the  corner-stone 
of  true  courage,  had  been  repeatedly  and  wickedly 
aggravated. 

The  Swedes,  who  were  of  that  class  of  cunning 
pretenders  to  Christianity,  who  read  the  Bible  upside- 
down,  whenever  it  interferes  with  their  interests,  in- 
verted the  golden  maxim,  and  when  their  neighbour 
suffered  them  to  smite  him  on  the  one  cheek,  they 
generally  smote  him  on  the  other  also,  whether  turn- 
ed to  them  or  not.  Their  repeated  aggressions  had 
been  among  the  numerous  sources  of  vexation  that 
conspired  to  keep  the  irritable  sensibilities  of  Wil- 
helmus  Kieft  in  a  constant  fever,  and  it  was  only 
owing  to  the  unfortunate  circumstance,  that  he  had 
always  a  hundred  things  to  do  at  once,  that  he  did 
not  take  such  unrelenting  vengeance  as  their  of- 
fences merited.  But  they  had  now  a  chieftain  of  a 
different  character  to  deal  with ;  and  they  were  soon 
guilty  of  a  piece  of  treachery,  that  threw  his  honest 
lilood  into  a  ferment,  and  precluded  all  further 
sufferance. 

Printz,  the  governor  of  the  province  of  New- 
Sweden,  being  either  deceased  or  removed,  for  of 
this  fact  some  uncertainty  exists,  was  succeeded  by 
Jan  Risingh,  a  gigantic  Swede,  and  who,  had  he  not 
been  rather  knock-kneed  and  splay-footed,  might 
have  served  for  the  model  of  a  Samson  or  a  Her- 
cules. He  was  no  less  rapacious  than  mighty,  and 
withal  as  crafty  as  he  was  rapacious  ;  so  that,  in  fact, 
there  is  very  little  doubt,  had  he  lived  some  four  or 


608 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


five  centuries  before,  he  would  have  been  one  of 
those  wicked  giants,  who  took  such  a  cruel  pleasure 
in  pocketing  distressed  damsels,  when  gadding  about 
the  world,  and  locking  them  up  in  enchanted  cas- 
tles, without  a  toilet,  a  change  of  linen,  or  any  other 
convenience — in  consequence  of  which  enormities, 
they  fell  under  the  high  displeasure  of  chi%'alry,  and 
all  true,  loyal,  and  gallant  knights  were  instructed  to 
attack  and  slay  outright  any  miscreant  they  might 
happen  to  find,  above  six  feet  high  ;  which  is  doubt- 
less one  reason  that  the  race  of  large  men  is  nearly 
extinct,  and  the  generations  of  latter  ages  so  exceed- 
ing small. 

No  sooner  did-  Governor  Risingh  enter  upon  his 
office,  than  he  immediately  cast  his  eyes  upon  the 
important  post  of  Fort  Casimir,  and  formed  the 
righteous  resolution  of  taking  it  into  his  possession. 
The  only  thing  that  remained  to  consider,  was  the 
mode  of  carrying  his  resolution  into  effect ;  and  here 
1  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say,  that  he  exhibited  a 
humanity  rarely  to  be  met  with  among  leaders,  and 
which  1  have  never  seen  equalled  in  modern  times, 
excepting  among  the  English,  in  their  glorious  aftair 
at  Copenhagen.  Willing  to  spare  the  effusion  of 
blood,  and  the  miseries  of  open  warfare,  he  benevo- 
lently shunned  every  thing  like  avowed  hostility  or 
regular  siege,  and  resorted  to  the  less  glorious,  but 
more  merciful  expedient  of  treachery. 

Under  pretence,  therefore,  of  paying  a  neighbourly 
visit  to  General  Van  Poffenburgh,  at  his  new  post  of 
Fort  Casimir,  he  made  requisite  preparation,  sailed 
in  great  state  up  the  Delaware,  displayed  his  flag 
with  the  most  ceremonious  punctilio,  and  honoured 
the  fortress  with  a  royal  salute,  previous  to  dropping 
anchor.  The  unusual  noise  awakened  a  veteran 
Dutch  sentinel,  who  was  napping  faithfully  at  his 
post,  and  who,  having  suffered  his  match  to  go  out, 
contrived  to  return  the  compliment,  by  discharging 
his  rusty  musket  with  the  spark  of  a  pipe,  which  he 
borrowed  from  one  of  his  comrades.  The  salute  in- 
deed would  have  been  answered  by  the  guns  of  the 
fort,  had  they  not  unfortunately  been  out  of  order, 
and  the  magazine  deficient  in  ammunition — accidents 
to  which  forts  have  in  all  ages  been  liable,  and  which 
were  the  more  excusable  in  the  present  instance,  as 
Fort  Casimir  had  only  been  erected  about  two  years, 
and  General  Van  Poffenburgh,  its  mighty  commander, 
had  been  fully  occupied  with  matters  of  much  greater 
importance. 

Risingh,  highly  satisfied  with  this  courteous  reply 
to  his  salute,  treated  the  fort  to  a  second,  for  he  well 
knew  its  commander  was  marvellously  delighted  with 
these  little  ceremonials,  which  he  considered  as  so 
many  acts  of  homage  paid  unto  his  greatness.  He 
then  landed  in  great  state,  attended  by  a  suite  of 
thirty  men — a  prodigious  and  vain-glorious  retinue, 
for  a  petty  governor  of  a  petty  settlement,  in  those 
days  of  primitive  simplicity  ;  and  to  the  full  as  great 
an  army  as  generally  swells  the  pomp  and  marches 
in  the  rear  of  our  frontier  commanders,  at  the  pres- 
ent day. 

The  number,  in  fact,  might  have  awakened  suspi- 
cion, had  not  the  mind  of  the  great  Van  Poffenburgh 
been  so  completely  engrossed  with  an  all-pervading 
idea  of  himself,  that  he  had  not  room  to  admit  a 
thought  besides.  In  fact,  he  considered  the  con- 
course of  Risingh 's  followers  as  a  compliment  to 
himself — so  apt  are  great  men  to  stand  between 
themselves  and  the  sun,  and  completely  eclipse  the 
truth  by  their  own  shadow. 

It  may  readily  be  imagined  how  much  General 
Van  Poffenburgn  was  flattered  by  a  visit  from  so 
august  a  personage ;  his  only  embarrassment  was, 
how  he  should  receive  him  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
appear  to  the  greatest  advantage,  and  make  the  most 


advantageous  impression.  The  main  guard  was  or- 
dered immediately  to  turn  out,  and  the  arms  and  regi- 
mentals (of  which  the  garrison  possessed  full  half-a- 
dozen  suits)  were  equally  distributed  among  the  sol- 
diers. One  tall  lank  fellow  appeared  in  a  coat 
intended  for  a  small  man,  the  skirts  of  which  reach- 
ed a  little  below  his  waist,  the  buttons  were  between 
his  shoulders,  and  the  sleeves  half-way  to  his  wrists, 
so  that  his  hands  looked  like  a  couple  of  huge  spades 
— and  the  coat,  not  being  large  enough  to  meet  in 
front,  was  linked  together  by  loops,  made  of  a  pair 
of  red  worsted  garters.  Another  had  an  old  cocked 
hat  stuck  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  decorated 
with  a  bunch  of  cocks'  tails — a  third  had  a  pair  of 
rusty  gaiters  hanging  about  his  heels — while  a  fourth, 
who  was  short  and  duck-legged,  was  equipped  in  a 
huge  pair  of  the  general's  cast-off  breeches,  which  he 
held  up  with  one  hand,  while  he  grasped  his  firelock 
with  the  other.  The  rest  were  accoutred  in  similar 
style,  excepting  three  graceless  ragamuffins,  who  had 
no  shirts,  and  but  a  pair  and  a  half  of  breeches  be- 
tween them,  wherefore  they  were  sent  to  the  black 
hole  to  keep  them  out  of  view.  There  is  nothing  in 
which  the  talents  of  a  prudent  commander  are  more 
completely  testified,  than  in  thus  setting  matters 
off  to  the  greatest  advantage  ;  and  it  is  for  this  reason 
that  our  frontier  posts  at  the  present  day  (that  of 
Niagara  for  example)  display  their  best  suit  of  regi- 
mentals on  the  back  of  the  sentinel  who  stands  in 
sight  of  travellers. 

His  men  being  thus  gallantly  arrayed — those  who 
lacked  muskets  shouldering  spades  and  pickaxes, 
and  every  man  being  ordered  to  tuck  in  his  shirt-tail 
and  pull  up  his  brogues — General  Van  Poffenburgh 
first  took  a  sturdy  draught  of  foaming  ale,  which,  like 
the  magnanimous  More  of  Morehall,*  was  his  inva- 
riable practice  on  all  great  occasions — which  done, 
he  put  himself  at  their  head,  ordered  the  pine  planks, 
which  served  as  a  draw-bridge,  to  be  laid  down,  and 
issued  forth  from  his  castle  like  a  mighty  giant  just 
refreshed  with  wine.  But  when  the  two  heroes  met, 
then  began  a  scene  of  warlike  parade  and  chivalric 
courtesy  that  beggars  all  description— Risingh,  who, 
as  I  before  hinted,  was  a  shrewd,  cunning  politician, 
and  had  grown  gray  much  before  his  time,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  craftiness,  .saw  at  one  glance  the  ruling 
passion  of  the  great  Van  Poffenburgh,  and  humoured 
him  in  all  his  valorous  fantasies. 

Their  detachments  were  accordingly  drawn  up  in 
front  of  each  other  ;  they  carried  arms  and  they  pre- 
sented arms  ;  they  gave  the  standing  salute  and  the 
passing  salute— they  rolled  their  dnjms  and  flour- 
ished their  fifes,  and  they  waved  their  colours — they 
faced  to  the  left,  and  they  faced  to  the  right,  and 
they  faced  to  the  right  about  —  they  wheeled  for- 
ward, and  they  wheeled  backward,  and  they  wheeled 
into  echellon  —  they  marched  and  they  counter- 
marched, by  grand  divisions,  by  single  divisions,  and 
by  sub-divisions — by  platoons,  by  sections,  and  by 
files — in  quick  time,  in  slow  time,  and  in  no  time  at 
all :  for,  having  gone  through  all  the  evolutions  of 
two  great  armies,  including  the  eighteen  manoeuvres 
of  Dundas,  having  exhausted  all  that  they  could  rec- 
ollect or  imagine  of  military  tactics,  including  sundry 
strange  and  irregular  evolutions,  the  like  of  which 
was  never  seen  before  nor  since,  excepting  among 
certain  of  our  newly-raised  militia,  the  two  great 
commanders  and  their  respective  troops  came  at 
length  to  a  dead  halt,  completely  exhausted  by^the 
toils  of  war.  Never  did  two  valiant  train-band  cap- 
tains, or  two  buskined  theatric  heroes,  in  the  re- 


-  as  soon  as  he  rose, 


To  make  him  strong  and  mighty. 
He  drank  by  the  tale,  six  pots  of  ale 
And  a  quart  of  aqua-vitse." 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


609 


nowned  tragedies  of  Pizarro,  Tom  Thumb,  or  any 
other  heroical  and  fighting  tragedy,  marshal  their 
gallows-looking,  duck-legged,  heavy-heeled  myrmi- 
dons with  more  glory  and  self-admiration. 

These  military  compliments  being  finished.  Gen- 
eral Van  Potfenburgh  escorted  his  illustrious  visitor, 
with  great  ceremony,  into  the  fort  ;  attended  him 
throughout  the  fortifications  ;  showed  him  the  horn- 
works,  crown-works,  half-moons,  and  various  other 
outworks  ;  or  rather  the  places  where  they  ought  to 
be  erected,  and  where  they  might  be  erected  if  he 
pleased  ;  plainly  demonstrating  that  it  was  a  place 
of  "great  capability,"  and  though  at  present  but  a 
little  redoubt,  yet  that  it  evidently  was  a  formidable 
fortress,  in  embryo.  This  survey  over,  he  next  had 
the  whole  garrison  put  under  arms,  exercised  and 
reviewed,  and  concluded  by  ordering  the  three  Bride- 
well birds  to  be  hauled  out  of  the  black  hole,  brought 
up  to  the  halberts  and  soundly  flogged  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  his  visitor,  and  to  convince  him  that  he  was 
a  great  disciplinarian. 

The  cunning  Risingh,  while  he  pretended  to  be 
struck  dumb  outright,  with  the  puissance  of  the 
great  Van  Poffenburgh,  took  silent  note  of  the  incom- 
petency of  his  garrison,  of  which  he  gave  a  hint  to 
his  trusty  followers,  who  tipped  each  other  the  wink, 
and  laughed  most  obstreperously — in  their  sleeves. 

The  inspection,  review,  and  flogging  being  con- 
cluded, the  party  adjourned  to  the  table  ;  for  among 
his  other  great  qualities,  the  general  was  remarkably 
addicted  to  huge  entertainments,  or  rather  carousals, 
and  in  one  afternoon's  campaign  would  leave  more 
dead  men  on  the  field  than  he  ever  did  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  military  career.  Many  bulletins  of  these 
bloodless  victories  do  still  remain  on  record  ;  and 
the  whole  province  was  once  thrown  in  a  maze  by 
the  return  of  one  of  his  campaigns  ;  wherein  it  was 
stated  that  though,  like  Captain  Bobadil,  he  had  only 
twenty  men  to  back  him,  yet  in  the  short  space  of 
six  months  he  had  conquered  and  utterly  annihilated 
sixty  oxen,  ninety  hogs,  one  hundred  sheep,  ten  thou- 
sand cabbages,  one  thousand  bushels  of  potatoes, 
one  hundred  and  fifty  kilderkins  of  small-beer,  two 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  thirty-five  pipes,  sev- 
enty-eight pounds  of  sugar-plums,  and  forty  bars  of 
iron,  besides  sundry  small  meats,  game,  poultry,  and 
garden  stuff: — An  achievement  unparalleled  since 
the  days  of  Pantagruel  and  his  all-devouring  army, 
and  which  showed  that  it  was  only  necessary  to  let 
bellipotent  Van  Poffenburgh  and  his  garrison  loose 
in  an  enemy's  country,  and  in  a  little  while  they 
would  breed  a  famine  and  starve  all  the  inhabitants. 

No  sooner,  therefore,  had  the  general  received  the 
first  intimation  of  the  visit  of  Governor  Risingh,  than 
he  ordered  a  great  dinner  to  be  prepared  ;  and  pri- 
vately sent  out  a  detachment  of  his  most  experienced 
veterans  to  rob  all  the  hen-roosts  in  the  neighbour- 
hood and  lay  the  pig-sties  under  contribution  ;  a 
.service  to  which  they  had  been  long  inured,  and 
which  they  discharged  with  such  incredible  zeal  and 
promptitude  that  the  garrison  table  groaned  under 
the  weight  of  their  spoils. 

I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  my  readers  could  see 
the  valiant  Van  Poffenburgh,  as  he  presided  at  the 
head  of  the  banquet ;  it  was  a  sight  worth  beholding : 
— there  he  sat,  in  his  greatest  glory,  surrounded  by 
his  soldiers,  like  that  famous  wine-bibber,  Alexan- 
der, whose  thirsty  virtues  he  did  most  ably  imitate — 
telling  astounding  stories  of  his  hair-breadth  advent- 
ures and  heroic  exploits,  at  which,  though  all  his 
auditors  knew  them  to  be  most  incontinent  and  out- 
rageous gasconadoes,  yet  did  they  cast  up  their  eyes 
in  admiration  and  utter  many  interjections  of  aston- 
ishment. Nor  could  the  general  pronounce  any  thing 
that  bore  the  remotest  semblance  to  a  joke,  but  the 
39 


stout  Risingh  would  strike  his  brawny  fist  upon  the 
table  till  every  glass  rattled  again,  throwing  himself 
back  in  the  chair  and  uttering  gigantic  peals  of 
laughter,  swearing  most  horribly  it  was  the  best  joke 
he  ever  heard  in  his  life. — Thus  all  was  rout  and 
revelry  and  hideous  carousal  within  Fort  Casimir, 
and  so  lustily  did  Van  Poffenburgh  ply  the  bottle, 
that  in  less  than  four  short  hours  he  made  himself 
and  his  whole  garrison,  who  all  sedulously  emulated 
the  deeds  of  their  chieftain,  dead  drunk,  and  singing 
songs,  quaffing  bumpers,  and  drinking  patriotic 
toasts,  none  of  which  but  was  as  long  as  a  Welsh 
pedigree  or  a  plea  in  chancery. 

No  sooner  did  things  come  to  this  pass,  than  the 
crafty  Risingh  and  his  Swedes,  who  had  cunningly 
kept  themselves  sober,  rose  on  their  entertainers,  tied 
them  neck  and  heels,  and  took  formal  possession  of 
the  fort,  and  all  its  dependencies,  in  the  name  of 
Queen  Christina  of  Sweden :  administering  at  the 
same  time  an  oath  of  allegiance  to  all  the  Dutch  sol- 
diers who  could  be  made  sober  enough  to  swallow  it. 
Risingh  then  put  the  fortification  in  order,  appointed 
his  discreet  and  vigilant  friend,  Suen  Scutz,  a  tall, 
wind-dried,  water-drinking  Swede,  to  the  command, 
and  departed,  bearing  with  him  this  truly  amiable 
garrison,  and  their  puissant  commander  ;  who,  when 
brought  to  himself  by  a  sound  drubbing,  bore  no 
little  resemblance  to  a  "  deboshed  fish,"  or  bloated 
sea-monster,  caught  upon  dry  land. 

The  transportation  of  the  garrison  was  done  to 
prevent  the  transmission  of  intelligence  to  New-Am- 
sterdam ;  for,  much  as  the  cunning  Risingh  exulted 
in  his  stratagem,  he  dreaded  the  vengeance  of  the 
sturdy  Peter  Stuyvesant ;  whose  name  spread  as 
much  terror  in  the  neighbourhood  as  did  whilom 
that  of  the  unconquerable  Scanderberg  among  his 
scurvy  enemies,  the  Turks. 


CHAPTER  II. 

SHOWING  HOW  PROFOUND  SECRETS  ARK  OFTEN 
BROUGHT  TO  LIGHT;  WITH  THE  PROCEEDINGS 
OF  PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG,  WHEN  HE  HEARD 
OF  THE  MISFORTUNES  OF  GENERAL  VAN  POF- 
FENBURGH. 

Whoever  first  described  common  fame,  or  rumour, 
as  belonging  to  the  sager  sex,  was  a  very  owl  for 
shrewdness.  She  has,  in  truth,  certain  feminine 
qualities  to  an  astonishing  degree  ;  particularly  that 
benevolent  anxiety  to  take  care  of  the  affairs  of 
others,  which  keeps  her  continually  hunting  after 
secrets,  and  gadding  about  proclaiming  them.  What- 
ever is  done  openly  and  in  the  face  of  the  world, 
she  takes  but  transient  notice  of;  but  whenever 
a  transaction  is  done  in  a  corner,  and  attempted 
to  be  shrouded  in  mystery-,  then  her  goddess-ship 
is  at  her  wit's  end  to  find  it  out,  and  takes  a  most 
mischievous  and  lady-like  pleasure  in  publishing  it  to 
the  world. 

It  is  this  truly  feminine  propensity  that  induces 
her  continually  to  be  prying  into  cabinets  of  princes, 
listening  at  the  key-holes  of  senate  chambers,  and 
peering  through  chinks  and  crannies,  when  our  wor- 
thy Congress  are  sitting  with  closed  doors,  deliber- 
ating between  a  dozen  excellent  modes  of  ruining 
the  nation.  It  is  this  which  makes  her  so  obnoxious 
to  all  wary  statesmen  and  intriguing  commanders — 
such  a  stumbling-block  to  private  negotiations  and 
secret  expeditions ;  which  she  often  betrays,  by 
means  and  instruments  which  never  would  have  been 
thought  of  by  any  but  a  female  head. 

Thus  it  was  in  the  case  of  the  affair  of  Fort  Casi- 


610 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


mir.  No  doubt  the  cunning  Risingh  innagined,  that 
by  securing  the  garrison  he  should  for  a  long  time 
prevent  the  history  of  its  fate  from  reaching  the 
ears  of  the  gallant  Stuyvesant ;  but  his  exploit 
was  blown  to  the  world  when  he  least  expected 
it,  and  by  one  of  the  last  beings  he  would  ever  have 
suspected  of  enlisting  as  trumpeter  to  the  wide- 
mouthed  deity. 

This  was  one  Dirk  Schuiler,  (or  Skulker.)  a  kind 
of  hai'2-"-;n  to  the  garrison  ;  who  seemed  to  belong 
to  nobody,  and  in  a  manner  to  be  self-outlawed.  He 
was  one  of  those  vagabond  cosmopolites,  who  shark 
about  the  world  as  if  they  had  no  right  or  business 
in  it,  and  who  infest  the  skirts  of  society  like  poach- 
ers and  interlopers.  Every  garrison  and  country 
village  has  one  or  more  scape-goats  of  this  kind, 
whose  life  is  a  kind  of  enigma,  whose  existence  is 
without  motive,  who  comes  from  the  Lord  knows 
where,  who  lives  the  Lord  knows  how,  and  seems  to 
be  made  for  no  other  earthly  purpose  but  to  keep  up 
the  ancient  and  honourable  order  of  idleness.  This 
vagrant  philosopher  was  supposed  to  have  some  In- 
dian blood  in  his  veins,  which  was  manifested  by  a 
certain  Indian  complexion  and  cast  of  countenance  ; 
but  more  especially  by  his  propensities  and  habits. 
He  was  a  tall,  lank  fellow,  swift  of  foot  and  long- 
winded.  He  was  generally  equipped  in  a  half  Indian 
dress,  with  belt,  leggings,  and  moccasons.  His  hair 
hung  in  straight  gallows  locks  about  his  ears,  and 
added  not  a  little  to  his  sharking  demeanour.  It  is 
an  old  remark,  that  persons  of  Indian  mixture  are 
half  civilized,  half  savage,  and  half  devil,  a  third  half 
being  expressly  provided  for  their  particular  conveni- 
ence. It  is  for  similar  reasons,  and  probably  with 
equal  truth,  that  the  back-wood-men  of  Kentucky 
are  styled  half  man,  half  horse,  and  half  alligator, 
by  the  settlers  on  the  Mississippi,  and  held  accord- 
ingly in  great  respect  and  abhorrence. 

The  above  character  may  have  presented  itself  to 
the  garrison  as  applicable  to  Dirk  Schuiler,  whom 
they  familiarly  dubbed  Gallows  Dirk.  Certain  it  is, 
he  acknowledged  allegiance  to  no  one — was  an  utter 
enemy  to  work,  holding  it  in  no  manner  of  estima- 
tion— but  lounged  about  the  fort,  depending  upon 
chance  for  a  subsistence,  getting  drunk  whenever  he 
could  get  liquor,  and  stealing  whatever  he  could  lay 
his  hands  on.  Every  day  or  two  he  was  sure  to  get 
a  sound  rib-roasting  for  some  of  his  misdemeanours, 
which,  however,  as  it  broke  no  bones,  he  made  very 
light  of,  and  scrupled  not  to  repeat  the  offence,  when- 
ever another  opportunity  presented.  Sometimes,  in 
consequence  of  some  flagrant  villainy,  he  would  ab- 
scond from  the  garrison,  and  be  absent  for  a  month 
at  a  time ;  skulking  about  the  woods  and  swamps, 
with  a  long  fowling-piece  on  his  shoulder,  laying  in 
ambush  for  game — or  squatting  himself  down  on  the 
edge  of  a  pond  catching  fish  for  hours  together,  and 
bearing  no  little  resemblance  to  that  notable  bird 
ycleped  the  mudpoke.  When  he  thought  his  crimes 
had  been  forgotten  or  forgiven,  he  would  sneak  back 
to  the  fort  with  a  bundle  of  skins,  or  a  bunch  of 
poultry,  which  perchance  he  had  stolen,  and  would 
exchange  them  for  liquor,  with  which,  having  well 
soaked  his  carcass,  he  would  lay  in  the  sun  and 
enjoy  all  the  luxurious  indolence  of  that  swinish 
philosopher,  Diogenes.  He  was  the  terror  of  all  the 
farm-yards  in  the  country,  into  which  he  made  fear- 
ful inroads  ;  and  sometimes  he  would  make  his  sud- 
den appearance  at  the  garrison  at  day-break,  with 
the  whole  neighborhood  at  his  heels,  like  a  scoundrel 
thief  of  a  fox,  detected  in  his  maraudings  and  hunted 
to  his  hole.  Such  was  this  Dirk  Schuiler ;  and  from 
the  total  indifference  he  showed  to  the  world  or  its 
concerns,  and  from  his  truly  Indian  stoicism  and 
taciturnity,  no  one  would  ever  have  dreamt  that  he 


would  have  been  the  publisher  of  the  treachery  of 
Risingh. 

When  the  carousal  was  going  on,  which  proved  so 
fatal  to  the  brave  Van  PofTenburgh  and  his  watchful 
garrison,  Dirk  skulked  about  from  room  to  room, 
being  a  kind  of  privileged  vagrant,  or  useless  hound, 
whom  nobody  noticed.  But  though  a  fellow  of  few 
words,  yet,  like  your  taciturn  people,  his  eyes  and 
ears  were  always  open,  and  in  the  course  of  his 
prowlings  he  overheard  the  whole  plot  of  the  Swedes. 
Dirk  immediately  settled  in  his  own  mind  how  he 
should  turn  the  matter  to  his  own  advantage.  He 
played  the  perfect  jack-of-both-sides — that  is  to  say, 
he  made  a  prize  of  every  thing  that  came  in  his 
reach,  robbed  both  parties,  stuck  the  copper-bound 
cocked-hat  of  the  puissant  Van  Poffenbuigh  on  his 
head,  whipped  a  huge  pair  of  Risingh's  jack-boots 
under  his  arms,  and  took  to  his  heels,  just  before  the 
catastrophe  and  confusion  at  the  garrison. 

Finding  himself  completely  dislodged  from  his 
haunt  in  this  quarter,  he  directed  his  flight  towards 
his  native  place,  New-Amsterdam,  from  whence  he 
had  formerly  been  obliged  to  abscond  precipitately, 
in  consequence  of  misfortune  in  business — that  is  to 
say,  having  been  detected  in  the  act  of  sheep-stealing. 
After  wandering  many  days  in  the  woods,  toiling 
through  swamps,  fording  brooks,  swimming  various 
rivers,  and  encountering  a  world  of  hardships,  that 
would  have  killed  any  other  being  but  an  Indian,  a 
back- wood-man,  or  the  devil,  he  at  length  arrived, 
half  famished,  and  lank  as  a  starved  weasel,  at  Com- 
munipaw,  where  he  stole  a  canoe,  and  paddled  over 
to  New- Amsterdam.  Immediately  on  landing,  he  re- 
paired to  Governor  Stuyvesant,  and  in  more  words 
than  he  had  ever  spoken  before  in  the  whole  course 
of  his  life,  gave  an  account  of  the  disastrous  affair. 

On  receiving  these  direful  tidings,  the  valiant 
Peter  started  from  his  seat — dashed  the  pipe  he  was 
smoking  against  the  back  of  the  chimney — thrust 
a  prodigious  quid  of  tobacco  into  his  left  cheek — 
pulled  up  his  galligaskins,  and  strode  up  and  down 
the  room,  humming,  as  was  customary  with  him 
when  in  a  passion,  a  hideous  north-west  ditty.  But 
as  I  have  before  shown,  he  was  not  a  man  to  vent  his 
spleen  in  idle  vapouring.  His  first  measure  after  the 
paroxysm  of  wrath  had  subsided,  was  to  stump  up- 
stairs to  a  huge  wooden  chest,  which  served  as  his 
armory,  from  whence  he  drew  forth  that  identical 
suit  of  regimentals  described  in  the  preceding  chap- 
ter. In  these  portentous  habiliments  he  arrayed 
himself,  like  Achilles,  in  the  armour  of  Vulcan,  main- 
taining all  the  while  a  most  appalling  silence,  knitting 
his  brows,  and  drawing  his  breath  through  his  clench- 
ed teeth.  Being  hastily  equipped,  he  strode  down  into 
the  parlour,  jerked  down  his  trusty  sword  from  over 
the  fire-place,  where  it  was  usually  suspended  ;  but 
before  he  girded  it  on  his  thigh,  he  drew  it  from  its 
scabbard,  and  as  his  eye  coursed  along  the  rusty 
blade,  a  grim  smile  stole  over  his  iron  visage — it  was 
the  first  smile  that  had  visited  his  countenance  for 
five  long  weeks ;  but  every  one  who  beheld  it, 
]5rophesied  that  there  would  soon  be  warm  work  in 
the  province  ! 

Thus  armed  at  all  points,  with  grizzly  war  de- 
pictured in  each  feature,  his  very  cocked  hat  assum- 
ing an  air  of  uncommon  defiance,  he  instantly  put 
himself  upon  the  alert,  and  despatched  Antony  Van 
Corlear  hither  and  thither,  this  way  and  that  way, 
through  all  the  muddy  streets  and  crooked  lanes  of 
the  city,  summoning  by  sound  of  trumpet  his  trusty 
peers  to  assemble  in  instant  council.  This  done,  by 
way  of  expediting  matters,  according  to  the  custom 
of  people  in  a  hurry,  he  kept  in  continual  bustle, 
shifting  from  chair  to  chair,  popping  his  head  out  of 
every  window,  and  stumping  up  and  down  stairs  with 


A   HISTORY   OF  NEW-YORK. 


Cll 


his  wooden  leg^  in  such  brisk  and  incessant  motion, 
that,  as  we  are  informed  by  an  authentic  historian 
of  the  times,  the  continual  clatter  bore  no  small  re- 
semblance to  the  music  of  a  cooper  hooping  a  flour- 
barrel. 

A  summons  so  peremptory,  and  from  a  man  of  the 
governor's  mettle,  was  not  to  be  trifled  with ;  the 
sages  forthwith  repaired  to  the  council  chamber, 
seated  themselves  with  the  utmost  tranquillity,  and 
lighting  their  long  pipes,  gazed  with  unruffled  com- 
posure on  his  excellency  and  his  regimentals  ;  being, 
as  all  counsellors  should  be,  not  easily  flustered,  or 
taken  by  surprise.  The  governor,  looking  around 
for  a  moment  with  a  lofty  and  soldier-like  air,  and 
resting  one  hand  on  the  pummel  of  his  sword,  and 
flinging  the  other  forth  in  a  free  and  spirited  manner, 
addressed  them  in  a  short,  but  soul-stirring  harangue. 

I  am  extremely  sorry  that  I  have  not  the  advan- 
tages of  Livy,  Thucydides,  Plutarch,  and  others  of  my 
predecessors,  who  are  furnished,  as  I  am  told,  with 
the  speeches  of  all  their  great  emperors,  generals, 
and  orators,  taken  down  in  short-hand,  by  the  most 
accurate  stenographers  of  the  time ;  whereby  they 
were  enabled  wonderfully  to  enrich  their  histories, 
and  delight  their  readers  with  sublime  strains  of  elo- 
quence. Not  having  such  important  auxiliaries,  I 
cannot  possibly  pronounce  what  was  the  tenor  of 
Governor  Stuyvesant's  speech.  I  am  bold,  however, 
to  say,  from  the  tenor  of  his  character,  that  he  did 
not  wrap  his  rugged  subject  in  silks  and  ermines,  and 
other  sickly  trickeries  of  phrase  ;  but  spoke  forth, 
like  a  man  of  nerve  and  vigour,  who  scorned  to  shrink, 
in  words,  from  those  dangers  which  he  stood  ready 
to  encounter  in  very  deed.  This  much  is  certain, 
that  he  concluded  by  announcing  his  determination 
of  leading  on  his  troops  in  person,  and  routing  these 
costardmonger  Swedes  from  their  usurped  quarters 
at  Fort  Casimir.  To  this  hardy  resolution  such  of 
his  council  as  were  awake  gave  their  usual  signal  of 
concurrence,  and  as  to  the  rest  who  had  fallen 
asleep  about  the  middle  of  the  harangue,  (their 
"  usual  custom  in  the  afternoon  ") — they  made  not 
the  least  objection. 

And  now  was  seen  in  the  fair  city  of  New-Am- 
sterdam, a  prodigious  bustle  and  preparation  for  iron 
war.  Recruiting  parties  marched  hither  and  thither, 
calling  lustily  upon  all  the  scrubs,  the  runagates,  and 
tatterdemalions  of  the  Manhattoes  and  its  vicinity, 
who  had  any  ambition  of  sixpence  a  day,  and  im- 
mortal fame  into  the  bargain,  to  enlist  in  the  cause  of 
glory.  For  I  would  have  you  note  that  your  war- 
like heroes  who  trudge  in  the  rear  of  conquerors,  are 
generally  of  that  illustrious  class  of  gentlemen,  who 
are  equal  candidates  for  the  army  or  the  Bridewell — 
the  halberts  or  the  whipping-pwst — for  whom  dame 
Fortune  has  cast  an  even  die,  whether  they  shall 
make  their  exit  by  the  sword  or  the  halter — and 
whose  deaths  shall,  at  all  events,  be  a  lofty  example 
to  their  countrymen. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this  martial  rout  and  invi- 
tation, the  ranks  of  honour  were  but  scantily  sup- 
plied ;  so  averse  were  the  peaceful  burghers  of  New- 
Amsterdam  from  enlisting  in  foreign  broils,  or  stirring 
beyond  that  home  which  rounded  all  their  earthly 
ideas.  Upon  beholding  this,  the  great  Peter,  whose 
noble  heart  was  all  on  fire  with  war  and  sweet  re- 
venge, determined  to  wait  no  longer  for  the  tardy  as- 
sistance of  these  oily  citizens,  but  to  muster  up  his 
merry  men  of  the  Hudson  ;  who,  brought  up  among 
woods  and  wilds  and  savage  beasts,  like  our  yeomen 
of  Kentucky,  delighted  in  nothing  so  much  as  desper- 
ate adventures  and  perilous  expeditions  through  the 
wilderness.  Thus  resolving,  he  ordered  his  trusty 
squire,  Antony  Van  Corlear,  to  have  his  state  galley 
prepared  and  du'y  victualled  ;  which  being  perform- 


ed, he  attended  public  service  at  the  great  church  of 
St.  Nicholas,  like  a  true  and  pious  governor,  and  then 
leaving  peremptory  orders  with  his  council  to  have 
the  chivalry  of  the  Manhattoes  marshalled  out  and 
appointed  against  his  return,  departed  upon  his  re- 
cruiting voyage,  up  the  waters  of  the  Hudson. 


CHAPTER    in. 


CONTAINING  PETER  STUYVESANT  S  VOYAGE  UP 
THE  HUDSON,  AND  THE  WONDERS  AND  DE- 
LIGHTS OF  THAT   RENOWNED   RIVER. 

Now  did  the  soft  breezes  of  the  south  steal  sweetly 
over  the  beauteous  face  of  nature,  tempering  the 
panting  heats  of  summer  into  genial  and  prolific 
warmth — when  that  miracle  of  hardihood  and  chiv- 
alric  virtue,  the  dauntless  Peter  Stuyvesant,  spread 
his  canvas  to  the  wind,  and  departed  from  the  fair 
island  of  Manna-hata.  The  galley  in  which  he  em- 
barked was  sumptuously  adorned  with  pendants  and 
streamers  of  gorgeous  dyes,  which  fluttered  gayly  in 
the  wind,  or  drooped  their  ends  in  the  bosom  of  the 
stream.  The  bow  and  poop  of  this  majestic  vessel 
were  gallantly  bedight,  after  the  rarest  Dutch  fashion, 
with  figures  of  little  pursy  Cupids  with  periwigs  on 
their  heads,  and  bearing  in  their  hands  garlands  of 
flowers,  the  like  of  which  are  not  to  be  found  in  any 
book  of  botany ;  being  the  matchless  flowers  which 
flourished  in  the  golden  age,  and  exist  no  longer, 
unless  it  be  in  the  imaginations  of  ingenious  carvers 
of  wood  and  discolourers  of  canvas. 

Thus  rarely  decorated,  in  style  befitting  the  state 
of  the  puissant  potentate  of  the  Manhattoes,  did  the 
galley  of  Peter  Stuyvesant  launch  forth  upon  the 
bosom  of  the  lordly  Hudson  ;  which,  as  it  rolled  its 
broad  waves  to  the  ocean,  seemed  to  pause  for  a 
while,  and  swell  with  pride,  as  if  conscious  of  the 
illustrious  burthen  it  sustained. 

But  trust  me,  gentlefolk,  far  other  was  the  scene 
presented  to  the  contemplation  of  the  crew,  from 
that  which  may  be  witnessed  at  this  degenerate  day. 
Wildness  and  savage  majesty  reigned  on  the  borders 
of  this  mighty  river — the  hand  of  cultivation  had  not 
as  yet  laid  down  the  dark  forests,  and  tamed  the 
features  of  the  landscape — nor  had  the  frequent  sail 
of  commerce  yet  broken  in  upon  the  profound  and 
awful  solitude  of  ages.  Here  and  there  might  be 
seen  a  rude  wigwam  perched  among  the  cliffs  of  the 
mountains,  with  its  curling  column  of  smoke  mount- 
ing in  the  transparent  atmosphere — but  so  loftily  sit- 
uated, that  the  whoopings  of  the  savage  children, 
gambolling  on  the  margin  of  the  dizzy  heights,  fell 
almost  as  faintly  on  the  ear,  as  do  the  notes  of  the 
lark,  when  lost  in  the  azure  vault  of  heaven.  Now 
and  then,  from  the  beetling  brow  of  some  rocky 
precipice,  the  wild  deer  would  look  timidly  down 
upon  the  splendid  pageant  as  it  passed  below  ;  and 
then,  tossing  his  branching  antlers  in  the  air,  would 
bound  away  into  the  thickets  of  the  forest. 

Through  such  scenes  did  the  stately  vessel  of  Peter 
Stuyvesant  pass.  Now  did  they  skirt  the  bases  of 
the  rocky  heights  of  Jersey,  which  spring  up  like 
everlasting  walls,  reaching  from  the  waves  unto  the 
heavens  ;  and  were  fashioned,  if  traditions  may  be 
believed,  in  times  long  past,  by  the  mighty  spirit 
Manetho,  to  protect  his  favourite  abodes  from  the 
unhallowed  eyes  of  mortals.  Now  did  they  career  it 
gayly  across  the  vast  expanse  of  Tappan  Bay,  whose 
wide  extended  shores  present  a  vast  variety  of  delec- 
table scenery — here  the  bold  promontory,  crowned 
with  embowering  trees,  advancing  into  the  bay- 
there  the  long  woodland  slope,  sweeping  up  from  th' 


612 


WORKS   OF    WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


shore  in  rich  luxuriance,  and  terminating  in  the  up- 
land precipice — while  at  a  distance  a  long  waving 
line  of  rocky  heights  threw  their  gigantic  shades 
across  the  water.  Now  would  they  pass  where  some 
modest  little  interval,  opening  among  these  stupen- 
dous scenes,  yet  retreating  as  it  were  for  protection 
into  the  embraces  of  the  neighbouring  mountains, 
displayed  a  rural  paradise,  fraught  with  sweet  and 
pastoral  beauties  ;  the  velvet-tufted  lawn — the  bushy 
copse — the  tinkling  rivulet,  stealing  through  the  fresh 
and  vivid  verdure — on  whose  banks  was  situated 
some  little  Indian  village,  or,  peradventure,  the  rude 
cabin  of  some  solitary  hunter. 

The  diflferent  periods  of  the  revolving  day  seemed 
each,  with  cunning  magic,  to  diffuse  a  different  charm 
over  the  scene.  Now  would  the  jovial  sun  break 
gloriously  from  the  east,  blazing  from  the  summits 
of  the  hills,  and  sparkling  the  landscape  with  a  thou- 
sand dewy  gems ;  while  along  the  borders  of  the 
river  were  seen  heavy  masses  of  mist,  which,  like 
midnight  caitiffs,  disturbed  at  his  approach,  made  a 
sluggish  retreat,  rolling  in  sullen  reluctance  up  the 
mountains.  At  such  times,  all  was  brightness  and 
life  and  gayety — the  atmosphere  seemed  of  an  in- 
describable pureness  and  transparency — the  birds 
broke  forth  in  wanton  madrigals,  and  the  freshening 
breezes  wafted  the  vessel  merrily  on  her  course. 
But  when  the  sun  sunk  amid  a  flood  of  glory  in  the 
west,  mantling  the  heavens  and  the  earth  with  a 
thousand  gorgeous  dyes — then  all  was  calm,  and  si- 
lent, and  magnificent.  The  late  swelling  sail  hung 
lifelessly  against  the  mast — the  seamen  with  folded 
arms  leaned  against  the  shrouds,  lost  in  that  invol- 
untary musing  which  the  sober  grandeur  of  nature 
commands  in  the  rudest  of  her  children.  The  vast 
bosom  of  the  Hudson  was  like  an  unruffled  mirror, 
reflecting  the  golden  splendour  of  the  heavens,  ex- 
cepting that  now  and  then  a  bark  canoe  would  steal 
across  its  surface,  filled  with  painted  savages,  whose 
gay  feathers  glared  brightly,  as  perchance  a  lingering 
ray  of  the  setting  sun  gleamed  upon  them  from  the 
western  mountains. 

But  when  the  hour  of  twilight  spread  its  magic 
mists  around,  then  did  the  face  of  nature  assume  a 
thousand  fugitive  charms,  which,  to  the  worthy 
heart  that  seeks  enjoyment  in  the  glorious  works  of 
its  Maker,  are  inexpressibly  captivating.  The  mel- 
low dubious  light  that  prevailed,  just  served  to  tinge 
with  illusive  colours  the  softened  features  of  the 
scenery.  The  deceived  but  delighted  eye  sought 
vainly  to  discern,  in  the  broad  masses  of  shade,  the 
separating  line  between  the  land  and  water;  or  to 
distinguish  the  fading  objects  that  seemed  sinking 
into  chaos.  Now  did  the  busy  fancy  supply  the  fee- 
bleness of  vision,  producing  with  industrious  craft  a 
fairy  creation  of  her  own.  Under  her  plastic  wand 
the  barren  rocks  fiowned  upon  the  watery  waste,  in 
the  semblance  of  lofty  towers  and  high  embattled 
castles — trees  assumed  the  direful  forms  of  mighty 
giants,  and  the  inaccessible  summits  of  the  mountains 
seemed  peopled  with  a  thousand  shadowy  beings. 

Now  broke  forth  from  the  shores  the  notes  of  an 
innumerable  variety  of  insects,  which  filled  the  air 
with  a  strange  but  not  inharmonious  concert — while 
ever  and  anon  was  heard  the  melancholy  plaint  of 
the  whip-poor-will,  who,  perched  on  some  lone  tree, 
wearied  the  ear  of  night  with  his  incessant  moanings. 
The  mind,  soothed  into  a  hallowed  melancholy,  lis- 
tened with  pensive  stillness  to  catch  and  distinguish 
each  sound  that  vaguely  echoed  from  the  shore — now 
and  then  startled  perchance  by  the  whoop  of  some 
straggling  savage,  or  the  dreary  howl  of  a  wolf,  steal- 
ing forth  upon  liis  nightly  prowlings. 

Thus  happily  did  they  pursue  their  course,  until 
they  entered  upon  thosis  awful  defiles  denominated 


The  Highlands,  where  it  would  seem  that  the  gi-' 
gantic  Titans  had  erst  waged  their  impious  war  with 
heaven,  piling  up  cliffs  on  clilTs,  and  hurling  vast 
masses  of  rock  in  wild  confusion.  But  in  sooth,  very 
different  is  the  history  of  these  cloud-capped  mount- 
ains.— These  in  ancient  days,  before  the  Hudson 
poured  his  waters  from  the  lakes,  formed  one  vast 
prison,  within  whose  rocky  bosom  the  omnipotent 
Manetho  confined  the  rebellious  spirits  who  repined 
at  his  control.  Here,  bound  in  adamantine  chains, 
or  jammed  in  rifted  pines,  or  crushed  by  ponderous 
rocks,  they  groaned  for  many  an  age.  At  length  the 
conquering  Hudson,  in  his  irresistible  career  towards 
the  ocean,  burst  open  their  prison-house,  rolling  his 
tide  triumphantly  through  its  stupendous  ruins. 

Still,  however,  do  many  of  them  lurk  about  their 
old  abodes ;  and  these  it  is,  according  to  venerable 
legends,  that  cause  the  echoes  which  resound  through- 
out these  awful  solitudes ;  which  are  nothing  but 
their  angry  clamours,  when  any  noise  disturbs  the 
profoundness  of  their  repose.  For  when  the  elements 
are  agitated  by  tempest,  when  the  winds  are  up  and 
the  thunder  rolls,  then  horrible  is  the  yelling  and 
howling  of  these  troubled  spirits,  making  the  mount- 
ains to  rebellow  with  their  hideous  uproar ;  for  at 
such  times,  it  is  said,  they  think  the  great  Manetho 
is  returning  once  more  to  plunge  them  in  gloomy 
caverns,  and  renew  their  intolerable  captivity. 

But  all  these  fair  and  glorious  scenes  were  lost 
upon  the  gallant  Stuyves.ant ;  nought  occupied  his 
mind  but  thoughts  of  iron  war,  and  proud  anticipa- 
tions of  hardy  deeds  of  arms.  Neither  did  his  honest 
crew  trouble  their  vacant  heads  with  any  romantic 
speculations  of  the  kind.  The  pilot  at  the  helm 
quietly  smoked  his  pipe,  thinking  of  nothing  either 
past,  present,  or  to  come — those  of  his  comrades  who 
were  not  industriously  snoring  under  the  hatches  were 
listening  with  open  mouths  to  Antony  Van  Corlear  ; 
who,  seated  on  the  windlass,  was  relating  to  them 
the  marvellous  history  of  those  myriads  of  fire-fiies 
that  sparkled  like  gems  and  spangles  upon  the  dusky 
robe  of  night.  These,  according  to  tradition,  were 
originally  a  race  of  pestilent  sempiternous  beldames, 
who  peopled  these  parts  long  before  the  memory  of 
man ;  being  of  that  abominated  race  emphatically 
called  brimstones ;  and  who,  for  their  innuinerable 
sins  against  the  children  of  men,  and  to  furnish  an 
awful  waniing  to  the  beauteous  sex,  were  doomed 
to  infest  the  earth  in  the  shape  of  these  threatening 
and  terrible  little  bugs ;  enduring  the  internal  tor- 
ments of  that  fire,  which  they  formerly  carried  in 
their  hearts,  and  breathed  forth  in  their  words  ;  but 
now  are  sentenced  to  bear  about  for  ever — in  their 
tails. 

And  now  am  I  going  to  tell  a  fact,  which  I  doubt 
much  my  readers  will  hesitate  to  believe  ;  but  if  they 
do,  they  are  welcome  not  to  believe  a  word  in  this 
whole  history,  for  nothing  which  it  contains  is  more 
true.  It  must  be  known  then  that  the  nose  of  Antony 
the  trumpeter  was  of  a  very  lusty  size,  strutting 
boldly  from  his  countenance  like  a  mountain  of  Gol- 
conda  ;  being  sumptuously  bedecked  with  rubies  and 
other  precious  stones — the  true  regalia  of  a  king  of 
good  fellows,  which  jolly  Bacchus  grants  to  all  who 
bouse  it  heartily  at  the  flagon.  Now  thus  it  happened, 
that  bright  and  early  in  the  morning,  the  good  Antony 
having  washed  his  burly  visage,  was  leaning  over  the 
quarter-railing  of  the  galley,  contemplating  it  in  the 
glassy  wave  below — just  at  this  moment,  the  illustri- 
ous sun,  breaking  in  all  his  splendour  from  behind 
one  of  the  high  bluffs  of  the  Highlands,  did  dart  one 
of  his  most  potent  beams  full  upon  the  refulgent  nose 
of  the  souncler  of  brass — the  reflection  of  which  shot 
straightway  down,  hissing  hot,  into  the  water,  and 
killed  a  mighty  sturgeon  that  was  sporting  beside  the 


A    HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


G13 


vessel !  This  huge  monster  being  with  infinite  labour 
hoisted  on  board,  furnished  a  luxurious  repast  to  all 
the  crew,  being  accounted  of  excellent  flavour,  ex- 
cepting about  the  wound,  where  it  smacked  a  little 
of  brimstone — and  this,  on  my  veracity,  was  the  first 
time  that  ever  sturgeon  was  eaten  in  these  parts  by 
Christian  people.* 

When  this  astonishing  miracle  came  to  be  made 
known  to  Peter  Stuyvesant,  and  that  he  tasted  of  the 
unknown  fish,  he,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  marvelled 
exceedingly ;  and  as  a  monument  thereof,  he  gave 
the  name  of  Antony's  Nose  to  a  stout  promontory  in 
the  neighbourhood — and  it  has  continued  to  be  called 
Antony's  Nose  ever  since  that  time. 

But  hold — Whither  am  I  wandering  ?^By  the 
mass,  if  1  attempt  to  accompany  the  good  Peter 
Stuyvesant  on  this  voyage,  I  shall  never  make  an 
end,  for  never  was  there  a  voyage  so  fraught  with 
marvellous  incidents,  nor  a  river  so  abounding  with 
transcendent  beauties,  worthy  of  being  severally  re- 
corded. Even  now  I  have  it  on  the  point  of  my  pen 
to  relate,  how  his  crew  were  most  horribly  frightened, 
on  going  on  shore  above  the  Highlands,  by  a  gang  of 
merry,  roistering  devils,  frisking  and  curveting  on  a 
huge  flat  rock,  which  projected  into  the  river — and 
which  is  called  the  Diiyvel's  Dans-Kamer  to  this 
very  day. — But  no  !  Diedrich  Knickerbocker — it  be- 
comes thee  not  to  idle  thus  in  thy  historic  wayfaring. 

Recollect  that  while  dwelling  with  the  fond  gar- 
rulity of  age  over  these  fairy  scenes,  endeared  to  thee 
by  the  recollections  of  thy  youth,  and  the  charms  of 
a  thousand  legendary  tales  which  beguiled  the  simple 
ear  of  thy  childhood  ;  recollect  that  thou  art  trifling 
with  those  fleeting  moments  which  should  be  devo- 
ted to  loftier  themes. — Is  not  Time — relentless  Time  ! 
— shaking,  with  palsied  hand,  his  almost  exhausted 
hour-glass  before  thee  ? — hasten  then  to  pursue  thy 
weary  task,  lest  the  last  sands  be  run,  ere  thou  hast 
finished  thy  history  of  the  Manhattoes. 

Let  us  tlien  commit  the  dauntless  Peter,  his  brave 
galley,  and  his  loyal  crew,  to  the  protection  of  the 
blessed  St.  Nicholas ;  who,  I  have  no  doubt,  will 
prosper  him  in  his  voyage,  while  we  await  his  return 
at  the  great  city  of  New-Amsterdam. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DESCRIBING  THE  POWERFUL  ARMY  THAT  AS- 
SEMBLED AT  THE  CITY  OF  NEW-AMSTERDAM 
— TOGETHER  WITH  THE  INTERVIEW  BETWEEN 
PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG  AND  GENERAL 
VAN  POFFENBURGH,  AND  PETER'S  SENTIMENTS 
TOUCHING   UNFORTUNATE  GREAT  MEN. 

While  thus  the  enterprising  Peter  was  coasting, 
with  flowing  sail,  up  the  shores  of  the  lordly  Hudson, 
and  arousing  all  the  phlegmatic  little  Dutch  settle- 
ments upon  its  borders,  a  great  and  puissant  con- 
course of  warriors  was  assembling  at  the  city  of  New- 
Amsterdam.  And  here  that  invaluable  fragment  of 
antiquity,  the  Stuyvesant  manuscript,  is  more  than 
commonly  particular;  by  which  means  I  am  enabled 
to  record  the  illustrious  host  that  encamped  itself  in 
the  public  square  in  front  of  the  fort,  at  present  de- 
nominated the  Bowling-Green. 

In  the  centre,  then,  was  pitched  the  tent  of  the 
men  of  battle  of  the  Manhattoes,  who  being  the  in- 
mates of  the  metropolis,  composed  the  life-guards  of 
the  governor.  These  were  commanded  by  the  valiant 

•  The  learned  Hans  Megapolen-;!?,  treating  of  the  country  about 
Albany,  in  a  letter  which  was  written  some  time  after  the  settle- 
ment thereof,  says  ;  "  There  is  in  the  river  great  plenty  of  Sturgeon, 
which  we  Christians  do  not  make  use  of;  but  the  Indians  eat  them 
jreedilie." 


Stoffel  Brinkerhoff,  who  whilom  had  acquired  such 
immortal  fame  at  Oyster  Bay — they  displayed  as  a 
standard,  a  beaver  rampant  on  a  field  of  orange ; 
being  the  arms  of  the  province,  and  denoting  the 
persevering  industry  and  the  amphibious  origin  of 
the  Nederlanders.* 

On  their  right  hand  might  be  seen  the  vassals  of 
that  renowned  Mynheer,  Michael  Paw.t  who  lorded 
it  over  the  fair  regions  of  ancient  Pavonia,  and  the 
lands  away  south,  even  unto  the  Navesink  mount- 
ains,! ^^'^  was  moreover  patroon  of  Gibbet  Island. 
His  standard  was  borne  by  his  trusty  squire,  Cor- 
nelius Van  Vorst ;  consisting  of  a  huge  oyster  re- 
cumbent upon  a  sea-green  field  ;  being  the  armorial 
bearings  of  his  favourite  metropolis,  Communipaw. 
He  brought  to  the  camp  a  stout  force  of  warriors, 
heavily  armed,  being  each  clad  in  ten  pair  of  linsey- 
woolsey  breeches,  and  overshadowed  hy  broad-brim- 
med beavers,  with  short  pipes  twisted  in  their  hat- 
bands. These  were  the  men  who  vegetated  in  the 
mud  along  the  shores  of  Pavonia  ;  being  of  the  race 
of  genuine  copperheads,  and  were  fabled  to  have 
sprung  from  oysters. 

At  a  little  distance  were  encamped  the  tribe  of 
warriors  who  came  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Hell- 
Gate.  These  were  commanded  by  the  Suy  Dams, 
and  the  Van  Dams,  incontinent  hard  swearers,  as 
their  names  betoken — they  were  terrible-looking  fel- 
lows, clad  in  broad-skirted  gaberdines,  of  that  curi- 
ous coloured  cloth  called  thunder  and  liglitning — 
and  bore  as  a  standard  three  Devil's-damipg-needles, 
volant,  in  a  flame-coloured  field. 

Hard  by  was  the  tent  of  the  men  of  battle  from 
the  marshy  borders  of  the  Waale-Boght§  and  the 
country  thereabouts — these  were  of  a  sour  aspect  by 
reason  that  they  lived  on  crabs,  which  abound  in 
these  parts.  They  were  the  first  institutors  of  that 
honourable  order  of  knighthood,  called  Fly  market 
shirks,  and,  if  tradition  speak  true,  did  likewise  in- 
troduce the  far-famed  step  in  dancing,  called  "  double 
trouble."  They  were  commanded  by  the  fearless 
Jacobus  Varra  Vanger,  and  had  moreover  a  jolly 
band  of  Breuckelen||  ferry-men,  who  performed  a 
brave  concerto  on  conch-shells. 

But  I  refrain  from  pursuing  this  minute  descrip- 
tion, which  goes  on  to  describe  the  warriors  of 
Bloemendael,  and  Wee-Jiawk,  and  Hoboken,  and 
sundry  other  places,  well  known  in  history  and  song 
— for  now  does  the  sound  of  martial  music  alarm  the 
people  of  New-Amsterdam,  sounding  afar  from  be- 
yond the  walls  of  the  city.  But  this  alarm  was  in  a 
little  while  relieved ;  for  lo,  from  the  midst  of  a  vast 
cloud  of  dust,  they  recognised  the  brimstone-coloured 
breeches,  and  splendid  silver  leg,  of  Peter  Stuyvesant, 
glaring  in  the  sunbeams ;  and  beheld  him  approach- 
ing at  the  head  of  a  formidable  armv,  which  he  had 
mustered  along  the  banks  of  the  Hudson.  And  here 
the  excellent,  but  anonymous  writer  of  the  Stuyves- 
ant manuscript,  breaks  out  into  a  brave  and  glorious 
description  of  the  forces,  as  they  defiled  through  the 


*  This  was  likewise  the  great  seal  of  the  New-Netherlands,  as 
may  still  be  seen  in  ancient  records. 

t  Besides  what  is  related  in  the  Stuyvesant  MS.,  I  have  found 
mention  made  of  this  illustrious  Patroon  in  another  manuscript, 
which  says :  "  De  Heer  (or  the  squire)  Michael  Paw.  a  Dutch  sub- 
ject, about  loth  Aug.,  1630,  by  deed  purchased  Staten  Island. 
N.  B.  The  same  Michael  raw  had  what  the  Dutch  call  a  colonic 
at  Pavonia,  on  the  Jersey  shore,  opposite  New-York,  and  his  over- 
seer,  in  16  6,  was  named  Corns,  Van  Voist — a  person  of  the  same 
name  in  1760  owned  Powles  Hook,  and  a  large  farm  at  Pavonia, 
and  is  a  lineal  descendant  from  Van  Vorst." 

J  So  called  from  the  Navesink  tiibe  of  Indians  that  inhabited 
these  parts— at  present  they  are  errooeously  denominated  the 
Neversink,  or  Neversunk  mountains. 

{Since  corrupted  into  the  Wallabouti  the  bay  where  the  Navy- 
Yard  is  situated, 
I  Now  spelt  Brooklyn. 


614 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


principal  gate  of  the  city,  that  stood  by  the  head  of 
Wall-street. 

First  of  all  came  the  Van  Bummels,  who  inhabit 
the  pleasant  borders  of  the  Bronx — these  were  short 
fat  men,  wearing  exceeding  large  trunk  breeches, 
and  are  renowned  for  feats  of  the  trencher — they 
were  the  tirst  inventors  of  suppavvn  or  mush-and- 
milk. — Close  in  their  rear  marched  the  Van  Vlotens, 
of  Kaatskill,  most'  horrible  quaffers  of  new  cider,  and 
arrant  braggarts  in  their  liquor. — After  them  came 
the  Van  Pelts,  of  Groodt  Esopus,  de.Kterous  horse- 
men, mounted  upon  goodly  switch-tailed  steeds  of 
the  fisopus  breed — these  were  mighty  hunters  of 
minks  and  musk-rats,  whence  came  the  word  Peltry. 
— Then  the  Van  Nests,  of  Kinderhook,  valiant  rob- 
bers of  birds'  nests,  as  their  name  denotes  ;  to  these, 
if  report  may  be  believed,  are  we  indebted  for  the  in- 
vention of  slap-jacks,  or  buckwheat  cakes. — Then 
the  Van  Higginbottoms,  of  Wapping's  creek  ;  these 
came  armed  with  ferules  and  birchen  rods,  being  a 
race  of  schoolmasters,  who  first  discovered  the  mar- 
vellous sympathy  between  the  seat  of  honour  and 
the  seat  of  intellect,  and  that  the  shortest  way  to  get 
knowledge  into  the  head,  was  to  hammer  it  into  the 
bottom. — Then  the  Van  GroUs,  of  Antony's  Nose, 
who  carried  their  liquor  in  fair  round  little  pottles, 
by  reason  they  could  not  bouse  it  out  of  their  can- 
teens, having  such  rare  long  noses. — Then  the  Gar- 
deniers,  of  Hudson  and  thereabouts,  distinguished 
by  many  triumphant  feats,  such  as  robbing  water- 
melon patches,  smoking  rabbits  out  of  their  holes, 
and  the  like  ;  and  by  being  great  lovers  of  roasted 
pig's  tails  ;  these  were  the  ancestors  of  the  renowned 
congressman  of  that  name. — Then  the  Van  Hoesens, 
of  Sing-Sing,  great  choristers  and  players  upon  the 
jews-harp  ;  these  marched  two  and  two,  singing  the 
great  song  of  St.  Nicholas. — Then  the  Couenhovens, 
of  Sleepy  Hollow  ;  these  gave  birth  to  a  jolly  race  of 
publicans,  who  first  discovered  the  magic  artifice  of 
conjuring  a  quart  of  wine  into  a  pint  bottle. — Then 
the  Van  Kortlandts,  who  lived  on  the  wild  banks  of 
the  Croton,  and  were  great  killers  of  wild  ducks,  be- 
ing much  spoken  of  ibr  their  skill  in  shooting  with 
the  long  bow. — Then  the  Van  Bunschotens,  of  Nyack 
and  Kakiat,  who  were  the  first  that  did  ever  kick 
with  the  left  foot ;  they  were  gallant  bush-whackers 
and  hunters  of  raccoons  by  moonlight. — Then  the 
Van  Winkles,  of  Haerlem,  potent  suckers  of  eggs, 
and  noted  for  running  of  horses,  and  running  up  of 
scores  at  taverns  ;  they  were  the  first  that  ever 
.winked  with  both  eyes  at  once. — Lastly  came  the 
Knickerbockers,  of  the  great  town  of  Schaghti- 
coke,  where  the  folk  lay  stones  upon  the  houses  in 
windy  weather,  lest  they  should  be  blown  away. 
These  derive  their  name,  as  some  say,  from  Knicker, 
to  shake,  and  Bekcr,  a  goblet,  indicating  thereby 
that  they  were  sturdy  toss-pots  of  yore ;  but,  in 
truth,  it  was  derived  from  Knicker,  to  nod,  and 
Botken,  books  ;  plainly  meaning  that  they  were  great 
nodders  or  dozers  over  books — from  them  did  de- 
scend the  writer  of  this  history. 

Such  was  the  legion  of  sturdy  bush-beaters  that 
poured  in  at  the  grand  gate  of  New-Amsterdam  ;  the 
Stuyvesant  manuscript  indeed  speaks  of  many  more, 
whose  names  I  omit  to  mention,  seeing  that  it  be- 
hoves me  to  hasten  to  matters  of  greater  moment. 
Nothing  could  surpass  the  joy  and  martial  pride  of 
the  lion-hearted  Peter,  as  he  reviewed  this  mighty 
host  of  warriors,  and  he  determined  no  longer  to  de- 
fer the  gratification  of  his  much-wished-for  revenge 
upon  the  scoundrel  Swedes  at  Fort  Casimir. 

But  before  i  hasten  to  record  those  unmatchable 
events,  which  will  be  found  in  the  sequel  of  this 
faithful  history,  let  me  pause  to  notice  the  fate  of 
Jacobus   Van    Poffenburgh,   the  discomfited  com- 


mander-in-chief of  the  armies  of  the  New-Nether- 
lands. Such  is  the  inherent  uncharitableness  of  hu- 
man nature,  that  scarcely  did  the  news  become 
public  of  his  deplorable  discomfiture  at  Fort  Casi- 
mir, than  a  thousand  scurvy  rumours  were  set  afloat 
in  New-Amsterdam,  wherein  it  was  insinuated,  that 
he  had  in  reality  a  treacherous  understanding  with 
the  Swedish  commander ;  that  he  had  long  been  in 
the  practice  of  privately  communicating  with  the 
Swedes ;  together  with  divers  hints  about  "  secret 
service  money  :  "—to  all  which  deadly  charges  I  do 
not  give  a  jot  more  credit  than  I  think  they  deserve. 

Certain  it  is,  that  the  general  vindicated  his  char- 
acter by  the  most  vehement  oaths  and  protestations 
and  put  every  man  out  of  the  ranks  of  honour  who 
dared  to  doubt  liis  integrity.  Moreover,  on  returning 
to  New-Amsterdam,  he  paraded  up  and  down  the 
streets  with  a  crew  of  hard  swearers  at  his  heels — 
sturdy  bottle  companions,  whom  he  gorged  and  fat- 
tened, and  who  were  ready  to  bolster  him  through 
all  the  courts  of  justice — -heroes  of  his  own  kidney, 
fierce-whiskered,  broad-shouldered,  colbrand-looking 
swaggerers— not  one  of  whom  but  looked  as  though 
he  could  eat  up  an  ox,  and  pick  his  teeth  with  the 
horns.  These  life-guard  men  quarrelled  all  this  quar- 
rels, were  ready  to  fight  all  his  battles,  and  scowled 
at  every  man  that  turned  up  his  nose  at  the  general, 
as  though  they  would  devour  him  alive.  Their  con- 
versation was  interspersed  with  oaths  like  minute- 
guns,  and  every  bombastic  rodomontade  was  rounded 
off  by  a  thundering  execration,  like  a  patriotic  toast 
honoured  with  a  discharge  of  artillery. 

All  these  valorous  vapourings  had  a  considerable 
effect  in  convincing  certain  profound  sages,  many  of 
whom  began  to  think  the  general  a  hero  of  unutter- 
able loftiness  and  magnanimity  of  soul,  particularly 
as  he  was  continually  protesting  <;«  the  honour  of  a 
soldier — a  marvellously  high-sounding  asseveration. 
Nay,  one  of  the  members  of  the  council  went  so  far 
as  to  propose  they  should  immortalize  him  by  an 
imperishable  statue  of  plaster  of  Paris. 

But  the  vigilant  Peter  the  Headstrong  was  not 
thus  to  be  deceived. — Sending  privately  for  the  com- 
mander-in-chief of  all  the  armies,  and  having  heard 
all  his  story,  garnished  with  the  customary  pious 
oaths,  protestations,  and  ejaculations  —  "  Harkee, 
comrade,"  cried  he,  "  though  by  your  own  account 
you  are  the  most  brave,  upright,  and  honourable  man 
in  the  whole  province,  yet  do  you  lie  under  the  mis- 
fortune of  being  damnably  traduced,  and  immeasur- 
ably despised.  Now,  though  it  is  certainly  hard  to 
punish  a  man  for  his  misfortunes,  and  though  it  is 
very  possible  you  are  totally  innocent  of  the  crimes 
laid  to  your  charge,  yet  as  Heaven,  at  present,  doubt- 
less for  some  wise  purpose,  sees  fit  to  withhold  all 
proofs  of  your  innocence,  far  be  it  from  me  to  coun- 
teract its  sovereign  will.  Besides,  I  cannot  consent 
to  venture  my  armies  with  a  commander  whom  they 
despise,  or  to  trust  the  welfare  of  my  people  to  a 
champion  whom  they  distrust.  Retire,  therefore,  my 
friend,  from  the  irksoine  toils  and  cares  of  jjublic 
life,  with  this  comforting  reflection — that  if  guilty, 
you  are  but  enjoying  your  just  reward — and  if  inno- 
cent, you  are  not  the  first  great  and  good  man  who 
has  most  wrongfully  been  slandered  and  maltreated 
in  this  wicked  world — doubtless  to  be  better  treated 
in  a  better  world,  where  there  shall  be  neither  error, 
calumny,  nor  persecution.  In  the  meantime  let  me 
never  see  your  face  again,  for  I  have  a  horrible  an- 
tipathy to  the  countenances  of  unfortunate  great 
men  like  yourself." 


A   HISTORY    OF   NEW-YORK. 


61£ 


CHAPTER  V. 

[N  WHICH  THE  AUTHOR  DISCOURSES  VERY  IN- 
GENUOUSLY OF  HIMSELF  — AFTER  WHICH  IS  TO 
BE  FOUND  MUCH  INTERESTING  HISTORY  ABOUT 
PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG  AND  HIS  FOLLOWERS. 

As  my  readers  and  myself  are  about  entering  on 
as  many  perils  as  ever  a  confederacy  of  meddlesome 
knights-errant  wilfully  ran  their  heads  into,  it  is  meet 
that,  like  those  hardy  adventurers,  we  should  join 
hands,  bury  all  differences,  and  swear  to  stand  by 
one  another,  in  weal  or  woe,  to  the  end  of  the  enter- 
prise. My  readers  must  doubtless  perceive  how 
completely  I  have  altered  my  tone  and  deportment, 
since  we  first  set  out  together.  1  warrant  they  then 
thought  me  a  crabbed,  cynical,  impertinent  little  son 
of  a  Dutchman ;  for  I  scarcely  ever  gave  them  a 
civil  word,  nor  so  much  as  touched  my  beaver,  when 
I  had  occasion  to  address  them.  But  as  we  jogged 
along  together,  in  the  high-road  of  my  history,  I 
gradually  began  to  relax,  to  grow  more  courteous, 
and  occasionally  to  enter  into  familiar  discourse,  un- 
til at  length  I  came  to  conceive  a  most  social,  com- 
panionable, kind  regard  for  them.  This  is  just  my 
way — 1  am  always  a  little  cold  and  reserved  at  first, 
particularly  to  people  whom  I  neither  know  nor  care 
for,  and  am  only  to  be  completely  won  by  long  inti- 
macy. 

Besides,  why  should  I  have  been  sociable  to  the 
crowd  of  how-d'ye-do  acquaintances  that  flocked 
around  me  at  my  first  appearance?  Many  were 
merely  attracted  by  a  new  face  ;  and  having  stared 
me  full  in  the  title-page,  walked  off  without  saying  a 
word  ;  while  others  lingered  yawningly  through  the 
preface,  and  having  gratified  their  short-lived  curios- 
ity, soon  dropped  off  one  by  one.  But  more  especi- 
ally to  try  their  mettle,  I  had  recourse  to  an  expedi- 
ent, similar  to  one  which  we  are  told  was  used  by 
that  peerless  flower  of  chivalry.  King  Arthur;  who, 
before  he  admitted  any  knight  to  his  intimacy,  first 
required  that  he  should  show  himself  superior  to 
danger  or  hardships,  by  encountering  unheard-of 
mishaps,  slaying  some  dozen  giants,  vanquishing 
wicked  enchanters,  not  to  say  a  word  of  dwarfs,  hip- 
pogriffs,  and  fiery  dragons.  On  a  similar  principle, 
1  cunningly  led  my  readers,  at  the  first  sally,  into 
two  or  three  knotty  chapters,  where  they  were  most 
vvofully  belaboured  and  buffeted  by  a  host  of  pagan 
philosophers  and  infidel  writers.  Though  naturally 
a  very  grave  man,  yet  could  I  scarce  refrain  from 
smiling  outright  at  seeing  the  utter  confusion  and 
dismay  of  my  valiant  cavaliers — some  dropped  down 
dead  (asleep)  on  the  field;  others  threw  down  my 
book  in  the  middle  of  the  first  chapter,  took  to  their 
heels,  and  never  ceased  scampering  until  they  had 
fairly  run  it  out  of  sight;  when  they  stopped  to  take 
breath,  to  tell  their  friends  what  troubles  they  had 
undergone,  and  to  warn  all  others  from  venturing  on 
so  thankless  an  expedition.  Every  page  thinned  my 
ranks  more  and  more  ;  and  of  the  vast  multitude 
that  first  set  out,  but  a  comparatively  few  made  shift 
to  survive,  in  exceedingly  battered  condition,  through 
the  five  introductory  chapters. 

What,  then  !  would  you  have  had  me  take  such 
sunshine,  faint-hearted  recreants  to  my  bosom  at 
our  first  acquaintance  ?  No — no ;  I  reserved  my 
Iriendship  for  those  who  deserved  it,  for  those  who 
undai.;ntedly  bore  me  company,  in  despite  of  difficul- 
ties, d  ingers,  and  fatigues.  And  now,  as  to  those 
who  adhere  to  me  at  present,  I  take  them  affection- 
ately by  the  hand.  —  Worthy  and  thrice-beloved 
readers  !  brave  and  well-tried  comrades  !  who  ha\e 
faithfully  followed  my  footsteps  through  all  my  wan- 
derings— I  salute  you  from  my  heart — I  pledge  my- 
sell  to  stand  by  you  to  the  last ;  and  to  conduct  you 


(so  Heaven  speed  this  trusty  weapon  which  I  now 
hold  between  my  fingers)  triumphantly  to  the  end  of 
this  our  stupendous  undertaking. 

But,  hark !  while  we  are  thus  talking,  the  city  of 
New-Amsterdam  is  in  a  bustle.  The  host  of  war- 
riors encamped  in  the  Bowling-Green  are  striking 
their  tents ;  the  brazen  trumpet  of  Antony  Van  Cor- 
lear  makes  the  welkin  to  resound  with  portentous 
clangour — the  drums  beat — the  standards  of  the 
Manhattoes,  of  Hell-Gate,  and  of  Michael  Paw, 
wave  proudly  in  the  air.  And  now  behold  where 
the  mariners  are  busily  employed  hoisting  the  sails  of 
yon  topsail  schooner,  and  those  clump-built  sloops, 
which  are  to  waft  the  army  of  the  Nederlanders  to 
gather  immortal  honours  on  the  Delaware  ! 

The  entire  population  of  the  city,  man,  woman, 
and  child,  turned  out  to  behold  the  chivalry  of  New- 
Amsterdam,  as  it  paraded  the  streets  previous  to 
embarkation.  Many  a  handkerchief  was  waved  out 
at  the  windows  ;  many  a  fair  nose  was  blown  in 
melodious  sorrow,  on  the  mournful  occasion.  The 
grief  of  the  fair  dames  and  beauteous  damsels  of 
Granada  could  not  have  been  more  vociferous  on 
the  banishment  of  the  gallant  tribe  of  Abencer- 
rages,  than  was  that  of  the  kind-hearted  fair  ones 
of  New-Amsterdam  on  the  departure  of  their  in- 
trepid warriors.  Every  love-sick  maiden  fondly 
crammed  the  pockets  of  her  hero  with  gingerbread 
and  doughnuts — many  a  copper  ring  was  exchanged 
and  crooked  sixpence  broken,  in  pledge  of  eternal 
constancy — and  there  remain  extant  to  this  day  some 
love-verses  written  on  that  occasion,  sufficiently 
crabbed  and  incomprehensible  to  confound  the 
whole  universe. 

But  it  was  a  moving  sight  to  see  the  buxom 
lasses,  how  they  hung  about  the  doughty  Antony 
Van  Corlear — for  he  was  a  jolly,  rosy-faced,  lusty 
bachelor,  fond  of  his  joke,  and  withal  a  desperate 
rogue  among  the  women.  Fain  would  they  have 
kept  him  to  comfort  them  while  the  army  was  away ; 
for  besides  what  I  have  said  of  him,  it  is  no  more 
than  justice  to  add,  that  he  was  a  kind-hearted  soul, 
noted  for  his  benevolent  attentions  in  comforting 
disconsolate  wives  during  the  absence  of  their  hus- 
bands— and  this  made  him  to  be  very  much  regarded 
by  the  honest  burghers  of  the  city.  But  nothing 
could  keep  the  valiant  Antony  from  following  the 
heels  of  the  old  governor,  whom  he  loved  as  he  did 
his  very  soul — so,  embracing  all  the  young  vrouws, 
and  giving  every  one  of  them  that  had  good  teeth 
and  rosy  lips,  a  dozen  hearty  smacks,  he  departed 
loaded  with  their  kind  wishes. 

Nor  was  the  departure  of  the  gallant  Peter  among 
the  least  causes  of  public  distress.  Though  the  old 
governor  was  by  no  means  indulgent  to  the  follies 
and  waywardness  of  his  subjects,  yet  some  how  or 
other  he  had  become  strangely  popular  among  the 
people.  There  is  something  so  captivating  in  per- 
sonal bravery,  that,  with  the  common  mass  of  man- 
kind, it  takes  the  lead  of  most  other  merits.  The 
simple  folk  of  New-Amsterdam  looked  upon  Peter 
Stuyvesant  as  a  prodigy  of  valour.  His  wooden  leg, 
that  trophy  of  his  martial  encounter,  was  regarded 
with  reverence  and  admiration.  Every  old  burgher 
had  a  budget  of  miraculous  stories  to  tell  about  the 
exploits  of  Hardkopping  Piet,  wherewith  he  regaled 
his  children  of  a  long  winter  night ;  and  on  which 
he  dwelt  with  as  much  delight  and  exaggeration, 
as  do  our  honest  country  yeomen  on  the  hardy  ad- 
ventures of  old  General  Putnam  (or  as  he  is  famil- 
iarly termed,  Old  Put.)  during  our  glorious  revolu- 
tion. Not  an  individual  but  verily  believed  the  old 
governor  was  a  match  for  Belzebub  himself;  and 
there  was  even  a  story  told,  with  great  mystery,  and 
imder  the  rose,  of  his  having  shot  the  devil  with  a 


616 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


silver  bullet,  one  dark,  stormy  night,  as  he  was  sail- 
ing in  a  canoe  through  Hell-Gate. — But  this  I  do 
not  record  as  being  an  absolute  fact — perish  the 
man  who  would  let  fall  a  drop  to  discolour  the  pure 
stream  of  history  ! 

Certain  it  is,  not  an  old  woman  in  New-Amster- 
dam but  considered  Peter  Stuyvesant  as  a  tower  of 
strength,  and  rested  satisfied  that  the  public  welfare 
was  secure  so  long  as  he  was  in  the  city.  It  is  not 
surprising,  then,  that  they  looked  upon  his  departure 
as  a  sore  affliction.  With  heavy  hearts  they  dragged 
at  the  heels  of  his  troop,  as  they  marched  down  to 
the  river  side  to  embark.  The  governor,  from  the 
stern  of  his  schooner,  gave  a  short,  but  truly  patri- 
archal address  to  his  citizens ;  wherein  he  recom- 
mended them  to  comport  like  loyal  and  peaceable 
subjects — to  go  to  church  regularly  on  Sundays,  and 
to  mind  their  business  all  the  week  besides. — That 
the  women  should  be  dutiful  and  affectionate  to  their 
husbands — looking  after  nobody's  concerns  but  their 
own  :  eschewing  all  gossipings  and  morning  gad- 
dings — and  carrying  short  tongues  and  long  petti- 
coats.— That  the  men  should  abstain  from  inter- 
meddling in  public  concerns,  intrusting  the  cares  of 
government  to  the  officers  appointed  to  support 
them — staying  at  home  like  good  citizens,  making 
money  for  themselves,  and  getting  children  for  the 
benefit  of  their  country.  That  the  burgomasters 
should  look  well  to  the  public  interest^not  oppress- 
ing the  poor,  nor  indulging  the  rich — not  tasking 
their  sagacity  to  devise  new  laws,  but  faithfully  en- 
forcing those  which  were  already  made — rather 
bending  their  attention  to  prevent  evil  than  to  pun- 
ish it ;  ever  recollecting  that  civil  magistrates  should 
consider  themselves  more  as  guardians  of  public 
morals,  than  rat-catchers  employed  to  entrap  public 
delinquents.  Finally,  he  exhorted  them,  one  and 
all,  high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  to  conduct  them- 
selves as  well  as  they  could ;  assuring  them  that  if 
they  faithfully  and  conscientiously  complied  with 
this  golden  rule,  there  was  no  danger  but  that 
they  would  all  conduct  themselves  well  enough. — 
This  done,  he  gave  them  a  paternal  benediction ; 
the  sturdy  Antony  sounded  a  most  loving  farewell 
with  his  trumpet,  the  jolly  crews  put  up  a  shout  of 
triumph,  and  the  invincible  armada  swept  off  proudly 
down  the  bay. 

The  good  people  of  New-Amsterdam  crowded 
down  to  the  Battery — that  blest  resort,  from  whence 
so  many  a  tender  prayer  has  been  wafted,  so  many  a 
fair  hand  waved,  so  many  a  tearful  look  been  cast  by 
love-sick  damsels,  after  the  lessening  bark,  bearing 
her  adventurous  swain  to  distant  climes.  Here  the 
populace  watched  with  straining  eyes  the  gallant 
squadron,  as  it  slowly  floated  down  the  bay,  and 
when  the  intervening  land  at  the  Narrows  shut  it 
from  their  sight,  gradually  dispersed  with  silent 
tongues  and  downcast  countenances. 

A  heavy  gloom  hung  over  the  late  bustling  city. — 
The  honest  burghers  smoked  their  pipes  in  profound 
thoughtful n ess,  casting  many  a  wistful  look  to  the 
weathercock,  on  the  church  of  Saint  Nicholas ;  and 
all  the  old  women,  having  no  longer  the  presence  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant  to  hearten  them,  gathered  their 
children  home,  and  barricadoed  the  doors  and  win- 
dows every  evening  at  sun-down. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  armada  of  the  sturdy  Peter 
proceeded  prosperously  on  its  voyage,  and  after  en- 
countering about  as  many  storms,  and  waterspouts, 
and  whales,  and  other  horrors  and  phenomena,  as 
generally  befall  adventurous  landsmen,  in  perilous 
voyages  of  the  kind  ;  and  after  undergoing  a  severe 
scouring  from  that  deplorable  and  unpitied  malady 
called  seasickness,  the  whole  squadron  arrived  safely 
in  the  Delaware. 


Without  so  much  as  dropping  anchor  and  giving 
his  wearied  ships  time  to  breathe  after  labouring  so 
long  in  the  ocean,  the  intrepid  Peter  pursued  his 
course  up  the  Delaware,  and  made  a  sudden  appear- 
ance before  Fort  Casimir. — Having  summoned  the 
astonished  garrison  by  a  terrific  blast  from  the  trump- 
et of  the  long-winded  Van  Corlear,  he  demanded 
in  a  tone  of  thunder  an  instant  surrender  of  the  fort. 
To  this  demand,  Suen  Scutz,  the  wind-dried  com- 
mandant, replied  in  a  shrill,  whiffling  voice,  which, 
by  reason  of  his  extreme  spareness,  sounded  like  the 
wind  whistling  through  a  broken  bellows^"  that  he 
had  no  very  strong  reasons  for  refusing,  except  that 
the  demand  was  particularly  disagreeable,  as  he  had 
been  ordered  to  maintain  his  post  to  the  last  extrem- 
ity." He  requested  time,  therefore,  to  consult  with 
Governor  Risingh,  and  proposed  a  truce  for  that 
purpose. 

The  choleric  Peter,  indignant  at  having  his  right- 
ful fort  so  treacherously  taken  from  him,  and  thus 
pertinaciously  withheld,  refused  the  proposed  armis- 
tice, and  swore  by  the  pipe  of  St.  Nicholas,  which 
like  the  sacred  fire  was  never  extinguished,  that  un- 
less the  fort  were  surrendered  in  ten  minutes,  he 
would  incontinently  storm  the  works,  make  all  the 
garrison  run  the  gauntlet,  and  split  their  scoundrel 
of  a  commander  like  a  pickled  shad.  To  give  this 
menace  the  greater  effect,  he  drew  forth  his  trusty 
sword,  and  shook  it  at  them  with  such  a  fierce  and 
vigorous  motion,  that  doubtless  if  it  had  not  been  ex- 
ceeding rusty,  it  would  have  lightened  terror  into  the 
eyes  and  hearts  of  the  enemy.  He  then  ordered  his 
men  to  bring  a  broadside  to  bear  upon  the  fort,  con- 
sisting of  two  swivels,  three  muskets,  a  long  duck 
fowling-piece,  and  two  brace  of  horse-pistols. 

In  the  meantime  the  sturdy  Van  Corlear  mar- 
shalled all  his  forces,  and  commenced  his  warlike 
operations.  Distending  his  cheeks  like  a  very  Boreas, 
he  kept  up  a  most  horrific  twanging  of  his  trumpet 
— the  lusty  choristers  of  Sing-Sing  broke  forth  into  a 
hideous  song  of  battle — the  warriors  of  ISreuckelen 
and  the  Wallabout  blew  a  potent  and  astounding 
blast  on  their  conch-shells,  altogether  forming  as 
outrageous  a  concerto  as  though  five  thousand  French 
orchestras  were  displaying  their  skill  in  a  modem 
overture. 

Whether  the  formidable  front  of  war  thus  suddenly 
presented,  smote  the  garrison  with  sore  dismay — or 
whether  the  concluding  terms  of  the  summons,  which 
mentioned  that  he  should  surrender  "at  discretion  " 
were  mistaken  by  Suen  Scutz,  who,  though  a  Swede, 
was  a  very  considerate,  easy-tempered  man — as  a 
compliment  to  his  discretion,  I  will  not  take  upon  me 
to  say  ;  certain  it  is,  he  found  it  impossible  to  resist 
so  courteous  a  demand.  Accordingly,  in  the  very 
nick  of  time,  just  as  the  cabin-boy  had  gone  after  a 
coal  of  fire,  to  discharge  the  swivel,  a  chamade  was 
beat  on  the  rampart,  by  the  only  drum  in  the  gar- 
rison, to  the  no  small  satisfaction  of  both  parties ; 
who,  notwithstanding  their  great  stomach  for  fight- 
ing, had  full  as  good  an  inclination  to  eat  a  quiet 
dinner,  as  to  exchange  black  eyes  and  bloody  noses. 

Thus  did  this  impregnable  fortress  once  more  re- 
turn to  the  domination  of  their  High  Mightinesses; 
Scutz  and  his  garrison  of  twenty  men  were  allowed 
to  march  out  with  the  honours  of  war,  and  the  vic- 
torious Peter,  who  was  as  generous  as  brave,  per- 
mitted them  to  keep  possession  of  all  their  arms  and 
ammunition — the  same  on  inspection  being  found 
totally  unfit  for  service,  having  long  rusted  in  the 
magazine  of  the  fortress,  even  before  it  was  wrested 
by  the  Swedes  from  the  magnanimous,  but  windy 
Van  Poffenburgh.  But  I  must  not  omit  to  mention, 
that  the  governor  was  so  well  pleased  with  the  serv- 
ices of  his  faithful  squire.  Van  Corlear,  in  the  reduc- 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


617 


tion  of  this  great  fortress,  that  he  made  him  on  the 
spot  lord  of  a  goodly  domain  in  the  vicinity  of  New- 
Amsterdam  —which  goes  by  the  name  Corlear's  Hook 
unto  this  very  day. 

The  unexampled  liberality  of  the  valiant  Stuyves- 
ant  towards  the  Swedes  occasioned  great  surprise 
in  the  city  of  New-Amsterdam — nay,  certain  of  these 
factious  individuals,  wtio  had  been  enlightened  by 
the  political  meetings  that  prevailed  during  the  days 
of  William  the  Testy,  but  who  had  not  dared  to  in- 
dulge their  meddlesome  habits,  under  the  eye  of  their 
present  ruler,  now  emboldened  by  his  absence,  dared 
even  to  give  vent  to  their  censures  in  the  street. 
Murmurs  were  heard  in  the  very  council  chamber 
of  New-Amsterdam  ;  and  there  is  no  knowing  wheth- 
er they  would  not  have  broken  out  into  downright 
speeches  and  invectives,  had  not  Peter  Stuyvesant 
privately  sent  home  his  walking-staff,  to  be  laid  as  a 
mace  on  the  table  of  the  council  chamber,  in  the 
midst  of  his  counsellors ;  who,  like  wise  men,  took 
the  hint,  and  for  ever  after  held  their  peace. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

SHOWING  THE  GREAT  ADVANTAGE  THAT  THE 
AUTHOR  HAS  OVER  HIS  READER  IN  TIME  OF 
BATTLE— TOGETHER  WITH  DIVERS  PORTENT- 
OUS MOVEMENTS,  WHICH  BETOKEN  THAT  SOME- 
THING TERRIBLE  IS   ABOUT  TO   HAPPEN. 

Like  as  a  mighty  alderman,  when  at  a  corporation 
feast  the  first  spoonful  of  turtle  soup  salutes  his  pal- 
ate, feels  his  impatient  appetite  but  tenfold  quick- 
ened, and  redoubles  his  vigorous  attacks  upon  the 
tureen,  while  his  voracious  eyes,  projecting  from  his 
head,  roll  greedily  round,  devouring  every  thing  at 
table — so  did  the  mettlesome  Peter  Stuyvesant  feel 
that  intolerable  hunger  for  martial  glory,  which 
raged  within  his  very  bowels,  inflamed  by  the  cap- 
ture of  Fort  Casimir,  and  nothing  could  allay  it  but 
the  conquest  of  all  New-Sweden.  No  sooner,  there- 
fore, had  he  secilred  his  conquest,  than  he  stumped 
resolutely  on,  flushed  with  success,  to  gather  fresh 
laurels  at  Fort  Christina.* 

This  was  the  grand  Swedish  post,  established  on  a 
small  river  (or  as  it  is  improperly  termed,  creek)  of 
the  same  name  ;  and  here  that  crafty  Governor  Jan 
Risingh  lay  grimly  drawn  up,  like  a  gray-bearded 
spider  in  the  citadel  of  his  web. 

But  before  we  hurry  into  the  direful  scenes  that 
must  attend  the  meeting  of  two  such  potent  chief- 
tains, it  is  advisable  that  we  pause  for  a  moment,  and 
hold  a  kind  of  warlike  council.  Battles  should  not 
be  rushed  into  precipitately  by  the  historian  and  his 
readers,  any  more  than  by  the  general  and  his  sol- 
diers. The  great  commanders  of  antiquity  never 
engaged  the  enemy,  without  previously  preparing 
the  minds  of  their  followers  by  animating  harangues ; 
spiriting  them  up  to  heroic  feelings,  assuring  them 
of  the  protection  of  the  gods,  and  inspiring  them 
with  a  confidence  in  the  prowess  of  their  leaders.  So 
the  historian  should  awaken  the  attention  and  enlist 
the  passions  of  his  readers,  and  having  set  them  all 
on  fire  with  the  importance  of  his  subject,  he  should 
put  himself  at  their  head,  flourish  his  pen,  and  lead 
them  on  to  the  thickest  of  the  fight. 

An  illustrious  example  of  this  rule  may  be  seen  in 
that  mirror  of  historians,  the  immortal  Thucydides. 
Having  arrived  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  Pelopon- 
nesian  war,  one  of  his  commentators  observes,  that 

•This  is  at  present  a  flourishing  town,  cilled  Christiana,  or 
Christeen,  about  thirty-seven  mites  uom  Philadelphia,  on  the  post- 
road  to  Baltimore. 


"  he  sounds  the  charge  in  all  the  disposition  and 
spirit  of  Homer.  He  catalogues  the  allies  on  both 
sides.  He  awakens  our  expectations,  and  fast  en- 
gages our  attention.  All  mankind  are  concerned  in 
the  important  point  now  going  to  be  decided.  En- 
deavours are  made  to  disclose  futurity.  Heaven 
itself  is  interested  in  the  dispute.  The  earth  totters, 
and  nature  seems  to  labour  with  the  great  event. 
This  is  his  solemn  sublime  manner  of  setting  out. 
Thus  he  magnifies  a  war  between  two,  as  Rapin 
styles  them,  petty  states  ;  and  thus  artfully  he  sup- 
ports a  little  subject,  by  treating  it  in  a  groat  and 
noble  method." 

In  like  manner,  having  conducted  my  readers  Into 
the  very  teeth  of  peril — having  followed  the  advent- 
urous Peter  and  his  band  into  foreign  regions— sur- 
rounded by  foes,  and  stunned  by  the  horrid  din  of 
arms— at  this  important  moment,  while  darkness  and 
doubt  hang  o'er  each  coming  chapter,  I  hold  it  meet 
to  harangue  them,  and  prepare  them  for  the  events 
that  are  to  follow. 

And  here  I  would  premise  one  great  advantage 
which,  as  the  historian,  I  possess  over  my  reader ; 
and  this  it  is,  that  though  I  cannot  save  the  life  of 
my  favourite  hero,  nor  absolutely  contradict  the  event 
of  a  battle,  (both  which  liberties,  though  often  taken 
by  the  French  writers  of  the  present  reign,  I  hold  to 
be  utterly  unworthy  of  a  scrupulous  historian,)  yet  I 
can  now  and  then  make  him  to  bestow  on  his  enerpy 
a  sturdy  back-stroke  sufficient  to  fell  a  giant ;  though, 
in  honest  truth,  he  may  never  have  done  any  thing 
of  the  kind — or  I  can  drive  his  antagonist  clear  round 
and  round  the  field,  as  did  Homer  make  that  fine  fel- 
low Hector  scamper  like  a  poltroon  round  the  walls 
of  Troy  ;  for  which,  if  ever  they  have  encountered 
one  another  in  the  Elysian  fields,  I'll  warrant  the 
prince  of  poets  has  had  to  make  the  most  humble 
apology. 

I  am  aware  that  many  conscientious  readers  will 
be  ready  to  cry  out  "  foul  play  !  "  whenever  I  render 
a  little  assistance  to  my  hero — but  I  consider  it  one 
of  those  privileges  exercised  by  historians  of  all  ages, 
and  one  which  has  never  been  disputed.  In  fact, 
a  historian  is,  as  it  were,  bound  in  honour  to  stand 
by  his  hero — the  fame  of  the  latter  is  intrusted  to  his 
hands,  and  it  is  his  duty  to  do  the  best  by  it  he  can. 
Never  was  there  a  general,  an  admiral,  or  any  other 
commander,  who,  in  giving  an  account  of  any  battle 
he  had  fought,  did  not  sorely  belabour  tlie  enemy ; 
and  I  have  no  doubt  that,  had  my  heroes  written  the 
history  of  their  own  achievements,  they  would  have 
dealt  much  harder  blovfs  than  any  that  I  shall  re- 
count. Standing  forth,  therefore,  as  the  guardian 
of  their  fame,  it  behoves  me  to  do  them  the  same 
justice  they  would  have  done  themselves  ;  and  if  I 
happen  to  be  a  little  hard  upon  the  Swedes,  I  give 
free  leave  to  any  of  their  descendants,  who  may  write 
a  history  of  the  State  of  Delaware,  to  take  fair  retal- 
iation, and  belabour  Peter  Stuyvesant  as  hard  as  they 
please. 

Therefore  stand  by  for  broken  heads  and  bloody 
noses  ! — my  pen  hath  long  itched  for  a  battle — siege 
after  siege  have  I  carried  on  without  blows  or  blood- 
shed ;  but  now  I  have  at  length  got  a  chance,  and  I 
vow  to  Heaven  and  St.  Nicholas,  that,  let  the  chron- 
icles of  the  time  sny  what  they  please,  neither  Sallust, 
Livy,  Tacitus,  Polybius,  nor  any  other  historian,  did 
ever  record  a  fiercer  fight  than  that  in  which  my 
valiant  chieftains  are  now  about  to  engage. 

And  you,  oh  most  excellent  readers,  whom,  for 
your  faithful  adherence,  I  could  cherish  in  the  warm- 
est corner  of  my  heart— be  not  uneasy— trust  the 
fate  of  our  favourite  Stuyvesant  to  me — for  by  the 
rood,  come  what  may,  I'll  stick  by  Hard-kopping 
Piet  to  the  last ;    111  make  him  drive  about  these 


618 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


losels  vile,  as  did  the  renowned  Launcelot  of  tlie 
lake,  a  herd  of  recreant  Cornish  knights— -and  if  he 
does  fall,  let  ine  never  draw  my  pen  to  fight  another 
battle,  in  behalf  of  a  brave  man,  if  I  don't  make  these 
lubberly  Swedes  pay  for  it. 

No  sooner  had  Peter  Stuyvesant  arrived  before 
Fort  Christina  than  he  proceeded  without  delay  to 
intrench  himself,  and  immediately  on  running  his 
first  parallel,  despatched  Antony  Van  Corlear  to 
summon  the  fortress  to  surrender.  Van  Corlear  was 
received  with  all  due  formality,  hoodwinked  at  the 
portal,  and  conducted  through  a  pestiferous  smell  of 
salt  fish  and  onions,  to  the  citadel,  a  substantial  hut, 
built  of  pine  logs.  His  eyes  were  here  uncovered, 
and  he  found  himself  in  the  august  presence  of 
Governor  Risingh.  This  chieftain,  as  I  have  before 
noted,  was  a  very  giantly  man ;  and  was  clad  in  a 
coarse  blue  coat,  strapped  round  the  waist  with  a 
leathern  belt,  which  caused  the  enormaus  skirts  and 
pockets  to  set  off  with  a  very  warlike  sweep.  His 
ponderous  legs  were  cased  in  a  pair  of  foxy-coloured 
jack-boots,  and  he  was  straddling  in  the  attitude  of 
the  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  before  a  bit  of  broken  look- 
ing-glass, shaving  himself  with  a  villainously  dull 
razor.  This  afflicting  operation  caused  him  to  make 
a  series  of  horrible  grimaces,  that  heightened  exceed- 
ingly the  grizzly  terrors  of  his  visage.  On  Antony 
Van  Corlear's  being  announced,  the  grim  commander 
paused  for  a  moment,  in  the  midst  of  one  of  his 
most  hard-favoured  contortions,  and  after  eyeing 
him  askance  over  the  shoulder,  with  a  kind  of  snarl- 
ing grin  on  his  countenance,  resumed  his  labours  at 
the  glass. 

This  iron  harvest  being  reaped,  he  turned  once 
more  to  the  trumpeter,  and  demanded  the  purport 
of  his  errand.  Antony  Van  Corlear  delivered  in  a 
lew  words,  being  a  kind  of  short-hand  speaker, 
a  long  message  from  his  excellency,  recounting 
the  whole  history  of  the  province,  with  a  recapitula- 
tion of  grievances,  and  enumeration  of  claims,  and 
concluding  with  a  peremptory  demand  of  instant 
surrender  ;  which  done,  he  turned  aside,  took  his 
nose  between  his  thumb  and  finger,  and  blew  a 
tremendous  blast,  not  unlike  the  flourish  of  a  trump- 
et of  defiance — which  it  had  doubtless  learned  from 
a  long  and  intimate  neighbourhood  with  that  melo- 
dious instrument. 

Governor  Risingh  heard  him  through,  trumpet  and 
all,  but  with  infinite  impatience  ;  leaning  at  times, 
as  was  his  usual  custom,  on  the  pommel  of  his  sword, 
and  at  times  twirling  a  huge  steel  watch-chain,  or 
snapping  his  fingers.  Van  Corlear  having  finished, 
he   bluntly  replied,  that  Peter  Stuyvesant  and  his 

summons  might  go  to  the  d 1,  whither  he  hoped 

to  send  him  and  his  crew  of  ragamuffins  before  sup- 
per-time. Then  unsheathing  his  brass-hilted  sword, 
and  throwing  away  the  scabbard — "  Fore  gad,"  quod 
he,  "  but  I  will  not  sheathe  thee  again,  until  I  make 
a  scabbard  of  the  smoke-dried,  leathern  hide  of  this 
runagate  Dutchman."  Then  having  flung  a  fierce 
defiance  in  the  teeth  of  his  adversary,  by  the  lips  of 
his  messenger,  the  latter  was  reconducted  to  the 
portal,  with  all  the  ceremonious  civility  due  to  the 
trumpeter,  'squire,  and  ambassador  of  so  great  a 
commander,  and  being  again  unblinded,  was  courte- 
ously dismissed  with  a  tweak  of  the  nose,  to  assist 
him  in  recollecting  his  message. 

No  sooner  did  the  gallant  Peter  receive  this  inso- 
lent reply,  than  he  let  fly  a  tremendous  volley  of  red- 
hot  execrations,  that  would  infallibly  have  battered 
down  the  fortifications,  and  blown  up  the  powder- 
magazine  about  the  ears  of  the  fiery  Swede,  had  not 
the  ramparts  been  remarkably  strong,  and  the  maga- 
zine bomb-proof.  Perceiving  that  the  v/orks  with- 
stood this  terrific  blast,  and  that  it  was  utterly  impos- 


sible (as  it  really  was  in  those  unphilosophic  days)  to 
carry  on  a  war  with  words,  he  ordered  his  merry 
men  all  to  prepare  for  an  immediate  assault.  But 
here  a  strange  murmur  broke  out  among  his  troops, 
beginning  with  the  tribe  of  the  Van  Bummels,  those 
valiant  trencher-men  of  the  Bronx,  and  spreading 
from  man  to  man,  accompanied  with  certain  muti- 
nous looks  and  discontented  murmurs.  For  once 
in  his  life,  and  only  for  once,  did  the  great  Peter 
turn  pale,  for  he  verily  thought  his  warriors  were 
going  to  falter  in  this  hour  of  perilous  trial,  and  thus 
tarnish  for  ever  the  fame  of  the  province  of  New- 
Nederlands. 

But  soon  did  he  discover,  to  his  great  joy,  that  in 
this  suspicion  he  deeply  wronged  this  most  undaunt- 
ed army ;  for  the  cause  of  this  agitation  and  un- 
easiness simply  was,  that  the  hour  of  dinner  was  at 
hand,  and  it  would  have  almost  broken  the  hearts  of 
these  regular  Dutch  warriors,  to  have  broken  in 
upon  the  invariable  routine  of  their  habits.  Besides, 
it  was  an  established  rule  among  our  valiant  ances- 
tors, always  to  fight  upon  a  full  stomach,  and  to 
this  may  be  doubtless  attributed  the  circumstance 
that  they  came  to  be  so  renowned  in  arms. 

And  now  are  the  hearty  men  of  the"  Manhattoes, 
and  their  no  less  hearty  comrades,  all  lustily  engaged 
under  the  trees,  buffeting  stoutly  with  the  contents 
of  their  wallets,  and  taking  such  affectionate  em- 
braces of  their  canteens  and  pottles,  as  though  they 
verily  believed  they  were  to  be  the  last.  And  as  I 
foresee  we  shall  have  hot  work  in  a  page  or  two, 
I  advise  my  readers  to  do  the  same,  for  which  pur- 
pose I  will  bring  this  chapter  to  a  close  ;  giving  them 
my  word  of  honour  that  no  advantage  shall  be  taken 
of  this  armistice  to  surprise,  or  in  any  wise  molest, 
the  honest  Nederlanders  while  at  their  vigorous 
repast. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


CONTAINING  THE  MOST  HORRIBLE  BATTLE  EVER 
RECORDED  IN  POETRY  OR  PROSE — WITH  THE 
ADMIRABLE  EXPLOITS  OF  PE^ER  THE  HEAD- 
STRONG. 

"  Now  had  the  Dutchmen  snatched  a  huge  re- 
past," and  finding  themselves  wonderfully  encour- 
aged and  animated  thereby,  prepared  to  take  the 
field.  Expectation,  says  the  writer  of  the  Stuyvesant 
manuscript — Expectation  now  stood  on  stilts.  The 
world  forgot  to  turn  round,  or  rather  stood  still,  that 
it  might  witness  the  affray  ;  like  a  fat,  round-bellied 
alderman,  watching  the  combat  of  two  chivalric  flies 
upon  his  jerkin.  The  eyes  of  all  mankind,  as  usual 
in  such  cases,  were  turned  upon  Fort  Christina. 
The  sun,  like  a  little  man  in  a  crowd  at  a  puppet- 
show,  scampered  about  the  heavens,  popping  his 
head  here  and  there,  and  endeavouring  to  get  a  peep 
between  the  unmannerly  clouds  that  obtruded  them- 
selves in  his  way.  The  historians  filled  their  ink- 
horns — the  poets  went  without  their  dinners,  either 
that  they  might  buy  paper  and  goose-quills,  or  be- 
cause they  could  not  get  any  thing  to  eat — antiquity 
scowled  sulkily  out  of  its  grave,  to  see  itself  outdone 
— while  even  posterity  stood  mute,  gazing  in  gaping 
ecstasy  of  retrospection  on  the  eventful  field. 

The  immortal  deities,  who  whilom  had  seen  service 
at  the  "  afijiir  "  of  Troy — now  mounted  their  feather- 
bed clouds,  and  sailed  over  the  plain  or  mingled 
among  the  combatants  in  different  disguises,  all  itch- 
ing to  have  a  finger  in  the  pie.  Jupiter  sent  off  his 
thunderbolt  to  a  noted  coppersmith,  to  have  it  fur- 
bished up  for  the  direful  occasion.  Venus  swore  by 
her  chastity  she'd  patronize  the  Swedes,  and  in  sem- 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


619 


blance  of  a  blear-eyed  trull,  paraded  the  battlements 
of  Fort  Christina,  accompanied  by  Diana  as  a  ser- 
geant's widow,  of  cracked  reputation. — The  noted 
bully,  Mars,  stuck  two  horse-pistols  into  his  belt, 
shouldered  a  rusty  firelock,  and  gallantly  swaggered 
at  their  elbow  as  a  drunken  corporal — while  Apollo 
trudged  in  their  rear  as  a  bandy-legged  fifer,  playing 
most  villainously  out  of  tune. 

On  the  other  side,  the  o.x-eyed  Juno,  who  had 
gained  a  pair  of  black  eyes  overnight,  in  one  of 
her  curtain  lectures  with  old  Jupiter,  displayed  her 
haughty  beauties  on  a  baggage-wagon — Minerva,  as 
a  brawny  gin  sutler,  tucked  up  her  skirts,  brandished 
her  fists,  and  swore  most  heroically  in  exceeding  bad 
Dutch,  (having  but  lately  studied  the  language,)  by 
way  of  keeping  up  the  spirits  of  the  soldiers ;  while 
Vulcan  halted  as  a  club-footed  blacksmith,  lately 
promoted  to  be  a  captain  of  militia.  All  was  silent 
horror,  or  bustling  preparation  ;  war  reared  his  hor- 
rid front,  gnashed  loud  his  iron  fangs,  and  shook  his 
direful  crest  of  bristling  bayonets. 

And  now  the  mighty  chieftains  marshalled  out 
vheir  hosts.  Here  stood  stout  Risingh,  firm  as  a 
thousand  rocks — incrusted  with  stockades  and  en- 
trenched to  the  chin  in  mud  batteries.  His  valiant 
soldiery  lined  the  breastwork  in  grim  array,  each 
having  his  mustachios  fiercely  greased,  and  his  hair 
pomatumed  back  and  queued  so  stifly  that  he  grin- 
ned above  the  ramparts  like  a  grizzly  death's  head. 

There  came  on  the  intrepid  Peter — his  brows  knit, 
his  teeth  set,  his  fists  clenched,  almost  breathing 
forth  volumes  of  smoke,  so  fierce  was  the  fire  that 
raged  within  his  bosom.  His  faithful  'squire,  Van 
Corlear,  trudged  valiantly  at  his  heels,  with  his 
trumpet  gorgeously  bedecked  with  red  and  yellow 
ribands,  the  remembrances  of  his  fair  mistresses  at 
the  Manhattoes.  Then  came  waddling  on  the  sturdy 
chivalry  of  the  Hudson.  There  were  the  Van  Wycks, 
and  the  Van  Dycks,  and  the  Ten  Kycks — the  Van 
Nesses,  the  Van  Tassels,  the  Van  GroUs,  the  Van 
Hoesens,  the  Van  Giesons,  and  the  Van  Blarcoms 
— the  Van  Warts,  the  Van  Winkles,  the  Van  Dams, 
the  Van  Pelts,  the  Van  Rippers,  and  the  Van  Brunts. 
— There  were  the  Van  Homes,  the  Van  Hooks,  the 
Van  Bunschotens ;  the  Van  Gelders,  the  Van  Ars- 
dales,  and  the  Van  Bummels — the  Vander  Belts, 
the  Vander  Hoofs,  the  Vander  Voorts,  the  Vander 
Lyns,  the  Vander  Pools,  and  the  Vander  Spiegels. 
— There  came  the  Hoffmans,  the  Hooghlands,  the 
Hoppers,  the  Cloppers,  the  Ryckmans,  the  Dyck- 
mans,  the  Hogebooms,  the  Rosebooms,  the  Oothouts, 
the  Quackenbosses,  the  Roerbacks,  the  Garrebrantzs, 
the  Bensons,  the  Brouwers,  the  Waldrons,  the  On- 
derdonks,  the  Varra  Vangers,  the  Schermerhornes, 
the  Stsutenburghs,  the  Brinkerhoffs,  the  Bontecous, 
the  Knickerbockers,  the  Hockstrassers,  the  Ten 
Breecheses,  and  the  Tough  Breecheses,  with  a 
host  more  of  worthies,  whose  names  are  too  crab- 
bed to  be  written,  or  if  they  could  be  written,  it 
would  be  impossible  for  man  to  utter — all  fortified 
with  a  mighty  dinner,  and  to  use  the  words  of  a 
great  Dutch  poet, 

**  Brimful  of  wrath  and  cabbage  !  " 

For  an  instant  the  mighty  Peter  paused  in  the 
midst  of  his  career,  and  mounting  on  a  stump,  ad- 
dressed his  troops  in  eloquent  Low  Dutch,  exhort- 
ing them  to  fight  like  diiyvels,  and  assuring  them 
that  if  they  conquered,  they  should  get  plenty  of 
booty — if  they  fell,  they  should  be  allowed  the  un- 
paralleled satisfaction,  while  dying,  o(  reflecting  that 
it  was  in  the  service  of  their  country — and  after  they 
were  dead,  of  seeing  their  names  inscribed  in  the 
temple  of  renown,  and  handed  down,  in  company 
with  al!  the  other  great  men  of  the  year,  for  the  ad- 


miration of  posterity. — Finally,  he  swore  to  them, 
on  the  word  of  a  governor,  (and  they  knew  him  too 
well  to  doubt  it  for  a  moment)  that  if  he  caught  any 
mother's  son  of  them  looking  pale,  or  playing  cra- 
ven, he'd  curry  his  hide  till  he  made  him  run  out  of 
it  like  a  snake  in  spring-time. — Then  lugging  out  his 
trusty  sabre,  he  brandished  it  three  times  over  his 
head,  ordered  Van  Corlear  to  sound  a  tremendous 
charge,  and  shouting  the  words,  "  St.  Nicholas  and 
the  Manhattoes  !  "  courageously  dashed  forwards. 
His' warlike  followers,  who  had  employed  the  inter- 
val in  lighting  their  pipes,  instantly  stuck  them  in 
their  mouths,  gave  a  furious  puff,  and  charged  gal- 
lantly, under  cover  of  the  sirioke. 

The  Swedish  garrison,  ordered  by  the  cunning 
Risingh  not  to  fire  until  they  could  distinguish  the 
whites  of  their  assailants'  eyes,  stood  in  horrid  si- 
lence on  the  covert-way,  until  the  eager  Dutchmen 
had  ascended  the  glacis.  Then  did  they  pour  into 
them  such  a  tremendous  volley,  that  the  veiy  hills 
quaked  around,  and  were  terrified  even  unto  an  in- 
continence of  water,  insomuch  that  certain  springs 
burst  forth  from  their  sides,  which  continue  to  run 
unto  the  present  day.  Not  a  Dutchinan  but  would 
have  bitten  the  dust,  beneath  that  dreadful  fire,  had 
not  the  protecting  Minerva  kindly  taken  care  that  the 
Swedes  should,  one  and  all,  obsen'e  their  usual  cus- 
tom of  shutting  their  eyes  and  turning  away  their 
heads,  at  the  moment  of  discharge. 

The  Swedes  followed  up  their  fire  by  leaping  the 
counterscarp,  and  falling  tooth  and  nail  upon  the 
foe,  with  furious  outcries.  And  now  might  be  seen 
prodigies  of  valour,  of  which  neither  history  nor 
song  has  ever  recorded  a  parallel.  Here  was  beheld 
the  sturdy  Stoffel  Brinkerhoff,  brandishing  his  lusty 
quarter-staff,  like  the  terrible  giant  Blanderon  his 
oak  tree,  (for  he  scorned  to  carry  any  other  weapon,) 
and  drumming  a  horrific  tune  upon  the  heads  of 
whole  squadrons  of  Swedes.  There  were  the  crafty 
Van  Kortlandts,  posted  at  a  distance,  like  the  Lo- 
crian  archers  of  yore,  and  plying  it  most  potently 
with  the  long  bow,  for  which  they  were  so  justly  re- 
nowned. At  another  place  were  collected  on  a  ris- 
ing knoll  the  valiant  men  of  Sing-Sing,  who  assisted 
marvellously  in  the  fight,  by  chanting  forth  the  great 
song  of  St.  Nicholas ;  but  as  to  the  Gardeniers  of 
Hudson,  they  were  absent  from  the  battle,  having 
been  sent  out  on  a  marauding  party,  to  lay  waste 
the  neighbouring  water-melon  patches.  In  a  differ- 
ent part  of  the  field  might  be  seen  the  Van  Grolls 
of  Antony's  Nose ;  but  they  were  horribly  perplexed 
in  a  defile  between  two  little  hills,  by  reason  of  the 
length  of  their  noses.  There  were  the  Van  Bun- 
schotens of  Nyack  and  Kakiat,  so  renowned  for 
kicking  with  the  left  foot,  but  their  skill  availed  them 
little  at  present,  being  short  of  wind  in  consequence 
of  the  hearty  dinner  they  had  eaten,  and  they  would 
irretrievably  have  been  put  to  rout,  had  they  not 
been  reinforced  by  a  gallant  corps  of  Voltigeures, 
composed  of  the  Hoppers,  who  advanced  to  their 
assistance  nimbly  on  one  foot.  Nor  inust  I  omit  to 
mention  the  incomparable  achievements  of  Antony 
Van  Corlear,  who,  for  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour, 
waged  stubborn  fight  with  a  little,  pursy  Swedish 
drummer,  whose  hide  he  drummed  most  magnifi- 
cently; and  had  he  not  come  into  the  battle  with  no 
other  weapon  but  his  trumpet,  would  infallibly  have 
put  him  to  an  untimely  end. 

But  now  the  combat  thickened— on  came  the 
mighty  Jacobus  Varra  Vanger,  and  the  fighting  men 
of  the  Wallabout ;  after  them  thundered  the  Van 
Pelts  of  Esopus,  together  with  the  Van  Rippers  and 
the  Van  Brunts,  bearing  down  all  before  them — then 
the  Suy  Dams  and  the  Van  Dams,  pressing  forward 
with  many  a  blustering  oath,  at  the  head  of  the  wap 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


riors  of  Hell-Gate,  clad  in  their  thunder  and  light- 
ning gaberdines ;  and  lastly,  the  standard-bearers 
and  body-guards  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  bearing  the 
great  beaver  of  the  Manhattoes. 

And  now  commenced  the  horrid  din,  the  desper- 
ate struggle,  the  maddening  ferocity,  the  frantic  des- 
peration, the  confusion  and  self-abandonment  of 
war.  Dutchman  and  Swede  commingled,  tugged, 
panted,  and  blowed.  The  heavens  were  darkened 
with  a  tempest  of  missives.  Bang  !  went  the  guns 
— whack  !  struck  the  broad-swords — thump  !  went 
the  cudgels — crash  !  went  the  musket  stocks— blows 
— kicks — cuffs — scratches — black  eyes  and  bloody 
noses,  swelling  the  horrors  of  the  scene !  Thick- 
thwack,  cut  and  hack,  helter-skelter,  higgledy-pig- 
gledy, hurly-burly,  head  over  heels,  rough  and  tum- 
ble ! Dunderand  blixum  !  swore  the  Dutchmen — 

splitter  and  splutter  !  cried  the  Swedes. — Storm  the 
works  !  shouted  Hardkoppig  Peter — fire  the  mine  ! 
roared  stout  Risingh — Tanta-ra-ra-ra  !  twanged  the 
trumpet  of  Antony  Van  Corlear — until  all  voice  and 
sound  became  unintelligible — grunts  of  pain,  yells 
of  fury,  and  shouts  of  triumph  commingling  in  one 
hideous  clamour.  The  earth  shook  as  if  struck  with 
a  paralytic  stroke — trees  shrunk  aghast,  and  with- 
ered at  the  sight — rocks  burrowed  in  the  ground 
like  rabbits,  and  even  Christina  creek  turned  from  its 
course,  and  ran  up  a  mountain  in  breathless  terror ! 

Long  hung  the  contest  doubtful ;  for,  though  a 
heavy  shower  of  rain,  sent  by  the  "  cloud-compel- 
ling Jove,"  in  some  measure  cooled  their  ardour,  as 
doth  a  bucket  of  water  thrown  on  a  group  of  fight- 
ing mastiffs,  yet  did  they  but  pause  for  a  moment,  lo 
return  with  tenfold  fury  to  the  charge,  belabouring 
each  other  with  black  and  bloody  bruises.  Just  at 
this  juncture  was  seen  a  vast  and  dense  column  of 
smoke,  slowly  rolling  towards  the  scene  of  battle, 
which  for  a  while  made  even  the  furious  combatants 
to  stay  their  arms  in  mute  astonishment — but  the 
wind  for  a  moment  dispersing  the  murky  cloud, 
from  the  midst  'thereof  emerged  the  flaunting  ban- 
ner of  the  immortal  Michael  Paw.  This  noble  chief- 
tain came  fearlessly  on,  leading  a  solid  phalanx  of 
oyster-fed  Pavonians,  who  had  remained  behind, 
partly  as  a  corps  de  reserve,  and  partly  to  digest  the 
enormous  dinner  they  had  eaten.  These  sturdy  yeo- 
men, nothing  daunted,  did  trudge  manfully  forward, 
smoking  their  pipes  with  outrageous  vigour,  so  as  to 
raise  the  awful  cloud  that  has  been  mentioned  ;  but 
marching  exceedingly  slow,  being  short  of  leg,  and 
of  great  rotundity  in  the  belt. 

And  now  the  protecting  deities  of  the  army  of 
New-Amsterdam,  having  unthinkingly  left  the  field 
and  slept  into  a  neighbouring  tavern  to  refresh  them- 
selves with  a  pot  of  beer,  a  direful  catastrophe  had 
well-nigh  chanced  to  befall  the  Nederlanders.  Scarce- 
ly had  the  myrmidons  of  the  puissant  Paw  attained 
the  front  of  battle,  before  the  Swedes,  instructed  by 
the  cunning  Risingh,  levelled  a  shower  of  blows  full 
at  their  tobacco-pipes.  Astounded  at  this  unexpect- 
ed assault,  and  totally  discomfited  at  seeing  their 
pipes  broken,  the  valiant  Dutchmen  fell  in  vast  con- 
fusion— already  they  begin  to  Hy — like  a  frightened 
drove  of  unwieldy  elephants  they  throw  their  own 
army  in  an  uproar,  bearing  down  a  whole  legion  of 
little  Hoppers — the  sacred  banner,  on  which  ii 
blazoned  the  gigantic  oyster  of  Communipaw,  is 
trampled  in  the  dirt — the  Swedes  pluck  up  new 
spirits,  and  pressing  on  their  rear,  apply  their  feet  a 
parteposte,  with  a  vigour  that  prodigiously  accelerates 
their  motions— nor  doth  the  renowned  Paw  himself 
fail  to  receive  divers  grievous  and  dishonourable  visi- 
t:;tions  of  shoe-leather ! 

But  what,  oh  muse  I  was  the  rage  of  the  gallant 
Peter,  when  from  afar  he  saw  his  army  yield .'   With 


a  voice  of  thunder  did  he  roar  after  his  recreant  war- 
riors. The  men  of  the  Manhattoes  plucked  up  new 
courage  when  they  heard  their  leader — or  rather  they 
dreaded  his  fierce  displeasure,  of  which  they  stood  in 
more  awe  than  of  all  the  Swedes  in  Chtistendom— 
but  the  daring  Peter,  not  waiting  for  their  aid,  plunged, 
sword  in  hand,  into  the  thickest  of  the  foe.  Then 
did  he  display  some  such  incredible  achievements  as 
have  never  been  known  since  the  miraculous  days  of 
the  giants.  Wherever  he  went,  the  enemy  shrunk 
before  him — with  fierce  impetuosity  he  pushed  for- 
ward, driving  the  Swedes,  like  dogs,  into  their  own 
ditch — but  as  he  fearlessly  advanced,  the  foe  thronged 
in  his  rear,  and  hung  upon  his  flank  with  fearful  peril. 
One  crafty  Swede,  advancing  warily  on  one  side, 
drove  his  dastard  sword  full  at  the  hero's  heart ;  but 
the  protecting  power  that  watches  over  the  safety  of 
all  great  and  good  men,  turned  aside  the  hostile 
blade,  and  directed  it  to  aside  pocket,  where  reposed 
an  enormous  iron  tobacco-box,  endowed,  like  the 
shield  of  Achilles,  with  supernatural  powers — no 
doubt  in  consequence  of  its  being  piously  decorated 
with  a  portrait  of  the  blessed  St.  Nicholas.  Thus 
was  the  dreadful  blow  repelled,  but  not  without  oc- 
casioning to  the  great  Peter  a  fearful  loss  of  wind. 

Like  as  a  furious  bear,  when  gored  by  curs,  turns 
fiercely  round,  gnashes  his  teeth,  and  springs  upon 
the  foe,  so  did  our  hero  turn  upon  the  treacherous 
Swede.  The  miserable  \arlet  sought  in  flight  for 
safety — but  the  active  Peter,  seizing  him  by  an  im- 
measurable queue,  that  dangled  from  his  head — "Ah, 
whoreson  caterpillar!"  roared  he,  "here  is  what 
shall  make  dog's  meat  of  thee  !  "  So  saying,  he  whirl- 
ed his  trusty  sword,  and  made  a  blow  that  would 
have  decapitated  him,  but  that  the  pitying  steel  struck 
short,  and  shaved  the  queue  for  ever  from  his  crown. 
At  this  very  moment  a  cuiming  arquebusier,  perched 
on  the  summit  of  a  neighbouring  mound,  levelled 
his  deadly  instrument,  and  would  have  sent  the  gal- 
lant Stuyvesant  a  wailing  ghost  to  haunt  the  Stygian 
shore,  had  not  the  watchful  Minerva,  who  had  just 
stopped  to  tie  up  her  garter,  seen  the  great  peril  of 
her  favourite  chief,  and  despatched  old  Boreas  with 
his  bellows ;  who,  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  just  as 
the  match  descended  to  the  pan,  gave  such  a  lucky 
blast,  as  blew,  all  the  priming  from  the  touch-hole  ! 

Thus  waged  the  horrid  fight — when  the  stout  Ri- 
singh, surveying  the  battle  from  the  top  of  a  little 
ravelin,  perceived  his  faithful  troops  banged,  beaten, 
and  kicked  by  the  invincible  Peter.  Language  can- 
not describe  the  choler  with  which  he  was  seized  at 
the  sight — he  only  stopped  for  a  moment  to  disbur- 
then  himself  of  five  thousand  anathemas ;  and  then, 
drawing  his  immeasurable  falchion,  straddled  down 
to  the  field  of  combat,  with  some  such  thundering 
strides  as  Jupiter  is  said  by  Hesiod  to  have  taken 
when  he  strode  down  the  spheres,  to  hurl  his  thun- 
derbolts at  the  Titans. 

No  sooner  did  these  two  rival  heroes  come  face  to 
face,  than  they  each  made  a  prodigious  start,  such  as 
is  made  'oy  your  most  experienced  stage  champions. 
Then  did  they  regard  each  other  for  a  moment,  with 
bitter  aspect,  like  two  furious  ram-cats,  on  the  very 
point  of  a  clapper-clawing.  Then  did  they  throw 
themselves  in  one  attitude,  then  in  another,  striking 
their  swords  on  the  ground,  first  on  the  riglit  side, 
then  on  the  left — at  last,  at  it  they  went  witn  incred- 
ible ferocity.  Words  cannot  tell  the  prodigies  of 
strength  and  valour  displayed  in  this  direful  encoun- 
ter— an  encounter,  compared  to  which  the  far-famed 
battles  of  Ajax  with  Hector,  of  Eneas  with  Turnus, 
Orlando  with  Rodomont,  Guy  of  Warwick  with  Col- 
brand  the  Dane,  or  that  renowned  Welsh  knight.  Sir 
Owen  of  the  Mountains  with  the  giant  Guylon,  were 
all  gentle  sports  and  holyday  recreations.    At  length 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


621 


the  valiant  Peter,  watching  his  opportunity,  aimed  a 
fearful  blow,  with  the  full  intention  of  cleaving  his 
adversary  to  the  very  chine ;  but  Risingh,  nimbly 
raising  his  sword,  warded  it  off  so  narrowly,  that 
glancing  on  one  side,  it  shaved  away  a  huge  canteen 
that  he  always  carried  swung  on  one  side ;  thence 
pursuing  its  trenchant  course,  it  severed  off  a  deep 
coat-pocket,  stored  with  bread  and  cheese — all  which 
dainties  rolling  among  the  armies,  occasioned  a  fear- 
ful scrambling  between  the  Swedes  and  Dutchmen, 
and  made  the  general  battle  to  wax  ten  times  more 
furious  than  ever. 

Enraged  to  see  his  military  stores  thus  wofully  laid 
waste,  the  stout  Risingh,  collecting  all  his  forces, 
aimed  a  mighty  blow  full  at  the  hero's  crest.  In  vain 
did  his  fierce  little  cocked  hat  oppose  its  course  ;  the 
biting  steel  clove  through  the  stubborn  ram-beaver, 
and  would  infallibly  have  cracked  his  crown,  but 
that  the  skull  was  of  such  adamantine  hardness,  that 
the  brittle  weapon  shivered  into  pieces,  shedding  a 
thousand  sparks,  like  beams  of  glory,  round  his  grizzly 
visage. 

Stunned  with  the  blow,  the  valiant  Peter  reeled, 
turned  up  his  eyes,  and  beheld  fifty  thousand  suns, 
besides  moons  and  stars,  dancing  about  the  firmament 
— at  length,  missing  his  footing,  by  reason  of  his 
wooden  leg,  down  he  came,  on  his  seat  of  honour, 
with  a  crash  that  shook  the  surrounding  hills,  and 
would  infallibly  have  wrecked  his  anatomical  system, 
had  he  not  been  received  into  a  cushion  softer  than 
velvet,  which  Providence,  or  Minerva,  or  St.  Nicho- 
las, or  some  kindly  cow,  had  benevolently  prepared 
for  his  reception. 

The  furious  Risingh,  in  despite  of  that  noble 
ma.xiin,  cherished  by  all  true  knights,  that  "  fair  play 
is  a  jewel,"  hastened  to  take  advantage  of  the  hero's 
fall  ;  but  just  as  he  was  stooping  to  give  the  fatal 
blow,  the  ever-vigilant  Peter  bestowed  him  a  sturdy 
thwack  over  the  sconce  with  his  wooden  leg,  that 
set  some  dozen  chimes  of  bells  ringing  triple  bob- 
majors  in  his  cerebellum.  The  bewildered  Swede 
staggered  with  the  blow,  and  in  the  meantime  the 
wary  Peter,  espying  a  pocket-pistol  lying  hard  by, 
(which  had  dropped  from  the  wallet  of  his  faithful 
'squire  and  trumpeter.  Van  Corlear,  during  his  furious 
encounter  with  the  drummer,)  discharged  it  full  at 
the  head  of  the  reeling  Risingh. — Let  not  my  reader 
mistake — it  was  not  a  murderous  weapon  loaded  with 
powder  and  ball,  but  a  little  sturdy  stone  pottle, 
charged  to  the  muzzle  with  a  double  dram  of  true 
Dutch  courage,  which  the  knowing  Van  Corlear  al- 
ways carried  about  him  by  way  of  replenishing  his 
valour.  The  hideous  missive  sung  through  the  air, 
and  true  to  its  course,  as  was  the  mighty  fragment  of 
a  rock  discharged  at  Hector  by  bully  Ajax,  encoun- 
tered the  huge  head  of  the  gigantic  Swede  with  match- 
less violence. 

This  heaven-directed  blow  decided  the  eventful 
battle.  The  ponderous  pericranium  of  General  Jan 
Risingh  sunk  upon  his  breast ;  his  knees  tottered 
under  him  ;  a  deathlike  torpor  seized  upon  his  giant 
frame,  and  he  tumbled  to  the  earth  with  such  tre- 
mendous violence,  that  old  Pluto  started  with  affright, 
lest  he  should  have  broken  through  the  roof  of  his 
infernal  palace. 

His  fall  was  the  signal  of  defeat  and  victory. — The 
Swedes  gave  way — the  Dutch  pressed  forward  ;  the 
former  took  to  their  heels,  the  latter  hotly  pursued  — 
some  entered  with  them,  pell-mell,  through  the  sally- 
port— others  stormed  the  bastion,  and  others  scram- 
bled over  the  curtain.  Thus,  in  a  little  while,  the 
impregnable  fortress  of  Fort  Christina,  which  like 
another  Troy  had  stood  a  siege  of  full  ten  hours,  was 
finally  carried  by  assault,  without  the  loss  of  a  single 
man  on  either  side.     Victory,  in  the  likeness  of  a 


gigantic  ox-fly,  sat  perched  upon  the  cocked  hat  of 
the  gallant  Stuyvesant ;  and  it  was  universally  de- 
clared, by  all  the  writers  whom  he  hired  to  write  the 
history  of  his  expedition,  that  on  this  memorable  day 
he  gained  a  sufficient  quantity  of  glory  to  immor- 
talize a  dozen  of  the  greatest  heroes  in  Christendom  ! 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IN  WHICH  THE  AUTHOR  AND  THE  READER, 
WHILE  REPOSING  AFTER  THE  BATTLE,  FALL 
INTO  A  VERY  GRAVE  DISCOURSE— AFTER  WHICH 
IS  RECORDED  THE  CONDUCT  OF  PETER  STUY- 
VESANT AFTER  HIS  VICTORY. 

Thanks  to  St.  Nicholas,  we  have  safely  finished 
this  tremendous  battle ;  let  us  sit  down,  my  worthy 
reader,  and  cool  ourselves,  for  I  am  in  a  prodigious 
sweat  and  agitation. — Truly  this  fighting  of  battles  is 
hot  work  !  and  if  your  great  commanders  did  but 
know  what  trouble  they  give  their  historians,  they 
would  not  have  the  conscience  to  achieve  so  many 
horrible  victories.  But  methinks  I  hear  my  reader 
complain,  that  throughout  this  boasted  battle,  there 
is  not  the  least  slaughter,  nor  a  single  individual 
maimed,  if  we  except  the  unhappy  Swede,  who  was 
shorn  of  his  queue  by  the  trenchant  blade  of  Peter 
Stuyvesant ;  all  which,  he  observes,  is  a  great  outrage 
on  probability,  and  highly  injurious  to  the  interest  of 
the  narration. 

This  is  certainly  an  objection  of  no  little  moment ; 
but  it  arises  entirely  from  the  obscurity  that  envelopes 
the  remote  periods  of  time,  about  which  1  have  un- 
dertaken to  write.  Thus,  though,  doubtless,  from 
the  importance  of  the  object,  and  the  prowess  of  the 
parties  concerned,  there  must  have  been  terrible  car- 
nage, and  prodigies  of  valour  displayed,  before  the 
walls  of  Christina,  yet,  notwithstanding  that  I  havj 
consulted  every  history,  manuscript,  and  tradition, 
touching  this  memorable,  though  long-forgotten  bat- 
tle, I  cannot  find  mention  made  of  a  single  man  kill- 
ed or  wounded  in  the  whole  affair. 

This  is,  without  doubt,  owing  to  the  extreme  mod- 
esty of  our  forefathers,  who,  like  their  descendants, 
were  never  prone  to  vaunt  of  their  achievements  ; 
but  it  is  a  virtue  that  places  their  historian  in  a  most 
embarrassing  predicament;  for,  having  promised  my 
readers  a  hideous  and  unparalleled  battle,  and  having 
worked  them  up  into  a  warlike  and  bloodthirsty 
state  of  mind,  to  put  them  off  without  any  havoc  and 
slaughter,  was  as  bitter  a  disappointment  as  to  sum- 
mon a  multitude  of  good  people  to  attend  an  execu- 
tion, and  then  cruelly  balk  by  a  reprieve. 

Had  the  inexorable  fates  only  allowed  me  some 
half  a  score  of  dead  men,  I  had  been  content ;  for  I 
would  have  made  them  such  heroes  as  abounded  in 
the  olden  time,  but  whose  race  is  now  unfortunately 
extinct — any  one  of  whom,  if  we  may  believe  those 
authentic  writers,  the  poets,  could  drive  great  armies 
like  sheep  before  him,  and  conquer  and  desolate 
whole  cities  by  his  single  arm. 

But  seeing  that  I  had  not  a  single  life  at  my  dis- 
posal, all  that  was  left  me  was  to  make  the  most  I 
could  of  my  battle,  by  means  of  kicks,  and  cuffs,  and 
bruises,  and  such  Hke  ignoble  wounds.  And  here  I 
cannot  but  compare  my  dilemma,  in  some  sort,  to 
that  of  the  divine  Milton,  who,  having  arrayed  with 
sublime  preparation  his  immortal  hosts  against  each 
other,  is  sadly  put  to  it  how  to  manage  them,  and 
how  he  shall  make  the  end  of  his  battle  answer 
to  the  beginning ;  inasmuch  as,  being  mere  spirits, 
he  cannot  deal  a  mortal  blow,  nor  even  give  a  flesh 
wound  to  any  of  his  combatants.     For  iny  part,  the 


622 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


gp-eatest  difficulty  I  found,  was,  when  I  had  once  put 
my  warriors  in  a  passion,  and  let  them  loose  into  the 
midst  of  the  enemy,  to  keep  them  from  doing-  mis- 
chief. Many  a  time  had  I  to  restrain  the  sturdy 
Peter  from  cleaving  a  gigantic  Swede  to  the  very 
waistband,  or  spitting  half-a-dozen  little  fellows  on 
his  sword,  like  so  many  sparrows ;  and  when  I  had 
set  some  hundreds  of  missives  flying  in  the  air,  I  did 
not  dare  to  suffer  one  of  them  to  reach  the  ground, 
lest  it  should  have  put  an  end  to  some  unlucky 
Dutchman. 

The  reader  cannot  conceive  how  mortifying  it  is 
to  a  writer,  thus  in  a  manner  to  have  his  hands  tied, 
and  how  many  tempting  opportunities  I  had  to  wink 
at,  where  I  might  have  made  as  tine  a  death-blow  as 
any  recorded  in  history  or  song. 

From  my  own  experience,  1  begin  to  doubt  most 
potently  of  the  authenticity  of  many  of  Homer's  sto- 
ries. 1  verily  believe,  that  when  he  had  once  lanched 
one  of  his  favourite  heroes  among  a  crowd  of  the 
enemy,  he  cut  down  many  an  honest  fellow,  without 
any  authority  for  so  doing,  excepting  that  he  present- 
ed a  fair  mark — and  that  often  a  poor  devil  was  sent 
to  grim  Pluto's  domains,  merely  because  he  had  a 
name  that  would  give  a  sounding  turn  to  a  period. 
But  I  disclaim  all  such  unprincipled  liberties — let 
me  but  have  truth  and  the  law  on  my  side,  and  no 
man  would  fight  harder  than  myself:  but  since  the 
various  records  I  consulted  did  not  warrant  it,  I  had 
too  much  conscience  to  kill  a  single  soldier.  By  St. 
Nicholas,  but  it  would  have  been  a  pretty  piece  of 
business  !  My  enemies,  the  critics,  who  I  foresee 
will  be  ready  enough  to  lay  any  crime  they  can  dis- 
cover at  my  door,  might  have  charged  me  with  mur- 
der outright — and  I  should  have  esteemed  myself 
lucky  to  escape  with  no  harsher  verdict  than  man- 
slaughter ! 

And  now,  gentle  reader,  that  we  are  tranquilly  sit- 
ting down  here,  smoking  our  pipes,  permit  me  to 
indulge  in  a  melancholy  reflection,  which  at  this  mo- 
ment passes  across  my  mind. — How  vain,  how  fleet- 
ing, how  uncertain  are  all  those  gaudy  bubbles  after 
which  we  are  panting  and  toiling  in  this  world  of 
fair  delusion  !  The  wealth  which  the  miser  has 
amassed  with  so  many  weary  days,  so  many  sleepless 
nights,  a  spendthrift  heir  may  squander  away  in  joy- 
less prodigality.  The  noblest  monuinents  which 
pride  has  ever  reared  to  perpetuate  a  name,  the  hand 
of  time  will  shortly  tumble  into  ruins — and  even  the 
brightest  laurels,  gained  by  feats  of  arms,  may  v.ither 
and  be  for  ever  blighted  by  the  chilling  neglect  of 
mankind. — "  How  many  illustrious  heroes,"  says  the 
good  Boetius,  "  who  were  once  the  pride  and  glory 
of  the  age,  hath  the  silence  of  historians  buried  in 
eternal  oblivion  ! "  And  this  it  was  that  induced  the 
Spartans,  when  they  went  to  battle,  solemnly  to  sac- 
rifice to  the  muses,  supplicating  that  their  achieve- 
ments should  be  worthily  recorded.  Had  not  Homer 
tuned  his  lofty  lyre,  observes  the  elegant  Cicero,  the 
valour  of  Achilles  had  remained  unsung.  And  such, 
too,  after  all  the  toils  and  perils  he  had  braved,  after 
all  the  gallant  actions  he  had  achieved,  such  too  had 
nearly  been  the  fate  of  the  chivalric  Peter  Stuyves- 
ant,  but  that  I  fortunately  stepped  in  and  engraved 
his  name  on  the  indelible  tablet  of  history,  just  as  the 
caitiff  Time  was  silently  brushing  it  away  for  ever. 

The  more  I  reflect,  the  more  am  I  astonished  at 
the  important  character  of  the  historian.  He  is  the 
sovereign  censor,  to  decide  upon  the  renown  or 
infamy  of  his  fellow-men — he  is  the  patron  of  kings 
and  conquerors,  on  whom  it  depends  whether  they 
shall  live  in  after  ages,  or  be  forgotten,  as  were  their 
ancestors  before  them.  The  tyrant  may  oppress 
while  the  object  of  his  tyranny  exists,  but  the  histo- 
rian possesses  superior  might,  for  his  power  extends 


even  beyond  the  grave.  The  shades  of  departed  and 
long-forgotten  heroes  anxiously  bend  down  from 
above,  while  he  writes,  watching  each  movement  of 
his  pen,  whether  it  shall  pass  by  their  names  with 
neglect,  or  inscribe  them  on  the  deathless  p.ages  of 
renown.  Even  the  drop  of  ink  that  hangs  trembling 
on  his  pen,  which  he  may  either  dash  upon  the  floor 
or  waste  in  idle  scrawlings — that  very  drop,  which  to 
him  is  not  worth  the  twentieth  part  of  a  farthing,  may 
be  of  incalculable  value  to  some  departed  worthy — 
may  elevate  half  a  score,  in  one  moment,  to  immor- 
tality, who  would  have  given  worlds,  had  they  pos- 
sessed them,  to  insure  the  glorious  meed. 

Let  not  my  readers  imagine,  however,  that  I  am 
indulging  in  vain-glorious  boastings,  or  am  anxious 
to  Ijlazon  forth  the  importance  of  my  tribe.  On  the 
contrary,  I  shrink  when  1  reflect  on  the  awful  re- 
sponsibility we  historians  assume — •!  shudder  to  think 
what  direful  commotions  and  calamities  we  occasion 
in  the  world — I  swear  to  thee,  honest  reader,  as  I 
am  a  man,  I  weep  at  the  very  idea !  Why,  let  me 
ask,  are  so  many  illustrious  men  daily  tearing  them- 
selves away  from  the  embraces  of  their  families- 
slighting  the  smiles  of  beauty — despising  the  allure- 
ments of  fortune,  and  exposing  themselves  to  the 
miseries  of  war.' — Why  are  kmgs  desolating  em- 
pires, and  depopulating  whole  countries?  In  short, 
what  induces  all  great  men,  of  all  ages  and  coun- 
tries, to  commit  so  many  victories  and  misdeeds,  and 
inflict  so  many  miseries  upon  mankind  and  on  them- 
selves, but  the  mere  hope  that  some  historian  will 
kindly  take  them  into  notice,  and  admit  them  into  a 
corner  of  his  volume.  For,  in  short,  the  mighty  ob- 
ject of  all  their  toils,  their  hardships,  and  privations, 
is  nothing  but  immortal  fame — and  what  is  immor- 
tal fame  ? — why,  half  a  page  of  dirty  paper  ! — Alas  ! 
alas  !  how  humiliating  the  idea — that  the  renown 
of  so  great  a  man  as  Peter  Stuyvesant  should  de- 
pend upon  the  pen  of  so  little  a  man  as  Diedrich 
Knickerbocker ! 

And  now,  having  refreshed  ourselves  after  the 
fatigues  and  perils  of  the  field,  it  behoves  us  to  return 
once  more  to  the  scene  of  conflict,  and  inquire  what 
were  the  results  of  this  renowned  conquest.  The 
fortress  of  Christina  being  the  fair  metropolis,  and  in 
a  manner  the  key  to  New-Sweden,  its  capture  was 
speedily  followed  by  the  entire  subjugation  of  the 
province.  This  was  not  a  little  promoted  by  the 
gallant  and  courteous  deportment  of  the  chivalric 
Peter.  Though  a  man  terrible  in  battle,  yet  in  the 
hour  of  victory  was  he  endued  with  a  spirit  gener- 
ous, merciful,  and  humane — he  vaunted  not  over  his 
enemies,  nor  did  he  make  defeat  more  galling  by  un- 
manly insults  ;  for  like  that  mirror  of  knightly  virtue, 
the  renowned  Paladin  Orlando,  he  was  more  anxious 
to  do  great  actions  than  to  talk  of  them  after  they 
were  done.  He  put  no  man  to  death  ;  ordered  no 
houses  to  be  burnt  down  ;  permitted  no  ravages  to 
be  perpetrated  on  the  property  of  the  vanquished, 
and  even  gave  one  of  his  bravest  officers  a  severe  ad- 
monishment with  his  walking-stafT,  for  having  been 
detected  in  the  act  of  sacking  a  hen-roost. 

He  moreover  issued  a  proclamation,  inviting  the 
inhabitants  to  submit  to  the  authority  of  their  High 
Mightinesses  ;  but  declaring,  with  unexampled  clem- 
ency, that  whoever  refused  should  be  lodged,  at  the 
public  expense,  in  a  goodly  castle  provided  for  the 
purpose,  and  have  an  armed  retinue  to  wait  on  them 
in  the  bargain.  In  consequence  of  these  beneficent 
terms,  about  thirty  Swedes  stepped  manfully  for- 
ward and  took  the  oath  of  allegiance ;  in  reward  for 
which,  they  were  graciously  permitted  to  remain  on 
the  banks  of  the  Delaware,  where  their  descendants 
reside  at  this  very  day.  But  I  am  told  by  divers  ob- 
servant travellers,  that  they  have  never  been  able  to 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


023 


get  over  the  chapfallen  looks  of  their  ancestors,  and 
do  still  unaccountably  transmit  from  father  to  son 
manifest  marks  of  the  sound  drubbing  given  them 
by  the  sturdy  Amsterdammers. 

The  whole  country  of  New-Sweden,  having  thus 
yielded  to  the  arms  of  the  triumphant  Peter,  was  re- 
duced to  a  colony,  called  South  River,  and  placed 
under  the  superintendence  of  a  lieutenant-governor ; 
subject  to  the  control  of  the  supreme  government  at 
New-Amsterdam.  This  great  dignitary  was  called 
Mynheer  William  Beekman,  or  ra.lher  Beciman,  who 
derived  his  surname,  as  did  Ovidius  Naso  of  yore, 
from  the  lordly  dimensions  of  his  nose,  which  pro- 
jected from  the  centre  of  his  countenance  like  the 
beak  of  a  parrot.  He  was  the  great  progenitor  of 
the  tribe  of  the  Beekmans,  one  of  the  most  ancient 
and  honourable  families  of  the  province,  the  mem- 
bers of  which  do  gratefully  commemorate  the  origin 
of  their  dignity,  not  as  your  noble  families  in  En- 
gland would  do,  by  having  a  glowing  proboscis  em- 
blazoned in  their  escutcheon,  but  by  one  and  all 
wearing  a  right  goodly  nose  stuck  in  the  very  middle 
of  their  faces. 

Thus  was  this  perilous  enterprise  gloriously  termi- 
nated with  the  loss  of  only  two  men — Wolfert  Van 
Home,  a  tall,  spare  man,  who  was  knocked  over- 
board by  the  boom  of  a  sloop,  in  a  flaw  of  wind  ;  and 
fat  Brom  Van  Bummel,  who  was  suddenly  carried 
off  by  an  indigestion  ;  both,  however,  were  immor- 
talized as  having  bravely  fallen  in  the  service  of  their 
country.  True  it  is,  Peter  Stuyvesant  had  one  of 
his  limbs  terribly  fractured,  being  shattered  to  pieces 
in  the  act  of  storming  the  fortress  ;  but  as  it  was  for- 
tunately his  wooden  leg,  the  wound  was  promptly 
and  effectually  healed. 

And  now  nothing  remains  to  this  branch  of  my 
history,  but  to  mention  that  this  immaculate  hero, 
and  his  victorious  army,  returned  joyously  to  the 
Manhattoes,  where  they  made  a  solemn  and  tri- 
umphant entry,  bearing  with  them  the  conquered 
Risingh,  and  the  remnant  of  his  battered  crew,  who 
had  refused  allegiance  ;  for  it  appears  that  the  gigan- 
tic Swede  had  only  fallen  into  a  swoon  at  the  end  of 
the  battle,  from  whence  he  was  speedily  restored  by 
a  wholesome  tweak  of  the  nose. 

These  captive  heroes  were  lodged,  according  to 
the  promise  of  the  governor,  at  the  public  expense, 
in  a  fair  and  spacious  castle ;  being  the  prison  of 
state,  of  which  Stoffel  Brinkerhoff,  the  immortal 
conqueror  of  Oyster  Bay,  was  appointed  governor ; 
and  which  has  ever  since  remained  in  the  possession 
of  his  descendants.* 

It  was  a  pleasant  and  goodly  sight  to  witness  the 
joy  of  the  people  of  New-Amsterdam,  at  beholding 
their  warriors  once  more  return  from  this  war  in  the 
wilderness.  The  old  women  thronged  round  Antony 
Van  Corlear,  who  gave  the  whole  history  of  the 
campaign  with  matchless  accuracy :  saving  that  he 
took  the  credit  of  fighting  the  whole  battle  himself, 
and  especially  of  vanquishing  the  stout  Risingh,  which 
he  considered  himself  as  clearly  entitled  to,  seeing 
that  it  was  effected  by  his  own  stone  pottle. 

The  schoolmasters  throughout  the  town  gave  holy- 
day  to  their  little  urchins,  who  followed  in  droves 
after  the  drums,  with  paper  caps  on  their  heads,  and 
sticks  in  their  breeches,  thus  taking  the  first  lesson 
in  the  art  of  war.  As  to  the  sturdy  rabble,  they 
thronged  at  the  heels  of  Peter  Stuyvesant  wherever 
he  went,  waving  their  greasy  hats  in  the  air,  and 
shouting  "  Hard-koppig  Piet  lor  ever  !  " 

It  was,  indeed,  a  day  of  roaring  rout  and  jubilee. 
A  huge  dinner  was  prepared  at  the  Stadt-house  in 

*  This  castle,  though  very  much  altered  and  modernized,  is  still 
in  being,  and  stands  at  the  corner  of  Pearl-street,  facing  Coenties' 
slip. 


honour  of  the  conquerors,  where  were  assembled,  in 
one  glorious  constellation,  the  great  and  the  little  lu- 
minaries of  New-Amsterdam.  There  were  the  lordly 
Schout  and  his  obsequious  deputy — the  burgomasters 
with  their  officious  schepens  at  their  elbows— the 
subaltern  officers  at  the  elbows  of  the  schepens,  and 
so  on  to  the  lowest  hanger-on  of  police  ;  ever)'  Tag 
having  his  Rag  at  his  side,  to  finish  his  pipe,  drink 
off  his  heel-taps,  and  laugh  at  his  flights  of  immortal 
dulness.  In  short — for  a  city  feast  is  a  city  feast  all 
the  world  over,  and  has  been  a  city  feast  ever  since 
the  creation — the  dinner  went  off  much  the  same  as 
do  our  great  corporation  junketings  and  fourth  of 
July  banquets.  Loads  of  fish,  flesh,  and  fowl  were 
devoured,  oceans  of  liquor  drunk,  thousands  of  pipes 
smoked,  and  many  a  dull  joke  honoured  with  much 
obstreperous  fat-sided  laughter. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention,  that  to  this  far-famed 
victory  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  indebted  for  another 
of  his  many  titles— for  so  hugely  delighted  were  the 
honest  burghers  with  his  achievements,  that  they 
unanimously  honoured  him  with  the  name  of  Pietre 
de  Groodt,  that  is  to  say,  Peter  the  Great,  or,  as  it 
was  translated  by  the  people  of  New-Amsterdam, 
Fiet  de  Pi^ — an  appellation  which  he  maintained 
even  unto  tne  day  of  his  death. 


BOOK    VII. 

CONTAINING  THE  THIRD  PART  OF  THE  REIGN 
OF  PETER  THE  HEADSTRONG — HIS  TROUBLES 
WITH  THE  BRITISH  NATION,  AND  THE  DECLINE 
AND   FALL  OF  THE  DUTCH   DYNASTY. 


CHAPTER   I. 

HOW  PETER  STUYVESANT  RELIEVED  THE  SOV- 
EREIGN PEOPLE  FROM  THE  BURTHEN  OF  TAK- 
ING CARE  OF  THE  NATION  ^  WITH  SUNDRY 
PARTICULARS  OF  HIS  CONDUCT  IN  TIME  OF 
PEACE. 

The  history  of  the  reign  of  Peter  Stuyvesant  fur- 
nishes a  melancholy  picture  of  the  incessant  cares 
and  vexations  inseparable  from  government ;  and 
may  serve  as  a  solemn  warning  to  all  who  are  am- 
bitious of  attaining  the  seat  of  power.  Though 
crowned  with  victory,  enriched  by  conquest,  and 
returning  in  triumph  to  his  metropolis,  his  exulta- 
tion was  checked  by  beholding  the  sad  abuses  that 
had  taken  place  during  the  short  interval  of  his 
absence. 

The  populace,  unfortunately  for  their  own  comfort, 
had  taken  a  deep  draught  of  the  intoxicating  cup  of 
power,  during  the  reign  of  William  the  Testy  ;  and 
though,  upon  the  accession  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  they 
felt,  with  a  certain  instinctive  perception,  which 
mobs  as  well  as  cattle  possess,  that  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernment had  passed  into  stronger  hands,  yet  could 
they  not  help  fretting  and  chafing  and  champing 
upon  the  bit  in  restive  silence. 

It  seems,  by  some  strange  and  inscrutable  fatality, 
to  be  the  destiny  of  most  countries,  (and  more  espe- 
cially of  your  enlightened  republics,)  always  to  be 
governed  by  the  most  incompetent  man  in  the  na- 
tion— so  that  you  will  scarcely  find  an  individual, 
throughout  the  whole  community,  who  cannot  point 
out  innumerable  errors  in  administration,  and  con- 
vince you,  in  the  end,  that  had  he  been  at  the  head 
of  affairs,  matters  would  have  gone  on  a  thousand 


824 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


times  more  prosperously.  Strange !  that  govern- 
ment, which  seems  to  be  so  generally  understood, 
should  invariably  be  so  erroneously  administered — 
strange,  that  the  talent  of  legislation,  so  prodigally 
bestowed,  should  be  denied  to  the  only  man  in  the 
nation  to  whose  station  it  is  requisite  ! 

Thus  it  was  in  the  present  instance  ;  not  a  man 
of  all  the  herd  of  pseudo  politicians  in  New-Amster- 
dam, but  was  an  oracle  on  topics  of  state,  and  could 
have  directed  public  affairs  incomparably  better  than 
Peter  Stuyvesant.  But  so  severe  was  the  old  gover- 
nor, in  his  disposition,  that  he  would  never  suffer  one 
of  the  multitude  of  able  counsellors  by  whom  he 
was  surrounded,  to  intrude  his  advice,  and  save  the 
country  from  destruction. 

Scarcely,  therefore,  had  he  departed  on  his  expe- 
dition against  the  Swedes,  than  the  old  factions  of 
William  Kieft's  reign  began  to  thrust  their  heads 
above  water,  and  to  gather  together  in  political 
meetings,  to  discuss  "  the  state  of  the  nation."  At 
these  assemblages,  the  busy  burgomasters  and  their 
officious  schepens  made  a  very  considerable  figure. 
These  v\orthy  dignitaries  were  no  longer  the  fat, 
well-fed,  tranquil  magistrates  that  presided  in  the 
peaceful  days  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller — on  the  con- 
trary, being  elected  by  the  people,  they  formed  in  a 
manner  a  sturdy  bulwark  between  the  mob  and  the 
administration.  They  were  great  candidates  for  pop- 
ularity, and  strenuous  advocates  for  the  rights  of  the 
rabble;  resembling  in  disinterested  zeal  the  wide- 
mouthed  tribunes  of  ancient  Rome,  or  those  virtuous 
patriots  of  modern  days,  emphatically  denominated 
"  the  friends  of  the  people." 

Under  the  tuition  of  these  profound  politicians,  it 
is  astonishing  how  suddenly  enlightened  the  swinish 
multitude  became,  in  matters  above  their  compre- 
hensions. Cobblers,  tinkers,  and  tailors,  all  at  once 
felt  themselves  inspired,  like  those  religious  idiots,  in 
the  glorious  times  of  monkish  illumination  ;  and,  with- 
out any  previous  study  or  experience,  became  in- 
stantly capable  of  directing  all  the  movements  of 
government.  Nor  must  I  neglect  to  mention  a  num- 
ber of  superannuated,  wrong-headed  old  burghers, 
who  had  come  over,  when  boys,  in  the  crew  of  the 
Goede  Vrouw,  and  were  held  up  as  infallible  oracles 
by  the  enlightened  mob.  To  suppose  that  a  man 
who  had  helped  to  discover  a  country,  did  not  know 
how  it  ought  to  be  governed,  was  preposterous  in  the 
extreme.  It  would  have  been  deemed  as  much  a 
lieresy,  as  at  the  present  day  to  question  the  political 
talents  and  universal  infallibility  of  our  old  "  heroes 
of  '76  " — and  to  doubt  that  he  who  had  fought  for  a 
government,  however  stupid  he  might  naturally  be, 
uas  not  competent  to  fill  any  station  under  it. 

But  as  Peter  Stuyvesant  had  a  singular  inclination 
to  govern  his  province  without  the  assistance  of  his 
subjects,  he  felt  highly  incensed  on  his  return  to  find 
the  factious  appearance  they  had  assumed  during  his 
absence.  His  first  measure,  therefore,  was  to  restore 
perfect  order,  by  prostrating  the  dignity  of  the  sov- 
ereign people. 

He  accordingly  watched  his  opportunity,  and  one 
evening,  when  the  enlightened  mob  was  gathered 
together,  listening  to  a  patriotic  speech  from  an  in- 
spired cobbler,  the  intrepid  Peter  all  at  once  ap- 
peared among  them,  with  a  countenance  sufficient  to 
])etrify  a  mill-stone.  The  whole  meeting  was  thrown 
into  consternation — the  orator  seemed  to  have  re- 
ceived a  paralytic  stroke  in  the  very  middle  of  a 
sublime  sentence,  and  stood  aghast  with  open  mouth 
and  trembling  knees,  while  the  words  horror  !  tyr- 
anny !  Hberty  !  rights  I  taxes  !  death  !  destruction  ! 
and  a  deluge  of  other  patriotic  phrases,  came  roaring 
from  his  throat,  before  he  had  power  to  close  his 
lips.     The  shrewd  Peter  took  no  notice  of  the  skulk- 


ing throng  around  him,  but  advancing  to  the  brawling 
bully-ruffian,  and  drawing  out  a  huge  silver  watch 
v/hich  might  have  served  in  times  of  yore  as  a  town 
clock,  and  which  is  still  retained  by  his  descendants 
as  a  family  curiosity,  requested  the  orator  to  mend 
it,  and  set  it  going.  The  orator  humbly  confessed  it 
was  utterly  out  of  his  power,  as  he  was  unacquainted 
with  the  nature  of  its  construction.  "Nay,  but," 
said  Peter,  "  try  your  ingenuity,  man ;  you  see  all 
the  springs  and  wheels,  and  how  easily  the  clumsiest 
hand  may  stop  it,  and  pull  it  to  pieces  ;  and  why 
should  it  not  be  equally  easy  to  regulate  as  to  stop 
it.'  "  The  orator  declared  that  his  trade  was  wholly 
different — that  he  was  a  poor  cobbler,  and  had  never 
meddled  with  a  watch  in  his  life — that  there  were 
men  skilled  in  the  art,  whose  business  it  was  to  at- 
tend to  those  matters,  but  for  his  part,  he  should  only 
mar  the  workmanship,  and  put  the  whole  in  confusion. 
— "  Why,  harkee,  master  of  mine,"  cried  Peter,  turn- 
ing suddenly  upon  him,  with  a  countenance  that  al- 
inost  petrified  the  patcher  of  shoes  into  a  perfect  lap- 
stone — "dost  thou  pretend  to  meddle  with  the  move- 
ments of  government — to  regulate,  and  correct,  and 
patch,  and  cobble  a  complicated  machine,  the  prin- 
ciples of  which  are  above  thy  comprehension,  and 
its  simplest  operations  too  subde  for  tliy  understand- 
ing; when  thou  canst  not  correct  a  trifling  error  in 
a  common  piece  of  mechanism,  the  whole  mystery 
of  which  is  open  to  thy  inspection  ? — Hence  with 
thee  to  the  leather  and  stone,  which  are  emblems  of 
thy  head  ;  cobble  thy  shoes,  and  confine  thyself  to 
the  vocation  for  which  Heaven  has  fitted  thee. — But," 
elevating  his  voice  until  it  made  the  welkin  ring,  "  if 
ever  I  catch  thee,  or  any  of  thy  tribe,  meddling  again 
with  affairs  of  government,  by  St.  Nicholas,  but  I'll 
have  every  mother's  bastard  of  ye  flay'd  alive,  and 
your  hides  stretched  for  drum-heads,  that  ye  may 
thenceforth  make  a  noise  to  some  purpose  ! " 

This  threat,  and  the  tremendous  voice  in  which  it 
was  uttered,  caused  the  whole  multitude  to  quake 
with  fear.  The  hair  of  the  orator  arose  on  his  head 
like  his  own  swine's  bristles,  and  not  a  knight  of  the 
thimble  present  but  his  heart  died  within  him,  and 
he  felt  as  though  he  could  have  verily  escaped 
through  the  eye  of  a  needle. 

But  though  this  measure  produced  the  desired 
effect  in  reducing  the  community  to  order,  yet  it 
tended  to  injure  the  popularity  of  the  great  Peter 
among  the  enlightened  vulgar.  Many  accused  him 
of  entertaining  highly  aristocratic  sentiments,  and  of 
leaning  too  much  in  favour  of  the  patricians.  In- 
deed, there  appeared  to  be  some  ground  for  such  an 
accusation,  as  he  always  carried  himself  with  a  very 
lofty,  soldier-like  port,  and  was  somewhat  particular 
in  his  dress ;  dressing  himself,  when  not  in  uniform, 
in  simple,  but  rich  apparel,  and  was  especially  noted 
for  having  his  sound  leg  (which  was  a  very  comely 
one)  always  arrayed  in  a  red  stocking,  and  high- 
heeled  shoe.  Though  a  man  of  great  simplicity  of 
manners,  yet  there  was  something  about  him  that  re- 
pelled rude  familiarity,  while  it  encouraged  frank, 
and  even  social  intercourse. 

He  likewise  observed  some  appearance  of  court 
ceremony  and  etiquette.  He  received  the  common 
class  of  visitors  on  the  stoop*  before  his  door,  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  our  Dutch  ancestors.  But 
when  visitors  were  formally  received  in  his  par- 
lour, it  was  expected  they  would  appear  in  clean 
linen  ;  by  no  means  to  be  bare-footed,  and  always 
to  take  their  hats  off  On  public  occasions,  he 
appeared  with  great  pomp  of  equipage,  (for,  in 
truth,  his  station  required  a  little  show  and  dignity), 


*  Properly  spelled  rio^i— the  porch  commonly  built  in  front  of 
Dutch  houses,  with  benches  on  each  side. 


A    HISTORY   OF  NEW-YORK. 


G25 


and  always  rode  to  church  in  a  yellow  wagon  with 
flaming  red  wheels. 

These  symptoms  of  state  and  ceremony  occasioned 
considerable  discontent  among  the  vulgar.  They  had 
been  accustomed  to  find  easy  access  to  their  former 
governors,  and  in  particular  had  lived  on  terms  of 
extreme  familiarity  with  William  the  Testy.  They 
therefore  were  very  impatient  of  these  dignified  pre- 
cautions, which  discouraged  intrusion.  But  Peter 
Stuyvesant  had  his  own  way  'of  thinking  in  these 
matters,  and  was  a  staunch  upholder  of  the  dignity 
of  office. 

He  always  maintained  that  government  to  be  the 
least  popular  which  is  most  open  to  popular  access 
and  control ;  and  that  the  very  brawlers  against  court 
ceremony,  and  the  reserve  of  men  in  power,  would 
soon  despise  rulers  among  whom  they  found  even 
themselves  to  be  of  consequence.  Such,  at  least, 
had  been  the  case  with  the  administration  of  William 
the  Testy  ;  who,  bent  on  making  himself  popular, 
had  listened  to  every  man's  advice,  suffered  every- 
body to  have  admittance  to  his  person  at  all  hours, 
and,  in  a  word,  treated  every  one  as  his  thorough 
equal.  By  this  means,  every  scrub  politician,  and 
public  busy-body,  was  enabled  to  measure  wits  with 
him,  and  to  find  out  the  true  dimensions,  not  only  of 
his  person,  but  his  mind. — And  what  great  man  can 
stand  such  scrutiny? — It  is  the  mystery  that  envelopes 
great  men  that  gives  them  half  their  greatness.  We 
are  always  inclined  to  think  highly  of  those  who  hold 
themselves  aloof  from  our  examination.  There  is 
likewise  a  kind  of  superstitious  reverence  for  office, 
which  leads  us  to  exaggerate  the  merits  and  abilities 
of  men  in  power,  and  to  suppose  that  they  must  be 
constituted  different  from  other  men.  And,  indeed, 
faith  is  as  necessary  in  politics  as  in  religion.  It 
certainly  is  of  the  first  importance,  that  a  country 
should  be  governed  by  wise  men  ;  but  then  it  is  al- 
most equally  important,  that  the  people  should  believe 
them  to  be  wise  ;  for  this  belief  alone  can  produce 
willing  subordination. 

To  keep  up,  therefore,  this  desirable  confidence  in 
rulers,  the  people  should  be  allowed  to  see  as  little 
of  them  as  possible.  He  who  gains  access  to  cabi- 
nets soon  finds  out  by  what  foolishness  the  world  is 
governed.  He  discovers  that  there  is  quackery  in 
legislation,  as  well  as  in  every  thing  else;  that  many 
a  measure,  which  is  supposed  by  the  million  to  be 
the  result  of  great  wisdom  and  deep  deliberation,  is 
the  effect  of  mere  chance,  or,  perhaps,  of  hairbrained 
experiment — that  rulers  have  their  whims  and  errors 
as  well  as  other  men,  and  after  all  are  not  so  won- 
derfully superior  to  their  fellow-creatures  as  he  at 
first  imagined  ;  since  he  finds  that  even  his  own 
opinions  have  had  some  weight  with  them.  Thus 
awe  subsides  into  confidence,  confidence  inspires 
familiarity,  and  familiarity  produces  contempt.  Peter 
Stuyvesant,  on  the  contrary,  by  conducting  himself 
with  dignity  and  loftiness,  was  looked  up  to  with 
great  reverence.  As  he  never  gave  his  reasons  for 
any  thing  he  did,  the  public  always  gave  him  credit 
for  very  profound  ones — every  movement,  however 
intrinsically  unimportant,  was  a  matter  of  specula- 
tion, and  his  very  red  stockings  excited  some  respect, 
as  being  different  from  the  stockings  of  other  men. 

To  these  times  may  we  refer  the  rise  of  family 
pride  and  aristocratic  distinctions  ;*  and  indeed,  I 
cannot  but  look  back  with  reverence  to  the  early 
planting  of  those  mighty  Dutch  families,  which  have 
taken  such  vigorous  root,  and  branched  out  so  luxu- 

t  In  a  work  published  many  years  after  the  time  here  treated  of, 
(in  170T,  by  C.  W.  A.  .M.)  it  is  mentioned  that  Fredericic  Philipse 
was  counted  the  richest  Mynheer  in  New- York,  and  was  said  to 
have  ivhoU  koj^sheads  0/  Indian  money  or  watnpiim  ;  and  had  a 
son  and  daughter,  who,  according  to  the  Dutcn  custom,  should 
divide  it  equally 

40 


riantly  in  our  state.  The  blood  which  has  flowed 
downuncontaminated  through  a  succession  of  steady, 
virtuous  generations  since  the  times  of  the  patriarchs 
of  Communipaw,  must  certainly  be  pure  and  worthy. 
And  if  so,  then  are  the  Van  Rensselaers,  the  Van 
Zandts,  the  Van  Homes,  the  Rutgers,  the  Bensons, 
the  BrinkerhoflFs,  the  Schermerhornes,  and  all  the 
true  descendants  of  the  ancient  Pavonians,  the  only 
legitimate  nobility  and  real  lords  of  the  soil. 

I  have  been  led  to  mention  thus  particularly  the 
well-authenticated  claims  of  our  genuine  Dutch  fami- 
lies, because  I  have  noticed,  with  great  sorrow  and 
vexation,  that  they  have  been  somewhat  elbowed 
aside  in  latter  days  by  foreign  intruders.  It  is  really 
astonishing  to  behold  how  many  great  families  have 
sprung  up  of  late  years,  who  pride  themselves  exces- 
sively on  the  score  of  ancestry.  Thus  he  who  can 
look  up  to  his  father  without  humiliation  assumes  not 
a  little  importance — he  who  can  safely  talk  of  his 
grandfather,  is  still  more  vain-glorious — but  he  who 
can  look  back  to  his  great-grandfather  without  blush- 
ing, is  absolutely  intolerable  in  his  pretensions  to  fam- 
ily— bless  us  !  what  a  piece  of  work  is  here,  between 
these  mushrooms  of  an  hour,  and  these  mushrooms 
of  a  day  ! 

But  from  what  I  have  recounted  in  the  former 
part  of  this  chapter,  I  would  not  have  my  reader 
imagine  that  the  great  Peter  was  a  tyrannical  gov- 
ernor, ruling  his  subjects  with  a  rod  of  iron — on  the 
contrary,  where  the  dignity  of  authority  was  not 
implicated,  he  abounded  with  generosity  and  cour- 
teous condescension.  In  fact,  he  really  believed, 
though  I  fear  my  more  enlightened  republican  readers 
will  consider  it  a  proof  of  his  ignorance  and  illiber- 
ality,  that  in  preventing  the  cup  of  social  life  from 
being  dashed  with  the  intoxicating  ingredient  of  poli- 
tics, he  promoted  the  tranquillity  and  happiness  of 
the  people — and  by  detaching  their  minds  from  sub- 
jects which  they  could  not  understand,  and  which 
only  tended  to  inflame  their  passions,  he  enabled 
them  to  attend  more  faithfully  and  industriously  to 
their  proper  callings  ;  becoming  more  useful  citizens, 
and  more  attentive  to  their  families  and  fortunes. 

So  far  from  having  any  unreasonable  austerity,  he 
delighted  to  see  the  poor  and  the  labouring  man  re- 
joice, and  for  this  purjjose  was  a  great  promoter  of 
holydays  and  public  amusements.  Under  his  reign 
was  first  introduced  the  custom  of  cracking  eggs  at 
Paas,  or  Easter.  New-year's  day  was  also  observed 
with  extravagant  festivity,  and  ushered  in  by  the 
ringing  of  bells  and  firing  of  guns.  Every  house  was 
a  temple  to  the  jolly  god — oceans  of  cherry  brandy, 
true  Hollands,  and  mulled  cider,  were  set  afloat  on 
the  occasion  ;  and  not  a  poor  man  in  town  but  made 
it  a  point  to  get  drunk,  out  of  a  principle  of  pure 
economy — taking  in  liquor  enough  to  serve  him  for 
half  a  year  afterwards. 

It  would  have  done  one's  heart  good,  also,  to  have 
seen  the  valiant  Peter,  seated  among  the  old  burghers 
and  their  wives  of  a  Saturday  afternoon,  under  the 
great  trees  that  spread  their  shade  over  the  Battery, 
watching  the  young  men  and  women,  as  they  danced 
on  the  green.  Here  he  would  smoke  his  pipe,  crack 
his  joke,  and  forget  the  rugged  toils  of  war  in  the 
sweet  oblivious  festivities  of  peace.  He  would  oc- 
casionally give  a  nod  of  approbation  to  those  of  the 
young  men  who  shuffled  and  kicked  most  vigorously, 
and  now  and  then  give  a  hearty  smack,  in  all  honesty 
of  soul,  to  the  buxom  lass  that  held  out  longest,  and 
tired  down  all  her  competitors,  which  he  considered 
as  infallible  proofs  of  her  being  the  best  dancer. 
Once,  it  is  true,  the  harmony  of  the  meeting  was 
rather  interrupted.  A  young  vrouw,  of  great  figure 
in  the  gay  world,  and  who,  having  lately  come  from 
Holland,  of  course  led  the  fashions  in  the  city,  made 


626 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


her  appearance  in  not  more  than  half-a-dozen  petti- 
coats, and  these  too  of  most  alarming  shortness.  An 
universal  whisper  ran  through  the  assembly,  the  old 
ladies  all  felt  shocked  in  the  extreme,  the  young  ladies 
blushed,  and  felt  excessively  for  the  "  poor  thing," 
and  even  the  governor  himself  was  observed  to  be  a 
little  troubled  in  mind.  To  complete  the  astonish- 
ment of  the  good  folks,  she  undertook,  in  the  course 
of  a  jig,  to  describe  some  astonishing  figures  in  al- 
gebra, which  she  had  learned  from  a  dancing-master 
at  Rotterdam.  Whether  she  was  too  animated  in 
flourishing  her  feet,  or  whether  some  vagabond 
zephyr  took  the  liberty  of  obtruding  his  services,  cer- 
tain it  is  that  in  the  course  of  a  grand  evolution, 
which  would  not  have  disgraced  a  modern  ball-rooin, 
she  made  a  most  unexpected  display— whereat  the 
whole  assembly  was  thrown  into  great  admiration, 
several  grave  country  members  were  not  a  little 
moved,  and  the  good  Peter  himself,  who  was  a  man 
of  unparalleled  modesty,  felt  himself  grievously  scan- 
dalized. 

The  shortness  of  the  female  dresses,  which  had 
continued  in  fashion  ever  since  the  days  of  William 
Kieft,  had  long  offended  his  eye,  and  though  ex- 
tremely averse  to  meddling  with  the  petticoats  of  the 
ladies,  yet  he  immediately  recommended  that  every 
one  should  be  furnished  with  a  flounce  to  the  bot- 
tom. He  likewise  ordered  that  the  ladies,  and  in- 
deed the  gentlemen,  should  use  no  other  step  in 
dancing,  than  shuffie-and-turn,  and  double-trouble  ; 
and  forbade,  under  pain  of  his  high  displeasure,  any 
young  lady  thenceforth  to  attempt  what  was  termed 
"  exhibiting  the  graces." 

These  were  the  only  restrictions  he  ever  imposed 
upon  the  sex,  and  these  were  considered  by  them  as 
tyrannical  oppressions,  and  resisted  with  that  becom- 
ing spirit,  always  manifested  by  the  gentle  sex, 
whenever  their  privileges  are  invaded. — In  fact,  Peter 
Stuyvesant  plainly  perceived,  that  if  he  attempted  to 
push  the  matter  any  farther,  there  was  danger  of 
their  leaving  off  petticoats  altogether ;  so  like  a  wise 
man,  experienced  in  the  ways  of  women,  he  held  his 
peace,  and  suffered  them  ever  after  to  wear  their 
petticoats  and  cut  their  capers  as  high  as  they 
pleased. 


CHAPTER   II. 

HOW  PETER  STUYVESANT  WAS  MUCH  MOLESTED 
BY  THE  MOSSTROOPERS  OF  THE  EAST,  AND 
THE  GIANTS  OF  MERRYLAND— AND  HOW  A 
DARK  AND  HORRID  CONSPIRACY  WAS  CAR- 
RIED ON  IN  THE  BRITISH  CABINET  AGAINST 
THE  PROSPERITY   OF  THE  MANHATTOES. 

We  are  now  approaching  towards  the  crisis  of 
our  work,  and  if  I  be  not  mistaken  in  my  forebod- 
ings, we  shall  have  a  world  of  business  to  despatch 
in  the  ensuing  chapters. 

It  is  with  some  communities,  as  it  is  with  certain 
meddlesome  individuals,  they  have  a  wonderful  fa- 
cility at  getting  into  scrapes ;  and  I  have  always  re- 
marked, that  those  are  most  liable  to  get  in,  who 
have  the  least  talent  at  getting  out  again.  This  is, 
doubtless,  owing  to  the  excessive  valour  of  those 
states ;  for  I  have  likewise  noticed  that  this  rampant 
and  ungovernable  quality  is  always  most  unruly 
where  most  confined  ;  which  accounts  for  its  vapour- 
ing so  amazingly  in  little  states,  little  men,  and  ugly 
little  women  especially. 

Thus,  when  one  reflects,  that  the  province  of  the 
Manhattoes,  though  of  prodigious  importance  in  the 
eyes  of  its  inhabitants  and  its  historian,  was  really 
of  no  very  great  consequence  in  the  eyes  of  the  rest 


of  the  world  ;  that  it  had  but  little  wealth  or  other 
spoils  to  reward  the  trouble  of  assailing  it,  and  that 
it  had  nothing  to  expect  from  running  wantonly  into 
war,  save  an  exceeding  good  beating. — On  ponder- 
ing these  things,  I  say,  one  would  utterly  despair  of 
finding  in  its  history  either  battles  or  bloodshed,  or 
any  other  of  those  calamities  which  give  importance 
to  a  nation,  and  entertainment  to  the  reader.  But, 
on  the  contrary,  we  find,  so  valiant  is  this  province, 
that  it  has  already  drawn  upon  itself  a  host  of 
enemies;  has  had  as  many  buffetings  as  would 
gratify  the  ambition  of  the  most  warlike  nation  ; 
and  is,  in  sober  sadness,  a  very  forlorn,  distressed, 
and  woe-begone  little  province  ! — all  which  was,  no 
doubt,  kindly  ordered  by  Providence,  to  give  interest 
and  sublimity  to  this  pathetic  history. 

But  I  forbear  to  enter  into  a  detail  of  the  pitiful 
maraudings  and  harassments,  that,  for  a  long  while 
after  the  victory  on  the  Delaware,  continued  to  insult 
the  dignity,  and  disturb  the  repose,  of  the  Neder- 
landers.  Suffice  it  in  brevity  to  say,  that  the  implac- 
able hostility  of  the  people  of  the  east,  which  had 
so  miraculously  been  prevented  from  breaking  out, 
as  my  readers  must  remember,  by  the  sudden  prev- 
alence of  witchcraft,  and  the  dissensions  in  the  coun- 
cil of  Amphyctions,  now  again  displayed  itself  in  a 
thousand  grievous  and  bitter  scourings  upon  the 
borders. 

Scarcely  a  month  passed  but  what  the  Dutch  set- 
tlements on  the  frontiers  were  alarmed  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  an  invading  army  from  Connecticut. 
This  would  advance  resolutely  through  the  country, 
like  a  puissant  caravan  of  the  deserts,  the  women 
and  children  mounted  in  carts  loaded  with  pots  and 
kettles,  as  though  they  meant  to  boil  the  honest 
Dutchmen  alive,  and  devour  them  like  so  many  lob- 
sters. At  the  tails  of  these  carts  would  stalk  a  crew 
of  long-limbed,  lank-sided  varlets,  with  axes  on  their 
shoulders  and  packs  on  their  backs,  resolutely  bent 
upon  improving  the  country  in  despite  of  its  pro- 
prietors. These,  settling  themselves  down,  would  in 
a  short  time  completely  dislodge  the  unfortunate 
Nederlanders  ;  elbowing  them  out  of  those  rich  bot- 
toms and  fertile  valleys,  in  which  our  Dutch  yeo- 
manry are  so  famous  for  nestling  themselves.  For 
it  is  notorious,  that  wherever  these  shrewd  men  of 
the  east  get  a  footing,  the  honest  Dutchmen  do 
gradually  disappear,  retiring  slowly,  like  the  Indians 
before  the  whites ;  being  totally  discomfited  by  the 
talking,  chaffering,  swapping,  bargaining  disposition 
of  their  new  neighbours. 

All  these  audacious  infringements  on  the  territories 
of  their  High  Mightinesses  were  accompanied,  as  has 
before  been  hinted,  by  a  world  of  rascally  brawls, 
ribroastings,  and  bundlings,  which  would  doubtless 
have  incensed  the  valiant  Peter  to  wreak  immediate 
chastisement,  had  he  not  at  the  very  same  time 
been  perplexed  by  distressing  accounts  from  Myn- 
heer Beckman,  who  commanded  the  territories  at 
South  river. 

The  restless  Swedes,  who  had  so  graciously  been 
suffered  to  remain  about  the  Delaware,  already  be- 
gan to  show  signs  of  mutiny  and  disaffection.  But 
what  was  worse,  a  peremptory  claim  was  laid  to  the 
whole  territory,  as  the  rightful  property  of  Lord  Bal- 
timore, by  Feudal,  a  chieftain  who  ruled  over  the 
colony  of  Maryland,  or  Merry-land,  as  it  was  an- 
ciently called,  because  that  the  inhabitants,  not 
having  the  fear  of  the  Lord  before  their  eyes,  were 
notoriously  prone  to  get  fuddled  and  make  merry 
with  mint-julep  and  apple-toddy.  Nay,  so  hostile 
was  this  bully  Feudal,  that  he  threatened,  unless 
his  claim  was  instantly  complied  with,  to  march  in- 
continently at  the  head  of  a  potent  force  of  the  roar- 
ing boys  of  Merry-land,  together  with  a  great  and 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


627 


mighty  train  of  grants,  who  infested  the  banks  of  the 
Susquehanna* — and  to  lay  waste  and  depopulate  the 
whole  country  of  South  river. 

By  this  it  is  manifest,  that  this  boasted  colony, 
like  all  great  acquisitions  of  territory,  soon  became  a 
greater  evil  to  the  conqueror  than  the  loss  of  it  was 
to  the  conquered  ;  and  caused  greater  uneasiness 
and  trouble  than  all  the  territory  of  the  New-Neth- 
erlands besides.  Thus  Providence  wisely  orders  that 
one  evil  shall  balance  another.  The  conqueror  who 
wrests  the  property  of  his  neighbour,  who  wrongs  a 
nation  and  desolates  a  country,  though  he  may  ac- 
quire increase  of  empire  and  immortal  fame,  yet  in- 
sures his  own  inevitable  punishment.  He  takes  to 
himself  a  cause  of  endless  anxiety — he  incorporates 
with  his  late  sound  domain  a  loose  part — a  rotten, 
disaffected  member;  which  is  an  exhaustless  source 
of  internal  treason  and  disunion,  and  external  alter- 
cation and  hostility.  Happy  is  that  nation,  which 
compact,  united,  loyal  in  all  its  parts,  and  concen- 
trated in  its  strength,  seeks  no  idle  acquisition  of 
unprofitable  and  ungovernable  territory — which,  con- 
tent to  be  prosperous  and  happy,  has  no  ambition  to 
be  great.  It  is  like  a  man  well  organized  in  his  sys- 
tem, sound  in  health,  and  full  of  vigour;  unencum- 
bered by  useless  trappings,  and  fixed  in  an  unshaken 
attitude.  But  the  nation,  insatiable  of  territory, 
whose  domains  are  scattered,  feebly  united  and 
weakly  organized,  is  like  a  senseless  miser  sprawl- 
ing among  golden  stores,  open  to  every  attack,  and 
unable  to  defend  the  riches  he  vainly  endeavours  to 
overshadow. 

At  the  time  of  receiving  the  alarming  despatches 
from  South  river,  the  great  Peter  was  busily  employ- 
ed in  quelling  certain  Indian  troubles  that  had  broken 
out  about  Esopus,  and  was  moreover  meditating  how 
to  relieve  his  eastern  borders  on  the  Connecticut. 
He,  however,  sent  word  to  Mynheer  Beckman  to  be 
of  good  heart,  to  maintain  incessant  vigilance,  and 
to  let  him  know  if  matters  wore  a  more  threatening 
appearance ;  in  which  case  he  would  incontinently 
repair  with  his  warriors  of  the  Hudson,  to  spoil  the 
merriment  of  these  Merry-landers ;  for  he  coveted 
exceedingly  to  have  a  bout,  hand  to  hand,  with  some 
half  a  score  of  these  giants — having  never  encoun- 
tered a  giant  in  his  whole  life,  unless  we  may  so  call 
the  stout  Risingh,  and  he  was  but  a  little  one. 

Nothing  farther,  however,  occurred  to  molest  the 
tranquillity  of  Mynheer  Beckman  and  his  colony. 
Fendal  and  his  myrmidons  remained  at  home,  carous- 
ing it  soundly  upon  hoe-cakes,  bacon,  and  mint-julep, 
and  running  horses,  and  fighting  cocks,  for  which 
they  were  greatly  renowned. — At  hearing  of  this, 
Peter  Stuyvesant  was  very  well  pleased,  for  notwith- 
standing his  inclination  to  measure  weapons  with 
these  monstrous  men  of  the  Susquehanna,  yet  he  had 
already  as  much  employment  nearer  home  as  he  could 
turn  his  hands  to.  Little  did  he  think,  worthy  soul, 
that  this  southern  calm  was  but  the  deceitful  prelude 
to  a  most  terrible  and  fatal  storm,  then  brewing, 
which  was  soon  to  burst  forth  and  overwhelm  the 
unsuspecting  city  of  New-Amsterdam  ! 

Now  so  it  was,  that  while  this  excellent  governor 
was  giving  his  little  senate  laws,  and  not  only  giving 
them,  but  enforcing  them  too— while  he  was  inces- 


F' 

la 


*  We  find  very  curious  and  wonderful  accounts  of  these  Strang* 
tcople  (who  were  doubtless  the  ancestors  of  the  present  Mary- 
.anders)  made  by  Master  Hariot,  in  his  interesting  history.  "  Tiie 
Susquesahanocks,"  observes  he,  '*are  a  giantly  people,  strange 
in  proportion,  behaviour,  and  attire— their  voice  sounding  from 
them  as  if  out  of  a  cave.  Their  tobacco-pipes  were  three  quarters 
of  a  yard  long,  carved  at  the  great  end  with  a  bird,  beare,  or  other 
device,  sufficient  to  beat  out  the  braines  of  a  horse,  (and  how  many 
asses  braines  are  beaten  out,  or  rather  men's  braines  smoked  out, 
and  asses  braines  haled  in,  by  orr  lesser  pipes  at  home.)  The 
calfe  of  one  of  their  legges  measured  three  quarters  of  a  yard  about, 
the  rest  of  his  limbs  proportionable." — Master  Harlot's  Journ* 
Purch.  Pit. 


santly  travelling  the  rounds  of  his  beloved  province 
— posting  from  place  to  place  to  redress  grievances, 
and  while  busy  at  one  corner  of  his  dominions,  all 
the  rest  getting  into  an  uproar — at  this  very  time,  I 
say,  a  dark  and  direful  plot  was  hatching  against  him, 
in  that  nursery  of  monstrous  projects,  the  British  cab- 
inet. The  news  of  his  achievements  on  the  Dela- 
ware, according  to  a  sage  old  historian  of  New-Am- 
sterdam, had  occasioned  not  a  little  talk  and  marvel 
in  the  courts  of  Europe.  And  the  same  profound 
writer  assures  us,  that  the  cabinet  of  England  began 
to  entertain  great  jealousy  and  uneasiness  at  the  in- 
creasing power  of  the  Manhattoes,  and  the  valour  of 
its  sturdy  yeomanry. 

Agents,  the  same  historian  observes,  were  sent  by 
the  Amphyctionic  council  of  the  east  to  entreat  the 
assistance  of  the  British  cabinet  in  subjugating  this 
mighty  province.  Lord  Sterling  also  asserted  his 
right  to  Long  Island,  and,  at  the  same  time.  Lord 
Baltimore,  whose  agent,  as  has  before  been  men- 
tioned, had  so  alarmed  Mynheer  Beckman,  laid  his 
claim  before  the  cabinet  to  the  lands  of  South  river, 
which  he  complained  were  unjustly  and  forcibly  de- 
tained from  him,  by  these  daring  usurpers  of  the 
Nieuw-Nederlandts. 

Thus  did  the  unlucky  empire  of  the  Manhattoes 
stand  in  imminent  danger  of  experiencing  the  fate  of 
Poland,  and  being  torn  limb  from  limb  to  be  shared 
among  its  savage  neighbours.  But  while  these  rapa- 
cious powers  were  whetting  their  fangs,  and  waiting 
for  the  signal  to  fall  tooth  and  nail  upon  this  delicious 
little  fat  Dutch  empire,  the  lordly  lion,  who  sat  as 
umpire,  all  at  once  settled  the  claims  of  all  parties, 
by  laying  his  own  paw  upon  the  spoil.  For  we  are 
told  that  his  majesty,  Charles  the  Second,  not  to  be 
perplexed  by  adjusting  these  several  pretensions, 
made  a  present  of  a  large  tract  of  North  America, 
including  the  province  of  New-Netherlands,  to  his 
brother,  the  Duke  of  York — a  donation  truly  loyal, 
since  none  but  great  monarchs  have  a  right  to  give 
away  what  does  not  belong  to  them. 

That  this  munificent  gift  might  not  be  merely 
nominal,  his  majesty,  on  the  I2th  of  March,  1664, 
ordered  that  an  armament  should  be  forthwith  pre- 
pared, to  invade  the  city  of  New-Amsterdam  by  land 
and  water,  and  put  his  brother  in  complete  possession 
of  the  premises. 

Thus  critically  are  situated  the  affairs  of  the  New- 
Netherlanders.  The  honest  burghers,  so  far  from 
thinking  of  the  jeopardy  in  which  their  interests  are 
placed,  are  soberly  smoking  their  pipes,  and  thinking 
of  nothing  at  all — the  privy  counsellors  of  the  prov- 
ince are  at  this  moment  snoring  in  full  quorum,  while 
the  active  Peter,  who  takes  all  the  labour  of  thinking 
and  acting  upon  himself,  is  busily  devising  some 
method  of  bringing  the  grand  council  of  Amphyc- 
tions  to  terms.  In  the  meanwhile,  an  angry  cloud  is 
darkly  scowling  on  the  horizon — soon  shall  it  rattle 
about  the  ears  of  these  dozing  Nederlanders,  and  put 
the  mettle  of  their  stout-hearted  governor  completely 
to  the  trial. 

But  come  what  may,  I  here  pledge  my  veracity 
that  in  all  warlike  conflicts  and  subtle  perplexities, 
he  shall  still  acquit  himself  with  the  gallant  bearing 
and  spotless  honour  of  a  noble-minded,  obstinate  old 
cavalier. — Forward  then  to  the  charge ! — shine  out, 
propitious  stars,  on  the  renowned  city  of  the  Man- 
hattoes ;  and  may  the  blessing  of  St.  Nicholas  go 
with  thee — honest  Peter  Stuyvesant ! 


628 


WORKS   OF    WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


CHAPTER   III. 

OF  PETER  STUYVESANT'S  EXPEDITION  INTO  THE 
EAST  COUNTRY,  SHOWING  THAT  THOUGH  AN 
OLD   BIRD,   HE   DID  NOT   UNDERSTAND  TRAP. 

Great  nations  resemble  great  men  in  this  particu- 
lar, that  their  greatness  is  seldom  known  until  they 
get  in  trouble  ;  adversity,  therefore,  has  been  wisely 
denominated  the  ordeal  of  true  greatness,  which,  like 
gold,  can  never  receive  its  real  estimation,  until  it 
has  passed  through  the  furnace.  In  proportion,  there- 
fore, as  a  nation,  a  community,  or  an  individual  (pos- 
sessing the  inherent  quality  of  greatness)  is  involved 
in  perils  and  misfortunes,  in  proportion  does  it  rise 
in  grandeur — and  even  when  sinking  under  calamity, 
makes,  like  a  house  on  fire,  a  more  glorious  display 
than  ever  it  did  in  the  fairest  period  of  its  prosperity. 
The  vast  empire  of  China,  though  teeming  with 
population  and  imbibing  and  concentrating  the  wealth 
of  nations,  has  vegetated  through  a  succession  of 
drowsy  ages  ;  and  were  it  not  for  its  internal  revo- 
lution, and  the  subversion  of  its  ancient  government 
by  the  Tartars,  might  have  presented  nothing  but  an 
uninteresting  detail  of  dull,  monotonous  prosperity. 
Pompeii  and  Herculaneum  might  have  passed  into 
oblivion,  with  a  herd  of  their  contemporaries,  if  they 
had  not  been  fortunately  overwhelmed  by  a  volcano. 
The  renowned  city  of  Troy  has  acquired  celebrity 
only  from  its  ten  years'  distress,  and  final  conflagra- 
tion-— Paris  rises  in  importance  by  the  plots  and  mas- 
sacres which  have  ended  in  the  exaltation  of  the  il- 
lustrious Napoleon — and  even  the  mighty  London 
itself  has  skulked  through  the  records  of  time,  cele- 
brated for  nothing  of  moment,  excepting  the  plague, 
the  great  fire,  and  Guy  P'aux's  gunpowder  plot ! — 
Thus  cities  and  empires  seem  to  creep  along,  enlarg- 
ing in  silent  obscurity  under  the  pen  of  the  historian, 
until  at  length  they  burst  forth  in  some  tremendous 
calamity — and  snatch,  as  it  were,  immortality  from 
the  explosion ! 

The  above  principle  being  admitted,  my  reader 
will  plainly  perceive  that  the  city  of  New-Amster- 
dam, and  its  dependent  province,  are  on  the  high 
road  to  greatness.  Dangers  and  hostilities  threaten 
from  every  side,  and  it  is  really  a  matter  of  astonish- 
ment to  me,  how  so  small  a  state  has  been  able,  in 
so  short  a  time,  to  entangle  itself  in  so  many  diffi- 
culties. Ever  since  the  province  was  first  taken  by 
the  nose,  at  the  Fort  of  Good  Hope,  in  the  tranquil 
days  of  Wouter  Van  T wilier,  has  it  been  gradually 
increasing  in  historic  importance ;  and  never  could 
it  have  had  a  more  appropriate  chieftain  to  conduct 
it  to  the  pinnacle  of  grandeur,  than  Peter  Stuyvesant. 
In  the  fiery  heart  of  this  iron-headed  old  warrior 
sat  enthroned  all  those  five  kinds  of  courage  describ- 
ed by  Aristotle,  and  had  the  philosopher  mentioned 
five  hundred  more  to  the  back  of  them,  I  verily  be- 
lieve he  would  have  been  found  master  of  them  all. 
The  only  misfortune  was,  that  he  was  deficient  in 
the  better  part  of  valour,  called  discretion,  a  cold- 
blooded virtue  which  could  not  exist  in  the  tropical 
climate  of  his  mighty  soul.  Hence  it  was,  he  was 
continually  hurrying  into  those  unheard-of  enter- 
prises that  give  an  air  of  chivalric  romance  to  all  his 
history,  and  hence  it  was  that  he  now  conceived  a 
project  worthy  of  the  hero  of  La  Mancha  himself. 

This  was  no  other  than  to  repair  in  person  to  the 
great  council  of  the  Amphyctions,  bearing  the  sword 
in  one  hand  and  the  olive-branch  in  the  other — to 
require  immediate  reparation  for  the  innumerable 
violations  of  that  treaty  which  in  an  evil  hour  he  had 
formed — to  put  a  stop  to  those  repeated  maraudings 
on  the  eastern  borders— or  else  to  throw  his  gauntlet 
and  appeal  to  arms  for  satisfaction. 


On  declaring  this  resolution  in  his  privy  council, 
the  venerable  members  were  seized  with  vast  aston- 
ishment ;  for  once  in  their  lives  they  ventured  to  re- 
monstrate, setting  forth  the  rashness  of  exposing  his 
sacred  person  in  the  midst  of  a  strange  and  barbarous 
people,  with -sundry  other  weighty  remonstrances — 
all  which  had  about  as  much  influence  upon  the  de- 
termination of  the  headstrong  Peter  as  though  you 
were  to  endeavour  to  turn  a  rusty  weathercock  with 
a  broken-winded  bellows. 

Summoning,  therefore,  to  his  presence  his  trusty 
follower,  Antony  Van  Corlear,  he  commanded  him 
to  hold  himself  in  readiness  to  accompany  him  the 
following  morning  on  this  his  hazardous  enterprise. 
Now  Antony  the  trumpeter  was  a  little  stricken  in 
years,  yet  by  dint  of  keeping  up  a  good  heart,  and 
having  never  known  care  or  sorrow,  (having  never 
been  married,)  he  was  still  a  hearty,  jocund,  rubi- 
cund, gamesome  wag,  and  of  great  capacity  in  the 
doublet.  This  last  was  ascribed  to  his  living  a  jolly 
life  on  those  domains  at  the  Hook,  which  Peter  Stuji- 
vesant  had  granted  to  him  for  his  gallantry  at  Fort 
Casimir. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  there  was  nothing  that  more  de- 
lighted Antony  than  this  command  of  the  great 
Peter,  for  he  could  have  follov/ed  the  stout-hearted 
old  governor  to  the  world's  end  with  love  and  loyalty 
— and  he  moreover  still  remembered  the  frolicking, 
and  dancing,  and  bundling,  and  other  disports  of 
the  east  country,  and  entertained  dainty  recollection 
of  numerous  kind  and  buxom  lasses,  whom  he  longed 
exceedingly  again  to  encounter. 

Thus,  then,  did  this  mirror  of  hardihood  set  forth, 
with  no  other  attendant  but  his  trumpeter,  upon  one 
of  the  most  perilous  enterprises  ever  recorded  in  the 
annals  of  knight-errantry.  For  a  single  warrior  to 
venture  openly  among  a  whole  nation  of  foes  ;  but 
above  all,  for  a  plain  downright  Dutchman  to  think 
of  negotiating  with  the  whole  council  of  New- 
England — never  was  there  known  a  more  desperate 
undertaking ! — Ever  since  I  have  entered  upon  the 
chronicles  of  this  peerless,  but  hitherto  uncelebrated, 
chieftain,  has  he  kept  me  in  a  state  of  incessant  ac- 
tion and  anxiety  with  the  toils  and  dangers  he  is 
constantly  encountering.— Oh  !  for  a  chapter  of  the 
tranquil  reign  of  Wouter  Van  Twiller,  that  1  might 
repose  on  it  as  on  a  feather  bed  ! 

Is  it  not  enough,  Peter  Stuyvesant,  that  I  have 
once  already  rescued  thee  from  the  machinations  of 
these  terrible  Amphyctions,  by  bringing  the  whole 
powers  of  witchcraft  to  thine  aid  ? — Is  it  not  enough 
that  I  have  followed  thee  undaunted,  like  a  guardian 
spirit,  into  the  midst  of  the  horrid  battle  of  Fort 
Christina? — That  I  have  been  put  incessantly  to  my 
trumps  to  keep  thee  safe  and  sound — now  warding 
off"  with  my  single  pen  the  shower  of  dastard  blows 
that  fell  upon  thy  rear — now  narrowly  shielding  thee 
from  a  deadly  thrust,  by  a  mere  tobacco-box— now 
casing  thy  dauntless  skull  with  adamant,  when  even 
thy  stubborn  ram-beaver  failed  to  resist  the  sword 
of  the  stout  Risingh — and  now.  not  merely  bringing 
thee  off"  alive,  but  triumphant,  from  the  clutches  of 
the  gigantic  Swede,  by  the  desperate  means  of  a 
paltry  stone  pottle  ?— Is  not  all  this  enough,  but 
must  thou  still  be  plunging  into  new  difficulties,  and 
jeopardizing  in  headlong  enterprises,  thyself,  thy 
trumpeter,  and  thy  historian  ? 

And  now  the  ruddy-faced  Aurora,  like  a  buxom 
chamber-maid,  draws  aside  the  sable  curtains  of  the 
night,  and  out  bounces  from  his  bed  the  jolly  red- 
haired  Phoebus,  startled  at  being  caught  so  late  in 
the  embraces  of  Dame  Thetis.  With  many  a  sable 
oath,  he  harnesses  his  brazen-footed  steeds,  and 
whips  and  lashes,  and  splashes  up  the  firmament, 
like  a  loitering  post-boy,  half  an  hour  behind  his 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


6-29 


time.  And  now  behold  that  imp  of  fame  and  prow- 
ess, the  headstrong  Peter,  bestriding  a  raw-boned, 
switch-tailed  charger,  gallantly  arrayed  in  full  regi- 
mentals, and  bracing  on  his  thigh  that  trusty  brass- 
hilted  sword,  which  had  wrought  such  fearful  deeds 
on  the  banks  of  the  Delaware. 

Behold,  hard  after  him,  his  doughty  trumpeter  Van 
Corlear,  mounted  on  a  broken-winded,  wall-eyed, 
calico  mare  ;  his  stone  pottle,  which  had  laid  low  the 
mighty  Risingh,  slung  under  his  arm,  and  his  trumpet 
displayed  vauntingly  in  his  right  hand,  decorated 
with  a  gorgeous  banner,  on  which  is  emblazoned  the 
great  beaver  of  the  Manhattoes.  See  them  proudly 
issuing  out  of  the  city  gate  like  an  iron-clad  hero  of 
yore,  with  his  faithful  'squire  at  his  heels,  the  popu- 
lace following  them  with  their  eyes,  and  shouting 
many  a  parting  wish  and  hearty  cheering. — Farewell, 
Hardkoppig  Piet !  Farewell,  honest  Antony ! — 
Pleasant  be  your  wayfaring — prosperous  your  re- 
turn! The  stoutest  hero  that  ever  drew  a  sword, 
and  the  worthiest  trumpeter  that  ever  trod  shoe- 
leather  ! 

Legends  are  lamentably  silent  about  the  events 
that  befell  our  adventurers  in  this  their  adventurous 
travel,  excepting  the  Stuyvesant  manuscript,  which 
gives  the  substance  of  a  pleasant  little  heroic  poem, 
written  on  the  occasion  by  Domini  /Egidius  Luyck,* 
who  appears  to  have  been  the  poet  laureat  of  New- 
Amsterdam.  This  inestimable  manuscript  assures 
us  that  it  was  a  rare  spectacle  to  behold  the  great 
Peter  and  his  loyal  follower  hailing  the  morning  sun, 
and  rejoicing  in  the  clear  countenance  of  nature,  as 
they  pranced  it  through  the  pastoral  scenes  of  Bloe- 
men  Dael;t  which  in  those  days  was  a  sweet  and 
rural  valley,  beautified  with  many  a  brignt  wild 
flower,  refreshed  by  many  a  pure  streamlet,  and  en- 
livened here  and  there  by  a  delectable  little  Dutch 
cottage,  sheltered  under  some  sloping  hill,  and  al- 
most buried  in  embowering  trees. 

Now  did  they  enter  upon  the  confines  of  Connec- 
ticut, where  they  encountered  many  grievous  diffi- 
culties and  perils.  At  one  place  they  were  assailed 
by  a  troop  of  country  'squires  and  militia  colonels, 
who,  mounted  on  goodly  steeds,  hung  upon  their 
rear  for  several  miles,  harassing  them  exceedingly 
with  guesses  and  questions,  more  especially  the 
worthy  Peter,  whose  silver-chased  leg  excited  not  a 
little  marvel.  At  another  place,  hard  by  the  re- 
nowned town  of  Stamford,  they  were  set  upon  by  a 
great  and  mighty  legion  of  church  deacons,  who  im- 
periously demanded  of  them  live  shillings,  for  travel- 
ling on  Sunday,  and  threatened  to  carry  them  captive 
to  a  neighbouring  church,  whose  steeple  peered 
above  the  trees;  but  these  the  valiant  Peter  put  to 
rout  with  little  difficulty,  insomuch  that  they  bestrode 
their  canes  and  galloped  off  in  horrible  confusion, 
leaving  their  cocked  hats  behind  in  the  hurry  of  their 
flight.  But  not  so  easily  did  he  escape  from  the 
hands  of  a  crafty  man  of  Piquag ;  who,  with  undaunted 
perseverance,  and  repeated  onsets,  fairly  bargained 
him  out  of  his  goodly  switched-tailed  charger,  leaving 
in  place  there  of  avillainous  foundered  Narraganset 
pacer. 

But,  maugre  all  these  hardships,  they  pursued  their 
journey  cheerily  along  the  course  of  the  soft  flowing 
Connecticut,  whose  gentle  waves,  says  the  song,  roll 
through  many  a  fertile  Vale  and  sunny  plain ;  now 
reflecting  the  lofty  spires  of  the  bustling  city,  and 
now  the  rural  beauties  of  the  humble  hamlet ;  now 


*  This  Luyck  was,  moreover,  rector  of  the  Latin  School  in  Nieiiw- 
Nederiandt,  i66^.  There  are  two  pieces  addressed  to  .^gidius 
Luyck.  in  D,  .Sefyn's  MSS.  of  poesies,  upon  his  marriage  wiln  Ju- 
dith Isendoorn.     Old  MS. 

t  Now  called  Blooming  Dale,  about  four  miles  from  New- York 


echoing  with  the  busy  hum  of  commerce,  and  now 
with  the  cheerful  song  of  the  peasant. 

At  every  town  would  Peter  Stuyvesant,  who  was 
noted  for  warlike  punctilio,  order  the  sturdy  Antony 
to  sound  a  courteous  salutation  ;  though  the  manu- 
script observes,  that  the  inhabitants  were  thrown 
into  great  dismay  when  they  heard  of  his  approach 
For  the  fame  of  his  incomparable  achievements  on 
the  Delaware  had  spread  throughout  the  east  coun- 
try, and  they  dreaded  lest  he  had  come  to  take  ven- 
geance on  their  manifold  transgressions. 

But  the  good  Peter  rode  through  these  towns  with 
a  smiling  aspect ;  waving  his  hand  with  inexpressible 
majesty  and  condescension  ;  for  he  verily  believed 
that  the  old  clothes  which  these  ingenious  people 
had  thrust  into  their  broken  windows,  and  the  fes- 
toons of  dried  apples  and  peaches  which  ornamented 
the  fronts  of  their  houses,  were  so  many  decorations 
in  honour  of  his  approach  ;  as  it  was  the  custom,  in 
the  days  of  chivalry,  to  compliment  renowned  heroes 
by  sumptuous  displays  of  tapestry  and  gorgeous  fur- 
niture. The  women  crowded  to  the  doors  to  gaze 
upon  him  as  he  passed,  so  much  does  prowess  in 
arms  delight  the  gentle  sex.  The  little  children,  too, 
ran  after  him  in  troops,  staring  with  wonder  at  his 
regimentals,  his  brimstone  breeches,  and  the  silver 
garniture  of  his  wooden  leg.  Nor  must  I  omit  to 
mention  the  joy  which  many  strapping  wenches  be- 
trayed at  beholding  the  jovial  Van  Corlear,  who  had 
whilom  delighted  them  so  much  with  his  trumpet, 
when  he  bore  the  great  Peter's  challenge  to  the  Am- 
phyctions.  The  kind-hearted  Antony  alighted  from 
his  calico  mare,  and  kissed  them  all  with  infinite 
loving  kindness  —  and  was  right  pleased  to  see  a 
crew  of  little  trumpeters  crowding  around  him  for 
his  blessing;  each  of  whom  he  patted  on  the  head, 
bade  him  be  a  good  boy,  and  gave  him  a  penny  to 
buy  molasses  candy. 

The  Stuyvesant  manuscript  makes  but  little  farther 
mention  of  the  governor's  adventures  upon  this  expe- 
dition, excepting  that  he  was  received  with  extrava- 
gant courtesy  and  respect  by  the  great  council  of  the 
Amphyctions,  who  almost  talked  him  to  death  with 
complimentary  and  congratulatory  harangues.  I  will 
not  detain  my  readers  by  dwelling  on  his  negotiations 
with  the  grand  council.  Suffice  it  to  mention,  it  was 
like  all  other  negotiations — a  great  deal  was  said,  and 
very  little  done  :  one  conversation  led  to  another — 
one  conference  begat  misunderstandings  which  it 
took  a  dozen  conferences  to  explain  ;  at  the  end  of 
which,  the  parties  found  themselves  just  where  they 
were  at  first  ;  excepting  that  they  had  entangled 
themselves  in  a  host  of  questions  of  etiquette,  and 
conceived  a  cordial  distrust  of  each  other,  that  ren- 
dered their  future  negotiations  ten  times  more  diffi- 
cult than  ever.''' 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  perplexities,  which  bewil- 
dered the  brain  and  incensed  the  ire  of  the  sturdy 
Peter,  who  was  perhaps  of  all  men  in  the  world,  least 
fitted  for  diplomatic  wiles,  he  privately  received  the 
first  intimation  of  the  dark  conspiracy  which  had 
been  matured  in  the  Cabinet  of  England.  To  this 
was  added  the  astounding  intelligence  that  a  hostile 
squadron  had  already  sailed  from  England,  destined 
to  reduce  the  province  of  New-Netherlands,  and  that 
the  grand  council  of  Amphyctions  had  engaged  to 
co-operate,  by  sending  a  great  army  to  invade  New- 
Amsterdam  by  land. 

Unfortunate  Peter !  did  I  not  enter  with  sad  fore- 
boding upon  this  ill-starred  expedition  ?  did  I  not 
tremble  when  I  saw  thee,  with  no  other  counsellor 


*  For  certain  of  the  particulars  of  this  ancient  negotiation  see 
Haz.  Col.  State  F*apers.  It  is  singular  that  Smith  is  entirely  silent 
with  respect  to  this  memorable  expedition  of  Peter  Stuyvesant. 


630 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


out  thine  own  head,  with  no  other  armour  but  an 
honest  tongue,  a  spotless  conscience,  and  a  rusty 
sword  !  with  no  other  protector  but  St.  Nicholas — 
and  no  other  attendant  but  a  trumpeter — did  1  not 
tremble  when  I  beheld  thee  thus  sally  forth  to  con- 
tend with  all  the  knowing  powers  of  New-England  .'' 

Oh,  how  did  the  sturdy  old  warrior  rage  and  roar, 
when  he  found  himself  thus  entrapped,  like  a  lion  in 
the  hunter's  toil  !  Now  did  he  determine  to  draw 
his  trusty  sword,  and  manfully  to  fight  his  way 
through  all  the  countries  of  the  east.  Now  did  he 
resolve  to  break  in  upon  the  council  of  the  Amphyc- 
tions,  and  put  every  mother's  son  of  them  to  death. 
At  length,  as  his  direful  wrath  subsided,  he  resorted 
to  safer  though  less  glorious  expedients. 

Concealing  from  the  council  his  knowledge  of 
their  machinations,  he  privately  despatched  a  trusty 
messenger,  with  missives  to  his  counsellors  at  New- 
Amsterdam,  apprising  theai  of  the  impending  dan- 
ger, commanding  them  immediately  to  put  the  city 
in  a  posture  of  defence,  while  in  the  meantime  he 
would  endeavour  to  elude  his  enemies  and  come  to 
their  assistance.  This  done,  he  felt  himself  marvel- 
lously relieved,  rose  slowly,  shook  himself  like  a 
rhinoceros,  and  issued  forth  from  his  den,  in  much 
the  same  manner  as  Gi£lnt  Despair  is  described  to 
have  issued  from  Doubting  Castle,  in  the  chivalric 
history  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

And  now,  much  does  it  grieve  me  that  I  must 
leave  the  gallant  Peter  in  this  imminent  jeopardy : 
but  it  behoves  us  to  hurry  back  and  see  what  is  go- 
ing on  at  New-Amsterdam,  for  greatly  do  I  fear  that 
city  is  already  in  a  turmoil.  Such  was  ever  the  fate 
of  Peter  Stuyvesant ;  while  doing  one  thing  with 
heart  and  soul,  he  was  too  apt  to  leave  every  thing 
else  at  sixes  and  sevens.  While,  like  a  potentate  of 
yore,  he  was  absent,  attending  to  those  things  in  per- 
son, which  in  modern  days  are  trusted  to  generals 
and  ambassadors,  his  little  territory  at  liome  was  sure 
to  get  in  an  uproar.— All  which  was  owing  to  that 
uncommon  strength  of  intellect  which  induced  him 
to  trust  to  nobody  but  himself,  and  which  had  ac- 
quired him  the  renowned  appellation  of  Peter  the 
Headstrong. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


HOW  THE  PEOPLE  OF  NEW-AMSTERDAM  WERE 
THROWN  INTO  A  GREAT  PANIC,  BY  THE 
NEWS  OF  A  THREATENED  INVASION,  AND  THE 
MANNER  IN  WHICH  THEY  FORTIFIED  THEM- 
SELVES. 

There  is  no  sight  more  truly  interesting  to  a 
philosopher,  than  to  contemplate  a  community, 
where  every  individual  has  a  voice  in  public  affairs, 
where  every  individual  thinks  himself  the  Atlas  of 
the  nation,  and  where  every  individual  thinks  it  his 
duty  to  bestir  himself  for  the  good  of  his  country. — 
I  say,  there  is  nothing  more  interesting  to  a  philoso- 
pher, than  to  see  such  a  community  in  a  sudden  bus- 
tle of  war.  Such  a  clamour  of  tongues — such  a 
bawling  of  patriotism — such  running  hither  and 
thither — every  body  in  a  hurry — every  body  up  to 
the  ears  in  trouble — every  body  in  the  way,  and  ev- 
ery body  interrupting  his  industrious  neighbour — 
who  is  busily  employed  in  doing  nothing!  It  is  like 
witnessing  a  great  fire,  where  every  man  is  at  work 
like  a  hero — some  dragging  about  empty  engines — 
others  scampering  with  lull  buckets,  and  spilling  the 
contents  into  the  boots  of  their  neighbours — and 
others  ringing  the  church  bells  all  night,  by  way  of 
putting  out  the  fire.  Little  firemen,  like  sturdy  little 
knights  storming  a  breach,  clambering  up  and  down 


scaling-ladders,  and  bawling  through  tin  trumpets, 
by  way  of  directing  the  attack. — Here  one  busy  fel- 
low, in  his  great  zeal  to  save  the  property  of  the  un- 
fortunate, catches  up  an  anonymous  chamber  uten- 
sil, and  gallants  it  off  with  an  air  of  as  much  self- 
importance,  as  if  he  had  rescued  a  pot  of  money — 
another  throws  looking-glasses  and  china  out  of  the 
window,  to  save  them  from  the  flames,  whilst  those 
who  can  do  nothing  else  to  assist  the  great  calamity, 
run  up  and  down  the  streets  with  open  throats,  keep- 
ing up  an  incessant  cry  of  Fire !  Fire !  Fire! 

"  When  the  news  arrived  at  Sinope,"  says  the 
grave  and  profound  Lucian— though  1  own  the  story 
is  rather  trite,  "  that  Philip  was  about  to  attack 
them,  the  inhabitants  were  thrown  into  violent 
alarm.  Some  ran  to  furbish  up  their  arms ;  others 
rolled  stones  to  build  up  the  walls — every  body,  in 
short,  was  employed,  and  every  body  was  in  the  way 
of  his  neighbour.  Diogenes  alone  was  the  only  man 
who  could  find  nothing  to  do — whereupon,  deter- 
mining not  to  be  idle  when  the  welfare  of  his  coun- 
try was  at  stake,  he  tucked  up  his  robe,  and  fell  to 
rolling  his  tub  with  might  and  main  up  and  down 
the  Gymnasium."  In  like  manner  did  every  mother's 
son,  in  the  patriotic  community  of  New-Amsterdam, 
on  receiving  the  missives  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  busy 
himself  most  mightily  in  putting  things  in  confusion, 
and  assisting  the  general  uproar.  "  Every  man  " — 
saith  the  Stuyvesant  manuscript— "  flew  to  arms!" 
— by  which  is  meant,  that  not  one  of  our  honest 
Dutch  citizens  would  venture  to  church  or  to  mar- 
ket, without  an  old-fashioned  spit  of  a  sword  dang- 
ling at  his  side,  and  a  long,  Dutch  fowling-piece  on 
his  shoulder — nor  would  he  go  out  of  a  night  with- 
out a  lantern  ;  nor  turn  a  corner  without  first  peep- 
ing cautiously  round,  lest  he  should  come  unawares 
upon  a  British  army. — And  we  are  informed  that 
Stoffel  Brinkerhoff,  who  was  considered  by  the  old 
women  almost  as  brave  a  man  as  the  governor  him- 
self— actually  had  two  one-pound  swivels  mounted 
in  his  entry,  one  pointing  out  at  the  front  door,  and 
the  other  at  the  back. 

But  the  most  strenuous  measure  resorted  to  on 
this  awful  occasion,  and  one  which  has  since  been 
found  of  wonderful  efficacy,  was  to  assemble  popu- 
lar meetings.  These  brawling  convocations,  I  have 
already  shown,  were  extremely  offensive  to  Peter 
Stuyvesant,  but  as  this  was  a  moment  of  unusual 
agitation,  and  as  the  old  governor  was  not  present  to 
repress  them,  they  broke  out  with  intolerable  vio- 
lence. Hither,  therefore,  the  orators  and  politicians 
repaired,  and  there  seemed  to  be  a  competition  among 
them  who  should  bawl  the  loudest,  and  exceed  the 
others  in  hyperbolical  bursts  ol  patriotism,  and  in 
resolutions  to  uphold  and  defend  the  Government. 
In  these  sage  and  all-powerful  meetings,  it  was  de- 
termined, nem.  con.,  that  they  were  the  most  enlight- 
ened, the  most  dignified,  the  most  formidable,  and 
the  inost  ancient  community  upon  the  face  of  the 
earth.  Finding  that  this  resolution  was  so  univer- 
sally and  readily  carried,  another  was  immediately 
proposed — whether  it  were  not  possible  and  politic 
to  exterminate  Great  Britain  ?  upon  which  sixty-nine 
members  spoke  most  eloquently  in  the  affirmative, 
and  only  one  rose  to  suggest  some  doubts — who,  as  a 
punishment  for  his  treasonable  presumption,  was  im- 
mediately seized  by  the  mob,  and  tarred  and  feather- 
ed— which  punishment  being  equivalent  to  the  Tar- 
peian  Rock,  he  was  afterwards  considered  as  an  out- 
cast from  society,  and  his  opinion  went  for  nothing. 
The  question,  therefore,  being  unanimously  carried 
in  the  affinnative,  it  was  recommended  to  the  grand 
council  to  pass  it  into  a  law  ;  which  was  accordingly 
done. — By  this  measure,  the  hearts  of  the  people  at 
large  were  wonderfully  encouraged,  and  they  waxed 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


631 


exceeding  choleric  and  valorous.  Indeed,  tlie  first 
paroxysm  of  alarm  having  in  some  measure  sub- 
sided ;  the  old  women  having  buried  all  the  money 
they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  and  their  husbands 
daily  getting  fuddled  with  what  was  left — the  com- 
munity began  even  to  stand  on  the  offensive.  Songs 
were  manufactured  in  Low  Dutch,  and  sung  about 
the  streets,  wherein  the  English  were  most  wofully 
beaten,  and  shown  no  quarter;  and  popular  addresses 
were  made,  wherein  it  was  proved  to  a  certainty  that 
the  fate  of  Old  England  depended  upon  the  will  of 
the  Nevv-Amsterdammers. 

Finally,  to  strike  a  violent  blow  at  the  very  vitals  of 
Great  Britain,  a  multitude  of  the  wiser  inhabitants  as- 
sembled, and  having  purchased  all  the  British  manu- 
factures they  could  find,  they  made  thereof  a  huge 
bonfire ;  and  in  the  patriotic  glow  of  the  moment, 
every  man  present,  who  had  a  hat  or  breeches  of 
English  workmanship,  pulled  it  off,  and  threw  it  most 
undauntedly  into  the  flames — to  the  irreparable  det- 
riment, loss,  and  ruin  of  the  English  manufacturers. 
In  commemoration  of  this  great  exploit,  they  erected 
a  pole  on  the  spot,  with  a  device  on  the  top  intended 
to  represent  the  province  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts  de- 
stroying threat  Britain,  under  the  similitude  of  an 
eagle  picking  the  little  island  of  Old  England  out  of 
the  globe  ;  but  either  through  the  unskilfulness  of  the 
sculptor,  or  his  ill-timed  waggery,  it  bore  a  striking 
resemblance  to  a  goose  vainly  striving  to  get  hold  of 
a  dumpling. 


CHAPTER    V. 

SHOWING  HOW  THE  GRAND  COUNCIL  OF  THE 
NEW-NETHERLANDS  CAME  TO  BE  MIRACU- 
LOUSLY GIFTED  WITH  LONG  TONGUES— TO- 
GETHER WITH  A  GREAT  TRIUMPH  OF  ECONOMY. 

It  will  need  but  very  little  penetration  in  any  one 
acquainted  with  the  character  and  habits  of  that 
most  potent  and  blustering  monarch,  the  sovereign 
people,  to  discover  that,  notwithstanding  all  the  bustle 
and  talk  of  war  that  stunned  him  in  the  last  chapter, 
the  renowned  city  of  New- Amsterdam  is,  in  sad  re- 
ality, not  a  whit  better  prepared  for  defence  than  be- 
fore. Now,  though  the  people,  having  gotten  over 
the  first  alarm,  and  finding  no  enemy  immediately  at 
hand,  had,  with  that  valour  of  tongue,  for  which 
your  illustrious  rabble  is  so  famous,  run  into  the  op- 
posite extreme,  and  by  dint  of  gallant  vapouring  and 
rodomontado,  had  actually  talked  themselves  into 
the  opinion  that  they  were  the  bravest  and  most 
powerful  people  under  the  sun,  yet  were  the  privy 
counsellors  of  Peter  Stuyvesant  somewhat  dubious 
on  that  point.  They  dreaded  moreover  lest  that 
stem  hero  should  return,  and  find,  that  instead  of 
obeying  his  peremptory  orders,  they  had  wasted  their 
time  in  listening  to  the  hectorings  of  the  mob,  than 
which,  they  well  knew,  there  was  nothing  he  held  in 
more  exalted  contempt. 

To  make  up,  therefore,  as  speedily  as  possible,  for 
lost  time,  a  grand  divan  of  the  counsellors  and  bur- 
gomasters was  convened,  to  talk  over  the  critical 
state  of  the  province,  and  devise  measures  for  its 
safety.  Two  things  were  unanimously  agreed  upon 
in  this  venerable  assembly : — first,  that  the  city  re- 
quired to  be  put  in  a  state  of  defence  ;  and,  secondly, 
that  as  the  danger  was  imminent,  there  should  be  no 
time  lost — which  points  being  settled,  they  imme- 
diately fell  to  making  long  speeches,  and  belabouring 
one  another  in  endless  and  intemperate  disputes. 
For  about  this  time  was  this  unhappy  city  first  visited 
by  that  talking  endemic,  so  universally  prevalent  in 
this  country,  and  which  so  invariably  evinces  itself 


wherever  a  number  of  wise  men  .xssemble  together ; 
breaking  out  in  long,  windy  speeches,  caused,  as  phy- 
sicians suppose,  by  the  foul  air  which  is  ever  gener- 
ated in  a  crowd.  Now  it  was,  moreover,  that  they 
first  introduced  the  ingenious  method  of  measuring 
the  merits  of  a  harangue  by  the  hour-glass ;  he  be- 
ing considered  the  ablest  orator  who  spoke  longest 
on  a  question.  For  which  excellent  invention,  it  is 
recorded,  we  are  indebted  to  the  same  profound 
Dutch  critic  who  judged  of  books  by  their  size. 

This  sudden  passion  for  endless  harangues,  so  little 
consonant  with  the  customary  gravity  and  taciturn- 
ity of  our  sage  forefathers,  was  supposed,  by  certain 
learned  philosophers,  to  have  been  imbibed,  together 
with  divers  other  barbarous  propensities,  from  their 
savage  neighbours ;  who  were  peculiarly  noted  for 
their  long  talks  and  council  fires — who  would  never 
undertake  any  affair  of  the  least  importance,  without 
previous  debates  and  harangues  among  their  chiefs 
and  old  men.  But  the  real  cause  was,  that  the  peo- 
ple, in  electing  their  representatives  to  the  grand 
council,  were  particular  in  choosing  them  tor  their 
talents  at  talking,  without  inquiring  whether. they 
possessed  the  more  rare,  difficult,  and  ofttimes  im- 
portant talent  of  holding  their  tongues.  The  conse- 
quence was,  that  this  deliberative  body  was  composed 
of  the  most  loquacious  men  in  the  community.  As 
they  considered  themselves  placed  there  to  talk,  every 
man  concluded  that  his  duty  to  his  constituents,  and, 
what  is  more,  his  popularity  with  them,  required 
that  he  should  harangue  on  every  subject,  whether 
he  understood  it  or  not.  There  was  an  ancient  mode 
of  burying  a  chieftain,  by  every  soldier  throwing  his 
shield  full  of  earth  on  the  corpse,  until  a  mighty 
mound  was  formed ;  so,  whenever  a  question  was 
brought  forward  in  this  assembly,  every  member 
pressing  forward  to  throw  on  his  quantum  of  wisdom, 
the  subject  was  quickly  buried  under  a  huge  mass  of 
words. 

We  are  told,  that  when  disciples  were  admitted 
into  the  school  of  Pythagoras,  they  were  for  two  years 
enjoined  silence,  and  were  neither  permitted  to  ask 
questions  nor  make  remarks.  After  they  had  thus 
acquired  the  inestimable  art  of  holding  their  tongues, 
they  were  gradually  permitted  to  make  inquiries,  and 
finally  to  communicate  their  own  opinions. 

What  a  pity  is  it,  that,  while  superstitiously  hoard- 
ing up  the  rubbish  and  rags  of  antiquity,  we  should 
suffer  these  precious  gems  to  lie  unnoticed  !  What  a 
beneficial  effect  would  this  wise  regulation  of  Pytha- 
goras have,  if  introduced  in  legislative  bodies — and 
how  wonderfully  would  it  have  tended  to  expedite 
business  in  the  grand  council  of  the  Manhattoes  ! 

Thus,  however,  did  dame  Wisdom,  (whom  the 
wags  of  antiquity  have  humorously  personified  as  a 
woman,)  seem  to  take  mischievous  pleasure  in  jilting 
the  venerable  counsellors  of  New-Amsterdam.  The 
old  factions  of  Long  Pipes  and  Short  Pipes,  which 
had  been  almost  strangled  by  the  herculean  grasp  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant,  now  sprung  up  with  tenfold  vio- 
lence. Not  that  the  original  cause  of  difference  still 
existed,  —  but,  it  has  ever  been  the  fate  of  party 
names  and  party  rancour  to  remain,  long  after  the 
principles  that  gave  rise  to  them  have  been  forgotten. 
To  complete  the  public  confusion  and  bewilderment, 
the  fatal  word  Economy,  which  one  would  have 
thought  was  dead  and  buried  with  William  the  Testy, 
was  once  more  set  afloat,  like  the  apple  of  discord, 
in  the  grand  council  of  Nieuw-Nederlandts — accord- 
ing to  which  sound  principle  of  policy,  it  was  deem- 
ed more  expedient  to  throw  away  twenty  thousand 
guilders  upon  an  inefficacious  plan  of  defence,  than 
thirty  thousand  on  a  good  and  substantial  one — the 
province  thus  making  a  clear  saving  of  ten  thousand 
guilders. 


683 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


But  when  they  came  to  discuss  the  mode  of  de- 
fence, then  began  a  war  of  words  that  baffles  all 
description.  The  members  being,  as  I  observed,  en- 
listed in  opposite  parties,  were  enabled  to  proceed 
with  amazing  system  and  regularity  in  the  discussion 
of  the  questions  before  them.  Whatever  was  pro- 
posed by  a  Long  Pipe,  was  opposed  by  the  whole 
tribe  of  Short  Pipes,  who,  like  true  politicians,  con- 
sidered it  their  first  duty  to  effect  the  downfall  of  the 
Long  Pipes — their  second,  to  elevate  themselves — 
and  their  third,  to  consult  the  welfare  of  the  country. 
This  at  least  was  the  creed  of  the  most  upright 
among  the  party ;  for  as  to  the  great  mass,  they  left 
the  third  consideration  out  of  the  question  alto- 
gether. 

In  this  great  collision  of  hard  heads,  it  is  aston- 
ishing the  number  of  projects  for  defence  that  were 
struck  out,  not  one  of  which  had  ever  been  heard  of 
before,  nor  has  been  heard  of  since,  unless  it  be  in 
very  modern  days — projects  that  threw  the  windmill 
system  of  the  ingenious  Kieft  completely  in  the  back- 
ground. Still,  however,  nothing  could  be  decided 
on ;  for  so  soon  as  a  formidable  host  of  air  castles 
were  reared  by  one  party,  they  were  demolished  by 
the  other.  The  simple  populace  stood  gazing  in 
anxious  expectation  of  the  mighty  egg  that  was  to 
be  hatched  with  all  this  cackling ;  but  they  gazed  in 
vain,  for  it  appeared  that  the  grand  council  was  de- 
termined to  protect  the  province  as  did  the  noble 
and  gigantic  Pantagruel  his  army — by  covering  it 
with  his  tongue. 

Indeed,  there  was  a  portion  of  the  members,  con- 
sisting of  fat,  self-important  old  burghers,  who  smok- 
ed their  pipes  and  said  nothing,  excepting  to  nega- 
tive every  plan  of  defence  that  was  offered.  These 
.were  of  that  class  of  wealthy  old  citizens,  who,  hav- 
ing amassed  a  fortune,  button  up  their  pockets,  shut 
their  mouths,  look  rich,  and  are  good  for  nothing  all 
the  rest  of  their  lives.  Like  some  phlegmatic  oyster, 
which,  having  swallowed  a  pearl,  closes  its  shell,  set- 
tles down  in  the  mud,  and  parts  with  its  life  sooner 
than  its  treasure.  Every  plan  of  defence  seemed  to 
these  worthy  old  gentlemen  pregnant  with  ruin.  An 
armed  force  was  a  legion  of  locusts,  preying  upon 
the  public  property — to  fit  out  a  naval  armament, 
was  to  throw  their  money  into  the  sea— to  build  for- 
.tifications,  was  to  bury  it  in  the  dirt.  In  short,  they 
settled  it  as  a  sovereign  maxim,  so  long  as  their 
pockets  were  full,  no  matter  how  much  they  were 
drubbed — A  kick  left  no  scar— a  broken  head  cured 
itself— but  an  empty  purse  was  of  all  maladies  the 
slowest  to  heal,  and  one  in  which  nature  did  nothing 
for  the  patient. 

Thus  did  this  venerable  assembly  of  sages  lavish 
away  that  time  which  the  urgency  of  affairs  rendered 
invaluable,  in  empty  brawls  and  long-winded  speech- 
es, without  ever  agreeing,  e.xcept  on  the  point  with 
which  they  started,  namely,  that  there  was  no  time 
to  be  lost,  and  delay  was  ruinous.  At  length  St. 
Nicholas,  taking  compassion  on  their  distracted  situ- 
ation, and  anxious  to  preserve  them  from  anarchy, 
so  ordered,  that  in  the  midst  of  one  of  their  most 
noisy  debates  on  the  subject  of  fortification  and  de- 
fence, when  they  had  nearly  fallen  to  loggerheads  in 
consequence  of  not  being  able  to  convince  each 
other,  the  question  was  happily  settled  by  a  messen- 
ger, who  bounced  into  the  chamber  and  informed 
them  that  the  hostile  fleet  had  arrived,  and  wss 
actually  advancing  up  the  bay  ! 

Thus  was  all  farther  necessity  of  either  fortifying 
or  disputing  completely  obviated,  and  thus  was  the 
grand  council  saved  a  world  of  words,  and  the  prov- 
ince a  world  of  expense— a  most  absolute  and  glori- 
ous triumph  of  economy  ! 


CHAPTER   VI. 

IN  WHICH  THE  TROUBLES  OF  ^'EW-AMSTERDAM 
i»PPEAR  TO  THICKEN — SHOWING  THE  BRAVERY, 
IN  TIME  OF  PERIL,  OF  A  PEOPLE  WHO  DEFEND 
THEMSELVES   BY   RESOLUTIONS. 

Like  as  an  assemblage  of  politic  cats,  engaged  in 
clamourous  gibberings,  and  caterwaulings,  eyeing 
one  another  with  hideous  grimaces,  spitting  in  each 
other's  faces,  and  on  the  point  of  breaking  forth  into 
a  general  clapper-clawing,  are  suddenly  put  to  scam- 
pering rout  and  confusion  by  the  startling  appear- 
ance of  a  house-dog — so  was  the  no  less  vociferous 
council  of  New-Amsterdam,  amazed,  astounded,  and 
totally  dispersed,  by  the  sudden  arrival  of  the  enemy. 
Every  member  made  the  best  of  his  way  home,  wad- 
dling along  as  fast  as  his  short  legs  could  fag  under 
their  heavy  burden,  and  wheezing  as  he  went  with 
corpulency  and  terror.  When  he  arrived  at  his 
castle,  he  barricadoed  the  street  door,  and  buried 
hihnself  in  the  cider  cellar,  without  daring  to  peep 
out,  lest  he  should  have  his  head  carried  off  by  a 
cannon-ball. 

The  sovereign  people  all  crowded  into  the  market- 
place, herding  together  with  the  instinct  of  sheep, 
who  seek  for  safety  in  each  other's  company,  when 
the  shepherd  and  his  dog  are  absent,  and  the  wolf  is 
prowling  round  the  fold.  Far  from  finding  relief, 
however,  they  only  increased  each  other's  terrors. 
Each  man  looked  ruefully  in  his  neighbour's  face,  in 
search  of  encouragement,  but  only  found  in  its  woe- 
begone lineaments,  a  confirmation  of  his  own  dis- 
may. Not  a  word  now  was  to  be  heard  of  conquer- 
ing Great  Britain,  not  a  whisper  about  the  sovereign 
virtues  of  economy — while  the  old  women  heightened 
the  general  gloom  by  clamorously  bewailing  their 
fate,  and  incessantly  calling  for  protection  on  Saint 
Nicholas  and  Peter  Stuyvesant. 

Oh,  how  did  they  bewail  the  absence  of  the  lion- 
hearted  Peter  ! — and  how  did  they  long  for  the  com- 
forting presence  of  Antony  Van  Corlear  !  Indeed,  a 
glooiny  uncertainty  hung  over  the  fate  of  these  ad- 
venturous heroes.  Day  after  day  had  elapsed  since 
the  alarming  inessage  from  the  governor,  without 
bringing  any  farther  tidings  of  his  safety.  Many  a 
fearful  conjecture  was  hazarded  as  to  what  had  be- 
fallen him  and  his  loyal  'squire.  Had  they  not  been 
devoured  alive  by  the  cannibals  of  jMarblehead  and 
Cape  Cod  ? — were  they  not  put  to  the  question  by 
the  great  council  of  Amphyctions? — were  they  not 
smothered  in  onions  by  the  terrible  men  of  Piquag .' 
— In  the  midst  of  this  consternation  and  perplexity, 
when  horror,  like  a  mighty  nightmare,  sat  brooding 
upon  the  little,  fat,  plethoric  city  of  New-Amster- 
dam, the  ears  of  the  multitude  were  suddenly  startled 
by  a  strange  and  distant  sound — it  approached — it 
grew  louder  and  louder — and  now  it  resounded  at  the 
city  gate.  The  public  could  not  be  mistaken  in  the 
well-known  sound — a  shout  of  joy  burst  from  their 
lips,  as  the  gallant  Peter,  covered  widi  dust,  and  fol- 
lowed by  his  faithful  trumpeter,  came  galloping  into 
the  market-place. 

The  first  transports  of  the  populace  having  sub- 
sided, they  gathered  round  the  honest  Antony,  as  he 
dismounted  from  his  horse,  overwhelming  him  with 
greetings  and  congratulations  In  breathless  accents 
he  related  to  them  the  marvellous  adventures  through 
which  the  old  governor  and  himself  had  gone,  in 
making  their  escape  from  the  clutches  of  the  terrible 
Amphyctions.  But  though  the  Stuyvesant  manu- 
script, with  its  customary  minuteness  where  any 
thing  touching  the  great  Peter  is  concerned,  is  very 
particular  as  to  the'incidents  of  this  masterly  retreat, 
yet  the  particular  state  of  the  public  affairs  will  not 
allow  me  to  indulge  in  a  full  recital  thereof.     Let  it 


A   HISTORY   OF    NEW-YORK. 


633 


suffice  to  say,  that  while  Peter  Stuyvesant  was  anx- 
iously revolving  in  his  mind  how  he  could  make 
o'ood  his  escape  with  honour  and  dignity,  certain  of 
the  ships  sent  out  for  the  conquest  of  the  Manhattoes 
touched  at  the  eastern  ports,  to  obtain  needful  sup- 
plies, and  to  call  on  the  grand  council  of  the  league 
for  its  promised  co-operation.  Upon  hearing  of  this, 
the  vigilant  Peter,  perceiving  that  a  moment's  delay 
were  fatal,  made  a  secret  and  precipitate  decamp- 
ment, though  much  did  it  grieve  his  lofty  soul  to  be 
obliged  to  turn  his  back  even  upon  a  nation  of  foes. 
Many  hair-breadth  'scapes  and  divers  perilous  mis- 
haps did  they  sustain,  as  they  scoured,  without  sound 
of  trumpet,  through  the  fair  regions  of  the  east.  Al- 
ready was  the  country  in  an  uproar  with  hostile 
preparation,  and  they  were  obliged  to  take  a  large 
circuit  in  their  flight,  lurking  along  through  the 
woody  mountains  of  the  Devil's  Back-bone  ;  from 
whence  the  valiant  Peter  sallied  forth  one  day,  like 
a  lion,  and  put  to  rout  a  whole  region  of  squatters, 
consisting  of  three  generations  of  a  prolific  family, 
who  were  already  on  their  way  to  take  possession  of 
some  corner  of  the  New-Netherlands.  Na\',  the 
faithful  Antony  had  great  difficulty  at  sundry  times 
to  prevent  him,  in  the  excess  of  his  wrath,  from 
descending  down  from  the  mountains,  and  falling, 
sword  in  hand,  upon  certain  of  the  border  towns,  who 
were  marshalling  forth  their  draggletailed  militia. 

The  first  movements  of  the  governor,  on  reaching 
his  dwelling,  was  to  mount  the  roof,  from  whence  he 
contemplated,  with  rueful  aspect,  the  hostile  squad- 
ron. This  had  already  come  to  anchor  in  the  bay, 
and  consisted  of  two  stout  frigates,  having  on  board, 
as  John  Josselyn,  Gent.,  informs  us.  "three  hundred 
valiant  red-coats."  Having  taken  this  survey,  he  sat 
himself  down,  and  wrote  an  epistle  to  the  command- 
er, demanding  the  reason  of  his  anchoring  in  the 
harbour  without  obtaining  previous  permission  so  to 
do.  This  letter  was  couched  in  the  most  dignified 
and  courteous  terms,  though  I  have  it  from  undoubt- 
ed authority,  that  his  teeth  were  clinched,  and  he 
had  a  bitter  sardonic  grin  upon  his  visage  all  the 
while  he  wrote.  Having  despatched  his  letter,  the 
grim  Peter  stumped  to  and  fro  about  the  town,  with 
a  most  war-betokening  countenance,  his  hands  thrust 
into  his  breeches  pockets,  and  whistling  a  Low  Dutch 
psalm  tune,  which  bore  no  small  resemblance  to  the 
music  of  a  north-east  wind,  when  a  storm  is  brewing. 
The  very  dogs,  as  they  eyed  him,  skulked  away  in 
dismay — while  all  the  old  and  ugly  women  of  New- 
Amsterdam  ran  howling  at  his  heels,  imploring  him 
to  save  them  from  murder,  robbery,  and  pitiless  rav- 
ishment ! 

The  reply  of  Col.  Nichols,  who  commanded  the 
invaders,  was  couched  in  terms  of  equal  courtesy 
with  the  letter  of  the  governor — declaring  the  right 
and  title  of  his  British  Majesty  to  the  province, 
where  he  affirmed  the  Dutch  to  be  mere  interlopers; 
and  demanding  that  the  town,  forts,  etc.,  should  be 
forthwith  rendered  into  his  majesty's  obedience  and 
protection — promising  at  the  same  time,  life,  liberty, 
estate,  and  free  trade,  to  every  Dutch  denizen  who 
should  readilv  submit  to  his  majesty's  government. 

Peter  Stuyvesant  read  over  this  friendly  epistle 
with  some  such  harmony  of  aspect  as  we  may  sup- 
pose a  crusty  farmer,  who  has  long  been  fattening 
upon  his  neighbour's  soil,  reads  the  loving  letter  o( 
John  Stiles,  that  warns  him  of  an  action  of  eject- 
ment. The  old  !^o\ernor,  however,  was  not  to  be 
taken  by  surprise,  but  thrusting  the  summons  into  his 
breeches  pocket,  he  stalked  three  times  across  the 
room,  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  with  great  vehemence, 
and  then  loftily  waving  his  hand,  promised  to  send 
an  answer  the  next  morning  In  the  meantime,  he 
calletl  a  general  council  of  war  of  his  privy  counsel- 


lors and  burgomasters,  not  for  the  purpose  of  asking 
their  advice,  for  that,  as  has  already  been  shown,  he 
valued  not  a  rush  ;  but  to  make  known  unto  them 
his  sovereign  determination,  and  require  their  prompt 
adherence. 

Before,  however,  he  convened  his  council,  he  re- 
solved upon  three  important  points ;  first,  never  to 
give  up  the  city  without  a  little  hard  fighting,  for  he 
deemed  it  highly  derogatory  to  the  dignity  of  so  re- 
nowned a  city,  to  suffer  itself  to  be  captured  and 
stripped,  without  receiving  a  few  kicks  into  the  bar- 
gain— secondly,  that  the  m.ajority  of  his  grand  council 
was  composed  of  arrant  poltroons,  utterly  destitute 
of  true  bottom — and,  thirdly,  that  he  would  not 
therefore  suffer  them  to  see  the  summons  of  Col. 
Nichols,  lest  the  easy  terms  it  held  out  might  induce 
them  to  clamour  for  a  surrender. 

His  orders  being  duly  promulgated,  it  was  a  pit- 
eous sight  to  behold  the  late  valiant  burgomasters, 
who  had  demolished  the  whole  British  empire  in  their 
harangues,  peeping  ruefully  out  of  their  hiding-places, 
and  then  crawling  cautiously  forth  ;  dodging  through 
narrow  lanes  and  alleys  ;  starting  at  every  little  dog 
that  barked,  as  though  it  had  been  a  dischaige  of  ar- 
tillerj- — mistaking  lamp-posts  for  British  grenadiers,  ' 
and,  in  the  excess  of  their  panic,  inetamorphosing 
pumps  into  formidable  soldiers,  levelling  blunder- 
busses at  their  bosoms  !  Having,  however,  in  despite 
of  numerous  perils  and  difficulties  of  the  kind,  ar- 
rived safe,  without  the  loss  of  a  single  man,  at  the 
hall  of  assembly,  they  took  their  seats,  and  awaited 
in  fearful  silence  the  arrival  of  the  governor.  In  a 
few  moments  the  wooden  leg  of  the  intrepid  Peter 
was  heard  in  regular  and  stout-hearted  thumps  upon 
the  staircase.  He  entered  the  chamber,  arrayed  in  a 
full  suit  of  regimentals,  and  carrying  his  trusty  toledo, 
not  girded  on  his  thigh,  but  tucked  under  his  arm. 
As  the  governor  never  equipped  himself  in  this  por- 
tentous manner,  unless  something  of  a  martial  nature 
were  working  within  his  fearless  pericranium,  his 
council  regarded  him  ruefully,  as  if  they  saw  fire  and 
sword  in  his  iron  countenance,  and  forgot  to  light 
their  pipes  in  breathless  suspense. 

The  great  Peter  was  as  eloquent  as  he  was  valor- 
ous— indeed,  these  two  rare  qualities  seemed  to  go 
hand  in  hand  in  his  composition  ;  and,. unlike  most 
great  statesmen,  whose  \ictories  are  only  confined  to 
the  bloodless  field  of  argument,  he  was  always  ready 
to  enforce  his  hardy  words  by  no  less  hardy  deeds. 
His  speeches  were  generally  marked  by  a  simplicity 
approaching  to  bluntness,  and  by  a  truly  categorical 
decision.  Addressing  the  grand  council,  he  touched 
briefly  upon  the  perils  and  hardships  he  had  sustain- 
ed in  escaping  from  his  crafty  foes.  He  next  re- 
proached the  council  for  wasting,  in  idle  debate  and 
party  feuds,  that  time  which  should  have  been  de- 
voted to  their  country.  He  was  particularly  indig- 
nant at  those  brawlers,  who,  conscious  of  individual 
security,  had  disgraced  the  councils  of  the  province 
by  impotent  hectorings  and  scurrilous  invectives, 
against  a  noble  and  powerful  enemy — those  cowardly 
curs,  who  were  incessant  in  their  barkings  and  yelp- 
ings at  the  lion,  while  distant  or  asleep,  but  the  mo- 
ment he  approached,  were  the  first  to  skulk  away. 
He  now  called  on  those  who  had  been  so  valiant  in 
their  threats  against  Great  Britain,  to  stand  forth  and 
support  their  vauntings  by  their  actions — for  it  was 
deeds,  not  words,  that  bespoke  the  spirit  of  a  nation. 
He  proceeded  to  recall  the  golden  days  of  former 
prosperity,  which  were  only  to  be  regained  by  man- 
iully  withstanding  their  enemies  ;  for  the  peace,  he 
observed,  which  is  effected  by  force  of  arms,  is  always 
more  sure  and  durable  than  that  which  is  patched 
up  by  temporary  accommodations.  He  endeavoured, 
moreover,  to  arouse  their  martial  fire,  by  reininding 


634 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


them  of  the  time  when,  before  the  frowning  walls  of 
Fort  Christina,  he  had  led  them  on  to  victory.  He 
strove  likewise  to  awaken  iheir  confidence,  by  assur- 
ing' them  of  the  protection  of  St.  Nicholas,  who  had 
hitherto  maintained  them  in  safety,  amid  all  the  sav- 
ages of  the  wilderness,  the  witches  and  squatters  of 
the  fast,  and  the  giants  of  Merr>'-land.  Finally,  he 
informed  them  of  the  insolent  summons  he  had  re- 
ceived to  surrender,  but  concluded  by  swearing  to 
defend  the  province  as  long  as  Heaven  was  on  his 
side,  and  he  had  a  wooden  leg  to  stand  upon — which 
noble  sentence  he  emphasized  by  a  tremendous 
thwack  with  the  broadside  of  his  sword  upon  the 
table,  that  totally  electrified  his  auditors. 

The  privy  counsellors,  who  had  long  been  accus- 
tomed to  the  governor's  way,  and  in  fact  had  been 
brought  into  as  perfect  discipline  as  were  ever  the 
soldiers  of  the  great  Frederick,  saw  that  there  was 
no  use  in  saying  a  word — so  lighted  their  pipes  and 
smoked  away  in  silence,  like  fat  and  discreet  coun- 
sellors. But  the  burgomasters,  being  less  under  the 
governor's  control,  considering  themselves  as  repre- 
sentatives of  the  sovereign  people,  and  being  more- 
over inflated  with  considerable  importance  and  self- 
.  sufficiency,  which  they  had  acquired  at  those  notable 
schools  of  wisdom  and  morality,  the  popular  meet- 
ings, were  not  so  easily  satisfied.  Mustering  up  fresh 
spirit,  when  they  found  there  was  some  chance  of 
escaping  from  their  present  jeopardy,  without  the 
disagreeable  alternative  of  fighting,  they  requested  a 
copy  of  the  summons  to  surrender,  that  they  might 
show  it  to  a  general  meeting  of  the  people. 

So  insolent  and  mutinous  a  request  would  have 
been  enough  to  have  roused  the  gorge  of  the  tranquil 
Van  Twiller  himself— what,  then,  must  have  been  its 
effect  upon  the  great  Stuyvesant,  who  was  not  only 
a  Dutchinan,  a  governor,  and  a  valiant  wooden- 
legged  soldier  to  boot,  but  withal  a  man  of  the  most 
stomachful  and  gunpowder  disposition .'  He  burst 
forth  into  a  blaze  of  noble  indignation,— swore  not  a 
mother's  son  of  them  should  see  a  syllable  of  it — 
that  they  deserved,  every  one  of  them,  to  be  hanged, 
drawn  and  quartered,  for  traitorously  daring  to  ques- 
tion the  infallibility  of  government — that  as  to  their 
advice  or  concurrence,  he  did  not  care  a  whiff  of  to- 
bacco for  either — that  he  had  long  been  harassed  and 
thwarted  by  their  cowardly  counsels ;  but  that  they 
might  thenceforth  go  home,  and  go  to  bed  like  old 
women  ;  for  he  was  determined  to  defend  the  colony 
himself,  without  the  assistance  of  them  or  their  adher- 
ents. So  saying,  he  tucked  his  sword  under  his  arm, 
cocked  his  hat  upon  his  head,  and  girding  up  his 
loins,  stumped  indignantly  out  of  the  council  cham- 
ber— every  body  making  room  for  him  as  he  passed. 

No  sooner  had  he  gone,  than  the  busy  burgomas- 
ters called  a  public  meeting  in  front  of  the  Stadt- 
house,  where  they  appointed  as  chairman  one  Dofue 
Roerl)ack,  a  mighty  gingerbread-baker  in  the  land 
and  formerly  of  the  cabinet  of  William  the  Testy. 
He  was  looked  up  to  with  great  reverence  by  the 
populace,  who  considered  him  a  man  of  dark  knowl- 
edge, seeing  he  was  the  first  that  imprinted  new-year 
cakes  with  the  mysterious  hieroglyphics  of  the  Cock 
and  Breeches,  and  such  like  inagical  devices. 

This  great  burgomaster,  who  still  chewed  the  cud 
of  ill-will  against  the  valiant  Stuyvesant,  in  conse- 
quence of  having  been  ignominiously  kicked  out  of 
his  cabinet  at  the  time  of  his  taking  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernment— addressed  the  greasy  multitude  in  what  is 
called  a  patriotic  speech,  in  which  he  informed  them 
of  the  courteous  summons  to  surrender — of  the  gov- 
ernor's refusal  to  comply  therewith — of  his  denying 
the  ])ublic  a  sight  of  the  summons,  which,  he  had  no 
doubt,  contained  conditions  highly  to  the  honour 
and  advantage  of  the  province. 


He  then  proceeded  to  speak  of  his  excellency  in 
high-sounding  terms,  suitable  to  the  dignity  and 
grandeur  of  his  station,  comparing  him  to  Nero, 
Caligula,  and  those  other  great  men  of  yore,  who  are 
generally  quoted  by  popular  orators  on  similar  occa- 
sions ;  assuring  the  people,  that  the  history  of  the 
world  did  not  contain  a  despotic  outrage  to  equal  the 
present  for  atrocity,  cruelty,  tyranny,  and  blood- 
thirstiness — that  it  would  be  recorded  in  letters  of 
fire,  on  the  blood-stained  tablet  of  history  !  that  ages 
would  roll  back  with  sudden  horror  when  they  came 
to  view  it !  that  the  womb  of  time — (by  the  way, 
your  orators  and  writers  take  strange  liberties  with 
the  womb  of  time,  though  some  would  fain  have  us 
believe  that  time  is  an  old  gentleman) — that  the 
womb  of  time,  pregnant  as  it  was  with  direful  hor- 
rors, would  never  produce  a  parallel  enormity  ! — 
With  a  variety  of  other  heart-rending,  soul-stirring 
tropes  and  figures,  which  I  cannot  enumerate- 
neither,  indeed,  need  I,  for  they  were  exactly  the  same 
that  are  used  in  all  popular  harangues  and  patriotic 
orations  at  the  present  day,  and  may  be  classed  in 
rhetoric  under  the  general  title  of  Rigmarole. 

The  speech  of  this  inspired  burgomaster  being 
finished,  the  meeting  fell  into  a  kind  of  popular  fer- 
mentation, which  produced  not  only  a  string  of  right 
wise  resolutions,  but  likewise  a  most  resolute  memo- 
rial, addressed  to  the  governor,  remonstrating  at  his 
conduct — which  was  no  sooner  handed  to  him,  than 
he  handed  it  into  the  fire ;  and  thus  deprived  poster- 
ity of  an  invaluable  document,  that  might  have  served 
as  a  precedent  to  the  enlightened  cobblers  and  tail- 
ors of  the  present  day,  in  their  sage  intermeddlings 
with  politics. 


CHAPTER   Vn. 

CONTAINING  A  DOLEFUL  DISASTER  OF  ANTONY 
THE  TRUMPETER — AND  HOW  PETER  STUVES- 
ANT,  LIKE  A  SECOND  CROMWELL,  SUDDENLY 
DISSOLVED  A   RUMP  PARLIAMENT. 

Now  did  the  high-minded  Pieter  de  Groodt  shower 
down  a  pannier-load  of  benedictions  upon  his  burgo- 
masters, for  a  set  of  self-willed,  obstinate,  headstrong 
varlets,  who  would  neither  be  convinced  nor  per- 
suaded ;  and  determined  thenceforth  to  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  them,  but  to  consult  merely  the 
opinion  of  his  privy  counsellors,  which  he  knew 
from  experience  to  be  the  best  in  the  world — inas- 
much as  it  never  differed  from  his  own.  Nor  did  he 
omit,  now  that  his  hand  was  in,  to  bestow  some  thou- 
sand left-handed  compliments  upon  the  sovereign 
people ;  whom  he  railed  at  for  a  herd  of  poltroons, 
who  had  no  relish  lor  the  glorious  hardships  and  il- 
lustrious misadventures  of  battle — but  would  rather 
stay  at  home,  and  eat  and  sleep  in  ignoble  ease,  than 
gain  immortality  and  a  broken  head  by  valiantly 
fighting  in  a  ditch. 

Resolutely  bent,  however,  upon  defending  his  be- 
loved city,  in  despite  even  of  itself,  he  called  unto 
him  his  trusty  Van  Corlear,  who  was  his  right-hand 
man  in  all  times  of  emergency.  Him  did  he  adjure 
to  take  his  war-denouncing  trumpet,  and  mounting 
his  horse,  to  beat  up  the  countiy,  night  and  day. 
Sounding  the  alarm  along  the  pastoral  borders  of  the 
Bronx — starting  the  wild  solitudes  of  Crolon — arous- 
ing the  rugged  yeomanry  of  Wcehawk  and  Hoboeken 
—the  mighty  men  of  battle  of  Tappan  Bay*— and 
the  brave  boys  of  Tarry  Town  and  Sleepy  Hollow — 


*  A  corruption  of  Top-paun  ;  so  called  from  a  tribe  of  Indians, 
which  boasted  a  hundred  and  fifty  fighting  men.  See  Ogilby's 
History. 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


635 


together  with  all  the  other  warriors  of  the  country 
round  about ;  charging  them  one  and  all  to  sling 
their  powder-horns,  shoulder  their  fowling-pieces, 
and  march  merrily  down  to  the  Manhatioes, 

Now  there  was  nothing  in  all  the  world,  the  divine 
sex- excepted,  that  Antony  Van  Corlear  loved  better 
than  errands  of  this  kind.  So,  just  stopping  to  take 
a  lusty  dinner,  and  bracing  to  his  side  his  junk  bottle, 
well  charged  with  heart-inspiring  Hollands,  he  issued 
jollily  from  the  city  gate,  that  looked  out  upon  what 
is  at  present  called  Broadway;  sounding  as  usual  a 
farewell  strain,  that  rung  in  sprightly  echoes  through 
the  winding  streets  of  New- Amsterdam. — Alas!  never 
more  were  they  to  be  gladdened  by  the  melody  of 
their  favourite  trumpeter ! 

It  was  a  dark  and  stormy  night,  when  the  good 
Antony  arrived  at  the  famous  creek  (sagely  denomi- 
nated Hsrlem  river)  which  separates  the  island  of 
Manna-hata  from  the  main  land.  The  wind  was 
high,  the  elements  were  in  an  uproar,  and  no  Charon 
could  be  found  to  ferry  the  adventurous  sounder  of 
brass  across  the  water.  For  a  short  time  he  vapour- 
ed like  an  impatient  ghost  upon  the  brink,  and  then, 
bethinking  himself  of  the  urgency  of  his  errand,  took 
a  hearty  embrace  of  his  stone  bottle,  swore  most  val- 
orously  that  he  would  swim  across,  en  spijt  den  Diiy- 
•vel,  (in  spite  of  the  devil  !)  and  daringly  plunged  into 
the  stream. — Luckless  Antony  !  scarce  had  he  buf- 
feted half-way  over,  when  he  was  observed  to  strug- 
gle violently,  as  if  battling  with  the  spirit  of  the 
waters  —  instinctively  he  put  his  trumpet  to  his 
mouth,  and  giving  a  vehement  blast,  sunk  for  ever 
to  the  bottom  ! 

The  potent  clangour  of  his  trumpet,  like  the  ivory 
horn  of  the  renowned  Paladin  Orlando,  when  expir- 
ing in  the  glorious  field  of  Roncesvalles,  rung  far  and 
wide  through  the  country,  alarming  the  neighbours 
round,  who  hurried  in  amazement  to  the  spot.  Here 
an  old  Dutch  burgher,  famed  for  his  veracity,  and 
who  had  been  a  witness  of  the  fact,  related  to  them 
the  melancholy  affair  ;  with  the  fearful  addition  (to 
which  I  am  slow  of  giving  belief)  that  he  saw  the 
duyvel,  in  the  shape  of  a  huge  moss-bonker,  seize 
the  sturdy  Antony  by  the  leg,  and  drag  him  beneath 
the  waves.  Certain  it  is,  the  place,  with  the  adjoin- 
ing promontory,  which  projects  into  the  Hudson,  has 
been  called  Spijt  den  duyvel,  or  Spiking  Devil,  ever 
since  ; — the  restless  ghost  of  the  unfortunate  Antony 
still  haunts  the  surrounding  solitudes,  and  his  trump- 
et has  often  been  heard  by  the  neighbours,  of  a  stormy 
night,  mingling  with  the  howling  of  the  blast.  No- 
body ever  attempts  to  swim  over  the  creek,  after 
dark ;  on  the  contrary,  a  bridge  has  been  built,  to 
guard  against  such  melancholy  accidents  in  future — - 
and  as  to  moss-bonkers,  they  are  held  in  such  abhor- 
rence, that  no  true  Dutchman  will  admit  them  to  his 
table,  who  loves  good  fish  and  hates  the  devil. 

Such  was  the  end  of  Antony  Van  Corlear — a  man 
deserving  of  a  better  fate.  He  lived  roundly  and 
soundly,  like  a  true  and  jolly  bachelor,  until  the  day 
of  his  death  ;  but  though  he  was  never  married,  yet 
did  he  leave  behind  some  two  or  three  dozen  chil- 
dren, in  different  parts  of  the  country — -fine,  chubby, 
brawling,  llatulent  little  urchins,  from  whom,  if  le- 
gends speak  true,  (and  they  are  not  apt  to  lie,)  did 
descend  the  innumerable  race  of  editors  who  people 
and  defend  this  country,  and  who  are  bountifully 
paid  by  the  people  for  keeping  up  a  constant  alarm 
— and  making  them  miserable.  Would  that  they  in- 
herited the  worth,  as  they  do  the  wind,  of  their  re- 
nowned progenitor  ! 

The  tidings  of  this  lamentable  catastrophe  impart- 
ed a  severer  pang  to  the  bosom  of  Peter  Stuyvesant, 
than  did  even  the  invasion  of  his  beloved  Amster- 
dam.    It  came  ruthlessly  home  to  those  sweet  af- 


fections that  grow  close  around  the  hean,  and  arc 
nourished  by  its  warmest  current.  As  some  lorn 
pilgrim,  while  the  tempest  whistles  through  his 
locks,  and  dreary  night  is  gathering  around,  sees 
stretched,  cold  and  lifeless,  his  faithful  dog — the  sole 
companion  of  his  journeying,  who  had  shared  his 
solitary  meal,  and  so  often  licked  his  hand  in  humble 
gratitude — -so  did  the  generous-hearted  hero  of  the 
Manhattoes  contemplate  the  untimely  end  of  his 
faithful  Antony.  He  had  been  the  humble  attendant 
of  his  footsteps-^he  had  cheered  him  in  many  a 
heavy  hour  by  his  honest  gayety,  and  had  followed 
him  in  loyalty  and  affection  through  many  a  scene 
of  direful  peril  and  mishap  ;  he  was  gone  for  ever — 
and  that,  too,  at  a  moment  when  every  mongrel  cur 
seemed  skulking  from  his  side.  This — Peter  Stuy- 
vesant— this  was  the  moment  to  try  thy  fortitude ; 
and  this  was  the  moment  when  thou  didst  indeed 
shine  forth — Peter  the  Headstrong  I 

The  glare  of  day  had  long  dispelled  the  horrors  of 
the  last  stormy  night  ;  still  all  was  dull  and  gloomy. 
The  late  jovial  Apollo  hid  his  face  behind  lugubrious 
clouds,  peeping  out  now  and  then,  for  an  instant,  as 
if  anxious,  yet  fearful,  to  see  what  was  going  on  in 
his  favourite  city.  This  was  the  eventful  morning 
when  the  great  Peter  was  to  give  his  reply  to  the 
summons  of  the  invaders.  Already  was  he  closeted 
with  his  privy  council,  sitting  in  grim  state,  brooding 
over  the  fate  of  his  favourite  trumpeter,  and  anon 
boiling  with  indignation  as  the  insolence  of  his  rec- 
reant burgomasters  flashed  upon  his  mind.  While 
in  this  state  of  irritation,  a  courier  arrived  in  all 
haste  from  Winthrop,  the  subtle  governor  of  Con- 
necticut, counselling  him  in  the  most  affectionate  and 
disinterested  manner  to  surrender  the  province,  and 
magnifying  the  dangers  and  calamities  to  which  a 
refusal  would  subject  him.  What  a  moment  was 
this  to  intrude  officious  advice  upon  a  man  who 
never  took  advice  in  his  whole  life  .'—The  fiery  old 
governor  strode  up  and  down  the  chamber,  with  a 
vehemence  that  made  the  bosoms  of  his  counsellors 
to  quake  with  awe — railing  at  his  unlucky  fate, 
that  thus  made  him  the  constant  butt  of  facetious 
subjects  and  Jesuitical  advisers. 

Just  at  this  ill-chosen  juncture,  the  officious  burgo- 
masters, who  were  now  completely  on  the  watch, 
and  had  heard  of  the  arrival  of  mysterious  despatch- 
es, came  marching  in  a  resolute  body  into  the  room, 
with  a  legion  of  schepens  and  toad-eaters  at  their 
heels,  and  abruptly  demanded  a  perusal  of  the  letter. 
Thus  to  be  broken  in  upon  by  what  he  esteemed  a 
"rascal  rabble,"  and  that,  too,  at  the  very  moment 
he  was  grinding  under  an  irritation  from  abroad, 
was  too  much  for  the  spleen  of  the  choleric  Peter. 
He  tore  the  letter  in  a  thousand  pieces* — threw  it  in 
the  face  of  the  nearest  burgomaster — broke  his  pipe 
over  the  head  of  the  next — hurled  his  spitting-box  at 
an  unlucky  schepen,  who  was  just  making  a  master- 
ly retreat  out  at  the  door,  and  finally  prorogued  the 
whole  meeting  sine  die,  by  kicking  them  down-stairs 
with  his  wooden  leg. 

As  soon  as  the  burgomasters  could  recover  from 
the  confusion  into  which  their  sudden  exit  had 
thrown  them,  and  had  taken  a  little  time  to  breathe, 
they  protested  against  the  conduct  of  the  governor, 
which  they  did  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  tyrannical, 
unconstitutional,  highly  indecent,  and  somewhat  dis- 
respectful. They  then  called  a  public  meeting,  where 
they  read  the  protest,  and  addressing  the  assembly 
in  a  set  speech,  related  at  full  length,  and  with  ap- 
propriate colouring  and  exaggeration,  the  despotic 
and  vindictive  deportment  of  the  governor ;  declar- 
ing that,  for  their  own  parts,  they  did  not  value  a 


•  Smith'j  History  of  New-York. 


WORKS  OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


straw  the  being  kicked,  cuffed,  and  mauled  by  the 
timber  toe  of  his  excellency,  but  they  felt  for  the 
dignity  of  the  sovereign  people,  thus  rudely  insulted 
by  the  outrage  committed  on  the  seat  of  honour  of 
their  representatives.  The  latter  part  of  the  harangue 
had  a  violent  effect  upon  the  sensibility  of  the  peo- 
ple; as  it  came  home  at  once  to  that  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing and  jealous  pride  of  character,  vested  in  all  true 
mobs ;  who,  though  they  may  bear  injuries  without 
a  murmur,  yet  are  marvellously  jealous  of  their  sov- 
ereign dignity — and  there  is  no  knowing  to  what  act 
of  resentment  they  might  have  been  provoked  against 
the  redoubtable  Peter,  had  not  the  greasy  rogues 
been  somewhat  more  afraid  of  their  sturdy  old  gov- 
ernor, than  they  were  of  St.  Nicholas,  the  English 
—or  the  D 1  himself. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


HOW  PETER  STUYVESANT  DEFENDED  THE  CITY 
OF  NEW  AMSTERDAM,  FOR  SEVERAL  DAYS,  BY 
DINT  OF  THE  STRENGTH  OF  HIS  HEAD. 

There  is  something  exceedingly  sublime  and  mel- 
ancholy in  the  spectacle  which  the  present  crisis  of 
our  history  presents.  An  illustrious  and  venerable 
little  city — the  metropolis  of  an  immense  extent  of 
uninhabited  country — -garrisoned  by  a  doughty  host 
of  orators,  chairmen,  committee-men,  burgomasters, 
schepens,  and  old  women — -governed  by  a  deter- 
mined and  strong-headed  warrior,  and  fortified  by 
mud  batteries,  palisadoes,  and  resolutions — block- 
aded by  sea,  beleaguered  by  land,  and  threatened 
with  direful  desolation  from  without  ;  while  its  very 
vitals  are  torn  with  internal  faction  and  commotion  ! 
Never  did  historic  pen  record  a  page  of  more  com- 
plicated distress,  unless  it  be  the  strife  that  distract- 
ed the  Israelites  duringthe  siege  of  Jerusalem — where 
discordant  parties  were  cutting  each  other's  throats, 
at  the  moment  when  the  victorious  legions  of  Titus 
had  toppled  down  their  bulwarks,  and  were  carrying 
fire  and  sword  into  the  verj'  sanctum  sanctorum  of 
the  temple. 

Governor  Stiiyvesant,  having  triumphantly,  as  has 
been  recorded,  put  his  grand  council  to  the  rout,  and 
thus  delivered  himself  from  a  multitude  of  imperti- 
nent advisers,  despatched  a  categorical  reply  to  the 
commanders  of  the  invading  squadron;  wherein  he 
asserted  the  right  and  title  ol  their  High  Mightinesses 
the  Lords  States  General  to  the  province  of  New- 
Netherlands,  and,  trusting  in  the  righteousness  of  his 
cause,  set  the  whole  British  nation  at  defiance  !  My 
anxiety  to  extricate  my  readers  and  myself  from  these 
disastrous  scenes,  prevents  me  from  giving  the  whole 
of  this  gallant  letter,  which  concluded  in  these  manly 
and  affectionate  terms  : 

"  As  touching  the  threats  in  your  conclusion,  we 
have  nothing  to  answer,  only  that  we  fear  nothing 
but  what  God  (who  is  as  just  as  merciful)  shall  lay 
upon  us  ;  all  things  being  in  His  gracious  disposal, 
and  we  may  as  well  be  preserved  by  him  with  small 
forces,  as  by  a  great  army ;  which  make?  us  to  wish 
you  all  happiness  and  prosperity,  and  recommend 
you  to  his  protection. — My  lords,  your  thrice  humble 
and  affectionate  servant  and  friend, 

"  P.  STUYVESANT." 

Thus  having  resolutely  thrown  his  gauntlet,  the 
brave  Peter  stuck  a  pair  of  horse-pistols  in  his  belt, 
girded  an  immense  powder-horn  on  his  side — thrust 
his  sound  leg  into  a  Hessian  boot,  and  clapping  his 
fierce  little  war  hat  on  the  top  of  his  head — paraded 
up  and  down  in  front  of  his  house,  determined  to  de- 
fend his  beloved  city  to  the  last. 


While  all  these  woful  struggles  and  dissensions 
were  prevailing  in  the  unhappy  city  of  New-Amster- 
dam, and  while  its  worthy,  but  ill-starred  governor 
was  framing  the  above-quoted  letter,  the  English 
commanders  did  not  remain  idle.  They  had  agents 
secretly  employed  to  foment  the  fears  and  clamours 
of  the  populace ;  and  moreover  circulated  far  and 
wide,  through  the  adjacent  country,  a  proclamation, 
repeating  the  terms  they  had  already  held  out  in 
their  summons  to  surrender,  and  beguiling  the  simple 
Nederlanders  with  tlie  most  crafty  and  conciliating 
professions.  They  promised  that  every  man  who 
voluntarily  submitted  to  the  authority  of  his  British 
Majesty,  should  retain  peaceable  possession  of  his 
house,  his  vrouw,  and  his  cabbage-garden.  That  he 
should  be  suffered  to  smoke  his  pipe,  speak  Dutch, 
wear  as  many  breeches  as  he  pleased,  and  import 
bricks,  tiles,  and  stone  jugs  Irom  Holland,  instead  of 
manufacturing  them  on  the  spot.  That  he  should 
on  no  account  be  compelled  to  learn  the  English  lan- 
guage, or  keep  accounts  in  any  other  way  than  by 
casting  them  up  on  his  fingers,  and  chalking  them 
down  upon  the  crown  of  his  hat ;  as  is  still  observed 
among  the  Dutch  yeomanry  at  the  present  day.  That 
every  man  should  be  allowed  quietly  to  inherit  his 
father's  hat,  coat,  shoe-buckles,  pipe,  anil  every  other 
personal  appendage,  and  that  no  man  should  be 
obliged  to  conform  to  any  improvements,  inventions, 
or  any  other  modern  innovations  ;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, should  be  permitted  to  build  his  house,  follow 
his  trade,  manage  his  farm,  rear  his  hogs,  and  educate 
his  children,  precisely  as  his  ancestors  did  before  him 
since  time  immemorial.  Finally,  that  he  should  have 
all  the  benefits  of  free  trade,  and  should  not  be  re- 
quired to  acknowledge  any  other  saint  in  the  cal- 
endar than  St.  Nicholas,  who  should  thenceforward, 
as  before,  be  considered  the  tutelar  saint  of  the  city. 

These  terms,  as  may  be  su])posed,  appeared  very 
satisfactory  to  the  people,  who  had  a  great  disposition 
to  enjoy  their  property  unmolested,  and  a  most  sin- 
gular aversion  to  engage  in  a  contest  where  they 
could  gain  little  more  than  honour  and  broken  heads 
— ^the  first  of  which  they  held  in  philosophic  indif- 
ference, the  latter  in  utter  detestation.  By  these  in- 
sidious means,  therefore,  did  the  English  succeed  in 
alienating  the  confidence  and  affections  of  the  popu- 
lace from  their  gallant  old  governor,  whom  they  con- 
sidered as  obstinately  bent  upon  running  them  into 
hideous  misadventures  ;  and  did  not  hesitate  to  speak 
their  minds  freely,  and  abuse  him  most  heartily — be- 
hind his  back. 

Like  as  a  mighty  grampus,  who,  though  assailed 
and  buffeted  by  roaring  waves  and  brawling  surges, 
still  keeps  on  an  undeviating  course  ;  and  though 
overwhelmed  by  boisterous  billows,  still  emerges 
from  the  troubled  deep,  spouting  and  blowing  with 
tenfold  violence — so  did  the  inflexible  Peter  pursue, 
unwavering,  his  determined  career,  and  rise,  con- 
temptuous, above  the  clamours  of  the  rabble. 

But  when  the  British  warriors  found,  by  the  tenor 
of  his  reply,  that  he  set  their  power  at  defiance,  they 
forthwith  despatched  recruiting  officers  to  Jamaica, 
and  Jericho,  and  Nineveh,  and  Quag,  and  Patchog, 
and  all  those  towns  on  Long  Island  which  had  been 
subdued  of  yore  by  the  immortal  Stoffel  Brinkerhoff ; 
stirring  up  the  valiant  progeny  of  Preserved  Fish, 
and  Determined  Cock,  and  those  other  illustrious 
squatters,  to  assail  the  city  of  New-Amsterdam  by 
land.  In  the  meanwhile,  the  hostile  ships  made  aw- 
ful preparation  to  commence  an  assault  by  water. 

The  streets  of  New-Amsterdam  now  jjresented  a 
scene  of  wild  dismay  and  consternation.  In  vain 
did  the  gallant  Stuyvesant  order  the  citizens  to  arm, 
and  assemble  in  the  pubhc  square  or  market-place. 
The  whole  party  of  Short  Pipes  in  the  course  of  a 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


637 


single  night  had  changed  into  arrant  old  women— a 
metamorphosis  only  to  be  paralleled  by  the  prodigies 
recorded  by  Livy  as  having  happened  at  Rome  on  the 
approach  of  Hannibal,,  when  statues  sweated  in  pure 
affright,  goats  were  converted  into  sheep,  and  cocks 
turning  into  hens  ran  cackling  about  the  streets. 

The  harassed  Peter,  thus  menaced  from  without, 
and  tormented  from  within — baited  by  the  burgo- 
masters, and  hooted  at  by  the  rabble,  chafed  and 
growled  and  raged  like  a  furious  bear,  tied  to  a  stake 
and  worried  by  a  legion  of  scoundrel  curs.  Finding, 
however,  that  all  further  attempts  to  defend  the  city 
were  vain,  and  hearing  that  an  irruption  of  borderers 
and  mosstroopers  was  ready  to  deluge  him  from  the 
east,  he  was  at  length  compelled,  in  spite  of  his 
proud  heart,  which  swelled  in  his  throat  until  it  had 
nearly  choked  him,  to  consent  to  a  treaty  of  sur- 
render. 

Words  cannot  express  the  transports  of  the  peo- 
ple, on  receiving  this  agreeable  intelligence ;  had 
they  obtained  a  conquest  over  their  enemies,  they 
could  not  have  indulged  greater  delight.  The  streets 
resounded  with  their  congratulations — they  extolled 
their  governor,  as  the  father  and  deliverer  of  his 
country — they  crowded  to  his  house  to  testify  their 
gratitude,  and  were  ten  times  more  noisy  in  their 
plaudits,  than  when  he  returned,  with  victory  perched 
upon  his  beaver,  from  the  glorious  capture  of  Fort 
Christina.  But  the  indignant  Peter  shut  his  doors 
and  windows,  and  took  refuge  in  the  innermost  re- 
cesses of  his  mansion,  that  he  might  not  hear  the  ig- 
noble rejoicings  of  the  rabble. 

In  consequence  of  this  consent  of  the  governor,  a 
parley  was  demanded  of  the  besieging  forces  to  treat 
of  the  terms  of  surrender.  Accordingly,  a  deputa- 
tion of  six  commissioners  was  appointed  on  both 
sides;  and  on  the  27tli  August,  1664,  a  capitulation 
highly  favourable  to  the  province,  and  honourable  to 
Peter  Stuyvesant,  was  agreed  to  by  the  enemy,  who 
had  conceived  a  high  opinion  of  the  valour  of  the 
Manhattoes,  and  the  magnanimity  and  unbounded 
discretion  of  their  governor. 

One  thing  alone  remained,  which  was,  that  the  ar- 
ticles of  surrender  should  be  ratified,  and  signed  by 
the  governor.  When  the  commissioners  respectfully 
waited  upon  him  for  this  purpose,  they  were  receiv- 
ed by  the  hardy  old  warrior  with  the  inost  grim  and 
bitter  courtesy.  His  warlike  accoutrements  were 
laid  aside — an  old  India  night-gown  was  wrapped 
about  his  rugged  limbs,  a  red  night-cap  overshadowed 
his  frowning  brow,  and  an  iron  gray  bread,  of  three 
days'  growth,  gave  additional  grimness  to  his  visage. 
Thrice  did  he  seize  a  little  worn-out  stump  of  a  pen, 
and  essay  to  sign  the  loathsome  paper — thrice  did  he 
clinch  his  teeth,  and  make  a  most  horrible  counte- 
nance, as  though  a  pestiferous  dose  of  rhubarb,  senna, 
and  ipecacuanha,  had  been  offered  to  his  lips ;  at 
length,  dashing  it  from  him,  he  seized  his  brass-hilted 
sword,  and  jerking  it  from  the  scabbard,  swore  by  St. 
Nicholas,  he'd  sooner  die  than  yield  to  any  power 
under  heaven. 

In  vain  was  every  attempt  to  shake  this  sturdy 
resolution — menaces,  remonstrances,  revilings,  were 
exhausted  to  no  purpose — for  two  whole  days  was 
the  house  of  the  valiant  Peter  besieged  by  the  clam- 
orous rabble,  and  for  two  whole  days  did  he  partake 
himself  to  his  arms,  and  persist  in  a  magnanimous 
refusal  to  ratify  the  capitulation. 

At  length  the  populace,  finding  that  boisterous 
measures  did  but  incense  more  determined  opposi- 
tion, bethought  themselves  of  an  humble  expedient, 
by  which,  happily,  the  governor's  ire  might  be  sooth- 
ed, and  his  resolution  undermined.  And  now  a 
solemn  and  mournful  procession,  headed  by  the  bur- 
gomasters and  schepens,  and  followed  by  the  popu- 


lace, moves  slowly  to  the  governor's  dwelling,  bear- 
ing the  capitulation.  Here  they  tbund  the  stout  old 
hero,  drawn  up  like  a  giant  in  his  castle,  the  doors 
strongly  barricadoed,  and  himself  in  full  regimentals, 
with  his  cocked  hat  on  his  head,  firmly  posted  with 
a  blunderbuss  at  the  garret-window. 

There  was  something  in  this  formidable  position 
that  struck  even  the  ignoble  vulgar  with  awe  and  ad- 
miration. The  brawling  multitude  could  not  but 
reflect  with  self-abasement  upon  their  own  pusillani- 
mous conduct,  when  they  beheld  their  hardy  but  de- 
serted old  governor,  thus  faithful  to  his  post,  like  a 
forlorn  hope,  and  fully  prepared  to  defend  his  un- 
grateful city  to  the  last.  These  compunctions,  how- 
ever, were  soon  overwhelmed  by  the  recurring  tide 
of  public  apprehension.  The  populace  arranged 
themselves  before  the  house,  taking  off  their  hats 
with  most  respectful  humility. — Burgomaster  Roer- 
back,  who  was  of  that  popular  class  of  orators  da- 
scribed  by  Sallust  as  being  "  talkative  rather  than 
eloquent,"  stepped  forth  and  addressed  the  governor 
in  a  speech  of  three  hours'  length  ;  detailing  in  the 
most  pathetic  terms  the  calamitous  situation  of  the 
province,  and  urging  him  in  a  constant  repetition  of 
the  same  arguments  and  words  to  sign  the  capitula- 
tion. 

The  mighty  Peter  eyed  him  from  his  little  garret- 
window  in  grim  silence— now  and  then  his  eye 
would  glance  over  the  surrounding  r.abble,  and  an 
indignant  grin,  like  that  of  an  angry  mastiff,  would 
mark  his  iron  visage.  But  though  he  was  a  inan  of 
most  undaunted  mettle — though  he  had  a  heart  as 
big  as  an  ox,  and  a  head  that  would  have  set  adamant 
to  scorn^yet  after  all  he  was  a  mere  mortal  :— 
wearied  out  by  these  repeated  oppositions  and  this 
eternal  haranguing,  and  perceiving  that  unless  he 
complied,  the  inhabitants  would  follow  their  own  in- 
clinations, or  rather  their  fears,  without  waiting  for 
his  consent,  he  testily  ordered  them  to  hand  up  the 
paper.  It  was  accordingly  hoisted  to  him  on  the 
end  of  a  pole,  and  having  scrawled  his  name  at  the 
bottom  of  it,  he  anathematized  them  all  for  a  set  of 
cowardly,  mutinous,  degenerate  poltroons — threw 
the  capitulation  at  their  heads,  slammed  down  the 
window,  and  was  heard  stumping  down  stairs  with 
the  most  vehement  indignation.  The  rabble  inconti- 
nently took  to  their  heels ;  even  the  burgomasters 
were  not  slow  in  evacuating  the  premises,  fearing  lest 
the  sturdy  Peter  might  issue  from  his  den,  and  greet 
them  with  some  unwelcome  testimonial  of  his  dis- 
pleasure. 

Within  three  hours  after  the  surrender,  a  legion  of 
British  beef-fed  warriors  poured  into  New-Amster- 
dam, taking  possession  of  the  fort  and  batteries. 
And  now  might  be  heard  from  all  quarters  the  sound 
of  hammers,  made  by  the  old  Dutch  burghers,  who 
were  busily  employed  in  nailing  up  their  doors  and 
windows,  to  protect  their  vrouws  from  these  fierce 
barbarians,  whom  they  contemplated  in  silent  sul- 
lenness  from  the  garret-windows,  as  they  paraded 
through  the  streets. 

Thus  did  Col.  Richard  Nichols,  the  commander 
of  the  British  forces,  enter  into  quiet  possession  of 
the  conquered  realm,  as  locum  tcnens  for  the  Duke 
of  York.  The  victory  was  attended  with  no  other 
outrage  than  that  of  changing  the  name  of  the  prov- 
ince and  its  metropolis,  which  thenceforth  were  de- 
nominated New-York,  and  so  have  continued  to  be 
called  unto  the  present  day.  The  inhabitants,  ac- 
cording to  treaty,  were  allowed  to  maintain  quiet 
possession  of  their  property  ;  but  so  inveterately  did 
they  retain  their  abhorrence  of  the  British  nation, 
that  in  a  private  meeting  of  the  leading  citizens,  it 
was  unanimously  determined  never  to  ask  any  of 
their  conquerors  to  dinner. 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

CONTAINING  THE  DIGNIFIED  RETIREMENT  AND 
MORTAL  SURRENDER  OF  PETER  THE  HEAD- 
STRONG. 

Thus,  then,  have  I  concluded  this  great  historical 
enterprise ;  but  before  1  lay  aside  my  weary  pen, 
there  yet  remains  to  be  performed  one  pious  duty. 
If,  among  the  variety  of  readers  that  may  peruse  this 
book,  there  should  liaply  be  found  any  of  those  souls 
of  true  nobility,  which  glow  with  celestial  fire  at  the 
history  of  the  generous  and  the  brave,  they  will 
doubtless  be  anxious  to  know  the  fate  of  the  gallant 
Peter  Stuyvesant.  To  gratify  one  such  sterling 
heart  of  gold,  I  would  go  more  lengths  than  to  in- 
struct the  cold-blooded  curiosity  of  a  whole  fraternity 
of  philosophers. 

No  sooner  had  that  high-mettled  cavalier  signed 
the  articles  of  capitulation,  than,  determined  not  to 
witness  the  humiliation  of  his  favourite  city,  he 
turned  his  back  on  its  walls,  and  made  a  growling 
retreat  to  his  Botnvery,  or  country-seat,  which  was 
situated  about  two  miles  off;  where  he  passed  the 
remainder  of  his  days  in  patriarchal  retirement. 
There  he  enjoyed  that  tranquillity  of  mind  which  he 
had  never  known  amid  the  distracting  cares  of  gov- 
ernment ;  and  tasted  the  sweets  of  absolute  and  un- 
controlled authority,  which  his  factious  subjects  bad 
so  often  dashed  with  the  bitterness  of  opposition. 

No  persuasions  could  ever  induce  him  to  revisit 
the  city — on  the  contrary,  he  would  always  have  his 
great  arm-chair  placed  with  its  back  to  the  windows 
which  looked  in  that  direction ;  until  a  thick  grove 
of  trees,  planted  by  his  own  hand,  grew  up  and 
formed  a  screen  that  effectually  excluded  it  from  the 
prospect.  He  railed  continually  at  the  degenerate 
innovations  and  improvements  introduced  by  the 
conquerors — forbade  a  word  of  their  detested  lan- 
guage to  be  spoken  in  his  family — a  prohibition  read- 
ily obeyed,  since  none  of  the  household  could  speak 
any  thing  but  Dutch — and  even  ordered  a  fine  ave- 
nue to  be  cut  down  in  front  of  his  house,  because  it 
consisted  of  English  cherry-trees. 

The  same  incessant  vigilance  that  blazed  forth 
when  he  had  a  vast  province  under  his  care  now 
showed  itself  with  equal  vigour,  though  in  narrower 
limits.  He  patrolled  with  unceasing  watchfulness 
around  the  boundaries  of  his  little  territory  ;  repelled 
every  encroachment  with  intrepid  promptness  ;  pun- 
ished every  vagrant  depredation  upon  his  orchard  or 
his  farm-yard  with  inflexible  severity — and  conducted 
every  stray  hog  or  cow  in  triumph  to  the  pound. 
But  to  the  indigent  neighbour,  the  friendless 
stranger,  or  the  weary  wanderer,  his  spacious  doors 
were  ever  open,  and  his  capacious  fire-place,  that 
emblem  of  his  own  warm  and  generous  heart,  had 
always  a  corner  to  receive  and  cherish  them.  There 
was  an  exception  to  this,  I  must  confess,  in  case  the 
ill-starred  applicant  was  an  Englishman  or  a  Yankee, 
to  whom,  though  he  might  extend  the  hand  of  as- 
sistance, he  never  could  be  brought  to  yield  the  rites 
of  hospitality.  Nay,  if  peradventure  some  straggling 
merchant  of  the  east  should  stop  at  his  door,  with 
his  cart-load  of  tin-ware  or  wooden  bowls,  the  fiery 
Peter  would  issue  forth  like  a  giant  from  his  castle, 
and  make  such  a  furious  clattering  among  his  pots 
and  kettles  that  the  vender  of  "notions"  was  fain  to 
betake  himself  to  instant  flight. 

His  handsome  suit  of  regimentals,  worn  thread- 
bare by  the  brush,  was  carefully  hung  up  in  the  state 
bed-chamber,  and  regularly  aired  on  the  first  fair 
day  of  every  month — and  his  cocked  hat  and  trusty 
sword  were  suspended  in  grim  repose  over  the  par- 
lour mantel-piece,  forming  supporters  to  a  full-length 
portrait  of  the  renowned  Admiral  Van  Tromp.     In 


his  domestic  empire  he  maintained  strict  discipline, 
and  a  well-organized,  despotic  government ;  but, 
though  his  own  will  was  the  supreme  law,  yet  the 
good  of  his  subjects  was  his  constant  object.  He 
watched  over,  not  merely  their  immediate  comforts, 
but  their  morals  and  their  ultimate  welfare  ;  for  he 
gave  them  abundance  of  excellent  admonition,  nor 
could  any  of  them  complain,  that,  when  occasion  re- 
quired, he  was  by  any  means  niggardly  in  bestowing 
wholesome  correction. 

The  good  old  Dutch  festivals,  those  periodical 
demonstrations  of  an  overflowing  heart  and  a  thank- 
ful spirit,  which  are  falling  into  sad  disuse  among 
my  fellow-citizens,  were  faithfully  observed  in  the 
mansion  of  Governor  Stuyvesant.  New-year  was 
truly  a  day  of  open-handed  liberality,  of  jocund  rev- 
elry, and  warm-hearted  congratulation — when  the 
bosom  seemed  to  swell  with  genial  good-fellowship 
— and  the  plenteous  table  was  attended  with  an  un- 
ceremonious freedom,  and  honest,  broad-mouthed 
merriment,  unknown  in  these  days  of  degeneracy  and 
refinement.  Pas  and  Pinxter  were  scrupulously  ob- 
served throughout  his  dominions ;  nor  was  the  day 
of  St.  Nicholas  suffered  to  pass  by  without  making 
presents,  hanging  the  stocking  in  the  chimney,  and 
complying  with  all  its  other  ceremonies. 

Once  a  year,  on  the  first  dav  of  April,  he  used  to 
array  himself  in  full  regimentals,  being  the  anniver- 
sary of  his  triumphal  entry  into  New-Amsterdam, 
after  the  conquest  of  New-Sweden.  This  was  al- 
ways a  kind  of  saturnalia  among  the  domestics, 
when  they  considered  themselves  at  liberty,  in  some 
measure,  to  say  and  do  what  they  pleased  ;  for  on 
this  day  their  master  was  always  observed  to  un- 
bend, and  become  exceeding  pleasant  and  jocose, 
sending  the  old  gray-headed  negroes  on  April  fool's 
errands  for  pigeon's  milk ;  not  one  of  whom  but  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  taken  in,  and  humoured  his  old 
master's  jokes,  as  became  a  faithful  and  well-disci- 
plined dependant.  Thus  did  he  reign,  happily  and 
peacefully,  on  his  own  land — injuring  no  man — envy- 
ing no  man  — molested  by  no  outward  strifes — per- 
plexed by  no  internal  commotions  ;  and  the  mighty 
monarchs  of  the  earth,  who  were  vainly  seeking  to 
maintain  peace,  and  promote  the  welfare  of  man- 
kind, by  war  and  desolation,  would  have  done  well 
to  have  made  a  voyage  to  the  little  island  of  Manna- 
hata,  and  learned  a  lesson  in  government  from  the 
domestic  economy  of  Peter  Stuyvesant. 

In  process  of  time,  however,  the  old  governor,  like 
all  other  children  of  mortality,  began  to  exhibit  to- 
kens of  decay.  Like  an  aged  oak,  which,  though  it 
long  has  braved  the  fury  of  the  elements,  and  still 
retains  its  gigantic  proportions,  yet  begins  to  shake 
and  groan  with  every  blast — so  was  it  with  the  gal- 
lant Peter;  for,  though  he  still  bore  the  port  and 
semblance  of  what  he  was  in  the  days  of  his  hardi- 
hood and  chivalry,  yet  did  age  and  infirmity  begin  to 
sap  the  vigour  of  his  frame — but  his  heart,  that  most 
unconquerable  citadel,  still  triumphed  unsubdued. 
With  matchless  avidity  would  he  listen  to  every  ar- 
ticle of  intelligence  concerning  the  battles  between 
the  English  and  Dutch — still  would  his  pulse  beat 
high,  whenever  he  heard  of  the  victories  of  De  Ruy- 
ter — and  his  countenance  lower,  and  his  eyebrows 
knit,  when  fortune  turned  in  favour  of  the  English. 
At  length,  as  on  a  certain  day  he  had  just  smoked 
his  fifth  pipe,  and  was  napping  after  dinner  in  h'S 
arm-chair,  conquering  the  whole  British  nation  in  his 
dreams,  he  was  suddenly  aroused  by  a  fearful  ringing 
of  bells,  rattling  of  drums,  and  roaring  of  cannon, 
that  put  all  his  blood  in  a  ferment.  But  when  he 
learnt  that  these  rejoicings  were  in  honour  of  a 
great  victory  obtained  by  the  combined  English  and 
French  fleets  over  the  brave   De  Ruyter  and  the 


A   HISTORY   OF   NEW-YORK. 


639 


young-er  Van  Tromp,  it  went  so  much  to  his  heart, 
that  lie  took  to  his  bed,  and,  in  less  than  three  days, 
was  brought  to  death's  door  by  a  nolent  cholera 
morbus  !  But,  even  in  this  extremity,  he  still  dis- 
played the  unconquerable  spirit  of  Peter  the  Head- 
strong ;  holding  out,  to  the  last  gasp,  with  the  most 
inflexible  obstinacy,  against  a  whole  army  of  old 
women,  who  were  bent  upon  driving  the  enemy  out 
of  his  bowels,  after  a  true  Dutch  mode  of  defence, 
by  inundating  the  seat  of  war  with  catnip  and  pen- 
nyroyal. 

While  he  thus  lay,  lingering  on  the  verge  of  dis- 
solution, news  was  brought  him  that  the  brave  De 
Ruyter  had  suffered  but  little  loss — had  made  good 
his  retreat — and  meant  once  more  to  meet  the  ene- 
my in  battle.  The  closing  eye  of  the  old  warrior 
kindled  at  the  words — he  partly  raised  himself  in 
bed — -a  flash  of  martial  fire  beamed  across  his  visage 
— he  clenched  his  withered  hand,  as  if  he  felt  within 
his  gripe  that  sword  which  waved  in  triumph  before 
the  walls  of  Fort  Christina,  and,  giving  a  grim  smile 
of  exultation,  sunk  back  upon  his  pillow  and  expired. 

Thus  died  Peter  Stuyvesant,  a  valiant  soldier — a 
loyal  subject — an  upright  governor,  and  an  honest 
Dutchman — ^who  wanted  only  a  few  empires  to  deso- 
late to  have  been  immortalized  as  a  hero. 

His  funeral  obsequies  were  celebrated  with  the  ut- 
most grandeur  and  solemnity.  The  town  was  per- 
fectly emptied  of  its  inhabitants,  who  crowded  in 
throngs  to  pay  the  last  sad  honours  to  their  good  old 
governor.  All  his  sterling  qualities  rushed  in  full 
tide  upon  their  recollections,  while  the  memory  of 
his  foibles  and  his  faults  had  expired  with  him.  The 
ancient  burghers  contended  who  should  have  the 
privilege  of  bearing  the  pall ;  the  populace  strove 
who  should  walk  nearest  to  the  bier — and  the  mel- 
ancholy procession  was  closed  by  a  number  of  gray- 
headed  negroes,  who  had  wintered  and  summered 
in  the  household  of  their  departed  master,  for  the 
greater  part  of  a  century. 

With  sad  and  gloomy  countenances  the  multitude 
gathered  around  the  grave.  They  dwelt  with  mourn- 
ful hearts  on  the  sturdy  virtues,  the  signal  services, 
and  the  gallant  exploits  of  the  brave  old  worthy. 
They  recalled,  with  secret  upbraidings,  their  own 
factious  opposition  to  his  government — and  many  an 
ancient  burgher,  whose  phlegmatic  features  had  never 
been  known  to  relax,  nor  his  eyes  to  moisten,  was 
now  observed  to  puff  a  pensive  pipe,  and  the  big 
drop  to  steal  down  his  cheek — while  he  muttered, 
with  affectionate  accent,  and  melancholy  shake  of 
the  head — "  Well  den ! — Hardkoppig  Peter  ben  gone 
at  last  !  " 

His  remains  were  deposited  in  the  family  vault, 
under  a  chapel,  which  he  had  piously  erected  on  his 
estate,  and  dedicated  to  St.  Nicholas — and  which 
stood  on  the  identical  spot  at  present  occupied  by 
St.  Mark's  church,  where  his  tomb-stone  is  still  to  be 
seen.  His  estate,  or  Bouwery,  as  it  was  called,  has 
ever  continued  in  the  possession  of  his  descendants, 
who,  by  the  uniform  integrity  of  their  conduct,  and 
their  strict  adherence  to  the  customs  and  manners 
that  prevailed  in  the  " good  old  times,"  have  proved 
themselves  worthy  of  their  illustrious  ancestor.  Many 
a  time  and  oft  has  the  farm  been  haunted,  at  night, 
by  enterprising  money-diggers,  in  quest  of  pots  of 
gold,  said  to  have  been  buried  by  the  old  governor 
— though  I  cannot  learn  that  any  of  them  have  ever 
been  enriched  by  their  researches  :  and  who  is  there, 
among  my  native-born  fellow-citizens,  that  does  not 
remember,  when,  in  the  mischievous  clays  of  his  boy- 
hood, he  conceived  it  a  great  exploit  to  rob  "  Stuy- 
vesant's  orchard  "  on  a  holyday  afternoon  ? 

At  this  strong-hold  of  the  family  may  still  be  seen 
certain  memorials  of  the  immortal  Peter.     His  fuU- 


lenEfth  portrait  frowns  in  martial  terrors  from  the 
parlour  wall — his  cocked  hat  and  sword  still  hang 
up  in  the  best  bed-room — his  brimstone-coloured 
breeches  were  for  a  long  while  suspended  in  the  hall, 
until  some  years  since  they  occasioned  a  dispute  be- 
tween a  new  married  couple — and  his  silver-mounted 
wooden  leg  is  still  treasured  up  in  the  store-room 
as  an  invaluable  relic. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  author's    reflections    UPON  WHAT    HAS 
BEEN   SAID. 

Among  the  numerous  events,  which  are  each  in 
their  turn  the  most  direful  and  melancholy  of  all  pos- 
sible occurrences,  in  your  interesting  and  authentic 
history,  there  is  none  that  occasion  such  deep  and 
heart-rending  grief  as  the  decline  and  fall  of  your  re- 
nowned and  mighty  empires.  Where  is  the  reader 
who  can  contemplate,  without  emotion,  the  disastrous 
events  by  which  the  great  dynasties  of  the  world 
have  been  extinguished  .'  While  wandering,  in  imagi- 
nation, among  the  gigantic  ruins  of  states  and  em- 
pires, and  marking  the  tremendous  convulsions  that 
wrought  their  overthrow,  the  bosom  of  the  melan- 
choly inquirer  swells  with  sympathy  commensurate 
to  the  surrounding  desolation.  Kingdoms,  principal- 
ities, and  powers,  have  each  had  their  rise,  their  pro- 
gress, and  their  downfall — each  in  its  turn  has  sway- 
ed a  potent  sceptre — each  has  returned  to  its  prime- 
val nothingness.  And  thus  did  it  fare  with  the  em- 
pire of  their  High  Mightinesses,  at  the  Manhattoes, 
under  the  peaceful  reign  of  Walter  the  Doubter — 
the  fretful  reign  of  William  the  Testy — and  the  chiv- 
alric  reign  of  Peter  the  Headstrong. 

Its  history  is  fruitful  instruction,  and  worthy  of  be- 
ing pondered  over  attentively ;  for  it  is  by  thus  rak- 
ing among  the  ashes  of  departed  greatness,  that  the 
sparks  of  true  knowledge  are  found,  and  the  lamp 
of  wisdom  illumined.  Let,  then,  the  reign  of  Walter 
the  Doubter  warn  against  yielding  to  that  sleek,  con- 
tented security,  that  overweening  fondness  for  com- 
fort and  repose,  that  are  produced  by  a  state  of  pros- 
perity and  peace.  These  tend  to  unnerve  a  nation  ; 
to  destroy  its  pride  of  character  ;  to  render  it  patient 
of  insult,  deaf  to  the  calls  of  honour  and  of  justice  ; 
and  cause  it  to  cling  to  peace,  like  the  sluggard  to 
his  pillow,  at  the  expense  of  every  valuable  duty  and 
consideration.  Such  supineness  insures  the  very  evil 
from  which  it  shrinks.  One  right,  yielded  up,  pro- 
duces the  usurpation  of  a  second ;  one  encroach- 
ment, passively  suffered,  makes  way  for  another  ;  and 
the  nation  that  thus,  through  a  doting  love  of  peace, 
has  sacrificed  honour  and  interest,  will  at  length  have 
to  fight  for  existence. 

Let  the  disastrous  reign  of  William  the  Testy  serve 
as  a  salutary  warning  against  that  fitful,  feverish 
mode  of  legislation  that  acts  without  system ;  de- 
pends on  shifts  and  projects,  and  trusts  to  lucky  con- 
tingencies ;  that  hesitates,  and  wavers,  and  at  length 
decides  with  the  rashness  of  ignorance  and  imbe- 
cility ;  that  stoops  for  popularity,  by  courting  the 
prejudices  and  flattering  the  arrogance,  rather  than 
commanding  the  respect,  of  the  rabble ;  that  seeks 
safety  in  a  multitude  of  counsellors,  and  distracts 
itself  by  a  variety  of  contradictory  schemes  and 
opinions  ;  that  mistakes  procrastination  for  deliber- 
ate wariness — hurry  for  decision  — starveling  parsi- 
mony for  wholesome  economy — bustle  for  business, 
and  vapouring  for  valour  ;  that  is  violent  in  council, 
sanguine  in   expectation,  precipitate  in  action,  and 


640 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


feeble  in  execution  ;  that  undertakes  enterprises 
without  forethought,  enters  upon  them  without  prep- 
aration, conducts  them  without  energy,  and  ends 
them  in  confusion  and  defeat. 

Let  the  reign  of  the  good  Stuyvesant  show  the 
eff2cts  of  vigour  and  decision,  even  when  destitute 
of  cool  judgment,  and  surrounded  by  perplexities. 
Let  it  show  how  frankness,  probity,  and  high-souled 
courage  will  command  respect  and  secure  honour, 
even  where  success  is  unattainable.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  let  it  caution  against  a  too  ready  reliance  on 
the  good  faith  of  others,  and  a  too  honest  confidence 
in  the  loving  professions  of  powerful  neighbours, 
who  are  most  friendly  when  they  most  mean  to  be- 
tray. Let  it  teach  a  judicious  attention  to  the  opin- 
ions and  wishes  of  the  many,  who,  in  times  of  peril, 
must  be  soothed  and  led,  or  apprehension  will  over- 
power the  deference  to  authority.  Let  the  empty 
wordiness  of  his  factious  subjects  ;  their  intemperate 
harangues  ;  their  violent  "  resolutions  ;"  their  hector- 
ings  against  an  absent  enemy,  and  their  pusillanimity 
on  his  approach,  teach  us  to  distrust  and  despise 
those  clamorous  patriots  whose  courage  dwells  but 
in  the  tongue.  Let  them  serve  as  a  lesson  to  repress 
that  insolence  of  speech,  destitute  of  real  force,  which 
too  often  breaks  forth  in  popular  bodies,  and  be- 
speaks the  vanity  rather  than  the  spirit  of  a  nation. 
Let  them  caution  us  against  vaunting  too  much  of 
our  own  power  and  prowess,  and  reviling  a  noble 
enemy.  True  gallantry  of  soul  would  always  lead 
us  to  treat  a  foe  with  courtesy  and  proud  punctilio  ; 
a  contrary  conduct  but  takes  from  the  merit  of  vic- 
tory, and  renders  defeat  doubly  disgraceful. 

But  I  cease  to  dwell  on  the  stores  of  excellent  ex- 
amples to  be  drawn  from  the  ancient  chronicles  of 
tlie  Manhattoes.  He  who  reads  attentively  will  dis- 
cos'er  the  threads  of  gold  which  run  throughout  the 
web  of  history,  and  are  invisible  to  the  dull  eye  of 
ignorance.  But,  before  I  conclude,  let  me  point  out 
a  solemn  warning,  furnished  in  the  subtle  chain  of 
events  by  which  the  capture  of  Fort  Casimir  has 
produced  the  present  convulsions  of  our  globe. 

Attend,  tlien,  gentle  rfeader,  to  this  plain  deduction, 
which,  if  thou  art  a  king,  an  emperor,  or  other  pow- 
erful potentate,  I  advise  thee  to  treasure  up  in  thy 
heart  —  though  little  expectation  have  I  that  my 
work  will  fall  into  such  hands,  for  well  I  know  the 
care  of  crafty  ministers,  to  keep  all  grave  and  edify- 
ing books  of  the  kind  out  of  the  way  of  unhappy 
monarchs — lest  peradventure  they  should  read  them 
and  learn  wisdom. 

By  the  treacherous  surprisal  of  Fort  Casimir,  then, 
did  the  crafty  Swedes  enjoy  a  transient  triumph  ; 
but  drew  upon  their  heads  the  vengeance  of  Peter 
Stuyvesant,  who  wrested  all  New-Sweden  from  their 
hands.  By  the  conquest  of  New-Sweden,  Peter 
Stuyvesant  aroused  the  claims  of  Lord  Baltimore  ; 
who  appealed  to  the  Cabinet  of  Great  Britain ;  who 
subdued  the  whole  province  of  New-Netherlands. 
By  this  great  achievement,  the  whole  extent  of  North 
America,  from  Nova  Scotia  to  the  Floridas,  was  ren- 
dered one  entire  dependency  upon  the  British  crown 
— but  mark  the  consequence  : — The  hitherto  scat- 


tered colonies  being  thus  consolidated,  and  having 
no  rival  colonies  to  clieck  or  keep  them  in  awe, 
waxed  great  and  powerful,  and  finally  becoming  too 
strong  for  the  mother  country,  were  enabled  to  shake 
off  its  bonds,  and  by  a  glorious  revolution  became 
an  independent  empire.  But  the  chain  of  efitrts 
stopped  not  here  ;  the  successful  revolution  in  Amer- 
ica produced  the  sanguinary  revolution  in  France, 
which  produced  the  puissant  Buonaparte,  who  pro- 
duced the  French  despotism,  which  has  thrown  the 
whole  world  in  confusion  ! — Thus  have  these  great 
powers  been  successively  punished  for  their  ill-star- 
red conquests — and  thus,  as  I  asserted,  have  all  the 
present  convulsions,  revolutions,  and  disasters  that 
overwhelm  mankind,  originated  in  the  capture  of 
the  little  Fort  Casimir,  as  recorded  in  this  eventful 
history. 

And  now,  worthy  reader,  ere  I  take  a  sad  farewell 
— which,  alas  !  must  be  for  ever — willingly  would  I 
part  in  cordial  fellowship,  and  bespeak  thy  kind- 
hearted  remembrance.  That  I  have  not  written  a 
better  history  of  the  days  of  the  patriarchs,  is  not 
my  fault — had  any  other  person  written  one  as  good, 
I  should  not  have  attempted  it  at  all.  That  many 
will  hereafter  spring  up  and  surpass  me  in  excellence, 
1  have  very  little  doubt,  and  still  less  care ;  well 
knowing,  when  the  great  Christovallo  Colon  (who  is 
vulgarly  called  Columbus)  had  once  stood  his  egg 
upon  its  end,  every  one  at  the  table  could  stand  his 
up  a  thousand  times  more  dexterously.  Should  any 
reader  find  matter  of  offence  in  this  history,  I  should 
heartily  grieve,  though  I  would  on  no  account  ques- 
tion his  penetration  by  telling  him  he  is  mistaken — 
his  good  nature,  by  telling  him  he  is  captious — or 
his  pure  conscience,  by  telling  him  he  is  startled  at 
a  shadow.  Surely  if  he  is  so  ingenious  in  finding 
offence  where  none  is  intended,  it  were  a  thousand 
pities  he  should  not  be  suffered  to  enjoy  the  benefit 
of  his  discovery. 

I  have  too  high  an  opinion  of  the  understanding 
of  my  fellow-citizens,  to  think  of  yielding  them  any 
instruction  ;  and  I  covet  too  much  their  good-will, 
to  forfeit  it  by  giving  them  good  advice.  I  am  none 
of  those  cynics  who  despise  the  world  because  it 
despises  them — on  the  contrary,  though  but  low  in 
its  regard,  I  look  up  to  it  with  the  most  perfect 
good  nature,  and  my  only  sorrow  is,  that  it  does  not 
prove  itself  more  worthy  of  the  unbounded  love  I 
bear  it. 

If,  however,  in  this  my  historic  production — the 
scanty  fruit  of  a  long  and  laborious  life — I  have  failed 
to  gratify  the  dainty  palate  of  the  age,  I  can  only 
lament  my  misfortune — for  it  is  too  late  in  the  sea- 
son for  me  even  to  hope  to  repair  it.  Already  has 
withering  age  showered  his  sterile  snows  upon  my 
brow  ;  in  a  little  while,  and  this  genial  warmth,  whicn 
still  lingers  around  my  heart,  and  throbs — worthy 
reader — throbs  kindly  towards  thyself,  will  he  chilled 
for  ever.  Haply  this  frail  compound  of  dust,  which 
while  alive  may  have  given  birth  to  nought  but  un- 
profitable weeds,  may  form  an  humble  sod  of  the 
I  valley,  from  whence  may  spring  many  a  sweet  wild 
I  flower,  to  adorn  by  beloved  island  of  Manna-hata  ! 


SALMAGUNDI; 


OR,  THE 

WHIM-WHAMS  AND  OPINIONS  OF  LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,  ESQ.,  AND  OTHERS .« 


In  hoc  est  hoax,  cum  quiz  et  joleesez, 
Et  smokem,  toastem,  roastein  folkser. 

Fee,  faw,  fum.  Psatmanatar, 

With  baked,  and  broiled,  and  stewed,  and  toasted  ; 
And  fried,  and  boiled,  and  smoked,  and  roasted, 
We  treat  the  town. 


VOLUME  FIRST. 


No.  I.— SATURDAY,  JANUARY  24,  1807. 


As  every  body  knows,  or  ought  to  know,  what  a 
Salmagundi  is,  we  shall  spare  ourselves  the  trouble 
of  an  explanation — besides,  we  despise  trouble  as  we 
do  every  thing-  that  is  low  and  mean  ;  and  hold  the 
man  who  would  incur  it  unnecessarily,  as  an  object 
worthy  our  highest  pity  and  contempt.  Neither  will 
we  puzzle  our  heads  to  give  an  account  of  ourselves, 
for  two  reasons  ;  first,  because  it  is  nobody's  busi- 
ness ;  secondly,  because  if  it  were,  we  do  not  hold 
ourselves  bound  to  attend  to  any  body's  business  but 
our  own  ;  and  even  tJtat  we  take  the  liberty  of  neg- 
lecting when  it  suits  our  inclination.  To  these  we 
might  add  a  third,  that  very  few  men  ca>i  give  a  tol- 
erable account  of  themselves,  let  them  try  ever  so 
hard  ;  but  this  reason,  we  candidly  avow,  would  not 
hold  good  with  ourselves. 

There  are,  however,  two  or  three  pieces  of  in- 
formation which  we  bestow  gratis  on  the  public, 
chiefly  because  it  suits  our  own  pleasure  and  con- 
venience that  they  should  be  known,  and  partly  be- 
cause we  do  not  wish  that  there  should  be  any  ill 
will  between  us  at  the  commencement  of  our  ac- 
quaintance. 

Our  intention  is  simply  to  instruct  the  young,  re- 
form the  old,  correct  the  town,  and  castigate  the  age  ; 
this  is  an  arduous  task,  and,  therefore,  we  undertake 
it  with  confidence.  We  intend  for  this  purpose  to 
present  a  striking  picture  of  the  town  ;  and  as  every 
l)ody  is  anxious  to  see  his  own  phiz  on  canvas,  how- 
ever stupid  or  ugly  it  may  be,  we  have  no  doubt  but 
the  whole  town  will  flock  to  our  exhibition.  Our 
picture  will  necessarily  include  a  vast  variety  of  fig- 
ures: and  should  any  gentleman  or  lady  be  dis- 
pleased with  the  inveterate  truth  of  their  likenesses, 
they  may  ease  their  spleen  by  laughing  at  those  of 
their  neighbours — this  being  what  we  understand  by 

POETICAL   JUSTICE. 

Like  all  true  and  able  editors,  we  consider  our- 
selves infallible,  and,  therefore,  with  the  customary 
dilfidence  of  our  brethren  of  the  quill,  we  shall  take 
the  liberty  of  interfering  in  all  matters  either  of  a 
public  or  private  nature.  We  are  critics,  amateurs, 
dillitanii,  and  cognoscenti ;  and  as  we  know  "  by  the 
pricking  of  our  thumbs,"  that  every  opinion  which 
we  may  advance  in  either  of  those  characters  will  be 
correct,  we  are  determined,  though  it  may  be  ques- 

•  By  Willtam  Irving,  James  fCirkc  Paulding,  and  Washington 
Ining. 

41 


tioned,  contradicted,  or  even  controvejted,  yet  it 
shall  never  be  revoked. 

We  beg  the  public  particularly  to  understand  that 
we  solicit  no  patronage.  We  are  determined,  on  the 
contrary,  that  the  patronage  shall  be  entirely  on  our 
side.  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  pecuniary 
concerns  of  the  paper  ;  its  success  will  yield  us  nei- 
ther pride  nor  profit — nor  will  its  failure  occasion  to 
us  either  loss  or  mortification.  We  advise  the  pub- 
lic, therefore,  to  purchase  our  numbers  merely  for 
their  own  sakes : — if  they  do  not,  let  ithem  settle  the 
affair  with  their  consciences  and  posterity. 

To  conclude,  we  invite  all  editors  of  nev.-spapers 
and  literary  journals  to  praise  us  heartily  in  advance, 
as  we  assure  them  that  we  intend  to  deserve  their 
praises.  To  our  next-door  neighbour  "Town,"  we 
hold  out  a  hand  of  amity,  declaring  to  him  that,  af- 
ter ours,  his  paper  will  stand  the  best  chance  for  im- 
mortality. We  proffer  an  exchange  of  civilities  ;  he 
shall  furnish  us  with  notices  of  epic  poems  and  to- 
bacco : — and  we  in  return  will  enrich  him  with  orig- 
inal speculations  on  all  manner  of  subjects  ;  together 
with  "  the  rummaging  of  my  grandfather's  mahog- 
any chest  of  drawers,"  "the  life  and  ainours  of 
mine  uncle  John,"  "  anecdotes  of  the  Cockloft  fam- 
ily," and  learned  quotations  from  that  unheard-of 
writer  of  folios,  Linkum  Fidelius. 


PUBLISHER'S   NOTICE. 

This  work  will  be  published  and  sold  by  D.  Long- 
worth.  It  will  be  printed  on  hot  prest  vellum  paper, 
as  that  is  held  in  highest  estimation  for  buckling  up 
young  ladies' hair — a  purpose  to  which  similar  works 
are  usually  appropriated  ;  it  will  be  a  small,  neat 
duodecimo  size,  so  that  when  enough  numbers  are 
written,  it  may  form  a  volume  sufficiently  portable 
to  be  carried  in  old  Ladies'  pockets  and  young  ladies' 
work-bags. 

As  the  above  work  will  not  come  out  at  stated  pe- 
riods, notice  will  be  g^ven  when  another  number  will 
be  published.  The  price  will  depend  on  the  size  of 
the  number,  and  must  be  paid  on  delivery.  The 
publisher  professes  the  same  sublime  contempt  for 
money  as  his  authors.  The  liberal  patronage  be- 
stowed by  his  discerning  fellow-citizens  on  various 
works  of  taste  which  he  has  published,  has  left  him 

(8tl) 


642 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


no  inclination  to  ask  for  further  favours  at  their 
hands  ;  and  he  publishes  this  work  in  the  mere  hope 
of  requiting  their  bounty.* 


FROM   THE    ELBOW-CHAIR   OF    LAUNCE- 
LOT   LANGSTAFF,  ESQ. 


We  were  a  considerable  time  in  deciding  whether 
we  should  be  at  the  pains  of  introducing  ourselves 
to  the  public.  As  we  care  for  nobody,  and  as  we 
are  not  yet  at  the  bar,  we  do  not  feel  bound  to  hold 
up  our  hands  and  answer  to  our  names. 

Willing,  however,  to  gain  at  once  that  frank,  con- 
fidential footing,  which  we  are  certain  of  ultimately 
possessing  in  this,  doubtless,  "  best  of  all  possible 
cities  ;  "  and,  anxious  to  spare  its  worthy  inhabitants 
the  trouble  of  making  a  thousand  wise  conjectures, 
not  one  of  which  would  be  worth  a  "  tobacco-stop- 
per," we  have  thought  it  in  some  degree  a  necessary 
exertion  of  charitable  condescension  to  furnish  them 
with  a  slight  clue  to  the  truth. 

Before  we  proceed  further,  however,  we  advise  ev- 
ery body,  man,  woman,  and  child,  that  can  read,  or 
get  any  friend  to  read  for  them,  to  purchase  this  pa- 
per : — not  that  we  write  for  money ;— for,  in  common 
with  all  philosophical  wiseacres,  from  Solomon  down- 
wards, we  hold  it  in  supreme  contempt.  The  public 
are  welcome  to  buy  this  work,  or  not ;  just  as  they 
choose.  If  it  be  purchased  freely,  so  much  the  bet- 
ter for  the  public — and  the  publisher : — we  gain  not 
a  stiver.  If  it  be  not  purchased  we  give  fair  warri- 
jng — we  shall  burn  all  our  essays,  critiques,  and  epi- 
grams, in  one  promiscuous  blaze  ;  and,  like  the  books 
of  the  sybils,  and  the  Alexandrian  library,  they  will 
be  lost  for  ever  to  posterity.  For  the  sake,  there- 
fore, of  our  publisher,  for  the  sake  of  the  public,  and 
for  the  sake  of  the  public's  children,  to  the  nine- 
teenth generation,  we  advise  them  to  purchase  our 
paper.  We  beg  the  respectable  old  matrons  of  this 
city,  not  to  be  alarmed  at  the  appearance  we  make ; 
we  are  none  of  those  outlandish  geniuses  who  swarm 
in  New-York,  who  live  by  their  wits,  or  rather  by  the 
little  wit  of  their  neighbours  ;  and  who  spoil  the  gen- 
uine honest  American  tastes  of  their  daughters,  with 
p>ench  slops  and  fricasseed  sentiment. 

We  have  said  we  do  not  write  for  money ; — nei- 
ther do  we  write  for  fame  : — we  know  too  well  the 
variable  nature  of  public  opinion  to  build  our  hopes 
upon  it — we  care  not  what  the  public  think  of  us ; 
and  we  suspect,  before  we  reach  the  tenth  number, 
they  will  not  know  what  to  think  of  us.  In  two 
words  —we  write  for  no  other  earthly  purpose  but  to 
please  ourselves — and  this  we  shall  be  sure  of  doing ; 
for  we  are  all  three  of  us  determined  beforehand  to 
be  pleased  with  what  we  write.  If,  in  the  course  of 
this  work,  we  edify  and  instruct  and  amuse  the  pub- 
lic, so  much  the  better  for  the  public :— but  we 
frankly  acknowledge  that  so  soon  as  we  get  tired 
of  reading  our  own  works,  we  shall  discontinue  them 
without  the  least  remorse  ;  whatever^the  public  may 
think  of  it. — While  we  continue  to  go  on,  we  will  go 
on  merrily : if  we  moralize,  it  shall  be  but  sel- 
dom ;  and,  on  all  occasions,  we  shall  be  more  solicit- 
ous to  make  our  readers  laugh  than  cry ;  for  we  are 
laughing  philosophers,  and  clearly  of  opinion,  that 
wisdom,  true  wisdom,  is  a  plump,  jolly  dame,  who 


•  It  was  not  originally  the  intention  of  the  authors  to  insert  the 
above  address  in  the  work  ;  but,  unwilling  that  a  morceau  so  pre- 
cious should  be  lost  to  posterity,  they  have  been  induced  to  alter 
their  minds.    This  will  account  for  any  repetition  of  idea  that  may 


appear  in  the  introductory  essay. 


sits  in  her  arm-chair,  laughs  right  merrily  at  the 
farce  of  life— and  takes  the  world  as  it  goes. 

We  intend  particularly  to  notice  the  conduct  of 
the  fashionable  world  ;  nor  in  this  shall  we  be  gov- 
erned by  that  carping  spirit  with  w^hich  narrow- 
minded  book-worm  cynics  squint  at  the  little  ex- 
travagancies of  the  ton  ;  but  with  that  liberal  tolera- 
tion which  actuates  every  man  of  f.ishion.  While 
we  keep  more  than  a  Cerberus  watch  over  the 
guardian  rules  of  female  delicacy  and  decorum— we 
shall  not  discourage  any  little  sprightliness  of  de- 
meanour, or  innocent  vivacity  of  character.  Before 
we  advance  one  line  further  we  must  let  it  be  under- 
stood, as  our  firm  opinion,  void  of  all  prejudice  or 
partialitv,  that  the  ladies  of  New-York  are  the  fair- 
est, the  'finest,  the  most  accomplished,  the  most  be- 
witching, the  most  ineffable  beings,  that  walk,  creep, 
crawl,  swim,  fly,  float,  or  vegetate  in  any  or  all  of 
the  four  elements;  and  that  they  only  want  to  be 
cured  of  certain  whims,  eccentricities,  and  unseemly 
conceits,  by  our  superintending  cares,  to  render  them 
absolutely  perfect.  They  will,  therefore,  receive  a 
large  portion  of  those  attentions  directed  to  the  fash- 
ionable world  ;— nor  will  the  gentlemen,  who  dozj 
away  their  time  in  the  circles  of  the  haul-ton,  escape 
our  currying.  We  mean  those  stupid  fellows  who 
sit  stock  still  upon  their  chairs,  without  saying  a 
word,  and  then  complain  how  damned  stupid  it  was 

at  Miss 's  party. 

This  department  will  be  under  the  peculiar  direc- 
tion and  control  of  Antho.my  Evergreen,  gent., 
to  whom  all  communications  on  this  subject  are  to 
be  addressed.     This  gentlem.an,  from  his  long  expe- 
rience in  the  routine  of  balls,  tea-parties,  and  assem- 
blies, is  eminently  qualified  for  the  task  he  has  under- 
taken.    He  is  a  kind  of  patriarch  in  the  fashionable 
world ;   and   has   seen   generation   after  generation 
pass  away  into  the  silent  tomb  of  matrimony  while 
he  remains  unchangeably  the  same.    He  can  recount 
the  amours  and  courtships  of  the  fathers,  mothers, 
uncles  and  aunts,  and  even  the  grandames,  of  all  the 
belles  of  the  present  day ;  provided  their  pedigrees 
extend  so  far  back  without  being  lost  in  obscurity. 
As,  however,  treating  of  pedigrees  is  rather  an  un- 
grateful task  in  this  city,  and  as  we  mean  to  be  per- 
fectly good-natured,  he  has  promised  to  be  cautious 
in  this  particular.     He  recollects  perfectly  the  time 
when  young  ladies  used  to  go  sleigh-riding  at  night, 
without  their  mammas  or  grandmammas  ;  in  short, 
without  being  matronized  at  all:  and  can  relate  a 
thousand  pleasant  stories  about  Kissing-bridge.    He 
likewise  remembers  the  time  when  ladies  paid  tea- 
visits  at  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  returned  before 
dark  to  see  that  the  house  was  shut  up  and  the  serv- 
ants on  duty.     He  has  often  played  cricket  in  the 
orchard  in  the  rear  of  old  Vauxhall,  and  remembers 
when  the  BuU's-head  was  quite  out  of  town.  Though 
he  was  slowly  and  gradually  given  into  modern  fash- 
ions, and  still  flourishes  in  the  beau-monde,  yet  he 
seems  a  little  prejudiced  in  favour  of  the  dress  and 
manners  of  the  old  school ;  and  his  chief  commenda- 
tion of  a  new  mode  is  "  that  it  is  the  same  good  old 
fashion  we  had  before  the  war."     It   has  cost  us 
much  trouble  to  make  him  confess  that  a  cotillion  is 
superior  to  a  minuet,  or  an  unadorned  crop  to  a  pig- 
tail and  powder.     Custom  and   fashion  have,  how- 
ever, had  more  effect  on  him  than  all  our  lectures ; 
and  he  tempers,  so  happily,  the  grave  and  ceremo- 
nious g.allantry  of  the  old  school  with  the  "hail  lel- 
low"  familiarity  of  the  new,  that,  we  trust,  on  a 
little  acquaintance,  and   making  allowance  for  his 
old-fashioned  prejudices,  he  will  become  a  very  con- 
siderable favourite  with  our   readers ;— if  not,  the 
worse  for  themselves ;  as  they  will  have  to  endure 
his  company. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


C43 


In  the  territory  of  criticism,  WILLIAM  WIZARD, 
Esq.,  has  undertaken  to  preside  ;  and  though  we 
may  all  dabble  in  it  a  little  by  turns,  yet  we  have 
willingly  ceded  to  him  all  discretionary  powers  in 
this  respect,  though  Will  has  not  had  the  advantage 
of  an  education  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge,  or  even  at 
Edinburgh,  or  Aberdeen,  and  though  he  is  but  little 
versed  in  Hebrew,  yet  we  have  no  doubt  he  will  be 
found  fully  competent  to  the  undertaking.  He  has 
improved  his  taste  by  a  long  residence  abroad,  par- 
ticularly at  Canton,  Calcutta,  and  the  gay  and  pol- 
ished court  of  Hayti.  He  has  also  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  the  best  singing-girls  and  tragedians 
of  China,  is  a  great  connoisseur  in  mandarine 
dresses,  and  porcelain,  and  particularly  values  him- 
self on  his  intimate  knowledge  of  the  buffalo,  and 
war  dances  of  the  northern  Indians.  He  is  likewise 
promised  the  assistance  of  a  gentleman,  lately  from 
London,  who  was  born  and  bred  in  that  centre  of 
science  and  hangout,  the  vicinity  of  Fleetmarket, 
where  he  has  been  edified,  man  and  boy,  these  six- 
and-twenty  years,  with  the  harmonious  jingle  of 
Bow- bells.  His  taste,  therefore,  has  attained  to  such 
an  exquisite  pitch  of  refinement  that  there  are  few 
exhibitions  of  any  kind  which  do  not  put  him  in  a 
fever.  He  has  assured  Will,  that  if  Mr.  Cooper  em- 
phasises "  and"  instead  of  "  but  "—or  Mrs.  Oldmixon 
pins  her  kerchief  a  hair's  breadth  awry — or  Mrs. 
Darley  offers  to  dare  to  look  less  than  the  "  daughter 
of  a  senator  of  Venice  " — the  standard  of  a  senator's 
daughter  being  exactly  six  feet — they  shall  all  hear 
of  it  in  good  time.  We  have,  however,  advised  Will 
Wizard  to  keep  his  friend  in  check,  lest  by  opening 
the  eyes  of  the  public  to  the  wretchedness  of  the 
actors  by  whom  they  have  hitherto  been  entertained, 
he  might  cut  off  one  source  of  amusement  from  our 
fellow-citizens.  We  hereby  give  notice,  that  we  have 
taken  the  whole  corps,  from  the  manager  in  his 
mantle  of  gorgeous  copper-lace,  to  honest  John  in  his 
green  coat  and  black  breeches,  under  our  wing — and 
wo  be  unto  him  who  injures  a  hair  of  their  heads.  As 
we  have  no  design  against  the  patience  of  our  fellow- 
citizens,  we  shall  not  dose  them  with  copious 
draughts  of  theatrical  criticism  ;  we  well  know  that 
they  have  already  been  well  physicked  with  them  of 
late ;  our  theatrics  shall  take  up  but  a  small  part  of 
our  paper  ;  nor  shall  they  be  altogether  confined  to 
the  stage,  but  extend  from  time  to  time,  to  those 
incorrigiljle  offenders  against  the  peace  of  society, 
the  stage-critics,  who  not  unfrequently  create  the 
fault  they  find,  in  order  to  yield  an  opening  for  their 
witticisms — censure  an  actor  for  a  gesture  he  never 
made,  or  an  emphasis  he  never  gave  ;  and,  in  their 
attempt  to  show  off  new  readings,  make  the  sweet 
swan  of  Avon  cackle  like  a  goose.  If  any  one  should 
feel  himself  offended  by  our  remarks,  let  him  attack 
us  in  return — we  shall  not  wince  from  the  combat. 
If  his  passes  be  successful,  we  will  be  the  first  to  cry 
out,  a  hit  I  a  hit !  and  we  doubt  not  we  shall  fre- 
quently lay  ourselves  open  to  the  weapons  of  our  as- 
sailants. But  let  them  have  a  care  how  they  run  a 
tilting  with  us — they  have  to  deal  with  stubborn  foes, 
who  can  bear  a  world  of  pummeling;  we  will  be  re- 
lentless in  our  vengeance,  and  will  fight  "  till  from 
our  bones  the  flesh  be  hackt." 

What  other  subjects  we  shall  include  in  the  rangeof 
our  observations,  we  have  not  determined,  or  rather 
we  shall  not  trouble  ourselves  to  detail.  The  public 
have  already  more  information  concerning  us,  than 
we  intended  to  impart.  We  owe  them  no  favours, 
neither  do  we  ask  any.  We  again  advise  them,  for 
their  own  sakes,  to  read  our  papers  when  they  come 
out.  We  recommend  to  all  mothers  to  purchase 
them  for  their  daughters,  who  will  be  taught  the 
true  line  of  propriety,  and  the  most  advisable  method 


of  managing  their  beaux.  We  advise  all  daughters 
to  purchase  them  for  the  sake  of  their  mothers,  who 
shall  be  initiated  into  the  arcana  of  the  bon  ton,  an  J 
cured  of  all  those  rusty  old  notions  which  they  ac- 
quired during  the  last  century :  parents  shall  be 
taught  how  to  govern  their  children,  girls  how  to 
get  husbands,  and  old  maids  how  to  do  without 
them. 

As  we  do  not  measure  our  wits  by  the  yard  or 
the  bushel,  and  as  they  do  not  flow  periodically  nor 
constantly,  we  shall  not  restrict  our  paper  as  to  size 
or  the  time  of  its  appearance.  It  will  be  published 
whenever  we  have  sufficient  matter  to  constitute  a 
number,  and  the  size  of  the  number  shall  depend  on 

i  the  stock  in  hand.  This  will  best  suit  our  negligent 
habits,  and  leave  us  that  full  liberty  and  independ- 

I  ence  which  is  the  joy  and  pride  of  our  souls.     As  we 

j  have  before  hinted,  that  we  do  not  concern  ourselves 
about  the  pecuniary  matters  of  our  pa|)er,  we  leave 
its  price  to  be  regulated  by  our  publisher,  only  rec- 
ommending   him    for   his    own    interest,   and    the 

j  honour  of  his  authors,  not  to  sell  their  invaluable 

j  productions  too  cheap. 

Is  there  any  one  who  wishes  to  know  more  about 
us.'— let  him  read  SALMAGUNDI,  and  grow  wise 
apace.  Thus  much  wc  will  say — there  are  three  of 
us,  "  Bardolph,  Peto,  and  I,"  all  townsmen  good 
and  true  ; — many  a  titne  and  oft  have  we  three 
amused  the  town  without  its  knowing  to  whom  it 
was  indebted ;  and  many  a  time  have  we  seen  the 
midnight  lamp  twinkle  faintly  on  our  studious  phizes, 
and  heard  the  morning  salutation  of  "  past  three 
o'clock,"  before  we  sought  our  pillows.  The  result 
of  these  midnight  studies  is  now  offered  to  the  pub- 
lic ;  and  little  as  we  care  for  the  opinion  of  this  ex- 
ceedingly stupid  world,  we  shall  take  care,  as  far  as 
lies  in  our  careless  natures,  to  fulfil  the  promises 
made  in  this  introduction ;  if  we  do  not,  we  shall 
have  so  many  examples  to  justify  us,  that  we  feel 
little  solicitude  on  that  account. 


THEATRICS. 


CONTAINING     THE     QUINTESSENCE     OF     MODERN 
CRITICISM.      BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,  ESQ. 


Macbeth  was  performed  to  a  very  crowded 
house,  and  much  to  our  satisfaction.  As,  how- 
ever, our  neighbour  TOWN  has  been  very  volu- 
minous already  in  his  criticisms  on  this  play,  we 
shall  make  but  few  remarks.  Having  never  seen 
Kemble  in  this  character,  we  are  absolutely  at  a 
loss  to  say  whether  Mr.  CoOPER  performed  it  well 
or  not.  We  think,  however,  there  was  an  error  in 
his  costume,  as  the  learned  Linkum  Fidelius  is  of 
opinion,  that  in  the  time  of  Macbeth  the  Scots  did 
not  wear  sandals,  but  wooden  shoes.  Macbeth  also 
was  noted  for  wearing  his  jacket  open,  that  he 
might  play  the  Scotch  fiddle  more  conveniently  ; — 
that  being  an  hereditary  accomplishment  in  the 
Glamis  family. 

We  have  seen  this  character  performed  in  China 
by  the  celebrated  Chow-Chow,  the  Roscius  of  that 
great  empire,  who  in  the  dagger  scene  always  elec- 
trified the  audience  by  blowing  his  nose  like  a  trump- 
et. Chow-Chow,  in  compliance  with  the  opinion 
of  the  sage  Linkum  Fidelius,  performed  Macbeth  in 
wooden  shoes  ;  this  gave  him  an  opportunity  of  pro- 
ducing great  effect,  for  on  first  seeing  the  "  air-drawn 
dagger,"  he  always  cut  a  prodigious  high  caper,  and 
kicked  his  shoes  into  the  pit  at  the  heads  of  the  crit- 


844 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


ics ;  whereupon  the  audience  were  marvellously  de- 
lighted, flourished  their  hands,  and  stroked  their 
whiskers  three  times,  and  the  matter  was  carefully 
recorded  in  the  next  number  of  a  paper  called  the 
flimflam.     {English — town.) 

We  were  much  pleased  with  Mrs.  Villiers  in 
Lady  Macbeth  :  but  we  think  she  would  have  given 
a  greater  effect  to  the  night-scene,  if,  instead  of  hold- 
ing the  candle  in  her  hand  or  setting  it  down  on  the 
table,  which  is  sagaciously  censured  by  neighbour 
Town,  she  had  stuck  it  in  her  night-cap.  This  would 
have  been  extremely  picturesque,  and  would  have 
marked  more  strongly  the  derangement  of  her  mind. 

Mrs.  Villiers,  however,  is  not  by  any  means  large 
enough  for  the  character  ;  Lady  Macbeth  having 
been,  in  our  opinion,  a  woman  of  extraordinary  size, 
and  of  the  race  of  the  giants,  notwithstanding  what 
she  says  of  her  "  little  hand  " — which  being  said  in 
her  sleep,  passes  for  nothing.  We  should  be  happy  to 
see  this  character  in  the  hands  of  the  lady  who  played 
Glumdalca,  queen  of  the  giants,  in  Tom  Thumb ; 
she  is  exactly  of  imperial  dimensions  ;  and,  provided 
she  is  well  shaved,  of  a  most  interesting  physiogno- 
my :  as  she  appears  likewise  to  be  a  lady  of  some 
nerve,  I  dare  engage  she  will  read  a  letter  about 
witches  vanishing  in  air,  and  such  conzmon  occur- 
rences, without  being  unnaturally  surprised,  to  the 
annoyance  of  honest  "  Town." 

We  are  happy  to  observe  that  Mr.  Cooper  profits 
by  the  instructions  of  friend  Town,  and  does  not  dip 
the  daggers  in  blood  so  deep  as  formerly  by  a  matter 
of  an  inch  or  two.  This  was  a  violent  outrage  upon 
our  immortal  bard.  We  differ  with  Mr.  Town  in  his 
reading  of  the  words  "  this  is  a  sorry  sig/i/."  We 
are  of  opinion  the  force  of  the  sentence  should  be 
thrown  on  the  word  sight,  because  Macbeth,  having 
been  shortly  before  most  confoundedly  humbugged 
with  an  aerial  dagger,  was  in  doubt  whether  the 
daggers  actually  in  his  hands  were  real,  or  whether 
they  were  not  mere  shadows,  or  as  the  old  English 
m.ty  have  termed  it,  syghies  ;  (this,  at  any  rate,  will 
establish  our  skill  in  new  readings.)  Though  we 
differ  in  this  respect  from  our  neighbour  Town,  yet 
we  heartily  agree  with  him  in  censuring  Mr.  Cooper 
for  omitting  that  passage  so  remarkable  for  "  beauty 
of  imagery,"  &c.,  beginning  with  "and  pity,  like  a 
naked,  new-born  babe,"  &c.  It  is  one  of  those  pas- 
sages of  Shakspeare  which  should  always  be  re- 
tained, for  the  purpose  of  showing  how  sometimes 
that  great  poet  could  talk  like  a  buzzard  ;  or,  to 
speak  more  plainly,  like  the  famous  mad  poet  Nat 
Lee. 

As  it  is  the  first  duty  of  a  friend  to  advise — and  as 
we  profess  and  do  actually  feel  a  friendship  for  hon- 
est "Town" — we  warn  him,  never  in  his  criticisms 
to  meddle  with  a  lady's  "  petticoats,"  or  to  quote 
Nic  Bottom.  In  the  first  instance  he  may  "  catch  a 
tartar ;"  and  in  the  second,  the  ass's  head  may  rise 
up  in  judgment  against  him;  and  when  it  is  once 
afloat  there  is  no  knowing  where  some  unlucky  hand 
may  place  it.  We  would  not,  for  all  the  money  in  our 
pockets,  see  Town  flourishing  his  critical  quill  under 
the  auspices  of  an  ass's  head,  like  the  great  Franklin 
in  his  Monterio  Cap. 


NEW-YORK   ASSEMBLY. 

BY  ANTHONY  EVERGREEN,  GENT. 


The  assemblies  this  year  have  gained  a  great  ac- 
cession of  beauty.  Several  brilliant  stars  have  arisen 
from  the  east  and  from  tiie  north  to  brighten  the 


firmament  of  fashion  ;  among  the  number  I  have 
discovered  another  planet,  which  rivals  even  Venus 
in  lustre,  and  I  claim  equal  honour  with  Herschel  for 
my  discovery.  I  shall  take  some  future  opportunity 
to  describe  this  planet,  and  the  numerous  satellites 
which  revolve  around  it. 

At  the  last  assembly  the  company  began  to  make 
some  show  about  eight,  but  the  most  fashionable 
delayed  their  appearance  until  about  nine— nine  be- 
ing the  number  of  the  muses,  and  therefore  the  best 
possible  hour  for  beginning  to  exhibit  the  graces. 
(This  is  meant  for  a  pretty  play  upon  words,  and  I 
assure  my  readers  that  1  think  it  very  tolerable.) 

Poor  Will  Honeycomb,  whose  memory  1  hold 
in  special  consideration,  even  with  his  half  century 
of  experience,  would  have  been  puzzled  to  point  out 
the  humours  of  a  lady  by  her  prevailing  colours ; 
for  the  "rival  queens"  of  fashion,  Mrs.  Toole  and 
Madame  BOUCHARD,  appeared  to  have  exhausted 
their  wonderful  inventions  in  the  different  disposi- 
tion, variation,  and  combination  of  tints  and  sh.ades. 
The  philosopher  who  maintained  that  black  was 
white,  and  that  of  course  there  was  no  such  colour 
as  white,  might  have  given  some  colour  to  his  theory 
on  this  occasion,  by  the  absence  of  poor  forsaken 
white  muslin.  I  was,  however,  much  pleased  to  see 
that  red  maintains  its  ground  against  all  other  col- 
ours, because  red  is  the  colour  of  Mr.  Jefferson's 
'******,  Tom  Paine's  nose,  and  my  slippers. 

Let  the  grumbling  smellfungi  of  this  world,  who 
cultivate  taste  among  books,  cobwebs,  and  spiders, 
rail  at  the  extravagance  of  the  age ;  for  my  part,  I 
was  delighted  with  the  magic  of  the  scene,  and  as 
the  ladies  tripped  through  the  mazes  of  the  dance, 
sparkling  and  glowing  and  dazzling,  1,  like  the  hon- 
est Chinese,  thanked  them  heartily  for  the  jewels 
and  finery  with  which  they  loaded  themselves,  merely 
for  the  entertainment  of  by-standers,  and  blessed 
my  stars  that  I  was  a  bachelor. 

The  gentlemen  were  considerably  numerous,  .and 
being  as  usual  equipt  in  their  appropriate  bl.ick  uni- 
forms, constituted  a  sable  regiment  which  contrib- 
uted not  a  little  to  the  brilliant  gayety  of  the  ball- 
room, i  must  confess  I  am  indebted  for  this  remark 
to  our  friend,  the  cockney,  Mr.  'Sbidlikensflash. 
or  ' Sbid'ikens,  as  he  is  called  for  shortness.  He  is  a 
fellow  of  infinite  verbosity — ^stands  in  high  favour — 
with  himself — and,  like  Caleb  Ouotem,  is  "  up  to 
every  thing."  I  remember  when  a  comfortable, 
plump-looking  citizen  led  into  the  room  a  fair  dam- 
sel, who  looked  for  all  the  world  like  the  personifica- 
tion of  a  rainbow :  'Sbidlikens  observed  that  it  re- 
minded him  of  a  fable,  which  he  had  read  some- 
where, of  the  marriage  of  an  honest,  painstaking 
snail ;  who  had  once  walked  six  feet  in  an  hour  for  a 
wager,  to  a  butterfly  whom  he  used  to  gallant  by  the 
elbow,  with  the  aid  of  much  puffing  and  exertion. 
On  being  called  upon  to  tell  where  he  had  come 
across  this  story,  'Sbidlikens  absolutely  refused  to 
answer. 

It  would  but  be  repeating  an  old  story  to  say,  that 
the  ladies  of  New-York  dance  well ; — and  well  may 
they,  since  they  learn  it  scientifically,  and  begin  their 
lessons  before  they  have  quit  their  swaddling  clothes. 
The  immortal  DUPORT  has  usurped  despotic  sway 
over  all  the  fem.ale  heads  and  heels  in  this  city ; — 
hornbooks,  primers,  and  pianoes  are  neglected  to 
attend  to  his  positions  ;  and  poor  CHILTON,  with  his 
pots  and  kettles  and  chymical  crockery,  finds  him  a 
more  potent  enemy  than  the  whole  collective  force 
of  the  "  North  River  Society."  'Sbidlikens  insists 
that  this  dancing  mania  will  inevitably  continue  as 
long  as  a  dancing-master  will  charge  the  fashionable 
price  of  five-and-twenty  dollars  a  quarter  and  all  the 
other  accomplishments  are  so  vulgar  as  to  be  attain- 


SALMAGUNDI. 


able  at  "  half  the  money ;" — but  I  put  no  faith  in 
'Sbidlikens'  candour  in  this  particular.  Among  his 
infinitude  of  endowments  he  is  but  a  poor  proficient 
in  dancing ;  and  though  he  often  flounders  through 
a  cotillion,  yet  he  never  cut  a  pigeon-wing  in  his 
life. 

In  my  mind  there's  no  position  more  positive  and 
unexceptionable  than  that  most  Frenchmen,  dead  or 
alive,  are  born  dancers.  I  came  pounce  upon  this 
discovery  at  the  assembly,  and  I  immediately  noted 
it  down  in  my  register  of  indisputable  facts : — the 
public  shall  know  all  about  it.  As  I  never  d.ince 
cotillions,  holding  them  to  be  monstrous  distorters 
of  the  human  frame,  and  tantamount  in  their  opera- 
tions to  being  broken  and  dislocated  on  the  wheel,  I 
generally  take  occasion,  while  they  are  going  on,  to 
make  my  remarks  on  the  company.  In  the  course 
of  these  observations  I  was  struck  with  the  energy 
and  eloquence  of  sundry  limbs,  which  seemed  to  be 
flourishing  about  without  appertaining  to  any  body. 
After  much  investigation  and  difficulty,  I  at  length 
traced  them  to  their  respective  owners,  whom  I 
found  to  be  all  Frenchmen  to  a  man.  Art  may  have 
meddled  somewhat  in  these  affairs,  but  nature  cer- 
tainly did  more.  I  have  since  been  considerably  em- 
ployed in  calculations  on  this  subject ;  and  l)y  the 
most  accurate  computation  I  have  determined  tliat 
a  Frenchman  passes  at  least  three- fifths  of  his  time 
between  the  heavens  and  the  earth,  and  partakes 
eminently  of  the  nature  of  a  gossamer  or  soap-bubble. 
One  of  these  jack-o'-lantern  heroes,.in  taking  a  figure 
which  neither  Euclid  or  Pythagoras  himself  could 
demonstrate,  unfortunately  wound  himself — I  mean 
his  feet,  his  better  part — into  a  lady's  cobweb  mus- 
lin robe  ;  but  perceiving  it  at  the  instant,  he  set 
himself  a  spinning  the  other  way,  like  a  top,  unrav- 
velled  his  step  without  omitting  one  angle  or  curve, 
and  extricated  himself  without  breaking  a  thread  of 
the  lady's  dress  !  he  then  sprung  up,  hke  a  sturgeon, 
crossed  his  feet  four  times,  and  finished  this  wonder- 
ful evolution  by  quivering  his  left  leg,  as  a  cat  does 
her  paw  when  she  has  accidentally  dipped  it  in  wa- 
ter. No  man  "of  woman  born,"  wlio  was  not  a 
Frenchman  or  a  mountebank,  could  have  done  the 
like. 

Among  the  new  faces,  I  remarked  a  blooming 
nymph,  who  has  brought  a  fresh  supply  of  roses 
from  the  country  to  adorn  the  wreath  of  beauty, 
where  lilies  too  much  predominate.  As  I  wish  well 
to  every  sweet  face  under  heaven,  I  sincerely  hope 
her  roses  may  survive  the  frosts  and  dissipations  of 
winter,  and  lose  nothing  by  a  comparison  with  the 
loveliest  offerings  of  the  spring.  'Sbidlikens,  to 
whom  I  made  similar  remarks,  assured  me  that  they 
were  very  just,  and  very  prettily  exprest ;  and  that 
the  lady  in  question  was  a  prodigious  fine  piece  of 
flesh  and  blood.  Now  could  I  find  it  in  my  heart  to 
baste  these  cockneys  like  their  own  roast-beef — ihey 
can  make  no  distinction  between  a  fine  woman  and 
a  fine  horse. 

1  would  praise  the  sylph-like  grace  with  which 
another  young  lady  acquitted  herself  in  the  dance, 
but  that  she  excels  in  far  more  valuable  accomplish- 
ments. Who  praises  the  rose  for  its  beauty,  even 
though  it  is  beautiful. 

The  company  retired  at  the  customary  hour  to  the 
supper-room,  where  the  tables  were  laid  out  with 
their  usual  splendour  and  profusion.  My  friend, 
'Sbidlikens,  with  the  native  forethought  of  a  cockney, 
had  carefully  stowed  his  pocket  with  cheese  and 
crackers,  that  he  might  not  be  tempted  again  to 
venture  his  limbs  in  the  crowd  of  hungry  fair  ones 
who  throng  the  supper-room  door ;  his  precaution 
was  unnecessary,  for  the  company  entered  the  room 
with  surprising  order  and  decorum.   No  gowns  were 


torn — no  ladies  fainted — no  noses  bled — nor  was 
there  any  need  of  the  interference  of  either  mana- 
gers or  peace  officers. 


No.  II.— WEDNESDAY,  FEB'Y  4,  1807. 

FROM  THE  ELBOW-CHAIR  OF  LAUNCELOT  LANG- 
STAFF,  ESQ. 


In  the  conduct  of  an  epic  poem,  it  has  been  the 
custom,  from  time  immemorial,  for  the  poet  occa- 
sionally to  introduce  his  reader  to  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  the  heroes  of  his  story,  by  conduct- 
ing him  into  their  tents,  and  giving  him  an  opportu- 
nity of  observing  them  in  their  night-gown  and  slip- 
pers. However  I  despise  the  servile  genius  that 
would  descend  to  follow  a  precedent,  though  fur- 
nished by  Homer  himself,  and  consider  him  as  on  a 
par  with  the  cart  that  follows  at  the  heels  of  the 
horse,  without  ever  taking  the  lead,  yet  at  the  pres- 
ent moment  my  whim  is  opposed  to  my  opinion  ; 
and  whenever  this  is  the  case,  my  opinion  generally 
surrenders  at  discretion.  I  am  determined,  there- 
fore, to  give  the  town  a  peep  into  our  divan ;  and  1 
shall  repeat  it  as  often  as  I  please,  to  show  that  I 
intend  to  be  sociable. 

The  other  night  Will  Wizard  and  Evergreen 
called  upon  me,  to  pass  away  a  few  hours  in  social 
chat  and  hold  a  kind  of  council  of  war.  To  give  a 
zest  to  our  evening  I  uncorked  a  bottle  of  London 
particular,  which  has  grown  old  with  myself,  anti 
which  never  fails  to  excite  a  smile  in  the  counte- 
nances of  my  old  cronies,  to  whom  alone  it  is  de- 
voted. After  some  little  time  the  conversation 
turned  on  the  effect  produced  by  our  first  number; 
every  one  had  his  budget  of  information,  and  I  as- 
sure my  readers  that  we  laughed  most  unceremo- 
niously at  their  expense  ;  they  will  excuse  us  for  our 
merriment — 'tis  a  way  we've  got.  Evergreen,  who 
is  equally  a  favourite  and  companion  of  young  and 
old,  was  particularly  satisfactory  in  his  details  ;  and 
it  was  highly  amusing  to  hear  how  different  charac- 
ters were  tickled  with  different  passages.  The  old  folks 
were  delighted  to  find  there  was  a  bias  in  our  junto 
towards  the  "good  old  times;"  and  he  particularly 
noticed  a  worthy  old  gentleman  of  his  acquaintance, 
who  had  been  somewhat  a  beau  in  his  day,  whose 
eyes  brightened  at  the  bare  mention  of  Kissing- 
bridge.  It  recalled  to  his  recollection  several  of  his 
youthful  exploits,  at  that  celebrated  pass,  on  which 
he  seemed  to  dwell  with  great  pleasure  and  sell- 
complacency  ; — he  hoped,  he  said,  that  the  bridge 
might  be  preserved  for  the  benefit  of  posterity,  and 
as  a  monument  of  the  gallantry  of  their  grand- 
fathers ;  and  even  hinted  at  the  expediency  of  erect- 
ing a  toll-gate  there,  to  collect  the  forfeits  of  the 
ladies.  But  the  most  flattering  testimony  of  appro- 
bation, which  our  work  has  received,  was  from  an 
old  lady,  who  never  laughed  but  once  in.her  life,  and 
that  was  at  the  conclusion  of  the  last  war.  She  was 
detected  by  friend  Anthony  in  the  very  fact  of  laugh- 
ing most  obstreperously  at  the  description  of  the 
little  dancing  Frenchman.  Now  it  glads  my  very 
heart  to  find  our  effusions  have  such  a  pleasing  ef- 
fect. I  venerate  the  aged,  and  joy  whenever  it  is  in 
my  power  to  scatter  a  few  flowers  in  their  jjath. 

The  young  people  were  particularly  interested  in 
the  account  of  the  assembly.  There  was  some  dif- 
ference of  opinion  respecting  the  new  planet,  and 
the  blooming  nymph  from  the  country  ;  but  as  to 


646 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  compliment  paid  to  the  fascinating  little  sylph 
who  danced  so  gracefully — every  lady  modestly  took 
that  to  herself. 

Evergreen  mentioned  also  that  the  young  ladies 
were  extremely  anxious  to  learn  the  true  mode  of 
managing  their  beaux ;  and  Miss  Diana  Wear- 
well,  who  is  as  chaste  as  an  icicle,  has  seen  a  few 
superfluous  winters  pass  over  her  head,  and  boasts 
of  having  slain  her  thousands,  wished  to  know  how 
old  maids  were  to  do  without  husbands  ; — not  that 
she  was  very  curious  about  the  matter,  she  "  only 
asked  for  information."  Several  ladies  expressed 
their  earnest  desire  that  we  would  not  spare  those 
wooden  gentlemen  who  perform  the  parts  of  mutes, 
or  stalking  horses,  in  their  drawing-rooms ;  and 
their  mothers  were  equally  anxious  that  he  would 
show  no  quarter  to  those  lads  of  spirit,  who  now 
and  then  cut  their  bottles  to  enliven  a  tea-party  with 
the  humours  of  the  dinner-table. 

Will  Wizard  was  not  a  little  chagrined  at  having 
been  mistaken  for  a  gentleman,  "  who  is  no  more 
like  me,"  said  Will,  "  than  I  like  Hercules." — "  1 
was  well  assured,"  continued  Will,  "  that  as  our 
characters  were  drawn  from  nature,  the  originals 
would  be  found  in  every  society.  And  so  it  has  hap- 
pened— every  little  circle  has  its  'Sbidlikens  ;  and  the 
cockney,  intended  merely  as  the  representative  of 
his  species,  has  dwindled  into  an  insignificant  indi- 
vidual, who  having  recognised  his  own  likeness,  has 
foolishly  appropriated  to  himself  a  picture  for  which 
he  never  sat.  Such,  too,  has  been  the  case  with 
Ding-dong,  who  has  kindly  undertaken  to  be  my 
representative ; — not  that  I  care  much  about  the 
matter,  for  it  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  animal 
is  a  good  animal  enough  ; — and  what  is  more,  a 
fashionable  animal — and  this  is  saying  more  than  to 
call  him  a  conjurer.     But,  I  am  much  mistaken  if 

he  can  claim  any  affinity  to  the  IVizan/  (amWy . 

Surely  every  body  knows  Ding-dong,  the  gentle 
Ding-dong,  who  pervades  all  space,  who  is  here  and 
there  and  every  where  ;  no  tea-party  can  be  com- 
plete without  Ding-dong — and  his  appearance  is 
sure  to  occasion  a  smile.  Ding-dong  has  been  the 
occasion  of  much  wit  in  his  day  ;  I  have  even  seen 
many  whipsters  attempt  to  be  dull  at  his  expense, 
who  were  as  much  inferior  to  him  as  the  gad-fly  is 
to  the  ox  that  he  buzzes  about.  Does  any  witling 
want  to  distress  the  company  with  a  miserable  pun  ? 
nobody's  name  presents  sooner  than  Ding-dong's ; 
and  it  has  been  played  upon  with  equal  skill  and 
equal  entertainment  to  the  by-standers  as  Trinity- 
bells.  Ding-dong  is  profoundly  devoted  to  the  ladies, 
and  highly  entitled  to  their  regard  ;  for  I  know  no  man 
who  makes  a  better  bow,  or  talks  less  to  the  purpose 
than  Ding-dong.  Ding-dong  has  acquired  a  pro- 
digious fund  of  knowledge  by  reading  Dilworth  when 
a  boy ;  and  the  other  day,  on  being  asked  who  was 
the  author  of  Macbeth,  answered,  without  the  least 
hesitation — Shakspeare  !  Ding-dong  has  a  quota- 
tion for  every  day  of  the  year,  and  every  hour  of  the 
day,  and  every  minute  of  the  hour;  but  he  often 
commits  petty  larcenies  on  the  poets — plucks  the 
gray  hairs  of  old  Chaucer's  head,  and  claps  them  on 
the  chin  of  Pope;  and  filches  Johnson's  wig,  to 
cover  the  bald  pate  of  Homer  ; — but  his  blunders  pass 
undetected  by  one-half  of  his  hearers.  Ding-dong, 
it  is  true,  though  he  has  long  wrangled  at  our  bar, 
cannot  boast  much  of  his  legal  knowledge,  nor  does 
his  forensic  eloquence  entitle  him  to  rank  with  a 
Cicero  or  a  Demosthenes ;  but  bating  his  profes- 
sional deficiencies,  he  is  a  man  of  most  delectable 
discourse,  and  can  hold  forth  for  an  hour  upon  the 
colour  of  a  riband  or  the  construction  of  a  work-bag. 
Ding-dong  is  now  in  his  fortieth  year,  or  perhaps  a 
little  more— rivals  all  the  little  beaux  in  the  town,  in 


his  attentions  to  the  ladies — is  in  a  state  of  rapid 
improvement ;  and  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  by  the 
time  he  arrives  at  years  of  discretion,  he  will  be  a 
very  accomplished,  agreeable  young  fellow." — 1  ad- 
vise all  clever,  good-for-nothing,  "  learned  and  au- 
thentic gentlemen,"  to  take  care  how  they  wear  this 
cap,  however  well  it  fits  ;  and  to  bear  in  mind,  that 
our  characters  are  not  individuals,  but  species :  if, 
after  this  warning,  any  person  chooses  to  represent 
Mr.  Ding-dong,  the  sin  is  at  his  own  door; — we 
wash  our  hands  of  it. 

We  all  sympathized  with  Wizard,  that  he  should 
be  mistaken  for  a  person  so  very  different ;  and  I 
hereby  assure  my  readers,  that  William  Wizard  is  no 
other  person  in  the  whole  world  but  William  Wizard  ; 
so  I  beg  I  may  hear  no  more  conjectures  on  the  sub- 
ject. Will  is,  in  fact,  a  wiseacre  by  inheritance. 
The  Wizard  family  has  long  been  celebrated  for 
knowing  more  than  their  neighbours,  particularly 
concerning  their  neighbours'  affairs.  They  were 
anciently  called  JOSSELIN ;  but  Will's  great  uncle, 
by  the  father's  side,  having  been  accidentally  burnt 
for  a  witch  in  Connecticut,  in  consequence  of  blow- 
ing up  his  ov/n  house  in  a  philosophical  experiment, 
the  family,  in  order  to  perpetuate  the  recollection  of 
this  memorable  circumstance,  assumed  the  name  and 
arms  of  Wizard  ;  and  have  borne  them  ever  since. 

In  the  course  of  my  customary  morning's  walk,  I 
stopped  in  a  book-store,  which  is  noted  for  being  the 
favourite  haunt  of  a  number  of  literati,  some  of  whom 
rank  high  in  the  opinion  of  the  world,  and  others 
rank  equally  high  in  their  own.  Here  I  found  a  knot 
of  queer  fellows  listening  to  one  of  their  company, 
who  was  reading  our  paper ;  I  particularly  noticed 
Mr.  ICHABOD  Fungus  among  the  number. 

Fungus  is  one  of  those  fidgeting,  meddling  quid- 
nuncs, with  which  this  unhappy  city  is  pestered  :  one 
of  your  "  Q  in  a  comer  fellows,"  who  speaks  volumes 
with  a  wink  ; — conveys  most  portentous  information, 
by  laying  his  finger  beside  his  nose, — and  is  always 
smelling  a  rat  in  the  most  trifling  occurrence.  He 
listened  to  our  work  with  the  most  frigid  gravity — • 
every  now  and  then  gave  a  mysterious  shrug — a 
humph — or  a  screw  of  the  mouth ;  and  on  being 
asked  his  opinion  at  the  conclusion,  said,  he  did  not 
know  what  to  think  of  it ; — he  hoped  it  did  not  mean 
any  thing  against  the  government — that  no  lurking 
treason  was  couched  in  all  this  talk.  These  were 
dangerous  times— times  of  plot  and  conspiracy  ;  he 
did  not  at  all  like  those  stars  after  Mr.  Jefferson's 
name,  they  had  an  air  of  concealment.  DiCK  PAD- 
DLE, who  was  one  of  the  group,  undertook  our  cause. 
Dick  is  known  to  the  world,  as  being  a  most  know- 
ing genius,  who  can  see  as  far  as  any  body — into  a 
millstone ;  maintains,  in  the  teeth  of  all  argument, 
that  a  spade  is  a  spade  ;  and  will  labour  a  good  half 
hour  by  St.  Paul's  clock,  to  establish  a  self-evident 
fact.  Dick  assured  old  Fungus,  that  those  stars 
merely  stood  for  Mr.  Jefferson's  red  wkat-d'ye-call- 
'ems  ;  and  that  so  far  from  a  conspiracy  against  their 
peace  and  prosperity,  the  authors,  whom  he  knew 
very  well,  were  only  expressing  their  high  respect  for 
them.  The  old  man  shook  his  head,  shrugged  his 
shoulders,  gave  a  mysterious  Lord  Burleigh  nod,  said 
he  hoped  it  might  be  so ;  but  he  was  by  no  means 
satisfied  with  this  attack  upon  the  President's  breech- 
es, as  "  thereby  hangs  a  tale." 


MR.  WILSON'S   CONCERT. 

BY  ANTHONY    EVERGREEN,   GENT. 


In  my  register  of  indisputable  facts  I  have  noted 
it  conspicuously  that  all  modern  music  is  but  the 


SALMAGUNDI. 


617 


.  mare  dregs  and  draining  of  the  ancient,  and  that  all 
the  spirit  and  vigour  of  harmony  has  entirely  evapo- 
rated in  the  lapse  of  ages.  Oh  !  for  the  chant  of  the 
Naiades,  and  Dryades,  the  shell  of  the  Tritons,  and 
the  sweet  warblings  of  the  Mermaids  of  ancient  days  I 
where  now  shall  we  seek  the  Amphion,  who  built 
walls  with  a  turn  of  his  hurdy-gurdy,  the  Orpheus 
who  made  stones  to  whistle  about  his  ears,  and  trees 
hop  in  a  country  dance,  by  the  mere  quavering  of  his 
fiddle-Slick  !  ah  !  had  I  the  power  of  the  former  how 
soon  would  I  build  up  the  new  City-Hall,  and  save 
the  cash  and  credit  of  the  Corporation  ;  and  how 
much  sooner  would  I  build  myself  a  snug  house  in 
Broadway  : — nor  would  it  be  the  first  time  a  house 
has  been  obtained  there  for  a  song.  In  my  opinion, 
the  Scotch  bag-pipe  is  the  only  instrument  that  rivals 
the  ancient  lyre ;  and  1  am  surprised  it  should  be 
almost  the  only  one  entirely  excluded  from  our  con- 
certs. 

Talking  of  concerts  reminds  me  of  that  given  a  few 
nights  since  by  Mr.  WlLSON  ;  at  which  I  had  the 
misfortune  of  being  present.  It  was  attended  by  a 
numerous  company,  and  gave  great  satisfaction,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  to  judge  from  the  frequent  gapings 
of  the  audience  ;  though  I  will  not  risk  my  credit  as 
a  connoisseur,  by  saying  whether  they  proceeded 
from  wonder  or  a  violent  inclination  to  doze.  1  was 
delighted  to  find  in  the  mazes  of  the  crowd,  my  par- 
ticular friend  Snivers,  who  had  put  on  his  cognos- 
centi phiz — he  being,  according  to  his  own  account, 
a  profound  adept  in  the  science  of  music.  He  can 
tell  a  crochet  at  first  sight ;  and,  like  a  true  English- 
man, is  delighted  with  the  plum-pudding  rotundity 
of  a  semibref;  and,  in  short;  boasts  of  having  incon- 
tinently climbed  up  Faff 's  musical  tree,  which  hangs 
every  day  upon  the  poplar,  from  the  fundamental 
concord,  to  the  fundamental  major  discord ;  and  so 
on  from  branch  to  branch,  until  he  reached  the  very 
top,  where  he  sung  "  Rule  Britannia,"  clapped  his 
wings,  and  then — came  down  again.  Like  all  true 
trans-atlantic  judges,  he  suffers  most  horribly  at  our 
musical  entertainments,  and  assures  me,  that  what 
with  the  confounded  scr.aping,  and  scratching,  and 
grating  of  our  fiddlers,  he  thinks  the  sitting  out  one 
of  our  concerts  tantamount  to  the  punishment  of  that 
unfortunate  saint,  who  was  frittered  in  two  with  a 
hand-saw. 

The  concert  was  given  in  the  tea-room,  at  the 
City-Hotel ;  an  apartment  admirably  calculated,  by 
iis  dingy  walls,  beautifully  marbled  with  smoke,  to 
show  off  the  dresses  and  complexions  of  the  ladies  ; 
and  by  the  flatness  of  its  ceiling  to  repress  those  im- 
pertinent reverberations  of  the  music,  which,  what- 
ever others  may  foolishly  assert,  are,  as  Snivers  says, 
"  no  better  than  repetitions  of  old  stories." 

Mr.  Wilson  gave  me  infinite  satisfaction  by  the 
gentility  of  his  demeanour,  and  the  roguish  looks  he 
now  and  then  cast  at  the  ladies,  but  we  fear  his  ex- 
cessive modesty  threw  him  into  some  little  confusion, 
for  he  absolutely  forgot  himself,  and  in  the  whole 
course  of  his  entrances,  and  exits,  never  once  made 
his  bow  to  the  audience.  On  the  whole,  however,  I 
think  he  has  a  fine  voice,  sings  with  great  taste,  and 
is  a  very  modest,  good-looking  little  man  ;  but  I  beg 
leave  to  repeat  the  advice  so  often  given  by  the  il- 
lustrious tenants  of  the  theatrical  sky-parlour,  to  the 
gentlemen  who  are  charged  with  the  "  nice  conduct  " 
of  chairs  and  tables — "  make  a  bow,  Johnny — Johnny, 
make  a  bow  !  " 

I  cannot,  on  this  occasion,  hut  express  my  surprise 
that  certain  amateurs  should  be  so  frequently  at  con- 
certs, considering  what  agonies  they  suffer  while  a 
piece  of  music  is  playing.  I  defy  any  man  of  com- 
mon humanity,  and  who  has  not  the  heart  of  a  Choc- 
taw, to  contemplate  the  countenance  of  one  of  these 


unhappy  victims  of  a  fiddle-stick  without  feeling  a 
sentiment  of  compassion.  His  whole  visage  is  dis- 
torted ;  he  rolls  up  his  eyes,  as  M'Sycophant  says. 
"  like  a  duck  in  thunder,"  and  the  music  seems  to 
operate  upon  him  like  a  fit  of  the  cholic  :  his  very 
bowels  seem  to  sympathize  at  every  twang  of  the 
cat-gut,  as  if  he  heard  at  that  moment  the  wailings 
of  the  helpless  animal  that  had  been  sacrificed  to 
harmony.  Nor  does  the  hero  of  the  orchestra  seem 
less  affected  :  as  soon  as  the  signal  is  given,  he  seizes 
his  fiddle-stick,  makes  a  most  horrible  grimace, 
scowls  fiercely  upon  his  music-book,  as  though  he 
would  grin  every  crotchet  and  quaver  out  of  counte- 
nance. I  have  sometimes  particularly  noticed  a 
hungry-looking  Gaul,  who  torments  a  huge  bass-viol, 
and  who  is,  doubtless,  the  original  of  the  famous 
"  Raw-head-and-bloody-bones,"  so  potent  in  fright- 
ening naughty  children. 

The  person  who  played  the  French-horn  was  very 
excellent  in  his  way,  but  Snivers  could  not  relish  his 
performance,  having  sometime  since  heard  a  gentle- 
man amateur  in  Gotham  play  a  solo  on  \i\%  proboscis, 
in  a  style  infinitely  superior ; — Snout,  the  bellows- 
mender,  never  turned  his  wind  instrument  more  mu- 
sically ;  nor  did  the  celebrated  "  knight  of  the  burning 
lamp,"  ever  yield  more  exquisite  entertainment  with 
his  nose  ;  this  gentleman  had  latterly  ceased  to  ex- 
hibit this  prodigious  accomplishment,  having,  it  was 
whispered,  hired  out  his  snout  to  a  ferryman,  who 
had  lost  his  conch-shell ; — the  consequence  was  that 
he  did  not  show  his  nose  in  company  so  frequently 
as  before. 


Sitting  late  the  other  evening  in  my  elbow-chair, 
indulging  in  that  kind  of  indolent  meditation,  which 
I  consider  the  perfection  of  human  bliss,  I  was  roused 
from  my  reverie  by  the  entrance  of  an  old  servant  in 
the  Cockloft  livery,  who  handed  me  a  letter,  con- 
taining the  following  address  from  my  cousin  and 
old  college  chum,  PiNDAR  COCKLOFT. 

Honest  Andrew,  as  he  delivered  it,  informed  me 
that  his  master,  who  resides  a  little  way  from  town, 
on  reading  a  small  pamphlet  in  a  neat  yellow  cover, 
rubbed  his  hands  with  symptoms  of  great  satisfac- 
tion, called  for  his  favourite  Chinese  inkstand,  with 
two  sprawling  Mandarines  for  its  supporters,  and 
wrote  the  letter  which  he  had  the  honour  to  present 
me. 

As  I  foresee  my  cousin  will  one  day  become  a 
great  favourite  with  the  public,  and  as  I  know  him 
to  be  somewhat  punctilious  as  it  respects  etiquette, 
I  shall  take  this  opportunity  to  gratify  the  old  gen- 
tleman by  giving  him  a  proper  introduction  to  the 
fashionable  world.  The  Cockloft  family,  to  which  I 
have  the  comfort  of  being  related,  has  been  fruitful 
in  old  bachelors  and  humourists,  as  will  be  perceived 
when  I  come  to  treat  more  of  its  history.  My  cousin 
Pindar  is  one  of  its  most  conspicuous  members — -he 
is  now  in  his  fifty-eighth  year— is  a  bachelor,  partly 
through  choice,  and  partly  through  chance,  and  an 
oddity  of  the  first  water.  Half  his  life  has  been  em- 
ployed in  writing  odes,  sonnets,  epigrams,  and  elegies, 
which  he  seldom  shows  to  any  body  but  myself  after 
they  are  written  ;  and  all  the  old  chests,  drawers,  and 
chair-bottoms  in  the  house,  teem  with  his  productions. 

In  his  younger  days  he  figured  as  a  dashing  blade 
in  the  great  world  ;  and  no  young  fellow  of  the  town 
wore  a  longer  pig-tail,  or  carried  more  buckram  in 
his  skirts.  From  sixteen  to  thirty  he  was  continually 
in  love,  and  during  that  period,  to  use  his  own  words, 
he  be-scribbled  more  paper  than  would  serve  the 
theatre  for  snow-storms  a  whole  season.  The  even- 
ing of  his  thirtieth  birthday,  as  he  sat  by  the  fire- 
side, as  much  in  love  as  ever  was  man  in  this  world, 


6i3 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


and  writing  the  name  of  his  mistress  in  the  ashes, 
with  an  old  tongs  that  had  lost  one  of  its  legs,  he 
was  seized  with  a  whim-wham  that  he  was  an  old 
fool  to  be  in  love  at  his  time  of  life.  It  was  ever  one 
of  the  Cockloft  characteristics  to  strike  to  whim  ; 
and  had  Pindar  stood  out  on  this  occasion  he  would 
have  brought  the  reputation  of  his  mother  in  ques- 
tion. From  that  time  he  gave  up  all  particular  at- 
teniions  to  the  ladies  ;  and  though  he  still  loves  their 
company,  he  has  never  been  known  to  exceed  the 
bounds  of  common  courtesy  in  his  intercourse  with 
them.  He  was  the  life  and  ornament  of  our  family 
circle  in  town,  until  the  epoch  of  the  French  revolu- 
tion, which  sent  so  many  unfortunate  dancing-mas- 
ters from  their  country  to  polish  and  enlighten  our 
hemisphere.  This  was  a  sad  time  for  Pindar,  who 
had  taken  a  genuine  Cockloft  prejudice  against  every 
thing  French,  ever  since  he  was  brought  to  death's 
door  by  a  ragout:  he  groaned  at  Ca  Ira,  and  the 
Marseilles  Hymn  had  much  the  same  effect  upon 
him  that  sharpening  a  knife  on  a  dry  whetstone  has 
upon  some  people  ;— it  set  his  teeth  chattering.  He 
might  in  time  have  been  reconciled  to  these  rubs, 
had  not  the  introduction  of  French  cockades  on  the 
hats  of  our  citizens  absolutely  thrown  him  into  a 
fever.  The  first  time  he  iaw  an  instance  of  this 
kind,  he  came  home  with  great  precipitation,  packed 
up  his  trunk,  his  old-fashioned  writing-desk,  and  his 
Chinese  ink-stand,  and  made  a  kind  of  growling  re- 
treat to  Cockloft-Hall,  where  he  has  resided  ever 
since. 

My  cousin  Pindar  is  of  a  mercurial  disposition, — .a 
humourist  without  ill-nature — he  is  of  the  true  gun- 
powder temper ; — one  flash  and  all  is  over.  It  is 
true  when  the  wind  is  easterly,  or  the  gout  gives  him 
a  gentle  twinge,  or  he  hears  of  any  new  successes  of 
the  French,  he  will  become  a  little  splenetic  ;  and 
heaven  help  the  man,  and  more  particularly  the 
woman  that  crosses  his  humour  at  that  moment ; — 
she  is  sure  to  receive  no  quarter.  These  are  the 
most  sublime  moments  of  Pindar.  I  swear  to  you, 
dear  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  would  not  lose  one  of 
these  splenetic  bursts  for  the  best  wig  in  my  ward- 
robe ;  even  though  it  were  proved  to  be  the  identical 
wig  worn  by  the  sage  Linkum  Fidelius,  when  he 
demonstrated  before  the  whole  university  of  Leyden, 
that  it  was  possible  to  make  bricks  without  straw. 
I  have  seen  the  old  gentleman  blaze  forth  such  a 
volcanic  explosion  of  wit,  ridicule,  and  satire,  that  I 
was  almost  tempted  to  believe  him  inspired.  But 
these  sallies  only  lasted  for  a  moment,  and  passed 
like  summer  clouds  over  the  benevolent  sunshine 
whicli  ever  warmed  his  heart  and  lighted  up  his 
countenance. 

Time,  though  it  has  dealt  roughly  with  his  person, 
has  passed  lightly  over  the  graces  of  his  mind,  and 
lelt  him  in  full  possession  of  all  the  sensibilities  of 
youth.  His  eye  kindles  at  the  relation  of  a  noble  and 
generous  action,  his  heart  melts  at  the  story  of  dis- 
tress, and  he  is  still  a  warm  admirer  of  the  fair. 
Like  all  old  bachelors,  however,  he  looks  back  with 
a  fond  and  lingering  eye  on  the  period  of  his  boy- 
hood ;  and  would  sooner  suffer  the  pangs  of  matri- 
mony than  acknowledge  that  the  world,  or  any  thing 
in  it,  is  half  so  clever  as  it  was  in  those  good  old 
times  that  are  "  gone  by." 

I  believe  I  have  already  mentioned,  that  with  all 
his  good  qualities  he  is  a  humourist,  and  a  humour- 
ist of  the  highest  order.  He  has  some  of  the  most 
intolerable  whim-whams  I  ever  met  with  in  my  life, 
and  his  oddities  are  sufficient  to  eke  out  a  hundred 
tolerable  originals.  But  I  will  not  enlarge  on  them— 
enough  has  been  told  to  excite  a  desire  to  know 
more  ;  and  I  am  much  mistaken,  if  in  the  course  of 
half  a  dozen  of  our  numbers,  he  don't  tickle,  plague, 


please,  and  perplex  the  whole  town,  and  completely 
establish  his  claim  to  the  laureateship  he  has  solicit- 
ed, and  with  which  we  hereby  invest  him.,  recom- 
mending him  and  his  effusions  to  public  reverence 
and  respect. 

Launcelot  Langstaff. 


TO   LAUNCELOT   LANGSTAFF.   ESQ. 


Dear  Launce, 

As  I  find  you  have  taken  the  quill, 
To  put  our  gay  town,  and  its  fair  under  drill, 
I  offer  my  hopes  for  success  to  your  cause, 
And  send  you  unvarnish'd  my  mite  of  applause.    - 

Ah,  Launce,  this  poor  town  has  been  wofuUy  fash'd; 
Has  long  been  be-Frenchman'd,  be-cockney'd,  be- 

trash'd; 
And  our  ladies  be-devil'd,  bewilder'd  astray, 
From  the  rules  of  their  grandames  have  wander'd  away. 
No  longer  that  modest  demeanour  we  meet, 
Which  whilom  the  eyes  of  our  fathers  did  greet; — 
No  longer  be-mobbled,  bc-ruffled,  be-quiU'd, 
Be-powder'd,  be-hooded,  be-patch'd,  and  be-frill'd,— 
No  longer  our  fair  ones  their  grograms  display, 
And  stiff  in  brocade,  strut  "  like  castles  "  away. 

Oh,  how  fondly  my  soul  forms  departed  have  traced. 
When  our  ladies  in  stays,  and  in  boddice  %vell  laced, 
When  bishop'd,  and  cushion'd,  and  hoop'd  to  the  chin, 
Well  callash'd  without,  and  well  bolster'd  within; 
All  cased  in  their  buckrams,  from  crown  down  to  tail, 
Like  O'Brallagan's  mistress,  were  shaped  like  a  pail. 

Well — peace  to  those  fashions — the  joy  of  our  eyes — 
Tempora  mutantur, — new  follies  will  rise; 
Yet,  "  like  joys  that  are  past,"  they  still  crowd  on  the 

mind, 
In  moments  of  thought,  as  the  soul  looks  behind. 

Sweet  days  of  our  boyhood,  gone  by,  my  dear  Launce, 
Like  the  shadows  of  night,  or  the  forms  in  a  trance; 
Yet  oft  we  retrace  those  bright  visions  again, 
Nos  mutamur,  'tis  true — but  those  visions  remain. 
I  recall  with  delight,  how  my  bosom  would  creep, 
When  some  delicate  foot  from  its  chamber  would  peep; 
And  when  I  a  neat  stocking'd  ankle  could  spy, 
— By  the  sages  of  old,  I  was  rapt  to  the  sky! 
All  then  was  retiring — was  modest — discreet; 
The  beauties,  all  shrouded,  were  left  to  conceit; 
To  the  visions  which  fancy  would  form  in  her  eye, 
Of  graces  that  snug  in  soft  ambush  would  lie; 
And  the  heart,  like  the  poets,  in  thought  would  pursue 
The  clysium  of  bliss,  which  was  veil'd  from  its  view. 

We  are  old-fashion'd  fellows,  our  nieces  will  say: 
Old-fashion'd,  indeed,  coz — and  swear  it  they  may — 
For  I  freely  confess  that  it  yields  me  no  pride. 
To  see  them  all  blaze  what  their  mothers  would  hide: 
To  see  them,  all  shivering,  some  cold  winter's  day, 
So  lavish  their  beauties  and  graces  display, 
And  give  to  each  fopling  that  offers  his  hand, 
Like  Moses  from  Pisgah — a  peep  at  the  land. 

But  a  truce  with  complaining— the  object  in  view- 
Is  to  offer  my  help  in  the  work  you  pursue; 
And  as  your  effusions  and  Labours  sublime. 
May  need,  now  and  then,  a  few  touches  of  rhyme, 
I  humbly  solicit,  as  cousin  and  friend, 
A  quiddity,  quirk,  or  remonstrance  to  send: 
Or  should  you  a  laureate  want  in  your  plan. 
By  the  muff  of  my  grandmother,  I  am  your  man! 
You  must  know  I  have  got  a  poetical  mill, 
Which  with  odd  lines,  and  couplets,  and  triplets  I  fill: 
And  a  poem  I  grind,  as  from  rags  white  and  blue 
The  paper-mill  yields  you  a  sheet  fair  and  new. 
I  can  grind  down  an  ode,  or  an  epic  that's  long, 
Into  sonnet,  acrostic,  conundrum,  or  song: 
As  to  dull  hudibrastic,  so  boasted  of  late, 
The  doggerel  discharge  of  some  muddled  brain'd  pate, 
I  can  grind  it  by  wholesale — and  give  it  its  point, 
With  billingsgate  dish'd  up  in  rhymes  out  of  joint. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


649 


I  have  read  all  the  poets — and  got  them  by  heart, 
Can  slit  them,  and  twist  them,  and  take  them  apart; 
Can  cook  up  an  ode  out  of  patches  and  shreds, 
To  muddle  my  readers,  and  bother  their  heads. 
Old  Homer,  and  Virgil,  and  Ovid  I  scan, 
Anacreon,  and  Sappho,  who  changed  to  a  swan; — 
Iambics  and  sapphics  I  grind  at  my  will. 
And  with  ditties  of  love  every  noddle  can  fill. 

Oh,  'twould  do  your  heart  good,  Launce,  to  see  my 
mill  grind 
Old  stuff  into  verses,  and  poems  refin'd; — • 
Dan  Spencer,  Dan  Chaucer,  those  poets  of  old, 
Though  cover'd  with  dust,  are  yet  true  sterling  gold; 
I  can  grind  off  their  tarnish,  and  bring  them  to  view. 
New  modell'd,  new  mill'd,  and  improved  in  their  hue. 

But  I  promise  no  more — only  give  me  the  place. 
And  I'll  warrant  I'll  fill  it  with  credit  and  grace; 
By  the  living!  I'll  figure  and  cut  you  a  dash 
— As  bold  as  Will  Wizard,  or  'Sbidlikens-flash! 

Pindar  Cockloft. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Perhaps  the  most  fruitful  source  of  mortification  to 
a  merry  writer  who,  fortheamusementof  himself  and 
the  public,  employs  his  leisure  in  sketching  odd  char- 
acters from  imagination,  is,  that  he  cannot  flourish 
his  pen,  but  every  Jack-pudding  imagines  it  is  pointed 
directly  at  himself : — he  cannot,  in  his  gambols,  throw 
a  fool's  cap  among  the  crowd,  but  every  queer  fellow 
insists  upon  putting  it  on  his  own  head  ;  or  chalk  an 
outlandish  figure,  but  every  outlandish  genius  is 
eager  to  write  his  own  name  under  it.  However  we 
inay  be  mortified,  that  these  men  should  each  indi- 
vidually think  himself  of  sufficient  consequence  to  en- 
gage our  attention,  we  should  not  care  a  rush  about 
it,  if  they  did  not  get  into  a  passion  and  complain  of 
having  been  ill-used. 

It  is  not  in  our  hearts  to  hurt  the  feelings  of  one 
single  mortal,  by  holding  him  up  to  public  ridicule  ; 
and  if  it  were,  we  lay  it  down  as  one  of  our  indispu- 
table facts,  that  no  man  can  be  made  ridiculous  but  by 
his  own  folly.  As,  however,  we  are  aware  that  when 
a  man  by  chance  gets  a  thwack  in  the  crowd,  he  is 
apt  to  suppose  the  blow  was  intended  exclusively  for 
himself,  and  so  fall  into  unreasonable  anger,  we 
have  determined  to  let  these  crusty  gentry  know 
what  kind  of  satisfaction  they  are  to  expect  from  us. 
We  are  resolved  not  to  fight,  for  three  special  rea- 
sons ;  first,  because  fighting  is  at  all  events  extreme- 
ly troublesome  and  inconvenient,  particularly  at  this 
season  of  the  year ;  second,  because  if  either  of  us 
should  happen  to  be  killed,  it  would  be  a  great  loss 
to  the  public,  and  rob  them  of  many  a  good  laugh 
we  have  in  store  for  their  amusement ;  and  third,  be- 
cause if  we  should  chance  to  kill  our  adversary, 
as  is  most  likely,  for  we  can  every  one  of  us  split 
balls  upon  razors  and  snuff  candles,  it  would  be  a 
loss  to  our  publisher,  by  depriving  him  of  a  good 
customer.  If  any  gentleman  casuist  will  give  three 
as  good  reasons  (or  fighting,  we  promise  him  a  com- 
plete set  of  Salmagundi  for  nothuig. 

But  though  we  do  not  fight  in  our  own  proper 
persons,  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  we  will  not  give 
ample  satisfaction  to  all  those  who  may  choose  to 
demand  it — for  this  would  be  a  mistake  of  the  first 
magnitude,  and  lead  very  valiant  gentlemen  perhaps 
into  what  is  called  a  quandary.  It  would  be  a  thou- 
sand and  one  pities,  that  any  honest  man,  after  tak- 
ing to  himself  the  cap  and  bells  which  we  merely 
offered  to  his  acceptance,  should  not  have  the  privi- 
lege of  being  cudgeled  into  the  bargain.  We  pride 
ouisclves  upon  giving  satisfaction  in  every  denart- 


ment  of  our  paper ;  and  to  fill  that  of  fighting  have 
engaged  two  of  those  strapping  heroes  of  the  theatre, 
who  figure  in  the  retinues  of  our  ginger-bread  kings 
and  queens ;  now  hurry  an  old  stuff  petticoat  on 
their  backs,  and  strut  senators  of  Rome,  or  aldermen 
of  London  ; — and  now  be-whisker  their  muffin  faces 
with  burnt  cork,  and  swagger  right  valiant  warriors, 
armed  cap-a-]]ie,  in  buckram.  Should,  therefore,  any 
great  little  man  about  town,  take  offence  at  our  good- 
natured  villainy,  though  we  intend  to  offend  nobody 
under  heaven,  he  will  please  to  apply  at  any  hour 
after  twelve  o'clock,  as  our  champions  will  then  be 
off  duty  at  the  theatre  and  ready  for  any  thing.  They 
have  promised  to  fight  "with  or  without  balls,"- — to 
give  two  tweaks  of  the  nose  for  one — to  submit  to  be 
kicked,  and  to  cudgel  their  applicant  most  heartily  in 
return  ;  this  being  what  we  understand  by  "  the  sat- 
isfaction of  a  gentleman." 


No.  III.— FRIDAY,  FEBRUARY  13,  1807. 


FROM  MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 


As  I  delight  in  every  thing  novel  and  eccentric, 
and  would  at  any  time  give  an  old  coat  for  a  new 
idea,  I  am  particularly  attentive  to  the  manners 
and  conversation  of  strangers,  and  scarcely  ever  a 
traveller  enters  this  city,  whose  appearance  prom- 
ises any  thing  original,  but  by  some  means  or  an- 
other I  form  an  acquaintance  with  him.  I  must  con- 
fess I  often  suffer  manifold  afflictions  from  the  inti- 
macies thus  contracted  :  my  curiosity  is  frequently 
punished  by  the  stupid  details  of  a  blockhead,  or  the 
shallow  verbosity  of  a  coxcomb.  Now  I  would  pre- 
fer at  any  time  to  travel  with  an  ox-team  through  a 
Carolina  sand-flat  rather  than  plod  through  a  he-ivy 
unmeaning  conversation  with  the  former ;  and  as  to 
the  latter,  I  would  sooner  hold  sweet  converse  with 
the  wheel  of  a  knife  grinder  than  endure  his  monot- 
onous chattering.  In  fact,  the  strangers  who  flock 
to  this  most  pleasant  of  all  earthly  cities,  are  gener- 
ally mere  birds  of  passage  whose  plumage  is  often 
gay  enough,  I  own,  but  their  notes,  "  he.^ven  save 
the  mark,"  are  as  unmusical  as  those  of  that  classic 
night  bird,  which  the  ancients  humourously  selected 
as  the  emblem  of  wisdom.  Those  from  the  south,  it 
is  true,  entertain  me  with  their  horses,  equipages, 
and  puns  :  and  it  is  excessively  pleasant  to  hear  a 
couple  of  ihese/our  in  ^a«(/ gentlemen  detail  their 
exploits  over  a  bottle.  Those  from  the  east  have 
often  induced  me  to  doubt  the  existence  of  the  wise 
men  of  yore,  who  are  said  to  have  flourished  in  that 
quarter  ;  and  as  for  those  from  parts  beyond  seas — 
oh  !  my  masters,  ye  shall  hear  more  from  me  anon. 
Heaven  help  this  unhappy  town  ! — hath  it  not  gos- 
lings enow  of  its  own  hatching  and  rearing,  that  it 
must  be  overwhelmed  by  such  an  inundation  of  gan- 
ders from  other  climes.?  I  would  not  have  any  of  my 
courteous  and  gentle  readers  suppose  that  I  am  run- 
ning a  muck,  full  tilt,  cut  and  slash  upon  all  foreign- 
ers indiscriminately.  I  have  no  national  antipa- 
thies, though  related  to  the  Cockloft  family.  As 
to  honest  John  Bull,  I  shake  him  heattily  by  the 
hand,  assuring  him  that  I  love  his  jolly  countenance, 
and  moreover  am  lineally  descended  from  him  ;  in 
proof  of  which  I  allege  my  invincible  predilection 
lor  roast  beef  and  pudding.  I  therefore  look  upon 
all  his  children  as  my  kinsmen  ;  and  I  beg  when  I 
tickle  a  cockney  I  may  not  be  understood  as  trim- 
ming an  Englishman ;  they  being  very  distinct  ani- 
mals, as  I  shall  clearly  demonstrate  in  a  future  nunv» 


680 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


ber.  If  any  one  wishes  to  know  mv  opinion  of  tlie 
Irish  and  Scotch,  he  may  find  it  in  the  characters  of 
those  two  nations,  drawn  by  the  tirst  advocate  of  the 
age.  But  the  French,  I  must  confess,  are  my  fa- 
vourites ;  and  1  have  taken  more  pains  to  argue  my 
cousin  Pindar  out  of  his  antipathy  to  them,  than  I 
ever  did  about  any  other  thing.  When,  therefore, 
I  choose  to  hunt  a  Monsieur  for  my  own  particular 
amusement,  I  beg  it  may  not  be  asserted  that  I  in- 
tend him  as  a  representative  of  his  countrymen  at 
large.  Far  from  this — I  love  the  nation,  as  being 
a  nation  of  right  merry  fellows,  possessing  the  true 
.secret  of  being  happy ;  which  is  nothing  more  than 
thinking  of  nothing,  talking  about  any  thing,  and 
laughing  at  every  thing.  I  mean  only  to  tune  up 
those  little  thing-o-mys,  who  represent  nobody  but 
themselves ;  who  have  no  national  trait  about  them 
but  their  language,  and  who  hop  about  our  town  in 
swarms  like  little  toads  after  a  shower. 

Among  the  few  strangers  whose  acquaintance 
has  entertained  me,  I  particularly  rank  the  mag- 
nanimous MuSTAPHA  Rub-a-dub  Kkli  Khan, 
a  most  illustrious  captain  of  a  ketch,  who  figured 
some  time  since,  in  our  fashionable  circles,  at  the 
head  of  a  r.-igged  regiment  of  Tripolitan  prisoners. 
His  conversation  was  to  me  a  perpetual  feast; — I 
chuckled  with  inward  pleasure  at  his  whimsical  mis- 
takes and  unaffected  observations  on  men  and  man- 
ners ;  and  I  rolled  each  odd  conceit  "like  a  sweet 
morsel  under  my  tongue." 

Whether  Mustapha  was  captivated  by  my  iron- 
bound  physiognomy,  or  ilattercd  by  the  attentions 
which  I  paid  him,  I  won't  determine  ;  but  I  so  far 
gained  his  confidence,  that,  at  his  departure,  he  pre- 
sented me  with  a  bundle  of  papers,  containing, 
among  other  articles,  several  copies  of  letters, 
which  he  had  written  to  his  friends  at  Tripoli. — The 
following  is  a  translation  of  one  of  them. — The  orig- 
inal is  in  Arabic-Greek;  but  by  the  assistance  of 
Will  Wizard,  who  understands  all  languages,  not 
excepting  that  manufactured  by  Ps.ilmanazar,  1 
have  been  enabled  to  accomplish  a  tolerable  transla- 
tion. We  should  have  found  little  difficulty  in  ren- 
dering it  into  English,  had  it  not  been  for  Mustapha's 
confounded  pot-hooks  and  trammels. 


LETTER     FROM    MUSTAPHA    RUB-A-DUB 
KELI   KHAN, 

CAPTAIN  OF  A  KETCH,  TO  ASEM  HACCHEM,  PRIN- 
CIPAL SLAVE-DRIVER  TO  HIS  HIGHNESS  THE 
BASHAW  OF  TRIPOLI. 


Thou  wilt  learn  from  this  letter,  most  illustrious 
disciple  of  Mahomet,  that  I  have  for  some  time  re- 
sided in  New- York ;  the  most  polished,  vast,  and 
magnificent  city  of  the  United  States  of  America. 
But  what  to  me  are  its  delights  !  I  wander  a  captive 
through  its  splendid  streets,  I  turn  a  heavy  eye  on 
every  rising  day  that  beholds  me  banished  from  my 
country.  The  Christian  husbands  here  lament 
most  bitterly  any  short  absence  from  home,  though 
they  leave  but  one  wife  behind  to  lament  their  de- 
parture ; — what  then  must  be  the  feelings  of  thy 
unhappy  kinsman,  while  thus  lingering  at  an  im- 
measurable distance  from  three-and-twenty  of  the 
most  lovely  and  obedient  wives  in  all  Tripoli  !  Oh, 
Allah  !  shall  thy  servant  never  again  return  to  his 
native  land,  nor  behold  his  beloved  wives,  who  beam 
on  his  memory  beautiful  as  the  rosy  mom  of  the  east, 
and  graceful  as  Mahomet's  camel ! 


Yet  beautiful,  oh,  most  puissant  slave-driver,  as 
are  rny  wives,  they  are  far  exceeded  by  the  women 
of  this  country.  Even  those  who  run  about  the 
streets  with  bare  anns  and  necks,  (et  cetera)  whose 
h.Tbiliments  are  too  scanty  to  protect  them  either 
from  the  inclemency  of  the  season,  or  the  scrutiniz- 
ing glances  of  the  curious,  and  who  it  would  seem 
belong  to  nobody,  are  lovely  as  the  houris  that  people 
the  elysium  of  true  believers.  If,  then,  such  as  run 
wild  in  the  highways,  and  whom  no  one  cares  to  ap- 
propriate, are  thus  beauteous  ;  what  must  be  the 
charms  of  those  who  are  shut  up  in  the  seraglios, 
and  never  permitted  to  go  abroad  !  surely  the  region 
of  beauty,  the  valley  of  the  graces,  can  contain  noth 
ing  so  inimitably  fair  ! 

But,  notwithstanding  the  charms  of  these  infidel 
women,  they  are  apt  to  have  one  fault,  which  is 
extremely  troublesoine  and  inconvenient.  Wouldst 
thou  believe  it,  Asem,  I  have  been  positively  as- 
sured by  a  famous  dervise,  or  doctor  as  he  is  here 
called,  that  at  least  one-fifth  part  of  them — have 
souls  !  incredible  as  it  m.ay  seem  to  thee,  I  am  the 
more  inclined  to  believe  them  in  possession  of  this 
monstrous  superfluity,  from  my  own  little  experi- 
ence, and  from  the  information  which  I  have  de- 
rived from  others.  In  walking  the  streets  I  have 
actually  seen  an  exceeding  good-looking  woman 
with  soul  enough  to  box  her  husband's  ears  to  his 
heart's  content,  and  my  very  whiskers  trembled 
with  indignation  at  the  abject  state  of  these  wretch- 
ed infidels.  I  am  told,  moreover,  that  some  of  the 
women  have  soul  enough  to  usurp  the  breeches  of 
the  men,  but  these  I  suppose  are  married  and  kept 
close  ;  for  1  have  not,  in  my  rambles,  met  with  any 
so  extravagantly  accoutred  ;  others,  I  am  informed, 
have  soul  enough  to  swear  ! — yea !  by  the  beard 
of  the  great  Omar,  who  prayed  three  times  to  each 
of  the  one  hundred  and  twenty-four  thousand  proph- 
ets of  our  most  holy  faith,  and  who  never  swore 
but  once  in  his  life — they  actually  swear ! 

Get  thee  to  the  mosque,  good  Asem  !  return  thanks 
to  our  most  holy  prophet  that  he  has  been  thus  mind- 
ful of  the  comfort  of  all  true  Mussulmen,  and  has 
given  theiTi  wives  with  no  more  souls  than  cats  and 
dogs  and  other  necessary  animals  of  the  household. 

Thou  wilt  doubtless  be  anxious  to  learn  our  recep- 
tion in  this  country,  and  how  we  were  treated  by  a 
people  whom  we  have  been  accustomed  to  consider 
as  unenlightened  barbarians. 

On  landing,  we  were  waited  upon  to  our  lodgings, 
I  suppose  according  to  the  directions  of  the  muni- 
cipality, by  a  vast  and  respectable  escort  of  boys  and 
negroes ;  who  shouted  and  threw  up  their  hats, 
doubtless  to  do  honour  to  the  magnanimous  Mus- 
tapha, captain  of  a  ketch  ;  they  were  somewhat  rag- 
ged and  dirty  in  their  equipments,  but  this  we  at- 
tributed to  their  republican  simplicity.  One  of  them, 
in  the  zeal  of  admiration,  threw  an  old  shoe,  which 
gave  thy  friend  rather  an  ungentle  salutation  on  one 
side  of  the  head,  whereat  1  was  not  a  little  offended, 
until  the  interpreter  informed  us  that  this  was  the 
customary  manner  in  which  great  men  were  hon- 
oured in  this  country  ;  and  that  the  more  distin- 
guished they  were,  the  more  they  were  subjected  to 
the  attacks  and  peltings  of  the  mob.  Upon  this  I 
bowed  my  head  three  times,  with  my  hands  to  my 
turban,  and  made  a  speech  in  Arabic-Greek,  which 
gave  great  satisfaction  and  occasioned  a  shower  of 
old  shoes,  hats,  and  so  forth,  that  was  exceedingly 
refreshing  to  us  all. 

Thou  wilt  not  as  yet  expect  that  I  should  give  thee 
an  account  of  the  laws  and  politics  of  this  country. 
I  will  reserve  them  for  some  future  letter,  when  I 
shall  be  more  experienced  in  their  complicated  and 
seemingly  contradictory  nature. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


C51 


This  empire  is  governed  by  a  grand  and  most  pu- 
issant bashaw,  whom  they  dignify  with  the  title  of 
president.  He  is  chosen  by  persons  who  are  chosen 
by  an  assembly  elected  by  the  people— hence  the 
mob  is  called  the  sovereign  people  ;  and  the  country, 
free;  the  body  politic  doubtless  resembling  a  vessel, 
which  is  best  governed  by  its  tail.  The  present  ba- 
shaw is  a  very  plain  old  gentleman — something,  they 
say,  of  a  humourist,  as  he  amuses  himself  with  im- 
paling butterflies  and  pickling  tadpoles  ;  he  is  rather 
declining  in  popularity,  having  given  great  offence 
by  wearing  red  breeches,  and  tying  his  horse  to  a 
post.  The  people  of  the  United  States  have  assured 
me  that  they  themselves  are  the  most  enlightened 
nation  under  the  sun  ;  but  thou  knowest  that  the 
barbarians  of  the  desert,  who  assemble  at  the  sum- 
mer solstice  to  shoot  their  arrows  at  that  glorious 
luminary,  in  order  to  extinguish  his  burning  rays, 
make  precisely  the  same  boast ; — which  of  them 
have  the  superior  claim,  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
decide. 

I  have  observed,  with  some  degree  of  surprise, 
that  the  men  of  this  country  do  not  seem  in  haste 
to  accommodate  themselves  even  with  the  single 
wife  which  alone  the  laws  permit  them  to  marry ; 
this  backwardness  is  probably  owing  to  the  misfor- 
tune of  their  absolutely  having  no  female  mutes 
among  them.  Thou  knowest  how  invaluable  are 
these  silent  companions  ; — what  a  price  is  given  for 
them  in  the  east,  and  what  entertaining  wives  they 
make.  What  delightful  entertainment  arises  from 
beholding  the  silent  eloquence  of  their  signs  and 
gestures  ;  but  a  wife  possessed  both  of  a  tongue  and 
a  soul — monstrous  !  monstrous  !  is  it  astonishing 
that  these  unhappy  infidels  should  shrink  from  a 
union  with  a  woman  so  preposterously  endowed. 

Thou  hast  doubtless  read  in  the  works  of  Abul 
Faraj,  the  Arabian  historian,  the  tradition  which 
mentions  that  the  muses  were  once  upon  the  point 
of  falling  together  by  the  ears  about  the  admission 
of  a  tenth  among  their  number,  until  she  assured 
them  by  signs  that  she  was  dumb  ;  whereupon  they 
received  her  with  great  rejoicing.  I  should,  perhaps, 
inform  thee  that  there  are  but  nine  Christian  muses, 
who  were  formerly  pagans,  but  have  since  been  con- 
verted, and  that  in  this  country  we  never  hear  of  a 
tenth,  unless  some  crazy  poet  v%ishes  to  pay  a  hyper- 
bolical compliment  to  his  mistress ;  on  which  occa- 
sion it  goes  hard,  but  she  figures  as  a  tenth  muse,  or 
fourth  grace,  even  though  she  should  be  more  illit- 
erate than  a  Hottentot,  and  more  ungraceful  than  a 
dancing-bear!  Since  my  arrival  in  this  country  I 
have  met  with  not  less  than  a  hundred  of  these  su- 
pernumerary muses  and  graces— and  may  AJlah  pre- 
serve me  from  ever  meeting  with  any  more  ! 

When  I  have  studied  this  people  more  profoundly, 
I  will  write  thee  again  ;  in  the  mean  time,  watch  over 
my  household,  and  do  not  beat  my  beloved  wives 
unless  you  catch  them  with  their  noses  out  at  the  win- 
dow. Though  far  distant  and  a  slave,  let  me  live  in 
thy  heart  as  thou  livest  in  mine  : — think  not,  O  friend 
of  my  soul,  that  the  splendours  of  this  luxurious  capi- 
tal, its  gorgeous  palaces,  its  stupendous  mosques, 
and  the  beautiful  females  who  run  wild  in  herds 
about  its  streets,  can  obliterate  thee  from  my  remem- 
brance. Thy  name  shall  still  be  mentioned  in  the 
five-and-twenty  prayers  which  I  offer  up  daily ;  and 
may  our  great  prophet,  after  bestowing  on  thee  all 
the  blessings  of  this  life,  at  length,  in  good  old  age, 
lead  thee  gently  by  the  hand  to  enjoy  the  dignity  of 
bashaw  of  three  tails  in  the  blissful  bowers  of  Eden. 

MUSTAPHA. 


FASHIONS. 
By  Anthony  Evergreen,  Gent. 

the  following  article  is  furnished  me  by 
a  young  lady  of  unquestionable  taste, 
and  who  is  the  oracle  of  fashion  and 
frippery.  being  deeply  initiated  into 
all  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet,  she  has 
promised  me  from  time  to  time  a  similar 

DETAIL. 


Mrs.  Toole  has  for  some  time  reigned  unrivalled 
in  the  fashionable  world,  and  had  the  supreme  direc- 
tion of  caps,  bonnets,  feathers,  flowers,  and  tinsel. 
She  has  dressed  and  undressed  our  ladies  just  as  she 
pleased  ;  now  loading  them  with  velvet  and  wadding, 
now  turning  them  adrift  upon  the  world  to  run  shiv- 
ering through  the  streets  with  scarcely  a  covering 

to  their backs ;  and  now  obliging  them  to  drag 

a  long  train  at  their  heels,  like  the  tail  of  a  paper  kite. 
Her  despotic  sway,  however,  threatens  to  be  limited. 
A  dangerous  rival  has  sprung  up  in  the  person  of 
Madame  Bouchard,  an  intrepid  little  woman, 
fresh  from  the  head-quarters  of  fashion  and  folly, 
and  who  has  burst,  like  a  second  Bonaparte,  upon 
the  fashionable  world. — Mrs.  Toole,  notwithstanding, 
seems  determined  to  dispute  her  ground  bravely  for 
the  honour  of  old  England.  The  ladies  have  begu.i 
to  arrange  themselves  under  the  banner  of  one  or 
other  of  these  heroines  of  the  needle,  and  every 
thing  portends  open  war.  Madame  Bouchard 
marches  gallantly  to  the  field,  flourishing  a  flaming 
red  robe  for  a  standard,  "  flouting  the  skies  ;"  and 
Mrs.  Toole,  no  ways  dismayed,  sallies  out  under 
cover  of  a  forest  of  artificial  flowers,  like  Malcolm's 
host.  Both  parties  possess  great  merit,  and  both 
deserve  the  victory.  Mrs.  Toole  charges  the  highest 
— but  Madame  Bouchard  makes  the  lowest  courtesy. 
Madame  Bouchard  is  a  little  short  lady — nor  is  there 
any  hope  of  her  growing  larger  ;  but  then  she  is  per- 
fectly genteel,  and  so  is  Mrs.  Toole.  Mrs.  Toole 
lives  in  Broadway,  and  Madame  Bouchard  in  Court- 
landt-street ;  but  Madame  atones  for  the  inferiority 
of  her  stand  by  making  two  courtesies  to  Mrs. 
Toole's  one,  and  talking  French  like  an  angel. 
Mrs.  Toole  is  the  best  looking — but  Madame  Bou- 
chard wears  a  most  bewitching  little  scrubby  wig. — 
Mrs.  Toole  is  the  tallest — but  Madame  Bouchard 
has  the  longest  nose. — Mrs.  Toole  is  fond  of  roast 
beef — but  Madame  is  loyal  in  her  adherence  to 
onions  :  in  short,  so  equally  are  the  merits  of  the  two 
ladies  balanced,  that  there  is  no  judging  which  will 
"kick  the  beam."  It,  however,  seems  to  be  the 
prevailing  opinion  that  Madame  Bouchard  will  carry 
the  day,  because  she  wears  a  wig,  has  a  long  nose, 
talks  French,  loves  onions,  and  does  not  charge 
above  ten  times  as  much  for  a  thing  as  it  is  worth. 


under  the  DIRECTION  OF  THESE  HIGH  PRIEST- 
ESSES OF  THE  BEAU-MONDE,  THE  FOLLOWING 
IS  THE  FASHIONABLE  MORNING  DRESS  FOR 
WALKING. 

If  the  weather  be  very  cold,  a  thin  muslin  gown, 
or  frock  is  most  adviseable ;  because  it  agrees  with 
the  season,  being  perfectly  cool.  The  neck,  arms, 
and  particularly  the  elbows  bare,  in  order  that  they 
may  be  agreeably  painted  and  mottled  by  Mr.  John 
Frost,  nose-painter-general,  of  the  colour  of  Cas- 
tile soap.  Shoes  of  kid,  the  thinnest  that  can  pos- 
sibly be  procured — as  they  tend  to  promote  colds, 
and  make  a  lady  look  interesting — (/.  e.,  grizzly.) 


e53 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Picnic  silk  stocking's,  with  lace  clocks,  flesh-coloured 
are  most  fashionable,  as  they  have  the  appearance 
of  bare  legs — nudity  being  all  the  rage.  The 
stockings  carelessly  bespattered  with  mud,  to 
agree  with  the  gown,  which  should  be  bordered 
about  three  inches  deep  with  the  most  fashionable 
coloured  mud  that  can  be  found :  the  ladies  per- 
mitted to  hold  up  their  trains,  after  they  have  swept 

two   or    three    streets,    in    order    to    show the 

clocks  of  their  stockings.  The  shawl,  scarlet,  crim- 
son, flame,  orange,  salmon,  or  any  other  combus- 
tible or  brimstone  colour,  thrown  over  one  shoul- 
der;  like  an  Indian  blanket,  with  one  end  dragging 
on  the  ground. 

N.  B.  If  the  ladies  have  not  a  red  shawl  at  hand, 
a  red  petticoat  turned  topsy-turvy,  over  the  shoul- 
ders, would  do  just  as  well.  This  is  called  being 
dressed  a  la  drabble. 

When  the  ladies  do  not  go  aboad  of  a  morning, 
the  usual  chimney-corner  dress  is  a  dotted,  spotted, 
striped,  or  cross-barred  gown  ; — a  yellowish,  whit- 
ish, smoldsh,  dirty-coloured  shawl,  and  the  hair 
curiously  ornamented  with  little  bits  of  newspapers, 
or  pieces  of  a  letter  from  a  dear  friend.  This  is 
called  the  "Cinderella-dress." 

The  recipe  for  a  full  dress  is  as  follows  :  take  of 
spider-net,  crape,  satin,  gymp,  cat-gut,  gauze, 
whalebone,  lace,  bobbin,  ribands,  and  artificial  flow- 
ers, as  much  as  will  rig  out  the  congregation  of  a 
village  church ;  to  these,  add  as  many  spangles, 
beads,  and  gew-gaws,  as  would  be  sufficient  to  turn 
the  heads  of  all  the  fashionable  fair  ones  of  Nootka- 
sound.  Let  Mrs.  Toole  or  Madame  Bouchard 
patch  all  these  articles  together,  one  upon  another, 
dash  them  plentifully  over  with  stars,  bugles,  and 
tinsel,  and  they  will  altogether  form  a  dress,  which 
hung  upon  a  lady's  back,  cannot  fail  of  supplying 
the  place  of  beauty,  youth,  and  grace,  and  of  re- 
minding the  spectator  of  that  celebrated  region  of 
finery,  called  Rag  Fair. 


One  of  the  greatest  sources  of  amusement  inci- 
dent to  our  humourous  knight  errantry,  is  to  ramble 
about  and  hear  the  various  conjectures  of  the  town 
respecting  our  worships,  whom  every  body  pre- 
tends to  know  as  well  as  Falstaff  did  prince  Hal  at 
Gads-hill.  We  have  sometimes  seen  a  sapient, 
sleepy  fellow,  on  being  tickled  with  a  straw,  make  a 
furious  effort  and  fancy  he  had  fairly  caught  a  gnat 
in  his  grasp ;  so,  that  many-headed  monster,  the 
public,  who,  with  all  its  heads,  is,  we  fear,  .sadly  off 
for  brains,  has,  after  long  hovering,  come  souse 
down,  like  a  king-fisher,  on  the  authors  of  Salma- 
gundi, and  caught  them  as  certainly  as  the  afore- 
said honest  fellow  caught  the  gnat. 

Would  that  we  were  rich  enough  to  give  every 
one  of  our  numerous  readers  a  cent,  as  a  reward  for 
their  ingenuity  !  not  that  they  have  really  conjec- 
tured within  a  thousand  leagues  of  the  tnjth,  but 
that  we  consider  it  a  great  stretch  of  ingenuity 
even  to  have  guessed  wrong  ;  and  that  we  hold 
ourselves  much  obliged  to  them  for  having  taken 
the  trouble  to  guess  at  all. 

One  of  the  most  tickling,  dear,  mischievous  pleas- 
ures of  this  life  is  to  laugh  in  one's  sleeve — to  sit 
snug  in  the  corner,  unnoticed  and  unknown,  and 
hear  the  wise  men  of  Gotham,  who  are  profound 
judges  of  horse-flesh,  pronounce,  from  the  style  of 
our  work,  who  are  the  authors.  This  listening  in- 
cog, and  receiving  a  hearty  praising  over  another 
man's  back,  is  a  situation  so  celestially  whimsical, 
that  we  have  done  little  else  than  laugh  in  our 
sleeve  ever  since  our  first  number  was  published. 


The  town  has  at  length  allayed  the  titilations  of 
curiosity,  by  fixing  on  two  young  genllemen  of  liter- 
ary talents — that  is  to  say,  they  are  equal  to  the 
composition  of  a  newspaper  squib,  a  hodge  podge 
criticism,  or  some  such  trifle,  and  may  occasionally 
raise  a  smile  by  their  effusions  ;  but  pardon  us,  sweet 
sirs,  if  we  modestly  doubt  your  capability  of  support- 
ing the  burthen  of  Salmagundi,  or  of  keeping  up  a 
laugh  for  a  whole  fortnight,  as  we  have  done,  and  in- 
tend to  do,  until  the  whole  town  becomes  a  commu- 
nity of  laughing  philosophers  like  ourselves.  We 
have  no  intention,  however,  of  undervaluing  the 
abilities  of  these  two  young  men,  whom  we  verily 
believe,  according  to  common  acceptation,  young 
men  of  promise. 

Were  we  ill-natured,  we  might  publish  something 
that  would  get  our  representatives  into  difliculties  ; 
but  far  be  it  from  us  to  do  any  thing  to  the  injury 
of  persons  to  whom  we  are  under  such  obligations. 

While  they  stand  before  us,  we,  like  little  Teu- 
cer,  behind  the  sevenfold  shield  of  Ajax,  can  launch 
unseen  our  sportive  arrows,  which  we  trust  will 
never  inflict  a  wound,  unless  like  his  they  fly 
"  heaven  directed,"  to  some  conscious-struck  bo- 
som. 

Another  marvellous  great  source  of  pleasure  to 
us,  is  the  abuse  our  work  has  received  from  several 
wooden  gentlemen,  whose  censures  we  covet  more 
than  ever  we  did  .any  thing  in  our  lives.  The  mo- 
ment we  declared  open  war  against  folly  and  stupid- 
ity, we  expected  to  receive  no  quarter  ;  and  to  pro- 
voke a  confederacy  of  all  the  blockheads  in  town. 
For  it  is  one  of  our  indisputable  facts  that  so  sure 
as  you  catch  a  gander  by  the  tail,  the  whole  flock, 
geese,  goslings,  one  and  all,  have  a  fellow-feeling  on 
the  occasion,  and  begin  to  cackle  and  hiss  like  so 
many  devils  bewitched.  As  we  have  a  profound 
respect  for  these  ancient  and  respectable  birds,  on 
the  score  of  their  once  saving  the  capitol,  we  hereby 
declare  that  we  mean  no  ofience  whatever  by  com- 
paring them  to  the  aforesaid  confederacy.  We 
have  heard  in  our  walks  such  critirisms  on  Salma- 
gundi, as  almost  induced  a  belief  that  folly  had  here, 
as  in  the  east,  her  moments  of  inspired  idiotism. 
Every  silly  foyster  has,  as  if  by  an  instinctive  sense 
of  anticipated  danger,  joined  m  the  cry ;  and  con- 
demned us  without  mercy.  All  is  thus  as  it  should 
be.  It  would  have  mortified  us  very  sensibly,  had 
wc  been  disappointed  in  this  particular,  as  we 
should  then  have  been  apprehensive  that  our  shafts 
had  fallen  to  the  ground,  innocent  of  the  "  blood  or 
brains  "  of  a  single  numskull.  Our  efforts  have  been 
crowned  with  wonderful  success.  All  the  queer 
fish,  the  grubs,  the  flats,  the  noddies,  and  the  live 
oak  and  timber  gentlemen,  are  pointing  their  empty 
guns  at  us ;  and  we  are  threatened  with  a  most 
puissant  confederacy  of  the  "  pigmies  and  cranes," 
and  other  "  light  militia,"  backed  by  the  heavy 
armed  artillery  of  dullness  and  stupidity.  The  veri- 
est dreams  of  our  most  sanguine  moments  are  thus 
realized.  We  have  no  fear  of  the  censures  of  the 
wise,  the  good,  or  the  fair  ;  for  they  will  ever  be 
sacred  from  our  attacks.  We  reverence  the  wise, 
love  the  good,  and  adore  the  fair ;  we  declare  our- 
selves champions  in  their  cause  ; — in  the  cause  of 
morality  ; — and  we  throw  our  gauntlet  to  all  the 
world  besides. 

While  we  profess  and  feel  the  same  indifference 
to  public  applause  as  at  first,  we  most  earnestly  in- 
vite the  attacks  and  censures  of  all  the  wooden  war- 
riors of  this  sensible  city  ;  and  especially  ol  that  dis- 
tinguished and  learned  body,  heretofore  celebrated 
under  the  appellation  of  "  the  North-river  society." 
The  thrice  valiant  and  renowned  Don  Quixote 
never  made  such  work  amongst  the -wool-clad  war- 


SALMAGUNDI. 


G53 


riors  of  Trapoban,  or  the  puppets  of  the  itinerant 
showman,  as  we  promise  to  make  among  these  fine 
fellows  ;  and  we  pledge  ourselves  to  the  public  in 
general,  and  the  Albany  skippers  in  particular,  that 
the  North  river  shall  not  be  set  on  tire  this  winter 
it  least,  for  we  shall  give  the  authors  of  that  nefari- 
ous scheme,  ample  employment  for  some  time  to 


PROCLAMATION, 

FROM   THE  MILL   OF  PINDAR  COCKLOFT,    ESQ. 


To  all  the  young  belles  who  enliven  our  scene, 
From  ripe  five-and-forty,  to  blooming  fifteen; 
Who  racket  at  routs,  and  who  rattle  at  plays. 
Who  visit,  and  fidget,  and  dance  out  their  days: 
Who  conquer  all  hearts,  with  a  shot  from  the  eye. 
Who  freeze  with  a  frown,  and  who  thaw  with  a  sigh: — 
To  all  those  bright  youths  who  embellish  the  age. 
Whether  young  boys,  or  old  boys,  or  numskull  or  sage: 
Whether  dull  dogs,  who  cringe  at  their  mistress'  feet, 
Who  sigh  and  who  whine,  and  who  try  to  look  sweet; 
Whether  tough  dogs,  who  squat  down  stock  still  in  a 

row 
And  play  wooden  gentlemen  stuck  up  for  a  show; 
Or  SAD  dogs,  who  glory  in  running  their  rigs. 
Now  dash  in  their  sleighs,  and  now  whirl  in  their  gigs; 
Who  riot  at  Dyde's  on  imperial  champaign. 
And  then  scour  our  city — the  peace  to  maintain: 

To  whoe'er  it  concerns  or  may  happen  to  meet. 
By  these  presents  their  worships  I  lovingly  greet. 
Now  KNOW  YE,  that  I,  Pindar  Cockloft,  esquire, 
Am  laureate,  appointed  at  special  desire; — 
A  censor,  self-dubb'd,  to  admonish  the  fair, 
,\nd  tenderly  take  the  town  under  my  care. 

I'm  a  ci-devant  beau,  cousin  Launcelot  has  said — 
A  remnant  of  habits  long  vanish'd  and  dead: 
Hut  still,  though  my  heart  dwells  with  rapture  sublime. 
On  the  fashions  and  customs  which  reign'd  in  my  prime, 
I  yet  can  perceive — and  still  candidly  praise, 
Some  maxims  and  manners  of  these  "  latter  days; " 
Still  own  that  some  wisdom  and  beauty  appears. 
Though  almost  entomb'd  in  the  rubbish  of  years. 

No  fierce  nor  tyrannical  cynic  am  I, 
Who  frown  on  each  foible  I  chance  to  espy; 
Who  pounce  on  a  novelty,  just  like  a  kite, 
And  tear  up  a  victim  through  malice  or  spite: 
Who  expose  to  the  scoffs  of  an  ill-natured  crew, 
A  trembler  for  starting  a  whim  that  is  new. 
No,  no — I  shall  cautiously  hold  up  my  glass. 
To  the  sweet  little  blossoms  who  heedlessly  pass ; 
My  remarks  not  too  pointed  to  wound  or  offend. 
Nor  so  vague  as  to  miss  their  benevolent  end  : 
Each  innocent  fashion  shall  have  its  full  sway  ; 
New  modes  shall  arise  to  astonish  Broadway : 
Red  hats  and  red  shawls  still  illumine  the  town. 
And  each  belle,  like  a  bon-fire,  blaze  up  and  down. 

Fair  spirits,  who  brighten  the  gloom  of  our  days. 
Who  cheer  this  dull  scene  with  your  heavenly  rays. 
No  mortal  can  love  you  more  firmly  and  true. 
From  the  crown  of  the  head,  to  the  sole  of  your  shoe. 
I'm  old  fashion'd,  'tis  true, — but  still  runs  in  my  heart 
That  affectionate  stream,  to  which  youth  gave  the  start. 
More  calm  in  its  current — yet  potent  in  force  ; 
Less  ruffled  by  gales — but  still  stedfast  in  course. 
Though  the  lover,  enraptur'd,  no  longer  appears, — 
'Tis  the  guide  and  the  guardian  enlighten'd  by  years. 
All  ripen'd,  and  mellow'd,  and  soften'd  by  time. 
The  asperities  polish'd  which  chafed  in  my  prime  ; 
I  am  fully  prepared  for  that  delicate  end. 
The  fair  one's  instructor,  companion  and  friend. 
— And  should  I  perceive  you  in  fashion's  gay  dance. 
Allured  by  the  frippery  mongers  of  France, 
Expose  your  freak  frames  to  a  chill  wintry  sky, 
To  be  nipp'd  by  its  frosts,  to  be  torn  from  the  eye  ; 


My  soft  admonitions  shall  fall  on  your  ear — 
Shall  whisper  those  parents  to  whom  you  are  dear — 
Shall  warn  you  of  hazards  you  heedlessly  run. 
And  sing  of  those  fair  ones  whom  frost  has  undone  ; 
Bright  suns  that  would  scarce  on  our  horizon  dawn. 
Ere  shrouded  from  sight,  they  were  early  withdrawn : 
Gay  sylphs,  who  have  floated  in  circles  below, 
As  pure  in  their  souls,  and  as  transient  as  snow  ; 
Sweet  roses,  that  bloom'd  and  decay'd  to  my  eye. 
And  of  forms  that  have  flitted  and  pass'd  to  the  sky. 
But  as  to  those  brainless  pert  bloods  of  our  town, 
Those  sprigs  of  the  ton  who  run  decency  down  ; 
Who  lounge  and  who  lout,  and  v.-ho  booby  about, 
No  knowledge  within,  and  no  manners  without ; 
Who  stare  at  each  beauty  with  insolent  eyes  ; 
Who  rail  at  those  morals  their  fathers  would  prize  ; 
Who  are  loud  at  the  play — and  who  impiously  dare 
To  come  in  their  cups  to  the  routs  of  the  fair  ; 
I  shall  hold  up  my  mirror,  to  let  them  survey 
The  figures  they  cut  as  they  dash  it  away  : 
Should  my  good-humoured  verse  no  amendment  pro- 
duce. 
Like  scare-crows,  at  least,  they  shall  still  be  of  use  ; 
I  shall  stitch  them,  in  effigy,  up  in  my  rhyme,  _ 
And  hold  them  aloft  through  the  progress  of  time, 
As  figures  of  fun  to  make  the  folks  laugh, 

Like  that  b h  of  an  angel  erected  by  Paff, 

"What  shtops,"  as  he  says,"  all  de  people  what  come; 
What  smiles  on  dem  all,  and  what  peats  on  de  trum." 


No.  IV.— TUESDAY,  FEBRUARY  24,  1807. 

FROM  MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 


Perhaps  there  is  no  class  of  men  to  which  the 
curious  and  literary  are  more  indebted  than  travel- 
lers ;^I  mean  travel-mongers,  who  write  whole  vol- 
umes about  themselves,  their  horses  and  their  serv- 
ants, interspersed  with  anecdotes  of  inn-keepers, — 
droll  s.iyings  of  stage-drivers,  and  interesting  memoirs 
of— the  Lord  knows  who.  They  will  give  ycu  a  full 
account  of  a  city,  its  manners,  customs,  and  manu- 
factures ;  though,  perhaps,  all  their  knowledge  of  it 
was  obtained  by  a  peep  from  their  inn-windows,  and 
an  interesting  conversation  with  the  landlord  or  the 
waiter.  America  has  had  its  share  of  these  buzzards  ; 
and  in  the  name  of  my  countrymen  I  return  them 
profound  thanks  for  the  compliments  they  have 
lavished  upon  us,  and  the  variety  of  particulars  con- 
cerning our  own  country,  which  we  should  never 
have  discovered  without  tlieir  assistance. 

Influenced  by  such  sentiments,  1  am  delighted  to 
find  that  the  Cockloft  family,  among  its  other  whim- 
sical and  monstrous  productions,  is  about  to  be  en- 
riched with  a  genuine  travel-writer.  This  is  no  less 
a  personage  than  Mr.  JEREMY  COCKLOFT,  the  only 
son  and  darling  pride  of  my  cousin,  Mr.  CHRIS- 
TOPHER Cockloft.  I  should  have  said  Jeremy 
Cockloft,  the  younger,  as  he  so  styles  himself,  by  way 
of  distinguishing  him  from  IL  SiGNORE  JEREMY 
CocklOFTICO,  a  gouty  old  gentleman,  wlio  flourished 
about  the  time  that  Pliny  the  elder  was  smoked  to 
death  with  the  fire  and  brimstone  of  Vesuvius ;  and 
whose  travels,  if  he  ever  wrote  any,  are  now  lost  for 
ever  to  the  world.  Jeremy  is  at  present  in  his  one- 
and-twentieth  year,  and  a  young  fellow  of  wonderful 
quick  parts,  if  you  will  trust  to  the  word  of  his  father, 
who,  having  begotten  him,  should  be  the  best  judge 
of  the  matter.  He  is  the  oracle  of  the  family,  dic- 
tates to  his  sisters  on  every  occasion,  though  they 
are  some  dozen  or  more  years  older  than  himself;- - 
and  never  did  son  give  mother  better  advice  than 
Jeremy. 


674 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


As  old  Cockloft  was  determined  his  son  should  be 
both  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman,  he  took  great  pains 
with  his  education,  which  was  completed  at  our  uni- 
versity, where  he  became  exceedingly  expert  in  quiz- 
zing his  teachers  and  playing  billiards.  No  student 
made  better  squibs  and  crackers  to  blow  up  the 
chymical  professor ;  no  one  chalked  more  ludicrous 
caricatures  on  the  walls  of  the  college  ;  and  none 
were  more  adroit  in  shaving  pigs  and  climbiig  light- 
ning-rods. He  moreover  learned  all  the  letters  of  the 
Greek  alphabet ;  could  demonstrate  that  water  never 
"of  its  own  accord"  rose  above  the  level  of  its 
source,  and  that  air  was  certainly  the  principle  of 
hfe  ;  for  he  had  been  entertained  with  the  humane 
experiment  of  a  cat  worried  to  death  in  an  air-pump. 
He  once  shook  down  the  ash-house,  by  an  artificial 
earthquake ;  and  nearly  blew  his  sister  Barbara,  and 
her  cat,  out  of  the  window  with  thundering  powder. 
He  likewise  boasts  exceedingly  of  being  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  the  composition  of  Lacedemonian 
black  broth ;  and  once  made  a  pot  of  it,  which  had 
well-nigh  poisoned  the  whole  family,  and  actually 
threw  the  cook-maid  into  convulsions.  But  above 
all,  he  values  himself  upon  his  logic,  has  the  old  col- 
lege conundrum  of  the  cat  with  three  tails  at  his 
finger's  ends,  and  often  hampers  his  father  with  his 
syllogisms,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  old  gentleman  ; 
who  considers  the  major,  minor,  and  conclusions,  as 
almost  equal  in  argument  to  the  pulley,  the  wedge, 
and  the  lever,  in  mechanics.  In  fact,  my  cousin 
Cockloft  was  once  nearly  annihilated  with  astonish- 
ment, on  hearing  Jeremy  trace  the  derivation  of 
Mango  from  Jeremiah  King ; — as  Jeremiah  King, 
Jerry  King  !  Jerking  Girkin  !  cucumber,  Mango  !  in 
short,  had  Jeremy  been  a  student  at  Oxford  or  Cam- 
bridge, he  would,  in  all  probability,  have  been  pro- 
moted to  the  dignity  of  a  senior  wrangler.  By  this 
sketch,  I  mean  no  disparagement  to  the  abilities  of 
other  students  of  our  college,  for  I  have  no  doubt 
that  every  commencement  ushers  into  society  lumi- 
naries full  as  brilliant  as  Jeremy  Cockloft  the  younger. 

Having  made  a  very  pretty  speech  on  graduating, 
to  a  numerous  assemblage  of  old  folks  and  young 
ladies,  who  all  declared  that  he  was  a  very  fine  young 
man,  and  made  very  handsome  gestures,  Jeremy  was 
seized  with  a  great  desire  to  see,  or  rather  to  be  seen 
by  the  world  ;  and  as  his  father  was  anxious  to  give 
him  ever)'  possible  advantage,  it  was  determined 
Jeremy  should  visit  foreigpi  parts.  In  consequence 
of  this  resolution,  he  has  spent  a  matter  of  three  or 
four  months  in  visiting  strange  places ;  and  in  the 
course  of  his  travels  has  tarried  some  fev/  days  at  the 
splendid  metropolis'  of  Albany  and  Philadelphia. 

Jeremy  has  travelled  as  every  modern  man  of  sense 
should  do  ;  that  is,  he  Judges  of  things  by  the  sample 
next  at  hand  ;  if  he  has  ever  any  doubt  on  a  subject, 
always  decides  against  the  city  where  he  happens  to 
sojourn ;  and  invariably  takes  home,  as  the  standard 
by  which  to  direct  his  judgment. 

Going  into  his  room  the  other  day,  when  he  hap- 
pened to  be  absent,  1  found  a  manuscript  volume 
laying  on  his  table  ;  and  was  overjoyed  to  find  it  con- 
tained notes  and  hints  for  a  book  of  travels  which  he 
intends  publishing.  He  seems  to  have  taken  a  late 
fashionable  travel-monger  for  his  model,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  his  work  will  be  equally  instructive  and 
amusing  with  that  of  his  prototype.  The  following 
are  some  extracts,  which  may  not  prove  uninterest- 
ing to  my  readers. 


MEMORANDUMS  FOR  A  TOUR,  TO  BE  EN- 
TITLED "THE  STRANGER  IN  NEW  JER- 
SEY ;  OR,  COCKNEY  TRAVELLING." 

BY  JEREiMY  COCKLOFT,   THE  YOUNGER. 


CHAPTER   L 

The  man  in  the  moon* — preparations  for  depart- 
ure— hints  to  travellers  about  packing  their  trunkst 
— straps,  buckles,  and  bed-cords — case  of  pistols,  a 
la  cockney — five  trunks — three  bandboxes — a  cocked 
hat — and  a  medicine  chest,  a  la  Francahe — parting 
advice  of  my  two  sisters — quere,  why  old  maids  are 
so  particular  in  their  cautions  against  naughty  women 
— description  of  Powles-Hook  ferry-boats — might  be 
converted  into  gun-boats,  and  defend  our  port  equally 
well  with  Albany  sloops — Brom,  the  black  ferryman 
— Charon — river  Styx — ghosts; — major  Hunt — good 
story — ferryage  nine-pence ; — city  of  Harsimus — built 
on  the  spot  where  the  folk  once  danced  on  their 
stumps,  while  the  devil  fiddled  ; — quere,  why  do  the 
Harsimites  talk  Dutch  ? — story  of  the  tower  of  Babel, 
and  confusion  of  tongues — get  into  the  stage — driver 
a  wag — famous  fellow  for  running  stage  races — killed 
three  passengers  and  crippled  nine  in  the  course  of 
his  practice — phdosophical  reasons  why  stage  drivers 
love  grog — causeway — ditch  on  each  side  for  folk  to 
tumble  into — famous  place  for  skilly-fots  ;  Philadel- 
phians  call  'em  tarapins — roast  them  under  the  ashes 
as  we  do  potatoes — quere,  may  not  this  be  the  reason 
that  the  Philadelphians  are  all  turtle-heads? — Hack- 
ensack  bridge — good  painting  of  a  blue  horse  jump- 
ing over  a  mountain — wonder  who  it  was  painted  by  ; 
— mem.  to  ask  the  Baron  de  Gusto  about  it  on  my 
return ; — Rattle-snake  hill,  so  called  from  abounding 
with  butterflies; — salt  marsh,  .s//r;«(7z<«/£';/ here  and 
there  by  a  solitary  hay-stack  ; — more  tarapins — won- 
der why  the  Philadelphians  don't  establish  a  fishery 
here,  and  get  a  patent  for  it ; — bridge  over  the  Pas- 
saic— rate  of  toll^ — description  of  toll-boards — toll 
man  had  but  one  eye — story  how  it  is  possible  he  may 
have  lost  tha  other — pence-table,  etc.}: 


CHAPTER  IL 


Newark — noted  for  its  fine  breed  of  fat  musqui- 
toes— sting  through  the  thickest  boot§ — story  about 
Caslvnipers — Archer  GifTord  and  his  man  Caliban — 
jolly  fat  fellows  ; — a  knowing  traveller  always  judges 
of  every  thino;  by  the  inn-keepers  and  waiters  |  ;  set 
down  Newark  people  all  fat  as  butter — learned  dis- 
sertation on  Archer  Gifford's  green  coat,  with  phi- 
losophical reasons  why  the  Newarkites  wear  red 
worsted  night-caps,  and  turn  their  noses  to  the  south 
when  the  wind  blows — Newark  academy  full  of  win- 
dows— sunshine  excellent  to  make  little  boys  grow — 
Elizabeth-town — fine  girls — vile  musquitoes — plenty 
of  oysters — quere,  have  oysters  any  feeling  .•' — good 
story  about  the  fox  catching  them  by  his  tail — ergo, 
foxes  might  be  of  great  use  in  the  pearl-fishery ; — 
landlord  member  of  the  legislature — treats  every 
body  who  has  a  vote — mem.,  all  the  inn-keepers 
members  of  legislature  in  New-Jersey ;  Bridge-town, 
vulgarly  called  Spank-town,  from  a  story  of  a  quon- 


*  vide  Cart's  Stranger  in  Ireland. 

t  vide  Weld.  }  vide  Carr.  %  vide  Weld. 

I  vide  Carr.  vide  Moore,  vide  Weld,  vide  Parkinson,  vide 
Priest,  vide  Linkum  Eidclius,  and  vide  Messrs.  Tag,  Rag,  and 
Bobtail. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


635 


dam  parson  and  his  wife — real  name,  according  to 
Linkum  Fidelius,  Bridge-town,  from  bridge,  a  con- 
trivance to  get  dry  shod  over  a  river  or  brook ;  and 
town,  an  appellation  given  in  America  to  the  acci- 
dental assemblage  of  a  church,  a  tavern,  and  a 
blacksmith's  shop — Linkum  as  right  as  my  left  leg ; 
— Rah  way-river — good  place  for  gun-boats — wonder 
why  Mr.  Jefferson  don't  send  a  river  fleet  there  to 
protect  the  hay-vessels  ? — Woodbridge  —  landlady 
mending  her  husband's  breeches — sublime  apostro- 
phe to  conjugal  affection  and  the  fair  sex* ; — Wood- 
bridge  famous  for  its  crab-fishery — sentimental  cor- 
respondence between  a  crab  and  a  lobster — digres- 
sion to  Abelard  and  Eloisa  ;^mem.,  when  the  moon 
is  in  Pisces,  she  plays  the  devil  with  the  crabs. 


CHAPTER  III. 


BRUN6WICK — oldest  town  in  the  state — division- 
line  between  two  counties  in  the  middle  of  the  street ; 
— posed  a  lawyer  with  the  case  of  a  man  standing 
with  one  foot  in  each  county — wanted  to  know  in 
which  he  was  domiczl — lawyer  couldn't  tell  for  the 
soul  of  him — mem.,  all  the  New-Jersey  lawyers 
nums. ; — Miss  Hay's  boarding-school — young  ladies 
not  allowed  to  eat  mustard — and  why.' — fat  story 
of  a  mustard-pot,  with  a  good  saying  of  Ding- 
Dong's  ; — Vernon's  tavern — tine  place  to  sleep,  if 
the  noise  would  let  you— another  Caliban  ! — Vernon 
i/i^zf-eyed  —  people  of  Brunswick,  of  course,  all 
squint :— Drake's  tavern — fine  old  blade  —  wears 
square  buckles  in  his  shoes — tells  bloody  long  stories 
about  last  war — people,  of  course,  all  do  the  same  ; 
Hook'em  Snivy,  the  famous  fortune-teller,  born  here 
— cotemporary  with  mother  Shoulders — particulars 
of  his  history — died  one  day — lines  to  his  memory, 
which  found  their  way  into  my  pocket-book  ,-f — mel- 
ancholy reflections  on  the  death  of  great  men — 
beautiful  epitaph  on  myself. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


Princeton — college — professors  wear  boots  ! — 
students  famous  for  their  love  of  a  jest — set  the  col- 
lege on  fire,  and  burnt  out  the  professors ;  an  excel- 
lent joke,  but  not  worth  repeating — mem.,  American 
students  very  much  addicted  to  burning  down  col- 
leges— reminds  me  of  a  good  story,  nothing  at  all  to 
the  purpose — two  societies  in  the  college — good  no- 
tion— encourages  emulation,  and  makes  little  boys 
fight ; — students  famous  for  their  eating  and  erudi- 
tion— saw  two  at  the  tavern,  who  had  just  got  their 
allowance  of  spending-money — laid   it  all  out  in  a 

supper— got  fuddled,  and  d d  the  professors  for 

nincoms.  N.  B.  Southern  gentlemen. — Church-yard 
— apostrophe  to  grim  death — saw  a  cow  feeding  on 
a  grave — metempsychosis — who  knows  but  the  cow 
may  have  been  eating  up  the  soul  of  one  of  my  an- 
cestors— made  me  melancholy  and  pensive  for  fifteen 
minutes  ; — man  planting  cabbagesj— wondered  how 
he  could  plant  them  so  straight — method  of  mole- 
catching — and  all  that — quere,  whether  it  would  not 
be  a  good  notion  to  ring  their  noses  as  we  do  pigs — 
mem.,  to  propose  it  to  the  American  Agricultural 
Society — get  a  premium,  perhaps; — commencement 
— students  give  a  ball  and  supper— company  from 
New-York,  Philadelphia,  and  Albany — great  contest 
which  spoke  the  best  English — Albanians  vociferous 


in  their  demand  for  sturgeon — Philadelphians  gave 
the  preference  to  racoon*  and  splacnuncs — gave 
them  a  long  dissertation  on  the  phlegmatic  nature 
of  a  goose's  gizzard — students  can't  dance —always 
set  off  with  the  wrong  foot  foremost — Duport's  opin- 
ion on  that  subject — Sir  Christopher  Hatton  the  first 
man  who  ever  turned  out  his  toes  in  dancing — great 
favourite  with  Queen  Bess  on  that  account — Sir 
Walter  Raleigh — good  story  about  his  smoking — his 
descent  into  New  Spain — El  Dorado — Candid — Dr. 
Pangloss — Miss  Cunegunde — earthquake  at  Lisbon 
—Baron  of  Thundertentronck  —  Jesuits — Monks— 
— Cardinal  Woolsey — Pope  Joan — Tom  Jefferson — 
Tom  Paine,  and  Tom  the whew  !  N.  B. — Stu- 
dents got  drunk  as  usual. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Left  Princeton— country  finely  diversified  with 
sheep  and  hay-stackst — saw  a  man  riding  alone  in 
a  wagon  !  why  the  deuce  didn't  the  blockhead  ride 
in  a  chair .'  fellow  must  be  a  fool — particular  account 
of  the  construction  of  wagons — carts,  wheelbarrows 
and  quail-traps — saw  a  large  fiock  of  crows — con- 
cluded there  must  be  a  dead  horse  in  the  neighbour- 
hood— mem.  country  remarkable  for  crows — won't 
let  the  horses  die  in  peace— anecdote  of  a  jury  of  crows 
— stopped  to  give  the  horses  water — good-looking 
man  came  up,  and  asked  me  if  I  had  seen  his  wife  ? 
heavens  !  thought  I,  how  strange  it  is  that  this  vir- 
tuous man  should  ask  me  about  his  wife  — story  of 
Cain  and  Abel — stage- driver  took  a  S7uig — mem.  set 
down  all  the  people  as  drunkards— old  house  had 
moss  on  the  top — swallows  built  in  the  roof — better 
place  than  old  men's  beards — story  about  that— der- 
ivation of  words  kippy,  kippy,  kippy  and  shoo-pig% — 
negro  driver  could  not  write  his  own  name — languish- 
ing state  of  literature  in  this  country  ;  § — philosophi- 
cal inquiry  of  'Sbidlikens,  why  the  Americans  are  so 
much  inferior  to  the  nobility  of  Chcapside  and  Shore- 
ditch,  and  why  they  do  not  eat  plum-pudding  on 
Sundays ; — superfine  reflections  about  any  thing. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


•  vide  The  Sentimental  Kotzcbue. 
t  vidt  Carr  and  Blind  Bet  I 


J  vide  Carr. 


Trenton — built  above  the  head  of  navigation  to 
encourage  commerce — capital  of  the  State  || — only 
wants  a  castle,  a  bay,  a  mountain,  a  sea,  and  a  vol- 
cano, to  bear  a  strong  resemblance  to  the  Bay  of 
Naples — supreme  court  sitting — fat  chief  justice — 
used  to  get  asleep  on  the  bench  after  dinner — gave 
judgment,  I  suppose,  like  Pilate's  wife,  from  his 
dreams — reminded  me  of  Justice  Bridlegoose  decid- 
ing by  a  throw  of  a  die,  and  of  the  oracle  of  the  holy 
bottle — attempted  to  kiss  the  chambermaid — boxed 
my  ears  till  they  rung  like  our  theatre-bell — girl  had 
lost  one  tooth — mem.  all  the  American  ladies  prudes, 
and  have  bad  teeth ; — Anacreon  Moore's  opinion  on 
the  matter. — State-house — fine  place  to  see  the  stur- 
geons jump  up — quere,  whether  sturgeons  jump  up  by 
an  impulse  of  the  tail,  or  whether  they  bounce  up  Irom 
the  bottom  by  the  elasticity  of  their  noses — Lmkum 
Fidelius  of  the  latter  opinion — I  too — sturgeons'  nose 
capital  for  tennis-balls — learnt  that  at  school — went  to 
a  ball — negro  wench  principal  musician  ! — N.  B.  Peo- 
ple of  America  have  no  fiddlers  but  females  I — origin 
of  the  phrase,  "  fiddle  of  your  heart  " — reasons  why 


*  vide  Priest.  t  vide  Carr. 

X  vide  Carr's  learned  derivation  oi gee  and  whoa. 
\  Moore.  |  Carr. 


656 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


men  fiddle  better  than  women  ;— expedient  of  the 
Amazons  who  were  expert  at  the  bow : — waiter  at 
the  city-tavern — good  story  of  his — nothing  to  the 
purpose — never  mind — fill  up  my  book  like  Carr — 
make  it  sell.  Saw  a  democrat  get  into  the  stage  fol- 
lowed by  his  dog.*  N.  H.  This  town  remarkable  for 
dogs  and  democrats  —  superfine  sentimentt  —  good 
stoiy  from  Joe  Miller— ode  to  a  piggin  of  butter — 
pensive  meditations  on  a  mouse-hole — make  a  book 
as  clear  as  a  whistle  ! 


No.  v.— SATURDAY,  MARCH    7,  1807. 

FROM    MY    ELBOW-CHAIR. 


The  following  letter  of  my  friend  MustJpha 
appears  to  have  been  written  some  time  subsequent 
to  the  one  already  published.  Were  I  to  judge  from 
its  contents,  I  should  suppose  it  was  suggested  by 
the  splendid  review  of  the  twenty-fifth  of  last  No- 
vember ;  when  a  pair  of  colours  was  presented  at  the 
City-Hall,  to  the  regiments  of  artillery  ;  and  when  a 
huge  dinner  was  devoured,  by  our  corporation,  in  the 
honourable  remembrance  of  the  evacuation  of  this 
city.  I  am  happy  to  find  that  the  laudable  spirit  of 
military  emulation  which  prevails  in  our  city  has  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  a  stranger  of  Mustapha's 
sagacity ;  by  military  emulation  I  mean  that  spirited 
rivalry  in  the  size  of  a  hat,  the  length  of  a  feather, 
and  the  gingerbread  finery  of  a  sword  belt. 


LETTER   FROM   MUSTAPHA   RUB-A-DUB 
KELI    KHAN, 

TO  ABDALLAH  EB'N  AL  RAHAB,  SURNAMED  THE 
SNORER,  MILITARY  SENTINEL  AT  THE  GATE 
OF  HIS  HIGHNESS'   PALACE. 


Thou  hast  heard,  oh  Abdallah,  of  the  great  ma- 
gician, MULEY  Fuz,  who  could  change  a  blooming 
land,  blessed  with  all  the  elysian  charms  of  hill  and 
dale,  of  glade  and  grove,  of  fruit  and  flower,  into  a 
desert,  frightful,  solitary,  and  forlorn  ; — who  with  the 
wave  of  his  wand  could  transform  even  the  disciples 
of  Mahomet  into  grinning  apes  and  chattering  mon- 
keys. Surely,  thought  I  to  myself  this  morning,  the 
dreadful  Muley  has  been  exercising  his  infernal  en- 
chantments on  these  unhappy  infidels.  Listen,  oh 
Abdallah,  and  wonder  I  Last  night  I  committed 
myself  to  tranquil  slumber,  encompassed  with  all  the 
monotonous  tokens  of  peace,  and  this  morning  I 
awoke  enveloped  in  the  noise,  the  bustle,  the  clangor, 
and  the  shouts  of  war.  Every  thing  was  changed  as 
if  by  magic.  An  immense  army  had  sprung  up,  like 
mu , brooms,  in  a  night ;  and  all  the  cobblers,  tailors, 
and  tinkers  of  the  city  had  mounted  the  nodding 
plume  ;  had  become,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  hel- 
metted  heroes  and  war-worn  veterans. 

Alarmed  at  the  beating  of  drums,  the  braying  of 
trumpets,  and  the  shouting  of  the  multitude,  I  dressed 
myself  in  haste,  sallied  forth,  and  followed  a  prodig- 
ious crowd  of  people  to  a  place  called  the  battery. 
This  is  so  denominated,  I  am  told,  from  having  once 
been  defended  with  formidable  wooden  bulwarks, 
which  in  the  course  of  a  hard  winter  were  thriftily 
pulled  to  pieces  by  an  economic  corporation,  to  be 
distributed  for  fire-wood  among  the  poor  ;  this  was 


*  Moore. 


tCm 


done  at  the  hint  of  a  cunning  old  engineer,  who  as- 
sured them  it  was  the  only  way  in  which  their  fortir 
fications  would  ever  be  able  to  keep  up  a  warm  fire. 
Economy,  my  friend,  is  the  watch-word  of  this 
nation  ;  I  have  been  studying  for  a  month  post 
to  divine  its  meaning,  but  truly  am  as  much  per- 
plexed as  ever.  It  is  a  kind  of  national  starvation  ; 
an  experiment  how  many  comforts  and  necessaries 
the  body  politic  can  be  deprived  of  before  it  perishes. 
It  has  already  arrived  to  a  lamentable  degree  of  de- 
bility, and  promises  to  share  the  fate  of  the  Arabian 
philosopher,  who  proved  that  he  could  live  without 
food,  but  unfortunately  died  just  as  he  had  brought 
his  experiment  to  perfection. 

On  arriving  at  the  battery,  I  found  an  immense 
army  of  SIX  HUNDRED  MEN,  drawn  up  in  a  true 
Mussulman  crescent.  At  first  I  supposed  this  was  in 
compliment  to  myself,  but  my  interpreter  informed 
me  that  it  was  done  merely  for  want  of  room  ;  the 
corporation  not  being  able  to  afford  them  sufficient 
to  display  in  a  straight  line.  As  1  expected  a  dis- 
play of  some  grand  evolutions,  and  military  manoeu- 
vres, 1  determined  to  remain  a  tranquil  spectator,  in 
hopes  that  I  might  possibly  collect  some  hints  which 
might  be  of  service  to  his  highness. 

This  great  body  of  men  I  perceived  was  under  the 
command  of  a  small  bashaw,  in  yellow  and  gold, 
with  white  nodding  plumes,  and  most  formidable 
whiskers ;  which,  contrary  to  the  Tripolitan  fashion, 
were  in  the  neighbourhood  of  his  ears  instead  of  his 
nose.  He  had  two  attendants  called  aid-de-camps, 
(or  tails)  being  similar  to  a  bashaw  with  two  tails. 
The  bashaw,  though  commander-in-chief,  seemed  to 
have  little  more  to  do  than  myself;  he  was  a  specta- 
tor within  the  lines  and  I  without :  he  was  clear  of 
the  rabble  and  I  was  encompassed  by  them  ;  this  was 
the  only  difference  between  us,  except  that  he  had 
the  best  opportunity  of  showing  his  clothes.  I  waited 
an  hour  or  two  with  exemplary  patience,  expecting  to 
see  some  grand  military  evolutions  or  a  sham  battle 
exhibited  ;  but  no  such  thing  took  place  ;  the  men 
stood  stock  still,  supporting  their  arms,  groaning  un- 
der the  fatigues  of  war,  and  now  and  then  sending 
out  a  foraging  party  to  levy  contributions  of  beer  and 
a  favourite  beverage  which  they  denominate  grog. 
As  I  perceived  the  crowd  very  active  in  examining 
the  line,  from  one  extreme  to  the  other,  and  .as  I 
could  see  no  other  purpose  for  which  these  sunshine 
warriors  should  be  exposed  so  long  to  the  merciless 
attacks  of  wind  and  weather,  I  of  course  concluded 
that  this  must  be  the  review. 

In  about  two  hours  the  army  was  put  in  motion, 
and  marched  through  some  narrow  streets,  where 
the  economic  corporation  had  carefully  provided  a 
soft  carpet  of  mud,  to  a  magnificent  castle  of  paint- 
ed brick,  decorated  with  grand  pillars  of  pine 
boards.  By  the  ardor  which  brightened  in  each 
countenance,  I  soon  perceived  that  this  castle  was 
to  undergo  a  vigorous  attack.  As  the  ordnance  of 
the  castle  was  perfectly  silent,  and  as  they  had 
nothing  but  a  straight  street  to  advance  through, 
they  made  their  approaches  with  great  courage  and 
admirable  regularity,  until  within  about  a  hundred 
feet  of  the  castle  a  pump  opposed  a  formid.able  ob- 
stacle in  their  w.ay,  and  put  the  whole  army  to  a 
nonplus.  The  circumstance  was  sudden  and  un- 
looked  for ;  the  commanding  officer  ran  over  all 
the  military  tactics  with  which  his  head  was  cram- 
med, but  none  offered  any  expedient  for  the  present 
awful  emergency.  The  pump  maintained  its  post, 
and  so  did  the  commander  ;  there  was  no  knowing 
which  was  most  at  a  stand.  The  commanding 
officer  ordered  his  men  to  wheel  and  t.ake  it  in 
flank ; — the  army  accordingly  wheeled  and  came 
full  butt  against  it  in  the  rear,  exactly  as  they  weru 


SALMAGUNDI. 


657 


before : — "  wheel  to  the  left  !  "  cried  the  officer  ; 
they  did  so,  and  again  as  before  the  inveterate 
pump  intercepted  their  progress.  "  Right  about 
face!"  cried  the  officer;  the  men  obeyed,  but 
bungled; — ihty  faced  back  to  back.  Upon  this  the 
bashaw  with  two  tails,  with  great  coolness,  un- 
dauntedly ordered  his  men  to  push  right  forward, 
pell-mell,  pump  or  no  pump  ;  they  gallantly  obeyed  ; 
after  unheard-of  acts  of  bravery  the  pump  was  car- 
ried, without  the  loss  of  a  man,  and  the  army 
firmly  entrenched  itself  under  the  very  walls  of  the 
castle.  The  bashaw  had  then  a  council  of  war  with 
his  officers ;  the  most  vigorous  measures  were 
resolved  on.  An  advance  guard  of  musicians  were 
ordered  to  attack  the  castle  without  mercy.  Then 
the  whole  band  opened  a  most  tremendous  battery 
of  drums,  fifes,  tambourines,  and  trumpets,  and 
kept  up  a  thundering  assault,  as  if  the  castle,  like 
the  walls  of  Jericho,  spoken  of  in  the  Jewish  chron- 
icles, would  tumble  down  at  the  blowing  of  rams' 
horns.  After  some  time  a  parley  ensued.  The 
grand  bashaw  of  the  city  appeared  on  the  battle- 
ments of  the  castle,  and  as  far  as  I  could  under- 
stand from  circumstances,  dared  the  little  bashaw 
of  two  tails  to  single  combat ; — this  thou   knowest 

was  in  the  style  of   ancient  chivalry : the  little 

bashaw  dismounted  with  great  intrepidity,  and  as- 
cended the  battlements  of  the  castle,  where  the 
great  bashaw  waited  to  receive  him,  attended  by 
numerous  dignitaries  and  worthies  of  his  court,  one 
of  whom  bore  the  splendid  banners  of  the  castle. 
The  battle  was  carried  on  entirely  by  words,  ac- 
cording to  the  universal  custom  of  this  country,  of 
which  I  shall  speak  to  thee  more  fully  hereafter. 
The  grand  bashaw  made  a  furious  attack  in  a 
speech  of  considerable  length ;  the  little  bashaw,  by 
no  means  appalled,  retorted  with  great  spirit.  The 
grand  bashaw  attempted  to  rip  him  up  with  an 
argument,  or  stun  him  with  a  solid  fact ;  but  the 
little  bashaw  parried  them  both  with  admirable 
adroitness,  and  run  him  clean  through  and  through 
with  a  syllogism.  The  grand  bashaw  was  over- 
thrown, the  banners  of  the  castle  yielded  up  to  the 
little  bashaw,  and  the  castle  surrendered  after  a  vig- 
orous defence  of  three  hours, — during  which  the 
besiegers  suffered  great  extremity  from  muddy 
streets  and  a  drizzling  atmosphere. 

On  returning  to  dinner  I  soon  discovered  that  as 
usual  I  had  been  indulging  in  a  great  mistake.  The 
matter  was  all  clearly  explained  to  me  by  a  fellow 
lodger,  who  on  ordinary  occasions  moves  in  the 
humble  character  of  a  tailor,  but  in  the  present  in- 
stance figured  in  a  high  military  station,  denomi- 
nated corpora/.  He  informed  me  that  what  I  had 
mistaken  for  a  castle  was  the  splendid  palace  of 
the  municipality,  and  that  the  supposed  attack  was 
nothing  more  than  the  delivery  of  a  flag  given  by 
the  authorities,  to  the  army,  for  its  magnanimous 
defence  of  the  town  for  upwards  of  twenty  years 
past,  that  is,  ever  since  the  last  war  !  Oh,  my  friend, 
surely  every   thing  in   this   country  is   on   a  great 

scale  ! the  conversation  insensibly  turned   upon 

the  military  establishment  of  the  nation  ;  and  I  do 
assure  thee  that  my  friend,  the  tailor,  though  being, 
according  to  a  national  proverb,  but  the  ninth  part 
of  a  man,  yet  acquitted  himself  on  military  con- 
cerns as  ably  as  the  grand  bashaw  of  the  empire 
himself  He  observed  that  their  rulers  had  decided 
that  wars  were  very  useless  and  expensive,  and  ill 
befitting  an  economic,  philosophic  nation  ;  they 
had  therefore  made  up  their  minds  never  to  have 
any  wars,  and  consequently  there  was  no  need  of 
soldiers  or  militarj'  discipline.  As,  however,  it  was 
thought  highly  ornamental  to  a  city  to  have  a  num- 
ber of  men  drest  in  fine  clothes  z.Vl<\  feathers,  strut- 


ting  about  the  streets  on  a  holiday — and  as  the 
women  and  children  were  particularly  fond  of 
such  raree  shows,  it  was  ordered  that  the  tailors  of 
the  different  cities  throughout  the  empire  should, 
forthwith,  go  to  work,  and  cut  out  and  manufacture 
soldiers  as  fast  as  their  shears  and  needles  would 
permit. 

These  soldiers  have  no  pecuniary  pay  ;  and  their 
only  recompense  for  the  immense  services  which 
they  render  the  country,  in  their  voluntary  parades, 
is  the  plunder  of  smiles,  and  winks,  and  nods  which 
they  extort  from  the  ladies.  As  they  have  no  op- 
portunity, like  the  vagrant  Arabs,  of  making  in- 
roads on  their  neighbours  ;  and  as  it  is  necessary 
to  keep  up  their  military  spirit,  the  town  is  there- 
fore now  and  then,  but  particularly  on  two  days  of 
the  year,  given  up  to  their  ravages.  The  arrange- 
ments are  contrived  with  admirable  address,  so  that 
every  officer,  from  the  bashaw  down  to  the  drum- 
major,  the  chief  of  the  eunuchs,  or  musicians,  shall 
have  his  share  of  that  invaluat)le  booty,  the  admi- 
ration of  the  fair.  As  to  the  soldiers,  poor  ani- 
mals, they,  like  the  privates  in  all  great  armies, 
have  to  bear  the  brunt  of  danger  and  fatigue,  while 
their  officers  receive  all  the  glory  and  reward.  The 
narrative  of  a  parade  day  will  exemplify  this  more 
clearly. 

The  chief  bashaw,  in  the  plenitude  of  his  author- 
ity, orders  a  grand  review  of  the  whole  army  at  tvvo 
o'clock.  The  bashaw  with  two  tails,  that  he  mav 
have  an  opportunity  of  vapouring  about  as  greatest 
man  on  the  field,  orders  the  army  to  assemble  at 
twelve.  The  kiaya,  or  colonel,  as  he  is  called,  that 
is,  commander  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  men,  or- 
ders his  regiment  or  tribe  to  collect  one  mile  at  least 
from  the  place  of  parade  at  eleven.  Each  captain, 
or  fag-rag  as  we  term  them,  commands  his  squad 
to  meet  at  ten  at  least  a  half  mile  from  the  regi- 
mental parade  ;  and  to  close  all,  the  chief  of  the 
eunuchs  orders  his  infernal  concert  of  fifes,  trumpets, 
cymbals,  and  kettle-drums  to  assemble  at  ten  !  from 
that  moment  the  city  receives  no  quarter.  All  is 
noise,  hooting,  hubbub,  and  combustion.  Every 
window,  door,  crack,  and  loop-hole,  from  the  garret 
to  the  cellar,  is  crowded  with  the  fascinating  fair  of 
all  ages  and  of  all  complexions.  The  mistress 
smiles  through  the  windows  of  the  drawing-room  ; 
the  chubby  chambermaid  lolls  out  of  the  attic  case- 
ment, and  a  host  of  sooty  wenches  roll  their  white 
eyes  and  grin  and  chatter  from  the  cellar  door. — 
Every  nymph  seems  anxious  to  yield  voluntarily 
that  tribute  which  the  heroes  of  their  country  de- 
mand. First  struts  the  chief  eunuch,  or  drum-major, 
at  the  head  of  his  sable  band,  magnificently  ar- 
rayed in  tarnished  scarlet.  Alexander  himself 
could  not  have  spurned  the  earth  more  superbly. 
A  host  of  ragged  boys  shout  in  his  train,  and  inflate 
the  bosom  of  the  warrior  with  tenfold  self-compla- 
cency. After  he  has  rattled  his  kettle-drums 
through  the  town,  and  swelled  and  swaggered  like  a 
turkey-cock  before  all  the  dingy  Floras,  and  Dianas, 
and  junoes,  and  Didoes  of  his  acquaintance,  he  re- 
pairs to  his  place  of  destination  loaded  with  a  rich 
booty  of  smiles  and  approbation.  Next  comes  the 
Fag-rag,  or  captain,  at  the  head  of  his  mighty 
band,  consisting  of  one  lieutenant,  one  ensign,  or 
mute,  four  sergeants,  four  corporals,  one  drummer, 
one  fifer,  and  if  he  has  any  privates,  so  much  the 
better  for  himself.  In  marching  to  the  regimental 
parade  he  is  sure  to  paddle  through  the  street  or 
lane  which  is  honoured  with  the  residence  of  his 
mistress  or  intended,  whom  he  resolutely  lays  under 
a  heavy  contribution.  Truly  it  is  delectable  to  be- 
hold these  heroes,  as  they  march  along,  cast  side 
glances  at  the  upper  windows  ;  to  collect  the  smiL-s, 


(558 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  nods,  and  the  winks,  which  the  enraptured  fair 
ones  lavish  profusely  on  the  magnanimous  defenders 
of  their  country. 

The  Fag-rags  having  conducted  their  squads  to 
their  respective  regiments,  then  comes  the  turn  of 
the  colonel,  a  bashaw  with  no  tails,  for  all  eyes  are 
now  directed  to  him ;  and  the  fag-rags,  and  the 
eunuchs,  and  the  kettle-drummers,  having  had  their 
hour  of  notoriety,  are  confounded  and  lost  in  the 
military  crowd.  The  colonel  sets  his  whole  regi- 
ment in  motion ;  and,  mounted  on  a  mettlesome 
charger,  frisks  and  fidgets,  and  capers,  and  plunges 
in  front,  to  the  great  entertainment  of  the  multi- 
tude and  the  great  hazard  of  himself  and  his  neigh- 
bours. Having  displayed  himself,  his  trappings, 
his  horse,  and  his  horsemanship,  he  at  length  ar- 
rives at  the  place  of  general  rendezvous  ;  blessed 
with  the  universal  admiration  of  his  country-women. 
I  should  perhaps  mention  a  squadron  of  hardy  vet- 
erans, most  of  whom  have  seen  a  deal  of  service 
during  the  nineteen  or  twenty  years  of  their  exist- 
ence, and  who,  most  gorgeously  equipped  in  tight 
green  jackets  and  breeches,  trot  and  amble,  and 
gallop  and  scamper  like  little  devils  through  every 
street  and  nook  and  corner  and  poke-hole  of  the 
city,  to  the  great  dread  of  all  old  people  and  sage 
matrons  with  young  children.  This  is  truly  sub- 
lime !  this  is  what  I  call  making  a  mountain  out  of 
a  mole-hill.  Oh,  my  friend,  on  what  a  great  scale 
is  every  thing  in  this  country.  It  is  in  the  style  of 
the  wandering  Arabs  of  the  desert  El-tih.  Is  a  vil- 
lage to  be  attacked,  or  a  hamlet  to  be  plundered, 
the  whole  desert,  for  weeks  beforehand,  is  in  a  buzz  ; 
— such  marching  and  countermarching,  ere  they  can 
concentrate  their  ragged  forces  !  and  the  conse- 
quence is,  that  before  they  can  bring  their  troops 
into  action,  the  whole  enterprise  is  blown. 

The  army  being  all  happily  collected  on  the  bat- 
tery, though,  perhaps,  two  hours  after  the  time  ap- 
pomted,  it  is  now  the  turn  of  the  bashaw,  with  two 
tails,  to  distinguish  himself  Ambition,  my  friend, 
is  implanted  alike  in  every  heart ;  it  pervades  each 
bosom,  from  the  bashaw  to  the  drum-major.  This 
is  a  sage  truism,  and  I  trust,  therefore,  it  will  not  be 
disputed.  The  bashaw,  fired  with  that  thirst  for 
glory,  inseparable  from  the  noble  mind,  is  anxious 
to  reap  a  full  share  of  the  laurels  of  the  day  and  bear 
off  his  portion  of  female  plunder.  The  drums  beat, 
the  fifes  whistle,  the  standards  wave  proudly  in  the 
air.  The  signal  is  given  !  thunder  roars  the  cannon  ! 
away  goes  the  bashaw,  and  away  go  the  tails ! 
The  review  finished,  evolutions  and  military  ma- 
noeuvres are  generally  dispensed  with  for  three  ex- 
cellent reasons  ;  first,  because  the  army  knows  very 
little  about  them ;  second,  because  as  the  country 
has  determined  to  remain  always  at  peace,  there  is 
no  necessity  for  them  to  know  any  thing  about  them  ; 
and  third,  as  it  is  growing  late,  the  bashaw  must 
despatch,  or  it  will  be  too  dark  for  him  to  get  his 
quota  of  the  plunder.  He  of  course  orders  the 
whole  army  to  march  ;  and  now,  my  friend,  now 
comes  the  tug  of  war,  now  is  the  city  completely 
sacked.  Open  fly  the  battery-gates,  forth  sallies  the 
bashaw  with  his  two  tails,  surrounded  by  a  shouting 
body-guard  of  boys  and  negroes !  then  pour  forth 
hig  legions,  potent  as  the  pismires  of  the  desert !  the 
customary  salutations  of  the  country  commence  — 
those  tokens  of  joy  and  admiration  which  so  much 
annoyed  me  on  first  landing:  the  air  is  darkened 
with  old  hats,  shoes,  and  dead  cats  ;  they  fly  in  show- 
ers like  the  arrows  of  the  Parthians.  The  soldiers, 
no  ways  disheartened,  like  the  intrepid  followers  of 
Leonidas,  march  gallantly  under  their  shade.  On 
they  pusli,  splash  dash,  mud  or  no  mud.  Down  one 
lane,   up   another;  —  the   martial   music   resounds 


through  every  street ;  the  fair  ones  throng  to  their 
windows,^the  soldiers  look  every  way  but  straight 
forward.  "Carry  arms,"  cries  the  bashaw — "  tan- 
ta  ra-ra,"  brays  the  trumpet — "rub-a-dub,"  roars 
the  drum — "  hurraw,"  shout  the  ragamuffins.  The 
bashaw  smiles  with  e.xultation — every  fag-rag  feels 
himself  a  hero — "  none  but  the  brave  deserve  the 
fair ! "  head  of  the  immortal  Anirou,  on  what  a 
great  scale  is  every  thing  in  this  countrj'. 

Ay,  but  you'll  say,  is  not  this  unfair  that  the  offi- 
cers should  share  all  the  sports  while  the  privates 
undergo  all  the  fatigue?  truly,  my  friend,  I  indulged 
the  same  idea,  and  pitied  from  my  heart  the  poor 
fellows  who  had  to  drabble  through  the  mud  and 
the  mire,  toiling  under  ponderous  cocked  hats,  which 
seemed  as  unwieldy  and  cumbrous  as  the  shell 
which  the  snail  lumbers  along  on  his  back.  I  soon 
found  out,  however,  that  they  have  their  quantum 
of  notoriety.  As  soon  as  the  army  is  dismissed,  the 
city  swarms  with  little  scouting  parties,  who  fire  off 
their  guns  at  every  corner,  to  the  great  delight  of 
all  the  women  and  children  in  their  vicinity ;  and  wo 
unto  any  dog,  or  pig,  or  hog,  that  falls  in  the  way 
of  these  magnanimous  warriors  ;  they  are  shown  ro 
quarter.  Every  gentle  swain  repairs  to  pass  the 
evening  at  the  feet  of  his  dulcinea,  to  play  "  the  sol- 
dier tired  of  war's  alarms,"  and  to  captivate  her  with 
the  glare  of  his  regimentals  ;  excepting  some  am- 
bitious heroes  who  strut  to  the  theatre,  flame  away 
in  the  front  boxes,  and  hector  every  old  apple-woman 
in  the  lobbies. 

Such,  my  friend,  is  the  gigantic  genius  of  this  na- 
tion, and  its  faculty  of  swelling  up  nothings  into  im- 
portance. Our  bashaw  of  "Tripoli  will  review  his 
troops,  of  some  thousands,  by  an  early  hour  in  the 
morning.  Here  a  review  of  six  hundred  men  is 
made  the  mighty  work  of  a  day  !  with  us  a  bashaw 
of  two  tails  is  never  appointed  to  a  command  of  less 
than  ten  thousand  men  ;  but  here  we  behold  every 
grade,  from  the  bashaw  down  to  the  drum-major, 
in  a  force  of  less  than  one-tenth  of  the  number.  By 
the  beard  of  Mahomet,  but  every  thing  here  is  in- 
deed on  a  great  scale  ! 


BY  ANTHONY  EVERGREEN,  GENT. 


I  WAS  not  a  little  surprised  the  other  morning  at 
a  request  from  Will  Wizard  that  I  would  accom- 
pany him  that  evening  to  Mrs. 's  ball.  The  re- 
quest was  simple  enough  in  itself,  it  was  only  singu- 
lar as  coming  from  Will ; — of  all  my  acquaintance 
Wizard  is  the  least  calculated  and  disposed  for  the 
society  of  ladies — not  that  he  dislikes  their  company  ; 
on  the  contrary,  like  every  man  of  pith  and  marrow, 
he  is  a  professed  admirer  of  the  sex  ;  and  had  he 
been  born  a  poet,  would  undoubtedly  have  bespat- 
tered and  be-rhymed  some  hard-named  goddess, 
until  she  became  as  famous  as  Petrarch's  Laura,  or 
Waller's  Sacharissa ;  but  Will  is  such  a  confounded 
bungler  at  a  bow,  has  so  many  odd  bachelor  habits, 
and  finds  it  so  troublesome  to  be  gallant,  that  he 
generally  prefers  smoking  his  segar  and  telling  his 
story  among  cronies  of  his  own  gender  : — and  thun- 
dering long  stories  they  are,  let  me  tell  you  ; — set 
Will  once  a  going  about  China  or  Crim  Tartary,  or 
the  Hottentots,  and  heaven  help  the  poor  victim  who 
has  to  endure  his  prolixity  ;  he  might  better  be  tied 
to  the  tail  of  a  jack-o'-lantern.  In  one  word — Will 
talks  like  a  traveller.  Being  well  acquainted  with 
his  character,  I  was  the  more  alarmed  at  his  inclina- 
tion to  visit  a  party ;  since  he  has  often  assured  me, 
that  he  considered  it  as  equivalent  to  being  stuck  up 
for  three  hours  in  a  steam-engine.   I  even  wondered 


SALMAGUNDI 


659 


how  he  had  received  an  invitation  ; — this  he  soon 
accounted  for.  It  seems  Will,  on  his  last  arrival 
from  Canton,  had  made  a  present  of  a  case  of  tea, 
to  a  lady  for  whom  he  had  once  entertained  a  sneak- 
ing kindness  when  at  grammar  school ;  and  she  in 
return  had  invited  him  to  come  and  drink  some  of 
it  ;  a  cheap  way  enough  of  paying  off  little  obliga- 
tions. I  readily  acceded  to  Will's  proposition,  ex- 
pecting much  entertainment  from  his  eccentric  re- 
marks ;  and  as  he  has  been  absent  some  few  years, 
I  anticipated  his  surprise  at  the  splendour  and  ele- 
gance of  a  modern  rout. 

On  calling  for  Will  in  the  evening,  I  found  him 
full  dressed,  waiting  for  me.  I  contemplated  him 
with  absolute  dismay.  As  he  still  retained  a  spark 
of  regard  for  the  lady  who  once  reigned  in  his  affec- 
tions, he  had  been  at  unusual  pains  in  decorating 
his  person  and  broke  upon  my  sight  arrayed  in  the 
true  style  that  prevailed  among  our  beaux  some 
years  ago.  His  hair  was  turned  up  and  tufted  at  the 
top,  frizzled  out  at  the  ears,  a  profusion  of  powder 
puffed  over  the  whole,  and  a  long  plaited  club  swung 
gracefully  from  shoulder  to  shoulder,  describing  a 
pleasing  semicircle  of  powder  and  pomatum.  His 
claret-coloured  coat  was  decorated  with  a  profusion 
of  gilt  buttons,  and  reached  to  his  calves.  His  white 
casimere  small-clothes  were  so  tight  that  he  seemed 
to  have  grown  up  in  them  ;  and  his  ponderous  legs, 
which  are  the  thickest  part  of  his  body,  were  beau- 
tifully clothed  in  sky-blue  silk  stockings,  once  con- 
sidered so  becoming.  But  above  all,  he  prided  him- 
self upon  his  waistcoat  of  China  silk,  which  might 
almost  have  served  a  good  housewife  for  a  short- 
gown  ;  and  he  boasted  that  the  roses  and  tulips  upon 
it  were  the  work  of  Nang  Fou,  daughter  of  the  great 
Chin-Cltin-Fou,  who  had  fallen  in  love '  with  the 
graces  of  his  person,  and  sent  it  to  him  as  a  parting 
present ;  he  assured  me  she  was  a  remarkable  Iseauty, 
with  sweet  obliquity  of  eyes,  and  a  foot  no  larger 
than  the  thumb  of  an  alderman  ; — he  then  dilated 
most  copiously  on  his  silver-sprigged  dicky,  which 
he  assured  me  was  quite  the  rage  among  the  dash- 
ing young  mandarins  of  Canton. 

I  hold  it  an  ill-natured  office  to  put  any  man  out 
of  conceit  with  himself;  so,  though  I  would  will- 
ingly have  made  a  little  alteration  in  my  friend 
Wizard's  picturesque  costume,  yet  I  politely  com- 
plimented him  on  his  rakish  appearance. 

On  entering  the  room  I  kept  a  good  look-out  on 
Will,  expecting  to  see  him  exhibit  signs  of  sur- 
prise ;  but  he  is  one  of  those  knowing  fellows  who 
are  never  surprised  at  any  thing,  or  at  least  will 
never  acknowledge  it.  He  took  his  stand  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  playing  with  his  great  steel 
watch-chain  ;  and  looking  round  on  the  company, 
the   furniture,  and  the  pictures,  with  the  air  of  a 

man  "who   had   seen   d d   finer   things   in   his 

time; "and  to  my  utter  confusion  and  dismay,  I 
saw  him  coolly  pull  out  his  villainous  old  japanned 
tobacco-box,  ornamented  with  a  bottle,  a  pipe,  and 
a  scurvy  motto,  and  help  himself  to  a  quid  in  face  of 
all  the  company. 

I  knew  it  was  all  in  vain  to  find  fault  with  a  fel- 
low of  Will's  socratic  turn,  who  is  never  to  be  put 
out  of  humour  with  himself;  so,  after  he  had  given 
his  box  its  prescriptive  rap  and  returned  it  to  his 
pocket,  I  drew  him  into  a  corner  where  he  might 
observe  the  company  without  being  prominent  ob- 
jects ourselves. 

"  And  pray  who  is  that  stylish  figure,"  said  Will, 
"  who  blazes  away  in  red,  like  a  volcano,  and  who 
seems  wrapped  in  flames  like  a  fiery  dragon?" — 
That,  cried  I,  is  Miss  L.\urelia  Dashaway  ; — she 
is  the  highest  flash  of  the  ton — has  much  whim  and 
more  eccentricity,  and  has   reduced  many  an   un- 


I  happy  gentleman  to  stupidity  by  her  charms  ;  you 
j  see  she  holds  out  the  red  flag  in  token  of  "  no  quar- 
j  ter."  "  Then  keep  me  safe  out  of  the  sphere  of  her 
;  attractions,"  cried  Will.  "  I  would  not  e'en  come  in 
,  contact  with   her   train,  lest   it   should   scorch   me 

like  the  tail  of  a  comet. But  who,  I  beg  of  you, 

is  that  amiable  youth  who  is  handing  along  a  young 
lady,  and  at  the  same  time  contemplating  his  sweet 
person  in  a  mirror,  as  he  passes  ?"  His  name,  said 
I,  is  Billy  Dimple  ; — he  is  a  universal  smiler,  and 
would  travel  from  Dan  to  Beersheba  and  smile  on 
every  body  as  he  passed.  Dimple  is  a  slave  to  the 
ladies — a  hero  at  tea-parties,  and  is  famous  at  the 
fiirouet  and  the  pigeon-wing  ;  a  fiddle-stick  is  his 
idol,  and  a  dance  his  elysium.  "  A  very  pretty 
young  gentleman,  truly,"  cried  Wizard ;  "  he  re- 
minds me  of  a  cotemporary  beau  at  Hayti.  You 
must  know  that  the  magnanimous  Dessalines  gave 
a  great  ball  to  his  court  one  fine  sultry  summer's 
evening ;  Dessy  and  me  were  great  cronies  ; — hand 
and  glove : — one  of  the  most  condescending  great 
men  I  ever  knew.  Such  a  display  of  black  and 
yellow  beauties  !  such  a  show  of  Madras  handker- 
chiefs, red  beads,  cock's-tails  and  peacock's  fea- 
thers ! — it  was,  as  here,  who  should  wear  the  highest 
top-knot,  drag  the  longest  tails,  or  exhibit  the 
greatest  variety  of  combs,  colours  and  gew-gaws. 
In  the  middle  of  the  rout,  when  all  was  buzz,  slip- 
slop, clack,  and  perfume,  who  should  enter  but 
TUCKY  Squash  !  The  yellow  beauties  blushed  blue, 
and  the  black  ones  blushed  as  red  as  they  could, 
with  pleasure;  and  there  was  a  universal  agitation 
of  fans  ;  every  eye  brightened  and  whitened  to  see 
Tucky ;  for  he  was  the  pride  of  the  court,  the  pink 
of  courtesy,  the  mirror  of  fashion,  the  adoration  of 
all  the  sable  fair  ones  of  Hayti.  Such  breadth  of 
nose,  such  exuberance  of  lip  !  his  shins  had  the 
true  cucumber  curve  ;  his  face  in  dancing  shone 
like  a  kettle ;  and,  provided  you  kept  to  windward 
of  him  in  summer,  I  do  not  know  a  sweeter  youth 
in  all  Hayti  than  Tucky  Squash.  When  he  laughed, 
there  appeared  from  ear  to  ear  a  chevaux-de-frize 
of  teeth,  that  rivalled  the  shark's  in  whiteness , 
he  could  whistle  like  a  north-wester ;  play  on  a 
three-stringed  fiddle  like  Apollo  ;  and  as  to  danc- 
ing, no  Long  -  Island  negro  could  shuffle  you 
"  double-trouble,"  or  "hoe  corn  and  dig  potatoes  " 
more  scientifically : — in  short,  he  was  a  second  Lo- 
thario. And  the  dusky  nymphs  of  Hayti,  one  and 
all,  declared  him  a  perpetual  Adonis.  Tucky  walk- 
ed about,  whistling  to  himself,  without  regarding 
any  body  ;  and  his  nonchalance  was  irresistible." 

I  found  Will  had  got  neck  and  heels  into  one  of 
his  travellers'  stories  ;  and  there  is  no  knowing  how 
far  he  would  have  run  his  parallel  between  Billy 
Dimple  and  Tucky  Squash,  had  not  the  music 
struck  up,  from  an  adjoining  apartment,  and  sum- 
moned the  company  to  the  dance.  The  sound 
seemed  to  have  an  inspiring  effect  on  honest  Will, 
and  he  procured  the  hand  of  an  old  acquaintance 
for  a  country  dance.  It  happened  to  be  the  fash- 
ionable one  of  "the  Devil  among  the  tailors," 
which  is  so  vociferously  demanded  at  every  ball 
and  assembly:  and  many  a  torn  gown,  and  many 
an  unfortunate  toe  did  rue  the  dancing  of  that  night; 
for  Will,  thundering  down  the  dance  like  a  coach 
and  six,  sometimes  right,  sometimes  wrong ;  now 
running  over  half  a  score  of  little  Frenchmen,  and 
now  making  sad  inroads  into  ladies'  cobweb  muslins 
and  spangled  tails.  As  every  part  of  Will's  body 
partook  of  the  exertion,  he  shook  from  his  capacious 
head  such  volumes  of  powder,  that  like  pious  Eneas 
on  the  first  interview  with  Queen  Dido,  he  might 
be  said  to  have  been  enveloped  in  a  cloud.  Nor  was 
Will's  partner  an  insignificant  figure  in  the  scene ; 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


6G0 

she  was  a  young  lady  of  most  voluminous  propor- 
tions, tliat  quivered  at  every  skip  ;  and  being  braced 
up  in  the  fashionable  style  with  whalebone,  stay- 
tape,  and  buckram,  looked  like  an  apple  pudding 
tied  in  the  middle;  or,  taking  her  flaming  dress  into 
consideration,  like  a  bed  and  bolsters  rolled  up  ma 
suit  of  red  curtains.     The  dance  finished.— I  would 
gladly  have  taken  Will  off,  but  no ;— he  was  now  in 
one  of  his  happy  moods,  and  there  was  no  doing 
any   thing   with  him.      He   insisted   on   my   intro- 
ducing him  to  Miss  Sophy  Sparkle,  a  young  lady 
unrivalled  for  playful  wit  and  innocent  vivacity,  and 
who,  like   a   brilliant,  adds   lustre   to   the   front  of 
fashion.     I  accordingly  presented  him  to  her,  and 
began  a  conversation  in  which,  I  thought,  he  might 
take  a  share ;  but  no  such  thing.      Will  took   his 
stand  before  her,  straddling  like  a  Colossus,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  an  air  of  the  most  pro- 
found attention ;  nor  did  he  pretend  to  open  his  lips 
for   some    time,  until,   upon    some    lively   sally   ot 
hers,  he  electrified  the  whole  company  with  a  most 
intolerable  burst  of  laughter.    What  was  to  be  done 
with  such  an   incorrigible   fellow.?— to  add   to  my 
distress,  the  first  word  he  spoke  was  to  tell  Miss 
Sparkle  that  something  she  said  reminded  him  of 
a  circumstance  that  happened  to  him  in  China  ;— 
and  at  it  he  went,  in  the  true  traveller  style— de- 
scribed the  Chinese  mode  of  eating  rice  with  chop- 
sticks ;— entered  into  a  long  eulogium  on  the  suc- 
culent qualities  of  boiled  bird's  nests ;  and  1  made 
my  escape  at  the  very  moment  when  he  was  on  the 
jioint  of  squatting  down  on  the  floor,  to  show  how 
the  little  Chinese  Joshes  sit  cross-legged. 


TO  THE  LADIES. 

FROM  THE  MILL  OF   PINDAR  COCKLOFT,  ESQ. 


Though  jogging  down  the  hill  of  life, 
Without  the  comfort  of  a  wife; 
And  though  I  ne'er  a  helpmate  chose. 
To  stock  my  house  and  mend  my  hose; 
With  care  my  person  to  adorn. 
And  spruce  me  up  on  Sunday  morn; — 
Srill  do  I  love  the  gentle  sex, 
And  still  with  cares  my  brain  perplex 
To  keep  the  fair  ones  of  the  age 
Unsullied  as  the  spotless  page; 
All  pure,  all  simple,  all  refined. 
The  sweetest  solace  of  mankind. 
I  hate  the  loose,  insidious  jest 
To  beauty's  modest  ear  addrest. 
And  hold  that  frowns  should  never  fail 
To  check  each  smooth,  but  fulsome  tale; 
But  he  whose  impious  pen  should  dare 
Invade  the  morals  of  the  fair; 
To  taint  that  purity  divine 
Which  should  each  female  heart  enshrine; 
Though  soft  his  vitious  strains  should  swell, 
As  those  which  erst  from  Gabriel  fell, 
Should  yet  be  held  aloft  to  shame. 

And  foul  dishonour  shade  his  name. 

Judge,  then,  my  friends,  of  my  surprise, 

The  ire  that  kindled  in  my  eyes, 

When  I  relate,  that  t'other  day 

I  went  a  morning-call  to  pay. 

On  two  young  nieces;  just  come  down 

To  take  the  polish  of  the  town. 

By  which  I  mean  no  more  or  less 

Than  a  la  Francaise  to  undress; 

To  whirl  the  modest  waltz'  rounds. 

Taught  by  Duport  for  snug  ten  pounds. 

To  thump  and  thunder  through  a  song, 

Play  fortes  soft  and  doke's  strong; 

Exhibit  loud  piano  feats. 

Caught  from  that  crotchet-hero,  Meetz: 


To  drive  the  rose-bloom  from  the  face. 
And  fix  the  lily  in  its  place; 
To  doff  the  white,  and  in  its  stead 
To  bounce  about  in  brazen  red. 

While  in  the  parlour  I  delay'd, 
Till  they  their  persons  had  array'd, 
A  dapper  volume  caught  my  eye,_ 
That  on  the  window  chanced  to  lie: 
A  book's  a  friend— I  always  choose 
To  turn  its  pages  and  peruse: — 
It  proved  those  poems  known  to  fame 
For  praising  every  cyprian  dame; — 
The  bandings  of  a  dapper  youth, 
Renown'd  for  gratitude  and  truth: 
A  little  pest,  hight  Tommy  Mooke, 
Who  hopp'd  and  skipp'd  our  country  o'er; 
Who  sipp'd  our  tea  and  lived  on  sops, 
Revell'd  on  syllabubs  and  slops. 
And  when  his  brain,  of  cobweb  fine, 
Was  fuddled  with  five  drops  of  wine, 
Would  all  his  puny  loves  rehearse. 
And  many  a  maid  debauch — in  verse. 
Surprised  to  meet  in  open  view, 
A  book  of  such  lascivious  hue, 
I  chid  my  nieces — but  they  say, 
'Tis  all  the  passion  of  the  day; — 
That  many  a  fashionable  belle 
Will  with  enraptured  accents  dwell 
On  the  sweet  morceau  she  has  found 
In  this  delicious,  curst,  compound  ! 
Soft  do  the  tinkling  numbers  roll, 
And  lure  to  vice  the  unthinking  soul; 
They  tempt  by  softest  sounds  away. 
They  lead  entranced  the  heart  astray; 
And  Satan's  doctrine  sweetly  sing. 
As  with  a  seraph's  heavenly  string. 
Such  sounds,  so  good,  old  Homer  sung, 
Once  warbled  from  the  Syren's  tongue;— 
Sweet  melting  tones  were  heard  to  pour 
Along  Ausonia's  sun-gilt  shore; 
Seductive  strains  in  aether  float. 
And  every  wild  deceitful  note 
That  could  the  yielding  heart  assail. 
Were  wafted  on  the  breathing  gale;— 
And  every  gentle  accent  bland 
To  tempt  Ulysses  to  their  strand. 
And  can  it  be  this  book  so  base, 
Is  laid  on  every  window-case  ? 
Oh!  fair  ones,  if  you  will  profane 
Those  breasts  where  heaven  itself  should  reign; 
And  throw  those  pure  recesses  wide, 
Where  peace  and  virtue  should  reside 
To  let  the  holy  pile  admit 
A  guest  unhallowed  and  unfit; 
Pray,  like  the  frail  ones  of  the  night. 
Who  hide  their  wanderings  from  the  light, 
So  let  your  errors  secret  be, 
And  hide,  at  least,  your  fault  from  me: 
Seek  some  by-corner  to  explore 
The  smooth,  polluted  pages  o'er: 
There  drink  the  insidious  poison  in, 
There  slyly  nurse  your  souls  for  sin: 
And  while  that  purity  you  blight 
Which  stamps  you  messengers  of  light, 
And  sap  those  mounds  the  gods  bestow, 
To  keep  you  spotless  here  below; 
Still  in  compassion  to  our  race. 
Who  joy,  not  only  in  the  face. 
But  in  that  more  exalted  part. 
The  sacred  temple  of  the  heart; 
Oh!  hide  for  ever  from  our  view. 
The  fatal  mischief  you  pursue: — 
Let  MEN  your  praises  still  exalt. 
And  none  but  angels  mourn  your  fault. 


1807 


No.  VI.— FRIDAY,  MARCH   20, 

FROM   MY   ELBOW-CHAIR. 

THE  Cockloft  family,  of  which  I  have  made  such 
frequent  mention,  is  of  great  antiquity,  if  there  be 
any  truth  in  the  genealogical  tree  which  hangs  up 


SALMAGUNDI. 


661 


in  my  cousin's  library.  They  trace  their  descent 
from  a  celebrated  Roman  knijjht,  cousin  to  the  pro- 
genitor of  his  majesty  of  Britain,  who  left  his  native 
country  on  occasion  of  some  disgust  ;  and  coming 
into  Wales  became  a  great  favourite  of  prince  Ma- 
doc,  and  accompanied  that  famous  argonaut  in  the 
voyage  which  ended  in  the  discovery  of  this  conti- 
nent. Though  a  member  of  the  family,  I  have  some- 
times ventured  to  doubt  the  authenticity  of  this  por- 
tion of  their  annals,  to  the  great  vexation  of  cousin 
Christopher :  who  is  looked  up  to  as  the  head  of  our 
house ;  and  who,  though  as  orthodox  as  a  bishop, 
would  sooner  give  up  the  whole  decalogue  than  lop 
off  a  single  limb  of  the  family  tree.  From  time  im- 
memorial, it  has  been  the  rule  for  the  Cocklofts  to 
marry  one  of  their  own  name ;  and  as  they  always 
bred  like  rabbits,  the  family  has  increased  and  mul- 
tiplied like  that  of  Adam  and  Eve.  In  truth,  their 
number  is  almost  incredilJe  ;  and  you  can  hardly 
go  into  any  part  of  the  country  without  starting  a 
warren  of  genuine  Cocklofts.  Every  person  of  the 
least  observation  or  experience  must  have  observed, 
that  where  this  practice  of  marrying  cousins  and 
second  cousins  prevails  in  a  family,  every  member  in 
the  course  of  a  few  generations  becomes  queer,  hu- 
mourous, and  original ;  as  much  distinguished  from 
the  common  race  of  mongrels  as  if  he  was  of  a  dif- 
ferent species.  This  has  happened  in  our  family, 
and  particularly  in  that  branch  of  it  which  Mr.  Chris- 
topher Cockloft,  or,  to  do  him  justice,  Mr.  Christo- 
pher Cockloft,  Esq.,  is  the  head.  Christopher  is,  in 
fact,  the  only  married  man  of  the  name  who  resides 
in  town ;  his  family  is  small,  having  lost  most  of  his 
children  when  young,  by  the  excessive  care  he  took 
to  bring  them  up  like  vegetables.  This  was  one  of 
his  first  whim-whams,  and  a  confounded  one  it  was, 
as  his  children  might  have  told,  had  they  not  fallen 
victims  to  this  experiment  before  they  could  talk. 
He  had  got  from  some  quack  philosopher  or  other  a 
notion  that  there  was  a  complete  analogy  between 
children  and  plants,  and  that  they  ought  to  be  both 
reared  alike.  Accordingly,  he  sprinkled  them  every 
morning  with  water,  laid  them  out  in  the  sun,  as  he 
did  his  geraniums  ;  and  if  the  season  was  remarka- 
bly dry,  repeated  this  wise  experiment  three  or  four 
times  of  a  morning.  The  consequence  was,  the 
poor  little  souls  died  one  after  the  other,  e.xcept  Jer- 
emy and  his  two  sisters,  who,  to  be  sure,  are  a  trio 
of  as  odd,  runty,  mummy-looking  originals  as  ever 
Hogarth  fancied  m  his  most  happy  moments.  Mrs. 
Cockloft,  the  larger  if  not  the  better  half  of  my 
cousin,  often  remonstrated  against  this  vegetable 
theory ;  and  even  brought  the  parson  of  the  parish 
in  which  my  cousin's  country  house  is  situated  to 
her  aid,  but  in  vain  :  Christopher  persisted,  and 
.attributed  the  failure  of  his  plan  to  its  not  having 
been  exactly  conformed  to.  As  I  have  mentioned 
Mrs.  Cockloft,  I  may  as  well  say  a  little  more  about 
her  while  1  am  in  the  humour.  She  is  a  lady  of 
wonderful  notability,  a  warm  admirer  of  shining  ma- 
hogany, clean  hearths,  and  her  husband  ;  who  she 
considers  the  wisest  man  in  the  world,  bating  Will 
Wizard  and  the  parson  of  our  parish ;  the  last  of 
whom  is  her  oracle  on  all  occasions.  She  goes  con- 
stantly to  church  every  Sunday  and  Saints-day  ;  and 
insists  upon  it  that  no  man  is  entitled  to  ascend  a 
pulpit  unless  he  has  been  ordained  by  a  bishop  ;  nay, 
so  lar  does  she  carry  her  orthodoxy,  that  all  the  ar- 
gument in  the  world  will  never  persuade  her  that  a 
Presbyterian  or  Baptist,  or  even  a  Calvinist,  has  any 
possible  chance  of  going  to  heaven.  Above  every 
thing  else,  however,  she  abhors  paganism.  Can 
scarcely  refrain  from  laying  violent  hands  on  a  pan- 
theon when  she  meets  with  it ;  and  was  very  nigh 
going  into  hysterics  when  my  cousin  insisted  one  of 


his  boys  should  be  christened  after  our  laureate ; 
because  the  parson  of  the  parish  had  told  her  that 
Pindar  was  the  name  of  a  pagan  writer,  famous  for 
his  love  of  boxing-matches,  wrestling,  and  horse- 
racing.  To  sum  up  all  her  qualifications  in  the 
shortest  possible  way,  Mrs.  Cockloft  is,  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  phrase,  a  good  sort  of  woman ;  and  I 
often  congratulate  my  cousin  on  possessing  her. 
The  rest  of  the  family  consists  of  Jeremy  Cockloft 
the  younger,  who  has  already  been  mentioned,  and 
the  two  Miss  Cocklofts,  or  rather  the  young  ladies, 
as  they  have  been  called  by  the  servants,  time  out 
of  mind  ;  not  that  they  are  really  young,  the  younger 
being  somewhat  on  the  shady  side  of  thirty,  but  it 
has  ever  been  the  custom  to  call  ever)'  member  of 
the  family  young  under  fifty.  In  the  south-east  cor- 
ner of  the  house,  I  hold  quiet  possession  of  an  old- 
fashioned  apartment,  where  myself  and  my  elbow- 
chair  are  suffered  to  amuse  ourselves  undisturbed, 
save  at  meal  times.  This  apartment  old  Cockloft 
has  facetiously  denominated  cousin  Launce's  para- 
dise ;  and  the  good  old  gentleman  has  two  or  three 
favourite  jokes  about  it,  which  are  served  up  as  reg- 
ularly as  the  standing  family  dish  of  beef-steaks  and 
onions,  which  every  day  maintains  its  station  at  the 
foot  of  the  table,  in-  defiance  of  mutton,  poultry,  or 
even  venison  itself. 

Though  the  family  is  apparently  small,  yet,  like 
most  old  establishments  of  the  kind,  it  does  not  want 
for  honorary  members.  It  is  the  city  rendezvous  of 
the  Cocklofts ;  and  we  are  continually  enlivened  by 
the  company  of  half  a  score  of  uncles,  aunts,  and 
cousins,  in  the  fortieth  remove,  from  all  parts  of  the 
country,  who  profess  a  wonderful  regard  for  cousin 
Christopher,  and  ovenvhelm  every  member  of  his 
household,  clown  to  the  cook  in  the  kitchen,  with 
their  attentions.  We  have  for  three  weeks  past  been 
gfreeted  with  the  company  of  two  worthy  old  spin- 
sters, who  came  down  from  the  country  to  settle  a 
law-suit.  They  have  done  little  else  but  retail  stories 
of  their  village  neighbours,  knit  stockings,  and  take 
snuff  all  the  time  they  have  been  here  ;  the  whole 
family  are  bewildered  with  church-yard  tales  of 
sheeted  ghosts,  white  horses  without  heads  and  with 
large  goggle  eyes  in  their  buttocks  ;  and  not  one  of 
the  old  servants  dare  budge  an  inch  after  dark  with- 
out a  numerous  company  at  his  heels.  My  cousin's 
visitors,  however,  always  return  his  hospitality  with 
due  gratitude,  and  now  and  then  remind  him  of 
their  fraternal  regard  by  a  present  of  a  pot  of  apple- 
sweetmeats  or  a  barrel  of  sour  cider  at  Christmas. 
Jeremy  displays  himself  to  great  advantage  among 
his  country  relations,  who  all  think  him  a  prodigy  ; 
and  often  stand  astounded,  in  "  gaping  wonder- 
ment," at  his  natural  philosophy.  He  lately  fright- 
ened a  simple  old  uncle  almost  out  of  his  wits,  by 
giving  it  as  his  opinion  that  the  earth  would  one  day 
be  scorched  to  ashes  by  the  eccentric  gambols  of  the 
famous  comet,  so  much  talked  of;  and  positively  as- 
serted that  this  world  revolved  round  the  sun,  and 
that  the  moon  was  certainly  inhabited. 

The  family  mansion  bears  equal  marks  of  antiq- 
uity with  its  inhabitants.  As  the  Cocklofts  are  re- 
markable for  their  attachment  to  every  thing  that 
has  remained  long  in  the  family,  they  are  bigoted  to- 
wards their  old  edifice,  and  I  dare  say  would  sooner 
have  it  crumble  about  their  ears  than  abandon  it. 
The  consequence  is,  it  has  been  so  patched  up  and 
repaired,  that  it  has  become  as  full  of  whims  and 
oddities  as  its  tenants ;  requires  to  be  nursed  and 
humoured  like  a  gouty  old  codger  of  an  alderman  ; 
and  reminds  one  of  the  famous  ship  in  which  a  cer- 
tain admiral  circumnavigated  the  globe,  which  was 
so  patched  and  timbered,  in  order  to  preserve  so 
great  a  curiosity,  that  at  lengfth  not  a  particle  of  the 


662 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


original  remained.  Whenever  the  wind  blows,  the 
old  mansion  makes  a  most  perilous  groaning;  and 
every  storm  is  sure  to  make  a  day's  work  for  the  car- 
penter, who  attends  upon  it  as  regularly  as  the  fam- 
ily physician.  This  predilection  for  every  thing  that 
bis  been  long  in  the  family  shows  itself  in  every  par- 
ticular. The  domestics  are  all  grown  gray  in  the 
service  of  our  house.  We  have  a  little,  old,  crusty, 
gray-headed  negro,  who  has  lived  through  two  or 
three  generations  of  the  Cocklofts ;  and,  of  course, 
has  become  a  personage  of  no  little  importance  in 
the  household.  He  calls  all  the  family  by  their  chris- 
tian names  ;  tells  long  stories  about  how  he  dandled 
them  on  his  knee  when  they  were  children  ;  and  is  a 
complete  Cockloft  chronicle  for  the  last  seventy  years. 
The  family  carriage  was  made  in  the  last  French  war, 
and  the  old  horses  were  most  indubitably  foaled  in 
Noah's  ark ;  resembling  marvellously,  in  gravity  of 
demeanour,  those  sober  animals  which  may  be  seen 
any  day  of  the  >ear  in  the  streets  of  Philadelphia, 
walking  their  snail's  pace,  a  dozen  in  a  row,  and  har- 
moniously jingling  their  bells.  Whim-whams  are 
the  inheritance  of  the  Cocklofts,  and  every  member 
of  the  household  is  a  humourist  sut  generis,  from 
the  master  down  to  the  footman.  The  very  cats  and 
dogs  are  humourists;  and  we- have  a  little,  runty 
scoundrel  of  a  cur,  who,  whenever  the  church-bells 
ring,  will  run  to  the  street-door,  turn  up  his  nose  in 
the  wind,  and  howl  most  piteously.  Jeremy  insists 
that  this  is  owing  to  a  peculiar  delicacy  in  the  or- 
ganization of  his  ears,  and  supports  his  position  by 
many  learned  arguments  which  nobody  can  under- 
stand ;  but  I  am  of  opinion  that  it  is  a  mere  Cock- 
loft whim-wham,  which  the  little  cur  indulges,  being 
descended  from  a  race  of  dogs  which  has  flourished 
in  the  family  ever  since  the  time  of  my  grandfather. 
A  propensity  to  save  every  thing  that  bears  the 
stamp  of  family  antiquity,  has  accumulated  an  abun- 
dance of  trumpery  and  rubbish  with  which  the  house 
is  encumbered  from  the  cellar  to  the  garret ;  and  ev- 
ery room,  and  closet,  and  corner  is  crammed  with 
three-legged  chairs,  clocks  without  hands,  swords 
without  scabbards,  cocked  hats,  broken  candlesticks, 
and  looking-glasses  with  frames  carved  into  fantastic 
shapes  of  feathered  sheep,  woolly  birds,  and  other 
animals  that  have  no  name  except  in  books  of  her- 
aldry. The  ponderous  mahogany  chairs  in  the  par- 
lour are  of  such  unwieldy  proportions  that  it  is  quite 
a  serious  undertaking  to  gallant  one  of  them  across 
the  room  ;  and  sometimes  make  a  most  equivocal 
noise  when  you  set  down  in  a  hurry ;  the  mantel- 
piece is  decorated  with  little  lacquered  earthen  shep- 
herdesses ;  some  of  which  are  without  toes,  and 
others  without  noses ;  and  the  fire-place  is  gar- 
nished out  with  Dutch  tiles,  exhibiting  a  great  vari- 
ety of  scripture  pieces,  which  my  good  old  soul  of  a 
cousin  takes  infinite  delight  in  explaining.  —  Poor 
Jeremy  hates  them  as  he  does  poison ;  for  while  a 
yonker,  he  was  obliged  by  his  mother  to  learn  the 
history  of  a  tile  every  Sunday  morning  before  she 
would  permit  him  to  join  his  playmates ;  this  was  a 
terrible  affair  for  Jeremy,  who,  by  the  time  he  had 
learned  the  last  had  forgotten  the  first,  and  was 
obliged  to  begin  again.  He  assured  me  the  other 
day,  with  a  round  college  oath,  that  if  the  old  house 
stood  out  till  he  inherited  it,  he  would  have  these 
tiles  taken  out  and  ground  into  powder,  for  the  per- 
fect hatred  he  bore  ihem. 

My  cousin  Christopher  enjoys  unlimited  authority 
in  the  mansion  of  his  forefathers ;  he  is  truly  what 
may  be  termed  a  hearty  old  blade,  has  a  florid,  sun- 
shine countenance ;  and  if  you  will  only  praise  his 
wine,  and  laugh  at  his  long  stories,  himself  and  his 
house  are  heartily  at  your  service. — The  first  condi- 
tion is  indeed  easily  complied  with,  for,  to  tell  the 


truth,  his  wine  is  excellent ;  but  his  stories,  being 
not  of  the  best,  and  often  repeated,  are  apt  to  create 
a  disposition  to  yawn  ;  being,  in  addition  to  their 
other  qualities,  most  unreasonably  long.  His  prolix- 
ity is  the  more  afflicting  to  me,  since  I  have  all  his 
stories  by  heart ;  and  when  he  enters  upon  one,  it 
reminds  me  of  Newark  causeway,  where  the  travel- 
ler sees  the  end  at  the  distance  of  several  miles.  To 
the  great  misfortune  of  all  his  acquaintance,  cousin 
Cockloft  is  blest  with  a  most  provoking  retentive 
memory ;  and  can  give  day  and  date,  and  name  and 
age  and  circumstance,  with  the  most  unfeeling  pre- 
cision. These,  however,  are  but  trivial  foibles,  for- 
gotten, or  remembered,  only  with  a  kind  of  tender, 
respectful  pity,  by  those  who  know  with  what  a  rich 
redundant  liarvest  of  kindness  and  generosity  his 
heart  is  stored.  It  would  delight  you  to  see  with 
what  social  gladness  he  welcomes  a  visitor  into  his 
house ;  and  the  poorest  man  that  enters  his  door 
never  leaves  it  without  a  cordial  invitation  to  sit 
down  and  drink  a  glass  of  wine.  By  the  honest 
farmers  round  his  country-seat,  he  is  looked  up  to 
with  love  and  reverence  ;  they  never  pass  him  by 
without  his  inquiring  after  the  welfare  of  their  fam- 
ilies, and  receiving  a  cordial  shake  of  his  liberal 
hand.  There  are  but  two  classes  of  people  who  are 
thrown  out  of  the  reach  of  his  hospitality,  and  these 
are  Frenchmen  and  democrats.  The  old  gentleman 
considers  it  treason  against  the  majesty  of  good 
breeding  to  speak  to  any  visitor  with  his  hat  on  ;  but, 
the  momenta  democrat  enters  his  door,  he  forthwith 
bids  his  man  Pompey  bring  his  hat,  puts  it  on  his 
head,  and  salutes  him  with  an  .appalling  "  well,  sir, 
what  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

He  has  a  profound  contempt  for  Frenchmen,  and 
firmly  believes,  that  they  eat  nothing  but  frogs  and 
soup-maigre  in  their  own  country.  This  unlucky 
prejudice  is  partly  owing  to  my  great  aunt,  PAMELA, 
having  been  many  years  ago,  run  away  with  by  a 
French  Count,  who  turned  out  to  be  the  son  of  a 
generation  of  barbers  ; — and  partly  to  a  little  vivid 
spark  of  toryism,  which  burns  in  a  secret  comer  of 
his  heart.  He  was  a  loyal  subject  of  the  crown,  has 
hardly  yet  recovered  the  shock  of  independence  ;  and, 
though  he  does  not  care  to  own  it,  always  does  hon- 
our to  his  majesty's  birth-day,  by  inviting  a  few  cava- 
liers, like  himself,  to  dinner;  and  gracing  his  table 
with  more  than  ordinary  festivity.  If  by  chance  the 
revolution  is  mentioned  before  him,  my  cousin  shakes 
his  head  ;  and  you  may  see,  if  you  take  good  note,  a 
lurking  smile  of  contempt  in  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
which  marks  a  decided  disapprobation  of  the  sound. 
He  once,  in  the  fulness  of  his  heart,  observed  to  me 
that  green  peas  were  a  month  later  than  they  were 
under  the  old  government.  But  the  most  eccentric 
manifestation  of  loyalty  he  ever  gave,  was  making  a 
voyage  to  Halifax  for  no  other  reason  under  heaven 
but  to  hear  his  Majesty  prayed  for  in  church,  as  he 
used  to  be  here  formerly.  This  he  never  could  be 
brought  fairly  to  acknowledge  ;  but  it  is  a  certain 
fact,  I  assure  you.  It  is  not  a  little  singular  that  a 
person,  so  much  given  to  long  story-telling  as  my 
cousin,  should  take  a  liking  to  another  of  the  same 
character  ;  but  so  it  is  with  the  old  gentleman : — ■ 
his  prime  favourite  and  companion  is  Will  Wizard, 
who  is  almost  a  member  of  the  family ;  and  will  sit 
before  the  fire,  with  his  feet  on  the  massy  andirons, 
and  smoke  his  segar,  and  screw  his  phiz,  and  spin 
away  tremendous  long  stories  of  his  travels,  for  a 
whole  evening,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  old  gentle- 
man and  lady ;  and  especially  of  the  young  ladies, 
who,  like  Desdemona,  do  "seriously  incline,"  and 
listen  to  him  with  innumerable  "  O  dears,"  "  is  it 
possibles,"  "goody  graciouses,"  and  look  upon  him 
as  a  second  Sinhad  the  sailor. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


(5G3 


The  Miss  Cocklofts,  whose  pardon  I  crave  for  not 
having  particularly  introduced  them  before,  are  a 
pair  of  delectable  damsels  ;  who,  having  purloined 
and  locked  up  the  family-Bible,  pass  for  just  what  age 
they  please  to  be  guilty  to.  BARBARA,  the  eldest, 
has  long  since  resigned  the  character  of  a  belle,  and 
adopted  that  staid,  sober,  demure,  snufT-taking  air 
becoming  her  years  and  discretion.  She  is  a  good- 
nitured  soul,  whom  I  never  saw  in  a  passion  but 
once  ;  and  that  was  occasioned  by  seeing  an  old 
favorite  beau  of  hers,  kiss  the  hand  of  a  pretty 
blooming  girl ;  and,  in  truth,  she  only  got  angry  be- 
cause, as  she  very  properly  said,  it  was  spoiling  the 
child.  Her  sister  Margery,  or  Maggie,  as  she  is 
familiarly  termed,  seemed  dispoj>;d  to  maintain  her 
post  as  a  belle,  until  a  few  months  since  ;  when  acci- 
dently  hearing  a  gentleman  observe  that  she  broke 
very  fast,  she  suddenly  left  off  going  to  the  assembly, 
took  a  cat  into  high  I'avour,  and  began  to  rail  at  the 
forward  pertness  of  young  misses.  From  that  mo- 
ment I  set  her  down  for  an  old  maid  ;  and  so  she  is, 
"  by  the  hand  of  my  body."  The  young  ladies  are 
still  visited  by  some  half  dozen  of  veteran  beaux,  who 
grew  and  flourished  in  the  haut  ton,  when  the  Miss 
Cocklofts  were  quite  children  ;  but  have  been  brush- 
ed rather  rudely  by  the  hand  of  time,  who,  to  say  the 
truth,  can  do  almost  any  thing  but  make  people 
young.  They  are,  notwithstanding,  still  warm  can- 
didates for  female  favour  ;  look  venerably  tender,  and 
repeat  over  and  over  the  same  honeyed  speeches  and 
sugared  sentiments  to  the  little  belles  that  they  pour- 
ed so  profusely  into  the  ears  of  their  mothers.  I  beg 
leave  here  to  give  notice,  that  by  this  sketch,  I  mean 
no  reflection  on  old  bachelors ;  on  the  contrary,  1 
hold  that  next  to  a  fine  lady,  the  ne  plus  ultra,  an  old 
bachelor  to  be  the  most  charming  being  upon  earth  ; 
in  as  much  as  by  living  in  "single  blessedness,"  he 
of  course  does  just  as  he  pleases  ;  and  if  he  has  any 
genius,  must  acquire  a  plentiful  stock  of  whims,  and 
oddities,  and  whalebone  habits  ;  without  which  I  es- 
teem a  man  to  be  mere  beef  without  mustard  ;  good 
for  nothing  at  all,  but  to  run  on  errands  for  ladies, 
take  boxes  at  the  theatre,  and  act  the  part  of  a 
screen  at  tea-parties,  or  a  walking-stick  in  the 
streets.  I  merely  speak  of  these  old  boys  who  infest 
public  walks,  pounce  upon  ladies  from  every  corner 
of  the  street,  and  worry  and  frisk  and  amble,  and 
caper  before,  behind,  and  round  about  the  fashion- 
able belles,  like  old  ponies  in  a  pasture,  striving  to 
supply  the  absence  of  youthful  whim  and  hilarity,  by 
grimaces  and  grins,  and  artificial  vivacity.  1  have 
sometimes  seen  one  of  these  "  reverend  youths  "  en- 
deavouring to  elevate  his  wintry  passions  into  some- 
thing like  love,  by  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  beauty  ; 
and  it  did  remind  me  of  an  old  moth  attempting  to 
fly  through  a  pane  of  glass  towards  a  light,  without 
ever  approaching  near  enough  to  warm  itself,  or 
scorch  its  wings. 

Never,  I  firmly  believe,  did  there  exist  a  family  that 
went  more  by  tangents  than  the  Cocklofts.  Every 
thing  is  governed  by  whim  ;  and  if  one  member  starts 
a  new  freak,  away  all  the  rest  follow  on  like  wild  geese 
in  a  string.  As  the  family,  the  servants,  the  horses, 
cats,  and  dogs,  have,  all  grown  old  together,  they 
have  accommodated  themselves  to  each  other's  hab- 
its completely ;  and  though  every  body  of  them  is 
full  of  odd  points,  angles,  rhomboids,  and  ins  and 
outs,  yet,  some  how  or  other,  they  harmonize  to- 
gether like  so  many  straight  lines  ;  and  it  is  truly  a 
grateful  and  refreshing  sight  to  see  them  agree  so 
well.  Should  one,  however,  get  out  of  tune,  it  is  like 
a  cracked  fiddle :  the  whole  concert  is  ajar  ;  you  per- 
ceive a  cloud  over  every  brow  in  the  house,  and  even 
the  old  chairs  seem  to  creak  affetuosso.  If  my  cousin, 
as  he  is  rather  apt  to  do,  betray  any  symptoms  of  vex- 


ation or  uneasiness,  no  matter  about  what,  he  is  wor- 
ried to  death  with  inquiries,  which  answer  no  other  end 
but  to  demonstrate  the  good-will  of  the  inquirer,  and 
put  him  in  a  passion  ;  for  every  body  knows  how  pro- 
voking it  is  to  be  cut  short  in  a  fit  of  the  blues,  by  an 
impertinent  question  about  "  what  is  the  matter .'  " 
when  a  man  can't  tell  himself.  I  remember  a  few 
months  ago  the  old  gentleman  came  home  in  quite  a 
squall  ;  kicked  poor  Caesar,  the  mastiff,  out  of  his 
way,  as  he  came  through  the  hall ;  threw  his  hat  on 
the  table  with  most  violent  emphasis,  and  pulling  out 
his  box,  took  three  huge  pinches  of  snuff,  and  threw 
a  fourth  into  the  cat's  eyes  as  he  sat  purring  his  as- 
tonishment by  the  fire-side.  This  was  enough  to  set 
the  body  poHtic  going  ;  Mrs.  Cockloft  began  "  my 
dearing  '  it  as  fast  as  tongue  could  move  ;  the  young 
ladies  took  each  a  stand  at  an  elbow  of  his  chair  ; — 
Jeremy  marshalled  in  rear; — -the  servants  came 
tumbling  in  ;  the  mastiff  put  up  an  inquiring  nose  ; — 
and  even  grimalkin,  after  he  had  cleaned  his  whiskers 
and  finished  sneezing,  discovered  indubitable  signs 
of  sympathy.  After  the  most  affectionate  inquiries 
on  all  sides,  it  turned  out  that  my  cousin,  in  crossing 
the  street,  had  got  his  silk  stockings  bespattered  with 
mud  by  a  coach,  which  it  seems  belonged  to  a  dash- 
ing gentleman  who  had  formerly  supplied  the  family 
with  hot  rolls  and  muffins  !  Mrs.  Cockloft  thereupon 
turned  up  her  eyes,  and  the  young  ladies  their  noses ; 
and  it  would  have  edified  a  whole  congregation  to 
hear  the  conversation  which  took  place  concerning 
the  insolence  of  upstarts,  and  the  vulgarity  of  would- 
be  gentlemen  and  ladies,  who  strive  to  emerge  from 
low  life  by  dashing  about  in  carriages  to  pay  a  visit 
two  doors  of;  giving  parties  to  people  who  laugh  at 
them,  and  cutting  all  their  old  friends. 


THEATRICS. 

BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,   ESQ. 


I  WENT  a  few  evenings  since  to  the  theatre  ac- 
companied by  my  friend  Snivers,  the  cockney,  who  is 
a  man  deeply  read  in  the  history  of  Cinderella,  Valen- 
tine and  Orson,  Blue  Beard,  and  all  those  recondite 
works  so  necessary  to  enable  a  man  to  understand 
the  modern  drama.  Snivers  is  one  of  those  intoler- 
able fellows  who  will  never  be  pleased  with  any 
thing  until  he  has  turned  and  twisted  it  divers  ways, 
to  see  if  it  corresponds  with  his  notions  of  congruity ; 
and  as  he  is  none  of  the  quickest  in  his  ratiocina- 
tions, he  will  sometimes  come  out  with  his  approba- 
tion, when  every  body  else  have  forgotten  the  cause 
which  excited  it.  Snivers  is,  moreover,  a  great  critic, 
for  he  finds  fault  with  everything;  this  being  what  I 
understand  by  modern  criticism.  He,  however,  is 
pleased  to  acknowledge  that  our  theatre  is  not  so 
despicable,  all  things  considered ;  and  really  thinks 
Cooper  one  of  our  best  actors.  The  play  was 
Othello,  and  to  speak  my  mind  freely,  I  think  I 
have  seen  it  performed  much  worse  in  my  time. 
The  actors,  I  firmly  beUeve,  did  their  best ;  and 
whenever  this  is  the  case  no  man  has  a  right  to  find 
fault  with  them,  in  my  opinion.  Little  Rutherford, 
the  Roscius  of  the  Philadelphia  theatre,  looked  as 
big  as  possible  ;  and  what  he  wanted  in  size  he  made 
up  in  frowning.  I  like  frowning  in  tragedy ;  and  if 
a  man  but  keeps  his  forehead  in  proper  wrinkle, 
talks  big,  and  takes  long  strides  on  the  stage,  I  al- 
ways set  him  down  as  a  great  tragedian  ;  and  so 
does  my  friend  Snivers. 

Before  the  first  act  was  over,  Snivers  began  to 
flourish  his  critical  wooden  sword  like  a  harlequin. 


im 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


He  first  found  fault  with  Cooper  for  not  having 
made  himself  as  blaclc  as  a  negro;  "for,"  said  he, 
"  ihat  Othello  was  an  arrant  black,  appears  from 
several  expressions  of  the  play ;  as,  for  instance, 
'thick  lips,'  'sooty  bosom,'  and  a  variety  of  others. 
I  am  inclined  to  think,"  continued  he,  "  that  Othello 
was  an  Egyptian  by  birth,  from  the  circumstance  of 
the  handkerchief  given  to  his  mother  by  a  native  of 
that  country  ;  and,  if  so,  he  certainly  was  as  black  as 
my  hat :  for  Herodotus  has  told  us,  that  the  Egyp- 
tians had  flat  noses  and  frizzled  hair ;  a  clear  proof 
that  they  were  all  negroes."  He  did  not  confine  his 
strictures  to  this  single  error  of  the  actor,  but  went 
on  to  run  him  down  in  toto.  In  this  he  was  second- 
ed by  a  red  hot  Philadelphian,  who  proved,  by  a 
string  of  most  eloquent  logical  puns,  that  Fennel 
was  unquestionably  in  every  respect  a  better  actor 
than  Cooper.  I  knew  it  was  vain  to  contend  with 
them,  since  I  recollected  a  most  obstinate  trial  of 
skill  these  two  great  Roscii  had  last  spring  in  Phila- 
delphia. Cooper  brandished  his  blood-stained  dag- 
ger at  the  theatre — Fennel  flourished  his  snuff-box 
and  shook  his  wig  at  the  Lyceum,  and  the  unfortu- 
nate Philadelphians  were  a  long  time  at  a  loss  to  de- 
cide which  deserved  the  palm.  The  literati  were 
inclined  to  give  it  to  Cooper,  because  his  name  was 
the  most  fruitful  in  puns  ;  bat  then,  on  the  other 
side,  it  was  contended  that  Fennel  was  the  best 
Greek  scholar.  Scarcely  was  the  town  of  Strasburgh 
in  a  greater  hub-bub  about  the  courteous  stranger's 
nose;  and  it  was  well  that  the  doctors  of  the  univer- 
sity did  not  get  into  the  dispute,  else  it  might  have 
become  a  battle  of  folios.  At  length,  after  much 
excellent  argument  had  been  expended  on  both 
sides,  recourse  was  had  to  Cocker's  arithmetic  and 
a  carpenter's  rule;  the  rival  candidates  were  both 
measured  by  one  of  their  most  steady-handed  critics, 
and  by  the  most  exact  measurement  it  was  proved 
that  Mr.  Fennel  was  the  greater  actor  by  three 
inches  and  a  quarter.  Since  this  demonstration  of 
his  inferiority.  Cooper  has  never  been  able  to  hold 
up  his  head  in  Philadelphia. 

In  order  to  change  a  conversation  in  which  my 
favourite  suffered  so  much,  I  made  some  inquiries 
of  the  Philadelphian,  concerning  the  two  heroes  of 
'  his  theatre,  WOOD  and  Cain  ;  but  I  had  scarcely 
mentioned  their  names,  when,  whack !  he  threw  a 
whole  handful  of  puns  in  my  face ;  'twas  like  a  bowl 
of  cold  water.  I  turned  on  my  heel,  had  recourse  to 
my  tobacco-box,  and  said  no  more  about  Wood  and 
Cain ;  nor  will  I  ever  more,  if  I  can  help  it,  mention 
their  names  in  the  presence  of  a  Philadelphian. 
Would  that  they  could  leave  off  punning  !  for  I  love 
every  soul  of  them,  with  a  cordial  affection,  warm 
as  their  own  generous  hearts,  and  boundless  as  their 
hospitality. 

During  the  performance,  I  kept  an  eye  on  the 
countenance  of  my  Iricnd,  the  cockney ;  because 
having  come  all  the  way  from  England,  and  having 
seen  Kemble  once,  on  a  visit  which  he  made  froin 
the  button  manufactory  to  Lunnun,  1  thought  his 
phiz  might  serve  as  a  kind  of  thermometer  to  direct 
my  manifestations  of  applause  or  disapprobation. 
I  might  as  well  have  looked  at  the  back-side  of  his 
head  ;  for  I  could  not,  with  all  my  peering,  perceive 
by  his  features  that  he  was  pleased  with  any  thing — 
except  himself  His  hat  was  twitched  a  little  on  one 
side,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  demme,  I'm  your  sorts  !  " 
He  was  sucking  the  end  of  a  little  stick ;  he  was 
"gemman"  from  head  to  foot;  but  as  to  his  face, 
there  was  no  more  expression  in  it  than  in  the  face 
of  a  Chinese  lady  on  a  teacup.  On  Cooper's  giving 
one  of  his  gunpowder  explosions  of  passion,  I  ex- 
claimed, "fine,  very  fine  !  "  "  Pardon  me,"  said  my 
friend  Snivers,  "  this  is  damnable ! — the  gesture,  my 


dear  sir,  only  look  at  the  gesture  !  how  horrible  !  do 
you  not  observe  that  the  actor  slaps  his  forehead, 
whereas,  the  passion  not  having  arrived  at  the  proper 
height,  he  should  only  have  slapped  his — pocket-flap  ? 
— this  figure  of  rlietoric  is  a  most  important  stage 
trick,  and  the  proper  management  of  it  is  what 
peculiarly  distinguishes  the  great  actor  from  the 
mere  plodding  mechanical  buffoon.  Different  de- 
grees of  passion  require  different  slaps,  which  we 
critics  have  reduced  to  a  perfect  manual,  improving 
upon  the  principle  adopted  by  Frederic  of  Prussia, 
by  deciding  that  an  actor,  like  a  soldier,  is  a  mere 
machine ;  as  thus — the  actor,  for  a  minor  burst  of 
passion  merely  slaps  his  pocket-hole  ;  good  ! — for  a 
major  burst,  he  slaps  his  breast ; — very  good  ! — but 
for  a  burst  maximus,  he  whacks  away  at  his  fore- 
head, like  a  brave  fellow; — this  is  excellent ! — noth- 
ing can  be  finer  than  an  exit  slapping  the  forehead 
from  one  end  of  the  stage  to  the  other."  "  Except," 
replied  I,  "  one  of  those  slaps  on  the  breast,  which  I 
have  sometimes  admired  in  some  of  our  fat  heroes 
and  heroines,  which  make  their  whole  body  shake 
and  quiver  like  a  pyramid  of  jelly." 

The  Philadelphian  had  listened  to  this  conversation 
with  profound  attention,  and  appeared  delighted  with 
Snivers'  mechanical  strictures  ;  'twas  natural  enough 
in  a  man  who  chose  an  actor  as  he  would  a  grenadier. 
He  took  the  opportunity  of  a  pause,  to  enter  into  a 
long  conversation  with  my  friend  ;  and  was  receiving 
a  prodigious  fund  of  information  concerning  the  true 
mode  of  emphasising  conjunctions,  shifting  scenes, 
snuffing  candles,  and  making  thunder  and  lightning, 
better  than  you  can  get  every  day  from  the  sky,  as 
practised  at  the  royal  theatres ;  when,  as  ill  luck 
would  have  it,  they  happened  to  run  their  heads 
full  butt  against  a  new  reading.  Now  this  was  "  a 
stumper,"  as  our  old  friend  Paddle  would  say  ;  for 
the  Philadelphians  are  as  inveterate  new-reading 
hunters  as  the  cocknies ;  and,  for  aught  I  know,  as 
well  skilled  in  finding  them  out.  The  Philadelphian 
thereupon  met  the  cockney  on  his  own  ground ; 
and  at  it  they  went,  like  two  inveterate  curs  at  a 
bone.  Snivers  quoted  Theobald,  Hanmer,  and  a 
host  of  learned  commentators,  w'ho  have  pinned 
themselves  on  the  sleeve  of  Shakspeare's  immor- 
tality, and  made  the  old  bard,  like  general  Washing- 
ton, in  general  Washington's  life,  a  most  diminutive 
figure  in  his  own  book  ; — his  opponent  chose  Johnson 
for  his  bottle-holder,  and  thundered  him  forward  like 
an  elephant  to  bear  down  the  ranks  of  the  enemy. 
I  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  these  two  precious 
judges  had  got  hold  of  that  unlucky  passage  of 
Shakspeare  which,  like  a  straw,  has  tickled,  and 
puzzled,  and  confounded  many  a  somniferous  buzzard 
of  past  and  present  time.  It  was  the  celebrated  wish 
of  Dtsdemona,  that  heaven  had  made  her  such  a 
man  as  Othello. — Snivers  insisted,  that  "the  gentle 
Desdemona "  merely  wished  for  such  a  man  for  a 
husband,  which  in  all  conscience  was  a  modest  wish 
enough,  and  very  natural  in  a  young  lady  who  might 
possibly  have  had  a  predilection  for  flat  noses ;  like 
a  certain  philosophical  great  man  of  our  day.  The 
Philadelphian  contended  with  all  the  vehemence  of 
a  member  of  congress,  moving  the  house  to  have 
"whereas,"  or  "also,"  or  "  nevertheless,"  struck  out 
of  a  bill,  that  the  young  lady  wished  heaven  had 
made  her  a  man  instead  of  a  woman,  in  order  that 
she  might  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  "  an- 
thropophagi, and  the  men  whose  heads  do  grow  be- 
neath their  shoulders ; "  which  was  a  very  natural 
wish,  considering  the  curiosity  of  the  sex.  On  being 
referred  to,  1  incontinently  decided  in  favour  of  the 
honourable  member  who  spoke  last ;  inasmuch  as  I 
think  it  was  a  very  foolish,  and  therefore  veiy  natural, 
wish  for  a  young  lady  to  make  before  a  man  she 


SALMAGUNDI. 


CG5 


wished  to  marry.  It  was,  moreover,  an  indication  of 
the  violent  inclination  she  felt  to  wear  the  breeches, 
which  was  afterwards,  in  all  probability,  gratified, 
if  we  may  judge  from  the  title  of  "our  captain's 
captain,"  given  her  by  Cassio,  a  phrase  which,  in 
my  opinion,  indicates  that  Othello  was,  at  that  time, 
most  ignominiously  hen-pecked.  1  believe  my  argu- 
ments staggered  Snivers  himself,  for  he  looked  con- 
foundedly queer,  and  said  not  another  word  on  the 
subject. 

A  little  while  after,  at  it  he  went  again  on  another 
tack ;  and  began  to  find  fault  with  Cooper's  manner 
of  dying  : — "  it  was  not  natural,"  he  said,  for  it  had 
lately  been  demonstrated,  by  a  learned  doctor  of 
physic,  that  when  a  man  is  mortally  stabbed,  he 
ought  to  take  a  flying  leap  of  at  least  five  feet,  and 
drop  down  "  dead  as  a  salmon  in  a  fishmonger's 
basket." — Whenever  a  man,  in  the  predicament 
above  mentioned,  departed  from  this  fundamental 
rule,  by  falling  flat  down,  like  a  log,  and  rolling 
about  for  two  or  three  minutes,  making  speeches  all 
the  time,  the  said  learned  doctor  maintained  that  it 
was  owing  to  the  waywardness  of  the  human  mind, 
which  delighted  in  flying  in  the  face  of  nature,  and 
dying  in  defiance  of  all  her  established  rules. — I  re- 
plied, "  for  my  part,  I  held  (hat  every  man  had  a 
right  of  dying  in  whatever  position  he  pleased;  and 
that  the  mode  of  doing  it  depended  altogether  on  the 
peculiar  character  of  the  person  going  to  die.  A 
Persian  could  not  die  in  peace  unless  he  had  his  face 
turned  to  the  east ;— a  Mahometan  would  always 
choose  to  have  his  towards  Mecca;  a  Frenchman 
might  prefer  this  mode  of  throwing  a  somerset ;  but 
Mynheer  Van  Brumblebottom,  the  Roscius  of  Rotter- 
dam, always  chose  to  thunder  down  on  his  seat  of 
honour  whenever  he  received  a  mortal  wound. — Be- 
ing a  man  of  ponderous  dimensions,  this  had  a  most 
electrifying  effect,  for  the  whole  theatre  "  shook  like 
Olympus  at  the  nod  of  Jove."  The  Philadelphian 
was  immediately  inspired  with  a  pun,  and  swore 
that  Mynheer  must  be  great  in  a  dying  scene,  since 
he  knew  how  to  make  the  most  of  his  latter  end. 

It  is  the  inveterate  cry  of  stage  critics,  that  an 
actor  does  not  perform  the  character  naturally,  if,  by 
chance,  he  happens  not  to  die  exactly  as  they  would 
have  hiin.  I  think  the  exhibition  of  a  play  at  Pekin 
would  suit  them  exactly ;  and  I  wish,  with  all  my 
heart,  they  would  go  there  and  see  one :  nature  is 
there  imitated  with  the  most  scrupulous  exactness  in 
every  trifling  particular.  Here  an  unhappy  lady  or 
gentleman,  who  happens  unluckily  to  be  poisoned  or 
stabbed,  is  left  on  the  stage  to  writhe  and  groan, 
and  make  faces  at  the  audience,  until  the  poet 
pleases  they  should  die ;  while  the  honest  folks  of 
the  dramatis personcE,  bless  their  hearts  I  all  crowd 
round  and  yield  most  potent  assistance,  by  crying 
and  lamenting  most  vociferously  !  the  audience,  ten- 
der souls,  pull  out  their  white  pocket  handkerchiefs, 
wipe  their  eyes,  blow  their  noses,  and  swear  it  is 
natural  as  life,  while  the  poor  actor  is  left  to  die 
without  common  Christian  comfort.  In  China,  on 
the  contrary,  the  first  thing  they  do  is  to  run  for  the 
doctor  and  tchoouc,  or  notary.  The  audience  are 
entertained  throughout  the  fifth  act  with  a  learned 
consultation  of  physicians,  and  if  the  patient  must 
die,  he  does  it  secundum  arlem,  and  always  is  al- 
lowed time  to  make  his  will.  The  celebrated  Chow- 
Chow  was  the  completest  hand  I  ever  saw  at  killing 
himself;  he  always  carried  under  his  robe  a  bladder 
of  bull's  blood,  which,  when  he  gave  the  mortal  stab, 
spirted  out,  to  the  infinite  delight  of  the  audience. 
Not  that  the  ladies  of  China  are  more  fond  of  the 
sight  of  blood  than  those  of  our  own  country;  on  the 
contrary,  they  are  remarkably  sensitive  in  this  par- 
ticular ;  and  we  are  told  by  the  great  Linkum  Fideli- 


us,  that  the  beautiful  Ninny  Consequa,  one  of  the 
ladies  of  the  emperor's  seraglio,  once  fainted  away 
on  seeing  a  favourite  slave's  nose  bleed  ;  since  which 
time  refinement  has  been  carried  to  such  a  pitch, 
that  a  buskined  hero  is  not  allowed  to  run  himself 
through  the  body  in  the  face  of  the  audience. — The 
immortal  Chow-Chow,  in  conformity  to  this  absurd 
prejudice,  whenever  he  plays  the  part  of  Othello, 
which  is  reckoned  his  master-piece,  always  keeps  a 
bold  front,  stabs  himself  slily  'oehind,  and  is  dead 
before  any  body  suspects  that  he  has  given  the  mor- 
tal blow. 

P.  S.  Just  as  this  was  going  to  press,  I  was  in- 
fonned  by  Evergreen  that  Othello  had  not  been  per- 
formed here  the  Lord  knows  when  ;  no  matter,  I  am 
not  the  first  that  has  criticised  a  play  without  seeing 
it,  and  this  critique  will  answer  for  the  last  perform- 
ance, if  that  was  a  dozen  years  ago. 


No.  VII.— SATURDAY,   APRIL   4,  1807. 


LETTER    FROM    MUSTAPHA     RUB-A-DUB 
KELI   KHAN, 

TO    ASEM    HACCHEM,     PRINCIPAL    SLAVE-DRIVER 
TO   HIS   HIGHNESS  THE   BASHAW  OF  TRIPOLI. 

I  PROMISED  in  a  former  letter,  good  Asem,  that  I 
would  furnish  thee  with  a  few  hints  respecting  the 
nature  of  the  government  by  which  I  am  held  in 
durance. — Though  my  inquiries  for  that  purpose 
have  been  industrious,  yet  I  am  not  perfectly  satis- 
fied with  their  results  ;  for  thou  mayest  easily  imagine 
that  the  vision  of  a  captive  is  overshadowed  by  the 
mists  of  illusion  and  prejudice,  and  the  horizon  of 
his  speculations  must  be  limited  indeed.  I  find  that 
the  people  of  this  country  are  strangely  at  a  loss  to 
determine  the  nature  and  proper  character  of  their 
government.  Even  their  dervises  are  extremely  in 
the  dark  as  to  this  particular,  and  are  continually  in- 
dulging in  the  most  preposterous  disquisitions  on  the 
subject :  some  have  insisted  that  it  savours  of  an 
aristocracy;  others  maintain  that  it  is  a  pure  democ- 
racy ;  and  a  third  set  of  theorists  declare  absolutely 
that  it  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  mobocracy. 
The  latter,  I  must  confess,  though  still  wide  in  error, 
have  come  nearest  to  the  truth.  You  of  course  must 
understand  the  meaning  of  these  different  words,  as 
they  are  derived  from  the  ancient  Greek  language, 
and  bespeak  loudly  the  verbal  poverty  of  these  poor 
infidels,  who  cannot  utter  a  learned  phrase  without 
laying  the  dead  languages  under  contribution.  A 
man,  my  dear  Asem,  who  talks  good  sense  in  his 
native  tongue,  is  held  in  tolerable  estimation  in  this 
country ;  but  a  fool,  who  clothes  his  feeble  ideas  in  a 
foreign  or  antique  garb,  is  bowed  down  to  as  a  liter- 
ary prodigy.  ^A'hile  I  conversed  with  these  people 
in  plain  English,  I  was  but  little  attended  to ;  but 
the  moment  I  prosed  away  in  Greek,  every  one 
looked  up  to  me  with  veneration  as  an  oracle. 

Although  the  dervises  differ  widely  in  the  par- 
ticulars above  mentioned,  yet  they  all  agree  in  term- 
ing their  government  one  of  the  most  pacific  in  the 
known  world.  I  cannot  help  pitying  their  ignorance, 
and  smiling,  at  times,  to  see  into  what  ridiculous  er- 
rors those  nations  will  wander  who  are  unenlight- 
ened by  the  precepts  of  Mahomet,  our  divine  prophet, 
and  uninstructed  by  the  five  hundred  and  forty-nine 
books  of  wisdom  of  the  immortal  Ibrahim  Hassan  al 
Fusti.  To  call  this  nation  pacific  !  most  preposter- 
ous !  it  reminds  me  of  the  title  assumed  by  the  sheck 


m 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


of  that  murderous  tribe  of  wild  Arabs,  that  desolate 
the  valleys  of  Belsaden,  who  styles  himself  STAR  OF 
COURTESY— BEAM  OF  THE  MERCY-SEAT  ! 

The  simple  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  these  peo- 
ple are  totally  ignorant  of  their  own  true  character; 
for,  according  to  the  best  of  my  observation,  they 
are  the  most  warlike,  and,  I  must  say,  the  most  sav- 
age nation  that  I  have  as  yet  discovered  among  all 
the  barbarians.  They  are  not  only  at  war,  in  their 
own  way,  with  almost  every  nation  on  earth,  but 
they  are  at  the  same  time  engaged  in  the  most  com- 
plicated knot  of  civil  wars  that  ever  infested  any 
poor  unhappy  country  on  which  ALLA  has  de- 
nounced his  malediction  ! 

To  let  thee  at  once  into  a  secret,  which  is  un- 
known to  these  people  themselves,  their  government 
is  a  pure  unadulterated  LOGOCRACY,  or  government 
of  words.  The  whole  nation  does  every  thing  V2va 
voce,  or  by  word  of  mouth  ;  and  in  this  manner  is 
one  of  the  most  military  nations  in  existence.  Every 
man  who  has  what  is  here  called  the  gift  of  the  gab, 
that  is,  a  plentiful  stock  of  verbosity,  becomes  a  sol- 
dier outright ;  and  is  for  ever  in  a  militant  state. 
The  country  is  entirely  defended  vi  et  lingua  ;  that 
is  to  say,  by  force  of  tongues.  The  account  which  I 
lately  wrote  to  our  friend,  the  snorer,  respecting  the 
immense  army  of  six  hundred  men,  makes  nothing 
against  this  observation  ;  that  formidable  body  being 
kept  up,  as  I  have  already  observed,  onlv  to  amuse 
their  fair  country-women  by  their  splendid  appear- 
ance and  nodding  plumes  ;  and  are,  by  way  of  dis- 
tinction, denominated  the  "  defenders  of  the  fair." 

In  a  logocracy  thou  well  knowest  there  is  little  or 
no  occasion  for  rtre-arms,  or  any  such  destructive 
weapons.  Every  offensive  or  defensive  measure  is 
enforced  by  wordy  battle,  and  paper  war;  he  who 
has  the  longest  tongue  or  readiest  quill,  is  sure 
to  gain  the  victory, — will  carry  horror,  abuse,  and 
ink-shed  into  the  very  trenches  of  the  enemy ;  and, 
without  mercy  or  remorse,  put  men,  women,  and 
children  to  the  point  of  the — pen  ! 

There  is  still  preserved  in  this  country  some  re- 
mains of  that  gothic  spirit  of  knight-errantry,  which 
so  much  annoyed  the  faithful  in  the  middle  ages  of 
the  hegira.  As,  notwithstanding  their  martial  dis- 
position, they  are  a  people  much  given  to  commerce 
and  agriculture,  and  must,  necessarily,  at  certain 
seasons  be  engaged  in  these  employments,  they  have 
accommodated  themselves  by  appointing  knights,  or 
constant  warriors,  incessant  brawlers,  similar  to 
those  who,  in  former  ages,  swore  eternal  enmity  to 
the  followers  of  our  divine  prophet. — These  knights, 
denominated  editors  or  SLANG-WHANGERS,  are  ap- 
pointed in  every  town,  village,  and  district,  to  carry 
on  both  foreign  and  internal  warfare,  and  may  be 
said  to  keep  up  a  constant  firing  "  in  words."  Oh, 
my  friend,  could  you  but  witness  the  enormities 
sometimes  committed  by  these  tremendous  slang- 
whangers,  your  very  turban  would  rise  with  horror 
and  astonishment.  I  have  seen  them  extend  their 
ravages  even  into  the  kitchens  of  their  opponents, 
and  annihilate  the  very  cook  with  a  blast ;  and  I  do 
assure  thee,  I  beheld  one  of  these  warriors  attack  a 
most  venerable  bashaw,  and  at  one  stroke  of  his  pen 
lay  him  open  from  the  waistband  of  his  breeches  to 
his  chin  ! 

There  has  been  a  civil  war  carrying  on  with  great 
violence  for  some  time  past,  in  consequence  of  a 
conspiracy,  among  the  higher  classes,  to  dethrone 
his  highness  the  present  bashaw,  and  place  another 
in  his  stead.  I  was  mistaken  when  I  formerly  as- 
serted to  thee  that  this  dissatisfaction  arose  from  his 
wearing  red  breeches.  It  is  true  the  nation  have 
long  held  that  colour  in  great  detestation,  in  conse- 
quence of  a  dispute  they  had  some  twenty  years 


since  with  the  barbarians  of  the  British  islands.  The 
colour,  however,  is  again  rising  into  favour,  as  the 
ladies  have  transferred  it  to  their  heads  from  the 

bashaw's body.     The  true  reason,  I  am  told,  is, 

that  the  bashaw  absolutely  refuses  to  believe  in  the 
deluge,  and  in  the  story  of  Balaam's  ass ; — main- 
taining that  this  animal  was  never  yet  permitted  to 
talk  except  in  a  genuine  logocracy;  where,  it  is  true, 
his  voice  may  often  be  heard,  and  is  listened  to  with 
reverence,  as  "the  voice  of  the  sovereign  people." 
Nay,  so  far  did  he  carry  his  obstinacy,  that  he  abso- 
lutely invited  a  professed  antediluvian  from  the  Gallic 
empire,  who  illuminated  the  whole  country  with  his 

principles and  his  nose.    This  was  enough  to  set 

the  nation  in  a  blaze  ; — every  slang-whanger  resorted 
to  his  tongue  or  his  pen  ;  and  for  seven  years  have 
they  carried  on  a  most  inhuman  war,  in  which  vol- 
umes of  words  have  been  expended,  oceans  of  ink 
have  been  shed ;  nor  has  any  mercy  been  shown  to 
age,  sex,  or  condition.  Every  day  have  these  slang- 
whangers  made  furious  attacks  on  each  other,  and 
upon  their  respective  adherents :  discharging  their 
heavy  artillery,  consisting  of  large  sheets,  loaded 
with  scoundrel !  villain  !  liar  !  rascal !  numskull !  nin- 
compoop !  dunderhead  !  wiseacre  !  blockhead  !  jack- 
ass !  and  I  do  swear,  by  my  beard,  though  1  know 
thou  wilt  scarcely  credit  me,  that  in  some  of  these 
skirmishes  the  grand  bashaw  himself  has  been  wo- 
fully  pelted  !  yea,  most  ignominiously  pelted  ! — and 
yet  have  these  talking  desperadoes  escaped  without 
the  bastinado  ! 

Every  now  and  then  a  slang-whanger,  who  has  a 
longer  head,  or  rather  a  longer  tongue  than  the  rest, 
will  elevate  his  piece  and  discharge  a  shot  quite 
across  the  ocean,  levelled  at  the  head  of  the  em- 
peror of  P' ranee,  the  king  of  England,  or,  wouldst 
though  believe  it,  oh  !  Asem,  even  at  his  sublime 
highness  the  bashaw  of  Tripoli  !  these  long  pieces 
are  loaded  with  single  ball,  or  langrage,  as  tyrant  I 
usurper!  robber!  tyger !  monster!  and  thou  may- 
est  well  suppose  they  occasion  great  distress  and 
dismay  in  the  camps  of  the  enemy,  and  are  marvel- 
lously annoying  to  the  crowned  heads  at  which  they 
are  directed.  The  slang-whanger,  though  perhaps 
the  mere  champion  of  a  village,  having  fired  off  his 
shot,  struts  about  with  great  sell-congratulation, 
chuckling  at  the  prodigious  bustle  he  must  have  oc- 
casioned, and  seems  to  ask  of  every  stranger,  "  well, 
sir,  what  do  they  think  of  me  in  Europe  ?"  *  This  is 
sufficient  to  show  you  the  manner  in  which  these 
bloody,  or  rather  windy  fellows  fight ;  it  is  the  only 
mode  allowable  in  a  logocracy  or  government  of 
words.  I  would  also  observe  that  their  civil  wars 
have  a  thousand  ramifications. 

While  the  fury  of  the  battle  rages  in  the  metrop- 
olis, every  little  town  and  village  has  a  distinct 
broil,  growing  like  excrescences  out  of  the  grand 
national  altercation,  or  rather  agitating  within  it,  like 
those  complicated  pieces  of  mechanism  where  there 
is  a  "wheel  within  a  vv'heel." 

But  in  nothing  is  the  verbose  nature  of  this  gov- 


NOTE,  BY  WILLIAM   WIZARD,   ESQ. 

*  The  sage  Mustapba,  when  he  wrote  the  above  paragraph,  had 
probaLly  in  his  eye  the  following  anecdote  ;  related  either  by 
Linkum  Fideliiis,  or  Josephus  MiUerius,  vulgarly  called  Joe  Miller, 
of  facetious  memory  ; 

The  captain  of  a  slave-vessel,  on  bis  first  landing  oil  the  coast 
of  Guinea,  observed,  under  a  palm-tree,  a  negro  chief,  sitting 
most  majestically  on  a  stump;  while  two  women,  with  wocjffz 
spoons,  were  administering  bis  favourite  pottage  of  boiled  lice; 
which,  as  his  imperial  majesty  was  a  little  greedy,  would  part  of  it 
escape  the  place  of  destination  and  run  down  bis  chin.  The  watch- 
ful attendants  were  particularly  careful  to  intercept  these  scape- 
grace particles,  and  return  them  to  their  proper  port  of  entry. ^  As 
the  captain  approached,  in  order  to  admire  this  curious  exhibitiou 
of  royalty,  the  great  chief  clapped  bis  hands  to  his  sides,  and 
saluted  bis  visitor  with  the  following  pompous  question, '*  well, 
sir  !  what  do  they  say  of  me  m  England  ?" 


SALMAGUNDI. 


667 


emment  more  evident,  than  in  its  grand  national 
divan,  or  congress,  where  the  laws  are  framed  :  this 
is  a  blustering,  windy  assembly,  where  every  thing 
is  carried  by  noise,  tumult  and  debate  ;  for  thou  must 
know,  that  the  members  of  this  assembly  do  not 
meet  together  to  find  wisdom  in  the  multitude  of 
counsellors,  but  to  wrangle,  call  each  other  hard 
names,  and  hear  themselves  talk.  When  the  con- 
gress opens,  the  bashaw  first  sends  them  a  long 
message,  i.  e.,  a  huge  mass  of  words — vox  et preterea 
nihil,  all  meaning  nothing ;  because  it  only  tells  them 
what  they  perfectly  know  already.  Then  the  whole 
assembly  are  thrown  into  a  ferment,  and  have  a  long 
talk  about  the  quantity  of  words  that  are  to  be  re- 
turned in  answer  to  this  message ;  and  here  arises 
many  disputes  about  the  correction  and  alteration 
of  "if  so  he's,"  and  "how  so  ever's."  A  month, 
perhaps,  is  spent  in  thus  determining  the  precise 
number  of  words  the  answer  shall  contain ;  and  then 
another,  most  probably,  in  concluding  whether  it 
shall  be  carried  to  the  bashaw  on  foot,  on  horseback, 
or  in  coaches.  Having  settled  this  weighty  matter, 
they  next  fall  to  work  upon  the  message  itself,  and 
hold  as  much  chattering  over  it  as  so  many  magpies 
over  an  addled  egg.  This  done  they  divide  the  mes- 
sage into  small  portions,  and  deliver  them  into  the 
hands  of  little  juntoes  of  talkers,  called  committees  : 
these  juntoes  have  each  a  world  of  talking  about  their 
respective  paragraphs,  and  return  the  results  to  the 
grand  divan,  which  forthwith  falls  to  and  retalks  the 
matter  over  more  earnestly  than  ever.  Now,  after 
all,  it  is  an  even  chance  that  the  subject  of  this  pro- 
digious arguing,  quarrelling,  and  talking,  is  an  affair 
of  no  importance,  and  ends  entirely  in  smoke.  May 
it  not  then  be  said,  the  whole  nation  have  been  talk- 
ing to  no  purpose .'  The  people,  in  fact,  seem  to  be 
somewhat  conscious  of  this  propensity  to  talk,  by 
which  they  are  characterized,  and  have  a  favourite 
proverb  on  the  subject,  viz. :  "  all  talk  and  no  cider ;" 
this  is  particularly  applied  when  their  congress,  or 
assembly  of  all  the  sage  chatterers  of  the  nation,  have 
chattered  through  a  whole  session,  in  a  time  of  great 
peril  and  momentous  event,  and  have  done  nothing 
but  exhibit  the  length  of  their  tongues  and  the  emp- 
tiness of  their  heads.  This  has  been  the  case  more 
than  once,  my  friend  ;  and  to  let  thee  into  a  secret, 
I  have  been  told  in  confidence,  that  there  have  been 
absolutely  several  old  women  smuggled  into  con- 
gress from  different  parts  of  the  empire  ;  who,  hav- 
ing once  got  on  the  breeches,  as  thou  mayest  well 
imagine,  have  taken  the  lead  in  debate,  and  over- 
whelmed the  whole  assembly  with  their  garrulity ; 
for  my  part,  as  times  go,  I  do  not  see  why  old 
women  should  not  be  as  eligible  to  public  councils 
as  old  men  who  possess  their  dispositions  ; — they 
certainly  are  eminently  possessed  of  the  qualifica- 
tions requisite  to  govern  in  a  logocracy. 

Nothing,  as  I  have  repeatedly  insisted,  can  be  done 
in  this  country  without  talking;  but  they  take  so 
long  to  talk  over  a  measure,  that  by  the  time  they 
have  determined  upon  adopting  it,  the  period  has 
elapsed  which  was  proper  for  carrying  it  into  effect. 
Unhappy  nation  ! — thus  torn  to  pieces  by  intestine 
talks !  never,  I  fear,  will  it  be  restored  to  tranquil- 
lity and  silence.  Words  are  but  breath  ;  breath  is 
but  air;  and  air  put  into  motion  is  nothing  but  wind. 
This  vast  empire,  therefore,  may  be  compared  to 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  mighty  windmill,  and 
the  orators,  and  the  chatterers,  and  theslang-whang- 
ers,  are  the  breezes  that  put  it  in  motion  ;  unluck- 
ily, however,  they  are  apt  to  blow  different  ways, 
and  their  blasts  counteracting  each  other — the  mill 
is  perplexed,  the  wheels  stand  still,  the  grist  is  un- 
ground,  and  the  miller  and  his  family  starved. 

Every  thing  partakes  of  the  windy  nature  of  the 


government.  In  case  of  any  domestic  grievance, 
or  an  insult  from  a  foreign  foe,  the  people  are  all 
in  a  buzz; — town-meetings  are  immediately  held 
where  the  quidnuncs  of  the  city  repair,  each  like 
an  atlas,  with  the  cares  of  the  whole  nation  upon 
his  shoulders,  each  resolutely  bent  upon  saving  his 
country,  and  each  swelling  and  strutting  like  a 
turkey-cock ;  puffed  up  with  words,  and  wind,  and 
nonsense.  After  bustling,  and  buzzing,  and  bawl- 
ing for  some  time  ;  and  after  each  man  has  shown 
himself  to  be  indubitably  the  greatest  personage 
in  the  meeting,  they  pass  a  string  of  resolutions, 
/.  e.  words,  which  were  previously  prepared  for  the 
purpose  ;  these  resolutions  are  whimsically  denomi- 
nated the  sense  of  the  meeting,  and  are  sent  off 
for  the  instruction  of  the  reigning  bashaw,  who  re- 
ceives them  graciously,  puts  them  into  his  red 
breeches  pocket,  forgets  to  read  them — and  so  the 
matter  ends. 

As  to  his  highness,  the  present  bashaw,  who  is 
at  the  very  top  of  the  logocracy,  never  was  a  dig- 
nitary better  qualified  for  his  station.  He  is  a  man 
of  superlative  ventosity,  and  comparable  to  nothing 
but  a  huge  bladder  of  wind.  He  talks  of  van- 
quishing all  opposition  by  the  force  of  reason  and 
philosophy:  throws  his  gauntlet  at  all  the  nations 
of  the  earth,  and  defies  them  to  meet  him — on  the 
field  of  argument ! — is  the  national  dignity  insulted, 
a  case  in  which  his  highness  of  Tripoli  would  im- 
mediately call   forth   his  forces; the  bashaw  of 

America— utters  a  speech.  Does  a  foreign  inva- 
der molest  the  commerce  in  the  very  mouth  of  the 
harbours ;  an  insult  which  would  induce  his  high- 
ness of  Tripoli  to  order  out  his  fleets  ; — his  high- 
ness of  America — utters  a  speech.  Are  the  free 
citizens  of  America  dragged  from  on  board  the  ves- 
sels of  their  country,  and  forcibly  detained  in  the 
war  ships  of  another  power his  highness — ut- 
ters a  speech.  Is  a  peaceable  citizen  killed  by  the 
marauders  of  a  foreign  power,  on  the  very  shores 

of  his  country his  highness  utters  a  speech.— 

Does  an  alarming  insurrection  break  out  in  a  dis- 
tant  part  of  the   empire his   highness   utters  a 

speech  ! — nay,  more,  for  here  he  shows  his  "  ener- 
gies ;  " — he  most  intrepidly  despatches  a  courier  on 
horseback  and  orders  him  to  ride  one  hundred  and 
twenty  miles  a  day,  with  a  most  formidable  army 
of  proclamations,  i.  e.  a  collection  of  words,  packed 
up  in  his  saddle  bags.  He  is  instructed  to  show 
no  favour  nor  affection ;  but  to  charge  the  thickest 
ranks  of  the  enemy;  and  to  speechify  and  batter 
by  words  the  conspiracy  and  the  conspirators  out 
of  existence.  Heavens,  my  friend,  what  a  deal  of 
blustering  is  here  !  it  reminds  me  of  a  dunghill 
cock  in  a  farm-yard,  who,  having  accidentally  in 
his  scratchings  found  a  worm,  immediately  begins 
a  most  vociferous  cackling; — calls  around  him  his 
hen-hearted  companions,  who  run  chattering  from 
all  quarters  to  gobble  up  the  poor  little  worm  that 
happened  to  turn  under  his  eye.  Oh,  Asem  !  Asem  ! 
on  what  a  prodigious  great  scale  is  every  thing  in 
this  country ! 

Thus,  then,  I  conclude  my  observations.  The 
infidel  nations  have  each  a  separate  characteristic 
trait,  by  which  they  may  be  distinguished  from 
each  other: — the  Spaniards,  for  instance,  may  be 
said  to  sleep  upon  every  affair  of  importance; — the 
Italians  to  fiddle  upon  every  thing  ; — the  French  to 
dance  upon  every  thing ; — the  Germans  to  .='7ioke 
upon  every  thing; — the  British  islanders  to  eat  upon 
every  thing  ; — and  the  windy  subjects  of  the  Ameri- 
can logocracy  to  talk  upon  every  thing. 

For  ever  thine, 

MUSTAPHA. 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


FROM  THE  MILL  OF  PINDAR  COCKLOFT, 
ESQ. 


How  oft  in  musing  mood  my  heart  recalls, 
From  grey-beard  father  Time's  oblivious  halls, 
The  modes  and  maxims  of  my  early  day. 
Long  in  those  dark  recesses  stow'd  away  : 
Drags  once  more  to  the  cheerful  realms  of  light 
Those  buckram  fashions,  long  since  lost  in  night, 
And  makes,  like  Endor's  witch,  once  more  to  rise 
My  grogram  grandames  to  my  raptured  eyes  ! 

Shades  of  my  fathers  !  in  your  pasteboard  skirts. 
Your  broidered  waistcoats  and  your  plaited  shirts. 
Your  formal  bag-wigs — wide-extended  cuffs, 
Your  five-inch  chitterlings  and  nine-inch  ruffs  ! 
Gods  !  how  ye  strut,  at  times,  in  all  your  state, 
Amid  the  visions  of  my  thoughtful  pate  ! 
I  see  ye  move  the  solemn  minuet  o'er. 
The  modest  foot  scarce  rising  from  the  floor ; 
Ho  thundering  rigadoon  with  boisterous  prance, 
No  pigeon-wing  disturb  your  contre-dansi. 
But  silent  as  the  gentle  Lethe's  tide, 
Adown  the  festive  maze  ye  peaceful  glide  ! 

Still  in  my  mental  eye  each  dame  appears — 
Each  modest  beauty  of  departed  years  ; 
Close  by  mamma  I  see  her  stately  march 
Or  sit,  in  all  the  majesty  of  starch  ;— - 
When  for  the  dance  a  stranger  seeks  her  hand, 
I  see  her  doubting,  hesitating,  stand  ; 
Yield  to  his  claim  with  most  fastidious  grace, 
And  sigh  for  her  intended  in  his  place  ! 

Ah  !  golden  days  !  when  every  gentle  fair 
On  sacred  Sabbath  conn'd  with  pious  care 
Her  holy  Bible,  or  her  prayer-book  o'er. 
Or  studied  honest  Bunyan's  drowsy  lore  ; 
Travell'd  with  him  the  Pilgrim's  Progress  through. 
And  storm 'd  the  famous  town  of  Man-soul  too : 
Beat  Eye  and  Ear-gate  up  with  thundering  jar. 
And  fought  triumphant  through  the  Holy  War  ; 
Or  if,  perchance,  to  lighter  works  inclined. 
They  sought  with  novels  to  relax  the  mind, 
Twas  Grandison's  politely  formal  page 
Ox  Clelia  or  Pamela  were  the  rage. 

No  plays  were  then — theatrics  were  unknown — 
A  learned  pig — a  dancing  monkey  shown — 
The  feats  of  Punch — a  cunning  juggler's  slight, 
Were  sure  to  fill  each  bosom  with  delight. 
An  honest,  simple,  humdrum  race  we  were, 
Undazzled  yet  by  fashion's  wildering  glare 
Our  manners  unreserved,  devoid  of  guile. 
We  knew  not  then  the  modern  monster  style  : 
Style,  that  with  pride  each  empty  bosom  swells. 
Puffs  boys  to  manhood,  little  girls  to  belles. 

Scarce  from  the  nursery  freed,  our  gentle  fair 
Are  yielded  to  the  dancing-master's  care  ; 
And  e'er  the  head  one  mite  of  sense  can  gain. 
Are  introduced  'mid  folly's  frippery  train. 
A  stranger's  grasp  no  longer  gives  alarms. 
Our  fair  surrender  to  their  very  arms. 
And  in  the  insidious  waltz  (i)  will  swim  and  twine 
And  whirl  and  languish  tenderly  divine  ! 
Oh,  how  I  hate  this  loving,  hugging,  dance  ; 
This  imp  of  Germany — brought  up  in  France  : 
Nor  can  I  see  a  niece  its  windings  trace. 
But  all  the  honest  blood  glows  in  my  face. 
"Sad,  sad  refinement  this,"  I  often  say, 
"  'Tis  modesty  indeed  refined  away  ! 
"Let  France  its  whim,  its  sparkling  wit  supply, 
"The  easy  grace  that  captivates  the  eye ; 
"  But  curse  their  waltz — their  loose  lascivious  arts, 
"That  smooth  our  manners,  to  corrupt  our  hearts  ! "  (2) 
Where  now  those  books,  from  which  in  days  of  yore 
Our  mothers  gain'd  their  literary  store? 
Alas  !  stiff-skirted  Grandison  gives  place 
To  novels  of  a  new  and  rakish  race  ; 
And  honest  Bunyan's  pious  dreaming  lore, 
To  the  lascivious  rhapsodies  of  Moore. 

And,  last  of  all,  behold  the  mimic  stage, 
Its  morals  lend  to  polish  off  the  age, 


With  flimsy  farce,  a  comedy  miscall'd, 
Garnish'd  with  vulgar  cant,  and  proverbs  bald, 
With  puns  most  puny,  and  a  plenteous  store 
Of  smutty  jokes,  to  catch  a  gallery  roar. 
Or  see,  more  fatal,  graced  with  every  art 
To  charm  and  captivate  the  female  heart. 
The  false,  "the  gallant,  gay  Lothario,"  smiles,  (3) 
And  loudly  boasts  his  base  seductive  wiles  ; — 
In  glowing  colours  paints  Calista's  wrongs. 
And  with  voluptuous  scenes  the  tale  prolongs. 
When  Cooi'ER  lends  his  fascinating  powers. 
Decks  vice  itself  in  bright  alluring  flowers. 
Pleased  with  his  manly  grace,  his  youthful  fire, 
Our  fair  are  lured  the  villain  to  admire  ; 
While  humbler  virtue,  like  a  stalking  horse. 
Struts  clumsily  and  croaks  in  honest  Morse. 

Ah,  hapless  days  !  when  trials  thus  combined. 
In  pleasing  garb  assail  the  female  mind  ; 
When  every  smooth  insidious  snare  is  spread 
To  sap  the  morals  and  delude  the  head  ! 
Not  Shadrach,  Meshach  and  Abed-nego, 
To  prove  their  faith  and  virtue  here  below, 
Could  more  an  angel's  helping  hand  require 
To  guide  their  steps  uninjured  through  the  fire. 
Where  had  but  heaven  its  guardian  aid  denied. 
The  holy  trio  in  the  proof  had  died. 
If,  then,  their  manly  vigour  sought  supplies 
From  the  bright  stranger  in  celestial  guise, 
Alas  !  can  we  from  feebler  nature's  claim. 
To  brave  seduction's  ordeal,  free  from  blame  ; 
To  pass  through  fire  unhurt  like  golden  ore, 
Through  ANGEL  missions  bless  the  earth  no  more  ! 


NOTES,  BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,  ESQ. 

I.  [Waltz].  As  many  of  the  reiircd  matrons  of 
this  city,  unskilled  in  " gcstic  lore,"  arc  doubtless 
ignorant  of  the  tnoa/emcnts  and  figures  of  this  mod- 
est exhibition,  I  -will  endeavour  to  give  some  account 
of  it,  in  order  that  they  may  learn  what  odd  capers 
their  daughters  sometimes  cut  when  from  under 
their  guardiati  wings. 

On  a  signal  being  given  by  the  music,  the  o-entle- 
man  seizes  the  lady  round  her  waist;  the  lady, 
scorning  to  be  outdone  in  courtesy,  very  politely  takes 
the  gentleman  round  the  7ieck,  with  one  arm  resting 
against    his    shoulder    to   prevent  encroachments. 

Away  then  they  go,  about,  and  about,  and  about 

"  about  what.  Sir  ?" about  the  room.  Madam,  to 

be  sure.  The  whole  economy  cf  this  dance  consists 
in  turning  round  and  round  the  room  in  a  certain 
measured  step  :  and  it  is  truly  astonishing  that  this 
continued  revolution  does  not  set  all  their  heads 
swimming  like  a  top  ;  but  I  have  been  positively  as- 
sured that  it  only  occasions  a  gentle  sensation  which 
is  marvellously  agreeable.  In  the  course  of  this  cir- 
cumnavigation, the  dancers,  in  order  to  give  the 
charm  of  variety,  are  continually  changing  their 

relative  situations  ; now  the  gentleman,  meaning 

no  harm  in  the  world,  I  assure  you,  Madam,  care- 
lessly flings  his  arm  about  the  lady's  neck,  with  an 
air  of  celestial  impudence ;  and  anon,  the  lady, 
meaning  as  little  harm  as  the  gentleman,  takes  him 
round  the  waist  with  most  ingenuous  modest  lan- 
guishment,  to  the  great  delight  of  numerous  specta- 
tors and  amateurs,  who  generally  form  a  ring,  as 
the  mob  do  about  a  pair  of  amazons  pulling  caps,  or 
a  couple  of  fighting  mastiffs. 

After  continuing  this  divine  interchange  of 
hands,  arms,  et  cetera,  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  the 
lady  begins  to  tire,  and  with  "eyes  upraised,"  in 
most  bewitching  languor  petitions  her  partner  for  a 
little  more  support.  This  is  always  gii/en  without 
hesitation.  Tne  lady  leatis  gently  on  his  shoulder, 
th'ir  arms  entwine  in  a  thousand  seducing,  mis- 
chievous curves don't  be  alarmed.  Madam 

closer  and  closer  they  approach  each  other,  and  in 


SALMAGUNDI. 


669 


conclusion,  the  parties  being  overcome  with  extatic 
fatigue,  the  lady  seems  almost  sinking  into  the  gen- 
tleman s  arms,  and  then "  Well,  Sir,  and  what 

then  .«  " lord.  Madam,  horn  should  I  kncrw  ! 

2].  My  friend  Pitidar,  and,  in  fact,  our  whole 
junto,  has  been  accused  of  an  unreasonable  hostility 
to  the  French  nation:  and  I  am  informed  by  a 
Parisian  correspondent,  that  our  first  number 
played  the  very  devil  in  the  court  of  St.  Cloud. 
His  imperial  majesty  got  into  a  most  outrageous 
passion,  and  being  withal  a  waspish  little  gentle- 
man, had  nearly  kicked  his  bosom  friend,  Talley- 
rand, out  of  the  cabinet,  in  the  paroxysms  of  his 
wrath.  He  insisted  upon  it  that  the  nation  was  as- 
sailed in  its  most  vital  part ;  being,  like  Achilles, 
extremely  sensitive  to  any  attacks  upon  the  heel. 
Whe7i  my  correspondent  sent  off  his  despatches,  it 
was  still  in  doubt  what  measures  wotdd  be  adopted ; 
but  it  was  strongly  suspected  that  vehement  repre- 
sent at  io>is  would  be  made  to  our  government.  Will- 
ing, therefore,  to  save  our  executive  from  any  em- 
barrassment on  the  subject,  and  above  all  from  the 
disagreeable  alternative  of  sending  an  apology  by 
the  Hornet,  we  do  assure  Mr.  Jfferson,  that  there 
is  nothing  further  from  our  thoughts  than  the  sub- 
version of  the  Gallic  empire,  or  a?iy  attack  on  the 
interests,  tranquillity,  or  reputation  of  the  Jiation 
at  large,  which  we  seriously  declare  possesses  the 
highest  rank  in  our  estimation.  Nothing  less  than 
the  national  welfare  could  have  induced  us  to 
trouble  ourselves  with  this  explanation  ;  and  in  the 
name  of  the  junto,  I  once  more  declare,  that  when 
we  toast  a  Frenchman,  we  merely  mean  one  of  these 
inconnus,  wlio  swarmed  to  this  country,  from  the 
kitchens  and  barbers'  shops  of  Nantz,  Bordeaux, 
and  Marseilles  ;  played  game  of  leap-frog  at  all 
our  balls  and  assemblies ; — set  this  unhappy  town 
hopping  mad ; — and  passed  themselves  off  on  our 
tinder-hearted  damsels  for  unfortunate  fioblemen — 
ruined  in  the  revolution  I  such  only  can  wince  at  the 
lash,  and  accuse  us  of  severity ;  and  we  should  be 
mortified  in  the  extreme  if  they  did  not  feel  our 
well-intended  castigation . 

3.  [Fair  PenitentJ.  The  story  of  this  play,  if  told 
in  its  native  language,  would  exhibit  a  scene  of 
guilt  and  shame,  which  no  modest  car  could  listen 
to  without  shrinking  with  disgust ;  but,  arrayed  as 
it  is  in  all  the  splendour  of  harmonious,  rich,  and 
polished  verse,  it  steals  into  the  heart  like  some 
gay,  luxurious,  smooth-faced  villain,  and  betrays  it 
insensibly  to  i'nmorality  and  vice  ;  our  very  sympa- 
thy is  enlisted  on  the  side  of  guilt ;  and  the  piety 
of  Altamont,  and  the  gentleness  of  Lavinia,  are  lost 
in  the  splendid  debaucheries  of  the  "gallant,  gay 
Lothario,"  and  the  blustering,  hollow  repentance  of 
the  fair  Calisto,  whose  sorrow  reminds  us  of  that 
of  Pope's  Heloise — "  /  mourn  the  lover,  not  lament 
the  fault."  Nothing  is  more  easy  than  to  banish 
such  plays  from  our  stage.  Were  our  ladies, 
instead  of  crowding  to  see  them  again  and  again 
repeated,  to  discourage  their  exhibition  ty  abscrue, 
the  stage  wotdd  soon  be  indeed  the  school  of  moral- 
ity, and  the  number  of  "Fair  Penitents,"  in  all 
probability,  diminished. 


No.  VIII.— SATURDAY,  APRIL  18,  1807. 

BY  ANTHONY   EVERGREEN,  GENT. 


**  In  all  thy  humours,  whether  grave  or  mellow, 
Thou'rt  such  a  touchy,  testy,  pleasant  fellow  ; 
Hast  so  much  wit,  and  mirth,  and  spleen  about  thee. 
There  is  no  living  with  thee— nor  without  thee." 

"  Never,  in  tlie  memor)'  of  the  oldest  inhabitant, 
has  there  been  known  a  more  backward  spring." 


This  is  the  universal  remark  among  the  almanac 
quidnuncs  and  weather-wiseacres  of  the  day ;  and  I 
have  heard  it  at  least  fifty-five  times  from  old  Mrs. 
Cockloft,  who,  poor  woman,  is  one  of  those  walking 
almanacs  that  foretell  every  snow,  rain,  or  frost,  by 
the  shooting  of  corns,  a  pain  in  the  bones,  or  an 
"  ugly  stitch  in  the  side."  I  do  not  recollect,  in  the 
whole  course  of  my  life,  to  have  seen  the  month  of 
March  indulge  in  such  untoward  capers,  caprices, 
and  coquetries,  as  it  has  done  this  year :  I  might 
have  forgiven  these  vagaries,  had  they  not  com- 
pletely knocked  up  my  friend  Langstaff,  whose  feel- 
ings are  ever  at  the  mercy  of  a  weathercock,  whose 
spirits  sink  and  rise  with  the  mercury  of  a  barome- 
ter, and  to  whom  an  east  wind  is  as  obno.xious  as  a 
Sicilian  sirocco.  He  was  tempted  some  time  since, 
by  the  fineness  of  the  weather,  to  dress  himself  with 
more  than  ordinary  care  and  take  his  morning  stroll; 
but  before  he  had  half  finished  his  peregrination,  he 
was  utterly  discomfited,  and  driven  home  by  a  tre- 
mendous squall  of  wind,  hail,  rain,  and  snow  ;  or,  as 
he  testily  termed  it,  "  a  most  villainous  congregation 
of  vapors." 

This  was  too  much  for  the  patience  of  friend 
Launcelot ;  he  declared  he  would  humour  the 
weather  no  longer  in  its  whim-whams  ;  and,  accord- 
ing to  his  immemorial  custom  on  these  occasions, 
retreated  in  high  dudgeon  to  his  elbow-chair  to  lie 
in  of  the  spleen  and  rail  at  nature  for  being  so  fan- 
tastical : — "  confound  the  jade,"  he  frequently  ex- 
claims, "  what  a  pity  nature  had  not  been  of  the 
masculine  instead  of  the  feminine  gender;  the  al- 
manac makers  might  then  have  calculated  with  some 
degree  of  certainty." 

When  Langstaff  invests  himself  with  the  spleen, 
and  gives  audience  to  the  blue  devils  from  his  elbow- 
chair,  I  would  not  advise  any  of  his  friends  to  come 
within  gunshot  of  his  citadel  with  the  benevolent 
purpose  of  administering  consolation  or  amusement: 
for  he  is  then  as  crusty  and  crabbed  as  that  famous 
coiner  of  false  money,  Diogenes  himself.  Indeed, 
his  room  is  at  such  times  inaccessible ;  and  old  Pom- 
pey  is  the  only  soul  that  can  gain  admission,  or  ask 
a  question  with  impunity  ;  the  truth  is,  that  on  these 
occasions,  there  is  not  a  straw's  difference  between 
them,  for  Pompey  is  as  grum  and  grim  and  cynical 
as  his  master. 

Launcelot  has  now  been  above  three  weeks  in  this 
desolate  situation,  and  has  therefore  had  but  little  to 
do  in  our  last  number.  As  he  could  not  be  prevailed 
on  to  give  any  account  of  himself  in  our  introduction, 
I  will  take  the  opportunity  of  his  confinement,  while 
his  back  is  turned,  to  give  a  slight  sketch  of  his  char- 
acter ; — fertile  in  whim-whams  and  bachelorisms,  but 
rich  in  many  of  the  sterling  qualities  of  our  nature. 
Annexed  to  this  article,  our  readers  will  perceive  a 
striking  likeness  of  my  friend,  which  was  taken  by 
that  cunning  rogue  Will  Wizard,  who  peeped  through 
the  key-hole  and  sketched  it  off  as  honest  Launcelot 
sat  by  the  fire,  wrapped  up  in  his  flannel  robe  de 
chambre,  and  indulging  in  a  mortal  fit  of  the  hyp. 
Now  take  my  word  for  it,  gentle  reader,  this  is  the 
most  auspicious  moment  in  which  to  touch  off  the 
phiz  of  a  genuine  humorist. 

Of  the  antiquity  of  the  Langstaff  family  I  can  say 
but  little ;  except  that  I  have  no  doubt  it  is  equal  to 
that  of  most  families  who  have  the  privilege  of  mak- 
ing their  own  pedigree,  without  the  impertinent  in- 
terposition of  a  college  of  heralds.  My  friend  Laun- 
celot is  not  a  man  to  blazon  any  thing ;  but  1  have 
heard  him  talk  with  great  complacency  of  his  ances- 
tor. Sir  Rowland,  who  was  a  dashing  buck  in  the 
days  of  Hardiknute,  and  broke  the  head  of  a  gigantic 
Dane,  at  a  game  of  quarter-staff',  in  presence  of  the 
whole  court.     In  memory  of  this  gallant  exploit,  Sir 


870 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Rowland  was  permitted  to  take  the  name  of  Lang- 
stoffe,  and  to  assume,  as  a  crest  to  his  arms,  a  hand 
grasping  a  cudgel.  It  is,  however,  a  foible  so  ridicu- 
lously common  in  this  country  for  people  to  claim 
consanguinity  with  all  the  great  personages  of  their 
owti  name  in  Europe,  that  I  should  put  but  little 
faith  in  this  family  boast  of  friend  Langstaff,  did  I 
not  know  him  to  be  a  man  of  most  unquestionable 
veracity. 

The  whole  world  knows  already  that  my  friend  is 
a  bachelor  ;  for  he  is,  or  pretends  to  be,  exceedingly 
proud  of  his  personal  independence,  and  takes  care 
to  make  it  known  in  all  companies  where  strangers 
are  present.  He  is  forever  vaunting  the  precious 
state  of  "  single  blessedness  ;"  and  was  not  long  ago 
considerably  startled  at  a  proposition  of  one  of  his 
great  favourites.  Miss  Sophy  Sparkle,  "  that  old  bach- 
elors should  be  taxed  as  luxuries."  Launcelot  im- 
mediately hied  him  home  and  wrote  a  tremendous 
long  representation  in  their  behalf,  which  I  am  re- 
solved to  publish  if  it  is  ever  attempted  to  carry  the 
measure  into  operation.  Whether  he  is  sincere  in 
these  professions,  or  whether  his  present  situation  is 
owing  to  choice  or  disappointment,  he  only  can  tell  ; 
but  if  he  ever  does  tell,  I  will  suffer  myself  to  be  shot 
by  the  first  lady's  eye  that  can  twang  an  arrow.  In 
his  youth  he  was  for  ever  in  love ;  but  it  was  his 
misfortune  to  be  continually  crossed  and  rivalled  by 
his  bosom  friend  and  contemporary  beau,  Pindar 
Cockloft,  Esq.,  for  as  Langstaff  never  made  a  con- 
fidant on  these  occasions,  his  friend  never  knew 
vi^hich  way  his  affections  pointed ;  and  so,  between 
them  both,  the  lady  generally  slipped  through  their 
fingers. 

It  has  ever  been  the  misfortune  of  Launcelot  that 
he  could  not  for  the  soul  of  him  restrain  a  good 
thing;  and  this  fatality  has  drawn  upon  him  the  ill 
will  of  many  whom  he  would  not  have  offended  for 
the  world.  With  the  kindest  heart  under  heaven, 
and  the  most  benevolent  disposition  towards  every 
being  around  him,  he  has  been  continually  betrayed 
by  the  mischievous  vivacity  of  his  fancy,  and  the 
good-humoured  waggeiy  of  his  feelings,  into  satiri- 
cal sallies  which  have  been  treasured  up  by  the  in- 
vidious, and  retailed  out  with  the  bitter  sneer  of 
malevolence,  instead  of  the  playful  hilarity  of  coun- 
tenance which  originally  sweetened  and  tempered 
and  disarmed  them  of  their  sting. — These  misrepre- 
sentations have  gained  him  many  reproaches  and 
lost  him  many  a  friend. 

This  unlucky  characteristic  played  the  mischief 
with  him  in  one  of  his  love  affairs.  He  was,  as  I 
have  before  observed,  often  opposed  in  his  gallantries 
by  that  formidable  rival,  Pindar  Cockloft,  Esq.,  and 
a  most  formidable  rival  he  was ;  for  he  had  Apollo, 
the  nine  muses,  together  with  all  the  joint  tenants 
of  Olympus  to  back  him  ;  and  every  body  knows 
what  important  confederates  they  are  to  a  lover. 
Poor  Launcelot  stood  no  chance ; — the  lady  was 
cooped  up  in  the  poet's  corner  of  every  weekly  pa- 
per; and  at  length  Pindar  attacked  her  with  a  son- 
net that  took  up  a  whole  column,  in  which  he  enu- 
merated at  least  a  dozen  cardinal  virtues,  together 
with  innumerable  others  of  inferior  consideration. 
Launcelot  saw  his  case  was  desperate,  and  that  un- 
less he  sat  down  forthwith,  be-cherubimed  and  be- 
angeled  her  to  the  skies,  and  put  every  virtue  under 
the  sun  in  requisition,  he  might  as  well  go  hang 
himself  and  so  make  an  end  of  the  business.  At  it, 
therefore,  he  went ;  and  was  going  on  very  swim- 
mingly, for,  in  the  space  of  a  dozen  lines  he  had  en- 
listed under  her  command  at  least  three  score  and 
ten  substantial  housekeeping  virtues,  when,  unluckily 
for  Launcelot's  reputation  as  a  poet  and  the  lady's 
as  a  saint,  one  of  those  confounded  good  thoughts 


struck  his  laughter-loving  brain  ; — it  was  irresistible ; 
away  he  went  full  sweep  before  the  wind,  cutting 
and  slashing  and  tickled  to  death  with  his  own  fun : 
the  consequence  was,  that  by  the  time  he  had  fin- 
ished, never  was  poor  lady  so  most  ludicrously  lam- 
pooned since  lampooning  came  into  fashion.  But 
this  was  not  half; — so  hugely  was  Launcelot  pleased 
with  this  frolic  of  his  wits,  that  nothing  would  do 
but  he  must  show  it  to  the  lady,  who,  as  well  she 
might,  was  mortally  offended,  and  forbid  him  her 
presence.  My  friend  was  in  despair ;  but  through 
the  interference  of  his  generous  rival,  was  permitted 
to  make  his  apology,  which,  however,  most  unluckily 
happened  to  be  rather  worse  than  the  original  of- 
fence;  for  though  he  had  studied  an  eloquent  com- 
pliment, yet,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  a  most  pre- 
posterous whim-wham  knocked  at  his  pericranium, 
and  inspired  him  to  say  some  consummate  good 
things,  which  all  put  together  amounted  to  a  down- 
right hoax,  and  provoked  the  lady's  wrath  to  such 
a  degree  that  sentence  of  eternal  banishment  was 
awarded  against  him. 

Launcelot  was  inconsolable,  and  determined,  in 
the  true  style  of  novel  heroics,  to  make  the  tour  of 
Europe,  and  endeavour  to  lose  the  recollection  of 
this  misfortune  amongst  the  gayeties  of  France  and 
the  classic  charms  of  Italy  ;  he  accordingly  took  pas- 
sage in  a  vessel  and  pursued  his  voyage  prosperously 
as  far  as  Sandy  Hook,  where  he  was  seized  with  a 
violent  tit  of  sea-sickness ;  at  which  he  was  so  af- 
fronted that  he  put  his  portmanteau  into  the  first 
pilot-boat  and  returned  to  town  completely  cured  of 
his  love  and  his  rage  for  travelling. 

I  pass  over  the  subsequent  amours  of  my  friend 
Langstaff,  being  but  little  acquainted  with  them  ;  for, 
as  I  have  already  mentioned,  he  never  was  known  to 
make  a  confidant  of  any  body.  He  always  affirmed 
a  man  must  be  a  fool  to  fall  in  love,  but  an  idiot  to 
boast  of  it ; — ever  denominated  it  the  villainous  pas- 
sion ; — lamented  that  it  could  not  be  cudgelled  out 
of  the  human  heart ; — and  yet  could  no  more  live 
without  being  in  love  with  somebody  or  other  than 
he  could  without  whim-whams. 

My  friend  Launcelot  is  a  man  of  excessive  irrita- 
bility of  nerve,  and  I  am  acquainted  with  no  one  so 
susceptible  of  the  petty  "  miseries  of  human  life  ; " 
yet  its  keener  evils  and  misfortunes  he  bears  without 
shrinking,  and  however  they  may  prey  in  secret  on 
his  happiness,  he  never  complains.  This  was  strik- 
ingly evinced  in  an  affair  where  his  heart  was  deeply 
and  irrevocably  concerned,  and  in  which  his  success 
was  ruined  by  one  for  whom  he  had  long  cherished 
a  warm  friendship.  The  circumstance  cut  poor 
Langstaff  to  the  very  soul ;  he  was  not  seen  in  com- 
pany for  months  afterwards,  and  for  a  long  time  he 
seemed  to  retire  within  himself,  and  battle  with  the 
poignancy  of  his  feelings ;  but  not  a  murmur  or  a 
reproach  was  heard  to  fall  from  his  lips,  though,  at 
the  mention  of  his  friend's  name,  a  shade  of  melan- 
choly might  be  observed  stealing  across  his  face,  and 
his  voice  assumed  a  touching  tone,  that  seemed  to 
say,  he  remembered  his  treachery  "  more  in  sorrow 
than  in  anger." — This  affair  has  given  a  slight  tinge 
of  sadness  to  his  disposition,  which,  however,  does 
not  prevent  his  entering  into  the  amusements  of  the 
world ;  the  only  effect  it  occasions,  is,  that  you  may 
occasionally  observe  him,  at  the  end  of  a  lively  con- 
versation, sink  for  a  few  minutes  into  an  apparent 
forgetfulness  of  surrounding  objects,  during  which 
time  he  seems  to  be  indulging  in  some  melancholy 
retrospection. 

Langstaff  inherited  from  his  father  a  love  of  liter- 
ature, a  disposition  for  castle-building,  a  mortal  en- 
mity to  noise,  a  sovereign  antipathy  to  cold  weather 
and  brooms,  and  a  plentiful  stock  of  whim-whams. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


671 


From  the  delicacy  of  his  nerves  he  is  peculiarly  sen- 
sible to  discordant  sounds  ;  the  rattling  of  a  wheel- 
barrow is  "horrible  ;"  the  noise  of  children  "drives 
him  distracted  ;  "  and  he  once  left  excellent  lodgings 
merely  because  the  lady  of  the  house  wore  high-heel- 
ed shoes,  in  which  she  clattered  up  and  down  stairs, 
till,  to  use  his  own  emphatic  expression,  "  they  made 
life  loathsome  "  to  him.  He  suffers  annual  martyr- 
dom from  the  razor-edged  zephyrs  of  our  "  balmy 
spring,"  and  solemnly  declares  that  the  lioa^ted 
month  of  May  has  become  a  perfect  "  vagabond." 
As  some  people  have  a  great  antipathy  to  cats,  and 
can  tell  when  one  is  locked  up  in  a  closet,  so  Launce- 
lot  declares  his  feelings  always  announce  to  him  the 
neighbourhood  of  a  Uroom  ;  a  household  implement 
which  he  abominates  above  all  others.  Nor  is  there 
any  living  animal  in  the  world  that  he  holds  in  more 
utter  abhorrence  than  what  is  usually  termed  a  not- 
able house-wife ;  a  pestilent  being,  who,  he  protests, 
is  the  bane  of  good  fellowship,  and  has  a  heavy 
charge  to  answer  for  the  many  offences  committed 
against  the  ease,  comfort,  and  social  enjoyments  of 
sovereign  man.  He  told  me,  not  long  ago,  "  that  he 
had  rather  see  one  of  the  weird  sisters  flourish  through 
his  key-hole  on  a  broomstick,  than  one  of  the  servant 
maids  enter  the  door  with  a  besom." 

My  friend  Launcelot  is  ardent  and  sincere  in  his 
attachments,  which  are  confined  to  a  chosen  few, 
in  whose  society  he  loves  to  give  free  scope  to  his 
whimsical  imagination  ;  he,  however,  mingles  freely 
with  the  world,  though  more  as  a  spectator  than  an 
actor;  and  without  an  anxiety,  or  hardly  a  care  to 
please,  is  generally  received  with  welcome  and  lis- 
tened to  with  complacency.  When  he  extends  his 
hand  it  is  in  a  free,  open,  liberal  style ;  and  when 
you  shake  it,  you  feel  his  honest  heart  throb  in  its 
pulsations.  Though  rather  fond  of  gay  exhibitions, 
he  does  not  appear  so  frequently  at  balls  and  assem- 
blies since  the  introduction  of  the  drum,  trumpet, 
and  tamborin  :  all  of  which  he  abhors  on  account  of 
the  rude  attacks  they  make  on  his  organs  of  hear- 
ing:—in  short,  such  is  his  antipathy  to  noise,  that 
though  exceedingly  patriotic,  yet  he  retreats  every 
fourth  of  Julv  to  Cockloft  Hall,  in  order  to  get  out 
of  the  way  of  the  hub-bub  and  confusion  which  make 
so  considerable  a  part  of  the  pleasure  of  that  splendid 
anniversary. 

I  intend  this  article  as  a  mere  sketch  of  Lang- 
stafTs  multifarious  character ;  his  innumerable  whim- 
whams  will  be  exhibited  by  himself,  in  the  course  of 
this  work,  in  all  their  strange  varieties ;  and  the 
machinery  of  his  mind,  more  intricate  than  the  most 
subtle  piece  of  clock-work,  be  fully  explained.  And 
trust  me,  gentlefolk,  his  are  the  whim-whams  of  a 
courteous  gentleman  full  of  most  excellent  qualities ; 
honourable  in  his  disposition,  independent  in  his 
sentiments,  and  of  unbounded  good  nature,  as  may 
be  seen  through  all  his  works. 


ON   STYLE. 

BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,  ESQ. 

Style,  a  manner  of  writing ;  title  ;  pin  of  a  dial ;  the 
pistil  of  plants. — Johnson. 

Style,  is style. — Linkum  Fidelius. 


Now  I  would  not  give  a  straw  for  either  of  the 
above  definitions,  though  I  think  the  latter  is  by  far 
the  most  satisfactory:  and  I  do  wish  sincerely  every 
modern  numskull,  who  takes  hold  of  a  subject  he 
knows  notnmg  about,  would  adopt  honest  Linkum's 


mode  of  explanation.  Blair's  Lectures  on  this  article 
have  not  thrown  a  whit  more  light  on  the  subject  of 
my  inquiries  ;  they  puzzled  me  just  as  much  as  did 
the  learned  and  laborious  expositions  and  illustrations 
of  the  worthy  professor  of  our  college,  in  the  middle 
of  which  I  generally  had  the  ill  luck  to  fall  asleep. 

This  same  word  style,  though  but  a  diminutive 
word,  assumes  to  itself  more  contradictions,  and  sig- 
nifications, and  eccentricities,  than  any  monosyllable 
in  the  language  is  legitimately  entitled  to.  It  is  an 
arrant  little  humorist  of  a  word,  and  full  of  whim- 
whams,  which  occasions  me  to  like  it  hugely  ;  but  it 
puzzled  me  most  wickedly  on  my  first  return  from  a 
long  residence  abroad,  having  crept  into  fashionable 
use  during  my  absence ;  and  had  it  not  been  for 
friend  Evergreen,  and  that  thrifty  sprig  of  knowledge, 
Jeremy  Cockloft  the  younger,  I  should  have  remain- 
ed to  this  day  ignorant  of  its  meaning. 

Though  it  would  .seem  that  the  people  of  all  coun- 
tries are  equally  vehement  in  the  pursuit  of  this 
phantom,  style,  yet  in  almost  all  of  them  there  is  a 
strange  diversity  in  opinion  as  to  what  constitutes 
its  essence;  and  every  different  class,  like  the  pagan 
nations,  adore  it  under  a  different  form.  In  England, 
for  instance,  an  honest  cit  packs  up  himself,  his  fam- 
ily, and  his  style,  in  a  buggy  or  tim-vvhisky,  and 
rattles  away  on  Sunday  with  his  fair  partner  bloom- 
ing beside  him,  like  an  eastern  bride,  and  two  chubby 
children,  squatting  like  Chinese  images  at  his  feet. 
A  Baronet  requires  a  chariot  and  pair ; — a  Lord 
must  needs  have  a  barouche  and  four ; — but  a  Duke 
— oh  !  a  Duke  cannot  possibly  lumber  his  style  along 
under  a  coach  and  six,  and  half  a  score  of  footmen 
into  the  bargain.  In  China  a  puissant  Mandarin 
loads  at  least  three  elephants  with  style  ;  and  an 
overgrown  sheep  at  the  Cape  of  Good-Hope,  trails 
along  his  tail  and  his  style  on  a  wheelbarrow.  In 
Egypt,  or  at  Constantinople,  style  consists  in  the 
quantity  of  fur  and  fine  clothes  a  lady  can  put  on 
without  danger  of  suffocation ;  here  it  is  otherwise, 
and  consists  in  the  quantity  she  can  put  off  without 
the  risk  of  freezing.  A  Chinese  lady  is  thought 
prodigal  of  her  charms  if  she  expose  the  tip  of  her 
nose,  or  the  ends  of  her  fingers,  to  the  ardent  gaze 
of  bystanders:  and  I  recollect  that  all  Canton  was 
in  a  buzz  in  consequence  of  the  great  belle,  Miss 
Nangfous,  peeping  out  of  the  window  with  her  face 
uncovered  !  Here  the  style  is  to  show  not  only  the 
face,  but  the  neck,  shoulders,  &c. ;  and  a  lady  never 
presumes  to  hide  them  except  when  she  is  not  at 
home,  and  not  sufficiently  undressed  to  see  com- 
pany. 

This  style  has  ruined  the  peace  and  harmony  of 
many  a  worthy  household ;  for  no  sooner  do  they  set 
up  for  style,  but  instantly  all  the  honest  old  comfort- 
able sans  ceremonie  furniture  is  discarded  ;  and  you 
stalk,  cautiously  about,  amongst  the  uncomfortable 
splendour  of  Grecian  chairs,  Egyptian  tables,  Turkey 
carpets,  and  Etruscan  vases. — This  vast  improve- 
ment in  furniture  demands  an  increase  in  the  do- 
mestic establishment ;  and  a  family  that  once  re- 
quired two  or  three  servants  for  convenience,  now 
employs  half  a  dozen  for  style. 

Bell-brazen,  late  favourite  of  my  unfortunate 
friend  Dessalines,  was  one  of  these  patterns  of  style  ; 
and  whatever  freak  she  was  seized  with,  however 
preposterous,  was  implicitly  followed  by  all  who 
would  be  considered  as  admitted  in  the  stylish  ar- 
cana. She  was  once  seized  with  a  whim-wham  that 
tickled  the  whole  court.  She  could  not  lay  down  to 
take  an  afternoon's  loll,  but  she  must  have  one  serv- 
ant to  scratch  her  head,  two  to  tickle  her  feet,  and 
a  fourth  to  fan  her  delectable  person  while  she  slum- 
bered. The  thing  took ;— it  become  the  rage,  and 
not  a  sable  belle  in  all  Hayti  but  what  insisted  upon 


678 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


being  fanned,  and  scratched,  and  tickled  in  the  true 
imperial  style.  Sneer  not  at  this  picture,  my  most 
excellent  townswomen,  for  who  among  you  but  are 
daily  following  fashions  equally  absurd  ! 

Style,  according  to  Evergreen's  account,  consists 
in  certain  fashions,  or  certain  eccentricities,  or  cer- 
tain manners  of  certain  people,  in  certain  situations, 
and  possessed  of  a  certain  share  of  fashion  or  im- 
portance. A  red  cloak,  for  instance,  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  an  old  market-woman  is  regarded  with  con- 
tempt ;  it  is  vulgar,  it  is  odious : — fling,  however,  its 
usurping  rival,  a  red  shawl,  over  the  fine  figure  of  a 
fashionable  belle,  and  let  her  flame  away  with  it  in 
Broadway,  or  in  a  ball-room,  and  it  is  immediately 
declared  to  be  the  style. 

The  modes  of  attaining  this  certain  situation, 
which  entitle  its  holder  to  style,  are  various  and  op- 
posite ;  the  most  ostensible  is  the  attainment  of 
wealth ;  the  possession  of  which  changes,  at  once, 
the  pert  airs  of  vulgar  ignorance  into  fashionable 
ease  and  elegant  vivacity.  It  is  highly  amusing  to 
observe  the  gradation  of  a  famdy  aspiring  to  style, 
and  the  devious  windings  diey  pursue  in  order  to 
attain  it.  While  beating  up  against  wind  and  tide 
they  are  the  most  complaisant  beings  in  the  world  ; 
— they  keep  "  booing  and  booing,"  as  M'Sycophant 
says,  until  you  would  suppose  them  incapable  of 
standing  upright ;  they  kiss  their  hands  to  every 
body  who  has  the  least  claim  to  style ;  their  famil- 
iarity is  intolerable,  and  they  absolutely  overwhelm 
you  with  their  friendship  and  loving-kindness.  But 
having  once  gained  the  envied  pre-eminence,  never 
were  beings  in  the  world  more  changed.  They  as- 
sume the  most  intolerable  caprices  ;  at  one  time,  ad- 
dress you  with  importunate  sociability  ;  at  another, 
pass  you  by  with  silent  indifference  ;  sometimes  sit 
up  in  their  chairs  in  all  the  majesty  of  dignified  si- 
lence ;  and  at  another  time  bounce  about  with  all 
the  obstreperous  ill-bred  noise  of  a  litle  hoyden  just 
broke  loose  from  a  boarding-school. 

Another  feature  which  distinguishes  these  new- 
made  fashionables,  is  the  inveteracy  with  which  they 
look  down  upon  the  honest  people  who  are  strug- 
gling to  climb  up  to  the  same  envied  height.  They 
never  fail  to  salute  them  with  the  most  sarcastic  re- 
flections ;  and  like  so  many  worthy  hodmen,  clam- 
bering a  ladder,  each  one  looks  down  upon  his  next 
neighbour  below  and  makes  no  scruple  of  shaking 
the  dust  off  his  shoes  into  his  eyes.  Thus  by  dint 
of  perseverance,  merely,  they  come  to  be  considered 
as  established  denizens  of  the  great  world ;  as  in 
some  barbarous  nations  an  oyster-shell  is  of  sterling 
value,  and  a  copper-washed  counter  will  pass  current 
for  genuine  gold. 

In  no  instance  have  I  seen  this  grasping  after  style 
more  whimsically  exhibited,  than  in  the  family  of 
my  old  acquaintance,  Timothy  Giblet. — I  recol- 
lect old  Giblet  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  he  was  the 
most  surly  curmudgeon  I  ever  knew.  He  was  a  per- 
fect scare-crow  to  the  small-fry  of  the  day,  and  in- 
herited the  hatred  of  all  these  unlucky  little  shavers  ; 
for  never  could  we  assemble  about  his  door  of  an 
evening  to  play,  and  make  a  little  hub-bub,  but  out  he 
sallied  from  his  nest  like  a  spider,  flourished  his  formid- 
able horse-whip,  and  dispersed  the  whole  crew  in  the 
twinkling  of  a  lamp.  I  perfectly  remember  a  bill  he 
sent  in  to  my  father  for  a  pane  of  glass  I  had  acci- 
dentally broken,  which  came  well-nigh  getting  me  a 
sound  flogging ;  and  I  remember,  as  perfectly,  that 
the  next  night  I  revenged  myself  by  breaking  half  a 
dozen.  Giblet  was  as  arrant  a  grub  worm  as  ever 
crawled ;  and  the  only  rules  of  right  and  wrong  he 
cared  a  button  for,  were  the  rules  of  multiplication 
and  addition  ;  which  he  practiced  much  more  suc- 
cessfully than  he  did  any  of  the  rules  of  religion  or 


morality.  He  used  to  declare  they  were  the  true 
golden  rules ;  and  he  took  special  care  to  put  Cock- 
er's arithmetic  in  the  hands  of  his  children,  before 
they  had  read  ten  pages  in  the  Bible  or  the  prayer- 
book.  The  practice  of  these  favourite  maxims  was 
at  length  crowned  with  the  harvest  of  success ;  and 
after  a  life  of  incessant  self-denial,  and  starvation, 
and  after  enduring  all  the  pounds,  shillings,  and 
pence  miseries  of  a  miser,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  himself  worth  a  plum  and  of  dying  just  as  he 
had  determined  to  enjoy  the  remainder  of  his  days 
in  contemplating  his  great  wealth  and  accumulating 
mortgages. 

His  children  inherited  his  money';  but  they  buried 
the  disposition,  and  every  other  memorial  of  their 
father,  in  his  grave.  Fired  with  a  noble  thirst  for 
style,  they  instantly  emerged  from  the  retired  lane 
in  which  themselves  and  their  accomplishments  had 
hitherto  been  buried  ;  and  they  blazed,  and  they 
whizzed,  and  they  cracked  about  town,  like  a  nest 
of  squibs  and  devils  in  a  firework.  I  can  liken  their 
sudden  eclat  to  nothing  but  that  of  the  locust,  which 
is  hatched  in  the  dust,  where  it  increases  and  swells 
up  to  maturity,  and  after  feeling  for  a  moment  the 
vivifying  rays  of  the  sun,  bursts  forth  a  mighty  in- 
sect, and  flutters,  and  rattles,  and  buzzes  from  every 
tree.  The  little  warblers  who  have  long  cheered  the 
woodlands  with  their  dulcet  notes,  are  stunned  by 
the  discordant  racket  of  these  upstart  intruders,  and 
contemplate,  in  contemptuous  silence,  their  tinsel 
and  their  noise. 

Having  once  started,  the  Giblets  were  determined 
that  nothing  should  stop  them  in  their  career,  until 
they  had  run  their  full  course  and  arrived  at  the  very 
tip-top  of  style.  Every  tailor,  every  shoe-maker, 
every  coach-maker,  every  milliner,  every  mantua- 
maker,  every  paper-hanger,  every  piano  teacher,  and 
every  dancing  master  in  the  city,  were  enlisted  in 
their  service;  and  the  willing  wights  most  courte- 
ously answered  their  call ;  and  fell  to  work  to  build 
up  the  fame  of  the  Giblets,  as  they  had  done  that  ol 
many  an  aspiring  family  before  them.  In  a  little 
time  the  young  ladies  could  dance  the  waltz,  thunder 
Lodoiska,  murder  French,  kill  time,  and  commit  vio- 
lence on  the  face  of  nature  in  a  landscape  in  water- 
colours,  equal  to  the  best  lady  in  the  land  ;  and  the 
young  gentlemen  were  seen  lounging  at  corners  of 
streets,  and  driving  tandem ;  heard  talking  loud  at 
the  theatre,  and  laughing  in  church  ;  with  as  much 
ease,  and  grace,  and  modesty,  as  if  they  had  been 
gentlemen  all  the  days  of  their  lives. 

And  the  Giblets  arrayed  themselves  in  scarlet,  and 
in  fine  linen,  and  seated  themselves  in  high  places ; 
but  nobody  noticed  them  except  to  honour  them 
with  a  little  contempt.  The  Giblets  made  a  prodig- 
ious splash  in  their  own  opinion  ;  but  nobody  ex- 
tolled them  except  the  tailors,  and  the  milliners, 
who  had  been  employed  in  manufacturing  their  para- 
phernalia. The  Giblets  thereupon  being,  .like  Caleb 
Quotem,  determined  to  have  "  a  place  at  the  review," 
fell  to  work  more  fiercely  than  ever;— they  gave 
dinners,  and  they  gave  balls,  they  hired  cooks,  they 
hired  fiddlers,  they  hired  confectioners  ;  and  they 
would  have  kept  a  newspaper  in  pay,  had  they  not 
been  all  bought  up  at  that  time  for  the  eU-ction. 
They  invited  the  dancing-men  and  the  dancing- 
women,  and  the  gormandizers,  and  the  epicures  of 
the  city,  to  come  and  make  merry  at  their  expense  ; 
and  the  dancing-men,  and  the  dancing-women, 
and  the  epicures,  and  the  gormandizers,  did  come ; 
and  they  did  make  merry  at  their  expense  ;  and 
they  eat,  and  they  drank,  and  they  capered,  and 
they  danced,  and  they — laughed  at  their  entertainers. 

Then  commenced  the  hurry  and  the  bustle,  and 
the  mighty  nothingness  of  fashionable  lite;— such 


SALMAGUNDI. 


G73 


rattling  in  coaches !  such  flaunting  in  the  streets  ! 
such  slamming  of  box  doors  at  the  theatre  !  such  a 
tempest  of  bustle  and  unmeaning  noise  wherever 
they  appeared  !  the  Giblets  were  seen  here  and  there 
and  everywhere  ; — they  visited  every  body  they  knew, 
and  every  body  they  did  not  know  ;  and  there  was  no 
getting  along  for  the  Giblets. — Their  plan  at  length 
succeeded.  By  dint  of  dinners,  of  feeding  and  frol- 
icking the  town,  the  Giblet  family  worked  them- 
selves into  notice,  and  enjoyed  the  ineffable  pleasure 
of  being  for  ever  pestered  by  visitors,  who  cared 
nothing  about  them  ;  of  being  squeezed,  and  smoth- 
ered, and  parboiled  at  nightly  balls,  and  evening  tea- 
parties  ; — they  were  allowed  the  privilege  of  forget- 
ting the  very  few  old  friends  they  once  possessed  ;— 
they  turned  their  noses  up  in  the  wind  at  every  thing 
that  was  not  genteel ;  and  their  superb  manners 
and  sublime  affectation  at  length  left  it  no  longer  a 
matter  of  doubt  that  the  Giblets  were  perfectly  in 
style. 


" Being, as  itwere.a  small  contentmente  in  a  never  content- 
ing subjecte  ;  a  bitter  pleasaunte  taste  of  a  sweete  seasoned  sower; 
and,  all  in  all,  a  more  than  ordinarie  rejoycing,  in  an  cxtraordi- 
narie  sorrow  of  delyghts." 

Link.  Fidelius. 

We  have  been  considerably  edified  of  late  by  sev- 
eral letters  of  advice  from  a  number  of  sage  cor- 
respondents, who  really  seem  to  know  more  about 
our  work  than  we  do  ourselves.  One  warns  us 
.against  saying  any  thing  more  about  Snivers,  who 
is  a  very  particular  friend  of  the  writer,  and  who 
has  a  singular  disinclination  to  be  laughed  at. — This 
correspondent  in  particular  inveighs  against  per- 
sonalities, and  accuses  us  of  ill  nature  in  bring- 
ing forward  old  Fungus  and  Billy  Dimple,  as  figures 
of  fun  to  amuse  the  public.  Another  gentleman, 
who  states  that  he  is  a  near  relation  of  the  Cock- 
lofts, proses  away  most  soporifically  on  the  impro- 
priety of  ridiculing  a  respectable  old  family  ;  and 
declares  that  if  we  make  them  and  their  whim- 
v/hams  the  subject  of  any  more  essays,  he  shall  be 
under  the  necessity  of  applymg  to  our  theatrical 
champions  for  satisfaction.  A  third,  who  by  the 
crabbedness  of  the  hand-writing,  and  a  few  care- 
less inaccuracies  in  the  spelling,  appears  to  be  a 
lady,  assures  us  that  the  Miss  Cocklofts,  and  Miss 
Diana  Wearwell,  and  Miss  Dashaway,  and  Mrs. 
— -  Will  Wizard's  quondam  flame,  are  so  much 
obliged  to  us  for  our  notice,  that  they  intend  in 
future  to  take  no  notice  of  us  at  all,  but  leave  us  out 
I'f  all  their  tea-parties  ;  for  which  we  make  them 
one  of  our  best  bows,  and  say,  "  thank  you,  ladies." 

We  wish  to  heaven  these  good  people  would  at- 
tend to  their  own  affairs,  if  they  have  any  to  attend 
to,  and  let  us  alone.  It  is  one  of  the  most  provok- 
ing things  in  the  world  that  we  cannot  tickle  the 
public  a  little,  merely  for  our  own  private  amuse- 
ment, but  we  must  be  crossed  and  jostled  by  these 
meddling  incendiaries,  and,  in  fact,  have  the  whole 
town  about  our  ears.  We  are  much  in  the  same 
'situation  with  an  unlucky  blade  of  a  cockney  ;  who, 
having  mounted  his  bit  of  blood  to  enjoy  a  little  in- 
nocent recreation,  and  display  his  horsemanship  along 
Broadway,  is  worried  by  all  those  little  yelping  curs 
that  infest  our  city  ;  and  who  never  fail  to  sally  out 
and  growl,  and  bark,  and  snarl,  to  the  great  annoy- 
ance of  the  Birmingham  equestrian. 

Wisely  was  it  said  by  the  sage  Linkum  Fidelius, 
"  howbeit,  moreover,  nevertheless,  this  thrice  wicked 
lowne  is  charged  up  to  the  muzzle  with  all  manner 
of  ill-natures  and  uncharitablenesses,  and  is,  more- 
over, exceedinglie  naughte."  This  passage  of  the 
erudite  Linkum  was  applied  to  the  city  of  Gotham, 
43 


of  which  he  was  once  Lord  Mayor,  as  appears  by 
his  picture  hung  up  in  the  hall  of  that  ancient  city  ; — 
but  his  observation  fits  this  best  of  all  possible  cities 
"to  a  hair."  It  is  a  melancholy  truth  that  this 
same  New- York,  though  the  most  charming,  pleasant, 
polished,  and  praise-worthy  city  under  the  sun,  and, 
in  a  word,  the  bonne  bouche  of  the  universe,  is  most 
shockingly  ill-natured  and  sarcastic,  and  wickedly 
given  to  all  manner  of  backslidings  ; — for  which  we 
are  very  sorry  indeed.  In  truth,  for  it  must  come  out 
like  murder  one  time  or  other,  the  inhabitants  are 
not  only  ill-natured,  but  manifestly  unjust :  no  sooner 
do  they  get  one  of  our  random  sketches  in  their 
hands,  but  instantly  they  apply  it  most  unjustifiably 
to  some  "  dear  friend,"  and  then  accuse  us  vocifer- 
ously of  the  personality  which  originated  in  their 
own  officious  friendship !  Truly  it  is  an  ill-natured 
town,  and  most  earnestly  do  we  hope  it  may  not 
meet  with  the  fate  of  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  of  old. 

As,  however,  it  may  be  thought  incumbent  upon 
us  to  make  some  apology  for  these  mistakes  of  the 
town  ;  and  as  our  good-nature  is  truly  exemplary, 
we  would  certainly  answer  this  expectation  were  it 
not  that  we  have  an  invincible  antipathy  to  making 
apologies.  We  have  a  most  profound  contempt  for 
any  man  who  cannot  give  three  good  reasons  for  an 
unreasonable  thing  ;  and  will  therefore  condescend, 
as  usual,  to  give  the  public  three  special  reasons  for 
never  apologizing : — first,  an  apology  implies  that 
we  are  accountable  to  some  body  or  another  for  our 
conduct ; — now  as  we  do  not  care  a  fiddle-stick,  as 
authors,  for  either  public  opinion  or  private  ill-will, 
it  would  be  implying  a  falsehood  to  apologize  : — sec- 
ond, an  apology  would  indicate  that  We  had  been 
doing  what  we  ought  not  to  have  done.  Now,  as  we 
never  did  nor  ever  intend  to  do  any  thing  wrong, 
it  would  be  ridiculous  to  make  an  apology: — third, 
we  labour  under  the  same  incapacity  in  the  art  of 
apologizing  that  lost  Langstaff  his  mistress  ; — we 
never  yet  undertook  to  make  apology  without  com- 
miting  a  new  offence,  and  making  matters  ten  times 
worse  than  they  were  before ;  and  we  are,  there- 
fore, determined  to  avoid  such  predicaments  in  fu- 
ture. 

But  though  we  have  resolved  never  to  apolo- 
gize, yet  we  have  no  particular  objection  to  ex- 
plain ;  and  if  this  is  all  that's  wanted,  we  will  go 

about  it  directly  : allons,  gentlemen  ! before, 

however,  we  enter  upon  this  serious  affair,  we 
take  this  opportunity  to  express  our  surprise  and 
indignation  at  the  incredulity  of  some  people. — 
Have  we  not,  over  and  over,  assured  the  town 
that  we  are  three  of  the  best-natured  fellows  Hv- 
ing?  And  is  it  not  astonishing,  that  having  al- 
ready given  seven  convincing  proofs  of  the  truth 
of  this  assurance,  they  should  still  have  any  doubts 
on  the  subject .'  but  as  it  is  one  of  the  impossible 
things  to  make  a  knave  believe  in  honesty,  so  perhaps 
it  may  be  another  to  make  this  most  sarcastic,  satiri- 
cal, and  tea-drinking   city  believe  in   the  existence 

of  good-nature.     But  to  our  explanation. Gentle 

reader !  for  we  are  convinced  that  none  but  gentle 
or  genteel  readers  can  relish  our  excellent  produc- 
tions, if  thou  art  in  expectation  of  being  perfectly 
satisfied  with  what  we  are  about  to  say,  thou  mayest 
as  well  "  whistle  lillebuUero  "  and  skip  quite  over 
what  follows  ;  for  never  wight  was  more  disappoint- 
ed than  thou  wilt  be  most  assuredly. — But  to  the  ex- 
planation :  We  care  just  as  much  about  the  public 
and  its  wise  conjectures,  as  we  do  about  the  man  in 
the  moon  and  his  whim-whams,  or  the  criticisms  of 
the  lady  who  sits  majestically  in  her  elbow-chair 
in  the  lobster ;  and  who,  belying  her  sex,  as  wc  are 
credibly  informed,  never  says  any  thing  worth 
listening  to.    We  have  launched  our  bajk,  and  we 


674 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


will  steer  to  our  destined  port  with  undeviating  per- 
severance, fearless  of  being  shipwrecked  by  the 
way.  Good-nature  is  our  steersman,  reason  our 
ballast,  whim  the  breeze  that  wafts  us  along,  and 
MORALITY  our  leading  star. 


No.  IX.— SATURDAY,  APRIL  25,  1807. 

FROM  MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 


It  in  some  measure  jumps  with  my  humour  to 
be  "  melancholy  and  gentleman-like  "  this  stormy 
night,  and  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  not  indulge 
myself  for  once. — Away,  then,  with  joke,  with  fun, 
and  laughter,  for  a  while  ;  let  my  soul  look  back  in 
mournful  retrospect,  and  sadden  with  the  memory 
of  my  good  aunt  Charity — who  died  of  a  French- 
.  man  ! 

Stare  not,  oh,  most  dubious  reader,  at  the  men- 
tion of  a  complaint  so  uncommon  ;  grievously 
hath  it  afflicted  the  ancient  family  of  the  Cocklofts, 
who  carr)'  their  absurd  antipathy  to  the  French  so 
far,  that  they  will  not  suffer  a  clove  of  garlic  in 
the  house  :  and  my  good  old  friend  Christopher 
was  once  on  the  point  of  abandoning  his  paternal 
country  mansion  of  Cockloft-hall,  merely  because 
a  colony  of  frogs  had  settled  in  a  neighbouring 
swamp.  I  verily  believe  he  would  have  carried  his 
whim-wham  into  effect,  had  not  a  fortunate  drought 
obliged  the  enemy  to  strike  their  tents,  and,  like  a 
troop  of  wandering  Arabs,  to  march  off  towards  a 
moister  part  of  the  country. 

My  aunt  Charity  departed  this  life  in  the  fifty- 
ninth  year  of  her  age,  though  she  never  grew 
older  after  twenty-five.  In  her  teens  she  was, 
according  to  her  own  account,  a  celebrated  beau- 
ty,— though  I  never  could  meet  with  any  body 
that  remembered  when  she  was  handsome ;  on 
the  contrary,  Evergreen's  father,  who  used  to 
gallant  her  in  his  youth,  says  she  was  as  knotty  a 
little  piece  of  humanity  as  he  ever  saw ;  and  that, 
if  she  had  been  possessed  of  the  least  sensibility, 
she  would,  like  poor  old  Acco,  have  most  certainly 
run  mad  at  her  own  figure  and  face  the  first  time 
she  contemplated  herself  in  a  looking-glass.  In 
the  good  old  times  that  saw  my  aunt  in  the  hey- 
day of  youth,  a  fine  lady  was  a  most  formidable 
animal,  and  required  to  be  approached  with  the 
same  awe  and  devotion  that  a  Tartar  feels  in  the 
presence  of  his  Grand  Lama.  If  a  gentleman  of- 
iisred  to  take  her  hand,  except  to  help  her  into  a 
carriage,  or  lead  her  into  a  drawing-room,  such 
frowns  !  such  a  rustling  of  brocade  and  taffeta ! 
her  very  paste  shoe-buckles  sparkled  with  indigna- 
tion, and  for  a  moment  assumed  the  brilliancy  of 
diamonds :  in  those  days  the  person  of  a  belle  was 
sacred  ;  it  was  unprofaned  by  the  sacrilegious  grasp 

of  a  stranger  : simple  souls  ! — they  had  not  the 

waltz  among  them  yet  ! 

My  good  aunt  prided  herself  on  keeping  up  this 
buckram  delicacy ;  and  if  she  happened  to  be  play- 
ing at  the  old-fashioned  game  of  forfeits,  and  was 
fined  a  kiss,  it  was  always  more  trouble  to  get  it 
than  it  was  worth  ;  for  she  made  a  most  gallant 
defence,  and  never  surrendered  until  she  saw  her 
adversary  inclined  to  give  over  his  attack.  Ever- 
green's father  says  he  remembers  once  to  have 
been  on  a  sleighing  party  with  her,  and  when  they 
came  to  Kissing-bridge,  it  fell  to  his  lot  to  levy 
contributions  on  Miss  Charity  Cockloft ;  who,  after 
squalling  at  a  hideous  rate,  at  length  jumped  out  of 
the  sleigh  plump  into  a  snow-bank ;  where  she  stuck 


fast  like  an  icicle,  until  he  came  to  her  rescue.  This 
latonian  feat  cost  her  a  rheumatism,  which  she  never 
thoroughly  recovered. 

It  is  rather  singular  that  my  aunt,  though  a  great 
beauty,  and  an  heiress  withal,  never  got  married. 
The  reason  she  alleged  was,  that  she  never  met 
with  a  lover  who  resembled  Sir  Charles  Grandison, 
the  hero  of  her  nightly  dreams  and  waking  fancy  ; 
but  I  am  privately  of  opinion  that  it  was  owing  to 
her  never  having  had  an  ofier.  This  much  is  cer- 
tain, that  for  many  years  previous  to  her  decease, 
she  declined  all  attentions  from  the  gentlemen, 
and  contented  herself  with  watching  over  the  wel- 
fare of  her  fellow-creatures.  She  was,  indeed,  ob- 
served to  take  a  considerable  lean  towards  Method- 
ism, was  frequent  in  her  attendance  at  love  feasts, 
read  Whitfield  and  Wesley,  and  even  went  so  far 
as  once  to  travel  the  distance  of  five  and  twenty 
miles  to  be  present  at  a  camp-meeting.  This  gave 
great  offence  to  my  cousin  Christopher  and  his 
good  lady,  who,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  are 
rigidly  orthodox  ;  and  had  not  my  aunt  Charity 
been  of  a  most  pacific  disposition,  her  religious 
whim-wham  would  have  occasioned  many  a  family 
altercation.  She  was,  indeed,  as  good  a  soul  as  the 
Cockloft  family  ever  boasted  ;  a  lady  of  unbounded 
loving-kindness,  which  extended  to  man,  woman, 
and  child  ;  many  of  whom  she  almost  killed  with 
good-nature.  Was  any  acquaintance  sick  .'  in  vain 
did  the  wind  whistle  and  the  storm  beat;  my  aunt 
would  waddle  through  mud  and  mire,  over  the  whole 
town,  but  what  she  would  visit  them.  She  would 
sit  by  them  for  hours  together  with  the  most  per- 
severing patience  ;  and  tell  a  thousand  melancholy 
stories  of  human  misery,  to  keep  up  their  spirits.  The 
whole  catalogue  o^ ycrb  teas  was  at  her  fingers'  ends, 
from  formidable  worm-wood  down  to  gentle  balm  ; 
and  she  would  descant  by  the  hour  on  the  healing 
qualities  of  hoar-hound,  catnip,  and  penny-royal. — 
Wo  be  to  the  patient  that  came  under  the  benev- 
olent hand  of  my  aunt  Charity  ;  he  was  sure,  willy 
nilly,  to  be  drenched  with  a  deluge  of  decoctions ; 
and  full  many  a  time  has  my  cousin  Christopher 
borne  a  twinge  of  pain  in  silence  through  fear  of 
being  condemned  to  suffer  the  martyrdom  of  her 
materia-medica.  My  good  aunt  had,  moreover, 
considerable  skill  in  astronomy,  for  she  could  tell 
when  the  sun  rose  and  set  eveiy  day  in  the  year ; 
and  no  woman  in  the  whole  world  was  able  to  pro- 
nounce, with  more  certainty,  at  what  precise  min- 
ute the  moon  changed.  She  held  the  story  of  the 
moon's  being  made  of  green  cheese,  as  an  abomina- 
ble slander  on  her  favourite  planet  ;  and  she  had 
made  several  valuable  discoveries  in  solar  eclipses, 
by  means  of  a  bit  of  burnt  glass,  which  entitled 
her  at  least  to  an  honorary  admission  in  the  Amer- 
ican-philosophical-society. Hutching's  improved 
was  her  favourite  book  ;  and  I  shrewdly  suspect  that 
it  was  from  this  valuable  work  she  drew  most  of 
her  sovereign  remedies  for  colds,  coughs,  corns,  and 
consumptions. 

But  the  truth  must  be  told  ;  with  all  her  good 
qualities  my  aunt  Charity  was  afflicted  with  one  fault, 
extremely  rare  among  her  gentle  sex  ; — it  was  curi- 
osity. How  she  came  by  it,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  im- 
agine, but  it  played  the  very  vengeance  with  her  and 
destroyed  the  comfort  of  her  life.  Having  an  in- 
vincible desire  to  know  every  body's  character,  busi- 
ness, and  mode  of  living,  she  was  for  ever  prying 
into  the  affairs  of  her  neighbours ;  and  got  a  great 
deal  of  ill  will  from  people  towards  whom  she  had 
the  kindest  disposition  possible. — If  any  family  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  street  gave  a  dinner;  my 
aunt  would  mount  her  spectacles,  and  sit  at  the  win- 
dow until  the  company  were  all  housed  ;  merely  that 


i 


SALMAGUNDI. 


C75 


slic  might  know  who  they  were.  If  she  heard  a  story 
about  any  of  her  acquaintance,  she  would,  forthwith, 
set  off  full  sail  and  never  rest  until,  to  use  her  usual 
expression,  she  had  got  "  to  the  bottom  of  it ;  "  which 
meant  nothing  more  than  telling  it  to  every  body 
she  knew. 

I  remember  one  night  my  aunt  Charity  happened 
to  hear  a  most  precious  story  about  one  of  her  good 
friends,  but  unfortunately  too  late  to  give  it  immedi- 
ate circulation.  It  made  her  absolutely  miserable  ; 
and  she  hardly  slept  a  wink  all  night,  for  fear  her 
bosom-friend,  Mrs.  SiPKINS,  should  get  the  start  of 
her  in  the  morning  and  blow  the  whole  affair.  You 
must  know  there  was  always  a  contest  between  these 
two  ladies,  who  should  first  give  currency  to  the 
good-natured  things  said  about  every  body;  and 
this  unfortunate  rivalship  at  length  proved  fatal  to 
their  long  and  ardent  friendship.  My  aunt  got  up 
full  two  hours  that  morning  before  her  usual  time  ; 
put  on  her  pompadour  tafeta  gown,  and  sallied  forth 
to  lament  the  misfortune  of  her  dear  friend.  Would 
you  believe  it  ! — wherever  she  went  Mrs.  Sipkins  had 
anticipated  her;  and,  instead  of  being  listened  to 
with  uplifted  hands  and  open-mouthed  wonder,  my 
unhappy  aunt  was  obliged  to  sit  down  quietly  and 
listen  to  the  whole  affair,  with  numerous  additions, 
alterations,  and  amendments  I — now  this  was  too 
bad  ;  it  would  almost  have  provoked  Patient  Grizzle 
or  a  saint : — it  was  too  much  for  my  aunt,  who  kept 
her  bed  for  three  days  afterwards,  with  a  cold,  as 
she  pretended  ;  but  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  owing  to 
this  affair  of  Mrs.  Sipkins,  to  whom  she  never  would 
be  reconciled. 

But  1  pass  over  the  rest  of  my  aunt  Charity's  life, 
checquered  with  the  various  calamities  and  misfor- 
tunes and  mortifications  incident  to  those  worthy  old 
gentlewomen  who  have  the  domestic  cares  of  the 
whole  community  upon  their  minds  ;  and  I  hasten 
to  relate  the  melancholy  incident  that  hurried  her 
out  of  existence  in  the  full  bloom  of  antiquated  vir- 
ginity. 

In  their  frolicksome  malice  the  fates  had  ordered 
that  a  French  boarding-house,  or  Pension  Francaise, 
as  it  was  called,  should  be  established  directly  oppo- 
site my  aunt's  residence.  Cruel  event  I  unhappy 
aunt  Charity  !— it  threw  her  into  that  alarming  dis- 
order denominated  the  fidgets  ;  she  did  nothing  but 
watch  at  the  window  day  after  day,  but  without  be- 
coming one  whit  the  wiser  at  the  end  of  a  fortnight 
than  she  was  at  the  beginning ;  she  thought  that 
neighbour  Pension  had  a  monstrous  large  family, 
and  somehow  or  other  they  were  all  men  !  she  could 
not  imagine  what  business  neighbour  Pension  fol- 
lowed to  support  so  numerous  a  household ;  and 
wondered  why  there  was  always  such  a  scraping  of 
fiddles  in  the  parlour,  and  such  a  smell  of  onions 
from  neighbour  Pension's  kitchen ;  in  short,  neigh- 
bour Pension  v/as  continually  uppermost  in  her 
thoughts,  and  incessantly  on  the  outer  edge  of  her 
tongue.  This  was,  I  believe,  the  very  first  time  she 
had  ever  failed  "  to  get  at  the  bottom  of  a  thing  ;  " 
and  the  disappointment  cost  her  many  a  sleepless 
night  I  warrant  you.  I  have  little  doubt,  however, 
that  my  aunt  would  have  ferretted  neighbour  Pension 
out,  could  she  have  spoken  or  understood  French ; 
but  in  those  times  people  in  general  could  make 
themselves  understood  in  plain  English  ;  and  it  was 
always  a  standing  rule  in  the  Cockloft  family,  which 
exists  to  this  day,  that  not  one  of  the  females  should 
learn  French. 

My  aunt  Charity  had  lived,  at  her  window,  for 
some  time  in  vain  ;  when  one  day,  as  she  was  keep- 
ing her  usual  look-out,  and  suffering  all  the  pangs  of 
unsatisfied  curiosity,  she  beheld  a  little,  meagre, 
acazcl-faced  Frenchman,  of  the  most  forlorn,  dimin- 


utive, and  pitiful  proportions,  arrive  at  neighbour 
Pension's  door.  He  was  dressed  in  white,  with  a 
little  pinched-up  cocked  hat ;  he  seemed  to  sliake  in 
the  wind,  and  every  blast  that  went  over  him  whistled 
through  his  bones  and  threatened  instant  annihila- 
tion. This  embodied  spirit-of-famine  was  followed 
by  three  carts,  lumbered  with  crazy  trunks,  chests, 
band-boxes,  bidets,  medicine-chests,  parrots,  and 
monkeys;  and  at  his  heels  ran  a  yelping  pack  of  lit- 
tle black-nosed  pug  dogs.  This  was  the  one  thing 
wanting  to  fill  up  the  measure  of  my  aunt  Charity's 
afflictions ;  she  could  not  conceive,  for  the  soul  of 
her,  who  this  mysterious  little  apparition  could  be 
that  made  so  great  a  display ;  what  he  could  possibly 
do  with  so  much  baggage,  and  particularly  with  his 
parrots  and  monkeys ;  or  how  so  small  a  carcass 
could  have  occasion  for  so  many  trunks  of  clothes, 
llonest  soul !  she  had  never  had  a  peep  into  a 
Frenchman's  wardrobe ;  that  depot  of  old  coats, 
hats,  and  breeches,  of  the  growth  of  every  fashion  he 
has  followed  in  his  life. 

From  the  time  of  this  fatal  arrival,  my  poor  aunt 
was  in  a  quandary  ; — all  her  inquiries  were  fruitless ; 
no  one  could  expound  the  history  of  this  mysterious 
stranger  :  she  never  held  up  her  head  afterwards, — 
drooped  daily,  took  to  her  bed  in  a  fortnight,  and  in 
"  one  little  month  "  I  saw  her  quietly  deposited  in 
the  family  vault : — being  the  seventh  Cockloft  that 
has  died  of  a  whim-wham  ! 

Take  warning,  my  fair  country-women  !  and  you, 
oh,  ye  excellent  ladies,  whether  married  or  single, 
who  pry  into  other  people's  affairs  and  neglect  those 
of  your  own  household  ; — who  are  so  busily  employed 
in  observing  the  faults  of  others  that  you  have  no 
time  to  correct  your  own  ; — remember  the  fate  of 
my  dear  aunt  Charity,  and  eschew  the  evil  spirit  of 
curiosity. 

FROM   MY   ELBOW-CHAIR. 

I  FIND,  by  perusal  of  our  last  number,  that  WiLt. 
Wizard  and  Evergreen,  taking  advantage  of  my 
confinement,  have  been  playing  some  of  their  gam- 
bols. I  suspected  these  rogues  of  some  mal-prac- 
tices,  in  consequence  of  their  queer  looks  and  know- 
ing winks  whenever  I  came  down  to  dinner;  and  of 
their  not  showing  their  faces  at  old  Cockloft's  for 
several  davs  after  the  appearance  of  their  precious 
eflfusions.  Whenever  these  two  waggish  fellows  lay 
their  heads  together,  there  is  always  sure  to  be 
hatched  some  notable  piece  of  mischief;  which,  if  it 
tickles  nobody  else,  is  sure  to  make  its  authors  merry. 
The  public  will  take  notice  that,  for  the  purpose  of 
teaching  these  my  associates  better  maimers,  and 
punishing  them  for  their  higlymisdemeanors,  I  have, 
by  virtue  of  my  authority,  suspended  them  from  all 
interference  in  Salmagundi,  until  they  show  a  proper 
degree  of  repentance ;  or  I  get  tired  of  supportmg 
the  burthen  of  the  work  myself.  I  am  sorry  for  Will, 
who  is  already  sufficiently  mortified  in  not  daring  to 
come  to  the  old  house  and  tell  his  long  stories  and 
smoke  his  segar ;  but  Evergreen,  being  an  old  beau, 
may  solace  himself  in  his  disgrace  by  trimming  up 
all  his  old  finery  and  making  love  to  the  little  girls. 

At  present  my  right-hand  man  is  cousin  Pindar, 
whom  I  have  taken  into  high  favour.  He  came  home 
the  other  night  all  in  a  blaze  like  a  sky-rocket — 
whisked  up  to  his  room  in  a  paroxysm  of  poetic  in- 
spiration, nor  did  we  see  any  thing  of  him  until  late 
the  next  morning,  when  he  bounced  upon  us  at 
breakfast, 

"  Fire  in  each  eye — and  paper  in  each  hand." 

This  is  just  the  way  with  Pindar,  he  is  like  a  vol- 
cano ;  will  remain  for  a  long  time  silent  without 


676 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


emitting  a  single  spark,  and  then,  all  at  once,  burst 
out  in  a  tremendous  explosion  of  rhyme  and  rhap- 
sody. 

As  the  letters  of  my  friend  Mustapha  seem  to  ex- 
cite considerable  curiosity,  I  have  subjoined  another. 
I  do  not  vouch  for  the  justice  of  his  remarks,  or  the 
correctness  of  his  conclusions  ;  they  are  full  of  the 
blunders  and  errors  into  which  strangers  continually 
indulge,  who  pretend  to  give  an  account  of  this 
country  before  they  well  know  the  geography  of  the 
street  in  which  they  live.  The  copies  of  my  friend's 
papers  being  confused  and  without  date,  I  cannot 
pretend  to  give  them  in  systematic  order  ; — in  fact, 
they  seem  now  and  then  to  treat  of  matters  which 
have  occurred  since  his  departure  ;  whether  these  are 
sly  interpolations  of  that  meddlesome  wight  Will 
Wizard,  or  whether  honest  Mustapha  was  gifted  with 
the  spirit  of  prophecy  or  second  sight,  J  neither 
know — nor,  in  fact,  do  I  care.  The  following  seems 
to  have  been  written  when  the  Tripolitan  prisoners 
were  so  much  annoyed  by  the  ragged  state  of  their 
wardrobe.  Mustapha  feelingly  depicts  the  embar- 
rassments of  his  situation,  traveller-like ;  makes  an 
easy  transition  from  his  breeches  to  the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment, and  incontinently  abuses  the  whole  admin- 
istration ;  like  a  sapient  traveller  I  once  knew,  who 
damned  the  French  nation  in  toto — because  they 
eat  sugar  with  green  peas. 


LETTER    FROM    MUSTAPHA    RUB-A-DUB 
KELI    KHAN, 

CAPTAIN  OF  A  KETCH,  TO  ASEM  HACCHEM, 
PRIN'CIPAL  SLAVE-DRIVER  TO  HIS  HIGHNESS 
THE   BASHAW   OF  TRIPOLI. 

Sweet,  oh,  Asem !  is  the  memory  of  distant 
friends  !  like  the  mellow  ray  of  a  departing  sun  it 
falls  tenderly  yet  sadly  on  the  heart.  Every  hour  of 
absence  from  my  native  land  rolls  heavily  by,  like  the 
sandy  wave  of  the  desert ;  and  the  fair  shores  of  my 
country  rise  blooming  to  my  im.igination,  clothed  in 
the  soft,  illusive  charms  of  distance.  I  sigh,  yet  no 
one  listens  to  the  sigh  of  the  captive  ;  I  shed  the 
bitter  tear  of  recollection,  but  no  one  sympathizes  in 
the  tear  of  the  turbaned  stranger  !  Think  not,  how- 
ever, thou  brother  of  my  soul,  that  I  complain  of  the 
horrors  of  my  situation  ; — think  not  that  my  captiv- 
ity is  attended  with  the  labours,  the  chains,  the 
scourges,  the  insults,  that  render  slavery,  with  us, 
more  dreadful  than  the  pangs  of  hesitating,  linger- 
ing death.  Light,  indeed,  are  the  restraints  on  the 
personal  freedom  of  thy  kinsman  ;  but  who  can  en- 
ter into  the  afflictions  of  the  mind  ? — who  can 
describe  the  agonies  of  the  heart?  they  are  muta- 
ble as  the  clouds  of  the  air — they  are  countless  as 
the  waves  that  divide  me  from  my  native  country. 

I  have,  of  late,  my  dear  Asem,  laboured  under  an 
inconvenience  singularly  unfortunate,  and  am  re- 
duced to  a  dilemma  most  ridiculously  embarrassing. 
Why  should  I  hide  it  from  the  companion  of  my 
thoughts,  the  partner  of  my  sorrows  and  my  joys  .> 
Alas  !  Asem,  thy  friend  Mustapha,  the  invincible 
captain  of  a  ketch,  is  sadly  in  want  of  a  pair  of 
breeches !  Thou  wilt  doubtless  smile,  oh,  most 
grave  Mussulman,  to  hear  me  indulge  in  such  ar- 
dent lamentations  about  a  circumstance  so  trivial, 
and  a  want  apparently  so  easy  to  be  satisfied :  but 
little  canst  thou  know  of  the  mortifications  attend- 
ing my  necessities,  and  the  astonishing  difficulty  of 
supplying  them.  Honoured  by  the  smiles  and  atten- 
tions of  the  beautiful  ladies  of  this  city,  who  have 
fallen  in  love  with   my  whiskers   and   my  turban  ; 


courted  by  the  bashaws  and  the  great  men,  who  de- 
light to  have  me  at  their  feasts ;  the  honour  of  my 
company  eagerly  solicited  by  every  fiddler  who  gives 
a  concert ;  thinli  of  my  chagrin  at  being  obliged  to 
decline  the  host  of  invitations  that  daily  overwhelm 
me,  merely  for  want  of  a  pair  of  breeches  !  Oh,  Al- 
lah !  Allah  !  that  thy  disciples  could  come  into  the 
world  all  be-feathered  like  a  bantam,  or  with  a  pair 
of  leather  breeches  like  the  wild  deer  of  the  forest ! 
Surely,  my  friend,  it  is  the  destiny  of  man  to  be  for 
ever  subjected  to  petty  evils;  which,  however 
trifling  in  appearance,  prey  in  silence  on  his  little 
pittance  of  enjoyment,  and  poison  those  moments  of 
sunshine  which  might  otherwise  be  consecrated  to 
happiness. 

The  want  of  a  garment,  thou  wilt  say,  is  easily 
supplied  ;  and  thou  mayest  suppose  need  only  be 
mentioned,  to  be  remedied  at  once  by  any  tailor  of 
the  land:  little  canst  thou  conceive  the  impediments 
which  stand  in  the  way  of  my  comfort ;  and  still  less 
art  thou  acquainted  with  the  prodigious  great  scale 
on  which  every  thing  is  transacted  in  this  country. 
The  nation  moves  most  majestically  slow  and  clumsy 
in  the  most  trivial  affairs,  like  the  unwieldy  elephant 
which  makes  a  formidable  difficulty  of  picking  up  a 
straw  !  When  1  hinted  my  necessities  to  the  officer 
who  has  charge  of  myself  and  my  companions,  I  ex- 
pected to  have  them  forthwith  relieved  ;  but  he  made 
an  am.azing  long  face,  told  me  that  we  were  pris- 
oners of  state,  that  we  must,  therefore,  be  clothed 
at  the  expense  of  government ;  that  as  no  provision 
had  been  made  by  congress  for  an  emergency  of  the 
kind,  it  was  impossible  to  furnish  me  with  a  pair  of 
breeches,  until  all  the  sages  of  the  nation  had  been 
convened  to  talk  over  the  matter  and  debate  upon 
the  expediency  of  granting  my  request.  Sword  of 
the  immortal  Khalid,  thought  1,  but  this  is  great ! — ■ 
this  is  truly  sublime  !  All  the  sages  of  an  immense 
logocracy  assembled  together  to  talk  about  my 
breeches  !  Vain  mortal  that  I  am  ! — I  cannot  but 
own  I  was  somewhat  reconciled  to  the  delay, 
which  must  necessarily  attend  this  method  of  cloth- 
ing me,  by  the  consideration  that  if  they  made  the 
affair  a  national  act,  my  "  name  must,  of  course,  be 
embodied  in  history,"  and  myself  and  iny  breeches 
flourish  to  immortality  in  the  annals  of  this  mighty 
empire  ! 

"But,  pray,"  said  I,  " how  does  it  happen  that  a 
matter  so  insignificant  should  be  erected  into  an  ob- 
ject of  such  importance  as  to  employ  the  represent- 
ative wisdom  of  the  nation  ;  and  what  is  the  cause 
of  their  talking  so  much  about  a  trifle .'  " — "  Oh," 
replied  the  officer,  who  acts  as  our  slave-driver,  "  it 
all  proceeds  from  economy.  If  the  government  did 
not  spend  ten  titnes  as  much  money  in  debating 
whether  it  was  proper  to  supply  you  with  breeches, 
as  the  breeches  themselves  would  cost,  the  people 
who  govern  the  bashaw  and  his  divan  would 
straightway  begin  to  complain  of  their  liberties  be- 
ing infringed  ;  the  national  finances  squandered  !  not 
a  hostile  slang-wlianger  throughout  the  logocracy, 
but  would  burst  forth  like  a  barrel  of  combustion ; 
and  ten  chances  to  one  but  the  bashaw  and  the  sages 
of  his  divan  would  all  be  turned  out  of  office  to- 
gether. My  good  Mussulman,"  continued  he,  "  the 
administration  have  the  good  of  the  people  too  much 
at  heart  to  trifle  with  their  pockets;  and  they  would 
sooner  assemble  and  talk  away  ten  thousand  dollars, 
than  expend  fit'ty  silently  out  of  the  treasury ;  such 
is  the  wonderful  spirit  of  economy  that  pervades  every 
branch  of  this  government."  "But,"  said  I,  "how 
is  it  possible  they  can  spend  money  in  talking;  J 
surely  words  cannot  be  the  current  coin  of  this  coun-  '% 
try.'"  "Truly,"  cried  he,  smiling,  "your  question 
is  pertinent  enough,  for  words  indeed  often  supply 


SALMAGUNDI. 


677 


the  place  of  cash  among  us,  and  many  an  honest 
debt  is  paid  in  promises :  but  the  fact  is,  the  grand 
bashaw  and  the  members  of  congress,  or  grand- 
talkers-of-the-nation,  either  receive  a  yearly  salaiy 
or  are  paid  by  the  day."  "  By  the  nine  hundred 
tongues  of  the  great  beast  in  Mahomet's  vision,  but 
the  murder  is  out ; — it  is  no  wonder  these  honest 
men  talk  so  much  about  nothing,  when  they  are 
paid  for  talking,  like  day-labourers."  "  You  are  mis- 
taken," said  my  driver,  "it  is  nothing  but  econ- 
omy !  " 

1  remained  silent  for  some  minutes,  for  this  inex- 
plicable word  economy  always  discomfits  me ;  and 
when  I  flatter  myself  I  have  grasped  it,  it  slips 
through  my  fingers  like  a  jack-o'-lantern.  I  have 
not,  nor  perhaps  ever  shall  acquire,  sufficient  of  the 
philosophic  policy  of  this  government,  to  draw  a 
proper  distinction  between  an  individual  and  a  na- 
tion. If  a  man  was  to  throw  away  a  pound  in  order 
to  save  a  beggarly  penny,  and  boast,  at  the  same 
time,  of  his  economy,  I  should  think  him  on  a  par 
with  the  fool  in  the  fable  of  Alfanji ;  who,  in  skin- 
ning a  flint  worth  a  farthing,  spoiled  a  knife  worth 
fifty  times  the  sum,  and  thought  he  had  acted  wisely. 
The  shrewd  fellow  would  doubtless  have  valued 
himself  much  more  highly  on  his  economy,  could  he 
have  known  that  his  example  would  one  day  be  fol- 
lowed by  the  bashaw  of  America,  and  the  sages  of 
his  divan. 

This  economic  disposition,  my  friend,  occasions 
much  fighting  of  the  spirit,  and  innumerable  contests 
of  the  tongue  in  this  talking  assembly. — Wouldst 
thou  believe  it  ?  they  were  actually  employed  for  a 
whol ;  week  in  a  most  strenuous  and  eloquent  debate 
about  patching  up  a  hole  in  the  wall  of  the  room  ap- 
propriated to  their  meetings  !  A  vast  profusion  of 
nervous  argument  and  pompous  declamation  was 
expended  on  the  occasion.  Some  of  the  orators,  I 
am  told,  being  rather  waggishly  inclined,  were  most 
stupidly  jocular  on  the  occasion  ;  but  their  waggery 
gave  great  offence,  and  was  highly  reprobated  by  the 
more  weighty  part  of  the  assembly ;  who  hold  all 
wit  and  humour  in  abomination,  and  thought  the 
business  in  hand  much  too  solemn  and  serious  to  be 
treated  lightly.  It  is  supposed  by  some  that  this 
affair  would  have  occupied  a  whole  winter,  as  it  was 
a  subject  upon  which  several  gentlemen  spoke  who 
had  never  been  known  to  open  their  lips  in  that  place 
except  to  say  yes  and  no.  These  silent  members  are 
by  way  of  distinction  denominated  orator  mums,  and 
are  highly  valued  in  this  country  on  account  of  their 
great  talents  for  silence  ; — a  qualification  extremely 
rare  in  a  logocracy. 

Fortunately  for  the  public  tranquillity,  in  the  hot- 
test part  of  the  debate,  when  two  rampant  Virgin- 
ians, brim-full  of  logic  and  philosophy,  were  measuring 
tongues,  and  syllogistically  cudgelling  each  other  out 
of  their  unreasonable  notions,  the  president  of  the 
divan,  a  knowing  old  gentleman,  one  night  slyly  sent 
a  mason  with  a  hod  of  mortar,  who,  in  the  course  of 
a  few  minutes,  closed  up  the  hole  and  put  a  final  end 
to  the  argument.  Thus  did  this  wise  old  gentleman, 
by  hitting  on  a  most  simple  expedient,  in  all  proba- 
bility save  his  country  as  much  money  as  would 
build  a  gun-boat,  or  pay  a  hireling  slang-whanger 
for  a  whole  volume  of  words.  As  it  happened,  only 
a  few  thousand  dollars  were  expended  in  Jiaying 
these  men,  who  are  denominated,  I  suppose  in  de- 
rision, legislators. 

Another  instance  of  their  economy  I  relate  with 
pleasure,  for  I  really  begin  to  feel  a  regard  for  these 
poor  barbarians.  They  talked  away  the  best  part  of 
a  whole  winter  before  they  could  determine  not  to 
expend  a  few  dollars  in  purchasing  a  sword  to  be- 
stow on  an  illustrious  warrior :  yes,  Asem,  on  that 


very  hero  who  frightened  all  our  poor  old  women 
and  young  children  at  Derne,  and  fully  proved  him- 
self a  greater  man  than  the  mother  thai  boie  him. 
Thus,  my  friend,  is  the  whole  collective  wisdom  of 
this  mighty  logocracy  employed  in  somniferous  de- 
bates about  the  most  trivial  affairs ;  like  I  have 
sometimes  seen  a  herculean  mountebank  exerting 
all  his  energies  in  balancing  a  straw  upon  his  nose. 
Their  sages  behold  the  minutest  object  with  the 
microscopic  eyes  of  a  pismire ;  mole-hills  swell  into 
mountains,  and  a  grain  of  mustard-.seed  will  set  the 
whole  ant-hill  in  a  hub-bub.  Whether  this  indicates 
a  capacious  vision,  or  a  diminutive  mind,  I  leave 
thee  to  decide ;  for  my  part,  I  consider  it  as  another 
proof  of  the  great  scale  on  which  every  thing  is 
transacted  in  this  country. 

I  have  before  told  thee  that  nothing  can  be  done 
without  consulting  the  sages  of  the  nation,  who 
compose  the  assembly  called  the  congress.  This 
prolific  body  may  not  improperly  be  termed  the 
"  mother  of  inventions  ;  "  and  a  most  fruitful  mother 
it  is,  let  me  tell  thee,  though  its  children  are  gener- 
ally abortions.  It  has  lately  laboured  with  what 
was  deemed  the  conception  of  a  mighty  navy. — All 
the  old  women  and  the  good  wives  that  assist  the 
bashaw  in  his  emergencies  hurried  to  head-quarters 
to  be  busy,  like  midv/ives,  at  the  delivery. — All  was 
anxiety,  fidgetting,  and  consultation  ;  when,  after  a 
deal  of  groaning  and  struggling,  instead  of  formid- 
able first  rates  and  gallant  frigates,  out  crept  a  litter 
of  sorry  litde  gun-boats !  iThese  are  most  pitiful 
little  vessels,  partaking  vastly  of  the  character  of  the 
grand  bashaw,  who  has  the  credit  of  begetting  them  ; 
being  flat,  shallow  vessels  that  can  only  sail  before 
the  wind  ; — must  always  keep  in  with  the  land  ; — are 
continually  foundering  or  running  ashore;  and,  in 
short,  are  only  fit  for  smooth  water.  Though  in- 
tended for  the  defence  of  the  maritime  cities,  yet  the 
cities  are  obliged  to  defend  them ;  and  they  require 
as  much  nursing  as  so  many  rickefty  little  bantlings. 
They  are,  however,  the  darling  pets  of  the  grand 
bashaw,  being  the  children  of  his  dotage,  and,  per- 
haps from  their  diminutive  size  and  palpable  weak- 
ness, are  called  the  "  infant  navy  of  America."  The 
act  that  brought  them  into  existence  was  almost 
deified  by  the  majority  of  the  people  as  a  grand 
stroke  of  economy. — By  the  beard  of  Mahomet,  but 
this  word  is  truly  inexplicable  ! 

To  this  economic  bod)',  therefore,  was  I  advised 
to  address  my  petition,  and  humbly  to  pray  that  the 
august  assembly  of  sages  would,  in  the  plenitude  of 
their  wisdom  and  the  magnitude  of  their  powers, 
munificently  bestow  on  an  unfortunate  captive,  a  pair 
of  cotton  breeches  !  "  Head  of  the  immortal  Amrou," 
cried  I,  "  but  this  would  be  presumptuous  to  a  de- 
gree ; — what  !  after  these  worthies  have  thought 
proper  to  leave  their  country  naked  and  defenceless, 
and  exposed  to  all  the  political  storms  that  rattle 
without,  can  I  expect  that  they  will  lend  a  helping 
hand  to  comfort  the  extremities  of  a  solitary  cap- 
tive?" My  exclamation  was  only  answered  by  a 
smile,  and  1  was  consoled  by  the  assurance  that,  so 
far  from  being  neglected,  it  was  every  way  probable 
my  breeches  might  occupy  a  whole  session  of  the 
divan,  and  set  several  of  the  longest  heads  together 
by  the  ears.  Flattering  as  was  the  idea  of  a  whole 
nation  being  agitated  about  my  breeches,  yet  I  own 
I  was  somewhat  dismayed  at  the  idea  of  remaining 
in  gnerpo,  until  all  the  national  gray-beards  should 
have  made  a  speech  on  the  occasion,  and  given 
their  consent  to  the  measure.  The  embarrassment 
and  distress  of  mind  which  I  experienced  was  visible 
in  my  countenance,  and  my  guard,  who  is  a  man  of 
infinite  good-nature,  immediately  suggested,  as  a 
more  expeditious  plan   of  supplying   my  wants— a 


678 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


benefit  at  the  theatre.     Though  profoundly  ignorant  j 
of  his  meaning,   I   agreed   to  his  proposition,  the 
result  of  which  I  shall  disclose  to  thee  in  another 
letter. 

Fare  thee  well,  dear  Asem ;  in  thy  pious  prayers 
'o  our  great  prophet,  never  forget  to  solicit  thy 
friend's  return;  and  when  thou  numberest  up  the 
many  blessings  bestowed  on  thee  by  all-bountiful 
Allah,  pour  forth  thy  gratitude  that  he  has  cast  thy 
nativity  in  a  land  where  there  is  no  assembly  of 
legislative  chatterers : — no  great  l)ashaw,  who  be- 
strides a  gun-boat  for  a  hobby-horse :— where  the 
word  economy  is  unknown  ; — and  where  an  unfortu- 
nate captive  is  not  obliged  to  call  upon  the  whole 
nation,  to  cut  hun  out  a  pair  of  breeches. 

Ever  thine, 

MUSTAPHA. 


FROM  THE  MILL  OF 
PINDAR   COCKLOFT,  ESQ. 


Though  enter'd  on  that  sober  age, 
Wfien  men  withdraw  from  fashion's  stage, 
And  leave  the  follies  of  the  day. 
To  shape  their  course  a  graver  way ; 
Still  those  gay  scenes  I  loiter  round. 
In  which  my  youth  sweet  transport  found : 
And  though  I  feel  their  joys  decay, 
And  languish  every  hour  away, — 
Yet  like  an  exile  doom'd  to  part. 
From  the  dear  country  of  his  heart. 
From  the  fair  spot  in  which  he  sprung. 
Where  his  first  notes  of  love  were  sung, 
Will  often  turn  to  wave  the  hand, 
And  sigh  his  blessings  on  the  land ; 
Just  so  my  lingering  watch  I  keep, — 
Thus  oft  I  take  my  farewell  peep. 

And,  like  that  pilgrim  who  retreats, 
Thus  lagging  from  his  parent  seats, 
When  the  sad  thought  pervades  his  mind. 
That  the  fair  land  he  leaves  behind 
Is  ravaged  by  a  foreign  foe. 
Its  cities  waste,  its  temples  low, 
And  ruined  all  those  haunts  of  joy 
That  gave  him  rapture  when  a  boy  ; 
Turns  from  it  with  averted  eye. 
And  while  he  heaves  the  anguish'd  sigh. 
Scarce  feels  regret  that  the  loved  shore 
Shall  beam  upon  his  sight  no  more  ; — 
Just  so  it  grieves  my  soul  to  view. 
While  breathing  forth  a  fond  adieu. 
The  innovations  pride  has  made, 
The  fustian,  frippery,  and  parade, 
That  now  usurp  with  mawkish  grace 
Pure  tranquil  pleasure's  wonted  place  ! 
Twas  joy  we  look'd  for  in  my  prime. 
That  idol  of  the  olden  time  ; 
When  all  our  pastimes  had  the  art 
To  please,  and  not  mislead,  the  heart. 
Style  curs'd  us  not, — that  modern  flash. 
That  love  of  racket  and  of  trash  ; 
Which  scares  at  once  all  feeling  joys, 
And  drowns  delight  in  empty  noise  ; 
Which  barters  friendship,  mirth,  and  truth. 
The  artless  air,  the  bloom  of  youth. 
And  all  those  gentle  sweets  that  swarm 
Round  nature  in  her  simplest  form, 
For  cold  display,  for  hollow  state. 
The  trappings  of  the  would-be  great. 
Oh  !  once  again  those  days  recall. 
When  heart  met  heart  in  fashion's  hall ; 
When  every  honest  guest  would  flock 
To  add  his  pleasure  to  the  stock. 
More  fond  his  transports  to  express, 
Than  show  the  tinsel  of  his  dress ! 


These  were  the  times  that  clasp'd  the  soul 

In  gentle  friendship's  soft  control ; 

Our  fair  ones,  unprofan'd  by  art, 

Content  to  gain  one  honest  heart, 

No  train  of  sighing  swains  desired. 

Sought  to  be  loved  and  not  admired. 

But  now  'tis  form,  not  love,  unites  ; 

'Tis  show,  not  pleasure,  that  invites. 

Each  seeks  the  ball  to  play  the  queen. 

To  flirt,  to  conquer,  to  be  seen  ; 

Each  grasps  at  universal  sway. 

And  reigns  the  idol  of  the  day  ; 

Exults  amid  a  thousand  sighs. 

And  triumphs  when  a  lover  dies. 

Each  belle  a  rival  belle  surveys. 

Like  deadly  foe  with  hostile  gaze  ; 

Nor  can  her  "dearest  friend"  caress. 

Till  she  has  slyly  scann'd  her  dress  ; 

Ten  conquests  in  one  year  will  make. 

And  si.x  eternal  friendships  break  ! 
How  oft  I  breathe  the  inward  sigh, 

And  feel  the  dew-drop  in  my  eye. 

When  I  behold  some  beauteous  frame, 

Divine  in  every  thing  but  name. 
Just  venturing,  in  the  tender  age. 

On  fashion's  late  new-fangled  stage  ! 
Where  soon  the  guiltless  heart  shall  cease 
To  beat  in  artlessness  and  peace  ; 
Where  all  the  flowers  of  gay  delight 
With  which  youth  decks  its  prospects  bright. 
Shall  wither  'mid  the  cares,  the  strife, 
The  cold  realities  of  life  ! 

Thus  lately,  in  my  careless  mood. 
As  I  the  world  of  fashion  view'd 
While  celebrating  great  and  small 
That  grand  solemnity,  a  ball. 
My  roving  vision  chanced  to  light 
On  two  sweet  forms,  divinely  bright ; 
Two  sister  nymphs,  alike  in  face. 
In  mien,  in  loveliness,  and  grace  ; 
Twin  rose-buds,  bursting  into  bloom, 
In  all  their  brilliance  and  perfume  : 
Like  those  fair  forms  that  often  beam 
Upon  the  Eastern  poet's  dream  ! 
For  Eden  had  each  lovely  maid 
In  native  innocence  arrayed, — 
And  heaven  itself  had  almost  shed 
Its  sacred  halo  round  each  head  I 

They  seem'd,  just  entering  hand  in  hand, 
To  cautious  tread  this  fairy  land  ; 
To  take  a  timid,  hasty  view, 
Enchanted  with  a  scene  so  new. 
The  modest  blush,  untaught  by  art. 
Bespoke  their  purity  of  heart ; 
And  every  timorous  act  unfurl'd 
Two  souls  unspotted  by  the  world. 

Oh,  how  these  strangers  joy'd  my  sight, 
And  thrill'd  my  bosom  with  delight ! 
They  brought  the  visions  of  my  youth 
Back  to  my  soul  in  all  their  truth  ; 
Recall'd  fair  spirits  into  day, 
That  time's  rough  hand  had  swept  away ! 
Thus  the  bright  natives  from  above. 
Who  come  on  messages  of  love. 
Will  bless,  at  rare  and  distant  whiles. 
Our  sinful  dwelling  by  their  smiles  ! 

Oh  !  my  romance  of  youth  is  past. 
Dear  airy  dreams  too  bright  to  last ! 
Yet  when  such  forms  as  these  appear, 
I  feel  your  soft  remembrance  here  ; 
For,  ah  !  the  simple  poet's  heart. 
On  which  fond  love  once  play'd  its  part, 
Still  feels  the  soft  pulsations  beat. 
As  loth  to  quit  their  former  seat. 
Just  like  the  harp's  melodious  wire. 
Swept  by  a  bard  with  heavenly  fire. 
Though  ceased  the  loudly  swelling  strain. 
Yet  sweet  vibrations  long  remain. 

Full  soon  I  found  the  lovely  pair 
Had  sprung  beneath  a  mother's  care, 


SALMAGUNDI. 


679 


Hard  by  a  neighbouring  streamlet's  side, 
At  once  its  ornament  and  pride. 
The  beauteous  parent's  tender  heart 
Had  well  fulfiU'd  its  pious  part ; 
And,  like  the  holy  man  of  old. 
As  we're  by  sacred  writings  told. 
Who,  when  he  from  his  pupil  sped, 
Pour'd  two-fold  blessings  on  his  head. — 
So  this  fond  mother  had  imprest 
Her  early  virtues  in  each  breast. 
And  as  she  found  her  stock  enlarge. 
Had  stampt  new  graces  on  her  charge. 

The  fair  resign'd  the  calm  retreat. 
Where  first  their  souls  in  concert  beat, 
And  flew  on  expectation's  wing. 
To  sip  the  joys  of  life's  gay  spring ; 
To  sport  in  fashion's  splendid  maze. 
Where  friendship  fades  and  love  decays. 
So  two  sweet  wild  flowers,  near  the  side 
Of  some  fair  river's  silver  tide. 
Pure  as  the  gentle  stream  that  laves 
The  green  banks  with  its  lucid  waves. 
Bloom  beauteous  in  their  native  ground. 
Diffusing  heavenly  fragrance  round  ; 
But  should  a  venturous  hand  transfer 
These  blossoms  to  the  gay  parterre. 
Where,  spite  of  artificial  aid. 
The  fairest  plants  of  nature  fade. 
Though  they  may  shine  supreme  awhile 
'Mid  pale  ones  of  the  stranger  soil. 
The  tender  beauties  soon  decay. 
And  their  sweet  fragrance  dies  away. 

Blest  spirits  !  who,  enthroned  in  air, 
Watch  o'er  the  virtues  of  the  fair. 
And  with  angelic  ken  survey 
Their  windings  through  life's  checquer'd  way  ; 
Who  hover  round  them  as  they  glide 
Down  fashion's  smooth,  deceitful  tide. 
And  guard  them  o'er  that  stormy  deep 
Where  dissipation's  tempest  sweep  : 
Oh,  make  this  inexperienced  pair 
The  objects  of  your  tenderest  care. 
Preserve  them  from  the  languid  eye. 
The  faded  cheek,  the  long  drawn  sigh  ; 
And  let  it  be  your  constant  aim 
To  keep  the  fair  ones  still  the  same  : 
Two  sister  hearts,  unsullied,  bright 
As  the  first  beam  of  lucid  light 
That  sparkled  from  the  youthful  sun, 
When  first  his  jocund  race  begun. 
So  when  these  hearts  shall  burst  their  shrine, 
To  wing  their  flight  to  realms  divine, 
They  may  to  radiant  mansions  rise 
Pure  as  when  first  they  left  the  skies. 


No.  X.— SATURDAY,  MAY  16,  1807. 

FROM  MY  ELBOW  CHAIR. 


The  long  interval  which  has  elapsed  since  the 
publication  of  our  last  number,  like  many  other  re- 
markable events,  has  given  rise  to  much  conjecture 
and  excited  considerable  solicitude.  It  is  but  a  day 
or  two  since  I  heard  a  knowing  young  gentleman 
observe,  that  he  suspected  Salmagundi  would  be  a 
nine  days'  wonder,  and  had  even  prophesied  that  the 
ninth  would  be  our  last  effort.  But  the  age  of  proph- 
ecy, as  well  as  that  of  chivalry,  is  past ;  and  no 
reasonable  man  should  now  venture  to  foretell  aught 
but  what  he  is  determined  to  bring  about  himself: 
— he  may  then,  if  he  please,  monopolize  predic- 
tion, and  be  honoured  as  a  prophet  even  in  his  own 
country. 

Though  I  hold  whether  we  write,  or  not  write,  to 
be  none  of  the  public's  business,  yet  as  I  have  just 
heard  of  the  loss  of  three  thousand  votes  at  least  to 
the  Clintonians,  I  feel  in  a  remarkable  dulcet  humour 


thereupon,  and  will  give  some  account  of  the  rea- 
sons which  induced  us  to  resume  our  useful  labours ; 
— or  rather  our  amusement ;  for,  if  writing  cost 
either  of  us  a  moment's  labour,  there  is  not  a 
man  but  what  would  hang  up  his  pen,  to  the  great 
detriment  of  the  world  at  large,  and  of  our  pub- 
lisher in  particular ;  who  has  actually  bought  him- 
self a  pair  of  trunk  breeches,  with  the  profits  of  our 
writings ! ! 

He  informs  me  that  several  persons  having  called 
last  Saturday  for  No.  X.,  took  the  disappointment 
so  much  to  heart,  that  he  really  apprehended  some 
terrible  catastrophe ;  and  one  good-looking  man, 
in  particular,  declared  his  intention  of  quitting  the 
country  if  the  work  was  not  continued.  Add  to 
this,  the  town  has  grown  quite  melancholy  in  the 
last  fortnight ;  and  several  young  ladies  have  de- 
clared, in  Tny  hearing,  that  if  another  number  did 
not  make  its  appearance  soon,  they  would  be  obliged 
to  amuse  themselves  with  teasing  their  beaux  and 
making  them  miserable.  Now  I  assure  my  readers 
there  was  no  flattery  in  this,  for  they  no  more  sus- 
pected me  of  being  Launcelot  Langstaff,  than  they 
suspected  me  of  being  the  emperor  of  China,  or  the 
man  in  the  moon. 

I  have  also  received  several  letters  complaining  of 
our  indolent  procrastination  ;  and  one  of  my  cor- 
respondents assures  me,  that  a  number  of  young 
gentlemen,  who  had  not  read  a  book  through  since 
they  left  school,  but  who  have  taken  a  wonderful 
liking  to  our  paper,  will  certainly  relapse  into  their 
old  habits  unless  we  go  on. 

For  the  sake,  therefore,  of  all  these  good  people, 
and  most  especially  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  ladies, 
every  one  of  whom  we  would  love,  if  we  possibly 
could,  I  have  again  wielded  my  pen  with  a  most 
hearty  determination  to  set  the  whole  world  to 
rights  ;  to  make  cherubims  and  seraphs  of  all  the 
fair  ones  of  this  enchanting  town,  and  raise  the 
spirits  of  the  poor  federalists,  who,  in  truth,  seem  to 
be  in  a  sad  taking,  ever  since  the  American-Ticket 
met  with  the  accident  of  being  so  unhappily  thrown 
out. 


TO  LAUNCELOT   LANGSTAFF,  ESQ. 


Sir  : — I  felt  myself  hurt  and  offended  by  Mr.  Ever- 
green's terrible  philippic  against  modem  music,  in 
No.  II.  of  your  work,  and  was  under  serious  appre- 
hension that  his  strictures  might  bring  the  art,  which 
I  have  the  honor  to  profese,  into  contempt.  The 
opinion  of  yourself  and  fraternity  appear  indeed  to 
have  a  wonderful  effect  upon  the  town. — I  am  told 
the  ladies  are  all  employed  in  reading  Bunyan  and 
Pamela,  and  the  waltz  has  been  entirely  forsaken 
ever  since  the  winter  balls  have  closed.  Under 
these  apprehensions  I  should  have  addressed  you 
before,  had  I  not  been  sedulously  employed,  while 
the  theatre  continued  open,  in  supporting  the  as- 
tonishing variety  of  the  orchestra,  and  in  composing 
a  new  chime  or  Bob-Major  for  Trinity  Church,  to 
be  rung  during  the  summer,  beginning  with  ding- 
dong  di-do,  instead  of  di-do  ding-dong.  The  citi- 
zens, especially  those  who  live  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  that  harmonious  quarter,  will,  no  doubt,  be  in- 
finitely delighted  with  this  novelty. 

But  to  the  object  of  this  communication.  So  far, 
sir,  from  agreeing  with  Mr.  Evergreen  in  thinking 
that  all  modern  music  is  but  the  mere  dregs  and 
drainings  of  the  ancient,  I  trust,  before  this  letter  is 
concluded,  I  shall  convince  you  and  him  that  some 
of  the  late  professors  of  this  enchanting  art  have 
completely  distanced  the  paltry  efforts  of  the  an- 


cm 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


cients;  and  that  I,  in  particular,  have  at  length 
brought  it  almost  to  absolute  perfection. 

The  Greeks,  simple  souls  !  were  astonished  at  the 
powers  of  Orpheus,  who  made  the  woods  and  rocks 
dance  to  his  lyre ; — of  Amphion,  who  converted 
crotchets  into  bricks,  and  quavers  into  mortar; — 
and  of  Arion,  who  won  upon  the  compassion  of  the 
fishes.  In  the  fervency  of  admiration,  their  poets 
fabled  that  Apollo  had  lent  them  his  lyre,  and  in- 
spired them  with  his  own  spirit  of  harmony.  What 
then  would  they  have  said  had  they  witnessed  the 
wonderful  effects  of  my  skill  ?  had  they  heard  me  in 
the  compass  of  a  single  piece,  describe  in  glowing 
notes  one  of  the  most  sublime  operations  of  nature  ; 
and  not  only  make  inanimate  objects  dance,  but 
even  speak  ;  and  not  only  speak,  but  speak  in  strains 
of  exquisite  harmony  ? 

Let  me  not,  however,  be  understood  to  say  that 
I  am  the  sole  author  of  this  extraordinary  improve- 
ment in  the  art,  for  I  confess  I  took  the  hint  of 
many  of  my  discoveries  from  some  of  those  meri- 
torious productions  that  have  lately  come  abroad 
and  made  so  much  noise  under  the  title  of  overtures. 
From  some  of  these,  as,  for  instance,  Lodoiska,  and 
the  battle  of  Marengo,  a  gentleman,  or  a  captain  in 
the  city  militia,  or  an  amazonian  young  lady,  may 
indeed  acquire  a  tolerable  idea  of  military  tactics, 
and  become  very  well  experienced  in  the  firing  of 
musketry,  the  roaring  of  cannon,  the  rattling  of 
drums,  the  whistling  of  fifes,  braying  of  trumpets, 
groans  of  the  dying,  and  trampling  of  cavalry,  with- 
out ever  going  to  the  wars  ;  but  it  is  more  especially 
in  the  art  of  imitating  inimitable  things,  and  giving 
the  language  of  every  passion  and  sentiment  of  the 
human  mind,  so  as  entirely  to  do  away  the  necessity 
of  speech,  that  I  particularly  excel  the  most  celebra- 
ted musicians  of  ancient  and  modern  times. 

I  think,  sir,  I  may  venture  to  say  there  is  not  a 
sound  in  the  whole  compass  of  nature  which  I  can- 
not imitate,  and  even  improve  upon  ; — nay,  what  I 
consider  the  perfection  of  my  art,  I  have  discovered 
a  method  of  expressing,  in  the  most  striking  manner, 
that  undefinable,  indescribable  silence  which  accom- 
panies the  falling  of  snow. 

In  order  to  prove  to  you  that  I  do  not  arrogate 
to  myself  what  I  am  unable  to  perform,  I  will  detail 
to  you  the  different  movements  of  a  grand  piece 
which  I  pride  myself  upon  exceedingly,  called  the 
"  Breaking  up  of  the  ice  in  the  North  River." 

The  piece  opens  with  a  gentle  andante  affetuosso, 
which  ushers  you  into  the  assembly-room  in  the 
State-house  at  Albany,  where  the  speaker  addresses 
his  farewell  speech,  mforming  the  members  that 
the  ice  is  about  breaking  up,  and  thanking  them  for 
their  great  services  and  good  behaviour  in  a  man- 
ner .so  pathetic  as  to  bring  tears  into  their  eyes. — 
Flourish  of  Jacks-a-donkies. — Ice  cracks  ;  Albany 
in  a  hub-bub  :— air,  "  Three  children  sliding  on  the 
ice,  all  on  a  summer's  day." — Citizens  quarrelling 

in  Dutch  ; chorus  of  a  tin  trumpet,  a  cracked 

fiddle,    and    a    hand-saw  ! allegro   moderate. — 

Hard  frost : — this,  if  given  with  proper  spirit,  has  a 
charming  effect,  and  sets  every  body's  teeth  chat- 
tering.— Symptoms  of  snow — consultation  of  old 
women  who  complain  of  pains   in  the  bones  and 

rheumatics: air,    "  There   was    an   old    woman 

tossed  up  in  a  blanket,"  &c. allegro  staccato; 

wagon  breaks  into  the  ice  ; — people  all  run  to  see 

what  is  the  matter  ; air,  siciliano — "  Can   you 

row  the  boat  ashore,  Billy  boy,  Billy  boy ;  " — an- 
dante ; — frost  fish  (roze  up  in  the  ice  ; air, — "  Ho, 

why  dost  thou  shiver  and  shake.  Gaffer  Gray,  and 

why  does  thy  nose  look  so  blue?" Flourish  of 

two-penny  trumpets  and  rattles ; — consultation  of 
the  North-river  society ; — determine  to  set  the  North- 


river  on  fire,  as  soon  as  it  will  ourn  ; — air,  "  O,  what 
a  fine  kettle  of  fish." 

Part  II. — Great  Thaw.  —  This  consists  of  the 
most  melting  strains,  flowing  so  smoothly  as  to  oc- 
casion a  great  overflowing  of  scientific  rapture  ;  air 
— "  One  misty  moisty  morning."  The  house  of  as- 
sembly breaks  up — air — "  The  owls  came  out  and 

flew  about." Assembly-men    embark   on   their 

way  to  New- York air -"  The  ducks  and  the 

geese  they  all  swim  over,  fal,  de  ral,"  &c. Vessel 

sets  sail — chorus  of  mariners — "  Steer  her  up,  and 
let  her  gang."  After  this  a  rapid  movement  con- 
ducts you  to  New-York  ; — the  North-river  society 
hold  a  meeting  at  the  corner  of  Wall-street,  and  de- 
termine to  delay  burning  till  all  the  assembly-men 
are  safe  home,  for  fear  of  consuming  some  of  their 
own  members  who  belong  to  that  respectable  bodv. 
Return  again  to  the  capital. — Ice  floats  down  the 
river;  lamentation  of  skaiters  ;  air,  affetuosso — "  I 
sigh  and  lament  me  in  vain,"  &c. — -Albanians  cut- 
ting up  sturgeon  ; — air,  "  O  the  roast  beef  of  Al- 
bany."— Ice  runs  against  Polopoy's  island,  with  a 
terrible  crash. — This  is  represented  by  a  fierce  fel- 
low travelling  with  his  fiddle-stick  over  a  huge  bass 
viol,  at  the  rate  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  bars  a 
minute,  and  tearing  the  music  to  rags  ; — this  being 
what  is  called  execution. — The  great  body  of  ice 
passes  West-point,  and  is  saluted  by  three  or  four  dis- 
mounted cannon,  from  Fort  Putnam. — "Jefferson's 
march  "  by  a  full  band ; — air,  "  Yankee  doodle," 
with  seventy-six  variations,  never  before  attempted, 
except  by  the  celebrated  eagle,  which  flutters  his 
wings  over  the  copper-bottomed  angel  at  Messrs. 
Paff's  in  Broadway.  Ice  passes  New- York ;  conch- 
shell  sounds  at  a  distance — ferrymen  calls  o- v-e-r  ; 
— people   run  down   Courtlandt-street  —  ferry-boat 

sets  sail air — accompanied  by  the  conch-shell — 

"  We'll  all  go  over  the  ferry." — Rondeau — giving  a 
particular  account  of  BrO.M  the  Powles-hook  admi- 
ral, who  is  supposed  to  be  closely  connected  with 
the  North-river  society. — The  society  make  a  grand 
attempt  to  fire  the  stream,  but  are  utterly  defeated 
by  a  remarkable  high  tide,  which  brings  the  plot  to 
light;  drowns  upwards  of  a  thousand  rats,  and  oc- 
casions twenty  robins  to  break  their  necks.* — So- 
ciety not   being  discouraged,  apply  to    "  Common 

Sense,"  for  his  lantern  ; Air — "  Nose,  nose,  jolly 

red  nose."  Flock  of  wild  geese  fly  over  the  city; — 
old  wives  chatter  in  the  fog ; — cocks  crow  at  Com- 
munipaw — drums  beat  on  Governor's  island, — The 
whole  to  conclude  with  the  blowing  up  of  Sand's 
powder-house. 

Thus,  sir,  you  perceive  what  wonderful  powers  of 
expression  have  been  hitherto  locked  up  in  this  en- 
chanting art : — a  whole  history  is  here  told  without 
the  aid  of  speech,  or  writing ;  and  provided  the 
hearer  is  in  the  least  acquainted  with  music,  he  can- 
not mistake  a  single  note.  As  to  the  blowing  up  of 
the  powder-house,  I  look  ujjon  it  as  a  chef  d'ouvre, 
which  I  am  confident  will  delight  all  modern  ama- 
teurs, who  very  properly  estimate  music  in  propor- 
tion to  the  noise  it  makes,  and  delight  in  thundering 
cannon  and  earthquakes. 

I  must  confess,  however,  it  is  a  difficult  part  to 
manage,  and  I  have  already  broken  six  pianoes  in 
giving  it  the  proper  force  and  efl'ect.  But  I  do  not 
despair,  and  am  quite  certain  that  by  the  time  1  have 
broken  eight  or  ten  more,  I  shall  have  brought  it  to 
such  perfection,  as  to  be  able  to  teach  any  young 
lady  of  tolerable  ear,  to  thunder  it  away  to  the  infi- 
nite delight  of  papa  and  mamma,  and  the  great  an- 
noyance of  those  Vandals,  who  are  so  barbarous  as 
to  prefer  the  simple  melody  of  a  Scots  air,  to  the 
sublime  effusions  of  modern  musical  doctors. 


*  Vide— Solomoa  Lang. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


681 


In  my  warm  anticipations  of  future  improvement, 
I  have  sometimes  almost  convinced  myself  tiiat 
music  will,  in  time,  be  brouglit  to  sucli  a  climax  of 
perfection,  as  to  supersede  the  necessity  of  speech 
and  writing;  and  every  kind  of  social  intercourse 
be  conducted  by  the  flute  and  fiddle.— The  immense 
benefits  that  will  result  from  this  improvement  must 
be  plain  to  every  man  of  the  least  consideration.  In 
the  present  unhap|jy  situation  of  mortals,  a  man  has 
but  one  way  of  making  himself  perfectly  understood  ; 
if  he  loses  his  speech,  he  must  inevitably  be  dumb 
all  the  rest  of  his  life  ;  but  having  once  learned  this 
new  musical  language,  the  loss  of  speech  will  be  a 
mere  trifle  not  worth  a  moment's  uneasiness.  Not 
only  this,  Mr.  L.,  but  it  will  add  much  to  the  har- 
mony of  domestic  intercourse  ;  for  it  is  certainly  much 
more  agreeable  to  hear  a  lady  give  lectures  on  the 
piano  than,  viva  voce,  in  the  usual  discordant  meas- 
ure. This  manner  of  discoursing  may  also,  I  think, 
be  introduced  with  great  effect  into  our  national  as- 
semblies, where  every  man,  instead  of  wagging  his 
tongue,  should  be  obliged  to  flourish  a  fiddle-stick, 
by  which  means,  if  he  said  nothing  to  the  purpose, 
he  would,  at  all  events,  "  discourse  most  eloquent 
music,"  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  most  of 
them  at  present.  They  might  also  sound  their  own 
trumpets  without  being  obliged  to  a  hireling  scrib- 
bler, for  an  immortality  of  nine  days,  or  subjected 
to  the  censure  of  egotism. 

But  the  most  important  result  of  this  discovery  is 
that  it  may  be  applied  to  the  establishment  of  that 
great  desideratum,  in  the  learned  world,  a  universal 
language.  Wherever  this  science  of  music  is  culti- 
vated, nothing  more  will  be  necessary  than  a  knowl- 
edge of  its  alphabet ;  which  being  almost  the  same 
every  where,  will  amount  to  a  universal  medium  of 
communication.  A  man  may  thus,  with  his  violin 
under  his  arm,  a  piece  of  rosin,  and  a  few  bundles 
of  catgut,  fiddle  his  way  through  the  world,  and 
never  be  at  a  loss  to  make  himself  understood. 


I  am,  &c. 


Demy  Semiquiver. 


[end  of  vol.  one.] 


NOTE  BY  THE  PUBLISHER, 

Without  the  knowledge  or  permission  of  the  authors, 
and  which,  if  he  dared,  he  would  have  placed  near 
where  their  remarks  are  made  on  the  great  differ- 
ence of  manners  which  exists  between  the  sexes 
now,  from  what  it  did  in  the  days  of  our  grandames.  ' 
The  danger  of  that  cheek-by-jowl  familiarity  of  the  1 


present  day,  must  be  ODvious  to  many  ;  and  I  think 
the  following  a  strong  example  of  one  of  its  evils 


EXTRACTED   FROM   "THE   MIRROR  OF   THE 
GRACES." 

"  I  REMFMBER  the  Count  M ,  one  of  the  most 

accomplished  and  handsomest  young  men  in  Vienna  • 
when  I  was  there,  he  was  passionately  in  love  with 
a  girl  of  almost  peerless  beauty.  She  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  man  of  great  rank,  and  great  influence  at 
court ;  and  on  these  considerations,  as  well  as  in  re- 
gard to  her  charms,  she  was  followed  by  a  multitude 
ot  suitors.  She  was  lively  and  amiable,  and  treated 
them  all  with  an  affability  which  still  kept  them  in 
her  train,  although  it  was  generally  known  she  had 

avowed  a    partiality  for    Count    M ;   and  that 

preparations  were  making  for  their  nuptials.  The 
Count  was  of  a  refined  mind,  and  a  delicate  sensi- 
bility;  he  loved  her  for  herself  alone  :  for  the  virtues 
which  he  believed  dwelt  in  her  beautiful  form  ;  and, 
like  a  lover  of  such  perfections,  he  never  approached 
her  without  timidity ;  and  when  he  touched  her,  a 
fire  shot  through  his  veins,  that  warned  him  not  to 
invade  the  vermilion  sanctuary  of  her  lips.  Such 
were  his  feelings  when,  one  evening,  at  his  intended 
father-in-law's,  a  party  of  young  people  were  met  to 
celebrate  a  certain  festival ;  several  of  the  young 
lady's  rejected  suitors  were  present.  Forfeits  were 
one  of  the  pastimes,  and  all  went  on  with  the  greatest 
merriment,  till  the  Count  was  commanded,  bv  some 
witty  mam'scUe,  to  redeem  his  glove  by  saluting  the 
cheek  of  his  intended  bride.  The  Count  blushed, 
trembled,  advanced,  retreated  ;  again  advanced  t,) 
his  mistress;— and,— at  last,— wi'th  a  tremor  that 
shook  his  whole  soul,  and  every  fibre  of  his  frame, 
with  a  modest  and  diffident  grace,  he  took  the  soft 
ringlet  which  played  upon  her  cheek,  pressed  it  to 
his  lips,  and  retired  to  demand  his  redeemed  pledge 
in  the  most  evident  confusion.  His  mislress  gaily 
smiled,  and  the  game  went  on. 

"  One  of  her  rejected  suitors  who  was  of  a  merry, 
unthinking  disposition,  was  adjudged  by  the  sanie 
mdiscreet  crier  of  the  forfeits  as  "  his  last  treat  be- 
fore he  hanged  himself"  to  snatch  a  kiss  Irom  the 
object  of  his  recent  vows.  A  lively  contest  ensued 
between  the  gentleman  and  lady,  which  lasted  for 
more  than  a  minute ;  but  the  lady  yielded,  though 
in  the  midst  of  a  convulsive  laugh. 

"The  Count  h.ad  the  mortification— the  agony— to 
see  the  lips,  which  his  passionate  and  delicate  love 
would  not  permit  him  to  touch,  kissed  with  rough- 
ness, and  repetition,  by  another  man  :— even  by  one 
whom  he  really  despised.  Mournfully  and  silently, 
without  a  word,  he  rose  from  his  chair— left  the  room 
and  the  house.  By  that  good-natured  kiss  the  fair 
boast  of  Vienna  lost  her  lover— lost  her  husband. 
The  Count  never  saw  her  more.' 


S82 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


SALMAGUNDI; 


OR,  THE 

WHIM-WHAMS  AND  OPINIONS  OF  LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,  ESQ.,  AND  OTHERS. 


In  hoc  est  hoax,  cum  quiz  et  jokesez, 
Et  smokem,  toastem,  roastein  folksez, 

Fee,  faw,  fum.  Psalmanazar, 

With  bak'd,  and  broil'd,  and  stew'd,  and  toasted  ; 
And  fried,  and  boil'd,  and  smok'd,  and  roasted, 
We  treat  the  town. 


VOLUME  SECOND 


No.  XL— TUESDAY,  JULY  2,  1807. 

LETTER    FROM     MUSTAPHA    RUB-A-DUB 
KELI    KHAN, 

CAPTAIN  OF  A  KETCH,  TO  ASEM  HACCHEM, 
PRINCIPAL  SLAVE-DRIVER  TO  HIS  HIGHNESS 
THE   BASHAW   OF  TRIPOLI. 


The  deep  shadows  of  midnight  gather  around 
ine ; — the  footsteps  of  the  passengers  have  ceased  in 
the  streets,  and  nothing  disturbs  the  holy  silence  of 
the  hour  save  the  sound  of  distant  drums,  mingled 
with  the  shouts,  the  bawlings,  and  the  discordant 
revelry  of  his  majesty,  the  sovereign  mob.  Let  the 
hour  be  sacred  to  friendship,  and  consecrated  to  thee, 
oh,  thou  brother  of  my  inmost  soul  ! 

Oh,  Asem  !  I  almost  shrink  at  the  recollection  of 
the  scenes  of  confusion,  of  licentious  disorganization, 
which  I  have  witnessed  during  the  last  three  days. 
1  have  beheld  this  whole  city,  nay,  this  whole  state, 
given  up  to  the  tongue,  and  the  pen  ;  to  the  puffers, 
the  bawlers,  the  babblers,  and  the  slang-whangers. 
I  have  beheld  the  community  convulsed  with  a  civil 
war,  or  civil  talk ;  individuals  verbally  massacred, 
families  annihilated  by  whole  sheets  full,  and  slang- 
whangers  coolly  bathing  their  pens  in  ink  and  rioting 
in  the  slaughter  of  their  thousands.  I  have  seen,  in 
short,  that  awful  despot,  the  people,  in  the  moment 
of  unlimited  power,  wielding  newspapers  in  one 
hand,  and  with  the  other  scattering  mud  and  filth 
about,  like  some  desperate  lunatic  relieved  from  the 
restraints  of  his  straight  waistcoat.  I  have  seen 
beggars  on  horseback,  ragamuffins  riding  in  coach- 
es, and  swine  seated  in  places  of  honour ;  I  have 
seen  liberty ;  I  have  seen  equality ;  I  have  seen 
fraternity  I — I  have  seen  that  great  political  puppet- 
show AN  ELECTION. 

A  few  days  ago  the  friend,  whom  I  have  mention- 
ed in  some  of  my  former  letters,  called  upon  me  to 
accompany  him  to  witness  this  grand  ceremony ; 
and  we  forthwith  sallied  out  to  the  polls,  as  he  called 
them.  Though  for  several  weeks  before  this  splen- 
did exhibition,  nothing  else  had  been  talked  of,  yet  I 
do  assure  thee  I  was  entirely  ignorant  of  its  nature  ; 
and  when,  on  coming  up  to  a  church,  my  companion 
informed  me  we  were  at  the  poll,  I  supposed  that  an 
election  was  seme  great  religious  ceremony  like  the 


fast  of  Ramazan,  or  the  great  festival  of  Haraphat, 
so  celebrated  in  the  east. 

My  friend,  however,  undeceived  me  at  once,  and 
entered  into  a  long  dissertation  on  the  nature  and 
object  of  an  election,  the  substance  of  which  was 
nearly  to  this  effect :  "  You  know,"  said  he,  "  that 
this  country  is  engaged  in  a  violent  internal  warfare, 
and  suffers  a  variety  of  evils  from  civil  dissensions. 
An  election  is  a  grand  trial  of  strength,  the  decisive 
battle,  when  the  belligerents  draw  out  their  forces  in 
martial  array  ;  when  every  leader,  burning  with  war- 
like ardour,  and  encouraged  by  the  shouts  and  ac- 
clamations of  tatterdmalions,  buffoons,  dependents, 
parasites,  toad-eaters,  scrubs,  vagrants,  mumpers, 
ragamuffins,  bravoes,  and  beggars,  in  his  rear ;  and 
puffed  up  by  his  bellows-blowing  slang-whangers, 
waves  gallantly  the  banners  of  faction,  and  presses 
forward  TO  OFFICE  AND  IMMORTALITY  !  " 

"  For  a  month  or  two  previous  to  the  critical 
period  which  is  to  decide  this  important  affair,  the 
whole  community  is  in  a  ferment.  Every  man,  of 
whatever  rank  or  degree,  such  is  the  wonderful 
patriotism  of  the  people,  disinterestedly  neglects  his 
business,  to  devote  himself  to  his  country  ; — and  not 
an  insignificant  fellow,  but  feels  himself  inspired,  on 
this  occasion,  with  as  much  warmth  in  favour  of  the 
cause  he  has  espoused,  as  if  all  the  comfort  of  his 
life,  or  even  his  life  itself,  was  dependent  on  the  issue. 
Grand  councils  of  war  are,  in  the  first  place,  called 
by  the  different  powers,  which  are  dubbed  general 
meetings,  where  all  the  head  workmen  of  the  party 
collect,  and  arrange  the  order  of  battle ; — appoint 
the  different  commanders,  and  their  subordinate  in- 
struments, and  furnish  the  funds  indispensable  for 
supplying  the  expenses  of  the  war.  Inferior  councils 
are  next  called  in  the  different  classes  or  wards ; 
consisting  of  young  cadets,  who  are  candidates  for 
offices ;  idlers  who  come  there  for  mere  curiosity ; 
and  orators  who  appear  for  the  purpose  of  detailing 
all  the  crimes,  the  faults,  or  the  weaknesses  of  their 
opponents,  and  speaking  the  sense  of  the  meeting,  as 
it  is  called  ;  for  as  the  meeting  generally  consists  of 
men  whose  quota  of  sense,  taken  individually,  would 
make  but  a  poor  figure,  these  orators  are  appointed 
to  collect  it  all  in  a  lump ;  when  I  assure  you  it 
makes  a  very  formidable  appearance,  and  furnishes 
sufKcient  matter  to  spin  an  oration  of  tvyro  or  three 
hours." 

"  The  orators  who  declaim  at  these  meetings  are, 
with  a  few  exceptions,  men  of  most  profound  and 


SALMAGUNDI. 


683 


perplexed  eloquence ;  who  are  the  oracles  of  barber's 
shops,  market-places,  and  porter-houses ;  and  who 
you  may  sec  every  day  at  the  corners  of  the  streets, 
taking  honest  men  prisoners  by  the  button,  and  talk- 
ing their  ribs  quite  bare  without  mercy  and  without 
end.  These  orators,  in  addressing  an  audience, 
generally  mount  a  chair,  a  table,  or  an  empty  beer 
barrel,  which  last  is  supposed  to  aflbrd  considerable 
inspiration,  and  thunder  away  their  combustible  sen- 
timents at  the  heads  of  the  audience,  who  are  gener- 
ally so  busily  employed  in  smoking,  drinking,  and 
hearing  themselves  talk,  that  they  seldom  hear  a 
word  of  the  matter.  This,  however,  is  of  little  mo- 
ment ;  for  as  they  come  there  to  agree  at  all  events 
to  a  certain  set  of  resolutions,  or  articles  of  war,  it 
is  not  at  all  necessary  to  hear  the  speech  ;  more 
especially  as  few  Would  understand  it  if  they  did. 
Do  not  suppose,  however,  that  the  minor  persons  of 
the  meeting  are  entirely  idle. — Besides  smoking  and 
drinking,  which  are  generally  practised,  there  are 
few  who  do  not  come  with  as  great  a  desire  to  talk 
as  the  orator  himself;  each  has  his  little  circle  of 
listeners,  in  the  midst  of  whom  he  sets  his  hat  on 
one  side  of  his  head,  and  deals  out  matter-of-fact  in- 
formation ;  and  draws  self-evident  conclusions,  with 
the  pertinacity  of  a  pedant,  and  to  the  great  edifica- 
tion of  his  gaping  auditors.  Nay,  the  very  urchins 
from  the  nursery,  who  are  scarcely  emancipated 
from  the  dominion  of  birch,  on  these  occasions 
strut  pigmy  great  men  ; — bellow  for  the  instruction 
of  gray-bearded  ignorance,  and,  like  the  frog  in  the 
fable,  endeavour  to  puff  themselves  up  to  the  size 
of  the  great  object  of  their  emulation — the  principal 
orator." 

"  But  is  it  not  preposterous  to  a  degree,"  cried  I, 
"  for  those  puny  whipsters  to  attempt  to  lecture  age 
and  experience .'  They  should  be  sent  to  school  to 
learn  better."  "  Not  at  all,"  replied  my  friend  ;  "  for 
as  an  election  is  nothing  more  than  a  war  of  words, 
the  man  that  can  wag  his  tongue  with  the  greatest 
elasticity,  whether  he  speaks  to  the  purpose  or  not, 
is  entitled  to  lecture  at  ward  meetings  and  polls,  and 
instruct  all  who  are  inclined  to  listen  to  him :  you 
may  have  remarked  a  ward  meeting  of  politic  dogs, 
where  although  the  great  dog  is,  ostensibly,  the 
leader,  and  makes  the  most  noise,  yet  every  little 
scoundrel  of  a  cur  has  something  to  say ;  and  in 
proportion  to  his  insignificance,  fidgets,  and  worries, 
and  puffs  about  mightily,  in  order  to  obtain  the 
notice  and  approbation  of  his  betters."  Thus  it  is 
with  these  little,  beardless,  bread-and-butter  poli- 
ticians who,  on  this  occasion,  escape  from  the  juris- 
diction of  their  mammas  to  attend  to  the  affairs  of 
the  nation.  You  will  see  them  engaged  in  dreadful 
wordy  contest  with  old  cartmen,  cobblers,  and  tailors, 
and  plume  themselves  not  a  little  if  they  should 
chance  to  gain  a  victory. — Aspiring  spirits  !  how  in- 
teresting are  the  first  dawnings  of  political  greatness  ! 
an  election,  my  friend,  is  a  nursery  or  hot-bed  of 
genius  in  a  logocracy ;  and  I  look  with  enthusiasm 
on  a  troop  of  these  Lilliputian  partizans,  as  so  many 
chatterers,  and  orators,  and  puffers,  and  slang- 
whangers  in  embryo,  who  will  one  day  take  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  quarrels,  and  wordy  wars  of 
their  country. 

"  As  the  time  for  fighting  the  decisive  battle  ap- 
proaches, appearances  become  more  and  more  alarm- 
ing ;  committees  are  appointed,  who  hold  little  en- 
campments from  whence  they  send  out  small  detach- 
ments of  tattlers,  to  reconnoitre,  harass,  and  skirmish 
with  the  enemy,  and  if  possible,  ascertain  their  num- 
bers ;  every  body  seems  big  with  the  mighty  event 
that  is  impending;  the  orators  they  gradually  swell 
up  beyond  their  usual  size  ;  the  little  orators  they 
grow  greater  and  greater ;  the  secretaries  of  the  ward 


committees  strut  about  looking  like  wooden  oracles  ; 
the  puffers  put  on  the  airs  of  mighty  consequence ; 
the  slang-whangers  deal  out  direlul  innuendoes,  and 
threats  of  doughty  import ;  and  all  is  buzz,  murmur, 
suspense,  and  sublimity  ! 

"  At  length  the  day  arrives.  The  storm  that  has 
been  so  long  gathering,  and  threatening  in  distant 
thunders,  bursts  forth  in  terrible  explosion  :  all  busi- 
ness is  at  an  end  ;  the  whole  city  is  in  a  tumult  ;  the 
people  are  running  helter-skelter,  they  know  not 
whither,  and  they  know  not  why  ;  the  hackney 
coaches  rattle  through  the  streets  with  thundering 
vehemence,  loaded  with  recruiting  Serjeants  who 
have  been  prowling  in  cellars  and  caves,  to  unearth 
some  miserable  minion  of  poverty  and  ignorance, 
who  will  barter  his  vote  for  a  glass  of  beer,  or  a  ride 
in  a  coach  with  such  fine  gentlemen! — the  buzzards 
of  the  party  scamper  from  poll  to  poll,  on  foot  or  on 
horseback ;  and  they  worry  from  committee  to  com- 
mittee, and  buzz,  and  fume,  and  talk  big,  and — do 
nothing:  like  the  vagabond  drone,  who  wastes  his 
time  in  the  laborious  idleness  of  seesaw-song,  and 
busy  nothingness." 

I  know  not  how  long  my  friend  would  have  con- 
tinued his  detail,  had  he  not  been  interrupted  by  a 
squabble  which  took  place  between  two  old  conti- 
nentals, as  they  were  called.  It  seems  they  had 
entered  into  an  argument  on  the  respective  merits 
of  their  cause,  and  not  being  able  to  make  each 
other  clearly  understood,  resorted  to  what  is  called 
knock-down  arguments,  which  form  the  superlative 
degree  of  argnmentitm  ad  hominent  ;  but  are,  in  my 
opniion,  extremely  inconsistent  with  the  true  spirit 
of  a  genuine  logocracy.  After  they  had  beaten  each 
other  soundly,  and  set  the  whole  mob  together  by 
the  ears,  they  came  to  a  full  explanation  ;  when  it 
was  discovered  that  they  were  both  of  the  same 
way  of  thinking; — whereupon  they  shook  each  other 
heartily  by  the  hand,  and  laughed  with  great  glee  at 
their  humorous  misunderstanding. 

I  could  not  help  being  struck  with  the  exceeding 
great  number  of  ragged,  dirty-looking  persons  that 
swaggered  about  the  place  and  seemed  to  think 
themselves  the  bashaws  of  the  land.  I  inquired  of 
my  friend,  if  these  people  were  emplojed  to  drive 
away  the  hogs,  dogs,  and  other  intruders  that  might 
thrust  themselves  in  and  interrupt  the  ceremony  ? 
"  By  no  means,"  replied  he  ;  "  these  are  the  repre- 
sentatives of  the  sovereign  people,  who  come  here  to 
make  governors,  senators,  and  members  of  assembly, 
and  are  the  source  of  all  power  and  authority  in  this 
nation."  "Preposterous!"  said  I,  "  how  is  it  pos- 
sible that  such  inen  can  be  capable  of  distinguishing 
between  an  honest  man  and  a  knave ;  or  even  if  they 
were,  will  it  not  always  happen  that  they  are  led  by  the 
nose  by  some  intriguing  demagogue,  and  made  the 
mere  tools  of  ambitious  political  jugglers.'  Surely 
it  would  be  better  to  trust  to  providence,  or  even  to 
chance,  for  governors,  than  resort  to  the  discrimi- 
nating powers  of  an  ignorant  mob. — I  plainly  per- 
ceive the  consequence.  A  man  who  possesses 
superior  talents,  and  that  honest  pride  which  ever 
accompanies  this  possession,  will  always  be  sacri- 
ficed to  some  creeping  insect  who  will  prostitute 
himself  to  familiarity  with  the  lowest  of  mankind  ; 
and,  like  the  idolatrous  Egyptian,  worship  the  wal- 
lowing tenants  of  filth  and  mire." 

"  All  this  is  true  enough,"  replied  my  friend,  "  but 
after  all,  you  cannot  say  but  that  this  is  a  free  coun- 
try, and  that  the  people  can  get  drunk  cheaper  here, 
particularly  at  elections,  than  in  the  despotic  coun- 
tries of  the  east."  I  could  not,  with  any  degree  of 
propriety  or  truth,  deny  this  last  assertion  ;  for  just 
at  that  moment  a  patriotic  brewer  arrived  with  a  load 
of  beer,  which,  for  a  moment,  occasioned  a  cessation 


684 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


of  argument. -The  great  crowd  of  buzzards,  puff- 
ers, and  "  old  continentals  "  of  all  parties,  who 
throng  to  the  polls,  to  persuade,  to  cheat,  or  to  force 
the  freeholders  into  the  right  way,  and  to  maintain 
the  freedom  of  suffrage,  seemed  for  a  moment  to  for- 
get their  antipathies  and  joined,  heartily,  in  a  copious 
libation  of  this  patriotic  and  argumentative  beverage. 

These  beer-barrels  indeed  seem  to  be  most  able 
logicians,  well  stored  with  that  kind  of  sound  argu- 
ment, best  suited  to  the  comprehension,  and  most 
rehshed  by  the  mob,  or  sovereign  people  ;  who  are 
never  so  tractable  as  when  operated  upon  by  this 
convincing  liquor,  which,  in  fact,  seems  to  be  imbued 
with  the  very  spirit  of  a  logocracy.  No  sooner  does 
it  begin  its  operation,  than  the  tongue  waxes  exceed- 
ing valorous,  and  becomes  impatient  for  some 
mighty  conflict.  The  puffer  puts  himself  at  the 
head  of  his  body-guard  of  buzzards,  and  his  legion 
of  ragamuffins,  and  wo  then  to  every  unhappy  ad- 
versary who  is  uninspired  by  the  deity  of  the  beer- 
barrel— he  is  sure  to  be  talked  and  argued  into 
complete  insignificance. 

While  I  was  making  these  observations,  I  was  sur- 
prised to  observe  a  bashaw,  high  in  office,  shaking  a 
fellow  by  the  hand,  that  looked  rather  more  ragged 
than  a  scare-crow,  and  inquiring  with  apparent  solic- 
itude concerningthe  health  of  his  family  ;  after  which 
he  slipped  a  little  folded  paper  into  his  hand  and 
turned  away.  I  could  not.  help  applauding  his  hu- 
mility in  shaking  the  fellow's  hand,  and  his  benevo- 
lence in  relieving  his  distresses,  for  I  imagined  the 
paper  contained  something  for  the  poor  man's  neces- 
sities ;  and  truly  he  seemed  verging  towards  the  last 
stage  of  starvation.  My  friend,  however,  soon  un- 
deceived me  by  saying  that  this  was  an  elector,  and 
that  the  bashaw  had  merely  given  him  the  ■  list  of 
candidates  for  whom  he  was  to  vote.  "Ho!  ho!" 
said  I,  "then  he  is  a  particular  friend  of  the  bashaw  ?  " 
"By  no  means,"  replied  my  friend,  "the  bashaw  will 
pass  him  without  notice,  the  day  after  the  election, 
except,  perhaps,  just  to  drive  over  him  with  his 
coach." 

My  friend  then  proceeded  to  inform  me  that  for 
some  time  before,  and  during  the  continuance  of  an 
election,  there  was  a  most  delectable  courtship,  or 
intrigue,  carried  on  between  the  great  bashaws  and 
mother  mob.  That  mother  mob  generally  preferred 
the  attentions  of  the  rabble,  or  of  fellows  of  her  own 
stamp ;  but  would  sometimes  condescend  to  be 
treated  to  a  feasting,  or  any  thing  of  that  kind,  at 
the  bashaw's  expense ;  nay,  sometimes  when  she 
was  in  good  humour,  she  would  condescend  to  toy 
with  them  in  her  rough  way ; — but  wo  be  to  the 
bashaw  who  attempted  to  be  familiar  with  her,  for 
she  was  the  most  pestilent,  cross,  crabbed,  scolding, 
thieving,  scratching,  toping,  wrongheaded,  rebellious, 
and  abominable  termagant  that  ever  was  let  loose 
in  the  world,  to  the  confusion  of  honest  gentlemen 
bashaws. 

Just  then  a  fellow  came  round  and  distributed 
among  the  crowd  a  number  of  hand-bills,  written 
by  the  ghost  of  Washington,  the  fame  of  whose 
illustrious  actions,  and  still  more  illustrious  virtues, 
has  reached  even  the  remotest  regions  of  the  east, 
and  who  is  venerated  by  this  people  as  the  Father 
of  his  country.  On  reading  this  paltry  paper,  I 
could  not  restrain  my  indignation.  "  Insulted  hero," 
cried  I,  "  is  it  thus  thy  name  is  profaned,  thy 
memory  disgraced,  thy  spirit  drawn  down  from 
heaven  to  administer  to  the  brutal  violence  of  party 
rage  ! — It  is  thus  the  necromancers  of  the  east,  by 
their  infernal  incantations,  sometimes  call  up  the 
shades  of  the  just,  to  give  their  sanction  to  frauds, 
to  lies,  and  to  every  species  of  enormity."  My 
friend   smiled   at   my  warmth,  and   observed,  that 


raising  ghosts,  and  not  only  raising  them,  but  mak- 
ing them  speak,  was  one  of  the  miracles  of  elec- 
tions. "  And  believe  me,"  continued  he,  "  there 
is  good  reason  for  the  ashes  of  departed  heroes 
being  disturbed  on  these  occasions,  for  such  is  the 
sandy  foundation  of  our  government,  that  there 
never  happens  an  election  of  an  alderman,  or  a  col- 
lector, or  even  a  constable,  but  we  are  in  imminent 
danger  of  losing  our  liberties,  and  becoming  a  prov- 
ince of  France,  or  tributary  to  the  British  islands." 
"  By  the  hump  of  Mahomet's  camel,"  said  I,  "  but 
this  is  only  another  striking  example  of  the  prodig- 
ious great  scale  on  which  every  thing  is  transacted 
in  this  country! " 

By  this  time  I  had  become  tired  of  the  scene  ; 
my  head  ached  with  the  uproar  of  voices,  mingling 
in  all  the  discordant  tones  of  triumphant  exclama- 
tion, nonsensical  argument,  intemperate  reproach, 
and  drunken  absurdity. — The  confusion  was  such 
as  no  language  can  adequately  describe,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  all  the  restraints  of  decency,  and  all 
the  bands  of  law,  had  been  broken  and  given  place 
to  the  wide  ravages  of  licentious  brutality.  These, 
thought  I,  are  the  orgies  of  liberty  !  these  are  the 
manifestations  of  the  spirit  of  independence  !  these 
are  the  symbols  of  man's  sovereignty  !  Head  of 
Mahomet  !  with  what  a  fatal  and  inexorable  des- 
potism do  empty  names  and  ideal  phantoms  exer- 
cise their  dominion  over  the  human  mind  !  The 
experience  of  ages  has  demonstrated,  that  in  all 
nations,  barbarous  or  enlightened,  the  mass  of  the 
people,  the  mob,  must  be  slaves,  or  they  will  be 
tyrants  ;  but  their  tyranny  will  not  be  long  : — some 
ambitious  leader,  having  at  first  condescended  to 
be  their. slave,  will  at  length  become  their  master; 
and  in  proportion  to  the  vileness  of  his  former  serv- 
itude, will  be  the  severity  of  his  subsequent  tyr- 
anny.— Yet,  with  innumerable  examples  staring 
them  in  the  face,  the  people  still  bawl  out  liberty  ; 
by  which  they  mean  nothing  but  freedom  from 
every  species  of  legal  restraint,  and  a  warrant  for 
all  kinds  of  licentiousness :  and  the  bashaws  and 
leaders,  in  courting  the  mob,  convince  them  of 
their  power;  and  by  administering  to  their  pas- 
sions, tor  the  purposes  of  ambition,  at  length  learn, 
by  fatal  experience,  that  he  who  worships  the  beast 
that  carries  him  on  its  back,  will  sooner  or  later  be 
thrown  into  the  dust  and  trampled  under  foot  by  the 
animal  who  has  learnt  the  secret  of  its  power  by 
this  very  adoration. 

Ever  thine, 

MUSTAPHA. 


FROM  MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 
MINE    UNCLE    JOHN, 


To  those  whose  habits  of  abstraction  may  have 
let  them  into  some  of  the  secrets  of  their  own 
minds,  and  whose  freedom  from  daily  toil  has  left 
them  at  leisure  "to  analyze  their  feelings,  it  will  be 
nothing  new  to  say  that  the  present  is  peculiarly 
the  season  of  remembrance.  The  flowers,  the 
zephyrs,  and  the  warblers  of  spring,  returning  after 
their  tedious  absence,  bring  naturally  to  our  recollec- 
tion past  times  and  buried  feelings  ;  and  the  whispers 
of  the  full-foliaged  grove,  fall  on  the  ear  of  contem- 
plation, like  the  sweet  tones  of  far  di.stant  friends 
whom  the  rude  jostles  of  the  world  have  severed 
from  us  and  cast  far  beyond  our  reach.  It  is  at  such 
times,  that  casting  backward  many  a  lingering  look 
we  recall,  with  a  kind  of  sweet-souled  melancholy, 


SALMAGUNDI. 


GS5 


the  days  of  our  youth,  and  the  jocund  companions 
who  started  with  us  the  race  of  life,  but  parted  mid- 
way in  the  journey  to  pursue  some  winding  path 
that  allured  them  with  a  prospect  more  seducing — 
and  never  returned  to  us  again.  It  is  then,  too,  if 
we  have  been  afflicted  with  any  heavy  sorrow,  if  we 
have  even  lost — and  who  has  not ! — an  old  friend,  or 
chosen  companion,  that  his  shade  will  hover  around 
us ;  the  memory  of  his  virtues  press  on  the  heart  ; 
and  a  thousand  endearing  recollections,  forgotten 
amidst  the  cold  pleasures  and  midnight  dissipations 
of  winter,  arise  to  our  remembrance. 

These  speculations  bring  to  my  mind  MY  ITNXLE 
John,  the  history  of  whose  loves,  and  disappoint- 
ments, I  have  promised  to  the  world.  Though  1 
must  own  myself  much  addicted  to  forgetting  my 
promises,  yet,  as  I  have  been  so  happily  reminded 
of  this,  I  believe  I  must  pay  it  at  once,  "  and  there 
is  an  end."  Lest  my  readers — good-natured  souls 
that  they  are  ! — should,  in  the  ardour  of  peeping 
into  millstones,  take  my  uncle  for  an  old  acquaint- 
ance, I  here  inform  them,  that  the  old  gentleman 
died  a  great  many  years  ago,  and  it  is  impossible 
they  should  ever  have  known  him  :— I  pity  them 
— for  they  would  have  known  a  good-natured,  be- 
nevolent man,  whose  example  might  have  been  of 
service. 

The  last  time  I  saw  my  uncle  John  was  fifteen 
years  ago,  when  I  paid  him  a  visit  at  his  old  man- 
sion. I  found  him  reading  a  newspaper — for  it 
was  election  time,  and  he  was  always  a  vvarm 
lederalist,  and  had  made  several  converts  to  the 
true  political  faith  in  his  time ; — particularly  one 
old  tenant,  who  always,  just  before  the  election,  be- 
came a  violent  anti ; in  order  that  he  might  be 

convinced  of  his  errors  by  my  uncle,  who  never 
failed  to  reward  his  conviction  by  some  substantial 
benefit. 

After  we  had  settled  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  and 
I  had  paid  my  respects  to  the  old  family  chroni- 
cles in  the  kitchen, — an  indispensable  ceremony, 
— the  old  gentleman  exclaimed,  with  heart-felt 
glee,  "  Well,  I  suppose  you  are  for  a  trout-fishing  ; 
— I  have  got  every  thing  prepared  ; — but  first  you 
must  take  a  walk  with  me  to  see  my  improve- 
ments." I  was  obliged  to  consent ;  though  I  knew 
my  uncle  would  lead  me  a  most  villainous  dance, 
and  in  all  probability  treat  me  to  a  quagmire,  or  a 
tumble  into  a  ditch.  If  my  readers  choose  to  ac- 
company me  in  this  expedition,  they  are  welcome; 
if  not,  let  them  stay  at  home  like  lazy  fellows — and 
sleep — or  be  hanged. 

Though  1  had  been  absent  several  years,  yet 
there  was  very  little  alteration  in  the  scenery,  and 
every  object  retained  the  same  features  it  bore 
when  I  was  a  school-boy ;  for  it  was  in  this  spot 
that  I  grew  up  in  the  fear  of  ghosts,  and  in  the 
oreaking  of  many  of  the  ten  commandments.  The 
brook,  or  river  as  they  would  call  it  in  Europe,  still 
murmured  with  its  wonted  sweetness  through  the 
meadow ;  and  its  banks  were  still  tufted  with  dwarf 
willows,  that  bent  down  to  the  surface.  The  same 
echo  inhabited  the  valley,  and  the  same  tender  air 
of  repose  pervaded  the  whole  scene.  Even  my 
good  uncle  was  but  little  altered,  except  that  his 
hair  was  grown  a  litde  grayer,  and  his  forehead 
had  lost  some  of  its  former  smoothness.  He  had, 
however,  lost  nothing  of  his  former  activity,  and 
laughed  heartily  at  the  difficulty  I  found  in  keeping 
up  with  him  as  he  stumped  through  bushes,  and 
briers,  and  hedges  ;  talking  all  the  time  about  his 
improvements,  and  telling  what  he  would  do  with 
such  a  spot  of  ground  and  such  a  tree.  At  length, 
after  showing  me  his  stone  fences,  his  famous  two- 
year-old  bull,  his  new  invented  cart,  which  was  to 


go  before  the  Tiorse,  and  his  Eclipse  colt,  he  was 
pleased  to  return  home  to  dinner. 

After  dinner  and  returning  thanks, — which  with 
him  was  not  a  ceremony  merely,  but  an  offering 
from  the  heart, — my  uncle  opened  his  trunk,  took 
out  his  fishing-tackle,  and,  without  saying  a  word, 
sallied  forth  with  some  of  those  truly  alarming  steps 
which  Daddy  Neptune  once  took  when  he  was  in  a 
great  hurry  to  attend  to  the  affair  of  the  siege  of 
Troy.  Trout-fishing  was  my  uncle's  favourite  sport ; 
and,  though  I  always  caught  two  fish  to  his  one,  he 
never  would  acknowledge  my  superiority  ;  but  puz- 
zled himself  often  and  often  to  account  for  such  a 
singular  phenomenon. 

Following  the  current  of  the  brook  for  a  mile  or 
two,  we  retraced  many  of  our  old  haunts,  and  told  a 
hundred  adventures  which  had  befallen  us  at  differ- 
ent times.  It  was  like  snatching  the  hour-glass  of 
time,  inverting  it,  and  rolling  back  again  the  sands 
that  had  marked  the  lapse  of  years.  At  length  the 
shadows  began  to  lengthen,  the  south-wind  gradu- 
ally settled  into  a  perfect  calm,  the  sun  threw  his 
rays  through  the  trees  on  the  hill-tops  in  golden  lus- 
tre, and  a  kind  of  Sabbath  stillness  pervaded  the 
whole  valley,  indicating  that  the  hour  was  fast  ap- 
proaching which  was  to  relieve  for  a  while  the  far- 
mer from  his  rural  labour,  the  ox  from  his  toil,  the 
school-urchin  from  his  primer,  and  bring  the  loving 
ploughman  home  to  the  feet  of  his  blooming  dairy- 
maid. 

As  we  were  watching  in  silence  the  last  rays  of 
the  sun,  beaming  their  farewell  radiance  on  the  high 
hills  at  a  distance,  my  uncle  exclaimed,  in  a  kind  of 
half-desponding  tone,  while  he  rested  his  arm  over 
an  old  tree  that  had  fallen — "  I  know  not  how  it  is, 
my  dear  Launce,  but  such  an  evening,  and  such  a 
still  quiet  scene  as  this,  always  make  me  a  little  sad  : 
and  it  is,  at  such  a  time,  I  am  most  apt  to  look  for- 
ward with  regret  to  the  period  when  this  farm,  on 
which  '  I  have  been  young,  but  now  am  old,'  and 
every  object  around  me  that  is  endeared  by  long  ac- 
quaintance,—when  all  these  and  I  must  shake  hands 
and  part.  I  have  no  fear  of  death,  for  my  life  has 
afforded  but  little  temptation  to  wickedness;  and 
when  I  die,  I  hope  to  leave  behind  me  more  substan- 
tial proofs  of  virtue  than  will  be  found  in  my  epitaph, 
and  more  lasting  memorials  than  churches  built  or 
hospitals  endowed  ;  vvith  wealth  wrung  from  the  hard 
hand  of  poverty  by  an  unfeeling  landlord  or  unprin- 
cipled knave  ; — but  still,  when  I  pass  such  a  day  as 
this  and  contemplate  such  a  scene,  I  cannot  help 
feeling  a  latent  wish  to  linger  yet  a  little  longer  in 
this  peaceful  asylum  ;  to  enjoy  a  little  more  sunshine 
in  this  world,  and  to  have  a  few  more  fishing- 
matches  with  my  boy."  As  he  ended  he  raised  his 
hand  a  little  from  the  fallen  tree,  and  dropping  it 
languidly  by  his  side,  turned  himself  towards  home. 
The  sentiment,  the  look,  the  action,  all  seemed  to  be 
prophetic.  And  so  they  were,  for  when  I  shook  him 
by  the  hand  and  bade  him  farewell  the  next  morning 
— it  was  lor  the  last  time ! 

He  died  a  bachelor,  at  the  age  of  sixty-three, 
though  he  had  been  all  his  life  trying  to  get  married  : 
and  always  thought  himself  on  the  point  of  accom- 
plishing his  wishes.  His  disappointments  were  not 
owing  either  to  the  deformity  of  his  mind  or  person ; 
for  in  his  youth  he  was  reckoned  handsome,  and  I 
myself  can  witness  for  him  that  he  had  as  kind  a 
heart  as  ever  was  fashioned  by  heaven  ;  neither  were 
they  owing  to  his  poverty, — which  sometimes  stands 
in  an  honest  man's  way; — for  he  was  born  to  the  in- 
heritance of  a  small  estate  which  was  sufficient  to 
establish  his  claim  to  the  title  of  "  one  well-to-do  in 
the  world."  The  truth  is,  my  uncle  had  a  prodig- 
ious antipathy  to  doing  things  in  a  hurry. — "  A  man 


686 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


should  consider,"  said  he  to  me  once — "that  he  can 
always  get  a  wife,  but  cannot  always  get  rid  of  her. 
For  my  part,"  continued  he,  "  I  am  a  young  fellow, 
with  the  world  before  me," — he  was  but  about  forty  ! 
— "and  am  resolved  to  look  sharp,  weigh  matters 
well,  and  know  what's  what,  before  I  marry : — in 
short,  Launce,  /  don'i  intend  to  do  the  thing  in  n 
hurry,  depend  upon  it."  On  this  whim-wham,  he 
proceeded :  he  began  with  young  girls,  and  ended 
with  widows.  The  girls  he  courted  until  they  grew 
old  maids,  or  married  out  of  pure  apprehension  of 
incurring  certain  penalties  hereafter  ;  and  the  widows 
not  having  quite  as  much  patience,  generally,  at  the 
end  of  a  year,  while  the  good  man  thought  himself 
in  the  high  road  to  success,  married  some  harum- 
scarum  young  fellow,  who  had  not  such  an  antipathy 
to  doing  things  in  a  hurry. 

My  uncle  would  have  inevitably  sunk  under  these 
repeated  disappointments — for  he  did  not  want  sen- 
sibility— had  he  not  hit  upon  a  discovery  which  set 
all  to  rights  at  once.  He  consoled  his  vanity, — for 
he  was  a  little  vain,  and  soothed  his  pride,  which 
was  his  master-passion, — by  telling  his  friends  very 
significantly,  while  his  eye  would  flash  triumph, 
"  that  he  might  have  had  her." — Those  who  know 
how  much  of  the  bitterness  of  disappointed  affection 
arises  hom  wounded  vanity  and  exasperated  pride, 
will  give  my  uncle  credit  for  this  discovery. 

My  uncle  had  been  told  by  a  prodigious  number 
of  married  men,  and  had  read  in  an  innumerable 
quantity  of  books,  that  a  man  could  not  possibly  be 
happy  except  in  the  married  state ;  so  he  determined 
at  an  early  age  to  marry,  that  he  might  not  lose  his 
only  chance  for  happiness.  He  accordingly  forth- 
with paid  his  addresses  to  the  daughter  of  a  neigh- 
bouring gentleman  farmer,  who  was  reckoned  the 
beauty  of  the  whole  world  ;  a  phrase  by  which  the 
honest  country  people  mean  nothing  more  than  the 
circle  of  their  acquaintance,  or  that  territory  of  land 
w-hich  is  within  sight  of  the  smoke  of  their  own 
hamlet. 

This  young  lady,  in  addition  to  her  beauty,  was 
highly  accomplished,  for  she  had  spent  five  or  six 
months  at  a  boarding-school  in  town ;  where  she 
learned  to  work  pictures  in  satin,  and  paint  sheep 
that  might  be  mistaken  for  wolves  ;  to  hold  up  her 
head,  set  straight  in  her  chair,  and  to  think  every 
species  of  useful  acquirement  beneath  her  attention. 
When  she  returned  home,  so  completely  had  she  for- 
gotten every  thing  she  knew  before,  that  on  seeing 
one  of  the  maids  milking  a  cow,  she  asked  her  fa- 
ther, with  an  air  of  most  enchanting  ignorance, 
"  what  that  odd-looking  thing  was  doing  to  that 
queer  animal  ?  "  The  old  man  shook  his  head  at 
this ;  but  the  mother  was  delighted  at  these  symp- 
toms of  gentility,  and  so  enamoured  of  her  daugh- 
ter's accomplishments  that  she  actually  got  framed  a 
picture  worked  in  satin  by  the  young  lady.  It  repre- 
sented the  Tomb  -Scene  in  Romeo  and  Juliet.  Ro- 
meo was  dressed  in  an  orange-coloured  cloak,  fas- 
tened round  his  neck  with  a  large  golden  clasp ;  a 
white  satin,  tamboured  waistcoat,  leather  breeches, 
blue  silk  stockings,  and  white  topt  boots.  The  ami- 
able Juliet  shone  in  a  flame-coloured  gown,  most 
gorgeously  bespangled  with  silver  stars,  a  high- 
crowned  muslin  cap  that  reached  to  the  top  of  the 
tomb ; — on  her  feet  she  wore  a  pair  of  short-quar- 
tered, high-heeled  shoes,  and  her  waist  was  the  ex- 
act fac-simile  of  an  inverted  sugarloaf.  The  head 
of  the  "  noble  county  Paris  "  looked  like  a  chimney- 
sweeper's brush  that  had  lost  its  handle ;  and  the 
cloak  of  the  good  Friar  hung  about  him  as  grace- 
fully as  the  armour  of  a  rhinoceros.  The  good  lady 
considered  this  picture  as  a  splendid  proof  of  her 
daughter's  accomplishments,  and  hung  it  up  in  the 


best  parlour,  as  an  honest  tradesman  does  his  certifi- 
cate of  admission  into  that  enlightened  body  yclept 
the  Mechanic  Society. 

With  this  accomplished  young  lady  then  did  my 
uncle  John  become  deeply  enamoured,  and  as  it  was 
his  first  love,  he  determined  to  bestir  himself  in  an 
extraordinary  manner.  Once  at  least  in  a  fortnight, 
and  generally  on  a  .Sunday  evening,  he  would  put  on 
his  leather  breeches,  for  he  was  a  great  beau,  mount 
his  gray  horse  Pepper,  and  ride  over  to  see  his  Miss 
Pamela,  though  she  lived  upwards  of  a  mile  off,  and 
he  was  obliged  to  pass  close  by  a  church-yard,  which 
at  least  a  hundred  creditable  persons  would  swear 
was  haunted  ! — Miss  Pamela  could  not  be  insensible 
to  such  proofs  of  attachment,  and  accordingly  re- 
ceived him  with  considerable  kindness  ;  her  mother 
always  left  the  room  when  he  came,  and  my  uncle 
had  as  good  as  made  a  declaration  by  saying  one 
evening,  very  significantly,  "  that  he  believed  that  he 
should  soon  change  his  condition  ;  "  when,  some  how 
or  other,  he  began  to  think  he  was  doing  things  i:t 
too  great  a  hurry,  and  that  it  was  high  time  to  con- 
sider ;  so  he  considered  near  a  month  about  it,  and 
there  is  no  saying  how  much  longer  he  might  have 
spun  the  thread  of  his  doubts  had  he  not  been  roused 
from  this  state  of  indecision  by  the  news  that  his 
mistress  had  married  an  attorney's  apprentice  who 
she  had  seen  the  Sunday  belbre  at  church  ;  where  he 
had  excited  the  applause  of  the  whole  congregation 
by  the  invincible  gravity  with  which  he  listened  to  a 
Dutch  sermon.  The  young  people  in  the  neighbour- 
hood laughed  a  good  deal  at  my  uncle  on  the  occa- 
sion, but  he  only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  looked 
mysterious,  and  replied,  "Tut,  boys!  I  might  have 
had  her." 


NOTE    BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,   ESQ. 

Our  publisher,  who  is  busily  engaged  in  printing  a 
celebrated  work,  which  is  perhaps  more  generally  read 
in  this  city  than  any  other  book,  not  excepting  the 
Bible  ; — I  mean  the  New-York  Directory — has  begged 
so  hard  that  we  will  not  overwhelm  him  with  too  much 
of  a  good  thing,  that  we  have,  with  Langstaff's  appro- 
bation, cut  short  the  residue  of  uncle  John's  amours. 
In  all  probability  it  will  be  given  in  a  future  number, 
whenever  Launcelot  is  in  the  humour  for  it — he  is  such 
an  odd but,  mum — for  fear  of  another  suspension. 


No.  XII.— SATURDAY,  JUNE  27,  1807. 

FROM    MY    ELBOW-CHAIR. 


Some  men  delight  in  the  study  of  plants,  in  the 
dissection  of  a  leaf,  or  the  contour  and  complexion 
of  a  tulip  ; — others  are  charmed  with  the  beauties  of 
the  feathered  race,  or  the  varied  hues  of  the  insect 
tribe.  A  naturalist  will  spend  hours  in  the  fatiguing 
pursuit  of  a  butterfly,  and  a  man  of  the  ton  will  waste 
whole  years  in  the  chase  of  a  fine  lady.  I  feel  a  re- 
spect for  their  avocations,  for  my  own  are  .somewhat 
similar.  1  love  to  open  the  great  volume  of  human 
character: — to  me  the  examination  of  a  beau  is 
more  interesting  than  that  of  a  Daffodil  or  Narcissus  ; 
and  I  feel  a  thousand  times  more  pleasure  in  catch- 
ing a  new  view  of  human  nature,  than  in  kidnapping 
the  most  gorgeous  butterfly, — even  an  Emperor  of 
Morocco  himself! 

In  my  present  situation  I  have  ample  room  for  the 
indulgence  of  this  taste ;  for,  perhaps,  there  is  not  a 
house  in  this  city  more  fertile  in  subjects  for  the 


SALMAGUNDI. 


C87 


anatomist  of  human  character,  than  my  cousin  Cock- 
loft's. Honest  Christopher,  as  I  have  before  men- 
tioned, is  one  of  those  hearty  old  cavaliers  who  pride 
themselves  upon  keeping-  up  tlie  good,  honest,  un- 
ceremonious hospitaUty  of  old  times. — He  is  never  so 
happy  as  when  he  has  drawn  about  him  a  knot  of 
sterling-hearted  associates,  and  sits  at  the  head  of 
his  table  dispensing  a  warm,  cheering  welcome  to 
all.  His  countenance  expands  at  every  glass  and 
beams  forth  emanations  of  hilarity,  benevolence,  and 
g-ood  fellowship,  that  inspire  and  gladden  every  guest 
around  him.  It  is  no  wonder,  therefore,  that  such 
excellent  social  qualities  should  attract  a  host  of 
friends  and  guests  ;  in  fact,  my  cousin  is  almost  over- 
whelmed with  them ;  and  they  ali,  uniformly,  pro- 
nounce old  Cockloft  to  be  one  of  the  finest  fellows  in 
the  world.  His  wine  also  always  comes  in  for  a 
good  share  of  their  approbation ;  nor  do  they  forget 
to  do  honour  to  Mrs.  Cockloft's  cooker)',  pronouncing 
it  to  be  modelled  after  the  most  approved  recipes  of 
Heliogabulus  and  Mrs.  Glasse.  The  variety  of  com- 
pany thus  attracted  is  particularly  pleasing  to  me  ; 
for,  being  considered  a  privileged  person  in  the 
family,  I  can  sit  in  a  corner,  indulge  in  my  favour- 
ite amusement  of  observation,  and  retreat  to  my 
elbow-chair,  like  a  bee  to  his  hive,  whenever  I  ha.e 
collected  sufficient  food  for  meditation. 

Will  Wizard  is  particularly  efficient  in  adding  to 
the  stock  of  originals  which  frequent  our  house  ;  for 
he  is  one  of  the  most  inveterate  hunters  of  oddities  I 
ever  knew  ;  and  his  first  care,  on  making  a  new  ac- 
quaintance, is  to  gallant  him  to  old  Cockloft's,  where 
he  never  fails  to  receive  the  freedom  of  the  house  in 
a  pinch  from  his  gold  box.  Will  has,  without  excep- 
tion, the  queerest,  most  eccentric,  and  indescribable 
set  of  intimates  that  ever  man  possessed ;  how  he 
became  acquainted  with  them  I  cannot  conceive,  ex- 
cept by  supposing  there  is  a  secret  attraction  or  un- 
intelligible sympathy  that  unconsciously  draws  to- 
gether oddities  of  every  soil. 

Will's  great  crony  for  some  time  was  TOM  Strad- 
dle, to  whom  he  really  took  a  great  liking.  Strad- 
dle had  just  arrived  in  an  importation  of  hardware, 
fresh  from  the  city  of  Birmingham,  or  rather,  as  the 
most  learned  English  would  call  it,  Brummagem,  so 
famous  for  its  manufactories  of  gimblets,  pen-knives, 
and  pepper-boxes ;  and  where  they  make  buttons  and 
beaux  enough  to  inundate  our  whole  country.  He 
was  a  young  man  of  considerable  standing  in  the 
manufactory  at  Birmingham,  sometimes  had  the 
honour  to  hand  his  master's  daughter  into  a  tim- 
whiskey,  was  the  oracle  of  the  tavern  he  frequented 
on  Sundays,  and  could  beat  all  his  associates,  if  you 
would  take  his  word  for  it,  in  boxing,  beer-drinking, 
jumping  over  chairs,  and  imitating  cats  in  a  gutter 
and  opera  singers.  Straddle  was,  moreover,  a  mem- 
ber of  a  Catch-club,  and  was  a  great  hand  at  ringing 
bob-majors ;  he  was,  of  course,  a  complete  connois- 
seur of  music,  and  entitled  to  assume  that  character 
at  all  performances  in  the  art.  He  was  likewise  a 
member  of  a  Spouting-club,  had  seen  a  company  of 
strolling  actors  perform  in  a  barn,  and  had  even,  like 
Abel  Drugger,  "  enacted  "  the  part  of  Major  Stur- 
geon with  considerable  applause ;  he  was  conse- 
quently a  profound  critic,  and  fully  authorized  to  turn 
up  his  nose  at  any  American  performances. — He  had 
twice  partaken  of  annual  dinners,  given  to  the  head 
manufacturers  of  Birmingham,  where  he  had  the 
good  fortune  to  get  a  taste  of  turtle  and  turbot ;  and 
a  smack  of  Champaign  and  Burgundy ;  and  he  had 
heard  a  vast  deal  of  the  roast  beef  of  Old  England  ; 

he  was  therefore  epicure  sulticient  to  d n  every 

dish,  and  every  glass  of  wine,  he  tasted  in  America  ; 
though  at  the  same  time  he  was  as  voracious  an 
animal  as  ever  crossed  the  Atlantic.     Straddle  had 


been  splashed  half  a  dozen  times  by  the  carriages 
of  nobility,  and  had  once  the  superlative  felicity  of 
being  kicked  out  of  doors  by  the  footman  of  a 
noble  Duke  ;  he  could,  therefore,  talk  of  nobility  and 
despise  the  untitled  plebeians  of  America.  In  short. 
Straddle  was  one  of  those  dapper,  bustling,  florid, 
round,  self-important  "gemmen"  who  bounce  upon 
us  half  beau,  half  button-maker  ;  undertake  to  give 
us  the  true  polish  of  the  bcn-ton,  and  endeavour  to 
inspire  us  with  a  proper  and  dignified  contempt  uf 
our  native  country. 

Straddle  was  quite  in  raptures  when  his  einployers 
determined  to  send  him  to  America  as  an  agent. 
He  considered  himself  as  going  among  a  nation  of 
barbarians,  where  he  would  be  received  as  a  prodigy; 
he  anticipated,  with  a  proud  satisfaction,  the  bustle 
and  confusion  his  arrival  would  occasion  ;  the  crowd 
that  would  throng  to  gaze  at  him  as  he  passed 
through  the  streets  ;  and  had  little  doubt  but  that  he 
should  occasion  as  much  curiosity  as  an  Indian- 
chief  or  a  Turk  in  the  streets  of  Biriningham.  He 
had  heard  of  the  beauty  of  our  women,  and  chuckled 
at  the  thought  of  how  completely  he  should  eclipse 
their  unpolished  beaux,  and  the  number  of  despairing 
lovers  that  would  mourn  the  hour  of  his  arrival.  I 
am  even  informed  by  Will  Wizard  that  he  put  good 
store  of  beads,  spike-nails,  and  looking-glasses  in 
his  trunk  to  win  the  affections  of  the  fair  ones  as 
they  paddled  about  in  their  bark  canoes  ; — the  rea- 
son Will  gave  for  this  error  of  Straddle's,  respecting 
our  ladies,  was,  that  he  had  read  in  Guthrie's 
Geography  that  the  aborigines  of  Ainerica  were  all 
savages  ;  and  not  exactly  understanding  the  word 
aborigines,  he  applied  to  one  of  his  fellow  apprentices, 
who  assured  him  that  it  was  the  Latin  word  for  in- 
habitants. 

Wizard  used  to  tell  another  anecdote  of  Straddle, 
which  always  put  him  in  a  passion  ;  Will  swore 
that  the  captain  of  the  ship  told  him,  that  when 
Straddle  heard  they  were  off  the  banks  of  Newfound- 
land, he  insisted  upon  going  on  shore  there  to  gather 
some  good  cabbages,  of  which  he  was  excessively 
fond ;  Straddle,  however,  denied  all  this,  and  de- 
clared it  to  be  a  mischievous  quiz  of  Will  Wizard  : 
who  indeed  often  made  himself  merry  at  his  expense. 
However  this  may  be,  certain  it  is,  he  kept  his  tailor 
and  shoe-maker  constantly  employed  for  a  month 
before  his  departure  ;  equipped  himself  with  a  smart 
crooked  stick  about  eighteen  inches  long,  a  pair  of 
breeches  of  most  unheard-of  length,  a  little  short 
pair  of  Hoby's  white-topped  boot,s,  that  seemed  to 
stand  on  tip-toe  to  reach  his  breeches,  and  his  hat 
had  the  true  trans-atlantic  declination  towards  his 
right  ear.  The  fact  was,  nor  did  he  make  any  secret 
of  it — he  was  determined  to  "  astonish  the  natives  a 
few  !  " 

Straddle  was  not  a  little  disappointed  on  his  ar- 
rival, to  find  the  Americans  were  rather  more  civil- 
ized than  he  had  imagined  ; — he  was  suffered  to 
walk  to  his  lodgings  unmolested  by  a  crowd,  and 
even  unnoticed  by  a  single  individual ; — no  love- 
letters  came  pouring  in  upon  him  ;  no  rivals  lay  in 
wait  to  assassinate  him ;  his  very  dress  excited  no 
attention,  for  there  were  many  fools  dressed  equally 
ridiculously  with  himself.  This  was  mortifying  in- 
deed to  an  aspiring  youth,  who  had  come  out  with 
the  idea  of  astonishing  and  captivating.  He  was 
equally  unfortunate  in  his  pretensions  to  the  char- 
acter of  critic,  connoisseur,  and  boxer;  he  con- 
demned our  whole  dramatic  corps,  and  every  thing 
appertaining  to  the  theatre ;  but  his  critical  abilities 
were  ridiculed — he  found  fault  with  old  Cockloft's 
dinner,  not  even  sparing  his  wine,  and  was  never  in- 
vited to  the  house  afterwards ; — he  scoured  the 
streets   at  night,   and   was   cudgelled  by  a  sturdy 


088 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


watchman  ; — he  hoaxed  an  honest  mechanic,  and 
was  soundly  kicked.  Thus  disappointed  in  all  his 
attempts  at  notoriety,  Straddle  hit  on  the  expedient 
which  was  resorted  to  by  the  Giblets — he  determined 
to  take  the  town  by  storm. — He  accordingly  bought 
horses  and  equipages,  and  forthwith  made  a  furious 
dash  at  style  in  a  gig  and  tandem. 

As  Straddle's  finances  were  but  limited,  it  may 
easily  be  supposed  that  his  fashionable  career  in- 
fringed a  little  upon  his  consignment,  which  was  in- 
deed the  case,  for,  to  use  a  true  cockney  phrase, 
Brummagem  suffered.  But  this  was  a  circum- 
stance that  made  little  impression  upon  Straddle, 
who  was  now  a  lad  of  spirit,  and  lads  of  spirit  al- 
ways despise  the  sordid  cares  of  keeping  another 
man's  money.  Suspecting  this  circumstance,  I 
never  could  witness  any  of  his  exhibitions  of  style, 
without  some  whimsical  association  of  ideas.  Did 
he  give  an  entertainment  to  a  host  of  guzzling 
friends,  I  immediately  fancied  them  gormandizing 
heartily  at  the  expense  of  poor  Birmingham,  and 
swallowing  a  consignment  of  hand-saws  and  razors. 
Did  I  behold  him  dashing  through  Broadway  in  his 
gig,  I  saw  him,  "  in  my  mind's  eye,"  driving  tan- 
dem on  a  nest  of  tea-boards ;  nor  could  I  ever  con- 
template his  cockney  exhibitions  of  horsemanship, 
but  my  mischievous  imagination  would  picture  him 
spurring  a  cask  of  hardware,  like  rosy  Bacchus  be- 
striding a  beer  barrel,  or  the  little  gentleman  who 
bestraddles  the  world  in  the  front  of  Hutching's  al- 
manac. 

Straddle  was  equally  successful  with  the  Giblets, 
as  may  well  be  supposed  ;  for  though  pedestrian 
merit  may  strive  in  vain  to  become  fashionable  in 
Gotham,  yet  a  candidate  in  an  equipage  is  always 
recognized,  and  like  Philip's  ass,  laden  with  gold, 
will  gain  admittance  every  where.  Mounted  in  his 
curricle  or  his  gig,  the  candidate  is  like  a  statue  ele- 
vated on  a  high  pedestal:  his  merits  are  discernible 
from  afar,  and  strike  the  dullest  optics.  Oh!  Gotham, 
Gotham  !  most  enlightened  of  cities  ! — how  does  my 
heart  swell  with  delight  when  I  behold  your  sapient 
inhabitants  lavishing  their  attention  with  such  won- 
derful discernment ! 

Thus  Straddle  became  quite  a  man  of  ton,  and 
was  caressed,  and  courted,  and  invited  to  dinners 
and  balls.  Whatever  was  absurd  or  ridiculous  in 
him  before,  was  now  declared  to  be  the  style.  He 
criticised  our  theatre,  and  was  listened  to  with  rev- 
erence. He  pronounced  our  musical  entertain- 
ments barbarous  ;  and  the  judgment  of  Apollo  him- 
self would  not  have  been  more  decisive.  He  abused 
our  dinners ;  and  the  god  of  eating,  if  there  be  any 
such  deity,  seemed  to  speak  through  his  organs. 
He  became  at  once  a  man  of  taste,  tor  he  put  his 
malediction  on  every  thing ;  and  his  arguments 
were  conclusive,  for  he  supported  every  assertion 
with  a  bet.  He  was  likewise  pronounced,  by  the 
learned  in  the  fashionable  world,  a  young  man  of 
great  research  and  deep  observation  ;  for  he  had 
sent  home,  as  natural  curiosities,  an  ear  of  Indian 
corn,  a  pair  of  moccasons,  a  belt  of  wampum,  and 
a  four-leaved  clover.  He  had  taken  great  pains  to 
enrich  this  curious  collection  with  an  Indian,  and  a 
cataract,  but  without  success.  In  fine,  the  people 
talked  of  Straddle,  and  his  equipage,  and  Straddle 
•alked  to  his  horses,  until  it  was  impossible  for  the 
.lost  critical  observer  to  pronounce,  whether  Strad- 
dle or  his  horses  were  most  admired,  or  whether 
Straddle  admired  himself  or  his  horses  most. 

Straddle  was  now  in  the  zenith  of  his  glory.  He 
swaggered  about  parlours  and  drawing-rooms  with 
the  same  unceremonious  confidence  he  used  to  dis- 
play in  the  taverns  at  Birminghain.  He  accosted 
a  lady  as  he  would  a  bar-maid  ;  and  this  was  pro- 


nounced a  certain  proof  that  he  had  been  used  to 
better  company  in  Birmingham.  He  became  the 
great  man  of  all  the  taverns  between  New-York 
and  Haerlem,  and  no  one  stood  a  chance  of  being 
accommodated,  until   Straddle  and   his  horses  were 

perfectly   satisfied.     He  d -d    the   landlords  and 

waiters,  with  the  best  air  in  the  world,  and  accosted 
them  with  the  true  gentlemanly  familiarity.  He 
staggered  from  the  dinner  table  to  the  play,  entered 
the  box  like  a  tempest,  and  staid  long  enough  to  be 
bored  to  death,  and  to  bore  all  those  who  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  near  him.  From  thence  he  dashed 
off  to  a  ball,  time  enough  to  flounder  through  a 
cotillion,  tear  half  a  dozen  gowns,  commit  a  num- 
ber of  other  depredations,  and  make  the  whole 
company  sensible  of  his  infinite  condescension  in 
coming  amongst  them.  The  people  of  Gotham 
thought  him  a  prodigious  fine  fellow  ;  the  young 
bucks  cultivated  his  acquaintance  with  the  most 
persevering  assiduity,  and  his  retainers  were  some- 
times complimented  with  a  seat  in  his  curricle,  or 
a  ride  on  one  of  his  fine  horses.  The  belles  were 
delighted  with  the  attentions  of  such  a  fashionable 
gentleman,  and  struck  with  astonishment  at  his 
learned  distinctions  between  wrought  scissors  and 
those  of  cast-steel;  together  with  his  profound  dis- 
sertations on  buttons  and  horse  flesh.  The  rich 
merchants  courted  his  acquaintance  because  he  was 
an  Englishman,  and  their  wives  treated  him  with 
great  deference,  because  he  had  come  from  beyond 
seas.  I  cannot  help  here  observing,  that  your  salt 
water  is  a  marvellous  great  sharpener  of  men's  wits, 
and  I  intend  to  recommend  it  to  some  of  my  ac- 
quaintance in  a  particular  essay. 

Straddle  continued  his  brilliant  career  for  only  a 
short  time.  His  prosperous  journey  over  the  turn- 
pike of  fashion  was  checked  by  some  of  those  stum- 
bling-blocks in  the  way  of  aspiring  youth,  called 
creditors — or  duns  ; — a  race  of  people  who,  as  a  cele- 
brated writer  observes,  "  are  hated  by  gods  and  men." 
Consignments  slackened,  whispers  of  distant  sus- 
picion floated  in  the  dark,  and  those  pests  of  society, 
the  tailors  and  shoe-makers,  rose  in  rebellion  against 
Straddle.  In  vain  were  all  his  rem.onstrances,  in  vain 
did  he  prove  to  them  that  though  he  had  given  them 
no  money,  yet  he  had  given  them  more  custom,  and 
as  many  promises  as  any  young  man  in  the  city. 
They  were  inflexible,  and  the  signal  of  danger  being 
given,  a  host  of  other  prosecutors  pounced  upon  his 
back.  Straddle  saw  there  was  but  one  way  for  it ; 
he  determined  to  do  the  thing  genteelly,  to  go  to 
smash  like  a  hero,  and  dashed  into  the  limits  in  high 
style,  being  the  fifteenth  gentleman  I  have  known  to 
drive  tandem  to  the — ne  plus  ultra — the  d 1. 

Unfortunate  Straddle  !  may  thy  fate  be  a  warning 
to  all  young  gentlemen  who  come  out  from  Birming- 
ham to  astonish  the  natives  ! — I  should  never  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  delineate  his  character,  had  he 
not  been  a  genuine  cockney,  and  worthy  to  be  the 
representative  of  his  numerous  tribe.  Perhaps  my 
simple  countrymen  may  hereafter  be  able  to  distin- 
guish between  the  real  English  gentleman,  and  indi- 
viduals of  the  cast  I  have  heretofore  spoken  of,  as 
mere  mongrels,  springing  at  one  bound  from  con- 
temptible obscurity  at  home,  to  day-light  and  splen- 
dour in  this  g  od-natured  land.  The  true-born  and 
true-bred  English  gentleman  is  a  character  I  hold  in 
great  respect ;  and  I  love  to  look  back  to  the  period 
when  our  forefathers  flourished  in  the  same  generous 
soil,  and  hailed  each  other  as  brothers.  But  the 
cockney  !— when  I  contemplate  him  as  springing  too 
from  the  same  source,  I  feel  ashamed  of  the  relation- 
ship, and  am  tempted  to  deny  my  origin.  In  the 
character  of  Straddle  is  traced  the  complete  outline 
of  a  true  cockney,  of  English  growth,  and  a  descend- 


SALMAGUNDI. 


689 


ant  of  that  individual  facetious  character  mentioned 
by  Shakspeare,  "  who,  in  pure  kindness  to  his  horse, 
buttered  his  hay." 


THE   STRANGER   AT    HOME;   or,    A 
TOUR   IN   BROADWAY. 

BY  JEREMY  COCKLOFT,  THE  YOUNGER. 


PREFACE. 


Your  learned  traveller  begins  his  travels  at  the 
commencement  of  his  journey ;  others  begin  theirs 
at  the  end ;  and  a  third  class  begin  any  how  and 
any  where,  which  1  think  is  the  true  way.  A  late 
facetious  writer  begins  what  he  calls  "  a  Picture  of 
New-York,"  with  a  particular  description  of  Glen's 
Falls,  from  whence  with  admirable  dexterity  he 
makes  a  digression  to  the  celebrated  Mill  Rock,  on 
Long-Island  !  Now  this  is  what  I  like ;  and  I  in- 
tend, in  my  present  tour,  to  digress  as  often  and  as 
long  as  I  please.  If,  therefore,  I  choose  to  make  a 
hop,  skip,  and  jump,  to  China,  or  New-Holland,  or 
Terra  Incognita,  or  Communipaw,  I  can  produce  a 
host  of  examples  to  justify  me,  even  in  books  that 
have  been  praised  by  the  English  reviewers,  whose 
fiat  being  all  that  is  necessary  to  give  books  a  cur- 
rency in  this  country,  I  am  determined,  as  soon  as 
I  finish  my  edition  of  travels  in  seventy-five  volumes, 
to  transmit  it  forthwith  to  them  for  judgment.  If 
these  trans-atlantic  censors  praise  it,  I  have  no  fear 
of  its  success  in  this  country,  where  their  approba- 
tion gives,  like  the  tower  stamp,  a  fictitious  value, 
and  make  tinsel  and  wampum  pass  current  for  classic 
gold. 


CHAPTER  I. 


Battery  — flag-staff  kept  by  Louis  Keaffee— 
Keaffee  maintains  two  spy-glasses  by  subscriptions — 
merchants  pay  two  shillings  a-year  to  look  through 
them  at  the  signal  poles  on  Staten-lsland — a  very 
pleasant  prospect ;  but  not  so  pleasant  as  that  from 
the  hill  of  Howth — quere,  ever  been  there? — Young 
seniors  go  down  to  the  flag-staff  to  buy  peanuts  and 
beer,  after  the  fatigue  of  their  morning  studies,  and 
sometimes  to  play  at  ball,  or  some  other  innocent 
amusement — digression  to  the  Olympic,  and  Isth- 
mian games,  with  a  description  of  the  Isthmus  of 
Corinth,  and  that  of  Darien :  to  conclude  with  a 
dissertation  on  the  Indian  custom  of  offering  a  whiff 
of  tobacco  smoke  to  their  great  spirit,  Areskou. — 
Return  to  the  battery — delightful  place  to  indulge  in 
the  luxury  of  sentiment. — How  various  are  the  muta- 
tions of  this  world  !  but  a  few  days,  a  few  hours — at 
least  not  above  two  hundred  years  ago,  and  this 
spot  was  inhabited  by  a  race  of  aborigines,  who 
dwelt  in  bark  huts,  lived  upon  oysters  and  Indian 
corn,  danced  buffiilo  dances,  and  were  lords  "  of  the 
fowl  and  the  brute  " — but  the  spirit  of  time  and  the 
spirit  of  brandy  have  swept  them  from  their  ancient 
inheritance :  and  as  the  white  wave  of  the  ocean,  by 
its  ever  toiling  assiduity,  gains  on  the  brown  land, 
so  the  white  man,  by  slow  and  sure  degrees,  has 
gained  on  the  brown  savage,  and  dispossessed  him 
ot  the  land  of  his  forefathers. — Conjectures  on  the 
first  peopling  of  America— different  opinions  on  that 
subject,  to  the  amount  of  near  one  hundred— opinion 
44 


of  Augustine  Torniel — that  they  are  the  descendants 
of  Shem  and  Japheth,  who  came  by  the  way  of  Japan 
to  America — Juffridius  Petri  says  they  came  from 
Friezeland,  mem.  cold  journey. — Mons.  Charron  says 
they  are  descended  from  the  Gauls — bitter  enough. 
— A.  Milius,  from  the  Celtas — Kircher,  from  the 
Egyptians — L'Compte,  from  the  Phenicians — Les- 
carbot,  from  the  Cannaanites,  alias  the  Anthropo- 
phagi— Brerewood,  from  the  Tartars— Grotius,  from 
the  Norwegians — and  Linkum  Fidelius  has  written 
two  folio  volumes  to  prove  that  America  was  first  of 
all  peopled  either  by  the  Antipodeans  or  the  Cornish 
miners,  who,  he  maintains,  might  easily  have  made 
a  subterraneous  passage  to  this  country,  particularly 
the  antipodeans,  who,  he  asserts,  can  get  along  un- 
der-ground as  fast  as  moles— quere,  which  of  these 
is  in  the  right,  or  are  they  all  wrong? — For  my 
part,  I  don't  see  why  America  had  not  as  good  a 
right  to  be  peopled  at  first,  as  any  little  contemptible 
country  in  Europe,  or  Asia;  and  I  am  determined  to 
write  a  book  at  my  first  leisure,  to  prove  that  Noah 
was  born  here— and  that  so  far  is  America  from 
being  indebted  to  any  other  country  for  inhabitants, 
that  they  were  every  one  of  them  peopled  by  colonies 
from  her ! — mem.  battery  a  very  pleasant  place  to 
walk  on  a  Sunday  evening — not  quite  genteel  though 
— every  body  walks  there,  and  a  pleasure,  however 
genuine,  is  spoiled  by  general  participation — the 
fashionable  ladies  of  New-York  turn  up  their  noses 
if  you  ask  them  to  walk  on  the  battery  on  Sunday 
— quere,  have  they  scruples  of  conscience,  or  scruples 
of  delicacy? — neither — they  have  only  scruples  of 
gentility,  which  are  quite  different  things. 


CHAPTER  II. 


Custom-house — origin  of  duties  on  merchandise 
— this  place  much  frequented  by  merchants^and 
why  ? — different  classes  of  merchants — importers — 
a  kind  of  nobility — wholesale  merchants — have  the 
privilege  of  going  to  the  city  assembly ! — Retail 
traders  cannot  go  to  the  assembly. — Some  curious 
speculations  on  the  vast  distinction  betwixt  selling 
tape  by  the  piece  or  by  the  yard. — Wholesale  mer- 
chants look  down  upon  the  retailers,  who  in  return 
look  down  upon  the  green-grocers,  who  look  down 
upon  the  market  women,  who  don't  care  a  straw 
about  any  of  them.^ — Origin  of  the  distinction  of 
rapks — Dr.  Johnson  once  horribly  puzzled  to  settle 
the  point  of  precedence  between  a  louse  and  a  flea — 
good  hint  enough  to  humble  purse-proud  arrogance. 
— Custom-house  partly  used  as  a  lodging  house  for 
the  pictures  belonging  to  the  academy  of  arts — 
— couldn't  afford  the  statues  house-room,  most  of 
them  in  the  cellar  of  the  City-hall — poor  place  for 
the  gods  and  goddesses — after  Olympus. — Pensive 
reflections  on  the  ups  and  downs  of  life — Apollo,  and 
the  rest  of  the  set,  used  to  cut  a  great  figure  in  days 
of  yore. — Mem. — every  dog  has  his  day — sorry  for 
Venus  though,  poor  wench,  to  be  cooped  up  in  a 
cellar  with  not  a  single  grace  to  wait  on  her ! — 
Eulogy  on  the  gentlemen  of  the  academy  of  arts, 
for  the  great  spirit  with  which  they  began  the  under- 
taking, and  the  perseverance  with  which  they  have 
pursued  it. — It  is  a  pity,  however,  they  began  at  the 
wrong  end — maxim — If  you  want  a  bird  and  a  cage, 
always  buy  the  cage  first — hem  !  a  word  to  the  wise  ! 


CHAPTER  III. 


Bowling-Green— fine  place  for  pasturing  cows 
— a  perquisite  of  the  late  corporation — formerly  orna- 
mented with   a  statue   of  George   the   3d — people 


090 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


pulled  it  down  in  the  war  to  make  bullets — great 
pit}-,  as  it  might  have  been  given  to  the  academy — 
it  would  have  become  a  cellar  as  well  as  any  other. 
— Broadway — great  difference  in  the  gentility  of 
streets — a  man  who  resides  in  Pearl-street,  or  Chat- 
ham-row, derives  no  kind  of  dignity  from  his  domicil  ; 
but  place  him  in  a  certain  part  of  Broadway,  any 
where  between  the  battery  and  Wall-street,  and  he 
straightway  becomes  entitled  to  figure  in  the  beau 
monde,  and  strut  as  a  person  of  prodigious  conse- 
quence ! — Quere,  whether  there  is  a  degree  of  purity 
in  the  air  of  that  quarter  which  changes  the  gross 
particles  of  vulgarity  into  gems  of  refinement  and 
polish .' — A  question  to  be  asked,  but  not  to  be  an- 
swered— Wall-street — City-hall,  famous  place  for 
catch-poles,  deputy-sheriffs,  and  young  lawyers ; 
which  last  attend  the  courts,  not  because  they  have 
business  there,  but  because  they  have  no  business 
any  where  else.  My  blood  always  curdles  when  I 
see  a  catch-pole,  they  being  a  species  of  vermin,  who 
feed  and  fatten  on  the  common  wretchedness  of 
mankind,  who  trade  in  misery,  and  in  becoming  the 
executioners  of  the  law,  by  their  oppression  and  vil- 
lainy, almost  counterbalance  all  the  benefits  which  are 
derived  from  its  salutary  regulations — Story  of  Que- 
vedo  about  a  catch-pole  possessed  by  a  devil,  who, 
on  being  interrogated,  declared  that  he  did  not  come 
there  voluntarily,  but  by  compulsion ;  and  that  a  de- 
cent devil  would  never  of  his  own  free  will  enter  into 
the  body  of  a  catch-pole  ;  instead,  therefore,  of  doing 
him  the  injustice  to  say  that  here  was  a  catch-pole 
be-deviled,  they  should  say,  it  was  a  devil  be-catch- 
poled  ;  that  being  in  reality  the  truth — Wonder  what 
has  become  of  the  old  crier  of  the  court,  who  used  to 
make  more  noise  in  preserving  silence  than  the  au- 
dience did  in  breaking  it — if  a  man  happened  to  drop 
his  cane,  the  old  hero  would  sing  out  "  silence  !  "  in 
a  voice  that  emulated  the  "wide-mouthed  thunder" 
— On  inquiring,  found  he  had  retired  from  business 
to  enjoy  oiium  cum  di_s;nitate,  as  many  a  great  man 
had  done  before — Strange  that  wise  men,  as  they  are 
thought,  should  toil  through  a  whole  existence  merely 
to  enjoy  a  few  moments  of  leisure  at  last !  why  don't 
they  begin  to  be  easy  at  first,  and  not  purchase  a 
moment's  pleasure  with  an  age  of  pain  ? — inem. 
posed  some  of  the  jockeys — eh  ! 


CHAPTER   IV. 


Barber's  pole ;  three  different  orders  of  shavers 
in  New-York — those  who  shave  pi^s  ;  N.  B. — fresh- 
men and  sophomores, — those  who  cut  beards,  and 
those  who  shave  notes  of  hand  ;  the  last  are  the  most 
respectable,  because,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  they 
make  more  money,  and  that  honestly,  than  the  whole 
corps  of  other  shavers  can  do  in  half  a  century  ;  be- 
sides, it  would  puzzle  a  common  barber  to  ruin  any 
man,  except  by  cutting  his  throat:  whereas  your 
higher  order  of  shavers,  your  true  blood-suckers  of 
the  community,  seated  snugly  behind  the  curtain,  in 
watch  for  prey,  live  on  the  vitals  of  the  unfortunate, 
and  grow  rich  on  the  ruin  of  thousands. — Yet  this 
last  class  of  barbers  are  held  in  high  respect  in  the 
world  ;  they  never  offend  against  the  decencies  of 
life,  go  often  to  church,  look  down  on  honest  poverty 
walking  on  foot,  and  call  themselves  gentlemen  ;  yea, 
men  of  honour!— Lottery  offices — another  set  of 
capital  shavers  ! — licensed  gambling  houses  ! — good 
things  enough  though,  as  they  enable  a  few  honest, 
industrious  gentlemen  to  humbug  the  people — ac- 
cording to  law  ; — besides,  if  the  people  will  be  such 
fools,  whose  fault  is  it  but  their  own  if  they  get  bit? 
— Messrs.  Faff — beg  pardon  for  putting  them  in  such 


bad  company,  because  they  are  a  couple  of  fine  fel- 
lows— mem.  to  recommend  Michael's  antique  snuff- 
box to  all  amateurs  in  the  art. — Eagle  singing  Yan- 
kee-doodle— N.  B.— Buffon,  Penant,  and  the  rest  of 
the  naturalists,  all  ?taturals  not  to  know  the  eagle 
was  a  singing  bird  ;  Linkum  Fidelius  knew  better, 
and  gives  a  long  description  of  a  bald  eagle  that  sere- 
naded him  once  in  Canada  ; — digression  ;  particular 
account  of  the  Canadian  Indians  ; — story  about  Ares- 
kou  learning  to  make  fishing  nets  of  a  spider — don't 
believe  it  though,  because,  according  to  Linkum,  and 
many  other  learned  authorities,  Areskou  is  the  same 
as  Mars,  being  derived  from  his  Greek  names  of 
Ares ;  and  if  so,  he  knew  well  enough  what  a  net 
was  without  consulting  a  spider  ; — story  of  Arachne 
being  changed  into  a  spider  as  a  reward  for  having 
hanged  herself; — derivation  of  the  word  spinster 
from  spider  ; — Colophon,  now  Altobosco,  the  birth- 
place of  Arachne,  remarkable  for  a  famous  breed  of 
spiders  to  this  day ; — mem. — nothing  like  a  little 
scholarship — make  the  ignoramus,  viz.,  the  majority 
of  my  readers,  stare  like  wild  pigeons  ;— return  to 
New-York  a  short  cut — meet  a  dashing  belle,  in  a 
little  thick  white  veil — tried  to  get  a  peep  at  her  face 
— saw  she  squinted  a  little — -thought  so  at  first ; — 
never  saw  a  face  covered  with  a  veil  that  was  worth 

looking  at ; saw  some  ladies  holding  a  conversation 

across  the  street  about  going  to  church  next  Sunday 
— -talked  so  loud  they  frightened  a  cartman's  horse, 
who  ran  away,  and  overset  a  basket  of  gingerbread 
with  a  little  boy  under  it; — mem. — I  don't  much  see 
the  use  of  speaking-trumpets  now-a-days. 


CHAPTER  V. 


Bought  a  pair  of  gloves  ;  dry-good  stores  the 
genuine  schools  of  politeness — -true  Parisian  man- 
ners there — got  a  pair  of  gloves  and  a  pistareen's 
worth  of  bows  for  a  dollar — dog  cheap  ! — Court- 
landt-street  corner — famous  place  to  see  the  belles 
go  by — quere,  ever  been  shopping  with  a  lady.' — 
some  account  of  it^adies  go  into  all  the  shops  in 
the  city  to  buy  a  pair  of  gloves — good  way  of  spend- 
ing time,  if  they  have  nothing  else  to  do. — Oswego- 
market — looks  very  much  like  a  triumphal  arch — 
some  account  of  the  manner  of  erecting  them  in  an- 
cient times ; — digression  to  the  arc/i-duke  Charles, 
and  some  account  of  the  ancient  Germans. — N.  B. 
quote  Tacitus  on  this  subject. — Particular  description 
of  market-baskets,  butchers'  blocks,  and  wheelbar- 
rows : — mem.  queer  things  run  upon  one  wheel ! — 
Saw  a  cartman  driving  full-tilt  through  Broadway — 
run  over  a  child^good  enough  for  it — what  business 
had  it  to  be  in  the  way  ? — Hint  concerning  the  laws 
against  pigs,  goats,  dogs,  and  cartmeu — grand  apos- 
trophe to  the  sublime  science  of  jurisprudence ; 

comparison  between  legislators  and  tinkers ;  quere, 
whether  it  requires  greater  ability  to  mend  a  law 
than  to  mend  a  kettle? — inquiry  into  the  utility  of 
making  laws  that  are  broken  a  hundred  times  in  a 
day  with  impunity  ; — my  lord  Coke's  opinion  on  the 
subject :  my  lord  a  very  great  man— so  was  lord 
Bacon :  good  story  about  a  criminal  named  Hog 
claiming  relationship  with  him. — Hogg's  porter- 
house ; — great  haunt  of  Will  Wizard  ;  Will  put  down 
there  one  night  by  a  sea  captain,  in  an  argument 
concerning  the  asra  of  the  Chinese  empire  Whangpo  ; 
— Hogg's  a  capital  place  for  hearing  the  same  stories, 
the  same  jokes,  and  the  same  songs  every  night  in 
the  year — mem.  except  Sunday  nights  ;  fine  school 
for  young  politicians  too — some  of  the  longest  and 
thickest  heads  in  the  city  come  there  to  settle  the 
nation. — Scheme  of  Ichabod  Fungus  to  restore  the 


I 


SALMAGUNDI. 


691 


balance  of  Europe ; — digression  ; — some  account  of 
the  balance  of  Europe  ;  comparison  betvVeen  it  and 
a  pair  of  scales,  witli  the  Emperor  Alexander  in  one 
and  the  Emperor  Napoleon  in  the  other :  fine  fellows 
— both  of  a  weight,  can't  tell  which  will  kick  the 
beam  : — mem.  don't  care  much  either — nothing  to 
me  : — Ichabod  very  unhappy  about  it — thinks  Na- 
poleon has  an  eye  on  this  country — capital  place  to 
pasture  his  horses,  and  provide  for  the  rest  of  his 
family  : — Dey-street — ancient  Dutch  name  of  it,  sig- 
nifying murderers '-valley,  formerly  the  site  of  a  great 
peach  orchard ;  my  grandmother's  history  of  the 
famous  Peach  war — arose  from  an  Indian  stealing 
peaches  out  of  this  orchard  ;  good  cause  as  need  l)e 
for  a  war ;  just  as  good  as  the  balance  of  power. 
Anecdote  of  a  war  between  two  Italian  states  about 
a  bucket ;  introduce  some  capital  new  truisms  about 
the  folly  of  mankind,  the  ambition  of  kings,  poten- 
tates, and  princes  ;  particularly  Alexander,  CcBsar, 
Charles  the  Xllth,  Napoleon,  little  King  Pepin,  and 
the  great  Charlemagne. — Conclude  with  an  exhorta- 
tion to  the  present  race  of  sovereigns  to  keep  the 
king's  peace  and  abstain  from  all  those  deadly  quar- 
rels which  produce  battle,  murder,  and  sudden  death  ; 
mem.  ran  my  nose  against  a  lamp-post — conclude  in 
great  dudgeon. 


FROM   MY   ELBOW-CHAIR. 


Our  cousin  Pindar,  after  having  been  confined  for 
some  time  past  with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  which  is  a  kind 
of  keepsake  in  our  family,  has  again  set  his  mill  go- 
ing, as  my  readers  will  perceive.  On  reading  his 
piece  I  could  not  help  smihng  at  the  high  compli- 
ments which,  contrary  to  his  usual  style,  he  has  lav- 
ished on  the  dear  sex.  The  old  gentleman,  unfortu- 
nately observing  my  merriment,  stumped  out  of  the 
room  with  great  vociferation  of  crutch,  and  has  not 
exchanged  three  words  with  me  since.  I  expect 
every  hour  to  hear  that  he  has  packed  up  his  move- 
ables, and,  as  usual  in  all  cases  of  disgust,  retreated 
to  his  old  country  house. 

Pindar,  like  most  of  the  old  Cockloft  heroes,  is  won- 
derfully susceptible  to  the  genial  influence  of  warm 
weather.  In  winter  he  is  one  of  the  most  crusty  old 
bachelors  under  heaven,  and  is  wickedly  addicted  to 
sarcastic  reflections  of  every  kind ;  particularly  on 
the  little  enchanting  foibles  and  whim-whams  of 
women.  But  when  the  spring  comes  on,  and  the 
mild  influence  of  the  sun  releases  nature  from  her 
icy  fetters,  the  ice  of  his  bosom  dissolves  into  a  gen- 
tle current  which  reflects  the  bewitching  qualities  of 
the  fair;  as  in  some  mild  clear  evening,  when  nature 
reposes  in  silence,  the  stream  bears  in  its  pure  bo- 
som all  the  starry  magnificence  of  heaven.  It  is  un- 
der the  control  of  this  influence  he  has  written  his 
piece  ;  and  I  beg  the  ladies,  in  the  plenitude  of  their 
harmless  conceit,  not  to  flatter  themselves  that  be- 
cause the  good  Pindar  has  suffered  them  to  escape 
his  censures  he  had  nothing  more  to  censure.  It 
is  but  sunshine  and  zephyrs  which  have  wrought 
this  wonderful  change  ;  and  I  am  much  mistaken  if 
the  first  north-easter  don't  convert  all  his  good  nat- 
ure into  most  exquisite  spleen. 


FROM  THE  MILL  OF 
PINDAR   COCKLOFT,  ESQ. 


How  often  I  cast  my  reflections  behind. 
And  call  up  the  days  of  past  youth  to  my  mind. 
When  folly  assails  in  habiliments  new, 
When  fashion  obtrudes  some  fresh  whim-wham  to  view: 
When  the  foplings  of  fashion  bedazzle  my  sight, 
Bewilder  my  feelings^my  senses  benight ; 
I  retreat  in  disgust  from  the  world  of  to-day. 
To  commune  with  the  world  that  has  moulder'd  away; 
To  converse  ^vith  the  shades  of  those  friends  of  my 

love, 
Long  gather'd  in  peace  to  the  angels  above. 

In   my  rambles   through  life  should  I   meet  with 
annoy. 
From  the  bold  beardless  stripling — the  turbid  pert  boy, 
One  rear'd  in  the  mode  lately  reckon'd  genteel, 
Which  neglecting  the  head,  aims  to  perfect  the  heel ; 
Which  completes  the  sweet  fopling  while  yet  in  his 

teens, 
And  fits  him  for  fashion's  light  changeable  scenes  ; 
Proclaims  him  a  man  to  the  near  and  the  far. 
Can  he  dance  a  cotillion  or  smoke  a  segar ; 
And  though  brainless  and  vapid  as  vapid  can  be, 
To  routs  and  to  parties  pronounces  him  free : — 
Oh,  I  think  on  the  beaux  that  existed  of  yore, 
On  those  rules  of  the  ton  that  exist  now  no  more  ! 

I  recall  with  delight  how  each  yonker  at  first 
In  the  cradle  of  science  and  virtue  was  nursed : 
— How  the  graces  of  person  and  graces  of  mind. 
The  polish  of  learning  and  fashion  combined. 
Till  softened  in  manners  and  strengthened  in  head. 
By  the  classical  lore  of  the  living  and  dead, 
Matured  in  his  person  till  manly  in  size, 
He  then  was  presented  a  beau  to  our  eyes  ! 

My  nieces  of  late  have  made  frequent  complaint 
That  they  suffer  vexation  and  painful  constraint, 
By  having  their  circles  too  often  distrest 
By  some  three  or  four  goslings  just  fledged  from  the 

nest, 
Who,  propp'd  by  the  credit  their  fathers  sustain. 
Alike  tender  in  years  and  in  person  and  brain. 
But  plenteously  stock'd  with  that  substitute,  brass. 
For  true  wits  and  critics  would  anxiously  pass. 
They  complain  of  that  empty  sarcastical  slang. 
So  common  to  all  the  coxcombical  gang. 
Who  the  fair  with  their  shallow  experience  vex. 
By  thrumming  for  ever  their  weakness  of  sex  ; 
And  who  boast  of   themselves,  when  they  talk  with 

proud  air 
Of  Man's  mental  ascendancy  over  the  fair. 

'Twas  thus  the  young  owlet  produced  in  the  nest, 
Where  the  eagle  of  Jove  her  young  eaglets  had  prest. 
Pretended  to  boast  of  his  royal  descent. 
And  vaunted  that  force  which  to  eagles  is  lent. 
Though  fated  to  shun  with  his  dim  visual  ray. 
The  cheering  delights  and  the  brilliance  of  day  ; 
To  forsake  the  fair  regions  of  aether  and  light. 
For  dull  moping  caverns  of  darkness  and  night : 
Still  talk'd  of  that  eagle-like  strength  of  the  eye, 
Which  approaches  unwinking  the  pride  of  the  sky. 
Of  that  wing  which  unwearied  can  hover  and  play 
In  the  noon-tide  effulgence  and  torrent  of  day. 

Dear  girls,  the  sad  evils  of  which  ye  complain. 
Your  sex  must  endure  from  the  feeble  and  vain, 
'Tis  the  commonplace  jest  of  the  nursery  scape -goat, 
'Tis   the   commonplace   ballad   that   croaks   from  his 

throat ; 
He  knows  not  that  nature — that  polish  decrees. 
That  women  should  always  endeavour  to  please  : 
That  the  law  of  their  system  has  early  imprest 
The  importance  of  fitting  themselves  to  each  guest ; 
And,  of  course,  that  full  oft  when  ye  trifle  and  play, 
'Tis  to  gratify  triflers  who  strut  in  your  way. 
The  child  might  as  well  of  its  mother  complain, 
As  wanting  true  wisdom  and  soundness  of  brain  : 
Because  that,  at  times,  while  it  hangs  on  her  breast, 
She  with  "  luUa-by-baby  "  beguiles  it  to  rest. 


692 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


'Tis  its  weakness  of  mind  that  induces  the  strain, 
For  wisdom  to  infants  is  prattled  in  vain. 

'Tis  true  at  odd  times,  when  in  frolicksome  fit, 
In  the  midst  of  liis  gambols,  the  mischievous  wit 
May  start  some  light  foible  that  clings  to  the  fair 
Like  cobwebs  that  fasten  to  objects  most  rare. — 
In  the  play  of  his  fancy  will  sportively  say 
Some  delicate  censure  that  pops  in  his  way. 
He  may  smile  at  your  fashions,  and  frankly  express 
His  dislike  of  a  dance,  or  a  flaming  red  dress  ; 
Yet  he  blames  not  your  want  of  man's  physical  force, 
Nor  complains  though  ye  cannot  in  Latin  discourse. 
He  delights  in  the  language  of  nature  ye  speak. 
Though  not  so  refined  as  true  classical  Greek. 
He  remembers  that  Providence  never  design'd 
Our  females  like  suns  to  bewilder  and  blind  ; 
But  like  the  mild  orb  of  pale  ev'ning  serene, 
Whose  radiance  illumines,  yet  softens  the  scene. 
To  light  us  with  cheering  and  welcoming  ray. 
Along  the  rude  path  when  the  sun  is  away. 

I  own  in  my  scribblings  I  lately  have  nam'd 
Some  faults  of  our  fair  which  I  gently  have  blam'd. 
Hut  be  it  for  ever  by  all  understood 
My  censures  were  only  pronounc'd  for  their  good. 
I  delight  in  the  sex,  'tis  the  pride  of  ray  mind 
To  consider  them  gentle,  endearing,  refin'd  ; 
As  our  solace  below  in  the  journey  of  life. 
To  smooth  its  rough  passes  ; — to  soften  its  strife  : 
As  objects  intended  our  joys  to  supply, 
And  to  lead  us  in  love  to  the  temples  on  high. 
Hoiv  oft  have  I  felt,  when  two  lucid  blue  eyes. 
As  calm  and  as  bright  as  the  gems  of  the  skies, 
Have  beam'd  their  soft  radiance  into  my  soul, 
Impress'd  with  an  awe  like  an  angel's  control ! 

Yes,  fair  ones,  by  this  is  for  ever  defin'd 
The  fop  from  the  man  of  refinement  and  mind ; 
The  latter  believes  ye  in  bounty  were  given 
As  a  bond  upon  earth  of  our  union  with  heaven  : 
And  if  ye  are  weak,  and  are  frail,  in  his  view, 
'Tis  to  call  forth  fresh  warmth  and  his  fondness  renew. 
'Tis  his  joy  to  support  these  defects  of  your  frame. 
And  his  love  at  your  weakness  redoubles  its  flame  : 
He  rejoices  the  gem  is  so  rich  and  so  fair, 
And  is  proud  that  it  claims  his  protection  and  care. 


No.  XIII.— FRIDAY,  AUGUST  14,  1807. 

FROM   MY   ELBOW-CHAIR. 


I  WAS  not  a  little  perplexed,  a  short  time  since, 
by  the  eccentric  conduct  of  my  knowing  coadju- 
tor. Will  Wizard.  For  two  or  three  days,  he  was 
completely  in  a  quandary.  He  would  come  into 
old  Cockloft's  parlour  ten  times  a  day,  swinging 
his  ponderous  legs  along  with  his  usual  vast 
strides,  clap  his  hands  into  his  sides,  contem- 
])late  the  little  shepherdesses  on  the  mantel-piece 
for  a  few  minutes,  whistling  all  the  while,  and 
then  sally  out  full  sweep,  without  uttering  a  word. 
To .  be  sure,  a  pish  or  a  pshaw  occasionally  escaped 
him;  and  he  was  observed  once  to  pull  out  his 
enormous  tobacco-box,  drum  for  a  moment  upon 
its  lid  with  his  knuckles,  and  then  return  it  into 
his  pocket  without  taking  a  quid:— 'twas  evident 
Will  was  full  of  some  mighty  idea  : — not  that  his 
restlessness  was  any  way  uncommon  ;  for  I  have 
often  seen  Will  throw  himself  almost  into  a  fever 
of  heat  and  fatigue — doing  nothing.  But  his  in- 
flexible taciturnity  set  the  whole  family,  as  usual, 
a  wondering :  as  Will  seldom  enters  the  house 
without  giving  one  of  his  "  one  thousand  and  one  " 
stories.  For  my  part,  I  began  to  think  that  the 
late  jracas  at  Canton  had  alarmed  Will  for  the 
safety  of  his   friends  Kiuglun,  Chinqua,  and  Con- 


sequa ;  or,  that  somethmg  had  gone  wrong  in  the 
alterations  of  the  theatre — or  that  some  new  out- 
rage at  Norfolk  had  put  him  in  a  worry ;  in  short, 
I  did  not  know  what  to  think ;  for  Will  is  such 
an  universal  busy-body,  and  meddles  so  much  in 
every  thing  going  forward,  that  you  might  as  well 
attempt  to  conjecture  what  is  going  on  in  the  north 
star,  as  in  his  precious  pericranium.  Even  Mrs. 
Cockloft,  who,  like  a  worthy  woman  as  she  is,  sel- 
dom troubles  herself  about  any  thing  in  this  world 
— saving  the  affairs  of  her  household,  and  the  cor- 
rect deportment  of  her  female  fi-iends — was  struck 
with  the  mystery  of  Will's  behaviour.  She  hap- 
pened, when  he  came  in  and  went  out  the  tenth 
time,  to  be  busy  darning  the  bottom  of  one  of  the 
old  red  damask  chairs  ;  and  notwithstanding  this  is 
to  her  an  affair  of  vast  importance,  yet  she  could 
not  help  turning  round  and  exclaiming,  "  I  wonder 
what  can  be  the  matter  with  Mr.  Wizard  ?  "  "  Noth- 
ing," replied  old  Christopher,  "  only  we  shall 
have  an  eruption  soon."  The  old  lady  did  not  un- 
derstand a  word  of  this,  neither  did  she  care  ;  she 
had  expressed  her  wonder ;  and  that,  with  her,  is 
always  sufficient. 

I  am  so  well  acquainted  with  Will's  peculiarities 
that  I  can  tell,  even  by  his  whistle,  when  he  is 
about  an  essay  for  our  paper  as  certainly  as  a  wea- 
ther wiseacre  knows  that  it  is  going  to  rain  when 
he  sees  a  pig  run  squeaking  about  with  his  nose  in 
the  wind.  1,  therefore,  laid  my  account  with  re- 
ceiving a  communication  from  him  before  long ; 
and  sure  enough,  the  evening  before  last  I  distin- 
guished his  free-mason  knock  at  my  door.  I  have 
seen  many  wise  men  in  my  time,  philosophers, 
mathematicians,  astronomers,  politicians,  editors, 
and  almanac  makers ;  but  never  did  I  see  a  man 
look  half  so  wise  as  did  my  friend  Wizard  on  enter- 
ing the  room.  Had  Lavater  beheld  him  at  that 
moment  he  would  have  set  him  down,  to  a  certain- 
ty, as  a  fellow  who  had  just  discovered  the  longitude 
or  the  philosopher's  stone. 

Without  saying  a  word,  he  handed  me  a  roll  of 
paper ;  after  which  he  lighted  his  segar,  sat  down, 
crossed  his  legs,  folded  his  arms,  and  elevating  his 
nose  to  an  angle  of  about  forty-five  degrees,  began 
to  smoke  like  a  steam  engine  ; — Will  delights  in 
the  picturesque.  On  opening  his  budget,  and  per- 
ceiving the  motto,  it  struck  me  that  Will  had 
brought  me  one  of  his  confounded  Chinese  manu- 
scripts, and  I  was  forthvifith  going  to  dismiss  it 
with  indignation  ;  but  accidentally  seeing  the  name 
of  our  oracle,  the  sage  Linkum,  of  whose  inesti- 
mable folioes  we  pride  ourselves  upon  being  the 
sole  possessors,  I  began  so  think  the  better  of  it, 
and  looked  round  to  Will  to  express  my  approba- 
tion. I  shall  never  forget  the  figure  he  cut  at  that 
moment  !  He  had  watched  my  countenance,  on 
opening  his  manuscript,  with  the  argus  eyes  of  an 
author  :  and  perceiving  some  tokens  of  disappro- 
bation, began,  according  to  custom,  to  puff  away 
at  his  segar  with  such  vigour  that  in  a  few  minutes 
he  had  entirely  involved  himself  in  smoke  :  except 
his  nose  and  one  foot,  which  were  just  visible,  the 
latter  wagging  with  great  velocity.  I  believe  I 
have  hinted  before — at  least  I  ought  to  have  done 
so — that  Will's  nose  is  a  very  goodly  nose  ;  to 
which  it  may  be  as  well  to  add,  that  in  his  voyages 
under  the  tropics,  it  has  acquired  a  copper  com- 
plexion, which  renders  it  very  brilliant  and  luminous. 
You  may  imagine  what  a  sumptuous  a|)pearance  it 
made,  projecting  boldly,  like  the  celebrated  promon- 
torium  nasitiuim  at  .Samos  with  a  light-house  upon 
it,  and  surrounded  on  all  sides  with  smoke  and 
vapour.  Had  my  gravity  been  like  the  Chinese 
philosopher's  "  within  one  degree  of  absolute  frigid- 


SALMAGUNDI. 


693 


ity,"  here  would  have  been  a  trial  for  it. — I  could 
not  stand  it,  but  burst  into  such  a  laugh  as  I  do  not 
indulge  in  above  once  in  a  hundred  years  ; — this  was 
too  much  for  Will;  he  emerged  from  his  cloud,  threw 
his  segar  into  the  fire-place,  and  strode  out  of  the 
room,  pulling  up  his  breeches,  muttering  something 
which,  I  verily  believe,  was  nothing  more  than  a 
horrible  long  Chinese  malediction. 

He,  however,  left  his  manuscript  behind  him, 
which  I  now  give  to  the  world.  Whether  he  is 
serious  on  the  occasion,  or  only  bantering,  no  one, 
1  believe,  can  tell :  for,  whether  in  speaking  or 
writing,  there  is  such  an  invincible  gravity  in  his 
demeanour  and  style,  that  even  I,  who  have  studied 
him  as  closely  as  an  antiquarian  studies  an  old 
manuscript  or  inscription,  am  frequently  at  a  loss 
to  know  what  the  rogue  would  be  at.  I  have  seen 
him  indulge  in  his  favourite  amusement  of  quizzing 
for  hours  together,  without  any  one  having  the 
least  suspicion  of  the  matter,  until  he  would  sud- 
denly twist  his  phiz  into  an  expression  that  baffles 
all  description,  thrust  his  tongue  in  his  cheek  and 
blow  up  in  a  laugh  almost  as  loud  as  the  shout  of 
the  Romans  on  a  certain  occasion;  which  honest 
Plutarch  avers  frightened  several  crows  to  such  a 
degree  that  they  fell  down  stone  dead  into  the 
Campus  Martius.  Jeremy  Cockloft  the  younger, 
who  like  a  true  modem  philosopher  delights  in  ex- 
periments that  are  of  no  kind  of  use,  took  the  trouble 
to  measure  one  of  Will's  risible  explosions,  and  de- 
clared to  me  that,  according  to  accurate  measure- 
ment, it  contained  thirty  feet  square  of  solid  laugh- 
ter:—what  will  the  professors  say  to  this.? 


PLANS  FOR  DEFENDING  OUR   HARBOUR. 
BY    WILLIAM   WIZARD,    ESQ. 


Long-fong  teko  buzz  tor-pe-do, 

Fudge 

We'll  blow  the  villains  ail  sky  high  ; 
But  do  it  with  ccono my. 


— Confucius, 
—Link.  Fid. 


Surely  never  was  a  town  more  subject  to  mid- 
summer fancies  and  dog-d.ay  whim-whams,  than 
this  most  excellent  of  cities ; — our  notions,  like 
our  diseases,  seem  all  epidemic  ;  and  no  sooner 
does  a  new  disorder  or  a  new  freak  seize  one  indi- 
vidual but  it  is  sure  to  run  through  all  the  commu- 
nity. This  is  particularly  the  case  when  the  sum- 
mer is  at  the  hottest,  and  every  body's  head  is  in 
a  \ertigo  and  his  brain  in  a  ferment  ;  'tis  absolute- 
ly necessary  then  the  poor  souls  should  have  some 
bubble  to  amuse  themselves  with,  or  they  would 
certainly  run  mad.  Last  year  the  poplar  worm 
made  its  appearance  most  fortunately  for  our  citi- 
zens ;  and  every  body  was  so  much  in  horror  of  be- 
ing poisoned,  and  devoured  ;  and  so  busied  in  mak- 
ing humane  experiments  on  cats  and  dogs,  that  we 
got  through  the  summer  quite  comfortably  ; — the 
cats  had  the  worst  of  it; — every  mouser  of  them 
was  shaved,  and  there  was  not  a  whisker  to  be  seen 
in  the  whole  sisterhood.  This  summer  every  body 
has  had  full  employment  in  planning  fortifications 
for  our  harbour.  Not  a  cobbler  or  tailor  in  the  city 
but  has  left  his  awl  and  his  thimble,  became  an  en- 
gineer outright,  and  aspired  most  magnanimously 
to  the  building  of  forts  and  destruction  of  navies  ! — 
heavens  !  as  my  friend  Mustapha  would  say,  on  what 
a  great  scale  is  every  thing  in  this  country  ! 

Among  the  various  plans  that  have  been  offered, 


the  most  conspicuous  is  one  devised  and  exhibited, 
as  I  am  informed,  by  that  notable  confederacy,  THE 
NORTH  RIVER  SOCIETY. 

Anxious  to  redeem  their  reputation  from  the  foul 
suspicions  that  have  for  a  long  time  overclouded  it, 
these  aquatic  incendiaries  have  come  forward,  at  the 
present  alarming  juncture,  and  announced  a  most  po- 
tent discovery  which  is  to  guarantee  our  port  from 
the  visits  of  any  foreign  marauders.  The  society 
have,  it  seems,  invented  a  cunning  machine,  shrewdly 
yclep'd  a  Torpedo  ;  by  which  the  stoutest  line  of  bat- 
tle ship,  even  a  Saniissima  Trinidada,  may  be 
caught  napping  and  decomposed  in  a  twinkling ;  a 
kind  of  sub-marine  powder-magazine  to  swim  under 
water,  like  an  aquatic  mole,  or  water  rat,  and  de- 
stroy the  enemy  in  the  moments  of  unsuspicious  se- 
curity. 

This  straw  tickled  the  noses  of  all  our  dignitaries 
wonderfully ;  for  to  do  our  government  justice,  it  has 
no  objection  to  injuring  and  exterminating  its  ene- 
mies in  any  manner — provided  the  thing  can  be  done 
economically. 

It  was  determined  the  experiment  should  be  tried, 
and  an  old  brig  was  purchased,  for  not  more  than 
twice  its  value,  and  delivered  over  into  the  hands  of 
its  tormentors,  the  North  River  Society,  to  be  tor- 
tured, and  battered,  and  annihilated,  secundum 
ariem.  A  day  was  appointed  for  the  occasion,  when 
all  the  good  citizens  of  the  wonder-loving  city  of 
Gotham  were  invited  to  the  blowing  up  ;  like  the  fat 
inn-keeper  in  Rabelais,  who  requested  all  his  cus- 
tomers to  come  on  a  certain  day  and  see  him  burst. 

As  I  have  almost  as  great  a  veneration  as  the  good 
Mr.  Walter  Shandy  for  all  kinds  of  experiments  that 
are  ingeniously  ridiculous,  I  made  very  particular 
Vnention  of  the  one  in  question,  at  the  table  of  my 
friend  Christopher  Cockloft ;  but  it  put  the  honest 
old  gentleman  in  a  violent  passion.  He  condemned 
it  in  toto,  as  an  attempt  to  introduce  a  dastardly  and 
exterminating  mode  of  warfare.  "  Already  have  we 
proceeded  far  enough,"  said  he,  "in  the  science  of 
destruction ;  war  is  already  invested  with  sufficient 
horrors  and  calamities,  let  us  not  increase  the  cata- 
logue ;  let  us  not  by  these  deadly  artifices  provoke  a 
system  of  insidious  and  indiscriminate  hostility,  that 
shall  terminate  in  laying  our  cities  desolate,  and  ex- 
posing our  women,  our  children,  and  our  infirm  to 
the  sword  of  pitiless  recrimination."  Honest  old 
cavalier  ! — it  was  evident  he  did  not  reason  as  a  true 
politician, — but  he  felt  as  a  christian  and  philanthro- 
pist ;  and  that  was,  perhaps,  just  as  well. 

It  may  be  readily  supposed,  that  our  citizens  did 
not  refuse  the  invitation  of  the  society  to  the  blow- 
up ;  it  was  the  first  naval  action  ever  exhibited  in 
our  port,  and  the  good  people  all  crowded  to  see  the 
British  navy  blown  up  in  effigy.  The  young  ladies 
were  delighted  with  the  novelty  of  the  show,  and 
declared  that  if  war  could  be  conducted  in  this  man- 
ner, it  would  become  a  fashionable  amusement ;  and 
the  destruction  of  a  fleet  be  as  pleasant  as  a  ball  or 
a  tea-party.  The  old  folk  were  equally  pleased  with 
the  spectacle, — because  it  cost  them  nothing.  Deat 
souls,  how  hard  was  it  they  should  be  disappointed  ! 
the  brig  most  obstinately  refused  to  be  decomposed  ; 
the  dinners  grew  cold,  and  the  puddings  were  over- 
boiled, throughout  the  renowned  city  of  Gotham  ; 
and  its  sapient  inhabitants,  like  the  honest  Stras- 
burghers,  from  whom  most  of  them  are  doubtless 
descended,  who  went  out  to  see  the  courteous 
stranger  and  his  nose,  all  returned  home  after  hav- 
ing threatened  to  pull  down  the  flag-staff  by  way 
of  taking  satisfaction  for  their  disappointment.  By 
the  way,  there  is  not  an  animal  in  the  world  more 
discriminating  in  its  vengeance  than  a  free-born 
mob. 


G94 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


In  the  evening;  I  repaired  to  friend  Hogg's  to 
smoke  a  sociable  segar,  but  had  scarcely  entered  the 
room  when  1  was  taken  prisoner  by  my  friend,  Mr. 
Jchabod  Fungus  ;  who  I  soon  saw  was  at  his  usual 
trade  of  prying  into  mill-stones.  The  old  gentleman 
informed  me,  that  the  brig  had  actually  blown  up, 
after  a  world  of  manceuvring,  and  had  nearly  blown 
up  the  society  with  it ;  he  seemed  to  entertain  strong 
doubts  as  to  the  objects  of  the  society  in  the  inven- 
tion of  these  infernal  machines; — hinted  a  suspicion 
of  their  wishing  to  set  the  river  on  fire,  and  that  he 
should  not  be  surprised  on  waking  one  of  these 
mornings  to  find  the  Hudson  in  a  blaze.  "  Not  that 
I  disapprove  of  the  plan,"  said  he,  "provided  it  has 
the  end  in  view  which  they  profess ;  no,  no,  an  ex- 
cellent plan  of  defence ; — no  need  of  batteries,  forts, 
frigates,  and  gun-boats  ;  observe,  sir,  all  that's  neces- 
sary is  that  the  ships  must  come  to  anchor  in  a  con- 
venient place ; — watch  must  be  asleep,  or  so  com- 
placent as  not  to  disturb  any  boats  paddling  about 
them — fair  wind  and  tide — no  moonlight — machines 
well-directed — musn't  flash  in  the  plan — bang's  the 
word,  and  the  vessel's  blown  up  in  a  moment !  " 
"  Good,"  said  I,  "  you  remind  me  of  a  lubberly  Chi- 
nese who  was  flogged  by  an  honest  captain  of  my 
acquaintance,  and  who,  on  being  advised  to  retali- 
ate, exclaimed — '  Hi  yah  !  s'pose  two  men  hold  fast 
him  captain,  den  ver)'  mush  me  bamboo  he  !  ' " 

The  old  gentleman  grew  a  little  crusty,  and  in- 
sisted that  I  did  not  understand  him  ; — all  that  was 
requisite  to  render  the  effect  certain  was,  that  the 
enemy  should  enter  into  the  project ;  or,  in  other 
words,  be  agreeable  to  the  measure ;  so  that  if  the 
machine  did  not  come  to  the  ship,  the  ship  should 
^'o  to  the  machine  ;  by  which  means  he  thought  the 
success  of  the  machine  would  be  inevitable — pro- 
vided it  struck  fire.  "But  do  not  you  think,"  said 
I,  doubtingly,  "  that  it  would  be  rather  difficult  to 
persuade  the  enemy  into  such  an  agreement .' — 
^iome  people  have  an  invincible  antipathy  to  being 
blown  up."  "  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  replied  he,  tri- 
umphantly ;  "got  an  excellent  notion  for  that ; — do 
with  them  as  we  have  done  with  the  brig ;  buy  all 
the  vessels  we  mean  to  destroy,  and  blow  'em  up  as 
best  suits  our  convenience.  I  have  thought  deeply 
on  that  subject  and  have  calculated  to  a  certainty, 
that  if  our  funds  hold  out  we  may  in  this  way  de- 
stroy the  whole  British  navy— by  contract." 

By  this  time  all  the  quidnuncs  of  the  room  had 
gathered  around  us,  each  pregnant  with  some  mighty 
scheme  for  the  salvation  of  his  country. — One  pa- 
thetically lamented  that  we  had  no  such  men  among 
us  as  the  famous  Toujoursdort  and  Grossitout;  who, 
when  the  celebrated  captain  Tranchemont  made  war 
against  the  city  of  Kalacahabalaba,  utterly  discom- 
fited the  great  king  Bigstaff,  and  blew  up  his  whole 
army  by  sneezing. — Another  imparted  a  sage  idea, 
which  seems  to  have  occupied  more  heads  than  one  ; 
that  is,  that  the  best  way  of  fortifying  the  harbour 
was  to  ruin  it  at  once  :  choke  the  channel  with  rocks 
and  blocks;  strew  it  with  chevatix-de-f rises z.nA  tor- 
pedoes :  and  make  it  like  a  nursery-garden,  full  of 
men-traps  and  spring-guns.  No  vessel  would  then 
have  the  temerity  to  enter  our  harbour ;  we  should 
not  even  dare  to  navigate  it  ourselves.  Or  if  no 
cheaper  way  could  be  devised,  let  Governor's  Island 
be  raised  by  levers  and  pulleys — floated  with  empty 
casks,  &c.,  towed  down  to  the  Narrows,  and  dropped 
plump  in  the  very  mouth  of  the  harbour  ! — "  But," 
said  1,  "  would  not  the  prosecution  of  these  whim- 
whams    be    rather   expensive   and    dilatory?" 

'•  Pshaw  !  "  cried  the  other — "  what's  a  million  of 
money  to  an  experiment ;  the  true  spirit  of  our  econ- 
omy requires  that  we  should  spare  no  expense  in 
discovering  the  cheapest  mode  of  defending  our- 


selves ;  and  then  if  all  these  modes  should  fail,  why, 
you  know  the  worst  we  have  to  do  is  to  return  to 
the  old-fashioned  hum-drum  mode  of  forts  and  bat- 
teries." "  By  which  time,"  cried  I,  "  the  arrival  of 
the  enemy  may  have  rendered  their  erection  super- 
fluous." 

A  shrewd  old  gentleman,  who  stood  listening  by, 
with  a  mischievously  equivocal  look,  observed  that 
the  most  effectual  mode  of  repulsing  a  fleet  from  our 
ports  would  be  to  administer  them  a  proclamation 
from  time  to  time,  till  it  operated. 

Unwilling  to  leave  the  company  without  demon- 
strating my  patriotism  and  ingenuity,  I  communi- 
cated a  plan  of  defence ;  which,  in  truth,  was  sug- 
gested long  since  by  that  infallible  oracle  MUSTA- 
PHA,  who  had  as  clear  a  head  for  cobweb-weaving 
as  ever  dignified  the  shoulders  of  a  projector.  He 
thought  the  most  effectual  mode  would  be  to  assem- 
ble all  the  slanjr-whangers,  great  and  small,  from  all 
parts  of  the  state,  and  marshal  them  at  the  battery  ; 
where  they  should  be  exposed,  point  blank,  to  the 
enemy,  and  form  a  tremendous  body  of  scolding  in- 
fantry ;  similar  to  the  foissards  or  doughty  cham- 
pions of  Billingsgate.  They  should  be  exhorted  to 
fire  away,  without  pity  or  remorse,  in  sheets,  half- 
sheets,  columns,  hand-bills,  or  squibs ;  great  canon, 
little  canon,  pica,  german-text,  stereotype,  and  to 
run  their  enemies  through  and  through  with  sharp- 
pointed  italics.  They  should  have  orders  to  show 
no  quarter — to  blaze  away  in  their  loudest  epithets 

"  miscreants  !"  "  murderers  I "  "  barbarians  !  " 

"pirates!"  "robbers!"  "BLACKGUARDS!"  and 
to  do  away  all  fear  of  consequences,  they  should  be 
guaranteed  from  all  dangers  of  pillory,  kicking,  cuff- 
ing, nose-pulling,  whipping-post,  or  prosecution  for 
libels.  If,  continued  Mustapha,  you  wish  men  to 
fight  well  and  valiantly,  they  must  be  allowed  those 
weapons  they  have  been  used  to  handle.  Your  coun- 
trymen are  notoriously  adroit  in  the  management  of 
the  tongue  and  the  pen,  and  conduct  all  their  battles 
liy  speeches  or  newspapers.  Adopt,  therefore,  the 
plan  I  have  pointed  out;  and  rely  upon  it  that  let  any 
fleet,  however  large,  be  but  once  assailed  by  this  bat- 
tery of  slang-whangers,  and  if  they  have  not  entirely 
lost  the  sense  of  hearing,  or  a  regard  for  their  own 
characters  and  feelings,  they  will,  at  the  very  first 
fire,  slip  their  cables  and  retreat  with  as  much  pre- 
cipitation as  if  they  had  unwarily  entered  into  the 
atmosphere  of  the  Bolt.m  upas.  In  this  manner 
may  your  wars  be  conducted  with  proper  economy  ; 
and  it  will  cost  no  more  to  drive  off  a  fleet  than  to 
write  up  a  party,  or  write  down  a  bashaw  with  three 
tails. 

The  sly  old  gentleman,  I  have  before  mentioned, 
was  highly  delighted  with  this  plan  ;  and  proposed, 
as  an  improvement,  that  mortars  should  be  placed 
on  the  battery,  which,  instead  of  throwing  shells  and 
such  trifles,  might  be  charged  with  newspapers, 
Tammany  addresses,  etc.,  by  way  of  red-hot  shot, 
which  would  undoubtedly  be  very  potent  in  blowing 
up  any  powder-magazine  they  might  chance  to  come 
in  contact  with.  He  concluded  by  informing  the 
company,  that  in  the  course  of  a  few  evenings  he 
would  have  the  honour  to  present  them  with  a 
scheme  for  loading  certain  vessels  with  news- 
papers, resolutions  of  "numerous  and  respectable 
meetings,"  and  other  combustibles,  which  vessels 
were  to  be  blown  directly  in  the  midst  of  the  enemy 
by  the  bellows  of  the  slang-whangers  ;  anri  he  was 
much  mistaken  il  they  would  not  be  more  fatal  than 
fire-ships,  bomb-ketches,  gun-boats,  or  even  torpe- 
does. 

These  are  but  two  or  three  specimens  of  the  nat- 
ure and  efficacy  of  the  innumerable  plans  with  which 
this  city  abounds.   Every  body  seems  charged  to  the 


SALMAGUNDI. 


695 


muzzle  with  gunpowder, — every  eye  flashes  fireworks 
and  torpedoes,  and  every  corner  is  occupied  by  linots 
of  inflammatory  projectors ;  not  one  of  whom  but 
has  some  preposterous  mode  of  destruction  which 
he  has  proved  to  be  infallible  by  a  previous  experi- 
ment in  a  tub  of  water  ! 

Even  Jeremy  Cockloft  has  caught  the  infection,  to 
the  great  annoyance  of  the  inhabitants  of  Cockloft- 
hall,  whither  he  retired  to  make  his  experiments  un- 
disturbed. At  one  time  all  the  mirrors  in  the  house 
were  unhung, — their  collected  rays  thrown  into  the 
hot-house,  to  try  Archimedes'  plan  of  burning- 
glasses  ;  and  the  honest  old  gardener  was  almost 
knocked  down  by  what  he  mistook  for  a  stroke  of 
the  sun,  but  which  turned  out  to  be  nothing  more 
than  a  sudden  attack  of  one  of  these  tremendous 
jack-o'-lantcrns.  It  became  dangerous  to  walk 
through  the  court-yard  for  fear  of  an  explosion :  and 
the  whole  family  was  thrown  into  absolute  distress 
and  consternation  by  a  letter  from  the  old  house- 
keeper to  Mrs.  Cockloft;  informing  her  of  his  hav- 
ing blown  up  a  favourite  Chinese  gander,  which  I 
had  brought  from  Canton,  as  he  was  majestically 
sailing  in  the  duck-pond. 

"  In  the  multitude  of  counsellors  there  is  safety;  " 
— -if  so,  the  defenceless  city  of  Gotham  has  nothing 
to  apprehend  ; — but  much  do  I  fear  that  so  many 
excellent  and  infallible  projects  will  be  presented, 
that  we  shall  be  at  a  loss  which  to  adopt ;  and  the 
peaceable  inhabitants  fare  like  a  famous  projector  of 
my  acquaintance,  whose  house  was  unfortunately 
plundered  while  he  was  contriving  a  patent  lock  to 
secure  his  door. 


FROM   MY   ELBOW-CHAIR. 

A  RETROSPECT;  OR,  "WHAT  YOU  WILL." 


Lolling  in  my  elbow-chair  this  fine  summer 
noon,  I  feel  myself  insensibly  yielding  to  that  genial 
feeling  of  indolence  the  season  is  so  well  fitted  to  in- 
spire. Every  one  who  is  blessed  with  a  little  of  the 
delicious  languor  of  disposition  that  delights  in  re- 
pose, must  often  have  sported  among  the  faery 
scenes,  the  golden  visions,  the  voluptuous  reveries, 
that  swim  before  the  imagination  at  such  moments, 
and  which  so  much  resemble  those  blissful  sensa- 
tions a  Mussulman  enjoys  after  his  favourite  indul- 
gence of  opium,  which  Will  Wizard  declares  can  be 
compared  to  nothing  but  "  swimming  in  an  ocean 
of  peacocks'  feathers."  In  such  a  mood,  every  body 
must  be  sensible  it  would  be  idle  and  unprofitable  for 
a  man  to  send  his  wits  a-gadding  on  a  voyage  of 
discovery  into  futurity ;  or  even  to  trouble  himself 
with  a  laborious  investigation  of  what  is  actually 
passing  under  his  eye.  We  are  at  such  times  more 
disposed  to  resort  to  the  pleasures  of  memory  than 
to  those  of  the  imagination  ;  and,  like  the  wayfaring 
traveller,  reclining  for  a  moment  on  his  staff,  had 
rather  contemplate  the  ground  we  have  travelled, 
than  the  region  which  is  yet  before  us. 

I  could  here  amuse  myself  and  stultify  my  read- 
ers with  a  most  elaborate  and  ingenious  parallel  be- 
tween authors  and  travellers  ;  l)ut  in  this  balmy 
season  which  makes  men  stupid  and  dogs  mad,  and 
when  doubtless  many  of  our  most  strenuous  ad- 
mirers have  great  difficulty  in  keeping  awake 
through  the  day,  it  would  be  cruel  to  saddle  them 
with  the  formidable  difficulty  of  putting  two  ideas 
together  and  drawing  a  conclusion  ;  or  in  the  learn- 
ed phrase,  forging  sydogisms  in  Baroco  .-—a  terrible 
undertaking  lor  the  dog  days  !  to  say  the  truth,  my 


observations  were  only  intended  to  prove  that  this, 
of  all  others,  is  the  most  auspicious  moment,  and 
my  present,  the  most  favourable  mood  for  indulging 
in  a  retrospect.  Whether,  like  certain  great  person- 
ages of  the  day,  in  attempting  to  prove  one  thing,  1 
have  exposed  another;  or  whether,  like  certain 
other  great  personages,  in  attempting  to  prove  a 
great  deal,  I  have  proved  nothing  at  all,  I  leave  to 
my  readers  to  decide  ;  provided  they  have  the  power 
and  inclination  so  to  do  ;  but  a  RETROSPECT  will  I 
take  notwithstanding. 

I  am  perfectly  aware  that  in  doing  this  I  shall  lay 
myself  open  to  the  charge  of  imitation,  than  which 
a  man  might  be  better  accused  of  downright  house- 
breaking ;  for  it  has  been  a  standing  rule  with  many 
of  my  illustrious  predecessors,  occasionally,  and  par- 
ticularly at  the  conclusion  of  a  volume,  to  look  over 
their  shoulder  and  chuckle  at  the  miracles  they  had 
achieved.  But  as  I  before  professed,  I  am  deter- 
mined to  hold  myself  entirely  independent  of  all 
manner  of  opinions  and  criticisms  as  the  only  method 
of  getting  on  in  this  world  in  any  thing  like  a 
straight  line.  True  it  is,  I  may  sometimes  seem  to 
angle  a  little  for  the  good  opinion  of  mankind  by 
giving  them  some  excellent  reasons  for  doing  unrea- 
sonable things  ;  but  this  is  merely  to  show  them, 
that  although  I  may  occasionally  go  wrong,  it  is  not 
for  want  of  knowing  how  to  go  right ;  and  here  I 
will  lay  down  a  maxim,  which  will  for  ever  entitle 
me  to  the  gratitude  of  my  inexperienced  readers, 
namely,  that  a  man  always  gets  more  credit  in  the 
eyes  of  this  naughty  world  for  sinning  wilfully,  than 
for  sinning  through  sheer  ignorance. 

It  will  doubtless  be  insisted  by  many  ingenious 
cavillers,  who  will  be  meddling  with  what  does  not 
at  all  concern  them,  that  this  retrospect  should 
have  been  taken  at  the  commencement  of  our  sec- 
ond volume ;  it  is  usual,  I  know  :  moreover,  it  is 
natural.  So  soon  as  a  writer  has  once  accomplished 
a  volume,  he  forthwith  becomes  wonderfully  increas- 
ed in  altitude  !  he  steps  upon  his  book  as  upon  a 
pedestal,  and  is  elevated  in  proportion  to  its  magni- 
tude. A  duodecimo  makes  him  one  inch  taller  ;  an 
octavo,  three  inches ;  a  quarto,  six  : — but  he  who  has 
made  out  to  swell  a  folio,  looks  down  upon  his  fellow- 
creatures  from  such  a  fearful  height  that,  ten  to  one, 
the  poor  man's  head  is  turned  for  ever  afterwards. 
From  such  a  lofty  situation,  therefore,  it  is  natural 
an  author  should  cast  his  eyes  behind  ;  and  having 
reached  the  first  landing  place  on  the  stairs  of  im- 
mortality, may  reasonably  be  allowed  to  plead  his 
privilege  to  look  back  over  the  height  he  has  ascend- 
ed. I  have  deviated  a  little  from  this  venerable  cus- 
tom, merely  that  our  retrospect  might  fall  in  the  dog 
days — of  all  days  in  the  year  most  congenial  to 
the  indulgence  of  a  little  self-sufficiency  ;  inasmuch 
as  people  have  then  little  to  do  but  to  retire  within 
the  sphere  of  self,  and  make  the  most  of  what  they 
find  there. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  we  think 
ourselves  a  whit  the  wiser  or  better  since  we  have 
finished  our  volume  than  we  were  before  ;  on  the 
contrary,  we  seriously  assure  our  readers  that  we 
were  fully  possessed  of  all  the  wisdom  and  morality 
it  contains  at  the  moment  we  commenced  writing. 
It  is  the  world  which  has  grown  wiser, — not  us  ;  we 
have  thrown  our  mite  into  the  common  stock  of 
knowledge,  we  have  shared  our  morsel  with  the  ig- 
norant multitude ;  and  so  far  from  elevating  our- 
selves above  the  world,  our  sole  endeavour  has  been 
to  raise  the  world  to  our  own  level,  and  make  it  as 
wise  as  we,  its  disinterested  benefactors. 

To  a  moral  writer  like  myself,  who,  next  to  his 
own  comfort  and  entertainment,  has  the  good  of  his 
fellow-citizens  at  heart,  a  retrospect  is  but  a  sorry 


C96 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


amusement.  Like  the  industrious  husbandman,  he 
often  contemplates  in  silent  disappointment  his 
labours  wasted  on  a  barren  soil,  or  the  seed  he  has 
carefully  sown,  choked  by  a  redundancy  of  worthless 
weeds.  I  expected  long  ere  this  to  have  seen  a  com- 
plete reformation  in  manners  and  morals,  achieved 
by  our  united  efforts.  My  fancy  echoed  to  the  ap- 
plauding voices  of  a  retrieved  generation  ;  I  antici- 
pated, with  proud  satisfaction,  the  period,  not  far 
distant,  when  our  work  would  be  introduced  into  the 
academies  with  which  every  lane  and  alley  of  our 
cities  abounds  ;  when  our  precepts  would  be  gently 
inducted  into  every  unlucky  urchin  by  force  of 
birch,  and  my  iron-bound  physiognomy,  as  taken  by 
Will  Wizard,  be  as  notorious  as  that  of  Noah  Web- 
ster, junr.  Esq.,  or  his  no  less  renowned  predecessor, 
the  illustrious  Dilworth,  of  spelling-book  immortality. 
But,  well-a-day !  to  let  my  readers  into  a  profound 
secret — the  expectations  oi'  man  are  like  the  varied 
hues  that  tinge  the  distant  prospect ;  never  to  be 
realized,  never  to  be  enjoyed  but  in  perspective. 
Luckless  Launcelot,  that  tlie  humblest  of  the  many 
air  castles  thou  hast  erected  should  prove  a  "  base- 
less fabric  !  "  Much  does  it  grieve  me  to  confess, 
that  after  all  our  lectures,  precepts,  and  excellent  ad- 
monitions, the  people  of  New-YORK  are  nearly  as 
much  given  to  backsliding  and  ill-nature  as  ever ;  they 
are  just  as  much  abandoned  to  dancing,  and  tea- 
drinking  ;  and  as  to  scandal.  Will  Wizard  informs 
me  that,  by  a  rough  computation,  since  the  last 
cargo  of  gunpowder-tea  from  Canton,  no  less 
than  eighteen  characters  have  been  blown  up,  be- 
sides a  number  of  others  that  have  been  wofuUy 
shattered. 

The  ladies  still  labour  under  the  same  scarcity  of 
muslins,  and  delight  in  flesh-coloured  silk  stockings  ; 
it  is  evident,  however,  that  our  advice  has  had  very 
considerable  effect  on  them,  as  they  endeavour  to 
act  as  opposite  to  it  as  possible ;  this  being  what 
Evergreen  calls  female  independence.  As  to  the 
Straddles,  they  abound  as  much  as  ever  in  Broad- 
way, particularly  on  Sundays  ;  and  Wizard  roundly 
asserts  that  he  supped  in  company  with  a  knot  of 
them  a  few  evenings  since,  when  they  liquidated  a 
whole  Birmingham  consignment,  in  a  batch  of  im- 
perial champaign.  I  have,  furthermore,  in  the  course 
of  a  month  past,  detected  no  less  than  three  Giblet 
families  making  their  first  onset  towards  style  and 
gentility  in  the  very  manner  we  have  heretofore 
reprobated.  Nor  have  our  utmost  efforts  been  able 
to  check  the  progress  of  that  alarming  epidemic, 
the  rage  for  punning,  which,  though  doubtless  origi- 
nally intended  merely  to  ornament  and  enliven  con- 
versation by  little  sports  of  fancy,  threatens  to  over- 
run and  poison  the  whole,  like  the  baneful  ivy  which 
destroys  the  useful  plant  it  first  embellished.  Now 
I  look  upon  an  habitual  punster  as  a  depredator  up- 
on conversation  ;  and  1  have  remarked  sometimes 
one  of  these  offenders,  sitting  silent  on  the  watch 
for  an  hour  together,  until  some  luckless  wight,  un- 
fortunately for  the  ease  and  quiet  of  the  company, 
dropped  a  phrase  susceptible  of  a  double  meaning  ; 

— when pop,  our  punster  would  dart  out  like  a 

veteran  mouser  from  her  covert,  seize  the  unlucky 
word,  and  after  worrjing  and  mumbling  at  it 
until  it  was  capable  of  no  further  marring,  relapse 
again  into  silent  watchfulness,  and  lie  in  wait  for 
another  opportunity. — Even  this  might  be  borne  with, 
by  the  aid  of  a  little  philosophy ;  but  the  worst  of  it 
is,  they  are  not  content  to  manufacture  puns  and 
laugh  heartily  at  them  themselves  ;  but  they  expect 
we  should  laugh  with  them  ; — which  I  consider  as 
an  intolerable  hardship,  and  a  flagrant  imposition  on 
good-nature.  Let  those  gentlemen  fritter  away  con- 
versation with  impunity,  and  deal  out  their  wits  in 


sixpenny  bits  if  they  please  ;  but  I  beg  I  may  have 
the  choice  of  refusing  currency  to  their  small  change. 
I  am  seriously  afraid,  however,  that  our  junto  is  not 
quite  free  from  the  infection  ;  nay,  that  it  has  even 
approached  so  near  as  to  menace  the  tranquillity  of 
my  elbow-chair :  for.  Will  Wizard,  as  we  were  in 
caucus  the  other  night,  absolutely  electrified  Pindar 
and  myself  with  a  most  palpable  and  perplexing 
pun  ;  had  it  been  a  torpedo,  it  could  not  have  more 
discomposed  the  fraternity.  Sentence  of  banish- 
ment was  unanimously  decreed ;  but  on  his  confess- 
ing that,  like  many  celebrated  wits,  he  was  merely 
retailing  other  men's  wares  on  commission,  he  was 
for  that  once  forgiven  on  condition  of  refraining  from 
such  diabolical  practices  in  future.  Pindar  is  par- 
ticularly outmgeous  against  punsters  ;  and  quite  as- 
tonished and  put  me  to  a  nonplus  a  day  or  two  since, 
by  asking  abruptly  "  whether  I  thought  a  punster 
could  be  a  good  christian  ?  "  He  followed  up  his 
question  triumphantly  by  offering  to  prove,  by  sound 
logic  and  historical  fact,  that  the  Roman  empire 
owed  its  decline  and  fall  to  a  pun  ;  and  that  nothing 
tended  so  much  to  demoralize  the  French  nation,  as 
their  abominable  rage  iorjcii.v  dc  mots. 

But  what,  above  every  thing  else,  has  caused  me 
much  vexation  of  spirit,  and  displeased  me  most  with 
this  stiff-necked  nation,  is,  that  in  spite  of  all  the  se- 
rious and  profound  censures  of  the  sage  Mustapha, 
in  his  various  letters — ihi^ywiU  talk  ! — they  will  still 
wag  their  tongues,  and  chatter  like  very  slang- 
whangers  !  this  is  a  degree  of  obstinacy  incompre- 
hensible in  the  extreme  ;  and  is  another  proof  how 
alarming  is  the  force  of  habit,  and  how  difficult  it  is 
to  reduce  beings,  accustomed  to  talk,  to  that  state 
of  silence  which  is  the  very  acme  of  human  wisdom. 

We  can  only  account  for  these  disappointments  in 
our  moderate  and  reasonable  expectations,  by  sup- 
posing the  world  so  deeply  sunk  in  the  mire  of  delin- 
quency, that  not  even  Hercules,  were  he  to  put  his 
shoulder  to  the  axletree,  would  be  able  to  extricate  it. 
We  comfort  ourselves,  however,  by  the  rellection 
that  there  are  at  least  three  good  men  left  in  this  de- 
generate age  to  benefit  the  world  by  example  should 
precept  ultimately  fail.  And  borrowing,  for  once,  an 
example  from  certain  sleepy  writers  who,  after  the  first 
emotions  of  surprise  at  finding  their  invaluable  effu- 
sions neglected  or  despised,  console  themselves  with 
the  idea  that  'tis  a  stupid  age,  and  look  forward  to 
posterity  for  redress; — we  bequeath  our  first  volume 
to  future  generations,— and  much  good  may  it  do 
them.  Heaven  grant  they  may  be  able  to  read  it ! 
for,  if  our  fashionable  mode  of  education  continues 
to  improve,  as  of  late,  I  am  under  serious  apprehen- 
sions that  the  period  is  not  far  distant  when  the  dis- 
cipline of  the  dancing  master  will  supersede  that  of 
the  grammarian  ;  crotchets  and  quavers  supplant  the 
alphabet ;  and  the  heels,  by  an  antipodean  manoeuvre, 
obtain  entire  pre-eminence  over  the  head.  How  does 
my  heart  yearn  for  poor  dear  posterity,  when  this 
work  shall  become  as  unintelligible  to  our  grand- 
children as  it  seems  to  be  to  their  grandfathers  and 
grandmothers. 

In  fact,  for  I  love  to  be  candid,  we  begin  to  sus- 
pect that  many  people  read  our  numbers,  merely  for 
their  amusement,  without  paying  any  attention  to 
the  serious  truths  conveyed  in  ever)'  page.  Unpar- 
donable want  of  penetration!  not  that  we  wish  to 
restrict  our  readers  in  the  article  of  laughing,  which 
we  consider  as  one  of  the  dearest  prerogatives  of 
man,  and  the  distinguishing  characteristic  which 
raises  him  above  all  other  animals :  let  them  laugh, 
therefore,  if  they  will,  provided  they  profit  at  the  same 
time,  and  do  not  mistake  our  object.  It  is  one  of  our 
indisputable  facts  that  it  is  easier  to  laugh  ten  tollies 
out  of  countenance  than  to  coax,  reason,  or  flog  a 


SALMAGUNDI. 


697 


5ian  out  of  one.  In  this  odd,  singular,  and  indescrib- 
able age,  wliicli  is  neither  the  age  of  gold,  silver,  iron, 
brass,  chivalry,  or  pills,  as  Sir  John  Carr  asserts,  a 
grave  writer  who  attempts  to  attack  folly  with  the 
heavy  artillery  of  moral  reasoning,  will  fare  like 
Smollet's  honest  pedant,  who  clearly  demonstrated 
by  angles,  &c.,  after  the  manner  of  Euclid,  that  it 
was  wrong  to  do  evil ; — and  was  laughed  at  for  his 
pains.  Take  my  word  for  it,  a  little  well-applied 
ridicule,  like  Hannibal's  application  of  vinegar  to 
rocks,  will  do  more  with  certain  hard  heads  and  ob- 
durate hearts,  than  all  the  logic  or  demonstrations 
in  Longinus  or  Euclid.  But  the  people  of  Gotham, 
wise  souls  !  are  so  much  accustomed  to  see  morality 
approach  them  clothed  in  formidable  wigs  and  sable 
garbs,  "with  leaden  eye  that  loves  the  ground,"  that 
they  can  never  recognize  her  when,  drest  in  gay  at- 
tire, she  comes  tripping  towards  them  with  smiles 

and  sunshine  in  her  countenance. Well,  let  the 

rogues  remain  in  happy  ignorance,  for  "  ignorance  is 
bliss,"  as  the  poet  says  ; — and  I  put  as  implicit  faith 

in  poetry  as  I  do  in  the  almanac  or  the  newspaper ; 

we  will  improve  them,  without  their  being  the  wiser 
for  it,  and  they  shall  become  better  in  spite  of  their 
teeth,  and  without  their  having  the  least  suspicion 
of  the  reformation  working  within  them. 

Among  all  our  manifold  grievances,  however,  still 
some  small  but  vivid  rays  of  sunshine  occasionally 
brighten  along  our  path ;  cheering  our  steps,  and  in- 
viting us  to  persevere. 

The  public  have  paid  some  little  regard  to  a  few 
articles  of  our  advice  ;  —  they  have  purchased  our 
numbers  freely ; — so  much  the  better  for  our  pub- 
lisher ; — they  have  read  them  attentively  ; — so  much 
the  better  for  themselves.  The  melancholy  fate  of 
my  dear  aunt  Charity  has  had  a  wonderful  effect ; 
and  1  have  now  before  me  a  letter  from  a  gentleman 
who  lives  opposite  to  a  couple  of  old  ladies,  remark- 
able for  the  interest  they  took  in  his  affairs ; — his 
apartments  were  absolutely  in 'a  state  of  blockade, 
and  he  was  on  the  point  of  changing  his  lodgings,  or 
capitulating,  until  the  appearance  of  our  ninth  num- 
ber, which  he  immediately  sent  over  with  his  compli- 
ments ; — the  good  ladies  took  the  hint,  and  have 
scarcely  appeared  at  their  window  since.  As  to  the 
wooden  gentlemen,  our  friend  Miss  Sparkle  assures 
me,  they  are  wonderfully  improved  by  our  criticisms, 
and  sometimes  venture  to  make  a  remark,  or  attempt 
a  pun  in  company,  to  the  great  edification  of  all  who 
happen  to  understand  them.  As  to  red  shawls,  they 
are  entirely  discarded  from  the  fair  shoulders  of  our 
ladies — ever  since  the  last  importation  of  finery; — 
nor  has  any  lady,  since  the  cold  weather,  ventured  to 
expose  her  elbows  to  the  admiring  gaze  of  scrutiniz- 
ing passengers.  But  there  is  one  victory  we  have 
achieved  which  has  given  us  more  pleasure  than  to 
have  written  down  the  whole  administration  :  I  am  as- 
sured, from  unquestionable  authority,  that  our  young 
ladies,  doubtless  in  consequence  of  our  weighty  ad- 
monitions, have  not  once  indulged  in  that  intoxicat- 
ing, inflammatory,  and  whirligig  dance,  the  waltz — 
ever  since  hot  weather  commenced.  True  it  is,  I 
understand,  an  attempt  was  made  to  exhibit  it  by 
some  of  the  sable  fair  ones  at  the  last  African  ball, 
but  it  was  highly  disapproved  of  by  all  the  respecta- 
ble elderly  ladies  present. 

These  are  sweet  sources  of  comfort  to  atone  for 
the  many  wrongs  and  misrepresentations  heaped 
upon  us  by  the  world  ;— for  even  we  have  experi- 
enced its  ill-nature.  How  often  have  we  heard  our- 
selves reproached  for  the  insidious  applications  of 
the  uncharitable  ! — how  often  have  we  been'  accused 
of  emotions  which  never  found  an  entrance  into  our 
bosoms  ! — how  often  have  our  sportive  effusions  been 
wrested  to  serve  the  purposes  of  particular  enmity 


and   bitterness  ! Meddlesome   spirits  !    little    do 

they  know  our  disposition  ;  we  "  lack  gall  "  to  wound 
the  feelings  of  a  single  innocent  individual ;  we  can 
even  forgive  them  from  the  ver}'  bottom  of  our  souls  ; 
may  they  meet  as  ready  a  forgiveness  from  their  own 
consciences  !  like  true  and  independent  bachelors, 
having  no  domestic  cares  to  interfere  with  our  gen- 
eral benevolence,  we  consider  it  incumbent  upon  us 
to  watch  over  the  welfare  of  society  ;  and  although 
we  are  indebted  to  the  world  for  little  else  than  left- 
handed  favours,  yet  we  feel  a  proud  satisfaction  in 
requiting  evil  with  good,  and  the  sneer  of  illiberality 
with  the  unfeigned  smile  of  good  humour.  With 
these  mingled  motives  of  selfishness  and  philanthropy 
we  commenced  our  work,  and  if  we  cannot  solace 
ourselves  with  the  consciousness  of  having  done 
much  good  !  yet  there  is  still  one  pleasing  consola- 
tion left,  w'hich  the  world  can  neither  give  nor  take 
away.  There  are  moments, — lingering  moments  of 
listless  indifference  and  heavy-hearted  despondency, 
— when  our  best  hopes  and  affections  slipping,  as 
they  sometimes  will,  from  their  hold  on  those  objects 
to  which  they  usually  cling  for  support,  seem  aban- 
doned on  the  wide  waste  of  cheerless  existence,  with- 
out a  place  to  cast  anchor ;  without  a  shore  in  view 
to  excite  a  single  wish,  or  to  give  a  momentary  inter- 
est to  contemplation.  We  look  back  with  delight 
upon  many  of  these  moments  of  mental  gloom,  whiled 
away  by  the  cheerful  exercise  of  our  pen,  and  con- 
sider every  such  triumph  over  the  spleen  as  retard- 
ing the  furrowing  hand  of  time  in  its  insidious  en- 
croachments on  our  brows.  If  in  addition  to  our 
own  amusements,  we  have,  as  we  jogged  carelessly 
laughing  along,  brushed  away  one  tear  of  dejection 
and  called  forth  a  smile  in  its  place — if  we  have 
brightened  the  pale  countenance  of  a  single  child  of 
sorrow — we  shall  feel  almost  as  much  joy  and  re- 
joicing as  a  slang-whanger  does  when  he  bathes  his 
pen  in  the  heart's  blood  of  a  patron  and  benefactor ; 
or  sacrifices  one  more  illustrious  victim  on  the  altar 
of  party  animosity. 


TO   READERS    AND   CORRESPONDENTS. 

It  is  our  misfortune  to  be  frequently  pestered,  in 
our  peregrinations  about  this  blessed  city,  by  certain 
critical  gad-flies  ;  who  buzz  around  and  merely  attack 
the  skin,  without  ever  being  able  to  penetrate  the 
body.  "The  reputation  of  our  promising  protege, 
Jeremy  Cockloft  the  younger,  has  been  assailed  by 
these  skin-deep  critics ;  they  have  questioned  his 
claims  to  originality,  and  even  hinted  that  the  ideas 
for  his  New-Jersey  Tour  were  borrowed  from  a  late 
work  entitled  "  My  Pocket-book."  As  there  is  no 
literary  offence  more  despicable  in  the  eyes  of  the 
trio  than  borrowing,  we  immediately  called  Jeremy 
to  an  account :  when  he  proved,  by  the  dedication 
of  the  work  in  question,  that  it  was  first  published  in 
London  in  March,  1807 — and  that  his  "Stranger  in 
New-Jersey  "  had  made  its  appearance  on  the  24th 
of  the  preceding  February. 

We  were  on  the  point  of  acquitting  Jeremy  with 
honour  on  the  ground  that  it  was  impossible,  know- 
ing as  he  is,  to  borrow  from  a  foreign  work  one 
month  before  it  was  in  existence  ;  when  Will  Wizard 
suddenly  took  up  the  cudgels  for  the  critics,  and  in- 
sisted that  nothing  was  more  probable  ;  for  he  recol- 
lected reading  of  an  ingenious  Dutch  author  who 
plainly  convicted  the  ancients  of  stealing  from  his 
labours  ! So  much  for  criticism. 


We  have  received  a  host  of  friendly  and  admoni- 
tory letters  from  different  quarters,  and  among  the 


698 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


rest  a  very  loving  epistle  from  Ccorge-lown,  Colum- 
bia, signed  Teddy  M'Gundy,  who  addresses  us  by 
the  name  of  Saul  M'Gundy,  and  insists  that  w£  are 
descended  from  the  same  Irish  progenitors,  and 
nearly  related.  As  friend  Teddy  seems  to  be  an 
honest,  merry  rogue,  we  are  sorry  that  we  cannot 
admit  his  claims  to  kindred ;  we  thank  him,  hovv- 
(•ver,  for  his  good-will,  and  should  he  ever  be  inclined 
to  favour  us  with  another  epistle,  we  will  hint  to  him, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  to  our  other  numerous  cor- 
respondents, that  their  communications  will  be  in- 
fmitely  more  acceptable,  if  they  will  just  recollect  Tom 
Shuffleton's  advice,  "pay  the  post-boy.  Muggins." 


No.  XIV.— SATURDAY,  SEPT.    19,  1807. 


LETTER    FROM   MUSTAPHA   RUB-A-DUB 
KELI    KHAN, 

TO  ASEM  HACCIIEM,  PRINCIPAL  SLAVE-DRIVER  TO 
HIS   HIGHNESS  THE  BASHAW  OF  TRIPOLI. 


Health  and  joy  to  the  friend  of  my  heart ! — May 
the  angel  of  peace  ever  watch  over  thy  dwelling,  and 
the  star  of  prosperity  shed  its  benignant  lustre  on  all 
thy  undertakings.  Far  other  is  the  lot  of  thy  captive 
friend  ; — his  brightest  hopes  extend  but  to  a  length- 
ened period  of  weary  captivity,  and  memory  only 
adds  to  the  measure  of  his  griefs,  by  holding  up  a 
mirror  wliich  reflects  with  redoubled  charms  the 
hours  of  past  felicity.  In  midnight  slumbers  my  soul 
holds  sweet  converse  with  the  tender  objects  of  its 
affections ; — it  is  then  the  exile  is  restored  to  his 
country  ; — it  is  then  the  wide  waste  of  waters  that 
rolls  between  us  disappears,  and  I  clasp  to  my  bosom 
the  companion  of  my  youth  ;  I  awake  and  find  it  is 
but  a  vision  of  the  night.  The  sigh  will  rise, — the 
tear  of  dejection  will  steal  down  my  cheek : — I  fly  to 
my  pen,  and  strive  to  forget  myself,  and  my  sorrows, 
in  conversing  with  my  friend. 

In  such  a  situation,  my  good  Asem,  it  cannot  be 
expected  that  I  should  be  able  so  wholly  to  abstract 
myself  from  my  own  feelings,  as  to  give  thee  a  full 
and  systematic  account  of  the  singular  people  among 
whom  my  disastrous  lot  has  been  cast.  I  can  only 
find  leisure,  from  my  own  individual  sorrows,  to 
entertain  thee  occasionally  with  some  of  the  most 
prominent  features  of  their  character ;  and  now  and 
then  a  solitary  picture  of  their  most  preposterous  ec- 
centricities. 

I  have  before  observed,  that  among  the  distinguish- 
ing characteristics  of  the  people  of  this  logocracy,  is 
their  invincible  love  of  talking;  and,  that  I  could 
compare  the  nation  to  nothing  but  a  mighty  wind- 
mill. Thou  art  doubtless  at  a  loss  to  conceive  how 
this  mill  is  supplied  with  grist ;  or,  in  other  words, 
how  it  is  possible  to  furnish  subjects  to  supply  the 
perpetual  motion  of  so  many  tongues. 

The  genius  of  the  nation  appears  in  its  highest 
lustre  in  this  particular  in  the  discovery,  or  rather 
the  application,  of  a  subject  which  seems  to  supply 
an  inexhaustible  mine  of  words.  It  is  nothing  more, 
my  friend,  than  politics  ;  a  word  which,  I  declare 
to  thee,  has  perplexed  me  almost  as  much  as  the  re- 
doubtable one  of  economy.  On  consulting  a  diction- 
ary of  this  language,  I  found  it  denoted  the  science 
of  government ;  and  the  relations,  situations,  and 
dispositions  of  states  and  empires. — Good,  thought  I, 
for  a  people  who  boast  of  governing  themselves 
there  could  not  be  a  more  important  subject  of  in- 
vestigation.    I   therefore    listened    attentively,    ex- 


pecting to  hear  from  "  the  most  enlightened  people 
under  the  sun,"  for  so  they  modestly  term  them- 
selves, sublime  disputations  on  the  science  of  legisla- 
tion and  precepts  of  political  wisdom  that  would  not 
have  disgraced  our  great  prophet  and  legislator  him- 
self! — but,  alas,  Asem  !  how  continually  are  my  ex- 
pectations disappointed  !  how  dignified  a  meaning 
does  this  word  bear  in  the  dictionary ; — how  des- 
picable its  common  application  ;  I  find  it  extending 
to  every  contemptible  discussion  of  local  animosity, 
and  every  petty  altercation  of  insignificant  individu- 
als. It  embraces,  alike,  all  manner  of  concerns ; 
from  the  organization  of  a  divan,  the  election  of  a 
bashaw,  or  the  levying  of  an  army,  to  the  appoint- 
ment of  a  constable,  the  personal  disputes  of  two 
miserable  slang-whangers,  the  cleaning  of  the  streets, 
or  the  economy  of  a  dirt-cart.  A  couple  of  politicians 
will  quarrel,  with  the  most  vociferous  pertmacity, 
about  the  character  of  a  bum-bailiff  whom  nobody 
cares  for;  or  the  deportment  of  a  little  great  man 
whom  nobody  knows ; — and  this  is  called  talking 
politics ;  nay !  it  is  but  a  few  days  since  that  I  was 
annoyed  by  a  debate  between  two  of  my  fellow- 
lodgers,  who  were  magnanimously  employed  in  con- 
demning a  luckless  wight  to  infamy,  because  he  chose 
to  wear  a  red  coat,  and  to  entertain  certain  erroneous 
opinions  some  thirty  years  ago.  Shocked  at  their  il- 
liberal and  vindictive  spirit,  I  rebuked  them  for  thus 
indulging  in  slander  and  uncharitableness,  about  the 
colour  of  a  coat ;  which  had  doubtless  for  many  years 
been  worn  out ;  or  the  belief  in  errors,  which,  in  all 
probability,  had  been  long  since  atoned  for  and 
abandoned  ;  but  they  justified  themselves  by  alleg- 
ing that  they  were  only  engaged  in  politics,  and  ex- 
erting that  liberty  of  speech,  and  freedom  of  discus- 
sion, which  was  the  glory  and  safeguard  of  their 
national  independence.  "  Oh,  Mahomet !  "  thought 
I,  "  what  a  country  must  that  be,  which  builds  its 
political  safety  on  ruined  characters  and  the  perse- 
cution of  individuals ! " 

Into  what  transports  of  surprise  and  incredulity 
am  I  continually  betrayed,  as  the  character  of  this 
eccentric  people  gradually  developes  itself  to  my  ob- 
servations. Every  new  research  increases  the  per- 
plexities in  which  I  am  involved,  and  I  am  more  than 
ever  at  a  loss  where  to  place  them  in  the  scale  of  my 
estimation.  It  is  thus  the  philosopher,  in  pursuing 
truth  through  the  labyrinth  of  doubt,  error,  and  mis- 
representation, frequently  finds  himself  bewildered  in 
the  mazes  of  contradictory  experience ;  and  almost 
wishes  he  could  quietly  retrace  his  wandering  steps, 
steal  back  into  the  path  of  honest  ignorance,  and  jog 
on  once  more  in  contented  indifference. 

How  fertile  in  these  contradictions  is  this  extensive 
logocracy  !  Men  of  different  nations,  manners,  and 
languages  live  in  this  country  in  the  most  perfect 
harmony ;  and  nothing  is  more  common  than  to  see 
individuals,  whose  respective  governments  are  at  va- 
riance, taking  each  other  by  the  hand  and  exchang- 
ing the  offices  of  friendship.  Nay,  even  on  the  sub- 
ject of  religion,  which,  as  it  affects  our  dearest  inter- 
ests, our  earliest  opinions  and  prejudices,  some 
warmth  and  heart-burnings  might  be  excused,  which, 
even  in  our  enlightened  country,  is  so  fruitful  in  dif- 
ference between  man  and  man  ! — even  religion  occa- 
sions no  dissension  among  these  people  ;  and  it  has 
even  been  discovered  by  one  of  their  sages  that  be- 
lieving in  one  God  or  twenty  Gods  "  neither  breaks 
a  man's  leg  nor  picks  his  pocket."  The  idolatrous 
Persian  may  here  bow  down  before  his  everlasting 
fire,  and  prostrate  himself  towards  the  glowing  east. 
The  Chinese  may  adore  his  Fo,  or  his  Josh  ;  the 
Egyptian  his  stork ;  and  the  Mussulman  practise, 
unmolested,  the  divine  precepts  of  our  immortal 
prophet.     Nay,  even  the  forlorn,  abandoned  Atheist, 


SALMAGUNDI. 


699 


who  lays  down  at  night  without  committing  himself 
to  the  protection  of  heaven,  and  rises  in  the  morning 
without  returning  thanks  for  his  safety  ; — who  hath 
no  deity  but  his  own  will ; — whose  soul,  like  the 
sandy  desert,  is  barren  of  every  flower  of  hope  to 
throw  a  solitary  bloom  over  the  dead  level  of  sterility 
and  soften  the  wide  extent  of  desolation  ; — -whose 
darkened  views  extend  not  beyond  the  horizon  that 
bounds  his  cheerless  existence  ; — to  whom  no  blissful 
perspective  opfens  beyond  the  grave ; — ^even  he  is 
suffered  to  indulge  in  his  desperate  opinions,  with- 
out exciting  one  other  emotion  than  pity  or  contempt. 
But  this  mild  and  tolerating  spirit  reaches  not  be- 
yond the  pale  of  religion : — once  differ  in  poUtics,  in 
mere  theories,  visions,  and  chimeras,  the  growth  of 
interest,  of  folly,  or  madness,  and  deadly  warfare 
ensues  ;  every  eye  flashes  fire,  every  tongue  is  loaded 
with  reproach,  and  every  heart  is  filled  with  gall  and 
bitterness. 

At  this  period  several  unjustifiable  and  serious  in- 
juries on  the  part  of  the  barbarians  of  the  British 
island,  have  given  a  new  impulse  to  the  tongue  and 
the  pen,  and  occasioned  a  terrible  wordy  fever. — Do 
not  suppose,  my  friend,  that  I  mean  to  condemn  any 
proper  and  dignified  expression  of  resentment  for 
injuries.  On  the  contrary,  I  love  to  see  a  word  be- 
fore a  blow :  for  "  in  the  fulness  of  the  heart  the 
tongue  moveth."  But  my  long  experience  has  con- 
vinced me  that  people  who  talk  the  most  about  tak- 
ing satisfaction  for  affronts,  generally  content  them- 
selves with  talking  instead  of  revenging  the  insult : 
like  the  street  women  of  this  country,  who,  after  a 
prodigious  scolding,  quietly  sit  down  and  fan  them- 
selves cool  as  fast  as  possible.  But  to  return  : — the 
rage  for  talking  has  now,  in  consequence  of  the  ag- 
gressions I  alluded  to,  increased  to  a  degree  far  be- 
yond what  I  have  observed  heretofore.  In  the  gar- 
dens of  his  highness  of  Tripoli  are  fifteen  thousand 
bee-hives,  three  hundred  peacocks,  and  a  prodigious 
number  of  parrots  and  baboons  ; — and  yet  I  declare 
to  thee,  Asem,  that  their  buzzing,  and  squalling,  and 
chattering  is  nothing  compared  to  the  wild  uproar 
and  war  of  words  now  raging  within  the  bosom  of 
this  mighty  and  distracted  logocracy.  Politics  per- 
vade every  city,  every  village,  every  temple,  every 
porter-house ; — the  universal  question  is,  "  what  is 
the  news .'  " — This  is  a  kind  of  challenge  to  political 
debate ;  and  as  no  two  men  think  exactly  alike,  'tis 
ten  to  one  but  before  they  finish  all  the  polite  phrases 
in  the  language  are  exhausted  by  way  of  giving  fire 
and  energy  to  argument.  What  renders  this  talking 
fever  more  alarming,  is  that  the  people  ap|)ear  to  be 
in  the  unhappy  state  of  a  patient  whose  palate  nau- 
seates the  medicine  best  calculated  for  the  cure  of 
his  disease,  and  seem  anxious  to  continue  in  the  full 
enjoyment  of  iheir  chattering  epidemic.  They  alarm 
each  other  by  direful  reports  and  fearful  apprehen- 
sions ;  like  I  have  seen  a  knot  of  old  wives  in  this 
country  entertain  themselves  with  stories  of  ghosts 
and  goblins  until  their  imaginations  were  in  a  most 
agonizing  panic.  Every  day  begets  some  new  tale, 
big  with  agitation  ;  and  the  busy  goddess,  rumour, 
to  speak  in  the  poetic  language  of  the  Christians,  is 
constantly  in  motion.  She  mounts  her  rattling  stage- 
wagon  and  gallops  about  the  country,  freighted  with 
a  load  of"  hints,"  "informations,"  "extracts  of  letters 
from  respectable  gentlemen,"  "  observations  of  re- 
spectable correspondents,"  and  "  unquestionable  au- 
thorities ;" — which  her  high-priests,  the  slang-vvhang- 
ers,  retail  to  their  sapient  followers  with  all  the  so- 
lemnity— and  all  the  authenticity  of  oracles.  True 
it  is,  the  unfortunate  slang-whangers  are  sometimes 
at  a  loss  for  food  to  supply  this  insatiable  appetite 
for  intelligence  ;  and  are,  not  unfrequently,  reduced 
to  the  necessity  of  manufacturing  dishes  suited  to 


the  taste  of  the  times :  to  be  served  up  as  morning 
and  evening  repasts  to  their  disciples. 

When  the  hungry  politician  is  thus  full  charged 
with  important  information,  he  sallies  forth  to  give 
due  exercise  to  his  tongue  ;  and  tells  all  he  knows  to 
every  body  he  meets.  Now  it  is  a  thousand  to  one 
that  every  person  he  meets  is  just  as  wise  as  himself, 
charged  with  the  same  articles  of  information,  and 
possessed  of  the  same  violent  inclination  to  give  it 
vent ;  for  in  this  country  every  man  adopts  some 
particular  slang-whanger  as  the  standard  of  his  judg- 
ment, and  reads  every  thing  he  writes,  if  he  reads 
nothing  else  ;  which  is  doubtless  the  reason  why  the 
people  of  this  logocracy  are  so  marvelously  enlight- 
ened. So  away  they  tilt  at  each  other  with  their 
borrowed  lances,  advancing  to  the  combat  with  the 
opinions  and  speculations  of  their  respective  slang- 
whangers,  which  in  all  probability  are  diametrically 
opposite  : — here,  then,  arises  as  fair  an  opportunity 
for  a  battle  of  words  as  heart  could  wish  ;  and  thou 
mayest  rely  upon  it,  Asem,  they  do  not  let  it  pass 
unimproved.  They  sometimes  begin  with  argument ; 
but  in  process  of  time,  as  the  tongue  begins  to  wax 
wanton,  other  auxiliaries  become  necessary  ;  recrim- 
ination commences ;  reproach  follows  close  at  its 
heels; — from  political  abuse  they  proceed  to  per- 
sonal ;  and  thus  often  is  a  friendship  of  years  tram- 
pled down  by  this  contemptible  enemy,  this  gigantic 
dwarf  of  POLITICS,  the  mongrel  issue  of  grovelling 
ambition  and  aspiring  ignorance  ! 

There  would  be  but  little  harm  indeed  in  all  this, 
if  it  ended  merely  in  a  broken  head  ;  for  this  might 
soon  be  healed,  and  the  scar,  if  any  remained,  might 
serve  as  a  warning  ever  after  against  the  indulgence 

of  political  intemperance  ; at  the  worst,  the  loss 

of  such  heads  as  these  would  be  a  gain  to  the  na- 
tion. But  the  evil  extends  far  deeper ;  it  threatens 
to  impair  all  social  intercourse,  and  even  to  sever 
the  sacred  union  of  family  and  kindred.  The  con- 
vivial table  is  disturbed  ;  the  cheerful  fireside  is  in- 
vaded ;  the  smile  of  social  hilarity  is  chased  away : — 
the  bond  of  social  love  is  broken  by  the  everlasting 
intrusion  of  this  fiend  of  contention,  who  lurks  in  the 
sparkling  bowl,  crouches  by  the  fireside,  growls  in 
the  friendly  circle,  infests  every  avenue  to  pleasure  ; 
and,  like  the  scowling  incubus,  sits  on  the  bosom  of 
society,  pressing  down  and  smothering  every  throb 
and  pulsation  of  liberal  philanthropy. 

But  thou  wilt  perhaps  ask,  "  What  can  these  peo- 
ple dispute  about  ?  one  would  suppose  that  being  all 
free  and  equal,  they  would  harmonize  as  brothers  ; 
children  of  the  same  parent,  and  equal  heirs  of  the 
same  inheritance."  This  theory  is  most  exquisite, 
my  good  friend,  but  in  practice  it  turns  out  the  very 
dream  of  a  madman.  Equality,  Asem,  is  one  of  the 
most  consummate  scoundrels  that  ever  crept  from 
the  brain  of  a  political  juggler  —  a  fellow  wlio 
thrusts  his  hand  into  the  pocket  of  honest  industry, 
or  enterprising  talent,  and  squanders  their  hard- 
earned  profits  on  profligate  idleness  or  indolent  stu- 
pidity. There  will  always  be  an  inequality  among 
mankind  so  long  as  a  portion  of  it  is  enlightened  and 
industrious,  and  the  rest  idle  and  ignorant.  The  one 
will  acquire  a  larger  share  of  wealth,  and  its  attend- 
ant comforts,  refinements,  and  luxuries  of  life ;  and 
the  influence,  and  power,  which  those  will  always 
possess  who  have  the  greatest  ability  of  administer- 
ing to  the  necessities  of  their  fellow-creatures. 
These  advantages  will  inevitably  excite  envy ;  and 
envy  as  inevitably  begets  ill-will: — hence  arises  that 
eternal  warfare,  which  the  lower  orders  of  society 
are  waging  against  those  who  have  raised  themselves 
by  their  own  merits,  or  have  been  raised  by  the  mer- 
its of  their  ancestors,  above  the  common  level.  In 
a  nation  possessed  of  quick  feelings  and  impetuous 


708 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


passions,  the  hostility  might  engender  deadly  broils 
and  bloody  commotions  ;  but  here  it  merely  vents 
itself  ir,  t.igh-sounding  words,  which  lead  to  contin- 
ual breaches  of  decorum  ;  or  in  the  insidious  assas- 
sination of  character,  and  a  restless  propensity  among 
the  base  to  blacken  every  reputation  which  is  fairer 
than  their  own, 

I  cannot  help  smiling  sometimes  to  see  the  solici- 
tude with  which  the  people  of  America,  so  called 
from  the  country  having  been  first  discovered  by 
Christopher  Columbus,  battle  about  them  when  any 
election  takes  place ;  as  if  they  had  the  least  con- 
cern in  the  matter,  or  were  to  be  benefited  by  an  ex- 
change of  bashaws  ; — they  really  seem  ignorant  that 
none  but  the  bashaws  and  their  dependants  are  at 
all  interested  in  the  event ;  and  that  the  people  at 
large  will  not  find  their  situation  altered  in  the  least. 
I  formerly  gave  thee  an  account  of  an  election  which 
took  place  under  my  eye. — The  result  has  been  that 
the  people,  as  some  of  the  slang-whangers  say,  have 
obtained  a  glorious  triumph ;  which,  however,  is 
flatly  denied  by  the  oi)posite  slang-whangers,  who 
insist  that  their  party  is  composed  of  the  true  sover- 
eign people ;  and  that  the  others  are  all  jacobins. 
Frenchmen,  and  Irish  rebels.  I  ought  to  apprise 
thee  that  the  last  is  a  term  of  great  reproach  here ; 
which,  perhaps,  thou  wouldst  not  otherwise  imagine, 
considering  that  it  is  not  many  years  since  this  veiy 
people  were  engaged  in  a  revolution  ;  the  failure  of 
which  would  have  subjected  them  to  the  same  igno- 
minious epithet,  aijd  a  particijfation  in  which  is  now 
the  highest  recommendation  to  public  confidence. 
By  Mahomet,  but  it  cannot  be  denied,  that  the  con- 
sistency of  this  people,  like  every  thing  else  apper- 
taining to  them,  is  on  a  prodigious  g^eat  scale  !  To 
return,  however,  to  the  event  of  the  election. — The 
people  triumphed  ;  and  much  good  has  it  done  them. 
I,  for  my  part,  expected  to  see  wonderful  changes, 
and  most  magical  metamorphoses.  I  expected  to 
see  the  people  all  rich,  that  they  would  be  all  gentle- 
men bashaws,  riding  in  their  coaches,  and  faring 
sumptuously  every  day  ;  emancipated  from  toil,  and 
revelling  in  luxurious  ease.  Wilt  thou  credit  me, 
Asem,  when  I  declare  to  thee  that  every  thing  re- 
mains exactly  in  the  same  state  it  was  before  the  last 
wordy  campaign  .'' — except  a  few  noisy  retainers,  who 
have  crept  into  office,  and  a  few  noisy  patriots,  on 
the  other  side,  who  have  been  kicked  out,  there  is 
not  the  least  difference.  The  labourer  toils  for  his 
daily  support ;  the  beggar  still  lives  on  the  charity 
of  those  who  have  any  charity  to  bestow ;  and  the 
only  solid  .satisfaction  the  multitude  have  reaped  is, 
that  they  have  got  a  new  governor,  or  bashaw,  whom 
they  will  praise,  idolize,  and  exalt  for  a  while ;  and 
afterwards,  notwithstanding  the  sterling  merits  he 
really  possesses,  in  compliance  with  immemorial  cus- 
tom, they  will  abuse,  calumniate,  and  trample  him 
under  foot. 

Such,  my  dear  Asem,  is  the  way  in  which  the 
wise  people  of  "  the  most  enlightened  country  under 
the  sun  "  are  amused  with  straws  and  puffed  up 
with  mighty  conceits ;  like  a  certain  fish  I  have 
seen  here,  which,  having  his  belly  tickled  for  a  short 
time,  will  swell  and  puff  himself  up  to  twice  his  usual 
size,  and  become  a  mere  bladder  of  wind  and  vanity. 

The  blessing  of  a  true  Mussulman  light  on  thee, 
good  Asem  ;  ever  while  thou  livest  be  true  to  thy 
prophet ;  and  rejoice,  that,  though  the  boasting  po- 
litical chatterers  of  this  logocracy  cast  upon  thy 
countrymen  the  ignominious  epithet  of  slaves,  thou 
livest  in  a  country  where  the  people,  instead  of  being 
at  the  mercy  of  a  tyrant  with  a  milhon  of  heads, 
have  nothing  to  do  but  submit  to  the  will  of  a  ba- 
shaw of  only  three  tails. 

Ever  thine,  Mustapha. 


COCKLOFT   HALL. 

BY  LAUNCELOT   LANGSTAFF,  ESQ. 


Those  who  pass  their  time  immured  in  the  smoky 
circumference  of  the  city,  amid  the  rattling  of  carts, 
the  brawling  of  the  multitude,  and  the  variety  of  un- 
meaning and  discordant  sounds  that  prey  insensibly 
upon  the  nerves  and  beget  a  weariness  of  the  spirits, 
can  alone  understand  and  feel  that  expansion  of  the 
heart,  that  physical  renovation  which  a  citizen  expe- 
riences when  he  steals  forth  from  his  dusty  prison  to 
breathe  the  free  air  of  heaven  and  enjoy  the  clear 
face  of  nature.  Who  that  has  rambled  by  the  side 
of  one  of  our  majestic  rivers  at  the  hour  of  sunset, 
when  the  wildly  romantic  scenery  around  is  softened 
and  tinted  by  the  voluptuous  mist  of  evening ;  when 
the  bold  and  swelling  outlines  of  the  distant  mount- 
ain seem  melting  into  the  glowing  horizon  and  a  rich 
mantle  of  refulgence  is  thrown  over  the  whole  ex- 
panse of  the  heavens,  but  must  have  felt  how  abun- 
dant is  nature  in  sources  of  pure  enjoyment ;  how 
luxuriant  in  all  that  can  enliven  the  senses  or  delight 
the  imagination.  The  jocund  zephyr,  full  freighted 
with  native  fragrance,  sues  sweetly  to  the  senses ; 
the  chirping  of  the  thousand  varieties  of  insects  with 
which  our  woodlands  abound,  forms  a  concert  of 
simple  melody ;  even  the  barking  of  the  farm  dog, 
the  lowing  of  the  cattle,  the  tinkling  of  their  bells, 
and  the  strokes  of  the  woodman's  axe  from  the  op- 
posite shore,  seem  to  partake  of  the  softness  of  the 
scene  and  fall  tunefully  upon  the  ear  ;  while  the  voice 
of  the  villager,  chanting  some  rustic  ballad,  swells 
from  a  distance  in  the  semblance  of  the  very  music 
of  harmonious  love. 

At  such  time  I  feel  a  sensation  of  sweet  tranquil- 
lity ;  a  hallowed  calm  is  diffused  over  my  senses  ;  I 
cast  my  eyes  around,  and  every  object  is  serene,  sim- 
ple, and  beautiful ;  no  warring  passion,  no  discordant 
string  there  vibrates  to  the  touch  cf  ambition,  self- 
interest,  hatred,  or  revenge  ; — I  am  at  peace  with 
the  whole  world,  and  hail  all  mankind  as  friends  and 
brothers." — Blissful  moments  !  ye  recall  the  careless 
days  of  my  boyhood,  when  mere  existence  was  hap- 
piness, when  hope  was  certainty,  this  world  a  para- 
dise, and  every  woman  a  ministering  angel  ! — surely 
man  was  designed  for  a  tenant  of  the  universe,  in- 
stead of  being  pent  up  in  these  dismal  cages,  these 
dens  of  strife,  disease,  and  discord.  We  were  crea- 
ted to  range  the  fields,  to  sport  among  the  groves, 
to  build  castles  in  the  air,  and  have  every  one  of 
them  realized  ! 

A  whole  legion  of  reflections  like  these  insinuated 
themselves  into  my  mind,  and  stole  me  from  the  in- 
fluence of  the  cold  realities  before  me,  as  I  took  my 
accustomed  walk,  a  few  weeks  since,  on  the  battery. 
Here  watching  the  splendid  mutations  of  one  of  our 
summer  skies,  which  emulated  the  boasted  glories 
of  an  Italian  sun-set.  I  all  at  once  discovered  that  it 
was  but  pack  up  my  portmanteau,  bid  adieu  for 
awhile  to  my  elbow-chair,  and  in  a  little  time  I 
should  be  transported  from  the  region  of  smoke,  and 
noise,  and  dust,  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  far  sweeter 
prospect  and  a  brighter  sky.  The  next  morning  I 
was  off  full  tilt  to  Cockloft-Hall,  leaving  my  man 
Pompey  to  follow  at  his  leisure  with  my  baggage. 
I  love  to  indulge  in  rapid  transitions,  which  are 
prompted  by  the  quick  impulse  of  the  moment ; — 
'tis  the  only  mode  of  guarding  against  that  intruding 
and  deadly  foe  to  all  parties  of  pleasure, — anticipa- 
tion. 

Having  now  made  good  my  retreat,  until  the 
black  frosts  commence,  it  is  but  a  piece  of  civility 
due  to  my  readers,  who  I  trust  are,  ere  this,  my 


SALMAGUNDI. 


701 


friends,  to  give  them  a  proper  introduction  to  my 
present  residence.  I  do  this  as  much  to  gratify 
them  as  myself:  well  knowing  a  reader  is  always 
anxious  to  learn  how  his  author  is  lodged,  whether 
in  a  garret,  a  cellar,  a  hovel,  or  a  palace ;  at  least  an 
author  is  generally  vain  enough  to  think  so  ;  and  an 
author's  vanity  ought  sometimes  to  be  gratified  ; 
poor  vagabond  !  it  is  often  the  only  gratification  he 
eves  tastes  in  this  world  I 

CocKLOFT-HALL  is  the  country  residence  of  the 
family,  or  rather  the  paternal  mansion ;  which,  like 
the  mother  country,  sends  forth  whole  colonies  to 
populate  the  face  of  the  earth.  Pindar  whimsically 
denominates  it  the  family  hive  !  and  there  is  at  least 
as  much  truth  as  humour  in  my  cousin's  epilhet ; — 
for  many  a  redundant  swarm  has  it  produced.  I 
don't  recollect  whether  I  have  at  any  time  mention- 
ed to  my  readers,  for  I  seldom  look  back  on  what  I 
have  written,  that  the  fertility  of  the  Cocklofts  is 
proverbial.  The  female  members  of  the  family  are 
most  inciedibly  fruitful ;  and  to  use  a  favourite  phrase 
of  old  Cockloft,  who  is  excessively  addicted  to  back- 
gammon, they  seldom  fail  "  to  throw  doublets  every 
time."  I  myself  have  known  three  or  four  very  in- 
dustrious young  men  reduced  to  great  extremities, 
with  some  of  these  capital  breeders ;  heaven  smiled 
upon  their  union,  and  enriched  them  with  a  numer- 
ous and  hopeful  offspring — who  eat  them  out  of 
doors. 

Rut  to  return  to  the  hall.— It  is  pleasantly  situated 
on  the  bank  of  a  sweet  pastoral  stream  :  not  so  near 
town  as  to  invite  an  inundation  of  unmeaning,  idle 
acquaintance,  who  come  to  lounge  away  an  after- 
noon, nor  so  distant  as  to  render  it  an  absolute  deed 
of  charity  or  friendship  to  perform  the  journey.  It 
is  one  of  the  oldest  habitations  in  the  country,  and 
was  built  by  my  cousin  Christopher's  grandl'ather, 
who  was  also  mine  by  the  mother's  side,  in  his  latter 
days,  to  form,  as  the  old  gentleman  expressed  him- 
self, "  a  snug  retreat,  where  he  meant  to  sit  himself 
down  in  his  old  days  and  be  comfortable  for  the  rest 
of  his  life."  He  was  at  this  time  a  few  years  over 
four  score :  but  this  was  a  common  saying  of  his, 
with  which  he  usually  closed  his  airy  speculations. 
One  would  have  thought,  from  the  long  vista  of 
years  through  which  he  contemplated  many  of  his 
projects,  that  the  good  man  had  forgot  the  age  of 
the  patriarchs  had  long  since  gone  by,  and  calculated 
upon  living  a  century  longer  at  least.  He  was  for  a 
considerable  time  in  doubt  on  the  question  of  roof- 
ing his  house  with  shingles  or  slate  : — shingles  would 
not  last  above  thirty  years  !  but  then  they  were  much 
cheaper  than  slates.  He  settled  the  matter  by  a 
kind  of  compromise,  and  determined  to  build  with 
shingles  first ;  "  and  when  they  are  worn  out,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  triumphantly,  "  'twill  be  time 
enough  to  replace  them  with  more  durable  mate- 
rials ! "  But  his  contemplated  improvements  sur- 
passed every  thing ;  and  scarcely  had  he  a  roof  over 
his  head,  when  he  discovered  a  thousand  things  to 
be  arranged  before  he  could  "  sit  down  comfortably." 
In  the  first  place,  every  tree  and  bush  on  the  place 
was  cut  down  or  grubbed  up  by  the  roots,  because 
they  were  not  placed  to  his  mind  ;  and  a  vast  quan- 
tity of  oaks,  chestnuts,  and  elms,  set  out  in  clumps 
and  rows,  and  labyrinths,  which  he  observed  in 
about  five-and-twenty  or  thirty  years  at  most,  would 
yield  a  very  tolerable  shade,  and,  moreover,  shut  out 
all  the  surrounding  country  ;  for  he  was  determined, 
he  said,  to  have  all  his  views  on  his  own  land,  and 
be  beholden  to  no  man  for  a  prospect.  This,  my 
learned  readers  will  perceive,  was  something  very 
like  the  idea  of  Lorenzo  de  Medici,  who  gave  as  a 
re.ison  for  preferring  one  of  his  seats  above  all  the 
Others,  "  that  all  the  ground  within  view  of  it  was 


his  own  :"  now,  whether  my  grandfather  ever  heard 
of  the  Medici,  is  more  than  I  can  say ;  I  rather 
think,  however,  from  the  characteristic  originality  of 
the  Cocklofts,  that  it  was  a  whim-wham  of  his  own 
begetting.  Another  odd  notion  of  the  old  gentle- 
man was  to  blow  up  a  large  bed  of  rocks,  for  the 
purpose  of  having  a  fish-pond,  although  the  river 
ran  at  about  one  hundred  yards  distance  from  the 
house,  and  was  well  stored  with  fish  ; — but  there  was 
nothing,  he  said,  like  having  things  to  one's-self. 
So  at  it  he  went  with  all  the  ardour  of  a  projector 
who  has  just  hit  upon  some  splendid  and  useless 
whim-wham.  As  he  proceeded,  his  views  enlarged  ; 
he  would  have  a  summer-house  built  on  the  margin 
of  the  fish-pond  ;  he  woi;ld  have  it  surrounded  with 
elms  and  willows ;  and  he  would  have  a  cellar  dug 
under  it,  for  some  incomprehensible  purpose,  which 
remains  a  secret  to  this  day.  "  In  a  few  years,"  he 
observed,  "  it  would  be  a  delightful  piece  of  wood 
and  water,  where  he  might  ramble  on  a  summer's 
noon,  smoke  his  pipe,  and  enjoy  himself  in  his  old 
days  :  " — thrice  honest  old  soul ! — he  died  of  an  ap- 
oplexy in  his  ninetieth  year,  just  as  he  had  begun  to 
blow  up  the  fish-pond. 

Let  no  one  ridicule  the  whim-whams  of  my  grand- 
father.  If — and  of  this  there  is  no  doubt,  for  wise 

men  have  said  it — if  life  is  but  a  dream,  happy  is  he 
who  can  make  the  most  of  the  illusion. 

Since  my  grandfather's  death,  the  hall  has  passed 
through  the  hands  of  a  succession  of  true  old  cava- 
liers, like  himself,  who  gloried  in  observing  the  gold- 
en rules  of  hospitality ;  which,  according  to  the 
Cockloft  principle,  consist  in  giving  a  guest  the  free- 
dom of  the  house,  cramming  him  with  beef  and 
pudding,  and,  if  possible,  laying  him  under  the  table 
with  prime  port,  claret,  or  London  particular.  The 
mansion  appears  to  have  been  consecrated  to  the 
jolly  god,  and  teems  with  monuments  sacred  to  con- 
viviality. Every  chest  of  drawers,  clothes-press, 
and  cabinet,  is  decorated  with  enormous  China 
punch-bowls,  which  Mrs.  Cockloft  has  paraded  with 
much  ostentation,  particularly  in  her  favourite  red 
damask  bed-chamber,  and  in  which  a  projector  might, 
with  great  satisfaction,  practise  his  experiments  on 
fleets,  diving-bells,  and  sub-marine  boats. 

I  have  before  mentioned  cousin  Christopher's  pro- 
found veneration  for  antique  furniture ;  in  conse- 
quence of  which  the  old  hall  is  furnished  in  much 
the  same  style  with  the  house  in  town.  Old-fashion- 
ed bedsteads,  with  high  testers ;  massy  clothes- 
presses,  standing  most  majestically  on  eagles'  claws, 
and  ornamented  with  a  profusion  of  shining  brass 
handles,  clasps,  and  hinges  ;  and  around  the  grand 
parlour  are  solemnly  arranged  a  set  of  high-backed, 
leather-bottomed,  massy,  mahogany  chairs,  that  al- 
ways remind  me  of  the  formal  long-waisted  belles, 
who  flourished  in  stays  and  buckram,  about  the  time 
they  were  in  fashion. 

If  I  may  judge  from  their  height,  it  was  not  the 
fashion  for  gentlemen  in  those  days  to  loll  over  the 
back  of  a  lady's  chair,  and  whisper  in  her  ear  what 
— might  be  as  well  spoken  aloud  ; — at  least,  they 
must  have  been  Patagonians  to  have  effected  it. 
Will  Wizard  declares  that  he  saw  a  little  fat  German 
gallant  attempt  once  to  whisper  Miss  Barbara  Cock- 
loft in  this  manner,  but  being  unluckily  caught  by  the 
chin,  he  dangled  and  kicked  about  for  half  a  minute, 
before  he  could  find  terra  firnia  ; — but  Will  is  much 
addicted  to  hyperbole,  by  reason  of  his  having  been 
a  great  traveller. 

But  what  the  Cocklofts  most  especially  pride  them- 
selves upon,  is  the  possession  of  several  family  por- 
traits, which  exhibit  as  honest  a  square  set  of  portly, 
well-ted  looking  gentlemen,  and  gentlewomen,  as 
ever  grew  and  flourished  under  the  pencil  of  a  Dutch 


702 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


painter.  Old  Christopher,  who  is  a  complete  g-eneal- 
ogist,  has  a  story  to  tell  of  each  ;  and  dilates  with 
copious  eloquence  on  the  great  services  of  the  gen- 
eral in  large  sleeves,  during  the  old  French  war  ; 
and  on  the  piety  of  the  lady  in  blue  velvet,  who  so 
attentively  peruses  her  book,  and  was  once  so  cele- 
brated for  a  beautiful  arm  :  but  much  as  I  reverence 
my  illustrious  ancestors,  I  find  Mttle  to  admire  in 
their  biography,  except  my  cousin's  excellent  mem- 
ory ;  which  is  most  provokingly  retentive  of  every 
uninteresting  particular. 

My  allotted  chamber  in  the  hall  is  the  same  that 
was  occupied  in  days  of  yore  by  my  honoured  uncle 
John.  The  room  exhibits  many  memorials  which 
recall  to  my  remembrance  the  solid  excellence  and 
amiable  eccentricities  of  that  gallant  old  lad.  Over 
the  mantel-piece  hangs  the  portrait  of  a  young  lady 
dressed  in  a  flaring,  long-waisted,  blue-silk  gown  ; 
be-flowered,  and  be-furbelowed,  and  be-cuffed,  in  a 
most  abundant  manner  ;  she  holds  in  one  hand  a 
book,  which  she  very  complaisantly  neglects  to  turn 
and  smile  on  the  spectator ;  in  the  other  a  flower, 
which  I  hope,  for  the  honour  of  dame  nature,  was 
the  sole  production  of  the  painter's  imagination  ;  and 
a  little  behind  her  is  something  tied  to  a  blue  riband, 
but  whether  a  little  dog,  a  monkey,  or  a  pigeon,  must 
be  left  to  the  judgment  of  future  commentators.  This 
little  damsel,  tradition  says,  was  my  uncle  Jolm's  third 
flame ;  and  he  would  infallibly  have  run  away  with 
her,  coukl  he  have  persuaded  her  into  the  measure; 
but  at  that  time  ladies  were  not  quite  so  easily  run 
away  with  as  Columbine  ;  and  my  uncle,  failing  in 
the  point,  took  a  lucky  thought ;  and  with  great  gal- 
lantry run  off  with  her  picture,  which  he  conveyed  in 
triumph  to  Cockloft-hall,  and  hung  up  in  his  bed- 
chamber as  a  monument  of  his  enterprising  spirit. 
The  old  gentleman  prided  himself  mightily  on  this 
chivalric  manoeuvre ;  always  chuckled,  and  pulled 
up  his  stock  when  he  contemplated  the  picture,  and 
never  related  the  exploit  without  winding  up  with  — 
"  I  might,  indeed,  have  carried  off  the  original,  had 
I  chose  to  dangle  a  little  longer  after  her  chariot- 
wheels  ; — for,  to  do  the  girl  justice,  I  believe  she  had 
a  liking  for  me  ;  but  1  always  scorned  to  coax,  my 
boy, — always, — -'twas  my  way."  My  uncle  John  was 
of  a  happy  temperament ; — I  would  give  half  I  am 
worth  for  his  talent  at  self-consolation. 

The  Miss  Cocklofts  have  made  several  spirited  at- 
tempts to  introduce  modern  furniture  into  the  hall ; 
but  with  very  indifferent  success.  Modern  style  has 
always  been  an  object  of  great  annoyance  to  honest 
Christopher  ;  and  is  ever  treated  by  him  with  sover- 
eign contempt,  as  an  upstart  intruder. — It  is  a  com- 
mon obser\ation  of  his,  that  your  old-fashioned  sub- 
stantial furniture  bespeaks  the  respectability  of  one's 
ancestors,  and  indicates  that  the  family  has  been 
used  to  hold  up  its  head  for  more  than  the  present 
generation  ;  whereas  the  fragile  appendages  of  mod- 
ern style  seemed  to  be  emblems  of  mushroom  gen- 
tility ;  and,  to  his  mind,  predicted  that  the  family 
dignity  would  moulder  away  and  vanish  with  the 
finery  thus  put  on  of  a  sudden. — The  same  whim- 
wham  makes  him  averse  to  having  his  house  sur- 
rounded with  poplars  ;  which  he  stigmatizes  as  mere 
upstarts ;  just  fit  to  ornament  the  shingle  palaces  of 
modern  gentry,  and  characteristic  of  the  establish- 
ments they  decorate.  Indeed,  so  far  does  he  carry 
his  veneration  for  all  the  antique  trumpery,  that  he 
can  scarcely  see  the  venerable  dust  brushed  from  its 
resting  place  on  the  old-fashioned  testers  ;  or  a  gray- 
bearded  spider  dislodged  from  his  ancient  inherit- 
ance without  groaning;  and  I  once  saw  him  in  a 
transport  of  passion  on  Jeremy's  knocking  down  a 
mouklering  martin-coop  with  his  tennis-ball,  which 
had  been  set  up  in  the  latter  davs  of  my  grandfather. 


Another  object  of  his  peculiar  affection  is  an  old 
English  cherry  tree,  which  leans  against  a  corner  of 
the  hall ;  and  whether  the  house  supports  it,  or  il 
supports  the  house,  would  be,  I  believe,  a  question 
of  some  difficulty  to  decide.  It  is  held  sacred  by 
friend  Christopher  because  he  planted  and  reared  it 
himself,  and  had  once  well-nigh  broke  his  neck  by  a 
fall  from  one  of  its  branches.  Tliis  is  one  of  his 
favourite  stories: — and  there  is  reason  to  believe, 
that  If  the  tree  was  out  of  the  way,  the  old  gentle- 
man would  forget  the  whole  affair ; — which  would 
be  a  great  pity. — The  old  tree  has  long  since  ceased 
bearing,  and  is  exceedingly  infirm  ; — every  tempest 
robs  it  of  a  lim'o  ;  and  one  would  suppose  from  the 
lamentations  of  my  old  friend,  on  such  occasions, 
that  he  had  lost  one  of  his  own.  He  often  con- 
templates it  in  a  half-melancholy,  half-moralizing 
humour—"  together,"  he  says,  "have  we  flourished, 
and  together  shall  we  wither  away : — a  few  years, 
and  both  our  heads  will  be  laid  low ;  and,  perhaps, 
my  mouldering  bones  may,  one  day  or  other,  mingle 
with  the  dust  of  the  tree  I  have  planted."  He  often 
fancies,  he  says,  that  it  rejoices  to  see  him  when  he 
revisits  the  hall ;  and  that  its  leaves  assume  a  bright- 
er verdure,  as  if  to  welcome  his  arrival.  How  whim- 
sically are  our  tenderest  feelings  assailed  !  At  one 
time  the  old  tree  had  obtruded  a  withered  branch 
before  Miss  Barbara's  window,  and  she  desired  her 
father  to  order  the  gardener  to  saw  it  off.  I  shall 
never  forget  the  old  man's  answer,  and  the  look  that 
accompanied  it.  "What,"  cried  he,  "lop  off  the 
limbs  of  my  cherry  tree  in  its  old  age  ? — why  do 
you  not  cut  off  the  gray  locks  of  your  poor  old  fa- 
ther ?  " 

Uo  my  readers  yawn  at  this  long  family  detail  ? 
They  are  welcome  to  throw  down  our  work,  and 
never  resume  it  again.  I  have  no  care  for  such  un- 
gratified  spirits,  and  will  not  throw  away  a  thought 
on  one  of  them  ; — full  often  have  I  contributed  to 
their  amusement,  and  have  I  not  a  right,  for  once,  to 
consult  my  own  ?  Who  is  there  that  does  not  fondly 
turn,  at  times,  to  Imger  round  those  scenes  which 
were  once  the  haunt  of  his  boyhood,  ere  his  heart 
grew  heavy  and  his  head  waxed  gray  ; — and  to  dwell 
with  fond  affection  on  the  friends  who  have  twined 

themselves  round  his  heart, mingled  in  all  his 

enjoyments, contributed  to  all  his  felicities.'     If 

there  be  any  who  cannot  relish  these  enjoyments, 
let  them  despair ; — for  they  have  been  so  soiled  in 
their  intercourse  with  the  world,  as  to  be  incapable 
of  tasting  some  of  the  purest  pleasures  that  survive 
the  happy  period  of  youth. 

To  such  as  have  not  yet  lost  the  rural  feeling,  I 
address  this  simple  family  picture  ;  and  in  the  honest 
sincerity  of  a  warm  heart,  I  invite  them  to  turn  aside 
from  bustle,  care,  and  toil,  to  tarry  with  me  for  a 
season,  in  the  hospitable  mansion  of  the  Cocklofts. 


I  WAS  really  apprehensive,  on  reading  the  follow- 
ing effusion  of  Will  Wizard,  that  he  still  retained  that 
pestilent  hankering  after  puns  of  which  we  lately 
convicted  him.  He,  however,  declares,  that  he  is 
fully  authorized  by  the  example  of  the  most  popular 
critics  and  wits  of  the  present  age,  whose  manner 
and  matter  he  has  closely,  and  he  flatters  himself 
successfully,  copied  in  the  subsequent  essay. 


THEATRICAL    INTELLIGENCE. 

BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,  ESQ. 

The  uncommon  healthiness  of  the  season,  occa- 
sioned, as  several  learned  physicians  assure  me,  by 


SALMAGUNDI. 


703 


the  universal  prevalence  of  the  influenza,  has  en- 
courag-ed  the  chieftain  of  our  dramatic  corps  to 
marshal  his  forces,  and  to  commence  the  campaign 
at  a  much  earlier  day  than  usual.  He  has  been  in- 
duced to  take  the  field  thus  suddenly,  I  am  told,  by 
the  invasion  of  certain  foreign  marauders,  who  pitched 
their  tents  at  Vauxhall-Garden  during  the  warm 
months ;  and  taking  advantage  of  his  army  being  dis- 
banded and  dispersed  in  summer  quarters,  committed 
sad  depredations  upon  the  borders  of  his  territories  : 
— carrying  off  a  considerable  portion  of  his  winter 
harvest,  and  murdering  some  of  his  most  distinguished 
characters. 

It  is  true,  these  hardy  invaders  have  been  reduced 
to  great  extremity  by  the  late  heavy  rains,  which  in- 
jured and  destroyed  much  of  their  camp-equipage  ; 
besides  spoiling  the  best  part  of  their  wardrobe.  Two 
cities,  a  triumphal  car,  and  a  new  moon  for  Cinde- 
rella, together  with  the  barber's  boy  who  was  em- 
ployed every  night  to  powder  and  make  it  shine 
white,  have  been  entirely  washed  away,  and  the  sea 
has  become  very  wet  and  mouldy ;  insomuch  that 
great  apprehensions  are  entertained  that  it  will  never 
be  dry  enough  for  use.  Add  to  this  the  noble  county 
Paris  had  the  misfortune  to  tear  his  corduroy  breeches, 
in  the  scuffle  with  Romeo,  by  reason  of  the  tomb 
being  very  wet,  which  occasioned  him  to  slip ;  and 
he  and  his  nob'e  rival  possessing  but  one  poor  pair 
of  satin  ones  between  them,  were  reduced  to  con- 
siderable shifts  to  keep  up  the  dignity  of  their  re- 
spective houses.  In  spite  of  these  disadvantages,  : 
and  the  untoward  circumstances,  they  continued  to 
enact  most  intrepidly ;  performing  with  much  ease 
and  confidence,  inasmuch  as  they  were  seldom 
pestered  with  an  audience  to  criticise  and  put  them 
out  of  countenance.  It  is  rumoured  that  the  last 
heavy  shower  absolutely  dissolved  the  company,  and 
that  our  manager  has  nothing  further  to  apprehend 
from  that  quarter. 

The  theatre  opened  on  Wednesday  last,  with  great 
eclat,  as  we  critics  say,  and  almost  vied  in  brilliancy 
with  that  of  my  superb  friend  Consequa  in  Canton  ; 
where  the  castles  were  all  ivory,  the  sea  mother-of- 
pearl,  the  skies"  gold  and  silver  leaf,  and  the  outside 
of  the  boxes  inlaid  with  scallop  shell-work.  Those 
who  want  a  better  description  of  the  theatre,  may  as 
well  go  and  see  it ;  and  then  they  can  judge  for  them- 
selves. For  the  gratification  of  a  highly  respectaljle 
class  of  readers,  who  love  to  see  every  thing  on  paper, 
I  had  indeed  prepared  a  circumstantial  and  truly  in- 
comprehensible account  of  it,  such  as  your  traveller 
always  fills  his  book  with,  and  which  I  defy  the  most 
intelligent  architect,  even  the  great  Sir  Christopher 
Wren,  to  understand.  I  had  jumbled  cornices,  and 
pilasters,  and  pillars,  and  capitals,  and  trigliphs,  and 
modules,  and  plinths,  and  volutes,  and  perspectives, 
and  foreshortenings,  helter-skelter ;  and  had  set  all 
the  orders  of  architecture,  Doric,  Ionic,  Corinthian, 
&c.,  together  by  the  ears,  in  order  to  work  out  a 
satisfactory  description;  but  the  manager  having 
sent  me  a  polite  note,  requesting  that  I  would  not 
take  off  the  sharp  edge,  as  he  whimsically  expresses 
it,  of  puMic  curiosity,  thereby  diminishing  the  re- 
ceipts of  his  house,  I  have  willingly  consented  to 
oblige  him,  and  have  left  my  description  at  the  store 
of  our  publisher,  where  any  person  may  see  it — pro- 
vided he  applies  at  a  proper  hour. 

T  cannot  refrain  here  from  giving  vent  to  the  satis- 
faction I  received  from  the  excellent  performances  of 
the  different  actors,  one  and  all ;  and  particularly  the 
gentlemen  who  shifted  the  scenes,  who  acquitted 
themselves  throughout  with  great  celerity,  dignity, 
pathos,  and  effect.  Nor  must  1  pass  over  the  peculiar 
merits  of  my  friend  JOHN,  who  gallanted  off  the 
chairs  and  tables  in  the  most  dignified  and  circum- 


spect manner.  Indeed,  I  have  had  frequent  occasion 
to  applaud  the  correctness  with  which  this  gentle- 
man fulfils  the  parts  allotted  him,  and  consider  him 
as  one  of  the  best  general  performers  in  the  com- 
pany. My  friend,  the  cockney,  found  considerable 
fault  with  the  manner  in  which  John  shoved  a  huge 
rock  from  behind  the  scenes;  maintaining  that  he 
should  have  put  his  left  foot  forward,  and  pushed  it 
with  his  right  hand,  that  being  the  method  practised 
by  his  contemporaries  of  the  royal  theatres,  and  uni- 
versally approved  by  their  best  critics.  He  also  took 
exception  to  John's  coat,  which  he  pronounced  too 
short  by  a  foot  at  least ;  particularly  when  he  turned 
his  back  to  the  company.  But  I  look  upon  these 
objections  in  the  same  light  as  new  readings,  and 
insist  that  John  shall  be  allowed  to  manoeuvre  his 
chairs  and  tables,  shove  his  rocks,  and  wear  his 
skirts  in  that  style  which  his  genius  best  effects.  My 
hopes  in  the  rising  merit  of  this  favourite  actor  daily 
increase  ;  and  I  would  hint  to  the  manager  the  pro- 
priety of  giving  him  a  benefit,  advertising  in  the  usual 
style  of  play-bills,  as  a  "  springe  to  catch  woodcocks," 
that,  between  the  play  and  farce,  John  will  MAKE  A 
BOW — for  that  night  only  ! 

I  am  told  that  no  pains  have  been  spared  to  make 
the  exhibitions  of  this  season  as  splendid  as  possible. 
Several  expert  rat-catchers  have  been  sent  into  dif- 
ferent parts  of  the  country  to  catch  white  mice  for 
the  grand  pantomime  of  CINDERELLA.  A  nest  full 
of  little  squab  Cupids  have  been  taken  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Communipaw  ;  they  arc  as  yet  but  half 
fledged,  of  the  true  Holland  breed,  and  it  is  hoped 
will  be  able  to  fly  about  by  the  middle  of  October; 
otherwise  they  will  be  suspended  about  the  stage  by 
the  waistband,  like  little  alligators  in  an  apothecary's 
shop,  as  the  pantomime  must  positively  be  perform- 
ed by  that  time.  Great  pains  and  expense  have  been 
incurred  in  the  importation  of  one  of  the  most  portly 
pumpkins  in  New-England  ;  and  the  public  may  be 
assured  there  is  now  one  on  board  a  vessel  from 
New-Haven,  which  will  contain  Cinderella's  coach 
and  six  with  perfect  ease,  were  the  white  mice  even 
ten  times  as  large. 

Also  several  barrels  of  hail,  rain,  brimstone,  and 
gunpowder,  are  in  store  for  melo-dramas  ;  of  which 
a  number  are  to  be  played  off  this  winter.  It  is  fur- 
thermore whispered  me  that  the  great  thunder-drum 
has  been  new  braced,  and  an  expert  performer  on 
that  instrument  engaged,  who  will  thunder  in  plain 
English,  so  as  to  be  understood  by  the  most  illiterate 
hearer.  This  will  be  infinitely  preferable  to  the 
miserable  Itahan  thunderer,  employed  last  winter  by 
Mr.  Ciceri,  who  performed  in  such  an  unnatural  and 
outlandish  tongue,  that  none  but  the  scholars  of 
signor  Da  Ponte  could  understand  him.  It  will  be  a 
further  gratification  to  the  patriotic  audience  to 
know,  that  the  present  thunderer  is  a  fellow-country- 
man, born  at  Dunderbarrack,  among  the  echoes  of 
the  Highlands ; — and  that  he  thunders  with  peculiar 
emphasis  and  pompous  enunciation,  in  the  true  style 
of  a  fourth  of  July  orator. 

In  addition  to  all  these  additions,  the  manager  has 
provided  an  entire  new  snow-storm  ;  the  very  sight 
of  which  will  he  quite  sufficient  to  draw  a  shawl  over 
every  naked  bosom  in  the  theatre  ;  the  snow  is  per- 
fectly fresh,  havmg  been  manufactured  last  Augus'. 

N.  B.  The  outside  of  the  theatre  has  been  orna- 
mented with  a  new  chimney  ! ! 


704 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


No.  XV.— THURSDAY,  OCTOBER  i,  1807. 


SKETCHES    FROM    NATURE. 
BY  ANTHONY  EVERGREEN,  GENT. 


The  brisk  north-westers,  which  prevailed  not  long 
since,  had  a  powerful  effect  in  arresting  the  progress 
of  belles,  beaux,  and  wild  pigeons  in  their  fashion- 
able northern  tour,  and  turning  them  back  to  the 
more  balmy  region  of  the  South.  Among  the  rest,  I 
was  encountered,  full  butt,  by  a  blast  which  set  my 
teeth  chattering,  just  as  I  doubled  one  of  the  frown- 
ing bluffs  of  the  Mohawk  mountains,  in  my  route  to 
Niagara  ;  and  facing  about  incontinently,  I  forthwith 
scud  before  the  wind,  and  a  few  days  since  arrived 
at  my  old  quarters  in  New- York.  My  first  care,  on 
returning  from  so  long  an  absence,  was  to  visit  the 
worthy  family  of  the  Cocklofts,  whom  I  found  safe, 
burrowed  in  their  country  mansion.  On  inquiring 
for  my  highly  respected  coadjutor,  Langstaff,  I 
learned  with  great  concern  that  he  had  relapsed  into 
one  of  his  eccentric  fits  of  the  spleen,  ever  since  the 
era  of  a  turtle  dinner  given  by  old  Cockloft  to  some 
of  the  neighbouring  squires  ;  wherein  the  old  gentle- 
man had  achieved  a  glorious  victory,  in  laying  honest 
Launcelot  fairly  under  the  table.  Langstaff,  although 
fond  of  the  social  board,  and  cheerful  glass,  yet 
abominates  any  excess  ;  and  has  an  invincible  aver- 
sion to  getting  mellow,  considering  it  a  wilful  outrage 
on  the  sanctity  of  imperial  mind,  a  senseless  abuse 
of  the  body,  and  an  unpardonable,  because  a  volun- 
tary, prostration  of  both  mental  and  personal  dignity. 
I  have  heard  him  moralize  on  the  subject,  in  a  style 
that  would  have  done  honour  to  Michael  Cassia  him- 
self: but  I  believe,  if  the  truth  were  known,  this 
antipathy  rather  arises  from  his  having,  as  the  phrase 
is,  but  a  weak  head,  and  nerves  so  extremely  sensi- 
tive, that  he  is  sure  to  suffer  severely  from  a  frolic ; 
and  will  groan  and  make  resolutions  against  it  for  a 
week  afterwards.  He  therefore  took  this  waggish 
exploit  of  old  Christopher's,  and  the  consequent 
quizzing  which  he  underwent,  in  high  dudgeon  ;  had 
kept  aloof  from  company  for  a  fortnight,  and  appeared 
to  be  meditating  some  deep  plan  of  retaliation  upon 
his  mischievous  old  crony.  He  had,  however,  for 
the  last  day  or  two,  shown  some  symptoms  of  con- 
valescence :  had  listened,  without  more  than  half  a 
dozen  twitches  of  impatience,  to  one  of  Christopher's 
unconscionable  long  stories ;  and  even  was  seen  to 
smile,  for  the  one  hundred  and  thirtieth  time,  at  a 
venerable  joke  originally  borrowed  from  Joe  Miller : 
but  which,  by  dint  of  long  occupancy,  and  frequent 
repetition,  the  old  gentleman  now  tirmly  believes 
happened  to  himself  somewhere  in  New-England. 

As  I  am  well  acquainted  with  Launcelot 's  haunts, 
I  soon  found  him  out.  He  was  lolling  on  his  favour- 
ite bench,  rudely  constructed  at  the  foot  of  an  old 
tree,  which  is  full  of  fantastical  twists,  and  with  its 
spreading  branches  forms  a  canopy  of  luxuriant  foli- 
age. This  tree  is  a  kind  of  chronicle  of  the  short 
reigns  of  his  uncle  John's  mistresses  ;  and  its  trunk 
is  sorely  wounded  with  carvings  of  true  lovers'  knots, 
hearts,  darts,  names,  and  inscriptions  I — frail  memo- 
rials of  the  variety  of  the  fair  dames  who  captivated 
the  wandering  fancy  of  that  old  cavalier  in  the  days 
of  his  youthful  romance.  Launcelot  holds  this  tree 
in  particular  regard,  as  he  does  every  thing  else  con- 
nected with  the  memory  of  his  good  uncle  John. 
He  was  reclining,  in  one  of  his  usual  brown  studies, 
against  its  trunk,  and  gazing  pensively  upon  the  river 
that  glided  just  by,  washing  the  drooping  branches 
of  the  dwarf  willows  that  fringed  its  bank.     My  ap- 


pearance roused  him  ; — he  grasped  my  hand  with 
his  usual  v,'armth,  and  with  a  tremulous  but  close 
pressure,  which  spoke  that  his  heart  entered  into  the 
salutation.  After  a  number  of  affectionate  inquiries 
and  felicitations,  such  as  friendship,  not  form,  dic- 
tated, he  seemed  to  relapse  into  his  former  flow  of 
thought,  and  to  resume  the  chain  of  ideas  my  ap- 
pearance had  broken  for  a  moment. 

"  I  was  reflecting,"  said  he,  "  my  dear  Anthony, 
upon  some  observations  I  made  in  our  last  number; 
and  considering  whether  the  sight  of  objects  once 
dear  to  the  affections,  or  of  scenes  where  we  have 
passed  different  happy  periods  of  earlv  life,  really  oc- 
casions most  enjoyment  or  most  regret.  Renewing 
our  acquaintance  with  well-known  but  long-sepa- 
rated objects,  revives,  it  is  true,  the  recollection  of 
former  pleasures,  and  touches  the  tenderest  feelings 
of  the  heart ;  like  the  flavour  of  a  delicious  bever- 
age will  remain  upon  the  palate  long  after  the  cup 
has  parted  from  the  lips.  But  on  the  other  hand, 
my  friend,  these  same  objects  are  too  apt  to  awaken 
us  to  a  keener  recollection  of  what  we  were,  when 
they  erst  delighted  us  ;  to  provoke  a  mortifying  and 
melancholy  contrast  with  what  we  are  at  present. 
They  act,  in  a  manner,  as  milestones  of  existence, 
showing  us  how  far  we  have  travelled  in  the  journey 
of  life ; — how  much  of  our  weary  but  fascinating 
pilgrimage  is  accomplished.  I  look  round  me,  and 
my  eye  fondly  recognizes  the  fields  I  once  sported 
over,  the  river  in  which  I  once  swam,  and  the 
orchard  I  intrepidly  robbed  in  the  h.aIcyon  days  of 
boyhood.  The  fields  are  still  green,  the  river  still 
rolls  unaltered  and  undiminished,  and  the  orchard  is 
still  flourishing  and  fruitful  ;— it  is  I  only  am  chang- 
ed. The  thoughtless  flow  of  mad-cap  spirits  that 
nothing  could  depress  ; — the  elasticity  of  nerve  that 
enabled  me  to  bound  over  the  field,  to  stem  the 
stream,  and  climb  the  tree  ; — the  '  sunshine  of  the 
breast '  that  beamed  an  illusive  charm  over  every 
object,  and  created  a  paradise  around  me  ! — where 
are  they  ? — the  thievish  lapse  of  years  has  stolen 
them  away,  and  left  in  return  nothing  but  gray  hairs, 
and  a  repining  spirit."  My  friend  Launcelot  con- 
cluded his  harangue  with  a  sigh,  and  as  I  saw  he 
was  still  under  the  influence  of  a  whole  legion  of  the 
blues,  and  just  on  the  point  of  sinking  into  one  of 
his  whimsical  and  unreasonable  fits  of  melancholy 
abstraction,  I  proposed  a  walk ; — he  consented,  and 
slipping  his  left  arm  in  mine,  and  waving  in  the 
other  a  gold-headed  thorn  cane,  bequeathed  him  by 
his  uncle  John,  we  slowly  rambled  along  the  margin 
of  the  river. 

Langstaff,  though  possessing  great  vivacity  of 
temper,  is  most  wofully  subject  to  these  "  thick 
coming  fancies  :  "  and  I  do  not  know  a  man  whose 
animal  spirits  do  insult  him  with  more  jiltings,  and 
coquetries,  and  slippery  tricks.  In  these  moods  he 
is  often  visited  by  a  whim-wham  which  he  indulges 
in  common  with  the  Cocklofts.  It  is  that  of  looking 
back  with  regret,  conjuring  up  the  phantoms  of  good 
old  times,  and  decking  them  out  in  imaginary  finery, 
with  the  spoils  of  his  fancy  ;  like  a  good  lady  w'dow, 
regretting  the  loss  of  the  "  poor  dear  man  ; "  for 
whom,  while  living,  she  cared  not  a  rush.  I  have 
seen  him  and  Pindar,  and  old  Cockloft,  amuse  them- 
selves over  a  bottle  with  their  youthful  days ;  until 
by  the  time  they  had  become  what  is  termed  merry, 
they  were  the  most  miserable  beings  in  existence. 
In  a  similar  humour  was  Launcelot  at  present,  and  I 
knew  the  only  way  was  to  let  him  moralize  himself 
out  of  it. 

Our  ramble  was  soon  interrupted  by  the  appear- 
ance of  a  personage  of  no  little  importance  at  Cock- 
loft-hall : — for,  to  let  my  readers  into  a  family  secret, 
friend  Christopher  is  notoriously  hen-pecked  by  an  old 


SALMAGUNDI. 


705 


negro,  who  has  whitened  on  the  place ;  and  is  his 
master,  ahnanac,  and  counsellor.  My  readers,  it 
baply  they  have  sojourned  in  the  country,  and  be- 
come conversant  in  rural  manners,  must  have  ob- 
served, that  there  is  scarce  a  little  hamlet  but  has 
one  of  these  old  weather-beaten  wiseacres  of  ne- 
groes, who  ranks  among  the  great  characters  of  the 
place.  He  is  always  resorted  to  as  an  oracle  to  re- 
solve any  question  about  the  weather,  fishing,  shoot- 
ing, farming,  and  horse-doctoring:  and  on  such  oc- 
casions will  slouch  his  remnant  of  a  hat  on  one  side, 
fold  his  arms,  roll  his  white  eyes,  and  examine  the 
sky,  with  a  look  as  knowing  as  Peter  Pindar's  mag- 
pie when  peeping  into  a  marrow-bone.  Such  a  sage 
curmudgeon  is  Old  Caesar,  who  acts  as  friend  Cock- 
loft's prime  minister  or  grand  vizier  ;  assumes,  when 
abroad,  his  master's  style  and  title ;  to  wit,  squire 
Cockloft ;  and  is,  in  effect,  absolute  lord  and  ruler  of 
the  soil. 

As  he  passed  us  he  pulled  off  his  hat  with  an  air 
of  something  more  than  respect ; — it  partook,  I 
thought,  of  affection.  "  There,  now,  is  another 
memento  of  the  kind  I  have  been  noticing,"  said 
Launcelot ;  "  Caesar  was  a  bosom  friend  and  chosen 
playmate  of  cousin  Pindar  and  myself,  when  we 
were  boys.  Never  were  we  so  happy  as  when,  steal- 
ing away  on  a  holiday  to  the  hall,  we  ranged  about 
the  fields  with  honest  Cassar.  He  was  particularly 
adroit  in  making  our  quail-traps  and  fishing-rods ; 
was  always  the  ring-leader  in  all  the  schemes  of 
frolicksome  mischief  perpetrated  by  the  urchins  of 
the  neighbourhood;  considered  himself  on  an  equal- 
ity with  the  best  of  us  ;  and  many  a  hard  battle  have 
I  had  with  him,  about  a  division  of  the  spoils  of  an 
orchard,  or  the  title  to  a  bird's  nest.  Many  a  sum- 
mer evening  do  I  remember  when  huddled  together 
on  the  steps  of  the  hall  door,  Cassar,  with  his 
stories  of  ghosts,  goblins,  and  witches,  would  put  us 
all  in  a  panic,  and  people  every  lane,  and  church- 
yard, and  solitary  wood,  with  imaginary  beings.  In 
process  of  time,  he  became  the  constant  attendant 
and  Man  Friday  of  cousin  Pindar,  whenever  he  went 
a  sparking  among  the  rosy  country  girls  of  the 
neighbouring  farms  ;  and  brought  up  his  rear  at 
every  rustic  dance,  when  he  would  mingle  in  the 
sable  group  that  always  thronged  the  door  of  merri- 
ment ;  and  it  was  enough  to  put  to  the  rout  a  host  of 
splenetic  imps  to  see  his  mouth  gradually  dilate  from 
ear  to  ear,  with  pride  and  exultation,  at  seeing  how 
neatly  master  Pindar  footed  it  over  the  floor. 
Cassar  was  likewise  the  chosen  confidant  and  special 
agent  of  Pindar  in  all  his  love  affairs,  until,  as  his 
eul  stars  would  have  it,  on  being  entrusted  with  the 
delivery  of  a  poetic  billetdoux  to  one  of  his  patron's 
Sweethearts,  he  took  an  unlucky  notion  to  send  it  to 
his  own  sable  dulcinea ;  who,  not  being  able  to  read 
it,  took  it  to  her  mistress  ; — and  so  the  whole  affair 
was  blown.  Pindar  was  universally  roasted,  and 
Cassar  discharged  for  ever  from  his  confidence. 

"  Poor  Ca;sar ! — he  has  now  grown  old,  like  his 
young  masters,  but  he  still  remembers  old  times ; 
and  will,  now  and  then,  remind  me  of  them  as  he 
lights  me  to  my  room,  and  lingers  a  little  while  to 
bid  me  a  good-night: believe  me,  my  dear  Ever- 
green, the  honest,  simple  old  creature  has  a  warm 
comer  in  my  heart ; — 1  don't  see,  for  my  part,  why  a 
body  may  not  like  a  negro  as  well  as  a  white  man  !  " 

By  the  time  these  biographical  anecdotes  were 
ended  we  had  reached  ihe  stable,  into  which  we  in- 
voluntarily strolled,  and  found  Cassar  busily  employed 
in  rubbing  down  the  horses  ;  an  office  he  would  not 
entrust  to  any  body  else  ;  having  contracted  an  af- 
fection for  every  beast  in  the  stable,  from  their  being 
descendants  of  the  old  race  of  animals,  his  youthful 
contemporaries.  Ca;sar  was  very  particular  in  giving 
43 


us  their  pedigrees,  together  with  a  panegyric  on  the 
swiftness,  bottom,  blood,  and  spirit  of  their  sires. 
From  these  he  digressed  into  a  variety  of  anecdotes, 
in  which  Launcelot  bore  a  conspicuous  part,  and  on 
which  the  old  negro  dwelt  with  all  the  garrulity  of 
age.  Honest  Langstafif  stood  leaning  with  his  arm 
over  the  back  of  his  favourite  steed,  old  Killdeer; 
and  I  could  perceive  he  listened  to  Casar's  simple 
details  with  that  fond  attention  with  which  a  feeling 
mind  will  hang  over  narratives  of  boyish  days.  His 
eyes  sparkled  with  animation,  a  glow  of  youthful  fire 
stole  across  his  pale  visage  ;  he  nodded  with  smiling 
approbation  at  every  sentence ; — chuckled  at  every 
exploit  ;  laughed  heartily  at  the  story  of  his  once 
having  smoked  out  a  country  singing-school  with 
brimstone  and  assafoetida  ; — and  slipping,a  piece  of 
money  into  old  Ca5sar's  hand  to  buy  himself  a  new 
tobacco-box,  he  seized  me  by  the  arm  and  hurried 
out  of  the  stable  brimfull  of  good-nature.  " 'Tis  a 
pestilent  old  rogue  for  talking,  my  dear  fellow,"  cried 
he,  "  but  you  must  not  find  fault  with  him,— the 
creature  means  well."  I  knew  at  the  very  moment 
that  he  made  this  apology,  honest  Ca:sar  could  not 
have  given  him  half  the  satisfaction  had  he  talked 
Hke  a  Cicero  or  a  Solomon. 

Launcelot  returned  to  the  house  with  me  in  the 
best  possible  humour: — the  whole  family,  who,  in 
truth,  love  and  honour  him  from  their  very  souls, 
were  delighted  to  see  the  sunbeams  once  more  play 
in  his  countenance.  Every  one  seemed  to  vie  who 
should  talk  the  most,  tell  the  longest  stories,  and  be 
most  agreeable  ;  and  Will  Wizard,  who  had  accom- 
panied me  in  my  visit,  declared,  as  he  lighted  his 
segar,  which  had  gone  out  forty  times  in  the  course 
of  one  of  his  oriental  t.iles, — that  he  had  not  passed 
so  pleasant  an  evening  since  the  birth-night  ball  of 
the  beauteous  empress  of  Hayti. 

[The  following  essay  was  written  by  my  friend 
Langstaff,  in  one  of  the  paroxysms  of  his  splenetic 
complaint ;  and,  for  aught  I  know,  may  have  been 
effectual  in  restoring  him  to  good  humour. — A  men- 
tal discharge  of  the  kind  has  a  remarkable  tendency 
toward  sweetening  the  temper, — and  Launcelot  is, 
at  this  moment,  one  of  the  best-natured  men  in  ex- 
istence. A.  Evergreen.] 


ON    GREATNESS. 
BY  LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,   ESQ. 


We  have  more  than  once,  in  the  course  of  our 
work,  been  most  jocosely  familiar  with  great  person- 
ages ;  and,  in  truth,  treated  them  with  as  little  cere- 
mony, respect,  and  consideration,  as  if  they  had  been 
our  most  particular  friends.  Now,  we  would  not  suf- 
fer the  mortification  of  having  our  readers  even  sus- 
pect us  of  an  intimacy  of  the  kind  ;  assuring  them 
we  are  extremely  choice  in  our  intimates,  and  un- 
commonly circumspect  in  avoiding  connexions  with 
all  doubtful  characters  ;  particularly  pimps,  bailiffs, 
lottery-brokers,  chevaliers  of  industry,  and  great 
men.  The  world,  in  general,  is  pretty  well  aware 
of  what  is  to  be  understood  by  the  foriner  classes  of 
delinquents  ;  but  as  the  latter  has  never,  1  believe, 
been  specifically  defined  ;  and  as  we  are  determined 
to  instruct  our  readers  to  the  extent  of  our  abilities, 
and  their  limited  comprehension,  it  may  not  be  amiss 
here  to  let  them  know  what  we  understand  by  a 
great  man. 

First,  therefore,  let  us — editors  and  kings  are  al- 
ways plural— premise,  that  there  are  two  kinds  of 


706 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


greatness  ; — one  conferred  by  heaven — the  exalted 
nobility  of  the  soul  ; — the  other,  a  spurious  distinc- 
tion, engendered  by  the  mob  and  lavished  upon  its 
favourites.  The  former  of  these  distinctions  we  have 
always  contemplated  with  reverence;  the  latter,  we 
will  take  this  opportunity  to  strip  naked  before  our 
unenlightened  readers  ;  so  that  if  by  chance  any  of 
them  are  held  in  ignominious  thraldom  by  this  base 
circulation  of  false  coin,  they  may  forthwith  emanci- 
pate themselves  from  such  inglorious  delusion. 

It  is  a  fictitious  value  given  to  individuals  by  pub- 
lic caprice,  as  bankers  give  an  impression  to  a  worth- 
less slip  of  paper ;  thereby  gaining  it  a  currency  for 
infinitely  more  than  its  intrinsic  value.  Every  nation 
has  its  peculiar  coin,  and  peculiar  great  men  ;  neither 
of  which  will,  for  the  most  part,  pass  current  out  of 
the  country  where  they  are  stamped.  Your  true 
mob-created  great  man,  is  hke  a  note  of  one  of  the 
little  New-England  banks,  and  his  value  depreciates 
in  proportion  to  the  distance  from  home.  In  En- 
gland, a  gre.at  man  is  he  who  has  most  ribands  and 
gevv-gaws  on  his  coat,  most  horses  to  his  carriage, 
most  slaves  in  his  retinue,  or  most  toad-eaters  at  his 
table ;    in    France,   he  who    can    most   dexterously 

flourish  his  heels  above  his  head Uuport  is  most 

incontestably  the  greatest  man  in  France ! — when 
the  emperor  is  absent.  The  greatest  man  in  China 
is  he  who  can  trace  his  ancestry  up  to  the  moon  ; 
and  in  this  country,  our  great  men  may  generally 
hunt  down  their  pedigree  until  it  burrows  in  the  dirt 
like  a  rabbit.  To  be  concise  ;  our  great  men  are 
those  who  are  most  expert  at  crawling  on  all  fours, 
and  have  the  happiest  facility  in  dragging  and  wind- 
ing themselves  along  in  the  dirt  like  very  reptiles. 
This  may  seem  a  paradox  to  many  of  my  readers, 
who,  with  great  good-nature  be  it  hinted,  are  too 
stupid  to  look  beyond  the  mere  surface  of  our  invalu- 
able writings  ;  and  often  pass  over  the  knowing  al- 
lusion, and  poignant  meaning,  that  is  slily  couching 
beneath.  It  is  for  the  benefit  of  such  helpless  igno- 
rants,  who  have  no  other  creed  but  the  opinion  of 
the  mob,  that  I  shall  trace — as  far  as  it  is  possible  to 
follow  him  in  his  progress  from  insignificance — the 
rise,  progress,  and  completion  of  a  LITTLE  great 

MAN. 

In  a  logocracy,  to  use  the  sage  Mustapha's  phrase, 
it  is  not  absolutely  necessary  to  the  formation  of  a 
great  man  that  he  should  be  either  wise  or  valiant, 
upright  or  honourable.  On  the  contrary,  daily  ex- 
perience shows  that  these  qualities  rather  impede 
his  preferment ;  inasmuch  as  they  are  prone  to  ren- 
der him  too  inflexibly  erect,  and  are  directly  at  vari- 
ance with  that  willowy  suppleness  which  enables  a 
man  to  wind  and  twist  through  all  the  nooks  and 
turns  and  dark  winding  passages  that  lead  to  great- 
ness. The  grand  requisite  for  climbing  the  rugged 
hill  of  popularity, — the  summit  of  which  is  the  seat 
of  power, — -is  to  be  useful.  And  here  once  more,  for 
the  sake  of  our  readers,  who  are,  of  course,  not  so 
wise  as  ourselves,  I  must  explain  what  we  under- 
stand by  usefulness.  The  horse,  in  his  native  state, 
is  wild,  swift,  impetuous,  full  of  majesty,  and  of  a 
most  generous  spirit.  It  is  then  the  animal  is  noble, 
exalted,  and  useless.— But  entrap  him,  manacle  him, 
cudgel  him,  break  down  his  lofty  spirit,  put  the  curb 
into  his  mouth,  the  load  upon  his  back,  and  reduce 
him  into  servile  obedience  to  the  bridle  and  the  lash, 
and  it  is  then  he  becomes  useful.  Your  jackass  is 
one  of  the  most  useful  animals  in  existence.  If  my 
readers  do  not  now  understand  what  I  mean  by  use- 
fulness, I  give  them  all  up  for  most  absolute  nincoms. 

To  rise  in  this  country,  a  man  must  first  descend. 
The  aspiring  politician  may  be  compared  to  that 
indefatigable  insect  called  the  tumbler ;  pronounced 
by  a  distinguished  personage  to  be  the  only  indus- 


trious animal  in  Virginia,  which  buries  itself  in  filth, 
and  works  ignoblv  in  the  dirt,  until  it  forms  a  little 
ball,  which  it  rolls  laboriously  along,  like  Diogenes 
in  liis  tub  ;  sometimes  head,  sometimes  tail  foremost, 
pilfering  from  every  rut  and  mud-hole,  and  increasing 
its  ball  of  greatness  liy  the  contributions  of  the  ken- 
nel. Just  so  the  candidate  for  greatness  ; — he  plunges 
into  that  mass  of  obscenity,  the  mob;  labours  in  dirt 
and  oblivion,  and  makes  unto  himself  the  rudiments 
of  a  popular  name  from  the  admiration  and  praises 
of  rogues,  ignoramuses,  and  blackguards.  His  name 
once  started,  onward  he  goes  struggling,  and  puffing, 
and  pushing  it  before  him  ;  collecting  new  tributes 
from  the  dregs  and  offals  of  the  land,  as  he  proceeds, 
until  having  gathered  together  a  mighty  mass  of 
popularity,  he  mounts  it  in  triumph  ;  is  hoisted  into 
office,  and  becomes  a  great  man,  and  a  ruler  in  the 
land  ; — all  this  will  be  clearly  illustrated  by  a  sketch 
of  a  worthy  of  the  kind,  who  sprung  up  under  my 
eye,  and  was  hatched  from  pollution  by  the  broad 
rays  of  popularity,  which,  like  the  sun,  can  "  breed 
maggots  in  a  dead  dog." 

Timothy  Dabble  was  a  young  man  of  very 
promising  talents :  for  he  wrote  a  fair  hand,  and  had 
thrice  won  the  silver  medal  at  a  country  academy ; 
— he  was  also  an  orator,  for  he  talked  with  emphatic 
volubility,  and  could  argue  a  full  hour,  without  taking 
either  side,  or  advancing  a  single  opinion  ; — he  had 
still  further  requisites  for  eloquence ; — for  he  niadt; 
very  handsome  gestures,  had  dimples  in  his  cheeks 
when  he  smiled,  and  enunciated  most  harmoniously 
through  his  nose.  In  short,  nature  had  certainly 
marked  him  out  for  a  great  man  ;  for  though  he  was 
not  tall,  yet  he  added  at  least  half  an  inch  to  his 
stature  bv  elevating  his  head,  and  assumed  an  amaz- 
ing expression  of  dignity  by  turning  up  his  nose  and 
curling  his  nostrils  in  a  style  of  conscious  superiority. 
Convinced  by  these  unequivocal  appearances,  Dab- 
ble's  friends,  in  full  caucus,  one  and  all,  declared  that 
he  was  undoubtedly  born  to  be  a  great  man,  and  it 
would  be  his  own  fault  if  he  were  not  one.  Dabble 
was  tickled  with  an  opinion  which  coincided  so  happily 
with  his  own, — for  vanity,  in  a  confidential  whisper, 
had  given  him  the  like  intimation  ; — and  he  reverenced 
the  judgment  of  his  friends  because  they  thought  so 
highly  of  himself; — accordingly  he  sat  out  with  a 
determination  to  become  a  great  man,  and  to  start 
in  the  scrub-race  for  honour  and  renown.  How  to 
attain  the  desired  prizes  was,  however,  the  question. 
He  knew  by  a  kind  of  instinctive  feeling,  which 
seems  peculiar  to  grovelling  minds,  that  honour, 
and  its  better  part — profit,  would  never  seek  him 
out  ;  that  they  would  never  knock  at  his  door  and 
crave  admittance  ;  but  must  be  courted,  and  toiled 
after,  and  earned.  He  therefore  strutted  forth  into 
the  highways,  the  market-places,  and  the  assemblies 
of  the  people ;  ranted  like  a  true  cockerel  orator 
about  virtue,  and  patriotism,  and  liberty,  and  equal- 
ity, and  himself.  Full  many  a  political  wind-mill 
did  he  battle  with  ;  and  full  many  a  time  did  he  talk 
himself  out  of  breath,  and  his  hearers  out  of  their 
patience.  But  Dabble  found,  to  his  vast  astonish- 
ment, that  there  was  not  a  notorious  political  pimp 
at  a  ward  meeting  but  could  out-talk  him  ;  and  what 
was  still  more  mortifying,  there  was  not  a  notorious 
political  pimp  but  was  more  noticed  and  caressed 
than  himself  The  reason  was  simple  enough  ;  while 
he  harangued  about  principles,  the  others  ranted 
about  men  ;  where  he  reprobated  a  political  error, 
they  blasted  a  political  character ; — they  were,  con- 
sequently, the  most  useful ;  for  the  great  object  of  our 
political  disputes  is  not  who  shall  have  the  honour  of 
emancipating  the  community  from  the  leading  strings 
of  delusion,  but  who  shall  have  the  profit  of  holding 
the  strings  and  leading  the  community  by  the  nose. 


I 


SALMAGUNDI. 


707 


Dabble  was  likewise  very  loud  in  his  professions 
of  integrity,  incorruptibility,  and  disinterestedness ; 
words  which,  from  being  filtered  and  refined  through 
newspapers  and  election  handbills,  have  lost  their 
original  signification  ;  and  in  the  political  dictionary 
are  synonymous  with  empty  pockets,  itching  palms, 
and  interested  ambition.  He,  in  addition  to  all  this, 
declared  that  he  would  support  none  but  honest 
men  ; — but  unluckily  as  but  few  of  these  offered 
themselves  to  be  supported,  Dabble's  services  were 
seldom  required.  He  pledged  himself  never  to  en- 
gage in  party  schemes,  or  party  politics,  but  to  stand 
up  solely  for  the  broad  interests  of  his  country ; — so 
he  stood  alone ;  and  what  is  the  same  thing,  he 
stood  still ;  for,  in  this  country,  he  who  does  not 
side  with  either  party,  is  like  a  body  in  a  vacuum 
between  two  planets,  and  must  for  ever  remain  mo- 
tionless. 

Dabble  was  immeasurably  surprised  that  a  man 
so  honest,  so  disinterested,  and  so  sagacious  withal, 
— and  one  too  who  had  the  good  of  his  country  so 
much  at  heart,  should  thus  remain  unnoticed  and 
unapplauded.  A  little  worldly  advice,  whispered  in 
his  ear  by  a  shrewd  old  politician,  at  once  explained 
the  whole  mystery.  "  He  who  would  become  great," 
said  he,  "  must  serve  an  apprenticeship  to  greatness ; 
and  rise  by  regular  gradation,  like  the  master  of  a 
vessel,  who  commences  by  being  scrub  and  cabin- 
boy.  He  must  fag  in  the  train  of  great  men,  echo 
all  their  sentiments,  become  their  toad-eater  and 
parasite; — laugh  at  all  their  jokes,  and  above  all, 
endeavour  to  make  them  laugh  ;  if  you  only  now  and 
then  make  a  man  laugh,  your  fortune  is  made. 
Look  but  about  you,  youngster,  and  you  will  not  see 
a  single  little  great  man  of  the  day,  but  has  his 
miserable  herd  of  retainers,  who  yelp  at  his  heels, 
come  at  his  whistle,  worry  whoever  he  points  his 
finger  at,  and  think  themselves  fully  rewarded  by 
sometimes  snapping  up  a  crumb  that  falls  from  the 
great  man's  table.  Talk  of  patriotism  and  virtue, 
and  incorruptibility  ! — tut,  man !  they  are  the  very 
qualities  that  scare  munificence,  and  keep  patronage 
at  a  distance.  You  might  as  well  attempt  to  entice 
crows  with  red  rags  and  gunpowder.  Lay  all  these 
scarecrow  virtues  aside,  and  let  this  be  your  ma.xim, 
that  a  candidate  for  political  eminence  is  like  a  dried 
herring ;  he  never  becomes  luminous  until  he  is  cor- 
rupt." 

Dabble  caught  with  hungry  avidity  these  congenial 
doctrines,  and  turned  into  his  pre-destined  channel 
of  action  with  the  force  and  rapidity  of  a  stream 
which  has  for  a  while  been  restrained  from  its  natu- 
ral course.  He  became  what  nature  had  fitted  him 
to  be;— his  tone  softened  down  from  arrogant  self- 
sufificiency,  to  the  whine  of  fawning  solicitation. 
He  mingled  in  the  caucuses  of  the  sovereign  people ; 
adapted  his  dress  to  a  similitude  of  dirty  raggedness  ; 
argued  most  logically  with  those  who  were  of  his 
own  opinion  ;  and  slandered,  with  all  the  malice  of 
impotence,  exalted  characters  whose  orbit  he  des- 
paired ever  to  approach : — just  as  that  scoundrel 
midnight  thief,  the  owl,  hoots  at  the  blessed  light  of 
the  sun,  whose  glorious  lustre  he  dares  never  con- 
template. He  likewise  applied  himself  to  discharg- 
ing, faithfully,  the  honourable  duties  of  a  partizan  ; 
— -tie  poached  about  for  private  slanders  and  ribald 
anecdotes  ;— he  folded  handbills; — he  even  wrote 
one  or  two  himself,  which  he  carried  about  in  his 
pocket  and  read  to  every  body  ; — he  became  a  secre- 
tary at  ward-meetings,  set  his  hand  to  divers  resolu- 
tions of  patriotic  import,  and  even  once  went  so  far 
as  to  make  a  speech,  in  which  he  proved  that  patri- 
otism was  a  virtue ; — the  reigning  bashaw  a  great 
man  ; — that  this  was  a  free  country,  and  he  himself 
an  arrant  and  incontestible  buzzard  ! 


Dabble  was  now  very  frequent  and  devDut  in  his 
visits  to  those  temples  of  politics,  popularity,  and 
smoke,  the  ward  porter-houses ;  those  true  dens  of 
equality  where  all  ranks,  ages,  and  talents  are 
brought  down  to  the  dead  level  of  rude  familiarity. 
'Twas  here  his  talents  expanded,  and  his  genius 
swelled  up  into  its  proper  size ;  like  the  loathsome 
toad,  which,  shrinking  from  balmy  airs  and  jocund 
sunshine,  finds  his  congenial  home  in  caves  and  dun- 
geons, and  there  nourishes  his  venom,  and  bloats 
his  deformity.  'Twas  here  he  revelled  with  the 
swinish  multitude  in  their  debauches  on  patriotism 
and  porter;  and  it  became  an  even  chance  whether 
Dabble  would  turn  out  a  great  man  or  a  great 
drunkard.  But  Dabble  in  all  this  kept  steadily  in 
his  eye  the  only  deity  he  ever  worshipped  —  his 
interest.  Having  by  this  familiarity  ingratiated 
himself  with  the  mob,  he  became  wonderfully 
])otent  and  industrious  at  elections  ;  knew  all  the 
dens  and  cellars  of  profligacy  and  intemperance ; 
brought  more  negroes  to  the  polls,  and  knew  to  a 
greater  certainty  where  votes  could  be  bought  for 
beer,  than  any  of  his  contemporaries.  His  exer- 
tions in  the  cause,  his  persevering  industry,  his  de- 
grading compliance,  his  unresisting  humility,  his 
steadfast  dependence,  at  length  caught  the  atten- 
tion of  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  party  ;  who  was 
pleased  to  observe  that  Dabble  was  a  very  useful 
fellow,  who  would  go  all  lengths.  From  that  mo- 
ment his  fortune  was  made ; — he  was  hand  and 
glove  with  orators  and  slang-whangers ;  basked  in 
the  sunshine  of  great  men's  smiles,  and  had  the 
honour,  sundry  times,  of  shaking  hands  with  digni- 
taries, and  drinking  out  of  the  same  pot  with  them 
at  a  porter-house  !  ! 

I  will  not  fatigue  myself  with  tracing  this  cater- 
jiillar  in  his  slimy  progress  from  worm  to  butter- 
fly :  suffice  it  that  Dabble  bowed  and  bowed,  and 
fawned,  and  sneaked,  and  smirked,  and  libelled, 
until  one  would  have  thought  perseverance  itself 
would  have  settled  down  into  despair.  There  was 
no  knowing  how  long  he  might  have  lingered  at 
a  distance  from  his  hopes,  had  he  not  luckily  got 
tarred  and  feathered  for  some  of  his  electioneering 
manoeuvres  ; — this  was  the  making  of  him  ! — Let 
not  my  readers  stare ; — tarring  and  feathering  here 
is  equal  to  pillory  and  cropped  ears  in  England  ; 
and  either  of  these  kinds  of  martyrdom  will  ensure 
a  patriot  the  sympathy  and  support  of  his  faction. 
His  partizans,  for  even  he  had  his  partizans,  took 
his  case  into  consideration  ; — he  had  been  kicked 
and  cuffed,  and  disgraced,  and  dishonoured  in  the 
cause ; — he  had  licked  the  dust  at  the  feet  of  the 
mob; — he  was  a  faithful  drudge,  slow  to  anger,  of 
invincible  patience,  of  incessant  assiduity  ; — a  thor- 
ough-going tool,  who  could  be  curbed,  and  spur- 
red, and  directed  at  pleasure  ; — in  short,  he  liad 
all  the  important  qualifications  for  a  little  great 
man,  and  he  was  accordingly  ushered  into  office 
amid  the  acclamations  of  the  party.  The  leading 
men  complimented  his  usefulness,  the  multitude 
his  republican  simplicity,  and  the  slang-whangers 
vouched  for  his  patriotism.  Since  his  elevation  he 
has  discovered  indubitable  signs  of  having  been 
destined  for  a  great  man.  His  nose  has  acquired 
an  additional  elevation  of  several  degrees,  so  that 
now  he  appears  to  h.ave  bidden  adieu  to  this  world 
and  to  have  set  his  thoughts  altogether  oa  things 
above ;  and  he  has  swelled  and  inflated  himself  to 
such  a  degree,  that  his  friends  are  under  apprehen- 
sions that  he  will  one  day  or  other  explode  and  blow 
up  like  a  torpedo. 


708 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


No.  XVI.— THURSDAY,  OCT.  15,  1807. 


STYLE,    AT    BALLSTON. 
BY  WILLIAM  WIZARD,  ESQ. 


Notwithstanding  Evergreen  has  never  been 
abroad,  nor  had  his  understandin'r  enlightened,  or 
his  views  enlarged  by  that  marvellous  sharpener  of 
the  wits,  a  salt-water  voyage ;  yet  he  is  tolerably 
shrewd,  and  correct,  in  the  limited  sphere  of  his 
obser\'ations  ;  and  now  and  then  astounds  me  with 
a  right  pithy  remark,  which  would  do  no  discredit 
even  to  a  man  who  had  made  the  grand  tour. 

In  several  late  conversations  at  Cockloft-Hall,  he 
has  amused  us  exceedingly  by  detailing  sundry  par- 
ticulars concerning  that  notorious  slaughter-house 
of  time,  Ballston  Springs  ;  where  he  spent  a  consid- 
erable part  of  the  last  summer.  The  following  is  a 
summary  of  his  observations. 

Pleasure  has  passed  through  a  variety  of  signifi- 
cations at  Ballston.  It  originally  meant  nothing 
more  than  a  relief  from  pain  and  sickness  ;  and  the 
patient  who  had  journeyed  many  a  weary  mile  to 
the  Springs,  with  a  heavy  heart  and  emaciated  form, 
called  It  pleasure  when  he  threw  by  his  crutches, 
and  danced  away  from  them  with  renovated  spirits 
and  limbs  jocund  with  vigour.  In  process  of  time 
pleasure  underwent  a  refinement,  and  appeared  in 
the  likeness  of  a  sober,  unceremonious  country- 
dance,  to  the  flute  of  an  amateur  or  the  three- 
stringed  fiddle  of  an  itinerant  country  musician. — 
Still  every  thing  bespoke  that  happy  holiday  which 
the  spirits  ever  enjoy,  when  emancipated  from  the 
shackles  of  formality,  ceremony,  and  modern  po- 
liteness :  things  went  on  cheerily,  and  Ballston  was 
pronounced  a  charming,  hum-drum,  careless  place  of 
resort,  where  every  one  was  at  his  ease,  and  might 
follow  unmolested  the  bent  of  his  humour — pro- 
vided his  wife  was  not  there  ; — when,  lo  !  all  on  a 
sudden  Style  made  its  baneful  appearance  in  the 
semblance  of  a  gig  and  tandem,  a  pair  of  leather 
breeches,  a  liveried  footman,  and  a  cockney ! — 
since  that  fatal  era  pleasure  has  taken  an  entire 
new   signification,  and   at   present   means   nothing 

but  STYLE. 

The  worthy,  fashionable,  dashing,  good-for-noth- 
ing people  of  every  state,  who  had  rather  suffer  the 
martyrdom  of  a  crowd  than  endure  the  monotony 
of  their  own  homes  and  the  stupid  company  of  their 
own  thoughts,  flock  to  the  Springs  ;  not  to  enjoy  the 
pleasures  of  society  or  benefit  by  the  qualities  of  the 
waters,  but  to  exhibit  their  equipages  and  wardrobes, 
and  to  excite  the  admiration,  or  what  is  much  more 
satisfactory,  the  envy  of  their  fashionable  competi- 
tors. This,  of  course,  awakens  a  spirit  of  noble 
emulation  between  the  eastern,  middle,  and  southern 
states ;  and  every  lady  hereupon  finding  herself 
charged  in  a  manner  with  the  whole  weight  of  her 
country's  dignity  and  style,  dresses  and  dashes  and 
sparkles  without  mercy  at  her  competitors  from 
other  parts  of  the  Union.  This  kind  of  rivalship 
naturally  requires  a  vast  deal  of  preparation  and 
prodigious  quantities  of  supplies.  A  sober  citizen's 
wife  will  break  half  a  dozen  milliners'  shops,  and 
sometimes  starve  her  family  a  whole  season,  to  ena- 
ble herself  to  make  the  Springs  campaign  in  style. — 
She  repairs  to  the  seat  of  war  with  a  mighty  force 
of  trunks  and  bandboxes,  like  so  many  amnmnition 
chests,  filled  with  caps,  hats,  gowns,  ribands,  shawls, 
and  all  the  various  artillery  of  fashionable  warfare. 
The  lady  of  a  southern  planter  will  lay  out  the  whole 
annual  produce  of  a  rice   plantation  in  silver  and 


gold  muslins,  lace  veils,  and  new  liveries ;  carry  a 
hogshead  of  tobacco  on  her  head,  and  ttail  a  bale 
of  sea-island  cotton  at  her  heels ;  while  a  lady  of 
Boston  or  Salem  will  wrap  herself  up  in  the  net  pro- 
ceeds of  a  cargo  of  whale-oil,  and  tie  on  her  hat 
with  a  quintal  of  codfish. 

The  planters'  ladies,  however,  have  generally  the 
advantage  in  this  contest ;  for,  as  it  is  an  incontest- 
able fact,  that  whoever  comes  from  the  West  or 
East  Indies,  or  Georgia,  or  the  Carolinas,  or,  in  fact, 
any  warm  climate,  is  immensely  rich,  it  cannot  be 
expected  that  a  simple  cit  of  the  north  can  cope 
with  them  in  style.  The  planter,  therefore,  who 
drives  four  horses  abroad  and  a  thousand  negroes  at 
home,  and  who  flourishes  up  to  the  Springs,  followed 
by  half  a  score  of  black-a-moors  in  gorgeous  liveries, 
is  unquestionably  superior  to  the  northern  merchant, 
who  plods  on  in  a  carriage  and  pair ;  which,  being 
nothing  more  than  is  quite  necessary,  has  no  claim 
whatever  to  style.  He,  however,  has  his  consolation 
in  feeling  superior  to  the  honest  cit  who  dashes 
about  in  a  simple  gig : — he,  in  return,  sneers  at  the 
country  squire,  who  jogs  along  with  his  scrubby, 
long-eared  pony  and  saddle-bags ;  and  the  squire, 
by  way  of  taking  satisfaction,  would  make  no  scru- 
ple to  run  over  the  unobtrusive  pedestrian,  were  it 
not  that  the  last  being  the  most  independent  of  the 
whole,  might  chance  to  break  his  head  by  way  of 
retort. 

The  great  misfortune  is,  that  this  style  is  supported 
at  such  an  expense  as  sometimes  to  encroach  on  the 
rights  and  privileges  of  the  pocket,  and  occasion 
very  awkward  embarrassments  to  the  tyro  of  fash- 
ion. Among  a  number  of  instances.  Evergreen 
mentions  the  fate  of  a  dashing  blade  from  the  south, 
who  made  his  entre  with  a  tandem  and  two  out- 
riders, by  the  aid  of  which  he  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  all  the  ladies,  and  caused  a  coolness  between 
several  young  couples,  who,  it  was  thought,  before 
his  arrival,  had  a  considerable  kindness  for  each 
other.  In  the  course  of  a  fortnight  his  tandem  dis- 
appeared ! — the  class  of  good  folk  who  seem  to  have 
nothing  to  do  in  this  world  but  pry  into  other  peo- 
ple's affairs,  began  to  stare  ! — in  a  little  time  longer 
an  outrider  was  missing  I— this  increased  the  alarm, 
and  it  was  consequently  v/hispered  that  he  had  eaten 
the  horses  and  drank  the  negro. — N.  B.  Southern 
gentlemen  are  very  apt  to  do  this  on  an  emergency. 
— Serious  apprehensions  were  entertained  about  the 
fate  of  the  remaining  servant,  which  were  soon  veri- 
fied by  his  actually  vanishing ;  and,  in  "  one  little 
month,"  the  dashing  Carolinian  modestly  took  his 
departure  in  the  stage-coach  ! — universally  regretted 
by  the  friends  who  had  generously  released  him  from 
his  cumbrous  load  of  style. 

Evergreen,  in  the  course  of  his  detail,  gave  very 
melancholy  accounts  of  an  alarming  famine  which 
raged  with  great  violence  at  the  Springs.  Whether 
this  was  owing  to  the  incredible  appetites  of  the 
company,  or  the  scarcity  which  prevailed  at  the  inns, 
he  did  not  seem  inclined  to  say  ;  but  he  declares  that 
he  was  for  several  days  in  imminent  danger  of 
starvation,  owing  to  his  being  a  little  too  dilatory 
in  his  attendance  at  the  dinner-table.  He  relates  a 
number  of  "  moving  accidents  "  which  befell  many 
of  the  polite  company  in  their  zeal  to  get  a  good 
seat  at  dinner ;  on  which  occasion  a  kind  of  scrub- 
race  always  took  place,  wherein  a  vast  deal  of 
jockeying  and  unfair  play  was  shown,  and  a  variety 
of  squabbles  and  unseemly  altercations  occurreci. 
But  when  arrived  at  the  scene  of  action,  it  was 
truly  an  awful  sight  to  behold  the  confusion,  and  lo 
hear  the  tumultuous  uproar  of  voices  crying,  some 
for  one  thing  and  some  for  another,  to  the  tuneful 
accompanyment  of  knives  and  forks,  rattling  with 


SALMAGUNDI. 


709 


all  the  energy  of  hungry  impatience. — The  feast  of 
the  Centaurs  and  the  Lapithas  was  nothing  when 
compared  with  a  dinner  at  the  great  house.  At  one 
time  an  old  gentleman,  whose  natural  irascibility 
was  a  little  sharpened  by  the  gout,  had  scalded  his 
throat  by  gobbling  down  a  bowl  of  hot  soup  in  a 
vast  hurry,  in  order  to  secure  the  first  fruits  of  a 
roasted  partridge  before  it  was  snapped  up  by  some 
hungry  rival ;  when,  just  as  he  was  whetting  his 
knife  and  fork,  preparatory  for  a  descent  on  the 
promised  land,  he  had  the  mortification  to  see  it 
transferred  bodily  to  the  plate  of  a  squeamish  little 
damsel  who  was  taking  the  waters  for  debility  and 
loss  of  appetite.  This  was  too  much  for  the  patience 
of  old  Crusty ;  he  lodged  his  fork  into  the  partridge, 
whipt  it  into  his  dish,  and  cutting  off  a  wing  of  it, — 
"  There,  Miss,  there's  more  than  you  can  eat. — 
Oons  !  what  should  such  a  little  chalky-faced  pup- 
pet as  you  do  with  a  whole  partridge  !  " — At  an- 
other time  a  mighty,  swfet-disposed  old  dowager, 
who  loomed  most  magnificently  .at  the  table,  had  a 
sauce-boat  launched  upon  the  capacious  lap  of  a 
silver-sprigged  muslin  gown  by  the  manoeuvring  of 
a  little  politic  Frenchman,  who  was  dexterously 
attempting  to  make  a  lodgment  under  the  covered 
way  of  a  chicken-pye  ;  — human  nature  could  not 
bear  it ! — the  lady  bounced  round,  and,  with  one  bo.\ 
on  the  ear,  drove  the  luckless  wight  to  utter  anni- 
hilation. 

But  these  little  cross  accidents  are  amply  com- 
pensated by  the  great  variety  of  amusements  which 
abound  at  this  charming  resort  of  beauty  and  fash- 
ion. In  the  morning  the  company,  eacn  like  a  jolly 
Bacchanalian  with  glass  in  hand,  sally  f;  'ih  to  the 
Springs :  where  the  gentlemen,  who  wish  to  make 
themselves  agreeable,  have  an  opportunity  of  dip- 
ping themselves  into  the  good  opinion  of  the  ladies : 
and  it  is  truly  delectable  to  see  with  what  grace  and 
adroitness  they  perform  this  ingratiating  feat.  An- 
thony says  that  it  is  peculiarly  amazing  to  behold 
the  quantity  of  water  the  ladies  drink  on  this  occa- 
sion for  the  purpose  of  getting  an  appetite  for 
breakfast.  He  assures  me  he  has  been  present 
when  a  young  lady  of  unparalleled  delicacy  tossed 
off  in  the  space  of  a  minute  or  two  one  and  twenty 
tumblers  and  a  wine-glass  full.  On  my  asking  An- 
thony whether  the  solicitude  of  the  by-standers  was 
not  greatly  awakened  as  to  what  might  be  the  ef- 
fects of  this  debauch,  he  replied  that  the  ladies  at 
Ballston  had  become  such  great  sticklers  for  the 
doctrine  of  evaporation,  that  no  gentleman  ever  ven- 
tured to  remonstrate  against  this  excessive  drinking 
for  fear  of  bringing  his  philosophy  into  contempt. 
The  most  notorious  water-drinkers  in  particular 
were  continually  holding  forth  on  the  surprising 
aptitude  with  which  the  Ballston  waters  evaporated ; 
and  several  gentlemen,  who  h.ad  the  hardihood  to 
question  this  female  philosophy,  were  held  in  high 
displeasure. 

After  breakfast  every  one  chooses  his  amusement ; 
— some  take  a  ride  into  the  pine  woods  and  enjoy 
the  varied  and  romantic  scenery  of  burnt  trees,  post 
and  rail  fences,  pine  flats,  potatoe  patches,  and  log 
huts  ; — others  scramble  up  the  surrounding  sand- 
hills, that  look  like  the  abodes  of  a  gigantic  race  of 
ants ; — take  a  peep  at  the  other  sand-hills  beyond 
them  ; — and  then — come  down  again  :  others,  who 
are  romantic,  and  sundry  young  ladies  insist  upon 
being  so  whenever  they  visit  the  Springs,  or  go 
any  where  into  the  country,  stroll  along  the  bor- 
ders of  a  little  swampy  brook  that  drags  itself  along 
like  an  Alexandrine ;  and  that  so  lazily  as  not  to 
make  a  single  murmur; — watching  the  little  tadpoles 
as  they  frolic,  right  flippantly,  in  the  muddy  stream ; 
and  listening  to  the  inspiring  melody  of  the  harmo- 


nious frogs  that  croak  upon  its  borders.  Some  play 
at  billiards,  some  play  at  the  fiddle,  and  some — play 
the  fool ; — the  latter  being  the  most  prevalent  amuse- 
ment at  Ballston. 

These,  together  with  abundance  of  dancing,  and 
a  prodigious  deal  of  sleeping  of  afternoons,  make  up 
the  variety  of  pleasures  at  the  Springs  ; — a  delicious 
life  of  alternate  lassitude  and  fatigue ;  of  laborious 
dissipation  and  listless  idleness  ;  of  sleepless  nights, 
and  days  spent  in  that  dozing  insensibility  which 
ever  succeeds  them.  Now  and  then,  indeed,  the  in- 
fluenza, the  fever-and-ague,  or  some  such  pale-faced 
intruder,  may  happen  to  throw  a  momentary  damp 
on  the  general  felicity  ;  but  on  the  whole.  Evergreen 
declares  that  Ballston  wants  only  six  things,  to  wit : 
good  air,  good  wine,  good  living,  good  beds,  good 
company,  and  good  humour,  to  be  the  most  enchant- 
ing place  in   the  world  ; excepting  Botany-bay, 

Musquito  Cove,  Dismal  Swamp,  and  the  Black-hole 
at  Calcutta. 


The  following  letter  from  the  sage  Mustapha  has 
cost  us  more  trouble  to  decypher  and  render  into 
tolerable  English  than  any  hitherto  published.  It 
was  full  of  blots  and  erasures,  particularly  the  latter 
part,  which  we  have  no  doubt  was  penned  in  a  mo- 
ment of  great  wrath  and  indignation.  Mustapha  has 
often  a  rambling  mode  of  writing,  and  his  thoughts 
take  such  unaccountable  turns  that  it  is  difficult  to 
tell  one  moment  where  he  will  lead  you  the  next. 
This  is  particularly  obvious  in  the  commencement 
of  his  letters,  which  seldom  bear  much  analogy  to 
the  subsequent  parts  ;— he  sets  off  with  a  flourish, 
like  a  dramatic  hero, — assumes  an  air  of  great  pom- 
posity, and  struts  up  to  his  subject  mounted  most 
loftily  on  stilts.  L.  Langstaff. 


LETTER    FROM    MUSTAPHA     RUB-A-DUB 
KELI   KHAN, 

TO    ASEM    HACCHEM,     PRINCIPAL    SLAVE-DRIVER 
TO  HIS  HIGHNESS  THE  BASHAW  OF  TRIPOLI. 


Among  the  variety  of  principles  by  which  man- 
kind are  actuated,  there  is  one,  my  dear  Asem,  which 
I  scarcely  know  whether  to  consider  as  springing 
from  grandeur  and  nobility  of  mind,  or  from  a  re- 
fined species  of  vanity  and  egotism.  It  is  that  singu- 
lar, although  almost  universal,  desire  of  living  in  the 
memory  of  posterity ;  of  occupying  a  share  of  the 
world's  attention  when  we  shall  long  since  have 
ceased  to  be  susceptible  either  of  its  praise  or  cen- 
sure. Most  of  the  passions  of  the  mind  are  bounded 
by  the  grave  ; — sometimes,  indeed,  an  anxious  hope 
or  trembling  fear  will  venture  beyond  the  clouds  and 
darkness  that  rest  upon  our  mortal  horizon,  and  ex- 
patiate in  boundless  futurity ;  but  it  is  only  this  act- 
ive love  of  fame  which  steadily  contemplates  its  fru- 
ition in  the  applause  or  gratitude  of  future  ages. 
Indignant  at  the  narrow  limits  which  circumscribe 
existence,  ambition  is  for  ever  struggling  to  soar  be- 
yond them  ; — to  triumph  over  space  and  time,  and 
to  bear  a  name,  at  least,  above  the  inevitable  oblivion 
in  which  every  thing  else  that  concerns  us  must  be 
involved.  It  is  this,  my  friend,  which  prompts  the 
patriot  to  his  most  heioic  achievements ;  which  in- 
spires the  sublimest  strains  of  the  poet,  and  breathes 
ethereal  fire  into  the  productions  of  the  painter  and 
the  statuary. 

For  this  the  monarch  rears  the  lofty  column  ;  the 
laurelled  conqueror  claims  the  triumphal  arch  ;  while 
the  obscure  individual,  who  moved  in  an  humbler 


710 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


sphere,  asks  but  a  plain  and  simple  stone  to  mark 
his  grave  and  bear  to  the  next  generation  this  im- 
portant truth,  that  he  was  born,  died — and  was 
buried.  It  was  this  passion  which  once  erected  the 
vast  Numidian  piles,  whose  ruins  we  have  so  often 
regarded  with  wonder,  as  the  shades  of  evening — fit 
emblems  of  oblivion — gradually  stole  over  and  en- 
veloped them  in  darkness. — -It  was  this  which  gave 
being  to  those  sublime  monuments  of  Saracen  mag- 
nificence, which  nod  in  mouldering  desolation,   as 

the  blast  sweeps  over  our  deserted  plains. How 

futile  are  all  our  efforts  to  evade  the  obliterating 
hand  of  time  !  As  I  traversed  the  dreary  wastes  of 
Egypt,  on  my  journey  to  Grand  Cairo,  1  stopped  my 
camel  for  a  while  and  contemplated,  in  awful  ad- 
miration, the  stupendous  pyramids. — An  appalling 
silence  prevailed  around  ;  such  as  reigns  in  the  wil- 
derness when  the  tempest  is  hushed  and  the  beasts 
of  prey  have  retired  to  their  dens.  The  myriads  that 
had  once  been  employed  in  rearing  these  lofty  me- 
mentoes of  human  vanity,  whose  busy  hum  once  en- 
livened the  soHtude  of  the  desert, — had  all  been 
swept  from  the  earth  by  the  irresistible  arm  of 
death  ;^all  were  mingled  with  their  native  dust ; — 
all  were  forgotten  !  Even  the  mighty  names  which 
these  sepulchres  were  designed  to  perpetuate  had 
long  since  faded  from  remembrance ;  history  and 
tradition  afforded  but  vague  conjectures,  and  the 
pyramids  imparted  a  humiliatmg  lesson  to  the  can- 
didate for  immortality. Alas  !  alas  !  said  I  to  my- 
self, how  mutable  are  the  foundations  on  which  our 
proudest  hopes  of  future  fame  are  reposed  !  He  who 
imagines  he  has  secured  to  himself  the  meed  of 
deathless  renown,  indulges  in  deluding  visions,  which 
only  bespeak  the  vanity  of  the  dreamer.  The  sto- 
ried obelisk, — the  triumphal  arch, — the  swelling 
dome,  shall  crumble  into  dust,  and  the  names  they 
would  preserve  from  oblivion  shall  often  pass  away 
before  their  own  duration  is  accomplished. 

Yet  this  passion  for  fame,  however  ridiculous  in 
the  eye  of  the  philosopher,  deserves  respect  and  con- 
sideration, from  having  been  the  source  of  so  many 
illustrious  actions  ;  and  hence  it  has  been  the  prac- 
tice in  all  enlightened  governments  to  perpetuate,  by 
monuments,  the  memory  of  great  men,  as  a  testi- 
mony of  respect  for  the  illustrious  dead,  and  to 
awaken  in  the  bosoms  of  posterity  an  emulation  to 
merit  the  same  honourable  distinction.  The  people 
of  the  American  logocracy,  who  pride  themselves 
upon  improving  on  every  precept  or  example  of  an- 
cient or  modern  governments,  have  discovered  a  new 
mode  of  exciting  this  love  of  glory ;  a  mode  by  which 
they  do  honour  to  their  great  men,  even  in  their  life- 
time ! 

Thou  must  have  observed  by  this  time  that  they 
manage  every  thing  in  a  manner  peculiar  to  them- 
selves ;  and  doubtless  in  the  best  possible  manner, 
seeing  they  have  denominated  themselves  "the  most 
enlightened  people  under  the  sun."  Thou  wilt  there- 
fore, perhaps,  be  curious  to  know  how  they  contrive 
to  honour  the  name  of  a  living  patriot,  and  what 
unheard-of  monument  they  erect  m  memory  of  his 
achievements. — By  the  fiery  beard  of  the  mighty 
Barbarossa,  but  I  can  scarcely  preserve  the  sobriety 
of  a  true  disciple  of  Mahomet  while  I  tell  thee  !  — 
wilt  thou  not  smile,  O  Mussulman  of  invincible  grav- 
ity, to  learn  that  they  honour  their  great  men  by  eat- 
ing, and  that  the  only  trophy  erected  to  their  exploits 
is  a  public  dinner !  But,  trust  me,  Asem,  even  in 
this  measure,  whimsical  as  it  may  seem,  the  philo- 
sophic and  considerate  spirit  of  this  people  is  ad- 
mirably displayed.  Wisely  concluding  that  when  the 
hero  is  dead  he  becomes  insensible  to  the  voice  ol 
fame,  the  song  of  adulation,  or  the  splendid  trophy, 
they  have  determined  that  he  shall  enjoy  his  quan- 


tum of  celebrity  while  living,  and  revel  in  the  full  en- 
joyment of  a  nine-days'  immortality.  The  barbarous 
nations  of  antiquity  immolated  human  victims  to  the 
memory  of  their  lamented  dead,  but  the  enlightened 
Americans  offer  up  whole  hecatombs  of  geese  and 
calves-,  and  oceans  of  wine,  in  honour  of  the  illustri- 
ous living  ;  and  the  patriot  has  the  felicity  of  hearing 
from  every  quarter  the  vast  exploits  in  gluttony  and 
revelling  that  have  been  celebrated  to  the  glory  of 
his  name. 

No  sooner  does  a  citizen  signalize  himself  in  a  con- 
spicuous manner  in  the  service  of  his  country,  than 
all  the  gormandizers  assemble  and  discharge  the  na- 
tional debt  of  gratitude — by  giving  him  a  dinner  ; — 
not  that  he  really  receives  all  the  luxuries  provided 
on  this  occasion ; — no,  my  friend,  it  is  ten  chances 
to  one  that  the  great  man  does  not  taste  a  morsel 
from  the  table,  and  is,  perhaps,  five  hundred  miles 
distant ;  and,  to  let  thee  into  a  melancholy  fact,  a 
patriot  under  this  economic  government,  may  be 
often  in  want  of  a  dinner,  while  dozens  are  devoured 
in  his  praise.  Neither  are  these  repasts  spread  out 
for  the  hungry  and  necessitous,  who  might  other- 
wise be  filled  with  food  and  gladness,  and  inspired 
to  shout  forth  the  illustrious  name,  which  had  been 
the  means  of  their  enjoyment ; — far  from  this,  Asem  ; 
it  is  the  rich  only  who  indulge  in  the  banquet ; — 
those  who  pay  for  the  dainties  are  alone  privileged 
to  enjoy  them  ;  so  that,  while  opening  their  purses  in 
honour  of  the  patriot,  they  at  the  same  time  fulfil  a 
great  maxim,  which  in  this  country  comprehends  all 
the  rules  of  prudence,  and  all  the  duties  a  man  owes 
to  himself;  —  namely,  getting  the  worth  of  their 
money. 

In  process  of  time  this  mode  of  testifying  public 
applause  has  been  found  so  marvellously  agreeable, 
that  they  extend  it  to  events  as  well  as  characters, 
and  eat  in  triumph  at  the  news  of  a  treaty, — at  the 
anniversary  of  any  grand  national  era,  or  at  the 
gaining  of  that  splendid  victory  of  the  tongue — an 
election. — Nay,  so  far  do  they  carry  it,  that  certain 
days  are  set  apart  when  the  guzzlers,  the  gorman- 
dizers, and  the  wine-bibbers  meet  together  to  cele- 
brate a  grand  indigestion,  in  memory  of  some  great 
event ;  and  every  man  in  the  zeal  of  patriotism  gets 
devoutly  drunk — "  as  the  act  directs." — Then,  my 
friend,  mayest  thou  behold  the  sublime  spectacle  of 
love  of  country,  elevating  itself  from  a  sentiment 
into  an  appetite,  whetted  to  the  quick  with  the  cheer- 
ing prospect  of  tables  loaded  with  the  fat  things  of 
the  land.  On  this  occasion  every  man  is  anxious  to 
fall  to  work,  cram  himself  in  honour  ot  the  day,  and 
risk  a  surfeit  in  the  glorious  cause.  Some,  1  have 
been  told,  actually  fast  for  four  and  twenty  hours 
preceding,  that  they  may  be  enabled  to  do  greater 
honour  to  the  feast ;  and  certainly,  if  eating  and 
drinking  are  patriotic  rites,  he  who  eats  and  drinks 
most,  and  proves  himself  the  greatest  glutton,  is,  un- 
doubtedly, the  most  distinguished  patriot.  Such,  at 
any  rate,  seems  to  be  the  opinion  here  ;  and  they  act 
up  to  it  so  rigidly,  that  by  the  time  it  is  dark,  every 
kennel  in  the  neighbourhood  teems  with  illustrious 
members  of  the  sovereign  people,  wallowing  in  their 
congenial  element  of  mud  and  mire. 

These  patriotic  feasts,  or  rather  national  monu- 
ments, are  patronized  and  promoted  by  certain  infe- 
rior cadis,  called  ALDERMEN,  who  are  commonly 
complimented  with  their  direction.  These  dignita- 
ries, as  far  as  I  can  learn,  are  generally  appointed 
on  account  of  their  great  talents  for  eating,  a  quali- 
fication peculiarly  necessary  in  the  discharge  of  their 
official  cfuties.  They  hold  frequent  meetings  at  tav- 
erns and  hotels,  where  they  enter  into  solemn  con- 
sultations for  the  benefit  of  lobsters  and  turtles  ;— 
establish  wholesome  regulations  for  the  safety  and 


SALMAGUNDI. 


711 


preservation  of  fish  and  wild-fowl;  —  appoint  the 
seasons  most  proper  for  eating  oysters  ;  ^  inquire 
into  the  economy  of  taverns,  the  characters  of  pub- 
licans, and  the  abilities  of  their  cooks  ;  and  discuss, 
most  learnedly,  the  merits  of  a  bowl  of  soup,  a 
chicken-pye,  or  a  haunch  of  venison  :  in  a  word,  the 
alderman  has  absolute  control  in  all  matters  of  eat- 
ing, antl  superintends  the  whole  police — of  the  belly. 
Having,  in  the  prosecution  of  their  important  office, 
signalized  themselves  at  so  many  public  festivals  ; 
having  gorged  so  often  on  patriotism  and  pudding, 
and  entombed  so  many  great  names  in  their  exten- 
sive maws,  thou  wilt  easily  conceive  that  they  wax 
portly  apace,  that  they  fatten  on  the  fame  of  mighty 
men,  and  that  their  rotundity,  like  the  rivers,  the 
lakes,  and  the  mountains  of  their  country,  must  be 
on  a  great  scale  !  Even  so,  my  friend  ;  and  when  I 
sometimes  see  a  portly  alderman,  puffing  along,  and 
swelling  as  if  he  had  the  world  under  his  waistcoat, 
I  cannot  help  looking  upon  him  as  a  walking  monu- 
ment, and  am  often  ready  to  exclaim — "  Tell  me, 
thou  majestic  mortal,  thou  breathing  catacomb  ! — 
to  what  illustrious  character,  what  mighty  event, 
does  that  capacious  carcass  of  thine  bear  testi- 
mony ?  " 

But  though  the  enlightened  citizens  of  this  logoc- 
racy  eat  in  honour  of  their  friends,  yet  they  drink 
destruction  to  their  enemies. — Yea,  Asem,  wo  unto 
those  who  are  doomed  to  undergo  the  public  ven- 
geance, at  a  public  dinner.  No  sooner  are  the  viands 
removed,  than  they  prepare  for  merciless  and  exter- 
minating hostilities.  They  drink  the  intoxicating 
juice  of  the  grape,  out  of  little  glass  cups,  and  over 
each  draught  pronounce  a  short  sentence  or  prayer  ; 
— not  Euch  a  pra\er  as  thy  virtuous  heart  would  dic- 
tate, thy  pious  lips  give  utterance  to,  my  good  Asem  ; 
— not  a  tribute  of  thanks  to  all  bountiful  Allah,  nor  a 
humble  supplication  for  his  blessing  on  the  draught ; 
— no,  my  friend,  it  is  merely  a  toast,  that  is  to  say, 
a  fulsome  tribute  of  flattery  to  their  demagogues  ; — 
a  laboured  sally  of  affected  sentiment  or  national 
egotism  ;  or,  what  is  more  despicable,  a  malediction 
on  their  enemies,  an  empty  tiireat  of  vengeance,  or 
a  petition  for  their  destruction  ;  for  toasts,  thou  must 
know,  are  another  kind  of  missive  weapon  in  a  logoc- 
racy,  and  are  levelled  from  afar,  like  the  annoying 
arrows  of  the  Tartars. 

Oh,  Asem  !  couldst  thou  but  witness  one  of  these 
patriotic,  these  monumental  dinners  ;  how  furiously 
the  flame  ot  patriotism  blazes  forth  ; — how  suddenly 
they  vanquish  armies,  subjugate  whole  countries, 
and  exterminate  nations  in  a  bumper,  thou  wouldst 
more  than  ever  admire  the  force  of  that  omnipotent 
weapon,  the  tongue.  At  these  moments  every  cow- 
ard becomes  a  hero,  every  ragamuffin  an  invincible 
warrior ;  and  the  most  zealous  votaries  of  peace  and 
quiet,  forget,  for  a  while,  their  cherished  maxims  and 
join  in  the  furious  attack.  Toast  succeeds  toast  ;— 
kings,  emperors,  bashaws,  are  like  chaff  before  the 
tempest ;  the  inspired  patriot  vanquishes  fleets  with 
a  single  gun-boat,  and  swallows  down  navies  at  a 
draught,  until,  overpowered  with  victory  and  wine, 
he  sinks  upon  the  field  of  battle — dead  drunk  in  his 
country's  cause. — Sword  of  the  puissant  Khalid  ! 
what  a  display  of  valour  is  here  ! — the  sons  of  Afric 
.ire  hardy,  brave,  and  enterprising,  but  they  can 
achieve  nothing  like  this. 

Happy  would  it  be  if  this  mania  for  toasting  ex- 
tended no  further  than  to  the  expression  of  national 
resentment.  Though  we  might  smile  at  the  impo- 
tent vapouring  and  windy  hyperbole,  by  which  it  is 
distinguished,  yet  we  would  excuse  it,  as  the  un- 
guarded overflowings  of  a  heart  glowing  with  na- 
tional injuries,  and  indignant  at  the  insults  offered 
to  its  country.     But  alas,  my  friend,  private  resent- 


ment, individual  hatred,  and  the  illiberal  spirit  of 
party,  are  let  bose  on  these  festive  occasions.  Even 
the  names  of  individuals,  of  unoffending  fellow-citi- 
zens, are  sometimes  dragged  forth  to  undergo  the 
slanders  and  execrations  of  a  distempered  herd  of 
revellers.*— Head  of  Mahomet !  how  vindictive,  how 
insatiably  vindictive  must  be  that  spirit  which  can 
drug  the  mantling  bowl  with  gall  and  bitterness, 
and  indulge  an  angry  passion  in  the  moment  of  re- 
joicing ! — "  Wine,"  says  their  poet,  "  is  like  sunshine 
to  the  heart,  which  under  its  generous  influence  ex- 
pands with  good-will,  and  becomes  the  very  temple 
of  philanthropy." — Strange,  that  in  a  temple  conse- 
crated to  such  a  divinity,  there  should  remain  a  se- 
cret corner,  polluted  by  the  lurkings  of  malice  and 
revenge  ;  strange,  that  in  the  full  tlow  of  social  en- 
joyment, these  votaries  of  pleasure  can  turn  aside  to 
call  down  curses  on  the  head  of  a  fellow-creature. 
Despicable  souls  !  ye  are  unworthy  of  being  citizens 
of  this  "  most  enlightened  country  under  the  sun  :  " 
— rather  herd  with  the  murderous  savages  who  prowl 
the  mountains  of  Tibesti;  who  stain  their  midnight 
orgies  with  the  blood  of  the  innocent  wanderer,  and 
drink  their  infernal  potations  from  the  skulls  of  the 
victims  they  have  massacred. 

And  yet,  trust  me,  Asem,  this  spirit  of  vindictive 
cowardice  is  not  owing  to  any  inherent  depravity  of 
soul,  for,  on  other  occasions,  I  have  had  ample  proof 
that  this  nation  is  mild  and  merciful,  brave  and  mag- 
nanimous ; — neither  is  it  owing  to  any  defect  in  their 
political  or  religious  precepts.  The  principles  incul- 
cated by  their  rulers,  on  all  occasions,  breathe  a 
spirit  of  universal  philanthropy ;  and  as  to  their  re- 
ligion, much  as  I  am  devoted  to  the  Koran  of  our 
divine  prophet,  still  I  cannot  but  acknowledge  with 
admiration  the  mild  forbearance,  the  amiable  benev- 
olence, the  sublime  morality  bequeathed  them  by  the 
founder  of  their  faith. — Thou  rememberest  the  doc- 
trines of  the  mild  Nazarine,  who  preached  peace  and 
good-will  to  all  mankind  ;  who,  when  he  was  reviled, 
reviled  not  again ;  who  blessed  those  who  cursed 
him,  and  prayed  for  those  who  despitefuUy  used  and 
persecuted  him  !  What  then  can  give  rise  to  this  un- 
charitable, this  inhuman  custom  among  the  disciples 
of  a  master  so  gentle  and  forgiving? — It  is  that 
fiend  POLITICS,  Asem  —  that  baneful  fiend,  which 
bewildereth  every  brain,  and  poisons  every  social 
feeling ;  which  intrudes  itself  at  the  festive  banquet, 
and  like  the  detestable  harpy,  pollutes  the  very  viands 
of  the  table ;  which  contaminates  the  refreshing 
draught  while  it  is  inhaled  ;  which  prompts  the  cow- 
ardly assassin  to  launch  his  poisoned  arrows  from 
behind  the  social  board  ;  and  which  renders  the  bot- 
tle, that  boasted  promoter  of  good  fellowship  and 
hilarity,  an  infernal  engine,  charged  with  direful 
combustion. 

Oh,  Asem  !  Asem  !  how  does  my  heart  sicken 
when  I  contemplate  these  cowardly  barbarities } 
Let  me,  therefore,  if  possible,  withdraw  my  attention 
from  them  for  ever.  My  feelings  have  borne  me 
from  my  subject ;  and  from  the  monuments  of 
ancient  greatness,  I  have  wandered  to  those  of 
modem  degradation.  My  warmest  wishes  remain 
with  thee,  thou   most  illustrious  of  slave-drivers  ; 


NOTE   BY  WILLIAM   WIZARD,    ESQ. 

*  It  would  seem  that  in  this  sentence,  the  sage  Mustnpha  had 
reference  to  a  patriotic  dinner,  celebrated  last  fourth  of  July,  b^ 
some  gentlemen  of  H.iltimorc.  when  they  riphtcously  drank  perdi- 
tion to  an  unoffending  individual,  and  really  thought  "they  had 
done  the  state  some  service."  This  amiable  custom  of  "  eating 
and  drinking  damnation  "  to  others,  is  not  confined  to  any  party  ; — 
for  a  month  or  two  after  the  fourth  of  July,  the  different  news- 
papers file  off  their  columns  of  patriotic  toasts  against  each  other, 
and  take  a  pride  in  showing  how  brilliantly  their  partizans  can 
blackguard  public  characters  in  their  cups — *'  they  do  but  jest- 
poison  in  jest,"  as  Hamlet  says. 


712 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


mayest  thou  ever  be  sensible  of  the  mercies  of  our 
great  prophet,  who,  in  compassion  to  human  imbe- 
cility, has  prohibited  his  disciples  from  the  use  of  the 
deluding-  beverage  of  the  grape  ; — that  enemy  to  rea- 
son— that  promoter  of  defamation — that  auxiliary  of 
POLITICS. 

Ever  thine,  Mustapha. 


No.  XVII.— WEDNESDAY,  NOV.  ii,  1807. 


AUTU.MNAL   REFLECTIONS 

BY   LAUNCELOT   LANGSTAFF,   ESQ. 


When  a  man  is  quietly  journeying  downwards  into 
the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  departed  youth,  and  be- 
gins to  contemplate,  in  a  shortened  perspective,  the 
end  of  his  pilgrimage,  he  becomes  more  solicitous 
than  ever  that  the  remainder  of  his  wayfaring  should 
be  smooth  and  pleasant ;  and  the  evening  of  his  life, 
like  the  evening  of  a  summer's  day,  fade  away  in 
mild  uninterrupted  serenity.  If  haply  his  heart  has 
escaped  uninjured  through  the  dangers  of  a  seduc- 
tive world,  it  may  then  administer  to  the  purest  of 
his  felicities,  and  its  chords  vibrate  more  musically 
for  the  trials  they  have  sustained  ; — like  the  viol, 
which  yields  a  melody  sweet  in  proportion  to  its  age. 

To  a  mind  thus  temperately  harmonized,  thus 
matured  and  mellowed  by  a  long  lapse  of  years, 
there  is  something  truly  congenial  in  the  quiet  en- 
joyment of  our  early  autumn,  amid  the  tranquillities 
of  the  countr)-.  There  is  a  sober  and  chastened  air 
of  gayety  diffused  over  the  face  of  nature,  peculiarly 
interesting  to  an  old  man  ;  and  when  he  views  the 
surrounding  landscape  withering  under  his  eye,  it 
seems  as  if  he  and  nature  were  taking  a  last  farewell 
of  each  other,  and  |)arting  with  a  melancholy  smile  ; 
like  a  couple  of  old  friends,  who  having  sported  aw.ay 
the  spring  and  summer  of  life  together,  part  at  the 
approach  of  winter  with  a  kind  of  prophetic  fear  that 
they  are  never  to  meet  again. 

It  is  cither  my  good  fortune  or  mishap  to  be 
keenly  susceptible  to  the  influence  of  the  atmos- 
phere ;  and  I  can  feel  in  the  morning,  before  I  open 
my  window,  whether  the  wind  is  easterly.  It  will 
not,  therefore,  I  presume,  be  considered  an  extrava- 
gant instance  of  vain-glory  when  I  assert  that  there 
are  few  men  who  can  discriminate  more  accurately 
in  the  different  varieties  of  damps,  fogs,  Scotch- 
mists,  and  north-east  storms,  than  myself.  To  the 
great  discredit  of  my  philosophy  I  confess  I  seldom 
fail  to  anathematize  and  excommunicate  the  we.ather, 
when  it  sports  too  rudely  with  my  sensitive  sys- 
tem ;  but  then  I  always  endeavour  to  atone  therefor, 
by  eulogizing  it  when  deserving  of  approbation. 
And  as  most  of  my  readers — simple  folks  !  make 
but  one  distinction,  to-wit,  rain  and  sunshine  ; — liv- 
ing in  most  honest  ignorance  of  the  various  nice 
shades  which  distinguish  one  fine  day  from  another, 
I  take  the  trouble,  from  time  to  time,  of  letting  them 
into  some  of  the  secrets  of  nature  ; — so  will  they  be 
the  better  en.abled  to  enjoy  her  beauties,  with  the 
zest  of  connoisseurs,  and  derive  at  least  as  much  in- 
formation from  my  pages,  as  from  the  weather-wise 
lore  of  the  almanac. 

Much  of  my  recreation,  since  I  retreated  to  the 
Hall,  has  consisted  in  making  little  excursions 
through  the  neighbourhood  ;  which  abounds  in  the 
variety  of  wild,  romantic,  and  luxuriant  landscape 
that  generally  characterizes  the  scenery  in  the 
vicinity  of  our  rivers.  There  is  not  an  eminence 
within  a  circuit  of  many  miles  but  commands  an 


extensive  range  of  diversified  and  enchanting  pros- 
pect. 

Often  have  I  rambled  to  the  summit  of  some 
favourite  hill  ;  and  thence,  with  feelings  sweetly 
tranquil  as  the  lucid  expanse  of  the  heavens  that 
canopied  me,  have  noted  the  slow  and  almost  im- 
perceptible changes  that  mark  the  waning  year. 
There  are  many  features  peculiar  to  our  autumn, 
and  which  give  it  an  individual  character.  The 
"green  and  yellow  melancholy"  that  first  steals 
over  the  landscape  ; — the  mild  and  steady  serenity 
of  the  weather,  and  the  transparent  purity  of  the 
atmosphere,  speak,  not  merely  to  the  senses,  but  the 
heart; — it  is  the  season  of  liberal  emotions.--To 
this  succeeds  fantastic  gayety,  a  motley  dress,  which 
the  woods  assume,  where  green  and  yellow,  orange, 
purple,  crimson,  and  scarlet,  are  whimsically  blended 
together. — A  sickly  splendour  this  ! — like  the  wild 
and  broken-hearted  gayety  that  sometimes  precedes 
dissolution  ; — or  that  childish  sporliveness  of  super- 
annuated age,  proceeding,  not  from  a  vigorous  flow 
of  animal  spirits,  but  from  the  decay  and  imbecility 
of  the  mind.  We  might,  perhaps,  be  deceived  by  this 
gaudy  garb  of  nature,  were  it  not  for  the  rustling  or 
the  falling  leaf,  which,  breaking  on  the  stillness  of 
the  scene,  seems  to  announce,  in  prophetic  whispers, 
the  dreary  winter  that  is  approaching.  When  I  have 
sometimes  seen  a  thrifty  young  oak  changing  its  hue 
of  sturdy  vigour  for  a  bright,  but  transient,  glow  of 
red,  it  has  recalled  to  my  mind  the  treacherous 
bloom  that  once  mantled  the  cheek  of  a  friend  who 
is  now  no  more  ;  and  which,  while  it  seemed  to  prom- 
ise a  long  life  of  jocund  spirits,  was  the  sure  pre- 
cursor of  premature  decay.  In  a  little  while  and 
this  ostentatious  foliage  disappears ;  the  close  of 
autumn  leaves  but  one  wide  expanse  of  dusky 
brown  ;  save  where  some  rivulet  steals  along,  bor- 
dered with  little  strips  of  green  grass  ; — the  wood- 
land echoes  no  more  to  the  carols  of  the  feathered 
tribes  that  sported  in  the  leafy  covert,  and  its  soli- 
tude and  .silence  is  uninterrupted,  except  by  the 
plaintive  whistle  of  the  quail,  the  barking  of  the 
squirrel,  or  the  still  more  melancholy  wintry  wind, 
which,  rushing  and  swelling  through  the  hollows  of 
the  mountains,  sighs  through  the  leafless  branches 
of  the  grove,  and  seems  to  mourn  the  desolation  of 
the  year. 

To  one  who,  like  myself,  is  fond  of  drawing  com- 
parisons between  the  different  divisions  of  life,  and 
those  of  the  seasons,  there  will  appear  a  striking 
analogy  which  connects  the  feelings  of  the  aged  with 
the  decline  of  the  year.  Often  as  I  contemplate  the 
mild,  uniform,  and  genial  lustre  with  which  the  sun 
cheers  and  invigorates  us  in  the  month  of  October, 
and  the  almost  imperceptible  haze  which,  without 
obscuring,  tempers  all  the  asperities  of  the  landscape, 
and  gives  to  every  object  a  character  of  stillness  and 
repose,  I  cannot  help  comparing  it  with  that  portion 
of  existence,  when  the  spring  of  youthful  hope,  and 
the  summer  of  the  passions  having  gone  by,  reason 
assumes  an  undisputed  sway,  and  lights  us  on  with 
bright  but  undazzling  lustre  adown  the  hill  of  life. 
There  is  a  full  and  mature  luxuriance  in  the  fields 
that  fills  the  bosom  with  generous  and  disinterested 
content.  It  is  not  the  thoughtless  extravagance  of 
spring,  prodigal  only  in  blossoms,  nor  the  languid 
voluptuousness  of  summer,  feverish  in  its  enjoyments, 
and  teeming  only  with  immature  .abundance  ; — it  is 
that  certain  fruition  of  the  labours  of  the  past— that 
prospect  of  comfortable  realities,  which  those  will  be 
sure  to  enjoy  who  have  improved  the  bounteous 
smiles  of  heaven,  nor  wasted  away  their  spring  and 
summer  in  empty  trifling  or  cnmina!  indulgence. 

Cousin  Pindar,  who  is  my  constant  companion  in 
these  expeditions,  and  who  still  possesses  much  of 


SALMAGUNDI. 


713 


the  fire  and  energy  of  youthful  sentiment,  and  a  bux- 
om hilarity  of  the  spirits,  often,  indeed,  draws  me 
from  these  half-melancholy  reveries,  and  makes  me 
feel  young  again  by  the  enthusiasm  with  which  he 
contemplates,  and  the  animation  with  which  he 
eulogizes  the  beauties  of  nature  displayed  before 
him.  His  enthusiastic  disposition  never  allows  him 
to  enjoy  things  by  halves,  and  his  feelings  are  con- 
tinually breaking  out  in  notes  of  admiration  and 
ejaculations  that  sober  reason  might  perhaps  deem 
extravagant : — But  for  my  part,  when  1  see  a  hale, 
hearty  old  man,  who  has  jostled  throiigh  the  rough 
path  of  tlie  world,  without  having  worn  away  the 
fine  edge  of  his  feelings,  or  blunted  his  sensibility  to 
natural  and  moral  beauty,  1  compare  him  to  the 
ever-green  of  the  forest,  whose  colours,  instead  of 
fading  at  the  approach  of  winter,  seem  to  assume 
additional  lustre  when  contrasted  with  the  surround- 
ing desolation  ; such  a  man  is  my  friend  Findar ; 

— yet  sometimes,  and  particularly  at  the  approach  of 
evening,  even  he  will  fall  in  with  my  humour  ;  but  he 
soon  recovers  his  natural  tone  of  spirits :  and,  mount- 
ing on  the  elasticity  of  his  mind,  like  Ganymede  on 
the  eagle's  wing,  he  soars  to  the  ethereal  regions  of 
sunshine  and  fancy. 

One  afternoon  we  had  strolled  to  the  top  of  a  high 
hill  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Hall,  which  com- 
mands an  almost  boundless  prospect ;  and  as  the 
shadows  began  to  lengthen  around  us,  and  the  dis- 
tant mountains  to  fade  into  mists,  my  cousin  was 
seized  with  a  moralizing  fit.  "  It  seems  to  me," 
said  he,  laying  his  hand  lightly  on  my  shoulder, 
"  that  there  is  just  at  this  season,  and  this  hour,  a 
sympathy  between  us  and  the  world  we  are  now  con- 
templating. The  evening  is  stealing  upon  nature  as 
well  as  upon  us ; — the  shadows  of  the  opening  day 
have  given  place  to  those  of  its  close  ;  and  the  only 
difference  is,  that  in  the  morning  they  were  before 
us,  now  they  are  behind  ;  and  that  the  first  vanished 
in  the  splendours  of  noon-day,  the  latter  will  be  lost 
in  the  oblivion  of  night; — our  '  May  of  life,'  my  dear 
Launce,  has  for  ever  fied ;  and  our  summer  is  over 
and  gone  : but,"  continued  lie,  suddenly  recover- 
ing himself  and  slapping  me  gaily  on  the  shoulder, 
— "  but  wliy  should  we  repine  .' — what  ?  though  the 
capricious  zephyrs  of  spring,  the  heats  and  hurricanes 
of  summer,  have  given  place  to  the  sober  sunshine 
of  autumn  ! — and  though  the  woods  begin  to  assume 
the  dappled  livery  of  decay ! — yet  the  prevailing 
colour  is  still  green  : — gay,  sprightly  green. 

"  Let  us,  then,  comfort  ourselves  with  this  reflec- 
tion ;  that  though  the  shades  of  the  morning  have 
given  place  to  those  of  the  evening, — though  the 
spring  is  past,  the  summer  over,  and  the  autumn 
come, — still  you  and  I  go  on  our  way  rejoicing ; — 
and  while,  like  the  lofty  mountains  of  our  southern 
America,  our  heads  are  covered  with  snow,  still,  like 
them,  we  feel  the  genial  warmth  of  spring  and  sum- 
mer playing  upon  our  bosoms." 


BY   LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,    ESQ. 


In  the  description  which  I  gave,  sometime  since, 
of  Cockloft-hall,  I  totally  forgot  to  make  honourable 
mention  of  the  librai7 ;  which  I  confess  was  a  most 
inexcusable  oversight ;  for  in  truth  it  would  bear  a 
comparison,  in  point  of  usefulness  and  eccentricity, 
with  the  motley  collection  of  the  renowned  hero  of 
La  Mancha. 

It  was  chiefly  gathered  together  by  m^  grand- 
father ;  who  spared  neither  pains  nor  expense  to  pro- 
(  ire  specimens  of  the  oldest,  most  quaint,  and  in- 


sufferable books  in  the  whole  compass  of  English, 
Scotch,  and  Irish  literature.  There  is  a  tradition  in 
the  family  that  the  old  gentleman  once  gave  a  grand 
entertainment  in  consequence  of  having  got  posses- 
sion of  a  copy  of  a  philippic,  by  archbishop  Anselm. 
against  the  unseemly  luxury  of  long-toed  shoes,  as 
worn  by  the  courtiers  in  the  time  of  William  Kufus  ; 
which  he  purchased  of  an  honest  brickniaker  in  the 
neighbourhood,  for  a  little  less  than  forty  times  its 
value.  He  had  undoubtedly  a  singular  reverence  for 
old  authors,  and  his  highest  eulogium  on  his  library  . 
w.as,  that  it  consisted  of  books  not  to  be  met  with  in 
any  other  collection  ;  and,  as  the  phrase  is,  entirely 
out  of  print.  The  reason  of  which  was,  I  suppose, 
that  they  were  not  worthy  of  being  reiirinted. 

Cousin  Christopher  preserves  these  relics  with 
great  care,  and  has  added  considerably  to  the  col- 
lection ;  for  with  the  hall  he  has  inherited  almost  all 
the  whim-whams  of  its  former  possessor.  He  cher- 
ishes a  reverential  regard  for  ponderous  tomes  of 
Greek  and  Latin ;  though  he  knows  about  as  much 
of  these  languages  as  a  young  bachelor  of  arts  does 
a  year  or  two  after  leaving  college.  A  worm-eaten 
work  in  eight  or  ten  volumes  he  compares  to  an  old 
family,  more  respectable  for  its  antiquity  than  its 
splendour; — a  lumbering  folio  he  considers  as  a 
duke ; — a  sturdy  quarto,  as  an  earl  ;  and  a  row  of 
gilded  duodecimos,  as  so  many  gallant  knights  of 
the  garter.  But  as  to  modern  works  of  literature, 
they  are  thrust  into  trunks  and  drawers,  as  intruding 
upstarts,  and  regarded  with  as  much  contempt  as 
mushroom  nobility  in  England  ;  who,  having  risen 
to  grandeur,  merely  by  their  talents  and  services,  are 
regarded  as  utterly  unworthy  to  mingle  their  blood 
with  those  noble  currents  that-c.in  be  traced  without 
a  single  contamination  through  a  long  line  of,  per- 
haps, useless  and  profligate  ancestors,  up  to  William 
the  bastard's  cook,  or  butler,  or  groom,  or  some  one 
of  Rollo's  freebooters. 

Will  Wizard,  whose  studies  are  of  a  most  uncom- 
mon complexion,  takes  great  delight  in  ransacking 
the  library ;  and  has  been,  during  his  late  sojourn- 
ings  at  the  hall,  very  constant  and  devout  in  his  visits 
to  this  receptacle  of  obsolete  learning.  He  seemed 
particularly  tickled  with  the  contents  of  the  great 
mahogany  chest  of  drawers  mentioned  in  the  begin- 
ning of  this  work.  This  venerable  piece  of  archi- 
tecture has  frowned,  in  sullen  majesty,  from  a  corner 
of  the  library,  time  out  of  mind;  and  is  filled  with 
musty  manuscripts,  some  in  my  grandfather's  hand- 
writing, and  others  evidently  written  long  before  his 
day. 

it  was  a  sight,  worthy  of  a  man's  seeing,  to  behold 
Will  with  his  outlandish  phiz  poring  over  old  scrawls 
that  would  puzzle  a  whole  society  of  antiquarians  to 
expound,  aiid  diving  into  receptacles  of  trumpery, 
which,  for  a  century  past,  had  been  undisturbed  by 
mortal  hand.  He  would  sit  for  whole  hours,  with  a 
phlegmatic  patience  unknown  in  these  degenerate 
days,  except,  peradventure,  among  the  High  Dutch 
commentators,  prying  into  the  quaint  obscurity  ot 
musty  parchments,  until  his  whole  face  seemed  to  be 
converted  into  a  folio  leaf  of  black-letter ;  and  oc- 
casionally, when  the  whimsical  meaning  of  an  ob- 
scure passage  flashed  on  his  mind,  his  countenance 
would  curl  up  into  an  expression  of  gothic  risibility, 
not  unlike  the  physiognomy  of  a  cabbage  leaf  wilting 
before  a  hot  fire. 

At  such  times  there  was  no  getting  Will  to  join  in 
our  walks  ;  or  take  any  part  in  our  usual  recreations  ; 
he  hardly  gave  us  an  oriental  tale  in  a  week,  and 
would  smoke  so  inveterately  that  no  one  else  dared 
enter  the  library  under  pain  of  suffocation.  This  was 
more  especially  the  case  when  he  encountered  any 
knotty  piece  of  writing ;  and  he  honestly  confessed 


714 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


to  me  that  one  worm-eaten  manuscript,  written  in  a 
pestilent  crabbed  hand,  had  cost  him  a  box  of  the 
best  Spanish  segnrs  before  he  could  make  it  out ;  and 
after  all,  it  was  not  worth  a  tobacco-stalk.  Such  is 
the  turn  of  my  knowing  associate  ; — only  let  him  get 
fairly  in  the  track  of  any  odd  out-of-the-way  whim- 
wham,  and  away  he  goes,  whip  and  cut,  until  he 
either  runs  down  his  game,  or  runs  himself  out  of 
breath  ; — I  never  in  my  life  met  with  a  man  who  rode 
his  hobby-horse  more  intolerably  hard  than  Wizard. 

One  of  his  favourite  occupations  for  some  time 
past,  has  been  the  hunting  of  black-letter,  which  he 
holds  in  high  regard ;  and  he  often  hints,  that  learn- 
ing has  been  on  the  decline  ever  since  the  introduc- 
tion of  the  Roman  alphabet.  An  old  book  printed 
three  hundred  years  ago,  is  a  treasure  ;  and  a  ragged 
scroll,  about  one-half  unintelligible,  fills  him  with 
rapture.  Oh  !  with  what  enthusiasm  will  he  dwell 
on  the  discovery  of  the  Pandects  of  Justinian,  and 
Livy's  history:  and  when  he  relates  the  pious  exer- 
tions of  the  Medici,  in  recovering  the  lost  treasures 
of  Greek  and  Roman  literature,  his  eye  brightens, 
and  his  face  assumes  all  the  splendour  of  an  illumi- 
nated manuscript. 

Will  had  vegetated  for  a  considerable  time  in  per- 
fect tranquillity  among  dust  and  cobwebs,  when  one 
morning  as  we  were  gathered  on  the  piazza,  listen- 
ing with  exemplary  patience  to  one  of  cousin  Chris- 
topher's long  stories  about  the  revolutionary  war, 
we  were  suddenly  electrified  by  an  explosion  of 
laughter  from  the  library. — My  readers,  unless  per- 
adventure  they  have  heard  honest  Will  laugh,  can 
form  no  idea  of  the  prodigious  uproar  he  makes.  To 
hear  him  in  a  forest,  you  w'ould  imagine — that  is  to 
say,  if  you  were  classical  enough — that  the  satyrs  and 
the  dryads  had  just  discovered  a  pair  of  rural  lovers 
in  the  shade,  and  were  deriding,  with  bursts  of  ob- 
streperous laughter,  the  blushes  of  the  nymph  and 
the  indignation  of  the  swain  ; — or  if  it  were  suddenly, 
as  in  the  present  instance,  to  break  upon  the  serene 
and  pensive  silence  of  an  autumnal  morning,  it  would 
cause  a  sensation  something  like  that  which  arises 
from  hearing  a  sudden  clap  of  thunder  in  a  summer's 
day,  when  not  a  cloud  is  to  be  seen  above  the  horizon. 
In  short,  I  recommend  Will's  laugh  as  a  sovereign 
remedy  for  the  spleen  :  and  if  any  of  our  readers  are 
troubled  with  that  villainous  complaint, — which  can 
hardly  be,  if  they  make  good  use  of  our  works, — I 
advise  them  earnestly  to  get  introduced  to  him  forth- 
with. 

This  outrageous  merriment  of  Will's,  as  maybe 
easily  supposed,  threw  the  whole  family  into  a  vio- 
lent fit  of  wondering;  we  all,  with  the  exception  of 
Christopher,  who  took  the  interruption  in  high 
dudgeon,  silently  stole  up  to  the  library  ;  and  bolting 
in  upon  him,  were  fain  at  the  first  glance  to  join  in 
his  aspiring  roar.  His  face, — but  I  despair  to  give 
an  idea  of  his  appearance ! — and  until  his  portrait, 
which  is  now  in  the  hands  of  an  eminent  artist,  is  en- 
graved, my  readers  must  be  content : — I  promise 
them  they  shall  one  day  or  other  have  a  striking 
likeness  of  Will's  indescribable  phiz,  in  all  its  native 
comeliness. 

Upon  my  inquiring  the  occasion  of  his  mirth,  he 
thrust  an  old,  rusty,  musty,  and  dusty  manuscript 
into  my  hand,  of  which  1  could  not  decypher  one 
word  out  of  ten,  without  more  trouble  than  it  was 
worth.  This  task,  however,  he  kindly  took  off  my 
iiands ;  and,  in  a  little  more  than  eight  and  forty 
hours,  produced  a  translation  into  fair  Roman  let- 
ters ;  though  he  assured  me  it  had  lost  a  vast  deal 
of  its  humour  by  being  modernized  and  degraded  into 
plain  English.  In  return  for  the  great  pains  he  had 
taken,  I  could  not  do  less  than  insert  it  in  our  work. 
Will  infonns  me  that  it  is  but  one  slieet  of  a  stu- 


pendous bundle  which  still  remains  uninvestigated  ; 
— who  was  the  author  we  have  not  yet  discovered  ; 
but  a  note  on  the  back,  in  my  grandfather's  hand- 
writing, informs  us  that  it  was  presented  to  him  as  a 
literary  curiosity  by  his  particular  friend,  the  illustri- 
ous Rip  Van  Dam,  formerly  lieutenant-governor  of 
the  colony  of  New  A.MSTERD.\m  ;  and  whose  fame, 
if  it  has  never  reached  these  latter  days,  it  is  only 
because  he  was  too  modest  a  man  ever  to  do  any 
thing  worthy  of  being  particularly  recorded. 


CHAP.  CIX.  OF  THE  CHRONICLES  OF  THE 
RENOWNED  AND  ANTIENT  CITY  OF 
GOTHAM. 


How  Gotham  city  conquered  was, 
And  how  the  folk  turn'd  apes — because. 


Link.  Fid. 


Albeit,  much  about  this  time  it  did  fall  out  that 
the  thrice  renowned  and  delectable  city  of  GOTHAM 
did  suffer  great  discomfiture,  and  was  reduced  to 
perilous  extremity,  by  the  invasion  and  assaults  of 
the  HoppiNGTOTS.  These  are  a  people  inhabiting 
a  far  distant  country,  exceedingly  pleasaunte  and 
fertile  ;  but  they  being  withal  egregiously  addicted 
to  migrations,  do  thence  issue  forth  in  mighty 
swarms,  like  the  Scythians  of  old,  overrunning  divers 
countries,  and  commonwealths,  and  committing 
great  devastations  wheresoever  they  do  go,  by  their 
horrible  and  dreadful  feats  and  prowesses.  They 
are  specially  noted  for  being  right  valorous  in  all 
exercises  of  the  leg;  and  of  them  it  hath  been  rightly 
affirmed  that  no  nation  in  all  Christendom  or  else- 
where, can  cope  with  them  in  the  adroit,  dexterous, 
and  jocund  shaking  of  the  heel. 

This  engaging  excellence  doth  stand  unto  them 
a  sovereign  recommendation,  by  the  which  they  do 
insinuate  themselves  into  universal  favour  and  good 
countenance  ;  and  it  is  a  notable  tact,  that,  let  a 
Hoppingtot  but  once  introduce  a  foot  into  com- 
pany, and  it  goeth  hardly  if  he  doth  not  contrive  to 
flourish  his  whole  body  in  thereafter.  The  learned 
Linkum  Fidelius,  in  his  famous  and  unheard-of 
treatise  on  man,  whom  he  defineth,  with  exceed- 
ing sagacity,  to  be  a  corn-cutting,  tooth-drawing 
animal,  is  particularly  minute  and  elaborate  in  treat- 
ing of  the  nation  of  the  Hoppingtots,  and  betrays 
a  little  of  the  Pythagorean  in  his  theory,  inasmuch 
as  he  accounteth  for  their  being  so  wonderously 
adroit  in  pedestrian  exercises,  by  supposing  that  they 
did  originally  acquire  this  unaccountable  and  un- 
paralleled aptitude  for  huge  and  unmatchable  feats 
of  the  leg,  by  having  heretofore  been  condemned  for 
their  numerous  offences  against  that  harmless  race 
of  bipeds, — or  quadrupeds, — for  herein  the  sage 
Linkum  Fidelius  appeareth  to  doubt  and  waver  e.x- 
ceedingly — ^the  frogs,  to  animate  their  bodies  for  the 
space  of  one  or  two  generations. 

He  also  giveth  it  as  his  opinion,  that  the  name  of 
Hoppingtots  is  manifestly  derivative  from  this  trans- 
migration. Be  this,  however,  as  it  may,  the  matter, 
albeit  it  hath  been  the  subject  of  controversy  among 
the  learned,  is  but  little  pertinent  to  the  subject  of 
this  history ;  wherefore  shall  we  treat  and  consider 
it  as  naughte. 

Now  these  people  being  thereto  impelled  by  a 
superfluity  of  appetite,  and  a  plentiful  deficiency 
of  the  wherewithal  to  satisfy  the  same,  did  take 
thought  th.at  the  antient  and  venerable  city  of 
Gotham,  was,  peradventure,  possessed  of  mighty 
treasures,  and  did,  moreover,  abound  with  all  man- 
ner of  fish  and  flesh,  and  eatables  and  drinkables, 
and   such  like  delightsome   and  wholesome  excel- 


SALMAGUNDI. 


715 


lencies  withal.  Whereupon  calling  a  council  of 
the  most  active  heeled  warriors,  they  did  resolve 
forthwith  to  put  forth  a  mighty  array,  make  them- 
selves masters  of  the  same,  and  revel  in  the  good 
things  of  the  land.  To  this  were  they  hotly  stirred 
up,  and  wickedly  incited,  by  two  redoubtable  and 
renowned  warriors,  hight  pirOUET  and  RIGADOON  ; 
ycleped  in  such  sort,  by  reason  that  they  were  two 
mighty,  valiant,  and  invincible  little  men ;  utterly 
famous  for  the  victories  of  the  leg  which  they 
had,  on  divers  illustrious  occasions,  right  gallantly 
achieved. 

These  doughty  champions  did  ambitiously  and 
wickedly  inflame  the  minds  of  their  countrymen, 
with  gorgeous  descriptions,  in  the  which  they  did 
cunninglie  set  forth  the  marvellous  riches  and  Iu.k- 
uries  of  Gotham ;  where  Hoppingtots  might  have 
garments  for  their  bodies,  shirts  to  their  ruffles,  and 
might  riot  most  merrily  every  day  in  the  week  on 
beef,  pudding,  and  such  like  lusty  dainties. — They, 
Pirouet  and  Rigadoon,  did  likewise  hold  out  hopes 
of  an  easy  conquest ;  forasmuch  as  the  Gothamites 
were  as  yet  but  little  versed  in  the  mystery  and 
science  of  handling  the  legs  ;  and  being,  moreover, 
like  unto  that  notable  bully  of  antiquity,  Achilles, 
most  vulnerable  to  all  attacks  on  the  heel,  would 
doubtless  surrender  at  the  very  first  assault. — 
Whereupon,  on  the  hearing  of  this  inpiriting  coun- 
sel, the  Hoppingtots  did  set  up  a  prodigious  great 
cry  of  joy,  shook  their  heels  in  triumph,  and  were 
all  impatience  to  dance  on  to  Gotham  and  take  it  by 
storm. 

The  cunning  Pirouet  and  the  arch  caitiff  Riga- 
doon, knew  full  well  how  to  profit  of  this  enthusi- 
asm. They  forthwith  did  order  every  man  to  arm 
himself  with  a  certain  pestilent  little  weapon,  called 
a  fiddle  ; — to  pack  up  in  his  knapsack  a  pair  of  silk 
breeches,  the  like  of  ruffles,  a  cocked  hat  of  the 
form  of  a  half-moon,  a  bundle  of  catgut — and  in- 
asmuch as  in  marching  to  Gotham,  the  army  might, 
peradventure,  be  smitten  with  scarcity  of  provis- 
ions, they  did  account  it  proper  that  each  man 
should  take  especial  care  to  carry  with  him  a  bunch 
of  right  merchantable  onions.  Having  proclaimed 
these  orders  by  sound  cf  fiddle,  they,  Pirouet  and 
Rigadoon,  did  accordingly  put  their  army  behind 
them,  and  striking  up  the  right  jolly  and  sprightful 
tune  of  Ca  Ira,  away  they  all  capered  towards  the 
devoted  city  of  Gotham,  with  a  most  horrible  and 
appalling  chattering  of  voices. 

Of  their  first  appearance  before  the  beleaguered 
town,  and  of  the  various  difficulties  which  did  en- 
counter them  in  their  march,  this  history  saith  not ; 
being  that  other  matters  of  more  weighty  import 
require  to  be  written.  When  that  the  army  of  the 
Hoppingtots  did  peregrinate  within  sight  of  Go- 
tham, and  the  people  of  the  city  did  behold  the 
villainous  and  hitherto  unseen  capers,  and  grimaces, 
which  they  did  make,  a  most  horrific  panic  was 
stirred  up  among  the  citizens  ;  and  the  sages  of  the 
town  fell  into  great  despondency  and  tribulation, 
as  supposing  that  these  invaders  were  of  the  race 
of  the  Jig-hees,  who  did  make  men  into  baboons 
when  they  achieved  a  conquest  over  them.  The 
sages,  therefore,  called  upon  all  the  dancing  men, 
and  dancing  women,  and  exhorted  them  with  great 
vehemency  of  speech,  to  make  heel  against  the  in- 
vaders, and  to  put  themselves  upon  such  gallant 
defence,  such  glorious  array,  and  such  sturdy  evo- 
lution, elevation,  and  transposition  of  the  foot  as 
might  incontinently  impester  the  legs  of  the  Hop- 
pingtots, and  produce  their  complete  discomfiture. 
But  so  it  did  happen,  by  great  mischance,  that  di- 
vers light-heeled  youth  of  Gotham,  more  especially 
those  who  are  descended  from  three  wise  men,  so 


renowned  of  yore  for  having  most  venturesomely 
voyaged  over  sea  in  a  bowl,  were,  from  time  to  time, 
captured  and  inveigled  into  the  camp  of  the  enemy  ; 
where,  being  foolishly  cajoled  and  treated  for  a  sea- 
son with  outlandish  disports  and  pleasantries,  they 
were  sent  back  to  their  friends,  entirely  changed, 
degenerated,  and  turned  topsy-turvy;  insomuch 
that  they  thought  thenceforth  of  nothing  but  their 
heels,  always  essaying  to  tlirust  them  into  the  most 
manifest  point  of  view  ; — and,  in  a  word,  as  might 
truly  be  affirmed,  did  for  ever  after  walk  upon  their 
heads  outright. 

And  the  Hoppingtots  did  day  by  day,  and  at  late 
hours  of  the  night,  wax  more  and  more  urgent  in 
this  their  investment  of  the  city.  At  one  time 
they  would,  in  goodly  procession,  make  an  open 
assault  by  sound  of  fiddle  in  a  tremendous  contra- 
dance;— and  anon  they  would  advance  by  little  de- 
tachments and  manoeuvres  to  take  the  town  by 
figuring  in  cotillions.  But  truly  their  most  cunning 
and  devilish  craft,  and  subtilty,  was  made  manifest 
in  their  strenuous  endeavours  to  corrupt  the  garri- 
son, by  a  most  insidious  and  pestilent  dance  called 
the  IValtz.  This,  in  good  truth,  was  a  potent  aux- 
iliary ;  for,  by  it,  were  the  heads  of  the  simple  Go- 
thamites most  villainously  turned,  their  wits  sent  a 
wool-gathering,  and  themselves  on  the  point  of  sur- 
rendering at  discretion  even  unto  the  very  arms  of 
their  invading  foemen. 

At  length  the  fortifications  of  the  town  began  to 
give  manifest  symptoms  of  decay;  inasmuch  as  the 
breastwork  of  decency  was  considerably  broken 
down,  and  the  curtain  works  of  propriety  blown 
up.  When  that  the  cunning  caitiff  Pirouet  beheld 
the  ticklish  and  jeopardized  state  of  the  city — 
"  Now,  by  my  leg,"  quoth  he, — he  always  swore  by 
his  leg,  being  that  it  was  an  exceeding  goodlie  leg  ; 
— "  Now,  by  my  leg,"  quoth  he,  "  but  this  is  no  great 
matter  of  recreation ; — I  will  show  these  people  a 
pretty,  strange,  and  new  way  forsooth,  presentlie, 
and  will  shake  the  dust  off  my  pumps  upon  this 
most  obstinate  and  uncivilized  town."  Whereupon 
he  ordered,  and  did  command  his  warriors,  one  and 
all,  that  they  should  put  themselves  in  readiness, 
and  prepare  to  carry  the  town  by  a  GRAND  B.4LL. 
They,  in  no  wise  to  be  daunted,  do  forthwith,  at 
the  word,  equip  themselves  for  the  assault ;  and  in 
good  faith,  truly,  it  was  a  gracious  and  glorious 
sight,  a  most  triumphant  and  incomparable  specta- 
cle, to  behold  them  gallantly  arrayed  in  glossy  and 
shining  silk  breeches  tied  with  abundance  of  riband  ; 
with  silken  hose  of  the  gorgeous  colour  of  the  sal- 
mon ; — right  goodlie  morocco  pumps,  decorated 
with  clasps  or  buckles  of  a  most  cunninge  and  secret 
contrivance,  inasmuch  as  they  did  of  themselves 
grapple  to  the  shoe  without  any  aid  of  fluke  or 
tongue,  marvellously  ensembling  witchcraft  and 
necromancy.  They  had,  withal,  exuberant  chitter- 
lings ;  which  puffed  out  at  the  neck  and  bosom 
after  a  most  jolly  fashion,  like  unto  the  beard  of 
an  anticnt  he-turkey  ; — and  cocked  hats,  the  which 
they  did  carry  not  on  their  heads,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  Gothamites,  but  under  their  arms,  as  a  roasted 
fowl  his  gizzard. 

Thus  being  equipped,  and  marshalled,  they  do  at- 
tack, assault,  batter  and  belabour  the  town  with 
might  and  main  ; — most  gallantly  displaying  the  vig- 
our of  their  legs,  and  shaking  their  heels  at  it  most 
emphatically.  And  the  manner  of  their  attack  was 
in  this  sort ; — first,  they  did  thunder  and  gallop  for- 
ward in  a  con/re-temps  ; — and  anon,  displayed  column 
in  a  Cossack  dance,  a  fandango,  or  a  gavot.  Where- 
at the  Gothamites,  in  no  wise  understanding  this 
unknown  system  of  warfare,  marvelled  exceedinglie, 
and  did  open  their  mouths  incontinently,  the  full  dis- 


71G 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


tance  of  a  bow-shot,  meaning-  a  cross-bow,  in  sore 
dismay  and  apprehension.  Whereupon,  saith  Riga- 
doon,  flourishing  his  left  leg  with  great  expression  of 
valour,  and  most  magnihc  carriage — "my  copes- 
mates,  for  what  wait  we  here  ;  are  not  the  townsmen 
already  won  to  our  favour  ?^do  not  their  women  and 
young-  damsels  wave  to  us  from  the  walls  in  such 
sort  that,  albeit  there  is  some  show  of  defence,  yet  is 
it  manifestly  converted  into  our  interests?"  so  say- 
ing, he  made  no  more  ado,  but  leaping  into  the  air 
about  a  flight-shot,  and  crossing  his  feet  six  times, 
after  the  manner  of  the  Hoppingtots,  he  gave  a  short 
partridge-run,  and  with  mighty  vigour  and  swiftness 
did  bolt  outright  over  the  walls  with  a  somerset. 
The  whole  army  of  Hoppingtots  danced  in  after  their 
valiant  chieftain,  with  an  enormous  squeaking  of  fid- 
dles, and  a  horrific  blasting  and  brattling  of  horns  ; 
insomuch  that  the  dogs  did  howl  in  the  streets,  so 
hideously  were  their  ears  assailed.  The  Gothamites 
made  some  semblance  of  defence,  but  their  women 
having  been  all  won  over  into  the  interest  of  the  ene- 
my, they  were  shortly  reduced  to  make  most  abject 
submission  ;  and  delivered  over  to  the  coercion  of 
certain  professors  of  the  Hoppingtots,  who  did  put 
them  under  most  ignominious  durance,  for  the  space 
of  a  long  time,  until  they  had  learned  to  turn  out 
their  toes,  and  flourish  their  legs  after  the  true  man- 
ner of  their  conquerors.  And  thus,  after  the  manner 
I  have  related,  was  the  mighty  and  puissant  city  of 
Gotham  circumveilted,  and  taken  by  a  coup  de  fied : 
or  as  it  might  be  rendered,  by  force  of  legs. 

The  conquerors  showed  no  mercy,  but  did  put  all 
ages,  sexes,  and  conditions  to  the  fiddle  and  the 
dance  ;  and,  in  a  word,  compelled  and  enforced  them 
to  become  absolute  Hoppingtots.  "  Habit,"  as  the 
ingenious  Linkum  Fidelius  profoundly  affirmeth,  "is 
second  nature."  And  this  original  and  invaluable 
ooservation  hath  been  most  aptly  proved,  and  illus- 
trated, by  the  example  of  the  Gothamites,  ever  since 
this  disastrous  and  unlucky  mischance.  In  process  of 
time,  they  have  waxed  to  be  most  flagrant,  outra- 
geous, and  abandoned  dancers ;  they  do  ponder  on 
noughte  but  how  to  gallantize  it  at  balls,  routs,  and 
fand.angoes ;  insomuch  that  the  like  was  in  no  time 
or  place  ever  observed  before.  They  do,  moreover, 
pitifully  devote  their  nights  to  the  jollification  of  the 
legs,  and  their  days  forsooth  to  the  instruction  and 
edification  of  the  heel.  And  to  conclude ;  their 
young  folk,  who  whilome  did  bestow  a  modicum  of 
leisure  upon  the  improvement  of  the  head,  have  of 
late  utterly  abandoned  this  hopeless  task ;  and  have 
quietly,  as  it  were,  settled  themselves  down  into  mere 
machines,  wound  up  by  a  tune,  and  set  in  motion  by 
a  fiddle-stick ! 


No.  XVIII.—TUESDAY,  NOV.  24,  1807. 


THE   LITTLE   MAN   IN   BLACK. 
BY  LAUNCELOT  LANGSTAFF,   ESQ. 


The  following  story  has  been  handed  down  by 
family  tradition  for  more  than  a  century.  It  is  one 
on  which  my  cousin  Christopher  dwells  with  more 
than  usual  prolixity ;  and,  being  in  some  measure 
connected  with  a  personage  often  quoted  in  our  work, 
I  have  thought  it  worthy  of  being  laid  belbre  my 
readers. 

Soon  after  my  grandfather,  Mr.  Lemuel  Cockloft, 
had  quietly-  settled  himself  at  the  hall,  and  just  about 
the  time  that  the  gossips  of  the  neighbourhood,  tired 


of  prying  into  his  affairs,  were  anxious  for  some  new 
tea-table  topic,  the  busy  community  of  our  little  vil- 
lage was  thrown  into  a  grand  turmoil  of  curiosity 
and  conjecture — a  situation  very  common  to  little 
gossiping  villages — by  the  sudden  and  unaccountable 
appearance  of  a  mysterious  individu.al. 

The  object  of  this  solicitude  was  a  little  black- 
looking  man,  of  a  foreign  aspect,  who  took  posses- 
sion of  an  old  building,  which  having  long  had  the 
reputation  of  being  haunted,  was  in  a  state  of  ruin- 
ous desolation,  and  an  object  of  fear  to  all  true  be- 
lievers in  ghosts.  He  usually  wore  a  high  sugarloaf 
hat  with  a  narrow  brim;  and  a  little  black  cloak, 
which,  short  as  he  was,  scarcely  reached  below  his 
knees.  He  sought  no  intimacy  or  acquaintance  with 
any  one  ;  appeared  to  take  no  interest  in  the  pleas- 
ures or  the  little  broils  of  the  village  ;  nor  ever 
talked  ;  except  sometimes  to  himself  in  an  outland- 
ish tongue.  He  commonly  carried  a  large  book,  cov- 
ered with  sheepskin,  under  his  arm  ;  appeared  always 
to  be  lost  in  meditation ;  and  was  often  met  by  the 
peasantry  ;  sometimes  watching  the  dawning  of  day, 
sometimes  at  noon  seated  under  a  tree  poring  over 
his  volume  ;  and  sometimes  at  evening  gazing  with  a 
look  of  sober  tranquillity  at  the  sun  as  it  gradually 
sunk  below  the  horizon. 

The  good  people  of  the  vicinity  beheld  something 
prodigiously  singular  in  all  this  ; — a  profound  mystery 
seemed  to  hang  about  the  stranger,  which,  with  ail 
their  s.agacity,  they  could  not  penetrate  ;  and  in  the 
excess  of  worldly  charity  they  pronounced  it  a  sure 
sign  "  that  he  was  no  better  than  he  should  be  ;  " — 
a  phrase  innocent  enough  in  itself:  but  which,  as  ap- 
plied in  common,  signilies  nearly  every  thing  that  is 
bad.  The  young  people  thought  hiin  a  glooniy  mis- 
anthrope, because  he  never  joined  in  their  sports ; — 
the  old  men  thought  still  more  hardly  of  him  because 
he  followed  no  trade,  nor  ever  seemed  ambitious  of 
earning  a  farthing; — and  as  to  the  old  gossips,  baf- 
fled by  the  inflexible  taciturnity  of  the  stranger,  they 
unanimously  decreed  that  a  man  who  could  not  or 
would  not  talk  was  no  better  than  a  dumb  beast. 
The  little  man  in  black,  careless  of  their  opinions, 
seemed  resolved  to  maintain  the  liberty  of  keeping 
his  own  secret ;  and  the  consequence  was,  that,  in  a 
little  while,  the  whole  village  was  in  an  uproar ; — for 
in  little  communities  of  this  description,  the  members 
have  always  the  privilege  of  being  thoroughly  versed, 
and  even  of  meddling  in  all  the  affairs  of  each  other. 

A  confidential  conterence  was  held  one  Sunday 
morning  after  sermon,  at  the  door  of  the  village 
church,  and  the  character  of  the  unknown  fully  in- 
vestigated. The  schoolmaster  gave  as  his  opinion, 
that  he  was  the  wandering  Jew ; — the  sexton  was 
certain  that  he  must  be  a  free-mason  from  his  si- 
lence;— a  third  maintained,  with  great  obstinacj', 
that  he  was  a  high  Gentian  doctor  ;  and  that  the 
book  which  he  carried  about  with  him,  contained 
the  secrets  of  the  black  art ;  but  the  n-iost  prevailing 
opinion  seemed  to  be  that  he  was  a  witch  ; — a  race 
of  beings  at  that  time  abounding  in  those  parts  ;  and 
a  sagacio'o'S  old  matron,  from  Connecticut,  proposed 
to  ascertain  -.he  fact  by  sousing  him  into  a  kettle  of 
hot  water. 

Suspicion,  when  once  afloat,  goes  with  wind  and 
tide,  and  soon  becomes  certainty.  Many  a  stormy 
night  was  the  little  man  in  black  seen  by  the  flashes 
of  lightning,  frisking  and  curveting  in  the  air  upon  a 
broomstick ;  and  it  w-as  always  observed,  that  at 
those  times  the  storm  did  more  mischief  than  at  any 
other.  The  old  lady  in  ])articular,  who  suggested 
the  humane  ordeal  of  the  boiling  kettle,  lost  on  oi-ie 
of  these  occasions  a  fine  brindle  cow;  which  acci- 
dent was  entirely  ascribed  to  the  vengeance  of  the 
little  man  in  black.    If  ever  a  mischievous  hireling 


SALMAGUNDI. 


717 


rode  his  master's  favourite  horse  to  a  distant  frolic, 
and  the  animal  was  observed  to  be  lame  and  jaded 
in  the  morning, — the  little  man  in  black  was  sure  to 
be  at  the  bottom  of  the  affair ;  nor  could  a  high  wind 
howl  through  the  village  at  night  but  the  old  women 
shrugged  up  their  shoulders,  and  observed,  "  the 
little  man  in  black  was  in  his  tantrums."  In  short, 
he  became  the  bugbear  of  every  house  ;  and  was  as 
effectual  in  frightening  little  children  into  obedience 
and  hysterics,  as  the  redoubtable  Raw-head-and- 
bloody-bones  himself:  nor  could  a  housewife  of  the 
village  sleep  in  peace,  except  undei^  the  guardianship 
of  a  horse-shoe  nailed  to  the  door. 

The  object  of  these  direful  suspicions  remained 
for  some  time  totally  ignorant  of  the  wonderful 
quandary  he  had  occasioned  ;  but  he  was  soon 
doomed  to  feel  its  effects.  An  individual  who  is 
once  so  unfortunate  as  to  incur  the  odium  of  a 
village,  is  in  a  great  measure  outlawed  and  pro- 
scribed ;  and  becomes  a  mark  for  injury  and  insult ; 
particularly  if  he  has  not  the  power  or  the  disposi- 
tion to  recriminate.  The  little  venomous  passions, 
which  in  the  great  world  are  dissipated  and  weaken- 
ed by  being  widely  diffused,  act  in  the  narrow  limits 
of  a  country  town  with  collected  vigour,  and  become 
rancorous  in  proportion  as  they  are  confined  in  their 
sphere  of  action.  The  little  man  in  black  experi- 
enced the  truth  of  this ;  every  mischievous  urchin 
returning  from  school,  had  full  liberty  to  break  his 
windows ;  and  this  was  considered  as  a  most  daring 
exploit ;  for  in  such  awe  did  they  stand  of  him,  that 
the  most  adventurous  school  boy  was  never  seen  to 
approach  his  threshold,  and  at  night  would  prefer 
going  round  by  the  cross-roads,  where  a  traveller 
had  been  murdered  by  the  Indians,  rather  than  pass 
by  the  door  of  his  forlorn  habitation. 

The  only  living  creature  that  seemed  to  have  any 
care  or  affection  for  this  deserted  being,  was  an  old 
turnspit, — the  companion  of  his  lonely  mansion  and 
his  solitary  wanderings ; — the  sharer  of  his  scanty 
meals,  and,  sorry  am  I  to  say  it, — the  sharer  of  his 
persecutions.  The  turnspit,  like  his  master,  was 
peaceable  and  inoffensive ;  never  known  to  bark  at 
a  horse,  to  growl  at  a  traveller,  or  to  quarrel  with 
the  dogs  of  the  neighbourhood.  He  followed  close 
at  his  master's  heels  when  he  went  out,  and  when 
he  returned  stretched  himself  in  the  sunbeams  at 
the  door  ;  demeaning  himself  in  all  things  like  a  civil 
and  well-disposed  turnspit.  But  notwithstanding 
his  exemplary  deportment,  he  fell  likewise  under  the 
ill  report  of  the  village ;  as  being  the  familiar  of  the 
little  man  in  black,  and  the  evil  spirit  that  presided 
at  his  incantations.  The  old  hovel  was  considered 
as  the  scene  of  their  unhallowed  rites,  and  its  harm- 
less tenants  regarded  with  a  detestation  which  their 
inoffensive  conduct  never  merited.— Though  pelted 
and  jeered  at  by  the  brats  of  the  village,  and  fre- 
quently abused  by  their  parents,  the  little  man  in 
black  never  turned  to  rebuke  them  ;  and  his  faithful 
dog,  when  wantonly  assaulted,  looked  up  wistfully 
in  his  master's  face,  and  there  learned  a  lesson  of 
patience  and  forbearance. 

The  movements  of  this  inscrutable  being  had  long 
been  the  subject  of  speculation  at  Cockloft-hall,  for 
its  inmates  were  full  as  much  given  to  wondering  as 
their  descendants.  The  patience  with  which  he  bore 
his  persecutions  particularly  surprised  them  ;  for  pa- 
tience is  a  virtue  but  little  known  in  the  Cockloft 
family.  My  grandmother,  who  it  appears  was  rather 
superstitious,  saw  in  this  humility  nothing  but  the 
gloomy  sullenness  of  a  wizard,  who  restrained  him- 
self for  the  present,  in  hopes  of  midnight  vengeance  ; 
— the  parson  of  the  village,  who  was  a  man  of  some 
reading,  pronounced  it  the  stubborn  insensibility  of 
a  stoic  philosopher ; — my  grandfather,  who,  worthy 


soul,  seldom  wandered  abroad  in  search  of  conclu- 
sions, took  a  data  from  his  own  excellent  heart,  and 
regarded  it  as  the  humble  forgiveness  of  a  Christian. 
But  however  different  were  their  opinions  .as  to  the 
character  of  the  str.inger,  they  agreed  in  one  partic- 
ular, namely,  in  never  intruding  upon  his  solitude ; 
and  my  grandmother,  who  was  at  that  time  nursing 
my  mother,  never  left  the  room  without  wisely 
putting  the  large  family  Bible  in  the  cradle;  a  sure 
talisman,  in  her  opinion,  against  witchcraft  and  nec- 
romancy. 

One  stormy  winter  night,  when  a  bleak  north- 
east wind  moaned  about  the  cottages,  and  howled 
around  the  village  steeple,  my  grandfather  was  re- 
turning from  club,  preceded  by  a  servant  with  a 
lantern.  Just  as  he  arrived  opposite  the  desolate 
abode  of  the  little  man  in  black,  he  was  arrested  by 
the  piteous  howling  of  a  dog,  which,  heard  in  the 
pauses  of  a  storm,  was  exquisitely  mournful ;  and 
he  fancied  now  and  then,  that  he  caught  the  low 
and  broken  groans  of  some  one  in  distress. — He 
stopped  for  some  minutes,  hesitating  between  the 
benevolence  of  his  heart  and  a  sensation  of  genuine 
delicacy,  which,  in  spite  of  his  eccentricity,  he  fully 
possessed, — and  which  forbade  him  to  pry  into  the 
concerns  of  his  neighbours.  Perhaps,  too,  this  hesi- 
tation might  have  been  strengthened  by  a  little  taint 
of  superstition  ;  for  surely,  if  the  unknown  had  been 
addicted  to  witchcraft,  this  was  a  most  propitious 
night  for  his  vagaries.  At  length  the  old  gentle- 
man's philanthropy  predominated  ;  he  approached  the 
hovel,  and  pushing  open  the  door, — for  poverty  has 
no  occasion  for  locks  and  keys, — beheld,  by  the  light 
of  the  lantern,  a  scene  that  smote  his  generous  heart 
to  the  core. 

On  a  miserable  bed,  with  pallid  and  emaciated 
visage,  and  hollow  eyes  ; — in  a  room  destitute  of  every 
convenience; — without  fire  to  warm  or  friend  to 
console  him,  lay  this  helpless  mortal,  who  had  been 
so  long  the  terror  and  wonder  of  the  village.  His 
dog  was  crouching  on  the  scanty  coverlet,  and  shiv- 
ering with  cold.  My  grandfather  stepped  softly  and 
hesitatingly  to  the  bed-side,  and  accosted  the  forlorn 
sufferer  in  his  usual  accents  of  kindness.  The  little 
man  in  black  seemed  recalled  by  the  tones  of  com- 
passion from  the  lethargy  into  which  he  had  fallen ; 
for,  though  his  heart  was  almost  frozen,  there  was 
yet  one  chord  that  answered  to  the  call  of  the  good 
old  man  who  bent  over  him  ;  the  tones  of  sympathy, 
so  novel  to  his  ear,  called  back  his  wandering  senses, 
and  acted  like  a  restorative  to  h's  solitary  feelings. 

He  raised  his  eyes,  but  they  were  vacant  and  hag- 
gard ; — he  put  forth  his  hand,  but  it  was  cold ;  he 
essayed  to  speak,  but  the  sound  died  away  in  his 
throat ; — he  pointed  to  his  mouth  with  an  expression 
of  dreadful  meaning,  and,  sad  to  relate  !  my  grand- 
father understood  that  the  harmless  stranger,  desert- 
ed by  society,  was  perishing  with  hunger ! — with  the 
quick  impulse  of  humanity  he  despatched  the  servant 
to  the  hall  for  refreshment.  A  little  warm  nourish- 
ment renovated  him  for  a  short  time,  but  not  long: 
— it  was  evident  his  pilgrimage  was  drawing  to  a 
close,  and  he  was  about  entering  that  peaceful  asyluin 
where  "  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling." 

His  tale  of  misery  was  short,  and  quickly  told ; 
infirmities  had  stolen  upon  him,  heightened  by  the 
rigours  of  the  season  :  he  had  taken  to  his  bed  w'ith- 
out  strength  to  rise  and  ask  for  assistance; — "and 
if  I  had,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  bitter  despondency, 
"  to  whom  should  I  have  applied  ?  I  have  no  friend 
that  I  know  of  in  the  world  ! — the  villagers  avoid  me 
as  something  loathsome  and  dangerous ;  and  here, 
in  the  midst  of  Christians,  should  1  have  perished, 
without  a  fellow-being  to  sooth  the  last  moments  of 
existence,  and  close  my  dying  eyes,  had    not   the 


718 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


bowlings  of  my  faithful  dog-  excited  your  atten- 
tion." 

He  seemed  deeply  sensible  of  the  kindness  of  my 
grandfather  ;  and  at  one  time  as  he  looked  up  into 
his  old  benefactor's  face,  a  solitary  tear  was  observed 
to  steal  adown  the  parched  furrows  of  his  cheek — 
poor  outcast ! — it  was  the  last  tear  he  shed — but  I 
warrant  it  was  not  the  first  by  millions  !  my  grand- 
father watched  by  him  all  night.  Towards  morning 
he  gradually  declined  ;  and  as  the  rising  sun  gleamed 
through  the  window,  he  begged  to  be  raised  in  his 
bed  that  he  might  look  at  it  for  the  last  time.  He 
contemplated  it  for  a  moment  with  a  kind  of  religious 
enthusiasm,  and  his  lips  moved  as  if  engaged  in 
prayer.  The  strange  conjectures  concerning  him 
rushed  on  my  grandfather's  mind  :  "  he  is  an  idol- 
ater ! "  thought  he,  "and  is  worshipping  the  sun  !  " 
— He  listened  a  moment  and  blushed  at  his  own  un- 
charitable suspicion  ;  he  was  only  engaged  in  the 
pious  devotions  of  a  Christian.  His  simple  orison 
being  finished,  the  little  man  in  black  withdrew  his 
eyes  from  the  east,  and  taking  my  grandfather's 
hand  in  one  of  his,  and  making  a  motion  with  the 
other  towards  the  sun  ; — "  I  love  to  contemplate  it," 
said  he,  "  'tis  an  emblem  of  the  universal  benevolence 
of  a  true  Christian  ; — and  it  is  the  most  glorious 
work  of  him  who  is  philanthropy  itself !  "  My  grand- 
father blushed  still  deeper  at  his  ungenerous  sur- 
mises ;  he  had  pitied  the  stranger  at  first,  but  now 
he  revered  him  : — he  turned  once  more  to  regard 
him,  but  his  countenance  had  undergone  a  change  ; 
■ — the  holy  enthusiasm  that  had  lighted  up  each 
feature,  had  given  place  to  an  expression  of  mysteri- 
ous import ; — a  gleam  of  grandeur  seemed  to  steal 
across  his  Gothic  visage,  and  he  appeared  full  of 
some  mighty  secret  which  he  hesitated  to  impart. 
He  raised  the  tattered  nightcap  that  had  sunk  al- 
iTiost  over  his  eyes,  and  waving  his  withered  hand 
with  a  slow  and  feeble  expression  of  dignity, — "  In 
me,"  said  he,  with  laconic  solemnity, — "  in  me  you 
behold  the  last  descendant  of  the  renowned  Linkum 
Fidelius  !  "  My  grandfather  gazed  at  him  with  rev- 
erence ;  for  though  he  had  never  heard  of  the  illus- 
trious personage,  thus  pompously  announced,  yet 
there  was  a  certain  black-letter  dignity  in  the  name 
tlia:  peculiarly  struck  his  fancy  and  commanded  his 
respect. 

"  You  have  been  kind  to  me,"  continued  the  little 
man  in  black,  after  a  momentary  pause,  "and  richly 
will  I  requite  your  kindness  by  making  you  heir  to 
my  treasures  !  In  ponder  large  deal  box  are  the 
volumes  of  my  illustrious  ancestor,  of  which  I  alone 
am  the  fortunate  possessor.  Inherit  thein — ponder 
over  them,  and  be  wise  !  "  He  grew  faint  with  the 
exertion  he  had  made,  and  sunk  back  almost  breath- 
less on  his  pillow.  His  hand,  which,  inspired  with 
the  importance  of  his  subject,  he  had  raised  to  my 
grandfather's  arm,  slipped  from  its  hold  and  tell  over 
the  side  of  the  bed,  and  his  faithful  dog  licked  it ;  as 
if  anxious  to  sooth  the  last  moments  of  his  master, 
and  testify  his  gratitude  to  the  hand  that  had  so 
often  cherished  him.  The  untaught  caresses  of  the 
faithful  animal  were  not  lost  upon  his  dying  master ; 
— he  raised  his  languid  eyes, — turned  them  on  the 
dog,  then  on  my  grandfather;  and  having  given  this 
silent  recommendation — closed  them  for  ever. 

The  remains  of  the  little  man  in  black,  notwith- 
standing the  objections  of  many  pious  people,  were 
decently  interred  in  the  church-yard  of  the  village  ; 
and  his  spirit,  harmless  as  the  body  it  once  animated, 
has  never  been  known  to  molest  a  living  being.  My 
grandfather  complied,  as  far  as  possible,  with  his 
last  request ;  he  conveyed  the  volumes  of  Linkum 
Fidelius  to  his  library ; — he  pondered  over  them  fre- 
quently—but whether  he  grew  wiser,  the  tradition 


doth  not  mention.  This  much  is  certain,  that  his 
kindness  to  the  poor  descendant  of  Fidelius  was 
amply  rewarded  by  the  approbation  of  his  own 
heart  and  the  devoted  attachment  of  the  old  turn- 
spit, who,  transferring  his  affection  from  his  deceased 
master  to  his  benefactor,  became  his  constant  at- 
tendant, and  was  father  to  a  long  line  of  runty  curs 
that  still  flourish  in  the  family.  And  thus  was  the 
Cockloft  library  first  enriched  by  the  invaluable  fohos 
of  the  sage  Linkum  Fidelius. 


LETTER    FROM    MUSTAPHA    RUB-A-DUB 
KELI   KHAN, 

TO     ASEM     HACCHEM,    PRINCIPAL     SLAVE-DRIVER 
TO   HIS  HIGHNESS  THE  BASHAW  OF  TRIPOLI. 


Though  I  am  often  disgusted,  my  good  Asem, 
with  the  vices  and  absurdities  of  the  men  of  this 
country,  yet  the  women  afford  me  a  world  of  amuse- 
ment. Their  lively  prattle  is  as  diverting  as  the 
chattering  of  the  red-tailed  parrot ;  nor  can  the 
green-headed  monkey  of  Timandi  equal  them  in 
whim  and  playfulness.  But,  notwithstandnig  these 
valuable  qualifications,  I  am  sorry  to  observe  they 
are  not  treated  with  half  the  attention  bestowed  on 
the  before-mentioned  animals.  These  infidels  put 
their  parrots  in  cages  and  chain  their  monkeys  ;  but 
their  women,  instead  of  being  carefully  shut  up  in 
harems  and  seraglios,  are  abandoned  to  the  direc- 
tion of  their  own  reason  and  suffered  to  run  about 
in  perfect  freedom,  like  other  domestic  animals  : — 
this  comes,  Ascm,  of  treating  their  women  as  ra- 
tional beings  and  allowing  them  souls.  The  conse- 
quence of  this  piteous  neglect  may  easily  be  imag- 
ined : — they  have  degenerated  into  all  their  native 
wildness,  are  seldom  to  be  caught  at  home,  and,  at 
an  early  age,  take  to  the  streets  and  higliways, 
where  they  rove  about  in  droves,  giving  almost  as 
much  annoyance  to  the  peaceable  people  as  the 
troops  of  wild  dogs  that  infest  our  great  cities,  or 
the  flights  of  locusts  that  sometimes  spread  famine 
and  desolation  over  whole  regions  of  fertility. 

This  propensity  to  relapse  into  pristine  wildness 
convinces  me  of  the  untameable  disposition  of  the 
sex,  who  may  indeed  l)e  partially  domesticated  by  a 
long  course  of  confinement  and  restraint,  but  the 
moment  they  are  restored  to  personal  freedom,  be- 
come wild  as  the  young  partridge  of  this  country, 
which,  though  scarcely  half  hatched,  will  take  to  the 
fields  and  run  about  with  the  shell  upon  its  back. 

Notwithstanding  their  wildness,  however,  they  are 
remarkably  easy  of  access,  and  suffer  themselves  to 
be  approached  at  certain  hours  of  the  day  without 
any  symptoms  of  apprehension  ;  and  I  have  even 
happily  succeeded  in  detecting  them  at  their  domes- 
tic occupations.  One  of  the  most  important  of  these 
consists  in  thumping  vehemently  on  a  kind  of  mu- 
sical instrument,  and  producing  a  confused,  hideous, 
and  indefinable  uproar,  which  they  call  the  descrip- 
tion of  a  battle  ; — a  jest,  no  doubt,  for  they  are  won- 
derfully facetious  at  times,  and  make  great  practice 
of  passing  jokes  upon  strangers.  Sometimes  they 
employ  themselves  in  painting  little  caricatures  of 
landscapes,  wherein  they  display  their  singular  droll- 
ery in  bantering  nature  fairly  out  of  countenance ; 
representing  her  tricked  out  in  all  the  tawdiy  finery 
of  copper  skies,  purple  rivers,  calico  rocks,  red  grass, 
clouds  that  look  like  old  clothes  set  adrift  by  the  tem- 
pest, and  fo.xy  trees  whose  melancholy  foliage,  droop- 
ing and  curling  most  fantastically,  reminds  me  of 
an  undressed  perriwig  that  I  have  now  and  then 


SALMAGUNDI. 


719 


seen  hung-  on  a  stick  in  a  barber's  window.  At 
other  times  they  employ  themselves  in  acquiring-  a 
smattering  of  languages  spoken  by  nations  on  the 
other  side  of  the  globe,  as  they  find  their  own  lan- 
guage not  sufficiently  copious  to  supply  their  con- 
stant demands  and  express  their  multifarious  ideas. 
But  their  most  important  domestic  avocation  is  to 
embroider,  on  satin  or  muslin,  flowers  of  a  nonde- 
script kind,  in  which  the  great  art  is  to  make  them 
as  unlike  nature  as  possible  ; — or  to  fasten  little  bits 
of  silver,  gold,  tinsel,  and  glass  on  long  strips  of 
muslin,  which  they  drag  after  them  with  much  dig- 
nity whenever  they  go  abroad  ; — a  fine  lady,  like  a 
bird  of  paradise,  being  estimated  by  the  length  of 
her  tail. 

But  do  not,  my  friend,  fall  into  the  enormous  error 
of  supposing  that  the  exercise  of  these  arts  is  at- 
tended with  any  useful  or  profitable  result ; — believe 
me,  thou  couldst  not  indulge  an  idea  more  unjust 
and  injurious  ;  for  it  appears  to  be  an  established 
maxim  among  the  women  of  this  country,  that  a 
lady  loses  her  dignity  when  she  condescends  to  be 
useful,  and  forfeits  all  rank  in  society  the  moment 
she  can  be  convicted  of  earning  a  farthing.  Their 
labours,  therefore,  are  directed  not  towards  supply- 
ing their  household,  but  in  decking  their  persons, 
and — generous  souls!  — they  deck  their  persons,  not 
so  much  to  please  themselves,  as  to  gratify  others, 
particularly  strangers.  I  am  confident  thou  wilt 
stare  at  this,  my  good  Asem,  accustomed  as  thou 
art  to  our  eastern  females,  who  shrink  in  blushing 
timidity  even  from  th-;  glance  of  a  lover,  and  are  so 
chary  of  their  favours,  that  they  even  seem  fearful 
of  lavishing  their  smiles  too  profusely  on  their  hus- 
bands. Here,  on  the  contrary,  the  stranger  has  the 
first  place  in  female  regard,  and,  so  far  do  they 
carry  their  hospitality,  that  1  have  seen  a  fine  lady 
slight  a  dozen  tried  friends  and  real  admirers,  who 
lived  in  her  smiles  and  made  her  happiness  their 
study,  merely  to  allure  the  vague  and  wandering 
glances  of  a  stranger,  who  viewed  her  person  with 
indifference  and  treated  her  advances  with  con- 
tempt.  By  the  whiskers  of  our  sublime  bashaw, 

but  this  is  highly  flattering  to  a  foreigner !  and  thou 
mayest  judge  how  particularly  pleasing  to  one  who 
is,  like  myself,  so  ardent  an  admirer  of  the  sex.  Far 
be  it  from  me  to  condemn  this  extraordinary  mani- 
festation of  good  will — let  their  own  countrymen 
look  to  that. 

Be  not  alarmed,  I  conjure  thee,  my  dear  Asem, 
lest  I  should  be  tempted  by  these  beautiful  barba- 
rians to  break  the  faith  I  owe  to  the  three-and-twenty 
wives  from  whom  my  unhappy  destiny  has  perhaps 
severed  me  for  ever: — no,  Asem,  neither  time  nor 
the  bitter  succession  of  misfortunes  that  pursues  me 
can  shake  from  my  heart  the  memory  of  former  at- 
tachments. I  listen  with  tranquil  heart  to  the 
strumming  and  prattling  of  these  fair  syrens ;  their 
whimsical  paintings  touch  not  the  tender  chord  of 
my  affections ;  and  I  would  still  defy  their  fascina- 
tions, though  they  trailed  after  them  trains  as  long 
as  the  gorgeous  trappings  which  are  dragged  at 
the  heels  of  the  holy  camel  of  Mecca :  or  as  the 
tail  of  the  great  beast  in  our  prophet's  vision,  which 
measured  three  hundred  and  forty-nine  leagues,  two 
miles,  three  furlongs,  and  a  hand's  breadth  in  longi- 
tude. 

The  dress  of  these  women  is,  if  possible,  more 
eccentric  and  whimsical  than  their  deportment ;  and 
they  take  an  inordinate  pride  in  certain  ornaments 
which  are  probably  derived   from  their  savage  pro-  | 

genitors. A  woman  of  this  country,  dressed  out  i 

lor  an  exhibition,  is  loaded  with  as  many  ornaments  i 
as  a  Circassian  slave  when  brought  out  for  sale.  I 
Their  heads  are  tricked  out  with  little  bits  of  horn  ' 


\  or  shell,  cut  into  fantastic  shapes,  and  they  seem  to 
emulate  each  other  in  the  number  of  these  singular 
baubles  ; — like  the  women  we  have  seen  in  our  jour- 
neys to  Aleppo,  who  cover  their  heads  wiih  the  en- 
tire shell  of  a  tortoise,  and,  thus  equipped,  are  the 
envy  of  all  their  less  fortunate  acquaintance.  They 
also  decorate  their  necks  and  ears  with  coral,  gold 
chains,  and  glass  beads,  and  load  their  fingers  with 
a  variety  of  rings  ;  though,  I  must  confess,  I  have 
never  perceived  that  they  wear  any  in  their  noses — 
as  has  been  affirmed  by  many  travellers.  We  have 
heard  much  of  their  painting  themselves  most  hide- 
ously, and  making  use  of  bear's  grease  in  great  pro- 
fusion ;  but  this,  I  solemnly  assure  thee,  is  a  misrep- 
resentation ;  civilization,  no  doubt,  having  gradually 
extirpated  these  nauseous  practices.  It  is  true,  I  have 
seen  two  or  three  of  these  females,  who  had  disguis- 
ed their  features  with  paint ;  but  then  it  was  merely 
to  give  a  tinge  of  red  to  their  cheeks,  and  did  not 
look  very  frightful ;  and  as  to  ointment,  they  rarely 
use  any  now,  except  occasionally  a  little  Grecian  oil 
for  their  hair,  which  gives  it  a  glossy,  greasy,  and, 
they  think,  very  comely  appearance.  The  last-men- 
tioned class  of  females,  I  take  it  for  granted,  have 
been  but  lately  caught,  and  still  retain  strong  traits 
of  their  original  savage  propensities. 

The  most  flagrant  and  inexcusable  fault,  how- 
ever, which  I  find  in  these  lovely  savages,  is  the 
shameless  and  abandoned  exposure  of  their  persons. 
Wilt  not  thou  suspect  me  of  exaggeration  when  I 
affirm  ; — wilt  thou  not  blush  for  them,  most  discreet 
Mussulman,  when  I  declare  to  thee,  that  they  are  so 
lost  to  all  sense  of  modesty,  as  to  expose  the  whole 
of  their  faces  from  their  forehead  to  the  chin,  and 
they  even  go  abroad  with  their  hands  uncovered  ! — 
Monstrous  indelicacy ! — 

But  what  I  am  going  to  disclose,  will,  doubtless, 
appear  to  thee  still  more  incredible.  Though  I  can- 
not forbear  paying  a  tribute  of  admiration  to  the 
beautiful  faces  of  these  fair  infidels,  yet  I  must  give 
it  as  my  firm  opinion,  that  their  persons  are  prepos- 
terously unseemly.  In  vain  did  I  look  around  me, 
on  my  first  landing,  for  those  divine  forms  of  redun- 
dant proportions,  which  answer  to  the  true  standard 
of  eastern  beauty  ; — not  a  single  fat  fair  one  could 
I  behold  among  the  multitudes  that  thronged  the 
streets  ;  the  females  that  passed  in  review  before  me, 
tripping  sportively  along,  resembled  a  procession  of 
shadows,  returning  to  their  graves  at  the  crowing  of 
the  cock. 

This  meagreness  I  first  a^cribed  to  their  excessive 
volubility  ;  for  I  have  somewhere  seen  it  advanced 
by  a  learned  doctor,  that  the  sex  were  endowed  with 
a  peculiar  activity  of  tongue,  in  order  that  they 
might  practise  talking  as  a  healthful  exercise,  neces- 
sary to  their  confined  and  sedentary  mode  of  life. 
This  exercise,  it  was  natural  to  suppose,  would  be 
carried  to  great  excess  in  a  logocracy. — "Too  true," 
thought  I,  "  they  have  converted,  what  was  undoubt- 
edly meant  as  a  beneficent  gift,  into  a  noxious  habit, 
that  steals  the  flesh  t'rom  their  bones  and  the  rose 
from  their  cheeks — they  absolutely  talk  themselves 
thin  !  "  Judge  then  of  my  surprise  when  1  was  as- 
sured, not  long  since,  that  this  meagreness  was  con- 
sidered the  perfection  of  personal  beauty,  and  that 
many  a  lady  starved  herself,  with  all  the  obstinate 

perseverance  of  a  pious  dervise into  a  fine  figure  I 

"  Nay,  more,"  said  my  informer,  •'  they  will  often 

sacrifice  their  healths  in  this  eager  pursuit  of  skele- 
ton beauty,  and  drink  vinegar,  eat  pickles,  and  smoke 
tobacco,  to  keep  themselves  within  the  scanty  out- 
lines of  the  fashions." — Faugh  !  Allah  preserve  me 
from  such  beauties,  who  contaminate  their  pure 
blood  with  noxious  recipes  ;  who  impiously  sacrifice 
the  best  gifts  of  Heaven,  to  a  preposterous  and  mis- 


720 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


taken  vanity.  Ere  long  I  shall  not  be  surprised  to 
see  them  scarring  their  faces  like  the  negroes  of 
Congo,  flattening  their  noses  in  imitation  of  the  Hot- 
tentots, or  like  the  barbarians  of  Ab-al  Timar,  distort- 
ing their  lips  and  ears  out  of  all  natural  dimensions. 
Since  I  received  this  information,  I  cannot  contem- 
plate a  fine  figure,  without  thinking  of  a  vinegar  cruet; 
nor  look  at  a  dashing  belle,  without  fancying  her  a 
pot  of  pickled  cucumbers  !  What  a  difference,  my 
friend,  between  these  shades  and  the  plump  beauties 
of  Tripoli, —  what  a  contrast  between  an  infidel  fair 
one  and  my  favourite  wife  Fatima,  whom  I  bought  by 
the  hundred  weight,  and  had  trundled  home  in  a 
wheel-barrow  ! 

But  enough  for  the  present ;  I  am  promised  a 
faithful  account  of  the  arcana  of  a  lady's  toilette — 
a  complete  initiation  into  the  arts,  mysteries,  spells, 
and  potions  ;  in  short,  the  whole  chymical  process 
by  which  she  reduces  herself  down  to  the  most  fash- 
ionable standard  of  insignificance ;  together  with 
specimens  of  the  strait  waistcoats,  the  lacings,  the 
bandages,  and  the  v.arious  ingenious  instruments  with 
wliich  she  puts  nature  to  the  rack,  and  tortures  her- 
self into  a  proper  figure  to  be  admired. 

Farewell,  thou  sweetest  of  slave-drivers  !  the 
echoes  that  repeat  to  a  lover's  ear  the  song  of  his 
mistress,  are  not  more  soothing  than  tidings  from 
those  we  love.  Let  thy  answer  to  my  letters  be 
speedy ;  and  never,  I  pray  thee,  for  a  moment,  cease 
to  watch  over  the  prosperity  of  my  house,  and  the 
welfare  of  my  beloved  wives.  Let  them  want  for 
nothing,  my  friend  ;  but  feed  them  plentifully  on 
honey,  boiled  rice,  and  water  gruel  ;  so  that  when  I 
return  to  the  blessed  land  of  my  fathers,  if  that  can 
ever  be  !  I  may  find  them  improved  in  size  and  loveli- 
ness, and  sleek  as  the  graceful  elephants  that  range 
the  green  valley  of  Abimar. 

Ever  thine, 

MUSTAPHA. 


No.  XIX.— THURSDAY,   DEC.  31,  1807. 

FROM   MY   ELBOW-CHAIR. 


Having  returned  to  town,  and  once  more  formally 
taken  possession  of  my  elbow-chair,  it  behooves  me 
to  discard  the  rural  feelings,  and  the  rural  sentiments, 
in  which  I  have  for  some  time  past  indulged,  and 
devote  myself  more  exclusively  to  the  edification  of 
the  town.  As  I  feel  at  this  moment  a  chivalric  spark 
of  gallantry  playing  around  my  heart,  and  one  of 
those  dulcet  emotions  of  cordiality,  which  an  old 
bachelor  will  sometimes  entertain  towards  the  divine 
sex,  I  am  determined  to  gratify  the  sentiment  for 
once,  and  devote  this  number  exclusively  to  the 
ladies.  I  would  not,  however,  have  our  fair  readers 
imagine  that  we  wish  to  flatter  ourselves  into  their 
good  graces ;  devoutly  as  we  adore  them  ! — and  what 
true  cavalier  does  not, — and  heartily  as  we  desire  to 
tlourish  in  the  mild  sunshine  of  their  smiles,  yet  we 
scorn  to  insinuate  ourselves  into  their  favour  ;  unless 
it  be  as  honest  friends,  sincere  well-wishers,  and  dis- 
interested advisers.  If  in  the  course  of  this  number 
they  find  us  rather  prodigal  of  our  encomiums,  they 
will  have  the  modesty  to  ascribe  it  to  the  excess  of 
their  own  merits ; — if  they  find  us  extremely  indul- 
gent to  their  faults,  they  will  impute  it  rather  to  the 
superabundance  of  our  good-nature,  than  to  any  ser- 
vile and  illiberal  fear  of  giving  offence. 

The  following  letter  of  Mustapha  falls  in  exactly 
with  the  current  of  my  purpose.  As  I  have  before 
mentioned  that  his  letters  are  without  dates,  we  are 


obliged  to  give  them  very  irregularly,  without  any 
regard  to  chronological  order. 

The  present  one  appears  to  have  been  v;ritten  not 
long  after  his  arrival,  and  antecedent  to  several  al- 
ready published.  It  is  inore  in  the  familiar  and  col- 
loquial style  than  the  others.  Will  Wizard  declares 
he  has  translated  it  with  fidelity,  excepting  that  he 
has  omitted  several  remarks  on  the  waltz,  which  the 
honest  Mussulman  eulogizes  with  great  enthusiasm  ; 
comparing  it  to  certain  voluptuous  dances  of  the 
seraglio.  Will  regretted  exceedingly  that  the  in- 
delicacy of  several  of  these  observations  compelled 
their  total  exclusion,  as  he  wishes  to  give  all  possible 
encouragement  to  this  popular  and  amiable  exhibi- 
tion. 


LETTER    FROM    MUSTAPHA    RUB-A-DUB 
KELI   KHAN, 

TO  MULEY  HELIM  AL  RAGGI,  EURNAMED  THE 
agreeable  RAGAMUFFIN,  CHIEF  MOUNTE- 
BANK. AND   BUFFA-DANCER  TO  HIS   HIGHNESS. 


The  numerous  letters  which  1  have  written  to  our 
friend  the  slave-driver,  as  well  as  those  to  thy  kins- 
man THE  SNORER,  and  which,  doubtless,  were  read 
to  thee,  honest  Muley,  have,  in  all  probability,  awak- 
ened thy  curiosity  to  know  further  particulars  con- 
cerning the  manners  of  the  barbarians,  who  hold  me 
in  such  ignominious  captivity.  I  was  lately  at  one 
of  their  public  ceremonies,  which,  at  first,  perplexed 
me  exceedingly  as  to  its  object  ;  but  as  the  explana- 
tions of  a  friend  have  let  ine  somewhat  into  the 
secret,  and  as  it  seems  to  bear  no  small  analogy  to 
thy  profession,  a  description  of  it  may  contribute  to 
thy  amusement,  if  not  to  thy  instruction. 

A  few  days  since,  just  as  I  had  finished  my  coffee, 
and  was  perfuming  my  whiskers,  preparatory  to  a 
morning  walk,  I  was  waited  upon  Ijy  an  inhabitant 
of  this  place,  a  gay  young  infidel,  who  has  of  late 
cultivated  my  acquaintance.  He  presented  me  with 
a  square  bit  of  painted  pasteboard,  which,  he  inform- 
ed me,  would  entitle  me  to  admittance  to  the  CITY 
ASSEMBLY.  Curious  to  know  the  meaning  of  a 
phrase  which  was  entirely  new  to  me,  I  requested 
an  explanation ;  when  my  friend  informed  me  that 
the  assembly  was  a  numerous  concourse  of  young 
peo|)le  of  both  sexes,  who,  on  certain  occasions, 
gathered  together  to  dance  about  a  large  room  with 
violent  gesticulation,  and  try  to  out-dress  each  other. 
— "  In  short,"  said  he,  "  if  you  wish  to  see  the  natives 
in  all  their  glory,  there's  no  place  like  the  City  As- 
sembly;  so  you  must  go  there,  and  sport  your  whis- 
kers." Though  the  matter  of  sporting  my  whiskers 
was  considerably  above  my  apprehension,  yet  I  now 
began,  as  I  thought,  to  understand  him.  I  had 
heard  of  the  war  dances  of  the  natives,  which  are  a 
kind  of  religious  institution,  and  had  little  doubt  but 
that  this  must  be  a  solemnity  of  the  kind— upon  a 
prodigious  great  scale.  Anxious  as  I  am  to  contem- 
plate these  strange  people  in  every  situation,  I  wil- 
lingly acceded  to  his  proposal,  and,  to  be  the  more  at 
ease,  I  determined  to  lay  aside  my  Turkish  dress, 
and  appear  in  plain  garments  of  the  fashion  of  this 
country  ;  as  is  my  custom  whenever  I  wish  to  mingle 
in  a  crowd  without  exciting  the  attention  of  the 
gaping  multitude. 

It  was  long  after  the  shades  of  night  had  fallen, 
before  my  friend  appeared  to  conduct  me  to  the  as- 
sembly. "  These  infidels,"  thought  I,  "shroud  them- 
selves in  mystery,  and  seek  the  aid  of  gloom  and 
darkness,  to  heighten  the  solemnity  of  their  pious 
orgies."     Resolving  to   conduct  myself  with   that 


SALMAGUNDI. 


721 


decent  respect  which  every  stranger  owes  to  the 
customs  of  the  land  in  which  he  sojourns,  I  chastised 
my  features  into  an  expression  of  sober  reverence, 
and  stretched  my  face  into  a  degree  of  longitude 
suitable  to  the  ceremony  I  was  about  to  witness. 
Spite  of  myself,  I  felt  an  emotion  of  awe  stealing  over 
my  senses  as  I  approached  the  majestic  pile.  My 
imagination  pictured  something  similar  to  a  descent 
into  the  cave  of  Dom-Daniel,  where  the  necroman- 
cers of  the  East  are  taught  their  infernal  arts.  I 
entered  with  the  same  gravity  of  demeanour  that  I 
would  have  approached  the  holy  temple  at  Mecca, 
and  bowed  my  head  three  times  as  I  passed  the 
threshold.  "  Head  of  the  mighty  Amrou  !  "  thought 
I,  on  being  ushered  into  a  splendid  saloon,  "what  a 
display  is  here  !  surely  I  am  transported  to  the  man- 
sions of  the  Houris,  the  elysium  of  the  faithful !  " — 
How  tame  appeared  all  the  descriptions  of  enchant- 
ed palaces  in  our  Arabian  poetry  ! — -wherever  I  turned 
my  eyes,  the  quick  glances  of  beauty  dazzled  my 
vision  and  ravished  my  heart ;  lovely  virgins  fluttered 
by  me,  darting  imperial  looks  of  conquest,  or  beam- 
ing such  smiles  of  invitation,  as  did  Gabriel  when  he 
beckoned  our  holy  prophet  to  Heaven.  Shall  I  own 
the  weakness  of  thy  friend,  good  Muley  ? — while  thus 
gazing  on  the  enchanted  scene  before  me,  I,  for  a 
moment,  forgot  my  country ;  and  even  the  memor)' 
of  my  three-and-twenty  wives  faded  from  my  heart ; 
my  thoughts  were  bewildered  and  led  astray  by  the 
charms  of  these  bewitching  savages,  and  I  sunk,  for 
a  while,  into  that  delicious  state  of  mind,  where  the 
senses,  all  enchanted,  and  all  striving  for  mastery, 
produce  an  endless  variety  of  tumultuous,  yet  pleas- 
ing emotions.  Oh,  Muley,  never  shall  I  again  won- 
der that  an  infidel  should  prove  a  recreant  to  the 
single  solitary  wife  allotted  him,  when,  even  thy 
friend,  armed  with  all  the  precepts  of  Mahomet,  can 
so  easily  prove  faithless  to  three-and-twenty ! 

"  whither  have  you  led  me  ?  "  said  I,  at  length,  to 
my  companion,  "  and  to  whom  do  these  beautiful 
creatures  belong?  Certainly  this  must  be  the  se- 
raglio of  the  grand  bashaw  of  the  city,  and  a  most 
happy  bashaw  must  he  be,  to  possess  treasures, 
which  even  his  highness  of  Tripoli  cannot  parallel." 
"  Have  a  care,"  cried  my  companion,  "  how  you  talk 
about  seraglios,  or  you'll  have  all  these  gentle  nymphs 
about  your  ears  ;  for  seraglio  is  a  word  which,  beyond 
all  others,  they  abhor; — most  of  them,"  continued 
he,  "  have  no  lord  and  master,  but  come  here  to  catch 
one — they're  in  the  market,  as  we  term  it."  "  Ah, 
hah  !  "  said  I,  exultingly,  "  then  you  really  have  a  fair, 
or  slave-market,  such  as  we  have  in  the  east,  where 
the  faithful  are  provided  with  the  choicest  virgins  of 

Georgia  and  Circassia  ? by  our  glorious  sun  of 

Afric,  but  I  should  like  to  select  some  ten  or  a  dozen 
wives  from  so  lovely  an  assemblage  !  Pray,  what 
would  you  suppose  they  might  be  bought  for  ?  " 

Before  1  could  receive  an  answer,  my  attention 
was  attracted  by  two  or  three  good-looking,  middle- 
sized  men,  who,  being  dressed  in  black,  a  colour 
universally  worn  in  this  country  by  the  muftis  and 
dervises,  1  immediately  concluded  to  be  high-priests, 
and  was  confirmed  in  my  original  opinion  that  this 
was  a  religious  ceremony.  These  reverend  person- 
ages are  entitled  managers,  and  enjoy  unlimited  au- 
thority in  the  assemblies,  being  armed  with  swords, 
with  whicli,  I  am  told,  they  would  infallibly  put  any 
lady  to  death  who  infringed  the  laws  of  the  temple. 
They  walked  round  the  room  with  great  solemnity, 
and,  with  an  air  of  profound  importance  and  mystery, 
put  a  little  piece  of  folded  paper  in  each  fair  hand, 
which  I  concluded  were  religious  talismans.  One 
of  them  dropped  on  the  floor,  whereupon  I  slily  put 
my  foot  on  it,  and,  watching  an  opportunity,  picked 
it  up  unobserved,  and  found  it  to  contain  some  unin- 
4i> 


telligible  words  and  the  mystic  number  9.  What 
were  its  virtues  1  know  not ;  except  that  I  put  it  in 
my  pocket,  and  have  hitherto  been  preserved  from 
my  fit  of  the  lumbago,  which  I  generally  have  about 
this  season  of  the  year,  ever  since  I  tumbled  into  the 
well  of  Zim-zim  on  my  pilgrimage  to  Mecca.  I  en- 
close it  to  thee  in  this  letter,  presuming  it  to  be  par- 
ticularly serviceable  against  the  dangers  of  thy  pro- 
fession. 

Shortly  after  the  distribution  of  these  talismans, 
one  of  the  high-priests  stalked  into  the  middle  of  the 
room  with  great  majesty,  and  clapped  his  hands  three 
times ;  a  loud  explosion  of  music  succeeded  from  a 
numberof  black,  yellow,  and  white  musicians,  perched 
in  a  kind  of  cage  over  the  grand  entrance.  The  com- 
pany were  thereupon  thrown  into  great  confusion 
and  apparent  consternation. — They  hurried  to  and 
fro  about  the  room,  and  at  length  formed  themselves 
into  little  groupes  of  eight  persons,  half  male  and 
half  female ; — the  music  struck  into  something  like 
harmony,  and,  in  a  moment,  to  my  utter  astonish- 
ment and  dismay,  they  were  all  seized  with  what  I 
concluded  to  be  a  paroxysm  of  rehgious  phrenzy, 
tossing  about  their  heads  in  a  ludicrous  style  from 
side  to  side,  and  indulging  in  extravagant  contortions 
of  figure ; — now  throwing  their  heels  into  the  air, 
and  anon  whirling  round  with  the  velocity  of  the 
eastern  idolaters,  who  think  they  pay  a  grateful 
homage  to  the  sun  by  imitating  his  motions.  I  ex- 
pected every  moment  to  see  them  fall  down  in  con- 
vulsions, foam  at  the  mouth,  and  shriek  with  fancied 
inspiration.  As  usual  the  females  seeined  most  fer- 
vent in  their  religious  exercises,  and  performed  them 
with  a  melancholy  expression  of  feature  that  was 
peculiarly  touching ;  but  1  was  highly  gratified  by 
the  exemplary  conduct  of  several  male  devotees,  who, 
though  their  gesticulations  would  intimate  a  wild  mer- 
riment of  the  feelings,  tnaintained  throughout  as  in- 
flexible a  gravity  of  countenance  as  so  many  monkeys 
of  the  island  of  Borneo  at  their  anticks. 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  "  who  is  the  divinity  that  pre- 
sides in  this  splendid  mosque  .'  " "  The  divinity  ! 

—oh,  I  understand — you  mean  the  belle  of  the  even- 
ing ;  we  have  a  new  one  every  season  :  the  one  at 
present  in  fashion  is  that  lady  you  see  yonder,  dressed 
in  white,  with  pink  ribands,  and  a  crowd  of  adorers 
around  her."  "  Truly,"  cried  I,  "  this  is  the  pleas- 
antest  deity  I  have  encountered  in  the  whole  course 
of  my  travels  ; — so  familiar,  so  condescending,  and 
so  merry  withal ; — why,  her  very  worshippers  take  her 

by  the  hand,  and  whisper  in  her  ear." "  My  good 

Mussulman,"  replied  my  friend,  with  great  gravity, 
"  I  perceive  you  are  completely  in  an  error  concern- 
ing the  intent  of  this  cereinony.  You  are  now  in  a 
place  of  public  amusement,  not  of  public  worship  ; — 
and  the  pretty-looking  young  men  you  see  making 
such  violent  .md  grotesque  distortions,  are  merely 
indulging  in  our  favourite  amusement  of  dancing." 
"  1  cry  your  inercy,"  exclaimed  I,  "  these,  then,  are 
the  dancing  men  and  women  of  the  town,  such  as 
we  have  in  our  principal  cities,  who  hire  themselves 
out  for  the  entertainment  of  the  wealthy  ; — but,  pray 

who  pays  them  for  this  fatiguing  exhibition.'  " 

My  friend  regarded  me  for  a  moment  with  an  air  of 
whimsical  perplexity,  as  if  doubtful  whether  I  was  in 

jest  or  earnest. "  'Sblood,  man,"  cried  he,  "  these 

are  some  of  our  greatest  people,  our  fashionables, 

who  are  merely  dancing  here  lor  amusement." 

Dancing  for  amusement!  think  of  that,  Muley! — 
thou,  whose  greatest  pleasure  is  to  chew  opium, 
smoke  tobacco,  loll  on  a  couch,  and  doze  thyself  into 
the  regions  of  the  Houris  !— — -Dancing  for  amuse- 
ment ! — shall  1  never  cease  having  occasion  to  laugh 
at  the  absurdities  of  these  barbarians,  who  are  labori- 
ous in  their  recreations,  and  indolent  only  in  their 


722 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


hours  of  business  ? Dancing  for  amusement ! — 

the  very  idea  mal<es  my  bones  ache,  and  I  never 
think  of  it  without  being  obliged  to  apply  my  hand- 
ktrchief  to  my  forehead,  and  fan  myself  into  some 
degree  of  coolness. 

"  And  pray,"  said  I,  when  my  astonishment  had 
a  little  subsided,  "  do  these  musicians  also  toil  for 
amusement,  or  are  they  confined  to  their  cage,  like 
birds,  to  sing  for  the  gratification  of  others  ? — I 
should  think  the  former  was  the  case,  from  the  ani- 
mation with  which  they  flourish  their  elbows." — 
"  Not  so,"  replied  my  friend,  "  they  are  well  paid, 
which  is  no  more  than  just,  for  I  assure  you  they  are 
the  most  important  personages  in  the  room.  The 
tiddler  puts  the  whole  assembly  in  motion,  and  di- 
rects their  movements,  like  the  master  of  a  puppet- 
show,  who  sets  all  his  pasteboard  gentry  kicking  by  a 
jerk  of  his  fingers: there,  now— look  at  that  dap- 
per little  gentleman  yonder,  who  appears  to  be  suf- 
fering the  pangs  of  dislocation  in  every  limb :  he  is 
the  most  expert  puppet  in  the  room,  and  performs, 
not  so  much  for  his  own  amusement,  as  for  that  of 

the  by-standers." Just  then  the  little  gentleman, 

having  finished  one  of  his  paroxysms  of  activity, 
seemed  to  be  looking  round  for  applause  from  the 
spectators.  Feeling  myself  really  much  obliged  to 
him  for  his  exertions,  I  made  him  a  low  bow  of 
thanks,  but  nobody  followed  my  example,  which  I 
thought  a  singular  instance  of  ingratitude. 

Thou  wilt  perceive,  friend  Muley,  that  the  dancing 
of  these  barbarians  is  totally  dififerent  from  the 
science  professed  by  thee  in  Tripoli ; — the  country, 
in  fact,  is  afflicted  by  numerous  epidemical  diseases, 
which  travel  from  house  to  house,  from  city  to  city, 
with  the  regularity  of  a  caravan.  Among  these,  the 
most  formidable  is  this  dancing  mania,  which  pre- 
vails chiefly  throughout  the  winter.  It  at  first  seized 
on  a  few  people  of  fashion,  and  being  indulged  in 
moderation,  was  a  cheerful  exercise  ;  but  in  a  little 
time,  by  quick  advances,  it  infected  all  classes  of  the 
community,  and  became  a  raging  epidemic.  The 
doctors  immediately,  as  is  their  usual  way,  instead 
of  devising  a  remedy,  fell  together  by  the  ears,  to 
decide  whether  it  was  native  or  imported,  and  the 
sticklers  for  the  latter  opinion  traced  it  to  a  cargo 
of  trumpery  from  France,  as  they  had  before  hunted 
down  the  yellow-fever  to  a  bag  of  coffee  from  the 
West  Indies.  What  makes  this  disease  the  more 
formidable  is,  that  the  patients  seem  infatuated  with 
their  malady,  abandon  themselves  to  its  unbounded 
ravages,  and  expose  their  persons  to  wintry  storms 
and  midnight  airs,  more  fatal,  in  this  capricious  cli- 
mate, than  the  withering  Simoom  blast  of  the  desert. 

I  know  not  whether  it  is  a  sight  most  whimsical  or 
melancholy,  to  witness  a  fit  of  this  dancing  malady. 
The  lady  hops  up  to  the  gentleman,  who  stands  at 
the  distance  of  about  three  paces,  and  then  capers 
back  again  to  her  place  ; — the  gentleman  of  course 
does  the  same  ;  then  they  skip  one  way,  then  they 
jump  another ; — then  they  turn  their  backs  to  each 
other  ; — then  they  seize  each  other  and  shake  hands  ; 
then  they  whirl  round,  and  throw  themselves  into  a 
thousand  grotesque  and  ridiculous  attitudes  ; — some- 
times on  one  leg,  sometimes  on  the  other,  and  some- 
times on  no  leg  at  all  ;— and  this  they  call  exhibiting 
the  graces! — By  the  nineteen  thousand  capers  of  the 
great  mountebank  of  Damascus,  but  these  graces 
must  be  something  like  the  crooked-backed  dwarf 
Shabrac,  who  is  sometimes  permitted  to  amuse  his 
liighness  by  imitating  the  tricks  of  a  monkey.  These 
fits  continue  at  short  inter\'als  from  four  to  five  hours, 
till  at  last  the  lady  is  led  off,  faint,  languid,  exhaust- 
ed, and  panting,  to  her  carriage  ; — rattles  home  ; — 
passes  a  night  of  feverish  restlessness,  cold  perspira- 
tions and  troubled  sleep ; — rises  late  next  morning. 


if  she  rises  at  all,  is  nervous,  petulant,  or  a  prey  to 
languid  indifference  all  day  ;  —  a  mere  household 
spectre,  neither  giving  nor  receiving  enjoyment ;  in 
the  evening  hurries  to  another  dance ;  receives  an 
unnatural  exhilaration  from  the  lights,  the  music, 
the  crowd,  and  the  unmeaning  bustle  ;  —  flutters, 
sparkles,  and  blooms  for  a  while,  until  the  transient 
delirium  being  past,  the  infatuated  maid  droops  and 
languishes  into  apathy  again  ; — is  again  led  off  to 
her  carriage,  and  the  next  morning  rises  to  go  through 
exactly  the  same  joyless  routine. 

And  yet,  wilt  thou  believe  it,  my  dear  Raggi,  these 
are  rational  beings :  nay  more,  their  countrymen 
would  fain  persuade  me  they  have  souls  ! — Is  it  not 
a  thousand  times  to  be  lamented  that  beings,  en- 
dowed with  charms  that  might  warm  even  the  frigid 
heart  of  a  dervise  ; — with  social  and  endearing  pow- 
ers, that  would  render  them  the  joy  and  pride  of  the 
harem  ; — should  surrender  themselves  to  a  habit  of 
heartless  dissipation,  which  preys  imperceptiblv  on 
the  roses  of  the  cheek ; — -which  robs  the  eye  of  its 
lustre,  the  mouth  of  its  dimpled  smile,  the  spirits 
of  their  cheerful  hilarity,  and  the  limbs  of  their 
elastic  vigour  ; — which  hurries  them  off  in  the  spring- 
time of  existence ;  or,  if  they  survive,  yields  to  the 
arms  of  a  youthful  bridegroom  a  frame  wrecked  in 
the  storms  of  dissipation,  and  struggling  with  pre- 
mature infirmity.  Alas,  Muley!  may  I  not  ascribe 
to  this  cause,  the  number  of  little  old  women  I  meet 
with  in  this  country,  from  the  age  of  eighteen  to 
eight-and-twenty  ? 

In  sauntering  down  the  room,  my  attention  was 
attracted  by  a  smoky  painting,  which,  on  nearer  ex- 
amination, I  found  consisted  of  two  female  figures 
crowning  a  bust  with  a  wreath  of  laurel.  "  This,  I 
suppose,"  cried   I,  "  was  some  favourite  dancer  in 

his  time.''" "Oh,  no,"   replied   my  friend,   "he 

was  only  a  general." "  Good  ;  but  then  he  must 

have  been  great  at  a  cotillion,  or  expert  at  a  fiddle- 
stick— or  why  is  his  memorial   here  ?  " "  Quite 

the  contrary,"  answered  my  companion,  "  history 
makes  no  mention  of  his  ever  having  flourished  a 
fiddle-stick,  or  figured  in  a  single  dance.  You  have, 
no  doubt,  heard  of  him  ;  he  was  the  illustrious 
Washington,  the  father  and  deliverer  of  his  coun- 
try ;  and,  as  our  nation  is  remarkable  for  gratitude 
to  great  men,  it  always  does  honour  to  their  mem- 
ory, by  placing  their  monuinents  over  the  doors  of 
taverns,  or  in  the  corners  of  dancing-rooms." 

From  thence  my  friend  and  I  strolled  into  a  small 
apartment  adjoining  the  grand  saloon,  where  I  be- 
held a  number  of  grave-looking  persons  with  vener- 
able gray  heads,  but  without  beards,  which  I  thought 
very  unbecoming,  seated  around  a  table,  studying 
hieroglyphics ; — I  approached  them  with  reverence, 
as  so  many  magi,  or  learned  men,  endeavouring  to 
expound  the  mysteries  of  P2gyptian  science  :  several 
of  them  threw  down  money,  which  I  supposed  was 
a  reward  proposed  for  some  great  discovery,  when 
presently  one  of  them  spread  his  hieroglyphics  on 
the  table,  exclaimed  triumphantly,  "  two  bullets  and 
a  bragger  !  "  and  swept  all  the  money  into  his  pock- 
et. He  has  discovered  a  key  to  the  hieroglyphic", 
thought  I  ; — happy  mortal  !  no  doubt  his  name  will 
be  immortalized.  Willing,  however,  to  be  satisfied, 
I  looked  round  on  my  companion  with  an  inquiring 
eye — he  understood  me,  and  informed  me,  that  these 
were  a  company  of  friends,  who  had  met  together 
to  win  each  other's  money,  and  be  agreeable.  "  Is 
that  all .'  "  exclaimed  I,  "  why,  then,  I  pray  you,  make 
way,  and  let  me  escape  from  this  temple  of  abofiii- 
nations,  or  who  knows  but  these  people,  who  meet 
together  to  toil,  worry,  and  fatigue  themselves  to 
death,  and  give  it  the  name  of  pleasure ; — and  who 
win  each  other's  money  by  way  of  being  agreeable  ; 


SALMAGUNDI. 


723 


— may  some  one  of  them  take  a  liking-  to  me,  and 
pick  my  pocket,  or  break  my  head  in  a  paroxysm  of 
hearty  good-will ! " 

Thy  friend,  MUSTAPHA. 


BY  ANTHONY  EVERGREEN,  GENT. 

Nunc  est  bibendumy  nuKC pede  libera 
PuUanda  tellus.  — Hor, 

Now  is  the  tyme  for  wine  and  myrthful  sportes, 
For  daunce,  and  song,  and  disportes  of  syche  sortes. 

— Link,  Fid, 

The  winter  campaign  has  opened.  Fashion  has 
summoned  her  numerous  legions  at  the  sound  of 
trumpet,  tamborine,  and  drum  ;  and  all  the  harmo- 
nious minstrelsy  of  the  orchestra,  to  hasten  from  the 
dull,  silent,  and  insipid  glades  and  groves,  where 
they  have  vegetated  during  the  summer;  recovering 
from  the  ravages  of  the  last  winter's  campaign. 
Our  fair  ones  have  hurried  to  town,  eager  to  pay 
their  devotions  to  this  tutelary  deity,  and  to  make 
an  offering  at  her  shrine  of  the  few  pale  and  tran- 
sient roses  they  gathered  in  their  healthful  retreat. 
The  fiddler  rosins  his  bow,  the  card-table  devotee 
is  shuffling  her  pack ;  the  young  ladies  are  indus- 
triously spangling  muslins  ;  and  the  tea-party  heroes 
are  airing  their  chapeaiix  bras,  and  pease-blossom 
breeches,  to  prepare  for  figuring  in  the  gay  circle  of 
smiles,  and  graces,  and  beauty.  Now  the  fine  lady 
forgets  her  country  friends  in  the  hurry  of  fashiona- 
ble engagements,  or  receives  the  simple  intruder, 
who  has  foolishly  accepted  her  thousand  pressing  in- 
vitations, with  such  politeness  that  the  poor  soul  de- 
termines never  to  come  again  ; — now  the  gay  buck, 
who  erst  figured  at  Ballston,  and  quaffed  the  pure 
spring,  exchanges  the  sparkling  water  for  still  more 
sparkling  champaign  ;  and  deserts  the  nymph  of  the 
fountain,  to  enlist  under  the  standard  of  jolly  Bac- 
chus. In  short,  now  is  the  important  lime  of  the 
year  in  which  to  harangue  the  bon-ton  reader ;  and, 
like  some  ancient  hero  in  front  of  the  battle,  to 
spirit  him  up  to  deeds  of  noble  daring,  or  still  more 
noble  suffering,  in  the  ranks  of  fashionable  warfare. 

Such,  indeed,  has  been  my  intention ;  but  the  num- 
ber of  cases  which  have  lately  come  before  me,  and 
the  variety  of  complaints  I  have  received  from  a 
crowd  of  honest  and  well-meaning  correspondents, 
call  for  more  immediate  attention.  A  host  of  ap- 
peals, petitions,  and  letters  of  advice  are  now  before 
me;  and  I  believe  the  shortest  way  to  satisfy  my 
petitioners,  memorialists,  and  advisers,  will  be  to 
publish  their  letters,  as  I  suspect  the  object  of  most 
of  them  is  merely  to  get  into  print. 


these  occasions ;  for,  to  speak  my  mind  freely,  there 
are  certain  young  gentlemen  who  seem  to  consider 
fashionable  parties  as  mere  places  to  barter  old 
clothes ;  and  I  am  informed  that  a  number  of  them 
manage,  by  this  great  system  of  exchange,  to  keep 
their  crowns  decently  covered  without  their  hatter 
suffering  in  the  least  by  it. 

It  was  but  lately  that  I  went  to  a  private  ball  with 
a  new  hat,  and  on  returning,  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
evening,  and  asking  for  it,  the  scoundrel  of  a  serv- 
ant, with  a  broad  grin,  informed  me  that  the  new- 
hats  had  been  dealt  out  half  an  hour  since,  and  they 
were  then  on  the  third  quality;  and  1  was  in  the 
end  obliged  to  borrow  a  young  lady's  beaver  rather 
than  go  home  with  any  of  the  ragged  remnants  that 
were  left. 

Now  I  would  wish  to  know  if  there  is  no  possibil- 
ity of  having  these  offenders  punished  by  law ;  and 
whether  it  would  not  be  advisable  for  ladies  to  men- 
tion in  their  cards  of  invitation,  as  a  postscript, 
•'  stealing  of  hats  and  shawls  positively  prohibited." 
At  any  rate  1  would  thank  you,  Mr.  Evergreen,  to 
discountenance  the  thing  totally,  by  publishing  in 
your  paper  that  stealing  a  hat  is  no  joke. 

Your  humble  servant,        Walter  Withers. 

My  correspondent  is  informed  that  the  police  have 
determined  to  take  this  matter  into  consideration, 
and  have  set  apart  Saturday  mornings  for  the  cogni- 
zance of  fashionable  larcenies. 

Mr.  Evergreen — Sir : — Do  you  think  a  married 
woman  may  lawfully  put  her  husband  right  in  a 
story,  before  strangers,  when  she  knows  him  to  be 
in  the  wrong ;  and  can  any  thing  authorize  a  wife  in 
the  exclaination  of — "lord,  my  dear,  how  can  you 
say  so .'' " 


TO  ANTHONY  EVERGREEN,  GENT. 

Sir : — As  you  appear  to  have  taken  to  yourself  the 
trouble  of  meddling  in  the  concerns  of  the  beau 
monde,  1  take  the  liberty  of  appealing  to  you  on  a 
subject  which,  though  considered  merely  as  a  very 
good  joke,  has  occasioned  me  great  vexation  and 
expense.  You  must  know  I  pride  myself  on  being 
very  useful  to  the  ladies :  that  is,  I  take  boxes  for 
them  at  the  theatre,  go  shopping  with  them,  supply 
them  with  bouquets,  and  furnish  them  with  novels 
from  the  circulating  library.  In  consequence  of  these 
attentions,  I  am  become  a  great  favourite,  and  there 
is  seldom  a  party  going  on  in  the  city  without  my 
having  an  invitation.  The  grievance  I  have  to  men- 
tion is  the  exchange  of  hats  which  takes  place  on 


MARGARET  TlMSON. 


Dear  Anthony  :— Going  down  Broadway  this 
morning  in  a  great  hurry,  I  ran  full  against  an  ob- 
ject which  at  first  put  me  to  a  prodigious  nonplus. 
Observing  it  to  be  dressed  in  a  man's  hat,  a  cloth 
overcoat  and  spatterdashes,  I  framed  my  apology 
accordingly,  exclaiming,  "  my  dear  sir,  I  ask  ten 
thousand  pardons  ; — I  assure  you,  sir,  it  was  entirely 
accidental : — pray  excuse  me,  sir,"  &c.  At  every  one 
of  these  excuses  the  thing  answered  me  with  a  down- 
right laugh  ;  at  which  I  was  not  a  httle  surprised, 
until,  on  resorting  to  my  pocket-glass,  I  discovered 
that  it  was  no  other  than  my  old  acquaintance,  Cla- 
rinda  Trollop  ; — I  never  was  more  chagrined  in  my 
life ;  for,  being  an  old  bachelor,  I  like  to  appear  as 
young  as  possible,  and  am  always  boasting  of  the 
goodness  of  my  eyes.  I  beg  of  you,  Mr.  Evergreen, 
if  you  have  any  feeling  for  your  cotemporaries,  to 
discourage  this  hermaphrodite  mode  of  dress,  for 
really,  if  the  fashion  take,  we  poor  bachelors  will  be 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  distinguish  a  woman  from  a  man. 
Pray  let  me  know  your  opinion,  sir,  whether  a  lady 
who  wears  a  man's  hat  and  spatterdashes  before 
marriage,  may  not  be  apt  to  usurp  some  other  arti- 
cle of  his  dress  afterwards. 

Your  humble  servant,        Roderic  Worry. 

Dear  Mr.  Evergreen  : — The  other  night,  at 
Richard  the  Third,  1  sat  behind  three  gentlemen 
who  talked  very  loud  on  the  subject  of  Richard's 
wooing  Lady  Ann  directly  in  the  face  of  his  crimes 
against  that  lady.  One  of  them  declared  such  an 
unnatural  scene  would  be  hooted  at  in  China.  Pray, 
sir,  was  that  Mr.  Wizard  ?  Selina  Badger. 

P.  S.  The  gentleman  I  allude  to  had  a  pocket- 
glass,  and  wore  his  hair  fastened  behind  by  a  tor- 
toise-shell comb,  with  two  teeth  wanting. 


724 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Mr.  EverGRIN — Sir: — Being  a  little  curious  in 
the  affairs  of  the  toilette,  I  was  much  interested  by 
the  sage  Mustapha's  remarks,  in  your  last  num- 
ber, concerning  the  art  of  manufacturing  a  modern 
fine  lady.  I  would  have  you  caution  your  fair  read- 
ers, however,  to  be  very  careful  in  the  management 
of  their  machinery  ;  as  a  deplorable  accident  hap- 
pened last  assembly,  in  consequence  of  the  archi- 
tecture of  a  lady's  figure  not  being  sufficiently  strong. 
In  the  middle  of  one  of  the  cotillions,  the  company 
was  suddenly  alarmed  by  a  tremendous  crash  at  the 
lower  end  of  the  room,  and,  on  crowding  to  the 
place,  discovered  that  it  was  a  fine  figure  which  had 
unfortunately  broken  down  from  too  great  exertion 
in  a  pigeon  wing.  By  great  good  luck  I  secured  the 
corset,  which  1  carried  home  in  triumph ;  and  the 
next  morning  had  it  publicly  dissected,  and  a  lect- 
ure read  on  it  at  Surgeon's  Hall.  I  have  since  com- 
menced a  dissertation  on  the  subject ;  in  which  I 
shall  treat  of  the  superiority  of  those  figures  manu- 
factured by  steel,  stay-tape,  and  whale-bone,  to  those 
formed  by  dame  nature.  1  shall  show  clearly  that 
the  Venus  de  Medicis  has  no  pretension  to  beauty 
of  form,  as  she  never  wore  stays,  and  her  waist  is  in 
exact  proportion  to  the  rest  of  her  body.  1  shall  in- 
quire into  the  mysteries  of  compression,  and  how 
tight  a  figure  can  be  laced  without  danger  of  faint- 
ing ;  and  whether  it  would  not  be  advisable  for  a 
lady,  when  dressing  for  a  ball,  to  be  attended  by  the 
lamily  physician,  as  culprits  are  when  tortured  on 
the  rack,  to  know  how  much  more  nature  will  en- 
dure. 1  shall  prove  that  ladies  have  discovered  the 
secret  of  that  notorious  juggler,  who  offered  to 
squeeze  himself  into  a  quart  bottle  ;  and  I  shall  dem- 
onstrate, to  the  satisfaction  of  every  fashionable 
reader,  that  there  is  a  degree  of  heroism  in  purchas- 
ing a  preposterously  slender  waist  at  the  expense  of 
an  old  age  of  decrepitude  and  rheumatics.  "This  dis- 
sertation shall  be  published  as  soon  as  finished,  and 
distributed  gratis  among  boarding-school  madams 
and  all  worthy  matrons  who  are  ambitious  that  their 
daughters  should  sit  straight,  move  like  clock-work, 
and  •'  do  credit  to  their  bringing  up."  In  the  mean 
time,  I  have  hung  up  the  skeleton  of  the  corset  in  the 
museum,  beside  a  dissected  weazle  and  a  stuffed  alli- 
gator, where  it  may  be  inspected  by  all  those  natu- 
ralists who  are  fond  of  studying  the  "  human  form 
divine."    Yours,  &c.  Julian  Cognous. 

P.  S.  By  accurate  calculation  I  find  it  is  danger- 
ous for  a  fine  figure,  when  full  dressed,  to  pronounce 
a  word  of  more  than  three  syllables.  Fine  Figure, 
if  in  love,  may  indulge  in  a  gentle  sigh  ;  but  a  sob  is 
hazardous.  Fine  Figure  may  smile  with  safety,  may 
even  venture  as  far  as  a  giggle,  but  must  never  risk 
a  loud  laugh.  Figure  must  never  play  the  part  of  a 
confidante  ;  as  at  a  tea-party  some  fine  evenings 
since,  a  young  lady,  whose  unparalleled  impalpability 
of  waist  was  the  envy  of  the  drawing-room,  burst 
with  an  important  secret,  and  had  three  ribs — of  her 
corset ! — fractured  on  the  spot. 

Mr.  Evergreen — Sir : — I  am  one  of  those  in- 
dustrious gemmen  who  labour  hard  to  obtain  cur- 
rency in  the  fashionable  world.  I  have  went  to  great 
expense  in  little  boots,  short  vests,  and  long  breech- 
es ; — my  coat  is  regularly  imported,  per  stage,  from 
Philadelphia,  duly  insured  against  all  risks,  and 
my  boots  are  smuggled  from  Bond-street.  I  have 
lounged  in  Broadway  with  one  of  the  most  crooked 
walking-sticks  I  could  procure,  and  have  sported  a 
pair  of  salmon-coloured  small-clothes,  and  flame- 
coloured  stockings,  at  every  concert  and  ball  to 
which  1  could  purchase  admission.  Being  affeared 
that  I  might  possibly  appear  to  less  advantage  as  a 
pedestrian,  in  consequence  of  my  being  rather  short 


and  a  little  bandy,  I  have  lately  hired  a  tall  horse, 
with  cropped  ears  and  a  cocked  tail,  on  which  I 
have  joined  the  cavalcade  of  pretty  gemmen,  who 
exhibit  bright  stirrups  every  fine  morning  in  Broad- 
way and  take  a  canter  of  two  miles  per  day,  at  the 
rate  of  three  hundred  dollars  per  annum.  But,  sir, 
all  this  expense  has  been  laid  out  in  vain,  for  I  can 
scarcely  get  a  partner  at  an  assembly,  or  an  invita- 
tion to  a  tea-party.  Pray,  sir,  inform  me  what  more 
1  can  do  to  acquire  admission  into  the  true  stylish 
circles,  and  whether  it  would  not  be  advisable  to 
charter  a  curricle  for  a  month  and  have  my  cypher 
put  on  it,  as  is  done  by  certain  dashers  of  my  ac- 
quaintance. 

Yours  to  serve,  Malvolio  Dubster. 


TEA:    A  POEM. 

FROM  THE  MILL  OF  PINDAR  COCKLOFT,   ESQ. 

And  earnestly  recommended  to  the  attention  of  all  Maidens 
of  a  certain  age. 


Old  time,  my  dear  girls,  is  a  knave  who  in  truth 
From  the  fairest  of  beauties  will  pilfer  their  youth; 
Who,  by  constant  attention  and  wily  deceit. 
For  ever  is  coaxing  some  grace  to  retreat; 
And,  like  crafty  seducer,  with  subtle  approach, 
The  further  indulged,  will  still  further  encroach. 
Since  this  "thief  of  the  world"  has  made  oil  with  your 

bloom. 
And  left  you  some  score  of  stale  years  in  its  room — 
Has  depriv'd  you  of  all  those  gay  dreams,  that  would 

dance 
In  your  brains  at  fifteen,  and  your  bosoms  entrance; 
And  has  forc'd  you  almost  to  renounce,  in  despair, 
The  hope  of  a  husband's  affection  and  care — 
Since  such  is  the  case,  and  a  case  rather  hard  ! 
Permit  one  who  holds  you  in  special  regard. 
To  furnish  such  hints  in  your  loveless  estate 
As  may  shelter  your  names  from  distraction  and  hate. 
Too  often  our  maidens,  grown  aged,  I  ween. 
Indulge  to  excess  in  the  workings  of  spleen; 
And  at  times,  when  annoy'd  by  the  slights  of  mankind. 
Work  off  their  resentment — by  speaking  their  mind: 
Assemble  together  in  snuff-taking  clan, 
And  hold  round  the  tea-urn  a  solemn  divan. 
A  convention  of  tattling — a  tea  party  hight. 
Which,  like  meeting  of  witches,  is  brew'd  up  at  night; 
Where  each  matron  arrives,  fraught  with  tales  of  sur- 
prise, 
With  knowing  suspicion  and  doubtful  surmise; 
Like  the  broomstick  whirl'd  hags  that  appear  in  Mac- 
beth, 
Each  bearing  some  relic  of  venom  or  death, 
"  To  stir  up  the  toil  and  to  double  the  trouble. 
That  fire  may  burn,  and  that  cauldron  may  bubble." 

When  the  party  commences, all  starch'd  and  all  glum. 
They  talk  of  the  weather,  their  corns,  or  sit  mum: 
They  will  tell  you  of  cambric,  of  ribands,  of  lace. 
How  cheap  they  were  sold — and  will  name  you  the 

place. 
They  discourse  of  their  colds,  and  they  hem  and  they 

cough. 
And  complain  of  their  servants  to  pass  the  time  off; 
Or  list  to  the  tale  of  some  doating  mamma 
How  her  ten  weeks'  old  baby  will  laugh  and  say  taa! 

But  tea,  that  enHvener  of  wit  and  of  soul — 
More  loquacious  by  far  than  the  draughts  of  the  bowl, 
Soon  unloosens  the  tongue  and  enlivens  the  mind. 
And  enlightens  their  eyes  to  the  faults  of  mankind. 

'Tvvas  thus  with  the  Pythia,  who  served  at  the  fount 
That  flow'd  near  the  far-famed  Parnassian  mount, 
While  the  steam  was  inhal'd  of  the  sulphuric  spring, 
Her  vision  expanded,  her  fancy  took  wing; — 
By  its  aid  she  pronounced  the  oracular  will 
That  Apollo  commanded  his  sons  to  fulfil. 


SALMAGUNDI. 


725 


But  alas!  the  sad  vestal,  performing  the  rite, 
Appear'd  like  a  demon — terrific  to  sight." 

E'en  the  priests  of  Apollo  averted  their  eyes, 
And  the  temple  of  Delphi  resounded  her  cries, 
But  quitting  the  nymph  of  the  tripod  of  yore. 
We  return  to  the  dames  of  the  tea-pot  once  more. 

In  harmless  chit-chat  an  acquaintance  they  roast, 
And  serve  up  a  friend,  as  they  serve  up  a  toast; 
Some  gentle  faux  pas,  or  some  female  mistake, 
Is  like  sweetmeats  delicious,  or  relished  as  cake; 
A  bit  of  broad  scandal  is  like  a  dry  crust. 
It  would  stick  in  the  throat,  so  they  butter  it  first 
With  a  little  affected  good-nature,  and  cry 
"  No  body  regrets  the  thing  deep  than  I." 
Our  young  ladies  nibble  a  good  name  in  play 
As  for  pastime  they  nibble  a  biscuit  away: 
While  with  shrugs  and  surmises,  the  toothless  old  dame. 
As  she  mumbles  a  crust  she  will  mumble  a  name. 
And  as  the  fell  sisters  astonished  the  Scot, 
In  predicting  of  Banquo's  descendants  the  lot. 
Making  shadows  of  kings,  amid  flashes  of  light, 
To  appear  in  array  and  to  frown  in  his  sight, 
So  they  conjure  up  spectres  all  hideous  in  hue. 
Which,  as  shades  of  their  neighbours,  are  passed  in 
review. 

The  wives  of  our  cits  of  inferior  degree. 
Will  soak  up  repute  in  a  little  bohea; 
The  potion  is  vulgar,  and  vulgar  the  slang 
With  which  on  their  neighbours'  defects  they  harangue; 
But  the  scandal  improves,  a  refinement  in  wrong! 
As  our  matrons  are  richer  and  rise  to  souchong. 
With  hyson — a  beverage  that's  still  more  refin'd, 
Our  ladies  of  fashion  enliven  their  mind. 
And  by  nods,  innuendoes,  and  hints,  and  what  not, 
Reputations  and  tea  send  together  to  pot. 
While  madam  in  cambrics  and  laces  array'd. 
With  her  plate  and  her  liveries  in  splendid  parade. 
Will  drink  in  imperial  a  friend  at  a  sup. 
Or  in  gunpowder  blow  them  by  dozens  all  up. 
Ah  me!  how  I  groan  when  with  full  swelling  sail 
Wafted  stately  along  by  the  favouring  gale, 
A  China  ship  proudly  arrives  in  our  bay. 
Displaying  her  streamers  and  blazing  away. 
Oh!  more  fell  to  our  port,  is  the  cargo  she  bears, 
Than  grenadoes,  torpedoes,  or  warlike  affairs: 
Each  chest  is  a  bombshell  thrown  into  our  town 
To  shatter  repute  and  bring  character  down. 

Ye  Samquas,  ye  Chinquas,  Chouquas,  so  free. 
Who  discharge  on  our  coast  your  cursed  quantums  of 

tea. 
Oh  think,  as  ye  waft  the  sad  weed  from  your  strand. 
Of  the  plagues  and  vexations  ye  deal  to  our  land. 
As   the   Upas'  dread  breath,  o'er  the  plain  where  it 

flies. 
Empoisons  and  blasts  each  green  blade  that  may  rise. 
So,  wherever  the  leaves  of  your  shrub  find  their  way. 
The  social  affections  soon  suffer  decay: 
Like  to  Java's  drear  waste  they  embarren  the  heart, 
Till  the  blossoms  of  love  and  of  friendship  depart. 

Ah,  ladies,  and  was  it  by  heaven  design'd. 
That  ye  should  be  merciful,  loving  and  kind  ! 
Did  it  form  you  like  angels,  and  send  you  below 
To  prophesy  peace — to  bid  charity  flow! 
And  have  ye  thus  left  your  primeval  estate. 
And  wandered  so  widely — so  strangely  of  late? 
Alas!  the  sad  cause  I  too  plainly  can  see — 
These  evils  have  all  come  upon  you  through  tea! 
Cursed  weed,  that  can  make  our  fair  spirits  resign 
The  character  mild  of  their  mission  divine; 
That  can  blot  from  their  bosoms  that  tenderness  true. 
Which  from  female  to  female  for  ever  is  due! 
Oh,  how  nice  is  the  texture — how  fragile  the  frame 
Of  that  delicate  blossom,  a  female's  fair  fame! 
'Tis  the  sensitive  plant,  it  recoils  from  the  breath 
And  shrinks  from  the  touch  as  if  pregnant  with  death. 
How  often,  how  often,  has  innocence  sigh'd; 
Has  beauty  been  reft  of  its  honour — its  pride; 
Has  virtue,  though  pure  as  an  angel  of  light. 
Been  painted  as  dark  as  a  demon  of  night: 
All  offer'd  up  victims,  an  auto  da  fe. 
At  the  gloomy  cabals — the  dark  orgies  of  tea! 


If  I,  in  the  remnant  that's  left  me  of  life. 
Am  to  suffer  the  torments  of  slanderous  strife. 
Let  me  fall,  I  implore,  in  the  slang-whanger's  claw. 
Where  the  evil  is  open,  and  subject  to  law. 
Not  nibbled,  and  mumbled,  and  put  to  the  rack. 
By  the  sly  underminings  of  tea  party  clack: 
Condemn  me,  ye  gods,  to  a  newspaper  roasting, 
But  spare  me!  oh,  spare  me,  a  tea  table  toasting! 


No.  XX.— MONDAY,  JANUARY   25,  1808. 

FROM   MY  ELBOW-CHAIR. 


Extremitm  hunc  ntihi  concede  laborem.     ViRG. 
"  Soft  you,  a  word  or  two  before  we  part." 

In  this  season  of  festivity,  when  the  gate  of  time 
swing's  open  on  its  hinges,  and  an  honest  rosy-faced 
New- Year  comes  waddling  in,  like  a  jolly  fat-sided 
alderman,  loaded  with  good  wishes,  good  humour, 
and  minced  pies ; — at  this  joyous  era  it  has  been  the 
custom,  from  time  immemorial,  in  this  ancient  and 
respectable  city,  for  periodical  writers,  from  reverend, 
grave,  and  potent  essayists  like  ourselves  !  down  to 
the  humble  but  industrious  editors  of  magazines,  re- 
views, and  newspapers,  to  tender  their  subscribers 
the  compliments  of  the  season  ;  and  when  they  have 
slily  thawed  their  hearts  with  a  little  of  the  sunshine 
of  flattery,  to  conclude  by  delicately  dunning  them 
for  their  arrears  of  subscription  money.  In  like 
manner  the  carriers  of  newpapers,  who  undoubtedly 
belong  to  the  ancient  and  honourable  order  of  liter- 
ati, do  regularly,  at  the  commencement  of  the  year, 
salute  their  patrons  with  abundance  of  excellent  ad- 
vice, convej'ed  in  exceeding  good  poetry,  for  whicli 
the  aforesaid  good-natured  patrons  are  well  pleased 
to  pay  them  exactly  twenty-five  cents.  In  walking 
the  streets  I  am  every  day  saluted  with  good  wishes 
from  old  gray-headed  negroes,  whom  I  never  recol- 
lect to  have  seen  before ;  and  it  was  but  a  few  days 
ago,  that  I  was  called  to  receive  the  compliments  of  an 
ugly  old  woman,  who  last  spring  was  employed  by 
Mrs.  Cockloft  to  whitewash  my  room  and  put 
things  in  order;  a  phrase  which,  if  rightly  under- 
stood, means  little  else  than  huddling  every  thing 
into  holes  and  corners,  so  that  if  I  want  to  find  any 
particular  article,  it  is,  in  the  language  of  an  humble 
but  expressive  saying, — "  looking  for  a  needle  in  a 
haystack."  Not  recognizing  my  visitor,  I  demanded 
by  what  authority  she  wished  me  a  "  Happy  New- 
Year  .' "  Her  claim  was  one  of  the  weakest  she 
could  have  urged,  for  I  have  an  innate  and  mortal 
antipathy  to  this  custom  of  putting  things  to  rights ; 
— so  giving  the  old  witch  a  pistareen,  I  desired  her 
forthwith  to  mount  her  broomstick,  and  ride  off  as 
fast  as  possible. 

Of  all  the  various  ranks  of  society,  the  bakers 
alone,  to  their  immortal  honour  be  it  recorded,  de- 
part from  this  practice  of  making  a  market  of  con- 
gratulations ;  and,  in  addition  to  always  allowing 
thirteen  to  the  dozen,  do  vt-ith  great  liberality,  in- 
stead of  drawing  on  the  purses  of  their  customers 
at  the  New-Year,  present  them  with  divers  large, 
fair,  spiced  cakes  ;  which,  like  the  shield  of  Achilles, 
or  an  Egyptian  obelisk,  are  adorned  with  figures 
of  a  variety  of  strange  animals,  that,  in  their  con- 
formation, out-marvel  all  the  wild  wonders  of  nat- 
ure. 

This  honest  gray-beard  custom  of  setting  apart  a 
certain  portion  of  this  good-for-nothing  existence 
for  the  purposes  of  cordiality,  social  merriment,  and 
good  cheer,  is  one  of  the  inestimable  relics  handed 
down  to  us  from  our  worthy  Dutch .  ancestors.     In 


726 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


perusing  one  of  the  manuscripts  from  my  worthy 
grandfather's  mahogany  chest  of  drawers,  I  find  the 
new  year  was  celebrated  with  great  festivity  during 
that  golden  age  of  our  city,  when  the  reins  of  gov- 
ernment were  held  by  the  renowned  Rip  Van  Dam, 
v.'ho  always  did  honour  to  the  season  by  seeing  out 
the  old  year  ;  a  ceremony  which  consisted  in  plying 
his  guests  with  bumpers,  until  not  one  of  them  was 
capable  of  seeing.  "  Truly,"  observes  my  grand- 
father, who  was  generally  of  these  parties — "  Truly, 
he  was  a  most  stately  and  magnificent  burgomaster  ! 
inasmuch  as  he  did  right  lustily  carouse  it  with  his 
friends  about  New-Year ;  roasting  huge  quantities 
of  turkeys  ;  baking  innumerable  minced  pyes ;  and 
smacking  the  lips  of  all  fair  ladies  the  which  he 
did  meet,  with  such  sturdy  emphasis  that  the  same 
might  have  been  heard  the  distance  of  a  stone's 
throw."  In  his  days,  according  to  my  grandfather, 
were  first  invented  these  notable  cakes,  hight  new- 
year-cookies,  which  originally  were  impressed  on  one 
side  with  the  honest,  burly  countenance  of  the 
illustrious  Rip;  and  on  the  other  with  that  of  the  noted 
St.  Nicholas,  vulgarly  called  Santaclaus  ; — of  all  the 
saints  in  the  kalendar  the  most  venerated  by  true 
Hollanders,  and  their  unsophisticated  descendants. 
These  cakes  are  to  this  time  given  on  the  first  of 
January  to  all  visitors,  together  with  a  glass  of 
cherry-bounce,  or  raspberry-brandy.  It  is  with 
great  regret,  however,  I  observe  that  the  simplicity 
of  this  venerable  usage  has  been  much  violated  by 
modern  pretenders  to  style  !  and  our  respectable 
new-year-cookies,  and  cherry-bounce,  elbowed  aside 
by  plum-cake  and  outlandish  liqueurs,  in  the  same 
way  that  our  worthy  old  Dutch  families  are  out- 
dazzled  by  modern  upstarts,  and  mushroom  cockneys. 

In  addition  to  this  divine  origin  of  new-year  fes- 
tivity, there  is  something  exquisitely  grateful,  to  a 
good-natured  mind,  in  seeing  every  face  dressed  in 
smiles  ; — in  hearing  the  oft-repeated  salutations  that 
flow  spontaneously  from  the  heart  to  the  lips  ; — in 
beholding  the  poor,  for  once,  enjoying  the  smiles  of 
plenty,  and  forgetting  the  cares  which  press  hard 
upon  them,  in  the  jovial  revelry  of  the  feelings ; — 
the  young  children  decked  out  in  their  Sunday 
clothes  and  freed  from  their  only  cares,  the  cares  of 
the  school,  tripping  through  the  streets  on  eiTands 
of  pleasure  ; — and  even  the  very  negroes,  those  holi- 
day-loving rogues,  gorgeously  arrayed  in  cast-off 
finery,  collected  in  juntos,  at  corners,  displaying 
their  white  teeth,  and  making  the  welkin  ring  with 
bursts  of  laughter, — loud  enough  to  crack  even  the 
icy  cheek  of  old  winter.  There  is  something  so 
pleasant  in  all  this,  that  I  confess  it  would  give  me 
real  pain  to  behold  the  frigid  influence  of  modern 
style  cheating  us  of  this  jubilee  of  the  heart ;  and 
converting  it,  as  it  does  every  other  article  of  social 
intercourse,  into  an  idle  and  unmeaning  ceremony. 
'Tis  the  annual  festival  of  good-humour ; — it  comes 
in  the  dead  of  winter,  when  nature  is  without  a 
charm,  when  our  pleasures  are  contracted  to  the 
fire-side,  and  where  every  thing  that  unlocks  the 
icy  fetters  of  the  heart,  and  sets  the  genial  current 
flowing,  should  be  cherished,  as  a  stray  lamb  found 
in  the  wilderness ;  of  a  flower  blooming  among 
tliorns  and  briers. 

Animated  by  these  sentiments,  it  is  with  peculiar 
satisfaction  I  perceived  that  the  last  New- Year  was 
kept  with  more  than  ordinary  enthusiasm.  It  seem- 
ed as  if  the  good  old  times  had  rolled  back  again 
and  brought  with  them  all  the  honest,  unceremoni- 
ous intercourse  of  those  golden  days,  when  people 
were  more  open  and  sincere,  more  moral,  and  more 
hospitable  than  now  ; — when  every  object  carried 
about  it  a  charm  which  the  hand  of  time  h.is  stolen 
away,  or  turned  to  a  deformity;  when  the  women  were 


more  simple,  more  domestic,  more  lovely,  and  more 
true  ;  and  when  even  the  sun,  like  a  heaity  old  blade 
as  he  is,  shone  with  a  genial  lustre  unknown  in  these 
degenerate  days : — in  short,  those  fairy  times,  when 
I  was  a  mad-cap  boy,  crowding  every  enjoy- 
ment into  the  present  moment ; — making  of  the  past 
an  oblivion  ; — of  the  future  a  heaven  ;  and  careless 
of,  all  that  was  "  over  the  hills  and  far  away."  Only 
one  thing  was  wanting  to  make  every  part  of  the 
celebration  accord  with  its  ancient  simplicity.  The 
ladies,  who — I  write  it  with  the  most  piercing  regret — 
are  generally  at  the  head  of  all  domestic  innovations, 
most  fastidiously  refused  that  mark  of  good-will,  that 
chaste  and  holy  salute  which  was  so  fashionable  in 
the  happy  days  of  governor  Rip  and  the  patriarchs. 
Even  the  Miss  Cocklofts,  who  belong  to  a  family 
that  is  the  last  entrenchment  behind  which  the  man- 
ners of  the  good  old  school  have  retired,  made  vio- 
lent opposition  ;  and  whenever  a  gentleman  entered 
the  room,  immediately  put  themselves  in  a  posture  of 
defence ; — this  Will  Wizard,  with  his  usual  shrewd- 
ness, insists  was  only  to  give  the  visitor  a  hint  that 
they  expected  an  attack  ;  and  declares,  he  has  uni- 
formly observed,  that  the  resistance  of  those  ladies 
who  make  the  greatest  noise  and  bustle,  is  most 
easily  overcome.  This  sad  innovation  originated  with 
my  good  aunt  Charity,  who  was  as  arrant  a  tabby  as 
ever  wore  whiskers  ;  and  I  am  not  a  little  afflicted  to 
find  that  she  has  found  so  many  followers,  even 
among  the  young  and  beautiful. 

In  compliance  with  an  ancient  and  venerable  cus- 
tom, sanctioned  by  time  and  our  ancestors,  and 
more  especially  by  my  own  inclinations,  I  will  take 
this  opportunity  to  salute  my  readers  with  as  many 
good  wishes  as  I  can  possibly  spare  ;  for,  in  truth, 
I  have  been  so  prodigal  of  late,  that  I  have  but  few 
remaining.  I  should  have  offered  my  congratula- 
tions sooner;  but,  to  be  candid,  having  luade  the 
last  new-year's  campaign,  according  to  custom,  un- 
der cousin  Christopher,  in  which  I  have  seen  some 
pretty  hard  service,  my  head  has  been  somewhat 
out  of  order  of  late,  and  my  intellects  rather  cloudy 
for  clear  writing.  Beside,  1'  may  allege  as  another 
reason,  that  I  have  deferred  my  greetings  until  this 
day,  which  is  exactly  one  year  since  we  introduced 
ourselves  to  the  public ;  and  surely  periodical  wri- 
ters have  the  same  right  of  dating  from  the  com- 
mencement of  their  works  that  monarchs  have  from 
the  time  of  their  coronation  ;  or  our  most  puissant 
republic  from  the  declaration  of  its  independence. 

These  good  wishes  are  warmed  into  more  than 
usual  benevolence  by  the  thought  that  I  am  now,  . 
perhaps,  addressing  my  old  friends  for  the  last  time. 
That  we  should  thus  cut  off  our  work  in  the  very 
vigour  of  its  existence  may  excite  some  little  matter  of 
wonderin  this  enlightened  community. — Now,  though 
we  could  give  a  variety  of  good  reasons  for  so  doing, 
yet  it  would  be  an  ill-natured  act  to  deprive  the  pub- 
lic of  such  an  admirable  opportunity  to  indulge  in 
their  favourite  amusement  of  conjecture :  so  we  gen- 
erously leave  them  to  flounder  in  the  smooth  ocean 
of  glorious  uncertainty.  Beside,  we  have  ever  con- 
sidered it  as  beneath  persons  of  our  dignity  to  ac- 
count for  our  movements  or  caprices  ;  — •  thank 
heaven,  we  are  not  like  the  unhappy  rulers  of  this 
enlightened  land,  accountable  to  the  mob  for  our 
actions,  or  dependent  on  their  smiles  for  support ! — 
this  much,  however,  we  will  say,  it  is  not  for  want 
of  subjects  that  we  stop  our  career.  We  are  not  in 
the  situation  of  poor  Alexander  the  Great,  who  wept, 
as  well  indeed  he  might,  because  there  were  no  more 
worlds  to  conquer ;  for,  to  do  justice  to  this  queer, 
odd,  rantipole  city  and  this  whimsical  country,  there 
is  matter  enough  in  them  to  keep  our  risible  muscles  | 
and  our  pens  going  until  doomsday.  1 


SALMAGUNDI. 


727 


Most  people,  in  taking  a  farewell  which  may,  per- 
haps, be  for  ever,  are  anxious  to  part  on  good  terms; 
and  it  is  usual,  on  such  melancholy  occasions,  for 
even  enemies  to  shake  hands,  forget  their  previous 
quarrels,  and  bury  all  former  animosities  in  parting 
regrets.  Now,  because  most  people  do  this,  1  am 
determined  to  act  in  quite  a  different  way ;  for,  as  I 
have  lived,  so  I  should  wish  to  die  in  my  own  way, 
without  imitating  any  person,  whatever  may  be  his 
rank,  talents,  or  reputation.  Besides,  if  1  know  our 
trio,  we  have  no  enmities  to  obliterate,  no  hatchet  to 
bury,  and  as  to  all  injuries — those  we  have  long  since 
forgivtr.  At  this  moment  there  is  not  an  individ- 
ual in  the  world,  not  even  the  Pope  himself,  to  whom 
we  have  any  personal  hostility.  But  if,  shutting 
their  eyes  to  the  many  striking  proofs  of  good-nat- 
ure displayed  through  the  whole  course  of  this  work, 
there  should  be  any  persons  so  singularly  ridiculous 
as  to  take  offence  at  our  strictures,  we  heartily  for- 
give their  stupidity  ;  earnestly  entreating  them  to  de- 
sist from  all  manifestations  of  ill-humour,  lest  they 
should,  peradventure,  be  classed  under  some  one  of 
the  denominations  of  recreants  we  have  felt  it  our 
duty  to  hold  up  to  public  ridicule.  Even  at  this  mo- 
ment we  feel  a  glow  of  parting  philanthropy  stealing 
upon  us ; — a  sentiment  of  cordial  good-will  towards 
the  numerous  host  of  readers  that  have  jogged  on 
at  our  heels  during  the  last  year;  and,  in  justice  to 
ourselves,  must  seriously  protest,  that  if  at  any  time 
we  have  treated  them  a  little  ungently,  it  was  purely 
in  that  spirit  of  hearty  affection  with  which  a  school- 
master drubs  an  unlucky  urchin,  or  a  humane  mule- 
teer his  recreant  animal,  at  the  very  moment  when 
his  heart  is  brim-full  of  loving-kindness.  If  this  is 
not  considered  an  ample  justification,  so  much  the 
worse ;  for  in  that  case  I  fear  we  shall  remain  for 
ever  unjustified  ; — a  most  desperate  extremity,  and 
worthy  of  every  man's  commiseration  ! 

One  circumstance  in  particular  has  tickled  us 
mightily  as  we  jogged  along,  and  that  is  the  aston- 
ishing secrecy  with  which  we  have  been  able  to  carry 
on  our  lucubrations  !  Fully  aware  of  the  profound 
sagacity  of  the  public  of  Gotham,  and  their  won- 
derful faculty  of  distinguishing  a  writer  by  his  style, 
it  is  with  great  self-congratulation  we  find  that  sus- 
picion has  never  pointed  to  us  as  the  authors  of  Sal- 
magundi. Our  gray-beard  speculations  have  been 
most  bountifully  attributed  to  sundry  smart  young 
gentlemen,  who,  for  aught  we  know,  have  no  beards 
at  all;  and  we  have  often  been  highly  amused,  when 
they  were  charged  with  the  sin  of  writing  what  their 
harmless  minds  never  conceived,  to  see  them  affect 
all  the  blushing  modesty  and  beautiful  embarrass- 
ment of  detected  virgin  authors.  The  profound  and 
penetrating  public,  having  so  long  been  led  away 
from  truth  and  nature  by  a  constant  perusal  of  those 
delectable  histories  and  romances  from  beyond  seas, 
in  which  human  nature  is  for  the  most  part  wickedly 
mangled  and  debauched,  have  never  once  imagined 
this  work  was  a  genuine  and  most  authentic  history ; 
that  the  Cocklofts  were  a  real  family,  dwelling  in  the 
city; — paying  scot  and  lot,  entitled  to  the  right  of 
suffrage,  and  holding  several  respectable  offices  in 
the  corporation. — As  little  do  they  suspect  that  there 
is  a  knot  of  merry  old  bachelors  seated  snugly  in  the 
old-fashioned  parlour  of  an  old-fashioned  Dutch 
house,  with  a  weathercock  on  the  top  that  came 
from  Holland,  who  amuse  themselves  of  an  evening 
by  laughing  at  their  neighbours  in  an  honest  way, 
and  who  manage  to  jog  on  through  the  streets  of 
our  ancient  and  venerable  city  without  elbowing  or 
being  elbowed  by  a  living  soul. 

When  we  first  adopted  tlie  idea  of  discontinuing 
this  work,  we  determined,  in  order  to  give  the  critics 
a  fair  opportunity  for  dissection,  to  declare  ourselves, 


one  and  all,  absolutely  defunct ;  for,  it  is  one  of  the 
rare  and  invaluable  privileges  of  a  periodical  writer, 
that  by  an  act  of  innocent  suicide  he  may  lawfully 
consign  himself  to  the  grave  and  cheat  the  world 
of  posthumous  renown.  But  we  abandoned  this 
scheme  for  many  substantial  reasons.  In  the  first 
place,  we  care  but  little  for  the  opinion  of  critics, 
who  we  consider  a  kind  of  freebooters  in  the  repub- 
lic of  letters  ;  who,  like  deer,  goats,  and  divers  other 
graminivorous  animals,  gain  subsistence  by  gorging 
upon  the  buds  and  leaves  of  the  young  shrubs  of  the 
forest,  thereby  robbing  them  of  their  verdure  and 
retarding  their  progress  to  maturity.  It  also  oc- 
curred to  us,  that  though  an  author  might  lawfully 
in  all  countries  kill  himself  outright,  yet  this  privi- 
lege did  not  extend  to  the  raising  himself  from  the 
dead,  if  he  was  ever  so  anxious ;  and  all  that  is  left 
him  in  such  a  case  is  to  take  the  benefit  of  the  me- 
tempsychosis act  and  revive  under  a  new  name  and 
form. 

Far  be  it,  therefore,  from  us  to  condemn  ourselves 
to  useless  embarrassments,  should  we  ever  be  dis- 
posed to  resume  the  guardianship  of  this  learned  city 
of  Gotham,  and  finish  this  invaluable  work,  which  is 
yet  but  half  completed.  We  hereby  openly  and 
seriously  declare,  that  we  are  not  dead,  but  intend, 
if  it  pleases  Providence,  to  live  for  many  years  to 
come  ; — to  enjoy  life  with  the  genuine  relish  of  honest 
souls ;  careless  of  riches,  honours,  and  every  thing 
but  a  good  name,  among  good  fellows ;  and  with  the 
full  expectation  of  shufliing  off  the  remnant  of  exist- 
ence, after  the  excellent  fashion  of  that  merry  Grecian 
who  died  laughing. 


TO   THE   LADIES. 

BY  ANTHONY   EVERGREEN,   GENT. 


Next  to  our  being  a  knot  of  independent  old 
bachelors,  there  is  nothing  on  which  we  pride  our- 
selves more  highly  than  upon  possessing  that  true 
chivalric  spirit  of  gallantry,  which  distinguished  the 
days  of  king  Arthur,  and  his  valiant  knights  of  the 
Round-table.  We  cannot,  therefore,  leave  the  lists 
where  we  have  so  long  been  tilting  at  folly,  without 
giving  a  farewell  salutation  to  those  noble  dames  and 
beauteous  damsels  who  have  honoured  us  with  their 
presence  at  the  tourney.  Like  true  knights,  the  only 
recompense  we  crave  is  the  smile  of  beauty,  and  the 
approbation  of  those  gentle  fair  ones,  whose  smile 
and  whose  approbation  far  excels  all  the  trophies  of 
honour,  and  all  the  rewards  of  successful  ambition. 
True  it  is,  that  we  have  suffered  infinite  perils  in 
standing  forth  as  their  champions,  from  the  sly 
attacks  of  sundry  arch  caitiffs,  who,  in  the  overflow- 
ings of  their  malignity,  have  even  accused  us  of  en- 
tering the  lists  as  defenders  of  the  very  foibles  and 
faults  of  the  sex. — Would  that  we  could  meet  with 
these  recreants  hand  to  hand  ; — they  should  receive 
no  more  quarter  than  giants  and  enchanters  in  ro- 
mance. 

Had  we  a  spark  of  vanity  in  our  natures,  here  is 
a  glorious  occasion  to  show  our  skill  in  refuting  these 
illiberal  insinuations  ; — but  there  is  something  manly, 
and  ingenuous,  in  making  an  honest  confession  of 
one's  offences  when  about  retiring  from  the  world  ; 
— and  so,  without  any  more  ado,  we  doff  our  hel- 
mets and  thus  publicly  plead  guilty  to  the  deadly  sin 
of  GOOD  NATURE ;  hoping  and  expecting  forgive- 
ness from  our  good-natured  readers, — yet  careless 
whether  they  bestow  it  or  not.  And  in  this  we  do 
but  imitate  sundry  condemned  criminals,  who,  find- 


728 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


ing  themselves  convicted  of  a  capital  crime,  with 
great  openness  and  candour  do  generally  in  their 
last  dying  speech  make  a  confession  of  all  their  pre- 
vious offences,  which  confession  is  always  read  with 
great  delight  by  all  true  lovers  of  biography. 

Still,  however,  nothwithstanding  our  notorious  de- 
votion to  the  gentle  sex,  and  our  indulgent  partiality, 
we  have  endeavoured,  on  divers  occasions,  with  all 
the  polite  and  becoming  delicacy  of  true  respect,  to 
reclaim  them  from  many  of  those  delusive  follies  and 
unseemly  peccadilloes  in  which  they  are  unhappily 
too  prone  to  indulge.  We  have  warned  them  agamst 
the  sad  consequences  of  encountering  our  midnight 
damps  and  withering  wintry  blasts ; — we  have  en- 
deavoured, with  pious  hand,  to  snatch  them  from  the 
wildering  mazes  of  the  waltz,  and  thus  rescuing  them 
from  the  arms  of  strangers,  to  restore  them  to  the 
bosoms  of  their  friends ;  to  preserve  them  from  the 
nakedness,  the  famine,  the  cobweb  muslins,  the  vin- 
egar cruet,  the  corset,  the  stay-tape,  the  buckram, 
and  all  the  other  miseries  and  racks  of  a  fine  figure. 
But,  above  all,  we  have  endeavoured  to  lure  them  from 
the  mazes  of  a  dissipated  world,  where  they  wander 
about,  careless  of  their  value,  until  they  lose  their 
original  worth  ; — and  to  restore  them,  before  it  is  too 
late,  to  the  sacred  asylum  of  home,  the  soil  most  con- 
genial to  the  opening  blossom  of  female  loveliness ; 
where  it  blooms  and  expands  in  safety,  in  the  foster- 
ing sunshine  of  maternal  affection,  and  where  its 
heavenly  sweets  are  best  known  and  appreciated. 

Modern  philosophers  may  determine  the  proper 
destination  of  the  sex  ; — they  may  assign  to  them  an 
extensive  and  brilliant  orbit,  in  which  to  revolve,  to 
the  delight  of  the  million  and  the  confusion  of  man's 
superior  intellect ;  but  when  on  this  subject  we  dis- 
claim philosophy,  and  appeal  to  the  higher  tribunal 
of  the  heart ; — and  what  heart  that  had  not  lost  its 
better  feelings,  would  ever  seek  to  repose  its  hap- 
piness on  the  bosom  of  one  whose  pleasures  all  lay 
without  the  threshold  of  home  ; — who  snatched  en- 
joyment only  in  the  whirlpool  of  dissipation,  and 
amid  the  thoughtless  and  evanescent  gayety  of  a  ball- 
room. The  fair  one  who  is  for  ever  in  the  career  of 
amusement,  may  for  a  while  dazzle,  astonish,  and 
entertain  ;  but  we  are  content  with  coldly  admiring ; 
and  fondly  turn  from  glitter  and  noise,  to  seek  the 
liappy  fire-side  of  social  life,  there  to  confide  our 
dearest  and  best  affections. 

Yet  some  there  are,  and  we  delight  to  mention 
them,  who  mingle  freely  with  the  world,  unsullied 
by  its  contaminations  ;  whose  brilliant  minds,  like 
the  stars  of  the  firmament,  are  destined  to  shed  their 
light  abroad  and  gladden  every  beholder  with  their 
radiance  ; — to  withhold  them  from  the  world,  would 
be  doing  it  injustice  ; — they  are  inestimable  gems, 
which  were  never  formed  to  be  shut  up  in  caskets  ; 
but  to  be  the  pride  and  ornament  of  elegant  society. 

We  have  endeavoured  always  to  discriminate  be- 
tween a  female  of  this  superior  order,  and  the 
thoughtless  votary  of  pleasure  ;  who,  destitute  of  intel- 
lectual resources,  is  servilely  dependent  on  others 
for  every  little  pittance  of  enjoyment ;  who  exhibits 
herself  incessantly  amid  the  noise,  the  giddy  frolic, 
and  capricious  variety  of  fashionable  assemblages ; 
dissipating  her  languid  affections  on  a  crowd  ;  lavish- 
ing her  ready  smiles  with  indiscriminate  prodigality 
on  the  worthy,  or  the  undeserving  ;  and  listening,  with 
equal  vacancy  of  mind,  to  the  conversation  of  the 
enlightened,  the  frivolity  of  the  coxcomb,  and  the 
flourish  of  the  fiddle-stick. 

There  is  a  certain  artificial  polish, — a  common- 
place vivacity  acquired  by  perpetually  mingling  in  the 
beau  monde ;  which,  in  the  commerce  of  the  world, 
supplies  the  place  of  natural  suavity  of  good  humour : 
but  is  purchased  at  the  expense  of  all  original  and 


sterling  traits  of  character.  By  a  kind  of  fashionable 
discipline,  the  eye  is  taught  to  brighten,  the  lip  to 
smile,  and  the  whole  countenance  to  emanate  with 
the  semblance  of  friendly  welcome,  while  the  bosom 
is  unwarmed  by  a  single  spark  of  genuine  kindness 
or  good-will. — This  elegant  simulation  may  be  ad- 
mired by  the  connoisseur  of  human  character,  as  a 
perfection  of  art ;  but  the  heart  is  not  to  be  deceived 
by  the  superficial  illusion :  it  turns  with  delight  to 
the  timid  retiring  fair  one,  whose  smile  is  the  smile 
of  nature  ;  whose  blush  is  the  soft  suffusion  of  delicate 
sensibility  ;  and  whose  affections,  unblighted  by  the 
chilling  effects  of  dissipation,  glow  with  all  the  ten- 
derness and  purity  of  artless  youth.  Hers  is  a  single- 
ness of  mind,  a  native  innocence  of  manners,  and  a 
sweet  timidity,  that  steal  insensibly  upon  the  heart, 
and  lead  it  a  willing  captive ; — though  venturing  oc- 
casionally among  the  fairy  haunts  of  pleasure,  she 
shrinks  from  the  broad  glare  of  notoriety,  and  seems 
to  seek  refuge  among  her  friends,  even  from  the  ad- 
miration of  the  world. 

These  observations  bring  to  mind  a  little  allegory 
in  one  of  the  manuscripts  of  the  sage  Mustapha; 
which,  being  in  some  measure  applicable  to  the  sub- 
ject of  this  essay,  we  transcribe  lor  the  benefit  of  our 
fair  readers. 

Among  the  numerous  race  of  the  Bedouins,  who 
people  the  vast  tracts  of  Arabia  Deserta,  is  a 
small  tribe,  remarkable  for  their  habits  of  solitude 
and  love  of  independence.  They  are  of  a  rambling 
disposition,  roving  from  waste  to  waste,  slaking  their 
thirst  at  such  scanty  pools  as  are  found  in  those 
cheerless  plains,  and  glory  in  the  unenvied  liberty 
they  enjoy.  A  youthful  Arab  of  this  tribe,  a  simple 
son  of  nature,  at  length  growing  weary  of  his  pre- 
carious and  unsettled  mode  of  life,  determined  to  set 
out  in  search  of  some  permanent  abode.  "  I  will 
seek,"  said  he,  "  some  happy  region,  some  generous 
clime,  where  the  dews  of  heaven  diffuse  fertility  , — I 
will  find  out  some  unfailing  stream  ;  and,  forsaking 
the  joyless  life  of  my  forefathers,  settle  on  its  borders, 
dispose  my  mind  to  gentle  pleasures  and  tranquil  en- 
joyments, and  never  wander  more." 

Enchanted  with  this  picture  of  pastoral  felicity,  he 
departed  from  the  tents  of  his  companions  ;  and  hav- 
ing journeyed  during  five  days,  on  the  sixth,  as  the 
sun  was  just  rising  in  all  the  splendours  of  the  east, 
he  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  beheld  extended  before  him, 
in  smiling  luxuriance,  the  fertile  regions  of  Arabia 
the  Happy.  Gently  swelling  hills,  tufted  with  bloom- 
ing groves,  swept  down  into  luxuriant  vales,  enamel- 
led with  flowers  of  never-withering  be  luty.  The 
sun,  no  longer  darting  his  rays  with  torrid  fervour, 
beamed  with  a  genial  warmth  that  gladdened  and 
enriched  the  landscape.  A  pure  and  temi^erate 
serenity,  an  air  of  volupt'ious  repose,  a  smile  of  con- 
tented abundance,  pervaded  the  face  of  nature ;  and 
every  zephyr  breathed  a  thousand  delicious  odours. 
The  soul  of  the  youthful  wanderer  expanded  with 
delight ;— he  raised  his  eyes  to  heaven,  and  almost 
mingled  with  his  tribute  of  gratitude  a  sigh  of  regret 
that  he  had  lingered  so  long  amid  the  sterile  soli- 
tudes of  the  desert. 

With  fond  impatience  he  hastened  to  make  choice 
of  a  stream  where  he  might  fix  his  habitation,  and 
taste  the  promised  sweets  of  this  land  of  delight. 
But  here  commenced  an  unforeseen  perplexity ;  for, 
though  he  beheld  innumerable  streams  on  every  side, 
yet  not  one  could  he  find  which  completely  answered 
his  high-raised  expectations.  One  abounded  with 
wild  and  picturesque  beauty,  but  it  was  capricious 
and  unsteady  in  its  course  ;  sometimes  dashing  its 
angry  billows  against  the  rocks,  and  often  raging 
and  overflowing  its  banks.  Another  flowed  smoothly 
along,  without  even  a  ripple  or  a  murmur  •  but  its 


SALMAGUNDI. 


7-29 


bottom  was  soft  and  muddy,  and  its  current  dull  and 
sluggish.  A  third  was  pure  and  transparent,  but  its 
waters  were  of  a  chilling  coldness,  and  it  had  rocks 
and  flints  in  its  bosom.  A  fourth  was  dulcet  in  its 
tinklings,  and  graceful  in  its  meanderings  ;  but  it 
had  a  cloying  sweetness  that  palled  upon  the  taste ; 
while  a  hfth  possessed  a  sparkling  vivacity,  and  a 
pungency  of  flavour,  that  deterred  the  wanderer  from 
repeating  his  draught. 

The  youthful  Bedouin  began  to  weary  with  fruit- 
less trials  and  repeated  disappointments,  when  his 
attention  was  suddenly  attracted  by  a  lively  brook, 
whose  dancing  waves  glittered  in  the  sunbeams,  and 
whose  prattling  current  communicated  an  air  of  be- 
witching gayety  to  the  surrounding  landscape.  The 
heart  of  the  wayworn  traveller  beat  with  expectation  ; 
but  on  regarding  it  attentively  in  its  course,  he  found 
that  it  constantly  avoided  the  embowering  shade ; 
loitering  with  equal  fondness,  whether  gliding  through 
the  rich  valley,  or  over  the  barren  sand ; — that  the 
fragrant  flower,  the  fruitful  shrub,  and  worthless 
bramble  were  alike  fostered  by  its  waves,  and  that 
its  current  was  often  interrupted  by  unprofitable 
weeds.  With  idle  ambition  it  expanded  itself  be- 
yond its  proper  bounds,  and  spread  into  a  shallow 
waste  of  water,  destitute  of  beauty  or  utility,  and 
babbling  along  with  uninteresting  vivacity  and  vapid 
turbulence. 

The  wandering  son  of  the  desert  turned  away  with 
a  sigh  of  regret,  and  pitied  a  stream  which,  if  con- 
tent within  its  natural  limits,  might  have  been  the 
pride  of  the  valley,  and  the  object  of  all  his  wishes. 
Pensive,  musing,  and  disappointed,  he  slowly  pur- 
sued his  now  almost  hopeless  pilgrimage,  and  had 
rambled  for  some  time  along  the  margin  of  a  gentle 
rivulet,  before  he  became  sensible  of  its  beauties.  It 
was  a  simple  pastoral  stream,  which,  shunning  the 
noonday  glare,  pursued  its  unobtrusive  course  through 
retired  and  tranquil  vales  ; — now  dimpling  among 
flowery  banks  and  tufted  shrubbery ;  now  winding 
among  spicy  groves,  whose  aromatic  foliage  fondly 
bent  down  to  meet  the  limpid  wave.  Sometimes, 
but  not  often,  it  would  venture  from  its  covert  to 
stray  through  a  flowery  meadow  ;  but  quickly,  as  if 
fearful  of  being  seen,  stole  back  again  into  its  more 
congenial  shade,  and  there  lingered  with  sweet  delay. 
Wherever  it  bent  its  course,  the  face  of  nature  bright- 
ened into  smiles,  and  a  perennial  spring  reigned  up- 
on its  borders. — The  warblers  of  the  woodland  de- 
lighted to  quit  their  recesses  and  carol  among  its 
bovvers :  while  the  turtle-dove,  the  timid  fawn,  the 
soft-eyed  gazelle,  and  all  the  rural  populace,  who  joy 
in  the  sequestered  haunts  of  nature,  resorted  to  its 
vicinity. — Its  pure,  transparent  waters  rolled  over 
snow-white  sands,  and  heaven  itself  was  reflected  in 
its  tranquil  bosom. 

The  simple  Arab  threw  himself  upon  its  verdant 
margin  ;^he  tasted  the  silver  tide,  and  it  was  like 
nectar  to  his  lips  ; — he  bounded  with  transport,  for 
he  had  found  the  object  of  his  wayfaring.  "  Here," 
cried  he,  "  will  I  pitch  my  tent : — here  will  I  pass  my 
days  ;  for  pure,  oh,  fair  stream,  is  thy  gentle  current ; 
beauteous  are  thy  borders  ;  and  the  grove  must  be  a 
paradise  that  is  refreshed  by  thy  meanderings  !  " 


Pendant  opera  intemipta.      — Virg. 
The  work's  all  aback.  — Link.  Fid. 


"How  hard  it  is,"  exclaims  the  divine  Con-futs6, 
better  known  among  the  illiterate  by  the  name  of 
Confucius,  "  for  a  man  to  bite  off"  his  own  nose  !  " 
At  this  moment  I,  William  Wizard,  Esq.,  feel  the 


full  force  of  this  remark,  and  cannot  but  give  vent  to 
my  tribulation  at  being  obliged,  through  the  whim 
of  friend  Langstaff,  to  stop  short  in  my  literary 
career,  when  at  the  very  point  of  astonishing  my 
country,  and  reaping  the  brightest  laurels  of  litera- 
ture. We  daily  hear  of  shipwrecks,  of  failures  and 
bankruptcies  ;  they  are  trifling  mishaps  which,  from 
their  frequency,  excite  but  little  astonishment  or 
sympathy ;  but  it  is  not  often  that  we  hear  of  a  man's 
letting  immortality  slip  through  his  fingers  ;  and  when 
he  does  meet  with  such  a  misfortune,  who  would 
deny  him  the  comfort  of  bewailing  his  calamity  ? 

Next  to  embargo,  laid  upon  our  commerce,  the 
greatest  public  annoyance  is  the  embargo  laid  upon 
our  work  ;  in  consequence  of  which  the  produce  of 
my  wits,  like  that  of  my  country,  must  remain  at 
home  ;  and  my  ideas,  like  so  many  merchantmen  in 
port,  or  redoubtable  frigates  in  the  Potomac,  moulder 
away  in  the  mud  of  my  own  brain.  1  know  of  few 
things  in  this  world  more  annoying  than  to  be  inter- 
rupted in  the  middle  of  a  favourite  story,  at  the  most 
interesting  part,  where  one  expects  to  shine  ;  or  to 
have  a  conversation  broken  off"  just  when  you  are 
about  coming  out  with  a  score  of  excellent  jokes, 
not  one  of  which  but  was  good  enough  to  make 
every  fine  figure  in  corsets  literally  split  her  sides 
with  laughter.  In  some  such  predicament  am  I 
placed  at  present ;  and  I  do  protest  to  you,  my  good- 
looking  and  well-beloved  readers,  by  the  chop-sticks 
of  the  immortal  Josh,  I  was  on  the  very  brink  of 
treating  you  with  a  full  broadside  of  the  most  in- 
genious and  instructive  essays  that  your  precious 
noddles  were  ever  bothered  with. 

In  the  first  place,  I  had,  with  infinite  labour  and 
pains,  and  by  consulting  the  divine  Plato,  Sanco- 
niathon,  .'\pollonius,  Rhodius,  Sir  John  Harrington, 
Noah  Webster,  Linkum  Fidelius,  and  others,  fully 
refuted  all  those  wild  theories  respecting  the  first 
settlement  of  our  venerable  country  ;  and  proved, 
beyond  contradiction,  that  America,  so  far  from  be- 
ing, as  the  writers  of  upstart  Europe  denominate  it, 
the  new  world,  is  at  least  as  old  as  any  country  in 
existence,  not  excepting  Egypt,  China,  or  even  the 
land  of  the  Assiniboils  ;  which,  according  to  the  tra- 
ditions of  that  ancient  people,  has  already  assisted  at 
the  funerals  of  thirteen  suns  and  four  hundred  and 
seventy  thousand  moons  ! 

I  had  likewise  written  a  long  dissertation  on  cer- 
tain hieroglyphics  discovered  on  these  fragments  of 
the  moon,  which  have  lately  fallen,  with  singular 
propriety,  in  a  neighbouring  state  ; — and  have  thrown 
considerable  light  on  the  state  of  literature  and  the 
arts  in  that  planet ; — showing  that  the  universal  lan- 
guage which  prevails  there  is  High  Dutch  ;  thereby 
proving  it  to  be  the  most  ancient  and  original  tongue, 
and  corroborating  the  opinion  of  a  celebrated  poet, 
that  it  is  the  language  in  which  the  serpent  tempted 
our  grandmother  Eve. 

To  support  the  theatric  department,  1  had  several 
very  judicious  critiques,  ready  written,  wherein  no 
quarter  was  shown  either  to  authors  or  actors  ;  and 
1  was  only  waiting  to  determine  at  what  plays  or 
performances  they  should  be  levelled.  As  to  the 
grand  spectacle  of  Cinderella,  which  is  to  be  repre- 
sented this  season,  1  had  given  it  a  most  unmerciful 
handling:  showing  that  it  was  neither  tragedy,  com- 
edy, nor  farce;  that  the  incidents  were  highly  im- 
probable, that  the  prince  played  like  a  perfect  harle- 
quin, that  the  white  mice  were  merely  powdered  for 
the  occasion,  and  that  the  new  moon  had  a  most 
outrageous  copper  nose. 

But  my  most  profound  and  erudite  escay  in  em- 
bryo is  an  analytical,  hypercritical  review  of  these 
Salmagundi  lucubrations ;  which  I  had  written  part- 
ly in  revenge  for  the  many  waggish  jokes  played  off 


730 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ag-ainst  mt  by  my  confederates,  and  partly  for  the 
purpose  of  saving  much  invaluable  labour  to  the 
Zoilu^es  and  Dennises  of  the  age,  by  detecting  and 
exposing  all  the  similarities,  resemblances,  synony- 
mies, analogies,  coincidences,  &c.,  which  occur  in 
this  work. 

I  hold  it  downright  plagiarism  for  any  author  to 
write,  or  even  to  think,  in  the  same  manner  with  any 
other  writer  that  either  did,  doth,  or  may  exist.  It 
is  a  sage  maxim  of  law — "  I^^norantin  n^miiiem 
exciisat " — and  the  same  has  been  extended  to  liter- 
ature: so  that  if  an  author  shall  publish  an  idea  that 
has  been  ever  hinted  by  another,  it  shall  be  no  ex- 
culpation for  him  to  plead  ignorance  of  the  fact. 
All,  therefore,  that  I  had  to  do  was  to  take  a  good 
pair  of  spectacles,  or  a  magnifying  glass,  and  with 
Salmagundi  in  hand,  and  a  table  full  of  books  before 
me,  to  mouse  over  them  alternately,  in  a  corner  of 
Cockloft  library :  carefully  comparing  and  contrasting 
all  odd  ends  and  fragments  of  sentences.  Little  did 
honest  Launce  suspect,  when  he  sat  lounging  and 
scribbling  in  his  elbow-chair,  with  no  other  stock  to 
draw  upon  than  his  own  brain,  and  no  other  author- 
ity to  consult  than  the  sage  Linkum  Fidelius  ! — little 
did  he  think  that  his  careless,  unstudied  effusions 
would  receive  such  scrupulous  investigation. 

By  laborious  researches,  and  patiently  collating 
words,  where  sentences  and  ideas  did  not  correspond, 
I  have  detected  sundry  sly  disguises  and  metamor- 
phoses of  which,  I'll  be  bound,  Langstaff  himself  is 
ignorant.  Thus,  for  instance — The  little  man  in 
black  is  evidently  no  less  a  personage  than  old 
Goody  Blake,  or  goody  something,  filched  from  the 
Spectator,  who  confessedly  filched  her  from  Otway's 
"  wrinkled  hag  with  age  grown  double."  .My  friend 
Launce  has  taken  the  honest  old  woman,  dressed 
her  up  in  the  cast-off  suit  worn  by  Twaits,  in  Lam- 
pedo,  and  endeavoured  to  palm  the  imposture  upon 
the  enlightened  inhabitants  of  Gotham.  No  further 
proof  of  the  fact  need  be  given,  than  that  Goody 
Blake  was  taken  for  a  witch  ;  and  the  little  man  in 
black  for  a  conjuror ;  and  that  they  both  lived  in  vil- 
lages, the  inhabitants  of  which  were  distinguished 
by  a  most  respectful  abhorrence  of  hobgoblins  and 
broomsticks ; — to  be  sure  the  astonishing  similarity 
ends  here,  but  surely  that  is  enough  to  prove  that 
the  little  man  in  black  is  no  other  than  Goody  Blake 
in  the  disguise  of  a  white  witch. 

Thus,  also,  the  sage  Mustapha,  in' mistaking  a 
brag  party  for  a  convention  of  magi  studying  hiero- 
glyphics, may  pretend  to  originality  of  idea,  and  to  a 
familiar  acquaintance  with  the  black-letter  literati 
of  the  east ; — but  this  Tripolitan  trick  will  not  pass 
here ; — 1  refer  those  who  wish  to  detect  his  larceny 
to  one  of  those  wholesale  jumbles  or  hodge  podge 
collections  of  science,  which,  like  a  tailor's  pande- 
monium, or  a  giblet-pye,  are  receptacles  for  scien- 
tific fragments  of  all  sorts  and  sizes. — The  reader, 
learned  in  dictionary  studies,  will  at  once  perceive  I 
mean  an  encyclopaedia.  There,  under  the  title  of 
magi,  Egypt,  cards,  or  hieroglyphics,  I  forget  which, 
will  be  discovered  an  idea  similar  to  that  of  Mus- 
tapha,  as  snugly  concealed  as  truth  at  the  bottom  of 
a  well,  or  the  mistletoe  amid  the  shady  branches  of 
an  oak : — and  it  may  at  any  time  be  drawn  from  its 
lurking  place,  by  those  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers 
of  water,  who  labour  in  humbler  walks  of  criticism. 
This  is  assuredly  a  most  unpardonable  error  of  the 


sage  Mustapha,  who  had  been  the  captain  of  a  ketch  ; 
and,  of  course,  as  your  nautical  men  are  for  the  most 
part  very  learned,  ought  to  have  known  better. — 
But  this  is  not  the  only  blunder  of  the  grave  Mussul- 
man, who  swears  by  the  head  of  Amrou,  the  beard 
of  Barbarossa,  and  the  sword  of  Khalid,  as  glibly  as 
our  good  Christian  soldiers  anathematize  body  and 
soul,  or  a  sailor  his  eyes  and  odd  limbs.  Now  I 
solemnly  pledge  myself  to  the  world,  that  in  all  my 
travels  through  the  east,  in  Persia,  Arabia,  China, 
and  Egypt,  I  never  heard  man,  woman,  or  child 
utter  any  of  those  preposterous  and  new-fangled 
asseverations  ;  and  that,  so  far  from  swearing  by 
any  man's  head,  it  is  considered,  throughout  the 
east,  the  greatest  insult  that  can  be  offered  to  either 
the  living  or  dead  to  meddle  in  any  shape  even  with 
his  beard.  These  are  but  two  or  three  specimens 
of  the  exposures  I  would  have  made  ;  but  I  should 
have  descended  still  lower ;  nor  would  have  spared 
the  most  insignificant  ;  and,  or  but,  or  nevertheless, 
provided  I  could  have  found  a  ditto  in  the  Spectator 
or  the  dictionary  ;— but  all  these  minutia;  I  bequeath 
to  the  Lilliputian  literati  of  this  sagacious  commu- 
nity, who  are  fond  of  hunting  "  such  small  deer," 
and  I  earnestly  pray  they  may  find  full  employment 
for  a  twelve-month  to  come. 

But  the  most  outrageous  plagiarisms  of  friend 
Launcelot  are  those  made  on  sundry  living  per- 
sonages. Thus :  Tom  Straddle  has  been  evidently 
stolen  from  a  distinguished  Brummagem  emigrant, 
since  they  both  ride  on  horseback ; — Dabble,  the 
little  great  man,  has  his  origin  in  a  certain  aspiring 
counsellor,  who  is  rising  in  the  world  as  rapidly  as 
the  heaviness  of  his  head  will  permit  ;  mine  uncle 
John  will  bear  a  tolerable  comparison,  particularly 
as  it  respects  the  sterling  qualities  of  his  heart,  with 
a  worthy  yeoman  of  Westchester  county ; — and  to 
deck  out  Aunt  Charity,  and  the  amiable  Miss  Cock- 
lofts, he  has  rifled  the  charms  of  half  the  ancient 
vestals  in  the  city.  Nay,  he  has  taken  unpardonable 
liberties  with  my  own  ])erson  ! — elevating  me  on  the 
substantial  pedestals  of  a  worthy  gentleman  from 
China,  and  trickmg  me  out  with  claret  coats,  tight 
breeches,  and  silver-sprigged  dickeys,  in  such  sort 
that  I  can  scarcely  recognize  my  own  resemblance  ; 
— whereas  I  absolutely  declare  that  I  am  an  exceed- 
ing good-looking  man,  neither  too  tall  nor  too  short, 
too  old  nor  too  young,  with  a  person  indifferently 
robust,  a  head  rather  inclining  to  be  large,  an  easy 
swing  in  my  walk  ;  and  that  I  wear  my  own  hair, 
neither  queued,  nor  cropped,  nor  turned  up,  but  in  a 
fair,  pendulous,  oscillating  club,  tied  with  a  yard  of 
nine-penny  black  riband 

And  now  having  said  all  that  occurs  to  me  on 
the  present  pathetic  occasion, — having  made  my 
speech,  wrote  my  eulogy,  and  drawn  my  portrait,  I 
bid  my  readers  an  affectionate  farewell ;  exhorting 
them  to  live  honestly  and  soberly  ; — paying  their 
taxes,  and  reverencing  the  state,  the  church,  and 
the  corporation ; — reading  diligently  the  Bible  and 
almanac,' the  newspaper,  and  Salmagundi; — -which 
is  all  the  reading  an  honest  citizen  has  occasion  for ; 
— and  eschewing  all  spirit  of  faction,  discontent, 
irreligion,  and  criticism. 

Which  is  all  at  present 

From  their  departed  friend, 
William  Wizard. 


Voyages  and  Discoveries 


COMPANIONS   OF   COLUMBUS. 


To  declare  my  opinion  herein,  whatsoever  hath  heretofore  been 
discovered  by  the  famous  travayles  of  Saturnus  and  Hercules,  with 
such  other  whom  the  Antiquitie  for  their  heroical  acts  honoured  as 
gods,  seemeth  but  little  and  obscure,  if  it  be  compared  to  the  vic- 
torious labors  of  the  Spanyards. 

— P,  Martyr^  Decad.  III.  c,  4.    Lock's  translation. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  first  discovery  of  the  western  hemisphere  has 
already  been  related  by  the  author  in  his  History  of 
Columbus.  It  is  proposed  by  him,  in  the  present  work, 
to  narrate  the  enterprises  of  certain  of  the  companions 
and  disciples  of  the  admiral,  who,  enkindled  by  his 
zeal,  and  instructed  by  his  example,  sallied  forth 
separately  in  the  vast  region  of  adventure  to  which  he 
had  led  the  way.  Many  of  them  sought  merely  to 
skirt  the  continent  which  he  had  partially  visited,  and 
to  secure  the  first  fruits  of  the  pearl  fisheries  of  Paria 
and  Cubaga,  or  to  explore  the  coast  of  Veragua, 
which  he  had  represented  as  the  Aurea  Chersonesus 
of  the  Ancients.  Others  aspired  to  accomplish  a  grand 
discovery  which  he  had  meditated  toward  the  close  of 
his  career.  In  the  course  of  his  expeditions  along  the 
coast  of  Terra  Firma,  Columbus  had  repeatedly  re- 
ceived information  of  the  existence  of  a  vast  sea  to  the 
south.  He  supposed  it  to  be  the  great  Indian  Ocean, 
the  region  of  the  Oriental  spice  islands,  and  that  it 
must  communicate  by  a  strait  with  the  Caribbean  Sea. 
His  last  and  most  disastrous  voyage  was  made  for  the 
express  purpose  of  discovering  that  imaginary  strait, 
and  making  his  way  into  this  Southern  Ocean.  The 
illustrious  navigator,  however,  was  doomed  to  die,  as 
it  were,  upon  the  threshold  of  his  discoveries.  It  was 
reserved  for  one  of  his  followers,  Vasco  NuPiez  de 
Balboa,  to  obtain  the  first  view  of  the  promised  ocean, 
from  the  lofty  mountains  of  Darien,  some  years  after  the 
eyes  of  the  venerable  admiral  had  been  closed  in  death. 

The  expeditions  herein  narrated,  therefore,  may  be 
considered  as  springing  immediately  out  of  the  voy- 
ages of  Columbus,  and  fulfilling  some  of  his  grand  de- 
signs. They  may  be  compared  to  the  attempts  of  ad- 
venturous knights  errant  to  achieve  the  enterprise  left 
unfinished  by  some  illustrious  predecessor.  Neither 
is  this  comparison  entirely  fanciful.  On  the  contrary, 
it  is  a  curious  fact,  well  worthy  of  notice,  that  the 
spirit  of  chivalry  entered  largely  into  the  early  expedi- 
tions of  the  Spanish  discoverers,  giving  them  a  char- 
acter wholly  distinct  from  similar  enterprises  under- 
taken by  other  nations.  It  will  not,  perhaps,  be  con- 
sidered far  sought,  if  we  trace  the  cause  of  this  peculi- 
arity to  the  domestic  history  of  the  Spaniards  during 
the  middle  ages. 

Eight  centuries  of  incessant  warfare  with  the  Moor- 
ish usurpers  of  the  peninsula  produced  a  deep  and 
lasting  effect  Upon  the  Spanish  character  and  man- 
ners. The  war  being  ever  close  at  home,  mingled 
itself  with  the  domestic  habits  and  concerns  of  the 
Spaniard.     He  was  born  a  soldier.     The  wild  and 


predatory  nature  of  the  war,  also,  made  him  a  kind 
of  chivalrous  marauder.  His  horse  and  weapon  were 
always  ready  for  the  field.  His  delight  was  in  roving 
incursions  and  extravagant  exploits,  and  no  gain  was 
so  glorious  in  his  eyes  as  the  cavalgada  of  spoils  and 
captives,  driven  home  in  triumph  from  a  plundered 
province.  Religion,  which  has  ever  held  great  empire  in 
the  Spanish  mind,  lent  its  aid  to  sanctify  these  roving 
and  ravaging  propensities,  and  the  Castilian  cavalier, 
as  he  sacked  the  towns  and  laid  waste  the  fields  of 
his  Moslem  neighbour,  piously  believed  he  was  doing 
God  service. 

The  conquest  of  Granada  put  an  end  to  the  penin- 
sular wars  between  christian  and  infidel  ;  the  spirit  of 
Spanish  chivalry  was  thus  suddenly  deprived  of  its 
wonted  sphere  of  action  ;  but  it  had  been  too  long 
fostered  and  excited  to  be  as  suddenly  appeased.  The 
youth  of  the  nation,  bred  up  to  daring  adventure  and 
heroic  achievement,  could  not  brook  the  tranquil  and 
regular  pursuits  of  common  life,  but  panted  for  some 
new  field  of  romantic  enterprise. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  the  grand  project  of  Co- 
lumbus was  carried  into  effect.  His  treaty  with  the 
sovereigns  was,  in  a  manner,  signed  with  the  same  pen 
that  had  subscribed  the  capitulation  of  the  Moorish 
capital,  and  his  first  expedition  may  almost  be  said  to 
have  departed  from  beneath  the  walls  of  Granada. 
Many  of  the  youthful  cavaliers  who  had  fleshed  their 
swords  in  that  memorable  war,  crowded  the  ships  of 
the  discoverers,  thinking  a  new  career  of  arms  was  to 
be  opened  to  them — a  kind  of  crusade  into  splendid 
and  unknown  regions  of  infidels.  The  very  weapons 
and  armour  that  had  been  used  against  the  Moors, 
were  drawn  from  the  arsenals  to  equip  the  discoverers, 
and  some  of  the  most  noted  of  the  early  commanders 
in  the  new  world  will  be  found  to  have  made  their 
first  essay  in  arms  under  the  banner  of  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella,  in  their  romantic  campaigns  among  the  mount- 
ains of  Andalusia. 

To  these  circumstances  may,  in  a  great  measure,  be 
ascribed  that  swelling  chivalrous  spirit  which  will  be 
found  continually  mingling,  or  rather  warring,  with 
the  technical  habits  of  the  seaman,  and  the  sordid 
schemes  of  the  mercenary  adventurer  ;  in  these  early 
Spanish  discoveries,  chivalry  had  left  the  land  and 
launched  upon  the  deep.  The  Spanish  cavalier  had 
embarked  in  the  Caraval  of  the  discoverer  ;  he  carried 
among  the  trackless  wildernesses  of  the  new  world, 
the  same  contempt  of  danger  and  fortitude  under  suf- 
fering, the  same  restless  roaming  spirit,  the  same  pas- 
sion for  inroad  and  ravage,  and  vain-glorious  exploit, 
and  the  same  fervent,  and  often  bigoted,  zeal  for 
the  propagation  of   his  faith  that   had   distinguished 

asi) 


732 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


dim  during  his  warfare  with  the  Moors.  Instances  in 
point  will  be  found  in  the  extravagant  career  of  the 
daring  Ojeda,  particularly  in  his  adventures  along  the 
coast  of  Terra  Firma  and  the  wild  shores  of  Cuba. 
In  the  sad  story  of  the  "  unfortunate  Nicuesa  ; "  graced 
as  it  is  with  occasional  touches  of  high-bred  courtesy  ; 
in  the  singular  cruise  of  that  brave,  but  credulous,  old 
cavalier,  Juan  Ponce  de  Leon,  who  fell  upon  the  flow- 
ery coast  of  Florida,  in  his  search  after  an  imaginary 
fountain  of  youth  ;  and  above  all  in  the  chequered  for- 
tunes of  Vasco  Nunez  de  Balboa,  whose  discovery  of 
the  Pacific  ocean,  forms  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and 
striking  incidents  in  the  history  of  the  new  world,  and 
whose  fate  might  furnish  a  theme  of  wonderful  interest 
for  a  poem  or  a  drama. 

The  extraordinary  actions  and  adventures  of  these 
men,  while  they  rival  the  exploits  recorded  in  chivalric 
tale,  have  the  additional  interest  of  verity.  They 
leave  us  in  admiration  of  the  bold  and  heroic  qualities 
inherent  in  the  Spanish  character,  which  led  that  na- 
tion to  so  high  a  pitch  of  power  and  glory,  and  which 
are  still  discernible  in  the  great  mass  of  that  gallant 
people,  by  those  who  have  an  opportunity  of  judging 
of  them  rightly. 

Before  concluding  these  prefatory  remarks,  the  au- 
thor would  acknowledge  how  much  he  has  been  in- 
debted to  the  third  volume  of  the  invaluable  Historical 
collection  of  Don  Martin  Fernandez  de  Navarrete, 
wherein  he  has  exhibited  his  usual  industry,  accuracy, 
and  critical  acumen.  He  has  likewise  profited  greatly 
by  the  second  volume  of  Oviedo's  general  history, 
v.'hich  only  exists  in  manuscript,  and  a  copy  of  which 
he  found  in  the  Columbian  library  of  the  Cathedral 
of  Seville. 

He  has  had  some  assistance  also  from  the  docu- 
ments of  the  law-case  between  Don  Diego  Columbus 
and  the  Crown,  which  exists  in  the  archives  of  the 
Indies  ;  and  for  an  inspection  of  which  he  is  much  in- 
debted to  the  permission  of  the  Spanish  Government 
and  the  kind  attentions  of  Don  Josef  de  La  Higuera 
Lara,  the  keeper  of  the  archives.  These,  with  the 
historical  works  of  Las  Casas,  Herrera  Gomera,  and 
Peter  Martyr,  have  been  his  authorities  for  the  facts 
contained  in  the  following  work  ;  though  he  has  not 
thought  proper  to  refer  to  them  continually  at  the 
bottom  of  his  page. 

While  his  work  was  going  through  the  press  he  re- 
ceived a  volume  of  Spanish  Biography,  written  with 
great  elegance  and  accuracy,  by  Don  Manuel  Josef 
Quintana,  and  containing  a  life  of  Vasco  Nunez  de 
Balboa.  He  was  gratified  to  find  that  his  arrange- 
ment of  facts  were  generally  corroborated  by  this 
work  ;  though  he  was  enabled  to  correct  his  dates  in 
several  instances,  and  to  make  a  few  other  emenda- 
tions from  the  volume  of  Sefior  Quintana,  whose  posi- 
tion in  Spain  gave  him  the  means  of  attaining  superior 
exactness  on  these  points. 


ALONZO  DE  OJEDA* 


HIS  FIRST  VOYAGE,  IN  WHICH  HE  WAS  ACCOM- 
PANIED BY  AMERIGO  VESPUCCI.f 


CHAPTER  I. 


SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  OJEDA — OF  JUAN  DE  LA  COSA 
— OF  AMERIGO  VESPUCCI — PREPARATIONS  FOR 
THE  VOYAGE. — (1499). 

Those  who  have  read  the  History  of  Columbus 
will,  doubtless,  remember  the  character  and  exploits 
of  Alonzo  de  Ojeda ;  as  some  of  the  readers  of  the 

♦  Ojeda  is  pronounced  in  Spanish  Oheda,  with  a  strong  aspiration 
of  the /i. 
t  Vespucci,  Vespuchy. 


following  pages,  however,  may  not  have  perused 
that  work,  and  as  it  is  proposed  at  present  to  trace 
the  subsequent  fortunes  of  this  youthful  adventurer, 
a  brief  sketch  of  him  may  not  be  deemed  superfluous. 

Alonzo  de  Ojeda  was  a  native  of  Cuenca,  in  New 
Castile,  and  of  a  respectable  family.  He  was  brought 
up  as  a  page  or  esquire,  in  the  service  of  Don  Luis 
de  Cerda,  Duke  of  Medina  Cell,  one  of  the  most 
powerful  nobles  of  Spain  ;  the  same  who  for  some 
time  patroni.sed  Columbus  during  his  application  to 
the  Spanish  court.* 

In  those  warlike  days,  when  the  peninsula  was  dis- 
tracted by  contests  between  the  christian  kingdoms, 
by  feuds  between  the  nobles  and  the  crown,  and  by 
the  incessant  and  marauding  warfare  with  the  Moors, 
the  household  of  a  Spanish  nobleman  was  a  com- 
plete school  of  arms,  where  the  youth  of  the  country 
were  sent  to  be  trained  up  in  all  kinds  of  hardy  exer- 
cises, and  to  be  led  to  battle  under  an  illustrious 
banner.  Such  was  especially  the  case  with  the  serv- 
ice of  the  Duke  of  Medina  Celi,  who  possessed 
princely  domains,  whose  household  was  a  petty 
court,  who  led  legions  of  armed  retainers  to  the 
field,  and  who  appeared  in  splendid  state  and  with 
an  immense  retinue,  more  as  an  ally  of  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella,  than  as  a  subject.  He  engaged  in 
many  of  the  roughest  expeditions  of  the  memorable 
war  of  Granada,  always  insisting  on  leading  his  own 
troops  in  person,  when  the  service  was  of  peculiar 
difficulty  and  danger.  Alonzo  de  Ojeda  was  formed 
to  signalize  himself  in  such  a  school.  Though  small 
of  stature,  he  was  well  made,  and  of  wonderful  force 
and  activity,  with  a  towering  spirit  and  a  daring  eye 
that  seemed  to  make  up  for  deficiency  of  height.  He 
was  a  bold  and  graceful  horseman,  an  excellent  foot 
soldier,  dexterous  with  every  weapon,  and  noted  for 
his  extraordinary  skill  and  adroitness  in  all  feats  of 
strength  and  agility. 

He  must  have  been  quite  young  when  he  followed 
the  duke  of  Medina  Celi,  as  page,  to  the  Moorish 
wars  ;  for  he  was  but  about  twenty-one  years  of  age 
when  he  accompanied  Columbus  in  his  second  voy- 
age ;  he  had  already,  however,  distinguished  himself 
by  his  enterprizing  spirit  and  headlong  valour;  and 
his  exploits  during  that  voyage  contributed  to  en- 
hance his  reputation.  He  returned  to  Spain  with 
Columbus,  but  did  not  accoinpany  him  in  his  third 
voyage,  in  the  spring  of  1498.  He  was  probably  im- 
patient of  subordination,  and  ambitious  of  a  separate 
employment  or  command,  which  the  influence  of  his 
connexions  gave  him  a  great  chance  of  obtaining. 
He  had  a  cousin-german  of  his  own  name,  the  rev- 
erend Padre  Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  a  Dominican  friar, 
who  was  one  of  the  first  inquisitors  of  Spain,  and  a 
great  favourite  with  the  Catholic  sovereigns.t  This 
father  inquisitor  was,  moreover,  an  intimate  friend 
of  the  bishop  Don  Juan  Rodriguez  Fonseca,  who  had 
the  chief  management  of  the  affairs  of  the  Indies,  un- 
der which  general  name  were  comprehended  all  the 
countries  discovered  in  the  new  world.  Through 
the  good  offices  of  his  cousin  inquisitor,  therefore. 
Ojeda  had  been  introduced  to  the  notice  of  the  bishop, 
who  took  him  into  his  especial  favour  and  patronage. 
Mention  has  already  been  made,  in  the  History  of 
Columbus,  of  a  present  made  by  the  bishop  to  Ojeda 
of  a  small  Flemish  painting  of  the  Holy  Virgin. 
This  the  young  adventurer  carried  about  with  him 
as  a  protecting  relic,  invoking  it  at  all  times  of  peril, 
whether  by  sea  or  land  ;  and  to  the  special  care  of 
the  Virgin  he  attributed  the  remarkable  circumstance 
that  he  had  never  been  wounded  in  any  of  the  innu- 


*  Varones  Ilustres,  por  F.  Pizarro  y  Orellana,  p.  41.     L.is  Casas, 
Hist.  Ind.  1.  i.  c.  82. 
t  Pizarro.     Varones  Ilustres. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES    OF    DISCOVERY. 


733 


merable  brawls  and  battles  into  which  he  was  con- 
tinually betrayed  by  his  rash  and  fiery  temperament. 

While  Ojecia  was  lingering  about  the  court,  letters 
were  received  from  Columbus,  giving  an  account  of 
the  events  of  his  third  voyage,  especially  of  his  dis- 
covery of  the  coast  of  Paria,  which  he  described  as 
abounding  with  drugs  and  spices,  with  gold  and  sil- 
ver, and  precious  stones,  and,  above  all,  with  oriental 
pearls,  and  which  he  supposed  to  be  the  borders  of 
that  vast  and  unknown  region  of  the  East,  wherein, 
according  to  certain  learned  theorists,  was  situated 
the  terrestrial  paradise.  Specimens  of  the  pearls, 
procured  in  considerable  quantities  from  the  natives, 
accompanied  his  epistle,  together  with  charts  descrip- 
tive of  his  route.  These  tidings  caused  a  great  sen- 
sation among  the  maritime  adventurers  of  Spain  ; 
but  no  one  was  more  excited  by  them  than  Alonzo 
de  Ojeda,  who,  from  his  intimacy  with  the  bishop, 
had  full  access  to  the  charts  and  correspondence  of 
Columbus.  He  immediately  conceived  the  project  of 
making  a  voyage  in  the  route  thus  marked  out  by  the 
admiral,  and  of  seizing  upon  the  first  fruits  of  discovery 
which  he  had  left  ungathered.  His  scheme  inet  with 
ready  encouragetnent  from  Fonseca,  who,  as  has  here- 
tofore been  shown,  was  an  implacable  enemy  to  Colum- 
bus, and  willing  to  promote  any  measure  that  might 
injure  or  molest  him.  The  bishop  accordingly  granted 
a  commission  to  Ojeda,  authorizing  him  to  fit  out  an 
armament  and  proceed  on  a  voyage  of  discovery, 
with  the  proviso  merely  that  he  should  not  visit  any 
territories  appertaining  to  Portugal,  or  any  of  the 
lands  discovered  in  the  name  of  Spain  previous  to 
the  year  1495.  The  latter  part  of  this  provision  ap- 
pears to  have  been  craftily  worded  by  the  bishop,  so 
as  to  leave  the  coast  of  Paria  and  its  pearl  fisheries 
open  to  Ojeda,  they  having  been  recently  discovered 
by  Columbus  in  1498. 

The  commission  was  signed  by  Fonseca  alone,  in 
virtue  of  general  powers  vested  in  him  for  such  pur- 
poses, but  the  signature  of  the  sovereigns  did  not 
appear  on  the  instrument,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether 
their  sanction  was  sought  on  the  occasion.  He  knew 
that  Columbus  had  recently  remonstrated  against  a 
royal  mandate  issued  in  1495,  permitting  voyages  of 
discovery,  by  private  adventurers,  and  that  the  sov- 
ereigns had  in  consequence  revoked  their  mandate 
wherever  it  might  be  deemed  prejudicial  to  the  stip- 
ulated privileges  of  the  admiral.*  It  is  probable, 
therefore,  that  the  bishop  avoided  raising  any  ques- 
tion that  might  impede  the  enterprise  ;  being  confi- 
dent of  the  ultimate  approbation  of  Ferdinand,  who 
would  be  well  pleased  to  have  his  dominions  in  the 
new  world  extended  by  the  discoveries  of  private  ad- 
venturers, undertaken  at  their  own  expense.  It  was 
stipulated  in  this,  as  well  as  in  subsequent  licenses 
for  private  expeditions,  that  a  certain  proportion  of 
the  profits,  generally  a  fourth  or  fifth,  should  be  re- 
served for  the  crown. 

Having  thus  obtained  permission  to  make  the  voy- 
age, the  next  consideration  with  Ojeda  was  to  find 
the  means.  He  was  a  young  adventurer,  a  mere  sol- 
dier of  fortune,  and  destitute  of  wealth  ;  but  he  had 
a  high  reputation  for  courage  and  enterprise,  and 
with  these,  it  was  thought,  would  soon  make  his 
way  to  the  richest  parts  of  the  newly  discovered 
lands,  and  have  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  at  his  dis- 
posal. He  had  no  difficulty,  therefore,  in  finding 
monied  associates  among  the  rich  merchants  of 
Seville,  who,  in  that  age  of  discovery,  were  ever 
ready  to  .stake  their  property  upon  the  schemes  of 
roving  navigators.  With  such  assistance  he  soon 
equipped  a  squadron  of  four  vessels  at  Port  St.  Mary, 
opposite  Cadiz.     Among  the  seamen  who  engaged 


'  Navairete,  r,  il.     Document,  cxtii. 


with  him  were  several  who  had  just  returned  from 
accompanying  Columbus  in  his  voyage  to  this  very 
coast  of  Paria.  The  principal  associate  of  Ojeda, 
and  one  on  whom  he  placed  great  reliance,  was  Juan 
de  la  Cosa  ;  who  accompanied  him  as  first  mate,  or, 
as  it  was  termed,  chief  pilot.  This  was  a  bold  Bis- 
cayan,  who  may  be  regarded  as  a  disciple  of  Colum- 
bus, with  whom  he  had  sailed  in  his  second  voyage, 
when  he  coasted  Cuba  and  Jamaica,  and  he  had 
since  accompanied  Rodrigo  de  Bastides,  in  an  expe- 
dition along  the  coast  of  Terra  Firma.  The  hardy 
veteran  was  looked  up  to  by  his  contemporaries  as 
an  oracle  of  the  seas,  and  was  pronounced  one  of 
the  most  able  mariners  of  the  day ;  he  may  be  ex- 
cused, therefore,  if  in  his  harmless  vanity,  he  con- 
sidered himself  on  a  par  even  with  Columbus.* 

Another  conspicuous  associate  of  Ojeda,  in  this 
voyage,  was  Amerigo  Vespucci,  a  Florentine  mer- 
chant, induced  by  broken  fortunes  and  a  rambling 
disposition  to  seek  adventures  in  the  new  world. 
Whether  he  had  any  pecuniary  interest  in  the  expe- 
dition, and  in  what  capacity  he  sailed,  does  not  ap- 
pear. His  importance  has  entirely  arisen  from  sub- 
sequent circumstances  ;  from  his  having  written  and 
published  a  narrative  of  his  voyages,  and  from  his 
name  having  eventually  been  given  to  the  new 
world. 


CHAPTER   H. 

DEPARTURE     FROM     SPAIN  —  ARRIVAL     ON     THE 
COAST   OF  PARIA — CUSTOMS   OF  THE   NATIONS. 

Ojeda  sailed  from  Port  St.  Mary  on  the  20th  of 
May,  1499,  and,  having  touched  for  supplies  at  the 
Canaries,  took  a  departure  from  Gomara,  pursuing 
the  route  of  Columbus,  in  his  third  voyage,  being 
guided  by  the  chart  he  had  sent  home,  as  well  as  by 
the  mariners  who  had  accompanied  him  on  that  oc- 
casion. At  the  end  of  twenty-four  days  he  reached 
the  continent  of  the  new  v/orld,  about  two  hundred 
leagues  farther  south  than  the  part  discovered  by 
Columbus,  being,  as  it  is  supposed,  the  coast  of 
Surinam. t 

From  hence  he  ran  along  the  coast  of  the  Gulf 
of  Paria,  passing  the  mouths  of  many  rivers,  but 
especially  those  of  the  Esquivo  and  the  Oronoko. 
These,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  Spaniards,  unac- 
customed as  yet  to  the  mighty  rivers  ol  the  new- 
world,  poured  forth  such  a  prodigious  volume  of 
water,  as  to  freshen  the  sea  for  a  great  extent.  They 
beheld  none  of  the  natives  until  they  arrived  at  the 
Island  of  Trinidad,  on  which  island  they  met  with 
traces  of  the  recent  visit  of  Columbus. 

Vespucci,  in  his  letters,  gives  a  long  description 
of  the  people  of  this  island  and  of  the  coast  of  Paria, 
who  were  of  the  Carib  race,  tall,  well-made  and  vig- 
orous, and  expert  with  the  bow,  the  lance,  and  the 
buckler.  His  description,  in  general,  resembles  those 
which  have  frequently  been  given  of  the  Aboriginals 
of  the  new  world  ;  there  are  two  or  three  particu- 
lars, however,  worthy  of  citation. 

They  appeared,  he  said,  to  believe  in  no  religious 
creed,  to  have  no  place  of  worship,  and  to  make  no 
prayers  or  sacrifices ;  but,  he  adds,  from  the  volup- 
tuousness of  their  lives,  they  might  be  considered 
Epicureans.^  Their  habitations  were  built  in  the 
shape  of  bells ;  of  the  trunks  of  trees,  thatched 
with  palm  leaves,  and  were  proof  against  wind  and 
weather.    They  appeared  to  be  m  common,  and 


,?•■(• 


•  Navarrcte.     Collec.  Viag.,  t. 

t  Navatxete,  t.  iii.,  p.  5 

X  Viages  de  Vespucci.    Navarrcte,  t.  iii.,  p.  sxi 


734 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


some  of  them  were  of  such  magnitude  as  to  con- 
tain six  hundred  persons  :  in  one  place  there  were 
eight  principal  houses  capable  of  sheltering  nearly 
ten  thousand  inhabitants.  Every  seven  or  eight 
years  the  natives  were  obliged  to  change  their  resi- 
dence, from  the  maladies  engendered  by  the  heat  of 
the  climate  in  their  crowded  habitations. 

Their  riches  consisted  in  beads  and  ornaments 
made  from  the  bones  of  fishes ;  in  small  white  and 
green  stones  strung  lilce  rosaries,  with  which  they 
adorned  their  persons,  and  in  the  beautiful  plumes 
of  various  colours  for  which  the  tropical  birds  are 
noted. 

The  Spaniards  smiled  at  their  simplicity  in  at- 
taching an  extraordinary  value  to  such  worthless 
trifles ;  while  the  savages,  in  all  probability,  were 
equally  surprised  at  beholding  the  strangers  so  eager 
after  gold,  and  pearls,  and  precious  stones,  which  to 
themselves  were  objects  of  indifference. 

Their  manner  of  treating  the  dead  was  similar  to 
that  observed  among  the  natives  of  some  of  the 
islands.  Having  deposited  the  corpse  in  a  cavern  or 
sepulchre,  they  placed  a  jar  of  water  and  a  few  eat- 
ables at  its  head,  and  then  abandoned  it  without 
moan  or  lamentation.  In  some  parts  of  the  coast, 
when  a  person  was  considered  near  his  end,  his 
nearest  relatives  bore  him  to  the  woods  and  laid  him 
in  a  hammock  suspended  to  the  trees.  They  then 
danced  round  him  until  evening,  when,  having  left 
within  his  reach  sufficient  meat  and  drink  to  sustain 
him  for  four  days,  they  repaired  to  their  habitations. 
If  he  recovered  and  returned  home,  he  was  received 
with  much  ceremony  and  rejoicing  ;  if  he  died  of 
his  malady  or  of  famine,  nothing  more  was  thought 
of  him. 

Their  mode  of  treating  a  fever  is  also  worthy  of 
mention.  In  the  height  of  the  malady  they  plunged 
the  patient  in  a  bath  of  the  coldest  water,  after 
v/hich  they  obliged  him  to  make  many  evolutions 
round  a  great  tire,  until  he  was  in  a  violent  heat, when 
they  put  him  to  bed,  that  he  might  sleep :  a  treat- 
ment, adds  Amerigo  Vespucci,  by  which  we  saw 
many  cured. 


CHAPTER   III. 


COASTING  OF    TERRA     FIRMA— MILITARY    EXPE- 
DITION  OF   OJEDA. 

After  touching  at  various  parts  of  Trinidad  and 
the  Gulf  of  Paria,  Ojeda  passed  through  the  strait 
of  the  Boca  del  Drago,  or  Dragon's  Mouth,  which 
Columbus  had  found  so  formidable,  and  then  steered 
his  course  along  the  coast  of  Terra  Firma,  landing 
occasionally  until  he  arrived  at  Curiana,  or  the  Gulf 
of  Pearls.  From  hence  he  stood  to  the  opposite 
island  of  Margarita,  previously  discovered  by  Colum- 
bus, and  since  renowned  for  its  pearl  fishery.  This, 
as  well  as  several  adjacent  islands,  he  visited  and 
explored  ;  after  which  he  returned  to  the  main  land, 
and  touched  at  Cumana  and  Maracapana,  where  he 
found  the  rivers  infested  with  alligators  resembling 
the  crocodiles  of  the  Nile. 

Finding  a  convenient  harbour  at  Maracapana  he 
unloaded  and  careened  his  vessels  there,  and  built  a 
small  brigantine.  The  natives  came  to  him  in  great 
numbers,  bringing  abundance  of  venison,  fish,  and 
cassava  bread,  and  aiding  the  seamen  in  their 
labours.  Their  hospitality  was  not  certainly  disin- 
terested, for  they  sought  to  gain  the  protection  of 
the  Spaniards,  whom  they  reverenced  as  superhuman 
beings.  When  they  thought  they  had  sufficiently 
secured  their  favour,  they  represented  to  Ojeda  that 
their  coast  was  subject  to  invasion  from  a  distant 


island,  the  inhabitants  of  which  were  cannibals,  and 
carried  their  people  into  captivity,  to  be  devoured  at 
their  unnatural  banquets.  They  besought  Ojeda, 
therefore,  to  avenge  them  upon  these  ferocious  ene- 
mies. 

The  request  was  gratifying  to  the  fighting  pro- 
pensities of  Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  and  to  his  love  of  advent- 
ure, and  was  readily  granted.  Taking  seven  of  the 
natives  on  board  of  his  vessels,  therefore,  as  guides,  he 
set  sail  in  quest  of  the  cannibals.  After  sailing  for 
seven  days  he  came  to  a  chain  of  islands,  some  of 
which  were  peopled,  others  uninhabited,  and  which 
are  supposed  to  have  been  the  Carribee  islands. 
One  of  these  was  pointed  out  by  his  guides  as  the 
habitation  of  their  foes.  On  running  near  the  shore 
he  beheld  it  thronged  with  savage  warriors,  decora- 
ted with  coronets  of  gaudy  plumes,  their  bodies 
painted  with  a  variety  of  colours.  They  were  armed 
with  bows  and  arrows,  with  darts,  lances,  and  buck- 
lers, and  seemed  prepared  to  defend  their  island  from 
invasion. 

This  show  of  war  was  calculated  to  rouse  the 
martial  spirit  of  Ojeda.  He  brought  his  ships  to  an- 
chor, ordered  out  his  boats,  and  provided  each  with 
a  paterero  or  small  cannon.  Beside  the  oarsmen, 
each  boat  contained  a  number  of  soldiers,  who  were 
told  to  crouch  out  of  sight  in  the  bottom.  The 
boats  then  pulled  in  steadily  for  the  shore.  As  they 
approached,  the  Indians  let  fly  a  cloud  of  arrows, 
but  without  much  effect.  Seeing  the  boats  continue 
to  advance,  the  savages  threw  themselves  into  the 
sea,  and  brandished  their  lances  to  prevent  their  land- 
ing. Upon  this,  the  soldiers  sprang  up  in  the  boats 
and  discharged  the  patereroes.  At  the  sound  and 
smoke  of  these  unknown  weapons  the  savages  aban- 
doned the  water  in  affright,  while  Ojeda  and  his  men 
leaped  on  shore  and  pursued  them.  The  Carib  war- 
riors rallied  on  the  banks,  and  fought  for  a  long 
lime  with  that  courage  peculiar  to  their  race,  but 
were  at  length  driven  to  the  woods,  at  the  edge  of  the 
sword,  leaving  many  killed  and  wounded  on  the  field 
of  battle. 

On  the  following  day  the  savages  were  seen  on 
the  shore  in  still  greater  numbers,  armed  and  paint- 
ed, and  decorated  with  war  plumes,  and  sounding 
defiance  with  their  conchs  and  drums.  Ojeda  again 
landed  with  fifty-seven  men,  whom  he  separated  into 
four  companies,  and  ordered  them  to  charge  the 
enemy  from  different  directions.  The  Caribs  fought 
for  a  time  hand  to  hand,  displaying  great  dexterity  in 
covering  themselves  with  their  bucklers,  but  were  at 
length  entirely  routed  and  driven,  with  great  slaugh- 
ter, to  the  forests.  The  Spaniards  had  but  one  man 
killed  and  twenty-one  wounded  in  these  combats, — 
such  superior  advantage  did  their  armour  give  them 
over  the  naked  savages.  Having  plundered  and 
set  fire  to  the  houses,  they  returned  triumphantly 
to  their  ships,  with  a  number  of  Carib  captives,  and 
inade  sail  for  the  main  land.  Ojeda  bestowed  a  part 
of  the  spoil  upon  the  seven  Indians  who  had  ac- 
companied him  as  guides,  and  sent  them  exulting  to 
their  homes,  to  relate  to  their  countrymen  the  signal 
vengeance  that  had  been  wreaked  upon  their  foes. 
He  then  anchored  in  a  bay,  where  he  remained  for 
twenty  days,  until  his  men  had  recovered  from  their 
wounds.* 


*  There  is  some  discrepance  in  the  early  accounts  of  this  battle, 
as  to  the  time  and  place  of  its  occurrence.  The  author  has  collated 
the  narratives  of  Vespucci,  Las  Casas.  Herrera.  and  Peter  Martyr, 
and  the  evidence  given  in  the  law-suit  of  Diego  Columbus,  and 
y  as  endeavoured  as  much  as  possible  to  reconcile  them. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


735 


CHAPTER  IV. 

DISCOVERY  OF  THE  GULF  OF  VENEZUELA — TRANS- 
ACTIONS THERE — OJEDA  EXPLORES  THE  GULF 
— PENETRATES   TO   MARACAIBO. 

His  crew  being  refreshed,  and  the  wounded  suf- 
ficiently recovered,  Ojeda  made  sail,  and  touched  at 
the  island  of  Curazao,  which,  according  to  the  ac- 
counts of  Vespucci,  was  inhabited  by  a  race  of 
giants,  "  every  woman  appearing  a  Penthesilea,  and 
every  man  an  Antaeus."*  As  Vespucci  was  a 
scholar,  and  as  he  supposed  himself  exploring  the 
regions  of  the  extreme  East,  the  ancient  realm  of 
fable,  it  is  probable  his  imagination  deceived  him, 
and  construed  the  formidable  accounts  given  by  the 
Indians  of  their  cannibal  neighbours  of  the  islands, 
into  something  according  with  his  recollections  of 
classic  fable.  Certain  it  is,  that  the  reports  of  subse- 
quent voyagers  proved  the  inhabitants  of  the  island 
to  be  of  the  ordinary  size. 

Proceeding  along  the  coast,  he  arrived  at  a  vast 
deep  gulf,  resembling  a  tranquil  lake ;  entering 
which,  he  beheld  on  the  eastern  side  a  village,  the 
construction  of  which  struck  him  with  surprise.  It 
consisted  of  twenty  large  houses,  shaped  like  bells, 
and  built  on  piles  driven  into  the  bottom  of  the  lake, 
which,  in  this  part,  was  limpid  and  of  but  little  depth. 
Each  house  was  provided  with  a  drawbridge,  and 
with  canoes,  by  which  the  communication  was 
carried  on.  From  these  resemblances  to  the  Italian 
city,  Ojeda  gave  to  the  bay  the  name  of  the  Gulf 
of  Venice :  and  it  is  called  at  the  present  day 
Venezuela,  or  little  Venice:  the  Indian  name  was 
Coquibacoa. 

When  the  inhabitants  beheld  the  ships  standing 
into  the  bay,  looking  like  wonderful  and  unknown 
apparitions  from  the  deep,  they  fled  with  terror  to 
their  houses,  and  raised  the  drawbridges.  The 
Spaniards  remained  for  a  time  gazing  with  admira- 
tion at  this  amphibious  village,  when  a  squadron  of 
canoes  entered  the  harbour  from  the  sea.  On  be- 
holding the  ships  they  paused  in  mute  amazement, 
and  on  the  Spaniards  attempting  to  approach  them, 
paddled  swiftly  to  shore,  and  plunged  into  the  forest. 
They  soon  returned  with  sixteen  young  girls,  whom 
they  conveyed  in  their  canoes  to  the  ships,  distribut- 
ing four  on  board  of  each,  either  as  peace-offerings 
or  as  tokens  of  amity  and  confidence.  The  best  of 
understanding  now  seemed  to  be  established ;  and 
the  inhabitants  of  the  village  came  swarming  about 
the  ships  in  their  canoes,  and  others  swimming  in 
great  numbers  from  the  shores. 

The  friendship  of  the  savages,  however,  was  all 
delusive.  On  a  sudden,  several  old  women  at  the 
doors  of  the  houses  uttered  loud  shrieks,  tearing 
their  hair  in  fury.  It  appeared  to  be  a  signal  for 
hostility.  The  sixteen  nymphs  plunged  into  the  sea 
and  made  for  shore ;  the  Indians  in  the  canoes 
caught  up  their  bows  and  discharged  a  flight  of 
arrows,  and  even  those  who  were  swimming  bran- 
dished darts  and  lances,  which  they  had  hitherto 
concealed  beneath  the  water. 

■  Ojeda  was  for  a  moment  surprised  at  seeing  war 
thus  starting  up  on  every  side,  and  the  very  sea 
bristling  with  weapons.  Manning  his  boats,  he  im- 
mediately charged  among  the  thickest  of  the  enemy, 
shattered  and  sunk  several  of  their  canoes,  killed 
twenty  Indians  and  wounded  many  more,  and  spread 
such  a  panic  among  them,  that  most  of  the  survivors 
flung  themselves  into  the  sea  and  swam  to  shore. 
Three  of  them  were  taken  prisoners,  and  two  of  the 
fugitive  girls,  and  were  conveyed  on  board  of  the 


ships,  where  the  men  were  put  in  irons.  One  of 
them,  however,  and  the  two  girls,  succeeded  in  dex- 
terously escaping  the  same  night. 

Ojeda  had  but  five  men  wounded  in  the  affray ; 
all  of  whom  recovered.  He  visited  the  houses,  but 
found  them  abandoned  and  destitute  of  booty  ;  not- 
withstanding the  unprovoked  hostility  of  the  inhabit- 
ants, he  spared  the  buildings,  that  he  might  not 
cause  useless  irritation  along  the  coast. 

Continuing  to  explore  this  gulf,  Ojeda  penetrated 
to  a  port  or  harbour,  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of 
St.  Bartholomew,  but  which  is  supposed  to  be  the 
same  at  present  known  by  the  original  Indian  name 
of  Maracaibo.  Here,  in  compliance  with  the  en- 
treaties of  the  natives,  he  sent  a  detachment  of 
twenty-seven  Spaniards  on  a  visit  to  the  interior. 
For  nine  days  they  were  conducted  from  town  to 
town,  and  feasted  and  almost  idolized  by  the  In- 
dians, who  regarded  them  as  angelic  beings,  per- 
forming their  national  dances  and  games,  and  chaunt- 
ing  their  traditional  ballads  for  their  entertainment. 

The  natives  of  this  part  were  distinguished  for  the 
symmetry  of  their  forms;  the  females  in  particular 
appeared  to  the  Spaniards  to  surpass  all  others  that 
they  had  yet  beheld  in  the  new  world  for  grace  and 
beauty;  neither  did  the  men  evince,  in  the  least 
degree,  that  jealousy  which  prevailed  in  other  parts 
of  the  coast ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  permitted  the 
most  frank  and  intimate  intercourse  with  their  wives 
and  daughters. 

By  the  time  the  Spaniards  set  out  on  their  return 
to  the  ship,  the  whole  country  was  aroused,  pouring 
forth  its  population,  male  and  female,  to  do  them 
honour.  Some  bore  them  in  litters  or  hammocks, 
that  they  might  not  be  fatigued  with  the  journey, 
and  happy  was  the  Indian  who  had  the  honour  of 
bearing  a  Spaniard  on  his  shoulders  across  a  river. 
Others  loaded  themselves  with  the  presents  that  had 
been  bestowed  on  their  guests,  consisting  of  rich 
pluines,  weapons  of  various  kinds,  and  tropical  birds 
and  animals.  In  this  way  they  returned  in  triumph- 
ant procession  to  the  ships,  the  woods  and  shores 
resounding  with  their  songs  and  shouts. 

Many  of  the  Indians  crowded  into  the  boats  that 
took  the  detachment  to  the  ships ;  others  put  off  in 
canoes,  or  swam  from  shore,  so  that  in  a  little  while 
the  vessels  were  thronged  with  upwards  of  a  thou- 
sand wondering  natives.  While  gazing  and  mai^vel- 
ling  at  the  strange  objects  around  them,  Ojeda 
ordered  the  cannon  to  be  discharged,  at  the  sound 
of  which,  says  Vespucci,  the  Indians  "  plunged  into 
the  water,  like  so  many  frogs  from  a  bank."  Per- 
ceiving, however,  that  it  was  done  in  harmless  mirth, 
they  returned  on  board,  and  passed  the  rest  of  the 
day  in  great  festivity.  The  Spaniards  brought  away 
with  them  several  of  the  beautiful  and  hospitable 
females  from  this  place,  one  of  whom,  named  by 
them  Isabel,  was  much  prized  by  Ojeda,  and  ac- 
companied him  in  a  subsequent  voyage.* 


•  VespuccL— Letter  to  Lorenzo  dc  Pier  Francisco  de  Medicis. 


*  Navarette,  t.  iil.,  p.  8.     Idem,  pp.  107,  108. 

It  is  worthy  of  particular  mention  tliat  Ojeda,  in  his  report  of 
his  voyage  to  the  Sovereigns,  informed  them  of  his  having  met 
with  English  voyagers  in  the  vicinity  of  Coquibacoa,  and  that  the 
Spanish  government  attached  such  importance^  to  his  information 
as  to  take  measures  to  prevent  any  intrusion  into  those  parts  by 
the  English.  It  is  singular  that  no  record  should  exist  of  this 
early  and  extensive  expedition  of  English  navigators.  If  it  was 
undertaicen  in  the  service  of  the  Crown,  some  document  mi^ht  be 
found  concerning  it  among  ihe  archives  of  the  reign  of  Henry 
VII.  The  English  had  already  discovered  the  continent  of  North 
America.  This  had  been  done  in  1497,  by  John  Cabot,  a  Vene- 
tian, .accompanied  by  his  son  Seb.astian.  who  was  born  in  Bristol. 
They  sailed  under  a  license  of  Henry  VII.,  who  was  to  have  a  fifth 
of  the  profits  of  the  voyage.  On  the  24th  June  they  discovered 
Newfoundland,  and  afterwards  coasted  the  continent  quite  to  Flor- 
ida, bringing  Ijack  to  England  a  valuable  cargo  and  several  of  the 
natives.  Tliis  was  the  first  discovery  a/tUe  mainland  0/  ^i'""' 
icii.  The  success  of  this  expedition  may  have  prompted  the  one 
which  Ojeda  encountered  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Coquibacoa. 


736 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


CHAPTER  V. 

PROSECUTION   OF  THE  VOYAGE — RETURN  TO 
SPAIN. 

Leaving  the  friendly  port  of  Coquibacoa,  Ojeda 
continued  along  the  western  shores  of  the  gulf  of 
Venezuela,  and  standing  out  to  sea,  and  doubling 
Cape  Maracaibo,  he  pursued  his  coasting  voyage 
from  port  to  port,  and  promontory  to  promontory, 
of  this  unknown  continent,  until  he  reached  that 
long  stretching  headland  called  Cape  de  la  Vela. 
There,  the  state  of  his  vessels,  and  perhaps  the  dis- 
appointment of  his  hopes  at  not  meeting  with  abun- 
dant sources  of  immediate  wealth,  induced  him  to 
abandon  all  further  voyaging  along  the  coast,  and, 
changing  his  course,  he  stood  across  the  Caribbean 
Sea  for  Hispaniola.  The  tenor  of  his  commission 
forbade  his  visiting  that  island  ;  but  Ojeda  was  not 
a  man  to  stand  upon  trifles  when  his  interest  or  in- 
chnation  prompted  the  contrary.  He  trusted  to 
excuse  the  infraction  of  his  orders  by  the  alleged 
necessity  of  touching  at  the  island  to  caulk  and  refit 
his  vessels,  and  to  procure  provisions.  His  true  ob- 
ject, however,  is  supposed  to  have  been  to  cut  dye- 
wood,  which  abounds  in  the  western  part  of  His- 
paniola. 

He  accordingly  anchored  at  Yaquimo  in  September, 
and  landed  with  a  large  party  of  his  men.  Columbus 
at  that  time  held  command  of  the  island,  and,  hear- 
ing of  this  unlicensed  intrusion,  despatched  Francesco 
Roldan,  the  quondam  rebel,  to  call  Ojeda  to  account. 
The  contest  of  stratagem  and  management  that  took 
place  between  these  two  adroit  and  daring  advent- 
urers has  already  been  detailed  in  the  History  of 
Columbus.  Roldan  was  eventually  successful,  and 
Ojeda,  being  obliged  to  leave  Hispaniola,  resumed 
his  rambling  voyage,  visiting  various  islands,  from 
whence  he  carried  off  numbers  of  the  natives.  He 
at  length  arrived  at  Cadiz,  in  June,  1500,  with  his 
ships  crowded  with  captives,  whom  he  sold  as  slaves. 
So  meagre,  however,  was  the  result  of  this  expedi- 
tion, that  we  are  told,  when  all  the  expenses  were 
deducted,  but  five  hundred  ducats  remained  to  be 
divided  between  fifty-five  adventurers.  What  made 
this  result  the  more  mortifying  was,  that  a  petty 
armament  which  had  sailed  sometime  after  that  of 
Ojeda,  had  returned  two  months  before  him,  rich 
with  the  spoils  of  the  New  World.  A  brief  account 
of  this  latter  expedition  is  necessary  to  connect  this 
series  of  minor  discoveries. 


PEDRO  ALCNZO  NINO*  AND   CHRISTOVAL 
GUERRA-(149S).) 


The  permission  granted  by  Bishop  Fonseca  to 
Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  to  undertake  a  private  expedition 
to  the  New  World,  roused  the  emulation  of  others 
of  the  followers  of  Columbus.  Among  these  was 
Pedro  Alonzo  Nino,  a  hardy  seaman,  native  of  Mo- 
o'uer  in  the  vicinity  -of  Palos,  who  had  sailed  with 
Columbus,  as  a  pilot,  in  his  first  voyage,  and  also  in 
his  cruisings  along  the  coasts  of  Cuba  and  Paria.t 
He  soon  obtained  from  the  bishop  a  similar  license 
to  that  given  to  Ojeda,  and,  like  the  latter,  sought 
for  some  monied  confederate  among  the  rich  mer- 
chants of  Seville.    One  of  these,  named  Luis  Guerra, 


*  Pronounced  Ninyo.    The  N  in  Spanish  is  always  pronounced 
as  if  followed  by  the  letter^, 
t  Testimony  of  Bastides  in  the  law-6uit  of  DieKO  Columbus. 


offered  to  fit  out  a  caravel  for  the  expedition  ;  but  on 
condition  that  his  brother,  Christoval  Guerra,  should 
have  the  command.  The  poverty  of  Nino  compelled 
him  to  assent  to  the  stipulations  of  the  man  of  wealth, 
and  he  sailed  as  subaltern  in  his  own  enterprise  ;  but 
his  nautical  skill  and  knowledge  soon  gained  him  the 
ascendancy,  he  became  virtually  the  captain,  and 
ultimately  enjoyed  the  whole  credit  of  the  voyage. 

The  bark  of  these  two  adventurers  was  but  of 
fifty  tons  burthen,  and  the  crew  thirty-three  souls  all 
told.  With  this  slender  armament  they  undertook 
to  traverse  unknown  and  dangerous  seas,  and  to  ex- 
plore the  barbarous  shores  of  that  vast  continent  re- 
cently discovered  by  Columbus  ; — such  was  the  dar- 
ing spirit  of  the  Spanish  voyagers  of  those  days. 

It  was  about  the  beginning  of  June,  1499,  and  but 
a  few  days  after  the  departure  of  Ojeda,  that  tliey 
put  to  sea.  They  sailed  from  the  little  port  of  Pa- 
les, the  original  cradle  of  American  discovery,  whos2 
brave  and  skilful  mariners  long  continued  foremost 
in  all  enterprises  to  the  New  World.  Being  guided 
by  the  chart  of  Columbus,  they  followed  his  route, 
and  reached  the  southern  continent,  a  little  beyond 
Paria,  about  fifteen  days  after  the  same  coast  had 
been  visited  by  Ojeda. 

They  then  proceeded  to  the  gulf  of  Paria,  where 
they  landed  to  cut  dye-wood,  and  were  amicably  en- 
tertained by  the  natives.  Shortly  after,  sallying  from 
the  gulf  by  the  Boca  del  Drago,  they  encountered 
eighteen  canoes  of  Caribs,  the  pirate-rovers  of  these 
seas  and  the  terror  of  the  bordering  lands.  This 
savage  armada,  instead  of  being  daunted  as  usual 
by  the  sight  of  a  European  ship  with  swelling  sails, 
resembling  some  winged  monster  of  the  deep,  con- 
sidered it  only  as  an  object  of  plunder  or  hostility, 
and  assailed  it  with  showers  of  arrows.  The  sud- 
den burst  of  artillery,  however,  from  the  sides  of  the 
caravel  and  the  havoc  made  among  the  Caribs  by 
this  seeming  thunder,  struck  them  with  dismay  and 
they  fled  in  all  directions.  The' Spaniards  succeeded 
in  capturing  one  of  the  canoes,  with  one  of  the  war- 
riors who  had  manned  it.  In  the  bottom  of  the 
canoe  lay  an  Indian  prisoner  bound  hand  and  foot. 
On  being  liberated  he  informed  the  Spaniards  by 
signs  that  these  Caribs  had  been  on  a  marauding 
expedition  along  the  neighbouring  coasts,  shutting 
themselves  up  at  night  in  a  stockade  which  they  car- 
ried with  them,  and  issuing  forth  by  day  to  plunder 
the  villages  and  to  make  captives.  He  had  been  one 
of  .seven  prisoners.  His  companions  had  been  de- 
voured before  his  eyes  at  the  cannibal  banquets  of 
these  savages,  and  he  had  been  awaiting  the  same 
miserable  fate.  Honest  Nino  and  his  confederates 
were  so  indignant  at  this  recital,  that,  receiving  it  as 
established  fact,  they  performed  what  they  consid- 
ered an  act  of  equitable  justice,  by  abandoning  the 
Carib  to  the  discretion  of  his  late  captive.  The  lat- 
ter fell  upon  the  defenceless  warrior  with  fist  and 
foot  and  cudgel ;  nor  did  his  rage  subside  even  after 
the  breath  had  been  mauled  out  of  his  victim,  but, 
tearing  the  grim  head  from  the  body,  he  placed  it  on 
a  pole  as  a  trophy  of  his  vengeance. 

Niiio  and  his  fellow-adventurers  now  steered  for 
the  island  of  Margarita,  where  they  obtained  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  pearls  by  barter.  They  after- 
wards skirted  the  opposite  coast  of  Cumana,  trading 
cautiously  and  shrewdly  from  port  to  port ;  some- 
times remaining  on  board  of  their  little  bark,  and 
obliging  the  savages  to  come  off  to  them,  when  the 
latter  appeared  too  numerous,  at  other  times  ventur- 
ing on  shore,  and  even  into  the  interior.  They  were 
invariably  treated  with  amity  by  the  natives,  who 
were  perfectly  naked,  excepting  that  they  were 
adorned  with  necklaces  and  bracelets  of  pearls. 
These  they  sometimes  gave  freely  to  the  Spaniards, 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


737 


at  other  times  they  exchanged  them  for  glass  beads 
and  other  trinkets,  and  smiled  at  the  folly  of  the 
strangers  in  making  such  silly  bargains.* 

The  Spaniards  were  struck  with  the  grandeur  and 
density  of  the  forests  along  this  coast,  for  in  these 
regions  of  heat  and  moisture,  vegetation  appears  in 
its  utmost  magnificence.  They  heard  also  the  cries 
and  roarings  of  wild  and  unknown  animals  in  the 
woodlands,  which,  however,  appeared  not  to  be  very 
dangerous,  as  the  Indians  went  about  the  forest 
armed  solely  with  bows  and  arrows.  From  meet- 
ing with  deer  and  rabbits,  they  were  convinced  that 
that  was  a  part  of  Terra  Firma,  not  having  found 
any  animals  of  the  kind  on  the  islands.t 

Nino  and  Guerra  were  so  well  pleased  with  the 
hospitality  of  the  natives  of  Cumana,  and  with  the 
profitable  traffic  for  pearls,  by  which  they  obtained 
many  of  great  size  and  beauty,  that  they  remained 
upwards  of  three  months  on  the  coast. 

They  then  proceeded  westward  to  a  country  called 
Cauchieto,  trading  as  usual  for  pearls,  and  for  the  in- 
ferior kind  of  gold  called  g^anin.  At  length  they 
arrived  at  a  place  where  there  was  a  kind  of  fortress 
protecting  a  number  of  houses  and  gardens  situated 
on  a  river,  the  whole  forming  to  the  eyes  of  the 
Spaniards  one  of  the  most  delicious  abodes  imagin- 
able. They  were  about  to  land  and  enjoy  the  pleas- 
ures of  this  fancied  paradise,  when  they  beheld  up- 
wards of  a  thousand  Indians,  armed  with  bows  and 
arrows  and  war-clubs,  preparing  to  give  them  a 
warm  reception ;  havmg  been  probably  incensed  by 
the  recent  visit  of  Ojeda.  As  Nino  and  Guerra  had 
not  the  fighting  propensities  of  Ojeda,  and  were  in 
quest  of  profit  rather  than  renown,  having,  more- 
over, in  all  probability,  the  fear  of  the  rich  merchant 
of  Sevdle  before  their  eyes,  they  prudently  abstained 
from  landing,  and,  abandoning  this  hostile  coast,  re- 
turned forthwith  to  Cumana  to  resume  their  trade 
lor  pearls.  They  soon  amassed  a  great  number, 
many  of  which  were  equal  in  size  and  beauty  to  I  he 
most  celebrated  of  the  East,  though  they  had  been 
injured  in  boring  from  a  want  of  proper  implements. 

Satisfied  with  their  success  they  now  set  sail  for 
Spain  and  piloted  their  little  bark  safely  to  Bayonne 
in  Gallicia,  where  they  anchored  about  the  middle 
of  April,  1500,  nearly  two  months  before  the  arrival 
of  Ojeda  and  his  associates.  La  Cosa  and  Vespucci.| 

The  most  successful  voyagers  to  the  New  World 
were  doomed  to  trouble  from  their  very  success. 
The  ample  amount  of  pearls  paid  to  the  treasury,  as 
the  royal  portion  of  the  profits  of  this  expedition, 
drew  suspicion  instead  of  favour  upon  the  two  ad- 
venturers. They  were  accused  of  having  concealed 
a  great  part  of  the  pearls  collected  by  them,  thus 
defrauding  their  companions  and  the  crown.  Pedro 
Alonzo  Nino  was  actually  thrown  into  prison  on  this 
accusation,  but,  nothing  being  proved  against  him, 
was  eventually  set  free,  and  enjoyed  the  enviable 
reputation  of  having  performed  the  richest  voyage 
that  had  yet  been  made  to  the  New  World.§ 


VICENTE  YANEZ  P1NZ0N-(M99). 


Among  the  maritime  adventurers  of  renown  who 
were  roused  to  action  by  the  licenses  granted  for 
private  expeditions  of  discovery,  we  find  conspicuous 


*  Las  Casas.     Hist.  Ind.  lib.  i.  c,  171. 
t  Navarrete,  t.  iii,  p.  14. 

$  Peter  Martyr.     Other  historians  give  a  different  date  for  their 
urrivat.     Herrera  says  Feb.  6. 

i  Navarrete.     Collect,  t.  iii,  p.  11.     Herrera,  d.   i.  L  iv.  c.  t. 

47 


the  name  of  Vicente  Yaiiez  Pinzon,  of  Palos,  one  of 
the  three  brave  brothers  who  aided  Columbus  in  his 
first  voyage  and  risked  life  and  fortune  with  him  in 
his  doubtful  and  perilous  enterprise. 

Of  Martin  Alonzo  Pinzon,  the  eldest  and  most  im- 
portant of  these  three  brothers,  particular  mention 
has  been  made  in  the  History  of  Columbus,  and  of 
the  unfortunate  error  in  conduct  which  severed  him 
from  the  admiral,  brought  on  him  the  displeasure  of 
the  sovereigns,  and  probably  contributed  to  his  pre- 
mature and  melancholy  death. 

Whatever  cloud  of  disgrace  may  have  over- 
shadowed his  family,  it  was  but  temporar)'.  The 
death  of  Martin  Alonzo,  as  usual,  atoned  for  his 
faults,  and  his  good  deeds  lived  after  him.  The 
merits  and  services  of  himself  and  his  brothers  were 
acknowledged,  and  the  survivors  of  the  family  were 
restored  to  royal  confidence.  A  feeling  of  jealous 
hostility  prevented  them  from  taking  a  part  in  the 
subsequent  voyages  of  Columbus ;  but  the  moment 
the  door  was  thrown  open  for  individual  enterprise, 
they  pressed  forward  for  permission  to  engage  in  it 
at  their  own  risk  and  expense— and  it  was  readily 
granted.  In  fact,  their  supposed  hostility  to  Colum- 
bus was  one  of  the  surest  recommendations  they 
could  have  to  the  favour  of  the  Bishop  Fonseca,  by 
whom  the  license  was  issued  for  their  expedition. 

Vicente  Yafiez  Pinzon  was  the  leader  of  this  new 
enterprise,  and  he  was  .accompanied  by  two  nephews 
named  Arias  Perez  and  Diego  Fernandez,  sons  of 
his  late  brother,  Martin  Alonzo  Pinzon.  Several  of 
his  sailors  had  sailed  with  Columbus  in  his  recent 
voyage  to  Paria,  as  had  also  his  three  principal  pi- 
lots, Juan  Quintero,  Juan  de  Umbria,  and  Juan  de 
Jerez.  Thus  these  minor  voyages  seemed  all  to 
emanate  from  the  great  expeditions  of  Columbus, 
and  to  aim  at  realizing  the  ideas  and  speculations 
contained  in  the  papers  transmitted  by  him  to  Spain. 

The  arm.ament  consisted  of  four  caravels,  and  was 
fitted  out  at  the  port  of  Palos.  The  funds  of  Vi- 
cente Yanez  were  completely  exhausted  before  he 
had  fitted  out  his  little  squadron  ;  he  was  obliged, 
therefore,  to  purchase  on  credit  the  sea-stores  and 
articles  of  traffic  necessary  for  the  enterprise.  The 
merchants  of  Palos  seem  to  have  known  how  to 
profit  by  the  careless  nature  of  sailors  and  the  s.an- 
guine  spirit  of  discoverers.  In  their  bargains  they 
charged  honest  Pinzon  eighty  and  a  hundred  per 
cent,  above  the  market  value  of  their  merchandise, 
and  in  the  hurry  and  urgency  of  the  moment  he  was 
obliged  to  submit  to  the  imposition.* 

The  squadron  put  to  sea  in  the  beginning  of  De- 
cember, 1499,  and,  after  passing  the  Canary  and 
Cape  de  Verde  Islands,  stood  to  the  south-west. 
Having  sailed  about  seven  hundred  leagues,  they 
crossed  the  equator  and  lost  sight  of  the  north  star. 
They  had  scarcely  passed  the  equinoctial  line  when 
they  encountered  a  terrible  tempest,  which  had  well- 
nigh  swallowed  up  their  slender  barks.  The  storm 
passed  away  and  the  firmament  was  again  serene; 
but  the  mariners  remained  tossing  about  in  confu- 
sion, dismayed  by  the  turbulence  of  the  waves  and 
the  strange  aspect  of  the  heavens.  They  looked  in 
vain  to  the  south  for  some  polar  star  by  which  to- 
shape  their  course,  and  fancied  that  some  swelling 
prominence  of  the  globe  concealed  it  from  their 
view.  They  knew  nothing  as  yet  of  the  firmament 
of  that  hemisphere,  nor  of  that  beautiful  constella- 
tion, the  southern  cross,  but  expected  to  find  a  guid- 
ing star  at  the  opposite  pole,  similar  to  the  cynosure 
of  the  north. 

Pinzon,  however,  who  was  of  an  intrepid  spirit, 
pursued  his  course  resolutely  to  the  west,  and  after 


*  Navarrete,  vol.  iii.    See  Doc.  No.  7,  where  Vicente  Yaiiez  Pin- 
zon petitions  for  redress. 


733 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


s;iilin_;j  about  two  huiulred  and  forty  leagxies,  and  be- 
in^  in  the  eighth  degree  of  southern  latitude,  he  be- 
held land  afar  off  on  the  28th  of  January,  to  which  he 
gave  t!ie  name  of  Santa  Maria  de  la  Consclacion, 
from  the  sight  of  it  having  consoled  him  in  the  midst 
of  doubts  and  perplexities.  It  is  now  called  Cape 
St.  Augustine,  and  forms  the  most  prominent  part 
of  the  immense  empire  of  Brazil. 

The  sea  was  turbid  and  discoloured  as  in  rivers, 
and  on  sounding  they  had  sixteen  fathoms  of  water. 
Pinzon  landed,  accompanied  by  a  notary  and  wit- 
nesses, and  took  formal  possession  of  the  territory 
for  the  Castilian  crown  ;  no  one  appeared  to  dispute 
his  pretensions,  but  he  observed  the  print  of  footsteps 
on  the  beach  which  seemed  of  gigantic  size. 

At  night  there  were  fires  lighted  upon  a  neigh- 
bouring part  of  the  coast,  which  induced  Pinzon  on 
the  following  morning  to  send  forty  men  well  armed 
to  the  spot.  A  band  of  Indians,  of  about  equal 
number,  sallied  forth  to  encounter  them,  armed 
with  bows  and  arrows,  and  seemingly  of  extraordi- 
nary stature.  A  still  greater  number  were  seen  in 
the  distance  hastening  to  the  support  of  their  com- 
panions. The  Indians  arrayed  themselves  for  com- 
bat, and  the  two  parties  remained  for  a  short  time 
eyeing  each  other  with  mutual  curiosity  and  distrust. 
The  Spaniards  now  displayed  looking-glasses,  beads, 
and  other  trinkets,  and  jingled  strings  of  hawks' 
bells,  in  general  so  captivating  to  an  Indian  ear ; 
but  the  haughty  savages  treated  all  their  overtures 
with  contempt,  regarding  these  offerings  carelessly 
for  a  short  time,  and  then  stalking  off  with  stoic 
gravity.  They  were  ferocious  of  feature,  and  ap- 
parently warlike  in  disposition,  and  are  supposed  to 
have  been  a  wandering  race  of  unusual  size,  who 
roanied  about  in  the  night,  and  were  of  the  most 
fierce,  untractable  nature.  By  nightfall  there  was 
not  an  Indian  to  be  seen  in  the  neighbourhood. 

Discouraged  by  the  inhospitable  character  of  the 
coast,  Pinzon  made  sail  and  stood  to  the  north-west, 
until  he  came  to  the  mouth  of  a  river  too  shallow  to 
receive  his  ships.  Here  he  sent  his  boats  on  shore 
with  a  numberof  men  well  armed.  They  landed  on  the 
river  banks,  and  beheld  a  multitude  of  naked  Indians 
on  a  neighbouring  hill.  A  single  Spaniard  armed 
simply  with  sword  and  buckler,  was  sent  to  invite 
them  to  friendly  intercourse.  He  approached  them 
with  signs  of  amity,  and  threw  to  them  a  hawks' 
bell.  They  replied  to  him  with  similar  signs,  and 
threw  to  him  a  small  gilded  wand.  The  soldier 
stooped  to  pick  it  up,  when  suddenly  a  troop  of  sav- 
ages rushed  down  to  seize  him;  he  threw  himself  im- 
mediately upon  the  defensive,  with  sword  and  target, 
and  though  but  a  small  man,  and  far  from  robust, 
he  handled  his  weapons  with  such  dexterity  and 
fierceness,  that  he  kept  the  savages  at  bay,  making  a 
clear  circle  round  him,  and  wounding  several  who 
attempted  to  break  it.  His  unlooked-for  prowess 
surprised  and  confounded  his  assailants,  and  gave 
time  for  his  comrades  to  come  to  his  assistance.  The 
Indians  then  made  a  general  assault,  with  such  a 
galling  discharge  of  darts  and  arrows  that  almost 
immediately  eight  or  ten  Spaniards  were  slain,  and 
many  more  wounded.  The  latter  were  compelled 
to  retreat  to  their  boats  disputing  every  inch  of 
ground.  The  Indians  pursued  them  even  into  the 
water,  surrounding  the  boats  and  seizing  hold  of  the 
oars.  The  Spaniards  made  a  desperate  defence, 
thrusting  many  through  with  their  lances,  and  cut- 
ting down  and  ripping  up  others  with  their  swords  ; 
but  such  was  the  ferocity  of  the  survivors,  that  they 
persisted  in  their  attack  until  they  overpowered  the 
crew  of  one  of  the  boats,  and  bore  it  off  in  triumph. 
With  this  they  retired  from  the  combat,  and  the 
Spaniards   returned,  defeated   and   disheartened,  to 


their  ships,  having  met  with  the  roughest  reception 
that  the  Europeans  had  yet  experienced  in  the  New 
World. 

Pinzon  now  stood  forty  leagues  to  the  north-west, 
until  he  arrived  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  equi- 
noctial line.  Here  he  found  the  water  of  the  sea  so 
fresh  that  he  was  enabled  to  replenish  his  casks  with 
it.  Astonished  at  so  singular  a  phenomenon  he 
stood  in  for  the  land,  and  arrived  among  a  number 
of  fresh  and  verdant  islands,  inhabited  by  a  gentle 
and  hospitable  race  of  people,  gaily  painted,  who 
came  off  to  the  ships  with  the  most  frank  and  fear- 
less confidence.  Pinzon  soon  found  that  these 
islands  lay  in  the  mouth  of  an  immense  river,  more 
than  thirty  leagues  in  breadth,  the  water  of  which 
entered  upwards  of  forty  leagues  into  the  sea  before 
losing  its  sweetness.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  renowned 
Maranon,  since  known  as  the  Orellana  and  the 
Amazon.  While  lying  in  the  mouth  of  this  river 
there  was  a  sudden  swelling  of  the  stream,  which, 
being  opposed  by  the  current  of  the  sea,  and  strait- 
ened by  the  narrow  channels  of  the  islands,  rose 
more  than  five  fathoms,  with  mountain  waves,  and 
a  tremendous  noise,  threatening  the  destruction  of 
the  ships.  Pinzon  extricated  his  little  squadron  with 
great  difficulty  from  this  perilous  situation,  and  find- 
ing there  was  but  little  gold  or  any  thing  else  of  value 
to  be  found  among  the  simple  natives,  he  requited 
their  hospitality,  in  the  mode  too  common  among 
the  early  discoverers,  by  carrying  off  thirty-six  of 
them  captive. 

Having  regained  the  sight  of  the  polar  star,  Pin- 
zon pursued  his  course  along  the  coast,  passing  the 
mouths  of  the  Oronoko,  and  entering  the  C-ulf  of 
Paria,  where  he  landed  and  cut  Brazil-wood.  Sally- 
ing forth  by  the  Boca  del  Drago,  he  reached  the 
island  of  Hispaniola  about  the  23d  of  June,  from 
whence  he  sailed  for  the  Bahamas.  Here,  in  the 
month  of  July,  while  at  anchor,  there  came  such  a 
tremendous  hurricane  that  two  of  the  caravels  were 
swallowed  up  with  all  their  crews  in  the  sight  of 
their  terrified  companions  :  a  third  parted  her  cables 
and  was  driven  out  to  sea,  while  the  fourth  was  so 
furiously  beaten  by  the  tempest  that  the  crew  threw 
themselves  mto  the  boats  and  made  for  shore. 
Here  they  found  a  few  naked  Indians,  who  offered 
them  no  molestation ;  but,  fearing  that  they  might 
spread  the  tidings  of  a  handful  of  shipwrecked 
Spaniards  being  upon  the  coast,  and  thus  bring  the 
savages  of  the  neighbouring  islands  upon  them,  a 
council  of  war  was  held  whether  it  would  not  be  a 
wise  precaution  to  put  these  Indians  to  death.  For- 
tunately for  the  latter,  the  vessel  which  had  been 
driven  from  her  anchors  returned  and  put  an  end  to 
the  alarm,  and  to  the  council  of  war.  The  other 
caravel  also  rode  out  the  storm  uninjured,  and  the 
sea  subsiding,  the  Spaniards  returned  on  board,  and 
made  the  best  of  their  way  to  the  Island  of  Hispani- 
ola. Having  repaired  the  damages  sustained  in  the 
gale,  they  again  made  sail  for  Spain,  and  came  to 
anchor  in  the  river  before  Palos,  about  the  end  of 
September. 

Thus  ended  one  of  the  most  checquered  and  dis- 
astrous voyages  that  had  yet  been  made  to  the  New 
World.  Yanez  Pmzon  had  lost  two  of  his  ships,  and 
many  of  his  men  ;  what  made  the  loss  of  the  latter 
more  grievous  was  that  they  had  been  enlisted  from 
among  his  neighbours,  his  friends,  and  relatives.  In 
fact,  the  expeditions  to  the  New  World  must  have 
realized  the  terrors  and  apprehensions  of  the  people 
of  Palos  by  filling  that  little  community  with  widows 
and  orphans.  When  the  rich  merchants,  who  had 
sold  goods  to  Pinzon.  at  a  hundred  per  cent,  advance, 
beheld  him  return  in  this  sorry  condition,  with  two 
shattered   barks   and   a  handful  of  poor,  tattered, 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


733 


weather-beaten  seamen,  they  began  to  tremble  for 
their  money.  No  sooner,  therefore,  had  he  and  his 
nephews  departed  to  Granada,  to  give  an  account  of 
their  discoveries  to  the  sovereigns,  than  the  mer- 
chants seized  upon  their  caravels  and  cargoes,  and 
began  to  sell  them  to  repay  themselves.  Honest 
Pinzon  immediately  addressed  a  petition  to  the  gov- 
ernment, stating  the  imposition  that  had  been  prac- 
tised upon  him,  and  the  danger  he  was  in  of  iin- 
prisonment  and  utter  ruin,  should  his  creditors  be 
allowed  to  sacrifice  his  goods  at  a  public  sale.  He 
petitioned  that  they  might  be  coinpelled  to  return  the 
property  thus  seized,  and  that  he  might  be  enabled 
to  sell  three  hundred  and  fifty  quintals  of  Brazil- 
wood, which  he  had  brought  back  with  him,  and 
which  would  be  sufiTicient  to  satisfy  the  demands  of 
his  creditors.  The  sovereigns  granted  his  prayer. 
They  issued  an  order  to  the  civil  authorities  of  Palos 
to  interfere  in  the  matter,  with  all  possible  prompt- 
ness and  brevity,  allowing  no  vexatious  delay,  and 
administering  justice  so  impartially  that  neither  of 
the  parties  should  have  cause  to  complain. 

Pinzon  escaped  from  the  fangs  of  his  creditors, 
but,  of  course,  must  have  suffered  in  purse  from  the 
expenses  of  the  law ;  which,  in  Spain,  is  apt  to  bury- 
even  a  successful  client  under  an  overwhelming 
mountain  of  documents  and  writings.  We  infer  this 
in  respect  to  Pinzon  from  a  royal  order  issued  in  the 
following  year,  allowing  him  to  export  a  quantity  of 
grain,  in  consideration  of  the  heavy  losses  he  had 
sustained  in  his  voyage  of  discovery.  He  did  but 
share  the  usual  lot  of  the  Spanish  discoverers,  whose 
golden  anticipations  too  frequently  ended  in  penury; 
but  he  is  distinguished  from  among  the  crowd  of 
them  by  being  the  first  European  who  crossed  the 
Equinoctial  line,  on  the  western  ocean,  and  by  dis- 
covering the  great  kingdom  of  Brazil.* 


DIEGO  DE  LEPE  AND  RODRIGO  DE  BASTIDES- 

(1500). 


NOTWITHSTANNING  the  hardships  and  disasters 
that  had  beset  the  voyagers  to  the  New  World,  and 
the  penury  in  which  their  golden  anticipations  had 
too  frequently  terminated,  adventurers  continued  to 
press  forward,  excited  by  fresh  reports  of  newly-dis- 
covered regions,  each  of  which,  in  its  turn,  was  rep- 
resented as  the  real  land  of  promise.  Scarcely  had 
Vicente  Yanez  Pinzon  departed  on  the  voyage  recent- 

*  On  the  5th  of  September,  i^or,  a  royal  permission  was  CTven  to 
Vicepte  Yaiiez  Pinzon  to  colonize  and  govern  the  lands  he  nad  dis- 
covered, beginning  a  Title  north  of  the  river  Amazon,  and  extend- 
ing to  Cape  St.  Augustine.  The  object  of  the  government  in  this 
permission  was  to  establish  an  outpost  and  a  resolute  commander 
on  this  southern  frontier,  that  should  check  any  intrusions  the 
Portuguese  might  make  in  consequence  of  the  accidental  discovery 
of  a  part  of  the  coast  of  Brazil  by  Pedro  Alvarez  Cabral,  in  1500. 
The  subsetjnent  arrangement  of  a  partition  line  between  the  two 
countries  prevented  the  necessity  of  this  precaution,  and  it  does 
not  appear  that  Vicente  Yafiez  Pinzon  made  any  second  voyage  to 
those  patts. 

In  IS06  he  undertook  an  expedition  in  company  with  Juan  Diaz 
de  Solis.  a  native  of  Lebrija.  the  object  of  which  was  to  endeavour 
to  find  the  strait  or  passage  supposed  by  Columbus  to  lead  from  the 
Atlantic  to  a  southern  ocean.  It  was  necessarily  without  success, 
as  was  also  another  voyage  made  by  them,  for  the  same  purpose,  in 
1508.  As  no  such  passage  exists,  no  blame  could  attach  to  those 
able  navigators  for  being  foiled  in  the  object  of  their  search. 

In  consequence  of  the  distinguished  merits  and  services  of  the 
Pinzon  family  they  were  raised,  by  the  emperor  Charles  V.,  to  the 
dignity  of  a  Hidalgiiia,  or  nobility,  without  any  express  title,  and 
a  coat  of  arms  was  granted  them,  on  which  were  emblazoned  three 
caravels,  with  a  hand  at  the  stern  pointing  to  an  island  covered 
with  savages.  This  coat  of  arms  is  still  mamtained  by  the  family, 
who  have  added  to  it  the  motto  granted  to  Columbus,  merely  sub- 
sututin£  the  name  of  Pinzon  for  that  of  the  Admiral. 

A  Castile  y  a  Leon, 
Nuevo  Mundo  dio  Pinzon. 


ly  narrated,  when  his  townsman,  Diego  de  Lepe. 
likewise  set  sail  with  two  vessels  from  the  busy  little 
port  of  Palos  on  a  like  expedition.  No  particulars 
of  importance  are  known  of  this  voyage,  excepting 
that  Lepe  doubled  Cape  St.  Augustine,  and  beheld 
the  southern  continent  stretching  far  to  the  south- 
west. On  returning  to  Spain  he  drew  a  chart  of  the 
co.ast  for  the  bishop  Fonseca,  and  enjoyed  the  repu- 
tation, for  upwards  of  ten  years  afterwards,  of  hav- 
ing extended  his  discoveries  further  south  than  any 
other  voyager. 

Another  contemporary  adventurer  to  the  New 
World  was  Rodrigo  de  Bastides,  a  wealthy  notary 
of  Triana,  the  suburb  of  Seville  inhabited  by  the 
maritime  part  of  its  population.  Being  sanctioned 
by  the  sovereigns,  to  whom  he  engaged  to  yield  a 
fourth  of  his  profits,  he  fitted  out  two  caravels  in 
October,  i  500,  to  go  in  quest  of  gold  and  pearls. 

Prudently  distrusting  his  own  judgment  in  nauti- 
cal matters,  this  adventurous  notary  associated  with 
him  the  veteran  pilot  Juan  de  la  Cosa,  the  same 
hardy  Biscayan  who  had  sailed  with  Columbus  and 
Ojeda.  A  general  outline  of  their  voyage  has  already 
been  given  in  the  life  of  Columbus  ;  it  extended  the 
discoveries  of  the  coast  of  Terra  Firma  from  Cape 
de  la  Vela,  where  Ojeda  had  left  off,  quite  to  the 
port  of  Nombre  de  Dios. 

Bastides  distinguished  himself  from  the  mass  of 
discoverers  by  his  kind  treatment  of  the  natives,  and 
Juan  de  la  Cosa  by  his  sound  discretion  and  his  able 
seamanship.  Their  voyage  had  been  extremely  suc- 
cessful, and  they  had  collected,  by  barter,  a  great 
amount  of  gold  and  pearls,  when  their  prosperous 
career  was  checked  by  an  unlooked-for  evil.  Their 
vessels,  to  their  surprise,  became  leaky  in  every  part, 
and  they  discovered,  to  their  dismay,  that  the  bot- 
toms were  pierced  in  innumerable  places  by  the 
broma,  or  worm,  which  abounds  in  the  waters  of 
the  torrid  zone,  but  of  which  they,  as  yet,  had 
scarcely  any  knowledge.  It  was  with  great  difficulty 
they  could  keep  afloat  until  they  reached  a  sm.all 
islet  on  the  coast  of  Hispaniola.  Here  they  repaired 
their  ships  as  well  as  they  were  able,  and  again  put 
to  sea  to  return  to  Cadiz.  A  succession  of  gales 
drove  them  back  to  port ;  the  ravages  of  the  worms 
continued ;  the  leaks  broke  out  afresh  ;  they  landed 
the  most  portable  and  precious  part  of  their  wealthy 
cargoes,  and  the  vessels  foundered  with  the  remain- 
der. Bastides  lost,  moreover,  the  arms  and  ainmu- 
nition  saved  from  the  wreck,  being  obliged  to  destroy 
them  lest  they  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
Indians. 

Distributing  his  men  into  three  bands,  two  of 
them  headed  by  La  Cosa  and  himself,  they  set  off 
for  San  Domingo  by  three  several  routes,  as  the 
country  was  not  able  to  furnish  provisions  for  so 
large  a  body.  Each  band  was  provided  with  a  cof- 
fer stored  with  trinkets  and  other  articles  of  Indian 
traffic,  with  which  to  buy  provisions  on  the  road. 

Francisco  de  Bobadilla,  the  wrong-headed  op])res- 
sor  and  superseder  of  Columbus,  was  at  that  time 
governor  of  .San  Domingo.  The  report  reached  him 
that  a  crew  of  adventurers  had  landed  on  the  island, 
and  were  marching  through  the  country  in  three 
bands,  each  provided  with  a  coffer  of  gold,  and  car- 
rying on  illicit  trade  with  the  natives.  The  moment 
Bastides  made  his  appearance,  therefore,  he  was 
seized  and  thrown  into  prison,  and  an  investigation 
commenced.  In  his  defence  he  maintained  that  his 
only  traffic  with  the  natives  was  for  the  purjiose  of 
procuring  provisions  for  his  followers,  or  guides  for 
his  journey.  It  was  determined,  however,  to  send 
him  to  Spain  for  trial,  with  the  written  testimony 
and  the  other  documents  of  his  examination. 

He  was  accordingly  conveyed  in  the  same  fleet  in 


740 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


wliich  Bobadilla  embarked  for  Spain,  and  which  ex- 
perienced such  an  awful  shipwreck  in  the  sight  of 
Columbus.  The  ship  Rodrigo  Bastides  was  one  of 
the  few  that  outlived  the  tempest :  it  arrived  safe  at 
Cadiz  in  September,  1502.  Bastides  was  ultimately 
acquitted  of  the  charges  advanced  against  him.  So 
lucrative  had  been  his  voyage,  that,  notwithstanding 
the  losses  sustained  by  the  foundering  of  his  vessels, 
he  was  enabled  to  pay  a  large  sum  to  the  crown  as 
a  fourth  of  his  profits,  and  to  retain  a  great  amount 
for  himself.  In  reward  of  his  services  and  discover- 
ies the  sovereigns  granted  him  an  annual  revenue  for 
life,  to  arise  from  the  proceeds  of  the  province  of 
Uraba,  which  he  had  discovered.  An  equal  pension 
was  likewise  assigned  to  the  hardy  Juan  de  la  Cosa, 
to  result  irom  the  same  territory,  of  which  he  was 
appointed  Alguazil  Mayor.*  Such  was  the  economi- 
cal generosity  of  king  Ferdinand,  who  rewarded  the 
past  toils  of  his  adventurous  discoverers  out  of  the 
expected  produce  of  their  future  labours. 


SECOND  VOYAGE  OF  ALONZO  DE  OJEDA. 
1502. 


The  first  voyage  of  Alonzo  de  Ojeda  to  the  coast 
of  Paria,  and  its  meagre  termination  in  June,  1500, 
has  been  related.  He  gained  nothing  in  wealth  by 
that  expedition,  but  he  added  to  his  celebrity  as  a 
bold  and  skilful  adventurer.  His  youthful  fire,  his 
sanguine  and  swelling  spirit,  and  the  wonderful 
stories  that  were  told  of  his  activity  and  prowess, 
made  him  extremely  popular,  so  that  his  patron,  the 
bishop  Fonseca,  found  it  an  easy  matter  to  secure 
for  him  the  royal  favour.  In  consideration  of  his 
past  services  and  of  others  expected  from  him,  a 
grant  was  made  to  him  of  six  leagues  of  land  on 
the  southern  part  of  Hispaniola,  and  the  govern- 
ment of  the  province  of  Coquibacoa  which  he  had 
discovered.  He  was,  furthermore,  authorized  to  fit 
out  any  number  of  ships,  not  exceeding  ten,  at  his 
own  expense,  and  to  prosecute  the  discovery  of  the 
coast  of  Terra  Firma.  He  was  not  to  touch  or 
traffic  on  the  pearl  coast  of  Paria  ;  extending  as  far 
as  a  bay  in  the  vicinity  of  the  island  of  Margarita. 
Beyond  this  he  had  a  right  to  trade  in  all  kinds  of 
merchandise,  whether  of  pearls,  jewels,  metals,  or 
precious  stones ;  paying  one-fifth  of  the  profits  to  the 
crown,  and  abstaining  from  making  slaves  of  the 
Indians  without  a  special  license  from  the  sover- 
eigns. He  was  to  colonize  Coquibacoa,  and,  as  a 
recompense,  was  to  enjoy  one-half  of  the  proceeds 
of  his  territory,  provided  the  half  did  not  exceed 
300,000  maravedies  :  all  beyond  that  amount  was 
to  go  to  the  crown. 

A  principal  reason,  however,  for  granting  this 
government  and  those  privileges  to  Ojeda,  was  that, 
in  his  previous  voyage,  he  had  met  with  English  ad- 
venturers on  a  voyage  of  discovery  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  Coquibacoa,  at  which  the  jealousy  of  the 
sovereigns  had  taken  the  alarm.  They  were  anx- 
ious, therefore,  to  establish  a  resolute  and  fighting 
commander  like  Ojeda  upon  this  outpost,  and  they 
mstructed  him  to  set  up  the  arms  of  Castile  and 
Leon  in  every  place  he  visited,  as  a  signal  of  dis- 
covery and  possession,  and  to  put  a  stop  to  the  in- 
trusions of  the  English.! 

With  this  commission  in  his  pocket,  and  the  gov- 


•  NavaiTCte.    Collcc.  t.  iit. 
tNavairete,  t.  iii.,  document  x. 


emment  of  an  Indian  territory  in  the  perspective. 
Ojeda  soon  found  associates  to  aid  him  in  fitting  out 
an  armament.  These  were  Juan  de  Vergara,  a  serv- 
ant of  a  rich  canon  of  the  cathedral  of  Seville,  and 
Garcia  de  Campos,  commonly  called  Ocampo.  They 
made  a  contract  of  partnership  to  last  for  two  years, 
according  to  which  the  expenses  and  profits  of  the 
expedition,  and  of  the  government  of  Coquibacoa, 
were  to  be  shared  equally  between  them.  The 
purses  of  the  confederates  were  not  ample  enough 
to  afford  ten  ships,  but  they  fitted  out  four,  rst. 
The  Santa  Maria  de  la  Antigua,  commanded  by 
Garcia  del  Campo  ;  2d,  The  Santa  Maria  de  la  Gra- 
nada, commanded  by  Juan  de  Vergara ;  3d,  The 
Caravel  Magdalena,  commanded  by  Pedro  de  Ojeda, 
nephew  to  Alonzo ;  and  4th,  The  Caravel  Santa 
Ana,  commanded  by  Hernando  de  Guevara.  The 
whole  was  under  the  command  of  Alonzo  de  Ojeda. 
The  expedition  set  sail  in  1502,  touched  at  the 
Canaries,  according  to  custom,  to  take  in  provisions, 
and  then  proceeded  westward  for  the  shores  of  the 
New  World. 

After  traversing  the  Gulf  of  Paria,  and  before 
reaching  the  Island  of  Margarita,  the  caravel  Santa 
Ana,  commanded  by  Hernando  de  Guevara,  was 
separated  from  them,  and  for  several  days  the  ships 
were  mutually  seeking  each  other,  in  these  silent 
and  trackless  seas.  After  they  were  all  reunited  they 
found  their  provisions  growing  scanty  ;  they  landed 
therefore  at  a  part  of  the  coast  called  Cumana  by 
the  natives,  but  to  which,  from  its  beauty  and  fer- 
tility, Ojeda  gave  the  name  of  Valfermoso.  While 
foraging  here  for  their  immediate  supplies,  the  idea 
occurred  to  Ojeda  that  he  should  want  furniture  and 
utensils  of  all  kinds  for  his  proposed  colony,  and  that 
it  would  be  better  to  pillage  them  from  a  country 
where  he  was  a  mere  transient  visitor,  than  to  wrest 
them  from  his  neighbours  in  the  territory  where  ho 
was  to  set  up  his  government.  His  companions 
were  struck  with  the  policy,  if  not  the  justice,  of  this 
idea,  and  they  all  set  to  work  to  carry  it  into  execu- 
tion. Dispersing  themselves,  therefore,  in  ambush 
in  various  directions,  they  at  a  concerted  signal 
rushed  forth  from  their  concealment,  and  set  upon 
the  natives.  Ojeda  had  issued  orders  to  do  as  little, 
injury  and  damage  as  possible,  and  on  no  account  to 
destroy  the  habitations  of  the  Indians.  His  follow- 
ers, however,  in  their  great  zeal,  transcended  his 
orders.  Seven  or  eight  Indians  were  killed  and 
many  wounded  in  the  skirmish  which  took  place, 
and  a  number  of  their  cabins  were  wrapped  in 
flames.  A  great  quantity  of  hammocks,  of  cotton, 
and  of  utensils  of  various  kinds,  fell  into  the  hands 
of  the  conquerors  ;  they  also  captured  several  female 
Indians,  some  of  whom  were  ransomed  with  the  kind 
of  gold  called  guanin  ;  some  were  retained  by  Ver- 
gara for  himself  and  his  friend  Ocampo;  others  were 
distributed  among  the  crews ;  the  rest,  probably  the 
old  and  ugly,  were  set  at  liberty.  As  to  Ojeda,  he 
reserved  nothing  for  himself  of  the  spoil  excepting  a 
single  hammock. 

The  ransom  paid  by  the  poor  Indians  for  some  of 
their  effects  and  some  of  their  women,  yielded  the 
Spaniards  a  trifling  quantity  of  gold,  but  they  found 
the  place  destitute  of  provisions,  and  Ojeda  was 
obliged  to  despatch  Vergara  in  a  caravel  to  the  isl- 
and of  Jamaica  to  forage  for  supplies,  with  instruc- 
tions to  rejoin  him  at  Maracaibo  or  Cape  de  la  Vela. 

Ojeda  at  length  arrived  at  Coquibacoa,  at  the  port 
destined  for  his  seat  of  government.  He  found  the  u 
country,  however,  so  poor  and  sterile,  that  he  pro-  1 
ceeded  along  the  coast  to  a  bay  which  he  named 
Santa  Cruz,  but  which  is  supposed  to  be  the  same  at 
present  called  Bahia  Honda,  where  he  found  a  Span- 
iard who  had  been  left  in  the  province  of  Citarma  by 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF    DISCOVERY. 


741 


Bastides  in  !.is  late  voyage  about  thirteen  months  be- 
fore, and  had  remained  ever  since  among  the  Indians, 
so  that  he  had  acquired  their  language. 

Ojeda  determined  to  form  his  settlement  at  this 
place ;  but  the  natives  seemed  disposed  to  defend 
their  territory,  for,  the  moment  a  party  landed  to  pro- 
cure water,  they  were  assailed  by  a  galling  shower  of 
arrows,  and  driven  back  to  the  ships.  Upon  this 
Ojeda  landed  with  all  his  force,  and  struck  such  terror 
into  the  Indians,  that  they  came  forward  with  signs 
of  amity,  and  brought  a  considerable 'quantity  of  gold 
as  a  peace-offering,  which  was  graciously  accepted. 

Ojeda,  with  the  concurrence  of  his  associates,  now 
set  to  work  to  establish  a  settlement,  cutting  down 
trees,  and  commencing  a  fortress.  They  had  scarce 
begun,  when  they  were  attacked  by  a  neighbouring 
cacique,  but  Ojeda  sallied  forth  upon  him  with  such 
intrepidity  and  effect  as  not  merely  to  defeat,  but  to 
drive  him  from  the  neighbourhood.  He  then  pro- 
ceeded quietly  to  finish  his  fortress,  which  was  de- 
fended by  lom  bards,  and  contained  the  magazine  of 
provisions  and  the  treasure  amassed  in  the  expedi- 
tion. The  provisions  were  dealt  out  twice  a  day, 
under  the  inspection  of  proper  officers  ;  the  treasure 
gained  by  barter,  by  ransom,  or  by  plunder,  was  de- 
posited in  a  strong  box  secured  by  two  locks,  one 
key  being  kept  by  the  royal  supervisor,  the  other  by 
Ocampo. 

In  the  mean  time  provisions  became  scarce.  The 
Indians  never  appeared  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
fortress,  except  to  harass  it  with  repeated  though  in- 
effectual assaults.  Vergara  did  not  appear  with  the 
expected  supplies  from  Jamaica,  and  a  caravel  was 
despatched  m  search  of  him.  The  people,  worn  out 
with  labour  and  privations  of  various  kinds,  and  dis- 
gusted with  the  situation  of  a  settlement,  which  was 
in  a  poor  and  unhealthy  country,  grew  discontented 
and  factious.  They  began  to  fear  that  they  should 
lose  the  means  of  departing,  as  their  vessels  were  in 
danger  of  being  destroyed  by  the  broma  or  worms. 
Ojeda  led  them  forth  repeatedly  upon  foraging  parties 
about  the  adjacent  country,  and  collected  some  pro- 
visions and  booty  in  the  Indian  villages.  The  pro- 
visions he  deposited  in  the  magazine,  part  of  the 
spoils  he  divided  among  his  followers,  and  the  gold 
he  locked  up  in  the  strong  box,  the  keys  of  which  he 
took  possession  of,  to  the  great  displeasure  of  the 
supervisor  and  his  associate  Ocampo.  The  mur- 
murs of  the  people  grew  loud  as  their  sufferings  in- 
creased. They  insinuated  that  Ojeda  had  no  author- 
ity over  this  part  of  the  coast,  having  passed  the 
boundaries  of  his  government,  and  formed  his  settle- 
ment in  the  country  discovered  by  Bastides.  By  the 
time  Vergara  arrived  from  Jamaica,  the  factions  of 
this  petty  colony  had  risen  to  an  alarming  height. 
Ocampo  had  a  personal  enmity  to  the  governor, 
arising  probably  from  some  feud  about  the  strong 
box  ;  being  a  particular  friend  of  Vergara,  he  held  a 
private  conference  with  him,  and  laid  a  plan  to  en- 
trap the  doughty  Ojeda.  In  pursuance  of  this  the 
latter  was  invited  on  hoard  of  the  caravel  of  Vergara, 
to  see  the  provisions  he  had  brought  from  Jamaica, 
but  no  sooner  was  he  on  board  than  they  charged 
him  with  having  transgressed  the  limits  of  his  gov- 
ernment, with  having  provoked  the  hostility  of  the 
Indians,  and  needlessly  sacrificed  the  lives  of  his  fol- 
lowers, and  above  all,  with  having  taken  possession  of 
the  strong  box,  in  contempt  ot  the  authority  of  the 
royal  supervisor,  and  with  the  intention  of  appropri- 
ating to  himself  all  the  gains  of  the  enterprise  ;  they 
informed  him,  therefore,  of  their  intention  to  convey 
him  a  prisoner  to  Hispaniola,  to  answer  to  the  Gov- 
ernor for  his  offences.  Ojeda  finding  himself  thus 
entrapped,  proposed  to  Vergara  and  Ocampo  that 
they  should  return  to  Spam  with  such  of  the  crews 


as  chose  to  accompany  them,  leaving  him  with  the 
remainder  to  prosecute  his  enterprise.  The  two 
recreant  partners  at  first  consented,  for  they  were 
disgusted  with  the  enterprise,  which  offered  little 
profit  and  severe  hardships.  They  agreed  to  leave 
Ojeda  the  smallest  of  the  caravels,  with  a  third  of 
the  provisions  and  of  their  gains,  and  to  build  a  row 
boat  for  him.  They  actually  began  to  labour 
upon  the  boat.  Before  ten  days  had  elapsed,  how- 
ever, they  repented  of  the  arrangement,  the  ship- 
carpenters  were  ill,  there  were  no  caulkers,  and 
moreover,  they  recollected  that  as  Ojeda,  according 
to  their  representations,  was  a  defaulter  to  the  crown, 
they  would  be  liable  as  his  sureties,  should  they  re- 
turn to  Spain  without  him.  They  concluded,  there- 
fore, that  the  wisest  plan  was  to  give  him  nothing, 
but  to  carry  him  off  prisoner. 

When  Ojeda  learned  the  determination  of  his 
wary  partners,  he  attempted  to  make  his  escape  and 
get  off  to  St.  Domingo,  but  he  was  seized,  thrown 
in  irons,  and  conveyed  on  board  of  the  caravel.  The 
two  partners  then  set  sail  from  banta  Cruz,  bearing 
off  the  whole  community,  its  captive  governor,  and 
the  litigated  strong  box. 

They  put  to  sea  about  the  beginning  of  Septem- 
ber, and  arrived  at  the  western  part  of  the  island  of 
Hispaniola.  While  at  anchor  within  a  stone's 
throw  of  the  land,  Ojeda,  confident  in  his  strength 
and  skill  as  a  swimmer,  let  himself  quietly  slide 
down  the  side  of  the  ship  into  the  water  during  the 
night,  and  attempted  to  swim  for  the  shore.  His 
arms  were  free,  but  his  feet  were  shackled,  and  the 
weight  of  his  irons  threatened  to  sink  him.  He  was 
obliged  to  shout  for  help  ;  a  boat  was  sent  from  the 
vessel  to  his  relief,  and  the  unfortunate  governor 
was  brought  back  half  drowned  to  his  unrelenting 
partners.* 

The  latter  now  landed  and  delivered  their  prisoner 
into  the  hands  of  Gallego,  the  commander  of  the 
place,  to  be  put  at  the  disposal  of  the  governor  of 
the  island.  In  the  mean  time  the  strong  box,  vvhich 
appears  to  have  been  at  the  bottom  of  all  these 
feuds,  remained  in  the  possession  of  Vergara  and 
Ocampo,  who,  Ojeda  says,  took  from  it  whatever 
they  thought  proper,  without  regard  to  the  royal 
dues  or  the  consent  of  the  royal  supervisor.  They 
were  all  together,  prisoner  and  accusers,  in  the 
city  of  San  Domingo,  about  the  end  of  Septem- 
ber 1502,  when  the  chief  judge  of  the  island, 
after  hearing  both  parties,  gave  a  verdict  against 
Ojeda  that  stripped  him  of  all  his  effects,  and 
brought  him  into  debt  to  the  crown  for  the  royal 
proportion  of  the  profits  of  the  voyage.  Ojeda  ap- 
pealed to  the  sovereign,  and,  after  some  time,  was 
honourably  acquitted,  by  the  royal  council,  from  all 
the  charges,  and  a  mandate  was  issued  in  1503. 
ordering  a  restitution  of  his  property.  It  appears, 
however,  that  that  the  costs  of  justice,  or  rather  ot 
the  law,  consumed  his  share  of  the  treasure  of  the 
strong  box,  and  that  a  royal  order  was  necessary  to 
liberate  him  from  the  hands  of  the  governor;  so 
that,  like  too  many  other  litigants,  he  finally  emerged 
from  the  labyrinths  of  the  law  a  triumphant  client, 
but  a  ruined  man. 


THIRD  VOYAGE  OF  ALONZO  DE  OJEDA. 


OJEDA  APPLIES  FOR  A  COMMAND— HAS  A  RIVAL 
CANDIDATE  IN  DIEGO  DE  NICUESA— -HIS  SUC- 
CESS. 

For  several  years  after  his  ruinous,  though  suc- 
cessful lawsuit,  we  lose  all  traces  of  Alonzo  de  Ojeda, 


•  Hist.  Gen.  de  Viagcs.  Herrera,  Hist.  Ind. 


742 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


excepting  that  we  are  tokl  he  made  another  voyage 
to  the  vicinity  of  Coquibacoa,  in  1 505.  No  record 
remains  of  this  expedition,  which  seems  to  have  been 
equally  unprotitable  v/ith  the  preceding,  for  we  find 
him,  in  1508,  in  the  island  of  Hispaniola,  as  poor  in 

Eurse,  though  as  proud  in  spirit,  as  ever.  In  fact, 
owever  fortune  might  have  favoured  him,  he  had  a 
heedless,  squandering  disposition  that  would  always 
have  kept  him  poor. 

About  this  time  the  cupidity  of  King  Ferdinand 
was  greatly  excited  by  the  accounts  which  had  been 
given  by  Columbus,  of  the  gold  mines  of  Veragua,  in 
which  the  admiral  fancied  he  had  discovered  the 
Aurea  Chersonesus  of  the  ancients,  from  whence 
King  Solomon  procured  the  gold  used  in  build- 
ing the  temple  of  Jerusalem.  Subsequent  voy- 
agers had  corroborated  the  opinion  of  Columbus  as 
to  the  general  riches  of  the  coast  of  Terra  Firma  ; 
King  Ferdinand  resolved,  therefore,  to  found  regular 
colonies  along  that  coast  and  to  place  the  whole  un- 
der some  capable  commander.  A  project  of  the 
kind  had  been  conceived  by  Columbus,  when  he  dis- 
covered that  region  in  the  course  of  his  last  voyage, 
and  the  reader  may  remember  the  disasters  expe- 
rienced by  his  brother  Don  Bartholomew  and  him- 
self, in  endeavouring  to  establish  a  colony  on  the 
hostile  shores  of  Veragua.  The  admiral  being  dead, 
the  person  who  should  naturally  have  presented  him- 
self to  the  mind  of  the  sovereign  for  this  particular 
service  was  Don  Bartholomew,  but  the  wary  and 
selfish  monarch  knew  the  Adelantado  to  be  as  lofty 
in  his  terms  as  his  late  brother,  and  preferred  to  ac- 
complish his  purposes  by  cheaper  agents.  He  was 
unwilling,  also,  to  increase  the  consequence  of  a 
family,  whose  vast,  but  just,  claims  were  already  a 
cause  of  repining  to  his  sordid  and  jealous  spirit. 
He  looked  round,  therefore,  among  the  crowd  of  ad- 
venturers, who  had  sprung  up  in  the  school  of  Co- 
lumbus, for  some  individual  who  might  be  ready  to 
serve  him  on  more  accommodating  terms.  Among 
those,  considered  by  their  friends  as  most  fitted  for 
this  purpose,  was  Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  for  his  roving 
voyages  and  daring  exploits  had  made  him  famous 
among  the  voyagers ;  and  it  was  thought  that  an  ap|)li- 
cation  on  his  part  would  be  attended  with  success,  for 
he  was  known  to  possess  a  staunch  friend  at  court  in 
the  Bishop  Fonseca.  Unfortuately  he  was  too  far 
distant  to  urge  his  suit  to  the  bishop,  and  what  was 
worse,  he  was  destitute  of  money.  At  this  juncture 
there  happened  to  be  at  Hispaniola  the  veteran  navi- 
gator and  pilot,  Juan  de  la  Cosa,  who  was  a  kind  of 
Nestor  in  all  nautical  affairs.*  The  hardy  Biscayan 
had  sailed  with  Ojeda,  and  had  conceived  a  great 
opinion  of  the  courage  and  talents  of  the  youthful 
adventurer.  He  had  contrived,  also,  to  fill  his  purse 
in  the  course  of  his  cruising,  and  now,  in  the  gener- 
ous spirit  of  a  sailor,  offered  to  aid  Ojeda  with  it  in 
the  prosecution  of  his  wishes. 

His  offer  was  gladly  accepted  ;  it  was  agreed  that 
Juan  de  la  Cosa  should  depart  for  Spain,  to  promote 
the  appointment  of  Ojeda  to  the  command  of  Terra 
Firma,  and,  in  case  of  success,  should  fit  out,  with 
his  own  funds,  the  necessary  armament. 

La  Cosa  departed  on  his  embassy  ;  he  called  on 
the  Bishop  Fonseca,  who,  as  had  been  expected,  en- 


*  Peter  Martyr  gives  the  following  weighty  testimony  to  the 
knowledge  and  skill  of  this  excellent  seaman: — "Of  the  Sp.iniards, 
as  many  as  thought  themselves  to  have  any  knowledge  of  what 
pertained  to  measure  the  land  and  sea,  drew  cardes  (charts)  on 
parchment  as  concerning  these  navigations.  Of  all  others  they 
most  esteem  them  which  Juan  de  la  Cosa,  the  companion  of  Ojeda, 
and  another  pilot,  called  Andres  Morales,  had  set  forth,  and  this, 
34  well  for  the  great  experience  which  both  had,  (ta  ivhom  t/tese 
tracks  were  as  well  known  as  the  chambers  of  their  own  houses^ 
as  also  that  they  were  thought  to  be  cunninger  in  that  part  of  cos- 
mography which  teacheth  the  description  and  measuring  of  the 
lea/'  /*.  Martyr^  Decaii,  it.  c,  10. 


tered  warmly  into  the  views  of  his  favourite,  Ojeda,  and 
recommended  him  to  the  ambitious  and  bigot  king, 
as  a  man  well  fitted  to  promote  his  empire  in  the 
wilderness,  and  to  dispense  the  blessings  of  Chris- 
tianity among  the  savages. 

The  recommendation  of  the  bishop  was  usu- 
ally effectual  in  the  affairs  of  the  New  World, 
and  the  opinion  of  the  veteran  de  la  Cosa  had 
great  weight  even  with  the  sovereign  ;  but  a 
rival  candidate  to  Ojeda  had  presented  himself,  and 
one  who  had  the  ad\'antage  of  higher  connexions 
and  greater  pecuniary  means.  This  was  Diego  de 
Nicuesa,  an  accomplished  courtier  of  noble  birth, 
who  had  filled  the  post  of  grand  carver  to  Don  En- 
rique Enriquez,  uncle  of  the  king.  Nature,  educa- 
tion, and  habit  seemed  to  have  combined  to  form 
Nicuesa  as  a  complete  rival  of  Ojeda.  Like  him  he 
was  small  of  stature,  but  remarkable  for  symmetry 
and  compactness  of  form  and  for  bodily  strength  and 
activity  ;  like  him  he  was  master  at  all  kinds  of 
weapons,  and  skilled,  not  merely  in  feats  of  agility, 
but  in  those  graceful  and  chivalrous  exercises,  which 
the  Spanish  cavaliers  of  those  days  had  inherited 
from  the  Moors  ;  being  noted  for  his  vigour  and  ad- 
dress in  the  jousts  or  tilting  matches  after  the  Mo- 
resco  fashion.  Ojeda  himself  could  not  surpass  him 
in  feats  of  horsemanship,  and  particular  mention  is 
made  of  a  favourite  mare,  which  he  could  make  ca- 
per and  carricol  in  strict  cadence  to  the  sound  of  a 
viol ;  beside  all  this,  he  was  versed  in  the  legendary 
ballads  or  romances  of  his  country,  and  was  renown- 
ed as  a  capital  performer  on  the  guitar  !  Such  were 
the  qualifications  of  this  candidate  for  a  command  in 
the  wilderness,  as  enumerated  by  the  reverend  Bish- 
op Las  Casas.  It  is  probable,  however,  that  he  had 
given  evidence  of  qualities  more  adapted  to  the  de- 
sired post ;  having  already  been  out  to  Hispaniola  in 
the  military  train  of  the  late  Governor  Ovando. 

Where  merits  were  so  singularly  balanced  as  those 
of  Ojeda  and  Nicuesa,  it  might  have  been  difficult  to 
decide  ;  King  Ferdinand  avoided  the  dilemma  l)y  fa- 
vouring both  of  the  candidates ;  not  indeed  by  fur- 
nishing them  with  ships  and  money,  but  by  granting 
patents  and  dignities  which  cost  nothing,  and  might 
bring  rich  relurns. 

He  divided  that  part  of  the  continent  which  lies 
along  the  Isthmus  of  Darien  into  two  provinces,  the 
boundary  line  running  through  the  Gulf  of  Uraba. 
The  eastern  part,  extending  to  Cape  de  la  Vela,  was 
called  New  .4ndalusia,  the  government  of  it  given  to 
Ojeda.  The  other,  to  the  west,  including  Veragua, 
and  reaching  to  Cape  Gracias  a  Dios,  was  assigned 
to  Nicuesa.  The  island  of  Jamaica  was  given  to  the 
two  governors  in  coinmon,  as  a  place  from  whence  to 
draw  supplies  of  provisions.  Each  of  the  governors 
was  to  erect  two  fortresses  in  his  district,  and  to  en- 
joy for  ten  years  the  profits  of  all  the  mines  he  should 
discover,  paying  to  the  crown  one-tenth  part  the  first 
year,  one-ninth  the  second,  one-eighth  the  third,  one- 
seventh  the  fourth,  and  one-fifth  part  in  each  of  the 
remaining  years. 

Juan  de  la  Cosa,  who  had  been  indefatigable  in 
promoting  the  suit  of  Ojeda,  was  appointed  his  lieu- 
tenant in  the  government,  with  the  post  of  Alguazil 
Mayor  of  the  province.  He  immediately  freighted  a 
ship  and  two  brigantines,  in  which  he  embarked  with 
about  two  hundred  men.  It  was  a  slender  armament, 
but  the  purse  of  the  honest  voyager  was  not  very 
deep,  and  that  of  Ojeda  was  empty.  Nicuesa,  having 
ampler  means,  armed  four  large  vessels  and  two 
brigantines,  furnished  them  with  abundant  munitions 
and  supjjlies,  both  for  the  voyage  and  the  projected 
colony,  enlisted  a  much  greater  force,  and  set  sail  in 
gay  and  vaunting  style,  for  the  golden  shores  of 
Veragua,  the  Aurea  Chersonesus  of  his  imagination. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


743 


CHAPTER  II. 

FEUD   BETWEEN  THE    RIVAL  GOVERNORS,   OJEDA 
AND   NICUESA— A  CHALLENGE.— (l  509.) 

The  two  rival  armaments  arrived  at  San  Domingo 
about  the  same  time.  Nicuesa  had  experienced 
what  was  doubtless  considered  a  pleasant  little  turn 
of  fortune  by  the  way.  Touching  at  Santa  Cruz, 
one  of  the  Carribee  islands,  he  had  succeeded  in 
capti:ring  a  hundred  of  the  natives,  whom  he  had 
borne  off  in  his  ships  to  be  sold  as  slaves  at  Hispan- 
iola.  This  was  deemed  justifiable  in  those  days, 
even  by  the  most  scrupulous  divines,  from  the  belief 
that  the  Caribs  were  all  anthropophagi,  or  man- 
eaters  ;  fortunately  the  opinion  of  mankind,  in  this 
more  enlightened  age,  makes  but  little  difference  in 
atrocity  between  the  cannibal  and  the  kidnapper. 

Alonzo  dc  Ojeda  welcomed  with  joy  the  arrival  of 
his  nautical  friend  and  future  lieutenant  in  the  gov- 
ernment, the  worthy  Juan  de  la  Cosa  ;  still  he  could 
not  but  feel  some  mortification  at  the  inferiority  of 
his  annament  to  that  of  his  rival  Nicuesa,  whose 
stately  ships  rode  proudly  at  anchor  in  the  harbour 
of  San  Domingo.  He  felt,  too,  that  his  means  were 
inadequate  to  the  establishment  of  his  intended  col- 
ony. Ojeda,  however,  was  not  long  at  a  loss  for 
pecuniary  assistance.  Like  many  free-spirited  men, 
who  are  careless  and  squandering  of  their  own 
purses,  he  had  a  facility  at  commanding  the  purses 
of  his  neigbours.  Among  the  motley  population  of 
San  Domingo  there  was  a  lawyer  of  some  abilities, 
the  Bachelor  Martin  Fernandez  de  Enciso,  who  had 
made  two  thousand  castillano.s  by  his  pleading;*  for 
it  would  appear  that  the  spirit  of  litigation  was  one 
of  the  first  fruits  of  civilized  life  transplanted  to  the 
New  World,  and  flourished  surprisingly  among  the 
Spanish  colonists. 

Alonzo  de  Ojeda  became  acquainted  with  the 
Bachelor,  and  finding  him  to  be  of  a  restless  and 
speculative  character,  soon  succeeded  in  inspiring 
him  with  a  contempt  for  the  dull  but  secure  and 
profitable  routine  of  his  office  in  San  Domingo,  and 
imbuing  him  with  his  own  passion  for  adventure. 
Above  all,  he  dazzled  him  with  the  offer  to  make  him 
Alcalde  Mayor,  or  chief  judge  of  the  provincial  gov- 
ernment he  was  about  to  establish  in  the  wilderness. 

In  an  evil  hour  the  aspiring  Bachelor  yielded  to 
the  temptation,  and  agreed  to  invest  all  his  money  in 
the  enterprise.  It  was  agreed  that  Ojeda  should 
depart  with  the  armament  which  had  arrived  from 
Spain,  while  the  Bachelor  should  remain  at  Hispan- 
iola  to  beat  up  for  recruits  and  provide  supplies  ; 
with  these  he  was  to  embark  in  a  ship  purchased  by 
himself,  and  proceed  to  join  his  high-mettled  friend 
at  the  seat  of  his  intended  colony.  Two  rival  gov- 
ernors, so  well  matched  as  Ojeda  and  Nicuesa,  and 
both  possessed  of  swelling  spirits,  pent  up  in  small 
but  active  bodies,  could  not  remain  long  in  a  little 
place  like  San  Domingo  without  some  collision.  The 
island  of  Jamaica,  which  had  been  assigned  to  them 
in  common,  furnished  the  first  ground  of  contention  ; 
the  province  of  Darien  furnished  another,  each  pre- 
tending to  include  it  within  the  limits  of  his  jurisdic- 
tion. Their  disputes  on  these  points  ran  so  high 
that  the  whole  place  resounded  with  them.  In  talk- 
ing, however,  Nicuesa  had  the  advantage ;  having 
been  brought  up  in  the  court,  he  was  more  polished 
and  ceremonious,  had  greater  self-command,  and 
probably  perplexed  his  rival  governor  in  argument. 
Ojeda  was  no  great  casuist,  but  he  was  an  excellent 
swordsman,  and  always  ready  to  fight  his  way 
through  any  question  of  right  or  dignity  which  he 


*  Equivalent  to  10,650  doll.\rs  of  the  present  day. 


could  not  clearly  argue  with  the  tongue  ;  so  he  pro- 
posed to  settle  the  dispute  by  single  combat.  Nicu- 
esa, though  equally  brave,  was  more  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  saw  the  folly  of  such  arbitrament.  Se- 
cretly smiling  at  the  heat  of  his  antagonist,  he  pro- 
posed, as  a  preliminary  to  the  duel,  and  to  furnish 
something  worth  fighting  for,  that  each  should  de- 
posit five  thousand  catillanos,  to  be  the  prize  of  the 
victor.  This,  as  he  foresaw,  was  a  temporary  check 
upon  the  fiery  valour  of  his  rival,  who  did  not  pos- 
sess a  pistole  in  his  treasury  ;  but  probably  was  too 
proud  to  confess  it. 

It  is  not  likely,  however,  that  the  impetuous  spirit 
of  Ojeda  would  long  have  remained  in  check,  had 
not  the  discreet  Juan  de  la  Cosa  interposed  to  calm 
it.  It  is  interesting  to  notice  the  great  ascendency 
possessed  by  this  veteran  navigator  over  his  fiery  as- 
sociate. Juan  de  la  Cosa  was  a  man  whose  strong 
natural  good  sense  had  been  quickened  by  long  and 
hard  experience  ;  whose  courage  was  above  all  ques- 
tion, but  tempered  by  time  and  trial.  He  seems  to 
have  been  personally  attached  to  Ojeda,  as  veterans 
who  have  outlived  the  rash  impulse  of  youthful  val- 
our are  apt  to  love  the  fiery  quality  in  their  younger 
associates.  So  long  as  he  accompanied  Ojeda  in  his 
enterprises,  he  stood  by  him  as  a  Mentor  in  council, 
and  a  devoted  partisan  in  danger. 

In  the  present  instance  the  interference  of  this 
veteran  of  the  seas  had  the  most  salutary  effect ;  he 
prevented  the  impending  duel  of  the  rival  governors, 
and  persuaded  them  to  agree  that  the  river  Darien 
should  be  the  boundary  line  between  their  respective 
jurisdictions. 

The  dispute  relative  to  Jamaica  was  settled  by  the 
Admiral  Don  Diego  Columbus  himself  He  had  al- 
ready felt  aggrieved  by  the  distribution  of  these  gov- 
ernments by  the  king,  without  his  consent  or  even 
knowledge,  being  contrary  to  the  privileges  which 
he  inherited  from  his  father,  the  discoverer.  It  was 
in  vain  to  contend,  however,  when  the  matter  was 
beyond  his  reach  and  involved  in  technical  disputes. 
But  as  to  the  island  of  Jamaica,  it  in  a  manner  lay 
at  his  own  door,  and  he  could  not  brook  its  being 
made  a  matter  of  gift  to  these  brawling  governors. 
Without  waiting  the  slow  and  uncertain  course  of 
making  remonstrances  to  the  king,  he  took  the  af- 
fair, as  a  matter  of  plain  right,  into  his  own  handa 
and  ordered  a  brave  officer,  Juan  de  Esqiiibel,  the 
same  who  had  subjugated  the  province  of  Higuey, 
to  take  possession  of  that  island,  with  seventy  men, 
and  to  hold  it  subject  to  his  command. 

Ojeda  did  not  hear  of  this  arrangement  until  he 
was  on  the  point  of  embarking  to  make  sail.  In  the 
heat  of  the  moment  he  loudly  defied  the  power  of 
the  admiral,  and  swore  that  if  he  ever  found  Juan  de 
Esquibel  on  the  island  of  Jamaica  he  would  strike 
off  his  head.  The  populace  present  heard  this  men- 
ace, and  liad  too  thorough  an  idea  of  the  fiery  and 
daring  character  of  Ojeda  to  doubt  that  he  would 
carry  it  into  effect.  Notwithstanding  his  bravado, 
however,  Juan  de  Esquibel  proceeded  according  to 
his  orders  to  take  possession  of  the  island  of  Jamaica. 

The  squadron  of  Nicuesa  lingered  for  some  time 
after  the  sailing  of  his  rival.  His  courteous  and  en- 
gaging manners,  aided  by  the  rumour  of  great  riches 
in  the  province  of  Veragua,  where  he  intended  to 
found  his  colony,  had  drawn  numerous  volunteers 
to  his  standard,  insomuch  that  he  had  to  purchase 
another  ship  to  convey  them. 

Nicuesa  was  more  of  the  courtier  and  the  cavalier 
than  the  man  of  business,  and  had  no  skill  in  manag- 
ing his  pecuniary  affairs.  He  had  expended  his  funds 
with  a  free  and  lavish  hand,  and  involved  himself  in 
debts  which  he  had  not  the  immediate  means  of  pay- 
ing.    Many  of  his  creditors  knew  that  his  expedition 


744 


WOEJCS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


was  regarded  with  an  evil  eye  by  the  Admiral,  Don 
Diego  Columbus ;  to  gain  favour  with  the  latter, 
therefore,  they  threw  all  kinds  of  impediments  in  the 
way  of  Nicuesa.  Never  was  an  unfortunate  gentle- 
man more  harassed  and  distracted  by  duns  and  de- 
mands, one  plucking  at  his  skirts  as  soon  as  the 
other  was  satisfied.  He  succeeded,  however,  in  get- 
ting all  his  forces  embarked.  He  had  seven  hundred 
men,  well  chosen  and  well  armed,  together  with  six 
horses.  He  chose  Lope  de  Olano  to  be  his  captain- 
general,  a  seemingly  impolitic  appointment,  as  this 
Olano  had  been  concerned  with  the  notorious  Roldan 
in  his  rebellion  against  Columbus. 

The  squadron  sailed  out  of  the  harbour  and  put 
to  sea,  excepting  one  ship,  which,  with  anchor  a-trip 
and  sails  unfurled,  waited  to  receive  Nicuesa,  who 
was  detained  on  shore  until  the  last  moment  by 
the  perplexities  which  had  been  artfully  multiplied 
around  him. 

Just  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  stepping  into  his 
boat  he  was  arrested  by  the  harpies  of  the  law,  and 
carried  before  the  Alcalde  Mayor  to  answer  a  de- 
mand for  five  hundred  ducats,  which  he  was  ordered 
to  pay  on  the  spot,  or  prepare  to  go  to  prison. 

This  was  a  thunderstroke  to  the  unfortunate  cava- 
lier. In  vain  he  represented  his  utter  incapacity  to 
furnish  such  a  sum  at  the  moment ;  in  vain  he 
represented  the  ruin  that  would  accrue  to  himself 
and  the  vast  injury  to  the  public  service,  should  he 
be  prevented  from  joining  his  expedition.  The  Al- 
calde Mayor  was  inflexible,  and  Nicuesa  was  reduced 
to  despair.  At  this  critical  moment  relief  came  from 
a  most  unexpected  quarter.  The  heart  of  a  public 
notary  was  melted  by  his  distress  !  He  stepped  for- 
ward in  court  and  declared  that  rather  than  see  so 
gallant  a  gentleman  reduced  to  extremity  he  himself 
would  pay  down  the  money.  Nicuesa  gazed  at  him 
with  astonishment,  and  could  scarcely  believe  his 
senses,  but  when  he  saw  him  actually  pay  off  the 
debt,  and  found  himself  suddenly  released  from  this 
dreadful  embarrassment,  he  embraced  his  deliverer 
with  tears  of  gratitude,  and  hastened  with  all  speed 
to  embark,  lest  some  other  legal  spell  should  be  laid 
'ipon  his  person. 


CHAPTER  HI. 


EXPLOITS  AND  DISASTERS  OF  OJEDA  ON  THE 
COAST  OF  CARTHAGENA— FATE  OF  THE  VET- 
ERAN JUAN  DE  LA  COSA.— (1 509.) 

It  was  on  the  loth  of  November,  1509,  that 
Alonzo  de  Ojeda  set  sail  from  San  Domingo  with 
two  ships,  two  brigantines,  and  three  hundred  men. 
He  took  with  him  also  twelve  brood  mares.  Among 
the  remarkable  adventurers  who  embarked  with  him 
was  Francisco  Pizarro,  who  was  afterwards  renown- 
ed as  the  conqueror  of  Peru.*  Hernando  Cortez 
had  likewise  intended  to  sail  in  the  expedition,  but 
was  prevented  by  an  inflammation  in  one  of  his 
knees. 


•  Francisco  Pizarro  was  a  native  of  Truxillo  in  Estrcmadura.  He 
was  the  illegitimate  fruit  of  an  amour  between  Gonsalvo  Pizarro.  a 
veteran  captain  of  infantry,  and  a  damsel  in  low  life.  His  child- 
hood was  passed  in  grovelling  occupations  incident  to  the  humble 
condition  of  his  mother,  ana  he  is  said  to  have  been  a  swineherd. 
When  he  had  sufficiently  increased  in  years  and  stature  he  enlisted 
as  a  soldier.  His  first  campaigns  may  have  been  against  the  Moors 
in  the  war  of  Granada.  He  certainly  served  in  Italy  under  the 
banner  of  the  Great  Captain,  Gonsalvo  of  Cordova.  His  roving 
spirit  then  induced  him  to  join  the  bands  of  adventurers  to  the 
New  World.  He  was  of  ferocious  courage,  and,  when  engaged  in 
any  enterprise,  possessed  an  obstinate  perseverance  that  was  nei- 
ther to  be  deterred  by  danger,  weakened  by  fatigue  and  hardship,  or 
checked  bv  repeated  disappointment.  After  having  conquered  the 
great  kingdom  of  Peru,  he  was  assassinated,  at  an  advanced  age,  in 
1541,  defending  himself  bravely  to  the  last. 


The  voyage  was  speedy  and  prosperous,  and  they 
arrived  late  in  the  autumn  in  the  harbour  of  Cartha- 
gena.  The  veteran  Ju.an  de  la  Cosa  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  this  place,  having  sailed  as  pilot  with 
Rodrigo  de  Bastides,  at  the  time  he  discovered  it  in 
1 501.  He  warned  Alonzo  de  Ojeda  to  be  upon  his 
guard,  as  the  natives  were  a  brave  and  warlike  race, 
of  Carib  origin,  far  different  from  the  soft  and  gentle 
inhabitants  of  the  islands.  They  wielded  great 
swords  of  palm -wood,  defended  themselves  with 
osier  targets,  and  dipped  their  arrows  in  a  subtle 
poison.  The  women,  as  well  as  the  men,  mingled 
in  battle,  being  expert  in  drawing  the  bow  and 
throwing  a  species  of  lance  called  the  azagay.  The 
warning  was  well  timed,  for  the  Indians  of  these 
parts  had  been  irritated  by  the  misconduct  of  pre- 
vious adventurers,  and  flew  to  arms  on  the  first  ap- 
pearance of  the  ships. 

Juan  de  la  Cosa  now  feared  for  the  safety  of  the 
enterprise  in  which  he  had  person,  fortune,  and 
official  dignity  at  stake.  He  earnestly  advised  Ojeda 
to  abandon  this  dangerous  neighbourhood,  and  to 
commence  a  settlement  in  the  gulf  of  Uraba,  where 
the  people  were  less  ferocious,  and  did  not  use  poi- 
soned weapons.  Ojeda  was  too  proud  of  spirit  to 
alter  his  plans  through  fear  of  a  naked  foe.  It 
is  thought,  too,  that  he  had  no  objection  to  a  skir- 
mish, being  desirous  of  a  pretext  to  make  slaves  to 
be  sent  to  Hispaniola  in  discharge  of  the  debts  he 
had  left  unpaid.*  He  landed,  therefore,  with  a  con- 
siderable part  of  his  force,  and  a  number  of  friars, 
who  had  been  sent  out  to  convert  the  Indians.  His 
faithful  lieutenant,  being  unable  to  keep  him  out  of 
danger,  stood  by  to  second  him. 

Ojeda  advanced  towards  the  savages,  and  ordered 
the  friars  to  read  aloud  a  certain  formula  which  had 
recently  been  digested  by  profound  jurists  and  di- 
vines in  Spain.  It  began  in  stately  form.  "  I,  Alonzo 
de  Ojeda,  servant  of  the  most  high  and  mighty 
sovereigns  of  Castile  and  Leon,  conquerors  of  bar- 
barous nations,  their  messenger  and  captain,  do 
notify  unto  you,  and  make  you  know,  in  the  best 
way  I  can,  that  God  our  Lord,  one  and  eternal, 
created  the  heaven  and  the  earth,  and  one  man  and 
one  woman,  from  whom  you  and  we,  and  all  the 
people  of  the  earth  proceeded,  and  are  descendants, 
as  well  as  those  who  shall  come  hereafter."  The 
formula  then  went  on  to  declare  the  fundamental 
principles  of  the  Catholic  Faith  ;  the  supreme  power 
given  to  St.  Peter  over  the  world  and  all  the  human 
race,  and  exercised  by  his  representative  the  pope  ; 
the  donation  made  by  a  late  pope  of  all  this  part  of 
the  world  and  all  its  inhabitants,  to  the  Catholic 
sovereigns  of  Castile ;  and  the  ready  obedience 
which  had  already  been  paid  by  many  of  its  lands 
and  islands  and  people  to  the  agents  and  representa- 
tives of  those  sovereigns.  It  called  upon  those 
savages  present,  therefore,  to  do  the  same,  to  ac- 
knowledge the  truth  of  the  Christian  doctrines,  the 
supremacy  of  the  pope,  and  the  sovereignty  of  the 
Catholic  King,  but,  in  case  of  refusal,  it  denounced 
upon  them  all  the  horrors  of  war,  the  desolation  of 
their  dwelling,  the  seizure  of  their  property,  and  the 
slavery  of  their  wives  and  children.  Such  was 
the  extraordinary  document,  which,  from  this  time 
forward,  was  read  by  the  Spanish  discoverers  to  the 
wondering  savages  of  any  newly-found  country,  as  a 
prelude  to  sanctify  the  violence  about  to  be  inflicted 
on  them.t 

When  the  friars  had  read  this  pious  manifesto, 
Ojeda  made  signs  of  amity  to  the  natives,  and  held 


*  La-s  Cas.ts.    Hist.  Ind.  I.  ii.  c.  57.  MS. 

t  The  reader  wiU  find  the  complete  form  of  this  curious  manifesto 
in  the  appendi-Y. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


745 


up  glittering  presents ;  they  had  already  suffered, 
however,  from  the  cruelties  of  the  white  men,  and 
were  not  to  be  won  by  kindness.  On  the  contrary, 
they  brandished  their  weapons,  sounded  their  conchs, 
and  prepared  to  make  battle. 

Juan  de  la  Cosa  saw  the  rising  choler  of  Ojeda, 
and  knew  his  fiery  impatience.  He  again  entreated 
him  to  abandon  these  hostile  shores,  and  reminded 
him  of  the  venomous  weapons  of  the  enemy.  It 
was  all  in  vain :  Ojeda  confided  blindly  in  the  pro- 
tection of  the  Virgin.  Putting  up,  ns  usual,  a  short 
prayer  to  his  patroness,  he  drew  his  weapon,  braced 
his  buckler,  and  charged  furiously  upon  the  savages. 
Juan  de  la  Cosa  followed  as  heartily  as  if  the  battle 
had  been  of  his  own  seeking.  The  Indians  were 
soon  routed,  a  number  killed,  and  several  taken 
prisoners ;  on  their  persons  were  found  plates  of 
gold,  but  of  an  inferior  quality.  Flushed  by  this 
triumph,  Ojeda  took  several  of  the  prisoners  as 
guides,  and  pursued  the  flying  enemy  four  leagues 
into  the  interior.  He  was  followed,  as  usual,  by  his 
faithful  lieutenant,  the  veteran  La  Cosa,  continually 
remonstrating  against  his  useless  temerity,  but  hard- 
ily seconding  him  in  the  most  hare-brained  perils, 
liaving  penetrated  far  into  the  forest,  they  came  to 
a  strong-hold  of  the  enemy,  where  a  numerous  force 
was  ready  to  receive  them,  armed  with  clubs,  lances, 
arrows,  and  bucklers.  Ojeda  led  his  men  to  the 
charge  with  the  old  Castilian  war  cry,  "  Santiago  !  " 
The  savages  soon  took  to  flight.  Eight  of  their 
bravest  warriors  threw  themselves  into  a  cabin,  and 
plied  their  bows  and  arrows  so  vigorously,  that  the 
Spaniards  were  kept  at  bay.  Ojeda  cried  shame 
upon  his  followers  to  be  daunted  by  eight  naked 
men.  Stung  by  this  reproach,  an  old  Castilian 
soldier  rushed  through  a  shower  of  arrows,  and 
forced  the  door  of  the  cabin,  but  received  a  shaft 
through  the  heart,  and  fell  dead  on  the  threshold. 
Ojeda,  furious  at  the  sight,  ordered  fire  to  be  set  to 
the  combustible  edifice ;  in  a  moment  it  was  in  a 
blaze,  and  the  eight  warriors  perished  in  the  flames. 

Seventy  Indians  were  made  captive  and  sent  to 
the  ships,  and  Ojeda,  regardless  of  the  remonstrances 
of  Juan  de  la  Cosa,  continued  his  rash  pursuit  of  the 
fugitives  through  the  forest.  In  the  dusk  of  the 
evening  they  arrived  at  a  village  called  Yurbaco; 
the  mhabitants  of  which  had  fled  to  the  mountains 
with  their  wives  and  children  and  principal  effects. 
The  Spaniards,  imagining  that  the  Indians  were 
completely  terrified  and  dispersed,  now  roved  in 
quest  of  booty  among  the  deserted  houses,  which 
stood  distant  from  each  other,  buried  among  the 
trees.  While  they  were  thus  scattered,  troops  of  sav- 
ages rushed  forth,  with  furious  yells,  from  all  parts 
of  the  forest.  The  Spaniards  endeavoured  to  gather 
together  and  support  each  other,  but  every  little 
party  was  surrounded  by  a  host  of  foes.  They  fought 
with  desperate  bravery,  but  for  once  their  valour  and 
their  iron  armour  were  of  no  avail ;  they  were  over- 
whelmed by  numbers,  and  sank  beneath  war-clubs 
and  poisoned  arrows. 

Ojeda  on  the  first  alarm  collected  a  few  soldiers 
and  ensconced  himself  within  a  small  enclosure,  sur- 
rounded by  palisades.  Here  he  was  closely  besieged 
and  galled  by  flights  of  arrows.  He  threw  himself 
on  his  knees,  covered  himself  with  his  buckler,  and, 
being  small  and  active,  managed  to  protect  himself 
from  the  deadly  shower,  but  all  his  companions  were 
slain  by  his  side,  some  of  them  perishing  in  frightful 
agonies.  At  this  fearful  moment  the  veteran  La 
Cosa,  having  heard  of  the  peril  of  his  commander, 
arrived,  with  a  few  followers,  to  his  assistance. 
Stationing  himself  at  the  gate  of  the  palisades,  the 
brave  Biscayan  kept  the  savages  at  bay  until  most  of 
his   men  were  slain   and   he  himself  was  severely 


wounded.  Just  then  Ojeda  sprang  forth  like  a  tiger 
into  the  midst  of  the  enemy,  dealing  his  blows  on 
every  side.  La  Cosa  would  have  seconded  him,  but 
was  crippled  by  his  wounds.  He  took  refuge  with 
the  remnant  of  his  men  in  an  Indian  cabin ;  the 
straw  roof  of  which  he  aided  them  to  throw  oft',  lest 
the  enemy  should  set  it  on  fire.  Here  he  defended 
himself  until  all  his  comrades,  but  one,  were  de- 
stroyed. The  subtle  poison  of  his  wounds  at  length 
overpowered  him,  and  he  sank  to  the  ground.  Feeling 
death  at  hand,  he  called  to  his  only  surviving  compan- 
ion. "  Brother,"  said  he,  "  since  God  hath  pro- 
tected thee  from  harm,  sally  forth  and  fly,  and  if 
ever  thou  shouldst  see  Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  tell  him  of 
my  fate  !  " 

Thus  fell  the  hardy  Juan  de  la  Cosa,  faithful  and 
devoted  to  the  very  last  ;  nor  can  we  refrain  from 
pausing  to  pay  a  passing  tribute  to  his  memory.  He 
was  acknowledged  by  his  contemporaries  to  be  one 
of  the  ablest  of  those  gallant  Spanish  navigators 
who  first  explored  the  way  to  the  New  World.  But 
it  is  by  the  honest  and  kindly  qualities  of  his  heart 
that  his  memory  is  most  endeared  to  us  ;  it  is,  above 
all,  by  that  loyalty  in  friendship  displayed  in  this  his 
last  and  fatal  expedition.  Warmed  by  his  attach- 
ment for  a  more  youthful  and  a  hot-he.aded  adventurer, 
we  see  this  wary  veteran  of  the  seas  forgetting  his 
usual  prudence  and  the  lessons  of  his  experience, 
and  embarking,  heart  and  hand,  purse  and  person,  in 
the  wild  enterprises  of  his  favourite.  We  behold 
him  watching  over  him  as  a  parent,  remonstrating 
with  him  as  a  counsellor,  but  fighting  by  him  as  a 
partisan ;  following  him,  without  hesitation,  into 
known  and  needless  danger,  to  certain  death  itself, 
and  showing  no  other  solicitude  in  his  dying  mo- 
ments but  to  be  remembered  by  his  friend. 

The  histories  of  these  Spanish  discoveries  abound 
in  noble  and  generous  traits  of  character,  but  few 
have  charmed  us  more  than  this  instance  of  loyalty 
to  the  last  gasp,  in  the  death  of  the  staunch  Juan 
de  la  Cosa.  The  Spaniard  who  escaped  to  tell  the 
story  of  his  end  was  the  only  survivor  of  seventy  that 
had  followed  Ojeda  in  this  rash  and  headlong  inroad. 


CHAPTER   IV. 


ARRIVAL    OF    NICUESA — VENGEANCE    TAKEN  ON 
THE  INDIANS. 

While  these  disastrous  occurrences  happened  on 
shore,  great  alarm  began  to  be  felt  on  board  of  the 
ships.  Days  had  elapsed  since  the  party  had  ad- 
ventured so  rashly  into  the  wilderness  ;  yet  nothing 
had  been  seen  or  heard  of  them,  and  the  forest 
spread  a  mysterj'  over  their  fate.  Some  of  the 
Spaniards  ventured  a  little  distance  into  the  woods, 
but  were  deterred  by  the  distant  shouts  and  yells  of 
the  savages,  and  the  noise  of  their  conchs  and 
drums.  Armed  detachments  then  coasted  the  shore 
in  boats,  landing  occasionally,  climbing  the  rocks 
and  promontories,  firing  signal-guns,  and  sounding 
trumpets.  It  was  all  in  vain  ;  they  heard  nothing 
but  the  echoes  of  their  own  noises,  or  perhaps  the 
wild  whoop  of  an  Indian  from  the  bosom  of  the 
forest.  At  length,  when  they  were  about  to  give  up 
the  search  in  despair,  they  came  to  a  great  thicket  ot' 
mangrove  trees  on  the  margin  of  the  sea.  These 
trees  grow  within  the  water,  but  their  roots  rise, 
and  are  intertwined,  above  the  surface.  In  this  en- 
tangled and  almost  impervious  grove,  they  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  man  in  Spanish  attire.  They  entered, 
and,  to  their  astonishment,  found  it  to  be  Alonzo  de 
Ojeda.     He  was  lying  on  the  matted  roots  of  the 


7iCy 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


man;jroves,  his  buckler  on  his  shoulder,  and  his 
sword  in  his  hand  ;  but  so  wasted  with  hunger  and 
fatigue  that  he  could  not  speak.  They  bare  him  to 
the  firm  land ;  made  a  fire  on  the  shore  to  warm 
him,  for  he  was  chilled  with  the  damp  and  cold  of 
his  hiding-place,  and  when  he  was  a  little  revived 
they  gave  him  food  and  wine.  In  this  way  he  gradu- 
ally recovered  strength  to  tell  his  doleful  story.* 

He  had  succeeded  in  cutting  his  way  through  the 
host  of  savagLS,  and  attaining  the  woody  skirts  of 
the  mountains ;  but  when  he  found  himself  alone, 
and  that  all  his  brave  men  had  been  cut  off,  he  was 
ready  to  yield  up  in  despair.  Bitterly  did  he  reproach 
himself  for  having  disregarded  the  advice  of  the 
veteran  La  Cosa,  and  deeply  did  he  deplore  the  loss 
of  that  loyal  follower,  who  had  fallen  a  victim  to  his 
devotion.  He  scarce  knew  which  way  to  bend  his 
course,  but  continued  on,  in  the  darkness  of  the 
night  and  of  the  forest,  until  out  of  hearing  of  the 
yells  of  triumph  uttered  by  the  savages  over  the 
bodies  of  his  men.  When  the  day  broke,  he  sought 
the  rudest  parts  of  the  mountains,  and  hid  himself  un- 
til the  night  ;  then  struggling  forward  among  rocks, 
and  precipices,  and  matted  forests,  he  made  liis  way 
to  the  sea-side,  but  was  too  much  exhausted  to  reach 
the  ships.  Indeed  it  was  wonderful  that  one  so 
small  of  frame  should  have  been  able  to  endure  such 
great  hardships  ;  but  he  was  of  admirable  strength 
and  hardihood.  His  followers  considered  his  escape 
from  death  as  little  less  than  miraculous,  and  he 
himself  regarded  it  as  another  proof  of  the  special 
protection  of  the  Virgin  ;  for,  though  he  had,  as 
usual,  received  no  wound,  yet  it  is  said  his  buckler 
bore  the  dints  of  upwards  of  three  hundred  arrows  t 

While  the  Spaniards  were  yet  on  the  shore,  ad- 
ministering to  the  recovery  of  their  commander, 
they  beheld  a  squadron  of  ships  standin^j  towards 
the  harbour  of  Carthagena,  and  soon  perceived  chem 
to  be  the  ships  of  Nicuesa.  Ojeda  was  troubled  in 
mind  at  the  sight,  recollecting  his  late  intemperate 
defiance  of  that  cavalier  ;  and,  relucting  that,  should 
he  seek  him  in  enmity,  he  was  in  no  situation  to 
maintain  his  challenge  or  defend  himself.  He  ordered 
his  men,  therefore,  to  return  on  board  the  ships  and 
leave  him  alone  on  the  shore,  and  not  to  reveal  the 
place  of  his  retreat  while  Nicuesa  should  remam  in 
the  harbour. 

As  the  squadron  entered  the  harbour,  the  boats 
sallied  forth  to  meet  it.  The  first  inquiry  of  Nicuesa 
was  concerning  Ojeda.  The  followers  of  the  latter 
replied,  mournfully,  that  their  commander  had  gone 
on  a  warlike  expedition  into  the  country,  but  days 
had  elapsed  without  his  return,  so  that  they  feared 
some  misfortune  had  befallen  him.  They  entreated 
Nicuesa,  therelbre,  to  give  his  word,  as  a  cavalier, 
that  should  Ojeda  really  be  in  distress,  he  would  not 
take  advantage  of  his  misfortunes  to  revenge  him- 
self for  their  late  disputes. 

Nicuesa,  who  was  a  gentleman  of  noble  and  gen- 
erous spirit,  blushed  with  indignation  at  such  a  re- 
quest. "  Seek  your  commander  instantly,"  said  he  ; 
"  bring  him  to  me  if  he  be  alive ;  and  1  pledge  my- 
self not  merely  to  forget  the  past,  but  to  aid  him  as 
if  he  were  a  brother.''^ 

When  they  met,  Nicuesa  received  his  late  foe  with 
open  arms.     "  It  is  not,"  said  he,  '•  for  Hidalgos,  like 

*  The  picture  liere  given  is  so  much  like  romance,  th:it  the  author 
quotes  his  authority  at  length, — "  Llegaron  adonde  havia,  junto  al 
agua  de  la  mar,  uiios  Manglares,  que  sun  arb:)les.qucsiempre  nacen, 
i  crecen  i  permanecen  dentro  del  agua  de  la  mar,  con  gran  Jes  raices, 
asida^,  i  enmaraftadas  Unas  con  otras,  i  alii  metido,  i  escondido 
hallaron  It  Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  con  su  espada  en  la  mano,  i  !a  rodela 
en  las  espaldas,  i  en  clla  sobre  trccientas  seflalcs  de  flechazos. 
Estabo  descaido  de  hainbre,  que  no  podia  hcchar  de  hi  la  habia  ;  i 
li  no  fucra  tan  robusto,  aunque  chico  de  cuerpo,  fuera  muerto." 

Las  Casas.  1.  ii.  c.  5S.    MS.  Herrara,  Hist.  Ind.    D.  i.  I.  vii.  c.  xv. 

t  I.as  Cas.xs,  ubi.  sup.  X  Las  Casas,  ubi.  sup. 


men  of  vulgar  souls,  to  remember  past  differences 
when  they  behold  one  another  in  distress.  Hence- 
forth, let  all  that  has  occurred  between  ns  be  forgot- 
ten. Command  me  as  a  brother.  Myself  and  my 
men  are  at  your  orders,  to  follow  you  wherever  you 
please,  until  the  deaths  of  Juan  de  la  Cosa  and  his 
comrades  are  revenged." 

The  spirits  of  Ojeda  were  once  more  lifted  up  by 
this  gallant  and  generous  offer.  The  two  governors, 
no  longer  rivals,  landed  four  hundred  of  their  men 
and  several  horses,  and  set  off  with  all  speed  for  the 
fatal  village.  They  approached  it  in  the  night,  and, 
dividing  their  forces  into  two  parties,  gave  orders 
that  not  an  Indian  should  be  taken  alive. 

The  village  was  buried  in  deep  sleep,  but  the 
woods  were  filled  with  large  parrots,  which,  being 
awakened,  made  a  prodigious  clamour.  The  Indians, 
however,  thinking  the  Spaniards  all  destroyed,  paid 
no  attention  to  these  noises.  It  was  not  until  their 
houses  were  assailed,  and  wrapped  in  fiames,  that 
they  took  the  alarm.  They  rushed  forth,  some  with 
arms,  some  weapoiless,  but  were  received  at  their 
doors  by  the  exasperated  Spaniards,  and  either  slain 
on  the  spot,  or  driven  back  into  the  fire.  Women 
fled  wildly  forth  with  children  in  their  arms,  but  at 
sight  of  the  Spaniards  glittering  in  steel,  and  of  the 
horses,  which  they  supposed  ravenous  monsters,  they 
ran  back,  shrieking  with  horror,  into  their  burning 
habitations.  Great  was  the  carnage,  for  no  quarter 
was  shown  to  age  or  sex.  Many  perished  by  the 
fire,  and  many  by  the  sword. 

When  tnev  had  fully  glutted  their  vengeance,  the 
Spaniards  ranged  about  for  booty.  While  thus  em- 
ployed, they  found  the  body  of  the  unfortunate  Juan 
de  la  Cosa.  It  was  tied  to  a  tree,  but  svvoln  and  dis- 
coloured in  a  hideous  manner  by  the  poison  of  the 
arrows  with  which  he  had  been  slain.  This  dismal 
spectacle  had  such  an  effect  upon  the  common  men, 
tliat  not  one  would  remain  in  that  place  during  the 
night.  Having  sacked  the  village,  therefore,  they 
left  it  a  smoking  ruin,  and  returned  in  triumph  to 
their  ships.  The  spoil  in  gold  and  other  articles  of 
value  must  have  been  great,  for  the  share  ot  Nicuesa 
and  his  men  amounted  to  the  value  of  seven  thousand 
castdlanos.*  The  two  governors,  now  faithful  con- 
federates, p.arted  with  many  expressions  of  friend- 
ship, and  with  mutual  admiration  of  each  other's 
prowess,  and  Nicuesa  continued  his  voyage  for  the 
coast  of  Veragua. 


CHAPTER   V. 


OJEDA  FOUNDS  THE  COLONY  OF  SAN  SEBASTIAN 
— BELEAGUERED   BY  THE   INDIANS. 

Ojeda  now  adopted,  though  tardily,  the  advice 
of  his  unfortunate  lieutenant,  Juan  de  la  Cosa,  and, 
giving  up  all  thoughts  of  colonising  this  disastrous 
part  of  the  coast,  steered  his  course  for  the  Gulf  of 
Uraba.  He  sought  for  some  time  the  river  Darien, 
famed  among  the  Indians  as  abounding  in  gold,  but 
not  finding  it,  landed  in  various  places,  seeking  a 
favourable  sight  for  his  intended  colony.  His  people 
were  disheartened  by  the  disasters  they  had  already 
undergone,  anil  the  appearance  of  surrounding  ob- 
jects was  not  calculated  to  reassure  them.  The 
country,  though  fertile  and  covered  with  rich  and 
beautiful  vegetation,  was  in  their  eyes  a  land  of  can- 
nibals and  monsters.  They  began  to  dread  the 
strength  as  well  as  fierceness  of  the  savages,  who 
could  transfix  a  man  with  their  arrows  even  when 


♦  Equivalent  to  37,281  dollars  of  the  present  day. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


747 


covered  with  armour,  and  whose  shafts  were  tipped 
with  deadly  poison.  They  heard  the  howlings  of 
tigers,  pantliers,  and,  as  they  thought,  lions  in  the 
lorests,  and  encountered  large  and  venomous  ser- 
pents among  the  rocks  and  thickets.  As  they  were 
passing  along  the  banks  of  a  river,  one  of  their  horses 
was  seized  i)y  the  leg  by  an  enormous  alligator,  and 
dragged  beneath  the  waves.* 

At  length  Ojeda  fixed  upon  a  place  for  his  town 
on  a  height  at  the  east  side  of  the  Gulf.  Here,  land- 
ing all  that  could  be  spared  from  the  ships,  he  began 
with  all  diligence  to  erect  houses,  giving  this  embryo 
capital  of  his  province  the  name  of  San  Sebastian,  in 
honour  of  that  sainted  martyr,  who  was  slain  by  ar- 
rows;  hoping  he  might  protect  the  inhabitants  from 
the  e'lipoisoned  shafts  of  the  savages.  As  a  further 
protection  he  erected  a  large  wooden  fortress,  and 
surrounded  the  place  with  a  stockade.  Feeling, 
however,  the  inadequacy  of  his  handful  of  men  to 
contend  with  the  hostile  tribes  around  him,  he  des- 
patched a  ship  to  Hispaniola,  with  a  letter  to  the 
Bachelor,  Martin  Fernandez  de  Enciso,  his  Alcalde 
Mayor,  informing  him  of  his  having  established  his 
seat  of  government,  and  urging  him  to  lose  no  time 
in  joining  him  with  all  the  recruits,  arms,  and  pro- 
visions he  could  command.  By  the  same  ship  he 
transmitted  to  San  Domingo  all  the  captives  and 
gold  he  had  collected 

His  capital  being  placed  in  a  posture  of  defence, 
Ojeda  now  thought  of  making  a  progress  through 
his  wild  territory,  and  set  out,  accordingly,  with  an 
armed  band,  to  pay  a  friendly  visit  to  a  neighbouring 
cacique,  reputed  as  possessing  great  treasures  of 
ffold.  The  natives,  however,  had  by  this  time  learnt 
the  nature  of  these  friendly  visits,  and  were  prepared 
to  resist  them.  Scarcely  had  the  Spaniards  entered 
it. to  the  defiles  of  the  surrounding  forest  when  they 
were  assailed  by  flights  of  arrows  from  the  close 
coverts  of  the  thickets.  Some  were  shot  dead  on  the 
spot  ;  others,  less  fortunate,  expired  raving  with  the 
torments  of  the  poison  ;  the  survivors,  filled  with 
horror  at  the  sight,  and,  losing  all  presence  of  mind, 
retreated  in  confusion  to  the  fortress. 

It  was  some  time  before  Ojeda  could  again  per- 
suade his  men  to  take  the  field,  so  great  was  their 
dread  of  the  poisoned  weapons  of  the  Indians.  At 
length  their  provisions  began  to  fail,  and  they  were 
compelled  to  forage  among  the  villages  in  search, 
not  of  gold,  but  of  food. 

In  one  of  their  expeditions  they  were  surprised  by 
an  ambuscade  of  savages  in  a  gorge  of  the  mount- 
ains, and  attacked  with  such  fury  and  effect,  that 
they  were  completely  routed  and  pursued  with  yells 
and  howlings  to  the  very  gates  of  St.  Sebastian. 
Many  died  in  excruciating  agony  of  their  wounds, 
and  others  recovered  with  extreme  difficulty.  Those 
who  were  well  no  longer  dared  to  venture  forth  in 
search  of  food  ;  for  the  whole  forest  teemed  with 
lurking  foes.  They  devoured  such  herbs  and  roots 
as  they  could  find  without  regard  to  their  quality. 
The  humors  of  their  bodies  became  corrupted,  and 
various  diseases,  combined  with  the  ravages  of  fam- 
ine, daily  thinned  their  numbers.  The  sentinel  who 
feebly  mounted  guard  at  night  was  often  found  dead 
at  his  post  in  the  morning.  Some  stretched  them- 
selves on  the  ground  and  expired  of  mere  famine  and 
debility ;  nor  was  death  any  longer  regarded  as  an 
evil,  but  rather  as  a  welcome  relief  from  a  life  of 
horror  and  despair. 


•  Herrera,  Hist,  Ind.  D.  1. 1,  vii.  c.  xvi. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

ALONZO  DE  OJEDA  SUPPOSED  BY  THE  SAVAGES 
TO  HAVE  A  CHARMED  LIFE — THEIR  EXPERI- 
MENT TO  TRY  THE  FACT. 

In  the  mean  time  the  Indians  continued  to  harass 
the  garrison,  lying  in  wait  to  surprise  the  foraging 
parties,  cutting  off  all  stragglers,  and  sometnnes 
approaching  the  walls  in  open  defiance.  On  such 
occasions  Ojeda  sallied  forth  at  the  head  of  his  men, 
and,  from  his  great  agility,  was  the  first  to  overtake 
the  retreating  foe.  He  slew  more  of  their  warriors 
with  his  single  arm  than  all  his  followers  together. 
Though  often  exposed  to  showers  of  arrows,  none 
had  ever  wounded  him,  and  the  Indians  began  to 
think  he  had  a  charmed  life.  Perhaps  they  had 
heard  from  fugitive  prisoners  the  idea  entertained  by 
himself  and  his  followers  of  his  being  under  super- 
natural protection.  Determined  to  ascertain  the 
fact,  they  placed  four  of  their  most  dexterous  arch- 
ers in  ambush  with  orders  to  single  him  out.  A 
number  of  them  advanced  towards  the  fort  sounding 
their  conchs  and  drums  and  uttering  yells  of  defi- 
ance. As  they  expected,  the  impetuous  Ojeda  sal- 
lied forth  immediately  at  the  head  of  his  men.  The 
Indians  fled  towards  the  ambuscade,  drawing  him 
in  furious  pursuit.  The  archers  waited  until  he  was 
full  in  front,  and  then  launched  their  deadly  shafts. 
Three  struck  his  buckler  and  glanced  harmlessly  off, 
but  the  fourth  pierced  his  thigh.  Satisfied  that  he 
was  wounded  beyond  the  possibility  of  cure,  the 
savages  retreated  with  shouts  of  triumph. 

Ojeda  was  borne  back  to  the  fortress  in  great  an- 
guish of  body  and  despondency  of  spirit.  For  the 
first  time  in  his  life  he  had  lost  blood  in  battle.  The 
charm  in  which  he  had  hitherto  confided  was 
broken;  or  rather,  the  Holy  Virgin  appeared  to 
have  withdrawn  her  protection.  He  had  the  hor- 
rible death  of  his  followers  before  his  eyes,  who  had 
perished  of  their  wounds  in  raving  frenzy. 

One  of  the  symptoms  of  the  poison  was  to  shoot 
a  thrilling  chill  through  the  wounded  part ;  from 
this  circumstance,  perhaps,  a  remedy  suggested  it- 
self to  the  imagination  of  Ojeda,  which  few  but  him- 
self could  have  had  the  courage  to  undergo.  He 
caused  two  plates  of  iron  to  be  made  red  hot,  and 
ordered  a  surgeon  to  apply  them  to  each  orifice  of 
the  wound.  The  surgeon  shuddered  and  refused, 
saying  he  would  not  be  the  murderer  of  his  gen- 
eral.* Upon  this  Ojeda  made  a  solemn  vow  that  he 
would  hang  him  unless  he  obeyed.  To  avoid  the 
gallows,  the  surgeon  appHed  the  glowing  plates. 
Ojeda  refused  to  be  tied  down,  or  that  any  one 
should  hold  him  during  this  frightful  operation.  He 
endured  it  without  shrinking  or  uttering  a  murmur, 
although  it  so  inflamed  his  whole  system,  that  they 
had  to  wrap  him  in  sheets  steeped  in  vinegar  to  al- 
lay the  burning  heat  which  raged  throughout  his 
body ;  and  we  are  assured  that  a  barrel  of  vinegar 
was  exhausted  for  the  purpose.  The  desperate  rem- 
edy succeeded :  the  cold  poison,  says  Bishop  Las 
Casas,  was  consumed  by  the  vivid  fire.f  How  far  the 
venerable  historian  is  correct  in  his  postulate,  sur- 
geons may  decide ;  but  many  incredulous  persons 
will  be  apt  to  account  for  the  cure  by  surmising  that 
the  arrow  was  not  envenomed. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


ARRIVAL  OF  A  STRANGE  SHIP  AT  SAN  SEBASTIAN. 

Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  though  pronounced  out  of 
danger,  was  still   disabled   by  his  wound,  and  his 


*  Charlevoix,  ut  sup,  p.  293. 

t  Las  Casas,  Hist,  Ind.  lib.  ii,  c,  59.  MS. 


748 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


helpless  situation  completed  the  despair  of  his  com- 
panions ;  for,  while  he  was  in  health  and  vij^our,  his 
buoyant  and  mercurial  spirit,  his  active,  restless,  and 
enterprising  habits,  imparted  animation,  if  not  con- 
fidence, to  every  one  around  him.  The  only  hope 
of  relief  was  from  the  sea,  and  that  was  nearly  ex- 
tinct, when,  one  day,  to  the  unspeakable  joy  of  the 
Spaniards,  a  sail  appeared  on  the  horizon.  It  made 
for  the  port  and  dropped  anchor  at  the  foot  of  the 
height  of  San  Sebastian,  and  there  was  no  longer  a 
doubt  that  it  was  the  promised  succour  from  San 
Domingo. 

The  ship  came  indeed  from  the  island  of  Hispan- 
iola,  but  it  had  not  been  fitted  out  by  the  Bachelor 
Enciso.  The  commander's  name  was  Bernardino 
de  Talavera.  This  man  was  one  of  the  loose,  heed- 
less adventurers  who  abounded  in  San  Domingo.  His 
carelessness  and  extravagance  had  involved  him  in 
debt,  and  he  was  threatened  with  a  prison.  In  the 
height  of  his  difficulties  the  ship  arrived  which  Ojeda 
had  sent  to  San  Domingo,  freighted  with  slaves  and 
gold,  an  earnest  of  the  riches  to  be  found  at  San 
Sebastian.  Bernardino  de  Talavera  immediately 
conceived  the  project  of  giving  his  creditors  the  slip 
and  escaping  to  this  new  settlement.  He  under- 
stood that  Ojeda  was  in  need  of  recruits,  and  felt 
assured  that,  from  his  own  reckless  conduct  in 
money-matters,  he  would  sympathize  with  any  one 
harassed  by  debt.  He  drew  into  his  schemes  a 
number  of  desperate  debtors  like  himself,  nor  was 
he  scrupulous  about  filling  his  ranks  with  recruits 
whose  legal  embarrassments  arose  from  more  crim- 
inal causes.  Never  did  a  more  vagabond  crew  en- 
gage in  a  project  of  colonization. 

How  to  provide  themselves  with  a  vessel  was  now 
the  question.  They  had  neither  money  nor  credit  ; 
but  then  they  had  cunning  and  courage,  and  were 
troubled  by  no  scruples  of  conscience  ;  thus  quali- 
fied, a  knave  will  often  succeed  better  for  a  time 
than  an  honest  man ;  it  is  in  the  long  run  that  he 
fails,  as  will  be  illustrated  in  the  case  of  Talavera 
and  his  hopeful  associates.  While  casting  about  for 
means  to  escape  to  San  Sebastian  they  heard  of  a 
vessel  belonging  to  certain  Genoese,  which  was  at 
Cape  Tiburon,  at  the  western  extremity  of  the  isl- 
and, taking  in  a  cargo  of  bacon  and  casava  bread 
for  San  Domingo.  Nothing  could  have  happened 
more  opportunely :  here  was  a  ship  amply  stored 
with  provisions,  and  ready  to  their  hand ;  they  had 
nothing  to  do  but  seize  it  and  embark. 

The  gang,  accordingly,  seventy  in  number,  made 
their  way  separately  and  secretly  to  Cape  Tiburon, 
where,  assembling  at  an  appointed  time  and  place, 
they  boarded  the  vessel,  overpowered  the  crew, 
weighed  anchor,  and  set  sail.  They  were  heedless, 
liap-hazard  mariners,  and  knew  little  of  the  manage- 
ment of  a  vessel;  the  historian  Charlevoix  thinks, 
therefore,  that  it  was  a  special  providence  that  guided 
them  to  San  Sebastian.  Whether  or  not  the  good 
father  is  right  in  his  opinion,  it  is  certain  that  the 
arrival  of  the  ship  rescued  the  garrison  from  the 
very  brink  of  destruction.* 

Talavera  and  his  gang,  though  they  had  come 
lightly  by  their  prize,  were  not  disposed  to  part  with 
it  as  frankly,  but  demanded  to  be  paid  down  in  gold 
for  the  provisions  furnished  to  the  starving  colonists. 
Ojeda  agreed  to  their  terms,  and  taking  the  supplies 
into  his  possession,  dealt  them  out  sparingly  to  his 
companions.  Several  of  his  hungiy  followers  were 
dissatistied  with  their  portions,  and  even  accused 
Ojeda  of  unfairness  in  reserving  an  undue  share  for 
himself.  Perhaps  there  may  have  been  some  ground 
for  this  charge,  arising,  not  from  any  selfishness  in 


*  Hist.  S.  Domingo,  lib.  iv. 


the  character  of  Ojeda,  but  from  one  of  those  super- 
stitious fancies  with  which  his  mind  was  tinged  ; 
for  we  are  told  that,  for  many  years,  he  had  been 
haunted  by  a  presentiment  that  he  should  eventually 
die  of  hunger.* 

This  lurking  horror  of  the  mind  may  have  made 
him  depart  from  his  usual  free  and  lavish  spirit  in 
doling  out  these  providential  supplies,  and  may  have 
induced  him  to  set  by  an  extra  portion  for  himself,  as 
a  precaution  against  his  anticipated  fate  ;  certain  it 
is  that  great  clamours  rose  among  his  people,  some 
of  whom  threatened  to  return  in  the  pirate  vessel  to 
Hispaniola.  He  succeeded,  however,  in  pacifying 
them  for  the  present,  by  representing  the  necessity 
of  husbanding  their  supplies,  and  by  assuring  them 
that  the  Bachelor  Enciso  could  not  fail  soon  to  ar- 
rive, when  there  would  be  provisions  in  abundance. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


FACTIONS  IN  THE  COLONY— A  CONVENTION  MADE. 

Days  and  days  elapsed,  but  no  relief  arrived  at 
San  Sebastian.  The  Spaniards  kept  a  ceaseless 
watch  upon  the  sea,  but  the  promised  ship  failed  to 
appear.  With  all  the  husbandry  of  Ojeda  the  stock 
of  provisions  was  nearly  consumed  ;  famine  again 
prevailed,  and  several  of  the  garrison  perished 
through  their  various  sufferings  and  their  lack  of 
sufficient  nourishment.  The  survivors  now  became 
factious  in  their  misery,  and  a  plot  was  formed  among 
ihem  to  seize  upon  one  of  the  vessels  in  the  harbour 
and  make  sail  for  Hispaniola. 

Ojeda  discovered  their  intentions,  and  was  reduced 
to  great  perplexity.  He  saw  that  to  remain  here 
without  relief  from  abroad  was  certain  destruction, 
yet  he  clung  to  his  desperate  enterprise.  It  was  his 
only  chance  for  fortune  or  command ;  for  should  this 
settlement  be  broken  up  he  might  try  in  vain,  with 
his  exhausted  means  and  broken  credit,  to  obtain  an- 
other post  or  to  set  on  foot  another  expedition.  Ruin 
in  fact  would  overwhelm  him,  should  he  return  with- 
out success. 

He  exerted  himself,  therefore,  to  the  utmost  to 
pacify  his  men  ;  representing  the  folly  of  abandon- 
ing a  place  where  they  had  established  a  foothold, 
and  where  they  only  needed  a  reinforcement  to  en- 
able them  to  control  the  surrounding  country,  and 
to  make  themselves  masters  of  its  riches.  Finding 
they  still  demurred,  he  offered,  now  that  he  was  suf- 
ficiently recovered  from  his  wound,  to  go  himself  to 
San  Domingo  in  quest  of  reinforcements  and  supplies. 

This  offer  had  the  desired  effect.  Such  confidence 
had  the  people  in  the  energy,  ability,  and  influence  of 
Ojeda,  that  they  felt  assured  of  relief  should  he  seek  it 
in  person.  They  made  a  kind  of  convention  with  him, 
therefore,  in  which  it  was  agreed  that  they  should 
remain  quietly  at  Sebastian's  for  the  space  of  fifty 
days.  At  the  end  of  this  time,  in  case  no  tidings 
had  been  received  of  Ojeda,  they  were  to  be  at  liber- 
ty to  abandon  the  settlement  and  return  in  the  brig- 
antines  to  Hispaniola.  In  the  mean  time  Francisco 
Pizarro  was  to  command  the  colony  as  Lieutenant 
of  Ojeda,  until  the  arrival  of  his  Alcalde  Mayor,  the 
Bachelor  Enciso.  This  convention  being  made, 
Ujeda  embarked  in  the  ship  of  Bernardino  de  Tala- 
vera. That  cut-purse  of  the  ocean  and  his  loose- 
handed  crew  were  effectually  cured  of  their  ambition 
to  colonize.  Disappointed  in  the  hope  of  finding 
abundant  wealth  at  San  Sebastian's,  and  dismayed  at 
the  perils  and  horrors  of  the  surrounding  wilderness, 


*  Henera.  Decad.    I.  z.  viii.  c.  3. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


749 


they  preferred  returning  to  Hispaniola,  even  at  the 
risk  ot chains  and  dungeons.  Doubtless  they  thought 
that  the  influence  of  Ojeda  would  be  sufficient  to  ob- 
tain their  pardon,  especially  as  their  timely  succour 
had  been  the  salvation  of  the  colony. 


CHAPTER   IX. 


DISASTROUS  VOYAGE  OF  OJEDA   IN  THE  PIRATE 
SHIP. 

OjEDA  had  scarce  put  to  sea  in  the  ship  of  these 
freebooters,  when  a  fierce  quarrel  arose  between  him 
and  Talavera.  Accustomed  to  take  the  lead  among 
his  companions,  still  feeling  himself  governor,  and 
naturally  of  a  domineering  spirit,  Ojeda,  on  coming 
on  board,  had  assumed  the  command  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Talavera,  who  claimed  dominion  over  the 
ship,  by  the  right  no  doubt  of  trover  .ind  conversion, 
or,  in  other  words,  of  downright  piracy,  resisted  this 
usurpation. 

Ojeda,  as  usual,  would  speedily  have  settled  the 
question  by  the  sword,  but  he  had  the  whole  vaga- 
bond crew  against  him,  who  overpowered  him  with 
numbers  and  threw  him  in  irons.  Still  his  swelling 
spirit  was  unsubdued.  He  reviled  Talavera  and  his 
gang  as  recreants,  traitors,  pirates,  and  offered  to 
fight  the  whole  of  them  successively,  provided  they 
would  give  him  a  clear  deck,  and  come  on  two  at  a 
time.  Notwithstanding  his  diminutive  size,  they  had 
too  high  an  idea  of  his  prowess,  and  had  heard  too 
much  of  his  exploits,  to  accept  his  challenge  ;  so  they 
kept  him  raging  in  his  chains  while  they  pursued 
their  voyage. 

They  had  not  proceeded  far,  however,  when  a  vio- 
lent storm  arose.  Talavera  and  his  crew  knew  little 
of  navigation,  and  were  totally  ignorant  of  those 
seas.  The  raging  of  the  elements,  the  baffling 
winds  and  currents,  and  the  danger  of  unknown 
rocks  and  shoals  filled  them  with  confusion  and 
alarm.  They  knew  not  whither  they  were  driving 
before  the  storm,  or  where  to  seek  tor  shelter.  In 
this  hour  of  peril  they  called  to  mind  that  Ojeda  was 
a  sailor  as  well  as  soldier,  and  that  he  had  repeat- 
edly navigated  these  seas.  Making  a  truce,  there- 
fore, for  the  common  safety,  they  took  off  his  irons, 
on  condition  that  he  would  pilot  the  vessel  during 
the  remainder  of  her  voyage. 

Ojeda  acquitted  himself  with  his  accustomed  spirit 
and  intrepidity ;  but  the  vessel  had  been  already 
swept  so  far  to  the  westward  that  all  his  skill  was  in- 
effectual in  endeavouring  to  work  up  to  Hispaniola 
against  storms  and  adverse  currents.  Borne  away 
b}'  the  gulf  stream,  and  tempest-tost  for  many  days, 
until  the  shattered  vessel  was  almost  in  a  foundering 
condition,  he  saw  no  alternative  but  to  run  it  on  shore 
Dn  the  southern  coast  of  Cuba. 

Here  then  the  crew  of  free-booters  landed  from 
their  prize  in  more  desperate  plight  than  when  they 
first  took  possession  of  it.  .  They  were  on  a  wild  and 
unfrequented  coast,  their  vessel  lay  a  wreck  upon  the 
sands,  and  their  only  chance  was  to  travel  on  foot  to 
the  eastern  extremity  of  the  island,  and  seek  some 
means  of  crossing  to  Hispaniola,  where,  after  their 
toils,  they  might  perhaps  only  arrive  to  be  thrown 
into  a  dungeon.  Such,  however,  is  the  yearning  of 
civilized  men  after  the  haunts  of  cultivated  society, 
that  they  set  out,  at  every  risk,  upon  their  long  and 
painful  journey. 


CHAPTER   X. 

TOILSOME  MARCH    OF    OJEDA    AND   HIS   COMPAN- 
IONS THROUGH  THE  MORASSES  OF   CUBA. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  recent  services  of  Ojeda, 
the  crew  of  Talavera  still  regarded  him  with  hostili- 
ty ;  but,  if  they  had  felt  the  value  of  his  skill  and 
courage  at  sea,  they  were  no  less  sensible  of  their 
importance  on  shore,  and  he  soon  acquired  that 
ascendency  over  them  which  belongs  to  a  master- 
spirit in  tiiTie  of  trouble. 

Cuba  was  as  yet  uncolonized.  It  was  a  place  of  ref- 
uge to  the  unhappy  natives  of  Hayti,  who  fled  hitlier 
from  the  whips  and  chains  of  their  European  task- 
masters. The  forests  abounded  with  these  wretched 
fugitives,  who  often  opposed  themselves  to  the  shi|V 
wrecked  party,  supposing  them  to  be  sent  by  their 
late  masters  to  drag  them  back  to  captivity. 

Ojeda  easily  repulsed  these  attacks  ;  but  found  that 
these  fugitives  had  likewise  inspired  the  villagers  with 
hostility  to  all  European  strangers.  Seeing  that  his 
companions  were  too  feeble  and  disheartened  to  fight 
their  way  through  the  populous  parts  of  the  island, 
or  to  climb  the  rugged  mountains  of  the  interior,  he 
avoided  all  towns  and  villages,  and  led  them  through 
the  close  forests  and  broad  green  savannahs  which 
extended  between  the  mountains  and  the  sea. 

He  had  only  made  choice  of  evils.  The  forests 
gradually  retired  from  the  coast.  The  savannahs, 
where  the  Spaniards  at  first  had  to  contend  merely 
with  long  rank  grass  and  creeping  vines,  soon  ended 
in  salt  marshes,  where  the  oozy  bottom  yielded  no 
firm  foot-hold,  and  the  mud  and  water  reached  to 
their  knees.  Still  they  pressed  forward,  continuady 
hoping  in  a  little  while  to  arrive  at  a  firmer  soil,  and 
flattering  themselves  they  beheld  fresh  meadow  land 
before  them,  but  continually  deceived.  The  farther 
they  proceeded,  the  deeper  grew  the  mire,  until,  after 
they  had  been  eight  days  on  this  dismal  journey, 
they  found  themselves  in  the  centre  of  a  vast  morass 
where  the  water  reached  to  their  girdles.  Though  thus 
almost  drowned,  thry  were  tormented  with  incessant 
thirst,  for  all  the  water  around  them  was  as  briny  as 
the  ocean.  They  suffered  too  the  cravings  of  ex- 
treme hunger,  having  but  a  scanty  supply  of  cassava 
bread  and  cheese,  and  a  few  potatoes  and  other  roots, 
which  they  devoured  raw.  When  they  wished  to 
sleep  they  had  to  climb  among  the  twisted  roots  of 
mangrove  trees,  which  grew  in  clusters  in  the  waters. 
Still  the  dreary  marsh  widened  and  deepened.  In 
many  places  they  had  to  cross  rivers  and  inlets  ; 
where  some,  who  could  not  swim,  were  drowned, 
and  others  were  smothered  in  the  mire. 

Their  situation  became  wild  and  desperate.  Their 
cassava  bread  was  spoiled  by  the  water,  and  their 
stock  of  roots  nearly  exhausted.  The  interminable 
morass  still  extended  before  thein,  while,  to  return, 
after  the  distance  they  had  come,  was  hopeless. 
Ojeda  alone  kept  up  a  resolute  spirit,  and  cheered 
and  urged  them  forward.  He  had  the  little  Flem- 
ish painting  of  the  Madonna,  which  had  been  given 
him  by  the  Bishop  Fonseca,  carefully  stored  among 
the  provisions  in  his  knapsack.  Whenever  he  stop- 
ped to  repose  among  the  roots  of  the  mangrove 
trees,  he  took  out  this  picture,  placed  it  among  the 
branches,  and  kneeling,  prayed  devoutly  to  the  Vir- 
gin for  protection.  This  he  did  repeatedly  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  and  prevailed  upon  his  compan- 
ions to  follow  his  example.  Nay,  more,  at  a  moment 
of  great  despondency,  he  made  a  solemn  vow  to 
his  patroness,  that  if  she  conducted  him  alive  through 
this  peril,  he  would  erect  a  chapel  in  the  first  Indian 
village  he  should  arrive  at ;  and  leave  her  picture 


760 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


there  to  remain  an  object  of  adoration  to  tlie  Gen- 
*iles.* 

This  frightful  morass  extended  for  the  distance  of 
thirty  leagues,  and  was  so  deep  and  difficult,  so  en- 
tangled by  roots  and  creeping  vines,  so  cut  up  by 
creeks  and  rivers,  and  so  beset  by  quagmires,  that 
they  were  thirty  days  in  traversing  it.  Out  of  the 
number  of  seventy  men  that  set  out  from  the  ship 
but  thirty-five  remamed.  "  Certain  it  is,"  observes 
the  venerable  Las  Casas,  "  the  sufferings  of  the  Span- 
iards in  the  New  World,  in  search  of  wealth,  have 
been  more  cruel  and  severe  than  ever  nation  in  the 
world  endured ;  but  those  experienced  by  Ojeda  and 
his  men  have  surpassed  all  odiers." 

They  were  ct  length  so  overcome  by  hunger  and 
fatigue,  that  some  lay  down  and  yielded  up  the 
ghost,  and  others  seating  themselves  among  the 
mangrove  trees,  waited  in  despair  for  death  to  put 
an  end  to  their  miseries.  Ojeda,  with  a  few  of  the 
lightest  and  most  vigorous,  continued  to  struggle 
forward,  and,  to  thfeir  unutterable  joy,  at  length  ar- 
rived to  where  the  land  was  firm  and  dry.  They 
soon  descried  a  foot-path,  and,  following  it,  arrived 
at  an  Indian  village,  commanded  by  a  cacique  called 
Cueybas.  No  sooner  did  they  reach  the  village  than 
they  sank  to  the  earth  exhausted. 

The  Indians  gathered  round  and  gazed  at  them 
with  wonder ;  but  when  they  learnt  their  story,  they 
exhibited  a  humanity  that  would  have  done  honour 
to  the  most  professing  Christians.  They  bore  them 
to  their  dwellings,  set  meat  and  drink  before  them, 
and  vied  with  each  other  in  discharging  the  offices 
of  the  kindest  humanity.  Finding  that  a  number  of 
their  companions  were  still  in  the  morass,  the  ca- 
cique sent  a  large  party  of  Indians  with  provisions 
for  their  relief,  with  orders  to  bring  on  their  shoul- 
ders such  as  were  too  feeble  to  walk.  "  The  Indians," 
says  the  Bishop  Las  Casas,  "  did  more  than  they 
were  ordered  ;  for  so  they  always  do,  when  they  are 
not  exasperated  by  ill  treatment.  The  Spaniards 
were  brought  to  the  village,  succoured,  cherished, 
consoled,  and  almost  worshipped  as  if  they  had 
been  angels." 


CHAPTER  XI. 


OJEDA   PERFORMS   HIS   VOW  TO   THE   VIRGIN. 

Being  recovered  from  his  sufferings,  Alonzo  de 
Ojeda  prepared  to  perform  his  vow  concerning  the 
picture  of  the  Virgin,  though  sorely  must  it  have 
grieved  him  to  part  with  a  relique  to  which  he  at- 
tributed his  deliverance  from  so  many  perils.  He 
built  a  little  hermitage  or  oratory  in  the  village,  and 
furnished  it  with  an  altar,  above  which  he  placed 
the  picture.  He  then  summoned  the  benevolent 
cacique,  and  explained  to  him  as  well  as  his  limited 
knowledge  of  the  language,  or  the  aid  of  interpre- 
ters would  permit,  the  main  points  of  the  Catholic 
faith,  and  especially  the  history  of  the  Virgin,  whom 
he  represented  as  the  mother  of  the  Deity  that 
reigned  in  the  skies,  and  the  great  advocate  for  mor- 
tal man. 

The  worthy  cacique  listened  to  him  with  mute 
attention,  and  though  he  might  not  clearly  compre- 
hend the  doctrine,  yet  he  conceived  a  profound  ven- 
eration for  the  picture.  The  sentiment  was  shared 
by  his  subjects.  They  kept  the  little  oratory  always 
swept  clean,  and  decorated  it  with  cotton  hangings, 
laboured  by  th-^ir  own  hands,  and  with  various  votive 
offerings.  They  composed  couplets  or  areytos  in 
honour  of  the  Virgin,  which  they  sang  to  the  ac- 


companiment ot  rude  musical  instruments,  dancing 
to  the  sound  under  the  groves  which  surrounded  the 
hermitage. 

A  further  anecdote  concerning  this  n-lique  may 
not  be  unacceptable.  The  venerable  Las  Casas, 
who  records  these  facts,  infonns  us  that  he  arrived 
at  the  village  of  CuebAs  sometime  after  the  departure 
of  Ojeda.  He  found  the  oratory  preserved  with  the 
most  religious  care,  as  a  sacred  place,  and  the  pic- 
ture of  the  Virgin  regarded  with  fond  adoration. 
The  poor  Indians  crowded  to  attend  mass,  which  he 
performed  at  the  altar ;  they  listened  attentively  to 
his  paternal  instructions,  and  at  his  request  brought 
their  children  to  be  baptized.  The  good  Las  Casas 
having  heard  much  of  this  famous  relique  of  Ojeda, 
was  desirous  of  obtaining  possession  of  it,  and  offer- 
ed to  give  the  cacique  in  exchange  an  image  of  the 
Virgin  which  he  had  brought  with  him.  The  chief- 
tain made  an  evasive  answer,  and  seemed  much 
troubled  in  mind.  The  next  morning  he  did  not 
make  his  appearance. 

Las  Casas  went  to  the  oratory  to  perform  mass, 
but  found  the  altar  stripped  of  its  precious  relique. 
On  inquiring,  he  learnt  that  in  the  night  the  cacique 
had  fled  to  the  woods,  bearing  off  with  him  his  be- 
loved picture  of  the  Virgin.  It  was  in  vain  that  Las 
Casas  sent  messengers  after  him,  assuring  him  that 
he  should  not  be  deprived  of  the  relique,  but  on  the 
contrary,  that  the  image  should  likewise  be  presented 
to  him.  The  cacique  refused  to  venture  from  the 
fastnesses  of  the  forest,  nor  did  he  return  to  his  vil- 
lage and  replace  the  picture  in  the  oratoiy  until  after 
the  departure  of  the  Spaniards.* 


CHAPTER    Xir. 


*  Las  Casas,  Hist.  Ind.  1.  ii.  c.  60,  MS. 


ARRIVAL  OF  OJEDA  AT  JAMAICA — HIS  RECEPTION 
BY  JUAN   DE  ESQUIBEL. 

When  the  Spaniards  were  completely  restored  to 
health  and  strength,  they  resumed  their  journey. 
The  cacique  sent  a  large  body  of  his  subjects  to 
carry  their  provisions  and  knapsacks,  and  to  guide 
them  across  a  desert  tract  of  country  to  the  province 
of  Macaca,  where  Christopher  Columbus  had  been 
hospitably  entertained  on  his  voyage  along  this 
coast.  They  experienced  equal  kindness  from  its 
cacique  and  his  people,  for  such  seems  to  have  been 
almost  invariably  the  case  with  the  natives  of  these 
islands,  before  they  had  held  much  intercourse  with 
the  Europeans. 

The  province  of  Macaca  was  situated  at  Cape  de 
la  Cruz,  the  nearest  point  to  the  island  of  Jamaica. 
Here  Ojeda  learnt  that  there  were  Spaniards  settled 
on  that  island,  being  in  fact  the  party  commanded  by 
the  very  Juan  de  Esquibel  whose  head  he  had  threat- 
ened to  strike  off,  when  departing  in  swelling  style 
from  San  Domingo.  It  seemed  to  be  the  fortune  of 
Ojeda  to  have  his  bravadoes  visited  on  his  head  in 
times  of  trouble  and  humiliation.  He  found  him- 
self compelled  to  apply  for  Succour  to  the  very  man  he 
had  so  vain-gloriously  menaced.  This  was  no  time, 
however,  to  stand  on  points  of  pride  ;  he  procured  a 
canoe  and  Indians  from  the  cacique  of  Macaca,  and 
one  Pedro  de  Ordas  undertook  the  perilous  voyage 
of  twenty  leagues  in  the  frail  bark,  and  arrived  safe 
at  Jamaica. 

No  sooner  did  Esquibel  receive  the  message  of 
Ojeda,  ihan,  forgetting  past  menaces,  he  instantly 
despatched  a  caravel  to  bring  to  him  the  unfortunate 
discoverer  and  his  companions.     He  received  him 

*  Las  Casas,  Hist.  Ind.  c.  61,  MS.— Herrcra,  Hist  Ind.  d.  i.  1.  ix. 
c.  XV. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


751 


with  the  utmost  kindness,  lodged  him  in  his  own 
house,  and  treated  him  in  all  things  with  the  most 
delicate  attention.  He  was  a  gentleman  who  had 
seen  prosperous  days,  but  had  fallen  into  adversity 
and  been  buffeted  about  the  world,  and  had  learnt 
how  to  respect  the  feelings  of  a  proud  spirit  in  dis- 
tress. Ojeda  had  the  warm,  touchy  heart  to  feel 
such  conduct ;  he  remained  several  days  with  Es- 
quibel  in  frank  communion,  and  when  he  sailed  for 
San  Domingo  they  parted  the  best  of  friends. 

And  here  we  cannot  but  remark  the  singular  dif- 
ference in  character  and  conduct  of  these  Spanish 
adventurers  when  dealing  with  each  other,  or  with 
the  unhappy  natives.  Nothing  could  be  more 
chivalrous,  urbane,  and  charitable ;  nothing  more 
pregnant  with  noble  sacrifices  of  passion  and  in- 
terest, with  magnanimous  instances  of  forgiveness 
of  injuries  and  noble  contests  of  generosity,  than  the 
transactions  of  the  discoverers  wiih  each  other  ;  but 
the  moment  they  turned  to  treat  with  the  Indians, 
even  with  brave  and  high-minded  caciques,  they 
were  vindictive,  blood-thirsty,  and  implacable.  The 
very  Juan  de  Esquibel,  who  could  requite  the  recent 
hostility  of  Ojeda  witli  such  humanity  and  friend- 
ship, was  the  same  who,  under  the  government  of 
Ovando,  laid  desolate  the  province  of  Higuey  in 
Haspaniola,  and  inflicted  atrocious  cruelties  upon  its 
inhabitants. 

When  Alonzo  de  Ojeda  set  sail  for  San  Domingo, 
Bernardino  de  Talavera  and  his  rabble  adherents 
remained  at  Jamaica.  They  feared  to  be  brought 
to  account  for  their  piratical  exploit  in  stealing  the 
Genoese  vessel,  and  that  in  consequence  of  their  re- 
cent violence  to  Ojeda,  they  would  tind  in  him  an 
accuser  rather  than  an  advocate.  The  latter,  how- 
ever, in  the  opinion  of  Las  Casas,  who  knevvf  him 
well,  was  not  a  man  to  make  accusations.  With  all 
his  faults  he  did  not  harbour  malice.  He  was  quick 
and  fiery,  it  is  true,  and  his  sword  was  too  apt  to 
leap  from  its  scabbard  on  the  least  provocation  ; 
but  after  the  first  flash  all  was  over,  and,  if  he  cooled 
upon  an  injury,  he  never  sought  for  vengeance. 


CHAPTER   Xni. 


ARRIVAL  OF  ALOMZO  DE  OJEDA  AT  SAN  DOMINGO 
— CONCLUSION  OF  HIS  STORY. 

On  arriving  at  San  Domingo  the  first  inquiry  of 
Alonzo  de  Ojeda  was  after  the  Bachelor  Enciso. 
He  was  told  that  he  had  departed  long  before,  with 
abundant  supplies  for  the  colony,  and  that  nothing 
had  been  heard  of  him  since  his  departure.  Ojeda 
waited  for  a  time,  in  hopes  of  hearing,  by  some 
return  ship,  of  the  safe  arrival  of  the  bachelor  at 
San  Sebastian.  No  tidings,  however,  arrived,  and 
he  began  to  fear  that  he  had  been  lost  in  those 
storms  which  had  beset  himself  on  his  return  voyage. 

Anxious  for  the  relief  of  his  settlement,  and  fear- 
ing that,  by  delay,  his  whole  scheme  of  colonization 
would  be  defeated,  he  now  endeavoured  to  set  on 
foot  another  armament,  and  to  enlist  a  new  set  of 
adventurers.  His  efforts,  however,  were  all  ineffect- 
ual. The  disasters  of  his  colony  were  known,  and 
his  own  circumstances  were  considered  desperate. 
He  was  doomed  to  experience  the  fate  that  too  often 
attends  sanguine  and  brilliant  projectors.  The  world 
is  dazzled  by  them  for  a  time,  and  hails  them  as  he- 
roes while  successful ;  but  misfortune  dissipates  the 
charm,  and  they  become  stigiii  itized  with  the  appel- 
lation of  adventurers.  When  Ojeda  figured  in  San 
Domingo  as  the  conqueror  of  Coanabo,  as  the  com- 
mander of  a  squadron,  as  the  governor  of  a  province. 


his  prowess  and  exploits  were  the  theme  of  every 
tongue.  When  he  set  sail,  in  vaunting  style,  for  his 
seat  of  government,  setting  the  vice-roy  at  defiance, 
and  threatening  the  life  of  Esquibel,  every  one 
thought  that  fortune  was  at  his  beck,  and  he  was 
about  to  accomplish  wonders.  A  few  months  had 
elapsed,  and  he  walked  the  streets  of  San  Domingo 
a  needy  man.  shipwrecked  in  hope  and  fortune.  His 
former  friends,  dreading  som.e  new  demand  upon 
their  purses,  looked  coldly  on  him ;  his  schemes, 
once  so  extolled,  were  now  pronounced  wild  and 
chimerical,  and  he  was  subjected  to  all  kinds  of 
slights  and  humiliations  in  the  very  place  which  had 
been  the  scene  of  his  greatest  vain-glory. 

While  Ojeda  was  thus  lingering  at  San  Domingo, 
the  Admiral,  Don  Diego  Columbus,  sent  a  party  of 
soldiers  to  Jamaica  to  arrest  Talavera  and  his  pirate 
crew.  They  were  brought  in  chains  to  San  Domingo, 
thrown  into  dungeons,  and  tried  for  the  robbery  of 
the  Genoese  vessel.  Their  crime  was  too  notorious 
to  admit  of  doubt,  and  being  convicted,  Talavera 
and  several  of  his  principal  accomplices  were  hanged. 
Such  was  the  end  of  their  frightful  journey  by  sea 
and  land.  Never  had  vagabonds  travelled  farther 
or  toiled  harder  to  arrive  at  a  gallows  ! 

In  the  course  of  the  trial  Ojeda  had  naturally  been 
summoned  as  a  witness,  and  his  testimony  must 
have  tended  greatly  to  the  conviction  of  the  culprits. 
This  drew  upon  him  the  vengeance  of  the  surviving 
comrades  of  Talavera,  who  still  lurked  about  San 
Domingo.  As  he  was  returning  home  one  night  at 
a  late  hour  he  was  waylaid  and  set  upon  by  a  num- 
ber of  these  miscreants.  He  displayed  his  usual 
spirit.  Setting  his  back  against  a  wall,  and  drawing 
his  sword,  he  defended  himself  admirably  against 
the  whole  gang ;  nor  was  he  content  with  beating 
them  off,  but  pursued  them  for  some  distance 
through  the  streets ;  and  having  thus  put  them  to 
utter  rout,  returned  tranquil  and  unharmed  to  his 
lodgings. 

This  is  the  last  achievement  recorded  of  the  gal- 
lant, but  reckless,  Ojeda  ;  for  here  his  bustling  career 
terminated,  and  he  sank  into  the  obscurity  that 
gathers  round  a  ruined  man.  His  health  was  broken 
by  the  various  hardships  he  had  sustained,  and  by 
the  lurking  effects  of  the  wound  received  at  San 
Sebastian,  which  had  been  but  imperfectly  cured. 
Poverty  and  neglect,  and  the  corroding  sickness  of 
the  heart,  contributed,  no  less  than  the  maladies  of 
the  body,  to  quench  that  sanguine  and  fiery  temper, 
which  had  hitherto  been  the  secret  of  his  success, 
and  to  render  him  the  mere  wreck  of  his  former  self; 
for  there  is  no  ruin  so  hopeless  and  complete  as  that 
of  a  towering  spirit  humiliated  and  broken  down. 
He  appears  to  have  lingered  some  time  at  San  Do- 
mingo. Gomara,  in  his  history  of  the  Indies,  affirms 
that  he  turned  monk,  and  entered  in  the  convent  at 
San  Francisco,  where  he  died.  Such  a  change  would 
not  have  been  surprising  in  a  man  who,  in  his  wild- 
est career,  mingled  the  bigot  with  the  soldier ;  nor 
was  it  unusual  with  military  adventurers  in  those 
days,  after  passing  their  youth  in  the  bustle  and 
licentiousness  of  the  camp,  to  end  their  days  in  the 
quiet  and  mortification  of  the  cloister.  Las  Casas, 
however,  who  was  at  San  Domingo  at  the  time, 
makes  no  mention  of  the  fact,  as  he  certainly  would 
have  done  had  it  taken  place.  He  confirms,  how- 
ever, all  that  has  been  said  of  the  striking  reverse  in 
his  character  and  circumstances ;  and  he  adds  an 
affecting  picture  of  his  last  moments,  which  may 
serve  as  a  wholesome  comment  on  his  life.  He 
died  so  poor,  that  he  did  not  leave  money  enough  to 
provide  for  his  interment ;  and  so  broken  in  spirit, 
that,  with  his  last  breath,  he  entreated  his  body 
might  be  buried  in  the  monastery  of  San  Francisco, 


752 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


just  at  the  portal,  in  humble  expiation  of  his  past 
pride,  "  that  evcy  one  who  entered  might  tread 
upon  his  grave."* 

Such  was  the  fate  of  Alonzo  de  Ojeda, — and  who 
does  not  forget  his  errors  and  his  faults  at  the  thres- 
hold of  his  humble  and  untimely  grave  !  He  was  one 
of  the  most  fearless  and  aspiring  of  that  band  of 
"  Ocean  chivalry "  that  followed  the  footsteps  of 
Columbus.  His  story  presents  a  lively  picture  of 
the  daring  enterprises,  the  extravagant  exploits,  the 
thousand  accidents,  by  flood  and  field,  that  checquer- 
ed  the  life  of  a  Spanish  cavalier  in  that  roving  and 
romantic  age. 

"  Never,"  says  Charlevoix,  "  was  man  more  suited 
for  a  coup-de-main,  or  to  achieve  and  suffer  great 
things  under  the  direction  of  another :  none  had  a 
heart  more  lofty,  or  ambition  more  aspiring;  none 
ever  took  less  heed  of  fortune,  or  showed  greater 
firmness  of  soul,  or  found  more  resources  in  his  own 
courage ;  but  none  was  less  calculated  to  be  com- 
mander-in-chief of  a  great  enterprize.  Good  man- 
agement and  good  fortune  for  ever  failed  him."t 


THE  VOYAGE  OF   DIEGO  DE  NICUESA. 


NICUESA    SAILS    TO    THE    WESTWARD— HIS    SHIP- 
WRECK AND   SUBSEQUENT  DISASTERS. 

We  have  now  to  recount  the  fortunes  experienced 
by  the  gallant  and  generous  Diego  de  Nicuesa,  after 
his  parting  from  Alonzo  de  Ojeda  at  Carthagena. 
On  resuming  his  voyage  he  embarked  in  a  caravel, 
that  he  might  be  able  to  coast  the  land  and  recon- 
noitre ;  he  ordered  that  the  two  brigantines,  one  of 
which  was  commanded  by  his  lieutenant.  Lope  de 
Olano,  should  keep  near  to  him,  while  the  large  ves- 
sels, which  drew  more  water,  should  stand  further 
out  to  sea.  The  squadron  arrived  upon  the  coast  of 
Veragua,  in  stormy  weather,  and,  as  Nicuesa  could 
not  find  any  safe  harbour,  and  was  apprehensive  of 
rocks  and  shoals,  he  stood  out  to  sea  at  the  approach 
of  night,  supposing  that  Lope  de  Olano  would  follow 
him  with  the  brigantines  according  to  his  orders. 
The  night  was  boisterous,  the  caravel  was  much 
tossed  and  driven  about,  and  when  the  morning 
dawned,  not  one  of  the  squadron  was  in  sight. 

Nicuesa  feared  some  accident  had  befallen  the 
brigantines  ;  he  stood  for  the  land  and  coasted  along 
it  in  search  of  them  until  he  came  to  a  large  river, 
into  which  he  entered  and  came  to  anchor.  He 
had  not  been  here  long  when  the  stream  suddenly 
subsided,  having  merely  been  svvoln  by  the  rains. 
Hefore  he  had  time  to  extricate  himself  the  caravel 
grounded,  and  at  length  fell  over  on  one  side.  The 
current  rushing  like  a  torrent  strained  the  feeble 
bark  to  such  a  degree,  that  her  seams  yawned,  and 
she  appeared  ready  to  go  to  pieces.  In  this  moment 
of  peril  a  hardy  seaman  threw  himself  into  the  water 
to  carry  the  end  of  a  rope  on  shore  as  a  means  of 
saving  the  crew.  He  was  swept  away  by  the  furious 
current  and  perished  in  sight  of  his  companions. 
Undismayed  by  his  fate,  another  brave  seaman 
plunged  into  the  waves  and  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  shore.  He  then  fastened  one  end  of  a  rope 
firmly  to  a  tree,  and,  the  other  being  secured  on 
board  of  the  caravel,  Nicuesa  and  his  crew  passed 
one  by  one  along  it,  and  reached  the  shore  in  safety. 

Scarcely  had  they  landed  when  the  caravel  went 
to   pieces,   and   with   it   perished   their  provisions, 


*  Las  Casas,  ubi  sup. 


t  Charlevoix,  Hist.  S.  Doming. 


clothing,  and  all  other  necessaries.  Nothing  re- 
mained to  them  but  the  boat  of  the  caravel,  which 
was  accidentally  cast  on  shore.  Here  then  they 
were,  in  helpless  plight,  on  a  remote  and  savage 
coast,  without  food,  without  arms,  and  almost  naked. 
What  had  become  of  the  rest  of  the  squadron  they 
knew  not.  Some  feared  that  the  brigantines  had 
been  wrecked ;  others  called  to  mind  that  Lope  de 
Olano  had  been  one  of  the  loose  lawless  men  con- 
federated with  Francisco  Roldan  in  his  rebellion 
against  Columbus,  and,  judging  him  from  the  school 
in  which  he  had  served,  hinted  their  apprehensions 
that  he  had  deserted  with  the  brigantines.  Nicuesa 
partook  of  their  suspicions,  and  was  anxious  and  sad 
at  heart.  He  concealed  his  uneasiness,  however, 
and  endeavoured  to  cheer  up  his  companions,  pro- 
posing that  they  should  proceed  westward  on  foot  in 
search  of  Veragua,  the  seat  of  his  intended  govern- 
ment, observing,  that  if  the  ships  liad  survived  the 
tempest,  they  would  probably  repair  to  that  place. 
They  accordingly  set  off  along  the  sea  shore,  for  the 
thickness  of  the  forest  prevented  their  traversing  the 
interior.  Four  of  the  hardiest  sailors  put  to  sea  in 
the  boat,  and  kept  abreast  of  them,  to  help  them 
across  the  bays  and  rivers. 

Their  sufferings  were  extreme.  Most  of  them 
were  destitute  of  shoes,  and  many  almost  naked. 
They  had  to  clamber  over  sharp  and  rugged  rocks, 
and  to  struggle  through  dense  forests  beset  with 
thorns  and  brambles.  Often  they  had  to  wade  across 
rank  fens  and  morasses  and  drowned  lands,  or  to 
traverse  deep  and  rapid  streams. 

Their  food  consisted  of  herbs  and  roots  and  shell- 
fish gathered  along  the  shore.  Had  they  even  met 
with  Indians  they  would  have  dreaded,  in  their  un- 
armed state,  to  apply  to  them  for  provisions,  lest 
they  should  take  revenge  for  the  outrages  committed 
along  this  coast  by  other  Europeans. 

To  render  their  sufferings  more  intolerable,  they 
were  in  doubt  whether,  in  the  storms  which  preceded 
their  shipwreck,  they  had  not  been  driven  past  Ve- 
ragua, in  which  case  each  step  would  take  them  so 
much  the  farther  from  their  desired  haven. 

Still  they  laboured  feebly  forward,  encouraged  by 
the  words  and  the  example  of  Nicuesa,  who  cheer- 
fully partook  of  the  toils  and  hardships  of  the  mean- 
est ot  his  men. 

They  had  slept  one  night  at  the  foot  of  impending 
rocks,  and  were  about  to  resume  their  weary  march 
in  the  morning,  when  they  were  espied  by  some  In- 
dians from  a  neighbouring  height.  Among  the  fol- 
lowers of  Nicuesa  was  a  favourite  page,  whose  tat- 
tered finery  and  white  hat  caught  the  quick  eyes  of 
the  savages.  One  of  them  immediately  singled  him 
out,  and  taking  a  deadly  aim,  let  fly  an  arrow  that 
laid  him  expirmg  at  the  feet  of  his  master.  While 
the  generous  cavalier  mourned  over  his  slaughtered 
page,  consternation  prevailed  among  his  compan- 
ions, each  fearing  for  his  own  life.  The  Indians, 
however,  did  not  follow  up  this  casual  act  of  hostility, 
but  suffered  the  Spaniards  to  pursue  their  painful 
journey  unmolested. 

Arriving  one  day  at  the  point  of  a  great  bay  that 
ran  far  inland,  they  were  conveyed,  a  few  at  a  time, 
in  the  boat  to  what  appeared  to  be  the  opposite  point. 
Being  all  landed,  and  resuming  their  march,  they 
found  to  their  surprise  that  they  were  on  an  islarKl, 
separated  from  the  main  land  by  a  great  arm  of  the 
sea.  The  sailors  who  managed  the  boat  were  too 
weary  to  take  them  to  the  opposite  shore  ;  they  re- 
mained therefore  all  night  upon  the  island. 

In  the  morning  they  prepared  to  depart,  but,  to 
their  consternation,  the  boat  with  the  four  mariners 
had  disappeared.  They  ran  anxiously  from  point  to 
point,  uttering  shouts  and  cries,  in  hopes  the  boat 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


753 


might  be  in  some  inlet ;  they  clambered  the  rocks 
and  strained  their  eyes  over  the  sea.  It  was  all  in 
vain.  No  boat  was  to  be  seen  ;  no  voice  responded 
to  their  call ;  it  was  too  evident  the  four  mariners 
had  either  perished  or  had  deserted  them. 


CHAPTER   II. 


NICUESA  AND   HIS   MEN  ON  A  DESOLATE  ISLAND. 

The  situation  of  Nicuesa  and  his  men  was  dreary 
and  desperate  in  the  extreme.  They  were  on  a  des- 
olate island  bordering  upon  a  swampy  coast,  in  a 
remote  and  lonely  sea,  where  commerce  never  spread 
a  sail.  Their  companions  in  the  other  ships,  it  still 
alive  and  true  to  them,  had  doubtless  given  them  up 
for  lost ;  and  many  years  might  elapse  before  the 
casual  bark  of  a  discoverer  might  venture  along 
these  shores.  Long  before  that  time  their  fate  would 
be  sealed,  and  their  bones  bleaching  on  the  sands 
would  alone  tell  their  story. 

In  this  hopeless  state  many  abandoned  themselves 
to  frantic  grief,  wandering  about  the  island,  wringing 
their  hands  and  uttering  groans  and  lamentations; 
others  called  upon  God  for  succour,  and  many  sat 
down  in  silent  and  sullen  despair. 

The  cravings  of  hunger  and  thirst  at  length  roused 
them  to  exertion.  They  found  no  food  but  a  few 
shell-fish  scattered  along  the  shore,  and  coarse  herbs 
and  roots,  some  of  them  of  an  unwholesome  quality. 
The  island  had  neither  springs  nor  streams  of  fresh 
water,  and  they  were  fain  to  slake  their  thirst  at  the 
brackish  pools  of  the  marshes. 

Nicuesa  endeavoured  to  animate  his  men  with 
new  hopes.  He  employed  them  in  constructing  a 
raft  of  drift-wood  and  branches  of  trees,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  crossing  the  arm  of  the  sea  that  separated 
them  from  the  main  land.  It  was  a  difficult  task, 
for  they  were  destitute  of  tools,  and  when  the  raft 
was  finished  they  had  no  oars  with  which  to  manage 
it.  Some  of  the  most  expert  swimmers  undertook 
to  propel  it,  but  they  were  too  much  enfeebled  by 
their  sufferings.  On  their  first  essay  the  currents 
which  sweep  that  coast  bore  the  r.aft  out  to  sea,  and 
they  swam  back  with  difficulty  to  the  island.  Hav- 
ing no  other  chance  of  escape,  and  no  other  means 
of  exercising  and  keeping  up  the  spirits  of  his  follow- 
ers, Nicuesa  repeatedly  ordered  new  rafts  to  be  con- 
structed, but  the  result  was  always  the  same,  and 
the  men  at  length  either  grew  too  feeble  to  work  or 
renounced  the  attempt  in  despair. 

Thus,  day  after  day  and  week  after  week  elapsed 
without  any  mitigation  of  suffering  or  any  prospect 
of  relief.  Every  day  some  one  or  other  sank  under 
his  miseries,  a  victim  not  so  much  to  hunger  and 
thirst  as  to  grief  and  despondency.  His  death  was 
envied  by  his  wretched  survivors,  many  of  whom 
were  reduced  to  such  debility  that  they  had  to  crawl 
on  hands  and  knees  in  search  of  the  herbs  and  shell- 
fish which  formed  their  scanty  food. 


CHAPTER  III. 


K 


ARRIVAL  OF  A   BOAT — CONDUCT   OF   LOPE  DE 
OLANO. 

When  the  unfortunate  Spaniards,  without  hope 
of  succour,  began  to  consider  death  as  a  desirable 
end  to  their  miseries,  they  we  roused  to  new  life  one 
day  by  beholding  a  sail  gleaming  on  the  horizon. 
Their  exultation  was  checked,  however,  by  the  re- 
48 


flection  how  many  chances  there  were  against  its  ap- 
proaching this  wild  and  desolate  island.  Watching 
it  with  anxious  eyes  they  put  up  prayers  to  God  to 
conduct  it  to  their  relief,  and  at  length,  to  their 
great  joy,  they  perceived  that  it  was  steering  directly 
for  the  island.  On  a  nearer  approach  it  proved  to 
be  one  of  the  brigantines  that  had  been  commanded 
by  Lope  de  Olano.  It  came  to  anchor  :  a  boat  put 
off,  and  among  the  crew  were  the  four  sailors  who 
had  disappeared  so  mysteriously  from  the  island. 

These  men  accounted  in  a  satisfactory  manner  for 
their  desertion.  They  had  been  persuaded  that  the 
ships  were  in  some  harbor  to  the  eastward,  and  that 
they  were  daily  leaving  them  farther  behind.  Dis- 
heartened at  the  constant,  and,  in  their  opinion, 
fruitless  toil  which  fell  to  their  share  in  the  struggle 
westward,  they  resolved  to  take  their  own  counsel, 
without  risking  the  opposition  of  Nicuesa.  In  the 
dead  of  the  night,  therefore,  when  their  companions 
on  the  island  were  asleep,  they  had  silently  cast  off 
their  boat,  and  retraced  their  course  along  the  coast. 
After  several  days'  toil  they  found  the  brigantines 
under  the  command  of  Lope  de  Olano,  in  the  river 
of  Belen,  the  scene  of  the  disasters  of  Columbus  in 
his  fourth  voyage. 

The  conduct  of  Lope  de  Olano  was  regarded  with 
suspicion  by  his  contemporaries,  and  is  still  subject 
to  doubt.  He  is  supposed  to  have  deserted  Nicuesa 
designedly,  intending  to  usurp  the  command  of  the 
expedition.  Men,  however,  were  prone  to  judge 
harshly  of  him  from  his  having  been  concerned  in 
the  treason  and  rebellion  of  Francisco  Roldan.  On 
the  stormy  night  when  Nicuesa  stood  out  to  sea 
to  avoid  the  dangers  of  the  shore,  Olano  took  shelter 
under  the  lee  of  an  island.  Seeing  nothing  of  the 
caravel  of  his  commander  in  the  morning,  he  made 
no  effort  to  seek  for  it,  but  proceeded  with  the  brig- 
antines to  the  river  Chagres,  where  he  found  ,he 
ships  at  anchor.  They  had  landed  all  their  cargo, 
being  almost  in  a  sinking  condition  from  the  ravages 
of  the  worms.  Olano  persuaded  the  crews  that 
Nicuesa  had  perished  in  the  late  storm,  and,  being 
his  lieutenant,  he  assumed  the  command.  Whether 
he  had  been  perfidious  or  not  in  his  motives,  his 
command  was  but  a  succession  of  disasters.  He 
sailed  from  Chagres  for  the  river  of  Belen,  where 
the  ships  were  found  so  damaged  that  they  had  to 
be  broken  to  pieces.  Most  of  the  people  constructed 
wretched  cabins  on  the  shore,  where,  during  a  sud- 
den storm,  they  were  almost  washed  away  by  the 
swelling  of  the  river,  or  swallowed  up  in  the  shifting 
sands.  Several  of  his  men  were  drowned  in  an  ex- 
pedition in  quest  of  gold,  and  he  himself  merely  es- 
caped by  superior  swimming.  Their  provisions 
were  exhausted,  they  suffered  from  hunger  and  from 
various  maladies,  and  many  perished  in  extreme 
misery.  All  were  clamorous  to  abandon  the  coast, 
and  Olano  set  about  constructing  a  caravel,  out  of 
the  wreck  of  the  ships,  for  the  purpose,  as-  he  said, 
of  returning  to  Hispaniola,  though  many  suspected 
it  was  still  his  intention  to  persist  in  the  enterprise. 
Such  was  the  state  in  which  the  four  seamen  had 
found  Olano  and  his  party ;  most  of  them  living 
in  miserable  cabins  and  destitute  of  the  necessaries 
of  Hfe. 

The  tidings  that  Nicuesa  was  still  alive  put  an 
end  to  the  sway  of  Olano.  Whether  he  had  acted 
with  truth  or  ])erfidy,  he  now  manifested  a  zeal  to 
relieve  his  commander,  and  immediately  despatched 
a  brigantine  in  quest  of  him,  which,  guided  by  the 
four  seamen,  arrived  at  the  island  in  the  way  that 
has  been  mentioned. 


754 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

NICUESA  REJOINS  HIS  CREWS. 

When  the  crew  of  the  brigantine  and  the  com- 
panions of  Nicuesa  met,  they  embraced  each  other 
with  tears,  for  the  hearts,  even  of  the  rough  mari- 
ners, were  subdued  by  the  sorrows  they  had  under- 
gone ;  and  men  are  rendered  kind  to  each  other  by 
a  community  of  suffering.  The  brigantine  had 
brought  a  quantity  of  palm  nuts,  and  of  such  other 
articles  of  food  as  they  had  been  able  to  procure 
along  the  coast.  These  the  famished  Spaniards  de- 
voured with  such  voracity  that  Nicuesa  was  obliged 
to  interfere,  lest  they  should  injure  themselves.  Nor 
was  the  supply  of  fresh  water  less  grateful  to  their 
parched  and  fevered  palates. 

When  sufficiently  revived,  they  all  abandoned  the 
desolate  island,  and  set  sail  for  the  river  Belen,  ex- 
ulting as  joyfully  as  if  their  troubles  were  at  an  end, 
and  they  were  bound  to  a  haven  of  delight,  instead 
of  merely  changing  the  scene  of  suffering  and  en- 
countering a  new  variety  of  horrors. 

In  the  mean  time  Lope  de  Olano  had  been  dili- 
gently preparing  for  the  approaching  interview  with 
his  commander,  by  persuading  his  fellow  officers  to 
intercede  in  his  behalf,  and  to  place  his  late  conduct 
in  the  most  favourable  light.  He  had  need  of  their 
intercessions.  Nicuesa  arrived,  burning  with  indig- 
nation. He  ordered  him  to  be  instantly  seized  and 
punished  as  a  traitor ;  attributing  to  his  desertion 
the  ruin  of  the  enterprise  and  the  sufferings  and 
death  of  so  many  of  his  brave  followers.  The  fel- 
low captains  of  Olano  spoke  in  his  favour ;  but 
Nicuesa  turned  indignantly  upon  them  :  "  You  do 
well,"  cried  he,  "  to  supplicate  mercy  for  him  ;  you, 
who,  yourselves,  have  need  of  pardon  !  You  have 
participated  in  his  crime  ;  why,  else  have  you  suf- 
fered so  long  a  time  to  elapse  without  compelling 
him  to  send  one  of  the  vessels  in  search  of  ine  ?  " 

The  captains  now  vindicated  themselves  by  assur- 
ances of  their  belief  in  his  having  foundered  at  sea. 
They  reiterated  their  supplications  for  mercy  to 
Olano  ;  drawing  the  most  affecting  pictures  of  their 
past  and  present  sufferings,  and  urging  the  impolicy 
of  increasing  the  horrors  of  their  situation  by  acts 
of  severity.  Nicuesa  at  length  was  prevailed  upon 
to  spare  his  victim  ;  resolving  to  send  him,  by  the 
first  opportunity,  a  prisoner  to  Spain.  It  appeared, 
in  truth,  no  time  to  add  to  the  daily  blows  of  fate 
that  were  thinning  the  number  of  his  followers.  Of 
the  gallant  annament  of  seven  hundred  resolute  and 
effective  men  that  had  sailed  with  him  from  San  f^o- 
mingo,  four  hundred  had  already  perished  by  various 
miseries ;  and  of  the  survivors,  many  could  scarcely 
be  said  to  live. 


CHAPTER  V. 


SUFFERINGS  OF  NICUESA  AND  HIS  MEN  ON  THE 
COAST   OF  THE   ISTHMUS. 

The  first  care  of  Nicuesa,  on  resuming  the  gen- 
eral command,  was  to  take  measures  for  the  relief 
of  his  people,  who  were  perishing  with  famine  and 
disease.  All  those  who  were  in  health,  or  who  had 
strength  sufficient  to  bear  the  least  fatigue,  were 
sent  on  foraging  parties  among  the  fields  and  vil- 
lages of  the  nativ'es.  It  was  a  service  of  extreme 
peril ;  for  the  Indians  of  this  part  of  the  coast  were 
fierce  and  warlike,  and  were  the  same  who  had 
proved  so  formidable  to  Columbus  and  his  brother 
when  they  attempted  to  found  a  settlement  in  this 
neighbourhood. 


Many  of  the  Spaniards  were  slain  in  these  expe- 
ditions. Even  if  they  succeeded  in  collecting  pro- 
visions, the  toil  of  bringing  them  to  the  harbour 
was  worse  to  men  in  their  enfeebled  condition  than 
the  task  of  fighting  for  them  ;  for  they  were  obliged 
to  transport  them  on  their  backs,  and,  thus  heavily 
laden,  to  scramble  over  rugged  rocks,  through  al- 
most impervious  forests,  and  across  dismal  swamps. 
Harassed  by  these  perils  and  fatigues,  they  broke 
forth  into  murmurs  against  their  conmiander,  accu?- 
ing  him,  not  merely  of  indifference  to  their  suffer- 
ings, but  of  wantonly  imposing  severe  and  unneces- 
sary tasks  upon  them  out  of  revenge  for  their  having 
neglected  him. 

The  genial  temper  of  Nicuesa  had,  in  fact,  been 
soured  by  disappointment ;  and  a  series  of  harassing 
cares  and  evils  had  rendered  him  irritable  and  impa- 
tient ;  but  he  was  a  cavalier  of  a  generous  and  hon- 
ourable nature,  and  does  not  appear  to  have  enforced 
any  services  that  were  not  indispensable  to  the  com- 
mon safety.  In  fact,  the  famine  had  increased  to 
such  a  degree,  that,  we  are  told,  thirty  Spaniards, 
having  on  one  occasion  found  the  dead  body  of  an 
Indian  in  a  state  of  decay,  they  were  driven  by  hun- 
ger to  make  a  meal  of  it,  and  were  so  infected  by 
the  horrible  repast,  that  not  one  of  them  survived.* 

Disheartened  by  these  miseries,  Nicuesa  deter- 
mined to  abandon  a  place  which  seemed  destined  to 
be  the  grave  of  Spaniards.  Embarking  the  greater 
part  of  his  men  in  the  two  brigantines  and  the  car- 
avel which  had  been  built  by  Olano,  he  set  sail  east- 
ward in  search  of  some  more  favourable  situation 
for  his  settlement.  A  number  of  the  men  remained 
behind  to  await  the  ripening  of  some  maize  and 
vegetables  which  they  had  sown.  These  he  left  un- 
der the  command  of  Alonzo  Nuiiez,  whom  he  nom- 
inated his  Alcalde  Mayor. 

When  Nicuesa  had  coasted  about  four  leagues  to 
the  east,  a  Genoese  sailor,  who  had  been  with 
Columbus  in  his  last  voyage,  infonned  him  that 
there  was  a  fine  harbour  somewhere  in  that  neigh- 
bourhood, which  had  pleased  the  old  admiral  so 
highly  that  he  had  given  it  the  name  of  Puerto 
Bello.  He  added  that  they  might  know  the  harbour 
by  an  anchor,  half  buried  in  the  sand,  which  Colum- 
bus had  left  there  ;  near  to  which  was  a  fountain  of 
remarkably  cool  and  sweet  water  springing  up  at 
the  foot  of  a  large  tree.  Nicuesa  ordered  search  to 
be  made  along  the  coast,  and  at  length  they  found 
the  anchor,  the  fountain,  and  the  tree.  It  was  the 
same  harbour  which  bears  the  name  of  Portobello 
at  the  present  day.  A  number  of  the  crew  were 
sent  on  shore  in  search  of  provisions,  but  were  as- 
sailed by  the  Indians  ;  and,  being  too  weak  to  wield 
their  weapons  with  their  usual  prov/ess,  were  driven 
back  to  the  vessels  with  the  loss  of  several  slain  or 
wounded. 

Dejected  at  these  continual  misfortunes,  Nicuesa 
continued  his  voyage  seven  leagues  further,  until  he 
came  to  the  harbour  to  which  Columbus  had  given 
the  name  of  Puerto  de  Bastimientos.  or.  Port  of 
Provisions.  It  presented  an  advantageous  situation 
for  a  fortress,  and  was  surrounded  by  a  fruitful  coun- 
try. Nicuesa  resolved  to  make  it  his  abiding  place. 
"  Here,"  said  he,  "  let  us  stop,  en  d  ncmbre  de 
Dios!"  (in  the  name  of  God).  His  followers,  with 
the  superstitious  feeling  with  which  men  in  adversity 
are  prone  to  interpret  every  thing  into  omens,  per- 
suaded themselves  that  there  was  favourable  augury 
in  his  words,  and  called  the  harbour  "  Nombrc  de 
Dios,"  which  name  it  afterwards  retained. 

Nicuesa  now  landed,  and,  drawing  his  sword,  took 
solemn  possession  in  the  name  of  the  Catholic  sover- 


*  Herrera,  Hist.  Ind.  D.  i.  and  viii.  c.  a. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


755 


eigns.  He  immediately  began  to  erect  a  fortress  to 
protect  his  people  against  tlie  attacks  of  the  sav- 
ages. As  this  was  a  case  of  exigency,  he  exacted 
the  labour  of  every  one  capable  of  exertion.  The 
Spaniards,  thus  equally  distressed  by  famine  and 
toil,  forgot  their  favourable  omen,  cursed  the  place 
as  fated  to  be  their  grave,  and  called  down  impreca- 
tions on  the  head  of  their  commander,  who  com- 
pelled them  to  labour  when  ready  to  sink  with  hun- 
ger and  debility.  Those  murmured  no  less  who 
were  sent  in  quest  of  food,  which  was  only  to  be 
gained  by  fatigue  and  bloodshed  ;  for,  whatever  they 
collected,  they  had  to  transport  from  great  distances, 
and  they  were  frequently  waylaid  and  assaulted  by 
the  Indians. 

When  he  could  spare  men  for  the  purpose,  Nicuesa 
despatched  the  caravel  for  those  whom  he  had  left  at 
the  river  Belen.  Many  of  them  had  perished,  and 
the  survivors  had  been  reduced  to  such  famine  at 
times  as  to  eat  all  kinds  of  reptiles,  until  a  part  of  an 
alligator  was  a  banquet  to  them.  On  mustering  all 
his  forces  when  thus  united,  Nicuesa  found  that  but 
one  hundred  emaciated  and  dejected  wretches  re- 
mained. 

He  despatched  the  caravel  to  Hispaniola,  to  bring 
a  qu.mtity  of  bacon  which  he  had  ordered  to  have 
prepared  there,  but  it  never  returned.  He  ordered 
Gonzalo  de  Badajos,  at  the  head  of  twenty  men,  to 
scour  the  country  for  provisions ;  but  the  Indians 
had  ceased  to  cultivate  ;  they  could  do  with  little 
food  and  could  subsist  on  the  roots  and  wild  fruits 
of  the  forest.  The  Spaniards,  therefore,  found  de- 
serted villages  and  barren  fields,  but  lurking  enemies 
at  every  defile.  So  deplorably  were  they  reduced 
by  their  sufferings,  that  at  length  there  were  not  left 
a  sufficient  number  in  health  and  strength  to  mount 
guard  at  night ;  and  the  fortress  remained  without 
sentinels.  Such  was  the  desperate  situation  of  this 
once  gay  and  gallant  cavalier,  and  of  his  brilliant 
armament,  which  but  a  few  months  before  had  sal- 
lied from  San  Domingo,  flushed  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  power  and  the  assurance  that  they  had  the 
means  of  compelling  the  favours  of  fortune. 

It  is  necessary  to  leave  them  for  a  while,  and  turn 
our  attention  to  other  events  which  will  ultimately 
be  found  to  bear  upon  their  destinies. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


EXPEDITION  OF  THE  BACHELOR  ENCISO  IN 
SEARCH  OF  THE  SEAT  OF  GOVERNMENT  OF 
OJEDA— (1510.) 

In  calling  to  mind  the  narrative  of  the  last  expedi- 
tion of  Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  the  reader  will  doubtless 
remember  the  Bachelor  Martin  Fernandez  de  En- 
ciso,  who  was  inspired  by  that  adventurous  cavalier 
with  an  ill-starred  passion  for  colonizing,  and  freight- 
ed a  vessel  at  .San  Uomingo  with  reinforcements  and 
supplies  for  the  settlement  at  San  Sebastian. 

When  the  Bachelor  was  on  the  eve  of  sailing,  a 
number  of  the  loose  hangers-on  of  the  colony,  and 
men  encumbered  with  debt,  concerted  to  join  his 
ship  from  the  coast  and  the  outports.  Their  cred- 
itors, however,  getting  notice  of  their  intention,  kept 
a  close  watch  upon  every  one  that  went  on  board 
while  in  the  harbour,  and  obtained  an  armed  vessel 
from  the  Admiral  Don  Diego  Columbus,  to  escort 
the  enterprising  Bachelor  clear  of  the  island.  One 
man,  however,  contrived  to  elude  these  precautions, 
and  as  he  afterwards  rose  to  great  iiriportance,  it  is 
proper  to  notice  him  pacticularly.  His  name  was 
Vasco  Nuiiez  de  Balboa.     He  was  a  native  of  Xeres 


de  los  Caballeros,  and  of  a  noble  though  impover- 
ished family.  He  had  been  brought  up  in  the  serv- 
ice of  Don  Puerto  Carrero,  Lord  of  Moguer,  and  he 
afterwards  enlisted  among  the  adventurers  who  ac- 
companied Rodrigo  de  Bastides  in  his  voyage  of  dis- 
covery. Peter  Martyr,  in  his  Latin  decades,  speaks 
of  him  by  the  appellation  of  "  egregius  digladiator," 
which  has  been  interpreted  by  some  as  a  skilful 
swordsman,  by  others  as  an  adroit  fencing  master. 
He  intimates,  also,  that  he  was  a  mere  soldier  of 
fortune,  of  loose  prodigal  habits,  and  the  circum- 
stances under  which  he  is  first  introduced  to  us  jus- 
tify this  character.  He  had  fixed  himself  for  a  time 
in  Hispaniola,  and  undertaken  to  cultivate  a  farm  at 
the  town  of  Salvatierra,  on  the  sea  coast,  but  in  a 
little  time  had  completely  involved  himself  in  debt. 
The  expedition  of  Enciso  presented  him  with  an  op- 
portunity of  escaping  from  his  embarrassments,  and 
of  indulging  his  adventurous  habits.  To  elude  the 
vigilance  of  his  creditors  and  of  the  armed  escort,  he 
concealed  himself  in  a  cask,  which  was  conveyed 
from  his  farm  on  the  sea  coast  on  board  of  the  ves- 
sel, as  if  containing  provisions  for  the  voyage.  When 
the  vessel  was  fairly  out  at  sea,  and  abandoned  by 
the  escort,  Vasco  Nufiez  emerged  hke  an  apparition 
from  his  cask,  to  the  great  surprise  of  Enciso,  who 
had  been  totally  ignorant  of  the  stratagem.  The 
Bachelor  was  indignant  at  being  thus  outwitted,  even 
though  he  gained  a  recruit  by  the  deception ;  and  in 
the  first  ebullition  of  his  wrath  gave  the  fugitive 
debtor  a  very  rough  reception,  threatening  to  put 
him  on  shore  on  the  first  uninhabited  island  they 
should  encounter.  Vasco  Nunez,  however,  succeed- 
ed in  pacifying  him,  "for  God,"  says  the  venerable 
Las  Casas,  "  reserved  him  for  greater  things."  It  is 
probable  the  Bachelor  beheld  in  him  a  man  well  fit- 
ted for  his  expedition,  for  Vasco  Nufiez  was  in  the 
prime  and  vigour  of  his  days,  tall  and  muscular,  sea- 
soned to  hardships,  and  of  intrepid  spirit. 

Arriving  at  the  main  land,  they  touched  at  the 
fatal  harbour  of  Carthagena,  the  scene  of  the  san- 
guinary conflicts  of  Ojeda  and  Nicuesa  with  the 
natives,  and  of  the  death  of  the  brave  Juan  de  la 
Cosa.  Enciso  was  ignorant  of  those  events,  having 
had  no  tidings  from  those  adventurers  since  their 
departure  from  San  Domingo ;  without  any  hesita- 
tion, therefore,  he  landed  a  number  of  his  men  to 
repair  his  boat,  which  was  damaged,  and  to  procure 
water.  While  the  men  were  working  upon  the  boat, 
a  multitude  of  Indians  gathered  at  a  distance,  well 
armed,  and  with  menacing  aspecc,  sounding  their 
shells  and  brandishing  their  weapons.  The  experi- 
ence they  had  had  of  the  tremendous  powers  of  the 
strangers,  however,  rendered  them  cautious  of  at- 
tacking, and  for  three  days  they  hovered  in  this 
manner  about  the  Spaniards,  the  latter  being  obliged 
to  keep  continually  on  the  alert.  At  length  two  of 
the  Spaniards  ventured  one  day  from  the  main  body 
to  fill  a  water  cask  from  the  adjacent  river.  Scarcely 
had  they  reached  the  margin  of  the  stream,  when 
eleven  savages  sprang  from  the  thickets  and  sur- 
rounded them,  bending  their  bows  and  pointing  their 
arrows.  In  this  way  they  stood  for  a  moment  or 
two  in  fearful  suspense,  the  Indians  refraining  from 
discharging  their  shafts,  but  keeping  them  constantly 
pointed  at  their  breasts.  One  of  tiie  Spaniards  at- 
tempted to  escape  to  his  comrades,  who  were  repair- 
ing the  boat,  but  the  other  called  him  back,  and  un- 
derstanding something  of  the  Indian  tongue,  ad- 
dressed a  few  amicable  words  to  the  savages.  The 
latter,  astonished  at  being  spoken  to  in  tlieir  own 
language,  now  relaxed  a  little  from  their  fierceness, 
and  demanded  of  the  strangers  who  they  were,  who 
were  their  leaders,  and  what  they  sought  upon  their 
shores.     The  Spaniard  replied  that  they  were  harm- 


756 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


less  people  who  came  from  other  lands,  and  merely 
touched  there  through  necessity,  and  he  wondered 
that  they  sliould  meet  them  with  such  hostility  ;  he 
at  the  same  time  warned  them  to  beware,  as  there 
would  come  many  of  his  countrymen  well  armed, 
and  would  wreak  terrible  vengeance  upon  them  for 
any  mischief  they  might  do.  While  they  were  thus 
parleying,  the  Bachelor  Enciso,  hearing  that  two  of 
tiis  men  were  surrounded  by  the  savages,  sallied  in- 
stantly from  his  ship,  and  hastened  with  an  armed 
force  to  their  rescue.  As  he  approached,  however, 
the  Spaniard  who  had  held  the  parley,  made  him  a 
signal  that  the  natives  were  pacific.  In  fact,  the 
latter  had  supposed  that  this  was  a  new  invasion  of 
Ojeda  and  Nicuesa,  and  had  thus  arrayed  them- 
selves, if  not  to  take  vengeance  for  past  outrages,  at 
least  to  defend  their  houses  from  a  second  desola- 
tion. When  they  were  convinced,  however,  that 
these  were  a  totally  different  band  of  strangers,  and 
without  hostile  intentions,  their  animosity  was  at  an 
end  ;  they  threw  by  their  weapons  and  came  for- 
ward with  the  most  confiding  frankness.  During 
the  whole  time  that  the  Spaniards  remained  there, 
they  treated  them  with  the  greatest  friendship,  sup- 
plying them  with  bread  made  from  maize,  with  salted 
fish,  and  with  the  fermented  and  spirituous  bever- 
ages common  along  that  coast.  Such  was  the 
magnanimous  conduct  of  men  who  were  considered 
among  the  most  ferocious  and  warlike  of  these  sav- 
age nations  ;  and  who  but  recently  had  beheld  their 
shores  invaded,  their  villages  ravaged  and  burnt,  and 
their  friends  and  relations  butchered,  without  re- 
gard to  age  or  sex,  by  the  countrymen  of  these  very 
strangers.  When  we  recall  the  bloody  and  indis- 
criminate vengeance  wreaked  upon  this  people  by 
Ojeda  and  his  followers  for  their  justifiable  resist- 
ance of  invasion,  and  compare  it  with  their  placable 
and  considerate  spirit  when  an  opportunity  for  re- 
venge presented  itself,  we  confess  we  feel  a  momen- 
tary doubt  whether  the  arbitrary  appellation  of  sav- 
age is  always  applied  to  the  right  party. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


THE  BACHELOR  HEARS   UNWELCOME  TIDINGS  OF 
HIS   DESTINED  JURISDICTION. 

Not  long  after  the  arrival  of  Enciso  at  this  event- 
ful harbour  he  was  surprised  by  the  circumstance  of 
a  brigantine  entering  and  coming  to  anchor.  To 
encounter  an  European  sail  in  these  almost  unknown 
seas,  was  always  a  singular  and  striking  occurrence, 
but  the  astonishment  of  the  Bachelor  was  mingled 
with  alarm  when,  on  boarding  the  brigantine,  he 
found  that  it  was  manned  by  a  number  of  the  men 
who  had  embarked  with  Ojeda.  His  first  idea  was, 
that  they  had  mutinied  against  their  commander, 
and  deserted  with  the  vessel.  The  feelings  of  the 
magistrate  were  aroused  within  him  by  the  suspicion, 
and  he  determined  to  take  his  first  step  as  Alcalde 
Mayor,  by  seizing  them  and  inflicting  on  them  the 
severity  of  the  law.  He  altered  his  tone,  however, 
on  conversing  with  their  resolute  commander.  This 
was  no  other  than  Francisco  Pizarro,  whom  Ojeda 
had  left  as  his  locum  tenens  at  San  Sebastian,  and 
who  showed  the  Bachelor  his  letter  patent,  signed 
by  that  unfortunate  governor.  In  fact,  the  little  brig- 
antine contained  the  sad  remnant  of  the  once  vaunt- 
ed colony.  After  the  departure  of  Ojeda  in  the  pirate 
ship,  his  followers,  whom  he  had  left  behind  under 
the  command  of  Pizarro,  continued  in  the  fortress 
until  the  stipulated  term  of  fifty  days  had  expired, 
iieceiving  no  succour,  and  hearing  no   tidings  of 


Ojeda,  they  then  determined  to  embark  and  sail  for 
Hispaniola  ;  but  here  an  unthought-of  difficulty  pre- 
sented itself:  they  were  seventy  in  number,  and  the 
two  brigantines  which  had  been  left  with  them  were 
incapable  of  taking  so  many.  They  came  to  the  for- 
lorn agreement,  therefore,  to  remain  until  famine, 
sickness,  and  the  poisoned  arrows  of  the  Indians 
should  reduce  their  number  to  the  capacity  of  the 
brigantities.  A  brief  space  of  time  was  sufficient  for 
the  purpose.  They  then  prepared  for  the  voyage. 
Four  mares,  which  had  been  kept  alive  as  terrors  to 
the  Indians,  were  killed  and  salted  for  sea-stores. 
Then  taking  whatever  other  articles  of  provision  re- 
mained, they  embarked  and  made  sail.  One  brig- 
antine was  commanded  by  Pizarro,  the  other  by  one 
Valenzuela. 

They  had  not  proceeded  far  when,  in  a  storm,  a 
sea  struck  the  crazy  vessel  of  Valenzuela  with  such 
violence  as  to  cause  it  to  founder  with  all  its  crew. 
The  other  brigantine  was  so  near  that  the  mariners 
witnessed  the  struggles  of  their  drowning  compan- 
ions and  heard  their  cries.  Some  of  the  sailors,  with 
the  common  disposition  to  the  marvellous,  declared 
that  they  had  beheld  a  great  whale,  or  some  other 
monster  of  the  deep,  strike  the  vessel  with  its  tail, 
and  either  stave  in  its  sides  or  shatter  the  rudder,  so 
as  to  c.iuse  the  shipwreck.*  The  surviving  brigan- 
tine then  made  the  best  of  its  way  to  the  harbour  of 
Carthagena,  to  seek  provisions. 

Such  was  the  disastrous  account  rendered  to  the 
Bachelor  by  Pizarro,  of  his  destined  jurisdiction. 
Enciso,  however,  was  of  a  confident  mind  and  san- 
guine temperament,  and  trusted  to  restore  all  things 
to  order  and  prosperity  on  his  arrival. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 


CRUSADE    OF    THE    BACHELOR     ENCISO    AGAINST 
THE  SEPULCHRES  OF  ZENU. 

The  Bachelor  Enciso,  as  has  been  shown,  was  a 
man  of  the  sword  as  well  as  of  the  robe ;  having 
doubtless  imbibed  a  passion  for  military  exploit  from 
his  intimacy  with  the  discoverers.  Accordingly, 
while  at  Carthagena,  he  was  visited  by  an  impulse 
of  the  kind,  and  undertook  an  enterprise  that  would 
have  been  worthy  of  his  friend  Ojeda.  He  had  been 
told  by  the  Indians  that  about  twenty-five  leagues 
to  the  west  lay  a  province  called  Zenu,  the  mount- 
ains of  which  abounded  with  the  finest  gold.  This 
was  washed  down  by  torrents  during  the  rainy  sea- 
son, in  such  quantities  that  the  natives  stretched  nets 
across  the  rivers  to  catch  the  largest  particles  ;  some 
of  which  were  said  to  be  as  large  as  eggs. 

The  idea  of  taking  gold  in  nets  captivated  the 
imagination  of  the  Bachelor,  and  his  cupidity  was 
still  more  excited  by  further  accounts  of  this  wealthy 
province.  He  was  told  that  Zenu  was  the  general 
place  of  sepulture  of  the  Indian  tribes  throughout 
the  country,  whither  they  brought  their  dead,  and 
buried  them,  according  to  their  custom,  decorated 
with  their  most  precious  ornaments. 

It  appeared  to  him  a  matter  of  course,  therefore, 
that  there  must  be  an  immense  accumulation  of 
riches  in  the  Indian  tombs,  from  the  golden  orna- 
ments that  had  been  buried  with  the  dead  through  a 
long  series  of  generations.  Fired  with  the  thought, 
he  determined  to  make  a  foray  into  this  province, 
and  to  sack  the  sepulchres  !  Neither  did  he  feel  any 
compunction  at  the  idea  of  plundering  the  dead,  con- 
sidering the  deceased  as  pagans  and  infidels,  who 


*  Herrera,  Hist.  Ind.  d.  l,  1.  vii,  c.  lo. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


757 


had  forfeited  even  the  sanctuary  of  the  grave,  by 
having  been  buried  according  to  the  rites  and  cere- 
monies of  their  idolatrous  reUgion. 

Enciso,  accordingly,  made  sail  from  Carthagena 
and  landed  with  his  forces  on  the  coast  of  Zenu. 
Here  he  was  promptly  opposed  by  two  caciques,  at 
the  head  of  a  large  band  of  warriors.  The  Bachelor, 
though  he  had  thus  put  on  the  soldier,  retained  suf- 
ficient of  the  spirit  of  his  former  calling  not  to  enter 
into  quarrel  without  taking  care  to  have  the  law  on 
his  side ;  he  proceeded  regularly,  therefore,  accord- 
ing to  the  legal  form  recently  enjoined  by  the  crown. 
He  caused  to  be  read  and  interpreted  to  the  caciques, 
the  same  formula  used  by  Ojeda,  expounding  the 
nature  of  the  Deity,  the  supremacy  of  the  pope,  and 
the  right  of  the  Catholic  sovereigns  to  all  these  lands, 
by  virtue  of  a  grant  from  his  holiness.  The  caciques 
listened  to  the  whole  very  attentively  and  without 
interruption,  according  to  the  laws  of  Indian  courtesy. 
They  then  replied  that,  as  to  the  assertion  that  there 
was  but  one  God,  the  sovereign  of  heaven  and  earth, 
it  seemed  to  them  good,  and  that  such  must  be  the 
case ;  but  as  to  the  doctrine  that  the  pope  was  regent 
of  the  world  in  place  of  God,  and  that  he  had  made 
a  grant  of  their  country  to  the  Spanish  king,  they 
observed  that  the  pope  must  have  been  drunk  to  give 
away  what  was  not  his,  and  the  king  must  have  been 
somewhat  mad  to  ask  at  his  hands  what  belonged 
to  others.  They  added,  that  they  were  lords  of  those 
lands  and  needed  no  other  sovereign,  and  if  this  king 
should  come  to  take  possession,  they  would  cut  off 
his  head  and  put  it  on  a  pole  ;  that  being  their  mode 
of  dealing  with  their  enemies. — As  an  illustration  of 
this  custom  they  pointed  out  to  Enciso  the  very  un- 
comfortable spectacle  of  a  row  of  grizzly  heads  im- 
paled in  the  neighbourhood. 

Nothing  daunted  either  by  the  reply  or  the  illus- 
tration, the  Bachelor  menaced  them  with  war  and 
slavery  as  the  consequences  of  their  refusal  to  be- 
lieve and  submit.  They  replied  by  threatening  to 
put  his  head  upon  a  pole  as  a  representative  ol  his 
sovereign.  The  Bachelor,  having  furnished  them 
with  the  law,  now  proceeded  to  the  commentary. 
He  attacked  the  Indians,  routed  them,  and  took  one 
of  the  caciques  prisoner,  but  in  the  skirmish  two  of 
his  men  were  slightly  wounded  with  poisoned  arrows, 
and  died  raving  with  torment.* 

It  does  not  appear,  however,  that  his  crusade 
against  the  sepulchres  was  attended  with  any  lucra- 
tive advantage.  Perhaps  the  experience  he  had  re- 
ceived of  the  hostility  of  the  natives,  and  of  the  fatal 
effects  of  their  poisoned  arrows,  prevented  his  pene- 
trating into  the  land  with  his  scanty  force.  Certain 
it  is,  the  reputed  wealth  of  Zenu,  and  the  tale  of  its 
fishery  for  gold  with  nets,  remained  unascertained 
and  uncontradicted,  and  were  the  cause  of  subse- 
quent and  disastrous  enterprises.  The  Bachelor 
contented  himself  with  his  victory,  and  returning  to 
his  ships,  prepared  to  continue  his  voyage  for  the 
seat  of  government  established  by  Ojeda  in  the 
Gulf  of  Uraba. 


•  The  above  anecdote  is  related  by  the  Bachelor  Enciso  himself, 
in  a  gcogr.^phica!  work  entitled  Suma  de  GeograpAia^  which  he 
published  in  Seville,  in  1519.  As  the  reply  of  the  poor  savages 
contains  something  of  natural  logic  we  give  a  part  of  it  as  reported 
by  the  Bachelor.  "  Respondieron  me  ;  que  en  lo  que  dezia  que  no 
avia  sino  un  dios  y  que  este  governaba  el  cielo  y  la  lierra  y  que  era 
scfior  de  todo  que  les  parecia  y  que  asi  debia  ser:  pero  que  en  lo 
que  deXia  que  el  papa  era  sefior  de  todo  el  universo  en  lugar  de  dios 
y  que  el  avia  fecho  merced  de  aquella  tierra  al  rey  de  Castilla ;  dix- 
.;ron  que  el  papa  debiera  cstar  bor.acho  quando  lo  hizo  pues  daba  lo 
llue  no  era  suyo,  y  que  el  rey  que  pedia  y  tomava  tal  merced  debia 
»eralgun  loco  pues  pedia  lo  que  era  de  otros,''  &c. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  BACHELOR  ARRIVES  AT  SAN  SABASTIAN  — HIS 
DISASTERS  THERE,  AND  SUBSEQUENT  EXPLOITS 
AT  DARIEN. 

It  was  not  without  extreme  difficulty,  and  the 
peremptory  e.xercise  of  his  authority  as  Alcalde 
Mayor,  that  Enciso  prevailed  upon  the  crew  of 
Pizarro  to  return  with  him  to  the  fated  shores  of  San 
Sebastian.  He  at  length  arrived  in  sight  of  the  long- 
wished-for  seat  of  his  anticipated  power  and  author- 
ity ;  but  here  he  was  doomed  like  his  principal, 
Ojeda,  to  meet  with  nothing  but  misfortune.  On 
entering  the  harbour  his  vessel  struck  on  a  rock  on 
the  eastern  point.  The  rapid  currents  and  tumultu- 
ous waves  rent  it  to  pieces ;  the  crew  escaped  with 
great  difficulty  to  the  brigantine  of  Pizarro ;  a  little 
flour,  cheese,  and  biscuit,  and  a  small  part  of  the 
arms  were  saved,  but  the  horses,  mares,  swine,  anrl 
all  other  colonial  supplies  were  swept  away,  and 
the  unfortunate  Bachelor  beheld  the  proceeds  of 
several  years  of  prosperous  litigation  swallowed  up 
in  an  instant. 

His  dream  of  place  and  dignity  seemed  equally  on 
the  point  of  vanishing,  for,  on  landing,  he  found  the 
fortress  and  its  adjacent  houses  mere  heaps  of  ruins, 
having  been  destroyed  with  fire  by  the  Indians. 

For  a  few  days  the  Spaniards  maintained  them- 
selves with  palm  nuts,  and  with  the  flesh  of  a  kind 
of  wild  swine,  of  which  they  met  with  several  herds. 
These  supplies  failing,  the  Bachelor  sallied  forth 
with  a  hundred  men  to  forage  the  country.  They 
were  waylaid  by  three  Indians,  who  discharged  all 
the  arrows  in  their  quivers  with  incredible  rapidity, 
wounded  several  Spaniards,  and  then  fled  with  a 
swiftness  that  defied  pursuit.  The  .Spaniards  re- 
turned to  the  harbour  in  dismay.  All  their  dread  of 
the  lurking  savages  and  their  poisoned  weapons 
revived,  and  they  insisted  upon  abandoning  a  place 
marked  out  for  disaster. 

The  Bachelor  Enciso  was  himself  disheartened 
at  the  situation  of  this  boasted  capital  of  San  Se- 
bastian ; — but  whither  could  he  go  where  the  same 
misfortunes  might  not  attend  him  .'  In  this  moment 
of  doubt  and  despondency,  Vasco  Nunez,  the  same 
absconding  debtor  who  had  been  smuggled  on 
board  in  the  cask,  stepped  forward  to  give  counsel. 
He  informed  the  Bachelor  that  several  years  pre- 
viously he  had  sailed  along  that  coast  with  Rodrigo 
de  Bastides.  They  had  explored  the  whole  gulf  of 
Uraba  ;  and  he  well  remembered  an  Indian  village 
situated  on  the  western  side,  on  the  hanks  of  a 
river  which  the  natives  called  Darien.  The  country 
around  was  fertile  and  abundant,  and  was  said  to 
possess  mines  of  gold  ;  and  the  natives,  though  a 
warlike  race,  never  made  use  of  poisoned  weapons. 
He  offered  to  guide  the  Bachelor  to  this  place,  where 
they  might  get  a  supplyof  provisions,  and  even  found 
their  colony. 

The  Spaniards  hailed  the  words  of  Vasco  Nunez 
as  if  revealing  a  land  of  promise.  The  Bachelor 
adopted  his  advice,  and,  guided  by  him,  set  sail  for 
the  village,  determined  to  eject  the  inhabitants  and 
take  possession  of  it  as  the  seat  of  government. 
Arrived  at  the  river,  he  landed,  put  his  men  in 
martial  array,  and  marched  along  the  banks.  The 
place  was  governed  by  a  brave  cacique  named 
Zemaco.  When  he  heard  of  the  approach  of  the 
Spaniards,  he  sent  off"  the  women  and  children  to  a 
place  of  safety,  and  posting  himself  with  five  hun- 
dred of  his  warriors  on  a  height,  prepared  to  give 
the  intruders  a  warm  reception.  The  Bachelor  was 
a  discoverer  at  all  points,  pious,  daring,  and  rapa- 
cious.    On  beholding  this  martial  array  he  recom- 


758 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


mended  himself  and  his  followers  to  God,  making  a 
vow  in  their  name  to  "  Our  Lady  of  Antigua,"  wliose 
image  is  adored  with  great  devotion  in  Seville,  that 
the  first  church  and  town  which  they  built  should 
be  dedicated  to  her,  and  that  they  would  make  a 
pilgrimage  to  Seville  to  offer  the  spoils  of  the  heatlien 
at  her  shrine.  Having  thus  endeavoured  to  propi- 
tiate the  favour  of  Heaven,  and  to  retain  the  Holy 
Virgin  in  his  cause,  he  next  proceeded  to  secure  the 
fidelity  of  his  followers.  Doubting  that  they  might 
have  some  lurking  dread  of  poisoned  arrows,  he  ex- 
acted from  them  all  an  oatli  that  they  would  not 
turn  their  backs  upon  the  foe,  whatever  might 
happen.  Never  did  warrior  enter  into  battle  with 
more  preliminary  forms  and  covenants  than  the 
Bachelor  Enciso.  All  these  points  being  arranged, 
he  assumed  the  soldier,  and  attacked  the  enemy  with 
such  valour,  that  though  they  made  at  first  a  show 
of  fierce  resistance,  they  were  soon  put  to  flight,  and 
many  of  them  slain.  The  Bachelor  entered  the  vil- 
lage in  triumph,  took  possession  of  it  by  unquestion- 
able right  of  conquest,  and  plundered  all  the  ham- 
lets and  houses  of  the  surrounding  countr)' ;  collect- 
ing great  quantities  of  food  and  cotton,  with  brace- 
lets, anklets,  plates,  and  other  ornaments  of  gold,  to  the 
value  of  ten  thousand  castellanos.*  His  heart  was 
wonderfully  elated  by  his  victory  and  his  booty  ;  his 
followers,  also,  after  so  many  hardships  and  dis- 
asters, gave  themselves  up  to  joy  at  this  turn  of 
good  fortune,  and  it  was  unanimously  agreed  that 
the  seat  of  government  should  be  established  in  this 
village  ;  to  which,  in  fulfilment  of  his  vow,  Enciso 
gave  the  name  of  Santa  Maria  de  la  Antigua  del 
Darien. 


CHAPTER  X. 


THE  BACHELOR  ENCISO  UNDERTAKES  THE  COM- 
MAND—HIS DOWNFALL. 

The  Bachelor  Enciso  now  entered  upon  the  exer- 
cise of  his  civil  functions  as  Alcalde  Mayor,  and 
Lieutenant  of  the  absent  governor,  Ojeda.  His  first 
edict  was  stern  and  peremptory ;  he  forbade  all 
trafficking  with  the  natives  for  gold,  on  private  ac- 
count, under  pain  of  death.  This  was  in  conformity 
to  royal  command  ;  but  it  was  little  palatable  to  men 
who  had  engaged  in  the  enterprise  in  the  hopes  of 
enjoying  free  trade,  lawless  liberty,  and  golden  gains. 
They  murmured  among  themselves,  and  insinuated 
that  Enciso  intended  to  reserve  all  the  profit  to 
himself. 

Vasco  Nunez  was  the  first  to  take  advantage  of 
the  general  discontent.  He  had  risen  to  conse- 
quence among  his  fellow-adventurers,  from  having 
guided  them  to  this  place,  and  from  his  own  intrin- 
sic qualities,  being  hardy,  bold,  and  intelligent,  and 
possessing  the  random  spirit  and  open-handed  gen- 
erosity common  to  a  soldier  of  fortune,  and  calcu- 
lated to  dazzle  and  delight  the  multitude. 

He  bore  no  good  will  to  the  Bachelor,  recollecting 
his  threat  of  landing  him  on  an  uninhabited  island, 
when  he  escaped  in  a  cask  from  San  Domingo.  He 
sought,  therefore,  to  make  a  party  against  him,  and 
to  unseat  him  from  his  command.  He  attacked 
him  in  his  own  way,  with  legal  weapons,  question- 
mg  the  legitimacy  of  his  pretensions.  The  boundary 
line,  he  observed,  which  separated  the  jurisdictions 
of  Ojeda  and  Nicuesa,  ran  through  the  centre  of  the 
gulf  of  Uraba.  The  village  of  Darien  lay  on  the 
western  side,  which  had  been  allotted  to  Nicuesa. 
Enciso,  therefore,  as  Alcalde  Mayor  and  Lieutenant 


•Equivalt.it  to  a  pr^ent  sum  of  53,259  dollars. 


of  Ojeda,  could  have  no  jurisdiction  here,  and  his  as- 
sumed authority  was  a  sheer  usurpation. 

The  Spaniards,  already  incensed  at  the  fiscal  regu- 
lations of  Enciso,  were  easily  convinced  ;  so  with 
one  accord  they  refused  allegiance  to  him  ;  and  the 
unfortunate  Bachelor  found  the  chair  of  authority  to 
which  he  had  so  fondly  and  anxiously  aspired,  sud- 
denly wrested  from  under  him,  before  he  had  well  time 
to  take  his  seat. 


CHAPTER  XL 


PERPLEXITIES  AT  THE  COLONY — ARRIVAL   OF 
COLMENARES. 

To  depose  the  Bachelor  had  been  an  easy  matter, 
for  most  men  are  ready  to  assist  in  pulling  down ; 
but  to  choose  a  successor  was  a  task  of  far  more  dif- 
ficulty. The  people  at  first  agreed  to  elect  mere 
civil  magistrates,  and  accordingly  appointed  Vasco 
Nunez  and  one  Zamudio  as  alcaldes,  together  with  a 
cavalier  of  some  merit  of  the  name  of  Valdivia,  as 
regidor.  They  soon,  however,  became  dissatisfied 
with  this  arrangement,  and  it  was  generally  con- 
sidered advisable  to  vest  the  authority  in  one  person. 
Who  this  person  should  be,  was  now  the  question. 
Some  proposed  Nicuesa,  as  they  were  within  his 
province ;  others  were  strenuous  for  Vasco  Nunez. 
A  violent  dispute  ensued,  which  was  carried  on  with 
such  heat  and  obstinacy,  that  many,  anxious  for  a 
quiet  life,  declared  it  would  be  better  to  reinstate 
Enciso  until  the  pleasure  of  the  king  should  be 
known. 

In  the  height  of  these  factious  altercations  the 
Spaniards  were  aroused  one  day  by  the  thundering 
of  cannon  from  the  opposite  side  of  the  gulf,  and  be- 
held columns  of  smoke  rising  from  the  hills.  Aston- 
ished at  these  signals  of  civilized  man  on  these  wild 
shores,  they  replied  in  the  same  manner,  and  in  a 
short  time  two  ships  were  seen  standing  across  the 
gulf.  They  proved  to  be  an  armament  commanded 
by  one  Rodrigo  de  Colmenares,  and  were  in  search 
of  Nicuesa  with  supplies.  They  had  met  w-ith  the 
usual  luck  of  adventurers  on  this  disastrous  coast, 
storms  at  sea  and  savage  foes  on  shore,  and  many 
of  their  number  had  fallen  by  poisoned  arrows.  Col- 
menares had  touched  at  San  Sebastian  to  learn  tid- 
ings of  Nicuesa ;  but,  finding  the  fortress  in  ruins, 
had  made  signals,  in  hopes  of  being  heard  by  the 
Spaniards,  should  they  be  yet  lingering  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. 

The  arrival  of  Colmenares  caused  a  temporary 
suspension  of  the  feuds  of  the  colonists.  He  dis- 
tributed provisions  among  them  and  gained  their 
hearts.  Then,  representing  the  legitimate  right  of 
Nicuesa  to  the  command  of  all  that  part  of  the  coast 
as  a  governor  appointed  by  the  king,  he  persuaded 
the  greater  part  of  the  people  to  acknowledge  his 
authority.  It  was  generally  agreed,  therefore,  that 
he  should  cruise  along  the  coast  in  search  of  Nicuesa, 
and  that  Diego  de  Albitcz,  and  an  active  member  of 
the  law,  called  the  Bachelor  Corral,  should  accom- 
pany him  as  ambassadors,  to  invite  that  cavalier  to 
come  and  assume  the  government  of  Darien, 


CHAPTER    XIL 

COLMENARES  GOES  IN   QUEST  OF  NICUESA. 

RODERIGO  DE  COLMENARES  proceeded  along  the 
coast  to  the  westward,  looking  into  every  bay  and 
harbour,  but  for  a  long  time  without  success.     Al 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


759 


length  one  clay  he  discovered  a  brigantine  at  a  small 
island  in  the  sea.  On  making  up  to  it,  he  found 
that  it  was  part  of  the  armament  of  Nicuesa,  and 
had  been  sent  out  by  him  to  forage  for  provisions. 
By  this  vessel  he  was  piloted  to  the  port  of  Nombre 
de  Dios,  the  nominal  capital  of  the  unfortunate 
governor,  but  which  was  so  surrounded  and  over- 
shadowed by  forests,  that  he  might  have  passed  by 
without  noticing  it. 

The  arrival  of  Colmenares  was  welcomed  with 
transports  and  tears  of  joy.  It  was  scarcely  possible 
for  him  to  recognise  the  once  buoyant  and  brilliant 
Nicuesa  in  the  squalid  and  dejected  man  before  him. 
He  was  living  in  the  most  abject  misery.  Of  all  his 
once  gallant  and  powerful  band  of  followers,  but 
sixty  men  remained,  and  those  so  feeble,  yellow, 
emaciated,  and  woe-begone,  that  it  was  piteous  to 
behold  them.* 

Colmenares  distributed  food  among  them,  and  told 
them  that  he  had  come  to  convey  them  to  a  plen- 
teous country,  and  one  rich  in  gold.  When  Nicuesa 
heard  of  the  settlement  at  Darien,  and  that  the  in- 
habitants had  sent  for  him  to  come  and  govern 
them,  he  was  as  a  man  suddenly  revived  from  death. 
All  the  spirit  and  munificence  of  the  cavalier  again 
awakened  in  him.  He  gave  a  kind  of  banquet  that 
very  day  to  Colmenares  and  the  ambassadors,  from 
the  provisions  brought  in  the  ship.  He  presided  at 
his  table  with  his  former  hilarity,  and  displayed  a 
feat  of  his  ancient  office  as  royal  carver,  by  holding 
up  a  fowl  in  the  air  and  dissecting  it  with  wonderful 
adroitness. 

Well  would  it  have  been  for  Nicuesa  had  the  sud- 
den buoyancy  of  his  feelings  carried  him  no  further, 
but  adversity  had  not  taught  him  prudence.  In 
conversing  with  the  envoys  about  the  colony  of 
Darien,  he  already  assumed  the  tone  of  governor, 
and  began  to  disclose  the  kind  of  policy  with  which 
he  intended  to  rule.  When  he  heard  that  great 
quantities  of  gold  had  been  collected  and  retained 
by  private  individuals,  his  ire  was  kindled.  He  vow- 
ed to  make  them  refund  it,  and  even  talked  of  pun- 
ishing them  for  trespassing  upon  the  privileges  and 
monopolies  of  the  crown.  This  was  the  very  error 
that  had  unseated  the  Bachelor  Enciso  trom  his 
government,  and  it  was  a  strong  measure  for  one  to 
threaten  who  as  yet  was  governor  but  in  expectation. 
The  menace  was  not  lost  upon  the  watchful  am- 
bassadors Uiego  de  Albitez  and  the  Bachelor  Corral. 
They  were  put  still  more  on  the  alert  by  a  conversa- 
tion which  they  held  that  very  evening  with  Lope  de 
Olaao,  who  was  still  detained  a  prisoner  for  his 
desertion,  but  who  found  means  to  commune  with 
the  envoys,  and  to  prejudice  them  against  his  un- 
suspecting commander.  "  Take  warning,"  said  he, 
"  by  my  treatment.  I  sent  relief  to  Nicuesa  and 
rescued  him  from  death  when  starving  on  a  desert 
island.  Behold  my  recompense.  He  repays  me  with 
imprisonment  and  chains.  Such  is  the  gratitude  the 
people  of  Darien  may  look  for  at  his  hands  !  " 

The  subtle  Bachelor  Corral  and  his  fellow  envoy 
laid  these  matters  to  heart,  and  look  their  measures 
accordingly.  They  hurried  their  departure  before 
Nicuesa,  and  setting  all  sail  on  their  caravel,  hasten- 
ed back  to  Darien.     The  moment  they  arrived  they 


•  The  harbour  of  Nombre  de  Dios  continued  for  a  long  time  to 
present  traces  of  the  sufferings  of  the  Spaniards.  We  are  toid  by 
Jlierrcra,  that  several  years  alter  the  time  here  mentioned,  a  band 
of  eighty  Spanish  soldiers,  commanded  by  Gonzalo  de  Badajos, 
arrived  at  the  harbour  with  an  intention  of  penetrating  into  the  in- 
terior. They  found  there  the  ruined  fort  of  Nicuesa,  together  with 
skulls  and  bones,  and  crosses  erected  on  heaps  of  stones,  dismal 
mementos  of  his  followers  who  had  perished  of  hunger  ;  the  sight 
of  which  struck  such  horror  and  dismay  into  the  hearts  of  the  sol- 
diers that  they  would  have  abandoned  their  enterprise,  h.td  not 
their  intrepid  captain  immediately  sent  away  the  ships,  and  thus 
deprived  them  oi^the  meaiis  of  retreating. — Herrera^  d.  1  I.  1.  i. 


summoned  a  meeting  of  the  principal  inhabitants. 
"A  blessed  change  we  have  made,"  said  they,  "in 
summoning  this  Diego  de  Nicuesa  to  the  command  I 
We  have  called  in  the  stork  to  take  the  rule,  who 
will  not  rest  satisfied  until  he  has  devoured  us." 
They  then  related,  with  the  usual  exaggeration,  the 
unguarded  threats  that  had  fallen  from  Nicuesa,  and 
instanced  his  treatment  of  Olano  as  a  proof  of  a 
tyrannous  and  ungrateful  disposition. 

The  words  of  the  subtle  Bachelor  Corral  and  his 
associate  produced  a  violent  agitation  among  the 
people,  especially  among  those  who  had  amassed 
treasures  which  would  have  to  be  refunded.  Nicuesa, 
too,  by  a  transaction  which  almost  destroys  sympathy 
in  his  favour,  gave  time  for  their  passions  to  ferment. 
On  his  way  ^o  Darien  he  stopped  for  several  days 
among  a  group  of  small  islands,  for  the  purpose  of 
capturing  Indians  to  be  sold  as  slaves.  While  com- 
mitting these  outrages  against  humanity,  he  sent  for- 
ward Juan  de  Cayzedo  in  a  boat  to  announce  his  com- 
ing. His  messenger  had  a  private  pique  against  him, 
and  played  him  false.  He  assured  the  people  of  Darien 
that  all  they  had  been  told  by  their  envoys  concern- 
ing the  tyranny  and  ingratitude  of  Nicuesa  was  true. 
That  he  treated  his  followers  with  wanton  severity  ; 
that  he  took  from  them  all  they  won  in  battle,  say- 
ing, that  the  spoils  were  his  rightful  property ;  and 
that  it  was  his  intention  to  treat  the  people  of  Darien 
in  the  same  manner.  "  What  folly  is  it  in  you," 
added  he,  "  being  your  own  rpasters,  and  in  such 
free  condition,  to  send  for  a  tyrant  to  rule  over 
you  ! " 

The  people  of  Darien  were  convinced  by  this  con- 
curring testimony,  and  confounded  by  the  over- 
whelming evil  they  had  thus  invoked  upon  their 
heads.  They  had  deposed  Enciso  for  his  severity, 
and  they  had  thrown  themselves  into  the  power  of 
one  who  threatened  to  be  ten  times  more  severe  ! 
Vasco  Nunez  de  Balboa  observed  their  perplexity 
and  consternation.  He  drew  them  one  by  one  apart, 
and  conversed  with  them  in  private.  "  You  are  cast 
down  in  heart,"  said  he,  "and  so  you  might  well  be, 
were  the  evil  beyond  all  cure.  But  do  not  despair ; 
there  is  an  effectual  relief,  and  you  hold  it  in  your 
hands.  If  you  have  committed  an  error  in  inviting 
Nicuesa  to  Darien,  it  is  easily  remedied  by  not  re- 
ceiving him  when  he  comes  !  "  The  obviousness 
and  simplicity  of  the  remedy  struck  every  mind,  and 
it  was  unanimously  adopted. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


CATASTROPHE  OF  THE   UNFORTUNATE  NICUESA. 

While  this  hostile  plot  was  maturing  at  Darien, 
the  unsuspecting  Nicuesa  pursued  his  voyage  leisurely 
and  serenely,  and  arrived  in  safety  at  the  mouth  of 
the  river.  On  approaching  the  shore  he  beheld  a 
multitude,  headed  by  Vasco  Nunez,  waiting,  as  he 
supposed,  to  receive  him  with  all  due  honour.  He 
was  about  to  land  when  the  public  procurator,  or 
attorney,  called  to  him  with  a  loud  voice,  warning 
him  not  to  disembark,  but  advising  him  to  return 
with  all  speed  to  his  government  at  Nombre  de  Dios. 

Nicuesa  remained  for  a  moment  as  if  thunder- 
struck by  so  unlooked-for  a  salutation.  When  he 
recovered  his  self-possession  he  reminded  them  that 
he  had  come  at  their  own  request ;  he  entreated, 
therefore,  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  land  and  have 
an  explanation,  after  which  he  would  be  ready  to  act 
as  they  thought  proper.  His  entreaties  were  vain  ; 
they  only  provoked  insolent  replies,  and  threats  of 
violence  should  he  venture  to  put  foot  on   shore. 


760 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Night  coming  on,  therefore,  he  was  obliged  to  stand 
out  to  sea,  but  returned  the  next  morning,  hoping  to 
find  this  capricious  people  in  a  different  mood. 

There  did,  indeed,  appear  to  be  a  favourable  change, 
for  he  was  now  invited  to  land.  It  was  a  mere  strata- 
gem to  get  him  in  their  power,  for  no  sooner  did  he 
set  foot  on  shore  than  the  multitude  rushed  forward 
to  seize  him.  Among  his  many  bodily  endowments, 
Nicuesa  was  noted  for  swiftness  of  foot.  He  now 
trusted  to  it  for  safety,  and,  throwing  off  the  dignity 
of  governor,  fled  for  his  life  along  the  shore,  pursued 
by  the  rabble.  He  soon  distanced  his  pursuers  and 
took  refuge  in  the  woods. 

Vasco  Nunez  de  Balboa,  who  was  himself  a  man 
of  birth,  seeing  this  high-bred  cavalier  reduced  to 
such  extremity,  and  at  the  mercy  of  a  violent  rabble, 
repented  of  what  he  had  done.  He  had  not  antici- 
pated such  popular  fury,  and  endeavoured,  though 
too  late,  to  allay  the  tempest  he  had  raised.  He 
succeeded  in  preventing  the  people  from  pursuing 
Nicuesa  into  the  fore;t,  and  then  endeavoured  to 
mollify  the  vindictive  rage  of  his  fellow  Alcalde, 
Zamudio,  whose  hostility  was  quickened  by  the  dread 
of  losing  his  office,  should  the  new  governor  be  re- 
ceived ;  and  who  was  supported  in  his  boisterous 
conduct  by  the  natural  love  of  the  multitude  for  what 
are  called  "strong  measures."  Nicuesa  now  held  a 
parley  with  the  populace,  through  the  mediation  of 
Vasco  Nunez.  He  begged  that,  if  they  would  not 
acknowledge  him  as  governor,  they  would  at  least 
admit  him  as  a  companion.  This  they  refused,  saying, 
that  if  they  admitted  him  in  one  capacity,  he  would 
end  by  attaining  to  the  other.  He  then  implored, 
that  if  he  could  be  admitted  on  no  other  terms,  they 
would  treat  him  as  a  prisoner,  and  put  him  in  irons, 
for  he  would  rather  die  among  them  than  return  to 
Nombre  de  Dios,  to  perish  of  famine,  or  by  the  ar- 
rows of  the  Indians. 

It  was  in  vain  that  Vasco  Nunez  exerted  his 
eloquence  to  obtain  some  grace  for  this  unhappy 
cavalier.  His  voice  was  drowned  by  the  vocifera- 
tions of  the  multitude.  Among  these  was  a  noisy 
swaggering  fellow  named  Francisco  Benitez,  a  great 
talker  and  jester,  who  took  a  vulgar  triumph  in  the 
distresses  of  a  cavalier,  and  answered  every  plea  in 
his  behalf  with  scoffs  and  jeers.  He  was  an  adherent 
of  the  Alcalde  Zamudio,  and  under  his  patronage 
felt  emboldened  to  bluster.  His  voice  was  even  up- 
permost in  the  general  clamour,  until,  to  the  expos- 
tulations of  Vasco  Nunez,  he  replied  by  merely  bawl- 
ing with  great  vociferation,  "  No,  no,  no  ! — we  will 
receive  no  such  a  fellow  among  us  as  Nicuesa ! '' 
The  patience  of  Vasco  Nunez  was  exhausted ;  he 
availed  himself  of  his  authority  as  Alcalde,  and  sud- 
denly, before  his  fellow  magistrate  could  interfere, 
ordered  the  brawling  ruffian  to  be  rewarded  with  a 
hundred  lashes,  which  were  taled  out  roundly  to  him 
upon  the  shoulders.* 

Seeing  that  the  fury  of  the  populace  was  not  to  be 

Cacified,  he  sent  word  to  Nicuesa  to  retire  to  his 
rigantine,  and  not  to  venture  on  shore  until  advised 
by  him  to  do  so.  The  counsel  was  fruitless.  Nicu- 
esa, above  deceit  himself,  suspected  it  not  in  others. 
He  retired  to  his  brigantine,  it  is  true,  but  suffered 
himself  to  be  inveigled  on  shore  by  a  deputation 
professing  to  come  on  the  part  of  the  public,  with 
offers  to  reinstate  him  as  governor.  He  had  scarcely 
landed  when  he  was  set  upon  by  an  armed  band, 
headed  by  the  base-minded  Zamudio,  who  seized 
him  and  compelled  him,  by  menaces  of  death,  to 
swear  that  he  would  immediately  depart,  and  make 
no  delay  in  any  place  until  he  had  presented  himself 
before  the  king  and  council  in  Castde. 


*  Lai  Casau,  Hist.  Ind.  1.  ii.  c.  68. 


It  was  in  vain  that  Nicuesa  reminded  them  tliat 
he  was  governor  of  that  territory  and  representative 
of  the  king,  and  that  they  were  guilty  of  treason  in 
thus  opposing  him  ;  it  was  in  vain  that  he  appealed 
to  their  humanity,  or  protested  before  God  against 
their  cruelty  and  persecution.  The  people  were  in 
that  state  of  tumult  when  they  are  apt  to  add  cruelty 
to  injustice.  Not  content  with  expelling  the  dis- 
carded governor  from  their  shores,  they  allotted  him 
the  worst  vessel  in  the  harbour  ;  an  old  crazy  brig- 
antine totally  unfit  to  encounter  the  perils  and  labours 
of  the  sea. 

Seventeen  followers  embarked  with  him  ;  some 
being  of  his  household  and  attached  to  his  person  ; 
the  rest  were  volunteers  who  accompanied  him  out 
of  respect  and  sympathy.  The  frail  bark  set  sail  on 
the  first  of  March,  1 51 1,  and  steered  across  the 
Caribbean  sea  for  the  island  of  Hispaniola,  but  was 
never  seen  or  heard  of  more  ! 

Various  attempts  have  been  made  to  penetrate 
the  mystery  that  covers  the  fate  of  the  brigantine 
and  its  crew.  A  rumour  prevailed  some  years  after- 
wards that  several  Spaniards,  wandering  along  the 
shore  of  Cuba,  found  the  following  inscription  carved 
on  a  tree : 

Aqui  fenccib  el  desdicado  Nicuesa. 
(Here  perished  the  unfortunate  Nicuesa.) 

Hence  it  was  inferred  that  he  and  his  followers 
had  landed  there,  and  huen  massacred  by  the  In- 
dians. Las  Casas,  however,  discredits  this  story'. 
He  accompanied  the  first  Spaniards  who  took  pos- 
session of  Cuba,  and  heard  nothing  of  the  fact,  as 
he  most  probably  would  have  done  had  it  really  oc- 
curred. He  imagines,  rather,  that  the  crazy  bark 
was  swallowed  up  by  the  storms  and  currents  of  the 
Caribbean  sea,  or  that  the  crew  perished  with 
hunger  and  thirst,  having  been  but  scantily  supplied 
with  provisions.  The  good  old  bishop  adds,  with 
the  superstitious  feeling  prevalent  in  that  age,  that 
a  short  time  before  Nicuesa  sailed  from  .Spain  on  his 
expedition,  an  astrologer  warned  him  not  to  depart 
on  the  day  he  had  appointed,  or  under  a  certain 
sign  ;  the  cavalier  replied,  however,  that  he  had  less 
confidence  in  the  stars  than  in  God  who  made 
them.  "  I  recollect,  moreover,"  adds  Las  Casas, 
"  that  about  this  time  a  comet  was  seen  over  this 
island  of  Hispaniola,  which,  if  I  do  not  forget,  was 
in  the  shape  of  a  sword  ;  and  it  was  said  that  a 
monk  warned  several  of  those  about  to  embark  with 
Nicuesa,  to  avoid  that  captain,  for  the  heavens  fore- 
told he  was  destined  to  be  lost.  The  same,  how- 
ever," he  concludes,  "  might  be  said  of  Alonzo  de 
Ojeda,  who  sailed  at  the  same  time,  yet  returned  to 
San  Domingo  and  died  in  his  bed."* 


VASCO  NUNEZ  DE  BALBOA. 

DISCOVERER  OF  THE  PACIFIC  OCE.AN. 


CHAPTER     I. 

FACTIONS  AT    DARIEN — VASCO   NUNEZ    ELECTED 
TO   THE    COMMAND. 

We  have  traced  the  disastrous  fortunes  of  Alonzo 
de  Ojeda  and  Diego  de  Nicuesa ;  we  have  now  to  re- 
cord the  stor)'  of  Vasco  Nuflez  de  Balboa,  an  ad- 
venturer equally  daring,  far  more  renowned,  and 
not  less  inifortunate,  who,  in  a  manner,  rose  upon 
their  ruins. 


*  Las  Casas,  u/  tup.  c.  68. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


761 


When  the  bark  disappeared  from  view  which 
bore  the  ill-starred  Nicuesa  from  the  shores  of 
Darien,  the  community  relapsed  into  factions,  as  to 
who  should  have  the  rule.  The  Bachelor  Enciso  in- 
sisted upon  his  claims  as  paramount,  but  he  met 
with  a  powerful  opponent  in  Vasco  Nunez,  who  had 
become  a  great  favourite  with  the  people,  from  his 
frank  and  fearless  character,  and  his  winning  affa- 
bility. In  fact,  he  was  peculiarly  calculated  to  man- 
age the  fiery  and  factious,  yet  generous  and  suscepti- 
ble nature  of  his  countrymen  ;  for  the  Spaniards, 
though  proud  and  resentful,  and  impatient  of  indig- 
nity or  restraint,  are  easily  dazzled  by  valour,  and 
won  by  courtesy  and  kindness.  Vasco  Nunez  had 
the  external  requisites  also  to  captivate  the  multitude. 
He  was  now  about  thirty-five  years  of  age  ;  tall,  well 
formed,  and  vigorous,  with  reddish  hair,  and  an 
open  prepossessing  countenance.  His  office  of  Al- 
calde, while  it  clothed  him  with  influence  and  impor- 
tance, tempered  those  irregular  and  dissolute  habits 
he  might  have  indulged  while  a  mere  soldier  of  for- 
tune ;  and  his  superior  talent  soon  gave  him  a  com- 
plete ascendancy  over  his  official  colleague  Zamu- 
dio.  He  was  thus  enabled  to  set  on  foot  a  vigorous 
opposition  to  Enciso.  Still  he  proceeded  according 
to  the  forms  of  law,  and  summoned  the  Bachelor 
to  trial,  on  the  charge  of  usurping  the  powers  of  Al- 
calde Mayor,  on  the  mere  appointment  of  Alonzo 
de  Ojeda,  whose  jurisdiction  did  not  extend  to  this 
province. 

Enciso  was  an  able  lawyer,  and  pleaded  his  cause 
skilfully;  but  his  claims  were,  in  fact,  fallacious,  and, 
had  they  not  been  so,  he  had  to  deal  with  men  who 
cared  little  for  law,  who  had  been  irritated  by  his 
legal  exactions,  and  who  were  disposed  to  be  gov- 
erned by  a  man  of  the  sword  rather  then  of  the  robe. 
He  was  readily  lound  guilty,  therefore,  and  thrown 
into  prison,  and  all  his  property  was  confiscated.  This 
was  a  violent  verdict,  and  rashly  executed ;  but 
justice  seemed  to  grow  fierce  and  wild  when  trans- 
planted to  the  wilderness  of  the  new  world.  Still 
there  is  no  place  where  wrong  can  be  committed 
with  impunity  ;  the  oppression  of  the  Bachelor  En- 
ciso, though  exercised  under  the  forms  of  law,  and 
in  a  region  remote  from  the  pak  of  civilized  life,  re- 
dounded to  the  eventual  injury  of  Vasco  Nunez,  and 
contributed  to  blast  the  fruits  of  that  ambition  it 
was  intended  to  promote. 

The  fortunes  of  the  enterprising  Bachelor  had  in- 
deed run  strangely  counter  to  the  prospects  with 
which  he  had  embarked  at  San  Domingo  ;  he  had 
become  a  culprit  at  the  bar  instead  of  a  judge  upon 
the  bench  ;  and  now  was  left  to  ruminate  in  a  prison 
on  the  failure  of  his  late  attempt  at  general  command. 
His  friends,  however,  interceded  warmly  in  his  behalf, 
and  at  length  obtained  his  release  from  confinement, 
and  permission  for  him  to  return  to  Spain.  Vasco 
Nunez  foresaw  that  the  lawyer  would  be  apt  to  plead 
his  cause  more  effectually  at  the  court  of  Castile  than 
he  had  done  before  the  partial  and  prejudiced  tribu- 
nal of  Darien.  He  prevailed  upon  his  fellow  Alcalde 
Zamudio,  therefore,  who  was  implicated  with  him  in 
the  late  transactions,  to  return  to  Spain  in  the  same 
vessel  with  the  Bachelor,  so  as  to  be  on  the  spot  to 
answer  his  charges,  and  to  give  a  favourable  report 
of  the  case.  He  was  also  instructed  to  set  forth  the 
services  of  Vasco  Nunez,  both  in  guiding  the  colo- 
nists to  this  place,  and  in  managing  the  affairs  of  the 
settlement ;  and  to  dwell  with  emphasis  on  the  symp- 
toms of  great  riches  in  the  surrounding  country. 

The  Bachelor  and  the  Alcalde  embarked  in  a  small 
caravel ;  and,  as  it  was  to  touch  at  Hispaniola,  Vasco 
Nunez  sent  his  confidential  friend,  the  Regidor  Val- 
divia,  to  that  island  to  obtain  provisions  and  recruits. 
He  secretly  put  into  his  hands  a  round  sum  of  gold 


as  a  present  to  Miguel  de  Pasamonte,  the  royal  treas- 
urer of  Hispaniola,  whom  he  knew  to  have  great 
credit  with  the  king,  and  to  be  invested  with  exten- 
sive powers,  craving  at  the  same  time  his  piotection 
in  the  new  world  and  his  influence  at  court. 

Having  taken  these  shrewd  precautions,  Vasco 
Nunez  saw  the  caravel  depart  without  dismay,  though 
bearing  to  Spain  his  most  dangerous  enemy  ;  he  con- 
soled himself,  moreover,  with  the  reflection  that  it 
likewise  bore  off  his  fellow  Alcalde,  Zamudio,  and  thus 
left  him  in  sole  command  of  the  colony. 


CHAPTER    II. 


EXPEDITION  TO  COYBA— VASCO  NUREZ  RECEIVES 
THE  DAUGHTER  OF  A  CACIQUE  AS  HOSTAGE. 

Vasco  NuSfEZ  now  exerted  himself  to  prove  his 
capacity  for  the  government  to  which  he  had  aspired  ; 
and  as  he  knew  that  no  proof  was  more  conxincing 
to  King  Ferdinand  than  ample  remittances,  and  that 
gold  covered  all  sins  in  the  new  world,  his  first  ob- 
ject was  to  discover  those  parts  of  the  country  which 
most  abounded  in  the  precious  metals.  Hearing  ex- 
aggerated reports  of  the  riches  of  a  province  about 
thirty  leagues  distant,  called  Coyba,  he  sent  Francis- 
co Pizarro  with  six  men  to  explore  it. 

The  cacique  Zemaco,  the  native  lord  of  Darien, 
who  cherished  a  bitter  hostility  against  the  European 
intruders,  and  hovered  with  his  warriors  about  the 
settlement,  received  notice  of  this  detachment  from 
his  spies,  and  planted  himself  in  ambush  to  v\aylay 
and  destroy  it.  The  Spaniards  had  scarcely  pro- 
ceeded three  leagues  along  the  course  of  the  river 
when  a  host  of  savages  burst  upon  them  from  the 
surrounding  thickets,  uttering  frightful  yells,  and  dis- 
charging showers  of  stones  and  arrows.  Pizarro 
and  his  men,  though  sorely  bruised  and  wounded, 
rushed  into  the  thickest  of  the  foe,  slew  many, 
wounded  more,  and  put  the  rest  to  flight  ;  but,  fear- 
ing another  assault,  they  made  a  precipitate  retreat, 
leaving  one  of  their  companions,  Francisco  Hernan, 
disabled  on  the  field.  They  arrived  at  the  settlement 
crippled  and  bleeding  ;  but  when  Vasco  Nunez  heard 
the  particulars  of  the  action,  his  anger  was  roused 
against  Pizarro,  and  he  ordered  him,  though  wound- 
ed, to  return  immediately  and  recover  the  disabled 
man.  "  Let  it  not  be  said,  for  shame,"  said  he,  "that 
Spaniards  fled  before  savages,  and  left  a  comrade  in 
their  hands  !  "  Pizarro  felt  the  rebuke,  returned  to 
the  scene  of  combat  and  brought  off  Francisco  Her- 
nan in  safety. 

Nothing  having  been  heard  of  Nicuesa  since  his 
departure,  Vasco  Nunez  despatched  two  brigantines 
for  those  followers  of  that  unfortunate  adventurer 
who  had  remained  at  Nombre  de  Dios.  They  were 
overjoyed  at  being  rescued  from  their  forlorn  situa- 
tion, and  conveyed  to  a  settlement  where  there  was 
some  prospect  of  comfortable  subsistence.  The  brig- 
antines, in  coasting  the  shores  of  the  Isthmus,  picked 
up  two  Spaniards,  clad  in  painted  skins,  and  looking 
as  wild  as  the  native  Indians.  These  men,  to  escape 
some  punishment,  had  fled  from  the  ship  of  Nicuesa 
about  a  year  and  a  half  before,  and  had  taken  refuge 
with  Careta,  the  cacique  of  Coyba.  The  savage 
chieftain  had  treated  them  with  hospitable  kindness  ; 
their  first  return  for  which,  now  that  they  found 
themselves  safe  among  their  countrymen,  was  to  ad- 
vise the  latter  to  invade  the  cacique  in  his  dwelling, 
where  they  assured  them  they  would  find  immense 
booty.  Finding  their  suggestion  listened  to,  one  of 
them  proceeded  to  Darien,  to  serve  as  a  guide  to  any 
expedition  that  might  be  set  on  foot ;  the  other  re- 
turned to  the  cacique,  to  assist  in  betraying  him. 


762 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Vasco  Nunez  was  elated  by  the  intelligfence  re- 
ceived through  these  vagabonds  of  the  wilderness. 
He  chose  a  hundred  and  thirty  well  armed  and  reso- 
lute men,  and  set  off  for  Coyba,  the  dominions  of 
Careta.  The  cacique  received  the  Spaniards  in  his 
mansion  with  the  accustomed  hospitality  of  a  savage, 
setting  before  them  meat  and  drink,  and  whatever 
his  house  afforded  ;  but  when  Vasco  Nunez  asked 
for  a  large  supply  of  provisions  for  the  colony,  he  de- 
clared that  he  had  none  to  spare,  his  people  having 
been  prevented  from  cultivating  the  soil  by  a  war 
which  he  was  waging  with  the  neighbouring  cacique 
of  Ponca.  The  Spanish  traitor,  who  had  remained  to 
betray  his  benefactor,  now  took  Vasco  Nunez  aside, 
and  assured  him  that  the  cacique  had  an  abundant 
hoard  of  provisions  in  secret ;  he  advised  him,  how- 
ever, to  seem  to  believe  his  words,  and  to  make  a 
pretended  departure  for  Darien  with  his  troops,  but 
to  return  in  the  night  and  take  the  village  by  sur- 
prise. Vasco  Nunez  adopted  the  advice  of  the  traitor. 
He  took  a  cordial  leave  of  Careta,  and  set  off  for  the 
settlement.  In  the  dead  of  the  night,  however,  when 
the  savages  were  buried  in  deep  sleep,  Vasco  Nuiiez 
led  his  men  into  the  midst  of  tlie  village,  and,  before 
the  inhabitants  could  rouse  themselves  to  resistance, 
made  captives  of  Careta,  his  wives,  and  cliildren,  and 
many  of  his  people.  He  discovered  also  the  hoard 
of  provisions,  with  which  he  loaded  two  brigantines, 
and  returned  with  his  booty  and  his  captives  to 
Darien. 

When  the  unfortunate  cacique  beheld  his  family 
in  chains,  and  in  the  hands  of  strangers,  his  heart 
was  wrung  with  despair ;  "  What  have  I  done  to 
thee,"  said  he  to  Vasco  Nunez,  "  that  thou  shouldst 
treat  me  thus  cruelly?  None  of  thy  people  ever 
came  to  my  land  that  were  not  fed  and  sheltered 
and  treated  with  loving- kindness.  When  thou 
earnest  to  my  dwelling,  did  I  meet  thee  with  a  jave- 
lin in  my  hand  ?  Did  I  not  set  meat  and  drink  be- 
fore thee  and  welcome  thee  as  a  brother .''  Set  me 
free,  therefore,  with  my  family  and  people,  and  we 
will  remain  thy  friends.  We  will  supply  thee  with 
provisions,  and  reveal  to  thee  the  riches  of  the  land. 
Dost  thou  doubt  my  faith  ?  Behold  my  daughter,  I 
give  her  to  thee  as  a  pledge  of  friendship.  Take  her 
for  thy  wife,  and  be  assured  of  the  fidelity  of  her 
family  and  her  people  !  " 

Vasco  Nunez  felt  the  force  of  these  words  and 
knew  the  importance  of  forming  a  strong  alliance 
among  the  natives.  The  captive  maid,  also,  as  she 
stood  trembling  and  dejected  before  him,  found 
great  favour  in  his  eyes,  for  she  was  young  and 
beautiful.  He  granted,  therefore,  the  prayer  of  the 
cacique,  and  accepted  his  daughter,  engaging, 
moreover,  to  aid  the  father  against  his  enemies,  on 
condition  of  his  furnishing  provisions  to  the  colony. 

Careta  remained  three  days  at  Darien,  during 
which  time  he  was  treated  with  the  utmost  kind- 
ness. Vasco  Nufiez  took  him  on  board  of  his  ships 
and  showed  him  every  part  of  them.  He  displayed 
before  him  also  the  war-horses,  with  their  armour 
and  rich  caparisons,  and  astonished  him  with  the 
thunder  of  artillery.  Lest  he  should  be  too  much 
daunted  by  these  warlike  spectacles,  he  caused  the 
musicians  to  perform  a  harmonious  concert  on  their 
instruments,  at  which  the  cacique  was  lost  in  admira- 
tion. Thus  having  impressed  him  with  a  wonderful 
idea  of  the  power  and  endowments  of  his  hew  al- 
lies, he  loaded  him  with  presents  and  permitted  him 
to  depart.* 

Careta  returned  joyfully  to  his  territories,  and  his 
daughter  remained  with  Vasco  Nufiez,  willingly,  for 
his  sake,  giving  up   her   family  and   native   home. 


*  P.  Martyr,  D.  3.  c.  vi. 


They  were  never  married,  but  she  considered  her- 
self his  wife,  as  she  really  was,  according  to  the 
usages  of  her  own  country,  and  he  treated  her  with 
fondness,  allowing  her  gradually  to  acquire  great  in- 
fluence over  him.  To  his  affection  for  this  damsel 
his  ultimate  ruin  is  in  some  measure  to  be  ascribed. 


CHAPTER   HI. 


VASCO   nuSez  hears  of  a  sea  beyond  the 

MOUNTAINS. 

Vasco  Nu55ez  kept  his  word  with  the  father  of 
his  Indian  beauty.  Taking  with  him  eighty  men 
and  his  companion-in-arms,  Rodrigo  f^nriquez  de 
Colmenares,  he  repaired  by  sea  to  Co)ba,  the  prov- 
ince of  the  cacique.  Here  landing,  lie  invaded  tht 
territories  of  Ponca,  the  great  adversary  of  Careta. 
and  obliged  him  to  take  refuge  in  the  mountains. 
He  then  ravaged  his  lands  and  sacked  his  villages, 
in  which  he  found  considerable  booty.  Returning 
to  Coyba,  where  he  was  joyfully  entertained  by 
Careta,  he  next  made  a  friendly  visit  to  the  adjacent 
province  of  Comagre,  which  was  under  the  sway  of 
a  cacique  of  the  same  name,  who  had  3,000  fighting 
men  at  his  command. 

This  province  was  situated  at  the  foot  of  a  lofty 
mountain  in  a  beautiful  plain  twelve  leagues  in  ex- 
tent. On  the  approach  of  V^asco  Nunez,  the  cacique 
came  forth  to  meet  him  attended  by  seven  sons,  all 
fine  young  men,  the  offspring  of  his  various  wives. 
He  was  followed  by  his  principal  chiefs  and  war- 
riors, and  by  a  multitude  of  his  people.  The  Span- 
iards were  conducted  with  great  ceremony  to  the 
village,  where  quarters  were  assigned  them,  and 
they  were  furnished  with  abundance  of  provisions, 
and  men  and  women  were  appointed  to  attend  upon 
them. 

The  dwelling  of  the  cacique  surpassed  any  they 
had  yet  seen  for  magnitude  and  for  the  skill  and  so- 
lidity of  the  architecture.  It  was  one  hundred  and 
fifty  paces  in  length  and  eighty  in  breadth,  founded 
upon  great  logs  surrounded  with  a  stone  wall ;  while 
the  upper  part  was  of  wood-v.'ork,  curiously  inter- 
woven and  wrought  with  such  beauty,  as  to  fill  the 
Spaniards  with  surprise  and  admiration.  It  con- 
tained many  commodious  apartments.  There  were 
store-rooms  also ;  one  filled  with  bread,  with  veni- 
son, and  other  provisions ;  another  with  various 
spirituous  beverages,  which  the  Indians  made  from 
maize,  from  a  species  of  the  palm,  and  from  roots 
of  different  kinds.  There  was  also  a  great  hall  in  a 
retired  and  secret  part  of  the  building,  wherein 
Comagre  preserved  the  bodies  of  his  ancestors  and 
relatives.  These  had  been  dried  by  the  fire,  so  as 
to  free  them  from  corruption,  and  afterwards 
wrapped  in  mantles  of  cotton,  richly  wrought  and 
interwoven  with  pearls  and  jewels  of  gold,  and  with 
certain  stones  held  precious  by  the  natives.  They 
were  then  hung  about  the  hall  with  cords  of  cotton, 
and  regarded  with  great  reverence,  if  not  a  species 
of  religious  devotion. 

Among  the  sons  of  the  cacique,  the  eldest  was  of 
a  lofty  and  generous  spirit,  and  distinguished  above 
the  rest  by  his  superior  intelligence  and  sagacity. 
Perceiving,  says  oki  Peter  Martyr,  that  the  Span- 
iards were  a  "  wandering  kind  of  men,  living  only 
by  shifts  and  spoil,"  he  sought  to  gain  favour  for 
himself  and  family  by  gratifying  their  avarice.  He 
gave  Vasco  Nunez  and  Colmenares,  therefore,  4,000 
ounces  of  gold,  wrought  into  various  ornaments,  to- 
gether with  sixty  slaves,  being  captives  that  he  had 
taken  in  the  wars.     Vasco  Nuiiez  ordered  one-fifth 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


763 


of  the  gold  to  be  weighed  out  and  set  apart  for  the 
crown,  and  the  rest  to  be  shared  among  his  fol- 
lowers. 

The  division  of  the  gold  took  place  in  the  porch 
of  the  dwelling  of  Comagre,  in  the  presence  of  the 
youthful  cacique  who  had  made  the  gift.  As  the 
Spaniards  were  weighing  it  out,  a  violent  quarrel 
arose  among  them  as  to  the  size  and  value  of  the 
pieces  which  fell  to  their  respective  shares.  The 
high-minded  savage  was  disgusted  at  this  sordid 
brawl  among  beings  whom  he  had  regarded  with 
such  reverence.  In  the  first  impulse  of  his  disdain, 
he  struck  the  scales  with  his  fist  and  scattered  the 
glittering  gold  about  the  porch.  Before  the  Span- 
iards could  recover  from  their  astonishment  at  this 
sudden  act,  he  thus  addressed  them,  "  Why  should 
you  quarrel  for  such  a  trifle  ?  If  this  gold  is  indeed 
so  precious  in  your  eyes  that  for  it  alone  you  aban- 
don your  homes,  invade  the  peaceful  land  of  others, 
and  expose  yourselves  to  such  sufferings  and  perils, 
I  will  tell  you  of  a  region  where  you  may  gratify 
your  wishes  to  the  utmost.  Behold  those  lofty 
mountains,"  continued  he,  pointing  to  the  south. 
"  Beyond  these  lies  a  mighty  sea,  which  may  be  dis- 
cerned from  their  summit.  It  is  navigated  by  peo- 
ple who  have  vessels  almost  as  large  as  yours,  and 
furnished,  like  them,  with  sails  and  oars.  All  the 
streams  which  flow  down  the  southern  side  of  those 
mountains  into  that  sea  abound  in  gold,  and  the 
kings  who  reign  upon  its  borders  eat  and  drink  out 
of  golden  vessels.  Gold,  in  fact,  is  as  plentiful  and 
common  among  those  people  of  the  south  as  iron  is 
among  )ou  Spaniards." 

Struck  with  this  intelligence,  Vasco  Nuflez  in- 
quired eagerly  as  to  the  means  of  penetrating  to  this 
sea  and  to  the  opulent  regions  on  its  shores.  "  The 
task,"  replied  the  prince,  "is  difficult  and  danger- 
ous. You  must  pass  through  the  territories  of  many 
povverful  caciques,  who  will  oppose  you  with  hosts 
of  warriors.  Some  parts  of  the  mountains  are  in- 
fested by  fierce  and  cruel  cannibals — a  wandering, 
lawless  race  ;  but,  above  all,  you  will  have  to  en- 
counter the  great  cacique,  Tubanama,  whose  terri- 
tories are  at  the  distance  of  six  days'  journey,  and 
more  rich  in  gold  than  any  other  province  ;  this  ca- 
cique will  be  sure  to  come  forth  against  you  with  a 
mighty  force.  To  accomplish  your  enterprise,  there- 
fore, will  require  at  least  a  thousand  men  armed  like 
those  who  follow  you." 

The  youthful  cacique  gave  him  further  information 
on  the  subject,  collected  from  various  captives  whom 
he  had  taken  in  battle,  and  from  one  of  his  own  na- 
tion, who  had  been  for  a  long  time  in  captivity  to 
Tubanama,  the  powerful  cacique  of  the  golden  realm. 
The  prince,  moreover,  offered  to  prove  the  sincerity 
of  his  words  by  accompanying  Vasco  Nuiiez  in  any 
expedition  to  those  parts  at  the  head  of  his  father's 
warriors. 

Such  was  the  first  intimation  received  by  Vasco 
Nunez  of  the  Pacific  Ocean  and  its  golden  realms, 
and  it  had  an  immediate  effect  upon  his  whole  char- 
acter and  conduct.  This  hitherto  wandering  and 
desperate  man  had  now  an  enterprise  opened  to  his 
ambition,  which,  if  accomplished,  would  elevate  him 
to  fame  and  fortune,  and  entitle  him  to  rank  among 
the  great  captains  and  discoverers  of  the  earth.  Hence- 
forth the  discovery  of  the  sea  beyond  the  mountains 
was  the  great  object  of  his  thoughts,  and  his  whole 
spirit  seemed  roused  and  ennobled  by  the  idea. 

He  hastened  his  return  to  Darien,  to  make  the 
necessary  preparations  for  this  splendid  enterprise. 
Before  departing  from  the  province  of  Comagre  he 
baptized  that  cacique  by  the  name  of  Don  Carlos, 
and  performed  the  same  ceremony  upon  his  sons  and 
several  of  his  subjects  ; — thus  singularly  did  avarice 


and  religion  go  hand  in  hand  in  the  conduct  of  the 
Spanish  discoverers. 

Scarcely  had  Vasco  Nuiiez  returned  to  Darien 
when  the  Regidor  Valdivia  arrived  there  from  His- 
paniola,  but  with  no  more  provisions  than  could  be 
brought  in  his  small  caravel.  These  were  soon  con- 
sumed, and  the  general  scarcity  continued.  It  was 
heightened  also  by  a  violent  tempest  of  thunder,  light- 
ning, and  rain,  which  brought  such  torrents  from  the 
mountains  that  the  river  swelled  and  overflowed  its 
banks,  laying  waste  all  the  adjacent  fields  that  had 
been  cultivated.  In  this  extremity  Vasco  Nuiiez  de- 
spatched Valdivia  a  second  time  to  Hispaniola  for 
provisions.  Animated  also  by  the  loftier  views  of  his 
present  ambition,  he  wrote  to  Don  Diego  Columbus, 
who  governed  at  San  Domingo,  informing  him  of  the 
intelligence  he  had  received  of  a  great  sea  and  opu- 
lent realms  beyond  the  mountains,  and  entreating 
him  to  use  his  influence  with  tlie  king  that  one 
thousand  men  might  be  immediately  furnished  him 
for  the  prosecution  of  so  grand  a  discovery.  He  sent 
him  also  the  amount  of  fifteen  thousand  crowns  in 
gold,  to  be  remitted  to  the  king  as  the  royal  fifths  of 
what  had  already  been  collected  under  his  jurisdic- 
tion. Many  of  his  followers,  also,  forwarded  sums 
of  gold  to  be  remitted  to  their  creditors  in  Spain.  In 
the  mean  time,  Vasco  Nuiiez  prayed  the  admiral  to 
yied  him  prompt  succour  to  enable  him  to  keep  his 
footing  in  the  land,  representing  the  difficulty  he  had 
in  maintaining,  with  a  mere  handful  of  men,  so  vast 
a  country  in  a  state  of  subjection. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


EXPEDITION  OF  VASCO  NUNEZ  IN  QUEST  OF  THE 
GOLDEN  TEMPLE  OF   DOBAYB.^.— (l  512.) 

While  Vasco  Nunez  awaited  the  result  of  this 
mission  of  Valdivia,  his  active  disposition  prompted 
him  to  undertake  foraging  excursions  into  the  sur- 
rounding country. 

Among  various  rumours  of  golden  realms  in  the 
interior  of  this  unknown  land,  was  one  concerning  a 
province  called  Dobayba,  situated  about  forty  leagues 
distant,  on  the  banks  of  a  great  river  which  emptied 
itself,  by  several  mouths,  into  a  corner  of  the  Gulf 
of  Uraba. 

This  province  derived  its  name,  according  to  In- 
dian tradition,  from  a  mighty  female  of  the  olden 
time,  the  mother  of  the  god  who  created  the  sun  and 
moon  and  all  good  things.  She  had  power  over  the 
elements,  sending  thunder  and  lightning  to  lay  waste 
the  lands  of  those  who  displeased  her,  but  showering 
down  fertility  and  abundance  upon  the  lands  of  her 
faithful  worshippers.  Others  described  her  as  hav- 
ing been  an  Indian  princess  who  once  reigned 
amongst  the  mountains  of  Dobayba,  and  was  re- 
nowned throughout  the  land  for  her  supernatural 
power  and  wisdom.  After  her  death,  divine  hon- 
purs  were  paid  her,  and  a  great  temple  was  erected 
for  her  worship.  Hither  the  natives  repaired  from 
far  and  near,  on  a  kind  of  pilgrimage,  bearing  offer- 
ings of  their  most  valuable  effects.  The  caciques 
who  ruled  over  distant  territories,  also  sent  golden 
tributes,  at  certain  times  of  the  year,  to  be  deposited 
in  this  temple,  and  slaves  to  be  sacrificed  at  its 
shrine.  At  one  time,  it  was  added,  this  worship  fell 
into  disuse,  the  pilgrimages  were  discontinued,  and 
the  caciques  neglected  to  send  their  tributes  ;  where- 
upon the  deity,  as  a  punishment,  inflicted  a  drought 
upon  the  country.  The  springs  and  fountains  failed, 
the  rivers  were  dried  up  ;  the  inhabitants  of  the 
mountains  were  obliged  to  descend  into  the  plains, 


764 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


where  they  digged  pits  and  wells,  but  these  likewise 
failing,  a  great  part  of  the  nations  perished  with 
thirst.  The  remainder  hastened  to  propitiate  the 
deity  by  tributes  and  sacrifices,  and  thus  succeeded 
in  averting  her  displeasure.  In  consequence  of  offer- 
ings of  the  kind,  made  for  generations  from  all  parts 
of  the  country,  the  temple  was  said  to  be  filled  with 
treasure,  and  its  walls  to  be  covered  with  golden 
gifts.*  In  addition  to  the  tale  of  this  temple,  the 
Indians  gave  marvellous  accounts  of  tlie  general 
wealth  of  this  province,  declaring  that  it  abounded 
with  mines  of  gold,  the  veins  of  which  reached  from 
the  dwelling  of  the  cacique  to  the  borders  of  his 
dominions. 

To  penetrate  to  this  territory,  and  above  all  to  se- 
cure the  treasures  of  the  golden  temple,  was  an  enter- 
prise suited  to  the  adventurous  spirit  of  the  Spaniards. 
Vasco  Nunez  chose  one  hundred  and  seventy  of  his 
hardiest  men  for  the  purpose.  Embarking  them  in 
two  brigantines  and  a  number  of  canoes,  he  set  sail 
from  Darien,  and,  after  standing  about  nine  leagues 
to  the  east,  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  Rio  Grande  de 
San  Juan,  or  the  Great  River  of  St.  John,  also  called 
the  Atrato,  which  is  since  ascertained  to  be  one  of 
the  branches  of  the  river  Darien.  Here  he  detached 
Rodrigo  Enriquez  de  Colmenares  with  one-third  of 
his  forces  to  explore  the  stream,  while  he  himself 
proceeded  with  the  residue  to  another  branch  of  the 
river,  which  he  was  told  flowed  from  the  province  of 
Dobayba,  and  which  he  ascended,  flushed  with  san- 
guine expectations  t 

His  old  enemy  Zemaco,  the  cacique  of  Uarien, 
however,  had  discovered  the  object  of  his  expedition, 
and  had  taken  measures  to  disappoint  it :  repairing 
to  the  province  of  Dobayba,  he  had  prevailed  upon 
its  cacique  to  retire  at  the  approach  of  the  Spaniards, 
leaving  his  country  deserted. 

Vasco  Nunez  found  a  village  situated  in  a  marshy 
neighbourhood,  on  the  banks  of  the  river,  and  mis- 
took it  for  the  residence  of  the  cacique :  it  was  silent 
and  abandoned.  There  was  not  an  Indian  to  be 
met  with  from  whom  he  could  obtain  any  informa- 
tion about  the  country,  or  who  could  guide  him  to 
the  golden  temple.  He  was  disappointed,  also,  in 
his  hopes  of  obtaining  a  supply  of  provisions,  but  he 
found  weapons  of  various  kinds  hanging  in  the  de- 
serted houses,  and  gathered  jewels  and  pieces  of  gold 
to  the  value  of  seven  thousand  castellanos.  Dis- 
couraged by  the  savage  look  of  the  surrounding  wil- 
derness, which  was  perplexed  by  deep  morasses,  and 
having  no  guides  to  aid  him  in  exploring  it,  he  put 
all  the  booty  he  had  collected  into  two  large  canoes, 
and  made  his  way  back  to  the  Gulf  of  Uraba.  Here 
he  was  assailed  by  a  violent  tempest,  which  nearly 
wrecked  his  two  brigantines,  and  obliged  him  to 
throw  a  great  part  of  their  cargoes  overboard.  The 
two  canoes  containing  the  booty  were  swallowed  up 
by  the  raging  sea,  and  all  their  crews  perished. 

Thus  bafiied  and  tempest-tost,  Vasco  Nunez  at 
length  succeeded  in  getting  into  what  was  termed 
the  Grand  River,  which  he  ascended,  and  rejoined 
Colmenares  and  his  detachment.  They  now  extend- 
ed their  excursions  up  a  stream  which  emptied  into 


•  P.  Martyr,  decad.  3.  c.  vi.     Idem.  d.  7.  c.  x. 

+  In  recording  this  expedition,  the  author  has  followed  the  old 
Spanish  narratives,  written  when  the  face  of  the  country  was  but 
little  known,  and  he  was  much  perplexed  to  reconcile  the  accounts 
given  of  numerous  streams  with  the  rivers  laid  down  on  modern 
maps.  By  a  clear  and  judicious  explanation,  given  in  the  recent 
work  of  Don  Manuel  Josef  Quintana,  it  appears  that  the  different 
streams  explored  by  Vasco  Nni'iez  and  Colmenares  were  all  branches 
of  one  grand  river,  which,  descending  from  the  mountains  of  the 
interior,  winds  about  in  crystal  streams  among  the  plains  and  mo- 
rasses bordering  the  bottom  of  the  great  gulf  of  Darien.  and  dis- 
charges itself  by  various  mouths  into  the  gulf.  In  fact,  the  stream 
whicn  ran  by  the  infant  city  of  Santa  Maria  de  la  Antigua  was  but 
one  of  its  branches,  a  fact  entirely  unknown  to  Vasco  Nufiez  and 
his  companions. 


the  Grand  River,  and  which,  from  the  dark  hue  of 
its  waters,  they  called  Rio  Negro,  or  the  Black 
River.  They  also  explored  certain  other  tributary 
streams  branching  from  it,  though  not  without  occa- 
sional skirmishes  with  the  natives. 

Ascending  one  of  these  minor  rivers  with  a  part 
of  his  men,  Vasco  Nufiez  came  to  the  territories  of  a 
cacique  named  Abibeyba,  who  reigned  over  a  region 
of  marshes  and  shallow  lakes.  The  habitations  of 
the  natives  were  built  amidst  the  branches  of  im- 
mense and  lofty  trees.  They  were  large  enough  to 
contain  whole  family  connexions,  and  were  con- 
structed partly  of  wood,  partly  of  a  kind  of  wicker 
work,  combining  strength  and  pliability,  and  yielding 
uninjured  to  the  motion  of  the  branches  when  agi- 
tated by  the  wind.  The  inhabitants  ascended  to 
them  with  great  agility  by  light  ladders,  formed  of 
great  reeds  split  through  the  middle,  for  the  reeds 
on  this  coast  grow  to  the  thickness  of  a  man's  body. 
These  ladders  they  drew  up  after  them  at  night,  or 
in  case  of  attack.  These  habitations  were  well 
stocked  with  provisions  ;  but  the  fermented  bever- 
ages, of  which  these  people  had  always  a  supply, 
were  buried  in  vessels  in  the  earth  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree,  lest  they  should  be  rendered  turbid  by  the  rock- 
ing of  the  houses.  Close  by,  also,  were  the  canoes 
with  which  they  navigated  the  rivers  and  ponds  of 
their  marshy  country  and  followed  their  main  occu- 
pation of  fishing. 

On  the  approach  of  the  Spaniards,  the  Indians 
took  refuge  in  their  tree-built  castles  and  drew  up 
the  ladders.  The  former  called  upon  them  to  de- 
scend and  to  fear  nothing.  Upon  this  the  cacique 
replied,  entreating  that  he  might  not  be  molested, 
seeing  he  had  done  them  no  injury.  They  threat- 
ened, unless  he  came  down,  to  fell  the  trees  or  to  set 
fire  to  them  and  burn  him  and  his  wives  and  chil- 
dren. The  cacique  was  disposed  to  consent,  but 
was  prevented  by  the  entreaties  of  his  people.  Upon 
this  the  Spaniards  prepared  to  hew  down  the  trees, 
but  were  assailed  by  showers  of  stones.  They  cov- 
ered themselves,  however,  with  their  bucklers,  as- 
sailed the  trees  vigorously  with  their  hatchets,  and 
soon  compelled  the  inhabitants  to  capitulate.  The 
cacique  descended  with  his  wife  and  two  of  his  chil- 
dren. The  first  demand  of  the  Spaniards  was  for 
gold.  He  assured  them  he  had  none  ;  for,  having  no 
need  of  it,  he  had  never  made  it  an  object  of  his 
search.  Being  importuned,  however,  he  assured 
them  that  if  he  were  permitted  to  repair  to  certain 
mountains  at  a  distance,  he  would  in  a  few  days 
return  and  bring  them  what  they  desired.  They 
permitted  him  to  depart,  retaining  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren as  hostages,  but  they  saw  no  more  of  the  ca- 
cique. After  remaining  here  a  few  days  and  regal- 
ing on  the  provisions  which  they  found  in  abun- 
dance, they  continued  their  foraging  expeditions, 
often  opposed  by  the  bold  and  warlike  natives,  and 
suffering  occasional  loss,  but  inflicting  great  havoc 
on  their  opposers. 

Having  thus  overrun  a  considerable  extent  of 
country,  and  no  grand  object  presenting  to  lure  him 
on  to  further  enterprise,  Vasco  Nunez  at  length  re- 
turned to  Darien  with  the  spoils  and  captives  he  had 
taken,  leaving  Bartolome  Hurtado  with  thirty  men 
in  an  Indian  village  on  the  Rio  Negro,  or  Black 
River,  to  hold  the  country  in  subjection.  Thus  ter- 
minated the  first  expedition  in  quest  of  the  golden 
temple  Dobayba,  which  for  some  time  continued  to 
be  a  favourite  object  of  enterprise  among  the  adven- 
turers of  Darien. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


765 


CHAPTER  V. 

DISASTER  ON   THE  BLACK   RIVER — INDIAN    PLOT 
AGAINST  DARIEN. 

BartolDME  Hurtado  being  left  to  his  own  dis- 
cretion on  the  banks  of  the  Black  River,  occupied 
himself  occasionally  in  hunting  the  scattered  natives 
who  straggled  about  the  surrounding  forests.  Hav- 
ing in  this  way  picked  up  twenty-four  captives,  he 
put  them  on  board  of  a  large  canoe,  like  so  much 
live  stock,  to  be  transported  to  Darien  and  sold  as 
slaves.  Twenty  of  his  followers  who  were  infirm, 
either  from  wounds  or  the  diseases  of  the  climate, 
embarked  also  in  the  canoe,  so  that  only  ten  men 
remained  with  Hurtado. 

The  great  canoe,  thus  heavily  freighted,  descended 
the  Black  River  slowly,  between  banks  overhung 
with  forests.  Zemaco,  the  indefatigable  cacique  of 
Darien,  was  on  the  watch,  and  waylaid  tlie  ark  with 
fcur  canoes  filled  with  warriors  armed  with  war 
clubs,  and  lances  hardened  in  the  fire.  The  Span- 
iards being  sick,  could  make  but  feeble  resistance ; 
some  were  massacred,  others  leaped  into  the  river 
and  were  drowned.  Two  only  escaped,  by  clinging 
to  two  trunks  of  trees  that  were  floating  down  the 
river  and  covering  themselves  with  the  branches. 
Reaching  the  shore  in  safety,  they  returned  to  Bar- 
tolome  Hurtado  with  the  tragical  tidings  of  the  death 
of  his  followers.  Hurtado  was  so  disheartened  by 
the  news,  and  so  dismayed  at  his  own  helpless  situ- 
ation, in  the  midst  of  a  hostile  country,  that  he  re- 
solved to  abandon  the  fatal  shores  of  the  Black  River 
and  return  to  Darien.  He  was  quickened  in  this 
resolution  by  receiving  intimation  of  a  conspiracy 
forming  among  the  natives.  The  implacable  Zemaco 
had  drawn  four  other  caciques  into  a  secret  plan  to 
assemble  their  vassals  and  make  a  sudden  attack 
upon  Darien.  Hurtado  hastened  with  the  remnant 
of  his  followers  to  carry  tidings  to  the  settlement  of 
this  conspiracy.  Many  of  the  inhabitants  were 
alarmed  at  his  intelligence;  others  treated  it  as  a 
false  rumour  of  the  Indians,  and  no  preparations 
were  made  against  what  might  be  a  mere  imaginary 
danger. 

Fortunately  for  the  Spaniards,  among  the  female 
captives  owned  by  Vasco  Nunez  was  an  Indian  dam- 
sel named  Fulvia,  to  whom,  in  consequence  of  her 
beauty,  he  had  shown  great  favour,  and  who  had 
become  strongly  attached  to  him.  She  had  a  brother 
among  the  warriors  of  Zemaco,  who  often  visited  her 
in  secret.  In  one  of  his  visits  he  informed  her  that 
on  a  certain  night  the  settlement  would  be  attacked 
and  every  Spaniard  destroyed.  He  charged  her, 
therefore,  to  hide  herself  that  night  in  a  certain  place 
until  he  should  come  to  her  aid,  lest  she  should  be 
slain  in  the  confusion  of  the  massacre. 

When  her  brother  was  gone  a  violent  struggle 
took  place  in  the  bosom  of  the  Indian  girl,  between 
her  feeling  for  her  family  and  her  people  and  her  af- 
fection for  Vasco  Nunez.  The  latter  at  length  pre- 
vailed, and  she  revealed  all  that  had  been  told  to 
her.  Vasco  Nunez  prevailed  upon  her  to  send  for 
her  brother  under  pretence  of  aiding  her  to  escape. 
Having  him  in  his  power,  he  extorted  from  him  all 
that  he  knew  of  the  designs  of  the  enemy.  His  con- 
fessions showed  what  imminent  danger  had  been 
lurking  round  Vasco  Nunez  in  his  most  unsuspecting 
moments.  The  prisoner  informed  him  that  he  had 
been  one  of  forty  Indians  sent  some  time  before  by 
the  cacique  Zemaco  to  Vasco  Nunez,  in  seeming 
friendship,  to  be  employed  by  him  in  cultivating  the 
fields  adjacent  to  the  settlement.  They  had  secret 
orders,  however,  to  take  an  opportunity  when  Vasco 
Nuflez  should  come  forth  to  inspect  their  work,  to  set 


upon  him  in  an  unguarded  m.om.ent  and  destroy  him. 
Fortunately,  Vasco  Nunez  always  visited  the  fields 
mounted  on  his  war  horse  and  armed  with  lance  and 
target.  The  Indians  were  therefore  so  awed  by  his 
martial  appearance,  and  by  the  terrible  animal  he 
bestrode,  that  they  dared  not  attack  him. 

Foiled  in  this  and  other  attempts  of  the  kind,  Ze- 
maco resorted  to  the  conspiracy  with  the  neigh- 
bouringfc  caciques  with  which  the  settlement  was 
menaced. 

Five  caciques  had  joined  in  the  confederacy ;  they 
had  prepared  a  hundred  canoes,  had  amassed  pro- 
visions for  an  army,  and  had  concerted  to  assemble 
five  thousand  picked  warriors  at  a  certain  time  and 
place ;  with  these  they  were  to  make  an  attack  on 
the  settlement  by  land  and  water  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  and  to  slaughter  every  Spaniard. 

Having  learnt  where  the  confederate  chiefs  were 
to  be  found,  and  where  they  had  deposited  their  pro- 
visions, Vasco  Nunez  chose  seventy  of  his  best  men, 
well-armed,  and  made  a  circuit  by  land,  while  Col- 
menares,  with  sixty  men,  sallied  forth  secretly  in 
four  canoes  guided  by  the  Indian  prisoner.  In  this 
way  they  surprised  the  general  of  the  Indian  army 
and  several  of  the  principal  confederates,  and  got 
possession  of  all  their  provisions,  though  (hey  failed 
to  capture  the  formidable  Zemaco.  The  Indian  gen- 
eral was  shot  to  death  with  arrows,  and  the  leaders 
of  the  conspiracy  were  hanged  in  presence  of  their 
captive  followers.  The  defeat  of  this  deep-laid  plan 
and  the  punishment  of  its  devisers,  spread  terror 
throughout  the  neighbouring  provinces  and  pre- 
vented any  further  attempt  at  hostilities.  Vasco 
Nunez,  however,  caused  a  strong  fortress  of  wood 
to  be  immediately  erected  to  guard  against  any  fu- 
ture assaults  of  the  savages. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


FURTHER  FACTIONS  IN  THE  COLONY  —  ARRO- 
GANCE OF  ALONZO  PEREZ  AND  THE  BACHELOR 
CORRAL.  — (I  512). 

A  CONSIDERABLE  time  had  now  elapsed  since  the 
departure  of  Valdivia  for  Hispaniola,  yet  no  tidings 
had  been  received  from  him.  Many  began  to  fear 
that  some  disaster  had  befallen  nim  ;  while  others 
insinuated  that  it  was  possible  both  he  and  Zamudio 
might  have  neglected  the  objects  of  their  mission, 
and,  having  appropriated  to  their  own  use  the  gold 
with  which  they  had  been  entrusted,  might  have 
abandoned  the  colony  to  its  fate. 

Vasco  Nunez  himself  was  harassed  by  these  sur- 
mises, and  by  the  dread  lest  the  Bachelor  Enciso 
should  succeed  in  prejudicing  the  mind  of  his  sover- 
eign against  him.  Impatient  of  this  state  of  anx- 
ious suspense,  he  determined  to  repair  to  Spain  to 
communicate  in  person  all  that  he  had  heard  con- 
cerning the  Southern  Sea,  and  to  ask  for  the  troops 
necessary  for  its  discovery. 

Every  one,  however,  both  friend  and  foe,  exclaimed 
against  such  a  measure,  representing  his  presence  as 
indispensable  to  the  safety  of  the  colony,  from  his 
great  talents  as  a  commander  and  the  fear  enter- 
tained of  him  by  the  Indians. 

After  much  debate  and  contention,  it  was  at 
length  agreed  that  Juan  de  Cayzedo  and  Rodrigo 
Enriquez  de  Colmenares  should  go  in  his  place,  in- 
structed to  make  all  necessary  representations  to  the 
king.  Letters  were  written  also  containing  the  most 
extravagant  accounts  of  the  riches  of  the  country, 
partly  dictated  by  the  sanguine  hopes  of  the  writers, 
and  partly  by  the  fables  of  the  natives.     The  ru- 


786 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


moured  wealth  of  the  province  of  Dobayba  and  tlie 
treasures  of  its  golden  temple  were  not  forgotten  ; 
and  an  Indian  was  taken  to  Spain  by  the  commis- 
sioners, a  native  of  the  province  of  Zenu,  where 
gold  was  said  to  be  gathered  in  nets  stretched 
across  the  mountain  streams.  To  give  more  weight 
to  all  these  stories,  every  one  contributed  some  por- 
tion of  gold  from  his  private  hoard  to  be  presented 
to  the  king  in  addition  to  the  amount  arisjug  from 
his  fifths. 

But  little  time  elapsed  after  the  departure  of  the 
commissioners  when  new  dissensions  broke  out  in 
the  colony.  It  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  a  for- 
tuitous assemblage  of  adventurers  could  remain  long 
tranquil  during  a  time  of  suffering  under  rulers  of 
questional)le  authority.  Vasco  Nunez,  it  is  true,  had 
risen  by  his  courage  and  abilities ;  but  he  had  risen 
from  among  their  ranks ;  he  was,  in  a  manner,  of 
their  own  creation  ;  and  they  had  not  become  suffi- 
ciently accustomed  to  him  as  a  governor  to  forget 
that  he  was  recently  but  a  mere  soldier  of  fortune 
and  an  absconding  debtor. 

Their  factious  discontent,  however,  was  directed 
at  first  against  a  favourite  of  Vasco  Nunez,  rather 
than  against  himself.  He  had  invested  Bartolome 
Hurtado,  the  commander  of  the  Black  River,  with 
considerable  authority  in  the  colony,  and  the  latter 
gave  great  offence  by  his  oppressive  conduct.  Hur- 
tado had  particularly  aggrieved  by  his  arrogance  one 
Alonzo  Perez  de  la  Rua,  a  touchy  cavalier,  jealous 
of  his  honour,  who  seems  to  have  peculiarly  pos- 
sessed the  sensitive  punctilio  of  a  Spaniard.  Firing 
at  some  indignity,  whetlier  real  or  fancied,  Alonzo 
Perez  threw  himself  into  the  ranks  of  the  dis- 
affected, and  was  immediately  chosen  as  their 
leader.  Thus  backed  by  a  faction,  he  clamoured 
loudly  for  the  punishment  of  Hurtado  ;  and,  finding 
his  demands  unattended  to,  threw  out  threats  of  de- 
posing Vasco  Nunez.  The  latter  no  sooner  heard 
of  these  menaces,  than  with  his  usual  spirit  and 
promptness,  he  seized  upon  the  testy  Alonzo  Perez 
and  threw  him  in  prison  to  digest  his  indignities  and 
cool  his  passions  at  leisure. 

'  The  conspirators  flew  to  arms  to  liberate  their 
leader.  The  friends  of  Vasco  Nunez  were  equally 
on  the  alert.  The  two  parties  drew  out  in  battle  ar- 
ray m  the  public  square,  and  a  sanguinary  conflict 
was  on  the  point  of  taking  place.  Fortunately  there 
were  some  cool  heads  left  in  the  colony.  These 
interfered  at  the  critical  moment,  representing  to  the 
angry  adversaries  that  if  they  fought  among  them- 
selves, and  diminished  their  already  scanty  numbers, 
even  the  conquerors  must  eventually  fall  a  prey  to 
the  Indians. 

Their  remonstrances  had  effect.  A  parley  ensued, 
and,  after  much  noisy  debate,  a  kind  of  compromise 
was  made.  Alonzo  Perez  was  liberated,  and  the 
mutineers  dispersed  quietly  to  their  homes.  The 
next  day,  however,  they  were  again  in  arms,  and 
seized  upon  Bartolome  Hurtado ;  but  after  a  little 
while  were  prevailed  upon  to  set  him  free  Their 
factious  views  seemed  turned  to  a  higher  object. 
They  broke  forth  into  loud  murmurs  against  Vasco 
Nunez,  complaining  that  he  had  not  made  a  fair  di- 
vision of  the  gold  and  slaves  taken  in  the  late  expe- 
ditions, and  threatening  to  arrest  him  and  bring  him 
to  account.  Above  all,  they  clamoured  for  an  im- 
mediate distribution  of  ten  thousand  castellanos  in 
gold,  which  yet  remained  unshared. 

Vasco  Nunez  understood  too  well  the  riotous  nat- 
ure of  the  people  under  him,  and  his  own  precarious 
hold  on  their  obedience,  to  attempt  to  cope  with 
them  in  this  moment  of  turbulence.  He  shrewdly 
determined,  therefore,  to  withdraw  from  the  sight  of 
the  multitude,  and  to  leave  them  to  divide  the  spoil 


among  themselves,  trusting  to  their  own  strife  for 
his  security.  That  very  night  he  sallied  forth  into 
the  country,  under  pretence  of  going  on  a  hunting 
expedition. 

The  next  morning  the  mutineers  found  themselves 
in  possession  of  the  field.  Alonzo  Perez,  the  prag- 
matical ringleader,  immediately  assumed  the  com- 
mand, seconded  by  the  Bachelor  Corral.  Their  first 
measure  was  to  seize  upon  the  ten  thousand  castel- 
lanos, and  to  divide  them  among  the  multitude,  by 
way  of  securing  their  own  popularity.  The  event 
Droved  the  sagacity  and  forethought  of  Vasco  Nufiez. 
Scarcely  had  these  hot-headed  intermeddlers  entered 
upon  the  partition  of  the  gold,  than  a  furious  strife 
arose.  Every  one  was  dissatisfied  with  his  share, 
considering  his  merits  entitled  to  peculiar  recom- 
pense. Every  attempt  to  appease  the  rabble  only 
augmented  their  violence,  and  in  their  rage  they 
swore  that  Vasco  Nunez  had  always  shown  more 
judgment  and  discrimination  in  his  distributions  to 
men  of  merit. 

The  adherents  of  the  latter  now  ventured  to  lift 
up  their  voices;  "Vasco  Nunez,"  said  they,  "won 
the  gold  by  his  enterprise  and  valour,  and  would 
have  shared  it  with  the  brave  and  the  deser\ihg;  but 
these  men  have  seized  upon  it  by  factious  means,  and 
would  squander  it  upon  their  minions."  The  multi- 
tude, who,  in  fact,  admired  the  soldier-like  qualities 
of  Vasco  Nufiez,  displayed  one  of  the  customary  re- 
verses of  popular  feeling.  The  touchy  Alonzo  Perez, 
his  coadjutor  the  Bachelor  Corral,  and  several  other 
of  the  ringleaders  were  seized,  thrown  in  irons,  and 
confined  in  the  fortress ;  and  Vasco  Nufiez  was  re- 
called with  loud  acclamations  to  the  settlement. 

How  long  this  pseudo  commander  might  have 
been  able  to  manage  the  unsteady  populace  it  is  im- 
possible to  say,  but  just  at  this  juncture  two  ships 
arrived  from  Hispaniola,  freighted  with  supplies,  and 
bringing  a  reinforcement  of  one  hundred  and  fifty 
men.  They  brought  also  a  commission  to  Vasco 
Nufiez,  signed  by  Miguel  de-Pasamonte,  the  royal 
treasurer  of  Hispaniola,  to  whom  he  had  sent  a  pri- 
vate present  of  gold,  constituting  him  captain-gen- 
eral of  the  colony.  It  is  doubtful  whether  Pasamonte 
possessed  the  power  to  confer  such  a  commission, 
though  it  is  affirmed  that  the  king  had  clothed  him 
with'it,  as  a  kind  of  check  upon  the  authority  of  the 
admiral  Don  Diego  Columbus,  then  Governor  of 
Hispaniola,  of  whose  extensive  sway  in  the  new 
world  the  monarch  was  secretly  jealous.  At  any 
rate,  the  treasurer  appears  to  have  acted  in  full  con- 
fidence of  the  ultimate  approbation  of  his  sovereign. 

Vasco  Nufiez  was  rejoiced  at  receiving  a  commis- 
sion which  clothed  him  with  at  least  the  semblance 
of  royal  sanction.  Feeling  more  assured  in  his  situa- 
tion, and  being  naturally  of  a  generous  and  forgiving 
temper,  he  was  easily  prevailed  upon,  in  his  moment 
of  exultation,  to  release  and  pardon  Alonzo  Perez, 
the  Bachelor  Corral,  and  the  other  ringleaders  of  the 
late  commotions,  and  for  a  time  the  feuds  and  fac- 
tions of  this  petty  community  were  lulled  to  repose. 


CHAPTER   VII. 


VASCO  nuNez  determines  to  seek  the  sea 

BEYOND  THE  MOUNTAINS. — (1513.) 

The  temporary  triumph  of  Vasco  Nufiez  was  soon 
overcast  by  tidings  received  from  Spain.  His  late 
colleague,  the  Alcalde  Zamudio,  wrote  him  word 
that  the  Bachelor  Enciso  had  carried  his  complaints 
to  the  foot  of  the  throne,  and  succeeded  in  rousing 
the  indignation  of  the  king,  and  had  obtained  a  sen- 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


767 


tence  in  his  favour,  condemning  Vasco  Nufiez  in 
costs  and  damages.  Zamudio  informed  him  in  ad- 
dition, that  he  would  be  immediately  summoned  to 
repair  to  Spain,  and  answer  in  person  the  criminal 
charges  advanced  against  him  on  account  of  the 
harsh  treatment  and  probable  death  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Nicuesa. 

Vasco  Nuriez  was  at  first  stunned  by  this  intelli- 
gence, which  seemed  at  one  blow  to  annihilate  all 
his  hopes  and  fortunes.  He  was  a  man,  however, 
of  prompt  decision  and  intrepid  spirit.  The  infor- 
mation received  from  Spain  was  private  and  infor- 
mal, no  order  had  yet  arrived  from  the  king,  he  was 
still  master  of  his  actions,  and  had  control  over  the 
colony.  One  brilliant  achievement  might  atone  for 
all  the  past,  and  fix  him  in  the  favour  of  the  monarch. 
Such  an  achievement  was  within  his  reach — the  dis- 
covery of  the  southern  sea.  It  is  true,  a  thousand 
soldiers  had  been  required  for  the  expedition,  but 
were  he  to  wait  for  their  arrival  from  Spain,  his  day 
of  grace  would  be  past.  It  was  a  desperate  thing  to 
undertake  the  task  with  the  handful  of  men  at  his 
command,  but  the  circumstances  of  the  case  were 
desperate.  Fame,  fortune,  life  itself,  depended  upon 
the  successful  and  the  prompt  execution  of  the  enter- 
prise.    To  linger  was  to  be  lost. 

Vasco  Nunez  looked  round  upon  the  crew  of 
daring  and  reckless  adventurers  that  formed  the 
colony,  and  chose  one  hundred  and  ninety  of  the 
most  resolute  and  vigorous,  and  of  those  most  de- 
voted to  his  person.  These  he  armed  with  swords, 
targets,  cross-bows,  and  arquebusses.  He  did  not 
conceal  from  them  the  peril  of  the  enterprise  into 
which  he  was  about  to  lead  them  ;  but  the  spirit  of 
these  Spanish  adventurers  was  always  roused  by  the 
idea  of  perilous  and  extravagant  exploit.  To  aid  his 
slender  forces,  he  took  with  him  a  number  of  blood- 
hounds, which  had  been  found  to  be  terrific  allies  in 
Indian  warfare. 

The  Spanish  writers  make  particular  mention  of 
one  of  those  animals,  named  Leoncico,  which  was  a 
constant  companion,  and,  as  it  were,  body-guard  of 
Vasco  Nunez,  and  describe  him  as  minutely  as  they 
would  a  favourite  warrior.  He  was  of  a  middle 
size,  but  immensely  strong :  of  a  dull  yellow  or  red- 
dish colour,  with  a  black  muzzle,  and  his  body  was 
scarred  all  over  with  wounds  received  in  innumera- 
ble battles  with  the  Indians.  Vasco  Nufiez  always 
took  him  on  his  expeditions,  and  sometimes  lent 
him  to  others,  receiving  for  his  services  the  same 
share  of  booty  allotted  to  an  armed  man.  In  this 
way  he  gained  by  him,  in  the  course  of  his  cam- 
paigns, upwards  of  a  thousand  crowns.  The  In- 
dians, it  is  said,  had  conceived  such  terror  of  this 
animal,  that  the  very  sight  of  him  was  sufficient  to 
put  a  host  of  them  to  flight.* 

In  addition  to  these  forces,  Vasco  Nufiez  took  with 
him  a  number  of  the  Indians  of  Darien,  whom  he 
had  won  to  him  by  kindness,  and  whose  services 
were  important,  from  their  knowledge  of  the  wilder- 
ness, and  of  the  habits  and  resources  of  savage  life. 
Such  was  the  motley  armament  that  set  forth  from 
the  little  colony  of  Darien,  under  the  guidance  of  a 
daring,  if  not  desperate  commander,  in  quest  of  the 
great  Pacific  Ocean. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

EXPEDITION   IN    QUEST   OF  THE  SOUTHERN    SEA. 

It  was  on  the  first  of  September.that  Vasco  Nufiez 
embarked  with  his  followers  in  a  brigantine  and  nine 


*  Oviedo,  Hist.  Indies,  p.  2.  c.  3.  MS. 


large  canoes  or  pirogues,  followed  by  the  cheers 
and  good  wishes  of  those  who  remained  at  the  set- 
tlement. Standing  to  the  north-westward,  he  ar- 
rived without  accident  at  Coyba,  the  dominions  of 
the  cacique  Careta,  whose  daughter  he  had  received 
as  a  pledge  of  amity.  That  Indian  beauty  had  ac- 
quired a  great  influence  over  Vasco  Nunez,  and 
appears  to  have  cemented  his  friendship  with  her 
father  and  her  people.  He  w.is  received  by  the 
cacique  with  open  arms,  and  furnished  with  guide? 
and  warriors  to  aid  him  in  his  enterprise. 

Vasco  Nuilez  left  about  half  of  his  men  at  Coyba 
to  guard  the  brigantine  and  canoes,  while  he  should 
penetrate  the  wilderness  with  the  residue.  The  im- 
portance of  his  present  expedition,  not  merely  as 
affecting  his  own  fortunes,  but  as  it  were  unfolding 
a  mighty  secret  of  nature,  seems  to  have  impressed 
itself  upon  his  spirit,  and  to  have  given  correspondeni 
solemnity  to  his  conduct.  Before  setting  out  upon 
his  march,  he  caused  mass  to  be  performed,  and 
offered  up  prayers  to  God  for  the  success  of  his 
perilous  undertaking. 

It  was  on  the  sixth  of  September,  that  he  struck 
off  for  the  mountains.  The  march  was  difficult  and 
toilsome  in  the  extreme.  The  Spaniards,  encumber- 
ed with  the  weight  of  their  armour  and  weapons, 
and  oppressed  by  the  heat  of  a  tropical  climate,  were 
obliged  to  climb  rocky  precipices,  and  to  struggle 
through  close  and  tangled  forests.  Their  Indian 
allies  aided  them  by  carrying  their  ammunition  and 
provisions,  and  by  guiding  them  to  the  most  prac- 
ticable paths. 

On  the  eighth  of  September  they  arrived  at  the 
village  of  Ponca,  the  ancient  enemy  of  Careta.  The 
village  was  lifeless  and  abandoned  ;  the  cacique  and 
his  people  had  fled  to  the  fastnesses  of  the  mountains. 
The  Spaniards  reui.iined  here  several  days  to  recruit 
the  health  of  some  of  their  number  who  had  fallen  ill. 
It  was  necessary  also  to  procure  guides  acquainted 
with  the  mountain  wilderness  they  were  approach- 
ing. The  retreat  of  Ponca  was  at  length  discovered, 
and  he  was  prevailed  upon,  though  reluctantlj',  to 
come  to  Vasco  Nufiez.  The  latter  had  a  peculiar 
facility  in  winning  the  confidence  and  friendship  of 
the  natives.  The  cacique  was  soon  so  captivated  by 
his  kindness,  that  he  revealed  to  him  in  secret  all  he 
knew  of  the  natural  riches  of  the  country.  He  as- 
sured him  of  the  truth  of  what  had  been  told  him 
about  a  great  pechry  or  sea  beyond  the  mountains, 
and  gave  him  several  ornaments  ingeniously  wrought 
of  fine  gold,  which  had  been  brought  from  the  coun- 
tries upon  its  borders.  He  told  him,  moreover,  that 
when  he  had  attained  the  summit  of  a  lofty  ridge,  to 
which  he  pointed,  and  which  seemed  to  rise  up  to 
the  skies,  he  would  behold  that  sea  spread  out  far 
below  him. 

Animated  by  the  accounts,  Vasco  Nunez  procured 
fresh  guides  from  the  cacique,  and  prepared  to  ascend 
the  mountains.  Numbers  of  his  men  having  fallen 
ill  from  fatigue  and  the  heat  of  the  climate,  he  order- 
ed them  to  return  slowly  to  Coyba,  taking  with 
him  none  but  such  as  were  in  robust  and  vigorous 
health. 

On  the  20th  of  September,  he  again  set  forward 
through  a  broken  rocky  country,  covered  with  a 
matted  forest,  and  intersected  by  deep  and  turbulent 
streams,  many  of  which  it  was  necessary  to  cross 
upon  rafts. 

So  toilsome  was  the  journey,  that  in  four  days 
they  did  not  advance  above  ten  leagues,  and  in  the 
mean  time  they  suffered  excessively  from  hunger. 
At  the  end  of  this  time  they  arrived  at  the  province 
of  a  warlike  cacique,  named  Quaraqua,  who  was  at 
war  with  Ponca. 

Hearing  that  a  band  of  strangers  were  entering 


768 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


his  territories,  guided  by  the  subjects  of  his  inveterate 
foe,  the  cacique  tool<  the  field  with  a  large  number 
of  warriors,  some  armed  with  bows  and  arrows, 
others  with  long  spears,  or  with  double-handed 
maces  of  palm-wood,  almost  as  heavy  and  hard  as 
iron.  Seeing  the  inconsiderable  number  of  the 
Spaniards,  they  set  upon  them  with  furious  yells, 
thinking  to  overcome  them  in  an  instant.  The  first 
tlischarge  of  fire-arms,  however,  struck  them  with 
dismay.  They  thought  they  were  contending  with 
demons  who  vomited  forth  thunder  and  lightning, 
especially  when  they  saw  their  companions  fall 
bleeding  and  dead  beside  them,  without  receiving 
any  apparent  blow.  They  took  to  headlong  flight, 
and  were  hotly  pursued  by  the  Spaniards  and  their 
bloodhounds.  Some  were  transfixed  with  lances, 
others  hewn  down  with  swords,  and  many  were 
torn  to  pieces  by  the  dogs,  so  that  Quaraqua  and 
six  hundred  of  his  warriors  were  left  dead  upon  the 
field. 

A  brother  of  the  cacique  and  several  chiefs  were 
taken  prisoners.  They  were  clad  in  robes  of  white 
cotton.  Either  from  their  effeminate  dress,  or  from 
the  accusations  of  their  enemies,  the  Spaniards  were 
induced  to  consider  them  guilty  of  unnatural  crimes, 
and,  in  their  abhorrence  and  disgust,  gave  them  to 
be  torn  to  pieces  by  the  bloodhounds.* 

It  is  also  affirmed,  that  among  the  prisoners  were 
several  negroes,  who  had  been  slaves  to  the  cacique. 
The  Spaniards,  we  are  told,  were  informed  by  the 
other  captives,  that  these  black  men  came  from  a 
region  at  no  great  distance,  where  there  was  a 
people  of  that  colour  with  whom  they  were  fre- 
quently at  war.  "  These,"  adds  the  Spanish  writer, 
"  were  the  first  negroes  ever  found  in  the  New 
World,  and  I  believe  no  others  have  since  been  dis- 
covered."! 

After  this  sanguinary  triumph,  the  Spaniards 
marched  to  the  village  of  Quaraqua,  where  they 
found  considerable  booty  in  gold  and  jewels.  Of 
this  Vasco  Nuiiez  reserved  one-fifth  for  the  crown, 
and  shared  the  rest  liberally  among  his  followers. 
The  village  was  at  the  foot  of  the  last  mountain  that 
remained  for  them  to  climb :  several  of  the  Span- 
iards, however,  were  so  disabled  by  the  wounds  they 
had  received  in  battle,  or  so  exhausted  by  the  fatigue 
and  hunger  they  had  endured,  that  they  were  unable 
to  proceed.  They  were  obliged,  therefore,  reluctantly 
to  remain  in  the  village,  within  sight  of  the  mountaii)- 
top  that  commanded  the  long-sought  prospect.  Vasco 
Nufiez  selected  fresh  guides  from  among  his  prison- 
ers, who  were  natives  of  the  province,  and  sent  back 
the  subjects  of  Ponca.  Of  the  band  of  Spaniards 
who  had  set  out  with  him  in  this  enterprise,  sixty- 
seven  alone  remained  in  sufficient  health  and  spirits 
for  this  last  effort.  These  he  ordered  to  retire  early 
to  repose,  that  they  might  be  ready  to  set  off  at  the 
cool  and  fresh  hour  of  day-break,  so  as  to  reach  the 
summit  of  the  mountain  before  the  noon-tide  heat. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DISCOVERY  OF  THE  PACIFIC  OCEAN. 

The  day  had  scarcely  dawned,  when  Vasco  Nufiez 
and  his  followers  set  forth  from  the  Indian  village 
and  began  to  climb  the  height.     It  was  a  severe  and 


Hcrrera,  Hist.  Ind.  (1.  i,  I.  x,  c  i. 
+  Peter  Martyr,  in  his  third  Decade,  makes  mention  of  these 
negroes  in  the  following  words: — "About  two  days  journey  dis- 
tant from  Quaraqua  is  a  region  inhabited  only  by  black  Moors,  ex- 
ceeding fierce  and  cruel.  It  is  supposed  that  in  time  past  certain 
black  Moors  sailed  thither  out  of  Ethiopia,  to  rob,  and  that  by 


rugged  toil  for  men  so  wayworn,  but  they  were  filled 
with  new  ardour  at  the  idea  of  tlie  triumphant  scene 
that  was  so  soon  to  repay  them  for  all  their  hard- 
ships. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  they  emerged 
from  the  thick  forests  through  which  they  had  hith- 
erto struggled,  and  arrived  at  a  lofty  and  airy  region 
of  the  mountain.  The  bald  summit  alone  remained 
to  be  ascended,  and  their  guides  pointed  to  a  mod- 
erate eminence  from  which  they  said  the  southern 
sea  was  visible. 

Upon  this  Vasco  Nuiiez  commanded  his  followers 
to  halt,  and  that  no  man  should  stir  from  his  place. 
Then,  with  a  palpitating  heart,  he  ascended  alone 
the  bare  mountain-top.  On  reaching  the  summit 
the  long-desired  prospect  burst  upon  his  view.  It 
was  as  if  a  new  world  were  unfolded  to  him,  sepa- 
rated from  all  hitherto  known  by  this  mighty  Iiarrier 
of  mountains.  Below  him  extended  a  vast  chaos  of 
rock  and  forest,  and  green  savannahs  and  wander- 
ing streams,  while  at  a  distance  the  waters  of  the 
promised  ocean  glittered  in  the  morning  sun. 

At  this  glorious  prospect  Vasco  Nunez  sank  upon 
his  knees,  and  poured  out  thanks  to  God  for  being 
the  first  European  to  whom  it  was  given  to  make 
that  great  discovery.  He  then  called  his  people  to 
ascend  :  "  Behold,  my  friends,"  said  he,  "  that  glori- 
ous sight  which  we  have  so  much  desired.  Let  us 
give  thanks  to  (jod  that  he  has  granted  us  this  great 
honour  and  advantage.  Let  us  pray  to  him  that  he 
will  guide  and  aid  us  to  conquer  the  sea  and  land 
which  we  have  discovered,  and  in  which  Christian 
has  never  entered  to  preach  the  holy  doctrine  of  the 
Evangelists.  As  to  yourselves,  be  as  you  have  hith- 
erto been,  faithl'ul  and  true  to  me,  and  by  the  favour 
of  Christ  you  will  become  the  ricjiest  Spaniards  that 
have  ever  come  to  the  Indies  ;  you  will  render  the 
greatest  services  to  your  king  that  ever  vassal  ren- 
dered to  his  lord  ;  and  you  will  have  the  eternal 
glory  and  advantage  of  all  that  is  here  discovered, 
conquered,  and  converted  to  our  holy  Catholic  faith." 

The  Spaniards  answered  this  speech  by  embracing 
Vasco  Nunez  and  promising  to  follow  him  to  death. 
Among  them  was  a  priest,  named  Andres  de  Vara, 
who  lifted  up  his  voice  and  chanted  Te  Deitm  Li;i  la- 
inus — the  usual  anthem  of  Spanish  discoverers.  The 
people,  kneeling  down,  joined  in  the  strain  with 
pious  enthusiasm  and  tears  of  joy  ;  and  never  did  a 
more  sincere  oblation  rise  to  the  Deity  from  a  sanc- 
tified altar  than  from  that  wild  mountain  summit.  It 
was  indeed  one  of  the  most  sublime  discoveries  that 
had  yet  been  made  in  the  New  World,  and  must 
have  opened  a  boundless  field  of  conjecture  to  the 
wondering  Spaniards.  The  imagination  delights  to 
picture  forth  the  splendid  confusion  of  their  thoughts. 
Was  this  the  great  Indian  Ocean,  studded  with  pre- 
cious islands,  abounding  in  gold,  in  gems,  and  spices, 
and  bordered  by  the  gorgeous  cities  and  wealthy 
marts  of  the  East  ?  Or  was  it  some  lonely  sea  locked 
up  in  the  embraces  of  savage  uncultivated  continents, 
and  never  traversed  by  a  bark,  excepting  the  light 
pirogue  of  the  Indian  ?  The  latter  could  hardly  be 
the  case,  for  the  natives  had  told  the  Spaniards  of 
golden  realms,  and  populous  and  powerful  and  lux- 
urious nations  upon  its  shores.  Perhaps  it  might  be 
bordered  by  various  people,  civilized  in  fact,  but 
differing  from  Europe  in  their  civilization ;  who 
might  have  peculiar  laws  and  customs  and  arts  and 
sciences ;  who  might  form,  as  it  were,  a  world  of 


shipwreck,  or  some  other  chance,  they  were  driven  to  these  mount- 
ains." As  Martyr  lived  and  wrote  at  the  time,  he  of  course  related 
the  mere  rumour  of  the  day,  which  all  subsequent  accounts  have 
disproved.  The  other  historians  who  mentioned  the  circumstance, 
have  proijably  repeated  it  from  him.  It  must  have  risen  from 
some  misrepresentation,  and  is  not  entitled  to  credit. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


769 


their  own,  intercommuning-  by  this  mighty  sea,  and 
carrying  on  commerce  between  their  own  islands 
and  continents ;  but  who  might  exist  in  total  igno- 
rance and  independence  of  the  other  hemisphere. 

Such  may  naturally  have  been  the  ideas  suggested 
by  the  sight  of  this  unknown  ocean.  It  was  the 
prevalent  belief  of  the  Spaniards,  however,  that  they 
were  the  first  Christians  who  had  made  the  discovery. 
Vasco  Nuiiez,  therefore,  called  upon  all  present  to 
witness  that  he  took  possession  of  that  sea,  its  islands, 
and  surrounding  lands,  in  the  name  of  the  sovereigns 
of  Castile,  and  the  notaiy  of  the  expedition  made  a 
testimonial  ot  the  same,  to  which  all  present,  to  the 
number  of  sixty-seven  men,  signed  their  names.  He 
then  caused  a  fair  and  tall  tree  to  be  cut  down  and 
wrought  into  a  cross,  whicli  was  elevated  on  the 
spot  from  whence  he  had  at  first  beheld  the  sea.  A 
mound  of  stones  was  likewise  piled  up  to  serve  as  a 
monument,  and  the  names  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns 
were  carved  on  the  neighbouring  trees.  The  Indians 
beheld  all  these  ceremonials  and  rejoicings  in  silent 
wonder,  and,  while  they  aided  to  erect  the  cross  and 
pile  up  the  mound  of  stones,  marvelled  exceedingly 
at  the  meaning  of  these  monuments,  little  thinking 
that  they  marked  the  subjugation  of  their  land. 

The  memorable  event  here  recorded  took  place  on 
the  26th  of  September,  1513;  so  that  the  Spaniards 
had  been  twenty  days  performing  the  journey  from 
the  province  of  Careta  to  the  summit  of  the  mount- 
ain, a  distance  which  at  present,  it  is  said,  does  not 
require  more  than  six  days'  travel.  Indeed  the 
isthmus  in  this  neighbourhood  is  not  more  than 
eighteen  leagues  in  breadth  in  its  widest  part,  and  in 
some  places  merely  seven  ;  but  it  consists  of  a  ridge 
of  extremely  high  and  rugged  mountains.  When 
the  discoverers  traversed  it,  they  had  no  route  but 
the  Indian  paths,  and  often  had  to  force  their  way 
amidst  all  kinds  of  obstacles,  both  from  the  savage 
country  and  its  savage  inhabitants.  In  fact,  the  de- 
tails of  this  narrative  sufficiently  account  for  the 
slowness  of  their  progress,  and  present  an  array  of 
difficulties  and  perils  which,  as  has  been  well  ob- 
served, none  but  those  "  men  of  iron  "  could  have 
subdued  and  overcome.* 


CHAPTER  X. 


VASCO  nuNez  marches  to  the  shores  of  the 

SOUTH   sea. 

Having  taken  possession  of  the  Pacific  Ocean 
and  all  its  realms  from  the  summit  of  the  mountain, 
Vasco  Nufiez  now  descended  with  his  little  band  to 
seek  the  regions  of  reputed  wealth  upon  its  shores. 
He  had  not  proceeded  far  when  he  came  to  the  prov- 
ince of  a  warlike  cacique,  named  Cheapes,  who,  issu- 
ing forth  at  the  head  of  his  warriors,  looked  with 
scorn  upon  the  scanty  number  of  straggling  Span- 
iards, and  forbade  them  to  set  foot  within  his  terri- 
tories. Vasco  Nufiez  depended  for  safety  upon  his 
power  of  striking  terror  mto  the  ignorant  savages. 
Ordering  his  arquebusiers  to  the  front,  he  poured  a 
volley  into  the  enemy,  and  then  let  loose  the  blood- 
hounds. The  flash  and  noise  of  the  fire-arms,  and 
the  sulphurous  smoke  which  was  carried  by  the  wind 
among  the  Indians,  overwhelmed  them  witli  dismay. 
Some  fell  down  in  a  panic  as  though  they  had  been 
struck  by  thunderbolts,  the  rest  betook  themselves 
to  headlong  flight. 

Vasco  Nuiiez  commanded  his  men  to  refrain  from 
needless  slaughter.     He  made  many  prisoners,  and 

*  Vidas  de  Espanolc3  Crflcbres,  por  Don  Manuel  Josef  Quintana. 
Tom,  ii,  p.  40. 

49 


on  arriving  at  the  village,  sent  some  of  them  in  search 
of  their  cacique,  accompanied  by  several  of  his  Indian 
guides.  The  latter  informed  Cheapes  of  the  super- 
natural power  of  the  Spaniards,  assuring  him  that 
they  exterminated  with  thunder  and  lightning  all 
who  dared  to  oppose  them,  but  loaded  all  such  as 
submitted  to  them  with  benefits.  They  advised  him, 
therefore,  to  throw  himself  upon  their  mercy  and  seek 
their  friendship. 

The  cacique  listened  to  their  advice,  and  came 
trembling  to  the  Spaniards,  bringing  with  him  five 
hundred  pounds  weight  of  wrought  gold  as  a  peace 
offering,  for  he  had  already  learnt  the  value  they  set 
upon  that  metal.  Vasco  Nunez  received  him  with 
great  kindness,  and  graciously  accepted  his  gold,  for 
which  he  gave  him  beads,  hawks'  bells,  and  look- 
ing-glasses, making  him,  in  his  own  conceit,  the 
richest  potentate  on  that  side  of  the  mountains. 

Friendship  being  thus  established  between  them, 
Vasco  Nufiez  remained  at  the  village  for  a  few  days, 
sending  back  the  guides  who  had  accompanied  him 
from  Quaraqua,  and  ordering  his  people,  whom  he 
had  left  at  that  place,  to  rejoin  him.  In  the  mean 
time  he  sent  out  three  scouting  parties,  of  twelve 
men  each,  under  Francisco  Pizarro,  Juan  de  Escaiy, 
and  Alonzo  Martin  de  Don  Benito,  to  explore  the 
surrounding  country  and  discover  the  best  route  to 
the  sea.  Alonzo  Martin  was  the  most  successful. 
Alter  two  days'  journey  he  came  to  a  beach,  where 
he  found  two  large  canoes  lying  high  and  dry,  with- 
out any  water  being  in  sight.  While  the  Spaniards 
were  regarding  these  canoes,  and  wondering  why 
they  should  be  so  far  on  land,  the  tide,  which  rises 
to  a  great  height  on  that  coast,  came  rapidly  in  and 
set  them  afloat ;  upon  this,  Alonzo  Martin  stepped 
into  one  of  them,  and'called  his  companions  to  bear 
witness  that  he  was  the  first  European  that  embarked 
upon  that  sea ;  his  example  was  followed  by  one 
Bias  de  Etienza,  who  called  them  likewise  to  testify 
that  he  was  the  second.* 

We  mention  minute  particulars  of  the  kind  as  being 
characteristic  of  these  extraordinary  enterprises,  and 
of  the  extraordinary  people  who  undertook  them. 
The  humblest  of  these  Spanish  adventurers  seemed 
actuated  by  a  swelling  and  ambitious  spirit,  that  rose 
superior  at  times  to  mere  sordid  considerations,  and 
aspired  to  share  the  glory  of  these  great  discoveries. 
The  scouting  party  having  thus  explored  a  direct 
route  to  the  sea  coast,  returned  to  report  their  suc- 
cess to  their  commander. 

Vasco  Nufiez  being  rejoined  by  his  men  from 
Quaraqua,  now  left  the  greater  part  of  his  followers 
to  repose  and  recover  from  their  sickness  and  fatigues 
in  the  village  of  Cheapes,  and,  taking  with  him  twenty- 
six  Spaniards,  well  armed,  he  set  out,  on  the  twenty- 
ninth  of  September,  for  the  sea  coast,  accompanied 
by  the  cacique  and  a  number  of  his  warriors.  The 
thick  forest  which  covered  the  mountains  descended 
to  the  very  margin  of  the  sea,  surrounding  and  over- 
shadowing the  wide  and  beautiful  bays  that  pene- 
trated far  into  the  land.  The  whole  coast,  as  far  as 
the  eye  could  reach,  was  perfectly  wild,  the  sea  with- 
out a  sail,  and  both  seemed  never  to  have  been  under 
the  dominion  of  civilized  man. 

Vasco  Nunez  arrived  on  the  borders  of  one  of  those 
vast  bays,  to  which  he  gave  the  name  of  Saint 
Michael,  it  being  discovered  on  that  saint's  day.  The 
tide  was  out,  the  water  was  above  half  a  league  dis- 
tant, and  the  intervening  beach  was  covered  with 
mud  ;  he  seated  himself,  therefore,  under  the  shade 
of  the  forest  trees  until  the  tide  should  rise.  After 
awhile  the  water  came  rushing  in  with  great  impetu- 
osity, and  soon  reached  nearly  to  the  place  where 


*  Herrcra,  His.  Ind.  d.  i.  1.  x.  c.  a. 


770 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


the  Spaniards  were  reposingf.  Upon  this,  Vasco 
Nufiez  rose  and  took  a  banner,  on  which  were  painted 
the  Virgin  and  child,  and  under  them  the  arms  of 
Castile  and  Leon  ;  then  drawing  his  sword  and  throw- 
ing his  buckler  on  his  shoulder,  he  marched  into  the 
sea  until  the  water  reached  above  his  knees,  and 
waving  his  banner,  exclaimed,  with  a  loud  voice, 
"  Long  live  the  high  and  mighty  monarchs,  Don  Fer- 
dinand and  Donna  Juanna,  sovereigns  of  Castile,  of 
Leon,  and  of  Arragon,  in  whose  name,  and  for  the 
royal  crown  of  Castile,  I  take  real,  and  corporal,  and 
actual  possession  of  these  seas,  and  lands,  and  coasts, 
and  ports,  and  islands  of  the  South,  and  all  thereunto 
annexed  ;  and  of  the  kingdoms  and  provinces  which 
do  or  may  appertain  to  them  in  whatever  manner,  or 
by  whatever  right  or  title,  ancient  or  modern,  in 
times  past,  present,  or  to  come,  without  any  contra- 
diction ;  and  if  other  prince  or  captain,  christian  or 
infidel,  or  of  any  law,  sect,  or  condition  whatsoever, 
shall  pretend  any  right  to  these  lands  and  seas,  I  am 
ready  and  prepared  to  maintain  and  defend  them  in 
the  name  of  the  Castilian  sovereigns,  present  and 
future,  whose  is  the  empire  and  dominion  over  these 
Indias,  islands,  and  terra  firma,  northern  and 
southern,  with  all  their  seas,  both  at  the  arctic  and 
antarctic  poles,  on  either  side  of  the  equinoxial  line, 
whether  within  or  without  the  tropics  of  Cancer  and 
Capricorn,  both  now  and  in  all  times,  as  long  as  the 
world  endures,  and  until  the  final  day  of  judgment 
of  all  mankind." 

This  swelling  declaration  and  defiance  being  utter- 
ed with  a  loud  voice,  and  no  one  appearing  to  dis- 
pute his  pretensions,  Vasco  Nufiez  called  upon  his 
companions  to  bear  witness  of  the  fact  of  his  hav- 
ing duly  taken  possession.  They  all  declared  them- 
selves ready  to  defend  his  claim  to  the  uttermost,  as 
became  true  and  loyal  vassals  to  the  Castilian  sover- 
eigns ;  and  the  notary  having  drawn  up  a  document 
for  the  occasion,  they  all  subscribed  it  with  their 
names. 

This  done,  they  advanced  to  the  margin  of  the 
sea,  and  stooping  down  tasted  its  waters.  When 
they  found,  that,  though  severed  by  intervening 
mountains  and  continents,  they  were  salt  like  the 
seas  of  the  north,  they  felt  assured  that  they  had  in- 
deed discovered  an  ocean,  and  again  returned  thanks 
to  God. 

Having  concluded  all  these  ceremonies,  Vasco 
Nuiiez  drew  a  dagger  from  his  girdle  and  cut  a 
cross  on  a  tree  which  grew  within  the  water,  and 
made  two  other  crosses  on  two  adjacent  trees  in 
honour  of  the  Three  Persons  of  the  Trinity,  and  in 
token  of  possession.  His  followers  likewise  cut 
crosses  on  many  of  the  trees  of  the  adjacent  forest, 
and  lopped  off  branches  with  their  swords  to  bear 
away  as  trophies.* 

Such  was  the  sing^Lir  medley  of  chivalrous  and 
religious  ceremonial,  with  which  these  Spanish  ad- 
venturers took  possession  of  the  vast  Pacific  Ocean, 
and  all  its  lands — a  scene  strongly  characteristic  of 
the  nation  and  the  age. 


CHAPTER   XL 


ADVENTURES    OF  VASCO   NU5tEZ    ON    THE  BOR- 
DERS OF  THE  PACIFIC   OCEAN. 

While  he  made  the  village  of  Chiapes  his  head- 
quarters, Vasco  Nuiiez  foraged  the  adjacent  country 
and  obtained  a  considerable  quantity  of  gold  from  the 


•  Many  of  the  foregoing  particulars  are  from  the  unpublished 
volume  of  Oviedo's  History  of  the  Indias, 


natives.  Encouraged  by  his  success,  he  undertook 
to  explore  by  sea  the  fiorders  of  a  neighbouring 
gulf  of  great  extent,  which  penetrated  far  into  the 
land.  The  cacique  Chiapes  warned  him  of  the 
danger  of  venturing  to  sea  in  the  stormy  season, 
which  comprises  the  months  of  October,  November, 
and  December,  assuring  him  that  he  had  beheld 
many  canoes  swallowed  up  in  the  mighty  waves  and 
whirlpools,  which  at  such  times  render  the  gulf  al- 
most unnavigahle. 

These  remonstrances  were  unavailing:  Vasco 
Nuiiez  expressed  a  confident  belief  that  God  would 
protect  him,  seeing  that  his  voyage  was  to  redound 
to  the  propagation  of  the  faith,  and  the  augmenta- 
tion of  the  power  of  the  Castilian  monarchs  over  the 
infidels ;  and  in  truth  this  bigoted  reliance  on  the 
immediate  protection  of  heaven  seems  to  have  been 
in  a  great  measure  the  cause  of  the  extravagant  dar- 
ing of  the  Spaniards  in  their  expeditions  in  those 
days,  whether  against  Moors  or  Indians. 

Seeing  his  representations  of  no  effect,  Chiapes 
volunteered  to  take  part  in  this  perilous  cruise,  lest 
he  should  appear  wanting  in  courage,  or  in  good- 
will to  his  guest.  Accompanied  by  the  cacique, 
therefore,  Vasco  Nuiiez  embarked  on  the  17th  of 
October  with  sixty  of  his  men  in  nine  canoes,  man- 
aged by  Indians,  leaving  the  residue  of  his  followers 
to  recruit  their  health  and  strength  in  the  village  of 
Chiapes. 

Scarcely,  however,  had  they  put  forth  on  the 
broad  bosom  of  the  gulf  when  the  wisdom  of  the 
cacique's  advice  was  made  apparent.  The  wind  be- 
gan to  blow  freshly,  raising  a  heavy  and  tumultuous 
.sea,  which  broke  in  roaring  and  foaming  surges  on  the 
rocks  and  reefs,  and  among  the  numerous  islets 
with  which  the  gulf  was  studded.  The  light  canoes 
were  deeply  laden  with  men  unskilled  in  their  man- 
agement. It  was  frightful  to  those  in  one  canoe  to 
behold  their  companions,  one  instant  tossed  on 
high  on  the  breaking  crest  of  a  wave,  the  next  plung- 
ing out  of  sight,  as  if  swallowed  in  a  watery  abyss. 
The  Indians  themselves,  though  almost  amphibious 
in  their  habits,  showed  signs  of  consternation ;  for 
amidst  these  rocks  and  breakers  even  the  skill  of  the 
expert  swimmer  would  be  of  little  avail.  At  length 
the  Indians  succeeded  in  tying  the  canoes  in  pairs, 
side  by  side,  to  prevent  their  being  overturned,  and 
in  this  way  they  kept  afloat,  until  towards  evening 
they  were  enabled  to  reach  a  small  island.  Here  they 
landed,  and  fastening  the  canoes  to  the  rocks,  or  to 
small  trees  that  grew  upon  the  shore,  they  sought  an 
elevated  dry  place,  and  stretched  themselves  to  take 
repose.  They  had  but  escaped  from  one  danger  to 
encounter  another.  Having  been  for  a  long  time 
accustomed  to  the  sea  on  the  northern  side  of  the 
isthmus,  where  there  is  little,  if  any,  rise  or  fall  of 
the  tide,  they  had  neglected  to  take  any  precaution 
against  such  an  occurrence.  In  a  little  while  they 
were  awakened  from  their  sleep  by  the  rapid  rising 
of  the  water.  They  shifted  their  situation  to  a  higher 
ground,  but  the  waters  continued  to  gain  upon  them, 
the  breakers  rushing  and  roaring  and  foaming  upon 
the  beach  like  so  many  monsters  of  the  deep  seeking 
for  their  prey.  Nothing,  it  is  said,  can  be  more  dis- 
mal and  appalling  than  the  sullen  bellowing  of  the 
sea  among  the  islands  of  that  gulf  at  the  rising  and 
falling  of  the  tide.  By  degrees,  rock  after  rock,  and 
one  sand  bank  after  another  disappeared,  until  the 
sea  covered  the  whole  island,  and  rose  almost  to  the 
girdles  of  the  Spaniards.  Their  situation  was  now 
agonizing.  A  little  more  and  the  waters  would 
overwhelm  them  :  or,  even  as  it  was,  the  least  surge 
might  break  over  them  and  sweep  them  from  their 
unsteady  footing.  Fortunately  the  wind  had  lulled, 
and  the  sea,  having  risen  above  the  rocks  which  had 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF    DISCOVERY. 


771 


fretted  it,  was  calm.  The  tide  had  reached  its 
height  and  began  to  subside,  and  after  a  time  they 
heard  the  retiring  waves  beating  against  the  rocks 
below  them. 

When  the  day  dawned  they  sought  their  canoes  ; 
but  here  a  sad  spectacle  met  their  eyes.  Some  were 
broken  to  pieces,  others  yawning  open  in  many  parts. 
The  clothing  and  food  left  in  them  had  been  washed 
away,  and  replaced  by  .sand  and  water.  The  Span- 
iards gazed  on  the  scene  in  mute  despair ;  they  were 
faint  and  weary,  and  needed  food  and  repose,  but 
famine  and  labour  awaited  them,  even  if  they  should 
escape  with  their  lives.  Vasco  Nufiez,  however, 
rallied  their  spirits,  and  set  them  an  example  by  his 
own  cheerful  exertions.  Obeying  his  directions,  they 
set  to  work  to  repair,  in  the  best  manner  they  were 
able,  the  damages  of  the  canoes.  Such  as  were  not 
too  much  shattered  they  bound  and  braced  up  with 
their  girdles,  with  slips  of  the  bark  of  trees,  or  with 
the  tough  long  stalks  of  certain  sea-weeds.  They 
then  peeled  off  the  bark  from  the  small  sea  plants, 
pounded  it  between  stones,  and  mixed  it  with  grass, 
and  with  this  endeavoured  to  caulk  the  seams  and 
stop  the  leaks  that  remained.  When  they  re-em- 
barked, their  numbers  weighed  down  the  canoes 
almost  to  the  water's  edge,  and  as  they  rose  and 
sank  with  the  swelling  waves  there  was  danger  of 
their  being  swallowed  up.  All  day  they  laboured 
with  the  sea,  suffering  excessively  from  the  pangs  of 
hunger  and  thirst,  and  at  nightfall  they  landed  in  a 
corner  of  the  gulf,  near  the  abode  of  a  cacique  named 
Tiimaco.  Leaving  a  part  of  his  men  to  guard  the 
canoes,  Vasco  Nufiez  set  out  with  the  residue  for 
the  Indian  town.  He  arrived  there  about  midnight, 
but  the  inhabitants  were  on  the  alert  to  defend  their 
habitations.  The  fire-arms  and  dogs  soon  put  them 
to  flight,  and  the  Spaniards  pursuing  them  with  their 
swords,  drove  them  howling  into  the  woods.  In  the 
village  were  found  provisions  in  abundance,  beside  a 
considerable  amount  of  gold  and  a  great  quantity 
of  pearls,  many  of  them  of  a  large  size.  In  the 
house  of  the  cacique  were  several  hu^e  shells  of 
mother-of-pearl,  and  four  pearl  oysters  quite  fresh, 
which  showed  that  there  was  a  pearl  fishery  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Eager  to  learn  the  sources  of  this 
wealth,  Vasco  Nuiiez  sent  several  of  the  Indians  of 
Chiapes  in  search  of  the  cacique,  who  traced  him  to 
a  wild  retreat  among  the  rocks.  By  their  persua- 
sions Tumaco  sent  his  son,  a  fine  young  .savage,  as 
a  mediator.  The  latter  returned  to  his  father  loaded 
with  presents,  and  extolling  the  benignity  of  these 
superhuman  beings,  who  had  shown  themselves  so 
terrible  in  battle.  By  these  means,  and  by  a  mutual 
exchange  of  presents,  a  friendly  intercourse  was  soon 
established.  Among  other  things  the  cacique  gave 
Vasco  Nufiez  jewels  of  gold  weighing  six  hundred 
and  fourteen  crowns,  and  two  hundred  pearls  of 
great  size  and  beauty,  excepting  that  they  were 
somewhat  discoloured  in  consequence  of  the  oysters 
having  been  opened  by  fire. 

The  cacique  seeing  the  value  which  the  Spaniards 
set  upon  the  pearls,  sent  a  number  of  his  men  to  fish 
for  them  at  a  place  about  ten  miles  distant.  Certain 
of  the  Indians  were  trained  from  their  youth  to  this 
purpose,  so  as  to  become  expert  divers,  and  to  acquire 
the  power  of  remaining  a  long  time  beneath  the 
water.  The  largest  pearls  are  generally  found  in  the 
deepest  water,  sometimes  in  three  and  four  fathoms, 
and  are  only  sought  in  calm  weather;  the  smaller 
sort  are  found  at  the  depth  of  two  and  three  feet, 
and  the  oysters  containing  them  are  often  driven  in 
quantities  on  the  beach  during  violent  storms. 

The  party  of  pearl  divers  sent  by  the  cacique  con- 
sisted of  thirty  Indians,  with  whom  Vasco  Nufiez 
sent  six  Spaniards  as  eye-witnesses.     The  sea,  how- 


ever, was  so  furious  at  that  stormy  season  that  the 
divers  dared  not  venture  into  the  deep  water.  Such 
a  number  of  the  shell-fish,  however,  had  been  driven 
on  shore,  that  they  collected  enough  to  yield  pearls 
to  the  value  of  twelve  marks  of  gold.  They  were 
small,  but  exceedingly  beautiful,  being  newly  taken 
and  uninjured  by  fire.  A  number  of  these  shell-fish 
and  their  pearls  were  selected  to  be  sent  to  Spain  as 
specimens. 

In  reply  to  the  inquiries  of  Vasco  Nufiez,  the  ca- 
cique informed  him  that  the  coast  which  he  saw 
stretching  to  the  west  continued  onwards  without 
end,  and  that  far  to  the  south  there  was  a  country 
abounding  in  gold,  where  the  inhabitants  made  use 
of  certain  quadrupeds  to  carry  burthens.  He  mould- 
ed a  figure  of  clay  to  represent  these  animals,  which 
some  of  the  Spaniards  supposed  to  be  a  deer,  others 
a  camel,  others  a  tapir,  for  as  yet  they  knew  nothing 
of  the  lama,  the  native  beast  of  burthen  of  South 
America.  This  was  the  second  intimation  received 
by  Vasco  Nunez  of  the  great  empire  of  Peru  ;  and. 
while  it  confirmed  all  that  had  been  told  him  by  the 
son  of  Comagre,  it  filled  him  with  glowing  anticipa- 
tions of  the  glorious  triumphs  that  awaited  him. 


CHAPTER   XII. 


FARTHER  ADVENTURES  AND  EXPLOITS  OF  VASCO 
NU5fEZ  ON  THE  BORDERS  OF  THE  PACIFIC 
OCEAN. 

Lest  any  ceremonial  should  be  wanting  to  secure 
this  grand  discovery  to  the  crown  of  Spain,  Vasco 
Nuiiez  determined  to  sally  from  the  gulf  and  take 
possession  of  the  main  land  beyond.  The  cacique 
Tumaco  furnished  him  with  a  canoe  of  state,  formed 
from  the  trunk  of  an  enormous  tree,  and  managed 
by  a  great  number  of  Indians.  The  handles  of  the 
paddles  were  inlaid  with  small  pearls,  a  circum- 
stance which  Vasco  Nufiez  caused  his  companions 
to  testify  before  the  notary,  that  it  might  be  reported 
to  the  sovereigns  as  a  proof  of  the  wealth  of  this 
newly  discovered  sea.* 

Departing  in  the  canoe  on  the  29th  of  October,  he 
was  piloted  cautiously  by  the  Indians  along  the 
borders  of  the  gulf  over  drowned  lands  where  the 
sea  was  fringed  by  inundated  forests  and  as  still  as  a 
pool.  Arrived  at  the  point  of  the  gulf,  Vasco  Nuiiez 
landed  on  a  smooth  sandy  beach,  laved  by  the  waters 
of  the  broad  ocean,  and,  with  buckler  on  arm, 
sword  in  hand,  and  banner  displayed,  again  march- 
ed into  the  sea  and  took  possession  of  it,  with 
like  ceremonials  to  those  observed  in  the  Gulf  of  St. 
Michael's. 

The  Indians  now  pointed  to  a  line  of  land  rising 
above  the  horizon  about  four  or  five  leagues  distant, 
which  they  described  as  being  a  great  island,  the 
principal  one  of  an  archipelago.  The  whole  group 
abounded  with  pearls,  but  those  taken  on  the  coasts 
of  this  island  were  represented  as  being  of  immense 
size,  many  of  them  as  large  as  a  man's  eye,  and 
found  in  shell-fish  as  big  as  bucklers.  This  island 
and  the  surrounding  cluster  of  small  ones,  they 
added,  were  under  the  dominion  of  a  tyrannical  and 
puissant  cacique,  who  often,  during  the  calm  sea- 
sons, made  descents  upon  the  main  land  with  fleets 
of  canoes,  plundering  and  desolating  the  coasts,  and 
carrying  the  people  into  captivity. 

Vasco  Nunez  gazed  with  an  eager  and  wistful 
eye  at  this  land  of  riches,  and  would  have  immedi- 
ately undertaken  an  expedition  to  it,  had  not  the  In- 


•Oviedo,  Hist.  Gen.  p.  a.  MS. 


77-2 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


dians  represented  the  danger  of  venturing  on  such  a 
voyage  in  that  tempestuous  season  in  their  frail 
canoes.  His  own  recent  experience  convinced  him 
of  the  wisdom  of  their  remonstrances.  He  post- 
poned liis  visit,  therefore,  to  a  future  occasion,  when, 
he  assured  his  allies,  he  would  avenge  them  upon 
this  tyrant  invader,  and  deliver  their  coasts  from 
his  maraudings.  In  the  mean  lime  he  gave  to  this 
island  the  name  of  Isla  Rica,  and  the  little  archi- 
pelago surrounding  it  the  general  appellation  of  the 
Pearl  Islands. 

On  the  third  of  November  Vasco  Nuiiez  departed 
from  the  province  of  Tumaco,  to  visit  other  parts 
of  the  coast.  He  embarked  with  his  men  in  the 
canoes,  accompanied  by  Chiapes  and  his  Indians, 
and  guided  by  the  son  of  Tumaco,  who  had  become 
strongly  attached  to  the  Spaniards.  The  young 
man  piloted  them  along  an  arm  of  the  sea,  wide  in 
some  places,  but  in  others  obstructed  by  groves  of 
mangrove  trees,  which  grew  within  the  water  and 
interlaced  their  branches  from  shore  to  shore,  so 
that  at  times  the  Spaniards  were  obliged  to  cut  a 
passage  with  their  swords. 

At  length  they  entered  a  great  and  turbulent  river, 
which  they  ascended  with  difficulty,  and  early  the 
next  morning  surprised  a  village  on  its  banks,  mak- 
ing the  cacique  Teaochan  prisoner  ;  who  purchased 
their  favour  and  kind  treatment  by  a  quantity  of 
gold  and  pearls,  and  an  abundant  supply  of  pro- 
visions. As  it  was  the  intention  of  Vasco  Nunez  to 
abandon  the  shores  of  the  Southern  Ocean  at  this 
place,  and  to  strike  across  the  mountains  for  Darien, 
he  took  leave  of  Chiapes  and  of  the  youthful  son  of 
Tumaco,  who  were  to  return  to  their  houses  in  the 
canoes.  He  sent  at  the  same  time,  a  message  to  his 
men,  whom  he  had  left  in  the  village  of  Chiapes, 
appointing  a  place  in  the  mountains  where  they  were 
'-0  rejoin  him  on  his  way  back  to  Darien. 

The  talent  of  Vasco  Nufiez  for  conciliating  and 
winning  the  good-will  of  the  savages  is  often  men- 
tioned, and  to  such  a  degree  had  he  exerted  it  in 
the  present  instance,  that  the  two  chieftains  shed 
tears  at  parting.  Their  conduct  had  a  favourable 
effect  upon  the  cacique  Teaochan ;  he  entertained 
Vasco  Nunez  with  the  most  devoted  hospitality  dur- 
ing three  days  that  he  remained  in  his  village  ;  when 
about  to  depart  he  furnished  him  with  a  stock  of 
provisions  sufficient  for  several  days,  as  his  route 
would  lay  over  rocky  and  sterile  mountains.  He 
sent  also  a  numerous  band  of  his  subjects  to  carry 
the  burthens  of  the  Spaniards.  These  he  placed 
under  the  command  of  his  son,  whom  he  ordered 
never  to  separate  from  the  strangers,  nor  to  permit 
any  of  his  men  to  return  without  the  consent  of 
Vasco  Nufiez. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


VASCO  nuSez  sets  out  on  his  return  across 

THE    MOUNTAINS  —  HIS    CONTESTS    WITH    THE 
SAVAGES. 

Turning  their  backs  upon  the  Southern  Sea,  the 
Spaniards  now  began  painfully  to  clamber  the  rugged 
mountains  on  their  return  to  Darien. 

In  the  early  part  of  their  route  an  unlooked-for 
suffering  awaited  them  :  there  was  neither  brook  nor 
fountain  nor  standing  pool.  The  burning  heat,  which 
produced  intolerable  thirst,  had  dried  up  all  the 
mountain  torrents,  and  they  were  tantalized  by  the 
sight  of  naked  and  dusty  channels  where  water  had 
once  flowed  in  abimdance.  Their  sufferings  at  length 
increased  to  such  a  height  that  many  threw  them- 


selves fevered  and  panting  upon  the  earth,  and  were 
ready  to  give  up  the  ghost.  The  Indians,  however, 
encouraged  them  to  proceed,  by  hopes  of  speedy  re- 
lief, and  after  a  while,  turning  aside  from  the  direct 
course,  led  them  into  a  deep  and  narrow  glen,  re- 
freshed and  cooled  by  a  fountain  which  bubbled  out 
of  a  cleft  of  the  rocks. 

While  refreshing  themselves  at  the  fountain,  and 
reposing  in  the  little  valley,  they  learnt  from  their 
guides  that  they  were  in  the  territories  of  a  powerful 
chief  named  Poncra,  famous  for  his  riches.  The 
Spaniards  had  already  heard  of  the  golden  stores  of 
this  Croesus  of  the  mountains,  and  being  now  re- 
freshed and  invigorated,  pressed  forward  with  eager- 
ness for  his  village. 

The  cacique  and  most  of  his  people  fled  at  their 
approach,  but  they  found  an  earnest  of  his  wealth  in 
the  deserted  houses,  amounting  to  the  value  of  three 
thousand  crowns  in  gold.  Their  avarice  thus  whet- 
ted, they  despatched  Indians  in  search  of  Poncra, 
who  found  him  trembling  in  his  secret  retreat,  and 
partly  by  threats,  partly  by  promises,  prevailed  upon 
him  and  three  of  his  principal  subjects  to  come  to 
Vasco  Nufiez.  He  was  a  savage,  it  is  said,  so  hate- 
ful of  aspect,  so  misshapen  in  body  and  defoniied  in 
all  his  members,  that  he  was  hideous  to  behold.  The 
Spaniards  endeavoured  by  gentle  means  to  draw  from 
him  information  of  the  places  from  whence  he  had 
procured  his  gold.  He  professed  utter  ignorance  in 
the  matter,  declaring  that  the  gold  found  in  his  vil- 
lage had  been  gathered  by  his  predecessors  in  times 
long  past,  and  that  as  he  himself  set  no  value  on  the 
metal,  he  had  never  troubled  himself  to  seek  it.  The 
Spaniards  resorted  to  menaces,  and  even,  it  is  said, 
to  tortures,  to  compel  him  to  betray  his  reputed 
treasures,  but  with  no  better  success.  Disappointed 
in  their  expectations,  and  enraged  at  his  supposed 
obstinacy,  they  listened  too  readily  to  charges  ad- 
vanced against  him  by  certain  caciques  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, who  represented  him  as  a  monster  of 
cruelty,  and  as  guilty  of  crimes  repugnant  to  nature  ;* 
whereupon,  in  the  heat  of  the  moment,  they  gave  him 
and  his  three  companions,  vjho  were  said  to  be  equal- 
ly guilty,  to  be  torn  in  pieces  by  the  dogs. — A  rash 
and  cruel  sentence,  given  on  the  evidence  of  avowed 
enemies  ;  and  which,  however  it  may  be  palliated  by 
the  alleged  horror  and  disgust  of  the  Spaniards  at 
the  imputed  crimes  of  the  cacique,  bears  too  much 
the  stamp  of  haste  and  passion,  and  remains  a  tbul 
blot  on  the  character  of  Vasco  Nunez. 

The  Spaniards  remained  for  thirty  days  reposing  in 
the  village  of  the  unfortunate  Poncia,  during  which 
time  they  were  rejoined  by  their  companions,  who 
had  been  left  behind  at  the  village  of  Chiapes.  They 
were  accompanied  by  a  cacique  of  the  mountains, 
who  had  lodged  and  fed  them,  and  made  them  pres- 
ents of  the  value  of  two  thousand  crowns  in  gold. 
This  hospitable  savage  approached  Vasco  Nufiez 
with  a  serene  countenance,  and  taking  him  by  the 
hand,  "  Behold,"  said  he,  "  most  valiant  and  power- 
ful chief,  I  bring  thee  thy  companions  safe  and  well, 
as  they  entered  under  my  roof.  May  he  who  made 
the  thunder  and  lightning,  and  who  gives  us  the 
fruits  of  the  earth,  preserve  thee  and  thine  in  safety  !  " 
So  saying,  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  sun,  as  if  he  wor- 
shipped that  as  his  deity  and  the  dispenser  of  all 
temporal  blessings. t 

Departing  from  this  village,  and  being  still  accom- 
panied by  the  Indians  of  Teaochan,  the  Spaniards 
now  bent  their  course  along  the  banks  of  the  river 
Comagre,  which  descends  the  northern  side  of  the 
Isthmus,  and  flows  through  the  territories  of  the 
cacique  of  the  same  name.     This  wiUl  siream,  which 


*  P.  Manyr,  d.  iii.  c.  3. 


i  Herrera,  d.  i.  I.  x,  c.  4. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF    DISCOVERY. 


773 


in  the  course  of  ages  had  worn  a  channel  fhrough 
the  deep  clefts  and  ravines  of  the  mountains,  was 
bordered  by  precipices,  or  overhung  by  shagged  for- 
ests ;  they  soon  abandoned  it,  therefore,  and  wan- 
dered on  without  any  path,  but  guided  by  the  Indians. 
They  had  to  climb  terrible  precipices,  and  to  de- 
scend into  deep  valleys,  darkened  by  thick  forests 
and  beset  by  treacherous  morasses,  where,  but  for 
their  guides,  they  might  have  been  smothered  in  the 
mire. 

In  the  course  of  this  rugged  journey  they  suffered 
excessively  in  consequence  of  their  own  avarice. 
They  had  been  warned  of  the  sterility  of  the  country 
they  were  about  to  traverse,  and  of  the  necessity  of 
providing  amply  for  the  journey.  When  they  came 
to  lade  the  Indians,  however,  who  bore  their  burdens, 
their  only  thought  was  how  to  convey  the  most 
treasure  ;  and  they  grudged  even  a  slender  supply  of 
provisions,  as  taking  up  the  place  of  an  equal  weight 
of  gold.  The  consequences  were  soon  felt.  The  In- 
dians could  carry  but  small  burthens,  and  at  the  same 
time  assisted  to  consume  the  scanty  stock  of  food 
which  formed  part  of  their  load.  Scarcity  and  fam- 
ine ensued,  and  relief  was  rarely  to  be  procured,  for 
the  villages  on  this  elevated  part  of  the  mountains 
were  scattered  and  poor,  and  nearly  destitute  of  pro- 
visions. They  held  no  communication  with  each 
other;  each  contenting  itself  with  the  scanty  pro- 
duce of  its  own  fields  and  forest.  Some  were  entire- 
ly deserted  ;  at  other  places,  the  inhabitants,  forced 
from  their  retreats,  implored  pardon,  and  declared 
they  had  hidden  themselves  through  shame,  not  hav- 
ing the  means  of  properly  entertaining  such  celestial 
visitors.  They  brought  peace-offerings  of  gold,  but 
no  provisions.  For  once  the  Spaniards  found  that 
even  their  darling  gold  could  fail  to  cheer  their 
drooping  spirits.  Their  sufferings  from  hunger  be- 
came intense,  and  many  of  their  Indian  companions 
sank  down  and  perished  by  the  way.  At  length  they 
reached  a  village  where  they  were  enabled  to  obtain 
supplies,  and  where  they  remained  thirty  days,  to 
recruit  their  wasted  strength. 


CHAPTER   XIV. 


ENTERPRISE  AGAINST  TUBANAMA,  THE  WARLIKE 
CACIQUE  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS — RETURN  TO 
DARIEN. 

The  Spaniards  had  now  to  pass  through  the  ter- 
ritories of  Tubanama,  the  most  potent  and  warlike 
cacique  of  the  mountains.  This  was  the  same  chief- 
tain of  whom  a  formidable  character  had  been  given 
by  the  young  Indian  prince,  who  first  informed  Vasco 
Nuiiez  of  the  southern  sea.  He  had  erroneously  rep- 
resented the  dominions  of  Tubanama  as  lying  be- 
yond the  mountains  ;  and,  when  he  dwelt  upon  the 
quantities  of  gold  to  be  found  in  them,  had  magni- 
fied the  dangers  that  would  attend  any  attempt  to 
pass  their  borders.  The  name  of  this  redoubtable 
cacique  was,  in  fact,  a  terror  throughout  the  coun- 
try ;  and,  when  Vasco  Nufiez  looked  round  upon  his 
handful  of  pale  and  emaciated  followers,  he  doubted 
whether  even  the  superiority  of  their  weapons  and 
their  military  skill  would  enable  them  to  cope  with 
Tubanama  and  his  armies  in  open  contest.  He  re- 
solved, therefore,  to  venture  upon  a  perilous  strata- 
gem. When  he  made  it  known  to  his  men,  every 
one  pressed  forward  to  engage  in  it.  Choosing  sev- 
enty of  the  most  vigorous,  he  ordered  the  rest  to 
maintain  their  post  in  the  village. 

As  soon  as  night  had  fallen,  he  departed  silently 
and  secretly  with  his  chosen  band  and  made  his  way 


with  such  rapidity  through  the  labyrinths  of  the  for- 
ests and  the  defiles  of  the  mountains  that  he  arrived 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  residence  of  Tubanama 
by  the  following  evening,  though  at  the  distance  of 
two  regular  days'  journey. 

There,  waiting  until  midnight,  he  assailed  the  vil- 
lage suddenly  and  with  success,  so  as  to  surprise  and 
capture  the  cacique  and  his  whole  family,  in  which 
were  eighty  females.  When  Tubanama  found  him- 
self a  prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  Spaniards,  he  lost 
all  presence  of  mind  and  wept  bitterly.  The  Indian 
allies  of  Vasco  Nunez,  beholding  their  once-dreaded 
enemy  thus  fallen  and  captive,  now  urged  that  he 
should  be  put  to  deajh,  accusing  him  of  various 
crimes  and  cruelties.  Vasco  Nunez  pretended  to 
listen  to  their  prayers,  and  gave  orders  that  his  cap- 
tive should  be  tied  hand  and  foot  and  given  to  the 
dogs.  The  cacique  approached  him  trembling,  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  pommel  of  his  sword.  "  Who 
can  pretend,"  said  he,  "  to  strive  with  one  who 
bears  this  weapon,  which  can  cleave  a  man  asunder 
with  a  blow.'  Ever  since  thy  fame  has  reached 
among  these  mountains  have  1  reverenced  thy  val- 
our. Spare  my  life  and  thou  shalt  have  all  the  gold 
I  can  procure." 

Vasco  Nufiez,  whose  anger  was  assumed,  was 
readily  pacified.  As  soon  as  the  day  dawned  the 
cacique  gave  him  armlets  and  other  jewels  of  gold 
to  the  value  of  three  thousand  crowns,  and  sent 
messengers  throughout  his  dominions  ordering  his 
subjects  to  aid  in  paving  his  ransom.  The  poor  In- 
dians, with  their  accustomed  loyalty,  hastened  m 
crowds,  bringing  their  golden  ornaments,  until,  in 
the  course  of  three  days,  they  had  produced  an 
amount  equal  to  six  thousand  crowns.  This  done, 
Vasco  Nufiez  set  the  cacique  at  liberty,  bestowing 
on  him  several  European  trinkets,  with  which  he 
considered  himself  richer  than  he  had  been  with  all 
his  gold.  Nothing  would  draw  from  him,  however, 
the  disclosure  of  the  mines  from  whence  this  treas- 
ure was  procured.  He  declared  that  it  came  from 
the  territories  of  his  neighbours,  where  gold  and 
pearls  were  to  be  found  in  abundance  ;  but  that  his 
lands  produced  nothing  of  the  kind.  Vasco  Nufiez 
doubted  his  sincerity,  and  secretly  caused  the  brooks 
and  rivers  in  his  dominions  to  be  searched,  where 
gold  was  found  in  such  quantities,  that  he  deter- 
mined at  a  future  time  to  found  two  settlements  in 
the  neighbourhood. 

On  parting  with  Tubanama,  the  cacique  sent  his 
son  with  the  Spaniards  to  learn  their  language  and 
religion.  It  is  said,  also,  that  the  Spaniards  carried 
off  his  eighty  women  ;  but  of  this  particular  fact, 
Oviedo,  who  writes  with  the  papers  of  Vasco  Nuiiez 
before  him,  says  nothing  He  affirms  generally, 
however,  that  the  Spaniards,  throughout  this  expedi- 
tion, were  not  scrupulous  in  their  dealings  with  the 
wives  and  daughters  of  the  Indians ;  and  adds  that 
in  this  their  commander  set  them  the  example.* 

Having  returned  to  the  village,  where  he  had  left 
the  greater  part  of  his  men,  Vasco  Nufiez  resumed 
his  homeward  march.  His  people  were  feeble  and 
exhausted  and  several  of  them  sick,  so  that  some 
had  to  be  carried  and  others  led  by  the  arms.  He 
himself  was  part  of  the  time  afflicted  by  a  fever,  and 
had  to  be  borne  in  a  hammock  on  the  shoulders  of 
the  Indians. 

Proceeding  thus  slowly  and  toilfully,  they  at 
length  arrived  on  the  northern  sea-coast,  at  the 
territories  of  their  ally,  Comagre.  The  old  cacique 
was  dead  and  had  been  succeeded  by  his  son,  the 
same  intelligent  youth  who  had  first  given  informa- 
tion of  the  southern  sea  and  the  kingdom  of  Peru. 


•  Oviedo,  Hist.  Gen.  Part  II.  c.  4.  MS. 


774 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


The  young  chief,  who  had  embraced  Christianity, 
received  them  with  great  hospitality,  nial<ing  them 
jjresents  of  gold.  Vasco  Nuiiez  gave  him  trinkets 
in  return  and  a  shirt  and  a  soldier's  cloak ;  with 
which,  says  Peter  Martyr,  he  thought  himself  half  a 
god  among  his  naked  countrymen.  After  having 
reposed  lor  a  few  days,  Vasco  Nunez  proceeded  to 
Ponca,  where  he  heard  that  a  ship  and  caravel  had 
arrived  at  Darien  from  Hispaniola  with  reinforce- 
ments and  supplies.  Hastening,  therefore,  to  Coy- 
ba,  the  territories  of  his  ally,  Careta,  he  embarked 
on  the  i8th  of  January,  1 514,  with  twenty  of  his 
men,  in  the  brigantine  which  he  had  left  there,  and 
arrived  at  Santa  Maria  de  la  Antigua  in  the  river  of 
Darien  on  the  following  dJy.  All  the  inhabitants 
came  forth  to  receive  him  ;  and,  when  they  heard 
the  news  of  the  great  southern  sea,  and  of  his  re- 
turning from  its  shores  laden  with  pearls  and  gold, 
there  were  no  bounds  to  their  joy.  He  immediately 
despatched  the  ship  and  caravel  to  Coyba  for  the 
companions  he  had  left  behind,  who  brought  with 
them  the  remaining  booty,  consisting  of  gold  and 
pearls,  mantles,  hammocks,  and  other  articles  of 
cotton,  and  a  great  number  of  captives  of  both 
sexes.  A  fifth  of  the  spoil  was  set  apart  for  the 
crown ;  the  rest  was  shared,  in  just  proportions, 
among  those  who  had  been  in  the  expedition  and 
those  who  had  remained  at  Darien.  All  were  con- 
tented with  their  allotment,  and  elated  with  the 
prospect  of  still  greater  gain  from  future  enterprises. 

Thus  ended  one  of  the  most  remarkable  expedi- 
tions of  the  early  discoverers.  The  intrepidity  of 
Vasco  Nufiez  in  penetrating  with  a  handful  of  men 
far  into  the  interior  of  a  wild  and  mountainous 
country,  peopled  by  warHke  tribes:  his  skill  in  man- 
aging his  band  of  rough  adventurers,  stimulating 
their  valour,  enforcing  their  obedience,  and  attach- 
ing their  affections,  show  him  to  have  possessed 
great  qualities  as  a  general.  We  are  told  that  he 
was  always  foremost  in  peril  and  the  last  to  quit  the 
field.  He  shared  the  toils  and  dangers  of  the  mean- 
est of  his  followers,  treating  them  with  frank  affa- 
bility ;  watching,  fighting,  fasting,  and  labouring 
with  thetn  ;  visiting  and  consoling  such  as  were  sick 
or  infirm,  and  dividing  all  his  gains  with  fairness  and 
liberality.  He  was  chargeable  at  times  with  acts  of 
bloodshed  and  injustice,  but  it  is  probable  that  these 
were  often  called  for  as  measures  of  safety  and  pre- 
caution ;  he  certainly  offended  less  against  humanity 
than  most  of  the  early  discoverers ;  and  the  un- 
bounded amity  and  confidence  reposed  in  him  by 
the  natives,  when  they  became  intimately  ac- 
quainted with  his  character,  speak  strongly  in  fav- 
our of  his  kind  treatment  of  them. 

The  character  of  Vasco  Nunez  had,  in  fact,  risen 
with  his  circumstances,  and  now  assumed  a  noble- 
ness and  grandeur  from  the  discovery  he  had  made, 
and  the  nnportant  charge  it  had  devolved  upon 
him.  He  no  longer  felt  himself  a  mere  soldier  of 
fortune,  at  the  head  of  a  band  of  adventurers,  but  a 
great  commander  conducting  an  immortal  enter- 
prise. "  Behold,"  says  old  Peter  Martyr,  "  Vasco 
Nufiez  de  Balboa,  at  once  transformed  from  a  rash 
royster  to  a  politic  and  discreet  captain  :"  and  thus 
it  is  that  men  are  often  made  by  their  fortunes ;  that 
is  to  say,  their  latent  qualities  are  brought  out,  and 
shaped  and  strengthened  by  events,  and  by  the  ne- 
cessity of  every  exertion  to  cope  with  the  greatness 
of  their  destiny. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

TRAN.SACTIONS  IN  SPAIN  —  PEDRARIAS  DAVILA 
APPOINTED  TO  THE  COMMAND  OF  DARIEN — 
TIDINGS  RECEIVED  IN  SPAIN  OK  THE  DISCOV- 
ERY OF   THE   PACIFIC  OCEAN. 

VasCO  NuSeZ  de  Balboa  now  flattered  himself 
that  he  had  made  a  discovery  calculated  to  silence 
all  his  enemies  at  court,  and  to  elevate  him  to  the 
highest  favour  with  his  sovereign.  He  wrote  letters 
to  the  king,  giving  a  detail  of  his  expedition,  and 
setting  forth  all  that  he  had  seen  or  heard  of  this 
Southern  Sea,  and  of  the  rich  countries  upon  its  bor- 
ders. Beside  the  royal  fifths  of  the  profits  of  the 
expedition,  he  prepared  a  present  for  the  sovereign, 
in  the  name  of  himself  and  his  companions,  consist- 
ing of  the  largest  and  most  precious  pearls  they  had 
collected.  As  a  trusty  and  intelligent  envoy  to  bear 
these  tidings,  he  chose  Pedro  de  Arbolancha,  an  old 
and  tried  friend,  who  had  accompanied  him  in  his 
toils  and  dangers,  and  was  well  acquainted  with  all 
his  transactions. 

The  fate  of  Vasco  Nuiiez  furnishes  a  striking  in- 
stance how  prosperity  and  adversity,  how  even  life 
and  death  hang  balanced  upon  a  point  of  time,  and 
are  affected  by  the  improvement  or  neglect  of  ino- 
ments.  Unfortunately,  the  ship  which  was  to  con- 
vey the  messenger  to  spain  lingered  in  port  until  the 
beginning  of  March  ;  a  delay  which  had  a  fatal  in- 
fluence on  the  fortunes  of  Vasco  Nuiiez.  It  is  nec- 
essary here  to  cast  an  eye  back  upon  the  events  which 
had  taken  place  in  Spain  while  he  was  employed  in 
his  conquests  and  discoveries. 

The  Bachelor  Enciso  had  arrived  in  Castile  full 
of  his  wrongs  and  indignities.  He  had  fi  lends  at 
court,  who  aided  him  in  gaining  a  ready  hearing, 
and  he  lost  not  a  moment  in  availing  himself  of  it. 
He  declaimed  eloquently  upon  the  alleged  usurpa- 
tion of  Vasco  Nuiiez,  and  represented  him  as  gov- 
erning the  colony  by  force  and  fraud.  It  was  in  vain 
that  the  Alcalde  Zamudio,  the  ancient  colleague  and 
the  envoy  of  Vasco  Nunez,  attempted  to  speak  in 
his  defence  ;  he  was  unable  to  cope  with  the  facts 
and  arguments  of  the  Bachelor,  who  was  a  pleader 
by  profession,  and  now  pleaded  his  own  cause.  The 
king  determined  to  send  a  new  governor  to  Darien, 
with  power  to  inquire  into  and  remedy  all  abuses. 
For  this  office  he  chose  Don  Pedro  Arias  Davila, 
commonly  called  Pedrarias.*  He  was  a  native  of 
Segovia,  who  had  been  brought  up  in  the  royal 
household,  and  had  distinguished  himself  as  a  brave 
soldier,  both  in  the  war  in  Granada  and  at  the  tak- 
ing of  Oran  and  Bugia  in  Africa.  He  possessed 
those  personal  accomplishments  which  captivate  the 
soldiery,  and  was  called  el  Galan,  for  his  gallant  ar- 
ray and  courtly  demeanour,  and  el  Justador,  or  the 
Tiller,  for  his  dexterity  in  jousts  and  tournaments. 
These,  it  must  be  admitted,  were  not  the  qualifica- 
tions most  adapted  for  the  government  of  rude  and 
factious  colonies  in  a  wilderness ;  but  he  had  an  all- 
powerful  friend  in  the  Bishop  Fonseca.  The  Bishop 
was  as  thoroughgoing  in  patronage  as  in  persecu- 
tion. He  assured  the  king  that  Pedrarias  had  un- 
derstanding equal  to  his  valour ;  that  he  was  as  ca- 
pable of  managing  the  affairs  of  peace  as  of  war, 
and  that,  having  been  brought  up  in  the  royal  house- 
hold, his  loyalty  might  be  implicitly  relied  on. 

Scarcely  had  Don  Pedrarias  been  appointed, 
when  Cayzedo  and  Colmenares  arrived  on  their  mis- 
sion from  Darien,  to  communicate  the  intelligence 
received  from  the  son  of  the  cacique  Coiiiagre,  of 
the  Southern  Sea  beyond  the  mountains,  and  to  ask 


*  By  the  English  historians  he  has  generally  been  called  Davila. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


775 


one  thousand  men  to  enable  Vasco  Nunez  to  make 
the  discovery. 

The  avarice  and  ambition  of  Ferdmand  were  in- 
flamed by  the  tidings.  He  rewarded  the  bearers  of 
the  intelligence,  and,  after  consulting  with  Bishop 
Fonseca,  resolved  to  despatch  immediately  a  power- 
ful armada,  with  twelve  hundred  men,  under  the 
command  of  Pedrarias,  to  accomplish  the  enter- 
prise. 

Just  about  this  time  the  famous  Gonsalvo  Her- 
nandez de  Cordova,  commonly  called  the  Great 
Captain,  was  preparing  to  return  to  Naples,  where 
the  allies  of  Spain  had  experienced  a  signal  defeat, 
and  had  craved  the  assistance  of  this  renowned  gen- 
eral to  retrieve  their  fortunes.  The  chivalry  of  Spain 
thronged  to  enlist  under  the  banner  of  Gonsalvo. 
The  Spanish  nobles,  with  their  accustomed  prodi- 
gality, sold  or  mortgaged  their  estates  to  buy  gor- 
geous armour,  silks,  brocades,  and  other  articles  of 
martial  pomp  and  luxury,  that  they  might  figure, 
with  becoming  magnificence,  in  the  campaigns  of 
Italy.  The  armament  was  on  the  point  of  sailing 
for  Naples  with  this  host  of  proud  and  gallant  spir- 
its, when  the  jealous  mind  of  Ferdinand  took  offence 
at  the  enthusiasm  thus  shown  towards  his  general, 
and  he  abruptly  countermanded  the  expedition.  The 
Spanish  cavaliers  were  overwhelmed  with  disappoint- 
ment at  having  their  dreams  of  glory  thus  suddenly 
dispelled  ;  when,  as  if  to  console  them,  the  enter- 
prise of  Pedrarias  was  set  on  foot,  and  opened  a  dif- 
ierent  career  of  adventure.  The  very  idea  of  an 
unknown  sea  and  splendid  empire,  where  never  Eu- 
ropean ship  had  sailed  or  foot  had  trodden,  broke 
upon  ihe  imagination  with  the  vague  wonders  of  an 
Arabian  tale.  Even  the  countries  already  known, 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  settlement  of  Darien,  were  de- 
scribed in  the  usual  terms  of  exaggeration.  Gold 
was  said  to  lie  on  the  surface  of  the  ground,  or  to 
be  gathered  with  nets  out  of  the  brooks  and  rivers ; 
insomuch  that  the  region  hitherto  called  Terra 
Firma,  now  received  the  pompous  and  delusive  ap- 
pellation of  Castilla  del  Oro,  or  Golden  Castile. 

Excited  by  these  reports,  many  of  the  youthful 
cavaliers,  who  had  prepared  for  the  Italian  campaign, 
now  offered  themselves  as  volunteers  to  Don  Pedra- 
rias. He  accepted  their  services,  and  appointed 
Seville  as  the  place  of  assemblage.  The  streets  of 
that  ancient  city  soon  swarmed  with  young  and  no- 
ble cavaliers  splendidly  arrayed,  full  of  spirits,  and 
eager  for  the  sailing  of  the  Indian  armada.  Pedra- 
rias, on  his  arrival  at  Seville,  made  a  general  review 
of  his  forces,  and  was  embarrassed  to  find  that  the 
number  amounted  to  three  thousand.  He  had  been 
limited  in  his  first  armament  to  twelve  hundred  ;  on 
representing  the  nature  of  the  case,  however,  the 
number  was  extended  to  fifteen  hundred ;  but  through 
influence,  entreaty,  and  stratagem,  upwards  of  two 
thousand  eventually  embarked.*  Happy  did  he  think 
himself  who  could  in  any  manner,  and  by  any  means, 
get  admitted  on  board  of  the  squadron.  Nor  was 
this  eagerness  for  the  enterprise  confined  merely  to 
young  and  buoyant  and  ambitious  adventurers  ;  we 
are  told  that  there  were  many  covetous  old  men, 
who  offered  to  go  at  their  own  expense,  without 
seeking  any  pay  from  the  king.  Thus  every  eye  was 
turned  with  desire  to  this  squadron  of  modern  Ar- 
gonauts, as  it  lay  anchored  on  the  bosom  of  the 
Guadalquiver. 

The  pay  and  appointments  of  Don  Pedrarias 
Davila  were  on  the  most  liberal  scale,  and  no  ex- 
pense was  spared  in  fitting  out  the  armament ;  for 
the  object  of  the  expedition  were  both  colonization 
and  conquest.     Artillery  and  powder  were  procured 


'  Oviedo,  I.  ii.,  c.  7.  MS. 


from  Malaga.  Beside  the  usual  weapons,  such  as 
muskets,  cross-bows,  swords,  pikes,  lances,  and  Nea- 
politan targets,  there  was  armour  devised  of  quilted 
cotton,  as  being  light  and  better  adapted  to  the  cli- 
mate, and  sufficiently  proof  against  the  weapons  of 
the  Indians ;  and  wooden  bucklers  from  the  Canary 
Islands,  to  ward  off  the  poisoned  arrows  of  the 
Caribs. 

Santa  Maria  de  la  Antigua  was,  by  royal  ordi- 
nance, elevated  into  the  metropolitan  city  of  Golden 
Castile,  and  a  Franciscan  friar,  named  Juan  de 
Quevedo,  was  appointed  as  bishop,  with  powers  to 
decide  in  all  cases  of  conscience.  A  number  of 
friars  were  nominated  to  accompany  him,  and  he 
was  provided  with  the  necessary  furniture  and  ves-  % 
sels  for  a  chapel. 

Among  the  various  regulations  made  for  the  good 
of  the  infant  colony,  it  was  ordained  that  no  lawyers 
should  be  admitted  there,  it  having  been  found  at 
Hispaniola  and  elsewhere,  that  they  were  detriment- 
al to  the  welfare  of  the  settlements,  by  fomenting 
disputes  and  litigations.  The  judicial  affairs  were 
to  be  entirely  confided  to  the  Licentiate  Caspar  de 
Espinosa,  who  was  to  officiate  as  Alcalde  Mayor  or 
chief  judge. 

Don  Pedrarias  had  intended  to  leave  his  wife  in 
Spain.  Her  name  was  Doha  Isabella  de  Bobadilla  ; 
she  was  niece  to  the  Marchioness  de  Moya,  a  great 
favourite  of  the  late  Queen  Isabella,  who  had  been 
instrumental  in  persuading  her  royal  mistress  to 
patronize  Columbus*  Her  niece  partook  of  her 
high  and  generous  nature.  She  refused  to  remain 
behind  in  selfish  security,  but  declared  that  she 
would  accompany  her  husband  in  every  peril,  whether 
by  sea  or  land.  This  self-devotion  is  the  more  re- 
markable when  it  is  considered  that  she  was  past 
the  romantic  period  of  youth  ;  and  that  she  had  a 
family  of  four  sons  and  four  daughters,  whom  she 
left  behind  her  in  Spain. 

Don  Pedrarias  was  instructed  to  use  great  indul- 
gence towards  the  people  of  Darien,  who  had  been 
the  followers  of  Nicuesa,  and  to  remit  the  royal  tithe 
of  all  the  gold  they  might  have  collected  previous  to 
his  arrival.  Towards  Vasco  Nunez  de  Balboa  alone 
the  royal  countenance  was  stern  and  severe.  Pe- 
drarias was  to  depose  him  from  his  assumed  author- 
ity, and  to  call  him  to  strict  account  before  the  Al- 
calde Mayor,  Caspar  de  Espinosa,  for  his  treatment 
of  the  Bachelor  Enciso. 

The  splendid  fleet,  consisting  of  fifteen  sail,  weighed 
anchor  at  St.  Lucar  on  the  I2ih  of  April,  1 514, 
and  swept  proudly  out  of  the  Guadalquiver,  thronged 
with  the  chivalrous  adventurers  for  Golden  Castile. 
But  a  short  time  had  elapsed  after  its  departure, 
when  Pedro  Arbolancho  arrived  with  the  tardy  mis- 
sions of  Vasco  Nunez.  Had  he  arrived  a  few  days 
sooner,  how  different  might  have  been  the  fortunes 
of  his  friend  I 

He  was  immediately  admitted  to  the  royal  pres- 
ence, where  he  announced  the  adventurous  and  suc- 
cessful expedition  of  Vasco  Nunez,  and  laid  before 
the  king  the  pearls  and  golden  ornaments  which  he 
had  brought  as  the  first  fruits  of  the  discovery.  King 
Ferdinand  listened  with  charmed  attention  to  this 
tale  of  unknown  seas  and  wealthy  realms  added  to 
his  empire.  It  filled,  in  fact,  the  imaginations  of 
the  most  sage  and  learned  with  golden  dreams,  and 
anticipations  of  unbounded  riches.  Old  Peter  Martyr, 
who  received  letters  from  his  friends  in  Darien,  and 
communicated  by  word  of  mouth  with  those  who 
came  from  thence,  writes  to  Leo  the  Tenth  in  exult- 


•  This  was  the  same  Marchioness  de  Moya,  who  during  the  Wi*i 
of  Granada,  while  the  court  and  royal  army  were  encamped  before 
Malaga,  was  mistaken  for  the  queen  by  a  Moorish  fanatic,  and  had 
nearly  fallen  beneath  bis  dagger. 


776 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ing  terms  of  this  event.  "Spain,"  says  he,  "will 
hereafter  be  able  to  satisfy  with  pearls  the  greedy 
appetite  of  such  as  in  wanton  pleasures  are  like  unto 
Cleopatra  and  yEsopus  ;  so  that  henceforth  we  shall 
neither  envy  nor  reverence  the  nice  fruitfulness  of 
Trapoban  or  the  Red  Sea.  The  Spaniards  will  not 
need  hereafter  to  mine  and  dig  far  into  the  earth, 
nor  to  cut  asunder  mountains  in  quest  of  gold,  but 
will  find  it  plentifully,  in  a  manner,  on  the  upper 
crust  of  the  earth,  or  in  the  sands  of  rivers  dried  up 
by  the  heats  of  summer.  Certainly  the  reverend  an- 
tiquity obtained  not  so  great  a  benefit  of  nature,  nor 
even  aspired  to  the  knowledge  thereof,  since  never 
man  before,  from  the  known  world,  penetrated  to 
these  unknown  regions."* 

The  tidings  of  this  discovery  at  once  made  all 
Spain  resound  with  the  praises  of  Vasco  Nunez ; 
and,  from  being  considered  a  lawless  and  desperate 
adventurer,  he  was  lauded  to  the  skies  as  a  worthy 
successor  to  Columbus.  The  king  repented  of  the 
harshness  of  his  late  measures  towards  him,  and 
ordered  the  Bishop  Fonseca  to  devise  some  mode  of 
rewarding  his  transcendent  services. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


ARRIVAL  AND  GRAND  ENTRY  OF  DON  PEDRARIAS 
DAVILA   INTO   DARIEN. 

While  honours  and  rewards  were  preparing  in 
Europe  for  Vasco  Nufiez,  that  indefatigable  com- 
mander, inspired  by  his  fortunes,  with  redoubled  zeal 
and  loftier  ambition,  was  exercising  the  paternal 
forethought  and  discretion  of  a  patriotic  governor 
over  the  country  subjected  to  his  rule.  His  most 
strenuous  exertions  were  directed  to  bring  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Darien  into  such  a  state  of  cultivation 
as  might  render  the  settlement  independent  of  Europs 
for  suppMes.  The  town  was  situated  on  the  banks 
of  a  river,  and  contained  upwards  of  two  hundred 
houses  and  cabins.  Its  population  amounted  to  five 
hundred  and  filteen  Europeans,  all  men,  and  fifteen 
hundred  Indians,  male  and  female.  Orchards  and 
gardens  had  been  laid  out,  where  European  as  well 
as  native  fruits  and  vegetables  were  cultivated,  and 
already  gave  promise  of  future  abundance.  Vasco 
Nuiiez  devised  all  kinds  of  means  to  keep  up  the 
spirits  of  his  people.  On  holidays  they  had  their 
favourite  national  sports  and  games,  and  particularly 
tilting  matches,  of  which  chivalrous  amusement  the 
Spaniards  in  those  days  were  extravagantly  fond. 
Sometimes  he  gratified  their  restless  and  roving 
habits  by  sending  them  on  expeditions  to  various 
parts  of  the  country,  to  acquire  a  knowledge  of  its 
resources,  and  to  strengthen  his  sway  over  the  na- 
tives. He  was  so  successful  in  securing  the  amity 
or  exciting  the  awe  of  the  Indian  tribes,  that  a  Span- 
iard might  go  singly  about  the  land  in  perfect  safety ; 
while  his  own  followers  were  zealous  in  their  devo- 
tion to  him,  both  from  admiration  of  his  past  exploits 
and  from  hopes  of  soon  being  led  by  him  to  new  dis- 
coveries and  conquests.  Peter  Martyr,  in  his  letter 
to  Leo  the  Tenth,  speaks  in  high  terms  of  these  "  old 
soldiers  of  Darien,"  the  remnants  of  those  well-tried 
adventurers  who  had  followed  the  fortunes  of  Ojeda, 
Nicuesa,  and  Vasco  Nuiiez.  "  They  were  hardened," 
says  he,  "  to  abide  all  sorrows,  and  were  exceedingly 
tolerant  of  labour,  heat,  hunger,  and  watching,  inso- 
much that  they  merrily  make  their  boast  that  they 
have  observed  a  longer  and  sharper  Lent  than  ever 
your  Holiness  enjoined,  since,  for  the  space  of  four 


*P.  MartvTt  decad.  3,  chap.  iii.     Lok's  translation. 


years,  their  food  has  been  herbs  and  fruits,  with  now 
and  then  fish,  and  very  seldom  flesh."* 

Such  were  the  hardy  and  well-seasoned  veterans 
that  were  under  the  sway  of  Vasco  Nufiez  ;  and  the 
colony  gave  signs  of  rising  in  prosperity  under  hii 
active  and  fostering  management,  when  in  the  month 
of  June,  the  fleet  of  Don  Pedrarias  Davila  arrived  in 
the  Gulf  of  Uraba. 

The  Spanish  cavaliers  who  accompanied  the  new 
governor  were  eager  to  get  on  shore,  and  to  behold 
the  anticipated  wonders  of  the  land  ;  but  Pedrarias, 
knowing  the  resolute  character  of  Vasco  Nuiiez,  and 
the  devotion  of  his  followers,  apprehended  some 
difficulty  in  getting  possession  of  the  colony.  Anchor- 
ing, therefore,  about  a  league  and  a  half  from  the 
settlement,  he  sent  a  messenger  on  shore  to  an- 
nounce his  arrival.  The  envoy,  having  heard  so 
much  in  Spain  of  the  prowess  and  exploits  of  Vasco 
Nuiiez  and  the  riches  of  Golden  Castile,  expected,  no 
doubt,  to  find  a  blustering  warrior,  maintaining  bar- 
baric state  in  the  government  which  he  had  usurped. 
Great  was  his  astonishment,  therefore,  to  find  this 
redoubtable  hero  a  plain,  unassuming  man,  clad  in  a 
cotton  frock  and  drawers,  and  hempen  sandals,  di- 
recting and  aiding  the  labour  of  several  Indians  who 
were  thatching  a  cottage  in  which  he  resided. 

The  messenger  approached  him  respectfully,  and 
announced  the  arrival  of  Don  Pedrarias  Davila  as 
governor  of  the  country. 

Whatever  Vasco  Nunez  may  have  felt  at  this  in- 
telligence, he  suppressed  his  emotions,  and  an- 
swered the  messenger  with  great  discretion  :  "  Tell 
Don  Pedrarias  Davila,"  said  he,  "  that  he  is  wel- 
come, that  I  congratulate  him  on  his  safe  arrival, 
and  am  ready,  with  all  who  are  here,  to  obey  his 
orders." 

The  little  community  of  rough  and  daring  advent- 
urers was  immediately  in  an  uproar  when  they  found 
a  new  governor  had  arrived.  Some  of  the  most 
zealous  adherents  of  Vasco  Nuiiez  were  disposed  to 
sally  forth,  sword  in  hand,  and  repel  the  intruder ; 
but  they  were  restrained  by  their  more  considerate 
chieftain,  who  prepared  to  receive  the  new  governor 
with  all  due  submission. 

Pedrarias  disembarked  on  the  thirtieth  of  June, 
accompanied  by  his  heroic  wife,  Doha  Isabella ; 
who,  according  to  old  Peter  Martyr,  had  sustained 
the  roarings  and  rages  of  the  ocean  with  no  less 
stout  courage  than  either  her  husband  or  even  the 
mariners  who  had  been  brought  up  among  the  surges 
of  the  sea. 

Pedrarias  set  out  for  the  embryo  city  at  the  head 
of  two  thousand  men,  all  well  armed.  He  led  his  wife 
by  the  hand,  and  on  the  other  side  of  him  was  the 
bishop  of  Darien  in  his  robes  ;  while  a  brilliant  train 
of  youthful  cavaliers,  in  glittering  armour  and  bro- 
cade, formed  a  kind  of  body-guard. 

All  tliis  pomp  and  splendour  formed  a  striking 
contrast  with  the  humble  state  of  Vasco  Nuiiez,  who 
came  forth  unarmed,  in  simple  attire,  accompanied 
by  his  councillors  and  a  handful  of  tlie  "  old  soldiers 
of  Darien,"  scarred  and  battered,  and  grown  half 
wild  in  Indian  warfare,  but  without  weapons,  and  in 
garments  much  the  worse  for  wear. 

Vasco  Nuiiez  saluted  Don  Pedrarias  Davila  with 
profound  reverence,  and  promised  him  implicit  obedi- 
ence, both  in  his  own  name  and  in  the  name  of  the 
community.  Having  entered  the  town,  he  conduct- 
ed his  distinguished  guests  to  his  straw-thatched 
habitation,  where  he  had  caused  a  repast  to  be  pre- 
pared of  such  cheer  as  his  means  afforded,  consist- 
ing of  roots  and  fruits,  maize  and  casava  bread,  with 
no  other  beverage  than  water  from  the  river  ;  a  sorry 


*  P.  Martyr,  decad.  3,  c.  iii.    Lok^s  translation. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


777 


palace  and  .1  meagre  banquet  in  the  eyes  of  the  gay 
cavaliers,  who  had  anticipated  far  other  things  from 
the  usurper  of  Golden  Castile.  Vasco  Nunez,  how- 
ever, acquitted  himself  in  his  humble  wigwam  with 
the  courtesy  and  hospitality  of  a  prince,  and  showed 
that  the  dignity  of  an  entertainment  depends  more 
upon  the  giver  than  the  feast.  In  the  mean  time  a 
plentiful  supply  of  European  provisions  was  landed 
from  the  fleet,  and  a  temporary  abundance  was 
diffused  through  the  colony. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 


PERFIDIOUS    CONDUCT  OF    DON    PEDRARIAS  TO- 
WARDS VASCO  NU5fEZ. 

On  the  day  after  his  entrance  into  Darien,  Don 
Pedrarias  held  a  private  conference  with  Vasco 
Nunez  in  presence  of  the  historian  Oviedo,  who  had 
come  out  from  Spain  as  the  public  notary  of  the 
colony.  The  governor  commenced  by  assuring  him 
that  he  was  instructed  by  the  king  to  treat  him  with 
great  favour  and  distinction,  to  consult  him  about 
the  affairs  of  the  colony,  and  to  apply  to  him  for  in- 
formation relative  to  the  surrounding  country.  At 
the  same  time  he  professed  the  most  amical)le  feel- 
ings on  his  own  part,  and  an  intention  to  be  guided 
by  his  counsels  in  all  public  measures. 

Vasco  Nuiiez  was  of  a  frank,  confiding  nature,  and 
was  so  captivated  by  this  unexpected  courtesy  and 
kindness,  that  he  threw  off  all  caution  and  reserve, 
and  opened  his  whole  soul  to  the  politic  courtier. 
Pedrarias  availed  himself  of  this  communicative  mood 
to  draw  from  him  a  minute  and  able  statement  in 
writing,  detailing  the  circumstances  of  the  colony, 
and  the  information  collected  respecting  various 
parts  of  the  counti-y ;  the  route  by  which  he  had 
traversed  the  mountains  ;  his  discovery  of  the  South 
Sea ;  the  situation  and  reputed  wealth  of  the  Pearl 
Islands  ;  the  rivers  and  ravines  most  productive  of 
gold  ;  together  with  the  names  and  territories  of 
the  various  caciques  with  whom  he  had  made  treat- 
ies. 

When  Pedrarias  had  thus  beguiled  the  unsuspect- 
ing soldier  of  all  the  information  necessary  for  his 
purposes,  he  dropped  the  mask,  and  within  a  few 
days  proclaimed  a  judicial  scrutiny  into  the  conduct 
of  Vasco  Nunez  and  his  officers.  It  was  to  be  con- 
ducted by  the  Licentiate  Caspar  de  Espinosa,  who  had 
come  out  as  Alcalde  Mayor,  or  chief  judge.  The 
Licentiate  was  an  inexperienced  lawyer,  having  but 
recently  left  the  university  of  Salamanca.  He  ap- 
])ears  to  have  been  somewhat  flexible  in  his  opinions, 
and  prone  to  be  guided  or  governed  by  others.  At 
the  outset  of  his  career  he  was  much  under  the  in- 
fluence of  Q'jevedo,  the  Bishop  of  Darien.  Now,  as 
Vasco  Nunez  knew  the  importance  of  this  prelate 
in  the  colony,  he  had  taken  care  to  secure  him  to  his 
interests  bv  paying  him  the  most  profound  deference 
and  respect,  and  by  giving  him  a  share  in  his  agri- 
cultural enterprises  and  his  schemes  of  traffic.  In 
fact,  the  good  bishop  looked  upon  him  as  one  emi- 
nently calculated  to  promote  his  temporal  prosperity, 
to  which  he  was  by  no  means  insensible.  Under  the 
influence  of  the  prelate,  therefore,  the  Alcalde  com- 
menced his  investigation  in  the  most  favourable 
manner.  He  went  largely  into  an  examination  of 
the  discoveries  of  Vasco  Nunez,  and  of  the  nature 
and  extent  of  his  various  services.  The  governor 
was  alarmed  at  the  course  which  the  inquiry  was 
taking.  If  thus  conducsed,  it  would  but  serve  to  il- 
lustrate the  merits  and  elevate  the  reputation  of  the 
man  whom  it  was  his  interest  and  intent  to  ruin. 


To  counteract  it  he  immediately  set  on  foot  a  secret 
and  invidious  course  of  interrogatories  of  the  follow- 
ers of  Nicuesa  and  Ojeda,  to  draw  from  them  testi- 
mony which  might  support  the  charge  against  Vasco 
Nufiez  of  usurpation  and  tyrannical  abuse  of  power. 
The  bishop  and  the  Alcalde  received  information  of 
this  inquisition,  carried  on  thus  secretly,  and  without 
their  sanction.  They  remonstrated  warmly  against 
it,  as  an  infringement  of  their  rights,  being  coadjutors 
in  the  government  ;  and  they  spurned  the  testimony 
of  the  followers  of  Ojeda  and  Nicuesa,  as  being  dic- 
tated and  discoloured  by  ancient  enmity.  Vasco 
Nunez  was,  therefore,  acquitted  by  them  of  the 
criminal  charges  made  against  him,  though  he  re- 
mained involved  in  difficulties  from  the  suits  brought 
against  him  by  individuals,  for  losses  and  damages 
occasioned  by  his  measures. 

Pedrarias  was  incensed  at  this  acquittal,  and  in- 
sisted upon  the  guilt  of  Vasco  Nunez,  which  he  pre- 
tended to  have  established  to  his  conviction  by  his 
secret  investigations ;  and  he  even  determined  to 
send  him  in  chains  to  Spain,  to  be  tried  for  the  death 
of  Nicuesa,  and  for  other  imputed  offences. 

It  was  not  the  inclination  or  the  interest  of  the 
bishop  that  Vasco  Nufiez  should  leave  the  colony ; 
he  therefore  managed  to  awaken  the  jealous  appre- 
hensions of  the  governor  as  to  the  effect  of  his  pro- 
posed measure.  He  intimated  that  the  arrival  of 
Vasco  Nunez  in  Spain  would  be  signalized  by 
triumph  rather  than  disgrace.  By  that  time  his 
grand  discoveries  would  be  blazoned  to  the  world, 
and  would  atone  for  all  his  faults.  He  would  be 
received  with  enthusiasm  by  the  nation,  with  favour 
by  the  king,  and  would  probably  be  sent  back  to  the 
colony  clothed  with  new  dignity  and  power. 

Pedrarias  was  placed  in  a  perplexing  dilemma  by 
these  suggestions;  his  violent  proceedings  against 
Vasco  Nunez  were  also  in  some  measure  restrained 
by  the  influence  of  his  wife,  Dona  Isabel  de  Boba- 
dilla,  who  felt  a  great  respect  and  sympathy  for  the 
discoverer.  In  his  perplexity,  the  wily  governor 
adopted  a  middle  course.  He  resolved  to  detain 
Vasco  Nufiez  at  Darien  under  a  cloud  of  imputation, 
which  would  gradually  impair  his  popularity ;  while 
his  patience  and  means  would  be  silently  consumed 
by  protracted  and  expensive  litigation.  In  the  mean 
time,  however,  the  property  which  had  been  seques- 
trated was  restored  to  him. 

While  Pedrarias  treated  Vasco  Nunez  with  this 
severity,  he  failed  not  to  avail  himself  of  the  plans 
of  that  able  commander.  The  first  of  these  was  to 
establish  a  line  of  posts  across  the  mountains  be- 
tween Darien  and  the  South  Sea.  It  was  his  eager 
desire  to  execute  this  before  any  order  should  arrive 
from  the  king  in  favour  of  his  predecessor,  in  order 
that  he  might  have  the  credit  of  having  colonized 
the  coast,  and  Vasco  Nunez  merely  that  of  having 
discovered  and  visited  it.*  Before  he  could  com- 
plete these  arrangements,  however,  unlooked-for 
calamities  fell  upon  the  settlement,  that  lor  a  time 
interrupted  every  project,  and  made  every  one  turn 
his  thoughts  merely  to  his  own  security. 


CHAPTER  XVII I. 


CALAMITIES    OF   THE    SPANISH    CAVALIERS   AT 
DARIEN. 

The  town  of  Darien  was  situated  in  a  deep  valley 
surrounded  by  lofty  hills,  which,  while  they  kept  off 
the  breezes  so  grateful  in  a  sultry  climate,  reflected 


*  Oviedo,  Hist.  Ind.  p.  2.  c.  J 

0 


778 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


and  concentrated  the  rays  of  the  sun,  insomuch  that 
at  noontide  the  heat  was  insupportable ;  the  river 
which  passed  it  was  shallow,  with  a  muddy  channel 
and  bordered  by  marshes ;  overhanging  forests 
added  to  the  general  humidity,  and  the  very  soil  on 
which  the  town  was  built  was  of  such  a  nature,  that 
on  digging  to  the  depth  of  a  foot  there  would  ooze 
forth  brackish  water.* 

It  is  not  matter  of  surprise  that  a  situation  of  this 
kind,  in  a  tropical  climate,  should  be  fatal  to  the 
health  of  Europeans.  Many  of  those  who  had  re- 
cently arrived  were  swept  off  speedily ;  Pedrarias 
himself  fell  sick  and  was  removed,  with  most  of  his 
people,  to  a  healthier  spot  on  the  river  Corobari  ; 
the  malady,  however,  continued  to  increase.  The 
provisions  which  had  been  brought  out  in  the  ships 
had  been  partly  damaged  by  the  sea,  the  residue 
grew  scanty,  and  the  people  were  put  upon  short 
allowance  ;  the  debility  thus  produced  increased  the 
ravages  of  the  disease ;  at  length  the  provisions 
were  exhausted  and  the  horrors  of  absolute  famine 
ensued. 

Every  one  was  more  or  less  affected  by  these 
calamities;  even  the  veterans  of  the  colony  quailed 
beneath  them  ;  but  to  none  were  they  more  fatal 
than  to  the  crowd  of  youthful  cavaliers  who  had  once 
glittered  so  gaily  about  the  streets  of  Seville,  and 
had  come  out  to  the  new  world  elated  with  the  most 
sanguine  expectations.  From  the  very  moment  of 
their  landing  they  had  been  disheartened  at  the 
savage  scenes  around  them,  and  disgusted  with  the 
squahd  life  they  were  doomed  to  lead.  They 
shrunk  with  disdain  from  the  labours  with  which 
alone  wealth  was  to  be  procured  in  this  land  of  gold 
and  pearls,  and  were  impatient  of  the  humble  exer- 
tions necessary  for  the  maintenance  of  existence.  As 
the  famine  increased,  their  case  became  desperate  ; 
for  they  were  unable  to  help  themselves,  and  their 
rank  and  dignity  commanded  neither  deference  nor 
aid  at  a  time  when  common  misery  made  every 
one  selfish.  Many  of  them,  who  had  mortgaged 
estates  in  Spain  to  fit  themselves  out  sumptuously 
for  their  Italian  campaign,  now  perished  for  lack  of 
food.  Some  would  be  seen  bartering  a  robe  of  crim- 
son silk,  or  some  garment  of  rich  brocade,  for  a 
pound  of  Indian  bread  or  European  biscuit;  others 
sought  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  hunger  with  the 
herbs  and  roots  of  the  field,  and  one  of  the  principal 
cavaliers  absolutely  expired  of  hunger  in  the  public 
streets. 

In  this  wretched  way,  and  in  the  short  space  of 
one  month,  perished  seven  hundred  of  the  little  army 
of  youthful  and  buoyant  spirits  who  had  embarked 
with  Pedrarias.  The  bodies  of  some  remained  for  a 
day  or  two  without  sepulture,  their  friends  not  hav- 
ing sufficient  strength  to  bury  them.  Unable  to 
remedy  the  evil,  Pedrarias  gave  permission  for  his 
men  to  flee  from  it.  A  ship-load  of  starving  ad- 
venturers departed  for  Cuba,  where  some  of  them 
joined  the  standard  of  Diego  Velasquez,  who  was 
colonizing  that  island ;  others  made  their  way  back 
to  Spain,  where  they  arrived  broken  in  health,  in 
spirits,  and  in  fortune. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FRUITLESS    EXPEDITION  OF  PEDRARIAS. 

The  departure  of  so  many  hungry  mouths  was 
some  temporary  relief  to  the  colony  ;  a.nd  Pedrarias, 
having  recovered  from  his  malady,  bestirred  him- 


•  P.  Martyr,  decad  3,  c.  vi. 


self  to  send  expeditions  in  various  directions  for  the 
purpose  of  foraging  the  country  and  collecting  the 
treasure. 

These  expeditions,  however,  were  entrusted  to  his 
own  favourites  and  partisans  ;  while  Vasco  Nufiez, 
the  man  most  competent  to  carry  them  into  effect, 
remained  idle  and  neglected.  A  judicial  inquiry, 
tardily  carried  on,  overshadowed  him,  and  though  it 
substantiated  nothing,  served  to  embarrass  his  ac- 
tions, to  cool  his  friends,  and  to  give  him  the  air  of  a 
public  delinquent.  Indeed,  to  the  other  evils  of  the 
colony  was  now  added  that  of  excessive  litigation, 
arising  out  of  the  disputes  concerning  the  govern- 
ment of  Vasco  Nufiez,  and  which  increased  to  such 
a  degree,  that  according  to  the  report  of  the  Alcalde 
Espinosa,  if  the  law-suits  should  be  divided  among 
the  people,  at  least  forty  would  fall  to  each  man's 
share.*  This  too  was  in  a  colony  into  which  the 
government  had  commanded  that  no  lawyer  should 
be  admitted. 

Wearied  and  irritated  by  the  check  which  had 
been  given  to  his  favourite  enterprises,  and  confi- 
dent of  the  ultimate  approbation  of  the  king,  Vasco 
Nuflez  now  determined  to  take  his  fortunes  in  his 
own  hands,  and  to  prosecute  in  secret  his  grand  pro- 
ject of  exploring  the  regions  beyond  the  mountains. 
For  this  purpose  he  privately  despatched  one  Andres 
Garabito  to  Cuba  to  enlist  men,  and  to  make  the 
requisite  provisions  for  an  expedition  across  the 
isthmus,  from  Nombre  de  Dios,  and  for  the  founding 
a  colony  on  the  shores  of  the  Southern  Ocean,  from 
whence  he  proposed  to  extend  his  discoveries  by 
sea  and  land. 

While  Vasco  Nuiiez  awaited  the  return  of  Gara- 
bito, he  had  the  mortification  of  beholding  various 
of  his  colonizing  plans  pursued  and  marred  by  Pedra- 
rias. Among  other  enterprises,  the  governor  des- 
patched his  lieutenant-general,  Juan  de  Ayora,  at 
the  head  of  four  hundred  men,  to  visit  the  provinces 
of  those  caciques  with  whom  Vasco  Nunez  had  so- 
journed and  made  treaties  on  his  expedition  to  the 
Southern  Sea.  Ayora  partook  of  the  rash  and  domi- 
neering spirit  of  Pedrarias,  and  harassed  and  devas- 
tated the  countries  which  he  pretended  to  explore. 
He  was  received  with  amity  and  confidence  by  vari- 
ous caciques  who  had  tormed  treaties  with  Vasco 
Nufiez  ;  but  he  repaid  their  hospitality  with  the 
basest  ingratitude,  seizing  upon  their  property,  taking 
from  them  their  wives  and  daugliters,  and  often  tor- 
turing them  to  make  them  reveal  their  hidden  or 
supposed  treasures.  Among  those  treated  with  this 
perfidy,  we  grieve  to  enumerate  the  youthful  cacique 
who  first  gave  Vasco  Nufiez  information  of  the  sea 
beyond  the  mountains. 

The  enormities  of  Ayora  and  of  other  captains  of 
Pedrarias  produced  the  usual  effect  ;  the  natives 
were  roused  to  desperate  resistance  ;  caciques  who 
had  been  faithful  friends,  were  converted  into  furious 
enemies,  and  the  expedition  ended  in  disappoint- 
ment and  disaster. 

The  adherents  of  Vasco  Nufiez  did  not  fail  to  con- 
trast these  disastrous  enterprises  with  those  which 
had  been  conducted  with  so  much  glory  and  advan- 
tage by  their  favourite  commander  ;  and  their  sneers 
and  reproaches  had  such  an  effect  upon  the  jealous 
and  irritable  disposition  of  Pedrarias,  that  he  deter- 
mined to  employ  their  idol  in  a  service  that  would 
be  likely  to  be  attended  with  defeat  and  to  impair 
his  popularity.  None  seemed  more  fitting  for  the 
purpose  than  an  expedition  to  Dobayba,  where  he 
iiad  once  already  attempted  in  vain  to  penetrate,  and 
where  so  many  of  his  followers  had  fallen  victims  to 
the  stratagems  and  assaults  of  the  natives. 


*  Herrera,  decad.  2. 1.  i.  c.  1. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


779 


CHAPTER   XX. 

SECOND   EXPEDITION  OF  VASCO  NUSEZ  IN  QUEST 
OF  THE  GOLD   TEMPLE  OF  DOBAYBA. 

The  rich  mines  of  Dobayba  and  the  treasures  of 
its  golden  temple  had  continued  to  form  a  favourite 
tl.eme  with  the  Spanish  adventurers.  It  was  ascer- 
tained that  Vasco  Nunez  had  stopped  short  of  the 
wealthy  region  on  his  former  expedition,  and  had 
mistaken  a  frontier  village  for  the  residence  of  the 
cacique.  The  enterprise  of  the  temple  was  therefore 
still  to  be  achieved  ;  and  it  was  solicited  by  several 
of  the  cavaliers  in  the  train  of  Pedrarias  with  all  the 
chivalrous  ardour  of  that  romantic  age.  Indeed, 
common  report  had  invested  the  enterprise  with  dif- 
ficulties and  danger  sufficient  to  stimulate  the  ambi- 
tion of  the  keenest  seeker  of  adventure.  The  sav- 
ages who  inhabited  that  part  of  the  country  were 
courageous  and  adroit.  They  fought  by  water  as 
well  as  by  land,  forming  ambuscades  with  their  ca- 
noes in  the  bays  and  rivers.  The  country  was  inter- 
sected by  drear)'  fens  and  morasses,  infested  by  all 
kinds  of  reptiles.  Clouds  of  gnats  and  musquitoes 
filled  the  air  ;  there  were  large  bats  also,  supposed 
to  have  the  baneful  properties  of  the  vampire ;  alli- 
gators lurked  in  the  waters,  and  the  gloomy  recesses 
of  the  fens  were  said  to  be  the  dens  of  dragons  !  * 

Besides  these  objects  of  terror,  both  true  and  fab- 
ulous, the  old  hisiorian,  Peter  Martyr,  makes  men- 
tion of  another  monstrous  animal  said  to  infest  this 
golden  region,  and  which  deserves  to  be  cited,  as 
showing  the  imaginary  dangers  with  which  the  act- 
ive minds  of  the  discoverers  peopled  the  unexplored 
wilderness  around  them. 

According  to  the  tales  of  the  Indians,  there  had 
occurred  shortly  before  the  arrival  of  the  Spaniards 
a  violent  tempest,  or  rather  hurricane,  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Dobayba,  which  demolished  houses, 
tore  up  trees  by  the  roots,  and  laid  waste  whole  for- 
ests. When  the  tempest  had  subsided,  and  the 
affrighted  inhabitants  ventured  to  look  abroad,  they 
found  that  two  monstrous  animals  had  been  brought 
into  the  country  by  the  hurricane.  According  to 
their  accounts,  they  were  not  unlike  the  ancient  har- 
pies, and  one  being  smaller  than  the  other  was  sup- 
posed to  be  its  young.  They  had  the  faces  of  women, 
with  the  claws  and  wings  of  eagles,  and  were  of  such 
prodigious  size  that  the  very  boughs  of  the  trees  on 
which  they  alighted  broke  beneath  them.  They 
would  swoop  down  and  carry  off  a  man  as  a  hawk 
would  bear  off  a  chicken.  Hying  with  him  to  the  tops 
of  the  mountains,  where  they  would  tear  him  in 
pieces  and  devour  him.  For  some  time  they  were 
the  scourge  and  terror  of  the  land,  until  the  Indians 
succeeded  in  killing  the  old  one  by  stratagem,  and 
hanging  her  on  their  long  spears,  bore  her  through 
all  the  towns  to  assuage  the  alarm  of  the  inhabitants. 
The  younger  harpy,  says  the  Indian  tradition,  was 
never  seen  afterwards.! 

Such  were  some  of  the  perils,  true  and  fabulous, 
with  which  the  land  of  Dobayba  was  said  to  abound  ; 
and,  in  fact,  the  very  Indians  had  such  a  dread  of  its 
dark  and  dismal  morasses,  that  in  their  journeyings 
they  carefully  avoided  them,  preferring  the  circuitous 
and  rugged  paths  of  the  mountains. 

Several  of  the  youthful  cavaliers,  as  has  been  ob- 
served, were  stimulated,  rather  than  deterred,  by 
these  dangers,  and  contended  for  the  honour  of  the 
expedition  ;  but  Pedrarias  selected  his  rival  for  the 
task,  hoping,  as  has  been  hinted,  that  it  would  in- 
volve him  in  disgrace.  Vasco  Nunez  promptly  ac- 
cepted the  enterprise,  for  his  pride  was  concerned 


•  P.  Martyr. 


t  P.  Martyr,  decad.  7,  c.  10. 


in  its  success.  Two  hundred  resolute  men  were 
given  to  him  for  the  purpose ;  but  his  satisfaction 
was  diminished  when  he  found  that  Luis  Carrillo,  an 
officer  of  Pedrarias,  who  had  failed  in  a  perilous  en- 
terprise, was  associated  with  him  in  the  command. 

Few  particulars  remain  to  us  of  the  events  of  this 
affair.  They  embarked  in  a  fleet  of  canoes,  and,  trav- 
ersing the  gulf,  arrived  at  the  river  which  flowed 
down  from  the  region  of  Dobayba.  They  were  not 
destined,  however,  to  achieve  the  enterprise  of  the 
golden  temple.  As  they  were  proceeding  rather 
confidently  and  unguardedly  up  the  river,  they  were 
suddenly  surprised  and  surrounded  by  an  immense 
swarm  of  canoes,  filled  with  armed  savages,  which 
darted  out  from  lurking  places  along  the  shores. 
Some  of  the  Indians  assailed  them  with  lances,  oth- 
ers with  clouds  of  arrows,  while  some,  plunging  into 
the  water,  endeavoured  to  overturn  their  canoes.  In 
this  way  one-half  of  the  Spaniards  were  killed  or 
drowned.  Among  the  number  fell  Luis  Carrillo, 
pierced  through  the  breast  by  an  Indian  lance. 
Vasco  Nunez  himself  wa^  wounded,  and  had  great 
difficulty  in  escaping  to  the  shore  with  the  residue  of 
his  forces. 

The  Indians  pursued  him  and  kept  up  a  skirmish- 
ing attack,  but  he  beat  them  off  until  the  night,  when 
he  silently  abandoned  the  shore  of  the  river,  and  di- 
rected his  retreat  towards  Darien.  It  is  easier  to 
imagine  than  to  describe  the  toils  and  dangers  and 
horrors  which  beset  him  and  the  remnant  of  his 
men,  as  they  traversed  rugged  mountains  or  strug- 
gled through  these  fearful  morasses,  of  which  they 
had  heard  such  terrific  tales.  At  length  they  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  the  settlement  of  Darien. 

The  partisans  of  Pedrarias  exulted  in  seeing  Vasco 
Nunez  return  thus  foiled  and  wounded,  and  taunted 
his  adherents  with  their  previous  boastings.  The 
latter,  however,  laid  all  the  blame  upon  the  unfortu- 
nate Carrillo.  "  Vasco  Nuiiez,"  said  they,  "  had  al- 
ways absolute  command  in  his  former  enterprises, 
but  in  this  he  has  been  embarrassed  by  an  associate. 
Had  the  expedition  been  confided  to  him  alone,  the 
event  had  been  far  different." 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


LETTERS  FROM  THE  KING  IN  FAVOUR  OF  VASCO 
NUNEZ  —  ARRIVAL  OF  GARABITO — ARREST  OF 
VASCO    NUSEZ — (1515.) 

About  this  tiine  despatches  arrived  from  Spain 
that  promised  to  give  a  new  turn  to  the  fortunes  of 
Vasco  Nunez  and  to  the  general  affairs  of  the  colony. 
They  were  written  after  the  tidings  of  the  discovery 
of  the  South  Sea,  and  the  subjugation  of  so  many 
important  provinces  of  the  Isthmus.  In  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  Vasco  Nunez,  the  king  expressed  his  high 
sense  of  his  merits  and  services,  and  constituted  him 
Adelantado  of  the  South  Sea,  and  Governor  of  the 
provinces  of  Panama  and  Coyba,  though  subordinate 
to  the  general  command  of  Pedrarias.  A  letter  was 
likewise  written  by  the  king  to  Pedrarias,  informing 
him  of  this  appointment,  and  ordering  hiin  to  con- 
sult Vasco  Nunez  on  all  public  affairs  of  importance. 
This  was  a  humiliating  blow  to  the  pride  and  conse- 
quence of  Pedrarias,  but  he  hoped  to  parry  it.  In 
the  mean  time,  as  all  letters  from  Spain  were  first 
delivered  into  his  hands,  he  withheld  that  intended 
for  Vasco  Nunez,  until  he  should  determine  what 
course  of  conduct  to  adopt.  The  latter,  however, 
heard  of  the  circumstance,  as  did  his  friend  the 
Bishop  of  Darien.  The  prelate  made  loud  com- 
plaints of  this  interruption  of  the  royal  correspond- 


780 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ence,  which  he  denounced,  even  from  the  pulpit,  as 
an  outrage  upon  the  riglits  of  the  subject,  and  an  act 
of  disobedience  to  the  sovereign. 

Upon  this  the  governor  called  a  council  of  his  pub- 
lic officers  ;  and,  after  imparting  the  contents  of  his 
letter,  requested  their  opinion  as  to  the  propriety  of 
investing  Vasco  Nuiiez  with  the  dignities  thus  granted 
to  him.  The  Alcalde  Mayor,  Espinosa,  had  left  the 
party  of  the  bishop,  and  was  now  devoted  to  the  gover- 
nor. He  insisted,  vehemently,  that  the  offices  ought 
in  no  wise  to  be  g^ven  to  Vasco  Nuiiez,  until  the  king 
should  be  informed  of  the  result  of  the  inquest  which 
was  still  going  on  against  him.  In  this  he  was 
warmly  supported  by  the  treasurer  and  the  account- 
ant. The  bishop  replied,  indignantly,  that  it  was 
presumptuous  and  disloyal  in  them  to  dispute  the 
commands  of  the  king,  and  to  interfere  with  the  re- 
wards conscientiously  given  by  him  to  a  meritorious 
subject.  In  this  way,  he  added,  they  were  defeating, 
by  their  passions,  the  grateful  intentions  of  their  sov- 
ereign. The  governor  was  overawed  by  the  honest 
warmth  of  the  bishop,  and  professed  to  accord  with 
him  in  opinion.  The  council  lasted  until  midnight ; 
and  it  was  finally  agreed  that  the  titles  and  dignities 
should  be  conferred  on  Vasco  Nufiez  on  the  following 
day.* 

Pedrarias  and  his  officers  reflected,  however,  that 
if  the  jurisdiction  implied  by  these  titles  were  abso- 
lutely vested  in  Vasco  Nufiez,  the  government  of 
Darien  and  Castilla  del  Oro  would  virtually  be  re- 
duced to  a  trifling  matter ;  they  resolved,  therefore, 
to  adopt  a  middle  course  ;  to  grant  him  the  empty  ti- 
tles, but  to  make  him  give  security  not  to  enter  upon 
the  actual  government  of  the  territories  in  question, 
until  Pedrarias  should  give  him  permission.  The 
bishop  and  Vasco  Nunez  assented  to  this  arrange- 
ment ;  satisfied,  for  the  present,  with  securing  the 
titles,  and  trusting  to  the  course  of  events  to  get  do- 
minion over  the  territories.t 

The  new  honours  of  Vasco  Nunez  were  now  pro- 
mulgated to  the  world,  and  he  was  every  where  ad- 
dressed by  the  title  of  Adelantado.  His  old  friends 
lifted  up  their  heads  with  exultation,  and  new  ad- 
herents flocked  to  his  standard.  Parties  began  to 
form  for  him  and  for  Pedrarias,  for  it  was  deemed 
impossible  they  could  continue  long  in  harmony. 

The  jealousy  of  the  governor  was  excited  by  these 
circumstances  ;  and  he  regarded  the  newly  created 
Adelantado  as  a  dangerous  rival  and  an  insidious 
foe.  Just  at  this  critical  juncture,  Andres  Garabito, 
the  agent  of  Vasco  Nufiez,  arrived  on  the  coast  in  a 
vessel  which  he  had  procured  at  Cuba,  and  had 
freighted  with  arms  and  ammunition,  and  seventy 
resolute  men,  for  the  secret  expedition  to  the  shores 
of  the  Pacific  Ocean.  He  anchored  six  leagues  from 
the  harbour,  and  sent  word  privately  to  Vasco  Nunez 
of  his  arrival. 

Information  was  immediately  carried  to  Pedrarias, 
that  a  mj'sterious  vessel,  full  of  armed  men,  was  hov- 
ering on  the  coast,  and  holding  secret  comiliunication 
with  his  rival.  The  suspicious  temper  of  the  gover- 
nor immediately  took  the  alarm.  He  fancied  some 
treasonable  plot  against  his  authority ;  his  passions 
mingled  with  his  fears  ;  and,  in  the  first  burst  of  his 
fury,  he  ordered  that  Vasco  Nuiiez  should  be  seized 
and  confined  in  a  wooden  cage.  The  Bishop  of 
Darien  interposed  in  time  to  prevent  an  indignity 
which  it  might  have  been  impossible  to  expiate.  He 
prevailed  upon  the  passionate  governor,  not  merely 
to  retract  the  order  respecting  the  cage,  but  to  exam- 
ine the  whole  matter  with  coolness  and  deliberation. 


The  result  proved  that  his  suspicions  had  been  erro- 
neous ;  and  that  the  armament  had  been  set  on  foot 
without  any  treasonable  intent.  Vasco  Nuiiez  was 
therefore  set  at  liberty,  after  having  agreed  to  certain 
precautionar>'  conditions  ;  but  he  remained  cast  down 
in  spirit  and  impoverished  in  fortune,  by  the  harass- 
ing measures  of  Pedrarias. 


*  Oviedo.  part  2,  c.  g.  MS.  Oviedb,  the  historian,  was  present 
at  this  consultation,  and  says  that  he  wrote  down  the  opinions  given 
on  the  occasion,  which  the  parties  signed  with  their  proper  hands. 

t  Oviedo,  part  2,  c.  9.  MS. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

EXPEDITION  OF  MORALES  AND  PIZARRO  TO  THE 
SHORES  OF  THE  PACIFIC  OCEAN — THEIR  VISIT 
TO  THE  PEARL  ISLANDS  —  THEIR  DISASTROUS 
RETURN   ACROSS  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

The  Bishop  of  Darien,  encouraged  by  the  success 
of  his  intercession,  endeavoured  to  persuade  the  gov- 
ernor to  go  still  further,  and  to  permit  the  departure 
of  Vasco  Nufiez  on  his  expedition  to  the  South  Sea. 
The  jealousy  of  Pedrarias,  however,  was  too  strong 
to  permit  him  to  listen  to  such  counsel.  He  was 
aware  of  the  importance  of  the  expedition,  and  was 
anxious  that  the  Pearl  Islands  should  be  explored, 
which  promised  such  abundant  treasures ;  but  he 
feared  to  increase  the  popularity  of  Vasco  Nufiez,  by 
adding  such  an  enterprise  to  the  number  of  his 
achievements.  Pedrarias,  therefore,  set  on  foot  an 
expedition,  consisting  of  sixty  men,  but  gave  the 
command  to  one  of  his  own'  relations,  named  Caspar 
Morales.  The  latter  was  accompanied  by  Francisco 
Pizarro,  who  had  already  been  to  those  parts  in  the 
train  of  Vasco  Nuiiez,  and  who  soon  rose  to  impor- 
tance in  the  present  enterprise  by  his  fierce  courage 
and  domineering  genius. 

A  brief  notice  of  the  principal  incidents  of  this 
expedition  is  all  that  is  necessary  for  the  present 
narration. 

Morales  and  Pizarro  traversed  the  mountains  of  the 
isthmus  by  a  shorter  and  more  expeditious  route  than 
that  which  had  been  taken  by  Vasco  Nunez,  and  ar- 
rived on  the  shores  of  the  South  Sea  at  the  territo- 
ries of  a  cacique  named  Tutibra,  by  whom  they  were 
amicably  entertained.  Their  great  object  was  to  visit 
the  Pearl  Islands :  the  cacique,  however,  had  but 
four  canoes,  which  were  insufficient  to  contain  their 
whole  party.  One-half  of  their  number,  therefore, 
remained  at  the  village  of  Tutibra,  under  the  com- 
mand of  a  captain  named  Pefialosa  ;  the  residue  em- 
barked in  the  canoes  with  Morales  and  Pizarro. 
After  a  stormy  and  perilous  voyage,  they  landed  on 
one  of  the  smaller  islands,  where  they  had  some 
skirmishing  with  the  natives,  and  thence  made  their 
way  to  the  principal  island  of  the  Archipelago,  to 
which,  from  the  report  of  its  great  pearl  fishery,  Vasco 
Nufiez  had  given  the  name  of  Isla  Rica. 

The  cacique  of  this  island  had  long  been  the  terror 
of  the  neighbouring  coasts,  invading  the  main  land 
with  fleets  of  canoes,  and  carrying  off  the  inhabitants 
into  captivity.  His  reception  of  the  Spaniards  was 
worthy  of  his  fame.  Four  times  did  he  sally  forth  to 
defend  his  territory,  and  as  often  was  he  repulsed 
with  great  slaughter.  His  warriors  were  overwhelm- 
ed with  terror  at  the  fire-arms  of  the  Spaniards,  and 
at  their  ferocious  bloodhounds.  Poinding  all  resist- 
ance unavailing,  the  cacique  was  at  length  compelled 
to  sue  for  peace.  His  prayers  being  granted,  he  re- 
ceived the  conquerors  into  his  habitation,  which  was 
well  built,  and  of  immense  size.  Here  he  brought 
them,  as  a  peace-offering,  a  basket  curiously  wrought, 
and  filled  with  pearls  of  great  beauty.  Among  these 
were  two  of  extraordinary  size  and  value.  One 
weighed  twenty-five  carats ;    the  other  was  of  the 


SPANISH   VOYAGES    OF   DISCOVERY. 


781 


size  of  a  Muscadine  pear,  weighing  upwards  of  three 
drachms,  and  of  oriental  colour  and  lustre.  The 
cacique  considered  himself  more  than  repaid  by  a 
present  of  hatchets,  beads,  and  hawks'-bells  :  and,  on 
the  Spaniards  smiling  at  his  joy,  observed,  "  These 
things  I  can  turn  to  useful  purpose,  but  of  what  value 
are  those  pearls  to  me  ?  " 

Finding,  however,  that  these  baubles  were  precious 
in  the  eyes  of  the  Spaniards,  he  took  Morales  and 
Pizarro  to  the  summit  of  a  wooden  tower,  command- 
ing an  unbounded  prospect.  "  Behold,  before  you," 
said  he,  "  the  infinite  sea,  which  extends  even  be- 
yond the  sun-beams.  As  to  these  islands  which  lie 
to  the  right  and  left,  they  are  all  subject  to  my  sway. 
They  possess  but  little  gold,  but  the  deep  places  of 
the  sea  around  them  are  full  of  pearls.  Continue  to 
be  my  friends,  and  you  shall  have  as  many  as  you 
desire ;  for  I  value  your  friendship  more  than  pearls, 
and,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  will  never  forfeit  it." 

He  then  pointed  to  the  main  land,  where  it  stretch- 
ed towards  the  east,  mountain  beyond  mountain, 
until  the  summit  of  the  last  faded  in  the  distance, 
and  was  scarcely  seen  above  the  watery  horizon.  In 
that  direction,  he  said,  there  lay  a  vast  country  of 
inexhaustible  riches,  inhabited  by  a  mighty  nation. 
He  went  on  to  repeat  the  vague  but  wonderful  ru- 
mours which  the  Spaniards  had  frequently  heard 
about  the  great  kingdom  of  Peru.  Pizarro  listened 
greedily  to  his  words,  and  while  his  eye  followed  the 
finger  of  the  cacique,  as  it  ranged  along  the  line 
of  shadowy  coast,  his  daring  mind  kindled  with  the 
thought  of  seeking  this  golden  empire  beyond  the 
waters.* 

Before  leaving  the  island,  the  two  captains  im- 
pressed the  cacique  with  so  great  an  idea  of  the 
power  of  the  king  of  Castile,  that  he  agreed  to  be- 
come his  vassal,  and  to  render  him  an  annual  tribute 
of  one  hundred  pounds  weight  of  pearls. 

The  party  having  returned  in  safety  to  the  main 
land,  though  to  a  different  place  from  that  where 
they  had  embarked,  Caspar  Morales  sent  his  rela- 
tion, Bernardo  Morales,  with  ten  men  in  quest  of 
Pehalosa  and  his  companions,  who  had  remained  in 
the  village  of  Tutibra. 

Unfortunately  for  the  Spaniards,  during  the  ab- 
sence of  the  commanders,  this  Pefialosa  had  so 
exasperated  the  natives  by  his  misconduct,  that  a 
conspirai;y  had  been  formed  by  the  caciques  along 
the  coast  to  massacre  the  whole  of  the  strangers, 
when  the  party  should  return  from  the  islands. 

Bernardo  Morales  and  his  companions,  on  their 
way  in  quest  of  Pefialosa,  put  up  for  the  night  in  the 
village  of  a  cacique  named  Chuchama,  who  was  one 
of  the  conspirators.  They  were  entertained  with 
pretended  hospitality.  In  the  dead  of  the  night, 
however,  the  house  in  which  they  were  sleeping 
was  wrapped  in  flames,  and  most  of  them  were 
destroyed.  Chuchama  then  prepared  with  his  con- 
federates to  attack  the  main  body  of  the  Spaniards 
who  remained  with  Morales  and  Pizarro. 

Fortunately  for  the  latter,  there  was  among  the 
Indians  who  had  accompanied  them  to  the  islands  a 
cacique  named  Chiruca,  who  was  in  secret  corre- 
spondence with  the  conspirators.  Some  circum- 
stances in  his  conduct  excited  their  suspicions  ;  they 
put  him  to  the  torture  and  drew  from  him  a  relation  of 
the  massacre  of  their  companions,  and  of  the  attack 
with  which  they  were  men.aced. 

Morales  and  Pizarro  were  at  first  appalled  by  the 
overwhelming  danger  which  surrounded  them.  Con- 
cealing their  agitation,  however,  they  compelled 
Chiruta  to  send  a  message  to  each  of  the  confederate 
caciques,  inviting  him  to  a  secret  conference,  under 


'  Hcrrcra,  d.  a.  \.  i.  c.  iv.  P.  Martyr,  d,  3.  c.  x. 


pretence  of  giving  him  important  information.  The 
caciques  came  at  the  summons :  they  were  thus  taken 
one  by  one  to  the  number  of  eighteen,  and  put  in 
chains.  Just  at  this  juncture  Pehalosa  arrived  with 
the  thirty  men  who  had  remained  with  him  at  Tuti- 
bra. Their  arrival  was  hailed  with  joy  by  their 
comrades,  who  had  given  them  up  for  lost.  En- 
couraged by  this  unexpected  reinforcement,  the 
Spaniards  now  attacked  by  surprise  the  main  body 
of  confederate  Indians,  who,  being  ignorant  of  the 
discovery  of  their  plot,  and  capture  of  their  caciques, 
were  awaiting  the  return  of  the  latter  in  a  state  of 
negligent  security. 

Pizarro  led  the  van,  and  set  upon  the  enemy  at 
daybreak  with  the  old  Spanish  war-cry  of  Santiago  ! 
It  was  a  slaughter  rather  than  a  battle,  for  the  In- 
dians were  unprepared  for  resistance.  Before  sun- 
rise, seven  hundred  lay  dead  upon  the  field.  Return- 
ing from  the  massacre,  the  commanders  doomed  the 
caciques  who  were  in  chains  to  be  torn  in  pieces  by 
the  bloodhounds ;  nor  was  even  Chiruca  spared 
from  this  sanguinary  sentence.  Notwithstanding 
this  bloody  revenge,  the  vindictive  spirit  of  the  com- 
manders was  still  unappeased,  and  tliey  set  off  to 
surprise  the  village  of  a  cacique  named  Biru,  who 
dwelt  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  Gulf  of  St.  Michael. 
He  was  famed  for  valour  and  for  cruelty :  his  dwell- 
ing was  surrounded  by  the  weapons  and  other  tro- 
phies of  those  whom  he  had  vanquished  ;  and  he 
was  said  never  to  give  quarter. 

The  Spaniards  assailed  his  village  before  daybreak 
with  fire  and  sword,  and  made  dreadful  havoc.  Biru 
escaped  from  his  burning  habitation,  rallied  his 
people,  kept  up  a  galling  fight  throughout  the  great- 
er part  of  that  day,  and  handled  the  Spaniards  so 
roughly,  that,  when  he  drew  off  at  night,  they  did 
not  venture  to  pursue  him,  but  returned  right  gladly 
from  his  territory.  According  to  some  of  the  Span- 
ish writers,  the  kingdom  of  Peru  derived  its  name 
from  this  warlike  cacique,  through  a  blunder  of  the 
early  discoverers  ;  the  assertion,  however,  is  believed 
to  be  erroneous. 

The  Spaniards  had  pushed  their  bloody  revenge 
to  an  extreme,  and  were  now  doomed  to  suffer  from 
the  recoil.  In  the  fury  of  their  passions,  they  had 
forgotten  that  they  were  but  a  handful  of  men  sur- 
rounded by  savage  nations.  Returning  wearied  and 
disheartened  from  the  battle  with  Biru,  they  were 
waylaid  and  assaulted  by  a  host  of  Indians  led  on  by 
the  son  of  Chiruca.  A  javelin  from  his  hand  pierced 
one  of  the  Spaniards  through  the  breast  and  came 
out  between  the  shoulders  ;  several  others  were 
wounded,  and  the  remainder  were  harassed  by 
a  galling  fire  kept  up  from  among  rocks  and 
bushes. 

•Dismayed  at  the  implacable  vengeance  they  had 
aroused,  the  Spaniards  hastened  to  abandon  these 
hostile  shores  and  make  the  best  of  their  way  back 
to  Uarien.  The  Indians,  however,  were  not  to  be 
appeased  by  the  mere  departure  of  the  intruders. 
Ihey  followed  them  perseveringly  for  seven  days, 
hanging  on  their  skirts,  and  harassing  them  by  con- 
tinual alarms.  Morales  and  Pizarro,  seeing  tne 
obstinacy  of  their  pursuit,  endeavoured  to  gain  a 
march  upon  them  by  stratagem.  Making  large 
fires  as  usual  one  night  about  the  place  of  their 
encampment,  they  left  them  burning  to  deceive  the 
enemy  while  they  made  a  rapid  retreat.  Among 
their  number  was  one  poor  fellow  named  Velasquez, 
who  was  so  grievously  wounded  that  he  could  not 
walk.  Unable  to  accompany  his  countrymen  in 
their  flight,  and  dreading  to  fall  into  the  merciless 
hands  of  the  savages,  he  determined  to  hang  him- 
self, nor  could  the  prayers  and  even  lears  of  his 
comrades  dissuade  him  from  his  purpose. 


782 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


The  stratagem  of  the  Spaniards,  however,  was 
unavailing.  Their  retreat  was  perceived,  and  at 
daybreak,  to  their  dismay,  they  found  themselves 
surrounded  by  three  squadrons  of  savages.  Unable, 
in  their  haggard  state,  to  make  head  against  so 
many  foes,  they  remained  drawn  up  all  day  on  the 
defensive,  some  watching  while  others  reposed.  At 
night  they  lit  their  fires  and  again  attempted  to 
make  a  secret  retreat.  The  Indians,  however,  were 
as  usual  on  their  traces,  and  wounded  several  with 
arrows.  Thus  pressed  and  goaded,  the  Spaniards 
became  desperate,  and  fought  like  madmen,  rushing 
upon  the  very  darts  of  the  enemy. 

Morales  now  resorted  to  an  inhuman  and  fruitless 
expedient  to  retard  his  pursuers.  He  caused  several 
Indian  prisoners  to  be  slain,  hoping  that  their  friends 
would  stop  to  lament  over  them  ;  but  the  sight  of 
their  mangled  bodies  only  increased  the  fury  of  the 
savages  and  the  obstinacy  of  their  pursuit. 

For  nine  days  were  the  Spaniards  hunted  in  this 
manner  about  the  woods  and  mountains,  the  swamps 
and  fens,  wandering  they  knew  not  whither,  and  re- 
turning upon  their  steps,  until,  to  their  dismay,  they 
found  themselves  in  the  very  place  where,  several 
days  previously,  they  had  been  surrounded  by  the 
three  squadrons. 

Many  now  began  to  despair  of  ever  escaping  with 
life  from  this  trackless  wilderness,  thus  teeming  with 
deadly  foes.  It  was  with  difficulty  their  commanders 
could  rally  their  spirits,  and  encourage  them  to  per- 
severe. Entering  a  thick  forest  they  were  again  as- 
sailed by  a  band  of  Indians,  but  despair  and  fury 
gave  them  strength :  they  fought  hke  wild  beasts 
rather  than  Hke  men,  and  routed  the  Ibe  with  dread- 
ful carnage.  They  had  hoped  to  gain  a  breaching 
time  by  this  victory,  but  a  new  distress  attended 
them.  They  got  entangled  in  one  of  those  deep  and 
dismal  marshes  which  abound  on  those  coasts,  and 
in  which  the  wanderer  is  often  drowned  or  suffocated. 
For  a  whole  day  they  toiled  through  brake  and 
bramble,  and  miry  fen,  with  the  water  reaching  to 
their  girdles.  At  length  they  extricated  themselves 
from  the  swamp,  and  arrived  at  the  sea  shore.  The 
tide  was  out,  but  was  about  to  return,  and  on  this 
coast  it  rises  rapidly  to  a  great  height.  Fearing  to 
be  overwhelmed  by  the  rising  surf,  they  hastened  to 
climb  a  rock  out  of  reach  of  the  sweUing  waters. 
Here  they  threw  themselves  on  the  earth,  panting 
with  fatigue  and  abandoned  to  despair.  A  savage 
wilderness  filled  with  still  more  savage  foes,  was  on 
one  side,  on  the  other  the  roaring  sea.  How  were 
they  to  extricate  themselves  from  these  surrounding 
perils  ?  While  reflecting  on  their  desperate  situation, 
they  heard  the  voices  of  Indians.  On  looking  cau- 
tiously round,  they  beheld  four  canoes  entering  a 
neighbouring  creek.  A  party  was  immediately  des- 
patched who  came  upon  the  savages  by  surprise, 
drove  them  into  the  woods,  and  seized  upon  the 
canoes.  In  these  frail  barks  the  Spaniards  escaped 
from  their  perilous  neighbourhood,  and,  traversmg 
the  Gulf  of  St.  Michael,  landed  in  a  less  hostile  part, 
from  whence  they  set  out  a  second  time,  across  the 
mountains. 

It  is  needless  to  recount  the  other  hardships  they 
endured,  and  their  further  conflicts  with  the  Indians  ; 
suffice  it  to  say,  after  a  series  of  almost  incredible 
sufferings  and  disasters,  they  at  length  arrived 
in  a  battered  and  emaciated  condition  at  Darien. 
Throughout  all  their  toils  and  troubles,  however, 
they  had  managed  to  preserve  a  part  of  the  treasure 
they  had  gained  in  the  islands  ;  especially  the  pearls 
given  them  by  the  cacique  of  Isla  Rica.  These  were 
objects  of  universal  admiration.  One  of  them  was 
put  up  at  auction,  and  bought  by  Pedrarias,  and 
was  afterwards  presented  by  his  wife  Dofia  Isabella 


de  Bobadilla  to  the  Empress,  who,  in  return,  gave 
her  four  thousand  ducats.* 

Such  was  the  cupidity  of  the  colonists,  that  the 
sight  of  these  pearls  and  the  reputed  wealth  of  the 
islands  of  the  Southern  Sea,  and  the  kingdoms  on  its 
borders,  made  far  greater  impression  on  the  public 
mind,  than  the  tale  told  by  the  adventurers  of  all  the 
horrors  they  had  past ;  and  every  one  was  eager  to 
seek  these  wealthy  regions  beyond  the  mountains. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


UNFORTUNATE  ENTERPRISES  OF  THE  OFFICERS 
OF  PEDRARIAS — MATRIMONIAL  COMPACT  BE- 
TWEEN THE  GOVERNOR   AND   VASCO   NU.'v'EZ. 

In  narrating  the  preceding  expedition  of  Morales 
and  Pizarro,  we  have  been  tempted  into  what  may 
almost  be  deemed  an  episode,  though  it  serves  to 
place  in  a  proper  light  the  lurking  difficulties  and 
dangers  which  beset  the  expeditions  of  Vasco  Nufiez 
to  the  same  regions,  and  his  superior  prudence  and 
management  in  avoiding  them.  It  is  not  the  object 
of  this  narrative,  however,  to  record  the  general 
events  of  the  colony  under  the  administration  of 
Don  Pedrarias  Davila.  We  refrain,  therefore,  from 
detailing  various  expeditions  set  on  foot  by  him  to 
explore  and  subjugate  the  surrounding  country  ;  and 
which,  being  ignorantly  or  rashly  conducted,  too 
often  ended  in  misfortune  and  disgrace.  One  of 
these  was  to  the  province  of  Zenu,  where  gold  was 
supposed  to  be  taken  in  the  rivers  in  nets ;  and 
where  the  Bachelor  Eaciso  once  undertook  to  invade 
the  sepulchres.  A  captain  named  Francisco  Becerra 
penetrated  into  this  countr}'  at  the  head  of  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty  men,  well  armed  and  equipped,  and 
provided  with  three  pieces  of  artillery ;  biit  neither 
the  commander  nor  any  of  his  men  returned.  An 
Indian  boy  who  accompanied  them  was  the  only  one 
who  escaped,  and  told  the  dismal  tale  of  their  having 
fallen  victims  to  the  assaults  and  stratagems  and 
poisoned  arrows  of  the  Indians. 

Another  band  was  defeated  by  Tubanama,  the 
ferocious  cacique  of  the  mountains,  who  bore  as  ban- 
ners the  bloody  shirts  of  the  Spaniards  he  had  slain 
in  former  battles.  In  fine,  the  colony  became  so 
weakened  by  these  repeated  losses,  and  the  savages 
so  emboldened  by  success,  that  the  latter  beleaguered 
it  with  their  forces,  harassed  it  by  assaults  and  am- 
buscades, and  reduced  it  to  great  extremity.  Such 
was  the  alarm  in  Darien,  says  the. Bishop  Las  Casas, 
that  the  people  feared  to  be  burnt  in  their  houses. 
They  kept  a  watchful  eye  upon  the  mountains,  the 
plains,  and  the  very  branches  of  the  trees.  Their 
imaginations  were  infected  by  their  fears.  If  they 
looked  toward  the  land,  the  long,  waving  grass  of  the 
savannahs  appeared  to  them  to  be  moving  hosts  of' 
Indians.  If  they  looked  towards  the  sea,  they  fancied 
they  beheld  fleets  of  canoes  in  the  distance.  Pedra- 
rias endeavoured  to  prevent  all  rumours  from  abroad 
that  might  increase  this  fevered  state  of  alarm  ;  at 
the  same  time  he  ordered  the  smeltinghouse  to  be 
closed,  which  was  never  done  but  in  time  of  war. 
This  was  done  at  the  suggestion  of  the  Bishop,  who 
caused  prayers  to  be  put  up,  and  fasts  proclaimed,  to 
avert  the  impending  calamities. 

While  Pedrarias  was  harassed  and  perplexed  by 
these  complicated  evils,  he  was  haunted  by  continual 
apprehensions  of  the  ultimate  ascendency  of  Vasco 
Nuiiez.  He  knew  him  to  be  beloved  by  the  people, 
and  befriended  by  the  Bishop ;  and  he  had  received 


*  Herrera,  Hist.  Ind.  d.  3, 1.  t.  c.  4. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


783 


proofs  that  his  services  were  highly  appreciated  by 
the  king.  He  Icnew  also  that  representations  had 
been  sent  home  by  him  and  his  partisans,  of  the  evils 
and  abuses  of  the  colony  under  the  present  rule,  and 
of  the  necessity  of  a  more  active  and  efficient  gov- 
ernor. He  dreaded  lest  these  representations  should 
ultimately  succeed ;  that  he  should  be  undermined 
in  the  royal  favour,  and  Vasco  Nunez  be  elevated 
upon  his  ruins. 

The  politic  bishop  perceived  the  uneasy  state  of 
the  governor's  mind,  and  endeavoured,  by  means  of 
his  apprehensions,  to  effect  that  reconciliation  which 
he  had  sought  in  vain  to  produce  through  more 
generous  motives.  He  represented  to  him  that  his 
treatment  of  Vasco  Nufiez  was  odious  in  the  eyes  of 
the  people,  and  must  eventually  draw  on  him  the 
displeasure  of  his  sovereig.i.  "  But  why  persist," 
added  he,  •'  in  driving  a  man  to  become  your  dead- 
liest enemy,  whom  you  may  grapple  to  your  side  as 
your  firmest  friend  ?  You  have  several  daughters — 
give  him  one  in  marriage  ;  you  will  then  have  for  a 
son-in-law  a  man  of  merit  and  popularity,  who  is  a 
hidalgo  by  birth,  and  a  favourite  of  the  king.  You 
are  advanced  in  life  and  infirm  ;  he  is  in  the  prime 
and  vigour  of  his  days,  and  possessed  of  great  activ- 
ity. You  can  make  him  your  lieutenant ;  and  while 
you  repose  from  your  toils,  he  can  carry  on  the  af- 
fairs of  the  colony  with  spirit  and  enterprise ;  and 
all  his  achievements  will  redound  to  the  advance- 
ment of  your  family  and  the  splendour  of  your  ad- 
ministration." 

The  governor  and  his  lady  were  won  by  the  elo- 
quence of  the  bishop  and  readily  listened  to  his  sug- 
gestions ;  and  Vasco  Nufiez  was  but  too  happy  to 
effect  a  reconciliation  on  such  flattering  terms. 
Written  articles  were  accordingly  drawn  up  and  ex- 
changed, contracting  a  marriage  between  him  and 
the  eldest  daughter  of  Pedrarias.  The  young  lady 
was  then  in  Spain,  but  was  to  be  sent  for,  and  the 
nuptials  were  to  be  celebrated  on  her  arrival  at 
Darien. 

Having  thus  fulfilled  his  office  of  peace-maker,  and 
settled,  as  he  supposed,  all  feuds  and  jealousies  on 
the  sure  and  permanent  foundation  of  family  alliance, 
the  worthy  bishop  departed  shortly  afterwards  for 
Spain. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


VASCO  nuNez  transports  ships  across  the 

MOUNTAINS  TO  THE  PACIFIC  OCEAN. — (1516.) 

Behold  Vasco  Nunez  once  more  in  the  high 
career  of  prosperity !  His  most  imjilacable  enemy 
had  suddenly  been  converted  into  his  dearest  friend  ; 
for  the  governor,  now  that  he  looked  upon  him  as 
his  son-in-law,  loaded  him  with  favours.  Above  all, 
he  authorized  him  to  build  brigantines  and  make  all 
the  necessary  preparations  for  his  long-desired  ex- 
pedition to  explore  the  Southern  Ocean.  The  place 
appointed  for  these  purposes  was  the  port  of  Careta, 
situated  to  the  west  of  Darien ;  from  whence  there 
was  supposed  to  be  the  most  convenient  route  across 
the  mountains.  A  town  called  Ada  had  been  found- 
ed at  this  port ;  and  the  fortress  was  already  erected, 
of  which  Lope  de  Olano  was  Alcalde ;  Vasco  Nuiiez 
was  now  empowered  to  continue  the  building  of  the 
town.  Two  hundred  men  were  placed  under  his 
command  to  aid  him  in  carrying  his  plans  into  exe- 
cution, and  a  sum  of  money  was  advanced  to  him 
out  of  the  royal  treasury.  His  supply  of  funds,  how- 
ever, was  not  sufficient ;  but  he  received  assistance 
from  a  private  source.  There  was  a  notary  at  Darien, 
named  Hernando  de  Arguello,  a  man  of  some  con- 


sequence in  the  community,  and  who  had  been  one 
of  the  most  furious  opponents  of  the  unfortunate 
Nicuesa.  He  had  amassed  considerable  property, 
and  now  embarked  a  great  part  of  it  in  the  proposed 
enterprise,  on  condition,  no  doubt,  ol  sharing  largely 
in  its  anticipated  profits. 

On  arriving  at  Ada,  Vasco  Nufiez  set  to  work  to 
prepare  the  materials  of  four  brigantines  that  were 
to  be  launched  into  the  South  Sea.  The  timber  was 
felled  on  the  Atlantic  seaboard ;  and  was  then,  with 
the  anchors  and  rigging,  transported  across  the  lofty 
ridge  of  mountains  to  the  opposite  shores  of  the  Isth- 
mus. Several  Spaniards,  thirty  Negroes,  and  a  great 
number  of  Indians  were  employed  for  the  purpose. 
They  had  no  other  roads  but  Indian  paths,  strag- 
gling through  almost  impervious  forests,  across  tor- 
rents, and  up  rugged  defiles,  broken  by  rocks  and 
precipices.  In  this  way  they  toiled  like  ants  up  the 
mountains,  with  their  ponderous  burthens,  under  the 
scorching  rays  of  a  tropical  sun.  Many  of  the  poor 
Indians  sank  by  the  way  and  perished  under  this 
stupendous  task.  The  Spaniards  and  Negroes,  be- 
ing of  hardier  constitutions,  were  better  able  to  cope 
with  the  incredible  hardships  to  which  they  were 
subjected.  On  the  summit  of  the  mountains  a  house 
had  been  provided  for  their  temporary  repose.  After 
remaining  here  a  little  time  to  refresh  themselves 
and  gain  new  strength,  they  renewed  their  labours, 
descending  the  opposite  side  of  the  mountains  until 
they  reached  the  navigable  part  of  a  river,  which 
they  called  the  Balsas,  and  which  flowed  into  the 
Pacific. 

Much  time  and  trouble  and  many  lives  were  ex- 
pended on  this  arduous  undertaking,  before  they  had 
transported  to  the  river  sufficient  timber  for  two 
brigantines  ;  while  the  timber  for  the  other  two,  and 
the  rigging  and  munitions  for  tlie  whole,  yet  re- 
mained to  be  brought.  To  add  to  their  difliculties, 
they  had  scarcely  begun  to  work  upon  the  timber  be- 
fore they  discovered  that  it  was  totally  useless,  being 
subject  to  the  ravages  of  the  worms  from  having 
been  cut  in  the  vicinity  of  salt  water.  They  were 
obliged,  therefore,  to  begin  anew,  and  fell  trees  on 
the  border  of  the  river. 

Vasco  Nufiez  maintained  his  patience  and  perse- 
verance, and  displayed  admirable  management  under 
these  delays  aad  difficulties.  Their  supply  of  food 
being  scanty,  he  divided  his  people,  Spaniards, 
Negroes,  and  Indians,  into  three  bands  ;  one  was  to 
cut  and  saw  the  wood,  another  to  bring  the  rigging 
and  iron-work  from  Ada,  which  was  twenty-two 
leagues  distant ;  and  the  third  to  forage  the  neigh- 
bouring country  for  provisions. 

Scarcely  was  the  timber  felled  and  shaped  for  use 
when  the  rains  set  in,  and  the  river  swelled  and  over- 
flowed its  banks  so  suddenly,  that  the  workmen 
barely  escaped  with  their  lives  by  clambering  into 
the  trees ;  while  the  wood  on  which  they  had  been 
working  was  either  buried  in  sand  or  slime,  or 
swept  away  by  the  raging  torrent.  Famine  was  soon 
added  to  their  other  distresses.  The  foraging  party 
was  absent  and  did  not  return  with  food :  and  the 
swelling  of  the  river  cut  them  off  from  that  part  of 
the  country  from  whence  they  obtained  their  sup- 
plies. They  were  reduced,  therefore,  to  such  scar- 
city, as  to  be  fain  to  assuage  their  hunger  with  such 
roots  as  they  could  gather  in  the  forests. 

In  this  extremity  the  Indians  bethought  themselve", 
of  one  of  their  rude  and  simple  expedients.  Plung- 
ing into  the  river  they  fastened  a  number  of  logs  to- 
gether with  withes,  and  connected  them  with  the  op- 
posite bank,  so  as  to  make  a  floating  bridge.  On 
this  a  party  of  the  Spaniards  crossed  with  great 
difficulty  and  peril,  from  the  violence  of  the  current, 
and  the  flexibility  of  the  bridge,  which  often  sank 


784 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


beneath  them  until  the  water  rose  above  their  girdles. 
On  being  safely  landed,  they  foraged  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  procured  a  supply  of  provisions  sufficient 
for  the  present  emergency. 

When  the  river  subsided  the  workmen  again  re- 
sumed their  labours ;  a  number  of  recruits  arrived 
from  Acla,  bringing  various  supplies,  and  the  busi- 
ness of  the  enterprise  was  pressed  with  redoubled 
ardour,  until,  at  length,  .ifter  a  series  of  incredible 
toils  and  hardships,  Vasco  Nuiiez  had  the  satisfac- 
tion to  behold  two  of  his  brigantines  floating  on  the 
river  Balsas.  As  soon  as  they  could  be  equipped 
for  sea,  he  embarked  in  them  with  as  many  Span- 
iards as  they  could  carry ;  and,  issuing  forth  from 
the  river,  launched  triumphantly  on  the  great  ocean 
he  had  discovered. 

We  can  readily  imagine  the  exultation  of  this  in- 
trepid adventurer,  and  how  amply  he  was  repaid  for 
all  his  sufferings  when  he  first  spread  a  sail  upon 
that  untraversed  ocean  and  felt  that  the  range  of  an 
unknown  world  was  open  to  him. 

There  are  points  in  the  history  of  these  Spanish 
discoveries  of  the  western  hemisphere  that  make  us 
pause  with  wonder  and  admiration  at  the  daring 
spirit  of  the  men  who  conducted  them  and  the  ap- 
palling difficulties  surmounted  by  their  courage  and 
perseverance.  We  know  few  instances,  however, 
more  striking  than  this  piecemeal  transportation 
across  the  mountains  of  Darien  of  the  first  Euro- 
pean ships  that  ploughed  the  waves  of  the  Pacific; 
and  we  can  readily  excuse  the  boast  of  the  old  Cas- 
tilian  writers  when  they  exclaim  "  that  none  but 
Spaniards  could  ever  have  conceived  or  persisted  in 
such  an  undertaking,  and  no  commander  in  the  new 
world  but  Vasco  Nunez  could  have  conducted  it  to 
a  successful  issue."* 


CHAPTER   XXV. 


CRUISE    OF    VASCO    NU5fEZ    IN    THE    SOUTHERN 
SEA — RUMOURS   FRO.M  ACLA. 

The  first  cruise  of  Vasco  Nufiez  was  to  the  group 
of  Pearl  islands,  on  the  principal  one  of  which  he 
disembarked  the  greater  part  of  his  crews,  and  des- 
patched the  brigantines  to  the  main  land  to  bring 
off  the  remainder.  It  was  his  intention  to  construct 
the  other  two  vessels  of  his  proposed  squadron  at 
this  island.  During  the  absence  of  the  brigantines 
he  ranged  the  island  with  his  men  to  collect  provis- 
ions and  to  establish  a  complete  sway  over  the  na- 
tives. On  the  return  of  his  vessels,  and  while  prep- 
arations were  making  for  the  building  of  the  oth- 
ers, he  embarked  with  a  hundred  men  and  departed 
on  a  reconnoitering  cruise  to  the  eastward  towards 
the  region  pointed  out  by  the  Indians  as  abounding 
in  riches. 

Having  passed  about  twenty  leagues  beyond  the 
Gulf  of  San  Miguel,  the  mariners  were  filled  with 
apprehension  at  beholding  a  great  number  of 
whales,  which  resembled  a  reef  of  rocks  stretch- 
ing far  into  the  sea  and  lashed  by  breakers.  In  an 
unknown  ocean  like  this  every  unusual  object  is  apt 
to  inspire  alarm.  The  seamen  feared  to  approach 
these  fancied  dangers  in  the  dark ;  Vasco  Nunez 
anchored,  therefore,  for  the  night  under  a  point  of 
land,  intending  to  continue  in  the  same  direction  on 
the  following  day.  When  the  morning  dawned, 
however,  the  wind  had  changed  and  was  contrary  ; 
whereupon  he  altered  his  course  and  thus  aban- 
doned a  cruise,  which,  if  persevered  in,  might  have 


*  Herrera,  d.  2.  I.  ii.  c.  11. 


terminated  in  the  discovery  of  Peru  !  Steering  for 
the  main  land,  he  anchored  on  that  part  of  the  coast 
governed  by  the  cacique  Chuchama,  who  had  mas- 
sacred Bernardo  Morales  and  his  companions  when 
reposing  in  his  village.  Here  landing  with  his  men, 
Vasco  Nufiez  came  suddenly  upon  the  dwelling  of 
the  cacique.  The  Indians  sallied  forth  to  defend 
their  homes,  but  were  routed  with  great  loss ;  and 
ample  vengeance  was  taken  upon  them  for  their  out- 
rage upon  the  laws  of  hospitality.  Having  thus 
avenged  the  death  of  his  countrymen,  Vasco  Nuiiez 
re-embarked  and  returned  to  Isla  Rica. 

He  now  applied  himself  diligently  to  complete  the 
building  of  his  brigantines,  despatching  men  to  Acla 
to  bring  the  necessary  stores  and  rigging  across  the 
mountains.  While  thus  occupied,  a  rumour  reached 
him  that  a  new  governor  named  Lope  de  Sosa  was 
coming  out  from  Spain  to  supersede  Pedrarias. 
Vasco  Nufiez  was  troubled  at  these  tidings.  A  new 
governor  would  be  likely  to  adopt  new  measures,  or 
to  have  new  favourites.  He  feared,  therefore,  that 
sjme  order  might  come  to  suspend  or  embarrass 
his  expedition,  or  that  the  command  of  it  might  be 
given  to  another.  In  his  perplexity  he  held  a  con- 
sultation with  several  of  his  confidential  officers. 

After  some  debate,  it  was  agreed  among  them 
that  a  trusty  and  intelligent  person  should  be  sent 
as  a  scout  to  Acla  under  pretence  of  jjrocuring  mu- 
nitions for  the  ships.  Should  he  find  Pedrarias  in 
quiet  possession .  of  the  government,  he  was  to  ac- 
count to  him  for  the  delay  of  the  expedition  ;  to  re- 
quest that  the  time  allotted  to  it  might  be  extended, 
and  to  request  reinforcements  and  supplies.  Should 
he  find,  however,  that  a  new  governor  was  actually 
arrived,  he  was  to  return  immediately  with  the  tid- 
ings. In  such  case  it  was  resolved  to  put  to  sea  be- 
fore any  contrary  orders  could  arrive,  trusting  event- 
ually to  excuse  themselves  on  the  plea  of  zeal  and 
good  intentions. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 


RECONNOITERING    EXPEDITION    OF     GARABITO — 
STRATAGEM  OF   PEDRARIAS  TO   ENTRAP  VASCO 

NU5SEZ. 

The  person  entrusted  with  the  reconnoitering  ex- 
pedition to  Acla  was  Andres  Garabito,  in  whose 
fidelity  and  discretion  Vasco  Nufiez  had  implicit  con- 
fidence. His  confidence  was  destined  to  be  fatally 
deceived.  According  to  the  assertions  of  contem- 
poraries, this  Garabito  cherished  a  secret  and  vindic- 
tive enmity  against  his  commander,  arising  from  a 
simple  but  a  natural  cause.  Vasco  Nunez  had  con- 
tinued to  have  a  fondness  for  the  Indian  damsel, 
daughter  of  the  cacique  Careta,  whom  he  had  received 
from  her  father  as  a  pledge  of  amity.  Some  dispute 
arose  concerning  her  on  one  occasion  between  him 
and  Garabito,  in  the  course  of  which  he  expressed 
himself  in  severe  and  galling  language.  Garabito 
was  deeply  mortified  at  some  of  his  expressions,  and, 
being  of  a  malignant  spirit,  determined  on  a  dastardly 
revenge.  He  wrote  privately  to  Pedrarias,  assuring 
him  that  Vasco  Nunez  had  no  intention  of  solemniz- 
ing his  marriage  with  his  daughter,  being  completely 
under  the  influence  of  an  Indian  paramour  ;  that  he 
made  use  of  the  friendship  of  Pedrarias  merely  to 
further  his  own  selfish  views,  intending,  as  soon  as 
his  ships  were  ready,  to  throw  off  all  allegiance,  and 
to  put  to  sea  as  an  independent  commander. 

This  mischievous  letter  Garabito  had  written  im- 
mediately after  the  Last  dep.arture  of  Vasco  Nunez 
from  Acla.     Its  effects  upon  the  proud  and  jealoui 


SPANISH   VOYAGES    OF   DISCOVERY. 


785 


spirit  of  the  governor  may  easily  be  conceived.  All 
liis  former  suspicions  were  immediately  revived. 
They  acquired  strength  during  a  long  interval  that 
elapsed  without  tidings  being  received  from  the  ex- 
pedition. There  were  designing  and  prejudiced  per- 
sons at  hand  who  perceived  and  quickened  these 
jealous  feelings  of  the  governor.  Among  these  was 
the  Bachelor  Corral,  who  cherished  a  deep  grudge 
against  Vasco  Nunez  for  having  once  thrown  him 
into  prison  for  his  factious  conduct  ;  and  Alonzo  de 
la  Puente,  the  royal  treasurer,  whom  Vasco  Nunez 
had  affronted  by  demanding  the  re-payment  of  a 
loan.  Such  was  the  tempest  that  was  gradually 
gathering  in  the  factious  little  colony  of  Darien. 

The  subsequent  conduct  of  Garabito  gives  much 
confirmation  to  the  charge  of  perfidy  that  has  been 
advanced  against  him.  When  he  arrived  at  Ada  he 
found  that  Pedrarias  remained  in  possession  of  the 
government  ;  for  his  intended  successor  had  died  in 
the  very  harbour.  The  conduct  and  conversation 
of  Garabito  was  such  as  to  arouse  suspicions ;  he  was 
arrested,  and  his  papers  and  letters  were  sent  to 
Pedrarias.  When  examined  he  readily  suffered  him- 
self to  be  wrought  upon  by  threats  of  punishment 
and  promises  of  pardon,  and  revealed  all  that  he  knew, 
and  declared  still  more  that  he  suspected  and  sur- 
mised, of  the  plans  and  intentions  of  Vasco  Nuiiez. 

The  arrest  of  Garabito,  and  the  seizure  of  his  let- 
ters, produced  a  great  agitation  at  Darien.  It  was 
considered  a  revival  of  the  ancient  animosity  between 
the  governor  and  Vasco  Nunez,  and  the  friends  of 
the  latter  trembled  for  his  safety. 

Hernando  de  Arguello  especially,  was  in  great 
alarm.  He  had  embarked  the  most  of  his  fortune  in 
the  expedition,  and  the  failure  of  it  would  be  ruinous 
to  him.  He  wrote  to  Vasco  Nunez,  informing  him 
of  the  critical  posture  of  affairs,  and  urging  him  to 
put  to  sea  without  delay.  He  would  be  protected  at 
all  events,  he  said,  by  the  Jeronimite  Fathers  at  San 
Domingo,  who  were  at  that  time  all-powerful  in  the 
new  world,  and  who  regarded  his  expedition  as  cal- 
culated to  promote  the  glory  of  God  as  well  as  the 
dominion  of  the  king.*  This  letter  fell  into  the  hands 
of  Pedrarias,  and  convinced  him  of  the  existence  of 
a  dangerous  plot  against  his  authority.  He  im- 
mediately ordered  Arguello  to  be  arrested  ;  and  now 
devised  means  to  get  Vasco  Nuiiez  within  his  power. 
While  the  latter  remained  on  the  shores  of  the  South 
Sea  with  his  brigantines  and  his  band  of  hearty  and 
devoted  followers,  Pedrarias  knew  that  it  would  be 
in  vain  to  attempt  to  take  him  by  force.  Dissem- 
bling hissuspicionsand  intentions,  therefore,  he  wrote 
to  him  in  the  most  amicable  terms,  requesting  him 
to  repair  immediately  to  Ada,  as  he  wished  to  hold 
a  conference  with  him  about  the  impending  expedi- 
tion. Fearing,  however,  that  Vasco  Nuftez  might 
suspect  his  motives  and  refuse^  to  comply,  he,  at 
the  same  time,  ordered  Francisco  Pizarro  to  muster 
all  the  armed  force  he  could  collect,  and  to  seek  and 
arrest  his  late  patron  and  commander  wherever  he 
might  be  found. 

So  great  was  the  terror  inspired  by  the  arrest  of 
Arguello,  and  by  the  general  violence  of  Pedrarias, 
that,  though  Vasco  Nunez  was  a  favourite  with  the 
great  mass  of  the  people,  no  one  ventured  to  warn 
him  of  the  danger  that  attended  his  return  to  Ada. 


*  In  consequence  of  the  eloquent  representations  made  to  the 
Spanish  Government  by  the  venerable  Las  Casas,  of  the  cruel 
wtongi  .ind  oppressions  practised  upon  the  Indians  in  the  colonies, 
the  Cardinal  Ximenes,  in  1516,  sent  out  ttiree  Jeronimite  P'riars, 
chosen  for  their  zeal  and  abilities,  clothed  with  full  powers  to  in- 
quire into  and  remedy  all  abuses,  and  to  take  all  proper  measures 
lor  the  good  government,  religious  instruction,  and  effectual  pro- 
tection of  the  natives.  The  exercise  of  their  powers  at  ,San  Do- 
mingo made  a  great  sensation  in  the  new  world,  and,  for  a  time, 
had  a  beneficial  effect  in  checking  the  oppressive  and  licentious 
conduct  of  the  colonists. 

6U 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

VASCO     NU5fEZ  AND    THE  ASTROLOGER — HIS   RE- 
TURN TO   ACLA. 

The  old  Spanish  writers  who  have  treated  ol  the 
fortunes  of  Vasco  Nuiiez,  record  an  anecdote  which 
is  worthy  of  being  cited,  as  characteristic  of  the 
people  and  the  age.  Among  the  motley  crowd  of 
adventurers  lured  across  the  ocean  by  the  reputed 
wealth  and  wonders  of  the  new  world,  was  an  Italian 
astrologer,  a  native  of  Venice,  named  Micer  Codro. 
At  the  time  that  Vasco  Nuiiez  held  supreme  sway  at 
Darien,  this  reader  of  the  stars  had  cast  his  horo- 
scope, and  pretended  to  foretell  his  destiny.  Point- 
ing one  night  to  a  certain  star,  he  assured  him  that 
in  the  year  in  which  he  should  behold  that  star  in 
a  part  of  the  heavens  which  he  designated,  his  life 
would  be  in  imminent  jeopardy  ;  but  should  he 
survive  this  year  of  peril,  he  would  become  the 
richest  and  most  renowned  captain  throughout  the 
Indies. 

Several  years,  it  is  added,  had  elapsed  since  this 
prediction  was  made ;  yet,  that  it  still  dwelt  in  the 
mind  of  Vasco  Nufiez,  was  evident  from  the  follow- 
ing circumstance.  While  waiting  the  return  of  his 
messenger,  Garabito,  he  was  on  the  shore  of  Isla 
Rica  one  serene  evening,  in  company  with  some  of 
his  officers,  when,  regarding  the  heavens,  he  beheld 
the  fated  star  exactly  in  that  part  of  the  firmament 
which  had  been  pointed  out  by  the  Italian  astrologer. 
Turning  to  his  companions,  with  a  smile,  "  Behold," 
said  he,  "  the  wisdom  of  those  who  believe  in  sooth- 
sayers, and,  above  all,  in  such  an  astrologer  as 
Micer  Codro  !  According  to  his  prophecy,  I  should 
now  be  in  imminent  peril  of  my  life  ;  yet,  here  I  am, 
within  reach  of  all  my  wishes  ;  sound  in  health,  with 
four  brigantines  and  three  hun-dred  men  at  my  com- 
mand, and  on  the  point  of  exploring  this  great  south- 
ern ocean." 

At  this  fated  juncture,  says  the  chroniclers,  arrived 
the  hypocritical  letter  of  Pedrarias,  inviting  him  to 
an  interview  at  Ada  !  The  discreet  reader  will  de- 
cide for  himself  what  credit  to  give  to  this  anecdote, 
or  rather  what  allowance  to  make  for  the  httle  traits 
of  coincidence  gratuitously  added  to  the  original 
fact  by  writers  who  delight  in  the  marvellous.  Jhe 
tenor  of  this  letter  awakened  no  suspicion  in  the 
breast  of  Vasco  Nunez,  who  reposed  entire  confi- 
dence in  the  amity  of  the  governor  as  his  intended 
father-in-law,  and  appears  to  have  been  unconscious 
of  any  thing  in  his  own  conduct  that  could  warrant 
hostility.  Leaving  his  ships  in  command  of  Francisco 
Compaiion,  he  departed  immediately  to  meet  the 
governor  at  Ada,  unattended  by  any  armed  force. 

The  messengers  who  had  brought  the  letter  main- 
tained at  first  a  cautious  silence  as  to  the  events 
which  had  transpired  at  Darien.  They  were  gradu- 
ally won,  however,  by  the  frank  and  genial  manners 
of  Vasco  Nuiiez,  and  grieved  to  see  so  gallant  a 
soldier  hurrying  into  the  snare.  Having  crossed  the 
mountains  and  drawn  near  to  Ada,  their  kind  feel- 
ings got  the  better  of  their  caution,  and  they  reveal- 
ed the  true  nature  of  their  errand,  and  the  hostile 
intentions  of  Pedrarias.  Vasco  Nunez  was  struck 
with  astonishment  at  the  recital ;  but,  being  uncon- 
scious, it  is  said,  of  any  evil  intention,  he  could 
scarcely  credit  this  sudden  hostility  in  a  man  who  had 
but  recently  promised  him  his  daughter  in  marriage. 
He  imagined  the  whole  to  be  some  groundless  jeal- 
ousy which  his  own  appearance  would  dispel,  and 
accordingly  continued  on  his  journey.  He  had  not 
proceeded  far,  however,  when  he  was  met  by  a  band 
of  armed  men,  led  by  Francisco  Pizarro.  The  latter 
stepped  forward  to  arrest  his  ancient  commander. 


786 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Vasco  Nunez  paused  for  a  moment,  and  regarded  him 
with  a  lool{  of  reproachful  astonishment.  '•  How  is 
this,  Francisco  ?  "  exclaimed  he.  "  Is  this  the  way  you 
have  been  accustomed  to  receive  me.'"  Offering 
no  further  remonstrance,  he  suffered  himself  quietly 
to  be  taken  prisoner  by  his  former  adherent,  and 
conducted  in  chains  to  Ada.  Here  he  was  thrown 
into  prison,  and  Bartolome  Hurtado,  once  his  favour- 
ite officer,  was  sent  to  take  command  of  his  squadron. 


CHAPTER  XXVin. 

TRIAL  OF  VASCO   NU5JEZ. 

Don  Pedrarias  concealed  his  exultation  at  the 
success  of  the  stratagem  by  which  he  had  ensnared 
his  generous  and  confiding  rival.  He  even  visited 
him  in  prison,  and  pretended  deep  concern  at  being 
obliged  to  treat  him  with  this  temporary  rigour,  at- 
tributing it  entirely  to  certain  accusations  lodged 
against  him  by  the  Treasurer  Alonzo  de  la  Puente, 
which  his  official  situation  compelled  him  to  notice 
and  investigate. 

"Be  not  afflicted,  however,  my  son!"  said  the 
hypocrite,  "  an  investigation  will,  doubtless,  not 
merely  establish  your  innocence,  but  serve  to  render 
your  zeal  and  loyalty  towards  your  sovereign  still 
more  conspicuous." 

While  Pedrarias  assumed  this  soothing  tone  to- 
wards his  prisoner,  he  urged  the  Alcalde  Mayor 
Espinosa  to  proceed  against  him  with  the  utmost 
rigour  of  the  law. 

The  charge  brought  against  him  of  a  treasonable 
conspiracy  to  cast  off  all  allegiance  to  the  crown,  and 
to  assume  an  independent  sway  on  the  borders  of  the 
Southern  Sea,  was  principally  supported  by  the  con- 
fessions of  Andres  Garabito.  The  evidence  is  also 
cited  of  a  soldier,  who  stood  sentinel  one  night  near 
the  quarters  of  Vasco  Nunez  on  Isla  Rica,  and  who, 
being  driven  to  take  shelter  from  the  rain  under  the 
eaves  of  the  house,  overheard  a  conversation  between 
'.hat  commander  and  certain  of  his  officers,  wherein 
■;hey  agreed  to  put  to  sea  with  the  squadron  on  their 
Dwn  account,  and  to  set  the  governor  at  defiance, 
Thi€  testimony,  according  to  Las  Casas,  arose  from 
a  misconstruction  on  the  part  of  the  sentinel,  who 
only  heard  a  portion  of  their  conversation,  relating 
to  their  intention  of  sailing  without  waiting  for  or- 
ders, in  case  a  new  governor  should  arrive  to  super- 
sede Pedrarias. 

The  governor  in  the  mean  time  informed  himself 
from  day  to  day  and  hour  to  hour,  of  the  progress  of 
the  trial,  and,  considering  the  evidence  sufficiently 
strong  to  warrant  his  personal  hostility,  he  now  paid 
another  visit  to  his  prisoner,  and,  throwing  off  all  af- 
fectation of  kindness,  upbraided  him  in  the  most 
passionate  manner. 

"Hitherto,"  said  he,  "  I  have  treated  you  as  a  son, 
because  1  thought  you  loyal  to  your  king,  and  to  me  as 
his  representative  ;  but  as  I  find  you  have  meditated 
rebellion  against  the  crown  of  Castile,  I  cast  you  off 
from  my  affections,  and  shall  henceforth  treat  you  as 
.an  enemy." 

Vasco  Nuiiez  indignantly  repelled  the  charge,  and 
appealed  to  the  confiding  frankness  of  his  conduct  as 
a  proof  of  innocence.  "  Had  I  been  conscious  of  my 
guilt,"  said  he,  "  what  could  have  induced  me  to 
come  here  and  put  myself  into  your  hands?  Had  I 
meditated  rebellion,  what  prevented  me  from  cann- 
ing it  into  effect  ?  I  had  four  ships  ready  to  weigh 
anchor,  three  hundred  brave  men  at  my  command, 
and  an  open  sea  before  me.  What  had  I  to  do  but 
to  spread  sail  and  press  forward  ?     There  was  no 


doubt  of  finding  a  land,  whether  rich  or  poor,  suffi- 
cient for  me  and  mine,  far  beyond  the  reach  of  your 
control.  In  the  innocence  of  my  heart,  however,  I 
came  here  promptly,  at  your  mere  request,  and  my  re- 
ward is  slander,  indignity,  and  chains  !  " 

The  noble  and  ingenuous  appeal  of  Vasco  Nunez 
had  no  effect  on  the  prejudiced  feelings  of  the  gov- 
ernor ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  but  the  more  exas- 
perated against  his  prisoner,  and  ordered  that  his 
irons  should  be  doubled. 

The  trial  was  now  urged  by  him  witli  increased 
eagerness.  Lest  the  present  accusation  should  not 
be  sufficient  to  effect  the  ruin  of  his  victim,  the  old 
inquest  into  his  conduct  as  governor,  which  had  re- 
mained suspended  for  many  years,  was  revived,  and 
he  was  charged  anew  with  the  wrongs  inflicted  on 
the  Bachelor  Enciso.  and  with  the  death  of  the  un- 
fortunate Nicuesa. 

Notwithstanding  all  these  charges,  the  trial  went 
on  slowly,  with  frequent  delays  ;  for  the  Alcalde 
Mayor,  Caspar  de  Espinosa,  seems  to  have  had  but 
little  relish  for  the  task  assigned  him,  and  to  have 
needed  frequent  spurring  from  the  eager  and  passion- 
ate governor.  lie  probably  considered  the  accused 
as  technically  guilty,  though  innocent  of  all  intention- 
al rebellion,  but  was  ordered  to  decide  according  to 
the  strict  letter  of  the  law.  He  therefore  at  length 
gave  a  reluctant  verdict  against  Vasco  Nunez,  but 
recommended  him  to  mercy,  on  account  of  his  great 
services,  or  entreated  that,  at  least,  he  might  be  per- 
mitted to  appeal.  "  No !  "  said  the  unrelenting  Pedra- 
rias. "  If  he  has  merited  death,  let  him  suffer  death  !  " 
He  accordingly  condemned  him  to  be  beheaded.  The 
same  sentence  was  passed  upon  several  of  his  officers 
who  were  implicated  in  his  alleged  conspiracy  ;  among 
these  was  Hernando  de  Arguello,  who  had  written 
the  letter  to  Vasco  Nufiez,  informing  him  of  the  arrest 
of  his  messenger,  and  advising  him  to  put  to  sea,  with- 
out heeding  the  hostility  of  Pedrarias.  As  to  the 
perfidious  informer  Garabito,  he  was  pardoned  and 
set  at  liberty. 

In  considering  this  case,  as  far  as  we  are  enabled, 
from  the  imperfect  testimony  that  remains  on  record, 
we  are  inclined  to  think  it  one  where  passion  and 
self-interest  interfered  with  the  pure  administration 
of  justice.  Pedrarias  had  always  considered  Vasco 
Nunez  as  a  dangerous  rival,  and,  though  his  jealousy 
had  been  for  some  time  lulled  by  looking  on  him  as 
an  intended  son-in-law,  it  was  revived  by  the  sugges- 
tion that  he  intended  to  evade  his  alliance,  and  to 
dispute  his  authority.  His  exasperated  feelings  hur- 
ried him  too  far  to  retreat,  and,  having  loaded  his 
prisoner  with  chains  and  indignities,  his  death  be- 
came indispensable  to  his  own  security. 

For  our  own  part,  we  have  little  doubt,  that  it  was 
the  fixed  intention  of  Vasco  Nunez,  after  he  had  once 
succeeded  in  the  arduous  undertaking  of  transport- 
ing his  ships  across  the  mountains,  to  suffer  no  ca- 
pricious order  from  Pedrari.as,  or  any  other  governor, 
to  defeat  the  enterprise  which  he  had  so  long  meditated, 
and  for  which  he  had  so  laboriously  prepared.  It  is 
probable  he  may  have  expressed  such  general  deter- 
mination in  the  hearing  of  Garabito  and  of  others  of 
his  companions.  We  can  find  ample  excuse  for  such 
a  resolution  in  his  consciousness  of  his  own  deserts  ; 
his  experience  of  past  hindrances  to  his  expedition, 
arising  from  the  jealousy  of  others ;  his  feeling  of 
some  degree  of  authority,  from  his  office  of  Adelan- 
tado  ;  and  his  knowledge  of  the  favourable  disposi- 
tion and  kind  intentions  of  his  sovereign  towards 
him.  We  acquit  hiin  entirely  of  the  senseless  idea 
of  rebelling  against  the  crown  ;  and  suggest  these 
considerations  in  palliation  of  any  meditated  disobe- 
dience of  Pedrarias,  should  such  a  charge  be  supposed 
to  have  been  substantiated. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


787 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

EXECUTION  OF  VASCO  NUSEZ— (1517.) 

It  was  a  day  of  gloom  and  horror  at  Ada,  when 
Vasco  Nunez  and  his  companions  were  led  forth  to 
execution.  The  populace  were  moved  to  tears  at  the 
unhappy  fate  of  a  man  whose  gallant  deeds  had  ex- 
cited their  admiration,  and  whose  generous  qualities 
had  won  their  hearts.  Most  of  them  regarded  him 
as  the  victim  of  a  jealous  tyrant ;  and  even  those  who 
thought  him  guilty,  saw  something  brave  and  bril- 
liant in  the  very  crime  imputed  to  him.  Such,  how- 
ever, was  the  general  dread  inspired  by  the  severe 
measures  of  Pedrarias,  that  no  one  dared  to  lift  up 
his  voice,  either  in  murmur  or  remonstrance. 

The  public  crier  walked  before  Vasco  Nunez,  pro- 
claiming, "  This  is  the  punishment  inflicted  by  com- 
mand of  the  king  and  his  lieutenant,  Don  Pedrarias 
Davila,  on  this  man,  as  a  traitor  and  an  usurper  of 
the  territories  of  the  crown." 

When  Vasco  Nuiiez  heard  these  words,  he  ex- 
claimed indignantly,  "  It  is  false  !  never  did  such  a 
crime  enter  my  mind.  I  have  ever  served  my  king 
with  truth  and  loyalty,  and  sought  to  augment  his 
dominions." 

These  words  were  of  no  avail  in  his  extremity,  but 
they  were  fully  believed  by  the  populace. 

The  execution  took  place  in  the  public  square  of 
Ada  ;  and  we  are  assured  by  the  historian,  Oviedo, 
who  was  in  the  colony  at  the  time,  that  the  cruel 
Pedrarias  was  a  secret  witness  of  the  bloody  specta- 
cle, which  he  contemplated  from  between  the  reeds 
of  the  wall  of  a  house,  about  twelve  paces  from  the 
scaftbld  !  * 

Vasco  Nunez  was  the  first  to  suffer  death.  Hav- 
ing confessed  himself  and  partaken  of  the  sacrament, 
he.  ascended  the  scaffold  with  a  firm  step  and  a  calm 
and  manly  demeanour ;  and  laying  his  head  upon 
the  block,  it  was  severed  in  an  instant  from  his  body. 
Three  of  his  officers,  Valderrabano,  Botcllo,  and 
Hernan  Munos,  were  in  like  manner  brought  one  by 
one  to  the  block,  and  the  day  had  nearly  expired  be- 
fore the  last  of  them  was  executed. 

One  victim  still  remained.  It  was  Hernan  de  Ar- 
guello,  who  had  been  condemned  as  an  accomplice, 
for  having  written  the  intercepted  letter. 

The  populace  could  no  longer  restrain  their  feel- 
ings. They  had  not  dared  to  intercede  for  Vasco 
Nunez,  knowing  the  implacable  enmity  of  Pedrarias  ; 
but  they  now  sought  the  governor,  and  throwing 
themselves  at  his  feet,  entreated  that  this  man  might 
be  spared,  as  he  had  taken  no  active  part  in  the 
alleged  treason.  The  daylight,  they  said,  was  at  an 
end,  and  it  seemed  as  if  God  had  hastened  the  night, 
to  prevent  the  execution. 

The  stern  heart  of  Pedrarias  was  not  to  be  touched. 
"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  would  sooner  die  myself  than 
spare  one  of  them."  The  unfortunate  Arguello  was 
led  to  the  block.  The  brief  tropical  twilight  was 
past,  and  in  the  gathering  gloom  of  the  night  the 
operations  on  the  scaffold  could  not  be  distinguished. 
The  multitude  stood  listening  in  breathless  silence, 
until  the  stroke  of  the  executioner  told  that  all  was 
accomplished.  They  then  dispersed  to  their  homes 
with  hearts  filled  with  grief  and  bitterness,  and  a 
night  of  lamentation  succeeded  to  this  day  of  hor- 
rors. 

The  vengeance  of  Pedrarias  was  not  satisfied  with 
the  death  of  his  victim ;  he  confiscated  his  property 
and  dishonoured  his  remains,  causing  his  head  to  be 
placed  upon  a  pole  and  exposed  for  several  days  in 
the  public  square.f 


*  Oviedo,  Hist.  Ind.  p.  2.  c.  9,  MS. 


t  Oviedo.  ubi  sup. 


Thus  perished,  in  his  forty-second  year,  in  the 
prime  and  vigour  of  his  days  and  the  full  career  of 
his  glory,  one  of  the  most  illustrious  and  deserving 
of  the  Spanish  discoverers^a  victim  to  the  basest 
and  most  perfidious  envy. 

How  vain  are  our  most  confident  hopes,  our 
brightest  triumphs  !  When  Vasco  Nunez  from  the 
mountains  of  Darien  beheld  the  Southern  Ocean 
revealed  to  his  gaze,  he  considered  its  unknown 
realms  at  his  disposal.  When  he  had  launched  his 
ships  upon  its  waters,  and  his  sails  were  in  a  manner 
flapping  in  the  wind,  to  bear  him  in  quest  of  the 
wealthy  empire  of  Peru,  he  scoffed  at  the  prediction 
of  the  astrologer,  and  defied  the  influence  of  the 
stars.  Behold  him  interrupted  at  the  very  moment 
of  his  departure;  betrayed  into  the  hands  of  his 
most  invidious  foe ;  the  very  enterprise  that  was  to 
have  crowned  him  with  glory  wrested  into  a  crime  ; 
and  himself  hurried  to  a  bloody  and  ignominious 
grave,  at  the  foot,  as  it  were,  of  the  mountain  from 
whence  he  had  made  his  discovery !  His  fate,  like 
that  of  his  renowned  predecessor,  Columbus,  proves 
that  it  is  sometimes  dangerous  even  to  discern  too 
greatly ! 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  VALDIVIA  AND  HIS  COM- 
PANIONS. 


It  was  in  the  year  1512  that  Valdivia,  the  regidor 
of  Darien,  was  sent  to  Hispaniola  by  Vasco  Nunez 
de  Balboa  for  reinforcements  and  supplies  for  the 
colony.  He  set  sail  in  a  caravel,  and  pursued  his 
voyage  prosperously  until  he  arrived  in  sight  of  the 
Island  of  Jamaica.  Here  he  was  encountered  by 
one  of  the  violent  hurricanes  which  sweep  those 
latitudes,  and  driven  on  the  shoals  and  sunken  rocks 
called  the  Vipers,  since  infamous  for  many  a  ship- 
wreck. His  vessel  soon  went  to  pieces,  and  Val- 
divia and  his  crew,  consisting  of  twenty  men,  es- 
caped with  difficulty  in  the  boat,  without  having 
time  to  secure  a  supply  either  of  water  or  provisions. 
Having  no  sails,  and  their  oars  being  scarcely  fit  for 
use,  they  were  driven  about  for  thirteen  days,  at  the 
mercy  of  the  currents  of  those  unknown  seas.  Dur- 
ing this  time  their  sufferings  from  hunger  and  thirst 
were  indescribable.  Seven  of  their  number  perished, 
and  the  rest  were  nearly  famished,  when  they  were 
stranded  on  the  eastern  coast  of  Yucatan,  in  a  prov- 
ince called  Maya.  Here  they  were  set  upon  by  the 
natives,  who  broke  their  boat  in  pieces,  and  carried 
them  off  captive  to  the  cacique  of  the  province,  by 
whose  orders  they  were  mewed  up  in  a  kind  of  pen. 

At  first  their  .situation  appeared  tolerable  enough 
considering  the  horrors  from  which  they  had  escaped. 
They  were  closely  confined,  it  is  true,  but  they  had 
plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  and  soon  began  to  recover 
flesh  and  vigour.  In  a  little  while,  however,  their 
enjoyment  of  this  good  cheer  met  with  a  sudden 
check,  for  the  unfortunate  Valdivia,  and  four  of  his 
companions,  were  singled  out  by  the  cacique,  on  ac- 
count of  their  improved  condition,  to  be  offered  up 
to  his  idols.  The  natives  of  this  coast  in  fact  were 
cannibals,  devouring  the  flesh  of  their  enemies  and 
of  such  strangers  as  fell  into  their  hands.  The 
wretched  Valdivia  and  his  fellow  victims,  therefore, 
were  sacrificed  in  the  bloody  temple  of  the  idol,  and 
their  limbs  afterwards  served  up  at  a  grand  feast 
held  by  the  cacique  and  his  subjects. 

The  horror  of  the  survivors  may  be  more  readily 
imagined  than  described.  Their  hearts  died  within 
them  when  they  heard  the  yells  and  bowlings  of  the 
savages  over  their  victims,  and  the  still  more  horri- 


t88 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ble  revelry  of  their  cannibal  orgies.  They  turned 
with  loatliing  from  the  food  set  so  abundantly  before 
them,  at  the  idea  that  it  was  but  intended  to  fatten 
them  for  a  future  banquet. 

Recovering  from  the  first  stupor  of  alarm,  their 
despair  lent  them  additional  force.  They  succeeded  in 
breaking,  in  the  night,  from  the  kind  of  cage  in  which 
they  were  confined,  and  fled  to  the  depths  of  the 
forest.  Here  they  wandered  about  forlorn,  exposed 
to  all  the  dangers  and  miseries  of  the  wilderness ; 
famishing  witli  hunger,  yet  dreading  to  approach  the 
haunts  of  men.  At  length  their  sufferings  drove 
them  forth  from  the  woods  into  another  part  of  the 
countiy,  where  they  were  again  taken  capti\e.  The 
cacique  of  this  province,  however,  was  an  enemy  to 
the  one  from  whom  they  had  escaped,  and  of  less 
cruel  propensities.  He  spared  their  lives,  and  con- 
tented himself  with  making  them  slaves,  exacting 
from  them  the  severest  labour.  They  had  to  cut  and 
draw  wood,  to  procure  water  from  a  distance,  and 
to  carry  enormous  burthens.  The  cacique  died  soon 
after  their  capture,  and  was  succeeded  by  another 
called  Taxman  He  was  a  chief  of  some  talent  and 
sagacity,  but  he  continued  the  same  rigorous  treat- 
ment of  the  captives.  By  degrees  they  sank  '^'eneath 
the  hardships  of  their  lot,  until  only  two  were  left ; 
one  of  them,  a  sturdy  sailor  named  Gonzalo  Guer- 
rero, the  other  a  kind  of  clerical  adventurer,  named 
Jeronimo  de  Aguilar.  The  sailor  had  the  good  luck 
to  be  transferred  to  the  service  of  the  cacique  of  the 
neighbouring  province  of  Chatem;il,  by  whom  he 
was  treated  with  kindne;s.  Being  a  thorough  son 
of  the  ocean,  seasoned  to  all  weathers,  and  ready  for 
any  chance  or  change,  he  soon  accommodated  him- 
self to  his  new  situation,  followed  the  cacique  to  the 
wars,  rose  by  his  hardihood  and  prowess  to  be  a  dis- 
tinguished warrior,  and  succeeded  in  gaining  the 
heart  and  hand  of  an  Indian  princess. 

The  other  sur\'ivor,  Jeronimo  de  Aguilar,  was  of 
a  different  complexion.  He  was  a  native  of  Ecija 
in  Andalusia,  and  had  been  brought  up  to  the 
church  and  regularly  ordained,  and  shortly  after- 
wards had  sailed  in  one  of  the  expeditions  to  San 
Domingo,  from  whence  he  had  passed  to  Darien. 

He  proceeded  in  a  different  mode  from  that 
adopted  by  his  comrade  the  sailor  in  his  dealings 
with  the  Indians,  and  in  one  more  suited  to  his  op- 
posite calling.  Instead  of  playing  the  hero  among 
the  men  and  the  gallant  among  the  women,  he  rec- 
ollected his  priestly  obligations  to  humility  and  chas- 
tity. Accordingly,  he  made  himself  a  mode!  of 
meekness  and  obedience  to  the  cacique  and  his  war- 
riors, while  he  closed  his  eyes  to  the  charms  of  the 
infidel  women.  Nay,  in  the  latter  respect,  he  rein- 
forced his  clerical  vows  by  a  solemn  promise  to  God 
to  resist  all  temptations  of  the  flesh  so  he  might  be 
delivered  out  of  the  hands  of  these  Gentiles. 

Such  were  the  opposite  measures  of  the  sailor  and 
the  saint,  and  they  appear  to  have  been  equally  suc- 
cessful. Aguilar,  by  his  meek  obedience  to  every 
order,  however  arbitrary  and  capricious,  gradually 
won  the  good-will  of  the  cacique  and  his  family. 
Taxmar,  however,  subjected  him  to  many  trials  be- 
fore he  admitted  him  to  his  entire  confidence.  One 
day  when  the  Indians,  painted  and  decorated  in  war- 
hke  style,  were  shooting  at  a  mark,  a  warrior,  who 
had  for  some  time  fixed  his  eyes  on  Aguilar,  ap- 
])roached  sutldenly  and  seized  him  by  the  ami. 
"  Thou  seest,"  said  he,  "  the  certainty  of  these 
archers  ;  if  they  aim  at  the  eye,  they  hit  the  eye — 
if  at  the  mouth,  they  hit  the  mouth — what  wouldst 
thou  think  if  thou  wert  to  be  placed  instead  of  the 
mark  and  they  were  to  shoot  at  and  miss  thee  ?  " 

Aguilar  secretly  trembled  lest  he  should  be  the 
victim  of  some  cruel  caprice  of  the  kind.     Dissem- 


bling his  fears,  however,  he  replied  with  great  sub- 
mission, "  I  am  your  slave  and  you  may  do  with  me 
as  you  please,  but  you  are  too  wise  to  destroy  a 
slave  who  is  so  useful  and  obedient."  His  answer 
pleased  the  cacique,  who  had  secretly  sent  this  war- 
rior to  try  his  humility. 

Another  trial  of  the  worthy  Jeronimo  was  less 
stern  and  fearful  indeed,  but  equally  perplexing. 
The  cacique  had  remarked  his  unexampled  discre- 
tion with  respect  to  the  sex,  but  doubted  his  sincer- 
ity. After  laying  many  petty  temptations  in  his  way, 
which  Jeronimo  resisted  with  the  self-denial  of  a 
saint,  he  at  length  determined  to  subject  him  to  a 
fiery  ordeal.  He  accordingly  sent  hiin  on  a  fishing 
expedition  accompanied  by  a  buxom  damsel  of  four- 
teen years  of  age ;  they  were  to  pass  the  night  by 
the  sea-side,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  fish  at  the  first 
dawn  of  day,  and  were  allowed  but  one  hammock 
to  sleep  in.  It  was  an  embarrassing  predicament — 
not  apparently  to  the  Indian  beauty,  but  certainly  to 
the  scrupulous  Jeronimo.  He  remembered,  how- 
ever, his  double  vow,  and,  suspending  his  hammock 
to  two  trees,  resigned  it  to  his  companion  ;  while, 
lighting  a  fire  on  the  sea-shore,  he  stretched  himself 
before  it  on  the  sand.  It  was,  as  he  acknowledged, 
a  night  of  fearful  trial,  for  his  sandy  couch  was  cold 
and  cheerless,  the  hammock  warm  and  tempting ; 
and  the  infidel  damsel  had  been  instructed  to  assail 
him  with  all  manner  of  blandishments  and  re- 
proaches. His  resolution,  however,  though  often 
shaken,  was  never  overcome ;  and  the  morning 
dawned  upon  him  still  faithful  to  his  vow. 

The  fishing  over,  he  returned  to  the  residence  of 
the  cacique,  where  his  companion,  being  closely 
questioned,  made  known  the  triumph  of  his  self- 
denial  before  all  the  people.  From  that  time  for- 
ward he  was  held  in  great  respect ;  the  cacique  es- 
pecially treated  him  with  unlimited  confidence,  en- 
trusting to  him  the  care  not  merely  of  his  house,  but 
of  his  wives  during  his  occasional  absence. 

Aguilar  now  felt  ambitious  of  rising  to  greater 
consequence  among  the  savages,  but  this  he  knew 
was  only  to  be  done  by  deeds  of  arms.  He  had  the 
example  of  the  sturdy  seaman,  Gonzalo  Guerrero, 
before  his  eyes,  who  had  become  a  great  captain  in 
the  province  in  which  he  resided.  He  entreated 
Taxmar,  therefore,  to  entrust  him  with  bow  and  ar- 
rows, buckler  and  war-club,  and  to  enroll  him  among 
his  warriors.  The  cacique  complied.  Aguilar  soon 
made  himself  expert  at  his  new  weapons,  signalized 
himself  repeatedly  in  battle,  and,  from  his  superior 
knowledge  of  the  arts  of  war,  rendered  Taxmar  such 
essential  service,  as  to  excite  the  jealousy  of  some 
of  the  neighbouring  caciques.  One  of  them  remon- 
strated with  Taxmar  for  elnploying  a  warrior  who 
was  of  a  different  religion,  and  insisted  that  Aguilai 
should  be  sacrificed  to  their  gods.  "  No,"  replied 
Taxmar,  "  I  will  not  make  so  base  a  return  for  such 
signal  services  ;  surely  the  gods  of  Aguilar  must  be 
good,  since  they  aid  him  so  effectually  in  maintain- 
ing a  just  cause." 

The  cacique  was  so  incensed  at  this  reply  that  he 
assembled  his  warriors  and  marched  to  make  war 
upon  Taxmar.  Many  of  the  counsellors  of  the  lat- 
ter urged  him  to  give  up  the  stranger  who  was  the 
cause  of  this  hostility.  Taxmar,  however,  rejected 
their  counsel  with  disdain  and  prepared  for  battle. 
Aguilar  assured  him  that  his  faith  in  the  Christian's 
God  would  be  rewarded  with  victoiy;  he,  in  fact, 
concerted  a  plan  of  battle  which  was  adopted.  Con- 
cealing himself  with  a  chosen  band  of  warriors 
among  thickets  and  herbage,  he  suffered  the  enemy 
to  pass  by  in  making  their  attack.  Taxmar  and  his 
host  pretended  to  give  way  at  the  first  onset.  The 
foe  rushed  heedlessly  in  pursuit ;  whereupon  Aguilar 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


78!) 


and  his  ambuscade  assaulted  them  in  the  rear.  Tax-  ] 
mar  turned  upon  them  in  front ;  tliey  were  thrown 
in  confusion,  routed  with  great  slaug;hter,  and  many 
of  their  chiefs  tal<en  prisoners.  This  victory  gave 
Taxmar  the  sway  over  the  land,  and  strengthened 
Aguilar  more  than  ever  in  his  good  graces. 

Several  years  had  elapsed  in  this  manner,  when, 
in  1517,  intelligence  was  brought  to  the  province  of 
the  arrival  on  the  neighbouring  coast  of  great  ves- 
sels of  wonderful  construction,  filled  with  white  and 
bearded  men,  who  fought  with  thunder  and  light- 
ning. It  was,  in  fact,  the  squadron  of  Francisco 
Hernandez  de  Cordova,  then  on  a  voyage  of  dis- 
covery. The  tidings  of  this  strange  invasion  spread 
consternation  through  the  country,  heightened,  if  we 
may  credit  the  old  Spanish  writers,  by  a  prophecy 
current  among  the  savages  of  these  parts,  and  uttered 
in  former  times  by  a  priest  named  Chilam  Cambal, 
who  foretold  that  a  white  and  bearded  people  would 
come  from  the  region  of  the  rising  sun,  who  would 
overturn  their  idols  and  subjugate  the  land. 

The  heart  of  Jeronimo  de  Aguilar  beat  quick  with 
hope  when  he  heard  of  European  ships  at  hand  ;  he 
was  distant  from  the  coast,  however,  and  perceived 
that  he  was  too  closely  watched  by  the  Indians  to 
have  any  chance  of  escape.  Dissembling  his  feel- 
ings, therefore,  he  affected  to  hear  of  the  ships  with 
perfect  indifference,  and  to  have  no  desire  to  join 
the  strangers.  The  ships  disappeared  from  the 
coast,  and  he  remained  disconsolate  at  heart,  but 
was  regarded  with  increased  confidence  by  the 
natives. 

His  hopes  were  again  revived  in  the  course  of  a 
year  or  two  by  the  arrival  on  the  coast  of  other 
ships,  which  were  those  commanded  by  Juan  de 
Grijalva,  who  coasted  Yucatan  in  1 518;  Aguilar, 
however,  was  again  prevented  by  the  jealous  watch- 
fulness of  the  Indians  from  attempting  his  escape, 
and  when  this  squadron  left  the  coast  he  considered 
all  chance  of  deliverance  at  an  end. 

Seven  years  had  gone  by  since  his  capture,  and  he 
had  given  up  all  hopes  of  being  restored  to  his  coun- 
try and  friends,  when,  in  1519,  there  arrived  one 
day  at  the  village  three  Indians,  natives  of  the  small 
island  of  Cozumel,  which  lies  a  few  leagues  in  the 
sea,  opposite  the  eastern  coast  of  Yucatan.  They 
brought  tidings  of  another  visit  of  white  bearded 
men  to  their  shores,  and  one  of  them  delivered  a 
letter  to  Aguilar,  which,  being  entirely  naked,  he 
had  concealed  it  in  the  long  tresses  of  his  hair  which 
were  bound  round  his  head. 

Aguilar  received  the  letter  with  wonder  and  de- 
light and  read  it  in  presence  of  the  cacique  and  his 
warriors.  It  proved  to  be  from  Hernando  Cortez, 
who  was  at  that  time  on  his  great  expedition,  which 
ended  in  the  conquest  of  Mexico.  He  had  been 
obliged  by  stress  of  weather  to  anchor  at  the  island 
of  Cozumel,  where  he  learned  from  the  natives  that 
several  white  men  were  detained  in  captivity  among 
the  Indians  on  the  neighbouring  coast  of  Yucatan. 
Finding  it  impossible  to  approach  the  main  land 
with  his  ships,  he  prevailed  upon  three  of  the  island- 
ers, by  means  of  gifts  and  promises,  to  venture  upon 
an  embassy  among  their  cannibal  neighbours,  and 
to  convey  a  letter  to  the  captive  white  men.  Two 
of  the  smallest  caravels  of  the  squadron  were  sent 
under  the  command  of  Diego  de  Ordas,  who  was 
ordered  to  land  the  three  messengers  at  the  point  of 
Cotoche,  and  to  wait  there  eight  days  tor  their  return. 

The  letter  brought  by  these  envoys  informed  the 
Christian  captives  of  the  force  and  destination  of  the 
squadron  of  Cortez,  and  of  his  having  sent  the  cara- 
vels to  wait  for  them  at  the  point  of  Cotoche,  with  a 
ransom  for  their  deliverance,  inviting  them  to  hasten 
and  join  him  at  Cozumel. 


The  transport  of  Aguilar  on  first  reading  the  letter, 
was  moderated  when  he  reflected  on  the  obstacles 
that  might  prevent  him  from  profiting  by  this  chance 
of  deliverance.  He  had  made  himself  too  useful  to 
the  cacique  to  hope  that  he  would  readily  give  him 
his  liberty,  and  he  knew  the  jealous  and  irritable 
nature  of  the  savages  too  well  not  to  fear  that  even 
an  application  for  leave  to  depart  might  draw  upon 
him  the  severest  treatment.  He  endeavoured,  there- 
fore, to  operate  upon  the  cacique  through  his  appre- 
hensions. To  this  end  he  inlbrraed  him  lliat  the 
piece  of  paper  which  he  held  in  his  hand  brought 
him  a  full  account  of  the  mighty  armament  that  had 
arrived  on  the  coast.  He  described  the  number  of 
the  ships  and  various  particulars  concerning  the 
squadron,  all  which  were  amply  corroborated  by 
the  testimony  of  the  messengers.  The  cacique  and 
his  warriors  were  astonished  at  this  strange  mode 
of  conveying  intelligence  from  a  distance,  and  re- 
garded the  letter  as  something  mysterious  and  super- 
natural. Aguilar  went  on  to  relate  the  tremendous 
and  superhuman  powers  of  the  people  in  these 
ships,  who,  armed  with  thunder  and  lightning, 
wreaked  destruction  on  all  who  displeased  them, 
while  they  dispensed  inestimable  gifts  and  benefits 
on  such  as  proved  themselves  their  friends.  He  at 
the  same  time  spread  before  the  cacique  various 
presents  brought  by  the  messengers,  as  specimens 
of  the  blessings  to  be  expected  from  the  friendship 
of  the  strangers.  The  intimation  was  effectual.  The 
cicaque  was  filled  with  awe  at  the  recital  of  the  ter- 
rific powers  of  the  white  men,  and  his  eyes  were 
dazzled  by  the  glittering  trinkets  displayed  before 
him.  He  entreated  Aguilar,  therefore,  to  act  as  his 
embassador  and  mediator,  and  to  secure  him  the 
amity  of  the  strangers. 

Aguilar  saw  with  transport  the  prospect  of  a 
speedy  deliverance.  In  this  moment  of  exultation, 
he  bethought  himself  of  the  only  surviving  comrade 
of  his  past  fortunes,  Gonzalo  Guerrero,  and,  sending 
the  letter  of  Cortez  to  him,  invited  him  to  accom- 
pany him  in  his  escape.  The  sturdy  seaman  was  at 
this  time  a  great  chieftain  in  his  province,  and  his  In- 
dian bride  had  borne  him  a  numerous  progeny.  His 
heart,  however,  yearned  after  his  native  country,  and 
he  might  have  been  tempted  to  leave  his  honours 
and  dignities,  his  infidel  wife  and  half-savage  off- 
spring behind  him,  but  an  insuperable,  though 
somewhat  ludicrous,  obstacle  presented  itself  to  his 
wishes.  Having  long  since  given  over  all  expecta- 
tion of  a  return  to  civilized  life,  he  had  conformed  to 
the  customs  of  the  country,  and  had  adopted  the  ex- 
ternal signs  and  decorations  that  marked  him  as  a 
warrior  and  a  man  of  rank.  His  face  and  hands 
were  indelibly  painted  or  tattooed  ;  his  ears  and  lips 
were  slit  to  admit  huge  Indian  ornaments,  and  his 
nose  was  drawn  down  almost  to  his  mouth  by  a 
massy  ring  of  gold,  and  a  dangling  jewel. 

Thus  curiously  garbled  and  disfigured,  the  honest 
seaman  felt,  that  however  he  might  be  admired  in 
Yucatan,  he  should  be  apt  to  have  the  rabble  at  his 
heels  in  Spain.  He  made  up  his  mind,  therefore,  to 
remain  a  great  man  among  the  savages,  rather  than 
run  the  risk  of  being  shown  as  a  man-monster  at 
home. 

Finding  that  he  declined  accompanying  him,  Jero- 
nimo de  Aguilar  set  off  for  the  point  of  Cotoche, 
escorted  by  three  Indians.  The  time  he  had  lost  in 
waiting  for  Guerrero  had  nearly  proved  fatal  to  his 
hopes,  for  when  he  arrived  at  the  point,  the  caravels 
sent  by  Cortez  had  departed,  though  several  crosses 
of  reeds  set  up  in  different  places  gave  tokens  of  the 
recent  presence  of  Christians. 

The  only  hope  that  remained,  was  that  the  squad- 
ron of  Cortez  might  yet  linger  at  the  opposite  island 


790 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


oi  Cozumel ;  but  how  was  he  to  get  there  ?  While 
wandering  disconsolately  along  the  shore,  he  found 
a  canoe,  half  buried  in  sand  and  water,  and  with 
one  side  in  a  state  of  decay  ;  with  the  assistance  of 
the  Indians  he  cleaned  it,  and  set  it  afloat,  and  on 
looking  further  he  found  the  stave  of  a  hogshead 
which  might  serve  for  a  paddle.  It  was  a  frail  em- 
barkation in  which  to  cross  an  arm  of  the  sea, 
several  leagues  wide,  but  there  was  no  alternative. 
Prevailing  on  the  Indians  to  accompany  him,  he 
launched  fcrrth  in  the  canoe  and  coasted  the  main- 
land until  he  came  to  the  narrowest  part  of  the 
strait,  where  it  was  but  four  leagues  across ;  here  he 
stood  directly  for  Cozumel,  contending,  as  well  as  he 
was  able,  with  a  strong  current,  and  at  length  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  the  island. 

He  had  scarce  landed  when  a  party  of  Spaniards, 
who  had  been  lying  in  wait,  rushed  forth  from  their 
concealment,  sword  in  liand.  The  three  Indians 
would  have  fled,  but  Aguilar  reassured  them,  and, 
calling  out  to  the  Spaniards  in  their  own  language, 
assured  them  that  he  was  a  Christian.  Then  throw- 
ing himself  upon  his  knees,  and  raising  his  eyes, 
streaming  Vviith  tears,  to  heaven,  he  gave  thanks  to 
God  for  having  restored  him  to  his  countrymen. 

The  Spaniards  gazed  at  him  with  astonishment : 
from  his  lang^iage  he  was  evidently  a  Castilian,  but 
to  all  appearance  he  was  an  Indian.  He  was  per- 
fectly naked  ;  wore  his  hair  braided  round  his  head 
in  the  manner  of  the  country,  and  his  complexion 
was  burnt  by  the  sun  to  a  tawny  colour.  He  had  a 
bow  in  his  hand,  a  quiver  at  his  shoulder,  and  a 
net-work  pouch  at  his  side  in  which  he  carried  his 
provisions. 

The  Spaniards  proved  to  be  a  reconnoitering 
party,  sent  out  by  Cortez  to  watch  tlie  approach  of 
the  canoe,  which  had  been  descried  coming  from 
Yucatan.  Cortez  had  given  up  all  hopes  of  being 
joined  by  the  captives,  the  caravel  having  waited 
the  allotted  time  at  Cotoche,  and  returned  without 
news  of  them.  He  had,  in  fact,  made  sail  to  prose- 
cute his  voyage,  but  fortunately  one  of  his  ships  had 
sprung  a  leak,  which  had  obliged  him  to  return 
to  the  island. 

When  Jeronimo  de  Aguilar  and  his  companions 
arrived  in  presence  of  Cortez,  who  was  surrounded 
by  his  officers,  they  made  a  profound  reverence, 
squatted  on  the  ground,  laid  their  bows  and  arrows 
beside  them,  and  touching  their  right  hands,  wet 
with  spittle,  on  the  ground,  rubbed  them  about  the 
region  of  the  heart,  such  being  their  sign  of  the  most 
devoted  submission. 

Cortez  greeted  Aguilar  with  a  hearty  welcome, 
and  raising  him  from  the  earth,  took  from  his  own 
person  a  large  yellow  mantle  lined  with  crimson, 
and  threw  it  over  his  shoulders.  The  latter,  how- 
ever, had  for  so  long  a  time  gone  entirely  naked, 
that  even  this  scanty  covering  was  at  first  almost 
insupportable,  and  he  had  become  so  accustomed 
to  the  diet  of  the  natives,  that  he  found  it  difficult  to 
reconcile  his  stomach  to  the  meat  and  drink  set  be- 
fore him. 

When  he  had  sufficiently  recovered  from  the  agita- 
tion of  his  arrival  among  Christians,  Cortez  drew 
from  him  the  particulars  of  his  story,  and  found  that 
he  was  related  to  one  of  his  own  friends,  the  licen- 
tiate Marcos  de  Aguilar.  He  treated  him,  therefore, 
with  additional  kindness  and  respect,  and  retained 
him  about  his  person  to  aid  him  as  an  interpreter  in 
his  great  Mexican  expedition. 

The  happiness  of  Jeronimo  de  Aguilar  at  once 
inore  being  restored  to  his  countrymen,  was  doomed 
to  suffer  some  alloy  from  the  disasters  that  had  hap- 
pened in  his  family.  Peter  Martyr  records  a  touch- 
ing anecdote  of  the  effect  that  had  been  produced 


upon  his  mother  by  the  tidings  of  his  mislortune. 
A  vague  report  had  reached  her  in  Spain  that  her 
son  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  cannibals.  All  the 
horrible  tales  that  circulated  in  Spain  concerning  the 
treatment  of  these  savages  to  their  prisoners,  rushed 
to  her  imagination,  and  she  went  distracted.  When- 
ever she  beheld  roasted  meat,  or  flesh  upon  the  spit, 
she  would  fill  the  house  with  her  outcries.  "Oh, 
wretched  mother  !  oh,  most  miserable  of  women  !  " 
would  she  exclaim,  "behold  the  limbs  of  my  mur- 
dered son." * 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  tidings  of  his  deliverance 
had  a  favourable  effect  upon  her  intellects,  and  that 
she  lived  to  rejoice  at  his  after-fortunes.  He  served 
Hernando  Cortez  with  great  courage  and  ability 
throughout  his  Mexican  conquests,  acting  sometimes 
as  a  soldier,  sometimes  as  interpreter  and  ambassa- 
dor to  the  Indians,  and,  in  reward  of  his  fidelity  and 
services,  was  appointed  regidor,  or  civil  governor  of 
the  city  of  Mexico. 


MICER  CODRO,  THE  ASTROLOGER. 


The  fate  of  the  Italian  astrologer,  Micer  Codro, 
who  predicted  the  end  of  Vasco  Nufiez,  is  related  by 
the  historian  Oviedo,  with  some  particulars  that  bor- 
der upon  the  marvelous.  It  appears  that  after  the 
death  of  his  patron,  he  continued  for  several  years 
rambling  about  the  New  World  in  the  train  of  the 
Spanish  discoverers  ;  but  intent  upon  studying  the 
secrets  of  its  natural  history,  rather  than  searching 
after  its  treasures. 

In  the  course  of  his  wanderings  he  was  once  coast- 
ing the  shores  of  the  Southern  ocean  in  a  ship  com- 
manded by  one  Geronimo  de  Valenzueln,  from  whom 
he  received  such  cruel  treatment  as  to  cause  his 
death,  though  what  the  nature  of  the  treatment  was, 
we  are  not  precisely  informed. 

Poinding  his  end  approaching,  the  unfortunate  as- 
trologer addressed  Valenzuela  in  the  most  solemn 
manner:  "Captain,"  said  he,  "you  have  caused  my 
death  by  your  cruelty  ;  I  now  summon  you  to  appear 
with  me,  within  a  year,  before  the  judgment  seat  of 
God  ! " 

The  captain  made  a  light  and  scoffing  answer, 
and  treated  his  summons  with  contempt. 

They  were  then  off  the  coast  of  Veragua,  near  the 
verdant  islands  of  Zebaco,  which  lie  at  the  entrance 
of  the  Gulf  of  Paria.  The  poor  astrologer  gazed 
wistfully  with  his  dying  eyes  upon  the  gieen  and 
shady  groves,  and  entreated  the  pilot  or  mate  of  the 
caravel  to  land  him  on  one  of  the  islands,  that  he 
might  die  in  peace.  "  Micer  Codro,"  replied  the 
pilot,  "  those  are  not  islands,  but  points  of  land  ; 
there  are  no  islands  hereabout." 

"There  are,  indeed,"  replied  the  astrologer,  "two 
good  and  pleasant  islands,  well  watered,  and  near  to 
the  coast,  and  within  them  is  a  great  bay  with  a  har- 
bor. Land  me,  I  pray  you,  upon  one  of  these  islands, 
that  I  may  have  comfort  in  my  dying  hour." 

The  pilot,  whose  rough  nature  had  been  touched 
with  pity  for  the  condition  of  the  unfortunate  astrol- 
oger, listened  to  his  prayer,  and  conveyed  him  to  the 
shore,  where  he  found  the  opinion  he  had  given  of 
the  character  of  the  coast  to  be  correct.  He  laid 
him  on  the  herbage  in  the  shade,  where  the  poor 
wanderer  soon  expired.  The  pilot  then  dug  a  grave 
at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  where  he  buried  him  with  all 
possible  decency,  and  carved  a  cross  on  tiie  bark  to 
mark  the  grave. 


*  P.  Martyr,  dccad.  4,  c.  6, 


SPANISH   VOYAGES    OF   DISCOVERY. 


791 


Some  time  afterwai  Js,  Oviedo,  the  historian,  was 
on  the  island  with  this  very  pilot,  who  showed  him 
the  cross  on  the  tree,  and  gave  his  honest  testimony 
to  the  good  character  and  worthy  conduct  of  Micer 
Codro.  Oviedo,  as  he  regarded  the  nameless  grave, 
passed  the  eulogium  of  a  scholar  upon  the  poor  as- 
trologer :  "  He  died,"  says  he,  "  like  Pliny,  in  the 
discharge  of  his  duties,  travelling  about  the  world  to 
explore  the  secrets  of  nature."  According  to  his 
account,  the  prediction  of  Micer  Codro  held  good 
with  respect  to  Valenzuela,  as  it  had  in  the  case  of 
Vasco  Nufiez.  The  captain  died  within  the  term  in 
which  he  had  summoned  him  to  appear  before  the 
tribunal  of  God  !  * 


JUAN  PONCE  DE  LEON, 

CONQUEROR   OF  PORTO    RICO,   AND    DISCOVERER 
OF   FLORIDA. 


CHAPTER    I. 


RBCONNOITERING  EXPEDITION  OF  JUAN  PONCE 
DE  LEON  TO  THE  ISLAND  OF  BORIQUEN. — 
(1508.) 

Many  years  had  elapsed  since  the  discovery  and 
colonization  of  Hayti,  yet  its  neighbouring  island  of 
Boriquen,  or,  as  the  Spaniards  called  it,  St.  Juan, 
(sir.ci  named  Porto  Rico,)  remained  unexplored.  It 
was  beautiful  to  the  eye  as  beheld  from  the  sea,  hav- 
ing lofty  mountains  clothed  with  forest  trees  of  pro- 
digious size  and  magnificent  foliage.  There  were 
broad  fertile  valleys  also,  always  fresh  and  green  ; 
for  the  frequent  showers  and  abundant  streams  in 
these  latitudes,  and  the  absence  of  all  wintry  frost, 
produce  a  perpetual  verdure.  Various  ships  had  oc- 
casionally touched  at  the  island,  but  their  crews  had 
never  penetrated  into  the  interior.  It  was  evident, 
however,  from  the  number  of  hamlets  and  scattered 
houses,  and  the  smoke  rising  in  all  directions  from 
among  the  trees,  that  it  was  well  peopled.  The  in- 
habitants still  continued  to  enjoy  their  life  of  indo- 
lence and  freedom,  unmolested  by  the  ills  that  over- 
whelmed the  neighbouring  island  of  Hayti.  The 
time  had  arrived,  however,  when  they  were  to  share 
the  common  lot  of  their  fellow  savages,  and  to  sink 
beneath  the  yoke  of  the  white  man. 

At  the  time  when  Nicholas  de  Ovando,  Governor 
of  Hispaniola,  undertook  to  lay  waste  the  great  prov- 
ince of  Higuey,  which  lay  at  the  eastern  end  of  Hay- 
ti, he  sent,  as  commander  of  part  of  the  troops,  a 
veteran  soldier  named  Juan  Ponce  de  Leon.  He 
was  a  native  of  Leon,  in  Spain,  and  in  his  boyhood 
had  been  page  to  Pedro  Nunez  de  Guzman,  Seflor 
of  Toral.t  From  an  early  age  he  had  been  schooled 
to  war,  and  had  served  in  the  various  campaigns 
against  the  Moors  of  Granada.  He  accompanied 
Columbus  in  his  second  voyage  in  1493,  and  was 
afterwards,  it  is  said,  one  of  the  partisans  of  Fran- 
cisco Roldan,  in  his  rebellion  against  the  admiral. 
Having  distinguished  himself  in  various  battles  with 
the  Indians,  and  acquired  a  name  for  sagacity  as 
well  as  valour,  he  received  a  command  subordinate 
to  Juan  de  Esquibel,  in  the  campaign  against  Higuey, 
and  seconded  his  chief  so  valiantly  in  that  sanguinary 
expedition,  that  after  the  subjugation  of  the  province 


•  Vide  Ovidcdo,  Hist.  Gen.  1.  xxxix.  c.  2. 

t  Incas,  Carcilaso  de  la  Vega,  Hist.  Florida,  t.  it.  c.  37. 


he  was  appointed  to  the  command  of  it,  as  lieuten- 
ant of  the  Governor  of  Hispaniola. 

Juan  Ponce  de  Leon  had  all  the  impatience  of 
quiet  life  and  the  passion  for  exploit  of  a  veteran 
campaigner.  He  had  not  been  long  in  the  tranquil 
command  of  his  province  of  Higuey,  before  he  began 
to  cast  a  wistful  eye  towards  the  green  mountains  of 
Boriquen.  They  were  directly  opposite,  and  but 
twelve  or  fourteen  leagues  distant,  so  as  to  be  dis- 
tinctly seen  in  the  transparent  atmosphere  of  the 
tropics.  The  Indians  of  the  two  islands  frequently 
visited  each  other,  and  in  this  way  Juan  Ponce  re- 
ceived the  usual  intelligence  that  the  mountains  he 
had  eyed  so  wistfully  abounded  with  gold.  He  read- 
ily obtained  permission  from  Governor  Ovando  to 
make  an  expedition  to  this  island,  and  embarked  in 
the  year  1 508  in  a  caravel,  with  a  few  Spaniards  and 
several  Indian  interpreters  and  guides. 

After  an  easy  voyage  he  landed  on  the  woody 
shores  of  the  island,  near  to  the  residence  of  the 
principal  cacique,  Agueybana.  He  found  the  chief- 
tain seated  in  patriarchal  style  under  the  shade  of 
his  native  groves  and  surrounded  by  his  family,  con- 
sisting of  his  mother,  step-father,  brother,  and  sister, 
who  vied  with  each  other  in  paying  homage  to  the 
strangers.  Juan  Ponce,  in  fact,  was  received  into 
the  bosom  of  the  family,  and  the  cacique  exchanged 
names  with  him,  which  is  the  Indian  pledge  of  per- 
petual amity.  Juan  Ponce  also  gave  Christian  names 
to  the  mother  and  step-father  of  the  cacique,  and 
would  fain  have  baptized  them,  but  they  declined  the 
ceremony,  though  they  always  took  a  pride  in  the 
names  thus  given  them. 

In  his  zeal  to  gratify  his  guests  the  cacique  took 
them  to  various  parts  of  the  island.  They  found  the 
interior  to  correspond  with  the  external  appearance. 
It  was  wild  and  mountainous,  but  magnificently 
wooded,  with  deep  rich  valleys  fertilized  by  limpid 
streams.  Juan  Ponce  requested  the  cacique  to  re- 
veal to  him  the  riches  of  the  island.  The  simple 
Indian  showed  hiin  his  most  productive  fields  of 
Yuca,  the  groves  laden  with  the  most  delicious  fruit, 
the  sweetest  and  purest  fountains,  and  the  coolest 
runs  of  water. 

Ponce  de  Leon  heeded  but  little  these  real  bless- 
ings, and  demanded  whether  the  island  produced  no 
gold.  Upon  this,  the  cacique  conducted  him  to  two 
rivers,  the  Manatuabon  and  the  Zebuco,  where  the 
very  pebbles  seemed  richly  veined  with  gold,  and 
large  grains  shone  among  the  sand  through  the  lim- 
pid water.  Some  of  the  largest  of  these  were  gath- 
ered by  the  Indians  and  given  to  the  Spaniards.  The 
quantity  thus  procured  confirmed  the  hopes  of  Juan 
Ponce  ;  and  leaving  several  of  his  companions  in  the 
house  of  the  hospitable  cacique,  he  returned  to  Hayti 
to  report  the  success  of  his  expedition.  He  pre- 
sented the  specimens  of  gold  to  the  Governor  Ovan- 
do, who  assayed  them  in  a  crucible.  The  ore  was  not 
so  fine  as  that  of  Hispaniola,  but  as  it  was  supposed 
to  exist  in  greater  quantities,  the  Governor  deter- 
mined on  the  subjugation  of  the  island,  and  confided 
the  enterprise  to  Juan  Ponce  de  Leon. 


CHAPTER  II. 


JUAN   PONCE  ASPIRES  TO    THE  GOVERNMENT  OF 
PORTO   RICO. — (1509.) 

The  natives  of  Boriquen  were  more  warlike  than 
those  of  Hispaniola  ;  being  accustomed  to  the  use 
of  arms  from  the  necessity  of  repelling  the  frequent 
invasions  of  the  Caribs.  It  was  supposed,  therefore, 
that  the  conquest  of  their  island  would  be  attended 
with  some  difficulty,  and  Juan  Ponce  de  Leon  made 


792 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


another,  as  it  were  a  preparator)-  visit,  to  make  him- 
self acquainted  with  tlie  country,  and  with  the  nature 
and  resources  of  the  inhjibitants.  He  found  the  com- 
panions, whom  he  had  left  there  on  his  former  visit, 
in  good  health  and  spirits,  and  full  of  gratitude 
towards  the  cacique  Agueybana,  who  had  treated 
them  with  undiminished  hospitality.  There  ap- 
peared to  be  no  need  of  violence  to  win  the  island 
from  such  simple-hearted  and  confiding  people. 
Juan  Ponce  flattered  himself  with  the  hopes  of  being- 
appointed  to  its  government  by  Ovando,  and  of 
bringing  it  peaceably  into  subjection.  After  remain- 
ing some  time  on  the  island,  he  returned  to  San  Do- 
mingo to  seek  the  desired  appointment,  but,  to  his 
surprise,  found  the  whole  face  of  affairs  had  changed 
during  his  absence. 

His  patron,  the  Governor  Ovando,  had  been  re- 
called to  Spain,  and  Don  Diego  Columbus,  son  of 
the  renowned  discoverer,  appointed  in  his  place  to 
the  command  at  San  Domingo.  To  add  to  the  per- 
plexities of  Juan  Ponce,  a  cavalier  had  already  ar- 
rived from  Spain,  empowered  by  the  king  to  form  a 
settlement  and  build  a  fortress  on  the  island  of  Porto 
Rico.  His  name  was  Christoval  de  Sotomayor ;  he 
was  brother  to  the  Count  of  Camina,  and  had  been 
secretary  to  Philip  I.,  surnamed  the  Handsome,  king 
of  Castile,  and  father  of  Charles  V. 

Don  Diego  Columbus  was  hi  ihly  displeased  with 
the  act  of  the  king  in  granting  these  powers  to  Soto- 
mayor, as  it  had  been  done  without  his  knowledge 
and  consent,  and  of  course  in  disregard  of  his  pre- 
rogative as  viceroy,  to  be  consulted  as  to  all  appoint- 
ments made  within  his  jurisdiction.  He  refused, 
therefore,  to  put  Sotomayor  in  possession  of  the 
island.  He  paid  as  little  respect  to  the  claims  of 
Juan  Ponce  de  Leon,  whom  he  regarded  with  an  un- 
gracious eye  as  a  favourite  of  his  predecessor  Ovan- 
do. To  settle  the  matter  effectually,  he  exerted  what 
he  considered  his  official  and  hereditary  privilege, 
and  chose  officers  to  suit  himself,  appointing  one 
Juan  Ceron  to  the  government  of  Porto  Rico,  and 
Miguel  Diaz  to  serve  as  his  lieutenant.* 

Juan  Ponce  de  Leon  and  his  rival  candidate, 
Christoval  de  Sotomayor,  bore  their  disappointment 
with  a  good  grace.  Though  the  command  was  de- 
nied them,  they  still  hoped  to  improve  their  fortunes 
in  the  island,  and  accordingly  joined  the  crowd  of 
adventurers  that  accompanied  the  newly  appointed 
governor. 

New  changes  soon  took  place  in  consequence  of 
the  jealousies  and  misunderstandings  between  King 
Ferdinand  and  the  admiral  as  to  points  of  privilege. 
The  former  still  seemed  disposed  to  maintain  the 
right  of  making  appointments  without  consulting 
Don  Diego,  and  exerted  it  in  the  present  instance ; 
for,  when  Ovando,  on  his  return  to  -Spain,  made 
favourable  representation  of  the  merits  of  Juan  Ponce 
de  Leon,  and  set  forth  his  services  in  exploring  Porto 
Rico,  the  king  appointed  him  governor  of  that  island, 
and  signified  specifically  that  Don  Diego  Columbus 
should  not  presume  to  displace  him. 


CHAPTER  III. 


JUAN  PONCE  RULES  WITH  A  STRONG  HAND — EX- 
ASPERAIION  OK  THE  INDIANS — THEIR  EXPERI- 
MENT TO  PROVE  WHETHER  THE  SPANIARDS 
WERE  MORTAL. 

Juan  Ponce  de  Leon  assumed  the  command 
of  the  island  of  Boriquen  in  the  year  1 509.     Being  a 

*  If  the  reader  has  perused  the  history  of  Columbus,  he  may  re- 
member the  romantic  adventure  of  this  Miguel  Diaz  with  a  female 
cacique,  which  led  to  the  discovery  of  the  gold  mines  of  Hayna,  and 
the  founding  of  the  city  of  San  Domingo. 


fiery,  high-handed  old  soldier,  his  first  step  w.as  to 
quarrel  with  Juan  Ceron  and  Miguel  Diaz,  the  e.x- 
governor  and  his  lieutenant,  and  to  send  them  prison- 
ers to  Spain.* 

He  was  far  more  favourable  to  his  late  competitor, 
Christoval  de  Sotomayor.  Finding  him  to  be  a  cav- 
alier of  noble  blood  and  high  connexions,  yet  void 
of  pretension,  and  of  most  accommodating  temper, 
he  offered  to  make  him  his  lieutenant,  and  to  give 
him  the  post  of  Alcalde  Mayor,  an  offer  which  was 
very  thankfully  accepted. 

The  pride  of  rank,  however,  which  follows  a  man 
even  into  the  wilderness,  soon  interfered  with  the 
quiet  of  Sotomayor ;  he  was  ridiculed  for  descend- 
ing so  much  below  his  birth  and  dignity,  as  to  accept 
a  subaltern  situation  to  a  simple  gentleman  in  the 
island  which  he  had  originally  aspired  to  govern. 
He  could  not  withstand  these  sneers,  but  resigned 
his  appointment,  and  remained  in  the  island  as  a 
private  individual ;  establishing  himself  in  a  village 
where  he  had  a  large  repartimiento  or  allotment  of 
Indians  assigned  to  him  by  a  grant  from  the  king. 

Juan  Ponce  fixed  his  seat  of  government  in  a  town 
called  Caparra,  which  he  founded  on  the  northern 
side  of  the  island,  about  a  league  from  the  sea,  in  a 
neighbourhood  supposed  to  abound  in  gold.  It  was 
in  front  of  the  port  called  Rico,  which  subsequently 
gave  its  name  to  the  island.  The  road  to  the  town 
was  up  a  mountain,  through  a  dense  forest,  and  so 
rugged  and  miry  that  it  was  the  bane  of  man  and 
beast.  It  cost  more  to  convey  provisions  and  mer- 
chandise up  this  league  of  mountain  than  it  had  to 
bring  them  from  Spain. 

Juan  Ponce,  being  firmly  seated  in  his  government, 
began  to  carve  and  portion  out  the  island,  to  found 
towns,  and  to  distribute  the  natives  into  repartimi- 
entos,  for  the  purpose  of  exacting  their  labour. 

The  poor  Indians  soon  found  the  difference  be- 
tween the  Spaniards  as  guests,  and  the  Spaniards 
as  masters.  They  were  driven  to  despair  by  the 
heavy  tasks  imposed  upon  them  ;  for  to  their  free 
spirits  and  indolent  habits,  restraint  and  labour 
were  worse  than  death.  Many  of  the  most  hardy 
and  daring  proposed  a  general  insurrection,  and  a 
massacre  of  their  oppressors ;  the  great  mass,  how- 
ever, were  deterred  by  the  belief  that  the  Spaniards 
were  supernatural  beings  and  could  not  be  killed. 

A  shrewd  and  sceptical  cacique  named  Brayoan, 
determined  to  put  their  immortality  to  the  test. 
Hearing  that  a  young  Spaniard  named  Salzedo,  was 
passing  through  his  lands,  he  sent  a  party  of  his  sub- 
jects to  escort  him,  giving  them  secret  instructions 
how  they  were  to  act.  On  coming  to  a  river  they  took 
Salzedo  on  their  shoulders  to  carry  him  across,  but, 
when  in  the  midst  of  the  stream,  they  let  him  fall,  and, 
throwing  themselves  upon  him,  pressed  him  under 
water  until  he  was  drowned.  Then  dragging  his  body 
to  the  shore,  and  still  doubting  his  being  dead,  they 
wept  and  howled  over  him,  making  a  thousand 
apologies  for  having  fallen  upon  him,  and  kept  him 
so  long  beneath  the  surface. 

The  cacique  Brayoan  came  to  examine  the  body 
and  pronounced  it  lifeless  ;  but  the  Indians,  still  fear- 
ing it  might  possess  lurking  immortality  and  ulti- 
mately revive,  kept  watch  over  it  for  three  days,  un- 
til in  showed  incontestible  signs  of  putrefaction. 

Being  now  convinced  that  the  strangers  were 
mortal  men  like  themselves,  they  readily  entered  into 
a  general  conspiracy  to  destroy  ihem.t 


*  Herrcra,  decad.  1. 1.  vii.  c.  X3. 
t  Herrcra,  decad.  1 1.  viii.  c.  i> 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


793 


CHAPTER   IV. 

CONSPIRACY    OF    THE  CACIQUES — THE    FATE     OF 
SOTOMAYOR. 

The  prime  mover  of  the  conspiracy  among  the 
natives  was  Agueybana,  brother  and  successor  to 
the  hospitable  cacique  ol'  the  same  name,  who  had 
first  welcomed  the  Spaniards  to  the  island,  and  who 
had  fortunately  closed  his  eyes  in  peace,  before  his 
native  groves  were  made  the  scenes  of  violence  and 
oppression.  The  present  cacique  had  fallen  within 
the  repartimiento  of  Don  Christoval  de  Sotomayor, 
and,  though  treated  by  that  cavalier  with  kindness, 
could  never  reconcile  his  proud  spirit  to  the  yoke  of 
vassalage. 

Agueybana  held  secret  councils  with  his  confed- 
erate caciques,  in  which  they  concerted  a  plan  of 
operations.  As  the  Spaniards  were  scattered  about 
in  different  places,  it  was  agreed  that,  at  a  certain 
time,  each  cacique  should  despatch  those  within  his 
province.  In  arranging  the  massacre  of  those  within 
his  own  domains,  Agueybana  assigned  to  one  of  his 
inferior  caciques  the  task  of  surprising  the  village  of 
Sotomayor,  giving  him  3,000  warriors  for  the  pur- 
pose. He  was  to  assail  the  village  in  the  dead  of  the 
night,  to  set  fire  to  the  houses,  and  to  slaughter  all 
the  inhabitants.  He  proudly,  however,  reserved  to 
himself  the  honour  of  killing  Don  Christoval  with  his 
own  hand. 

Don  Christoval  had  an  unsuspected  friend  in  the 
very  midst  of  his  enemies.  Being  a  cavalier  of  gal- 
lant appearance  and  amiable  and  courteous  manners, 
he  had  won  the  affections  of  an  Indian  princess,  the 
sister  of  the  cacique  Agueybana.  She  had  overheard 
enough  of  the  war-council  of  her  brother  and  his 
warriors  to  learn  that  Sotomayor  v^as  in  danger. 
The  life  of  her  lover  was  more  precious  in  her  eyes 
than  the  safety  of  her  brother  and  her  tribe  ;  hast- 
ening, therefore,  to  him,  she  told  him  all  that  she 
knew  or  feared,  and  warned  him  to  be  upon  his 
guard.  Sotomayor  appears  to  have  been  of  the 
most  easy  and  incautious  nature,  void  of  all  evil  and 
deceit  himself,  and  slow  to  suspect  any  thing  of  the 
kind  in  others.  He  considered  the  apprehension  of 
the  princess  as  dictated  by  her  fond  anxiety,  and 
neglected  to  profit  by  her  warning. 

He  received,  however,  about  the  same  time,  in- 
formation from  a  different  quarter,  tanding  to  the 
same  point.  A  Spaniard,  versed  in  the  language 
and  customs  of  the  natives,  had  observed  a  number 
gathering  together  one  evening,  painted  and  deco- 
rated as  if  for  battle.  Suspecting  some  lurking  mis- 
chief, he  stripped  and  painted  himself  in  their  man- 
ner, and,  favoured  by  the  obscurity  of  the  night, 
succeeded  in  mingling  among  them  undiscovered. 
They  were  assembled  round  a  fire  performing  one 
of  their  ir.ystic  war-dances,  to  the  chant  of  an 
Areyto  or  legendary  ballad.  The  strophes  and  re- 
sponses treated  of  revenge  and  slaughter,  and  re- 
peatedly mentioned  the  death  of  Sotomayor. 

The  Spaniard  withdrew  unperceived,  and  hasten- 
etl  to  apprise  Don  Christoval  of  his  danger.  The 
latter  still  made  light  of  these  repeated  warnings ; 
revolving  them,  however,  in  his  mind  in  the  stillness 
of  the  night,  he  began  to  feel  some  uneasiness,  and 
determined  to  repair  in  the  m.orning  to  Juan  Ponce 
de  Leon,  in  his  strong-hold  at  Caparra.  With  his 
fated  heedlessness,  or  temerity,  however,  he  applied 
to  Agueybana  for  Indians  to  carry  his  baggage,  and 
departed  slighty  armed,  and  accompanied  by  but 
three  Spaniards,  although  he  had  to  pass  through 
close  and  lonely  forests,  where  he  would  be  at  the 
mercy  of  any  treacherous  or  lurking  foe. 

The  cacique  watched  the  departure  of  his  intended 
victim  and  set  out  shortly  afterwards,  dogging  his 


steps  at  a  distance  through  the  forest,  accompanied 
by  a  few  chosen  warriors.  Agueybana  and  his  party 
had  not  proceeded  far  when  they  met  a  Spaniard 
named  Juan  Gonzalez,  who  spoke  the  Indian 
language.  They  immediately  assailed  him  and 
wounded  him  in  several  places.  He  threw  himself 
at  the  feet  of  the  cacique,  imploring  his  life  in  the 
most  abject  terms.  The  chief  spared  him  for  the 
pnoment,  being  eager  to  make  sure  of  Don  Christo- 
val. He  overtook  that  incautions  cavalier  in  the 
very  heart  of  the  woodland,  and  stealing  silently 
upon  him,  burst  forth  suddenly  with  his  warriors 
from  the  covert  of  the  thickets,  giving  the  fatal  war 
whoop.  Before  Sotomayor  could  put  himself  upon 
his  guard  a  blow  from  the  war  club  of  the  cacique 
felled  him  to  the  earth,  when  he  was  quickly  des- 
patched by  repeated  blows.  The  four  Spaniards 
who  accompanied  him  shared  his  fate,  being  assail- 
ed, not  merely  by  the  wariors  who  had  come  in  pur- 
suit of  them,  but  by  their  own  Indian  guides. 

When  Agueybana  had  glutted  his  vengeance  on 
this  unfortunate  cavalier,  he  returned  in  quest  of 
Juan  Gonzalez.  The  latter,  however,  had  recovered 
sufficiently  from  his  wounds  to  leave  the  place  where 
he  had  been  assailed,  and,  dreading  the  return  of  the 
savages,  had  climbed  into  a  tree  and  concealed  him- 
self among  the  branches.  From  thence,  with  trem- 
bling anxiety  he  watched  his  pursuers  as  they  search- 
ed all  the  surrounding  forest  for  him.  Fortunately 
they  did  not  think  of  looking  up  into  the  trees,  but, 
after  beating  the  bushes  for  some  time,  gave  up  the 
search.  Though  he  saw  them  depart,  yet  he  did 
not  venture  from  his  concealment  unMl  the  night  had 
closed  ;  he  then  descended  from  the  tree  and  made 
the  best  of  his  way  to  the  residence  of  certain  Span- 
iards, where  his  wounds  were  dressed.  When  this 
was  done  he  waited  not  to  take  repose,  but  repaired 
by  a  circuitous  route  to  Caparra,  and  informed  Juan 
Ponce  de  Leon  of  the  danger  he  supposed  to  be  still 
impending  over  Sotomayor,  for  he  knew  not  that  the 
enemy  had  accomplished  his  death.  Juan  Ponce 
immediately  sent  out  forty  men  to  his  relief  They 
came  to  the  scene  of  massacre,  where  they  found 
the  body  of  the  unfortunate  cavalier,  partly  buried, 
but  with  the  feet  out  of  the  earth. 

In  the  mean  time  the  savages  had  accomplished 
the  destruction  of  the  village  of  Sotomayor.  They 
approached  it  unperceived,  through  the  surrounding 
forest,  and  entermg  it  in  the  dead  of  the  night,  set 
fire  to  the  straw-lhatched  houses,  and  attacked  the 
Spaniards  as  they  endeavoured  to  escape  from  the 
flames. 

Several  were  slain  at  the  onset,  but  a  brave  Span- 
iard, named  Diego  de  Salazar,  rallied  his  country- 
men, inspirited  them  to  beat  off  the  enemy,  and 
succeeded  in  conducting  the  greater  part  of  them, 
though  sorely  mangled  and  harassed,  to  the  strong- 
hold of  the  Governor  at  Caparra.  Scarcely  had  these 
fugitives  gained  the  fortress,  when  others  came 
hurrying  in  from  all  quarters,  bringing  similar  tales 
of  conflagration  and  massacre.  For  once  a  general 
insurrection,  so  often  planned  in  savage  life,  against 
the  domination  of  the  white  men,  was  crowned  with 
success.  All  the  villages  founded  by  the  Span- 
iards had  been  surprised,  about  a  hundred  of  their 
inhabitants  destroyed,  and  the  survivors  driven  to 
take  refuge  in  a  beleaguered  fortress. 


CHAPTER  V. 


WAR  OF  JUAN  PONCE  WITH  THE  CACIQUE 
AGUEYBANA. 

Juan  Ponce  de  Leon  might  now  almost  be  con- 
sidered a  governor  without  territories,  and  a  general 


794 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


without  soldiers.  His  villages  were  smoking-  ruins, 
and  his  whole  force  did  not  amount  to  a  hundred 
men,  several  of  whom  were  disabled  by  their  wounds. 
He  had  an  able  and  implacable  foe  in  Agueybana, 
who  took  the  lead  of  all  the  other  caciques,  and  even 
sent  envoys  to  the  Caribs  of  the  neighbouring  islands, 
entreating  them  to  forget  all  ancient  animosities,  and 
to  make  common  cause  against  these  strangers — the 
deadly  enemies  of  the  whole  Indian  race.  In  the 
mean  time  the  whole  of  this  wild  island  was  in  re- 
bellion, and  the  forests  around  the  fortress  of  Ca- 
parra  rang  with  the  whoops  and  yells  of  the  savages, 
the  blasts  of  their  war  conchs,  and  the  stormy  roar- 
ing of  their  drums. 

Juan  Ponce  was  a  staunch  and  wary  old  soldier, 
and  not  easily  daunted.  He  remained  grimly  en- 
sconced within  his  fortress,  from  whence  he  des- 
patched messengers  in  all  haste  to  Hispaniola,  im- 
ploring immediate  assistance.  In  the  mean  time  he 
tasked  his  wits  to  divert  the  enemy  and  to  keep  them 
at  bay.  He  divided  his  little  force  into  three  bodies 
of  about  thirty  men  each,  under  the  command  of 
Diego  Salazar,  Miguel  de  Toro,  and  Luis  de  Anasco, 
and  sent  them  out  alternately  to  make  sudden  sur- 
prises and  assaults,  to  form  ambuscades,  and  to 
practice  the  other  stratagems  of  partisan  warfare, 
which  he  had  learnt  in  early  life,  in  his  campaigns 
against  the  Moors  of  Granada. 

One  of  his  most  ellicient  warriors  was  a  dog  named 
BerezillO;  renowned  for  courage,  strength,  and  sagac- 
ity. It  is  said  that  he  could  distinguish  those  of  the 
Indians  who  were  allies,  from  those  who  were  ene- 
mies of  tlie  Spaniards.  To  the  former  he  was  docile 
and  friendly,  to  the  latter  fierce  and  implacable.  He 
was  the  terror  of  the  natives,  who  were  unaccustomed 
to  powerful  and  fei-ocious  animals,  and  did  more  serv- 
ice in  this  wild  warfare  than  could  have  been  ren- 
dered by  several  soldiers.  His  prowess  was  so  highly 
appreciated  that  his  master  received  for  him  the  pay, 
allowance,  and  share  of  booty,  assigned  to  a  cross- 
bow man,  wliich  was  the  highest  stipend  given.* 

At  length  the  stout  old  cavalier  Juan  Ponce  was 
reinforced  in  his  strong-hold,  by  troops  from  His- 
paniola, whereupon  he  sallied  forth  boldly  to  take 
revenge  upon  those  who  had  thus  held  him  in  a  kind 
of  durance.  His  foe  Agueybana  was  at  that  time 
encamped  in  his  own  territories  with  more  than  five 
thousand  warriors,  but  in  a  negligent,  unwatchful 
state,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  the  reinforcements  of 
the  Spaniards,  and  supposed  Juan  Ponce  shut  up 
with  his  handful  of  men  in  Caparra.  The  old  sol- 
dier, therefore,  took  him  completely  by  surprise,  and 
routed  him  with  great  slaughter.  Indeed,  it  is  said 
the  Indians  were  struck  with  a  kind  of  panic  when 
they  saw  the  Spaniards  as  numerous  as  ever,  not- 
withstanding the  number  they  had  massacred.  Their 
beUef  in  their  immortality  revived  ;  they  fiincied  that 
those  whom  they  had  slain  had  returned  to  life,  and 
they  despaired  of  victory  over  beings  who  could  thus 
arise  with  renovated  vigour  from  the  grave. 

Various  petty  actions  and  skirmishes  afterwards 
took  place,  in  which  the  Indians  were  defeated. 
Agueybana,  however,  disdained  this  petty  warfare, 
and  stirred  up  his  countrymen  to  assemble  their 
forces,  and  by  one  grand  assault  to  decide  the  fate 
of  themselves  and  their  island.  Juan  Ponce  received 
secret  tidings  of  their  intent,  and  of  the  place  where 
they  were  assembling.     He  had  at  that  time  barely 


*  This  famous  dog  was  killed  some  years  afterwards  by  a  poison- 
ed arrow,  as  lie  was  swimniing  in  the  sea  in  pursuit  of  a  Carib 
Indian.  He  left.  howe\er,  a  numerous  progeny  and  a  great  name 
behind  him  ;  and  his  merits  and  exploits  were  long  a  favourite 
theme  among  the  Spanish  colonists.  He  was  father  to  the  renown- 
ed Leoncico,  the  faithful  dog  of  Vasco  Nufle^,  which  resembled 
him  in  looks  and  equalled  him  in  prowess. 


eighty  men  at  his  disposal,  but  then  they  were  cased 
in  steel  and  proof  against  the  weapons  of  the  sav- 
ages. Without  stopping  to  reflect,  the  high-mettled 
old  cavalier  put  himself  at  their  head  and  led  them 
through  the  forest  in  quest  of  the  foe. 

It  was  nearly  sunset  when  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
Indian  camp,  and  the  multitude  of  warriors  assem- 
bled there  made  him  pause,  and  almost  repent  of  his 
temerity.  He  was  as  shrewd,  however,  as  he  was 
hardy  and  resolute.  Ordering  some  of  his  men  in  the 
advance  to  skirmish  with  the  enemy,  he  hastily  threw 
up  a  slight  fortification  with  the  a.ssistance  of  the  rest. 
When  it  was  finished  he  withdrew  his  forces  into  it  and 
ordered  them  to  keep  merely  on  the  defensive.  The 
Indians  made  repeated  attacks,  but  were  as  often  re- 
pulsed with  loss.  Some  of  the  Spaniards,  impatient 
of  this  covert  warfare,  would  sally  forth  in  open  field 
with  pike  and  cross-bow,  but  were  called  back  with- 
in the  fortification  by  their  wary  commander. 

The  cacique  Agueybana  was  enraged  at  finding  his 
host  of  warriors  thus  baffled  and  kept  at  bay  by  a 
mere  handful  of  Spaniards.  He  beheld  the  night 
closing  in,  and  feared  that  in  the  darkness  the  enemy 
would  escape.  Summoning  his  choicest  warriors 
round  him,  therefore,  he  led  the  way  in  a  general  as- 
sault, when,  as  he  approached  the  fortress,  he  re- 
ceived a  mortal  wound  from  an  arquebus  and  fell 
dead  upon  the  spot. 

The  Spaniards  were  not  aware  at  first  of  the  im- 
portance of  the  chief  whom  they  had  slain.  They 
soon  surmised  it,  however,  from  the  confusion  that 
ensued  among  the  enemy,  who  bore  off  the  body  with 
great  lamentations,  and  made  no  further  attack. 

The  wary  Juan  Ponce  took  advantage  of  the  evi- 
dent distress  of  the  foe,  to  draw  off  his  sm.all  forces 
in  the  night,  happy  to  get  out  of  the  terrible  jeopardy 
into  which  a  rash  confidence  had  betrayed  him. 
.Some  of  his  fiery-spirited  officers  would  have  kept 
the  field  in  spite  of  the  overwhelming  force  of  the 
enemy.  "  No,  no,"  said  the  shrewd  veteran  ;  "it  is 
better  to  protract  the  war  than  to  risk  all  upon  a 
single  battle." 

While  Juan  Ponce  de  Leon  was  fighting  hard  to 
maintain  his  sway  over  the  island,  his  transient  dig- 
nity was  overturned  by  another  power,  against  which 
the  prowess  of  the  old  soldier  was  of  no  avail.  King 
Ferdinand  had  repented  of  the  step  he  had  iU-advis- 
edly  taken,  in  superseding  the  governor  and  lieu- 
tenant governor,  appointed  by  Don  Uiego  Columbus. 
He  became  convinced,  though  rather  tardidy,  that  it 
was  an  infringement  of  the  rights  of  the  admiral,  and 
that  policy,  as  well  as  justice,  required  him  to  retract 
it.  When  Juan  Ceron  and  Miguel  Diaz,  therefore, 
came  prisoners  to  Spain,  he  received  them  graciously, 
conferred  many  favours  on  them  to  atone  for  their 
rough  ejectment  from  office,  and  finally,  after  some 
time,  sent  them  back,  empowered  to  resume  the  com- 
mand of  the  island.  They  were  ordered,  however,  on 
no  account  to  manifest  rancour  or  ill-will  against 
Juan  Ponce  de  Leon,  or  to  interfere  with  any  property 
he  might  hold,  either  in  houses,  lands,  or  Indians ; 
but  on  the  contrary,  to  cultivate  the  most  friendly 
understanding  with  him.  The  king  also  wrote  to  the 
hardy  veteran  explaining  to  him,  that  this  restitution 
of  Ceron  and  Diaz  had  been  determined  upon  in 
council,  as  a  mere  act  of  justice  due  to  them,  but  was 
not  intended  as  a  censure  upon  his  conduct,  and  that 
means  should  be  sought  to  indemnify  him  for  the 
loss  of  his  command. 

By  the  time  the  governor  and  his  lieutenant  reach- 
ed the  island,  Juan  Ponce  had  completed  its  subjuga- 
tion. The  death  of  the  island  champion,  the  brave 
Agueybana,  had  in  fact  been  a  death  blow  to  the 
natives,  and  shows  how  much,  in  savage  warfare, 
depends  upon  a  single  chieftain.     They  never  made 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


795 


head  of  war  afterwards  ;  but,  dispersing  among  their 
forests  and  mountains,  fell  gradually  under  the  power 
of  the  Spaniards.  Their  subsequent  fate  was  like 
that  of  their  neighbours  of  Hayti.  They  were  em- 
ployed in  the  labour  of  the  mines,  and  in  other  rude 
toils  so  repugnant  to  their  nature  that  they  sank  be- 
neath them,  and,  in  a  little  while,  almost  all  the 
aboriginals  disappeared  from  the  island. 


CHAPTER   VI. 


JUAN   PONCE  DE   LEON   HEARS  OF  A  WONDERFUL 
COUNTRY  AND  MIRACULOUS   FOUNTAIN. 

Juan  Ponce  de  Leon  resigned  the  command  of 
Porto  Rico  with  tolerable  grace.  The  loss  of  one 
wild  island  and  wild  government  was  of  little  mo- 
ment, when  there  was  a  new  world  to  be  shared  out, 
where  a  bold  soldier  like  himself,  with  sword  and 
buckler,  might  readily  carve  out  new  fortunes  for 
himself.  Beside,  he  had  now  amassed  wealth  to  as- 
sist him  in  his  plans,  and,  like  many  of  the  early  dis- 
coverers, his  brain  was  teeming  with  the  most  roman- 
tic enterprises.  He  had  conceived  the  idea  that  there 
was  yet  a  third  world  to  be  discovered,  and  he  hoped 
to  be  the  first  to  reach  its  shores,  and  thus  to  secure 
a  renown  equal  to  that  of  Columbus. 

While  cogitating  these  things,  and  considering 
which  way  he  should  strike  forth  in  the  unexplored 
regions  around  him,  he  met  with  some  old  Indians 
who  gave  him  tidings  of  a  country  which  promised, 
not  merely  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  his  ambition, 
but  to  realize  the  fondest  dreams  of  the  poets.  They 
assured  him  that,  far  to  the  north,  there  existed  a 
land  abounding  in  gold  and  in  all  manner  of  delights  ; 
but,  above  all,  possessing  a  river  of  such  wonderful 
virtue  that  whoever  bathed  in  it  would  be  restored  to 
youth  !  They  added,  that  in  times  past,  before  the 
arrival  of  the  Spaniards,  a  large  party  of  the  natives 
of  Cuba  had  departed  northward  in  search  of  this 
happy  land  and  this  river  of  life,  and,  having  never 
returned,  it  was  concluded  that  they  were  flourishing 
in  renovated  youth,  detained  by  the  pleasures  of  that 
enchanting  country. 

Here  was  the  dream  of  the  alchymist  realized  ! 
one  had  but  to  rind  this  gifted  land  and  revel  in  the 
CMJoynient  of  boundless  riches  and  perennial  youth  ! 
nay,  some  of  the  ancient  Indians  declared  that  it  was 
not  necessary  to  go  so  far  in  quest  of  these  rejuve.iat- 
ing  waters,  for  that,  in  a  certain  island  of  the  Baha- 
ma group,  called  Bimini,  which  lay  far  out  in  the 
ocean,  there  was  a  fountain  possessing  the  same 
marvellous  and  inestimable  qualities. 

Juan  Ponce  de  Leon  listened  to  these  tales  with 
fond  credulity.  He  was  advancing  in  life,  and  the 
ordinary  term  of  existence  seemed  insufficient  for  his 
mighty  plans.  Could  he  but  plunge  into  this  marvel- 
lous fountain  or  gifted  river,  and  come  out  with  his 
battered,  war-worn  body  restored  to  the  strength  and 
ireshness  and  suppleness  of  youth,  and  his  head  still 
retaining  the  wisdom  and  knowledge  of  age,  what 
enterprises  might  he  not  accomplish  in  the  additional 
course  of  vigorous  years  insured  to  him  ! 

It  may  seem  incredible,  at  the  present  day,  that  a 
man  of  years  and  experience  could  yield  any  faith  to 
a  story  which  resembles  the  wild  fiction  of  an  Ara- 
bian tale  ;  but  the  wonders  and  novelties  breaking 
upon  the  world  in  that  age  of  discovery  almost  re- 
alized the  illusions  of  fable,  and  the  imaginations  of 
the  Spanish  voyagers  had  become  so  heated  that  they 
were  capable  of  any  stretch  of  credulity. 

So  fully  persuaded  was  the  worthy  old  cavalier  of 
the  existence  of  the  region  described  to  him,  that  he 


fitted  out  three  ships  at  his  own  expense  to  prosecute 
the  discovery,  nor  had  he  any  difficulty  in  finding  ad- 
venturers in  abundance  ready  to  cruise  with  him  in 
quest  of  this  fairy-land.* 


CHAPTER  VII. 


CRUISE  OF  JUAN  PONCE  DE  LEON  IN   SEARCH  OF 
THE  FOUNTAIN   OF   YOUTH.— (l  512). 

It  was  on  the  third  of  March,  15 12,  that  Juan 
Ponce  sailed  with  his  three  ships  from  the  Port  of  St. 
Germain  in  the  island  of  Porto  Rico.  He  kept  for 
some  distance  along  the  coast  of  Hispaniola,  and 
then,  stretching  away  to  the  northward,  made  for  the 
Bahama  islands,  and  soon  fell  in  with  the  first  of  the 
group.  He  was  favoured  with  propitious  weather 
and  tranquil  seas,  and  glided  smoothly  with  wind  and 
current  along  that  verdant  archipelago,  visiting  one 
island  after  another,  until,  on  the  fourteenth  of  the 
month,  he  arrived  at  Guanahani,  or  St.  Salvador's, 
where  Christopher  Columbus  had  first  put  his  foot 
on  the  shores  of  the  new  world.  His  inquiries  for 
the  island  of  Bimini  were  all  in  vain,  and  as  to  the 
fountain  of  youth,  he  may  have  drank  of  every  foun- 
tain, and  river,  and  lake  in  the  archipelago,  even  to 
the  salt  pools  of  Turk's  island,  without  being  a  whit 
the  younger. 

Still  he  was  not  discouraged  ;  but,  having  repaired 
his  ships,  he  again  put  to  sea  and  shaped  his  course 
to  the  north-west.  On  Sunday,  the  27th  of  March, 
he  came  in  sight  of  what  he  supposed  to  be  an  island, 
but  was  prevented  from  landing  by  adverse  weather. 
He  continued  hovering  about  it  for  several  days,  buf- 
feted by  the  elements,  until,  in  the  night  of  the  sec- 
ond of  April,  he  succeeded  in  coming  to  anchor  under 
the  land  in  thirty  degrees  eight  minutes  of  latitude. 
The  whole  country  was  in  the  fresh  bloom  of  spring  ; 
the  trees  were  gay  with  blossoms,  and  the  fields  cov- 
ered with  flowers  ;  from  which  circumstance,  as  well 
as  from  having  discovered  it  on  Palm  Sunday,  (Pas- 
cua  Florida,)  he  gave  it  the  name  of  Florida,  which 
it  retains  to  the  present  day.  The  Indian  name  of 
the  country  was  Cautio.f 

Juan  Ponce  landed,  and  took  possession  of  the 
country  in  the  name  of  the  Castilian  Sovereigns.  He 
afterwards  continued  for  several  weeks  ranging  the 
ccasts  of  this  flowei7  land,  and  struggling  against 
the  gulf-stream  and  the  various  currents  which  sweep 
it.  He  doubled  Cape  Canaveral,  and  reconnoitered 
the  southern  and  eastern  shores  without  suspecting 
that  this  was  a  part  of  Terra  Firma.  In  all  his  at- 
tempts to  explore  the  country,  he  met  with  resolute 
and  implacable  hostility  on  the  part  of  the  natives, 
who  appeared  to  be  a  fierce  and  warlike  race.  He 
was  disappointed  also  in  his  hopes  of  finding  gold, 
nor  did  any  of  the  rivers  or  fountains  which  he  ex- 
amined possess  the  rejuvenating  virtue.  Convinced, 
therefore,  that  this  was  not  the  promised  land  of  In- 


*  It  was  not  the  credulous  minds  of  voyagers  and  adventurers 
alone  that  were  heated  by  these  Indi.an  traditions  and  romantic  fa- 
bles. Men  of  learning  and  eminence  were  likewise  beguiled  by 
them  :  witness  the  following  extr.act  from  the  second  decade  of  Veter 
Martyr,  addressed  to  L-co  A.,  then  Bishop  of  Home  : 

"Among  the  islands  on  the  north  side  of  Hispa-niola  there  is  one 
about  325  leagues  distant,  as   they  say  which  have  searched  the 


same,  in  the  which  is  a  continual  spring  of  running  water,  of  such 
marvellous  virtue  that  the  water  thereof  being  druiilc,  perhaps  with 
some  diet,  maketh  olde  men  young  again.     And  here  I  must  make 


protestation  to  your  holiness  not  to  think  this  to  be  said  lightly  or 
rashly,  for  they  have  so  spread  this  rumour  for  a  truth  throughout 
all  the  court,  that  not  only  all  the  people,  but  also  many  01  them 
whom  wisdom  or  fortune  hath  divided  from  the  common  sort,  think 
it  to  be  true  ;  but,  if  you  will  ask  my  opinion  herein.  I  will  answer 
that  I  will  not  attribute  so  great  power  to  nature,  but  that  God  hath 
no  lesse  reserved  this  prerogative  to  himself  than  to  search  the 
hearts  of  men,"  &c. — P.  Martyr^  D,  3.  c.  10,  Lok^s  translation. 
t  Herrera,  Hist.  Ind.  d.  1.  1.  ix.,  c.  10. 


796 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


dian  tradition,  he  turned  his  prow  homeward  on  the 
I4tli  of  June,  with  the  intention  in  the  way  of  making 
one  more  attempt  to  find  the  island  of  Bimini. 

In  the  outset  of  his  return  he  discovered  a  group 
jf  islets  abounding  with  sea-fowl  and  marine  animals. 
On  one  of  them  his  sailors,  in  the  course  of  a  single 
night,  caught  one  hundred  and  seventy  turtles,  and 
might  have  taken  many  more,  had  they  been  so  in- 
clined. They  likewise  took  fourteen  sea  wolves,  and 
killed  a  vast  quantity  of  pelicans  and  other  birds. 
To  this  group  Juan  Ponce  gave  the  name  of  the 
Tortugas,  or  turtles,  which  they  still  retain. 

Proceeding  in  his  cruise,  he  touched  at  another 
group  of  islets  near  the  Lucayos,  to  which  he  gave 
the  name  of  La  Vieja,  or  the  Old  Woman  group,  be- 
cause he  found  no  inhabitant  there  but  one  old  In-, 
dian  woman.*  This  ancient  sybil  he  took  on  board 
his  ship  to  give  him  information  about  the  labyrinth 
of  islands  into  which  he  was  entering,  and  perhaps 
he  could  not  have  had  a  more  suitable  guide  in  the 
eccentric  quest  he  was  making.  Notwithstanding 
her  pilotage,  however,  he  was  exceedingly  baffled 
and  perplexed  in  his  return  voyage  among  the  Ba- 
hama islands,  for  he  was  forcing  his  way  as  it  were 
against  the  course  of  nature,  and  encountering  the 
currents  which  sweep  westward  along  these  islands, 
and  the  trade-wind  which  accompanies  them.  For 
a  long  time  he  struggled  with  all  kinds  of  difficulties 
and  dangers  ;  and  was  obliged  to  remain  upwards 
of  a  month  in  one  of  the  islands  to  repair  the  dam- 
ages which  his  ship  had  suffered  in  a  storm. 

Disheartened  at  length  by  the  perils  and  trials 
with  which  nature  seemed  to  have  beset  the  ap- 
proach to  Bimini,  as  to  some  fairy  island  in  romance, 
he  gave  up  the  quest  in  person,  and  sent  in  his  place 
a  trusty  captain,  Juan  Perez  de  Ortubia,  who  depart- 
ed in  one  of  the  other  ships,  guided  by  the  experi- 
enced old  woman  of  the  isles,  and  by  another  Indian. 
As  to  Juan  Ponce,  he  made  the  best  of  his  way  back 
to  Porto  Rico,  where  he  arrived  infinitely  poorer  in 
purse  and  wrinkled  in  brow,  by  this  cruise  after  in- 
exhaustible riches  and  perpetual  youth. 

He  had  not  been  long  in  port  when  his  trusty  en- 
voy, Juan  Perez,  likewise  arrived.  Guided  by  the 
sage  old  woman,  he  had  succeeded  in  finding  the 
long-sought-for  Bimini.  He  described  it  as  being 
large,  verdant,  and  covered  with  beautiful  groves. 
There  were  crystal  springs  and  limped  streams  in 
abundance,  which  kept  the  island  in  perpetual  verd- 
ure, but  none  that  could  restore  to  an  old  man  the 
vernal  greenness  of  his  youth. 

Thus  ended  the  romantic  expedition  of  Juan  Ponce 
de  Leon.  Like  many  other  pursuits  of  a  chimera, 
it  terminated  in  the  acquisition  of  a  substantial  good. 
Though  he  had  failed  in  finding  the  fairy  fountain 
of  youth,  he  had  discovered  in  place  of  it  the  impor- 
tant country  of  Florida. t 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

EXPEDITION   OF  JUAN    PONCE  AGAINST  THE  CA- 
RIES—HIS   DEATH.— (l  514.) 

Juan  Ponce  de  Leon  now  repaired  to  Spain  to 
make  a  report  of  his  voyage  to  King   Ferdinand. 

•  Herrera,  d,  i,  1.  ix. 

+  The  belief  of  the  existence,  in  Florida,  of  a  river  like  that  sought 
by  Juan  Ponce,  was  long  prevalent  among  the  I  ndians  of  Cuba,  and 
the  caciques  were  anxious  to  discover  it.  'I'hat  a  party  of  the  na- 
tives of  Cuba  once  went  in  search  of  it,  and  remained  there,  ap- 
pears to  be  a  fact,  as  theirdcscendants  were  afterwards  to  be  traced 
among  the  people  of  Florida.  I-as  Casas  says,  that  even  in  his  days, 
many  persisted  in  seeking  this  mystery,  and  some  thought  that 
the  river  was  no  other  than  that  called  the  Jordan,  at  the  point  of 
St.  Helena  ;  without  considering  that  the  name  w.as  given  to  it  by 
the  Spaniards  in  the  year  1520,  when  they  discovered  the  land  of 
Chicora. 


The  hardy  old  cavalier  experienced  much  raillery 
from  the  witlings  of  the  court  on  account  of  his 
visionary  voyage,  though  many  wise  men  had  been 
as  credulous  as  himself  at  the  outset.  The  king, 
however,  received  him  with  great  favour,  and  con- 
ferred on  him  the  title  of  Adelantado  of  Bimini  and 
Florida,  which  last  was  as  yet  considered  an  island. 
Permission  was  also  granted  him  to  recruit  men 
either  in  Spain  or  in  the  colonies  for  a  settlement  in 
Florida ;  but  he  deferred  entering  on  his  command 
for  the  present,  being  probably  discouraged  and  im- 
poverished by  the  losses  in  his  last  expedition,  or 
finding  a  difficulty  in  enlisting  adventurers.  At 
length  another  enterprise  presented  itself.  The  Ca- 
ribs  had  by  this  time  become  a  terror  to  the  Spanish 
inhabitants  of  many  of  the  islands,  making  descents 
upon  the  coasts  and  carrying  off  captives,  who  it  was 
supposed  were  doomed  to  be  devoured  by  these 
cannibals.  So  frequent  were  their  invasions  of  the 
island  of  Porto  Rico,  that  it  was  feared  they  would 
ultimately  oblige  the  Spaniards  to  abandon  it. 

At  length  King  Ferdinand,  in  1 5 14,  ordered  that 
three  ships,  well  armed  and  manned,  should  be  fit- 
ted out  in  Seville,  destined  to  scour  the  islands  of 
the  Caribs,  and  to  free  the  seas  from  those  cannibal 
marauders.  The  command  of  the  Armada  was  given 
to  Juan  Ponce  de  Leon,  from  his  knowledge  in  In- 
dian warfare,  and  his  varied  and  rough  experience 
which  had  mingled  in  him  the  soldier  with  the  sailor. 
He  was  instructed  in  the  first  place  to  assail  the  Ca- 
ribs of  those  islands  most  contiguous  and  dangerous 
to  Porto  Rico,  and  then  to  make  war  on  those  of  the 
coast  of  Terra  Firma,  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Carthagena.  He  was  afterwards  to  take  the  cap- 
taincy of  Porto  Rico,  and  to  attend  to  the  reparti- 
mientos  or  distributions  of  the  Indians  in  conjunc- 
tion with  a  person  to  be  appointed  by  Diego  Co- 
lumbus. 

The  enterprise  suited  the  soldier-like  spirit  of  Juan 
Ponce  de  Leon,  and  the  gallant  old  cavalier  set  sail 
full  of  confidence  in  January,  151 5.  and  steered  direct 
for  the  Caribbees,  with  a  determination  lo  give  a 
wholesome  castigation  to  the  whole  .savage  archipel- 
ago. Arriving  at  the  island  of  Guadaloupe,  he  cast 
anchor,  and  sent  men  on  shore  for  wood  and  water, 
and  women  to  wash  the  clothing  of  the  crews,  with  a 
party  of  soldiers  to  mount  guard. 

Juan  Ponce  had  not  been  as  wary  as  usual,  or  he 
had  to  deal  with  savages  unusually  adroit  in  warfare. 
While  the  people  were  scattered  carelessly  on  shore, 
the  Caribs  rushed  forth  from  an  ambuscade,  killed 
the  greater  part  of  the  men,  and  carried  off  the 
women  to  the  mountains. 

This  blow  at  the  very  outset  of  his  vaunted  ex- 
pedition sank  deep  into  the  heart  of  Juan  Ponce,  and 
put  an  end  to  all  his  military  excitement.  Humbled 
and  mortified,  he  set  sail  for  the  island  of  Porto 
Rico,  where  he  relinquished  all  further  prosecution 
of  the  enterprise,  under  pretext  of  ill  health,  and 
gave  the  command  of  the  squadron  to  a  captain 
named  Zuiiiga ;  but  it  is  surmised  that  his  malady 
was  not  so  much  of  the  flesh  as  of  the  spirit.  He 
remained  in  Porto  Rico  as  governor ;  but,  having 
grown  testy  and  irritable  through  vexations  and  dis- 
appointments, he  gave  great  offence,  and  caused 
much  contention  on  the  island  by  positive  and  strong- 
handed  measures,  in  respect  to  the  distribution  of 
the  Indians. 

He  continued  for  several  years  in  that  island,  in  a 
state  of  growling  repose,  until  the  brilliant  exploits 
of  Hernando  Cortez,  which  threatened  to  eclipse  the 
achievements  of  all  the  veteran  discoverers,  roused 
his  dormant  spirit. 

Jealous  of  being  cast  in  the  shade  in  his  old  days, 
he  determined  to  sally  forth  on  one  more  expedition. 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


797 


He  had  heard  that  Florida,  which  he  had  discover- 
ed, and  which  he  had  hitherto  considered  a  mere 
island,  was  part  of  Terra  Firnia,  possessing  vast  and 
unknown  regions  in  its  bosom.  If  so,  a  grand  field 
of  enterprise  lay  before  him,  wherein  he  might  make 
discoveries  and  conquests  to  rival,  if  not  surpass,  (he 
far-famed  conquest  of  Mexico. 

Accordingly,  in  the  year  1 521  he  fitted  out  two 
ships  at  the  island  of  Porto  Rico,  and  embarked  al- 
most the  whole  of  his  property  in  the  undertaking. 
His  voyage  was  toilsome  and  tempestuous,  but  at 
length  he  arrived  at  the  wished-for  land.  He  made 
a  descent  upon  the  coast  with  a  great  part  of  his 
men,  but  the  Indians  sallied  forth  with  unusual  val- 
our to  defend  their  shores.  A  bloody  battle  ensued, 
several  of  the  Spaniards  were  slain,  and  Juan  Ponce 
was  wounded  by  an  arrow,  in  the  thigh.  He  was 
borne  on  board  his  ship,  and  finding  himself  dis- 
abled for  further  action,  set  sail  for  Cuba,  where  he 
arrived  ill  in  body  and  dejected  in  heart. 

He  was  of  an  age  when  there  is  no  longer  prompt 
and  healthful  reaction  either  mental  or  corporeal. 
The  irritations  of  humiliated  pride  and  disappointed 
hope,  exasperated  the  fever  of  his  wound,  and  he 
died  soon  after  his  arrival  at  the  island.  "  Thus 
fate,"  says  one  of  the  quaint  old  Spanish  writers, 
"delights  to  reverse  the  schemes  of  man.  The  dis- 
covery that  Juan  Ponce  flattered  himself  was  to  lead 
to  a  means  of  perpetuating  his  life,  had  the  ultimate 
effect  of  hastening  his  death." 

It  may  be  said,  however,  that  he  has  at  least  at- 
tained the  shadow  of  his  desire,  since,  though  disap- 
pointed in  extending  the  natural  term  of  his  exist- 
ence, his  discovery  has  ensured  a  lasting  dJration 
to  his  name. 

The  following  epitaph  was  inscribed  upon  his  tomb, 
which  does  justice  to  the  warrior  qualities  of  the  stout 
old  cavalier  : 

Mole  sub  hac  fortis  requiescat  ossa  Leonis, 
Qui  vicit  lactis  nomina  magna  suis. 

It  has  thus  been  paraphrased  in  Spanish  by  the 
Licentiate  Juan  de  Castellanos. 

Aqueste  lugar  estrecho 
Es  sepulchro  del  varon. 
Que  en  el  nombre  fue  L,eon, 
y  mucho  mas  en  el  hecho. 

"In  this  sepulchre  rest  the  bones  of  a  man,  who 
was  a  lion  by  name,  and  still  more  by  nature." 


APPENDIX. 


A  VISIT   TO   PALOS. 

[The  following  narrative  was  actually  commenced,  by 
the  author  of  this  work,  as  a  letter  to  a  friend,  but 
unexpectedly  swelled  to  its  present  size.  He  has 
been  induced  to  insert  it  here  from  the  idea  that 
many  will  feel  the  same  curiosity  to  know  some- 
thing of  the  present  state  of  Palos  and  its  inhabit- 
ants that  led  him  to  make  the  journey.] 


Seville,  1828. 
Since  I  last  wrote  to  you  I  have  made,  what  I 
may  term,  an  American  Pilgrimage,  to  visit  the  little 
port  of  Palos  in  Andalusia,  where  Columbus  fitted 
out  his  ships,  and  whence  he  sailed  for  the  discovery 
of  the  New  World.  Need  I  tell  you  how  deeply  in- 
teresting and  gratifying  it  has  been  to  me  ?  I  had  long 


meditated  this  excursion  as  a  kind  of  pious,  and,  if  I 
may  so  say,  filial  duty  of  an  American,  and  my  in- 
tention was  quickened  when  1  learnt  that  many  of 
the  edifices  mentioned  in  the  history  of  Columbus 
still  remained  in  nearly  the  same  state  in  which  they 
existed  at  the  time  of  his  sojourn  at  Palos,  and  that 
the  descendants  of  the  intrepid  Pinzons,  who  aided 
him  with  ships  and  money,  and  sailed  with  him  in 
the  great  voyage  of  discovery,  still  flourished  in  the 
neighbourhood. 

The  very  evening  before  my  departure  from  Se- 
ville on  the  excursion,  I  heard  that  there  was  a  young 
gentleman  of  the  Pinzon  family  studying  law  in  the 
city.  I  got  introduced  to  him,  and  found  him  of 
most  prepossessing  appearance  and  manners.  He 
gave  me  a  letter  of  introduction  to  his  father,  Don 
Juan  Fernandez  Pinzon,  resident  of  iVIoguer,  and  the 
present  head  of  the  family. 

As  it  was  in  the  middle  of  August,  and  the  weath- 
er intensely  hot,  I  hired  a  calesa  for  the  journey. 
This  is  a  two-wheeled  carriage,  resembling  a  cab- 
riolet, but  of  the  most  primitive  and  rude  construc- 
tion ;  the  harness  is  profusely  ornamented  with  brass, 
and  the  horse's  head  decorated  with  tufts  and  tas- 
sels and  dangling  bobs  of  scarlet  and  yellow  worsted. 
I  had,  for  calasero,  a  tall,  long-legged  Andalusian, 
in  short  jacket,  little  round-crowned  hat,  breeches 
decorated  with  buttons  from  the  hip  to  the  knees, 
and  a  pair  of  russet  leather  bottinas  or  spatter- 
dashes. He  was  an  active  fellow,  though  uncom- 
monly taciturn  for  an  Andalusian,  and  strode  along 
beside  his  horse,  rousing  him  occasionally  to  greater 
speed  by  a  loud  malediction  or  a  hearty  thwack  of 
his  cudgel. 

In  this  style  I  set  off  late  in  the  day  to  avoid  the 
noon-tide  heat,  and  after  ascending  the  lofty  range 
of  hills  that  borders  the  great  valley  of  the  Guadal- 
quiver,  and  having  a  rough  ride  among  their  heights, 
1  descended  about  twilight  into  one  of  those  vast, 
silent,  melancholy  plains,  frequent  in  Spain,  where 
I  beheld  no  other  signs  of  life  than  a  roaming  ilock 
of  bustards,  and  a  distant  herd  of  cattle,  guarded  by 
a  solitary  herdsman,  who,  with  a  long  pike  planted 
in  the  earth,  stood  motionless  in  the  midst  of  the 
dreary  landscape,  resembling  an  Arab  of  the  desert. 
The  night  had  somewhat  advanced  when  we  stopped 
to  repose  for  a  few  hours  at  a  solitary  venta  or  inn, 
if  it  might  so  be  called,  being  nothing  more  than  a 
vast  low-roofed  stable,  divided  into  several  compart- 
ments for  the  reception  of  the  troops  of  mules  and 
arrieros  (or  carriers)  who  carry  on  the  internal  trade 
of  Spain.  Accommodation  for  the  traveller  there 
was  none — not  even  for  a  traveller  so  easily  accom- 
modated as  myself.  The  landlord  had  no  food  to 
give  me,  and  as  to  a  bed,  he  had  none  but  a  horse 
cloth,  on  which  his  only  child,  a  boy  of  eight  years 
old,  lay  naked  on  the  earthen  floor.  Indeed  the  heat 
of  the  weather  and  the  fumes  from  the  stables  made 
the  interior  of  the  hovel  insupportable,  so  1  was  fain 
to  bivouac  on  my  cloak  on  the  pavement  at  the  door 
of  the  venta,  where,  on  waking  after  two  or  three 
hours  of  sound  sleep,  I  found  a  contrabandista  (or 
smuggler)  snoring  beside  me,  with  his  blunderbuss 
on  his  arm, 

I  resumed  my  journey  before  break  of  day,  and 
had  made  several  leagues  by  ten  o'clock,  when  we 
stopped  to  breakfast  and  to  pass  the  sultry  hours  of 
midday  in  a  large  village,  from  whence  we  departed 
about  four  o'clock,  and,  alter  passing  through  the 
same  kind  of  solitary  country,  arrived  just  after  sun- 
set at  Moguer.  This  little  city  (for  at  present  it  is  a 
city)  is  situated  about  a  league  from  Palos,  of  which 
place  it  has  gradually  absorbed  all  the  respectable 
inhabitants,  and,  among  the  number,  the  whole  fam- 
ily of  the  Pinzons. 


798 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


So  remote  is  this  little  place  from  the  stir  and  bus- 
tle of  travel,  and  so  destitute  of  the  show  and  vain- 
glory of  this  world,  that  my  cnlesa,  as  it  rattled  and 
jingled  along  the  narrow  and  ill-paved  streets, 
caused  a  great  sensation  ;  the  children  shouted  and 
scampered  along  by  its  side,  admiring  its  splendid 
trappings  of  brass  and  worsted,  and  gazing  with 
reverence  at  the  important  stranger  who  came  in  so 
gorgeous  an  equipage. 

I  drove  up  to  the  principal  posada,  the  landlord 
of  which  was  at  the  door.  He  was  one  of  the  very 
civilest  men  in  the  world,  and  disposed  to  do  every 
thing  in  his  power  to  make  me  comfortable ;  there 
was  only  one  difiiculty,  he  had  neither  bed  nor  bed- 
room in  his  house.  In  fact,  it  was  a  mere  venta  for 
muleteers,  who  are  accustomed  to  sleep  on  the 
ground  with  their  mule-cloths  for  beds  and  pack- 
saddles  for  pillows.  It  was  a  hard  case,  but  there 
was  no  better  posada  in  the  place.  Few  people 
travel  for  i>leasure  or  curiosity  in  these  out-of-the- 
way  parts  of  Spain,  and  those  of  any  note  are  gen- 
erally received  into  private  houses.  I  had  travelled 
sufficiently  in  Spain  to  find  out  that  a  bed,  al'ter  all, 
is  not  an  article  of  indispensable  necessity,  and  was 
about  to  bespeak  some  quiet  corner  where  I  might 
spread  my  cloak,  when,  fortunately,  the  landlord's  wife 
came  forth.  She  could  not  have  a  more  obliging  dis- 
position than  her  husband,  but  then — God  bless  the 
women  ! — they  always  know  how  to  carry  their  good 
wishes  into  effect.  In  a  little  while  a  small  room 
about  ten  feet  square,  that  had  formed  a  thorough- 
fare between  the  stables  and  a  kind  of  shop  or  bar- 
room, was  cleared  of  a  variety  of  lumber,  and  1  was 
assured  that  a  bed  should  be  put  up  there  for  me. 
From  the  consultations  1  saw  my  hostess  holding 
with  some  of  her  neighbour  gossips,  I  fancied  the 
bed  was  to  be  a  kind  of  piecemeal  contribution 
among  them  for  the  credit  of  the  house. 

As  soon  as  I  could  change  my  dress,  I  commenced 
the  historical  researches,  which  were  the  object  of 
my  journey,  and  inquired  for  the  abode  of  Don  Juan 
Fernandez  Pinzon.  My  obliging  landlord  himself 
volunteered  to  conduct  me  thither,  and  I  set  off  full 
of  animation  at  the  thoughts  of  meeting  with  the 
lineal  representative  of  one  of  the  coadjutors  of 
Columbus. 

A  short  walk  brought  us  to  the  house,  which  was 
most  respectalile  in  its  appearance,  indicating  easy 
if  not  affluent  circumstances.  The  door,  as  is  cus- 
tomary in  Spanish  villages  during  summer,  stood 
wide  open.  We  entered  with  the  usual  salutation, 
or  rather  summons,  "  Ave  Maria  !  "  A  trim  Anda- 
lusian  handmaid  answered  to  the  call,  and,  on  our 
inquiring  for  the  master  of  the  houss,  led  the  way 
across  a  little  patio  or  court  in  the  centre  of  the  edi- 
fice, cooled  by  a  fountain  surrounded  by  shrubs  and 
flowers,  to  a  back  court  or  terrace,  likewise  set  out 
with  flowers,  where  Don  Juan  Fernandez  was  seated 
with  his  family  enjoying  the  serene  evening  in  the 
open  air. 

I  was  much  pleased  with  his  appearance.  He  was 
a  venerable  old  gentleman,  tall  and  somewhat  thin, 
with  fair  complexion  and  gray  hair.  He  received 
me  with  great  urbanity,  and,  on  reading  the  letter 
from  his  son,  appeared  struck  with  surprise  to  find 
I  had  come  quite  to  Moguer  merely  to  visit  the  scene 
of  the  embarkation  of  Columbus ;  and  still  more  so 
on  my  telling  him  that  one  of  my  leading  objects  of 
curiosity  was  his  own  family  connexion  ;  lor  it  would 
seem  that  the  worthy  cavalier  had  troubled  his  head 
but  little  about  the  enterprises  of  his  ancestors. 

I  now  took  my  seat  in  the  domestic  circle  and 
soon  felt  myself  quite  at  home,  for  there  is  generally 
a  frankness  in  the  hosi)itaIity  of  Spaniards  that  soon 
puts  a  stranger  at  his  ease  beneath  their  roof.     The 


wife  of  Don  Juan  Fernandez  was  extremely  amiable 
and  affable,  possessing  much  of  that  natural  aptness 
for  which  the  Spanisti  women  are  remarkable.  In 
the  course  of  conversation  with  them,  I  learnt  that 
Don  Juan  Fernandez,  who  is  seventy-two  years  of 
age,  is  the  eldest  of  five  brothers,  all  of  whom  are 
married,  have  numerous  offspring,  and  live  in  Mo- 
guer and  its  vicinity  in  nearly  the  saine  condition  and 
rank  of  life  as  at  the  time  of  the  discovery.  This 
agreed  with  what  I  had  previously  heard  respecting 
the  families  of  the  discoverers.  Of  Columbus  no 
lineal  and  direct  descendant  exists  ;  his  was  an  ex- 
otic stock  that  never  took  deep  and  lasting  root  in 
the  country;  but  the  race  of  the  Pinzons  continues 
to  thrive  and  multiply  in  its  native  soil. 

While  I  was  yet  conversing  a  gentleman  entered, 
who  was  introduced  to  me  as  Don  Luis  Fernandez 
Pinzon,  the  youngest  of  the  brothers.  He  appeared 
to  be  between  fifty  and  sixty  years  of  age,  somewhat 
robust,  with  fair  complexion  and  gray  hair,  and  a 
frank  and  manly  deportment.  He  is  the  only  one 
of  the  present  generation  that  has  followed  the  an- 
cient profession  of  the  family ;  having  served  with 
great  applause  as  an  officer  of  the  royal  navy,  from 
which  he  retired  on  his  marriage  about  twenty-two 
years  since.  He  is  the  one  also  who  takes  the  great- 
est interest  and  pride  in  the  historical  honours  of  his 
house,  carefully  preserving  all  the  legends  and  flocu- 
ments  of  the  achievements  and  distinctions  of  his 
family,  a  manuscript  volume  of  which  he  lent  me  for 
my  inspection. 

Don  Juan  now  expressed  a  wish  that  during  my 
residence  in  Moguer  I  would  make  his  house  my 
home.'  I  endeavoured  to  excuse  myself,  alleging 
that  the  good  people  at  the  posada  had  been  at  such 
extraordinary  trouble  in  preparing  quarters  for  me 
that  1  did  not  like  to  disappoint  them.  The  worthy 
old  gentleman  undertook  to  arrange  all  this,  and, 
while  supper  was  preparing,  we  walked  together  to 
the  posada.  I  found  that  my  obliging  host  and 
hostess  had  indeed  exerted  themselves  to  an  uncom- 
mon degree.  An  old  ricketty  table  had  been  spread 
out  in  a  corner  of  the  little  room  as  a  bedstead,  on 
top  of  which  was  propped  up  a  grand  caina  de  luxo, 
or  state  bed,  which  appeared  to  be  the  admiration 
of  the  house.  I  could  not  for  the  soul  of  me  appear 
to  undervalue  what  the  poor  people  had  prepared 
with  such  hearty  good-will  and  considered  such  a 
triumph  of  art  and  luxury;  so  I  again  entreated  Don 
Juan  to  dispense  with  my  sleeping  at  his  house, 
promising  most  faithfully  to  make  my  meals  there 
while  I  should  stay  at  ^Ioguer,  and,  as  the  old  gen- 
tleman understood  my  motives  for  declining  his  in- 
vitation and  felt  a  good-humoured  sympathy  in  them, 
we  readily  arranged  the  matter.  I  returned,  there- 
fore, with  Don  Juan  to  his  house  and  supped  with 
his  family.  During  the  repast  a  plan  was  agreed 
upon  for  my  visit  to  Palos  and  to  the  convent  La 
Rabida,  in  which  Don  Juan  volunteered  to  accom- 
pany me  and  be  my  guide,  and  the  following  day 
was  allotted  to  the  expedition.  We  were  to  break- 
fast at  a  hacienda  or  conntr>'-seat  which  he  pos- 
sessed in  the  vicinity  of  Palos  in  the  midst  of  his 
vineyards,  and  were  to  dine  there  on  our  return  from 
the  convent.  These  arrangements  being  made,  we 
parted  for  the  night ;  I  returned  to  the  posada  highly 
gratified  with  my  visit,  and  slept  soundly  in  the  ex- 
traordinary bed,  which,  I  may  almost  say,  had  been 
invented  for  my  accoinmodation. 

On  the  following  inorning,  bright  and  early,  Don 
Juan  Fernandez  and  myself  set  off  in  the  calesa  for 
Palos.  I  felt  apprehensive  at  first,  that  the  kind- 
hearted  old  gentleman,  in  his  anxiety  to  oblige,  had 
left  his  bed  at  too  early  an  hour,  and  was  exposing 
himself  to  fatigues  unsuited  to  his  age.     He  laughed 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


799 


at  the  idea,  and  assured  me  that  he  was  an  early 
riser,  and  accustomed  to  all  kinds  of  exercise  on 
horse  and  foot,  being  a  keen  sportsman,  and  frequently 
passing  days  together  among  the  mountains  on 
shooting  expeditions,  taking  with  him  servants, 
horses,  and  provisions,  and  living  in  a  tent.  He  ap- 
peared, in  fact,  to  be  of  an  active  habit,  and  to  pos- 
sess a  youthful  vi\acity  of  spirit.  His  cheerful  dis- 
position rendered  our  morning  drive  extremely  agree- 
able ;  his  urbanity  was  shown  to  every  one  whom  we 
met  on  the  road  ;  even  the  common  peasant  was 
saluted  by  him  with  the  appellation  of  caballero,  a 
mark  of  respect  ever  gratifying  to  the  poor  but 
proud  Spaniard,  when  yielded  by  a  superior. 

As  the  tide  was  out  we  drove  along  the  flat 
grounds  bordering  the  Tinto.  The  river  was  on  our 
right,  while  on  our  left  was  a  range  of  hills,  jutting 
out  into  promontories,  one  beyond  the  other,  and 
covered  with  vineyards  and  fig  trees.  The  weather 
was  serene,  the  air  soft  and.  balmy,  and  the  land- 
scape of  that  gentle  kind  calculated  to  put  one  in  a 
quiet  and  happy  humour.  We  passed  close  by  the 
skirts  of  Palos,  and  drove  to  the  hacienda,  which  is 
situated  at  some  little  distance  from  the  village,  be- 
tween it  and  the  river.  The  house  is  a  low  stone 
building,  well  white-washed,  and  of  great  length  ; 
one  end  being  fitted  up  as  a  summer  residence,  with 
saloons,  bed-rooms,  and  a  domesiic  chapel  ;  and  the 
other  as  a  bodega  or  magazine  for  the  reception  of 
the  wine  produced  on  the  estate. 

The  house  stands  on  a  hill,  amidst  vineyards, 
which  are  supposed  to  cover  a  part  of  the  site  of 
the  ancient  town  of  Palos,  now  shrunk  to  a  miser- 
able village.  Beyond  these  vineyards,  on  the  crest 
of  a  distant  hill,  are  seen  the  white  walls  of  the  con- 
vent of  La  Rabida  rising  above  a  dark  wood  of  pine 
trees. 

Below  the  hacienda  flows  the  river  Tinto,  on 
which  Columbus  embarked.  It  is  divided  by  a  low 
tongue  of  land,  or  rather  the  sand  bar  of  Saltes, 
from  the  river  Odiel,  with  which  it  soon  mingles  its 
waters,  and  flows  on  to  the  ocean.  Beside  this 
sand-bar,  where  the  channel  of  the  river  runs  deep, 
the  squadron  of  Columbus  was  anchored,  and  from 
hence  he  made  sail  on  the  morning  of  his  departure. 

The  soft  breeze  tliat  was  blowing  scarcely  ruffled 
tlie  surface  of  this  beautiful  river  ;  two  or  three  pict- 
uresque barks,  call  mysticks,  with  long  latine 
sails,  were  gliding  down  it.  A  little  aid  of  the  im- 
agination n.ight  suffice  to  picture  them  as  the  light 
caravels  of  Columbus,  sallying  forth  on  their  event- 
ful expedition,  while  the  distant  bells  of  the  town 
of  Huelva,  which  were  ringing  melodiously,  might 
be  supposed  as  cheering  the  voyagers  with  a  farewell 
peal. 

I  cannot  express  to  you  what  were  my  feelings  on 
treading  the  shore  which  had  once  been  animated  by 
the  bustle  of  departure,  and  whose  sands  had  been 
printed  by  the  last  footstep  of  Columbus.  The  solemn 
and  sublime  nature  of  the  event  that  had  followed, 
together  with  the  fate  and  fortunes  of  those  con- 
cerned in  it,  filled  the  mind  with  vague  yet  melan- 
choly ideas.  It  was  like  viewing  the  silent  and 
empty  stage  of  some  great  drama  when  all  the 
actors  had  departed.  The  very  aspect  of  the  land- 
scape, so  tranquilly  beautiful,  had  an  effect  upon  mc, 
and  as  I  paced  the  deserted  shore  by  the  side  of  a 
descendant  of  one  of  the  discoverers,  I  felt  my 
heart  swelling  with  emotions  and  my  eyes  filling 
with  tears. 

What  surprised  me  was  to  find  no  semblance  of  a 
seaport  ;  there  was  neither  wharf  nor  landing-place 
— nothing  but  a  naked  river  bank,  with  the  hulk  of  a 
ferry-boat,  which  I  was  told  carried  passengers  to 
Huelva,  lying  high  and  dry  on  the  sands,  deserted 


by  the  tide.  Palos,  though  it  has  doubtless  dwindled 
away  from  its  former  size,  can  never  have  been  im- 
portant as  to  extent  and  population.  If  it  possessed 
warehouses  on  the  beach,  they  have  disappeared.  It 
is  at  present  a  mere  village  of  the  poorest  kind,  and 
lies  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  river,  in  a 
hollow  among  hills.  It  contains  a  few  hundred  in- 
habitants, who  subsist  principally  by  labouring  in 
the  fields  and  vineyards.  Its  race  of  merchants  and 
manners  are  extinct.  There  are  no  vessels  belong- 
ing to  the  place,  nor  any  show  of  traffic,  excepting 
at  the  season  of  fruit  and  wine,  when  a  few  mysticks 
and  other  light  barks  anchor  in  the  river  to  collect 
the  produce  of  the  neighbourhood.  The  people  are 
totally  ignorant,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  greater 
part  of  them  scarce  know  even  the  name  of  Ameri- 
ca. Such  is  the  place  from  whence  sallied  forth  the 
enterprise  for  the  discovery  of  the  western  world  ! 

We  were  now  summoned  to  breakfast  in  a  little 
saloon  of  the  hacienda.  The  table  was  covered  with 
natural  luxuries  produced  upon  the  spot — fine  purple 
and  muscatel  grapes  from  the  adjacent  vineyard,  de- 
licious melons  from  the  garden,  and  generous  wines 
made  on  the  estate.  The  repast  was  heightened  by 
the  genial  manners  of  my  hospitable  host,  who  ap- 
peared to  possess  the  most  enviable  cheerfulness  of 
spirit  and  simplicity  of  heart. 

Alter  breakfast  we  set  off  in  the  calesa  to  visit  the 
Convent  of  La  Rabida,  which  is  about  half  a  league 
distant.  The  road,  for  a  part  of  the  way,  lay  through 
the  vineyards,  and  was  deep  and  sandy.  The  cala- 
sero  had  been  at  his  wits'  end  to  conceive  what  mo- 
tive a  stranger  like  myself,  apparently  travelling  for 
mere  amusement,  could  have  in  coming  so  far  to  see 
so  miserable  a  place  as  Palos,  which  he  set  down  as 
one  of  the  very  poorest  places  in  the  whole  world  ; 
but  this  additional  toil  and  struggle  through  deep 
sand  to  visit  the  old  Convent  of  La  Rabida,  com- 
pleted his  confusion — "  Hombre  !  "  exclaimed  he, 
"  es  una  ruina  !  no  hay  mas  que  dos  frailes  !  " — 
"  Zounds  !  why,  it's  a  ruin  !  there  are  only  two  friars 
there  !"  Don  Juan  laughed,  and  told  him  that  I 
had  coine  all  the  way  from  Seville  precisely  to  see 
that  old  ruin  and  those  two  friars.  The  calasero 
made  the  Spaniard's  last  reply  when  he  is  perplexed 
—he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  crossed  himself. 

After  ascending  a  hill  and  passing  through  the 
skirts  of  a  straggling  pine  wood,  we  arrived  in  front 
of  the  convent.  It  stands  in  a  bleak  and  solitary 
situation,  on  the  brow  of  a  rocky  height  or  promon- 
tory, overlooking  to  the  west  a  wide  range  of  sea  and 
land,  bounded  by  the  frontier  mountains  of  Portugal, 
about  eight  leagues  distant.  The  convent  is  shut  out 
from  a  view  of  the  vineyard  of  Palos  by  the  gloomy 
forest  of  pines  which  I  have  mentioned,  which  cover 
the  promontory  to  the  east,  and  darken  the  whole 
landscape  in  that  direction. 

There  is  nothing  remarkable  in  the  architecture 
of  the  convent ;  part  of  it  is  Gothic,  but  the  edifice, 
having  been  frequently  repaired,  and  being  white- 
washed, according  to  a  universal  custom  in  Anda- 
lusia, inherited  from  the  Moors,  it  has  not  tliat 
venerable  aspect  which  might  be  expected  from  its 
antiquity. 

We  alighted  at  the  gate  where  Columbus,  when  a 
poor  pedestrian,  a  stranger  in  the  land,  asked  bread 
and  water  for  his  child  !  As  long  as  the  convent 
stands,  this  must  be  a  spot  calculated  to  awaken  the 
most  thrilling  interest.  The  gate  remains  apparently 
in  nearly  the  same  state  as  at  the  time  of  his  visit, 
but  there  is  no  longer  a  porter  at  hand  to  administer 
to  the  wants  of  the  wayfarer.  The  door  stood  wide 
open,  and  admitted  us  into  a  small  court-yard.  From 
thence  we  passed  through  a  Gothic  portal  into  the 
chapel,  without  seeing  a  human  being.     We  then 


800 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


traversed  two  interior  cloisters,  equally  vacant  and 
silent,  and  bearing  a  look  of  neglect  and  dilapidation. 
From  an  open  window  we  had  a  peep  at  what  had 
once  been  a  garden,  but  that  had  also  gone  to  ruin  ; 
the  walls  were  broken  and  thrown  down  ;  a  few 
shrubs,  and  a  scattered  fig-tree  or  two,  were  all  the 
traces  of  cultivation  that  remained.  We  passed 
through  the  long  dormitories,  but  the  cells  were  shut 
up  and  abandoned  ;  we  saw  no  living  thing  except  a 
solitary  cat  stealing  across  a  distant  corridor,  which 
fled  in  a  panic  at  the  unusual  sight  of  strangers. 
At  length,  after  patrolling  nearly  the  whole  of  the 
empty  building  to  the  echo  of  our  own  footsteps, 
we  came  to  where  the  door  of  a  cell,  being  partly 
open,  gave  us  the  sight  of  a  monk  within,  seated  at  a 
table  writing.  He  rose  and  received  us  with  much 
civility,  and  conducted  us  to  the  superior,  who  was 
reading  in  an  adjacent  cell.  They  were  both  rather 
young  men,  and,  together  with  a  novitiate  and  a 
lay-brother,  who  officiated  as  cook,  formed  the  whole 
community  of  the  convent. 

Don  Juan  Fernandez  communicated  to  them  the 
object  of  my  visit,  and  my  desire  also  to  inspect  the 
archives  of  the  convent  to  find  if  there  was  any 
record  of  the  sojourn  of  Columbus.  They  informed 
us  that  the  archives  had  been  entirely  destroyed  by 
the  French.  The  younger  inonk,  however,  who  had 
perused  them,  had  a  vague  recollection  of  various 
particulars  concerning  the  transactions  of  Columbus 
at  Palos,  his  visit  to  the  convent,  and  the  sailing  of 
his  expedition.  From  all  thr.t  he  cited,  however,  it 
appeared  to  me  that  all  the  information  on  the  sub- 
ject contained  in  the  archives,  had  been  extracted 
from  Herrera  and  other  well  known  authors.  The 
monk  was  talkative  and  eloquent,  and  soon  diverged 
from  the  subject  of  Columbus,  to  one  which  he  con- 
sidered of  infinitely  greater  importance; — the  mirac- 
ulous image  of  the  Virgin  possessed  by  their  convent, 
and  known  by  the  name  of  "  Our  Lady  of  La  Rabida  " 
He  gave  us  a  history  of  the  wonderful  way  in  which 
the  image  had  been  found  buried  in  the  earth,  where 
it  had  lain  hidden  for  ages,  since  the  time  of  the  con- 
quest of  Spain  by  the  Moors  ;  the  disputes  between 
the  convent  and  different  places  in  the  neighbour- 
hood for  the  possession  of  it  ;  the  marvellous  protec- 
tion it  extended  to  the  adjacent  country,  especially 
in  preventing  all  madness,  either  in  man  or  dog,  for 
this  malady  was  anciently  so  prevalent  in  this  place 
as  to  gain  it  the  appellation  of  La  Rabia,  by  which 
it  was  originally  called ;  a  name  which,  thanks  to 
the  beneficent  influence  of  the  Virgin,  it  no  longer 
merited  or  retained.  Such  are  the  legends  and  rel- 
iques  with  which  every  convent  in  Spain  is  enriched, 
which  are  zealously  cried  up  by  the  monks,  and 
devoutly  credited  by  the  populace. 

Twice  a  year  on  the  festival  of  our  Lady  of  La 
Rabida,  and  on  that  of  the  patron  saint  of  the  order, 
the  solitude  and  silence  of  the  convent  are  interrupt- 
ed by  the  intrusion  of- a  swarming  inultitude,  com- 
posed of  the  inhabitants  of  Moguer,  of  Huelva,  and 
the  neighbouring  plains  and  mountains.  The  open 
esplanade  in  front  of  the  edifice  resembles  a  fair,  the 
adjacent  forest  teeins  with  the  motley  throng,  and 
the  image  of  our  Lady  of  La  Rabida  is  borne  forth 
in  triumphant  procession. 

While  the  friar  was  thus  dilating  upon  the  merits 
and  renown  of  the  image,  I  amused  myself  with  those 
day  dreams,  or  conjurings  of  the  imagination  to  which 
1  am  a  little  given.  As  the  internal  arrangements 
of  convents  are  apt  to  be  the  same  from  age  to  age, 
I  pictured  to  myself  this  chamber  as  the  same  in- 
habited by  the  guardian.  Juan  Perez  de  Marchena,  at 
the  time  of  the  visit  of  Columbus.  Why  might  not 
the  old  and  ponderous  table  before  me  be  the  very 
one  on  which  he   displayed  his  conjectural  maps. 


and  expounded  his  theory  of  a  western  route  to 
India  ?  It  required  but  another  stretch  of  the  im- 
agination to  assemble  the  little  conclave  around  the 
table ;  Juan  Perez  the  friar,  Garci  Fernandez  the 
physician,  and  Martin  Alonzo  Pinzon,  the  bold  navi- 
gator, all  listening  with  rapt  attention  to  Columbus, 
or  to  the  tale  of  some  old  seaman  of  Palos,  about 
islands  seen  in  the  western  parts  of  the  ocean. 

The  friars,  as  far  as  their  poor  means  and  scanty 
knowledge  extended,  were  disposed  to  do  every 
thing  to  promote  the  object  of  my  visit.  They 
showed  us  all  parts  of  the  convent,  which,  however, 
has  little  to  boast  of,  excepting  the  historical  associ- 
ations connected  with  it.  The  library  was  reduced 
to  a  few  volumes,  chiefly  on  ecclesiastical  subjects, 
piled  promiscuously  in  the  corner  of  a  vaulted  cham- 
ber, and  covered  with  dust.  The  chamber  itself 
was  curious,  being  the  most  ancient  part  of  the 
edifice,  and  supposed  to  have  formed  part  of  a  tem- 
ple in  the  time  of  the  Romans. 

We  ascended  to  the  roof  of  the  convent  to  enjoy 
the  extensive  prospect  it  commands.  Immediately 
below  the  promontory  on  which  it  is  situated,  runs  a 
narrow  but  tolerably  deep  river,  called  the  Uomingo 
Rubio,  which  empties  itself  into  the  Tinto.  It  is  the 
opinion  of  Don  Luis  Fernandez  Pinzon,  that  the 
ships  of  Columbus  were  careened  and  fitted  out  in 
this  river,  as  it  affords  better  shelter  than  the  Tinto, 
and  its  shores  are  not  so  shallow.  A  lonely  bark  of 
a  fisherman  was  lying  in  this  stream,  and  not  far  off, 
on  a  sandy  point,  were  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  watch- 
tower.  From  the  roof  of  the  convent,  all  the  wind- 
ings of  the  Odiel  and  the  Tinto  were  to  be  seen,  and 
their  junction  into  the  main  stream,  by  which  Co- 
lumbus sallied  forth  to  sea.  In  fact,  the  convent 
serves  as  a  landmark,  being,  from  its  lofty  and  soli- 
tary situation,  visible  for  a  considerable  distance  to 
vessels  coming  on  the  coast.  On  the  opposite  side  I 
looked  down  upon  the  lonely  road,  through  the  wood 
of  pine  trees,  by  which  the  zealous  guardian  of  the 
convent.  Fray  Juan  Perez,  departed  at  midnight  on 
his  mule,  when  he  sought  the  camp  of  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella  in  the  Vega  of  Granada,  to  plead  the 
project  of  Columbus  before  the  queen. 

Having  finished  our  inspection  of  the  convent,  we 
prepared  to  depart,  and  were  accompanied  to  the 
outward  portal  by  the  two  friars.  Our  calasero 
brought  his  rattling  and  ricketty  vehicle  for  us  to 
mount ;  at  sight  of  which  one  of  the  monks  ex- 
claimed, with  a  smile,  "  Santa  Maria  !  only  to  think  ! 
A  calesa  before  the  gate  of  the  convent  of  La  Ra- 
bida I  "  And,  indeed,  so  solitary  and  remote  is  this 
ancient  edifice,  and  so  simple  is  the  mode  of  living 
of  the  people  in  this  bye-corner  of  Spain,  that  the 
appearance  of  even  a  sorry  calesa  might  well  cause 
astonishment.  It  is  only  singular  that  in  such  a  bye- 
corner  the  scheine  of  Columbus  should  have  found 
intelligent  listeners  and  coadjutors,  after  it  had  been 
discarded,  almost  with  scoffing  and  contempt,  from 
learned  universities  and  splendid  courts. 

On  our  way  back  to  the  hacienda,  we  met  Don 
Rafael,  a  younger  son  of  Don  Juan  Fernandez,  a  fine 
young  man  about  twenty-one  years  of  age,  and  who, 
his  father  informed  me,  was  at  present  studying 
French  and  mathematics.  He  was  well  mounted  on 
a  spirited  gray  horse,  and  dressed  in  the  Andalusian 
style,  with  the  little  round  hat  and  jacket.  He  sat 
his  horse  gracefully,  and  managed  him  well.  1  was 
pleased  with  the  frank  and  easy  terms  on  which  Don 
Juan  appeared  to  live  with  his  children.  This  I  was 
inclined  to  think  his  favourite  son,  as  I  understood 
he  was  the  only  one  that  partook  of  the  old  gentle- 
man's fondness  for  the  chase,  and  that  accompanied 
him  in  his  hunting  excursions. 

A  dinner  had  been  prepared  for  us  at  the  hacienda, 


SPANISH   VOYAGES    OF   DISCOVERY. 


801 


by  the  wife  of  the  capitaz,  or  overseer,  who,  with  her 
husband,  seemed  to  be  well  pleased  with  this  visit 
from  Don  Juan,  and  to  be  confident  of  receiving  a 
pleasant  answer  from  the  good-humoured  old  gen- 
tleman whenever  they  addressed  him.  The  dinner 
was  served  up  about  two  o'clock,  and  was  a  most 
agreeable  meal.  The  fruits  and  wines  were  from 
the  estate,  and  were  excellent ;  the  rest  of  the  pro- 
visions were  I'rom  Moguer,  for  the  adjacent  village 
of  Palos  is  too  poor  to  furnish  any  thing.  A  gentle 
breeze  from  the  sea  played  through  the  hall,  and 
tempered  the  summer  heat.  Indeed  I  do  not  know 
when  I  have  seen  a  more  enviable  spot  than  this 
country  retreat  of  the  Pinzons.  Its  situation  on  a 
breezy  hill,  at  no  great  distance  from  the  sea,  and  in 
a  southern  climate,  produces  a  happy  temperature, 
neither  hot  in  summer  nor  cold  in  winter.  It  com- 
mands a  beautiful  prospect,  and  is  surrounded  by 
natural  luxuries.  The  country  abounds  with  game, 
the  adjacent  river  affords  abundant  sport  in  fishing, 
both  by  day  and  night,  and  delightful  excursions  for 
those  fond  of  sailing.  During  the  busy  seasons  of 
rural  life,  and  especially  at  the  joyous  period  of 
vintage,  the  family  pass  some  time  here,  accom- 
panied by  numerous  guests,  at  which  times,  Don 
Juan  assured  me,  there  was  no  lack  of  amusements, 
both  by  land  and  water. 

When  we  had  dined,  and  taken  the  siesta,  or 
afternoon  nap,  according  to  the  Spanish  custom  in 
summer-time,  we  set  out  on  our  return  to  Moguer, 
visiting  the  village  of  Palos  in  the  way.  Don  Gabriel 
had  been  sent  in  advance  to  procure  the  keys  of  the 
village  church,  and  to  apprise  the  curate  of  our  wish 
to  inspect  the  archives.  The  village  consists  princi- 
pally of  two  streets  of  low  white-washed  houses. 
Many  of  the  inhabitants  have  very  dark  complexions, 
betraying  a  mixture  of  African  blood. 

On  entering  the  village,  we  repaired  to  the  lowly 
mansion  of  the  curate.  I  had  hoped  to  find  him 
some  such  personage  as  the  curate  in  Don  Quixote, 
possessed  of  shrewdness  and  information  in  his 
limited  sphere,  and  that  I  might  gain  some  anec- 
dotes from  him  concerning  his  parish,  its  worthies, 
its  antiquities,  and  its  historical  events.  Perhaps  I 
might  have  done  so  at  any  other  time,  but,  unfortu- 
nately, the  curate  was  something  of  a  sportsman, 
and  had  heard  of  some  game  among  the  neighbour- 
ing hills.  We  met  him  just  sallying  forth  from  his 
house,  and,  I  must  confess,  his  appearance  was 
picturesque.  He  was  a  short,  broad,  sturdy  little 
man,  and  had  doffed  his  cassock  and  broad  clerical 
beaver  for  a  short  jacket  and  a  little  round  Anda- 
lusian  hat ;  he  had  his  gun  in  hand,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  mounting  a  donkey  which  had  been  led  forth 
by  an  ancient  withered  handmaid.  Fearful  of  being 
datained  from  his  foray,  he  accosted  my  companion 
the  moment  he  came  in  sight.  "  God  preserve  you, 
Sefior  Don  Juan  !  I  have  received  your  message, 
and  have  but  one  answer  to  make.  The  archives 
have  all  been  destroyed.  We  have  no  trace  of  any 
thing  you  seek  for — nothing — nothing.  Don  Rafael 
has  the  keys  of  the  church.  You  can  examine  it  at 
your  leisure. — Adios,  caballero  !  "  With  these  words 
the  galliard  little  curate  mounted  his  donkey,  thumped 
his  ribs  with  the  butt  end  of  his  gun,  and  trotted  off 
to  the  hills. 

In  our  way  to  the  church  we  passed  by  the  ruins 
of  what  had  once  been  a  fair  and  spacious  dwelling, 
greatly  superior  to  the  other  houses  of  the  village. 
This,  Don  Juan  informed  me,  was  an  old  family  pos- 
session, but  since  they  had  removed  from  Palos  it 
had  fallen  to  decay  tor  want  of  a  tenant.  It  was 
probably  the  family  residence  of  Martin  Alonzo  or 
Vicente  Yanez  Pinzon,  in  the  time  of  Columbus. 

We  now  arrived  at  (he  church  of  St.  George,  in 
51 


the  porch  of  which  Columbus  first  proclaimed  to  the 
inhabitants  of  Palos  the  order  of  the  sovereigns,  that 
they  should  furnish  him  with  ships  for  his  great 
voyage  of  discovery.  This  edifice  has  lately  been 
thoroughly  repaired,  and,  being  of  solid  mason-work, 
promises  to  stand  for  ages,  a  monument  of  the  dis- 
coverers. It  stands  outside  of  the  village,  on  the 
brow  of  a  hill,  looking  along  a  little  valley  toward 
the  river.  The  remains  of  a  Moorish  arch  prove  it 
to  have  been  a  mosque  in  former  times  ;  just  above 
it,  on  the  crest  of  the  hill,  is  the  ruin  of  a  Moorish 
castle. 

1  paused  in  the  porch  and  endeavoured  to  recall 
the  interesting  scene  that  had  taken  place  there, 
when  Columbus,  accompanied  by  the  zealous  friar, 
Juan  Perez,  caused  the  public  notary  to  read  the 
royal  order  in  presence  of  the  astonished  alcaldes, 
regidors,  and  alguazils ;  but  it  is  difficult  to  conceive 
the  consternation  that  must  have  been  struck  into 
so  remote  a  little  community,  by  this  sudden  ap- 
parition of  an  entire  stranger  among  them,  bearing 
a  command  that  they  should  put  their  persons  and 
ships  at  his  disposal,  and  sail  with  him  away  into 
the  unknown  wilderness  of  the  ocean. 

The  interior  of  the  church  has  nothing  remarkable, 
excepting  a  wooden  image  of  St.  George  vanquishing 
the  Dragon,  which  is  erected  over  the  high  altar, 
and  is  the  admiration  of  the  good  people  of  Palos, 
who  bear  it  about  the  streets  in  grand  procession 
on  the  anniversary  of  the  saint.  This  group  existed 
in  the  time  of  Columbus,  and  now  flourishes  in 
renovated  youth  and  splendour,  having  been  newly 
painted  and  gilded,  and  the  countenance  of  the  saint 
rendered  peculiarly  blooming  and  lustrous. 

Having  finished  the  examination  of  the  church,  we 
resumed  our  seats  in  the  calesa  and  returned  to 
Moguer.  One  thing  only  remained  to  fulfil  the  ob- 
ject of  my  pilgrimage.  This  was  to  visit  the  chapel 
of  the  Convent  of  Santa  Clara.  When  Columbus 
was  in  danger  of  being  lost  in  a  tempest  on  his  way 
home  from  his  great  voyage  of  discovery,  he  made  a 
vow,  that  should  he  be  spared,  he  would  watch 
and  pray  one  whole  night  in  this  chapel ;  a  vow 
which  he  doubtless  fulfilled  immediately  after  his 
arrival. 

My  kind  and  attentive  friend,  Don  Juan,  conduct- 
ed me  to  the  convent.  It  is  the  wealthiest  in  Moguer, 
and  belongs  to  a  sisterhood  of  Franciscan  nuns. 
The  chapel  is  large,  and  ornamented  with  some  de- 
gree of  richness,  particularly  the  part  about  the  high 
altar,  which  is  embellished  by  magnificent  monu- 
ments of  the  brave  family  of  the  Puerto  Carreros, 
the  ancient  lords  of  Moguer,  and  renowned  in  Moor- 
ish warfare.  The  alabaster  effigies  of  distinguished 
warriors  of  that  house,  and  of  their  wives  and  sisters, 
lie  side  by  side,  with  folded  hands,  on  tombs  im- 
mediately before  the  altar,  while  others  recline  in 
deep  niches  on  either  side.  The  night  had  closed 
in  by  the  time  I  entered  the  church,  which  made  the 
scene  more  impressive.  A  few  votive  lamps  shed 
a  dim  light  about  the  interior ;  their  beams  were 
feebly  reflected  by  the  gilded  work  of  the  high 
altar,  and  the  frames  of  the  surrounding  paintings, 
and  rested  upon  the  marble  figures  of  the  warriors 
and  dames  lying  in  the  monumental  repose  of  ages. 
The  solemn  pile  must  have  presented  much  the  same 
appearance  when  the  pious  discoverer  performed  his 
vigil,  kneeling  before  this  very  altar,  and  praying 
and  watching  throughout  the  night,  and  pouring 
forth  heart-felt  praises  for  having  been  spared  to  ac- 
complish his  sublime  discovery. 

I  had  now  completed  the  main  purpose  of  my 
journey,  having  visited  the  various  places  connected 
with  the  story  of  Columbus.  It  was  highly  gratify- 
ing to  find  some  of  them  so  little  changed,  thiugh  so 


802 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


great  a  space  of  time  had  intervened  ;  but  in  this 
quiet  nook  of  Spain,  so  far  removed  from  the  main 
thoroughfares,  tfie  lapse  of  time  produces  but  few 
violent  revolutions.  Nothing,  however,  had  sur- 
prised and  gratified  me  more  than  the  continued 
stability  of  the  Pinzon  family.  On  the  morning  after 
my  excursion  to  Palos,  chance  gave  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  seeing  something  of  the  interior  of  most  of 
their  households.  Having  a  curiosity  to  visit  the  re- 
mains of  a  Moorish  castle,  once  the  citadel  of 
Moguer,  Don  Fernandez  undertook  to  show  me  a 
tower  which  served  as  a  magazine  of  wine  to  one  of 
the  Pinzon  family.  In  seeking  for  the  key  we  were 
sent  from  house  to  house  of  nearly  the  whole  con- 
ne.xion.  All  appeared  to  be  living  in  that  golden 
mean  equally  removed  from  the  wants  and  super- 
fluities of  life,  and  all  to  be  happily  intenvoven  by 
kind  and  cordial  habits  of  intimacy.  We  found  the 
females  of  the  family  generally  seated  in  the  patios, 
or  central  courts  of  their  dwellings,  beneath  the 
shade  of  awnings  and  among  shrubs  and  flowers. 
Here  the  Andalusian  ladies  are  accustomed  to  pass 
their  mornings  at  work,  surrounded  by  their  hand- 
maids, in  the  primitive,  or  rather,  oriental  style.  In 
the  porches  of  some  of  the  houses  I  observed  the 
coat  of  arms,  granted  to  the  family  by  Charles  V., 
hung  up  like  a  picture  in  a  frame.  Over  the  door  of 
Don  Lui3,  the  naval  officer,  it  was  carved  on  an 
escutcheon  of  stone,  and  coloured.  I  had  gathered 
many  particulars  of  the  family  also  from  conversa- 
tion with  Don  Juan,  and  from  the  family  legend  lent 
me  by  Don  Luis.  From  all  that  I  could  learn,  it 
would  .appear  that  the  lapse  of  nearly  three  centuries 
and  a  half  has  made  but  little  change  in  the  condi- 
tion of  the  Pinzons.  From  generation  to  genera- 
tion they  have  retained  the  same  fair  standing  and 
reputable  name  throughout  the  neighbourhood,  fill- 
ing offices  of  public  trust  and  dignity,  and  possessing 
great  influence  over  their  fellow-citizens  by  their 
good  sense  and  good  conduct.  How  rare  is  it  to  see 
such  an  instance  of  stability  of  fortune  in  this  fluctu- 
ating world,  and  how  truly  honourable  is  this  hered- 
itary respectability,  which  has  been  secured  by  no 
titles  or  entails,  but  perpetuated  merely  by  the  innate 
worth  of  the  race  !  I  declare  to  you  that  the  most 
illustrious  descents  of  mere  titled  rank  could  never 
command  the  sincere  respect  and  cordial  regard 
with  which  I  contemplated  this  staunch  and  endur- 
ing family,  which  for  three  centuries  and  a  half  has 
stood  merely  upon  its  virtues. 

As  I  was  to  set  off  on  my  return  to  Seville  before 
two  o'clock,  I  partook  of  a  farewell  repast  at  the 
house  of  Don  Juan,  between  twelve  and  one,  and 
then  took  leave  of  his  household  with  sincere  regret. 
The  good  old  gentleman,  with  the  courtesy,  or 
rather  the  cordiality  of  a  true  Spaniard,  accom- 
panied me  to  the  posada  to  see  me  off.  I  had  dis- 
pensed but  little  money  in  the  posada— thanks  to 
the  hospitality  of  the  Pinzons — yet  the  Spanish  pride 
of  my  host  and  hostess  seemed  pleased  that  I  had 
preferred  their  humble  chamber,  and  the  scanty  bed 
they  had  provided  me,  to  the  spacious  mansion  of 
Don  Juan ;  and  when  I  expressed  my  thanks  for 
their  kindness  and  attention,  and  regaled  mine  host 
with  a  few  choice  cigars,  the  heart  of  the  |)oor  man 
was  overcome.  He  seized  me  by  both  hands  and 
gave  me  a  parting  benediction,  and  then  ran  after 
the  calasero  to  enjoin  him  to  take  particular  care  of 
me  during  my  journey. 

Taking  a  hearty  leave  of  my  excellent  friend  Don 
Juan,  who  had  been  unremitting  in  his  attentions  to 
me  to  the  last  moment,  I  now  set  off  on  my  way- 
faring, gratified  to  the  utmost  with  my  visit,  and  full 
of  kind  and  grateful  feelings  towards  Moguer  and 
its  hospitable  inhabitants. 


MANIFESTO   OF   ALONZO   DE   OJEDA. 


[The  foUovfing  curious  formula,  composed  by  learned 
divines  in  Spain,  was  first  read  aloud  by  the  friars 
in  the  train  of  Alonzo  de  Ojeda  as  a  prelude  to  his 
attack  on  the  savages  of  Carthagena  ;  and  was  sub- 
sequently adopted  by  the  Spanish  discoverers  in 
general,  in  their  invasions  of  the  Indian  countries.] 

I,  Alonzo  de  Ojeda,  servant  of  the  high  and 
mighty  kings  of  Castile  and  Leon,  civilizers  of  bar- 
barous nations,  their  messenger  and  captain,  notify 
and  make  known  to  you,  in  the  best  way  I  can,  that 
God  our  Lord,  one  and  eternal,  created  the  heavens 
and  the  earth,  and  one  man  and  one  woman,  from 
whom  you,  and  we,  and  all  the  people  of  the  earth  were 
and  are  descendants,  procreated,  and  all  those  who 
shall  come  after  us ;  but  the  vast  number  of  genera- 
tions which  have  proceeded  from  them,  in  the 
course  of  more  than  five  thousand  years  that  have 
elapsed  since  the  creation  of  the  world,  made  it 
necessary  that  some  of  the  human  race  sliould  dis- 
perse in  one  direction  and  some  in  another,  and  that 
they  should  divide  themselves  into  many  kingdoms 
and  provinces,  as  they  could  not  sustain  and  pre- 
serve themselves  in  one  alone.  All  these  ])eople 
were  given  in  charge,  by  God  our  Lord,  to  one  per- 
son, named  St.  Peter,  who  was  thus  made  lord  and 
superior  of  all  the  people  of  the  earth,  and  head  of 
the  whole  human  lineage,  whom  all  should  obey, 
wherever  they  might  live,  and  whatever  might  be 
their  law,  sect  or  belief;  he  gave  him  also  the  whole 
world  for  his  service  and  jurisdiction,  and  though 
he  desired  that  he  should  establish  his  chair  in 
Rome,  as  a  place  most  convenient  for  governing  the 
world,  yet  he  permitted  that  he  might  establish  his 
chair  in  any  other  part  of  the  world,  and  judge  and 
govern  all  the  nations.  Christians,  Moors,  Jews,  Gen- 
tiles, and  whatever  other  sect  or  belief  might  be. 
This  person  was  denominated  Pope,  that  is  to  say, 
admirable,  supreme,  father  and  guardian,  because 
he  is  father  and  governor  of  all  mankind.  This 
holy  father  was  obeyed  and  honoured  as  lord,  king, 
and  superior  of  the  universe  by  those  who  lived  in 
his  time,  and,  in  like  manner,  have  been  obeyed 
and  honoured  by  all  those  who  have  been  elected 
to  the  Pontificate,  and  thus  it  has  continued  unto 
the  present  day,  and  will  continue  until  the  end  of 
the  world. 

One  of  these  Pontiffs  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  as 
lord  of  the  world,  made  a  donation  of  these  islands 
and  continents,  of  the  ocean,  sea,  and  all  that  they 
contain,  to  the  Catholic  kings  of  Castile,  who  at 
that  time  were  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  of  glorious 
memory,  and  to  their  successors,  our  sovereigns, 
according  to  the  tenor  of  certain  papers  drawn  up 
for  the  purpose,  (which  you  may  see  if  you  desire.) 
Thus  his  majesty  is  king  and  sovereign  of  these 
islands  and  continents  by  virtue  of  the  said  dona- 
tion ;  and  as  king  and  sovereign,  certain  islands, 
and  almost  all  to  whom  this  has  been  notified,  have 
received  his  majesty,  and  have  obeyed  and  served 
and  do  actually  serve  him.  And,  moreover,  like 
good  subjects,  and  with  good-will,  and  without  any 
resistance  or  delay,  the  moment  they  were  informed 
of  the  foregoing,  they  obeyed  all  the  religious  men 
sent  among  them  to  preach  and  teach  our  Holy 
Faith ;  and  these  of  their  free  and  cheerful  wili, 
without  any  condition  or  reward,  became  Christians, 
and  continue  so  to  be.  And  his  majesty  received 
them  kindly  and  benignantly,  and  ordered  that  they 
should  be  treated  like  his  other  subjects  and  vas- 
sals :  you  also  are  required  and  obliged  to  do  the 
same.     Therefore,  in  the  best  manner  I  can,  I  pray 


SPANISH   VOYAGES   OF   DISCOVERY. 


803 


nnrl  entreat  you,  that  you  consider  well  what  I  have 
said,  and  that  you  take  whatever  time  is  reasonable 
to  understand  and  deliberate  upon  it,  and  that  you 
recognise  the  church  for  sovereign  and  superior  of 
the  universal  world,  and  the  supreme  Pontiff,  called 
Pope,  in  her  name,  and  his  majesty  in  his  place,  as 
superior  and  sovereign  Icing  of  the  islands  and  Terra 
Fimia,  by  virtue  of  the  said  donation  ;  and  that  you 
consent  that  these  religious  fathers  declare  and 
preach  to  you  the  foregoing ;  and  if  you  shall  so 
do,  you  will  do  well ;  and  will  do  that  to  which 
you  are  bounden  and  obliged ;  and  his  majesty, 
and  I  in  his  name,  will  receive  you  with  all  due 
love  and  charity,  and  will  leave  you,  your  wives 
and  children,  free  from  servitude,  that  you  rrray 
freely  do  with  these  and  with  yourselves  whatever  you 
please,  and  think  proper,  as  have  done  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  other  islands.  And  besides  this,  his 
majesty  will  give  you  many  privileges  and  exemp- 


tions, and  grant  you  many  favours.  If  you  do  not 
do  this,  or  wickedly  and  intentionally  delay  to  do  so, 
I  certify  to  you,  that,  by  the  aid  of  God,  I  will  power- 
fully invade  and  make  war  upon  you  in  all  parts  and 
modes  that  I  can,  and  will  subdue  you  to  the  yoke 
and  obedience  of  the  church  and  of  his  majesty  : 
and  I  will  take  your  wives  and  children  and  make 
slaves  of  them,  and  sell  them  as  such,  and  dispose 
of  them  as  his  majesty  may  command  ;  and  1  will 
take  your  effects  and  will  do  you  all  the  harm  and  in- 
jury in  my  power,  as  vassals  who  will  not  obey  or 
receive  their  sovereign  and  who  resist  and  oppose 
him.  And  I  protest  that  the  deaths  and  disasters 
which  may  in  this  manner  be  occasioned,  will  be 
the  fault  of  yourselves  and  not  of  his  majesty,  nor  of 
me,  nor  of  these  cavaliers  who  accompany  me. 
And  of  what  I  here  tell  you  and  require  of  you,  I 
call  upon  the  notary  here  present  to  give  me  his 
signed  testimonial. 


Miscellanies 

CONTRIBUTED    TO    THE    KNICKERBOCKER    MAGAZINE 

BY   GEOFFREY   CRAYON. 


A  CHRONICLE  OF  WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE   KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir:  I  have  observed  that  as  a  man  advances  in  life, 
he  is  subject  to  a  kind  of  plethora  of  the  mind,  doubt- 
less occasioned  by  the  vast  accumulation  of  wisdom 
and  experience  upon  the  brain.  Hence  he  is  apt  to 
become  narrative  and  admonitory,  that  is  to  say,  fond 
of  telling  long  stories,  and  of  doling  out  advice,  to  the 
small  profit  and  great  annoyance  of  his  friends.  As  I 
have  a  great  horror  of  becoming  the  oracle,  or,  more 
technically  speaking,  the  '  bore,'  of  the  domestic  circle, 
and  would  much  rather  bestow  my  wisdom  and  te- 
diousness  upon  the  world  at  large,  I  have  always 
sought  to  ease  off  this  surcharge  of  the  intellect  by 
means  of  my  pen,  and  hence  have  inflicted  divers  gos- 
siping volumes  upon  the  patience  of  the  public.  I  am 
tired,  however,  of  writing  volumes  ;  they  do  not  afford 
exactly  the  relief  I  require  ;  there  is  too  much  prepa- 
ration, arrangement,  and  parade,  in  this  set  form  of 
coming  before  the  public.  I  am  growing  too  indolent 
and  unambitious  for  any  thing  that  requires  labor  or 
display.  I  have  thought,  therefore,  of  securing  to  my- 
self a  snug  corner  in  some  periodical  work  where  I 
might,  as  it  were,  loll  at  my  ease  in  my  elbow-chair, 
and  chat  sociably  with  the  public,  as  with  an  old 
friend,  on  any  chance  subject  that  might  pop  into  my 
brain. 

In  looking  around,  for  this  purpose,  upon  the  vari- 
ous excellent  periodicals  with  which  our  country 
abounds,  my  eye  was  struck  by  the  title  of  your  work — 
'  The  Knickerbocker.'  My  heart  leaped  at  the  sight. 
DIEDRICH  Knickerbocker,  Sir,  was  one  of  my  ear- 
liest and  most  valued  friends,  and  the  recollection  of 
him  is  associated  with  some  of  the  pleasantest  scenes 
of  my  youthful  days.  To  explain  this,  and  to  show 
how  I  came  into  possession  of  sundry  of  his  posthu- 
mous works,  which  I  have  from  time  to  time  given  to 
the  world,  permit  me  to  relate  a  few  particulars  of  our 
early  intercourse.  I  give  them  with  the  more  confi- 
dence, as  I  know  the  interest  you  take  in  that  departed 
worthy,  whose  name  and  efBgy  are  stamped  upon  your 
title-page,  and  as  they  will  be  found  important  to  the 
better  understanding  and  relishing  divers  communica- 
tions I  may  have  to  make  to  you. 

My  first  acquaintance  with  that  great  and  good  man, 
for  such  I  may  venture  to  call  him,  now  that  the  lapse 
of  some  thirty  years  has  shrouded  his  name  with  ven- 
erable antiquity,  and  the  popular  voice  has  elevated 
him  to  the  rank  of  the  classic  historians  of  yore,  my 
first  acquaintance  with  him  was  formed  on  the  banks  of 
the  Hudson,  not  far  from  the  wizard  region  of  Sleepy 
Hollow.  He  had  come  there  in  the  course  of  his  re- 
searches among  the  Dutch  neighborhoods  for  materi- 
als for  his  immortal  history.  For  this  purpose,  he  was 
ransacking  the  archives  of  one  of  the  most  ancient 
and  historical  mansions  in  the  country.  It  was  a  lowly 
edifice,  built  in  the  time  of  the  Dutch  dynasty,  and 
stood  on  a  green  bank,  overshadowed  by  trees,  from 
which  it  peeped  forth  upon  the  Great  Tappan  Zee,  so 
famous  among  early  Dutch  navigators.    A  bright  pure 


spring  welled  up  at  the  foot  of  the  green  bank  ;  a  wild 
brook  came  babbling  down  a  neighboring  ravine,  and 
threw  itself  into  a  little  woody  cove,  in  front  of  the 
mansion.  It  was  indeed  as  quiet  and  .sheltered  a  nook 
as  the  heart  of  man  could  require,  in  which  to  take 
refuge  from  the  cares  and  troubles  of  the  world  ;  and 
as  such,  it  had  been  chosen  in  old  times,  by  Wolfert 
Acker,  one  of  the  privy  councillors  of  the  renowned 
Peter  Stuyvesant. 

This  worthy  but  ill-starred  man  had  led  a  weary  and 
worried  life,  throughout  the  stormy  reign  of  the  chiv- 
alric  Peter,  being  one  of  those  unlucky  wights  with 
whom  the  world  is  ever  at  variance,  and  who  are  kept 
in  a  continual  fume  and  fret,  by  the  wickedness  of 
mankind.  At  the  time  of  the  subjugation  of  the  prov- 
ince by  the  English,  he  retired  hither  in  high  dudgeon  ; 
with  the  bitter  determination  to  bury  himself  from  the 
world,  and  live  here  in  peace  and  quietness  for  the  re- 
mainder of  his  days.  In  token  of  this  fixed  resolution, 
he  inscribed  over  his  door  the  favourite  Dutch  motto, 
'Lust  in  Rust,'  (pleasure  in  repose.)  The  mansion 
was  thence  called  '  Wolfert's  Rust ' — Wolfcrt's  Rest ; 
but  in  process  of  time,  the  name  was  vitiated  into 
Wolfert's  Roost,  probably  from  its  quaint  cock-loft 
look,  or  from  its  having  a  weather-cock  perched  on 
every  gable.  This  name  it  continued  to  bear,  long 
after  the  unlucky  Wolfert  was  driven  forth  once  more 
upon  a  wrangling  world,  by  the  tongue  of  a  termagant 
wife  ;  for  it  passed  into  a  proverb  through  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  has  been  handed  down  by  tradition,  that 
the  cock  of  the  Roost  was  the  most  hen-pecked  bird  in 
the  country. 

This  primitive  and  historical  mansion  has  since 
passed  through  many  changes  and  trials,  which  it  may 
be  my  lot  hereafter  to  notice.  At  the  time  of  the  so- 
journ of  Diedrich  Knickerbocker  it  was  in  possession 
of  the  gallant  family  of  the  Van  Tassels,  who  have 
figured  so  conspicuously  in  his  writings.  What  ap- 
pears to  have  given  it  peculiar  value,  in  his  eyes,  was 
the  rich  treasury  of  historical  facts  here  secretly  hoard- 
ed up,  like  buried  gold  ;  for  it  is  said  that  Wolfert 
Acker,  when  he  retreated  from  New  Amsterdam,  car- 
ried off  with  him  many  of  the  records  and  journals  of 
the  province,  pertaining  to  the  Dutch  dynasty  ;  swear- 
ing that  they  should  never  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
English.  These,  like  the  lost  books  of  Livy,  had  baf- 
fled the  research  of  former  historians  ;  but  these  did  I 
find  the  indefatigable  Diedrich  diligently  deciphering. 
■He  was  already  a  sage  in  years  and  experience,  I  but 
an  idle  stripling ;  yet  he  did  not  despise  my  youth  and 
ignorance,  but  took  me  kindly  by  the  hand,  and  led 
me  gently  into  those  paths  of  local  and  traditional  lore 
which  he  was  so  fond  of  exploring.  I  sat  with  him  in 
his  little  chamber  at  the  Roost,  and  watched  the  anti- 
quarian patience  and  perseverance  with  which  he  de- 
ciphered those  venerable  Dutch  documents,  worse 
than  Ilerculanean  manuscripts.  I  sat  with  him  by  the 
spring,  at  the  foot  of  the  green  bank,  and  listened  to 
his  heroic  tales  about  the  worthies  of  the  olden  time, 
the  paladins  of  New  Amsterdam.  I  accompanied  him 
in  his  legendary  researches  about  Tarrytown  and  Sing- 
Sing,  and  explored  with  him  the  spell-bound  recesses 
of  Sleepy  Hollow.  I  was  present  at  many  of  his  con- 
ferences with  the  good  old  Dutch  burghers  and  their 

(805) 


806 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


wives,  from  whom  he  derived  many  of  those  marvel- 
lous facts  not  laid  down  in  books  or  records,  and 
which  give  such  superior  value  and  authenticity  to  his 
history,  over  all  others  that  have  been  written  con- 
cerning the  New  Netherlands. 

But  let  me  check  my  proneness  to  dilate  upon  this 
favourite  theme  ;  I  may  recur  to  it  hereafter.  Suffice 
it  to  say,  the  intimacy  thus  formed,  continued  for  a 
considerable  time  ;  and  in  company  with  the  worthy 
Diedrich,  I  visited  many  of  the  places  celebrated  by 
his  pen.  The  currents  of  our  lives  at  length  diverged. 
He  remained  at  home  to  complete  his  mighty  work, 
while  a  vagrant  fancy  led  me  to  wander  about  the 
world.  Many,  many  years  elapsed,  before  I  returned 
to  the  parent  soil.  In  the  interim,  the  venerable  his- 
torian of  the  New  Netherlands  had  been  gathered  to  his 
fathers,  but  his  name  had  risen  to  renown.  His  native 
city,  that  city  in  which  he  so  much  delighted,  had  de- 
creed all  manner  of  costly  honors  to  his  memory.  I 
found  his  effigy  imprinted  upon  new-year  cakes,  and 
devoured  with  eager  relish  by  holiday  urchins  ;  a  great 
oyster-house  bore  the  name  of  '  Knickerbocker  Hall ; ' 
ind  I  narrowly  escaped  the  pleasure  of  being  run  over 
Dy  a  Knickerbocker  omnibus  ! 

Proud  of  having  associated  with  a  man  who  had 
achieved  such  greatness,  I  now  recalled  our  early  in- 
timacy with  tenfold  pleasure,  and  sought  to  revisit  the 
scenes  we  had  trodden  together.  The  most  important 
of  these  was  the  mansion  of  the  Van  Tassels,  the 
Roost  of  the  unfortunate  Wolfert.  Time,  which 
changes  all  things,  is  but  slow  in  its  operations  upon 
a  Dutchman's  dwelling.  I  found  the  venerable  and 
quaint  little  edifice  much  as  I  had  seen  it  during  the 
sojourn  of  Diedrich.  There  stood  his  elbow-chair  in 
the  corner  of  the  room  he  had  occupied  ;  the  old- 
fashioned  Dutch  writing  desk  at  which  he  had  pored 
over  the  chronicles  of  the  Manhattoes  ;  there  was  the 
old  wooden  chest,  with  the  archives  left  by  Wolfert 
Acker,  many  of  which,  however,  had  been  fired  ofT  as 
wadding  from  the  long  duck  gun  of  the  Van  Tassels. 
The  scene  around  the  mansion  was  still  the  same  ;  the 
green  bank  ;  the  spring  beside  which  I  had  listened  to 
the  legendary  narratives  of  the  historian  ;  the  wild 
brook  babbling  down  to  the  woody  cove,  and  the  over- 
shadowing locust  trees,  half  shutting  out  the  prospect 
of  the  Great  Tappan  Zee. 

As  I  looked  round  upon  the  scene,  my  heart  yearned 
at  the  recollection  of  my  departed  friend,  and  I  wist- 
fully eyed  the  mansion  which  he  had  inhabited,  and 
which  was  fast  mouldering  to  decay.  The  thought 
struck  me  to  arrest  the  desolating  hand  of  Time  ;  to 
rescue  the  historic  pile  from  utter  ruin,  and  to  make  it 
the  closing  scene  of  my  wanderings ;  a  quiet  home, 
where  I  might  enjoy  '  lust  in  rust '  for  the  remainder 
of  my  days.  It  is  true,  the  fate  of  the  unlucky  Wolfert 
passed  across  my  mind  ;  but  I  consoled  myself  with 
the  reflection  that  I  was  a  bachelor,  and  that  I  had  no 
termagant  wife  to  dispute  the  sovereignty  of  the  Roost 
With  me. 

I  have  become  possessor  of  the  Roost !  I  have  re- 
paired and  renovated  it  with  religious  care,  in  the  gen- 
uine Dutch  style,  and  have  adorned  and  illustrated  it 
with  sundry  reliques  of  the  glorious  days  of  the  New 
Netherlands.  A  venerable  weather-cock,  of  portly 
Dutch  dimensions,  which  once  battled  with  the  wind  ort 
the  top  of  the  Stadt-House  of  New  Amsterdam,  in  the 
time  of  Peter  Stuyvesant,  now  erects  its  crest  on  the 
gable  end  of  my  edifice  ;  a  gilded  horse  in  full  gallop, 
once  the  weather-cock  of  the  great  Vandcr  Heyden 
Palace  of  Albany,  now  glitters  in  the  sunshine,  and 
veers  with  every  breeze,  on  the  peaked  turret  over  my 
portal ;  my  sanctum  sanctorum  is  the  chamber  once 
honored  by  the  illustrious  Diedrich,  and  it  is  from  his 
elbow-chair,  and  his  identical  oW  Dutch  writing-desk, 
that  I  pen  this  rambling  epistle. 

Here,  then,  have  I  set  up  my  rest,  surrounded  by  the 
lecollections  of  early  days,  and  the  mementoes  of  the 
historian  of  the  Manhattoes,  with  that  glorious  river 
before  me,  which  flows  with  such  majesty  through 
tis  works,  and  which  has  ever  been  to  me  a  river  of 
delight. 


I  thank  God  I  was  born  on  the  banks  of  the  Hud- 
son !  I  think  it  an  invaluable  advantage  to  be  born 
and  brought  up  in  the  neighborhood  of  some  grand 
and  noble  object  in  nature  ;  a  river,  a  lake,  or  a  mount- 
ain. We  make  a  friendship  with  it,  we  in  a  manner 
ally  ourselves  to  it  for  life.  It  remains  an  object  of 
our  pride  and  affections,  a  rallying  point,  to  call  us 
home  again  after  all  our  wanderings.  '  The  things 
which  we  have  learned  in  our  childhood, 'says  an  old 
writer,  '  grow  up  with  our  souls,  and  unite  themselves 
to  it.*  So  it  is  with  the  scenes  among  which  we  have 
passed  our  early  days  ;  they  influence  the  whole  course 
of  our  thoughts  and  feelings  ;  and  I  fancy  I  can  trace 
much  of  what  is  good  and  pleasant  in  my  own  hetero- 
geneous compound  to  my  early  companionship  with 
this  glorious  river.  In  the  warmth  of  my  youthful  en- 
thusiasm, I  used  to  clothe  it  with  moral  attributes,  and 
almost  to  give  it  a  soul.  I  admired  its  frank,  bold, 
honest  character ;  its  noble  sincerity  and  perfect  truth. 
Here  was  no  specious, smiling  surface, covering  the  dan- 
gerous sand-bar  or  perfidious  rock  ;  but  a  stream  deep 
as  it  was  broad,  and  bearing  with  honorable  faith  the 
bark  that  trusted  to  its  waves.  I  gloried  in  its  simple, 
quiet,  majestic,  epic  flow;  ever  straight  forward.  Once, 
indeed,  it  turns  aside  for  a  moment,  forced  from  its 
course  by  opposing  mountains,  but  it  struggles  bravely 
through  them,  and  immediately  resumes  its  straight- 
forward march.  Behold,  thought  I,  an  emblem  of  a 
good  man's  course  through  life  ;  ever  simple,  open, 
and  direct ;  or  if,  overpowered  by  adverse  circum- 
stances, he  deviate  into  error,  it  is  but  momentary  ;  he 
soon  recovers  his  onward  and  honorable  career,  and 
continues  it  to  the  end  of  his  pilgrimage. 

Excuse  this  rhapsody,  into  which  I  have  been  be- 
trayed by  a  revival  of  early  feelings.  The  Hudson  is, 
in  a  manner,  my  first  and  last  love  ;  and  after  all  my 
wanderings  and  seeming  infidelities,  I  return  to  it  with 
a  heart-felt  preference  over  all  the  other  rivers  in  the 
world.  I  seem  to  catch  new  life  as  I  bathe  in  its  am- 
ple billows  and  inhale  the  pure  breezes  of  its  hills.  It 
is  true,  the  romance  of  youth  is  past,  that  once  spread 
illusions  over  every  scene.  I  can  no  longer  picture 
an  Arcadia  in  every  green  valley  ;  nor  a  fairy  land 
among  the  distant  mountains  ;  nor  a  peerless  beauty 
in  every  villa  gleaming  among  the  trees  ;  but  though 
the  illusions  of  youth  have  faded  from  the  landscape, 
the  recollections  of  departed  years  and  departed  pleas- 
ures shed  over  it  the  mellow  charm  of  evening  sun- 
shine. 

Permit  me,  then,  Mr.  Editor,  through  the  medium  of 
your  work,  to  hold  occasional  discourse  from  my  re- 
treat with  the  busy  world  I  have  abandoned.  I  have 
much  to  say  about  what  I  have  seen,  heard,  felt,  and 
thought  through  the  course  of  a  varied  and  rambling 
life,  and  some  lucubrations  that  have  long  been  en- 
cumbering my  port-folio  ;  together  with  divers  remi- 
niscences of  the  venerable  historian  of  the  New  Nether- 
lands, that  may  not  be  unacceptable  to  those  who  have 
taken  an  interest  in  his  writings,  and  are  desirous  of 
any  thing  that  may  cast  a  hght  back  upon  our  early 
history.  Let  your  readers  rest  assured  of  one  thing, 
that,  though  retired  from  the  world,  I  am  not  disgusted 
with  it ;  and  that  if  in  my  communings  with  it  I  do  not 
prove  very  wise,  I  trust  I  shall  at  least  prove  very 
good-natured. 

Which  is  all  at  present,  from 

Yours,  etc.,  Geoffrey  Crayon. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  KNICKERBOCKER. 

Worthy  Sir  :  In  a  preceding  communication,  I 
have  given  you  some  brief  notice  of  Wolfert's  Roost, 
the  mansion  where  I  first  had  the  good  fortune  to 
become  acquainted  with  the  venerable  historian  of 
the  New-Netherlands.  As  this  ancient  edifice  is  likely 
to  be  the  place  whence  I  shall  date  many  of  my  lucu-- 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


807 


brations,  and  as  it  is  really  a  very  remarkable  little  pile, 
intimately  connected  with  all  the  great  epochs  of  our 
local  and  national  history,  I  have  thought  it  but  right 
to  give  some  farther  particulars  concerning  it.  For- 
tunately, in  rummaging  a  ponderous  Dutch  chest  of 
draweis,  which  serves  as  the  archives  of  the  Roost, 
and  in  which  are  preserved  many  inedited  manuscripts 
of  Mr.  Knickerbocker,  together  with  the  precious 
records  of  New-Amsterdam,  brought  hither  by  Wolfert 
Acker,  at  the  downfall  of  the  Dutch  dynasty,  as  has 
been  already  mentioned,  I  found  in  one  corner,  among 
dried  pumpkin-seeds,  bunches  of  thyme,  and  penny- 
royal, and  crumbs  of  new-year  cakes,  a  manuscript, 
carefully  wrapped  up  in  the  fragment  of  an  old  parch- 
ment deed,  but  much  blotted,  and  the  ink  grown  foxy 
by  time,  which,  on  inspection,  I  discovered  to  be  a 
faithful  chronicle  of  the  Roost.  The  hand-writing, 
and  certain  internal  evidences,  leave  no  doubt  in  my 
mind,  that  it  is  a  genuine  production  of  the  venerable 
historian  of  the  New-Netherlands,  written,  very  prob- 
ably, during  his  residence  at  the  Roost,  in  gratitude 
for  the  hospitality  of  its  proprietor.  As  such,  I  submit 
it  for  publication.  As  the  entire  chronicle  is  too  long 
for  the  pages  of  your  Magazine,  and  as  it  contains 
many  minute  particulars,  which  might  prove  tedious 
to  the  general  reader,  I  have  abbreviated  and  occa- 
sionally omitted  some  of  its  details  ;  but  may  hereafter 
furnish  them  separately,  should  they  seem  to  be  re- 
quired by  the  curiosity  of  an  enlightened  and  docu- 
ment-hunting public. 

Respectfully  Yours, 

Geoffrey  Crayon. 


A  CHRONICLE  CF  WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 

FOUND  AMONG  THE  PAPERS  OF  THE  LATE  DIED- 
RICH    KNICKERBOCKER. 


About  five-and-twenty  miles  from  the  ancient 
and  renowned  city  of  Manhattan,  formerly  called 
New-Amsterdam,  and  vulgarly  called  New-York, 
on  the  eastern  bank  of  that  expansion  of  the  Hudson, 
known  among  Dutch  mariners  of  yore,  as  the  Tap- 
pan  Zee,  being  in  fact  the  great  Mediterranean  Sea 
of  the  New-Netherlands,  stands  a  little  old-fashioned 
stone  mansion,  all  made  up  of  gable-ends,  and  as 
full  of  angles  and  corners  as  an  old  cocked  hat. 
Though  but  of  small  dimensions,  yet,  like  many 
small  people,  it  is  of  mighty  spirit,  and  values  itself 
greatly  on  its  antiquity,  being  one  of  the  oldest 
edifices,  for  its  size,  in  the  whole  country.  It  claims 
to  be  an  ancient  seat  of  empire,  I  may  rather  say  an 
empire  in  itself,  and  like  all  empires,  great  and  small, 
has  had  its  grand  historical  epochs.  In  speaking  of 
this  doughty  and  valorous  little  pile,  I  shall  call  it  by 
its  usual  appellation  of  '  The  Roost ; '  though  that  is 
a  name  given  to  it  in  modern  days,  since  it  became 
the  abode  of  the  white  man. 

Its  origin,  in  truth,  dates  far  back  in  that  remote 
region  commonly  called  the  fabulous  age,  in  which 
vulgar  fact  becomes  mystified,  and  tinted  up  with 
delectable  fiction.  The  eastern  shore  of  the  Tappan 
Sea  was  inhabited  in  those  days  by  an  unsophisti- 
cated race,  existing  in  all  the  simplicity  of  nature ; 
that  is  to  say,  they  lived  by  hunting  and  fishing,  and 
recreated  themselves  occasionally  with  a  little  toma- 
hawking and  scalping.  Each  stream  that  flows 
down  from  the  hills  into  the  Hudson,  had  its  petty 
sachem,  who  ruled  over  a  hand's-breadth  of  forest 
on  either  side,  and  had  his  seat  of  government  at  its 
mouth.  The  chieftain  who  ruled  at  the  Roost,  was 
not  merely  a  great  warrior,  but  a  medicine-man,  or 
prophet,  or  conjuror,  for  they  all  mean   the  same 


thing,  in  Indian  parlance.  Of  his  fighting  propen- 
sities, evidences  still  remain,  in  various  arrow-heads 
of  flint,  and  stone  battle-axes,  occasionally  digged  up 
about  the  Roost :  of  his  wizard  powers,  we  have  a 
token  in  a  spring  which  wells  up  at  the  foot  of  the 
bank,  on  the  very  margin  of  the  river,  which,  it  is 
said,  was  gifted  by  him  with  rejuvenating  powers, 
something  like  the  renowned  Fountain  of  Youth  in 
the  Floridas,  so  anxiously  but  vainly  sought  after  by 
the  veteran  Ponce  de  Leon.  This  story,  however,  is 
stoutly  contradicted  by  an  old  Dutch  matter-of-fact 
tradition,  which  declares  that  the  spring  in  question 
was  smuggled  over  from  Holland  in  a  churn,  by 
Femmetie  Van  Slocum,  wife  of  Goosen  Garret  Van 
Slocum,  one  of  the  first  settlers,  and  that  she  took  it 
up  by  night,  unknown  to  her  husband,  from  beside 
their  farm-house  near  Rotterdam ;  being  sure  she 
should  find  no  water  equal  to  it  in  the  new  country 
— and  she  was  right. 

The  wizard  sachem  had  a  great  passion  for  dis- 
cussing territorial  questions,  and  settling  boundary 
lines ;  this  kept  him  in  continual  feud  with  the 
neighboring  sachems,  each  of  whom  stood  up  stoutly 
for  his  hand-breadth  of  territory ;  so  that  there  is 
not  a  petty  stream  nor  ragged  hill  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, that  has  not  been  the  subject  of  long  talks  and 
hard  battles.  The  sachem,  however,  as  has  been 
observed,  was  a  inedicine-man,  as  well  as  warrior, 
and  vindicated  his  claims  by  arts  as  well  as  arms ; 
so  that,  by  dint  of  a  little  hard  fighting  here,  and 
hocus-pocus  there,  he  managed  to  extend  his  bound- 
ary-line from  field  to  field  and  stream  to  stream,  un- 
til he  found  himself  in  legitimate  possession  of  that 
region  of  hills  and  valleys,  bright  fountains  and 
limpid  brooks,  locked  in  by  the  mazy  windings  of  the 
Neperan  and  the  Pocantico.* 

This  last-mentioned  stream,  or  rather  the  valley 
through  which  it  flows,  was  the  most  difficult  of  ail 
his  acquisitions.  It  lay  half  way  to  the  strong-hold 
of  the  redoubtable  sachem  of  Sing-Sing,  and  was 
claimed  by  him  as  an  integral  part  of  his  domains. 
Many  were  the  sharp  conflicts  between  the  rival 
chieftains  for  the  sovereignty  'of  this  valley,  and 
many  the  ambuscades,  sur|)risals,  and  deadly  on- 
slaughts that  took  place  among  its  fastnesses,  of 
which  it  grieves  me  much  that  I  cannot  furnish  the 
details  for  the  gratification  of  those  gentle  but 
bloody-minded  readers  of  both  sexes,  who  deligh; 
in  the  romance  of  the  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  wizard  chieftain  was  at 
length  victorious,  though  his  victory  is  attributed  in 
Indian  tradition  to  a  great  medicine  or  charm  by 
which  he  laid  the  sachem  ol  Sing-Sing  and  his  war- 
riors asleep  among  the  rocks  and  recesses  of  the  val- 
ley, where  they  remain  asleep  to  the  present  day 
with  their  bows  and  war-clubs  beside  them.  This 
was  the  origin  of  that  potent  and  drowsy  spell  which 
still  prevails  over  the  valley  of  the  Pocantico,  and 
which  has  gained  it  the  wel-merited  appellation  of 
Sleepy  Hollow.  Often,  in  secluded  and  quiet  parts 
of  that  valley,  where  the  stream  is  overhung  by  dark 
woods  and  rocks,  the  ploughman,  on  some  calm  and 
sunny  day  as  he  shouts  to  his  oxen,  is  surprised  at 


•As  EVERY  one  may  not  recognise  these  boundaries,  by  their 
original  Indian  names,  it  may  be  well  to  observe,  that  the  Neperan 
is  that  beautiful  stream,  vulgarly  called  the  Saw-.Mill  River,  which, 
after  winding  gracefully  for  many  miles  through  a  lovely  valley, 
shrouded  by  groves,  and  dotted  by  Dutch  farm-houses,  empties  it- 
self into  the  Hudson,  at  the  ancient  dorp  of  Yonkers.  The  Pocan- 
tico is  that  hitherto  nameless  brook,  that,  rising  among  woody  hilts, 
winds  in  many  a  wizard  maze  through  the  sequestered  haunts  f.f 
Sleepy  Hollow,  We  owe  it  to  the  indefatigable  researches  of  .VIr, 
Knickerbocker,  that  those  beautiful  streams  are  rescued  from 
modern  common-place,  and  reinvested  with  their  ancient  Indian 
names.  The  correctness  of  the  venerable  historian  may  be  ascer- 
tained, by  reference  to  the  records  of  the  original  Indian  grants  to 
the  Herr  Frederick  Philipscn,  preserved  iu  the  county  clerk's  of- 
fice, at  White  Plains. 


803 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


hearing  faint  shouts  from  the  hill-sides  in  reply ;  be- 
ing, it  is  said,  the  spell-bound  warriors,  who  half 
stait  from  their  rocky  couches  and  grasp  their 
weapons,  but  sink  to  sleep  again. 

The  conquest  of  the  Pocantico  was  the  last  tri- 
cmph  of  the  wizard  sachem.  Notwithstanding  all 
his  medicine  and  charms,  he  fell  in  battle  in  attempt- 
ing to  extend  his  boundary  line  to  the  east  so  as  to 
take  in  the  little  wild  valley  of  the  Sprain,  and  his 
grave  is  slill  shown  near  the  banks  of  that  pastoral 
stream.  He  left,  however,  a  great  empire  to  his 
successors,  extending  along  the  Tappan  Zee,  from 
Yonkers  quite  to  Sleepy  Hollow ;  all  which  delect- 
able region,  if  every  one  had  his  right,  would  still 
acknowledge  allegiance  to  the  lord  of  the  Roost — 
whoever  he  might  be.* 

The  wizard  sachem  was  succeeded  by  a  line  of 
chiefs,  of  whom  nothing  remarkable  remains  on 
record.  The  last  who  makes  any  figure  in  history  is 
the  one  who  ruled  here  at  the  time  of  the  discovery 
of  the  country  by  the  white  man.  This  sachem  is 
said  to  have  been  a  renowned  trencherman,  who 
maintained  almost  as  potent  a  sway  by  dint  of  good 
feeding  as  his  warlike  predecessor  had  done  by  hard 
lighting.  He  diligently  cultivated  the  growth  of 
oysters  along  the  aquatic  borders  of  his  territories, 
and  founded  those  great  oyster-beds  which  yet  exist 
along  the  shores  of  the  Tappan  Zee.  Did  any  dis- 
pute occur  between  him  and  a  neighbouring  sachem, 
he  invited  him  and  all  his  principal  sages  and  fight- 
ing-men to  a  solemn  banquet,  and  seldom  failed  of 
feeding  them  into  terms.  Enormous  heaps  of  oys- 
ter-shells, which  encumber  the  lofty  banks  of  the 
river,  remain  as  monuments  of  his  gastronomical 
victories,  and  have  been  occasionally  adduced 
through  mistake  by  amateur  geologists  from  town, 
as  additional  proofs  of  the  deluge.  Modern  inves- 
tigators, who  are  making  such  indefatigable  re- 
searches into  our  early  history,  have  even  affirmed 
that  this  sachem  was  the  very  individual  on  whom 
Master  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  mate,  Robert  Ju- 
et,  made  that  sage  and  astounding  experiment  so 
gravely  recorded  by  the  latter  in  his  narrative  of  the 
voyage :  "  Our  master  and  his  mate  determined  to 
try  some  of  the  cheefe  men  of  the  country  whether 
they  had  any  treacherie  in  them.  So  they  took  them 
down  into  the  cabin  and  gave  them  so  much  wine 
and  aqua  vita;  that  they  were  all  very  merrie ;  one 
of  them  had  his  wife  with  him,  which  sate  so  mod- 
estly as  any  of  our  countrywomen  would  do  in  a 
strange  place.  In  the  end  one  of  them  was  drunke ; 
and  that  was  strange  to  them,  for  they  could  not  tell 
how  to  take  it."t 

How  far  Master  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  worthy 
mate  carried  their  experiment  with  the  sachem's 
wife  is  not  recorded,  neither  does  the  curious  Rob- 
ert Juet  make  any  mention  of  the  after-consequences 
of  this  grand  moral  test ;  tradition,  however,  aflFirms 
that  the  sachem  on  landing  gave  his  modest  spouse 
a  hearty  rib-roasting,  according  to  the  connubial 
discipline  of  the  aboriginals ;  it  farther  affirms  that 
he  remained  a  hard  drinker  to  the  day  of  his  death, 
trading  away  all  his  lands,  acre  by  acre,  for  aqua 
vitas  ;  by  which  means  the  Roost  and  all  its  do- 
mains, from  Yonkers  to  Sleepy  Hollow,  came,  in  the 


*  In  recording  the  contest  for  the  sovereignty  of  Sleepy  Hollow, 
I  have  calledone  sachem  by  the  modern  name  of  his  castle  or 
strong-hold.  viz. :  Sing-Sing.  This,  I  would  observe  for  the  sake 
of  historical  exactness,  is  a  corruption  of  the  old  Indian  name, 
<  )-sin-sing,  or  rather  O-sin-song  ;  that  is  to  say.  a  place  where  any 
thing  may  be  had  for  a  song — a  great  recommendation  for  a  market 
lown._  'I  he  modern  and  melodious  alteration  of  the  name  to  Siug- 
Sitig  is  said  to  have  been  made  in  compliment  to  an  eminent  Meth- 
odist -sitiging-m.nster,  who  first  introduced  into  the  neighbourhood 
the  art  of  singing  through  the  nose.  D.  K. 

+  See  Juet's  Journal,  Purchas  Pilgrim. 


regular  course  of  trade  and  by  right  of  purchase, 
into  the  possession  of  the  Dutchmen. 

Never  has  a  territorial  right  in  these  new  countries 
been  more  legitimately  and  tradefully  established ; 
yet,  I  grieve  to  say,  the  worthy  government  of  the 
New  Netherlands  was  not  suffered  to  enjoy  this 
grand  acquisition  unmolested  ;  for,  in  the  year  1654, 
the  losel  Yankees  of  Connecticut — those  swapping, 
bargaining,  squatting  enemies  of  the  Manhattoes — • 
made  a  daring  inroad  into  this  neighbourhood  and 
founded  a  colony  called  Westchester,  or,  as  the  an- 
cient Dutch  records  term  it.  Vest  Dorp,  in  the  right 
of  one  Thomas  Pell,  who  pretended  to  have  pur- 
chased the  whole  surrounding  country  of  the  In- 
dians, and  stood  ready  to  argue  their  claims  before 
any  tribunal  of  Christendom. 

This  happened  during  the  chivalrous  reign  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant,  and  it  roused  the  ire  of  that  gun- 
powder old  hero  ;  who,  without  waiting  to  discuss 
claims  and  titles,  pounced  at  once  upon  the  nest  of 
nefarious  squatters,  carried  off  twenty-five  of  them 
in  chains  to  the  Manhattoes,  nor  did  he  stay  his 
hand,  nor  give  rest  to  his  wooden  leg,  until  he  had 
driven  every  Yankee  back  into^the  bounds  of  Con- 
necticut, or  obliged  him  to  acknowledge  allegiance 
to  their  High  Mightinesses,  He  then  established 
certain  out-posts,  far  in  the  Indian  country,  to 
keep  an  eye  over  these  debateable  lands ;  one  of 
these  border-holds  was  the  Roost,  being  accessible 
from  New  Amsterdam  by  water,  and  easily  kept  sup- 
plied. The  Yankees,  however,  had  too  great  a 
hankering  after  this  delectable  region  to  give  it  up 
entirely.  Some  remained  and  swore  allegiance  to 
the  Manhattoes  ;  but,  while  they  kept  this  open  sem- 
blance of  fealty,  they  went  to  work  secretly  and  vig- 
orously to  intermarry  and  multiply,  and  by  these  ne- 
farious means,  artfully  propagated  themselves  into 
possession  of  a  wide  tract  of  those  open,  arable  parts 
of  Westchester  county,  lying  along  the  Sound, 
where  their  descendants  may  be  found  at  the  present 
day ;  while  the  mountainous  regions  along  the  Hud- 
son, with  the  valleys  of  the  Neperan  and  the  Pocan- 
tico, are  tenaciously  held  by  the  lineal  descendants 
of  the  Copperheads. 


The  chronicle  of  the  venerable  Diedrich  here  goes 
on  to  relate  how  that,  shortly  after  the  above-men- 
tioned events,  the  whole  province  of  the  New  Neth- 
erlands was  subjugated  by  the  British  ;  how  that 
Wolfert  Acker,  one  of  the  wrangling  councillors  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant,  retired  in  dudgeon  to  this  fastness 
in  the  wilderness,  determining  to  enjoy  '  lust  in  rust  ' 
for  the  remainder  of  his  days,  whence  the  place  first 
received  its  name  of  Wolfert's  Roost.  As  these 
and  sundry  other  matters  have  been  laid  before  the 
public  in  a  preceding  article,  I  shall  pass  them  over, 
and  resume  the  chronicle  where  it  treats  of  matters 
not  hitherto  recorded : 

Like  many  men  who  retire  from  a  worrying  world, 
says  Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  to  enjoy  quiet  in 
the  country,  Wolfert  Acker  soon  found  himself  up  to 
the  ears  in  trouble.  He  had  a  termagant  wife  at 
home,  and  there  was  what  is  profanely  called  '  the 
deuce  to  pay,'  abroad.  The  recent  irruption  of  the 
Yankees  into  the  bounds  of  the  New  Netherlands, 
had  left  behind  it  a  doleful  pestilence,  such  as  is  apt 
to  follow  the  steps  of  invading  armies.  This  was 
the  deadly  plague  of  witchcraft,  which  had  long 
been  prevalent  to  the  eastward.  The  tnalady  broke 
out  at  Vest  Dorp,  and  threatened  to  sjjread  through- 
out the  country.  The  Dutch  burghers  along  the 
Hudson,  from  Yonkers  to  Sleepy  Hollow,  hastened 
to  nail  horse-shoes  to  their  doors,  which  have  ever 
been  found  of  sovereign  virtue  to  repel  this  awful 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


809 


Tisitation.  This  is  the  origin  of  the  horse-shoes 
whicli  may  still  be  seen  nailed  to  the  doors  of  barns 
and  farm-houses,  in  various  parts  of  this  sage  and 
sober-thoughted  region. 

The  evil,  however,  bore  hard  upon  the  Roost ; 
partly,  perhaps,  from  its  having  in  old  times  been 
subject  to  supernatural  influences,  during  the  sway 
of  the  Wizard  Sachem  ;  but  it  has  always,  in  fact, 
been  considered  a  fated  mansion.  The  unlucky 
Wolfert  had  no  rest  day  nor  night.  When  the 
weather  was  quiet  all  over  the  country,  the  wind 
would  howl  and  whistle  round  his  roof;  witches 
would  ride  and  whirl  upon  his  weather-cocks,  and 
scream  down  his  chimnies.  His  cows  gave  bloody 
milk,  and  his  horses  broke  bounds,  and  scampered 
into  the  woods.  There  were  not  wanting  evil 
tongues  to  whisper  that  Wolfert's  termagant  wife  had 
some  tampering  with  the  enemy  ;  and  tliat  she  even 
attended  a  v,'itches'  Sabbath  in  Sleepy  Hollow  ;  nay, 
a  neighbour,  who  lived  hard  by,  declared  that  he 
saw  her  harnessing  a  rampant  broom-stick,  and 
about  to  ride  to  the  meeting  ;  though  others  presume 
it  was  merely  flourished  in  the  course  of  one  of  her 
curtain  lectures,  to  give  energy  and  emphasis  to  a 
period.  Certain  it  is,  that  Wolfert  Acker  nailed  a 
horse-shoe  to  the  front  door,  during  one  of  her  noc- 
turnal excursions,  to  prevent  her  return  ;  but  as  she 
re-entered  the  house  without  any  difficulty,  it  is 
probable  she  was  not  so  much  of  a  witch  as  she  was 
represented.* 

After  the  time  of  Wolfert  Acker,  a  long  interval 
elapses,  about  which  but  little  is  known.  It  is  hoped, 
however,  that  the  antiquarian  researches  so  diligently 
making  in  every  part  of  this  new  counti7,  may  yet 
throw  some  light  upon  what  may  be  termed  the  Dark 
Ages  ol  the  Roost. 

The  ne.xt  period  at  which  we  find  this  venerable 
and  evenH'iil  pile  rising  to  importance,  and  resuming 
its  old  belligerent  character,  is  during  the  revolu- 
tionary war.  It  was  at  that  time  owned  by  Jacob 
Van  Tassel,  or  Van  Texel,  as  the  name  was  originally 
spelled,  after  the  place  in  Holland  which  gave  birth 
to  this  heroic  line.  He  was  strong-built,  long-limb- 
ed, and  as  stout  in  soul  as  in  body  ;  a  fit  successor 
to  the  warrior  sachem  of  yore,  and,  like  him,  delight- 
ing in  extravagant  enterprises  and  hardy  deeds  of 
arms.  But,  before  I  enter  upon  the  exploits  of  this 
worthy  cock  of  the  Roost,  it  is  fitting  I  should  throw 
some  iight  upon  the  state  of  the  mansion,  and  of  the 
surrounding  country,  at  the  time. 

The  situation  of  the  Roost  is  in  the  very  heart  of 
what  was  the  debateable  ground  between  the  Ameri- 
can and  British  lines,  during  the  war.  The  Brit- 
ish held  possession  of  the  city  of  New  York,  and  the 
island  of  Manhattan  on  which  it  stands.  The  Ameri- 
cans drew  up  toward  the  Highlands,  holding  their 
headquarters  at  Peekskill.  The  intervening  country, 
from  Croton  River  to  Spiting  Devil  Creek,  was  the 
debateable  land,  subject  to  be  harried  by  friend  and 
foe,  like  the  Scottish  borders  of  yore.     It  is  a  rugged 


*  HrSTORlCAr,  Note.— The  annexed  extracts  frorn  the  early  colo- 
nial records,  relate  to  the  irruption  of  witchcraft  into  Wes.:hcstcr 
county,  as  mentioned  in  the  chronicle  : 

'July  7,  1670. —Katharine  Harryson.  accused  of  witchcraft  on 
complaint  of  Thomas  Hunt  and  Edward  Waters,  in  behalf  of  the 
town,  who  pray  that  she  may  be  driven  from  the  town  of  West- 
chester.    Tne  woman  appears  before  the  council She  was 

a  native  of  England,  and  had  lived  a  year  in  Weatliersfield.  Con- 
necticut, where  she  dad  been  tried  for  witchcraft,  found  guilty  by 
the  jury,  acquitted  by  the  bench,  and  released  out  of  prison,  upon 
condition  she  would  remove.     Affair  adjourned. 

'August  24. — Affair  taken  up  again,  when,  being  heard  at  large, 
it  was  referred  to  the  general  court  of  assize.  Woman  ordered  to 
give  security  for  good  bchavicur,'  etc. 

In  another  place  is  the  following  entry  : 

'  Order  given  for  Katharine  Harryson,  charged  with  witchcraft, 
tc  leave  Westchester,  as  the  inhabitants  are  uneasy  at  her  residing 
there,  and  she  is  ordered  to  go  off,' 


country,  with  a  line  of  rocky  hills' extending  through 
it,  like  a  back  bone,  sending  ribs  on  either  side  ;  but 
among  these  rude  hills  are  beautiful  winding  valleys, 
like  those  watered  by  the  Pocaniico  and  the  Neperan. 
In  the  fastnesses  of  these  hills,  and  along  these  val- 
leys, exist  a  race  of  hard-headed,  hard-handed,  stout- 
hearted Dutchmen,  descendants  of  the  primitive 
Nederlanders.  Most  of  these  were  strong  whigs 
throughout  the  war,  and  have  ever  reinained  obsti- 
nately att,ached  to  the  soil,  and  neither  to  be  fought 
nor  bought  out  of  their  paternal  acres.  Others  were 
tories,  and  adherents  to  the  old  kingly  rule  ;  some  of 
whom  took  refuge  within  the  British  lines,  joined  the 
royal  bands  of  refugees,  a  name  odious  to  the  .Ameri- 
can ear,  and  occasionally  returned  to  harass  their 
ancient  neighbors. 

In  a  little  while,  this  debateable  land  was  overrun 
by  predatory  bands  from  either  side ;  sacking  hen- 
roosts, plundering  farm-houses,  and  driving  off  cat- 
tle. Hence  arose  those  two  great  orders  of  border 
chivalry,  the  Skinners  and  the  Cow-boys,  famous  in 
the  heroic  annals  of  Westchester  county.  The  former 
fought,  or  rather  marauded,  under  the  American,  the 
latter  under  the  British  banner ;  but  both,  in  the 
hurry  of  their  military  ardor,  were  apt  to  err  on  the 
safe  side,  and  rob  friend  as  well  as  foe.  Neither  of 
them  stopped  to  ask  the  politics  of  horse  or  cow, 
which  they  drove  into  captivity ;  nor,  when  they 
wrung  the  neck  of  a  rooster,  did  they  trouble  their 
heads  to  ascertain  whether  he  were  crowing  for 
Congress  or  King  George. 

While  this  marauding  system  prevailed  on  shore, 
the  Great  Tappan  Sea,  which  washes  this  belliger- 
ent region,  was  domineered  over  by  British  frigates 
and  other  vessels  of  war,  anchored  here  and  there, 
to  keep  an  eye  upon  the  river,  and  maintain  a  com- 
munication between  the  various  military  posts.  Stout 
galleys,  also,  arined  with  eighteen-pounders,  and  nav- 
igated with  sails  and  oars,  cruised  about  like  hawks, 
ready  to  pounce  upon  their  prey. 

All  these  were  eyed  with  bitter  hostility  by  the 
Dutch  yeomanry  along  shore,  who  were  indignant  at 
seeing  their  great  Mediterranean  ploughed  by  hos- 
tile prows  ;  and  would  occasionally  throw  up  a  mud 
breast-work  on  a  point  or  promontory,  mount  an  old 
iron  field-piece,  and  fire  away  at  the  enemy,  though 
the  greatest  harm  was  apt  to  happen  to  themselves 
from  the  bursting  of  their  ordnance  ;  nay,  there  was 
scarce  a  Dutchman  along  the  river  that  would  hesi- 
tate to  fire  with  his  long  duck  gun  at  any  British 
cruiser  that  came  within  reach,  as  he  had  been  ac- 
customed to  fire  at  water-fowl. 

I  have  been  thus  particular  in  my  account  of  the 
times  and  neighborhood,  that  the  reader  might  the 
more  readily  comprehend  the  surrounding  dangers  in 
this  the  Heroic  Age  of  the  Roost. 

It  was  commanded  at  the  time,  as  I  have  already 
observed,  by  the  stout  Jacob  Van  Tassel.  As  I  wish 
to  be  extremely  accurate  in  this  part  of  my  chronicle, 
I  beg  that  this  Jacob  Van  Tassel  of  the  Roost  may 
not  be  confounded  with  another  Jacob  Van  Tassel, 
coiTimonly  known  in  border  story  by  the  name  of 
'Clump-footed  Jake,'  a  noted  tory,  and  one  of  the 
refugee  band  of  Spiting  Devil.  On  the  contrary,  he 
of  the  Roost  was  a  patriot  of  the  first  water,  and,  if 
we  may  take  his  own  word  for  granted,  a  thorn  in 
the  side  of  the  enemy.  As  the  Roost,  from  its  lonely 
situation  on  the  water's  edge,  might  be  liable  to  at- 
tack, he  took  ineasures  for  defence.  On  a  row  of 
hooks  above  his  fire-place,  reposed  his  great  piece  of 
ordnance,  ready  charged  and  primed  for  action.  This 
was  a  duck,  or  rather  goose-gun,  of  unparalleled  longi- 
tude, with  which  it  was  said  he  could  kill  a  wild 
goose,  though  half-way  across  the  Tappan  Sea.  In- 
deed, there  are  as  many  wonders  told  of  this  renown- 


810 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


ed  gun,  as  of  the  enchanted  weapons  of  the  heroes 
of  classic  story. 

In  different  parts  of  the  stone  walls  of  his  mansion, 
he  had  made  loop-lioles,  through  which  he  might  fire 
upon  an  assailant.  His  wife  was  stout-hearted  as 
himself,  and  could  load  as  fast  as  he  could  fire  ;  and 
then  he  had  an  ancient  and  redoubtable  sister,  No- 
chie  Van  Wurmcr,  a  match,  as  he  said,  for  the  stout- 
est man  in  the  country.  Thus  garrisoned,  the  little 
Roost  was  fit  to  stand  a  siege,  and  Jacob  Van  Tassel 
was  the  man  to  defend  it  to  the  last  charge  of  powder. 

He  was,  as  I  have  already  hinted,  of  pugnacious 
propensities ;  and,  not  content  with  being  a  patriot 
at  home,  and  fighting  for  the  security  of  his  own  fire- 
side, he  extended  his  thoughts  abroad,  and  entered 
into  a  confederacy  with  certain  of  the  bold,  hard- 
riding  lads  of  Tarrytown,  Petticoat  Lane,  and  Sleepy 
Hollow,  who  formed  a  kind  of  Holy  Brotherhood, 
scouring  the  country  to  clear  it  of  Skinner  and  Cow- 
bow,  and  all  other  border  vermin.  The  Roost  was 
one  of  their  rallying  points.  Did  a  band  of  marauders 
from  Manhattan  island  come  sweeping  through  the 
neighborhood,  and  driving  off  cattle,  the  stout  Jacob 
and  his  compeers  were  soon  clattering  at  their  heels, 
and  fortunate  did  the  rogues  esteem  themselves  if 
they  could  but  get  a  part  of  their  booty  across  the 
lines,  or  escape  themselves  without  a  rough  handling. 
Should  the  mosstroopers  succeed  in  passing  with 
their  cavalgada,  with  thundering  tramp  and  dusty 
whirlwind,  .across  Kingsbridge,  the  Holy  Brother- 
hood of  the  Roost  would  rein  up  at  that  perilous 
pass,  and,  wheeling  about,  would  indemnify  them- 
selves by  foraging  the  refugee  region  of  Morrisania. 

When  at  home  at  the  Roost,  the  stout  Jacob  was 
not  idle  ;  but  was  prone  to  carry  on  a  petty  warfare 
of  his  own,  for  his  private  recreation  and  refresh- 
ment. Did  he  ever  chance  to  espy,  from  his  look-out 
place,  a  hostile  ship  or  galley  anchored  or  becalmed 
near  shore,  he  would  take  down  his  long  goose- 
gun  from  the  hooks  over  the  fire-place,  sally  out 
alone,  and  lurk  along  shore,  dodging  behind  rocks 
and  trees,  and  watching  for  hours  together,  like  a 
veteran  mouser  intent  on  a  rat-hole.  So  sure  as  a 
boat  put  off  for  shore,  and  came  within  shot,  bang  ! 
went  the  great  goose-gun  ;  a  shower  of  slugs  and 
buck-shot  whistled  about  the  ears  of  the  enemy,  and 
lx:fore  the  boat  could  reach  the  shore,  Jacob  had 
scuttled  up  some  woody  ravine,  and  left  no  trace 
behind. 

About  this  time,  the  Roost  experienced  a  vast  ac- 
cession of  warlike  importance,  in  being  made  one  of 
the  stations  of  the  water-guard.  This  was  a  kind  of 
aquatic  corps  of  observation,  composed  of  long,  sharp, 
canoe-sha])ed  boats,  technically  called  whale-boats, 
that  lay  lightly  on  the  water,  and  could  be  rowed 
with  great  rapidity.  They  were  manned  by  resolute 
fellows,  skilled  at  pulling  an  oar,  or  handling  a  mus- 
ket. These  lurked  about  in  nooks  and  bays,  and  be- 
hind those  long  promontories  which  run  out  into  the 
Tappan  Sea,  keeping  a  look-out,  to  give  notice  of  the 
approach  or  movements  of  hostile  ships.  They  roved 
about  in  pairs ;  sometimes  at  night,  with  muffled 
oars,  gliding  like  spectres  about  frigates  and  guard- 
ships  riding  at  anchor,  cutting  «ff  any  boats  that 
made  for  shore,  and  keeping  the  enemy  in  constant 
uneasiness.  These  musquito-cruisers  generally  kept 
aloof  by  day,  so  th.at  their  harboring  places  might 
not  be  discovered,  but  would  pull  quietly  along,  un- 
der shadow  of  the  shore,  at  night,  to  take  up  their 
quarters  at  the  Roost.  Hither,  at  such  time,  would 
also  repair  the  hard-riding  lads  of  the  hills,  to  hold 
secret  councils  of  war  with  the  '  ocean  chivalry  ; '  and 
in  these  nocturnal  meetings  were  concerted  many  of 
those  daring  forays,  by  land  and  water,  that  re- 
sounded throughout  the  border. 


The  chronicle  here  goes  on  to  recount  divers 
wonderful  stories  of  the  wars  of  the  Roost,  frotn 
which  it  would  seem,  that  this  little  warrior  nest 
carried  the  terror  of  its  arms  into  every  sea,  from 
Spiting  Devil  Creek  to  Antony's  Nose ;  that  it  even 
bearded  the  stout  island  of  Manhattan,  invading  it  at 
night,  penetrating  to  its  centre,  and  burning  down 
the  famous  Delancey  house,  the  conflagration  of 
which  makes  such  a  blaze  in  revolutionary  history. 
Nay  more,  in  their  extravagant  daring,  these  cocks 
of  the  Roost  meditated  a  nocturnal  descent  upon 
New  York  itself,  to  swoop  upon  the  British  com- 
manders, Howe  and  Clinton,  by  surprise,  bear  them 
off  captive,  and  perhaps  put  a  triumphant  close  to 
the  war  ! 

All  these  and  many  similar  exploits  are  recorded 
by  the  worthy  Diedrich,  with  his  usual  minuteness 
and  enthusiasm,  whenever  the  deeds  in  arms  of  his 
kindred  Dutchmen  are  in  question  ;  but  though  most 
of  these  warlike  stories  rest  upon  the  best  of  all 
authority,  that  of  the  warriors  themselves,  and 
though  many  of  them  are  still  current  among  the 
revolutionary  patriarchs  of  this  heroic  neighbourhood, 
yet  1  dare  not  expose  them  to  the  incredulity  of  j. 
tamer  and  less  chivalric  age.  Suffice  it  to  say,  the 
frequent  gatherings  at  the  Roost,  and  the  hardy 
projects  set  on  foot  there,  at  length  drew  on  it  the 
fiery  indignation  of  the  enemy ;  and  this  was  quick- 
ened by  the  conduct  of  the  stout  Jacob  Van  Tassel ; 
with  vvhose  valorous  achievements  we  resume  the 
course  of  the  chronicle. 


This  doughty  Dutchman,  continues  the  sage 
Diedrich  Knickerbocker,  was  not  content  with 
taking  a  share  in  all  the  magnanimous  enterprises 
concocted  at  the  Roost,  but  still  continued  his  petty 
warfare  along  shore.  A  series  of  exploits  at  length 
raised  his  confidence  in  his  prowess  to  such  a  height, 
that  he  began  to  think  himself  and  his  goose-gun  a 
match  for  any  thing.  Unluckily,  in  the  course  of  one 
of  his  prowlings,  he  descried  a  British  transport 
aground,  not  fir  from  shore,  with  her  stern  swung 
toward  the  land,  within  point-blank  shot.  The 
temptation  was  too  great  to  be  resisted  ;  bang !  as 
usual,  went  the  great  goose-gun,  shivering  the  cabin 
windows,  and  driving  all  hands  forward.  Bang  ! 
bang !  the  shots  were  repeated.  The  reports  brought 
several  sharp-shooters  of  the  neighbourhood  to  the 
spot ;  before  the  transport  could  bring  a  gun  to  bear, 
or  land  a  boat,  to  take  revenge,  she  was  soundly 
peppered,  and  the  coast  evacuated.  This  was  the 
last  of  Jacob's  triumphs.  He  fared  like  some  heroic 
spider,  that  has  unwittingly  ensnared  a  hornet,  to 
his  immortal  glory,  perhaps,  but  to  the  utter  ruin  of 
his  web. 

It  was  not  long  after  this,  during  the  absence  of 
Jacob  Van  Tassel  on  one  of  his  forays,  and  when  no 
one  was  in  garrison  but  his  stout-hearted  spouse,  his 
redoubtable  sister,  Nochie  Van  Wuriner,  and  a 
strapping  negro  wench,  called  Dinah,  that  an  armed 
vessel  came  to  anchor  off  the  Roost,  and  a  boat  full 
of  men  pulled  to  shore.  The  garrison  flew  to  arms, 
that  is  to  say,  to  mops,  broom-sticks,  shovels,  tongs, 
and  all  kinds  of  domestic  weapons ;  for,  unluckily, 
the  great  piece  of  ordnance,  the  goose-gun,  was 
absent  with  its  owner.  Above  all,  a  vigorous  de- 
fence was  made  with  that  most  potent  of  female 
weapons,  the  tongue.  Never  did  invaded  hen-roost 
make  a  more  vociferous  outcry.  It  was  all  in  vain. 
The  house  was  sacked  and  plundered,  fire  was  set 
to  each  corner,  and  in  a  few  moments  its  blaze  shed 
a  baleful  light  far  over' the  Tappan  Sea.  The  in- 
vaders then  pounced  upon  the  blooming  Laney  Van 
Tassel,  the  beauty  of  the  Roost,  and  endeavored  to 
bear  her  off  to  the  boat.     But  here  was  the  real  tug 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


811 


of  war.  The  mother,  the  aunt,  and  the  strapping 
negro  wench,  all  ti^w  to  the  rescue.  The  struggle 
continued  down  to  the  very  water's  edge ;  when  a 
voice  from  the  armed  vessel  at  anchor,  ordered  the 
spoilers  to  let  go  their  hold  ;  they  relinquished  their 
prize,  jumped  into  their  boats,  and  pulled  off,  and 
the  heroine  of  the  Roost  escaped  with  a  mere  rum- 
pling of  the  feathers. 


The  fear  of  tiring  my  readers,  who  may  not  take 
such  an  interest  as  myself  in  these  heroic  themes, 
induces  me  to  close  here  my  extracts  from  this  pre- 
cious chronicle  of  the  venerable  Diedrich.  Suffice  it 
briefly  to  say,  that  shortly  after  the  catastrophe  of 
the  Roost,  Jacob  Van  Tassel,  in  the  course  of  one 
of  his  forays,  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  British  ;  was 
sent  prisoner  to  New  York,  and  was  detained  in 
captivity  for  the  greater  part  of  the  war.  In  the 
mean  time,  the  Roost  remained  a  melancholy  ruin  ; 
its  stone  walls  and  brick  chimneys  alone  standing, 
blackened  by  fire,  and  the  resort  of  bats  and  owlets. 
It  was  not  until  the  return  of  peace,  when  this  bel- 
ligerent neighborhood  once  more  resumed  its  quiet 
agricultural  pursuits,  that  the  stout  Jacob  sought  the 
scene  of  his  triumphs  and  disasters  ;  rebuilt  the 
Roost,  and  reared  again  on  high  its  glittering 
weather-cocks. 

Does  any  one  want  farther  particulars  of  the  for- 
tunes of  this  eventful  little  pile .'  Let  him  go  to  the 
fountain-head,  and  drink  deep  of  historic  truth. 
Reader  !  the  stout  Jacob  Van  Tassel  still  lives,  a 
venerabje,  gray-headed  patriarch  of  the  revolution, 
now  in  his  ninety-fifth  year!  He  sits  by  his  fire- 
side, in  the  ancient  city  of  the  Manhattoes,  and 
passes  the  long  winter  evenings,  surrounded  by  his 
children,  and  grand-children,  and  great-grand-chil- 
dren, all  listening  to  his  tales  of  the  border  wars, 
and  the  heroic  days  of  the  Roost.  His  great  goose- 
gun,  too,  is  still  in  existence,  having  been  preserved 
for  many  years  in  a  hollow  tree,  and  passed  from 
hand  to  hand  among  the  Dutch  burghers,  as  a  pre- 
cious relique  of  the  revolution.  It  is  now  actually 
in  possession  of  a  contemporary  of  the  stout  Jacob, 
one  almost  his  equal  in  years,  who  treasures  it  up  at 
his  house  in  the  Bowerie  of  New-Amsterdam,  hard 
by  the  ancient  rural  retreat  of  the  chivalric  Peter 
.Stuyvesant.  1  am  not  without  hopes  of  one  day  see- 
ing this  formidable  piece  of  ordnance  restored  to  its 
proper  station  in  the  arsenal  of  the  Roost. 

Before  closing  this  historic  document,  I  cannot 
but  advert  to  certain  notions  and  traditions  concern- 
ing the  venerable  pile  in  question.  Old-time  edifices 
are  apt  to  gather  odd  fancies  and  superstitions  about 
them,  as  they  do  moss  and  weather-stains  ;  and  this 
is  in  a  neighbourhood  a  little  given  to  old-fashioned 
notions,  and  who  look  upon  the  Roost  as  somewhat 
of  a  fated  mansion.  A  lonely,  rambling,  down-hill 
lane  leads  to  it,  overhung  with  trees,  with  a  wild 
brook  dashing  along,  and  crossing  and  re-crossing 
it.  This  lane  I  found  some  of  the  good  people  of 
the  neighborhood  shy  of  treading  at  night  ;  why,  I 
could  not  for  a  long  time  ascertain  ;  until  I  learned 
that  one  or  two  of  the  rovers  of  the  Tappan  Sea, 
s  lot  by  the  stout  Jacob  during  the  war,  had  been 
buried  hereabout,  in  unconsecrated  ground. 

Another  local  superstition  is  of  a  less  gloomy 
kind,  and  one  which  I  confess  I  am  somewhat  dis- 
posed to  cherish.  The  Tappan  Sea,  in  front  of  the 
Roost,  is  about  three  miles  wide,  bordered  by  a  lofty 
line  of  waving  and  rocky  hills.  Often,  in  the  still 
twilight  of  a  summer  evening,  when  the  sea  is  like 
glass,  with  the  opposite  hills  throwing  their  purple 
shadows  half  across  it,  a  low  sound  is  heard,  as  of 
the  steady,  vigorous  pull  of  oars,  far  out  in  the  mid- 


dle of  the  stream,  though  not  a  boat  is  to  be  de- 
scried. This  I  should  have  been  apt  to  ascribe  to 
some  boat  rowed  along  under  the  shadows  of  the 
western  shore,  for  sounds  are  conveyed  to  a  great 
distance  by  water,  at  such  quiet  hours,  and  I  can 
distinctly  hear  the  baying  of  the  watch-dogs  at  night, 
from  the  farms  on  the  sides  of  the  opposite  mount- 
ains. The  ancient  traditionists  of  the  neighbor- 
hood, however,  religiously  ascribed  these  sounds  to  a 
judgment  upon  one  Rumbout  Van  Dam,  of  Spiting 
Devil,  who  danced  and  drank  late  one  Saturday 
night,  at  a  Dutch  quilting  frolic,  at  Kakiat,  and  set 
off  alone  for  home  in  his  boat,  on  the  verge  of  Sun- 
day morning ;  swearing  he  would  not  land  till  he 
reached  Spiting  Devil,  if  it  took  him  a  month  of 
Sundays.  He  was  never  seen  afterward,  but  is  often 
heard  plying  his  oars  across  the  Tappan  Sea,  a  Fly- 
ing Dutchman  on  a  small  scale,  suited  to  the  size  of 
his  cruising-ground  ;  being  doomed  to  ply  between 
Kakiat  and  Spiting  Devil  till  the  day  of  judgment, 
but  never  to  reach  the  land. 

There  is  one  room  in  the  mansion  which  almost 
overhangs  the  river,  and  is  reputed  to  be  haunted  by 
the  ghost  of  a  young  lady  who  died  of  love  and 
green  apples.  I  have  been  awakened  at  night  by 
the  sound  of  oars  and  the  tinkling  of  guitars  be- 
neath the  window  ;  and  seeing  a  boat  loitering  in  the 
moonlight,  have  been  tempted  to  believe  it  the  Fly- 
ing Dutchma.n  of  Spiting  Devil,  and  to  try  whether 
a  silver  bullet  might  not  put  an  end  to  his  unhappy 
cruisings  ;  but,  happening  to  recollect  that  there  was 
a  living  young  lady  in  the  haunted  room,  who  might 
be  terrified  by  the  report  of  fire-arms,  I  have  re- 
frained from  pulling  trigger. 

As  to  the  enchanted  fountain,  said  to  have  been 
gifted  by  the  wizard  sachem  with  su])ernatural  pow- 
ers, it  still  wells  up  at  the  foot  of  the  bank,  on  the 
margin  of  the  river,  and  goes  by  the  name  of  the 
Indian  spring;  but  I  have  my  doubts  as  to  its  re- 
juvenating powers,  for  though  I  have  drank  oft  and 
copiously  of  it,  I  cannot  boast  that  I  find  myself 
growing  younger. 

Geoffrey  Crayon. 


SLEEPy  HOLLOW. 

BY  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GENT. 


Having  pitched  my  tent,  probably  for  the  re- 
mainder of  my  days,  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Sleepy  Hollow,  I  am  tempted  to  give  some  few  par- 
ticulars concerning  that  spell-bound  region  ;  espec- 
ially as  it  has  risen  to  historic  importance  under  the 
pen  of  my  revered  friend  and  master,  the  sage-his- 
torian of  the  New  Netherlands.  Beside,  I  find  the 
very  existence  of  the  place  has  been  held  in  question 
by  many ;  who,  judging  from  its  odd  name  and  from 
the  odd  stories  current  among  the  vulgar  concerning 
it,  have  rashly  deemed  the  whole  to  be  a  fanciful 
creation,  like  the  Lubber  Land  of  mariners.  I  must 
confess  there  is  some  apparent  cause  for  doubt,  in 
consequence  of  the  colouring  given  by  the  worthy 
Diedrich  to  his  descriptions  of  the  Hollow  ;  who,  in 
this  instance,  has  departed  a  little  from  his  usually 
sober  if  not  severe  style ;  beguiled,  very  probably, 
by  his  predilection  for  the  haunts  of  his  youth,  and 
by  a  certain  lurking  taint  of  romance  whenever  any 
thing  connected  with  the  Dutch  was  to  be  described. 
I  shall  endeavor  to  make  up  for  this  amiable  error 
on  the  part  of  my  venerable  and  venerated  friend  by 
presenting  the  reader  with  a  more  precise  and  sta- 


81^ 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


tistical  account  of  the  Hollow ;  though  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  shall  not  be  prone  to  lapse  in  the  end 
into  the  very  error  I  am  speaking  of,  so  potent  is  the 
witchery  of  the  theme. 

I  believe  it  was  the  very  peculiarity  of  its  name 
and  the  idea  of  something-  mystic  and  dreamy  con- 
nected with  it  that  first  led  me  in  my  boyish  ram- 
blings  into  Sleepy  Hollow.  The  character  of  the  valley 
seemed  to  answer  to  the  name  ;  the  slumber  of  past 
ages  apparently  reigned  over  it ;  it  had  not  awakened 
to  the  stir  of  improvement  which  had  put  all  the  rest 
of  the  world  in  a  bustle.  Here  reigned  good,  old 
long-forgotten  fashions ;  the  men  were  in  home-spun 
garbs,  evidently  the  product  of  their  own  farms  and 
the  manufacture  of  their  own  wives ;  the  women 
were  in  primitive  short  gowns  and  petticoats,  with 
the  venerable  sun-bonnets  of  Holland  origin.  The 
lower  part  of  the  valley  was  cut  up  into  small  farms, 
each  consisting  of  a  little  meadow  and  corn-field  ; 
an  orchard  of  sprawling,  gnarled  apple-trees,  and  a 
garden,  where  the  rose,  the  marigold,  and  the  holly- 
hock were  permitted  to  skirt  the  domains  of  the  ca- 
pacious cabbage,  the  aspiring  pea,  and  the  portly 
pumpkin.  Each  had  its  prolific  little  mansion  teem- 
ing with  children ;  with  an  old  hat  nailed  against  the 
wall  for  the  housekeeping  wren;  a  motherly  hen, 
under  a  coop  on  the  grass-plot,  clucking  to  keep 
around  her  a  brood  of  vagrant  chickens;  a  cool, 
stone  well,  with  the  moss-covered  bucket  suspended 
to  the  long  balancing-pole,  according  to  the  antedi- 
luvian idea  of  hydraulics ;  and  its  spinning-wheel 
humming  within  doors,  the  patriarchal  music  of 
home  manufacture. 

The  Hollow  at  that  time  was  inhabited  by  fam- 
ilies which  had  existed  there  from  the  earliest  times, 
and  which,  by  frequent  intermarriage,  had  become 
so  interwoven,  as  to  make  a  kind  of  natural  com- 
monwealth. As  the  families  had  grown  larger  the 
farms  had  grown  smaller  ;  every  new  generation  re- 
quiring a  new  subdivision,  and  few  thinking  of 
swarming  from  the  native  hive.  In  this  way  that 
happy  golden  mean  had  been  produced,  so  much  ex- 
tolled by  the  poets,  in  which  there  was  no  gold  and 
very  little  silver.  One  thing  which  doubtless  con- 
tributed to  keep  up  this  amiable  mean  was  a  general 
repugnance  to  sordid  labor.  The  sage  inhabitants 
of  Sleepy  Hollow  had  read  in  their  Bible,  which  was 
the  only  book  they  studied,  that  labor  was  originally 
inflicted  upon  man  as  a  punishment  of  sin  ;  they  re- 
garded it,  therefore,  with  pious  abhorrence,  and 
never  humiliated  themselves  to  it  but  in  cases  of 
extremity.  There  seemed,  in  fact,  to  be  a  league 
and  covenant  against  it  throughout  the  Hollow  as 
against  a  common  enemy.  Was  any  one  compelled 
by  dire  necessity  to  repair  his  house,  mend  his 
fences,  build  a  barn,  or  get  in  a  harvest,  he  consid- 
ered it  a  great  evil  that  entitled  him  to  call  in  the 
assistance  of  his  friends.  He  accordingly  pro- 
claimed a  '  bee '  or  rustic  gathering,  whereupon 
all  his  neighbors  hurried  to  his  aid  like  faithful  al- 
lies;  attacked  the  task  with  the  desperate  energy 
of  lazy  men  eager  to  overcome  a  job  ;  and,  when  it 
was  accomplished,  fell  to  eating  and  drinking,  fid- 
dling and  dancing  for  very  joy  that  so  great  an 
amount  of  labor  had  been  vanquished  with  so  little 
sweating  of  the  brow. 

Yet,  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  this  worthy  com- 
munity was  without  its  periods  of  arduous  activity. 
Let  but  a  flock  of  wild  pigeons  fly  across  the  valley 
and  all  Sleepy  Hollow  was  wide  awake  in  an  instant. 
The  pigeon  season  had  arrived  !  Every  gun  and  net 
was  forthwith  in  requisition.  The  flail  was  thrown 
down  on  the  barn  floor ;  the  spade  rusted  in  the  gar- 
den ;  the  plough  stood  idle  in  the  furrow ;  every  one 
was  to  the  hill-side  and  stubble-field  at  daybreak  to 


shoot  or  entrap  the  pigeons  in  their  periodical  mi- 
grations. 

So,  likewise,  let  but  the  word  be  given  that  the 
shad  were  ascending  the  Hudson,  and  the  worthies 
of  the  Hollow  were  to  be  seen  launched  in  boats 
upon  the  river  setting  great  stakes,  and  stretching 
their  nets  like  gigantic  spider-webs  half  across  the 
stream  to  the  great  annoyance  of  navigators.  Such 
are  the  wise  provisions  of  Nature,  by  which  she 
equalizes  rural  affairs.  A  laggard  at  the  plough  is 
often  extremely  industrious  with  the  fowling-piece 
and  fishing-net ;  and,  whenever  a  man  is  an  indifter- 
ent  fartner,  he  is  apt  to  be  a  first-rate  sportsman. 
For  catching  shad  and  wild  pigeons  there  were  none 
throughout  the  country  to  compare  with  the  lads  of 
Sleepy  Hollow. 

As  I  have  observed,  it  was  the  dreamy  nature  ol 
the  name  that  first  beguiled  ine  in  the  holiday  rov- 
ings  of  boyhood  into  this  sequestered  region.  I 
shunned,  however,  the  populous  parts  of  the  Hollow, 
and  sought  its  retired  haunts  far  in  the  foldings  of 
the  hills,  where  the  Pocantico  '  winds  its  wizard 
stream  '  sometimes  silently  and  darkly  through  sol- 
emn woodlands ;  sometimes  sparkling  between 
grassy  borders  in  fresh,  green  meadows ;  some- 
times stealing  along  the  feet  of  rugged  heights  un- 
der the  balancing  sprays  of  beech  and  chestnut 
trees.  A  thousand  crystal  springs,  with  which  this 
neighborhood  abounds,  sent  down  from  the  hill-sides 
their  whimpering  rills,  as  if  to  pay  tribute  to  the  Po- 
cantico. In  this  stream  I  first  essayed  my  unskilful 
hand  at  angling.  I  loved  to  loiter  along  it  with  rod 
in  hand,  watching  my  float  as  it  whirled  amid  the 
eddies  or  drifted  into  dark  holes  under  twisted  roots 
and  sunken  logs,  where  the  largest  fish  are  apt  to 
lurk.  I  delighted  to  follow  it  into  the  brown  re- 
cesses of  the  woods ;  to  throw  by  my  fishing-gear 
and  sit  upon  rocks  beneath  towering  oaks  and  clam- 
bering grape-vines ;  bathe  my  feet  in  the  cool  cur- 
rent, and  listen  to  the  summer  breeze  playing  among 
the  tree-tops.  My  boyish  fancy  clothed  all  nature 
around  me  with  ideal  charms,  and  peopled  it  with 
the  fairy  beings  I  had  read  of  in  poetry  and  fable. 
Here  it  was  1  gave  full  scope  to  my  incipient  habit 
of  day-dreaming,  and,  to  a  certain  propensity,  to 
weave  up  and  tint  sober  realities  with  my  own 
whims  and  imaginings,  which  has  sometimes  made 
life  a  little  too  much  like  an  Arabian  tale  to  me,  and 
this  '  vv'orking-day  world  '  rather  like  a  region  of  ro- 
mance. 

The  great  gathering-place  of  Sleepy  Hollow  in 
those  days  was  the  church.  It  stood  outside  of  the 
Hollow,  near  the  great  highway,  on  a  green  bank 
shaded  by  trees,  with  the  Pocantico  sweeping  round 
it  and  emptying  itself  into  a  spacious  mill-pond.  At 
that  time  the  Sleepy  Hollow  church  v.'as  the  only 
place  of  worship  for  a  wide  neighborhood.  It  was 
a  venerable  edifice,  partly  of  stone  and  partly  of 
brick,  the  latter  having  been  brought  from  Holland 
in  the  early  days  of  the  province,  before  the  arts  in 
the  New  Netherlands  could  aspire  to  such  a  fabrica- 
tion. On  a  stone  above  the  porch  were  inscribed 
the  names  of  the  founders,  p'rederick  Filipsen,  a 
mighty  patroon  of  the  olden  time,  who  reigned  over 
a  wide  extent  of  this  neighborhood  and  held  his  seat 
of  power  at  Yonkers ;  and  his  wile,  Katrina  Van 
Courtlandt,  of  the  no  less  potent  line  of  the  Van 
Courtlandts  of  Croton,  who  lorded  it  over  a  great 
part  of  the  Highlands. 

The  capacious  pulpit,  with  its  wide-spreading 
sounding-board,  were  likewise  early  importations 
from  Holland ;  as  also  the  communion-table,  of 
massive  form  and  curious  fabric.  The  same  might 
be  said  of  a  weather-cock  perched  on  top  of  the  bel- 
fry, and  which  was  considered  orthodox  in  all  windy 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


813 


mi'ters,  until  a  small  pragmatical  rival  was  set  up 
on  ihe  other  end  of  the  church  above  the  chancel. 
This  latter  bore,  and  still  bears,  the  initials  of  Fred- 
erick Filipsen,  and  assumed  great  airs  in  conse- 
quence. The  usual  contradiction  ensued  that  al- 
ways exists  among  church  weather-cocks,  which  can 
never  be  brought  to  agree  as  to  the  pomt  from  which 
the  wind  blows,  having  doubtless  acquired,  from 
their  position,  the  christian  propensity  to  schism 
and  controversy. 

Behind  the  church,  and  sloping  up  a  gentle  accliv- 
ity, was  its  capacious  burying-ground,  in  which  slept 
the  earliest  fathers  of  this  rural  neighborhood.  Here 
were  tombstones  of  the  rudest  sculpture  ;  on  which 
were  inscribed,  in  Dutch,  the  names  and  virtues  of 
many  of  the  first  settlers,  with  their  portraitures  cu- 
riously carved  in  similitude  of  cherubs.  Long  rows 
of  grave-stones,  side  by  side,  of  similar  names,  but 
various  dates,  showed  that  generation  after  genera- 
lion  of  the  same  families  had  followed  each  other 
and  been  garnered  together  in  this  last  gathering- 
place  of  kindred. 

Let  me  speak  of  this  quiet  grave-yard  with  all  due 
reverence,  for  I  owe  it  amends  for  the  heedlessness 
of  my  boyish  days.  I  blush  to  acknowledge  the 
thoughtless  frolic  with  which,  in  company  with  other 
whipsters,  I  have  sported  within  its  sacred  bounds 
during  the  intervals  of  worship  ;  chasing  butterflies, 
plucking  wild  flowers,  or  vieing  with  each  other  who 
could  leap  over  the  tallest  tomb-stones,  until  checked 
by  the  stern  voice  of  the  sexton. 

The  congregation  was,  in  those  days,  of  a  really 
rural  character.  City  fashions  were  as  yet  unknown, 
or  unregarded,  by  the  country  people  of  the  neigh- 
borhood. Steam-boats  had  not  as  yet  confounded 
town  with  country.  A  weekly  market-boat  from 
Tarrytown,  the  '  Fanners'  Daughter,'  navigated  by 
the  worthy  Gabriel  Requa,  was  the  only  communi- 
cation between  all  these  parts  and  the  metropolis. 
A  rustic  belle  in  those  days  considered  a  visit  to  the 
city  in  much  the  same  light  as  one  of  our  modern 
fashionable  ladies  regards  a  visit  to  Europe  ;  an 
event  that  may  possibly  take  place  once  in  the  course 
of  a  life-time,  but  to  be  hoped  for,  rather  than  ex- 
pected. Hence  the  array  of  the  congregation  was 
chiefly  after  the  primitive  fashions  existing  in  Sleepy 
Hollow ;  or  if,  by  chance,  there  was  a  departure 
from  the  Dutch  sun-bonnet,  or  the  apparition  of  a 
bright  gown  of  flowered  calico,  it  caused  quite  a 
sensation  throughout  the  church.  As  the  dominie 
generally  preached  by  the  hour,  a  bucket  of  water 
was  providently  placed  on  a  bench  near  the  door,  in 
summer,  with  a  tin  cup  beside  it,  for  the  solace  of 
those  who  might  be  athirst,  either  from  the  heat  of 
the  weather,  or  the  drouth  of  the  sermon. 

Around  the  pulpit,  and  behind  the  communion- 
table, sat  the  eiders  of  the  church,  reverend,  gray- 
headed,  leathern-visaged  men,  whom  1  regarded 
with  awe,  as  so  many  apostles.  They  were  stern  in 
their  sanctity,  kept  a  vigilant  eye  upon  my  giggling 
companions  and  myself,  and  shook  a  rebuking  finger 
at  any  boyish  device  to  relieve  the  tediousness  of 
compulsory  devotion.  Vain,  however,  were  all  their 
efforts  at  vigilance.  Scarcely  had  the  preacher  held 
forth  for  half  an  hour,  on  one  of  his  interminable 
sermons,  than  it  seemed  as  if  the  drowsy  influence 
of  Sleepy  Hollow  breathed  into  the  place ;  one  by 
one  the  congregation  sank  into  slumber  ;  the  sanc- 
tified elders  leaned  back  in  their  pews,  spreading 
their  handkerchiefs  over  their  faces,  as  if  to  keep  off 
the  flies  ;  while  the  locusts  in  the  neighboring  trees 
would  spin  out  their  sultry  summer  notes,  as  if  in 
imitation  of  the  sleep-provoking  tones  of  the  domi- 
nie. 

I  have  thus  endeavored  to  give  an  idea  of  Sleepy 


Hollow  and  its  church,  as  I  recollect  them  to  have 
been  in  the  days  of  my  boyhood.  It  was  in  my 
stripling  days,  when  a  few  years  had  passed  over 
my  head,  that  I  revisited  them,  in  company  with  the 
venerable  Diedrich.  I  shall  never  forget  the  anti- 
quarian reverence  with  which  that  sage  and  excellent 
man  contemplated  the  church.  It  seemed  as  if  all 
his  pious  enthusiasm  for  the  ancient  Dutch  dynasty 
swelled  within  his  bosom  at  the  sight.  The  tears 
stood  in  his  eyes,  as  he  regarded  the  pulpit  and  the 
communion-table  ;  even  the  very  bricks  that  had 
come  from  the  mother  country,  seemed  to  touch  a 
filial  chord  within  his  bosom.  He  almost  bowed  in 
deference  to  the  stone  above  the  porch,  containing 
the  names  of  Frederick  Filipsen  and  Katrina  Van 
Courtlandt,  regarding  it  as  the  linking  together  of 
those  patronymic  names,  once  so  famous  along  the 
banks  of  the  Hudson  ;  or  rather  as  a  key-stone, 
binding  that  mighty  Dutch  family  connexion  of  yore, 
one  foot  of  which  rested  on  Yonkers,  and  the  other 
on  the  Croton.  Nor  did  he  forbear  to  notice  with 
admiration,  the  windy  contest  which  had  been  car- 
ried on,  since  time  immeinorial,  and  with  real  Dutch 
perseverance,  between  the  two  weather-cocks  ; 
though  I  could  easily  perceive  he  coincided  with  the 
one  which  had  come  from  Holland. 

Together  we  paced  the  ample  church-yard.  With 
deep  veneration  would  he  turn  down  the  weeds  and 
brambles  that  obscured  the  modest  brown  grave- 
stones, half  sunk  in  earth,  on  which  were  recorded, 
in  Dutch,  the  names  of  the  patriarchs  of  ancient 
days,  the  Ackers,  the  Van  Tassels,  and  the  Van 
Warts.  As  we  sat  on  one  of  the  tomb-stones,  he 
recounted  to  me  the  exploits  of  many  of  these 
worthies  ;  and  my  heart  smote  me,  when  I  heard  of 
their  great  doings  in  days  of  yore,  to  think  how  heed- 
lessly 1  had  once  sported  over  their  graves. 

From  the  church,  the  venerable  Diedrich  proceed- 
ed in  his  researches  up  the  Hollow.  The  genius  of 
the  place  seemed  to  hail  its  future  historian.  All  nat-- 
ure  was  alive  with  gratulation.  The  quail  whistled 
a  greeting  from  the  corn-field  ;  the  robin  carolled  a 
song  of  praise  from  the  orchard  ;  the  loquacious  cat- 
bird flew  from  bush  to  bush,  with  restless  wing, 
proclaiming  his  approach  in  every  variety  of  note, 
and  anon  would  whisk  about,  and  perk  inquisitively 
into  his  face,  as  if  to  get  a  knowledge  of  his  physi- 
ognomy ;  the  wood-pecker,  also,  tapped  a  tattoo  on 
the  hollow  apple-tree,  and  then  peered  knowingly 
round  the  trunk,  to  see  how  the  great  Diedrich  rel- 
ished his  salutation  ;  while  the  ground-squirel  scamp- 
ered along  the  fence,  and  occasionally  whisked  his 
tail  over  his  head,  by  way  of  a  huzza ! 

The  worthy  Diedrich  pursued  his  researches  in  the 
valley  with  characteristic  devotion  ;  entering  famili- 
arly into  the  various  cottages,  and  gossipping  with 
the  simple  folk,  in  the  style  of  their  own  simplicity. 
1  confess  my  heart  yearned  with  admiration,  to  see 
so  great  a  man,  in  his  eager  quest  after  knowledge, 
humbly  demeaning  himself  to  curry  favor  with  the 
humblest ;  sitting  patiently  on  a  three-legged  stool, 
patting  the  children,  and  taking  a  purring  grimalkin 
on  his  lap,  while  he  conciliated  the  good-will  of  the 
old  Dutch  housewife,  and  drew  from  her  long  ghost 
stories,  spun  out  to  the  humming  accompaniment  of 
her  wheel. 

His  greatest  treasure  of  historic  lore,  however, 
was  discovered  in  an  old  goblin-looking  mill,  situated 
among  rocks  and  waterfalls,  with  clanking  wheels, 
and  rushing  streams,  and  all  kinds  of  uncouth  noises. 
A  horse-shoe,  nailed  to  the  door  to  keep  off  witches 
and  evil  spirits,  showed  that  this  mill  was  subject  to 
awful  visitations.  As  we  approached  it,  an  old 
negro  thrust  his  head,  all  dabbled  with  flour,  out 
of  a  hole  above  the  water-wheel,  and  grinned,  and 


814 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


rolled  Ills  eyes,  and  looked  like  the  very  hobgoblin 
of  the  place.  The  illustrious  Diedrich  fixed  upon 
him,  at  once,  as  the  very  one  to  give  him  that  inval- 
uable kind  of  information  never  to  be  acquired  from 
books.  He  beckoned  him  from  his  nest,  sat  with 
him  by  the  hour  on  a  broken  mill-stone,  by  the  side 
ot  the  waterfall,  heedless  of  the  noise  of  the  water, 
and  the  clatter  of  the  mill ;  and  1  verily  believe  it 
was  to  his  conference  with  this  African  sage,  and 
the  precious  revelations  of  the  good  dame  of  the 
spinning-wheel,  that  we  are  indebted  for  the  surpris- 
ing though  true  history  of  Ichabod  Crane  and  the 
headless  horseman,  which  has  since  astounded  and 
edified  the  world. 

But  I  have  said  enough  of  the  good  old  times  of 
my  youthful  days  ;  let  me  speak  of  the  Hollow  as  I 
found  it,  after  an  absence  of  many  years,  when  it 
was  kindly  given  me  once  more  to  revisit  the  haunts 
of  my  boyhood.  It  was  a  genial  day,  as  I  approach- 
ed that  fated  region.  The  warm  sunshine  was 
tempered  by  a  slight  haze,  so  as  to  give  a  dreamy 
effect  to  the  landscape.  Not  a  breath  of  air  shook 
the  foliage.  The  broad  Tappan  Sea  was  without  a 
ripple,  and  the  sloops,  with  drooping  sails,  slept  on  its 
glassy  bosom.  Columns  of  smoke,  from  burning 
brush-wood,  rose  lazily  from  the  folds  of  the  hills, 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  and  slowly  expand- 
ed in  mid-air.  The  distant  lowing  of  a  cow,  or  the 
noontide  crowing  of  a  cock,  coining  faintly  to  the 
ear,  seemed  to  illustrate,  rather  than  disturb,  the 
drowsy  quiet  of  the  scene. 

I  entered  the  Hollow  with  a  beating  heart.  Con- 
trary to  my  apprehensions,  I  found  it  but  little 
changed.  The  march  of  intellect,  which  had  made 
such  rapid  strides  along  every  river  and  highway, 
had  not  yot,  apparently,  turned  down  into  this  fa- 
vored valley.  Perhaps  the  wizard  spell  of  ancient 
days  still  reigned  over  the  place,  binding  up  the  fac- 
ulties of  the  inhabitants  in  happy  contentment  with 
things  as  they  had  been  handed  down  to  them  from 
yore.  There  were  the  same  little  farms  and  farm- 
houses, with  their  old  hats  forthe  housekeeping  wren  ; 
their  stone  wells,  moss-covered  buckets,  and  long  bal- 
ancing poles.  There  were  the  same  little  rills,  whim- 
pering down  to  pay  their  tributes  to  the  Pocantico  ; 
while  that  wizard  stream  still  kept  on  its  course,  as 
of  old,  through  solemn  woodlands  and  fresh  green 
meadows :  nor  were  there  wanting  joyous  holiday 
boys  to  loiter  along  its  banks,  as  I  had  done;  throw 
their  pin-hooks  in  the  stream,  or  launch  their  mimic 
barks.  I  watched  them  with  a  kind  of  melancholy 
pleasure,  wondering  whether  they  were  under  the 
.  same  spell  of  the  fancy  that  once  rendered  this  valley 
a  fairy  land  to  me.  Alas  !  alas  !  to  me  every  thing 
now  stood  revealed  in  its  simple  reality.  The  echoes 
no  longer  answered  with  wizard  tongues  ;  the  dream 
of  youth  was  at  an  end  ;  the  spell  of  Sleepy  Hollow 
was  broken  ! 

I  sought  the  ancient  church  on  the  following  Sun- 
day. There  it  stood,  on  its  green  bank,  among  the 
trees  ;  the  Pocantico  swept  by  it  in  a  deep  dark 
stream,  where  I  had  so  often  angled  ;  there  expand- 
ed the  mill-pond,  as  of  old,  with  the  cows  under  the 
willows  on  its  margin,  knee-deep  in  water,  chewing 
the  cud,  and  lashing  the  Hies  from  their  sides  with 
their  tails.  The  hand  of  improvement,  however,  had 
been  busy  with  the  venerable  pile.  The  pulpit,  fab- 
ricated in  Holland,  had  been  superseded  by  one  of 
modern  construction,  and  the  front  of  the  semi- 
Gothic  edifice  was  decorated  by  a  semi-Grecian  por- 
tico. Fortunately,  the  two  weather-cocks  remained 
undisturbed  on  their  perches  at  each  end  of  the 
church,  and  still  kept  up  a  diametrical  opposition  to 
each  other  on  all  points  of  windy  doctrine. 

On  entering  the  church  the  changes  of  time  contin- 


ued to  be  apparent.  The  elders  round  the  pulpit 
were  men  whom  I  had  left  in  the  gamesome  frolic  of 
their  youth,  but  who  had  succeeded  to  the  sanctity  of 
station  of  which  they  once  had  stood  so  much  in  awe. 
What  most  struck  my  eye  was  the  change  in  the 
female  part  of  the  congregation.  Instead  of  the 
primitive  garbs  of  homespun  manufacture  and  an- 
tique Dutch  fashion,  I  beheld  French  sleeves,  French 
capes,  and  French  collars,  and  a  fearful  fluttering  of 
French  ribbands. 

When  the  service  was  ended  I  sought  the  church- 
yard, in  which  I  had  sported  in  my  unthinking  days 
of  boyhood.  Several  of  the  modest  brown  stones, 
on  which  were  recorded  in  Dutch  the  names  and 
virtues  of  the  patriarchs,  had  disappeared,  and  had 
been  succeeded  by  others  of  white  marble,  with  urns 
and  wreaths,  and  scraps  of  English  tomb-stone  po- 
etry, marking  the  intrusion  of  taste  and  literature 
and  the  English  language  in  this  once  unsophisti- 
cated Dutch  neighborhood. 

As  I  was  stumbling  about  among  these  silent  yet 
eloquent  memorials  of  the  dead,  I  came  upon  names 
familiar  to  me ;  of  those  who  had  paid  the  debt  of 
nature  during  the  long  interval  of  my  absence.  Some, 
1  remembered,  my  companions  in  boyhood,  who  had 
sported  with  me  on  the  very  sod  under  which  they 
were  now  mouldering;  others  who  in  those  days 
had  been  the  flower  of  the  yeomanry,  figuring  in 
Sunday  finery  on  the  church  green  ;  others,  the  white- 
haired  elders  of  the  sanctuary,  once  arrayed  in  awful 
sanctity  around  the  pulpit,  and  ever  ready  to  rebuke 
the  ill-timed  mirth  of  the  wanton  stripling  who,  now 
a  man,  sobered  by  years  and  schooled  by  vicissitudes, 
looked  down  pensively  upon  their  graves.  '  Our 
fathers,'  thought  I, '  where  are  they  ! — and  the  proph- 
ets, can  they  live  for  ever  ! ' 

I  was  disturbed  in  my  meditations  by  the  noise  of 
a  troop  of  idle  urchins,  who  came  gambolling  about 
the  place  where  I  had  so  often  gambolled.  They 
were  checked,  as  I  and  my  playmates  had  often 
been,  by  the  voice  of  the  sexton,  a  man  staid  in  years 
and  demeanor.  I  looked  wistfully  in  his  face  ;  had  I 
met  him  any  where  else,  I  should  probably  have 
passed  him  by  without  remark  ;  but  here  I  was  alive 
to  the  traces  of  former  times,  and  detected  in  the 
demure  features  of  this  guardian  of  the  sanctuary 
the  lurking  lineaments  of  one  of  the  very  playmates 
1  have  alluded  to.  We  renewed  our  acquaintance. 
He  sat  down  beside  me,  on  one  of  the  tomb-stones 
over  which  we  had  leaped  in  our  juvenile  sports,  and 
we  talked  together  about  our  boyish  days,  and  held 
edifying  discourse  on  the  instability  of  all  sublunary 
things,  as  instanced  in  the  scene  around  us.  He 
was  rich  in  historic  lore,  as  to  the  events  of  the  last 
thirty  years  and  the  circumference  of  thirty  miles, 
and  from  him  I  learned  the  apijalling  revolution  that 
was  taking  place  throughout  the  neighborhood.  All 
this  I  clearly  perceived  he  attributed  to  the  boasted 
march  of  intellect,  or  rather  to  the  all-pervading  in- 
fluence of  steam.  He  bewailed  the  times  when  the 
only  communication  with  town  was  by  the  weekly 
market-boat,  the  '  Farmers'  Daughter,'  which,  under 
the  pilotage  of  the  worthy  Gabriel  Requa,  braved 
the  perils  of  the  Tappan  Sea.  Alas  !  Gabriel  and 
the  '  Farmers'  Daughter '  slept  in  peace.  Two  steam- 
boats now  splashed  and  paddled  up  daily  to  the  little 
rural  port  of  Tarrytown.  The  spirit  of  speculation 
and  improvement  had  seized  even  upon  that  once 
quiet  and  unainbitious  little  dorp.  The  whole  neigh- 
borhood was  laid  out  into  town  lots.  Instead  of  the 
little  tavern  below  the  hill,  where  the  farmers  used 
to  loiter  on  market  days  and  indulge  in  cider  and 
gingerbread,  an  ambitious  hotel,  with  cupola  and 
verandas,  now  crested  the  sutnmit,  among  churches 
built  in  the  Grecian  and  Gothic  styles,  showing  the 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


815 


great  increase  of  piety  and  polite  taste  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. As  to  Dutch  dresses  and  sun-bonnets, 
they  were  no  longer  tolerated,  or  even  thought  of; 
not  a  fiirmer's  daughter  but  now  went  to  town  for 
the  fashions  ;  nay,  a  city  milliner  had  recently  set  up 
in  the  village,  who  threatened  to  reform  the  heads 
of  the  whole  neighborhood. 

I  had  heard  enough  !  I  thanked  my  old  playmate 
for  his  intelligence,  and  departed  from  the  Sleepy 
Hollow  church  with  the  sad  conviction  that  I  had 
beheld  the  last  lingerings  of  the  good  old  Dutch 
times  in  this  once  favored  region.  If  any  thing  were 
wanting  to  confirm  this  impression,  it  would  be  the 
intelligence  which  has  just  reached  me,  that  a  bank 
is  about  to  be  established  in  the  aspiring  little  port 
just  mentioned.  The  fate  of  the  neighborhood  is 
therefore  sealed.  I  see  no  hope  of  averting  it.  The 
golden  mean  is  at  an  end.  The  country  is  suddenly 
to  be  deluged  with  wealth.  The  late  simple  farmers 
are  to  become  bank  directors  and  drink  claret  and 
champagne  ;  and  their  wives  and  daughters  to  figure 
in  French  hats  and  feathers ;  for  French  wines  and 
French  fashions  commonly  keep  pace  with  paper 
money.  How  can  I  hope  that  even  Sleepy  Hollow 
can  escape  the  general  inundation  }  In  a  little  while, 
I  fear  the  slumber  of  ages  will  be  at  end  ;  the  strum 
of  the  piano  will  succeed  to  the  hum  of  the  spinning 
wheel ;  the  trill  of  the  Italian  opera  to  the  nasal 
quaver  of  Ichabod  Crane ;  and  the  antiquarian  vis- 
itor to  the  Hollow,  in  the  petulance  of  his  disappoint- 
ment, may  pronounce  all  that  I  have  recorded  of  that 
ince  favored  region  a  fable. 

Geoffrey  Crayon. 


THE  BIRDS   OF  SPRING. 


BY    GEOFFREY    CRAYON,  GENT. 


My  quiet  residence  in  the  country,  aloof  from  fash- 
ion, politics,  and  the  money  market,  leaves  me  rather 
at  a  loss  for  important  occupation,  and  drives  me  to 
the  study  of  nature,  and  other  low  pursuits.  Having 
few  neighbors,  also,  on  whom  to  keep  a  watch,  and 
exercise  my  habits  of  observation,  I  am  fain  to  ainuse 
myself  with  prying  into  the  domestic  concerns  and 
peculiarities  of  the  animals  around  me  ;  and,  dunng 
the  present  season,  have  derived  considerable  enter- 
tainment from  certain  sociable  little  birds,  almost  the 
only  visitors  we  have,  during  this  early  part  of  the 
year. 

Those  who  have  passed  the  winter  in  the  country, 
are  sensible  of  the  delightful  influences  that  accom- 
pany the  earliest  indications  of  spring  ;  and  of  these, 
none  are  more  delightful  than  the  first  notes  of  the 
birds.  There  is  one  modest  little  sad-colored  bird, 
much  resembling  a  wren,  which  came  about  the 
house  just  on  the  skirts  of  winter,  when  not  a  blade 
of  grass  was  to  be  seen,  and  when  a  few  prematurely 
warm  days  had  given  a  flattering  foretaste  of  soft 
weather.  He  sang  early  in  the  dawning,  long  before 
sun-rise,  and  late  in  the  evening,  just  before  the  clos- 
ing in  of  night,  his  matin  and  his  vesper  hymns.  It 
is  true,  he  sang  occasionally  throughout  the  day  ;  but 
at  these  still  hours,  his  song  was  more  remarked. 
He  sat  on  a  leafless  tree,  just  before  the  window,  and 
warbled  forth  his  notes,  free  and  simple,  but  singu- 
larly sweet,  with  something  of  a  plaintive  tone,  that 
heightened  their  effect. 

The  first  morning  that  he  was  heard,  was  a  joyous 
one  among  the  young  folks  of  my  household.  The 
long,  death -like  sleep  of  winter  was  at  an  end; 


nature  was  once  more  awakening ;  they  now  prom-» 
ised  themselves  the  immediate  appearance  of  buds 
and  blossoms.  I  was  reminded  of  the  tempest-tossed 
crew  of  Columbus,  when,  after  their  long  dubious 
voyage,  the  field  birds  came  ringing  round  the  ship, 
though  still  far  at  sea,  rejoicing  them  with  the  belief 
of  the  immediate  proximity  of  land.  A  sharp  return 
of  winter  almost  silenced  my  little  songster,  and 
dashed  the  hilarity  of  the  household  ;  yet  still  he 
poured  forth,  now  and  then,  a  few  plaintive  notes, 
between  the  frosty  pipings  of  the  breeze,  like  gleams 
of  sunshine  between  wintry  clouds. 

I  have  consulted  my  book  of  ornithology  in  vain,  to 
find  out  the  name  of  this  kindly  little  bird,  who  cer- 
tainly deserves  honor  and  lavor  far  beyond  his  mod- 
est pretensions.  He  comes  like  the  lowly  violet,  the 
most  unpretending,  but  welcomest  of  flowers,  breath- 
ing the  sweet  promise  of  the  early  year. 

Another  of  our  feathered  visitors,  who  follows 
close  upon  the  steps  of  winter,  is  the  Pe-wit,  or  Pe- 
wee,  or  Phoebe-bird  ;  for  he  is  called  by  each  of  these 
names,  from  a  fancied  resemblance  to  the  sound  of 
his  monotonous  note.  He  is  a  sociable  little  being, 
and  seeks  the  habitation  of  man.  A  pair  of  them 
have  built  beneath  my  porch,  and  have  reared  several 
broods  there  for  two  years  past,  their  nest  being  never 
disturbed.  They  arrive  early  in  the  spring,  just  when 
the  crocus  and  the  snow-drop  begin  to  peep  forth. 
Their  first  chirp  spreads  gladness  through  the  house. 
'  The  Phoebe-birds  have  come  ! '  is  heard  on  all  sides  ; 
they  are  welcomed  back  like  members  of  the  family; 
and  speculations  are  made  upon  where  they  have 
been,  and  what  countries  they  have  seen  during  their 
long  absence.  Their  arrival  is  the  more  cheering, 
as  it  is  pronounced,  by  the  old  weather-v/ise  people 
of  the  country,  the  sure  sign  that  the  severe  frosts 
are  at  an  end,  and  that  the  gardener  may  resume  his 
labors  with  confidence. 

About  this  time,  too,  arrives  the  blue-bird,  so  poeti- 
cally yet  truly  described  by  Wilson.  His  appearance 
gladdens  the  whole  landscape.  You  hear  his  soft 
warble  in  every  field.  He  sociably  approaches  your 
habitation,  and  takes  up  his  residence  in  your  vicinity. 
But  why  should  I  attempt  to  describe  him,  when  I 
have  Wilson's  own  graphic  verses  to  place  him  be- 
fore the  reader  ? 

when  winter's  cold  tempests  and  snows  are  no  more. 

Green  meadows  and  brown  furrowed  fields  reappearing. 
The  fishermen  hauling  their  shad  to  the  shore. 

And  cloud-cleaving  geese  to  the  lakes  are  a-steering  ; 
When  first  the  lone  butterfly  flits  on  the  wing, 

When  red  glow  the  maples,  so  fresh  and  so  pleasing, 
O  then  comes  the  blue-bird,  the  herald  of  sprmg. 

And  hails  with  his  warblings  the  charms  of  the  season. 

The  loud-piping  frogs  make  the  marshes  to  ring; 

Then  warm  glows  the  simshiiie,  and  warm  glows  the  weather ; 
The  blue  woodland  flowers  just  beginning  to  spring, 

And  spice-wood  and  sassafras  buddin;^  together; 
O  then  to  your  gardens,  ye  housewives,  repair. 

Your  walks  border  up,  sow  and  plant  at  your  leisure; 
The  bine-bird  will  chant  from  his  box  such  an  air. 

That  all  your  hard  toils  will  seem  truly  a  pleasure  ! 

He  flits  through  the  orchard,  he  visits  each  tree, 

The  red  flowering  peach,  and  the  apple's  sweet  blossoms  ; 
He  snaps  tip  destroyers,  wherever  they  be. 

And  seizes  the  caitiff's  that  lurk  in  their  bosoms  ; 
He  drags  the  vile  grub  irom  the  corn  it  devours. 

The  worms  from  the  webs  where  they  riot  and  welter; 
His  song  and  his  services  freely  are  ours, 

And  all  that  lie  asks  is,  in  summer  a  shelter. 

The  ploughman  is  pleased  when  he  gleans  in  his  train. 

Now  searching  the  furrows,  now  mounting  to  cheer  him; 
The  gard'ncr  delights  in  his  sweet  simple  strain. 

And  leans  on  his  spade  to  survey  and  to  hear  him. 
The  slow  lingering  school-boys  forget  they'll  be 'chid, 

While  gazing  intent,  as  he  warbles  before  them. 
In  mantle  of  sky-hlue,  and  bosom  so  red. 

That  each  little  loiterer  seems  to  adore  him. 

The  happiest  bird  of  our  spring,  however,  and  or>e 
that  rivals  the  European  lark,  in  my  estimation,  is 
the  Boblincon,  or  Boblink,  as  he  is  commonly  called. 


816 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


He  arrives  at  that  choice  portion  of  our  year,  which, 
in  this  latitude,  answers  to  the  description  of  the 
month  of  May,  so  often  given  by  the  poets.  With  us, 
it  begins  about  the  middle  of  May,  and  lasts  until 
nearly  the  middle  of  June.  Earlier  than  this,  winter 
is  apt  to  return  on  its  traces,  and  to  blight  the  open- 
ing beauties  of  the  year ;  and  later  than  this,  begin 
the  parching,  and  panting,  and  dissolving  heats  of 
summer.  But  in  this  genial  interval,  nature  is  in  all 
her  freshness  and  fragrance :  '  the  rains  are  over  and 
gone,  the  flowers  appear  upon  the  earth,  the  time  of 
the  singing  of  birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of  the  tur- 
tle is  heard  in  the  land.'  The  trees  are  now  in  their 
fullest  foliage  and  brightest  verdure  ;  the  woods  are 
gay  with  the  clustered  flowers  of  the  laurel ;  the  air 
is  perfumed  by  the  sweet-briar  and  the  wild  rose  ;  the 
meadows  are  enamelled  with  clover-blossoms  ;  while 
the  young  apple,  the  peach,  and  the  plum,  begin  to 
swell,  and  the  cherry  to  glow,  among  the  green 
leaves. 

This  is  the  chosen  season  of  revelry  of  the  Bob- 
link.  He  comes  amidst  the  pomp  and  fragrance  of 
the  season ;  his  life  seems  all  sensibility  and  enjoy- 
ment, all  song  and  sunshine.  He  is  to  be  found  in 
the  soft  bosoms  of  the  freshest  and  sweetest  mead- 
ows ;  and  is  most  in  song  when  the  clover  is  in 
blossom.  He  perches  on  the  topmost  twig  of  a  tree, 
or  on  some  long  flaunting  weed,  and  as  he  rises  and 
sinks  with  the  breeze,  pours  forth  a  succession  of 
rich  tinkling  notes ;  crowding  one  upon  another, 
like  the  outpouring  melody  of  the  skylark,  and  pos- 
sessing the  same  rapturous  character.  Sometimes  he 
pitches  from  the  summit  of  a  tree,  begins  his  song 
as  soon  as  he  gets  upon  the  wing,  and  flutters  tremu- 
lously down  to  the  earth,  as  if  overcome  with  ecstasy 
at  his  own  music.  Sometimes  he  is  in  pursuit  of  his 
paramour ;  always  in  full  song,  as  if  he  would  win 
her  by  his  melody;  and  always  with  the  same  ap- 
pearance of  intoxication  and  delight. 

Of  all  the  birds  of  our  groves  and  meadows,  the 
Boblink  was  the  envy  of  my  boyhood.  He  crossed 
my  path  in  the  sweetest  weather,  and  the  sweetest 
season  of  the  year,  when  all  nature  called  to  the 
fields,  and  the  rural  feeling  throbbed  in  every  bosom  ; 
but  when  I,  luckless  urchin  !  was  doomed  to  be 
mewed  up,  during  the  livelong  day,  in  that  purgatory 
of  boyhood,  a  school-room.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
little  varlet  mocked  at  me,  as  he  flew  by  in  full  song, 
and  sought  to  taunt  me  with  his  happier  lot.  Oh, 
how  I  envied  him  !  No  lessons,  no  tasks,  no  hateful 
school ;  nothing  but  holiday,  frolic,  green  fields,  and 
fine  weather.  Had  1  been  then  more  versed  in  po- 
etry, I  might  have  addressed  him  in  the  words  of 
Logan  to  the  cuckoo : 

Sweet  bird  !  thy  bower  is  ever  green, 

Thy  sky  is  ever  clear  ; 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  note. 

No  winter  in  thy  year. 

Oh  !  could  I  fly,  I'd  fly  with  thee ; 

We'd  make,  on  joyful  wing. 
Our  annual  visit  round  the  globe, 

Companions  of  the  spring  1 

Farther  observation  and  experience  have  given  me 
a  different  idea  of  this  little  feathered  voluptuary, 
which  I  will  venture  to  impart,  for  the  benefit  of  my 
school-boy  readers,  who  may  regard  him  with  the 
same  unqu.alified  envy  and  admiration  which  1  once 
indulged.  1  have  shown  him  only  as  I  saw  him  at 
first,  in  what  I  may  call  the  poetical  part  of  his  ca- 
reer, when  he  in  a  manner  devoted  himself  to  ele- 
gant pursuits  and  enjoyments,  and  \va?a  bird  of 
music,  and  snng,  and  taste,  and  sensibility,  and  re- 
finement. While  this  lasted,  he  was  sacred  from  in- 
jury ;  the  very  school-boy  would  not  fling  a  stone  at 
him,  and  the  merest  rustic  would  pause  to  listen  to 


his  strain.  But  mark  the  difference.  As  the  year 
advances,  as  the  clover-blossoms  disappear,  and  the 
spring  fades  into  summer,  his  notes  cease  to  vibrate 
on  the  ear.  He  gradually  gives  up  his  elegant  tastes 
and  habits,  doffs  his  poetical  and  professional  suit  of 
black,  assumes  a  russet  or  rather  dusty  garb,  and 
enters  into  the  gross  enjoyments  of  common,  vulgar 
birds.  He  becomes  a  bon-vivant,  a  mere  gourmand  ; 
thinking  of  nothing  but  good  cheer,  and  gormandizing 
on  the  seeds  of  the  long  grasses  on  which  he  lately 
swung,  and  chaunted  so  musically.  He  begins  to 
think  there  is  nothing  like  'the  joys  of  the  table,'  if 
I  may  be  allowed  to  apply  that  convivial  phrase  to 
his  indulgences.  He  now  grows  discontented  with 
plain,  every-day  fare,  and  sets  out  on  a  gastronom- 
ical  tour,  in  search  of  foreign  luxuries.  He  is  to  be 
found  in  myriads  among  the  reeds  of  the  Delaware, 
banqueting  on  their  seeds  ;  grows  corpulent  with 
good  feeding,  and  soon  acquires  the  unlucky  renown 
of  the  ortolan.  Wherever  he  goes,  pop  !  pop!  pop! 
the  rusty  firelocks  of  the  country  are  cracking  on 
every  side  ;  he  sees  his  companions  falling  by  thou- 
sands around  him ;  he  is  the  reed-bird,  the  much- 
sought-for  tit-bit  of  the  Pennsylvanian  epicure. 

Does  he  take  warning  and  reform?  Not  he  !  He 
wings  his  flight  still  farther  south,  in  search  of  other 
luxuries.  We  hear  of  him  gorging  himself  in  the 
rice  swamps ;  filling  himself  with  rice  almost  to 
bursting;  he  can  hardly  fly  for  corpulency.  Last 
stage  of  his  career,  we  hear  of  him  spitted  by  dozens, 
and  served  up  on  the  table  of  the  gourmand,  the 
most  vaunted  of  southern  dainties,  the  rice-bird  of 
the  Carolinas. 

Such  is  the  story  of  the  once  musical  and  admired, 
but  finally  sensual  and  persecuted  Boblink.  It  con- 
tains a  moral,  worthy  the  attention  of  all  little  birds 
and  little  boys;  warning  them  to  keep  to  those  re- 
fined and  intellectual  pursuits,  which  raised  him  to 
so  high  a  pitch  of  popularity,  during  the  early  part 
of  his  career ;  but  to  eschew  all  tendency  to  that 
gross  and  dissipated  indulgence,  which  brought  this 
mistaken  little  bird  to  an  untimely  end. 

Which  is  all  at  present,  from  the  well-wisher  of 
little  boys  and  little  birds, 

Geoffrey  Cr.won. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  SKETCH-BOOK. 


During  a  summer's  residence  in  the  old  Moorish 
palace  of  the  Alhambra,  of  which  I  have  already  given 
numerous  anecdotes  to  the  public,  I  used  to  pass  much 
of  my  time  in  the  beautiful  hall  of  the  Abencerrages,  be- 
side the  fountain  celebrated  in  the  tragic  story  of  that 
devoted  race.  Here  it  was,  that  thirty-six  cavaliers 
of  that  heroic  line  were  treacherously  sacrificed,  to  ap- 
pease the  jealousy  or  allay  the  fears  of  a  tyrant.  The 
fountain  which  now  throws  up  its  sparkling  jet,  and 
sheds  a  dewy  freshness  around,  ran  red  with  the 
noblest  blood  of  Granada,  and  a  deep  stain  on  the 
marble  pavement  is  still  pointed  out,  by  the  cicerones 
of  the  pile,  as  a  sanguinary  record  of  the  massacre.  I 
have  ragarded  it  with  the  same  determined  faith  with 
which  I  have  regarded  the  traditional  stains  of  Riz- 
zio's  blood  on  the  floor  of  the  chamber  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Mary,  at  Holyrood.  I  thank  no  one  for  en- 
deavoring to  enlighten  my  credulity,  on  such  points 
of  popular  belief.  It  is  like  breaking  up  the  shrine  of 
the  pilgrim  ;  it  is  robbing  a  poor  traveller  of  half  the 
reward  of  his  toils  ;  for,  strip  travelling  of  its  histori- 
cal illusions,  and  what  a  mere  fag  you  make  of  it ! 

For  my  part,  I  gave  myself  up,  during  my  sojourn 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


817 


in  the  Alhambra,  to  all  the  romantic  and  fabulous  tra- 
ditions connected  with  the  pile.  I  lived  in  the  midst 
of  an  Arabian  tale,  and  shut  my  eyes,  as  much 
as  possible,  to  every  thing  that  called  me  back  to 
every-day  life  ;  and  if  there  is  any  country  in  Europe 
where  one  can  do  so,  it  is  in  poor,  wild,  legendary, 
proud-spirited,  romantic  Spain  ;  where  the  old  mag- 
nificent barbaric  spirit  still  contends  .against  the  utili- 
tarianism of  modern  civilization. 

In  the  silent  and  deserted  halls  of  the  Alhambra ; 
surrounded  with  the  insignia  of  regal  sway,  and  the 
still  vivid,  though  dilapidated  traces  of  oriental  volup- 
tuousness, I  was  in  the  strong-hold  of  Moorish  story, 
and  every  thing  spoke  and  breathed  of  the  glorious 
days  of  Granada,  when  under  the  dominion  of  the 
crescent.  When  I  sat  in  the  hall  of  the  Abencerrages, 
I  suffered  my  mind  to  conjure  up  all  that  I  had  read 
of  that  illustrious  line.  In  the  proudest  days  of  Mos- 
lem domination,  the  Abencerrages  were  the  soul  of 
every  thing  noble  and  chivalrous.  The  veterans  of 
the  family,  who  sat  in  the  royal  council,  were  the  fore- 
most to  devise  those  heroic  enterprises,  which  carried 
dismay  into  the  territories  of  the  Christians  ;  and  what 
the  sages  of  the  family  devised,  the  young  men  of  the 
name  were  the  foremost  to  execute.  In  all  services 
of  hazard  ;  in  all  adventurous  forays,  and  hair-breadth 
hazards ;  the  Abencerrages  were  sure  to  win  the 
brightest  laurels.  In  those  noble  recreations,  too, 
which  bear  so  close  an  affinity  to  war  ;  in  the  tilt  and 
tourney,  the  riding  at  the  ring,  and  the  daring  bull- 
fight ;  still  the  Abencerrages  carried  off  the  palm. 
None  could  equal  them  for  the  splendor  of  their  array, 
the  gallantry  of  their  devices  ;  for  their  noble  bearing, 
and  glorious  horsemanship.  Their  open-handed  mu- 
nificence made  them  the  idols  of  the  populace,  while 
their  lofty  magnanimity,  and  perfect  faith,  gained 
them  golden  opinions  from  the  generous  and  high- 
minded.  Never  were  they  known  to  decry  the  merits 
of  a  rival,  or  to  betray  the  confidings  of  a  friend  ;  and 
the  '  word  of  an  Abencerrage '  was  a  guarantee  that 
never  admitted  of  a  doubt. 

And  then  their  devotion  to  the  fair !  Never  did 
Moorish  beauty  consider  the  fame  of  her  charms 
established,  until  she  had  an  Abencerrage  for  a  lover  ; 
and  never  did  an  Abencerrage  prove  recreant  to  his 
vows.  Lovely  Granada !  City  of  delights !  Who 
ever  bore  the  favors  of  thy  dames  more  proudly  on 
their  casques,  or  championed  them  more  gallantly  in 
the  chivalrous  tilts  of  the  Vivarambla?  Or  who  ever 
made  thy  moon-lit  balconies,  thy  gardens  of  myrtles 
and  roses,  of  oranges,  citrons,  and  pomegranates, 
respond  to  more  tender  serenades  ? 

I  speak  with  enthusiasm  on  this  theme  ;  for  it  is 
connected  with  the  recollection  of  one  of  the  sweetest 
evenings  and  sweetest  scenes  that  ever  I  enjoyed  in 
Spain.  One  of  the  greatest  pleasures  of  the  Spaniards 
is,  to  sit  in  the  beautiful  summer  evenings,  and  listen 
to  traditional  ballads,  and  tales  about  the  wars  of  the 
Moors  and  Christians,  and  the  'buenas  andanzas' 
and  'grandes  hechos,' the  '  good  fortunes '  and  '  great 
exploits '  of  the  hardy  warriors  of  yore.  It  is  worthy  of 
remark,  also,  that  many  of  these  songs,  or  romances, 
as  they  are  called,  celebrate  the  prowess  and  magnan- 
imity in  war,  and  the  tenderness  and  fidelity  in  love, 
of  the  Moorish  cavaliers,  once  their  most  formidable 
and  hated  foes.  But  centuries  have  elapsed,  to  ex- 
tinguish the  bigotry  of  the  zealot ;  and  the  once  de- 
tested warriors  of  Granada  are  now  held  up  by  Span- 
ish poets,  as  the  mirrors  of  chivalric  virtue. 

Such  was  the  amusement  of  the  evening  in  question. 
A  number  of  us  were  seated  in  the  Hall  of  the  Aben- 
cerrages, listening  to  one  of  the  most  gifted  and  fasci- 
nating beings  that  I  had  ever  met  with  in  my  wander- 
ings. She  was  young  and  beautiful  ;  and  light  and  ethe- 
real ;  full  of  fire,  and  spirit,  and  pure  enthusiasm.  She 
wore  the  fanciful  Andalusian  dress  ;  touched  the  guitar 
with  speaking  eloquence ;  improvised  with  wonder- 
ful facility  ;  and,  as  she  became  excited  by  her 
theme,  or  by  the  rapt  attention  of  her  auditors,  would 
pour  forth,  in  the  richest  and  most  melodious  strains, 
a   succession    of    couplets,   full    of    striking    descrip- 

52 


tion,  or  stirring  narration,  and  composed,  as  I  was  as- 
sured, at  the  moment.  Most  of  these  were  suggested 
by  the  place,  and  related  to  the  ancient  glories  of 
Granada,  and  the  prowess  of  her  chivalry.  The 
Abencerrages  were  her  favorite  heroes ;  she  feU  a 
woman's  admiration  of  their  gallant  courtesy,  and 
high-souled  honor ;  and  it  was  touching  and  inspir- 
ing to  hear  the  praises  of  that  generous  but  devoted 
race,  chanted  in  this  fated  hall  of  their  calamity,  by 
the  lips  of  Spanish  beauty. 

Among  the  subjects  of  which  she  treated,  was  a  tale 
of  Moslem  honor,  and  old-fashioned  Spanish  cour- 
tesy, which  made  a  strong  impression  on  me.  She 
disclaimed  all  merit  of  invention,  however,  and  said 
she  had  merely  dilated  into  verse  a  popular  tradition  ; 
and,  indeed,  I  have  since  found  the  main  facts  insert- 
ed at  the  end  of  Conde's  History  of  the  Domination 
of  the  Arabs,  and  the  story  itself  embodied  in  the 
form  of  an  episode  in  the  Diana  of  Montemayor. 
From  these  sources  I  have  drawn  it  forth,  and  en- 
deavored to  shape  it  according  to  my  recollection  of 
the  version  of  the  beautiful  minstrel ;  but,  alas  !  what 
can  supply  the  want  of  that  voice,  that  look,  that 
form,  that  action,  which  gave  magical  effect  to  her 
chant,  and  held  every  one  rapt  in  breathless  admira- 
tion !  Should  this  mere  travestie  of  her  inspired  num- 
bers ever  meet  her  eye,  in  her  stately  abode  at  Gra- 
nada, may  it  meet  with  that  indulgence  which  belongs 
to  her  benignant  nature.  Happy  should  I  be,  if  it 
could  awaken  in  her  bosom  one  kind  recollection  of 
the  lonely  stranger  and  sojourner,  for  whose  gratifica- 
tion she  did  not  think  it  beneath  her  to  exert  those 
fascinating  powers  which  were  the  delight  of  brilliant 
circles  ;  and  who  will  ever  recall  with  enthusiasm  the 
happy  evening  passed  in  listening  to  her  strains,  in 
the  moon-lit  halls  of  the  Alhambra. 

Geoffrey  Crayon. 


THE   ABENCERRAGE. 


A  SPANISH  TALE. 


On  the  summit  of  a  craggy  hill,  a  spur  of  the 
mountains  of  Ronda,  stands  the  castle  of  Allora,  now 
a  mere  ruin,  infested  by  bats  and  owlets,  but  in  old 
times  one  of  the  strong  border  holds  of  the  Chris- 
tians, to  keep  watch  upon  the  frontiers  of  the  war- 
like kingdom  of  Granada,  and  to  hold  the  Moors  in 
check.  It  was  a  post  always  confided  to  some  well- 
tried  commander ;  and,  at  the  time  of  which  we 
treat,  was  held  by  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez,  a  veteran, 
famed,  both  among  Moors  and  Christians,  not  only 
for  his  hardy  feats  of  arms,  but  also  for  that  mag- 
nanimous courtesy  which  should  ever  be  entwined 
with  the  sterner  virtues  of  the  soldier. 

The  castle  of  Allora  was  a  mere  part  of  his  com- 
mand ;  he  was  Alcayde,  or  military  governor  of  An- 
tiquera,  but  he  passed  most  of  his  time  at  this  fron- 
tier post,  because  its  situation  on  the  borders  gave 
more  frequent  opportunity  for  those  adventurous  ex- 
ploits which  were  the  delight  of  the  Spanish  chivalry. 
His  garrison  consisted  of  fifty  chosen  cavaliers,  all 
well  mounted  and  well  appointed :  with  these  he 
kept  vigilant  watch  upon  the  Moslems  ;  patrolling 
the  roads,  and  paths,  and  defiles  of  the  mountains, 
so  that  nothing  could  escape  his  eye  ;  and  now  and 
then  signalizing  himself  by  some  dashing  foray  into 
the  very  Vega  of  Granada. 

On  a  fair  and  beautiful  night  in  summer,  when 
the  freshness  of  the  evening  breeze  had  tempered 
the  heat  of  day,  the  wortliy  Alcayde  sallied  forth, 
with  nine  of  his  cavaliers,  to  patrol  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  seek  adventures.     They  rode  quietly  and 


818 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


cautiously,  lest  they  should  be  overheard  by  Moor- 
ish scout  or  traveller ;  and  kept  along  ravines  and 
hollow  ways,  lest  they  should  be  betrayed  by  tlie  glit- 
tering of  the  full  moon  upon  their  armor.  Coming 
to  where  the  road  divided,  the  Alcayde  directed  five 
of  his  cavaliers  to  take  one  of  the  branches,  while 
he,  with  the  remaining  four,  would  take  the  other. 
Should  either  party  be  in  danger,  the  blast  of  a 
horn  was  to  be  the  signal  to  bring  their  comrades 
to  their  aid. 

The  party  of  five  had  not  proceeded  far,  when, 
in  passing  through  a  defile,  overhung  with  trees, 
they  heard  the  voice  of  a  man,  singing.  They  im- 
mediately concealed  themselves  in  a  grove,  on  the 
brow  of  a  declivity,  up  which  the  stranger  would 
have  to  ascend.  The  moonlight,  which  left  the 
grove  in  deep  shadow,  lit  up  the  whole  person  of  the 
wayfarer,  as  he  advanced,  and  enabled  them  to  dis- 
tinguish his  dress  and  appearance  with  perfect  ac- 
curacy. He  was  a  Moorish  cavalier,  and  his  noble 
demeanor,  graceful  carriage,  and  splendid  attire 
showed  him  to  be  of  lofty  rank.  He  was  superbly 
mounted,  on  a  dapple-gray  steed,  of  powerful  frame, 
and  generous  spirit,  and  magnificently  caparisoned. 
His  dress  was  a  marlota,  or  tunic,  and  an  Albernoz 
of  crimson  damask,  fringed  with  gold.  His  Tuni- 
sian turban,  of  many  folds,  was  of  silk  and  cotton, 
striped,  and  bordered  with  golden  fringe.  At  his 
girdle  hung  a  scimetar  of  Damascus  steel,  with 
loops  and  tassels  of  silk  and  gold.  On  his  left  arm  he 
bore  an  ample  target,  and  his  right  hand  grasped  a 
long  double-pointed  lance.  Thus  equipped,  he  sat 
negligently  on  his  steed,  as  one  who  dreamed  of  no 
danger,  gazing  on  the  moon,  and  singing,  with  a 
sweet  and  manly  voice,  a  Moorish  love  ditty. 

Just  opposite  the  place  where  the  Spanish  cava- 
liers were  concealed,  was  a  small  fountain  in  the 
rock,  beside  the  road,  to  which  the  horse  turned  to 
drink  ;  the  rider  threw  the  reins  on  his  neck,  and 
continued  his  song. 

The  Spanish  cavaliers  conferred  together;  they 
were  all  so  pleased  with  the  gallant  and  gentle  ap- 

Eearance  of  the  Moor,  that  they  resolved  not  to 
arm,  but  to  capture  him,  which,  in  his  negligent 
mood,  promised  to  be  an  easy  task  ;  rushing,  there- 
fore, from  their  concealment,  they  thought  to  sur- 
round and  seize  him.  Never  were  men  more  mis- 
taken. To  gather  up  his  reins,  wheel  round  his 
steed,  brace  his  buckler,  and  couch  his  lance,  was 
the  work  of  an  instant ;  and  there  he  sat,  fixed  Hke 
a  castle  in  his  saddle,  beside  the  fountain. 

The  Christian  cavaliers  checked  their  steeds  and 
reconnoitred  him  warily,  loth  to  come  to  an  en- 
counter, which  must  end  in  his  destruction. 

The  Moor  now  held  a  parley:  'If  you  be  true 
knights,'  said  he,  '  and  seek  for  honorable  fame, 
come  on,  singly,  and  I  am  ready  to  meet  each  in 
succession ;  but  if  you  be  mere  lurkers  of  the  road, 
intent  on  spoil,  come  all  at  once,  and  do  your 
worst  ! ' 

The  cavaliers  communed  for  a  moment  apart, 
when  one,  advancing  singly,  exclaimed  :  '  Although 
no  law  of  chivalry  obliges  us  to  risk  the  loss  of  a  prize, 
when  clearly  in  our  power,  yet  we  willingly  grant,  as 
a  courtesy,  what  we  might  refuse  as  a  right.  Valiant 
Moor !  defend  thyself! ' 

So  saying,  he  wheeled,  took  proper  distance, 
•couched  his  lance,  and  putting  spurs  to  his  horse, 
made  at  the  stranger.  The  latter  met  him  in 
mid  career,  transpierced  him  with  his  lance,  and 
threw  him  headlong  from  his  saddle.  A  second 
and  a  third  succeeded,  but  were  unhorsed  with 
equal  facility,  and  thrown  to  the  earth,  severely 
wounded.  The  remaining  two,  seeing  their  ccm- 
xades  thus  roughly  treated,  forgot  all  compact  of 


courtesy,  and  charged  both  at  once  upon  the  Moor. 
He  parried  the  thrust  of  one,  but  was  wounded  by 
the  other  in  the  thigh,  and,  in  the  shock  and  con- 
fusion, dropped  his  lance.  Thus  disarmed,  and 
closely  pressed,  he  pretended  to  fly,  and  was  hotly 
pursued.  Having  drawn  the  two  cavaliers  some 
distance  from  the  spot,  he  suddenly  wheeled  short 
about,  with  one  of  those  dexterous  movements  i^r 
which  the  Moorish  horsemen  are  renowned  ;  pass- 
ed swiftly  between  them,  swung  himself  down  from 
his  saddle,  so  as  to  catch  up  his  lance,  then,  lightly 
replacing  himself,  turned  to  renew  the  combat. 

Seeing  him  thus  fresh  for  the  encounter,  as  if  just 
issued  from  his  tent,  one  of  the  cavaliers  put  his  lips 
to  his  horn,  and  blew  a  blast,  that  soon  brought  the 
Alcayde  and  his  four  coinpanions  to  the  spot. 

The  valiant  Narvaez,  seeing  three  of  his  cavaliers 
extended  on  the  earth,  and  two  others  hotly  engaged 
with  the  Moor,  was  struck  with  admiration,  and 
coveted  a  contest  with  so  accomplished  a  warrior. 
Interfering  in  the  fight,  he  called  upon  his  followers 
to  desist,  and  addressing  the  Moor,  with  courteous 
words,  invited  him  to  a  more  equal  combat.  The 
latter  readily  accepted  the  challenge.  For  some 
time,  their  contest  was  fierce  and  doubtful,  and  the 
Alcayde  had  need  of  all  his  skill  and  strength  to 
ward  off  the  blows  of  his  antagonist.  The  Moor, 
however,  was  exhausted  by  previous  fighting,  and 
by  loss  of  blood.  He  no  longer  sat  his  horse  firmly, 
nor  managed  him  with  his  wonted  skill.  Collecting 
all  his  strength  for  a  last  assault,  he  rose  in  his  stir- 
rups, and  made  a  violent  thrust  with  his  lance  ;  the 
Alcayde  received  it  upon  his  shield,  and  at  the  same 
time  wounded  the  Moor  in  the  right  arm  ;  then  clos- 
ing, in  the  shock,  he  grasped  him  in  his  arms,  drag- 
ged him  from  his  saddle,  and  fell  with  him  to  the 
earth  :  when  putting  his  knee  upon  his  breast,  and 
his  dagger  to  his  throat,  '  Cavalier,'  exclaimed  he, 
'  render  thyself  my  prisoner,  for  thy  life  is  in  my 
hands ! ' 

'  Kill  me,  rather,'  replied  the  Moor,  '  for  death 
would  be  less  grievous  than  loss  of  liberty.' 

The  Alcayde,  however,  with  the  clemency  of  the 
truly  brave,  assisted  the  Moor  to  rise,  ministered  to 
his  wounds  with  his  own  hands,  and  had  him  con- 
veyed with  great  care  to  the  castle  of  AUora.  His 
wounds  were  slight,  and  in  a  few  days  were  nearly 
cured;  but  the  deepest  wound  had  been  inflicted  on 
his  spirit.  He  was  constantly  buried  in  a  profound 
melancholy. 

The  Alcayde,  who  had  conceived  a  great  regard 
for  him.  treated  him  more  as  a  friend  than  a  captive, 
and  tried  in  every  way  to  cheer  him,  but  in  vain  ;  he 
was  always  sad  and  moody,  and,  when  on  the  battle- 
ments of  the  castle,  would  keep  his  eyes  turned  to 
the  south,  with  a  fixed  and  wistful  gaze. 

'How  is  this.?'  exclaimed  the  Alcayde,  reproach- 
fully, 'that  you,  who  were  so  hardy  and  fearless  in 
the  field,  should  lose  all  spirit  in  prison  }  If  any  secret 
grief  preys  on  your  heart,  confide  it  to  me,  as  to  a 
friend,  and  I  promise  you,  on  the  faith  of  a  cavalier, 
that  you  shall  have  no  cause  to  repent  the  disclosure.' 

The  Moorish  knight  kissed  the  hand  of  the  Al- 
cayde. '  Noble  cavalier,"  .said  he,  '  that  I  am  cast 
down  in  spirit,  is  not  from  my  wounds,  which  are 
slight,  nor  from  my  captivity,  for  your  kindness  has 
robbed  it  of  all  gloom ;  nor  froin  my  defeat,  for  to  be 
conquered  by  so  accomplished  and  renowned  a  cav- 
alier, is  no  disgrace.  But  to  explain  to  you  the  cause 
of  my  grief,  it  is  necessary  to  give  you  some  particu- 
lars of  my  story ;  and  this  I  am  moved  to  do,  by  the 
great  sympathy  you  have  manifested  toward  me, 
and  the  magnanimity  that  shines  through  all  your 
actions.' 

'  Know,  then,  that  my  name  is  Abendaraez,  and 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


819 


that  1  am  of  the  noble  but  unfortunate  line  of  the 
Abencerrages  of  Granada.  You  have  doubtless 
heard  of  the  destruction  that  fell  upon  our  race. 
Charged  with  treasonable  designs,  of  which  they 
were  entirely  innocent,  many  of  them  were  beheaded, 
the  rest  banished ;  so  that  not  an  Abencerrage  was 
permitted  to  remain  in  Granada,  excepting  my  father 
and  my  uncle,  whose  innocence  was  proved,  even  to 
the  satisfaction  of  their  persecutors.  It  was  decreed, 
however,  that,  should  they  have  children,  the  sons 
should  be  educated  at  a  distance  from  Granada,  and 
the  daughters  should  be  married  out  of  the  kingdom. 

'Conformably  to  this  decree,  I  was  sent,  while  yet 
an  infant,  to  be  reared  in  the  fortress  of  Cartama, 
the  worthy  Alcayde  of  which  was  an  ancient  friend 
of  my  father.  He  had  no  children,  and  received  me 
into  his  family  as  his  own  child,  treating  me  with  the 
kindness  and  affection  of  a  father;  and  I  grew  up  in 
the  belief  that  he  really  was  such.  A  few  years  after- 
ward, his  wife  gave  birth  to  a  daughter,  but  his  ten- 
derness toward  me  continued  undiminished.  I  thus 
grew  up  with  Xarisa,  for  so  the  infant  daughter  of 
the  Alcayde  was  called,  as  her  own  brother,  and 
thought  the  growing  passion  which  I  felt  for  her, 
was  mere  fraternal  affection.  I  beheld  her  charms 
unfolding,  as  it  were,  leaf  by  leaf  like  the  morning 
rose,  each  moment  disclosing  fresh  beauty  and 
sweetness. 

'  At  this  period,  I  overheard  a  conversation  be- 
tween the  Alcayde  and  his  confidential  domestic, 
and  found  myself  to  be  the  subject.  '  It  is  time," 
said  he,  '  to  apprise  him  of  his  parentage,  that  he 
may  adopt  a  career  in  life.  I  have  deferred  the  com- 
munication as  long  as  possible,  through  reluctance 
to  inform  him  that  he  is  of  a  proscribed  and  an  un- 
lucky race.' 

'  This  intelligence  would  have  overwhelmed  me  at 
an  earlier  period,  but  the  intimation  that  Xarisa  was 
not  my  sis'er,  operated  like  magic,  and  in  an  instant 
transformed  m.y  brotherly  affection  into  ardent 
love. 

'  I  sought  Xarisa,  to  impart  to  her  the  secret  I  had 
learned.  1  found  her  in  the  garden,  in  a  bower  of 
jessamines,  arranging  her  beautiful  hair  by  the  mir- 
ror of  a  crj'stal  fountain.  The  radiance  of  her  beauty 
dazzled  me.  I  ran  to  her  with  open  arms,  and  she 
received  me  with  a  sister's  embraces.  When  we 
had  seated  ourselves  beside  the  fountain,  she  began 
to  upbraid  me  for  leaving  her  so  long  alone. 

'  In  reply,  I  informed  her  of  the  conversation  I 
had  overheard.  The  recital  shocked  and  distressed 
her.  '  Alas  ! '  cried  she,  '  then  is  our  happiness  at 
an  end  ! ' 

' '  How  ! '  exclaimed  I ;  '  wilt  thou  cease  to  love 
me,  because  I  am  not  thy  brother  ?  ' 

' '  Not  so,'  replied  she  ;  '  but  do  you  not  know  that 
when  it  is  once  known  we  are  not  brother  and  sis- 
ter, we  can  no  longer  be  permitted  to  be  thus  always 
together  ? ' 

'  In  fact,  from  that  moment  our  intercourse  took 
a  new  character.  We  met  often  at  the  fountain 
among  the  jessamines,  but  Xarisa  no  longer  ad- 
vanced with  open  arms  to  meet  me.  She  became 
reserved  and  silent,  and  would  blush,  and  cast  down 
her  eyes,  when  I  seated  myself  beside  her.  My 
heart  became  a  prey  to  the  thousand  doubts  and 
fears  that  ever  attend  upon  true  love.  I  was  rest- 
less and  uneasy,  and  looked  back  with  regret  to  the 
unieserved  intercourse  that  had  existed  between  us, 
when  we  supposed  ourselves  brother  and  sister ;  yet 
I  would  not  have  had  the  relationship  true,  for  the 
world. 

'  While  matters  were  in  this  state  between  us,  an 
order  came  from  the  King  of  Granada  for  the  Al- 
cayde  to  take  command   of  the  fortress  of  Coyn, 


which  lies  directly  on  the  Christian  frontier.  He 
prepared  to  remove,  with  all  his  family,  but  signified 
that  I  should  remain  at  Cartama.  I  exclaimed 
against  the  separation,  and  declared  that  I  could  not 
be  parted  from  Xarisa.  'That  is  the  very  cause,' 
said  he,  '  why  I  leave  thee  behind.  It  is  time, 
Abendaraez,  that  thou  shouldst  know  the  secret  of 
thy  birth  ;  that  thou  art  no  son  of  mine,  neither  is 
Xarisa  thy  sister.'  '  I  know  it  all,'  exxiaimed  I,  '  and 
I  love  her  with  tenfold  the  affection  of  a  brother. 
You  have  brought  us  up  together ;  you  have  made 
us  necessary  to  each  other's  happiness ;  our  hearts 
have  entwined  themselves  with  our  growth  ;  do  not 
now  tear  them  asunder.  Fill  up  the  measure  of 
your  kindness ;  be  indeed  a  father  to  me,  by  giving 
me  Xarisa  for  my  wife.' 

'  The  brow  of  the  Alcayde  darkened  as  I  spoke. 
'  Have  I  then  been  deceived  ?  '  said  he.  '  Have  those 
nurtured  in  my  very  bosom  been  conspiring  against 
me  .'  Is  this  your  return  for  my  paternal  tenderness .' 
— to  beguile  the  affections  of  my  child,  and  teach  her 
to  deceive  her  father  ?  It  was  cause  enough  to  refuse 
thee  the  hand  of  my  daughter,  that  thou  wert  of  a 
proscribed  race,  who  can  never  approach  the  walls 
of  Granada  ;  this,  however,  I  might  have  passed 
over ;  but  never  will  I  give  my  daughter  to  a  man 
who  has  endeavored  to  win  her  from  me  by  decep- 
tion.' 

'AH  my  attempts  to  vindicate  myself  and  Xarisa 
were  unavailing.  I  retired  in  anguish  from  his  pres- 
ence, and  seeking  Xarisa,  told  her  of  this  blow, 
which  was  worse  than  death  to  me.  '  Xarisa,'  said 
I,  '  we  part  for  ever  !  I  shall  never  see  thee  more ! 
Thy  father  will  guard  thee  rigidly.  Thy  beauty  and 
his  wealth  will  soon  attract  some  happier  rival,  and 
I  shall  be  forgotten  ! ' 

'Xarisa  reproached  me  with  my  want  of  faith, 
and  promised  me  eternal  constancy.  I  still  doubted 
and  desponded,  until,  moved  by  my  anguish  and  de- 
spair, she  agreed  to  a  secret  union.  Our  espousals 
made,  we  parted,  with  a  promise  on  her  part  to  send 
me  word  from  Coyn,  should  her  father  absent  himself 
from  the  fortress.  The  very  day  after  our  secret  nup- 
tials, I  beheld  the  whole  train  of  the  Alcayde  depart 
from  Cartama,  nor  would  he  admit  me  to  his  pres- 
ence, or  permit  me  to  bid  farewell  to  Xarisa.  I  re- 
mained at  Cartama,  somewhat  pacified  in  spirit  by 
this  secret  bond  of  union ;  but  every  thing  around 
me  fed  my  passion,  and  reminded  me  of  Xarisa.  I 
saw  the  windows  at  which  I  had  so  often  beheld  her. 
I  wandered  through  the  apartment  she  had  inhabit- 
ed ;  the  chamber  in  which  she  had  slept.  I  visited 
the  bower  of  jessamines,  and  lingered  beside  the 
fountain  in  which  she  had  delighted.  Every  thing 
recalled  her  to  my  imagination,  and  filled  my  heart 
with  tender  melancholy. 

'At  length,  a  confidential  servant  brought  me 
word,  that  her  father  was  to  depart  that  day  for  Gra- 
nada, on  a  short  absence,  inviting  me  to  hasten  to 
Coyn,  describing  a  secret  portal  at  which  I  should 
apply,  and  the  signal  by  which  I  would  obtain  admit- 
tance. 

'  If  ever  you  have  loved,  most  valiant  Alcayde, 
you  may  judge  of  the  transport  of  my  bosom.  That 
very  night  I  arrayed  myself  in  my  most  gallant  at- 
tire, to  pay  due  honor  to  my  bride  ;  and  arming  my- 
self against  any  casual  attack,  issued  forth  privately 
from  Cartama.  You  know  the  rest,  and  by  what 
sad  fortune  of  war  I  found  myself,  instead  nf  a 
happy  bridegroom,  in  the  nuptial  bower  of  Coyn, 
vanquished,  wounded,  and  a  prisoner,  within  the 
walls  of  Allora.  The  term  of  absence  of  the  father 
of  Xarisa  is  nearly  expired.  Within  three  days  he 
will  return  to  Coyn,  and  our  meeting  will  no  longer 
be  possible.    Judge,  then,  whether  1  grieve  without 


S20 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


cause,  and  whether  I  may  not  well  be  excused  for 
showing  impatience  under  confinement.' 

Don  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez  was  greatly  moved  by 
this  recital ;  for,  though  more  used  to  rugged  war, 
than  scenes  of  amorous  softness,  he  was  of  a  kind 
and  generous  nature. 

'Abendaraez,'  said  he,  '  I  did  not  seek  thy  confi- 
dence to  gratify  an  idle  curiosity.  It  grieves  me 
much  that  the  good  fortune  which  delivered  thee  into 
my  hands,  should  have  marred  so  fair  an  enterprise. 
Give  me  thy  (aith,  as  a  true  knight,  to  return  pris- 
oner to  my  castle,  widiin  three  days,  and  I  will  grant 
thee  permission  to  accomplish  thy  nuptials.' 

The  Abencerrage  would  have  thrown  himself  at 
his  feet,  to  pour  out  protestations  of  eternal  grati- 
tude, but  the  Alcayde  prevented  him.  Calling  in  his 
cavaliers,  he  took  the  Abencerrage  by  the  right  hand, 
in  their  presence,  exclaiming  solemnly,  '  You  prom- 
ise, on  the  faith  of  a  cavalier,  to  return  to  my  cas- 
tle of  AUora  within  three  days,  and  render  yourself 
my  prisoner? '  And  the  Abencerrage  said,  '  I  prom- 
ise.' 

Then  said  the  Alcayde, '  Go  !  and  may  good  fort- 
une attend  you.  If  you  require  any  safeguard,  I  and 
my  cavaliers  are  ready  to  be  your  companions.' 

The  Abencerrage  kissed  the  hand  of  the  Alcayde, 
in  grateful  acknowledgment.  '  Give  me,'  said  he, 
'my  own  armor,  and  my  steed,  and  I  require  no 
guard.  It  is  not  likely  that  I  shall  again  meet  with 
so  valorous  a  foe.' 

Tlie  shades  of  night  had  fallen,  when  the  tramp 
of  the  dapple-gray  steed  sounded  over  the  draw- 
bridge, and  immediately  afterward  the  light  clatter 
of  hoofs  along  the  road,  bespoke  the  fleetness  with 
which  the  youthful  lover  hastened  to  his  bride.  It 
was  deep  night  when  the  Moor  arrived  at  the  castle 
of  Coyn.  He  silently  and  cautiously  walked  his 
panting  steed  under  its  dark  walls,  and  having  nearly 
passed  round  them,  came  to  the  portal  denoted  by 
Xarisa.  He  paused  and  look  round  to  see  that  he 
was  not  observed,  and  then  knocked  three  times 
with  the  butt  of  his  lance.  In  a  little  while  the 
jxjrtal  was  timidly  unclosed  by  the  duenna  of  Xarisa. 
Alas  !  senor,'  said  she, '  what  has  detained  you  thus 
long .'  Every  night  have  I  watched  for  you ;  and 
my  lady  is  sick  at  heart  with  doubt  and  anxiety.' 

The  Abencerrage  hung  his  lance,  and  shield,  and 
scimitar  against  the  wall,  and  then  followed  the 
duenna,  with  silent  steps,  up  a  winding  stair-case, 
to  the  apartment  of  Xansa.  Vain  would  be  the  at- 
tempt to  describe  the  raptures  of  that  meeting. 
Time  flew  too  swiftly,  and  the  Abencerrage  had 
nearly  forgotten,  until  too  late,  his  promise  to  return 
a  prisoner  to  the  Alcayde  of  AUora.  The  recollec- 
tion of  it  came  to  him  with  a  p.ang,  and  suddenly 
awoke  him  from  his  dream  of  bliss.  Xarisa  saw  his 
altered  looks,  and  heard  with  alarm  his  stifled  sighs ; 
but  her  countenance  brightened,  when  she  heard 
the  cause.  '  Let  not  thy  spirit  be  cast  down,'  said 
she,  throwing  her  white  arms  around  him.  '  I  have 
the  keys  of  my  father's  treasures ;  send  ransom 
more  than  enough  to  satisfy  the  Christian,  and  re- 
main with  me.' 

'  No,'  said  Abendaraez,  '  I  have  given  my  word  to 
return  in  person,  and  like  a  true  knight,  must  fulfil 
my  promise.  After  that,  fortune  must  do  with  me 
as  it  pleases.' 

'  Then,'  said  Xarisa,  '  I  will  accompany  thee. 
Never  shall  you  return  a  prisoner,  and  I  remain  at 
liberty.' 

The  Abencerrage  was  transported  with  joy  at  this 
new  proof  of  devotion  in  his  beautiful  bride.  All 
prep.arations  were  speedily  made  for  their  departure. 
Xarisa  mounted  behind  the  Moor,  on  his  powerful 
steed  ;  they  left  the  castle  walls  before  daybreak,  nor 


did  they  pause,  until  they  arrived  at  the  gate  of  the 
castle  of  Allora,  which  was  flung  wide  to  receive 
them. 

Alighting  in  the  court,  the  Abencerrage  supported 
the  steps  of  his  trembling  bride,  who  remained 
closely  veiled,  into  the  presence  of  Rodrigo  de  Nar- 
vaez. '  Behold,  valiant  Alcayde  ! '  said  he,  '  the  way 
in  which  an  Abencerrage  keeps  his  word.  I  prom- 
ised to  return  to  thee  a  prisoner,  but  I  deliver  two 
captives  into  your  power.  Behold  Xarisa,  and  judge 
whether  I  grieved  without  reason,  over  the  loss  of 
such  a  treasure.  Receive  us  as  your  own,  for  I  con- 
fide my  life  and  her  honor  to  your  hands.' 

The  Alcaj-de  was  lost  in  admiration  of  the  beauty 
of  the  lady,  and  the  noble  spirit  of  the  Moor.  '  I 
know  not,'  said  he,  'which  of  you  surpasses  the 
other ;  but  I  know  that  my  castle  is  graced  and 
honored  by  your  presence.  Enter  into  it,  and  con- 
sider it  your  own,  while  you  deign  to  reside  with 
me.' 

For  several  days  the  lovers  remained  at  Allora, 
happy  in  each  other's  love,  and  in  the  friendship  of 
the  brave  Alcayde.  The  latter  wrote  a  letter,  full 
of  courtesy,  to  the  Moorish  king  of  Granada,  relating 
the  whole  event,  extolling  the  valor  and  good  faith 
of  the  Abencerrage,  and  craving  for  him  the  royal 
countenance. 

The  king  was  moved  by  the  story,  and  was  pleased 
with  an  opportunity  of  showing  attention  to  the 
wishes  of  a  gallant  and  chivalrous  enemy  ;  for  though 
he  had  often  suffered  from  the  prowess  of  Don  Rod- 
rigo de  Narvaez,  he  admired  the  heroic  character  he 
had  gained  throughout  the  land.  Calling  the  Alcayde 
of  Coyn  into  his  presence,  he  gave  him  the  letter  to 
read.  The  Alcayde  turned  pale,  and  trembled  with 
rage,  on  the  perusal.  'Restrain  thme  anger,' said 
the  king :  '  there  is  nothing  that  the  Alcayde  of 
Allora  could  ask,  that  I  would  not  grant,  if  in  my 
power.  Go  thou  to  Allora ;  pardon  thy  children ; 
take  them  to  thy  home.  I  receive  this  Abencerrage 
into  my  favor,  and  it  will  be  my  delight  to  heap 
benefits  upon  you  all.' 

The  kindling  ire  of  the  Alcayde  was  suddenly 
appeased.  He  hastened  to  Allora ;  and  folded  his 
children  to  his  bosom,  who  would  have  fallen  at  his 
feet.  The  gallant  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez  gave  liberty 
to  his  prisoner  without  ransom,  demanding  merely 
a  promise  of  his  friendship.  He  accompanied  the 
youthful  couple  and  their  father  to  Coyn,  where 
their  nuptials  were  celebrated  with  great  rejoicings. 
When  the  festivities  were  over,  Don  Rodrigo  de 
Narvaez  returned  to  his  fortress  of  Allora. 

After  his  departure,  the  Alcayde  of  Coyn  address- 
ed his  children  :  '  To  your  hands,'  said  he,  •  I  confide 
the  disposition  of  my  wealth.  One  of  the  first  things 
I  charge  you,  is  not  to  forget  the  ransom  you  owe  to 
the  Alcayde  of  Allora.  His  magn.animity  you  can 
never  repay,  but  you  can  prevent  it  from  wronging 
him  of  his  just  dues.  Give  him,  moreover,  your 
entire  friendship,  for  he  merits  it  fully,  though  of  a 
different  faith.' 

The  Abencerrage  thanked  him  for  his  generous 
proposition,  which  so  truly  accorded  with  his  own 
wishes.  He  took  a  large  sum  of  gold,  and  enclosed 
it  in  a  rich  coffer ;  and,  on  his  own  part,  sent  six 
beautiful  horses,  superbly  caparisoned ;  with  six 
shields  and  lances,  mounted  and  embossed  with 
gold.  The  beautiful  Xarisa,  at  the  same  time,  wrote 
a  letter  to  the  Alcayde,  filled  with  expressions  of 
gratitude  and  friendship,  and  sent  him  a  box  of 
fragrant  cypress-wood,  containing  linen,  of  the  finest 
quality,  for  his  person.  The  valiant  Alcayde  dis- 
posed of  the  present  in  a  characteristic  manner. 
The  horses  and  armor  he  shared  among  the  cavaliers 
;  who   had   accompanied   him   on   the  night   of  the 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


821 


skirmish.  The  box  of  cypress-wood  and  its  contents 
he  retained,  for  the  sake  of  the  beautiful  Xarisa ; 
and  sent  her,  by  the  hands  of  the  messenger,  the 
sum  of  gold  paid  as  a  ransom,  entreating  her  to 
receive  it  as  a  wedding  present.  This  courtesy  and 
magnanimity  raised  the  character  of  the  Alcayde 
Rodrigo  de  Narvaez  still  higher  in  the  estimation  of 
the  Moors,  who  extolled  him  as  a  perfect  mirror  of 
chivalric  virtue  ;  and  from  that  time  forward,  there 
was  a  continual  exchange  of  good  offices  between 
them. 


THE  ENCHANTED  ISLAND. 


BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  SKETCH-BOOK. 


Break,  Phantsie,  from  thy  cave  of  cloud, 

And  wave  thy  purple  wings, 
Now  all  thy  figures  are  allowed. 
And  various  shapes  of  things. 
Create  of  airy  forms  a  stream  ; 

It  must  have  blood  and  nought  of  phlegm  ; 
And  though  it  be  a  walking  dieaoi, 
Yet  let  it  like  an  odor  rise 
To  all  the  senses  here, 
■     And  fall  like  sleep  upon  their  eyes, 

Or  music  on  their  ear.  — Ben  Jonson. 

'There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than 
are  dreamed  of  in  our  philosophy,'  and  among  these 
may  be  placed  that  marvel  and  mystery  of  the  seas, 
the  island  of  St.  Brandan.  Every  school-boy  can 
enumerate  and  call  by  name  the  Canaries,  the  For- 
tunate Islands  of  the  ancients  ;  which,  according  to 
some  ingenious  speculative  minds,  are  mere  wrecks 
and  remnants  of  the  vast  island  of  Atalantis,  men- 
tioned by  Plato,  as  having  been  swallowed  up  by  the 
ocean.  Whoever  has  read  the  history  of  those  isles, 
will  remember  the  wonders  told  of  another  island, 
still  more  beautiful,  seen  occasionally  from  their 
shores,  stretching  away  in  the  clear  bright  west,  with 
long  shadowy  promontories,  and  high,  sun-gilt  peaks. 
Numerous  expeditions,  both  in  ancient  and  modern 
days,  have  launched  forth  from  the  Canaries  in  quest 
of  that  island  ;  but,  on  their  approach,  mountain  and 
promontory  have  gradually  faded  away,  until  nothing 
has  remained  but  the  blue  sky  above,  and  the  deep 
blue  water  below.  Hence  it  was  termed  by  the 
geograhers  of  old,  Aprositus,  or  the  Inaccessible ; 
while  modern  navigators  have  called  its  very  exist- 
ence in  question,  pronouncing  it  a  mere  optical  illu- 
sion, like  the  Fata  Morgana  of  the  Straits  of  Messina ; 
or  classing  it  with  those  unsubstantial  regions  known 
to  mariners  as  Cape  Flyaway,  and  the  Coast  of  Cloud 
Land. 

Let  not,  however,  the  doubts  of  the  •worldly-wise 
sceptics  of  modern  days  rob  us  of  all  the  glorious 
realms  owned  by  happy  credulity  in  days  of  yore. 
Be  assured,  O  reader  of  easy  faith  ! — thou  for  whom 
1  delight  to  labor — be  assured,  that  such  an  island 
does  actually  exist,  and  has,  from  time  to  time,  been 
revealed  to  the  gaze,  and  trodden  by  the  feet,  of  fa- 
vored mortals.  Nay,  though  doubted  by  historians 
and  philosophers,  its  existence  is  fully  attested  by  the 
poets,  who,  being  an  inspired  race,  and  gifted  with  a 
kind  of  second  sight,  can  see  into  the  mysteries  of 
nature,  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  ordinary  mortals.  To 
this  gifted  race  it  has  ever  been  a  region  of  fancy  and 
romance,  teeming  with  all  kinds  of  wonders.'  Here 
once  bloomed,  and  perhaps  still  blooms,  the  famous 
garden  of  the  Hesperides,  with  its  golden  fruit. 
Here,  too,  was  the  enchanted  garden  of  Armida,  in 
which  that  sorceress  held  the  christian  paladin,  Ri- 
naldo,  in  delicious  but  inglorious  thraldom  ;  as  is  set 
forth  in  the  immortal  lay  of  Tasso.     It  was  on  this 


island,  also,  that  Sycorax,  the  witch,  held  sway,  when 
the  good  Prospero,  and  his  infant  daughter  Miranda, 
were  wafted  to  its  shores.     The  isle  was  then 

^  full  of  noises. 

Sounds,  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight,  and  hurt  not,^ 

Who  does  not  know  the  tale,  as  told  in  the  magic 
page  of  Shakspeare .' 

In  fact,  the  island  appears  to  have  been,  at  differ- 
ent times,  under  the  sway  of  different  powers,  genii 
of  earth,  and  air,  and  ocean ;  who  made  it  their 
shadowy  abode  ;  or  rather,  it  is  the  retiring  place  of 
old  worn-out  deities  and  dynasties,  that  once  ruled 
the  poetic  world,  but  are  now  nearly  shorn  of  all  their 
attributes.  Here  Neptune  and  Amphithrite  hold  a 
diminished  court,  like  sovereigns  in  exile.  Their 
ocean-chariot  lies  bottom  upward,  in  a  cave  of  the 
island,  almost  a  perfect  wreck,  while  their  pursy  Tri- 
tons and  haggard  Nereids  bask  listlessly,  like  seals, 
about  the  rocks.  Sometimes  they  assume  a  shadow 
of  their  ancient  pomp,  and  glide  in  state  about  the 
glassy  sea  ;  while  the  crew  of  some  tall  Indiaman, 
that  lies  becalmed  with  flapping  sails,  hear  with  as- 
tonishment the  mellow  note  of  the  Triton's  shell 
swelling  upon  the  ear,  as  the  invisible  pageant  sweeps 
by.  Sometimes  the  quondam  monarch  of  the  ocean 
is  permitted  to  make  himself  visible  to  mortal  eyes, 
visiting  the  ships  that  cross  the  line,  to  exact  a  tribute 
from  new-comers ;  the  only  remnant  of  his  ancient 
rule,  and  that,  alas  !  performed  with  tattered  state, 
and  tarnished  splendor. 

On  the  shores  of  this  wondrous  island,  the  mighty 
kraken  heaves  his  bulk,  and  wallows  many  a  rood  ; 
here,  too,  the  sea-serpent  lies  coiled  up,  during  the 
intervals  of  his  much-contested  revelations  to  the 
eyes  of  true  believers  ;  and  here,  it  is  said,  even  the 
Flying  Dutchman  finds  a  port,  and  casts  his  anchor, 
and  furls  his  shadowy  sail,  and  takes  a  short  repose 
from  his  eternal  wanderings. 

Here  all  the  treasures  lost  in  the  deep  are  safely 
garnered.  The  caverns  of  the  shores  are  piled  with 
golden  ingbts,  boxes  of  pearls,  rich  bales  of  oriental 
silks  ;  and  their  deep  recesses  sparkle  with  diamonds, 
or  flame  with  carbuncles.  Here,  in  deep  bays  and 
harbors,  lies  many  a  spell-bound  ship,  long  given  up 
as  lost  by  the  ruined  merchant.  Here  too,  its  crew, 
long  bewailed  as  swallowed  up  in  ocean,  lie  sleeping 
in  mossy  grottoes,  from  age  to  age,  or  wander  about 
enchanted  shores  and  groves,  in  pleasing  oblivion  of 
all  things. 

Such  are  some  of  the  marvels  related  of  this  island, 
and  which  may  serve  to  throw  some  light  on  the  fol- 
lowing legend,  of  unquestionable  truth,  which  I  rec- 
ommend to  the  entire  belief  of  the  reader. 


THE  ADELANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES. 
A  LEGEND  OF  ST.  BRANDAN. 


In  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth  century,  when 
Prince  Henry  of  Portugal,  of  worthy  memory,  was 
pushing  the  career  of  discovciy  along  the  western 
coast  of  Africa,  and  (he  world  was  resounding  with 
reports  of  golden  regions  on  the  main  land,  and 
new-found  islands  in  the  ocean,  there  arrived  at 
Lisbon  an  old  bewildered  pilot  of  the  seas,  who  had 
been  driven  by  tempests,  he  knew  not  whither, 
and  who  raved  about  an  island  far  in  the  deep,  on 
which  he  had  landed,  and  which  he  had  found 
peopled  with  Christians,  and  adorned  with  noble 
cities. 

The  inhabitants,  he  said,  gathered  round,  and  re- 
garded him  with  surprise,  having  never  before  been 


822 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


visited  by  a  ship.  They  told  him  they  were  descend- 
ants of  a  band  of  Christians,  who  fled  from  Spain 
when  that  country  was  conquered  by  the  Moslems. 
They  were  curious  about  the  state  of  their  father- 
lanfl,  and  grieved  to  hear  that  the  Moslems  still  held 
possession  of  the  kingdom  of  Granada.  They  would 
liave  taken  the  old  navigator  to  church,  to  convince 
him  of  their  orthodoxy ;  but,  either  through  lack  of 
devotion,  or  lack  of  faith  in  their  words,  he  declined 
their  invitation,  and  preferred  to  return  on  board  of 
his  ship.  He  was  properly  punished.  A  furious 
storm  arose,  drove  him  from  his  anchorage,  hurried 
him  out  to  sea,  and  he  saw  no  more  of  the  unknown 
island. 

This  strange  story  caused  great  marvel  in  Lisbon 
and  elsewhere.  Those  versed  in  history,  remembered 
to  have  read,  in  an  ancient  chronicle,  that,  at  the 
time  of  the  conquest  of  Spain,  in  the  eighth  century, 
when  the  blessed  cross  was  cast  down,  and  the  cres- 
cent erected  in  its  place,  and  when  Christian  churches 
were  turned  into  Moslem  mosques,  seven  bishops,  at 
the  heati  of  seven  bands  of  pious  exiles,  had  fled  from 
the  peninsula,  and  embarked  in  quest  of  some  ocean 
island,  or  distant  land,  where  they  might  found  seven 
Christian  cities,  and  enjoy  their  faith  unmolested. 

The  fate  of  these  pious  saints  errant  had  hitherto 
remained  a  mystery,  and  their  story  had  faded  from 
memory;  the  report  of  the  old  tempest-tossed  pilot, 
however,  revived  this  long-forgotten  theme ;  and  it 
was  determined  by  the  pious  and  enthusiastic,  that 
the  island  thus  accidentally  discovered,  was  the  iden- 
tical place  of  refuge,  whither  the  wandering  bishops 
had  been  guided  by  a  protecting  Providence,  and 
where  they  had  folded  their  flocks. 

Ihis  most  excitable  of  worlds  has  always  some 
darling  object  of  chimerical  enterprise:  the  'Island 
of  the  Seven  Cities  '  now  awakened  as  much  interest 
and  longing  among  zealous  Christians,  as  has  the 
renowned  city  of  Timbuctoo  among  adventurous 
travellers,  or  the  North-east  Passage  among  hardy 
navigators  ;  and  it  was  a  frequent  prayer  of  the  de- 
vout, that  these  scattered  and  lost  portions  of  the 
Christian  family  might  be  discovered,  and  reunited  to 
the  great  body  of  Christendom. 

No  one,  however,  entered  into  the  matter  with 
half  the  zeal  of  Don  Fernando  de  Ulmo,  a  young 
cavalier  of  high  standing  in  the  Portuguese  court, 
and  of  most  sanguine  and  romantic  temperament. 
He  had  recently  come  to  his  estate,  and  had  run  the 
round  of  all  kinds  of  pleasures  and  excitements, 
when  this  new  theme  of  popular  talk  and  wonder 
presented  itself.  The  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities  be- 
came now  the  constant  subject  of  his  thoughts  by 
day  and  his  dreams  by  night ;  it  even  rivalled  his 
passion  for  a  beautiful  girl,  one  of  the  greatest  belles 
of  Lisbon,  to  whom  he  was  betrothed.  At  length 
his  imagination  became  so  inflamed  on  the  subject, 
that  he  determined  to  fit  out  an  expedition,  at  his 
own  expense,  and  set  sail  in  quest  of  this  sainted 
island.  It  could  not  be  a  cruise  of  any  great  extent ; 
for  according  to  the  calculations  of  the  tempest- 
tossed  pilot,  it  must  be  somewhere  in  the  latitude  of 
the  Canaries ;  which  at  that  time,  when  tlie  new 
world  was  as  yet  undiscovered,  fonned  the  frontier 
of  ocean  enterprise.  Don  Fernando  applied  to  the 
crown  for  countenance  and  protection.  As  he  was 
a  favorite  at  court,  the  usual  patronage  was  readily 
extended  to  him  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  received  a  com- 
mission from  the  king,  Don  loam  II.,  constituting 
him  Adelantado,  or  military  governor,  of  any  coun- 
try he  might  discover,  with  the  single  proviso,  that 
he  should  bear  all  the  expenses  of  the  discovery  and 
pay  a  tenth  of  the  profits  to  the  crown. 

Don  Fernando  now  set  to  work  in  the  true  spirit 
of  a  projector.     He  sold  acre  after  acre  of  solid  land, 


and  invested  the  proceeds  in  ships,  guns,  ammuni- 
tion and  sea-stores.  Even  his  old  family  mansion  in 
Lisbon  was  mortgaged  without  scruple,  for  he  looked 
forward  to  a  palace  in  one  of  the  .Seven  Cities  of 
which  he  was  to  be  Adelantado.  This  was  the  age 
of  nautical  romance,  when  the  thoughts  of  all  specu- 
lative dreamers  were  turned  to  the  ocean.  The 
scheme  of  Don  Fernando,  therefore,  drew  adventu- 
rers of  every  kind.  The  merchant  promised  himself 
new  marts  of  opulent  traffic  ;  the  soldier  hoped  to 
sack  and  plunder  some  one  or  other  of  those  Seven 
Cities ;  even  the  fat  monk  shook  off  the  sleep  and 
sloth  of  the  cloister,  to  join  in  a  crusade  which  prom- 
ised such  increase  to  the  possessions  of  the  church. 

One  person  alone  regarded  the  whole  project  with 
sovereign  contempt  and  growling  hostility.  This 
was  Don  Ramiro  Alvarez,  the  father  of  the  beautiful 
Serafina,  to  whom  Don  Fernando  was  betrothed. 
He  was  one  of  those  per\'erse,  matter-of-fact  old  men 
who  are  prone  to  oppose  every  thing  speculative  and 
romantic.  He  had  no  faith  in  the  Island  of  the  Seven 
Cities ;  regarded  the  projected  cruise  as  a  crack- 
brained  freak ;  looked  with  angry  eye  and  internal 
heart-burning  on  the  conduct  of  his  intended  son-in- 
law,  chaft'ering  away  solid  lands  for  lands  in  the 
moon,  and  scoffingly  dubbed  him  Adelantado  of 
Lubberland.  In  fact,  he  had  never  really  relished 
the  intended  match,  to  which  his  consent  had  been 
slowly  extorted  by  the  tears  and  entreaties  of  his 
daughter.  It  is  true  he  could  have  no  reasonable 
objections  to  the  youth,  for  Don  Fernando  was  the 
very  flower  of  Portuguese  chivalry.  No  one  could 
excel  him  at  the  tilling  match,  or  the  riding  at  the 
ring ;  none  was  more  bold  and  dexterous  in  the  bull- 
fight ;  none  composed  more  gallant  madrigals  in 
praise  of  his  lady's  charms,  or  sang  them  with  sweet- 
er tones  to  the  accompaniment  of  her  guitar;  nor 
could  any  one  handle  the  castanets  and  dance  the 
bolero  with  more  captivating  grace.  All  these  ad- 
mirable qualities  and  endowments,  however,  though 
they  had  been  sufficient  to  win  the  heart  of  Serafina, 
were  nothing  in  the  eyes  of  her  unreasonable  father. 
O  Cupid,  god  of  Love  !  why  will  fathers  always  be 
so  unreasonable  ! 

The  engagement  to  Serafina  had  threatened  at 
first  to  throw  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  expedi- 
tion of  Don  Fernando,  and  lor  a  time  perplexed  him 
in  the  extreme.  He  was  passionately  attached  to 
the  young  lady;  but  he  was  also  passionately  bent 
on  this  romantic  enterprise.  How  should  he  recon- 
cile the  two  passionate  inclinations  .'  A  simple  and 
obvious  arrangement  at  length  presented  itself: 
marry  Serafina,  enjoy  a  portion  of  the  honeymoon 
at  once,  and  defer  the  rest  until  his  return  from  the 
discovery  of  the  Seven  Cities  ! 

He  hastened  to  make  known  this  most  excellent 
arrangement  to  Don  Ramiro,  when  the  long-smoth- 
ered wrath  of  the  old  cavalier  burst  forth  in  a  storm 
about  his  ears.  He  reproached  him  with  being  the 
dupe  of  wandering  vagabonds  and  wild  schemers, 
and  of  squandering  all  his  real  possessions  in  pursuit 
of  empty  bubbles.  Don  Fernando  was  too  sanguine 
a  projector,  and  too  young  a  man,  to  listen  tamely 
to  such  language.  He  acted  with  what  is  techni- 
cally called  '  becoming  spirit.'  A  high  quarrel  en- 
sued ;  Don  Ramiro  pronounced  him  a  mad  man, 
and  forbade  all  farther  intercourse  with  his  daugh- 
ter, until  he  should  give  proof  of  returning  sanity  by 
abandoning  this  mad-cap  enterprise ;  while  Don 
Fernando  flung  out  of  the  house,  more  bent  than 
ever  on  the  expedition,  from  the  idea  of  triumphing 
over  the  incredulity  of  the  gray-beard  when  he  should 
return  successful. 

Don  Ramiro  repaired  to  his  daughter's  chamber 
the  moment  the  youth  had  departed.    He  represent- 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


823 


ed  to  her  the  sanguine,  unsteady  character  of  her 
lover,  and  the  chimerical  nature  of  his  schemes  ; 
showed  her  the  propriety  of  suspending  all  inter- 
course with  him  until  he  should  recover  from  his 
present  hallucination  ;  folded  her  to  his  bosom  with 
parental  fondness,  kissed  the  tear  that  stole  down 
her  cheek,  and,  as  he  left  the  chamber,  gently  locked 
the  door ;  for  although  he  was  a  fond  father,  and 
had  a  high  opinion  of  the  submissive  temper  of  his 
child,  he  had  a  still  higher  opinion  of  the  conserva- 
tive virtues  of  lock  and  key.  Whether  the  damsel 
had  been  in  any  wise  shaken  in  her  faith  as  to  the 
schemes  of  her  lover,  and  the  existence  of  the  Island 
of  the  Seven  Cities,  by  the  sage  representations  of 
her  father,  tradition  does  not  say ;  but  it  is  certain 
that  she  became  a  firm  believer  the  moment  she 
heard  him  turn  the  key  in  the  lock. 

Notwithstanding  the  interdict  of  Don  Ramiro, 
therefore,  and  his  shrewd  precautions,  the  inter- 
course of  the  lovers  continued,  although  clandes- 
tinely. Don  Fernando  toiled  all  day,  hurrying  for- 
ward his  nautical  enterprise,  while  at  night  he  would 
repair,  beneath  the  grated  balcony  of  his  mistress, 
to  carry  on  at  equal  pace  the  no  less  interesting  en- 
terprise of  the  heart.  At  length  the  preparations  for 
the  expedition  were  completed.  Two  gallant  cara- 
vels lay  anchored  in  the  Tagus,  ready  to  sail  with 
the  morning  dawn ;  while  late  at  night,  by  the  pale 
light  of  a  waning  moon,  Don  Fernando  sought  the 
stately  mansion  of  Alvarez  to  take  a  last  farewell  of 
Serafina.  The  customary  signal  of  a  few  low  touches 
of  a  guitar  brought  her  to  the  balcony.  She  was  sad 
at  heart  and  full  of  gloomy  forebodings ;  but  her 
lover  strove  to  impart  to  her  his  own  buoyant  hope 
and  youthful  confidence.  '  A  few  short  months,' 
said  he,  'and  I  shall  return  in  triumph.  Thy  father 
will  then  blush  at  his  incredulity,  and  will  once  more 
welcome  me  to  his  house,  when  I  cross  its  threshold 
a  wealthy  suitor  and  Adelantado  of  the  Seven 
Cities.' 

The  beautiful  .Serafina  shook  her  head  mournfully. 
It  was  not  on  those  points  that  she  felt  doubt  or  dis- 
may. She  believed  most  implicitly  in  the  Island  of 
the  Seven  Cities,  and  trusted  devoutly  in  the  success 
of  the  enterprise ;  but  she  had  heard  of  the  incon- 
stancy of  the  seas,  and  the  inconstancy  of  those  who 
roam  them.  Now,  let  the  truth  be  spoken,  Don  Fer- 
nando, if  he  had  any  fault  in  the  world,  it  was  that 
he  was  a  little  too  inflammable  ;  that  is  to  say,  a  lit- 
tle too  subject  to  take  fire  from  the  sparkle  of  every 
bright  eye  :  he  had  been  somewhat  of  a  rover  among 
the  sex  on  shore,  what  might  he  not  be  on  sea.' 
Might  he  not  meet  with  other  loves  in  foreign  ports  ? 
Might  he  not  behold  some  peerless  beauty  in  one  or 
other  of  those  seven  cities,  who  might  efface  the 
image  of  Serafina  from  his  thoughts? 

At  length  she  ventured  to  hint  her  doubts ;  but 
Don  Fernando  spurned  at  the  very  idea.  Never 
could  his  heart  be  false  to  Serafina !  Never  could 
another  be  captivating  in  his  eyes  ! — never — never  ! 
Repeatedly  did  he  bend  his  knee,  and  smite  his 
breast,  and  call  upon  the  silver  moon  to  witness  the 
sincerity  of  his  vows.  But  might  not  Serafina,  her- 
self, be  forgetful  of  her  plighted  faith  ?  Might  not 
some  wealthier  rival  present,  while  he  was  tossing 
on  the  sea,  and,  backed  by  the  authority  of  her  fa- 
ther, win  the  treasure  of  her  hand  ? 

Alas,  how  little  did  he  know  Serafina's  heart ! 
The  more  her  father  should  oppose,  the  more  would 
she  be  fixed  in  her  faith.  Though  years  should  pass 
before  his  return,  he  would  find  her  true  to  her  vows. 
Even  should  the  salt  seas  swallow  him  up,  (and  her 
eyes  streamed  with  salt  tears  at  the  very  thought,) 
never  would  she  be  the  wife  of  another — never — 
never  !   She  raised  her  beautiful  white  arms  between 


the  iron  bars  of  the  balcony,  and  invoked  the  moon 
as  a  testimonial  of  her  faith. 

Thus,  according  to  immemorial  usage,  the  lovers 
parted,  with  many  a  vow  of  eternal  constancy.  But 
will  they  keep  those  vows  ?  Perish  the  doubt !  Have 
they  not  called  the  constant  moon  to  witness  ? 

With  the  morning  dawn  the  caravels  dropped 
down  the  Tagus  and  put  to  sea.  They  steered  for 
the  Canaries,  in  those  days  the  regions  of  nautical 
romance.  Scarcely  had  they  reached  those  latitudes, 
when  a  violent  tempest  arose.  Don  Fernando  soon 
lost  sight  of  the  accompanying  caravel,  and  was 
driven  out  of  all  reckoning  by  the  fury  of  the  storm. 
For  several  weary  days  and  nights  he  was  tossed  to 
and  fro,  at  the  mercy  of  the  elements,  expecting  each 
moment  to  be  swallowed  up.  At  length,  one  day, 
toward  evening,  the  storm  subsided ;  the  clouds 
cleared  up,  as  though  a  veil  had  suddenly  been 
withdrawn  from  the  face  of  heaven,  and  the  setting 
sun  shone  gloriously  upon  a  fair  and  mountainous 
island,  that  seemed  close  at  hand.  The  tempest- 
tossed  mariners  rubbed  their  eyes,  and  gazed  almost 
incredulously  upon  this  land,  that  had  emerged  so 
suddenly  from  the  murky  gloom  ;  yet  there  it  lay, 
spread  out  in  lovely  landscapes ;  enlivened  by  vil- 
lages, and  towers,  and  spires,  while  the  late  stormy 
sea  rolled  in  peaceful  billows  to  its  shores.  About 
a  league  from  the  sea,  on  the  banks  of  a  river,  stood 
a  noble  city,  with  lofty  walls  and  towers,  and  a  pro- 
tecting castle.  Don  Fernando  anchored  off  the 
mouth  of  the  river,  which  appeared  to  form  a  spa- 
cious harbor.  In  a  little  while  a  barge  was  seen  is- 
suing from  the  river.  It  was  evidently  a  barge  of 
ceremony,  for  it  was  richly  though  quaintly  carved 
and  gilt,  and  decorated  with  a  silken  awning  and 
fluttering  streamers,  while  a  banner,  bearing  the  sa- 
cred emblem  of  the  cross,  floated  to  the  breeze.  The 
barge  advanced  slowly,  impelled  by  sixteen  oars, 
painted  of  a  bright  crimson.  The  oarsmen  were 
uncouth,  or  rather  antique,  in  their  garb,  and  kept 
stroke  to  the  regular  cadence  of  an  old  Spanish  dit- 
ty. Beneath  the  awning  sat  a  cavalier,  in  a  ritfh 
though  old-fashioned  doublet,  with  an  enormous 
sombrero  and  feather. 

When  the  barge  reached  the  caravel,  the  cavalier 
stepped  on  board.  He  was  tall  and  gaunt,  with  a 
long,  Spanish  visage,  and  lack-lustre  eyes,  and  an 
air  of  lofty  and  somewhat  pompous  gravity.  His 
mustaches  were  curled  up  to  his  ears,  his  beard  was 
forked  and  precise  ;  he  wore  gauntlets  that  reached 
to  his  elbov/s,  and  a  Toledo  blade  that  strutted  out 
behind,  while,  in  front,  its  huge  basket-hilt  might 
have  served  for  a  porringer. 

Thrusting  out  a  long  spindle  leg,  and  taking  off 
his  sombrero  with  a  grave  and  stately  sweep,  he  sa- 
luted Don  Fernando  by  name,  and  welcomed  him, 
in  old  Castilian  language,  and  in  the  style  of  old 
Castilian  courtesy. 

Don  Fernando  was  startled  at  hearing  himself 
accosted  by  name,  by  an  utter  stranger,  in  a  strange 
land.  As  soon  as  he  could  recover  from  his  surprise, 
he  inquired  what  land  it  was  at  which  he  had  ar- 
rived. 

'  The  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities  !  ' 

Could  this  be  true?  Had  he  indeed  been  thus 
tempest-driven  upon  the  very  land  of  which  he  was 
in  quest  ?  It  was  even  so.  The  other  caravel,  from 
which  he  had  been  separated  in  the  storm,  had  made 
a  neighboring  port  of  the  island,  and  announced  the 
tidings  of  this  expedition,  which  came  to  restore  the 
country  to  the  great  community  of  Christendom. 
The  whole  island,  he  was  told,  was  given  up  to  re- 
joicings on  the  happy  event ;  and  they  only  awaited 
his  arrival  to  acknowledge  allegiance  to  the  crown 
of  Portugal,  and   hail   him  as   Adelantado   of  the 


824 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVINCx. 


Seven  Cities.  A  grand  fete  was  to  be  solemnized 
that  very  night  in  the  palace  of  the  Alcayde  or  gov- 
ernor of  the  city ;  who,  on  beholding  the  most  op- 
portune ai  rival  of  the  caravel,  had  despatched  his 
grand  chamberlain,  in  his  barge  of  state,  to  conduct 
the  future  Adelantado  to  the  ceremony. 

Don  Fernando  could  scarcely  believe  but  that  this 
was  all  a  dream.  He  fixed  a  scrutinizing  gaze  upon 
the  grand  chamberlain,  who,  having  delivered  his 
message,  stood  in  buckram  dignity,  drawn  up  to  his 
full  stature,  curling  his  whiskers,  stroking  his  beard, 
and  looking  down  upon  him  with  inexpressible  lofti- 
ness through  his  lack-lustre  eyes.  There  was  no 
doubting  the  word  of  so  grave  and  ceremonious  a 
hidalgo. 

Don  Fernando  now  arrayed  himself  in  gala  attire. 
He  would  have  launched  his  boat,  and  gone  on  shore 
with  his  own  men,  but  he  was  informed  the  barge 
of  state  was  expresly  provided  for  his  accommoda- 
tion, and,  after  the  fete,  would  bring  him  back  to  his 
ship  ;  in  which,  on  the  following  day,  he  might  enter 
the  harbor  in  befitting  style.  He  accordingly  step- 
ped into  the  barge,  and  took  his  seat  beneath  the 
awning.  The  grand  chamberlain  seated  himself  on 
the  cushion  opposite.  The  rowers  bent  to  their  oars, 
and  renewed  their  mournful  old  ditty,  and  the  gor- 
geous, but  unwieldly  barge  moved  slowly  and  solemn- 
ly through  the  water. 

The  night  closed  in,  before  they  entered  the  river. 
They  swept  along,  past  rock  and  promontory,  each 
guarded  by  its  tower.  The  sentinels  at  every  post 
challenged  them  as  they  passed  by. 

'  Who  goes  there .'  ' 

'  The  Adelantado  of  the  Seven  Cities.' 

'  He  is  welcome.     Pass  on.' 

On  entering  the  harbor,  they  rowed  close  along 
an  armed  galley,  of  the  most  ancient  form.  Soldiers 
with  cross-bows  were  stationed  on  the  deck. 

'  Who  goes  there  ?  '  was  again  demanded. 

'  The  Adelantado  of  the  Seven  Cities.' 

'  He  is  welcome.  Pass  on.' 
'  They  landed  at  a  broad  flight  of  stone  steps,  lead- 
ing up,  between  two  massive  towers,  to  the  water- 
gate  of  the  city,  at  which  they  knocked  for  admis- 
sion. A  sentinel,  in  an  ancient  steel  casque,  looked 
over  the  wall.     '  Who  is  there  ?  ' 

'  The  Adelantado  of  the  Seven  Cities.' 

The  gate  swung  slowly  open,  grating  upon  its 
rusty  hinges.  They  entered  between  two  rows  of 
iron-clad  warriors,  in  battered  armor,  with  cross- 
bows, battle-axes,  and  ancient  maces,  and  with  faces 
as  old-fashioned  and  rusty  as  their  armor.  They 
saluted  Don  Fernando  in  military  style,  but  with 
perfect  silence,  as  he  passed  between  their  ranks. 
The  city  was  illuminated,  but  in  such  manner  as  to 
give  a  more  shadowy  and  solemn  effect  to  its  old- 
time  architecture.  There  were  bonfires  in  the  princi- 
pal streets,  with  grou])s  about  them  in  such  old- 
fashioned  garbs,  that  they  looked  like  the  fantastic 
figures  that  roam  the  streets  in  carnival  time.  Even 
the  stately  dames  who  gazed  from  the  balconies, 
which  they  had  hung  with  antique  tapestry,  looked 
more  like  effigies  dressed  up  for  a  quaint  mummery, 
than  like  ladies  in  their  fashionable  attire.  Every 
thing,  in  short,  bore  the  stamp  of  former  ages,  as  if 
the  world  had  suddenly  rolled  back  a  few  centuries. 
Nor  was  this  to  be  wondered  at.  Had  not  the  Island 
of  the  Seven  Cities  been  for  several  hundred  years 
cut  off  from  all  communication  with  the  rest  of  the 
world,  and  was  it  not  natural  that  the  inhabitants 
should  retain  many  of  the  modes  and  customs 
brought  here  by  their  ancestors  ? 

One  thing  certainly  they  had  conserved  ;  the  old- 
fashioned  Spanish  gravity  and  stateliness.  Though 
this  was  a  time  of  public  rejoicing,  and  though  Don 


Fernando  was  the  object  of  their  gratulations,  every 
thing  was  conducted  with  the  most  solemn  ceremony, 
and  wherever  he  appeared,  instead  of  acclamations, 
he  was  received  with  profound  silence,  and  the  most 
formal  reverences  and  swayings  of  their  sombreros. 

Arrived  at  the  palace  of  the  Alcayde,  the  usual 
ceremonial  was  repeated.  The  chamberlain  knocked 
for  admission. 

'  Who  is  there  ?  '  demanded  the  porter. 

'The  Adelantado  of  the  Seven  Cities.' 

'  He  is  welcome.     Pass  on.' 

The  grand  portal  was  thrown  open.  The  cham- 
terlain  led  the  way  up  a  vast  but  heavily  moulded 
marble  stair-case,  and  so  through  one  of  those  inter- 
minable suites  of  apartments,  that  are  the  pride  of 
Spanish  palaces.  All  were  furnished  in  a  style  of 
obsolete  magnificence.  As  they  passed  through  the 
chambers,  the  title  of  Don  Fernando  was  forwarded 
on  by  servants  stationed  at  every  door ;  and  every 
where  produced  the  most  profound  reverences  and 
courtesies.  At  length  they  reached  a  magnificent 
saloon,  blazing  with  tapers,  in  which  the  Alcayde, 
and  the  principal  dignitaries  of  the  city,  were  wait- 
ing to  receive  their  illustrious  guest.  The  grand 
chamberlain  presented  Don  Fernando  in  due  form, 
and  falling  back  among  the  other  officers  of  the 
household,  stood  as  usual  curling  his  whiskers,  and 
stroking  his  forked  beard. 

Don  Fernando  was  received  by  the  Alcayde  and 
the  other  dignitaries  with  the  same  stately  and  formal 
courtesy  that  he  had  every  where  remarked.  In  fact, 
there  v/as  so  much  form  and  ceremonial,  that  it 
seemed  difficult  to  get  at  any  thing  social  or  sub- 
stantial. Nothing  but  bows,  and  compliments,  and 
old-fashioned  courtesies.  The  Alcayde  and  his 
courtiers  resembled,  in  face  and  fornj,  those  quaint 
worthies  to  be  seen  in  the  pictures  of  old  illuminated 
manuscripts  ;  while  the  cavaliers  and  dames  who 
thronged  the  saloon,  might  have  been  taken  for  the 
antique  figures  of  gobelin  tapestry  suddenly  vivified 
and  put  in  motion. 

The  banquet,  which  had  been  kept  back  until  the 
arrival  of  Don  Fernando,  was  now  announced  ;  and 
such  a  feast !  such  unknown  dishes  and  obsolete 
dainties ;  with  the  peacock,  that  bird  of  state  and 
ceremony,  served  up  in  full  plumage,  in  a  golden 
dish,  at  the  head  of  the  table.  And  then,  as  Don 
Fernando  cast  his  eyes  over  the  glittering  board, 
what  a  vista  of  odd  heads  and  head-dresses,  of 
formal  bearded  dignitaries,  and  stately  dames,  with 
castellated  locks  and  towering  plumes  I 

As  fate  would  have  it,  on  the  other  side  of  Don 
Fernando,  was  seated  the  daughter  of  the  Alcayde. 
She  was  arrayed,  it  is  true,  in  a  dress  that  might 
have  been  worn  before  the  flood  ;  but  then,  she  had 
a  melting  black  Andalusian  eye,  that  was  perfectly 
irresistible.  Her  voice,  too,  her  manner,  her  move- 
ments, all  smacked  of  Andalusia,  and  showed  how 
female  fascination  may  be  transmitted  from  age  to 
age,  and  clime  to  clime,  without  ever  losing  its 
power,  or  going  out  of  fashion.  Those  who  know 
the  witchery  of  the  sex,  in  that  most  amorous  region 
of  old  Spain,  may  judge  what  must  have  been  the 
fascination  to  which  Don  Fernando  was  exposed, 
when  seated  beside  one  of  the  most  captivating  of 
its  descendants.  He  was,  as  has  already  been  hinted, 
of  an  inflammable  temperament ;  with  a  heart  ready 
to  get  in  a  light  blaze  at  every  instant.  And  then  he 
had  been  so  wearied  by  pompous,  tedious  old  cava- 
liers, with  their  formal  bows  and  speeches;  is  it  to 
be  wondered  at  that  he  turned  with  delight  to  the 
Alcayde's  daughter,  all  smiles,  and  dimples,  and 
melting  looks,  and  melting  accents?  Beside,  for  I 
wish  to  give  him  every  excuse  in  my  power,  he  was 
in  a  particularly  excitable  mood,  from  the  novelty  of 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


825 


the  scene  before  him,  and  his  head  was  almost 
turned  with  this  sudden  and  complete  realization  of 
all  his  hopes  and  fancies  ;  and  then,  in  the  flurry  of 
the  moment,  he  had  taken  frequent  draughts  at  the 
wine-cup,  presented  him  at  every  instant  by  officious 
pages,  and  all  the  world  knows  the  effect  of  such 
draughts  in  giving  potency  to  female  charms.  In  a 
word,  there  is  no  concealing  the  matter,  the  banquet 
was  not  half  over,  before  Don  Fernando  was  making 
love,  outright,  to  the  Alcayde's  daughter.  It  was 
his  old  habitude,  contracted  long  before  his  matri- 
monial engagement.  The  young  lady  hung  her  head 
coyly ;  her  eye  rested  upon  a  ruby  heart,  sparkling 
in  a  ring  on  the  hand  of  Don  Fernando,  a  parting 
gage  of  love  from  Serafina.  A  blush  crimsoned  her 
very  temples.  She  darted  a  glance  of  doubt  at  the 
ring,  and  then  at  Don  Fernando.  He  read  her 
doubt,  and  in  the  giddy  intoxication  of  the  moment, 
drew  off  the  pledge  of  his  affianced  bride,  and  slipped 
it  on  the  finger  of  the  Alcayde's  daughter. 

At  this  moment  the  banquet  broke  up.  The 
chamberlain  with  his  lofty  demeanor,  and  his  lack- 
lustre eyes,  stood  before  him,  and  announced  that 
the  barge  was  waiting  to  conduct  him  back  to  the 
caravel.  Don  Fernando  took  a  formal  leave  of 
the  Alcayde  and  his  dignitaries,  and  a  tender  fare- 
well of  the  Alcayde's  daughter,  with  a  promise  to 
throw  himself  at  her  feet  on  the  following  day.  He 
was  rowed  back  to  his  vessel  in  the  same  slow  and 
stately  manner,  to  tlie  cadence  of  the  same  mourn- 
ful old  ditty.  He  retired  to  his  cabin,  his  brain  whirl- 
ing with  all  that  he  had  seen,  and  his  heart  now  and 
then  giving  him  a  twinge,  as  he  recollected  his  tem- 
porary infidelity  to  the  beautiful  Serafina.  He  flung 
himself  on  his  bed,  and  soon  fell  into  a  feverish  sleep. 
His  dreams  were  wild  and  incoherent.  How  long 
he  slept  he  knew  not,  but  when  he  awoke  he  found 
himself  in  a  strange  cabin,  with  persons  around  him 
of  whom  he  had  no  knowledge.  He  rubbed  his  eyes 
to  ascertain  whether  he  were  really  awake.  In  re- 
ply to  his  inquiries,  he  was  informed  that  he  was  on 
board  of  a  Portuguese  ship,  bound  to  Lisbon  ;  having 
been  taken  senseless  from  a  wreck  drifting  about 
the  ocean. 

Don  Fernando  was  confounded  and  perplexed. 
He  retraced  every  thing  distinctly  that  had  happened 
to  him  in  the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities,  and  until 
he  had  retired  to  rest  on  board  of  the  caravel.  Had 
his  vessel  been  driven  from  her  anchors,  and  wrecked 
during  his  sleep .'  The  people  about  him  could  give 
him  no  information  on  the  subject.  He  talked  to 
them  of  the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities,  and  of  all 
that  had  befallen  him  there.  They  regarded  his 
words  as  the  ravings  of  delirium,  and  in  their  honest 
solicitude,  administered  such  rough  reinedies,  that 
he  was  fain  to  drop  the  subject,  and  observe  a  cau- 
tious taciturnity. 

At  length  they  arrived  in  the  Tagus,  and  anchored 
before  the  famous  city  of  Lisbon.  Don  Fernando 
sprang  joyfully  on  shore,  and  hastened  to  his  ances- 
tral mansion.  To  his  surprise,  it  was  inhabited  by 
strangers ;  and  when  he  asked  about  his  family,  no 
one  could  give  him  any  information  concerning 
them. 

He  now  sought  the  mansion  of  Don  Ramiro,  for 
the  temporary  flame  kindled  by  the  bright  eyes  of 
the  Alcayde's  daughter  had  long  since  burnt  itself 
out,  and  his  genuine  passion  for  Serafina  had  revived 
with  all  its  fervor.  He  approached  the  balcony,  be- 
neath which  he  had  so  often  serenaded  her.  Did 
his  eyes  deceive  him  ?  No  !  There  was  Serafina 
herself  at  the  balcony.  An  exclamation  of  rapture 
burst  from  him,  as  he  raised  his  arms  toward  her. 
She  cast  upon  him  a  look  of  indignation,  and  hastily 
retiring,  closed  the  casement.    Could  she  have  heard 


of  his  flirtation  with  the  Alcayde's  daughter  ?  He 
would  soon  dispel  every  doubt  of  his  constancy. 
The  door  was  open.  He  rushed  up-stairs,  and  en- 
tering the  room,  threw  himself  at  her  feet.  She 
shrank  back  with  affright,  and  took  refuge  in  the 
arms  of  a  youthful  cavalier. 

'  What  mean  you.  Sir,'  cried  the  latter,  '  by  this 
intrusion .' ' 

'  What  right  have  you,'  replied  Don  Fernando, 
'  to  ask  the  question  ?  ' 

'  The  right  of  an  affianced  suitor ! ' 

Don  Fernando  started,  and  turned  pale.  '  Oh, 
Serafina !  Serafina  1 '  cried  he,  in  a  tone  of  agony,  '  is 
this  thy  plighted  constancy?  ' 

'  Serafina  ? — what  mean  you  by  Serafina .''  If  it 
be  this  young  lady  you  intend,  her  name  is  Maria.' 

'  Is  not  this  Serafina  Alvarez,  and  is  not  that  her 
portrait  ? '  cried  Don  Fernando,  pointing  to  a  picture 
of  his  mistress. 

'  Holy  Virgin  ! '  cried  the  young  lady ;  '  he  is  talk- 
ing of  my  great-grandmother ! ' 

An  explanation  ensued,  if  that  could  be  called  an 
explanation,  which  plunged  the  unfortunate  Fernan- 
do into  tenfold  perplexity.  If  he  might  believe  his 
eyes,  he  saw  before  him  his  beloved  Serafina  ;  if  he 
might  believe  his  ears,  it  was  merely  her  hereditary 
form  and  features,  perpetuated  in  the  person  of  her 
great-granddaughter. 

His  brain  began  to  spin.  He  sought  the  office  of 
the  Minister  of  Marine,  and  made  a  report  of  his 
expedition,  and  of  the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities, 
which  he  had  so  fortunately  discovered.  No  body 
knew  any  thing  of  such  an  expedition,  or  such  an 
island.  He  declared  that  he  had  undertaken  the  en- 
terprise under  a  formal  contract  with  the  crown,  and 
had  received  a  regular  commission,  constituting  him 
Adelantado.  This  must  be  matter  of  record,  and  he 
insisted  loudly,  that  the  books  of  the  department 
should  be  consulted.  The  wordy  strife  at  length  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  an  old,  gray-headed  clerk, 
who  sat  perched  on  a  high  stool,  at  a  high  desk,  with 
iron-rimmed  spectacles  on  the  top  of  a  thin,  pinched 
nose,  copying  records  into  an  enormous  folio.  He 
had  wintered  and  summered  in  the  department  for  a 
great  part  of  a  century,  until  he  had  almost  grown 
to  be  a  piece  of  the  desk  at  which  he  sat ;  his  mem- 
ory was  a  mere  index  of  official  facts  and  documents, 
and  his  brain  was  little  better  than  red  tape  and 
parchment.  After  peering  down  for  a  time  from  his 
lofty  perch,  and  ascertaining  the  matter  in  contro- 
versy, he  put  his  pen  behind  his  ear,  and  descended. 
He  remembered  to  have  heard  soinething  from  his 
predecessor  about  an  expedition  of  the  kind  in 
question,  but  then  it  had  sailed  during  the  reign  of 
Don  loam  II.,  and  he  had  been  dead  at  least  a  hun- 
dred years.  To  put  the  matter  beyond  dispute,  how- 
ever, the  archives  of  the  Torve  do  Tombo,  that  sep- 
ulchre of  old  Portuguese  documents,  were  diligently 
searched,  and  a  record  was  found  of  a  contract  be- 
tween the  crown  and  one  Fernando  de  Ulmo,  for 
the  discovery  of  the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities,  and 
of  a  commission  secured  to  him  as  Adelantado  of 
the  country  he  might  discover. 

'  There  ! '  cried  Don  Fernando,  triumphantly,  '  there 
you  have  proof,  before  your  own  eyes,  of  what  I  have 
said.  I  am  the  Fernando  de  Ulmo  specified  in  that 
record.  I  have  discovered  the  Island  of  the  Seven 
Cities,  and  am  entitled  to  be  Adelantado,  according 
to  contract.' 

The  story  of  Don  Fernando  had  certainly,  what 
is  pronounced  the  best  of  historical  foundation,  docu- 
mentary evidence ;  but  when  a  man,  in  the  bloom 
of  youth,  talked  of  events  that  had  taken  place  above 
a  century  previously,  as  having  happened  to  himself, 
it  is  no  wonder  that  he  was  set  down  for  a  mad  man. 


826 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


The  old  clerk  looked  at  him  from  above  and  below 
his  spectacles,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  stroked  his 
chin,  reascended  his  lofty  stool,  took  the  pen  from 
behind  his  ears,  and  resumed  his  daily  and  eternal 
task,  copying  records  into  the  fiftieth  volume  of  a 
series  of  gigantic  folios.  The  other  clerks  winked 
at  each  other  shrewdly,  and  dispersed  to  their  several 
places,  and  poor  Don  Fernando,  thus  left  to  him- 
self, flung  out  of  the  office,  almost  driven  wild  by 
these  repeated  perplexities. 

In  the  confusion  of  his  mind,  he  instinctively  re- 
paired to  the  mansion  of  Alvarez,  but  it  was  barred 
against  him.  To  break  the  delusion  under  which 
the  youth  apparently  labored,  and  to  convince  him 
that  the  Serafina  about  whom  he  raved  was  really 
dead,  he  was  conducted  to  her  tomb.  There  she 
lay,  a  stately  matron,  cut  out  in  alabaster ;  and  there 
lay  her  husband  beside  her;  a  portly  cavalier,  in 
armor ;  and  there  knelt,  on  each  side,  the  effigies  of 
a  numerous  progeny,  proving  that  she  had  been  a 
fruitful  vine.  Even  the  very  monument  gave  proof  of 
the  lapse  of  time,  for  the  hands  of  her  husband,  which 
were  folded  as  if  in  prayer,  had  lost  their  fingers,  and 
the  face  of  the  once  lovely  Serafina  was  noseless. 

Don  Fernando  felt  a  transient  glow  of  indignation 
at  beholding  this  monumental  proof  of  the  incon- 
stancy of  his  mistress  ;  but  who  could  expect  a 
mistress  to  remain  constant  during  a  whole  century 
of  absence  ?  And  what  right  had  he  to  rail  about 
constancy,  after  what  had  passed  between  him  and 
the  Alcayde's  daughter?  The  unfortunate  cavalier 
performed  one  pious  act  of  tender  devotion  ;  he  had 
the  alabaster  nose  of  Serafina  restored  by  a  skilful 
statuary,  and  then  tore  himself  from  the  tomb. 

He  could  now  no  longer  doubt  the  fact  that,  some- 
how or  other,  he  had  skipped  over  a  whole  century, 
during  the  night  he  had  spent  at  the  Island  of  the 
Seven  Cities  ;  and  he  was  now  as  complete  a  stran- 
ger in  his  native  city,  as  if  he  had  never  been  there. 
A  thousand  times  did  he  wish  himself  back  to  that 
wonderful  island,  with  its  antiquated  banquet  halls, 
where  he  had  been  so  courteously  received  ;  and 
now  that  the  once  young  and  beautiful  Serafina  was 
nothing  but  a  g.'-eat-grandmother  in  marble,  with 
generations  of  descendants,  a  thousand  times  would 
he  recall  the  melting  black  eyes  of  the  Alcayde's 
daughter,  who  doubtless,  like  himself,  was  still  flour- 
ishing in  fresh  juvenility,  and  breathe  a  secret  wish 
that  he  were  seated  by  her  side. 

He  would  at  once  have  set  on  foot  another  expe- 
dition, at  his  own  expense,  to  cruise  in  search  of 
the  sainted  island,  but  his  means  were  exhausted. 
He  endeavored  to  rouse  others  to  the  enterprise, 
setting  forth  the  certainty  of  profitable  results,  of 
which  his  own  experience  furnished  such  unques- 
tionable proof.  Alas  !  no  one  would  give  faith  to 
his  tale ;  but  looked  upon  it  as  the  feverish  dream 
of  a  shipwrecked  man.  He  persisted  in  his  efforts  ; 
holding  forth  in  all  places  and  all  companies,  until 
he  became  an  object  of  jest  and  jeer  to  the  light- 
minded,  who  mistook  his  earnest  enthusiasm  for  a 
proof  of  insanity  ;  and  the  very  children  in  the  streets 
bantered  him  with  the  title  of '  The  Adelantado  of 
the  Seven  Cities.' 

Finding  all  his  efforts  in  vain,  in  his  native  city  of 
Lisbon,  he  took  shipping  for  the  Canaries,  as  being 
nearer  the  latitude  of  his  former  cruise,  and  inhabit- 
ed by  people  given  to  nautical  adventure.  Here  he 
found  ready  listeners  to  his  story ;  for  the  old  pilots 
and  mariners  of  those  parts  were  notorious  island- 
hunters  and  devout  believers  in  all  the  wonders  of 
the  seas.  Indeed,  one  and  all  treated  his  adventure 
as  a  common  occurrence,  and  turning  to  each  other, 
with  a  sagacious  nod  of  the  head,  observed,  '  He  has 
been  at  the  Island  of  St.  Brandan.' 


They  then  went  on  to  inform  him  of  that  great 
marvel  and  enigma  of  the  ocean  ;  of  its  repeated  ap- 
pearance to  the  inhabitants  of  their  islands ;  and  of 
the  many  but  ineffectual  expeditions  that  had  been 
made  in  search  of  it.  They  took  him  to  a  promon- 
tory of  the  island  of  Palma,  from  whence  the  shad- 
owy St.  Brandan  had  oftenest  been  descried,  and 
they  pointed  out  the  very  tract  in  the  west  where  its 
mountains  had  been  seen. 

Don  Fernando  listened  with  rapt  attention.  He 
had  no  longer  a  doubt  that  this  mysterious  and  fuga- 
cious island  must  be  the  same  with  that  of  the  Seven 
Cities  ;  and  that  there  must  be  some  supernatural 
influence  connected  with  it,  that  had  operated  upon 
himself,  and  made  the  events  of  a  night  occupy  the 
space  of  a  century. 

He  endeavored,  but  in  vain,  to  rouse  the  islanders 
to  another  attempt  at  discovery ;  they  had  given  up 
the  phantom  island  as  indeed  inaccessible.  Fernan- 
do, however,  was  not  to  be  discouraged.  The  idea 
wore  itself  deeper  and  deeper  in  his  mind,  until  it 
became  the  engrossing  subject  of  his  thoughts  and 
object  of  his  being.  Every  morning  he  would  repair 
to  the  promontory  of  Palma,  and  sit  there  through- 
out the  live-long  day,  in  hopes  of  seeing  the  fairy 
mountains  of  St.  Brandan  peering  above  the  hori- 
zon ;  every  evening  he  returned  to  his  home,  a  dis- 
appointed man,  but  ready  to  resume  his  post  on  the 
following  morning. 

His  assiduity  was  all  in  vain.  He  grew  gray  in 
his  ineffectual  attempt ;  and  was  at  length  found 
dead  at  his  post.  His  grave  is  still  shown  in  the 
island  of  Palma,  and  a  cross  is  erected  on  the  spot 
where  he  used  to  sit  and  look  out  upon  the  sea,  in 
hopes  of  the  reappearance  of  the  enchanted  island. 


NATIONAL  NOMENCLATURE. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir  :  I  am  somewhat  of  the  same  way  of  think- 
ing, in  regard  to  names,  with  that  profound  philoso- 
pher, Mr.  Shandy,  the  elder,  who  maintained  that 
some  inspired  high  thoughts  and  heroic  aims,  while 
others  entailed  irretrievable  meanness  and  vulgarity  ; 
insomuch  that  a  man  might  sink  under  the  insignifi- 
cance of  his  name,  and  be  absolutely  '  Nicodemused 
into  nothing.'  I  have  ever,  therefore,  thought  it  a 
great  hardship  for  a  man  to  be  obliged  to  struggle 
through  life  with  some  ridiculous  or  ignoble  'Christ- 
ian name,  as  it  is  too  often  falsely  called,  inflicted 
on  him  in  infancy,  when  he  could  not  choose  for 
himself ;  and  would  give  him  free  liberty  to  change 
it  for  one  more  to  his  taste,  when  he  had  arrived  at 
years  of  discretion. 

I  have  the  same  notion  with  respect  to  local  names. 
Some  at  once  prepossess  us  in  favor  of  a  place  ; 
others  repel  us,  by  unlucky  associations  of  the  mind  ; 
and  I  have  known  scenes  worthy  of  being  the  very 
haunt  of  poetry  and  romance,  yet  doomed  to  irre- 
trievable vulgarity,  by  some  ill-chosen  name,  which 
not  even  the  magic  numbers  of  a  Halleck  or  a 
Bryant  could  elevate  into  poetical  acceptation. 

This  is  an  evil  unfortunately  too  prevalent  through- 
out our  country.  Nature  has  stamped  the  land  with 
features  of"sublimity  and  beauty ;  but  some  of  our 
noblest  mountains  and  loveliest  streams  are  in  danger 
of  remaining  for  ever  unhonored  and  unsung,  from 
bearing  appellations  totally  abhorrent  to  the  Muse. 
In  the  first  place,  our  country  is  deluged  with  names 
taken  from  places  in  the  old  world,  and  applied  to 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


827 


places  having  no  possible  affinity  or  resemblance  to 
tlieir  namesakes.  This  betokens  a  forlorn  poverty  of 
invention,  and  a  second-hand  spirit,  content  to  cover 
its  nakedness  with  borrowed  or  cast-off  clothes  of 
Europe. 

Then  we  have  a  shallow  affectation  ot  scholarship : 
the  whole  catalogue  of  ancient  worthies  is  shaken 
out  from  the  back  of  Lempriere's  Classical  Diction- 
ary, and  a  wide  region  of  wild  country  sprinkled 
over  with  the  names  of  the  heroes,  poets,  and  sages 
of  antiquity,  jumbled  into  the  most  whimsical  juxta- 
position. Then  \vc  have  our  political  god-fathers  ; 
topographical  engineers,  perhaps,  or  persons  em- 
ployed by  government  to  survey  and  lay  out  town- 
ships. These,  forsooth,  glorify  the  patrons  that  give 
them  bread  ;  so  we  have  the  names  of  the  great 
official  men  of  the  day  scattered  over  the  land,  as  if 
they  were  the  real  '  salt  of  the  earth,'  with  which  it 
was  to  be  seasoned.  Well  for  us  is  it,  when  these 
oflicial  great  men  happen  to  have  names  ot  fair  ac- 
ceptation ;  but  wo  unto  us,  should  a  Tubbs  or  a 
Potts  be  in  power :  we  are  sure,  in  a  little  while,  to 
find  TubbsviUes  and  Pottsylvanias  springing  up  in 
every  direction. 

Under  these  melancholy  dispensations  of  taste  and 
loyalty,  therefore,  Mr.  Editor,  it  is  with  a  feeling  of 
dawning  hope,  that  1  have  lately  perceived  the  atten- 
tion of  persons  of  intelligence  beginning  to  be  awak- 
ened on  this  subject.  I  trust  if  the  matter  should 
once  be  taken  up,  it  will  not  be  readily  abandoned. 
We  are  yet  young  enough,  as  a  country,  to  remedy 
and  reform  much  of  what  has  been  done,  and  to  re- 
lease many  of  our  rising  towns  and  cities,  and  our 
noble  streams,  from  names  calculated  to  vulgarize  the 
land. 

I  have,  on  a  former  occasion,  suggested  the  ex- 
pediency of  searching  out  the  original  Indian  names 
of  places,  and  wherever  they  are  striking  and 
euphonious,  and  those  by  which  they  have  been 
superseded  are  glaringly  objectionable,  to  restore 
them.  They  would  have  the  merit  of  originality, 
and  of  belonging  to  the  country ;  and  they  would 
remain  as  reliques  of  the  native  lords  of  the  soil, 
when  every  other  vestige  had  disappeared.  Many 
of  these  names  may  easily  be  regained,  by  reference 
to  old  title  deeds,  and  to  the  archives  of  states  and 
counties.  In  my  own  case,  by  examining  the  records 
of  the  county  clerk's  office,  I  have  discovered  the  In- 
dian names  of  various  places  and  objects  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, and  have  found  them  infinitely  superior  to 
the  trite,  poverty-stricken  names  which  had  been  given 
by  the  settlers.  A  beautiful  pastoral  stream,  for  in- 
stance, which  winds  for  many  a  mile  through  one  of 
the  loveliest  little  valleys  in  the  state  has  long  been 
known  by  the  common-place  naine  of  the  '  Saw-mill 
River.'  In  the  old  Indian  grants,  it  is  designated 
as  the  Neperan.  Another,  a  perfectly  wizard  stream, 
which  winds  through  the  wildest  recesses  of  Sleepy 
Hollow,  bears  the  hum-drum  name  of  Mill  Creek  : 
in  the  Indian  grants,  it  sustains  the  euphonious  title 
of  the  Pocantico. 

Similar  researches  have  released  Long-Island 
from  many  of  those  paltry  and  vulgar  names  which 
fringed  its  beautiful  shores  ;  their  Cow  Bays,  and 
Cow  Necks,  and  Oyster  Ponds,  and  Musquito  Coves, 
which  spread  a  spell  of  vulgarity  over  the  whole 
island,  and  kept  persons  of  taste  and  fancy  at  a  dis- 
tance. 

It  would  be  an  object  worthy  the  attention  of  the 
historical  societies,  which  are  springing  up  in  various 
parts  of  the  Union,  to  have  maps  executed  of  their 
respective  states  or  neighborhoods,  in  which  all  the 
Indian  local  names  should,  as  far  as  possible,  be  re- 
stored. In  fact,  it  appears  to  me  that  the  nomen- 
clature of  the  country  is  almost  of  sufficient  importance 


for  the  foundation  of  a  distinct  society ;  or  rather,  a 
corresponding  association  of  persons  of  taste  and 
judgment,  of  all  parts  of  the  Union.  Such  an  as- 
sociation, if  properly  constituted  and  composed,  com- 
prising especially  all  the  literary  talent  of  the  coun- 
try, though  it  might  not  have  legislative  power 
in  its  enactments,  yet  would  have  the  all-pervading 
power  of  the  press  ;  and  the  changes  in  nomencla- 
ture which  it  might  dictate,  being  at  once  adopted 
by  elegant  writers  in  prose  and  poetry,  and  inter- 
woven with  the  literature  of  the  country,  would  ulti- 
mately pass  into  popular  currency. 

Should  such  a  reforming  association  arise,  I  beg 
to  recommend  to  its  attention  all  those  mongrel 
names  that  have  the  adjective  New  prefixed  to  them, 
and  pray  they  may  be  one  and  all  kicked  out  of  the 
country.  I  am  for  none  of  these  second-hand  appel- 
lations, that  stamp  us  a  second-hand  people,  and 
that  are  to  perpetuate  us  a  new  country  to  the  end 
of  time.  Odds  my  life  !  Mr.  Editor,  I  hope  and 
trust  we  are  to  live  to  be  an  old  nation,  as  well  as 
our  neighbors,  and  have  no  idea  that  our  cities,  when 
they  shall  have  attained  to  venerable  antiquity,  shall 
still  be  dubbed  jV^zf-York,  and  7Vi."Z£/-London,  and 
new  this  and  new  that,  like  the  Pont  Neuf,  (the  New 
Bridge,)  at  Paris,  which  is  the  oldest  bridge  in  that 
capital,  or  like  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield's  horse,  which 
continued  to  be  called  'the  colt,'  until  he  died  of  old 
age. 

Speaking  of  New-York,  reminds  me  of  some  ob- 
servations which  I  met  with  some  time  since,  in  one 
of  the  public  papers,  about  the  name  of  our  state 
and  city.  The  writer  proposes  to  substitute  for  the 
present  names,  those  of  the  State  of  Ontario, 
and  the  City  of  Manhattan.  1  concur  in  his 
suggestion  most  heartily.  Though  born  and  brought 
up  in  the  city  of  New- York,  and  though  I  love  every 
stick  and  stone  about  it,  yet  I  do  not,  nor  ever  did, 
relish  its  name.  I  like  neither  its  sound  nor  its  sig- 
nificance. As  to  its  sii^nificance,  the  very  adjective 
new  gives  to  our  great  commercial  metropolis  a  sec- 
ond-hand character,  as  if  referring  to  some  older, 
more  dignified,  and  important  place,  of  which  it 
was  a  mere  copy ;  though  in  fact,  if  I  am  rightly  in- 
formed, the  whole  name  commemorates  a  grant  by 
Charles  II.  to  his  brother,  the  duke  of  York,  made 
in  the  spirit  of  royal  munificence,  of  a  tract  of 
country  which  did  not  belong  to  him.  As  to  the 
sound,  what  can  you  make  of  it,  either  in  poetry  or 
prose.'  New-York!  Why,  Sir,  if  it  were  to  share 
the  fate  of  Troy  itself;  to  suffer  a  ten  years'  siege, 
and  be  sacked  and  plundered  ;  no  modern  Homer 
would  ever  be  able  to  elevate  the  name  to  epic  dig- 
nity. 

Now,  Sir,  Ontario  would  be  a  name  worthy  of 
the  empire  state.  It  bears  with  it  the  majesty  of 
that  internal  sea  which  washes  our  northwestern 
shore.  Or,  if  any  objection  should  be  made,  from 
its  not  being  completely  embraced  within  our  bound- 
aries, there  is  the  MOHEGAN,  one  of  the  Indian 
names  for  that  glorious  river,  the  Hudson,  which 
would  furnish  an  excellent  state  appellation.  So 
also  New- York  might  be  called  Manhatta,  as  it  is 
named  in  some  of  the  early  records,  and  Manhattan 
used  as  the  adjective.  Manhattan,  however,  stands 
well  as  a  substantive,  and  '  Manhattanese,'  which  I 
observe  Mr.  Cooper  has  adopted  in  some  of  his 
writings,  would  be  a  very  good  appellation  for  a 
citizen  of  the  commercial  metropolis. 

A  word  or  two  more,  Mr.  Editor,  and  I  have  done. 
We  want  a  national  name.  We  want  it  poeti- 
cally, and  we  want  it  politically.  With  the  poetical 
necessity  of  the  case  I  shall  not  trouble  myself.  I 
leave  it  to  our  poets  to  tell  how  they  manage  to  steer 
that  collocation  of  words,  'The  United  States  of 


328 


WORKS    OF  WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


North  America,'  down  the  swelling  tide  of  song, 
and  to  float  the  whole  raft  out  upon  the  sea  of  he- 
roic poesy.  I  am  now  speaking  of  the  mere  pur- 
poses of  common  life.  How  is  a  citizen  of  this  re- 
public to  designate  himself?  As  an  American? 
There  are  two  Americas,  each  subdivided  into  vari- 
ous empires,  rapidly  rising  in  importance.  As  a  cit- 
izen of  the  United  States  ?  It  is  a  clumsy,  lumber- 
ing title,  yet  still  it  is  not  distinctive ;  for  we  have 
now  the  United  States  of  Central  America ;  and 
heaven  knows  how  many  '  United  States '  may 
spring-  up  under  the  Proteus  changes  of  Spanish 
America. 

This  may  appear  matter  of  small  concernment; 
but  any  one  that  has  travelled  in  foreign  countries 
must  be  conscious  of  the  embarrassment  and  cir- 
cumlocution sometimes  occasioned  by  the  want  of  a 
perfectly  distinct  and  explicit  national  appellation. 
In  France,  when  I  have  announced  myself  as  an 
American,  I  have  been  supposed  to  belong  to  one  of 
the  French  colonies ;  in  Spain,  to  be  from  Mexico,  or 
Peru,  or  some  other  Spanish-American  country. 
Repeatedly  have  I  found  myself  involved  in  a  long 
geographical  and  political  definition  of  my  national 
identity. 

Now,  Sir,  meaning  no  disrespect  to  any  of  our  co 
heirs  of  this  great  quarter  of  the  world,  I  am  for 
none  of  this  coparceny  in  a  name  that  is  to  mingle 
us  up  with  the  riff-raff  colonies  and  off-sets  of  every 
nation  of  Europe.  The  title  of  American  may  serve 
to  tell  the  quarter  of  the  world  to  which  I  belong, 
the  same  as  a  Frenchman  or  an  Englishman  may 
call  himself  a  European ;  but  I  want  my  own  pecul- 
iar national  name  to  rally  under.  I  want  an  appel- 
lation that  shall  tell  at  once,  and  in  a  way  not  to  be 
mistaken,  that  I  belong  to  this  very  portion  of  Amer- 
ica, geographical  and  political,  to  which  it  is  my 
pride  and  happiness  to  belong;  that  I  am  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race  which  founded  this  Anglo-Saxon 
empire  in  the  wilderness ;  and  that  I  have  no  part 
or  parcel  with  any  other  race  or  empire,  Spanish, 
French,  or  Portuguese,  in  either  of  the  Americas. 
Such  an  appellation.  Sir,  would  have  magic  in  it.  It 
would  bind  every  part  of  the  confederacy  together 
as  with  a  key-stone ;  it  would  be  a  passport  to  the 
citizen  of  our  republic  throughout  the  world. 

We  have  it  in  our  power  to  furnish  ourselves  with 
such  a  national  appellation,  from  one  of  the  grand 
and  eternal  features  of  our  country  ;  from  that  noble 
chain  of  mountains  which  formed  its  back-bone,  and 
ran  through  the  'old  confederacy,'  when  it  fir.  t  de- 
clared our  national  independence.  I  allude  to  the 
Appalachian  or  Alleghany  mountains.  We  might 
do  this  without  any  very  inconvenient  change  in  our 
present  titles.  We  might  still  use  the  phrase,  '  The 
United  States,'  substituting  Appalachia,  or  Alle- 
ghania,  (I  should  prefer  the  latter,)  in  place  of 
America.  The  title  of  Appalachian,  or  Alle- 
ghanian,  would  still  announce  us  as  Americans,  but 
would  specify  us  as  citizens  of  the  Great  Republic. 
Even  our  old  national  cypher  of  U.  S.  A.  might  re- 
main unaltered,  designating  the  United  States  of 
Alleghania. 

These  are  crude  ideas,  Mr.  Editor,  hastily  thrown 
out  to  elicit  the  ideas  of  others,  and  to  call  attention 
to  a  subject  of  more  national  importance  than  may 
at  first  be  supposed. 

Very  respectfully  yours, 

Geoffrey  Crayon. 


DESULTORY  THOUGHTS  ON  CRITICISM. 


*  Let  a  man  write  never  so  well,  there  are  now-a-days  a  sort  ot 
persons  they  call  critics,  that,  egad,  have  no  more  wit  in  them 
than  so  many  hobby-horses  :  but  they  'II  laugh  at  you.  Sir,  and 
find  fault  and  censure  things,  that,  eG:ad,  I'm  sure  they  are  not 
able  to  do  themselves  ;  a  sort  of  envious  persons,  that  emulate 
the  glories  of  persons  of  parts,  and  think  to  build  their  fame  by 
calumniation  of  persons  that,  egad,  to  my  knowledge,  of  all 
persons  in  the  world,  are  in  nature  the  persons  that  do  .as  much 
despise  all  that,  as —  a  —    In  fine,  1  '11  say  no  more  of  'em  1 ' 

Rehearsal. 

All  the  world  knows  the  story  of  the  tempest- 
tossed  voyager,  who,  coming  upon  a  strange  coast, 
and  seeing  a  man  hanging  in  chains,  hailed  it  with 
joy,  as  the  sign  of  a  civilized  country.  In  like  man- 
ner we  may  hail,  as  a  proof  of  the  rapid  advance- 
ment of  civilization  and  refinement  in  this  country, 
the  increasing  number  of  delinquent  authors  daily 
gibbetted  for  the  edification  of  the  public. 

In  this  respect,  as  in  every  other,  we  are  '  going 
ahead'  with  accelerated  velocity,  and  promising  to 
outstrip  the  superannuated  countries  of  Europe.  It 
is  really  astonishing  to  see  the  number  of  tribunals 
incessantly  springing  up  for  the  trial  of  literary 
offences.  Independent  of  the  high  courts  of  Oyer 
and  Terminer,  the  great  quarterly  reviews,  we  have 
innumerable  minor  tribunals,  monthly  and  weekly, 
down  to  the  Pie-poudre  courts  in  the  daily  papers ; 
insomuch  that  no  culprit  stands  so  little  chance  of 
escaping  castigation,  as  an  unlucky  author,  guilty  of 
an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  please  the  public. 

Seriously  speaking,  however,  it  is  questionable 
whether  our  national  literature  is  sufficiently  ad- 
vanced, to  bear  this  excess  of  criticism  ;  and  whether 
it  would  not  thrive  better,  if  allowed  to  spring  up, 
for  .some,  time  longer,  in  the  freshness  and  vigor  of 
native  vegetation.  When  the  worthy  Judge  Coulter, 
of  Virginia,  opened  court  for  the  first  lime  in  one  of 
the  upper  counties,  he  was  for  enforcing  all  the  rules 
and  regulations  that  had  grown  into  use  in  the  old, 
long-settled  counties.  '  This  is  all  very  well,"  said  a 
shrewd  old  farmer ;  '  but  let  me  tell  you,  Judge 
Coulter,  you  set  your  coulter  too  deep  for  a  new 
soil.' 

For  my  part,  I  doubt  whether  either  writer  or 
reader  is  benefited  by  what  is  commonly  called 
criticism.  The  former  is  rendered  cautious  and  dis- 
trustful ;  he  fears  to  give  way  to  those  kindling 
emotions,  and  brave  sallies  of  thought,  which  bear 
him  up  to  excellence  ;  the  latter  is  made  fastidious 
and  cynical ;  or  rather,  he  surrenders  his  own  inde- 
pendent taste  and  judgment,  and  learns  to  like  and 
dislike  at  second  hand. 

Let  us,  for  a  moment,  consider  the  nature  of  this 
thing  called  criticism,  which  e.xerts  such  a  sway  over 
the  literary  worlds  The  pronoun  we,  used  by  critics, 
has  a  most  imposing  and  delusive  sound.  The 
reader  pictures  to  himself  a  conclave  of  learned  men, 
deliberating  gravely  and  scrupulously  on  the  merits 
of  the  book  in  question  ;  examining  it  page  by  page, 
comparing  and  balancing  their  opinions,  and  when 
they  have  united  in  a  conscientious  verdict,  publish- 
ing it  for  the  benefit  of  the  world :  whereas  the  criti 
cism  is  generally  the  crude  and  hasty  production  of 
an  individual,  scribbling  to  while  away  an  idle  houi, 
to  oblige  a  book-seller,  or  to  defray  current  expenses. 
How  often  is  it  the  passing  notion  of  the  hour, 
affected  by  accidental  circumstances  ;  by  indisposi- 
tion, by  peevishness,  by  vapors  or  indigestion ;  b/ 
personal  prejudice,  or  party  feeling  Sometimes  a 
work  is  sacrificed,  because  the  reviewer  wishes  a 
satirical  article ;  sometimes  because  he  wants  a 
,  humorous  one  ;  and  sometimes  because  the  author 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


829 


reviewed  has  become  offensively  celebrated,  and 
offers  high  game  to  the  literary  marksman. 

How  often  would  the  critic  himself,  if  a  conscien- 
tious man,  reverse  his  opinion,  had  he  time  to  revise 
it  in  a  more  sunny  moment ;  but  the  press  is  wait- 
ing, the  printer's  devil  is  at  his  elbow  ;  the  article  is 
wanted  to  make  the  requisite  variety  for  the  number 
of  the  review,  or  the  author  has  pressing  occasion  for 
the  sum  he  is  to  receive  for  the  article,  so  it  is  sent 
off,  all  blotted  and  blurred  ;  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  and  the  consolatory  ejaculation  :  '  Pshaw  ! 
curse  it !  it 's  nothing  but  a  review  ! ' 

The  critic,  too,  who  dictates  thus  oracularly  to 
the  world,  is  perhaps  some  dingy,  ill-favored,  ill- 
mannered  varlet,  who,  were  he  to  speak  by  word 
of  mouth,  would  be  disregarded,  if  not  scoffed  at ; 
but  such  is  the  magic  of  types;  such  the  mystic 
operation  of  anonymous  writing  ;  such  the  potential 
effect  of  the  pronoun  "wc,  that  his  crude  decisions, 
fulminated  through  the  press,  become  circulated  far 
and  wide,  control  the  opinions  of  the  world,  and  give 
or  destroy  reputation. 

Many  readers  have  grown  timorous  in  their  judg- 
ments since  the  all-pervading  currency  of  criticism. 
They  fear  to  express  a  revised,  frank  opmion  about 
any  new  work,  and  to  relish  it  honestly  and  heartily, 
lest  it  should  be  condemned  in  the  next  review,  and 
they  stand  convicted  of  bad  taste.  Hence  they 
hedge  their  opinions,  like  a  gambler  his  bets,  and 
leave  an  opening  to  retract,  and  retreat,  and  qualify, 
and  neutralize  every  unguarded  expression  of  delight, 
until  their  very  praise  declines  into  a  faintness  that 
is  damning. 

Were  ever)'  one,  on  the  contrary,  to  judge  for  him- 
self, and  speak  his  mind  frankly  and  fearlessly,  we 
should  have  more  true  criticism  in  the  world  than  at 
jiresent.  Whenever  a  person  is  pleased  with  a  work, 
he  may  be  assured  that  it  has  good  qualities.  An 
author  who  pleases  a  variety  of  readers,  must  possess 
substantial  powers  of  pleasing;  or,  in  other  words, 
intrinsic  merits ;  for  otherwise  we  acknowledge  an 
effect,  and  deny  the  cause.  The  reader,  therefore, 
should  not  suffer  himself  to  be  readily  shaken  from 
the  conviction  of  his  own  feelings,  by  the  sweeping 
censures  of  pseudo  critics.  The  author  he  has  ad- 
mired, may  tie  chargeable  with  a  thousand  faults  ; 
but  it  is  nevertheless  beauties  and  excellencies  that 
have  excited  his  admiration ;  and  he  should  recol- 
lect that  taste  and  judgment  are  as  much  evinced  in 
the  perception  of  beauties  among  defects,  as  in  a 
detection  of  defects  among  beauties.  For  my  part, 
1  honor  the  blessed  and  blessing  spirit  that  is  quick 
•to  discover  and  extol  all  that  is  pleasing  and  merito- 
rious. Give  me  the  honest  bee,  that  extracts  honey 
from  the  humblest  weed,  but  save  me  from  the  in- 
genuity of  the  spider,  which  traces  its  venom,  even 
in  the  midst  of  a  flower-garden. 

If  the  mere  fact  of  being  chargeable  with  faults 
and  imperfections  is  to  condemn  an  author,  who  is 
to  escape .'  The  greatest  writers  of  antiquity  have, 
in  this  way,  been  obnoxious  to  criticism.  Aristotle 
himself  has  been  accused  of  ignorance ;  Aristoph- 
anes of  impiety  and  buffoonery ;  Virgil  of  plagi- 
arism, and  a  want  of  invention ;  Horace  of  obscurity ; 
Cicero  has  been  said  to  want  vigor  and  connexion, 
and  Demosthenes  to  be  deficient  in  nature,  and  in 
purity  of  language.  Yet  these  have  all  survived  the 
censures  of  the  critic,  and  flourished  on  to  a  glorious 
immortality.  Every  now  and  then  the  world  is 
startled  by  some  new  doctrines  in  matters  of  taste, 
some  levelling  attacks  on  established  creeds  ;  some 
sweeping  denunciations  of  whole  generations,  or 
schools  of  writers,  as  they  are  called,  who  had 
seemed  to  be  embalmed  and  canonized  in  public 
opinion.     Such  has  been  the  case,  for  instance,  with 


Pope,  and  Drj'den,  and  Addison  ;  who  for  a  time 
have  almost  been  shaken  from  their  pedestals,  and 
treated  as  false  idols. 

It  is  singular,  also,  to  see  the  fickleness  of  the 
world  with  respect  to  its  favorites.  Enthusiasm  ex- 
hausts itself,  and  prepares  the  way  for  dislike.  The 
public  is  always  for  positive  sentiments,  and  new 
sensations.  When  wearied  of  admiring,  it  delights 
to  censure  ;  thus  coining  a  double  set  of  enjoyments 
out  of  the  same  subject.  Scott  and  Byron  are  scarce 
cold  in  their  graves,  and  already  we  find  criticism 
beginning  to  call  in  question  those  powers  which 
held  the  world  in  magic  thraldom.  Even  in  our  own 
country,  one  of  its  greatest  geniuses  has  had  some 
rough  passages  with  the  censors  of  the  press  ;  and 
instantly  criticism  begins  to  unsay  all  that  it  has 
repeatedly  said  in  his  praise ;  and  the  public  are 
almost  led  to  believe  that  the  pen  which  has  so  often 
delighted  them,  is  absolutely  destitute  of  the  power 
to  delight ! 

.If,  then,  such  reverses  in  opinion  as  to  matters  of 
taste  can  be  so  readily  brought  about,  when  may  an 
author  feel  himself  secure  }  Where  is  the  anchoring- 
ground  of  popularity,  when  he  may  thus  be  driven 
from  his  moorings,  and  foundered  even  in  harbor.' 
The  reader,  too,  when  he  is  to  consider  himself  safe 
in  admiring,  when  he  sees  long-established  altars 
overthrown,  and  his  household  deities  dashed  to  the 
ground  ! 

There  is  one  consolatory  reflection.  Every  abuse 
carries  with  it  its  own  remedy  or  palliation.  Thus 
the  excess  of  crude  and  hasty  criticism,  which  has 
of  late  prevailed  throughout  the  literary  world,  and 
threatened  to  overrun  our  country,  begins  to  produce 
its  own  antidote.  Where  there  is  a  multiplicity  of 
contradictory  paths,  a  man  must  make  his  choice ; 
in  so  doing,  he  has  to  exercise  his  judgment,  and 
that  is  one  great  step  to  mental  independence.  He 
begins  to  doubt  all,  where  all  differ,  and  but  one  can 
be  in  the  right.  He  is  driven  to  trust  to  his  own 
discernment,  and  his  natural  feelings  ;  and  here  he 
is  most  likely  to  be  safe.  The  author,  too,  finding 
that  what  is  condemned  at  one  tribunal,  is  applauded 
at  another,  though  perplexed  for  a  time,  gives  way 
at  length  to  the  spontaneous  impulse  of  his  genius, 
and  the  dictates  of  his  taste,  and  writes  in  the  way 
most  natural  to  himself  It  is  thus  that  criticism, 
which  by  its  severity  may  have  held  the  little  world 
of  writers  in  check,  may,  by  its  very  excess,  disarm 
itself  of  its  terrors,  and  the  hardihood  of  talent  be- 
come restored.  G.  C. 


SPANISH  ROMANCE. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir  :  I  have  already  given  you  a  legend  or  two 
drawn  from  ancient  Spanish  sources,  and  may  occa- 
sionally give  you  a  few  more.  1  love  these  old  Span- 
ish themes,  especially  when  they  have  a  dash  of  the 
JVIorisco  in  them,  and  treat  of  the  times  when  the 
Moslems  maintained  a  foot-hold  in  the  peninsula. 
They  have  a  high,  spicy,  orieatal  flavor,  not  to  be 
found  in  any  other  themes  that  are  merely  European. 
In  fact,  Spain  is  a  country  that  stands  alone  in  the 
midst  of  Europe ;  severed  in  habits,  manners,  and 
modes  of  thinking,  from  all  its  continental  neighbors. 
It  is  a  romantic  country  ;  but  its  romance  has  none 
of  the  sentimentality  of  modern  European  romance  ; 
it  is  chiefly  derived  from  the  brilliant  regions  of  the 
East,  and  from  the  high-minded  school  of  Saracenic 
chivalry. 


830 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


The  Arab  invasion  and  conquest  brought  a  higher 
civilization  and  a  nobler  style  of  thinking  into  Gothic 
Spain.  The  Arabs  were  a  quick-witted,  sagacious, 
proud-spirited,  and  poetical  people,  and  were  imbued 
with  oriental  science  and  literature.  Wherever  they 
established  a  seat  of  power,  it  became  a  rallying 
place  for  the  learned  and  ingenious ;  and  they  soft- 
ened and  refined  the  people  whom  they  conquered. 
By  degrees,  occupancy  seemed  to  give  them  a  hered- 
itary right  to  their  foot-hold  in  the  land  ;  they  ceased 
to  be  looked  upon  as  invaders,  and  were  regarded  as 
rival  neighbors.  The  peninsula,  broken  up  into  a 
variety  of  states,  both  Christian  and  Moslem,  be- 
came for  centuries  a  great  campaigning  ground, 
where  the  art  of  war  seemed  to  be  the  principal 
business  of  man,  and  was  carried  to  the  highest  pitch 
of  romantic  chivalry.  The  original  ground  of  hos- 
tility, a  difference  of  faith,  gradually  lost  its  rancor. 
Neighboring  states,  of  opposite  creeds,  were  occa- 
sionally linked  together  in  alliances,  offensive  and 
defensive  ;  so  that  the  cross  and  crescent  were  to  be 
seen  side  by  side  fighting  against  some  coinmon  en- 
emy. In  times  of  peace,  too,  the  noble  youth  of  either 
faith  resorted  to  the  same  cities.  Christian  or  Mos- 
lem, to  school  themselves  in  military  science.  Even 
in  the  temporary  truces  of  sanguinary  wars,  the  war- 
riors who  had  recently  striven  together  in  the  deadly 
conflicts  of  the  field,  laid  aside  their  animosity,  met 
at  tournaments,  jousts,  and  other  military  festivities, 
and  exchanged  the  courtesies  of  gentle  and  generous 
spirits.  Thus  the  opposite  races  became  frequently 
mingled  together  in  peaceful  intercourse,  or  if  any 
rivalry  took  place,  it  was  in  those  high  courtesies 
and  nobler  acts  which  bespeak  the  accomplished 
cavalier.  Warriors  of  opposite  creeds  became  am- 
bitious of  transcending  each  other  in  magnanimity 
as  well  as  valor.  Indeed,  the  chivalric  virtues  were 
refined  upon  to  a  degree  sometimes  fastidious  and 
constrained  ;  but  at  other  times,  inexpressibly  noble 
and  affecting.  The  annals  of  the  times  teem  with 
illustrious  instances  of  high-wrought  courtesy,  ro- 
mantic generosity,  lofty  disinterestedness,  and  punc- 
tilious honor,  that  warm  the  very  soul  to  read  them. 
These  have  furnished  themes  for  national  plays  and 
poems,  or  have  been  celebrated  in  those  all-pervading 
ballads  which  are  as  the  life-breath  of  the  people, 
and  thus  have  continued  to  exercise  an  influence  on 
the  national  character  which  centuries  of  vicissitude 
and  decline  have  not  been  able  to  destroy  ;  so  that, 
with  all  their  faults,  and  they  are  many,  the  Span- 
iards, even  at  the  present  day,  are  on  many  points 
the  most  high-minded  and  proud-spirited  people  of 
Europe.  It  is  true,  the  romance  of  feeling  derived 
from  the  sources  I  have  mentioned,  has,  like  all 
other  romance,  its  affectations  and  extremes.  It 
renders  the  Spaniard  at  times  pompous  and  gran- 
diloquent ;  prone  to  carry  the  '  pundonor,'  or  point  of 
honor,  beyond  the  bounds  of  sober  sense  and  sound 
morality ;  disposed,  in  the  midst  of  poverty,  to  affect 
the  'grande  caballero,'  and  to  look  down  with  sov- 
ereign disdain  upon  '  arts  mechanical,'  and  all  the 
gainful  pursuits  of  plebeian  life  ;  but  this  very  infla- 
tion of  spirit,  while  it  fills  his  brain  with  vapors,  lifts 
him  above  a  thousand  meannesses  ;  and  though  it 
often  keeps  him  in  indigence,  ever  protects  him  from 
vulgarity. 

In  the  present  day,  when  popular  literature  is  run- 
ning into  the  low  levels  of  life  and  luxuriating  on  the 
vices  and  follies  of  mankind,  and  when  the  universal 
pursuit  of  gain  is  trampling  down  the  early  growth 
of  poetic  feeling  and  wearnig  out  the  verdure  of  the 
soul,  I  question  whether  it  would  not  be  of  service 
for  the  reader  occasionally  to  turn  to  these  records 
of  prouder  times  and  loftier  modes  of  thinking,  and  to 
steep  himself  to  the  very  lips  in  old  Spanish  romance. 


For  my  own  part,  I  have  a  shelf  or  two  of  vener- 
able, parchment-bound  tomes,  picked  up  here  and 
there  about  the  peninsula,  and  filled  with  chronicles, 
plays,  and  ballads,  about  Moors  and  Christians, 
which  I  keep  by  me  as  mental  tonics,  in  the  same 
way  that  a  provident  housewife  has  her  cupboard  of 
cordials.  Whenever  I  find  my  mind  brought  below 
par  by  the  common-place  of  every-day  life,  or  jarred 
by  the  sordid  collisions  of  the  world,  or  put  out  of 
tune  by  the  shrewd  selfishness  of  modern  utilitarian- 
ism, I  resort  to  these  venerable  tomes,  as  did  the 
worthy  hero  of  La  Mancha  to  his  books  of  chivalry, 
and  refresh  and  tone  up  my  spirit  by  a  deep  draught 
of  their  contents.  They  have  some  such  effect  upon 
me  as  Falstaff  ascribes  to  a  good  Sherris  sack, 
'warming  the  blood  and  filling  the  brain  with  fiery 
and  delectable  shapes." 

I  here  subjoin,  Mr.  Editor,  a  small  specimen  of 
the  cordials  I  have  mentioned,  just  drawn  from  my 
Spanish  cupboard,  which  I  recommend  to  your  pal- 
ate. If  you  find  it  to  your  taste,  you  may  pass  it  on 
to  your  readers. 

Your  correspondent  and  well-wisher, 

Geoffrey  Crayon. 


LEGEND   OF   DON   MUNIO    SANCHO  DE 
HINOJOSA. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  SKETCH-BOOK. 


In  the  cloisters  of  the  ancient  Benedictine  convent 
of  San  Domingo,  at  Silos,  in  Castile,  are  the  mould- 
ering yet  magnificent  monuments  of  the  once  power- 
ful and  chivalrous  family  of  Hinojosa.  Among  these, 
reclines  the  marble  figure  of  a  knight,  in  complete 
armor,  with  the  hands  pressed  together,  as  if  in 
prayer.  On  one  side  of  his  tomb  is  sculptured  in  re- 
lief a  band  of  Christian  cavaliers,  capturing  a  caval- 
cade of  male  and  female  Moors  ;  on  the  other  side, 
the  same  cavaliers  are  represented  kneeling  before 
an  altar.  The  tomb,  like  most  of  the  neighboring 
monuments,  is  almost  in  ruins,  and  the  sculpture  is 
nearly  unintelligible,  excepting  to  the  keen  eye  of  the 
antiquary.  The  story  connected  with  the  sepulchre, 
however,  is  still  preserved  in  the  old  Spanish  chroni- 
cles, and  is  to  the  following  purport. 


In  old  times,  several  hundred  years  ago,  there  was 
a  noble  Castilian  cavalier,  named  Don  Munio  Sancho 
de  Hinojosa,  lord  of  a  border  castle,  which  had  stood 
the  brunt  of  many  a  Moorish  foray.  He  had  seventy 
horsemen  as  his  household  troops,  all  of  the  ancient 
Castilian  proof;  stark  warriors,  hard  riders,  and  men 
of  iron  ;  with  these  he  scoured  the  Moorish  lands, 
and  made  his  name  terrible  throughout  the  borders. 
His  castle  hall  was  covered  with  banners,  and  scim- 
etars,  and  Moslem  helms,  the  trophies  of  his  prowess. 
Don  Munio  was,  moreover,  a  keen  huntsman  ;  and 
rejoiced  in  hounds  of  all  kinds,  steeds  for  the  chase, 
and  hawks  for  the  towering  sport  of  falconry.  When 
not  engaged  in  warfare,  his  delight  was  to  beat  up 
the  neighboring  forests ;  and  scarcely  ever  did  he 
ride  forth,  without  hound  and  horn,  a  boar-spear  in 
his  hand,  or  a  hawk  upon  his  fist,  and  an  attendant 
train  of  huntsmen. 

His  wife.  Donna  Maria  Palacin,  was  of  a  gentle 
and  timid  nature,  little  fitted  to  be  the  spouse  of  so 
hardy  and  adventurous  a  knight ;  and  many  a  tear 
did  the  poor  lady  shed,  when  he  sallied  forth  upon 
his  daring  enterprises,  and  many  a  praver  did  she 
offer  up  for  his  safety. 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


831 


As  this  doughty  cavalier  was  one  day  hunting,  he 
stationed  himself  in  a  thicket,  on  the  borders  of  a 
green  glade  of  the  forest,  and  dispersed  his  followers 
to  rouse  the  game,  and  drive  it  toward  his  stand. 
He  had  not  been  here  long,  when  a  cavalcade  of 
Moors,  of  both  sexes,  came  prankling  over  the  forest 
lawn.  They  were  unarmed,  and  magnificently  dressed 
in  robes  of  tissue  and  embroidery,  rich  shawls  of 
India,  bracelets  and  anklets  of  gold,  and  jewels  that 
sparkled  in  the  sun. 

At  the  head  of  this  gay  cavalcade,  rode  a  youthful 
cavalier,  superior  to  the  rest  in  dignity  and  loftiness 
of  demeanor,  and  in  splendor  of  attire;  beside  him 
was  a  damsel,  whose  veil,  blown  aside  by  the  breeze, 
displayed  a  face  of  surpassing  beauty,  and  eyes  cast 
down  in  maiden  modesty,  yet  beaming  with  tender- 
ness and  joy. 

Don  Munio  thanked  his  stars  for  sending  him  such 
a  prize,  and  exulted  at  the  thought  of  bearing  home 
to  his  wife  the  glittering  spoils  of  these  infidels. 
Putting  his  hunting-horn  to  his  lips,  he  gave  a  blast 
that  rung  through  the  forest.  His  huntsmen  came 
running  from  all  quarters,  and  the  astonished  Moors 
were  surrounded  and  made  captives. 

The  beautiful  Moor  wrung  her  hands  in  despair, 
and  her  female  attendants  uttered  the  most  piercing 
cries.  The  young  Moorish  cavalier  alone  retained 
self-possession.  He  inquired  the  name  of  the  Chris- 
tian knight,  who  commanded  this  troop  of  horsemen. 
When  told  that  it  was  Don  Munio  Sancho  de  Hino- 
josa,  his  countenance  lighted  up.  Approaching  that 
cavalier,  and  kissing  his  hand, '  Don  Munio  Sancho,' 
said  he,  '  1  have  heard  of  your  fame  as  a  true  and 
valiant  knight,  terrible  in  arms,  but  schooled  in  the 
noble  virtues  of  chivalry.  Such  do  I  trust  to  find 
you.  In  me  you  behold  Abadil,  son  of  a  Moorish 
Alcayde.  I  am  on  the  way  to  celebrate  my  nuptials 
with  this  lady;  chance  has  thrown  us  in  your  power, 
but  I  confide  in  your  magnanimity.  Take  all  our 
treasure  and  jewels  ;  demand  what  ransom  you  think 
proper  for  our  persons,  but  suffer  us  not  to  be  in- 
sulted or  dishonored." 

When  the  good  knight  heard  this  appeal,  and  be- 
held the  beauty  of  the  youthful  pair,  his  heart  was 
touched  with  tenderness  and  courtesy.  '  God  for- 
bid,' said  he, '  that  1  should  disturb  such  happy  nup- 
tials. My  prisoners  in  troth  shall  ye  be,  for  fifteen  days, 
and  immured  within  my  castle,  where  I  claim,  as  con- 
queror, the  right  of  celebrating  your  espousals.' 

So  saying,  he  despatched  one  of  his  fleetest  horse- 
men in  advance,  to  notify  Donna  Maria  Palacin  of 
the  coming  of  this  bridal  party ;  while  he  and  his 
huntsmen  escorted  the  cavalcade,  not  as  captors, 
but  as  a  guard  of  honor.  As  they  drew  near  to  the 
castle,  the  banners  were  hung  out,  and  the  trumpets 
sounded  from  the  battlements ;  and  on  their  nearer 
approach,  the  draw-bridge  was  lowered,  and  Donna 
Maria  came  forth  to  meet  them,  attended  by  her 
ladies  and  knights,  her  pages  and  her  minstrels. 
She  took  the  young  bride,  Allifra,  in  her  arms, 
kissed  her  with  the  tenderness  of  a  sister,  and  con- 
ducted her  into  the  castle.  In  the  mean  time,  Don 
Munio  sent  forth  missives  in  every  direction,  and  had 
viands  and  dainties  of  all  kinds  collected  from  the 
country  round  ;  and  the  wedding  of  the  Moorish 
lovers  was  celebrated  with  all  possible  state  and 
festivity.  For  fifteen  days,  the  castle  was  g^ven  up 
to  joy  and  revelry.  There  were  tiltings  and  jousts 
at  the  ring,  and  bull-fights,  and  banquets,  and 
dances  to  the  sound  of  minstrelsy.  When  the  fifteen 
days  were  at  an  end,  he  made  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom magnificent  presents,  and  conducted  them 
and  their  attendants  safely  beyond  the  borders. 
Such,  in  old  times,  were  the  courtesy  and  generosity 
of  a  Spanish  cavalier. 


Several  years  after  this  event,  the  King  of  Castile 
summoned  his  nobles  to  assist  him  in  a  campaign 
against  the  Moors.  Don  Munio  Sancho  was  among 
the  first  to  answer  to  the  call,  with  seventy  horse- 
men, all  staunch  and  well-tried  warriors.  Ilis  wife. 
Donna  Maria,  hung  about  his  neck.  '  Alas,  my 
lord  ! '  exclaimed  she,  '  how  often  wilt  thou  tempt 
thy  fate,  and  when  will  thy  thirst  for  glory  be  ap- 
peased ! ' 

'One  battle  more,'  replied  Don  Munio, '  one  battle 
more,  for  the  honor  of  Castile,  and  I  here  make  a 
vow,  that  when  this  is  over,  I  will  lay  by  my  sword, 
and  repair  with  my  cavaliers  in  pilgrimage  to  the 
sepulchre  of  our  Lord  at  Jerusalem.'  The  cavaliers 
all  joined  with  him  in  the  vow,  and  Donna  Maria 
felt  in  some  degree  soothed  in  spirit :  still,  she  saw 
with  a  heavy  heart  the  departure  of  her  husband, 
and  watched  his  banner  with  wistful  eyes,  until  it 
disappeared  among  the  trees  of  the  fores'. 

The  King  of  Castile  led  his  army  to  the  plains  of 
Almanara,  where  they  encountered  the  Moorish  host, 
near  to  Ucles.  The  battle  was  long  and  bloody ;  the 
Christians  repeatedly  wavered,  and  were  as  often 
rallied  by  the  energy  of  their  commanders.  Don 
Munio  was  covered  with  wounds,  but  refused  to 
leave  the  field.  The  Christians  at  length  gave  way, 
and  the  king  was  hardly  pressed,  and  in  danger  of 
being  captured. 

Don  Munio  called  upon  his  cavaliers  to  follow 
him  to  the  rescue.  '  Now  is  the  time,'  cried  he,  '  to 
prove  your  loyalty.  Fall  to,  like  brave  men  !  We 
fight  for  the  true  faith,  and  if  we  lose  our  lives  here, 
we  gain  a  better  life  hereafter.' 

Rushing  with  his  men  between  the  king  and  his 
pursuers,  they  checked  the  latter  in  their  career,  and 
gave  time  for  their  monarch  to  escape  ;  but  they  fell 
victims  to  their  loyalty.  They  all  fought  to  the  last 
gasp.  Don  Munio  was  singled  out  by  a  powerful 
Moorish  knight,  but  having  been  wounded  in  the 
right  arm,  he  fought  to  disadvantage,  and  was  slain. 
The  battle  being  over,  the  Moor  paused  to  possess 
himself  of  the  spoils  of  this  redoubtable  Christian 
warrior.  When  he  unlaced  the  helmet,  however, 
and  beheld  the  countenance  of  Don  Munio,  he  gave 
a  great  cry,  and  smote  his  breast.  'Wo  is  me!' 
cried  he ;  '  I  have  slain  my  benefactor  !  The  flower 
of  knightly  virtue  !  the  most  magnanimous  of  cava- 
liers ! ' 


While  the  battle  had  been  raging  on  the  plain 
of  Salmanara,  Donna  Maria  Palacin  remained  in  her 
castle,  a  prey  to  the  keenest  anxiety.  Her  eyes  were 
ever  fixed  on  the  road  that  led  from  the  country  of 
the  Moors,  and  often  she  asked  the  watchman  of 
the  tower,  '  What  seest  thou  ?  ' 

One  evening,  at  the  shadowy  hour  of  twilight,  the 
warden  sounded  his  horn.  '  I  see,'  cried  he,  '  a 
numerous  train  winding  up  the  valley.  There  are 
mingled  Moors  and  Christians.  The  banner  of  my 
lord  is  in  the  advance.  Joyful  tidings  ! '  exclaimed 
the  old  seneschal:  'my  lord  returns  in  triumph,  and 
brings  captives  !'  Then  the  castle  courts  rang  with 
shouts  of  joy  ;  and  the  standard  was  displayed,  and 
the  trumpets  were  sounded,  and  the  draw-bridge 
was  lowered,  and  Donna  Maria  went  forth  with  her 
ladies,  and  her  knights,  and  her  pages,  and  her  min- 
strels, to  welcome  her  lord  from  the  wars.  But  as 
the  train  drew  nigh,  she  beheld  a  sumptuous  bier, 
covered  with  black  velvet,  and  on  it  lay  a  warrior,  as 
if  taking  his  repose :  he  lay  in  his  armor,  with  his 
helmet  on  his  head,  and  his  sword  in  his  hand,  as 
one  who  had  never  been  conquered,  and  around  the 
bier  were  the  escutcheons  of  the  house  of  Hinojosa. 

A  number  of  Moorish  cavaliers  attended  the  bier, 


882 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


with  emblems  of  mourning,  and  with  dejected  coun- 
tenances :  and  their  leader  cast  himself  at  the  feet 
of  Donna  Maria,  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  She 
beheld  in  him  the  gallant  Abadil,  whom  she  had 
once  welcomed  with  his  bride  to  her  castle,  but  who 
now  came  with  the  body  of  her  lord,  whom  he  had 
unknowingly  slain  in  battle  ! 


The  sepulchre  erected  in  the  cloisters  of  the  Con- 
vent of  San  Domingo  was  achieved  at  the  expense 
of  the  Moor  Abadil,  as  a  feeble  testimony  of  his 
grief  for  the  death  of  the  good  knight  Don  Munio, 
and  his  reverence  for  his  memory.  The  tender  and 
faithful  Donna  Maria  soon  followed  her  lord  to  the 
tomb.  On  one  of  the  stones  of  a  small  arch,  beside 
his  sepulchre,  is  the  following  simple  inscription  : 
'  Hie  jacet  Maria  Palacin,  tixor  Miinonis  Sancij 
De  Finojosa:'  Here  lies  Maria  Palacin,  wife  of 
Munio  Sancho  de  Hinojosa. 

The  legend  of  Don  Munio  Sancho  does  not  con- 
clude with  his  death.  On  the  same  day  on  which 
the  battle  took  place  on  the  plain  of  Salmanara,  a 
chaplain  of  the  Holy  Temple  at  Jerusalem,  while 
standing  at  the  outer  gate,  beheld  a  train  of  Christian 
cavaliers  advancing,  as  if  in  pilgrimage.  The  chap- 
lain was  a  native  of  Spain,  and  as  the  pilgrims  ap- 
proached, he  knew  the  foremost  to  be  Don  Munio 
Sancho  de  Hinojosa,  with  whom  he  had  been  well 
acquainted  in  former  times.  Hastening  to  the  patri- 
arch, he  told  him  of  the  honorable  rank  of  the  pil- 
grims at  the  gate.  The  patriarch,  therefore,  went 
forth  with  a  grand  procession  of  priests  and  monks, 
and  received  the  pilgrims  with  all  due  honor.  There 
were  seventy  cavaliers,  beside  their  leader,  all  stark 
and  lofty  warriors.  They  carried  their  helmets  in 
their  hands,  and  their  faces  were  deadly  pale.  They 
greeted  no  one,  nor  looked  either  to  the  right  or  to 
the  left,  but  entered  the  chapel,  and  kneeling  before 
the  Sepulchre  of  our  Saviour,  performed  their  orisons 
in  silence.  When  they  had  concluded,  they  rose  as 
if  to  depart,  and  the  patriarch  and  his  attendants 
advanced  to  speak  to  them,  but  they  were  no  more 
to  be  seen.  Every  one  marvelled  what  could  be 
the  meaning  of  this  prodigy.  The  patriarch  care- 
fully noted  down  the  day,  and  sent  to  Castile  to 
learn  tidings  of  Don  Munio  Sancho  de  Hinojosa. 
He  received  for  reply,  that  on  the  very  day  specified, 
that  worthy  knight,  with  seventy  of  his  followers, 
had  been  slain  in  battle.  These,  therefore,  must 
have  been  the  blessed  spirits  of  those  Christian  war- 
riors, come  to  fulfil  their  vow  of  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Holy'  Sepulchre  at  Jerusalem.  Such  was  Castilian 
faith,  in  the  olden  time,  which  kept  its  word,  even 
beyond  the  grave. 

If  any  one  should  doubt  of  the  miraculous  appari- 
tion of  these  phantom  knights,  let  him  consult  the 
History  of  the  Kings  of  Castile  and  Leon,  by  the 
learned  and  pious  Fray  Prudencio  de  Sandoval, 
Bishop  of  Pamplona,  where  he  will  find  it  recorded 
in  the  History  of  the  King  Don  Alonzo  VI.,  on  the 
hundred  and  second  page.  It  is  too  precious  a 
legend  to  be  lightly  abandoned  to  the  doubter. 


COMMUNIPAW. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir:  I  observe,  with  pleasure,  that  you  are  per- 
forming from  time  to  time  a  pious  duty,  imposed 
upon  you,  I  may  say,  by  the  name  you  have  adopted 


as  your  titular  standard,  in  following  in  the  footsteps 
of  the  venerable  KNICKERBOCKER,  and  gleaning 
every  fact  concerning  the  early  times  of  the  Man- 
hattoes  which  may  have  escaped  his  hand.  I  trust, 
therefore,  a  few  particulars,  legendary  and  statistical, 
concerning  a  place  which  figures  conspicuously  in 
the  early  pages  of  his  history,  will  not  be  unaccept- 
able. I  allude.  Sir,  to  the  ancient  and  renowned 
village  of  Communipaw,  which,  according  to  the 
veracious  Diedrich,  and  to  equally  veracious  tradi- 
tion, was  the  first  spot  where  our  ever-to-be-la- 
mented Dutch  progenitors  planted  their  standard 
and  cast  the  seeds  of  empire,  and  from  whence  sub- 
sequently sailed  the  memorable  expedition  under 
Oloffe  the  Dreamer,  which  landed  on  the  opposite 
island  of  Manahatta,  and  founded  the  present  city  of 
New-York,  the  city  of  dreams  and  speculations. 

Communipaw,  therefore,  may  truly  be  called  the 
parent  of  New- York ;  yet  it  is  an  astonishing  fact, 
that  though  immediately  opposite  to  the  great  city  it 
has  produced,  from  whence  its  red  roofs  and  tin 
weather-cocks  can  actually  be  descried  peering  above 
the  surrounding  apple  orchards,  it  should  be  almost 
as  rarely  visited,  and  as  little  known  by  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  metropolis,  as  if  it  had  been  locked  up 
among  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Sir,  I  think  there  is 
something  unnatural  in  this,  especially  in  these  times 
of  ramble  and  research,  when  our  citizens  are  an- 
tiquity-hunting in  every  part  of  the  world.  Curios- 
ity, like  charity,  should  begin  at  home ;  and  1  would 
enjoin  it  on  our  worthy  burghers,  especially  those  of 
the  real  Knickerbocker  breed,  before  they  send  their 
sons  abroad  to  wonder  and  grow  wise  among  the 
remains  of  Greece  and  Rome,  to  let  them  make  a 
tour  of  ancient  Pavonia,  from  Weehawk  even  to  the 
Kills,  and  meditate,  with  filial  reverence,  on  the 
moss-grown  mansions  of  Communipaw. 

Sir,  I  regard  this  much-neglected  village  as  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  places  in  the  country.  The  in- 
telligent traveller,  as  he  looks  down  upon  it  from  the 
Bergen  Heights,  modestly  nestled  among  its  cab- 
bage-gardens, while  the  great  flaunting  city  it  has 
begotten  is  stretching  far  and  wide  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  bay,  the  intelligent  traveller,  I  say,  will 
be  filled  with  astonishment ;  not.  Sir,  at  the  village 
of  Communipaw,  which  in  truth  is  a  very  small  vil- 
lage, but  at  the  almost  incredible  fact  that  so  small 
a  village  should  have  produced  so  great  a  city.  It 
looks  to  him,  indeed,  like  some  squat  little  dame, 
with  a  tall  grenadier  of  a  son  strutting  by  her  side ; 
or  some  simple-hearted  hen  that  has  unwittingly 
hatched  out  a  long-legged  turkey. 

But  this  is  not  all  for  which  Communipaw  is  re- 
inarkable.  Sir,  it  is  interesting  on  another  account. 
It  is  to  the  ancient  province  of  the  New-Netherlands 
and  the  classic  era  of  the  Dutch  dynasty,  what  Her- 
culaneum  and  Pompeii  are  to  ancient  Rome  and  the 
glorious  days  of  the  empire.  Here  every  thing  re- 
mains in  statu  quo,  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  Oloffe 
the  Dreamer,  Walter  the  Doubter,  and  the  other 
worthies  of  the  golden  age ;  the  same  broad-brim- 
med hats  and  broad-bottomed  breeches ;  the  same 
knee-buckles  and  shoe-buckles ;  the  same  close- 
quilled  caps  and  linsey-woolsey  short-gowns  and 
petticoats ;  the  same  implements  and  utensils  and 
forms  and  fashions ;  in  a  word,  Communipaw  at  the 
present  day  is  a  picture  of  what  New-Amsterdam 
was  before  the  conquest.  The  '  intelligent  traveller  ' 
aforesaid,  as  he  treads  its  streets,  is  struck  with  the 
primitive  character  of  every  thing  around  him.  In- 
stead of  Grecian  temples  for  dwelling-houses,  with 
a  great  column  of  pine  boards  in  the  way  of  every 
window,  he  beholds  high  peakeil  roofs,  gible  ends 
to  the  street,  with  weather-cocks  at  top,  and  windows 
!  of  all  sorts  and  sizes  ;  large  ones  for  the  grown-up 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


833 


members  of  the  family,  and  little  ones  for  the  little 
folk.  Instead  of  cold  marble  porches,  with  close- 
locked  doors  and  brass  knockers,  he  sees  the  doors 
hospitably  open  ;  the  worthy  burgher  smoking  his 
pipe  on  the  old-fashioned  stoop  in  front,  with  his 
'  vrouw  '  knitting  beside  him  ;  and  the  cat  and  her 
kittens  at  their  feet  sleeping  in  the  sunshine. 

Astonished  at  the  obsolete  and  '  old  world  '  air  of 
every  thing  around  him,  the  intelligent  traveller  de- 
mands how  all  this  has  come  to  pass.  Herciilaneum 
and  Pompeii  remain,  it  is  true,  unaffected  by  the  va- 
rying fashions  of  centuries  ;  but  they  were  buried  by 
a  volcano  and  preserved  in  ashes.  What  charmed 
spell  has  kept  this  wonderful  little  place  unchanged, 
though  in  sight  of  the  most  changeful  city  in  the 
universe  ?  Has  it,  too,  been  buried  under  its  cab- 
bage-gardens, and  only  dug  out  in  modern  days  for 
the  wonder  and  edification  of  the  world.'  The  re- 
ply involves  a  point  of  history,  worthy  of  notice  and 
record,  and  reflecting  immortal  honor  on  Communi- 
paw. 

At  the  time  when  New-Amsterdam  was  invaded 
and  conquered  by  British  foes,  as  has  been  related 
in  the  history  of  the  venerable  Diedrich,  a  great  dis- 
persion took  place  among  the  Dutch  inhabitants. 
Many,  like  the  illustrious  Peter  Stuyvesant,  buried 
themselves  in  rural  retreats  in  the  Bowerie ;  others, 
like  Wolfert  Acker,  took  refuge  in  various  remote 
parts  of  the  Hudson  ;  but  there  was  one  staunch, 
unconquerable  band  that  determined  to  keep  to- 
gether, and  preserve  themselves,  like  seed  corn,  for 
the  future  fructification  and  perpetuity  of  the  Knick- 
erbocker race.  These  were  headed  by  one  Garret 
Van  Home,  a  gigantic  Dutchman,  the  Pelayo  of  the 
New-Netherlands.  Under  his  guidance,  they  re- 
treated across  the  bay  and  buried  themselves  among 
the  marshes  of  ancient  Pavonia,  as  did  the  followers 
of  Pelayo  among  the  mountains  of  Asturias,  when 
Spain  was  overrun  by  its  Arabian  invaders. 

The  gallant  Van  Home  set  up  his  standard  at 
Communipaw,  and  invited  all  those  to  rally  under  it, 
who  were  true  Nederlanders  at  heart,  and  deter- 
mined to  resist  all  foreign  intermixture  or  encroach- 
ment. A  strict  non-intercourse  was  observed  with 
the  captured  city ;  not  a  boat  ever  crossed  to  it  from 
Communipaw,  and  the  English  language  was  rigor- 
ously tabooed  throughout  the  village  and  its  depend- 
encies. Every  man  was  sworn  to  wear  his  hat,  cut 
his  coat,  build  his  house,  and  harness  his  horses, 
exactly  as  his  father  had  done  before  him  ;  and  to 
permit  nothing  but  the  Dutch  language  to  be  spoken 
in  his  household. 

As  a  citadel  of  the  place,  and  a  strong-hold  for  the 
preservation  and  defence  of  every  thing  Dutch,  the 
gallant  Van  Home  erected  a  lordly  mansion,  with  a 
chimney  perched  at  every  corner,  which  thence  de- 
rived the  aristocratical  name  of  '  The  House  of  the 
Four  Chimnies.'  Hither  he  transferred  many  of  the 
precious  reliques  of  New-Amsterdam  ;  the  great 
round-crowned  hat  that  once  covered  the  capacious 
head  of  Walter  the  Doubter,  and  the  identical  shoe 
with  which  Peter  the  Headstrong  kicked  his  pusil- 
lanimous councillors  down-stairs.  St.  Nicholas,  it 
is  said,  took  this  loyal  house  under  his  especial  pro- 
tection ;  and  a  Dutch  soothsayer  predicted,  that  as 
long  as  it  should  stand,  Communipaw  would  be  safe 
from  the  intrusion  either  of  Briton  or  Yankee. 

In  this  house  would  the  gallant  Van  Home  and  his 
compeers  hold  frequent  councils  of  war,  as  to  the 
possibility  of  re-conquering  the  province  from  the 
Brilich  ;  and  here  would  they  sit  for  hours,  nay,  days, 
together  smoking  their  pipes  and  keeping  watch 
upon  the  growing  city  of  New-York ;  groaning  in 
spirit  whenever  they  saw  a  new  house  erected  or 
ship  launched,  and  persuading  themselves  that  Ad- 
53 


miral  Van  Tromp  would  one  day  or  other  arrive  to 
sweep  out  the  invaders  with  the  broom  which  he 
carried  at  his  mast-head. 

Years  rolled  by,  but  Van  Tromp  never  arrived. 
The  British  strengthened  themselves  in  the  land, 
and  the  captured  city  flourished  under  their  domina- 
tion. Still,  the  worthies  of  Communipaw  would  not 
despair ;  something  or  other,  they  were  sure,  would 
turn  up  to  restore  the  power  of  the  Hogen  Mogens, 
the  Lord  States-General;  so  they  kept  smoking  and 
smoking,  and  watching  and  watching,  and  turning 
the  same  few  thoughts  over  and  over  in  a  perpetual 
circle,  which  is  commonly  called  deliberating.  In 
the  mean  time,  being  hemmed  up  within  a  narrow 
compass,  between  the  broad  bay  and  the  Bergen 
hills,  they  grew  poorer  and  poorer,  until  they  had 
scarce  the  wherewithal  to  maintain  their  pipes  in 
fuel  during  their  endless  deliberations. 

And  now  must  I  relate  a  circumstance  which  will 
call  for  a  little  exertion  of  faith  on  the  part  of  the 
reader;  but  I  can  only  say  that  if  he  doubts  it,  he 
had  better  not  utter  his  doubts  in  Communipaw,  as 
it  is  among  the  religious  beliefs  of  the  place.  It  is, 
in  fact,  nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  miracle,  worked 
by  the  blessed  Saint  Nicholas,  for  the  relief  and  sus- 
tenance of  this  loyal  community. 

It  so  happened,  in  this  time  of  extremity,  that  in 
the  course  of  cleaning  the  House  of  the  Four  Chim- 
nies, by  an  ignorant  housewife  who  knew  nothing  of 
the  historic  value  of  the  reliques  it  contained,  the  old 
hat  of  Walter  the  Doubter  and  the  executive  shoe 
of  Peter  the  Headstrong  were  thrown  out  of  doors 
as  rubbish.  But  mark  the  consequence.  The  good 
Saint  Nicholas  kept  watch  over  these  precious  rel- 
iques, and  wrought  out  of  them  a  wonderful  prov- 
idence. 

The  hat  of  Walter  the  Doubter  falling  on  a  ster- 
coraceous  heap  of  compost,  in  the  rear  of  the  house, 
began  forthwith  to  vegetate.  Its  broad  brim  spread 
forth  grandly  and  exfoliated,  and  its  round  crown 
swelled  and  crimped  and  consolidated  until  the 
whole  became  a  prodigious  cabbage,  rivaling  in 
magnitude  the  capacious  head  of  the  Doubter.  In  a 
word,  it  was  the  origin  of  that  renowned  species  of 
cabbage  known,  by  all  Dutch  epicures,  by  the  name 
of  the  Governor's  Head,  and  which  is  to  this  day 
the  glory  of  Communipaw. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  shoe  of  Peter  Stuyvesant 
being  thrown  into  the  river,  in  front  of  the  house, 
gradually  hardened  and  concreted,  and  became  cov- 
ered with  barnacles,  and  at  length  turned  into  a 
gigantic  oyster ;  being  the  progenitor  of  that  illus- 
trious species  known  throughout  the  gastronomical 
world  by  the  name  of  the  Governor's  Foot. 

These  miracles  were  the  salvation  of  Communi- 
paw. The  sages  of  the  place  immediately  saw  in 
them  the  hand  of  Saint  Nicholas,  and  understood 
their  mystic  signification.  They  set  to  work  with 
all  diligence  to  cultivate  and  multiply  these  great 
blessings ;  and  so  abundantly  did  the  gubernatorial 
hat  and  shoe  fructify  and  increase,  that  in  a  little 
time  great  patches  of  cabbages  were  to  be  seen  ex- 
tending from  the  village  of  Communipaw  quite  to 
the  Bergen  Hills  ;  while  the  whole  bottom  of  the  bay 
in  front  became  a  vast  bed  of  oysters.  Ever  since 
that  time  this  excellent  community  has  been  divided 
into  two  great  classes :  those  who  cultivate  the  land 
and  those  who  cultivate  the  water.  The  former 
have  devoted  themselves  to  the  nurture  and  edifica- 
tion of  cabbages,  rearing  them  in  all  their  varieties; 
while  the  latter  have  formed  parks  and  plantations, 
under  water,  to  which  juvenile  oysters  are  trans- 
planted from  foreign  parts,  to  finish  their  education. 

As  these  great  sources  of  profit  multiplied  upon 
their  hands,  the  worthy  inhabitants  of  Communipaw 


881 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


began  to  long  for  a  market  at  which  to  dispose  of 
their  superabundance.  This  gradually  produced 
once  more  an  intercourse  with  New- York ;  but  it 
was  always  carried  on  by  the  old  people  and  the  ne- 
groes ;  never  would  they  permit  the  young  folks,  of 
either  sex,  to  visit  the  city,  lest  they  should  get  tainted 
with  foreign  manners  and  bring  home  foreign  fash- 
ions. Even  to  this  day,  if  you  see  an  old  burgher  in 
the  market,  with  hat  and  garb  of  antique  Dutch  fash- 
ion, you  may  be  sure  he  is  one  of  the  old  uncon- 
quered  race  of  the  '  bitter  blood,'  who  maintain  their 
strong-hold  at  Communipaw. 

In  modern  days,  the  hereditary  bitterness  against 
the  English  has  lost  much  of  its  asperity,  or  rather 
has  become  merged  in  a  new  source  of  jealousy  and 
apprehension  :  I  allude  to  the  incessant  and  wide- 
spreading  irruptions  from  New-England.  Word  has 
been  continually  brought  back  to  Communipaw,  by 
those  of  the  community  who  return  from  their  trad- 
ing voyages  in  cabbages  and  oysters,  of  the  alarming 
power  which  the  Yankees  are  gaining  in  the  ancient 
city  of  New-Amsterdam  ;  elbowing  the  genuine 
Knickerbockers  out  of  all  civic  posts  of  honor  and 
profit ;  bargaining  them  out  of  their  hereditary 
homesteads;  pulling  down  the  venerable  houses, 
with  crow-step  gables,  which  have  stood  since  the 
time  of  the  Dutch  rule,  and  erecting,  instead,  granite 
stores,  and  marble  banks ;  in  a  word,  evincing  a 
deadly  determination  to  obliterate  every  vestige  of 
the  good  old  Dutch  times. 

In  consequence  of  the  jealousy  thus  awakened, 
the  worthy  traders  from  Communipaw  confine  their 
dealings,  as  much  as  possible,  to  the  genuine  Dutch 
families.  If  they  furnish  the  Yankees  at  all,  it  is 
with  inferior  articles.  Never  can  the  latter  procure 
a  real  '  Governor's  Head,'  or  '  Governor's  Foot,' 
though  they  have  offered  extravagant  prices  for  the 
same,  to  grace  their  table  on  the  annual  festival  of 
the  New-England  Society. 

But  what  has  carried  this  hostility  to  the  Yankees 
to  the  highest  pitch,  was  an  attempt  made  by  that 
all-pervading  race  to  get  possession  of  Communipaw 
itself  Yes,  Sir;  during  the  late  mania  for  land 
speculation,  a  daring  company  of  Yankee  projectors 
landed  before  the  village  ;  stopped  the  honest  burgh- 
ers on  the  public  highway,  and  endeavored  to  bar- 
gain them  out  of  their  hereditary  acres ;  displayed 
lithographic  maps,  in  which  their  cabbage-gardens 
were  laid  out  into  town  lots  ;  their  oyster-parks  into 
.-locks  and  quays ;  and  even  the  House  of  the  Four 
Ciiimnies  metamorphosed  into  a  bank,  which  was  to 
enrich  the  whole  neighborhood  with  paper  money. 

Fortunately,  the  gallant  Van  Homes  came  to  the 
rescue,  just  as  some  of  the  worthy  burghers  were  on 
the  point  of  capitulating.  The  Yankees  were  put  to 
the  rout,  with  signal  confusion,  and  have  never  since 
dared  to  show  their  faces  in  the  place.  The  good 
people  continue  to  cultivate  their  cabbages,  and  rear 
their  oysters  ;  they  know  nothing  of  banks,  nor  joint 
stock  companies,  but  treasure  up  their  money  in 
stocking-feet,  at  the  bottom  of  the  family  chest,  or 
bury  it  in  iron  pots,  as  did  their  fathers  and  grand- 
fathers before  them. 

As  to  the  House  of  the  Four  Chimnies,  it  still  re- 
mains in  the  great  and  tall  family  of  the  Van  Homes. 
Here  are  to  be  seen  ancient  Dutch  comer  cupboards, 
chests  of  drawers,  and  massive  clothes-presses, 
quaintly  carved,  and  carefully  waxed  and  polished  ; 
together  with  divers  thick,  black-letter  volumes,  with 
brass  clasps,  printed  of  yore  in  Leyden  and  Amster- 
dam, and  handed  down  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, in  the  family,  but  never  read.  They  are  pre- 
served in  the  archives,  among  sundry  old  parchment 
deeds,  in  Dutch  and  English,  bearing  the  seals  of 
the  early  governors  of  the  province. 


In  this  house,  the  primitive  Dutch  holidays  of  Paas 
and  Pinxter  are  faithfully  kept  up ;  and  New- Year 
celebrated  with  cookies  and  cherry-bounce ;  nor  is 
the  festival  of  the  blessed  St.  Nicholas  forgotten, 
when  all  the  children  are  sure  to  hang  up  their 
stockings,  and  to  have  them  filled  according  to  their 
deserts ;  though,  it  is  said,  the  good  saint  is  occa- 
sionally perplexed  in  his  nocturnal  visits,  which 
chimney  to  descend. 

Of  late,  this  portentous  mansion  has  begun  to  give 
signs  of  dilapidation  and  decay.  Some  have  attributed 
this  to  the  visits  made  by  the  young  people  to  the 
city,  and  their  bringing  thence  various  modern  fash- 
ions ;  and  to  their  neglect  of  the  Dutch  language, 
which  is  gradually  becoming  confined  to  the  older 
persons  in  the  community.  The  house,  too,  was 
greatly  shaken  by  high  winds,  during  the  prevalence 
of  the  speculation  mania,  especially  at  the  time  of 
the  landing  of  the  Yankees.  Seeing  how  mysteri- 
ously the  fate  of  Communipaw  is  identified  with  this 
venerable  mansion,  we  cannot  wonder  that  the  older 
and  wiser  heads  of  the  community  should  be  filled 
with  dismay,  whenever  a  brick  is  toppled  down  from 
one  of  the  chimnies,  or  a  weather-cock  is  blown  off 
from  a  gable-end. 

The  present  lord  of  this  historic  pile,  I  am  happy 
to  say,  is  calculated  to  maintain  it  in  all  its  integrity. 
He  is  of  patriarchal  age,  and  is  worthy  of  the  days 
of  the  patriarchs.  He  has  done  his  utmost  to  in- 
crease and  multiply  the  true  race  in  the  land.  His 
wife  has  not  been  inferior  to  him  in  zeal,  and  they 
are  surrounded  by  a  goodly  progeny  of  children, 
and  grand-children,  and  great-grand-children,  who 
promise  to  perpetuate  the  name  of  Van  Home,  until 
time  shall  be  no  more.  So  be  it  !  Long  may  the 
horn  of  the  Van  Homes  continue  to  be  exalted  in 
the  land  !  Tall  as  they  are,  may  their  shadows 
never  be  less  !  May  the  House  of  the  Four  Chimnies 
remain  for  ages,  the  citadel  of  Communipaw,  and 
the  smoke  of  its  chimnies  continue  to  ascend,  a 
sweet-smelling  incense  in  the  nose  of  St.  Nicholas  ! 

With  great  respect,  Mr.  Editor, 

Your  ob't  servant, 

Hermanus  Vanderdonk. 


CONSPIRACY  OF  THE  COCKED  HATS. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir  :  I  have  read  with  great  satisfaction  the  valu- 
able paper  of  your  correspondent,  Mr.  HERMANUS 
Vanderdonk,  (who,  I  take  it,  is  a  descendant  of 
the  learned  Adrian  Vanderdonk,  one  of  the  early 
historians  of  the  Nieuw-Nederlands,)  giving  sundry 
particulars,  legendary  and  statistical,  touching  the 
venerable  village  of  Communipaw  and  its  fate-bound 
citadel,  the  House  of  the  Four  Chimnies.  It  goes 
to  prove  what  I  have  repeatedly  maintained,  that  we 
live  in  the  midst  of  history  and  mystery  and  romance  ; 
and  that  there  is  no  spot  in  the  w'orld  more  richin 
themes  for  the  writer  of  historic  novels,  heroic  melo- 
dramas, and  rough-shod  epics,  than  this  same  busi- 
ness-looking city  of  the  Manhattoes  and  its  environs. 
He  who  would  find  these  elements,  however,  must 
not  seek  them  among  the  modern  improvements  and 
modern  people  of  this  monied  metropolis,  but  must 
dig  for  them,  as  for  Kidd  the  pirate  s  treasures,  in 
out-ofthe-way  places,  and  among  the  ruins  of  the 
past. 

Poetry  and  romance  received  a  fatal  blow  at  the 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


835 


overthrow  of  the  ancient  Dutch  dynasty,  and  have 
ever  since  been  gradually  withering-  under  the  grow- 
ing domination  of  the  Yankees.  They  abandoned 
our  hearths  when  the  old  Dutch  tiles  were  super- 
seded by  marble  chimney-pieces ;  when  brass  and- 
irons made  way  for  polished  grates,  and  the  crack- 
ling and  blazing  fire  of  nut-wood  gave  place  to  the 
smoke  and  stench  of  Liverpool  coal ;  and  on  the 
downfall  of  the  last  gable-end  house,  their  requiem 
was  tolled  from  the  tower  of  the  Dutch  church  in 
Nassau-street  by  the  old  bell  that  came  from  Hol- 
land. But  poetry  and  romance  still  live  unseen 
among  us,  or  seen  only  by  the  enlightened  few,  who 
are  able  to  contemplate  this  city  and  its  environs 
through  the  medium  of  tradition,  and  clothed  with 
the  associations  of  foregone  ages. 

Would  you  seek  theso  elements  in  the  country,  Mr. 
Editor,  avoid  all  turnpikes,  rail-roads,  and  steam- 
boats, those  abominable  inventions  by  which  the 
usurping  Yankees  are  strengthening  themselves  in 
the  land,  and  subduing  every  thing  to  utility  and 
common-place.  Avoid  all  towns  and  cities  of  white 
clap-board  palaces  and  Grecian  temples,  studded 
with  '  Academies,'  '  Seminaries,'  and  '  Institutes,' 
which  glisten  along  our  bays  and  rivers  ;  these  are 
the  strong-holds  of  Yankee  usurpation  ;  but  if  haply 
you  light  upon  some  rough,  rambling  road,  winding 
between  stone  fences,  gray  with  moss,  and  over- 
grown with  elder,  poke-berry,  mullein,  and  sweet- 
briar,  with  here  and  there  a  low,  red  roofed,  white- 
washed farm-house,  cowering  among  apple  and 
cherry  trees ;  an  old  stone  church,  with  elms,  wil- 
lows, and  button-woods,  as  old-looking  as  itself,  and 
tomb-stones  almost  buried  in  their  own  graves  ;  and, 
peradventure,  a  small  log  school-house  at  a  cross- 
road, where  the  English  is  still  taught  with  a  thick- 
ness of  the  tongue,  instead  of  a  twang  of  the  nose ; 
should  you,  I  say,  light  upon  such  a  neighborhood, 
Mr.  Editor,  you  may  thank  your  stars  that  you  have 
found  one  of  the  lingering  haunts  of  poetry  and  ro- 
mance. 

Your  correspondent.  Sir,  has  touched  upon  that 
sublime  and  affecting  feature  in  the  history  of  Com- 
munipaw,  the  retreat  of  the  patriotic  band  of  Neder- 
landcrs,  led  by  Van  Home,  whom  lie  justly  terms 
the  Pelayo  of  the  New-Netherlands.  He  has  given 
you  a  picture  of  the  manner  in  which  they  ensconced 
themselves  in  the  House  of  the  Four  Chimnies,  and 
awaited  with  heroic  patience  and  perseverance  the 
day  that  should  see  the  flag  of  the  Hogen  Mogens 
once  more  floating  on  the  fort  of  New-Amsterdam. 

Your  correspondent.  Sir,  has  but  given  you  a 
glimpse  over  the  threshold  ;  I  will  now  let  you  into 
the  heart  of  the  mystery  of  this  most  mysterious  and 
eventful  village.     Yes,  Sir,  I  will  now 

■ '  unclasp  a  secret  book  ; 

An'l  to  your  quick  conceiving  discontents. 
I'll  read  you  matter  deep  and  dangerous. 
As  full  of  peril  and  adventurous  spirit, 
As  to  o'er  walk  a  current,  roaring  loud, 
On  the  unsteadfast  footing  of  a  spear.' 

Sir,  it  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  interesting 
facts  connected  with  the  history  of  Communipaw, 
that  the  early  feeling  of  resistance  to  foreign  rule, 
alluded  to  by  your  correspondent,  is  still  kept  up. 
Yes,  Sir,  a  settled,  secret,  and  determined  conspiracy 
has  been  going  on  for  generations  among  this  in- 
domitable people,  the  descendants  of  the  refugees 
from  New-Amsterdam  ;  the  object  of  which  is  to 
redeem  their  ancient  seat  of  empire,  and  to  drive  the 
losel  Yankees  out  of  the  land. 

Communipaw,  it  is  true,  has  the  glory  of  originat- 
ing this  conspiracy;  and  it  was  hatched  and  reared 
in  the  House  of  the  Four  Chimnies  ;  but  it  has  spread 
far  and  wide  over  ancient  Pavonia,  surmounted  the 


heights  of  Bergen,  Hoboken,  and  Weehawk,  crept 
up  along  the  banks  of  the  Passaic  and  the  Hacken- 
sack,  until  it  pervades  the  whole  chivalry  of  the 
country  from  Tappan  Slote  in  the  north  to  Piscata- 
way  in  the  south,  including  the  pugnacious  village 
of  Rahway,  more  heroically  denominated  Spank- 
town. 

Throughout  all  these  regions  a  great  '  in-and-in 
confederacy '  prevails,  that  is  to  say,  a  confederacy 
among  the  Dutch  families,  by  dint  of  diligent  and 
exclusive  intermarriage,  to  keep  the  race  pure  and  to 
multiply.  If  ever,  Mr.  Editor,  in  the  course  of  your 
travels  between  Spank-town  and  Tappan  Slote,  you 
should  see  a  cosey,  low-eaved  farm-house,  teeming 
with  sturdy,  broad-built  little  urchins,  you  may  set  it 
down  as  one  of  the  breeding  places  of  this  grand 
secret  confederacy,  stocked  with  the  embryo  deliver- 
ers of  New-Amsterdam. 

Another  step  in  the  progress  of  this  patriotic  con- 
spiracy, is  the  establishment,  in  various  places  within 
the  ancient  boundaries  of  the  Nieuw-Ncderlands,  of 
secret,  or  rather  mysterious  associations,  composed 
of  the  genuine  sons  of  the  Nederlanders,  with  the 
ostensible  object  of  keeping  up  the  memory  of  old 
times  and  customs,  but  with  the  real  object  of  pro- 
moting the  views  of  this  dark  and  mighty  plot,  and 
extending  its  ramifications  throughout  the  land. 

Sir,  I  am  descended  from  a  long  line  of  genuine 
Nederlanders,  who,  though  they  remained  in  the 
city  of  New-Amsterdam  after  the  conquest,  and 
throughout  the  usurpation,  have  never  in  their  hearts 
been  able  to  tolerate  the  yoke  imposed  upon  them. 
My  worthy  father,  who  was  one  of  the  last  of  the 
cocked  hats,  had  a  little  knot  of  cronies,  of  his  own 
stamp,  who  used  to  meet  in  our  wainscotted  parlor, 
round  a  nut-wood  fire,  talk  over  old  times,  when  the 
city  was  ruled  by  its  native  burgomasters,  and  groan 
over  the  monopoly  of  all  places  of  power  and  profit 
by  the  Yankees.  I  well  recollect  the  effect  upon  this 
worthy  little  conclave,  when  the  Yankees  first  insti- 
tuted their  New-England  Society,  held  their  '  na- 
tional festival,'  toasted  their  '  father  land,'  and  sang 
their  foreign  songs  of  triumph  within  the  very  pre- 
cincts of  our  ancient  metropolis.  Sir,  from  that 
day,  my  father  held  the  smell  of  codfish  and  pota- 
toes, and  the  sight  of  pumpkin  pie,  in  utter  abomi- 
nation ;  and  whenever  the  annual  dinner  of  the 
New-England  Society  came  round,  it  was  a  sore 
anniversary  lor  his  children.  He  got  up  in  an  ill 
humor,  grumbled  and  growled  throughout  the  day, 
and  not  one  of  us  went  to  bed  that  night,  without 
having  had  his  jacket  well  trounced,  to  the  tune  ol 
'  The  Pilgrim  Fathers." 

You  may  judge,  then,  Mr.  Editor,  of  the  exalta- 
tion of  all  true  patriots  of  this  stamp,  when  the 
Society  of  Saint  Nicholas  was  set  up  among  us,  and 
intrepidly  established,  cheek  by  jole,  alongside  of  the 
society  of  the  invaders.  Never  shall  1  forget  the 
effect  upon  my  father  and  his  little  knot  of  brother 
groaners,  when  tidings  were  brought  them  that  the 
ancient  banner  of  the  Manhattoes  was  actually 
floating  from  the  window  of  the  City  Hotel.  Sir, 
they  nearly  jumped  out  of  their  silver-buckled  shoes 
for  joy.  They  took  down  their  cocked  hats  from  the 
pegs  on  which  they  had  hanged  them,  as  the  Israel- 
ites of  yore  hung  their  harps  upon  the  willows,  in 
token  of  bondage,  clapped  them  resolutely  once 
more  upon  their  heads,  and  cocked  them  in  the  face 
of  every  Yankee  they  met  on  the  way  to  the  ban- 
queting-room. 

The  institution  of  this  society  was  hailed  with 
transport  throughout  the  whole  extent  of  the  New- 
Netherlands  ;  being  considered  a  secret  foothold 
gainefl  in  New-Amsterdam,  and  a  flattering  presage 
of  future  triumph.     Whenever  that  society  holds  its 


836 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


annual  feast,  a  sympathetic  hilarity  prevails  through- 
out the  land  ;  ancient  Pavonia  sends  over  its  contri- 
butions of  cabbages  and  oysters ;  the  House  of  the 
Four  Chimnies  is  splendidly  illuminated,  and  the 
traditional  song  of  Saint  Nicholas,  the  mystic  bond 
of  union  and  conspiracy,  is  chaunted  with  closed 
doors,  in  every  genuine  Dutch  family. 

I  have  thus,  1  trust,  Mr.  Editor,  opened  your  eyes 
to  some  of  the  grand  moral,  poetical,  and  political 
phenomena  with  which  you  are  surrounded.  You 
will  now  be  able  to  read  the  '  signs  of  the  times.' 
You  will  now  understand  what  is  meant  by  those 
'  Knickerbocker  Halls,'  and  'Knickerbocker  Hotels,' 
and  '  Knickerbocker  Lunches,'  that  are  daily  spring- 
ing up  in  our  city ;  and  what  all  these  '  Knicker- 
bocker Omnibuses  '  are  driving  at.  You  will  see  in 
them  so  many  clouds  before  a  storm ;  so  many 
mysterious  but  sublime  intimations  of  the  gathering 
vengeance  of  a  great  though  oppressed  people. 
Above  all,  you  will  now  contemplate  our  bay  and  its 
portentous  borders,  with  proper  feelings  of  awe  and 
admiration.  Talk  of  the  Bay  of  Naples,  and  its  vol- 
canic mountains  !  Why,  Sir,  little  Communipaw, 
sleeping  among  its  cabbage  gardens  '  quiet  as  gun- 
powder,' yet  with  this  tremendous  conspiracy  brew- 
ing in  its  bosom,  is  an  object  ten  times  as  sublime 
(in  a  moral  point  of  view,  mark  me,)  as  Vesuvius  in 
repose,  though  charged  with  lava  and  brimstone, 
and  ready  for  an  eruption. 

Let  me  advert  to  a  circumstance  connected  with 
this  theme,  which  cannot  but  be  appreciated  by 
every  heart  of  sensibility.  You  must  have  remarked, 
Mr.  Editor,  on  summer  evenings,  and  on  Sunday 
afternoons,  certain  grave,  primitive-looking  person- 
ages, walking  the  Battery,  in  close  confabulation, 
with  their  canes  behind  their  backs,  and  ever  and 
anon  turning  a  wistful  gaze  toward  the  Jersey  shore. 
These,  Sir.  are  the  sons  of  Saint  Nicholas,  the  genu- 
ine Nederlanders ;  who  regard  Communipaw  with 
pious  reverence,  not  merely  as  the  progenitor,  but 
the  destined  regenerator,  of  this  great  metropolis. 
Yes,  Sir ;  they  are  looking  with  longing  eyes  to  the 
green  marshes  of  ancient  Pavonia,  as  did  the  poor 
conquered  Spaniards  of  yore  toward  the  stern 
mountains  of  Asturias,  wondering  whether  the  day 
of  deliverance  is  at  hand.  Many  is  the  time,  when, 
in  my  boyhood,  I  have  walked  with  my  father  and 
his  confidential  compeers  on  the  Battery,  and  listen- 
ed to  their  calculations  and  conjectures,  and  observ- 
ed the  points  of  their  sharp  cocked  hats  evermore 
turned  toward  Pavonia.  Nay,  Sir,  I  am  convinced 
that  at  this  moment,  if  I  were  to  take  down  the 
cocked  hat  of  my  lamented  father  from  the  peg  on 
which  it  has  hung  for  years,  and  were  to  cany  it  to 
the  Battery,  its  centre  point,  true  as  the  needle  to 
the  pole,  would  turn  to  Communipaw. 

Mr.  Editor,  the  great  historic  drama  of  New- 
Amsterdam  is  but  half  acted.  The  reigns  of  Walter 
the  Doubter,  William  the  Testy,  and  Peter  the 
Headstrong,  with  the  rise,  progress,  and  decline  of 
the  Dutch  dynasty,  are  but  so  many  parts  of  the 
main  action,  the  triumphant  catastrophe  of  which  is 
yet  to  come.  Yes,  Sir  !  the  deliverance  of  the  New- 
Nederlands  from  Yankee  domination  will  eclipse  the 
far-famed  redemption  of  Spain  from  the  Moors,  and 
the  oft-sung  conquest  of  Granada  will  fade  before 
the  chivalrous  triumph  of  New-Amsterdam.  Would 
that  Peter  Stuyvesant  could  rise  from  his  grave  to 
witness  that  day  ! 

Your  humble  servant, 

ROLOFF  Van  Ripper. 


P.  S.  Just  as  1  had  concluded  the  foregoing  epistle, 
1  received  a  piece  of  intelligence,  which  makes  me 


tremble  for  the  fate  of  Communipaw.  I  fear,  M' 
Editor,  the  grand  conspiracy  is  in  danger  of  being 
countermined  and  counteracted,  by  those  all-pervad- 
ing and  indefatigable  Yankees.  Would  you  think  it. 
Sir !  one  of  them  has  actually  effected  an  entry  in 
the  place  by  covered  way ;  or  in  other  words,  under 
cover  of  the  petticoats.  Finding  every  other  mode 
ineffectual,  he  secretly  laid  siege  to  a  Dutch  heir- 
ess, who  owns  a  great  cabbage-garden  in  her  own 
right.  Being  a  smooth-tongued  varlet,  he  easily  pre- 
vailed on  her  to  elope  with  him,  and  they  were 
privately  married  at  Spank-town  !  The  first  notice  the 
good  people  of  Communipaw  had  of  this  awful  event, 
was  a  lithographed  map  of  the  cabbage-garden  laid 
out  in  town  lots,  and  advertised  for  sale  !  On  the 
night  of  the  wedding,  the  main  weather-cock  of  the 
House  of  the  Four  Chimnies  was  carried  away 
in  a  whirlwind  !  The  greatest  consternation  reigns 
throughout  the  village  ! 


A  LEGEND  OF  COMMUNIPAW. 


TO   THE   EDITOR   OF   THE    KNICKERBOCKER   MAGAZINE. 

Sir  :  I  observed  in  your  last  month's  periodical,  a 
communication  from  a  Mr.  Vanderdonk,  giving  some 
information  concerning  Communipaw.  I  herewith 
send  you,  Mr.  Editor,  a  legend  connected  with  that 
place  ;  and  am  much  surprised  it  should  have  escaped 
the  researches  of  your  very  authentic  correspondent, 
as  it  relates  to  an  edifice  scarcely  less  fated  than  the 
House  of  the  Four  Chimnies.  I  give  you  the  legend 
in  its  crude  and  simple  state,  as  I  heard  it  related  ;  it 
is  capable,  however,  of  being  dilated,  inflated,  and 
dressed  up  into  very  imposing  shape  and  dimensions. 
Should  any  of  your  ingenious  contributors  in  this  line 
feel  inclined  to  take  it  in  hand,  they  will  find  ample 
materials,  collateral  and  illustrative,  among  the  papers 
of  the  late  Reinier  Skaats,  many  years  since  crier  of 
the  court,  and  keeper  of  the  City  Hall,  in  the  city  of 
the  Manhattoes  ;  or  in  the  library  of  that  important 
and  utterly  renowned  functionary,  Mr.  Jacob  Hays, 
long  time  high  constable,  who,  in  the  course  of  his  ex- 
tensive researches,  has  amassed  an  amount  of  valuable 
facts,  to  be  rivalled  only  by  that  great  historical  col- 
lection, '  The  Newgate  Calendar.' 

Your  humble  servant, 

Barent  Van  Schaick. 


GUESTS   FROM   GIBBET-ISLAND. 

A   LEGEND   OF  COMMUNIPAW. 

Whoever  has  visited  the  ancient  and  renowned 
village  of  Communipaw,  may  have  noticed  an  old 
stone  building,  of  most  ruinous  and  sinister  appear- 
ance. The  doors  and  window-shutters  are  ready  to 
drop  from  their  hinges ;  old  clothes  are  stuffed  in 
the  broken  panes  of  glass,  while  legions  of  half- 
starved  dogs  prowl  about  the  premises,  and  rush  out 
and  bark  at  every  passer-by  ;  for  your  beggarly  house 
in  a  village  is  most  apt  to  swarm  with  prolligate  and 
ill-conditioned  dogs.  What  adds  to  the  sinister  ap- 
pearance of  this  mansion,  is  a  tall  frame  in  front,  not 
a  little  resembling  a  gallows,  and  which  looks  as  if 
waiting  to  accommodate  some  of  the  inhabitants 
with  a  well-merited  airing.  It  is  not  a  gallows, 
however,  but  an  ancient  sign-post ;  for  this  dwelling, 
in  the  golden  days  of  Communipaw,  was  one  of  the 
most  orderly  and  peaceful  of  village  taverns,  where  all 
the  public  affairs  of  Communipaw  were  talked  and 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


837 


smoked  over.  In  fact,  it  was  in  this  very  building 
that  Oloffe  the  Dreamer,  and  his  companions,  con- 
certed tliat  great  voyage  of  discovery  and  coloniza- 
tion, in  which  they  explored  Buttermilk  Channel, 
were  nearly  shipwrecked  in  the  strait  of  Hell-gate, 
and  finally  landed  on  the  island  of  Manhattan,  and 
founded  the  great  city  of  New-Amsterdam. 

Even  after  the  province  had  been  cruelly  wrested 
from  the  sway  of  their  High  Mightinesses,  by  the 
combined  forces  of  the  British  and  the  Yankees,  this 
tavern  continued  its  ancient  loyalty.  It  is  true,  the 
head  of  the  Prince  of  Orange  disappeared  from  the 
sign ;  a  strange  bird  being  painted  over  it,  with  the 
explanatory  legend  of  '  Die  Wilde  Gans,'  or  The 
Wild  Goose ;  but  this  all  the  world  knew  to  be  a 
sly  riddle  of  the  landlord,  the  worthy  Teunis  Van 
Gieson,  a  knowing  man  in  a  small  way,  who  laid  his 
finger  beside  his  nose  and  winked,  when  any  one 
studied  the  signification  of  his  sign,  and  observed 
that  his  goose  was  hatching,  but  would  join  the  flock 
whenever  they  flew  over  the  water ;  an  enigma 
which  was  the  perpetual  recreation  and  delight  of 
the  loyal  but  fat-headed  burghers  of  Communipaw. 

Under  the  sway  of  this  patriotic,  though  discreet 
and  quiet  publican,  the  tavern  continued  to  flourish 
in  primeval  tranquillity,  and  was  the  resort  of  all 
true-hearted  Nederlanders,  from  all  parts  of  Pavonia  ; 
who  met  here  quietly  and  secretly,  to  smoke  and 
drink  the  downfall  of  Briton  and  Yankee,  and  suc- 
cess to  Admiral  Van  Tromp. 

The  only  drawback  on  the  comfort  of  the  estab- 
lishment, was  a  nephew  of  mine  host,  a  sister's 
son,  Yan  Yost  Vanderscamp  by  name,  and  a  real 
scamp  by  nature.  This  unlucky  whipster  showed 
an  early  propensity  to  mischief,  which  he  gratified 
in  a  small  way,  by  playing  tricks  upon  the  frequent- 
ers of  the  Wild  Goose  ;  putting  gunpowder  in  their 
pipes,  or  squibs  in  their  pockets,  and  astonishing 
them  with  an  explosion,  while  they  sat  nodding 
round  the  fire-place  in  the  bar-room  ;  and  if  per- 
chance a  worthy  burgher  from  some  distant  part  of 
Pavonia  had  lingered  until  dark  over  his  potation,  it 
was  odds  but  that  young  Vanderscamp  would  slip  a 
l)riar  under  his  horse's  tail,  as  he  mounted,  and  send 
him  clattering  along  the  road,  in  neck-or-nothing 
style,  to  his  infinite  astonishment  and  discomfit- 
ure. 

It  may  be  wondered  at,  that  mine  host  of  the 
Wild  Goose  did  not  turn  such  a  graceless  varlet  out 
of  doors  ;  but  Teunis  Van  Gieson  was  an  easy- 
tempered  man,  and,  having  no  child  of  his  own,  look- 
ed upon  his  nephew  with  almost  parental  indulgence. 
His  patience  and  good-nature  were  doomed  to  be 
tried  by  another  inmate  of  his  mansion.  This  was 
a  cross-grained  curmudgeon  of  a  negro,  named 
Pluto,  who  was  a  kind  of  enigma  in  Communipaw. 
Where  he  came  from,  nobody  knew.  He  was  found 
one  morning,  after  a  storm,  cast  like  a  sea-monster 
on  the  strand,  in  front  of  the  Wild  Goose,  and  lay 
there,  n.ore  dead  than  alive.  The  neighbors  gath- 
ered round,  and  speculated  on  this  production  of 
the  deep ;  whether  it  were  fish  or  flesh,  or  a  com- 
pound of  both,  commonly  yclept  a  merman.  The 
kind-hearted  Teunis  Van  Gieson,  seeing  that  he 
wore  the  human  form,  took  him  into  his  house,  and 
warmed  him  into  life.  By  degrees,  he  showed  signs 
of  intelligence,  and  even  uttered  sounds  very  much 
like  language,  but  which  no  one  in  Communipaw 
could  understand.  Some  thought  him  a  negro  just 
from  Guinea,  who  had  either  fallen  overboard,  or 
escaped  from  a  slave-ship.  Nothing,  however,  could 
overdraw  from  him  any  account  of  his  origin.  When 
questioned  on  the  subject,  he  merely  pointed  to  Gib- 
bet-Island, a  small  rocky  islet,  which  lies  in  the  open 
bay,  just  opposite  to  Communipaw,  as  if  that  were 


his  native  place,   though  every  body  knew  it  had 
never  been  inhabited. 

In  the  process  of  time,  he  acquired  something  of 
the  Dutch  language,  that  is  to  say,  he  learnt  all  its 
vocabulary  of  oaths  and  maledictions,  with  just 
words  sufficient  to  string  them  together.  '  Donder 
en  blicksem  ! '  (thunder  and  lightning,")  was  the 
gentlest  of  his  ejaculations.  For  years  he  kept 
about  the  Wild  Goose,  more  like  one  of  those  famil- 
iar spirits,  or  household  goblins,  that  we  read  of, 
than  like  a  human  being.  He  acknowledged  allegi- 
ance to  no  one,  but  performed  various  domestic  of- 
fices, when  it  suited  his  humour;  waiting  occasionally 
on  the  guests  ;  grooming  the  horses,  cutting  wood, 
drawing  water  ;  and  all  this  without  being  ordered. 
Lay  any  command  on  him,  and  the  stubborn  sea- 
urchin  was  sure  to  rebel.  He  was  never  so  much 
at  home,  however,  as  when  on  the  water,  plying 
about  in  skiff  or  canoe,  entirely  alone,  fishing,  crab- 
bing, or  grabbing  for  oysters,  and  would  bring  home 
quantities  for  the  larder  of  the  Wild  Goose,  which 
he  would  throw  down  at  the  kitchen  door,  with  a 
growl.  No  wind  nor  weather  deterred  him  from 
launching  forth  on  his  favorite  element  :  indeed,  the 
wilder  the  weather,  the  more  he  seemed  to  enjoy  it. 
If  a  storm  was  brewing,  he  was  sure  to  put  off  from 
shore  ;  and  would  be  seen  far  out  in  the  bay,  his 
light  skiff  dancing  like  a  feather  on  the  waves,  when 
sea  and  sky  were  all  in  a  turmoil,  and  the  stoutest 
ships  were  fain  to  lower  their  sails.  Sometimes,  on 
such  occasions,  he  would  be  absent  for  days  to- 
gether. How  he  weathered  the  tempest,  and  hov.' 
and  where  he  subsisted,  no  one  could  divine,  nor 
did  any  one  venture  to  ask,  for  all  had  an  almost 
superstitious  awe  of  him.  Some  of  the  Communi- 
paw oystermen  declared  that  they  had  more  than 
once  seen  him  suddenly  disappear,  canoe  and  all,  as 
if  they  plunged  beneath  the  waves,  and  after  a  while 
come  up  again,  in  quite  a  different  part  of  the  bay  ; 
whence  they  concluded  that  he  could  live  under 
water  like  that  notable  species  of  wild  duck,  com- 
monly called  the  Hell-diver.  All  began  to  consider 
him  in  the  light  of  a  foul-weather  bird,  like  the 
Mother  Carey's  Chicken,  or  Stormy  Petrel;  and 
whenever  they  saw  him  putting  far  out  in  his  skiff, 
in  cloudy  weather,  made  up  their  minds  for  a  storm. 

The  only  being  for  whom  he  seemed  to  have  any 
liking,  was  Yan  Yost  Vanderscamp,  and  him  he 
liked  for  his  very,  wickedness.  He  in  a  manner  took 
the  boy  under  his  tutelage,  prompted  him  to  all  kinds 
of  mischief,  aided  him  in  every  wild,  harum-scarum 
freak,  until  the  lad  became  the  complete  scape-grace 
of  the  village ;  a  pest  to  his  uncle,  and  to  every  one 
else.  Nor  were  his  pranks  confined  to  the  land  ; 
he  soon  learned  to  accompany  old  Pluto  on  the 
water.  Together  these  worthies  would  cruise  about 
the  broad  bay,  and  all  the  neighboring  straits  and 
rivers  ;  poking  around  in  skiffs  and  canoes  ;  robbing 
the  set-nets  of  the  fishermen  ;  landing  on  remote 
coasts,  and  laying  waste  orchards  and  water-melon 
patches  ;  in  short,  carrying  on  a  complete  system  ot 
piracy,  on  a  small  scale.  Piloted  by  Pluto,  the 
youthful  Vanderscamp  soon  became  acquainted  with 
all  the  bays,  rivers,  creeks,  and  inlets  of  the  watery 
world  around  him ;  could  navigate  from  the  Hook 
to  Spiting-devil  on  the  darkest  night,  and  learned  to 
set  even  the  terrors  of  Hell-gate  at  defiance. 

At  length,  negro  and  boy  suddenly  disappeared, 
and  days  and  weeks  elapsed,  but  without  tidings  of 
them.  Some  said  they  must  have  run  away  and 
gone  to  sea ;  others  jocosely  hinted,  that  old  Pluto, 
being  no  other  than  his  namesake  in  disguise,  had 
spirited  away  the  boy  to  the  nether  regions.  All, 
however,  agreed  in  one  thing,  that  the  village  was 
well  rid  of  them. 


838 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


In  the  process  of  time,  the  good  Teunis  Van 
Gieson  slept  with  his  fathers,  and  the  tavern  re- 
mained shut  up,  waiting  for  a  claimant,  for  the  next 
heir  was  Yan  Yost  Vanderscamp,  and  he  had  not 
been  heard  of  for  years.  At  length,  one  day,  a  boat 
was  seen  pulling  for  the  shore,  troni  a  long,  black, 
rakish-looking  schooner,  that  lay  at  anchor  in  the 
bay.  The  boat's  crew  seemed  worthy  of  the  craft 
from  which  they  debarked.  Never  had  such  a  set 
of  noisy,  roistering,  swaggering  varlets  landed  in 
peaceful  Communipaw.  They  were  outlandish  in 
garb  and  demeanor,  and  were  headeJ  by  a  rough, 
burly,  bully  ruffian,  with  fiery  whiskers,  a  copper 
nose,  a  scar  across  his  face,  and  a  great  Flaun- 
dcrish  beaver  slouched  on  one  side  of  his  head,  in 
whom,  to  their  dismay,  the  quiet  inhabitants  were 
made  to  recognize  their  early  pest,  Yan  Yost  Van- 
derscamp. The  rear  of  this  hopeful  gang  was 
brought  up  by  old  Pluto,  who  had  lost  an  eye,  grown 
grizzly-headed,  and  looked  more  like  a  devil  than 
ever.  Vanderscamp  renewed  his  acquaintance  with 
the  old  burghers,  much  against  their  will,  and  in 
a  manner  not  at  all  to  their  taste.  He  slapped  them 
familiarly  on  the  back,  gave  them  an  iron  grip  of 
the  hand,  and  was  hail  fellow  well  met.  Accordmg 
to  his  own  account,  he  had  been  all  the  world  over ; 
had  made  money  by  bags  full ;  had  ships  in  every 
sea,  and  now  meant  to  turn  the  Wild  Goose  into  a 
country  seat,  where  he  and  his  comrades,  all  rich 
merchants  from  foreign  parts,  might  enjoy  them- 
selves in  the  interval  of  their  voyages. 

Sure  enough,  in  a  little  while  there  was  a  complete 
metamorphose  of  the  Wild  Goose.  From  being  a 
quiet,  peaceful  Dutch  public  house,  it  became  a  most 
riotous,  uproarious  private  dwelling ;  a  complete 
rendezvous  for  boisterous  men  of  the  seas,  who  came 
here  to  have  what  they  called  a  '  blow  out '  on  dry 
land,  and  might  be  seen  at  all  hours,  lounging  about 
the  door,  or  lolling  out  of  the  windows ;  swearing 
among  themselves,  and  cracking  rough  jokes  on 
every  passer-by.  The  house  was  fitted  up,  too,  in  so 
strange  a  manner :  hammocks  slung  to  the  walls, 
instead  of  bedsteads ;  odd  kinds  of  furniture,  of 
foreign  fashion  ;  bamboo  couches,  Spanish  chairs ; 
pistols,  cutlasses,  and  blunderbusses,  suspended  on 
every  peg ;  silver  crucifixes  on  the  mantel-pieces, 
silver  candle-sticks  and  porringers  on  the  tables, 
contrasting  oddly  with  the  pewter  and  Delf  ware  of 
the  original  establishment.  And  then  the  strange 
amusements  of  these  sea-monsters  !  Pitching  -Span- 
ish dollars,  instead  of  quoits ;  firing  blunderbusses 
out  of  the  window ;  shooting  at  a  mark,  or  at  any 
unhappy  dog,  or  cat,  or  pig,  or  barn-door  fowl,  that 
might  happen  to  come  within  reach. 

The  only  being  who  seemed  to  relish  their  rough 
waggery,  was  old  Pluto ;  and  yet  he  led  but  a  dog's 
life  of  it ;  for  they  practised  all  kinds  of  manual 
jokes  upon  him  ;  kicked  him  about  like  a  foot-ball ; 
shook  him  by  his  grizzly  mop  of  wool,  and  never 
spoke  to  him  without  coupling  a  curse  by  way  of 
adjective  to  his  name,  and  consigning  him  to  the 
infernal  regions.  The  old  fellow,  however,  seemed 
to  like  them  the  better,  the  more  they  cursed  him, 
though  his  utmost  expression  of  pleasure  never 
amounted  to  more  than  the  growl  of  a  petted  bear, 
when  his  ears  are  rubbed. 

Old  Pluto  was  the  ministering  spirit  at  the  orgies 
of  the  Wild  Goose ;  and  such  orgies  as  took  place 
there  !  Such  drinking,  singing,  whooping,  swearing  ; 
with  an  occasional  interlude  of  quarrelling  and  fight- 
ing. The  noisier  grew  the  revel,  the  more  old  Pluto 
plied  the  potations,  until  the  guests  would  become 
frantic  in  their  merriment,  smashing  every  thing  to 
pieces,  and  throwing  the  house  out  of  the  windows. 
Sometimes,  after  a  drinking  bout,  they  sallied  forth 


and  scoured  the  village,  to  the  dismay  of  the  worthy 
burghers,  who  gathered  their  women  within  doors, 
and  would  have  shut  up  the  house.  Vanderscamp, 
however,  was  not  to  be  rebuffed.  He  insisted  on 
renewing  acquaintance  with  his  old  neighbors,  and 
on  introducing  his  friends,  the  merchants,  to  their 
families ;  swore  he  was  on  the  look-out  for  a  wife, 
and  meant,  before  he  stopped,  to  find  husbands  for 
all  their  daughters.  So,  will-ye,  nil-ye,  sociable  he 
was;  swaggered  about  their  best  parlors,  with  his 
hat  on  one  side  of  his  head  ;  sat  on  the  good  wife's 
nicely-waxed  mahogany  table,  kicking  his  heels 
against  the  carved  and  polished  legs ;  kissed  and 
tousled  the  young  vrouws  ;  and,  if  they  frowned  and 
pouted,  ga\e  them  a  gold  rosary,  or  a  sparkling  cross, 
to  put  them  in  good  humor  again. 

Sometimes  nothing  would  satisfy  him,  but  he  must 
have  some  of  his  old  neighbors  to  dinner  at  the  Wild 
Goose.  There  was  no  refusing  him,  for  he  had  got 
the  complete  upper-hand  of  the  community,  and  the 
peaceful  burghers  all  stood  in  awe  of  him.  But  what 
a  time  would  the  quiet,  worthy  men  have,  among 
these  rake-hells,  who  would  delight  to  astound  them 
with  the  most  extravagant  gunpowder  tales,  em- 
broidered with  all  kinds  of  foreign  oaths ;  clink  the 
can  with  them  ;  pledge  them  in  deep  potations ; 
bawl  drinking  songs  in  their  ears ;  and  occasionally 
fire  pistols  over  their  heads,  or  under  the  table,  and 
then  laugh  in  their  faces,  and  ask  them  how  they 
liked  the  smell  of  gunpowder. 

Thus  was  the  little  village  of  Communipaw  for 
a  time  like  the  unfortunate  wight  possessed  with 
devils  ;  until  Vanderscamp  and  his  brother  merchnnts 
would  sail  on  another  trading  voyage,  when  the  Wild 
Goose  would  be  shut  up,  and  every  thing  relapse 
into  quiet,  only  to  be  disturbed  by  his  next  visitation. 

The  mystery  of  all  these  proceedings  gradually 
dawned  upon  the  tardy  intellects  of  Communipaw. 
These  were  the  times  of  the  notorious  Captain  Kidd, 
when  the  American  harbors  were  the  resorts  of 
piratical  adventurers  of  all  kinds,  who,  under  pretext 
of  mercantile  voyages,  scoured  the  West  Indies,  • 
made  plundering  descents  upon  the  Spanish  Main, 
visited  even  the  remote  Indian  Seas,  and  then  came 
to  dispose  of  their  booty,  have  their  revels,  and  fit 
out  new  expeditions,  in  the  English  colonies. 

Vanderscamp  had  served  in  this  hopeful  school, 
and  having  risen  to  importance  among  the  bucaniers, 
had  pitched  upon  his  native  village  and  early  home, 
as  a  quiet,  out-of-the-way,  unsuspected  place,  where 
he  and  his  comrades,  while  anchored  at  New-York, 
might  have  their  feast.s,  and  concert  their  plans, 
without  molestation. 

At  length  the  attention  of  the  British  govern- 
ment was  called  to  these  piratical  enterprises, 
that  were  becoming  so  frequent  and  outrageous. 
Vigorous  measures  were  taken  to  check  and  punish 
them.  Several  of  the  most  noted  freebooters  were 
caught  and  executed,  and  three  of  Vandenscamp's 
chosen  comrades,  the  most  riotous  swash-bucklers 
of  the  Wild  Goose,  were  hanged  in  chains  on  Gib- 
bet-Island, in  full  sight  of  their  favorite  resort.  As 
to  Vanderscamp  himself,  he  and  his  man  Pluto  again 
disappeared,  and  it  was  hoped  by  the  people  of 
Communipaw  that  he  had  fallen  in  some  foreign 
brawl,  or  been  swung  on  some  foreign  gallows. 

For  a  time,  therefore,  the  tranquillity  of  the  village 
was  restored ;  the  worthy  Dutchmen  once  more 
smoked  their  pipes  in  peace,  eyeing,  with  peculiar 
complacency,  their  old  pests  and  terrors,  the  pirates, 
dangling  and  drying  in  the  sun,  on  Gibbet-Island. 

This  perfect  calm  was  doomed  at  length  to  be 
ruffled.  The  fiery  persecution  of  the  pirates  gradu- 
ally subsided.  Justice  was  satisfied  with  the  ex- 
amples that  had  been  made,  and  there  was  no  more 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


839 


talk  of  Kidd,  and  the  other  heroes  of  like  kidney. 
On  a  calm  summer  evening',  a  boat,  somewhat 
heavily  laden,  was  seen  pulling  into  Communipaw. 
What  was  the  surprise  and  disquiet  of  the  inhabit- 
ants, to  see  Yan  Yost  Vanderscamp  seated  at  the 
helm,  and  his  man  Pluto  tugging  at  the  oars  !  Van- 
derscamp, however,  was  apparently  an  altered  man. 
He  brought  home  with  him  a  wife,  who  seemed  to 
be  a  shrew,  and  to  have  the  upper-hand  of  him. 
Ke  no  longer  was  the  swaggering,  bully  ruffian,  but 
affected  the  regular  merchant,  and  talked  of  retiring 
from  business,  and  settling  down  quietly,  to  pass  the 
rest  of  his  days  in  his  native  place. 

The  Wild  Goose  mansion  was  again  opened,  but 
with  diminished  splendor,  and  no  riot.  It  is  true, 
Vanderscamp  had  frequent  nautical  visitors,  and  the 
sound  of  revelry  was  occasionally  overheard  in  his 
house  ;  but  every  thing  seemed  to  be  done  under 
the  rose  ;  and  old  Pluto  was  the  only  servant  that 
officiated  at  these  orgies.  The  visitors,  indeed,  were 
by  no  means  of  the  turbulent  stamp  of  thtjir  prede- 
cessors ;  but  quiet,  mysterious  traders,  full  of  nods, 
and  winks,  and  hieroglyphic  signs,  with  whom,  to 
use  their  cant  phrase,  '  every  thing  was  smug.' 
Their  ships  came  to  anchor  at  night  in  the  lower 
bay ;  and,  on  a  private  signal,  Vanderscamp  would 
launch  his  boat,  and  accompanied  solely  by  his  man 
Pluto,  would  make  them  mysterious  visits.  Some- 
times boats  pulled  in  at  night,  in  front  of  the  Wild 
Goose,  and  various  articles  of  merchandise  were 
landed  in  the  dark,  and  spirited  away,  nobody  knew 
whither.  One  of  the  more  curious  of  the  mhabitants 
kept  watch,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  features  of 
some  of  these  night  visitors,  by  the  casual  glance  of 
a  lantern,  and  declared  that  he  recognized  more 
than  one  of  the  freebooting  frequenters  of  the  Wild 
Goose,  in  former  times ;  from  whence  he  concluded 
that  Vanderscamp  was  at  his  old  game,  and  that 
this  mysterious  merchandise  was  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  piratical  plunder.  The  more  charitable 
opinion,  however,  was,  that  Vanderscamp  and  his 
comrades,  having  been  driven  from  their  old  line  of 
busmess,  by  the  'oppressions  of  government,'  had 
resorted  to  smuggling  to  make  both  ends  meet. 

Be  that  as  it  may :  I  come  now  to  the  extraor- 
dinary fact,  which  is  the  butt-end  of  this  story.  It 
happened  late  one  night,  that  Yan  Yost  Vander- 
scamp was  returning  across  the  broad  bay,  in  his 
light  skiff,  rowed  by  his  man  Pluto.  He  had  been 
carousing  on  board  of  a  vessel,  newly  arrived,  and 
was  somewhat  obfuscated  in  intellect,  by  the  liquor 
he  had  imbibed.  It  was  a  still,  sultry  night ;  a 
h.eavy  mass  of  lurid  clouds  was  rising  in  the  west, 
with  the  low  muttering  of  distant  thunder.  Vander- 
scamp called  on  Pluto  to  pull  lustily,  that  they  might 
get  home  before  the  gathering  storm.  The  old  negro 
made  no  reply,  but  shaped  his  course  so  as  to  skirt 
the  rocky  shores  of  Gibbet-Island.  A  faint  creaking 
overhead  caused  Vanderscamp  to  cast  up  his  eyes, 
when,  to  his  horror,  he  beheld  the  bodies  of  his 
three  pot  companions  and  brothers  in  iniquity  dang- 
ling in  the  moonlight,  their  rags  fluttering,  and  their 
chains  creaking,  as  they  were  slowly  swung  back- 
ward and  forward  by  the  rising  breeze. 

'  What  do  you  mean,  you  blockhead  ! '  cried  Van- 
derscamp, '  by  pulling  so  close  to  the  island  ?  ' 

'  I  thought  you'd  be  glad  to  see  your  old  friends 
once  more,'  growled  the  negro ;  '  you  were  never 
afraid  of  a  living  man,  what  do  you  fear  from  the 
dead  ? ' 

'  Who's  afraid  .'  '  hiccupped  Vanderscamp,  partly 
heated  by  liquor,  partly  nettled  by  the  jeer  of  the 
negro;  'who's  afraid!  Hang  me,  but  I  would  be 
glad  to  see  them  once  more,  alive  or  dead,  at  the 
Wild  Goose.     Come,  my  lads  in  the  wind  ! '  con- 


tinued he,  taking  a  draught,  and  flourishing  the  bot- 
tle above  his  head, '  here's  fair  weather  to  you  in  the 
other  world ;  and  if  you  should  be  walking  the 
rounds  to-night,  odds  fish  !  but  I'll  be  happy  if  you 
will  drop  in  to  supper.' 

A  dismal  creaking  was  the  only  reply.  The  wind 
blew  loud  and  shrill,  and  as  it  whistled  round  the 
gallows,  and  among  the  bones,  sounded  as  if  there 
were  laughing  and  gibbering  in  the  air.  Old  Pluto 
chuckled  to  himself,  and  now  pulled  for  home.  The 
storm  burst  over  the  voyagers,  while  they  were  yet 
far  from  shore.  The  rain  fell  in  torrents,  the  thunder 
crashed  and  pealed,  and  the  lightning  kept  up  an  in- 
cessant blaze.  It  was  stark  midnight,  before  they 
landed  at  Communipaw. 

Dripping  and  shivering,  Vanderscamp  crawled 
homeward.  He  was  completely  sobered  by  the 
storm  ;  the  water  soaked  from  without,  having  di- 
luted and  cooled  the  liquor  within.  Arrived  at  the 
Wild  Goose,  he  knocked  timidly  and  dubiously  at 
the  door,  for  he  dreaded  the  reception  he  was  to  ex- 
perience from  his  wife.  He  had  reason  to  do  so. 
She  met  him  at  the  threshold,  in  a  precious  ill  humor. 

'  Is  this  a  time,'  said  she,  '  to  keep  people  out  of 
their  beds,  and  to  bring  home  company,  to  turn  the 
house  upside  down  ?  ' 

'  Company  ?  '  said  Vanderscamp,  meekly ;  '  I  have 
brought  no  company  with  me,  wife.' 

'  No,  indeed  !  they  have  got  here  before  you,  but 
by  your  invitation ;  and  blessed-looking  company 
they  are,  truly  ! ' 

Vanderscamp's  knees  smote  together.  '  For  the 
love  of  heaven,  where  are  they,  wife  ?  ' 

'  Where  .' — why,  in  the  blue-room,  up-stairs,  mak- 
ing themselves  as  much  at  home  as  if  the  house 
were  their  own.' 

Vanderscamp  made  a  desperate  effort,  scrambled 
up  to  the  room,  and  threw  open  the  door.  Sure 
enough,  there  at  a  table,  on  which  burned  a  light  as 
blue  as  brimstone,  sat  the  three  guests  from  Gibbet- 
Island,  with  halters  round  their  necks,  and  bobbing 
their  cups  together,  as  if  they  were  hob-or-nobbing, 
and  trolling  the  old  Dutch  freebooter's  glee,  since 
translated  into  English  : 

'  For  three  merrj-  lads  be  we, 
And  three  merry  lads  be  we  : 
1  on  the  land,  and  thou  on  tne  sand, 
And  Jack  on  the  gallows-tree.' 

Vanderscamp  saw  and  heard  no  more.  Starting 
back  with  horror,  he  missed  his  tooting  on  the  land- 
ing place,  and  fell  from  the  top  of  the  stairs  to  the 
bottom.  He  was  taken  up  speechless,  and,  either 
from  the  fall  or  the  fright,  was  buried  in  the  yard  of 
the  little  Dutch  church  at  Bergen,  on  the  following 
Sunday. 

From  that  day  forward,  the  fate  of  the  Wild  Goose 
was  sealed.  It  was  pronounced  a  /taunted  house, 
and  avoided  accordingly.  No  one  inhabited  it  but 
Vanderscamp's  shrew  of  a  widow,  and  old  Pluto, 
and  they  were  considered  but  little  better  than  its 
hobgoblin  visitors.  Pluto  grew  more  and  more 
haggard  and  morose,  and  looked  more  like  an  imp 
of  darkness  than  a  human  being.  He  spoke  to  no 
one,  but  went  about  muttering  to  himself;  or,  as 
some  hinted,  talking  with  the  devil,  who,  though  un- 
seen, was  ever  at  his  elbow.  Now  and  then  he  was 
seen  pulling  about  the  bay  alone,  in  his  skiff,  in  dark 
weather,  or  at  the  approach  of  night-fall ;  nobody 
could  tell  why,  unless  on  an  errand  to  invite  more 
guests  from  the  gallows.  Indeed  it  was  affirmed 
that  the  Wild  Goose  still  continued  to  be  a  house  of 
entertainment  for  such  guests,  and  that  on  stormy 
nights,  the  blue  chamber  was  occasionally  illumi- 
nated, and  sounds  of  diabolical  merriment  were  over- 
heard, mingling  with  the  howling  of  the  tempest. 


840 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Some  treated  these  as  idle  stories,  until  on  one  such 
nig-ht,  it  was  about  the  time  of  the  equinox,  there 
was  a  horrible  uproar  in  the  Wild  Goose,  that  could 
not  be  mistal<en.  It  was  not  so  much  the  sound  of 
revelry,  however,  as  strife,  with  two  or  three  piercing 
shrieks,  that  pervaded  every  part  of  the  village. 
Nevertheless,  no  one  thought  of  hastening  to  the 
spot.  On  the  contrary,  the  honest  burghers  of  Com- 
munipaw  drew  their  night-caps  over  their  ears,  and 
buried  their  heads  under  the  bed-clothes,  at  the 
thoughts  of  Vanderscamp  and  his  gallows  com- 
panions. 

The  next  morning,  some  of  the  bolder  and  more 
curious  undertook  to  reconnoitre.  All  was  quiet 
and  lifeless  at  the  Wild  Goose.  The  door  yawned 
wide  open,  and  had  evidently  been  open  all  night, 
for  the  storm  had  beaten  into  the  house.  Gathering 
more  courage  from  the  silence  and  apparent  deser- 
tion, they  gradually  ventured  over  the  threshold. 
The  house  had  indeed  the  air  of  having  been  pos- 
sessed by  devils.  Every  thing  was  topsy  turvy  ; 
trunks  had  been  broken  open,  and  chests  of  drawers 
and  corner  cup-boards  turned  inside  out,  as  in  a 
time  of  general  sack  and  pillage  ;  but  the  most  woful 
sight  was  the  widow  of  Yan  Yost  Vanderscamp,  ex- 
tended a  corpse  on  the  floor  of  the  blue-chamber, 
with  the  marks  of  a  deadly  gripe  on  the  wind-pipe. 

All  now  was  conjecture  and  dismay  at  Communi- 
paw ;  and  the  disappearance  of  old  Pluto,  who  was 
no  where  to  be  found,  gave  rise  to  all  kinds  of  wild 
surmises.  Some  suggested  that  the  negro  had  be- 
trayed the  house  to  some  of  Vanderscamp's  bucanier- 
ing  associates,  and  that  they  had  decamped  together 
with  the  booty ;  others  surmised  that  the  negro  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  devil  incarnate,  who 
had  now  accomplished  his  ends,  and  made  off  with 
his  dues. 

Events,  Iiowever,  vindicated  the  negro  from  this 
last  imputation.  His  skiff  was  picked  up,  drifting 
about  the  bay,  bottom  upward,  as  if  wrecked  in  a 
tempest;  and  his  body  was  found,  shortly  afterward, 
by  some  Communipaw  fishermen,  stranded  among 
the  rocks  of  Gibbet-island,  near  the  foot  of  the 
pirates'  gallows.  The  fishermen  shook  their  heads, 
and  observed  that  old  Pluto  had  ventured  once  too 
often  to  invite  Guests  from  Gibbet-Island. 


THE   BERMUDAS. 

A  SHAKSPERIAN    RESEARCH:    BY  THE  AUTHOR 
OF  THE  SKETCH-BOOK. 


'  Who  did  not  think,  till  within  these  foure  yeaie5,  but  that  these 
islands  had  been  rather  a  habitation  for  Divells,  than  fit  for  men 
to  dwell  in  ?  Who  did  not  hate  the  name,  when  hee  was  on  land, 
and  shun  the  place  when  he  was  on  the  seas?  But  behold  the 
misprision  and  conceits  of  the  world  !  For  true  and  large  experi- 
ence hath  now  told  us.  it  is  one  of  the  sweetest  paradises  that  be 
upon  earth.*         *A  Plaine  Descript.  of  the  Barmudas  ;'  16x3. 

In  the  course  of  a  voyage  home  from  England, 
our  ship  had  been  struggling,  for  two  or  three 
weeks,  with  ])erverse  head-winds,  and  a  stormy  sea. 
It  was  in  the  month  of  May,  yet  the  weather  had  at 
times  a  wintry  sharpness,  and  it  w'as  apprehended 
that  we  were  in  the  neighborhood  of  floating  islands 
of  ice,  which  at  that  season  of  the  year  drift  out  of 
the  Gulf  of  Saint  Lawrence,  and  sometimes  occa- 
sion the  wreck  of  noble  ships. 

Wearied  out  by  the  continued  opposition  of  the 
elements,  our  captain  at  length  bore  away  to  the 
south,  in  hopes  of  catching  the  expiring  breath  of 
the   trade-winds,   and   making  what   is  called  the 


southern  passage.  A  few  days  wrought,  as  it  were, 
a  magical  'sea  change'  in  everything  around  us. 
We  seemed  to  emerge  into  a  different  world.  The 
late  dark  and  angry  sea,  lashed  up  into  roaring  and 
swashing  surges,  became  calm  and  sunny  ;  the  rude 
winds  died  away ;  and  gradually  a  light  breeze 
sprang  up  directly  aft,  filling  out  every  sail,  and 
wafting  us  smoothly  along  on  an  even  keel.  The 
air  softened  into  a  bland  and  delightful  temperature. 
Dolphins  began  to  play  about  us ;  the  nautilus  came 
floating  by,  like  a  fairy  ship,  with  its  mimic  sail  and 
rainbow  tints  ;  and  flying-fish,  from  time  to  time, 
made  their  short  excursive  flights,  and  occasionally 
fell  upon  the  dtck.  The  cloaks  and  overcoats  in 
which  we  had  hitherto  wrapped  ourselves,  and 
moped  about  the  vessel, were  thrown  aside  ;  for  a  sum- 
mer warmth  had  succeeded  to  the  late  wintry  chills. 
Sails  were  stretched  as  awnings  over  the  quarter- 
deck, to  protect  us  from  the  mid-day  sun.  Under 
these  we  lounged  away  the  day,  in  luxurious  indo- 
lence, musing,  with  half-shut  eyes,  upon  the  quiet 
ocean,  ^he  night  was  scarcely  less  beautiful  than 
the  day.  The  rising  moon  sent  a  quivering  column 
of  silver  along  the  undulating  surface  of  the  deep, 
and,  gradually  climbing  the  heaven,  lit  up  our  tow- 
ering top-sails  and  swelling  main-sails,  and  spread  a 
pale,  mysterious  light  around.  As  our  ship  made 
her  whispering  way  through  this  dreamy  world  of 
waters,  every  boisterous  sound  on  board  was  charm- 
ed to  silence  ;  and  the  low  whistle,  or  drowsy  song 
of  a  sailor  from  the  forecastle,  or  the  tinkling  of  a 
guitar,  and  the  soft  warbling  of  a  female  voice  from 
the  quarter-deck,  seemed  to  derive  a  witching 
melody  from  the  scene  and  hour.  I  was  reminded 
of  Oberon's  exquisite  description  of  music  and 
moonlight  on  the  ocean : 

'  Thou  rememberest 

Since  once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory, 
And  heard  a  mermaid  on  a  dolphin  s  back, 
Uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath, 
That  the  rude  sea  erew  civil  at  her  song  ? 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music' 

Indeed,  I  was  in  the  very  mood  to  conjure  up  all 
the  imaginary  beings  with  which  poetry  has  peopled 
old  ocean,  and  almost  ready  to  fancy  I  heard  the 
distant  song  of  the  mermaid,  or  the  mellow  shell  of 
the  triton,  and  to  picture  to  myself  Neptune  and 
Amphitrite  with  all  their  pageant  sweeping  along  the 
dim  horizon. 

A  day  or  two  of  such  fanciful  voyaging  brought 
us  in  sight  of  the  Bermudas,  which  first  looked  like 
mere  summer  clouds,  peering  above  the  quiet  ocean. 
Ah  day  we  glided  along  in  sight  of  them,  with  just 
wind  enough  to  fill  our  sails ;  and  never  did  land 
appear  more  lovely.  They  were  chad  in  emerald 
verdure,  beneath  the  serenest  of  skies :  not  an  angry 
wave  broke  upon  their  quiet  shores,  and  small  fish- 
ing craft,  riding  on  the  crystal  waves,  seemed  as  if 
hung  in  air.  It  was  such  a  scene  that  Fletcher 
pictured  to  himself,  when  he  extolled  the  halcyon 
lot  of  the  fisherman  : 

Ah  !  would  thou  knewest  how  much  it  better  were 
To  bide  among  the  simple  fisher-swains  : 

No  shrieking  owl,  no  night-crow  lodgjeth  here, 
Nor  is  our  simple  pleasure  mixed  with  pains. 

Our  sports  begin  with  the  beginning  year  ; 

In  caln.s,  to  pull  the  leaping  fish  to  land, 

In  roughs,  to  sing  and  dance  along  the  yellow  sand. 

In  contemplating  these  beautiful  islands,  and  the 
peaceful  sea  around  them,  I  could  hardly  realize  that 
these  were  the  '  still  vexed  Bermoothes  '  of  Shak- 
speare,  once  the  dread  of  mariners,  and  infamous  in 
the  narratives  of  the  early  discoverers,  for  the  dan- 
gers and  disasters  which  beset  them.     Such,  hoAV- 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


841 


ever,  was  the  case  ;  and  the  islands  derived  additional 
interest  in  my  eyes,  from  fancying  that  I  could  trace 
in  their  early  history,  and  in  the  superstitious  notions 
connected  with  them,  some  of  the  elements  of  Shak- 
speare's  wild  and  beautiful  drama  of  the  Tempest. 
I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  citing  a  few  historical  facts, 
in  support  of  this  idea,  which  may  claim  some  addi- 
tional attention  from  the  American  reader,  as  being 
connected  with  the  first  settlement  of  Virginia. 

At  the  time  when  Shakspeare  was  in  the  fulness 
of  his  talent,  and  seizing  upon  every  thing  that  could 
furnish  aliment  to  his  imagination,  the  colonization 
of  Virginia  was  a  favorite  object  of  enterprise  among 
people  of  condition  in  England,  and  several  of  the 
courtiers  of  the  court  of  Queen  Elizabeth  were  per- 
sonally engaged  in  it.  In  the  year  1609  a  noble 
armament  of  nine  ships  and  five  hundred  men  sailed 
for  the  relief  of  the  colony.  It  was  commanded  by 
Sir  George  Somers,  as  admiral,  a  gallant  and  gener- 
ous gentleman,  above  sixty  years  of  age,  and  possess- 
ed of  an  ami)le  fortune,  yet  still  bent  upon  hardy 
enterprise,  and  ambitious  of  signalizing  himself  in 
the  service  of  his  country. 

On  board  of  his  flag-ship,  the  Sea- Vulture,  sailed 
also  Sir  Thomas  Gates,  lieutenant-general  of  the 
colony.  The  voyage  was  long  and  boisterous.  On 
the  twenty-fifth  of  July,  the  admiral's  ship  was  sepa- 
rated from  the  rest,  in  a  hurricane.  For  several 
days  she  was  driven  about  at  the  mercy  of  the  ele- 
ments, and  so  strained  and  racked,  that  her  seams 
yawned  open,  and  her  hold  was  half  filled  with  water. 
The  storm  subsided,  but  left  her  a  mere  foundering 
wreck.  The  crew  stood  in  the  hold  to  their  waists 
in  water,  vainly  endeavoring  to  bail  her  with  kettles, 
buckets,  and  other  vessels.  The  leaks  rapidly  gained 
on  them,  while  their  strength  was  as  rapidly  de- 
clining. They  lost  all  hope  of  keeping  the  ship  afioat, 
until  they  should  reach  the  American  coast ;  and 
wearied  with  fruitless  toil,  determined,  in  their  des- 
pair, to  give  up  all  farther  attempt,  shut  down  the 
hatches,  and  abandon  themselves  to  Providence. 
Some,  who  had  spirituous  liquors,  or  '  comfortable 
waters,'  as  the  old  record  quaintly  terms  them, 
brought  them  forth,  and  shared  them  with  their 
comrades,  and  they  all  drank  a  sad  farewell  to  one 
another,  as  men  who  were  soon  to  part  company  in 
this  world. 

In  this  inoment  of  extremity,  the  worthy  admiral, 
who  kept  sleepless  watch  from  the  high  stern  of  the 
vessel,  gave  the  thrilling  cry  of  '  land  ! '  All  rushed 
on  deck,  in  a  frenzy  of  joy,  and  nothing  now  was  to 
be  seen  or  heard  on  board,  but  the  transports  of 
men  who  felt  as  if  rescued  from  the  grave.  It  is 
true  the  land  in  sight  would  not,  in  ordinary  cir- 
cumstances, have  inspired  much  self-gratulation.  It 
could  be  nothing  else  but  the  group  of  islands  called 
after  their  discoverer,  one  Juan  Bermudas,  a  Span- 
iard, but  stigmatized  among  the  mariners  of  those 
days  as  'the  islands  of  devils  ! '  '  For  the  islands  of 
the  Bermudas,'  says  the  old  narrative  of  this  voyage, 
'  as  every  man  knoweth  that  hath  heard  or  read  of 
them,  were  never  inhabited  by  any  christian  or 
heathen  people,  but  were  ever  esteemed  and  reputed 
a  most  prodigious  and  inchanted  place,  affording 
nothing  but  gusts,  stormes,  and  foul  weather,  which 
made  every  navigator  and  mariner  to  avoide  them,  as 
Scylla  and  Charybdis,  or  as  they  would  shun  the 
Divell  himself.'* 

Sir  George  Somers  and  his  tempost-tossed  com- 
rades, however,  hailed  them  with  rapture,  as  if  they 
had  been  a  terrestrial  paradise.  Every  sail  was  spread, 
and  every  exertion  made  to  urge  the  foundering  ship 
to  land.    Before  long,  she  struck  upon  a  rock.    For 


*  'A  Plaine  Description  of  the  Barmudas.' 


tunately,  the  late  stormy  winds  had  subsided,  and 
there  was  no  surf  A  swelling  wave  lifted  her  from 
off  the  rock,  and  bore  her  to  another;  and  thus  she 
was  borne  on  from  rock  to  rock,  until  she  remained 
wedged  between  two,  as  firmly  as  if  set  upon  the 
stocks.  The  boats  were  immediately  lowered,  and, 
though  the  shore  was  above  a  mile  distant,  the  whole 
crew  were  landed  in  safety. 

Every  one  had  now  his  task  assigned  him.  Some 
made  all  haste  to  unload  the  ship,  before  she  should 
go  to  pieces  ;  some  constnicted  wigwams  of  palmetto 
leaves,  and  others  ranged  the  island  in  quest  of  wood 
and  water.  To  their  surprise  and  joy,  they  found  it 
far  different  from  the  desolate  and  frightful  place 
they  had  been  taught,  by  seamen's  stories,  to  expect. 
It  was  well-wooded  and  fertile  ;  there  were  birds  of 
various  kinds,  and  herds  of  swine  roaming  about, 
the  progeny  of  a  number  that  had  swam  ashore,  in 
former  years,  from  a  Spanish  wreck.  The  island 
abounded  with  turtle,  and  great  quantities  of  their 
eggs  were  to  be  found  among  the  rocks.  The  bays 
and  inlets  were  full  of  fish  ;  so  tame,  that  if  any  one 
stepped  into  the  water,  they  would  throng  around 
him.  Sir  George  Somers,  in  a  little  while,  caught 
enough  with  hook  and  line  to  furnish  a  meal  to  his 
whole  ship's  company.  Some  of  them  were  so  large, 
that  two  were  as  much  as  a  man  could  carry.  Craw- 
fish, also,  were  taken  in  abundance.  The  air  was 
soft  and  salubrious,  and  the  sky  beautifully  serene. 
Waller,  in  his  '  Summer  Islands,'  has  given  us  a 
faithful  picture  of  the  climate: 

'  For  the  kind  spring,  (which  but  salutes  us  here,) 
Inhabits  these,  and  courts  them  all  the  year : 
Ripe  fruits  and  blossoms  on  the  same  trees  live  ; 
At  once  they  promise,  and  at  once  they  give  ; 
So  sweet  the  air,  so  moderate  the  clime. 
None  sickly  lives,  or  dies  before  his  time. 
Heaven  sure  has  kept  this  spot  of  earth  uncursed. 
To  shew  how  all  things  were  created  tirst.' 

We  may  imagine  the  feelings  of  the  shipwrecked 
mariners,  on  finding  themselves  cast  by  stormy  seas 
upon  so  happy  a  coast ;  where  abundance  was  to 
be  had  without  labor ;  where  what  in  other  climes 
constituted  the  costly  luxuries  of  the  rich,  were 
within  every  man's  reach  ;  and  where  life  promised 
to  be  a  mere  holiday.  Many  of  the  common  sailors, 
especially,  declared  they  desired  no  better  lot  than 
to  pass  the  rest  of  their  lives  on  this  favored  island. 

The  commanders,  however,  were  not  so  ready  to 
console  themselves  with  mere  physical  comforts,  for 
the  severance  from  the  enjoyment  of  cultivated  life, 
and  all  the  objects  of  honorable  ambition.  Despair- 
ing of  the  arrival  of  any  chance  ship  on  these  shun- 
ned and  dreaded  islands,  they  fitted  out  the  long- 
boat, making  a  deck  of  the  ship's  hatches,  and 
having  manned  her  with  eight  picked  men,  despatch- 
ed her,  under  the  command  of  an  able  and  hardy 
mariner,  named  Raven,  to  proceed  to  Virginia,  and 
procure  shipping  to  be  sent  to  their  relief. 

While  waiting  in  anxious  idleness  for  the  arrival 
of  the  looked-for  aid,  dissensions  arose  between  Sir 
George  Somers  and  Sir  Thomas  Gates,  originating, 
very  probably,  in  jealousy  of  the  lead  which  the 
nautical  experience  and  professional  station  of  the 
admiral  gave  him  in  the  present  emergency.  Each 
commander,  of  course,  had  his  adherents :  these 
di.^.sensions  ripened  into  a  complete  schism ;  and 
this  handful  of  shipwrecked  men,  thus  thrown  to- 
gether, on  an  uninhabited  island,  separated  into  two 
parties,  and  lived  asunder  in  bitter  feud,  as  men 
rendered  fickle  by  prosperity,  instead  of  being  brought 
into  brotherhood  by  a  common  calamity. 

Weeks  and  months  elapsed,  without  bringing  the 
looked-for  aid  from  Virginia,  though  that  colony  was 
within  but  a  few  days'  sail.  Fears  were  now  enter- 
tained that  the  long-boat  had  been  either  swallowed 


842 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


up  in  the  sea,  or  wrecked  on  some  savage  coast ; 
one  or  other  of  which  most  probably  was  the  case, 
as  nothing  was  ever  heard  of  Raven  and  his  com- 
rades. 

Each  party  now  set  to  vvorlc  to  build  a  vessel  for 
ilsclf  out  of  the  cedar  with  which  the  island  abound- 
ed. The  wreck  of  the  Sea-Vulture  furnished  rig-- 
{nng,  and  various  other  articles :  but  they  had  no 
iron  for  bolts,  and  other  fastenings  ;  and  for  want 
of  pitch  and  tar,  they  payed  the  seams  of  their  ves- 
sels with  lime  and  turtle's  oil,  which  soon  dried,  and 
became  as  hard  as  stone. 

On  the  tenth  of  May,  1610,  they  set  sail,  having 
been  about  nine  months  on  the  island.  They  reached 
Virginia  without  farther  accident,  but  found  the 
colony  in  great  distress  for  provisions.  The  account 
they  gave  of  the  abundance  that  reigned  in  the  Ber- 
mudas, and  especially  of  the  herds  of  swine  that 
roamed  the  island,  determined  Lord  Delaware,  the 
governor  of  Virginia,  to  send  thither  for  supplies. 
Sir  George  Somcrs,  with  his  wonted  promptness 
and  generosity,  offered  to  undertake  what  was  still 
considered  a  dangerous  voyage.  Accordingly,  on 
the  nineteenth  of  June,  he  set  sail,  in  his  own  cedar 
vessel  of  thirty  tons,  accompanied  by  another  small 
vessel,  commanded  by  Captain  Argall. 

The  gallant  Somers  was  doomed  again  to  be  tem- 
pest-tossed. His  companion  vessel  was  soon  driven 
back  to  port,  but  he  kept  the  sea  ;  and,  as  usual,  re- 
mained at  his  post  on  deck,  in  all  weathers.  His 
voyage  was  long  and  boisterous,  and  the  fatigues 
and  exposures  which  he  underwent,  were  too  much 
for  a  frame  impaired  by  age,  and  by  previous  hard- 
ships. He  arrived  at  Bermudas  completely  exhaust- 
ed and  broken  down. 

His  nephew.  Captain  Mathew  Somers,  attended 
him  in  his  illness  with  affectionate  assiduity.  Find- 
ing his  end  approaching,  the  veteran  called  his  men 
together,  and  exhorted  them  to  be  true  to  the  inter- 
ests of  Virginia ;  to  procure  provisions  with  all  pos- 
sible despatch,  and  hasten  back  to  the  relief  of  the 
colony. 

With  this  dying  charge,  he  gave  up  the  ghost, 
leaving  his  nephew  and  crew  overwhelmed  with 
grief  and  consternation.  Their  first  thought  was  to 
pay  honor  to  his  remains.  Opening  the  body,  they 
took  out  the  heart  and  entrails,  and  buried  them, 
erecting  a  cross  over  the  grave.  They  then  em- 
balmed the  body,  and  set  sail  with  it  for  England  ; 
thus,  while  paying  empty  honors  to  their  deceased 
commander,  neglecting  his  earnest  wish  and  dying 
injunction,  that  they  should  return  with  relief  to 
Virginia. 

The  little  bark  arrived  safely  at  Whitechurch,  in 
Dorsetshire,  with  its  melancholy  freight.  The  body 
of  the  worthy  Somers  was  interred  with  the  military 
honors  due  to  a  brave  soldier,  and  many  vollies  were 
fired  over  his  grave.  The  Bermudas  have  since  re- 
ceived the  name  of  the  Somer  Islands,  as  a  tribute 
to  his  memory. 

The  accounts  given  by  Captain  Mathew  Somers 
and  his  crew  of  the  delightful  climate,  and  the  great 
beauty,  fertility,  and  abundance  of  these  islands,  ex- 
cited the  zeal'  of  enthusiasts,  and  the  cupidity  of 
speculators,  and  a  plan  was  set  on  foot  to  colonize 
them.  The  Virginia  company  sold  their  right  to 
the  islands  to  one  hundred  and  twenty  of  their  own 
members,  wlio  erected  themselves  into  a  distinct 
corporation,  under  the  name  of  the  '  Somer  Island 
Society ; '  and  Mr.  Richard  More  was  sent  out,  in 
161 2,  as  governor,  with  sixty  men,  to  found  a  colony  : 
and  this  leads  me  to  the  second  branch  of  this  re- 
search. 


THE   THREE   KINGS   OF   BERMUDA. 

AND   THEIR  TREASURE  OF  AMBERGRIS. 


At  the  time  that  Sir  (jeorge  Somers  was  prepar- 
ing to  launch  his  cedar-built  bark,  and  .sail  for  Vir- 
ginia, there  were  three  culprits  among  his  men,  who 
had  been  guilty  of  capital  offences.  One  of  them 
was  shot ;  the  others,  named  Christopher  Carter  and 
Edward  Waters,  escaped.  Waters,  indeed,  made  a 
very  narrow  escape,  for  he  had  actually  been  tied  to 
a  tree  to  be  executed,  but  cut  the  rope  with  a  knife, 
which  he  had  concealed  about  his  person,  and  fled 
to  the  woods,  where  he  was  joined  by  Carter.  These 
two  worthies  kept  themselves  concealed  in  the  secret 
parts  of  the  island,  until  the  departure  of  the  two 
vessels.  When  Sir  George  Somers  revisited  the 
island,  in  quest  of  supplies  for  the  Virginia  colony, 
these  culprits  hovered  about  the  landing-place,  and 
succeeded  in  persuading  another  seaman,  named 
Edward  Chard,  to  join  them,  giving  him  the  most 
seductive  pictures  of  the  ease  and  abundance  in 
which  they  revelled. 

When  the  bark  that  bore  Sir  George's  Kody  to 
England  had  faded  from  the  watery  horizon,  these 
three  vagabonds  walked  forth  in  their  majesty  and 
might,  the  lords  and  sole  inhabitants  of  these  islands. 
For  a  time  their  little  commonwealth  went  on  pros- 
perously and  happily.  They  built  a  house,  sowed 
corn,  and  the  seeds  of  various  fruits  ;  and  having 
plenty  of  hogs,  wild  fowl,  and  fish  of  all  kinds,  with 
turtle  in  abundance,  carried  on  their  tripartite  sov- 
ereignty with  great  harmony  and  much  feasting. 
All  kingdoms,  however,  are  doomed  to  revolution, 
convulsion,  or  decay  ;  and  so  it  fared  with  the  empire 
of  the  three  kings  of  Bermuda,  albeit  they  were 
monarchs  without  subjects.  In  an  evil  hour,  in  their 
search  after  turtle,  among  the  fissures  of  the  rocks, 
they  came  upon  a  great  treasure  of  ambergris,  which 
had  been  cast  on  shore  by  the  ocean.  Beside  a 
number  of  pieces  of  smaller  dimensions,  there  was 
one  great  mass,  the  largest  that  had  ever  been 
known,  weighing  eighty  pounds,  and  which  of  itself, 
according  to  the  market  value  of  ambergris  in  those 
days,  was  worth  about  nine  or  ten  thousand  pounds  ! 

From  that  moment,  the  happiness  and  harmony  ot 
the  three  kings  of  Bermuda  were  gone  for  ever. 
While  poor  devils,  with  nothing  to  share  but  the 
common  blessings  of  tlie  island,  which  administered 
to  present  enjoyment,  but  had  nothing  of  converti- 
ble value,  they  were  loving  and  united  :  but  here 
was  actual  wealth,  which  would  make  them  rich 
men,  whenever  they  could  transport  it  to  a  market. 

Adieu  the  delights  of  the  island  !  They  now  be- 
came flat  and  insipid.  Each  pictured  to  himself  the 
consequence  he  might  now  aspire  to,  in  civilized  life, 
could  he  once  get  there  with  this  mass  of  ambergris. 
No  longer  a  poor  Jack  Tar,  frolicking  in  the  low 
taverns  of  Wapping,  he  might  roll  through  London 
in  his  coach,  and  perchance  arrive,  like  Whittington, 
at  the  dignity  of  Lord  Mayor. 

With  riches  came  envy  and  covetousness.  Each 
was  now  for  assuming  the  supreme  power,  and  get- 
ting the  monopoly  of  the  ambergris.  A  civil  war  at 
length  broke  out :  Chard  and  Waters  defied  each 
other  to  mortal  combat,  and  the  kingdom  of  the 
Bermudas  was  on  the  point  of  being  deluged  with 
royal  blood.  Fortunately,  Carter  took  no  part  in 
the  bloody  feud.  Ambition  might  have  made  him 
view  it  with  secret  exultation  ;  for  if  either  or  both 
of  his  brother  potentates  were  slain  in  the  conflict, 
he  would  be  a  gainer  in  purse  and  ambergris.  But 
he  dreaded  to  be  left  alone  in  this  uninhabited  island, 
and  to  find  himself  the  monarch  of  a  solitude  :  so  he 
secretlj'  purloined  and  hid  tlie  weapons  of  the  bel- 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


843 


ligerent  rivals,  who,  having  no  means  of  carrying 
on  the  war,  gradually  cooled  down  into  a  sullen 
armistice. 

The  arrival  of  Governor  More,  with  an  overpower- 
ing force  of  sixty  men,  put  an  end  to  the  empire. 
He  took  possession  of  the  kingdom,  in  the  name  of 
the  Somer  Island  Company,  and  forthwith  proceeded 
to  make  a  settlement.  The  three  kings  tacitly  relin- 
quished their  sway,  but  stood  up  stoutly  for  their 
treasure.  It  was  determined,  however,  that  they 
had  been  fitted  out  at  the  expense,  and  employed  in 
the  service,  of  the  Virginia  Company;  that  they 
had  found  the  ambergris  while  in  the  service  of  that 
company,  and  on  that  company's  land ;  that  the 
ambergris,  therefore,  belonged  to  that  company,  or 
rather  to  the  Somer  Island  Company,  in  consequence 
of  their  recent  purchase  of  the  island,  and  all  their 
appurtenances.  Having  thus  legally  established 
their  right,  and  being  moreover  able  to  back  it  by 
might,  the  company  laid  the  lion's  paw  upon  the 
spoil  ;  and  nothing  more  remains  on  historic  record 
of  the  Three  Kings  of  Bermuda,  and  their  treasure 
of  ambergris.  

The  reader  will  now  determine  whether  I  am  more 
extravagant  than  most  of  the  commentators  on 
Shakspeare,  in  my  surmise  that  the  story  of  Sir 
George  Somers'  shipwreck,  and  the  subsequent  oc- 
currences that  took  place  on  the  uninhabited  island, 
may  have  furnished  the  bard  with  some  of  the  ele- 
ments of  his  drama  of  the  Tempest.  The  tidings 
of  the  shipwreck,  and  of  the  incidents  connected  with 
it,  reached  England  not  long  before  the  production 
of  this  drama,  and  made  a  great  sensation  there. 
A  narrative  of  the  whole  matter,  from  which  most 
of  the  foregoing  particulars  are  extracted,  was  pub- 
lished at  the  time  in  London,  in  a  pamphlet  form, 
and  could  not  Liil  to  be  eagerly  perused  by  Shak- 
speare, and  to  make  a  vivid  impression  on  his  fancy. 
His  expression,  in  the  Tempest,  of  '  the  still  vext 
Bermoothes,'  accords  exactly  with  the  storm-beaten 
character  of  those  islands.  The  enchantments,  too, 
wiih  which  he  has  clothed  the  island  of  Prospero, 
may  they  not  be  traced  to  the  wild  and  superstitious 
notions  entertained  about  the  Bermudas  }  I  have 
already  cited  two  passages  from  a  pamphlet  pub- 
lished at  the  time,  showing  that  they  were  esteemed 
'  a  most  prodigious  and  inclianted  place,'  and  the 
'  habitation  of  divells  ; '  and  another  pamphlet,  pub- 
lished shortly  afterward,  observes  :  '  And  whereas  it 
is  reported  that  this  land  of  the  Barmudas,  with  the 
islands  about,  (which  are  many,  at  least  a  hundred,) 
are  inchanted  and  kept  with  evil  and  wicked  spirits, 
it  is  a  most  idle  and  false  report.'* 

The  description,  too,  given  in  the  same  pamphlets, 
of  the  real  beauty  and  fertility  of  the  Bermudas,  and 
of  their  serene  and  happy  climate,  so  opposite  to  the 
tiangerous  and  inhospitable  character  with  which 
they  had  been  stigmatized,  accords  with  the  eulogium 
of  Sebastian  on  the  island  of  Prospero  : 

*  Though  this  island  seem  to  be  desert,  uninhabitable,  and  almost 
inaccessiijle.  it  must  needs  be  of  subtle,  tender,  and  delicate  tem- 
perance. The  air  breathes  upon  us  here  most  sweetly.  Here  is 
every  thing  advant-igeous  to  life.  How  lush  and  lusty  the  grass 
looks  !  how  green  1 ' 

I  think  too,  in  the  exulting  consciousness  of  ease, 
security,  and  abundance  felt  by  the  late  tempest- 
tossed  mariners,  while  revelling  in  the  plenteousncss 
of  the  island,  and  their  inclination  to  remain  there, 
released  from  the  labors,  the  cares,  and  the  artificial 
restraints  of  civilized  life,  I  can  see  something  of  the 
golden  commonwealth  of  honest  Gonzalo  : 

'  Had  I  plantation  of  this  isle,  my  lord. 
And  were  the  king  of  it,  what  would  I  do  ? 


V  the  commonwealth  I  would  by  contraries 
Execute  all  things;  for  no  kind  of  traffic 
Would  I  admit;  no  name  of  magistrate  ; 
Letters  should  not  be  known  ;  riches,  poverty, 
And  use  of  service,  none  ;  contract,  succession 
Hourn,  bound  of  land,  tilth,  vineyard,  none  ; 
No  use  of  metal,  corn,  or  wine,  or  oil : 
No  occupation  ;  all  men  idle,  all. 

All  things  in  common,  nature  should  produce. 
Without  sweat  or  endeavor  :  Treason,  felony. 
Sword,  pike,  knife,  gun,  or  need  of  any  engine, 
Would  I  not  have  ;  but  nature  should  bring  forth, 
Of  its  own  kind,  all  foizon.  all  abundance. 
To  feed  my  innocent  people.' 

But  above  all,  in  the  three  fugitive  vagabonds 
who  remained  in  possession  of  the  island  of  Ber- 
muda, on  the  departure  of  their  comrades,  and  in 
their  squabbles  about  supremacy,  on  the  finding  of 
their  treasure,  I  see  typified  Sebastian,  Trinculo,  and 
their  worthy  companion  Caliban : 

'  Trinculo,  the  kingand  all  our  company  being  drowned,  we  will 
inherit  here.* 

'  Monster,  I  will  kill  this  man  ;  his  daughter  and  I  will  be 
king  and  queen,  (save  our  graces  !)  and  Trinculo  and  thyself  shall 
be  viceroys,' 

I  do  not  mean  to  hold  up  the  incidents  and  char- 
acters in  the  narrative  and  in  the  play  as  parallel, 
or  as  being  strikingly  similar:  neither  would  1  in- 
sinuate that  the  narrative  suggested  the  play  ;  I 
would  only  suppose  that  Shakspeare,  being  occupied 
about  that  time  on  the  drama  of  the  Tempest,  the 
main  story  of  which,  I  believe,  is  of  Italian  origin, 
had  many  of  the  fanciful  ideas  of  it  suggested  to  his 
mind  by  the  shipwreck  of  Sir  George  Somers  on  the 
'  still  vext  Bermoothes,'  and  by  the  popular  super- 
stitions connected  with  these  islands,  and  suddenly 
put  in  circulation  by  that  event. 


PELAYO  AND  THE  MERCHANT'S  DAUGHTER. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  THE  SKETCH-BOOK. 


**Newes  from  the  Ilarmudas:'  i6i3. 


It  is  the  common  lamentation  of  Spanish  historiog- 
raphers, that,  for  an  obscure  and  melancholy  space 
of  time  immediately  succeeding  the  conquest  of 
their  country  by  the  Moslems,  its  history  is  a  mere 
wilderness  of  dubious  facts,  groundless  fables,  and 
rash  exaggerations.  Learned  men,  in  cells  and 
cloisters,  have  worn  out  their  lives  in  vainly  endeav- 
oring to  connect  incongruous  events,  and  to  account 
for  startling  improbabilities,  recorded  of  this  period. 
The  worthy  Jesuit,  Padre  Abarca,  declares  that,  for 
more  than  forty  years  during  which  he  had  been 
employed  in  theological  controversies,  he  had  never 
found  any  so  obscure  and  inexplicable  as  those 
which  rise  out  of  this  portion  of  Spanish  history, 
and  that  the  only  fruit  of  an  indefatigable,  prolix, 
and  even  prodigious  study  of  the  subject,  was  a 
melancholy  and  mortifying  st.ate  of  indecision.* 

During  this  apocryphal  period,  flourished  Pelayo, 
the  deliverer  of  Spain,  whose  name,  like  that  of 
William  Wallace,  will  ever  be  linked  with  the  glory 
of  his  country,  but  linked,  in  like  manner,  by  a  bond 
in  which  fact  and  fiction  are  inextricably  interwoven. 

The  quaint  old  chronicle  of  the  Moor  Rasis, 
which,  though  wild  and  fanciful  in  the  extreme,  is 
frequently  drawn  upon  for  early  facts  by  Spanish 
historians,  professes  to  give  the  birth,  parentage,  and 
whole  course  of  fortune  of  Pel.iyo,  without  the  least 
doubt  or  hesitation.  It  makes  him  a  son  of 
the  Duke  of  Cantabria,  and  descended,  both  by 
father  and  mother's  side,  from  the  Gothic  kings  of 


*  Padre  Pedro  Abarca.    Anales  de  Aragon,  Anti  Regno,  %  s 


844 


WORKS    OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Spain.  I  shall  pass  over  the  romantic  story  of  his 
childhood,  and  shall  content  myself  with  a  scene  of 
his  youth,  which  was  spent  in  a  castle  among-  the 
Pyrenees,  under  the  eye  of  his  widowed  and  noble- 
minded  mother,  who  caused  him  to  he  instructed  in 
every  thing  befitting  a  cavalier  of  gentle  birth. 
While  the  sons  of  the  nobility  were  revelling  amid 
the  pleasures  of  a  licentious  court,  and  sunk  in  that 
vicious  and  effeminate  indulgence  which  led  to  the 
perdition  of  unhappy  Spain,  the  youthful  Pelayo,  in 
his  rugged  mountain  school,  was  steeled  to  all  kinds 
of  hardy  exercise.  A  great  part  of  his  time  was 
spent  in  hunting  the  bears,  the  wild  boars,  and  the 
wolves,  with  which  the  Pyrenees  abounded  ;  and  so 
purely  and  chastely  was  he  brought  up,  by  his  good 
lady  mother,  that,  if  the  ancient  chronicle  from  which 
I  draw  my  facts  may  be  relied  on,  he  had  attained 
his  one-and-tvventieth  year,  without  having  once 
sighed  for  woman  ! 

Nor  were  his  hardy  contests  confined  to  the  wild 
beasts  of  the  forest.  Occasionally  he  had  to  con- 
tend with  adversaries  of  a  more  formidable  character. 
The  skirts  and  defiles  of  these  border  mountains 
were  often  infested  by  marauders  from  the  Gallic 
plains  of  Gascony.  The  Gascons,  says  an  old 
chronicler,  were  a  people  who  used  smooth  words 
when  expedient,  but  force  when  they  had  power,  and 
were  ready  to  lay  their  hands  on  every  thing  they 
met.  Though  poor,  they  were  proud  ;  for  there  was 
not  one  who  did  not  pride  himself  on  being  a  hijo- 
dalgo,  or  the  son  of  somebody. 

At  the  hand  of  a  band  of  these  needy  hijodalgos 
of  Gascony,  was  one  Arnaud,  a  broken-down  cava- 
lier. He  and  four  of  his  followers  were  well  armed 
and  mounted  ;  the  rest  were  a  set  of  scamper-grounds 
on  foot,  furnished  with  darts  and  javelins.  They 
were  the  terror  of  the  border ;  here  to-day  and  gone 
to-morrow  ;  sometimes  in  one  pass,  sometimes  in 
another.  They  would  make  sudden  inroads  into 
Spain,  scour  the  roads,  plunder  the  country,  and 
were  over  the  mountains  and  far  away  before  a  force 
could  be  collected  to  pursue  them. 

Now  it  happened  one  day,  that  a  wealthy  burgher 
of  Bordeaux,  who  was  a  merchant,  trading  with  Bis- 
cay, set  out  on  a  journey  for  that  province.  As  he 
intended  to  sojourn  there  for  a  season,  he  took  with 
him  his  wife,  who  was  a  goodly  dame,  and  his 
daughter,  a  gentle  damsel,  of  marriageable  age,  and 
exceeding  (air  to  look  upon.  He  was  attended  by 
a  trusty  clerk  from  his  comptoir,  and  a  man  servant  ; 
while  another  servant  led  a  hackney,  laden  with  bags 
of  money,  with  which  he  intended  to  purchase  mer- 
chandise. 

When  the  Gascons  heard  of  this  wealthy  mer- 
chant and  his  convoy  passing  through  the  mountains, 
they  thanked  their  stars,  for  they  considered  all 
peaceful  men  of  traffic  as  lawful  spoil,  sent  by  provi- 
dence for  the  benefit  of  hidalgos  like  themselves, 
of  valor  and  gentle  blood,  who  hved  by  the  sword. 
Placing  themselves  in  ambush,  in  a  lonely  defile,  by 
which  the  travellers  had  to  pass,  they  silently  awaited 
their  coming  In  a  little  while  they  beheld  them  ap- 
proaching. The  merchant  was  a  fair,  portly  man, 
in  a  buff  surcoat  and  velvet  cap.  His  looks  bespoke 
the  good  cheer  of  his  native  city,  and  he  was  mount- 
ed on  a  stately,  well-fed  steed,  while  his  wife  and 
daughter  paced  gently  on  palfreys  by  his  side. 

The  travellers  had  advanced  some  distance  in  the 
defile,  when  the  Bandoleros  rushed  forth  and  assail- 
ed them.  The  merchant,  though  but  little  used  to 
the  exercise  of  arms,  and  unwieldy  in  his  form,  yet 
made  valiant  defence,  having  his  wife  and  daughter 
and  money-bags  at  hazard.  He  was  wounded  in  two 
places,  and  overpowered  ;  one  of  his  servants  was 
slain,  the  other  took  to  flight. 


The  freebooters  then  began  to  ransack  for  spoil, 
but  were  disappointed  at  not  finding  the  wealth  they 
had  expected.  Putting  their  swords  to  the  breast  of 
the  trembling  merchant,  they  demanded  wl.ere  he 
had  concealed  his  treasure,  and  learned  from  him  of 
the  hackney  that  was  following,  laden  with  money. 
Overjoyed  at  this  intelligence,  they  bound  their  cap- 
tives to  trees,  and  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  golden 
spoil. 

On  this  same  day,  Pelayo  was  out  with  his  hunts- 
men among  the  mountains,  and  had  taken  his  stand 
on  a  rock,  at  a  narrow  pass,  to  await  the  sallying 
forth  of  a  wild  boar.  Close  by  him  was  a  page,  con- 
ducting a  horse,  and  at  the  saddle-bow  hung  his 
armor,  for  he  was  always  prepared  for  fight  among 
these  border  mountains.  While  thus  posted,  the 
servant  of  the  merchant  came  flying  from  the  rob- 
bers. On  beholding  Pelayo,  he  fell  on  his  knees, 
and  implored  his  life,  for  he  supposed  him  to  be  one 
of  the  band.  It  was  some  time  before  he  could  be 
relieved  from  his  terror,  and  made  to  tell  his  story. 
When  Pelayo  heard  of  the  robbers,  he  concluded 
they  were  the  crew  of  Gascon  hidalgos,  upon  the 
scamper.  Taking  his  armor  from  the  page,  he  put 
on  his  helmet,  slung  his  buckler  round  his  neck, 
took  lance  in  hand,  and  mounting  his  steed,  com- 
pelled the  trembling  servant  to  guide  him  to  the 
scene  of  action.  At  the  same  time  he  ordered  the 
page  to  seek  his  huntsmen,  and  summon  them  to  his 
assistance. 

When  the  robbers  saw  Pelayo  advancing  through 
the  forest,  with  a  single  attendant  on  foot,  and  be- 
held his  rich  armor  sparkling  in  the  sun,  thev  thought 
a  new  prize  had  fallen  into  their  hands,  and  Arnaud 
and  two  of  his  companions,  mounting  their  horses, 
advanced  to  meet  him.  As  they  approached,  Pelayo 
stationed  himself  in  a  narrow  pass  between  two  rocks, 
where  he  could  only  be  assailed  in  front,  and  bracing 
his  buckler,  and  lowering  his  lance,  awaited  their 
coming. 

'  Who  and  what  are  ye,'  cried  he,  '  and  what  seek 
ye  in  this  land  ?  ' 

'We  are  huntsmen,'  replied  Arnaud,  'and  lo  !  our 
game  runs  into  our  toils  ! ' 

'By  my  faith,'  replied  Pelayo,  'thou  wilt  find  the 
game  more  readily  roused  than  taken :  have  at  thee 
tor  a  villain  ! ' 

So  saying,  he  put  spurs  lo  his  horse,  and  ran  full 
speed  upon  him.  The  Ga,scon,  not  expecting  so 
sudden  an  attack  from  a  single  horseman,  was  taken 
by  surprise.  He  hastily  couched  his  lance,  but  it 
merely  glanced  on  the  shield  of  Pelayo,  who  sent  his 
own  through  the  middle  of  his  breast,  and  threw 
him  out  of  his  saddle  to  the  earth.  One  of  the  other 
robbers  made  at  Pelayo,  and  wounded  him  slightly 
in  the  side,  but  received  a  blow  from  the  sword  of 
the  latter,  which  cleft  his  skull-cap,  and  sank  into 
his  brain.  His  companion,  seeing  him  fall,  put  spurs 
to  his  steed,  and  galloped  off  through  the  forest. 

Beholding  several  other  robbers  on  foot  coming 
up,  Pelayo  returned  to  his  station  between  the  rocks, 
where  he  was  assailed  by  them  all  at  once.  He  re- 
ceived two  of  their  darts  on  his  buckler,  a  javelin 
razed  his  cuirass,  and  glancing  down,  wounded  his 
horse.  Pelayo  then  rushed  forth,  and  struck  one  of 
the  robbers  dead :  the  others,  beholding  several 
huntsmen  advancing,  took  to  flight,  but  were  pur- 
sued, and  several  of  them  taken. 

The  good  merchant  of  Bordeaux  and  his  family 
beheld  this  scene  with  trembling  and  amazement, 
for  never  had  they  looked  upon  such  feats  of  arms. 
They  considered  Don  Pelayo  as  a  leader  of  some 
rival  band  of  robbers  ;  and  when  the  bonds  were 
loosed  by  which  they  were  tied  to  the  trees,  they  fell 
at  his  feet  and  implored  mercy.     The  females  weic 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


845 


soonest  undeceived,  especially  the  daughter ;  for  the 
damsel  was  struck  with  the  noble  countenance  and 
gentle  demeanor  of  Pelayo,  and  said  to  herself: 
'Surely  nothirtg  evil  can  dwell  in  so  goodly  and  gra- 
cious a  form.' 

Pelayo  now  sounded  his  horn,  which  echoed  from 
rock  to  rock,  and  was  answered  by  shouts  and  horns 
from  various  parts  of  the  mountains.  The  mer- 
chant's heart  misgave  him  at  these  signals,  and 
especially  when  he  beheld  more  than  forty  men 
gathering  from  glen  and  thicket.  They  were  clad 
in  hunters'  dresses,  and  armed  with  boar-spears, 
darts,  and  hunting-swords,  and  many  of  them  led 
hounds  in  long  leashes.  All  this  was  a  new  and 
wild  scene  to  the  astonished  merchant ;  nor  were 
his  fears  abated,  when  he  saw  his  servant  approach- 
ing with  the  hackney,  laden  with  money-bags  ;  '  for 
of  a  certainty,'  said  he  to  himself,  '  this  will  be  too 
tempting  a  spoil  for  these  wild  hunters  of  the  mount- 
ains.' 

Pelayo,  however,  took  no  more  notice  of  the  gold 
than  if  it  had  been  so  much  dross ;  at  which  the 
honest  burgher  marvelled  exceedingly.  He  ordered 
that  the  wounds  of  the  merchant  should  be  dressed, 
and  his  own  examined.  On  taking  off  his  cuirass, 
his  wound  was  found  to  be  but  slight ;  but  his  men 
were  so  exasperated  at  seeing  his  blood,  that  they 
would  have  put  the  captive  robbers  to  instant  death, 
had  he  not  forbidden  them  to  do  them  any  harm. 

The  huntsmen  now  made  a  great  fire  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree,  and  bringing  a  boar  which  they  had  killed, 
cut  off  portions  and  roasted  them,  or  broiled  them 
on  the  coals.  Then  drawing  forth  loaves  of  bread 
from  their  wallets,  they  devoured  their  food  half  raw, 
with  the  hungry  relish  of  huntsmen  and  mountain- 
eers. The  merchant,  his  wife,  and  daughter,  looked 
at  all  this,  and  wondered,  for  they  had  never  beheld 
so  savage  a  repast. 

Pelayo  then  inquired  of  them  if  they  did  not  desire 
to  eat ;  they  were  too  much  in  awe  of  him  to  decline, 
though  they  felt  a  loathing  at  the  thought  of  partak- 
ing of  this  hunter's  fare ;  but  he  ordered  a  linen 
cloth  to  be  spread  under  the  shade  of  a  great  oak, 
on  the  grassy  margin  of  a  clear  running  stream  ; 
and  to  their  astonishment,  they  were  served,  not 
with  the  flesh  of  the  boar,  but  with  dainty  cheer, 
such  as  the  merchant  had  scarcely  hoped  to  find  out 
of  the  walls  of  his  native  city  of  Bordeaux. 

The  good  burgher  was  of  a  community  renowned 
for  gastronomic  prowess  :  his  fears  having  subsided, 
his  appetite  was  now  awakened,  and  he  addressed 
himself  manfully  to  the  viands  that  were  set  before 
him.  His  daughter,  however,  could  not  eat :  her 
eyes  were  ever  and  anon  stealing  to  gaze  on  Pelayo, 
whom  she  regarded  with  gratitude  for  his  protection, 
and  admiration  for  his  valor ;  and  now  that  he  had 
laid  aside  his  helmet,  and  she  beheld  his  lofty  coun- 
tenance, glowing  with  manly  beauty,  she  thought 
him  something  more  than  mortal.  The  heart  of  the 
gentle  donzella,  says  the  ancient  chronicler,  was 
kind  and  yielding;  and  had  Pelayo  thought  fit  to 
ask  the  greatest  boon  that  love  and  beauty  could 
bestow — doubtless  meaning  her  fair  hand — she  could 
not  have  had  the  cruelty  to  say  him  nay.  Pelaj'O, 
however,  had  no  such  thoughts :  the  love  of  woman 
had  never  yet  entered  his  heart ;  and  though  he  re- 
garded the  damsel  as  the  fairest  maiden  he  had  ever 
beheld,  her  beauty  caused  no  perturbation  in  his 
breast. 

When  the  repast  was  over,  Pelayo  offered  to  con- 
duct the  merchant  and  his  family  through  the  defiles 
of  the  mountains,  lest  they  should  be  molested  by 
any  of  the  scattered  band  of  robbers.  The  bodies 
of  the  slain  marauders  were  buried,  and  the  corpse 
of  the  servant  was  laid  upon  one  of  the  horses  cap- 


tured in  the  battle.  Having  formed  their  cavalcade, 
they  pursued  their  way  slowly  up  one  of  the  steep 
and  winding  passes  of  the  Pyrenees. 

Toward  sunset,  they  arrived  at  the  dwelling  of  a 
holy  hermit.  It  was  hewn  out  of  the  living  rock ; 
there  was  a  cross  over  the  door,  and  before  it  was  a 
great  spreading  oak,  with  a  sweet  spring  of  water  at 
its  foot.  The  body  of  the  faithful  servant  who  had 
fallen  in  the  defence  of  his  lord,  was  buried  close  by 
the  wall  of  this  sacred  retreat,  and  the  hermit  prom- 
ised to  perform  masses  for  the  repose  of  his  soul. 
Then  Pelayo  obtained  from  the  holy  father  consent 
that  the  merchant's  wife  and  daughter  should  pass 
the  night  within  his  cell  ;  and  the  hermit  made  beds 
of  moss  for  them,  and  gave  them  his  benediction  ; 
but  the  damsel  found  little  rest,  so  much  were  her 
thoughts  occupied  by  the  youthful  champion  who 
had  rescued  her  from  death  or  dishonor. 

Pelayo,  however,  was  visited  by  no  such  wander- 
ing of  the  mind  ;  but,  wrapping  himself  in  his  mantle, 
slept  soundly  by  the  fountain  under  the  tree.  At 
midnight,  when  every  thing  was  buried  in  deep  re- 
pose, he  was  awakened  from  his  sleep  and  beheld 
the  hermit  before  him,  with  the  beams  of  the  moon 
shining  upon  his  silver  hair  and  beard. 

'  This  is  no  time,'  said  the  latter,  '  to  be  sleeping  ; 
arise  and  listen  to  my  words,  and  hear  of  the  great 
work  for  which  thou  art  chosen  ! ' 

Then  Pelayo  arose  and  seated  himself  on  a  rock, 
and  the  hermit  continued  his  discourse. 

'Behold,'  said  he,  'the  ruin  of  Spain  is  at  hand  ! 
It  will  be  delivered  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  and 
will  become  a  prey  to  the  spoiler.  Its  children  will 
be  slain  or  carried  into  captivity ;  or  such  as  may 
escape  these  evils,  will  harbor  with  the  beasts  of  the 
forest  or  the  eagles  of  the  mountain.  The  thorn  and 
bramble  will  spring  up  where  now  are  seen  the  corn- 
field, the  vine,  and  the  olive ;  and  hungry  wolves 
will  roam  in  place  of  peaceful  flocks  and  herds.  But 
thou,  my  son  !  tarry  not  thou  to  see  these  things,  for 
thou  canst  not  prevent  them.  Depart  on  a  pilgrim- 
age to  the  sepulchre  of  our  blessed  Lord  in  Pales- 
tine ;  purify  thyself  by  prayer  ;  enroll  thyself  in  the 
order  of  chivalry,  and  prepare  for  the  great  work  of 
the  redemption  of  thy  country ;  for  to  thee  it  will  lie 
given  to  raise  it  from  the  depth  of  its  affliction.' 

Pelayo  would  have  inquired  farther  into  the  evils 
thus  foretold,  but  the  hermit  rebuked  his  curiosity. 

'  Seek  not  to  know  more,'  said  he,  '  than  heaven 
is  pleased  to  reveal.  Clouds  and  darkness  cover  its 
designs,  and  prophecy  is  never  permitted  to  lift  up 
but  in  part  the  veil  that  rests  upon  the  future.' 

The  hermit  ceased  to  speak,  and  Pelayo  laid  him- 
self down  again  to-  take  repose,  but  sleep  was  a 
stranger  to  his  eyes. 

When  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  shone  upon 
the  tops  of  the  mountains,  the  travellers  assembled 
round  the  fountain  beneath  the  tree  and  made  their 
morning's  repast.  Then,  having  received  the  bene- 
diction of  the  hermit,  they  departed  in  the  freshness 
of  the  day,  and  descended  along  the  hollow  defiles 
leading  into  the  interior  of  Spain.  The  good  mer- 
chant was  refreshed  by  sleep  and  by  his  morning's 
meal ;  and  when  he  beheld  his  wile  and  daughter 
thus  secure  by  his  side,  and  the  hackney  laden 
with  his  treasure  close  behind  him,  his  heart  was 
light  in  his  bosom,  and  he  carolled  a  chansom  as  he 
went,  and  the  woodlands  echoed  to  his  song.  But 
Pelayo  rode  in  silence,  for  he  revolved  in  his  mind 
the  portentous  words  of  the  hermit ;  and  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  merchant  ever  and  anon  stole  looks  at  him 
full  of  tenderness  and  admiration,  and  deep  sighs 
betrayed  the  agitation  of  her  bosom. 

At  length  they  came  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains, 
where  the  forests  and  the  rocks  terminated,  and  an 


846 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


open  and  secure  counlry  lay  before  the  travellers. 
Here  they  halted,  for  their  roads  were  widely  differ- 
ent. When  they  came  to  part,  the  merchant  and 
his  wife  were  loud  in  thanks  and  benedictions,  and 
the  good  burgher  would  fain  have  given  Pclayo  the 
largest  of  his- sacks  of  gold;  but  the  young  man  put 
it  aside  with  a  smile.  'Silver  and  gold,'  said  he, 
'  need  I  not,  but  if  I  have  deserved  aught  at  thy 
hands,  give  me  thy  prayers,  for  the  prayers  of  a  good 
man  are  above  all  price.' 

In  the  mean  time  the  daughter  had  spoken  never 
a  word.  At  length  she  raised  her  eyes,  which  were 
filled  with  tears,  and  looked  timidly  at  Pelayo,  and 
her  bosom  throbbed  ;  and  after  a  violent  struggle 
between  strong  affection  and  virgin  modesty,  her 
heart  relieved  itself  by  words. 

'  Senor,'  said  she,  '  I  know  that  I  am  unworthy  of 
the  notice  of  so  noble  a  cavalier  ;  but  suffer  me  to 
place  this. ring  upon  a  finger  of  that  hand  wliich  has 
so  bravely  rescued  us  from  death  ;  and  when  you 
regard  it,  you  may  consider  it  as  a  memorial  of  your 
own  valor,  and  not  of  one  who  is  too  humble  to  be 
remembered  by  you.' 

With  these  words,  she  drew  a  ring  from  her  finger 
and  put  it  upon  the  finger  of  Pelayo;  and  having 
done  this,  she  blushed  and  trembled  at  her  own  bold- 
ness, and  stood  as  one  abashed,  with  her  eyes  cast 
down  upon  the  earth. 

Pelayo  was  moved  at  the  words  of  the  simple 
maiden,  and  at  the  touch  of  her  fair  hand,  and  at  her 
beauty,  as  she  stood  thus  trembling  and  in  tears  be- 
fore him  ;  but  as  yet  he  knew  nothing  of  woman,  and 
his  heart  was  free  from  the  snares  of  love.  '  Amiga,' 
(friend,)  said  he,  '  I  accept  thy  present,  and  will  wear 
it  in  remembrance  of  thy  goodness;'  so  saying,  he 
kissed  her  on  the  ch^ek. 

The  damsel  was  cheered  by  these  words,  and 
hoped  that  she  had  awakened  some  tenderness  in 
his  bosom  ;  but  it  was  no  such  thing,  says  the  grave 
old  chronicler,  for  his  heart  was  devoted  to  higher 
and  more  sacred  matters ;  yet  certain  it  is,  that  he 
always  guarded  well  that  ring. 

When  they  parted,  Pelayo  remained  with  his 
huntsmen  on  a  cliff,  watching  that  no  evil  befel  them, 
until  they  were  far  beyond  the  skirts  of  the  mount- 
ain ;  and  the  damsel  often  turned  to  look  at  him, 
until  she  could  no  longer  discern  him,  for  the  dis- 
tance and  the  tears  that  dimmed  her  eyes. 

And  for  that  he  had  accepted  her  ring,  says  the 
ancient  chronicler,  she  considered  herself  wedded  to 
him  in  her  heart,  and  would  never  marry  ;  nor  could 
she  be  brought  to  look  with  eyes  of  affection  upon 
any  other  man  ;  but  for  the  true  love  which  she  bore 
Pelayo,  she  lived  and  died  a  virgin.  And  she  com- 
posed a  book  which  treated  of  love  and  chivalry,  and 
the  temptations  of  this  mortal  life  ;  and  one  part  dis- 
coursed of  celestial  matters,  and  it  was  called  '  The 
Contemplations  of  Love  ; '  because  at  the  time  she 
wrote  it,  she  thought  of  Pelayo,  and  of  his  liaving 
accepted  her  jewel  and  called  her  by  the  gentle  ap- 
pellation of  '  Amiga.'  And  often  thinking  of  him  in 
tender  sadness,  and  of  her  never  having  beheld  him 
more,  she  would  take  the  book  and  would  read  it 
as  if  in  his  stead;  and  while  she  repeated  the  words 
of  love  which  it  contained,  she  would  endeavor  to 
fancy  them  uttered  by  Pelayo,  and  that  he  stood  be- 
fore her. 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 


TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  KNICKERBOCKER. 

Sir  :  In  the  course  of  a  tour  which   I  made  in 
Sicily,  in  the  days  of  my  juvenility,  I  passed  some 


little  time  at  the  ancient  city  of  Catania,  at  the  foot 
of  Mount  /Etna.     Here  I  became  acquainted  with 

the  Chevalier  L ,  an  old   Knight  of  Malta.     It 

was  not  many  years  after  the  time  that  Napoleon 
had  dislodged  the  knights  from  their  island,  and  he 
still  wore  the  insignia  of  his  order.  He  was  not, 
however,  one  of  those  reliques  of  that  once  chivalrous 
body,  who  have  been  described  as  '  a  few  worn-out 
old  men,  creeping  about  certain  parts  of  Europe, 
with  the  Maltese  cross  on  their  breasts ; '  on  the 
contrary,  though  advanced  in  life,  his  form  was  still 
light  and  vigorous ;  he  had  a  pale,  thin,  intellectual 
visage,  with  a  high  forehead,  and  a  bright,  visionary 
eye.  He  seemed  to  take  a  fancy  to  me,  as  I  certain- 
ly did  to  him,  and  we  soon  became  intimate.  I 
visited  him  occasionally,  at  his  apartments,  in  the 
wing  of  an  old  palace,  looking  toward  Mount  yEtna. 
He  was  an  antiquary,  a  virtuoso,  and  a  connoisseur. 
His  rooms  were  decorated  with  mutilated  statues, 
dug  up  from  Grecian  and  Roman  ruins  ;  old  vases, 
lachrymals,  and  sepulchral  lamps.  He  had  astro- 
nomical and  chemical  instruments,  and  black-letter 
books,  in  various  languages.  I  found  that  he  had 
dipped  a  little  in  chimerical  studies,  and  had  a  hank- 
ering after  astrology  and  alchymy.  He  affected  to 
believe  in  dreams  and  visions,  and  delighted  in  the 
fanciful  Rosicrucian  doctrines.  I  cannot  persuade 
myself,  however,  that  he  really  believed  in  all  these  : 
I  rather  think  he  loved  to  let  his  imagination  carry 
him  away  into  the  boundless  fairy  land  which  they 
unfolded. 

In  company  with  the  chevalier,  I  took  several  ex- 
cursions on  horseback  about  the  environs  of  Catania, 
and  the  picturesque  skirts  of  Mount  /Etna.  One  of 
these  led  through  a  village,  which  had  sprung  up  on 
the  very  tract  of  an  ancient  eruption,  the  houses  be- 
ing built  of  lava.  At  one  time  we  passed,  for  some 
distance,  along  a  narrow  lane,  between  two  high 
dead  convent  walls.  It  was  a  cut-throat-looking 
place,  in  a  country  where  assassinations  are  frequent ; 
and  just  about  midway  through  it,  we  observed 
blood  upon  the  pavement  and  the  walls,  as  if  a  mur- 
der had  actually  been  committed  there. 

The  chevalier  spurred  on  his  horse,  until  he  had 
extricated  himself  completely  from  this  suspicious 
neighborhood.  He  then  observed,  that  it  reininded 
him  of  a  similar  blind  alley  in  Malta,  infamous  on 
account  of  the  many  assassinations  that  had  taken 
place  there;  concerning  one  of  which,  he  related  a 
long  and  tragical  story,  that  lasted  until  we  reached 
Catania.  It  involved  various  circumstances  of  a 
wild  and  supernatural  character,  but  which  he  as- 
sured me  were  handed  down  in  tradition,  and  gen- 
erally credited  by  the  old  inhabitants  of  Malta. 

As  I  like  to  pick  up  strange  stories,  and  as  I  was 
particularly  struck  with  several  parts  of  this,  I  made 
a  minute  of  it,  on  my  return  to  my  lodgings.  The 
memorandum  was  lost,  with  several  others  of  my 
travelling  papers,  and  the  story  had  faded  from  my 
mind,  when  recently,  in  perusing  a  French  meinoir, 
I  came  suddenly  upon  it,  dressed  up,  it  is  true,  in  a 
very  different  manner,  but  agreeing  in  the  leading 
facts,  and  given  upon  the  word  of  that  faiTious  ad- 
venturer, the  Count  Cagliostro. 

I  have  amused  myself,  during  a  snowy  day  in  the 
country,  by  rendering  it  roughly  into  English,  for 
the  entertainment  of  a  youthful  circle  round  the 
Christmas  fire.  It  was  well  received  by  my  auditors, 
who,  however,  are  rather  easily  pleased.  One  proof  of 
its  merits  is  that  it  sent  some  of  the  youngest  of  them 
quaking  to  their  beds,  and  gave  tliem  very  fearful 
dreains.  Hoping  that  it  may  have  the  same  effect 
upon  your  ghost-hunting  readers,  I  offer  it,  Mr. 
Editor,  for  insertion  in  your  Magazine.  I  would  ob- 
serve, that   wherever  1  have   modified  the  French 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


847 


\'ersion  of  the  story,  it  has  been  in  conformity  to 
some  recollection  of  the  narrative  of  my  friend,  the 
Knight  of  Malta. 

Your  obt.  servt., 

Geoffrey  Crayon. 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR  OF  MINORCA. 

A  VERITABLE   GHOST   STORY. 


*  Keep  my  wits,  heaven  !    They  Ray  spirits  appear 
To  melancholy  minds,  and  the  graves  open  ! ' 

— Fletcher. 

About  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  while  the 
Knights  of  Saint  John  of  Jerusalem  still  maintained 
something  of  their  ancient  state  and  sway  in  the 
Island  of  Malta,  a  tragical  event  took  place  there, 
which  is  the  groundwork  of  the  following  narrative. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  premise,  that  at  the  time  we 
are  treating  of,  the  order  of  Saint  John  of  Jerusalem, 
grown  excessively  wealthy,  had  degenerated  from  its 
originally  devout  and  warlike  character.  Instead  of 
being  a  hardy  body  of  '  monk-knights,'  sworn 
soldiers  of  the  cross,  lighting  the  Paynim  in  the  Holy 
Land,  or  scouring  the  Mediterranean,  and  scourg- 
ing the  Barbary  coasts  with  their  galleys,  or  feeding 
the  poor,  and  attending  upon  the  sick  at  their  hos- 
pitals, they  led  a  life  of  luxury  and  libertinism,  and 
were  to  be  found  in  the  most  voluptuous  courts  of 
Europe.  The  order,  in  fact,  had  become  a  mode  of 
providing  for  the  needy  branches  of  the  Catholic 
aristocracy  of  Europe.  '  A  commandery,'  we  are 
told,  was  a  splendid  provision  for  a  younger  brother  ; 
and  men  of  rank,  however  dissolute,  provided  they 
belonged  to  the  highest  aristocracy,  became  Knights 
of  Malta,  just  as  they  did  bishops,  or  colonels  of  regi- 
ments, or  court  chamberlains.  After  a  brief  resi- 
dence at  Malta,  the  knights  passed  the  rest  of  their 
time  in  their  own  countries,  or  only  made  a  visit  now 
and  then  to  the  island.  While  there,  having  but 
little  military  duty  to  perform,  they  beguiled  their 
idleness  by  paying  attentions  to  the  fair. 

There  was  one  circle  of  society,  however,  into 
which  they  could  not  obtain  currency.  This  was 
composed  of  a  few  families  of  the  old  Maltese  nobili- 
ty, natives  of  the  island.  These  families,  not  being 
permitted  to  enroll  any  of  their  members  in  the 
order,  affected  to  hold  no  intercourse  with  its  cheva- 
liers ;  admitting  none  into  their  exclusive  coteries 
but  the  Grand  Master,  whom  they  acknowledged  as 
their  sovereign,  and  the  members  of  the  chapter 
which  composed  his  council. 

To  indemnify  themselves  for  this  exclusion,  the 
chevaliers  carried  their  gallantries  into  the  next  class 
of  society,  composed  of  those  who  held  civil,  ad- 
ministrative, and  judicial  situations.  The  ladies  of 
this  class  were  called  honorate,  or  honorables,  to 
distinguish  them  from  the  inferior  orders ;  and 
among  them  were  many  of  superior  grace,  beauty, 
and  fascination. 

Even  in  this  more  hospitable  class,  the  chevaliers 
were  not  all  equally  favored.  Those  of  Germany 
had  the  decided  preference,  owing  to  their  fair  and 
fresh  complexions,  and  the  kindliness  of  their  man- 
ners :  next  to  these,  came  the  Spanish  cavaliers,  on 
account  of  their  profound  and  courteous  devotion, 
and  most  discre.t  secrecy.  Singular  as  it  may  seem, 
the  chevaliers  of  France  fared  the  worst.  The 
Maltese  ladies  dreaded  their  volatility,  and  their  prone- 
ness  to  boast  of  their  amours,  and  shunned  all  en- 
tanglement with  them.  They  were  forced,  therefore, 
to  content  themselves  with  conquests  among  females 


of  the  lower  orders.  They  revenged  themselves, 
after  the  gay  French  manner,  by  making  the  '  hon- 
orate '  the  objects  of  all  kinds  of  jests  and  mystifi- 
cations ;  by  prying  into  their  tender  affairs  with  the 
more  favored  chevaliers,  and  making  them  the 
theme  of  song  and  epigram. 

About  this  time,  a  French  vessel  arrived  at  Malta, 
bringing  out  a  distinguished  personage  of  the  order 
of  Saint  John  of  Jerusalem,  the  Commander  de 
Foulquerre,  who  came  to  solicit  the  post  of  com- 
mander-in-chief of  the  galleys.  He  was  descended 
from  an  old  and  warrior  line  of  French  nobility, 
his  ancestors  having  long  been  seneschals  of  Poitou, 
and  claiming  descent  from  the  first  counts  of  An- 
gouleiTie. 

The  arrival  of  the  commander  caused  a  little  un- 
easiness among  the  peaceably  inclined,  for  he  bore 
the  character,  in  the  island,  of  being  fiery,  arrogant, 
and  quarrelsome.  He  had  already  been  three  times 
at  Malta,  and  on  each  visit  had  signalized  himself 
by  some  rash  and  deadly  affray.  As  he  was  now 
thirty-five  vears  of  age,  however,  it  was  hoped  that 
time  might'have  taken  off  the  fiery  edge  of  his  spirit, 
and  that  he  might  prove  more  quiet  and  sedate  than 
formerly.  The  commander  set  up  an  establishment 
befitting  his  rank  and  pretensions  ;  for  he  arrogated  to 
himself  an  importance  greater  even  than  that  of  the 
Grand  Master.  His  house  immediately  became  the 
rallying  place  of  all  the  young  French  chevaliers. 
They  informed  him  of  all  the  slights  they  had  ex- 
perienced or  imagined,  and  indulged  their  petulant 
and  satirical  vein  at  the  expense  of  the  honorate 
and  their  admirers.  The  chevaliers  of  other  nations 
soon  found  the  topics  and  tone  of  conversation  at 
the  commander's  irksome  and  offensive,  and  gradu- 
ally ceased  to  visit  there.  '  The  commander  re- 
mained the  head  of  a  national  clique,  who  looked  up 
to  him  as  their  model.  If  he  was  not  as  boisterous 
and  quarrelsome  as  formerly,  he  had  become 
haughty  and  overbearing.  He  was  fond  of  talking 
over  his  past  affairs  of  punctilio  and  bloody  duel. 
When  walking  the  streets,  he  was  generally  attended 
by  a  ruffling  train  of  young  French  cavaliers,  who 
caught  his  own  air  of  assumption  and  bravado. 
These  he  would  conduct  to  the  scenes  of  his  deadly 
encounters,  point  out  the  very  spot  where  each  fatal 
lunge  had  been  given,  and  dwell  vaingloriously  on 
every  particular. 

Under  his  tuition,  the  young  French  chevaliers 
began  to  add  bluster  and  arrogance  to  their  former 
petulance  and  levity  ;  they  fired  up  on  the  most  triv- 
ial occasions,  particularly  with  those  who  had  been 
most  successful  with  the  fair  ;  and  would  put  on  the 
most  intolerable  dravvcansir  airs.  The  other  chev- 
aliers conducted  themselves  with  all  possible  for- 
bearance and  reserve  ;  but  they  saw  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  keep  on  long,  in  this  manner,  without 
coming  to  an  open  rupture. 

Among  the  Spanish  cavaliers,  was  one  named 
Don  Luis  de  Lima  Vasconcellos.  He  was  distantly 
related  to  the  Grand  Master ;  and  had  been  enrolled 
at  an  early  age  among  his  pages,  but  had  been  rap- 
idly promoted  by  him,  until,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
six,  he  had  been  given  the  richest  Spanish  com- 
mandery in  the  order.  He  had,  moreover,  been 
fortunate  with  the  fair,  with  one  of  whom,  the  most 
beautiful  honorata  of  Malta,  he  had  long  maintained 
the  most  tender  correspondence. 

The  character,  rank,  and  connexions  of  Don  Luis 
put  him  on  a  par  with  the  imperious  Commander  dc 
Foulquerre,  and  pointed  him  out  as  a  leader  and 
champion  to  his  countrymen.  The  Spanish  chev- 
aliers repaired  to  him,  therefore,  in  a  body ;  repre- 
sented all  the  grievances  they  had  sustained,  and 
the  evils  they  apprehended,  and  urged  him  to  use 


818 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


his  influence  with  the  commander  and  his  adherents 
to  put  a  stop  to  the  growing  abuses. 

Don  Luis  was  gratified  by  this  mark  of  confidence 
and  esteem  on  the  part  of  his  countrymen,  and 
promised  to  have  an  interview  with  the  Commander 
de  Foulquerre  on  the  subject.  He  resolved  to  con- 
duct himself  with  the  utmost  caution  and  delicacy 
on  the  occasion  ;  to  represent  to  the  commander  the 
evil  consequences  which  might  result  from  the  in- 
considerate conduct  of  the  young  French  chevaliers, 
and  to  entreat  him  to  exert  the  great  influence  he  so 
deservedly  possessed  over  them,  to  restrain  their  ex- 
cesses. Don  Luis  was  aware,  however,  of  the  peril 
that  attended  any  interview  of  the  kind  with  this  im- 
perious and  fractious  man,  and  apprehended,  how- 
ever it  might  commence,  that  it  would  terminate  in 
a  duel.  Still,  it  was  an  affair  of  honor,  in  which 
Castilian  dignity  was  concerned ;  beside  he  had  a 
lurking  disgust'  at  the  overbearing  manners  of  De 
Foulquerre,  and  perhaps  had  been  somewhat  offend- 
ed by  certain  intrusive  attentions  which  he  had  pre- 
sumed to  pay  to  the  beautiful  honorata. 

It  was  now  Holy  Week ;  a  time  too  sacred  for 
worldly  feuds  and  passions,  especially  in  a  commu- 
nity under  the  dominion  of  a  religious  order  ;  it  was 
agreed,  therefore,  that  the  dangerous  interview  in 
question  should  not  take  place  until  after  the  Easter 
holydays.  It  is  probable,  from  subsequent  circum- 
stances, that  the  Commander  de  Foulquerre  had 
some  information  of  this  arrangement  among  the 
Spanish  chevaliers,  and  was  determined  to  be  be- 
forehand, and  to  mortify  the  pride  of  their  chain- 
pion,  who  was  thus  preparing  to  read  him  a  lecture. 
He  chose  Good  Friday  for  his  purpose.  On  this 
sacred  day,  it  is  customary  in  Catholic  countries  to 
make  a  tour  of  all  the  churches,  offering  up  prayers 
in  each.  In  every  Catholic  church,  as  is  well  known, 
there  is  a  vessel  of  holy  water  near  the  door.  In 
this,  every  one,  on  entering,  dips  his  fingers,  and 
makes  therewith  the  sign  of  the  cross  on  his  fore- 
head and  breast.  An  office  of  gallantry,  among  the 
young  Spaniards,  is  to  stand  near  the  door,  dip  their 
hands  in  the  holy  vessel,  and  extend  them  courte- 
ously and  respectfully  to  any  lady  of  their  acquaint- 
ance who  may  enter ;  who  thus  receives  the  sacred 
water  at  second  hand,  on  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  and 
proceeds  to  cross  herself,  with  all  due  decorum.  The 
Spaniards,  who  are  the  most  jealous  of  lovers,  are 
impatient  when  this  piece  of  devotional  gallantry  is 
proffered  to  the  object  of  their  affections  by  any 
other  hand :  on  Good  Friday,  therefore,  when  a  lady 
makes  a  tour  of  the  churches,  it  is  the  usage  among 
them  for  the  inamorato  to  follow  her  from  church  to 
church,  so  as  to  present  her  the  holy  water  at  the 
door  of  each  ;  thus  testifying  his  own  devotion,  and 
at  the  same  time  preventing  the  officious  services  of 
a  rival. 

On  the  day  in  question,  Don  Luis  followed  the 
beautiful  honorata,  to  whom,  as  has  already  been 
observed,  he  had  long  been  devoted.  At  the  very 
first  church  she  visited,  the  Commander  de  Foul- 
querre was  stationed  at  the  portal,  with  several  of 
the  young  French  chevaliers  about  him.  Before  Don 
Luis  could  offer  her  the  holy  water,  he  was  antici- 
pated by  the  commander,  who  thrust  himself  be- 
tween them,  and,  while  he  performed  the  gallant 
office  to  the  lady,  rudely  turned  his  back  upon  her 
admirer,  and  trod  upon  his  feet.  The  insult  was  en- 
joyed by  the  young  Frenchmen  who  were  present : 
it  was  too  deep  and  grave  to  be  forgiven  by  Spanish 
pride  ;  and  at  once  put  an  end  to  all  Don  Luis'  plans 
of  caution  and  forbearance.  He  repressed  his  pas- 
sion for  the  moment,  however,  and  waited  until  all 
the  parties  left  the  church  ;  then,  accosting  the  com- 
mander with  an  air  of  coolness  and  unconcern,  he 


inquired  after  his  health,  and  asked  to  what  church 
he  proposed  making  his  second  visit.  '  To  the  Magis- 
terial Church  of  Saint  John.'  Don  Luis  offered  to 
conduct  him  thither,  by  the  shortest  route.  His  offer 
was  accepted,  apparently  without  suspicion,  and  they 
proceeded  together.  After  walking  some  distance, 
they  entered  a  long,  narrow  lane,  without  door  or 
window  opening  upon  it,  called  the  '  Stratia  Stretta,' 
or  narrow  street.  It  was  a  street  in  which  duels 
were  tacitly  permitted,  or  connived  at,  in  Malta,  and 
were  suffered  to  pass  as  accidental  encounters. 
Every  where  else  they  were  prohibited.  This  re- 
striction had  been  instituted  to  diminish  the  number 
of  duels,  formerly  so  frequent  in  Malta.  As  a  far- 
ther precaution  to  render  these  encounters  less  fatal, 
it  was  an  offence,  punishable  with  death,  for  any  one 
to  enter  this  street  armed  with  either  poniard  or 
pistol.  It  was  a  lonely,  dismal  street,  just  wide 
enough  for  two  men  to  stand  upon  their  guard,  and 
cross  their  swords  ;  few  persons  ever  traversed  it, 
unless  with  some  sinister  design  ;  and  on  any  pre- 
concerted duello,  the  seconds  posted  themselves  at 
each  end,  to  stop  all  passengers,  and  prevent  inter- 
ruption. 

In  the  present  instance,  the  parties  had  scarce  en- 
tered the  street,  when  Don  Luis  drew  his  sword, 
and  called  upon  the  commander  to  defend  himself. 

De  Foulquerre  was  evidently  taken  by  surprise  : 
he  drew  back,  and  attempted  to  expostulate ;  but 
Don  Luis  persisted  in  defying  him  to  the  combat. 

After  a  second  or  two,  he  likewise  drew  his  sword, 
but  immediately  lowered  the  point. 

'  Good  Friday  ! '  ejaculated  he,  shaking  his  head  : 
'  one  word  with  you  ;  it  is  full  six  years  since  I  have 
been  in  a  confessional :  I  am  shocked  at  the  state  of 
my  conscience ;  but  within  three  days — that  is  to 
say,  on  Monday  next ' 

Don  Luis  would  listen  to  nothing.  Though  natu- 
rally of  a  peaceable  disposition,  he  had  been  stung 
to  fury,  and  people  of  that  character,  when  once  in- 
censed, are  deaf  to  reason.  He  compelled  the  com- 
mander to  put  himself  on  his  guard.  The  latter, 
though  a  man  accustomed  to  brawl  in  battle,  was 
singularly  dismayed.  Terror  was  visible  in  all  his 
features.  He  placed  himself  with  his  back  to  the 
wall,  and  the  weapons  were  crossed.  The  contest 
was  brief  and  fatal.  At  the  very  first  thrust,  the 
sword  of  Don  Luis  passed  through  the  body  of  his 
antagonist.  The  commander  staggered  to  the  wall, 
and  leaned  against  it. 

'  On  Good  Friday  I '  ejaculated  he  again,  with  a 
failing  voice,  and  despairing  accents.  '  Heaven  par- 
don you  ! '  added  he  ;  '  take  my  sword  to  Tfitefoul- 
ques,  and  have  a  hundred  masses  performed  in  the 
chapel  of  the  castle,  for  the  repose  of  my  soul ! ' 
With  these  words  he  expired. 

The  fury  of  Don  Luis  was  at  an  end.  He  stood 
aghast,  gazing. at  the  bleeding  body  of  the  com- 
mander. He  called  to  mind  the  prayer  of  the  de- 
ceased for  three  days'  respite,  to  make  his  peace 
with  heaven  ;  he  had  refused  it ;  had  sent  him  to 
the  grave,  with  all  his  sins  upon  his  head  !  His 
conscience  smote  him  to  the  core  ;  he  gathered  up 
the  sword  of  the  commander,  which  he  had  been  en- 
joined to  take  to  Tetefoulques,  and  hurried  from  the 
fatal  Strada  Stretta. 

The  duel  of  course  made  a  great  noise  in  Malta, 
but  had  no  injurious  effijct  on  the  worldly  fortunes 
of  Don  Luis.  He  made  a  full  declaration  of  the 
whole  matter,  before  the  proper  authorities ;  the 
Chapter  of  the  Order  considered  it  one  of  those 
casual  encounters  of  the  Strada  Stretta,  which  were 
mourned  over,  but  tolerated  ;  the  public,  by  whom 
the  late  commander  had  been  generally  detested, 
declared  that  he  had  deserved  his  fate.     It  w.as  but 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


849 


three  days  after  the  event,  that  Don  Luis  was  ad- 
vanced to  one  of  the  highest  dignities  of  the  Order, 
being  invested  by  the  Grand  Master  with  the  prior- 
ship  of  the  kingdom  of  Minorca. 

From  that  time  forward,  however,  the  whole  char- 
acter and  conduct  of  Don  Luis  underwent  a  change. 
He  became  a  prey  to  a  dark  melancholy,  which 
nothing  could  assuage.  The  most  austere  piety,  the 
severest  penances,  had  no  effect  in  allaying  the 
horror  whicli  preyed  upon  his  mind.  He  was  ab- 
sent for  a  long  time  from  Malta ;  having  gone,  it 
was  said,  on  remote  pilgrimages :  when  he  returned, 
he  was  more  haggard  than  ever.  There  seemed 
something  mysterious  and  inexplicable  in  this  dis- 
order of  his  mind.  The  following  is  the  revelation 
made  by  himself,  of  the  horrible  visions,  or  chimeras, 
by  which  he  was  haunted  : 

'  When  I  had  made  my  declaration  before  the 
Chap'er,'  said  he,  'and  my  provocations  were  pub- 
licly known,  I  had  made  my  peace  with  man  ;  but 
it  was  not  so  with  God,  nor  with  my  confessor,  nor 
with  my  own  conscience.  My  act  was  doubly  crim- 
inal, from  the  day  on  which  it  was  committed,  and 
from  my  refusal  to  a  delay  of  three  days,  for  the  vic- 
tim of  my  resentment  to  receive  the  sacraments. 
His  despairing  ejaculation,  '  Good  Friday  !  Good 
Friday!'  continually  rang  in  my  ears.  Why  did  I 
not  grant  the  respite  !  cried  I  to  myself;  was  it  not 
enough  to  kill  the  body,  but  must  I  seek  to  kill  the 
soul ! ' 

'  On  the  night  of  the  following  Friday,  I  started 
suddenly  from  my  sleep.  An  unaccountable  horror 
was  upon  me.  1  looked  wildly  around.  It  seemed 
as  if  I  were  not  in  my  apartment,  nor  in  my  bed,  but 
in  the  fatal  Strada  Stretta,  lying  on  the  pavement.  I 
again  saw  the  commander  leaning  against  the  wall ; 
I  again  heard  his  dying  words:  '  Take  my  sword  to 
Tetefoulques,  and  have  a  hundred  masses  performed 
in  the  chapel  of  the  castle,  for  the  repose  of  my  soul ! ' 

'  On  the  following  night,  I  caused  one  of  ray  serv- 
ants to  sleep  in  tlie  same  room  with  me.  I  saw  and 
heard  nothing,  either  on  that  night,  or  any  of  the 
nights  following,  until  the  next  Friday ;  when  I  had 
again  the  same  vision,  with  this  difference,  that  my 
valet  seemed  to  be  lying  at  some  distance  from  me 
on  the  pavement  of  the  Strada  Stretta.  The  vision 
continued  to  be  repealed  on  every  Friday  night,  the 
commander  always  appearing  in  the  same  manner, 
and  uttering  the  same  words :  '  Take  my  sword  to 
Tetefoulques,  and  have  a  hundred  masses  performed 
in  the  chapel  of  the  castle,  for  the  repose  of  my  soul ! ' 

'  On  questioning  my  servant  on  the  subject,  he 
stated,  that  on  these  occasions  he  dreamed  that  he 
was  lying  in  a  very  narrow  street,  but  he  neither 
saw  nor  heard  any  thing  of  the  commander. 

'  I  knew  nothing  of  this  Tetefoulques,  whither  the 
defunct  was  so  urgent  I  should  carry  his  sword.  1 
made  inquiries,  therefore,  concerning  it  among  the 
French  chevaliers.  They  informed  me  that  it  was 
an  old  castle,  situated  about  four  leagues  from  Poi- 
tiers, in  the  midst  of  a  forest.  It  had  been  built  in 
old  times,  several  centuries  since,  by  Foulques  Tail- 
lefer,  (or  Fulke  Hackiron,)  a  redoubtable,  hard-fight- 
ir.g  Count  of  Angouleme,  who  gave  it  to  an  illegiti- 
mate son,  afterward  created  Grand  Seneschal  of 
Poitou,  which  son  became  the  progenitor  of  the 
Foulquerres  of  Tetefoulques,  hereditary  Seneschals 
of  Poitou.  They  farther  informed  me,  that  strange 
stones  were  told  of  this  old  castle,  in  the  surrounding 
country,  and  that  it  contained  many  curious  reliques. 
Among  these,  were  the  arms  of  Foulques  Taillefer, 
together  with  all  those  of  the  warriors  he  had  slain  ; 
and  that  it  was  an  immemorial  usage  with  the  Foul- 
querres to  have  the  weapons  deposited  there  which 
ihey  had  wielded  either  in  war  or  in  single  combat. 
5J 


This,  then,  was  the  reason  of  the  dying  injunction 
of  the  commander  respecting  his  sword.  I  carried 
this  weapon  with  me,  wherever  I  went,  but  still  I 
neglected  to  comply  with  his  request. 

'  The  visions  still  continued  to  harass  me  with  un- 
diminished horror.  1  repaired  to  Rome,  where  I 
confessed  myself  to  the  Grand  Cardinal  penitentiary, 
and  informed  him  of  the  terrors  with  which  I  was 
haunted.  He  promised  me  absolution,  after  I  should 
have  performed  certain  acts  of  penance,  the  principal 
of  which  was,  to  execute  the  dying  request  of  the 
commander,  by  carrying  his  sword  to  Tetefoulques, 
and  having  the  hundred  masses  performed  in  the 
chapel  of  the  castle  for  the  repose  of  his  soul. 

'  I  set  out  for  France  as  speedily  as  possible,  and 
made  no  delay  in  my  journey.  On  arriving  at  Poi- 
tiers, I  found  that  the  tidings  of  the  death  of  the 
commander  had  reached  there,  but  had  caused  no 
more  affliction  than  among  the  people  of  Malta. 
Leaving  my  equipage  in  the  town,  I  put  on  the  garb 
of  a  pilgrim,  and  taking  a  guide,  set  out  on  foot  for 
Tetefoulques.  Indeed  the  roads  in  this  part  of  the 
country  were  impracticable  for  carriages. 

'  I  found  the  castle  of  Tetefoulques  a  grand  but 
gloomy  and  dilapidated  pile.  All  the  gates  were 
closed,  and  there  reigned  over  the  whole  place  an  air 
of  almost  savage  loneliness  and  desertion.  I  had 
understood  that  its  only  inhabitants  were  the  con- 
cierge, or  warder,  and  a  kind  of  hermit  who  had 
charge  of  the  chapel.  After  wringing  for  some  time 
at  the  gate,  I  at  length  succeeded  in  bringing  forth 
the  warder,  who  bowed  with  reverence  to  my  pil- 
grim's garb.  I  begged  him  to  conduct  me  to  the 
chapel,  that  being  the  end  of  my  pilgrimage.  We 
found  the  hermit  there,  chanting  the  funeral  service  ; 
a  dismal  sound  to  one  who  came  to  perform  a  pen- 
ance for  the  death  of  a  member  of  the  family. 
When  he  had  ceased  to  chant,  I  informed  him  that 
I  came  to  accomplish  an  obligation  of  conscience, 
and  that  I  wished  him  to  perform  a  hundred  masses 
for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of  the  commander.  He 
replied  that,  not  being  in  orders,  he  was  not  author- 
ized to  perform  mass,  but  that  he  would  willingly 
undertake  to  see  that  my  debt  of  conscience  was  dis- 
charged. I  laid  my  offering  on  the  altar,  and  would 
have  placed  the  sword  of  the  commander  there,  like- 
wise. '  Hold  ! '  said  the  hermit,  with  a  melancholy 
shake  of  the  head,  '  this  is  no  place  for  so  deadly  a 
weapon,  that  has  so  olten  been  bathed  in  Christian 
blood.  Take  it  to  the  armory ;  you  will  find  there 
trophies  enough  of  like  character.  It  is  a  place  into 
which  I  never  enter.' 

'  The  warder  here  took  up  the  theme  abandoned 
by  the  peaceful  man  of  God.  He  assured  me  that  I 
would  see  in  the  armory  the  swords  of  all  the  war- 
rior race  of  Foulquerres,  together  with  those  of  the 
enemies  over  whom  they  had  triumphed.  This,  he 
observed,  had  been  a  usage  kept  up  since  the  time 
of  Mellusine,  and  of  her  husband,  Geoffrey  k  la 
Grand-dent,  or  Geoffrey  with  the  Great-tooth. 

'  I  followed  the  gossiping  warder  to  the  armory. 
It  was  a  great  dusty  hall,  hung  round  with  Gothic- 
looking  portraits,  of  a  stark  line  of  warriors,  each 
with  his  weapon,  and  the  weapons  of  those  he  had 
slain  in  battle,  .hung  beside  his  picture.  The  most 
conspicuous  portrait  was  that  of  Foulques  Taillefer, 
(Fulke  Hackiron,)  Count  of  Angouleme,  and  founder 
of  the  castle.  He  w.as  represented  at  full  length, 
armed  cap-i-pie,  and  grasping  a  huge  buckler,  on 
which  were  emblazoned  three  lions  passant.  The 
figure  was  so  striking,  that  it  seemed  ready  to  start 
from  the  canvas :  and  I  observed  beneath  this  pict- 
ure, a  trophy  composed  of  many  weapons,  proofs  of 
the  numerous  triumphs  of  this  hard-tighting  old  cav- 
alier.    Beside  the  weapons  connected  with  the  por«- 


850 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


traits,  there  were  swords  of  all  shapes,  sizes,  and 
centuries,  hung  round  tlie  hall ;  with  piles  of  armor, 
placed  as  it  were  in  effigy. 

'On  each  side  of  an  immense  chimney,  were  sus- 
pended the  portraits  of  the  first  seneschal  of  Poitou 
(the  illegitimate  son  of  Foulques  Taillefer)  and  his 
wife  Isabella  de  Lusignan  ;  the  progenitors  of  the 
grim  race  of  Foulquerres  that  frowned  around.  They 
had  the  look  of  being  perfect  likenesses ;  and  as  I 
gazed  on  them,  I  fancied  I  could  trace  in  their  anti- 
quated features  some  family  resemblance  to  their 
unfortunate  descendant,  whom  I  had  slain  !  This 
was  a  dismal  neighborhood,  yet  the  armory  was  the 
only  part  of  the  castle  that  had  a  habitable  air ;  so  I 
asked  the  warder  whether  he  could  not  make  a  fire, 
and  give  me  something  for  supper  there,  and  pre- 
pare me  a  bed  in  one  corner. 

'  'A  fire  and  a  supper  you  shall  have,  and  that 
cheerfully,  most  worthy  pilgrim,'  said  he ;  '  but  as 
to  a  bed,  I  advise  you  to  come  and  sleep  in  my 
chamber." 

'  'Why  so  ?  '  inquired  I ;  '  why  shall  I  not  sleep  in 
this  hall.'  ' 

' '  I  have  my  reasons  ;  I  will  make  a  bed  for  you 
close  to  mine.' 

'  I  made  no  objections,  for  I  recollected  that  it 
was  Friday,  and  I  dreaded  the  return  of  my  vision. 
He  brought  in  billets  of  wood,  kindled  a  fire  in  the 
great  overhanging  chimney,  and  then  went  forth  to 
prepare  my  supper.  I  drew  a  heavy  chair  before 
the  fire,  and  sealing  myself  in  it,  gazed  musingly 
round  upon  the  portraits  of  the  Foulquerres,  and 
the  antiquated  armor  and  weapons,  the  mementos  of 
many  a  bloody  deed.  As  the  day  declined,  the 
smooky  draperies  of  the  hall  gradually  became  con- 
founded with  the  dark  ground  of  the  paintings,  and 
the  lurid  gleams  from  the  chimney  only  enabled  me 
10  see  visages  staring  at  me  from  the  gathering 
darkness.  All  this  was  dismal  in  the  extreme,  and 
somewhat  appalling ;  perhaps  it  was  the  state  of  my 
conscience  that  rendered  me  peculiarly  sensitive,  and 
prone  to  fearful  imaginings. 

'At  length  the  warder  brought  in  my  supper.  It 
consisted  of  a  dish  of  trout,  and  some  craw-fish 
taken  in  the  fosse  of  the  castle.  He  procured  also 
a  bottle  of  wine,  which  he  informed  me  was  wine  of 
Poitou.  I  requested  him  to  invite  the  hermit  to  join 
me  in  my  repast ;  but  the  holy  man  sent  back  word 
that  he  allowed  himself  nothing  but  roots  and  herbs, 
cooked  with  water.  I  took  my  meal,  therefore, 
alone,  but  prolonged  it  as  much  as  possible,  and 
sought  to  cheer  my  drooping  spirits  by  the  wine  of 
Poitou,  which  1  found  very  tolerable. 

'  When  supper  was  over,  I  prepared  for  my  even- 
ing devotions.  I  have  always  been  very  punctual  in 
reciting  my  breviary  ;  it  is  the  prescribed  and 
bounden  duty  of  all  chevaliers  of  the  religious 
orders  ;  and  I  can  answer  for  it,  is  faithfully  per- 
formed by  those  of  Spain.  I  accordingly  drew  forth 
from  my  pocket  a  small  missal  and  a  rosary,  and 
told  the  warder  he  need  only  designate  to  me  the  way 
to  his  chamber,  where  I  could  come  and  rejoin  him. 
when  I  had  finished  my  prayers. 

'  He  accordingly  pointed  out  a  winding  stair-case, 
opening  from  the  hall.  '  You  will  descend  this  stair- 
case,' said  he, '  until  you  come  to  the  fourth  landing- 
place,  where  you  enter  a  vaulted  passage,  termi- 
nated by  an  arcade,  with  a  statue  of  the  blessed 
Jeanne  of  France ;  you  cannot  help  finding  my 
room,  the  door  of  which  I  will  leave  open  ;  it  is  the 
sixth  door  from  the  landing-place.  I  advise  you  not 
to  remain  in  this  hall  after  midnight.  Before  that 
hour,  you  will  hear  the  hermit  ring  the  bell,  in  going 
the  rounds  ot  the  corridors.  Do  not  linger  here 
after  that  signal. 


'  The  warder  retired,  and  I  commenced  my  devo- 
tions. I  continued  at  them  earnestly  ;  pausing  from 
time  to  time  to  put  wood  upon  the  fire.  I  did  not 
dare  to  look  much  around  me,  for  I  felt  myself  becom- 
ing a  prey  to  fearful  fancies.  The  pictures  appeared 
to  become  animated.  If  I  regarded  one  attentively, 
for  any  length  of  time,  it  seemed  to  move  the  eyes 
and  lips.  Above  all,  the  portraits  of  the  Grand  Sene- 
schal and  his  lady,  which  hung  on  each  side  of  the 
great  chimney,  the  progenitors  of  the  Foulquerres 
of  Tetefoulque,  regarded  me,  I  thought,  with  angry 
and  baleful  eyes :  I  even  fancied  they  exchanged 
significant  glances  with  each  other.  Just  then  a 
terrible  blast  of  wind  shook  all  the  casements,  and, 
rushing  through  the  hall,  made  a  fearful  rattling 
and  clashing  among  the  armor.  To  my  startled 
fancy,  it  seemed  something  supernatural. 

'  At  length  1  heard  the  bell  of  the  hermit,  and 
hastened  to  quit  the  hall.  Taking  a  solitary  light, 
which  stood  on  the  supper-table,  I  descended  the 
winding  stair-case ;  but  before  I  had  reached  the 
vaulted  passage  leading  to  the  statue  of  the  blessed 
Jeanne  of  France,  a  blast  of  wind  extinguished  my 
taper.  I  hastily  remounted  the  stairs,  to  light  it 
again  at  the  chimney;  but  judge  of  my  feelings, 
when,  on  arriving  at  the  entrance  to  the  armory,  I 
beheld  the  Seneschal  and  his  lady,  who  had  descend- 
ed from  their  frames,  and  seated  themselves  on  each 
side  of  the  fire-place  ! 

'  'jMadam,  my  love,'  said  the  Seneschal,  with  great 
formality,  and  in  antiquated  phrase,  'what  think  you 
of  the  presumption  of  this  Castilian,  who  comes  to 
harbor  himself  and  make  wassail  in  this  our  castle, 
after  having  slain  our  descendant,  the  commander, 
and  that  without  granting  him  time  for  confession  ?  ' 

' '  Truly,  my  lord,'  answered  the  female  spectre, 
with  no  less  stateliness  of  manner,  and  with  great 
asperity  of  tone ;  '  truly,  my  lord,  I  opine  that  this 
Castilian  did  a  grievous  v/rong  in  this  encounter; 
and  he  should  never  be  suffered  to  depart  hence, 
without  your  throwing  him  the  gauntlet.'  I  paused 
to  hear  no  more,  but  rushed  again  down-stairs,  to 
seek  the  chamber  of  the  warder.  It  was  impossible 
to  find  it  in  the  darkness,  and  in  the  perturbation  of 
my  mind.  After  an  hour  and  a  half  of  fruitless  search, 
and  mortal  horror  and  anxieties,  1  endeavored  to 
persuade  myself  that  the  day  was  about  to  break, 
and  listened  impatiently  for  the  crowing  of  the  cock  ; 
for  I  thought  if  I  could  hear  his  cheerful  note,  I 
should  be  reassured ;  catching,  in  the  disordered 
state  of  my  nerves,  at  the  popular  notion  that  ghosts 
never  appear  after  the  first  crowing  of  the  cock. 

'  At  length  I  rallied  myself,  and  endeavored  to 
shake  off  the  vague  terrors  which  haunted  me.  I 
tried  to  persuade  myself  that  the  two  figures  which 
I  had  seemed  to  see  and  hear,  had  existed  only  in 
my  troubled  imagination.  I  still  had  the  end  of  the 
candle  in  my  hand,  and  determined  to  make  another 
effort  to  re-light  it,  and  find  my  way  to  bed  ;  for  1 
was  ready  to  sink  with  fatigue.  I  accordingly  sprang 
up  the  stair-case,  three  steps  at  a  time,  stopped  at 
the  door  of  the  armory,  and  peeped  cautiously  in. 
The  two  Gothic  figures  were  no  longer  in  the  chim- 
ney corners,  but  I  neglected  to  notice  whether  they 
had  reascended  to  their  frames.  I  entered,  and 
made  desperately  for  the  fire-place,  but  scarce  had  I 
advanced  three  strides,  when  Messire  Foulques 
Taillefer  stood  before  me,  in  the  centre  of  the  hall, 
armed  cap-A-pie,  and  standing  in  guard,  with  the 
point  ot  his  sword  silently  presented  to  me.  I  would 
have  retreated  to  the  stair-case,  but  the  door  of  it 
was  occu])ied  by  the  phantom  figure  of  an  esquire, 
who  rudely  flung  a  gauntlet  in  my  face.  Driven  to 
fury,  I  snatched  down  a  sword  from  the  wall :  by 
chance,  it  was  that  of  the  commander  which  I  had 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


851 


placed  there.  I  rushed  upon  my  fantastic  adversary, 
and  seemed  to  pierce  him  through  and  through  ;  but 
at  the  same  time  I  felt  as  if  something  pierced  my 
heart,  burning  like  a  red-hot  iron.  My  blood  inun- 
dated the  hall,  and  I  fell  senseless. 


•  When  I  recovered  consciousness,  it  was  broad 
day,  and  I  found  myself  in  a  small  chamber,  attend- 
ed by  the  warder  and  the  hermit.  The  former  told 
me  that  on  the  previous  night,  he  h.id  awakened  long 
after  the  midnight  hour,  and  perceiving  that  I  had 
not  come  to  his  chamber,  he  had  furnished  himself 
with  a  vase  of  holy  water,  and  set  out  to  seek  me. 
He  found  me  stretched  senseless  on  the  pavement  of 
the  armary,  and  bore  me  to  his  room.  I  spoke  of  my 
wound,  and  of  the  quantity  of  blood  that  I  had  lost.  He 
shook  his  head,  and  knew  nothing  about  it ;  and  to 
my  surprise,  on  examination,  I  found  myself  perfectly 
sound  and  unharmed.  The  wound  and  blood,  there- 
fore, had  been  all  delusion.  Neither  the  warder  nor 
the  hermit  put  any  questions  to  me,  but  advised  me 
to  leave  the  castle  as  soon  as  possible.  I  lost  no 
time  in  complying  with  their  counsel,  and  felt  my 
lieart  relieved  from  an  oppressive  weight,  as  I  left 
the  gloomy  and  fate-bound  battlements  of  Tetefoul- 
ques  behind  me. 

'  I  arrived  at  Bayonne,  on  my  way  to  Spain,  on  the 
following  Friday.  At  midnight  I  was  startled  from 
my  sleep,  as  I  had  formerly  been ;  but  it  was  no 
longer  by  the  vision  of  the  dying  commander.  It 
was  old  Foulques  Taillefer  who  stood  before  me, 
armed  cap-i-pie,  and  presenting  the  point  of  his 
sword.  1  made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  the  spectre 
vanished,  but  I  received  the  same  red-hot  thrust  in 
the  heart  which  I  had  felt  in  the  armory,  and  I 
seemed  to  be  bathed  in  blood.  I  would  have  called 
out,  or  have  arisen  from  my  bed  and  gone  in  quest 
of  succor,  but  1  could  neither  speak  nor  stir.  This 
agony  endured  until  the  crowing  of  the  cock,  when  1 
fell  asleep  again  ;  but  the  next  day  I  was  ill,  and  in 
a  most  pitiable  state.  I  have  continued  to  be  harass- 
ed by  the  same  vision  every  Friday  night ;  no  acts  of 
penitence  and  devotion  have  been  able  to  relieve  me 
from  it ;  and  it  is  only  a  lingering  hope  in  divine 
mercy,  that  sustains  me,  and  enables  me  to  support 
so  lamentable  a  visitation." 


The  Grand  Prior  of  Minorca  wasted  gradually 
away  under  this  constant  remorse  of  conscience, 
and  this  horrible  incubus.  He  died  some  time  after 
having  revealed  the  preceding  particulars  of  his  case, 
evidently  the  victnn  of  a  diseased  imagination. 

The  above  relation  has  been  rendered,  in  many 
parts  literally,  from  the  French  memoir,  in  which  it 
is  given  as  a  true  story  :  if  so,  it  is  one  of  those  in- 
stances in  which  truth  is  more  romantic  than  fiction. 

G.  C. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ENGULPHED  CONVENT. 

BY    GEOFFREY    CRAYON,   GENT. 


At  the  dark  and  melancholy  period  when  Don 
.Roderick  the  Goth  and  his  chivalry  were  overthrown 
on  the  banks  of  the  Guadalete,  and  all  Spain  was 
overrun  by  the  Moors,  great  was  the  devastation  of 
churches  and  convents  throughout  that  pious  king- 
dom. The  miraculous  fate  of  one  of  those  holy  piles 
is  thus  recorded  in  one  of  the  authentic  legends  of 
those  days. 

On  the  summit  of  a  hill,  not  very  distant  from  the 


capital  city  of  Toledo,  stood  an  ancient  convent  "and 
chapel,  dedicated  to  the  invocation  of  Saint  Bene- 
dict, and  inhabited  by  a  sisterhood  of  Benedictine 
nuns.  This  holy  asylum  was  confined  to  females  of 
noble  lineage.  The  younger  sisters  of  the  highest 
families  were  here  given  in  religious  marriage  to 
their  Saviour,  in  order  that  the  portions  of  their  elder 
sisters  might  be  increased,  and  they  enabled  to  make 
suitable  matches  on  earth,  or  that  the  family  wealth 
might  go  undivided  to  elder  brothers,  and  the  dignity 
of  their  ancient  houses  be  protected  iVom  decay. 
The  convent  was  renowned,  therefore,  for  enshrining 
within  its  walls  a  sisterhood  of  the  purest  blood,  the 
most  immaculate  virtue,  and  most  resplendent  beau- 
ty, of  all  Gothic  Spain. 

When  the  Moors  overran  the  kingdom,  there  was 
nothing  that  more  excited  their  hostility  than  these 
virgin  asylums.  The  very  sight  of  a  convent-spire 
was  sufficient  to  set  their  Moslem  blood  in  a  foment, 
and  they  sacked  it  with  as  fierce  a  zeal  as  though 
the  sacking  of  a  nunnery  were  a  sure  passport  to 
Hlysium. 

Tidings  of  such  outrages  committed  in  various 
parts  of  the  kingdom  reached  this  noble  sanctuary 
and  filled  it  with  dismay.  The  danger  came  nearer 
and  nearer  ;  the  infidel  hosts  were  spreading  all  over 
the  country  ;  Toledo  itself  was  captured  ;  there  was 
no  flying  from  the  convent,  and  no  security  within 
its  walls. 

In  the  midst  of  this  agitation,  the  alarm  was  given 
one  day  that  a  great  band  of  Saracens  were  spurring 
across  the  plain.  In  an  instant  the  whole  convent 
was  a  scene  of  confusion.  Some  of  the  nuns  wrung 
their  fair  hands  at  the  windows ;  others  waved  their 
veils  and  uttered  shrieks  from  the  tops  of  the  towers, 
vainly  hoping  to  draw  relief  from  a  country  overrun 
by  the  foe.  The  sight  of  these  innocent  doves  thus 
fluttering  about  their  dove-cote,  but  increased  the 
zealot  fury  of  the  whiskered  Moors.  They  thundered 
at  the  portal,  and  at  every  blow  the  ponderous  gates 
trembled  on  their  hinges. 

The  nuns  now  crowded  round  the  abbess.  They 
had  been  accustomed  to  look  up  to  her  as  all-power- 
ful, and  they  now  implored  her  protection.  The 
mother  abbess  looked  with  a  rueful  eye  upon  tne 
treasures  of  beauty  and  vestal  virtue  exposed  to  such 
imminent  peril.  Alas  !  how  was  she  to  protect  them 
from  the  spoiler!  She  had,  it  is  true,  experienced 
many  signal  interpositions  of  providence  in  her  indi- 
vidual favor.  Her  early  days  had  been  passed  ainid 
the  temptations  of  a  court,  where  her  virtue  had  been 
purified  by  repeated  trials,  from  none  cf  which  had 
she  escaped  but  by  miracle.  But  were  miracles 
never  to  cease  ?  Could  she  hope  that  the  marvel- 
lous protection  shown  to  herself  would  be  extended 
to  a  whole  sisterhood  ?  There  was  no  other  re- 
source. The  Moors  were  at  the  threshold ;  a  few 
moments  more  and  the  convent  would  be  at  their 
merry.  Summoning  her  nuns  to  follow  her,  she 
hurried  into  the  chapel ;  and  throwing  herself  on  her 
knees  before  the  image  of  the  blessed  Mary,  '  Oh, 
holy  Lady ! '  exclaimed  she,  '  oh,  most  pure  and  im- 
maculate of  virgins  !  thou  seest  our  extremity.  The 
ravager  is  at  the  gate,  and  there  is  none  on  earth  to 
help  us !  Look  down  with  pity,  and  grant  that  the 
earth  may  gape  and  swallow  us  rather  than  that  our 
cloister  vows  should  suffer  violation  ! ' 

The  Moors  redoubled  their  assault  upon  the  por- 
tal ;  the  gates  gave  way,  with  a  tremendous  crash  ; 
a  savage  yell  of  exultation  arose  ;  when  of  a  sudden 
the  earth  yawned  ;  down  sank  the  convent,  with  its 
cloisters,  its  dormitories,  and  all  its  nuns.  The 
chapel  tower  was  the  last  that  sank,  the  bell  ringing 
forth  a  peal  of  triumph  in  the  very  teeth  of  '.he  in- 
fidels. 


852 


WORKS   OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


Forty  years  had  passed  and  gone,  since  the  pe- 
riod of  this  miracle.  The  subjugation  of  Spain  was 
complete.  The  Moors  lorded  it  over  city  and  coun- 
try ;  and  such  of  the  Christian  population  as  re- 
mained, and  were  permitted  to  exercise  their  religion, 
did  it  in  humble  resignation  to  the  Moslem  sway. 

At  this  time,  a  Christian  cavalier,  of  Cordova, 
hearing  that  a  patriotic  band  of  his  countrymen  had 
raised  the  standard  of  the  cross  in  the  mountains  of 
the  Austurias,  resolved  to  join  them,  and  unite  in 
breaking  the  yoke  of  bondage.  .Secretly  arming 
himsell,  and  caparisoning  his  steed,  he  set  forth  from 
Cordova,  and  pursued  his  course  by  unfrequented 
mule-paths,  and  along  the  dry  channels  made  by 
winter  torrents.  His  spirit  burned  with  indignation, 
whenever,  on  commanding  a  view  over  a  long  sweep- 
ing plain,  he  beheld  the  mosque  swelling  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  the  Arab  horsemen  careering  about,  as 
if  the  rightful  lords  of  the  soil.  Many  a  deep-drawn 
sigh,  and  heavy  groan,  also,  did  the  good  cavalier 
utter,  on  passing  the  ruins  of  churches  and  convents 
desolated  by  the  conquerors. 

It  was  on  a  sultry  midsummer  evening,  that  this 
wandering  cavalier,  in  skirting  a  hill  thickly  covered 
with  forest,  heard  the  faint  tones  of  a  vesper  bell 
sounding  melodiously  in  the  air,  and  seeming  to 
come  from  the  summit  of  the  hill.  The  cavalier 
crossed  himself  with  wonder,  at  this  unwonted  and 
Christian  sound.  He  supposed  it  to  proceed  from 
one  of  those  humble  chapels  and  hermitages  permit- 
ted to  exist  through  the  indulgence  of  the  Moslem 
conquerors.  Turning  his  steed  up  a  narrow  path  of 
the  forest,  he  sought  this  sanctuary,  in  hopes  of  find- 
ing a  hospitable  shelter  for  the  night.  As  he  ad- 
vanced, the  trees  threw  a  deep  gloom  around  him, 
and  the  bat  flitted  across  his  path.  The  bell  ceased 
to  toll,  and  all  was  silence. 

Presently  a  choir  of  female  voices  came  stealing 
sweetly  through  the  forest,  chanting  the  evening 
service,  to  the  solemn  accompaniment  of  an  organ. 
The  heart  of  the  good  cavalier  melted  at  the  sound, 
for  it  recalled  the  happier  days  of  his  country.  Urg- 
ing forward  his  weary  steed,  he  at  length  arrived  at 
a  broad  grassy  area,  on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  sur- 
rounded by  the  forest.  Here  the  melodious  voices 
rose  in  full  chorus,  like  the  swelling  of  tlie  breeze  ; 
but  whence  they  came,  he  could  not  tell.  Some- 
times they  were  before,  sometimes  behind  him ; 
sometimes  in  the  air,  sometimes  as  if  from  within 
the  bosom  of  the  earth.  At  length  they  died  away, 
and  a  holy  stillness  settled  on  the  place. 

The  cavalier  gazed  around  with  bewildered  eye. 
There  was  neither  chapel  nor  convent,  nor  humble 
hermitage,  to  be  seen ;  nothing  but  a  moss-grown 
stone  ])innacle,  rising  out  of  the  centre  of  the  area, 
surmounted  by  a  cross.  The  green-sward  around 
appeared  to  have  been  sacred  from  the  tread  of  man 
or  beast,  and  the  surrounding  trees  bent  toward  the 
cross,  as  if  in  adoration. 

The  cavalier  felt  a  sensation  of  holy  awe.  He 
.alighted  and  tethered  his  steed  on  the  skirts  of  the 
forest,  where  he  might  crop  the  tender  herbage ; 
then  approaching  the  cross,  he  knelt  and  poured 
torth  his  evening  prayers  before  this  relique  of  the 
christian  days  of  Spain.  His  orisons  being  con- 
cluded, he  laid  himself  down  at  the  foot  of  the  pin- 
nacle, and  reclining  his  head  against  one  of  its 
stones,  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

About  midnight,  he  was  awakened  by  the  tolling 
of  a  bell,  and  found  himself  lying  before  the  gate  of 
an  ancient  convent.  A  train  of  nuns  passed  by, 
each  bearing  a  taper.  The  cavalier  rose  and  fol- 
lowed them  into  the  chapel ;  in  the  centre  of  which 
was  a  bier,  on  which  lay  the  corpse  of  an  aged  nun. 
Vhe  organ  performed  a  solemn  requiem :  the  nuns 


joining  in  chorus.  When  the  funeral  service  was 
finished,  a  melodious  voice  chanted,  '  Reqiiiescat  in 
pace!  ' — •'  May  she  rest  in  peace  ! '  The  lights  im- 
mediately vani;hed  ;  the  whole  passed  away  as  a 
dream  ;  and  the  cavalier  found  himself  at  the  foot 
of  the  cross,  and  beheld,  by  the  faint  rays  of  the  ris- 
ing moon,  his  steed  quietly  grazing  near  him. 

When  the  day  dawned,  the  cavalier  descended  the 
hill,  and  following  the  course  of  a  small  brook,  came 
to  a  cave,  at  the  entrance  of  which  was  seated  an 
ancient  man,  clad  in  hermit's  garb,  with  rosary  and 
cross,  and  a  beard  that  descended  to  his  girdle.  He 
was  one  of  those  holy  anchorites  permitted  by  the 
Moors  to  live  unmolested  in  dens  and  caves,  and 
humble  hermitages,  and  even  to  practice  the  rites  of 
their  religion.  The  cavalier  checked  his  horse,  and 
dismounting,  knelt  and  craved  a  benediction.  He 
then  related  all  that  had  befallen  him  in  the  night, 
and  besought  the  hermit  to  explain  the  mystery. 

'What  thou  hast  heard  and  seen,  my  son,'  replied 
the  other,  '  is  but  a  type  and  shadow  of  the  woes  of 
Spain.' 

He  then  related  the  foregoing  story  of  the  miracu- 
lous deliverance  of  the  convent. 

'  Forty  years,'  added  the  holy  man,  'have  elapsed 
since  this  event,  yet  the  bells  of  that  sacred  edifice 
are  still  heard,  from  time  to  time,  sounding  froin  un- 
der ground,  together  with  the  pealing  of  the  org.an, 
and  the  chanting  of  the  choir.  The  Moors  avoid 
this  neighborhood,  as  haunted  ground,  and  the 
whole  place,  as  thou  mayest  perceive,  has  become 
covered  with  a  thick  and  lonely  forest.' 

The  cavalier  listened  with  wonder  to  the  story  of 
this  engulphed  convent,  as  related  by  the  holy  man. 
For  three  days  and  nights  did  they  keep  vigils  beside 
the  cross  ;  but  nothing  more  was  to  be  seen  of  nun 
or  convent.  It  is  supposed  that,  forty  years  having 
elapsed,  the  natural  lives  of  all  the  nuns  were  fin- 
ished, and  that  the  cavalier  had  beheld  the  obsequies 
of  the  last  of  the  sisterhood.  Certain  it  is,  that  from 
that  time,  bell,  and  organ,  and  choral  chant  have 
never  more  been  heard. 

The  mouldering  pinnacle,  surmounted  by  the  cross, 
still  remains  an  oliject  of  pious  pilgrim.age.  Some 
say  that  it  anciently  stood  in  front  of  the  convent, 
but  others  assert  that  it  was  the  spire  of  the  s.acred 
edifice,  and  that,  when  the  main  body  of  the  building 
sank,  this  remained  above  ground,  like  the  top-mast 
of  some  tall  ship  that  has  been  foundered.  These 
pious  believers  maintain,  that  the  convent  is  miracu- 
lously preserved  entire  in  the  centre  of  the  mountain, 
where,  if  proper  excavations  were  made,  it  would  be 
found,  with  all  its  treasures,  and  monuments,  and 
shrines,  and  reliques,  and  the  tombs  of  its  virgin 
nuns. 

Should  any  one  doubt  the  truth  of  this  marvellous 
interposition  of  the  Virgin,  to  protect  the  vestal  pu- 
rity of  her  votaries,  let  him  read  the  excellent  work 
entitled  '  Espana  Triumphante,'  written  by  Padre 
Fray  Antonio  de  Sancta  Maria,  a  bare-foot  friar  of 
the  Carmelite  order,  and  he  will  doubt  no  longer. 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN. 


During  the  minority  of  Louis  XV.,  while  the 
Duke  of  Orleans  was  Regent  of  France,  a  young 
Flemish  nobleman,  the  Count  Antoine  Joseph  Van 
Horn,  made  his  sudden  appearance  in  Paris,  and  by 
his  character,  conduct,  and  the  subsequent  disasters 
in  which  he  became  involved,  created  a  great  sensa- 
tion in  the  high  circles  of  the  proud  aristocracy.    He 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


853 


was  about  twenty-two  years  of  age,  tall,  finely  formed, 
with  a  pale,  romantic  countenance,  and  eyes  of  re- 
markable brilliancy  and  wildness. 

He  was  of  one  of  the  most  ancient  and  highly- 
esteemed  families  of  European  nobility,  being  of  the 
line  of  the  Princes  of  Horn  and  Overique,  sovereign 
Counts  of  Hautekerke,  and  hereditary  Grand  Ve- 
neurs  of  the  empire. 

The  family  took  its  name  from  the  little  town  and 
seigneurie  of  Horn,  in  Brabant ;  and  was  known  as 
early  as  the  eleventh  century  among  the  little  dy- 
nasties of  the  Netherlands,  and  since  that  time  by  a 
long  line  of  illustrious  generations.  At  the  peace  of 
Utrecht,  when  the  Netherlands  passed  under  sub- 
jection to  Austria,  the  house  of  Van  Horn  came  un- 
der the  domination  of  the  emperor.  At  the  time  we 
treat  of,  two  of  the  branches  of  this  ancient  house 
were  extinct ;  the  third  and  only  surviving  branch 
was  represented  by  the  reigning  prince,  Maximilian 
Emanuel  Van  Horn,  twenty-four  years  of  age,  who 
resided  in  honorable  and  courtly  style  on  his  heredi- 
tary domains  at  Baussigny,  in  the  Netherlands,  and 
his  brother,  the  Count  Antoine  Joseph,  who  is  the 
subject  of  this  memoir. 

The  ancient  house  of  Van  Horn,  by  the  intermar- 
riage of  its  various  branches  with  the  noble  families 
of  the  continent,  had  become  widely  connected  and 
interwoven  with  the  high  aristocracy  of  Europe. 
The  Count  Antoine,  therefore,  could  claim  relation- 
ship to  many  of  the  proudest  names  in  Paris.  In 
fact,  he  w.as  grandson,  by  the  mother's  side,  of  the 
Prince  de  Ligne,  and  even  might  boast  of  aliinity  to 
the  Regent  (the  Duke  of  Orleans)  himself  There 
w"-?  circumstances,  however,  connected  with  his 
sudden  appearance  in  Paris,  and  his  previous  story, 
that  placed  him  in  what  is  termed  '  a  false  position  ; ' 
a  word  of  baleful  significance  in  the  fashionable  vo- 
cabulary of  France. 

The  young  count  had  been  a  captain  in  the  service 
of  Austria,  but  had  been  cashiered  for  irregular  con- 
duct, and  for  disrespect  to  Prince  Louis  of  Baden, 
icommander-in-chief  To  check  him  in  his  wild  ca- 
reer, and  bring  him  to  sober  reflection,  his  brother 
the  prince  caused  him  to  be  arrested  and  sent  to  the 
old  castle  of  Van  Wert,  in  the  domains  of  Horn. 
This  was  the  same  castle  in  which,  in  former  times, 
John  Van  Horn,  Stadtholder  of  Gueldres,  had  im- 
prisoned his  father ;  a  circumstance  which  has  fur- 
nished Rembrandt  with  the  subject  of  an  admirable 
painting.  The  governor  of  the  castle  was  one  Van 
VVert,  grandson  of  the  famous  John  Van  Wert,  the 
hero  of  many  a  popular  song  and  legend.  It  was 
the  intention  of  the  prince  that  his  brother  should  be 
held  in  honorable  durance,  for  his  object  was  to  so- 
ber and  improve,  not  to  punish  and  afflict  himj  Van 
Wert,  however,  was  a  stern,  harsh  man  of  violent 
passions.  He  treated  the  youth  in  a  manner  that 
prisoners  and  offenders  were  treated  in  the  strong- 
holds of  the  robl)er  counts  of  Gerinany  in  old  times  ; 
confined  him  in  a  dungeon  and  inflicted  on  him  such 
hardships  and  indignities  that  the  irritable  tempera- 
ment of  the  young  count  was  roused  to  continual 
fury,  which  ended  in  insanity.  For  six  months  was 
the  unfortunate  youth  kept  in  this  horrible  state, 
without  his  brother  the  prince  being  informed  of  his 
melancholy  condition  or  of  the  cruel  treatment  to 
which  he  was  subjected.  At  length,  one  day,  in  a 
paroxysm  of  frenzy,  the  count  knocked  down  two  of 
his  gaolers  with  a  beetle,  escaped  from  the  castle  of 
Van  Wert,  and  eluded  all  pursuit ;  and  after  roving 
about  in  a  state  of  distraction,  made  his  w.iy  to  Baus- 
s'gny  and  appeared  like  a  spectre  before  his  brother. 

The  prince  was  shocked  at  his  wretched,  emaci- 
ated appearance  and  his  lamentable  state  of  mental 
alienation.     He  received  him  with  the  most  com- 


passionate tenderness  ;  lodged  him  in  his  own  room, 

appointed  three  servants  to  attend  and  watch  over 
him  day  and  night,  and  endeavored  by  the  most 
soothing  and  affectionate  assiduity  to  atone  for  the 
past  act  of  rigor  with  which  he  reproached  himself 
When  he  learned,  however,  the  manner  in  which  his 
unfortunate  brother  had  been  treated  in  confine- 
ment, and  the  course  of  brutalities  that  had  led  to 
his  mental  malady,  he  was  roused  to  indignation. 
His  first  step  was  to  cashier  Van  Wert  from  his 
command.  That  violent  man  set  the  prince  at  defi- 
ance, and  attempted  to  maintain  himself  in  his  gov- 
ernment and  his  castle  by  instigating  the  peasants, 
for  several  leagues  round,  to  revolt.  His  insurrection 
might  have  been  formidable  against  the  power  of  a 
petty  prince  ;  but  he  was  put  under  the  ban  of  the 
empire  and  seized  as  a  state  prisoner.  The  memory 
of  his  grandfather,  the  oft-sung  John  Van  Wert, 
alone  saved  him  from  a  gibbet ;  but  he  was  impris- 
oned in  the  strong  tower  of  Horn-op-Zee.  There  he 
remained  until  he  was  eighty-two  years  of  age,  sav- 
age, violent,  and  unconquered  to  the  last ;  for  we  are 
told  that  he  never  ceased  fighting  and  thumping  as 
long  as  he  could  close  a  fist  or  wield  a  cudgel. 

In  the  mean  time  a  course  of  kind  and  gentle  treat- 
ment and  wholesome  regimen,  and,  above  all,  the 
tender  and  affectionate  assiduity  of  his  brother,  the 
prince,  produced  the  most  salutary  effects  upon  Count 
Antoine.  He  gradually  recovered  his  reason  ;  but  a 
degree  of  violence  seemed  always  lurking  at  the  bot- 
tom of  his  character,  and  he  required  to  be  treated 
with  the  greatest  caution  and  mildness,  for  the  least 
contradiction  exasperated  him. 

In  this  state  of  mental  convalescence,  he  began  to 
find  the  supervision  and  restraints  of  l)rotherly  affec- 
tion insupportable ;  so  he  left  the  Netherlands  fur- 
tively, and  repaired  to  Paris,  whither,  in  fact,  it  is  said 
he  was  called  by  motives  of  interest,  to  make  ar- 
rangements concerning  a  valuable  estate  which  he 
inherited  from  his  relative,  the  Princess  d'Epinay. 

On  his  arrival  in  Paris,  he  called  upon  the  Marquis 
of  Crequi,  and  other  of  the  high  nobility  with  whom 
he  was  connected.  He  was  received  with  great 
courtesy  ;  but,  as  he  brouglit  no  letters  from  his 
elder  brother,  the  prince,  and  as  various  circum- 
stances of  his  previous  history  had  transpired,  they 
did  not  receive  him  into  their  families,  nor  introduce 
him  to  their  ladies.  Still  they  feted  him  in  bachelor 
style,  gave  him  gay  and  elegant  suppers  at  their 
separate  apartments,  and  took  him  to  their  boxes  at 
the  theatres.  He  was  often  noticed,  too,  at  the 
doors  of  the  most  fashionable  churches,  taking  his 
stand  among  the  young  men  of  fashion  ;  and  at 
such  times,  his  tall,  elegant  figure,  his  pale  but 
handsome  countenance,  and  his  flashing  eyes,  dis- 
tinguished him  from  among  the  crowd  ;  and  the 
ladies  declared  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  sup- 
port his  ardent  gaze. 

The  Count  did  not  afflict  himself  much  at  his 
limited  circulation  in  the  fastidious  circles  of  the 
high  aristocracy.  He  relished  society  of  a  wilder 
and  less  ceremonious  cast ;  and  meeting  with  loose 
companions  to  his  taste,  soon  ran  into  all  the  ex- 
cesses of  the  capital,  in  that  most  licentious  period. 
It  is  said  that,  in  the  course  of  his  wild  career,  he 
had  an  intrigue  with  a  lady  of  quality,  a  favorite  of 
the  Regent  ;  that  he  was  surprised  by  that  prince  in 
one  of  his  interviews  ;  that  siarp  words  passed  be- 
tween them  ;  and  that  the  jealousy  and  vengeance 
thus  awakened,  ended  only  with  his  life. 

About  this  time,  the  famous  Mississippi  scheme 
of  Law  was  at  its  height,  or  rather  it  began  to 
threaten  that  disastrous  catastrophe  which  convulsed 
the  whole  financial  world.  Every  effort  was  making 
to  keep  the  bubble  inflated.     The  vagrant  popula- 


854 


WORKS   OF  WASHINGTON    IRVING. 


tion  of  France  was  swept  off  from  the  streets  at 
night,  and  conveyed  to  Havre  de  Grace,  to  be  ship- 
ped to  the  projected  colonies  ;  even  laboring  people 
and  mechanics  were  thus  crimped  and  spirited  away. 
As  Count  Antoine  was  in  the  habit  of  sallying  forth 
at  night,  in  disguise,  in  pursuit  of  his  pleasures,  he 
came  neat  being  carried  off  by  a  gang  of  crimps  ; 
it  seemed,  in  la^t,  as  if  they  had  been  lying  in  wait  for 
him,  as  he  had  experienced  very  rougli  treatment  at 
their  hands.  Complaint  was  made  of  his  case  by 
his  relation,  the  Marquis  de  Crequi,  who  took  much 
interest  in  the  youth ;  but  the  Marquis  received 
mysterious  intimations  not  to  interfere  in  the  matter, 
but  to  advise  the  Count  to  quit  Paris  immediately  : 
'  If  he  lingers,  he  is  lost !  '  This  has  been  cited  as 
a  proof  that  vengeance  was  dogging  at  the  heels  of 
the  unfortunate  youth,  and  only  watching  for  an  op- 
portunity to  destroy  him. 

Such  opportunity  occurred  but  too  soon.  Among 
the  loose  companions  with  whom  the  Count  had  be- 
come intimate,  were  two  who  lodged  in  the  same 
hotel  with  him.  One  was  a  youth  only  twenty  years 
of  age,  who  passed  himself  off  as  the  Chevalier 
d'Etanipes,  but  whose  real  name  was  Lestang,  the 
prodigal  son  of  a  Flemish  banker.  The  other, 
named  Laurent  de  Mille,  a  Piedmontese,  was  a  cash- 
iered captain,  and  at  the  time  an  esquire  in  the  serv- 
ice of  the  dissolute  Princess  de  Carignan,  who  kept 
gambling-tables  in  her  palace.  It  is  probable  that 
gambling  [iropensitieshad  brought  these  young  men 
together,  and  that  their  losses  had  driven  them  to 
desperate  measures  :  certain  it  is,  that  all  Paris  was 
suddenly  astounded  by  a  murder  which  they  were 
said  to  have  committed.  What  made  the  crime 
more  startling,  was,  that  it  seemed  connected  with 
the  great  Mississippi  scheme,  at  that  time  the  fruit- 
ful source  of  all  kinds  of  panics  and  agitations.  A 
Jew,  a  stock-broker,  who  dealt  largely  in  shares  of 
the  bank  of  Law,  founded  on  the  Mississippi  scheme, 
was  the  victim.  The  story  of  his  death  is  variously 
related.  The  darkest  account  states,  that  the  Jew 
was  decoyed  by  these  young  men  into  an  obscure 
tavern,  under  pretext  of  negotiating  with  him  for 
bank  shares  to  the  amount  of  one  hundred  thousand 
crowns,  which  he  had  with  him  in  his  pocket-book. 
Lestang  kept  watch  upon  the  stairs.  The  Count 
and  De  Mille  entered  with  the  Jew  into  a  chamber. 
In  a  little  while  there  were  heard  cries  and  struggles 
from  within.  A  waiter  passing  by  the  room,  looked 
in,  and  seeing  the  Jew  weltering  in  his  blood,  shut 
the  door  again,  double-locked  it,  and  alarmed  the 
house.  Lestang  rushed  down-stairs,  made  his  way 
to  the  hotel,  secured  his  most  portable  effects,  and 
fled  the  country.  The  Count  and  De  Mille  endeav- 
ored to  escape  by  the  window,  but  were  both  taken, 
and  conducted  to  prison. 

A  circuinstance  which  occurs  in  this  part  of  the 
Count's  story,  seems  to  point  him  out  as  a  fated 
man.  His  mother,  and  his  brother,  the  Prince  Van 
Horn,  had  received  intelligence  some  time  before  at 
Uaussigny,  of  the  dissolute  life  the  Count  was  lead- 
ing at  Paris,  and  of  his  losses  at  play.  They  des- 
patched a  gentleman  of  the  prince's  household  to 
Paris,  to  pay  the  debts  of  the  Count,  and  persuade 
him  to  return  to  Flanders  ;  or,  if  he  should  refuse, 
to  obtain  an  order  from  the  Regent  for  hiin  to  quit 
the  capital.  Unfortunately  the  gentleman  did  not 
arrive  at  Paris  until  the  day  after  the  murder. 

The  news  of  the  Count's  arrest  and  imprisonment 
on  a  charge  of  murder,  caused  a  violent  sensation 
among  the  high  aristocracy.  All  those  connected  with 
him,  who  had  treated  him  hitherto  with  indifference, 
found  their  dignity  deeply  involved  in  the  question  of 
his  guilt  or  innocence.  A  general  convocation  was 
held  at  the  ho  el  of  the  Marquis  de  Crequi,  of  all  the 


relatives  and  allies  of  the  house  of  Horn.  It  was  an 
assemblage  of  the  most  proud  and  aristocratic  person- 
ages of  Paris.  Incjuiries  were  made  into  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  affair.  It  was  ascertained,  be- 
yond a  doubt,  that  the  Jew  was  dead,  and  that  he 
had  been  killed  by  several  stabs  of  a  poniard.  In 
escaping  by  the  window,  it  was  said  that  the  Count 
had  tallen,  and  been  immediately  taken  ;  but  that 
De  Mille  had  lied  through  the  streets,  pursued  by 
the  populace,  and  had  been  arrested  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  scene  of  the  murder;  that  the  Count 
had  declared  himself  iimocent  of  the  death  of  the 
Jew,  and  that  he  had  risked  his  own  life  in  endeav- 
oring to  protect  him  ;  but  that  De  Mille,  on  being 
brought  back  to  the  tavern,  confessed  to  a  plot  to 
murder  the  broker,  and  rob  him  of  his  pocket-book, 
and  inculpated  the  Count  in  the  crime. 

Another  version  of  the  story  was,  that  the  Count 
Van  Horn  had  deposited  with  the  broker,  bank 
shares  to  the  amount  of  eighty-eight  thousand 
hvres ;  that  he  had  sought  him  in  this  tavern,  which 
was  one  of  his  resorts,  and  had  demanded  the  shares; 
that  the  Jew  had  denied  the  deposit  ;  that  a  quarrel 
had  ensued,  in  the  course  of  which  the  Jew  struck 
the  Count  in  the  face  ;  that  the  latter,  transported 
with  rage,  had  snatched  up  a  knife  from  a  table, 
and  wounded  the  Jew  in  the  shoulder ;  and  that 
thereupon  De  Mille,  who  was  present,  and  who  had 
likewise  been  defrauded  by  the  broker,  fell  on  him, 
and  despatched  him  with  blows  of  a  poniard,  and 
seized  upon  his  pocket-book ;  that  he  had  offered  to 
divide  the  contents  of  the  latter  with  the  Courit, 
pro  rata,  of  what  the  usurer  had  defrauded  them  ; 
that  the  latter  had  refused  the  proposition  with  dis- 
dain, and  that,  at  a  noise  of  persons  approaching, 
both  had  attempted  to  escape  from  the  premises, 
but  had  been  taken. 

Regard  the  story  in  any  way  they  might,  appear- 
ances were  terribly  against  the  Count,  and  the  noble 
assemblage  was  in  great  consternation.  What  was 
to  be  done  to  ward  off  so  foul  a  disgrace  and  to  save 
their  illustrious  escutcheons  from  this  murderous 
stain  of  blood  ?  Their  first  attempt  was  to  prevent 
the  affair  from' going  to  trial,  and  their  relative  from 
being  dragged  before  a  criminal  tribunal,  on  so  hor- 
rible and  degrading  a  charge.  They  applied,  there- 
fore, to  the  Regent,  to  intervene  his  power ;  to  treat 
the  Count  as  having  acted  under  an  access  of  his 
mental  malady  ;  and  to  shut  him  up  in  a  mad-house. 
The  Regent  was  deaf  to  their  solicitations.  He  re- 
plied, coldly,  that  if  the  Count  was  a  madman,  one 
could  not  get  rid  too  quickly  of  madmen  who  were 
furious  in  their  insanity.  The  crime  was  too  public 
and  atrocious  to  hi  hushed  up  or  s!urre:l  over ; 
justice  must  take  its  course. 

Seeing  tliere  was  no  avoiding  the  humiliating 
scene  of  a  public  trial,  the  noble  relatives  of  the 
Count  endeavored  to  predispose  the  minds  of  the 
magistrates  before  whoin  he  was  to  be  arraigned. 
Thev  accordingly  made  urgent  and  eloquent  rep- 
resentations of  the  high  descent,  and  noble  and 
powerful  connexions  of  the  Count ;  set  forth  the 
circumstances  of  his  early  history  ;  his  mental  mala- 
dy ;  the  nervous  irritability  to  which  he  was  subject, 
and  his  extreme  sensitiveness  to  insult  or  contradic- 
tion. By  these  means  they  sought  to  prepare  the 
judges  to  interpret  every  thing  in  favor  of  the  Count, 
and,  even  if  it  should  prove  that  he  had  inflicted  the 
mortal  blow  on  the  usurer,  to  attribute  it  to  access 
of  insanity,  provoked  by  insult. 

To  give  full  effect  to  these  representations,  the 
noble  conclave  determined  to  bring  upon  the  judges 
the  dazzling  rays  of  the  whole  assembled  aristocracy. 
Accordingly,  on  the  day  that  the  trial  took  place, 
the  relations  of  the  Count,  to  the  number  of  fifty- 


KNICKERBOCKER   MISCELLANIES. 


855 


seven  persons,  of  both  sexes,  and  of  the  highest 
rank,  repaired  in  a  body  to  the  Palace  of  Justice, 
and  took  tlieir  stations  in  a  long  corridor  which  led 
to  the  court-room.  Here,  as  the  judges  entered, 
they  had  to  pass  in  review  this  array  of  lofty  and  noble 
personages,  who  saluted  them  mournfully  and  sig- 
nificantly, as  they  passed.  Any  one  conversant  with 
the  stately  pride  and  jealous  dignity  of  the  French 
noblesse  of  that  day,  may  imagine  the  extreme  state 
of  sensitiveness  that  produced  this  self-abasement. 
It  was  confidently  presumed,  however,  by  the  noble 
suppliants,  that  having  once  brought  themselves  to 
this  measure,  their  influence  over  the  tribunal  would 
be  irresistible.  There  was  one  lady  present,  how- 
ever, Madame  de  Beauffremont,  who  was  affected 
with  the  .Scottish  gift  of  second  sight,  and  rehated  such 
dismal  and  sinister  apparations  as  passing  before 
her  eyes,  that  many  of  her  female  companions  were 
filled  with  doleful  presentiments. 

Unfortunately  for  the  Count,  there  was  another 
interest  at  work,  more  powerful  even  than  the  high 
aristocracy.  The  all-potent  Abbe  Dubois,  the  grand 
favorite  and  bosom  counsellor  of  the  Regent,  was 
deeply  interested  in  the  scheme  of  Law,  and  the 
prosperity  of  his  bank,  and  of  course  in  the  security 
of  the  stock-brokers.  Indeed,  the  Regent  himself  is 
said  to  have  dipped  deep  in  the  Mississippi  scheme. 
Dubois  and  Law,  therefore,  exerted  their  influence 
to  the  utmost  to  have  the  tragic  affair  pushed  to  the 
extremity  of  the  law,  and  the  murder  of  the  broker 
punished  in  the  most  signal  and  appalling  manner. 
Certain  it  is,  the  trial  was  neither  long  nor  intricate. 
The  Count  and  his  fellow  prisoner  were  equally  in- 
culpated in  the  crime,  and  both  were  condemned  to 
a  death  the  most  horrible  and  ignominious — to  be 
broken  alive  on  the  wheel  I 

As  soon  as  the  sentence  of  the  court  was  made 
public,  all  the  nobility,  in  any  degree  related  to  the 
house  of  Van  Horn,  went  into  mourning.  Another 
grand  aristocralical  assemblage  was  held,  and  a 
petition  to  the  Regent,  on  behalf  of  the  Count,  was 
drawn  out  and  left  with  the  Marquis  de  Crequi  for 
signature.  This  petition  set  forth  the  previous  in- 
sanity of  the  Count,  and  showed  that  it  was  a  hered- 
itary malady  of  his  family.  It  stated  various  cir- 
cumstances in  mitigation  of  his  offence,  and  implored 
that  his  sentence  might  be  commuted  to  perpetual 
imprisonment. 

Upward  of  fifty  names  of  the  highest  nobility,  be- 
ginning with  the  Prince  de  Ligne,  and  including 
cardinals,  archhishops,  dukes,  marquises,  etc.,  to- 
gether with  ladies  of  equal  rank,  were  signed  to  this 
petition.  By  one  of  the  caprices  of  human  pride  and 
vanity,  it  became  an  object  of  ambition  to  get  en- 
rolled among  the  illustrious  suppliants  ;  a  kind  of 
testimonial  of  noble  blood,  to  prove  relationship  to  a 
murderer !  The  Marquis  de  Crequi  was  absolutely 
besieged  by  applicants  to  sign,  and  had  to  refer 
their  claims  to  this  singular  honor,  to  the  Prince  de 
Ligne,  the  grandfather  of  the  Count.  Many  who 
were  excluded,  were  highly  incensed,  and  numerous 
feuds  took  place.  Nay,  the  affronts  thus  given  to 
the  morbid  pride  of  some  aristocratical  families, 
passed  from  generation  to  generation  ;  for,  fifty 
years  afterward,  the  Dutchess  of  Mazarin  complain- 
ed of  a  slight  which  her  father  had  received  from  the 
Marquis  de  Crequi  ;  which  proved  to  be  something 
connected  with  the  signature  of  this  petition. 

This  important  document  being  completed,  the 
illustrious  body  of  petitioners,  male  and  female,  on 
Saturday  evening,  the  eve  of  P.alm  Sunday,  repaired 
to  the  Palais  Royal,  the  residence  of  the  Regent, 
and  were  ushered,  with  great  ceremony  but  pro- 
found silence,  into  his  hall  of  council.  They  had 
appointed  four  of  their  number  as  deputies,  to  pre- 


sent the  petition,  viz. :  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan,  the 
Duke  de  Havre,  the  Prince  de  Ligne,  and  the  Mar- 
quis de  Crequi.  After  a  little  while,  the  deputies 
were  summoned  to  the  cabinet  of  the  Regent.  They 
entered,  leaving  the  assembled  petitioners  in  a  state 
of  the  greatest  anxiety.  As  time  slowl)'  wore  away, 
and  the  evening  advanced,  the  gloom  of  the  com- 
pany increased.  Several  of  the  ladies  prayed  de- 
voutly ;  the  good  Princess  of  Armagnac  told  her 
beads. 

The  petition  was  received  by  the  Regent  with  a 
most  unpropitious  aspect.  '  In  asking  the  pardon  of 
the  criminal,'  said  he,  'jou  display  more  zeal  for  the 
house  of  Van  Horn,  than  for  the  service  of  the  king.' 
The  noble  deputies  enforced  the  petition  by  every 
argument  in  their  power.  They  supplicated  the 
Regent  to  consider  that  the  infamous  punishment  in 
question  would  reach  not  merely  the  person  of  the 
condemned,  not  merely  the  house  of  Van  Horn,  but 
also  the  genealogies  of  princely  and  illustrious  fami- 
lies, in  whose  armorial  bearings  might  be  found  quar- 
terings  of  this  dishonored  name. 

'Gentlemen,'  replied  the  Regent,  'it  appears  to 
me  the  disgrace  consists  m  the  crime,  rather  than  in 
the  punishment.' 

The  Prince  de  Ligne  spoke  with  warmth  :  '  I  have 
in  my  genealogical  standard,'  sai'^l  he,  '  four  escutch- 
eons ot  Van  Horn,  and  of  course  have  four  ancestors 
of  that  house.  I  must  have  them  erased  and  effaced, 
and  there  would  be  so  many  blank  spaces,  like  holes, 
in  my  heraldic  ensigns.  There  is  not  a  sovereign 
family  which  would  not  suffer,  through  the  rigor  of 
your  Royal  Highness ;  nay,  all  the  world  knows, 
that  in  the  thirty-two  quarterings  of  Madame,  your 
mother,  there  is  an  escutcheon  of  Van  Horn.' 

'  Very  well,'  replied  the  Regent,  'I  will  share  the 
disgrace  with  you,  gentlemen.' 

Seeing  that  a  pardon  could  not  be  obtained,  the 
Cardinal  de  Rohan  and  the  Marquis  de  Crequi  left 
the  cabinet ;  but  the  Prince  de  Ligne  and  the  Duke 
de  Havre  remained  behind.  The  honor  of  their 
houses,  more  than  the  life  of  the  unhappy  Count, 
was  the  great  object  of  their  solicitude.  They  now 
endeavored  to  obtain  a  minor  grace.  They  repre- 
sented that  in  the  Netherlands,  and  in  Germany, 
there  was  an  important  difference  in  the  public  mind 
as  to  the  mode  of  inflicting  the  punishment  of  death 
upon  persons  of  quality.  That  decapitation  had  no 
influence  on  the  fortunes  of  the  family  of  the  exe- 
cuted, but  that  the  punishment  of  the  wheel  was 
such  an  infamy,  that  the  uncles,  aunts,  brothers, 
and  sisters  of  the  criminal,  and  his  whole  family, 
for  three  succeetling  generations,  were  excluded 
from  all  noble  chapters,  princely  abbeys,  sovereign 
bishoprics,  and  even  Teutonic  commanderies  of  the 
Order  of  Malta.  They  showed  how  this  would 
operate  immediately  upon  the  fortunes  of  a  sister  of 
the  Count,  who  was  on  the  point  of  being  received 
as  a  canoness  into  one  of  the  noble  chapters. 

While  this  scene  was  going  on  in  the  cabinet  of 
the  Regent,  the  illustrious  assemblage  of  petitioners 
remained  in  the  hall  of  council,  in  the  most  gloomy 
state  of  suspense.  The  re-entrance  from  the  cabinet 
of  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  and  the  .Marquis  de  Crequi. 
with  pale,  downcast  countenances,  had  struck  a 
chill  into  every  heart.  Still  they  lingered  until  near 
midnight,  to  learn  the  result  of  the  after  application. 
At  length  the  cabinet  conference  was  at  an  end. 
The  Regent  came  forth,  and  saluted  the  high  per- 
sonages of  the  assemblage  in  a  courtly  manner. 
One  old  lady  of  quality,  Madame  de  Guyon,  whom 
he  had  known  in  ins  infancy,  he  kissed  on  the  cheek, 
calling  her  his  '  good  aunt.'  He  made  a  most  cere- 
monious salutation  to  the  stately  Marchioness  dc 
Crequi,   telling  her   he   was    charmed    to   see   her 


856 


WORKS  OF   WASHINGTON   IRVING. 


at  the  Palais  Royal;  'a  compliment  very  ill-timed,' 
said  the  Marchioness,  'considering  the  circumstance 
wliich  brought  me  there.'  He  then  conducted  the 
ladies  to  the  door  of  the  second  saloon,  and  there 
dismissed  them,  with  the  most  ceremonious  polite- 
ness. 

The  application  of  the  Prince  de  Ligne  and  the 
Duke  de  Havre,  for  a  change  of  the  inode  of  punish- 
ment, had,  after  much  difficulty,  been  successful. 
The  Regent  had  promised  solemnly  to  send  a  letter 
of  commutation  to  the  attorney-general  on  Holy 
Monday,  the  25th  of  March,  at  dve  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  According  to  the  same  promise,  a  scaffold 
would  be  arranged  in  the  cloister  of  the  Concier- 
gerie,  or  prison,  where  the  Count  would  be  beheaded 
on  the  same  morning,  immediately  after  having  re- 
ceived absolution.  This  mitigation  of  the  form  of 
punishment  gave  but  little  consolation  to  the  great 
body  of  petitioners,  who  had  been  anxious  for  the 
pardon  of  the  youth  :  it  was  looked  upon  as  all-im- 
portant, however,  by  the  Prince  de  Ligne,  who,  as 
has  been  before  observed,  was  e.xquisitely  alive  to 
the  dignity  of  his  family. 

The  Bishop  of  Bayeux  and  the  Marquis  de  Crequi 
visited  the  unfortunate  youth  in  prison.  He  had 
just  received  the  communion  in  the  chapel  of  the 
Conciergerie,  and  was  kneeling  before  the  altar, 
listening  to  a  mass  for  the  dead,  which  was  per- 
formed at  his  request.  He  protested  his  innocence 
of  any  intention  to  murder  the  Jew,  but  did  not 
deign  to  allude  to  the  accusation  of  robbery.  He 
made  the  bishop  and  the  Marquis  promise  to  see 
his  brother  the  prince,  and  inform  him  of  this  his 
dying  asseveration. 

Two  other  of  his  relations,  the  Prince  Rebecq- 
Montmorency  and  the  Marshal  Van  Isenghien,  visited 
him  secretly,  and  offered  him  poison,  as  a  means  of 
evading  the  disgrace  of  a  public  execution.  On  his 
refusing  to  take  it,  they  left  him  with  high  indigna- 
tion. '  Miserable  man  ! '  said  they. '  You  are  fit  only 
to  perish  by  the  hand  of  the  executioner  ! ' 

The  Marquis  de  Crequi  sought  the  executioner  of 
Paris,  to  bespeak  an  easy  and  decent  death  for  the 
unfortunate  youth.  '  Do  not  make  him  suffer,'  said 
he  ;  '  uncover  no  part  of  him  but  the  neck  ;  and  have 
his  body  placed  in  a  coffin,  before  you  deliver  it  to 
his  family.'  The  executioner  promised  all  that  was 
requested,  but  declined  a  rouleau  of  a  hundred  louis- 
d'ors  which  the  Marquis  would  have  put  into  his 
hand.  '  I  am  paid  by  the  king  for  fulfilling  my 
office,'  said  he ;  and  added  that  he  had  already 
refused  a  like  sum,  offered  by  another  relation  of  the 
Marquis. 

The  Marquis  de  Crfiqui  returned  home  in  a  state 
of  deep  affliction.  There  he  found  a  letter  from  the 
Duke  de  St.  Simon,  the  familiar  friend  of  the  Regent, 


repeating  the  promise  of  that  prince,  that  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  wheel  shoukl  be  commuted  to  decap- 
itation. 

'  Imagine,'  says  the  Marchioness  de  Crequi,  who 
in  her  memoirs  gives  a  detailed  account  of  this 
affair,  '  imagine  what  we  experienced,  and  what  was 
our  astonishment,  our  grief,  and  indignation,  when, 
on  Tuesday,  the  26th  of  March,  an  hour  after  mid- 
day, word  was  brought  us  that  the  Count  Van  Horn 
had  been  exposed  on  the  wheel,  in  the  Place  de 
Greve,  since  half-past  six  in  the  morning,  on  the 
same  scaffold  with  the  Piedmontese  De  Mille,  and 
that  he  had  been  tortured  previous  to  execution  !  ' 

One  more  scene  of  aristocratic  pride  closed  this 
tragic  story.  The  Marquis  de  Crequi,  on  receiving 
this  astounding  news,  immediately  arrayed  himself 
in  the  uniform  of  a  general  officer,  with  his  cordon 
of  nobility  on  the  coat.  He  ordered  six  valets  to 
attend  him  in  grand  livery,  and  two  of  his  carriages, 
each  with  six  horses,  to  be  brought  forth.  In  this 
sumptuous  state,  he  set  off  for  the  Place  de  Greve, 
where  he  iiad  been  preceded  by  the  Princes  de  Ligne, 
de  Rohan,  de  Croiiy,  and  the  Duke  de  Havre. 

The  Count  Van  Horn  was  already  dead,  and  it 
was  believed  that  the  executioner  had  had  the  charity 
to  give  him  the  coup  de  grace,  or  'death-blow,'  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  At  five  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  when  the  Judge  Commissary  left  his  post 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  these  noblemen,  with  their 
own  hands,  aided  to  detach  the  mutilated  remains 
of  their  relation  ;  the  Marquis  de  Crequi  placed  them 
in  one  of  his  carriages,  and  bore  them  off  to  his 
hotel,  to  receive  the  last  sad  obsequies. 

The  conduct  of  the  Regent  in  this  affair  excited 
general  indignation.  His  needless  severity  was  at- 
tributed by  some  to  vindictive  jealousy  ;  by  others  to 
the  persevering  machinations  of  Law.  The  house 
of  Van  Horn,  and  the  high  nobility  of  Flanders  and 
Germany,  considered  themselves  flagrantly  outraged : 
many  schemes  of  vengeance  were  talked  of,  and  a 
hatred  engendered  against  the  Regent,  that  followed 
him  through  life,  and  was  wreaked  with  bitterness 
upon  his  memory  after  his  death. 

The  following  letter  is  said  to  have  been  written 
to  the  Regent  by  the  Prince  Van  Horn,  to  whom 
the  former  had  adjudged  the  confiscated  effects  of 
the  Count : 

'  I  do  not  complain.  Sir,  of  the  death  of  my  broth- 
er, but  I  complain  that  your  Royal  Highness  has 
violated  in  his  person  the  rights  of  the  kingdom,  the 
nobility,  and  the  nation.  1  thank  you  for  the  confis- 
cation of  his  effects ;  but  I  should  think  myself  as 
much  disgraced  as  he,  should  I  accept  any  favor  at 
your  hands.  /  /tope  that  God  and  the  King  may 
render  to  you  as  strict  justice  as  you  have  rendered 
to  my  unfortunate  brother.' 


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THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  UBRARY 


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